#cyc writes

[cycwrites]

Never Have I Ever - A Fic Tease

A/N - Honestly, I don't know what this is and I'm not sure if it'll go into a story at all or remain a Fic Tease for life.

This iteration of it is currently set 6 months before Nowish. Could change. Still not sure if i like it.

Oh, it's also fully unbeta'd, so none of this is @tiny-maus-boots fault.

--------------

~A~

Saturday, September 24, 2016

“Never have I ever… had sex in the auditorium.”

Turning from Stacie’s wickedly pleased grin, Aubrey watched, absolutely fascinated, as Beca’s expression went perfectly still, her smile dropping away and taking all the color in her face with it.  Then Chloe gave a hum of pure satisfaction, taking a drink of her wine as Beca’s cheeks flared in a very impressive blush.

The four of them were celebrating Beca’s 23rd birthday – albeit a few days late. Aubrey had made Beca’s favorite dinner, Chloe had taken care of dessert and now they were lounging on the sectional couch in the Posen-Conrad living room.

Beca steadfastly refused to look at anyone as she drained the glass Stacie had just filled. Clearly pleased with herself, Stacie picked up the bottle and filled it again before settling back on the couch next to Aubrey.

“You did what in the auditorium?” Aubrey didn’t know if she was scandalized or amused. “That’s – you…” A mix of both, she decided, unable to stop smiling at Beca’s obvious discomfort. But really, the auditorium?

“Don’t give me the ‘It’s a sacred Bella space’ speech, Bree.” Beca rolled her eyes and looked up, ignoring the blush still high on her cheeks. “It’s just a room on a college campus with a bunch of horny young adults.”

Aubrey blinked – that had been exactly what she’d been about to say out of pure reflex, but it surprised her that Beca knew her well enough to anticipate it.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Becs.” Chloe bumped their shoulders together. “I’m sure countless generations have snuck in there for the same purpose.”

“Ew.” Beca’s face twisted. “Why would you say that?”

“You’re the one who said it, Beca.” Stacie topped off the rest of their glasses and shook the bottle. “Going to need another, I’ll be back.”

“Doesn’t mean I thought it through.” Beca shuddered as Stacie went into the kitchen. “Now I need a shower.”

“Need a hand?” Chloe blinked wide innocent blue eyes when Beca just arched a brow at her.

“Wait.” Aubrey looked over at her wife when she came back in the room. “How do you know about it and I don’t?”

“Chloe’s got great volume.” Stacie set the bottle on the table to let it breathe a little. Beca groaned and grabbed one of the throw pillows and tried to smother herself. To Aubrey’s shock, even Chloe started to blush through her grin. “I happened to be outside.”

“Pure chance. Mmhmm, right.” Aubrey looked at the three of them. “There’s more to this story, isn’t there?”

“No!” Beca’s yell was muffled from behind the pillow. “I am not drunk enough for this conversation.” She let the pillow fall to her lap. “I will never be drunk enough for this conversation.”

It was a testimony to how much she trusted the other three that not once did Aubrey become worried that she wasn’t in on the joke. While Past Aubrey and her insecurities weren’t entirely gone, she trusted the women in this room with her life and knew they would never keep anything from her with any malicious intent.

Besides, she knew eventually one of them would spill the details, they always did.

-------------

This definitely came about purely from "You did what in the auditorium?!" popping into my head yesterday before bed. Not quite the direction I saw it going once I had it down, but thought I'd throw it out anyway.

#aubrey posen #beca mitchell #chloe beale #stacie conrad #bechloe #staubrey #pitch perfect au #a shared lifetime #cyc writes #a cyc fic tease

[pendwelling]

svsss!TWSB AU thoughts....

I think I remember that someone once compared Jung Yeseo to Scum Villain's Shen Qingqiu (Shen Yuan; who are both transmigrators), and Cédric to Luo Binghe but actually thinking about it, it would be more accurate to say that Christelle fits the role of Luo Binghe more.

They're both the original protagonists of the novel(s) who are able to emit that "sticky, clingy, aegyo-esque character infatuated with the MC like a duckling/puppy" energy on the surface, but who are actually pretty brutal on the inside.... it's so gap moe (or should I say reverse gap moe?? Gap Horror). Christelle as a heavenly demon and the Emperor of all realms is also just an amazing vision too. She's rlly the type to act cute with peerless immortal master Jung Yeseo(Jesse Venetiaan)(who, after transmigrating, is only acting peerless and untouchable but is actually The Silly of All Time™) while being ruthless and mischievous behind his back. The kind of character who only shows one bright side and facade while harbouring so much darkness. SO WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING CODED. SHE WOULD FIT SO WELL.

MEANWHILE CÉDRIC....... ISN'T HE MUCH MORE LIKE LIU QINGGE HAHA—both Yeseo and SQQ used them as vehicles at some point in their respective narratives 😭 The one-sided feelings absurdly beautiful and handsome young master from a wealthy family swordsman... Cédric who vows to stand by Yeseo's side like a protector, a silent but devoted sentinel..... War God Cédric who is somewhat aloof yet has his own gap moe tsundere-ness if pushed far enough. The type that would leave presents at Yeseo's doorstep without any more elaboration that would leave Yeseo confused about his intentions.... THE SOCIAL INEPTNESS (BUT HE DOES HIS BEST). IT'S PERFECT.

((ANYWAY YEAH..... This was supposed to just be an AU word vomit ramble but now I'm actually tempted to write it out..... send help pls TWSB's ao3 tag deserves more food. A xianxia/murim AU sounds so delicious rn......))

#svsss!TWSB AU #twsb #when the third wheel strikes back #섭남파업 #pendwelling writing #twsb fanfiction #twsb writing #cedyeschris #(YES OFC I'D MAKE IT CYC)

[chloes-yellow-cup]

This got me right in the avoidance.

#writing #just writer things #cyc procrastinates like a bish

[pepurika]

it's a new page of TIGER, TIGER

#webcomics #tiger tiger #art

[verniferae]

⸻ slow, drowsy mornings. [ 𝐈 ] ✦ hsr.

In both your and his lines of work, mornings where you can take your time getting out of bed and prepare for the day ahead at your own leisure are few and far between. So, when presented with the rare opportunity of a respite, a momentous lull gracing your frenetic everyday comings and goings, how do you start your well-deserved time off?

includes: gepard landau, jing yuan. wordcount: 3806 ( gepard ); 3758 ( jing yuan ). notes: writing practice, character study, lore study & spoilers ( mostly in jing yuan’s part ). etc.: trying to shake off the rust after a three year break from writing... and to ease back into my usual writing style, lol. also it took me more than a month to finish writing these. snail-paced writing should be a talent.

✧ 𝐆𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐔.

Gepard is a creature of habit.

That, in itself, is a matter of habit, a testament to his upbringing – from his earliest days as a timid child hiding behind his sister as he’s chastised by their austere father, to an adolescence spent in the desolate frozen plains to uphold his Oath to Qlipoth and, thus, his duty as a Landau, unto an adulthood filled with empty accolades and ever-waning hope in a dying world. In those dismal days, it was all he could do to hold steadfast onto his beliefs—not as a child of Landau, nor as the famed Captain of the Silvermane Guards, but simply as ‘Gepard’.

Gepard, the child who had to mature a little too fast, who had to take up arms at the age most other children are still learning to read and write. Gepard, the boy who had to fill shoes far too big for one as young as himself, who had known this and still wanted to, if only to relieve some of the burden from his sister’s shoulders. Gepard, the man who had yearned, and still yearns, for normalcy, for a life where duty and obligation and tradition didn’t break his family apart, a life where he doesn’t have to fear a tomorrow that might never come.

A tomorrow that he now knows will never come, for it has been averted through the selfless sacrifice of the late Supreme Guardian.

And yet, what sterile rationality unfailingly acknowledges, the wounded mind often struggles to understand.

So it is that Gepard is a creature of habit. He has spent decades of his life following a predetermined script of his own making, modified and perfected to allow for any sudden and unpredictable variables encroaching upon it. From his mealtimes to his personal training regimen, down to his patrol routes and waking and resting hours, as well as his alternating visits to his elder sister’s workshop and to the Landau Manor on his days off, or when time permits—he has spared no effort anticipating the worst, preparing for the day of Belobog’s inevitable fall.

So much so that, with the threat of extinction now vanquished, Gepard feels—off-balanced. Like the beaten earth he’s walked for twenty-odd years had suddenly given away to brittleness, and he’s just now learning how to find his footing again in order not to be swallowed by the gaping abyss, the opaque future ahead. The life he’d yearned for, all those years ago in his youth, as a mere Silvermane private, is finally within his reach and yet further than it has ever been before. Because, for all that annihilation has been averted, what he truly sought was something beyond the confines of honour and duty, an idyllic future that will ever be beyond his means.

But that is neither here nor there.

As always, Gepard wakes with the sun, just as the day’s first threads of light gently spill into your shared room and illuminate the surroundings in a cold morning hue. You’re huddled by his side, as you always seem to do in your sleep, a sight for sore eyes—your hair in disarray, one too many crease marks on your cheek, curled under the heaviest quilt you could manage to have commissioned to combat what, in your opinion, is the coldest time of the year, despite the Eternal Freeze having long since erased any concept of seasonal cycles that might have existed in times long gone. As always, Gepard rises from bed first to prepare for the day ahead, even though it is a rest day for him as much as it is for you. And, as always, Gepard carefully disentangles himself from you, albeit begrudgingly, and tucks you back in into what you’ve once ( good-humouredly, you had hastily assured him ) called a blanket wrap of doom—because, while incredibly comfortable, it is immensely difficult to get out of without aid.

He manages a wry smile at the memory, a fond recollection from the days when you’d first moved in together and were still trying to learn how to manoeuvre around one another in a context far less chaotic than a battlefield, and far less formal than the tall and imposing staterooms of Qlipoth Fort. Now, however, it comes like second nature, as though there had never once been a time where it was anything but. A hand reaches out, delicately, his knuckles gently brushing aside tufts of unruly hair from the space above your brow; in their wake, he leaves the softest of kisses, a daily reminder of his profound affection for you. As always, you stir, but do not wake – and as always, the ghost of a smile faintly curves the corners of your lips, as though, even in deep slumber, you could recognise his touch and his devotion to you at once, even blind.

With a final, lingering, longing glance at your peaceful sleeping expression, he rises from bed at last and begins his preparations.

When he steps out of the sanctuary of your home, dressed in civilian clothes he seldom has the luxury of seeing on himself, it is to the familiar bite of morning frost upon his skin, and to the strange feeling of hoar saturating through the thick layers of clothes and settling deep within his bones. It reminds him of childhood, of a time before uniforms made of heavy cloth and bulky Geomarrow armour began substituting silk and velvet and wool—of a time before he came to find the frigid winds buffeting the Restricted Zone more comforting than the warmth of his childhood home, the silence blanketing the desolate snow plains a better companion than the lingering unease seeping through every corner of the manor in the days immediately following his sister’s estrangement.

Gepard lets out a breath, watches as it condenses white in the cold air and then dissipates under the dusty light of old street lamps. The heavy door behind him closes shut with a final creak, and Gepard ventures forth into the grey morning, feeble sunlight barely beginning to cut through the shroud of vapour with its pillars of light. With a thick stack of papers held securely in his arms, his first destination is, as usual, Qlipoth Fort. The newly appointed Supreme Guardian will surely chastise him for coming in on one of his rare days off, but that is a bridge he will cross once the time comes—for now, he is simply content to amble along the well-worn path from his home towards the city centre with different, less guarded eyes surveying his surroundings.

As the Captain, all he could focus on as he marched down the streets in his uniform, stark blue and white against the muted beiges of the buildings, was how to best preserve the safety of Belobog’s citizens and the fragile peace within. Scarcely did he ever stop to observe the world around him for anything more than a moment, mind and body alike perpetually focused on the next imminent battle and the countless losses that will inevitably follow to pay his surroundings any more heed than necessary—like a man touched by grief and death and tragedy from a much too young age to properly feel any sense of belonging within the confines of the city, an outsider amongst the very people he’d sworn to protect all those years ago.

But as Gepard – as the young child whose father forbade from ever interacting with the common people again, and as the same child who had yearned to hear stories about Belobog’s past even his tutors were ignorant of – he is not constrained by a Captain’s duties, or a Landau’s oath.

As Gepard, there is no invisible boundary he has to take care not to cross, no etiquette he has the obligation to observe. And during the years he’s spent as your Gepard ( flawed, kind, tormented Gepard ), he’s slowly learned there is actually very little he needs to hold back from doing. Whether it be sitting on one of the many benches scattered throughout the city to watch as its inhabitants pass him by, or joining the small group of children crowding around Pela in front of the Everwinter Monument, sharing their eagerness to hear stories about their world, or even simply exchanging a few words with the people he’s always just considered mere civilians before then—little by little, the shadows of his father’s influence that always seemed to claw at his heart had begun to wane, replaced by something softer and warmer, something more understanding, perhaps even forgiving.

Still, old habits are hard to break.

Yet, for your sake, he will try.

By the time he reaches the heart of the Administrative District, the morning brume has already begun to lift, dispersed by the combined effort of sunlight and of the burning heaters coming to life at dawn. He nods in greeting at a handful of Silvermane Guards on morning patrol duty who’ve stopped to salute their captain, and lingers to exchange some pleasantries with more high-ranked ones regarding the focus of future military campaigns, now that the source of the Eternal Freeze has been eradicated. Some of those more familiar with him take the chance to poke fun at him—“Only Captain Gepard would find it in himself to wake up as early as usual on a day off, just to deliver some paperwork!” they jest, and the statement is met by said captain with a helpless smile and a fond shake of his head, which in turn rouses a short bout of hearty laughter from his soldiers. They bid their goodbyes, and Gepard marches on.

As expected, he is met with much of the same sentiment when he steps into Qlipoth Fort, within the confines of the Supreme Guardian’s office. Bronya tears her gaze away from the countless papers littering her desk only for it to fall on more of them in his arms, and when she meets his eyes it’s with a grimace so faint and so swiftly replaced by her usual controlled expression that, if he were any less familiar with her, he would have thought the work of his imagination. Gepard has weathered worse, so he doesn’t let that obvious show of disapproval deter him from approaching her and her workspace.

Bronya sighs, a hand kneading her brow as if preemptively soothing an impending headache. “Captain Gepard…” She begins, taking the stack of paperwork from his hands to quickly glance at it and confirm her suspicions—it is, indeed, the documentation she’s entrusted to you some days prior, which she had made abundantly clear was not urgent and that, at the very least, could have waited until after your day off. “Between the three of us, I have a hard time deciding who is more of a workaholic.”

“We are both merely striving to alleviate your worries, Lady Bronya,” he says, and he retreats a few steps to put some space between them—a respectable distance more fitting for their roles as ruler and subject rather than friends, though it only comes off as incredibly silly with him out of his uniform and her not as domineering and solemn as she is in public. “Some of us more so than others.”

Gepard offers her a wry smile then, recalling your figure from yesternight as you stubbornly toiled through the documents, hunched over the escritoire with only the suffused orange lamplight keeping you company, until way past any reasonable bedtime. The young Supreme Guardian heaves another sigh, but even she cannot hide the slightest upwards turn of her lips at the implications in Gepard’s words.

Bronya arranges the new additions to her workload in a neat pile far away from the chaos that has overtaken her main working space, then wordlessly dismisses Gepard with a pointed stare—one that he knows is a veiled warning not to step into Qlipoth Fort again until tomorrow. Just as wordlessly, he bows slightly and takes his leave, just as he’s done countless times before for a different Guardian, though in far less amicable circumstances, and for his austere father, when he was far younger and far less sure of himself than he is now.

When he steps outside again, it is to a much more bustling city, the streets of the Administrative District gradually growing busier as its inhabitants awaken and breathe life into their surroundings simply by existing. Gepard glances at the sky, makes a note of the sun's position in it—he should still have plenty more time before you awaken from your slumber. It’s still early enough that the bakery across the Goethe Hotel has yet to run out of your favourite pastries, so that will be his first stop on his way home. Then, he recalls you musing to yourself, some days ago, about having to replace the flowers in some of the vases at the entrance, together with some other household necessities you’d both forgotten to replace in light of recent events…

His mental checklist complete, Gepard ventures forth on another mission—only, this time, his final destination is home, back by your side.

You’ve just barely begun stirring from your languor when he shuffles back into your shared space, a steaming mug of your favourite hot beverage in one hand and a fresh change of clothes ( that you’ve forgotten in the drier the night prior, it seems ) in the other. The mattress dips as he settles at its very edge, setting the mug on the nightstand and chuckling quietly at the deep furrow of your brows as you try, in vain, to turn away from the ever-so-offending rays of sunlight shining insistently on your visage, prying you from the cradle of sleep. You groan when that proves unsuccessful, eyes still stubbornly squeezed shut.

“Not feeling like getting up yet?” Comes his question at last, voice laced with fondness and a hint of exasperated amusement. In response, you burrow deeper into the quilt, until nothing discernible is left of you other than messy strands of hair splayed across the pillow and over the comforter.

Gepard indulges you for a handful of heartbeats, but ultimately has to stand his ground. After all, there’s the rapidly cooling mug of your morning kickstarter on one side, and the promise of a rare breakfast together on the other.

“I don’t mind letting you sleep in a little more, but I don’t believe Pela will quite appreciate tardiness,” a pause, soon followed by thoughtful humming. “Besides, you don’t really have the heart to make Serval and Lynx wait out in the cold for us, do you?”

The violent speed at which you attempt to spring up into a sitting position at the mere mention of his sisters’ names would probably greatly concern the average person, but not Gepard. He’s wise enough ( accustomed enough ) to lean out of your trajectory, lest you be rudely forced awake by a headbutt first thing in the morning, and his hands reach out to halt your momentum before the impending wave of dizziness can take over. You fall into his arms, another muffled, miserable groan crawling its way out of your throat.

“Ugh… My head feels like it’s getting split open…”

Gepard’s eyes soften ever so imperceptibly, holding you closer to his chest and rearranging your position so that he can begin unravelling the so-called ‘blanket wrap of doom’ and extricate you from its evil clutches. “Then perhaps you should’ve heeded my words and gone to sleep earlier, instead of powering through the paperwork until late.”

Unfortunately freed from the protection of your beloved quilt, you first squint at the bright light assaulting your poor, defenceless eyes, then, in a fit of bad decision making, straight at the wide windows from whence said light comes, and then you linger at the ornate patterns adorning the ceiling of your bedroom—finally, after you’ve had your fill of your pretence at daydreaming, your gaze falls onto your lover, and it takes all the energy you can muster while being barely awake to keep your offended mien from crumbling away into a teasing smile.

“Excuse me?” You begin, trying to keep your voice as unwavering as you hope your expression is. Gepard simply shakes his head, used to and terribly fond of your antics in equal measure, and he simply, wordlessly hands you your mug. You take it with a thankful smile, a content sigh leaving your lips as just one sip warms you right up, but it soon falls back to the same faux frown as before. You cough in an attempt to recompose yourself, decidedly ignoring Gepard’s ill-contained snort, and intrepidly continue on your improvised spiel under the amused eyes of one Silvermane Captain.

“I don’t think Mr. Captain of the Silvermane Guards, Gepard Landau, who wakes up at dawn even on a day off simply because of habit, is qualified enough to harangue me over work ethics.”

You pin him with a pointed stare, an index finger poking his cheek, but Gepard simply answers by grasping your offending hand and bringing it to his lips for one of his usual fleeting baisemains. He leans into your touch, then, your palm gently cradling the side of his visage you were poking insistently just mere heartbeats earlier, his own hand over yours.

“Alright, you got me,” he sighs in mock defeat, unable to hide the widening smile shattering any pretence of his poor attempt at an apology. You hide your own grin with the aid of your mug, occasionally sipping on the now lukewarm drink, and a giggle escapes you when Gepard presses his lips to your temple. A little guiltily, he doesn’t mention his little morning escapade to hand those very papers to the Supreme Guardian. A little because you’d eventually figure it out either way, and a little because, while he finds your pout unfairly endearing, he adores your smile much more – and he’d much rather deal with the consequences of his omission later in the day than now.

A comfortable silence settles between the two of you then, neither in any particular hurry in spite of what Gepard may have tried ( and failed, bless his soul ) to instil in you—after all, while true that you’ve made plans to spend time with the Landau sisters and Pela, it is not until early afternoon that you’ve arranged for everyone to meet. Even in your simultaneously sleep-addled and sleep-deprived state first thing in the morning, you are not so easily deceived, just as Gepard is not so easily swayed once his mind settles on something. Some would call him inflexible, which rings undoubtedly true at times, but you know better. Somehow, someway, you’ve always known him better than he seems to know himself.

You’ve seen him doubt himself and his purpose, seen as his inner conflict made him question all that he knew, all that he stood for. You’ve seen how hard he’s tried to reconcile his father and his older sister in the months immediately following their fallout, despite knowing it would be futile without the people themselves’ willingness to compromise and understand the other. And you’ve seen how, in the face of so much death and desolation and despair in a world besieged by eternal frost, he became, together with the Silvermane Guards he leads, a beacon of hope for the people of Belobog. An impenetrable bulwark, the aegis of salvation.

Presented with a difficult decision, Gepard will always choose to uphold his Oath over all else—to protect, to preserve, even at the cost of his own life. Such is the duty of a Landau. Of an Architect.

But you have never resented him for that, never turned your back to him, instead offering quiet comfort and understanding, a steadfast and reassuring presence on those nights he felt his most vulnerable; your warmth and embrace a most effective remedy to the doubts and thoughts that plague him, even now. And for that, for the solace and peace that you unfailingly instil in him, Gepard could not be more grateful. He never fails to prove it to you, either—throughout your many years together, both as a way to show his love and devotion and as a way to make up for the long weeks he has to spend away from you, deployed on the frontlines, he’s always made sure to repay your thoughtfulness twofold, with attentive gestures to lighten your daily worries and small gifts to lift your spirits. This morning is no different.

“I’ve made a quick trip to your favourite bakery while you were sleeping,” he says, breaking the peaceful silence, and he doesn’t bother suppressing the soft chuckle that escapes him when your eyes flicker back to him with a renewed twinkle in them. “How about we get started on breakfast?”

Your answer comes wordlessly; in a series of fluid motions, you swiftly disentangle your limbs from his and grab hold of your well-loved quilt. Gepard follows suit, familiar with your modus operandi, and steps aside to let you work your magic as you remake the bed in hardly any time at all, making it look effortless. Then, with that done, you turn to him again, offering your empty mug in exchange for the set of clothes still carefully held in his hands. Gepard shakes his head at your antics, but ultimately makes no argument against it.

The barter is done, and you waltz into the washroom to change and freshen up with a spring in your step. And as Gepard’s eyes linger a little bit longer on the spot you were just occupying even after you’ve disappeared behind the heavy mahogany door, a sudden, passing thought gains clarity at the forefront of his mind.

With the threat of the Stellaron gone, there will be many more mornings like this one. Mornings where he doesn’t have to leave you behind, nestled in the safety of the city, with no guarantee that he’ll return alive to see your smile again. Mornings where he rises at dawn not to patrol the city’s outer perimeters for dangers, nor to confirm the statuses of his troops, but to buy your favourite kind of pastries at the bakery near the Goethe Hotel before they sell out, and to replace the flowers in your home with fresh ones he’s bought from the Eversummer Florist on his way back.

Most of all, mornings where he can be there when you wake up, and where he and you can get ready for the day together.

Gepard exhales, a muted sound that seems to reverberate in the now empty bed chambers. With a final glance at his surroundings, running a mental checklist to confirm everything is in order, he begins making his way towards the kitchen at last—mug in hand, and a tender smile brightening his usually stoic façade.

Perhaps, he can finally allow himself to breathe a little easier.

✧ 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍.

Immortality breeds indolence.

Indolence breeds stagnation.

And to a long life species, stagnation is no different to oblivion, for it is then that the curse of the mara begins to grow and attach its roots to its victims—an insidious, invisible enemy that even the most technologically advanced weapon devised by the Artisanship Commission is unable to eradicate, and one that even the strongest and wisest of warriors will eventually, inevitably fall prey to.

This, Jing Yuan acknowledges solemnly, was forced to, all those centuries past, as he had to watch, powerless, as his master gradually and wretchedly lost herself to the selfsame madness that took hold of innumerable others before her, transforming them into senseless abominations beyond recognition for whom only verdict, final judgement, and ultimate mercy was ( still is ) and could only be extermination.

A disease that steadily blurs one’s recollections until nothing but anguish remains in their stead, a blood parasite that feeds onto its host’s torment at their lost ego, waning sense of self, and vanishing memories and harnesses it to its whim, until what once was human has been reshaped into a grotesque stumbling simulacrum of life and made vessel of mutiny and delirium and bloodshed. Such is the nature of the mara, and of the gift of immortality that was bestowed upon their forebears by the Plagues Author more than eight millennia past.

Only when confronted with the consequences of their greed do humans finally begin to reflect and repent for their ill-fated shortcomings. And it is only when their selfishness brings about disaster that they at last realise the utter foolishness of their pursuits, and begin to beg for forgiveness to any higher entity that might listen to their wretched pleas. Jing Yuan has lived enough centuries to know this to be true, without any shadow of uncertainty — he has seen it in the eyes of criminals, begging and imploring not out of any genuine apology, but simply regretful they got caught; he’s seen it reflected in the faces of species that have newly attained immortality, their expressions twisted by abject terror as their life is rendered naught with an effortless swing of his blade; and he’s read it, seen it in his own people, in the ancestors that led to the Xianzhou Alliance becoming an entity that exists solely to extirpate the turpitude wrought unto existence by the Abundance.

Jing Yuan is acutely aware of what he must do, of the duty he must fulfil. As a Cloud Knight, as a General, and as the holder of the seat of the Divine Foresight. His is a burden that he alone must shoulder, just as the ones before him did, and as countless others after him will.

Days, months and years blur together in the life of a long-lived species. Mortal existence is like a limpid river flowing incessantly towards its promised estuary, spurred on by the assurance of the eventual end to its long journey – it matters not what manner of debris its currents pick up over the course of its travels, for its waters will ever stay unstained, untempered by the filth of sin. The Xianzhou natives, blinded by the golden fruits of temptation, willingly precluded themselves such peaceful fate and chose, instead, to shatter the absolute laws of the Heavens in their myopic arrogance.

Their descendants are thus paying the price of their forefathers’ error. Through the Three Sufferings, across hostile stellar systems, enduring ruthless civil wars and horrific alien entities alike in an endless pilgrimage of repentance under the salvation wrought to them by the gaze of the Reignbow Arbiter, they have withstood millennia of tribulations to reach a tenuous peace at last. Peace that, in no small part, has been won through the Divine Foresight’s efforts.

Since the day he has taken office, Jing Yuan has spent every waking moment protecting, overseeing, guiding, never resting. Toiling alone in a place unseen by most, he found quiet companionship in books and sound counsel in his starchess board and pieces, playing against fictitious and nebulous opponents far above his calibre—all in order to temper his mind, turn it into a blade with an impossibly sharp edge, just so that he might rout his real opponents long before they can have any chance to become perilous enough to threaten the Alliance. Throughout all that – or rather, despite all that – he’s somehow gained the title of the Dozing General.

Though, he supposes some of the fault does lie in himself, and in his tendency to nod off in public most infamously. As a rebellious child who defied his parents’ wishes for a life as far removed from warfare as sun and moon are, simply out of a juvenile wish to carve out his future with his own hands and through his own means, Jing Yuan has long since gotten used to subverting any and all expectations others may happen to thrust upon him. They may mock him behind closed quarters, but such matters are scarcely ever worth in-depth scrutiny: for the ones lacking are them, and the one tirelessly travailing is him.

Regardless, Jing Yuan has always been of the opinion that if one’s already been affixed with a descriptive epithet, even if not of the particularly flattering sort, then they should at the very least act the part. It only stands to reason, then, that he should live up to the high regard those snide remarks reserve for him. That, and it does him no harm—albeit this harmless mischief of his does earn him your pointed, reproachful, all-withering stare every now and then.

This morning being one such occasion. Uncommon as they are, days where there are no time constraints fettering him to his countless duties and neverending papers set the perfect stage for his silly ploys of make-believe.

Jing Yuan stirs, a soundless yawn slipping past his lips as his eyes blink open with an ease unbefitting someone who’s supposedly only just woken up. His head lolls to the side, towards the world beyond the confines of his home, and his mouth quirks up in a lazy show of self-satisfaction when he’s greeted with blinding sunlight. Outside the wide traditional-style circular window, the artificial sun employed by the Luofu has just reached its zenith, hanging high in the impossibly, and equally as artificial, blue sky. It is but a means of approximate timekeeping, but even the basest of creatures would be unable to mistake the exceedingly late hour.

Unhurried and utterly unbothered, Jing Yuan languidly rearranges his slumber-laden limbs into a more believable sleeping position in anticipation of your arrival, fighting back the amused smile threatening to betray his carefully crafted act at the mere thought of the exasperated furrow of your brows and the unsurprised, but still chagrined, grimace he will surely find on your visage as you slowly come to the realisation that he has yet to rise from bed—at midday, no less. Him, one of the Arbiter-Generals of the Xianzhou Hexafleet, current holder of the Seat of Divine Foresight, someone looked up to by all in the Alliance, sleeping in despite being aware of the hearsay being spread among the Luofu populace. The scandal of it all.

And he knows he doesn’t have to wait too long. He’s gotten quite familiar with your schedule over the decades you’ve been together, after all, and it would be a blemish on his otherwise spotless repute as the Divine Foresight should he be found remiss in his knowledge of his beloved’s day-to-day engagements. He will not allow himself to be judged lacking in anything that may have even the slightest connection to you, even should he regrettably happen to employ that selfsame knowledge for his less than noble, incredibly, facetiously whimsical ends.

Besides, he muses to himself as his face burrows deeper into the pillows, his blanket haphazardly strewn over his legs and half dangling off the bed, you don’t seem to mind it all too much – whether out of a deep-rooted familiarity with his antics or, though much less likely, a genuine enjoyment of them, you never seem to be able to hold onto your annoyance for any longer than the split second it takes for your usually serene expression to morph into one of exasperated scepticism at the sight of a lark successfully executed. Jing Yuan lets out a soft sigh, faint vestiges of your scent still lingering on the fabric of the pillows and enveloping him in your comforting, if a little faded, fragrance, and for a moment he contemplates falling asleep again, just like that; warmed by sunlight, spread out over the traditional-style bed, half of his visage sunk into an assortment of feather-soft pillows and the other obscured by an unruly mane of hair. But the muted sound of approaching footsteps sobers him of his would-have-been somnolence as swiftly as the crackling of thunder would, and he considers whether he should pull the blanket over himself again or just leave it hanging off the bed.

The wooden folding doors open with a resounding slam right there and then, and the decision, though inconsequential, is made for him. Jing Yuan has to suppress the chuckles threatening to spill from his lips at the beat of silence that follows your grand entrance back into your shared chambers; and though he cannot see, he’s sure the emotions flickering through your visage right now are as plentiful as the flowers blooming in the courtyard. Dismay, surely, closely followed by clarity and realisation, and perhaps a bit of irritation at the sight of the disarray he’s single-handedly plunged the bed into since you’ve left earlier in the morning. Then, a heavy sigh, and the padding of clothed feet on the wooden boards as you draw nearer to the bed.

“How quaint,” you say, wry and suspicious and every bit as exasperated as he’d imagined you’d be. “It seems my eyes are playing tricks on me.”

Another pause, this time mercifully filled by the chirping of birds outside the window, and by the distant sounds of starskiffs soaring through the air beyond the confines of his home — of your home. But this lull, too, is short-lived. A hand promptly furls around each of his ankles, firm enough to have a secure grasp over them but not enough to bruise, a thoughtfully casual nature to the touch, and Jing Yuan has enough self-possession to repress a noise that’s equal parts surprised and amused from escaping him as his centre of gravity slowly inches ever forward, towards the far edge of the bed and the gaping void beyond it.

If an outsider were to witness the spectacle currently unfolding in your bedroom – one of its occupants faking sleep, the other forcibly dragging said rascal off the bed – unaware of the close relationship and centuries-long history between the two of you, it might appear as though you were committing a grave slight towards the General, and neither you nor Jing Yuan would be able to hold it against them for thinking so. It is not often ( if ever at all, were it not for a select few people who hardly hesitate to make their highly critical evaluations of his character known ) that he’s treated with such insolence, albeit playful, most of his interactions with others usually punctuated by either admiration, apprehension, or by the ostentatious favour-currying of the heads of the merchant guilds and other Outworlders alike.

An Arbiter-General’s duties and responsibilities are hardly as glamorous as they may first appear to be to the untrained eye, after all. Years blur together in an endless succession of tedium and repetition and acedia; what might have seemed or felt novel at first will slowly but surely morph into normalcy, and what once might have been cause of joy and celebration becomes just another frayed thread in the amaranthine tapestry of an immortal’s life. Likewise, as the Divine Foresight, as a General, and as a soldier—there is not much Jing Yuan has not experienced in his long life. It was the thrill of disobeying his parents at first, when he was still a starry-eyed Cloud Knight-hopeful with nothing but ideals and ambitions and dreams to his name, spurning the beaten path they’d prepared for him as their own parents in turn did theirs, instead seeking honour and glory on battlefields in the most wretched and forgotten reaches of the cosmos, striving to protect the Xianzhou and, in doing so, uphold the will of the Reignbow Arbiter.

Then came the High-Cloud Quintet, and the countless accolades that inevitably follow in the wake of a group of rising heroes—accompanied by the unavoidable terror and hatred and distrust as those very heroes cruelly, eventually, perhaps even prematurely, meet the end of their time at the hands of fate, torn apart at the seams by selfishness and by selflessness, by love and by hate, by life and by death.

Jing Yuan had felt honoured, at the time. To have his strength and accomplishments recognised by the master he’d so admired and from whom he’d learned all he then knew of swordplay and warfare, and to have been granted the chance to fight alongside warriors whose names would be recorded and celebrated in the annals of history for millennia to come—for a fleeting moment in time, he had felt as though his juvenile dreams had taken life, mere fantasy superimposing itself unto reality; like a transient blossom blooming and bedazzling all who’d come near it, so that it may be remembered for its beauty and not for the desolation that followed its withering. An insect leaving its cocoon to live but a minute.

That also had to come to an end, as most things in a long-lived species’ life often do. Such is the price of eternal life—to see with one’s own eyes as Fate spins its neverending loom, to bear witness to the ever-changing fortunes of heroes-turned-sinners, to feel and judge for oneself the evanescent nature of all things, the innate impermanence permeating human existence. And of five people, he alone has remained untouched by strife, observer of vicissitudes and outsider to the depth of the love and anguish that caused them each to turn their blades against the other.

And then, there is you——

“Love, may I suggest some more considerate ways to wake someone up?” He catches himself just mere heartbeats before the back of his head can make direct contact with the lacquered floorboards, one honey-tinted eye blinking open and affixing you with faux stupor and something akin to divertissement, a fond smile finding its way upon his lips. “Surely, even I do not deserve a concussion first thing in the morning.”

You slacken your hold over Jing Yuan’s ankles with a noncommittal shrug and promptly take a step back to allow him some space to gather his bearings, your half-hearted attempt at a rudimentary wake-up tactic foiled just as it was getting to the good part ( not that you’ve ever believed you’d be able to catch the Divine Foresight off-guard, but still – surely, there is nothing wrong with daydreaming of impossible outcomes? ). Your arms crossed over your chest and an unimpressed mien drawing your brows together and pulling your lips into a thin line, you watch as Jing Yuan pulls himself into a sitting position under your pinched gaze, steady and unwavering even as he meets your eyes, with all the casualness in the universe, from underneath silver lashes. He leans forward then, elbow propped up on a knee and cheek resting against his knuckles, his smile widening into an unabashed and adoring grin.

——You, whose mere sight sets his heart alight, even centuries after your fateful meeting.

“I am afraid any other method would have proven unsuccessful, General,” you huff out, half-impassive and not quite convincingly disdainful, with a hint of ill-concealed fondness beneath the bite of your words. “After all, had I tried gently nudging you ‘awake’, as I’ve already attempted several times in the past, you would’ve simply grabbed hold of me, caged me against the bed, and held me in your arms until you finally felt like getting up.”

Jing Yuan’s visible eye closes into a crescent, his brows raised in mock surprise and clearly amused at your impromptu tirade. “And you didn’t like it?”

“It is not a matter of like or dislike, my dear,” you retort, the endearment falling from the tip of your tongue so effortlessly making his heart soar. “It is the timing I have an issue with.”

“So, all I am hearing is that you don’t mind it. Which means I will persist in my endeavour to keep you by my side, preferably sunbathing in bed.”

You squint at him, mouth forming around words of protest before thinking better of it, sparing yourself from the onset of a much worse headache. After all, you’ve come to know quite well that, no matter the rebuttal, Jing Yuan will, without fail, find some way to twist your words into teasing remarks in his favour—and if your time together has taught you anything ( other than confirming your downright awful taste in men ), it’s that silence is the best response when faced with any of his coy utterances.

So, you don’t bother giving him an answer, instead opting to carefully manoeuvre around him and the bed to reach the antique dressing table at the far end of the room. Jing Yuan follows your movements from the corner of his eye, mirthful smile still on his lips, as you busy yourself with the dresser and its many gold-embossed drawers, no doubt looking for his hairbrush and perusing for one of the many silk ribbons you’ve begun collecting for his exclusive use since the day you’d first moved in together. Your back obscures the busy motions of your hands, and he has half the thought of rising from his seat on the floor to aid in your frantic search but, before said musing can fully register in his mind, you whirl around with an endearingly triumphant expression having overwritten your earlier frown.

Jing Yuan blinks at the unfamiliar sight of the delicate piece of fabric. “Is that a new addition?”

“Why, yes,” comes your blithe answer, your feet padding back towards the bed with the hairbrush and the chosen ribbon cradled in your hands, “Yanqing personally helped me pick it the other day as we were running errands.”

Your words are acknowledged with a pensive hum, no further objections made over the ribbon’s cutesy design of stylised, flourishing swords over a plain pastel blue background. It does indeed feel like something Yanqing would pick out over anything and all else. Jing Yuan wonders how his protegé would react if he ever saw his guardian wearing such a silly hair tie—perhaps he should alternate between it and his usual red one, just to see Yanqing’s candid reaction to it. He tucks the thought in the recesses of his mind for further deliberation, already envisioning all the possible ways the scenario could evolve into.

A contented sigh escapes him as soon as your hands find their way into his mane of unruly silver hair, smoothing out any stubborn knots ahead of time so that the brush can glide through it easier after, and tame it enough so that he may look more presentable and dignified like the Divine Foresight, Arbiter-General of the Xianzhou Luofu, should, and less like his Wave-Treading Snow Lion Mimi. Because, for as much as Mimi is cute and regal and intimidating, you’re rather sceptical its owner would be received with much of the same sentiment were he to appear in front of his retainers as dishevelled as he looks right out of bed.

Not that you can know for sure, of course – the sample of said retainers you’re drawing your conclusions from is rather limited, after all, and there is a wild variety of personalities and differing interpersonal relations to take into consideration. For all you know, they all would simply turn the other way and pretend they saw nothing.

Still, for your own peace of mind, you cannot help but fuss over him.

“You know,” you begin, voice thoughtful and playful and far away in a senseless musing all at once, your hands going through motions you’ve repeated countless times over the centuries you’ve spent in Jing Yuan’s presence, and him in yours. “Sometimes, I feel more like your caretaker than your lover.”

“Is that so?” Jing Yuan tilts his head back, allowing you an easier angle to gather his hair in his usual half-up, half-down tail, a pensive hum cascading from his lips. “But you don’t hate it, do you? After all, it’s not like I’m forcing you to take care of me.”

And when you reply by gently tugging at his hair in faux indignation, he laughs—a breathless, boyish sound betraying his age, echoing through the room and drowning out birdsong and wind alike, as though there was no one else in the universe but you and him and this quiet, tender moment frozen in time, untainted by the cruelty and sin that ever await him beyond the confines of the sanctuary of your home.

But here, and now, nothing about that matters.

Jing Yuan waits, quiet and obedient, until you’ve secured the ribbon around his hair in a knot that feels neither too tight nor too loose. He knows it’s perfect even without a mirror—he’s trusted you in more treacherous circumstances with far less margins of error to gamble that trust on, after all. And even should this blind faith of his be proven wrong over a clumsily tied tail, he certainly wouldn’t stop trusting you now just because you’ve retired from the limelight of war.

When he turns around, it is to the sight of you. You, your visage limned in golden sunlight, the warmth of your hand as your knuckles ghost over his cheek, the look of fond exasperation you reserve for him, and him only, as he leans in for a chaste kiss, smiling against his lips—you set his heart alight.

As you always have. As you always will.

And no matter how many more years, decades, centuries pass, how many more mornings will begin just like this, how many more times you’ll come to physically drag him out of bed or tie his hair up for him, grumbling about his aggravating habits all the while – simply because it is you, Jing Yuan thinks he’ll never truly get used to it, to your presence, and to your love.

He knows he never will.

#scriptorium. #hsr x reader #gepard landau x reader #jing yuan x reader #hsr imagines #hsr headcanons #gepard x reader #jingyuan x reader

[totally-not-here-for-the-smut]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write about the M6 having baby fever? It can be nsfw and or sfw, I don't really care! Thank you!

Hi, my fellow julianist-smutter! As before, I'll randomly pick the spicy level for each character and write them in whatever-my-mind-blurts-out-first-order. The adult themes will be on a properly flagged reblog!

Key: ◇Random/cute/funny stuff; ♡romanticism/physical affection/teasing; ♧light smut&fluff; ♤hic sunt DONGS, minors def nope out

~♡~

[F!reader]

Portia keeps getting home late without any reasonable explanation. When pressed she blurts ovious lies, so you start to grow suspicious, then jealous. One day it gets the best of you, and you decide to follow her...

...up until the magic shop?! Is she...? And Asra??? You hear them talking quietly, so you sneak in from the backdoor. Portia seems... distressed? Hopeful...? Asra is explaining something complex from a big, old book.

Days later you get that book with an excuse, and magic helps you find the page they were looking at. The spell seems very complicated. Some kind of ritual that involves two women, a man, some fresh rainwater and nine full moon cyc...

Oh.

Oh.

Blood flushes to your face and somewhere else. You slam the book shut in embarrassment, and put it back. You're not sure about how to talk with Portia, for your hart is full of a warmth your words can't express.

You decide to let her be the one talking about it, when she'll feel ready.

~♡~

Nadia keeps pulling out pictures of when she was young, talking about all of her fondest childhood memories and how blessed is an home full of children.

She gets you to se Pepi's new litter, and you see her melt internally as she holds one of the tiniest fluffy balls.

One day you find her and Natiqua with Nadia's nephew. They've come to visit even though she went to see the newborn just few weeks ago. With an excuse, Natiqua hands you the little one, who grabs your hair and doesn't let go. The sisters laugh, whispering something in Pakran. God where's Julian when you need him.

One day she gifts you a beautiful calendar. It's gilded in gold and powered lapis, with beautiful illustrations of the two of you each month. Some days are marked. This time Julian's around, and bursts out laughing when he recognizes a fertility pattern.

Looks like you're gonna do this.

Lucio is super happy. He's always wanted to be the cool uncle.

Little does he know, Noddy has a comprehensive list of what games, tales and shenanigans will and won't be allowed.

~♧~

You and Lucio have a pregnancy scare. He panics, cries that he's too cool and young to be a dad (he's not, he's 40). Disappears hunting in the woods for a week.

He must have met his mother, because when he comes back at the Palace his left cheek is red and swollen.

Thank the gods it was just a scare.

The days after, Lucio starts to act weird. You caught him staring at you with a dumb dreamy smile.

He tells you he bought new animals from the red market. You're expecting crocpdiles, but fing wourself surrounded by hundreds of the cutest ducklings you've ever saw.

Mercedes, Melchior and Pepi are -burp- very happy of this.

You spend two days consoling Lucio.

Then he brings home ten "kittens".

They're tiger cubs.

Mercedes and Melchior happy.

Pepi very not happy.

Nadia and Portia extremely not happy.

When he arrives with a baby dolphin to substitute the vampire eels, Nadia snaps and tell him to go make a baby already if he so wants small things around him

That evening, you enter your room to find him laying on your bed, rose petals all around you, magical windchimes dangling over the bed.

"It MUST BE a great idea, Noddy had it!"

~♧~

Asra is the one who doesn't realize he has baby fever. Everyone else knows he has it, everyone is lowkey laughing about it, but god fkrbjd someone makes him notice.

You are now subscribed to detailed reports of Asra's paternity dreams. He goes on and on describing the beautiful white haired baby he dreamt, they were sleeping on his chest, with a cute pijama with small red foxes embroided on it. Each day he adds new details.

Every morning you wake up to a different, exotic breakfast in bed. "I figure you wanted chestnuts with spiderhoney" "I got you yak salty milk with spices!" "Hey, I brought you the deer horn flour sourdough you asked me for... what do you mean you didn't asked me for it? I deamed you were craving it?! Again?"

He's also all over you, night and day. If it was for him, you'd never leave the magic shop.

He takes every chance he gets to hug your belly. Now you're both used to him falling dead asleep there after going down on you. Sometimes he gives tiny kisses on your belly as he sleeps, and you smile while passing your fingers through his hair.

When you finally confronts him about it, he blushes violently and denies everything.

"So, if I told you you can take me now and do as you please, hre on the shop's counter without even locking the door, you wouldn't do it?"

He does it.

~♢~

Julian has worked with quite a number of babies, lately. Thanks to Nadia, now people eat better and are healthier, so they enjoy their life -and Vesuvia's nightlife- way more. This lead to a massive wedding season, and for the first time in his life the women and men who send for Julian night and day aren't lovers (or scorned spouses), but anxious parents of chubby newborns.

It's a lot of work, but for the first time in forever he's strangely not complaining about it. The doctor sleeps very little, but has a constant dumb grin. He is also very confused.

Tired like, he told Asra to "Open wide the mouth, vessel's coming!" while going in with a tongue depressor to take a look at his sore throat. Mouth free, Asra winked. "As big as I remember you Jules, maybe vessel IS an exaggeration"

Julian's house is now full on tiny gifts from the babies (and their parents): handprints on canvas, first drawings (he SWEARS that black spot behind red scribbles is his eye-patch), even a little elephant doll a two year old was adamant about giving him. "I'll put it aside for when he'll want it back, I'm positive it will happen"). You could SWEAR though, that there's a note of horror in his voice when he says so.

As usual, the nsfw ones will be in THIS reblog :)

#the arcana #the arcana game #asra the magician #the arcana asra #the arcana nadia #the arcana portia #the arcana baby fever #arcana m6 baby fever #portia devorak #portia the arcana #lucio morgasson #lucio the arcana #julian devorak #julian the arcana #baby fever

[talonabraxas]

The Spiritual Significance of Eclipse Cycles

The energy of this upcoming March & April, lunar then solar eclipse, will last all the way through the end of this year. It will open a gateway of energy that can be productive, active and positive, when you engage consciously with the shadow sides of self that may be revealed to you during this eclipse.

Doing a small personal ritual on the eclipses, like lighting a candle or writing an intention down on paper and burning it, can help you to engage the energies of release and usher in new changes.

Trust whatever is unfolding in your life as natural to the cycles of transformation and change and know that it is all for a higher purpose.

“The way is not in the sky; the way is in the heart.” – Buddha

Sun & Moon The Eclipse Gateway Talon Abraxas

[i-starcreamed]

Mtmte headcanons for Rodimus, Drift, Tailgate(+ Cyclonus maybe?), Brainstorm with a gn reader? Like there’s going to be a party or ball or something. And they’re doing reader’s make up, hyping them up, among other things.

Feel free to add more bots or get rid of some of them, I know how hard writing can be sometimes soo :)

yayyy such a fun prompt. also...back to writing thank you for your patience anon. I had to exclude Brainstorm because I couldn't come up with anything for him, but he'd be so enthusiastic about helping you get ready for a ball :'(

[human!reader post includes: MTMTE rodimus, drift, and tailgate+cyclonus

None of these are going to be super super canon so bear with me. The Lost Light had made a stop at an organic-safe planet to pick up some supplies for you and explore around a little. However, everyone had to use their holo-forms as the planet was not very welcoming to cybertronians. You just so happen to read a poster of an upcoming party tonight and ask your robabe to help you get ready

MTMTE RODIMUS

Once you tell him about the event, he agrees to help you get ready and even asks if he could join you. I would be lying if I said he thought twice about it, he didn't.

The party is some kind of carnival taking place in the area you landed in, judging by the poster announcing it, it would be quite flashy and colorful. You go for some quick shopping at the local stores and Rodimus hands you anything you'll look good in (you get handed every article of clothing he likes, nothing matches btw)

you wanna try out outfits? He'll support every single one but gives his honest opinion when you ask for it, helping you decide on the final outfit

He helps you do your makeup and although you're the one doing most of the work, he's trying his best. So gentle while applying any makeup, he does not want to stab your eye or scratch you. Tends to get a little impatient but the results were so worth it, if you decide to go with colors that match his paint job he'll have a literal twinkle in his eye and a stupid grin on his face.

"How's that?" He backs away to stand beside you and admire his work. "Primus, you look really stunning."

HE IS YOUR BIGGEST FAN!!

Hyping you up the whole time. on his hands and knees. "Y/N your makeup looks amazing, that color looks so good on you, you're gonna kill it out there" He 100% suggests to roll down a red carpet for your entrance btw

MTMTE DRIFT

youre going to a ball and once you explain what that is, drift is thrilled to help you out

idk man..i feel like he'd be good at providing advice on what looks good together and what you should wear

he WANTS to help you do your hair, makeup, etc. he asked before you could finish your sentence

Another one that would adore any type of matching color scheme,. If there's some type of theme for the ball/party he's gonna help you and somehow nail that theme, like, perfectly

Smooths out your clothes, gently adjusts your hair, then gives you a little kiss because wow you're glowing (is that the right word?)

Definitely the type to take you there with linked arms

MTMTE TAILGATE+CYCLONUS

Tailgate wants to go, Cyclonus is automatically going btw. Tailgate wants matching outfits

Tailgate helps you with your hair, Cyclonus with your makeup, and they both help out with your outfit and any accessories.

Tailgate is absolutely gushing over you once you're ready, literally leaping up In the air and twirling!!

Cyclonus using that poetic rizz to call you beautiful, pretty, handsome, a wondrous depiction of existence at its zenith-

yeah you go with matching outfits. At the ball you manage to dance with the both of them, cyc more graceful and tailgate a little clumsy but you all got the hang of it. You all have fun

some extra bit, i think the idea of a ball/party would intrigue the two of them. Cyclonus would greatly admire the elegant part of it while Tailgate would absolutely come up with a bunch of themes and parties they could have on the lost light. Its def an excuse to help you get ready again btw, Cyc is totally discreetly in on it

#transformers #mtmte #maccadam #transformers x reader #mtmte x reader #tailgate x reader #cyclonus #mtmte rodimus x reader #mtmte drift x reader #human reader

[mychlapci]

I normally only lurk because I’m too shy to join anything but I really wanted to join the merformers discussion ahhh

I love the sea monster cyc idea and coral reef fish tailgate but but

what if Galvs, Cyc and scourge were Moray eels ?????

They choose to squish themselves into one small af cave, despite there being multiple empty caves for them to live in.

(I don’t know how to add pictures but please look up moray eels living together or something cause they’re so cute)

They’re constantly overstimulated because their tails are constantly entangled and rubbing against each other.

Also ofc tailgate is somewhere there, absorbed in their tangled mess and doesn’t even know who’s valve he’s fucking anymore.

(Also sorrryyy for the shitty grammar and writing cause English isn’t my first language)

ohoho yes i've seen moray eels living together in little caves before, they're so silly. My first thought is that Galvatron, Cyclonus and Scourge would probably get on each other's nerves a lot in this living arrangement, but if they're rubbing up against each other most of the day? that ought to mellow them out a little bit. hmmm Tailgate getting snatched into the lair by Cyclonus, though he was probably coming willingly anyways, and he's shoved into the mess of squirming tails, realizing that the reason the three live together even though they can barely stand each other is because they can't stop rubbing the slits of their valves and hard spikes against each other, but now they desperately need someone who's going to fill them up with transfluid, and who better to do it than Cyclonus' little mate? 

#this is a good concept. it's kind of bouncing aorund my head now a little bit #valveplug #merformers

[vulturereyy]

I picked up this graphic novel at the bookstore the other day, nd finally got the chance to read it-- only to find it's an ongoing webcomic with not one, not two, not three, but now starting on FOUR books worth of story!?!? And I cannot WAIT to read them all!

I am also very proud to say that, (whether it counts or not given that it's a graphic novel), this is the first book I have read for fun since high school. I wish I was joking. Going on an 8 year drought form various menthol iwnesses, I'm glad to have found this novel irl, and to be hooked into another story >:)

The characters are very loveable, the art is gorgeous, and the novel irl is very sturdy and well made honestly, beautiful print and thick pages. I highly recommend giving this comic a shot in the link, or giving @pepurika's other art a look! :)))

#it's very fun and sillay #but also serious #what's gayer being gay or whatever the hell is going on on that ship #i am autism beaming directly to ludovica i want to know about the sea sponges too #naming the sea sponge i have irl Ludovica in her honor #it is not alive but. you know #tiger tiger comic #webcomic #graphic novel #rey recs

[cycwrites]

A (Few) Day(s) in the Life - Lingerie

A very overdue second chapter of random glimpses into the lives of my favorite girls.

This was meant to be a short, fade to black ficlet while I tried to remember how to do this words thing. Close enough.

Thank you to everyone who has ever left me a comment on AO3 (I owe so many responses over the last 3 years) or sent me a message on Tumblr, encouraging me to continue after all this time. I’m really hoping to finish a few things next year as I still owe everyone a Staubrey origin and cliffhanger reveal.

For @tiny-maus-boots and @kimmania. I honestly don’t know if I’d be here without your unending support and encouragement in life as well as writing.

And for Rylee, who somehow convinced-slash-hoodwinked me into thinking about the Mitchsen chapter, which in turn reminded me I needed to get this one done first.

Words: 3600ish (aka the 2nd shortest thing I've ever written.)

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter 1 (and the whole Nowish Universe) on AO3

Master Post for Tumblr

And just because, the Spotify playlist that helped me write pretty much every Pitch story.

A Pitch Perfect Lifetime

----------------------

~S~

Wednesday, October 11th, 2017

“Is it dumb that I’m nervous?”

Stacie turned to look at Aubrey who very clearly was avoiding looking at her. Which meant she missed the loving smile that Stacie aimed her way.

“Bree.” Aubrey didn’t turn, merely slid another hanger to the side and intently looked at the clothing behind it, which was exactly the same style and color. “There is a list of things you are not, and dumb is definitely on it.” Stacie resumed going through the rack in front of her, deciding this was one of those times that Aubrey needed to pretend they weren’t having a discussion about whatever was bothering her. She knew they’d eventually get to the heart of it. “Were you nervous with Chloe?”

A pause. “No.” Another few seconds filled with the sounds of hangers sliding along metal racks. “Chloe is home.”

“Are you saying Beca’s less?” Stacie grinned even though they still weren’t looking at each other.

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.” Very snooty, very amused but then a longer pause. “But my history with Beca is more…”

“Spicy?” Stacie looked over her shoulder and saw Aubrey’s beautiful smile in profile.

“I suppose that’s one way to put it,” Aubrey agreed wryly. “But that’s not quite what I meant.”

Stacie looked around them and lowered her voice even though there was no one else near them in the shop. “You guys have been alone before.”

“Not like this, no. Not since…” Aubrey’s voice was even quieter and Stacie had to strain a little to hear it. “You and or Chloe have always been in the house or within minutes of getting home.”

“Really?” Stacie turned and rested one elbow on the rack. “I’d have sworn…” She thought for a minute, watching Aubrey’s hands as they ran down lacy fabric. Their movements were graceful but precise. Controlled.

Chloe had a convention she wanted to attend the following week and it was Stacie’s turn to go with her, leaving Aubrey and Beca at home to hold down the fort. It was something they had done many times before, but it was the first time since beginning their new shared life together.

The nerves were making a kind of sense now, Stacie mused, reaching out to run her hand down Aubrey’s back before moving past her to another rack of lingerie. She didn’t know yet what exactly was going on in her beautiful wife’s head, but since Aubrey was at least dancing around the subject, it hopefully wouldn’t be too long before she could help work through it.

Briefly she wondered if Beca was nervous before deciding that of course she was. The two women were far more alike than either of them usually admitted to. In fact, she’d almost be willing to place a large sum of money that whatever was setting off Aubrey’s nerves was at least partially in Beca’s mind as well.

“Bree?” Stacie waited until Aubrey turned and held up a random negligee. “What about this one?”

“Hmm?” She turned, eyed it narrowly from top to bottom and pursed her lips before giving a single dismissive shake of her head “No.”

As she turned away, Stacie sighed and hung it back up before moving to stand next to Aubrey and flip through the same rack, though she wasn’t paying any attention to the clothing in front of them. “Are you turning your nose up at everything in every store we’ve stopped at today because you can’t find anything you think will make a good impression on the woman who already loves you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Another precise sliding of hangers from right to left.

“You’re using your high voice, Bree.” Stacie nudged her gently with her elbow. “The denial tone doesn’t work on me anymore.” She’d used to think it was just haughty and dismissive – and okay, sometimes it was – but now she knew that it usually hid uncertainty and a need to look in control when Aubrey felt anything but. “You could wear the Bella uniform and she’d still think you’re one of the three hottest women she’s ever seen. She’d be dying to rip it off you.”

Aubrey snorted. “That last is true – mostly because of the PTSD it would cause.”

“Ooh, yeah. That’s probably true.” She waited a moment, trying to figure out the best way to help. “It’s true though. She loves you and when I asked if you wanted to pick up matching lingerie, I didn’t mean to make you think you needed to dress up.”

“No, I know.” Aubrey glanced at her from the corner of her eye. “And I know I don’t, but…” She bit her lip in a very Chloe manner that made Stacie smile. “I want to make it special.”

“The fact that you exist makes every day special, love.” She leaned over and kissed Aubrey’s cheek. “For all of us. What’s really going on?”

With a sigh, Aubrey finally turned to face her, sheepishly meeting her eyes. “I have a lot to make up for.”

“What do you mean?” Stacie’s brow furrowed.  

She wondered if there was something else she was missing, having obviously not realized that the two women had never been fully alone together before. Sure, she and Chloe hadn’t yet either – a circumstance they were happily changing next weekend as well – but that was more random luck than anything. She knew how they all felt, knew them better than herself some days, and it had never occurred to her that any of them would be hesitant. Not with how much they loved and trusted each other.

Then again, she reminded herself, they were only three months into their new phase of life. A fact that she found hard to accept since it felt like they had been together for years this way. Plus, Aubrey and Beca were built a little different. More prone to listen to their darker fears even knowing they shouldn’t. Not anymore. And now that Stacie was thinking about it that way, things started falling into place.

“I wasn’t nervous with Chloe because she’s been my home for years. But with Beca…” Aubrey continued, looking down and then back up through lowered brows. “I worry she… It’s just that, the first year I was so terrible.”

“Aubrey.” Stacie very much wanted to reach out and hold her but didn’t think it was the place even if it was the damn time. “You’re both so far past that –”

“Rationally I know that!” Aubrey raised her hands in frustration but kept her voice low. “Or tell myself I do.” She signed softly, shoulders slumping. “But does she know?”

It was said so plaintively that Stacie pulled her into a hug, potential audiences be damned. “Know what, love?”

“That she’s as necessary to my continued existence as you and Chloe.” Aubrey pressed her face into Stacie’s shoulder, the words muffled but the worry coming through loud and clear.

Stacie thought about the way Beca would sometimes watch Aubrey in their quiet moments – while one or the other was working quietly on a laptop on the couch; when Aubrey was taking pictures of her garden, trying out her artistic angles while sober – her eyes so filled with peace and love… Chloe had confided to Stacie that on at least one occasion she’d had to make up some excuse and leave the room because it had moved her to tears.

“Oh… I’m very certain she knows.” Stacie kissed the side of her head. “But I’m definitely behind Project Woo Her if that’s what you want. I will never say no to looking at all these sexy outfits and picturing you in them.” She leaned down and whispered in Aubrey’s ear. “And to imagine Beca slowly removing them from you.” There was nothing more beautiful in Stacie’s mind than the image of any of them being together.

With a laugh, Aubrey stepped back, her smile genuine and more than a touch wicked. “Don’t think you’re going wind me up and lure me into the dressing room, lover.”

Relieved at the teasing, Stacie lifted her chin at the challenge. “Don’t think I’m ever going to give up trying.” She turned Aubrey around and patted her on the ass. “Now, let’s find you something that’ll make Beca’s legs weak before you even lay one silken fingertip on her skin.” Aubrey flashed a wink over her shoulder and Stacie felt some of the tension drain from her. It was likely only temporary, but she’d just do her best to draw the rest of it out or, at the least, keep Aubrey distracted for the next week.

In part she supposed that’s why she had made the suggestion that they go shopping for the non-boring sleepwear that Beca said they should bring over. Both because she wanted to reaffirm, once again, that this was all okay and she was one million percent behind this amazing new life they were making as a foursome. But also, that she expected Aubrey and Beca to enjoy any and all of their moments alone just as Aubrey was encouraging Stacie to do with Chloe. Sure, it might be a little strange to just be two bodies instead of three or four, but they all knew each other inside and out – puns absolutely intended – and she couldn’t imagine it feeling awkward for any of them.

It certainly hadn’t phased Aubrey just a few weeks earlier when she and Chloe had finally realized what had been growing between them for years.

Then again, the rest of them didn’t have the contentious history that Beca and Aubrey did, and the last thing she wanted to do was dismiss Aubrey’s worries and make her feel worse about them. Maybe she’d just have to have a talk with Chloe to see if there was matching nerves and anxiety at the Beale-Mitchell household and see what they could do to help their partners relax. She smirked to herself as she continued that thought and realized that even if she and Chlo failed, once the other two were past the first few minutes they would help each other relax just fine. Repeatedly.

After a couple more minutes of perusing, holding up various outfits up to each other and dismissing them, Stacie pulled a white bustier and panty set and held them up. It was satin and lace, zipped down the center and it was solid with none of the peek-a-boo cutouts that she normally bought. Simple and yet it called to her to try it on.

“Hey Bree? I’m going to go try this one.”

“Oh?” Aubrey turned and Stacie held it behind her back. “Seriously?” She pouted and Stacie laughed.

“You’ll see soon enough.” The pout deepened and she relented. “I won’t make you wait until we’re home – you’ll get to decide if we buy it or not.”

“Oooh, I’m in charge today?” Aubrey’s eyebrows rose in delight.

“For now.” As Aubrey laughed behind her, Stacie made her way to the fitting rooms and found most of them unoccupied. Taking the one against the left wall, she locked the door behind her and quickly stripped, knowing that Aubrey would be drifting closer as she looked for the perfect outfit.

The straps over the shoulder were adjustable and fit comfortably and when she zipped the top closed, it wasn’t constrictive. The front of the bustier came down to points that would pair perfectly with nylons and garter straps if one were so inclined.

Each room had tri-fold mirror on one wall so shoppers could get a better idea of how everything looked from all angles and after a couple minutes of turning this way and that, Stacie decided she approved. She’d also decided that Aubrey would look utterly fucking delicious in this same outfit in black and definitely with nylons. Satisfied with how it fit her, she opened the door and found Aubrey only a little way away, holding up another bustier and panty set that was all silk, lace and almost matched the color of Chloe’s eyes.

“We’re definitely going to have to get that one for her,” Stacie said softly, leaning against the doorframe.

“Yeah?” Aubrey tilted her head as she eyed the outfit. “I think so too.” She finally turned her head and toward the dressing rooms. “I thi –” She stopped mid word, her eyes widening and her hands going slack, suddenly nerveless fingers losing their grip on the hanger and letting it fall to the ground, utterly forgotten.

It immediately brought to mind the night she’d proposed; Aubrey had reflexively dropped the rib that she’d been eating when Stacie had brought out the ring. It almost shamed her to admit it, but her ego purred under the immediate desire that lit Aubrey’s face, even as she marveled that this beautiful and complex woman was hers to love forever.

Then Aubrey was moving, a not-quite-casual swift power walk that bordered on a charge. Stacie was unprepared as her wife pushed her back into the fitting room, closing the door behind them. Stacie started laughing as Aubrey’s hands began to run over her hips and thighs; the amusement at the best reaction she had ever gotten in public from Aubrey filtering the slow building sizzle as the touches burned with serious intent.

“Bree?” The chuckles still bubbled up but they were followed quickly by the urge to moan as Aubrey’s fingertips dipped just under the edge of the panties and slid back and forth.

“Can you be quiet?” Aubrey’s lips were busy pressing kisses to her exposed upper chest and Stacie took an involuntary deep breath, lifting herself closer and it was Aubrey’s turn to chuckle against her skin.

“Me?” Stacie found herself in the unfamiliar position of having her mind short circuit and having to sprint to catch up with her normally restrained in public spouse. “You’re the loud one.”

Aubrey’s head snapped up, indignant. “I am not!” To her credit, it was whispered and not shouted like it usually was at home. The corner of her mouth twitched. “That’s Beca.” She slowly backed Stacie up until she was against the wall.

“Oh, right.” Stacie licked her lips as Aubrey’s hands resumed their wandering over her body. She flicked a look at the door and was grateful to see that even in her rush to get them in the room, Aubrey had locked it behind them. “You’re going to get us kicked out of here before we can buy these, aren’t you?”

“Not if we’re quiet.” She paused, just the slightest bit, giving Stacie the opportunity to stop things before they got too far.

As if.

“Well, I did say you’re in charge…”

With a familiar wicked glint in her eyes, Aubrey’s fingertips once again dipped under the edge of the panties but this time she pushed, her palms skimming down and taking the fabric with them until they fell to the floor. Her nails ran back up the outside of Stacie’s thighs and up her sides to trace the edge of the bustier, tickling as they barely grazed her skin. “God, you look amazing, Stacie.” She flattened her hands and ran them over Stacie’s breasts to her stomach, curving them around her ribs before retracing her steps. “You feel so good.”

It was unspoken that they would need to be quick as well as quiet. There had only been a handful of times that Stacie had been able to coax Aubrey into anything even half as risky and all of them had been at night and most with alcohol. She knew without being told that if she hadn’t come before Aubrey reached whatever timer she had going on in her head, Stacie would have to wait until they got home.

Aubrey’s fingers were on the zipper of the bustier and Stacie could tell she wanted to do it slow, teasingly, but they just didn’t have that sort of time. She pulled normally, as if this were any normal trying on of outfits, but the second Stacie’s breasts were free, her lips covered one nipple and sucked lightly.

Stacie’s head rebounded lightly off the wall as she jerked in pure reaction and she winced at the small thump, hoping it didn’t carry. She tried to say something, anything, to keep anyone from asking if she was okay, but even a simple “Oops” wouldn’t pass her lips when Aubrey’s hand slid down and cupped her center.

“I think that one looks great, Stace.” Aubrey’s voice was shockingly even for someone who’s lips brushed Stacie’s nipple as she spoke for the benefit of an audience that might not even exist. “Try the other one.” As if her middle finger wasn’t slightly stroking Stacie’s clit in all the right ways to make her whimper even though that was definitely not in today’s rules.

‘Let’s hear it for Posen control,’ she thought giddily, her legs parting to give Aubrey a little more room. But even as she really hoped Aubrey didn’t expect her to answer, she looked down and saw Aubrey’s eyebrow lift in challenge.

Goddamnit.

She licked lips suddenly gone dry and took a deep breath. “Sure, Bree.” She was rewarded by Aubrey’s mouth on her breast once more, tongue swirling to match the motions of her middle finger.

Stacie could already tell it wasn’t going to take long, the sheer fact of Aubrey – her unbelievably sexy but usually-proper-in-public wife – taking her in broad goddamned daylight, even if they were in a locked room, was enough to throw her halfway to orgasm; she could hear people talking in other rooms for fucks sake and Aubrey was still touching her and showing no signs of stopping.

With an ease brought about only by familiarity and deep trust, it didn’t take long for Aubrey to have Stacie wet and writhing against her. She swallowed the gasp as those long, skillful fingers filled her in a way guaranteed to reduce her to a trembling mess in their bed. Except she was plastered to a wall and had to lock her knees to keep herself upright as Aubrey took her in complete silence, their eyes locked together.

She would have thought it was the images of them in the mirrors that surrounded them that would have done it, but it was Aubrey’s gaze softening from wicked determination to sensual devotion – a distinction and emotion Stacie had never known before Aubrey – that pushed Stacie to the peak. She reached down with her hand and gripped Aubrey’s wrist, pulling up until Aubrey understood what she was after and thrust deep within, her palm tight to the curve of Stacie’s body; letting her set the pace and take what she needed. Her eyes closing involuntarily, Stacie rolled her hips, rising and falling, chasing her release until Aubrey leaned forward and raised ever so slightly on her tiptoes to whisper in Stacie’s ear.

“Come for me, mon Soleil.”

Her body surrendered instantaneously. She pulled harder on Aubrey’s wrist, her hips driving downward in rocking spasms as she rode Aubrey’s touch. Eventually her body slowed and she realized she had no idea how much time had gone by, though she was very aware she didn’t have enough time to sink into the blissful lassitude spreading through her muscles in the aftermath. They had to pull themselves together – or apart as the case may be – and clean up. There was also no way they were leaving without buying the garments that had been so gleefully stripped from her.

In several variations.

Leaning against the wall, she kept her eyes closed for another few moments, enjoying the languor before she had to hustle back into her clothes. Except she heard another zipper and looked around to find Aubrey digging into her purse one handed. She couldn’t help it; she started laughing as Aubrey pulled out a pack of wet wipes.

“Always prepared, aren’t you, love?” Just one of the legion of reasons she had fallen in love.

Despite the hint of rose in her cheeks, Aubrey handed over several. “Never know when they might come in handy.” In a lower aside, she half muttered, “Besides, it’s not like I’m going to go walking through the shop with you all over my hand.” A pause. “You’re definitely going to go pay and I’ll meet you in the car.”

Stacie merely smiled. “’Kay.”

It didn’t take long to clean themselves up and for Stacie to get dressed. When Aubrey left the room, power walking like a champ, Stacie took another moment to rearrange the outfit on the hanger and hopefully make it less obvious the room had been very occupied.

When she went back to the rack, she kept an unobtrusive eye on other shoppers but no one seemed to be paying any special attention to her. Deciding to stop worrying about it, she picked up the same outfit in black in Aubrey’s size, as well as a red outfit of similar design that caught her eye. It took only another moment to find the blue lingerie Aubrey had been holding and bring all four outfits up to the counter.

Finishing the transaction without the cashier giving her any sort of knowing look, she pushed her way through the door and out into the bright sun, wishing she’d brought her sunglasses with her. Lengthening her stride, she headed down the block to where they’d parked the car, anticipation singing through her veins like champagne. She couldn’t wait to get Aubrey home and in bed to return the gift she’d just been given…

And maybe later they’d invite Beca and Chloe over and see who was louder once and for all.

#aubrey posen #stacie conrad #chloe beale #beca mitchell #staubrey #bechloe #bellas squared #a shared lifetime #cyc writes #a few days #pitch perfect fanfic

[pendwelling]

my sails are set (and i'm coming home)

Relationships: Cédric Riester & Christelle Rambouillet | Ham Ga-in & Jung Yeseo, (but mild future CYC bc what do you expect from me WKKWJK)

Gen, Oneshot (18k words), part of an eventual series of oneshots.

Pirates AU, mildly inspired by One Piece; Transmigrator+Healer Yeseo, Pirate Christelle, Marine Captain Cédric (but not for long lmao).

SUMMARY:

"Hello!" came the cheerful voice of the pink-haired newcomer standing by the door. "By chance do you feel up for an adventure?"

Taken off-guard, Yeseo could do nothing but look with incredulity at who was very clearly a pirate—if the very non-discrete tricorne hat had anything to say about her profession—knocking at the door.

An apprentice healer who yearns for home; a woman who wishes to freely take to the seas; and an orange-eyed marine with a hatred for pirates, all set sail towards the Grand Line in search of adventure, answers, and family.

(TWSB Pirates AU, vaguely inspired by One Piece)

#twsb Pirates AU #pendwelling writing #twsb fanfiction #when the third wheel strikes back #twsb #섭남파업 #서브 남주가 파업하면 생기는 일 #jung yeseo #cédric riester #christelle rambouillet #cedyeschris #basically just CYC sharing a braincell until Jesse Losna and co. join the crew 🥹😩🫶

[transingthoseformers]

Oh my gosh TFA Tracks as the KOBD sparkling menace would be great. Plus it's a great inversion for KO to be the defector insetead of BD.

I can just imagine Knockout gshing about how romantic the MegaRod Sparklings debacle is. All while giving Rodimus all sorts of unwanted but probably very nessary interfacing advice. And promising to write down his the sum of his hard won wisdom on how to parent flying baby cars.

This is while he's sniping back and forth with his former med school classmate Red Alert. And rubbing her face in the fact he did better than "Miss top of our graduating class" did in the emergence and sparkling care module. Red Alert just bluntly pointing out that the course got pulled from the curriculum before her group had rotated into that module. "And you never found the timing of that suspicious? Of course you didn't." Knockout is switch between TMI-ing everyone, arguing with Red Alert and flirting outrageously with his conjux.

"Are they always fragging bad," Brawn grumbled under his breath. The old vetran nearly levitated out of his plating when Cyclonus absently answered from directly behind them, "Usually they're worse."

It isssss!

Knockout is having the time of his life

Unwanted but very necessary interfacing advice

The best kind of sex advice, after all who else is gonna tell him

Awwww yes.

Knockout v Red Alert yes yes yes

It IS indeed sus as hell

My Primus I love this version of Knockout

Yes. Exactly.

There is no way Cyc didn't just scare the hell out of them :3

#maccadam #transformers #tfa megatrod sparklings au #tfa knockout #tfa red alert #tfa brawn #tfa Cyclonus #tfa rodimus prime #kobd #tfa tracks #yes #exactly

[pepurika]

finally answering The Big One

[artsy-hobbitses]

So, I was wondering, any plans on Cyclonus and Tailgate in your humanformers? What are all the endgame ships going to be? How did Mirage meet your mercy to change is fate to live happily ever after with Hound?

Yes to Cyc and Tailgate, but no design for Cyclonus yet! Tailgate already has a draft design and some information here.

A list of ships (and sexualities) is up here.

I was taking with my BFF Crow, and she sometimes love writing script-like drabbles for the characters we RP/from TTB whenever the inspiration strikes her. Mirage and Hound’s relationship struck a note with her and at that point we were also discussing something she used to watch, ie. Princess Tutu and the idea that some (a lot I think) people have, that SUFFERING FOREVER is the only thing that constitutes a meaningful and mature story.

And both of them have gone through SO MUCH (It was /bad/ the original draft had Hound accidentally mauling Mirage to death because of how badly Tarn ‘conditioned’ him) it genuinely felt kind of wrong to push the death just to make sure it spells TRAGEDY in big, neon letters, because MOST OF TTB STARTS OUT A TRAGEDY THAT IS HOW WE GOT HERE, why continue with more tragedy when you can and WANT to write about love enduring and healing together from trauma instead?

So yeah! At the end of the day it’s just the idea that Mirage and Hound’s story doesn’t have to end in tragedy to be something meaningful, so instead of Hound going home to Shetland alone and broken at the end of all things, he goes home hand-in-hand with Mirage—both damaged physically, scarred mentally, but they’ve got each other to lean against, tomorrow is another day in a life shared together and they can, and will, heal together.

Don’t be afraid to kill your darlings, for sure, but don’t think it’s the only way to write a story with depth either!

#inbox

[ameliedoree]

i am continuing to provide for the fellow horror sickos with potential next vid material for everyone that's asked me to talk about ban'ya, we'll see if that maybe happens soon. i need something short to talk about for this month while i juggle moving and music work, and the writing for this has been very easy to read so far. though i was considering sadistic blood, but i don't want to flood my channel with black cyc videos, we've already had like four this year banger op btw, hearing the lyrics to yakatamawari has already given me an idea of where this is probably going thematically 「どうして私は生きるの 夢か現実かも （わからない） ふと呼び戻した 記憶が 私 狂わす」 perhaps i will become a shiniyuku shill when i'm done with this playthrough...

#nikuniku #visual novel #eroguro #Youtube