#mineral tinge

[colorsoutofearth]

Red waters of the Rio Tinto, coloured by dissolved minerals, primarily iron

Photos by Juan Carlos Munoz

[granat-sof]

Buh

[soft-ice-cream]

2023 RD fanarts

[sirwow]

Middlesea's got talent!

[anti-socialexperiment]

Made some TPTM style symbols for some of the characters from rhythm doctor.. these are NOT TPTM OCS anyways play rhythm doctor

DISTRACTED GIRL/ADA PAIGE

CARELESS BOY/COLE BREW

MARLBORO GIRL/NICOLE TING

[nightmun]

A few Lucky shitposts

[herosplatling-replica]

tis the season (ask prompts here)

[submaskudari]

normal amts of rhythm doctor thoughts today

[emo-hermit]

Emo RD Rambles 3: Patient Playlist

Welcome back to Emo Cannot Write For Shit So You All Get His Rambles. With an additional thing at the end winkwink. This is really really long so let's get cracking.

Today's concept: Ian and Ada approach the idea of creating a Patient Radio - a playlist made of the long term patient's favourites songs to 'maximise comfort'.

As a beta for the Radio, they leave a sheet of paper in the connecting hallway for patients to list suggestions of their preferred music, around three or four songs maximum. Some already have ideas in mind, while others struggle.

This is just a silly idea I had when wondering what type of music the main RD cast listens to; excluding the songs they're actually involved in. This also created some funny writing prompts that I may use for a small comedic anthology. For example:

Hailey is the first person to write anything down: and she's pretty basic (sorry). Her style is very mainstream, involving those pop songs you'd hear on the radio. From there, a few folks follow, with varying genres and tastes. The next day, however, more folks have added some ideas, including Logan. You can tell Logan has visited - because there is now a messy heart drawn next to Hailey's suggestions.

Also, Logan suggests similar stuff to Hailey, with the addition of maybe an anime opening or two.

Cole... suggests his own music. For the sake of both his ego, and the declining state of the patients, he's given a stern 'no'. Of course, it's Cole, so he angrily scribbles out his suggestions and leaves the paper be. He's surprised when 'Unreachable' comes on via the Patient Radio - and, sure enough, someone's written it down past his scribbling. More specifically, Samurai. He even signed it! (By that, I mean the writing is just "Unreachable- Cole Brew (SAMURAI)". All of Samurai's suggestions are signed this way.)

Insomniac writes down only one suggestion: a traditional Japanese folk song (or 'hōgaku'). This would be fine - if he wrote the song's title in Romaji. Instead, the song is written in pure, specific kanji characters.

Ada returns to Ian come the night with a new version of the paper: "Hey, so, uh- I got the paper back today and there's some new stuff from the swordsmen. Any idea what this is?" Ian turns, "Hah?" before seeing the kanji. There's a slight pause before he just casually goes, "Oh! This is (insert Japanese title here)! That's easy, I'll type it up." Ada learns that Ian learnt how to read kanji entirely just for the songs he listens to that are in Japanese.

Oh yeah: the moment this song plays on the radio, the Insomniac falls asleep. Hell, he sleeps like a baby. Unfortunately, they can't play it on loop, but now they know he appreciates a lil' lullaby.

Speaking of Ian and Ada, they decide to add some of their own songs to the mix (Ian mostly - he felt it was a little unfair that the patients get to listen to banger tunes). Ian adds quite a variety, but we cannot ignore the fact he adds maybe one or two vocaloid songs.

Ada, unfortunately, is a little embarrassed of her status as a former theatre kid, still musical lover. She, instead, uses a few common songs from the radio to add to the list. Ian convinces her, after a little while, to add a really popular song from her favourite musical. I do not know what musical this is.

There's a surprising amount of patients that add jazz to the radio, or at least music from the 1950 to 1980's era. For one, the Stevensons' accidentally add the same song to the list twice, given Mr. Stevenson can't read his wife's handwriting that well anymore (I'll elaborate on why later). This also just so happens to be a song that played in their wedding. They have a ball dancing to it.

Additionally, the Miner also includes a bit of Rock 'n' Roll or otherwise jazz into his suggestions. They're very old for the 30-something nut, but it adds up. He also, thanks to Cole, includes a little chiptune.

Hugh somehow adds the tutorial theme. You know, the tutorial song from Rhythm Doctor. Nobody recognises the title, or the artist, but everyone in the ward has a mutual moment of "I swear I've heard this before". Hugh doesn't comment.

There's a slight cultural shift once Insomniac includes his traditional tune. It's not the only Non-English hit, and Ian/Logan do add a couple of Japanese songs to the pile.

In Nicole's case, she ends up not sure what to suggest, but still wanting to take part. So, she ends up adding a Chinese pop song, quote: "I don't know any Chinese myself, but my mom would put this on a lot, and I didn't have anything else that'd be good for a hospital radio."

Lucky adds two jazz, and a rock song to the radio. The biggest issue is that he originally aimed to add a Spanish song from his childhood, but got caught in his own head, scribbling it out halfway. The good thing? Miner is able to read bits and pieces, writing what he could make out - angering Lucky into writing the full title. He jumps when it plays on the radio days later.

I believe that's everything I had listed. Thanks to RDL for allowing me to compile all of my thoughts before adding them here, as these are now far more conjoined.

Oh, right! The bonus thing! Considering the song suggestions were taken on a piece of lined paper, I thought it would be fun to visualise what I believe the main casts' handwriting would look like:

If you have any thoughts/additions you want to make, you have full reign to send me asks/reblog this with whatever you like. Have a good one, lads - EMO

[odxball]

i'm gonna have to do some much tagging

[cyber-skeletons]

Imagine a timeline where instead of safely descending them down the chute to sublevel 50, Darkwing just throws D-16 and Orion down.

For Orion, it's okay. He's used to jumping off buildings, he knows how to fall. But it's dark, and desperate, so all he does is spread his frame out and scramble to grab anything and everything that can slow his descent, and it works.

He and D-16 land with a sickening crunch, and he's injured, and winded, but he's laughing. "D! We made it!" he giggles, looking over at D-16's still form. "Oh, Primus! You okay?" Silence. "D?" No movement. He starts crawling over towards his still frame, watching it fade into a sickly monotone gray. "No, no, no no no D talk to me! D! D! D don't do this, please wake up, please don't do this..."

B-127 meets a mourning mech in shock that his best friend was just murdered.

Days pass where Orion just sits with D-16's sparkless frame, hollow-eyed. B-127 tries to help him feel better by sitting D-16 at the table with Steve and AAtron. That's when the emergency transmission is found. A way to find the Matrix. Orion latches onto it because maybe, just maybe, the Matrix can bring D-16 back.

They go up to the surface with Elita-1, who willingly follows them because Sentinel's begun working the miners to death. They learn the truth. B and Elita are in shock, but Orion? Something dark and ugly grows inside Orion. Sentinel was D's hero, second only to Megatronus Prime. And he killed him. But what's worse? He's the reason the Matrix was destroyed. The only way to get D-16 back. Sentinel may as well have killed him all over again.

Orion's optics slowly tinge purple.

By the time he rips Sentinel Prime in half in the middle of Iacon, his optics are red, his colors faded and matte. And when he takes Megatronus Prime's T-cog for himself, his colors turn black and purple. A mask grows to cover his face, leaving only hateful optics burning like hot coals. The Matrix does not appear. And D-16 is still dead.

But Optronix Prime rises.

Til All Are Gone.

[rainandandy]

could you pls do some rainxfem!reader pls?? There is a serious lack of rain fics on this app and I need more😭😭 just some HC’s, fluff, angst, nsfw, love it all. Take it and bby😘

(btw LOVE your work, ur keeping me alive rn)

Thank you for the ask!😘 I will have more Rain Carradine X FemReader coming! Hope you like this

Pairings: Rain Carradine X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Jealous Reader

Word Count: 1027

Life on Jackson's Star was a gritty mix of endless work and fleeting moments of reprieve, where the dusty, metallic corridors echoed with the clanking of machinery and the chatter of miners. Amidst this stark backdrop, your relationship with Rain Carradine blossomed into something that felt almost out of place with its warmth and genuineness.

Rain was strong, capable, and fiercely protective, not just of her synthetic brother Andy but of you as well. Her friendship with Tyler, her former partner and a prominent figure in the mining crew, had initially seemed unremarkable to you. However, as time went on, their easy camaraderie began to gnaw at you, the seeds of jealousy sprouting unchecked.

You'd watch them during breaks, sharing jokes and reminiscing about past missions, their laughter a stark contrast to the usual din of the miners’ mess hall. The more you observed, the more your imagination painted pictures of a past perhaps better left behind, stirring a restlessness within you that you couldn't shake off.

One evening, compelled by a mix of curiosity and unsettling thoughts, you approached Andy. Despite his challenges with speech and the obvious difficulties his synthetic nature sometimes posed in social settings, Andy had a way of understanding human emotions, perhaps better than most humans themselves.

"Andy," you started, hesitating as you chose your words carefully, "did Rain and Tyler... were they together? Like, before?"

Andy's eyes, always so expressive despite the rest of his face remaining eerily impassive, flickered with something that might have been discomfort. "Yes," he stuttered, his voice mechanical yet tinged with a hint of warmth. "But it was a long time ago. Things change."

His confirmation hit harder than expected. You tried to laugh it off, to dismiss the tightening in your chest as just a silly overreaction. "Thanks, Andy. Just curious, you know?"

But curiosity wasn't easily sated. At the next community gathering in the recreation hall—a rare moment of leisure on the harsh mining planet—you spotted Kay, Tyler's vivacious sister, and decided on a reckless course of action. Flirting with Kay, you hoped, might just give you the answers you needed, or at least draw some kind of reaction out of Rain.

Kay, with her easy smile and flirtatious demeanor, was a willing participant in your charade. You laughed at her jokes, touched her arm lightly, and played the part of someone smitten. From the corner of your eye, you could see Rain watching, her expression unreadable.

Later, as you and Rain walked back to your quarters along the dimly lit paths of the colony, she broke the silence. "Seems like you and Kay were getting along well tonight," she said, her tone light but with an undercurrent of something else—was it amusement? Concern?

You bristled, defensive and still wound up from your own concocted drama. "What about you and Tyler? Seems like old times, huh?"

Rain stopped walking, turning to face you under the faint glow of the overhead lamps. Her laugh, when it came, was genuine and full of warmth. "Are you jealous?" she asked, stepping closer, her eyes searching yours.

As Rain's question hung in the air between you, a cool breeze whistled through the narrow passages of Jackson's Star, stirring the dust around your feet. "Are you jealous?" she repeated, her voice a gentle tease that echoed slightly off the metal walls surrounding you.

Caught off guard by her directness and the earnest look in her eyes, your initial reaction was to deflect, but the sincerity in her gaze held you in place. Before you could respond, Rain stepped closer, closing the small gap that the conversation had widened between you. Her hands reached up, resting lightly on your cheeks, her touch sending a familiar warmth through you that contrasted sharply with the chill of the evening.

With a tenderness that always seemed at odds with the harsh environment of the mining colony, Rain leaned in. Her lips met yours in a kiss that was soft at first, hesitant, as if giving you room to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you found yourself leaning into the kiss, deepening it, your hands moving to encircle her waist and pull her closer.

Rain responded in kind, her movements confident, her lips pressing more firmly against yours. The kiss grew from tender to fervent, a mingling of relief and passion. It was the kind of kiss that spoke of deep connections and unspoken promises, a reassurance of her feelings amid the whirlwind of doubts that had clouded your mind.

The world around you seemed to quiet, the usual hum of the colony fading into a distant backdrop to the intensity of the moment. Rain's kiss chased away the shadows of jealousy, filling the spaces with an affirming warmth that seeped deep into your bones.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and a little dazed, Rain’s smile was radiant under the sparse light of the colony’s lamps. "I mean it," she said, her forehead resting against yours as she caught her breath. "It’s always been you."

In that moment, with Rain’s affirmation still tingling on your lips, the earlier tension dissolved, leaving a clarity that brightened the dark paths of Jackson's Star. Her laughter, light and freeing, bubbled up between you, and you couldn't help but laugh with her, the sound mingling with the night air.

The path back to your quarters was filled with a comfortable silence, the type that comes when no words are necessary to fill the space between two people. Rain’s hand in yours felt like a vow, a silent promise that no misunderstanding could break the bond you shared.

As Andy turned to give you both a subtle thumbs up before heading off to give you some privacy, you realized how deeply integrated into your life Rain had become. Her presence was a constant source of strength and comfort, just as you hoped to be for her.

Your journey together on Jackson's Star might be filled with challenges, but moments like these, stolen under the artificial stars of the colony, reminded you that as long as you were together, there was nothing you couldn’t face.

[granat-sof]

Best friends

[sirwow]

The whole main Connections Converged gang ‼️all so I can’t stop dying trying to reference them all at once

+ some close ups

[qvrcll]

suggestive + fluff

swimming with snow would entail quite a number of things:

he’s a touchy-feely sort of person. very intelligent when manoeuvring up and around you, allowing him just enough space to invade yours. he’s sneaky about it too - a palm resting against your belly (oddly warm and soft in its receive when it rubs affectionately against you), fingers that tickle at your sides, arms that tuck against you like vices rather than just tendons. when you smile at it, bring it up, tell him to quit it, he’s only likely to be more encouraged.

the first to offer you a towel to wrap yourself up when you get the chance. he’ll be all nonchalant about it too, a swipe of a glance and his hand extended bearing the soft material, letting out a little “here you go,” when really, he’s rebounding against every move in his head like chess. wondering whether you think he’s a fool, whether the towel would catch fire and burn, whether you would even appreciate the sentiment. but as soon as you’re curving into that smile you always give him, his worries are scattered. but, wait, is that a sneaky hand that nests against your shoulder?

he likes to hang back and observe you like he is absent within the moment. expect him to sit behind you whilst you converse with the others that have joined you, resting his cheek against the back of you, kissing the soft, wet flesh occasionally. a bit of a starer too - takes little shame in setting his eyes on you. your lips? he’s already flitting down towards them with more than a breath. your eyes? he has yet to break contact. your neck? beware, he’s beginning to grow antsy without kissing it till the skin starts to fester.

he’d be so annoying with this but loved to loop his finger through your bathing suit and stretch it out, before letting it band and snap against your skin. nothing too much to hurt, but enough for you to to squeal at. he likes to believe that he does it for the sole purpose of aggravating you, but really, he enjoys the little noises you let up too. the way you whine at him, tell him to stop because it hurts so much (it doesn’t, the effect of it is what you desire), the little frown that pulls at your face as your eyes pool with faux anger. a droll lick of fire he finds comical above all things else. when he’s got you on tenterhooks, almost avoiding him out of luck, to get out of his grasp, he’ll pull you back into his chest and kiss his way into an apology. really, it’s all too easy. the heat of the sun working your front as he works the string of your swim top between two lousy fingers - and there’s nothing but the scrape of sand to keep him quite as cool.

does this harrowing little move where whenever he gets out of the water, he’ll inch his way towards you slowly when you’re least on your guard. when he’s close, he’ll clinch his palms around your ankles and pull. pull, not with decency, but instead, he’ll play the dirty game, where he uses all of his strength and get you under him in a swipe. likes it when you giggle, he says, or squeal when his arm swipes against your own and you can see just how much bigger he is in comparison to you (his biceps come as hulking pieces of meat to your eye, curved and powerful) or if his thighs unintentionally come forward to trap your own in between them, digging into the sand as his dog tags coldly dangle against your neck with a blurring ache. no need to quieten, no one is watching.

refuses to divulge into this particular secret but loves kissing you when you’ve both been deep into the water, where your kisses are practically marred with the salty brine of the waves. when he kisses, its like he’s been starved of that, too. all hungry, consuming, when his lips work against yours in quick succession, marking them with little bruises where he doesn’t see it fit to stop. but when you’ve both been swimming? salt enters the equation. a bitter tinge in your mouth and he’s keening for the taste of the bitter mineral slotted against your mouth. it’s like something primal to him and a bitter thing, that he will take to the grave.

© 2023 qvrcll. do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[illumins]

𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞—𝑙. 𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑘 (#⁰³)

✦trope: fluff, spidey-mark, spiderman

✧first pov

▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭

It’s the kind of morning where the sunlight seems to perform, glittering through the leaves of the trees lining our school’s front walk like something alive. The bus, dented and smelling faintly of rubber and stale lunches, sits idling at the curb, and I am hyper-aware of my own heartbeat, the tap-tap-tapping against my ribcage as I shuffle in line to board.

I find a seat by the window, sticking my backpack onto the empty space beside me. I tell myself it’s to save the spot for Jenna, but she’s decided to sit up front, leaving me an island in a sea of noise. The other students buzz with the sort of aimless energy only a field trip can inspire. I watch them, trying to imagine how it would feel to be as light-hearted, their thoughts not tangled in a net of impossible hopes.

Mark climbs onto the bus last, his hair a tousled mess from the wind, a grin playing on his lips as he jokes with his friends. They’re talking about the new exhibit at the science museum, something about rare minerals, but all I can see is the way his shoulders ease back in laughter, the effortless orbit of his friends around him. He’s got this gravity, and I feel caught in it, helpless.

He doesn’t notice me, not yet. He’s recounting some anecdote that has them all leaning in, their expressions lit with shared amusement. I watch his hands as he speaks, animated and sure, the way I imagine Spider-Man’s might be when he’s scaling a skyscraper or swinging between the canyons of New York’s avenues. I try to picture telling him, confessing everything right there in the vibrating hull of the school bus. But the words knot in my throat, unspoken.

We arrive under a sky scrubbed clean by the wind, the museum rising before us like a monument to all things curious and unknown. Our teachers herd us toward the entrance, their voices raised over the clamor. I stay a few steps behind Mark, watching as he squints up at the banners flapping above the entrance, his profile sharp against the pale morning light.

Inside, the museum is a cavern of shadows and echoes, the air cool and tinged with the scent of metal and glass. We wander through the exhibits, the teachers giving us time to explore while they discuss logistics at the front desk. My friends cluster around a display of meteorites, their surfaces pocked and scarred like moons. I drift away, my sneakers silent on the polished floor.

I find him by the Foucault pendulum, standing so close to the barrier that his breath must be fogging the brass plaque explaining the physics of it all. His concentration is a tangible thing, and I watch the way his eyes track the slow, hypnotic swing of the pendulum.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” I say, my voice softer than I intend, barely threading through the hum of distant conversations and the distant echo of footsteps.

He turns, his smile quick and surprised, as if he hadn’t expected anyone to break his private communion with the exhibit. “Hey,” he says. “Yeah, it really is. Did you know—”

But I’m barely listening, too caught up in the way his hair curls just behind his ears, the earnestness of his gaze. I shuffle my feet, feeling suddenly clumsy, the words I’ve rehearsed slipping away like water through fingers.

“So, I was thinking,” I start, but my voice trembles and I have to start again. “I was wondering if—”

An explosion shatters the moment, the sound so loud it seems to consume the air. Screams slice through the museum as people start running, a stampede of fear. Mark’s hand shoots out, grabbing my arm, pulling me close. His body shields mine as the sound reverberates, the ground beneath us shivering with the violence of the blast.

“Are you okay?” he shouts over the noise, his eyes scanning the chaos, always looking for how he can help. I nod, words lost in the tumult.

We move together, his hand firm on my elbow, guiding me towards what I assume is safety. My heart is a wild thing inside my chest, not just from the blast, but from him, from the heat of his hand through the fabric of my shirt.

As we reach a quieter corner, his friends gathering around us, his face is inches from mine, his brow furrowed with concern. The chaos around us blurs into a backdrop as I’m suddenly, acutely aware of his closeness, the faint smell of his cologne mixed with the metallic tang of fear.

“Seriously, are you all right?” His voice is steady, a contrast to the trembling of my own limbs.

I manage a nod, my throat tight. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks to you.” The words tumble out awkwardly, carried more by relief than by courage. The truth is, I want to say so much more, to rewind to the moment before the explosion, to the question I had been about to ask.

He smiles, a quick, reflexive thing that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he scans the area, still in protector mode. His gaze is everywhere, taking in exits, assessing threats, so unlike the carefree high school student he plays in the daylight of ordinary afternoons.

Mark turns back to me, his hand still gripping my arm lightly. “We should keep moving. It’s not safe here.”

As we walk, I can hear the sirens in the distance, the sound growing steadily louder. The museum staff are directing visitors toward emergency exits, their voices calm but urgent over handheld radios.

We reach a side exit, the cool air outside a slap after the stifling fear inside. Police cars and fire trucks are converging on the scene, their lights painting the world in harsh strokes of red and blue. Mark's friends cluster together, everyone speaking at once, trying to make sense of the chaos.

I stand slightly apart, the weight of my unasked question heavier than ever. Just as I gather the remnants of my scattered courage, ready to reach out and touch his arm, to pull him aside and finally speak my truth, he looks over, his expression shifting as he sees something beyond my shoulder.

“Stay here,” he says abruptly, and then he’s gone, melting into the crowd with a swiftness that speaks of more than just urgency—it speaks of necessity, of duty.

The others don’t notice his departure, not at first, caught up in their own relief and recounting of the event. I watch where he disappeared, the cold knot of disappointment settling in my stomach. Not because of the missed chance to confess, but because I know, with a sinking certainty, where he’s gone.

To change, to swing into action as someone else entirely. As Spider-Man.

I wrap my arms around myself, watching as the first responders begin to corral us further away from the building. The sound of distant thuds and muffled shouts suggests that the danger isn’t over, that whatever caused the explosion might still be unfolding inside.

And there, under the relentless sweep of emergency lights, I realize the truth isn’t just in the words I’d failed to say. It’s in this moment, in the pulse of fear and the clarity it brings. It’s in the understanding that my confession wouldn’t just be about a crush; it would be an acknowledgment of his double life, a step into his world of constant peril and masked identities.

As I watch, poised on the edge of something vast and terrifying, a new resolve forms. When this is over, when he comes back, I’ll be waiting. Not just to confess, but to stand by him. Maybe then, he’ll see me not just as a classmate, but as someone who knows the weight of his secrets and chooses to stay.

But for now, I wait, the sirens wailing a lament, the flashing lights casting shadows where I stand—alone but undeterred, ready for whatever comes next.