#but I'm yearning for something more in it I think

[tomriddleswhcre]

| Dark Tendrils of Obsession

warnings: MDNI, characters are 18+, manipulation, toxic relationship.

words: 3,773

Hogwarts Library was a haven for the wanderlusters. Seamless rows of bookshelves went on for ever towards the horizon, holding access to all the knowledge someone could want. Here you first experienced the pressure of his stare.

Tom Riddle sat a few tables away, his dark eyes never quite leaving you. There was a perfection about him, a crispness in his bearing, and a captivating draw in his mannerly grace. He was polite at first. Courteous, even. His smile, restrained yet charming, made you feel special in a way that was both intoxicating and unsettling.

“Reading about alchemy, are you?" His voice was soft on the ear, so velvety, beneath the skin easy to burrow.

You nodded, too startled to respond immediately. “Yes, just... curious about the theories.”

"They are shallow and just care about pointless activities. However," he fixed his gaze on yours and said, "You have depth."

From then on, he was constantly present. Helping you while studying, sitting on the nearby bench with you, offering assistance, and guiding you through the dim hallways. You enjoyed his company at first. Because of his intelligence, good looks, and total allure, it seemed hard to resist him.

But then, the cracks began to show.

Tom’s love became controlling. He wouldn't let you spend time with your buddies and he would retort to you in a very calm voice, "They don't know you the way I know you," each time you tried to counter him.

If you casually mentioned a friend from another place, his smile would fade. “Why spend time with someone who’s not on your level?" he’d say.

One night, you were trapped in the library. Tom, usually calm, was acting very intense, and it made you feel uneasy.

“I’ve noticed how they look at you,” he whispered, in a low and suspenseful tone. “Do you really think they care about you? That they’ll ever truly understand who you are?”

“Tom, you’re overreacting," you said, trying to move away, but he grabbed your wrist and held you there.

"I'm the only one who understands you," he said, clutching even more tightly. “The only one who ever will.”

More and more over time Tom's orchestration of your life became oppressive. Your friends started to drift away, unsure why you were changing.

“You’re imagining things," he said one night, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I only want what’s best for you. Why can’t you see that?”

His words burrowed into your mind, planting seeds of doubt. It was a smaller world, a world of shadows, and everything seemed to revolve around Tom. He was there all the time, watching, waiting, his presence a consolation and a torment.

That evening, following another and another, argument, you ended up in the Astronomy Tower, gale blowing in your face, panting and catching your breath. His load of affection, his pathos, his fixated desire was too much to bear.

“Thinking of escaping me? Tom’s voice cut through the night like a blade.

You spun around to see him standing there, his eyes alight with something dangerous.

"Tom, I give up, I can't go on any further", you gasped, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

“You can’t leave me,” he said, stepping closer. “You belong to me.”

There was madness in his gaze now, a burning consuming everything in its way. Yet there. was a gentleness, a yearn for which your heart ached.

“I’m the only one who can save you," he said, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “The only one who will ever love you this much.”

In the end, you couldn’t fight him. His love was too powerful, too overwhelming. It encircled you like a vice, squeezing out and consuming until there was nothing left of the person you once were.

However, as you drew further and further into the arms of his embraces, there was a part of you asking if this is how love was supposed to knock, totally crippling, and completely inescapable.

And Tom, with his lips touching your ear, sighs the phrase that traps you. “You’re mine, and I’ll destroy anyone who tries to take you away from me."

Tom's phantom touch remained, fingertips brushing against your cheek in an almost sonorous lightness, masking the fury behind those eyes.The stars above bore witness to the storm between you—a clash of your desperate need for freedom and his relentless obsession.

“You don’t have to fight this, he murmured, his voice soft now, almost hypnotic. He moved in closer, with his breath warm on the back of your neck. “I would give you the world, but you have to let me. You have to trust me.”

You trembled not with the cold but from the unyielding impact of his aura. Your body betrayed you, moving towards his grasp even as your mind cried out for separation. His hand settled to rest upon your neck and the point of his thumb made contact with the throb of your heart.

“You feel it too, don’t you? Tom’s voice dropped lower, seductive and commanding. “This connection between us... it’s undeniable.”

Before you could protest, his lips captured yours.The kiss was anything but gentle—desperate, possessive, consuming. It was as though he was trying to claim every part of you, to mark you as his in a way that no one could ever undo.

The days that unfolded after clouded days together constituted a blur of days snatched and touches not allowed. Tom’s obsession seeped into every corner of your life, his presence a constant shadow. But beneath his calculated control lay a smoldering passion that ignited every time you were alone together.

One night he caught you in an unguarded corridor, his dark eyes blazing with a passion that caused your legs to buckle.

“I can’t stop thinking about you, he admitted, his voice trembling with raw emotion. “You’re in my mind, my veins... you’ve consumed me.”made your legs tremble.

His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him. You gasped, the air crackling with tension as he pressed you against the cold stone wall.

"Just tell me want this," he growled, lips grazing your jaw. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I...” The syllables got lodged in your throat, your thoughts struggling against the force of his stare. However, as soon as his mouth touched down your neck, teeth scratching the skin, a moan escaped before you could stop it.

“That’s what I thought,” he breathed into their ear, satisfaction dripping from every word.

It wasn’t long before his desire for control extended beyond your emotions. He wanted all of you—your body, your soul, your very essence. And when he took you to the Room of Requirement, its walls shifted to reflect his dark desires: rich, crimson drapes, flickering candlelight, and a bed that seemed to beckon you into its velvet embrace.

“Do you know what you do to me?” Tom said, his hands sliding beneath your robes, his contact sending shivers go down your spine. His lips touched yours once more, this time gentler, but just as demanding.

As his hands explored your body, his whispers became more fervent, his love both a worship and a torment. He held you as if he feared that you, might vanish, every touch an endearment, an affirmation that he owned you and you belonged to only him.

When he finally laid you down, his gaze bore into yours, an intensity there that made your heart race. “You’re mine,” he repeated, the words a dark oath. “Every part of you belongs to me.”

Tom's possessive nature kept its claws on every tactile sensation and his need for you growing darker and more insatiable. He didn’t just want your love; he wanted your submission, your surrender. And as much as you fought against him, there was a part of you that found solace in his embrace, in the way he made you feel like the center of his universe.

Nevertheless, beneath the passion there was always the shadow of his control. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word was a reminder that you were his—not because you chose to be, but because he had allowed it so.

And as he embraced you, his lips, forming patterns upon your body, you knew that running away was no longer a possibility. You were bound to him, entrapped in the dark, unbreakable web of his longing.

Tom’s obsession had become your prison, but you weren’t the same timid figure you once were. A faint spark, hope, somewhere down inside, a fire created out of the gray stuff of his choking adoration. You began to play his game, become drawn in by his traps, and by letting him believe he'd won.

It began with the most subtle acts of resistance disguised as acquiescence. The way your fingers gently played with the collar to adjust it for him, or when your lips graze his ear while you murmur sweet nothings to him. You learned to use his fixation as a tool, turning it into a weapon.

One night, in the hush of the Room of Requirement, you pushed a little further. The room had shifted into a lavish chamber, the dancing flame of the firelight casting shadows on the sharp features of Tom. He sat in an armchair, his posture commanding, his dark eyes watching your every move.

You stepped closer, slowly, deliberately. His eyes clouded as you climbed on his lap, straddle him.

"You think you got me, Tom," you hissed, your fingers tracing his cheek. “But maybe I’ve let you.”

His lip twitched into a smile, his arms wound around your waist. “You belong to me. You always have.”

Your hands slid down to the back of his shoulders, then his chest, fingers brushing against the faint pulse at his throat. His breath rose as your lips touched his neck, tickling and teasing just enough to elicit a groan.

“You’re intoxicating," he murmured, his voice unsteady for the first time.

You tipped the lower part of his chin upward with your fingers, brushing his lips against his. “Then let me intoxicate you.”

As he surrendered to your touch, his usual vigilance wavered. His hands closed around your waist. While his head leaned back and his eyes relaxed shut, that is when you made your move.

Your hand dropped to the wand, in the folds of your robe. Shaking slightly you raised the wand and and pushed it against his forehead.

“I’m sorry, Tom." you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of triumph and regret. His eyes flew open, confusion flashing across his face just as you murmured the incantation.

“Obliviate.”

Months Later

Freedom was bittersweet, though it was laced with an undercurrent of fear. Tom Riddle, once your captor in every sense, now passed you this morning in the corridor, an air of detached curiosity. His memory of you–the longing, the intimacy, the space—was gone.

At first, you didn’t believe it. You half expected him to lash out, to corner you and demand answers. However, days, weeks or months passed and Tom continued to be oblivious.

You began to rebuild your life. Friends returned, laughter rang true once more, and the choking weight of his presence faded. But a part of you never truly relaxed. You knew that if Tom ever remembered, his wrath would be unstoppable.

It happened one day in the library. Tom, alone, with his hands moving rapidly across the page of a book creased his forehead. A flicker of something familiar crossed his face—a spark of recognition, of understanding.

Memories came rushing back like a tidal wave, each one sharper than the last. The feel of your body against his, the fire in your eyes, the way you whispered his name—and the betrayal.

The anger boiled within him, but he did not act immediately. Instead, he watched, waited, planned.

It was late at night when he found you sneaking through the halls. Moonlight poured through the stained glass, forming a mosaic on the stone floor as you moved softly, book clutched.

"Out past curfew, are we?” His voice was hushed and ironic, the words making you stiff as a statue. You turned slowly, your heart racing as you saw him standing there, his Prefect badge glinting in the dim light. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with something dangerous.

“I—was just returning this,” you stammered, holding up the book as if it would shield you from him.

Tom’s lips curled into a predatory smile. “Breaking the rules, are we? That’s a detention, I’m afraid.”

Before you could protest, his hand shot out, gripping your wrist. His touch was firm but not painful, his grip unrelenting as he led you through the dark halls.

“Tom, I can explain,” you started, but he silenced you with a sharp look.

“Oh, you’ll explain, alright,” he said, his tone dripping with menace. “You’ll explain everything.”

He brought you to a small, hidden room—a Prefect’s storage room rarely used. The door shut with a thud, and the silence that followed was deafening.

“I remember,” he said simply, stepping closer. His voice was calm, but his eyes betrayed his fury. “I remember everything.”

You took a step back, but he advanced, backing you against the wall.

“You thought you could erase me? Take what was mine and walk away unscathed?” His voice was dangerously low, his hand bracing against the wall beside your head.

“Tom, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I had no choice—”

“You had every choice,” he snapped, his other hand gripping your chin and forcing you to meet his gaze. “And you chose to betray me.”

His lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, his voice a mix of anger and something darker. “But you didn’t account for one thing: I always get what I want. Always.”

His hands found your wrists, pinning them above your head as he leaned closer. “Do you know what I want now?”

Tom’s grip on your wrists tightened, his face mere inches from yours. His breath was warm against your skin, yet the fire in his eyes chilled you to your core.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” His voice was a low growl, dangerous and laced with venom. “Erasing my memories, taking away what’s mine. Do you think that could ever stop me?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, his lips crashed against yours. It wasn’t a kiss born of love or tenderness; it was fury incarnate. His mouth moved against yours with bruising force, his hands sliding to your waist, pinning you against the cold wall as though he wanted to imprint himself onto your very soul.

Your heart raced as your mind warred with your body. His touch was fire, scorching and unyielding, and yet some traitorous part of you leaned into him, matching his intensity.

Tom pulled back suddenly, leaving you gasping for air. A smirk curled his lips as he studied your dazed expression. “Pathetic,” he muttered, his tone dripping with mockery.

He stepped back, smoothing his hair as though the encounter hadn’t affected him in the slightest.

True to his word, Tom made your life a living hell. He was calculated in his cruelty, never overt enough to be caught but always precise in his attacks.

Your friends began to distance themselves, their once-warm smiles replaced by wary glances. Whispers followed you wherever you went, rumors planted by Tom’s silver tongue. Professors scolded you for assignments that mysteriously went missing, and your once-perfect quillwork was replaced by jagged, ink-stained parchment.

Every glance from him in the corridors felt like a blade to the chest. His smirk grew wider with each passing day, as if he was savoring your descent into isolation.

By the time you reached your breaking point, you felt like a shadow of yourself. That night, driven by desperation and rage, you stormed into the Prefect’s dormitory, your fists trembling at your sides.

The door slammed open, and there he was. Tom Riddle sat on his bed, shirtless, his pale skin glowing in the candlelight. A book rested in his hands, though his gaze lifted lazily to meet yours. A knowing smirk played on his lips, as if he’d been expecting you.

“Ah, here she is,” he drawled, closing the book with deliberate care. “The little rebel finally comes crawling back.”

“Stop it!” you shouted, your voice cracking. “You’ve done enough, Tom! Please—just leave me alone!”

He raised an eyebrow, setting the book aside as he leaned back against the headboard. “Leave you alone?” he echoed, mockery dripping from every word. “You didn’t seem to mind my attention before.”

Tears stung your eyes, and you dropped to your knees, the weight of everything too much to bear. “I’m sorry,” you choked out, the words trembling on your lips. “I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have erased your memories.”

Tom stood, his tall frame towering over you as he approached. The smirk on his face widened as he looked down at your tear-streaked face.

“Oh, you’re sorry now?” he said, his voice low and mocking. “And what, exactly, are you sorry for? For betraying me? For thinking you could escape me? Or for underestimating just how much I could destroy you?”

Your sobs grew louder, and you shook your head. “I’ll do anything,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Just stop... please.”

Tom crouched in front of you, his hand gripping your chin to tilt your face up to meet his. His dark eyes burned with satisfaction, a predator reveling in the surrender of his prey.

“Anything?” he repeated, his lips curling into a cruel smile.

You nodded, your breath hitching as his thumb brushed your lower lip.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice soft but deadly. “You shouldn’t have done it. You shouldn’t have crossed me. And now you’re here, on your knees, begging me to forgive you.”

He straightened, his hand sliding into your hair. The motion was firm but not painful, his fingers tangling in your locks as he pulled your face closer to his waist.

“Tell me,” he murmured, his voice dripping with mockery, “if I gave you the chance... would you dare to do it again?”

You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks as his grip tightened.

“Good,” he said, his smirk widening. “Because I can promise you this—you’ll regret what you did for the rest of your life.”

Tom’s smirk deepened as he held you there, his grip firm but deliberate. The tension in the room was suffocating, his presence overwhelming. You felt his eyes boring into you, watching your every move, every tremble of your body beneath his power.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with disdain. “The once defiant little thing, so bold, so eager to stand against me. And now?” He tilted your head slightly, his fingers tightening in your hair. “You’re exactly where you belong—on your knees, apologizing like the pathetic creature you are.”

Your lips quivered as you tried to speak, to muster any kind of retort, but the words failed you.

“Shhh,” he whispered, pressing a finger to your lips. “Don’t speak unless I tell you to.”

He pulled you back slightly, forcing you to look up at him. His expression was unreadable now, a dangerous mix of triumph and something darker, something almost tender.

“You said you’d do anything to make this right,” he said, his thumb brushing your cheek. “But you can’t undo the damage you’ve caused. You can’t undo the months I lost��the nights I spent consumed by thoughts of you, not understanding why I felt so... incomplete.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, your voice cracking.

His hand slid to your jaw, gripping it firmly as he leaned closer. “I don’t think you understand what sorry means,” he said, his breath ghosting over your lips. “But don’t worry—I’ll teach you.”

He straightened abruptly, releasing you and stepping back. His smirk returned as he crossed his arms, watching you struggle to compose yourself.

“Stand up,” he commanded.

You hesitated, your legs trembling as you pushed yourself to your feet.

“Good,” he said, his tone approving. “Now, take a good look around this room. Do you know what it represents?”

You shook your head, unsure of where he was going.

“This,” he gestured to the dark, intimate space, “is where you’ll come when you need reminding of who you belong to. Of who you owe everything to.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Don’t think for a second that this is over,” he continued, his voice growing softer, more dangerous. “You’ve unleashed something in me, something that won’t stop until I’ve had my revenge. But I’m not in a hurry.”

He stepped closer, his hand brushing against your arm, making you flinch.

“No,” he murmured, his lips inches from your ear. “I’m going to take my time. I’m going to make you regret what you did in ways you can’t even imagine.”

Tom didn’t let up. His torment became more personal, more intimate. He would appear at the most unexpected times, his voice soft and mocking as he reminded you of your place. He continued to twist the people around you, isolating you further, but now he did it with a calculated cruelty, ensuring that you felt his presence even when he wasn’t there.

And yet, there were moments where his anger seemed to waver, replaced by something almost... longing. Late at night, when he cornered you in an empty corridor or brushed against you in the library, his touch would linger, his gaze softening for the briefest of moments.

You hated yourself for noticing. Hated yourself more for the way your body betrayed you, responding to his closeness despite everything he’d done.

One night, after weeks of torment, you found yourself summoned to the same secluded room where this all began. Tom was waiting, his expression unreadable as he gestured for you to sit.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, his tone deceptively calm. “Perhaps I’ve been too harsh on you. Perhaps I should offer you a chance to redeem yourself.”

You frowned, unsure of his intentions. “What do you mean?”

He leaned forward, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “Prove to me that you’ve learned your lesson. That you understand what it means to be mine.”

Your heart sank as you realized what he was asking.

“And if I refuse?” you whispered.

His smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, you won’t refuse. Because you know what’s waiting for you if you do.”

Whew, this one took me quite a while to finish! Hope you enjoyed that manipulative mf, Tom—hehehe.

Your likes and reblogs mean the world to me—thank you so much! Love you!

devider from @cyberangel-graphics :>

[guppybibi]

Pairing: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x fem!reader

Synopsis: It was love at first sight, but Kyle will be nothing more but someone's right-hand man. It's alright though, he'll have his heart learn how to stop loving you.

Content: not proofread, alcohol mentions, one-sided love, fast-paced,,,

Notes: This took a while to finish huhu, Kyle will probably be ooc since this is my 1st time writing a fic for him! Honestly I'm not too sure if it fits the theme 😔😔 i kept postponing this bcus i didnt wanna write smth sad during xmas

Love is Doomed Masterlist !

If bliss was a human, Kyle believed it would be you. You were just a pinch away from being perfect, God’s favorite creation, as Kyle would describe you. Everyone just snickered at the sight of a big, strong soldier like him, acting like a lovesick puppy who just got his aching heart stolen away and locked up in a dungeon.

He yearned for you more than anything and firmly believed that no one can know you like he does. No one at all can love you like he does.

The only problem was that you were after another, your world kept spinning even in Kyle’s absence. He never mentioned anything about it, fake chuckles coming out of him as you chirped about the so-called man of your dreams. It made his ears ring and practically bleed, eyes twitching as he nodded for what seemed to be the hundredth time today.

He had never been introduced to this mystery man before, it wasn't any of his business so he kept it to himself. Though he wasn't going to lie, curiosity has been bubbling up inside of him and threatens to spill as the days go by.

He shouldn't be jealous, he doesn't have the right to be.

But doesn't he have the right to be concerned when you hand him an invitation to your wedding? He thinks you're moving far too fast! Faster than he can reach, you're progressing too quickly, not allowing him to even catch his breath.

Everything slips through his fingers quicker than he could've ever imagined, the moment his hand touches the elegantly designed invitation, he's suddenly at the wedding itself.

He's losing you, the longer he lets his feelings linger the more you get farther away. And he can't do anything about it.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace.” The officiant states, glancing over to the crowd. Kyle swears he has never wanted to say the words ‘I object’ more than ever in his life.

Yet in that moment, no words came out of his mouth. He just stood there in silence as other guests clapped joyfully, proud of the huge step in life you took. As the two of you kissed, Kyle felt like he was going to puke right then and there, maybe even right on the red carpet walkway.

You two were going to be together forever, and that word didn't sit right on Kyle’s tongue.

It's been months since your wedding and it's also been months since Kyle has spoken to you. Your attempts of reaching out to him have been deemed useless, with him not even bothering to acknowledge your messages. You haven't found the time to personally meet him face to face either.

He's probably just on an important mission. You told yourself, not wanting to assume that something bad has happened to him.

Kyle's strong, whatever he's going through right now, he’ll make out of. He promised. And Kyle has always been a man of his word, you can always count on him.

Together forever, you promised, you and Kyle’s pinky fingers interlocking together. It's stupid that Kyle’s mind automatically assumed that you meant it romantically, it's not your fault. It's his fault that he fell in love, such a stupid man he is. You never saw him in that light.

“You’ve drank, haven't you?” Price asks, his arms crossed with a mildly displeased look on his face. As if he wasn't on his 2nd pint of beer right now. “You’re not normally this aloof.” It's not like Kyle was putting in much effort into hiding it, but he does wish that his captain didn't point it out so bluntly..

Price sighs when Kyle doesn't respond, he forgot; Kyle’s a quiet drunk. Oh unless Soap is here, then that's a completely different story. “You’ve been refusing every mission given to you, mate. Don't tell me it's about your best friend..”

Kyle shook his head, but the look in his eyes told the opposite. It was embarrassing to admit that a strong and courageous sergeant like him was down over something so ‘little’ like unrequited love.

Psh..he's better than that, right? He should be better than that.

“It's nothing, I’ll get over it.” Kyle waves it off dismissively, but Price was having none of it. “And you'll get over it when, mate? In 3-5 business years?” The sarcasm in his voice seeped into Kyle’s veins like venom, mainly because he knew that he was right.

He couldn't sulk forever, or else he’ll get left behind. The world would keep spinning no matter what he does, even if he had the strength of a thousand gods, the world still wouldn't stop.

All he prays is that maybe next time, Cupid will hit the both of you.

[angelsdvsts]

"i mean, i guess i'm not opposed to giving you a little bit of payment. . . after all you are willing to drop anything if i need your help," could see it in him that the payment in question didn't require any sort of money, maybe she could pay with the warmth of her mouth. "you think that it'll be a maybe that we'd be able to satisfy one another?" teasing tone drops, clear that the two of them have a ton of sexual tension. a hunger that would probably get the two in some trouble -- to have him completely overpower her and mindlessly fuck her senseless. maybe a little post-nut clarity would have him realizing that ayla would be just another girl in the books. that once he got tired, he was going to throw her aside, but that's when she'd come along and break thing off before it got to that point. amusement twinkles in her hues, lips curving into a soft smile, "oh? and care to share what these needs are? since you know my needs are your needs," leans in closely, the conversation shared was far too imitate for anyone else's ears. "wouldn't you want to know? maybe those biology videos would reflect just how tight. . ." was it rude of her to tease him in this manner? to watch him tick, desperate for her in ways she couldn't imagine? "seeing me in the hallway for five seconds would have me in your mind all day long, no? think that's enough." she playfully pats his shoulder, but secretly maybe she did yearns for him to wait for her in between classes to walk her to the next. his comment causes her to glance down at her chest before chuckling as she looks back up to see his lingering, "definitely, they're actually covered up with a bra today -- that dress, it doesn't require me to wear one." allowing his imaginations to go wild, "maybe a little mouth to mouth would help bring you back to life?" a weird surge rushes through her body at the thought of him being so effected by her. femme shrugs her shoulders, nose crinkling slightly as she glances up at him, "maybe, they just thought your words meant more . . . maybe you said something during the sex that made them believe that you like them. plus, guys aren't really good at articulating how they truly feel -- so i guess i could see why they believe they're being played." a chuckle falls from her lips, "oh -- you're dirty to immediately think about fucking in public. . . especially on the first date, but who says that you aren't going to try when we get back into your car?" if anything, she'd had him do something to her before she did anything to him, as much as she'd love to wrap her lips around him. she's perched so perfectly upon his lap, everything looks so innocent -- except if she got up, he'd need something to conceal the imprint growing. "me? mean? never." she shakes her head, couldn't help the way she giggles as he chases her lips, "i don't think you can handle me, arlo." digits move to cup his features, lips teasingly brushes against his; leaning in closer and just as she was about to give him a kiss, her teeth sunk upon his upper lip before doing the same to the lowers, smoothing it over with her tongue. "mm, sorry got carried away."

"i mean i'd expect a little payment for doing my job, y'know?" although arlo was positive that it was evident that he wasn't speaking about money. he'd prefer ayla to show her gratitude in other ways. "me? well . . . i don't think you'd ever ask me to do something i didn't want or need, so maybe we'll both be satisfying each other?" from their conversation arlo got the distinct impression that she was a girl looking to be unwound, to not have to think for a while and let him take the lead, grab those long locks and take her like she so clearly craved. before ayla he struggled to satiate himself with girls, even if he'd gone balls deep inside of them it never scratched that itch and maybe he was wrong for trying to chase that with so many girls but he'd never tricked them, they'd been down to fuck and have some fun only to turn around a week later and accuse him of being an asshole for not showing up outside their window with a boombox on his arm. none of them made him want a second round, as awful as it might seem arlo couldn't handle another mid fuck. "nope, would never dream of telling you nonsense ayla. 'cause i think that your needs are my needs too", he really hopes none of the other customers or staff members can hear them, "you want that body wrecked, right? that tight little body you have . . . probably tight everywhere else too", and god, what he would give to sink himself into her cunt and make her scream. "oh yeah, seeing you for five seconds in the hallway is really going to do it for me", homme deadpans, shooting her a disbelieving look. she was insane if she believes it would. "prettier than right now?" and because she mentioned them arlo feels it's okay to take a more lingering look at those perky tits, wondering how good they'd look in a skimpy little dress. "you might just kill me before we go out for our date." arlo knew what she was talking about better than most, how something he'd assumed was a simple statement could be made into something completely different and hurtful. "i never wanted to hurt them, seriously, i never did. i was honest about everything, they just . . . i don't know, i don't have a fucking clue." he'd tried to figure it out but couldn't, there were plenty of other guys in their school looking for a relationship, he hadn't been one of them. "oh i'd never fuck you here, princess. they'd ban me from coming back and i love their drinks too much", teases with a low laugh. he respects her stance though, how she's not going to give everything away at the drop of a hat. she makes him sweat, work for it. jaw tightens as she squirms on his lap, soft body rubbing and rolling against his growing bulge. "you've got a mean streak in you, y'know that?" pleasure shoots through him as she nips at his skin, hands flattening against her sides as he leans forward to chase her mouth with his own. "fuck me up then, ayla."

[babiestbubbles]

Consequences

(A character study/analysis that kind of stumbled its way into being a drabble?)

I absolutely love when people play around with the consequences that Jack and Janet's neglect would have on Tim, and the ways it would foster a desperation for affection/attention with little to no regard for the cost or consequences. But I hate when people write it off as, "Bruce saves sad sad Tim from his neglectful parents. Tim finally gets the love he wants and deserves. They live happily ever after." (I'm using affection and attention interchangeably here to denote the same concept of positive recognition)

Because, while i do absolutely think that Tim's neglect, coupled with the intrinsic human desire for companionship and positive attention, would result in a desperation for affection. I don't think it would be that two dimensional. I think that instead Tim with end up with a really complicated relationship with affection.

I think it would play out more like, Pre-Bruce Tim really wanting affection, fantasizing about being saved/cared for, and constantly oscillating between self blame + fear that he brought his neglect upon himself and anger or resentment towards his parents for neglecting him.

But then post-adoption? (induction? whatever?) Tim, watching his fantasies be fulfilled and being absolutely revolted by it. Tim who craves affection so badly, deflecting or avoiding attention and affection when he does get it. Being uncomfortable when faced with the same acts of care he'd spent years yearning for. Running from family dinners and movie nights and any form of platonic intimacy, locking himself away in his room and isolating to avoid the discomfort that bubbles under his skin.

But also immediately regretting it. Locking himself away only to sit in his bedroom and yearn for something that's right outside of his door. Pushing away anyone's attempts to be close to him or care for him, but then being devastated when people pull back and give him space.

Him sneaking out and going to parties, acting out, breaking things all over the manor all for the same attention he pushed away when spoon fed. Him having no regard for consequences because everything he breaks could be replaced, and the worst that could happen to him when he sneaks out is ending up sick, and thus not expecting to be punished or reprimanded.

Because of this, I really see Tim being entirely caught off guard when presented with punishment and consequence. Begging Bruce not to bench him, apologizing, desperately trying to bargain, barter, or hell blackmail his way out of trouble, all to no avail.

And Tim subsequently throwing a literal tantrum as he realizes there's no getting out of this. Because this is the first time Tim has ever been faced with a punishment that contains no loophole or means of negotiating his way out. A punishment he KNOWS will be personally fufilled/carried out by Bruce. Unlike Janet and Jack's approach that Tim is used to, where they rarely cared enough to even remember the punishment, not to mention follow through. Meaning Tim's being faced with, for all intents and purposes, his very first real consequence/punishment as a result of his actions. And that, the unequivocal nature of his punishment makes Tim feel trapped. It’s suffocating, terrifying, and entirely uncharted territory for Tim, which results in his 14 yr old grown ass literally throwing himself on the floor sobbing begging Bruce to let up. Because he feels so absolutely helpless in his situation, he's begged and he's pleaded and he's tried everything he could think of and none of it's working and he has no idea what to do with himself, how to react. He cannot comprehend his newfound lack of autonomy at all and it results in him literally melting down on floor of the manor hoping that it will somehow change the circumstances, or at the very least relieve the caged desperation thrashing in his chest.

And Bruce is absolutely shellshocked to see this 14 yr old straight up collapse into tears so, for a couple seconds, he's just kind of frozen, not sure what to do. And this only upsets Tim more, because on top of the insufferable affection and now overbearing rules and damning punishments, Now? When Tim needs him the most? Is when Bruce decides he's done with the whole caring parent act? Now is when he's being deprived of affection and soothing? When it's the only thing that could possibly make the world around him stop spinning?

And the further frustration manifests in like, the meltdown evolving from just crying and a bit of kicking, to incoherent and self destructive distress. Head hitting, hair pulling, biting, scratching, clawing at himself anything to make the feeling go away, anything to distract him from the fact that everything is wrong and awful and miserable and there's no escaping any of it.

And it's this transition into physically harmful behavior that snaps bruce out of his little trance and has him bending down to meet Tim on the floor. Shushing him and trying his best to comfort Tim knowing full well that every other instance in which he's tried this has ended with Tim making a break for it before Bruce could get more than a sentence out.

Except this time is different. This time Tim is tiny and helpless and heartbreakingly overwhelmed thrashing on the floor. This time Tim is that tiny broken 5 year old, begging the parked cars in the garage to bring his parents back. This time Tim doesn't *want* the comfort, he *needs it*.

And he clings to it like a lifeline. His arms are trembling in Bruce’s hold, and he continues to thrash and fight for a minute, as he fights for shuddering wet breaths. But after a few seconds of soothing, the fighting subsides, and Bruce drops his wrists in favor of wrapping the boy in a hug. Tim refuses to let him go. For the rest of the night.

Yet another,Obligatory self-promo for my DC agere discord server

Join it! Come harass me for fics, hcs, and drabbles personally ‼️ /silly

[astracora]

A Mandated Holiday Break - Chapter 5

Characters: Sylus x gn!mc (poly lads)

Warnings: Loose spoilers for 'Mischief' anecdote and Sylus Myth.

Word Count: 1275

Written: 21st December 2024

Notes: Post-relationship Sylus/MC-centric but poly LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

You've passed out, midway through some movie about a man in green visiting some city in search of his father. Sometime during your movie marathon with Sylus, he'd noticed you'd stopped caring what you'd put on. He'd gotten too invested in Die Hard (a Christmas movie, you swore), and had been more than horrified that the inaccuracies didn't bother you.

At that point you'd stopped showing him movies you really loved, instead giggling with glee at making him watch some of the worst or silliest things you could find. To see his nose scrunch, and what you'd (incorrectly) called his snobby rich boy taste.

Of all the movies you could watch, he refused to understand why toilet humour had entertained you so.

It hadn't, he thinks, his inability to not roll his eyes, had been your goal.

Still, the laughter had been worth it. He would do anything to hear it forever, so perhaps he'd let you play terrible movies for the end of time.

As you murmured in your sleep, at which he'd lowered his head to try to make words out. (Something about a farmers market, and a duck?) He'd left your side, reluctant but knowing you needed to eat. Something other than cookies. You'd at least drank the water he made sure was at your side, if he left you alone he thinks you'd subsist off caffeine.

When he untangles himself from you, carefully, so carefully because while he'd love to bring you with him, the bags under your eyes demand more sleep than you've been getting. He checks you over once more, tugging the soft pink blanket over you. (It doesn't match the decor but you'd said pink suited him. He'd given you a look of disbelief... but he hadn't stopped using it since. Despite running a higher temperature than anyone you knew.)

He met the twins in the kitchen, stuffing sugar cookies into their mouths, as soon as they heard the door open. Two pairs of guilty, wide eyes shot to stare.

He's seen raccoons before, digging through food in the bins. He won't compare them, out loud, but the look is similar. "You better hope the doctor doesn't count those." Luke gulps, Kieran fidgets.

There was little the doctor was protective over, or possessive over. Sugar, and the kitten curled up on his sofa, were the two that mattered. He'd also been informed of their presence, waiting for him.

Sylus knows no matter what, even the N109 zone wouldn't keep the good doctor away from either of those things, especially in the same room.

With a smug, little self satisfied purr, he stuffs one of the fresh baked cookies into his mouth.

Food was always better shared, than alone, as he'd learned over the years.

"Is it dinner time?" Luke asks, swinging his legs as he jumps back up on the counter. Watching Sylus grab things from around the room, pulling his phone out to find a recipe he'd been sent by the prince.

'I want to make this.'

'I'm not letting you make it in my kitchen.'

'They'll like it.'

'They won't like the base being set on fire.'

In the end he'd promised to make it instead. If only to save everyone from the prince's electronic based curse.

He nods at the question, and as he watches the two out the corner of his eye, he realises he has no idea when they started living here.

He's aware of the time they've been working for him, he remembers the day he met them vividly. He's deeply familiar with how he felt watching them struggle against Ever's bonds.

The crystals gouged out of skin, the pain, the yearning. It had twisted parts of his chest, and torn at old memories he wished he could forget.

It was never easy to separate from the past, it stayed a part of you even if you desperately wished it wouldn't.

Still, he has no recollection for when they went from visiting for work, to staying, always present unless they wanted to explore together. Talking to him with candour... no, formality was never the twin's forte.

Something had changed, however, and he wasn't sure when.

He follows steps as he muses, though doesn't share his thinking out loud, after all, they seem content to just watch. Sticking leftover crumbs in their mouths, and chattering to each other.

Sylus doesn't really know when making meals for others became like this, he started because it made you happy, he continued because he liked doing it. A simple task, but it garnered praise, and joy. Food was not something he'd needed before, now, however, it was a gift to be shared.

It was simply just as easy to prepare for four (five, as he makes enough to save a plate for the prince), as it was for two.

Kieran hums the song that you were playing earlier, still out of tune, and he has to bite back his laugh, but finds himself joining in. He doesn't remember the words yet he's never discontent for his mind to remember you in every song he ever hears.

"Hey Hunter!"

"Morning!"

You enter the room, rubbing at your eyes, and he finds himself smiling at you easily. It's more a quirk of the lips, and garnet eyes melting, but you smile back as though he's beaming.

Perhaps in his way, he is. He's still unpracticed with joy. With emotions.

Showing them is hard, so he speaks them and he places them into your hands (for your heart to keep) in actions.

He refuses to let you think he is not earnest. Never to lie, never to flatter. You will never doubt his affections, he promises.

As you yawn and pull yourself up onto the kitchen counter, and he wonders why he bothered to buy stools for the bar. None of you seem to use them, content to hover too close. Comment and talk and titter away.

When he'd asked, you'd shrugged. "I like to be tall." You'd teased, kissing his forehead at the height the counter allowed you.

His cheeks had flamed and he'd blinked. Surprised and confused. Until the feeling settled into a burning need. So hungry and desperate and clawing, he'd pulled you in by the back of your neck and bitten, kissed and licked his way up your throat.

Your laughter and sighs had stuck in his head for weeks after.

He found himself wishing you'd do it again, every single time you sat on the counter to watch him cook.

Instead of the twins singing, though you seem to find it entertaining to watch them relax, you reconnect your phone to the sound system he installed in the kitchen.

For you, ever since he visited your own place to see your speakers hooked up on the wall, humming away as you baked bread. Told him music made any task better, even the ones you hated.

Sylus has been so used to solitude his entire life. Before the abyss, after the abyss. He's spent longer alone, than he has with others. Even when he built Onychinus, ground up, clawing and scratching to his makeshift throne, nothing had touched that solitude.

His time in the clouds had been short in comparison. A blip.

A torn out moment as close to bliss as he could ever have thought to get.

This. Here. A low chuckle in his throat, songs in the air, and warmth in his joined heart... he could not bear to trade or lose.

Even when one of the twins, pointing at each other when whirled on, throws a slice of carrot at his head.

[mrmeepsmadmind]

Please i would love to hear all of the headcannons on Soundblaster i beg we need more of this silly guy

PUTTING U IN MY POCKET AND CHERISHING U FOREVER FOR ASKING ME THIS. i LOOOVEEE YAPPPP!!!!!!!

MY SOUNDBLASTER HEADCANONS / GEN THOUGHTS AND STUFF !!!!!! Warning for dark, mature topics like g*re mention / h*micide ‼️‼️. Not rlly explored but mentioned. No s*xual stuff tho. Still tho, disclaimer, he's an awful cold mech ... who tortures u and twerks to stuck in the middle with you while doing it

best way i can describe how i view Soundblaster is an orca born & raised at SeaWorId who ended up accidentally kiIIing a trainer while playing as a baby and was then separated from his mother, pod, home, everything he once knew.. & luckily released as untrainable into the wild,

but he wishes he was kiIIed instead

he yearns for family, deep down, but can't. have one .

he views his old family as weak & miserable, stuck behind glass to perform for others until they die, & he hates them for not at least trying to fight for him when they took him away. The fact that they couldn't do anything but didn't at least Try just to Attempt . . makes it even worse.

at least he is free to swim the entire ocean as his exercise. But his past follows him everywhere. he is excluded from pods for his nature being even too unorthodox for them, his fin forever drooped. other animals naturally fear him. & he misses his mom ( soundwave ), even though he hates her. He hates her because he misses her .

In my headcanon, SB was made to be a bot with No sentimental attachments, specifically to cassettes, created by Shockwave at the order of megatron. He was made with the purpose of being a bot who could send soldiers off to die without a blink. He was made to be ruthless for the decepticon cause, no one else.

Soundwave Hates SB. The mere idea of SB implies there to be a flaw within Soundwave that caused Shockwave, a mech whose intelligence is renowned, to decide such a severe action as cloning was necessary to fix that. Out of the big three decepticons, soundwave is the bot who deals with empathy the most, although that bar is VERYYYY low considering his comparisons are shockwave and starscream (who is a much better contender than shock in the empathy battle, but star is more involved with his self than outward empathy for others at this point in the war ). Soundwave deals with mentality and communication. Despite his monotone, he does feel. He tunes it out for the cause but thats because he values the cause over the value of others' thoughts, he has to, that's his Job. But tuning out his cassettes' thoughts .... it's. That's when it gets difficult. Soundwave values shockwave for his contributions for the cause with his intellectual gifts and curses. Shockwave making Soundblaster is like if your husband made The Perfect Robot Wife right in front of you and expected you to be perfectly fine with it because thats how you've HAD to be your whole life. If it's better for the cause, than it's better for everyone and everything, ultimately. So just do what you're Assigned to do, soundwave, and simply tune it Out.

SB didn't hate soundwave at the beginning.

i think the whole FAILED clone experiment should be more explored in SB. not just as a 'lol look at sb! Soundwave would NEVER do that! That's so funny!!' like that's cute of course but.. we can also go even further to 'oh my Primus. Soundwave would Never go as FAR to do this . 'and soundblaster just grins with his visor and says ' that's why i'm the Upgrade . ' he's the opposite in some extensions, but similar in some, and that's what makes others so wary, and it's not just from similar appearances, bcs i think that's something soundblaster can try to do something about and has

I think of Soundblaster as WaveWave's fucked up child who fucking hates them, can't stop being compared to them, and can't stop missing them no matter how hard he tries. He's discarded and pretends like he doesn't care, but he's so. Empty. No matter how things he forces into his new cassettes, hobbies he switches to, careers, accents, teams, bodies and parts he keeps in his tapedeck, he's just. Empty in the end.

He's programmed to be ultimately unfeeling. Everything he builds is necessary for his own entertainment, and everything he burns down is necessary for his apathetic functioning, while still desperately trying to wring out at least SOME joy out of it, but always ultimately being unable thanks to shockwave.

SB is intelligent, not to shockwave's capabilities, but he tries. He has shockwave's ability to push and abuse boundaries for the sake of expanding his interest in knowledge, and he has soundwave's observations. He collects information and then He capitalizes on it. HE capitalizes. HE is the cause here, though, not decepticons or autobots, shanix, not even to rule something because it might Seem fun at first .. but then that nagging restlessness tugs him again and he needs to make another cruel move simply for the sake of Moving, of thinking he Can feel. If others, populations, companies, markets, etc, just so happen to be lucky enough to momentarily benefit off that or unlucky enough to be tortured from it, then so be it. He doesn't care. And he's not even saying that to seem stronger to everyone because he Doesn't care (look out for, wonder, worry, valuing feelings, etc. He doesn't view anyone as anything but slight distractions to keep his processor jumping instead of just running) for Anyone, No matter how hard he tries, he always ends up abandoning everyone in the end because abandonment is all he knows. Shockwave and soundwave differ only bcs they tie with his creation. Shockwave is akin to Primus to him, only because SB doesn't care for Primus, but he Does find himself pondering Shockwave, HIS creator because Shockwave made HIM, ties to HIM, tethered to HIM. soundwave is similar. SB hates that, he hates being tethered to anything or anybot. It's just not his programming. He needs distractions so he doesn't have to think about his programming being permanent for at least a few seconds, but it always reminds him it's Never leaving in the end, and part of him doesn't want it to because if he doesn't feel nothing then he'll feel Scared, and he can't tell which is worse

Personal attributes

His voice is booming, dominating, and emphatic because he's learned how to mimic the right inflections, personality, pathology, etc to act alive just so he can remind you he's not in the end because it'll make the pain hit harder for you, & that's Much more Fun in his eyes. He can mimic accents fluently, and sometimes just changes them rapid fire for some shake up. He'll go from a cowboy to Italian in a split for no rhyme or reason, he simply Wanted to. When he Speaks, you Listen.

He views jobs as the same throwaway thing, as he views everything. He goes from a mercenary with a band of bots who admire him for his confident callousness until he burns it all to the ground to explore a new avenue, while success sometimes happens to follow bcs people can't help but worship how indifferently strong he is. Mercenary, pirate, black market, thief, torturer, executioner, decepticon brief ally, autobot brief ally, energon disperser, he wants to do it all because he needs to because it's Different and he Needs differences, not to be quirky for others, but to fool himself into thinking that just for one moment.. he could change

But he never does ! He's stuck in a programmed cycle of apathy and he's dragging others down with him to distract him from the constant spiral

Like how skybound soundwave loves sealife and whales, SB loves dolphins. He loved orcas for their color scheme, but then he researched and further fell in love, trying to model himself into something separate from soundwave without even knowing he's still stuck being eerily similar but still eerily different, not enough to be lovingly regaled the same, nor stand out as a bot truly Different and his own.

Orcas and soundblaster are very similar in many ways. Orcas can even mimic humans.

Soundblaster has STRONG mental abilities. Hypnosis is his favorite. Unlike soundwave, he doesn't care who he hurts with it, he revels in it. Until he's bored. Soundblaster loves to lure unsuspecting bots of all factions by using others' voices and their thoughts to fool everyone, like a siren, but unlike a siren, he's not trying to feed on drunken sailors for survival, he just felt like playing that day . He loves displaying graphic images on his visor or any screen, whether that be a victim's loved one dying from footage he's saved of him torturing them, or just showing them some of his favorite g*re footage because he felt like sharing that day, he just thinks it'll be a neat trick for him to do. His screens often display disturbing, uncomfortable images, with horrifying sounds to match as well

However, SB has weaker sound abilities than soundwave, either from improper training, care, or maybe even an inability to fully replicate what the original can do. His speakers are distorted and sometimes slowed or skipping. Dancing queen slowed reverb YouTube song lol. Happy music is usually not as affected by his radio quality, aside from the occasional audial splitting sparks, so he likes listening to that while torturing.

Back to the sound, his soundwave are weaker. At close distances they're stronger, but far away they echo out and surround instead of always focusing. To help him out, he has an orca-like tail that can extend from his spinal strut to help direct the waves better. But hypnosis is just so much more fun.

SB loves earth, he thinks there's just so many opportunities to have some joy before getting bored! Mimicking a mother calling for her child to lure it away for dissection. Mimicking a baby crying for its mother. Mimicking a puppy and displaying footage of a poor puppy trapped in his car with the windows up and the heat outside is excruciating so a good Samaritan can try breaking the window only to be pulled right in. So much fun!!! Sometimes, he'll even steal a singer's skin and pretend to be them so his hypnosis can easily reach bigger crowds with less effort on his part. Think the movie smile with how he invades them and their effects.

I like to think his human skin disguise's fc looks like st chroma. Just for fun.

Soundwave being able to turn others into his new cassettes is something soundblaster loves to do, and most of the time he forgets he even did it. He loves melding machine and man. He has a dog mech instead of a cat mech, with a human face melted on it. A mix of human teeth and fangs. It used to be a - eh, he doesn't remember. Maybe it was a little girl, at one point. He thinks he got the inspiration from an anime he watched. He likes anime.

His tapedeck is fucking abhorrent. He keeps his skinsuits in there. His cassettes strain and shake, but he always hypnotizes them obedient .

He has a mouth, but the mask doesn't cover directly on it. The mouth is where his chin would be, and from a direct angle, can't be seen until he tilts his helm high up and can even snap it back so the face is dangling on the other side. The mouth has various teeth of various kinds (human, monster, mech, alien, etc) inside, and eyes are everywhere, blinking gums, bloodshot cavern, even on the teeth themselves, since his helm is snapped so far behind him. They don't blink, which is why the tongue is so long, helping to coat them with moisture

Unknown if he has an actual face behind his mask or not.

I think he should have a mini friendship / pls don't kill me sb with bee like he did in the Netflix tf bcs bee is someone whose thoughts DO NOT and cannot match his actual actions bcs theyre selfish and kinda rude and bee cannot allow himself to be Imperfect or the autobot cause and optimus's reputation would be ruined. HES supposed to be their shining light, their hope. If their hope is awful, then what does that say about the cause. I think soundwave and bee are very interesting together in general, but that's another talk another day. But yeah, i think bee feels terrible for sb but also is terrified of him, but bee can't just abandon him . Not like everyone else. Bee CANT be like everyone else, he HAS to better. ...don't tell anyone he thinks that tho- he just wants it implied a little- he just has to be perfect not bcs hes secretly selfish and mean but um! U guys just kinda suck! OOPS, UM. HE MEANS. he'll just distract them by being cute or smthing... & meanwhile soundblaster is watching like 'you're mentally ill. ...I Like That. '

This is how soundblaster talks and views bee, LOL. He just keeps him alive bcs hes entertained by his trauma that bee pretends he doesn't have, which makes it all the more entertaining. I just think the dynamic would be rlly funny, not even in a shipping sense, but a I just think they would be funny sense.

Bee: i mean .. i can't help but feel bad for shockwave.. he used to be a senator.. a Good senator.. he was so kind.. empurata- it's really awful.. he looks so different now.. it must have been so painfu-

SB: WOMP WOMP :P !

Bee:

Bumblebee: ...did you just say Womp Womp to Empurata-

LIKE. i think soundblaster is so fucked up and can be even more fucked up if they just explored him more to really distinguish him but also keep that soundwave association haunting him bcs that mech is Never getting rid of it. I think even if he gets damaged and tries getting repairs, his spark turns down any parts that Don't resemble soundwave's, hence why he has skinsuits to slither into to make himself feel like he can finally relieve himself of soundwave's shadow. Hypnosis doesnt work on him, not even his own. All the mirrors are immediately broken wherever he goes. He's an ill cretin who is also very funny to me. He loves to dance and sing while torturing and is very good at it! But he's also. Awful.

He can't feel, but he can feel some sort of peculiar tie to his cassettes, mainly so he can know their location Wherever they go. He likes to purposefully dispatch his army into losing battles with terrible odds so he can feel their cries shudder from within his spark and that low hidden mouth Grins. And if they end up somehow surviving and winning, then he guesses that's good too, or whatever :/

Bumblebee would be the perfect we have to do good straight man to soundblaster with how compassionate he is.. and soundblaster would be perfect in demonstrating bee's desperation to be liked when bee mistakes soundblaster's tolerance of bee being a good distraction for fondness.. like. Tf could do so much more with sb than just a clone.. bee would be a good big character to help get others familiar with SB !!! LIKE! UGH! THERES JUST SO MUCH POTENTIAL WITH SOUNDBLASTER!!!!! but also transformers is trying to appeal to a younger audience to get new tf fans and keep it alive so i don't think we'll get the soundblaster depth i dream of... if we get more of him at all.. but still.. a m&m can Dream ..

if the name Mr. Blonde from reservoir dogs rings any bells, that's who i associate with Soundblaster as well as orcas to help understand his personality better, to conclude my yap !!!

ANYWAYS!!!! THANK YOU FOR LISTENING!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE THIS WEIRD THING SM!!! SILLY GUY!!!! MY EMO WIFE!!!! WE NEED SO MUCH MORE OF THIS SILLY GUYYY URGHHHHHHH!!!!!!! URE SO RIGHT! PLS ANON I LOVE U FOR ASKING ME THIS! SRRY THIS IS SO LONG! I THINK IMIGHTVE FORGOTTEN SOME THINGS BUT YEA HERES MY YAP FOR NOW !!!

[electronic-elevator]

so, in my life, I perpetually lack the time to do all of the things I need and want to do. this means that, looking at any given year or month or day, I am focusing on the subset of these things most in need of attention — which means that, on some cyclical interval, I suffer an inability to write for an extended period. but then the tides shift, or the celestial bodies rearrange, and I decide it's necessary (or at least worth the cost) to temporarily drop some other facet of my life in order to return to writing. at this point, I am faced with a pile of works in various states of completion ranging from "why hadn't I just posted this..?" to just stale scribbles on a theme, and every time, I spend entirely too much of this precious time waffling over whether to start with editing, or ignore the existing works and write something entirely fresh, or to post the ones that are basically done, or whether I should scrap some and start them over, blah blah, all without knowing, really, how long this period of prioritizing writing is likely to last

this is to say. new Actor messing fic on ao3, primarily written in winter 2023, then abandoned cold and alone in a file folder until being lightly dusted off by yours truly about two hours ago.

[sainz100]

2024 Brazilian GP | x

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Lan Wangji Goes To Lotus Pier AU: Part 3: Enveloping Feelings.

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 4)

[saltpepperbeard]

y’all. what if

what if we get a dream sequence where ed is longing for what could have happened, what should have happened. like, we see the same few beats of him on the dock, calling out for stede and looking increasingly concerned. but then the brush behind him rustles, and stede actually stumbles out into view.

and ed’s face breaks out into the most relieved, beautiful smile, and there’s this very dreamy sequence of them breathing each other’s names and running to each other. they of course hug each other tightly, maybe even kiss, before ed murmurs something like, “was worried for a second. thought i’d lost you.”

only for stede to go “oh, no. you’ll never ever lose me.”

...and then ed wakes up in the gutted darkness of the captain’s quarters. alone.

[palossssssand]

feels like home

[huellitaa]

i'm so surprised she hasn't realised i want her like girl are you BLIND wait im sorry ily

[feline-evil]

Hiding my shirt that says 'i am not normal about narratives that imply an inanimate inhabited structure is a living breathing organism' as i walk into a board room and pitch my idea that we should make more horror revolving around living architecture

[mad-hunts]

starting off this sunday with a sad fact, and that is often whenever barton smells this cinnamon, but as a part of a specific blend with... something else he can't quite identify? barton is reminded of marcy because she used to wear a perfume that had that sort of scent to it.

[kaisollisto]

i'm just saying I think it's more interesting if exile alien bea has an x amount of time to live and grapples with is it worth living was my life worthy of life? meets ava who is need of a host (because halo is very unstable) and doesn't know how to stop running and they smooch and fall in love and bea is like take my body as a host, you are full of love and you have taught me love and I want my love to continue to live through you and my body will be able to sustain your host so take me on adventures and show me the world that I never got to see and live through. Make me love the world through your eyes so I may possess a fraction of your love for the world that has failed me. And then bea dies and ava does that and that's the end

but i hate sad endings and cannot be what I sought to destroy.

[fishlung8877]

The children yearn for the sweatshops