#an iron grip on my stylus

[meromessy]

AHA I HAVE AN EXCUSE TO FINISH MY SHOPPING DATE DRAWING NOW

[lothirielswandc]

HOMEWRECKER (LOVE + FEAR)

Read on AO3 here!

— E P I L O G U E — 

— L E G I O N   O F   D O O M   H Q —

The ghostly pallor seared his eyes. Holograms hummed around him. They made it easier to pretend Lex wasn't there. 

“You won't let this go, will you?” Lex appeared spectral, bathed in the moonlike shine. An annoying figment of his imagination.

Conner ignored him. He continued to scribble physics formulas across the touchscreen table. That was one of the perks of being Lex’s spawn. The whole brainiac part.

“I can fix everything,” Conner murmured. It was more of a personal assurance than actually talking to Lex.

“Hmph.” Lex stared at the blue text. “I’ll admit, I see the potential. But it’s a total reset. You have to be willing to sacrifice everything to do it.”

Kon kept writing. 

“Not to mention, everyone else would have to start over, too.”

His pen flew across the touchpad, shrieking in protest.

“Which, I suppose, is the point. You and your fixations…you must acquire that from me.”

Conner focused on the hum of the screens. It was doable — with the right technology. It would cost a bajillion dollars, but thankfully Luthor genes were expensive. Kon could make blueprints easy —

Lex’s hand slammed against the table. He leaned over to be eye level with Conner. “Are you listening to me?”

Conner just nodded along. He already knew the warnings that Lex was throwing at him. He didn't care. “I know.” 

Lex looked away with a miffed expression. For a minute there, he almost looked like a father.

Mercy shifted from the shadows of the room. She put a hand on Lex’s arm and he shrugged her off. 

Mercy looked at Conner. Her lips parted like she was about to say something, but then sharply closed them. Her heels clicked as she left the room.

Conner kept writing. He stole a glance every now and then at Lex. Lex stood at the window, looking out. Lots of the headquarters were missing. It was more of a large, abstract art piece of workmen on wooden panels at this point. The drilling sounds from people putting the building back together were annoying. 

They’re still trying to fix the destruction from —

Kon flinched away from the thought. All of his focus went into the small, fluid movements of his hand. 

“I know you were infatuated with my assistant,” Lex said carefully. “But all of this, just for one girl. One dead girl…”

Small snapping sounds caught Conner’s attention. Tiny cracks bloomed across the stylus. Like wounds. Conner laxed his grip. 

That was the lie they sold to lex. Rachel Grey died by the hands of Raven. Ironic. What’s sad was how true it was.

Ray.

The love monster from her head shortly followed whenever Conner thought of her. He shuddered to think of that walking freakshow, but that was all the proof he needed that he was doing the right thing. Love wasn't monstrous. It wasn't supposed to be. 

‘Let’s just stick with being happy for now.’

That was the real lie. How could Conner make her happy at all, with things the way they were? How could Conner make Raven when it wasn't just Raven anymore? It was Raven and Da — 

No. Conner would only cause her pain now. He was sure of that.

Kon set the deformed stylus down and rubbed at his eyes. “If I could go back — even before then. To the minute we met…”

‘Sorry for crashing your party.’

‘Don’t apologize. I don't mind.’

No, even before then. Save Raven from all the timeline heartache. Terra’s betrayal. Trigon’s invasion. Azarath’s demise. 

If it was to preserve the most beautiful thing Conner had ever seen — Raven’s smile — it was worth it.

Lex turned back to him. His face was twisted…in pain. “I know I’m not the best father figure. But this comes from a place of love. Perhaps…it might be best to move on? I know you won't like that. But personality defects aside, you have good looks. You have manners. People like you. You’re…good. It wouldn't be hard to meet someone else.”

Conner shook his head. This wasn't some stupid crush. He owed Raven everything. She was the first to go out of her way and do something nice for him, no ulterior motive. The first to skate down the halls with him and not complain about scuff marks on the floor. Everything about her calmed his senses and made them all go haywire at the same time. 

And now she probably doesn't even want to see me. The way things are…she doesn't deserve that. It’s better this way. To start over. 

“No. It's the right thing to do.” Conner looked up at the blue screen. S.T.A.R. Labs documents were scrawled across every electronic surface. Detailing one theory.

The Flashpoint.

Clear the board. Start again.

THE TITANS WILL RETURN.

[landylachs]

Corveil Painting Practice

I've been exploring different pen grips and stylus pressures recently - and painted Corveil for one of the practice paintings! It's been a while since I've posted one of my original chars here, even though I've been drawing them a fair bit elsewhere.

Ironically, I think switching my pen grip is forcing me to practice better drawing technique. At least, the mark-making here is more aligned with what I have attempted in the past (maybe it only makes a difference to me, though, haha).

--

🌱Website: LizLiu.com 🌱 Instagram 🌱 Bluesky

🌱Links: LizLiu.com/links

[quenthel]

“ok time to do my little drawing exercises” said with tears down my face, iron gripping my stylus

[eternalsimp]

Cursed Fears

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 3096

Warnings: aged up Megumi, use of female pronouns, swearing, mentions of violence, spoilers for episodes 5 and 6, mention of character death, slight sexual themes toward the end, angst, minors dni.

The sound of the rain steadily increasing was the only sound in your apartment as you waited patiently for your boyfriend. Your laptop displayed that it was midnight as you lazily scribbled statistics solutions onto the notes app of your tablet. Once you felt you reached a stopping point you got up to find a long sleeve to stave off the cold that seeped into the apartment from the storm. Striding over to your closet to pull out something to remind you of him. As you grabbed his signature grey shirt, you were immediately hit with the soft scent of cedar-wood. It was thin and soft from years of use. It hung loosely and brought you a sort of comfort as you counted down the minutes ‘til he got home. You weren’t a sorcerer, but you were well aware of the dangers that your friends went out and faced, and the panic in the back of your mind grew louder as the hours passed since Megumi had walked out of the door.

You stifled a yawn as you finally heard the lock to your front door click open and shut. You closed your eyes and stretched your back to loosen the knots that formed from doing your homework on the living room floor. As you made your way to the door to greet your boyfriend, he was frantically kicking his shoes off and stripping himself of his jacket.

“Hey love, how was it?” you said softly while reaching for his rain-soaked torso. He flinched away from your touch, eyes wide and afraid. His blue eyes scan your confused face before he blinks slowly and takes a shuddering breath.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect you to still be up.” He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before retreating to the bathroom. The smell of blood, dirt, and god knows what else isn’t lost on you as he tries to pass you quickly. You bend to pick his jacket off of the floor where he had tossed it in his haste, and walk to your shared bedroom to put it in the laundry basket. You open the drawers to his side of the dresser to pull out his favorite sweats and a plain white tee-shirt, before gently placing them on the bathroom counter where he is aggressively scrubbing his face. 

“You’re gonna get sick if you stay in those wet clothes much longer,” you say oh so matter of factly before pushing up on your toes to kiss the corner of his jaw. Your movements take him slightly off guard, which you use to your advantage to nudge him to a sitting position on the bench next to the shower. You run a washcloth under the warm water of the sink, move to stand between his legs, and gently brush the cloth against his temple. He closes his eyes and leans into your touch. You both sit in silence as you wipe the remnants of sweat and blood off of his face and neck. You notice the way he's holding your waist, hands so light his touch is barely there. Like he’s afraid you'll break if he makes a wrong move. After you finish wiping his face and neck, you tug at the hem of his soaked shirt and he complies with your wordless command to take it off. You step back out of the bathroom to toss it into the basket with his Jujustu Tech jacket.

When you walk back in, his head is leaning against the cool wall, letting you fully take stock of the bruises and cuts adorning the top half of his body. The worst of it looks like a slight split at the corner of his bottom lip and a shallow cut above one of his brows. You stride over to him and run your fingers through his black hair. “Baby,” you crooned softly. He gave a soft hum in acknowledgment as you nuzzled your nose into the top of his head. “I love you but you smell like a sewer, can you please shower before you fall asleep?” He sticks his tongue out playfully as you back away from him so he can stand up and move towards the shower. 

Though his normal stoic behavior wouldn’t concern you, you still can’t shake the terrified look on his face when he first entered the apartment. How tense he’s holding himself and the way that he’s obviously trying not to worry you. His eyes linger on your face like he’s trying to memorize every aspect of it before he drops his gaze and shakes whatever thought he had out of his head.

You settle back on the living room floor between the coffee table and the couch and turn your attention back to your college notes. You only have time to pick your stylus back up before your phone starts vibrating in your pocket. You look down and see Itadori’s name scrawled across the screen along with a picture of him smiling next to your grouchy-looking boyfriend.

“Hey Yuuji, what’s up?”

“Hey y/n, I know it's late but I just wanted to make sure Fushiguro got back okay.”

“Yeah, he’s in the shower. Do you want me to have him call you when he’s out?”

“No… I just… did he seem okay when he got back?”

You chewed on the corner of your mouth for a second, “I mean, he seemed kinda unsettled but that’s not unusual for when he comes back from your guys' missions.”

“Yeah… yeah you’re right. I don’t know, he just seemed off after everything. Never mind.”

You hear the water shut off in the other room and quirk a brow. “Yuuji you better spit it out or else I’m gonna come over there and start cutting your fingers off! What are you not telling me?”

“On that note, I gotta go. Just talk to him, okay?”

“Wait Yuuji-” the line goes dead before you can press him with more questions. You stuff your phone back into your pocket and tap your stylus on your tablet for a couple of minutes. Just talk to him. Gore and violence are nothing new to Megumi, and he isn’t easily fazed, so what would shake him so bad that even Yuuji is worried?

You’re pulled from your thoughts both literally and figuratively when you feel a pair of muscular arms lift you onto the couch behind you. You are once again settled between your boyfriend's legs as you’re pressed against his strong chest. You yelp and try to wiggle out of his grasp but his years of training with the other Jujustu Sorcerers, even after graduating, leave him with an iron grip on your hips. 

“Hang on let me grab my notes,” you protest. He presses his face into your neck and whines. After a few moments of struggling against him, you manage to snatch your tablet and pen off the ground and open it to your last question. You adjust yourself so your shoulder is against his chest and you can lazily drape your legs over his thigh. He rests his cheek against the crown of your head and readjusts his arms around you so he can still hold you tightly while not blocking your view of your classwork. You scribble notes for a few more minutes before deciding that him falling asleep in this position will mean him complaining of a sore neck in the morning, what with the awkward way it's twisted to lean against you. You could feel his body getting heavier against your own. You remembered what Yuuji had told you, and in an effort to keep him awake, you decided to ask what had been nagging you since he got back home. 

“Are you okay?” All you get in response is another hum from your barely awake boyfriend. You shift again and reach up to run your fingers through his still-damp hair, “‘Gumi, baby, you shouldn't fall asleep here. Let’s go to bed.” He chuckles lightly at the nickname you gave him way back when you first started dating, and how you save it for private moments like this. 

“I just wanna hold you for a bit longer, I promise we’ll get up soon.” Megumi finally murmurs. You don’t miss the way his jaw clenches as you try to fix your gaze upon him. You sigh and set your tablet down before turning to straddle Megumi’s lap and force him to look at you. 

“What’s wrong, you’re more distant than usual?” You rest your hands on either side of his face and turn him to look at you. He avoids eye contact and suddenly you’re looking at the guarded 16-year-old boy who refused to open up to anyone when you first met. You lean to rest your forehead against his as he focuses his gaze somewhere between your jaw and the base of your throat. “Please talk to me? What happened out there?”

Megumi struggles internally on how much to tell you. You mindlessly stroke his cheeks with your thumbs and he finds himself settling his hands back on your waist again, with the same feather-light touch that you would use with glass. Finally, you get his answer in the form of a whisper.

“I’m scared I’m gonna lose you…”

You immediately pull your head back to look at him straight on only to be met with a faraway gaze. You furrow your brows together and squeeze his face just enough to get his attention. His eyes snap to yours and you can see the tears starting to prick at the corners. “I’m not going anywhere ‘Gumi.” You smile at him before pulling him closer to you and he buries his face into your neck.

“Fuck, that’s not what I meant. I’m scared I’m putting you in danger,” his voice is starting to waver, “You didn’t ask for this, any of this. I’m gone all the time, always on missions constantly putting both our lives in danger. I can’t even imagine what would happen if one of the special grades were to find out about you. It’s bad enough Sukuna knows you.” His voice cracked at the end of his sentence and you feel his chest shudder.

He wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer to him. You nudge his face away from your shoulder and see the tears he’s been holding back finally fall. The only other time you can remember him crying like this was when he thought Yuji died. You go back to stroking his face and shushing him but it's too late, the dam is broken and he can no longer hold back the sobs. 

“What if I can’t protect you?” He continues to choke out his fears while you keep stroking his face lovingly and whispering soft reassurances to him that everything is going to be okay and you’re both safe. You let him cry into your chest until his strangled sobs slowly turn into soft sniffles.

“Feeling any better baby?” You gently push at his shoulders and lean him back again so you can look at him. He nods hesitantly and lets you wipe any remaining tears from under his now puffy eyes.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m just tired and I guess everything kinda boiled over all at once,” he sighs. You lean down to press a soft kiss to his lips and he instantly melts into it.

“Don’t be sorry Megumi, you can talk to me about anything.” You press another kiss to his forehead and continue rubbing small circles into his jaw to loosen the tension there. After a few moments of holding each other silently, you pipe your voice up again. “Yuji called, he seemed worried. Did something happen tonight?”

You felt Megumi go stiff underneath you before quickly relaxing into your touch again. “Itadori started to lose control and Sukuna was just being a dick, per usual.” You inhale sharply and try to remove yourself from his grasp, you are gonna kill those two one of these days. As if he could read your mind Megumi quickly grabbed your wrists effectively pinning you against his chest once again. “Okay no, stop it. Nothing happened, he was just being mouthy and trying to wind me up. Obviously, it worked...”

“I don’t give a shit what Sukuna says and neither should you. If by some miracle he is able to get out of their pact, Gojo and Yuji would never let anything happen, and neither would you.” You press your forehead against his again since he still has a firm grip on your wrists to keep you from moving away from him. “I don’t care what you think, the safest place for me is right here with you. Sukuna is just bitter that he’s in a cage so he’s decided to make it everyone else's problem.” Megumi chuckles lightly again before releasing your hands and replacing his arms around your waist. 

“We should go to bed, you have class in the morning.” He sighs. You crane your neck to see it’s well past 2 am, you stretch again to release the last couple of cracks in your spine and your boyfriend takes the opportunity to nip at your collarbones and make you squirm against him. 

“If you stop doing that I’ll stay home with you instead, deal?” He jerks his face away from your chest and gives you the biggest puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen. 

“Are you sure? You have exams this week right?” 

“There’s no point in going to a lecture if I’m just gonna fall asleep. I’ll study for my exams tomorrow after I wake up, but I’m planning on sleeping in tomorrow. Both of us need it.” He hums in agreement before trying to lift himself off the couch with you still in his arms. You gasp in surprise as you feel him wobble and stumble back into the couch cushions, tucking you into his neck with a hand to the back of your head to keep your faces from colliding. 

You look at each other and let out a chorus of laughter. You shake your head before pinching his nose gently. “For someone so smart, you are so fucking dumb sometimes.” He scrunches up his face and swats your hand away as you peel yourself out of his arms and off his lap.

“You know, I’ve done it before and I was confident I could do it again. Also, I gotta keep my pretty girl on her toes.” This time it was your turn to swat his hand away as he grabbed at your thighs and rear. You rolled your eyes comically at him and moved towards the bedroom. He jumps up, throws you over his shoulder, before unceremoniously plopping you on the bed with a speed you’ve only ever seen him possess. He hovers over you as he presses his mouth against you in a rushed, teeth-clashing kiss. You push at his shoulder so he can dramatically flop on his back and open his arms expectantly. 

“Give me a sec to change, I’ll be right back.” He whines like a child when you grab your pajama shorts and a tank top from the top of the dresser and stride into the bathroom. You’ve never known anyone to be as handsy as Megumi. He hates PDA and would never in a million years let strangers see through his cold, tough exterior. In the comfort of your home though, you quickly learned that he can never keep his hands to himself and they tend to wander on their own. He always wants to be touching you when you’re home together and he’ll whine and pout if he can’t. You can never find it in your heart to turn down his affection, especially on nights like this when he is feeling vulnerable and needs reassurance. Those nights are few and far between but you indulge your boyfriend in anything he needs whenever his facade starts to crack and you get glimpses of the version of him that he keeps carefully tucked away. 

You pull your jeans and his sweater off and quickly throw your pajamas on. You toss your clothes into the basket from the door and find your boyfriend sprawled on your side of the bed scrolling through his phone. You poke the middle of his back and yank the blanket, covering him from the waist down, to what's supposed to be his side of the bed. His jaw drops in mock offense before he's pulling your front flush against his chest once again. 

His lips latch onto yours again as he's tangling his legs with yours and threading his hands through your hair. You bring your hands under his shirt to stroke your fingertips lightly against his sides as his kisses grow needier and more urgent. One of his hands leaves your hair to grip your hips as he rolls his own into you desperately. You bring one hand to press against his chest lightly and move away from him for air. 

“Baby please…” he looks like he's on the verge of begging. His heart pounds heavily under your fingers on his chest. You press a quick kiss to the tip of his nose.

“‘Gumi, you’re exhausted and very emotional right now, just go to sleep.” His bottom lip sticks out in a cute pout and you lift your hand to run your thumb over his protruding bottom lip. “I promise I will be here in the morning and we have all day tomorrow to hang out and do anything you want.” 

His brows quirk up and his mouth pulls into a smirk. “Anything?” He drops his head to try and catch your lips again but you evade him.

“Anything, if you go to sleep right now and wait ‘til morning.” He scrunches his nose up and huffs pathetically before moving to tuck one arm under your head and wrap the other around your waist protectively. You nuzzle your face into his chest to breathe in the usual smell of cedar-wood and a lingering scent of rain. One of your hands is tucked under his jaw while the other slips back beneath his shirt to keep tracing patterns up and down his sides. He shivers at the featherlight touch of your fingertips but melts into the hand you have on his face.

You can feel his breath growing more rhythmic and you glance up to see his eyes fluttering shut. You press one last kiss to his jaw before murmuring a quiet “I love you” into his chest. He squeezes the arm that's around your waist to pull you impossibly closer to him before you drift to sleep.

“I love you too baby. I promise I’ll always protect you.”

[nonbinarybrainstorm]

Rodimims with Minimus spiking Roddy?

I hope you like it~

Additional content: fingering, (mild) praise kink, misuse of the rewards system in an office environment

Minimus heads to Rodimus’ habsuite after receiving a message from him that he was struggling with some paperwork and being the mech he is, he agreed without hesitation. When he walks into the room to find Rodimus lounging on his berth with a datapad covering his array and a devilish smile on his face. Immediately, Minimus turns around to walk out the door.

“Wait!” Rodimus shouts and scrambles off the berth after Minimus, datapad falling to the floor harshly.

Minimus sighs and turns back around only to feel heat rush to his face fast enough to make him feel almost faint and his hand instinctively reaches to the door controls to shut the door, effectively trapping himself in the room with Rodimus. Frozen in the middle of getting off the berth, Rodimus blinks curiously at Minimus not seeming to notice or care how exposed his valve his. Covering his mouth to keep himself from saying anything, Minimus stares far too long at Rodimus’ gently blinking valve, his legs spread just wide enough to reveal his softly glowing node and entrance. He stares for too long so that Rodimus notices and a smirk curls up on that handsome face of his finally getting Minimus to look away but it’s too late, the damage has been done. Rodimus leans back on one hand, curving his back to show off his frame and spreads his valve wide with two fingers with his gaze burning into Minimus.

“C’mon Mims,” Rodimus sighs and flutters his spoiler to try and entice him, “Help your captain out?”

Minimus turns and presses his helm against the cool wall, feeling uncomfortably hot very quickly so that he feels like the room is trying to suffocate him.

“This is ridiculous,” Minimus mutters even as his hand reaches to lock the door.

When he turns back and starts walking towards Rodimus, he can’t help the little flutter in his spark when Rodimus grins in a genuinely happy way at him that quickly turns into confusion as Minimus bends down to pick up the discarded datapad. There is, as Minimus suspected, unfinished paperwork and he sighs as he hands it to Rodimus who takes it with a soft frown. Minimus gets up on the berth next to Rodimus and runs a hand over his hip until the tips of his fingers just reach Rodimus’s valve. Rodimus bites his lip and wiggles under Minimus’ touch, trying to move into the feather-light touch but ultimately failing much to his frustration.

“Lie back,” Minimus commands gently and Rodimus does so eagerly.

He rubs his thumb over Rodimus’ node and moves his legs so he’s seated between Rodimus’ thighs.

“What’s the first item on the form?” Minimus asks as he continues to press circles into Rodimus’ node.

Rodimus responds with a small sound of confusion too focused on Minimus’ touch to process the question so Minimus stops cold, getting a frustrated grunt from Rodimus.

“What’s the first item on the form?” Minimus repeats.

Rodimus groans and lifts up the datapad to look over it and grumbles, “Total number of crew members to go planetside, average number of crew members per team, and total number of teams.”

Minimus hands him a stylus from his subspace before returning to his ministrations while slipping a finger to rub around Rodimus’ entrance.

“Fill that item out,” Minimus demands, his voice remaining unaffected even as Rodimus’ hips begin to twitch under his hands.

“Ugh, are you serious?” Rodimus all but whines and looks over at Minimus who gives him a look that makes him roll his optics and he fills out the first item.

Minimus starts thrusting his finger in and out of Rodimus, finding the shallow nodes just at his entrance and says, “The next item.”

Rodimus pants and writhes under Minimus’ hand pinning one of his thighs to the berth. After he doesn’t respond for a while, Minimus stops again and Rodimus keens while moving his hips into the touch, trying to get him to continue.

Rodimus makes a dismissive noise, “Seriously?”

Minimus just stares at him, keeping his hand very still but still pressed firmly against Rodimus’ valve, enough to stimulate but not enough to derive pleasure. 

“Ugh, purpose of venture,” Rodimus admits and Minimus slips two fingers into Rodimus’ valve, feeling how Rodimus’ valve is starting to clench around his fingers.

“And what is the purpose of this venture?” Minimus asks while pushing up into a bundle of nodes that has Rodimus gasp and choking on a moan.

“T-to collect s-s-supplies to make repairs,” Rodimus gasps out with Minimus’ fingers steadily pumping into him.

“Good,” Minimus praises and squeezes Rodimus’ hip, “Now write that down.”

Rodimus’ hands are shaky as he writes but what matters is he’s writing so Minimus adds another finger and bites down the pleasure that shoots to his spike as he sees Rodimus’ hand spasm on the stylus.

“What supplies are being collected?” Minimus asks almost casually, his optics traveling down to see Rodimus’ valve lips stretched around his fingers and lubricant running over his plating onto the berth.

Rodimus gasps and pants, “It’s hard to write like this…”

Minimus hums, slipping his fingers out of Rodimus’ valve, and before Rodimus can complain commands, “Flip over.”

Rodimus complies, flipping onto his front with his knees propped up, exposing his valve fully to Minimus. Minimus lifts up on his knees and pushes his fingers back into Rodimus while running one hand over his thigh appreciatively.

“Now,” Minimus calls over, the definition of authority, “the question.”

Rodimus bites off a moan as Minimus spreads his fingers to stretch his valve then, as best as he can, replies, “Natural pockets of iron, carbon, and copper.”

“Those will be helpful,” Minimus notes and removes his fingers so he can press his stiff spike against Rodimus’ wet folds, rubbing the length against Rodimus’ pulsing node. “Put that in the next section, after that will be what they’re going to be used for.”

“Minimus,” Rodimus groans with his face against the berth, “You’re k-killing me here.”

Minimus stops and Rodimus growls with frustration but Minimus makes no move to continue.

“I’m waiting, Rodimus,” Minimus can’t keep the amusement out of his voice with Rodimus’ shaking under his touch, charge peaking over his frame.

Rodimus scribbles it in quickly and looks over his shoulder at Minimus with a rather upset look that only succeeds in getting Minimus to chuckle.

“Very good,” Minimus coos and pushes his spike into Rodimus’ valve, getting him to completely forget his frustration in favor of the spike pressing against neglected nodes, “Now the next item… What are these materials being used for?”

Rodimus moans into the berth but manages to mumble, “To forge steel to make… to make repairs… repairs after the last gunfight and…”

“And?” Minimus doesn’t fight the smile that forms on his face as he thrusts lazily into the wet heat of Rodimus’ valve.

“And… and for wiring,” Rodimus sighs as Minimus continues to rock into him.

“Excellent, now write it down,” Minimus thrusts in roughly, getting Rodimus to jump with a choked off moan.

Rodimus quickly writes and is about to set the datapad and stylus aside when Minimus stops. He instead tightens his hands onto the items and groans with frustration.

“Oh come on, Mims,” Rodimus snaps, his hips struggling to move in Minimus’ strong grip.

“It’s just your signature now, Rodimus,” Minimus leans down and plants a kiss against Rodimus’ back, “You can do that for me can’t you?”

Rodimus huffs and shuffles so he can sign off the document and tosses the offending items to the side then glares back at Minimus who sighs at the discarded datapad and stylus. Even so, Rodimus did finish it so he deserved his reward. Minimus pushes Rodimus down onto his chest earning a soft grunt of surprise then wraps his hand around his hip before slamming his spike into Rodimus. He holds Rodimus down as he thrusts roughly into him, Rodimus’ valve spasming around Minimus’ spike as his hands grip the edge of the berth. Heat and charge build quickly as Minimus pounds into him, lubricant and pre-transfluid dripping onto the berth. Rodimus cries out Minimus’ name, his hips twitching and pushing back into every thrust.

“Overload for me,” Minimus demands with a sharp thrust and Rodimus shakes as charge erupts from him in overload, his valve squeezing down on Minimus’ spike making him grunt.

A few more thrusts has Minimus moaning into overload, feeling his spike milked for all it’s worth by Rodimus’ valve then settles back with a sigh. Rodimus collapses fully onto the berth, venting heavily.

“That was cruel, Mims,” Rodimus mutters, not moving from his position.

“Well,” Minimus says between vents, “If that’s what will get you to actually finish your paperwork, I might be convinced to help you out in such a way in the future.”

Rodimus is quiet for a moment before he says, “I have some unfinished forms sitting on my desk in the other room.”

Minimus hums in mock consideration then smiles, “Then you better go get them. It looks like we have a lot of work to do.”

[daily-kagami-tsurugi]

I know that you are taking a mental break, but how long do you think it will be?

(Read after this ask, preferably.) Disclaimer: wacky english. TL;DR because it's ranty-ish, trying to gather my thoughts.

TL;DR: No longer a mental break, New college is just scary busy. Likely to not have a regular posting schedule like before, might post a doodle a week from today (ref. post date: start of 2nd week of June 2020) and/or 2 weeks later. Do not trust, too flaky. I’m no longer keeping up to date with Miraculous but my obsession of Kagami shall not waver. Been using my finger instead of a stylus because i broke it (again). My posting policy will cautiously follow the blog slogan, i.e. “ A Kagami a day keeps the stress away.”

I'm bad at respecting and adhering to promises i make for myself and honestly, super flaky in general. At this point it's no longer a mental break ( it's been abt half a year, oops.) , just never really got around to being able to want to post a doodle, much less that I'm satisfied with.

I don't want to post a doodle for the sake of keeping up with daily quota, rather than myself actually enjoying that little burst of fun and posting a doodle that i did without intention for attention. Because previously i got to a point where i posted daily for quota that ended up stressing me out to constantly meet while i wasn't in the healthiest of mental states while struggling to even get to studying for my national exams, which was kinda ironic considering my blog slogan i.e. " A Kagami a day keeps the stress away."

(Tiny life update: i managed to somehow end up in the last possible pre-college i could enroll in with my subpar results, got a bunch of Bs and 1 A of all my 9 subjects, it's real competitive here. And mAN, am i constantly ridden with work & revision rn .)

About a few weeks ago i got onto tumblr again and i was especially grateful for all the reblogs + the tags (yes, i do read those!), and had multiple notifications from this blog, every other day. Thanks for being supportive even though I've gone super inactive and left really bad doodles as the front face of the blog, i.e. day 116, 115, 113 , etc.,,,,, .

Got annoyed at the signature doodle "art style" of this blog at one point, improved on anatomy, ish. I’m not as often active on tumblr in general, anymore, but i’m more active on my instagram art account. Have been experiencing pain in the separate fo sections of my arms, including both hands, might be gripping the pen too tightly/ posture issues. Broke a new stylus, which still kinda works but the nib was irreplaceable with no pressure sensitivity, i use my fingers on the table screen no, quite used to it. Might invest in a new proper one with my own savings in the near future, manually thickening lines is time consuming.

I have lost feels for miraculous and still haven’t viewed most of S3. I’m likely not going to in the near future, so this blog will stay mostly spoiler-free. ( Unless It’s to do with kagami, but even so, I’m late to news.)

I’ve seen multiple Kagami fanarts that frankly is stylised much better than i did to my “style(s)”, they were all really good and I unintentionally obsessed too much over them, to become demotivated about posting my doodles. I want to but can’t be fully immune to envying other arts against my own, which just leads to the vicious cycle of downward spiraling of my confidence that i can improve.

To actually answer the question, how long more before i revive this blog per se, to bluntly put it, I don't know? I do have some wip doodles in reserve (which i don't think I will end up posting, because of that mixed feeling of ew × ugh.). Any original plan has been scrapped i guess, mostly because if I can't remember, then it was probably something i won't stick to and should probably come up with a better plan that I can more realistically follow.

However, if I were to come up with a solid time/date, if I have completed my revision for the next week (term exams ;v), i might post one doodle (though, I’d like if it was mq-hq for a comeback ygm). There’s a 50% chance of that happening. And then regardless, i might post another in the Fourth week of June 2020 (ref. date of this post: start of week 2 of June). I can’t be sure, like i said i’m flaky, probably might not have a regular post schedule like before, don’t take my word for this. Treat this like a fanfiction series, it updates unpredicatably and you probably forgot about it until it updated a follow up chapter to a cliff hanger 3 months to 10 years later. 

[rosalind-of-arden]

An AU I will probably never finish

Imagine that instead of bringing him home to Santi, Keria brought Wolfe back to the Iron Tower. Imagine Morgan found him there upon being captured herself. I do not know how anything else works in this AU, so don’t ask. This is probably going nowhere because I have no idea of how to work the plot out.

Here is an alternate meeting for Morgan and Wolfe.

When Morgan finally worked out how to get into the garden, she waited for a night when the Obscurist Magnus and her highest-ranking assistants were scheduled for a meeting, and she went alone, telling no one. Sybilla would have liked more than anything to go, but Morgan could not in good conscious risk her friend’s safety. She would bring Sybilla next time. If it worked.

The life recognized her forged credentials and carried her up into the restricted levels, finally stopping to open its doors on a miracle.

It was every bit as beautiful as the rumors said. The ceiling rose so high that small trees could spread their branches over her head, and tall windows let in the last of the day’s sunlight. Morgan paused there at the lift doors, taking in the first sunset she had seen in months. Her room’s tiny window faced east, allowing her only the sunrise.

Birds sang in the trees. Birds. They had birds here.

The birds were the only ones there in this quiet evening hour. Morgan wandered silently down the paths, taking in the wonder of the flowers, the leaves, the fresh smells of green and growing things. It felt as if she was breathing properly for the first time in months.

But when she came around a line of hedges near the side of the building opposite the lift, she realized she was not, in fact, alone. A lone man sat at a table set with a tray of tea and cookies, facing toward the window with his back to Morgan. He looked like a Scholar, dressed in a long black robe that matched with the long black hair, streaked with gray, that was tied neatly with a black ribbon at the back of his neck.

Morgan ducked back behind the hedge, her pulse racing. Peeking through the hedge’s leaves, she breathed a sigh of relief to see that the man seemed not to have noticed her. He remained in his chair, looking out the window, the Blank and refreshments on his table untouched.

Looking more closely at his face, his brown skin and sharp features, she recognized him. The Obscurist Magnus’s son. Christopher Wolfe. The madman, as the other Obscurists called him. Morgan had seen him only once, but the resemblance to his mother was uncanny. They’d been at dinner, months ago now. He had seemed ordinary enough, if quiet, but when the second course was served, he’d started screaming for no apparent reason, throwing his food from the table and running to cower, shaking, behind a tapestry. The Obscurist had been forced to call the guards to escort him out. Morgan hadn’t seen him since.

They said he was brought in because he lost his mind from the pressure of his research. They said he crossed the Archivist and was imprisoned here for it. They said he had a small amount of talent and the Library had grown desperate enough to bring him back to the Tower for it. That last one, at least, Morgan could partially verify. She could feel the power in him. Faint, but present. Whatever the reason had been, he was apparently displeased with his confinement.

Morgan knew how that felt.

Walking around to the other side of the hedge, Morgan chose a path of approach that would let the Scholar see her coming. If he was truly mad, and not merely feigning it in an act of rebellion, she didn’t want to frighten him. He must have seen her by the time she reached the table, but he kept his eyes fixed on the window. This one looked out over the city, toward the High Garda compound, where the glows were coming on as the sky darkened.

“May I sit?” Morgan asked with a gesture toward the chair opposite the Scholar. He gave no answer, so she sat. “I’m Morgan Hault, and I’m not any happier to be here than you are. Wouldn’t you care for some company?”

Wolfe turned his head toward her, the slightest flicker of curiosity in his dark eyes before he returned his gaze to the window, frowning.

“I’m planning to escape,” she said. “When I figure it out, want to come with me?” She had no reason to offer. She had no reason not to. Anyone imprisoned here deserved a chance at freedom. Since he never spoke or wrote, it seemed a small enough risk.

The glare he turned on her was so full of scorn that it made rage ignite deep within her. “You don’t think I can do it. No one does,” she snapped, all the anger she’d been holding back when she talked to her fellow prisoners spilling out before this strange, silent man. “I almost didn’t get caught, you know. If Captain Santi hadn’t-”

His hand shot out, lightning quick, and seized her wrist in a crushing grip. Wide eyes stared at her, not with scorn or even anger, but strangely, with hope. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but said nothing, even as his eyes continued their pleading.

Morgan’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. One beat. Two. What did he want from her? Why…? She hadn’t even explained how she almost got away. All she’d said was… “You know him, don’t you?” she asked. “Captain Santi?”

She didn’t know the captain well herself. He’d been a grim, haunted man who led her postulant class into the Oxford war zone for their final test. Competent in his work. Too competent. When the orders came down to capture her after she accidentally revealed her power, he predicted her attempt to escape and cut it off. Still, she couldn’t hate the man. He’d been kinder to her than he had to be. Almost apologetic.

Across the table, the mad Scholar gave a vigorous nod. His grip remained tight on her wrist. Bruising. The look in his eyes tugged at her heartstrings. She knew that look. She’d seen it enough times on her own face in the mirror. She remembered seeing it…

No, that wasn’t something she would think of now.

“Do you miss him?”

Another nod.

“We could send him a message. I found a way that can’t be detected. If you let go of me, I can show you.”

His hand left her wrist as quickly as it had seized it. He pulled it back to rest on the table in front of him, where it trembled while she got out her Codex and wrote out the scripts to open a secure channel. Once she had it, she turned the book toward him and held out the stylus. “Can you write?”

A tear rolled down his cheek as he took the stylus. Though his hand shook badly, he wrote. Morgan looked away, toward the window. Whatever he had to say, it was private. 

He’d been watching the High Garda compound. The place where Captain Santi worked. Just as Morgan watched the docks, where smugglers plied their trade. They had so much in common, she and this supposed madman. Not really mad, she suspected. More unwilling to cooperate with his captors than mad.

The sound of the lift doors opening made them both jump. Wolfe scrawled a final line in shaky writing and thrust the Codex back at Morgan, waving for her to leave.

The words on the page were in Italian. Even if Morgan had wanted to pry, it would have been impossible. She wiped the page clean as she slipped away, back behind the hedges.

From between the leaves, she watched Annis come down the path toward Wolfe, who sat at the table with his head in his hands, sobbing. The old Obscurist spoke soothingly to him as she offered him her hands, helping him stand. He walked with the stiffness of a man in pain, holding Annis’s arm for support, and Morgan wondered how much of that was an act, how much he really did ache.

What had happened to him, this Scholar with too little power to be called an Obscurist?

The lift had gone, and Morgan was planning her own exit from the garden when he Codex chimed with a message. The handwriting was so messy she could barely make it out.

If this is some cruel trick, please stop now. I know I deserve it for locking you away in that place, but please, stop.

If this is real, I swear to you, I will do anything in my power to assist you so long as you are helping Christopher.

[fighterflyer]

Undertale/Swap SI: Katherine Beaumont

Art by @melle-d

If there’s an AU already called UnderVerse in the fandom that I don’t know about, no, this SI has no association with it.

While presently the story I’m writing her in is a slightly divergent Underswap, I may also end up writing her in other AUs as well, such as Undertale or Underfell if I’m so inclined. So this is mostly just her general information, while specific relationships will be verse dependant. Hence, why I’m just using the sag “Self-Insert UnderVerse” to keep this out of any other UnderVerse tags.

Anywho, this is the first Self-Insert bio I’ll be posting here since I’m having an easier time writing the Underswap��story she’s in rn! But considering I don’t really alter her personality in the other AUs, this can apply to the other universes to.

As far as F/Os go, I’ll make it simple in the event you DON’T wanna go through this novel of a bio:

1. Both in UT and US, she adopts Frisk and becomes her companion/adoptive mother/big-sister figure in the verse. [I don’t swap Frisk and Chara in my US-verse] So Frisk is a platonic/family F/O.

2. In UT, her love interest is kind of up in the air. It could be Sans or Asgore, idk.

3. In US, she’s shipped with Sans/Blueberry.

~~~~~

Name: Katherine Alyson Beaumont Nicknames/Aliases: Kit/Kat, Kitty/Kitten, Katie, Kathie | Fighterfly [Internet Handles and Gaming alias] Race: Human (50% English, 25% Native American, 25% Norwegian) Setting: UNDERTALE

Affiliation: Dreemurr Kingdom Occupation: Freelance Writer/Artist | Published Short Story Author Gender|Sex: Female (She/Her Pronouns) Sexual Orientation: Bisexual/Panromantic Age: 25 Birthdate: June 20th Height: 5'9 [5'11 in shoes/boots] Weight: 215 lbs, though loses weight over time Build: Cello-shaped, a noticeably curved figure with noticeable pudge in her stomach and thighs, slender shoulders, wide hips, and a large C-cup chest. Slender, average length arms and legs; no thigh gap. Soul: Purple with trace veins of Green and Orange (Perseverance with trace amounts of Kindness and Bravery). When her powers are in use, her soul glows only bright purple but shows the detailed veins when she's just showing it. Facial Details: Round face shape. Small nose, medium eyebrows, and downturned, bow-shaped lips (with cupid's bow). Skin: Pale Caucasian skin. Lightly freckled cheeks, nose, and tops of her shoulders. Slight scarring on her face and shoulders from years of scratching at herself. (optional for visuals) Hair: Dark brown. Naturally wavy, upper-back length, usually tied up into a ponytail. Bangs are usually overgrown and long, and pushed aside to frab both sides of her face. Eventually dyes her hair half bright blue with pale lilac streaks, half rose pink with trace yellow-orange streaks. Eyes: Soft dark brown eyes; medium-sized and almond shaped. Lashes are short in length and thickness. Always wearing glasses for poor vision, but she has them infused with magical energy by Toriel/Asgore [depending on the verse] to enable her to CHECK the statuses of Monsters and Humans alike and increase awareness and accuracy; they are impossible to break as well. Eyes glow a solid dark violet color when a great amount of her power is in use. Ideal Voice Actress: Anne Hathaway Distinguishing Features: - She has light scarring on her legs, thighs, arms, and hands from years of scratching, biting and chewing herself during autistic meltdowns. - Stretch marks on her stomach, thighs, hips and breasts. - When a great amount of her power is in use, the pigment above her veins on her neck, wrists/hands and ankles/feet glow a dark violet color. Dress Style: - While Kit admires several different styles, she's been kind of boxed into a corner of jeans, shirts, jackets and blouses that either hide her figure completely or compress her stomach to hide her pudge, with no real sense of style or passion, for most of her life. She's expressed an interest in pastel-goth styles and Bohemian styles, but she doesn't start exploring these styles until she starts detaching herself from her mother's limitations. Above everything else, however, her one requirement is comfort; how well the fabric breathes, whether it's scratchy or otherwise feels weird, etc. Because of her autism, she's very sensitive to texture and requires very soft fabrics. She'll almost always try to wear something with extended sleeves to have something to grip onto when she needs to stim. Common Accessories: - Silver metal slip-on bracelet with etching in it that reads "she believed she could, so she did" - CHECK Specs (Glasses charmed by magic to CHECK Monsters and Humans) - Specific Styles:  - Winter Style: VERY sensitive to the cold, she avoids going outside during winter as much as possible and when she does have to go out, she doesn't care enough about fashion. She'll throw on any boots, socks, pants, sweater, jacket, hat and gloves that will fit her and keep her warm. The only preferences she has is that she likes shin-high soft fuzzy boots, hats with side flaps, hoodies and really cute sweaters.  - Summer Style: She's also very sensitive to the heat, so will forgo any sense of fashion and dress lightly with just t-shirts and shorts. As her confidence builds, though, she may wear pretty sundresses too.  - Swimwear: Will never wear a one piece since she hates how confining they are, but will never wear a bikini, hating to expose her stomach. She'll usually wear a cute, skirted two-piece suit that covers her stomach.  - Nightwear: Usually sleeps in either a comfortable, beautiful nightgown, a cute pajama top and underwear, just her underwear, or nude. Typical Inventory: - Backpack containing:  - Laptop + Accessories (Power Cord, USB drives)  - iPhone + Accessories (Phone Case, Stylus, Headphones)  - Game Case      - DS XL      - Gameboy Advance      - DS and Gameboy Games      - Chargers for Both Devices  - Lined Notepad  - Sketchpad  - Change of Clothes - Medium-sized Shoulder-slung Purse containing...  - Large Pencil Case      - Pencils      - Pens      - Hair Ties/Ribbons      - Small Book of Sticky Notes      - Phone Charger      - Wallet with Cash, Change, Credit Cards and Coupons, as well as a "Wallet Knife"      - Makeup Compact with Concealer and Blush [Both to touch up her concealing and to see people's reflections in the mirror]  - Hygiene Products  - Small First Aid Kit  - 2 Cameras, One Digital, One Polaroid  - Change of Clothes - Lunch Satchel [Typically has a meal, snacks, and a drink inside] - Pocket Knife - Handgun with Ammunition Rounds in a holster on her belt Proficiencies/Skills: - Deduction/Puzzle Solving - Creativity (Writing, Drawing, Creative Improvisation) - Cooking/Baking - Leadership and Strategy - Computer Use [Fast Typing and Digital Processing] - Emotional/Mental Health Support - Learning/Information Processing - Gaming [Video games and Card Games] - Horseback Riding - Singing Special Abilities: [*Learns within the story] - Purple Magic    - A certain kind of telekinesis. Purple magic is a slight variation of Blue Magic; it's less "Gravity-Based" and a bit more free-range, but not always as powerful as Blue Magic.    - Induction of, and resistant to, KARMA and Poison. Because of the experiments she was put under as one of the rare humans to have an innate form of magic, she also has access to KARMA and Poison, which can manifest and be inflicted on others upon physical content under severe emotional duress. Almost always non-fatal, but can be harmful under prolonged exposure; usually just a brief defense mechanism. - Mixed Magic*    - Healing    - Fire    - Water - Dream Walking* - Limited Telepathy* - SAVE, LOAD, And RESET Personality: "I guess we’re both on our own in the world, huh? The way I see it, there’s no sense in being on our own alone, ya know? So... how ‘bout, for the time being... we be on our own together?” Truthfully, it can be hard to tell what Katherine Beaumont’s true personality is, as she’s been conditioned to be extremely guarded, forced, or all-over-the-place about her true feelings, thoughts, and demeanor, be it around family or complete strangers. Because of her overbearing, perfectionistic upbringing and a history of harassment, Kit tends to carry a polite, patient and disposition around most people she doesn’t know very well. She always does her best to be polite and socially acceptable, and is always much more mindful and conscious of her behavior around others because of her autism and years of her lack of tact and social grace coming back to bite her. She’s mostly mastered the ways of social grace over her years of conscious training and practice, but as a result, can be very nervous, shy, and timid around others, always concerned she may be doing something wrong or unacceptable, or not doing something she should be doing. A socially anxious introvert, she rarely goes out of her way to make friends, but is almost never uncivil or disrespectful towards others. “Perfect polite little angel” is her default MO towards strangers and some family. Those who know her well, however, would tell you a completely different story, and while most of it is true, even what they see still doesn’t quite hit the mark of her true inner self. Her close friends and family will see a very laid-back, casual and fun-loving young woman with an excitable energy, an unpredictable sense of humor that changes like the seasons - ranging from sharp, snappy wit, snide dry sarcasm, inhuman noises a human diaphragm should not be capable of making and sex jokes - and a kind, loving heart with a head like iron, powerful protective streak and a long-fuse-big-explosion style temperament. Though her timidity can still persist even around her close friends and she has a tendency to be extremely sensitive, she’s infinitely more comfortable showing some of her true colors around them. She does have a hidden wild side and a certain bravery and courage underneath the shy timidity, but it’s all foreign and unexplored to her; a lot of it has to be dragged out by others or forced out by herself. She never regrets it, but as much as she loves those moments of freedom, she’s still unused to anything like that and tends to instinctively avoid it. Keyword being “some”. In reality, she keeps many things close to herself, even out of sight of the few people who earn her trust and earn their way into her mental file of “Close Friends”, and especially out of sight from her family. It can be argued that the only place where you’ll see her true colors is during the most important and critical of situations, where she's the best possible version of herself that she needs to be in those moments: Extremely calculating, quick-thinking and sure of herself, passionate, confident, daring, ruthless to the creatures she battles but gentle, warm and inviting to the egos she protects and cares for. It can be argued that this is her ultimate true self... is it? It’s hard to say. She hides so much of herself out of instinct, and is so unaware of, and confused about, so many of her own strengths and weaknesses after years of abuse, manipulation, harassment and being taken advantage of, calling any of her dispositions and demeanors her “True self” isn’t quite 100% truthful. It’s more accurate to say that all of these different “sides” of her contain separate fragments of her true identity that she’s still struggling to piece together. She often-times struggles with her mental health and sense of self-image and self-identity. Despite her outward behavior, she is a deceptively sensitive and battered soul trying her absolute hardest to maintain a positive attitude, find her own happiness and place of belonging in the world, and not drive anyone (else) away with her challenges and sensitivities. Strengths: - Physically strong, dextrous with her hands. - Durable; has a strong immune system and has a high pain tolerance. [Even if she bleeds a lot, bruises like a banana, and overall is very frail and gets hurt easily, she tends to handwave it with 'it's just pain' and do what she has to regardless.] - Very little sense of smell; resistance/immunity to Plutarkian odors and the Lougie brothers. - Generally mature, rational and logical, tries her hardest to be fair and reasonable. - Good with computers, fast typer. - Is an excellent singer. - Creative and imaginative. - Determined and persevering, never gives up. - Hard worker, dedicated - Kindhearted, compassionate and loving. Can be a very calming presence. - Very Intelligent, Very calculating and Has an unwitting knack for strategy. Has an IQ of 138. - Courageous; despite her open timidity, she with brave through anything she has to. - Confident and proud of her capabilities. - Empathetic and thoughtful of others. - Quick-witted and Sassy; has a sharp sense of humor and can laugh at herself. - Can be very goofy and childlike, connecting very well with smaller children. - Loyal and steadfast. - Is generally very good about owning up to her own mistakes and always strives to improve and do better. - Can be timid, but when it comes down to the wire, she’s very courageous, daring and willing to face her fears... eventually. Weaknesses: - Physically frail. - Lacks stamina in the real world. - Visually impaired and has difficulty processing sound. - Is not fast, flexible or agile. At all. Adrenaline is the only thing keeping her alive half the time. - Is on the Autism Spectrum. Suffers from executive dysfunction, memory problems, sensory processing problems, and difficulties in social situations. - Suffers from an anxiety-panic disorder, acute PTSD, and depression, and is not medicated for any of it. Struggles with self-esteem, self-worth, and self-image issues as a result, occasionally experiences suicidal thoughts. - Though she has a lot of patience, her anger can reach explosive, black-out levels when it reaches its boiling point. - Stimming, autistic meltdowns and depressive episodes can be physically harmful to her. - Very disorganized; has trouble maintaining a schedule or keeping track of time. - Can be stubborn and bullheaded. - Can be snide and sarcastic. - Struggles with self-advocacy. She tends to pendulum swing between "silent doormat" and "on a bloody, angry war-path of 'I deserve better'". - Heavily sheltered and repressed, can be very naive. - Can be very emotionally and mentally sensitive. - Easily flustered. - Can sometimes be a little obnoxious in her humor. - Though polite by default, can struggle with maintaining her manners. Family: - Forrest Beaumont [Father, 47] - Amelia Beaumont (nee Lexington) [Mother, 49] - Logan Beaumont [Older Brother, 26]  - Natasha Beumont [Sister-In-Law, 28] - Grace Beumont [Older Sister, 26] - Arthur Beaumont [Younger Brother, 18] - Daniel(le) "Danny" Beaumont [Younger Sibling, 15] A very large extended family Friends: [Verse-Dependant, UT by Default] - Frisk [Companion, 6] - Sans [Close Friend/Love Interest] - Undyne [Best Friend] - Alphys [Best Friend] - Papyrus [Best Friend] - Mettaton [Good Friend] - Bliss [Good Friend] Other Relationships: [Verse-Dependant, UT by Default] - Wing-Ding [Enemy] - Gaster [Future Father-in-Law] - Flowey [Enemy] - King Asgore Dreemurr [Close Friend] - Toriel [Mother Figure] Noteworthy Interests: Likes...  - Writing [Songs, Short Stories, Poetry, Personal Essays]  - Children  - Animals - Horseback Riding  - Cooking/Baking  - Reading...      - Fantasy      - Mystery      - Action/Romance  - Music      - Soft Rock      - Pop      - Country  - Movies      - Cartoons/Animation      - Comedy      - Action-Adventure  - Weather Watching [Namely rain]  - Dream Walking [Especially Tending to the Dream Pearls]  - Games      - Video games [RPGs, Time Management, Platformers]      - Card Games  - Collecting things [Rocks, feathers, leaves, small things]  - Paranormal/Ghost Stories [Just not at night]  - Stimming Dislikes/Fears...  - Loud Noises      - Being Yelled At [PTSD Trigger]  - The Dark  - Scratchy, constricting clothing  - Slimy, oily or greasy textures  - Extreme hot or cold  - Sharp Objects [Needles]  - Being grabbed without warning [PTSD Trigger]  - Slasher films  - Alcohol [Drinking it or anyone else drinking it.]  - Being Cornered/Trapped without an escape [PTSD Trigger]  - Condescending/Patronizing attitudes  - Cleaning Passions and Hobbies  - Writing  - Drawing [Sketching, coloring]  - Video Games  - Cooking and Baking  - Dream Walking History: WIP because her story is a massive beast that requires time and patience to conquer. Her history is EXTREMELY complicated, so... Boyo, this is gonna take a lot more time to sort out. Miscellaneous: - She has an iron immune system except for strawberries and raspberries. These are literally the only things she's allergic to and despite the reactions not being "bad but not life-threatening, she'll openly hiss at them and keep her distance with the fruit by about 10 feet. - She adores blue and purple and usually dons them as her signature colors, but also loves shades of pink and yellow too. - Though she has a cat to make her feel secure at night, she still sleeps with her childhood stuffed dog, and takes it with her whenever she's sleeping over at someone else's house. She has a collection of other stuffed animals in her closet at home and she refuses to give any of them up. - She normally speaks casually with an expansive vocabulary and with a very slight Southern accent, but can sometimes speak in abbreviations and purposefully exaggerate her Southern accent when she's mad, freaked out, or just trying to be funny. - Her telekinesis has a soft purple hue to its glow. - Her sense of style and taste in clothing changes like the seasons and dresses very impulsively on a day-to-day basis, and can rarely plan her outfits ahead of time because of tactile sensitivity. That combined with her size makes her very hard to shop for, and she has a tendancy to wear the same outfit multiple days in a row. - Because of the experiments she endured, she has a heightened sense for people's emotional imbalances or current emotional state and has a sixth sense for connections between people's behavior and activity inside Lucidus. Without her glasses on, she can see the state of people's egos inside people's reflections. - She hates the feeling of make-up on her face as it feels sticky and gross, and tends to only be able to tolerate concealer and blush. Now that's not to say she's completely anti-make-up. She loves how she looks with make-up on but it always feels gross to put on and wear. Give her make-up that doesn't feel gross to apply and wear and she's all over that. - She absolutely loves to stim with her body and has a habit of flapping or flailing her hands, or rocking back and forth or side-to-side. She also has a habit of tactile stimming by touching surfaces she finds herself drawn to; her hands are most often on a wall, a sofa cushion, or someone's clothes. [Will add more details as I think of them.]

[caelansnoisynose]

Australian glass-playing noise-artist Lucas Abela a.k.a. Granpa a.k.a. Justice Yeldham. (Justice Yeldham was the name of a court judge who committed suicide and was later found to be having an affair.)

Shown to me by a friend after I showed him how to build a contact mic.

Abela played with instrument-building since the ‘90s.

His work relates to exploring material as a noise-maker, and embeds the act with the sound.

“I see the glass as a magnified stylus that I vibrate with my mouth instead of a groove. “

His work is kind of ironic and yet also points out what it means to be a true musician. He is fully within and committed to the work despite the pain. In his case, the pain is manifested to the viewer during the performance, not hidden behind the scene by callouses from steel strings or the frustration of coordinating one’s fingers on piano keys.

It’s fundamentally aggressive. It relates to my idea of using a speaker because it’s subversive and he’s playing with and expanding dissonant, aggressive, even transgressive, sound as worthy of high art and expertise. It’s ironic because it’s such an unlikely source, and it comes at a great, virtually unrealistic, cost (for the general public). It, at the same time, can seem to mock and venerate the myth of the genius in art.

Testimonial from his website, http://dualplover.com/yeldham/

"Utilising just a piece of glass (found in the area of the performance), a contact mic and some pedals, justice comes onto applause and anticipation from the audience anxious to see the spectacle. Dressed in what looks like a doctor’s gown, his attire gives Yeldham an arguably fitting sideshow freak appearance. After a brief introduction Yeldham launches into full performance by doing what he does best. An intense cacophonic human explosion of condensed cathartic vibrations follows, laced with a kind of transgressive, yet genuine euphoria. In a world of digital laptop complacency, Yeldham’s performance nods more towards Jap Noise legend Masonna for its organic tour de force and true outsider punk spirit, with a tongue in cheek (or rather in this case, pressed up against glass!) approach and cutting humour that the noise/improve scene usually lacks. An audience member between 'tracks' asks Yeldham to bleed at one point, evoking brief vocal disdain from Yeldham. Indeed Yeldham has stressed that any bloodletting that may occur is a by product of the show and not the primary intention. And disappointing for some, Yeldham does not bleed during this show, but bites through the glass toward the end to shocked gasps from some members of the audience. Whether or not Yeldham bleeds after his performance (and at 20 mins Yeldham leaves not his repertoire to overkill, much like classical punk performance) is irrelevant, as in a world of contrived noise makers, Yeldham’s show cuts straight through to the jugular by means of simplicity. And succeeds - in being both unique and bringing a much needed breath of fresh air into the scene. Famously described by one journalist as “The most exciting performer I have seen in the last three years – in fact, since I first saw Iggy Pop" .He’s not far off - its exciting, raw untamed stuff in a world of full of complacent bores .If you ever get the chance (and Yeldham has toured everywhere - from Berlin to Korea with his show!), catch him if you can…."

Andy Black Forest - Supersonc Festival - beat 13 - Burmingham 221012

Interview, process and some skill.

“My installations are mainly driven by my philosophy that noise music is far more fun to make than watch.”

"First up, I got to see this guy perform live – and I seriously was not expecting that. There’s no blood but the intensity of the emotion reminds me of early Neubauten or Nina Simone or someone: he has a trunk full of effects and delay and distortion pedals, and he’s not scared to use them. He blows crazy shit across a shaped plate of glass for 20 or 30 minutes or so, and it’s crazy shit good – so good, that when he started I figured Nicola had slipped on an extraordinarily loud noise tape and I could not quite understand why everyone was crowding around the ‘stage’. The noise is incredible – and when I type ‘noise’, I mean layers of sound, texture, understanding, dissonant harmony. Really incredible. I never was much one for guitar shredding or extended drum fills or virtuoso vocal acrobatics, but it seems the one thing that will really get my pulse racing is some glass shredding. Seriously. This is body-expanding. Sometimes I’m laughing out loud at the nerve and brilliance of it. Sometimes, I just want to fuck shit up (plus ça change). Halfway across it bothers me that few people are dancing amid the ruins but then I figure they too are too stupefied. Justice tells me afterwards that he can’t get booked no more: this is only his second performance this year. Man, this man should be headlining the fucking Sydney Opera House. He’s a fucking MASTER or MISTRESS, or have it what you will, of his chosen instrument. I feel the same empathy towards his music that others doubtless feel for fucking Kevin Shields. (Not literally fucking Kevin Shields, you understand – though maybe some feel that too.) He can’t get booked cos he’s an experimental artist – frequently gets called a ‘performance artist’, much to his disgust – and so he’s meant to be always switching around, trying out new ideas and forms, not concentrate for several years on becoming the world’s leading glass shredder."

Everett True - collapseboard - Brisbane 210614

WARNING

Links:

https://thebrag.com/lucas-abela-sydney-festival/

Coming collab. with experimental hip hop Death Grips. Performed in 2010 with drummer Zach Hill.

https://noisey.vice.com/en_uk/article/bjvmq5/death-grips-are-working-with-face-shredding-artist-lucas-abela

[sp4c3-0ddity]

Older Pidge and Lance get engaged, but with the whole 'universally famous paladins of Voltron' thing means planning the wedding becomes An Ordeal. Chaos ensues.

WELL not so much chaos as stress but here’s 2500 words of...whatever the hell this is lol. not proofread because it’s late, but i hope you like it

“Where do you want the wedding?” Allura asked. She trailedbehind Pidge, who stalked around the Castle looking for her favorite tablet.She had been so sure she left it on her bedside table...

“Uh, Earth?” Pidge said. She was only half-focused onAllura’s questions; they came too fast, and she barely gave her a chance toanswer them before plowing on to the next one.

“Hmm, well, your species has just makefirst contact,” Allura reminded her, tapping her own tablet with a stylusthoughtfully, “so are you sure about that? Aren’t youworried the variety of guests will overwhelm your government?”

Pidge halted in her tracks, eyes widening inhorror. “Wait, what?” she said, turning her head to stare atAllura. “Overwhelm--? What?”

“Well,” Allura said, smiling at her, “how manypeople did you plan on inviting?”

“I...I don’t know!” Pidge said.��Quiznak, she andLance got engaged two quintants ago, and she’d only had the time toshare the news with her brother and father so far, let alone discuss thewedding’s guest list.

(Or even if they wanted to have a wedding,something Pidge...wasn’t too sure of.)

“Really, Pidge?” Allura frowned disapprovingly at her. “Youand Lance haven’t discussed this yet?”

“It’s been two days,”Pidge pointed out, wringing the hem of her shirt. “We’ve barely seen each other in the last two days,since he and Keith are off on a mission, and I’m here, and—”

“All right, calm down,” Allura said, resting a hand on hershoulder. “Perhaps you’re right, and this isa bit hasty of me, but…” She clapped her hands together, looking for allintents and purposes like a child in a candy store. “Oh, we haven’t had aproper wedding in the Castle since before—”She cut herself off, sobering immediately, and cleared her throat. “Anyway, Iwould suggest you take some time to talk about these things, Pidge.”

“Right,” Pidge said, forcing a smile. “Of course.”

“Of course I want to have a wedding,” Lance said, handsloose on the Red Lion’s controls while he spoke to Keith. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t know,” Keith said, shrugging, “but weddings involve alot of planning—”

“How would youknow?”

“—which means that you have to…think ahead,” he plowed on,as if Lance hadn’t interrupted him.

Lance raised an eyebrow. “How long did it take you to comeup with that?”

Keith pressed his lips together, and Lance could tell hefought a smile. “I actually got it from Allura,” he admitted.

“So she put you up to this.” Lance sighed, tapping his foot,but he smiled when the Castle came into view. “Honestly, Pidge and I haven’thad the chance to talk about it yet. It’s been…only two days, man.” Still, hehummed cheerfully while guiding the Red Lion into his hangar, the very thought that he was engaged – to Pidge – making him giddy all over again.

Pidge was his…fiancée. How strange. If someone told him when he and Pidge first met that theywould one day be engaged – that they would fallin love – he would’ve laughed his ass off; Pidge, the distant scrawny techyboy, his fiancée? Absurd!

(Then again, he wouldn’t have believed them about fightingat the forefront of an intergalactic war straight out of a science fantasymovie either.)

After touching down in the hangar, Lance let Keith leaveahead of him, taking a quiet moment alone in the Red Lion’s cockpit. Eventhough who piloted which Lion tended to be up for interpretation, it still feltstrange flying the Red Lion while Keith was also there.

The Red Lion rumbled in a mild scolding; unlike the BlueLion, his love was very much the ‘tough’ kind. Lance rolled his eyes and stood,stretching. And once he stepped out of the Lion, Pidge was there to greet him.

She smiled and wrapped her arms around him, her ear to hischest. “Missed me?” he asked her, running his gloved fingers through her hair.

“Like an itch,” she said without any bite.

“Aw, I missed you too,” he said.

Pidge loosened her hold on him but didn’t step away as shelooked at his face. “So…it seems we have a problem,” she said.

Lance frowned. “Uh...we do?”

She grimaced and said, “Yeah. We might need to plan awedding.”

“That’s it? That’s not a problem.”

“It is if it has to be…intergalactic.” Pidge rolled hereyes. “Allura insists.”

Oh no.

“I’m not against a big wedding,” Lance told Pidge. He sat onher bed, swinging his legs while he waited for her to put on her pajamas.

“I don’t think this is a bigwedding Allura has in mind,” Pidge said. She held a hair tie between herteeth while she bunched her hair up into a bun. “It sounds more…galactic.”

Lance snorted. “No.”

“Yes,” Pidge said, sighing. Once her hair was piled onto herhead, she sat beside him, leaning into him and basking in the warmth of hisbody. “She made it sound like…it would be expectedof us.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re ‘Paladins of Voltron’,” she said with theappropriate air quotes. “Which makes us publicfigures, Lance.”

“Which we’ve kind of been for a while?”

“Yes, but that’s not the point.” She pulled her feet up ontothe bed, sitting with her legs crossed. “The point is that our engagement andeventual marriage will be up for public consumption – or, at least, Allurathinks it should be.”

“Hmm.” Lance seemed to consider that, tapping his chin witha finger. “I don’t think I’d mind.”

“Well, that’s because you like the attention.”

He scoffed. “You do too.”

“Only in small doses,” Pidge said. She lay back with a huff,the image of herself in a puffy white dress in front of more people – more races – than she could comprehendentering her mind. She imagined reciting sappy vows while the audience ‘oohed’and ‘aahed’, and hid her face. “Besides,” she continued, “it would be alogistical nightmare. Who’s going topay for it?”

“I’m guessing not your parents?”

Pidge snorted, removing her hands from her face so she couldlook up at him with an eyebrow raised. “You’re quiznaking right they’re not,”she said, “especially if half theuniverse will be attending.”

Lance laid down beside her, on his side, chin propped in hishand so that he hovered over her. “It wouldn’t be that bad,” he said, grinningteasingly. “Only a quarter of theuniverse, maybe a third tops.”

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s all, huh?”

“That’s all,” he said.

“Almost higher than I can count,” she said, staring at theceiling. “Definitely higher than you can count.”

“Exac—hey!”

Pidge giggled, chest filled with warmth despite theindignant expression Lance wore. But his face softened, and he leaned down tokiss her softly.

She held him there, burying her hands into his hair, whichwas long enough to curl around his ears. She pulled back from him a little andsaid, “You know, if we do end up witha big wedding, you’ll probably have to cut your hair.”

Lance snorted. “As long as it doesn’t look like a mullet, I’mfine with that.”

“Damn, I thought I had you.” Pidge sighed, easing her gripon his head as he looked down at her.

“You really don’t anything big, huh?”

She shook her head. “I’ve…never really thought about itbefore now,” she admitted, “but I would definitelyprefer something small.”

“Hmm.” Lance returned to her side again as he thought. “Maybegive this idea a chance though?”

Pidge rested her hand on her stomach and said, “Fine, butonly for you. And maybe for my mother.”

She only hoped she wouldn’t regret it.

Pidge regretted her concession approximately two quintantsand six vargas later, when Allura and Coran started pressing them – but mostlyPidge, because apparently the bride was expected to wedding plan in way too many cultures – about everythingfrom venue (Pidge decided Olkarion, because it was her favorite place in thewider universe), to the guest list (she and Lance mentioned a few each,including family members, but Allura and Coran took care of the rest), to thefood and decorations (Hunk took the task of catering upon himself gladly).

Ironically, the only breathing room she seemed to get –apart from ‘evenings’, blessedly quiet apart from Lance’s usual noise – was while on missions, whichgrew fewer and further between as the wedding date – set by Allura on a dayconsidered auspicious for matrimonial occasions by the long-dead Alteans. Then,she could let the Green Lion’s consciousness wash over her, soothing her like abreeze passing through a canopy of branches.

Even Matt got swept up into the frenzy, and by the timePidge stood on a stool, being fitted for a dress she would only wear once, she was ready to tear her hairout.

“Why can’t we just elope?”Pidge asked Lance one morning, when she woke up after only a few vargas ofsleep because Coran expected her to paint tea cups personally – another Altean tradition – from which the guests woulddrink.

Lance was responsible for painting the cups from which thetwo of them would drink, along with a third meant as an offering to water atree that they would plant together on Olkarion. Pidge couldn’t help beingenvious of how little he had to do –though to his credit he offered to do more.

Allura, though, often found excuses for him not to help, andPidge had the sneaking suspicion that she was using the wedding planning as areason to hang out with Pidge.

“Why can’t we?” Lance had his head pillowed on one arm whilehe examined his fingernails.

“Is that…agreement?”Pidge wondered.

He glanced at her. “Is it?”

“You’re no help,” Pidge scoffed, crossing her arms.

Lance reached over to her and rubbed her arm, roughfingertips that he long since gave up on keeping soft and moisturized scraping overher skin pleasantly. “I’m game if you are,” he said, though she detected a hintof disappointment in his voice.

Pidge sighed and decided she would tough it out, for now.

It took Pidge less time than she thought to reach herbreaking point, less than five quintants ahead of the actual wedding.

“No,” she said, crossing her arms and petulantly glaring atthe wall after Allura’s last question.

“You mean…you don’twant to spend the wedding night on Arus?” she asked again. “Even though it’swhere it all began?”

“No, I do not want to spend my wedding night on Arus,” Pidgesaid testily, “and I absolutely do not even thinkthat’s ‘where it all began’.” She stood up, ready to storm out, patiencespent. “Do you know where it all began for me? On Earth, when my father and brother were kidnapped by the Galra. Anddo you know where I would love tospend my wedding night?” She paused, half-hoping Allura would interrupt hertirade, but when she just stared at her, eyes wide, she continued, “On Earth, after I hug my mother and leavemy father somewhere safe where he can recover with his wife.”

Pidge turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, ignoringAllura’s call from behind her. She didn’t stop until she reached her bedroomand fell forward onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow.

She sulked for more time than she kept track of, bothexhausted and remorseful for losing her temper with Allura…again. When a soft knock sounded from the door, she rolled onto herback and, without bothering to ask who it was, said, “Come in.”

Lance walked in, the sight of him a balm on her nerves, andshe managed a smile. “So…” he said, leaning against the wall by the foot of thebed. “Allura said you were upset?”

“I could’ve handled it better,” Pidge said. She sat up andpulled her feet onto the bed, wrapping her arms around her legs.

“Yeah, probably,” Lance agreed. He sat beside her, armaround her waist as he pulled her closer to him. He rested his chin on her headand said, “Let’s elope.”

“You want to?” Pidge said hopefully.

“Yeah,” he said, sighing. “You’re obviously stressed out,and it won’t be worth it if you end up killing Allura. I’d rather not have mywife’s murder trial on our wedding day.”

Pidge snorted, amused despite herself. “All right,” shesaid. “When?”

“Hmm. How about we take the Red Lion – don’t give me thatlook, he���s faster than Green – on the morning of our special day?”

“Who’re you going to convince to set up a wormhole?” Pidgeasked.

Lance laced the fingers of their right hands together as hehummed thoughtfully. “I can say I want to personallypick up my family and your mother,” he said, “and you can sneak away with me.”He glanced sideways at her, the familiar hint of mischief in his eyes, the kindthat convinced you he was a clever escape artist rather than a goofball.

Though Pidge supposed there was no reason he couldn’t beboth.

A slow smile stretched across her lips. “You know what?” shesaid. “That’s actually a brilliant idea, Lance.”

“Hey, no need to sound so surprised, Pidge,” he said, rollinghis eyes. “I have my moments.”

“You do.” Pidge leaned up and kissing his cheek. “Let’s havemany more together.”

“Count on it,” Lance agreed, right before stealing a kiss.

“Where the quiznak are Pidge and Lance?” Allura wondered.She paced back and forth across the room, the dress she wore for the occasionswishing in her wake. “Lance was supposed to be back several vargas ago, andPidge should be dressed by now.”

“I’ll call Lance,” said Keith.

“I’ll call Pidge,” said Matt.

Both of the left the dressing room, taking out theirrespective communication devices. She overheard Matt speaking to his fatheroutside in a quiet voice.

A fidget in the corner caught Allura’s sight, and sheglanced towards Hunk. He’d been awfully silent the entire time, and he refusedto look directly at her, hands clasped together in his usual nervous tic.

“You’re hiding something,” she realized, approaching him.

“I might have forgotten to vet all the cooks,” Hunk saidwhile avoiding her eyes. “There could be assassins. Let me go—”

“Wait,” she interrupted, grabbing his arm.

Hunk paused, looking back at her. “Yes, Princess?”

“Oh, none of that,” she said, forcing herself to smiledisarmingly at him despite her irritation. “Do you know where Pidge and Lance are?”

To her surprise, Hunk admitted, “Yes.”

When he didn’t elaborate, she pressed, “Where?”

Hunk blinked and said, “Las Vegas.”

“Las Vegas? I…don’t know where that is.”

“It’s on Earth,” Hunk explained. “They’re probably visitingPidge’s mother and Lance’s family.”

“They invited them here!” Allura pointed out, gesturingaround the room and encompassing the Castle and Olkarion itself.

“Yes, well…” Hunk shifted his footing, but he seemed torelax as the truth came tumbling out. “Pidge was feeling overwhelmed, so theydecided to elope.”

Allura’s jaw dropped right as Matt and Keith returned.

“I know where they are,” said Matt. When Keith nodded hisagreement, Allura looked at the two of them properly, noting that neither ofthem wore disappointed expressions.

In fact, Matt seemed downright amused, and Keith resigned, as if he’d expected nothing else.

Allura pressed a hand to her face, as if she could hold inher rising frustration and the realization that the very Coalition could crumble if Pidge and Lance never showedup to their own wedding.

“Quiznak.”

[desdemonafictional]

Pt. 2

Rung found his soon-to-be Lord sulking in his own rooms like a predacon brooding over its hoards. He stood in the open doorway for a time, watching this Lord Megatron of whom he had heard so much before tonight. The scourge of Kaon. The barbarous upstart. The demagogue who had turned the smoke-belching workhouses of Kaon into a fighting force and thrown off the reigns of foreign interest seemingly overnight.

There were stories that he eschewed the entire enterprise of conjunxing. This was popularly taken to mean--in tones of scandalized whisper--that he slept in a different prostitute's bed every night, and fed his most depraved desires with the bodies of the helpless and destitute.

He didn't seem particularly wild or debased, to Rung's optic. His rooms were airy and sprawling, but austere in decoration. It was neither lavish nor bare. Weapons mounted on the walls ranged from half-slagged wreckage to elegantly crafted pistols, but every item had a definite aura of well-use.

Megatron was at his long desk, the edges of which were wrought with images of the very predacons he resembled at that moment. One hand held his helm in a tired grip. The other held a stylus.

Rung had never considered himself a coward. There was no way but forward, anyhow.

He rapped his fingers against the arched doorframe. "My lord, could you spare a moment for your conjunx to be?"

The stylus went still in Megatron's hand. Rung swallowed down a frizzon of terror as the considerable presence of Lord Megatron turned towards him.

"What?" Megatron rasped.

Rung pressed the heel of his hand to his window glass, as if it could still the frantic flaring of his spark.

Megatron glared at him. "Have you already had your fill of spying? It's only been a few hours."

"I'm not here to spy," Rung said.

"Something a spy would say," Megatron replied, as he turned on his chair and leaned his elbows back against the desk. He was enormous, and somehow the heavy desk which was well sized for him only seemed to make him more so. Like a statue cast in peweter.

"If you'll pardon me for speaking so frankly," Rung said, "Iacon doesn't believe you have any secrets worth stealing. They say you have no shame, and want nothing. They say you are too stupid to be tricked."

Ironically, this earned Rung the first smile of the entire night. "I should be flattered," Megatron said. "Although none of that precludes you from being a spy."

Rung sighed. "I really am only tribute."

"Hmm," Megatron replied, sounding not at all convinced. "But why you, at all, then? I have no need of a conjunx. I expressed no desire for one. What advantage do they gain by ripping you from your holy context--if such is your context--and sending you here to be ravished by me?"

Rung let himself into the room, carefully gauging Megatron for signs of violent displeasure, and folded himself neatly into a seated position in front of the lord.

"Iacon is in chaos right now," Rung explained to him.

"I know," Megatron said, narrowly. "Or else you would not be here. A foreign pressure crisis, I'm told."

"The reason for the crisis," Rung said, "is that the city is defaulting on a debt to Praxus which has stood as the bedrock of the financial system for a millennium, and the current speaker for the senate is trying to extract the funds owed from the temple complex."

"Extract," Megatron echoed.

Rung smiled mirthlessly. "Well of course all the gold is easy to melt down, and the relics can be auctioned off to investors in Tetrahex and Polyhex, but what to do when the priests won't let you make off with the sparklings?"

Megatron glared at him. "What are sparklings doing in your temples?"

Rung paused and blinked at him. "You don't keep orphans in the Kaon temples?"

"Why the pit should we do that?" Megatron said. "We have a foster family system."

Rung frowned, but not entirely out of disapproval. He could immediately see at least one advantage to the Kaon way of doing things, which was that there would be no central building to upend and extract children out of in case of financial default.

"Well," he said, shortly. "In Iacon, it falls on the temple of Primus to raise any sparkling without parent or mentor to speak for it. And there are currently any number of bidders around the globe who would be happy to pour money into Iacon's coffers in exchange for healthy sparklings."

Megatron's dentae flashed steel bright as he gritted them. "In a city that just swore fealty to me, this is happening?"

"You seem upset about it," Rung noted, with interest.

"Of course I'm upset about it," Megatron snarled. "Yet again the poor and dispossessed are bartered for cash like so many cheap drones, and you expect me to care nothing for it?"

"But they're not your citizens," Rung pointed out. "And it's not being done through official government auspices. So there's no reason it should concern you."

"I'm their lord too now!" Megatron stood, looming over Rung like a black titan against the lights of his chamber. "Who are you? Why have you come here to tell me these awful secrets, which are so contrary to the confidence of your home state? What do you want of me? What is your intent?"

Rung folded his hands to hide his shaking fingers, and bowed his head. Hope and fear strung him tense and threatening to tear him at the spark. "My lord," he whispered. "Please. I will give you anything. I will serve you, I will bear you offspring, I will go gratefully and happily to your berth for the rest of my function, only please--the sparklings. Please do something."

He looked up, daring to see anything in the face of his future conjunx. The blankness there drove him to urgency.

"I know I can't offer you anything you don't already have," he pleaded. "All I have is what can't be sold for money--my loyalty, my spark. And if you don't want them, I have nothing else. But please. If you care at all for the children of our species, take pity on Iacon." He gestured frantically behind himself, rising up onto his knees. "Have them brought here, have fosterage found for them, have the temples evacuated--anything, only don't let the bidders of the world have them."

Still, no shift in Megatron's stony features. "And what is it to you if I do or do not?" he asked.

Rung forced himself not to shout, fists and jaw clenched. "They're my sparklings," he said. "It was my temple, and they're my sparklings, and I have--I have a duty to them! I haven't given up, I can't give up!"

For a moment, Megatron only watched him heaving with great angry vents. And then Megatron fell back into his seat.

"I see," he said. "I see."

He reached back behind him for the stylus and a 'pad. Rung's vision was blurry, his body trembled--not from fear, but from the dizzy dissociation of so much emotion outpouring at once, as if he'd vomited his spark onto the floor at Megatron's pedes.

"We'll need the names of the sale organizers," Megatron said. "Senators. The names of the orphans who were under your care. Any priests who will assist in the effort. Temple finances. Other principal actors in the drama. I'll pass on to my lieutenants whatever you give me. I'm sure that the extraction can be managed with the proper application of force and suzerainity."

Rung's spark throbbed. He wiped his face with unsteady hands. "Yes, my lord."

"And I'll need your specifications for the replacement facility here in Kaon," Megatron added.

"...My lord?"

Megatron was already writing. "--it's too short of notice to try an place so many sparklings with families, the whole effort would be insultingly slapdash, so we'll have to settle for at least a temporary alternative in the Iacon style. I'm not having with temples though. No altars." He flicked the stylus. "You can follow up the details of your living preferences with the constructicons later, but the essentials will do for now."

"My living... preferences?"

Megatron looked up. His gaze was narrow. "I told you I have no interest or desire for a conjunx. I don't need heirs. And I don't need a berth slave. You can do Kaon the most good by doing what you're good at. And apparently that's crying the whole world down for the sake of some toddlers. I shall simply leave you to it."

It was as if Cybertron has slide off its axis, leaving Rung oddly afloat in the atmosphere. He hadn't imagined--he hadn't imagined that he would ever again--

He was profoundly grateful, and oddly touched; he was overcome by the strange soft urge to stand to his feet and kiss Megatron upon the hard-cut cheek.

He smiled. "Yes sir," he said. "As you say."

“You don’t have to worry, I’m never going to touch you.” megatron/rung??

Megatron received the diplomatic party in the throne room at Darkmount castle, as high and removed from them all as he could be. Iacon’s new status as a vassal state to Kaon was in finalization, mostly down to ceremony now, and this was the ceremony that Megatron liked least.

At the heart of their glittering party, the proffered conjunx stood in his delicate white wrappings, mantle pulled over his helm, gold bangled and grim faced.

A temple mech, Megatron’s advisors had told him, very good luck as far a conjunxes went—rumored to be blessed by the fertility of Primus himself, well mannered and skilled in all sorts of refined pastimes, intelligent, knowledgeable of history and philosophy.

And also, apparently, a bunch of faint-sparked waifs.

“All that’s left,” said the lead diplomat, looking very pleased, “is the witnessing ceremony next orn. Your promised conjunx is available for the night, if it pleases your mightiness.”

The temple mech visibly set his jaw, and lifted his face up to the throne for the first time. He looked as if he’d rather be eaten by scraplets. How flattering.

“Yes, alright,” Megatron said, “you, conjunx of mine, come with me.”

They took the quiet passage from the throne room to Megatron’s private wing of the palace in silence, the temple mech a step behind, his head bowed again. Every step he took was musical with the soft sound of jewelry against frame.

Megatron unlocked one of the spare bedrooms for personal visitors and marched inside, flipping on the lights and dispensary flow. The mech trailed in after him, lingering at the door.

“Well?” Megatron said. “Come here where I can see you. And get that scarf off, you don’t need it inside.”

The mech’s hands hesitated at the neck of his mantle, and the pushed it back. Megatron noted with annoyance that he was a handsome little thing, after all. Just the sort of well made data pusher that Megatron used to admire from afar as a young and stupid mech.

“You must have a name,” he said. “Go on, out with it.”

“Rung, my lord,” the mech said.

“Rung. Very well. The temple is reluctant to part with its priests, so I hear,” Megatron said. “They must be trying to impress me. Does that sound about right to you, Rung?”

“After what happened in Tesaurus,” the temple mech said, “Iacon had more than enough reason to ingratiate themselves with you as quickly as possible.”

Megatron wrinkled his lip. “It must gall them,” he said, “a great city, reduced to bartering for protection with a jumped up gutter tyrant. I can see the acid at the back of their teeth when they smile.”

“My lord,” the mech said, which was neither an agreement nor a disagreement. Exactingly, painfully neutral.

Megatron would have rolled his eyes. “Oh, for pity’s sake,” he said, “here—”

And then he reached out for Rung, and would have pulled him towards the seating, only as he was reaching out, the little mech flinched back from him so hard that his body chimed like a chorus of bells.

Megatron recoiled. The little mech kept his head down, not daring to look up.

“What a beast you must think me,” Megatron sneered, “what a barbarian, ready to put my brutish hands all over your good and civilized self.”

Whatever reaction Rung might have had to that, Megatron didn’t care to see it. He marched over to the berth and threw down Soundwave’s new passkey on the pillows, the little blue chip bouncing with the force of it.

“You don’t have to worry,” he said, viciously certain, “I’m never going to touch you.”

He glared at the chip, hating it. When he looked up, Rung was frowning at him in a distant, calculating quiet.  

“You have your run of the palace,” Megatron said, grimly. “Whatever secrets your masters sent you here to find, you’re welcome to them. And once you’re all satisfied, we’ll speak no more of this disgusting scheme.”

Megatron made for the door, his spark full of bitter water. There would be no ceremony, he thought; there would be no more of this farce, no further than diplomacy demanded it go.

As he tore out into the hall, through the arch of the doorway, Rung watched him go with uncertainty, and a slow, careful consideration.

[lightshadowverisimilitude]

Responsible Adults and Lab Safety Protocols 1/3

For my bingo square “sex pollen.” Challenger @miss-kitty-fantastico

Watch the cut!

All in all, Tony was disappointed. With rumors of a super thinktank trying to combine all the worst aspects of sodium pentothal, E, and alcohol, Tony had expected more. They’d been hard to find, he’d give them that – as in digitally hard to find. Out in the non-digital world, they were operating out of a strip mall on the main thoroughfare in a tiny township in Minnesota unfortunately named Embarrass.

Since the Avengers trooping through Small Town, Anywhere tended to call a lot of attention, they’d driven from Duluth in a rental van. By the time they pulled into the cramped parking lot, Tony was ready to put a stylus through Clint’s eye. If he had to hear one more chorus of “99 bottles of beer on the wall/ Shoot one down, it shatters on the ground,” ad infinitum, he was going to throttle someone. Since they were mere yards away from a bad guy he could theoretically throttle, he didn’t try too hard to suppress the urge. Nat and Steve had both fallen asleep in the middle row almost as soon as they doors had shut, because they had that whole ‘can sleep anywhere’ thing in common. Sam had earbuds stuffed into his ears, though Tony’s had mysteriously disappeared out of his bag. He felt an acute sense of betrayal.

“Karmic pay back,” Rhodey said, climbing out of the driver’s seat. “Do you remember that trip from Boston to New York your sophomore year?” He smiled sweetly and held out a twenty. Clint snatched it out of his fingers and blew Tony a kiss on his way past, surreptitiously rubbing his jaw.

“It’s not karma if you interfere,” Tony said, but he was secretly impressed. Putting up with three complete rounds of the beer song just to get Tony back for an unfortunate road trip two decades after the fact was dedication.

Rhodey shrugged. “What can I say? Sometimes karma happens to you. Sometimes you’re the karma that happens to someone else.”

“I’m going to remember this,” Tony warned him, snugging his baseball cap down further over his eyes. He guessed that as far as ‘We’re tourists, just passing through,’ disguises went, they probably wouldn’t pass muster for long. He checked his phone, and then looked up. According to his scan, nothing in the area had so much as security camera to its name.

The smallest space on the end of the strip didn’t even have proper signage. When they drew closer, he saw that a set of letters had been frosted onto the glass in what was probably 12-pt font. Dionysus Labs. Original.

Steve, annoyingly alert after his ninety-odd minute nap, casually pulled the door open, and then stuck his foot in front of it and gestured everyone else through. Tony kept his phone up, sweeping the area with infrared as he went. He’d done a satellite pass over the area less than an hour before, and there had only been two heat signatures in the building. He wasn’t surprised to see the same two human-shaped blobs on the other side of the back wall. In two weeks of monitoring, he’d never seen more than two human-shaped blobs.

The reception area was a closet-sized space that they crowded to capacity. It was complete with ugly industrial carpet, three folding chairs under a painting of a lake that might have been stolen from a motel, and a reception desk about the size of a podium. It was empty of even a bored receptionist, which made sense, since there didn’t even appear to be a phone. Rhodey leaned around the desk, feeling underneath the shelves for a weapon, and then shook his head.

Nat put her back to the cheap plywood wood and waited for Clint to give her a nod. She flicked the door knob, and pushed the door sharply inward. It banged against the opposite wall, though the sound was almost drowned out by the startled shouts from within. Clint ran in with his sidearm drawn, leading Steve, Sam, and Rhodey after him. Tony stayed in the waiting room and kept an eye on his screens. Nothing was putting off any troubling energy, and the floor seemed quite solid.

Steve stuck his head back out the door. His lips were twisted in a bemused grimace. “It’s clear,” he said, gesturing Tony in with a twitch of his fingers.

“I am disappointed,” Tony said, following him in. “I was going to be disappointed anyway, but I assumed there would be something for me to do.” The only reason he hadn’t trundled in with the rest of them was that he’d thought a high-budget operation like this one had to be hiding a few nasty tech surprises under their very mundane exterior.

(keep reading)

The room beyond was… a lab. It had been outfitted with metal tables that were stacked with the usual medical lab detritus. Half of the space had been converted into a sterile room, and a ventilation hood took up most of the real estate in the opposite corner. The eye wash station and chemical shower had clearly posted instructions and warnings, and there was a red lab safety handbook on the shelf backed with OSHA posters and cheesy I Am Safe! Graphics of a pencil figure in a hardhat giving the thumbs up. There was a picture of a chambered nautilus on one cabinet, the Milky Way galaxy next to it, and a boxy spiral across the room. Sam was in the process of taking down an enlarged poster of Dr. Foster’s most recent appearance in Reviews of Modern Physics. Thor would have never forgiven them for leaving it.

“Wow. Now I’m… Now I’m just depressed,” Tony decided. Two youngish men in lab coats had already been handcuffed and were slumped in lab stools, still wearing their eye protection. “I mean… I approve of your lab safety, with the exception of the paper thin door that anyone with reasonable hand-eye coordination and baseball bat could get through, but. Wow.”

One of the men sighed dejectedly. He was wearing a plaid shirt with a no-kidding pocket protector. Tony couldn’t decide if he was wearing it with his expensive, tailored khakis as nerd-chic or not. “We were finally getting results,” he mourned.

“We were going to be so rich,” the other added. “I was going to go to Tahiti.”

Tony exchanged a baffled look with Rhodey, who only shrugged.

“We have got to get a better class of supervillain,” Sam said.

Pocket Protector perked up. “Supervillain? Think they’ll write a book about us?”

Rolling his eyes, Sam dropped a heavy hand to the back of the guy’s neck to propel him out of the stool. “No.”

Natasha grabbed the other Supervillain Hopeful by the arm and gave him one of those really creepy Russian doll smiles. “You and I need to talk,” she said.

The guy looked pretty happy with that idea. Tony guessed that they’d have an itemized list of the entire chain of operations by the time the van made it back to Duluth.

“We’ll take these two back in the van,” Sam said, giving his captive a squeeze on the back of the neck that made the man bunch his shoulders up like a cartoon turtle. “Quinjet should be here to help you transport all this…” he waved a hand around the orderly lab with a grimace. “Stuff.”

Tony tossed him a salute and opened an app. He hummed as he tapped away at the commands while Clint, Nat, and Sam lead their docile captives out of the door. Satisfied with the results, he pointed the infrared at the floor to look for a secret lair, occasionally stamping on the floor in likely places.

“This is absurd,” he decided finally. “There is really… nothing. It took us two months to find this place.”

“Well,” Steve ventured, “it did keep them under the radar for more than a year. There’s something to be said about low-tech when you’re going up against Iron Man.” He was thumbing through a binder of pages in sheet protectors, so he didn’t see Tony preening. Tony could just barely make out the words ‘Employee Handbook’ between Steve’s fingers. He shook the binder slightly and held up a page. “They had a 401k plan, and health benefits. They get more vacation days than I do!”

Rhodey snorted. “Guess we’re in the wrong line of work.” He was crouched down beside the transparent door of the sterile room. Tapping one knuckle on the Plexiglas, he noted, “This is more like what I expected to find here. This is four inches thick and bullet proof.”

“Ooo,” Tony said, hurrying around the central table to Rhodey’s side. “Boobie trapped?”

Before Rhodey could answer, his phone went off. He settled back on his heels to answer it, and then instantly jerked the phone away from his ear. ‘Achy Breaky Heart’ played loudly in the background and Clint shouted, “I’m never letting you pay me for favors ever again!”

Tony grabbed Rhodey’s wrist to get at the phone. “If he’s paying you for it, it’s not a favor.”

“Fuck you so hard, Stark!” Clint shouted over the chorus. Tony could hear other voices shouting in the background, and then the van’s sliding door opened. It slammed shut a second later, cutting off the caterwauling of Billy Ray Cyrus and the dismayed shouts of the two unfortunate prisoners. “It better turn off,” he huffed into the phone.

Tony shrugged. “Eh.” He loved high-tech cars with their very hackable computers.

Groaning, Clint said, “Do not pull me into whatever weird prank game you have going with Rhodes, Stark, I swear you’ll regret it.”

Tony fluttered his eyelashes at Rhodey. “Hey, blame Rhodey. He’s the one who got you into this.”

Leaning on Tony’s shoulders, Steve grabbed Rhodey’s arm just under Tony’s grip and pulled up. Rhodey scowled, and Steve ignored him. “Just leave those two locked in the car for a few minutes, and then send Nat after them.”

“Torture tactics? From Captain America?” Clint gasped. “I am shocked. Shocked and severely disappointed.”

“Pleasure to be of service,” Steve said warmly, and then released Rhodey’s arm and levered himself back up without even using Tony’s shoulder for balance. That kind of core muscle response was absolutely not fair. Before Tony could say as much, Steve’s Running Man ringtone went off. He stepped away to put it to his ear.

“Sam -… I’m sure it will turn off eventually,” he said, laughing. “I wouldn’t, if I were you. Well, it’s your life.” He covered the mouthpiece with one hand and leaned over to ask, “You are going to turn that off when they start traveling, right?”

Tony made a vague sound, already more invested in the keypad to get into the sterile room than Clint’s comeuppance. He could feel Rhodey’s eyes on the side of his face and guessed that there was a pre-emptive retaliatory prank already in the works in case Tony had something in mind for him. Tony was going to let him stew in it for a while.

Snagging Rhodey’s wrist again, Tony said, “Hey – stick your head back in the van and say ‘one, one, two’ please.”

“Oh, please, is it?” Clint grumbled, but the vague thumping of music grew louder. “Hey, asswipes! One, one, two,” he shouted over the music. The car door slammed, cutting Billy Ray off at ‘- And if you tell my –‘ “I’m not telling you what he said until you promise to turn that off.”

“I promise I’ll turn it off,” Tony said, pointedly not including when.

“He said, ‘three.’ Mean anything to you?”

Tony hummed, but Rhodey was already keying in the sequence before he could say a word. The door popped open with a hiss. Tony groaned. “Why? I am so..! Two months.”

Steve looked in between them, confused. He frowned at the open door. “What just happened here?”

Rhodey waved vaguely toward the posters of spirals dotted around the room between safety posters. “Zero-one-one-two-three-five. Fibonacci sequence. I am embarrassed for these guys.”

“They sure picked some good real estate then,” Steve said with a grin. He bent over to open a lower cabinet, his face briefly appearing somewhere around his knees. He saw Tony watching him and winked, mouth stretching into a devilish smile.

“I see what you’re doing,” Tony told him, just so he didn’t think he was getting away with it.

“I do not,” Rhodey said, “but whatever it is, stop.”

Steve chuckled and bent his knees, folding smoothly into a crouch. He started pulling out boxes of pipettes, shaking each of them like they were Christmas presents. Tony finally yanked his eyes away from the motion of Steve’s shoulders and followed Rhodey into the sterile room. A row of incubators were on against one wall, the shadow of petri dishes visible behind the dark glass. On the opposite wall was another ventilation hood, and the center of the room was taken up by a workspace and a bank of computers. He glanced up to see five industrial ventilation units in the ceiling – for the size of the room, he would have expected only one, or two. He frowned. Between the heavy-duty sterile room and the ventilation, they must have made a lot of progress over the latest version of the compound they’d encountered.

Rhodey was already taking pictures of the setup, so Tony perched on a lab stool and jiggled the mouse until the computer woke up. The username had been saved, so he tried the Fibonacci sequence again, and then a few others. At least they were a bit smarter with their computer security – not smart enough to keep him out of the system, but smarter than they had been with any other aspect of the operation.

“You know,” Rhodey said, snapping a picture of the incubators, “If it was this difficult to find the lab jockeys, figuring out who bank rolled them is going to be a pain in the ass.” He turned a circle, frowning at the sterile room. “Where are the rats?”

Tony plugged into the computer tower and then looked around again, himself. “Huh.” He frowned. He would have expected a whole wall of test subjects. Shivers skittered down his spine. “They’re either testing offsite…”

“Or they’re not testing on animals,” Rhodey finished for him.

The lock screen vanished and Tony dropped his head into his hand with a helpless laugh. Rhodey came over to stand behind him. He rested one hand on Tony’s shoulder and leaned down to look over the last document their intrepid chemists had been working on.

“… They were testing it on themselves?” Rhodey said incredulously. He reached over Tony’s shoulder to click through the open tabs at the bottom. One was an Amazon page displaying search results for ‘soft stuff,’ two were lab results that they both looked over quickly, but neither of them were chemists. Bruce would have to do the heavy lifting on those. The last tab was a video dated the evening before. Rhodey’s hand curled away from the mouse, and then reluctantly pushed play.

Pocket Protector sat in front of the camera in a hotel room, looking stoned out of his mind. His mouth was reddened from either a lot of rough kisses or an allergic reaction, his eyes were glassy and red, and his shirt was half unbuttoned. It had been pulled open and left that way, his lab coat pulled haphazardly over the top of it. Judging by the dark smear of a bruise under his collarbone, Tony was guessing that he hadn’t been experiencing an allergic reaction.

He stared at the camera with a distant, stupid smile on his face. A woman walked across the frame, only visible from the neck down, and not wearing anything except an equally rumpled lab coat. She dragged her nails down the back of his neck and he shivered visibly, almost violently, before slumping back against her and giggling.

“Thanks for the fun time, sugar,” she said. She leaned down to kiss his forehead, but a curtain of auburn hair hid her face from the camera. “Let me know if you want to do it again sometime.”

“’Kay,” Pocket Protector said drowsily. He turned in his chair to watch her pick up her clothes and walk into the bathroom. The door shut, and then the shower turned on. Pocket Protector turned back to the screen and made an exaggeratedly excited face. He bit one knuckle, slightly muffling his giggling. “Oh… my God,” he said, and then scrabbled around the desk until he came up with a vial of white powder. “Screw AIM, we’re taking this commercial. Fucking fuck. So much fucking, Matt, so much fucking.”

“Okay, well, that was helpful,” Rhodey said, pausing the video. He stepped away with his cellphone already out. “Fucking AIM,” he said under his breath as he left the sterile room.

Shaking his head, Tony scrubbed his hand across his face. They may as well have just left behind an envelope with a big label that read, “EVIDENCE OF ALL MY WRONGDOINGS RIGHT HERE.” Considering how well everything else in the lab had been labeled, Tony wouldn’t have been especially surprised. He clicked through the computer while he downloaded the hard drive, finding detailed records on the entire process. One of the Viagra Duo was apparently a neat freak, because Tony found a spreadsheet outlining every conversation they’d ever had with their benefactors.

Tony started to laugh again. “I am completely stunned that you can be so incompetently competent,” he told the screen.

“Having lots of luck?” Steve asked, peering curiously into the room.

“We can call the interrogation off,” Tony said. “Don’t even bother to give them the yellow legal pad and the pen. We’ve already got their confessions here.” He held up his USB drive for illustration. “Though it looks like what they came up with is more along the lines of fun-time recreational drug than hardcore interrogation chemical.”

“I heard Rhodey muttering about AIM on his way out the door?”

Tony pulled up the spreadsheet and leaned back so Steve could read it over his shoulder. Steve barked out a startled laugh and slapped a hand over his face. “I don’t know who’s worse. These two, or whatever idiot at AIM hired them.”

“If only all the villains kept such impeccable records,” Tony agreed, leaning subtly into Steve’s chest. “We’d be out of a job.”

“We could retire,” Steve said with a pleased hum. “We could move somewhere warm, with a beach. I could learn to surf.”  

Twisting around, Tony demanded, “How have you never learned to surf? We lived in California.”

Steve leaned down and nipped at Tony’s neck in mild rebuke. He nosed under Tony’s jaw and set a soft kiss on his pulse point. “Do you know how to surf?” he asked innocently.

Tony sniffed. “Of course not. I’m not a supersoldier.”

“Of course. Only supersoldiers surf.” He tightened his arms around Tony’s chest and rested his chin on the top of his head. “Mellow recreational drug, hm?”

“Seems to just make for good sex,” Tony replied, wiggling suggestively. “Could be fun.”

Steve chuckled. “Too bad we’re more responsible than our friends, here.”

At the sound of the lab door opening, Steve straightened up, and stepped away. Rhodey came back in, shaking his head. He pointed at the computer, not mentioning the on-mission cuddling he’d certainly seen. “I don’t suppose they mentioned any useful names?”

Sliding backwards off the stool, Tony motioned to the still-open spreadsheet. “The AIM representative was at least smart enough to give them a codename. Mr. Wine.”

“With this group, I wouldn’t be surprised if that wasn’t a codename at all.” He shook his head, and then leaned back. “Bruce should be here in a few minutes. Let’s start packing this junk up.”

Next

[osreviews]

REVIEW: Chuwi Hi9 Plus - Affordable Android Tablet w. 2K Display & Stylus Support!

The Chuwi Hi9 Plus offers a beautiful display (2K IPS) and solid build quality at a price significantly more affordable than tier-one competitors. Furthermore, it delivers an uniquely well-rounded set of features including 4G LTE capabilities (even allowing phone calls!), near stock Android experience (with a promised update to Android 9 arriving soon), and support for a pressure sensitive stylus pen called the HiPen H3. In short, although raw performance might not beat the latest iPad Pro, for only $200, it’s a good enough alternative at a fraction of the cost. And that in itself is already a pretty amazing feat; the Hi9 Plus is one of the best value tablets on the market.

Find it on Amazon: https://amzn.to/2IZynnq

Positives

  •       Brilliant display (one of the sharpest resolutions on ANY tablet at ANY price)

  •       Solid construction, aluminum body feels solid

  •       4GB RAM (highest specs from all of Chuwi’s current tablets)

  •       Pure Android 8.0 Oreo without any bloatware installed

  •       Good enough performance in real-world, similar to Snapdragon 600-series (Deca Core Helio X27)

  •       Support for optional keyboard cover and official stylus pen

Negatives

  •       Speakers could pack more bass (but it’s a stereo pair, which is good)

  •       Stylus and keyboard are not bundled with the standard box (although a deluxe version includes them for $50 more)

Design & Build Quality

As aforementioned, the Hi9 Plus offers an impressive construction for an affordable tablet. Similar to Xiaomi’s Redmi phones, the back is made 90% out of metal, leaving only a small plastic strip on the top edge to serve as the antennas to improve reception.

The overall feeling in the hand is solid - significantly better than most competitors using all-plastic at this price point - and surprisingly thin at only 8.1mm. The power button is accentuated in red, and the edges of the tablet are chamfered, giving it an extra shine when reflected by light. Nice!

For those with experience using Chuwi’s tablets, the aesthetics match the Hi9 series. That is, the Hi9 Plus bares strong resemblance to the 8” Hi9 Pro, expect that the “pro” is shrunken down in dimensions (ironically despite the “pro” moniker...the “plus” is actually the flagship for Chuwi at the moment).  Bezel sizes are respectable for a tablet, while not invisible, it makes for comfortable gripping using 2 hands without obstructing parts of the screen. Overall, the dimensions are similar to Chuwi’s 10” HiPad, although the Hi9 Plus has a larger display (10.8”), showing improved design considerations.

Both cameras have a resolution of 8 megapixels. There’s no assisted LED flash, but the sensors are made by Samsung, and the quality is good enough for the purposes of document scanning and video calls.

On the back, the Chuwi Hi9 Plus offers stereo speaker for added immersiveness when watching videos.

Although the speakers lack some depth in my opinion, they do get plenty loud, and the tablet retains a standard 3.5mm headphone jack! A rare thing to see these days, especially since the tablet also offers USB-C, in addition to Bluetooth support for wireless headphones and speakers. For a 2019 Android tablet, the I/O selection is honestly pretty good, considering tablets these days no longer include full-sized USB ports or HDMI ports due to their thin dimensions.

Display & Stylus

The 10.8-inch display offers an 6:10 aspect ratio, with a pin-sharp 2K resolution. Text, images, and fine details are clearly legible (even without zooming in), making this an excellent tablet to use for the purposes of entertainment or media consumption. The full lamination means that there’s no gap between the multi-touch enabled glass and the LCD underneath it, reducing glare in outdoor scenarios. The only slight quirk is that the screen isn’t the brightest I’ve seen, although I found it to be perfectly acceptable in terms of visibility under moderate sunlight. Overall, this is one of the best displays you’ll find on any Android tablet at any price, when it comes to sharpness and detail. Competing tablets with this resolution typically sell for hundreds of dollars more.

Aside from the display, another strong selling point for the Hi9 Plus is the stylus support; a feature that is rarely found on tablets under $500.  I picked up the HiPen for $20 extra, and my experience with it has been satisfactory thus far. The pen itself is constructed out of a hefty aluminum, and allows it to be magnetized to the edge of the tablet when not in use. Unlike Wacom stylus pens, however, this one does require a battery to be switched every year or so (AAAA size, similar to the Surface Pen). This pen supports 1024 levels of pressure sensitivity.

The pen can be used to navigate the UI (in place of using a finger), and the sensitivity has been great, although not 100% as elegant as the much more expensive-Wacom devices. For example, there’s no “hovering” cursor that I could see when using the pen close to the display (like on a S-Pen or Apple Pencil), although recognition (when pressing down) is still very good.

Now, I’ve come across several reviewers claiming that the pressure sensitivity doesn’t work...which is wrong. Either these reviewers were not diligent enough in trying out compatible apps in the Play Store (i.e. “ArtFlow” is one such free option, among other apps, which I downloaded and recognized pressure sensitivity perfectly), or that Chuwi somehow updated these tablets. For example, some of the older reviewers didn’t seem to have the red colored power button (they were black before), so perhaps this is a “updated” edition of the Hi9 Plus. In any case, the pen support is nothing to complain about anymore.

Digging a little deeper into my experiences using ArtFlow, the experience was like using a real pen and paper. Pressing harder on the screen resulted in a thicker/darker line, versus gentle sketches resulted in very light lines. This felt very natural, and combined with good enough palm rejection (not much accidental touches with resting a hand on the screen when drawing), makes this a great digital sketchbook for artists, creatives, and notetakers. Although professional artists will technically find more levels of pressure sensitivity on some Wacom enabled models, for the price, this has already exceeded my expectations on it’s sensitivity and fluidity for casual use.  

Performance & Software

Although everything up to this point has read like a premium, flagship tablet, the processing power is more in-line with other middle-of-the-road devices. That’s certainly not a bad thing, especially now that in 2019, middle-tier phones and tablets are honestly good enough for the vast majority of consumers (and with significant cost savings), compared to the old days where performance differences were much more noticeable.

The MediaTek Helio X27 deca-core processor (ten cores, up to 2.6GHz) delivers generally smooth performance in real-world usage, similar to Snapdragon 600-series devices I’ve tried. General navigation is responsive - especially after giving the tablet a few extra seconds to warm up after booting up - and intensive apps (i.e. Asphalt 9 or PUBG) render without issues as well, save for the occasional delay in loading.

In heavier apps, the tablet gets slightly warm near the antenna strip, but never too hot or uncomfortable to hold. Overall, the X27 is a tried and tested by now; although it’s not a replacement for a Snapdragon 800-series chip, it nevertheless performs reliably without thermal throttling.

Also good: 4GB of RAM and a 64GB internal storage are among the higher configurations you’ll find for any Android tablet. RAM in particular is plenty, and allows for comfortable multi-tasking in Chrome (web browsing). I will say that because of the super high display resolution, the processor has to do significantly more work to push around those pixels. As a result, when running the device to it’s limit(i.e. 6 tabs + 5 games and apps in the background), you’ll start to notice some more choppier animations when rapidly scrolling a web page. Not too big of a deal, but it’s a trade-off of having the 2K display (whereas a FHD panel might be a touch less taxing on the CPU and GPU).

General use including watching back YouTube videos, reading the news, checking emails, etc. are all handled effortlessly without any issues. Gmail in particular takes advantage of the larger display, giving me 3 panels of information at a glance - allowing for faster productivity than on a smartphone. Of course, Android Oreo also has native support for split screen multitasking, which works well, and allowed me to run 2 apps side-by-side. Pretty cool!

As touched upon, Chuwi has promised an over-the-air software update to Android 9 for its X27 devices. Although this update is yet to arrive, I have already received one minor security update while using the tablet over the last few days, which is an optimistic sign of things to come (fingers crossed). Software updates have historically been scarce on budget tablets, so if what Chuwi says holds true, it’s yet another differentiating factor to consider.

Battery Life

The 5000mAh battery lasted me around 9 hours of video playback and light web browsing before it reached empty. Although this isn’t as long as what the iPad can achieve, it’s more than sufficient for a full day of heavy use, or a couple days of light use. Again considering the larger display of this model, and the 2K resolution, I find this to be an acceptable metric overall. The USB-C port charges up the tablet in respectable speed, getting me from 0 to 100 in under 3 hours.

Conclusion

As I typed this review, the phrase that I kept repeating was “good enough”. Although this tablet isn’t revolutionary, it can be considered ‘disruptive’, bringing surprisingly good features at a price that’s hard to beat. So is it an iPad killer? Not in the typical sense of outperforming the more established competitor across traditional metrics. Yet, it comes so close to offering the same essential capabilities, that for the vast majority of consumers it can be seen as an affordable replacement possibly worth the switching cost, now more than ever.

In 2019, budget Android tablets are finally getting good. Dangerously good.

4.7/5 Stars, Excellent

YouTube video review: 

[fitnesshealthyoga-blog]

New Post has been published on https://fitnesshealthyoga.com/cheap-straightening-brushes-that-still-deliver-expert-results/

Cheap Straightening Brushes That Still Deliver Expert Results

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One of the most overused and inaccurate assumptions made regarding hair care is that only high priced items deliver high-quality results. Now this isn’t to say that pricier treatments and triple-digit hot tools are completely bogus, but their more affordable counterparts are equally impressive and much nicer to my bank account. Cheap straightening brushes are especially nice because for the most part, the top-rated ones are usually outside of my spending range.

A hybrid between the blow dryer and flat iron, the straightening brush is officially one of those must-haves for anyone whose styling needs go beyond a simple wash and go. Not only does it save time; it’s also foolproof when it comes to the application because you’re literally just brushing through the hair. What could go wrong, right? Well, if the bristles aren’t thick enough or the paddle area isn’t wide enough, or the handle doesn’t have enough grip, you’ve got a potential disaster on your hands.

Taking that extra time to make sure a straightening brush has everything you need is imperative, but making sure it doesn’t cost a ridiculous amount of money is of equal importance too. So to make your search a little less daunting, here are some top-rated options that don’t cost more than $50. You’re welcome.

Anjou.

Anjou Hair Straightener Brush

$21.99 at Amazon

Conair.

Conair Infiniti Pro Diamond-Brilliance Ceramic Hot Paddle Brush

$39.99 at Target

Entil.

Entil Straightening Brush

$39.99 at Amazon

Eva NYC.

Eva NYC Lavender Crystal Mini Healthy Heat Thermal Straightening Brush

$29.75 at Target

FHI.

FHI Heat Stylus Thermal Styling Brush

$39.99 at Walmart

Hera.

Hera 2-in-1 Ceramic Hot Brush & Straightener in White

$35.99 at Bed Bath and Beyond

Instyler.

Instyler Straight Up Ceramic Straightening Brush

$44.49 at Target

Sally Beauty.

Ion Travel Straightening Brush Iron

$25.49 at Sally Beauty

Jinri.

Jinri Ionic Hair Straightener Brush

$45.99 at Amazon

Revlon.

Revlon Salon One Step XL Straightening Heated Hair Brush

$49.99 at Ulta

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[cursedfortune]

risingsouls​:

            Ice-chip blue gaze snapped toward the source of the voice, muscles tense with annoyance. The stylus in her hand threatened to snap within her iron grip as she fought the urge to blast the intruder to bits for the interruption. Or turn her into some delectable treat or another. A waste of energy, a waste of time. She could not afford to lose precious moments, not while she maintained control of her body and could feel that weakling personality clawing at the barrier between them, begging for regency over their shared body.

          “ O-oh! Good morning! I didn’t hear anyone approach! ” The brunette whipped around to face the woman, fumbling with the digital notepad in her grasp. She sank into the mousy researcher role with ease, sweet-tempered and easily startled. Enthusiastic but a push over. “ I’m doing some research here for Capsule Corporation on certain minerals found in this area. ”

            She pushed her thick-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose. “ Are you lost? Did you need assistance of some kind? ”

Her fingers molded into the grooves of the tree trunk; enjoying the rough contrast as she stood observing the woman. My, how she looked so strange - not visually so much as in what she could see of the energy that danced around her. Potential that almost seemed to veer in two different directions. It wouldn’t be so strange to see if it wasn’t for the other strange tidbits that came with it.

“This area is rich with minerals and other useful materials.” The witch agreed, not finding her reasoning to be poor to be out this way. So far the woman didn’t have any of the usual traits her hunters often came with.

“And no, I’m not lost nor in need of assistance. Thank you for asking, lovely creature.” Her lips curled into a pleasant smile, “I am currently camping nearby and took notice of you in my meandering for ingredients.” But those obsidian eyes wandered over the woman with mild interest from where she lurked at the treeline. “Are you in need of a guide, perhaps? I’m well-versed in this land. If not my camp is behind me if you find yourself weary or hungry.”