#like lookit this shit!!!

[mxkokopuff]

"I swear.. you are the single most infuriating man i've ever met. If you run off like that again a dragon isn't the only thing you'll have to worry about."

"Ah.. yes because the tiny lizard gremlin clutching to me as we kiss is so scary..~"

"shutup"

[last-starry-sky]

too sweet pt 3 - innocent!reader x graves

(original idea inspired by this post by the lovely @shotmrmiller - part 1 here - part 2 here)

NSFW - MIND THE WARNINGS - MDNI: (slut shaming, a lil bit of body horror-ish stuff, pov switches, lots of pet names (as per usual lol), dub-con if you squint (reader is a bit drunk so ymmv), fingering, look me in the eyes and tell me graves isn’t the type of guy to pack heat 24/7, i’m really leaning into how much of a virgin reader is so buckle in, no hard smut (again, sorry lmao))  

You were standing around the kitchen island with your mother. It was your usual morning ritual, but this morning was different somehow. You just couldn’t place it. Things seemed . . . weird. Off. Just a little to the left of normal. Like how the sun felt a too bright, blasting in the front windows like a floodlight, far too bright for the early morning.

You squinted at the bleached out white walls and shiny tile floor as your mom was cradled your face in her hands. They were cold. Your cheeks were cold. You shuddered in her grasp, peeling her off you as you stepped back. Your foot hit the leg of a stool behind you. You plopped down, falling right into the cushioned seat.  

“How was it sweetie? You have fun?” she said picking up her coffee cup with a smile so wide you wondered if it was hurting her. 

Her voice is unbearably high-pitched and sweet; like cold syrup pouring in your ear. It took you a moment to realize you had heard those words before, that this was not a dream.

It's a memory. 

Oh yeah, you realized, this was the morning after you went on your first date. You felt the stupid smile you had walked in with return to your face. Your first date with Phil.  

The thought of him warmed your brain. His hand in yours as he led you to the front door. How he’d let you doze off in his car on the way home. How warm and protected you felt laying against him by the bonfire. The memory was comforting, creating a mix of pleasant feelings in your chest.

“Yeah mom,” you replied automatically, “had a lot of fun.” It was the exact answer you had given her that morning. 

Her hands clenched around her steaming coffee cup, knuckles white.

“Tell. me. how. it. went.” She said punctuating every word, smile gone taught; practically carved into her cheeks. 

Weird, a rouge blip of a thought came to your mind. Those were the right words . . . but her voice, the way she said them. It was far too terse. This was not how you remem- 

“Really good,” you responded on queue, still dreamy and automatic. It was like you were on a track, all of the lines already set and all you had to do was say them as they came, no matter the parts of your conscious brain screamed at you that something was wrong. You have to stop. You have to stop now.

“That’s good!” she said flipping back into her overly-happy demeanor so fast it gave you whiplash. “He seems like such a nice man. Your dad just wouldn’t stop talking about him after you left!”

That was . . . normal. You still felt weird, squirming in your seat and looking at your hands just to look at anything but her. Maybe if you kept going everything would go back to norm-

“He is nice,” you said before you could stop yourself. “So nice. I’m glad you both like him, too. We want-”

She interrupted you.

"Oh, but I don’t, honey.”  

“What?” you gasped off script, cracking away whatever part of the memory had it’s tenuous hold on you. This isn’t how this went. You remember this morning. You remember what she said. You know-

“You heard me. Whore,” she said, smile dripping off her face. Her words were like a black hole. Void of emotion and sucking you in with a terror like oblivion as the unreal brightness of the room turned dimmer and dimmer behind her.

Your mouth fell open. You tried to do something, anything: turn around, backpedal, run, but you couldn’t. Of course you couldn’t. You never can run away in a dream. You were forced to watch your mother’s face swirl off into the cheery kitchen around her as her voice turned acrid and shrill.

“Don’t play dumb with me you little slut.” Her eyes falling inward into black pits that shone back at you. Mirrors into your own guilty soul. “I know what you do when you’re alone in your room. I can hear you. And now, even that’s not enough? Look at you. I spent all that time, raising you right, taking you to church, putting the fear of God in you, and still you ended up like this. What would your father think if he saw you now? Letting a stranger touch his daughter, in public no less!”

“Mom!” you managed to gasp out, cheeks burning. How did she know? How did she find out?

“Don’t mother me!” her squaking, multitudinous voice called out, echoing around the little kitchen as a pit twisted deeper and deeper in your gut. 

“You think you’re still my little girl? Look at where you’ve done. What you’re planning to do.” You felt like God himself was there shaming you. The cup shattered in her hand, spraying blue ceramic in slow motion. “I sure hope you enjoy your night with him because you’ve made your own bed now.”  

-

The truck sways, bouncing up and down and then left to right, waking you suddenly from your soft, childlike sleep. You hear Phil mumble a quiet ‘sonofabitch’ above you as he corrected the truck with his left hand while squeezing your waist protectively with his right. You’re still right where you’re supposed to be: cuddled safely into his chest.

You crack open your eyes a slit. The cab is dark, interrupted only by the irregular pass of streetlights that flooded the cab suddenly with light only to plunge it back into inky, silent dark a second later. 

You can feel his bicep flex, tensing to hold you close, behind your head. When he’s got the truck back safely in his lane, his muscles in his arm relax. He sighs into your hair and you feel his hand move back down to your thigh, the rough skin of his fingers slowly stroked at the exposed skin south of your skirt. You sigh softly, shivering at his touch, burying your face in his shirt as you stretch yourself in his lap. 

His hand stops when you move, turning to look down at you. It lays there, warm and strong, on your thigh.

“I wake y’up, sweets?” he asked, his breath rustling your hair.

You squirmed in his lap as you shook your head, stretching your neck and wiping at your eyes. His hand tensed on your leg. 

“What happened back there?” you asked sleepily. The alcohol had made your tongue heavy and clumsy in your mouth. You could still taste strawberries when you swallowed. 

“Ah. Oh that? Just a . . . just a log in the road,” he said with a pause and a shrug. 

He patted your thigh once before reaching up to take the wheel with both hands. He let out a soft groan as he canted his hips, shuffling your body on top of him as he readjusted himself in his seat. His eyes were focused straight down the road. It made you sad to lose his touch but you understood. Out the windshield you could see the road he was driving you down, if only what was illuminated by the headlights. Pine trees thickly lined both sides of the unfamiliar two lane road, interrupted only by the odd set of mailboxes that signaled a line of houses down hidden dirt roads. Everything was dark green and black. No stars. No moon. You didn’t know he lived so far out in the country, but then again, you had never been brave enough to ask. 

“You okay?” you asked quietly, still not quite woken up. You wrapped your arm around his ribs, relaxing into him, stealing his warmth.

“Yeah,” he said moving his left hand, letting it drip down the steering wheel until it just barely hung off the bottom. “Musta been a raccoon or somethin’ in the road. Got distracted.” 

He let go of the steering wheel, bringing his hand to grip your thigh where his other hand had been just a few minutes ago, right on the hem of your skirt. His thumb swiped back and forth, gently tracing from the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thigh to the top of your leg. The motion sent tingles racing to your core. You moved your leg a fraction of an inch to relieve the pressure but had to bite back a moan. Oh no, you thought tipping your head against his chest. You could feel how wet you still were. 

“Saw it too late ‘n had to swerve,” he added as an afterthought. You wondered if he had taken his eyes off the road to watch you now; if he could see you with your eyes closed, lip caught in your teeth, blissed out and squirming against his leg. 

He spread his fingers, pressing his warm palm flat to your leg, as he brushed up under your dress. You let your head loll back against his bicep behind you, unable to to keep your next moan from escaping.

“Now I got you distractin’ me,” he said with a hiss into your hair, sliding his hand up further. His fingers brushed at the edge of your panties. You squirmed under him as he danced ever so close to where you wanted him. Needed him.

“Phil,” you sighed. 

You were just about to crack, to grab his hand with your own and make him touch you, when he stopped, resuming his absent stroking. 

“Hold on jus’ a little bit longer, darlin’,” he said with a squeeze to your upper thigh. “Last turn’s comin’ up.”

He slowed down fractionally, taking a wide left turn that swayed the whole truck, the driver’s side wheels falling down into the slope of the ditch before pulling back onto the road. You bounced in his lap as the truck transitioned from the rough, but still somewhat maintained, concrete country road, to dirt and gravel. The trees lined the narrow road even closer than before, choking out the light from the increasingly rare streetlights. 

He took his free hand out from your dress, nudged in between your legs and his pants and adjusted himself. He closed his eyes for but a moment and groaned as he palmed his cock. It made you blush, you weren’t exactly used to men acting like this around you, but it also made you wickedly excited. He was like this because of you. You had made this strong, older man, a soldier, race you home on a dark rainy road just so he could get his hands on you. 

He put his hand chastely on your waist for a moment, flexing his fingers into your skin. It was as if he was weighing his choices. When you sighed into his touch he let out a held in groan. His choice was made. He skimmed his hand down your body to the press of your legs. When he got to the edge of your dress, he slid his hand under, bunching it against his sleeve as he sought out his prize.

It was the tip of his middle finger that first grazed your pussy. It made you jump, his touch punching out a gasp even through the cloth of your panties. He kept going, pushing his whole hand to palm at your warm, aching core. He ground the bottom of his palm against you, fingers stroked at your weeping hole, earning a pitiful whine into his chest. The brute, indirect pressure was making your legs shake.

You grabbed at his arm, looking up at him with pleading eyes. His eyes stayed stubbornly on the road. “Phil . . . please,” you begged. “Please-”

He cut you off by twisting his hand, curling his fingers under the waistband of your underwear to stroke at your silken folds in a single, fluid motion. You clenched, nails digging into his arm as you squeaked out a silent Ah as your eyes flew shut. 

The truck slowed to a crawl, headlights swaying back and forth, illuminating the same frame of unfamiliar road and dark, foreboding trees, as he concentrated on slipping his fingers through your untouched pussy. His ability to drive completely shot. You were lost too in the overload of new sensations. Your wetness covered his fingers, dulling the rough texture of his skin. He used his strength to press almost too hard as he made a circuit through your labia, up to your clit, finally swirling down and around your hole. You’d never had someone else touch you there, and even your own “experiments”, alone and frustrated in your bed, hadn’t yielded very much pleasure. But this, the tingling, shooting pleasure coiling tight in your core that had you open-mouth panting. This could be something.

He took his remaining hand off the steering wheel to wrap both his arms around you, leaving his whole body flexed on to the brake like a vice. He pressed his face into your hair as he rolled his hips against you with a moan.

“Fuck, baby,” he said with a flick of his fingers across your clit that made you flinch. He was completely blissed out - his voice rough and heady. The combination made you shiver against him. “Fuck. We can’t-” he said tipping your jaw up, forcing you to face him again as a blush crept over your cheeks, “-can’t do this here.” He pressed an open mouthed kiss against your lips before pulling back, his nose sliding against yours. “Open your mouth for me now, babydoll,” he said taking his hand away from your pussy to peel your bottom lip open with his thumb, your own slick painting your jaw. 

-

Somehow, someway, he did manage to pull his brain out of his cock and drive that last stretch of road to his house. As much as he had wanted to throw his plans to the wind and just fuck you in the truck he reminded himself that this was your first time. He needed to make it good for you. 

No high school specials tonight. That wouldn’t make you stay. 

He let himself indulge in one more sleepy, dazed kiss before he mechanically went through the motions to shut off the car. Slide the clutch into park, unbuckle, radio off, lights off, turn the key in the ignition. He had to move you off his lap to get out first before he could scoop you back up into his arms to bring you inside. When he leaned in to pull you out he saw his jacket crumpled into the corner of the passenger seat. You nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck, almost ready to fall asleep again. A corner of your bright purse stuck out. It was tangled inside his jacket, almost completely hidden. He hugged you tight to his chest as you shivered from the misting rain. Your phone was probably in there too. 

Shame, he thought as he slammed the door shut with his free hand, you’ll probably be looking for that in the morning. 

He didn’t set you down until he got to the front door, not that you protested. Your useless heels would have sunk into the mud of the lawn anyway. It was still cold night despite the weather clearing. He liked feeling of you shivering against his side in the dark as he unlocked his front door. It wasn’t longer than a moment before he had the deadbolt and door unlocked, shooing you inside ahead of him. 

You ambled in, tipsy and disoriented, in the dark, heels clacking in an unsteady gait across the wood floor. He listened with amusement as you made your way around his unfamiliar home with only the sparse outside light to guide you. Sometimes he forgot how dark it could get out here in the country. 

He stopped at the dinner table, taking his time, unloading his usual carry: wallet from his left pocket, phone from his right. Each made a light clink against his keys as he tossed them onto the table. He reached around his back and unclipped his holster from inside his slacks. His clip followed shortly. They both made a weighty thunk on the table. He rubbed at the sore spot the grip had worn into his back, suppressing a groan. It didn’t help that his holster had slid to the middle of his back, making him adjust the way he sat the whole drive home with you wriggling in his lap. 

Once his watch was off his wrist and his shoes kicked behind him, he walked silently back to the door and locked the deadbolt. The sharp CLACK of the metal had always been comforting, but now, it was exciting. A sign that everything was ready. That you were safe now. Finally. he thought with a sly smile creeping across his face. Locked inside his home (could be yours too, in a heartbeat, if you asked). With no one around for miles to bother you. Right were you were always meant to be, darling.

The only safer place you could be is wrapped in his arms, and he planned to remedy that problem as soon as he found you. 

It didn’t take much of a hunt to find you. You’d made a light thump as you found the end of the couch with your hip in the living room and had decided it was as good a place as any to lean against. He had to give you credit, you had hauled yourself up onto the arm of the sofa all by yourself. It was almost cute to watch you struggle to keep your balance as you reached down for your ankle straps, little frustrated noises falling from your lips. 

He was quiet in his socks. He could tell you hadn’t heard him when you jumped as his hand touched your knee. He laughed at it as he slid up your thigh boldly.

“Phil . . .” you said grabbing his belt, looking up with pleading eyes.  

“Need help, baby?” he teased, trailing his hand back down to hook under your knee. You let out a gasp, crumpling his shirt at his waist as your fingers clamped suddenly together. He held your hips with his other hand, hiking your leg up to his hip, allowing him to smoothly slot himself in between your legs. 

This was going so fucking well. 

It took a little bit of fiddling in the dark, but he managed to unclasp your left heel, letting it fall with a loud THUNK against the floor. It didn’t help that there was not another sound in the house beside your rasping breaths. You were such a cute little thing like this: holding on for dear life, whining into his chest, barely able to breathe already. He smoothed his hand up your leg until it met his other hand at your waist. He couldn’t help but give you a little squeeze. You yelped, head shooting up out of his chest to lay your pleading eyes on him.

He pressed his advantage immediately. He chuckled and leaned down to peck a gentle, toying kiss on your lips. His hand was already moving down to your remaining shoe as he pulled away, a small, disappointed oh falling from your lips. This time, he wouldn’t let you hide. He moved his hand from your waist to the small of your back, rough fingers catching on the smooth, clingy fabric of your dress. You were red cheeked and panting, a small ah all the noise you could make, when he pressed you forward, forcing you flush against his front. Only an inch of needy, heated space separated his cock from your barely-clothed pussy and, good fucking God, did he need it. 

Need it. Need it. Fucking need-ed-it.

Your ankle in his hand, he deftly popped your hip open. He tilted forward that last, cloying centimeter to feel you. His eyes fell shut as he pressed to you with a groan. You were so warm. He could feel it through his pants. You let out a shamefully high-pitched whine in return. He felt his trapped cock jump in his pants. He was throbbing and, fuck, so were you. He couldn’t feel it yet, but he knew you were wet. How could you not be? All that excitement in the car had to have your pussy working overtime. 

Your second heel fell to the floor. 

“Phil . . .” you whined in the silence that followed, pawing at his sides and back. His dress shirt made soft swishing noises under your nails. It was almost like music. 

He chanced looking down at you. Fuck did you look gorgeous. Your skin shimmered in the dark with sweat. The first thing that caught his eye was your breasts pushed against his ribs, that little silver cross hidden safely away, swallowed entirely by your chest. Your eyes were huge, with pupils blown wide and glassy with tears as you looked up at him. You were chewing on your bottom lip again, the irritation making it all the more red and kissable. The more blissed out and needy he made you, the more irresistible you became. 

A perfect, vicious circle. A positive feedback loop.

He let go of your ankle to place his hand on your cheek. You were beyond flush, more like burning. When he felt you fold your leg around his hip of your own volition he couldn’t help but feel satisfied. He rutted forward into you. It was a rough pleasure that did almost nothing for both of you, but it was something. A tease in this slow, slow dance he had been leading you on, a preview of what was to come, maybe even a reward for holding on this long, for doing so so well.

“Doin’ okay, sweets?” he asked, petting your burning cheek with his thumb. 

You nodded with a bat of your lashes. You straightened your back suddenly to make yourself taller when you saw him leaning down to kiss you. You were still so excited, enthusiastic. 

Trusting. 

He let all the chains come off. Long gone were the quick, chaste pecks at your front door. The ones that drew you into him. A delicate summer moth hypnotized by a porch light, never to escape. Even the “real” kisses he’d had with you outside the restaurant and in the truck were blown away. He held your jaw open with an iron grip while he forced his tongue in your mouth. He was sloppy, aggressive, taking what he wanted. He would only momentarily break away to nip at your open, panting lips, before diving back in. It amazed him how submissive you were. You weren’t fighting him in any way, just let him control everything while you let out an occasional moan or whine. It took him longer than he wanted to admit to figure out why that was. 

You’d never been kissed like this before. How could you have an opinion on how you liked it when you’d never- Fuck, he forgot. How could he forget? You’d never done anything before. He’s got a little virgin in his hands, whining and squirming, practically begging for it. 

Hmm, he thought. Could he really . . . could he make you beg for it?

He squeezed the side of your thigh as he rolled another thrust against you, groaning against your lips. You yelped at the pain of his fingers biting into your skin, but it dissolved into another high-pitched whine. Fuck, could listen to that all night. Your legs tightened around his waist, keeping him close. 

“Phil,” you sighed as he rolled his hands up your thighs, dragging your dress up with it. “Phil please.”

Oh fuck, he thought. She’s really going to do it.

“Please what, darlin’?” he asked hoarsely, resting his forehead against yours, watching you squirm as he tried to pull your dress out from under you.

“Please . . .” you trailed off shyly, trying to make him stop by pawing at his hands. Not that you could.

“Gotta tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he said voice drawn gruff and dry. 

He balled the stretchy fabric of your dress in his fists and pulled. It resisted, pulling ever so slowly from where it was trapped under you. The sound itself was delicious tension. More music to his ears. It was a long, soft noise as the knit stretched to it's limit in the quiet of the room. You tried to turn your head away, to hide your pants and whines, but he prevented it by shoving his face into your neck. He kissed and nipped at your neck until, without fanfare, your skirt popped out from under you.  

You slammed a hand to his chest before he could make another move. This time, he obeyed you. 

“Phil!” you plead, red faced from embarrassment, “Can we . . . can we not- um can we go . . . ” You caught your breath for another couple moments, wiggling your knees on either side of his waist, before turning to him. “Can we do this in your bed . . . please?” 

He hauled you up by your thighs, throwing you up onto his chest without another word. You scrambled to throw your arms around his neck as he backed away from the couch. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered into the side of your head.

[elvisqueso]

Pocahontas (1995) is a good movie, actually, btw

[rebouks]

Brynn: You are much more silent than usual today-.. are you going to miss me?

Wyatt was going to miss Brynn a great deal, but telling her that seemed harder than it ought to be, so he said naught instead.

Brynn: You are not comfortable being happy?

Wyatt squinted, something Brynn had learnt he tended to do when she was on the right track.

Brynn: Maybe you should not fight yourself.

Wyatt: Maybe you only know I feel that way because you’re the same.

And as she tended to do when he was right, Brynn dodged Wyatt’s comment.

Brynn: Do you think I stay, if you asked me to?

Wyatt: I don’t think you want me to ask that.

Brynn: No, I don’t…

Wyatt: Do you want to stay though..?

Brynn: I not sure it’s a good idea to leave home-.. not for a man I spend only a few weeks with.

Wyatt’s brow creased, though he quickly rearranged his face; she had a point, whether he liked it or not.

Brynn: Does that hurt your feelings?

Wyatt: No…

Brynn hummed and tugged on Wyatt’s hand, forcing him to stop and face her. It was obvious he was lying. He wanted to know whether this was just a holiday fling to her, or something more, but every time he even thought about doing so it felt like someone had rammed cotton wool down his throat. He’d promised himself he’d be more honest, but it wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped…

Wyatt: What exactly would you be leaving behind? I doubt you’ve exactly made anything for yourself there-.. not with Gael’s arm to cling to.

Wyatt instantly regretted being so blunt as Brynn frowned slightly, a flash of sadness darting across her features.

Brynn: That is a cruel thing to say, no?

Wyatt: Maybe-.. though I’ve a feeling I’m right, so I’m not taking it back.

Brynn narrowed her eyes, he was right, of course. She had nothing of her own in San Myshuno. Everything she owned, down to the clothes on her back, had been paid for by Gael. She’d never thought about leaving before, she had everything she ever needed, technically-.. but spending time with someone who wasn’t afraid to interrogate her about such matters finally made her question her innermost protests, rather than burying them.

She didn’t like Gael, she didn’t like his friends or his apartment, she didn’t want him to propose, didn’t want to marry him, didn’t want to carry his children. It wasn’t ever supposed to be permanent; she wanted a life of her own…

Wyatt: Well?

Brynn: I not argue with you on my last day here.

Wyatt: We’re not arguing, are we?

Brynn: Exactly!

Wyatt ran his hand through his hair and sighed, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He needed more. He was desperate to know how she felt before she left, desperate to know how she’d gotten herself into this situation, whether she wanted out or not. He thought she did, but for once, he wasn’t sure of himself.

Wyatt: I just meant-…

He huffed as Brynn leapt on his back with a chuckle, that was the end of that then. He’d never realised until now how socially inept he was with women-.. no, intimacy; but Brynn didn’t seem to mind, maybe she could relate. He was willing to bet she knew what he was struggling with. It almost seemed as though she were goading him into being honest, like he craved to be.

Brynn: Let’s find somewhere nice-.. if you tell me what you meant, maybe I tell you a story.

He shook his head and snorted, amused; that was definitely what she was doing, wasn’t it?

Wyatt had done a lot of terrible things over the years. Amongst countless other felonies he’d taken more than a few lives - some with his bare hands - but no crime he’d committed had ever caused his heart to beat as erratically as it did now. Against his “better” judgement and despite his pounding chest, he’d held Brynn close and told her how he felt.

He told her how much he’d enjoyed spending time with her, how pleased he’d be if she stayed, and how curious he was about her situation back in San Myshuno. Brynn had softened upon hearing his words, appreciative of his honesty; and in return, she’d told him how she and Gael met…

Brynn hadn’t left Del Sol to begin with, choosing instead to remain employed by Varius, which had eventually been taken over by new management. Never embroiled in Ashton’s more nefarious business ventures, the casino and its franchise hadn’t suffered much, remaining completely operational as a result.

Gael was in town for family and work, hauled to the top floor by some of his rather more enthusiastic associates. Clearly uncomfortable, she’d taken him aside and entertained him in a different manner-.. she’d clocked him eyeing a handsome waiter surreptitiously, felt him recoil from her touch; he might’ve fooled his colleagues, but he hadn’t fooled her. Enjoying an easy night full of free drinks and cheesy jokes, she’d thought nothing of his proposition to attend an upcoming event with him the following weekend.

The event Gael had invited her to was a wedding – his brother’s wedding – and Brynn had suddenly found herself referred to as his girlfriend. She’d thought it quite funny at the time, what an odd man, paying an erotic dancer to pose as one’s partner. The money was good though, and it was much more enjoyable than working in some stuffy club, even one as fancy as Varius.

But as things do, one thing led to another and before Brynn could second guess herself, she’d agreed to move to San Myshuno and stay with Gael permanently. Genesis had seen her arse about Brynn’s newfound source of income, her friends Ace and Robert had moved away, Del Sol was smoggy and garish, held memories she’d rather forget; why wouldn’t she move back to San My? She’d have her own room in a spacious apartment, she wouldn’t have to work, Gael said he’d pay for her to finish school; it seemed like a good idea at the time, like she could have whatever she wanted.

Except she couldn’t. Gael was a controlling - albeit kind - man, terrified of being discovered by his peers. He told her where to go and when, what to wear, what to say, and how to act. He’d take her phone from her if she’d get distracted at one of his precious galas, force her to attend wellness retreats with his colleagues’ insipid girlfriends and wives whilst he and his friends smacked tiny balls with silly sticks, drag her on family vacations to hot countries where she’d get accosted by mosquitoes and prickly heat.

He’d bemoan her lack of enthusiasm when she wasn’t her usual self, but it’d been so many years that Brynn didn’t even know who she was anymore. He’d felt guilty then, promising she could pick their next destination; that it’d be just the two of them, no pretending.

Brynn had never imagined bumping into Wyatt again, but she’d often thought of him, wondering what he’d done after that fateful phone call. She’d almost felt proud of him, in a way-.. it wasn’t easy to turn against your upbringing like that, against your friends, against yourself. She’d given him the benefit of the doubt and he hadn’t taken it for granted, which was more than could be said for a lot of men she’d trusted in the past.

Having landed herself in hot water more times than she could count over the years, Brynn had learnt to be wary of her gut, but she couldn’t deny being drawn to Wyatt; she admired the change in him, despite the fact he seemed unaware of it himself. It was freeing to spend time with someone who didn’t expect her to act a certain way, someone who knew where she’d come from and what she’d been through, yet didn’t appear to judge her poorly for it. He’d done terrible things and so had she; it was nice, being on an even playing field for once.

Brynn had subsequently returned home more disheartened than ever, completely uninterested in her so-called life with Gael. She’d hoped Wyatt would call, hoped she’d get a taste of that freedom in her self-imposed cage, hoped something would magically change. But it hadn’t.

Wyatt: So, you’re not happy anymore?

Brynn: I am very happy here, with you-.. but that scares me.

Wyatt: Why?

Brynn: Because it means I have to confront the fact that I am not happy at home, and that is something I have never done before. I always find someone to take me in, but is always with conditions, I am never free-.. never happy.

Wyatt: Are you safe at least..?

Brynn: It is painfully boring, sharing a home with Gael, but he is not exactly aggressive.

Wyatt scowled; not exactly? That wasn’t what he wanted to hear, he ought to strangle-..

Brynn: I not want you to get involved, I think I would like to do something on my own for once.

Wyat: Okay…

Brynn: I put my foot down and leave, even if it means I have nothing. I not want to run to anyone else, including you.

Wyatt: That’s why you don’t want to stay?

Brynn nodded, it would’ve been easier to tell Gael to stuff it and stay here, but that was what she always did; fall into someone else’s hands. Being with Wyatt was different though, it made her want to choose him because she wanted to, because she could, not because she needed to. If that meant she had to throw everything away and strike out on her own first – even though she had no idea how to – then so be it.

Though he was glad to know the truth, Wyatt was less than thrilled with Brynn’s plan; but she craved true freedom, and after everything she’d endured – in part due to his own transgressions – he figured he owed her as much.

Wyatt: I won’t stop you then…

Brynn: This is why I love you-.. you help set me free in the end, like I to you.

Wyatt: You love me?

Brynn: You love me too, no?

Wyatt dipped his head in agreement. He wasn’t sure how it’d happened so quickly, but there wasn’t much point denying it any longer.

Brynn: Say it…

Wyatt: I love you too.

Brynn: Is not so hard, right?

Wyatt scoffed quietly and shook his head.

Wyatt: I don’t know-.. I’m sweating.

Brynn: [laughs] Ew-.. me too though.

Previous // Next

[bittercoldbrew]

Obviously the actual, Doylist explanation is that Anis Cheurfa is shorter than Boxleitner, but the much better, funnier Watsonian explanation is that when he ported him over to the new grid, Flynn went out of his way to make Tron shorter

[bananastarion]

My thing with Astarion is, yes he's beautiful, handsome, sexy, all of those things and more. But above all he is * adorable * to me.

He literally does the same thing to my brain that cats do, it's wild.

In much the same way that I can get an instant serotonin/oxytocin hit from looking at pictures of cute cats all day, despite being surrounded by cats at home that also trigger these feelings, Astarion also seems to be a bottomless well of happy chemicals for my brain.

You know that feeling when something is just sooooo cute you just have to start babbling nonsense babytalk about wanting to squeeze it and love it and nurture it and protect it forever and ever and maybe put it in a silly little hat and boop its nose and spin around with it under a rainbow

It's that feeling, there's just something so fucking cute about this borderline evil, middle aged looking vampire man and idk what it is but HE IS and I know he'd HATE being seen/treated that way SO much (understandably)

but if we were together IRL I would have one hell of a time maintaining my composure around him trying not to babytalk about his widdle teefies and god help us if his pointy ears ever twitch or wiggle because i would be in tears babbling incoherently about the cuteness

Astarion would probably murder me and id still be making the 🥹 face the whole time

[fashionbugster]

animal crossing x fashion dreamer | agnes

you reap what you sow.

[cosmic-ships]

Well this is new.

Ship: Ronnie x Kaden

Words: 2,084(OHMYGOD WHAT!? No pressure to read holy shitttttt)

cw: Ronnie's pov, oops Ronnie doesn't know how emotions work! D: Mindy and Cliff being goofs lol (No real CWs)

summary: Bobby's sibling is new in town- Place your bets! :3

Quiet, it was always quiet. Maybe that's why they say this is a nice place to be. No excitement of the good or bad variety. Not much to do either, wasn't a bustling city with malls and movie theatres, no concert halls or nightclubs, just a quaint little town.

Ronnie sat, arms crossed over his chest at his desk, staring at the clock as it ticked by, every so often checking his cell phone, reading news from other more exciting places in the world. It's not that he hated it here, he liked that it was quiet, fewer people, fewer crimes but sometimes he wished for something to change. Anything really.

"Hey, did you hear?" Mindy broke the silence in the station as she pulled up a seat at her desk. She pushed up her glasses and sat back in her chair.

"Hear what?" Ronnie asked flatly, his brow raising slightly.

"Bobby's got family living here now." Mindy smiled.

That was the one thing about such a small town, nothing was ever kept private and if it was it didn't stay like that for long. Everyone knew everyone and gossip was a pretty common thing.

"Is that so…" Ronnie glanced up from his phone to look at Mindy and Mindy smiled.

"Yeah- some of us are taking bets."

"Taking bets? On what?" Ronnie asked, once again drawing his attention back to his phone.

"On if whoever has moved here ya know…" Mindy gestures vaguely and Ronnie looks at her with furrowed eyebrows. "Looks….like him"

"That's sort of rude don't you think?" Ronnie is looking at her a little more seriously now, he was never one for gossip and not to mention the subject right now had him wildly uncomfortable.

"I guess it kinda is but hey, what else we got going on. Want in?" Mindy grinned.

"No."

"Do yoooou at least want to go with Cliff and me to introduce ourselves?"

"You mean go and see who won the bet?" Ronnie raised a brow and Mindy sighed.

"….yes"

"Fine." Ronnie simply said, standing to his feet and grabbing his jacket.

The drive to Bobby's shop wasn't far. He owned a little gas station comic shop hybrid, all the local kids went there for junk food and to get their sci-fi kick. Already something was different, there was music loudly blasting from the shop.

"Someone likes it loud," Mindy mumbled as they pulled into the shop.

Cliff, Mindy, and Ronnie got out of the car and trailed inside the tight little store, a quaint, slightly run-down storefront, full of of nostalgia and a holdout against the creeping decay. The shop's sign, "Centerville Comics," flickers with a vintage neon glow, inviting those seeking escape into worlds beyond the unsettling quiet of their own. Inside, the shop is a labyrinth of towering shelves, each one groaning under the weight of comic book history, from dog-eared classics to the latest issues. The lighting is dim, with sporadic beams of sunlight filtering through dust-speckled windows, illuminating the colourful covers

The music was usually some twangy country but today was more instrumental progressive rock… that was new. Ronnie bobbed his head a little as Mindy and Cliff glanced around the store before someone came out from the back of the shop and everyone's eyes landed on them.

Mindy grinned, subtly holding her hand out towards Cliff who Cliff, reluctantly handed her $20. The person emerged to the counter, they had black-blue hair about shoulder length, and long bangs that swept across their eyes, when they brushed the hair from their face their eyes were green.. light green with a darker green ring around it. They adorned an eyebrow piercing in their left eyebrow with purple studs that matched the same ones that were in their lower lip.

Ronnie's mouth went agape for a moment as he sucked in a breath of air. Why did it feel like he had suddenly run a marathon? His heart was beating wildly in his chest? The regular musk of ink and paper scent of the shop was replaced by something else…Flowery? Fruity? Mocha? it was a combination of the three that filled his nostrils, no doubt it was whatever this person was wearing. It was alluring. Ronnie had to swallow thickly and try to compose himself despite looking calm on the outside, his stomach was doing backflips and it only intensified when he saw them flash a toothy smile.

The smile on their face changed to one of concern, however. "Oh shit! Am I too loud!?" They reached for the remote to the sound system and turned it down a bit.

"No, no you're good. We just wanted to stop in and say hello, we heard Bobby had some family visiting and--"

"and ya'll had to rush over to see if I was a skinny-haired nerd too?" They interjected, grinning widely and Ronnie cracked a little smirk that didn't go unnoticed by Cliff.

"I-- we---" Mindy stammered in shock and Cliff looked rather embarrassed.

"It's alright, Bobby told me that it might happen. So who won?"

"Mindy." Cliff thumbed towards her and she shyly smiled.

"So Mindy.." they turned their attention to the older gentlemen.

"Cliff."

"Cliff…" They echoed as they turned towards Ronnie and their eyes flicked up to him.

"Oh, R-Ronnie-" He stammered, a small hitch in his voice as he reached over the case to shake their hand. Why was he so nervous? Again the stammer didn't go unnoticed this time by Mindy and Cliff.

"Kaden, nice to meet you Ronnie~" They smiled sweetly at Ronnie and he felt like his heart was going to explode in his chest yet on the outside he remained his calm and cool self or at least he thought he was.

"Well, it was a pleasure to meet you. Tell Bobby we said hi" Cliff smiled and turned on his heel.

"Coming Ronnie?" Mindy raised a brow, taking note of how his gaze seemed to be lingering on Kaden.

"Huh?" Ronnie broke his gaze and looked at Mindy.

"Are you coming?"

"Oh- uh-"

"Actually…" Kaden pressed their palms against the glass case as they leaned on it. "Can I borrow him for a bit? He has something I need."

"He does?" Mindy looked at Kaden curiously.

"I do?" Ronnie also looked to Kaden and why was he suddenly feeling nervous?

"Yeah. His height. Can you help me out with those.." Kaden pointed to a stack of boxes "Up there?" They pointed to the shelf that was closest to the ceiling. "Bobby wants to put up some of the new arrival comics but he clearly doesn't believe in owning a step ladder or at least one that I can find in this cluttered mess back here. I know it's an odd request but it seems like not much goes on here so can you spare your deputy for a moment?"

"I dunno, Ronnie? Can you be spared?" Mindy's lips pulled into a half smirk and Ronnie felt his heart sink into his stomach.

"Y-Yeah, no I can absolutely help out if you need it." Ronnie stammered again and Mindy shot him a knowing look.

"Great!" Kaden smiled.

Mindy and Cliff left and as they were outside Mindy offered Cliff another little bet..

"He's smitten."

"I see that."

"I give it a month tops before he crack."

"you're on."

Back inside Kaden motioned Ronnie to come around the counter. "Thanks for the help~" Kaden hummed softly.

"Oh, it's no problem." He replied softly. the look on his face was stoic and he offered a small smile to Kaden and noticed the way they soon followed suit, giving a small smile themselves and there were those butterflies again, slowly fluttering in Ronnie's stomach. He swallowed thickly again.

"Here you are sir~" Kaden chuckled as they went into the box and grathered a pile of comics in their hands. Although they didn't have the greatest grip on them within moments they were scattered across the floor. "Shit!"

Ronnie moved on instinct, squatting down to help with the mess as well as Kaden and within moments their heads collided with one another. Kaden hissed and held their head as did Ronnie.

"Ow!" Kaden exclaimed a small laugh coming from them as they glanced up at Ronnie who was also holding his head.

"Sorry..are you alright?" Ronnie asked as he looked over to see Kaden already staring at him. He took relief in the fact that Kaden was laughing and the sound sent a spark of warmth through his chest that he had never felt before.

"I'm okay..heh are you okay?" Kaden chuckled softly as they stood to their feet, handing Ronnie a bunch of books from up off the floor.

"I'm okay." He spoke softly, just above a whisper.

As Ronnie and Kaden finally straighten up, each holding a portion of the spilt sci-fi comics, the last few books find their way back onto the shelf. The slight bump on his head from their accidental collision is nothing compared to the rapid thumping in his chest. Ronnie can't help but replay the moment over and over in his mind, the soft surprise in Kaden's eyes, the brief touch of their hands. It's ridiculous, he thinks, how a simple accident feels like it's rewired his entire day—

As Ronnie and Kaden finally straighten up, each holding a portion of the spilt sci-fi comics, the last few books find their way back onto the shelf. The slight bump on his head from their accidental collision is nothing compared to the rapid thumping in his chest. Ronnie can't help but replay the moment over and over in his mind, the soft surprise in Kaden's eyes, the brief touch of their hands. It's ridiculous, he thinks, how a simple accident feels like it's rewired his entire day—no, his entire outlook on what he came into the comic shop for.

"Thanks for the help," Kaden says, their voice pulling him back from his daze, a smile playing on their lips. It's casual, the way they say it, but to Ronnie, it feels like a scene straight out of one of these comics—unexpected allies meeting in a twist of fate.

"No problem," Ronnie manages to say, hoping his voice sounds steadier than he feels. "Guess we made quite the team, huh?"

"Yeah, we did," Kaden agrees, their smile broadening, oblivious to the feelings that they've flamed inside Ronnie.

As they stand there, amidst the quiet hum of the shop and Kaden's music that was playing in the background, surrounded by tales of intergalactic adventures and time-travel mishaps, Ronnie finds himself wishing they were characters in one of those stories. It would be easier, maybe, to express how he feels if he could blame it on some cosmic anomaly or a twist of fate written into the stars. They just met after all and it would be weird to just blurt out that he found them attractive, plus that wasn't Ronnie. He was calm and collected at all times…..right?

He takes a moment, watching Kaden's enthusiasm for the comics, the way their eyes light up at certain titles, and he wonders if maybe, just maybe, there's a universe out there where he's brave enough to say, "Hey, I know we just met, and we might be nothing more than two strangers who bonked heads over a pile of comics, but I feel like there's something here. Do you feel it too?"

But he doesn't say any of that. Instead, he tucks those words and feelings away, a secret storyline that no one else gets to read. For now, he's content to bask in the aftermath to hold onto the spark of something new and thrillingly unknown.

"See you around?" he ventures, a tentative offer to extend this moment into something more a chance to see them again hopefully, less head-bonking encounters though.

"I'd like that," Kaden responds softly, the smile on their face ever-present. If Ronnie was paying more attention to Kaden than to his own inner thoughts and feelings he may have noticed the faint tint of pink that spread across Kaden's cheeks.

"Okay, well…see you later then."

"Bye, It was nice to meet you, Ronnie."

"Y-You too.." Ronnie stammered and was mentally kicking himself, he wasn't like this. He wasn't someone who allowed strong emotions get the better of him and yet here he was, heart racing and words faltering. He turned on his heel and headed out of the shop and allowed himself for the briefest moment to feel what he was feeling. He smiled fully to himself, something new and exciting was finally happening in this quiet little town.

Tag list: @ama-ships || @heatobrienswife || @kylars-princess || @roboraindrop || @lysandreslittlechatot || @dragonsmooch

Absolutely NO PRESSURE to read this. I didn't think I could make a 2000 word fic but hi? hello????? If you read it fucking thank you!? you're literally a rockstar and I'd die for you??? <3

[o-wyrmlight]

I'm having way too much with this chapter that I was struggling on just yesterday. What the fuck. Holy fuck. This is what happens when I read a fanfic with a great narrative voice that I adore. I just start going off, I guess. This means Kim's going to be very inwardly opinionated and vocal in Chapter 6.

Anyway whoo Chapter 6 preview for A Toast To The Pigs, a fanfic where Harry didn't lose his memory in Martinaise and still has to solve the case. This preview skips the next chapter:

“…I lost you there, didn’t I?” Harrier asked, sounding disappointed. “Somewhere at the end.” Kim lifted his eyes from his notebook. He stopped flicking his pen in his fingers to push his glasses back up from where they were sliding. Harrier was watching Joyce Messier, a brow raised and a half-crooked grin plastered on his face. Some offshoot of that odd expression of his. Joyce Messier smiled apologetically, shaking her head. Ah. Joyce Leyton-Messier. Kim had almost forgotten entirely that she was there. She really was committed to just listening to his theories and not sharing anything. What was it again that spurred Harrier to share absolutely everything about his theories right here? Rather than somewhere he and Kim could go over in private? Wasn’t this supposed to be confidential? These were just theories. Perhaps it didn’t matter. Perhaps it was another can-opening. All right, big man. Wet dog. Can-open away.

[the-holy-ghosted]

GUESS WHOS BACK AND MAD AS HELL?

[istherewifiinhell]

well here we go folks

[ID: Close on 80s comic Megatron, black helm, large yellow optics. his excessive diaglogue: Indeed, Ravage. We have lived peacefully with the Autobots for eons slowly secretly gathering our strength and pursuing our technology, now we shall strike at those who have brought the stagnation of peace and plenty to cybertron. They shall learn the way of conflict... The way of war... The way of Megatron. END]

oh boy.... marvel transformers no. 1 (or 1-2 in tfuk...) published 1984.

normally id put my credits ABOVE the cut... but um...

plot: Bill Mantlo script: Ralph Macchio pencils: Frank Springer inks: Kim Demulder lettering: Michael Higgins, Rick Parker colour: Nelson Yomtov editor: Bob Buduansky EiC: jim shooter digital re-master by digikore studios limited. collection edits by Justin Eisinger and Alonzo Simon. editorial notes and assistance by Mark. W. Bellomo

jeez.... it takes a fucking village i guess. if youve seen my previous comics blogging, you might know digital remasters arent my fav... but. the amount of READING. in tiny tiny text. in this childrens toy comic. have any of u seen ennervated used in a comic before?? and speaking of reading...

[Caption box: But the Decepticons were fresh, fully fueled for the battle... the word fueled written strangely. END]

does. does that say fubleo?

[ID: 1. same captioned from the uk printing, saying fueled with two L's. 2. from an older US printing, much lower res and smudged, but the E and D still look correct with the rest of the type used. END]

So ADDING text errors. thats a new one.

anyway i couldnt begin to nor would i subject you to a comprehensive summary post. robot shit happens. the comic script seems to be fully printed into the book, even tho... surely the pictures are communicating... some of it. anyway. what are we here for.

[ID: Panel of Megatron walking towards the camera, menacing, canon raised saying "Strike! Strike! With all the might at our command! Death to the autobots and the decay they stand for!" END]

why he kinda...

[ID: Small drawing of Optimus walking, in a awkward maybe hurried way. END]

bigfooting it up here.

[ID: 1. small drawing with huffer doing repairs, hes faced away with his butt kind of popped out. 2. cartoon huffer drawn with really curvy portions at the chest and hips. END]

im not sure why 'huffer baby girl' is a thing but. you know. two nickles

[ID: Starscream and Thundercracker talking in jet mode. S: I told Megatron this frontal assault tactic he's so fond of is foolish, Thundercracker. Guile and stealth are far more effective than missiles in he long run. T: We have to follow Megatron's way, Starscream, It's been successful up to now. I don't think we should openly defy him as you've been known to do. END]

well least thats still the same

[ID: Tall narrow panel of a castle thats more gothic than scifi. "Meanwhile, inside the foreboding Castle Decepticon that was home to Megatron" END]

SORRY? he was just? draculaing it up on cybertron?? okay.

[ID: Panel showing a young man, buster, looking under Bumblebee's hood. Caption box: And. Not far away... Buster's thinking "The noises coming from this car are really weird! Almost like… Crying! It's been badly damaged-- leaking something that looks like… but isn't… oil!" END]

BUMBLEBEE CRYING??? HELLO??? what are you doing to my boy. (also yes. its not spike the ambiguously aged tradesman teen, son of a mechanic... but, Buster, bookish nerd who's father is disappointed in him reading to much trying to get a scholarship... [Chanel boots voice] okay... i see your foppish intellectualism and pink shirt buster.

finally. finally. IS THERE A SCRIPT DOCTOR IN THE HOUSE. fellas. this is not how a comic layout goes

[ID: Panel of Megatron in front of his assembled troops asking "... Are well all account for on this brave new world?" The panel is absolutely crammed with text, as all NINE of them sound off with a whole unnaturally phrased character bio paragraph, and Megatron concludes. END]

Im not sure that was.... the best way to do that.... but okay

[ID: Panel of Optimus and his Autobots just kinda standing around very 3/4 model sheet style, as Optimus says "Now let me insure that our people have each survived intact," followed by SEVEN autobot intros. END]

guys...... this is painful. WHAT is ironhide gonna do with his liquids?!?! what are bumblebees LITTLE LEVERS? altho... cute that he likes to swim?? at least there was less of them then the--

OH NO

[ID: A full PAGE of 10 additional autobot intros. END]

Head in hands.... why............... are they getting weirder as it goes or, am i just in increasing amounts of pain?

OKAY. thats post theres no more editorial beyond this point. but.... ocr'd these so..... if anyone is crazy enough want to peruse these ENTIRE BIOS. but needs some plaintext aid... (and re/unfixing the remaster errors lol) this ones for you. dont start of frenzy and rumble.....

Skywarp's up for raiding sir. And my teleportational power'll pop me right into their midst to make mischief. As ever, your cause is Thundercracker's great Megatron. Our land-bound enemy will be picked off at will as I soar over them, striking with rockets and sonic booms. As the fastest most maneuverable of Decepticon jet flyers, I, Starscream, shall continue to accumulate Autobot body-counts that enhance the reputation of our leader. Can the speeches, huh, Star? Rumble's back in town and I'm gonna shake the place up with some low frequency ground-waves. You hit em from up top and I'll do the job down here. And I, Frenzy, will shatter our opponents' equilibrium,using high- pitched soundwaves. I will not cease until every Autobot is slain, and you, Soundwave? I will monitor transmissions and read Autobot electrical impulses to learn their plans even my photographic memory serves as a defensive weapon. Does even that compare with Ravages power to slip undetected anywhere? And my own monitoring devices in my nose module allow me to smell, hear and detect electromagnetic radiation beyond that of any decepticon It all pales next to the artistry of Buzzsaw. I can pinpoint a hexnut at twenty miles with my optical sensors. And my beak has carved many an Autobot warrior into a masterpiece of scrap metal. Just leave some for Laserbeak, comrades allow me a few struggling survivors of our battle and I'm certain till pry some useful information from them with my optical lasers… Even if they die in the telling. Come. Our time to strike is later. The ship's brain has placed into our circuits the knowledge that this world possesses enormous untapped fuel resources resources we can exploit in our struggle against the Autobots.

Ironhide's ready to roll, Optimus, I may be old and ornery, but my steel-alloy skin hasn't been dented yet in battle. And I've got a bunch of new liquids I want to test out in my water gun, yessiree. Oh, I say we leave right now and forget about traipsing after the stupid decepticons, I'll use my stress testing sensors and mathematical skill to rebuild the ark and get us back to Cybertron where we belong. C'mon, Huffer, get with it! I only require a drop of fuel to run, so I'm going to explore this whole planet- especially since The Ark said so much of it is water, and Bumblebee's little levers love a good swim. Well, Sunstreaker isn't leaving until the rest of this world gets a look at the sleekest Autobot in the bunch. And if any Decepticon dares to mess with the finish-- he'll get two ground-to-air missiles stuffed where he won't want them. If you were as fast as Cliffjumper is, Sunstreaker, you wouldn't worry about your finish, and while I'm dodging fire my "Glass gas" can make any Decepticon brittle as ice. Hun, Brawn don't need any gas to rip things up, nobody's stronger'n me. One punch and yer buildin'-- or decepticon--goes bye bye. Sideswipe's right up there with you, Brawn, because I use my arms as Piledrivers. I admit, it's a little rash to rush headlong at Decepticon fortifications, but not one of them's stopped me yet.

Frankly, I'd rather be elsewhere hunting turbofoxes than with you roughnecks, but, while we're here, my electro-disrupter is charged up. It not only interferes with decepticon circuitry, it also makes me appear to be where I'm not that's why I'm called Mirage. Nice to hear how you got your name, Mirage. Now, I got mine, Bluestreak by being as fast as a blue streak.. Whatever that is. Some wise guys even said I talk a blue streak--whatever that is. Anyway, here I am. Listening to you, Bluestreak, taxes even the endless patience of Prowl. I have little to say, but my logic center dictates the most advantageous course of action in any situation. Well, that is neat-o, Prowl. But me, Jazz, I'd like to just cruise around and take in the sights. And if I've got to fight well my photon rifle and overhead flamethrowers can make things hot for the big nasties. You burn them, Jazz, but let Hound sniff, them out for you. My infra-red radiation collector makes me the best tracker on or off cybertron, and if I ever get lost, my hologram gun projects terrain maps to get me back on track. Just let Windcharger zoom ahead and scrap a Decept between my magnetic arms. I'll take in this planet's scenery later. The only thing Gears wants to learn about this planet is how to get off it. I hate this place already, I just know you're going to use me as a mobile transport unit again once we have to set up. Nuts. Let's go home Well, at least you don't have to patch Autobots up like old Ratchet does, when one of us busts himself up playing hero, but I've got the tools to fix anything-- even though I'd rather be partying than tinkering. And Wheeljack is the guy you've had to patch up most. I can't help it. I love to mess with gadgets -- especially our weaponry, like my shoulder cannons. I try to be careful, but sometimes it doesn't work. Thanks for being around, Ratchet, old buddy. I don't know how many times I, Trailbreaker had to use my force-field projector and hide behind my own barrier when you're experimenting with those shrapnel shells. You're worse than a wild Decepticon, Wheeljack.

[dysaniadisorder]

Felt like shit I just want Maki to wear sketchers............

[ID: A digital drawing of Maki Harukawa with a slightly different outfit. She has short hair, a studded belt, a choker, mismatched leggings, and a laced knife hilt. She's covered in scars. It's from a worms eye perspective, and she's standing casually with her hands in her skirt pockets. She's wearing pastel glittery light up sketchers. The background shows off the shoes with red bursts emanating from them. end ID]

[traggalicious]

[alirhi]

"Queer is a slur" bitch queer is a badge of honor that we fashioned from the bullets that killed our brothers and sisters and you will pry that badge out of my cold dead fingers.

[ennaih]

Every Film I Watch In 2023:

135. The Perfect Find (2023)

[groupalpha]

I am honestly curious how your organs function, but the only way to see that would be dissecting you in such a way that you stay alive so that your organs continue functioning, which is quite morally questionable, and would be quite painful for you, which I do not wish upon you, so it will remain a mystery.

Anyways, what’s your opinion on Bubbles so far?

TA: Uh... thanks???

TA: And uh, Bubbles is fine. They got one of those squidcadas.