#tf everyone

[anon-e-miss]

Hi! Love your stories! Do you have a link to a Touch of sight 1? I sadly can only find the later ones

Since Starsheild kindly bundled links together for me, here's all of A Touch of Sight in One convenient location... until Tumblr eats the tags and buries it amongst my ramblings.

[buttdumplin]

yeah simon is the one to scare people away when they get too close you, using his size and movement to intimidate, simultaneously shielding you behind him

yeah soap is the one barking loud, creating a spectacle and calling people out, and warning them away

yeah kyle is the one humiliating people, mocking offenders until either their own actions dawn on them or they finally recognize the venom in his eyes

but price is the one that launches into swinging. there is no warning, no hesitation. taking a step, even a single word against you, warrants immediate action in his mind. it's no laughing fucking matter. you are a top fucking prize, his prize, the best the world has to offer. john is rabid in his protection, bearing tooth and boot and claw and fist. there’s no point in talking to him or trying to negotiate, an offense is an offense and he won’t meet it halfway. someone looks at you the wrong way? they won't be able to see out of swollen eyes after headbutts them, crushing their nose. someone whispers something nasty about you? good luck even eating with that jaw wired shut. god forbid someone touches you, the other three boys can barely hold him back. john will break countless bones in every way he knows and beat his knuckles bloody if your smile starts to drop. 

[bloominglegumes]

to think that we could stay the same,,,

(my megop playlist.pls pls talk about songs with me)

[timelessbian]

actually that ao3 post about calculating kudos-to-hits ratios to decide if a fic is worth reading has me so pissed off. someone put real time and energy into something they are SHARING WITH YOU FOR FREE on a site where you can quite literally filter and search by anything you want and you're STILL trying to find a foolproof method to find stuff that's "good enough to read"???

YOU ARE NOT THE TARGET AUDIENCE FOR EVERYTHING

you don't have to like or read everything in a given fandom or tag, but you also don't have to be a cunt about it and imply that it's not worth reading. this is the kind of shit that moves people to stop creating altogether, and to see people agreeing in the tags is so disheartening. absolutely unserious behavior.

[quailsprout]

prime and protector fanart for @astolat's story, fool's hope on ao3

[breakbleheavens]

MAISIE PETERS performs LOST THE BREAKUP The Eras Tour — London, UK (Night 7) | August 19, 2024

[attyrocious]

survivor's guilt

[imeriayapping]

Guys real question why noone talks about this picture

[bbygirl-aemond]

i love the dragon tamer saying plainly that dragons "are not playthings for games of men" and rhaenyra just ignoring him like yep that encapsulates the entire reason for the dragons going extinct, because targaryens could not stop using them as cannon fodder and killed them all

[anon-e-miss]

Primus Help the Outcasts - 9

“Happy Festivus!” The Twins exclaimed as Prowl and his creations stepped into their grandcreators’ living room.

Smokescreen and Bluestreak slipped the gifts they had gathered for their friends in chests at thr\e of the shrine and sat with the Twins as the Polyhexian mechlings showed them some of their new treasures. Prowl stood and watched. It seemed so natural, like they, the four mechlings had done this every stellar-cycle. Bluestreak showed his friends the ursanokor Smokecreen had gifted him and Smokescreen flipped the scarf Bluestreak had made for him over his shoulder and struck a pose. They were happy and that observation had Prowl frozen in place. Each of them, his creations, their friends, all four of them glowed with happiness as they chatted together and Prowl could only stare in wonder.

“Prowl,” Jazz called his designation and Prowl broke free from his processor. His benefactor gestured to the empty space on the couch he was sitting on and held out a mug and pitch black energon.

“Thank you,” Prowl said. He sat. There were added pillow in this corner of the love seat. Jazz or his procreators had prepared a seat for him. It was not surprising, precisely but it was touching all the same. “I do not remember ever seeing them so happy.”

“It was the same for the Twins, ya know,” Jazz told him. “They came outta their shells, they bloomed after they settled in, once they knew in their sparks they weren’t just safe but free.”

“I am sorry,” Prowl said. “I have never asked...”

“Some other time,” Jazz replied with a wave of his servo. “Thanks to Master Yoketron, we got passed it. Y’re gonna get there too.”

“Thank you for all of your support,” Prowl said. He did not mean for it to happen but years pooled in his optics. “You have done so much for us. More my creations, for me. I saw the news, the priest being taken away in stasis cuffs.”

“It ain’t much,” Jazz said, he reached and squeezed Prowl’s servo as he smiled. “It’s a start. Ya deserve justice. Lockdown’ll get his too.”

“Do not set yourself on fire for my sake, please,” Prowl said. “I cannot imagine Lockdown being so easily castigated.”

“Just leave Lockdown to me,” Jazz assured him. “He ‘n me go back, way back. I can handle’m.”

“Would speaking to your procreators dissuade you at all?” Prowl asked.

“Ya kiddin’?” Jazz chuckled. “They all want a piece. Vicious lot, them three.”

“Oh dear,” Prowl felt a sharp rise of alarm. Jazz smiled at Prowl’s stricken expression.

“We know how to take care o’ ourselves ‘n our own,” Jazz assured him. “Ain’t gonna rush in ‘n get scrapped.”

“He’ll right,” Sprocket declared, poking his helm in from the kitchen. “Sometimes ya gotta sit on a grudge for a bit before ya can strike. We’re patient, when we gotta be. Punch ‘n Rumbler are on their way home.”

“Did you have a maintenance request?” Prowl asked. “On the Feast-Cycle of all mega-cycles?”

“Just an errand,” Sprocket smiled. He and Jazz both radiated excited happiness as they awaited their kin to begin the celebration.

“Lemme make ya another cube o’ energon,” Jazz offered. 

You might have thought, looking from the outside in, that they were just a normal, happy family. Prowl might have been still on the wrong side of gaunt, he did not look like such a wraith at this point. In any case, an outsider might have blamed an illness. They would not have guessed that Prowl was destitute and they were together because their creations were friends. If he could call him, Jazz and Jazz’s procreators friends, Prowl could not be sure, except that he felt uncomfortable, like he was taking advantage. He was taking advantage, there was no question. The help had been freely offered but the fact remained he was giving nothing in return. They would not even allow him to help with the chores.

“Can ya come into the kitchen, Prowl?” Jazz called and Prowl actually felt relieved. Finally, he could make himself useful.

“How can I…” the glyphs trailed off as Prowl saw the newcomer who was shaking the snow from his helm. “Originator?”

“Bitlet,” Camshaft sighed with relief. He crossed the cozy room in a few steps and swept Prowl up in his arms. Prowl clung to his originator, optics wide with disbelief. Camshaft cupped Prowl’s face and looked at him. “Bitlet. You’re so thin.”

“How?” Prowl asked.

“Punch,” Camshaft explained. “After you told him who you were to me, he reached out through an old channel I had thought dusted. It took me a while to see it. Bitlet. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to save you.”

“You could not have been,” Prowl replied. “I do not understand. How did you manage to get past the planetary security grid. It was set to scan for your spark.”

“A great deal of Punch’s trickery,” Camshaft explained. He gestured to the stranger, a Praxian like them, who was hanging back by the door. All at once, Prowl recognized him, in a distant way, this was someone he had seen on the streets from time to time, or in energon cafes. “And more of Downshift’s work. He’s the one who left you gifts from me. Who checked up on you for me.”

“Thank you for assisting my originator,” Prowl said, tilting his doorwings to the older Praxian.

“He’s never stopped thinking of you and speaking of you,” Downshift declared. “I hope you know you’ve always had a proud originator.”

“Thank you,” Prowl said. 

“Downshift was a member of my unit in Spec Ops,” Camshaft explained. “After I assassinated Zeta, I tried to reach you but I was pursued and shot. Downshift saved my life, despite the bounty he could have cashed in.”

“Energon credits,” Downshift said, with a snort.

“We are conjunxed,” Camshaft explained. “I wished you could be there. I knew you could not be but I wished.”

“I was with you in your spark,” Prowl said, he leaned his crest against his originator’s. “I always have been.”

“Always,” Camshaft promised, holding him close another moment.

“Punch, Rumbler, Sprocket, Jazz, thank you for this,” Prowl said as they slowly separated. “I know it was not without incredible risk.”

“It was worth the risk,” Punch replied. “Go on, I think Blue ‘n Smokey’ll be excited to meet their Grandori.”

“It does not seem real,” Camshaft said, taking a slow intake. “I did not believe I would ever meet them.”

“You and Downshift had no creations?” Prowl asked.

“We were always moving,” Camshaft explained. “It was not the life for a bitlet. In any case, no mechling or femmeling could have replaced you.”

He would not have begrudged his originator from having a family with the conjunx he had chosen for himself. Prowl had thousands of questions, primarily how his originator had managed to stay a step ahead of the bounty hunters for so long. For now, Prowl could not put any of it into glyph and none of it was important. His originator was here, here right in front of him and Prowl was not at all sure how he managed not to crash but there was not even a flicker of his glitch. Maybe the rightness of it and the joy of it was enough, it did not matter. Prowl took his originator’s servo and led him into the living room. Smokescreen waved his doorwings and then froze. He turned sharply and stared.

“Bluestreak?” Prowl called his youngest creation’s designation and Bluestreak turned. Like Smokescreen he stared. “Smokescreen, Bitlets. This is your grandoriginator, my originator. Punch, Rumbler and Sprocket were friends of his. They helped him come home to us.”

“Grandori?” Bluestreak asked. “You gave me my red ursanokor… except Seekers ripped it up. But Smokescreen found me this one and it’s just the same!”

“I’m very glad he did,” Camshaft said. 

“You’re…” Smokescreen struggled with the revelation. Prowl knelt with him and embraced Smokescreen as his youngling crawled into his arms. “I thought you had to be. You left a present after my exams just that orn…”

“Downshift,” Camshaft said, patient and gentle, he did not try to approach Smokescreen. “Brought every gift from me to you but never lingered long. He told me when you scored your first goal playing meccasoccer and won your first game. He was going to bring your a plaque from me but... We didn’t know, Sweetspark, what was about to happen.”

“I’m glad you’re alive,” Smokescreen said. “I’m glad… Downshift… I saw you… you cheered really loud when I scored that goal.”

“I figured I needed to cheer for both of us,” Downshift replied. 

“Sit,” Punch ordered. “Everyone get settled. I didn’t dare tell ya, Prowl. In case I was wrong ‘n it wasn’t Cam at the end o’ the comm.”

“I understand,” Prowl replied. “I cannot believe a better Feast gift.”

“Gonna be impossible to top,” Jazz agreed. “But there’s more under the shrine. Sideswipe can dole out the chests. How ‘bout that energon, Prowl?”

“Please.”

[sothasil]

cuscusses

[bloominglegumes]

i love normal guys doomed by the narrative

[howlsnteeth]

💢💢💢

[hyakunana]

"My friend, my partner… my Guardian."

[kettlefire]

As Good as Good Gets (DP X DC Snippet)

Richard "Dick" Grayson is the golden child. In the eyes of the public, and in the eyes of the league. Dick is a sweet, caring son, a man who went from being a sidekick to being a hero. The pipeline from Robin to Nightwing had many people applauding his dedication to keeping Gotham safe.

No one knew the full story, not truly. No one but Bruce Wayne himself. And maybe a certain butler. Many don't know that Dick only became Robin to stop him from hunting down and killing the man who killed his parents.

No one really knows about the harsh fights and arguments he has had with Bruce. The times when Dick would find himself cut off from the Wayne name for a week or so. No one knows that the first person Dick warmed up to was Alfred. Having been bribed with cookies.

Things weren't always this good, trusting, happy relationship between Bruce and Dick. It had been a rough ride, a complicated one. But that was okay, because it got better.

Dick stopped being so moody and angsty. He grew up, he learned, and he changed. He became an older brother, found people that needed him. Needed him in a way that the citizens of Gotham didn't need him.

His brothers like to call him annoying. A goody two shoes who Bruce trusted more than everyone else. They couldn't fathom how someone like Dick could be so stupid and bubbly at all times.

All times, except when shit hits the fans. Despite the name calling, despite coining Dick as the stupid Wayne. They all knew better. They knew that when it mattered, Dick Grayson always pulled through. He was a force to be reckoned with when needed.

The whole Wayne family was a force to be reckoned with when called for. It didn't have to be under the guise of costumes and vigilante acts. Whether he was Officer Grayson or Nightwing, Dick was a man with his morals and values.

One night on patrol as Officer Grayson, Dick found someone who needed that force. A force willing to protect and care for the innocent. The hurt. The damaged, yet still good.

It started like any other night. A call of shots fired by an empty warehouse. There was no sighting or knowledge of any rouges being there, so Dick took the call. Told the team he'll contact them if it seems more than just a civilian incident.

The warehouse was dark, reeked of copper and oil. It didn't take long for Dick to find the trail. The liquid he found looked like the person had been dragged before walking. There was a clear struggle, even with the mess and emptiness that was the warehouse.

That wasn't Dick's biggest concern. The concern lay in just how much blood there was. Too much for any normal person to lose and still manage to stumble through the warehouse.

It wasn't just blood. It wasn't that much, but Dick could spot the strangeness in the liquid. The mixed in green that had an eerily similar color and glow as a certain pit.

Without thinking, Dick followed the trail. Barely remembering to make contact with his family. Give them an update on what he found. Words telling him to stay put for backup went in one ear and out the other.

Something in Dick's gut was telling him he couldn't wait. He needed to find the source. Whoever was currently bleeding out in this warehouse. He silenced the comm, moving further through the dimly lit building.

Then Dick found it. Or more so, he found him. It was just a boy. A boy that reminded Dick too much of the youngest Wayne. A boy sat against a wall, looking pale and weak.

Red and green coated the front of the boy's shirt, arms wrapped tightly around his middle. An attempt to stem the bleeding. A puddle had already started to form beneath the boy, and Dick moved without thinking once again.

He quickly found himself kneeling beside the boy, hands carefully reaching out. Before Dick even touched him, the boy flinched. Eyelids suddenly opened, wide and terrified blue eyes landed on Dick's.

In just that one look, Dick knew what he had to do. The haunting, terrified, and pained look in the boy's eyes told Dick everything he needed to know. The boy was in danger. Someone had hurt this kid, and it was clear it wasn't the first time.

The boy struggled weakly against Dick's touch, terrified whimpers, and barely coherent pleas spilled from the kid's lips. It had Dick's heart aching, clear as day the poor kid has been through hell and back.

It took a lot of reassurance, gentle touches, and promises of help before the kid let Dick take a look at the bleeding wound. A promise on Dick's soul had been the final thing that earned him any semblance of trust. A strange promise, but Dick was willing to make it.

That concern turned to pure anger the moment Dick managed to pull the sticky shirt away from the wound. The sight of a Y-incision cut perfectly into the skin, stitches tight on the skin, but blood still leaking heavily from the wound.

It didn't take long for Dick to realize why. Despite the perfect surgical care of the wound, a good couple of stitches had broken. Leaving gaping spots for that red and green liquid to pour out of.

The boy was deathly silent, tears streaking down his cheek as wide blue eyes stayed trained on Dick. In that moment, Dick knew he had to help. Had to get the kid to safety, patch him up, and find out what kind of monster would do this.

It didn't matter if the kid was human or not. It didn't matter if the kid had special abilities or not. No one, absolutely no one, deserved to be vivisected.

The kid was shrouded in mystery, but that mystery only seemed to grow and become clearer when Bruce had entered the scene. The boy had tensed, eyes flashing a bright glowing green.

Lazarus pit green.

It set a pit of dread in Dick's gut. His mind brings forward memories of Jason. Jason, after his revival, after his dip in that cursed pit. The same flash that his brother would get if he got too angry. Too emotional.

As much as Dick wanted to focus on finding who did this, if it had any connection to Ra's al Ghul. He couldn't. Not when the kid tried to get up, to pull away as Bruce and the others made their way closer.

Right now, Dick only cared about making sure the boy was okay. Fixing those stitches, getting him a meal, and a warm bed.

He needed to get this kid someplace where he felt safe and secure. Comfortable and protected. Dick wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the promise he had made, but he wasn't letting anyone get to the kid.

That included his family. As strange as it seemed, Dick put himself between the others and the kid. Shooting them all a glare that they had only ever seen a handful of times.

Dick lifted the poor boy up in his arms, cradling the crying child close as he led the way out of the warehouse. Ignoring the questions or confusion coming from Bruce and the others. As Dick walked, feeling the trembling boy clinging to him, he made a rather obvious realization.

Maybe the eldest son really was more like Bruce than he expected. Just a few short moments the the boy, a boy that Dick didn't know his name, and he was ready to pull out adoption papers. To give the boy a safety he so desperately needs.

Give him the chance that Bruce had given him all those years ago.

[tazatouille]

the end of the beginning