My Sir Pentious X Reader is ready. A nice 2000 words or somewhere over.
I will give this fic to you on ransom. Leave some comments and you'll get it.
I love you all but fic writers need validation, so we're going to train people pavlovian style.
Better yet, the comment or reblog doesn't have to be on my fics. You can show other authors your love. If you show me that you've commented or reblogged someone else's story, I will be very pleased.
For those of you who do reblog and comment, I'm sorry that I am willing to die on this hill because you're all doing amazing. We need to bring fanfiction etiquette back.
That's so real,because of this post I just checked when I had last reblogged a fanfiction on tumblr. It was two days ago woof,but I also realized it's been quite some time since I last wrote a comment on here.I usually reblog here,and go read the fics on ao3 if it's possible, and leave my comments there.
But I think I need to comment more often here too,I don't really write comments or tag things here so it doesn't really occur to me but I'll try to write a couple words here when I finish a fix here too.
Bring fandom/fanfiction etiquette back.(it starts with the person on the mirror)
You get it, my wonderful friend. Together, we can bring fandom back to life.
See I saw a fic earlier today. It had over 9000 likes. It had less than 1000 reblogs. It had 2 comments.
I don't want our wonderful culture to die. I've been in fandom for near 15 years and I refuse to leave now, but if we don't work together, fandom dies with us.
Lucifer ran to the art gallery, tears burning at his eyes. He didnât know why he had run here of all places where he was surrounded by Lilith. He needed to look at her, and remember the love he had. He needed her to look down on him from her lofty portrait gaze, to scorn him for abandoning her.
He searcher the portraits, looking at his beloved wife from various angles and poses. Where had she gone? Why didnât she contact him? And if not him, then she should at least message Charlie. Lucifer had always thought Lilith loved him as much as he cherished her, but then she had just disappeared. Seven years was not long to an immortal being, but it became an eternity with nobody to spend it with.
Lucifer stared up at the last portrait he had commissioned before Lilith had disappeared.
âWhy did you leave me?â
That wasnât really his question.
What Lucifer was really asking was why wasnât he good enough?
Hey! Not an ask or request just a question. I just came across your undeserving story with starscream from like years ago. Absolutely love it! But I cant seem to find the part 3 of 3. Have you written one and if so could you put the link please? If you haven't then do not mind this! You make great writing though :)
Hey there, glad you liked the story. Alas, that was one I never got around to finishing, so as of yet, there is no part 3.
Hello! Could I request a scenario with Whirl react to human!reader who is often shy but when they are drunk, they are just like turning into another person. (eg: flirting with anyone nearby, laughing like an evil character, singing songs like Flesh, Toxic, ect...) Thank you! âĄ
Whirl X Reader - Boring
A/N â Hey guys, itâs been a while. Long time no see. Now, I only write when I have time, and thatâs getting harder with the many things I have to do, as well as 2 DND groups to DM and one to play in. Plus, Iâve started a YouTube Channel, Feline Opinionated. Itâs not very good yet, but Iâm still learning, and I hope it can be better. This week I got into a car accident. Hurts to sit and type today, but I was incredibly bored. Anyway, I want you all to know I havenât forgotten about you, and I hope you like this drabble. Probs should have proofread this more, but the painkillers are wearing off now, so Iâm dunzo for today.
Warnings â None.
Rating â T
Whirl didnât get the other botsâ fascination with you. You were just a dumb little fleshbag, and you were so damn boring. Yet Whirl had to hear about you wherever he went.
It was always, âHave you seen the human? How cute are they?â or, â(Y/N) tried catching up to me today. Itâs so precious watching them jog to keep up.â
Primus, everything was about you. Whirl didnât see the appeal. You were too shy to say two words to him, you were entirely too breakable, and you were completely bland. Moreover, youâd be dead if it werenât for the Lost Light finding you before your oxygen tank ran out, so you couldnât even survive without help. Useless whelp!
It didnât take much to irritate Whirl. It could usually be done by something taking undue attention from more interesting things, like killing or explosives, anything to take his mind off his past.
Whirl was heading to âVisageâsâ when he heard a snatch of conversation from two mechs pushing past him to beat him there, âDid you hear? The human is completely overcharged. We gotta see this.â
Whirlâs claws clenched. First off, nobody pushed past him and got away with it. Second, all he wanted was a drink, and there was that stupid meat-sicle taking up his space, and third⌠Wait, did they say you were overcharged?
An inebriated human? That could be interesting. If Whirl was lucky, you would fall from a table near his pede, only to be conveniently crushed. Finally, an end to his problems. He let the botsâ transgression slide, following them into the bar where there were a crowd of bots reaching up.
It soon became clear they werenât cheering, but rather holding their servos out to catch you in case you fell. Whirl glanced upwards to watch the same show everyone else was. It was like trying to catch vermin, with the intention of keeping it alive. You were drunkenly skittering about on one of the light fixtures, a bottle of alcohol in one hand, while you used the other to swing around the cable, laughing every time you nearly lost your balance.
Apparently, the drink was giving you all the confidence of someone who thought they were being cheered on. You were acting like you were invincible. Initially, Whirl wanted you to fall. Then youâd be just like a pet; in peopleâs memory, but not in the way anymore and a constant reminder that squishies werenât suited to life on a Cybertronian ship.
Then, you started singing.
Whirl didnât know the song. Why would he? He didnât give a damn about Earth or any other organic planet, for that matter.
Yet, you looked so alive. It was like you had let go of all your reservations and shyness, and you were just having fun. For the first time, Whirl didnât see you as a human; he saw a person, someone who wanted to sing and play and be among friends and show off a bit, someone like he used to be long before being taken for Empurata; you were the person Whirl used to be, before he succumbed to constant rage.
Watching you, Whirl learned more about you than he had in all the time that you had spent aboard the Lost Light.Underneath the quiet, composed exterior, you were loud, rambunctious, and more than a little playful. You had a natural rhythm as you dallied around the light fixture. And, most importantly, you trusted Whirl more than he previously knew, for, after a moment of apparent discomfort when the high started to wear off, you looked blearily at the bots with extended hands, waiting to catch you.
âWhirl, catch me,â You sang playfully, leaping down towards him.
Whirl felt like his spark was going to pulse out of his chassis. What were you thinking?! You didnât even hesitate.
Much to everyoneâs surprise, especially his own, Whirl hopped up on the bar, shortening the duration of your fall. He could have caught you from where he was, or he could have let you fall, or he could have let another bot try to catch you. There was a lot he could have done, but the second you had called for him, the dynamic between you had shifted.
Maybe it was just a drunken mistake on your behalf, and youâd regret it once you were sober, but by calling his name, Whirl felt like you had seen him. To you, he wasnât the volatile Wrecker from an age-old war; he was a fellow crewmate. And, Wrecker or not, crewmates stuck together.
Whirl felt something give between his pincers and blanched. He hadnât meant to clutch you so hard, but precision was hard with his disabilities. He froze as you yelped, suddenly sobered by the pain. He had tried his best, but even with his battle-ready reflexes, he hadnât been prepared for your level of crazy to outmatch his.
The room fell deadly quiet, the panic spreading over everyone as they waited to see what kind of damage had been done to you, and what the insane Wrecker would do next.
âMed bay,â Whirl said.
Nobody moved.
âDIDNâT YOU HEAR ME? I TOLD YOU TO CLEAR A WAY TO MED-BAY. ALERT THE MEDICS, DAMN IT!â
With that, the room bustled into action, with bots clearing a path for Whirl to travel, giving him a slow, steady escort since he was afraid moving fast would damage you further.
to give you an idea of how tremendously fucking stupid this update is, look at the real notes on Tumblr's announcement post on mobile (left) versus the updated one on desktop (right):
the left, original way of displaying notes shows exactly how many notes the post has from every single interaction: reblogs, likes and replies. but the right, post-update way only shows direct interactions on that version of the post.
so every person who saw this post from Tumblr and reblogged it not from them, but someone else...or replied to it, or liked it...that doesn't show to the OP. it's counted as separate notes.
This will kill fanfic and fanart. Its already too hard to get engagenent without spreading it to other people who will get the credit for fanworks instead of the OP
Prowl is taken to a demolition derby against his will and gets a little too into it.
A/N â This was a little gift for @endangeredmind Hope yâall like it
Warnings â None.
Rating â T
Prowl was furious. How dare these humans keep him like a prisoner in his own body! All heâd been trying to do was have a nap, then these little beasts had come along and trapped him in his alt-mode with an inhibitor-lock. Now, they were talking about selling him to the highest bidder.
Prowl listened, deciding that it was best instead of shouting obscenities like he wanted to. One was arguing with the other, wondering whether they should be worried about the Autobot. Another responded that Prowl couldnât do anything about it, thinking the big bot couldnât even talk like this; Prowl didnât correct him.
A third said they shouldnât sell the bot to the highest bidder, but to someone who wouldnât pay as much, since rich people tended to be dangerous people. There was a general hum of agreement before more discussions about how Prowl should be used. Prowl sighed internally. Generally, he didnât think humans were all that bad, but after taking him hostage during his nap, he was inclined to think differently about these three stooges.
Yet, he didnât comm Prime or the others for help; he was keen to see where things went first; besides, with enough time, Prowl was pretty sure he could short-circuit the inhibitor-lock, and wouldnât that be a surprise for these idiots.
As it turned out, being carjacked was a lot more boring than one might think. There were numerous arguments, prolonged waiting, and extensive driving to an undisclosed location that was quite far away.
As it happened, Prowl didnât much mind having humans inside him. He had, after all, given Spike and Sparkplug the occasional ride when Bumblebee wasnât about. But this was different. The human driving him was well, driving him rather than letting him be the driver. Moreover, the lad had no clue how to drive a stick-shift car and was doing more harm than good while the others jeered in the back.
âI donât see you driving,â he snapped back at them.
They shut up, obviously not very good drivers themselves, or they might have at least tried to argue back.
Prowl allowed this to go on, and he was finally driven to a scrap yard, where crushed cars were piled high to create walls. Normally, seeing silent cars that werenât Cybertronians was eerie enough, but this was like looking at mounted corpses. It gave him the heebies, but wasnât bad enough to follow through with the jeebies.
The three stooges got out and started talking to a man who approached them. Prowl couldnât hear much of what they were saying; they were almost too far away.
But after a lot of wild gesturing, pummelling fists energetically, and then the trio walking away with a wad of money that wasnât even a quarter of Prowlâs worth, he managed to surmise that he was entering a demolition derby.
On one servo, things were starting to snowball out of control, and it probably wouldnât do Prowl much good to let things continue their current course. But, on the other hand, he was made of strong Cybertronian metal, and he wasnât normally allowed to destroy things that belonged to the humans⌠So, destroying an arenaâs worth of cars and letting out some rage could be fun. Besides, Prowl had finally figured out his inhibitor lock. He supposed it wouldnât hurt to let an experienced human drive him for a little bit, release some tension, and then leave when the party was over. Besides, what else did he have to look forward to? So, he waited, finishing the removal of the inhibitor-lock, but leaving its casing in place on his side. Scaring the humans was going to be a lot of fun.
Okay. So, the driver wasnât experienced.
The second you had gotten into Prowl, and the announcement went off that a locked Cybertronian was going to be up against the best demolition derby-ists in the country, Prowl had been excited.
He felt you rev his engines at the sound of the timer, then the green light went off, and you went⌠nowhere.
Prowl internally groaned when you stalled his engine, listening to the boos and jeers of the crowd that nothing could slam into the Cybertronian while he was stuck in his starting pen.
âShit,â You balked, feeling the pressure of every eye in the stadium on your imprisoned car.
You werenât the best driver in the country. You werenât even a good driver. But you were the only one that the idiot host could convince to drive a hijacked Cybertronian; maybe that made you the idiot.
Cursing again, quietly this time, you restarted the car, launching it into gear and skidding into the fray.
There was little elegance to your manoeuvres (if your reckless wrenching of the wheel could even be called that), but ultimately, you were tearing up the track, smashing into the beefed-up construction vehicles and the monster trucks.
Prowl found it exhilarating.
It was also somewhat hilarious that his tiny vehicle-mode was demolishing the other cars with their extra plating and spikes.
Granted, heâd have a few minor scrapes to buff out, but that didnât matter too much. The simple fact was that he was living metal, and that Cybertronian plating was stronger than any metal on Earth; even at his worst, he could beat Earthâs best.
Besides, despite the soreness of his wire muscles and the minor dings in his plating, Prowl was starting to like being treated roughly as you handled his gearstick and slammed on his brakes.
Soon, when the novelty of this wore off, Prowl was going to take you on a joyride, all for the fun of scaring the life out of you, and as soon as he got a good look at you, deciding if you were cute or not (for a human), he could think of another joyride that might be fun too. Besides, today was all about working off tension, and you owed him.
Hello again! Iâm so glad you got my first thing about that suicidal person you had, sorry if this is a late response, but I have a question when will you do the Sentinel Prime x Human Reader? Sorry just curious and take your time!
Hey there, no problem. I know there's usually a lot of time between tumblr messages.
As to the Sentinel Prime story, I realised why I had forgotten about it. Tumblr ate the ask and without it there to remind me, I'd completely forgotten about it.
I can't remember if I posted about this but recently, I had to get my hard drive repaired and I lost a lot of my files because of it.
So, I may or may not do the Sentinel Prime fic now, I'm not even certain what the request was. I hope you can forgive this, but please know, I will continue to write for Transformers anyway.
Vox X Reader â Tech Support Part 2 of 2 - Repairs
Description: After finding new tech support, Vox is more determined than ever to get you back.
A/N â Back by popular demand, Vox.
Warnings â None.
Rating â T
âAgain?â Velvette commented drily, finding the remains of more Sinners Vox had torn apart. âItâs usually Val I have to babysit so he doesnât throw a fucking tantrum, but here you are killing all our employees.â
Voxâs neck twitched irritably as he tried to shake out the static ringing in his ears after that fucking ingrate tech worker had attempted to repair him. The new tech workers were awful at their jobs; none of them knew Vox as intimately as you did, and their technology wasnât nearly as innovative as your designs.
Inevitably, any updates, repairs, or general checkups left Vox feeling aggravated, peevish, and generally off-balance. Moreover, he felt out of place in the new repair room, but it was a necessary sacrifice of his comfort. He didnât trust anyone he didnât know in his room, so heâd had a repair room installed in the tower, where extra security personnel kept watch over the techs for any sabotage.
Yet after another failure, Vox had indeed thrown a tantrum, as Velvette had so derisively put it, and slayed everyone in the room, including security; at least until they pulled themselves back together in that agonising way Sinners could.
Vox grumbled in response. Velvetteâs eyebrow arched; apparently, the baby was going back to infant talk, refusing to give her a proper response.
âOh, for fuckâs sake, just get (Y/N) back here so you can stop being a little piss baby!â
Vox glowered at her; he had missed half of what she said thanks to the unwavering static, but he had got the gist and, knowing Velvette, she had just insulted him, and all while looking at her phone.
â(Y/N) isnât coming back here, because-â
âYeah, yeah. All because they donât bow down to you like every other fucker here, you think you have the right to be a bitch baby.â
That time, Vox did hear her, and he clenched his fists angrily.
Velvette scrolled through her social media, starting a poll online of who her audience wanted to fuck most out of the Vox-Techâs top presenters. She continued talking as she did so, âLook, I donât fuck you, and we work together fine. Take out your tension on Val. He loves that pent-up, kinky shit.â
Vox blinked and turned away from Velvette. It was true; they did only have a working relationship. Were you like Velvette? Maybe you werenât interested in men. Vox brought up a small set of screens in front of him, scouring through old media he had scraped from your data, reading through messages and online searches you had made.
Damn it to hell! Judging by your porn history, you werenât solely into women. You liked men just fine. Worse, the porn you watched wasnât even produced by Valentinoâs department; how in the fuck was Vox supposed to buy you when you were so stubbornly fighting against his company?
âVox? ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME, YOU STUBBORN PRICK?!â
Vox discreetly minimised the screens and turned back to Velvette.
âFine,â he said agreeably, straightening his lapels. âIâll see about getting (Y/N) back under contract.â
âGood, âcos I canât stand dealing with two pissy cunts!â
You stared dumbly at Vox, having believed he had given up on you by now. He looked very out of place outside your shithole apartment complex, which you only stayed in because it was so cheap you had rented out multiple apartments as different workshops.
Seeing Vox in his pristine outfit while your overalls were frayed and had burns all over the fabric highlighted how different the two of you were.
You were slightly on edge as you waited for the Overlord to speak, but he seemed to be waiting you out.
âVox,â You nodded politely, respecting his status as an Overlord, if nothing else.
He stared you up and down, wondering why you would choose this dingy little hole over his tower.
â(Y/N),â he returned your minimalist greeting.
âNothingâs changed between us.â
âBeg your pardon?â
You shook your head, hating the way he continued to feign ignorance without taking responsibility for his actions. âCâmon, Vox. I already told you. Iâm not going to let you-â
Vox stared hard at your lips, trying to make out what you were saying. Ever since that morning, the deafening static had only gotten worse, and now he could barely hear a thing. Worse, his vision was starting to flicker into bars of solid colours that usually indicated he was about to pass out.
âDid you hear me?â You asked.
âYes, I have been okay, thanks for asking,â Vox said, assuming that you had been talking about him.
âThe fuck?â
You grabbed hold of Voxâs monitor face, twisting it to see the LED behind his expression. Several bars of colour flickered, and you shook your head disgustedly.
âWhat fucking amateur did this hack job?â
Vox blushed in your grip, eyes wide as you held him, albeit roughly. He didnât know what you were saying, but when you pointed inside your apartment, moving aside to let him in, he did as you demanded.
You steered him to a sofa and sat him down, hurrying away to collect the tools you needed.
Vox got up and looked around while you were gone, his vision fuzzy but still functional. On a nearby desk were several contracts for freelance jobs. He knew that you had found success outside of Vox-Tech, but it burned him up to see the evidence; however, he did take some satisfaction in seeing that nobody paid as well as he did.
On a drafting table were several sets of blueprints. He smiled softly, seeing some recently dated plans for potential upgrades for himself and Shock.wav. It would be a good talking point if he could convince you to work for him again.
He saw movement from the corner of his eye and looked up to see you with your hands on your hips. You pointed to the sofa, obviously telling him to sit down. He followed your orders, letting you manoeuvre him how you wanted, like he was your own personal Vox puppet.
You laid him down on his stomach, and he felt the familiarity of you straddling his back. The new techs didnât do that. He wouldnât let them. Heâd had the new repair room set up more like a doctorâs surgery, complete with a patientâs flat-bed to avoid the intimacy. Even after everything that had happened between the two of you, he was glad you werenât making him lie on your table.
You stared at the mess of wires behind Voxâs control panel. What fucking idiot had managed to blag their way through the Vox-Tech interview and make such a mess of things? Worst of all, it seemed to be the handiwork of multiple idiots.
Working with Vox wasnât like fixing an old TV or laptop. He wasnât just a machine; he was a man, too. Of all the technology you worked with, Voxâs inner workings were the most complex you had ever come across, and you had had to teach yourself new methods just to help him.
You shook your head and reached for your wire strippers. This was going to take a while.
Vox huffed tiredly, thinking of all he would say to you when this was over. He felt so broken, and not just because he was in a state of disrepair. Having you back made him realise what he had missed. You were someone who wouldnât betray him, and having snooped when you went to fetch tools, he now realised how much you liked to be busy. You didnât want the lavish life of no work he had offered before. It was obvious from the moment he saw your recent blueprints; even though you didnât even work for him anymore, you were still designing things for him.
How could he even begin to describe what he was feeling?
Voxâs vision went offline, indicating that you were fixing the audio and visual wiring. He didnât mind. After the constant buzzing and blurring vision, it was a relief to have it off for a while, and kind of like being in a sensory deprivation chamber; now, it was just him, and you pressed against him, calm and soothing.
Vox let his mind wander, drafting his speech. It would have to be a good one if he wanted you back.
âIâm sorry.â
That would be a good start; an actual, heartfelt apology.
âYouâre not a plaything to me. You never will be. I care too much about you to ever make you feel unwanted.â
Would you believe him if he said that? He hoped so.
âAnd you were right before, when you said that I wanted you to want me. Itâs weird. I need everyone to love me, even if I hate them, because if they donât⌠I donât know- Itâs like I think theyâre laughing at me or saying Iâm not good enough, or talking about me behind my back. Pathological, isnât it?â
No. He couldnât tell you that. It was too personal, his deepest insecurity. It even felt scary admitting it to himself.
âHonestly? I just want you back. I hate the other tech workers. And⌠if that means that you only work freelance or that you draft a clause in the contract that says I canât be with you, I get it, but I wish- I mean if you gave me a chance-â
Hell, that sounded straight up needy even in his head, but that was what practice was for. He knew that he just had to have a basic idea of what he was going to say, then he could riff; it came naturally to him as a public speaker and entertainer.
âI will do anything to be worthy of you. It wonât be like itâs been in the past with Val and the others. I know I canât prove that to you and you probably wonât believe me, but-â
Voxâs vision came online, followed shortly by his hearing. Ah, you were finishing up then. He felt his head panel get fixed securely in place, and sat up as soon as you got off him. So, it was already time for his speech; he was already making it more glamorous in his head.
âI-â You started, swallowing your nerves.
Why wouldnât you meet his gaze? Vox stood up, wondering if youâd only done this because you couldnât stand shoddy workmanship, and if it was a one-time thing like a final goodbye.
He reached for you, then drew back since reaching for you before was what started all his troubles. â(Y/N), I-â
âThank you,â You said meekly, so different from your usual no-nonsense manner.
âSorry, what?â Voxâs brow furrowed.
âFor apologising. Thanks.â
A screeching dial-up sound escaped Vox as he stumbled back, crashing onto the sofa and holding his head in his hands. Had he said his whole apology out loud? HOW?!
âUm- the other techs⌠They fucked with your sensory array and your coherence chip. So⌠that can lead to some erratic behaviour.â
âLike talking when thinking!â Vox mentally screamed, thankfully keeping his thoughts to himself this time.
âFuck,â he said slowly, his head falling back. You were never meant to hear the rehearsal.
âI like rock music,â You said quietly, playing with a stray thread on your cuff.
âWhat?â Vox looked up at you.
âRock, yâknow?â You put a hand awkwardly on the back of your neck, wondering if you were about to make a mistake in returning to Vox-Tech. Then again, Vox had been so humble in his accidental speech that you couldnât help wondering if he could change for the better. âThe Lizard King is playing this weekend, if you wanna go. With me, I mean.â
A line of blue lit up Voxâs display, and he grinned through his blush, âYeah, that sounds great. I can get us back-stage passes.â
You shook your head, âNo. No fancy shit. Just us, with the crowd living in the moment.â
Vox imagined the scenario and suddenly felt that you were right. You would be so much more alive dancing at the front of the stage than you would be tucked away backstage, where you would miss half the show. Moreover, you were offering him a chance, teaching him what you liked more than any of his technological stalking ever had.
âYeah, okay, that sounds great.â
âOkay,â You nodded.
âThen on our next date, I can show you what I like too,â Vox proffered eagerly.
You gave him a lop-sided smile. He was still rushing ahead with things, imagining more dates than you had offered, but at least he was letting you see behind the CEO mask he put on for everyone else.
âAnother one?â Velvette commented drily, finding the remains of another Sinner Vox had torn apart. âItâs usually Val I have to babysit so he doesnât throw a fucking tantrum but here you are killing all of our new employees.â
Voxâs neck twitched irritably as he tried to shake out the static ringing in his ears after that fucking ingrate tech worker had attempted to repair him. The tech workers that he hired were awful at their jobs; none of them knew Vox as intimately as you did, and their technology wasnât nearly as innovative as your designs.
Inevitably, any updates, repairs, or general checkups left Vox feeling aggravated and peevish. Moreover, he felt out of place in the new repair room, but it was a necessary sacrifice of his comfort. He didnât trust anyone he didnât know in his room, so heâd had a repair room put into the tower where extra security personnel kept watch over the techs for any sabotage.
Yet after another failure, Vox had indeed thrown a tantrum as Velvette put it, and slayed everyone in the room; at least until they pulled themselves back together in that agonising way Sinners could.
That was my sister. She was having a dumb moment and asked me how I thought blind people took their driving test and I was stood their like... mate?
For context in 2, the TV in uni always had Jeremy Kyle on in the common room and I was so tired of it when I was waiting for class that for a laugh I hid the remote in the microwave and was like "this is fine, they'll look for it in the morning and find it in like ten mins tops"
But no. My friend came back that day telling me some idiot had hid the remote in the microwave and his girlfriend had melted it when making noodles and I just burst out laughing and he looked so disappointed and said, "Oh... you're the idiot". I would argue the idiot is the person who didn't look when putting noodles in the microwave.
The TV did not turn on for the rest of the year. I was stoked.
And 3: If you put Capri sun in tea, it tastes good for all of a minute before the chemicals in capri sun destabilise the milk and make it float up in disgusting milk chunks
