#this post was still a nightmare to format

[lia404]

Get to know me better game—2 in 1 because I'm 6 months late

Tagged by: @baratrongirl and @missmewachu

Thanks for being so patient while I was figuring out how Tumblr works again and why I had a blue dot beside "Activity" (as in, notifications about tag games I've been sent 6 months ago. Better late than never 🤦‍♀️) Thankfully the tag games you sent my way are very similar so it won't be hard to do 2 in 1!

Last song I listened to: Chipzel - Courtesy - YouTube

The 1st track of Super Hexagon, composed by Chipzel. Chipzel's music has been a pick-me-up since 201...4 I think? And since I fell back into Super Hexagon around a week ago, the music has also found its way back into my work playlist.

Currently reading: Trick question! There is what I am MEANT to read, and what I am ACTUALLY reading.

What I am MEANT to read is To Shape a Dragon's Breath, by Moniquill Blackgoose, which has absolutely all the elements I need to love a book. The problem is that my brain absolutely refuses moving further than Chapter 1, and I've been stuck for MONTHS. The good news is that when it happens, I usually struggle until the moment my brain finally snaps and I read the whole book in an afternoon. Wait for me, Moniquill Blackgoose, I'll soon be raving about your book.

What I am ACTUALLY reading is... well, it's more re-reading, but I'm going through Happy Hour by Inkflavored and Keep the Light Shining by Clydeside, two Yu-Gi-Oh AUs that have been incredibly healing for me in the past months, for very different reasons. I wanted to re-experience them to see if I could turn them into fanbinding projects (if the authors give me the authorisation of course, but I haven't reached this level of confidence yet, let's give it time.)

Currently watching: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS.

Do you believe me if I tell you that it was an accident? It kinda was though! I wasn't the one who played the first episodes I just kept going afterwards. That said, I have fully adopted Yusaku. I kind of wish he could meet Philip from Kamen Rider W. Things would go so well.

Currently writing: this one is plain cruel, because after a drought spell of almost 2 years, I finally feel like getting back into writing (thank you, current obsession.)

I have 3 WIPs, one PWP because I like a challenge, one backstory of a character that has basically become my OC, and one AU that @wisyhana created and that I'm using as a wonderful sandbox. I am between 2k and 5k into each, nothing is complete, I'm losing my mind. But at least I'm writing again, right?

Spicy/sweet/savoury: Okay yes no it's cruel again and you will not make me pick just one.

If you've followed me these past years you know that I have completely lost my sense of taste between 2020 and 2023. I was lucky enough, and honestly even the specialised doctor said it was a miracle, to have most of it come back to me abruptly in March 2023, after 3 years unable to enjoy a bit of chocolate or a nice gratin. Some tastes are lost forever, but so few compared to what came back that I just can only be very very grateful and very confident in saying SPICY SWEET SAVOURY I'LL TAKE THEM ALL. I LOVE TASTES. ALL OF THEM.

Relationship status: I have been told polyamory looks good on me.

And I am lucky to have the most patient and tolerant lovers ever. EVER. I love them so much and I'm so bad at showing it because I am a mess. There isn't a day where my heart doesn't overflow with gratitude that they are in my life and agree to putting up with my bullshit.

Current obsession: Listen, Mew put it SO ELOQUENTLY I can help but quote:

mentally ill traumatised japanese teenagers and their ancient egyptian guys who hang out in their jewellery all playing card games.

So, yeah, current obsession is Yu-Gi-Oh!, and with it Duel Links, and everything children-card-game-adjacent. I am currently trying to figure out why everyone in this kid's show is so hot and delightfully traumatised. Characters after my own heart, all ready to be projected on and used for cathartic writing purposes. Other obsession is MEW'S FAULT TOO ACTUALLY since it's my newly founded Clan in Flight Rising. Ask me about my dragon Atem.

Favourite colour: I like my colour like my wine—burgundy. (I actually like all sort of shades of purple, violet and red, but I don't know how to list them.)

Tagging: Wow uh who do I know around here who is still active?

@twilightknight17 for sure (although I'm sure you already did it), @wingsonghalo maybe? Uuuh, I think @the-wanderer-of-thoughts and @istadris? You know, considering how inactive I am here, I think it's already a lot, but if you're not in the list and want to do it too, be my guest!

[mythtiide]

[ office au ] teeny scene im trying to iron out from da ending of chapter 1 ( ´ ▽ ` ) ~ 🌸 (divider credit!)

The elevator doors opened with a soft ding. Falke stepped through the doors gracefully before stopping. Icy blue eyes meeting his own as she turned around to face him.

The elevator ride was quiet, the silence that stretched between them making the air thick with tension. He should say something shouldn't he? -

“Adler?” Falke spoke softly.

“Yes?” He said, relieved that she's the one who decided to speak first.

“Thanks, for keeping me Company.” She said, her lips curling into a small smile, mirroring Adler’s own.

“Of course.”

Ding.

[rockitmans]

Gone fishin'

I'm taking a lil break from tumblr. I'm still intending to write each day but I'm going to post the rest of my fic all in one go. Hopefully on Valentine's Day.

Much love to everyone that's been going on this journey with me but the daily posting is just hard to manage on top of life stuff atm!

[pear1ridge-a]

i dont mind the beta editor too much. there’s still. things i dont love but ultimately i think its ok. ish

[cuddlytogas]

entering my bitch era (trying to get more into twitter fandom and finding my tl flooded with people talking about A Certain Popular AU Fic that is, frankly, mostly just fine, and being overwhelmed with some of the pettiest little jealous rages you ever did see)

[arolesbianism]

Guess who's thinking abt eg au again

[parfaitblogs]

(totally not based on my day) but a simple request for spencer helping reader out with a bunch of chores bc she's overwhelmed with life and she decides to thank him with like the quote "best head of his life" and he's like "its okay you dont have to do that" and she's responds "but i am anyways"

it will come back ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid helps you when you're (very) overwhelmed, and you might need to return the favour.  pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: comfort & smut (18+ mdni) tags: oral (m receiving). praise. established relationship. reader's overwhelmed overstimulated overworked... very enthusiastic head giver!reader. use of honey and angel. they love each other a lot. i love them a lot. i don’t think there’s d/s dynamics but if there are it’s soft dom spencer (nobody’s shocked). word count: 3.1k a/n: thank u sooo much for reading my brain ily i need to give spencer reid head asap. new format/layout for requests sort of its the same as my normal post layout... do we like... i sure freaking hope so. as always lmk if u liked this or even if u didn't but preferably if u did!!

You were exhausted. For three weeks straight, you had been working nonstop, with a wondrous total of eight hours in between shifts. You were hardly sleeping, you had hardly had a social life, hell, you never even had time to enjoy the simple pleasures of an everything shower. You felt groggy, and cramped, and everyday felt like an awful repeat of the last. A nightmare that never ended. 

Never mind the fact that you hadn't seen your boyfriend.

Always home too late to be with him in the evenings, and up too early to get coffee with him before your days started. Spencer was so patient with you, regardless. He knew it would end eventually, and he would get his girlfriend back. It was just for the month, was what you would text each other whenever the other began feeling particularly lonely. He didn't even like texting, but the time for a simple phone call wasn't available to you anymore. 

And your apartment. Every time you stepped into it you swore a new dirty dish materialised in your sink, or a new pile of clothes sat themselves in your bedroom floor. Which was odd, because you had rotated between the same two outfits for the last eighteen days — your work uniform, or your pyjamas. 

You were overwhelmed with it all. Even as your hectic work life came to an end, and you were waking up to the sunlight pouring into your room, instead of an alarm clock while the moon was still up. You were acutely aware of the mess of your apartment, and just the thought of it all left you lying motionless in your bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

Tears stung your vision as you felt the seconds tick into minutes, and nothing happened. Attempting to will yourself to get up, and yet you simply couldn't. Exhausted beyond belief, with limbs sinking into the mattress and melding to the sheets. 

You faintly heard the click of your front door lock, and if you had any more motivation in you, you'd probably get up to double check it was the only other person who had a key to your apartment, and not a burglar. Thankfully, you didn't have to, for Spencer was calling out your name, gently.

Too exhausted to even reply and alert him of where you were, you lay still until he had found you in your bedroom, his bad dropping by the doorway, feet shuffling against the rug. 

"Good afternoon," he said, finding a seat on the edge of your bed, hand resting atop your thigh, gentle circles being rubbed into the skin. 

"Is it already afternoon?" you asked him, voice quiet. 

"Yeah. How long have you been awake in bed?" 

"I don't know," you answered, voice awfully small as you felt the thick weight of frustration with yourself blanket over you. "I need to get up. The apartment's a mess."

"It's allowed to be," he said. "You've been doing sixteen hour days."

"Yeah, but I'm not today. I have the day off."

"Your first day off in weeks. I'd be concerned if you'd spent it productively."

You stared at him, unsure if the irritation that settled in your bones was because of his insistence that you not doing a thing was okay, or your exhaustion. Logically, it would be the latter. You did know that, deep down. 

Upon seeing your eyes delve into something a little more desperate, he sighed, hand sliding up to your own, gently tugging you up into a seated position. His eyebrows knitted together at your exhausted look, and you could see his brain ticking behind his eyes.

"Do you want to split the tasks?" he finally asked.

"You don't have to," you shrugged your shoulders. "It's my mess."

"Honey, you're already overwhelmed, and all you've done is wake up," he answered, thumb drawing circles on the top of your hand that he still seemed to have clasped within his own. "Let me help."

"It's really gross."

"I've seen mutilated dead bodies."

"I'd argue my kitchen sink is worse."

"Oh would you?" his eyebrows shot up, lips twitching in amusement, that you found solace in, distracting you slightly from your overstimulated mind. "Do you want to have a shower?"

"Yes," you nodded your head, brain ticking over all the personal hygiene tasks you had been neglecting over the past few weeks. 

"How about you go shower, I'll start cleaning up, and you come join me when you're feeling better?"

Despite your aversion to anybody but yourself tackling the mess of your apartment, you knew better than to deny Spencer any further — he had set his mind on helping you. 

Sighing, you nodded your head in defeat. He had coaxed you up off the bed, gotten you to the bathroom, even found you a fresh set of clothes to wear, and waited with you for the water to warm up. It was really only once he was absolutely sure you had gotten into the shower, did he leave you be, and disappeared from the bathroom. 

Eventually, the apartment had been cleaned, with efforts from the both of you getting it to where it now was. 

You were a lot less exhausted, and your brain was a lot less fried now that you didn't have a million tasks catalogued within it to get done. 

You were lying in your freshly made bed — courtesy of Spencer. Your head on his chest, fidgeting with one of his hands as he used the other to wave around as he rambled about something you were no longer following. It had started as a simple explanation for why you had been so overwhelmed in the first place. Which you had asked as a rhetoric, but didn't have the heart to stop him when he began explaining. 

"You're not listening, are you?" he asked, free hand poking your side and emitting an involuntary laugh from you at the feeling. 

"I am, I am! I'm just not following anymore."

"Sorry."

"It's okay," you replied, turning and poking your head up to be level with his. "I like hearing you speak, anyways. Doesn't matter if I don't understand."

He only hummed as a response, and the two of you stared at each other for a beat, before you were breaking out into a smile. 

"Hi," you chirped. 

"Hello," he answered, perhaps a little too amused by your sudden energy. "Would you like something?"

"A kiss?"

"After all that labour I just put in for you?" he mused, but he was already lifting his head to brush his lips against yours, and was most certainly not pulling away when you eagerly connected them properly. 

You pulled back after a few moments, searching his face. "Do you want something for all that labour?"

His hand trailed up your spine, fingertips triggering a shiver to run up your back. "What do you have in mind?"

"I could give you the best head of your life."

He was clearly not expecting that as an offer, perhaps because you never had offered such a thing before. It wasn't even something you had talked about, which was bizarre (in your mind), considering he was quite enthusiastic about using his mouth on you. 

"You don't need to do that," he shook his head, but with how close your faces were, you could see the instant dilation in his pupils. 

"What if I want to?" 

"Then that's very nice of you, but my point still stands," he replied.

"Spencer, let me do something in return," your voice was nothing short of a whine, and if he was any less turned on, maybe it wouldn't have made his firm footed denial falter. Maybe you knew that.

"You could do anything but that."

"So a handjob?"

"Or that."

"You're such an awful liar," you huffed. "I can see your pupils dilating. I know you're turned on by the thought of it."

"It could just be because I'm looking at you," he answered, voice hoarse, no doubt from the arousal he was attempting to deny was there. "Romantic attraction triggers the same response in our hormones."

"But it's not."

He fell silent for a few moments, before he allowed his resolve to slip, shaking his head in agreement with you. "No. It's not."

"See! It's okay if you want it. I'm quite literally offering myself to you," you spouted. 

His eyes fluttered shut, and he exhaled through his nose, words coming out through almost gritted teeth. "That's not a sentence you should be saying."

"Why not?"

His only response was to say your name chidingly, and when he reopened his eyes, he was met with the shit-eating grin on your face. 

"Brat," he mumbled, lips seeking yours once again.

"Who gives really good head," you hummed against his mouth. "And would really love to show you."

"If you're insisting—"

"Which I am," you quickly interjected, staring back at him as yet another amused smile stretched across his lips. Then, he was nodding his head, and you were quite cheerfully kissing him all over again.

It wasn't that you kissed him with much fever at all — in fact, you were melting into his lips with a gentle hum. It was simply that he was kissing you back with a desperation you should be accustomed to. You weren't. 

Every kiss you received from him always felt like he was chipping away at your soul, claiming a piece of it. Maybe he was.

You mewled when his teeth nipped at your lower lip, and he was quick to take the opportunity of slipping his tongue into your mouth. Though, alerted by his sudden control over the situation between you two, you reluctantly pulled your face away from his before it could go much further. 

"Excuse me," he breathed out, scoldingly, only to be met with your hundredth grin of the day as you descended down his body. He'd take it — you smiling, albeit cockily, was much more rewarding than the concerned look you had been sporting for the majority of the afternoon. 

"I don't do this very often," you told him as you lifted your gaze to his, absentmindedly tugging his pants down his legs. 

"I hope not. You've never done it for me, and we've been together for quite a while."

"You know what I mean," you grumbled, and he was forced to poke his tongue into the inside of his cheek to keep the smile off his face. 

"Is this comfortable for you?" he then asked, having noticed your constant adjustments of your positioning between his legs. From nerves or comfortability, he didn't know. 

"Um. I guess so," you replied. "I've never done it lying down."

"We can do it however you prefer to do it, angel."

"Oh. Okay. Cool," you mumbled, sitting up straight and grabbing his hands within your own, tugging him over towards the edge of the bed. 

You sank to your knees on the rug, tapping his knees with your hands to part them so you could situate yourself comfortably between them. 

You were a vision if he'd ever seen one, and you weren't even doing anything. Perhaps you had noticed the effect you had on him, or maybe you were just largely enthusiastic about doing something for him, and only him. 

Your tongue darted out to lick your lips, eyes flickering up to meet his face, and if this was the last sight he saw before he died, he would have no complaints. 

"Have you ever gotten head before?" you mumbled, eyes fixated on him as your hands trailed up the sides of his thighs, resting at the waistband of his boxers. 

"Yes."

"Okay," you whispered, quietly, tapping his hips so he could lift them, and you rolled his boxers down his skin.

"Okay?" he parroted. 

"Okay," you confirmed with a nod of your head. "I just wanted to know if this is going to be completely new for you or not."

As you spoke, your fingertips dragged along his inner thighs, lips following soon after, kissing up the skin. 

"I don't think that's going to matter, honey," he answered, voice breathless. 

You smiled, not needing to ask what he meant. You lifted your head back up, studying his face. He gave you a nod, a silent confirmation to allow you to go further, and you took a beat to compose yourself. It's not like he would be mad at you if it sucked, but you had had a far too awful day to not do something good. 

You hadn't done this in a while, it was true. So your hesitance came more from your brain figuring out what it actually needed to do, than your insecurities (they were there too). 

Insecurities that melted away within an instant, for Spencer's thighs tensed beneath your hands that were now holding them apart the second your lips made contact with his cock, and through your lashes you could see his head tipping back. 

Your cheeks warmed at how easy it was to get him to respond, and you wondered if the satisfaction settled in your chest was anything similar to how he felt when he did this to you. 

You started hesitant. Gentle kitten licks at his tip that probably shouldn't have been garnering such a large reaction from him. But it was, and you had to preoccupy your mouth to keep the smug smile off of it. 

Wrapping your lips around the head, he lets out the breathiest moan you think you've ever heard come from him, and your mind goes hazy. Newfound blind confidence wills you to take more of him in your mouth, and it's a quiet 'Fuck' that compels you even further. 

In hindsight, he knew he'd enjoy it. It was you after all. He knew from the world shattering arousal that the simple sight of you on your knees was. He had, in a few short seconds, mentally prepared to enjoy this.

But not this much, and certainly not this quickly. 

"I've been too selfless," he muttered as you lifted your head back up, tongue licking a stripe up the underside of him as you did. When you met his gaze in question, he added, "I mean never asking you for this. I should've."

You hummed as a response (it was all you really could do), and the gentle vibrations shot heat throughout his body. A shuddering moan rocked through his body, and if not for your quick response time in pushing his hips down, they would've knocked against your face when he bucked them up.

You hollowed your cheeks, lowering your head back down, and emitting the loveliest of moans from Spencer, whose hand found its way to your hair. Upon the lack of your protests, he made a loose ponytail with his fist, gently tugging on it upwards so you could lift your head. 

You flattened your tongue on your ascend, successfully making his already weak grip on your hair go slack, within only seconds of him having grabbed it. Swirling your tongue around the tip of his cock, his hips bucked up again, and you flinched. 

"Jesus—fuck, sorry, honey," he rasped, though his guilt was quick to dissipate as he saw your thumbs up against his thigh. Your movements weren't hesitant, anymore. Just slow. Tortuously slow. "Can I..." he trailed off, seemingly becoming unsure of what it was he was asking of you within seconds, but the retightening of his hand in your hair gave you all you needed to know. 

You nodded your head the best you could, and he mumbled a quiet 'thank you', allowing you to set a base pace, before taking over. 

"So good. Jesus Christ, angel. Where did you learn this? Don't answer that. Don't tell me. Shit." 

His rambling was sharp sentences, that didn't really sound like they belonged together, and certainly didn't sound like they should be coming out of his mouth. They weren't the most articulately structured phrases he's ever come up with. A thought that comforted you, because you were doing that to him. 

"Fuck," he breathed out, once more, and you came to the mental conclusion you've never heard him swear so much in his life. The thought made your stomach flip.

Fingers dug into your scalp, though not too harshly to hurt. In fact, you were letting out a quiet moan of your own at the feeling, hips wiggling. Even in his state, Spencer noticed, and he smiled.

"You—ah—okay, angel?" he asked you, and you relished in the fact that he couldn't get out sentences without moaning. 

Your response was yet another hum, and he was bucking his hips. Again.

You knew he was close for a multitude of reasons; the fact that he had quickened his gentle-turned-firm guidance of your head, his fingers tugging on your hair a little harsher than before, and the ever so lovely, "Jesus Christ—please—oh," leaving his lips, breathlessly.

It was a few more moments of that, before the fingers in your hair went impossibly tight, and the muscles in his thighs locked beneath your hands. 

The fact you had never discussed doing this, meant neither of you knew the other's stance on what to do. Thankfully, Spencer was rendered so frenzied that he couldn't do anything. 

It was a sickeningly lovely sight; you pulling back and swallowing, some of his come painting your bottom lip. His fingers twitched, before they dropped back to the mattress on either side of his body, his chest heaving just as much as your own. 

Lightheaded, you slowly brought yourself back up to your feet, and Spencer's arms were quick to wrap around the backs of your thighs, pulling you into him. 

"Best head of your life?" you asked, lowering your lips to brush against his. 

"By a mile," he replied. 

"Just one mile?" 

"Maybe two."

Shooting him a glare, you huffed, and he laughed. "You're never getting head again, then."

He nipped your lower lip. "Okay."

"I'm putting my foot down," you retorted, disliking his lack of belief in your words. "Never again."

"I believe that."

"You should."

"Oh, I do," he hummed, sarcasm in his words making you frown. "Are your knees okay?" 

If his goal was to distract you, he succeeded, for your eyes were instantly dropping to your knees, indents from the threads of the rug evident. 

"They're okay," you confirmed, squirming as his thumbs rubbed circles into the skin on your thighs. 

"Tell me if they're not," he instructed, and you nodded. He stood up, hands sliding up to your waist. "Shower?"

"Shower," you confirmed with a nod, despite the fact that you had showered only a few hours prior. "Can we watch a movie after?"

"Yes."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[kwistowee]

New post editor is my villain origin story.

R.I.P. LEGACY POST EDITOR

Unceremoniously put down by @staff @changes and @support and is survived by New Post Editor, a lesser son of greater sires.

[bamsara]

I dont know if it was intentional but I love that Narinder when he sees Lamb throwing up he turns gentle and pushes their wool and ears back so they dont get stained with vomit and for some reason it reminded me of how when Nari was throwing up too after the nightmare he had when they were on route to fight Leshy, Lambert helped him with camellias for the nausea.

Ahh, parallels. I think.

IM SO GLAD YOU POINTED THAT OUT allow me to ramble for just a moment.

Narinder was trapped in the Afterlife for over 1000 years, with little social skills and plagued by wishing for vengeance and his only company being two kittens who become disciples under his rule. He has terrible social skills, if not lacking them entirely.

(I would argue that Aym and Baal also have horrific nonexistent social skills, so those three cat's can't really help each other communicate properly to anyone else outside themselves.)

It can be argued that since The One Who Waits had other vessels to pass time and try to kill /annoy his siblings before the prophesized Lamb arrival, that he would have developed them a little bit more, but I would argue that the power balance would have been oodles more severe since the vessels weren't the promised one. He didn't need them, so if they no longer were of service or disobeyed him, he got rid of them. Whether just sending them out or killing them, any how.

Lamb, however, knows they are the last Lamb, the prophesized liberator of The One Who Waits, and therefore his only option. They knew that they were his only reasonable way out of there (whether they asked for it or not) so they were oodles more comfortable than how a professional relationship would have been.

So they asked questions, bothered him, played and ran around him. Complained and vented to him. Yapped and yapped. What is he gonna do? Kill them? Find a new vessel? He can't. "You're as trapped into this prophecy as much as I am, so let's be friends"

Example parts from Chapter 3:

The power balance equalizes because Lamb did not see his presence a God, but rather a fellow prisoner and victim of fate. Rude and demanding, but in the same chains as they were. 'My lord' was simply formalities at first.

This puts Narinder / The One Who Waits in social situations he hasn't been in (or hardly been in) in over a thousand years, and frankly, he had no idea how to navigate them:

Example from Chapter 5:

The God of Death has not needed to comfort or 'be there' for someone in a long, long time. The Lamb's presence is what forces him to try, even if his first attempt aren't perfect. So in that same chapter, he'll ask them a question to distract them. Conversation. Like how they do it.

While I won't post a screenshot of everytime this happens in written format (not including the dreams/memories/flashbacks that haven't been posted yet)-

The One Who Waits is pushed outside of his bubble when it comes to socializing in a way that isn't just 'God-to-Lowly-Vessal' format. He has to talk to them like a person, because he's being talked to like a person, not a god on a pedestal.

Obviously after the final battle and betrayal (to both of them, otherwise known as the Grand Miscommunication) this means nothing for a while as tempers are still high and feelings are hurt. But overtime, this returns, and can show in small ways (ways that may not seem like comfort but is certainly an attempt) like just in Chapter 18:

Trying to bring them an 'offering' (breakfast) mirroring other times the Lamb has done the same for him:

Crudely offering to replace something they are upset at losing/later offering reassurance abet in a curt way:

And what you mentioned: earlier when the Lamb is throwing up, narration shows they're having trouble with keeping their wool, cloak, bell, ect all back at the same time. He can see that. He has a mental boiling pot explosion over the fact that helping them is even a want that he has after the denial crisis he's experiencing where the only answer a minute ago seemed like he needed to kill them, and he chose comfort.

It is intentional. Narinder is learning how to show care, and allowing himself to show care. Slowly, and not perfect, but learning.

[relax-and-read-on]

I have not made made a generic hc post about the primarch in a LONG time. I miss it, and it's good for the warhammer tumblr ecosystem. So, without further waiting....

Primarch, and the absolutely shitty gifts they give each others for a White Elephants gift exchange

Roboute: A classic coffee mug (primarch sized!) Filled with sweets and a indestructible fancy fountain pen. The mug say "World Most Okay Dad" on it, and he joke that it apply to them all.

Lion: a stuffed bird. The number of eyes on it is vaguely unnerving. It's unclear wich way is the head suppose to go, and all agree that it's probably an awful mutant bird. Lion is too proud to admit that it's just a really shotty taxidermy he made himself.

Alpharius Omegon: They give a series of mysterious CD in blank case, wich is a very rare and hard to read format on most ship! It's the entire series of MLP:FiM, famous lost media in the 30th millenium.

Rogal: A thick, sturdy, and perfectly elegant multi bit screwdriver, with extra standard bits put in the handle. Give a proud presentation on it, explaining it's superior design and all it's ergonomic features. It's 45 min long.

Perturabo: it's a coupon that say "one (1) construction from me and my legion, free of complaining. Valid until the 31th millenium." It's the most popular gift of the night.

Corvus: slipper and kigurumi, all crow themed. They are *adorable*. Sadly, the size is a bit tight and vaguely indecent on the more muscular primarch.

Lorgar: a traditional colchian tea set, with hand dried craft teas! The set is beautiful, and the teas prove to be only mildly hallucinogenic.

Konrad: A very, VERY pretty embroidered set of throw pillow! They have delicate pattern of flower and nature imagery... And are made with human hair. Konrad is very proud of himself, and even more of the absolute bloody screaming his gift create when he explain it.

Sanguinius: put out by Konrad's gift, but he also made a pillow, but this one filled with his own feathers. Has surprising property against nightmare.

Vulkan: He was actually sweet, and brought homemade hot sauce, his mother's recipe! The problem is that the stuff is so strong, it's considered a dangerous chemical in most of the galaxy. Can be used as jet fuel.

Horus: Edible sexy underwear. Insist that whoever gets it has to wear it, and jokingly say that, if they are too shy, he can do a demonstration himself.

Mortarion: a succulent growing kit. Even his most dumbasses of brother should be able to keep a succulent alive, right? Doesn't mention that it's an highly invasive species that will colonise the entire ship of his poor victime.

Jaghatai: a foal. Yes, he carry a whole ass live animal to the gift exchange, and keep insisting that it's an appropriate gift. The horse is chewing on Magnus' hair.

Leman: Mad that he didn't think of bringing a puppy, but he has the most amazing looking collection of smoked salmon, caviar and preserved fish to offer.

Magnus: his patience is wearing thin, but he still offer a perfectly beautiful robe, that act as an honest to good mood ring and change color depending on the person's aura.

Fulgrim: A painting of himself! Wich is actually a joke, it's just a thin and hand painted decorative paper covering the true gift: a painting of all their family, together. Get called a try hard.

Ferrus: a collection of very pretty crystals and fossils! Wich he arranged in a chocolate box, and explain that those are his favorite flavors.

Angron: A punching bag that even *he* find durable. He made sure of it, by thoroughly testing it before giving it out, wich explain it's used appearance.

I know exactly who gets what..... Yall want to know in a part 2 ;)?

[impactedfates]

Hello there!! Can I request some headcanons / mini-scenarios for: Dan Heng, March, Welt, Himeko, Yanqing and Jing Yuan; with a normally soft-spoken Reader who has a wide vocal range (from contralto to hitting those high notes) and occasionally does song covers? Doesn't matter the genre, so long as Reader likes it.

So they might hear Reader singing something like a lullaby or a traditional Xianzhou song one day, to something that's still soft and sweet like a mainstream pop song on another day; to belting out something like "Kakusei" or "NEXUS" from the Promare OST. :D

★ A/N: I understood the request, I just hope I wrote it in a way you wanted! People with such a large vocal range are so talented istg, they gotta teach me. (I say as if I have ANY confidence to sing anyways)

☆ Genre/Trope: Platonic

★ Format: Bullet Pointed Head Cannons (And small scenario at the end :>)

☆ Warnings: None

★ Extra: Reader is a Nameless // Readers age is undisclosed so imagine them at whatever age you wish // Reader can play instruments! // Characters might be OOC I feel // Proof Read but I did it when it was 4am lmao

When you sing more soft songs, Dan Heng tends to enjoy listening. It helps him feel more relax and sometimes rids his mind of nightmares.

He's more used to hearing that kind of voice from you. So when one day, he walks in on you singing a song that's the exact opposite of how you usually sing, he's a bit surprised.

He never doubted you could have a big vocal range, however hearing you sing a song that's different to how he normally hears you sing is what surprised him.

He still enjoys listening, but more so when you sing in a softer voice, don't get him wrong. He still enjoys your singing voice and will support you. But he isn't one for a more loud song.

"[Name]...if you're going to sing more...on the loud side, could I request you do it else where?" Dan Heng sighs softly, being awoken up once again due to you. Despite his words hinting at annoyance, his facial expression was soft and kind. A soft sorry came from your voice as you quickly turned off the music you were using, switching to a more softer song. An old Xianzhou lullaby. "Here, I'll make it up to you. Sit on the couch and I'll sing a softer song" You smiled, Dan Heng chuckled as he obliged. He can't deny that your more softer voice doesn't help him fall asleep. He silently hums along to your voice, and in a sleepy voice he speaks to you before drifting to bed. "If you enjoy music like that so much, we can pay a visit to Serval okay?"

March 7th LOVES your singing voice. She would sing along to whatever song you were singing. She praises you every time she hears you and likely took photos of you singing.

She so supports you if you ever make a YouTube (StarTube?) account and posted covers, literally your number 1 fan.

When you post a cover of a song, she's always the first one to like, comment and listen!

When you post a cover of a song that's VERY different. (Let's say, Usseewa) and you hit ALL those high notes and, everything omg. She was surprised but immediately hyped you up.

She doesn't mind if you sing songs like that at all, your singing is amazing. Like I said, number 1 fan...she doesn't hid it either.

"I love you [Name]!" "Uh, the one with the blue camera and pink hair?" "OH. MY GOD. [NAME] YOU NOTICED ME, YOU NOTICED ME. I.LOVE.YOU" Serval laughed out loud seeing Marchs outburst, as if you two don't live with each other. You could only look away with a small smile, seeing March jump up and down and shaking whoever was beside her. Much to Welts "delight"

Welts very impressed with your vocal range. But he's also worried, he knows that if you were able too have a large vocal range, you likely know how to manage it.

Still, anytime he hears you singing songs like NEXUS or Kakusei he can't help but slide over a bottle of water for your throat.

If you ever join a concert with Serval then he IS buying tickets, though not everyone may go (Dan Heng) he and the rest of the Express will.

He also tends to buy any merch you may come out with if there is any. (Mainly for March but he does keep one or two for himself to support you)

He doesn't really have a preference when it comes too what songs you sing, just as long as your happy and it isn't really disturbing anyone.

If you ever start a StarTube channel, he might animate a few of your covers! Under a pen name though, he's not embarrassed, but I think he'd like it if you thought it was a different fan and not just him who's already liked your singing from the start. (If that makes sense)

"WELT! Weltweltwelt" You ran up to him, quickly showing him an animation someone did of one of your new songs. "ArahatosNumber1Fan animated one of my covers again" You said excitedly, bringing the phone screen back to your view as you scrolled through the comments. Many complimenting the animation but many also asking who sang the cover to which they were directed to your account. "This the guy that you said was helping boost your channel subs?" You nod happily, tapping your chin you thought for a bit. "Do you think they'd still animate my covers even if I sing a different genre? I want to go with something softer this time instead of a louder peice" "I'm sure they'll animate any song you wish to sing" He chuckles. And sure enough, a week after you posted a cover of Lost Umbrella, ArahatosNumber1Fan posted an animation to go along with it.

Himeko compliments you a lot for your vocal range. In fact, she got you a karaoke machine for your birthday! Of course, though. She doesn't let you use it during night time. She doesn't want to wake up because you decided to start singing Churira Churira Dadada at 3 in the morning.

I do think she prefers you to sing outside the train. While she does enjoying your singing and she has no problem if you were to sing in the train. However she also understands it may disturb many people so she does ask for you to sing in an area where you aren't disturbing anyone.

I feel like she also asks you to teach her how to sing or have a wider vocal range. She enjoys singing herself and would love to join in when you're out singing to keep you company!

Perhaps you two can make money by singing on the streets :> (Only if you're okay with it though!)

You strummed you guitar as the two of you reached the last note, Himeko took a small bow and looked up at the audience that had gathered around. All of them clapping and complimenting your voice. She laughed softly and gently packed up your things so the two of you could get going, checking to see if you were uncomfortable with the attention before she directs you back to the train. As you two entered, Himeko was quick to sit and count the amount of credits that were left in your guitar case, looking up to you she said with a smile. "A success, well done. They loved you" "It wasn't just me singing..." "Perhaps but...I'd say they have their favourites"

When Yanqing overhears you singing Xianzhou lullabys, he's quick to shower you with compliments. Your voice is so soothing! He could listen it for so long and it's effective too. You had to usher him out as he could wake the kids you just put to bed.

When he hears you singing a song like (man I'm running out of songs I know/hj) Noels Lament. He's impressed, how can you sing a song so softly and quietly and then sing something like this which needs a stronger voice??

He might skip a few of his training to find you and see what song you're singing, he makes it a guessing game! Will you be singing something so sweet and kind? Or something that might will make head turn??

"...Yanqing?" "Ha! I guessed right this time" "...Guessed...right?" Ah, you weren't meant to know the guessing game he had in his own head, quickly, he shuffled away. Scratching the back of his head. "Of where you were!" "I always walk in this area" "...I meant...what outfit you'd be wearing?" "I usually wear similar clothes?" ...Yeah, he's running off quickly, hopefully Jing Yuan won't scold him for skipping his training again right? Surely the general can understand he just has to see if his guess was right or not.

Surprisingly (or not surprisingly) Jing Yuan enjoys when you sing your heart out with songs like Candy Store or Mount Rageous. That's the type of sing he first heard you sing when he tried to find Yanqing when he skipped yet another training sessions.

Usually he would just sleep till Yanqing returned or just go on with his day if he never did. In either case, now he joins Yanqing to see what song you're singing before returning back to train.

When he hears you singing a less upbeat song like Sweet Dreams. He's slightly surprised but listens intently, it's different to what he often hears you sing but he enjoys it none the less, he sees your happy so he's fine.

He might even request to hear certain songs just to see how well you voice range can handle it. From the loudest song that could break glass, to a soothing song that can put even the mara struck to bed. And if you successfully sing them all, he congratulates you.

Overall, he's impressed as well as many others, likely talks to you and how well you sing to his friends.

You panted a bit as you finished a particularly long high note, Jing Yuan chuckles and slides over a cup of water which you accept quickly. Taking a drink to sooth your throat. "You voice really can do wonders, I'm more then impressed" He speaks, you nodded in response as he then offers a small treat for agreeing to sing a song for him. A song that made you go from high to low, soft to loud and all in all, tested how wide your voice range can be in a singular song. "I must apologies, I just wished to see how far your voice can go. I should've considered how tired your throat must be from singing that particular song" "No worries, it was fun to read and practice that song. I'm a bit surprised you know it though" "Oh? Are you now?" "Yeah...I mean...the song was released like a month ago and you're kinda a grandp-" "Alright I get it" He chuckled lightly, gently flicking your forehead.

I'm so smart writing Yanqings and JY sleep deprived right?/j Yeah uh they might be OOC, hopefully not thoughejfpgt.

[randoimago]

Crush Fell First, Tiefling Boys Fell Harder

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Character(s): Dammon, Rolan, Zevlor

Note(s): This was so much fun to write! Especially for Dammon cause we don't see too many sides to his character in the game. So, it was nice to come up with something for him realizing how far he's fallen for Reader.

Also I just realized that I made a new post for the ask instead of just using the one in drafts with the actual ask box format on it oops.

Dammon

Dammon found it amusing how easily you fawned over him at the grove, how you gave him your company so quickly, and how natural your conversations were. It was never unwanted or overbearing. It was nice.

And now, as he holds the hammer, his hand shaking as even the forge can't keep him warm in this darkness, you're still there. As memories of bodies fall around him, you take his hand and lead him to safety while he freezes.

He doesn't have to say a thing before you're talking to him, soothing him from those godforsaken memories. And he holds you tightly, letting himself breathe and relax. Because throughout those nightmares, you're still here with him. And he doesn't think he can let you go.

Rolan

Well, he thought it was apparent. Of course, you fell for him; he's an amazingly talented wizard. Admiration is something that he's bound to get for his talents.

Or they're things he had thought he'd get, not the pain and bruises when he finally reached where he hoped to hone his talents. But you still give him admiration. And you're so gentle when you hold his face still to help him with his injuries.

Regret fills his heart at how cocky he's been towards you. How teasing and snarky he's been. Here you are, still with him after his pride and dreams have been shattered. Perhaps you have magical abilities as well, instead of a snarky, cocky comment. He gives you the gentlest "thank you." He'll deal with whatever pain comes his way and keep aiming for his dreams so he can be powerful enough to protect you how you deserve.

Zevlor

This man doesn't understand your affection for him. He views himself as a broken man who's harmed those he swore to protect. How could anyone still look at him and feel more than disgust?

And yet you do, and the sweet words you give him, the reassurances and praise for everything he has done right (not that he believes it fully). Well, it's enough for him to realize how precious you are to him and how he doesn't deserve you at all.

He'll protect you. It's a personal oath he makes. Zevlor has failed at protecting before, and may every god smite him if he ever fails you. You are precious, and he's not good at showing his love, but he'll protect you.

[cerastes]

IS2+3+4 Relay/Triathlon Runs Breakdown and Post-Mortem

Yesterday, I streamed a trial run of a tentative format I'd love to start playing, for now called IS Relay Run (or Triathlon, but that name has an expiration date with IS5 coming soon), where you do a run of IS2, followed by a run of IS3, and finally a run of IS4, with the catch being that units used in IS2 are banned from the IS3 run, and units used in IS2 and IS3 and banned from the IS4 run.

Here's the ruleset my chat over at Twitch and I built and agreed upon for the trial run:

Difficulty levels correspond to the minimum difficulty that gives you maximum scoring conditions, thus, IS2 Calamity, IS3 Waves 7 and IS4 Natures 10, as those are the minimum difficulty levels that net you the maximum score in those respective modes; Calamity gives the highest score in IS2, Waves 8 and up offer the same scoring as Waves 7 in IS3, Natures 11 and up offer the same scoring as Natures 10 in IS4.

Reserve Operators don't count into the unit bans. The logic is that 1) there's many of them in the first place, 2) softens some of the inherent logistical nightmares that come with three distinct runs of IS RNG can bring in a format that's already cutting deeply into your numbers.

Elite Operators count into the unit bans. So if you nab yourself Sharp in IS2, you don't get to use him in IS3 and IS4.

Alternative versions of Operators don't count into unit bans for their counterpart versions. You want to use Kroos in IS2 and Kroos the Keen Glint in IS3? Knock yourself out, no one should ever be denied their Kroos, they are two distinct units for the purpose of this format.

If you take an Operator and don't use them even once, they still count as a pick and are banned from the rest of the runs. Sometimes, a pick is an investment opportunity, and it may or may not pay off, like grabbing Texas the Omertosa in IS3 hoping to get a promotion, but then it never comes. Texas, in this case, still counts as used.

Any ending goes.

You may pick any starting squad. It doesn't have to be the same one in every run (and in the case of many squads, this would be impossible anyways).

***Not a real rule, but one I stuck to anyhow: No Ingot withdrawals from the Shop, mainly because I'm interested in seeing if the format can be used for racing, and in case of a race, this would be so someone with 999 investment ingots doesn't have a huge advantage over someone with 10 if they decide they're going to break the piggy bank to absolutely ruin the other contestant.

With this ruleset, I ran the format and it was very fun. This was the final roster:

With that said, here are some considerations I have following the trial run:

IS2 Calamity is very volatile. With no exaggeration, it was the most challenging part of the run, in no small part because I got the Sigil of Tragodia (All enemies have +30% Attack, Defense and HP, and you have -2 Deployment Slots). For those not in the know, the way Calamity works is that runs start you off with a powerful Cursed Artifact unique to Calamity that exclusively works against you to make things harder, as well as a minor positive Artifact, usually Squad Size +1. The rationale in using Calamity, besides the max scoring logic, is that with Calamity, you'd be incentivized to use powerful Operators you'd otherwise keep in the bench for future ISes. In the case of the Trial Run, that was why I picked Dusk and Shamare for IS2, as the reduced Deployment Slots and hefty increase to enemy Defense meant that Dusk's S3 was going to be very very strong (as well as providing me with many Arts tanks for the Scarlet Singers; Freeling's have 50 RES), and having Shamare's Cursed Doll helps bring down those immense stat boosts at least temporarily many times per map. I'd say whether IS2 is run Standard or Calamity is up to player discretion, as the raw volatility of Calamity can make for plenty an early end to the run. When it comes to potential Races, I'd say Standard is the way to go, due to the selfsame volatility; the Cursed Artifacts are not made equal, Tragodia is VERY dangerous, whereas others can be half as threatening. If one contestant gets Tragodia and the other doesn't, then that's already a potential huge blow not really in line with the spirit of the race (considering there's already plenty of other random factors such as node distribution, Bewildered IS2 floors, recruitment voucher luck, and such)

Endings are really a player discretion thing. Normally, you'd take the path of least resistance for your ending routing, but if you want to challenge yourself or, more importantly, want to agree to certain endings on your race, knock yourself out. That said, I think the most logical thing is to stick to Ending 1 on all races, because of the random nature of getting Endings in most cases. IS4 is much more consistent in this regard, but IS3 very much isn't (going for Ending 2? Hope you're Gopnik-proofed the moment you get the Last Knight) and IS2 even less so.

I think it's ok to withdraw Ingot from the Shop if you're doing this solo, but I really think Races should ban withdrawing Ingots, for the reasons detailed previously.

Something that didn't come up during the trial run or during discussions is what happens if you lose: I think we all implicitly agreed that you simply start over from IS2, because we love high stakes. That said, in a race format, there's two real ways to go about it: If you game over, you lose the race outright, OR if you game over, you start over from the IS you lost at. This, I'm still thinking about and I'll run it over with the people over at my stream next time, but for now I think it's definitely something you can agree to either way with the other racers. If you're playing this as a self-imposed challenge, my suggestion is to treat a game over as a true game over that sends you back to IS2, for that delicious tension, But Of Course, that's all that is, a suggestion, if you think for you it's more fun to just start over from the IS you lost at, well, that's what you do.

Other considerations with the races may be performance differences between contestants (Racer A's computer or phone runs much faster than Racer B's, thus they load faster). These may be 1 or 2 seconds, but 1 or 2 seconds per loading screen add up after three entire runs (hell, "just" 1 or 2 seconds is huge already in and of itself in the context of a race). Another issue might be that this can easily take several hours, given it's three distinct ISes with extra scrutiny on Operator picks, during which emulators may crash, phones may overheat, Things May Happen. This is true in one way or another for a lot race formats of things in general of course, but it's worth thinking about it anyways. Things that come to mind is maybe doing the race in segments, so IS2 is its own segment, and the first place can chill until the rest are done, then they all start IS3 together and so on, and the end timers are used to make the final calculation on who won or lost. Another format could also be points format per IS, so clearing IS2 the fastest gets you one point, IS3 gets you another, and so on, and person with the most points at the end wins the race. There's Different Ways to go about it in respects to people's limitations, specs, available time, and such.

Something I'll say is that it's pretty time consuming, and it can be stamina consuming, too: I was streaming while doing it, and streaming means interacting with and entertaining a group of people whilst you play, which adds another factor of exhaustion, but I think that just focusing on the game should be pretty fine for most people. Your mileage may vary as to whether 3 runs back to back is not a lot or a lot (it's plenty if I'm also needing to stream, but not at all if I'm just playing, for example). That said, it's a bit of a moot point if you're doing it in your own time; you can do IS2 one day, save a screenshot of your banlist, then continue with this challenge two days later with IS3, then do IS4 yet another day. The world (and format) is your oyster after all.

And, of course, this is really, really endgame stuff to be doing, given you have to have enough units prepped for not one, but three runs at a reasonable difficulty level. It definitely rewarded having map knowledge and knowing your key units to bring to each IS.

But, yeah, really fun format if you wanna try something new whether it be with our 'house' rules or your own!

[local-winged-thing]

Jazz Mecha Au Headcannons

@Keferon's mecha au has been taking up my brain space recently which led to me having some ideas, which I originally wanted to format as drabbles. They keep getting longer but aren't their own full story yet, so I', just going to post them here.

btw here's where I post them on AO3 -> Stories from the Command Center - Chapter 1 - LocalCrypticChronichles - Transformers - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Another explosion rocked the command bay as a quintesson missile hit the ship’s hull. The Autobots had both almost finished evacuating and the command staff was busy shouting orders through comm lines helping the last few ships clear the area. 

Optimus stood solemnly in front of the monitors and Blaster followed his worried expression to the screen that showed Jazz slaughter whatever Quintesson soldiers were stupid enough to try and fight him. 

Jazz was not someone to be worried for. He butchered Quintessons as if that’s what he was built for and brushed off fatal injuries as they were only scratches on his paint. “Fatal injuries” did not simply mean stab wounds either, in the time Blaster had known him, Jazz had gotten mauled, crushed,melted, beheaded, and dismembered in various ways due to his own stupid stunts. 

Most of the time Jazz was an unconquerable nightmare for quintessons, he would crawl out of the ditches they threw him in, plating fractured and limbs barely attached and proceed to shred his enemies in the most efficient, and effective way possible. 

Then you’d find him sauntering back to Ambulon, humming a happy tune while looking like a fresh corpse. 

At the moment, however, Jazz was stumbling and noticeably slower than usual, he had been for a good part of the current battle. The cause of this was clearly the extensive damage on his chest plate, which he had attained sometime during the fight. Primus, based on how much worse his fighting got after the injury, it looked like he possibly damaged his spark chamber. His external communicator also got knocked off sometime in the fighting, and because for some reason whatever alien species Jazz came from didn’t have internal comms, they had no way of contacting him. 

They watched as Jazz staggered back. The quintessons kept coming, and Jazz kept killing them, but he was getting slower, and more sluggish. 

Blaster hadn’t been paying attention to Jazz’s medical needs because he assumed the medical team had it covered. He knew that when he had first met him there was some confusion on what planet Jazz was from, but that should have been cleared up by now, right? Whatever planet Jazz came from obviously produced strong mechs, given how Jazz seemed unkillable at times. 

Now was not one of those times and given the hushed and stressed whispers of the medics behind him, it was clear they didn’t know as much about Jazz as he thought they did, and jazz tried not to think about them making a possibly lethal decision while trying to fix the spark casing, or heal the spark of a mech with an unfamiliar frame. 

Jazz only had two opponents to get through, two enemies to cut down before he’d have to run to one of the nearest shuttles. There were three shuttles still on the ground, one starting its ascent into the air. 

Then, suddenly, one of the quintessons was able to stab Jazz through the armor. 

The shock prod the quintesson used went all the way through to the other side. 

Jazz stilled. 

His wound sparked. 

The command bay quieted. 

It looked like the prod went through his spark. 

Blaster felt like his own spark just spinning, he was not ready to lose a friend. 

The quint, seeing that his enemy was dead, saw no reason to remain and let Jazz’s limp body slide off the weapon, then turn to follow his partner back to where they’re main forces were gathering. 

Suddenly, Jazz sprung up and impaled the quint through the back and out one of its eyes, the quint screeched and flailed, its tentacles thrashed, getting the attention of the other one, before going slack and face planting onto the ground. 

Everyone watching in the command bay cheered, but although Blaster was happy his colleague hadn’t gone gray yet, he knew that Jazz still was not in the clear yet, and only one shuttle to evacuate in remained. 

Jazz wouldn’t make it. 

He swayed, and raised his blaster to defend against the last quintesson charging at him, but it was flung out of his hand as the quintesson barreled into him. 

It was clear that Jazz was no longer strong enough to fight, he tumbled to the ground and Blaster, not wanting to watch his friend go grey as the quintesson mutilated him, prepared himself to cut the feed and order the last shuttle to take off. 

Then he spotted a familiar red chevron somewhere it definitely wasn’t supposed to be. 

Prowl launched himself at the quintesson, shooting his acid rifle at point blank range. 

The room that had remained relatively quiet, aside from perturbed whispers and restrained, hopeful, words of encouragement, exploded, because their head tactician was not in the secure location he was supposed to be. 

Blaster ran to his console while trying to ignore the fact that Optimus had grabbed his Axe and was heading to where the smaller fighter ships were stationed. 

He really hoped Ironhide would stop him because what they needed to do now was send a proper team to secure their second in command, not also have to worry about their leader on some not-yet-empty battlefield in enemy territory. 

::Prowl!:: Blaster shouted through comms ::Prowl, do you copy?::

If Prowl heard him he didn’t answer. 

Prowl had won his fight and was trying to pull Jazz towards where the last shuttle was located. 

The shuttle sent a request to take off which Prowl denied. Looking at how a group of Quintessons spotted Jazz and Prowl, he may have to order the soldiers on it to assist. He decided to take the chance of the shuttle being spotted as well and ordered them to move closer to Prowl’s location. 

Prowl had stopped trying and failing to move the larger bot. Dragging him was taking too much time, the quints would get them before they got to the shuttle, and Prowl knew from experience that he wasn’t strong enough to carry Jazz while running without falling over. 

Jazz grabbed a crow-bar looking piece of metal off the ground and stuck it into Jazz’s chassis. 

The command bay was dead silent. 

Everyone watched in shock as Jazz ripped Jazz’s chassis off him. Plating, structure, internal wiring was tossed to the side leaving everyone in the bay to process that they have either witnessed a murder or were about to. 

Prowl stood over Jazz with the same annoyed expression on his face that he has when he has to deal with the inconvenience of hunting soldiers down for their post-mission reports. 

Prowl had gone nuts. 

Now his friend was as good as dead, and Prowl, of all people, had either just betrayed them to quintessons or had truly lost it. 

Blaster wanted to cry. 

Then Prowl reached towards the inside of Jazz’s chest, and everyone prepared for him to snuff his spark, but- 

wait…

There was no spark to be seen. A small organic popped out of Jazz’s chest and into Prowl’s hands. 

What had just happened? 

Everyone was still reeling from the emotional rollercoaster that was the last three minutes. 

Jazz, or not Jazz. At least what he hoped wasn’t Jazz but an empty shell, was left behind as Prowl and the organic made their way towards the shuttle now providing cover fire. 

Both had some explaining to do.

[goodfish-bowl]

Check Your Sources

DP Side Hoes Week 2024 Master Post

Day 2: Jazz Fenton - university times

Summary: Jazz has a misunderstanding with a professor over her selected topic for her paper.

Word Count: 1271

AO3 Link

Jazz Fenton had remembered turning in her psychology paper on ecto-psychology, particularly the role of obsessions in the mental state of Ecto-entities, with utmost confidence. She had meant it as a draft for the final paper she intended to published after the completion of her degree. She had already sent in her paper on Ghost Envy for her application to the college, and it was currently in the process of being peer-reviewed, so she needed something new for her current psychology paper. She had compiled the information for it during her last trip to Amity Park, and organized it into this assignment, including multiple citations both within the ecto-science fields and otherwise, to make sure her paper was well-rounded. She had quadruple-checked everything, from her grammar, to her formatting, to the way she cited each of her sources. 

For these reasons, Jazz was absolutely confounded by the red ink and stark zero written at the top of her returned paper. There was a sticky note attached, telling her to talk to the professor after class.

Jazz glanced between her paper, and the professor in horror. During the course of the term, Jazz had developed a deep respect for Dr. Kaplan, and her work on the psychology of people with PTSD. She must have a good reason for giving her such a poor grade, but the fact she received it at all filled her with mortification. She had never gotten a grade so low in her entire education. Jazz needed to know why, but she couldn’t even figure out what she had done wrong in the first place. In the corner of her mind, she had a sinking suspicion, but hoped with everything she was wrong. 

Jazz spent the entire class in a tizzy. Constantly flipping back and forth between the day’s class-work and her paper. Outside of the first page, the rest of the paper was completely unmarked. Frustration began to simmer underneath Jazz’s skin. How was she supposed to fix this if the professor never even told her what she did wrong?! But it would be fine… she was meeting with the teacher after class anyways. 

From that point forward, class moved forward at a crawl. Jazz still couldn’t pay much attention, and found her notes were much less organized than she would prefer. But when the professor dismissed them, Jazz practically darted to Dr. Kaplan’s podium. 

The professor was a thin, wiry woman, dressed professionally, and looked down upon Jazz from behind equally wiry glasses. She gave Jazz a hard-look, almost one of disdain, and it was only the years of facing the nightmares of Amity Park that kept her from physically recoiling. She removed her eyes from Jazz and gazed around the still-emptying classroom. 

“It might be better to have this conversation in my office,” Dr. Kaplan stated, leaving the room, with Jazz practically at her heels. 

Dr. Kaplan’s office was a fair reflection of the woman herself. Neutral colors, her degree on display, and psychology books lining her singular bookshelf. Her desk was dark wood, and chairs cushions a beige leather. The plant sitting by the window was fake. It was all very professional, and at the same time very impersonal and lifeless. Despite the light colors and the sunlight streaming in through the window blinds, the atmosphere was near stifling. 

The professor took her seat behind the desk, and Jazz hesitated, waiting until Dr. Kaplan gestured for her to take a seat. The seats were more stylish than they were comfortable. She gingerly set her paper on the edge of the desk, sitting board-straight in the chair. 

“Ms. Fenton,” Dr. Kaplan practically sighed, “is there a reason you’re not taking my class seriously?”

The question came completely unexpected. “What are you talking about, Dr. Kaplan? I’ve been giving this class my best efforts,” Jazz pleaded. 

Dr. Kaplan frowned, tapping her carefully manicured, neutrally colored nails against her paper. “This assignment says otherwise.”

Jazz frowned, mentally skimming over the paper. “I… I don’t understand. I’ve followed the assignment criteria almost exactly, I’ve even collected first-hand observations.”

Dr. Kaplan looked like she had sucked a lemon. “Ah, yes,” she said flatly. “Ms. Fenton, while you’ve followed the semblance of the rubric for this assignment to a near exceptional degree, a paper on the theoretical psychology of fictional beings is hardly an acceptable paper topic.” 

 Ah, there it was. Jazz had suspected as much, but it still didn’t calm the simmering frustration, boiling into anger under her skin. 

“Honestly,” Dr. Kaplan continued, “for such a brilliant girl, I can only see the submission of a paper like this as a lack of care, and simply unprofessional to boot. To go as far as to make up sources, as properly cited as they are, is simply-”

It was taking everything within Jazz not to blow up in her professor’s face. Her nails were starting to bite into her palms, and her teeth felt sharp in her mouth as she grit them. Had Dr. Kaplan stopped at the whole ‘ghosts aren’t real’ bit, it wouldn’t have been anything she hadn’t heard before. But to accuse her of lying, and making up sources, that was getting a bit too close to unforgivable. She was losing any respect she had for this professor with every word out of her mouth. 

“Those are real sources and I have recordings of the data I collected myself,” Jazz had to keep herself from hissing. “You’re welcome to check my sources. Of course, due to the analog nature of the recordings, they will require a tape player to view. As for the other second and third hand sources, they are all from qualified journals.” 

“I admire the lengths you’ve gone to make your work of fiction as realistic as possible however-”

“Have you heard of Amity Park before?” Jazz could not stop herself from growling out the question, shooting to her feet, unable to take this sitting down any longer. “Have you done any research to support your claim over mine?”

Dr. Kaplan had a deer-in-headlights expression as Jazz towered over her desk, while also simultaneously adding the only color to her entire office through the reddening of her face. “Are you delusional? Ghosts aren’t real.”

Jazz felt what little ectoplasm that lived under her skin hum in tune with her rage as she slammed a hand down onto the desk, crinkling her paper underneath her wrath. This wasn’t about the grade anymore.

 “Ecto-science is a pseudo-science at worst. It is young and mostly unexplored, but it is hardly fictional. Psychology used to occupy the very same space not too long ago. If you had done any research to check your biases, you would have found this out.” 

Something was burning. 

Jazz quickly snatched her paper back into her hands, gritting her teeth, and reigning in her anger as fast as she could. She cleared her throat hard enough for it to sound like a snarl. 

“It appears your classroom will no longer be a conductive learning environment for me,” Jazz spoke evenly, tone carefully measured. “It would do you well to actually look into the topics your students write about.”

Jazz collected her things, already mentally filing out the required paperwork and emails to the Registar’s Office to have her transferred to a different class. She moved to the doorway and gave her professor a polite nod, ignoring the gobsmacked look on Dr. Kalplan’s face. 

“Have a nice afternoon, Professor.”

Jazz fled the room, dead set in ignoring the hand-shaped burn she had left on her professor’s desk and the smoldering paper in her hands.

[animefreak1145]

Church Bells(Adler x Bell!Reader xWoods)

Previous Intel | Next Intel

Sixth Intel | Watch

Description:

The world ended for Bell after Cuba.

The whole world followed soon after.

Zombies AU | Drabble Format

Warnings/Tags: Mature Rating, Graphic Violence, Dark Themes, Trauma, Body Horror, Gore, Major Character Death, Brainwashing, Post!Cuba, Pre!Solovetsky, No Solovetsky, Female Bell, Older Man/Younger Woman

Words: 1.6k

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You were observing for days.

Picking apart the papers, the plans, the tools they have at their disposal with Sims. Hawkish tired baggy eyes, always seeming to stray at the itch of your skin that is getting irritated from your nails than anything else. No other outside source. (Nightmare.) 

It was hard for the others to cajole you out the cage you built around you, the storage room with the arcade game you used to play with but now is stock still. 

Dead. A waste of energy. 

(Why are you here again? Ah. Solovetsky. Always about going to Solovetsky. That’s all they need of you. They aren’t your friends. He’s not your friend.)

You even locked yourself in. To keep them out. To keep you in. Concentration. Watching. Planning. Eying. 

You had a fire to your ass and this time it wasn’t Adler that caused it, (his hands around your jaw or your throat, squeezing your cheeks together unforgivingly or pressing down warningly to your carotid and air supply, Bell, open the door. He said good work. ) but instead it was your head, your thoughts, the feeling of blood pumping to your ears and grim determination clenching your jaw and hands around the pens and pencils and office supplies you have hoarded in this cage you made yourself.

You ignored how Woods cursed at you and your behavior, but your eyes couldn’t help but study his deep blue. The ocean normally with its high tides to make up for the hurricane of a man, only for it to be swimming in concern and worry on what is causing this frantic episode of yours. 

The tornado of a man cursed at you with no intent, looking haggard with tired shoulders as if he was there in the cage with you. Only for them to tense when Adler, who is ice and cool and hard to read and what is that look in his eyes when he stares past your cage and into your face, tells Woods to leave you be, to let you plan the finishing touches needed for the cell tower and you will come out when you decide to. 

“Stop babying her.”

“Wha—you conniving fucker,” the hurricane spat at the arctic breeze, dangerous and unbelieving wild grin upon his face. “You ordered her to do this. You think I’m going to let you dig around your dirty shitty claws around her brain again? You used the trigger phrase, didn’t you? Didn’t you?!”

(You talked to Woods once, that the trigger would still probably work. The lot of you have no time to deprogram a terrorist. You were concerned, worrying your lip and how easy it would be to become a mindless puppet again. Frank, all grim faced, only tugged you to him with your eyes widening as you met the gear covered chest. Safe . Secure . The immovable mountain and the chaotic hurricane turned firm like a rooted tree that shall never bend. Can you make a home here in these roots? Is he letting you? And a rumble to your ear “You don’t have to worry your pretty little head about that. No one will say that sentence again. Until we get you back to Washington and we’ll fix you up, you’ll be able to say the words yourself as easy as you can decode.”)

Face to face.

The storm and ice. 

And, despite you wanting to see Frank punch the ever living lights out of Adler again, you stepped out the cage and intervened with a gentle yet firm hand to Woods shoulder before Mason or Sims could, back to Adler who you can feel his eyes on you.

When he glanced down in bewilderment, he met your grateful little smile playing on your lips and a shake of your head.

“It’s okay. He didn’t do any of that. I wanted to.” Woods didn’t seem to believe you, and your hand wandered from his shoulder to his wrist to do a squeeze of his hand. Woods blinked, eyes on the hold before meeting your somber ones. “We need this plan. Adler is right on the importance of this. We need that cell tower.  Him and I gotta do this right with all of you. To plan with all of you. ”

Woods face began to sour right when you mentioned Adler. Glancing up to where Adler was only to sour more. 

He tugged his hand away and turned his  back on you. You tried to not let it affect you. (He always touches you and accepts yours like you accept his. He’s not distant.) 

“Yeah, yeah. I got it. Just don’t…” his tone lost his gumption when he turned his face back towards you. You can spot his swallow before he waved a hand flippantly, (not the hand you touched. The hand you touched is tucked in his jacket pocket. Like a secret.) before he made a dramatic puff of air out his mouth. “Just don’t fall over dead or electrocute your brain over there.”

The joke fell flat, your brows pinched in concern and your back still itched with eyes on you.

You turned, almost missing the smug smirk Adler had around his cigarette but not missing his upturned brow when he looked at you. 

He dipped his head in a semblance of a nod, nicotine smoke around them both as he breathed, “Don’t let him keep treating you like glass. You’re not made of it.” 

And off he went, whisking away to his corner of the safehouse. 

Your jaw clenched when his scent and presence left you, irritation building at the pretense(How would he know how you wanted to be treated? He doesn’t know you. You used to lick up those small nods as if they were ambrosia, his pride towards you like nectar. He broke you. He can’t tell you what to do.) before you went back to your cage. 

Later, after your three day planning confinement, with you and Park atop a nearby building of the cell tower to study the zombie horde and the strange crystals that keep appearing like never ending amethysts, you were questioned by the MI6 agent.

Or what may be left of the MI6.

“Is Woods a wise choice, Bell?”

The question came from left field(Woods taught you that saying) and it made you take off your binoculars, your face twisted into deep befuddlement.

“What?”

Park’s face didn’t change, it was the expression where she expected no nonsense. Her attention on you and not the sniper rifle who has an impressive scope and what she should be using to watch. 

“Don’t play the oblivious card, Bell. It doesn’t suit you.”

You were starting to get annoyed at the non answers. (You hate non answers. Hums that don’t mean anything or everything. You’re sick of it.)

“What are you talking about?”

Park huffed.

“This dance you’re doing with Woods. Is it genuine? Or are you trying to get back at Adler?”

Your eyes flashed, your grip on your binoculars tightening.

That’s all it goes back to. Your genuineness. 

(Stop lying, Bell. Start again and tell me how you met Perseus.)

“Frank and I are genuinely friends. Just like me and Mason are.” Park’s brows pinched together and you really want to shout at her but you stick with a hissed “What?” instead.

“You’re getting that look in your eyes when you look at Woods. And don’t think we can’t all see how touchy you two are with each other. Especially with what happened earlier.” (You touched Woods hand, yours were gloved. But you still felt it. How warm he can be. The curious inquisitive side of you wanted to know what would happen if your hand was bare, what would the valley of his knuckles feel like? Would it match the mountain of a man?) “Woods is…” Park cleared her throat. “Woods is showing deep care for you. But the last thing we need is something to split the team apart. So. Is it genuine?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking through the binoculars again to dismiss her.

“Didn’t you say to give a certain man a wide berth?” 

“And I’m glad for you for it. But Bell,” a hand moved stops yours, shifting the binoculars down and you were met with concerned gray eyes, a soft voice. “. . .Adler is the type of man who has a hard time giving over control. Can you honestly say you won’t fall upon his hands again if he asked?”

“Adler,” you spat, fury and rage and vindictive and hot on your chest. It made Park’s eyes widen, which made you blink and deflate and appear like the kicked bunny that you are instead of what you were before. “. . . I know what kind of man Adler is. But. . . Woods is. . . Frank is. . . ” You clenched your teeth, bowed your head. “I. . . don’t want to hurt him. . . He’s been. He’s been kind to me. He makes me laugh.”

Park’s eyes gave you a once over, assessing and scrutinizing before you felt a hand atop your shoulder. A gentle squeeze. You looked up and spotted gentle eyes to match before she focused back on her sniper and looking through it.

“It seems we may have similar taste in men, Bell.”

You glanced at her in pity. 

Lazar always found a way to make her laugh.

If they achieve this, create the line again for Washington—to Weaver—than perhaps Park can find someone again. 

You and Adler’s plan can’t fail.

(Adler’s protege will make a way.)

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…hahahahahaha… hi?

I’m back in the writing pit of this universe! Thank you to @makeyourpeacenow and @junkyardhound with their wondrous works in AO3 I recently discovered thanks to me trying to scour for Adler x Bell fics again. And that inspired me. And for the BO6 trailer. Where I’m back to wanting the Officially Wanted Man Russell Adler.

May this fire not die until this fic is at least completed. And than maybe I can hop back into my other Adler x Bell fic.

Tag List: @tr1ppylady @parkeepingparker @weirdoartist21 @gojocat247 @mayaibnlaahad @dallmaistir @salvija @kylezkie4adler @asaltryefl @stupid-stinky @aurora-windu @zachfoxx121

Are any of you guys still here? I sure hope so. I miss you guys.