#written and edited on mobile

[denjis-chainsaws]

°•●~| Chainsaw Man |~●•°

Character(s): Denji, mentions of Power and Aki Hayakawa

Genre: Headcanons, relationship, fluff

Reader: Male Reader (masc. pronouns and nouns, trans-inclusive), second person (you, your, yours), maybe a little dense pre-relationship?

Extra Notes: As per usual in every fandom I have seen very little male reader content, especially for Denji. If no one else will give him a boyfriend, then I'll write it myself. Also, no real idea for a time frame, this just generally takes place during Part 1, though certain bits can be applied to Part 2.

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Denji isn't a stranger to having feelings for someone, that boy falls for anyone who shows him a crumb of kindness. But he isn't used to falling for another boy. He's not opposed to it, it's just very new to him like most other relationship-type things.

So then in comes you to sweep him off his feet. Metaphorically or literally! Either way he is absolutely enamored with you. From your looks to how you carry yourself to the way you speak, everything about you renders him speechless.

At first he panics. He was raised by himself out in a cabin in the wilderness for most of his life, he doesn't have the foggiest clue about social norms and the like. By the time he's brought to Tokyo and is able to read manga and magazines, the only thing he's seen are relationships between men and women. The only time he's ever felt attraction up to that point was towards women. He didn't know if feeling this way about another boy was normal.

It causes him such distress and inner turmoil that it affects his patrols with Power and Aki. Power isn't much help since she has as similar a grasp of social norms as Denji. Aki, on the other hand, tells him quite bluntly that it's fine and shouldn't be causing him this much strife. After that his feelings towards you just kinda click, "Oh... Cool."

Once it sinks in, he's very obvious about his feelings. Everyone can read him like a book, it's embarrassing. Yet somehow it seems all of that has gone over your head, leaving you oblivious to his pining. It takes him asking you out directly to realize his feelings may extend past friendship.

Denji is a simple man that enjoys simple things, so simple dates are up his alley. Walking around the streets in the evening, going to a theater to watch a movie, or grabbing some good grub from a nearby food cart or truck. It would be his treat like a real gentleman, if he had any money to speak of. Though he promises to pay you back! Someday!

You teach him the intricacies of relationships. Largely of how they're take AND give. Many of the women Denji has chased after in the past were always taking and taking, and rarely ever giving if at all. Maybe he isn't feeling that way because he's dating a boy... Are men really that different from women in relationships? Denji doesn't know, and ultimately he doesn't care. He's happy to have a significant other who loves and cares for him as a real person.

Denji has no sense of personal space and is always clinging to you. He loves PDA and is incredibly shameless to boot. If you're walking around somewhere, he's holding your hand. Sitting somewhere to wait for a bus or just to relax, he's squeezed up tight against you and wrapping an arm around you no matter if you're smaller or bigger than him. Hell, at one point he begs you to try that cliche trope of using two straws to drink from the same shake or smoothie together. He saw it in a manga and thought it was pretty cute, so it had to be just as cute to try it in real life, no?

If you're not comfortable with the amount of physical affection Denji provides, you don't have to be afraid to speak up about it. Denji is crass and uncultured, but he's not that uncivilized. He is still getting used to everything, but above all else he wants to make sure his boyfriend is happy and comfortable, so he'll learn to tone down the clinginess if that's what makes you feel better.

You, on the flipside, learn more of his quirks. He loves praise and reassurance. All of this new stuff he's learning can be very intimidating, and as much as Denji can put on a face and handle it, he does doubt himself a lot. A simple pat on the back and words of "Good job!" can go a long way for him.

If you like to cook, Denji devours anything you make for him. Doesn't matter if you're a beginner or a five-star chef, he loves everything you make. His only request is to avoid any kind of coffee or tea, he's not too fond of the "mud" and "leaf" water.

At the end of the day, whether you're staying at Aki's his place or yours, his favorite thing to do with you is unwind in bed together. You could read him a book, he loves your voice and all the fancy words you read aloud. Maybe you have a TV in your room, you could watch one of those late night auction programs and laugh at the people who waste such exorbante amounts of money on mundane things with pretty names attached. Or if you still have the energy to spare, maybe you could let Denji rest his head on your lap and run your fingers through his hair. He loves it when you do that. He loves it whenever he can be close to you and will snuggle up to you at the earliest opportunity. He's so used to holding Pochita in his sleep, and has been using an extra pillow as a subpar replacement ever since Pochita gave him his heart. Now he doesn't need the pillow so long as he has you.

[lemongogo]

life of regret

[bugeyedfreaks]

I still haven’t been able to pick up a copy of the new PPG comic but you know what? I saw this panel online from it and…

…if this is like a Super Zeroes-esque comic where the girls are envisioning alternate versions of themselves with different destinies and if Blossom wants to be a detective GOD! BLESS! whoever wrote this ‘cause it’s perfect.

Bubbles as a bunny and Buttercup as a wrestler are also both perfect but that goes without saying. 🙏

[rwby-confess]

Aight you want Rare Pairs? Death's WhiteRose. My ot3. Ruby/Weiss/Young Maria Calavera. I have people refuse to draw art of them because it's 'problematic' ignoring that it's almost always a Maria was born later au.

Maria gets two people who don't care about her name she can trust to watch her back (cause clearly silver eye warriors have to worry about salem trying to kill them so in that they can be united).

Ruby gets a slightly older S.eves mentor, Weiss gets people who care about her for her, and Whiterose get a more battle hardened battle bae who will teach them how to fight to survive.

Ruby and Maria are gremlins off the field and help Weiss relax as Weiss helps keep the two of them on track.

Weiss supports, and fights at range. Ruby can do either, but Maria is the close combat master between them.

Their songs are all counterpoints of each other (using Grimm Reaper as Maria's songs), they have complimentary colors, and Maria is absolutely the type to make them talk things out when the going gets tough.

Each of them is missing a parent, at least one rather, and they're all very very lonely people, and the idea of them finding companionship in each other is great.

If maria was young in canon I do have to admit I don't know if I'd ship Ruby with Weiss, or Maria more, but thankfully with fanfic I don't have to make such a choice.

#2 jailbirds

I feel like this gets slept on because it's a m/f ship. I have no honest idea why people ship Robyn with winter instead because Qrow outside of Ruby and Yang is the only person to show interest in who Qrow is as a person.

Clover usually just ignored Qrow's semblance or feelings because he didn't HAVE to deal with the side effects of Qrow's semblance, but Robyn, did, and does.

She stays regardless. On the plane when Clover got up and was about to arrest Qrow, Robyn literally goes straight to the nuclear option of 'i will murder you if you try to arrest this man'.

She, and Qrow are both headstrong people, but Qrow has shown he's willing to listen to her, and she to him. She talked him down from wanting to murder Ironwood, he clearly values and listens to her.

She built him a monument to his niece, and they have complimentary fighting styles (she can fight out of range of his semblance ala Ruby in the Tyrian fight). They're both the sort of fighter who learns the same way.

When the chance to escape happens the first thing they do is make sure the other is alright.

Time, and time again she has had to deal with his semblance (hey plane crash, tyrian escaping, getting arrested and so on), and the bad luck it brings, and time and time again she has consistently chosen to be there for Qrow, and treat him like a person and not his semblance.

Imagine Qrow having a bad day, and then Robyn just gently takes his hand, and tells him he is more than his semblance, and he's a great person worth getting to know, and she's not leaving, and then her hands glow green.

Just god man, but not let's ship Robyn and Winter because it's two women who never interact but are both from Atlas. Gag me.

I have more, but eh flooding your ask enough as is.

Confession #110

[greenerteacups]

What do you think as Hermione's career would be post battle of Hogwarts? To me her being minister for magic really doesn't make sense. She does not have patience or tact to wade through murky waters of politics 😭😭

So hard to say! The Trio are so, so young when we leave them, I find it almost impossible to project their futures farther than a few years out. The job that suited me at 17 would be radically unsuited to me now. That's why of all the Trio, Ron's ending strikes me as the most realistic — he jumps straight into the save-the-world business again, burns out, realizes he's actually Done The Fuck Enough, Thanks, and pivots into a low-stress career where he gets to see his family a lot. Feels accurate! The others are weirder to me because they do seem to just... pick a lane and stay there.

With Hermione, you could spin her a couple ways. You could say that she leans into her bookish side and does research or teaching, which is not my preference for a couple reasons (namely, I don't think Hermione would like academia as a profession; she finds her classwork interesting and enjoys intellectual validation, but she'd be stifled and wasted in a DPhil program, and she'd be infuriated by the administrative politicking of your average higher-ed faculty). You could say that she gets disaffected with politics and ends up as a barrister or a lobbyist of some kind, but if anything that requires more political finesse, because you don't actually have institutional power, you're just handling the people who make decisions and trying to persuade them of your goals. This is not Hermione's preferred method of influence. She's not even particularly good at persuasion, she just happens to be smart enough (and right often enough) that people take her ideas seriously.

Or you could say her brashness fades with the years into a softened flavor of tell-you-like-it-is honesty, which some politicians actually do successfully trade on; as we see in British politics today, you don't have to be all that charming or clever to get ahead, you just need to be really driven and well-connected (which Hermione completely is; she fought shoulder-to-shoulder with the first postwar Minister and her bestie, the Literal Messiah, runs the Auror Office.) But I don't know if Hermione especially wants to be Minister, after the war. She's just watched years of horrendous bureaucratic incompetence plunge the country into a violent civil conflict. She's had not one, but two Ministers of Magic try to bully or shame her friends into complicity with fascism. Her view of government is... likely extremely dark.

But Hermione also isn't the kind of person who sees her life as a quest for happiness. Babygirl has a savior complex that makes Harry look selfish. (She basically kills her parents — yeah, obliviating is a form of murder, #changemymind — "for their own good," and justifies every batshit, vindictive, mean-spirited move she ever pulls on the grounds that it "helps" one of her friends.) She is a mean, lean, dragon-slaying machine, and she needs a dragon. After Voldemort, the Ministry is the no. 1 threat to muggle-borns and non-wizarding Beings. As a war heroine with basically infinite political capital, I'd be surprised if she didn't try to do something there. That said, Hermione is so vivacious and dynamic that she could potentially grow in a hundred different directions; it's possible that all of this, while true of her at 18, becomes completely inaccurate by 22. That's why I'm not too fussed about any particular fanon interpretation.

[ratwars]

Posting your fic will unlock 7 trillion typos that were previously unavailable to you no matter how many times you reread.

[soundwavemain]

Hold Your Heart In My Hands

A JazzWave fic requested by @fanficmaniatic | @karday 

General content warning for blood and tending to an injury.

In the surveillance room, Soundwave often found solace from his rowdy compatriots. No one bothered to step foot inside, not even his cassettes who were frankly too nosy for their own good. If anyone did accidentally enter the infamous surveillance room, they were subject to an interrogation from the Decepticon’s intimidating communications officer. Soundwave wasn’t stupid–he knew that not many aboard the Nemesis truly enjoyed his company. They were too put off by his stilted speech, his silent E.M. field, and his blank stare to attempt any friendly banter let alone stumble upon his secret sanctuary.

Of course, the surveillance room was the one place on the Nemesis that didn’t have any cameras monitoring it. Not even the hallway directly outside the door had a screen to display movement. With three vents leading to the room and how much time Soundwave spent inside it, it would be embarrassingly easy to off such an important member of Decepticon high command. Not that Soundwave was worried. He could handle almost anyone among their ranks and it wasn’t like the Autobots had enough gall to attack their vessel.

A tiny noise filtered through one of the vents. Soundwave stared at it as the sound of metal against metal slowly increased in volume until the vent cover popped off with a resounding slam! He sighed, covering his visor with his servo. Another clang echoed in the room as something much heavier than a vent cover landed on the floor. Soundwave dragged his servo across his faceplate. He should’ve erased the mech’s damn memory of this route. It would’ve been simple enough to restrain him, open up his helm, pick apart his processor to locate and lock the strain in his core files.

Instead, Soundwave snapped at the mech on his floor, “Jazz: not welcome here.”

Jazz smirked at Soundwave. He moved so his spinal strut rested against the wall. “C’mon, mech. You didn’t say that last time–”

“Jazz: desist,” Soundwave hissed to the spy’s amusement.

They both knew there would be no removing Jazz by physical means before he wanted to leave. Soundwave turned back to his wall of monitors. If Jazz insisted on staying, then Soundwave needed to do his best to ignore him. His optics followed the movements on the screens. Skywarp was testing her teleportation limits with Shockwave, Rumble and Frenzy were running from an oil-slicked Starscream, Shadow Striker raced through the halls, narrowly dodging mechs walking through the hallways, Hook removed a rogue missile from Vortex’s chassis–

A sharp tug at Soundwave’s processor nearly made him fall forward from the sudden abrasiveness of it. He managed to stay upright but his frame locked up. The pull dissipated to a weak pulse of energy. Soundwave had felt sensations much stronger than it many times outside the surveillance room. A damaged mech on the battlefield automatically requesting medical aid from a grievous injury, a cassette shot down while performing reconnaissance–they always released a distressing field to garner pity from nearby mechs.

Soundwave whipped around to stare down at Jazz who, while not under the Decepticon’s watchful gaze, had let his faceplate slip into a grimace. All at once, Soundwave realized Jazz’s E.M. field loosened from its tight shield held close to the mech’s plating and it was suddenly too difficult to ignore. The third in command moved without conscious thought, dropping to kneel beside the Autobot that had invaded the Nemesis time and time again.

“Jazz: injured?” Soundwave tried cautiously.

He had seen the other mech on the battlefield enough times to know that Jazz acted like a cybercat when hurt–he’d slink off when no one was paying attention to tend to his own wounds.

Once, in the aftermath of a particularly brutal battle, Soundwave went searching for a cassette that had gone missing in the fray. Instead, he had found Jazz splayed out on the ground with a giant chunk of his spinal strut sparking, incapable of movement. He could’ve terminated the mech–no one had ever caught the elusive Jazz with his guard down–but when Soundwave raised his blaster, Jazz merely tilted his helm back. As if the matter of deactivation was beyond him.

It irked him. It set off alarms across his HUD. Yet…

Soundwave had healed Jazz that day. Behind a cracked rock, Soundwave welded some wires closed–a butchered job at field medicine but it allowed the Autobot to crawl back to a real medic.

Now, Jazz winced, tilting his helm away. “Hope that offer’s still on the table. Even though we’re not… you know.”

Soundwave sighed in exasperation. Leave it to Jazz to use the worst words to describe their–don’t call it a relationship, it’s not a damned courtship–liaison. That was worse. He grabbed at Jazz’s arm, popping a piece of armor off to reveal the medical ports hidden beneath.

“Hey.” Jazz attempted to pull his arm back but his strength was waning. “Not even gonna offer a mech some energon first?”

Yes, Soundwave thought bitterly as he jammed one of his plugs into Jazz’s medical port, this was definitely worse. He ignored the other mech’s comments as he called upon the frame’s diagnostic data. His HUD lit up in an instant with notifications. He went through them, noting any concerning input before coming across a notice flashing red across his visor. A laceration in the upper chassis caused by rapid and continued movement jostling an embedded–

“You were shot?” Soundwave suddenly hissed, surprise overriding his vocalizer patch. He tried to look at Jazz in the optics but the spy kept avoiding his gaze. “Jazz: found by Decepticons?” His processor ran a mile a minute, formulating scenarios that would end in this exact outcome. He had never asked what brought the spy to his surveillance room that one fateful night, what kept him coming back for more, out of respect for both their sensitive jobs, but now Soundwave couldn’t help but wonder who among his ranks shot his–

“Not a Decepticon,” Jazz hissed. “An Autobot.”

“Oh.” That silenced Soundwave’s processor for a moment. Then it only piqued his interest. “Autobots: subject to insubordination?”

If the Autobots began attacking their own, they might be even easier to fell in a sweep led by Starscream should Megatron allow it…

A digit tapped Soundwave’s helm, bringing him back to the conversation. Right. Jazz was injured. And Soundwave was already planning the Autobots’ demise. He reset his vocalizer to ensure it didn’t needlessly glitch out on him again.

Before he had a chance to say anything, Jazz smirked at him and asked, “Soundwave: apologetic?”

The Decepticon couldn’t help the way his pauldrons hiked in his embarrassment. It was a far cry from a perfect mimicry of his voice but it didn’t need to be to get the point across. Instead of deigning Jazz with a proper response, he finally located the bullet wound and dug his digits in. Jazz hissed, batting at his arm.

“Easy, mech.”

“Jazz: not easy,” Soundwave mocked. He pressed his free servo against the other mech’s collar faring as his digits searched for the bullet.

It felt odd to be sticking his servo somewhere so close to Jazz’s spark, like an uncomfortable pinch to his sensornet’s common stimuli. This close, he couldn’t ignore the normally silent spy. Not just his words–Jazz’s entire frame seemed to work under the assumption that no one was authorized to listen to it. So the freed E.M. field, the frantic and nonsensical thought processes filtering through his audials, were… odd to say the least. He couldn’t mention it aloud, though. Knowing the intelligence officer, he’d scare the poor mech away by mentioning any of his internal functions.

Soundwave’s digits knocked against something. He checked Jazz’s faceplate and when he didn’t contort it any more than it already was, Soundwave grasped the object. It was small, solid–the bullet. As he began to remove it, Jazz’s servo covered his. He paused, staring at the Autobot’s blank visor. “Bullet: needs to be removed. Frame nanites cannot begin self-healing with alien object obstructing their–”

Jazz gritted his dentae to ignore the pain. “If that bullet comes out, you’re gonna have worse problems than a dead Autobot on your hands.”

“Earth slang,” Soundwave tutted.

At that, Jazz grinned. “This Earth slang got pretty far with you, didn’t it?”

Soundwave twisted his digits. “Desist,” he ordered.

“Scrap. I got the message, mech.” Jazz pushed at Soundwave’s arm. They were still attached. Somehow, that was more embarrassing than being servo-deep in the mech’s chassis. “‘s a tracking bullet.”

The Decepticon froze. An Autobot shot Jazz with a tracking bullet. An Autobot shot Jazz with a tracking bullet. Soundwave’s frame moved subconsciously, pressing the blaster he kept tucked away in his subspace against Jazz’s mandible. The barrel forced Jazz to tilt his helm back. He batted at Soundwave’s arm like he wasn’t being held at gunpoint. Like Soundwave wasn’t flinging his energon everywhere.

“Relax,” Jazz insisted, hissing low. “It won’t send a locator beacon.” He pushed at Soundwave’s arm–not the one aiming a gun at his helm. No. The one still forming a medical connection between the two mechs. “My security protocols deactivated my internal locator beacon millennia ago. Which means,” he drawled, visor flickering, “the bullet’s signal is blocked as long as it’s in my frame.”

It made sense, Soundwave reasoned with all of his processing that still argued to kill Jazz–annihilate the enemy, the threat to his cassettes. He shook his helm. Those logic strains were based on irrational emotions. It wouldn’t do him well to give them any credence. Still, his blaster remained where it was. “Jazz: true purpose for coming here. Answer now.”

Usually, anyone–Autobot and Decepticon–trembled at the rumble in Soundwave’s glyphs when he took on a threatening tone. Under normal circumstances, the Decepticon’s third in command could paint fear in the spark of any mech he spoke to.

Jazz was not an average mech.

His servo tugged at Soundwave’s, pulling it closer to his chassis. “Gonna make me say it, huh.” He wasn’t asking. He knew. Soundwave wasn’t the type of mech to do anything unless he was asked and he would make Jazz ask. “You’ve got those seismic waves, right? I’ve seen you use them on the battlefield. Destroyed everything in your path.” He pressed Soundwave’s servo flat against his wound. “Think you can focus that right here for me?”

Soundwaves were catastrophic weapons. They could deactivate an entire squadron of mechs in a matter of kliks. Soundwave only used the trick when under extreme stress, when he believed he had nothing left to lose. He attempted to separate himself from Jazz. “Seismic waves: incredibly damaging.”

But Jazz didn’t seem to comprehend the magnitude of his request. He pressed forward, clutching Soundwave’s servo. “When used by a random mech, sure. You’re not just anybody, Sounds.” His glyphs turned to a soft buzzing static as he said the Decepticon’s designation. It left Soundwave checking to see if the noise had knocked his gyros off kilter. “C’mon. You can focus that power here, can’t you?”

“Jazz: requires medical assistance,” Soundwave tried instead. He couldn’t escape Jazz’s iron-clad grip on his servo but knew that if Jazz persisted, it wouldn’t end well. He could deactivate him. “Soundwave: incapable of completing request.”

“Hey,” came Jazz’s gentle voice. Soundwave silently cursed how the tender intonation made it so his spark eased in its casing. The Autobot reached for his other servo, the one holding the blaster. It fell with a clatter as Jazz slid his digits across his palm and intertwined their digits. “Use that big, beautiful processor of yours. I know you’re still searching through our connection. You’ve gotta be able to see my spark readings. What do they say?”

Despite the uneasiness that continued to plague Soundwave’s field, he listened to Jazz. It was simple enough to pull the information from their link. His visor dimmed as the readings filled his HUD.

He froze.

Although Jazz was suffering from an injury, trapped under the stress from energon loss, his spark spun at an even pace. Soundwave’s visor brightened to the image of Jazz’s calm faceplate. 

“I trust you, Soundwave.”

Oh.

Oh.

And wasn’t that just a terrifying thing? Soundwave held his enemy’s life in his servos. He didn’t even want to take it–what kind of Decepticon was he? He stared at where his servo still covered Jazz’s wound, then at the rapidly dimming blue visor.

“Soundwave: will try,” he said slowly.

The smile Jazz threw his way sent his spark spinning again. He busied himself by building up seismic waves to the speed of his spark. A low, constant hum filled the surveillance room as the waves traveled through his arm. He increased the force, the hum turning into a deep, plating-rattling rumble. Multiple pop-ups filled his HUD. He cleared them before they could convince him to stop. The bullet was deteriorating from the collisions. Soundwave could do this. He could do this for Jazz. Red flashed across his optics as he doubled down. They only needed to hold out just a bit longer. He watched the last pieces of the tracking bullet evaporate, entering Jazz’s fuel lines to be discarded.

Soundwave did it.

He saved Jazz.

“Jazz–!”

The glyphs turned into a frenzied static as Soundwave finally looked at Jazz’s grey visor. All too suddenly, the sensation of the other mech’s limp grip registered to Soundwave’s overtaxed processor. An odd, warbled noise echoed in the surveillance room. It took him a moment to realize that the sound came from him.

“Jazz,” he whispered, leaning close to the other mech.

There wasn’t the comforting thrum of a spark easing into a normal spin rate, no readings going into the green as Jazz’s frame finally relaxed while its nanites worked to repair him–only silence.

“Jazz,” he tried again. “Jazz: respond.”

Nothing.

“Jazz,” his glyphs were basically static at that point, cracking from the force on his vocalizer, “respond.”

It felt like a cacophony of sensations–the hum of mechs speaking through the monitors, the constant buzz of the equipment, the erratic vents coming from Soundwave. He had to do something. But what? He was a communications officer. He managed surveillance. He couldn’t even perform basic field medicine, let alone reactivate a terminated mech.

“Jazz,” Soundwave sobbed.

His digits dug into the wound, energon already congealing at the opening. He hoped for a curse, a swat from the other mech’s servo for the harsh treatment. He searched through their medical link for any readings. The only reports that came up were the last spark notes, the speed of its spin, how it abruptly stopped–

Soundwave froze. He read the report, then read it again. Jazz’s spark skipped then skittered to a stop when Soundwave amped up his waves. Perhaps… he could use his waves to jumpstart Jazz’s spark.

It had to work.

It had to.

The release for Jazz’s chestplates was easy to find through their link. They opened with a hiss from the hydraulics already beginning to seize. Inside lay his spark–bright white, nearly blinding, but starting to dull by the klik. Soundwave pressed both his servos against it, wincing at the heat it gave off and the way Jazz’s arm came along with his. He released his seismic waves just as he had done before. His optics searched frantically for some sort of physical sign that it was working. When there was nothing, he searched through their connection. Jazz’s spark was stagnating–not brightening, not turning dull. Soundwave increased the power of his waves, ignoring the sound of their armor rattling against protoform.

And–

Frame reboot: successful.

Running diagnostics.

On instinct, Jazz dismissed the scans. His processor ached and the screenings usually didn’t tell him anything he couldn’t feel for himself.

Reinitializing diagnostic scans.

Now that was odd…

Jazz searched through his HUD for what was overriding his commands and found a basic connection formed between his medical ports and another mech. His processor lagged for a moment as it attempted to form the necessary logic strains to figure out what happened.

That’s when one hundred percent of the past however long hit him like a semi–Optimus had apologized for cycles after but, scrap, it still ached in his pelvic joints–

Jazz groaned. His helm fell back, clanging against the wall. “Pitslag. ‘s like Volcanicus stepped on me…” A firm weight shuffled in his lap. When he onlined his optics, he met Soundwave’s bright yellow gaze. “Hey, Sounds. I’m ‘nna guess everything went well.”

At first, Soundwave said nothing. Just kept his unwavering gaze set on Jazz’s faceplate. Then he raised a servo and pressed it against Jazz’s mandible, soft to start then firm once he realized Jazz wasn’t going to leave. A creaky, frail noise came from his vocalizer. All at once, he pressed forward, pulling Jazz closer.

“Jazz: functioning,” he whispered over and over again.

He pressed his mask to Jazz’s faceplate. It left the spy quite thrown for a loop. Jazz tried to turn and face Soundwave but was stopped by the Decepticon’s mouth on his–when’d he even lower his mask? His frame froze, hydraulics seizing with a whine. Soundwave was kissing him.

Soundwave was kissing him.

Since when–

Subconsciously, Jazz shook his helm. He wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth–earth slang–and offlined his optics. His arms came around Soundwave’s middle, his digits fitting into the grooves along the Decepticon’s spinal strut. The divide between his chassis and Soundwave’s was nonexistent, held together as they were. A ping came up on his HUD that he had finally reached an optimum internal temperature after rebooting. When Soundwave pulled away, Jazz felt dazed, confused. He didn’t bother to online his optics.

“You gotta tell me what happened.”

Soundwave slipped closer. “Request: later?”

“Later,” Jazz agreed. “Later.”

[houseofscribbles]

Some species tidbits and notes on Lampyrions, Spark L's species! Love developing these funky bug martians. :)

More written info under the read more!

[reploidbuddy]

I don’t know if I'll ever get to write the rest of the story (big plan on my wall chilling there for a year+ if not two+ that I never managed to finish lmao) I thought I’d post the little I got for a first chapter of a Silver-centric Forces AU I had.

It's been sitting here for months it's almost sad, let's get it out here as a treat

***

A rough, cold, metal hand jolted Silver back awake.

“You’re starting to get on my nerves, boy.”

Silver glared down at the table, his loosely closed hands catching in the blurry edges of his vision. He put every inch of his concentration into keeping his psychokinesis inactive. If he showed even a spark of it, or a trace of a light under his painted hands, he’d never get out of here. If he would ever anyway.

They had kept him down on his chair awake repeating the same questions over and over for way too long, and his lack of sleep frankly made words take more energy than he was willing to put in.

And that static that had taken over his mind the second they had carried him into the Tower… this place was full of Phantom Ruby copies, wasn’t it?

Frankly, he couldn’t remember anything out of this room. He knew they had broken down his front door, he knew they had dragged him inside, he knew they had brought him in here… but how long it had taken or how anything beyond this room had looked like, he couldn’t recall. He’d forget why they brought him here if they kept him long enough.

“Don’t make me ask you another time.”

“I already told you,” he growled. “The Infinite showed up, and she vanished.”

Silver had never thought of it twice whenever his mother vanished. Some days, he’d wake up and she’d be nowhere in sight, or she’d go out mid-afternoon only for him to find her asleep in the morning. Never at the same time, never the same length, sometimes accompanied, sometimes waiting for another, sometimes alone. It only ever took one glance from the mink, one second of that soft look in her eyes, and Silver knew she’d soon be gone for a while.

But he had always known better than to ask where she went, and she had known better than to tell him.

He hadn’t thought of it any more when The Infinite had showed up, assuming she’d use the confusion to leave, as she had before…

Until it had been five full days of absence and his door got broken down as he prepared for bed.

The hard hand gripped his head quills, forcing his gaze up toward the harsh lamp and the red mask glaring him down.

“Where was she going?” hissed the rabbit, mask almost making him look covered in blood.

“No one knows where anyone goes when The Infinite comes…” grumbled Silver.

“It wasn’t about The Infinite and I think you know it.”

“Even if it was the case, I don’t know where she went.”

The rabbit slammed the hedgehog’s head down on the table. “Where was she going?”

Silver took a deep breath to keep his hands dull, faking to swallow with difficulty. “I don’t know.”

The rabbit’s voice grew again, making Silver’s fuzzy mind ache. “Where was she going?”

“I don’t know!”

The rabbit practically threw Silver’s head down, turning to his colleague in the corner, arms crossed. “Let’s get the bucket.”

In forty-eight hours, his answer hadn’t changed. As his front door was kicked open and three pairs of armored hands grabbed onto him to ask about her whereabouts, his answer had been clear.

I don’t know.

As they dragged him to the tower, flashed a light in his eyes, and asked of her whereabouts over and over, his answer had remained the same.

I don’t know.

And as they grabbed him by the quills, dragged him off of his chair and shoved his head down in a bucket filled with water over and over, he yelled the same three words.

I.

Don’t.

Know.

The cross-armed rabbit didn’t move from his spot as Silver was thrown down coughing. “This is useless, he doesn’t know.”

“Then what are we doing with him?”

A pause, and both rabbits brought their hands to their heads, fingers brushing the red mask.

The one standing above Silver let out a huff, and firmly grabbed Silver by the back of his chest fur, the sudden yank pulling a hiss out of him. He stomped out of the room, dragging Silver along in the darkness.

What had happened? How had these two even gotten their answer?

The static in his head grew too strong for him to wonder any further, closing his eyes at the dizziness taking over him and shutting out any other noise.

Eventually, two doors boomed open, and his face met the hard, dry ground. He sat up with a groan, looking back at the Tower’s closed doors.

He simply sat there for a while, staring at the still doors and wiping his nose, reddening his hand. He wanted to get up, but his legs had grown numb, and it was like he had forgotten how to move them.

The sky darkened, and several cold drops fell on his quills.

He should at least walk under the roofs.

He stumbled up, trailing his feet to the first street. He kept going, passing by the provider points, though his eyes remained glued to the ground. He walked and walked, wandered around the city for a while, letting the rain run over him until the silliness of the scene sank in. No one went out on walks when it rained, especially in this part of town; the roofs out here leaked on the outside; the parts that didn’t sit on top of the interior were never worth repairing.

…Wait. Why had he gone on a walk if it rained? Had the rain started midway? When did it start?

His mind felt light, as if he had suddenly rid himself of an annoying itch that had made him want to scratch his brain directly, an itch so bad that not feeling it made everything odd and empty.

He stopped as a speck of white appeared at the corner of a wall. He looked up, meeting with wide crimson eyes. Lithium.

“...Silver?”

He silently looked back at her, legs and jaw stuck in place, as if trying to collapse, yet unable to.

…Why was he under the rain again?

The white rat jogged the few steps separating them and brought him in a tight hug.

“We found your place ransacked, we thought they had gotten you!” Despite the surprise in her voice, she kept her words quiet, almost whispers. “Where were you? What happened to your face?”

Where he had been… where had he been? It seemed like he had walked in the rain for days if not forever. And what was wrong with his face…?

“I… can’t remember.”

Lithium pulled away, looking into his eyes for a moment. Her image blurred as his eyes unfocused on their own. He blinked it away. Wherever he had been, he hadn’t slept much.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” she said.

“My bed.” Or was it his? “And making myself dinner.”

Lithium frowned, that serious frown when her mind turned into a corkboard full of pictures and red threads. It must have been a while since that had happened, right?

“How long has it been since you found my place ransacked?” said Silver.

“Three days.” She patted his shoulder, slightly pulling. “Come on, let’s get you to my place, Pops will be relieved to see you.”

[godfreygwilym]

some notes on how i've been running the brides

when i first set out to dm cos, one of the first things i was really determined to do was give them more in-depth backstories, since— with the exception of escher getting like one paragraph lol— they're basically just. creepy dolls. which i GUESS works with gothic horror but man i would really like to have female characters with personalities!!!!

*combination of my own interpretation as well as concepts ive integrated from other dms, so if you recognize something specific i probably got it from elsewhere

ludmilla vilisevic

physically in her mid-30s, and is aged roughly 230. i play her with an rp english accent, although in my mind she has a nigerian affect. she is very poised and calculating, and always tries to be the one in control of any situation. has a talent for shadow magic, and her own sentient shadow is the closest she has to a best friend. she also has a barn owl familiar named amicus and a cat named eupraxia. when she takes a human disguise, she goes by the name of filena voltanescu.

before ludmilla married strahd, her name was lumina. she is a wizard apprentice who was lost in the mists and stumbled into barovia. naturally very curious, brave and shrewd, she marched up to ravenloft despite all the warnings. her and strahd ended up having a very romantic relationship (despite lowkey reflags from strahd the whole time lol) for a long time since there had been a long spell of no tatyana reincarnation, although they eventually began to fall apart, partially spurred by her feelings of isolation and longing for her family outside of barovia.

at the point that cos takes place, ludmilla is very distant from strahd and is really only going through the motions/trying to stay useful, though she is determined to remain a step above his other partners in terms of superiority. she spends a great deal of her time researching and experimenting on mostly-unwilling test subjects (she is well aware at this point that what she is doing is cruel, but after two centuries she's become rather indifferent). she's very fascinated by the abbot's work.

in my game, strahd has given her emil toranescu, who is imprisoned in tsolenka pass. she is working on developing a method to transfer souls from one body to another— in my game, ismark is the true reincarnation of tatyana, and ireena merely looks like her.

anastrasya "anya" karelova

physically in her early 30s, anya is just over a century old. barovian accent, and extremely flamboyant and charismatic, she loves being the centre of attention. she has a natural talent for communicating with ghosts, who are often her captive audience. not much combat skill beyond what abilities she has as a vampire, but she has a wicked skill for charming people. in human disguise, she goes by ekaterina bogdana.

anya is from minor vallakian nobility, which comes with all the trappings of petty inter-family squabbles. she has had a terribly unfortunate string of bad luck with marriages, all of her betrotheds have met poor fates or ran off. on a fourth attempt, her parents arranged for her to be married to an older landowner who she did not care for at all.

while she was engaged, anya ran into ludmilla (in human disguise) by chance. they grew close quickly and began having an affair. eventually, ludmilla introduced her to strahd, and she was instantly enamoured. before the wedding, anastrasya's betrothed "mysteriously" died, and she was whisked away to ravenloft. at this point, ludmilla and strahd's relationship was very cold, and he became preoccupied with anya.

volenta popofska

physically in her mid-20s, and is about 65 years old. barovian, and has a very floaty and whimsical way of speaking, though very soft spoken and rather self conscious. she often comes off as eerie. her vampiric abilities are amplified, making her a very good rogue/assassin. in "human" disguise, she is called violet spivakhofska.

volenta is a tiefling who was born in a small fishing village on lake zarovich. her parents did not want her, and so she was raised by the village elder. when she passed away when volenta was a teenager, she no longer had any protection from the animosity of the villagers, so she fled. eventually she was picked up by a small group of bandits, who would've attacked her, but she convinced them to let her join.

she bounced around various groups of bandits and thieves for several years, finding a place but never truly fitting in. after one traumatic rejection, she went to ravenloft in search of strahd, who she had heard stories of since she was a child, and had often wished would come and take her away. to volenta's joy, strahd took a liking to her and made her his bride.

even still, volenta is an outcast due to her awkward and sometimes unsettling behaviour and knack for the macabre. strahd enjoys her, but does little to try and ingratiate her with his other partners, and so she remains self-conscious and eager to win his favour.

escher gerst

physically in his late twenties, escher has been a vampire for just over a decade. i play him with a german accent. he is usually very distant and melancholy, though he becomes much more playful when not around strahd. a bard by trade, as a vampire he discovers a natural aptitude for shapeshifting, spurred by a bit of neuroticism over not being able to see his own reflection. in human disguise, he goes by claudius belasco.

escher is also from outside the mists, the son of poor farmers who ran off to join a bard troupe. he loves stories and music, and has a knack for various instruments, but particularly enjoys the lute and the violin— strahd has gifted him two exquisite models. his troupe was caught in the mists, and unbeknownst to him, strahd began spying on them. outside the village of barovia in the svalich woods, strange orchestrated a wolf attack on the group, sparing escher so that he could swoop in and save him. when escher awoke in a plush bed in ravenloft, he became deeply enamoured with strahd, who he saw as a fairytale prince. they had a very passionate relationship with strahd lavishing many gifts on escher before convincing him to let him turn him into a vampire.

despite not being together long, however, strahd has quickly become rather bored of escher's antics, who became desperate to stay in his good graces to avoid being sealed into the crypts. after the revolt in the village of barovia, strahd took doru as a vampire spawn. escher and him would have been close friends, if escher wasn't so deeply self-conscious and paranoid over his own status. eventually, he convinced strahd to starve doru to the point of madness and return him to his father at the church. escher would feel guilty over this, were he not so deeply concerned over his own self-preservation.

also due to strahd's coldness toward him, escher developed a fascination with vallaki, where he often goes in human disguise. here, he took a human lover, a painter named anton. anton became involved with the feast of saint andral, when escher gave him a bag (secretly containing the bones) and had him deliver it to the coffin shop. during the chaos of the feast, unfortunately, strahd had anton killed— escher beseeched the party to bury him properly and behead him so he would not return as a vampire spawn.

[blastburnt]

finally wrote down the most epic chili oil... i will be making it again soon 😏

[sothischickshe]

Well, well, well, rate this trope game:

AU, love triangle, and coffee shop

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Bonne année! 😚😚😚

& merci beaucoup 💚💚💚

AU: mm probably C (neutral). im def a bit of a canon (~adjacent) snob! (i wouldn't count canon divergence as the same thing as "proper" oh now they're teenagers or cops or swans alternate universe fics.) & one of my biggest pet peeves is AU fic which isnt tagged as such :(

ive read some amazing AUs which translate canon circumstance to a whole new world, but ive probs come across far more which seem to just have characters with the same name & appearance as the source material... overall this is a vErY large trope tho so hard to generalise, but the fact that v few of my faves are AUs is indiciative for me

Love triangle: C.5? somewhere btwn neutral & not my fave. it's quite an overdone trope in fiction generally, and often feels like a source of drama for the sake of it, or there's too much flipping around. that's for the boring normal A&B both like C who can't choose btwn them variant though, a real triangle of A likes B, B likes C, C likes A and nothing is compatible sounds hilariously wonderful to me haha

Coffee shop: neutral again I think! fine as an AU trope, but im more abt the snarky prickly version than anything too fluffy

Trope ranking!

[salute-desire]

Ultimately, I am really scared and worried on whether they'll drag Godfather plot Again into Eden climax. I don't care that he's really important!! If it's possible to write a story without dragging Godfather in then why not!!! But alas, climax curse — when was the last time we had a climax that is not batshit insane— oh right Crazy:B climax, and also Alkaloid. Okay but they don't count since they're going to have that special tour in April to compensate

If they *really* want to include Godfather plot, they really need to tone down the intensity because it feels like everything is just for shock value — or if they want to keep the intensity, don't just cram in it such a short amount

[compacflt]

Hi there! If you don't mind me asking, how many writing projects are you currently working on?

I've been interested to get an insight on how other people prefer to write. For me, I don't think I can handle multiple projects at a time. But you seem to have a lot of WIPs that are different. So I'm really curious!

Thanks in advance!

i am currently working on 3 wips right now: fem!mav AU, assorted extras for the edts series, & non-top gun related war novel that is my honors senior research thesis on military literature

i write sporadically when i get an idea. I very rarely have ideas which is why i almost never write fanfiction. 90% of what you guys have read of mine is not written in any conceivable order, and i mean literal sentence-to-sentence level construction that is sometimes written months apart because i couldn’t figure out how to end a sentence in march but did figure out how to end it in may. i am kind of running out of wips to show you guys on wednesdays because so many of my paragraphs are straight unfinished lol. this system really works for me because i can write whatever i want whenever I want, meaning if i have a eureka “i should add such-and-such symbol!!!” moment (see the pens in the slider one-shot, a very last-minute addition) then i can just go back & add it because everything, every scene and every paragraph and every word, is a work-in-progress till literally the minute i post it… i don’t count drafts except for huge marked changes because im always constantly editing & tweaking

[chipped-chimera]

... Also if you ever wonder why any of my posts/tags have excessive typos - wrote that on my phone I am so sorry (autocorrect will not kick in for tags and fucks me over constantly)

[varjopeura]

oh for fucks sake