#short writes

[soukokumychildren]

Chuuya, after seeing something forbidden: Aaaaalright. Get the bleach. Dazai: Pokes out of corner and throws the bleach up into the air like a beer toast

[sheeperzzz]

Thinking about posting my writes here, so I'm gonna start off with this! A little thing focused on Venture and some lore I have for a story I wanna try out :]

TW: Mentions of violence, threats and impending doom

Venture's chest heaved, the drill weighing heavy in their hands. They stared at the impressive display of bloody and bruised bodies. It shook them to their core knowing they did that much damage in the span of seconds. They steeled themself, shutting down their thoughts. They came here for a reason.

Venture turned to the Queen, who sat upon her throne. Her almost orange eyes bore into Venture, burning with the intensity of a hunter staring at her prey. Venture didn't allow the Queen's stare to unnerve them.

"Ma'am," Venture began, their voice more pleading than they intended, "you have to listen to me! You can't just keep ignoring wh-"

"Shut your mouth," the Queen snapped, her voice laced with venom. "You aren't gonna tell me how to rule my people."

"Your people could die if you don't listen!" Venture argued. Their hope for co-operation was fleeting fast. "Something bad is going to happen soon, and everyone n-"

Venture's voice was cut off by a knife flying by their head. Their skin stung. They instantly put their hand on the side of their face, checking for bleeding. Venture looked back at the Queen, who now stood at the ledge of where her throne sat. Her eyes were blazing with fury and distaste for Venture.

"I said get out of my town, mole," the Queen growled out through gritted teeth. "I don't want to see your face around here again."

The knife darted past Venture's face again, sticking to the Queen's palm. Venture opened their mouth as if they were about to argue, but nothing came out. Defeat stole their voice. Venture's head lowered, but their eyes stabbed daggers into the Queen.

"Don't come looking for help when your people are hurt," they warned. An axe was thrown at their head, but the axe came into contact with nothing but rocks from where they once stood. The ground was disturbed and cracked, making a trail that followed where the archaeologist's path headed.

Finally away from the throne room, or whatever it could be called, Venture resurfaced with a dark expression. They walked silently through the busy streets, their drill making grating noises as it dragged across the wounded sidewalk. Frustration and hopelessness made them drag their feet. How were they supposed to help someone who wouldn't listen?

'She wasn't thinking about how many lives were at stake, she was just thinking that I was threatening her power! Which I wasn't!' Venture thought to themself, groaning audibly with exasperation. They ran a hand through their hair, ridding it of the pebbles and sand that were dusted in it from their burrow earlier. They stopped walking for the moment to take a deep breath and let it out in a sigh.

Venture's tired eyes wandered over the street and catwalks. Countless people, countless clueless people, were walking about without a care in the world, not knowing of what was to come. Their lives would be threatened, and even taken, if nothing happened before they arrived. They all had no clue what was going to happen. Venture didn't know what to do. They couldn't make a scene; that'd just make everyone think they were a nutcase. That didn't go so well in Numbani, when they had taken the focus from a speech to warn the city of the oncoming onslaught. They thought Venture was crazy! ...Until the onslaught actually came. Lives were lost, more were damaged. Who was to say the same wouldn't happen here in Junkertown? Venture needed something convincing, someone with some level of authority over the wastelanders to help them with their cause, but there was no one. There was nothing they could do.

Something in the corner of their eye caught their attention. Venture glanced over and was greeted with a wall covered in wanted posters. There was another poster with the same men on them, labeled "DO NOT ADMIT", followed by "SHOOT ON SIGHT" with the words in red and underlined twice. Venture recognized both. The pig-faced man was a big fella named Roadhog, and the other was a much smaller fella called Junkrat. Venture knew them both from previous expeditions where they had run into each other. They knew how rambunctious and rowdy the duo were, and how much attention they could draw to themselves…

An idea sparked in their mind.

The Queen couldn’t ignore her subjects.

[smoosie]

(Which arm, Viktor, huh ? Which one ??)

They were not a couple so, Jayce (who had a very bad day and just wanted to hug it out) proceeded to freak out, backed out of the lab and never mentioned it again but, Astral Viktor, that mf ? He'd be delighted to remind Jayce of that moment in time, of that missed call and watch him die from embarrassment and resentment over himself

(I'm glad they've never beaten the gay allegations and never will)

[lilliesand-valleys]

[creepyclothdoll]

The Devil's Wheel

The Devil’s Wheel

“If you say yes,” said the Devil, “a single man, somewhere in the world, will be killed on the spot. But three million dollars is nothing to sneeze at, missus.”

“What’s the catch?” You squint at him suspiciously over the red-and-black striped carnival booth. You’re smarter than he thinks you are– a devil deal always has a catch, and you’re determined to catch him before he catches you. 

“Well, the catch is that you’ll know you did it. And I’ll know, too. And the big man upstairs’ll know, I ‘spose. But what’s the chariot of salvation without a little sin to grease the wheels? You can repent from your mansion balcony, looking out at your waterfront views, sipping a bellini in your eighties. But hey, it’s up to you– take my deal or leave it.”

The Devil lights a cigar without a match, taking an inhale, and blowing out a cloud of deep, sweet-smelling tobacco laced faintly with something that reminds you of rotten eggs. If he does have horns, they’re hidden under his lemon yellow carnival barker hat. He wears a clean pinstripe suit and a red bowtie. No cloven hooves, no big pointy fork, but you know he’s the Devil without having to be told. Though he did introduce himself.

He’s been perfectly polite. 

You know you need the money. He knows it too, or he wouldn’t have brought you here, to this strange dark room, whisking you away from your new house in the suburbs as fast as a wish. Now you’re in some sort of warehouse, where all the windows seem to be blacked out– or, maybe, they simply look out into pitch darkness, though it is the middle of the day. A single white spotlight shines down on the two of you. 

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” you say. “I bet the man is someone I know, right? My husband?”

“Could be,” the Devil says with a pointed grin. “That’s for the wheel to decide.”

He steps back and raises his black-gloved hand as the tarp flies off of the large veiled object behind him. The light of the carnival wheel nearly blinds you. Blinking lights line the sides. Jingling music blares over speakers you can’t see. The flickering sign above it reads:

THE DEVIL’S WHEEL

“Step right up and claim your fortune,” the Devil barks. “Spin the wheel and pay the price! Or leave now, and a man keeps his life.”

You examine the wheel. 

The gambling addict

The doting boyfriend

The escaped convict

The dog dad

The secretive sadist

“These are all the possible men I can kill?” You ask, thumbing the side of the wheel. It rolls smoothly in your hand. Then you quickly stop, realizing that this might constitute a spin under the Devil’s rules. He flashes a smile at you, watching you halt its motion. 

“Addicts, convicts, murderers– plenty of terrible options for you to land on, missus!”

“Serial wife murderer?”

“Now who would miss a fellow like that? I can guarantee that the whole world would be better off without him in it, and that’s a fact.”

The hard worker

The compulsive liar

The animal torturer

The widower

The desperate businessman

The failed musician

The beloved son

“My husband is on here too,” you say. 

“Your husband Dave, yes. The wheel has to be fair, otherwise there’s simply no stakes.”

“I know what’s gonna happen,” you say, crossing your arms. “This wheel is rigged. I’m gonna spin it around, and it’ll go through all the killers and stuff, and then it’s gonna land on my husband no matter what.”

“Why, I would never disgrace the wheel that way,” the Devil says, wounded. “I swear on my own mother’s grave– may she never escape it. In fact, take one free spin, just to test it out! This one’s on me, no death, no dollars.”

You cautiously reach up to the top of the wheel and feel its heaviness in your hand. The weight of hundreds of lives. But also, millions of dollars. You pull the wheel down and let it go.

Clackity-clackity-clackity-clackity

Round and round it goes. 

The college graduate

The hockey fan

The Eagle Scout

The cold older brother

The charming younger brother

The two-faced middle child

The perfectionist

The slob 

Your husband Dave

Clackity-clackity-clackity.

Finally, the wheel lands on a name. A title, really.

The photographer

���Hmm, tough, missus, but that’s the way of the wheel. But hey, look! Your husband is allllll the way over here,” he points with his cane to the very bottom of the wheel, all the way on the other side from where the arrow landed. “As you can see, it’s not rigged. The wheel truly is random.”

“So… there really isn’t another catch?” You ask. 

“Isn’t it enough for you to end a man’s life? You need a steeper price? If you’re really such a glutton for punishment, I’ll gladly re-negotiate the terms.”

“No, no… wait.” You examine the wheel, glancing between it and the Devil.

You really could use that three million dollars. Newly married, new house, you and your husband’s combined debt– those student loans really follow you around. He’s quite a bit older than you, and even he hasn’t paid them off yet, to the point where the whole time you were dating you watched him stress out about money. You had to have a small, budget wedding, and a small, budget honeymoon. Three million dollars could be big for the two of you. You could re-do your honeymoon and go somewhere nice, like Hawaii, instead of just taking two weeks in Atlantic City. You deserve it. 

Even so, do you really want to kill an innocent photographer? Or an innocent seasonal allergy sufferer? Or an innocent blogger? Just because you don’t know or love these people doesn’t mean that someone doesn’t. 

The cancer survivor

The bereaved

The applicant

Some of these were so vague. They could be anyone, honestly. Your neighbors, your father, your friends…

The newlywed

The ex-gifted kid

The uncle

The Badgers fan

“My husband is a Badgers fan,” you say.

“How lovely,” the Devil says. 

Then it hits you.

Of course.

The weightlifter.

The careful driver.

The manager.

The claustrophobe.

Your husband Dave lifts weights at the gym twice a month. You wouldn’t call him a pro, but he does it. He also drives like he’s got a bowl of hot soup in his lap all the time, because he’s afraid of being pulled over. He just got promoted to management at his company, and he takes the stairs to his seventh-story office because he hates how small and cramped the elevator is.

“I get your game,” you announce. “You thought you could get me, but I figured you out, jackass!” “Oh really? What is my game, pray tell?” The Devil responds, leaning against his cane.

“All these different titles– they’re all just different ways to describe the same guy. My husband isn’t one notch on the wheel, he’s every notch. No matter what I land on, Dave dies. I’m wise to your tricks!” 

The Devil cackles. 

“You’re a clever one, that’s for sure. I thought you’d never figure it out.”

“Thanks but no thanks, man,” you say with a triumphant smirk. “I’m no rube. No deal. Take me back home.”

“As you wish, missus,” the Devil says. He snaps his fingers, and you’re gone, back to your brand-new house with your new husband. “Don’t say I never tried to help anyone.”

[loveelizabeths]

love elizabeth s.

[sensitivesublime]

[the-palelady]

you’re straddling simon while the two of you are making out, and he grabs your waist in the most desperate of ways, dragging your closer to him.

it’s like he’s trying to consume you, forcing your chest to press into his. it’s almost suffocating, yet it isn’t enough.

his fingers dig into the divot of your hips and he’s still pulling, still eating you whole as his chapped, warm lips devour yours.

those same rough, callused hands loosen and drag up the expanse of your spine, feeling along every scar, every stretch mark. every flaw you have he’s tracing it, memorizing it, painting it on the back of his eyelids so he never forgets.

he’s rough yet gentle and soft all at the same time. he’s the calm before the storm.

he doesn’t leave an inch of you untouched, from the curve of your hips to the dimples in your cheeks.

you look divine in the museum that is simon’s mind. he places you at the center of his own personal gallery, the works of michelangelo and botticelli insignificant to how heavenly you look seated on his lap.

hell, you’re beautiful no matter what, and simon won’t let you leave his side until he’s sure you’ll never forget that.

[velvetwyrme]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other art notes:

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

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

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

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

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

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

[soukokumychildren]

So, I was going to make a picture for this, but I can't find it in me to draw something so simple yet so intricate (why, my brain, why???). Basically you guys are gonna have to use your own TV in your brains for this one :(( Otherwise, enjoy! :)

Ranpo slipped on his suit with ease, practically bounding with excitement as he neared the room where Soukoku stored themselves for the time being; the couch they claimed promptly as theirs, awaiting something, what, perhaps, Ranpo thought was himself. He skid past the barrier to peek within the room and alert them of his presence-- Only to be met with darkness. It oozed like tendrils out from the area, despite being well-lit it felt like the darkest corner of the earth that Ranpo accidentally intruded, trampled upon. His eyes cracked open, green narrowing on silhouettes of what hit him to be the most dangerous men in Yokohama. Perhaps it never struck him before. But it was the sight before him that opened his eyes, quite literally.

Chuuya seemed to be the first he noticed, framed in shadow, which there should be very little of, tricks of the mind, perhaps, added to the edge of darkness that slithered off both he and Dazai. He held his cigarette gracefully yet carefully between his ring and middle finger in his right hand, squeezing the blunt gently, but not enough to set the burning remains of his cigarette ashes to scatter against his lap. The way he held the arch in his back, how his wings were tucked in regal arches, it spoke volumes of a man who could take the world for himself, not just from looks alone. Nothing was a set back as every curve, seam, shadow, added grace to the figure. He was a man who knew he could take, could take as much as he desired. He was strong. There was no doubt.

Especially the man beside him, a gaze dark, yawning like the abyss, one eye carrying the wretched feeling of death that dragged along the shadows strewn across his body. It was how he held his disappointed expression, perhaps at nothing in particular, his cheek resting against his right hand. His leg elegantly perched over his knee, ankle barely breeching past the point of the beginning of his calves. Even the simple black opal that rested against his left shoulder seemed to emit something akin to an eerie feeling, like another eye settling into his soul. Not to mention the jacket slung over Dazai's shoulders acted like a cape of darkness, shrouding him within the folds of the dreary feeling that traveled off of both of them in waves, almost pushing Ranpo back a few feet with their gazes. No light was held within either of them. Chuuya took a long drag of his cigarette, slowly tipping his head back and rolling his eyes upward as the nicotine hit what possibly appeared to be the force of a truck, making the redhead really immerse himself in said hit. He tilted his head back to Ranpo, dark eyes resettling on his form. His corruption scars thrummed with a burst of red energy, running up along his arms, neck, cheeks, then the side of his forehead before they returned to their raw, red skin-like tint once more. "Do you need something?" Drawled he, looking down his nose at Ranpo as if he were inferior whilst blowing smoke out from his mouth, much like a dragon preparing to release its fire; and Ranpo hadn't felt anything more than a roach under the gaze of the two. Dazai remained silent, intent on simply remaining watchful, cautious of every breath, move, even the drift of any hair follicles in the very room they resided in. He appeared to be on high alert. "I-I was gonna ask if you two wanted to go to the cafe…" He trailed off, swallowing harshly. Clearly, this was the worst time of all to intrude. What a mistake he'd made. Chuuya didn't respond, only going back to looking at his cigarette, lightly brushing the orange tip against his lips before taking a long drag, letting Dazai handle the question.

"We'll come down in a bit," Dazai spoke for Chuuya, dark undertones unlike Ranpo has ever heard. The muscles in his legs tightened; though it was hard to make out from all the folds of the thick, expensive fabric ensnaring his legs, Ranpo was one to deduct all, and could tell from the measly twitch what had gone on underneath. He was starting to feel an increasing dread that wouldn't shake itself off, no matter how hard he tried.

Chuuya snagged the cigarette from his mouth, the corner of his lip lifting into a scowl, revealing a sharp fang, used to slice into flesh and crush bone. He proceeded to present Ranpo with a dirty look, none of which he should have received, for he had done nothing but simply attempt to invite the two to a delightful afternoon. Dazai seemed to skim over Ranpo's features, bored with the expressions handed to him. He looked as though he was already searching for a new toy to tease, to play with, to make dance, to kill and or use to how he saw fit; Ranpo did not fit that current catagory. "Maybe later," the brunette spoke coldly, observing Chuuya's cigarette and snatching it up, looking to take a nice long inhale from the blunt as well and as much as he could muster. When Chuuya lost the cigarette, he didn't seem to at all notice, resuming on placing his arm to drape across a knee, raised to cradle the redheads forearm when it grew dreary; though, no such event happened, for the strength and stamina Chuuya carried, he could more than likely hold the position all day with a series of weights keeping him pinned to the spot.

Ranpo tried to throw off the memories of Chuuya single-handedly throwing down one of the toughest, biggest brutes that Ranpo's ever seen with a simple kick, looking as though he barely so much as put a single percentage of effort behind it, yawning for an added effect before slicing his head off with a simple flick of his wrist. No blood even splattered across his flawless outfit, as though he himself knew no part of his body could or would be tarnished.

"Y-yeah. Sure. Later." Ranpo stammered uneasily, not sure what fueled his voice to crack under the pressure, even if the answer was right infront of him. Perhaps he didn't want to acknowledge the obvious. He watched Dazai slide his eye shut and take a rather long drag, much like his significant other, exhaling the smoke through his nose. His eyes lightly darted to Ranpo, as if to ask meaningfully: "why are you still here?" The black-haired man asked himself that very question, turning his body before his head followed suit, suddenly feeling the need to evacuate the office as soon as possible, throwing open the Agency door and taking his leave in a rushed manner, the door closing not-so-hurriedly behind.

[reidiot]

don't fucking interrupt me when i'm reading my x reader fics it's rude

[delicacysblog]

“what was the most pain you have ever felt”

healing from someone, i once thought i would heal with

[hopelessvalentines]

“nostalgia is a villain that we are told is a hero, all it ever does is hurt.”

[mischievous-thunder]

Meanwhile Wade:

[loveelizabeths]

- 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚑 𝚜.