#Almost get sucked all the joy of Transformers

[halenhusky309]

Damn, leaving Twitter and abandoning TF Twitter is the best decision ever. I never realized TF Fandom on Twitter is so miserable and obnoxious.

Also, Transformers One stans on Twitter are speed-running to be the most toxic TF fans ever.

[delta-pavonis]

Dreamling Week 2024 Day 4

Dreamling Week 2024 Day 4 Prompts (from @mr-sadman): shapeshifter, storm, finger food, dirty

Dreamling || Rated M || 751 words

tags (other than the prompts above): fantasy, urban fantasy, solarpunk, drow druid/sorcerer Dream, half wood elf bard/gunsmith Hob, investigator partners with a history, they get captured and held for days as torture, escape from torture, cannibalism metaphors for love, discussion of taking joy in revenge

In chronological order: Day 2, Day 1, Day 3

Day 4 comes soon after Day 3

They crawl out of the cave system into a raging thunderstorm. Might as well be a hurricane for how the wind is blowing the rain and trees sideways. However, the sight of cypress trees and the salty smell of the ocean limits the possible places that they have been taken to. 

“Holy shit we're in Port Essen!” Hob gasps in breathless laughter. When Dream looks at him he is smiling, almost glowing, underneath all the dirt and grime and soil and debris they are covered with, that is all rapidly turning to mud as the forceful winds and driving rain wash them clean. He looks to Dream and it is like the sun has risen, warmth diffusing through Dream's skin. “I grew up here!”

That raises a red flag in the back of Dream's mind–he doesn't believe in coincidences. 

“We need to move. Get as far away as possible. Fast. Get on.” Dream doesn't say more, doesn't explain, just grabs some of the reedy dunegrass at his feet and pops it into his mouth as he makes the appropriate hand motions. 

Hob lets out a yelp as Dream transforms into a dire elk, huge and black. He wouldn't be able to fly in such rain and he has no meat for a spell component, so his dragon form is out; the elk will give Hob a smoother ride over the widest variety of terrain. 

Once fully shifted Dream drops onto folded legs, but that still means his back is at about the height of a horse, so he angles his head towards Hob to lend an antler for leverage.

Luckily Hob catches on quickly, hefting himself up onto Dream with a grunt. “West,” he says as he buries his hands in the ruff of thick fur around Dream's neck, “We’ll hit forest and freshwater fastest if we go west.”

Dream stands, looks back at Hob once to make sure he is settled, and then leaps into action. Hob lets out another yelp the first time Dream lands from a bound, but he sets a rhythm and the bard in Hob cues onto it almost immediately. 

Then he outright laughs.

“Dream,” he whispers into his fur, must be leaning over to get so close to his ear, “you are amazing, dove.”

Dream would laugh as well, if he could. 

He has never had a rider before, not in any shifted form he has taken, and that it is Hob on his back, moving fluidly with him, legs around him, clinging to him… well. Apparently one doesn’t need wings to fly.

But first they need to disappear. They need to get gone and regroup and get food and maybe bathe in a cold stream and start assembling their meager knowledge of their captors so that they can send out feelers for information and start the tedious process of revenge. 

Because Dream will eat their hearts raw for making this the bower in which he tells Hob the nature of Dream’s connection to him. He will make them watch as he sucks the marrow from their living bones for how they have treated his Mate. He cares not that he himself has been tortured; Dream has done more than enough terrible things in his life to have earned such an experience. But Hob? No. He will not let them survive this insult.

However, getting to that point, when he will be able to revel in the suffering of those who caused so much of the same, will take time. Dream is always thorough in his planning.

And while they wait, keeping to the shadows and gathering their knowledge and power, Dream will sup upon his Mate. He will devour the finest meal he will ever have. Savor the small pieces that he can pick up between his fingers and drop into his mouth and lick from under his fingernails. Drink long draughts of pleasure of Hob’s body and thereby nourish his own soul. Dream has been starving and did not know it, did not really understand what he was missing, until his body was weakened by the captivity and his mind sharpened by the pain his Mate experienced. 

Dream vaults over some rocky ground, avoiding it completely, and then as they crest a hill the treeline comes into sight and he could cry for the relief of it. Within the embrace of the forest Dream will have all the tools he needs to keep them safe. And then he can look towards the future.

[fonulyn]

After one more slow kiss Piers brushed his lips down Leon’s cheek, to the line of his jaw, playfully sucking a mark right under his ear. Leon wasn’t that into hickeys, because they were a pain to cover up, but he did nothing to stop Piers anyway, just grinning as he gently elbowed Piers to remind him. As if to apologize, Piers licked over the spot, pressing his smile into Leon’s neck. “How long do you think we can cuddle before I get a boner?”

That immediately startled a laugh from Leon. That, right there, was one more thing Leon loved about Piers. There was laughter in his life now. Happiness. Joy. As an answer to the question he just hummed, unable to stop smiling, and shifted almost experimentally to rub himself against Piers. “I don’t know,” he then finally answered with actual words, too. “Depends on how well I tired you out last night.”

-- Or, they really, really missed each other.

[soulessjourney]

Autumn's Whispered Secrets

Summary: Fall has finally made its appearance in Velaris. Once a year the Night Court hosts a large event once a year called the "Autumn Elegance Gala." This year, however, it seemed as though the event held a deeper meaning for you and a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 2.2k

Velaris was already beautiful, but when autumn arrived, the city transformed into a new spectacle. Stores adorned their windows with artificial orange leaves, pumpkins adorned almost every doorstep, and the air was infused with the scents of spice and pumpkin pie. The festive atmosphere was truly remarkable.

Today marked a special occasion, much like Starfall. It was a day when many gathered to celebrate the arrival of fall. Children roamed the streets, dressed as ghosts and ghouls, their laughter reverberating off the city's buildings.

Small arms encircled your leg as a young boy looked up at you, his eyes sparkling. "Auntie Y/N, are you going to join us for the festival today? Mother mentioned she had spoken to you!" You picked up Nyx and playfully tapped his nose with a wide smile as you listened to his enthusiastic chatter about the various events scheduled for the day. He was the spitting image of Rhysand and had the vibrant personality of your longtime friend, Feyre.

"Well, little Nyx, I suppose I can join you all today since you asked so nicely," you replied, grinning and gently tickling the boy's side. Your smile widened as his laughter filled the air, and Nyx never failed to brighten your day, particularly when you had been burdened with the paperwork assigned to you by his father. This little boy had a knack for spreading joy, even on the toughest days.

"Uncle Az will be thrilled to hear that you're coming. He kept saying he wouldn't go unless you did," Nyx shared, his grin lighting up his face. Nyx had no filter, and there was no keeping secrets around him.

Laughing softly, you set the small boy down and affectionately ruffled his hair. "Well, I'm sure Uncle Azriel would have gone even if I couldn't make it," you teased, your heart fluttering at Nyx's words. Placing a hand over your chest, you made your way to your room to start getting ready for the day's events.

-----

Your eyes couldn't help but wander as you and the Inner Circle strolled through the streets of Velaris. Nyx, running ahead, urged everyone to walk faster. You snapped out of your reverie when Mor fell into step beside you, slinging an arm over your shoulders.

"You've got someone who won't stop staring. I'm pretty sure he's going to burn holes into the back of your head at this rate," she said with a snicker. Glancing over your shoulder, you turned to see who she was referring to, and sure enough, Azriel had his gaze locked on you. When your eyes met, you quickly turned your attention forward, feeling a blush creep onto your face.

"I swear both of you know you're mates, so why don't you just make a move already," Mor grumbled, looking down at you.

You sucked in a deep breath and clicked your tongue. "Because, Mor, he's interested in Elain, and that's not a fire I'm willing to play with," you replied, shrugging off Mor's arm. It was true. You had been aware of the bond for the past few months but had never made an effort to bring it up. Azriel seemed smitten with Elain, and it was clear from the way he looked at her that he was falling for her. You didn't want to interfere or force his hand just because of the bond. If Azriel had any intentions with you, you'd leave it up to him to make the first move.

The moment you all stepped into the town square, you let out a loud gasp. It was utterly beautiful. Small wooden booths were set up around the square, with merchants selling their goods to families and couples. The square was brightly lit and vibrant, filled with people laughing and chatting with one another. It never failed to take your breath away. Everyone here seemed genuinely happy to be around each other, and you loved that atmosphere. Looking around, you noticed that your family had dispersed to explore the booths or entertain the small child who ruled your group.

Someone fell in step next to you, and you jumped. "Looks like it's just us," Azriel said, his voice low as he nervously glanced around. Something inside you fluttered at the sound of his voice, which had a deep, sultry quality. Every time you heard him speak, your stomach did somersaults. As he stood beside you, you noticed how tense he was, his eyes darting around the square.

"Are you scared of crowds, Azriel?" you asked, laughter escaping your lips. It would be something new to witness, the Shadow Singer scared of crowds. You couldn't miss the blush that tinged his tan skin as he looked away from you. He was embarrassed, and that only made you laugh harder.

"I'm not scared, just surveilling the area to make sure nothing could hurt Nyx," he replied, clearing his throat. His shoulders tensed as a couple walked by, getting a bit too close for his comfort. Slipping your hand into his, you chose to ignore the look of shock he sent your way as you guided him through the square, pointing out various charms and clothing items for sale. Spending time with Azriel made the bond between you hum with happiness, but you kept trying to suppress it.

As you weaved in and out of the different booths, you suddenly came to a halt, causing the taller male to bump into your smaller frame. There, an array of hair clips lay, each one catching your eye. With how often Mor dressed you to the nines, you wanted a hairpiece to complement your attire. As your eyes scanned the table, they landed on a white floral hair clip. The gold accents perfectly complemented the white flowers, making it a truly beautiful piece. Seeing that your gaze lingered, Azriel reached down and picked up the hair clip. He turned you to face him, gently brushing your hair away from your face and neck. His rough fingers brushed against your skin, setting your senses on fire. As he placed the clip into your hair, he held your gaze, and the space between you two slowly decreased.

"You look beautiful," he whispered, brushing his nose against yours. Just as you began to lean up, Mor's voice rang out from a few feet away. You jumped away from Azriel, smiling, and handed him the clip just as Mor approached.

"Sorry to interrupt your date, but your dress is ready for tonight, Y/N, and little Nyx is starting to fall asleep. Feyre wants us to head back and start getting ready," Mor announced as she pulled you along. Glancing back at Azriel, you gave him a small wave, not missing the look of longing in his hazel eyes.

-----

Music filled the building, accompanied by lively chatter. Bodies swayed in the middle of the room, and conversations buzzed on the sides. Mor clung to your arm as you descended the stairs, your dress flowing behind you. She had truly outdone herself with the dress, knowing it was both beautiful and alluring enough to turn heads. The gown had a golden hue with a long slit running up your right leg, teasing every time you walked. The design on the right shoulder resembled leaves, cascading from your hip over your shoulder. It was an absolutely stunning dress, and Mor's effort made you feel grateful to have her as a friend.

As you stepped onto the floor, you spotted the Inner Circle standing just off to the side, sharing laughter over something Cassian had said. Nesta playfully smacked his arm. But your eyes were drawn to Azriel, his hair slicked back, exposing part of his forehead. The suit he wore accentuated his figure in the best possible way. Your cheeks grew warm at the sight of him, and the bond pulled you closer to your mate, urging for contact.

Stopping next to Feyre, gasps escaped the group as they looked at you. "Damn, Y/N, you clean up well. That dress knows how to showcase your curves," Cassian said, earning a scowl and another smack from Nesta.

"You look lovely this evening. Please excuse Cassian; we all know he lacks a filter," Nesta said, sending a scowl toward Cassian. You laughed and thanked her before mingling with your group. You felt a tug on the bond and turned your attention to Azriel. He signaled you to follow him, and you excused yourself to join him on the balcony.

Once outside, Azriel presented a small box. "I wanted to give this to you. It seemed like you loved it, and it suited you well," he said, passing you the box. When you opened it, you gasped at the sight of the hair clip he had put in your hair earlier that day. "Here, let me," he said gently, taking the clip and turning you around. He slid it into your hair and smiled, his hands gently caressing your shoulders. "Perfect," he whispered into your ear.

Turning back toward the Shadow Singer, you gave him a small smile. "Thank you, I'll be sure to wear it well," you teased, scanning him once again. Part of you wondered what things would be like if you had confessed to Azriel the moment you felt the bond snap into place. Would you be together and happy? Would you constantly worry about his closeness to Elain? You contemplated talking to him and seeing where things might lead. You glanced back at Azriel, who looked at you with longing in his eyes, yearning for a kiss. Grabbing his hand, you pulled him onto the dance floor, dancing together as one. "I'm sure you know about the bond between us, but why haven't you said anything?" you asked, looking up at Azriel.

He hummed, taking a moment to find the right words. "I didn't want to force you. You've been dealing with things since the last mission Rhys sent you on, and I didn't want to push the mating bond onto you. It wouldn't have been fair to you, especially if you weren't ready," he explained, his hand resting on the small of your back. "Why haven't you said anything about the mating bond?" he inquired.

You mumbled, "Well, you were close with Elain, and I didn't want to intrude on your relationship with her." Your eyes landed on Elain, who watched you both from across the room, jealousy apparent.

Ever since Elain joined the Inner Circle, tension had built between you and Azriel. She turned it into a competition, trying to prove who knew him better or who could hold his attention longer, so you had pulled away. "I didn't want to force the bond onto you either, especially if you chose Elain in the end," you admitted.

Azriel chuckled, drawing you closer. "Elain is a sweet girl, but she's not someone I'm interested in. I'm only there to help make her stay here more manageable," he said, cupping your cheek. "Cassian has been pestering me for a month to open up to you and discuss the mating bond. Every time I tried, I was sent on a mission or you were whisked away by Mor or Rhysand," he grumbled. "I'm tired of fighting this bond, and I want to embrace it. I want to fall asleep next to you and wake up in your arms. I want to listen to you complain about the reports Rhysand keeps giving you. I want to hold you when you wake from a nightmare and be the one you go to when you're having a bad day. I want to be the one who tells you that I love you every minute of every day."

Azriel's words took you by surprise. You had never imagined he wanted all of that. You always felt like you came second when it came to Elain. Hearing his words made your heart swell. "I want that too, Az. I want to feel your touch and kiss you during my lowest moments. I want to share my secrets and frustrations. I want to come to you when I'm having a bad day and just lie in your arms. I want to be there to welcome you home after a mission and tell you how much I missed you," you whispered, leaning into his hand on your cheek. "I want to be yours because I'm deeply and utterly in love with you."

Azriel smiled and leaned down to kiss you. The bond hummed with happiness at the touch of your lips, making you feel complete after months of emptiness. The kiss felt like it lasted an eternity, yet it was over all too soon. Brushing his nose against yours, Azriel smiled. "I love you too, more than you'll ever know," he whispered, giving you another gentle kiss.

"Bet you fifty bucks he gets laid tonight," Cassian whispered to Nesta. They were standing a few feet away, with the rest of the Inner Circle, watching you both.

"Cassian, if you don't shut your mouth, you're going to be the one who doesn't get laid," Nesta retorted, causing the others to laugh and Rhysand to pat the disheartened Cassian on the back.

Looking over at the scene, you and Azriel laughed at the sight before turning back to each other. "Should we head home? I make a mean pumpkin pie, and given how you devoured that one over there, I'm sure you're craving more," you teased. Azriel let out a hearty laugh and leaned down to kiss you once again.

[des-no9]

take me back

Orpheus/Voss E 1.9k Where reality, dream and memory collide. What one do they really want? Tags: unhealthy relationships, oral sex, angst

Inspired by my dear friend @unaarista's beautiful art of Orpheus and Voss of the kiss prompt I sent her. Art is also included in the fic. Hope you all enjoy. Sorry it got sad <333

Full below cut including translation of tir used, or read it on AO3 here.

There was always something to Voss that had made Orpheus want to drop to his knees, to proclaim him my Prince, my mar. Sometimes t'var felt so contained on his tongue as he spoke it now against his one good ear (had scratched into the soreness of his other with the edge of his nail, wheeling the small lines of tir'su into his ravaged flesh, watching the way he'd squirmed, breathy, decadent in the pain to pain).

From that first vision of him as a challenger in the fighting pit. So tall, sinewy. Unafraid to belittle and harm the Prince, when so many had been hesitant. Voss hadn't held back in any of his punches that day, flooring Orpheus, tight between his thin thighs, but power. Orpheus felt comfortable stuck between them, beneath.

He was supposed to be fighting against submission that day. Instead he would give it all to Voss, from knees, from hands, from the last drop of my blood to you—

Their gaze hangs over the lightless Prism, heavy and sunk between Voss’ knees.

Vanquish had kept it. Attachment formed for what it had given, taken from her. Voss had asked for it back, useless to her now but a trinket, memento.

She'd seen the real meaning in his eyes. The way his touch had brushed over her hand instead of the Prism. An ask. A gentle ask from her beast. It was almost time to part, and letting go of the Prism was just the first farewell.

"And what do I get to take from you," she'd said, voice low, a rasp, clutching so hard to the Prism with him she'd near bled.

No words, no kiss. Had closed his eyes, dragged his sore forehead against hers, smearing a line of dirt, blood. Had wanted to say "all I can give" but what foolish sentiment for an istik.

"You kept me alive in there," says Orpheus, shaking Voss from the memory, of the promise to come back for her tonight, for that long goodbye, goodbye—

Voss feels Orpheus' knees dip down beside him. Hears the quickness in his breath that shouldn't be there; the too fast of a heartbeat; the suck of his teeth for muscles that ache, not moved in millennia.

"A version of me."

Armour, leathers long discarded. Just skin to furs and the stale air of their tent, a cocoon behind to the muffled joy beyond. The stir and embers of freedom, and for some the peeling of disbelief, of a new dawn, new life once inconceivable.

Voss turns to Orpheus, slow. Feels his touch fumble across bare chest, protruding bones, skin that sags, is sore.

You were inconceivable, he thinks, this touch so long a ghost, a marker of my dreams my waking wish. But now—

"You're here," the words slip out, unintended. A broken husk against his throat as his eyes dart around the visage of his Prince, of Orpheus, of the one he pummelled into the ground the day they met, bloodied and beautiful, z'varc z'varc on my tongue in my heart on your face.

"I am here."

"And just the same as that day I lost you."

Orpheus listens. Watches.

Voss runs a hand through Orpheus' beard, soft within, ends ragged. "I am a stranger." Before Orpheus can speak, Voss drags fingers along Orpheus' mouth, claws catching lips, threatening to cut. "Even to myself."

Then anger. Then a snap of that beautiful power and swell of rage as he feels Orpheus' psionics snap around his arm, as it smothers his fingers, lines of lust and fury, of sha va zai forgotten, now found.

"Then let me remind you of who you really are," he hisses, a firm fury of a hand wrapping around the edge of Voss' jaw, fang nipping at a scar he does remember.

Presses his tongue against it. Old and faded. Stale.

Voss' eyes dip down, teeth part bared as if preparing to snap.

Then feels Orpheus' tongue lap along the fresh and deep wounds on his cheek. Hisses at the touch, hisses at the deep warmth of tongue to flesh, at the prickles of his psionsics he feels underneath the pads of his fingers, and the pricks of his nails.

Here, he tastes fresh and flesh. Like raw meat he could bite down to eat. A tang and almost sweet. Dedication drips in these wounds, knees to the ground. Up up their walkway to the ragged chew of his ear. Rough and like it had been torn off with teeth.

Teeth that now scrape the edge of it, then tongue, wet flesh wrapping around the soreness that twitches. Orpheus knew Voss disliked his ears being touched. But maybe he didn't anymore. Had to make sure.

How much of you is memory, how much of you remains. He knows the question stings in Voss' mind too. Hears it too loud from the fringes of Voss' thoughts. It had been difficult to contain his power since freedom. You could say atrophy, but he was just stale. Stale.

Orpheus hears Voss sneer. Feels the angle of his head as he half pulls away, half pushes into his touch. Grins delighted at the visceral reality to the touch against his ear.

Real. It's real.

Breathes deep, smelling his swollen slit, wet and desperate, his scent always giving him away first. Unique and strong against a githyanki tongue, Orpheus had always thought.

A stray thought as he wonders what he tastes like to an istik tongue, a familiar mla'ghir tongue.

He licks Voss' scar harder. Rougher. Teeth scoring lines on lines–

Feels a hand wind around the back of his neck. Gentle. Firm. Grounding, like he'd always been. Something his psionics sought to tether to. A beacon that blared, called for him. That light that warned him of the shore, that reminded him there was one.

Their eyes connect, and Orpheus feels her name on the edge of Voss' mind. It's a bruise. A beautiful bruise he wants to press. To see the pain it pulls, to see the colour it blooms. Wants to wound it again to make it last.

Knows she already will. Her name soundless between them. Wonders for how long.

Squeezes his eyes shut, snaps back Voss' head, finds a scar he doesn't know, and licks.

Licks the feeling of its ragged skin. Deep down as he feels the rapid beat of his hearts, wondering why the scar is there. Making up his own story, his own mind. Will ask later. Doesn't matter now.

Voss on his back, lost in furs and the visage of his Prince above, hands roaming over skin he'd inked several times as his own. Bathed in ink and blood and washed his own face with it, licked lips clean of the baptism of his Prince from head, to toe. Would bathe in his body if he could. Will one day if he has to.

Deep claw marks over chest. Two harder than the third. A smaller hand than Voss, than Orpheus. But not fresh, not her. Wonders who, why. Follows the shape of his tongue with a touch of his own. And down.

Cut of a sword on your stomach, taut and old, bones like keys of an instrument, like broken blocks of stone protruding from an old building, worn, weathered.

Hands rove, reading what's left of him protruding through ancient skin. Leathery and taut. Stretched like hide in places, sagging in others, fingers sliding through the folds of skin stamped in age in spots of fade.

Lower.

He'd seen this scar earlier as they'd undressed. Curiosity, heart wild at its beauty.

Impatience as he feels the tip first. Shallower here, to down. Down where it's deeper as it drags over his slit, swollen, parting, tongue lashing over the ridges of his cock pressing against his slit as it widens.

He feels Voss' back arch, bones and elbows and mess of his hair scouring into the fur beneath as Orpheus licks, as some sort of love drips through the way he moves.

Hands spread legs, rough. Pushing aside his thigh as if meaningless. Feels a constellation of scars beneath his palm. Tries to count them. Loses number back to one when he rolls his tongue back over Voss' cunt, wet and warm and the only fucking thing that makes sense.

Voss dips up. Loud. Face freer, drawls a moan, restless hand over prickly skin.

What Orpheus doesn't know, was Voss had become a contained lover. Sounds restrained, methodical in his motions. Power. Beauty.  Orpheus knows the youth of him. The wildness of unleashed, no burden but the one we make.

Now, Voss acts strange to himself, but to Orpheus it's like always, like when we were us, skin and blood and the stars above, the water around us, laughter and death between our toes.

It drives him wild. Grounds him. Makes him whole.

Digs his tongue deep. Deeper. Feels the coil of Voss' cocks, digs his tongue between them. Keeps them there, as he rolls his tongue along the edges of his slit. Of the folds that turn to scar tissue. To the rough skin that would bleed an istik (did she bleed when you fucked her).

Voss snaps Orpheus' head up, hearing the stray thought bleed in his psionics, brush against his own mind.

"Va." It's breathy. A crack in Voss' throat. A sound that makes Orpheus smile. Lines of saliva and sweet cum lining lips, tongue.

Dips back down. Sees the tip of Voss' cocks peek out, dripping cum, their edges rough and starlit in the notches of his barbs.

A refusal as he pushes them back in with his tongue. Feels a whine of protest in noise, in motion as Voss arches of the furs, hissing a curse, clawing a scathe over his Prince's head.

But a smile on his face.

He trembles. Ears twitching.

Orpheus can feel him so close so quick. Presses a hand hard down on his pelvis, feels the motion of his cocks as they move inside, refused; as his tongue languishes against their swollen flesh, rough barbs. As he realises just how far and deep and wide this scar went.

He'll ask why soon. It doesn't matter. It just matters that it's there. A z'var'zai. From head to cock to cunt to toe.

Presses harder with his hand--

Rougher, with his tongue--

And soaks in the sweetness of his cum, and the noise of his moan.

Hands smear it further. Paints his scars and spots. Kisses blotches on his stomach, chest, to face.

Crawls up. Hovers above a shaky body, looks down at a knight, a constant, the light to his shore, the star to his home.

"Do you really think I've not changed?" says Orpheus, quiet, dipping down low, the words almost not there.

Voss, breathless. Sweat soaked saliva wet, closes his eyes, reaches out to feel the edges of Orpheus' face, claws skimming the slide of his ear, the silver of his piercings, the exact lines where he knows his tattoos cut. Remembers counting the dots as he'd inked him. The taste of ink, and blood.

Breathes. Feels more down his neck, shoulders. The walkway of his back. More he knows through the blind bliss of black, through the voice of his touch, infallible.

Voss doesn't speak.

Just a kiss

"Voss?"

a kiss a kiss

take me back to the night we met

a kiss

---

Tir used in 'take me back'

mar - all, everything mla'ghir - liberator t'var - my one, my star sha va zai - I love you va - yes, acknowledgement z'varc - blood wild; bleed me dry, fuck me wet z'var'zai - worth of blood; blood beauty. Aka, seeing beauty in someone's wounds/scars.

[sourtomatola]

Taking Candy for a Fool Part 16

The boys began to scarf down the bounty of treats you have brought to them. You watched as they eagerly delve in, occasion letting out a grateful, blissful moan at the flavor and texture of real food beyond the garbage syrup that kept their grown and joy at bay.

Once the fruit was gone, they reached for the honey, but held it a moment in contemplation.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

“We want to share…the other’s need it…and we really need the others right now.” Sun said, in a strangely calm yet, foreshadowing tone.

“W…what do you mean?” You frowned, now feeling worried.

You gasped in shock and stepped back when seeing the boy’s forms began to change. Sun’s rays stretched and every edge of him started to sharpen like a candy cane sucked down to a point. Moon’s hat grew and twirled, twisting and pieces of liquorice coming away, waving in sentience, and whipping around.

The drops on their wrists began to deform, becoming lumpy and odd shaped. The one on Moon’s hat started to grow larger, becoming almost like a mace. Their arms and legs grew, gaining in their length and lankiness.

You fell to the floor as the terrifying beings that were once you friends. They looked down at you, but a gentle hand from each helped you stand.

“Go…leave the factory…we don’t want you to watch this.” Moon’s gravelly voice had dropped into a deep rumble.

“…w-watch what?” You asked softly.

“Revenge.” Sun spoke, voice also dropping in pitch. They both then began to lumber out of the room on all fours as they barely fit in the room anymore.

You watched for a minute, shock and awe filling you even after your friends had left the room. You couldn’t move for the longest time. You had never expected them to transform, and now they were off to…rampage you supposed. They deserved it. To go avenge their dear friend, and get revenge for the endless nights of pain.

You couldn’t move until you hear the first loud sound. You flinched from the loud crash and screaming. You weren’t sure if the harvesters were still at work on the others, or just clocking out, but you knew you should just get the heck out of the factory while you still had the chance!

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[tornrose24]

I was asked how Molly being a temporary vampire would work, especially if I more than hinted that she’d likely defeat the Head Vampire in my Vampire AU. I needed to think on this to figure out the story.

As said before, the Chairman is the Head Vampire in this AU. He’s so old that he doesn’t look human anymore (possibly more like a corpse) and the sunlight will instantly kill him, but he’s still dangerously powerful. In order to stay in his good graces, every vampire has to give him a monthly payment of blood, and of course they have to follow all the rules. One rule is that you can’t let a human find out about you and if they do, you have to kill them to keep the secret of vampires safe.

Since vampires are still killable, their punishment is getting their blood sucked out by the Chairman until they are drained to death, and only a withered husk is left behind. The whole process is AGONIZING.

And despite his laziness, Scratch does NOT want to die, especially in a manner so horrible, so that’s his main motivation for staying on task each month. Molly is horrified when she learns of this.

However at some point, Molly gets an injury and of course, bleeds. Scratch is able to resist (but not without some struggling and restraint) and is unable to get so much as a droplet. However he could tell by the scent that there’s something… unusual about Molly’s blood. She’s still very human, but there’s something about her blood that’s not like others.

Of course, events play out exactly like in canon. Scratch is unable to keep the secret of his friendship with Molly a secret and is taken away to face his punishment since he didn’t kill her like he was supposed to.

Molly blames herself for putting her friend through this, but luckily she is able to reach Geoff (who is also a vampire in this au) and tells him that she wants to save Scratch and will do whatever it takes, even if she has to become a vampire too in order to get a fighting chance. Geof is reluctant, but Scratch told him before about Molly’s blood as well as his suspicions that Molly would not make for a normal vampire if she was turned.

So he goes ahead and temporarily curses Molly into becoming a vampire. As long as she doesn’t consume blood herself, the transformation will not be permanent.

Except there’s an interesting catch with Molly during a moment of self-defense when she arrives at the Head Vampire’s hideout/castle–she doesn’t need to drink blood. She injects HER blood into a vampire, and changes their personality into a more happier one for a certain amount of time. (Anyone familiar with Karin/Chibi Vampire? It’s basically this.)

She manages to arrive in the nick of time because the Head Vampire has drained almost all of Scratch’s blood (and yeah, he looks REALLY bad–you thought this was bad? This would be even worse. The poor guy is dangerously close to looking like a mummy by this point). Molly is pissed as hell and demands the HV to give Scratch’s blood back to him or else she will unleash her full powers. No one believes her, so she decides to go ahead and attempt a transformation herself…

…Except her bat form is basically no different than the sun itself when she uses her full powers–hell any form she could turn into now would include the sun itself at this point. She’s so powerful she’s accidentally killing like half the vampires in the room and of course the HV (who gets badly injured thanks to Molly) tries to escape.

Molly catches up to the guy and decides he needs a bit of perking up if he’s so dour all the time. However, this is an instant kill, since something so old and ancient can’t handle joy in blood form.

Now the entire vampire world is officially terrified of this girl, and of her becoming a vampire permanently. Or taking the HV’s position.

Nope, Molly just takes some of HV’s blood stash to give to Scratch and return him back to normal. Then she and Geoff take Scratch home so he can recover while a huge chunk of vampires at the castle are now dead and the rest are leaderless.

The two friends wait the night out for it to pass, and Molly’s curse eventually wears off, since she didn’t drink any blood like she was warned. And all was good for a time…

[nectaric]

interview meme

——— character question sheet

▌real name: hades. ▌single or taken:  married to persephone. ▌abilities or powers: geokinesis (mostly the manipulation of gems and metals, though he is able to create clefts in the earth from which the dead often pour forth), pyrokinesis (minimally. can summon flames in a pinch), control of the dead (he can summon them even in the world of the living, and commands he gives the dead are immediately obeyed. he also has the ability to sense spirits, track them, and suck the literal life essence out of mortal souls to collect them), invisibility (thanks to his helm), as well as shit like immortality, increased healing, teleportation and transformation, telekinesis, etc etc etc

▌eye colour: dark brown, almost black. ▌hair colour: black, shoulder length, and pretty curly. (like a 2b)

▌family members: his parents are cronus & rhea, his siblings hestia, hera (twin), poseidon, demeter, & zeus. his children are zagreus, melinoe, & makaria. but he's also related to the entire pantheon of gods in one way or another. ▌pets: cerberus, of course! but he also has six finches he takes very good care of. and ghost chickens!

▌something they don’t like: people invading his personal space. he can withstand a lot, but he loathes being touched without his consent. ▌hobbies/activities: reading, watching and documenting his experience with films, the study of filmography, writing & playing music (playing piano, violin, and cello), visiting museums, art galleries, operas, and theatres. ▌ever hurt anyone before:  numerous times, though none so violently as pirithous & theseus. ▌ever killed anyone before: most certainly, though hades does not necessarily enjoy it.

▌animal that represents them: dogs mostly, but some serpents as well. ▌worst habits: self-isolation & self-loathing, hiding his emotions to the point of snapping, drinking, smoking, and self-harm. ▌role models: hera, zeus, and hestia. prometheus, kratos, and metis as well.

▌sexual orientation: bisexual. ▌thoughts on marriage/kids: despite the rocky start to his marriage, it is something that hades values immensely. in his youth, he did not believe that he would ever find love, particularly not one that lasted. when he was assigned to the underworld, he wrote it off even further - for who would ever willingly sign their life away to the underworld? in the end, it was not a choice he offered his wife - partially out of poor judgment, customs, and desperation, but also because he did not think there was any other way. discovering that persephone actually grew to love him despite his transgressions was everything to him. and kids are much the same; something he wrote off as an impossibility. something he longed for, surely, but doubted he would ever have because he refused to bear them. marrying persephone did not assuage those doubts, and despite wanting it so badly, he dared not suggest it. it was persephone who eventually came to him demanding children, and they found a way. being a father is the greatest joy in hades' life.

▌fears: deep-seated fears include losing his family, failing them, and abandonment. he's also really scared of heights though. ▌style preferences: hades used to dress far more formally; full suits, perfectly pressed, and whatever other formal fashions existed in every time period. all in black, all an attempt to appear composed and in control. getting sober meant exposing parts of himself he had once tried to keep hidden, and in doing so, became far more confident just being. which meant more comfortable clothing - still nice, most of the time, and he dresses up for fancy occasions. but he likes just wearing a t-shirt and jeans, with a nice pair of shoes and maybe a suave jacket. sometimes, at home, he even wears joggers. ▌someone they love: his children. which, naturally, feels like the obvious answer but it's one that's hard earned. he's always loved his children, deeply, but in the throes of grief found it very difficult to show melinoe and makaria any affection. he's tried very hard in recent years to rectify that. his love was always there, but dormant. now it blooms.

▌approach to friendships: friendships tend to happen to hades more often than not. he certainly tries to be friendly, and those he's already close with receive more obvious attempts at connection. but any new friends he makes are usually done so because others he knows encourage a relationship, or a person looks at him and goes YEP he's going to be my friend!! hades has the autistic rizz, people find his persona charming but only the right people

▌thoughts on pie: hades loves sweets, so he definitely likes pie. ▌favourite drink: hestia's tea. ▌favourite place to spend time at:  his living room at home, watching a movie with his family.  ▌swim in the lake or in the ocean: hades would pass on both, tbh, but if he had to choose it would be the ocean. ▌their type: hades has a thing for mouthy ones. he likes a little bit of talk back, he likes people who are sassy and outspoken, who don't take his shit - but he also likes people who are patient and kind. someone who will tease him ruthlessly for not understanding pop culture but then gently explain it to him, you know? ▌camping or indoors: indoors. get that man away from dirt, bugs, and the heat of the sun.

tagged by: @seaprofound tagging: you!

[goat-guy-tm]

I've finally posted a rewrite mini story of me rambling about a character to AO3!!

It's about Laurence, his early life and experience in the Nether.

If you don't have an AO3 account or don't wish to go to a different platform to read it, you can find it in full under the cut <3

CW// This deals with Laurence's time in the Nether, so there are descriptions of him being tortured by Shadow Knights. It's all pretty vague, nothing goes into detail detail, but still, it sucks and he's in hell...literally.

Laurence was born blind. He never got to know what his parents looked like. When Joh found him, took him, the first thing he did was listen to Laurence's request; to teach him how to fight.

The people of Meteli told Joh he was reckless for trying to train a blind teenager how to wield a sword. But Joh believed in Laurence. Afterall, the boy was taking to it almost worryingly fast.

While he could swing a sword quite well, fighting a target was a challenge for him. Any day off of lord work Joh had was spent training with Laurence, who insisted he could disarm his father this time around. And one day, he finally did. It was the happiest Laurence had ever felt, and his father was so proud of him.

The joy didn't last even to the end of the day.

That night he stood there, 'watching' his now second father die right in front of him. Of course Laurence wouldn't know how to fight against an arrow. Not with where his training was.

Many over the years babied Laurence before even really meeting him. The milky, unfocused eyes always gave them an image in their heads, and the heavy set of armor on the man's shoulders made them laugh. Some were foolish enough to challenge him to duels, and they would quickly learn that even though Meteli's head guard was blind, it didn't make him any less deadly as any other guard.

It had always been a secret. The little symbol hanging from a chain around his neck, tucked neatly under his armor and clothing. No one would view him as strange for being such a devoted Irene believer. He'll if anything that was expected of him.

Ever since the small village he was from was ransacked and pillaged by those self proclaimed 'Shadow Knights' in the name of Shad, Laurence had spent night after night begging Irene to protect him. Bring his parents back, bring Joh back, anything. The symbol of Irene was held tight to his chest. It was his prized possession, a gift from his very religious late mother.

Never in his life would he imagine it would burn him so to hold it.

Thos Shadow Knight freaks had let him keep it for a few months, or well, it had felt like months. He wasn't too sure anymore. Everything hurt, he felt like he was being pulled apart at the seams and being sewn together all at the same time.

The Nether was hot, he could hear screaming all around him, and he couldn't see a thing. That never before was a problem, hell he used to not care. But now? When he was surrounded by enemies on all sides, with innocent scattered everywhere? His blindness for once actually felt like a curse.

Of course, his captors had joked at the beginning about scooping his eyes out, that "It's not like the bastard is getting any use out of them anyways." Thankfully, they let him keep those too.

Apparently the first sign that whatever they were doing was working was when Lauremce woke up, screaming in pain as the Irene Symbol started to burn against his skin. He thought the metal had finally gotten hot enough to burn him, but according to his captors, it was common for any item blessed under Irene's eyes was like poison to Shadow Knights.

Laurence didn't want to lose faith, his own will and his faith for Irene but, it feels like he's been here for a century already. Sweating his life away chained up in this small cell, spitting I'm the faces of any cocky enough Shadow Knight that dares to ask if he's given up yet.

How he was still alive baffled him. They had drenched him in lava, they had broken every bone in his body times and times over. They forced him to listen to the unrelenting screams of millions of damned souls.

Sleep was not something Laurence could trust. Only because he was never sure when it would actually encase him. But, when it did it was confusing. He thought it was because of the stress and turama he was being forced through, but he was never too sure. He was standing on some netherack shore, an endless sea of lava before him but, it was never the scorching heat that tormented him in his waking hours, if anything it felt like a warm summer breeze. And he could see.

Laurence never really had dreams before this. He couldn't see, so he never saw anything in his dreams. But these ones? Somehow, he could. about if still completely blind.

When asking Morte about it, she told him there was no way she could 100% fix his lack of vision, as he wasn't a Netherite, but with his body converting and adapting to the Nether as it had, she could at least give him a flawed sight.

It took him a while to learn how to fight again, the new ability to see messing up his whole set of skills he had cultivated over the years.

Seeing Garroth's face for the first time was, amazing. He always knew his lover was handsome, the women of every village would gawk and whisper about the younger lord.

But seeing him? Really seeing him for the first time? All his scars, the hair he was slowly wearing longer, the Irene Symbol hung proudly around his neck. Everything about him was perfect to Laurence.

Zenix and Aphmau of course had to put him to the test as much as possible. The mischievous duo trying to sneak attack Laurence at any given opportunity possible.

His time in the Nether may have been the worst time of his life, but, part of him was glad it happened. He could see those he loved now, he had been saved from something so horrible. Even if it wasn't Irene who answered his prayers and Morte instead, he was still grateful.

Laurence was a devoted man at heart. He always was, and will always be. Even to his last undying breath.

[aalissy]

Villains

Anddd we are officially halfway through Adrienette April! Absolutely crazy to me haha. I hope ya'll like this lil reveal tho <3!

AO3

Marinette glanced nervously around the small pink foam prison she had gotten encased in. One of the akumatized villains had managed to trap her in here before she could transform. Once again, she attempted to elbow her way out with all of her strength. If she was alone this would be no problem. She’d transform. Get whatever lucky charm was needed and magically pop her way out of this cage. 

But... issue was that she wasn’t alone. Her gaze slid over to Adrien as she continued to ram her elbow into the foam at a faster pace.

“Marinette!” Adrien called out, grabbing her arm gently in his as he gazed down at her sadly. He shook his head. “It’s not working and I don’t want to see you get hurt. We’re going to need to wait for Ladybug.”

She sighed, shooting one last desperate glance at their walls before slumping down against them. “Or Chat Noir,” she muttered, hugging her knees to her chest. Right now it was only going to be Chat Noir who was saving them. Ladybug was a little... occupied at the moment. Marinette couldn’t stop herself from fiddling with her earring. She placed her chin down on her knees, staring down at the floor miserably. “His cataclysm sounds really good right about now.” 

She heard Adrien sit across from her and peeked back up at him. He gave an almost awkward-sounding laugh that had her raising a brow. “Yeah, or Ladybug’s lucky charm.”

Marinette gnawed at her lower lip, not wanting to think about that right now. Surely Chat would save them sooner or later. She just needed to wait.

But, after an hour of waiting, Marinette was slowly losing any semblance of hope. Maybe Chat had gotten caught in a foam prison like her and he was also trapped with someone next to him. At least she was with Adrien. Who she would trust with her life.

Sucking in a deep breath for courage, Marinette spoke up at the same time as him. 

“I need to tell you something!” They both burst out together.

They both chuckled, their previously wide eyes softening into a look of endearment as they gazed at each other. 

“What, um...,” Marinette said, fiddling with her earrings once again. She’d take any distraction to keep her identity secret for just a few moments longer. “What did you need to tell me?”

 “Actually, it might be easier if I show you.” Adrien scratched the back of his neck.

“Show me wha-”

“Plagg, claws out!”

The burst of green light had Marinette clenching her eyes shut. What?! But... but that can’t be! Slowly, she cracked an eye open, and to her surprise and utter bafflement, instead of Adrien, there stood Chat Noir, transformed into his alter ego with the signature black suit and cat-like mask.

"A-Adrien?!" Marinette exclaimed, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

Adrien, now Chat Noir, grinned sheepishly. "I’m sorry, Marinette, but I couldn’t risk us staying in this cage for any longer. And, besides, I trust you."

Marinette's mind raced with a mixture of astonishment and pure joy. Adrien trusted her! Revealed his identity to her just moments before she was going to do the same thing. At the same time, though, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was lucky that both Ladybug and Chat Noir ended up stuck together, or if it was rather unlucky instead.

"You're Chat Noir?" Marinette's voice was filled with wonder as she took in the sight of her partner in a new light.

“Pawsitively!” He grinned and wow, he looked so good like that.

Shaking her head to keep herself on track, Marinette stood up too. “Then, I suppose it’s for the best that I show you what I wanted to say as well.”

His head tilted with confusion. “What do you me-”

Before he could finish that sentence, Marinette called on her transformation. “Tikki, spots on!”

Now it was Chat’s turn to look incredulous. “M-M’lady?” he asked almost hesitantly.

“Yep!” She nodded firmly. “But we’ll have to discuss this later. Right now there’s an akuma to defeat and we need your cataclysm to get out of here.”

“Right!” Chat’s eyes blazed with determination before he called on his power, finally letting the two be free for the first time in over an hour.

Though right now all she wanted to do was freak out, that would need to come later. Once the akuma was defeated then... then she and Adrien could finally talk about everything that they needed.

[drill-teeth-art]

I second mar's comments!!! Your art was one of the things that made me realize that I could experiment with body types that weren't stereotypes; and admiring your art really helped me get a better grasp on how to be cartoon-y and still have realistic bodies <3

It also really just helps my confidence as a tall fat girl to see me represented in your art, and overall is full of good vibes and joy!!

I love your art and the diversity in it, I love the shapes and colours, I love how you can even take transformers and make them look both recognizable and original at the same time, while also adding a fabulous touch of inclusivity that is weirdly rare in this fandom

Seriously, your art is incredible, don't let one poorly worded anon get to you :3 Have a brilliant day!!

🥺🥺🥺!!! GODDAMN!!! Thank you so much! Wow where do I even start with my appreciation.

Firstly! I'm so glad my art inspired you like that!!! I actually had a really hard time with cartoony renditions of fat bodies because almost all mainstream cartoons are full of stereotypes of fat people and fat bodies. And it took a lot of observation studies and listening and looking at the work of fat cartoonists portraying fat bodies to develop my own stylizing of fat bodies. Even when drawing my own body! And it does kind of suck actually how long it took to learn to draw my own body with love but honestly there aren't a lot of mainstream examples. And so I like making it easier for other artists to learn depicting themselves and others instead of having to sift through a thousand mainstream, upsetting caricatures and give up and have to start from scratch like I and lots of other artists did.

SHOUTOUT TO YOU AND TALL FAT GIRLS EVERYWHERE! I'm actually really short and chunky, myself. But it always bothered me how there are almost never fat girls in cartoons who aren't the butt of the jokes and treated like lazy monsters. And I was like okay that's IT I'm drawing fat girls. Tall and short and different weights and fat distributions. Stay strong, warrior 🫡

And thank you for your compliments on my designs! I'm often trying to challenge myself to draw features I don't usually draw and research and mindfully touch on experiences usually left in the dark and be open to criticism so I'm really happy it makes other people feel welcomed and refreshed visiting my blog.

You have a great day too thanks again!

[medievalfantasist]

So I wrote a sequel to my Avengers fic.

The Historical Present: When Historical Analysis Becomes Current Events (and Tries to Destroy the World) by Clara Starr, PhD, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Part 2 of From the Neat and Tidy Files of Dr. Clara Starr

Since her initial adventure and run-in with Loki, Clara Starr has spent the last year doing her job and working on a secret project for Maria Hill and Phil Coulson. But when that secret project predicts the emergence of HYDRA from S.H.I.E.L.D., she finds herself caught up in another adventure she never asked for. Complicating matters are her feelings for Loki, feelings she's certain he doesn't share and wishes would go away. (Takes place before/during/after Captain America: The Winter Soldier.)

(Must be logged in because fuck AI.)

Snippet under the cut:

“This is either the coolest thing I’ve ever done or the most terrifying,” Amanda said, securing her waist-length locs at the nape of her neck with an enormous hair tie. We stood at the top of a concrete stairwell next to a steel door, wind audibly shrieking from the other side. The elevator that had brought us this far rumbled and started heading back down the shaft. It was ridiculous to feel like it was taking Amanda’s ability to change her mind about this trip away from her; we could just hit the button and it would come back. But there was something final about it, anyway.

“Trust me, it’s both,” I said. “Ready?”

She checked the security of her hair tie, tightened the shoulder strap on her messenger bag a bit, then took a deep breath and nodded at me.

I opened the door.

The wind immediately got louder by an order of magnitude and seemed to suck all the air out of the stairwell. The roof of Stark Tower was larger than it looked, but still felt too small for the height. Despite knowing that Dr. Selvig had built an entire contraption up here and not fallen off, I always worried about the wind whipping me over the railing. We stepped cautiously out onto the roof itself, the door slamming shut—but not locked; I always checked—behind us.

Amanda was far braver than I. She stared out at the city, eyes wide. “Ho-lee shit,” she whispered, the words snatched away by the wind. Her surface thoughts radiated awe and excitement, with little of the kind of apprehension I would have had in her position. We were very different people, and sometimes I wondered if she’d enjoy my weird-ass job than I did. I loved the parts of my job that were actually my job, but it also came with a lot of other weird shit that I hadn’t anticipated when I’d taken it. But it was fun to see her so excited, especially knowing that she’d only get more excited by what came next.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” I shouted, taking her hands and pulling her closer to me so we’d both be in the Bifrost’s circle when it descended. I turned my face up to the cloudless sky. “Heimdall!”

I knew I didn’t need to yell. He’d told me I didn’t need to yell. But I always yelled. It was instinct, almost. I was trying to catch the attention of a god who watched dozens of worlds at once, and I was hardly the most important of his duties. I probably sat nearly at the bottom of his list, somewhere below Jane Foster and above some slightly threatening lichen on another planet.

A silent blast of light descended, catching us up and throwing us into the heavens. I felt more than heard Amanda’s rising shriek—of fear or joy, I couldn’t tell—and then we stumbled out into Heimdall’s orb, sneakers squeaking against the metal floor, clutching each other for balance.

“Dr. Clara,” Heimdall said, and Amanda’s mouth dropped open as his voice rolled over us. “Welcome back. And welcome to your friend.”

“Holy jesus lord god in fucking heaven,” Amanda breathed, disentangling herself from me. The corner of Heimdall’s mouth twitched up, an amused gleam in his yellow eyes.

“Heimdall, Dr. Amanda Thomas,” I said. “Amanda, Heimdall.”

“Charmed,” Amanda said with a breathy giggle. I pinched my lips together to keep from laughing at her. I’d never seen her like this before, but I fully understood. Asgardians had that effect on people; they were all so pretty.

“I trust you know your way by now, Dr. Clara?” Heimdall said, pulling his sword from the Bifrost mechanism. His biceps rippled, and Amanda let out a faint eep.

“Yes, but Amanda’s going to the library,” I said. “I haven’t been up there yet.”

“Once you reach the palace, any of the guards can show you the way,” Heimdall said. “They have been notified that Thor has granted you access.”

“Thank you, Heimdall,” I said. “We’ll be back in a few hours.” I grabbed Amanda’s elbow, steering her toward the exit.

“Bye,” she called back to Heimdall, who merely inclined his head graciously.

[youareinlove]

Do you mind me asking what hapened in May? I wasn't here then but you've referenced it a few times and I'm a little out of the loop. Sry if this is insensitive

oh yeah sure, a lot of people weren't here for that so i probably should explain (although i don't want to dwell on it too much or make it seem like it was all bad because it wasn't, i loved being on tumblr then as well).

the tldr is that in may when the matty situation happened, people were at each other's throats about it, and i was being quiet about it (for a lot of reasons, including the fact that i'd been on tumblr for less than a month and didn't want to start getting into discourse, and that i thought no one was viewing the situation in a nuanced way and it would be impossible to discuss properly). i got a lot of people who were very angry that i wasn't saying anything, and a lot of 1975 stans who were upset that i made one post where i said something that slightly poked fun at him. so i made a post where i was like "hey guys i'm not saying anything because i'm currently getting blasted from both sides, also stop telling people of color what they should use their blogs for." that made the harassment worse (i posted almost none of it but it was there) so i just didn't talk about it at all after that, and i had to learn the hard way the importance of curating a dashboard.

but the reason why i don't get into specifics too often is because may was a good month for me here! the harassment sucked but i made really good friends! i had fun liveblogging during tour! it was an important and transformative month for me in a million ways that had nothing to do with the people who wanted to upset me by crawling into my inbox. and i don't want that to overshadow all the good because there was so much of it. after the news broke that they weren't talking anymore and the hate died down, i basically banned all discussion of him on my blog in an attempt to not relive it. and yesterday did make me realize that was pointless because talking about him is unavoidable now, and i'm ok with discussing it (much more ok than i thought i would be). so while yes, it sucked (and i want to emphasize that because i don't want to condone harassing me or anyone else), it did teach me a really important lesson about how to use this website in a way that brings me joy really early on! and i'd rather take the good away from that situation and that month than the bad

[brandwhorestarscream]

I'm not even a fan of tfa ultra magnus (for good reason), how did the creator of tfa rodimags (and you guys) manage to get me to like him?! And wanting him to stay with rodimus?

I mean I'm not either, he fucking sucks, but Minimus can be a good dad, as a treat 💖 just because Ultra Magnus is very 😒 doesn't mean Roddy's innocent sparklings deserve to suffer, yeah?

Minimus and the Magnus are almost two different people: the ruling Magnus is an intricate lie he spent millions of years making, leaving his true identity in Minimus Ambus neglected and forgotten for eons. This is the first time Minimus has seen the light of day in countless cycles, and now that he's back out he doesn't want to go back in. He's found true joy and purpose for the first time maybe ever, and he so badly wants to be stubborn and cling to it.

He wants to watch his bitties grow up, he wants to be there to support them. He wants to see them transform for the first time and go to school! He wants to see them develop their hobbies and find their passions and grow up into the fine people he knows they'll be. He wants to be there to wipe their tears, to tend them when they're sick, to bring them comfort and safety when they're afraid. He wants to protect them, and most of all, he wants to ensure they live a good life. Those bright little sparks have quickly become his everything, and he'd almost be willing to sacrifice Cybertron for them

[nymoonunicat033]

This is Nyla Moon the leader of our Unicat Gang! She may be a little soft to everyone but she is stronger and Strong than every boy just like her dad.

Appearance:

Pinkish Burgundy, Pink, Purple (fur), Lillac, Royal Purple, Pink (clothes).

Her origin story:

In the city of Columbus, Ohio, there was a girl who liked dark and shadowy things like Sina. She got separated by an interdimensional transit that her parents got sucked into. Eventually, Nyla got adopted by some money-addicted stupids who always cared about gambling, money, and Satan. They disrespected her but her foster sister had less severe punishment, and they called the both "Imperfect Retards" because they want them to be addicted to money. One day, Nyla Moon found out the secret: she was now part of the infamous Goldblade family, who worships Satan and commits homicide every 

Charity Day, and Nyla, looking in terror, saw her foster parents sacrifice their parents to seal the contract, but it gets stopped by Nyla when it is almost done.

Eventually, her foster Satanist Gazillionare parents try to kill her, but then a falling star of magic and astral powers lands on Nyla’s body and she transforms into her toy monster, gaining her powers, she then pulses which defeats and kills her foster mother, but the dad, Rexie Buckle, was wounded and stunned. Nyla then escapes the mansion, it all snowing outside, but her foster father then comes to shoot her with a crossbow, leaving her to bleed in the snow until Professor Membrane comes. Nyla wakes up after the surgery has succeeded, looking at her hands and surprised as a Toy Monster Unicat. In joy, she then says "Thanks and who are you?" to Prof. Membrane, he then says to her "I am Professor Membrane! I decided to fix you up from the streets and give you a new body, based on your drawing." Nyla then looked at the screen and it was a drawing of her Sona. Dib and Gaz shout "Congratulations, Dad!" in front of him. Nyla then shed tears of joy as she made him proud. When she went to Japan, this is where she met Zack...

[velvetwyrms]

Now for something completely different! I’ve been working on an AU called Guardians (page is still a WIP) for months now and I’m finally ready to share a story from it. Please heed the tags and enjoy!

Rating: General

Relationships: Hobie/Therapy

Characters: Hobie Brown, Original Animal Character, Pavitr Prabhakar (mentioned), Gwen Stacy (mentioned), Miles Morales (mentioned).

Wordcount: 1,430

TW: Starvation, Homelessness

Tags: Alternative title: ‘Author tears up over hedgehogs,’ Fluff, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Animal Companions AU, Platonic/Familial relationship, Hobie Brown backstory, Set 2 years before he becomes Spider-Punk, Hobie needs a hug (and gets a very spiny one), it’s a lovely story I promise, Character study.

Summary: Hobie nodded in approval, speaking around his third slice in under as many minutes, “fuck capitalism, feed hedgehogs.”

Ruthless

The smog-choked air was still so frosty this time of year. Once vaguely warm, the battered, grease-stained box she was curled up upon now did nothing to ease the painful shivers running from her goose-bumped skin, all the way to the very tips of her all-encasing, banded spines. Still, she was grateful. It wasn’t the height of winter anymore, they’d made it out alive and this was the first spot of good luck they’d had in a while.

Cold or otherwise, that’s the wonderful thing about pizza, you could eat it regardless— well, if you didn’t mind the pineapple. They’d both eaten far worse, or not at all. Besides, his tastes changed like the wind—

Her ears pricked sharply at the sound of a shoe sole scraping against potholed concrete, clunky and uneven. Her nose twitched fearfully. She should’ve pulled the box further into the shadows of the alley.

Pulse racing, she curled up tighter, spines splayed until the bootprints stopped abruptly, drowned out by the distant honking, shouting, screaming of East London on a Friday night.

Then the wind changed, and all at once her panic immediately soothed into relief.

‘Ruth? You there?”

The massive pizza box slid across the wet pavement with her scrabbling claws as she zoomed towards the end of their hiding spot; a nostalgic pull tugging at her tiny heartstrings as she snuffled at the air. “Over ‘ere! Took you long enough, where the bloody hell you been?” She could almost feel the responding eyeroll as the flickering, looming shadow at the alley’s maw rounded the corner and Hobie Brown stumbled in — joy bubbled and fizzed from her brightly glowing chest and into a resounding chirp — empty handed. Ah.

"Foodbank was sold out when I got there. ‘S fine though, we’ll— I’ll jus-“

“Nono, gimmie a sec,” she croaked and shuffled back the way she’d scurried. The sogginess of the ground nearly proved too strong for her teeth as it sucked on the cardboard, but she managed to drag it just far enough to cut her young charge’s dejection short. “Ta-da! We’ve got ourselves a chicken-dinner! The crowd goes wild, n’ we have full bellies.” Her words were muffled, but from the relieved laugh he’d barked out it was clear he’d understood the gist.

“Oh my days, Ruth you’ve outdone yourself! Also, you should know, you look ridiculous. Never thought I’d see a hedgehog carrying a takeaway box that big, come ‘ere,” the box was lifted effortlessly up into the sky before the boy slumped down next to her. Hobie opened the box with the reverence of a present he’d been counting down the days for, and wolfed down the first slice like a dying man. Well, that…that wasn’t exactly far off. “Where’d you even get this? It’s huge! Could last us two days easy.” Ruth sniffed the food eagerly, climbing up and using his thigh to balance her front paws on so that she could get a better look. Hobie then passed Ruth her single slice so she sat down next to him and set to nibbling away at it. She was rather proud of herself that she’d held out long enough for her charge to have the first piece. Taking care of him was, after all, her entire reason for existing in the very literal, physical, cosmic sense.

“Stole it from a Spaceship Pizza delivery bike while the driver was havin’ a natter. She saw but apparently thought it was funny enough to fight the good fight with her boss.”

Hobie nodded in approval, speaking around his third slice in under as many minutes, “good girl, she gets it. Fuck capitalism, feed hedgehogs.”

“Mm, found your new motto then.”

“‘Course.”

The silence between them as they ate was comfortable, well lived in, homey. Ruth was munching away at a chunky strip of cheap, processed ham when her beady eyes locked onto the dip of Hobie’s hollow cheek as he grinned, and all of a sudden they were seven years old again. The worry wrinkles, far too premature for someone who’s only just turned fifteen forming on his forehead, his sharp edges and his first, shiny, new nose piecing he’d convinced a friend to give him for free we’re gone. "Do you remember we used to eat this in school? You hated pineapple. You don’t now.”

“Nah, I don’t believe in consistency. You of all people should know that.” His bordered edges shifted and his skin turned from grey newspaper clippings about threats of anarchist uprisings to a happy, relatable, empathetic pink. “You haven’t changed a bit. Just a big ol’ hoglet.”

Ruth looked at him aghast, squeaking in disapproval, spines puffing in defiance. “You’re havin’ a tin-bath.” The stripes on her spines and the glowing patch on her chest turned from a happy, relatable, empathetic pink to the grainy grey of tv static.

“Oh no, you still look like a pup to me. Jus’ with more spines. Hey, remember when I tried to count ‘em all again last week? Think I got to 561 this time.”

Ruth huffed. She had waaaay more spines than that. “I could say the same thing, you had all the grace of a toddler the way you nicked your finger. Thought you’d be used to my spines after all this time. Guess I’ll just be free of your cuddles an’ keep warm on my lonesome.”

“Woah, hey now, I’m only playin.’”

"’Course,” Ruth snorted and licked BBQ sauce off of her nose, then sighed wistfully, “blimey, I miss moments like this more than anythin’"

Hobie’s crooked smile waned and seemed to wobble a bit. Seven years old and they’d already been kicked out of their second orphanage. School gave them hot food served with kind, pitying smiles. Their new placement did neither. "Yeah…Y’know, this is the only thing that's made the last three years bearable.”

“Pizza?”

Hobie’s laugh was small, humourless and tired, and Ruth felt a pang of something sharp in her chest that was anything but starvation.

“You. Company. Jus’ ‘avin someone who actually gives a damn about whether or not I live or die tomorrow. Can’t imagine what it’s like for those blokes n’ birds who ain’t got Guardians of their own anymore. Must be propper rough. I’ve heard that…sometimes, when it gets too hard, Guardians can just leave. Sever that bond from birth completely. It happened to ol’ loopy Louis on George Street, at least, that’s what he tells everyone. But I’ve seen others too, I’ve seen two different Guardians before just wandering around alone an’ feral. They looked so lost.”

Ruth suddenly felt sick. She couldn’t think of anything worse than loosing Hobie. She was supposed to take care of him. He was her best friend, her partner in crime, her reason to keep going through these first few years of surviving on the streets. He’d been through so much already for someone so young, he’s wise far beyond his barely 15 years and she wanted to cry. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

“I know, I’m jus’ really grateful. You’re a stellar Guardian, Ruth.”

“Well, I don’t know about that” Her voice cracked and she abandoned her half-eaten pizza crust to climb up onto his thigh again, pushing down a couple of times with her front paws to signal that she wanted up. Hobie put down his own 5th slice and picked Ruth up by the armpits to perch her on his sight shoulder. She had to grip onto his thin winter jacket to avoid falling off, but she managed, laying her spines down flat to avoid hurting him. She glanced down to their food through teary eyes, then the pins adorning the jacket’s leather collar, the cheap, patched, fraying jumper underneath and the crochet hook poking out of his top pocket where he kept the bands he was using to try out something new. He’d wanted wicks for a while.

“I do. No one else would go outta their way to steal a pizza three times their size for me.”

“No one worth knowing.” Ruth sniffed wetly, and Hobie, with carefully practiced ease tilted his head and rested his cheek on her back. “One day, you’ll meet people who will do anything for you, Hobie, jus’ like me. People who’d- who’d stop busses an,’ an’ planes and trains for you. They’ll shout your name whenever they see you, and talk about you all the time when you ain’t there, ‘cause they’ll love you millions. You jus’ haven’t met ‘em yet. I know it.

You’ll see.”