#And everyone dogs on him for it and thinks it’s weird

[gay-dorito-dust]

Viktor’s journal.

How can you mourn someone that you weren’t quite sure was dead? You couldn’t simply afford to make funeral arrangements just to bury an empty coffin six feet underground when you yourself were unsure of what has become of your beloved Viktor.

You didn’t exactly know where the arcane had taken him. So should you even at all assume him as dead or just more so in another plan of existence far beyond your reach? And if so would he ever find his ways back? or did he think that where he was currently was a suitable place for his misguided and misconstrued ideologies of perfection? Seeing no point in returning to you after all he’s done?

You weren’t quite sure what to make of all of this but that didn’t ease the ache in your heart as you found a journal of his laying nearby, a thin layer of dust covering it, clearly showing the passage of time of the last viktor stepped foot in this room becoming more painfully evident as you brushed it clear before opening it. It was a rather standard journal filled to the brim of notes, sketches and annotations belonging to Viktor throughout the ever evolving stages of understanding the hexcore, nothing new as it was the only thing he talked about so passionately with a gleam in his eyes.

He wanted to use it for good and for the betterment of others but as you look at the notes and recall the memories of Viktor telling you the advancements they could make with hextech, it felt all but painful now knowing and experiencing what you have at the hands of the hexcore; you and everyone else almost became one of those weird sleek white and gold plated humanoid creatures not too long ago. So it was needless to say that your feelings towards the hexcore weren’t the same as they use to be, though then again neither was Viktor’s when he changed.

‘I want to use it to better the lives of others.’ He once said as his amber eyes gleamed brighter than you’ve ever seen before.

You wished that was the case but as the old saying went: evil deeds are paved with good intentions.

Viktor’s heart was in the right place but the hexcore corrupted his mind into ignoring it, ignoring his humanity in his pursuit in perfecting the imperfect. You had lost Viktor to the hexcore on multiple occasions way before his physical and mental change after the attack upon the council, an attack he was meant to die in. You had lost him and thus didn’t know where you were qualified to mourn a man who could potentially still be still living in another plan of existence.

The further you delved into the journal, mind lost in the memories as you tried to use to make sense as to where everything went wrong, that you didn’t notice that you had reached the very end of the journal and notes regarding the hexcore had become notes regarding yourself. The chicken scratch writing of a scientist had become notes written in the most beautiful and eloquent handwriting you’ve ever seen.

Notes such as;

‘The initial reaction i had towards my newfound feelings towards y/n was to deny them. They were my friend and I thought as such for a long time until I began to think about them on a regular basis, almost as though I need to have them close to properly function. it’s distraction but it’s a distraction that I welcome without annoyance, an distraction that I want to have near me all the time just to claim I had a good day.

‘They didn’t come by today, which is something that I shouldn’t let affect me as greatly as it does. However I couldn’t help but keep looking back towards the door to the lab in hopes that I would see them. I was told that I was looking as though a love sick puppy dog, waiting for them to come through those doors as per usual and yet I couldn’t help but feel a little sad when more of the days pass and I didn’t see them. Maybe they’ll come back tomorrow?

‘The feelings have a name as I’ve found as of recent, love. It’s love that I feel for them. They’ve consumed my thoughts and I’ve found myself tinkering with spare parts in hopes of making things that they’d like, all of which I have locked away in a box beneath my bed that I’d open sooner or later in hopes of improving them. Will i ever give them to y/n? Perhaps after I crack this equation for the hexcore, I’m so close to a breakthrough and feel as if the excitement I’ll feel will bring me to confess to them in a heat of the moment type scenario.

I hope they reciprocate my feelings.

That was the last entry of his notes and it was dated as the day before the attack on the council and you softly closed the journal, holding it close to your chest as you closed your eyes, breathing deeply as the idea that things could’ve been extremely different had things not escalated the way they did.

So once you had composed yourself enough to go to Viktor’s house in order to find the box he spoke of in his notes, finding that it had already been opened, almost as though his spirit knew you were going to come here afterwards and made it more accessible to you; and within it was a plethora of beautifully wielded masterpieces in the form of mechanical birds, flowers and even smaller things for you to fidget with should your nerves get the best of you.

Viktor was so thoughtful and you couldn’t help but let out a pained whimper as you cradled the box in your arms before finding yourself falling asleep in Viktor’s old bed with dried tears upon your cheeks. Life was cruel to take Viktor away from you but for some unexplainable reason, you’ve never felt closer to him than you did as you held his journal and gifts close to your chest.

Unaware of how one of the Birds eye’s glowed blue and the petals of the flowers blossomed in a similar colour.

[teecupangel]

“How can art be sexually deviant? Art is art.” Desmond argues, sounding like an excuse even to his ears.

From @shepardking

Lmao just imagining Ezio coming into Desmond's estate like "WHERE IS MY RECRUIT?!" Only to see the recruit being treated by a doctor and Desmond "gone". Ezio interrogates all the staff but no one says anything...but the cook is suspicious as hell and Ezio thinks he knows something... meanwhile Desmond was just trying to make something to eat 😭 can't a man feed himself without everything crashing down around him??? Because while Ezio would have a general idea of what Desmond looks like because of rumors and descriptions, but people exaggerate and Renaissance Italian people of high society will DEFINITELY do that. So Ezio only has the fact that the cook glows bright golden to go on, and that's not a lot to figure out why. Does he have information? A rich man would never cook his own food after all

You know what would be funny? If Ezio met Desmond before when he sneaked into Desmond’s villa to check if this supposed sexual deviant lord is any danger.

He and Desmond, who he believed to be a chef, hit it on and he believes said chef when he described his ‘lord’ as a bored rich idiot who wants to fuck around with the Borgias.

Now, Ezio is on a warpath and Desmond prefers to wear comfortable simple clothes and has been ‘recruited’ to find said sexual deviant lord and the missing recruit.

Which leads to…

Tags from @wisecloudnightmare

#the snort i let out 😂 #oh my god just imagine walls upon walls of gay porn that ezio will see when he barges in to the Miles Manor #just. everything Desmond does will only make ezio misunderstand more #like with des' fondness of ezio #ezio probably thinks it's because he was the first person to ever openly accused des to be deviated. make des go #“hmm. interesting ;)” like those old school shoujo male lead #des sees him trying to put distance between them and doubles down on (what he thinks are) his “suspiciously friendly rich man” gestures #to keep ezio away but... why does everyone looks at him like that? he had seen ezio and leo hug in public! it's not that weird! #assassin's creed #desmond miles #ezio auditore #cool au

Ezio doesn’t just misunderstand Desmond’s fondness for him, he misunderstand Desmond’s fondness for Leonardo as well and even how close they are.

Good news! Ezio now knows Leonardo is gay.

Sorta bad news! Ezio now believes Desmond and Leonardo are having a secret relationship. He doesn’t know what a sugar daddy is but that’s what he believes Desmond is to Leonardo.

From @thedragonqueen1998

The mental images of the "borgia men getting fucked in the ass" paintings is fucking sending me. XD Historians are definetly gonna love the sexual deviant Lord Miles.

“There are many historians who theorize that the evilest and scandalous stories about the Borgias were created by their enemies except for one. Only known as the Sexual Deviant Lord from Spain, this eccentric rich lord preferred to insult the Borgias by having them engage in homosexual acts of sex in the background of famous pieces of arts. His commissions alone proved to be more effective in making other people believe that the Borgias are sinful sexual deviants themselves.”

From @lorena12me

Ezio *dramatically kicks in the door*: Stop right there, Lord Miles!!! Desmond: Wait a minute, man who I definitely don't know. Leonardo Da Vinci is painting my fursona... and Cesare Borgia getting fucked in the ass.

“Of course, my fursona is not going to fuck Cesare Borgia. Leonardo, my dear…”

“I will paint the most grotesque anatomically accurate mangy dog, my lord.”

“Thank you.”

(sorry in advance, I've been stewing over this for so long that this will be a long one xd)

I was re-reading your fics on ao3 again (sue me, im starved for desmond time travel content) and whilst reading Eagle of Alamut's description i realised '...wait a damn minute, it is true! all of Desmond's knowledge on past is from his ancestors!' (not everyone is as big of a nerd as shaun). Cue weeks of relentless daydreaming over Desmond in Reneisance Italy trying his damnest to lay low... but: 1) he does not know what is socially acceptable at the time (clothe and behaviour wise)

2) the animus likely shielded it's users from the more... er.. unsaviory historical accuracy (child marriage, smell, violence and mistreatment towards the poor, women, disabled)

3) politics, culinary arts, medicine and money value from that era are not common knowledge (or even fully known to todays historians)

4) Ezio was not known for his subtility...

...so while desmond may know who to strike in order to protect Ezios family from getting executed, what places he may know to avoid if he wants to avoid attention from the italian brotherhood.

He does not know what he was getting himself in to when he decided to travel back in time.

I can just imagine him thinking that he can finally retire and live his life, but then BOOM here comes the shock of sociatal injustices! religious violence! inequality! horrendous mistreatment of beggars and disabled people! and as a good man raised in the 21st century he obviously can't, in his right conciousness, just turn his back on these issues, on these people.

So here he is, in Rome of all places, doing his best to atleast stay hidden from the Auditore's, and consequesntly, the Italian brotherhood's, detection, as he stalks the bright rooftops of Roma as histories (probably) very first assasin turned vigiliante!

I can just picture him at one point or another, getting mistaken for a Spanish assasin and his only attempt at 'confirming' (read: encouraging misleading rumours), is to use the very little languistic knowledge the American education system has bestowed upon him. cue him very awkwardly trying to immitate a Spanish accent/ speak in Spanish. or just, you know, say the only words every student knows, 'Feliz Navidad'.

It would be so funny if Desmond’s Spanish are based on:

1) what little remains of Ezio’s Spanish (maybe on par or even worse than his French)

2) Basic Spanish that he learned on the Farm

3) Spanish songs he heard

So people think that Desmond is eccentric.

And Rich.

Because Desmond wants to help people but he doesn’t want to be seen as an Assassin so…

He becomes a supposed rich Spanish (Arabic would have sent a red flag to the Brotherhood) noble who came to Rome to live a life away from his ‘family’.

Why is he ‘rich’?

Well, killing nobles and other ‘evil doers’ will flag the Brotherhood as well so it would be better to just…

Leave certain incriminating evidence in the doors of their enemies and let them duke it out. Hey, if some things go missing while they’re too busy with their enemies, that’s just collateral damage.

Also…

Sometimes, things go missing when some people get into accidents.

It’s easy to buy the impoverish area in Rome. It’s a bit challenging to get doctors to treat them.

Until Desmond flashed the right amount of money, of course.

Desmond manages to stay under the radar by being part of the upper echelon.

An eccentric foreigner who helps the poor and sick out of the goodness of his heart.

Or… because he apparently believes that the way to heaven is through good will and not… paying the clergy.

Desmond knows that being seen as completely good is a bad thing as well so he lets rumors spread that he’s an opportunist who heals the sick and protects the weak to receive their loyalty. He gives them salary to become his guards (not that he needs any) and people whisper how loyal the poor are to someone who gives them bread.

And to hammer in that “no, Ezio, I am absolutely not connected to the Templars BUT I’m also not going to be a good ally, just leave me alone!” plan he has, he becomes a patron of the art.

Sexually progressive art.

The church hates him but tolerates him because Desmond does ‘donate’ (jokes on them, he donates what he stole from the church) and the artists love him because he commissions stuff with the same thing over and over again “whatever you want to paint/sculpt/work on but I want the Borgia men getting fucked in the ass while Lucrezia Borgia watches”

He’s not rich enough to actually be a threat (especially after Ezio starts wrecking shit up) and he keeps to himself most of the time.

But, of course, life always has it out for Desmond and he comes face to face with a wounded recruit at the edge of his property and…

Well…

He only wanted to heal him then send him on his merry way.

He didn’t expect Ezio to come barging in thinking said recruit has been kidnapped by the eccentric ‘possibly sexual deviant’ Lord Miles.

[mar3ggiata]

professional help, finale. All's well what ends well.

simon riley x original character.

'Nothing's gonna hurt you, not while I'm around.'

'You know, I still think about that day a lot.'

'You do?'

He shifted beside her, making the covers shuffle and move on her body. He grabbed the hem of the sheet, pulling it on her naked shoulders, he knew she was always cold in the morning.

'Sometimes.'

She kept her eyes closed, she was still sleepy, and at the same time she didn't really want to remember. The fact that he still thought about that time frightened her. It was guilt, what she felt. He pulled a hair from the pillow, a long blonde curl, 'This yours…' He felt her cold feet trying to fit in the space between his calves, he welcomed them to warm them up.

Me and Simon never went on that date. I'm Alba, by the way. Me and Simon never went on that date, after the bar or whatever. A lot has changed since then and we really just forgot about it. You best believe we had other problems. If everything happens for a reason, I sometimes still struggle to see it. I lost everything. I lost everything and I don't know what I gained. Well, that's wrong, Simon's what I gained. Simon is all I have. I look back at who I was when this mess started, hell, I look back at who I was when I got my job as a therapist and I just… I don't recognise myself. Sometimes I envy the times when I was so clueless. Life's more painless for the brainless. Sometimes I even wish I could go back. Simon is the only real reason why I choose to stay. Simon is the reason why it all went to shit, really. Me and him, we played a pivotal role in each others lives, his life changed too when he met me. And when, well, the whole thing went down. The beginning of the end. Here's what happened that night.

We drank some more, I was tipsy and so was everyone. It was nearly two in the morning when Roman offered me a ride home. Truth be told, I don't really remember what I said, I have very little memories of that part of the night. I think I might have looked at Simon, who asked me if I needed a ride, if I drove there, to which I said no, that I was gonna get a cab. He spoke to me like the others weren't there, he spoke in a protective way. No way he was gonna let me get a cab, or go home with Roman for that matter. He claimed me. Roman didn't insist when I told him I was with Simon. We left together, as everyone suspected. They had been saying it since he walked in, they're gonna go home together. Nothing happened, if that's what you're thinking. I was way too drunk and he was respectful. He walked me to my door and said hi to the dog. I thanked him for the ride and he looked at me with those gentle, deep, brown eyes I love so much. He said to sleep tight, with a confidence he didn't have within himself at the bar. It made me giggle and I almost invited him to come inside and spend the night. I'm kinda glad I didn't.

'I don't like that you bring that up', she murmured, she turned her back to him, rolling to her side and hugging the pillow under her head. Embarrassed. He sighed, 'Why, cause you know you messed up?' She felt burning in her chest. She felt his arm, firmly wrapping around her waist, was like poison. A trap. She tried to resist his force, he pulled her towards him, his chest against her back, both arms around her to keep her in his warm embrace. One of his legs swung on her to keep her from escaping him, he was always afraid she wanted to run away from him. Even if he woke up beside her every day.

He told me everything that happened and how things went not long ago, I waited a year to know, maybe more. Again, a lot has happened, so we forgot about some parts of our story. He told me how happy he was and how weird he felt that night, driving to base. Good things didn't really happen to people like him, and I was a good thing. I was good, I treated him like he was good. He drove to base, went to bed and thought about me all night. He thought about our date, the dress I was going to wear, my eyes, my neck, the skin of my hands. He thought of us eating, talking, maybe bringing Jinx along with us. He fell asleep wondering where to go with me, he hoped to dream about me in his bed. Silly.

She huffed and whined at him, trying to free herself from his grasp. 'Where you going?' He whispered and she scratched his arm. 'You're always wrong.' She commented. They had that talk a million times, he never failed to make her feel miserable. 'You're selfish.' He pinned her down in a swift motion, his body on top of hers, one hand brushing her hair away from her face. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, out of habit, she had spread her legs to welcome him. Her feet rested on his calves. 'I'm selfish because I love you'. He nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent. She circled his shoulders with her arms. 'You would have done the same thing, if not worse.' She pushed him back away from her, her hands pressed as firmly as she could on his pecs. He was smiling.

The day after, he woke up groggy from the alcohol. He told me he couldn't be bothered with the briefing for the next mission and debated skipping it. His mind was somewhere else. Little did he know. Ruining his mood, that is the thing I'm most sorry for. I like my man happy. He sat down in a room full of soldiers, Price in front of them, his computer screen projected in the wall like he had prepared some kind of presentation. He told me the captain looked tense, or rather sad. It was a day he never really thought would come, he had news he didn't really want to share, or believe. Seeing him like this, made his heartbeat increase, he started to sweat. Something was going on.

'I would have done worse, yes…' His words were spoken into her cheek, he left a trail of wet kisses on her jawline, making her sigh loudly, her legs firmly wrapped around his waist '…you broke my heart.' She scoffed and let her hand travel down his back, scratching the skin of his lumbar muscles, 'So dramatic…' He cradled her face with his hands, forcing her to look at him. He liked teasing her about that time, and he knew how bad she felt. It was cause he craved reassurance that she would never do anything like it, ever again.

'Sit down, please.' He felt his palms sweaty, he felt a sense of discomfort. 'We had a…', even the captain, he was struggling to find the words, he looked unease. What in the world was going on…

'We're talking mafia. Uhm… Italian mafia, from Naples. It's called Camorra, I believe.' He stopped to check some papers, 'Laswell and Shepherd have been keeping an eye on a specific clan from over there, they're dealing with prostitution and drug trafficking.' He sighed. This was no normal mission. He tuned towards his laptop, an image appeared on the wall behind the captain. A woman, in her fifties. She had blonde hair, she wore glasses, she had a stern and serious expression on her face. In the picture, she looked out a window into a busy street. She had blue eyes and a roman nose. 'This is Tania Dalla Rocca, she runs the Dalla Rocca family. In Italy, especially in the south, they have very patriarchal families, but her husband, the ex leader, died in prison. She's been in control of the business for over twenty years.' He went back to the laptop and a new image appeared. A man, maybe his age, a dark brown buzzcut. 'This is Carmine Caserano, he runs the opposing clan. They've been fighting with the Della Roccas for decades, over businesses, neighbourhoods… They're eternal enemies.' He cleared his voice. Simon began to feel a stinging pain in his left temple. 'We're in charge of dismantling both families, essentially.' He let his eyes wander inside the room and Simon could swear he let his gaze linger on him for a few seconds. Pitiful. I'm sorry, son. 'They've been in contact with Italian-American immigrants for a while and the situation is escalating quickly, they're terrorising citizens, we're gonna work with Italian special forces in Naples and try to solve the situation.' '

'What situation?' someone asked. He could not turn his head to look at who spoke, he was frozen in his chair.

'So… someone in the Dalla Rocca family is responsible for a… an accident, back in 2013. Explosives inside a car. One of the Caseranos died.' He was about to click on the laptop again, but stopped. 'The Caseranos, the other family, is moving for revenge, they want control over the territory, sure, but more than anything they want revenge. Many innocent lives are at stake.'

'So, are we protecting the other family? And the terrorist?'

Price shook his head. 'No one is worth protecting. No one is innocent over there. It's incarceration or death, for all of them. And the… terrorist, what she is is a terrorist, is someone many of you know, I'm afraid.'

Her eyelashes fluttered, a small whimper escaping from her parted lips. 'You broke my heart, Eva', he murmured into her mouth, he licked her lower lip, feeling her soft hand cupping his cheek. She replied by taking his face in her hands and kissing him softly, pulling him down towards her.

A click of the keyboard, a new picture appeared on the wall. As he leaned foreword, to better see the image, the ringing in his ears was becoming almost painful. He didn't need to lean in, he could see me perfectly. A young Jude was painted in the wall behind Price. My eyes, my mouth, the bridge of my nose, it was definitely me, younger and angrier. 'She's not even 18 in this picture'. Price's voice mixed with the murmuring and chatting of Simon's colleagues, who had recognised the girl on the screen. The terrorist.

She brushed her thumb over his lower lip, he kissed her hand and then her mouth again. His arms kept her still, his hand pressed firmly on her hipbone, scorching hot.

He felt like throwing up. He felt like an idiot. Like a fly in a spider's net, I had tricked him and everyone else into believing I was someone else, Alba. Him specifically, my special Simon. Without saying a word, Price skipped to the next picture. It was a classified FBI file. His eyes scanned the file, reading through the mountains of lies I had told him, reading the truth. The whole truth. He was being set up, it could not be real. His head was throbbing, his blood cold. It had to be a joke, a sick, sick joke.

His hips aligned with hers, he drank the soft gasp that left her lips when she felt him slip inside her.

'This is Eva. Jude. Some of you know her as Alba'. Price gave him a quick look, but he wasn't paying attention. His eyes felt like they were burning thought the wall. Eva. 'The woman I showed you earlier…' That's her mother, he thought. '…That's Eva's mother.' No… That's Alba, no? No, Eva. Eva Dalla Rocca, I wasn't born in the UK, I was born and raised in Southern Italy, by one of the most influential clans in Naples. I have a sister, I had a brother. 'She was hired here and given a fake identity, under the condition of cutting all ties and contact with her family…' Price went on. Eva. Not Alba, not just a therapist, what? Eva. Southern Italy, the fucking mafia? Naples, moved away when I was 18 after a major attack that let to the death of an infant, he read. My Alba? How? An attack? How? Why? It couldn't be, it had to… it had to be a mistake, I was with him the night before, so pretty, so sweet, I held his hand...

Her nails pressed on the flesh of his back and shoulders, while he rocked his hips foreword. Opening his eyes, he took in the sight of her, curled against him, clinging to him like she was afraid he was gonna vanish like a fever dream. Her brows furrowed, mouth agape sucking in a breath. He saw her in that state every single night, and yet it never failed to make him dizzy, the amount of pleasure he was able to make her feel. The necklace he bought her fell in the middle of her chest, a blue stone shining in the morning light.

'Since she broke no contact yesterday night, we have every reason to believe she's going back to her roots, possibly helping out her family. She's our first target.' Eva. Terrorist. He had just asked the terrorist on a date. Broke no contact, I was a criminal. I was hired and given a fake identity. Eva was hired and became Alba. Eva. God help him, so many lies, and he believed. Every. Single. Word.

He leaned down close, desperate to feel more of her, everything. It was never enough, he was never close enough, always needed more. She raised her hips from the mattress, reaching for him. He allowed himself to relax and lay his head beside her on the pillow. She had one arm around his neck, one hand pressed on his chest. Left side, his heart. 'Scusami', he said in her mother tongue. His hips lazily grinding against her, he moaned her name into her neck repeatedly like he was praying. Her legs straddled his hips, she was shaking.

'I'm sorry to everyone who considered her a friend.'

This is what happens when you let your guard down. Now Simon, Ghost, wasn't good with feelings, but he sure was good at war. Next target, did the captain say? Target. A job. Terrorist. Consider it done, then. War was what I wanted, war was what I was created for. Well, so was Simon. War was what he would bring me.

This is what happens when you let your guard down, this is what gets people heartbroken, killed, fooled, this is what happens to people like him. Betrayed. By me of all people, his sweet angel. It was absurd, but he let me do this, he gave me permission to ruin eveything, deep down it was his own fault.

Such an idiot.

On top of him, she intertwined her fingers with his, pinning his arms to the mattress, stretching them above his head. Her movements against him were erratic and desperate, back and forth, he whimpered like he was crying. Making him feel so good, it was her way of saying she was sorry. She kissed his eyes, she kissed his cheek and his mouth. She created a world from scratch just for him, a world where he was only hers, every hour of every day. Hers to love, to take care of. She reminded him every day, he was hers forever. He was safe everyday. Nothing's gonna hurt you. Not while I'm around. When his hands were freed, he circled her back with his strong arms, needed to feel her at all times, her belly pressed against him, her ribcage, her breasts. She run her hands through his hair that were starting to stick with sweat. ‘Sei l’amore della mia vita’ she whispered, like a hymnal. He believed her. He couldn't possibly do any different.

notes: happy professional help finale! I started writing this series after thinking about it a lot, I am new to all this. I wrote at least 27 chapters before even publishing the introduction, over a year ago. I am very very happy to have continued this project to the point of finishing part one. I still have a lot in mind and a lot of things that I want to explore with my characters. thank you so so much to all of you that liked, reblogged and commented such sweet things!! I really appreciate it so so much and I hope you'll continue to love Alba, or better, Eva and Simon as much as I love them.

I'm gonna go back to writing!

enjoy!

mare.

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[fiber-optic-alligator]

(Not a request dw) (So, about the two KO fics I was talking about earlier. I think I'm just gonna do the post-time skip one. The other one where Knock Out's human gets moved outta town, and has a few close calls isn't itching my brain good enough right now. I might have to let that one cook for a bit. lol.)

Re: Bumblebee rescuing Knock Out's human after they escape his game at the trainyard.

Once every other week, Bumblebee picks up his Little Pal for their typical hang out session at the Autobot Base. As they are wont to do, they spend the trip there excitedly chatting about what they're planning on doing together once they arrive. "What to do, what to do… … -Maybe a dance party?

"Hhhmmmm… No, that'd get too loud. Ratchet hates when we play music too loud. Or dance. Peepaw Ratch needs it relatively quiet in order to do his work. Haha. He could always use a break!"

"It doesn't have to -bee -loud music. We could -just have - regular music playing while we -hang out." Bee pleads through his spirit box speech, and his Little Pal finds that his bright blue, puppy dog eyes are hard to resist.

"Yeeeeeaaaaahhhhh… True. But we'd probably do that anyways. Haha. Maybe we could play video games? There's this one I found that I think you'll like. It's a racing game with weird tracks, gliding sections, customizable cars, and some killer music!" Bee lets out a string of excitable chirps before he tunes back into his alt form's radio.

"-Crowd cheering sfx- -Sounds great! When do we start?"

"Oh, just after we get to the base, and say hi to everybody. It's been, what, like, a month since last time? It's only polite, after-!!" They freeze mid-sentence like a deer in headlights at the sight of a familiar crimson mech. Of course he was real, they knew he was real. They'd only gotten repeated confirmation from everyone else they'd met that night. And every day since then, when they'd asked.

But. To see him again. To know for a fact that this particular mechanical alien that haunts their bizarre, blurry nightmares actually exists. That Knock Out actually exists, and is here. He's. He's here, and is planning on finally getting his talons on them once and for all! And-

They shake their head hard to dislodge their panic, and shuffle a little lower in Bumblebee's servos to hide themselves from Knock Out's line of sight. Bumblebee looks down at the human shaking like a twig in his servos, and tilts his helm. What's with the shaking? Why'd they pull his digits up, and around themselves like that? Who could they possibly be afraid of here? …-Wait a minute. Of course.

Bumblebee would recognize the tell-tale click of those pedes anywhere.

"Well well well~! There's no need to stop the party on my account. Do you mind if I get a closer look at this new visitor of ours, Bumblebee?" Knock Out purrs as he draws closer, evidently more interested in the human huddling in the scout's servos than maintaining optic-contact with him.

"No can do, man! -They're -Off the menu! -There's no need -to play coy about your -obsession with them -anyways." Bumblebee growls, annoyed that the supposedly reformed Decepticon would even try to get at the poor human again. Especially right after he'd Just helped them get confident enough around Cybertronians to have a good time hanging out around the base!

This doesn't happen with any other human who happens by the base, by the way. Knock Out is loathe to even think about touching humans, typically. Something about "having taste", and a "refined palette" apparently. Whatever that means. But with BB's Little Pal? He's practically obsessed!

Now, he's fixated on them for a while, sure. But being this obvious about his desire to get his servos on them after he's joined the Autobots is new. New, and concerning.

"Oh fine. If you don't want to run the risk of your -eugh- "Little Pal" getting stolen away by the Big Bad Ex-Con, then why don't we all just sit down somewhere and have a nice, long chat, hhmmm? It'd be nice to catch up with each other after So long, wouldn't it?" Knock Out aims the latter question towards the human in Bumblebee's servos attempting to get a rise out of them, if nothing else.

The human clears their throat, and sits up a little to speak. They don't like the way he's talking to/about them, and they've decided that he's going to hear about it. "You know? I'm not feeling particularly chatty today, but maybe we can have this conversation some other day… … … Ah, what was your name again?"

Knock Out lights up at the sound of their voice, despite being a little put out by their refusal to remember his name. It's only been a few months since they'd been swept up in all of this, and they're already So comfortable talking to him like this. How… Cute.

Though, he really only has to take a step closer to shut his Little Runaway up. A quiet growl arises in his chassis, and he laughs- he Has to. The audacity of this human. If only he'd captured them back at the trainyard, they would have Long since lost the ability to sass him like this. How lucky this Squishy little Mouse must consider themselves- Ahem.

"Oh? Have you truly forgotten about me already? And here I thought our fateful encounter that night would've seared itself into your processor for good, lest you find yourself wandering alone at night the way you had been when I found you." At his human's lack of a pronounced fear reaction, he decides to press on with his little speech. He really shouldn't have to reintroduce himself, the human memory isn't that fallible, is it? He may have to remedy that, personally, if it is.

"I mean, we could have gotten to know each other better back then if only you'd stuck around to socialize. Ah, but I suppose you were a little too focused on winning to think about that now weren't you?" Knock Out's attempt to remain casual about how he lost a game he'd rigged so thoroughly in his favor, fails, and bitterness colors his tone.

Nonetheless, he takes another step closer, and reaches out a servo to lean on a nearby wall. Attempting to get a better view of the little one that got away. Bumblebee, in return, readjusts his grip on his Little Pal to block Knock Out's view even further, and quickly strides around the mad doctor before the human could reply to Knock Out's irritable rant.

Primus, how he loathes the effect Knock Out has on them. The way they're shaking right now, breathing unsteadily, and trying to bury themselves deeper into his servos than they could feasibly go. It sucks! They shouldn't have to put up with him! They've already won his game. They've already gotten away! What does he have to gain by terrifying them like this?!

-Whatever. It doesn't matter. He's going to put as much distance between Knock Out, and his Little Pal as possible. No matter what. "Nope. No way. Not gonna happen. -Optimis- won't be happy to hear about this." He keeps his pace steady to avoid shaking his Little Pal around as he goes, but that only allows the crimson mech to catch up sooner. KO's less than casual stride lets him overtake the scout, and pivot around to face him.

"And he doesn't need to. It isn't like I could do anything to them what with everyone keeping such a close optic on me, anyways." If Bumblebee could look less amused about the current situation, he would.

"You aren't helping your case here, -Knockout! -And besides, if they wanted to talk to you -to see you, -they would've approached you first. -The way they approach me. -There'd be no need for you to try, and corner them like this -at all." Bumblebee flexes what he's come to learn about his Little Pal over time, hoping to get under KO's armor. Weaponizing their well-earned faith in him to prove how easy it is to befriend humans if you don't terrorize them.

No amount of false platitudes from an ex-con is gonna charm him into putting his Little Pal into harm's way. Especially with how often Knock Out looks like a ravenous, starved even, Predacon whenever he catches sight of them. Let alone how he acts after catching a whiff of their fear, eugh. Some things never change, huh? Not even after KO became an Autob-"

Bumblebee feels the human shift in his servos, and only has time enough to look down at them before they pipe up with their trademark sass. "Hey you! Knock Out! Why do you still follow me around anyways, huh? You lost then, you keep losing now, and for what? A snack? Why don't you get a life, and go polish your paint job, or something. It's starting to get sad."

The pair of Cybertronians balk at the human's acerbic comment before Knock Out growls loudly, and makes a grab for them. How dare they speak to him like that! Especially when he could just-... Hold on. Knock Out retracts his reaching servo just in time for heavy footsteps, and rumbling laughter to echo from up the hall. It seems they aren't alone any more.

"Hah! Ohhhh you may need to stop by the Med Bay after this, Doc Knock. Pally got you pretty bad with that one!" Bulkhead pulls up next to the bickering mechs, and pats KO on the shoulder as if to comfort him about getting roasted.

"Yes! Well, to answer your question, Fleshy. I am nothing if not consistent regarding how I choose to spend my time. Now if you'll excuse me." Knock Out brushes Bulkhead's servo off of his shoulder, dusts himself off, and stalks off to the Med Bay. Likely to buff out the cracks the human made in his ego... And the ones Bulkhead made in his shoulder.

He doesn't get to far down the hallway before the human responds with one last grumpily, half-muttered insult. "Yeah... You're consistent alright. A consistent pain in my ass."

Knock Out had turned back to watch them as they spoke, and Oh how he wished he could wipe that look off of their face! They don't even look pleased with themselves about that insult either! It seems comments like those come naturally to them now. Ugh. He stomps off to the Med Bay for real this time, chased away by the sound of the Autobot duo's laughter, and begins to see to his paint job once more. Ignoring Ratchet's judgemental, but silent sidelong glance at him.

That human. His human. Has grown So comfortable around Cybertronians that they feel as though they can talk back to him whenever they damn well please. Why, he'd almost be impressed by their boldness, if it wasn't directed at him. Though he is aware that most of their bravado comes from the support they'd received from their new found allies. Maybe he should've taken that game of his seriously, after all.

-Not a Request Anon

Holy shit dude, this is awesome! It’s like a story within itself! You should totally write a full length fic about this if you’d like to!! You’ve written out the relationship between Knockout and the reader so well with the former’s “redemption” into the Autobot ranks! God, I love the way Bumblebee protects the reader and constantly defends them. It’s like he knows the trust this little human has in Cybertronians, no matter how established, is still very fragile, and there’s no way he’s going to let Knockout ruin the friendship he’s forged with his Little Pal! And AUGH, Knockout still referring to the human as his, even after all that’s happened, it’s so him!!!

[stuckinapril]

do u think it’s weird for an 18 and 21 yr old to date?

Yeah tbh. These are such big years for us. Me rn at 21 is so different from me at 18. You could argue that there’s a 21 year old out there who’s just as sheltered as an 18 year old—and to that I say probably, because there are exceptions to every case. But most 21 year olds have had more experience w relationships than 18 year olds. I would side eye any 21 year old who’d see it as appealing to date someone who’s 18. Just not appropriate to me

[miaoqing]

thinking about how binghe actually had no reason whatsoever to believe sqq would ever come back and yet he spent every day for FIVE YEARS!!!!! begging a corpse to come alive and exhausting himself to keep it from decaying. it's a wonder that he's not even weirder like a little longer and he would have gone batshit fr

[lanshappycorner]

The vampire/human yaoi I have concocted in a lab, view them

[spotaus]

Late Night quick thing (New Age Sillies)

Bad news: That joke post about including Reset + Orchid is definitely not canon. (I legit got sad thinking about Reset being in a universe where Orchid isn't- because their stories are so so intertwined- but Nightmare 100% would NOT risk the whole twins exploding Error's soul thing.)

Good news: This means I COULD include Kane (Reset's older brother who usually dies in timelines where Reset is born) and use it to develope his character a bit more! Also! Perhaps a Blue × Dream kiddo is finally in the stars for me to design?

[sh00tingstarnightss]

Someone tell me I wasn't the only one who thought about that.

[spicyicymeloncat]

Idk if this is a hot take but why is it always “Kai slaved away and worked his ass off to raise his sister” and never the other way round or them working hard together?

Like, I know he’s older but in the show, does he really… act older? Like if you think about Kai and Nya’s dynamic yknow? Because from my understanding:

When Kai and Nya are introduced we see Kai fail at making a sword and Nya being the one to chide him for it. Kai makes an overconfident statement about wanting to be a better blacksmith than his father. This suggests that one, Kai is rather rash as well as inexperienced (something that lines up with the rest of his character arc in the pots and also generally), with Nya being the more mature figure in contrast

Also just a note but in the shorts: “I can handle it!” “No you can’t, stupid”

Kai frequently being very good at neglecting people or things: leaving Lloyd at an arcade whilst being focused on finding samurai x, not even knowing samurai x was Nya or that she only did it because she felt left out by him, completely abandoning both Nya and Lloyd in s3 (and Ik he was going through it at the time, but in line with the fandom’s characterisation of him)

Kai in season 5: “After I lost my dad, I lost my way. But I was lucky to have my sister watch over me”

Generally, their dynamic isn’t one where Kai really provides for Nya at all. In fact, judging by the fact that Nya can make entire mechs and Kai struggled to make a sword, Nya was probably busting her ass to provide for Kai. And judging by the s5 quote, that’s probably true. I’m not saying Nya raised Kai, it just rubs me the wrong way when she’s treated like a decorative flourish to a narrative that paints Kai as a burnt out child who was forced to grow up too soon especially since that is such a mischaracterisation of him in the first place.

[blujayonthewing]

[guy who lives in lowkey constant fear of being flanderized and infantalized and flattened and misunderstood and not taken seriously as an entire human person with complex thoughts and feelings in real life] yeah I dunno why I feel so strongly and get so defensive about Fantasy Racism and fantasy-race stereotyping it's just a really big sticking point for me for some mysterious reason

[self-spaghettification]

anyone else have a playlist of just a few songs that in the context of the dragon prince emotionally wrench them like a lot or just me 😃

[kath-artic]

guys.

[miscellaneous--bones]

lol hey yall hiiiii

my dhmis oc is just a worm on a string. that counts as a puppet, yeah? (some close ups under the cut for funsies)

[jessiesjaded]

there's always a fair point to be made about people becoming fans of something from a country or culture they don't belong to and then being entitled and not understanding different little cultural contexts and it's always good to think about that and keep that in mind when you're in that position and yeah! You should try to learn and listen when you're the fish out of water! but it will never stop being bizarre to me when i see people just totally towing the line on bizarre shitty ideals because supposedly that's just whats normal in X place, okay? like yes I do enjoy a lot of Asian dramas, no I don't think it's okay to act like an actor having a drug problem or even just. yk. smoking weed for fun is a disgusting and heinous person? I don't think they should have their careers wrecked? Yes, a lot of countries have deeply entrenched colourism but that doesn't mean I'll shrug off a pop star saying dark skin is ugly or wrong because I fuckin well care about all the people who have dark skin hearing that bullshit? like yeah cultural ideals exist but sometimes they're WRONG. and BAD.

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Back in the good ol' Dragon Age/Pokemon AU and you know what. This is my crossover, I get to be indulgent and give Ena a Zoroark. Who can stop me. No one, that's who.

So. Ena gets a Zoroark, that she first met as a Zorua. Consider this, from Zorua's Pokedex entires: "Apparently, it often transforms into a silent child." Ena was the person who found Esti as a baby when she was left abandoned outside of Clan Lavellan's camp. Ena finds a baby outside of camp and everyone's like "be careful, that might be a Zorua" and then it's not a Zorua, it's Esti. Then picture, some years later, Ena finding a child outside of camp and everyone's like "be careful, that might be a Zorua" and this time it is a Zorua but Ena still won't send it away.

I think the Dalish would probably have some superstitions regarding Zoroark in association with Fen'Harel. Like, it's more of a fox than a wolf, but all those animal references get weird in Pokemon AUs anyway when I think about it too much, and anyway you've got the shapeshifting, the illusions, the tricks... basically everyone's like "hey your weird dog might be in league with Satan" and Ena's like "lay off my weird dog" and eventually everyone sort of accepts that this is how it is now.

Kick forward another decade and Solas comes across Ena lying on the floor in the library using her Zoroark as a pillow and he's like "I've heard a great many Dalish consider Zoroark to be harbingers of bad luck, or guises or aspects of Fen'Harel. Does your clan not ascribe to such superstitions?" because she is, again, treating her Zoroark like it is a beanbag chair.

And Ena's like "Oh, no, they do. Keeper in particular was not pleased. But come on now." She sits upright. "I've told her before, do you think Fen'Harel would let me do this to him?" And she takes Zoroark's face in her hands and just smooshes its face. It does not even attempt to get away from her. "Or this?" She shoves her forehead up against her Zoroark's face which she is currently smooshing. It continues to not protest.

"I suppose not," says Solas, who is now forced to ignore a sudden intense bout of the dumbest yearning he's ever felt in his life.

"Exactly," says Ena. "And everyone eventually had to get used to him.”

Also I know I’m talking about a regular Unovan Zoroark here and the last time I ruminated on this crossover I told myself I should refrain from giving anyone a Hisuian Zoroark, but like. Come on. This is Reaver shit: “Heedless of its own safety, Zoroark attacks its nemeses with a bitter energy so intense, it lacerates Zoroark's own body.” And that makes me want to give Ena a second Zoroark.