#Refusal is a challenge

[pleasemoregoblins]

Everyone calls me the Mojo King

Please call me the Mojo King.

[yellenabelova]

#Literally stop tweeting things like "what do you said to them after filming this". It's just a movie, it's pretend. You're an adult you should know that.

[hinamie]

playing around w slightly different hair renders

[lotus-pear]

double black

[shanklin]

Time travel fail in which Stan goes back to not break Ford's project, but gets bored waiting for the science fair and decides he might as well give the footbot another try.

He's no McGucket but he knows enough technical mumbo jumbo to make it move at least. If it goes well maybe they let him graduate high school this time around!

Enter the West Coast Tech judges

Genius kid doing genius kid things?

BORING

Worst student the school has ever seen building a fully functional talking robot? The stereotypical dumb boxer kid always overshadowed by his nerdy brother being a secret neglected undiscovered genius? 

THEY CAN SELL THIS! THEIR PR DEPARTMENT WILL LOVE THIS! A TRUE UNDERDOG STORY!

Before Stan has time to process anything he’s already being shipped off California with a full scholarship to be West Coast Tech's new poster child. 

Filbrick: I don’t care how you convinced them you’re worth anything. Don’t fuck this up and earn us millions or you’re not welcome in this house anymore!

Ford is convinced Stan cheated his way into West Coast Tech so they won't get seperated. Ford doesn’t apply to West Coast Tech out of spite. And he's definitely not believing Stan's ridiculous time travel explanation for a second.

Ford becomes obsessed with proving that Stan’s a fraud instead. 

At least they’re still talking. Even if talking means listening to Ford finding flaws in the newest paper Stan was forced to write.

Poor Stan just wants to go home to Gravity Falls and reopen the Mystery Shack

[ekingston]

also on ao3.

Lena smiles to herself as she watches Kara zip through National City’s most exclusive luxury mall. She’s like a honey-drunk bumblebee, bouncing from aisle to aisle, descending on some random item every five seconds just to mutter hmm and dart off again.

Lena is moving at a more civilized pace. She has long since stopped trying to keep up, both with her best friend’s not-quite-incriminating measure of super speed and her unfathomable decision-making process.

“Lena help,” Kara pouts, suddenly back, familiar and warm at Lena’s side. “Do fifteen-year-olds like anything?”

Lena doesn’t take her eyes off the art books she’s been perusing, but she also doesn’t stop herself from leaning in, her shoulder resting briefly against Kara’s, their hips grazing. A friendly gesture. A welcome back. “You remember Ruby, right?” she teases. “Cute? Bright? Probably six feet tall by next Wednesday?”

Kara huffs. “Yes, but she's—you know. Cool now.” She makes a gesture that’s somewhere between jazz hands and a bomb exploding. “What do cool teenagers like?”

Lena sends her a self-deprecating smile. “Do consider who it is you’re asking.”

Kara’s gaze tumbles from Lena’s face to her chest to her hands, and then she nods. Lena feels like she should be insulted by Kara’s quick acquiescence, but all thought leaves her mind when Kara steps closer, reaching across Lena’s body to play with the head of a fat round brush. Lena watches the fine bristles spread wide around the pads of Kara’s ring and middle finger, and tells herself that she isn’t affected by the situation at all.

“You know,” she breezes, veering away from the wisp of Kara’s breath against her temple, “Ruby’s been sketching a lot more, lately.”

Kara, immediately revived, follows Lena over to a glass case marked with Holbein’s logo. But when she glances up at the price tags, she goes pale. “Seven hundred dollars?” she yelps. “For colored pencils?”

Lena hums. “They’re pastels,” she explains, flipping the case open with a pleasing wood-on-metal snick. “High-grade pigments, no fillers.” She runs her fingers down a length of cobalt blue, watching Kara’s throat bob when she reaches the gold lettering along its side. “I hear they lay down incredibly soft,” Lena hears herself say, her voice low in the narrow space left between them. “Rich and easy. Just a hint of pressure is enough to achieve whatever effect you desire.”

Kara looks up, her glossy pink lips now inches away from Lena’s own. “Since when do you know about art materials?” she rasps.

Lena breaks into a light sweat at the question. “Well, you know,” she stammers, straightening. “It’s. No secret that I’m a patron—” She gestures helplessly, trying to step away again but finding herself trapped between the display case and Kara’s body. “That I—I’ve always had a thing—”

Kara’s eyebrows twitch as she waits for Lena to finally finish a sentence, a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth when Lena fails to do so. Her amusement at Lena’s floundering should embarrass her, but combined with the close heat of Kara’s body and her cocky smirk, Lena finds it alarmingly arousing.

“I have literally never heard you talk about art before,” Kara smarms. “Oh wait! Actually I specifically remember you canceling on Bruce Wayne’s charity gala when you realized he was having it at the Museum of Modern Arts, two years ago.”

“Kara—” She’s still so close. Lena is beginning to feel a little lightheaded.

“You were already in Gotham,” Kara points out.

“Listen,” Lena flusters. “I am a well-rounded—”

Kara’s eyes are dark and sparkling. “You were his date.”

“...I was his friend,” Lena corrects. “Bruce and I were never—not like—” She gestures between Kara’s body and her own, the movement greatly inhibited by their closeness, and ceasing entirely when she realizes where her argument is headed.

Kara bites down on what Lena is sure would otherwise be a maddeningly self-satisfied grin. “My birthday’s coming up, too,” Kara says. And then, her voice gentle, “But you already knew that, didn't you?”

Lena huffs out a breath. Of course she knows that. Kara is her best friend. It’s completely natural that Lena would spend night after sleepless night poring over catalogues and browsing the dark web, trying to find her the perfect gift.

“You got me these?” Kara grins, picking up a viridian green pencil and twirling it between two of her fingers. She looks so pretty and pleased that Lena nods, instantly resolved to trash the one-of-a-kind mini-anti-life-equation she’d managed to place the winning bid on, and gift Kara Holbein’s entire collection, as originally intended.

Kara still hasn’t moved. “Lena,” she says. “You know you didn’t need to spend all that money on me.”

Lena huffs out a humorless laugh. If Kara thinks the pencils are pricey, ditching the anti-life-equation is definitely the right call. It’s a shame—apparently it’s super effective against fruit flies and fungus gnats, both of which Kara has been unsuccessfully battling in her kitchen for the past couple of months. “You know me,” Lena says, something bitter twisting at the corners of her mouth. “Always going overboard.”

“No,” Kara tells her. The surety of her tone draws Lena’s gaze back up to those ludicrously blue eyes. “I do know you,” Kara says. “And you always get it exactly right.”

The silence that ensues stretches taut between them, stretches thin, fraying Lena’s nerves along with it. She should get Kara some canvases too, Lena decides. In fact, why not make it a set? Add some new brushes, and oil paints, maybe a new easel—oh!

“Mechanical erasers,” she blurts, and darts away.

Kara isn’t quite as quick on the uptake this time, taking long seconds to rejoin her on the other side of the aisle.

“Not like what?” Kara asks.

Lena blinks at her, puzzled by the non-sequitur. Kara’s eyebrows twitch together again, but this time they stay there, a tiny divot in the skin between them. Lena doesn’t know what to do with—well, any of it, quite frankly. “Since the secret’s out,” she says, pointedly looking away from the curious expression on her best friend’s face and gesturing at the collection of erasers, “do you prefer the—”

The feeling of Kara’s hand at her waist is highly unlikely and profoundly baffling. But when Lena looks down, trailing off, there it is; Kara’s thumb, settling against Lena's hip bone, her fingers sliding—sure and steady—into the gap of Lena’s open coat.

“You said you and Bruce were not like you and me,” Kara says. “What are we like?”

Lena’s heart is slamming in her chest like Kara is playing tennis with it. She’s so frustrated that Kara won’t just let it slide and allow Lena to escape with her pride intact; she’s so enamored with the way Kara looks at her, open and curious, as if she honestly doesn’t know what Lena is trying her best not to say for fear it will ruin their friendship.

The situation is so impossible that Lena doesn’t register the movement of Kara’s other hand until she’s slipped it around the back of her neck. It rests there—joining the other in its exploration of formerly firmly out-of-the-way places—with just the barest hint of pressure, her fingertips settling warm against the vulnerable skin of Lena’s nape.

Lena flusters, suddenly forced to address Kara’s question in a far more certain shade than she’s allowed them both to get away with over the years. If Lena opts for “the kind of friends I thought I’d never have”—a bitter, but familiar favorite—will Kara still help her blend the outline between the soft tones of their friendship and the vivid hues of what Lena is pretty certain is their mutual desire?

She swallows, watching the quick flash of Kara’s tongue as she wets her lip, reveling in the sight of it up close, struggling to maintain her solid form beneath the feeling of Kara’s hands on her body.

“There’s…” Kara whispers, swaying closer, “...probably a couple of things we really should talk about.” Her nose brushes Lena’s cheek before resting there, her eyes falling closed, their foreheads just barely touching. “But do you think it would be okay if—just for now—” She’s muttering the words almost directly into Lena’s mouth. “If I kissed you, first? Before, I mean, the rest of—”

Lena tugs herself up by the lapels of Kara’s jacket before Kara even finishes her question, the darkness behind her closed eyelids sparking into bright technicolor at the soft press of Kara’s lips against her own. They’re warm, and yielding, and slightly sticky—probably from the fresh-baked cinnamon roll she’d scarfed down before entering the store. Just before they pull apart, Lena catches the slightest hint of sweetness with the tip of her tongue.

Lena hums.

Kara is right. They really should be talking about this, and not necking in the middle of Eulalia Literature & Arts like a couple of boarding school kids on a school trip. But Kara is looking at her as if Lena is a wonderful secret freshly revealed, so Lena really can’t be expected to keep herself from being pulled back into Kara’s orbit. Can’t be blamed, even, for doing it lips-parted, so eager for another taste of what feels like the one bright spark of undiluted joy she’s ever felt she actually deserved that she shamelessly licks into Kara’s mouth, her entire body lighting up in oversaturated iridescence when Kara meets her with similarly unselfconscious sincerity.

Kara doesn’t let her go, even when they pause for air, both of her hands twitching against Lena’s body, as if keeping herself from pulling Lena back in is a tremendous effort. “Can we just stay here for a minute?” she hushes, her breath mingling with Lena’s own.

Lena smiles. “I think the security guard may have a couple of things to say about that,” she tells Kara, flashing an embarrassed glance over her shoulder at the woman in question.

“Oh, shoot.” Kara flinches, flushing an irresistible shade of pink Lena doubts even Holbein’s pigments could emulate. She rarely wears her glasses anymore, but Lena watches her reach for them out of habit, her movements jittery and raw.

“It’s alright, darling,” Lena soothes her, thrilling privately at the endearment as it falls off her lips. “I’m sure all will be forgiven when the cashier runs my credit card.”

And she’s right; when they exit, the guard gives them a nod that may even signal some mild approval. Whether that’s about the fortune Lena just spent on art supplies or their impromptu public exhibit, Lena isn’t sure.

Later, after weeks of conversations, after numerous tiny discoveries and world-shattering revelations—one of which has Kara confessing to once helping a fifth-dimensional imp create a half-dozen miserable alternate realities in which the full, vibrant spectrum of their love for each other went unacknowledged, and never led to a kiss—Kara blows out thirty-one colorful candles, and unwraps first (in the company of all of their friends) her gifts; and then (in the company of only her lover) Lena’s wrap-around A-line dress.

Lena’s legs are already trembling when Kara finally glides her fingers to the seam of her thigh, the pad of her thumb nudging gently at the patch of darkening cotton between Lena’s legs. “Could I try something new?” she asks, and Lena, who has discovered that Kara’s ideas only ever fall into one of two categories, one being complete absurdity and the other unmitigated brilliance, sighs.

“I want to paint you,” Kara says.

It so figures, Lena thinks. All of these new toys, and Kara can't decide which one she wants to play with first.

“Okay,” Lena says, driven to impatient acquiescence by Kara’s thumb, now moving in gentle, tiny circles against her.

“Okay?” Kara confirms, hand stilling, sitting up.

Lena clasps Kara’s teasing fingers and presses them down hard where she needs them, her back arching into the touch of their joined hands. “After,” she demands.

This was written for the multi fandom (and original!) flash fiction challenge, using the prompts ‘vignette/slice of life’, ‘shopping for a gift’, ‘friends to lovers’ and ‘colored pencils’. You should give it a whirl!

[littlefankingdom]

It's kind of annoying (and weird) how DC keeps trying to rewrite how Jason and Bruce met to paint Bruce in a worst light.

Originally, Batman finds Jason stealing the Batmobile's tires, the kid runs away, and Batman finds him. Discovering the kid is homeless, he gives him to the authority and Jason finishes at Ma Gunn's school. Ma Gunn is actually teaching the kids to be gang members, so Jason tells Batman. Together, they win again Ma Gunn, and Bruce takes Jason in because he sees himself in him.

Well, in Nightwing: Year One, they change it for "Batman kidnapped Jason when he found him stealing his tires and forces him to become Robin", with Jason ATTACHED AND GAGGED in the batcave. (I like this comic except for that because wtf)

In Red Hood and The Outlaws (2011), they changed it for "Jason stole drugs from Leslie and Batman was ready to beat and throw a young teen in jail, but Leslie begged him to give him a chance", which again, wtf. Batman beating up a child. Okay.

In Red Hood and The Outlaws (2016), they changed it for "Bruce put Jason in Ma Gunn's school because he couldn't handle him after taking him in". The only good addition they made is "when Batman caught Jason stealing his tires, he bought him food".

I do not understand why they need to make him awful to this 12 years old so bad. What do they want to make it as if Bruce forced that life on Jason but also didn't want to deal with him. Why they cannot let it as it is, with Bruce having fun dealing with this lil shit that stole his tires and being there for him when he needs him later on, until he finally craves and takes Jason home.

And that's why I am so critical on how Batman and Bruce is written in Nightwing and Red Hood stories, because the writers are incapable to make their main character have conflict with Bruce, without changing his character and their story to make him abusive. They need him to be the bad guy of Jason's, and sometimes Dick's, story because they don't know how to make you side and care for their character without making the other side a monster.

[buckys-sam]

Sam flirting with Bucky just to mess with him only Bucky doesn't end up cranky and flustered like he expects and instead fully leans into it-

And Sam is just... Oh. Oh.

[tr1ppykay]

the more i participate in discussions of transmasculine issues, the more disgusted i become at the approach a lot of "trans inclusive" feminists have towards transmascs...

feminist theory exists to serve the real life people that are harmed by patriarchy. if theory is not sufficiently serving real human beings who are desperately looking for acknowledgment of their suffering, then it must be rewritten to make room for that acknowledgment. if transmasculine people are all telling you about discrimination they have experienced, and how feminist theory does not make room to talk about their unique relationship with gender based oppression, you modify the theory to make room. you don't bash them over the head with writing that doesn't account for their existence.

feminism is not a fundamentalist religion. it is a conversation that must account for new perspectives and evolve to encompass them if we want to make any progress. but many feminists who discount transmasculine experiences want to treat the current state of feminist theory as a bible of unwavering truth: if men who face gendered oppression aren't mentioned, then trans men must be wrong about their lived experiences. of course, your precious theory could never have blind spots!

[hedwig221b]

I've got the random sterek idea for a short fic that got me like this and I fear you WILL get a May fic after all...

[duusheen]

Phoenix is ​​quite popular at school, especially with girls, and that wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for the fact that his best friend Roxie is the complete opposite of popular. Roxie doesn't fit in with his popular friends, but Phoenix doesn't want to hang out with the losers either... that's not cool, right?

[noirecheris3]

high spice tolerance steph and low spice tolerance cass who refuses to admit it

[hinamie]

round 2 of prelim designs for @philosophiums n my lovechild of an au

first year trio

[nelkcats]

It's a Match!

Being the King of the Infinite Realms didn't really give you many dating options. There were no candidates who weren't committed or completely sincere, and Danny was feeling sensitive those days so he was frustrated. The Observants telling him to get a partner to create a "better future" and offering horrible options was especially infuriating those days, he wished they would stop meddling in his life.

Sam and Tucker, seeing the halfa's frustration did what any friend would do in such a situation: They created a profile for him on a dating app. Although they didn't notice that when they connected it to Technus' Internet the app started taking "candidates" from other dimensions that had it.

Despite not trusting it much at first, Danny eventually embraced the idea and very quickly connected with "Jason Todd" who claimed to be a zombie. Danny thought it was funny and told him he was a ghost, which Jay obviously didn't believe. Ironically, they matched because of the "I died" jokes on their profiles.

The only problem was when Jason asked to meet (he was absolutely convinced that Danny was either homeless or living on the streets due to his refusal to send pictures from home and wanted to feed him) and Danny didn't know how to tell him that he didn't know what dimension he was in.

[shaylai]

A quick doodle I made for a friend 🐥

[ohara-n-brown]

Am I the only one that feels like NTs HATE saying 'I don't know.'

You will not believe the amount of times I'll ask a basic objective question about a situation and they'll give me an answer, only for later the answer to be completely wrong. And then when I ask them why they would give me wrong information - they say 'I just guessed.'

I didn't ask you for your guess. I asked for the information. If you didn't have the information don't just GUESS. Say 'I don't know.'

I feel like NT don't realize that WRONG information is worse than no information.

If I want to know when an event will end and you say '5pm' - I'm going to be mentally prepared for 5pm. And if it DOESN'T end then, not only will I be out of energy, but I'll be irritated and confused because I'm in an unfamiliar situation with NO INFORMATION

Had you just told me 'I don't know what time it ends' instead of GUESSING 5, then I would've prepared for the worse. But now I have to literally rearrange everything in my head and talk myself down from meltdown cause I was given inaccurate information and also I thought I was going home.

But they act instead like saying I don't know is a moral failure.

My father used to yell at me all the time to not say 'I don't know.'

He'd always demand I figure it out and come up with SOMETHING no matter how uninformed or vague and that's how you have NTs walking around feeling like it's a crime to admit they simply don't know something

and instead they'll just shamble something together and hope that's good enough regardless of whether in the information is actually helpful or correct.

IT'S SO ANNOYING. JUST SAY YOU DON'T KNOW.

Stop guessing and giving me WRONG information because it only makes the situation worse and more confusing. Say you don't KNOW. It's FINE.