#one of my better snippets

[tinkrtailrsldrspy]

Gravity Falls Fanfic Ideas That I Will Not Finish But Encourage You To = Deranged!Ford Part 1

(if you want, please steal these ideas, no credit needed - just send me a link once it's done cause I wanna read!)

(I will be replying to this post with the other parts (there's like... two others?) so stay tuned!)

Bill knew this place by heart at this point. He could walk around with his eye closed and never get lost. Spin him a hundred times and he’d still know the way to individual therapy, group therapy, arts and crafts therapy, animal therapy, the Solitary Wellness Void, the cafeteria, and his cell. Those were, after all, the only places he was allowed. The only places he had access to.

His cell was his favorite place. After a few millennia, he’d realized that he could make it more bearable if he just covered the walls in paper and colored them. Sure, everything was shaped like triangles, and sure some of his blood had gotten on… all of it… but it still took care of the fucking neutral whiteness of it all!

His second favorite place was animal therapy. Manny the Jabberwocky had taken a liking to him in the last few hundred years, and Bill very much enjoyed the company of the dumb creature. Especially since it kept some of the more… dangerous beings there away from him. Manny had quickly learned how to tell if Bill carried any new injuries, and who they had come from. He’d raked Htrx across the face with his claws after he’d broken Bill’s leg a few months back.

The staff had almost taken away Manny after that, but Bill’s meltdown had successfully persuaded ol’ Ax to step in and allow Bill’s only friend to stay. So, now Bill could look forward to getting to hang with Manny every third day after lunch.

The Solitary Wellness Void was his third favorite - it had once been his least favorite, but after coming to terms with what he’d done to his dimension, it was the only place he got to talk to his parents. Sure, they were hallucinations, but it was still nice. They didn’t say mean things anymore too, so, ya know, bonus! His dad did sometimes start repeating things, but Bill just assumed that was due to his own glitching nature.

Individual therapy was fourth, mostly because it had actually been helpful, but he still fucking hated talking about his feelings. He did, of course - he’d realized resistance was useless in this never-ending hellhole - but that didn’t mean he had to like it. He was on his… what, 147,903rd therapist? This one had actually lasted nearly three hundred million years, too, which was a record! Usually they quit after Bill’s first meltdown at one his horrific memories, but Orb of Healing Light #65-5RXT was a tough cookie! Probably because the thing was one of the few Orbs who had been formed from the soul of a living being. Not only that, but #65-5RXT had the unique claim of being the only human ever selected to work at the Theraprism - personally selected the Axolotl, too.

Arts and Crafts therapy had once been his favorite, but ever since they’d confiscated his journal, it had quickly fallen from grace. It was… fine. Not good, not bad, not really anything special. He was only allowed a handful of crayons these days and a few sheets of paper. He’d made weapons or started a riot with the rest. Thankfully, he usually got to keep the crayon colors he didn’t yet have so he could add to his cell, so that was… nice…

His least favorite was group therapy. Thankfully, #65-5RXT had stopped that nonsense a few months into being Bill’s therapist. Told his higher-ups that all group therapy was doing for Bill was making him hate his fellow patients more. Bill would never share his story with a group, no matter how much the higher-ups wanted him to - and they needed to accept that. Ax had miraculously agreed with #65-5RXT, so, hey, lucky Bill!

The cafeteria didn’t get a rank. It was the only neutral zone in the entire Theraprism, where everyone gathered to eat lunch and dinner. Breakfast was always served to them in their cells, the workers having come to the conclusion long before Bill had arrived that it was probably best to keep cranky interdimensional super criminals away from each other in the morning. Now that was something Bill could agree with.

So, yeah, Bill knew these walls by heart.

Which meant it had come as a surprise to him when there was suddenly a door between the cafeteria and the animal therapy ward. There… had never been a door there before. He hesitated before stepping towards it, hand outstretched towards the doorknob. Before he could touch it, however, the door sprang open with a loud ‘bang’ and two hands had reached out of the dark and grabbed him. Before Bill could make a single sound, he was dragged into the void, the door slamming shut behind him.

[hey-hey-j]

I'm leaving you alone

You can tend the garden, it's yours

You know that thing where you take a single snippet of a song and force it to fit The Character? Yeah......

~~ (★my Ko-fi) | (★commission info)

[bambooshrimp]

all i ever was to be enough for you

⁀➷ olivia rodrigo 2021

[jittersbitters]

Ive hit 4K and taking a break to eat. Have another Vik x reader smut snippet while I wait for more coffee to brew (its only midnight). On that 2nd cup and my drink isn't the only thing getting steamy.

Part 3 is already being outlined and I'm thinking Heimerdinger's lab or Hoskels house 🤭

Part 1 Here

“In.” His thumb started to stroke between my shoulder blades as his breath fanned the side of my face, voice a low thrum in my ear. My breath hitched as I felt myself gravitate toward him, eyeing him from the corners of my vision. My heart starting to make its nervous ascent up my throat again. “What?” “It’s incautious.” His corrected with a self-satisfied smile, delighting in my surprise as his hand shifted up to thumb at the cord wrapping around my neck to hold up the front of my dress. He played with it, running the finger along the stack, his hand resting at the base of my neck. Holding me gently as he guided me away from the increasingly crowded table, deliberately closing any lingering distance between us as our sides came together. “How do you say…” We were so close he only needed to murmur, “The student becomes the master.” A rush of heat coursed through me, breath hitching in my throat. The cord around my neck felt suddenly too tight, and I weakly pulled with it in search of relief. His thumb slid under the cords in response, relieving some of the pressure from the back. Simultaneously, pulling them into my throat, the contrast made my insides twist and flutter. Did he know just what he was doing? “Viktor—"

I seemed to have devolved in the tags. Read at your own risk teehee

[casualavocados]

"Mrs. Coulter in the cave, watching Will, speculating; Will watching her, speculating. Their words like chess pieces, placed with great care, each carrying an invisible nimbus of implication and possibility and threat. Each of them afterwards felt as if they had barely escaped with their life."

HIS DARK MATERIALS — 3.02 | The Break — The Imagination Chamber, Philip Pullman

[skibasyndrome]

may never make it out challenge

Thank you so much @saynomorefic for creating this very fun game and for the initial tag 💜💜💜 Equally big thanks to @goldenwilmon and @toffeelemon for tagging me as well 💜💜💜

Post a 1-5 paragraph excerpt of a WIP / fic idea that may never make it out of your drafts but is near and dear to your heart

I've been dragging this one around for a WHILE (seems like I created the doc in decermber '23 oh my god). And you've likely seen parts of this already. Essentially, the idea is that Simon and Wille never got back together and when Simon starts university in Stockholm Wille reaches out again and, even though Simon would love to think he's over Wille, they start hooking up again. Simon is... angry in this. This is far from 5 paragraphs, but. Uh. If I never get to actually finish it, then at least it's here, lmao. Beware, there's some smut (NSFW) down there.

When he first spots Wilhelm, he immediately regrets his decision. Wishes he'd just ignored the text, maybe even told him to fuck off, all decorum and pretense of being over the past be damned. He shouldn't have agreed to this. The smile he flashes Simon as he starts walking towards him, moving around tables and bags people have placed on the ground in the small coffee shop is every bit as crooked and cheery as Simon remembers it from four years ago and he can't stand it. He shouldn't be able to act like this is okay, like they are okay, like he just gets to burst back into Simon's life like that and smile about it.

But that's the whole problem. Simon let him, let it get to this. “Hey, Simon,” he hears him say as soon as he's standing in front of him. And it really shouldn't affect him that much, the simple utterance of his name shouldn't hold that much power. He twists the napkin he's subconsciously grabbed with one hand, forces a neutral expression. “Hey,” he replies.  If he has to be here at all, he's sure as hell not going to be cooperative in conversation. Wille's smile falters ever so slightly. It really wouldn't be noticeable, but Simon knows that face, knows all its traitorous tells and he seemingly still has all that info filed away neatly. As Wilhelm sits down opposite of him the initial enthusiasm has seemingly left him and he's starting to pick at his nails. Simon knows all the signs and if he were a better person he'd try to reassure him now, make him feel a little less anxious about their encounter. But he fights the urge, tightens the grip on the napkin when his hand threatens to reach out to grab Wilhelm's. He hates himself for wanting to give in so easily. Before any other body part can betray him he decides to speak instead. “So what do you want?”

[...]

[Simon] does wonder, too, in between his moans and gasps that mirror Wilhelm’s sounds, whether Wilhelm does this with other people, whether Wilhelm has ever held anyone so close and made sure their bodies aligned perfectly. Whether Wilhelm has lost himself like this with anyone else, since. There’s a spark of anger at the thought of it, then a crashing wave of pride when he feels Wilhelm start to shake under him. A heady warmth, thick and sticky, when he realizes that it’s him and him alone that made Wilhelm spill into the condom. It’s powerful enough to spur him on, to give him enough fervor to raise and lower his hips once, twice again. He messily fucks into Wilhelm’s fist and finally he’s coming in streaks that lay claim on the man that’s turning boneless underneath him. He doesn’t say any of it out loud, doesn’t repeat his traitorous thoughts about wanting to be the only one to fuck Wilhelm like this. He doesn’t lie about sex with Jacob, but doesn’t feel the need to mention that it’s been weeks since they've done it like this.

[...]

Simon’s gotten into the habit of lying. Says he’ll have to be back in his apartment soon, says he can’t possibly stay overnight, that he needs to get up early for classes tomorrow. Says he can’t on weekends because that’s when Sara comes over. Or that Ayub is planning to visit him. Or that he’ll have to take an extra shift at the café. Wilhelm never questions him. He never really pushes, simply adjusts his schedule somewhat and ends up parking his car down the alley from Simon’s apartment building on a Tuesday evening, Wednesday evening, any evening Simon hasn’t given an excuse for. It’s bitter-sweet. There’s something thrilling about the fact that the Crown Prince will roll up any time of the night just to get his fix of Simon, no matter the ridiculous restrictions Simon gives him. It feels good to be the one calling the shots for once.

[...]

Underneath him, Wilhelm is writhing, moaning, arching his back, doing everything to meet Simon’s thrusts, offering his body in a way Simon is not quite sure how to take in. This openness, the unguarded way he lets go while Simon is pinning him down, the desperate pleas for moremoremore that he’s uttering, tumbling over his lips and glinting in his eyes whenever he stares back up at Simon, it twists something deep inside of Simon’s soul. Wilhelm is letting him in, he’s laying out his soul, opening up his chest for Simon to reach inside. It’s fascinating to watch and it’s scary to think about. Another thrust and Wilhelm is throwing his head back, baring his throat, pale and soft and long and claimed by the violently purple bruise Simon has sucked into the skin of it. And somehow it all wraps up in that sight, this vision. Wilhelm would let Simon tear into him, no questions asked. Would offer himself to him, bleeding.

I'm not sure who has and hasn't done this before, but I'm tagging @saynomorefic (if you want to do another one <3) @impossibleknots, @earlgrey-lateatnight, @the-impala-is-my-home, @shouldntbearevolution, @grapehyasynth, @pagegirlintraining, @wilmonsfolklore, @iwouldnevergetintofanfic @caramelpenguin, @willesworld &&&&&& can we make this about gif-art as well? Probably right? In that case, maybe @sobadbad & @books-books-smolderinglooks have any projects to share? Anyone else who would like to share one of their may-never-make-it-outs, you've been tagged as well💜💜💜 Tag me if you do so I can read it!

[kouraissant]

The Sun is dead and love is an unbearable thing (On Yudrein Aile & Grief)

(Above) KOURAISSANT / (Aeschylus: The Oresteia, Aeschylus & The Oresteia: Agamemnon, The Libation Bearers, The Eumenides, Anne Carson) / Things Haunt, Joshua Jennifer Espinoza / Chapter 514, Turning, 쿠유 / Morning in the Burned House, Margaret Atwood / The opposite of a haunting is something very lonely, heavensghost / A Rosario Castellanos Reader:  ‘Memorandum on Tlatelolco’, tr. Maureen Ahern / Sue Zhao / The Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller / The Empress Yamato Hime, tr. Kenneth Rexroth / Spring and All, Cathy Park Hong / UNDER A STAR CALLED SUN / there is no absolution for the fallen, only the dying, p.d / Chapter 1, Turning, 쿠유 / Lesbos (From Ariel), Sylvia Plath

(Below) The Haunting of Bly Manor (2020), dir. Mike Flanagan / 6CHO1

[pamshindouu]

Another piece from last year, I drew this one for the 7th anniversary of Appmon's final episode (and also the show's 8th anniversary just one day after). No Digimon anime has ever made me cry as much as Appmon did, and I say this as someone who cries very easily lol. Haru and Yuujin mean a lot to me and I wanted to convey that in some way, I had a very specific image in mind while working on this and was a little sad I couldn't get it to look exactly the way i wanted, but I think it's still nice enough :')

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

VH - The Kneeling Stuff

Supervillain smiled when Hero was brought before him, his hands tied behind his back. That wasn’t necessary, of course. The small, thin frame of his foe was already surrounded by two of his biggest guards. There was no way of escape. On his iron throne, he slightly shifted his position and only said:

“Kneel.”

He expected – perhaps even hoped – protestations and words of defiance. There was none. Hero obeyed, his eyes fixed on him. Seeing that he was doing it without reluctance, the guards took their places back from each side of the throne. Three pairs of eyes stared at the captive. There wasn’t an ounce of fear or anger in his expression. As far as Supervillain could judge, there was nothing but polite curiosity, and maybe a bit of confusion.

“I don’t get it”, the prisoner said after a while.

“What are you talking about ?”

“The kneeling stuff. I mean, I love to sit after I’ve been beaten up, thank you, but I don’t see what the big deal is. You said it like it was big deal. Is that some kind of trap ?”

“Wh-”

“I mean, I can sit in many ways. I can even be cross-legged if you enjoy it that much.”

Supervillain shrugged to hide his own perplexity.

“Is that the right time to be insolent, according to you ?”

Embarrassed, Hero fidgeted a little despite his bound hands and gave him a pleading look.

“I swear I’m not trying to. I just feel like I’m missing something. I’m new at this business, you know.”

Supervillain pinched the bridge of his nose:

“Honestly, the things you have to teach. Kneeling means you recognize your defeat and you’re offering yourself to me.”

“Offering myself ? Like a date ?”

“No, not like a date !” squeaked the villain. “Who says things like - ? Like – like a prisoner ! Or a slave, if you like. That means you’re inferior to me.”

“Because you’re higher than me ?”

“Exactly ! Finally.”

“Nope, still don’t get it.”

Hero looked at the guards by his side:

“They stand up, and they’re tall ladies. They’re way higher than you. By that logic, that should mean they’re your boss, then.”

“No ! They – they’re doing my work ! Look, making your foes kneel is traditional. It’s nice. I like it. Can we leave it at that ?”

“But the thing is, I don’t feel inferior. It’s literally the way I sit at home. So, I don’t understand why it’s so much more humiliating than sitting on a throne that looks incredibly uncomfortable.”

Aggravated, Supervillain jumped on his feet. His fingers ensnared Hero’s chin as he growled:

“Don’t worry, I can do so much worse. The torture I’m going to put you through won’t give you any doubt about that.”

“About kneeling ?”

“No – I mean yes I suppose among other things but -”

“I don’t think that will make me understand. I can suggest another way.”

Metal cracked. Hero shyly made his fingers glide over Supervillain’s wrist that still held his face:

“You should show me instead.”

Supervillain had only one second to realize that Hero’s hands were mysteriously free. His first impulse was to call his guards for help, but the two ladies didn’t seem to hear him. Staring at Hero, they didn’t move an inch. Hero smiled, revealing his long, sharp teeth:

“Kneel.”

The world shifted. Unable to resist this voice, Supervillain's legs buckled while Hero stood up, his pale face still calm and slightly curious:

“You know, maybe you were right on something. I don’t care about the position, but seeing someone squirm is nice every time. Now then.”

He tilted his head and shyly smiled at Supervillain’s livid face:

“Tell me, what’s your opinion on stepping on your foes ?”

*

Vampire Hero is now a recurring character. His job is to troll current villains. Check the Vampire Hero Masterlist or Tag for more snippets with him.

Or back to the Hero x Villain Masterlist.

[wikiangela]

wip wednesday

tagged by @tizniz 💖

more of the will talk fic bc they're finally talking about it and this is so close to being done! (hopefully🤞 as always it's getting longer than expected haha)

prev snippet

___

"(...) He- he didn’t even tell me until like a year later, when he-” Buck takes a sharp breath, an even more unpleasant memory replacing the previous one. Suddenly he can feel the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, and the rough asphalt scraping his hands, and he needs to take a deep breath. Tommy tightens his arm around him, maybe he can feel Buck tensing up, can sense that whatever he's about to say is upsetting. “After he got shot.” Buck finally whispers.

“You know,” Tommy starts, his tone bright and casual but gentle, clearly wanting to lighten the mood, always just knowing what Buck needs, and Buck’s so grateful. He doesn’t want to talk about all those traumatic things now, that’s a whole other topic, that they scratched the surface of already, and soon they’d go deeper, but not today. Today it’s just for context for the other important conversation they’re having. “I’m starting to think I lucked out that I left the 118. You guys seem to be cursed or something.” he teases, pressing a gentle kiss to Buck’s temple, and an easy, breathy laugh bubbles out of Buck, tension leaving his body, as he melts against his boyfriend.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @thebravebitch @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck

@eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life

@diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @weewootruck

@loveyouanyway @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff

@alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @hippolotamus @bidisasterevankinard

@giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @underwaterninja13 @exhuastedpigeon

@911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @buddieswhvre @fortheloveofbuddie

@your-catfish-friend @theotherbuckley @daffi-990 @dangerpronebuddie @hoodie-buck

@aroeddiediaz @diazsdimples @spotsandsocks

[star4daisy]

I was tagged by @sanguineerose to post a lil snippet, so here ya go:

“Is it because it’s convenient?”

Evan never spoke after sex, they usually turned into their sides and slept in their preferred positions, so his voice startled Barty out of his usual post shagging fog.

“What?”

“The reason why you’re fucking me,” Evan said clinically. “Is it because it’s convenient?”

Barty turned so quickly that his head spun. He knew Evan was trying to make it sound nonchalant, his eyes ice cold while he observed the ceiling, not betraying anything. But Barty knew better or he thought he did.

“Where’s this coming from?”

“Well, you fucked Regulus before me and he’s our roommate, so it’s not like it was hard maintenance for you, we all know how much you despise having to work for it every time you’re in the mood and Merlin knows you can’t keep a relationship to save your life, but then Reg started dating James so you didn’t have easy sex anymore and now you’re fucking me so it’s not hard to connect the dots that…”

“Lemme stop you right there.” Barty interrupted him in a ruder tone than he intended. “Nothing about this is convenient. What the fuck, Evan?” He sat up, the comforter slipping from his torso and baring his chest, Evan’s eyes trailed it instinctively as he also sat up on the bed, using the headboard to rest his back.

“I don’t see what’s wrong with what I said.”

“You don’t see…” Barty’s eyes widened as he laughed coldly. Merlin. “I hope you're fucking with me right now, because if not I’m gonna lose my shit.”

Evan spread his arms mockingly. “By all means.”

Barty stood up at once. “I’m not doing this. Not with you,” he put on his pants without bothering to find his underwear. 

Barty had taken his anger out on other people his entire life. Mostly on people he did not care for, he was ashamed of admitting that the most damage - or the only one Barty cared for - was the one he’d done to the people he loved. 

Barty had never learned how to love. 

His mother had tried to teach him, but it had been overshadowed by his father’s indifference. 

Barty’s love had teeth. It bit anyone who dared come close enough. 

There had never been a person Barty loved that he hadn’t hurt. 

He’d done it to his mother when she didn’t deserve to bear the anger he held for his father. 

He’d done it to Regulus when he needed to let his frustration out during their teenage years. 

Until Evan. Barty refused to do the same to him. 

He couldn’t. Not to Evan. 

Not now that he finally had him where he wanted him.

np tags: @jaylienpotter @themuseoftheviolets @fromagony @jamespottersmixtape + anyone who wants to

[drowned-cypress]

“Do you mind if I play some music?” Robin asked, shuffling through her PDA.

“What is music?” Al-An asked.

Robin had to stop and think about that one. “It’s… a form of expression,” she answered, setting the PDA aside.

“Expression?”

“Communication. Art,” Robin clarified. “Music is a combination of sounds using rhythm or harmony or melody or words, or some combination of those, which attempts to communicate complex or elusive ideas and emotions.”

“Is this not already a function of your system of language?”

“Well, yes, but music isn’t nearly so precise, and there’s an aesthetic component to it as well.”

“If it is not precise, why utilize it?”

Robin frowned. “The value of music isn’t in its utility. Music is often very beautiful, though not always. Usually music is just… more visceral than language. We experience it on an emotional level.”

“It is instinctual?”

Robin opened her mouth, then shut it again. Oh. Al-An wanted an explanation from a biological standpoint. “There is evidence of a biological basis for music. There have been arguments that it was an adaptive trait for our ancestors–a means of social cohesion when living in large groups, to convey and regulate emotions. It’s a kind of communication that’s thought to be older than language. Some research suggests that language evolved from music.”

“I would be interested to hear an example.”

Robin shrugged and scrolled through her PDA’s menu system to put on one of her favorite songs. It was a mostly instrumental piece, but it had choral accompaniment. She always felt like it conveyed triumph in adversity and a kind of breathless elation, the joy of success. It made her feel like she was flying. She closed her eyes and listened. There was one part of the song that never failed to give her chills.

“I believe I understand,” Al-An commented once the song faded to silence. “It has an impact on your pulse and breathing. It makes you move differently. This response could come from a kind of synesthesia endemic to your species, connoting combinations of sound frequencies with specific emotions in your brain’s emotional centers.”

Robin fidgeted with her PDA as she thought about that. He had apparently been observing her reaction as much as he had been listening to the music. “You’re probably not wrong, but the experience isn’t universal. The emotional responses people have to specific pieces of music depend on the kind of music they’ve been exposed to in the past, especially during their developmental years. It’s like language in that respect: a learned social behavior. Also, musicality isn’t limited to just humans. Plenty of other animals enjoy, and even make music. For example, there are many species of bird native to Earth that produce complex melodies as part of their calls.”

“My people have encountered species with complex vocal calls before. We have determined that those calls often elicit an emotional response in other members of the species.”

Robin nodded. “Exactly. Humans are not unique in that respect.”

“So music is the vocal call of humans?”

Robin hesitated. “We don’t really think about it like that, but you wouldn’t exactly be wrong to interpret it that way. Music can serve some of the same evolutionary functions as animal calls. Though, while humans are incredible vocal mimics, we use instruments as well as our voices to make music. These days though, music is mostly viewed as entertainment.” Robin paused before asking, “Does your species have a call? Even if you don’t use it anymore, I’d be interested to know more about the evolutionary origins of your species.”

There was quiet as Al-An gave the question some thought. “No, we do not have a vocal call,” he finally said. “We did not evolve a biological means of creating complex vocalizations. However, before we evolved telepathy, our ancestors first expressed emotions through bioluminescence.”

Robin’s eyes widened. “I would like to see that. That sounds amazing. Do you still have bioluminescence? Do you make visual displays with it as an art form?”

“Yes, we have kept the bioluminescence, but while we can control it to a small degree, it is largely an involuntary part of what you would likely call our limbic system.”

“Ah, so more like body language.”

“That is accurate.”

There was a long moment of quiet between them as Robin thought about what Al-An had said. “Didn’t you describe the network as a kind of harmony of strings?”

“Ah. Yes, but in a metaphorical sense. I had not realized your species utilized harmonies.”

“But you understand the concept of harmony? That’s a musical concept.”

“It is a known phenomenon. My people find the mathematics of sympathetic resonance to be aesthetically pleasing.”

Robin blinked. They found the mathematics to be aesthetically pleasing, but they held no opinion on the actual sound? She supposed that explained why he didn’t really understand music. Or perhaps they did have their own music, but it was unrecognizable in comparison to what she had played. “But why use that metaphor?”

“It is…” Al-An made an inarticulate, frustrated noise. “Trying to describe the sensation of the network to you is trying to describe a sensory experience you have never had using a communication method that is imprecise and inadequate for the task. Your language does not contain a word for the sensation because no human has experienced it. The best I can do is use one of your own senses as metaphor. It is like describing your tactile ability to detect vibrations as similar to your ability to sense temperature. They may be somewhat similar, and serve similar functions, but are by no means the same.”

“Ah, so the network doesn’t sound like literal strings.”

“No, it does not sound like anything at all. But as a metaphor for the network, the concept of harmony is appealing. Each individual has their own frequency, and when grouped properly, interactions may produce resonance. Your sense of hearing also works better as a metaphor than any other sense you possess, because humans communicate primarily through hearing.”

Robin chewed her lip, thinking. The picture he painted of his species was very alien: they didn’t produce complex sounds, and communicated through telepathy and bioluminescence. It sounded fascinating, but she didn’t want their differences to become a wall between them. “Will you still be able to communicate with me once you get your own body?”

“You need not worry.” Al-An’s usual monotone carried a softness Robin was not used to hearing. He was getting better at picking up on her emotions. “Even if I could not calibrate my telepathy to a frequency you are able to receive, I would still be able to produce sounds in your range of hearing through my cybernetic components.”

Robin smiled. “Want to hear more music?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Yes,” Al-An replied with a kind of eagerness that made Robin’s smile widen. “Please, proceed.”

[residentialsinyomakai]

(Holy carp. Click for better quality because tumblr crunched it)

Regina doodle that got out of hand while my friends and I were on call,,,, my fave girlevil 🙏

From folklore frenzy!! As usual wahaha >:)

[nyan-koii]

Jenson and mark watching seb using his biggest plushie in his collection to get off, their hands guiding his hips slowly and letting it fell into a rhythm.

Seb shuts his eyes tightly, not sure whether its because of the that pleasure he's trying to focus or the eyes of his plushies and his two boyfriends staring at him. It's embarassing but he can feel himself becoming more sensitive with every second.

Jenson traces his back, making shapes and leaving feathery touches to seb's body while mark forces and eye contact with the german boy. "Beautiful," he whispered, his eyes growing dark and seb quickens his pace.

Seb whines, begging for more, its not enough mark please do something and his hips stutters when jenson pushed him, face planted, down to his bed. His sweater, mark's sweater, revealed his boxer. Dark patch formed and they cooed at seb when a sniffle came out from him.

"You made a mess sebby. Poor mr.whale all dirty because of you," mark mocked and provoked him, making seb bites his bottom lip in embarassment. His hand tries to cover his lower half but mark caught it before he could do so.

"Oh no seb. You dont have to be embarassed. We've already seen all of you," he reminded and seb moan when jenson palms his clothed cock.

He's grinding now. Seb used jenson's hand to reach his climax and mark brushed the hair covering his face. His eyes glazed with tears and he looked at jenson with his doe eyes, lips parted as he lets out small noises, one that can only be heard by them, and jenson has never been so hard before.

[nb-octopus-writes]

TFRB Shrinking Episode but Better for WIP Wednesday, please! My brain has been full of Transformers lately.

It was just… a large open space. There were structures of a sort in the distance, unfamiliar and looming, but directly around Heatwave were acres and acres of empty ground.

Where was he? The ray must have transported him, but to where? What was this place?

Heatwave activated his comm. “Kade! Do you copy?” he said, but only heard dead air in response. This was more than a lack of answer; wherever he was now, he couldn't reach the rest of the team’s comms.

Heatwave transformed and began to drive toward the nearest of the structures. Was it built by humans, or by someone else? Humans had so many kinds of buildings, but Heatwave didn’t remember seeing anything like this on the island before. It was a large building, a lab or a bunker perhaps, tall enough to contain at least three cybertronian-sized floors, and wider than it was tall. Heatwave didn’t see any doors or windows, but perhaps they were hidden, or on the far side of the building.

The ground was paved to the horizon with some unfamiliar material—not concrete or asphalt, something blue and largely smooth, though it did have some texture to it. It was also the flattest ground Heatwave had ever driven across. There were no hills, not even a gentle rise or dip.

The ground shook under his wheels, and then something slammed down out of the air, close enough that Heatwave had to swerve to avoid colliding with it.

[afeelionz]

wip we... whenever

posting writing for the first time in a very long time because i want to get make myself comfortable with doing that. this is a really really really old snippet related to something i was working on for @camillathe6th because of a really really old thing she made me. sorry una i promise you get to beat jamie's ass eventually

Jamie, sometime before next week. Jab, left, right, one, two, pivot, hips, hit. Swing, not like that, arch—

his back, run your hands—

"Fuck." Jamie spits, shakes his head, sweat and hair flies but it's a fruitless effort. That ghost sticks anyway, cloying and viscous and no, no, no more of that. Up your guard, Jamison, one, two— 

three, more marks there than you—

He glances the bag with a sloppy cross and has to watch it swing, heavy and sluggish like the rise and fall of his chest. Breathe. One, two, breathe.

There's hair in his face that he pulls back into the bun, no hair gel (this time), sweat and hair and sweat. Heat.

Breathe. One, in. Out, two.

He squares his shoulders, rolls them, rolls tongue over teeth, sneers.

One. Two, on the mark but sloppy form. Offset your feet, he says, pull back from the core. 

A warm smile when it finally connects. "That's it, Jones. Now a little lower…"

The bag lurches, writhes. Two, solid and sturdy right to the chest. 

He meets you halfway across the mat (takes your hand) (connects it to his throat) and smiles, all teeth and bravado. “Like that, see?”

You can just see the bag over his shoulder, a slow front and back sway coming just close enough to be out of reach. You match your breathing to it, to feel your blood pooling in your fists. 

(against his skin. around his throat.)

"I'm starting to."

"Good boy," he says, as the world turns red…

"I'm gonna fucking murder her."