#(thank you for requesting!!)

[kkoct-ik]

second batch of yttd doodle requesties

[ninesposting]

Could I request Mist? I've got her on the brain today (no pressure of course!)

YES OF COURSE

Mist is like a shark creature to me…love her…. I’ve struggled a lot with her design because I had no idea what I wanted her to look like BUT I THINK THIS IS IT !! official Nines Mist DesignTM

[spikezonebby]

https://www.tumblr.com/spikezonebby/766604402550341632/hnnnng-gotta-make-myself-fight-through-this-damn

May I ask specifically for Soundwave doing it to Shockwave?

Oh ho ho let's get that HOLE real talk this thought got away from me a bit so there's some finger sucking and ass play under the cut. That includes fingers, spike, AND rimming bby. Oh yeah and I'm inserting my nullified Shockwave hc in here too but it's nothing explicit, bruv just has no cock or puss. This also escalated into overloading untouched so enjoy!

I think Shockwave should have a thing for Soundwave's face under the mask. Maybe it's jealousy, maybe it's remembering his own face, maybe it's just the fact that Soundwave undoubtedly has some *luscious* dick sucking lips. Whatever it is, once Shockwave convinces him to take off the face mask the full horny comes out.

Brushing his thumb over Soundwave's soft bottom lip, pressing down and watching the protomesh give beneath him. Unlike Shocks, Sounders is pretty expressive beneath the mask. His expression screws up with a pout, he bites the inside of his cheek or the tip of his glossa. Shockwave hates (loves??) it. Soundwave's lips part and Shockwave takes the opportunity to savor the delightful wet warmth around his digits. He tries to picture biolights seated in the joints, protomesh instead of hard metal.

Empurata took more than just his face and his hands, and despite Lord Megatron's generosity (in equal proportion to your use), there were limits. No amount of donor parts would ever feel like his, and so Shockwave had to settle for using the one part of his that handed been destroyed by the Senate.

And Soundwave, despite his reputation for being quiet, knew how to use his tongue.

Soundwave's servos hold his thighs, drawing musical notations across the outside of one as the other slides up and presses along either side of Shocks' aft port. If he focuses, Shockwave can almost feel the pulse of arousal deep in the pit of his belly, right behind his permanently sealed valve cover and spike housing. Nothing was there. Nothing. Just empty slots where they once were. The blue boombox hums-- a rich sound without the mask synthesizer-- and a warm, humid breath brushes along his hole. Quickly followed by the swipe of a glossa, so brief it sends a shiver through his systems that not even shadowplay can supress.

"Stop stalling." He drones, gripping the edge of the table he laid belly-down upon with his good servo.

There was an electric buzz that haunted the air for a moment, the tell-tale sign of Soundwave trying to probe his mind and field. But shadowplay renders the field deaf and the vocalizer numb. He settles instead for pressing his glossa tighter to the iris of synthetic muscle and dutifully working at it.

Shockwave's body doesn't react to the ripples of liquid sin Sound's tongue pours over his sensory net, but he feels them still. Soundwave at least doesn't seem to mind a quiet lover. He loses himself to the moment, probably listening to music within his own mind as his tongue and lips work the purple mech open. Soon fingers join the fray and Shockwave's systems start to throw heat through his vents, hot enough to steam the air and make condensation sit on his plating.

Sounders pulls away, but not without leaving a long trail of solvent dripping down from his port all over the inside of his thighs. Shockwave's hole twitches, and Soundwave just leans in and swirls his tongue over the flushed protometal like it's the sweetest, filthiest treat.

"Stop stalling." Shockwave says again, his vocalizer clipped and his whining vents speaking more for his need. He can't overload from this, but it was close enough.

It takes an utterly embarrassing amount of energy to pull his pedes up beneath him, but he bows his back and tries to turn his helm to look over his shoulder.

He says it again, "Stop stalling." But Soundwave knows he means "Please frag me."

It is a logical enough conclusion.

So Soundwave hums again and takes the purple mech by the hips. There's a shoop-whiiiiiir of his plating retracting, then hefty weight of Sounder's spike sitting so enticingly plapping against his throbbing entrance.

"Stop stall--!?"

And then Soundwave lines himself up, and shoves himself to the hilt in one fell swoop. He's searingly hot, thicker than even Shockwave's digits, and he feels so good.

The quietest huffs escape his vents and Soundwave doesn't wait for him to adjust, he knows how loved and knows he likes it rough. Fingers slide up around his throat, not quite squeezing but it still takes Shockwave aback when the blue mech pulls him up off his front. Pulling his body taut against him, and Shockwave swears he can feel the boombox's massive spike pressing a bulge out against his abdomen.

"Query: Shockwave, cannot overload?"

If he's had a mouth Shockwave was certain he'd be beyond words. The lips in the side of his helm, brushing his audials, makes him shake minutely.

"Affirmative."

"Soundwave: Has an idea."

Before Shockwave can even question him, there's another click. His hand slides up to hold Soundwave's forearm, calculations running in the back of his processor for what the boombox could possibly be thinking. But his answer comes not as words but, vibration.

Soundwave's spike starts vibrating with such sudden, deep haste that Shockwave actually does gasp. It ruins him from his pedes to his processor, so deep he can feel it in his fuel pump. And with a shout his aft quivers around Soundwave, white blinding his vision and then spurts of thick, pink transfluid dumping into his chute. Never before had Shockwave felt so loose, wet, and properly used. His pedes give out, his optic flashes, and electricity crackles all along his body as his first overload in millions of years wrecked his body.

[crheativity]

is it okay to request platonic angst of leaving twisted wonderland and saying goodbye to the adeuce duo and Grim? I didn't see if you had a character limit, but if you do, feel free to ignore this or just do it with grim

SUMMARY: The time has come for you to depart from Twisted Wonderland. But surely Ace, Deuce and Grim will hear from you soon, right…?

WARNINGS: This is sad I nearly cried

COMMENTS: oh my GOSH writing angst is hard ahahaha. I seriously teared up writing this. I’m not sure if this is exactly what you wanted, but this is the first thing my mind came up with. Sorry this took so long, and I hope you enjoy it!!

(also, because this made me sad, I wrote a part two that can be found here. I hope you don’t mind!)

“Are you sure this’ll work?” Deuce fretted, wringing his shirt so hard you thought it was going to rip. He’d finally stopped pacing, at least. Moving to face you, his eyes locked on to yours, searching for any hint of doubt.

“Seriously dude, that’s the seventh time you’ve asked that in the past twenty minutes.” Ace complained loudly from his position propped against the wall. “Can you stop acting like a mother hen for five minutes? You’re starting to make me anxious,” he added, muttering under his breath.

The three of you and Grim were standing in the Mirror Hall as you double and triple checked your luggage, which Grim was perched on top of. He’d been strangely quiet ever since Crowley had summoned the both of you to his office.

Crowley had calmly explained that he (in his generosity) had finally found a way for you to return home. Grim had congratulated you and helped you pack, just as the others had, but most times he just remained quiet. You figured this was him trying to be strong for you. The thought brought the sting of tears to your eyes. You hastily blinked them back. Now was not the time.

“It’ll be alright, don’t worry.” You looked up and gave your friends the most reassuring smile you could muster, despite the lump in your throat and the niggling doubts in the back of your mind. “Crowley gave me his word that this’d work.”

Three sets of mouths immediately fell open as Ace, Deuce and Grim stared at you in horror. Your grin widened as you enjoyed the moment, before deciding to put them out of their misery. “Relax you guys. I also checked with Malleus, Lilia, Idia and Ortho. All of them said that there is no reason they could think of that my phone should not still work in my world, as long as I can charge it. And I can.”

A collective sigh of relief flooded the room. Ace walked over and punched you lightly in the arm.

“Not funny, Prefect. That’s Deuce’s last clean shirt and you scared him so bad he almost ripped it in half just now.”

“Ah- hey! This isn’t my last clean shirt!” Deuce protested, rolling his eyes.

“Oh yeah?” Ace retorted. He crossed his arms and stared at Deuce, his eyes narrowing. “That’s weird. If that’s the case then why are there so many random clothes strewn across the floor of our dorm?”

“Those are yours!”

“Enough, guys.” You sighed, tired of their bickering. “This might be the last time we see each other face to face for a while. Do you really wanna spend it bickering about clothes?”

Both boys shared a glance and then sighed.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Prefect. Sorry, Ace.” Deuce mumbled. He looked away, fidgeting with his jacket sleeve.

“It’s not your fault,” Ace sighed, “I’m the one who started it. My bad, you guys.”

“Ah, how nice to see three - ah, forgive me, two and a half - of my freshmen getting along so well! Surely this must have something to do with my excellent guidance as headmage, hm?” Crowley spoke suddenly, making the four of you jump. None of you had noticed him come in. The sight of him made your hopes soar and your heart sink.

It was time to go.

Ace opened his mouth and grumbled something that made Deuce stand on his foot. You had to repress a slight giggle as Ace glared at Deuce.

“Well then, shall we get cracking?” Crowley strode towards the Dark Mirror, evidently ignoring Ace and Deuce’s exchange.

Sharing a worried glance with your friends, the four of you made your way towards the Dark Mirror. Ace gently scooped Grim into his arms as Deuce grabbed your bag - you’d only needed one - and carried it to the mirror, which had begun to glow.

“If you’d like to say any last goodbyes, now would be the time. My, aren’t I generous for allowing you all a second last goodbye?” Crowley exclaimed as he got to work with the Mirror, which glowed ever brighter by the second.

You turned to face the others and Deuce immediately pulled you into a bone crushing hug. You readily accepted, wrapping your arms around him and giving him a tight squeeze.

“Come on guys, really?” Ace complained. Deuce immediately grabbed him and pulled him into the hug. He - and Grim, still sitting in his arms - didn’t resist.

“It- it’ll be okay.” You managed, hating how nervous you sounded. “Crowley and the others have said they’ll look for a way for me to come and visit. And- and I’ll be looking too, alright? So we’ll probably see each other soon.”

You pulled away from the hug just in time to see Ace and Deuce exchange worried glances. Then, looking back to you, they both nodded in sync.

Just as Grim burst into tears.

Scooping the cat from Ace’s arms you hugged him tight. Forcing hot tears away, you held him as long as you could, but all too soon a hand landed on your shoulder.

“It’s time.” Crowley spoke softly and gently - almost kindly.

“Don’t forget to text us as soon as you get through.” Deuce said. His eyes were red and his voice was full of emotion.

“Yeah, or else we’ll have to come looking for you.” Ace said with a smirk, gesturing to himself, Deuce and Grim, who was still sniffling. You could tell he was trying to be the strong one, as the other two were in tears.

You smiled at him - at all of them.

“Thank you guys. For everything.”

Ace’s smile faltered.

Turning around so you wouldn’t have to see them cry, you picked up your bags and stared at the mirror.

You didn’t want to leave.

Everyone had been so kind to you here. There had been ups and downs, but everything had seemed worth it. You were with people who’d walk to the ends of the land for you, and you would do the same for them.

You felt your resolve breaking. You couldn’t leave, you just couldn’t.

Digging deep for some scrap of resolve, you forced one foot in front of the other.

You didn’t look back.

♥Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!♥

[of-apollo]

heya!! hruuu i saw that youre writting for two of my favourite shows wwdits & good omens which is amazing!! but anywho i was wondering if u could write a platonic fic with child!reader x good omens?

where in the fic the reader takes place as the child of an american diplomat?? ( I FORGOT HIS NAME IM SORRY ) but yeah just the dynamic of nanny crowley raising you and the gardener with the silly teeth teaching u to be good i think that could be a cute fic! even tho the reader is not the antichrist in the end they still cherished the moments they all had together

ofc if u choose to ignore this its totally fine!! have a good day!

Aziraphale and Crowley x Child!Reader - Being raised by the Gardener and the Nanny HC’s

Warnings: Nothing, but one mention of killing a spider.

A/N: Love this idea! Gone for HC’s as I feel they fit the request better. This is the first time I’ve actually written for Good Omens, so I hope it’s not too OOC! Enjoy!

It is very important to note that above all else, even above their little scheme, Aziraphale and Crowley truly do care about you.

They found it quite amusing that when they were employed by your parents, Aziraphale was the one they were slightly suspicious of.

It had never happened before, because he was an angel above all else, so everyone trusted him. Crowley pinned it down to his stupidly goofy appearance.

But, when your parents saw you toddling after the gardener whenever he was at work, he quickly began to grow on them.

Aziraphale is definitely more of a positive influence in your life. The second you start following him around the garden, he lectures you about being kind to plants and animals.

He would quietly miracle a squirrel or a butterfly to brighten your day, and he would take time to learn some real gardening skills to teach you.

You begin to love the garden, and it ends up being the place you go whenever you’re down. You don’t even question why the gardener seems to constantly be there.

When you start getting homework, when you start experiencing the drama of friendship and relationships, the gardener is always there when your parents can’t be.

I think while Aziraphale would take care of you, making concoctions when you’re sick and giving you kind words when you’re sad, he’d definitely teach you the fine art of self-care as well.

While Aziraphale is dedicated, he technically can’t always be there, even if he mostly is. He makes sure you know how to take a breather, make a perfect cup of tea, and choose the perfect book to cozy up with depending on what’s got you down that day.

Crowley on the other hand…

It’s not that he wants you to be absolutely devious, but it is kind of his job to at least guide you vaguely in that direction.

While Aziraphale teaches you how to gently scoop up a spider and drop it outside, Crowley is the first to crush one when he sees it.

I think that you’d definitely take more to Aziraphale than Crowley with him being a friendly gardener rather than a nasty, strict nanny.

Crowley would be very strict on things like homework and chores. Even if he didn’t really care for them himself, he knew they got on your nerves.

So, he’d nag you about them relentlessly. Initially, you obliged, because you were young and scared of your nanny. But, as you grew up, you rebelled, ignoring him until you could get the gardener’s help to complete tasks.

Aziraphale and Crowley definitely argued a lot over this, because Aziraphale why are you helping the evil Antichrist?

Even though Crowley constantly told Aziraphale that he was too soft on you, he certainly had his moments.

Whenever you fell, Crowley would always be there to miracle away whatever scrape you’d gotten before you’d even notice.

While Aziraphale could deal with your emotional pain, Crowley could only deal with the physical. And he was committed to that, even if Aziraphale constantly told him that scrapes did not need a miracle, just a plaster.

When you grow up and they realise you are in fact not the Antichrist, they feel incredibly silly.

But, when they look at you and see parts of themselves, like a love for gardening and a kindness to yourself from Aziraphale, and a sharp wit from Crowley, they feel like they haven’t wasted a single second. It was all worth it for you.

Assuming (or praying at this rate) that there are calmer years for them beyond the future of the show, they would for sure keep in touch with you.

They drop off a bit in your teen years, half because of their own issues, but half to let you live your life without their influences.

But, they definitely make up for lost time eventually, and you become one of their most treasured humans over all of the years they’ve existed.

[ruershrimo]

HEEEYYYAAA SWEETHEART

so I saw your Christmas event thingy and wanted to request a #13 with lyney x reader, preferably fluff but not like overly fluff so it becomes cringe (I sound bitchy I'm sorry😭)

Anyways congrats on 2 years on the blog,don't forget to eat and drink, mwah mwah(⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

the christmas mix | #13- baby it’s cold outside | lyney x reader

event masterlist

features lyney

notes: hiii<33!! thank you so much for requesting (and for being the first one too!!) aaaa!! anw I’m so sorry this came so late but I wanted to write something a bit longer (to be honest, I still feel like this one’s pretty incomplete, so I may write a part 2 for it!! I just didn’t want to take too much time so I just want to give this to you first.) and I really wanted it to be good because you seem so sweet aaaa <333. but ANYWAY thank you so much and have a merry christmas, mwah!! lmk if you need a rewrite of this and my apologies if there’s not enough (?) fluff (??) or if it's too short!!

warnings: none, except for the fact that it's fem reader, really (I hope that's okay!!)

summary: (set before the current events of the game) it's in the winter of his first show at the opera epiclese that he meets you. you think you may be falling for this stranger, this all-too-busy magician. it's alright if either of you have to go, though, the two of you can stay together-- it's too cold outside, after all.

The first time you meet him, the both of you are young and he’s a nameless stranger you meet at a friend’s party. You hit it off with him and glass bottles clink against each other before you bring the rim of yours to your lips and sip your fonta. 

“So, what brings you here?” you ask the stranger before you. He’s a new, unheard-of magician, you’ve been told. You think he’s the epitome of what magic should be in a world of surging elemental powers and mythical beings— a perfect mix of misdirection and secrets— with all his charm and mystery, and that little bit of dramatic flair he uses to present himself. 

“My sister and I were invited to perform, it seems,” he explains, taking his own sips in, “And you?” 

“Invited? Why, I just waltzed my way in like most of the others. Do you think I’ll be seeing you up there later, then, Mister…” 

“Lyney. Mister Lyney.” 

“…Mister Lyney.” 

“And you won’t be seeing me, anyway. I’ve told the host that my sister and I must attend to some urgent business concerning our first show at the Opera Epiclese tomorrow.” 

“Hm,” you hum, “The Opera Epiclese, huh? Glad to know I’m speaking to a future big shot. Remember me when your tickets are worth every gem and mora in Fontaine, won’t you? I don’t think I’ll be able to steal each and every one to see you again.” 

“Of course,” he grins, “And you won’t have to steal anything, I promise. Nothing would be worth as much as you.” 

“You’ve a penchant for words, I see. And here I thought budding magicians were often shyer than this…” 

“Our introduction to being in the limelight would not change my occasional sharing of the truth. Then he lays his bottle down on the table, and it’s silent and so very unlike how you thought he would based off your initial impressions of him, and so very different from how anyone else would after drinking fonta. He sets it down quietly, stealthily, as if if he were to clash any louder against the wooden table’s surface he would dart out of the host’s house while the liquid in the bottle barely moves, appearing like creases on a red velvety tablecloth. “But!” he exclaims, “Now I really must get going—” 

His voice is like a twinkle out of a music box, its melody even better than the one bursting out of your friend’s gramophone; his eyes are like a velvet coat that pair well with his cheshire cat-like smile; his hair is silky as it is silvery and you want to run your fingers through it. 

So you don’t want him to go. 

“Leaving so soon?” 

“Well, the magician’s life just so happens to be a busy one, dear [name]—“

“Oh? Mr Lyney, I don’t recall having ever told you my name,” you remark, quirking up a brow and holding him by the wrist as he begins to get up. 

The mister giggles, “I’ve heard of you before, of course. Our host informed me of who you were— and so did everybody else at this lovely soirée. Why, who hasn’t heard of the eccentric, renowned [name]? But I really should get going.” 

“Oh, but won’t you stay? It’s just so dreadfully cold out and it would be a shame if you and your sister were to get sick from the winter winds right before your grand show. Goodness, I’ve heard of the severity of all the snow and hail these days, and even some of my acquaintances have nearly succumbed to hypothermia due to it all!” 

He feigns a sigh, his voice like velvet wrapping around your eyes and ears and engulfing your senses, as he sits down again as you keep a firm grip on his wrist, “Well I hope they’re well into a good recovery, [name], but Lynette and I have the thickest coats and a great tolerance for the cold due to our brief time in Snezhnaya a few years ago—”

You pry a little further. “What got you into Snezhnaya, Mister?” 

“Oh, please, that’s certainly a story for another day—” he starts again, taking hold of his hat. 

“Well even if you wouldn’t like to tell me, Mr Lyney, I must know everything I can about you— everything you’d like me to know— in these few minutes you still have. So, please stay?” 

He sighs again, freeing his hat and his coat. “Alright, since you’ve been such lovely company, perhaps I’ll just stay for one more sip.” 

“Perhaps you could stay for one more bottle?” you cheekily suggest. 

“Five more sips.” 

“Please, just one more bottle…” you suggest again, “And come rain or shine I’ll be sure to come for all your future shows, whether they be in the Epiclese or not. Your first one’s tomorrow, right?” 

“…you, my dear friend, have a deal.” 

You laugh, “That took more convincing than I thought it would.” 

“Well you’re definitely persistent as you are eccentric,” he comments, digging into his pocket to reveal a deck of cards, “Now, allow me to show you a magic trick as we chat through our next bottle…” 

—

“Didn’t think you’d be the Casanova type,” Lynette jabs as he finally exits the building, “So you just left [name] there as she kept talking to you?” 

“Well, you know how things are,” he says. 

He already knows he can’t afford this. He’d been honing his magic for years from the streets to the halls of nobles’ houses to their rooms in the House of the Hearth for the sake of Father’s cause. If he were to let just anyone in, if he were to fall back from that tower of deception and secrecy and let it topple, then— 

“I’m sure that Father would be alright,” she states, a knowing, teasing lilt in her voice, “We won’t even be that late.” 

—

There are a handful of things you know about him by the second time you meet. That he used to perform solely on the streets and was then offered the chance to have a show at the Opera Epiclese after gradually gaining renown over the years; that like the cats he adores, he likes fish dishes; that he and his sister have a younger brother. 

The hall itself seems empty, the hues of each chair blurring together to form a sea of gold and red. 

“Why, it seems we meet again!” a voice echoes from behind you, then softer, it goes, “You’re earlier than I thought you’d be, though. And in the front seat.” 

“I know,” you smile, torso twisted, “I wanted to be extra early. And don’t ask how I got to the front seat, would you?” 

(In truth, you’d purchased it from someone who wouldn’t be available and was selling their front seat ticket at a much lower price than it should have been. No theft had occurred.) 

He moves in front of you. “To talk to me once more, I assume?” 

You pause and hum, tilting your head in an acted-out thought process. “Of course.” 

“Well,” he starts, “I still have more things to get ready backstage, and more props and tricks to prepare, so I don’t think I’ll be able to.” 

“Oh, I don’t mind, go ahead—”

He panics. “—But it’s you, so I’ll make some time. About five minutes, possibly— in truth, I do have a trick for you, dear [name],” he says, the words pouring out of him like a magician’s trick of pulling out an infinite number of differently coloured silks sewn together from his pocket. 

You lean forward in interest, and you try not to notice the barely audible gasp threat’s pulled from his lungs as he almost unwillingly backs away, then schools himself again. Maybe you were leaning in too much? “Show me, then,” you say. 

“Alright, then,” he begins, “I have a flower in my hands, and—oh? It’s disappeared!” he narrates, the sun-coloured flower vanishing with a flick of his hand. 

You raise a brow. 

“Now, have you noticed anything near your ear?” 

“My ear—?” Then to your surprise, you feel something tickling at the skin between your scalp and your ear, finding a whole stem tucked behind it. You pluck the flower away, bringing it to your nose and inhaling its scent. “Well, wouldn’t you know.” 

He giggles, “Do you like it?” 

“I do,” you reply, “I just thought you would’ve used a rainbow rose instead. But I love marcottes, too— they have such a sweet, light scent. Marcottes symbolise purity and sincere care,” you recite from a book you’d read, “And rainbow roses… well.” 

“Why, I’ve never learned of the language of flowers before,” he remarks, “…but I can start.” 

“Oh, really? Well, I don’t want you to take up too much of your time— a magician’s life is a busy one, no?”

“I suppose we all have to trade the time we have for something we care about no matter how little of it we have.” 

“Hm, I suppose so. Now, go—! Ten minutes have passed, mister!” 

“Oh—? But I’ve one more thing I need to say, dear [name],” he hurries, taking your hand and lightly pecking it, then letting his lips go and keeping your hands together, “You should stay later. It’s too cold outside for anyone to leave, but… if you need it, once everyone has left, you’re always welcome to stay and bask in the heating the Epiclese provides. Lynette and I will have to stay here for a while after, anyway.” 

You grin at his invitation— or his request, maybe. “I will.” 

“And, Lyney?” you call right as he turns back to face you again. “You’re always welcome to visit me in my own home.” 

You scribble your address on a piece of paper as people start to trickle in. It’s as if there are half as many people as there should be. It’s a sour thought, and, hopefully, in his next show, there’ll be more people.

The marcotte is tucked tightly between your index finger and thumb for the whole show. You bring its petals to your lips when the show is over. 

You hand the paper to Lyney after and you praise his show as you bid him farewell. You leave only a second earlier than he does with Lynette in tow. 

—

In the frigid winter weather, Lyney heads out, shivering, and buys a bouquet of rainbow roses as well as a book on the floral language of Fontaine. 

—

The show actually turns out to be a smashing success among the people who had watched it. The names Lyney and Lynette appear on the Steambird three days after the show, and you have the pleasure of reading an article about it, with details on a trick involving water and fireworks, written by one journalist Charlotte. 

The same day you read it, you open your door to see a bouquet of rainbow roses near your doorstep, hoisted and kept upright by the edge of the door and the wall. 

You wonder how they could have stayed alive without freezing, but you take it in. You already know who it’s from, even though there’s no name, no address— nothing. Nothing besides a note in elegant, cursive handwriting, saying “Thank you for coming.”

A dig through your house finally reveals an old vase of your parents’, a gorgeous, transparent vase of glass with patterns of roses embellishing it near the bottom that you trace with your fingers. You fill it with some tap water, remove the wrapping around the flowers, and place them in the vase. 

They rest near your bed and though the days are getting colder your heart warms at the sight of them every morning. 

So as it gets cold outside you think you’re falling for the all-too-busy magician, with his mystery and his tricks and his beautiful silver hair and violet eyes. 

You ought to invite him sometime during Christmas. And hopefully you can keep him for a while, too, as the fireplace crackles. It’ll be too cold outside, anyway. 

event taglist (please send an ask if you'd like to be added!):

wishing everyone a merry christmas ♡!

[banditsregina]

|| THE QUEEN OF THE FAERIES ||

requested by @biscuitboxpink

[phoxphenex]

temporarily closing requests cause i’ve got like 80 in my queue 😭😭

[jamjjamm]

Sam winchester boards please

absolutely!!! i'm not one to deny sammy!! you're moodboard is added to my queue and should be posted in a few days!!

[simleez]

so this youtube video: watch?v=1_pWd0ex-ps . at around 0:18 when Jake is smiling. if you want to make a set instead of just one gif, you can pair it with the part at 2:01 when he's looking at something. they have similar lighting and angles. but it's up to you, whatever you think looks good :) thank you

here you go <3 i hope you like it

— tris

[twst-beam]

May I request Etoile giving Everiu a high five?

most certainly

that is.. if everiu knew how..

textless version because i like how it turned out:

[booskwan]

happy two years! your blog is one of my favourites. i love your creations so much 💛 as for request, would you mind choosing between Seungkwan in cardigans or Seungkwan in suits? thank you!

hi!! thank you so much that's so sweet <3333 i'm so sorry this took so long 😭 here you go!

[spikezonebby]

hi !! saw requests for song fics are open, may I request something angsty with fem!human!reader x megatron (idw) to ‘young and beautiful’ by lana del rey ? 🥹 <3 thank you in advancee

Young and Beautiful (IDW Megatron x Fem!Human!reader)

Word count: 1,070

Eighty years. Humans lived for a measly eighty years.

You change right before Megatron’s optics. Your hair grays, your skin sags, your bones grow thinner. Like the very universe was sapping you away from him. Vector Prime alone could grant him all the time he needed to write a poem about all of the moments he lived with you.

But how could he begin to write when every time he picked up his stylus, you were that much further from him? He longed to capture the feeling of you and immortalize it in a data pad, but then you’d touch your tiny, soft servo along his gray bottom lip plate and take him away. Remind him that you were his moment. Here for a second, gone in a blink.

You flare, you flicker, you fade.

You asked him once, if he’d love you even after you weren’t so soft. You weren’t so pretty. And your mind wasn’t as intact as it once was.

Megatron’s answer was immediate.

“Even once the spark of your life extinguishes, and I won’t stop even for a klik after.”

You may have lamented the way time and age changed you, but Megatron learns to see unique beauty in it. There was something beautiful in a life lived so long that you COULD age, it was a promise of peace and resilience. You lived, you fought, you came back again and again. A force so strong that it took time itself to put you down.

Megatron thought that was romantic. Not in the way of kisses in summer or dancing in the moonlight, but the cosmic way. In the way that atoms and space dust collect together and become new stars, or how he realizes, in the grand scheme of things, so, so many tiny and nearly impossible things had to happen for you to be his.

As you grew older, you grew more rapt by his poetry. You blamed it on growing old and sentimental, he argued you were always sentimental. You had always found it fascinating, but Megatron believed that perhaps you took some comfort in it.

“Do you think, because I love you… I’ll be there in the Afterspark waiting for you?”

You were resting against his neck cables, curled up between his shoulder armor and helm vents like a tiny glitch mouse. The ardent heat of energon pulsing up the lines of his throat felt good and helped soothe some of the arthritis in your hands. He had to rest his chin on his servo, propping his helm up at an angle to keep from squishing you, but he hadn’t the spark to stop you.

It’s a question that he’d pondered many times. For he who often pondered the nature of all things grand, the question of life after death was a philosophist’s energon and mineral tablets. 

“You do not have a spark,” He points out, shifting his helm minutely to a position slightly more comfortable for you to tuck yourself under, “So I would not expect you to be held to the same rules and expectations of Primus.”

“But, your God is real.” You raise as a counterpoint, “Any proof that various human gods are real could be considered dubious at best.”

“That is a point for the high queries of gods, but what of your lack-there-of spark?”

“What is a spark but life?” You offer, gesturing with your hands and making the round shape of a spark before your breast. Megatron loathed to move you from your warm perch, so instead he tips the data pad in his servo so he can see your tiny reflection. You look comfortable, hidden securely in his collar fairings. “Perhaps I DO have a spark, but it’s simply just a different form. After all, energy cannot be destroyed. It merely changes form.”

You chuckle, knocking your knuckles against his neck cables. “Julius Robert Mayer.”

“A human philosopher?” Megatron asks, setting his datapad aside to instead settle for reaching up and touching his digit to your lap. You take the hint immediately, and hold his huge digit between your two itty bitty hands. 

“Founder of the laws of energy conservation. Suppose most of us are philosophers in some way, though.”

You have to be, with lives so short and bright. Megatron keeps that thought private to himself, gently rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand. You were feeling thinner and thinner these days. He hoped you ate well enough.

“So, what have we come to the conclusion of in this conversation?” You prompt, bringing back your point, “That there is no true way to say I do not have a spark, and that it’s ultimately far more likely that Primus and his Afterspark wait for me than say… The Christian or Hebrew concept of God.”

“For there are too many to count.”

“For there are too many to count.” You agree, “But it is the most commonly applicable and the most similar to Primus.”

“But,” Megatron clicks his glossa, a smile coming to his face. He loved it so  when he could have these in-depth conversations with you. “That is also dismissing that humanity is a much younger culture than Cybertron was. Perhaps you will find proof that these things are indeed true, or perhaps something you had not even considered. Perhaps in the afterlife, you will have a veritable plethora of ‘heavens’ to choose from.”

“Then I’d choose to wait for you.” You say, “Or I’d choose some religion where I’d be reborn and I could fall in love with you again.”

“You could live again, redo all of the things you had missed. Unmake all of your mistakes.”

“You talk as if I considered you a mistake.”

He feels your tiny, cool lips press to the pulsing line of energon that is connected directly to his spark chamber. You laugh, giddy and sounding just as young as you were when he first met you. There’s a well of emotion there in his chest and, if not for millions of years of carefully cultivated control, he might have sobbed.

Instead, he settles for curling the whole of his huge, warm servo against your body, and recording this moment for all of time. The moment he writes on his spark that you wanted to be his in any life.

“I suppose it is not a mistake then, if you do not regret it.”

[toodrunktofindaurl]

exes 🖤

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