#like how do you look at that and just zero in on what you care abt most

[slytherinslut0]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 23rd. tom riddle — wet dreams, house rivals.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. I 2024

summary: tom’s been infiltrating your dreams, and you decide it’s time to call him out on it.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNIIII, coercion!!!!, dark!tom, mind manipulation, religious undertones, gryffindor!reader, enemies if you squint, fingering, squirting, begging, dream sex, tom riddle is his own warning, so much praise, dirty talk, verbal sparring.

You've never been a heavy sleeper. Even as a child, the smallest sound—a creak in the floorboards, a shift in the walls—would jolt you awake. For years, you chalked it up to some ingrained survival instinct, some form of trauma response to whatever part of your childhood still haunts you. You got used to it.

But lately, it isn't sound that been waking you. It isn't movement or foundation shifts, either. It's the dreams.

Dreams—strange, lucid, intense dreams of him. Always him. Dreams that make you feel like you're drowning, like you're flying, like you've found a new level of intoxication that you'd never imagined possible—and each time the dreams wake you up, the sheets (and whatever bottoms you may have been wearing) are always soaked, and your thighs are always shaking.

It's maddening.

They feel too real to be anything but a violation, his presence bleeding into your subconscious regardless of how much you try to fight it. You know it means something is wrong. You'd tried to rationalize yourself into going back to sleep, telling yourself it's just hormones or some form of stress, but you're too smart to believe your own excuses.

You know it's more than that.

He's haunting you in your sleep—in the most unexpected way. The dreams are always lucid enough that you can feel it—you can feel him—his mouth on yours, his hands on your hips, his dick bullying your fucking cervix and his magic on your clit—leaving behind nothing but hunger. Hunger that's so intense it makes you want him in a way it almost scares you.

You tell yourself you hate him, you've always hated him—but denial only lasts for so many days, as you realize you can't look at him or talk to him without the dreams forcing their way to the forefront of your mind, making you remember the feelings and the sensations and how much, despite hating him, you want them to be real.

You wanted to believe it would pass. That this was nothing but a phase, a trick of your overactive mind. But deep down, you knew the truth. Tom Riddle has wormed his way into your head, into your dreams—out of spite—and he's not letting go.

So after a hell of a week of this—with damn near zero hours of sleep—you decide to seek him out. To put an end to this madness. Once and for all.

It takes every ounce of courage and Gryffindor-like reckless bravery you can scrape together just to go through with it, but somehow you do. Somehow, you make it across the castle, make it to his door. You're in your pyjamas, for Merlin's sake. It's 1 a.m., and the slick still coating your thighs from what had to have been your tenth lucid orgasm in a matter of a week is a humiliating reminder of why you're even here at all.

And when the door opens, you have the strange feeling that he's been expecting you, even as he makes a great show of acting surprised to see you, looking you up and down with a lazy, smug glance that makes your pulse quicken so viscerally you lose the last shred of sanity you were pathetically clinging to—

"What the fuck—" you prowl forward without hesitation, forcing him a step back into the room. "—are you doing to me?"

Even if you're not imagining some form of surprise in that smug little smirk, he does his best not to let it show.

"Me?" He says, all pretend innocence, flicking his hand out to shut the door behind you with some spell you don't care to name. "You'll have to be more specific."

You glare at him, refusing to acknowledge how unfairly attractive he looks in just sweatpants and an oversized shirt—because of course, even casual looks like this are a weapon in his arsenal.

"Cut the bullshit, Riddle," you snap, and you're not sure if it's your lack of sleep or some form of desperation-fuelled bravery, but you're suddenly invading his personal space, poking an accusing finger into his shoulder. "You're fucking haunting me—"

He blinks. "I’m haunting you. And how am I doing that?��

There's a part of you that knows it's a trap—that this is probably exactly what the smug bastard in front of you has been wanting, but your brain is so deprived of sleep and your body is so starved of respite that you decide 'fuck it'—you want answers, and you're going to get them.

"You're in my dreams," you say, bluntly, forcing an exhale alongside it. "You've been in them every night for a week straight. I haven't slept a bloody minute."

That's when it happens—the tiniest flash of amusement in his eyes, so brief you might've missed it if you weren't ready to tear his fucking throat out.

"You're accusing me of giving you dreams?" He asks, in a tone that makes you want to grab him by the front of his shirt and make him cut the bullshit, and you can't tell how much of your own expression is irritation and how much is lust. "You think I've somehow managed to invade your mind?"

"Don't be condescending," you spit, trying to focus on the spot between his eyebrows that makes the heat in your core roar the least, "and don't act like you're incapable. As much as I can't bloody stand you, we both know damn well your mind magic is strong enough to do this to me—"

"Mind magic," he echoes with an amused snort, "you think I'm doing some kind of mind magic to invade your dreams, is that it?"

He's so damn good at this, you think—infuriatingly good. The way he's playing it off like the idea is absurd, completely laughable—

"Fucking precisely.” You can't hide the heat from your voice. You don't care to try. "These aren't just dreams. They're—they're strong. I feel you. Your hands, your tongue, your—"

Dick. You can't even bring yourself to say it.

And the bastard just smirks, like he's reading your mind anyway. Like he knows. That glimmer in his eyes—arrogant, insufferable—only confirms it.

"Hm," he says with something bored, running a hand through his hair. "Your subconscious—"

"It's not a bloody subconscious thing," you cut him off, uninterested in whatever bullshit he was about to feed you. "It's you. You're invading my dreams—I feel you—my body fucking feels you—"

He laughs at that. Like some sick, sadistic freak. He actually laughs—

"Listen to yourself." He says, with a mocking tone that makes you want to shove him. "Are you that desperate to hate me that you're pinning your dreams on me?"

"Hate doesn't even begin to cover it," you spit, stepping closer, your frustration boiling over. He shifts slightly, his back brushing the wall. "You've got a hell of an ego, but even you have to know this isn't something I'd want. I wouldn't put you in my dreams willingly if you paid me to do it—"

He hums, smirk never faltering, if anything it fucking grows at the tirade.

"You've been dreaming of me for a week," he points out, coolly, as if this is the most casual conversation in the world. "And now, here you are—standing in my dorm in the middle of the night, dressed like this." He takes a step toward you, now. "Do you know what that's called, sweetheart?"

Your lungs hitch at the pet name. Your mind is at war with your cunt and it's losing—

"Delirium?" You choke out, noticing another flash of something in his eyes as the gap between you closes. "Insomnia? Sleep deprivation?"

He gives you a mocking arch of the eyebrow.

"No," he says, in a tone that makes you seethe. "It's called obsession."

"Oh. The irony," you can't help but hiss at him, heart pounding because he's in your space and you're in his and this shouldn't be getting to you the way it is. "It's rich, coming from you, that you'd put that on me when—when you've been mindfucking me every goddamn night—"

"Mindfucking you?" He repeats, almost lazily, as his gaze drops, sweeping over you—your pyjamas, the clear lack of bra, the flush creeping up your neck. "Is that what you think I've been doing? You think—"

The way he doesn't even deny it—doesn't argue the accusation—makes your blood boil in a way you can't control.

"It's the only explanation. You've been—you've been—" you cut him off but your sentence falters because his gaze is moving so deliberately, dragging over you like he's cataloging your weaknesses, and the anger curdles into something raw and desperate. "God, Tom, I just need it to stop. I'm so fucking tense and tired. I'm so wound I can't even focus—I'm wet all the time—"

His eyes snap up to meet yours at that, and he gives you a look you can't even begin to interpret. You bite your tongue, realizing the words that left your mouth just a moment too late to pull them back, and you know you've lost the upper hand in this, somehow. You feel the ground slipping from under you and you hate the way your body shivers as he takes another slow, deliberate, step forward.

"Is that what you are?” He wets his lips. "You've come all the way here, in the dead of night, in your pyjamas, half out of your mind with exhaustion because you're wet. Isn't that right?"

You know better than to answer, though you feel yourself walking straight into the trap he's set.

"Piss off," you snap, but the bravado in your voice is paper-thin as he takes another step forward. He's so close now that his scent overwhelms you—leather and spice, something sharp and smoky that makes your head spin. You recognize it, of course you do; it's the same as in your dreams, and the familiarity makes your knees feel unsteady. "You're—"

"Don't act so offended," he leans closer, his voice a low murmur, quiet, almost silky as it wraps around you, and suddenly you barely remember what you were so pissed off about. "You can't even deny it. I made you cum tonight, didn't I? In your dreams."

Your teeth grit. "You know you did—"

He takes one more step and now you're backed right up against his desk—and gods, Tom's tall, so much taller than you—and it feels like he's looming over you, caging you in.

"Mhm." There's a flash of triumph in his eyes as you lose your words. He leans down, breath grazing your ear just as he brings two fingers to your temple, pressing the pads against it. "Let's watch, shall we?"

Watc—oh no.

A cold sense of dread washes over you as you catch on to what he's insinuating, merely a second too late—

"Tom—"

He whispers something, something that pulls you under, and the next thing you know—in a flash of consciousness you didn't even consider possible—you're staring at yourself inside a dream you remember all too well. A dream sequence where you're moaning and trembling beneath him, your head thrown back, eyes rolling in unabashed pleasure as he drives into you, hips snapping with thrust after thrust after thrust—

And it's one thing to have felt it in the safety of your dreams, in the dead of night when you woke slick and desperate, clenching around nothing. But this—this is visceral. You can't look away because it's projecting inside your mind: the flush blooming across your chest, the arch of your back, the way your lips part with every desperate breath. You hear the obscene sounds spilling from your mouth, mingling with his low, guttural grunts—and worst of all, you can feel it.

You can feel every ounce of pleasure he's giving you, as if he's giving it to you now.

"Mm," you hear him hum from infront of you—it's too much—you're lost in the memory, the dream, and it's a strange, voyeuristic, intimate experience to watch yourself and him like that. "You're worse off than I thought."

You’re gripping the wood of his desk so hard your fingertips are numb, heart flying out of the room as his hand slowly slides from your temple down to your jaw, holding you in place—

"Stop it." You manage to hiss at him, trying to force some semblance of control back into yourself—the last thing you need is to start melting against this bastard. "Tom—"

"You feel that?" He murmurs, breath brushing your neck, and you can't even focus on anything but the sensations he's forcing through your memory—seeing him above you, feeling him inside you. "You do, don't you? This is exactly what you've been feeling all week, isn't it?"

You want to snap at him, cuss him out, but oh god—

"Damn you," you hiss, even as his hands slide down to your hips—and it almost feels as if he's touching you twice, as if there are two sets of hands on your body. "Fuck, Tom—"

"Mm, you look good from this angle," he murmurs, and you fucking keen as you watch, in your mind, his hands slide over your stomach, pushing up your shirt and exposing your tits, groping as he fucks you. You keen as you feel it. "You love this, don't you? You want this."

"I—" you gasp, trying to convince him, or yourself, or goddamn anyone. Still fighting some invisible battle between resistance and submission because you hate that he's right. "I—god, what are you doing to me—"

"What am I doing to you?" He whispers, and you're not sure if the question is rhetorical, or if he's giving you permission to ask it. "I'm not doing anything that you aren't letting me do."

Your knees feel like they're about to buckle, and it's taking all your strength just to stay standing because the pleasure playing out in your mind is pouring into your veins and you can't even fathom how it's possible but you can't do anything to fight it—

"Oh, god—" you moan, unbridled, your physical body slumping back onto the desk as you feel the slick between your thighs, growing with every goddamn thrust. "Oh my god—"

He takes the opportunity of you slumped back against the desk and instantly leans down, bringing his lips to your ear—

"Not even god could keep your legs underneath you." His hand creeps up your thigh. "You're helpless."

"Helpless," you repeat, with a shaky gasp, and you hate how much the word turns you on. This is the first time you've ever been called helpless, and you're not even sure that you care. He's got you in his clutches, he's winning, and it's so infuriating and so goddamn perfect. “Tom—please, please touch me. I need to—fuck—"

You feel his lips brush the skin of your neck in a way that has you trembling with want, but—fucking hell, that's not what you need—you need his hands on you, you need him to just—

"What do you need?" He cooes, and there's a sly tone to his voice that makes you want to throw yourself at him all over again. "You need to cum?"

You moan, low and needy, writhing against the desk because this fucker—he knows exactly what he's doing. He’s got the upper hand here and you want it back. You want—

"Yes," you manage to gasp out. "I need you to—I fucking need you—inside me—"

As soon as that leaves your mouth, the dream fades from your vision and he's urging you to lay back. There's a soft thud as he places a hand on the desk next to your head, and he leans down, bringing his lips back to your ear, and you can't remember a time when you've ever wanted anyone else this bad.

"I'm touched," he murmurs, fingers slipping to the waist band of your pyjama pants, "that you want me that bad."

"I hate you," you manage to gasp out, but that's a lie, and you think he knows it. His fingers on your skin as he pulls your pants down make you ache for him, and you're struggling to not make another sound that will give him ammunition. "Why do you have to—"

"Why do I have to what?" He asks, and you know he's just trying to get a reaction out of you. "Tease you? Make you helpless?"

Your pants get hardly half way down your thighs before he decides it's enough and slides a finger through your soaked slit, and you can't hold back the moan that tears itself from your throat.

"Fuck, you're soaked.” He hisses through his teeth. “You've been sitting in your dorm for days, hm? Dreaming of me touching you, wishing you could touch yourself without thinking of me—do you want to cum, sweetheart?"

"Yes," you gasp out, and you're not above begging at this point. "Yes, god, please—I want to fucking cum—"

"There we go," he cooes, and he's enjoying this more than you'd like to acknowledge. "You know how long I've been waiting to hear you say that?"

"I'd say at least a week," you throw back, in a vain attempt to keep a shred of your dignity, but that's hard when he's circling his fingers around your clit and your body is jerking against the desk beneath you. God you really are helpless. "Because that's how long you've been plaguing my head, giving me wet dreams like some goddamn incubus—"

He chuckles at that, and you hate him a little less when he slips two fingers inside you, "You think I'm a demon?"

"You certainly act like one," you choke out, because he's crooking his fingers and your mind is going fuzzy and he's not going to let you get the upper hand back, even for a second. "Fuck—oh, yes, yes, yes."

"You've got me all wrong," he says, with a smile that would be boyish if it wasn't so sinister. "Demons come to punish you. I'm here helping you get that relief you've been needing so badly."

"Just want t-to help me," you moan as his long fingers work you open, thumb brushing your clit, "out of the kindness of your heart—"

"Out of the kindness of my heart,” he repeats, with a mocking tone, and it's the way he murmurs those words that's making your thighs clench around him until he grabs the fabric of your pjs bunched around them and pushes your legs up to your chest, working his fingers impossibly deeper. "Out of the goodness of my soul—it's what I do, darling, I'm known for my benevolence—"

"You're a good man," you know he can tell you're being sarcastic, but his fingers are filling you so fucking full you're nowhere near ready to start a fight again when you're this close to losing your goddamn mind on his desk. "You're such a good man, Tom—“

"Mhm," his breath tickles your ear. "What else am I?"

"So good with your fingers," you're moaning, and he's going to get a bigger ego than he already has. You're too far gone to care. "God, you're so good, I'm going to—"

"Yes, you are," he answers, and it takes you a second to realize that he's not correcting your words anymore. He's simply telling you that you are, in fact, about to fall apart for him. "Give it to me. You've earned it."

You almost want to snap back at him, you almost try to, but you're so far gone the words don't form on your tongue and you're not sure you'd be able to fight the fire pooling in your stomach.

"Oh, fuck—“

He doesn't even let you finish that, he just dips his hips down, bringing his hand that's not buried in your slick up to cover your mouth, muffling those strangled screams before they spill out and echo down the hall—

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice a low hum against your skin. "Be a good girl. Let it all out for me."

And it's that; that stupid combination of cooing warmth and the phrase 'be a good girl' that sends you over the edge, and you're muffling your gasps and moans and screams against his palm because gods, what would happen if someone heard you? What would happen if people realized what Tom Riddle was doing to you—your house rival, your sworn enemy—

"There we go," you're falling apart and he's watching you as if he owns you, as if this is where you belong—writhing beneath him, release squirting out around his fingers. "Ride it out for me. Such a good girl, you needed this so bad, I can tell you were aching for this."

You're struggling to say anything back, the only thing that comes out is a strangled moan of his name, and you've always known how bad he was, heard from other girls how good he could be with his hands, but this—you've never had this, never been this before.

"Such a fucking mess," he's murmuring, his voice low and rough and so goddamn beautiful. “How'd that feel? Hm?"

"So—so good," it feels like the words are being forced out of your throat, and you're struggling to think with enough clarity to form anything that's not an embarrassing moan of how much you needed this. "Needed it, need more, I—"

"More?" He murmurs as he slips his fingers free, and he's bringing his other hand up to your jaw, forcing you to look at him as he brings his soaked fingers to your lips. "Greedy girl."

You're not thinking about the implication of him calling you that, you're not thinking about how you should fight back, you're not thinking about how much you hate him—you’re just thinking about the sinful taste of you on his fingers, when they press against your tongue. Without a second of hesitation you suck them clean, tasting yourself, and it's obscene. You're obscene. But you don't care, it just makes that ache in you grow worse—you need more, you need him.

Dear god, what happened to you.

“So good," he murmurs, the praise dripping like honey from his tongue. You hum and he exhales. "I'll find you tomorrow."

"You'll find me tomorrow?" You repeat, as he withdraws his fingers from your mouth, and you're struggling for air, your chest heaving beneath your rumpled shirt. "What are you going to do, come into my room?"

"I'll come into much more than your room," he says, with a laugh that dances with promises of sin. "Now go. Before someone finds you here."

You push yourself up on trembling arms, pulling your pants up your thighs, your heart hammering in your chest because—god, that was incredible, you want more of it, and you can hardly even believe it happened. With a breath, you force yourself to move.

You look back at him as you get to the door. Your legs are shaking and you're not going to hold it against yourself for needing the wall to support you as his eyes rake over you, the corners of those lips curled up his signature smirk, and you want to hit him so goddamn bad—but then he speaks, like he read your mind, and it snaps you out of it—

"No dreams tonight." He says. "Scouts honour."

"You're no boy scout," you throw back, and your voice is a little breathier than you'd like. "And this changes nothing."

He smiles, slow and languid and knowing. "Of course."

You want to roll your eyes at the condescension dripping off his tongue, but you're worried that if you stay here any longer the only words on your tongue will be 'do it again'.

"You just owe me." You say as you crack the door open.

"I owe you," he agrees, and you think that his smile is just a little too genuine—like he would give you anything you wanted, just for another taste of that. “I'm keeping score, darling. Sleep well."

You hate him for calling you that, you hate his stupid smile, you hate the way he knows he's got you.

What he doesn’t know, is that you’re going to make him pay.

"Good night," you mutter, and then you open the door and slip out into the hallway.

[opinion-haver]

these replies perfectly summarize how we got to the issue of devaluing human connection in the first place and how this post is pretty much exacerbating the issue:

“yall are so dumb” - this sentiment writes off an entire population of people who are struggling. literally destroying human connections directly. and i think that in and of itself is dumb

“this is sooooo dystopian” -its pretty obvious how people running to ai therapists fullblown sucks and is dystopian but one must not forget that pointing at an issue isnt actually addressing it, especially when the comparison is rooted in nostalgia.

“these people are pitiful”- another strain of thinking people are so dumb. its patronizing. if you cant find shared humanity— if you cant see within yourself a version that would succumb, you dont understand the problem.

honorable mention: the tools introduced above lend a very fun look into how ineffectual the system is and how these tools dont address at all the reasons why one would speak to an ai therapist in the first place.

worksheets: if i was going through a breakup or panic attack or some shit equivalent you would be absolutely kidding me to think that i would open up a worksheet. im suicidal not a masochist. zero humanity in that response.

chart-games: i find these useful, i even made a modified in-browser personal guide just for myself. but the issue is that most of the times conscious malaise isnt often cured by just eating or drinking just because you forgot. and thats if you remember to go to the website when youre doing badly in the first place. if im in hell im checked the fuck out.

finch: as a daily user of finch, i know directly how helpful this tool can be. it pairs the dopamine rush of games with executive function, like so many other gamified trackers out there. i like the data analysis personally, reflections are so useful to knowing yourself from day to day. but its very much trying to monetize your self care. to gate some of its tools behind a premium subscription because (paraphrase) “you deserve self care” is insidious as hell. and the ways it treats you is patronizing. i know youre dressing up a cartoon bird but i dont think helping the bird discover it likes baby shark is particularly salient to the aging tumblr userbase

ok so ive complained a whole lot. but in order to put money where my mouth is, whats the solution?

well obviously! to foster human connection of course. if these people dont know what real human connection is like its because nobody has BEEN real human connection for them. and vice versa— if you strawman these people into mindless idiots then clearly you dont understand their psyche.

in lieu of an ai therapist, reach out to a gd friend.

if you dont got friends, go make em. its ez. outside is easiest— show up to some kind of local thing or the other. it doesnt have to mesh with you completely but learning about Hetero Jessicas worklife balance is way more illustrative of human reality than chatgpt. but outside is not the only way. go ping someone random. get over the initial fear. fall in love with strangers. learn about their cats and trade cat pictures or some shit. its not easy but its worth it. hell, if you want to dm me i might even reply, if im not busy.

solidarity saved me. it can save you too.

guys. please

[goldenwitherphoenix13]

Welcome to,

Life series, but they are all mermaids, and for some reason XB Crafted is here too

A ruddy stupid, random as shit mermaid AU

If you're wondering who is what, never fear for I am here! Here's a list!

Impulse is a Shark

Skizz is a Remora

Pearl is a deep sea fish (based on multiple fish found in the deep sea)

Gem is a Piranha

Lizzie is an axolotl

Joel is a betta

Tango is a Lemon Shark

Jimmy is a Cod

Scott is a Jellyfish

Cleo is a Zombie fish

Scar is a Catfish

Grian is a parrotfish

Martyn is a Lionfish

Ren is a Wolffish

BigB is a lantern fish

Etho is a leafy sea dragon

Bdubs is a pufferfish

Mumbo is an octopus

And after much convincing by my friend @lonleyzodiac , my friend convinced me to add XB as a Humuhumunukunukuapua'a, or the triggerfish. Yes I watched Octonauts as a kid, how can you tell?

Anyways, basic story time!

At an aquarium by the coast, there is a connecting facility that runs a Mermaid rescue, care and rehabilitation center, focused on giving mers a safe place to stay when they won't be able to survive in the wild or help nurse them back to healthy states so they can be released into the wild again.

Issue is that sometimes the mers can get a bit attatched to the humans and eachother so they refuse to leave.

All other Hermits, Empires members and even the yogcast lot work in the care center. Some of them work in the labs with medicines and understanding Mermaid biology, psychology and other -ologys. Meanwhile the others work with the mers in taking care of needs like food and environment. They also have an action squad who go out and perform actual rescues for mers who are in danger.

Some mers have permanent issues that mean they can't survive properly in the wild so they take up permanent residence. Some you can obviously see such as Mumbo and XB. Mumbo is missing a tentacle and XB lost half his tail. Others are there but harder to see such as Pearl's scars for her missing fins, and Scars scars for how hes constantly finding trouble, and Cleos damaged fins due to their frailty (this does not stop them being a sassy lil shit all the time, they do not care). And then there's Scott who has no sting in his stingers, Tango who has very poor eye sight and immune system, and Grian who was a mer raised out of the ocean and thusly has zero survival instincts.

The others are all there either because they got attatched to eachother or the humans. Some, like Impulse and Skizz, make up for this by actively helping out around the facility by finding other injured Mers outside who need help.

And then others aren't hurt or anything, just there because they already have a bond to other mers who were hurt. Joel is a special case as he is literally just there because he has fallen for Lizzie. Scott mentioned the concept of the word wife once and now it is Joel's favourite word.

And before I get any questions, yes Bdubs is a Mer. He looks like just a pufferfish, but he can speak very clear English.

Oh yeah. You can understand Mermaids when they are underwater, but above the water, they sound like they are talking gibberish. Fun thing is the mers can understand eachother above the surface, it's just humans who can't understand them.

[theoceanoasis]

The Lost Light jumps into a new universe and during their adventures, they find a Soundwave trapped in the Shadowzone. They decide to save him and help him recover and when he's stable again, he decides to shadow/follow after Rodimus all the time. He's like Rodimus' second, violently protective guard dog.

Turns out, Soundwave was engaged/Conjunxed to his Hot Rod but Hot Rod perished when Nyon burned and he never got over it. Now he sees this as a second chance of making things right by caring for this Roddy to the best of his abilities. Over time, Rodimus and Soundwave do fall in love with each other.

"This is so freaky."

"It's like Earth but not."

"Look I can put my hand through the wall!"

"Don't touch that."

He ignored his crews excitement instead focusing on the weird feeling he couldn't shake as though he was being watched. Which shouldn't be possible because Perceptor said there was no life there except his crew.

He looked back at them wondering if someone was watching him but they were all focused on their hands going through the walls.

He looked around again and noticed something out of the corner of his optic. He walked towards it wondering what it could be.

He was shocked to find what looks vaguely like a Cybertronian although he looks really weird.

Noticing that he was injured he decided to help him. He called Ratchet and some of his crew members to help lift.

They all stared at what they found in shock and when Ratchet began repairing him he'd found the Decepticon symbol.

"Do you recognize this mech?"

"He's like nothing I've ever seen before."

Megatron stared down the Decepticon.

"Doesn't matter. If we leave him here with his injuries he will die."

Megatron picked him up when Ratchet did the best he could out there.

"I'll finish working on him in the medbay."

They walked inside with the mech and he sent a message telling the crew to stay away. They locked down the medbay given the unknown threat they'd just brought on board.

Megatron looks at the mech reluctant to have him on board.

"Do you think this is wise?"

For some reason he can't shake the feeling that it is.

"Yes. I can't explain it but I think we can trust him.

After that it was waiting for the mech to wake up. Which didn't take that long surprisingly. He'd looked around confused before zeroing in on him.

He'd taken a step back from the strength of his gaze even though it looked like he didn't have optics.

"What's your name?"

He carefully asked and the mech stared at him for a moment longer before finally revealing his name.

"Soundwave."

They all looked at him in shock because he looked nothing like their dimensions Soundwave.

"Are you hungry?"

He held out a cube of energon and Soundwave quickly drank it.

"How long were you out there?"

"Unknown."

"Why were you trapped in that dimension?"

"Punishment."

"Enough asking questions my patient needs to rest."

He left the medbay feeling optics on him the entire way out. After that Soundwave began recovering. He brought him energon and watched over him constantly finding himself looking for excuses to visit. He couldn't explain why he found himself drawn to Soundwave and it scared him a little.

He heard rumors that Soundwave could read minds and he wondered if he was telepathically messing with him.

When Soundwave was released from the medbay he was given a room near his own, so he could be watched over.

Everyone had been weary both because it was Soundwave and because of his strange look. Whenever Megatron and Soundwave were together everyone would look back and forth nervously wondering what would happen.

Everyone had expected Soundwave to follow Megatron. Including Megatron which was why it was a surprise to everyone that he followed him instead.

He'd been shocked and a little weary as Soundwave followed him around, but eventually he got used to it and it became kind of nice. Especially when Thunderclash visited or when he returned to Cybertron.

The first time Optimus saw him he'd almost voided and someone called Soundwave his protective guard dog. Willing to attack anyone who tried to hurt Rodimus.

He had no idea why Soundwave was doing this and one day he decided to ask. Soundwave had looked tense and seemed to space out for a moment.

He was about to tell him it was fine when Soundwave told him. He'd been engaged to his universes version of him before he was a prime.

Although he never had a chance to become one. Because instead of surviving the fall of Nyon like he did. He perished in the blast and Soundwave had never gotten over it. So consumed with hatred for everyone involved he joined the Decepticons and killed everyone in the Senate.

"Are you trying to replace him?"

He'd given him an unsure look hoping it wasn't the case and Soundwave had quickly shook his head.

"No. I'm not. You two are two different people. I just don't want to see you get hurt and maybe this could be a second chance."

He hugged Soundwave thanking him for telling him knowing how hard it must have been. He hated talking about the fall of Nyon and couldn't imagine losing the love of his life along with everything else in the blast.

After that the two of them hung out more as friends. Instead of Soundwave being his bodyguard. Although he would always protect him it was nice being able to sit with him and talk about different things.

Slowly the two of them fell in love. Both of their sparks healing from everything they've lost.

[bloodblanks]

one umbrella cover two [mr. scarletella x reader] — chapter iii.

You attempt to communicate with the red umbrella man.

note: reader is not player (mc).

author’s note: dead dove: do not eat. this fanfiction will contain dark and explicit content, including heavy dub-con, stockholm syndrome, violence, and similar themes.

please read at your own discretion.

<- previous chapter

To be held captive by an inhuman entity was easily a seven for misfortune. Being held captive and killed by said inhuman entity would justify an eight. If the monster were to dismember you brutally, it would then get bumped up to a nine. You weren’t sure what a ten was, but you were hesitant to place anything there, because as far as you were concerned, there was always something worse. Not that you would ever want to find out.

Considering how you haven’t complained yet—not that you really had anyone to complain to right now—your complaint value was at a solid zero. As far as the misfortune-complaining matrix was concerned, you were currently in the ‘toughing it out like a champ’ zone.

You felt like the furthest thing from that, however.

After your strategic retreat to the bed, the red umbrella man had joined you, sitting by your side with a wide, eerie smile on his face. You supposed he was pleased about you staying here, but you had no way of knowing for sure.

You climbed further onto the bed, trying to put some distance between the two of you. You brought your knees to your chest, hugging them close. The red umbrella man remained sitting on the side of the bed, his charcoal eyes burrowing into you.

“What do you want?” you repeated your question from earlier despite knowing it was futile. It wasn’t like you had much else to do right now. If you weren’t absolutely petrified, you would be unfathomably bored.

“▮▮▮▮ ▮▮▮▮.” The man’s smile seemed to falter. You wondered if he was feeling frustrated at the inability to communicate as well.

Fuck, just what were you supposed to do?

“What do you want?” You said the words slowly this time, emphasizing each one as if it would make a difference. It didn’t. The man continued staring at you, his expression seeming more troubled with each passing second. “Why did you bring me here?”

Somehow, it wasn’t even the horror of the situation or the potential threat to your life that caused the cauldron of unease in your chest to boil over, but rather the simple exasperation you felt at not being able to convey your thoughts. Tears, hot and stinging, welled up again in your eyes, but this time you didn’t care to hold them back. You simply let them spill, droplets of salty liquid splashing down your soiled cheeks as you brought your hands up to cover your face, sobbing into your palms.

You probably looked pathetic right now. And the red umbrella man probably didn’t even understand emotion. He likely had no clue why you were crying. Maybe he thought you were an idiot. It was almost embarrassing losing your composure before him, even though something like this should be the least of your worries right now. Who cared about what a bizarre paranormal creature thought?

Apparently, you did. Because instead of staying calm and using your brain, you were busy crying and feeling sorry for yourself. Not to mention overthinking what some strange ghost thought of you. In spite of what the misfortune-complaining matrix would say, you were not toughing it out like a champ.

Thinking about how useless you were right now only made you bawl harder, which, in turn, exacerbated your berating yourself. You wanted to stop crying so desperately, but it seemed like whatever lever had been pulled was now jammed, your tears flowing endlessly as you choked on your own sobs.

You felt the weight shift on the bed, but paid it no mind—not until you felt a pair of arms wrap around you.

Somehow, that gesture only worsened your weeping.

—

You weren’t sure how long you cried for. It had to have been a long time, because you were exhausted by the time you were done. Your eyes were red and puffy, your sleeves damp with your own tears.

It wasn’t so much that you felt better, but rather your tear ducts were running out of fuel, and you lacked the energy to keep panicking.

With a sigh, you leaned back against the bedframe, which was stiff and digging into your back. You paid it no mind for now, just wanting to relax for a moment.

As your mind started to clear up, now relieved of the excessive emotion, you couldn’t help but notice your stomach feeling awfully empty. You were hungry. You raised your head to glance at the red umbrella man, whose umbrella was placed at the end of the bed and was intently observing you, as always.

Thankfully, expressing the desire to eat was much easier than asking why someone had kidnapped you—or so you thought. You pointed to your stomach before gesturing to your mouth, hoping that was enough to get the message across.

To your dismay, he didn’t seem to understand what you meant. Doubts began creeping into your mind, leaving you to wonder if otherworldly creatures even needed to consume anything. What if they didn’t eat or drink?

You frowned, eyebrows furrowing as you tried to figure out what to do. Surely they had to know what ingesting something was, even if they didn’t necessarily need it? But if pointing to your mouth and stomach wasn’t enough, then how else could you convey it?

An idea came to your mind—something absolutely asinine. You had to be either deranged or desperate to try it, but as of right now, you checked at least one of the two boxes.

You took a deep breath, trying to steel your nerves. Your heart was already racing in anticipation, the organ flailing against your ribcage as you went over your much less than brilliant idea.

You gulped, swallowing the saliva that had pooled in your mouth before you slowly reached towards one of the umbrella man’s hands. When you grabbed his hand with both of yours, you glanced at him again and waited for a reaction. You didn’t get any.

You gently lifted his hand up, your heart loudly drumming away all the while. He didn’t seem to react negatively so far, and you could only hope that would continue as you brought his hand to your face.

This is going to be a great story to tell, you thought, provided that I live long enough to tell it.

You bit down on his hand.

—

Human mouth small. Human weak. Cute.

It was only now that he realized just how different humans were. This was his first time interacting with a human for so long, and he wasn’t even sure why he was doing it. He just wanted to. There was something about you that was so pleasant, so appealing, your very existence itself seemingly captivating him.

However, he had a hard time understanding your behaviour. You had cried for so long for reasons he couldn’t understand. He decided it must be the wound on your head, but how a small injury like that could cause you to be so upset was unfathomable to him.

Nonetheless, you were hurt, so he tried to comfort you by hugging you. Initially, he was worried it didn’t work—you were crying so hard—but quickly, you relaxed into his embrace. Eventually, your sobs died down to small sniffles.

He thought he had finally understood you. But then you pointed to your stomach and mouth.

Mouth. Body. Why? Not understand.

He waited to see if you’d do anything else, hoping you would make another gesture to explain it. After looking at him for a few minutes, you did.

Human hands small. Human touch my hand. Pleasant. Me like.

When you first took his much larger hand in both of yours, he was briefly stunned. While he had touched you before—patting your back, hugging you—it was different having you put your hands on his. The sensation of your skin, warm and soft and delicate, made his eyes widen ever so slightly, though he made sure to contain his emotions, not wanting to render you unconscious again.

He continued watching you, curious about what you wanted to do with his hand.

Attack? Consume? Play?

You didn’t bite down hard, and your teeth were rather blunt, almost gingerly clamping down around his hand. You nibbled on his skin before releasing his hand from your mouth. He glanced at his hand—it was slightly damp.

It didn’t seem likely that you were attacking him; you didn’t appear to be hostile. With how light your touch was, his first guess was that you were trying to play in some way, but your solemn expression made him think again.

He remembered then that you had gestured towards your stomach and mouth before this.

“You hungry?” he inquired.

Troubled.

His agitation began to resurface, your confused expression indicating that you didn’t understand him at all.

Sound.

It was then that your stomach growled, both his and your eyes lighting up at the same time, the message conveyed at last.

“Hungry,” he said with a smile. He wasn’t certain if you understood him, but you mirrored his expression, your lips curling upwards as you nodded your head.

You happy. You pretty, he found himself thinking as he admired your features. Me like.

Me seek consume object.

“You cannot exit room,” he instructed, standing up and retrieving his umbrella. “Danger around.”

He stepped through the door and down the hallways, searching for a human—dead or alive. Alive was preferable; the food would be fresher that way. He wanted to find you something pleasant and enjoyable to eat.

Find body. Dead.

It didn’t take long for him to find a body. The gaping hole in its chest was enough for him to see that it was visibly dead, its heart likely removed by a certain wall-dwelling resident.

He touched his hand to the mangled cavity. When he pulled away, his fingers were coated in viscous sanguine fluid, small gelatinous chunks of coagulated blood sticking to his skin. The body was still relatively fresh.

He dug his fingers into the corpse, paying no mind to the flesh’s resistance nor the sharp cracks and pops of the bones as he wiggled his hand around, trying to find a flavourful portion of organ for you. He wasn’t entirely sure how much you needed to eat, but with how tiny you were, he assumed you wouldn’t need the whole body. He settled for taking a delicious piece of the lungs, wrenching his hand free with a sizable chunk of the organ clutched in his fist.

Need return fast.

He quickly passed through the halls, hoping to get back to you as soon as possible. He didn’t want you leaving and getting yourself maimed by the many dangers lurking in the halls.

When he entered the room, he was relieved to see you still here, sitting on the bed like before.

“Consume object here.” He held out the food he retrieved for you, a small river of blood trickling down his wrist and dripping onto the bed, burgundy soaking into the sheets.

Human afraid? Surprise? Upset? Not know.

Instead of taking the food like he had expected you to, your eyes widened, a clear grimace on your face as you scooted away from him, almost falling off the bed in the process. You let out a small yelp as you teetered on the edge of the bed.

Cute, he thought.

After regaining your balance, you covered your mouth with your hand, furiously shaking your head at him.

“You not like?” He tilted his head to the side, watching you with a curious gaze. You shook your head once again, appearing visibly uncomfortable.

He stared at you for another minute before he lifted the meat to his lips, devouring it in a few bites. You weren’t meeting his gaze anymore, instead choosing to look at the wall like you did before. He was just about to come over to you and tilt your head up towards him again when he heard the same low rumble from your stomach.

Sound. Human hungry.

“Hungry?” he repeated the word again, hoping you would understand it now.

“Hungry,” you mimicked his speech. The word sounded a bit different coming out of you, your pronunciation slightly off, but he didn’t mind. He was pleased to communicate with you, even if it was minimal.

Happy.

However, the issue of you needing food still remained. You didn’t want to consume the food he brought you, for a reason he could not yet comprehend. Perhaps humans did not ingest the same food his kind did. That seemed entirely plausible; his diet consisted of human flesh. Now that he thought about it, it was logical that you would not eat another human, much like how his kind did not feed off of themselves.

Ruling out other humans from your diet didn’t make his task any easier, though. He struggled to fathom just what you could eat, if human flesh wasn’t an option. Never had he seen anything else be consumed before.

Another world object fall appear. Possible find consume object.

He remembered then that in certain areas of his world, items from the other world would fall through and appear periodically. With how often the world’s structure changed, he wasn’t entirely sure where those areas were. He would have to search for them.

It would take a while, but he could possibly find human food there. He would have to go look for it; he didn’t want you feeling unwell from hunger.

Me seek consume object.

“Exit room danger,” he made sure to remind you before leaving.

—

The red umbrella man didn’t leave for long the first time. You didn’t have any reliable method of telling time, but if you were to guess, he was gone for approximately ten minutes.

He had returned with a mangled, bloody piece of flesh which you didn’t want to know the origins of. It was the furthest thing from appetizing, which turned out to be helpful in temporarily stalling your hunger, but only for a brief period of time.

He had left again, presumably in search of other food, but he was taking much longer this time. Your stomach was beginning to gnaw upon itself, and its aches and pains did not go unnoticed. If anything, they were becoming harder and harder to ignore.

You couldn’t help but wonder if you should’ve taken the mystery meat. It was almost comical, a strange glob of flesh that would appear in some children’s show as an ominous meal from an evil lunch lady, but maybe you could have tried to find some fire to cook it with, and—

No, what were you thinking? It was much too early to be getting that desperate. The red umbrella man would return any second now, and he’d have something normal to eat, and then all you would need to do is figure out how to escape.

Escape. You needed to escape.

Your eyes wandered to the closed door, mentally noting the lack of sinister supernatural creatures in the room. He wouldn’t be able to stop you from escaping, not now. You could simply leave and make a run for it. This was a perfect opportunity if you’ve ever seen one.

At the same time, you couldn’t help but worry that if you were to get caught before you could escape, you would face the umbrella man’s wrath—something you wanted to avoid at all costs.

But maybe I can make up an excuse, you naively told yourself. He won’t be so mad if I just tell him I was looking for food, right?

“Hungry,” you tested the word on your tongue again. He seemed pleased with you when you last said it. Maybe it’d be enough to spare you from being violently gutted, on the off chance your escape failed. It wasn’t unlikely to think that it would, considering how you knew nothing of what was outside this door.

Despite the fear of the unknown lurking above you, you knew that if you didn’t leave now, you might not get another chance.

You scrambled to get onto your feet before you could overthink this and cause your own cowardice to doom yourself. Adrenaline coursed through your veins with each trembling beat of your heart, your breath quickening as you hastily grabbed the doorknob.

Your hand froze there, fear causing every muscle inside your body to lock in place. The endless possibilities of just what could be outside the door invaded your mind, each imaginary scenario haunting you more than the last.

What if this is a test? What if he’s waiting outside when you open the door? Your grip loosened around the cold metal, the few seconds of courage you had quickly dissipated.

No. You have to do it, you told yourself. You have to. It’s now or never.

Do you really want to die here?

Fuck it, you thought, your hold on the doorknob tightening as you turned it, hastily yanking the door open.

next chapter ->

if you enjoy my writing, please consider reblogging; i really appreciate the interactions.

thank you everyone for reading and supporting my work! (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[koifishhies]

Yess you’re so right about her perception of him changing after the dinner!! Don’t mind me I’m gonna yap about this now.

The way I see it, his job is a kind of special interest / hyperfocus for him, so while he’s working he’s completely locked in, and past the point of caring about masking and forcing himself to appear friendly. The thing with autism is that, for me at least, socializing and connecting with people isn’t something you can casually do on the side; you have to put in active effort into “acting normal” enough to do that. And that’s really fucking exhausting. For Alec, pairing that reality with the fact that he fumbled his last case partly BECAUSE of his personal relationship with Tess getting in the way, I can totally see how he forgoes even trying to put in that effort at all. He drops the mask and completely zeroes in on the task at hand.

Because of this, he’s direct and blunt and disregarding of social etiquette, and it comes across as cold and rude. Paired with all the trauma he went through with Sandbrooke making him a generally pessimistic, depressed person, the people in Broadchurch end up disliking him (if “shitface” is anything to go off of).

But then you take him out of work—and not only that, but put him in a position where he actually has to try and connect with these strangers, and socialize just for the sake of socializing—and he’s immediately awkward and unsure and doesn’t know what to say. It’s the horrifying moment where you realize, oh shit, I am in a Situation, and I have to try and Act Like A Human. And you’re all tense and frozen up and a little too hyperaware of your every action, and next thing you know you’re going on a rant about how unnecessary first names are and your coworker and her husband are looking at you like 😃😃

I feel like seeing this completely other side of Alec gave Ellie more perspective about him, and made her realize that the earlier actions that ticked her off didn’t come from a place of rudeness and entitlement. It was just cuz he’s not very good at socializing, and prefers to get straight to the point. In reality his motivations are quite sincere.

And she’s just kind of like, oh, okay. And adjusts accordingly. Simple as that. Which is so fucking cool!!

Mind you, this doesn’t mean she doesn’t voice her opinion when something he does outright bothers her. She’s quite vocal about that, and that’s fantastic. She’s open and understanding about his perspective while also setting boundaries.

Their interactions are rough at first, misunderstanding and butting heads, but they keep compromising and bouncing off each other enough until they find a balance. And if you notice, even out of work, Alec is never the level of awkward and tense again like he was during that first dinner. Because he’s not masking around her anymore. They’ve genuinely connected on a level that works for them.

And it doesn’t really go much deeper than that, because it doesn’t have to. And I just really like that.

I just love how broadchurch (unintentionally) made an autistic-coded detective, but instead of going the sherlock route they made him just. a guy. he’s not special in any way, he’s not a savant, he’s just kinda There and Traumatized About It the entire time.

like alec hardy wants one thing in life and it’s to do his job, but he’s also constantly faced with the unfortunate reality that his job Sucks. he’s also actively dying half the time. and that’s it that’s his character.

also he’s not a twink like most autistic coded savants in media, and I may not be a middle aged dad but that’s the kind of representation I can get behind

[hijinxinprogress]

The JL keeps trying to stop Captain Marvel from talking to the media (and it’s not working)

The jl held a meeting about marvel’s conduct with cops bc he got a little too excited and suplexed a cop completely fucking forgetting he’s a 7ft buff ass man (the video goes viral for months) and the press is having a fucking field day with this bc ‘Captain Marvel Hates The Government!’ ‘Justice League Member, Captain Marvel, Shows His True Colors…?’ ‘Fawcett Superhero Attacks Civilian!’ ‘Captain Marvel Sends Police Officer to ICU!’ ‘Philadelphia Hero Puts Public Servant In Coma’ and shit like that is on the front page of every newspaper, magazine, and tabloid for the next eight months at least

so they’re like ‘hey you gotta say something! The people think you hate the us government esp the police!’ and he’s just sitting there confused before he says very slowly and clearly ‘But I do…I fucking despise them’

Barry and Hal are fucking losing it bc this is the guy that says ‘darn!’ in the heat of battle and has said on multiple occasions ‘Well, that’s not very nice, now is it?’ to opponents that destroy worlds for fun

like this guy still tries very hard not to make faces at the broccoli on his plate in front of the jl (and fails)

this guy hears a yj member or even the very adult titans cussing and going on the longest rant bc ‘I’ve not heard such foul language in all my years-!’ and what’s this ‘‘I’m an adult’ nonsense?? I’m older than Ravens grandfather 🤨 When you get to be my age-’

they’re all so pissed when they hear him cussing like a sailor playing video games on cyborgs phone the next day and he’s playing fucking temple run at that

[bixels]

What did/do you like about Pharah?

Uh, gameplay-wise, I really love characters in shooters who rely on three-dimensional movement techs. Chaining together hover and jump to stay in the air for as long as possible and keep momentum is so satisfying, and picking enemies off from the sky made me feel like a bird of prey. I was a good Pharah main.

Story-wise, there unfortunately isn't much to canonically go off because Pharah is so underutilized and neglected. Her personality's pretty boilerplate "heroic hero" (she's literally inspired by Captain America).

But it's the crumbs/bits and pieces that I really latched onto. Pharah's a confirmed lesbian; her short story with Baptiste implies she harbors a crush on Mercy (fucking thank you.). She's biracial Egyptian/First Nations. She has major mommy issues, having grown up both admiring and resenting Ana. She's the bridge between Old Overwatch, inspired by the idealized heroes who surrounded her childhood, and New Overwatch. She's one of the only inter-generational characters in the cast; someone whose experiences span the gap, which is why I seriously believe Pharah would make a great main character.

There isn't much to go off of, though; she's a very uncomplicated character (she's a soldier for a private military corporation, lol.). But that just means she's a blank slate character, so I've seen fanfic writers run wild and create some really interesting takes on her. My favorite interpretation of her's a dense, herbo gym-bro type (a lot of her liens are about work outs, exercising, and playing sports) who's easily excitable under her seemingly self-serious, armored visage. We see how she tends to gloat and hype herself up when she's on a streak too, so Pharah definitely has a competitive and boastful side under her more professional and militant performance.

Now Mercy? Mercy is a real complex character.

[fell-maverick]

Meanwhile All of the living Guardians collapse briefly. It happens to Harpuia while he's fighting Zero. (I dunno if I'll draw that... haven't drawn the guardians outside of a damaged Leviathan yet.)

(There's more cyber elves than just three but ow my hand)

*Throws Omega resurrecting X by force at y'all and runs away*

[desperate-daemon-days]

Excellent choice, the slash dash build is generally considered the more 'meta' one for lvlcap but also I dont care personally and like katanas and laser swords Read more bc this is gonna be long AND unstructured. Like, really fucking long

So excalibur-ESPECIALLY his exalted blade builds-struggle a lot wherein you have to sacrifice either a large chunk of damage or a large chunk of survivability and i swear all the loud dubstep intro youtubers kinda forget about that. You'll quickly find yourself getting frustrated you cant just barely eke out one or the other, but WHATEVER (Also apologies for shitty formatting)

This is my general purpose build for umbra himself specifically leaning into his exalted blade, though it should be noted you can definitely swap things out depending on what you want from him. In this case, i like red crits, so wrathful advance-it makes chromatic blade crit, and combined with 747% status chance from the augment thats a lotta damage. That being said, i am aware not everyone skill issues like me into the sun, so i'll be providing alternatives depending on your tastes and how you wanna flavour your sword frame. Treat this more as a pick and choose, rather than a bible for what to do always. My mods are selected based on my playstyle and skill lvl, and it works into high SP lvls, but everyone is different. Theres some things that i could update looking at this-but admittedly, i havent touched it in a little while. This particular build is on the squishier side, and has some quirks born from problems i ran into with general day to day play.

Disclaimer; i am not a uber stronk gamar who never gets hit by anything. For such builds there are ten billion youtube videos. Don't care for the explanation? Easy summary of my build only; 2 Umbrals + brief/rolling + reaper + healing return = dual health/shield tanking. Combo with Guardian for shield refresh. Arcane fury for raw damage. Archon flow with cold emissive chromatic blade for energy gen, + corrosive on blade for armour strip. Lean into crit chance/damage/raw damage/faction if not lazy. Status chance covered by Chromatic blade.

Companion is dethcube with tenacious bond + vulklok to hit crit threshold. Energy generator + guardian for orbs and shield. other mods to taste, synth deconstruct good for healing + shard equilibrium. Madurai for ability strength or Naramon for combo decay reduction. Even vazarin for survivability isnt bad. Up to taste/needs, Subsume wrathful over 2 for crit chance.

Shards are

-2 amber tauforged (Energy orb efficiency-can replace one with casting speed, could get rid of other one for more melee crit damage but wouldn't recommend it) -2 Violet tauforged (one equilibrium style, other melee crit damage) -1 Azure tauforged (for raw health, but can replace with more melee crit damage easily. im just scared a lot) Keep reading if you want reasonings/alternatives!

Base frame mods/Arcanes

In terms of his survival, you can either lean heavily into health tanking if you wanna do gloom (in which case, replace brief respite with growing power, or even corrosive projection if you dont run smth else for armour strip like corrosive. Adaptation is still not worth it though over rolling, bc he has zero innate DR and no status cleanse), or do your conventional pure shield tanking with your 1/2/3 being your shield refresh button with brief respite/rolling guard/, and replace reaper with smth like aegis, or even a damage/ability arcane like molt augmented. Or you can mix it up, like I do, since i supplement my shields with my drone (i'll get to that in a minute) and use a single tauforged blue for base health.

Either way, he has nothing for survival, and you CANNOT do invis based survival bc exalted blade breaks shade/huras, you'll be running around too much for quiver to be consistent (unless you like doing that silly arrow trick in the sentinel) and....well, you're welcome to try and consistently headshot with a sword. Invuln based survival is a slash dash only, im afraid. If you do slash dash, invis through companion is your go-to, with rolling in the event your little dude dies. (I like not clenching my ass even during basic missions, and I like scaling beyond basic lvl 400 stuff so) Raw stat-wise, you obviously want to run duration + strength. Efficiency is the drop stat here bc going negative range reaaaally sucks for furious javelin, and also affects your 1, which in this build is basically rolling guard...2! As mentioned, you become fully invulnerable, so if your rolling guard is down you can ride out a status effect with it, or if you find yourself low health etc. The 'duration' is dependent on how many enemies you chain to-which is affected by range. Hence, low efficiency, higher duration to compensate. It wont do as much damage bc you'll be using your 4 as its stat determiner, but it should still be decent. High strength is self explanatory. (It should be noted that even if you slash dash into nothing, you'll still get a brief window of invulnerability. No shame in hurtling yourself down a corridor with it)

Arcane wise, as expected on a melee build, fury is basically compulsory for that big damage spike. You could run avenger, but it won't be the most consistent since ideally you're either shield gate invulnerable or slowing shit down with gloom to prevent getting hit mostly entirely. Arcane strike is another alternative, if you want to not need to slot any attack speed mods at all. As for the other slot-basically, either run reaper if you want hp regen, or aegis if you reaaaally want to commit to shields. Or, if you're confident in your rolling skills, slot on more ability strength/duration/melee boosting arcanes. Hell, energize is a good option, but i hate recommending it bc i still dont have it maxed :,D I am not that confident in my shield tanking (ESPECIALLY since i used to mostly do endurance runs against infested pre toxin/disruptor nerf), so hence my choice. No matter what you do, your biggest enemy will remain nullifiers and toxin eximus. Under absolutely NO CIRCUMSTANCES can you allow yourself to be caught with no energy/unable to cast, so treat him like a squishy caster frame, not a tanky melee frame.

NOTE: You can use normal primed flow. You want base energy for violet shard threshold (and energy ofc), but specifically archon flow is there because exalted weapons count as ability kills, which we'll be touching on in a sec.

Augments

We love chroma jank Furious javelin is one of those mods which reaally should be base functionality, because Radial javelin does so little damage its nonexistent. It's a lot better than it seems, because the damage multiplier basically acts like a melee only pre-change eclipse without the lighting fuckery. Sticking it in a large group, with decent ability strength you can easily reach several hundred %. That being said, there are some build variations without this, with javelin being subsumed for something else and purely leaning on the raw weapon damage instead. (Usually status DOT based blade builds are the ones that do this, which...i don't like status that much. I am biased bc status builds fall apart real fast when it comes to single target damage against stuff like acolytes/necramechs etc. Violence is terrifying and your goal is not to explode to them.) There is a sort of line-of-sight mech, but its a bit wonky-but generally, range = more enemies hit. Roll your way into a crowd and hit it. Chromatic blade is basically compulsory for any exalted blade build. It means we dont need to build any status chance on the weapon itself, and can commit to other multipliers. As for the status on the blade...well, it depends, AGAIN, on taste. I am forever afraid of no energy, so I run cold; this allows me to use archon flow for free orbs, with corrosive modded onto the weapon. You could also do electricity for corrosive, or heat for viral/heat (or heat/corrosive, your taste). Archon continuity also works, if you wanna only rock pure toxin. The world is your oyster! Just keep in mind the element does combine, but it'll prioritize what's on the blade itself.

Exalted Blade

Copy pasting the picture so you dont need to scroll lol

If i had made this build post galvanised mods, I would use them over sac steel. This is because Wrathful advance already covers my crit needs, so more raw crit damage would be better. Likewise, replacing gladiator might with galvanised elementalist or a faction mod may be better, and I would swap berserker fury with magnetic rush.

The reason why I am using 'may' and 'might' here is because it really, really isnt needed.

lvl 205 steel path corrupted gunners with basically 0 combo explode violently all the same. If you have those new mods, put them on! Or don't. Just treat it as you would any other crit based melee. Just keep in mind chromatic gets rid of the slash damage that comes with exalted's stats. Your damage modding does matter more if you decide to go for a more tanky build with gloom or eclipse, though.

What tennokai you use also is really up to taste, but its important you have it, so you can get free wrathful procs if you're using wrathful advance, or well...free heavies in general.

Companion

Because exalted is a channel, regen based energy sources do not work at all. So, you'll need orbs. Archon flow in my experience is not enough, even with all the shards i have slotted, so here comes dethcube to save the day.

Keep in mind the only really 'compulsory' mods are tenacious bond (for crit damage), Energy generator and Guardian. Everything else is to taste; but duplex bond is even more energy, momentous bond helps with damage + uptime, and everything else is general utility or survivability. Any vulklok build with a crit mod on it should push you over the 50% required.

Focus school

Really, this one is just whatever is comfy for you. Zenurik is always nice for the starting energy + ability strength from hardened wellspring, Madurai is...madurai, and Naramon is always nice for anything involving melees. Vazarin is solid for keeping you alive as usual, and Unairu helps with armour strip. I use zenurik bc again, im always shrieking about energy, but Madurai is best.

Subsumes I use wrathful because red crit = satisfying damage, and I love nuke or die builds. However! You can also run Roar or Xata's or Nourish if you wanna buff your damage in other ways (nourish in particular solves energy problems real well so it was very tempting). IRC Wrathful maths out to be the highest multiplier for raw damage, tho. Gloom or Eclipse are also very solid defensive options (as expected), but keep in mind you'll be losing a modifier for damage. There are prolly other funny options like tempest barrage for corrosive/viral if you wanna run the augment, or fuckin. Reave? Actually that would be a funny one now that i think about it but these are my solid picks. Gloom is safe. Gloom is comfy. Everyone puts gloom on everything for a reason. Same with eclipse. But personally, I think warframe is most enjoyed when walking on the edge of an explosion you yourself are generating.

As for what to subsume over, your 2 or 1 are my recommendations. Again, blind does nothing against eximus or overguarded enemies, so imo its the weakest of the kit if you're using javelin aug, whereas 1 can still be used as a consistent survival tool. If not using FJ, get rid of javelin obviously lol

Shards

Now, the 'optimal' sharding would probably be something like 4 violet tauforged for melee crit damage, 1 for casting. But in anything that has lower enemy density/has infested, you'll probably find yourself struggling a little. I like to make my builds as general purpose as possible; aka not only comfortably playable in survival sp missions. Hence, energy efficiency + equilibrium lite.

Energy effectiveness affects how much is recovered from the equilibrium as well, and we cant really fit the base mod on because Excal is already a 2 augment warframe with the only survivability coming from mods, so we're already strapped for space horrifically so. You could replace the equi shard with another crit damage one, though. I dont run casting bc i dont personally feel the need for it (the only thing with real casting delay is your 3, which isn't used too frequently) As for the azure shard, Reaper is hp% recovered, so it gives more wiggle room. Not needed at all, but again, i mod for comfort in a wide variety of missions, and this is what I personally find comfortable.

Realistically, if you arent a coward like me, smth like 1 casting, 1 energy orb effectiveness and 3 melee crit damage shards is more than enough. You could also experiment with the elemental shards; remember, exalted blade is considered an ability AND melee.

Anything else?

For weapons, bring at least one gun-or even melee!-that can gun down an acolyte by itself. I know that defeats the purpose somewhat, but violence is the menace of every casting frame everywhere, and even if your weapons can oneshot, nothing can account for shitty spawns. JUST IN CASE. JUST IN CASE!

Unfortunately, you cannot stat-stick exalted blade with gladiator mods. This is partially why desert wind is so much better than exalted. Any gladiator mods you wanna use? gotta be on it.

yes i did have to forma away umbral polarities. yes it does feel treasonous.

No, this build does not fare exceptionally well against rogue necramechs or archons or anything with that style of damage attenuation. Unfortunately, theres nothing in excal's kit that can bypass that. Not even slash dash. In fact slash dash builds are worse for that, as it cannot properly target them, and you'll burn through energy spamming it on one target.

If the sentience of umbra/disabling of buffs when going into operator pisses you off, dont forget the exilus augment is available. I personally dont really care, so i just slapped psf in there bc its a crutch at this point lmao

if you want the same experience as excalibur with half the stress and thrice the damage, just play baruuk. But where's the fun in that?

Well now that I’ve asked arthur out can someone please tell me how to make excalibur umbra good

[boringwomanwithabook]

How are you on Tumblr and don't have a crush lol

I genuinely hope this is sarcasm and it's just going over my head in a "social cues are always a miss for me" way, but it's easier to *not* have a crush here.

[arundolyn]

ohhhh my fucking god nobody needs to like know any of this medical tmi but it is literally 11 pm and if im kept up one minute longer when i just laid down trying to go to sleep by my mother YELLING REPEATEDLY that she needs to pee. im going to actually go insane. she got a catheter in. Yesterday. it is working. she won't listen to anyone when they tell her that this is the case. help me jesus. im sure if a nurse comes to check on her tomorrow they'll probably get the same response. my brain will simply explode

[protect-namine]

I was thinking the other day that man, kokuto neji is such a character and I haven't liked a writer character like this since... shang qinghua?

which naturally led me to this thought: jj fic with svsss-style au where neji transmigrates/gets isekai'd into the world of havenna. as domina, of course.

it's extra fucked up imo because at least when sqh transmigrated in his book, he made up all of those characters and they mostly stayed in the realm of fantasy. like, sure, lbh was kinda based on himself in some ways and mbj was his ideal fantasy, but they still mostly stayed fictional, you know? sqq (sy) had to fix his plots because the characters sqh wrote strayed too far from their original plotlines

but theater makes a fictional world a bit too real and personal, especially when you use real people as inspirations for your writing. with neji, he'd be looking at rukiora and see three different people (mitsuki acting as rukiora; rukiora who was written based on a younger version of neji; rukiora who is her own person in this weirdly real world of havenna). neji would see fugio and to him that is both sou acting as fugio and the fugio who grew up with poison flowers. miguel is both fumi and the guy who ran away from his neshiromi fields. the only constant would probably be chicchi. she is too much like kisa in that... well. neji didn't really have a backstory for chicchi. chicchi is a blank canvas just like kisa is as an actor.

anyway. yeah, very sv-style character arc where neji, much like shen yuan in sv, is forced to humanize the villain. except this villain was his creation and is also tied to a bunch of personal issues for neji that he Doesn't Want To Think About and also he doesn't? really understand the character he wrote tbh?

isn't art supposed to process your emotions for you!! why must he process these himself!!

can you imagine neji, who always casts himself as a seer of some sort (fortune teller, ushinoko) or someone who generally has some control over his future or his "creation" (who is mary if not just another side of neji anyway; she's takihime redux, and takihime is also. neji). imagine this dude being transported inside the play he wrote but he doesn't understand it and he has no control over it and everyone's acting both in character and out of character. he both knows and doesn't know these people. they're fictional but also... real? does he treat them as real people? is domina real? he wanted his actors to imbue parts of themselves into his characters. are these people really just characters from a script? are they his quartz classmates? is he allowed to even hope that that's the case?

it's both THE improv exercise of his dreams and also. a nightmare

[against-forms-recognizable]

You should read Peter Grey's Rewilding Witchcraft, I think. He's addressing this exact sort of neoliberal recuperative paradigm within witchcraft. To quote:

"How tame we have become. How polite about our witchcraft. In our desire to harm none we have become harmless. We have bargained to get a seat at the table of the great faiths to whom we remain anathema. How much compromise have we made in our private practice for the "mighty" freedom of being able to wear pewter pentagrams in public, at school, in our places of employment? How much have the elders sold us out, genuflecting to the academy, the establishment, the tabloid press? In return for this bargain we have gained precisely nothing. The supposed freedoms we have been granted are empty. Late capitalist culture simply does not care what our fantasy dress-up life is like as long as we work our zero hour contracts, carry our mobile phones and keep consuming. The reason that social services are not taking your children away is that nobody believes in the existence of the witch. We have mistaken social and economic change for the result of our own advocacy. Marching in lock-step with what used to be called mainstream, but is now mono-culture, we have disenchanted ourselves, handed over our teeth and claws and bristling luxuriant furs. I will not be part of this process, because to do so is to be complicit with the very forces that are destroying all life on earth. It is time for Witchcraft not to choose, but to remember which side it is on in this struggle. [...] So what does our world look like? Let me describe to you our power animals. Wolf carcasses bored through with rifle point. Wet piles of golden eagles and buzzards fed poisoned meat. Sharks long-lined and finned by fishing fleets that have butchered through the tuna shoals we have fed to our plague of familiar cats. Barn owls bleeding from their eyes and haemorrhaging their guts down ghost white plumage due to the warfarin in rat poison. Toads and amphibian life mutating into monstrous pained death, whose gelatinous bones do not float back up the river. [...]

Witchcraft is embedded in the landscape, and our witchcraft must recognise that even the landscape of dream emanates from the physical world, and the body of the witch. So when we call our quarters these are what we must include if we wish to honour them: Seawater so acidic that the shells of molluscs are dissolving. Oceans overfished to the extent that they resemble deserts, seabeds ploughed to destruction, microparticles of indigestible plastic poisioning bird life and turtles, reefs bleached, plankton populations which are the building blocks of all ocean life disappearing. Ocean acidification is predicted to double by 2050.Ocean acidification triples by 2100. The death of the seas is inevitable. Of freshwater I will say that the draining of aquifers is ongoing, that fracking threatens the water table and that wars over water are going to rage in the following years. Water, I bid you hail and welcome. The Earth itself is exhausted, soil degradation endemic, washed with its nitrogen fertilisers into our already poisoned seas. Earth is fragile, it takes a hundred years to produce a centimetre of topsoil. Farmland is a limited resource and eroding fast. Industrial pollution has destroyed 20% of the farmland in China, I am not sure that you, or I, can grasp quite how much land that is. Globally, 38% of farmland is now classified as degraded. Human population continues to grow, as our ability to feed it, our infrastructures buckle. Insect populations will soon not be able to pollinate the crops. It is not just the bees; with climate change animals and insects are being born out of sync with their food sources. As I have said before, the wheel of the year has been broken. 

Earth, I bid you hail and welcome.

The air and fire are perhaps what should give us most concern. We thought we had more time, that manmade climate change would be tackled. It has not, and it will not be, as government and corporate interests are one and the same, namely infinite growth. This is where you should feel the knot of fear in your stomach. The CO2 emissions that are wreaking havoc now are the result of what we burned forty years ago. Since then we have engaged in an orgy of denial and consumption. There is no techno-fix in the Anthropocene, the age of manmade climate change. Nothing has been done.

What mainstream scientists are not telling you is that the impact we are having is creating self-reinforcing feedback loops. Essentially, they focus on a single domino when we have an entire array triggered and falling. Air and Fire, I bid you hail and welcome."

I feel like a lot of introdutory books on witchcraft skip those steps to make spells and also the exercises that you should train to help you get in certain head spaces, like meditation, visualization, breathing techniques. I ended up looking at some chaos magic introdutory guides to learn some of those exercises, because the witchcraft ones don't really focus on providing a guide for the beginner.

or if they don't skip they just mention very briefly like oh you should consecrate or charge this, but never really explaining what it is

Its interesting because I got a book that was described as intermediate wicca and in that book they actually explain a lot more in depth all those concepts like dedicating, charging, blessing etc which is weird that is only on the intermediate one because to me it feels like the in depth explanations should be already on the introdutory ones. So even if i'm not necessarily going to the wicca path, the book ended up helping me a lot.

We are definitely in the midst of a Witchcraft craze and many, many "beginner" books on witchcraft are written for the spiritual seeker crowd who are looking for a self-supervised system of nature-based faith and empowerment.

There has been a shift in witchcraft publishing which moves away from whatever the hell was going in in the 70s, beginner witchcraft books telling you how to summon demons and shit. "Welcome to baby's first book on witchcraft! Here's how to summon Vassago, don't fuck it up!"

Many witchcraft publishers now seem to regard actual magic as a bit déclassé, which is why in my opinion the loveliest of witchcraft books now come from indie and self publishers.

And I think all of this is fine.

Witchcraft hasn't gotten smaller. It's gotten bigger. The boundaries have been expanded beyond the mist-shrouded peaks and the blood-soaked thickets, hiding spirits with heads that don't match their bodies.

It's been expanding beyond the rolling hills and the herbs hidden near muddy creeks, guarded by badgers and snakes who might just tell you what to do with the monsters in the mountain above.

It's arrived at the grand sun-drenched meadow, just off the highway; it's arrived at a place with picnic benches and carefully marked trails, where seeing a mule deer far off in the distance will fill people with delight.

The hills have never been tamed. They can't be. It's not how it works.

The boundary just gets bigger. Maybe someday it'll cross the highway. Someday it will retreat again, hidden from the main road.

I think we should enjoy the gentle lands of our domain while they're here.

Don't you think it's so amazing? Don't you think it's a relief and wonderful and warm that so many people now look at witchcraft and think it's lovely and enjoyable and meant for everyone?

I expect in my lifetime, the boundary will retreat far up into the mists. And the benefits we enjoy now by being associated with such pretty meadows will be erased.

But meanwhile, we should also perhaps not have too high expectations for any mass-produced popular witchcraft 101 books. They are typically not meant for people trying to hike in the foothills.

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

.

[apollo-zero-one]

Man I can't believe I had the chance to go to a performing arts school up through middle school and I fuckin quit after 6 months just because I got bullied. BRO YOUR HOMEWORK WAS POETRY!! YOU HAD TO PRACTICE DANCING TO COTTON EYE JOE AS YOUR BIG UNIT TEST. GYM CLASS HAD A CIRCUS UNIT!! YOU HAD A WHOLE DAILY CLASS ON IMPROV!!! YOU FOOL!! YOU ABSOLUTE IMBICILE!! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN A YOUTUBER!!! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN ONE OF THOSE TWEENAGERS GETTING LOADED BY MAKING SHITTY YOUTUBE SHORTS IN 2008-14!! But noooOoooOOOoo little miss Noellie (who WANTED TO GO!! who worked SO HARD and sent in an application essay and did an INTERVIEW to get in!!) couldn't handle disruptive classmates or little scuffles and petty grudges and general Attitude of the other students and cried to mommy to put her back in public school. I am EATING MY HAIR over what Could Have Been. I COULD BE SOMEONE'S ANNOYING YOUTUBER!! I could be a DISGRACED DISNEY CHANNEL STAR!! I could be an America's Got Talent winner! A mild to moderately successful comedian! I could be making short films!! But no no no precious thin skinned baby me heard a few new cus words and watched a teacher get heckled and begged to give up The Dream in favor of?? Quiet math tests?? I am such a fucking quitter I quit everything the second it gets too hard I always take the out as soon as it's offered what's my fucking damage.....