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#including a fic!
newttxt · 2 months
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pls read the zosan fic “utilities included” and enjoy sanji making his own life as miserable as possible in plain view of his new roommate
from ch. 1 of utilities included (mind the tags and rating)
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nkogneatho · 6 months
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This is a PSA for all the writers who exclusively write only fluff and angst:
we love you. we still read your fics. no we don't care if it doesn't have smut in it. it is still valid and it is beautiful. thank you for existing. have a good day.
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its-tea-time-darling · 8 months
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im sorry, we turned your boyfriend into a mole. yeah and all of tumblr‘s interested in him now. sorry
edit 9/12/23 11.22 CET
and so it begins…
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fic1, fic2 @pathsofoak ao3 tag. Mole Poem @thaliaisalesbian . fic by @tourmelion .
update:
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ao3 link. please vote for mole scene in most underrated goncharov scene poll
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spookberry · 5 months
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Who's faster 1 half dead teen boy, or a whole plane??
Happy Ecto-Implosion!! I made this piece for the event and then the talented @lixxen wrote this wonderful fic to go alongside it. It was asuper fun time working together and peeps should absolutely go read it!
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dapper-lil-arts · 3 months
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That joke on across the spiderverse reminded me so much of Trixie. Girl refuses to accept herself as a C-tier Twilight opponent lmao
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iifishizzleii · 19 days
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“you’re just so small :(“ “he doesn’t want to hurt ur tiny body” “his fist is bigger than your womb” “his hand is the size of your entire stomach” “:( small baby no hurt by big man soldier”-
eeughhhaa🤨
brotha eeughhhaa🤢🤢🤢👹👹🤕🤒🤒🤮🤧
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Congratulations to TOS Kirk/Spock shippers, thee original slash fandom that is only getting stronger with time. Let's get this bread in 2024.
Edit: It's annoying the shit out of me that this is circulating with an interpretation I don't think is supported by data (see this), and then I remembered it's my blog and I can be petty if I want to. No more reblogs.
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shibaraki · 8 months
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please write your reader insert however you want to. unabashedly!! write fat reader. black reader. asexual. masculine. tall. trans. disabled. you’re allowed to see yourself reflected in these spaces!!! sometimes your fic won’t be for everyone—it will be for all the people who look, think, love and experience life the way you do and that’s ok! it’s wonderful, actually.
it is not your job to make sure the shoe comfortably fits every single person out there. your only job is to tag it, and if anyone tells you otherwise I’ll personally come out swinging lol
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mobroccoli · 1 month
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Last year i think? I drew it while watching netflix movie Slumberland, thought some dialogues fit to Teru(now i am not sure about it tho)
Reposting it hoping to see more Reigen and Teru bonding, exorcism stuff together.
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endlessartpumpkin · 3 months
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"He hums, sleepily. His gaze is trained on the fireplace now, seemingly mesmerized by the flames dancing there. But when she drapes a blanket over him he drags his gaze up to meet hers."
A young Time and Malon from this beautiful fic by the amazingly talented and lovely @adrift-in-thyme! <3
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newttxt · 2 months
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another comic for “utilities included” skfkskdjsjs
this time for chapter two 😅
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nabtime · 4 months
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Sir Waylon of Gotham
Waylon wasn't much for talkin' to hoity-toity well-to-doers. Didn't much like their attitude. Or the way they looked at 'im. Lookin' down their noses, all pinched-faced and holier-than-thou, like he was the scum of the earth for the way he looked. And while Waylon wouldn't deny that he was scum, it sure weren't for lookin' the way he did. He'd earned that title fair 'n square, through hard work 'n strikin' fear inta the people of Gotham.
And he did that by bitin' they's arms off, not 'cause he was a li'l scaly.
Point was, Waylon didn't talk much with fancy people. Yeah, he talked to the Bat Brood and they could half be considered fancy on account of mostly bein' Waynes under the mask, but they didn't count. Not really. 'Specially their newest petite couyon that liked to swing about in his sewers like the chit owned the place. He didn't know how the kid was added to the family- coulda been adopted, coulda been one a' the other one's partner, coulda been another blood son a popped up outta nowhere 'gain.
Waylon didn't ask and the chit never said. No, all Phantom ever wanted to talk 'bout was how Waylon was doin. Idjit was far too concerned about Waylon's well-bein' when he shoulda been mindin' his own damn business. Kid said it was part a his business. That heroes had to check in on the reformed, make sure they were well and happy so they didn't have a need to get back inta villainy. Waylon wanted to call bullshit on 'im but he just didn't have the heart when the kid looked so earnest 'bout it.
And maybe the kid was swingin' in all the time just to check in on an Old Croc. Maybe even the kid didn't mind bein' 'round 'im an 'is big, scary teeth. Sure it were more likely he needed an escape an' the sewers were a place most Bats didn't venture less they had to, but iffin that were true- kid didn't have to find and talk to him every time.
All this was to say that he'd gotten used to seein' Danny 'round the sewers, and even seein' Jay when the older kid was sent to bring the other back topside.
Who he had not gotten used to seein' in the sewers, though, was a pretty thing all done up in medieval dress and glowin' green. Nor was he used to the hulking Knight done up in glowin' black armor standin' next ta her.
And, again, Waylon wasn't much for talkin' to hoity-toity people, let alone Ghost Royalty or some such, but he was still a man with manners. An' they were in his sewers (well, an' Grundy's, but the big lug weren't here, so's point was moot) so he was haven'ta be the one to greet 'em.
He growl echoed off the stone and muck as he approached the two beings that were floating midair, just above the water. They both looked lost until he fully rose from the grime and addressed them.
"Youins need somethin? Ya lookin fer Danny?"
And, well, Waylon said he had manners. Never said he was gonna use 'em.
"Oh!" said the sweet thing in flowing gown, her voice just as soft as she looked. "Yes! You must be the good Sir Waylon of Gotham that the King speaks so fondly of. I am Princess Dorathea and this is my personal guard, Fright Knight."
Sir Waylon? Now that's not somethin' he's ever heard afore. Him? Deservin' of a title like Sir? Ain't no way. He weren't 'bout to say nothin', but it sure did make him feel all flustery that a noble Lady like her would think so highly of a monster like him.
"Nah I wouldn' say he's 'xactly fond a me, but the name is Waylon, yeah, uh- My Lady."
And she smiled at 'im, sweet as anythin', like he weren't made a sharp edges an spilled blood. The big Knight aside her was actin like that too, posture relaxed as he just let her get closer. Closer an most people ever dared. 'Cept Phantom an some a the Bats. Was it a ghost thing? No fear a death, so whats scary about a big man with sharp teeth anymore?
"Would Sir Phantom be near-abouts?" she asked. "I require his counsel on matters of import."
"Sorry, cher- uh, My Lady," he grumbled, "ain't gotta clue where he's at. Somewhere's topside, prolly."
Her shoulders slumped just the slightest, obviously disappointed in his answer. And try as he might to want to give her a better one, he only knew where the kid was when he wanted to hang around underground. Waylon avoided the streets at all costs these days, not wantin' to risk trouble again. He'd spent enough of his days wastin' away in Arkham and Blackgate, thanks.
The Lady turned thoughtful though and graced him with a tilt of her head and a smile. "Perhaps you would deign to assist me instead, Sir Waylon?"
"Well nah, I'd love ta, My Lady. Supposin' its somethin' I can help ya with."
"Yes," she said, circling around him in a graceful glide, "so long as you are willing, you will suit just fine."
"Ya still haven't told me what ya need help with, ah- My Lady."
Waylon couldn't see the Knight's expression but he could almost feel the amusement pourin' off a him. And he wondered just what the hell he'd agreed to that a guy like that'd find it funny.
"My brother is making moves to take back the Kingdom. He has amassed a small, but skilled contingent of rebels and intends to usurp me at the upcoming Yule Celebration."
"So ya need muscle ta help stop 'im?"
"Oh no," she said, sweet but full of venom- like arsenic. Her grin was now full of teeth, teeth much to sharp for a proper Lady like her, and her eyes turned to glowing reptilian points. "I can take care of him myself. I intended to ask Sir Phantom along as contingency."
She looked him up and down and the Knight standing guard behind her was projectin' a certain smugness as he did the same.
"You, however, Sir Waylon," she said, and the tone near sent a shiver down his spine. "Will do well as both warrior and suitor."
"What say you?"
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frownyalfred · 1 month
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“Why are you bullying Hal Jordan so much in this fic?” Because it’s funny. Because it’s funny and he’s not a real person.
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anghraine · 1 year
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I do appreciate getting AO3 comments that encourage me to keep going! But I got a comment on an on-hiatus multi-chapter WIP that said absolutely nothing about it being unfinished and just listed things they liked, and it was really sweet.
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theminecraftbee · 1 year
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god okay. keep in mind i didn't watch evo. but if we're doing stuff with watchers in traffic series. and we're doing the "jimmy is cursed to be the one that dies first to warn everyone else that it's time to die" thing. don't you think we should also do something with the fact that, if i remember right, the watchers canonically just Absolutely Fucking Despised jimmy? like, didn't they outright ditch him between updates at one point (and that's how he met the listeners)? wasn't that a thing? i could be mixing my lore up but i SWEAR that's a thing,
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even-disco-baby · 1 year
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THOUGHT GAINED: INFERNAL ENGINES
PROBLEM
The world is ending. You know it, your neighbor knows it, the dealer knows it, the jailer knows it, the king and all his men know it. All one has to do is look around to see it— the future is curdling into something pale and incorporeal. The infernal machine that is this stupid world is going to blow, sooner rather than later. So what are you doing? Why are you still here? Why is anyone still here?
SOLUTION
You are doing the only thing worth doing. You are living. *Why,* you ask? Try and remember now. Remember your mother’s hand on your shoulder. Remember the taste of a fresh catch. Remember the times when you were kind to the dogs in the valley and they did not bare their teeth. Remember the weight of a child on your shoulders. Remember the stars throwing their light against the wall of sodium and smog. Remember singing until your throat was raw. Remember crying just as loudly and publicly, and the gentleness with which someone opened your curled fist and pressed a handkerchief into your palm. Crying, laughing, running, eating, screaming, haunting, loving, fighting, fighting, fighting. The fight fuels you, and you fuel the fight. You run yourself ragged just for a chance to keep running. You never stop. You cannot stop. The world depends on it. *You* are the infernal engine. You are the world. And, simply put: you want to live.
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