#whatever rhat means

[yuzudonut]

I dont care for the idea that IDW rodimus got his new frame you see in mtmte bcs of the matrix rebuilding his body or whatever. Cuz thats just not true... his body does not change from when hes got a hole blown in his chest vs after the matrix patched him up...that new frames just a new frame ig cuz its noot explained between death of optimus prime and mtmte where he just. Gets a drastically different design thats left unexplained. Thats... not the matrix bcs at that point hes returned the matrix and that new body happens in mtmte onlyyyy

G1 is a different story but I usually only see people get serious w it w the IDW counterparts lol. Like...idk Im not even particularly fond of optimus but his interactions w the matrix fascinate meeeeee like sorry. Rodimus fans. As a big rodimus fan the canon source material doesnt rlly have that oomph for me to get weird abt it. Optimus on the other hand, oh to be changed, not necessarily directly bcs of the matrix. But its presence does smt drastic to him no matter what huh.

[raddestrose]

I saw this on Twitter and had the chance to do this



[starpros-sunshine]

You know what I can live with the detco news I can but mostly I am pissed off that that recontextualised Kaitos parents into being just horrible really and also who does that.

[lowrylesbian]

i was going to say « not to be a hater » but actually i love to be a hater. nolan patrick (?) misogyny burner account twitter discourse is really making me go huh. some of yall don’t know jack about hockey culture. sometimes i forget that there’s so many hockey lovers who didn’t grow up around Hockey Guys tm and sometimes i forget just how different of a perspective i (lesbian who grew up with hockey guys) have from some people

[minamotoz]

degrassi next class if baaz nahir was allowed to be fleshed out and was given real storylines instead of just shoving him in hunters shadow and making him the asshole no one likes

[simcardiac-arrested]

WELL AT LEAST THE GAY ARROW PEBBLES WITH THE ADDED PELVIS STORY IN A THREAD NOT MY LEGACY...... YET.... SOMEONE SUBMITTED IT TO PMSEMOUR...

You are definitely saying words in an order at me

[nomaishuttle]

imagine if it had been like how t train yr dragon and tink invented like. ways for herself to fly without the wing. that wouldve been so cool

[autistic-katara]

any advice for a beginner fic writer? TwT

uhhh take ur mental illness and shove it onto ur blorbos

[bibleofficial]

idk what my father thought the take-away would be by taking my brother & i downtown to look at homeless people every holiday and birthday growing up was. like all it’s turned into was ‘communism = good’ & 🤝 like 😭😭

[urbestestwindgod]

my sixteenth century epic au where everything is pretty vague on the details except the piles and piles of aeolus sixteenth century epic au lore bc its my au and i can do whatever if like

(warning for a 30 tag yap in the tags but i can go on trust)

[29121996]

dunno if i hate working w him present or not honestly

[poke-me-with-a-stick]

I don't know why, but Penguine!Shifter Danny has been stuck in my head for a while now.

Especially with that clip of the giant baby penguin going around. I just imagine larger than average baby penguin Danny hanging out with this colony of penguins somewhere, having the time of his (after)life. Especially if he's up in Antarctica, where he gets to enjoy the stars AND the Aurora Boriallis. For extra laughs, the penguins he's hanging around aren't even the same species as him, and are smaller in size. So more often then not, Danny finds his baby penguin ass stuck in the middle of a giant cuddle pile.

Cue researchers seeing this way-above averaged sized baby penguin living with the wrong colony. Obviously they would try and return him to the right colony, seeing as he definitely would have problems getting fed properly by whatever penguin is taking care of him. Only, when they try to remove this oversized baby with unnaturally bright green eyes, all he colony gets offended and chases them off.

Eventually this spreads to the news and a certain animal-loving Robin is doing his best to convince his father that this could be a case for him and Superboy. It's low-stakes, has no dangerous rogues, and he's helping people with something rhat is a non-emergency. It would be good for PR or whatever, making him seem less scary to the masses for weilding a sword. He sees that thoughtful smirk Bruce, he already knows he's won. Yes, yes, he'll take one of his brothers as supervision, he's not a child! He knows how out-of-Gotham missions work!

On the other hand, the GIW are looking for escaped specimen Phantom and having very little luck. Until they randomly come across a scientific article about a very unusual penguin. One with very familiar green eyes.... I mean, it might not be Phantom, but it's definitely the type of stunt a ghost would pull. They should probably investigate.

[evandore]

google help !! why isnt it getting better !!

[aangelinakii]

SOULMATE SCARS.

— matching wounds.

summary : ever since you were young, strange bruises and scars have been emerging all along your body. surprisingly, you weren't extremely clumsy, so you had no ideas as to where they came from. sure, a couple bruises might be okay — they don't even hurt anyway — but when you wake up with autopsy scars along your chest, it's time to tell a professional. what happens when you meet someone with the same scars as you?

note : description of blood and injury so just be aware of that if rhat stuff icks you out

when blood began dripping from your arm in the middle of drinks, your night got a little darker.

even in the darkness of the poorly-lit bar, a juke box in the corner ringing an old fleetwood mac song, one of your friends could make out the slash of a great cut peeking out of your shirt on your upper arm, a long, cool dribble of blood slipping down your flesh.

"holy shit—"

despite being used to plum-coloured bruises and scars from out of nowhere, you weren't much of a bleeder — or, at least, whatever strange power from above had cursed or blessed you with this.

someone grabbed a napkin and dabbed you up, but the damage was already done; scarlet spatters stained the white short sleeve of your shirt, and it stung to peel away the fabric from the fresh wound.

normally they didn't hurt, but something about this one was different. maybe you were asleep half the time they happened, so you only got the aftermath the next morning when you undressed for the shower.

needless to say, you weren't feeling like glasses of wine and gin and tonics anymore tonight, and bid your friends farewell before slipping into the nip of the gotham night.

as you rounded the corner down your block, after one of your shorter walks home, you glanced back down at your arm, goosebumps rippling along the flesh. now when you inspected it, beneath the illumination of the streetlamp perched above you, it almost looked as though your torn, sticky flesh was welding back together, starting with the edge of it.

no longer did it sting, but it was certainly sensitive against the biting breeze, and your pace quickened.

by the time you were opening your front door, light from the corridor spilling into your flat, the wound was only half-open. but also something was different.

in your apartment, i mean, like something had shifted.

steps careful and quiet, you slot your keys between your fingers as you edged further into your flat, turning the handle to make sure no noise came when the door met its hinges once more.

the couch had definitely inched slightly to the left, and the shading atop your lamp was crooked. perhaps the couch was less easy to notice, but when you lived here every day, you'd almost bumped into it before noticing — but the lampshade was undeniable.

something groaned from the bathroom, where, when you peered towards the door, had a sliver of white light peeking through the cracks in the hinges. the sound of like when you suck air in through the gaps of your teeth came after, and you knew then and there: someone was in your home.

for safe measures, you plucked one of your kitchen knives from its block and crept toward the bathroom; now, the scuff of a boot against the tiles.

once you were outside, but with enough distance to be able to make any split-second decisions, your voice edged up your throat, a croak at first, before you could find your footing.

"whoever's in there, show yourself," you stated as firmly as you could, though the waver in your tone was apparent to any trained ear. "or— or i'll call 911."

shit, you probably should've done that first, investigated later — but you'd already spoken, and there was no reversing it.

a pained cough came from behind the door, and your mind immediately went to the worst: there was a killer behind there, purposely staying quiet so you'd open the door and they'd jump out and kill you in your own home— oh, you're opening the door anyway.

but what you found wasn't any killer of the sort; just a guy.

a shirtless guy.

tons of supplies you didn't even realise you had in your house were scattered about the tiles around him, where a pair of thick tactical pants-clad legs lay spread apart weakly. one of his arms hung limp at his side, his hand sitting palm-up upon his thigh helplessly.

but what else you noticed... moving up his toned chest, flesh littered with scars and scratches, was one long scar you recognised all too well. the mere sight of it caused the painless mark along your own torso to throb — which it had never done in the years you'd had it.

starting just below each collarbone, sloping down to his solar plexus, and straight down his stomach to his navel.

a mirror image of what lay just below your shirt now.

but you had never had an autopsy, and, by the look of it, neither had this guy; sure, shadows curved below his eyes and grime littered his cheekbones and forearms, but this man was very much alive.

glinting in the light, your eyes caught a metal needle dangling by his limp arm. you followed a red thread up, up to the bulb of his shoulder, where a half-open wound lay, somehow simultaneously oozing with red and crusting with it.

mouth running dry, you tore your stare away, dropping the knife and taking your hand to tug at your stained sleeve.

although much less bloody, the cut you'd found at the bar was the exact same.

with shivering fingers, you took a ginger step forward and encouraged yourself to look back to the black-haired man leaning against your bath.

"you... you..."

it wasn't much, but it was all you could muster.

seemingly unaware of the connection you'd just made, the man averted his eyes, looking back to his wounded flesh. "sorry, i didn't realise you'd come home – thought the place was empty," he mumbled.

that didn't matter now.

perhaps it should've, really, but not when... well, you saw it.

similarly, the keychain dropped from your grip, and you edged closer to the man, whose expression twitched in alarm.

"can i see that? your arm?"

as you lowered down to a crouch, the man's green eyes followed warily, his previously parted lips thinning, but he didn't move away.

eyes lingering on him for a few more beats, you turned your attention to the red-hot gash embedded in his flesh. "what happened?" your fingers found the eye of the needle, conscious not to touch too much of the red that plagued it.

the man watched your careful movements, as you lined up the prick with his torn skin and slowly pushed it through. he was unflinching, apparently more glad to just be able to sit back and not worry about himself for once. "bad knife. really shitty as you can see."

"yeah, i can see." mentally, you snapped at yourself, for you'd been unable to leave the bitterness from your tone, and the man's expression only looked on quizzically.

your fingers left the needle, allowing it to swing against his arm as it had done before when you found him, specking him with little lines of his own blood. in one swift action, you tugged up your sleeve, revealing your own half-open wound, the seared edges of flesh linking miraculously together.

the man's dark eyebrows knitted together and he physically drew himself back slightly. "shit, what'd you do there?"

"i didn't," you snapped back — not mad at him, per se, but more so the situation: this man was the reason for your horrific wounds, ones you never felt, but were cursed with the burden of. "you did."

a scoff came from the man's lips. "yeah, right..."

no, he was right. he didn't need to say anything; you were crazy.

"have you ever... i don't know, woken up with a bruise you don't know how it got there?" you pushed, eager to plead your case.

he made an attempt to shrug, but winced and ceased the movement. "doesn't everybody?"

so he was one of those difficult ones.

he comes into your apartment bleeding everywhere, and has the audacity to have an attitude. he wasn't even welcome.

"my point is," you huffed, "yours are the same as mine."

you extended a finger at his chest. "this. i have this.

it was now that he finally looked convinced. well, not entirely, but that look of judgement softened into something more commonly identified as confusion.

you tugged at the hem of your shirt, and rose the fabric slightly to show where the end of your autopsy-type scar ended — just above your navel.

when he looked at you now, it was like trying to figure out if you were dead or alive. or maybe if he were dead or alive.

"what, so..." he began after a few silent beats. "so we're connected, or something? you get my scars, i get yours?"

that's certainly what it seemed, but you shrugged anyway; there was no way to know for sure.

lips pressing together, you leaned forward to resume sewing up his wound, unable to fathom the way your own scar seemed to stitch itself up, too — no thread, no needle.

what a strange way to end your night...

[nomaishuttle]

hiding in the stairwell for 30 minutes so that i stop freaking out challenge

[azullumi]

“it’s a quarter after one, i’m all alone, and i need you now” ; wanderer

summary — how does he react to you calling him in the middle of the night over some silly reason?

pairing — wanderer (w/gender-neutral reader)

tags — fluff, established relationship, modern settings, not proof-read (i never proof-read) ; ficlet/scenario

words — 760

note — how do people even write dialogues rhat smoothly like i write a single sentencd of whatever they’re saying and i just think, “oh no they won’t say that” and i have to rewrite it 5 more times

a loud sound of a ring echoes throughout the room, disrupting the peaceful flow of tranquil silence that rests in the corners of the place, and abruptly pulling him out of his sleep. wanderer groans, hand reaching out to grab his phone that sits on the nightstand.

the flash of the screen blinded him for a moment, causing him to squint his eyes until his vision adjusted to the brightness.

1:15. the numbers on the very top of his screen says. displayed along with it was your caller id, your contact saved as a nickname that he gave you.

although he didn’t have to question who was calling him at this time as he knew it was you—you were the only exception to his do not disturb focus of his phone, the only contact whose notifications can go through the strict barriers of the status.

the persistent melody continues to ring for a moment before he answers, “this better be important.” despite the nature of his words, there lingered no hint of malice in his tone but instead, a curious blend of weary patience and unspoken understanding. he didn’t mind you bothering him even if it’s nothing important—your intrusion was always a welcome one.

“hey, were you sleeping?”

“not anymore, obviously. what is it?” the line carried the subtle rustle of movement, the telltale sound of rustled sheets, as wanderer shifted and sat upright from where he was, his head resting against the headboard as he waited for you to answer.

“can you accompany me as i go get water?”

a confused ‘huh?’ comes out from his line. just the single syllable itself wrapped with layers of many words, asking you if you were seriously saying that. if you really called him at this time just so you could have him accompany you with the mundane task of getting water.

“i just watched something scary, okay? it’s not my

fault that the house in the movie looked similar to mine and also do you know what time—don’t laugh!”

“are you genuinely afraid over something as trivial as that?” wanderer says amidst the fading echoes of his laughter, leaving a ghost of what might pass for a smile on his expression. he seems amused over the predicament that you were having; that is just like him, finding entertainment in your suffering.

“whatever, i’m going to go get my water now.” what proceeded was the sound of your footsteps, indicating your journey to the kitchen. “don’t you dare hang up on me.”

“i wasn’t planning to.”

and as if i would. but the unspoken words dissolved on his throat before he could even get himself to say it, leaving him with nothing but silence as he listened to your voice instead, talking about whatever as if a soothing balm that eases the fear which nestles in your nerves.

“i saw this cat earlier this morning and it was so grumpy. it reminded me of you.”

“you think that in every grumpy cat that you see.”

“well, you act like one.”

in that moment, the simple act of conversing between you two becomes a lifeline, bridging the gap between fear and solace. your topics jumped from one point to another, never letting the silence fill in the moment—wanderer never ceases to respond to whatever you say, a testament of how he’s always there for you despite the playful teasing sprinkled throughout.

there was the sound of the door closing before he hears you say: “got my water now.”

“figured.”

silence envelopes both sides of the line, albeit, it only lasted for a short moment before being broken up by your voice.

“thanks for picking up the phone.” i mean, he could have chosen to just ignore the ring and continue to sleep but no, he didn’t. instead, he chose to answer and comply with your silly little request because your ass was too scared to go out of your room in the middle of the night, thinking that someone or something was going to come after and chase you just like that one scene in what you watched. he stayed with you all throughout, letting the comfort of his voice dispel the shadows that threatened to linger—even when he was scaring you and telling you that he can hear something.

“not like i don’t answer every time.” you could call him, ring his phone many times no matter what time it is, and he would pick up the phone every single time; that’s just how he is, for you and only you.

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.