#there are things you know & are aware of & are familiar with

[the-silly-words-on-your-screen]

you know what? what the heck. i thought to myself 'it would be pretty stupid if i answered all these. and i am pretty stupid. so imma do it.' and here i am. if i dont make sense, (the expected outcome), you're free to ask me to elaborate

1: Perpetual. i've decided i'll simply not die just to live up to it 2: more than 19, less than 21 3: the 5 of 2 4: whichever one my birthday says i am 5: i like orange and purple and white and black and gold 6: 13. i'm using all of 13's luck, that's why it's unlucky for everyone else 7: one (1) goober. a creature, even. a feline. 8: the Miniature Soda state 9: like. about 5'10" i dont know. havent measured in a long while 10: no clue 11: 0.75 12: i do not and cannot dream 13: i can forge a sword, and know how to use one too. i play keyboard 14: i have a psychic ability to access my own mind and make myself instantly forget where i've put my phone 15: a good song never dies - saint motel 16: bullet train (2022) / everything everywhere all at once (2022) 17: the 2 lovely cuties i'm dating right now ^-^ 18: kiddos are cute, and i wanna raise one right 19: nah i'd rather be somewhere familiar 20: agnostic atheist. i don't have a damned clue and thats no reason to assume something exists (for me. believe what you want) 21: yeah. they broke my face once 22: i have never sillied too close to the sun 23: if i did they were real sneaky and didn't tell me 24: showers if need fast, baths if want slow 25: the nonexistent kind made from air 26: i mean. 300 of y'all are following me for some reason. that count? 27: i am actively doing my best to remain obscure here 28: the type that makes brain go wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee 29: i prefer clothing 30: (√(2x)) - 3 = 1 31: the infamous 'curl into a ball in the middle of my pillow castle' 32: not 33: i dont typically eat breakfast. just big linner 34: yes, it went pew 35: yes, it did not go pew 36: squimsh. tied with hemck. 37: dam(n) 38: like. probably at least 3 earth rotations 39: more than i'd prefer 40: if i did, they did a real good job keeping it a secret 41: i would argue that lying is bad 42: i think so but then again all i can provide is my own opinion 43: yes but i have no idea what they are half the time 44: not that i'm aware of 45: scottish. its just. ghgjdreamfirgrainfitjslotsgfjellogirsenjemgkjnrgemgrjneathnjkrnosegnj 46: different every time i take one of those silly tests :P 47: shirt i accidentally ordered from greece. 120$ shipping. not even a good shirt 48: up yes. down no 49: le in 50: it truly depends on what i'm doing

SPLIT IN HALF BECAUSE TUMBLR IS DRUNK AND WONT LET ME POST THE WHOLE THING AT ONCE> SORRY

Get To Know Me Uncomfortably Well

PLEASE DON’T LET THIS FLOP AHHHH

1. What is you middle name? 2. How old are you? 3. When is your birthday? 4. What is your zodiac sign? 5. What is your favorite color? 6. What’s your lucky number? 7. Do you have any pets? 8. Where are you from? 9. How tall are you? 10. What shoe size are you? 11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? 12. What was your last dream about? 13. What talents do you have? 14. Are you psychic in any way? 15. Favorite song? 16. Favorite movie? 17. Who would be your ideal partner? 18. Do you want children? 19. Do you want a church wedding? 20. Are you religious? 21. Have you ever been to the hospital? 22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? 23. Have you ever met any celebrities? 24. Baths or showers? 25. What color socks are you wearing? 26. Have you ever been famous? 27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? 28. What type of music do you like? 29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? 30. How many pillows do you sleep with? 31. What position do you usually sleep in? 32. How big is your house? 33. What do you typically have for breakfast? 34. Have you ever fired a gun? 35. Have you ever tried archery? 36. Favorite clean word? 37. Favorite swear word? 38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? 39. Do you have any scars? 40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? 41. Are you a good liar? 42. Are you a good judge of character? 43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? 44. Do you have a strong accent? 45. What is your favorite accent? 46. What is your personality type? 47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing? 48. Can you curl your tongue? 49. Are you an innie or an outie? 50. Left or right handed? 51. Are you scared of spiders? 52. Favorite food? 53. Favorite foreign food? 54. Are you a clean or messy person? 55. Most used phrased? 56. Most used word? 57. How long does it take for you to get ready? 58. Do you have much of an ego? 59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? 60. Do you talk to yourself? 61. Do you sing to yourself? 62. Are you a good singer? 63. Biggest Fear? 64. Are you a gossip? 65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? 66. Do you like long or short hair? 67. Can you name all 50 states of America? 68. Favorite school subject? 69. Extrovert or Introvert? 70. Have you ever been scuba diving? 71. What makes you nervous? 72. Are you scared of the dark? 73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? 74. Are you ticklish? 75. Have you ever started a rumor? 76. Have you ever been in a position of authority? 77. Have you ever drank underage? 78. Have you ever done drugs? 79. Who was your first real crush? 80. How many piercings do you have? 81. Can you roll your Rs?“ 82. How fast can you type? 83. How fast can you run? 84. What color is your hair? 85. What color is your eyes? 86. What are you allergic to? 87. Do you keep a journal? 88. What do your parents do? 89. Do you like your age? 90. What makes you angry? 91. Do you like your own name? 92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? 93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child? 94. What are you strengths? 95. What are your weaknesses? 96. How did you get your name? 97. Were your ancestors royalty? 98. Do you have any scars? 99. Color of your bedspread? 100. Color of your room?

[amywritesthings]

care. / a levi period comfort fic

pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader word count: 1.4k summary: You have to skip your gym date with Levi due to bad period cramps. Levi, however, isn't going to let you suffer alone.

note: set in the press four for more options / dating on airplane mode universe tags: modern au, neighbors au, menstruation, cramp pain, period talk, doting new boyfriend levi, fluff, adult language, reader has a chronic pms pain

author note: today is my birthday!! my gift to you is this little P4/DOAP one shot. this is a little self indulgent, so i hope this helps anyone else that experiences bad pains like me! i will be writing one shots all month for my endo awareness event, so feel free to send requests if you would like to see more! credit: dividers by @saradika-graphics

( Read on AO3. )

You know as soon as you wake up what kind of day it’s going to be.

As you stir from slumber, you’re met with the familiar, unforgiving punch to the gut before you take your first deep inhale. The sharp jab is a tell-tale sign that you should have probably hit the pharmacy when you had the time during your lunch break — yesterday.

You know, before things got awful.

“God damn it.”

Periods have always been a sore spot to discuss in your life. The immense pain that follows the next agonizing few days is not a new occurrence, but knowing them intimately never makes them any better. No matter how many times you’ve prepared, weathered, endured — it’s a gamble whether or not you have the energy to eat today, much less do anything productive.

Dragging your phone off of the adjacent nightstand, your heart sinks when you see your most recent notifications:

Alarm set for 7:30 a.m. (Dismiss?)

Remember to pay credit card bill. (Eventually.)

New text from Levi Ackerman.

Shit.

Opening the third notification first, you read his text from five minutes ago.

[LEVI:] Hey. Still going to the gym this morning?

Self hatred floods your system when you realize there’s no way in hell you’re going to be going to the gym today, much less leaving this apartment. It’ll be a miracle if you can drag yourself to the bathroom.

Missing out on seeing Levi today hurts more than you’re willing to admit.

Tapping the reply bubble, you type in response:

[ME:] Sorry, not feeling well. :( Rain check?

It’s weird to confess why, right?

Everything is way too fresh, much too new, between the two of you.

You can’t burden your newest partner with the—

Another notification pops up immediately.

[LEVI:] What’s wrong?

Double shit.

Sighing to yourself, you type back, hesitate, then send.

[ME:] Don’t worry about it, it’s pretty embarrassing. I probably won’t be able to leave the apartment today. I’m rooting you on from down here!

Or up here, technically, if he’s going to be at the gym.

(Dumbass.)

You drop your phone to your mattress, slowly easing yourself out of bed. You check the sheets behind you to make sure you didn’t ruin them — thank god, there’s a singular win for this morning — before waddling to the bathroom.

Grabbing a new pair of underwear and a pad, you sit on the toilet with your head in your hands, taking some time to breathe through the initial cramps.

A few days.

Just a few days and you can—

It’s faint, but you hear it.

Three raps at your front door.

Knock, knock, knock.

Perking your head up, your brows furrow as you finish up, tug your pajama bottoms back on, and wash your hands. Crossing the living room to the front door, you use the peephole to see who’s waiting outside.

For the briefest moment, you forget your cramps altogether.

“Levi?!” you yelp, shocked by his presence.

“Hey,” he states, arms crossed over his chest. He’s wearing his typical white workout tank, displaying his lean arms in the fisheye lens of your doorframe. “You okay in there?”

“I— yeah, I’m okay!” you lie, higher pitched than usual. “Sorry, I can’t let you in.”

You note how his chin tilts, contemplating your brevity. 

“You come down with some shitty cold or whatever?”

“No, it’s—”

“Stomach bug?”

“No, not at all, it’s just—”

“I can wear a mask if you got something catchable.” He shifts, thumbing back to the hallway behind him like he knows you’re watching. “I have a bunch at my place.”

“Levi, no,” you blurt, getting frustrated. “I have my period!”

The dark-haired man stops.

His brows furrow, contemplating with evident confusion on his face.

“...I’m confused, a period of what? Fucking dysentary or something?” When you’re about to argue, he pointedly glances at the peephole. “Can you at least open the door for a sec?”

Reluctantly you agree to his request, unlocking the door and swinging it open. You feel immense shame standing in front of your new boyfriend looking messy and make-up free.

There hasn’t even been time to at least put on some moisturizer, damn it.

When he finally sees you at your worst (or so you perceive to be your worst) he doesn’t even bat an eye.

The stormy grays just stare into your own, brows rising expectantly.

“What do you need?”

You lean against your doorframe, trying to breathe through another wave of cramps. “What?”

With a tsk, he steps a baited sneaker into the threshold of your apartment. When you don’t push him out, he fully enters your apartment and beelines to your kitchen.

(Right. Same layout, just a couple of floors higher.)

“Get comfy on the couch,” he states like he’s a coach again, devoid of nonsense. “You have any tea lying around?”

“I don’t understand,” you state, only then closing the door to your apartment. “You were about to go to the gym—”

“Yeah, and now I’m not.”

“Levi.”

“Couch,” he counters, plucking the kettle you had sitting dormant on your stovetop to fill it with water. “Or your bed, if that makes you more comfortable.”

You can’t really argue with that, not when your cramps are making you dizzy.

Hell, his insistence on helping is making you even dizzier but in an entirely different way.

When you dated Porco, he never extended help beyond some comforting words and a stray pint of ice cream. Levi looks natural rummaging around your kitchen as if he’s been spending time here for months.

“You really don’t have to babysit me,” you try to reason, though you find yourself slowly shambling towards your couch anyway. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, well, my mother used to have a lot of really bad months when I was growing up.” Levi starts the stove, heating up the water. His eyes briefly flicker to you. “My friend, Hange, doesn’t exactly have a walk in the park with this shit, either. They left an arsenal of supplies at my place whenever they come around. Can’t imagine they’ll care if I borrow some of it.”

So Levi has period supplies at his apartment for friends and family?

That…

You’ve never heard of any man who has something like that.

“Supplies like what?”

“Admittedly it’s a bunch of stuff we used to offer people at our gym in case they were having a rough week,” he explains as if this is nothing while he watches the kettle grow hot. 

Then again, periods are supposed to be nothing.

They’re natural and half of the planet go through them monthly, and yet —

“Heating pads, two different sizes. Mint and ginger tea are soothing for cramping. I’ve got a decently fresh stock of those leaves. Not sure if you’re out of sanitary products, but I got some of those in a cabinet, too.”

You stare dumbfounded, your heart skipping a beat.

(As if this man couldn’t be any more attractive.)

When you don’t respond, he turns around to look at you. His eyes soften as they search your face.

“I’d ask how your pain is right now, but I take it it’s high?” You nod. “Alright. Mind if I keep the door unlocked? I’ll run upstairs and grab everything.”

“You don’t have—”

“Don’t,” he cuts you off, but it isn’t firm like before.

Levi walks across the room towards you. As he bends at the hip, his dog tags slip out of his tank top.

Gentle lips press to the crown of your head.

“Let me take care of you, alright? You’re my girl. That’s my responsibility, especially when you’re feeling like shit. I can do push-ups anywhere. Gym’s not a necessity.”

Melting at his reassurance, you can’t help but tease. 

“So I get pampering and a show? Talk about high-class service.”

The lips on your head curve to a smirk before pulling away, his eyes meeting yours. His hand raises to cup the side of your face adoringly. An absentminded thumb strokes your cheek.

“Yeah, well, you know me. High fucking class or whatever.”

When you laugh, the corner of his mouth twitches again. He lifts your chin and leans forward, kissing your lips. You return the gesture, warmth spreading throughout your body.

“I’ll be five minutes,” he whispers against your lips.

“It only takes you five minutes to run up six flights of stairs and back?”

“You can time me if you think I’m lying.”

“Deal.”

[revelboo]

Following you has been an insane experience of "Oh revelboo is writing for the bugs, let me take a look... Curiousity cannot possibly kill the cat this time" to "HOW DID REVELBOO MAKE ME LIKE THE BUGS????"

Seriously though, the way you write Waspinator, the insecticons, and especially ES Tarantulas has been scratching my brain in such a good way😭😭

🤣 Give in to the bug husbands

18+ Mass displaced mechs 🌶️

You (Don’t) Know Me Pt 10

Insecticons x Reader

• Overwhelmed by all three of them, their emotions and memories sink into you until you know them all as well as you know yourself, tangled in their sparks so firmly, you can’t really separate yourself from them. From the familiarity of them. From feeling like you’re home. And when it’s too much, when you try to flee them, they chase after you. Relentless in their demands that you surrender to them. Streaming like a fiery comet through this shared space, you’re aware of them right behind you. Catching you, tangling themselves more firmly in you, coaxing. Aware of your physical body caught between the three of them, of Bombshell between your thighs, hips thrusting, your head thrown back against Kickback and the scrape of Shrapnel’s sharp denta against your shoulder.

• Getting closer to what he needs every time he catches you, Bombshell can feel your resolve weakening. And they’re not stopping until they wear you down. Until you submit to them. Claim them as yours. Need a full bond to spark you. Need a full bond to truly crown you as their queen. Spike pumping inside you as you writhe under him, your soft hands cling to him. Your body knowing what it wants, but the rest of you is still defying him. Slipping between him and Shrapnel to arrow away.

• Intercepting you when you break from the other two again, Kickback wraps himself around your light, tasting you. Everything that you are spilling into him a little more with every brush with you. And he wants it all. Needs it. Coaxing you as you tiredly try to break free, wavering and uncertain. Bombshell and Shrapnel joining him, letting their need spill into you. Always sneered at, treated like monsters by other Cybertronians unless their skills are needed. You won’t forsake them, though. They need a home. A queen. You.

• So close. Adding to Kickback’s overtures with his own, Shrapnel wraps himself about you and Kickback both. You’d be safe. Protected and treasured as their queen. Loved. A soft, little mate to reach willingly for them when they return to the hive. Who wants them. They’ll guard and care for you and you’ll help them create a new hive. A future. Just submit to them. Be their queen.

• Exhausted as Bombshell joins them and you’re trapped between all three of them again, you’re aware of your body coiling and so close to release. Of them all asking for the same thing. For you to be theirs. And would it be so bad? To play queen for them, be adored and worshipped by the three of them. Safe from their hunger. There’s more, something just there that you can’t get ahold of. A thought they’re jealously guarding. Arching as you come apart, that coaxing becomes everything, pulling at you in demand and you give in to it. Accept them as yours and the coaxing shifts, becoming a question you don’t understand. Feel Bombshell’s urgent thrusts falter, hear him snarl as he fills you, hips snapping against you. That need sharpening until you submit to that question, accepting it, too even though you don’t understand it.

• Clawed servos digging into Kickback to make him chirp in pain, Bombshell hisses. Struggling against the urge to sink his denta into you as you milk his spike and he’s overloading again, aware of Kickback squirming under you with a guttural noise of need. Of Shrapnel rutting against your thigh. Reluctantly pulling back, breaking the connection between his spark and you. Uncertain if it worked, if he succeeded in sparking you. But they’ll just keep trying. And Shrapnel and Kickback are hiding away their sparks, freeing you to make you gasp. Venting raggedly when you tremble under him, he slips free of you and your eyes open to stare up at him when he stands. So small and helpless, but now you’re everything. His queen. Not what he’d expected at all, but for better or worse, you’re theirs. And Shrapnel is moving to take his place, spike sinking into you, hips pumping.

Previous

[tinysheepcrusade]

Violet Times

Short Sevika Smut Blurb

No amount of planning could have prepared you for this. Your hand shakes as it pulls the key out the third lock on the door. You'd been with your wife for so long and she had trained you for this day, yet with her discipline, and unusually gentle nature towards only you, you'd never really expected this to happen. 

The door knob jiggles, a few bangs, and then silence. You're almost worried enough to check, almost. You remember her telling you not to fall for her little tricks. She’d use your empathy against you, whatever it took to get into that room. 

“Angel, it's okay…the shimmers almost worn off. I just want to sleep the rest off.”

You’re still frozen sitting on the floor in complete shock “Then sleep on the couch, there's a blanket and everything…”

It's not clear if she's aware you can hear the feral growl she lets out from the other side. “You know my back doesn't do well out there-”

“Then go find a hotel to stay at, you know as well as I do you weren't supposed to come home this early, and definitely not…like this.” You try to avoid saying anything that could trigger her, yet she's still in the hallway, her deep voice trying to pull you out of safety. 

“How cruel~” 

The doorknob begins to shake again and it takes a second to recognize what she's doing. 

“Sevika no! Stop it, you've got so much shimmer in your system you are acting insane!” You shout in a mild panic. Your hands attempt to stop the handle from shaking back n forth but it's not long before you hear a click. The handle turns successfully but the door doesn't open. Courtesy of the two other locks Sevika installed herself while in her right mid. “Put that damn bobby pin away and get the hell out!” When she notices how close to the door you are her hand shoots underneath it, attempting to grab your ankle, she only narrowly misses and you kick her away. 

“Y/N-” your name falls breathy from her lips. “I just wanna see my sweet wife…wanna make her feel good.” 

“...Should have thought of that when you caught me earlier, if you wanted me that badly you shouldn't have been so easily baited into letting me go.” You can't help but mock the situation. For all the drugs she had in her system, she still couldn't help but listen to your every word when you batted your eyelashes at her. “Now politely piss off until you've calmed down.” 

The door bangs against the frame a few more times and for a second you question if it's going to hold. You didn't think anything could scare you more than the borderline animalistic sounds she was huffing out, until she started laughing like a cartoon villain. 

“Oh doll.” Her metal hand scratches against the wood, slow. A sharp noise hisses into the air. Like nails on a chalkboard. “Either way this ends with you fucked out underneath me, yeah?” She groans. Even through the door the familiar sound of her belt hitting the ground isn't lost on you. “This shimmer in my system doesn't change the fact my fingers belong between your legs, pumping in and out, infact with this running through my veins I bet you I can move my hand faster than those little vibrators of yours. G-gonna make you scream my name sweetheart~”

“Sevika…enough.” The only thing stopping your core from heating up at her words was pure concern for her wellbeing. “Listen to your wife and go get some water and lay down…”

“No.” Another bang of the door. “I already decided the only drink I want is between your legs. Only place I plan to sleep is next to you.” 

“Damnit.” You curse. It almost might be better to ignore her, yet you feel obligated to try to persuade her to make better choices. “Your not fucking me tonight so your just wasting y-” Another jolt of the door befuddles you, it's a rhythmic slam, not as loud as the others but still powerful enough to make you wonder if the door would hold. You may have never even noticed what she was doing until the filthiest groan leaves her throat. “Sevika I know you aren't thrusting against the door!”

Another groan, even deeper than last time. “Gonna shove my cock so deep in you that you feel it in your stomach Y/N~” Sevika punctuates your name with a particular hard thrust. “Keep you pinned down on your back and make you watch me get off to the way you helplessly fall apart-” Thrust “Your mouth can lie but that gorgeous body of yours isn't capable of that sweetheart, just-” The thrusting picks up to a speed your positive you can't handle. “Open. The. Door.”

It's taking everything in your soul to not panic, this wasn't normal behavior from her or anyone for that matter. All responses have long left your mind and you sit in silence, eventually, even she stops and you pray she's given up but her voice picks up through the door once more. 

And God does she sound pissed. 

“For every time I ask and have asked you to open this door is one time I'm going to wring an orgasm from you, let's assume we're at around five now.” She hums. 

“Vika…”

“Baby~”

“Make as many threats as you want, that door ain't opening, for every time you ask adds an hour to your outside timer…let's assume you're at six~” you mock. 

Sevikas fist slams into the door. “Have it your way then but I don't wanna hear any complaints or begging if you start to see heaven, woman.”

You genuinely snort at her frustration. “Okay Vika see you tomorrow!”

No response. 

Finally, you think. She's given up and gone to rest like she should have from the beginning. You wander off to go take a shower, enjoying the loud music blaring in your ears. You finish your nighttime routine and skip back into the bedroom for your peaceful night alone, just you, your soap operas-

And the bright purple eyes staring at you from the darkness, the single window open wide behind them. 

-

Note: Hope you enjoyed and Yes I'm still working on the second chapter for the other Sevika fic but this was stuck in my nogging taking up space so I had to get it out~

[suguwu]

here have just under 1k of a nanami draft i found in my docs bc apparently that's the vibe today

"you're being weird."

nanami raises an eyebrow. "i'm not," he says.

"you are," you say. "you're being weird about dumplings."

you'd picked them up on the way over, sending nanami a vague text to say that you'll be late. it's one of his favorite stalls, a humble little thing tucked away near a busy izakaya. it's a long wait, but you've never minded. you like to watch the vendor make shumai while waiting, marveling at the quick precision of her bent fingers. she works with an easy, fluid familiarity.

shoko teases you when you say the vendor's dumplings—shumai, gyoza, all of her offerings—are made with love, but you think that knowing something so well that it's etched in your fingertips couldn't be anything but.

it's always felt right to share them with nanami.

he picks one up and eats it. you stifle a smile. the stiff way he's holding his chopsticks and the way he's not looking at you speaks volumes. it's almost childish.

you think you love him most in these moments.

you point your chopsticks at him, ignoring the way he rolls his eyes at your rudeness. "see? you're being weird."

you probably should have known this was coming. you'd tipped the scale as soon as you'd arrived with the takeout containers.

"i'm eating dumplings," he says.

"weirdly."

"what does that even mean?"

you peer at him, scrunching up your brow to match his. he's unamused. or rather, he'd like to be, but you know better.

"i dunno," you say. "you just are."

he sighs. you think if you kissed him now, you could taste the smile he's swallowing down. "i don't know what i was expecting."

"me either. you really should know better."

he doesn't answer you, too busy stealing a dumpling out from beneath your chopsticks. you gape at him as he pops it into his mouth.

"kento!"

"yes, sweetheart?"

you grumble out a soft insult. he chuckles, a low, sweet rumbling, and you consider letting everything go. consider just basking in the warmth.

but he reaches for another dumpling, and you think of the way he'd looked when you brought them. how you could practically see him flipping through your favorite things like recipe cards, searching, searching, searching for what to do next.

"kento," you say.

"what?" he asks, starting to nudge a dumpling—your favorite kind—towards you. he raises a brow when you don't reply.

you take a deep breath.

"you know that you don't have to earn everything, right?" you ask carefully.

nanami goes still.

"excuse me?"

"you don't need to earn everything," you repeat. you shift in your seat, trying to ignore the way your heart is rabbiting in your chest, the way heat is spreading beneath your skin.

he puts his chopsticks down.

"what do you mean?"

"don't do that," you snap. "don't pretend you don't know what i'm talking about."

nanami's dark eyes sharpen. "you're being unfair," he says, blunt as always, and you hate that he's right. "i have an idea of it, but i want to make sure that i understand. i think i should be able to ask for clarity."

each word is calm. cool. you think of early winter, when the ice is thickening with each passing day.

your chopsticks are leaving imprints of their pattern on your palm. it almost hurts. nanami's gaze darts down to your hand; his lips thin.

"i don't—you don't need to earn everything," you say helplessly, scrambling for better words. "surprise dumplings can just be that. you don't need to do something in return. you don't need to reciprocate every time i do something for you."

you hadn't thought anything of it. not at first. you're not even sure when you noticed. but you had, and now you see it every single time. you've never given him a present—no matter how small—and not received one just a day or two later. it's sweet in its own way, but the longer it goes on, the more it sits like tar between your ribs, heavy and sticky and noxious.

"i enjoy gifting you things," he says. "you're aware of that. it's never been an issue before. what is it, exactly, that you need?"

"i need you to let me love you without feeling like you owe me for it."

his shoulders go tight. you've teased him before about the mountain ridge of them, how solid he is, how immovable, but there's something fragile to them now. a rockslide waiting to happen.

"fuck," you hiss, your stomach roiling. "i just—you're so bad at being taken care of. i want to do things for you. just because. i want to do things for you without you needing to do something in return, because sometimes it's like you don't think i love you enough to stay."

nanami takes in a sharp breath.

[bitchinbarzal]

Stay | Just Fine Au

Kaia doesn’t get a chance to respond.

Because before she can, Elodie stirs on the couch, her tiny face scrunching up as she blinks awake.

“Daddy?”

Clayton is beside her in an instant “Hey, baby” His voice is soft, careful, but the way his fingers tremble as they brush over her curls gives him away “I’m right here”

Elodie sniffles, shifting slightly against the pillow “Kaia too?”

“I’m here, sweetheart” Kaia says gently, reaching for her hand. Elodie squeezes her fingers weakly, and Kaia can feel the exhaustion radiating off her tiny frame.

For a moment, the three of them just sit there, pressed together in the small space of Kaia’s couch, and the world outside feels miles away.

Then, Elodie’s little voice breaks the silence.

“I don’t like her” she mumbles, her uninjured arm curling against her chest.

Clayton frowns “Who, baby?”

Elodie’s lower lip wobbles “Maddy.”

Kaia’s stomach tightens.

Clayton shifts, his jaw clenching “Why not?”

Elodie blinks up at him, looking so small under the weight of what happened “She was mean, Daddy. She said it was all my fault” Her little voice wobbles “I was crying, and she yells”

Clayton’s entire body goes rigid.

Kaia sees it—the way his shoulders tense, the way his fingers twitch at his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to break something.

“She yelled at you?” His voice is low, controlled, but Kaia knows him too well. Knows he’s barely holding it together.

Elodie nods, rubbing at her tired eyes “She said I wasn’t listening. But I—I just tripped I promise” A tear slips down her cheek, and Kaia immediately reaches out, wiping it away.

“Oh, baby” Kaia murmurs, pulling her close “It wasn’t your fault. Not even a little bit”

Elodie hiccups, burying her face in Kaia’s shirt “I want to stay with you”

Kaia’s heart shatters.

She looks up at Clayton, expecting him to look gutted, but instead, he just looks furious. His hands are clenched into fists, his jaw tight, his whole body radiating rage.

But when he speaks, his voice is gentle.

“You don’t have to see her again, El” he promises, brushing a hand over her curls “I swear.”

Elodie sniffles, nodding against Kaia’s chest.

Kaia presses a kiss to the top of her head, whispering, “You’re safe, baby.”

And she means it.

She’ll make sure of it.

The next few weeks are off.

Not in a way that feels explosive. There are no fights, no raised voices, no words they can’t take back.

It’s just careful.

Too careful.

Clayton is always around now. Picking Elodie up, dropping her off. Sometimes, just sitting on Kaia’s couch while Elodie naps. It feels familiar, like something they lost—but at the same time, it’s different.

It’s cautious.

Like they’re both afraid to break whatever fragile thing has settled between them.

But then, there are moments that make Kaia’s chest ache.

Like the night Elodie wakes up crying from a bad dream, and Clayton calls Kaia instead of handling it alone.

Like the way Clayton always lingers in her doorway a second too long, like he wants to say something but doesn’t.

Like the way their fingers brush when he hands her a plate after dinner, and instead of pulling away, they both pause.

Like the way Elodie still reaches for her when she’s upset.

Like the way Kaia is starting to realize she’ll never not be part of this.

And then, one night, when Clayton is sitting on the floor with Elodie, helping her decorate her cast with stickers, Kaia blurts out the question that’s been eating at her for weeks.

“What does this mean?”

Clayton looks up, blinking like he wasn’t expecting her to say it out loud “What?”

Kaia folds her arms, suddenly too aware of how much space there isn’t between them “You. Me. This. What does it mean?”

Clayton exhales slowly, setting down a sheet of stickers before standing up. He looks at her, something serious in his expression “I don’t know”

Kaia clenches her jaw “That’s not an answer”

Clayton’s gaze flickers to Elodie, who’s too focused on her cast to be listening. He takes a slow step closer “I just know that I don’t want to do this without you”

Kaia swallows hard.

Because damn him—that’s the one thing he could’ve said that would’ve stopped her in her tracks.

“Kaia” he murmurs, reaching out, brushing his fingers against hers “I meant what I said.”

She exhales sharply, shaking her head, pulling her hand away “You also said you didn’t need me, Clay.”

His face tightens, regret flickering across his expression “I know”

Silence stretches between them.

Then, “Kaia?”

They both turn to see Elodie looking up at them, her tired little eyes blinking between them “Can you stay?”

Kaia softens.

She glances at Clayton, who nods, something unreadable in his expression.

Then, she turns back to Elodie and smiles “Yeah, baby,” she whispers “I’ll stay.”

And for now, that’s all she can promise.

[utilitycaster]

i just finished this week's episode and I'm so blown away by Celia's portrayal of faith in exandria and how deep her understanding is and firstly, god, it's just so beautiful to watch but, secondly, it is kind of creating this juxtaposition to me of this person who's been brought in for a mini series, given a lore primer, does seem to have watched SOME episodes, has such a grasp on worship and the role of the gods in exandria vs bells hells who had hundreds of episodes to learn about it

So I agree that Celia's performance has been an absolute highlight, and while I'm try to taper off some of the post-mortem C3 stuff I think a couple things were going on. Most crucially, as Divergence is a limited series with actors who aren't terribly familiar with Exandria, I am sure there was a lot more guidance with regards to character creation and series tone. I would not be surprised if Brennan and Matt wanted characters with a range of attitudes towards the Prime Deities, ranging from Nia and Garen being faithful despite it all, to Crokas and Fiedra's neutrality/apathy, to Erro's loss of faith, and who could show how all of these people, despite those different attitudes, could work together if they prioritized community and hope.

The thing about Bells Hells is again, the cast is aware of the role of the gods in the world, as we've seen in past campaigns. I think again this was a lack of guidance and people building characters who were not prepared to engage with the question of "what would you do if the gods - all of them, not just the Prime Deities - were threatened" in a meaningful way, and Matt did not guide the campaign when they began aimlessly circling that question and indeed simply threw more options at them. They - and their fans - consistently believed the worst not just of the gods but of those who worshiped them and their fellow Exandrians (we've already extensively talked about the breathtaking selfishness of "I don't know if I want to save someone who doesn't love me," but consider how Ashton assumed the gods would smite them down for knowing the true story of Aeor [something Bells Hells chose to suppress for reasons I actually don't understand, like, I don't mind that they did this but it feels like they nearly got Liliana killed simply to go against Ludinus, which wasn't even their ultimate motivation in the end] and repeatedly treated the gods-as-mortals plan as a punishment to humble them, even though the Primes very much did not see it as such). It is, as I said sometime last week, an aberrant party attitude towards the world as compared to Campaigns 1, 2, EXU Prime, Downfall, every canon or semi-canon one-shot (eg: Song of the Lorelei) and, I would even posit, not even in line with the portrayal of the gods within C3's main story (not even Downfall) itself. So I don't want to diminish the excellent work Celia's put in, because they've been fantastic throughout, but I really think it's just...Bells Hells had a bunch of character concepts that probably should have been further refined early on, and far more guidance was given re: Rei'Nia's development, and it shows.

[marigoldsandbuttercups]

(I definitely did not accidentally fuck this one up somehow lol)

"Why are you familiar? How do you know my level 10 tragic backstory-"

Sans: It takes him a long ass time to do something about this. It's not that he doesn't notice it, he does. He just wants to make sure that he hasn't lost his shit from everything that's happened and that the way you look at him, the things you say imply that you know far more than you let on. It feels easy to him, way too easy that it scares him to trust that you really do remember him as he does with you. He's scared that there's something behind all this, a horrible, horrible trick being played upon him by the stars.

He kind of doesn't do anything at first, to be honest. He doesn't know how to feel about it, it's all so mixed. Happy that he's not the only one, and yet confused, why after so long.. You remember everything now? It's very overwhelming, surprisingly, but one thing that makes him feel (somewhat) at ease is that you remember him. That you never forgot him in a timeline that no longer exists. Though, he won't confront it.. not until he has to, at least. (Or if you confront him about it when he's desperately trying to be evasive cause what the fuck-)

Papyrus: He's more observant than he lets on, and he's certain that you're aware of this fact. How, though, is an interesting question. One that he can't quite come up with an answer, for it to make sense. Even his own brother isn't this aware of Papyrus' abilities, his insecurities, his troubles but you. You seem to know him like the back of your hand, and that honestly frightens him at first because when did he become so easy to read? His soul warms with glee at finally being seen, to be heard and understood but the fact that it's in such a deeply intimate way without him ever recalling mentioning such facts is what has got him stunned.

Does it have something to do with the fact that you're so familiar? That when he looks at you, he doesn't... He doesn't see a total stranger. And while that sentiment does extend to others as he wishes to make many friends, it just doesn't fit right with you. You always just stood out to him in a way that somewhat reminded him of Frisk. Of his little flower friend. It spins his head, but he's eager to learn about you just like how you have him all figured out. It's scary but.. When he's with you, he doesn't feel that fear as strongly, and that urges him to try and work this out with you. (Assuming you don't tell him everything yet lolol)

[twist3dd4ydr3ams]

“Angel, would you read to me?”

Hello lovelies! This is an older fic from my ao3 account but I thought I’d post for you tonight while I get some more ideas for more content! Please keep in mind I did have a good friend of mine check my fics when I wrote this and it might be different from some of my other works!

Fandom: Good Omens

Pairing(s): Crowley X Aziraphale

Ratings: fluff with a hint of spicyness!!

Warnings: substance use, and a bit spicy behavior from both Crowley and Aziraphale!!

________________________________

The cloudy haze of tobacco that chases the oxygen into Crowley’s lungs makes his stomach churn just exactly right . An unsettling feeling Crowley had gotten accustomed to and even welcomed openly now that he’d fully adjusted to his human body. He has not graced a morsel of food in the past 48 hours, human or celestial for that matter. Celestial food is not meant to be consumed the same as human food and is a rather unpleasant process for demons. Angels had the luxury of having a pleasant form of energy consumption as it were. All they had to do was stand still and let the nutrients replenish them, something to help keep their celestial qualities intact, to fuel the miracles and such.

Demons, specifically those that fell, had a more violent way of accepting it. The nutrients are forced into the hellish celestials quite violently. Rather than a pleasant energy replenishment, the form forces its way through their vessels. Luckily for Crowley, human food was enough, so he need not to worry about nutrient implementation as often as any of his other demonic associates. He quite enjoyed human food anyways.

And My God, did he love to watch Aziraphale partake in it. It ignited some sort of sinful desire within him, he let burn inside his core. The seemingly innocent act was, in Crowley’s mind, anything but. The way the angel devours any sweet, delightful, treat as if he’s been starved and famished for years. The way his delicate, soft skin interacts with the edible items makes Crowley feel things. Something he never wants to do. Feelings are not something he would admit to being familiar with as a demon, but something he had been experiencing with the angel for centuries now. Though if you ask Crowley, he would trip you onto the crowded pavement outside of his angels beloved bookshop for even daring, and you’d be grateful it wasn’t worse.

The alluring aura of A.Z. Fell & Co. was always one that catered to Aziraphale’s aesthetic, and feelings. Usually lit by candlelight and stunning, vintage chandeliers even in broad daylight, all window shades were shut around in the shop at all hours of the day. The air is always heavily filtered with the scent of vanilla cake, lavender, and the distinct sweet smell of old paper. Each book rested on its proper shelf and designated position remaining untouched unless it had been by the angel himself. A few covered in dust, some with broken binds, or chips in the paint of the cover, but each one absolutely perfect in every way to the angel who owned them. It is a true privilege to be deemed worthy enough to touch one of the angels books.

Crowley, who’s spent at least the last century earning this privilege, often busies himself in the botanical section when he knows his angel is not around. Aziraphale, ever so innocent, pretends not to notice, or at the very least he doesn’t scold Crowley for ‘Clumsily and carelessly rearranging my work’ as he likes to phrase it when humans put their hands all over his precious books. It’s only over dinner one late Saturday evening that it’s brought up in casual conversation.

Crowley, aware that the shop has long since closed and the doors had been miracle locked to the public, the angel’s doing of course, ordered sushi for the pair of them to enjoy for a meal as they conversed as usual. This particular evening was different. The sushi had arrived and Crowley, who had been a bit preoccupied with his headphones at their maximum volume playing every sort of music the angel despised, put out his cigarette carefully and went to retrieve the sushi from the delivery man.

He turned on his heels and shouted out toward the blonde’s private study, “Angel! Dinner!” He shouted almost too loudly. Crowley flicked his longer slender fingers in the direction of the small table, and armchair with a lamp where he was reading a botanical book and transformed it into a bigger space for the two of them to eat as usual. He was grateful the food had arrived so quickly as he was growing increasingly bored as he missed his angel after keeping himself holed up in his study all afternoon and all evening, it almost left Crowley feeling lonely. He chose not to dwell on this feeling for long as he continued to set the table for their dinner.

Almost as if on queue, Crowley set down the bag and the dark heavy oak, double doors to Aziraphale’s private study swung open loudly as the heels of his signature brown boots clicked against the hardwood floors rhythmically. True music to the demon's ears, and Crowley would know about music. Aziraphale defending the stairs and making his way towards the brown paper bag with haste as his hunger settled in, greets Crowley sweetly. “Hello, my dear! Have you been waiting long?” He asks quietly, starting to open the bag. Crowley murmurs cursing sharply under his breath. Even a simple ‘my dear’ is enough to make him weak after a day without his angel. “N-not long, angel...Muriel was here she only just left, so I did have some company even if a bit insufferable.”

Aziraphale contorted his angelic features into a look of amusement as well as understanding. As much as he has come to love the new angelic addition to their environment, she was quite chatty and a bit too curious, maybe that’s why Crowley tries not to get too attached. But don’t let him fool you, it’s not like the angel doesn’t see the demon’s fondness for the young angel.

Aziraphale brushed off the subject and handed the demon his sushi and moved his own sushi to his side of the table. He miracled himself some tea before glancing down towards Crowley’s end of the table. It was then he noticed he hadn’t touched the book that was on the demonic end of the table, once today, he was quite sure of it. He gave a small amused hum and made a mental note before turning back to his meal. Crowley had finally sat down from grabbing the chopsticks from the bag where he reminded himself how to use them properly. Aziraphale needs no reminder, he is ‘an expert, who is not above bragging.’ As he loves to put it, always making Crowley, quite crabby when it came time to use them. He sat down and started to eat with him, watching his angel carefully. He couldn’t get enough of watching Aziraphale eat. It was mesmerizing, for some unknown reason this drew him in. The act of watching the angel do something as simple as eating food felt so sinful in all the right ways. Crowley eventually snapped himself out of his sinful thoughts with a shake of his head and now flustered face as he focused on his own food and the book next to him.

Crowley, who hadn’t always been so demonic, was not illiterate like the other demons. He was actually quite the reader. Anytime he wasn’t in Aziraphale’s shop, he was reading something. Whether it be a small article about ducks, or a short history of something he needed to know, or other books on stubborn plants, he was well read it would seem. So when the cheerful angel glances down at the end of the table where Crowley appears to be excessively demolishing his sushi, he gets a little too curious.

“Crowley?” He pipes up finally his voice is firm and commanding but not too loud or unkind. The demon lets out a snorting choked sound before acknowledging the angel “hhhck! Y-es angel?” He says swallowing thickly just to answer him. “Is that one of mine?” He asked, glancing pointedly towards the small green book. Crowley looked confused for a moment before he understood, “Oh! Yes, from the botanical section I believe. Sorry angel, I know you’re very particular with your books.” He said a bit sheepishly, pushing his glasses back over his slitted eyes hastily. Since the fall, Crowley was always one to hide his true emotions, especially when it was the angel making him feel something. He didn’t dwell on it too long, busying himself with his sushi once more.

Aziraphale, persistent as always, continued on with his questioning. “I thought your lot had trouble with that sort of thing?” Crowley had no issues lying to his angel, especially if it was harmless, Aziraphale usually saw through it anyways. Besides, he’s never truly lied about anything truly important since they became romantic, at least Aziraphale had hoped.

The demon’s expression showed clear aggravation with the question. “we do.” he said shortly trying to move on from the subject. Aziraphale gazed at him knowingly relentless white his questioning anyways, “Didn’t get very far then did you?” Crowley rolled his eyes “ No angel, I didn’t .” He said thickly, annoyance coating his voice. Aziraphale nodded with understanding and said nothing more. They finished their dinner in comfortable silence.

With the dim lighting in the room and Crowley’s heavily tinted eyeglasses, he hoped it would be enough to cover the flustered expression on his face as he plopped himself down on the floor in front of Aziraphale’s soft armchair, minding his legs being sure to be close but to not make contact, as the angel insisted on sitting up properly even when relaxed. He relaxed against the chair, his right arm brushing the angel’s calf gently. “Apologies angel.” He managed quickly moving his arm, though he didn’t seem to notice or mind “It’s quite alright, my dear.” was the small simple response. ‘My dear’ the blasted angel was driving him crazy and he could do nothing about it.

Their relationship rule was simple: Crowley mustn’t initiate physical contact without permission unless absolutely necessary, but once physical contact is made by the angel, he is allowed to reciprocate. This left Aziraphale in total control of his demon. Of course there was a time and place for this rule, it didn’t apply in public settings as they could both be a bit skittish in crowds, but when the two were alone and becoming more intimate it was very much enforced by the angel. He loved having subtle control over Crowley. But if you’d mention it to Crowley it would be possible you wouldn’t ever see the light of day again.

Crowley continued to “struggle” with his book as Aziraphale read his rather cheerfully humming in appreciation for the knowledge. The truth is Crowley can read, but he does find it difficult, not because he struggles with the words like other demons, but that the mere presence of his angel makes it impossible for him to focus on anything, especially a book.

He sighs heavily hoping to get his angel’s attention. “What is it you need from me, dear?” He says sweetly, softly sliding a delicate hand into Crowley’s heavily styled curls, never taking his eyes away from his book. Crowley makes an inhuman noise and melts into his angel’s hand sitting up a little bit. “A-angel…” he mumbles softly, his body finally snaking around the angel's leg. He missed being able to touch his angel, it was cruel that Aziraphale made him wait this long. “Yes, my darling? Is there something you need from me?” His voice was terribly sweet and thick it felt like honey, but only Crowley knew how sinful it truly was in that moment as the words practically dripped from his mouth. He looked up at his angel, his piercing yellow eyes staring up into the soft blue ones that accompanied the warm bright entity sat above him. “Angel, would you read to me?” His voice was quiet and pleading. The angel’s response was a small delightful hum and a chuckle. “Having trouble after all, dearest?” He was amused, Crowley however, was quite the opposite, so he tried again. “Angel, please ?” It was a whisper but more desperate this time. Aziraphale stretched out his unused hand that wasn’t occupied by the fiery red curls belonging to his grumpy lover, “Of course, dear” he said with an amused hum. The demon wordlessly handed his angel the book and smiled softly as he commented fondly on the quality of the book and his memory of the author from years ago. Crowley settled in comfortably against his leg and listened intently to the sound of his angel's voice.

The soft sound of his voice droning on about plants, kept Crowley’s mind occupied, though he couldn’t quite keep his focus on the words when he started to get lost in the angel’s features. The sound of his voice lingering but the words having no real value over the beauty of his face.

“Ngk! Aziraphale! What was that?” He mumbled startled when he felt a small tug on his curls. Of course nothing that would hurt, but just enough to grab his attention and raise interest. Aziraphale couldn’t help but stifle a giggle as he swallowed down a gulp of red wine. “You are meant to be paying attention, pet~” Crowley grumbled some flustered profanities and rested his head on the angel’s knee again. “Apologies angel.” He mumbled into his thigh as he listened to Aziraphale once more. Crowley would never mention this again, and though he often asked his angelic lover to read to him, it was very clear to them both he could do it on his own and didn’t need the help.

But if Aziraphale knew his demon, he would never admit to that.

[shadowedxcat]

Addie studied Winter closely, the way his voice wavered, the uncertainty lining his words... She’d seen that look before—the weight of wanting something to be real but fearing what it might mean if it was. “Yeah, it usually feels that way before you’re sure.” She began, a hint of something knowing in her voice. “Doubt’s a hell of a thing. It’ll mess with your head if you let it.” His next question made her exhale a quiet chuckle as she leaned back slightly, tapping her fingers against the tabletop. “Yeah, I've always known I was different.” She shared simply, like it was just another fact of life. And for her, it was. “Maybe not in the way I do now; but I’ve always felt it, known it was part of who I'm supposed to be.” She tapped her fingers against the table, considering her next words carefully. “Some people get their first taste when they’re kids—strange things happening when they’re upset, knowing things they shouldn’t... Others don’t figure it out until way later. There’s no set age, no clear start. It’s just… there. And then one day, you realize it’s not just a fluke.” Her gaze flickered back to him, searching his face for recognition. “Sounds to me you’re at that point.”

His eagerness made her smirk; but there was no mockery in it—just familiarity. “No, there’s no class I'm aware of." She shared, leaning forward slightly. “No syllabus, no textbooks, no final exams... It’s not that kind of thing.” Her voice lowered as she continued, words edged with quiet caution. “Most of us figure it out by doing—trial and error, making mistakes, learning from them. Grimoires can help. So can the right people.” Her gaze lingered on him for a moment before she continued on. “But if you’re serious about this, you need to learn to trust yourself first. Magick isn’t just about what you can do—it’s about knowing when to do it. And when to walk away.”

Winter didn’t quite know how to reply to Addie. Was he like her? Ori had definitely made it seem like he was, and again, what reason would they have for lying to him. And he’d just told Addie that he’d done a spell and felt like it worked. But what if that had all been in his head? What if Winter was just deeply, deeply ordinary and trying to find a reason for his addled mind? He supposed he had no way of knowing for sure, but Winter reminded himself that Ori had seemed like someone he could trust. So he supposed the answer was yes. “Yeah, I guess so,” Winter finally replied, though his voice wavered; he was still uncertain. “It feels that way at least.”

Addie clearly had a lot of experience about this, and Winter listened intently. “How long have you known about…well you know?” he asked, his voice low, looking around furtively. “For a long time? When does magic normally start to manifest?” While Winter still wasn’t quite sure he believed he was a witch, it would explain a lot, like what happened during the wind storm. Nodding, Winter said, “I’ll keep it to myself. You’re right, you can never know who to trust?” He looked around again, but no one seemed to be paying attention to them. “Definitely not fairy tale bullshit,” Winter agreed. “But how do I learn? Is there like…a class or something? How did you learn more about it?” He felt like he had a million questions.

[throesofincreasingwonder]

Hm. Actually, quick awareness check bc I'm wondering if this is just a symptom of being a musical theatre dyke in 2015:

[revelboo]

REVEL! I request some of the lost light starscream story 🙏

Absolutely been obsessed with your writing, i legit have been checking every hour to see if you’ve uploaded anything new. I’ve read probably everything you’ve posted except for the bumble bee stories, you’ve made me fall in love with so many characters, the way you write all of them is absolutely amazing. Also this your reminder to hydrate!

Yeah, Sundays aren’t usually good days

Overdone Pt 3

Starscream x Reader

• Slumping into his chair behind his desk, he leans his chin on a fist as you ramble utter nonsense. Claiming you’d come to just falling to your death. Lies. They have to be, but then you’re turning big eyes his way and thanking him for saving your life and his wings flick. When’s the last time someone thanked him for anything? Shaking himself, he growls. Someone has to have put you up to this. “So I’m to believe you just teleported to Cybertron without meaning to, without even knowing how you accomplished it?”

• Staring up at his scowl, you understand why he doubts your story. It sounds crazy even to you, but you honestly don’t know how you ended up here. The only things you’re sure of? He’d saved you when he hadn’t had to. And that makes you sure he’s good deep down despite how intimidating he is, despite his threats to harm you if you’re a spy. Hands clasped together, you study him as his optics shutter and he presses his servos against them in an all too human gesture like he has a headache. “I swear I’m not a spy. I’m baker.”

• “And I can just take your word for it?” Everyone’s out to get him, to take away what he’s worked so hard for. But he can’t figure out the game here. Maybe you’re not a real human? Just something meant to look like one? Comming Rattrap, he vents when you just stare up at him with wide eyes. Why a human? Thundercracker is the one that cares for the little meat bags, not him. Anyone familiar with him would know that. ‘Bring me a scanner,’ he growls at Rattrap, cutting the connection without waiting for a reply.

• Of course, he doesn’t trust you, but you’re certain you can trust him. And short of him giving you a kitchen and baking supplies, you’re not sure how to prove your claim. You’re also not sure what a scanner is or who he was just talking to. What you are aware of? How massive he is. Alien and strange. His face, his body metal, but malleable. Able to give enough to form expressions and his hands had been warm holding you, making you painfully aware of how cold you are right now. “Why did you save me?” You ask almost against your will and his frown deepens.

• “Would have rather I let you make a very small splatter on the surface?” Growling, he turns toward the door when it opens and holds out a hand in demand. Aware of Rattrap gawking at you as he hands over the scanner. And you flinch when he powers it on and seizes you by the leg to drag you closer when you try to back away. Huffing through his vents at your little squeak when you fall on your butt and he pulls you closer. Your expression almost comically indignant when he scans you. Finding you really are just a human. You don’t even have any hidden tech meant to spy on him and he’s almost disappointed. Almost eager to root out a plot or a conspiracy. Tapping the scanner on the desk beside you to make you flinch, he vents. “Go find Wheeljack,” he mutters to Rattrap. Because you’re still a mystery he means to solve.

Previous

[queen-mabs-revenge]

there is something so exceptional about the audio form and the kind of...meta-narrative (?) of horror it creates that really leapt out at the end of this re: dracula episode (25 Sept).

seeing the runtime of each episode sets the scene - 27:06? ok, i'm in for something here -- we have a few, uhhhhh, long-winded characters in rotation so it might not be an eventful something, but at this point in the story, we've already been gutted by episodes with longer runtimes so just glimpsing the runtime already sets the scene for heightened dread. you might set aside time to experience the dread instead of maybe quickly listening to a minute long episode wherever/whenever you are.

i luckily got to listen through without interruption and so i was only vaguely aware of the passing time in that approximate way one's body clock ever is. so as this episode came to a close, and mina asks van helsing to not reply if he agrees to meet for breakfast, the dread spiked

i didn't know how long was left in the episode -- the music was still lingering. how much time has it been? 27 minutes? it feels like it could be 27 minutes, but it also feels much shorter? can't be sure. and even if the runtime is nearly elapsed, we know from previous episodes that a telegram can take mere seconds, a journal entry just a few words. is van helsing going to be called away? is he going to cancel the meeting? is mina going to be left alone again with no answers and no friends? with the count and the 'bloofer lady' closing in? how long has the music been playing? holding my breath for the morse code. holding my breath for van helsing's voice. holding my breath for 'letter by hand'. holding my breath for 'letter unopened'...

"this episode featured..."

relief

when reading, you have the unread pages in your hand constantly telling you the story of the progress of the narrative's shape. unless every piece of ephemera of an epistolary story is set on its own separate page, you can see the next item in your eyesight. sure, even if they are on separate new pages, you can see through the printed page the shadows of the text on the next, giving you a subconscious hint of expectation.

with a film, you lose the tangibility of the physical object informing the narrative, but you have other sensory cues - something like a fade to black over the lingering music can manipulate your expectations of narrative completion (and either follow through or subvert them). if you're watching on a device, an accidental activation of the screen or cursor might give you a glimpse of the progression bar, again changing your narrative perception.

with an audio drama you're left with just the one sense as your guide. unless you're actively watching the progression bar as you're listening or actively watching a clock, you just don't know beyond your own imperfect perception of time what you're in for and fuck me the added anxiety because of that is just

whew

[iniziare]

Consider Yelan's facial expression to be my own in reaction to opinions shared on both X and Tumblr, and I guess I'm in the minority of the 'loud ones', but I'm pretty excited for Natlan since that trailer, actually. The previous teasers left me a little 'eh', but this definitely got my hopes back up, and I'm back in the right spirits for it (and ready to catch some Pokémon.)

Now I wouldn't be me if I didn't touch on the salt that I've seen scattered across the dash, so here I go. Listen, I read people's objections and I see what you're all aiming at, but in that light want to note that it's often incredibly easy to point fingers (arguably too much so) at others while being, quite honestly, hopefully rather aware that many of our own countries, cultures, and its populations across the board (and no, I'm not excluding anyone here) would likely be just as easily guilty as MHY is with these things. And no, I'm not blindly defending them, but I also won't point fingers at only one without pointing them everywhere else as well, including those you might think would 'never do such things', because I'm absolutely certain that they would. /continues on in the tags.

[afternoonblues]

this is just my opinion...(although i think many will agree), twitter (or x whatever idc) is legit the worst place to be in while engaging with a certain media / or your interest. being a fan of anything and everything is a constant war over there. and my god, if you have any niche interest or love for a certain show or music or even a person (fiction and non-fictional) then you're gonna get cooked by these ppl who have become way too comfortable hating things for some seconds long shit and giggles, which i find pretty infuriating. they think they are so morally upscaled that their nasty words are rightful justifications of people's opinions and interests. cancelling people or shows left and right, calling people men & women the worst kinds of insults as if tides don't change with time.

i'm damn sure that the opinions or views i held when i was 15 is not the same as what i hold now at 24 and you know what? when i am going to be 34 or 44 or 54, i'm gonna probably have different opinions again unlike the present 24 years old me which is FINE. this is literally what growing up means or evolution too. these people who act like they are the pinnacle of morality are the worst kind of people you can encounter in your life.

[tempests-bards-and-birds]

you ever scroll down the dash quickly enough so that you don't see which mutual reblogged a post but you figure it out by spotting their mannerisms in the tags. yeah