#this was mad fun thank you for the ask anon

[gods-favorite-autistic]

nonbinary fig and transfem bigender gorgug are things that can be so real. what other gender hcs would you like to speak of?

Long hc post so this will be in bullet point form!!

(minor fhjy spoilers!!)

Enby Fig and bigender Gorgug 10/10 no notes

Ayda researches nonbinary people so hard once Fig comes out to her and sends Fig so many articles

Fig reads them all and takes notes <3

Transfem Adaine is so tragic with Aelwyn and her parents and adgeasresd

Aelwyn paid for Adaines estrogen using their parents money but never told her

Adaine knits all of the bad kids their pride flag

Pangender Cass. That’s it that’s the headcanon

Riz Gukgak transmasc detective

His mom would absolutely buy his T if he asked but knows how expensive it so he refuses

He uses a lot of home remedies (a lot of *checks google* legumes in the Gukgak household)

The second Riz comes out to Fabian he insists on paying for Riz’s T

Does NOT wear his binder correctly

Called Fabian in literal tears when he noticed he was starting to look like his dad

Ok enough sad hc’s. For now.

TRANS JAWBONE TRANS JAWBONE TRANS JAWBONE

T R A N S R A G H T R A N S R A G H

Mary Ann starts calling Gorgug her partner and Adaine immediately starts working on a spell to make a cowboy hat appear on Gorgugs head every time she says it

Bigender. Bisexual. Biclass. 🎵Bye bye by-

I think it’d be a little bit funny if Kristen was the only cis one but she/they demi girl Kristen is just too strong

For pride month Kristen convinces Adaine Fig and Ragh to get up at 12:01 am June 1st to spray paint Mordred Manor the trans flag

They also. Set fire to Bobby Dawns car

Fig makes it their mission to look as androgynous as possible but not in a ‘no gender’

In a ‘double d tits and a 5 inch bulge’ type way

They appear at the end of Garthy O’Briens bed one night to ask for tips like the cryptid they are

Kristen comes out in virtually the same way she did the first time just way more drunk

They whisper it to Adaine and Adaine is just like “Kristen last week you googled ‘how to tell if demigirl’ directly in front of me and then told me what you were googling when I asked”

Kristen’s just like oh. Then they throw up

For transfem Fabian Mazey (also transfem because her) figures out she’s trans before Fabian does but doesn’t try to like push her out of the closet because she knows that won’t help

She does however try to like nudge her in that direction by like sending her transfem memes and getting her to try on Mazeys dresses (read a fic where Fabian tried on Mazeys dress and I loved it so much) and stuff like that

Transmasc Fabian comes out to Riz when Riz comes out to him

Kristin assigns themself binder boy (Ragh Fabian and Riz) duty

Also known as showing up in each boys room 8 hours after she finds out they had a binder on and beating them with a pillow until they take it off

Usually Riz

Kristen shows up in his doorway he’s immediately sprinting out the fire escape as fast as he can

Jawbone has top surgery scars on his untransformed body but you can’t see them on his usual half and half body (they are still there)

Fig keeps casting dream to show up in Bobby Dawns dreams with a nonbinary flag

[ratinayellowbandana]

Hi! Number six of the drabble prompt list, and if I may suggest, with a sad jealous Laudna.

hi! I'm sorry this one took a few days. I um. got a little carried away with it again. these were only supposed to be like 500-word prompt fills, and this is uh, slightly more than that. so I hope that's ok.

for those who don't want to find the prompt, it was: "You just didn't look for me." naturally I went ep 64 with a healthy splash of canon divergence, some good old-fashioned hurt/comfort, and pate as a thinly veiled metaphor.

length: 2k

~~~

Laudna whirls on her, snaps, “We looked for you. And the others. Every fucking day.” She holds Imogen’s gaze, holds her piercing stare until Imogen tilts her head. “You just didn’t look for me,” she whispers. 

Imogen steps forward, quiet but insistent. “No, sweetheart, no, we did. I did. Every day.” She does not reach out, afraid, not of Laudna–never of Laudna–but of herself. Of what she might do if given the chance at the wrong time. Her heart pounds an unsteady rhythm.

“I want to believe you,” Laudna says. She toys with the brass ring on her left hand, twisting it around her finger anxiously, twin snakes coiling. “I do, truly, it’s just…” 

Imogen studies her, searching for answers in a frame both foreign and familiar. Laudna is pale and gaunt, cheeks drawn in, though that’s hardly unusual. Her stringy dark hair lacks luster in the eerie light of the red moon, crispy and clumped together in places by something Imogen can’t identify. Cast in the long shadows between buildings, Laudna is on edge, ready to claw and screech and lash out with those wicked talons if provoked. She is wild, and she is beautiful, and she is frightened.  

“I understand,” Imogen speaks slowly, gently, distinctly aware of each word’s weight. 

The others are still in the inn, consorting in the tavern. The Hells and their new friends, chatting, laughing, and drinking the night away, simply happy to be home. Introductions were made, and tales of grandeur waited to be spun. 

Laudna had been unnervingly quiet after the initial elation wore off. Her hands remained folded in her lap or picked intently at the skin around her nails. Pâté’s silence was even more concerning. He had been coaxed out of hiding in Laudna’s hair with the promise of scratches and nudged his beak into her wrist until she began stroking his greasy fur. 

She spoke when spoken to, adjusting in her seat and responding eagerly when prompted. The moment the attention shifted, though, her forced smile would drop. Every so often, she sent a furtive glance in Imogen’s direction as if to ensure she was still there, then looked away just as quickly. Exhaustion crept at the corners of her eyes, and her gaze would fall to her lap whenever the conversation turned to the adventures in Wildemount. 

The group from Issylra hadn’t said much about their travels, but Imogen gathered their transplantation had not been as, ah, pleasant wasn’t quite the right word. Illustrious, maybe, Imogen considered, fussing with a seam on her new dress. Laudna’s blouse was tattered and stained with a thick substance that did not match her ichor’s usual viscosity. 

Laudna had stood abruptly, muttering something about air, and disappeared outside. After making puzzled eye contact with Ashton, who tossed his head at the door and sighed heavily, Imogen followed her. 

She had found Laudna around the corner, curled into herself against the wall of the Spire by Fire. A feral thing, hardened and reshaped by whatever circumstances found her while they were apart. 

She has not calmed yet, and Imogen is reluctant to curb the swell of emotion that has Laudna dangling by a thread. She is tangled in it, ensnared in a knotted web, and Imogen is unsure how to extricate her. She is all jagged pieces and raw edges, a tempest of fury and loss that Imogen cannot rely on her mental connection to unravel. Laudna is something of a mystery to her now in a way she has never been, and it’s all Imogen can do to not toss her circlet to the winds. 

Instead, she waits. 

Laudna is muttering to herself, tugging at her clothes. Pâté flaps about her head, wings of sinew and bone making an abominably wet sound Imogen hadn’t realized she’d missed. The tip of one wing tangles in Laudna’s hair, and she swats at him irritably, sending him tumbling through the air until he manages to right himself. Imogen extends a hand, and he flies to her, settling in her palm on his hindquarters. He gives a disgruntled shake, and his wings squelch back into his body, tail coming to rest around his paws. He peers up at Imogen, then looks back to Laudna.  

“I tried,” he croaks in that gravelly way of his, and Imogen strokes his disgusting little head with one finger. 

“I know,” she assures gently. He could be referring to any number of moments across a lifetime, a few weeks, mere seconds ago. She sets him on her shoulder and feels pinprick claws pierce the fabric of her dress for stability. Crass and wretched as he is, Imogen can’t find it in herself to hate him. He is an extension of his maker, creepy and ungainly and off-putting, so Imogen must love him a tiny bit. She scratches under his chin, ignores the feeling of magic-touched bone, murmurs, “Thank you for keepin’ her safe.”

“Boss didn’t have the best of times without you.” He pipes up, a little rueful, in a manner Imogen assumes is meant to be quiet. Laudna, only a few feet away, catches it.

“Pâté,” she snarls. He squeaks and tucks himself into Imogen’s collar. 

“He’s just confirming what I had already guessed,” Imogen defends, an attempt at lightness that doesn’t quite land. “It’s not his fault you haven’t told me anything.” 

“He ought to have stayed in my head. Then he might leave well enough alone,” Launda warns. 

“You don’t mean that,” Imogen counters calmly. 

Laudna spits, “He should have stayed dead.”

“Hey.” 

She huffs a sardonic, dry laugh. “Not everyone deserves second chances.” 

Imogen inhales sharply.

There it is. 

“Laudna…” She softens. She cups Pâté protectively. His fur oddly damp against her skin. She takes a cautious step forward. 

The pieces begin slotting into place, building the frame for a jarring picture of something severe enough to reopen this old wound. 

The fight sapped from her limbs, Laudna slides her back down the wall until she sits in the filth and dirt of the alleyway with her knees drawn close to her chest. Imogen winces as rough stone drags across jutting bone and paper-thin skin. 

“Are you… Do you want to be alone?” She asks–because what else can she do?– and half-fears the answer. 

Laudna’s head jerks up, and something Imogen can’t decipher flashes in her eyes. After a moment, her head shakes minutely, and Imogen lets out a relieved sigh. 

Tense silence leaches from the pores of the building’s rocky exterior.  

“We tried to find you all. Every day. We didn’t–we didn’t know where we were. Where anyone was, and–” Laudna breathes at last. “Orym was… was angry. Vengeful. And Ashton…. He was our friend.”

“Ashton?”

“I hurt him,” Laudna continues as if Imogen hadn’t spoken at all.

“Hurt who?” 

She shudders. “I killed him, not Prism.” Inky tears well from eyes pressed shut. Her voice is impossibly soft, hollow, seeming to ask, Do you hate me yet?

The narrative is convoluted at best. Imogen fruitlessly attempts to splice together the fragments of memory slipping through Laudna’s teeth like snowflakes, to arrange them into a cohesive whole among the scraps she gathered at the table. The Issylra group returned rattled, apprehensive and tense, but this is deeper. Laudna is shaken. 

“Wasn’t he a member of the Ruby Vanguard?” 

“He was confused, just like the rest of us. Angry at the gods.” Laudna’s eyes flicker to the glowing red moon. Her fist, clenched in her hair, tightens. “And I killed him.” 

Imogen steps closer. “We’ve all killed people.”

Laudna shakes her head. Her voice hardens once more. “I don’t begrudge you the shopping or fraternizing with royalty or, or whatever else it was,” she says lowly, “But we didn’t have that. We didn’t save a toy store or home-cooked breakfasts. We spent every moment fighting to get back to you. And now,” she swallows, “we must reckon with the cost.” 

She is utterly exhausted; Imogen can see in the dim light. Although bone-weary and at her wits’ end, Laudna’s elegant cheekbones curl with shadows that twist and hide in her skirts. Hunched and fearful as she is, Laudna is still hauntingly beautiful. Something warms in Imogen’s chest. 

“You did what you had to do to survive,” she says, “No one can fault you for that.” 

“I’m sorry.” Laudna’s voice breaks, fracturing in tandem with Imogen’s heart, and she sobs. “I’m sorry.”

“No, Laud, no–” Imogen crouches next to her, yearning to touch, to take Laudna in her arms and bite and hiss and growl at anyone who dares approach. She restrains herself, carefully plucking Pâté from her shoulder and setting him on the ground between them. He turns to her skeptically as if to say, Really? After what she said? Imogen nudges him in Laudna’s direction. He sniffs, beak in the air, and ruffles his fur before bounding to Laudna’s ankles and putting his weird, cold little dead rat toes against her shin. She ignores the pawing fragment of her soul, ashamed. 

“I’m sorry,” Laudna mutters, “I must seem…I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” 

Laudna begins incredulously, “I–”

“You survived,” Imogen reiterates, “against gods and people powerful enough to destroy them.” She sighs, “I sent you a message every day, you know? Sometimes more than once, if I’m honest, ‘till my nose bled and Deanna had to patch me up.” Imogen offers a half-smile. “All I got was static. I just had to hope you were out there, somewhere, lookin’ for me, too.” 

Laudna looks as if she might melt into herself, refusing to look at Imogen. Her shoulders shake, and she confesses with a gasp, “She’s back. I brought her back.” 

Imogen’s blood chills, but her tone remains neutral. “Who, Laud?” 

At last, Laudna meets her gaze, eyes wide and wet and horror-struck. “Delilah.”

The name hangs between them like a stone ready to drop and shatter and bury itself into their flesh. Searing rage erupts in Imogen’s veins. 

“I’m sorry,” Laudna shrinks back, “I’m so sorry. To all of you. You all gave so much to–to find me. And–”

“It’s not your fault,” Imogen interjects.

“–and I wasn’t…I was weak. I lost control.” 

“Laudna,” Imogen cuts her off with the steely calm of a thunderstorm on the horizon. She cannot afford to process this now, not when Laudna is trembling in an alley. Not when Laudna, unmoored and terrified, needs her to be an anchor. No, Imogen will save her questions and unfiltered anger, for another time. A time when Laudna is safe and warm and at no risk of coming unraveled in her hands. When Laudna is in a place to know Imogen’s wrath is not, could never be, directed at her.

“Laudna,” Imogen repeats, because she cannot bear the thought of her not understanding, “this is not your fault. None of this.” She does reach out, then, offering a lifeline should Laudna choose to accept it. She does, hesitantly, as if waiting for Imogen to recoil. Her fingers are cool, bird-light against Imogen’s red-scarred palm. Laudna seems to notice at the same time.

“Imogen,” she exclaims, words still tear-tinged and quivering, “your hands. They’re–are you alright?”

“Oh, they–they don’t hurt, usually. Promise. I’m fine.”

“I should have–I’m sorry, I suppose I was–”

“Laudna,” Imogen interrupts again, not unkindly, “please.” 

It’s then that Laudna seems to notice Pâté clawing his way up her skirt. She scoops him up and holds him to her, murmuring apologies into his fur.

“‘S’okay, boss,” he rasps, squished against his maker’s chest, “I can’t hold a grudge.”

They sit like that, hand-in-hand, hand-on-rat, until the easy stroke of Imogen’s thumb against Laudna’s has smoothed out the worst of the jagged edges. Until the tension falls from Laudna’s spine and she relaxes into Imogen’s touch. 

“The others are surely wondering where we’ve gone.”

Imogen shrugs, snorts, “There’re so many people at that table I think they’d hardly notice two missing.”

“Still,” Laudna says, “we ought to get back.”

“Do you want to?” It’s her choice. It always will be if Imogen can help it.

Laudna considers. “I think I’d rather like to hear the end of Chetney’s story from the Savalirwood.”

“Oh gods,” Imogen groans, flushing at the memory, “no, you don’t.” 

“Fearne and Deanna, hm?” 

“Best to let them tell it.”

[melverie]

you know that pic with the guy who looks crazy and in the bg there's a bunch of red strings connecting papers on a board together? you rn

I mean it really does feel like it anon

[dootznbootz]

Hi!! I love your blog and I’m enjoying your Odypen headcanons and theories very much! I recently started reading the Iliad so I’m new to all this and I just want to know your opinion on smth. In song 1, lines 135-140 Agamemnon mentions the bride prizes of several Achaean leaders, including Odysseus. Obviously nothing else is mentioned, no name, just that he has one, too. What’s your take on that? Any headcanons? I honestly hate the whole cheating discourse around him and I don’t want to add more fuel to the fire because in the Odyssey he was clearly a victim!! I would just love to know what you think about this particular thing in the Iliad. Considering the historical and cultural context, having a bride prize was normal in war (albeit awful from our modern standpoint). But Odysseus is a very interesting and complicated character so this could go in many different ways with him, and in any case it doesn’t really change my opinion on his love for Penelope. Thank you! :)

Thank you so much!!! That's so kind! And I'm so happy you're reading the Iliad! I hope you enjoy it! I'm so happy you're enjoying my silly and I DO have many thoughts about it! :D

And very good that either way, it doesn't change your opinion on his love for Penelope. My opinion/interpretation regardless of those lines, that should ALWAYS be the interpretation that people have of Odysseus.

So idk if you've seen my Aspec OdyPen silliness yet and/or my "Odysseus is a half-eunich from the boar". BUT those are my headcanons. (which I can delve into further later)

but I'll go over the canon evidence now. :P

(disclaimer: Slavery is a fucked up thing regardless of the circumstances. this is in no way excusing any of it)

So IDK which translation you're reading, but as someone who's read multiple versions...Some just say "Prize", and with the "it" and "something". I...didn't really see it as a woman and/or specifically a concubine.

Let Achaeans give me another prize, equal in value, something I’ll enjoy. If not, then I’ll take a prize myself by force,                                   something from you or Ajax or Odysseus.

(Book 1, Johnston)

Let the Achaeans find me a prize in fair exchange to my liking, or I will come and take your own, or that of Ajax or of Ulysses; and he to whomsoever I may come shall rue my coming.

(Book 1, Butler)

But if they do not give me such a gift, then I will seize your own prize or Ajax’s or Odysseus’ and carry it away, angering whomever I visit.

(Book 1, Heumann)

So to ME, (I do not know what the actual words said mean) I take "Prize" of "something of equal value" and/or just a slave.

As yeah...My Odysseus is aspec (basically Pen-romantic/Pen-sexual), I kind of plan to WRITE it personally as a bit of a thing with "Grab one of Odysseus' slaves, he doesn't use them as concubines."

And with Odysseus being the one to transport Chryseis, I have it where it's a bit of "I'll go bring her to her father. Take any slave you wish from my tent if you must. I don't care."

Agamemnon dragged a swift ship down the shore, chose twenty sailors, loaded on the oxen, offerings for the god, and led on fair-cheeked Chryseis.          Shrewd Odysseus shipped on as leader. All aboard, they set off, carving a pathway through the sea.

(Book 1, Johnston)

(Also with Ajax and his girlfriend/bride prize, I think this kind of made him extremely worried. My Odysseus and Ajax have "special beef" even BEFORE the war but they are fine about it by the war. Odysseus not only doesn't have a concubine or slave woman he's attached to but he also was helping a bro out in a way lol.)

And Odysseus is a king and a piece of shit. It's horrible but it feels in character for my lil asshole to basically use pretty slaves in trading. "Hey, you like lighthaired girls, yeah? Well, you have that really pretty silver-studded sword...I want it. Would you like to exchange?"

I want to make it clear that I'm not writing like this or interpreting this in the way of "UwU Odysseus is too of a good boy for that." as that feels icky to try and "make everyone else shitty to make him 'better'". It's literally because Odysseus is just simply LIKE this. He has basically no libido/sex drive if Penelope isn't around. (I'm keeping this as safe for wormlings as I can so I'll leave it at that.)

An old wip post explains it more but I'll also put the wip itself here to kind of explain lol

My Odysseus is a "pretty boy" as he is in canon as well, and he hates when people make moves on him.

BUT these are just MY headcanons and/or what I plan to write, while I just don't really vibe with Odysseus being with folks willingly other than Penelope I have big gay for her. I live vicariously through Odysseus. I love her so much I can't stop others and other people COULD find evidence of Odysseus being with others if they truly wanted.

[shanastoryteller]

it sounds like the... excitement... around that post of yours is just weighing negatively on you at this point. i'd like to suggest completely divorcing yourself from it - turn off notifications for that post, maybe delete the original (if that does anything?) and if necessary block it so you don't see it again. just do whatever you can so you won't be reminded of it. then you can just ignore all asks about it and not worry about it again! if you read an asks and it's an annoying person again, delete it and say nothing, leave the person wondering about it! essentially, i suggest trying to pretend the post is completely forgotten until that becomes true. of course, these are merely suggestions! feel free to ignore me as well. the annoying people will go away eventually.

honestly I'm not the evolved

I don't mind being hated but I despise being misinterpreted

[hershelchocolateart]

can you draw yourself any more obnoxiously

SURE CAN!

[fluffypotatey]

any tips and tricks for getting into the writing zone?

ok so i have 2 methods and they depend on what i'm writing on: story writing and essay writing (waring: this is a mini-ramble)

with essay writing,

get mad, get super fucking mad, write that shit with spite flowing in your veins. even when i'm writing essays and stories i enjoy, i drag my feet.

i whine and complain like a toddler in my head because despite this topic being one i enjoy, putting my excited tones and rambling into coherent words always tends to feel like i'm butchering that (which is why academic papers should simply let me swear in them and use the 1st pov bc it is sO easy and my thoughts flow a lot better but noooOOOOoooooOOOOOooooo, i have to be formal and proper and-)

also, outlining. fucking godsend with essays. it's why a lot of my longer essays have headings bc i use them to outline and keep my thought on one line of thought bc i have a rambling issue (which is then easily solved with parentheses, my beloved)

with story writing (notice how this is basically a heading? good job! you've found my mini outline for this reply! have a cookie 🍪)

i find that jotting down that scene that is nagging at your brain immediately is super helpful. and do it even if you're now writing out of order. pro-tip: writing out of order is THE best, endorphins be going crazy bc you're actually not fighting with your brain with the story but writing alongside your brain-map.

personally, i find it very difficult outlining a story (how contrary) because sometimes my mind changes ideas or switches the order of scenes, and it is exhausting trying to keep up with all of that in your outline. but i guess, my "outline" with stories is simply me jotting down a very quick summary of the plot that invaded my mind in one document, never touching it again, but staying true to it because i wrote it down. therefore, it exists no longer in the recesses of mind but it a physical statement/promise to complete.

also (this advice goes for both story and essays) it is ok to take a break, step back, and not look at your writing for some hours, days, weeks, months, years--fucking whenever.

my midterm essay? a fucking nightmare. loved the topic, would write something similar about it for fun, but the reason it took me so long to complete (and why i dragged my feet) was because of the "short" timeline i had to complete it. i felt like i was on a time crunch and that led to me procrastinating, stressing over it, and taking my grand old time researching for it. however, when i was able to work on it? i allowed myself to simply do as much as i could. if i was unable to look at that stupid document, i didn't look at it. if my mind had a really good thought or example for the topic rotating in my head? immediate sit down and get that thought onto the paper. it must exist.

i have fics sitting in my folders that have been unfinished in so long, but i still consider them as wips because (and here’s another subpart-advice) i tend to work on them when i am unable to touch my current work. to be frank, working on something else helps keep you in the writing zone even if you cannot stand to look at the blank/unfinished work you wanted to complete originally. when i was incapable of writing for the Monkie Destiny Challenge, i switched to working on writing and editing my teen wolf fic (a fic i had not looked at since July) because while i still had that itch to write, something was blocking me from completing the prompts. and when i switched fics, getting into the zone was a lot easier.

so, to recap:

when jumpstarting the writing zone for writing an essay, you get passionate (can be read as mad/spiteful), and outline your thought process of the essay with headings to keep the writing flow flowing (the headings do not need to stay in the final product but they are good to have in the draft) .

when jumpstarting story writing, write! that! shit! down!!!! chronological order doesn't mean shit when you're in the planning/writing phase. your readers don't have to know that you wrote/planned a character's death before writing/planning out the beginning. they just read it in the order you publish it in!

to keep the writing zone stable and in working condition, TAKE THOSE BREAKS BOO! who cares about your personal deadlines???? if you feel exhausted before opening up a doc, then take that break, babygirl. again, your reader(s) will not need to know (nor do they need to know) how long it took you to get your writing piece done. hell, if you still feel the itch to write but the thing you wanna do is not working, then work on something else you haven't touched in a while because that itch WILL get its scratch somewhere, so help me god.

so yeah, i hope this was helpful, anon (and coherent jfc there better not be a plethora of typos T^T). happy writing, and may your weekend be a healthy dose of eventful!

[puckpocketed]

Hi! weird ask from that anon begging the question if you're lonely. I'm tumblr user odense and tumblr thinks I'm a bot bc I keep vpn hopping so I'll probably come through anon, but I'm real and I dig your style! fun>sad always, let's get silly with it, I love your energy. holding fins and we are splashing merrily through this deep blue internet!

oh, I don’t think it was weird! I like to assume good faith when I can and I don’t think they were implying that I’m sad or lonely (pretty hard to be when most people on here are so nice tbh) it sort of felt like they were asking for themself? (like maybe they’d found it a bit hard or discouraging posting about their guys when no one seems to care about them) and I just wanted to share how I approach that sort of thing. anon if you’re out there come out from behind the curtain !! let’s hang out ! give me brain worms about your special guys too 😎👍

anyway!! thank u for the vibe check 🥹 we are holding fins and hooves and tentacles and sinking into the deep dark bliss of the ocean ! yeehaw!!!!

[shyspider]

I was never really interested in transformers but after reading your fics I'm HOOKED. so I wanted to familiarize myself with the lore and did some light research and now I want to watch the shows, the problem is that I only have access to : transformers prime, transformers rescue bots, transformers robots in disguise, the transformers the movie and transformers war for cybertron(only 1 season for this one)

Idk if these are even connected or relevant lol but these are all i have 😔

could you maybe tell me in what order to watch them in? I figured you would be able to help me 🙏

(also are the movies worth watching? are they a whole another thing?)

Also I LOVE LOVE your fics they're the only thing keeping me alive and entertained so far. adore your writing it's so well structured!!you're an amazing writer 🤍

Let me just yell to anyone scrolling by to REBLOG with any streaming sites you may know that would have more Transformer content.

Never in my life have I ever expected to get an ask like this. I am absolutely SHOOK. Like, I would have never thought anyone who wasn't deep into Transformers would bother to read my work, but here you are, in my inbox, asking for my opinion on what to watch.

Before I get into it, Thank you so much! This is quite the compliment and I'm getting all bashful in my own home. Reccs below cut...

I am just, hands on my face staring at the screen, trying to figure out what to recommend first. You sound like you have all the same stuff I do. I'll try my best not to overwhelm you.

First thing I'm going to recommend, that you haven't mentioned, is COMICS. My fic is based in the IDW universe. The stories are geared for an older audience, and the Lost Light series will make you cry. Get yourself an ad blocker, and check out readcomiconline.li/. You may be overwhelmed at first, but IDW published 'The IDW Collection' for your reading ease. I linked the name if you want to check it out.

As for what to watch... everyone will have different opinions, so don't let what I say stop you from checking out what you want or skipping. I listed them in the order I personally would watch them in.

Transformers Prime: Watched it. Highly recommend. Has some dark themes, battles gritty, things get tense. Well placed humor. Good story.

TF: RID: Watched it. Less cute and chill, but still wholesome. Tries to be funny, but most of the story is great to follow, and it actually ties in with Prime and Rescue Bots.

TF Rescue bots: Watched it. Cute, chill, wholesome. Recommend if you just want something nice to watch, especially with little ones around. That island has sure seen some shit.

War For Cybertron: Watched it. It wasn't terrible. Its good if you want a version of the story of the war BEFORE they come to Earth. It's dark, gritty, and dystopian. It doesn't really tie into the others previously mentioned.

Transformers (Bayverse): Watched it. I know a lot of people shit on bayverse but I'll watch anything with Peter Cullen as Optimus Prime, any day. Its good in some aspects and bad in many others. The movies are their own universe.

One thing I've noticed you didn't mention is a lot of the shows available on youtube: - You've got season 1 of the original G1 series - animation mistakes and all. - There's the very awesome, very retro, 80s transformer movie. I have the music on my playlist. - There's the Combiner Wars. Haven't seen it. Its in my watchlist - Cyberverse is a favorite with many. I haven't seen much of it, but plan to. Very short episodes, so if you want to consume content in short doses, this could be the one for you. I think it gets a little dark, but I'm not sure.

I hoped I answered well enough <3 Have fun and enjoy!

[samantha-and-her-chaotic-desires]

You ever have a dream that gets you so mad you actually start attacking things in real life? Cause last night I dreamt I was in a figh and just started bitting my opponent, only to wake up and realize I was actually biting my Ivy plushs leg, I felt so bad, IM SORRY IVY!!

NOOOOO OH MY GOD. BUT YES, I FEEL YOU.

Your Ivy plush is a trooper O7

[pauls1967moustache]

I get that people get excited about their favorite writers contributing new fic but it’s a fine line between nice encouragement and pushing them to write more. Sorry maybe it’s just me but I find it rude when people get pushy about it like you’re not a machine lol Anyway I appreciate you and look forward to your next fic whenever that may be!

Yeah, it’s a bit of a double edged sword bc on the one hand I do obviously love the encouragement and it does genuinely make me so happy to hear people like my writing but as you said I am only a person and I am as much a fic reader as any of you. I want new stuff to read too and I don’t always want to be the one who has to make it yknow. Much as I love it, writing takes a lot of mental effort. It’s tiring. Sometimes I just want someone else to do it for me.

[rosicheeks]

How are you feeling miss Rosi? I hope the migraine is passing 🥺

It’s calmed down a bit thank you 💖

[verdantmeadows]

Re: queerbait ships: we have Klance (the crew tagged one of the character vlogs as “Klance” and sold Keith and Lance shirts, amongst other things), we have Shiro and his husband (used Shiro as gay rep to promote the next season, whereas his husband is IMMEDIATELY killed), and we have that one alien lesbian couple who follow up their ambiguous lesbian romance moment literally with “.. now that we’re done having a lesbian moment, let’s go TORTURE PEOPLE” This show is a mess dude

I don't even know what to say to this man.

Well anyways I'm enjoying the show so far :)! Such a fun show! Wow! Haha!

[dootznbootz]

opinions on helen of sparta being compared to prey animals? blink blink

*blink blinks back* Then immediately sits like this because of the question.

It's a good question that I'm happy to answer! It just makes me mad.... I sincerely hate the wording of "prey" being used to describe her.

SHE IS A VICTIM! THAT DOES NOT MEAN SHE IS "PREY"!

I can...see how people in ancient times may have used that word and still meant it in how she is a victim... but modern-day English-speaking people calling her that??? (considering how in different languages the word "prey" could have different meanings.) I'll just say that as someone who has been "prey" herself at one point, I REALLY hate that word as a descriptor. Just say victim or survivor. 👍

Honestly to call ANY victim "prey" is so fucked up. "Prey" to me, feels like "it's meant to happen." "Prey" are part of the food chain and so that's what happens. And to compare that to abduction and SA? Almost as if "that's our place"? It also kind of implies something being "eaten" or killed... Helen SURVIVES. She's traumatized and definitely needs healing and support but it's not like she can't find joy or peace ever again. Prey just feels so fucking gross.

Also, if someone calls victims "prey", I hope they know that Moose, Elk, Boars, Bovine, ZEBRAS, etc. are technically "prey". And these are VERY aggressive animals while still being "prey" for some other animals. And also that doesn't mean that "Oh, they're powerful! Clearly they should've been able to stop it." That's victim blaming :P

She is a clever, determined, caring woman who was ripped from her home for YEARS because Paris was a dipshit who decided he needed the prettiest woman in the world despite already having a wife. He didn't care about the fact that Helen didn't want to be there and was already married. He is so selfish that he will not let her go back even when THOUSANDS have died in the war! EVEN HIS BROTHER HECTOR AND PRIAM DO NOT BLAME HER! Granted, we do not know if Aphrodite would have let him undo their deal of "I want the prettiest woman" if he DID end up feeling bad for Helen and he wished to let her go home (I doubt it based on his personality though).

"Oh, if she is so independent/strong, then why didn't she just kill Paris and leave?"

AGAIN! Victim blaming!!! First thing, people who ask that have media literacy that is piss on the poor. You also have no idea about the political implications that would have happened if she DID kill Paris. She literally cries about staying there and argues with Aphrodite about seeing Paris, only to get strongarmed by Aphrodite as, guess what? A GODDESS WILL ALWAYS OVERPOWER A DEMIGOD. (This isn't Percy Jackson where he "killed" Ares as a 12 year old (Percy, you were my childhood, but that's bullshit.))

Even confined in Troy, she ARGUED with APHRODITE about going to see Paris! She is not some meek woman who just does as she's told with no pushback! She argued with a GODDESSS! Very few survive doing that!!!

She's not "Prey to fate", she's a "VICTIM of Fate".

[solidwater05]

Unrelated anon, the Exigency keeps referencing nuclear war and at one point it kept repeating "MAD" in morse code, which stands for Mutually Assured Destruction which is a principle in nuclear war where if you nuke certain countries they and their allies will nuke you back and your allies nuke their allies and the world will probably end as a result, so I think it might like war. Not sure.

Yeah but it also said an entire paragraph consisting only of 'my skin is melting'. If it ever liked war, it definitely stopped liking it the second it got attacked

[gloomwitchwrites]

You introduce your husband as your "boyfriend" to annoy them.

Anon! This prompt has me screaming! I really enjoyed writing for this one because it's such a fun idea. Sure, our 141 boys might be a little mad that they aren't being called by their proper title, but you know they'll just love punishing you for it.

I went a little different with this one. Instead of introductions, I made it so that reader is constantly referring to them as "boyfriend" in public settings. Depending on the situation, introductions wouldn't make sense if it was with friends, family, or coworkers because they would likely already know that they're "husband" and not "boyfriend." So i changed it up a bit in that way!

Some of these fall into spicy territory without being descriptive.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, suggestive themes, non-descriptive mentions of sex, fade to black, brief dirty talk

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon shakes his head and you roll your eyes.

“We can ask someone for help,” you suggest, scanning the massive wall of televisions.

Simon grunts and crosses his arms. “No.”

Sometimes Simon’s stubbornness is cute—even sexy—but right now you’re just annoyed with him. It makes you want to stir up trouble, to cause a little chaos just for the fun of it. Pouting, you turn, eyes narrowing to find an associate of the electronics store. When you spot one near the HDMI cables, you take off, not caring if Simon follows.

“Excuse me.”

The man’s head perks up. “How can I help you?”

You gesture behind you, your hand smacking into Simon’s chest. “My boyfriend—”

“Boyfriend?” growls Simon, but you ignore him.

“—can’t decide on a television.”

Simon is not your boyfriend. He’s your husband. But he’s being stubborn, not making a decision, and you want out of this store.

Shifting, you place one hand on Simon’s large bicep, grinning like you haven’t done anything at all. Simon’s hand immediately grabs your ass, squeezing hard. A warning. One that you ignore.

“I can help with that,” replies the associate. You glance at the man’s nametag. Jim.

“Thank you so much, Jim.” You lean against Simon, giving Jim your best smile. “Getting this guy to commit to anything is so hard sometimes, ya know?”

Jim makes a noncommittal noise as he walks toward the wall of televisions. You start to follow but Simon’s hold on your ass tightens, keeping you pressed against him. Simon leans down, his lips brushing against your ear.

“What are you doing?” he whispers.

You elbow Simon in the side but it’s not hard. He lets go, keeping close to you as the two of you follow Jim over to the televisions. Standing back, you watch with glee as Simon is forced to talk to Jim. You stay out of it, but notice Simon’s gaze switching to you every so often.

You already know what he’s thinking. He’ll likely want to punish you, and sometimes those punishments are so sweet.

Once Simon selects something and the two of you are at the car, there is no safety net. Simon shuts the trunk and then you’re pressed against the car, your body trapped between it and Simon’s massive form.

“Boyfriend?” he accuses.

You shrug. “What do you mean?”

The growl in Simon’s throat comes out a groan. “Get in the car.” He lightly slaps your ass as you open the passenger door.

As you start to slide in, Simon’s hand returns, this time slipping under your skirt to find your thin, lace underwear. He tugs sharply, ripping the fabric.

“Simon!”

He stuffs the underwear into his pocket. “You don’t need these.” You feel your face growing hot.

Simon shuts your car door and walks around the driver’s side, hopping in. He reaches out, placing one large hand on your bare thigh. It roams upward, squeezing, sending a shiver of lust up your body to make your head spin. “When we get home, I’m fucking that boyfriend nonsense right out of you.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“I’m so sorry, but this isn’t what my boyfriend ordered.”

Kyle frowns and glances up from his phone’s screen. That’s your voice he hears, but the term of address isn’t right.

Boyfriend. Not husband, as it fucking should be.

Kyle glances in your direction but you’re not looking at him. You’re smiling sweetly at the barista behind the counter.

“It should be hot. Not iced. I might have messed up. I’m so sorry. I can pay for another.” You raise your hands in a placating gesture but the barista doesn’t appear fazed at all.

“No biggie. Keep that one. Won’t take me more than a minute or two.”

“Thank you so much.” You glance at Kyle, and your smirk tells him all he needs to know.

You’re being a tease. You’re doing this on purpose. The drink order is wrong, and you’re using this as an excuse to poke at him.

Kyle locks his phone and casually slides it into his pocket. Do you think you’re going to annoy him by doing this? Maybe. The little smirk on your face tells him that’s entirely what you have in mind.

But the joke is on you. Doesn’t matter if you refer to him as “boyfriend,” because all it’ll earn you is a punishment.

As the barista slides the new drink across the counter to you, you thank them profusely. “Thank you so much. My boyfriend will really appreciate it.”

The barista only nods and turns back to the espresso machine.

As you approach with the coffee, Kyle gentle removes the drink from your grasp.

“Boyfriend?” he asks, amused.

You shake your head like you have no idea what he’s on about. “What?”

Kyle laughs and snags the other drink from your hand. With shock on your face, he strides up to the counter. “Can you set these aside for us? Be right back.”

They only nod and continue working. Kyle snags your wrist and drags you to the little hallway that curves out around. There are a few private corners in there, and the hallway itself opens up into the nearby bookstore.

Kyle checks the handle on the unisex bathroom. Finding it unlocked, he draws you inside.

“Kyle,” you hiss, but he’s not having any of it.

Kyle engages the lock and presses you up against the door.

“You owe me an apology,” he says.

“For what?” Kyle tuts, his hand sliding to the back of your neck. “Get on your knees,” he murmurs, undoing his belt buckle with the other hand. “Apologize with that gorgeous mouth of yours.”

John Price

John leans back in his chair, agitation irritating his spine.

House hunting isn’t something he’s particularly excited about. He is happy that it’s with you, his wife, but the tediousness of it all is exhausting to him. John would rather have you select a few places to tour and then be done with it all. Money isn’t the issue. He just wants you to find a place you like and the two of you can go from there.

He’d live in a tent if that’s what you want.

“My boyfriend isn’t all that picky.”

Boyfriend? John is tugged from his inner musings by your voice and that term of address. Boyfriend. Why the fuck would you call him that? John isn’t your boyfriend. He’s your goddamn husband.

You reach out, planting a hand on his thigh. You squeeze softly as you always do when you’re trying to reassure him, but John frowns down at it, and then looks up at you. You’re not looking at him. You’re staring at the realtor, completely ignoring him.

John licks his lips, considering whether to correct you or not, or leaving it up to a simple mistake, but you do it again.

This time, John didn’t mishear you.

Your hand squeezes his thigh again and Price rests his hand over yours. His fingers enclose your palm and he holds firm. You glance at him and John shoots you his best warning look. You don’t even react. Don’t event blink.

No. He’s going to correct you. He is absolutely fucking correcting you.

The realtor pivots the computer monitor. “I think any boyfriend would agree that these are excellent selections.”

That’s fucking it.

Price shoots up from his seat, keeping a tight grip on your hand. “I need to speak with my—” John pauses, swallowing down his annoyance. “Girlfriend. Privately.”

The realtor shrugs, smiling, but John is already turning around, dragging you out the door. Outside, the stuffy, summer air does nothing to soothe his annoyance.

“Boyfriend? Fucking boyfriend?” John crosses his arms over his chest, looming over you.

You shrug. “What’s the problem?”

“Behave yourself,” he says, lowering his voice.

“Or what?” you ask in mock innocence.

So, this is what you want. John understands the moment the words leave your mouth. You’re fucking teasing him. Fine. He’ll make you learn.

“We are gonna go back in, thank the kind woman for her time, and then we’re leaving.”

“No. I want to stay.”

John leans in but he notices the way you glance away from him and back, clearly flustered. “Good girls don’t play games.”

“Funny,” you reply, head tilting slightly. “That as my boyfriend you have any authority over me.”

John pivots, blocking the view of the front door from you. “I will bend you over that bench so fast, wife.”

“You won’t,” you stammer.

John arches an eyebrow and you visibly swallow. “Want to test me?”

You pout, and then playfully shove him in the chest. “You’re terrible.”

As you turn for the door, John grabs your waist pulling you close. “You started it.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“My boyfriend and I are redesigning our bathroom.”

Johnny’s attention splits. The associate showing him floor tiles is a distant thing. He might be talking about the newest ones on the market, but Johnny is no longer interested.

Did he just hear you right? Did you just call him boyfriend?

“That’s wonderful,” comes a reply, and Johnny notes an older woman talking to you near the laminate flooring that mimics wood. “Where is he?”

“Over there,” you wave at him, a smug smile on your face.

Boyfriend? Johnny is your fucking husband.

“Sir?” prompts the hardware store associate. “What do you think of these?”

Johnny grunts. “Fine. We’ll come back.” He waves the man off and starts for you even as you continuously refer to him as your boyfriend.

You’re doing it on purpose. You’re doing it to annoy him.

And it’s fucking working.

Johnny saddles up beside you, snaking his arm around your waist, pulling you taut against him.

“This is the boyfriend,” you begin, smiling.

“Husband,” corrects Johnny, flashing the same devious grin. He holds up his left hand, showing off the simple gold band. “Happily married to this one.”

The older woman’s eyes round.

“She likes to joke,” continues Johnny. “Come on, love. Better get home.”

Johnny easily guides you away. He leans down, whispering. “You little terror.”

“Bite me,” you reply.

“Oh. I will. Everywhere. When we get home.”

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