#it will be a little before i can draw comfortably so this is all i have to offer in the mean time i swear i want to draw him so bad <:(< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[luveline]

Hii, Jade 🤍 please bring back singledad!spencer, reader and Amanda 🥹 they r so special

—Spencer experiences your first Spencer-brought-upon baby fever, to his shock. fem, 2k 

(cw: reader is written as enthusiastically wanting kids) 

Spencer’s been reading to Amanda since the moment she could open her eyes. By two months she was cooing in delight whenever he spoke, and that included during story time. He didn’t mind that she didn’t understand, he just loved being with her. He still does. 

So when Amy interrupts your conversation to beg for him to read her something, he gives you an apologetic look, asking, “Do you mind?” 

“Of course I don’t mind.” You wouldn’t, you’re like an angel, leaning back on the couch with little urgency as Amy climbs into Spencer’s lap.

“Thank you. Sorry for interrupting,” Amy says. 

“Gosh, you’re so smart,” Spencer says, tucking a curl of her hair behind her ear. “Interrupting, that’s a big word.” 

“Go ahead,” you say, getting comfortable in front of one of Spencer’s woven cushions. “I’ll listen too, if that’s okay.” 

Spencer opens the storybook to the first page. Amy likes this one. The corners of the pages are soft with use. “Cerys’ Brave Day,” he begins, grinning as Avery pushes herself up his chest to look down at the illustrations. “Cerys wakes up without mommy. Cerys makes her own way out of bed. There is no mommy to wipe her face or brush her hair. My mommy, she thinks, is not there.” 

Amy smiles into Spencer’s cheek. He wraps an arm around her, as if to say, I know, angel, it’s exciting. “Her mommy must be having a slow day. She doesn’t appear to give Cerys any help. And Cerys says–”

“No way!” Amy finishes, pointing at the drawing of a bathroom sink and toothbrush. “I don’t want to brush my teeth by myself!” 

It goes on like that for some time. Spencer notices you getting closer as he goes on, your arm pressing to his side. 

Cerys finds that her mommy is having a slow day. Cerys’ mommy is just as loving as the other mom’s, but sometimes she takes longer to help Cerys brush her hair, and get dressed. Cerys has to be a brave, smart girl, and help her mommy with the small things. Spencer enjoys it, and thought it was a great expression of empathy for Amy to one day understand.

“Later, when mommy feels better, she says I’m sorry for being so slow. Mommy didn’t mean to forget her, she just struggles to get up and go. 

“Cerys doesn't want her to be sorry. She loves helping her mommy out. Because mommy loves Cerys, and Cerys loves mommy, and that’s never been in any doubt.” 

Amy turns her face to Spencer with a huge smile, somehow bigger than when it started. “I love that story,” she says. 

Spencer lets the storybook fall closed in her lap. “It’s a good one, huh?” 

“What do you think, Y/N?” Amy asks. 

You’re delighted by Amy in a way Spencer’s used to seeing in the mirror. “I loved it. Daddy’s a good storyteller, and you’re such a good assistant. You know lots of the big words.” 

She preens. “Thanks.” 

You can’t resist her, pushing against the top of her head with a nice palm. “You’re welcome.” 

“Can we have another one?” she asks. 

Spencer checks the time on his watch. Amy realised it was bedtime before he did, it seems. “Come on, lovely girl. Let’s start getting ready for bed, and you can have any story you want.” 

He’s obviously not expecting you to leave, but at the same time, things are new enough between you that when he asks if you want to sleepover, your grinning “Yes, please,” throws him for a loop. 

You have spare clothes and toiletries in the bedroom. You ask to take a quick shower and get all smiley and shy when he says you never have to ask. 

“So dad,” Amy says. 

“So Amy,” he says, pulling down the blankets on her bed. She has five layers because suddenly November is cold. He wonders if she needs a sixth. 

“I can’t sleep in the big bed tonight.” 

“Well, that depends on how badly you want to.”

“Really?” 

“You’ve known Y/N for a long time, right? She’s been my friend for a long time, before she was my partner. I think she’d be okay with having you sleep in the big bed again if you need to. It was your place before it was her place, and she knows that.” 

“Well…” 

He grabs her under the arms and places her in bed. She could use her stepping stool, but he likes picking her up and putting her down. It makes him feel super paternal. “Just think about it, angel. If you change your mind, you can just come and knock the door. 

“Promise?” 

“Honey.” He kisses her forehead twice, before pulling the blankets up over her, and turning on her mushroom night light. “How’s that? Okay, I promise you can still come knock my door. Cross my heart.” 

“Can you stay for a little?” she asks. 

Spencer sits on her bed by her legs. They feel weirdly small under his hand despite the padding he’s given her. “Babe, are you sure you’re warm enough? This does not feel like enough blankets.” 

“It’s loads. Give me a hug.” 

Spencer lays down in her bed, almost falls off, and covers her with his arm. Their curls tangle together on the pillowcase. 

“Like this?” he asks. 

“Exactly.” 

“Amy, you’re using such big words, you’re so smart.” He’s gonna take her for an assessment at some point. He doesn’t care if she’s super intelligent or not, but lately it’s like she’s so much older than she is. A few days ago she said the word discombobulated. “My smarty-pants.” 

“I like big words,” she says. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“Remember what Amanda means?” he asks. 

Amy giggles as he shakes her by the tummy. “She who must be loved.” 

“Exactly. Loved by everyone, deserving of love. Always, from the second you were born!” He leans down to kiss her cheek, meeting her eyes as he pulls back. “Okay?” 

She certainly feels loved, he’d wager. He loves her so much it’s like an extra part of his soul in another person. “Story?” she asks. 

“Yes, I did say we’d have one, didn’t I?” He’d almost forgotten. Spencer grabs a couple of her soft backs from the book stand and lets her choose. 

After he’s read a few books and given her a couple of cuddles, Amy begins to list. She presses her nose to his shoulder and mumbles something he doesn’t hear. 

“What did you say, sweetpea?” he mumbles. 

“Just goo’night.” 

“Goodnight. I’ll tuck you in, okay?” 

“Spence?” 

He’d almost forgot you were here. You’re standing in the doorway, arms still damp, pyjama pants stuck to your calves. “Where’s the fire?” he asks. 

“What?” 

“In a rush?” 

“Oh, I just wanted to hear story time. Did I miss it?” 

Spencer kisses Amy again. “I think so. I’m just saying goodnight.” 

You lean against the door. “Goodnight, then, lovely girl.” 

Spencer forces himself up to tuck her in. “Goodnight,” he says again, stroking the hair from her eyes, though they’re closed already. She doesn’t manage to say goodnight back, just touches his arm before he goes. 

You take his hand when he’s close enough. He follows, pressing his face to your shoulder from behind. 

“I like watching you be a dad.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mm, you’re good at it. It’s… I don’t know, I know Amy isn’t my baby, but I do love her, so it’s never not gonna be nice to watch you, and… I’m worried to say this.” 

“Just say it.” 

“Maybe one day, I…” You catch his eye and give him a panicked smile. 

You climb into bed together. He tries to get you to finish what you’d been saying but doesn’t succeed, no matter how nicely he draws that shape you love into your neck. It’s alright, though. It doesn’t matter. He nearly forgets you’ve brought it up at all until you’re lifting yourself up from your place on his chest. “Spence?” you ask, so close it makes him nervous, his stomach twitching of its own volition. 

“What?” he asks. 

“I know it’s soon. I know we’re not… locked in. I was just thinking about our future and our family, and I’m really happy. And– and if you did want to, I guess I wanna know if… would you ever have more?” 

“More kids?” he asks, dumbfounded. 

Your pupils are massive, staring down at him, giving your eyes this darkness so rare in your gaze. “Have you ever thought about it?” 

“Of course I have, especially with you.” 

You fluster but push through. Your laugh warms his lips as you lean down. “Don’t say that.” 

“Isn’t that what you just said?” 

You kiss him. He lifts his chin too fast to follow you and ends up pushing you away. His cheek is burning in your hand, your index finger to the corner of his eye and so, so tender where it touches an eyelash. “Amy’s so much like you, honey,” you say, tucking a long flyaway strand behind his ear. “And it’s all you.” 

Spencer wonders if you’re perhaps entering the ovulation stage of your period, but forbids himself from asking, should he sound like a freak. But surely you can’t be feeling as strongly as you are about this from story time alone. He’s not that good at telling them. 

“It’s not all me. Amy’s herself, and she’s parts of everyone she’s ever met. I think she’s been a lot braver since she met you,” Spencer says. 

He’s not sure what he said there, but you peer down at him like he’s entirely new. 

“Spencer,” you murmur, drawing a line across his cheek.

“I’d love to have a baby with you, I just thought saying that might be too much too soon.” 

“Well, it is,” you say, sounding insanely pleased, at odds with your words, “that’s so soon. You shouldn’t say stuff like that.” 

He thinks he gets it. Spencer covers your hand where you’re been caressing his cheek and brings it to his mouth, giving your knuckles a kiss. “You’re already so caring, you’ll make an amazing mother.” 

“Not just if we have babies though.” 

“No, I know.” His hand acts for itself as he tucks your hand against his neck. “Amy loves you.”

“She’s brilliant, Spence.” And whatever adoring you’d been ladening on him comes to an end. “Her vocabulary is insane for her age, she really is her father’s daughter.” 

You lay yourself across his chest again for a hug. 

Spencer applauds himself for surviving whatever that was. You, eyes dark and imploring, asking him about babies and touching him like that. “Amy would love a baby sibling,” he says. 

“How many should we have?” 

He laughs loudly. The taboo of everything being too soon is forgotten as you and Spencer talk about babies, houses, what middle school Amy might go to, what daycare you could send your babies to. It’s so exciting it makes his chest pang, thinking about living with you, about marrying you. And your enthusiastic answers make it worse. It’s clear you’ve thought about some of this stuff at depth. 

You could really get married one day, Spencer thinks. There’s a real possibility you might say yes. 

“Do you really think Amy wouldn’t mind a sister?” you whisper. 

“She’s asked me a couple of times how she can get one, so yeah. I think we can safely assume she’d like that.” 

“She asked you that?” you coo. “Aw, lovely girl, what did you tell her?” 

“Well, I told her she came from a pumpkin.” 

“You did?” 

“Mm. It was my fault then when she got very excited at Halloween.” 

You giggle into his neck. “When we have a baby, we’ll buy her a pumpkin.” 

“Or a squash, but I don’t think we could fit a baby in a butternut.” 

You hug him nice and hard. Spencer isn’t sure, but he suspects this is the beginning of a very new, very enjoyable chapter of your lives. Even more so when you nose at his jaw and mumble something about his ‘kissability’. 

[keferon]

Ahhhhhhhhh! The TF mecha Deadlock and human Ratchet drawing! I just saw it before sending this. His squishy! But yeeee! Continuing from the last one I wrote. Just pulled ideas from other posts you and others have done in this TF mecha universe. This is fun! :P

****

Ratchet's living quarters is much like the hanger where his lab is. An open area with some dividers up to make separate rooms. Scaffolding and catwalks line the wall and stairs are at each corner of the hanger. The interior is smaller when compared to the lab but the ceiling is much taller, allowing Deadlock the ability to sit up right comfortably. It looks like a little maze to Deadlock who can look down from above. Out of the five rooms in this hanger turned living quarters, Deadlock can't see into three of them. Ratchet's berthroom, the kitchen, and washrack all have ceilings to them. Ratchet's office is connected to the sitting area. Being the largest area in the hanger Deadlock has taken over the sitting area to recharge and heal in. Being the Chief Engineer no one has questioned Ratchet for having Deadlock in his hanger because Ratchet always takes work home with him. Also don't question Ratchet.

A click from the main entrance door has Deadlock stir from his recharge. Old instincts and habits have made him a light recharger. He opens one optic, a red glow fills the room. Blinding bright and staticky at first but dims and clears as his visual boots up. He see Ratchet opening the tiny entryway to slip out. He rumbles knowing it is way to early for Ratchet to head back to his lab. Ratchet had maybe, at most, gotten two hours of recharge. Deadlock gives a rumble/grunt again, this time it sounds more like a wheeze as he starts to shift to grab his little squishy who has already opened the door and stepped half way out. He is using the door to make himself unsnatchable not without breaking the thin metal.

Number one rule while in Ratchet's domain: Don't break Ratchet's things, he NEEDS them. The objects Ratchet chuck do not/can not hurt him. The disappointment and tired frustration however does hit something deep in his war worn spark. "Power back down kid. Just leaving for an emergency meeting. When I get back I'll check your intakes and engine. It's rattling and straining hard again." Ratchet says in a deep rougher voice used only when he wakes from recharge. The door click behind the human not giving him time to reply in his drowsy state. He rubs his fresh welded wounds and with a unhappy grunt curls loosely back around what Ratchet calls a lazy-e-boy chair and entertainment center.

ALL DAY! All day Ratchet has been gone. Deadlock should be use to Ratchet's long work days. But Ratchet didn't fuel before he left, he hasn't recharged in a long while. Two hours is not a recharge. Not for him, not for Ratchet. He is worried, it oozes out and around him from his EM Field like a shadowy murky cloak. His audial fins are pinned down and back as far as they can go. Ratchet looks so worn down. Overworked and shoulders heavy with responsibly the Cybertonian knows the bioengineer should not have to bare. The tv is on to use as a distraction but it no more then background noise as his proccesor runs through scenarios of what could be keeping Ratchet this time.

The door lock clicks and Deadlock instantly perks up. His EM Field fizzles away from gloomy to a more warm and bright mood. "Ratch-" He stops immediately when Ratchet comes through the door. Deadlock rakes his claws into the concrete floor and his field starts boiling with the energon in his lines. Ratchet is bruised and bleeding. The humans forehelm and knuckes are covered with fresh and dried blood. His glare intensifies as Ratchet closes the door and slumps against it with a grumble. Ratchet grunts as he takes off his shoes and dirty jacket. Deadlock's helm is filled with static and his spark heavy and spinning way to fast. He can taste energon on his glossa thanks to his fangs. Rage is not what is taking over his sensors and proccesor. Something more like a deeply rooted need, something instinctually feral burns hot in his frame. "WHO'D DARE-" Ratchet holds up a hand and makes a hushing noise, Deadlock snarls engine rattling harder to keep up with his burst of energy and restrained energon lust. His limbs shaking with just as much restraint. The only thing keeping him from ripping the hanger down is Ratchet's hunched form at the entry way. When Ratchet looks up at Deadlock his jaw snaps shut, denta slamming hard against each other with a harsh clank. The fragger looks amused! Tired, frustrated, and hurting but Deadlock knows that look. Those lips are ever so slightly turned up into an amused smirk, "R a t c h e t." Deadlock hisses out passed his denta audial fins pinned back.

"Relax, before you blow a fuse. You should see the other guy. These are just scratches Drift." The fragger chuckles wiping some blood from his lip with his thumb. That does something to Deadlock that he will not acknowledge right now. His spark flutters and pulses harder, EM Field a confusing mix of emotions that Ratchet can't feel, "I had a disagreement with some of the others in command while another sister base visited. I am fine. Been in more then one scrapping in my time." Ratchet hums as he limps into his office, Deadlock claws at the floor again. "I did not party and study my whole younger life away just to get my PhD in biomedical engineering and be told how to do my job. I may have got a tad heated." He chuckles again at Deadlocks snort/huff.

Deadlock relaxes slightly as Ratchet pulls out a medical kit. His systems are running hot and HUB flashing warnings at him do as Ratchet suggested. He relaxes slightly and presses his servo against his helm. "Frag doc starting fights for a disagreement?" He rasps out watching Ratchet closely while he steadies his intakes. The human carefully works on cleaning the blood stained knuckles, Deadlock takes some pleaser in knowing all that blood is not just Ratchet's. "You're just as much of a hot menace as me."

"For you." Ratchet mumbles as he gently rubs ointment on the cuts. "They wanted me to turn you over to the field officer. Told them that you are still a work in progress that needs more time. That you came to my lab mmm.." Ratchet realizes it's the next day, a whole day wasted arguing in a concert room with metal chairs. With stuck up, pathetic excesses for- "Two days ago now.. said I activated some guardian protocal that day by accident which what brought you looking for me. They think you are imprinted on me. Something like that." Ratchet winces as he wraps his most bruised and swollen hand. A whine leaves Deadlock's stuttering engine, the tip of his pointer digit's claw has been hovers over Ratchet's helm as the doc talked, "What is it Drift?" Ratchet pauses from reaching for the alcohol soaked cotten ball. He looking up into overly bright, almost white with worry optics. Ratchet's optics dart around looking over Deadlock's form and healing welds.

Deadlock wants to huff, to roll his optics at the bioengineer's worry for him. But he can't stop his spark and fuel tanks from turning while he watches the red liquid drip down Ratchet's forehelm and optic ridge. "I... can't help you. You are hurt.. cause of me... and I can only watch you patch yourself up." He admits dimming his optics and looking down. All of this because he got impatient and hunted down his squishy to get him to recharge for once.

Ratchet's optics soften slightly. He shuts the kit with a sharp snap and huffs as he straightens from being hunched over. "Hand down please." Deadlock's audial fins perk up at the request. He carefully and gently, as gently as he can, places two digits into the office room. He lifts Ratchet up slowly once the small being had found a good spot to sit on his servo. He doesn't want to risk even the slightest breeze to brush against the bruised and cut flesh. He makes certain his servo is locked so it doesn't twitch on them. "This is high enough. Stay still." Deadlock is about to scold him when he thinks Ratchet is going to check the welds on his chassis. Instead Ratchet pops the kit back open and works on himself. Deadlock's vocal box clicks a few times as he tries to comprehend what his squishy is doing. His spark flutters with his EM Field when he realizes Ratchet is using his metal plating like a mirror. Ratchet dabs the cotton ball on the cut above his left optic ridge. "Didn't feel like going all the way to the bathroom. So thanks kid."

Deadlock purrs and almost melts from the thanks. Yes he will happily be a mirror. "Clever thing to do doc. Have those idiots thinking I am loyal and protective to only you will mean I can follow you around more. I am content being imprinted on you. Just tell them you can't undo it doc and if they touch you ever again I will pluck their little tiny servos off and feed it to them." He rumbles in a flat tone towards the end. He rolls his optics at the small ping from Ratchet flicking his chassis, "You may start a fight doc but know I will finish it."

"Didn't really start it either kid." Ratchet sighs looking at his reflection with a solemn expression before going back to dabbing the cotten ball harder against the cut, "Wasn't just about you Drift. They wanted.... they want..." Deadlock wants to curl around Ratchet the tone he is using now sounds like defeat, that's not his Ratchet. Deadlock lifts his free servo and retracts a claw so he can rub Ratchet's back as best he can to comfort him. "I can't." Ratchet rasps placing his forehelm against Deadlock chassis. Deadlock's engine settles to a purr Cybertonians use to sooth each other. It seems to work. Ratchet's shoulders relax and he seems to be getting his thoughts together. Deadlock stays silent and even if he doesn't need to keeps his EM Field in check. He only giving off support, warmth and calm, "It's inhumane, evil... Tourture... It would break down to much of the muscles and cells of the body. The hippocampus, the cerebral cortex, and the frontal lobe... that much damage to the brain would... I can't do what they want me to. Not to anyone Drift. Not what they ask. I can't. To adults, to teenagers, To Children. Young kids not knowing what they have signed up for. Never told. No choice. No way in hell could I ever-"

The strain and deep pain in Ratchet's voice is killing Deadlock. Deadlock can feel the trembling coming from Ratchet as the human catches his breath. He keeps a steady presser against Ratchet's back for support as he moves him up. He ignores the small gasp from Ratchet when he presses Ratchet to his cheek gently. Warm smooth metal touched warm soft skin, "Never. Never will you do what anyone demands of you. They can not make you harm anyone. You have never done anything you didn't want to and you won't start now. You are to much for them to try to control. My little squishy scraplet. I will kill them if they try. You have my glyphic, honor, and spark on this." Deadlock pulls back feeling something wet on his faceplate. Before Deadlock can get a good look at Ratchet's face, the bioengineer is shakily wiping his optics in a rushed motion aggravating the wound on his forehelm making it bead up with fresh blood, "Woah easy doc!" Ratchet bats his digit away when he tries to stop him.

"Stupidly cocky little shit! Lets get you feeling better before you try taking on a whole mecha filled base for me!" Ratchet laughs and smacks the digit still pressed against his back. That laugh does something to Deadlock's systems and spark, "We'll need to discuss a plan. I don't ever do anything half ass. I will not go into anything blind. But you are right, this is not the place for me to be anymore. Sad really. I was doing a lot of good here, made things safer for our pilots. Slowly sure but less were dying... so horridly all the time." Ratchet mumbles the last bit under his breath before shaking his helm. Deadlock likes the smirk that comes back to Ratchet's lips, "Now lay down so I can check that engine. You are starting to sound like a shitty abandoned junker car. Think you knock something out of place."

Deadlock matches Ratchet's smirk with a slag eating grin as he lifts the human a tad higher to press his forehelm against Ratchet's. He feels Ratchet pulls back after a moment, a stuttering raspy purr rumbles pleasantly through him when Ratchet places his servo against his forehelm and rubs. Yeah he does sound like slag and his HUB is flashing warnings, "What ever you say Doc. I am your guardian knight after all. You just tell me when to start swinging." He hums as he shifts to lay down.

Y O U. YOU JUST WROTE THIS ABSOLUTE MASTERPIECE OF A FIC??? AND I DONT EVEN KNOW YOUR NAME?? WHOEVER YOU ARE, ANON, I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU SO MUCH NGKGKFGBFHGH YOUR WRITING DOES THINGS TO MY BRAI N

Also. Al s o. I just realized. Oh my god.

We have two Cybertronians on Earth at the moment right. Prowl and Deadlock. But Prowl is very much restricted in his actions because he has strong moral codex and also he's not a very good fighter (at least on his own).

But then we also have Deadlock. And the only thing keeping Deadlock in check is. Ratchet.

Like. Oh fuck just imagine. He isn't restricted by any moral implications except Ratchets opinion. He doesn't really give a fuck about other organic life or laws of Earth or anything. He is also a really fucking good fighter. He doesn't commit murder because that would disappoint Ratchet, but if. IF. Something happens to Ratchet?

THE HELL he would unleash would be visible from outer space.

Him being so sweet and caring and protective over Ratchet doesn't mean he behaves like this with everyone. Him being protective over Ratchet means that if anything takes Ratchet from him, he'll drown himself in blood. He'll burn, claw, gnaw, punch and tear his way back to his human.

All so he can be nice and sweet and caring again right afterward:)

[whoreforsexymen]

Guess who just finished acrane and is writing this with actual tears on my face!!! I need some Vander fluff- i think i will emplode- it doesnt even have to be anything specific i just need comfort after that shit storm 😭

Yes my child. Mommy will make good on your request.

And don’t even get me started on S2. I can’t bring myself to watch it yet. I’m still not even over S1 and I KNOW for a fact it’s not even as sad as I’ve learned S2 is.

But shhhhh, Mommy’s got you. Here’s the fluff you asked for.

Piltover’s Got Nothin’ On You | Vander Fluff Flash 🍺🤎

(GIF cred: me <3)

Pairings: Vander x GN!Reader

Pronouns: No pronouns used.

Rating: Slight NSFW because Reader and Vander are presumably half naked in bed, so 18+!! MDNI !! You WILL be blocked

Word Count: 524

Summary: Vander is enjoying a nice cozy morning with you, and reminds you exactly how he feels.

Tags: A little spicy, just because it’s a little maturely themed if you whip out a magnifying glass, Fluff, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Domesticity W/ Vander, OoeyGooeyRomance

Notes: None, just enjoy. Take a breather. 🤍

“Would I lie to you?” The question hung in the air, light yet loaded with meaning. It was enough to send a familiar flutter through your stomach, a soft, nervous twinge that made your heart skip. The sensation was strangely uncomfortable, yet in the most endearing way—like a gentle reminder of how much he could still make you feel, even in the simplest of moments.

You lay atop the man you were speaking to, both of you bare-chested, the warmth of your skin pressing together in an effortlessly comforting way. The coolness of the morning air was a distant contrast to the heat between you, a calm presence that made the moment feel serene to say the least. His steady breathing beneath you gave the moment a gentle rhythm, and for a while, there was nothing but the simple unspoken connection between you both before you responded.

“Maybe. Depends.” You tease, your words playful but laced with a hint of mischief.

His response is immediate—his large hand slipping into yours with a quiet sense of contentment, the warmth of his grip grounding you. There’s a comfort in the way he holds you, as if, in this moment, the world outside doesn’t matter. His touch speaks volumes, the unspoken understanding between you both more powerful than anything words could convey.

“Someone clearly thinks highly of me,” he teases back, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. Before you can answer, he leans down and places a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, his touch tender and full of quiet affection. The sweetness of the gesture catches you off guard, a simple act that somehow feels like the most genuine expression of his feelings—a quiet reminder of how deeply he cares.

You smile, a soft laugh slipping from your lips.

“All I was saying is that, as much as Piltover has its minor flaws—“ you begin, your voice light with amusement as you’re stopped short.

“Appalling flaws, really. Humongous, towering flaws,” he interrupts playfully, his tone teasing as he presses a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, still held firmly in his.

You can’t help but laugh at his wit.

“Yes, huge, appalling flaws. But despite all that, Topside is stunning at night. The lights here are beautiful, too, but nothing compares to the glow of Piltover.” You add, trying to make your point clear: a city’s beauty can stand on its own, no matter what darkness might lurk behind the scenes.

He regards you for a long while, his gaze lingering on your face with an amusement that never quite fades. The seconds stretch on, almost too long—what might seem like a few moments in the world’s rhythm becomes an eternity in his eyes. Each shift in your expression, each subtle change in your posture, draws him in, holding his attention as if time itself has slowed. And yet, even as eternity unfolds, it’s still not enough. To him, no amount of time could ever truly capture all he wants to see.

“That may be true,” he says, his voice steady, the smirk never quite leaving his face.

“But Piltover’s got nothin’ on you.”

[keepingitformyself]

especially for tender ones like us

A/N: hehehehehehehehehehehehe synopsis: humor, anxiety, and the salvation of love.

pairings: natasha romanoff x reader

genre: fluff.

warnings: no?

MASTERLIST

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

natasha tries not to stumble over her words when she suggests staying in, instead of going out. she does not mean to, but she does. 

how could she not? could you really blame her for wanting a quiet night? something that isn’t so public. she wanted to see you, of course, but she wanted to see you in a space you could be comfortable in, without any of the outside world and free from any distractions.  

you listen intently through the other line, you fight the giggle at catching her little stutter. she can’t see, but you smile widely at the whole thing.

“yeah, we can stay in. i can cook us dinner,” you nod. natasha’s shoulders drop in a quiet sense of relief at your words. her lips curl into a smile. “i’d like that. i can’t wait.”

although this would only be the fourth time you had met up together, to natasha, it felt like the first every single time. 

you continue talking for a little while more. natasha shares details about her day, work, and what she ate during lunch. she tells you how on her way to grab her usual coffee order, an americano, she decided she’d switch her order to a matcha latte after having had you recommend it to her. she tells you, 

“it was good, but not nearly enough caffeine for me to keep up with,” she said, her tone light but teasing. and while it hadn’t become her new favorite drink, just knowing she’d tried it for you was more than enough. her words sent your thoughts spiraling, a warmth blooming in your chest. you were certain that if she were standing next to you, you wouldn’t hesitate to kiss her right then and there.

but you can’t do that so instead, you just fall back on your bed like a high schooler talking to her crush. 

when you finally do meet up the following evening, natasha is buzzing with nerves she doesn't understand. she has taken down whole regimes and has fought aliens from space, yet she seems to draw the line when it comes to facing you. 

she knocks on your door, her other arm clutching a brown bag containing wine and flowers. a reasonable offering if you’re having dinner with someone you want to impress. 

when you answer the door, you're wearing a cream-colored knit sweater. 

“i thought i heard pacing out there.” you joke. 

natasha’s cheeks flush as she tries—and ultimately fails—to fight the smile tugging at her lips. “i wasn’t pacing,” she says, though the slight crack in her voice gives her away.

you step aside and invite her in, and neither of you acknowledges the quiet intimacy of the moment. it feels like more than just dinner, more than just a simple evening in your apartment.

you’re about to cook for her, and somehow, that feels monumental.

natasha’s nerves are a mess, though she can’t quite figure out why—or maybe she can. maybe it’s the way your presence makes her feel unsteady, as though the ground beneath her shifts whenever you’re near.

but natasha doesn’t want to be nervous.

she saw once—a penguin mistaking a sleeping walrus for a rock. the penguin had been caught completely off guard when the walrus stirred, nearly crushing it before it scurried away just in time.

natasha had found it funny at the time, the way surprises can sneak up on you. but now, thinking about it, it doesn’t feel so funny. it feels… unnerving.

surprises are bad for the heart, she thinks. she’s been taught her whole life to avoid them, to anticipate every possibility before it unfolds.

but knowing too much, being too prepared—that can hurt, too.

her thoughts are interrupted by your laughter, light and unburdened, as you guide her toward the kitchen. your smile is so easy, so genuine, and she can’t help but feel how good it is to exist in this space with you.

she offers to help you cook, but you shoo her away instead. you make her watch.

she sits there, with her hands on her lap, and just stares. and she can’t help the look of longing on her face. the kind of thing that suggests she wouldn’t mind this being a constant. 

you made pasta for the evening. nothing too spectacular, but natasha had treated it like you were a top chef and had spent hours crafting everything with your bare hands. 

and then once you’ve plated food for you both and you’ve gotten down to a few bites, you notice the small sigh natasha lets out. the flutter of her eyes as she takes in the meal. 

you smile at her reaction as you move some of the food with your fork. 

“do you like it?”

she looks at you, mid-chew, her mouth stuffed with the food, but she manages a smile. 

“yeah, uh, yes it’s good. it’s so good,” she says, hand over her mouth. 

you continue eating, talking about everything and anything. the night was filled with small moments that would bleed into much deeper ones. you laughed, she smiled, you smiled, she laughed. the kind of things one feels they become when around those who make you tender. 

and you don’t know how or when but you try not to notice how little by little natasha seems to retract a little. 

you decide maybe she needs a small moment for herself and start cleaning up the table. she offers to help, but you wave her off, insisting she relaxes. 

she tries to, but realistically, natasha doesn’t know how to relax. so she sits back and stares at you like she isn’t sure what to do with herself. she isn’t used to this at all. spaces like this–warm, cozy, comfortable.

the impending guilt comes. it’s all so layered. she feels so much at once. the nervousness, the anxiety, the fear of loss, the fear of not being present enough. 

natasha doesn’t know how to be here without sacrificing so much. 

after a while, natasha speaks up. 

“i should probably get going.” her voice too casual to sound like she meant it. she tries not to notice the look of disappointment on your face when you turn around to face her. 

“you don’t have to.” you find yourself saying, not wanting her to leave. 

she hums, something that says she’s already made up her mind. she gets up and gathers her things. 

you follow her to the door, or at least try to—but you pause at the end of the hall when you see her linger near the door, uncomfortably. unsure if she should leave. 

you call her out on it. “you can stay longer if you want.”

natasha wrestles with herself because she really wants to. she looks at the door as if it’d answer for her. 

you’re letting her know. 

natasha feels awkward, clammy hands. she doesn't know what she’s doing. and it’s hard to think of anything else when your eyes are screaming, don't actually leave, at her. 

you look at her carefully, trying to see if you can find any clear indication of what she may be feeling, but it isn’t hard to figure out the redhead in front of you. 

you’ve noted quite quickly how easy it comes for her walls to lower when you’re around. and if there’s anything you’ve learned from that, it’s that natasha romanoff isn’t the trained killer everyone thinks she is. 

sure we all have certain versions we show to certain people. but the natasha you know is anything but rough-edged. the natasha you’ve come to know is actually quite the opposite of what everyone else perceives. 

she’s tender, in her own silent way. too afraid to ever let too much slip away that she’s so painfully aware of everything around her. 

natasha is tenderness wrapped in quiet strength, a paradox of someone who feels deeply but guards herself fiercely. she sees the world clearly—the beauty and the harm—and carries that weight like a constant ache.

like she knows the world hurts more for those most aware of hurt. 

her tenderness isn’t soft; it’s sharp, vigilant, always bracing for the pain that comes with letting others in. you can see it in the flicker of her gaze, the way she hesitates as if expecting the world to hurt her.

and yet, she doesn’t harden. she holds onto that fragile, open part of herself, even when it would be easier not to. it’s beautiful and a little heartbreaking.

natasha looks up at you, then back down at her hands. just above a whisper, she says, 

“i don't know what i’m doing.” 

“that’s the most fun part.” you joke. she smiles, she doesn’t know how to say she wants more time. 

how could she say she feels greedy at this moment? she wants to protect being here with you. we have such little time, she thinks. 

bashfully, she steps closer to you, “i don't want to go.” she says. 

“then don’t.” and natasha almost complies. instead, she takes a step closer, her hand lifting towards your cheek. she’s so close now. 

she kisses you, soft, and shy, but you make her feel sure when your arm circles her neck, deepening the kiss altogether. when she pulls back, her forehead rests against yours, she lets out a shaky breath. 

“maybe i’ll forget my scarf,” she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. 

“please do,” you replied. please leave your scarf, please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of leaving. please always come back. “that way you’ll have to come back later for it.”  

and just like that, her quiet uncertainty washes away. 

she takes her scarf off and drops it near the door. you follow her actions, you smile, amusement in your eyes. 

later that night, when natasha gets home, she texts you. 

i forgot my scarf. 

you reply, you’ll have to come get it then. 

[dearggntlereader]

mattheo riddle x reader mattheo realizes hes in love with you. TW: kissing some cursing and as always picture does not represent the readers looks

are we in love? . :☆｡ﾟ. ───

Mattheo has loved you for as long as he can remember.

He loved you when you sat next to him in potions, eyes shy and frame small. He smiled at you then and introduced himself, starting a fabulous friendship. He loved you when you grew into your personality, getting more and more comfortable around him. He loved you when you let out huffs of laughter at his antics, followed quickly by a roll of your eyes.

He might have loved you a little less when you were dating that gryffindor bloke. Actually, no. He might have liked you less but he loved you all the same. He still loves you.

He loves you when you just woke up, eyes tired, lazy smile and messy hair. He loves you when your shooting glares at him in class, hissing at him under your breath “Focus, riddle. You’re distracting me.” He loves you when you're cleaning him up after a fight, causing him pain and wincing in tandem with him every time the cloth meets his face.

But is he in love with you?

Draco would scoff “obviously, dickhead.”

Blaise wouldn’t even grace him with an answer, only smiling in that ‘i know something you don’t’ way of his.

Pansy would bark out a laugh “you’re so stupid, riddle!”

Enzo would argue that he merely likes your presence, but he is just as stupid with emotions as Mattheo himself is. So, that doesn’t help.

Theodore would shake his head with a soft laugh and knowing look, “What do you think?”

He could never ask Tom about this.

So seeing as most of the people he holds dearest would say yes or atleast insinuate that, that should be his answer.

But then he thinks back to the start of your friendship. When you smiled at him with still crooked teeth, grabbed his hand with zero elegance for a handshake and he felt the same tugging at his chest he feels now.

And he wasn’t in love with you then.

He barely knew you, nothing to be in love with.

And now he knows you. He knows you when you're happy, feeling on top of the world just the same as he knows you sobbing into his chest, refusing to leave the bed for days on end.

The same feeling is still tugging at his chest, urging him to look at something he just can’t find.

It’s tugs become stronger every time he looks at you, a weird feeling in his stomach bubbling up with more force whenever you smile at him.

Just as you are now.

Everything inside of him is screaming to tell you something, to do something. But, what? 

“...you know?” your voice trails off, looking at him. 

You were standing between rows of books, holding an Astronomy book in hand. Surely you were ranting about class to him and whilst he would usually love to listen, he didn’t register a single word.

You're frowning slightly and he has to fight the urge to lift his fingers to smooth out the wrinkle forming between your lovely brows.

He loses the fight.

Your skin is soft under his fingers and your frown is replaced by something much softer. 

You’re looking at him with a mix of surprise and intrigue. The slight gleam in your eyes makes Mattheo want to lean in and kiss your pretty, pouty, perfect Lips. He wants to bite them until he draws blood, wants to tug at them to see them bounce back. And god, how much he wants to feel them on his skin, on his Lips, whispering soft secrets into his ear.

Stop.

No.

He was not in love with you, right?

A voice that sounds an annoyingly amount like Draco floats around his brain, “Then why the fuck do you want to kiss her, fuckface.”

He mentally tells Draco to ‘shut the fuck up’ before directing his Attention back to you. His eyes flit from your mouth up to your eyes.

Fuck.

Oh, god- he’s in love with you.

Your pupils are blown wide, dark and dilated, fixed on his Lips- just as his had been a second ago. Your eyes aren’t filled with lust or heat, simple adoring. And isn’t that just ten times more devastating. You're looking at him like you love him and all of a sudden Mattheo is falling. 

Or maybe he’s been falling for a while, falling for you, into you. Losing himself in your love, in your words and laughs and eyes. 

Most likely, he was always falling.

From the moment your eyes first meet, eyes are the windows to the soul after all. He is so in love with your soul. He wants to melt into you, curling around your spine and spilling into your veins, until you couldn’t possibly force him away.

But if he can trust the look in your eye, you might not want to force him away. Even if you had the chance.

He feels your mouth before he realizes he moved. Your lips are already parted when he meets them, inviting him in. Only a split second passes before you kiss him back, sighing into the kiss.

His hands settle on your waist and as the kiss picks up, they start roaming all over your back. Your hands fall into his hair and everything clicks into place. 

He can faintly hear the heavy Astronomy book fall to the ground beneath you two.

The haziness falls away and all Mattheo can feel is you. Your hands, your mouth, your skin, your body.

He’s convinced you were created for him just as he was for you, the way you fit together turns the falling into floating. 

Mattheo doesn’t want to meet the ground ever again, not if floating feels like this.

Okay so, this is based off something @dustie-faerie commented a while ago and after some playing around and writing and rewriting we ended up with this<333

[dreamscapeee222]

Jinx Headcannons

Jinx x reader

Masterlist

A/n: This doesn't spoil season 2 of Arcane but I could write something that will involve its act ^^

Jinx keeps you on your toes, never quite knowing what to expect, but always in the best way. One second, you’re caught up in her chaos, and the next, she’s throwing you a surprise adventure. She’ll grin, grab your hand, and tug you along, brushing her lips against your cheek as she says, “Let’s go cause some trouble.”

She’s the type to wrap you in a hug while she’s mid-explosion, laughing manically and pulling you closer, even if she’s covered in dirt or sparks. Her way of showing affection is loud, messy, and completely full of life, always with that “I’m so glad you’re mine” vibe underneath it all. Sometimes, she’ll press a quick, playful kiss on your forehead, leaving you laughing and breathless.

Beneath all the madness, Jinx is always there to make sure you’re okay, even if she doesn’t show it in the most conventional way. When you’re having a rough day, she’ll sneak up behind you, wrap her arms around your waist, and rest her chin on your shoulder, mumbling softly, “Stop worrying. I’ve got you.”

Jinx loves to tease you—playfully getting under your skin in the sweetest ways. She’ll smirk and tease, “What’s wrong, shy? Did I steal your heart or just make you blush?” before pulling you into a quick kiss that lingers for a moment longer than you'd expect, her fingers grazing your cheek as she pulls away.

Jinx is never one to sit still, and when it’s just the two of you, expect random, chaotic adventures—like late-night escapades or explosions just for fun. You can’t help but laugh as she pulls you into it, her arms circling your waist to keep you close, whispering, “You’re in this mess with me now.”

After a day of causing mayhem, Jinx will crawl up beside you, resting her head on your lap, her hair a bit wild but her eyes soft and tired. She’ll take your hand, bringing it to her cheek as she looks up at you, saying quietly, “You’re the only thing that keeps me from blowing everything up. Thanks for sticking around,” her voice tender in a way that makes your heart flutter.

Every once in a while, Jinx surprises you with the most random little things—a handmade necklace, a goofy drawing of the two of you, or even just a sudden kiss and an “I love you.” She’ll hand it over with a grin and, before you can react, pull you into a quick, warm hug, her arms lingering just a little longer than you expect.

Jinx doesn’t show her concern in the usual way. When you’re hurt or feeling low, she’ll be right there, pulling you close, her hands a little shakier than usual, trying to hold it together for you. If you’re feeling down, she might cup your face gently in her hands, her eyes serious as she says, “You mean everything to me.”

The way Jinx loves you isn’t always conventional. One minute, she’s blowing things up and laughing, and the next, she’s holding your hand, staring at you with a soft, rare smile. “Wouldn’t want anyone else to put up with my crazy,” she’ll say, pulling you close by the waist and giving you a quick, affectionate kiss on the lips.

Even after all the chaos, Jinx can’t help but flirt with you. She’ll walk up to you, throw her arms around your neck and whisper, “You know, you make chaos look way too cute,” before stealing a kiss, her hands lingering on the back of your neck as she pulls you even closer.

Jinx’s past is a heavy burden she often hides behind her chaos and manic energy, but she’s learned to lean on you for comfort. When the pain gets too overwhelming, she’ll find herself reaching out for you, desperate for the kind of stability you offer. She’ll bury her face in your chest, her voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t know how to do this without you. You’re the only one who makes me feel like... maybe I can be more than this.” You’re the one who listens when she talks about her fears, the one who helps her work through her anger, and the one she trusts with the broken pieces of her heart.

Requests may be sent. Only SFW.

[moowmoon]

DOCTORS

— spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

— summary: she was with a cold, and he was her personal doctor.

— c/w: sickness, cold and fever

— w/c: 0.9k

— a/n: hello! how are you guys doing? i had fun writing his one and i kinda wish that spencer was here taking care of me lol! i hope you guys like it and let me know your thoughts, my ask box is always open to talk/share things! english is not my first language, so forgive me if there's any mistake!

The rain drummed softly against the windows, filling the apartment with a constant, comforting rhythm. Spencer entered the living room, his footsteps silent on the carpet. He saw her lying on the sofa, curled up under a blanket, her face slightly flushed with fever. A pile of crumpled tissues rested on the coffee table next to an empty mug.

"How are you feeling?" Spencer asked, his voice low but full of concern. He knelt beside the sofa, studying the tired face in front of him.

"Terrible. But at least you're here." the reply came out hoarse but accompanied by a weak smile.

Spencer smiled back, gently pressing his hand to her forehead. "It's still warm, but better than this morning. I'll make some more tea."

Without waiting for an answer, he got up and disappeared through the kitchen door. From the sofa, she followed his movements with heavy eyes, feeling the heat of Spencer's concern as warm as the blanket.

He walked back into the room with measured steps, carefully balancing a tray in his hands. The mug of tea was spewing fine spirals of steam, and beside it lay some simple but inviting cookies. He stopped beside the sofa and watched her for a moment. She was partially covered, one hand loosely holding the blanket while the other rested on her chest, rising and falling in a rhythm that indicated persistent tiredness.

"I've brought you something." Spencer's voice was low, but full of tenderness.

She opened her eyes slowly and, although she didn't have the strength to move much, she managed to give a weak smile and get up slowly. Spencer put the tray on the side table, picked up the blanket, and carefully arranged it, pulling it up to her shoulders.

"You didn't have to…" the voice came out hoarse, but grateful.

"Of course I needed it." he leaned over and rested his palm lightly on her forehead. "The fever has started to come down. That's good." a small but sincere smile appeared on his lips before he picked up the mug and handed it to her. "Drink it slowly. It's still warm."

As she brought the mug to her lips, Spencer sat down next to her on the sofa, close enough for their shoulders to touch. He watched intently as if monitoring every little movement, and when she took a cautious sip, he spoke, his voice a reassuring whisper.

"Just rest. The paperwork can wait, and you don't have to worry about anything now. I'm here."

She stared at him, her eyes shining with something other than tiredness. A feeling of comfort and gratitude that only Spencer could offer at that moment.

After a few minutes, the room was plunged into a comfortable dimness, with only the soft light of a lamp filling the corners. Spencer was sitting on the sofa, a book open in his hands, his voice low and calm as he read.  Each word came out with an almost hypnotic cadence, projecting tranquil images into the room.

Still wrapped in the blanket, she leaned on his shoulder, adjusting her head so that she could hear the warm timbre of his voice more closely. She sighed, gradually relaxing as the tension left her body.

Without interrupting his reading, Spencer let one of his hands slide down her back, his fingers drawing slow, meticulous circles, a gesture that seemed as automatic as it was intentional.

"You know I could listen to this all day, right?" her voice sounded muffled against his shoulder, laden with tiredness but also a slight humor.

Spencer paused and smiled, closing the book for a moment. He watched her with quiet affection, his eyes filled with a fondness that needed no words to understand.

"And I'd read all day if it would help you get better faster."

She let out a low, husky laugh, her head sinking further into his shoulder. Sensing the movement, Spencer adjusted his arm to wrap around her completely, holding her firmly and gently.

"It's working," she murmured, almost falling asleep.

Spencer didn't reply, just resumed reading, continuing to trace those comforting little circles; the sound of his voice blending with the quiet rhythm of the pages being turned and the rain.

Her breathing became slow and rhythmic, signaling that sleep had finally overcome the discomfort of fever. Her head rested on Spencer's shoulder, her features, once marked by fatigue, now softened into an expression of peace.

He remained motionless for a few moments, listening to that calm, steady sound. Carefully, he adjusted the blanket once more, pulling it up to cover her shoulders and making sure she was warm.

Tilting his head slightly, he observed every detail of her sleeping face. The lips parted, the eyelashes casting delicate shadows against the still slightly flushed skin. There was something deeply comforting about that moment of stillness as if the whole world had been put on pause so that he could be there, exactly where he needed to be.

Spencer sighed softly, a sound of relief mixed with gratitude. He placed a soft kiss on the top of her head before leaning back further on the sofa, the comforting weight against him bringing a sense of belonging.

"You'll be fine," he murmured, even though he knew the words wouldn't be heard. Even so, saying them out loud seemed important, almost like a promise.

As the rain continued its gentle rhythm against the windows, Spencer stood there, his arms tightly around the one he loved, treasuring that moment of peace.

[sautetheshroom]

How long has it been? How long have we done this?

How long have I done this?

I'm so tired. I'm so tired.

I'm sorry, Harmonia.

Thank you to everyone who voted! Roadtrip (very working title lmao, feel free to make suggestions it's so silly and I'd love to hear anything better) is now officially in my active projects list

I'm still in the planning phase as I only have a rough storyline and a few important milestone scenes planned, but once I've got a better roadmap (pun very intended) I'll start drawing!

I've never made a comic before outside of my silly incorrect quotes posts, so please be patient with me while I figure everything out. I think I've seen people make blogs for comics before, though I don't know how all that works, so any advice is more than warmly welcome.

The comic will likely be a mix of traditional and digital art seeing as im more comfortable drawing traditionally, but certain scenes will require a certain flare I can only get digitally!

Anyway, I believe that's all! Thank you again to everyone who voted and showed my little idea some love! Let's see how far we make it in this little adventure!

And how far they make it.

[victimeyez]

Hide

Part of Professional//Victim - Now updating every Sunday!

This is a brief chapter update! I will be adding an additional update by Tuesday to make up for it - this weekend has been unexpectedly busy. Stay tuned for a little something more - maybe even....some Tommy comfort???

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Well, moron, you already fucked up the plan. 

It can still be salvaged.

You need a miracle.

That’s nothing new. 

Tommy was shaken awake from a drug-induced sleep, startling him. The sound filled into his consciousness a moment later, trying to make sense of it.

-MMY YOU GODDA GET IN THE BACK WAKE UP WAKE UP GEDDIN THE FUCKENBACK-”

Sam was suddenly in the back seat with him, climbing over him.There was pressure on his wrists as Sam shoved the cuffs out of his way, nimbly unlocking his handcuffs and freeing him from his shackle to the car door. 

Lights. Through the back window, he caught it –

A cop car. 

Honestly, props to Caius for never getting pulled over before.

Sam scootched back and punched the lumpy back of the “middle seat”, popping open the secret compartment underneath. He didn’t hesitate for a second, jamming his fingers into the clothed seam around it, pulling the cushioned foam plug out of the way. It bore straight through the seat, into the hidden trunk. Sam was grabbing him, wrenching him out of his seat. 

“Tommy, baby, you gotta do this for me – go right now, okay?” Caius’s voice was eerily calm, especially next to Sam’s frantic shouting. Tommy met his eyes in the rearview mirror for just a flash, and there was a startling look of adoration there. A friend asking a favor from a friend they know will always help. 

Damn him and his moods. Constantly giving Tommy emotional whiplash trying to keep up. 

Well. physical whiplash, too–

He unbuckled himself and crawled shakily over the seat, putting his arms in–

Wait. Should I do this?

Stick to the plan. Here’s the only type of miracle I can get. 

He dove in, feeling the felted inner walls to try to understand the space. It was a hell of a tight compartment, but they’d made him try it before, he knew he could technically fit. Trying to curl in quickly was painful, moreso with Sam doing his damndest to shove him in. He pulled his legs in, and his feet were pushed through with a shove as Sam pushed the cover in. 

He was squeezed flat. Not painfully so, but it would get uncomfortable quickly. He was starting to remember this - it had been ages, he had honestly forgotten about it. He’d been obsessed with it at the beginning, too, sure this could be the key to escape. A narrow space underneath a false bottom in Caius’s trunk, a miniscule compartment they’d built in for such an occasion. It was stifling in the felted womb, the inky darkness blinding.

He heard a soft whir, and the silence suddenly became oppressive, weighing heavily on his ears. He felt the panel at his back start to vibrate slightly as the fans kicked on. Right. The compartment was made out of felt-wrapped panels. One side induced active noise cancellation into the trunk, and the other was linked to a rerouted AC line. The fan would keep air circling and prevent him from overheating in the trunk on a hot day. 

Fuck you extra, Michelle.

The car was starting to slow, but drawing it out. He could hear the soft click click click of the turn signal next to the ear pressed to the floor. 

“Put the damn concealer on, you’re all red and sweaty.” Caius’s voice now, faintly. It tickled behind his head. He mashed his ear to the embedded speaker–he’d completely forgotten about that. 

“Why did you install a speaker in the trunk?” Tommy had asked Caius when they tested it. The audio came through a microphone buried inside the steering wheel.

“Because you’re part of the team, too,” Caus had told him, one hand on his shoulder gently. 

Tommy didn’t know how to feel about that. It itched at him a little, but he feared if he scratched at it he would find some big significance hidden in that. Instead, he did not think about it, and felt nothing. 

“Just tell him you were giving me road head.” Sam was sounding more calm, pulling it together before they’d face the cop. Caius was coasting to a stop, pulling over. Tommy’s sense of direction in the trunk felt very strange as the car moved. He felt a little jolt in his stomach. 

“While I drive? How many points do you get on your license if you’re caught snogging the hog while driving?”

“I’m breaking up with you. And he’ll know something’s up if I’m all powdery.”

“Even if he notices, he’ll have already clocked that you’re gay.”

Whether Sam powdered his nose or not, the car came to a halt. 

“Are you going to be good?” Hearing Caius’s voice quiet in his ear sent a rush of panic through Tommy, but it wasn’t directed at him.

“Yeah, I’m good. Not my first rodeo and all. Just - had a moment. But I’m good.” 

They waited in silence. Minutes passed by. Tommy started to wonder if the speaker had shut off when he heard something, jamming his ear close again to hear Sam. 

“Oh shit, girlcop.”

“Police woman.”

“Shut up, you assumed it would be a guy, too.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Caius drawled.

“License, registration, and proof of insurance please.” A new voice spoke, a little more distant than Tommy’s escorts.  A woman.

A police woman. 

“Here.”

“You, too.” A brief pause, and some shuffling. 

“Alright, I’ll be right back.”

Silence while she walked away. Sam broke first. 

“What do you think she’s pulling us over for?”

Tommy tried speaking. He could hear it in his own ears, but it sounded swallowed. He worked his voice up gradually, stopping each time to listen for Caius or Sam to say something. When they didn’t, he tried saying it louder. When he tried calling out, the fan suddenly stopped.��

It spooked him silent, waiting for a minute to see if anything else happened. It didn’t, but he was surprised how warm it started to feel within just a few minutes. Whether it was punitive or just on a timer, he wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t pushing it.

“Okay, here you go. Where are you two headed?”

“Road trip, actually.”

“Where you heading to?”

“Boston. Have you ever been?”

“Yup. Like the beans, right?”

“...yes?”

“Okay, well, your tags are expired, but it looks like you paid a couple weeks ago. You haven’t put it on your license plate yet?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye out for it, but I haven’t seen it yet. I’ll have to double check. Do you need the receipt?”

“No, I found it in the system. These windows are pretty dark though, huh? With my little chart here, it looks like - maybe a little too dark. Is there a reason why that might be?”

“Yeah, it’s for my glaucoma. I have my paperwork–” There was a bit of rustling.

“-Here.”

Tommy’s neck was really starting to cramp with his head forced to the side like that. He was sweating, and it made the claustrophobia much worse. The cop logged something with whatever paperwork Michelle had rustled up for Caius, and they were sent on their merry way. 

They pulled back out,  and Tommy could hear the engine thrum as they accelerated back onto the highway. The movement was making him feel a little nauseous, and the heat wasn’t helping. Tommy sucked in some slow breaths. Was there even an air hole in this thing? He groped around the compartment with his hands until he felt a slight breeze. He tunneled a finger in – it felt like PVC piping, and was no thicker than a quarter. 

Michelle, like most geniuses, was also stupid as hell. 

The AC kicked back on and it was a relief. Until it quickly turned too cold, since he had started to sweat, and quickly became clammy and uncomfortable.

They drove for a ways, and it was impossible to tell how much time passed, but long enough for the AC to turn back off, on, and off again one more time. By the time they rolled to a halt, he was dying to get out. Sam finally pulled out the foam cork that blocked his exit.

“You still alive down there?”

Tommy managed to wiggle a hand up, finding the hole and trying to wave a fist inside. Sam helped pull him through, and he was birthed back into the backseat. The doctor looked at him, sweaty and thoroughly disheveled.

“You stink.”

Tommy did not look at anything, his eyes pinched shut against the muted sunlight in the car after emerging from cave darkness.

“Yeah," he huffed.

"-Sorry.”

```

Taglist:

@suspicious-whumping-egg  @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday @defire @jumpywhumpywriter

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @knivestothroats @paperprinxe

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

Thank you all so much for reading!!!

[the-stranger-of-the-hidden-world]

Curiously, Stranger watched as he conversed with his mother. She could see that they had their doubts, but it made her happy to see him so upbeat and optimistic about this. Either way, her demonstrating her capabilities to draw made him happy, so that was surely good, right?

Just as Hiccup dashed away towards Toothless, Seabreak nudged Stranger with his stick, pleading at her with his big green eyes and pupils dilated into wide ovals. She couldn't help but snicker, rubbing his face and nuzzling her cheek against his forehead as she purred and crooned to him. Give me a moment. We'll play in a little bit, but...I wanna try to see if we can find a way to talk.

Streak, however, left Sunchaser and Valka's sides to pick up the stick that Stranger had left on the ground, poking Seabreak with it and getting him to play. Now that they were getting used to the environment and they no longer felt overwhelmed and cramped, they could be a bit freer as the brothers started to play fight, trying to hit each other with their sticks. Of course, they weren't quite as good at it as their sister, given that she had thumbs and a proper grip, but they had learned from her.

Hiccup returned and showed her his pencil and sketchbook, items that were completely foreign to her before he then proceeded to draw in it and then show her - and it was her! He drew her!

She couldn't help but smile widely, gently tracing the lines with her fingers as her cheeks creased her eyes. So this was a uniquely human skill she had retained...even after all this time, she still retained her humanness despite being raised by her dragon family. Much of her humanness was a point of shame for Stranger...but not this one. Not now that she realized just how useful it was right now and that it was shared.

Taking it from him, she had an idea. She didn't know how to explain to him who they were or ask who he was...but maybe if she started, maybe he would understand and follow suit.

Sitting back down on the ground as her two brothers continued to chase each other around the cove with sticks, Sunchaser gently padding over to sit beside her and let her lie back against him, he got comfortable on the soft ground. Now that they knew that they were accepted by the alpha and the humans, he wasn't as nervous. Still wary...but able to relax.

Dragons didn't have names for each other in the ways that Stranger did. They had a specific sound that they assigned to one another that sort of functioned as a name, but that was different than the names she assigned to them in her own head - which she more thought of as visual associations rather than words, since she barely knew any. But maybe she could convey as such.

It was a bit more difficult to draw with a pencil on a small sketchbook than it was to draw on sand, but she was slow and careful. Though her pencil sketches were a bit sloppy, holding the pencil a bit like a small child would, she was careful in trying to make her illustrations as clear as possible.

The first was a drawing of a dragon chasing the sun, the familiar shape of a Light Fury dashing after and reaching for the circle in the sky surrounded by fire. She marked the drawing with a small vertical dash to try and convey that he was the first hatched between the three, showing it to the humans and then pointing to her oldest brother laying beside her to try and be as clear as possible. She wasn't sure if she was getting her message across, but she hoped that this would be decent enough of a start to try and get a working method established.

Because if this worked...then they would be able to talk to each other in a language they could both understand.

Hiccup's eyes widened as she repeated his sentence, a wide grin growing on his face. "Hey! Look at that! It's--it's certainly a start!"

Valka wasn't so sure. "Just because she can copy our words doesn't mean she can understand them yet, son..."

"Well, no, but...I see this as a good thing! We can teach her some simple phrases to start, and then move on to bigger things when she's ready!"

Dashing over to Toothless, Hiccup pulled a blank sketchbook out of his saddlebag, and his spare pencil.

Showing it to the woman, he opened it up, doing a quick sketch of her on the first page.

Holding it out to her, he gestured towards the open book. "It's yours now. Take it...use it!"

[codacheetah]

The start of the Loop segment of the Siffrin & friends twitter QNA, and the message that flipped Loop's answers from silly to dodgy and blatantly upset.

Loopchat from speaking to Loop 20+ times.

Certified Loop dysphoria post

[escuerel]

there was a pixie themed drawing board roughly a month ago.

[sysig]

Moomin. Moomin in Minecraft. please?

Day 16 - Are you new to the valley?

[piningpercussionist]

transfem scott getting lots of support from ramona and kim in the early 2000's when shit's very taboo but they all 3 have a fire forged bond and lord if they aren't going to make sure they're all as happy as they can be because they've come this far and I dunno it just makes me happy all three of them

YES YES YES

It makes me very happy as well,,

Like I've said before. General Trans Scott enthusiast here- I love the idea of their little support network *violent coughing* I (we?) mean polycule *violent coughing* so fucking much.

Ramona I think has a bit of a more gentle hand with reassuring Scott with gender issues, but sometimes she just can't help herself from some pointed banter or teasing- how could you with someone so dense? (Said w affection)

And then Kim I think is more blunt. But like, in a good way mostly, you know? The kinda blunt that makes you snap to attention and go "Oh. Yeah that was silly of me." And if Ramona's started some sort of banter? Kim is SO piling on. Maybe sometimes she's a bit TOO blunt with it- but it's only because she's so firm in her support. She wants Scott to Get It Together- and be happier for it. So if some ribbing now and again is in order, then goddamnit she will do so! Anything to crack that shell.

And ohhh can you imagine how they would react to some transphobic bullshit?? Unholy terror would be driven into the offender before they walk off with an absurd amount of coins between them. I can feel it in my bones. Scott doesn't even have to lift a finger (if the transphobe is even noticed/processed at all, bc I honestly can see Scott just. Not realizing someone's being transphobic.) Kim giving someone a lashing with her tongue as distraction and then Ramona coming in with the hammer- BAM! Free Money! Paying literally with your life for your transphobia. A Better And Just World.

And of course (transfem Scott more specifically, here,) the way Scott would start to flourish under their support... cagey and maybe a little (perhaps a lot-) resistant to start- but Kim's blunt affirmations and no nonsense attitude for bullshit (which is what Scott insisting on "being cis" would be, c'mon now,) and Ramona's also low bullshit tolerance but less Stabby (bc I won't lie, that's probably how Kim's comments would feel,) assurances? Ough... My Heart... Be Still-

I would Kill for them, Your Honor-

(Ran out of tags so putting this in the body of the post- I am SO tired someone pls sound off if this isn't as coherent as I am hoping this is. I WAS trying to nap and get the extra sleep I desperately needed but the writing bug... it Bit Me.... only a little but enough to stop that process-)

[arolesbianism]

Despite how much I suffered making my last isat au Aris sprite redraw, I decided to do it again and once again went through hell doing it. There’s like a billion mistakes in this (such as her having the wrong arm rip) but at the end of the day I’m still happy with how it turned out :]

[cuteniaarts]

Wine stains on porcelain

(Alternatively: @katkastrofa and I have created 5 OCs in 3 days and I suffer from chronic “I wanna draw the little guysssssss” disease)