#i love it tho even if its not mine

[godzillatalks]

The door opens with a hiss, but Rodimus doesn't even have to look up to see who it was— militaristically quiet and carefully measured pedesteps from a mech far lighter than him already giving away exactly who entered the room.

"Fancy seeing you again, scout." Rodimus snorts, finally dragging his optics away from the actually unimportant data pad to watch Bumblebee stride over to the desk in the middle of the room. The yellow bot doesn't turn to look at Rodimus, grumbling quietly as he sets down the reports he'd brought in onto Optimus' desk.

"Why're you here, fire hazard? I thought you were supposed to be causing troubles elsewhere. As in, not on Cybertron. At all." Bumblebee glares at Rodimus out of the corners of sharply narrowed optics. The Prime just grins at him, sharp teeth shimmering in the synthetic light.

"Oh, maybe it's 'cause my dad kept me around for a reason," Rodimus drawls, voice cutting through the air like an arrow aimed straight at Bumblebee's composure; something he struggled to keep together in the first place. He grits his dentae together, swiveling on the heel of his pede to respond to the fiery colored bot, but Rodimus continues before Bee can get the words out.

"Y'know, cause he actually needs me?" Rodimus' head tilts oh so slightly, tone lilted and taunting as he tapped right at the center of his chest, where his half of the Matrix resided, with a sharp digit.

Bumblebee doesn't let himself think before he lunges with a right hook.

It connects harshly with Rodimus' chin and he drops the data pad he had been holding, the fragile thing crashing to the floor, screen shattering into chunky shards that skittered across the floor alongside Rodimus, sent skidding backward from the sheer force behind Bumblebee's punch.

His inner temperature rises, heat raging from the core of his spark and outward through every line of energon in his frame. Fire flashes from the chrome piping winding around his arms and legs, cerulean optics shifting to a dark and angry, storming blue.

"Oh, because he needs you?" The scout sneers, his own optics flaring near white with anger. "The kid who wasn't even around during the war, who let his own father die—"

Bumblebee is cut off when Rodimus charges at him with a roar of rage, sharp digits extended and ready to tear, flames pouring from the pipes on his arms as if he could drown the other bot in flames, even if now they were just for show.

He could, in a sense.

Bumblebee barely rolls out of the way, feeling the heat of the flames score nasty (but superficial) burns into his paint job as he ducked under the anger-fueled lunge. He aims a fist as he moves, sending it hard into Rodimus' side.

Rodimus' plating burns. Bumblebee recoils in pain at the same time Rodimus does from the punch. He shouldn't have been surprised.

Rodimus, of course, immediately takes advantage of the slight hesitation, wrapping clawed servos around Bumblebee's throat and slamming him into the floor. Plating sizzles on contact between them, the sheer temperature of Rodimus' frame enough to make paint bubble. His servos burn indents into Bumblebee's throat cabling.

Bumblebee doesn't even scream. He can't. Primus damn, it hurts. But he'll keep fighting.

His servos twist around Rodimus' forearm, pushing through the pain to toss the larger bot off of himself with a well anchored and executed jerk of his arms to the side.

Rodimus is sent rolling, sliding to a stop with his claws dug into the floor. Bumblebee heaves himself onto his front, one servo tentatively pressing at his now fried throat. (Voicebox fine. Just hurts.)

They're just about to jump at each other again, optics shimmering with a long burning fire of jealousy and hatred for the other, when the door slides open.

Optimus squints at the two mechs on the floor of his office.

"What in Primus' name..?" He mumbles, glancing to Rodimus and then to Bumblebee.

Immediately, they point at each other.

"It was his fault." In unison, they speak, Bumblebee's voice laced with pained static and Rodimus' dripping with layers of venom.

Optimus pinches his nasal ridge and sighs.

[welcometogrouchland]

Disgustingly messy and crusty sketch dump but I couldn't get my own terrible theory out of my head and ended up making a bunch of sketches about it. Also at the end a bonus dickbats and Damian doodle bc I was reading an issue of their Batman and Robin run (IDs in Alt)

[obsob]

there he is......the man of the house

[angstflavoured]

WHO HYPE FOR THE 16TH 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

[sometimesmaybespoof]

When she Half on my Life till I 2

[harbingersecho]

finally played thru the infamous if demo and had an excuse to make a goth guy. with Facepaint and a coontail and everything. so here's Dane aka Lacuna of Dead Rat Society

[reds-skull]

I'm researching Scottish mythology for the Cyberknights AU, and I was skimming through the wiki entry for the Glenmasan manuscript (I'd tell you what it is, but I haven't actually finished reading yet), when I read this sentence

Like what are the fucking chances

[todayisafridaynight]

[cryptidclownz]

updated ref of my oc naryn!

no bg + scarred alternate

i tried my hand at writing a little scene of the whole naryn/lamb backstory!! im not super proud of it but i dont usually share my writing so i figured i might as well!

—

Another crusade through Darkwood gave the lamb time to think. To unwind. Slaughtering beasts and heretics was a favorite pastime of theirs, but their followers grew ever needy. Demanding. They dreaded a request for materials that would be better spent on medicine and worship, but the scolding their god would give them if they refused was just as infuriating. A leader must provide, he would tell them. Your followers will dissent without proper care. Coddling, more like. Lambert was not a gentle leader, and they had no intention to be one. As much as they wished they could toss their flock to the wolves and go on about their life, The Lamb knew Narinder was right. Their flock would be rewarded for hard work and good behavior, any recruits would find their new life comfortable as long as they behaved. If they didn’t, The One Who Waits had no issue if a follower appeared in his realm in the middle of the night now and then.

Although they were out to gather camellias for a follower desperate to win one of their disciple’s affection, Lambert felt right at home in the dungeons. They handled heretics and monsters with relative ease, well acquainted with the tricks enemy cultists thought would fool them.

The Lamb walked, bored, through another few clearings, only sometimes remembering their original task and picking a few flowers to toss into the crown’s infinite storage. A soft rustling in the trees, the telling shuffling of feet on the ground. The Lamb’s sword was drawn before the ambush had even landed around them.

Boring. Predictable.

They went after the boldest attacker first; a smaller hooded figure than the others who carried an unproportionately large axe. It swung at them, but the weight of the axe slowed it down. The blade of The Lamb’s sword hit the axe’s hilt, slamming it down just inches away from their hooves with unexpected power. The heretic wasn’t given the time to pry its weapon out of the dirt before the Lamb swung at its neck, slicing past muscle and bone with a sickening slap.

The Lamb didn’t behead it, leaving the near-dead heretic to scream in agony for a few moments before it finally died. They were unphased by the rest of the troop storming toward them, having learned by now that heretics don’t take the time to mourn their fallen.

The sword almost seemed to move on its own; slicing through the throats of some and gutting others. Lambert cast a curse in the direction of the two remaining, though the tentacles that rose from the ground only caught one. The Lamb didn’t mind. They preferred to do the work themselves, anyway.

They gripped the handle of the crown’s sword tightly, taking chase after the last remaining heretic. The Lamb moved with powerful, calculated steps, letting the runner think it had a chance to get away. It wasn’t every day that an attacker would try to run, after all.

–

The heretic bolted.

He ran with all of his might, adrenaline willing his trembling body forward despite the gash in his side and the blood of his troop that stained his person. The uniformed hood he wore fell back with every desperate leap forward, and the cold air that rushed past his fur made the tips of his ears burn. He didn’t dare look back, too afraid to see the figure of that monster behind him. The heretic hardly noticed the tears that whipped past his cheeks, wet and sticky like the rest of the blood that coated him. Not his blood. He was alive, even if his friends weren’t. Gods, they were gone, weren’t they? They were-

His foot caught on a slippery root. The cat was flat on the ground before he could feel the sharp sting of pain from his ankle.

“No,” He choked out, voice hoarse. “No, no, no, no-”

Slow, heavy footsteps cut off his thoughts. The heretic kicked and clawed desperately at the dirt beneath him, but his movements were frantic and uncoordinated. The Lamb would have found it funny if they weren’t irritated by the sticky residue coating their arms and fleece. They approached the hooded figure so slowly it was cruel, listening to the panicked breaths and gasps that came from it.

“Rise, heretic,” Their voice was horrifyingly level, and the hooded figure could spot the glint of their sword out of the corner of his eye as they lifted it towards him. He was going to die.

“P-Please,” The voice that sounded from the heretic was quiet and shaky, but his limbs trembled more violently as he propped himself up on his forearms and cautiously turned. With his ankle still caught on the root, the cat was forced to twist his body to look up. His hood slowly fell from his ears, no longer casting any shadows on his face. He was going to die. “Please, spare me.”

The Lamb froze.

They stared down at the heretic before them, eyes widening in a state of shock that was entirely foreign to them.

A black cat stared back, the dark amber of his tear-filled eyes glinting red in the sparse lighting of the Darkwood forest. His long, pointed ears pinned back against his skull, the tips nearly pressing together. His fur was blood-splattered and matting in the direction of the drying redness, but the Lamb could still see that perfect black beneath it. Their eyes shifted to the heretic’s forehead, where a discolored splatter of blood stained the fur. At least, that’s what they thought it was.

Their eyes narrowed.

The Lamb moved closer, stepping over the root that the cowardly heretic was trapped underneath. They stood in front of him, sword lowered but still pointed near the cat’s head. Unsatisfied by what they saw, the Lamb lowered to a squat, causing him to gasp and flinch back. His eyes screwed shut, awaiting the same agonizing pain that he’d just witnessed his troop suffer.

And yet, it never came. Instead, he felt a hand on the top of his head, firmly planted but not suggesting any malice. The Lamb took a moment to feel his fur. Soft, they realized. Such a familiar texture.

Their hand moved further down, landing on the red blood on the heretic’s forehead. They pressed down and slid their hand to the side, expecting it to smear or crumble off entirely. When that didn’t happen, their breath quickened. The cat didn’t know why. He pried his eyes slowly open, pupils dilated about as far as they would go. He searched the Lamb’s expression warily, but he was about as lost as they were. It was hard to distinguish exactly what this was. Excitement? Fear? Confusion? Maybe it was a mix of everything. The source of their confliction, however, was no question.

This heretic was the spitting image of The One Who Waits, down to the most subtle stripes in his fur and the red in his eyes. The red mark on his forehead was distinctly eye-shaped, like some sort of mimic of their god’s divine features. It was almost revolting, the fact that a lowly heretic would be blessed with such features–- such mockery. The Lamb’s expression hardened, and the heretic noticed. He wanted to pull away, to scream, to plead for his life, but the heretic’s throat ran dry. He could only watch as the Lamb continued to inspect him as if they were searching for just one inconsistency; one reason to kill the vile mimic that tried to fool them. There were none.

“You...” The Lamb began, dropping their hand to the underside of his jaw and jerking his head up. There was no telling what went on in their head, even as their sword warped back into the shape of a crown and sat atop their head. Their glare seemed to soften a moment later. “Where have you been?”

[illegalvampire]

i have so many pics of connor in my camera roll that the app identified him as a person. guys am i cooked

[jjanguri]

‘I WANNA KNOW’ special stage on MCOUNTDOWN

[gregoftom]

what do you mean you don’t think you’re gonna be buried at my side

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

oh yeah did i mention i was writing for a monkie kid zine? check it-

 preorders open July 1st, the twitter is @//LMKFanzine. they’re just finishing up contributor spotlights so feel free to check out if you see any artists or writers you recognize.

[michameinmicha]

The other day i did some patches on my fave hoodie and it turned out really cute so i thought ill show you

I dont have before pictures but the inside fabric of the hood was getting super thin and ripped in several places (i had actually fixed it a few weeks back but it just ripped in new places soon after) so i decided to cover the whole area in fabric. We didnt have any orange fabric laying around so i chose an old vine red shirt to use

Its a bit hard to photograph but i sewed two long rectangles to the inside of the hood over the thin and ripped places

Here i also had a ripped area near the metal ring and i covered that too. I did all the sewing by hand because a) my mum was using the sewing machine at that time and b) i wanted to make it mostly invisible from the outside. It isnt suuper neat but im really happy with it! I really like how it turned out :)

You can obviously tell where the patches are when im wearing it but i dont mind, i kinda like the two-colour hood actually!

[orcelito]

I'm at the painful "confession" scene during the kage summit arc. It really is so emotional, but also... hm.

When I was younger, like 13 or so, I was a big Sakura and Naruto shipper. They were the first pairing I read fanfic for even. And in a way, I do still enjoy the two of them together... but it's moments like these that really drive home the fact that it Doesn't really work in canon. Not the way that it's set up.

As Sakura puts it, "Sasuke, Sasuke, Sasuke! That's all you think about!"

She's told that Naruto has feelings for her and decides to use it to convince him to stop going after Sasuke. She does love him, but not in the way she's trying to confess. The love they share is one of comradery, not necessarily romantic. The love of two people who have gone through such pain together, and who have leaned on each other throughout it all. And the fact that she's turning around and saying she loves him "simply like everyone else", now... it's trivializing. And the fact that she's trying to convince him of this, the fact that she thinks she Can convince him of this, is pretty hurtful. They've come a long way from when they were kids, Naruto the goofball vying for her attention while she yelled at him for being stupid. Sakura respects Naruto so much more than before, and Naruto respects her too. So the fact that she's still doing this... She's desperate, really. She thinks the promise he made to her to bring Sasuke home is what's driving him to let himself be hurt over and over and over again in the pursuit and protection of Sasuke.

But she's wrong.

That may be part of it, but it's only part. Naruto wants Sasuke back for himself, too. He let himself be beat up to avoid selling him out. He chases after him with single minded determination. Sasuke is his entire drive to get stronger, to catch up, to bring him home. Sasuke, Sasuke, Sasuke indeed.

As it is, Naruto knows she's lying to herself. And no matter what she says, he will keep going after Sasuke. Because that's just the person that Naruto is.

[harbingersecho]

grif's surgery but just a little more... obvious?

I actually rly rly ADORE frankengrif but I don't have an in-show reason why he'd have extensive long-term allogeneic skingrafts on his face 😔