#ill do another fic

[propertyofkylar]

must confess for vday fic i am considering cucking kylar.

[velvetwyrme]

aHhh okay so the discussions of Titan!Megatron on @callsign-relic's blog have fully. FULLY taken over my brain and ive been drawing stuff for it for like the last few days nonstop

the tl;dr of this is AU is pretty much "what if Megatron got turned into a titan/cityformer as a form of penance/imprisonment and now roams the empty wasteland of Cybertron forever" plus "IDW Megatron has really fucked up internals so... what if that, but as a City?"

and of course since he's a Titan, that also means he has a cityspeaker... or three. One per sub-AU thing. Theres 3 options. 3 flavours of AU.

i have so much art to make. but in the meantime, for more info! check out the #titan au tag on Relic's blog :]!! (also uhh potential ns//fw warning for the link shfjbdkd)

Hi. My battery is running out once again so design and art notes get chucked here instead of an image.

The cuffs and collar are hardwired into Megatron, so I made the lights the same colour as his biolights!

I imagine that on the tops of his shoulders there are solar panels, even if you can't see them here lol.

I really wanted to keep the swirly bits on Megatron's chest from IDW

Other art notes:

The second picture with the seekers is (loosely) inspired by a discussion about whether or not Megatron gets visitors or not. I thought about who would visit him and well... I think this is as close as Starscream realistically gets to visiting him.

Extra detail about that piece is that Thundercracker and Skywarp are keeping watch from above! Also drawing Megatron took me like 8 hours because I was struggling with his legs really badly kshffkbfkdsbdk,, the background went much faster, funnily enough.

Optimus specifically isn't wearing his Autobot badge any more.

This isn't relevant in this series of images, but Ultra Magnus's eye markings are only on the Magnus armour. His other two forms do not have them :] (... until he begins to discard the armour, that is.)

Megatron is roughly 3200m/2 miles tall. Technically he could have clouds around his knees, but I thought this looked a little bit cooler lol.

Also, height chart! Him big. I didn't even attempt to put a human for scale because that'd be. near impossible with this scale.

[ihavesomejays]

pumped this out for a homie in an hour this morning

this scene is from this fic by alicura and omg it has me in a chokehold

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 27 - Voiceless, “I have no mouth and I must scream”

I feel like I’ve been mean to Wind a lot heh, I feel bad for the little guy. It’s better than the three arrows I put in his chest in that other fic! ...Maybe, anyway.

Warnings: redeads

Ao3 link

————————————————————

Wind was not happy.

He struggled and kicked, tried to squirm out of the bruising hold on his arms, went limp and tried to just give the two soldiers dragging him along some underground passageway as worse of a time as possible. They’d already taken his weapons and only held him tighter as he struggled, but Wind kept it up anyway.

One of the Yiga grumbled in annoyance as Wind kicked at his legs, and he felt a glint of satisfaction.

“Rotten kid, that attitude will die plenty quick where you’re going,” the other Yiga snapped, ignoring Wind’s attempts to bite him. “This cell was for the hero, but what better way to lure him there than to dump his little brother in it first?”

“You built a cell underneath the outskirts of a village? Wow, that’s normal well-adjusted behavior,” Wind huffed, and one Yiga sneered.

“We merely adapted it for our purposes. And you’re the perfect person to test it out.”

Wind finally managed to clamp his jaws down on one of the soldier’s hands, and he yelled, gloves not thick enough to really protect him. The other one snatched at Wind and put a dagger to his throat before he could press his attack, and Wind reluctantly released the hand, getting the message.

“Link’ll never fall for your stupid trap anyway,” Wind said with a glare, and the Yiga both chuckled.

“Oh yes he will. Have fun, kid.”

A door was opened, and Wind was tossed through without any sort of fanfare, stumbling as he landed. He whirled back around to the door, but it was already closed and firmly locked.

Wind scowled at it, then turned to look around his prison, mind already turning towards thoughts of escape. Who did these Yiga guys think they were, kidnapping him off the street? He was the Hero of Winds! How had they even gotten the drop on him?

Wind scowled again and kicked at the floor of the cell. At least he’d been walking around with Four and Wild. Surely one of them would notice he was missing soon. And if not, well, Wind was pretty good at getting out of tight spots if he did say so himself.

No problem.

Wind put his hands on his hips, looking around the dark cell. There was a single tiny torch hung up on the wall, too high for Wind to reach that lit up the skinny space. A stone wall stood at the far end of the cell, but the two sides were open bars, darkness yawning beyond them.

It... kinda made his skin crawl.

Wind crossed his arms, feeling cold all of a sudden, but he shrugged it off with a huff. He needed to figure out how to get out of here, creepy darkness or not. The deep shadows beyond the bars suggested a bigger area, so if he could just find a loose one, he’d be set. Maybe he could even climb up and grab the torch.

Wind walked over to a side, starting at one end and giving each bar a solid shake. They seemed pretty firmly in the ground, but Wind worked his way across anyway, hoping for a loose one. He got all the way through without a single loose bar, and sighed, crossing to the other side to try there instead.

He’d gotten about halfway when he heard something, creaky and quiet.

Wind froze, listening, and the hair on the back of his neck went up as he heard it again. That noise was familiar. He couldn’t place it, but he knew it was familiar.

And that it was bad news.

A low moan came from somewhere in the darkness, and Wind slowly began to back away, nerves all alight. If he could just see he wouldn’t be nearly as nervous. Maybe the darkness was just freaking him out, and he was imagining noises because of that?

A bloodcurdling scream rang out, and Wind’s eyes went huge as a familiar sensation wracked through him, deathly cold and terrifying.

Oh no, he thought in a panic, his feet frozen to the floor, body unable to turn away from the shambling footsteps he could hear. Oh no oh no oh—

A face appeared in the flickering light of the torch, decaying and horrible, eyes glowing. A rotten hand stretched forward and wrapped around the bars, and Wind stared at the Redead, trapped in its unnatural terror.

It didn’t look like his version of them, taller, with a few ragged clothes on its lanky body, but the feeling it left him with was the same, sheer, unnatural terror.

I’ve got to get away, maybe by the door I’ll be far enough it won’t be able to—

A different scream rang out, sending another jolt through Wind’s chest, and he watched in horror as another redead grasped at the bars, reaching out to him, trying to pull him close. Beady eyes stared at him, glowing and malicious with hunger, and Wind might have whimpered if he could move his mouth.

He fought the paralysis as much as he could, but the moment it started to wear off, one of them screamed again, leaving Wind with no escape. More screams joined the first two, and Wind choked on his breath as a whole group of redeads shambled out of the darkness. Screams came near constantly from their lips as they grabbed at the bars and reached through, trying to get at him.

They can’t get through, they can’t get through they can’t hurt you, it’s just to scare you, Wind thought frantically, heart drumming in his chest. They don’t want you to escape that’s why they put them there you’re okay you’re okay you’re okay.

The screams just kept coming, endless and piercing and shooting Wind’s heart through with inescapable terror. He couldn’t even move to cover his ears, and he felt a terrified scream build in his own throat.

But it wouldn’t come out. Wind could only keep standing there, immobilized, tears trailing silently down his cheeks.

It felt like his heart was being encased in ice, frost shooting through his veins with every scream and grazing touch. More screams joined the agonizing chorus from behind him, and the terror felt like it would crush him, repeatedly crashing over him like a freezing wave.

Hands grabbed at him, nails grazing his skin. Wind couldn’t move, the torrential screams hammering at him, cracking him, filling him up with so much terror his mind couldn’t focus on anything else.

His world narrowed down to screams and beady eyes, Wind drowning in terror, eyes darting around wildly, mind screaming every time a hand grazed him.

If he could move he’d be curled up on the ground, but all he could do was stand here and sob in his mind as a deathly cold hand finally closed around his wrist.

Then a different noise rang out over the screams.

It was garbled in Wind’s ears, some sort of talking he couldn’t make out over the redeads’ shrieks. But suddenly music poured into the cell, cheery and bright, and the screaming stopped.

All of it.

Wind’s ears still rang with them, and the terror still pressed over him like a wet blanket, but there was finally silence, and the hand trying to drag Wind closer to the bars had stopped in its efforts, the redead’s mouth stuck open with its teeth bared.

Wind would’ve sobbed if he could move, and he heard footsteps and talking, his ears still ringing too much to make out. Strong arms pulled the hand off his wrist and cradled him to a chest, shouted something at the other sets of footsteps. The song trilled again, bright and warm, and though Wind still couldn’t do much as twitch his pinky, some of his panic eased as he felt a steady heartbeat against where his ear rested.

The others were here.

There must have been a trip out, but Wind missed most of it, still trapped in the lingering screams he could hear in his mind. Tears trickled steadily down his cheeks, and past the unnaturally sharp fear was a flicker of annoyance at crying so much.

But the terror mostly blotted it out.

Sunshine finally fell onto his face, warm and soft, and whoever was holding Wind lowered themselves to a knee. A face looked down at him, and Wind saw Twilight, eyes fearful.

“Hey Wind, you alright?” he asked, and Wind could only stare at him, heart pounding, terror still clenching like a talon around him. “Wind?”

“Is he okay?” someone else asked, and Twilight leaned back, Time and Wild’s faces both coming into view next.

“He’s not responding,” Twilight replied, and Time leaned in, studying Wind’s face with a worried look.

“Wind, can you hear me?” Time asked, setting a hand on his chest.

I can hear you fine, I just can’t move! Wind wanted to scream, but his mouth was still frozen shut. The only thing that he was still able to do was cry, apparently.

Time gently wiped his tears away, and if Wind wasn’t still so terrified, he was sure he’d be embarrassed. “Do we know how long he was down there?”

“An hour, hour and a half? No more than two based on when we started looking,” a voice Wind placed as Wild added anxiously. Oh good, he avoided the trap. “Is that bad?”

“It’s a long time to be around an attacking redead, no less dozens of them like he was,” Time replied, gently tilting Wind’s head around as he looked at it. “Usually the song fixes things, I have no idea why he’s still frozen like this.”

“Prolonged exposure I’d guess,” Four’s voice added, and Twilight’s hand combed gently through his hair. “It might just take him longer to break out of it. He’s so cold...”

“I still can’t believe we lost sight of him like that,” Wild said quietly, and a different hand touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Wind.”

Oh Wild, it’s not your fault, Wind thought, trying to look the champion in the eye and convey the sentiment. I’d tell you so if I could.

Some more footsteps pounded against the grass suddenly, and the amount of voices around Wind doubled, more faces leaning over to look at him, worried questions floating over his head. The other Links had obviously joined the group, and Wind struggled even harder against the paralysis making him nothing but deadweight. But he remained as frozen as ever, a scream still stuck in his throat, ice around his heart.

“Give him space, I’m pretty sure he’s aware of what’s going on and you all are crowding him,” Warriors’ voice chided, and the majority of heads pulled back from his view. The captain’s face appeared in his line of sight, full of worry. “Wind? Can you move anything? Even just something small?”

Wind started at his feet and worked his way upward this time, trying to move anything he could. Fear still thrummed through him, his body on high alert, tears tracking down his cheeks, but he finally managed to twitch his eyelids a little.

“Hey, there we go,” Warriors said with relief in his eyes. “Can you do it again?”

Wind focused, managing another twitch, and almost did a full blink when he tried again. Warriors’ face was still worried, but he looked encouraged by even the tiny movement.

“Here, let me see if this helps some more,” Time said then, and Twilight shifted Wind around in his arms so his head was a little more upright.

Time pulled out his ocarina, purplish blue in the sunshine, and he played the trilling song again, the one Wind finally recognized as the song of passing. Time played it through a couple times, magic falling over Wind like a beam of sunlight. He was surprised the time of day itself didn’t change, but maybe Time was stopping it from doing that somehow.

Suddenly the magic loosened something inside him, the icy terror cracking, thawing a little. Some feeling swept back into his body, and the scream that had been stuck in Wind’s throat this whole time suddenly burst out, loud and terrified.

Time immediately stopped playing, and Wind began to tremble as feeling slowly spread to the rest of him, his scream ending in a hiccup. It felt amazing to finally give voice to the horrible coldness in him, and Wind barely noticed when a thumb brushed along his cheek.

“Wind?” Time asked quietly, and Wind breathed in a shaking breath, firmly blinking tears out of his eyes.

“Th-thank, tha-ank y-you,” he managed get out in a miserable-sounding whimper.

Sighs of relief went up around him, and Time gave Wind a smile, even with the way Wind was shaking and still unable to stop the tears from escaping his eyes.

“You’re welcome Sailor,” Time replied, and brushed a few more of his tears away.

Wind managed a shaky smile back, then relaxed into Twilight’s arms, more and more of the ice in his chest melting away into bright sunshine.

[dogwaterdish]

!! another drawing

this was not a planned drawinf I decided to do this yesterday! but I love it so muchhhh!!!!

Day four: Interview/Late Night

@dadmightweek

added the "click" version so y'all didnt have to turn the brightness all the way up to see details! dont mind the floor I got lazy

[mamawasatesttube]

ooooo timkon w “Can you just hold me?” or “You look like you need a hug." for the ficlet thing :3

Kon's hair is a frizzy mess.

That's the first red flag. Kon is ridiculously vain when he wants to be, with a whole hair care shower routine, silken pillowcases, and an array of curl creams and whatnot that he had to explain to Tim twice before any of it stuck in his head properly. Tim teases him for it now and then, but he knows it's because Kon doesn't like people seeing him at anything but his best. Kon got too used to being picked apart on camera for that.

So the fact that his hair is unkempt and mussed as he lets himself in from the balcony is... concerning.

Even more concerning is the way he barely even looks at Tim before he throws himself at the bed, flopping face-down with an oof. The balcony door closes itself behind him like an afterthought, and he heaves a huge, melancholy sigh.

"Kon?" Tim pushes away from his desk, trotting over to the bedside. Kon's legs are sticking off, and Tim shakes his head fondly as he reaches down to tug Kon's boots off. "Long day, huh?"

The first boot comes off in his hands; the second follows almost instantaneously. Kon lifts his head from the duvet to give him a slightly sheepish look over his shoulder, apologetic, before he drops his face back down with a thump.

"I'm tired," he mumbles. And he sounds like it. There isn't even a hint of a smile in his voice.

Tim crawls onto the bed next to him, rests his hand comfortingly at the small of his back. "What happened?"

Kon hisses out another sigh into the duvet. "Someone tried to—and don't get your knickers in a twist, I'm fine—but someone tried to dissect me today. Again."

Alarm jolts through Tim's whole body; his hands immediately start roaming Kon's torso, probing for wounds. "What?! Are you hurt—"

"I just said, I'm fine, Rob." Kon sounds a little wry as he rolls onto his back. "Jeez. What happened to your listening skills?"

He catches one of Tim's wrists and holds it to his chest, over his heart; Tim can see the sliver of an incision, cut right into the center of the S-shield emblazoned on his chest. He can't tell if it cut the skin beneath or not, but at least he doesn't see any blood.

The tiny smile on Kon's face fades, and Tim softens, studying him. Now that he can look properly, he can see the telltale signs that Kon cried, earlier; his cheeks are a little blotchy, his eyes slightly reddened. An eyelash is stuck to the delicate skin just below his eye.

"Some... ugh. They were some, like, Cadmus-wannabes. Total bozos, though. They had a red sun lamp, but no metagene suppressant, so." Kon shrugs, discontented. "They didn't even use the energy restraints like that time with Amanda Spence, like—c'mon, at least do your basic research if you're gonna try to vivisect a guy, right?" He snorts humorlessly. "I got out fine, took it down, called the S.C.U., it's whatever. I'm just... I'm so tired, Tim," and his voice cracks on Tim's name.

"Kon," he murmurs, leaning down. He presses their foreheads together, his chest aching. He'll have to check the news, find out from reports who exactly was behind this, because... it shouldn't matter, since it's already taken care of, but something inside him burns at the thought that anyone, anywhere, could put such a bone-deep sorrow into Kon's eyes.

"I'm so tired of people acting like I'm—like I'm not a person just 'cuz I hatched outta some stupid tube in a lab." Kon's eyes are too bright. He squeezes them shut and takes a shaky breath. "Like—what do I gotta do, y'know? How do you just—how do you even get through to people who're so convinced clones aren't people? I'm a person, too! I just... I..."

Tim very briefly debates the ethics of breaking into Stryker's just so he can hit someone with his staff. Or his car.

"I'm... really sorry you had to deal with that," he says instead, lamely. It's cold comfort, and awkward, and—

And it makes Kon laugh, watery but real. He blinks his teary-bright eyes up at Tim, brushes a gloved hand to his cheek. "You're mad as hell right now, aren't you?"

Tim smiles ruefully and presses his lips to Kon's jaw. "You caught me." Another kiss, to the corner of Kon's mouth. "I just—I hate that I can't do anything to fix this kinda thing for you. You don't deserve it."

"Mm." Kon takes a second to collect himself, swallows hard, and breathes out slowly. "You do more than you realize, I think. Can you just—can you just hold me? For a little while?"

Tim flops down on top of him immediately, wraps his arms around his head and neck, and smushes his face into Kon's hair. It would probably be more comfortable if they were side-by-side and facing each other, but the advantage of this position is that—

Kon laughs again, soft and fond. His voice is still a little thick, but he's smiling now. "Is that comfy for you...?"

"Kinda." Tim kisses his temple, too. "You smell like smoke."

"Mmf, sorry." Kon sighs again. "And I got it all over the bed now, too, huh..."

"S'okay. We can just grab a different blanket later." Tim scrunches his fingers through Kon's hair until they hit a tangle. "...Want me to wash your hair for you?"

Kon's arms tighten around him, and suddenly he seems like he needs a moment before he can respond. Tim doesn't rush him.

"Yeah," Kon croaks out after a moment, his voice suspiciously wet. "Yeah, Robbie. I'd like that a lot."

[lifegrowsfromashes]

Grian can taste Death.

The metallic, cast-iron taste of Death, lingering in the back of his throat. The schizophrenic visions of Death, in the corners of his eyes, flickering like static.

Death follows Grian, like the last thing that’ll stay with him. His friends can get sick of him, his enemies can disappear, but Death, Death remains. And Death is out for him.

He can’t let his friends help; can’t let them get in the way. This fight is between him and the End, only. So, no, he won’t let Scar save him. And no, he won’t let Scar run off, like he’s trying to right now.

They’ve been keeping their distance from each other over the past few days, but Grian can tell when Scar’s planning something. He’s been unpacking less and less, when they settle down to sleep. His agreements to Grian’s plans have been more and more reluctant.

So, yeah, okay, Grian’s been hard on Scar recently. But Scar doesn’t get it. 

Ever since that incident, with the creeper, he’s kept his guard up. He can’t let him go down to red. And, okay, maybe shouting at him and calling him useless isn’t the bast way to do that. But- If Grian doesn’t save him, doesn’t tell him what to do, he knows that Scar will die. 

And he cannot let Scar die. Not again.

So cannot let Scar run off, like Grian knows he’s trying to.

He tries to confront him, when they’re settling down to sleep, in the dirt house. 

Hiding behind his wings, Grian shares across at Scar. The wide, jagged lines of burns raise the skin over his face, distorting his eyes. He’s staring up at the stars. 

“Are you going to leave?” The words startle Scar out of his stupor, and he looks across to where Grian’s laying on top of his sheets.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen you, these past few days. Since that creeper. You’ve been unpacking less and less.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to leave.”

“Well, what- what about the way I acted? The way I was, with you. After. Didn’t you think- you’d be better off alone?’

“No.”

Grian tenses. He watches Scar’s eyebrows knit together.

“Is this your way of trying to apologise? Because it’s not working.”

“I just-“

“I’m not leaving, Grian. What do you want me to say?”

“Well-“

“That you’ve been acting like a dick? That you haven’t been taking my feelings into account? That your brashness hasn’t just jeopardised me, but both of us? I know this is stressful and I know it’s scary, but we have to work together on this. There’s nobody else we can turn to. So no, I’m not going to leave you. And you’ve got to stop thinking like that.”

Scar’s breathing heavily, now. His voice is raised. They both turn towards the door, and watch for something to happen. And then he sees it. 

The shriek. The death call. 

The darkness.

[bonchobrick]

(angst alert !! death + slight blood tw !!)

Tim is stuck in a sticky situation and has to call a certain 'spooky' friend for help.

Jason would probably call him a dumbass for trying to do something so stupid. Well, atleast thats what Tim thinks Jason would do, he isn't for sure though, he isn't certain.

Because Jason's laying on the ground with a flat pulse and he wont be giving him any answers anytime soon.

---

“Don' look so weird replacement, its just anoth’r day in gotham.” His brother slurs with the slight quirk of his lips

"Jason don't fucking do this to me!" Tim hisses tears cursing his eyes

And Jason, oh that bastard—bleeding out on the pavement and in Tim’s arms sends him his classic beaming Robin Smile. 

"Love ya' little bro take care of yo'rself, kay?" he says eyes fluttering

"Jay," Tim cries, "You dick."

For all the joy and hope and belief his smile conveyed for the first time in a long time—his red blood muddled what should’ve been such a nice sight. Tim held him on the pavement with someone yelling on the comm mic on the floor that he just can’t bother trying to pay attention to. 

The pavement is cold. The air is cold. His brother is cold. It’s all so cold tonight. 

All the younger boy does close his eyes and slowly, In. Out. In. Out.

He lets himself breathe for a minute. Lets the horror wash over him. Lets himself absorb what just happened,

Then he gets back to work. 

Like a switch his brain is back online running at a hundred miles an hour–what is the best scenario, what should I do when my brother's wrist is limp and his eyes are shut, what do I do if he’s dead again, what can i do, how can I Fix. This.

Thoughts cloud his mind, whirring around his head like layers and layers of messy documents has just been dumped on his desk and he’s shuffling through them panicked trying to find the right file because its somewhere here, there is something and he just needs to sort. it. out. And–

Then it all becomes clear. 

His desk is back to clean and stationary. All of the papers are gone back into neat piles in neat manila folders, stored away in tidy filing shelves–

Everything is gone aside from one little yellow sticky note in the center of the desk.

“Well, Jay?” Tim chuckles with a cracked voice, “Second times the charm right?”

In his mind, at the center of it all, on a yellow sticky note lies the words in green ink: ‘Contact The Ghost King.’

Slowly he shifts and with a loud grunt he lifts up Jason, “Up we go!”

“--im? Why do you have Red Hood’s Comm–Tim what happened! Tim!” the comm speaker plays faintly in the background of his head, “Tim! Whatever you’re thinking off doing, don’t!” someone Tim can’t think about hisses

Tim hums absentmindedly towards the mic, almost automatically, “Don’t worry Babs, I’ve got it covered.”

Walking away from the roof he thinks to himself, I wonder where Jason would wanna wake up? Perhaps his apartment? Yea, i think that would go well by him–let’s head to the apartment.  

And just like that Tim leaves a crime scene—shuffling away with a dead body over his shoulder and a plan.

“Jay,” Tim murmurs to the corpse on his shoulder, “You’re really gonna hate this, but i’m doing this for you anyways cause I love you. So dont be too hard on me when you wake up okay asshole?”

Tim stumbles off into the stairwell making his descent and sometime as he walks away Barbara faintly catches him on the comm saying

“-Your gonna love Danny and making your lame 'im a dead guy' jokes with him man .”

[lovesickeros]

lord its so dark in here the sahara desert of tsaritsa content you are like a shining oasis. your characterisation of her compels me & mihoyo would be hard pressed to top it imo.!! caaaaan i humbly request yr thoughts on her first meeting w a reader of any kind, or maybe even multiple kinds (sagau, sagau god au, isekai, etc) if you so desire...

it really is like a desert here. being the fan of a character we aren't getting until the last damn nation is driving me up a wall but i will persevere bc if nothing else i support morally bankrupt women in media. we r in a severe drought over here but i do my best. unfortunately nothing i say is ever coherent so pull out your translation notes its abt 2 be messy

also this got out of hand but thats bc first meetings w the tsaritsa are tricky to write + a LOT of her characterization lies in deeper exploration then just surface level yknow...NOT A DIG AT YOU this is just my excuse for rambling. gently pats the tsaritsa she can hold so much complexity i do not have the word count to delve into it completely :]

gonna talk cult au for a bit here though because that's 99% of my content. and honestly? she thrives in sub au's of the cult au like villain au + imposter au. it's basically made for her. i mean, early days, the imposter au had been going around for a little while but one of the first few ideas was the Fatui taking reader in so like. it kinda technically actually was. pretty sure cult au Tsaritsa popped up because of the imposter au. a lot of it's writers kinda left though which. man am i getting old or.

anyway.

there isn't much of a chance her first impression is all that positive. at best it's usually neutral, imo, but rarely if ever positive. specifically because i view the Tsaritsa as someone who isn't as fanatical as most of the acolytes typically are towards the creator. she's not exactly going to worship the ground you walk on unlike a certain geo lizard. which is partially why i think she thrives in the sub au's i mentioned.

imposter au, for example. she meets you at your lowest. there's no gaudy extravagance or pampering from the acolytes waiting for you because your own acolytes have turned on you. for all intents and purposes you aren't a "god" at all. which is why i don't think she meshes well with normal cult au reader. the Fatui are made up of outcasts, basically, and imposter au slots right in just perfectly. you're weak, at your lowest, when you meet the Fatui in the imposter au. and the Fatui can help you, too.

a mutual exchange, really. the Tsaritsa sees a tool she can use to one up the rest of the nations and especially Archons, and she has no qualms about you using her and the Fatui in turn. you both want something out of it, after all. whether you just want to be safe from the rest of the acolytes, or you want revenge, or whatever else..she'll give you the power to fulfill it, and she gains the strongest piece on the chessboard when all is said and done.

the best way i can describe the first meeting is "practical", i suppose. she sees an opportunity in you. the ultimate gamble. because if she "saves" you, and you dont trust anyone else because they tried to kill you, well..she holds all the cards, doesn't she?

but the Tsaritsa, imo, is just as capable of being just as fanatical towards you as anyone else. she just won't worship you as the creator. but as yourself? clawing your way back to your divine power and taking back what belongs to you? the Tsaritsa is, to me, a character who's character flourishes in long-term fics more because she changes a LOT between "just met reader" and after having been with reader for some time. she's practically apathetic at the beginning but a lot of her character, in my characterization, shines through LONG after the first meeting.

[jumpedthenfell-13]

Guys actor aus are actually gonna be the death of me DHDJSHVSH

I know I already wrote an actor au BUT. This idea came to be last night while I was trying to sleep

Robin and Nancy have been filming together for a few years now. They like their characters, and they like being around each other. Both of their characters have love interests, even if both of them might have considered… other options.

It’s while they’re filming in the middle of the night that everything changes. It’s a wound cleaning scene, one where Nancy gets to hold Robin’s face close and smile at her. Their characters whisper questions about love into the night, the focus entirely on them, moonlight shining down upon their faces.

They keep getting the scene wrong. They don’t even know why; it’s just that each time, one of them will fumble when Nancy’s character brings up her love interest. Robin will stammer out a line that’s meant to be confident, or Nancy will forget what she was meant to say. It’s all little things, but they keep doing extra takes to get it just right.

Nancy’s getting frustrated. She doesn’t know what’s wrong with this scene, or why she just can’t seem to perfect it.

She makes a split-second decision, one she makes fairly often in filming, to just do what feels natural for the next take. Screw the script. They’ll just end up trying again afterwards.

And so she does. Maybe she doesn’t follow what she’s meant to say, but it just feels more natural this time. The crew behind the camera just watches, choosing to see where this goes, deciding to let her do this. Just to see how it ends.

And, boy, does it end differently.

Nancy’s character is meant to bring up her love interest. She knows this, and Robin knows this, and the other absent cast members know this, and everyone knows this. It’s how the scene goes, how the viewers discover that the characters will get together.

She doesn’t.

“Well, it really depends on who it is,” Robin murmurs, just like every other take. Nancy doesn’t respond, just stares at her. Her gaze is full of intensity, full of warmth. And maybe there’s another emotion that she can’t name, simmering just beneath the surface.

Nancy doesn’t think about it. She just lets her body move on autopilot, hand moving up to softly cup Robin’s cheek. She thinks that someone should stop her, but doesn’t do it herself. How can she, when Robin’s breath hitches just slightly? How is she meant to stop when Robin is looking at her like that, dazed and trusting and a little confused?

Robin doesn’t pull away. And so Nancy pulls her close, and their lips meet, and everything feels right.

It’s a short kiss, broken fairly quickly. They stare at each other, silent, until Steve comes crashing through the bushes, exactly as he was meant to in the script. Completely oblivious to what just happened.

They talk about it, later that night, and a confession comes from it. In the pale moonlight of the lake near Robin’s trailer, a relationship is born.

Shockingly, the producers tell them that the scene was phenomenal. That they had a discussion, and some of the crew members pointed out that their characters did have a lot more chemistry than the creators planned for. And so, to the surprise of both of them, the ending was changed just slightly, just so that their characters ended up together.

They conveniently forget to tell the other cast members, ecstatic about their newfound affection. They hold hands under the table and kiss behind closed doors, and only Steve finds out within the first day.

It’s a week or so after that scene that the new scripts are delivered. Nancy is at Robin’s trailer when someone pounds on the door. Robin goes to open it, and there’s Max.

Before she can greet her, the new scripts are shoved into her face, with Max exclaiming in outrage that she and Nancy didn’t tell the group about the fact that they literally got their characters’ ending changed!

Max looks behind Robin to see Nancy, slightly flushed, sending a dopy smile Robin’s way, and just goes, “oh.”

And later on, when the season is released and the cast participates in interviews, of course questions would arise. On the first one that Nancy and Robin are both part of, someone asks for the story. And they tell it, and the viewers love it.

And maybe, just maybe, they love it, too.

(That’s an understatement. Nancy doesn’t even have the words to describe how she feels about Robin, but that’s an issue for another day.)

[saturfied]

kudos to all kimchay writers!!! y'all are doing a great job🫡👏❤️

[a-very-sparkly-nerd]

the taste of your lips is my idea of luxury

On the night of Callum’s eighteenth birthday, the first one he's had with Rayla, she has some birthday kisses to make up for (sixty-six, to be exact).

Surprise! I didn't know this was gonna happen lol, it just did. Only a LITTLE bit late, like an hour past midnight, so... happy late birthday, Callum? It's fine, you get to make out with Rayla. Enjoy!

Rayla pressed her back against the door as she closed it, smiling at Callum now that they were finally alone. “Well. Happy eighteenth, Mister Mage. All grown up.”

“Yeah, now us being together isn't considered pedophilia,” Callum laughed, pulling her into him by the waist and kissing her sound. He was only partly joking about that; other human nobles still biased against Xadia raised a fuss about anything they could, and the fact that Rayla was eighteen and Callum only seventeen had been a prime weapon, going so far as to claim she was preying on him. (And if their pillows were always warm and socks always soggy, then, well, Callum and his Aunt Janai knew absolutely nothing about that)

Rayla gladly reciprocated, holding his upper arms as she melted into him. A beat later, just as Callum was about to dare to slip his tongue into her mouth, she whispered, “Hold on. Go to the bed.”

Flushing bright red at the words, at what was left unsaid, Callum brought a giggling Rayla with him by both her hips and lips, stumbling over his own feet in his excitement to plop them down on the bed.

Rayla grinned, gripping his forearm and leaning in close. “Calm down! I haven't even told you what your present is.”

She'd been elusive about it all night, tossing him overexaggerated winks, blowing kisses he always caught and returned, dipping her gaze into a wine glass as she smirked. “Tell me?” he whined.

Rayla settled herself between his legs, pushing his hair back as he looked down at her adoringly. She was his whole world, and now that she was sure of it, she could use it to get anything she wanted out of him.

She was merciful now, though, granting him a press of her lips to his forehead even as her eyes went half-lidded and sparkly. “Well, I have birthday kisses to make up for…”

Rayla ghosted her lips over his cheek, marking a trail from just below his ear to his jaw, nose tracing his jawline as Callum gasped and clutched at her waist. It wasn't like this was new; they'd had sex before, after all, but every moment with Rayla, intimate or not, sent him spiraling back to a fumbly fourteen-year-old, awestruck and enamored and caught up in wanting to do everything right by her because she was everything.

So of course Callum gulped even as the prospect admittedly thrilled him. Kisses were kisses, and kisses reigned supreme. Especially Rayla kisses.

He knew, of course, that she was teasing him about the “making up for” bit, but the way she said it wasn't exactly spectacular.

So Callum gripped her wrist as it drifted to cup his face, making eye contact with her startled, hazy ones. “Rayla, you don't owe me anything. Especially- especially not kisses, or anything like that. I- I just really love you, and you don't have to kiss me for me to know, and-”

Rayla sighed, pulling closer to his lap. Her eyes dropped to his lips, likely thinking of shutting him up that way, but restrained herself to tell him, “Callum, I love you, too. And I want to kiss you. Really bad. Okay? I wouldn't do something like that just because I thought I owed you.”

Callum let himself nod, knowing there were boundaries Rayla had set for herself that she'd never cross, no matter how frustrated with herself or how self-destructive she was. “Okay.”

“Do you believe me?” Rayla asked gently, cupping his face in her palm this time and finally, finally shifting onto his lap.

Despite the fog quickly swarming his consciousness, rational thought, Callum smiled through it and squeezed her thighs. “I believe you. And love you and trust you.”

Rayla's fingers splayed across his face, his ears between her index and middle finger, pushing him back against the headboard. “Good. Now, let’s see… Fifteen plus sixteen plus seventeen plus eighteen… What's that? Like, seventy?”

Callum ran the numbers through his head even as his mouth got dry. “Sixty-six.”

Sixty-six Rayla kisses. By the gods, he was going to explode.

Read more on AO3!

[queenjunothegreat]

!!!!!! I just realized I'm gonna break 300K on Ao3 for the year soon!!!!

[some-pers0n]

Every once in a while I think about the ship I've been obsessed over for close to two years now and feel like I'm ascending to another plane of reality. Like sometimes you just encounter a ship that hits every single mark and is perfect in every regard and you're left stunned how something like that can even exist

[rainybyday]

How did my Warring State era time travel au became a plotical war, cus, like, my main point of conflic what preventing the future like any good time travel ever. And yet I have:

Political war with Senju and Uchiha (and maybe Hatake)

Actual war

The Elders of those two clans (Hatakes will have a diff system) might do a coup because their clan leaders inaction of what they deemed the approperat action for bastard children

The Daimyo will get involved because the issuse of teh Senju and Uchiha are bleeding to another clan that is known to have civilians in their clan from differnet lands, so if Hatake's are involed, so will Daimyo (So THE political war)

Trying not to make a butterfly effect

The inner conflic with Team Seven and their relationships with each other

Creating Konoha without fucking it up

Zetsu

The list is growing as I write, which, is both sad and fantastic because of what each plot point will bring to this au

[mamawasatesttube]

i wish it wasn't so normal for people to complain about unfinished wips or fics that take a long time to update. because sometimes i think i have a really fun idea for a fic but it'd take a while for me to write, and i like talking about my work as i do it and i don't like writing entire fics over like 20k without sharing, because i lose steam. so if i were to write and post that cool fic idea, it'd be as a wip. and then i think about all the people who just refuse to engage with wips, or all the other people who would just go "update pls" all the time, and of how people only really comment in the first 24 hours something is posted and then it's lost to obscurity, and then i just go "actually whats the point in going through the effort writing this out? i'll just daydream about it now and then and be done with it." and then i don't write it. alas!