#the glimmers of backstory

[divinekangaroo]

...man I've really hit that stage of Old Womanhood where I seriously contemplate and long for novelisations of existing gaming / televised media? :/

[dapper-lil-arts]

Starlight is funny as hell even just as a concept

[prowerprojects]

My OC Glimmer

My baby boy.

I wasn't gonna post until I figured out the character palette (He's a cat & I want him to be purple with orange eyes... Yeah lol)

[kellerybird]

ok but what if aurelia worships the god of arepo............

[cherrymoonvol6]

.

[idkwidatp]

Are there any fanfics about bow and the whole "I understand friendship is hard you have to work at it so why am I the only one that's willing to work at it" thing? because boys night out is one of if not my favorite episode because of the angst from bow and how frustrated he seems and I wish me got more of that and also that episode makes me hate season 4 glimmer more.

[acexsmhking]

Childhood friend!Toby

Warning(s): 18+ content, FEM!reader, nasty sexy, mentions of abuse, mentions of child abuse, mentions of child neglect, Toby’s backstory is a TW itself, Toby’s obsessive behavior

BSF!Toby that coincidentally breaks into your home one night, fully intending on satisfying his urges, maybe taking a limb off you and leaving

BSF!Toby that’s quiet pushing open your door, feet not making a sound as if he isn’t even there

BSF!Toby creeping to the side of your bed, eyes locked on you but something shiny catching his eye

There on your nightstand, a picture. Three people, two girls and a boy. Clearly two of the individuals are you and… him?

BSF!Toby’s head pops to the side, a hiss leaving his lips cringing at himself. He sneaks a glance at you, still thankfully unaware

BSF!Toby doesn’t look back at the picture, something about it.. irks him. That girl in it irks him

BSF!Toby leans in and sniffs you, you smell familiar you look vaguely familiar. He can feel himself getting hard as he looks at you, really looks at you

BSF!Toby feels himself getting frustrated, upset as to why he can’t remember you. Why was he feeling so… peaceful? Seeing you

BSF!Toby who suddenly leaves in a huff, shaking, bones popping uncontrollably as he stumbles out of your room, out of this house

Swiping one of your discarded panties on the floor…

BSF!Toby that stalks you, watching you from crowds, trees and corners as you go about your day

BSF!Toby gets a ridiculous hard-on one day watching you, seeing you bend over to pick something up and feeling a disgusting amount of jealous when he sees someone else checkin you out

BSF!Toby deciding enough is enough, and creeps into your house while you’re making a snack, completely unaware of him around the corner glaring at you

You who finally turns and, reasonably, freak the all hell out as you see a tall, face hidden, bloodied hatchet carrying individual in your home

The stranger moves fast, gripping your neck. You can’t turn your head, you can barely breathe. You’re horrified

Then you see it, a simple glimmering chain.. it’s the only thing on him in gold, the only thing on him that seems well maintained

You recognize the cross, the pearls dangling from it. You heart trembles, your nails dig into his sleeves as you try fighting him off

But BSF!Toby seems unbothered, presses a knee between your legs. You’re stunning, to him at least, and your scent. You’re driving him crazy

He feels unreasonable, more than usual. You look like a dream, something distant, something no someone he’s supposed to know

“T-Toby?” Your voice is quiet, hoarse clearly still unable to take a good breath of air

But you feel his grip loosen, his side head move to the side as one of his hands pop. This time your reach for his face, running your fingers over the cold leather muzzle where his gnash should be, is

BSF!Toby that keeps his grip on you, but is nicer.. feels nicer. He doesn’t protest as you remove his goggles, or when you undo the straps of his muzzle

He just watches you, as your eyes widen and tear up. Roaming his face and taking everything in. He can’t fault you; he’s doing the same

He looks older, tired, with this.. look in his eyes. They seem dead, you never understood what that saying meant before now

He looked as if he’s seen things and as if he’s done things. And if the hatchets are anything to go by he has

But still, some sort of weight lifts from your heart. Just being able to see him again; really see him again

It’s not some old photo, not an old tape from years ago. It’s actually him brown eyes, unkept hair and jitters

He leans closer, thigh pressing harder against you. You gasp, hands on his triceps as you weakly try squirming

“Tobs!” The nickname slips from you before you can stop it. His brows relax, he doesn’t look as.. angry at you now

You can feel slobber leak from him and onto your shirt as he moves his head to your neck, you can hear him take in a sniff

His fingers occasionally flex, crackle around your neck making you choke but he seems uncaring about moving hand

BSF!Toby that gives your neck a long lick, groaning at the taste of your skin. You’re soft, so soft and warm. Your skin isn’t too salty, but not dusty either

Your thighs clench around his, you can feel heat rise in your cheeks and your heart thumping

And of course BSF!Toby cared too little to be aware, suckling and biting your neck as you squirmed, core grinding against his thigh as your hands cling to his jacket

You’re whining, practically begging him to stop, let you pull yourself together and talk

BSF!Toby that just swats your hand away when you try pulling him off. He feels so safe, and you taste so damn good

You can feel yourself getting wetter, clit throbbing and it’s not enough. You need more you need him you need to feel his skin

BSF!Toby is relentless, as he moves you against his thigh. Not flinching as you begin unbuttoning his shirt, teeth nipping your jawline

“Ich nehme dich mit, Kleines”

: ̗̀➛ I am so sorry this is ass, I have been having a horrible headache. But I wanted to feed you all!! I am also trying to play more RDR again after months so the next coming chapters are a bit more put together, I am also still working on Brian’s generals — Ace

[kael-writ]

All you Brennan Lee Mulligan fans should check out this strange and haunting short film he did in 2018, it's very good and impactful, definitely very emotionally riveting, disturbing, thought provoking. It's different from his other work because he is appearing as an actor with a different team (writer, director). The writing and directing is fantastic, holy shit, and the performances range from good to what the fuck (complimentary). It's a dark comedy, so there's lots of comedic moments and there's a glimmer of potential hope that can be read in it but it is also a gut wrenching exploration of trauma, survivor's guilt, and guilt by association... It's a lot, I could write a whole essay on it, it's fascinating.

(some content warnings may apply, it's a bit of a spoiler but there is a backstory involving violence against women committed by an offscreen character that isnt seen in any way but is a major visceral theme. It's something I like about it, but it definitely could be triggering and feel free to ask for clarification).

[redrandomposts]

till narrowly missing ivan in every universe, either literally or figuratively, makes me giggle and cry at the same time AUUHSHSJSH if he was a regressor/reincarnator and og/alnst!till was watching his later incarnations, mans would be bald from tearing his hair out in frustration

"LOOK BACK MF LOOK BACK, YOU JUST MISSED HIM"

"THATS NOT WHAT HE MEANT AND YOU KNOW IT"

"NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO HAVE YOUR NTH SEXUALITY CRISIS, IVAN IS MOVING AWAY TOMORROW. MOVE IT"

and imagine his previous incarnations from other failed lifetimes watching the current lifetime with him and theyre all in the same frustrated state 😭

"can we PLEASE have one lifetime where we dont end up breaking his heart ? can we PLEASE—"

— 🌦️

HAHAHAHAHA LMAOOOOO

doomed lovers and tills watching it all happen, kicking and screaming

everytime an incarnation pops up in their little hell, he is kicked and beaten up and treated as a less-than-human being until the next one meets ivan. and then they're too focused watching how till (yes, that's you, a dumbass) misses every smile and glimmer of eyes and heartbreak that ivan shows.

"what the fuck?! what's he doing?! ivan is right there, don't go hitting on her - fuck! who is that idiot!"

"that idiot is you! do you remember how you made ivan your best man at your wedding?!"

"says the one had an arranged marriage with him then went to war and came home in love with a nurse!"

"all of you are idiots!"

and none of the tills know og till's backstory. most of the time he's writing songs and playing the guitar, as all of them do, but in a more extreme way. there's a little library with all the songs the tills have made, each shelf a different life. og till's is a whole bookshelf, but the ones about ivan only starts after he first appeared here.

(there's also the songs each and every ivan has made about till, for till, to till. those are treated much better than the ones the tills haphazardly throws into their respective shelves. they're encased in gold and glass, just as unattainable as ivan seems to be.)

extra reactions according to some of my aus (except it's all the bad ends and ooc??):

omegaverse

"...what the fuck?"

"WHAT'S A PHEROMONE?! ALPHA? THAT'S SO CRINGEY? WTF"

"GUYS!!! IVAN CAN BE PREGNANT-"

"-SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP-"

"holy fuck"

"it was indeed a fuck"

"did you know ivan could moa-"

"fucking hell we're all tills we're all here we all know!"

"BLOOD! GET A TISSUE YOU FREAK-"

"HALF OF US HAVE NOSEBLEEDS WDYM"

"please please please till hE IS PREGNANT-"

"..."

"what the fuck."

"HE'S DEAD?"

"guys i don't ever wanna get ivan pregnant if that's what's going to happen"

android au

"...he owns ivan..?"

"THAT'S NOT FAIR?? WHAT DID HE EVER DO TO DESERVE IVAN??"

"surely they fall in love, right?"

"don't fucking jinx it, you moron!"

"ivan's so cute... look! he's cutting the veggies into flowers!"

"hey! till! say thank you to ivan!!"

"ugh, can't he just get out the studio so i can see ivan??"

"till, can't you just be a stay at home musician?!"

"aww!! aren't those flowers in the stitching?"

"oh my god ivan hand sewed him clothes?!"

"that's not fair! ivan! you can't just give things to the idiot! or else!! ...or else."

"...you fucking jinxed it!!! ivan!!! you can't die!"

"how'd i know that they'd just shoot and never stop shooting?"

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH THEM??"

"i'll fucking BEAT THEM UP I SWEAR."

"??? why's he only just checked the cameras now since he got ivan?"

"...ivan's voice is so heavenly."

"..."

zombie au

"is it another boring one? haven't we already seen till and ivan have normal lives and drift apart or something else?"

"maybe this time, till will..."

"shut UP! CROW'S MOUTH, I SWEAR"

"nevermind that is nOT NORMAL FUCK"

"OH MY GOD HE IS ROTTING AND MOVING??"

"IVAN GET AWAY FROM THERE -"

"...ivan?"

"FUCK! HE DID IT AGAIN!"

"TILL YOU FUCKER GO BACK FOR HIM!!"

"...at least we still have ivan."

"...and till knows he loves ivan."

"...and they kissed."

".....oh fucking hell, why are you so happy?! ivan's basically till's dog! till doesn't deserve him!"

"well, as long as they cure ivan, they'll be together for real, right?"

"..."

"YOU FUCKING JINXED IT-"

"WHY'D THAT RANDO JUST SHOOT IVAN???

mermaid au

"oh my god he's a fish -"

"- ivan looks like a prince!"

"??? how can you be so rude to ivan!"

"why are his thoughts so weird? ivan's a human, not some pearl! he has dignity!"

"he's much better than some pearl, too."

"till knows he loves ivan, right??? surely??? with those thoughts..."

"i wanna see ivan's eyes...."

"i wanna see ivan's smile..."

"fuck! till, just speak to him god damnit!"

"oh my god!!! ivan!!!"

"??? where's his fishy parts?? ow, don't hit me-"

"...he looks so fine."

"hey! he's sixteen! you are definitely not sixteen, you fucking homewrecker!!"

"homewrecker?! i didn't cheat!!"

"you wrecked your and ivan's house life!"

"what?"

"where'd the letter come from??"

"how's there sea foam???"

"IVANNNN!"

"HE'S DEAD? JUST LIKE THAT?"

"HE DESERVED MORE YOU FUCKER-"

===

anyways im going to edit my masterlist to be better ig

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

so I saw your requests are open. It seems that Astarion believes- at least in the beginning- that his purpose is to give pleasure. He does it to survive, he does it to gain Tavs trust and affection... what if Tav takes it upon herself to pleasure him. I HC Astarion is more dominant as he regains his autonomy, after centuries of having no say or control hiw would he react to Tav gently kissing him, asking him to let her make him feel good for a change. He's spent all this time giving, he deserves to receive for once. Expecting nothing in return.

Yaaas, let's go. I think I may have made this a lil fluffier than what you had in mind but hopefully it works! Playful/Sweet Tav! This is set before he admits his feelings but still in act 2 so he's like close!

TW: They bang and it's graphic under the cut with some mentions of his backstory, which is fucked up. But yeah, sexing is occurring. 18+ That's it. Pretty sweet outside of his backstory.

~

Astarion was aware the sex could be enjoyable, despite the centuries of the act being used against him. There had been glimmers of genuine pleasure through it all, mostly poisoned by the knowledge of what happened to all of his conquests when the job was finished after, but still. They were there.

Enough for Astarion to be somewhat prepared for the loveliness of being with you. When he had made the choice to seduce you, he had done it assuming that sex would be mediocre at best, and unpleasant at worst.

But no. Instead it just felt... wonderful. A word that Astarion was not used to associating with the deed. Though he supposed it made sense. He did like you after all, even outside of the protection he could get out of you. You were intelligent enough to make for good conversation; you were fun, mischievous even. Enough to match up with his own bitchy little quips. But you were also... sweet. Caring even, though it seemed you had a habit of giving that care to the least deserving mortals in the realm.

Not that that was a bad thing. He had been more than ready to use that kind nature against. It was so easy to worm his way into your heart. And the sex was good? Astarion's luck was almost certainly on the edge of running out, but he'd happily take advantage of the streak while he could.

You were just... so submissive. So ready for him to take the lead. Astarion had developed many personas in bed over the centuries, cultivating them for whatever situation he may need. But they were always tools, it had little or nothing to do with what he wanted. Just what he could use to lure them back to their deaths.

In all honesty, he had tried to do the exact same with you, and he would have too if he hadn't lost control on that first night. But then you had to bare your neck to him, the siren song of your blood screaming at him to bite. And then he just... lost control.

Was it the best sex of Astarion's life? Yes. Was he about to tell you that? No.

And it kept being good. Even on the nights he didn't drink from you, he liked it. Borderline loved it, if he was emotionally capable of associating that word with you. And he wanted to enjoy it while he could. He knew deep down that this was temporary, for more reasons than one. Soon enough he simply wouldn't need you anymore. After you defeated the demon for Raphael, Astarion would have some idea of Cazador's plans, and maybe enough to figure out a way to secure his freedom for good. And unless you planned on killing the man yourself, he... wouldn't have any reason to keep the facade going. Not to mention the obvious fact that you could wake up from your lust-induced stupor and break things off at any moment. Astarion wasn't looking forward to either outcome. But how else would this end? It's not like the two of you could set off into the sunset together, like some inane fairytale.

... right?

Astarion wasn't quite sure anymore. And he certainly wasn't going to figure it out any time soon. It was easier just to push the whole thing out of his mind. Especially now, when the two of you finally had a private room at the Last Light Inn, thank the gods. One more night of calm before they rushed into a temple full of horrors.

It was hard to hide his excitement as he pushed you onto the bed, his fangs already sharpening in anticipation. He wanted you to be marked head to toe by the end of the night, bites, bruises, anything and everything to remind you that you were his.

At least for tonight.

"Wait, wait!" You laughed as Astarion crawled over you, wasting no time in trying to claw your clothes off.

But the ask was enough to make him pause, a flash of worry running through his when he asked, "What's wrong? Did I- are you okay?"

You shook your head at him with a smile, your legs suddenly wrapping tightly around his waist "Nothing sweetheart, I'm fine. But..."

The next thing Astarion knew you were always flipping him over, so fast that he couldn't help but be impressed. He always underestimated just how strong you were. You grinned down at him as you sat atop his thighs, your hands rubbing over his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt, "But I think it's my turn to spoil you for a change."

Astarion furrowed his brow, sincerely confused for a moment. And maybe even a little self-conscious, "Why? I mean-do you not like how-"

"You're very good darling," You gently interrupted with a laugh, your hands already working to pull his shirt over his head, laughed as you sat atop his thighs, doing the work to unbutton his shirt, "Best I've ever had, sincerely. But don't you think that things have been a bit one-sided?"

He hadn't, not for a moment, but he sure as hells wasn't going to complain. Not when he had a gorgeous woman on top of him, one who was already doing the work of taking his cock out.

"Let me take care of you for once," You murmured as you started to stroke his length, pre-come already dribbling at the tip, "Anything you want is yours tonight. Just say the word."

Astarion blinked up at you, momentarily at a loss before regaining his usual confidence. Or at least some of it, "Taking your clothes off would be a fantastic start."

You laughed as you did just that, light and airy while you tore your shirt over your head. Astarion didn't waste any time in surging forward, latching his mouth around your nipple with a groan.

He wrapped his arms around your bare back, pulling you closer as you moaned.

"I'm supposed to be pleasing you," You panted as you slipped your skirt down your thighs, tossing it to the side as he suckled on your chest, "Remember?"

"Pleasing you pleases me," Astarion popped off with a chuckle, looking up at you with dark eyes, "Lovely thing that you are."

You softly smiled down at him before pressing a tender kiss to his lips. And then you were squirming away from him. Ducking out of his arms and lap.

He just hadn't expected you to sink to your knees in front of the bed. You rubbed at his thighs, so close to him that he could feel the heat of your breath against his length.

"Can I?" You asked coyly, the question sweet enough to make him shiver. He would never get tired of that, you always asking for permission for the smallest little things.

Astarion sat up with a smile and a nod, tangling his fingers in your hair as he said, "Of course my sweet, go right ahead."

And off you went. You wrapped your lips around the head, suckling on it like the little minx you were. You looked beautiful down there, your hair in disarray as you swallowed around his cock; more than happy to let him take the lead and force your head to take him fully down your throat.

You were drooling around him, staring up at him with your big wet eyes as you worked your tongue around him. It felt wonderful, amazing even. But it wasn't enough. As lovely as your throat was, it was only his second favorite place to store his cock.

"Get up here my love," Astarion ordered, his voice rough and his mind too preoccupied to notice his own slip. He tightened the hand in your hair, easing you off of his cock with a groan, "As wonderful as your mouth is, I want to be inside you."

You grinned up at him before gracefully standing, your breasts on full display, pretty enough to make Astarion's mouth water. You pushed him back first onto the bed before crawling over him again, the heat of your wet cunt so close to his sensitive cock. You gripped the base of it before rubbing the head over your folds, whimpering as you used him to circle your own clit.

It felt amazing, and it looked even better. But Astarion was nearly out of patience. He gripped your hips, his nails just on the edge of piercing your skin as he growled at you, "Are you trying to kill me darling?"

"Just the opposite," You breathily laughed as you finally started to sink down onto his cock, brokenly moaning all the while, "J-Just want to make you feel good."

You were so wet, tight and perfect around him. And the noises you were making, all of your little whimpers and whines. They would be haunting his dreams for years to come. But it still wasn't enough. Despite how lovely it was to have you bouncing in his lap, he couldn't help but thrust up inside of you, matching your movements in tandem.

You gasped as he really started to fuck into you, hard and deep enough to bring tears to your eyes. You were clutching at his chest, hard enough to make him bleed. Not that he cared. How could he when he had you like this? Desperate and needy as you pussy leaked slick onto him, so soaked that Astarion knew that you had to be close.

It had been a long instilled habit of Astarion to be sure his partner always reached their peak first. It was nearly ingrained in his DNA at this point, a pattern that he had no intention of breaking anytime soon.

But then you were leaning in to kiss him, something that shouldn't have caught him off guard, yet it did.

The press of your lips to his felt so soft, so sweet, nothing like the way he was savagely fucking into you. It was gentle, loving even. And before Astarion knew it he was coming, his end abrupt and explosive. It felt like fireworks bursting behind his eyes; he barely even had the wherewithal to move his hand to rub at your clit. But he managed, and soon enough you were crying out above him, your pussy clenching hard around his still leaking cock.

You were still kissing him in that same tender way, softly licking into his mouth as warmth overtook him. He felt... good. Too good even. Enough so where he barely knew what to do with himself.

You pulled away first, but you didn't go far. Thank the gods, Astarion wasn't... he didn't know if he could handle being apart from you at the moment. You rested your forehead against his, smiling down at him with a smitten look, one that made his heart clench.

"Did you like that?" You asked softly, wincing slightly as you pulled off of his cock, "Because I sure did."

I love you.

The thought came sudden and unbidden, screaming into the front of his mind without his consent. He didn't-he wasn't-why had that come into his head at all?

Astarion tried to stomp the wayward thought down as he gave you a strained smile.

"I loved it," He answered sincerely, the truth of his feelings far too close to the truth of his idiotic heart, "I-thank you darling. You really are amazing, aren't you?"

"Such a charmer," You sighed as you laid down next to him, reaching out to tangle your fingers together, "I really never stood a chance against you, did I?"

That was almost enough to make Astarion break out in hysterical laughter.

But instead he squeezed your hand, his eyes turned to the ceiling while a conflicted smile graced his face, "No. You never did."

He could only hope that continued to be true.

[yandere-romanticaa]

It's a good evening to write and you're all craving something for Viktor, which I shall deliver. I haven't started writing part two of his backstory but I'll get to it. Eventually.

Also, if you're interested I made a Pinterest board for this man and I'll regularly add images there. Thank you all for the support and please enjoy this little blurb. ♥️

masterlist.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍, who after he takes you for himself, starts to do little but intimate things with you around the house. The first few days, possibly weeks, were spent with endless screams, pleas and tears. Viktor hated seeing you in such a state, he hated the fact that he was the reason for your bitter tears and silent whimpers.

However, his patience outweighed his sorrow. He was willing to wait until the stars in the whole universe imploded for you to love him.

But, for now, not feeling the need to flinch away from him and his touch would be a good start.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍, who tells you about his day as he makes you dinner. Viktor understands that communication is important and that he needs to establish some things, and what better way to do that than by talking? Of course, he is rather awkward at it, as he has no idea what to talk about aside from his work. There are times when Viktor tries to tap into your interests and wants to ease your fear but it almost never works. What a pity...

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍, who starts over sharing specific details about his work which depending on your mental state could either be terrifying, useful or some morbid combination of both. Viktor tells you of the people who come to his table, all dead and all his to dissect. There's an odd glimmer in his dark eyes as his dominant hand mimics movements of his sharp scalp. The way in which he speaks sends shivers down your spine, it was rare to see someone so emotionless show even the faintest sparks of passion.

If the situation was not already so grim, his childlike excitement could even be considered cute.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍, who tries so hard to accommodate you and your whims! While he does keep you locked up, your little cage is more than furnished - soft blankets, pillows fit for royalty of old, little trinkets which could keep you entertained and perhaps even a television if he sees fit. Viktor may not understand social cues but he is not stupid either. He doesn't want your brain to rot away in that room, especially when he's not home!

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍, who sometimes sneaks into your room and just. Stands there. Watching you, his gaze neutral but his eyes are blown wide. He does not want to be caught so he makes sure to control his ragged breathing and beating heart. Can you hear him, even when you're knocked out cold? Can you feel him, his presence? A part of him wishes to stay hidden in the shadows, where it's safer, where he can keep a close on you. But his bolder side demands more, more, more.

Who knows, he might just sliver under the covers with you one day. But, one step at a time.

🔪 TAGS: @shamelessdarkprince, @latolover, @samuraijack, @moyazami, @sunhareskies, @red-viewe

[lunarbreaksblog]

Hi! if the request/ask is open, if so, could you do of tfp, with human (gn! or f!) Reader? Romantic/Platonic

This Human's a cinnamon roll, somewhat naive/innocent (and has similar personality/backstory of Perrito from the Puss in Boots movie or Fluttershy from MLP). They're very motherly and being nurse/therapy-like friend and also a Pacifist yet can be passive-aggressive…

I just decided to do an Autobot version :)

Autobots with a Cinnamon roll!Gender neutral!Reader

You are an absolute cinnamon roll that the Autobots collectively decided to adopt. They might not know much about humans but can see the telltale signs, even if they are a different species from you— abuse is always the same.

The fact that you remain so naive and happy. That's what makes you special to them and the fact that you always try to help others.

Optimus prime:

Absolutely applauds you for everything you manage to do, loves your pacifism stance. Most importantly you know when pacifism doesn't work.

Loves helping you with things when has the time since you would do the same for him.

Basically you guys get on like a old 'but still very much in love' married couple

Ratchet:

He really does like you however your optimistic view annoy him at times but he appreciate your views, it gives me some glimmer of hope in this war.

Asks you questions about mental health since human mental health is basically cybertronian mental health— which he finds interesting on its own but learning more about humans seem to add more layers to your personality.

Is always sweet to you and raf❤

Bulkhead:

From his experience in the wreckers— he can see your masking since half the boys in the wreckers didn't have 'the greatest of mental healths'

Absolutely adores you tho, he's patient he'll wait for you to open up to him.

Likes to remind you that he is there for you.

Loves the fact that you try to nurse him sometimes.

Bumblebee;

Just like Bulkhead he adores you so much— with your motherly attitude, he loves chatting with you— telling you some of his problems or what things he found difficult that day.

You just listen and him your two cents every now and then, he loves it!

However he does notice how wrong somethings are whenever you talk about your childhood. He knows enough about what a childhood should be and what it shouldn't be

Arcee:

Is a little confused by you.

Shes annoyed on one hand with your naive nature but on the other hand— she gets it

She's also been done dirty by the universe and she can see it in you as well. The fact that you continue with your pacifism even when injured so badly— shes uncomfortable with it.

You are so much stronger than her.

The fact you let her talk to you about her issues and the fact that you listen and try to help!

She's going to protect you to the ends of the earth.

Feel free to request!

[the20thcenturykid]

Aaravos barely used any magic this season.

I'm not saying like at all. He hid his body under illusion, created the vessel he used to travel with Claudia and Terry, he made baby primal stone fly and brought the night, but... for great mage of all primal sources, he barely uses any magic to attack someone or defend himself. My understanding of this season is that he planned for his death there, so there was no need to show off too much, but what if he actually couldn't? I haven't read much of external media aside from animated series, so I'm not sure what exactly "fallen star" title represents exactly, but the light on his chest is dimmed since his imprisonment. Creatures with primal connection strengthen their magic in proximity of their main primal sources, moon elves during full moon, sun elves during sunny day...

There were no stars in Aaravos prison. We can see in season 7 that he's starting to glimmer a little during the night while ho look dimmed during a day, way more than in his backstory in season 6. He was trapped for 300 years in place completely deprived of natural connection to his main source of power (and all others, to be honest). I don't think that this wouldn't bring any consequences.

[neighbourscat]

𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄 , nicholas alexander chavez

MY BOOGIE SHOES, JUST TO BOOGIE WITH YOU.

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . screen actor!nicholas c. X stage actress!black!fem!reader.

+ synopsis. dancing around your new york apartment with your boyfriend, nicholas chavez, after a tiring final show.

+ cw. mature language & suggestive stage dancing … but none, really (: just smiles, dancing, and good music!

+ nali’s notes; i love 70s-80s music soooo much. dreaming of a cold autumn / christmas fic in this tiny nyc apartment. all the short stories that’ll probably come from this nyc apartment, like a little tv show. the neighbours would have their own backstories & cute interactions. omg should i do that???? a nyc apartment series, kind of like friends or martin??? wordcount :: 2.1k+

+ to be played: dancing in the dark, bruce springsteen. || alternative: slow dancing in the dark, joji. + everybody wants to rule the world, tears for fears.

MY BOOGIE SHOES, JUST TO BOOGIE WITH YOU.

he moved his left foot backward in a smooth motion, sliding across the slick, slightly scoffed, pine theatre stage. two blue overhead spotlights had shone down onto him, highlighting and allowing the golden sequins along his black-costume pants to sparkle and glimmer. the sharp, metal heels of his four-taps no longer producing sound . .. . the active trumpet-players, acoustic guitarists, and drummers eased and eased their instruments into a low twinkle —

— the audience knew what time it was. another character was about to be introduced. in the orchestra pit, the conductor quickly switched her attention to the violinists and flute-players, baton up in the air and readied for the new entrance. the elder english woman gave the group a small cue, flicking her wrist in beat: 1, 2, 3, 4. and as the violins, violas and cellos came in quiet and steady . .. . the male dancer at the far end of the stage reached up and slowly removed the costume fedora from his neatly styled hair, staring over to his stage left.

your beautiful, brilliant and glittery gold mary-jane style tap shoes clicked as you gracefully entered from stage left — the gold fringes of your body-con mini dress flapped and swung every which way as you rolled your costume glove over your right hand, the music coming from the violins and flute-players transforming into something hot and seductive.

your glove snug — the trumpets have returned, this time with the trombones and horns, easy and gentle — with what looked to be absolutely effortless, your body control impeccable, you swayed toward your dance partner. and once as close as rehearsed, you slid your left foot backward; lining yourself up with your partner, you raised your arms neatly, fingers almost wiggling.

your partner snaked an arm around your waist, his opposite hand sensually caressing the under side of your arm — his fingers tightened on your ribs. you felt his plump lips brush against the soft skin of your neck, you don’t hold back a mini smile. and after a thirty-second sleek, clean sequence of sneaky smirks, lustful eyes, gyrating hips, and chasing each other’s feet with mirroring steps on beat — you and your partner stand center stage; he had just spun you out and away and reeled you back in, unable to give you up. you’re overlooking the hungry crowd, toe to toe, hips pressed into each other’s . .. .

the conductor slowly lifted her baton, the orchestra picking up their pace just a bit . .. . more dancers began to take the stage, ten men on one end and ten women on the other, all styled to absolute perfection — you ripped away from your partner, his hand lingering in the air as you hurry toward the women. you strike a pose and the women behind you follow suite, just as clean and precise. the men chuckle amongst themselves, lips moving but nothing being said. your partner took his place in front of the men, eyeing you down.

the blue spotlights went out and back in on beat; this time colored red. the percussion picking up intensity . .. . the atmosphere no longer showcasing love and attraction, but lust and obsession — the red spotlights darkened and blinked in and out powerfully, percussion played fast and with high energy, the string and horn instruments carried out in unison, background voices sounding . .. .

nicholas chavez, anxiously chewing at the skin of his fingers, watched as the other casted dancers performed with everything they had — his eyes working even harder to follow you around. he stopped chewing at his skin then, trying to focus his eyes on you; he couldn’t do the two at the same time. different variations of gold leotards and ruffled dresses and flown pantsuits, the maracas, xylophone — so much was happening at once. portraying chaos perfectly.

every time he found you, he had lost you just as quick. nicholas shifted in the cushioned chair a bit, mindful of the young woman sitting behind him — the saxophones and trumpets intensified, the gold-clad dancers continued shuffling and leaping up and down and around the large pine stage, metal heels touching down with the beats.

the entire stage was bathed in deep, sultry red light, casting long, dramatic shadows over each dancer — the red hue seemed to pulse with the rhythm of the music, bodies moved with precision and purpose, every step choreographed to build toward the crescendo of the performance. the audience watched in awe — nicholas’ eyes never leaving your amazing form — the dancers' figures sharp and striking against the glowing backdrop.

each dancer’s silhouette was satiny, their limbs cutting through the air like blades as they glided to their spots. and as the music swelled, the dancers reached their final positions, holding their forms in an intense, powerful tableau. their bodies arched and poised, chins tilted upwards with defiance, hands spread in graceful curves or clutched at their hips in dominance. the red light drenching them, casting their figures into stark, dramatic silhouettes — elegant and imposing, yet full of tension.

their shadows stretched behind them, larger-than-life, as if their presence demanded more than the stage could contain. the audience held its breath, the stillness of the final pose amplifying the raw energy. it was a picture of controlled power, desire, and neat mess.

the world beyond the stage faded, and all that was left were the figures frozen in that moment — red and black, light and shadow — a vision of drama and allure, like something out of a fevered dream. then, as the final note lingered in the air, the curtain slowly began to close up.

you were curled up on the couch, still basking in the soft afterglow of the evening. your legs draped over nicholas’ lap, the warmth from his hand gently tracing heart-shape patterns on your ankle. the exhaustion from your final show was settling in, but being home with him — no more hotels, no more cast gatherings, no more living through an intense schedule; eight shows a week — felt like the perfect ending to an overwhelming night.

nicholas shifted beneath you, the faintest grin pulling at his lips. “you know .. .” he hummed casually, “.. . i’ve been thinking.” that was never good. you respond with a low groan, rubbing your tired eyes, “no. i’m not doin’ it.”

“can i-i’ve gotta get it out first before you tell me ‘no’,” he said, nudging your arm. “i don’t want a lot or anything .. y’know, crazy. i just want your help.”

you stopped rubbing your eyes, dropping your hand down into your lap. you gave a look that said: ‘go on’ and he did, giving your ankle a loving squeeze: “i want you to teach me how to dance.” he sounded serious, but you couldn’t exactly tell. you blinked, face and gaze blank and revealing nothing. you turned back to the television, an early episode of glee rolling.

nicholas stood up then, gently moving your legs off of his lap. he reached out his hand toward you. you had performed so beautifully with your dance partner, nicholas wanted to move with you the same. “nicholas .. .” you stared at his outstretched hand, then back up at him, “sit back down. seriously.”

“come’on.” his brown eyes soft but determined. “just a little bit. five minutes, hmm?” he was hopeful, still waiting for you. “i’ll take anything. anythin’ i can get, okay? i’ll be grateful for whatever.” you shook your head as an answer and laid back into the plush cushion, arms crossing over your chest. “nic . .. . you can’t dance,” you said in a simple, matter-of-fact voice — not trying to be harsh or mean, and nicholas didn’t take it as such.

he knew he couldn’t. “well, baby, that’s why i’m asking you to teach me.” you looked to his big hand; he made a gentle grabby motion twice, urging you — and back up your eyes went. “i can’t teach rhythm.” nicholas dropped his hand with a hoarse grumble. you sighed, feeling your body protesting the idea of getting up, but the way nicholas was still looking down at you, with that mix of earnestness and affection, made you give in. with a groan, you held out your hand — nicholas smiled wide and pulled you to your feet.

“five minutes.”

“all i need,” nicholas confirmed with a silly smile, dragging you over to the other side of the couch. your shared apartment wasn’t spacious, for no apartment was this side of queens, new york. your deep-grey tabby cat, ruby; the world’s most mischievous kitty, climbed back in through the open window and landed on her feet, gracefully. after an afternoon of racing up and down the fire-escape and most of the block ( ruby, though mischievous, was a friendly animal ), she was ready to be in her bed.

her bed; nicholas’ pillow.

“okay, so what’s first?” nicholas clapped his hands together, anticipating the next five minutes. “music,” you said, reaching down for your phone in between the couch cushions. “oh, how about from your show? i really love the gold one, what’s that song’s name?” he went over and picked up the musical’s playbill, flipping through the first couple of pages, “that song .. when you come out for the first time and look hot?” you almost laugh, unlocking your phone and scrolling through your music. “i’m not teachin’ you that, nic.”

“look, baby, if you’re worried about there not being enough room, let’s not worry, we can move this couch around some .. . throw the cat back outside-“ you stopped him right there, “or you can get out?” nicholas laughed at that, apologizing softly, coming up behind you. his hands found your waist and his chin dug into the skin of your shoulder, watching as your finger scrolled and scrolled. your finger touched down then, the bluetooth speaker in the corner coming to life immediately.

it started off as slow, lazy dancing in the living room to random musical theatre soundtracks . .. . the moonlight streaming through the large open windows, casting cool white rays over the hardwood floors — but quickly turned into a party.

you slid in from the hall opening, wearing oversized socks, loose basketball shorts, and a baggy football jersey; from nicholas’ side of the closet, your body rocking to the rhythm. you’re holding a wooden spoon, it’s your imaginary microphone, dramatically lip-syncing to bruce springsteen’s dancing in the dark, your expression playful and exaggerated.

nicholas was in the kitchen, a spatula in his hands and dragging his fingers along the handle as if it were an electric guitar, wearing a goofy grin. he’s wearing fuzzy socks, slipping across the floor, attempting to match your moves, his brown hair messy, his shirt half-tucked — this impromptu dance-off felt as though it had been going on for hours. nicholas moved to you, your energy completely in sync, lost in the fun of the moment.

you twirled away, laughing as you swung around the kitchen island, your socks giving you just the right amount of glide across the floor. you threw a hand up, pointing at nicholas like a pop star mid-performance, mouthing bruce springsteen’s lyrics. nicholas laughed, feigning a swoon, then slid back toward you, pulling you into a silly two-step.

and now you’re in the hallway again, where you’re at his side, arm wrapped around him, shuffling in time with the beat. you and nicholas sing together now, the music barely audible over your screaming voices, off-key but full of love.

you pushed nicholas away with a playful shove — he stumbled dramatically and recovered in seconds, lip-syncing passionately. as passionate as before. maybe even more so.

you end up in the living room, this time nicholas was spinning you around — as you twirl and spin with your boyfriend, the music grew louder. your body moved with his perfectly, not with precision or control, but with the kind of ease that comes from knowing each other so well. nicholas pulled you in close, your face just inches from his . .. . he’s grinning down at you like a kid, heart racing and thrashing cutely.

bruce springsteen faded smoothly into tears for fears — nicholas started his air guitar again and you bounced toward the kitchen, grabbing your wooden spoon again. braids flipped over one shoulder, you lifted yourself up onto the island in time for the first verse of everybody wants to rule the world. swinging your dangling feet and rocking your head side to side to the drums, you sang into the spoon.

and by the instrumental break, you and nicholas are skating through the hall, singing and dancing with reckless abandon, whirling and dipping, in your own little world. you’re breathless, your face flushed with laughter — watching nicholas overdo the solo guitar outro from where you sat on the couch’s armrest. he dropped onto his knees and rolled onto his back, his feet kicking into the air.

and as the strumming died, you collapsed back onto the couch in a heap, panting and drinking from nicholas’ cold bottle of pepsi. you and nicholas both jumped up startled hearing the grating pound of fists at the front door — ruby sprung from where she laid and ran around hysterically, you and nicholas scrambled to get up; you rushed behind the couch to quickly turn the blasting speaker down and he went to the front door. nicholas was squinting through the peephole, “fuck-it’s minnie .. .” ms. minnie from two doors down hated loud noises.

but she hated the young people scattered along the fourth floor even more.

[glitch-but-ya]

To love the heartless, and for the heartless to love.

Pairing: Scaramouche x Reader

TW: Angst(?) + Fluff(?), mentions of death, Scaramouche backstory mentioned, bickering, slight cursing

Summary: What can one do when wounds run too deep for bandaids to cure? That is the shared fate of two souls, burdened by scars etched into their being—scars that mirror each other in color. Yet, despite all odds, the unlikely bond between you becomes the very salve needed for the healing to commence. Word count: 1,780 words

“And if the world condemns us for our sins, let us intertwine our fingers and raise our head in defense, for we would not have sinned if the world hadn’t torn us apart.”

When you met Scaramouche, he was resting beneath the shade of a giant ebony tree, perched on a sturdy branch from which he could observe the farthest lands. His body lay carelessly on the branch, an oversized hat shielding his eyes from the peeking rays of the sun, and his chest remained unmoving. A few leaves escaped from their places and swiftly twirled to the ground. You watched as they swayed before ending their journey on his porcelain face. His face, which glimmered with a serenity unbefitting his reputation, barely moved as the leaves slid past his cheeks. You wondered for a moment—was he alive? If so, why did he lie so still, as if he were nothing but a pretty doll perched on the branch of a great ebony tree?

To your relief, the figure stirred. Scaramouche raised his hand and swatted mindlessly at a bird that flapped around him. He opened his eyes, and a frustrated groan left his lips soon after. Eventually, his gaze landed on you. “You’ve been there for a while, haven’t you? Well, what were you staring at?” he mumbled sleepily, his eyebrows furrowed with irritation, almost as if you were the one who had disturbed his sleep.

You rolled your eyes. “Thinking about how embarrassing it would be to fall asleep under a tree. At noon. In a place where everyone can see me.” “I wasn’t sleeping,” he said, jumping off the branch and dusting off his shorts. “I don’t sleep.” You crossed your arms. “Sure. Then, Mr. Wide Awake, what exactly were you doing?” He turned to you with a blank expression. “Hiding.” “Hiding? From what? A squirrel?”

Scaramouche sighed. “You’re exhausting. Do you always let your curiosity run wild?” “Excuse me?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Never mind. I’m leaving. Don’t even think about following me.” You huffed. “Please. Why would I waste my time chasing after a lost cause?”

“Good. You're smarter than I expected." “Ugh. You’re helpless.” You turned around and began walking in the opposite direction. You prayed this would be the last time you’d ever have to interact with him again. Unfortunately for you, the gods did not favor your request.

You ran into him a total of seven times afterward. He was everywhere you went. A few times, you found him resting on branches of various trees. Once, you ran into him being swamped by a flock of wild kittens. Other times, you spotted him across the street in the grand bazaar as you shopped for your daily groceries. If it weren’t purely coincidental, you might have thought you’d gained yourself a new stalker.

Eventually, you learned that, besides being a lazy asshole, he was also a student at the Akademiya, much like you. You found out the day you saw him studying in the House of Daena late at night, long after all the classes had ended. Looking back now, you’re quite glad he showed up there, at that moment, for that reason. Because after that oddly intimate conversation under the dim light of the desk lamp, something sprouted between the two of you. A growing bond, perhaps. An unexpected affection.

But you couldn’t deny that, even after all those encounters, Scaramouche remained a figure shrouded in darkness. No matter how many times you ran into each other afterward, and no matter how many times the two of you deliberately met and conversed, you felt as if you were still farther away from his past than you’d ever been.

That changed when you came across him one day on an isolated hilltop, gazing at the stars in the vast sky.

Scaramouche had deep scars—scars that left scrapes across his porcelain skin. Many parts of him were shattered, and some parts of him were missing entirely. That was the first thing you learned that served as revolutionary progress for your mental databank about him. And although you could not see these deformations with your naked eye, you could tell that they were there, festering, rotting beneath the nonchalant facade he wore. He wove a mask to protect everyone from inhaling the stench, the noxious gases that poisoned those around him.

But his mask wasn’t only formed to protect the world from him—it also protected him from the world. If the world caught wind of the sins and the mass of corpses he carried to this day, it would not be kind to him. He would lose everything he had fought to rebuild. Scaramouche was abandoned, betrayed, and tortured beyond human comprehension, yes. But nobody was responsible for his crimes except himself. So, he was forced to carry the weight of his actions, to bear the foul odor until he had truly redeemed himself and beyond. Just as he was born to do with his "mother’s" Gnosis.

However, you would not be scared away. What he didn’t know was that you also hid a few wounds of your own.

When you told Scaramouche about your past, he listened. Not once did he interrupt you, mock you for the tears you held back, or let his gaze overwhelm you as you spoke. His eyes were glued to the flickering stars, the bundle of sparkling lies you found mesmerizing. You had no doubt he was listening because he truly was. For some odd reason, you knew he cared, showing it in his own way.

“I just wish I could heal, move on from all this, and start over one day. But these wounds…” You picked at your skin and laughed dryly. “They don’t heal,” Scaramouche concluded for you. You looked at him with widened eyes, staring as the pencil of moonlight illuminated his face perfectly. “You know what it’s like.” “And after a while, they begin to rot.” You nodded to his words. “And then…” you continued, “They leave a scar engraved upon your being, a scar that won’t heal. A scar that will torment you with every beat of your battered heart.” You looked down at your hands. Silence stretched between you two.

Scaramouche couldn’t love you. He was the toy soldier who didn’t know where his feelings came from. He was the heartless Harbinger who brought only the suffering of his past to those around him. His hatred spread like a disease. He could not risk infecting you with the same sins that destroyed him. And on top of it all, Scaramouche did not have a heart. Every fleeting emotion that had ever rooted itself in his nonexistent heart must not exist, either.

“You survived with your heart. Ruined, I guess. But real.” You looked at him. “Do you not have a heart, Scaramouche?” He tsked, but you knew his words held no bite. “Have you memorized my anatomy?”

He shook his head and chuckled. “I don’t have a heart. I never did. For five hundred years, I dedicated myself to a voyage to find and reclaim my missing heart. But I never got close to achieving my goal. And my journey… only resulted in the death of someone dear to me.”

Scaramouche was but a shattered porcelain doll. His bones rusted as his blood seeped through the cracks. He was a bloodied man, drenched head to toe in crimson. He did not deserve to heal.

You sat with him for a while, basking in the gentle night breeze. Your hair flowed with the same tranquility your face carried. After a moment to yourself, your hand slowly found its way to his. “Let us heal,” you smiled; genuinely, this time. “This time, we will rewrite our fate.”

Scaramouche turned his head toward the sky, his eyes flicking over the fake stars that hung proudly in the air. “Even if our fate was predetermined?” You nodded. He looked down at the spot where his heart should be. “Do you have what it takes to love the heartless?” “Does the heartless have what it takes to love?” “If I say yes?” His hand gripped yours. “Then I’ll show you how I love the heartless.”

Perhaps feelings truly can emerge from a heart that does not exist. Perhaps the right people can make a missing heart beat. Scaramouche was certain this time he would not be betrayed.

A/N: For a friend. If you’re reading this, I truly hope you could enjoy this fic.

[aventurineswife]

Hello!! i hope you're having a great day, if you don't mind, can I request Aventurine with a reader that is like Kanade Yoisaki (pjsk) s/o?

Between the Notes

Summary: Aventurine and you share a tender and supportive relationship. You, a composer deeply dedicated to using music to heal others, struggle with the weight of your emotions and past guilt. Aventurine, with his charm and understanding, becomes a grounding force in your life, encouraging you to open up and let go of the need to save the world alone.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Kanade Yoisaki based Reader, Comfort, Romance, Emotional Support, Healing.

A/N: When I read about her backstory, I felt so bad for her 😕💔 she shouldn't go through that at such young age...

The melody poured through the apartment, soft and melancholic, each note striking like a whispered confession. The dim light of your cluttered workspace illuminated your weary eyes as your fingers danced across the keyboard. Composing was your refuge, a way to capture the emotions you couldn’t say aloud. You’d always believed music could save people, could reach places words never could.

Then, one day, Aventurine walked into your life.

It wasn’t planned—nothing with him ever was. He was a storm of charisma and daring, someone who lived on the edge of chaos, yet carried himself with grace. You met at a small event hosted by the IPC, where your talent as a composer had gained attention. He’d approached you with a warm smile, his eyes gleaming with intrigue.

“You must be the musical genius I’ve heard about,” he’d said, his voice smooth like velvet. “I’m Aventurine. And you?”

You introduced yourself, your voice barely above a whisper, but something in his gaze encouraged you to speak. From that moment, Aventurine became an unexpected presence in your world.

Months Later, The gentle hum of your computer filled the room, the only sound besides the occasional clink of a teacup. Aventurine lounged on your couch, his coat draped across the armrest. He held a teacup delicately, his eyes watching you with quiet amusement.

“You’ve been at this for hours, love,” he said, setting the cup down. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re composing your magnum opus to impress me.”

You glanced over your shoulder, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not for you,” you teased. “But if it makes you think of me, I wouldn’t mind.”

He chuckled, a sound that always sent warmth through your chest. “Touché. But seriously, you need to take a break. Even maestros need rest.”

You shook your head, your fingers pausing on the keys. “I can’t stop now. If I do… I’ll lose the feeling. The song—it’s meant to reach someone. It has to.”

His expression softened, his playful demeanor giving way to something deeper. Aventurine rose from the couch, moving to stand behind you. His hands rested gently on your shoulders.

“You carry so much on those shoulders,” he murmured. “Always trying to save the world with your music. But have you ever thought about letting someone save you?”

His words struck a chord, the same way a dissonant note resolved into harmony. You turned to face him, your voice trembling. “I don’t need saving, Aventurine. I… I just need someone who understands.”

He knelt before you, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Then let me understand. Let me be your audience, your partner in this chaotic symphony of life. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

For the first time in years, the weight on your chest eased. Aventurine’s presence was like a counterpoint to your melody—unexpected yet perfectly aligned.

Later That Night, The two of you sat together, your keyboard silent as the stars glimmered through the window. Aventurine held your hand, tracing small circles against your skin.

“Do you think music can really save people?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

“I think it already has,” he replied, his tone earnest. “It saved me the moment I heard yours.”

And in that moment, you knew—you weren’t alone in your song anymore.