#Cable Hiding Kit

[nadinescholtes]

Here is Laia from the new dimension on Eclipse and Puppet Show. Because Sunlight mentioned that he only likes men, she will become Eclipse's partner. This dimension is not a fully genderswap, so Laia stays a woman. And she doesn't have the strength update, she has normal animatronic like strength.

Story:

Laia was the mascot of the candy shop Sugarcoat, but when the old owner AND his wife died, the son didn't want to take over the shop and planed to get the shop demolished and build something else. He was also planing to decommission Laia, because this one hates animatronics. Laia heard this when the son was on the phone and with broken heart she planed her escape. She was very scared, she wanted to live.

The shop didn't close right away it was open for a few months so Laia had some time. But the son was starting to get violent and hurt Laia almost every day and she didn't dare to defend herself. Every other day she stole some money from the cash register and hid it in her room. And then she prepared her outfit to hide her body to look like a tall human woman (if you don't take a closer look).

Even though she had many clothes, she had very few to choose from because they couldn't have the Sugarcoat logo on them and needed to look somewhat normal.

She packed a backpack with the money, a change of clothes, and her portable power bank for an extra 8 hours of electricity (which is much easier to charge than herself directly). Charging cables and her little screwdriver kit just in case and a fuzzy blanket for comfort.

She couldn't take her laptop with games and movies with her in case of tracking. She doesn't have a tracking device built into her, because she was at the shop all the time anyway.

Her outfit: pants and a shirt, a jacket, her Halloween boots, gloves, and a bandana. In her backpack was her outfit like the one from SAMS.

And when she was ready, she escaped the shop at night. It wasn't easy to stay hidden. It was rare for her to find a safe place to charge, so she had to charge her portable power bank where she could (like McDonald's or other) and then plug it in herself to charge hidden in her jacket. She looked like a tall, homeless woman who was resting on a bench or something.

One night a group of people tried to attack and rob her, but she escaped and the next morning she found the building Freddy (Lefty?) Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex. She snuck in, disguised as a tall woman under many people, and went unnoticed. She found her way in parts and service and hid there. She could rest and charge without being attacked for two weeks.

Poor Laia, she was on the run for 2 months it took a toll on her, she was so tired and scared. She found a crowbar and kept it close in case she needed to defend herself. She didn't have a plan for what to do in the future, all she knew was to survive.

And one day Eclipse found her, he first thought she was a tall human woman intruder but saw very fast that she was an animatronic, but didn't see her face. Laia was very scared, kept saying that Eclipse would not take her back to the shop and not to come any closer, and was ready to swing the crowbar if he did come closer.

Eclipse was confused and irritated, asking questions but Laia slipped out the door of parts and service looking for a new hiding spot. Clips didn't run after her, because he was busy and is not in the mood for this. But he kept an eye out when he left parts and service.

Days after he began researching about missing animatronics, but couldn't find anything. But he saw the news that Sugarcoat closed and saw pictures of Laia when she was working there. He recognizes her eyes.

He went to search the whole plex and found her somewhere in the basement sitting in the corner. When she saw him she got scared again, holding the crowbar up. Clips tried this time to calm her down, he was bad at it but it worked. He just wanted to know why she was there. She hesitated but then told him everything that happened in the shop and in the streets.

He said he would not tell everyone, not to help her but because he didn't care (yeah sure buddy, you are nice, deal with it!). He said she could stay there until he figured something out. He warned her if she hurt anyone or caused trouble, he would kick her out.

After days he kept checking on her and having some small talk. He brings her stuff to keep her occupied. He tried bringing her candy from the daycare (because mascot of the candy shop), but she hates candy now, so he brought her some chips. The ghost kids found her and started visiting her too and then FC found her and then the whole group knew about her.

Within time she befriended everyone and Eclipse hacked into Fazbear's system and registered Laia as an official Fazbear animatronic (the thing he did when he, Foxy, FC, and Puppet moved in). Her job was to be at the cash register at the theater, so Clips could leave to do other things. And because those two hung out a lot at the theater together, they grew close.

[souliebird]

Okay. So.

I keep trying to write this and it's not clicking so. Let's do this as a My brain literally rambling with minor grammar edits. Let's go. ((I'm 🍃))

Hero!Dex!drabble time bby

Dex lives across the hall. You run into each other some times. Small polite neighbor talk if it's relevant. You don't know each other names.

The idea is you are the daughter of an Irish gang boss, with your brother being a high ranking member. You've newly run away from the family and are hiding in Hell's Kitchen. Shady apartment building, cash rent, no names.

Until Bullseye comes back from a rough Daredevil fight at the same moment as you. And you know exactly who Bullseye is.

But instead of panicking, you just go, "Oh shit, hold on, I have field medic training. Do you have a kit?"

And he's just like "Huh? Yes. Okay".

And Dex let's you in. You patch him up without asking anything while Dex tries to not panic.

Then you just tell him to wait a moment and he is like "Okay." Because he knows you know. He should kill you, but you're being nice to him.

He wants to Trust.

And you come back really quick with some left overs being like "Look here, eat this. It's got lots of protein and carbs, you'll need it. Just pop it in the microwave for five minutes, it'll be good. That bowl is microwave safe."

And Dex is just like. "okay. Yes." He likes that you're not asking questions because questions means he'd have to kill you

You're just helping him. A good person.

You leave after that.

Then you pretend it's back to normal but Dex is Dex.

But he's sure to keep his distance this time.

Time passes.

Dex wakes up to banging from across the hall. Early morning. Your door is open. He goes inside. Two men are assaulting you - you're pinned with a knife in your hand, clearly mid-fight with one guy while the other watches.

Dex does not think.

You crawl towards him. He grabs you, takes you back to his apartment, you do not fight him. He starts demanding answers.

You tell him everything.

They were looking for your brother. You haven't seen him in years, even before you left. He's turned into a state's witness and your dad thinks you'd know where he'd hide.

He's right but you'd never tell him that.

Dex looks at you very clearly. Right in the eye and Bullseye asks.

"Does he know anything incriminating about you?"

"Yes."

"Would you go to jail?"

"Yes."

"Do you want your father dead for sending his men after you?"

Pause.

"Yes."

"Okay."

He takes you to a hotel four hours away. He lets you block the doors with furniture. You cried in the car and are just tired now. He waits until you fall asleep. He leaves a note.

You wake up and panic and bit, but the note helps. He tells you he'll be back and you want to Trust that.

He saved you. He wouldn't bring you all this way to kill you. He's Bullseye. You saw him in his weird little Villain costume. He kills people in public like all the time no problem.

He's going to kill your family. He's going to set you free.

He's going to cause So Much Fucking Chaos in the underbelly of the city. It might vibrate all the way back to Cork.

That makes you kind of giddy because they all deserve it. All of them, especially your brother.

But you kinda deserve it, too.

You never hurt anyone. You've never threatened. You don't want to. You were happy to play the naive one because it meant one less criminal. But you know everything. You couldn't stop it.

Your cousin's ex-wife was a mole in the FBI. You'd be dead before you could find a lawyer.

You could very easily pretend to be dead now, though.

It's something to think about when you aren't panicking.

You hate being alone. You are terrified of someone busting in. You sit and watch bad cable for hours bc it's the only way to stay sane.

You don't sleep and you chug bad motel coffee.

Dex comes back after ten hours.

"If I don't tell you anything, you can't use it against me later."

You get it.

"Are you hurt?"

You patch him up with what's in the bathroom.

He bought clothes and supplies on his way back. He insists you go shower first. He doesn't ask why you didn't shower before.

You once again panic at being alone.

He comes in and you end up in the shower together. You keep to yourselves, backs turned. You only talk when he asks if you are finished - he has to move around you to get out.

You are.

You dress . He brought cheap ready to eat food. You both eat that while watching bad cable. You both comment on it and joke.

You still don't know his name.

He lets you push the second bed against the door. You sleep in the same bed, with you closer to the wall. Your head is on his chest.

"Thank you for saving me."

He doesn't reply.

You sleep.

He watches you all night.

And scene.

[he4dlin3]

Loud and Clear

Pairing ; Liam Payne x Fem!Reader

Synopsis ; It’s 2011 and you’re working backstage as a wardrobe assistant on One Direction’s first tour. Between laundry runs, quick fixes, and chaotic dressing room changes, you find yourself orbiting around one quietly charming Liam Payne.

Material List | Navigation

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The first time you spoke to Liam Payne, you were halfway hidden under a clothes rack, trying to fish out a rogue sneaker that had rolled away during soundcheck. The boys had stormed through like a hurricane, as usual—socks mismatched, shirts half-tucked, still laughing about something Harry had said.

And then, a gentle voice:

“You alright under there?”

You peeked out and saw Liam crouched next to you, brows raised in amusement. The hallway’s dim lighting cast a warm glow across his face, softening the edges of his cheekbones and catching the gentle curve of his lips. His hair, still slightly damp from the earlier soundcheck, curled just a little at the ends, unruly in a way that suited him more than he probably realized.

His eyes—deep, kind, endlessly expressive—held a glimmer of mischief, like he was trying not to laugh at your hiding spot. The faint dimple in his left cheek appeared as he smiled, tilting his head to the side, waiting patiently for you to come out. There was something about the way he looked at you—open, steady, warm—that made your heart flutter in your chest, even now.

“Just wrestling with a shoe,” you muttered, gripping the black Nike sneaker in triumph.

Liam chuckled. “Well, at least it’s not wrestling back.”

You didn’t think much of it then. Just another boy in a whirlwind of denim and hairspray and forgotten accessories. But Liam wasn’t loud like the others. He didn’t yell across the dressing room or throw things or steal pastries from the catering table. He was quiet. Observant. Polite. Kind.

You noticed the little things first. He always offered to carry his own wardrobe. Always thanked you—every time—for taping his mic pack or steaming his button-down. He made tea for the crew when the arena hallways felt too cold. He helped a sound tech carry heavy cables without being asked.

And he noticed you, too.

“You always hum when you sew,” he said one afternoon, watching you patch up a small rip on his shirt before showtime.

“I don’t,” you replied instinctively, only to realize you had been humming. He smiled like he’d caught you doing something secret and sweet.

It went on like that for weeks. Tiny things. Passing glances. Shared smiles. He lingered near you more often, offering you sips of his tea or leaning against the table while you worked. One night, you found a chocolate bar tucked into your sewing kit with a sticky note on top.

════

Thought you might need this.

—L

════

Your heart did something traitorous then. It shouldn’t have meant anything—but it did. He made you feel seen in a job where you were meant to blend into the background. You weren’t the one on stage, the one fans screamed for, or the name printed on merch. You were supposed to be invisible—quick hands stitching buttons, fixing collars, making sure everyone else looked their best while you stayed tucked in the wings.

But Liam… he always found you in the crowd, always looked at you like you mattered. Like he noticed the little things: how you bit your lip when you were focused, how you tapped your fingers to the rhythm of their songs without realizing, how you stayed late to make sure the boys had what they needed.

And somehow, that look he gave you—like you were important, like he genuinely cared—it burrowed deep. Made your chest ache in a way you weren’t prepared for. Maybe it was the way his smile never felt forced, or how he always said your name like it was something soft. Maybe it was the way he lingered near you even when he didn’t have to. But in that quiet moment, crouched beside you with his eyes warm and unguarded, it felt like he saw all of you. And it meant more than you were ready to admit.

One rainy evening, after a show in Glasgow, you found yourself on the empty loading dock, sitting on a metal case and watching the drizzle fall in quiet streaks under the fluorescent light. Your jacket was too thin, but the air was fresh, and the buzz of the show was still warm in your veins.

“You disappeared,” came that familiar voice.

You turned. Liam stood there, hoodie up, hands tucked into his pockets.

“Just needed air.”

He stepped closer, eyes scanning your face like he could read the storm behind your silence.

“Too loud in there?”

You nodded. “Sometimes.”

He sat beside you. Close, but not too close.

“I get it,” he said. “It’s mad. All of this. Doesn’t feel real half the time.”

You looked at him. His eyes were soft. Brown and deep and steady.

“Do you like it?”

Liam tilted his head, thinking.

“I do. But I miss quiet things sometimes. I miss… normal.”

You smiled faintly. “Yeah. Normal’s nice.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It was comfortable. A shared breath. You leaned your shoulder slightly against his, and he didn’t move away.

“I like this,” he said softly.

You looked up. “What?”

“This. You. Just sitting here. Talking.”

Your heart fluttered. You didn’t know what to say. So you just let it linger between you, this strange, tender thing blooming in the midst of tour chaos. It felt fragile, like it could dissolve if you touched it too soon—but it was there, undeniably present.

The noise of the arena buzzed distantly behind you, the hum of crew members and muffled soundchecks fading into a kind of stillness that only seemed to exist when you were near him.

Liam didn’t rush to fill the silence. He just stayed there, close but not too close, his presence calm and steady. There was something in the way he looked at you—like he knew exactly what he was doing, and yet he wasn’t in any hurry.

Like he was giving you time to catch up to whatever he might already feel. The soft curve of his smile, the way his hand brushed against the floor just inches from yours, the slow rise and fall of his chest—it all felt strangely intimate for a moment so simple.

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

Over the next few weeks, you found more of those moments. Coffee runs that turned into slow strolls. Glances across the dressing room that made your stomach flip. One night, he passed you a crumpled paper before heading onstage.

════

Come find me after the show.

Back of the tour bus. Bring a blanket.

════

You did.

And under a wide sky full of stars—so many it felt like you could drown in them—you sat side by side on the back steps of the tour bus, your knees just barely touching. The night air was cool and crisp, a welcome break from the heat and chaos of the show hours earlier. The world felt quieter out here, softer somehow, and with it came the courage to let the walls down.

Liam’s voice was low, thoughtful, like the kind you used when you didn’t want to wake a sleeping house. “Sometimes I wonder what it’ll all look like when this ends,” he said, eyes cast upward as if the stars might spell out the answer for him. “Not that I want it to, not yet… just… it’s all happening so fast, sometimes it doesn’t feel real.”

You looked over at him, at the way his features softened in the moonlight. “It is real, though,” you said gently. “You’ve worked hard for it. All of you have.”

He smiled at that—small, grateful. “Yeah, but even the good stuff can feel like a blur, you know?” He paused, fingers absentmindedly picking at the frayed seam of his jeans. “I miss my mum sometimes. My sisters. I call when I can, but it’s not the same as being there.”

You nodded. “I get that,” you said, voice quieter now. “My family’s back in Brighton. I haven’t seen them much since I started touring. My mum still sends me those little care packages, though. Homemade biscuits, old postcards she finds in thrift shops—little pieces of home.”

Liam turned to look at you then, something warm and sincere in his eyes. “That’s sweet. You ever get homesick?”

“All the time,” you admitted with a soft laugh. “But being here, working with all of you… it’s strange. I never imagined I’d find something that made being away from home worth it.”

He tilted his head, studying you like he was seeing you for the first time all over again. “You’re really good at what you do,” he said. “But it’s more than that. You’ve got this energy about you—like you’re always keeping everything together, but you don’t even realize how much people rely on you.”

The words struck something tender in you, something you hadn’t known was aching. “That’s… thank you,” you said, a little stunned.

“I mean it.” He leaned back on his hands, stretching his legs out. “I notice things. Especially when it’s you.”

You fell into a comfortable quiet after that, the weight of his words settling in your chest. It wasn’t romantic in an obvious way—not yet—but it was something close. Something honest. Something that made your heart feel a little too full.

“I don’t know what the future looks like either,” you said softly. “But right now, this moment? I’m glad it’s with you.”

Liam turned his head, his eyes meeting yours beneath the starlight. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Me too.”

And there it was—that strange, tender thing again. But this time, it didn’t feel fragile. It felt like the beginning of something real, andby the time the tour reached its final leg, something had shifted. He reached for your hand more easily.

You leaned into him more naturally. There was still no label. No big declarations. But when he kissed you after the last show, slow and steady behind the curtains while confetti still floated in the air, it felt like something real.

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

The tour had ended with a blur of flashbulbs and airport security, the kind of loud goodbye that left your ears ringing long after you boarded the plane back home. You hadn’t expected Liam to text you the second you landed, but he had. And you hadn’t expected the messages to keep coming—thoughtful ones, goofy ones, voice notes sent late at night when he couldn’t sleep.

It was slow, this thing with him. But intentional. And for the first time in a long while, that was something you liked.

It was late November when he invited you to London.

You were standing outside a tiny café near your flat, your breath curling in the air as you clutched your phone tighter to your ear.

“I mean—only if you want to,” Liam said, his voice a little sheepish. “We’ve got a couple weeks off before we fly to America again. I thought maybe… I dunno. You and me. See the city. Catch up. Just us.”

You smiled, your heart doing that fluttery thing it always did around him. “Are you asking me on a date, Liam Payne?”

He laughed. “I think I am, yeah.”

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

You stepped off the train at Euston with your weekend bag slung over your shoulder, nerves tingling. Liam was already there, baseball cap low and a scarf tugged up around his mouth, trying his best to stay unnoticed.

He grinned as soon as he saw you, tugging the scarf down just enough to show you.

“Missed you,” he said, brushing his knuckles gently against yours as he led you toward the exit.

“You saw me like, two weeks ago.”

“Still counts.”

Liam took you everywhere—hidden little bookshops in Notting Hill, a family-run diner he swore had the best chips in the city, even a massive walk through Hyde Park where he held your hand inside his coat pocket to keep it warm.

In the evenings, you stayed in. His flat was cozy and lived-in, a little messy around the edges but warm. Familiar. The kind of space that smelled faintly of clean laundry and whatever candle had been burning earlier—usually something woody or with hints of vanilla.

A guitar was always propped somewhere nearby, half-used mugs dotted the coffee table, and his trainers were almost always left by the door like a quiet promise he’d always come back.

Sometimes he’d cook, sleeves pushed up, humming as he stirred something on the stove. Sometimes you’d order takeaway and eat straight from the containers, laughing over the mess you made on the floor.

The world outside felt far away, and that was the magic of it. There were no cameras here. No schedules. Just quiet moments, exchanged glances, and the peace that came from knowing you were exactly where you were meant to be.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said one night, shifting beside you.

“Mhm?” you hummed, curled into the armrest.

“You make all this feel…normal.”

You glanced at him.

“All what?” you asked.

He hesitated. “Everything. The fans. The cameras. The chaos. I talk to you and it’s like—I remember who I am. Just Liam.”

You stared at him for a second, heart softening.

“I like just-Liam,” you said, nudging your foot against his. “He’s my favorite version.”

He smiled down at his hands, a little pink rising to his cheeks.

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

One night, it snowed.

You woke to the sound of Liam rummaging through the hall closet, bundled into an old hoodie and joggers, looking like a kid on Christmas.

“You ever made snow angels in Hampstead?” he asked, holding up two scarves and tossing you one.

“No?”

“Then we’re going.”

Ten minutes later, you were laughing breathlessly, lying flat on your backs in a patch of untouched snow, cheeks numb and hearts full.

Liam turned his head toward you, his breath visible in the cold air.

“You’re incredible, you know that?”

You looked over at him, still smiling. “You’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

The week passed faster than you wanted.

On your last night in London, you helped him hang fairy lights in the living room—something he claimed he “couldn’t figure out without your help,” even though it was clearly just an excuse to keep you close.

You stepped back to admire the glow, then turned to find him watching you.

“You sure I’m not dreaming?” he asked softly.

You stepped forward, heart thudding. “Pretty sure.”

He leaned in slowly, fingers brushing your cheek.

“Good,” he whispered, right before his lips met yours.

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

Backstage at the Manchester Arena was always a blur of motion—wires coiled across the floor, crew members calling cues into headsets, the distant thud of bass vibrating from soundchecks. You weaved through the chaos, clipboard in one hand, a handful of safety pins clenched between your teeth, and a garment bag slung over your shoulder like a lifeline.

“Oi! Buttons!” Harry called as you passed, using the nickname the boys had given you after you saved his trousers from a wardrobe malfunction mid-show last week.

You rolled your eyes, flashing him a grin. “Tell Niall I’m not fixing his ripped jeans again if he stage dives in them.”

“I heard that!” came Niall’s voice from inside the dressing room.

You chuckled and ducked inside the small backstage wardrobe area you had set up. Racks of clothing stood lined along the walls, labeled with color-coded tags. You had become a bit of a magician—mending tears, steaming shirts, even sewing patches on stage jackets during countdowns. It was high stress, but you thrived in it.

Liam popped in just as you were adjusting the cuff on his checkered shirt. “Hey, you got a sec?”

You glanced up, surprised to see him without his mic pack or the usual flurry of crew around him. “For you? Always.”

He smiled, the kind that was soft and slow, not the wide, stage-ready one. “I, uh… just wanted to say thanks. For everything. I know we’ve been asking a lot lately.”

You let out a breath, your fingers slowing as you re-buttoned his shirt. “You don’t have to thank me, Liam. This is my job.”

“I know, but you do more than that,” he said, voice dropping lower. “You look out for us. For me.”

Your heart did a somersault. This wasn’t the first time Liam had lingered behind when the others left, or brought you coffee in the morning before load-in. But it was the first time he seemed to actually say something more.

Before you could answer, Zayn poked his head in. “Stage in ten, mate.”

Liam gave you a soft smile and tapped your arm. “We’ll talk after?”

You nodded, biting back a grin. “Break a leg.”

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

The show passed in a flash of strobe lights, screaming fans, and costume changes so fast they blurred together. You barely had a second to breathe, let alone think about Liam’s quiet request earlier.

It wasn’t until the encore ended and the arena lights went up that things finally slowed.

Backstage, Liam found you again, this time out by the loading bay where the vans were lined up and the night was settling in. The boys were already packing up, some laughing over Niall’s attempt to moonwalk during the last song.

Liam had changed into a hoodie and joggers, hair damp from the show. “Fancy a walk before we head out?”

You hesitated only a moment before nodding.

The two of you slipped away from the noise, rounding the corner of the arena to the quieter side street. The sky was cloudy, city lights reflecting in the wet pavement. Liam walked with his hands in his pockets, brushing shoulders with you now and then like he didn’t quite mean to, but didn’t stop either.

“I meant it earlier,” he said after a few quiet steps. “You being here makes this whole thing easier.”

You looked at him, unsure of what to say. “I mean, I love being part of the team. It’s kind of crazy seeing you guys go from warm-ups to sold-out arenas.”

He turned toward you slightly, his brows lifted. “It’s not just that. I mean—you’re always calm when everything’s a mess. You never yell. And… you make me laugh even when I’m completely losing it.”

You swallowed. “That’s because you’re easy to care about.”

Liam stopped walking. The street was empty behind you, silent but for the hum of the arena’s back generator. The orange glow of a distant streetlamp stretched your shadows out long across the pavement, and a breeze drifted by, rustling the hem of your jacket.

He looked back at you with something unreadable in his expression—soft, hesitant, like he was caught between the weight of the moment and whatever came next. The stillness around you made it feel like the world had narrowed to just this: him, you, and whatever it was that had been quietly growing between you all this time.

“Is that what this is?” he asked. “Because I think about you all the time. And I didn’t know if it was just me.”

It was such a quiet confession, spoken like a secret he was scared to admit. And something about the vulnerability in his eyes made your heart squeeze.

There was no bravado, no polished charm—just Liam, raw and real under the dim glow of the streetlamp. His fingers twitched slightly at his side, like he was unsure whether to reach for you or retreat. The weight of his words hung in the air between you, delicate and heavy all at once, and you suddenly realized how much this meant to him.

How much you meant.

“No,” you said gently. “It’s not just you.”

Liam let out a laugh, breathless like he hadn’t been expecting you to say that. “Well, that’s good. Because I was thinking maybe when the tour slows down, I could take you to a proper dinner. Not one where we’re eating leftover catering in a storage room.”

You stepped a little closer. “I’d like that.”

He beamed, and it was the first time you saw Liam not as the polished performer or the composed one in interviews—but just a boy, your boy, with messy hair and hopeful eyes and hands that were suddenly reaching for yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The call for load-out echoed in the distance, but neither of you moved.

“I guess I’ll be sewing more buttons for a while, huh?” you joked softly.

Liam squeezed your hand. “As long as they’re mine.”

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

Two weeks later, the tour rolled into Glasgow, and the sky opened up like it was crying for the end of summer. Rain misted across the windows of the hotel, the glass streaked with grey. But inside Liam’s room, the world was warm—quiet, private, and full of golden lamplight and half-whispered laughter.

You sat cross-legged on the bed in one of his hoodies, folding a pair of his socks he’d left around (because yes, even Liam Payne had messy moments). He was on the floor beside you, hunched over his guitar, thumb plucking at strings in between conversation.

The tour had been loud. Big venues. Bigger crowds. But in here, it was just the two of you. Like everything else had faded to the background.

He glanced up at you over the curve of the guitar. “You know… I think I’m gonna write a song about you one day.”

You rolled your eyes, tossing a balled-up sock at him. “Cheesy.”

Liam grinned. “What? Can’t a guy write a love song about the girl who’s been saving his show pants for months?”

You laughed, a soft, genuine sound that echoed in the quiet. You hadn’t officially told anyone about the two of you—not because it was secret, really, but because it felt nice having this little pocket of joy that belonged only to you both.

Until now.

There was a knock at the door.

You both froze.

Liam scrambled to his feet and peeked through the peephole before swinging the door open. Zayn stood there, hoodie soaked and holding a packet of crisps.

“Mate, Harry’s locked himself out again—”

Then he spotted you.

Still cross-legged on the bed, hoodie sleeves covering your hands, Liam’s hoodie, to be specific.

Zayn blinked. Then grinned, slow and knowing. “Ah. Right. Got it.”

You flushed.

Liam scratched the back of his neck. “We were gonna tell you guys soon…”

Zayn smirked. “No need. It’s written all over your face, Payno. Just don’t let him get away with any more bad hair days, yeah?”

“Zayn,” Liam groaned as the door clicked shut behind him.

You giggled. “Well. So much for subtle.”

“Honestly?” Liam came to sit beside you, tucking his arm around your waist. “I don’t mind anymore. Let ‘em know. Let all of ‘em know.”

And they did.

It started slowly—Liam holding your hand during travel days. Niall looping an arm around your shoulders and calling you “the queen of tour fashion.” Harry telling fans onstage that “Liam’s got a special someone fixing his collars backstage.” Even Louis, cheeky as ever, pretending to cry at the sight of you handing Liam his mic pack before a show.

And the fans… adored you.

Somehow, the girl behind the scenes—the wardrobe assistant who patched knees and made sure Louis didn’t wear the same shirt twice in a row—had become part of their story. They spotted you in blurry backstage photos, caught snippets of you in behind-the-scenes videos. You were never front and center, but your presence was constant. Solid. Sweet.

“She keeps us looking sharp,” Liam once said in an interview, and then he paused. “But she’s also the calm in the middle of all this madness.”

It was the first time he’d mentioned you on camera. You watched the clip in your hotel room later that night, cheeks warm, heart thudding. The interviewer didn’t push. They didn’t need to.

The way Liam looked into the camera after saying it—soft smile, eyes distant like he was thinking of you—said it all.

The final night of the tour arrived too quickly.

The show was electric, and the crowd never stopped screaming. You stood at the side of the stage during the encore, arms crossed, watching the boys dance across the catwalk like they were born for it.

And when the lights dimmed, and they sang the final chorus of “What Makes You Beautiful,” Liam turned toward your side of the stage and—without hesitation—winked right at you.

Afterward, with everyone laughing and celebrating backstage, confetti in their hair and ‘champagne’ (really just sparkling grape juice) in plastic cups, Liam found you in the corner. You had a few stray glitter stars on your face and safety pins in your hair.

He cupped your cheeks, brushing a thumb along your jaw. “You changed everything for me.”

You leaned into his touch. “So did you.”

And when he kissed you then—gentle, unrushed, and full of every word he hadn’t said—you knew it wasn’t just a backstage romance or a crush under stadium lights.

This was something stitched into your story now. Not because it was dramatic or grand. But because it had grown from the quiet. From steamers and pins and side-stage glances and long, late-night walks in unfamiliar cities.

Because sometimes love didn’t shout.

Sometimes, it whispered.

And you heard him loud and clear.

a/n : my baby, 2011 liam payne, you will always be famous (っ˘̩╭╮˘̩)っ

[beagotlost]

soundcheck

| sirius black x reader

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

tags: rockstar sirius x fem reader, muggle/band au, rockstar! reader, characters about to leave school

warnings: smoking, drinking, drug references, smut/sexual content, oral (f receiving), (all characters are adults) not proofread (yet), sorry!!

word count: 4.1k

and I raced through soundcheck

just to meet you on your fag break

and you convinced me

to put life aside and want you

- soundcheck, catfish and the bottlemen

⭒ 1 ⭒

This year’s end of year party would be the one to top all the others. In part, because you were all leaving school soon and you could leave it to The Marauders to send themselves off with a bang that no one would be in a hurry to forget, and in part, because your band were headlining it. So naturally, the day before, tensions in band practice were running high.

“If he didn’t keep fucking it up we’d all be fine,” Sirius complains, turning around and pointing at Peter, who was frantically fiddling with switches and cables on the keyboard.

“Hey Sirius it’s not his fault the stupid thing isn’t working properly,” you jumped in to defend your friend, “we’re all under a lot of pressure, it doesn’t mean you have the right to act like a prick about it.”

“Thanks, y/n,” Peter mumbled. Sirius scowled at you, huffed and went back to fiddling with the mic stand.

“I mean Peter is playing fine, it’s just the volume won’t turn up, so we can probably call it a day here.” James got up from his seat and stuffed his drumsticks in his back pocket, “Hey Pete lets go see if we can borrow one from school, it might just be our cables.” The two left the room and you, Sirius and Remus started putting your guitars in cases and unplugging amps.

“Sirius, it’s all gonna work out fine, it’ll be fun.” Remus said in an attempt to expel the stress.

“This is literally the culmination our entire lives’ work up until this point.”

“Okay hold your horses, you’re playing a school party, not headlining Glastonbury, Black.” You said, slinging your guitar case on your back and picking another one up from a stand.

“Yet!” He responded in a moment of fleeting cheeriness, before returning to frowning.

“Let’s get this into the common room, Lily and Marlene should have got the stage set up already.

“We’re gonna be doing this all night.” Sirius huffed again, picking up some kit from the floor.

Two hours, and the recruitment of anyone you came across later, all of the kit was set up in the common room, ready for the next day.

“Shit, look at the time, we’re about to miss dinner,” You exclaimed, jumping off of the sofa you’d just flopped onto and rushing out of the room with your friends in tow, just making it to the great hall on time. During dinner, the various pats on the back that the marauders got which all came with something along the lines of “looking forward to tomorrow” did nothing to help Sirius’ stress levels, and you could see, so after dinner, when he disappeared quickly, you knew just where he’d be.

Sirius’ dark hair whipped around as you hauled yourself off the steps and onto the floor of the astronomy tower. “Hello.”

You made your way over to where he was standing, arms leaning on the ledge. The warm summer night’s breeze was making strands of your hair dance around softly. You nabbed the joint Sirius was holding a took a drag, as his face contorted into a mock pout.

“I get that you’re stressed, Pads, we all are.” You gave him a pointed look. “Just some of us are better at hiding it than others.” He rolled his eyes at that.

“Gimme my joint back.” Was his only response. You smoked the rest of the spliff in silence, and made your way back down the steep steps and towards the common room. Upon entering, James and Lily were sat on the sofa, and Mary was on the floor, furiously scribbling out an essay. The two took in your two pairs of glassy eyes, and responded only with raised eyebrows, and you both made your way to bed.

The majority of Gryffindor house were involved in the decorating and setting up for the party throughout the next afternoon. Banners of red and gold were strung up, sparkling confetti was strewn across the tables, and countless alcoholic beverages were lined up on the large table. A record player and speaker system were also set up, for after the live music had ended, and bowls and trays of snacks stolen from the kitchens were placed on another table.

“Lily, what the fuck do I wear?” You exclaimed with a dramatic slam of your wardrobe door.

“I dunno, what have you got that says ‘sexy rockstar’?”

“That doesn’t really narrow it down.” You say.

“Alright, save some being cool for the rest of us.” Lily laughed.

“What do you mean? Cello is the coolest instrument out there!” Lily threw a pillow at you. “Yeah I deserved that. What are you wearing?”

Lily got up off her bed and did a twirl.

“Nice skirt,” you raised your eyebrows.

“Oh yeah I borrowed it off my super lovely friend who is super kind and lets her bestest friend borrow her clothes.”

“She sounds awesome.”

Lily was wearing your dark red leather mini skirt, with a pair of black leather knee high boots and a white baby tee. To be fair, the skirt probably suited her better, it complemented her red hair very well.

“Wear this” she picked a glittery black mini dress out of your wardrobe. “And your leather jacket and some boots. All black, super classy, super sexy, super rockstar.”

You rolled your eyes and put it on. Lily clapped. “Perfect. Now, liquid courage.” She handed you a vodka shot. “Right, now, we’re all set. Let’s get to this party!”

When you had got downstairs, the party was getting into full swing, and your ‘opener’ Marlene, was about to take to the stage. You found James by the snacks.

“How’s Sirius coping” you said by way of greeting.

“If by coping you mean chain-smoking on the common room balcony, then he’s doing just fine.” You chuckled at James and got yourself a drink. James had also gone mostly for the all black look, apart from a leather motorcycle style jacket with red on it, and his signature red converse. Just then, the room erupted in cheers as Marlene came onto the little makeshift stage on one end of the room. You whooped loudly for your friend, and jumped up and down at the front with Lily when she started playing.

When her set was over, you hugged Marlene and set out to find a drink and the rest of the marauders, ready to go.

“Right, guys, we can do this.” You said to them just before going onstage, “we look super hot, and we sound even hotter!”

“You think I’m hot” Sirius wiggled his eyebrows and you swatted him.

The Marauders made their way onstage to the cheers of the now fairly sweaty, very packed, Gryffindor common room.

“Hi everyone, we’re The Marauders” Sirius announced into the microphone, to the deafening cheers of the students assembled in the common room.

The gig was everything you could have hoped for. The atmosphere was electric, everyone sang along to the covers, and danced to the originals. Some people other than your friends even knew the words as a result of seeing you perform various other times. There were moments when Sirius looked back at you, locking your eyes as he sang some particularly explicit lyrics, but the alcohol in your system was just enough that you managed to maintain the contact throughout.

When the set was over, you were buzzing, and absolutely ready to party, high fiving the band, punching Sirius on the shoulder and telling him it wasn’t that bad, as someone played a record and Lily dragged you onto the crowded dance floor.

Once the song was over, you made your way to the drinks table, where you found Sirius.

“Having fun?” You asked, pouring a drink.

“Yeah, we were great! You were perfect too.” he sipped his drink, and you blushed a little.

Sirius leaned in closer.

“Almost perfect,” You corrected, “I fucked up a bit on one of the solos.”

“Well, I didn’t notice.” Sirius drank half his drink.

“Thirsty?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Something like that.” He took another large sip.

“And, you didn’t notice because you don’t care about anyone nearly as much as you care about yourself, Black.” You poked him in the chest as he said this, and left him standing there to go find Marlene. Sirius released a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

“Marls!” You found Marlene sitting on a sofa smoking a cigarette and jumped into her lap. “You having fun?” You swiped the cigarette out of her fingers, earning a mock outraged look from Marlene.

“I was, until someone came and stole my fag.” She crossed her arms.

You took a drag. “Oh that’s just awful.” You exhaled the smoke, “well I hope you find who did it and get your revenge.”

Marlene rolled her eyes and snatched the nearly burnt out cigarette from your fingers. “But until then, we are going to dance.” You grabbed her hand and pulled her up from the sofa, nearly falling backwards into a Hufflepuff, having not realised up until this moment quite how intoxicated you were. Marlene stubbed out her cigarette in an ash tray and you dragged her into the tightly packed crowd of bodies that was the dance floor. Evenutally, the two of you found yourselves dancing with James and Sirius, and when someone changed the record over to ABBA, Sirius rolled his eyes and grumbled. You rolled your eyes back at him, yelled, “don’t be a party pooper, everyone loves ABBA, even you Sirius. DANCE.”

And so you grabbed ahold of his hands and moved his arms around with yours to Dancing Queen, ending with a twirl. You forced him then to take a bow. James wolf whistled.

Laughing, you made your way off the dance floor, James, Sirius and Marlene in tow, to find the drinks table, where you found Remus and Lily pouring shots.

“Aha! You read my mind!” You exclaimed and rushed over to Remus, taking the shot he had just poured and giving him a big kiss on the cheek. Remus just rolled his eyes, Sirius was glad the room was hot and his and everyone else’s faces were flushed anyway. You did the shot, grimacing when you tasted the tequila.

“God that was awful. There’s no salt OR lime left. Let’s do another.”

“Karma.” Was Remus’ response. You tapped his hand and took a shot glass with the others, doing them at the same time. You held your glass up in victory.

“Who wants a firewhiskey and coke?” You asked, beginning to pour out the components into a plastic cup.

“Jesus Christ, give us a minute.” James said. Lily excitedly said yes please and Marlene put two fingers up to her open mouth, which you took as a no, so you got her a beer instead.

“Hey, I’m going hard, this is our last end of term party ever.”

“You’re right.” Sirius said, snatching the firewhiskey from your grip and pouring his own drink, “let’s make this a night to remember!”

“At the rate you lot are going, no one is going to be remembering anything.” Peter chimed in.

“Oh hey Pete, didn’t see you sneak up on us. Wanna catch up?” You snatched the firewhiskey back, which earned a stuck out tongue from Sirius, to which you respond as maturely as you knew how: by holding up two fingers and turning back to Peter. “Firewhiskey and coke?”

“Go one then.”

You poured the drink.

“Right, where’s the rest of the gang?” James asked, scanning the crowds of people for Mary and Dorcas, who Remus spotted and waved them over.

“What do you want us for?” Mary asked.

“Firstly, the pleasure of your company. Secondly, a toast to the best party ever, and thirdly, a picture.”

“Alright then.” Dorcas and Mary joined the group to form a semicircle around the drinks table.

Sirius piped up, “I would like to raise a toast, Ladies and Gentlemen, to the best party ever! May every Hogwarts party that follows it fail to live up to its excellence and may we all forget everything that happened tonight!”

“Beautiful.” You remarked.

“I do try.” Sirius winked at you. You just rolled your eyes.

“To the best party ever!” Sirius shouted.

“To the best party ever!” The rest of you repeated.

“And now you must all down your drinks.” Sirius stated.

“Woo!” You finished your drink.

Lily finished her drink too. “Do you hear that?” She said, holding her hand up to her ear.

“I can’t hear a fucking thing, Lily, the volume is really loud.” You replied.

“The dance floor is calling my name!”

“Oh my god,” you rolled your eyes and giggled at her, following her lead onto the dance floor. You danced like your life depended on it, then you had another beer, then you danced again. The alcohol that was coursing through your body at this point was somehow magnetically attracted to Sirius’ body, and eventually you were moving against his, apparently subconsciously. At some point, he disappeared, and so some time after that, you waved goodbye to Lily who swiftly turned her attention towards James and started vigorously making out with him. You found Sirius on one of the Gryffindor red sofas, smoking. You stood over him, fluttering your eyelashes with your hands clasped in front of you and a small smile on your face. Sirius just rolled his eyes and pulled a cigarette packet out of his back pocket, handing it over.

“You just looked insane, you know.” He said as you slumped down on the sofa next to him.

You pulled a cigarette out and tossed the packet over to him. You were suddenly hyper aware of the fact your bare leg was pressed up against his. “Well, however I looked, I managed to get one of these, most importantly.’ You waggled the cigarette at him.

“C’mere.’

You put the cigarette between your lips and leaned over, inhaling Sirius’ cologne, along with a heavy overtone of smoke, as you observed his slender, ring clad fingers wrapped around the lighter as he lit your cigarette for you. You leant back onto the sofa, taking a few drags before speaking.

“How’re you feeling about leaving then?” You turned your head and your body to face him.

Sirius flicked the ash off his cigarette, “I dunno really, I haven’t let myself think about it too much, what with exams and everything, you know?”

“Yeah I know what you mean.” You said, taking a drag and turning your face away to avoid blowing smoke into Sirius’ face. “I’m gonna miss it. Like, I’m not gonna miss the whole school bit, but I’m gonna miss hanging out with you guys all the time, and partying, and all the pranks, and the fact that this isn’t the real world and we can make mistakes and we can be idiots and all that. I can’t help but think that there’s a very real possibility that the band won’t work out and we’re gonna have to give up on it.”

“Okay that got deeper than I thought it would,” Sirius laughed, “but tonight, we are not thinking about that. Because this is not the real world, and we, The Marauders, just played a fucking brilliant set, and are mid throwing a fucking awesome party.”

“Yeah you’re right, I’ve gotta snap out of it, when Sirius is the most optimistic in the room then I know I’m bad.” Sirius nudged your shoulder with his in response. You nudged his back harder.

“I am right though.” You said.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

A couple more people at that point squeezed onto the sofa you and Sirius were sat on, meaning you were pressed ever closer to him, your right leg was pushed upwards t rest on top of his slightly. You felt yourself go red.

“This is cosy.” You couldn’t tell if it was sexual tension or awkwardness between you at that point.

“Once I’ve finished my next fag let’s get up.” Sirius lit up another. He offered it to you, and you took a drag, feeling his fingers brush against yours lightly when you gave it back. Eventually, he was using his own fingers to hold the cigarette between your lips. At this point, your leg had completely hooked over his, and you could have sword his fingers were inching up his left leg, getting closer to your thigh which was slung over it. Or maybe it was wishful thinking. Nope, not wishful thinking, his hand was snaking its way up your thigh to rest about three quarters of the way up. You desperately tried to act nonchalantly, but your eyes were glued to his hand. Eventually you tore them away and focussed on the scene of the party around you. Sirius offered you the last drag on the cigarette. You leaned closer than necessary to have it pressed to your lips.

“Wanna share?” Sirius asked. It took a millisecond for you to work out what it was he was asking. You brought your mouth to his and lightly pressed your lips to his, exhaling as he inhaled. You leaned back slightly, eyes fixed to his.

Sirius exhaled. “Hot.” Was all he said. You could see his eyes burning with desire. And then you decided to take matters into your own hands. You got up, taking his hand and walking quickly up the stairs out of the common room towards the dormitories. The moment you were out of sight you pushed Sirius against the wall, still on the stairs, taking in the surprised look on his face for a split second before pressing your lips to his with force, moving against his with hunger and desire which had been building up for god knows how long now.

His hands gripped your waist, pulling your bodies impossibly closer, as you ran your fingers through his long dark hair, pulling at it gently, causing Sirius to moan into your mouth. You smiled at his reaction, and in retaliation, Sirius swiftly pulled your bodies around so that he was pressing you up against the cold wall, wedging his leg in between yours. You groaned at the contact and kissed him harder, tongues dancing and' hands roaming each others bodies. Eventually his right hand settled under your ass, and yours crept beneath the hem of his shirt, trailing your fingers up his stomach and back down again towards his waistband, where you ran your finger along between the fabric of his jeans and his skin. Sirius inhaled a sharp breath and pulled away, eyes burning holes into your own as you withdrew your finger, maintaining eye contact. Wordlessly, he grabbed your hand and pulled you up the stairs towards the boys' dorm.

Once inside the door, Sirius wasted no time pushing you back against the door, slamming it shut and slamming his body into yours, reconnecting your lips hungrily. He trailed kisses down your neck, your chest, before settling on his knees on the floor and planting kisses on your thighs, travelling upwards. Your breathing got sharper in anticipation until Sirius stopped without warning. You snapped your eyes to his.

"Do you want this?" Sirius asked,

"What do you think?" You said. Sirius just stared pointedly at you. "Yes of course I fucking want this, Black."

"Well you won't get it if you use that kind of language." He teased.

"Stop being a brat, Sirius, and fuck me."

"Since you asked so nicely." He smiled devilishly and resumed his trail of kisses up your inner thighs, hands planted just below your hips, slowly pushing the bottom of your dress upwards to reveal your underwear. He sucked and nibbled and licked marks into your upper thighs, making you squirm against the door.

Sirius' eyes darted up and locked with yours as he traced his fingers over the wet patch in your panties, "For me? You shouldn't have." You were positive that you were incapable of words at the moment so you just rolled your eyes at him. You decided that you could definitely get used to the sight of Sirius Black on his knees in front of you, burning the image into your mind.

Your breath hitched as Sirius pulled your panties down, abandoning all thoughts of teasing you, putting one of your legs over his shoulder and attacking your pussy like a starved animal. The feel of his lips around your clit had you throwing your head back and resisting the urge to shout out.

"Ffff- ah Sirius," You moaned, hands trying to grip the wooden door behind you as he began to fuck you with his tongue. Moving his mouth back to your clit, he pushed a finger inside of you, which had you releasing a groan.

"Fuck," you breathed again as he inserted a second. "Oh god, shit, yeah, like that." You praised, which seemed to have an affect on him as he started pumping his fingers in and out of you harder, continuing his assault on your clit.

You could feel the tension building up inside your stomach, "Oh, FUCK," you screamed out as you felt your orgasm taking over you, walls clenching around Sirius' fingers as he continued to push them in and out. Once your high has washed over you, Sirius withdrew his fingers and looked up at you, into your eyes, mouth shining, sucking one of his fingers. He rose to his feet and put the other into your mouth, maintaining the eye contact as you sucked his finger clean. Then, Sirius grabbed your chin and brought your mouths together, the kiss this time was slower and filthier, teeth and tongues. You could taste yourself.

Just then, you heard a faint voice outside the door saying, "My dorm will be empty, c'mon," but you couldn't quite work out who the voice belonged to.

But it was the response of, "Lead the way," which had you and Sirius tearing apart, because the voice unmistakably belonged to Lily Evans. You heard their hurried footsteps on the stone staircase getting louder.

"Shit shit shit," was Sirius' reaction, standing like a deer in headlights. You scanned the room, seeing an open window across from them, and had an idea.

"Sirius, fag, quick," you grabbed his arm and went to the window. "Oh and, you might wanna," you mimed wiping your face with your sleeve

"Don't you have your own?" Sirius grumbled, pulling the packet out of his back pocket anyway.

"Not the time, Sirius." You hissed, lighting the end. You sat on the windowsill, putting your feet up taking a drag and fixing your dress before you realised. "Shit. Fuck. Bollocks. FUCK." Your panties were on the floor next to the door. Sirius sat on the windowsill opposite and grinned when he looked down. You put your feet back on the floor and crossed your legs just as Lily and James, bodies entangled, burst through the door, James' arm reaching out to shut the door, not even breaking away from Lily's lips. You looked at Sirius in alarm. You had just assumed that they'd notice you before anything happened. It was when James had pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it to the ground by your feet that you coughed loudly. James and Lily broke apart as if they had been lipsing an electric fence.

"FUCK!" Yelled James, genuinely alarmed. Sirius just took a drag of the cigarette nonchalantly and flicked the ash out of the open window.

"What the fuck are you two doing there?" James half said half squealed.

"What does it look like?" Sirius replied. James just rolled his eyes. "Hey it's not my fault you were too busy shoving your tongue down Evans' throat to check if the room was empty."

"Prick." Was James' only comment. "Yeah, but why didn't you tell us you were here? What if Lily had taken her top off and not me?"

"James, I've probably seen Lily's tits more times than you have," you reasoned.

James opened his mouth, then closed it again. His expression changed to genuine curiosity and he turned his face to Lily, who was a little bit pink.

Her brow creased in thought, "Yeah, probably true. Hmm, maybe an equal amount of times actually."

"I feel like we've strayed away from the point." James stated.

"Okay, we'll let you two resume then." Sirius said, flicking the cigarette butt out of the window. You got up, thighs pressed together as tight as they could go.

You two made your way out of the room, but you couldn't miss the opportunity to irritate James further.

"Good luck!" You called.

"Don't forget to use protection, Jamsie!" Sirius chimed in.

"Wrap it before you tap it!"

"No glove, no love!"

"Dickheads!" James yelled as you shut the door.

You and Sirius giggled all the way back down the stairs to the party.

[nonsscrapheap]

did a small snippet of dance of the fire bot in a discord server! decided to make it longer for here! things might not stay the same when i officially make dance of the fire bot an actual story but doing snippets helps me gain a more solid idea for the actual fic :)

===== Dance of the Fire Bot =====

WANTED: HOT ROD [ALIVE, 50,000 SHANIX] WANTED FOR: MURDER, ASSAULT, RESISTING ARREST, DANGER TO THE PUBLIC WANTED BY: SENATE COUNCIL

"What is this?!" Ratchet snarled, gripping the datapad that depicted the young faceplate of a familiar bot. It'd been almost a couple of vorns since then, but he still remembered that red and yellow bot. "Orion—"

The enforcer held his servo up to try and calm the enraged medic, "It was issued without my knowledge Ratchet, but unfortunately it is the truth. Young Hot Rod is wanted by the Senate." He sounded apologetic, and Ratchet's anger eased slightly when he realized that Orion was hiding his frustration. Always composed, this mech.

Still, Ratchet glared at the bounty regardless.

"For clearly false charges! That youngling couldn't have possibly hurt anyone! They just want him for his olfactory outlier ability." He growled, remembering just how kind the young spark had been even after being kidnapped by that damn mercenary. How easy it was to gain his trust because 'he smelled kind'— it's a strange but nonetheless useful ability, Hot Rod's olfactory sensors. To be able to smell things beyond just normal scents...

Orion's expression turned grim and he gestured back to the datapad. "His outlier ability isn't his olfactory senses Ratchet… There's a clip of him attached to his bounty page."

Ratchet swiped and was stunned to see the sight of the young bot lashing out at- "Senator Proteus?!" He gasped, recognizing the mech being— sliced? Burned? Hot Rod had a small blade in servo, and in one surprisingly clean move; DECAPITATED the senator with a firey swing. "Wha-" The clip looped from beginning, showcasing Hot Rod constantly decapitating the senator.

Where did he even begin with the clip? The youngling he'd once saved from being kidnapped, who called him kind to his faceplate, who held earnest green optics, was effortlessly decapitating Senator Proteus' helm from his chassis with such ease while generating fire?

"There is more to this, to all of this, than meets the optic. Ratchet." Orion said quietly, servos clenching as they watched the bot who once helped Orion find and drag that poor addict to Ratchet's clinic, murder a senator. "I just hope Hot Rod is alright…"

Ratchet's grip on the datapad tightened as he watched the clip play over and over again, his optics narrow. "... Orion, look at that. At the corner over there." He pointed to the corner, something dark was moving in the background- sinuous yet spiky. Was it a cable?

Suddenly, the datapad glitched and both Orion and Ratchet were stunned to see the contents of the bounty changed.

WANTED: HOT ROD [ALIVE, 50,000 SHANIX] WANTED FOR: MURDERS OF SENATOR PROTEUS, TWO NYON OFFICERS AND THREE CIVILIAN BOTS, ASSAULT, RESISTING ARREST, DANGER TO THE PUBLIC WANTED BY: SENATE COUNCIL

They removed the clip.

And outright stated who he 'murdered' with the addition of Nyon officers and civilians. Both mechs were stunned for a moment before sharing a glance.

Something was definitely going on here.

===== Dance of the Fire Bot =====

"They changed Hot Rod's bounty." Springer muttered to Arcee, the femme looked downright murderous. Immediately he nudged her with a stern look, "Fix your expression, we're normal bots- here to buy alt mode kits."

Maybe stopping by the board to see Hot Rod's bounty was a bad idea, but the moment he saw his amica's faceplate- well, Arcee would've seen it and dragged him over anyway.

"It's not fair, Hot Rod doesn't deserve this slag." Arcee seethed quietly but did fix her faceplate into something less murder-y and more grumpy. "He saved us, saved Rust Narrows. He didn't-" kill those bots. She doesn't say because Springer nudges her again.

They were in public, Arcee. Watch your words. Springer conveyed through his optics alone- ugh, he hated being the responsible one between them both. That was Hot Rod's job, but Hot Rod wasn't there at the moment.

They had to leave him behind to hide while they bought alt mode kits, their very first alt mode kits.

It was supposed to be a more joyous occasion, they were old enough to get alt modes, to drive around the streets like the older bots... but now?

They needed those alt mode kits to get out of Nyon.

All because their amica killed a Senator who ate fragging SPARKS! The guy was a sparkeater! How did no one know? Was the whole Senate a bunch of sparkeaters? Vamparc mechs that feasted on sparks?

Anyway, they needed to leave Nyon and find somewhere else to hide. Hot Rod did at least, but like scrap they were going to let him go alone.

First agenda of the plan; get alt mode kits.

Second; get the scrap out of Nyon.

Third; get Hot Rod to teach them how to fight like him.

===== Dance of the Fire Bot =====

honestly unfinished snippet but it's a solid standing. again, some details might change in the official story but i'm liking where things are heading :D

[eremji]

WIP Wednesday

Messing around with some fun little writing exercise snippets for the #TF Mecha AU. This was definitely just an excuse to try writing something action-heavy, since so many of my other current WIPs are so scenic and talky.

The Escaflowne -> Gundam -> Evangelion -> Pac Rim -> Transformers pipeline has really done it for me over the last few decades and I cannot stop writing Big Machines.

Human!Mechanic Ratchet tickles something in my brain. I love putting men in their 40s with back pain in Situations and Predicaments. My working take is he's still working for an organization he hates, but he's too old for this shit, he resents his job, and is perfectly set up to have an eventual midlife crisis over wanting to date his Bugatti a robot an alien.

///

“How close?” Ratchet calls down at the pilot scaling the massive bot closest to his workstation. He doesn’t know her name, but her bot is Strika, one of the first manufactured models they bought from the Slovenian engineering program. The woman isn’t Strika’s original pilot.

“Half mile, incoming,” she shouts back, hauling herself upwards hand over hand with no harness, corded muscles flexing. “Two minutes.”

Direct contact. He can't just hide in his office and wait for this one to blow over. Fuck. Ratchet kicks his kit closed and crams the prototype knee assembly into an empty storage locker, hoping no one goes digging during the attack. He yanks on the buckles of his climbing harness, running through the safety check at record pace, then seizes one of the rapid descent hooks and flings himself into a three story drop with nothing but a hand brake and blind faith in his equipment.

Ratchet’s teeth rattle painfully as his feet hit the concrete, even though he takes the impact exactly like he's practiced a hundred times – the emergency abseil drills always have padded mats at the bottom and his brain isn’t ready for the reality of hitting hard concrete. He doesn’t go down on his ass, but a spasm of agony jolts up through his hips and spine and he has to stop to catch his breath, queasy.

The massive loading bay doors are already open by the time he recovers, twenty critical seconds of prep lost while the piloted bots are being disgorged into the sheeting rain. He unhooks from the line and snatches one of the combat kits off the storage rack. Three other mechanics are shouldering their repair rigs, already belted into their body armor.

Ratchet hauls on the plate carrier and buckles it with the strong feeling he's going to fucking die. He crams his helmet over his sweaty hair anyways, leaving the visor up. It's too dark and wet outside and the cheap polycarb fogs up no matter how many times they treat it. The repair pack goes on last, weighing him down, heavy coils of electrical patch cabling slung over his shoulder.

He’s out in the rain before he’s ready. His radio picks up a burst of feedback. There’s an unmistakable thunderclap report of a defense missile striking its target, followed by an ear-splitting roar that drowns out all other sound. The Quintesson is either way closer or way larger than he expects and he nearly climbs out of his skin with fear.

Ratchet turns just in time to catch the massive shape backlit against the storm-black sky, ten stories of nightmare. The Quintesson’s energy barrier flashes in a dozen places, incoming weapons fire flickering like red lightning over the glassy surface. It's covered in rain-wet armor plates and undulating tentacles, the massive shark-like mouth already filled with a twisted, sparking heap of metal. Spotlights blink out as the Quintesson takes out one of the substations, plunging everything into darkness.

[mrs-delaney]

Hide | Chapter 12 Teaser

✨ catch up on hide if you’re just getting here ✨

🌙📚 browse the masterlist for more love, mess, and maybe a little magic ✨💔

🎧 listen to salvage—the album riley swore she’d never release, and then did anyway.

The warehouse in Burbank hummed with the controlled chaos of preparation. Banks of speakers towered along the walls, cables snaking across the concrete floor like electrical veins. Riley sat at the piano center stage, her fingers moving across the keys, sweat beading at her temples despite the industrial fans spinning overhead.

"Let's run 'Mad Woman' again," she called to Pete, who was adjusting levels at the sound board twenty feet away. "The bridge still feels muddy."

Andy groaned from his position stage left, guitar hanging loose around his neck. "We've run it six times, Riles. It sounds fine."

"It sounds good," Riley corrected, pulling her hair back into a messy knot. "But it needs to sound perfect. We've got three weeks before the first show."

Daniel, sprawled behind his kit with a water bottle pressed to his forehead, gave her a look. "When's the last time you ate something that wasn't a protein bar?"

Riley ignored the question, already counting them in for another run-through. But halfway through the second verse, she held up a hand. "Stop. Stop."

The music cut off abruptly, leaving only the whir of fans and the low buzz from the amps.

"The tempo's dragging," she said, frustrated. "We're losing the bite."

Pete looked up from his board. "Riley, we've been at this for six hours."

"So?"

"So maybe the tempo's not the problem," Daniel said gently. "Maybe we're just tired."

Her phone buzzed against the amp beside her. A text from Joe.

Joe: How's rehearsal going? Taking breaks?

Despite her exhaustion, she found herself smiling. Since their conversation by the pool two weeks ago, Joe had been... different. More present, even from a distance.

Riley: Define "breaks."

Joe: Sitting down for more than 30 seconds

Riley: Does playing piano count?

Joe: Nice try. Real breaks. Away from instruments.

Riley: Then no

Joe: Riley

Joe: Go eat something real

What Riley didn't know was that Joe had been working behind the scenes, texting her bandmates individually, asking what she needed when he couldn't be there to provide it himself.

"Joe?" Pete asked, glancing at her phone.

"Telling me to eat actual food," she said, still typing.

"Smart man." Pete looked over. "He showing up for you better now?"

Riley shrugged, but her voice had eased. "Yeah, we're both slammed—but we still talk every day. Calls, texts, whatever we can manage. One of us always checks in."

Pete raised an eyebrow, smiling. "Sounds like he's showing up, then."

Sometimes showing up meant more than just being physically present. Sometimes it meant learning how to care for someone from 2,000 miles away, coordinating with the people who could be there when you couldn't, making sure the person you loved was taking care of herself even when she was too stubborn to do it on her own.

Three weeks until the Troubadour show. Three weeks until Joe's carefully controlled world would meet Riley's chaotic, beautiful one in front of 500 people. Three weeks until his friends would finally understand what had changed him.

But first, someone needed to make sure Riley Carter ate a real meal.

[minka-mi]

SFM × DANDY'S WORLD

{PART 1}

Actually that might be kind of joke like "what if smile for me characters become dandy's world characters?" So I decided to make this. I'm gonna tell about sfm characters as toons and about their abilities (if you want, I can try to make their twisted versions)

I made 4 characters already the first 2 are...

Trevor and Gerry

Their designs were inspired by that bad ending in original game, Gerry was literally having a broccoli instead of head and Trevor was literally a dog(I won't forget about those paws😚)

About abilities:

Their abilities are both active and were also inspired by original toons in dw

Trevor got same ability as Flutter's and Rudie's ones, but I think his ability will have a name like "run in the night"

Gerry's ability was inspired by Gigi's ability. He has a bag, from where he can take a random item to use. But I'm gonna be honest, it'll be harder to get that much rate items as jumper cable or med kit from his bag

The next 2 are:...

Trencil and Nat

As a true father and daughter, they might be same looking toons. In original smile for me game we found out that Nat is also a vampire like (but in a half) plus for her and her dad's missions are related with flowers, so it could be fair that they will be flowers. Tulips looks more suitable to them both. I like tulips, but I prefer daisies:)

About abilities:

Nat's ability called "selfie", it's passive ability. When she finishes machine, the twisteds on the floor highlights for all players for 5 or 10 seconds (in a random). It's called like that because of the sound of making photos on phone while that

Trencil's ability is active, it was inspired by Connie's ability. He can just turn into the bat to hide from twisteds for 5 seconds and then came back in normal form. Unfortunately, his ability doesn't work on twisted Dandy:_)

That's all for now. I'll make a voting for next pair of sfm characters to turn them into Dandy's world toons. I hope you'll like it :3

[antrylis]

✨ Breach of containment ✨

This is the last I’ve been working on for the past few weeks, very, very inspired by the game Carrion (if you haven’t played it yet, you absolutely should !), which is made all the more special because I finally took time to use my lighting kit (seem below). Of course, closeups and commentaries below the cut

Left containment unit closeups :

Right containment unit closeups :

Top closeup :

Alt version (studio lights + in-built lights) :

This is one of the screenshots I’ve been working with (where the monster just breached containment) :

So, as I said previously, this piece is heavily inspired by Carrion. I tried to look up any previously made Lego thing related to the game, but all I could find were a few Reddit posts with (debatably) interesting takes on the monster. So, the good news is that this is most likely the most original piece I’ve made yet.

The original plan was to have only one container, and one monster, with left being the body inside and right being the outside part. However, placing Left in the middle of the transparent pieces made it mostly good on its own, so with some modifications, I made it work alone and expanded the outside part inward, and ended up with two of them.

Left is pretty okay from all angles, but Right is not necessarily as good from the back, and had a supplementary jaw on the side of the container which can’t be seen on the photos.

Getting back to comparing that to the game. I tried to stay close while adding my own little details. The wiring and cable system is from me, but the container is mostly inspired by the game, just like the electric box (middle) and the little informative display (under the electric box) which is…empty, yes.

Some details can’t be seen on the photos (or barely), which are mostly some filler sci-fi stuffs to make the wall less flat and less empty.

What also helped with breach the flatness of the wall is the switch from dark grey to light gray, using the awesome spring projectile launcher piece, which has this very nice shape which make the transition just a bit smoother.

So, let’s talk about whatever I’ve done with the lighting !

I’ve had this old lighting kit (originally designed for a car model) lying around for a long time, and finally got to use it ! It doesn’t look really good without my studio lights because my camera is not made for that (The effect in reality really gives escaping monstrosity a dark vibe which is not well depicted with my photos…). Another thing which is not noticeable with the photos is that the two red dots in the center are actually blinking lights (and somehow, they tend to desynchronise).

The choice of letting some of the wires out is debatable, but I think it adds to the vibe (and some of them would have been a pain to hide anyway). And sadly, the back is but a mess of wires, but I can’t actually do anything about that.

Speaking of the back, the whole thing is one dot large and completely flat, and the ceiling only hold without pillars because of the use of tension linking directly the baseplate and the roof through the use of technic bars; and probably because the ceiling itself is not that heavy. It is, in fact, only constitued of six old road pieces connected together and frames, which give the roof little weight and high sturdiness (and the shape on the side of the piece offers a nice sci-fi effect as a bonus).

The addition of tentacles in the vent (which hides the connection between road plates in the roof) is just another reminder of the game : you can’t be safe anywhere, if air flows~

[ciara-clycone]

Ways to fight back against the Fascism by Liz Chaney

(Details under cut)

1. Form an independent, civilian-powered investigative coalition.

2. Join the International Criminal Court.

3. Fund state-level resistance infrastructure.

4. Use your platform to educate the public on rights and resistance tactics.

5. Leverage international media and watchdogs.

6. Create a digital safe haven for whistleblowers and defectors.

7. Study the collapse—and the comeback.

“1. Form an independent, civilian-powered investigative coalition.

I’m talking experts. Veterans. Whistleblowers. Journalists. Watchdog orgs.

Deputize the resistance. Build a real-time archive of corruption, overreach, and executive abuse.

Make it public. Make it unshakable.

Let the people drag the rot into the light.

If you can’t hold formal hearings, hold public ones.

If Congress won’t act, let the country act.

This isn’t about optics — it’s about receipts.

Because at some point, these people will be held accountable.

And when that day comes, we’ll need every name, every signature, every illegal order, every act of silence—documented.

You’re not just preserving truth — you’re preparing evidence for prosecution.

The more they vanish people and weaponize data, the more we need truth in the sunlight.

⸻

2. Join the International Criminal Court.

Yes, I said it. Call their bluff.

You cannot control what the other side does.

But you can control your own integrity.

So prove it. Prove that your party is still grounded in law, human rights, and ethical leadership.

Join.

If you’ve got nothing to hide — join.

Show the world who’s hiding bodies, bribes, and buried bank accounts.

Force the GOP to explain why they’d rather protect a war criminal than sign a treaty.

And while you’re at it, publicly invite ICC observers into U.S. borders.

Make this administration explain — on camera — why they’re terrified of international oversight.

⸻

3. Fund state-level resistance infrastructure.

Don’t just send postcards. Send resources.

Channel DNC funds into rapid-response teams, legal defense coalitions, sanctuary networks, and digital security training.

If the federal government is hijacked, build power underneath it.

If the laws become tools of oppression, help people resist them legally, locally, and boldly.

This is not campaign season — this is an authoritarian purge.

We WILL REMEMBER the warriors come primaries.

Fighting this regime should be your marketing strategy.

And let’s be clear:

The reason the other side always seems three steps ahead is because they ARE.

They prepared for this.

They infiltrated school boards, courts, local legislatures, and police unions.

They built a machine while you wrote press releases.

We’re reacting — they’ve been executing a plan for years.

It’s time to shift from panic to blueprint.

You should already be working with strategists and military minds on PROJECT 2029,a coordinated, long-term plan to rebuild this country when the smoke clears.

You should be publicly laying out:

• The laws and amendments you’ll pass to ensure this never happens again

• The systems you’ll tear down and the safeguards you’ll enshrine

• The plan to hold perpetrators of human atrocities accountable

• The urgent commitment to immediately bring home those sold into slavery in El Salvador

You say you’re the party of the people?

Then show the people the plan.

⸻

4. Use your platform to educate the public on rights and resistance tactics.

If they’re going to strip us of rights and lie about it — arm the people with truth.

Text campaigns. Mass trainings. Downloadable “Know Your Rights” kits. Multilingual legal guides. Encrypted phone trees.

Give people tools, not soundbites.

We don’t need more slogans.

We need survival manuals.

⸻

5. Leverage international media and watchdogs.

Stop hoping U.S. cable news will wake up.

They’re too busy playing both sides of fascism.

Feed the real stories to BBC, Al Jazeera, The Guardian, Reuters, Der Spiegel — hell, leak them to anonymous dropboxes if you have to.

Make what’s happening in America a global scandal.

And stop relying on platforms that are actively suppressing truth.

Start leveraging Substack. Use Bluesky.

That’s where the resistance is migrating. That’s where censorship hasn’t caught up.

If the mainstream won’t carry the truth — outflank them.

Get creative. Go underground. Go global.

If our democracy is being dismantled in broad daylight, make sure the whole world sees it — and make sure we’re still able to say it.

⸻

6. Create a digital safe haven for whistleblowers and defectors.

Not everyone inside this regime is loyal.

Some are scared. Some want out.

Build the channels.

Encrypted. Anonymous. Protected.

Make it easy for the cracks in the system to become gaping holes.

And while you’re at it?

Stop ostracizing MAGA defectors.

Everyone makes mistakes — even glaring, critical ones.

We are not the bullies.

We are not the ones filled with hate.

And it is not your job to shame people who finally saw the fire and chose to step out of it.

They will have to deal with that internal struggle — the guilt of putting a very dangerous and callous regime in power.

But they’re already outnumbered. Don’t push them back into the crowd.

We don’t need purity.

We need numbers.

We need people willing to burn their red hats and testify against the machine they helped build.

⸻

7. Study the collapse—and the comeback.

You should be learning from South Korea and how they managed their brief rule under dictatorship.

They didn’t waste time chasing the one man with absolute immunity.

They went after the structure.

The aides. The enforcers. The loyalists. The architects.

They knocked out the foundation one pillar at a time —

until the “strongman” had no one left to stand on.

And his power crumbled beneath him.

You should be independently investigating every author of Project 2025, every aide who defies court orders,every communications director repeating lies, every policy writer enabling cruelty, every water boy who keeps this engine running.

You can’t stop a regime by asking the king to sit down.

You dismantle the throne he’s standing on — one coward at a time.

⸻

Stop being scared to fight dirty when the other side is fighting to erase the damn Constitution.

They are threatening to disappear AMERICANS.

A M E R I C A N S.

[glitteringcrab]

New eye-patch headcanon...

...based on the theory that Evil Morty was once mind controlled himself and had to tear his own eye out so he could remove the receiver and escape.

I was thinking about the eyepatch because when he eventually decided to attack Evil Rick, we see Evil Morty attaching a mind control transmitter to a eyepatch, but I don't really see him sewing in the middle of the night nor pilfering the household's first aid kit for medical eyepatches (I mean... it's not a common item).

It seems to me that he already had it.

Now, if there was a time gap between him removing the transmitter and healing his eye then sure, he'd need an eyepatch to hide the gaping wound. But:

(a) we saw that Evil Rick attempting to destroy his own receiver equated with a death sentence and

(b) the fact that he has cables sticking out of his eye suggests that whatever method he used to heal himself was hurried and that he had poor control over it...

So healing is not something he leisurely does the day after, and he doesn't get to spend hours with a gaping wound that would need to be protected with an eye-patch. It seems to me that healing his injury is something that happens at the same moment he removes his receiver (and dies).

But then... Why even get an eyepatch in the first place?

My first thought was maybe the remaining cables irritated his eye at first and he wanted to hide the discoloration... but wouldn't an eyepatch be even more noticeable or invite more questions than a slight redness? And wouldn't the irritation go away after a few days? Is an eyepatch even necessary?

So my second thought is, some time shortly after his escape, he woke up not knowing where he was; it could be a number of things like passing out during an adventure with a new Rick or getting a concussion in Morty Town, or even after a scuffle with a bully at school (presumably even clone Mortys go to regular school occasionally if Beth and Jerry don't know their son has been replaced)... or maybe it was something as simple as a panic attack in the middle of the night, after a nightmare.

In any case, he came to not knowing where he was or what was going on, thought he was in his previous prison and had yet to escape, and promptly seized the nearest sharp object to try to mutilate his eye again.

He was stopped just in time by whoever was around, and they gave him a medical eyepatch to help his eye heal; or he could have gotten it himself (but whoever stopped him wasn't a Rick, otherwise he would get healed properly).

Later, he took up the habit of wearing it before falling asleep. This way, if he woke up after a nightmare again not knowing where he was, he'd pat the eyepatch, remind himself that he escaped, and go back to sleep.

When he decided to attack Evil Rick he attached the transmitter on the eyepatch, turning it into a weapon; his source of power.

And after be escaped the Curve he still wears it; he has equated with freedom, with taking back control of his life, and it's still his (only) source of comfort.

Edit: I'm an idiot. I totally forgot the option that he could have just walked in a drug store or pharmacy and bought one like a normal person, no drama involved LOL.

...I still like my angsty headcanon better though :P

Even though I have to admit that I doubt his various Ricks, who as we've seen from Rick C-137 were probably prone to waking him up in the middle of the night for an adventure, would let him wear an eyepatch. Plus if they followed the Citadel News and found out about Evil Rick's killing spree (who was accompanied by a Morty with an eyepatch), one of them might have recognized him.

...I still like my angsty headcanon :P

[safedistancefrombeingsmart]

On the Breeders family home set that is 4 storeys high, the rear projectors were suspended on motorised cables outside the windows with sky views, and moved floors depending on what level we are filming on. The screens had different images for the background for weather conditions and times of day, although for daylight scenes I usually ended up shooting with the overcast plates, because it gave us more screen detail as the sets were quite low light level and we had to light to expose for the rear projection and didn’t lock me into a specific weather look as we shot our locations after shooting in the studio - not that it makes a big difference as our weather is so changeable anyway! The house set had relatively low ceilings and when you wanted to show the split level in one shot you couldn’t hide any lights in the ceiling as they would be in vision, and the set was long and thin due to the house being a London townhouse terrace, so the middle of the set was quite dark. We would creep light panels in left and right of frame and Asteras too, but the general ambient was low, and not possible to push a huge amount of light from outside inside as you would quickly see the light source. So bouncing onto the floor in the outer edge of the set was the best method of adding directional accents of light and lifting the ambience.  Awesome gaffer, Kit Wood and I liked to sometimes bounce light onto the ceiling with Aperture 300d  as its nice way to add a bounce in focused areas with a good drop off. I think the set being more like a very controlled location due to its restrictive lighting access compared to other sets, does gives the show a more realistic feel, and made you lean into the low key look which again gives Breeders its dramatic edge. Last photo is Bradley outside the real location! S3 Crew Dir Ollie Parsons Camera Op David Pulgarin & Jake McLean 1st AC’s George Telling & Bradley Stern 2nd AC’s Lali Coombes & Ashton Born Cam Trainees Annabel Lee & Joseph Slocombe DIT Alican Halaceli Gaffer Kit Wood Best Boy Huw Garratt Grip Alex Kelleher Grip Assistant Jordan Heath Production Company Avalon

I'll miss seeing this house!

[the-inkwell-variable]

Find the Word Tag!

Thanks so much for the tag, @captain-kraken!

My words are: noise, energy, need and time

NOISE

The TV is on as background noise.  The house is eerily quiet.  Damian and Selina are in their rooms, doing their brand new virtual classes.  Harley is asleep somewhere – she’s not in her bed, but like a cat, she found a dark comfortable place to take a nap.  Even after two years in this house, she still doesn’t know half of Harley’s hiding places.  Hopefully she grows out of it soon.  Searching the house for a missing three year old is getting… well, old.

ENERGY

The severity of Batman's tone stopped her rant in its tracks.  She silently tugged out one of her neckports, thin auxiliary cables that were jacked in directly to the augments attached to her brain, and plugged it into his spare radio.  Alfred's voice crackled in her head within seconds.  "—ee it in a minute, sir...  Yes sir, it's coming towards you... and building energy at a rapid rate."

NEED

Ashlee returns her eyes to the knitting kit in her lap.  Place a slipknot on the needle and pull yarn tails to tighten, she mouths as she reads, picking up the ball of vividly purple yarn.  Sounds easy enough.  She knows how to make a slipknot.  …but how big does it need to be?

TIME

“Well, Amy-Leigh, SIMS has indeed been around for quite some time.  I’m sure you’ve heard of the term ‘going postal’?  It usually refers to people, usually workers, becoming extremely and uncontrollably angry, often to the point of violence.  While ‘going postal’ [usually refers to] incidents happening in workplace environments, it is the first definitive title for people suffering from SIMS.  There have been reports of such incidents going as far back as [the ancient Greeks].”

TAGGING @space-writes - @drchenquill - @drchucktingle - @falconfate

[lilypadlys]

Bad Day

A rough day is compounded by Dew being his bratty self. Cirrus has finally had enough.

Ship: Cirrus/Dewdrop (Sorta?)

Word Count: 1,097

Rating: Mature

Tags: Implied Sexual Content, Implied Spanking, Dewdrop is a little shit

Hi hi! So this is actually the first Ghost oneshot I ever wrote (and it shows 😅). I posted it to AO3 a year ago today but never to Tumblr. Anyway here it is if you'd like to read it!

Read below the cut or on AO3

Cardinal Copia quietly entered his office, closed the door, and practically fell into his desk chair. To call today taxing, was an understatement. With tour preparations well underway, there was always a laundry list of things that needed doing. Band practice, ghoul corralling, costume fittings, photo shoots, equipment checks; the list went on. And of course the normal demands of the ministry didn’t let up either. The pile of paperwork that never seemed to leave his desk for long, had gained an extra inch in height.

To top it all off, Sister Imperator was in a foul mood. Someone had planted stink bombs in her office two days ago. The room was still being fumigated, forcing Sister to relocate to a disused room clear across the abbey. No one had owned up yet but Copia would have put money on Dewdrop. That ghoul seemed to be drawn to trouble like a moth to a flame. Or stink to a bug. Dew could certainly be a pest.

Copia was contemplating a power nap when the chapel bells could be heard sounding out the hour. “Lord below, 3 o'clock already?” Copia swore before standing up and stretching. It was time for band practice. As he walked to the practice rooms, Copia steeled his nerves. He loved his ghouls, really, but their antics could sometimes be maddening.

Upon entering the practice room, Copia found everyone present and accounted for. Thank Satan, no hide and go ghoul today. He thought. “Alright everyone! Are you ready to-” Copia’s attempt at a rousing call to get started was interrupted by a loud boom and the lights flickering. The dark clouds that had been threatening all day finally let loose their payload and raindrops beat down on the roof. Lightning flashed through the windows, punctuated by rolling thunder.

Copia shut his eyes and breathed out through his nose. “One of those days,” he muttered. He tried again. “Let's get warmed up.”

Practice went in fits and starts. The ghouls seemed on edge, Copia noticed. They were likely picking up on the stress of the rest of the ministry. Aether and Rain got into a hissing match, Mountain glowered from behind his drum kit, and Dewdrop was in rare form, throwing guitar picks and sassing everyone. The power also continued to flicker, sometimes going out for minutes at a time. Every interruption and issue grated on everyone’s nerves. Copia made a mental note to check in on the ghouls individually and make sure everything was okay. Alas, all he could do at the moment was suffer alongside them through the quickly turning hellish, attempt at band practice.

They had finally made it through the set list to Mummy Dust and Cirrus was prepping for her keytar solo. She hit her mark on center stage and began playing. She made it almost all the way though when there was a crash, the whine of feedback, and her keytar cut out. Everyone looked around for the source of the latest problem. Dewdrop was laid out on the floor, face down. The disconnected cable for Cirrus’ keytar rested below his feet.

He was already brushing himself off with a cheeky grin. “Whoops, I tripped.” He shrugged.

“Your blocking has you over stage left Dew,” Copia sighed. “Why were you anywhere near center?”

Dew just shrugged again.

“Okay, let's just reset and…Cirrus?”

The ghoulette stomped towards him and Dew, stiffly pulling the strap of her keytar over her head. Then she shoved the instrument at Copia before grabbing Dew by the collar. She pulled him close so they were eye to eye.

“Listen here you little shit,” she seethed. “I’ve had just about enough of you today. Will you just shut the fuck up, and behave long enough to finish practice?”

“Make me.” Dew stuck his tongue out.

The look on Cirrus’ face made Copia blanch. He’d never seen the normally timid ghoulette angry before. However, he now knew he never wanted to be on the receiving end of her ire. Wordlessly she tightened her grip on Dew’s shirt and yanked him with her into a nearby storage closet. The door slammed shut behind them.

The room was silent for a moment, everyone in shock at Cirrus’, out of all of them, being the one to snap first. Then something, or rather someone, was slammed against the closet door. Suddenly, a repetitive smacking sound and yelps could be heard from behind the door.

Copia turned to Cumulus, who had ventured over from her platform to watch. “I’m slightly worried. I think I should go check on-”

He was interrupted by Cirrus’ muffled voice yelling something along the lines of, “Crying already? You know the safe word gremlin!”

Copia swallowed. “Maybe you should go check on them?”

Cumulus just laughed. “He’ll be fine. He’s been asking for it.”

“I mean yeah. Today plus the stink bomb incident.” Copia laughed nervously.

“Hmm? Oh that was Sunny.”

“What?!”

“Yeah Imperator got on her case for something or other. Did you think Dew was the only trouble maker?”

“No, but Dew’s usually behind most of it.”

“Not all of it. He just gets caught a lot and blamed for the rest of it.”

Copia added a mental note not to cross Sunshine either. “I guess, ah, everyone take five…” Moans could be heard from the closet. “...or fifteen…”

Cumulus just laughed again at Copia’s disconcerted expression. She took the keytar from his hands before walking off to chat with Rain.

After what was more like twenty minutes, Dew and Cirrus reappeared, the latter with a satisfied look on her face. She held a death grip on the scruff of his neck but Dew’s glazed expression indicated that he would in fact be “shutting the fuck up and behaving long enough to finish practice”. She shoved him towards his mark and retrieved her keytar from Cumulus so they could resume Mummy Dust.

The rest of practice managed to run smoothly. Even the storm petered out as if afraid of invoking Cirrus’ wrath. As everyone prepped to leave, Copia pulled Cirrus aside.

“Hey, thanks for dealing with Dew. I’m sorry you had to though. I should have stepped in.”

“Nah it's fine,” She smiled. “Sometimes brats just need some tough love.”

“Are you doing okay? I know things have been really stressful lately. I’m thinking about organizing a movie night soon to unwind.”

“Yeah, that’d be great! We’ll see if Dew is able to join us though.”

“Hmm?”

“He’s not going to be able to sit for a week.” She deadpanned. They both laughed.

[astrophobica]

the one where patton and remus get married and nobody’s happy about it (logince)

warnings: emotional turmoil

Logan's hand stopped millimeters from pushing the venue bathroom door open. Why would he do something like that? Because on the other side he could hear someone crying.

Not normal crying, either. They were heartwrenching, bitter sobs that sounded like they were trying to be muffled, though the attempt wasn't working too well by Logan's determination. He hesitated a moment longer, then made up his mind and pushed inside.

Roman Prince, brother to the groom and best man to his now-husband stood hunched over one of the pristine sinks with a tearstained face that betrayed him even as he scrambled to hide it from Logan and look casual. "Oh- hey."

"If you don't mind me asking," Logan said slowly, not moving from where he blocked the exit. "Are you alright?"

Roman snorted, though the effect was lost on his blotchy complexion. "Take a wild guess, Sherlock."

"I'll take that as a no." Logan stiffly started to raise an arm as a halfhearted offer for a hug, but lowered it gratefully as Roman just stared at him. "Would you like to talk about it to a stranger?"

The other scrubbed at his face with the heel of his palm before replying, "And why should you care?"

"There's a kind of simple grace achieved through letting problems go to people who aren't affected by it," he replied. "It seems you could use someone to tell it to."

Roman studied him for a few seconds, then sighed and looked back at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. "...I was in love with Patton," he admitted, in a voice so soft that Logan had to strain to hear it. "Oh, who am I kidding- I still am."

Oh, Logan thought.

"I imagined this as my wedding, my big day with the love of my life and a happily ever after," he said, fingers curling on the edge of the porcelain sink. "What kind of a fool was I?"

"The worst kind," Logan whispered, throat closing as he thought of sleepless nights spent on frivolous DIY science kits, of yelling facts over documentaries playing on cable, of stolen jam and pineapple anchovy pizza and blue hair dye that came out looking sickly green. "The kind of fool that loves with all his heart, loves to the point of watching them go with a smile on his face and an ache in his chest." Roman blinked, looking back over at Logan with a curious expression.

"...You wouldn't happen to be speaking from experience, would you?"

"I am." He didn't meet Roman's gaze. "Quite coincidentally, it was one of the grooms from today as well."

"Patton does have a way of making people fall for him, doesn't he?"

"Not Patton." Logan left him to connect the dots.

"...My brother?" Much to Logan's chagrin Roman started snickering, and while it was an improvement over crying he found he didn't much care for it. "You fell for Remus?"

"Stop it," Logan snapped. "I should've known better than to try and help-"

"No- wait, I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry," Roman hastily amended, reaching after him as Logan turned to leave. "I just- I thought it was funny- we're two sides of the same coin, aren't we?"

He hesitated. "I...suppose we are."

Roman looked at him for another moment, then pulled out a pen from his breast pocket and snatched a paper towel from the dispenser. He scribbled something on it, then handed it to Logan. "My number," he elaborated, looking sheepish. "If you wanted to talk after the whole...yeah."

Logan folded the brown paper into a neat square and tucked it into his pocket with a tiny smile. "Duly noted. I'd suggest washing up a bit before going back out to deal with the wolves," he added, motioning at his cheeks.

Roman flushed in embarassment, turning back to the sink to splash water onto his face. "...Thank you."

[bellygunnr]

Hanging it All on You

A Transformers OC story. ES-based with G1 elements. Liberties taken. Sawhorse POV first, Firewall POV second.

If you weren't so attuned to the scent of energon, you wouldn't have noticed him. Bumblebee knew how to hide well, though you question the efficacy of such a skill when you're on death's doorstep. You don't even need to be a medic to parse that out. Injuries of all kinds had a scent to them-- and this one was bad.

Still, you don't announce your presence until you're rolling the rock away from the under-bridge tunnel. You take the blaster fire handily, letting your battered shoulders dissipate the worst of it, until he registers the tell-tale markings of a medic. Technically, you weren't supposed to retain these decals, but you kept them on hand. Didn't make Bumblebee look at you with any less suspicion, but he did stop firing.

"You're not Autobot," Bumblebee hisses.

"What gave it away?" You huff, sarcastic. "Let's cut a deal, baby."

You spare him the glare of your lightbar, opting for the low beams across your chest. Bumblebee was in shambles, curled up against the concrete wall, arms cast listlessly in his lap while energon flowed anew from his joints. No doubt from the effort of transforming them into weapons -- what a pain.

"You think I'm just gonna-- make deals? Better off lettin’ me bleed out, 'Con," Bumblebee says, baring his teeth. "I've got buddies on the way, you know."

You roll your optics. The tunnel echoes with the sheer noise of your movement inside. It'd make you claustrophobic, if you still had that defect. Bumblebee doesn't even move as you lumber closer and closer. He must really be injured.

"See, I'm gonna fix you, deal or no deal," you say bluntly, dropping to a crouch. "You're too valuable to die, ain't that right? Aside from that... I think I can change your mind."

Bumblebee's face contorts, conflicted. He doesn't protest as you reach behind your neck and unspool a diagnostic cable, the shielding pitted and burned, simply staring up at you with wide, blue optics. Dim optics. At this distance, you can hear his internals working, most notably a clicking coolant pump.

You're a doctor by trade, of course. For speedsters and modifieds and outliers. Not always a surgeon, but you figure you make a pretty good one now, after millions of years at war. Unfortunately, you didn't kit up for a field op, but...

Wordlessly, Bumblebee turns his right arm over, exposing an open port at his wrist. Before you can jack in, though, he jerks back, plating and doorwings flaring in alarm. Yet, just as quickly, he cringes in pain, knocking his helm back against the wall.

"You can tell me to frag off, you know," you say dryly. "I can just let you bleed out, if you're gonna be ungrateful."

"No, no, no-- I just-- why the port? Can't you just scan me or whatever?"

Bumblebee has the grace to look guilty through the pain warping his body and rolling off his field. Still, you hesitate, cursing yourself for it all the while. You're a doctor-- an enemy, maybe-- but everyone listens to doctors! What kind of medics do the Autobots have if their scout is acting like this?

"I don't have a handheld scanner, so no," you explain patiently. "And just between us? One of your lot damaged my medical suites. We're down to analog, you and I."

This time, he lets you plug in. You push forward nothing but medical requests and your ident-tags. He responds in kind and a klik later you’re analyzing his vitals, from spark integrity to fuel pressure. He taps at the firewalls inside your head, a packet closed within a metaphorical fist.

You brush him aside. <<Were you serious about your backup?>> You ask instead.

He’s a mess. Not as dead as you thought, but his coolant pump is on its way out, no doubt due to the significant physical trauma wrapped around his abdomen. Already, his temperature is ticking up, wicking away the intensity of his self-repair. Hard to think about sealing fuel lines with the radiator threatening to boil, huh.

<<I thought medics were supposed to talk more,>> Bumblebee complains. <<What are you even doing in there?>>

You don’t cease peeling Bumblebee open like an organic crab, but you push apology-guilt into your field while opening a watch-along to your processes. His jaw clenches as he’s now able to watch you file away his topic change for later.

“It’s not overly invasive, don’t be a baby. I’m clamping your lines because you can’t stop bleeding– not your fault— and I’m checking out your cooling system. Half your fans are burned out. Did you get some voltage?”

<<Business end of a power line,>> Bumblebee confesses.

Memories flicker on the peripheral of the hardline connection, most likely of said power line. You ignore them, tying off the last errant line through the first wisps of steam. Absently, you pop open a physical compartment in your abdomen, fishing out a large unmarked tin. The sweet scent of coolant is stronger now, nauseating with the acidic odor of energon already weighing down the air, its source obvious. 

<<I’m gonna be real honest, Autobot,>> you start, switching to the silent comm-link, <<I ain’t equipped to handle your wiring. Best I can do is keep your internals from cooking.>>

You’re aware of Bumblebee tracking your every movement. You make a show of wiping off your hands, as if showing off your wide palms and blunted fingertips will put him at ease. Over the link, you push forward images of your intentions. 

For some reason, it doesn’t put your patient at ease. But you’re not here to make him feel good so you forge ahead, tarring up the cracks in his radiator and dumping a cube of coolant down his intake. His pump clicks all the while.

Some part of your treatment seems to work. Bumblebee visibly relaxes, but you warn him against moving too suddenly, lest your hard work come undone. His optics brighten marginally and newfound alertness prickles over his field. He makes a weak gesture to the cable running between you both.

“Need to keep observing you,” you say aloud, only slightly admonishing. “Now– that deal. You have something I want.”

Bumblebee jerks forward, expression darkening. “What could I possibly have? I don’t even know who you are!”

“Stop moving!” You snap. “You don’t need to know who I am. You just need to help me find him.”

“I never agreed to the deal,” Bumblebee says, but there’s no fire in it.

He lets his helmet rest back against the wall. You wonder if you misjudged all of the Autobots, or just this one. Aren’t they supposed to be soft? Don’t they like paying back favors? You just saved his life, after all, oath be damned. Did you have to get physical with him?

Primus, his chest was open. You were plugged into his systems (and he, yours). It would be so easy–

Bumblebee is waving his hand in your face. You snap reflexively at his fingers, sharpened fangs scraping across metal planes.

“Fucker, ow,” Bumblebee hisses, snatching his hand back with the whine of a servo. “I said I was gonna help– not my fault you were spacing out, ‘Con.”

Oh. You stare at him, winding back the last thirty seconds of your life. Ah.

“Oh. Well. Good,” you say. “His name’s Firewall. You took him prisoner three local cycles ago. I need him back. Please.”

For a terrifying moment, Bumblebee looks as if he doesn’t recognize the name. Then his field flickers, a mixture of shock and confusion covering bitten-back lethargy and wariness.

“You want that lunatic back?” Bumblebee demands, optics flying wide.

“That lunatic is my conjunx!” You snarl, suddenly witless, frightened. “I need your help, so please– please.”

Begging. You’re disgusted with yourself, but you can’t stand the idea of failing here, not after juking the Decepticon brass and diving headfirst behind enemy lines. You won’t fail here. You’ll show him–

Bumblebee waves a placating hand,vocalizer fritzing. “Hey, hey, hey– I’m not retracting my offer or anything, calm down. Didn’t realize it was so serious.”

It's at that moment the rocks blocking off the opposite end of the tunnel shift. Harsh lights flood inside, followed by two pink chassises. Bumblebee shouts for them not to fire, but you’re already subspacing a handheld saw and jamming it against his throat. 

—

The Autobots have a tight ship, at least. Of course, why wouldn’t they? Their base was literally a spaceship. The brig, stuffed in the deepest, lowest section of the hull, is especially tight, with cells reinforced with both force fields and bars, the dimensions just wide enough to accommodate a seeker’s wings. And with your build, that means plenty of room to walk four paces and turn around in a never-ending cycle, so long as you keep your cooling fins and excess blades retracted. Not that you have a choice – the inhibitor claw newly bolted into the back of your neck makes it impossible to even think about a transformation, let alone do it.

So you pace, lurching and lunging back and forth, memorizing the featureless metal box with every pass. Rivets, some missing, most not, line the walls, potential weaknesses if you were the type to notice or exploit such things. You’re not, but your wrists are cross-cuffed, so you especially couldn’t try to make something happen. It’s whatever, really.

That’s what you tell yourself. It’s not a big deal. Just being alive is infinite possibility. You owe it to Sawhorse to behave. Keep your helm down. To hell with your way out, so meticulously planned. You two always worked best when improvising, after all. Maybe this was meant to happen. Serendipity at the business end of an Autobot firing squad. They wouldn’t believe you if you told them, after all, that you were Conjunxed and want to move to Earth-Italy, and would they pretty please let you go so you can stuff yourself inside a box for ninety local cycles and come out a new mech– it’ll be like being a bug, you’d tell them anxiously, like those caterpillars, have you ever seen them, did you ever care to look– 

You freeze mid-step. Your thoughts have wandered off. This is a very, very small room. Primus didn’t forge you with cramped spaces in mind. Only the brig warden– well, guard– shifting his plating grounds you back into reality. 

His voice carries.

“Didn’t expect you guys back so soon. Is that another–?”

“You’re dismissed, Sunstreaker,” a faintly familiar voice says. “Get some recharge.”

It’s difficult, dredging up the data necessary to place the voice. All your taxed brain can give is a featureless pink visage, which a subroutine helpfully labels as either Arcee or Elita-1. Neither of which you’re eager to meet. Did your reputation even warrant Autobot brass? You puff up your plating and press up against the shimmering bars, stasis cuffs humming in warning.

Footsteps rattle. Shadows loom. You perk up, audials instantly detecting an uneven shuffle, the rhythm of a limp. Something in your spark squeezes, then blooms, a savage thing, the first cut of hope– 

“Doctor,” you whisper.

There he is. Half your height but twice as wide, all broad curves and tough rubber edges, dim with the lack of energon, but alive. You shove your helm up against the force-protected bars, howling plaintively when it shocks you– so you keen beseechingly at your captors, up until Sawhorse shakes off his cuffs and grabs the bars, optics cycling to their widest setting. 

“You’re gonna hurt yourself doin’ that, baby, come on,” Sawhorse murmurs gently. “It’s okay, we’re okay, we’re gettin’ out– you understand me?”

His words wash over you, but you’re not sure if you understand him, not really. Your thoughts have vanished, processor going scratchy as your brain module happily loops itself into an existence consisting of “Sawhorse” and “Obstructions preventing proximity to Sawhorse.” You snarl threateningly at the Autobots shuffling behind Sawhorse, uncomprehending of both word and action, until the bars and shield drop and your way forward is– open. You lunge.

Big, stout, heavy arms catch your torso and twist your momentum, sending you reeling through the air in listing spins, but it’s okay because it’s your doctor, your Conjunx, cradling you close and stroking dense digits down your back. You tuck your helm underneath his, letting the quiet rumble of his engine soothe you. He unhooks your restraints with quick, practiced motions, muttering sweet nothings just loudly enough your combat protocols stay offline.

“That’s a good one,” Sawhorse continues, soft as a whisper. “You look unhurt– good, I’m glad. Now, we don’t have a lot of time, Firewall, so… Unless… Are you sure Bumblebee will be fine? I can continue–”

“We do have a medical corps,” one of the Autobots says dryly. “As much as we’d love to have you stick around, we are halfway to committing treason–”

“If you insist,” Sawhorse says. 

You curl a protective arm around your doctor’s waist. The Autobots cast unreadable expressions upon you, data that your mind files away for processing later. Then they turn around and hurry off. 

Bound together, you and Sawhorse follow doggedly. It’s a circuitous route through the fallen Autobot ship, paths and details you should memorize, but you know better than that. You’re leaving this war– trying to pretend otherwise, or save your metal later, undermines the purpose. The only way, now, is this.

Though you have no idea how Sawhorse pulled this off. A breakout is one thing– Autobot command assisting is wholly another. 

<<Sawhorse: query,>> you ping over the bonded connection.

<<Firewall: acknowledge,>> he pings back.

<<How did you pull this off?>> 

One of the Autobots draws short, a fist clenched in the air beside her. You slide your hand up to grip Sawhorse’s shoulder tire, plating clamping tight to your protoform as everyone stops. The other Autobot, pink and chrome, starts digging into the wall. You quickly reason out why– this is a door you’ve stopped at.

Perhaps your way out?

<<Fixed up a scout. You know the one.>>

<<Oh, Bumblebee?>>

You’ve never had the fortune of meeting the scout on the field. But soldiers talked, rumors spread, and you’re at least tangentially aware Decepticon command wanted him personally. Not even for his successful thievery or intel– but because he meant so much to the Prime. 

<<It was a lucky break. And we still may not make it, Firewall.>>

You understand that, at least. 

Mechanisms activating in the walls of the ship startle you. Your claws sink into Sawhorse’s rubber, prompting him to bat your hand away while simultaneously petting reassuringly down your side. Again, the Autobots give you a funny look, but only long enough to point at the chasm opening by way of the door.

“It’s open. You’ll have to make a bit of a jump, but it’s flat ground. Get out of here.”

“We have to jump?” Sawhorse yelps.

His field flares hot and sharp against yours. You shove him forward, into the gaping airlock, and peer over his frame.

“That is a bit cruel, Arcee,” one of them– not Arcee– says.

“Eh, well. Shouldn’t be grounders, then, huh?”

It is, as she says, a bit of a jump. Approximately four hundred feet from the edge of the airlock is the ground below. You’re not sure about the flat ground, if only because foliage and moisture make rough work of your systems. Still….

“See you around,” you throw over your shoulder. <<Go into your altmode just before you land,>> you whisper. 

Then you shove Sawhorse out of the ship proper and take the plunge right after. He screams and curses loudly, but that just means he’s okay, so you tune it out.