#I know it exists I occasionally stumble across bits of it

[tac-the-unseen]

I love all ur blog sm!! Can I ask abt something with the slashers (specially Thomas <3) with an foreigner!reader that don't quit speak english very well and normally forget words?

(Sorry if something is spelled wrong, English is not my native language lmao)

Absolutely, I can!

And because the request didn't specify, this fic will strictly be about speaking a foreign language.

Sorry if this is inaccurate! I'm a native English speaker and don't know many who aren't. Sorry in advance!!

Slashers x Foreigner!Reader

Micheal Myers:

•This man will act like he doesn't care but in reality he's so intrigued. (It might be why you're still alive) 

•He’ll spend his time watching you practice your pronunciation and recognition patterns, like it's a movie.

•Is he a bit mean about it? Yes. Will he laugh? Probably.

•If you find yourself not knowing what certain words are and stumble around until you find the right word, You'd be surprised at how patient he is. 

•If you are very new to the English language he'll secretly get you flash cards and stash them into a place he knows you'll find them

•Despite everything, if you ask him for help, he will help. He might be mute but he can write and use TV to aid you.

Billy loomis & Stu macher:

•Stu is already romanticizing your language, but instead of using the actual name of your language, he calls it “Talking pretty to me”

•Billy asks if you want any text books or study equipment to help you on your English speaking journey 

•Both boys are a surprising help! Stuttering trying to articulate what you mean? They've already jumped in to, A) help save you some of the embarrassment, and B) give you time to think about what you're trying to say. 

•Someone making fun of you? They're either dead or a social outcast by the end of the week. 

•Are you struggling to remember a certain word? These boys are willing play charades until you figure it out. And they won't drop it either, Stu says ‘It’s bad to give up when you've already come so far.’ 

•Over all it's not so bad (Stu 100,000,000% uses Google translate to figure out how to say ‘i love you’ in your native language) 

Thomas Hewitt:

•When both of you met, he had never met an actual foreigner before.

•He knew people travel around and occasionally some valley girl would end up in their small town, But someone from a whole different part of the world?

•His interest in you spiked the moment he heard your accent 

•Thomas has so many questions but doesn't know how to ask you

•With him being mute and your struggles with English, It's not the easiest relationship. In the end both of you just end up pointing at things and making noises to get your point across. 

•Absolutely loves to listen to you speak in your native language, Even if he'll never understand it. 

•When he's first trying to court you, he leaves you slightly damaged flowers (he struggled to pick them) to communicate his affection. 

•even with a language barrier, he's gonna love you like no one ever could 

Bubba Sawyer:

•He had no idea people outside of America existed 

•When You fell into the palm of Texas and his brothers found you failing to remember the word for your favorite snack, They knew you would be an easy target.

•When they kidnapped you and brought you to the basement so Bubba could chop you up, he was fascinated by the way you desperately tried to beg him not to kill you. 

•It ended in a huge fight in the family, But he got everyone to let you live a bit longer.

•Sits Criss Cross applesauce while you speak for your life. You could babble about anything and he would listen intently. 

•He pulls out his alphabet soup machine and spends hours typing with you. (You help him finally get past the clown level)

Bo Sinclair:

•absolute meanie, stinky poopy head about it >:(

•will mock your stutters and say stuff like “Oh come ON! The word is Cat! C. A. T. CAT! What's so hard about that?” 

•If you speak your native language around him, He thinks you're insulting him or intentionally hiding something. 

•”If you could say it to my face in your language you can say it to my face again in mine!”

•The same sentiment is not shared when it involves bedroom fun

•Will eventually apologize, But that's going to take a while 

Vincent Sinclair:

•As another non-speaking fellow he takes his time to make sure you two can understand each other 

•He’ll mostly use body language and and little doodles to get his point across 

•Stuttering over a word? He doesn't care, he'll let you work it out without any judgment!

•Want his help? He has several books, Vincent will just pull out a book he knows as the word in it, flipped to the page, and point at the word. 

•Love listening to you talk, In English or not. He'll happily let you yap his ear off. 

Lester Sinclair:

•Poor boy was lovestruck when he first heard you talk!

•Full on heart eyes while you explain where you're from and how you ended up here 

•If you end up fumbling on a word he'll start shouting out potential words for what you're trying to say. 

•Example: “and then I had too…uh…um..” “Run? Pee? Eat? Were you hungry? Are you hungry right now?” 

•So helpful, I know

•But the guy is already googling restaurants based off your native cuisine. He's got the date set up. 

•”It's no biggie, I'm a native English speaker and I still can't get it right!” 

Billy Lenz:

•Billy 100% understands the struggle of finding the right word to say 

•He can't stop stuttering himself, so when you start stuttering you kind of reinforce us in his brain that you were meant to be together 

•He feels like he can bond with you over it, and even feel safer around you knowing that you also mess up 

•the thing is if you start stuttering, he'll start stuttering. If you can't get it by God he will.

•”W-we can't bo-oth be wrong.” 

Brahms Heelshire:

•this man will 100% try to learn your language as soon as he finds out you're a foreigner

•That man has a huge library, there's bound to be at least one book written in your mother tongue 

•He spends a lot of time practicing your native language so he can speak to you more comfortably

•You already know he has children's learning books he'll pull out if you ask. 

•Can't find the word you're looking for? He's already 10 books deep, he'll find it for you. 

•Brahms is a well-educated man and he intends to use His years of learning to help 

•If you want to take classes to better your English skills he will 100,000% throw money your way to do so.

Hannibal Lecter:

•Now Hannibal really understands 

•He's a Lithuanian who learned English as a 10 year old

•He didn't struggle as much, But for the first couple of months you bet he was stumbling. 

•If you're struggling with a word, He has a process of teaching you so you don't forget it again. 

1) Identify what you're trying to say 

2)Slowly begin to sound out the word 

3)Have you recite the word a few times 

4)He'll either teaches you a little tune to remember or he'll do something so you remember the moment 

•Does it feel a little condescending? Yes. But it works 

•He's also willing to pour an ungodly amount of money into your English education if you ask 

•He'll even teach you himself in his spare time

Will Graham:

•Doesn't really know what to do, He's a bit awkward about it 

•He'll also identify the word and repeat it a few times so you can get a better handle on it.

•He thinks it's a bit funny and a bit cute when you stutter or mispronounce something 

•He will gently correct you and move on like nothing happened 

The Lost Boys:

•holy fucking shit this is a cluster fuck, let's do this one by one 

•David

-David, having been around a while, has picked up a couple languages.

-If he does know the language you're speaking he'll speak it back to you and guide you into English better than the other boys could 

-If not, he'll just read your mind and tell you what you're trying to say. It's by far the easiest way to articulate what you mean. 

•Dwayne

-Dwayne being just slightly younger than David has also picked up a couple languages 

-It's really the same if he does know your language But with a little more verbal teaching 

-If he doesn't he'll patiently wait until you figure out what you're trying to say. 

•Paul

-as soon as you start to stutter over yourself Paul starts shotgunning words off 

-some slightly related to the situation and others wildly out there 

-”Drink? Food? Ocean? Horse? The unforgiving eyes of God and His kingdom???” 

-he'll do this to confuse you and have a nice laugh 

•Marko

-Marko speaks English and Italian, so if your language isn't one of those two you're kind of shit out of luck 

-”Come on babe, you'll get it” 

-He finds it a bit funny but still tries to help in little ways 

Thanks for reading <3

Sorry if this seems hastily written together, I haven't had the request in a while so I kind of jumped at the opportunity.

[doe-eyed-fool]

Fear Of The Known

Lucifer x Fem!Angel!Reader

|Chapter Seven|

Warning: Drinking, Angst

Y/n and Michael set across from each other in the breakfast nook. She made some tea, in hopes to help relax Michael a bit. He looked so tired, and yet he was so tense. Almost alert.

"Is there something wrong?" Y/n asks carefully. Michael looked up from his tea at her. "I don't know yet." He sighs. Y/n furrows her brows in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Michael leaned back in his seat slightly. "Father called a meeting with me and my brothers, along with his other trusted angels. And telling from recent events it was not a...pleasant meeting. Not at all." Michael says as he brings a hand up to his head.

"I've never seen father so frazzled. With all this talk of, secret exterminations and that hotel ran by Lucifer's daughter. We were there for hours just trying to find a way to settle this mishap, and then we had to discuss what would be done with Sera. Oh and then, of course, the back and forth of what we should do about that hotel situation. I just..." Michael's hand ran down his face as he groaned.

"What did you decide?" Y/n asks. "About?" Michael raises an eyebrow. "Um, the hotel. The idea of redemption, it seems impossible. But then again, every possibility has the chance of becoming true." Said Y/n. "I'd know..."

Michael was silent for a moment. "It's a nice thought. But Hell exists for a reason. A place for all evil to reside. Humans are given the chance to be better, and when they die, divine judgement awaits. Whether or not they make it up here or down there, is up to them. The afterlife given is the afterlife they will live for eternity. There is no changing that."

Y/n looks down at her cup of tea. "I suppose it is a nice thought." She then inhales before standing from the table. "Michael, I think we both need a vacation."

Michael chuckles. "Yeah? You think we'd get more of them, considering this is paradise." Y/n crosses her arms with a smirk. "I also think tea isn't what we need right now." She looks over her shoulder. "Do you drink?"

"Not often. I can't even remember my last one." Said Michael. Y/n walks to the wine cabinet and looks for her best bottle. Y/n wasn't much of a drinker either, only really having one with dinner occasionally. But it was nice to have every now and then.

She picks up a bottle and grabs two glasses and returns to the table. "Has God made any sort of decision yet?" She asks. Michael shook his head. "No, but he's assured us we will have an answer soon."

Y/n pours each of them a glass. "Well until then, let's actually try to relax for once." Michael smiles and takes his glass. "Let's."

The two of them might have a tad too much, and Michael, being the responsible man he was, decided to cut himself and Y/n off. "Alright, this was fun. But." Michael stands from the table. "Bed time."

Y/n, half asleep and slightly tipsy, groaned. "Mhm..." Michael helped her out of the chair, holding her tight so she doesn't stumble. He then picked her up and walked to her bedroom. He walks inside her room and lays her on the bed carefully. Y/n yawned and closed her eyes.

As he was turning to leave, Y/n grabbed onto his sleeve, causing him to stop. He turns to face her. "Do you need something?" He asks quietly. Y/n mumbled something into her pillow, so he leaned down closer to her. "What was that?" Y/n looked up at him with tired eyes, her voice cracked slightly as she spoke.

"Don't go...Please Lucifer...Please stay."

Michael froze. Y/n tugged on his sleeve again. "Please..." Wordlessly, Michael crawled beside her, and tried to ignore the ache in his chest as he held her close to him.

Y/n winces at the morning light brushing at her face. She yawns and sits up in her bed, stretching her arms up above her head. She gets out of bed, and notices she was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Her confusion only lasted a brief moment before it hit her.

"Gosh." She sighed. "Poor Michael." She laughs slightly at the thought of him having to get her into bed. Y/n steps into her bathroom to take a shower and freshen up before starting her day.

After getting dressed she made her way to the kitchen, where she saw Michael. He was leaning against the wall, looking out of the window as he sipped on a cup of coffee.

"Michael?" Why was he still here? Michael turned to face her. "Good morning." He greets her. "Did you stay the night?" Y/n asks. Michael chuckles. "Yeah. Don't worry I slept on the couch, well, after you finally let out of your clutches."

Y/n's face heats up slightly. "Oh my goodness, I am so sorry Michael!' Michael shakes his head and walks over to the coffee maker. "Don't worry about it. How's your head?"

"Surprisingly fine. No hangover, thankfully." Y/n joins him. Michael hands her a cup and goes back to drinking his. "That's good."

"Thank you, Michael. Again, I'm sorry you had to deal with me last night. I hope didn't say or do anything else to make myself look like more of a fool." Y/n sighs.

Michael was silent for a moment. "If you did...I'm not telling you." He smirks. "Michael!" Y/n pouts. "What did I do?"

"Nope, I'm not saying." Michael teases. Y/n groans. "You're terrible."

"Aren't I?" Michael chuckles. "Anyway. I should start heading out. I have another dreadful meeting to attend. I suppose today we will finally have our answer."

"If you need to talk after, I'll be here for you." Said Y/n with a smile. Michael smiles as well, but couldn't help but feel that awful ache again. "I know." He heads for the door. "I'll see you later, Y/n."

"Goodbye." Y/n waves. Michael waves before leaving, shutting the door behind him.

Y/n would start her day as usual, run a few errands around the city, and occasionally be stopped by a few civilians who wanted to know what the future held for them. Y/n would never look too far, just enough to satisfy them.

She'd never tell them what would happen when something unfavorable is to occur. Instead, she'd advise them to be cautious of certain things, places, or people. It was best not to scare them, but she would make sure they were aware and careful.

As Y/n was walking, she could see the Seraphim's tower up ahead. Her head was telling to keep walking, but her heart said the opposite. Ever since the exterminations were exposed, Y/n couldn't help but wonder how Emily was doing.

She wasn't herself lately. And now that Sera's fate was on the line, Y/n worried for Emily more. So, Y/n decided right then to pay her a visit. She walked inside and made her way upward. As she walking through the hall, she noticed someone up ahead. They had walked out of Sera's office and were heading in her direction.

The closer Y/n got, she realized just who it was approaching. Joel. Y/n was unsure what to say as they both grew closer. She was never close to Joel, even all those years ago. Y/n opened her mouth to greet him, though she did not get the chance as Joel walked right past her without a word.

Y/n wasn't offended, Joel never was much of a social man. Then suddenly she stopped.

'Wait a minute.' Y/n turned around, watching Joel grow further away. 'What was he doing in Sera's office?' Y/n turned back around. With curiosity getting the better of her, she entered Sera's office, and was shocked by what she saw.

"That's a bit rude, barging in here unannounced like that."

"Sera?" Y/n furrow her brows. "What are you doing here?" Sera, without looking at her, answered. "This is my office." She says bluntly. Sera then gives her a sharp look. "We're you hoping I'd be locked away until I was given my punishment?"

"I was expecting you to be suspended from your duties until God made his decision." Y/n corrects her. "Has he already?"

"No." Sera mutters. "I am here because there is no one to take my place, otherwise I would have been suspended." Y/n glances back at the door for a moment. "And, why was Joel here?"

"Supervising." Sera's face scrunches in annoyance. "I suppose him watching my every move is part of the punishment they have planned for me. Now, why are you here?"

"I wanted to check on Emily." Y/n answers. "Emily is fine." Sera insists. Y/n furrows her brows. "She wasn't before. You kept such a gruesome secret from her for so many years after all."

"Y/n. I have a lot of my mind, and I do not need you to add to it. So if you'll please." Sera gestures to the door. Y/n said nothing more before leaving.

Y/n made her way back down the tower, a bit of power in her steps as frustration swarms in her head. She she was making her way for the exit, Emily walked in. She saw Y/n and smiled slightly. "Hi Y/n."

The frustration fades from Y/n as she smiles. "Hello Emily. How are you today?" She asks. Emily shrugs. "Doing better, I guess. At least those exterminations won't happen anymore. I hope."

"You hope?" Y/n asked. Emily nods. "There hasn't been any sort of answer. So, I don't know..."

Y/n puts a hand on her shoulder. "Trust me, you won't have to worry about those exterminations anymore. I know God wouldn't allow for something so unethical to continue."

"Do you know? Or do you know?" Emily raises an eyebrow. Y/n laughs weakly. "I haven't looked. But you really shouldn't worry. No one in their right mind would let those exterminations go on."

Emily takes Y/n's hands. "Please Y/n, will you tell me? It'd make me feel so much better if I knew it wouldn't. I'm really worried about Charlie and her friends."

Charlie? Was that what the princess liked to be called?

"Alright." Y/n says softly. "If it will make you feel better, I will look." Emily nods, holding her hands tighter. Y/n closes her eyes and waits for the vision to come.

The same red sky came into view, and she saw the very same hotel that Charlie was so passionate about. It all seemed to be fine so far, until the sky was broken by bright heavenly light.

And down came a swarm of angels, weapons in hand. They swooped down and killed any demon in sight. Some fought back against the angels, but the battle was starting to lean towards the angels favor.

And all of a sudden, a giant beam of light cut through the hotel, destroying it completely. The one who caused it's destruction was none other than Adam himself.

And he was about to face a dangerous foe...

Y/n's eyes shot open. Her breath was caught in her throat, and her heartbeat thumbed harshly against her chest. The exterminations would continue after all...

"Y/n?" Emily spoke up. "You're hurting my hands a little." Y/n looked down, she was holding onto Emily's hands tightly. She quickly took them away and apologized.

"What's wrong?" Asked Emily carefully. Y/n swallowed a lump in her throat. "I...I just saw something I didn't expect." Y/n began to walk past Emily. "I'm sorry Emily, I must go now. There's someone I need to speak to right away."

Y/n took off into the sky, unable to hear Emily as she called for her to come back. Y/n felt terrible for lying to her, she knew Emily wasn't stupid. Emily would find out eventually, and it broke Y/n's heart.

She flapped her wings harder, increasing her speed. There was no time to waste, that terrible future was coming soon. She had to do something to stop it before it was too late.

Y/n landed in front of God's palace, she rushed in through the gates and hurried inside. She was half way to God's throne room, she rounded a corner and suddenly bumped into someone. She stumbled back a bit.

"Whoa, what's got you in a rush?"

Y/n looked up and was met with the angel of death himself, Azrael. He looked down at her with a smirk. "You got somewhere you need to be?"

"I need to speak with God immediately!" Y/n pants breathlessly. Azrael hummed and leaned on his staff. "Ah, sorry. God's a bit busy right now. Maybe come back later?"

"But I need to see him now! I saw something terrible in the near future!" Y/n tried to explain. "Again, he's busy." Azrael repeats. "But, I can relay the message to him if you'd like?"

"Azrael, please, this is urgent! I am not leaving until speak with him!" Y/n knew better than to speak this way to him, he was her superior. But right now, she couldn't care less.

"What's going on here?"

Y/n and Azrael turned to see Michael approaching. "Little one here says she needs to speak with God. Says it's real urgent." Said Azrael with a grin. Michael looks to Y/n. "Father is in the middle of an important meeting at the moment. Tell me, what did you see?"

"The exterminations, they're still going to happen!" Y/n tells him, she didn't miss the hesitation from Michael. But she couldn't stop to dwell on it. "Adam is going down to the princess' hotel and..."

"Lucifer and Adam will battle."

Michael and Azrael were taken aback from this. They looked at each other for a moment before Michael spoke again. "Y/n, come with me." Michael walks ahead of her.

"But Michael, God must know about this! Sera is still letting these exterminations happen!"

Michael faces her, a slightly stern look in his eyes. "Y/n." He says sharply. "Please...just come with me." Confused, Y/n hesitantly followed him.

What ever was happening now, Y/n had the most terrible feeling.

Tags-

@bloody-delusion-expert

@simbalioness

@annybah

@alientee

[littledollll]

Missed opportunity

Morpheus x human!reader

A/n: I have that line-

“And you never knew, how much I really liked you, ‘cause I never even told you. Oh and I meant to.” Back to the Old House, The smiths.

Stuck in my head so fuck it, let’s write.

(March 29)

A/n pt.2: guys I actually wrote something for the first time in like a month yesterday and I’m excited, I have started 3 requests started and I think ill actually get them done in at least a week, wish me luck :P

Warnings: Angst!, this takes place before during and after Morpheus’ imprisonment. Reader questions their sanity, unrequited love but not actually, both R and M are idiots in love. R dies:0.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

Dream of the endless having friends was rare, them being human even more so. But somehow you managed to befriend him, from the second he stumbled across one of your dreams he was drawn to you.

He sought you out in the waking world, and you were every bit as captivating as he thought you to be and something about you just kept him coming back to you.

Your friendship flourished rather quickly, much to basically everyone’s surprise. Morpheus knew you to be kindhearted and friendly, beyond beautiful and energetic. Just being in your presence was enough to cure any sour mood of his. You became a constant in his life, part of his routine included visiting you for at least a few hours.

It was a scary feeling, to know you’re falling for someone, to not know how they feel about you. Realistically Morpheus could open one of the many books on your life and dreams and simply find the answers he was looking for but that’s not something he wanted. He wanted to learn about you as you revealed yourself to him, to know you person to person, just like any other human.

He felt completed by your very existence, but even the anthropomorphic personification of dreams was riddled by a very human thing, anxiety, overthinking. He wouldn’t risk losing your lovely smile, your charming personality, all for romanticism.

Years and years passed but he never told you. He was with you through new relationships and break ups, he helped you move in to your new apartment, he was with you when you ran into the stray cat you named Star and adopted into your home. Morpheus was a great friend, your best friend.

He wasn’t aware you felt them same for him, or that fear of losing his companionship was also the thing holding you back. In his mind you saw him as a very good friend, and that was it.

In your mind somebody as ethereal as him couldn’t possibly be interested in you. So you settled for his friendship, you both did.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

After so many years of constant visits, Morpheus missing one day seemed like the end of the world. You had no way of contacting him, you never questioned how he just seemed to show up and join you, why would you when you were busy fawning over his dreamy eyes, oh the way they showed every emotion despite his cold exterior, you’d catch it if you just paid enough attention.

Days turned into weeks without sight or word from him. There was nothing or no one that could comfort you about this. It was him. He was your person and suddenly he was gone. Did you do something wrong to somehow push him away? Did you somehow imagine him?

You never got an answer. For the rest of your days you stayed convinced that it was all some sort of dream, or an illusion made up by your lonely mind, one that craved all that attention and well- love. Maybe he was a victim of that new Sleepy sickness, after all he disappeared around the same time it started, but then again, you had no way of knowing.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

One hundred years. Of complete solitude, of weakness and vulnerability, of pain as grief, so much grief.

In the beginning Morpheus had hope, he had Jessamine who would occasionally be seen and attempt to help him out of this glass bubble. He had the hope of getting to see you some day soon. That he’d somehow make it out of here and everything would be as he left it, that hope was torn away bit by bit as the years passed.

He had no way of keeping track, truly he made no attempt to tell the day or time, he knew when night would come and a year would pass, and the years kept coming and coming, painfully slow and too fast all at the same time.

There was only one day that stood out to him, one that felt different from all the rest. This sudden ache in his heart, Despair coming to visit their dear bother once again as Death visited you. And that was it, the last bit of hope.

Making it out of that place proved to be a chore, not only was Morpheus physically weakened, emotionally too. He had duties though. A realm to rebuild and take care of, items to collect and people to meet with.

Distracted by all else it was only when Death approached Dream that he stopped to actually think about you. But he didn’t ask anything, Death knew her brother enough not to need his words.

“They lived a fulfilling life and died of old age. Star grew old with them as well.” A nod. “They say that she’s the only proof they had you existed at all. After you disappeared they were convinced you were fake, a product of loneliness or some weird illness.”

“They’ll never know.” There was no need for further explanations, was there something Death didn’t know anyways? “They knew. I wish you would have seen the relief on their face once we met. Like it answered every question they ever had. Forget how you loved them and how you showed it, they felt loved, I think that’s more than enough.”

[agentsquirrelsgotrobots]

Hi Squirrel!

I got an entertaining wacky crossover question if you're willing to hear me out.

if Jason Todd/Red Hood fell into a portal and got Isakaied into a Transformers world who would he accidentally try to hotwire? I'm thinking Jazz would be funny just based on personality but I'm not sure whether Jason'd try to jack an official vehicle because of the added hassel.

Thanks,

Bookwyrm

I like this idea.

Definitely not Jazz or Prowl, but I would find it funny if Jason tried to hotwire Bumblebee (as a nod to Batman the animated series, and Bruce's undercover car being a yellow bug) and Jazz had to intervene before Jaskn could actually harm Bumblebee, or get energon on himself.

Of course, Jazz would try his sirens first, but after Bumblebee let's our a panicked squeak after Jason puncture a minor energon line and runs the rusk at getting the skin irritant all over his face and hands, Jazz blows his cover, gently pulling Jason out of Bumblebee and setting him inside the nearby hidden Batmobile. Jason, of course, tries to steal the tires, and that gets the ball rolling with Canon.

Maybe Bumblebee ends up crashing a car auction so Bruce buys him for the batcave.

Maybe Jason just buys him as his first independently bought car, but Bumblebee finds his way back to him eventually, glad that Bruce had at least taken good care of him physically, though he could use some Optimus Prime wisdom and some Arcee mother henning, but Alfred seems to be trying his best.

I am thinking plenty of fluff, little in the way of Decepticons or anything like that. Just a rarely used stakeout car that sometimes has a few new dentd and the occasional blue leak that sometimes disappears randomly.

In terms of iskai,

G1: Red Hood would end up making deals with the decepticons, while Jason would and, at least off screen, does kill for any autobot in peril. This might be a bit of a problem.

Prime: he's Miko with a gun. The series is much, much shorter once he realizes that the eyes are a weak point.

TFA: becomes a villain of the week. Mostly, he cleans up the worst parts of Detroit and stays out of the bots' way.

Rescue Bots: sees the giant cop bot and books it. He ain't touching that with a ten foot pole.

Earthspark: massacres GHOST. There's blood on the ceiling of several warehouses. Mandroid is dead before he even meets the director. Jason doesn't even know the terrans exist, just stumbles across an obvious meta-alien-robot-something trafficking ring and lets loose.

[tickletorso]

Finding the Fun - RSS 2023 Fic

Hello @of-princes-and-savages I am your Secret Santa and damn was this a labor of love! The flu almost stopped me, but I said "not today infectious demon, I have a gift to complete." So without further ado, I hope you enjoy this kinda angsty, mostly fluffy, with just a hint of smut Rumbelle fic.

I will also post it to Ao3, but probably not until tomorrow and I wanted to make sure I got this to you today. So, feel free to read it below....

Summary: Belle and Rumple are settled in Storybrooke with two year-old Gideon. One night, Belle has a mishap and it inspires the couple to try and bring back the fun into their relationship.

Notes: This is a little bit AU, because after Gideon is turned back into a baby, the family stays in Storybrooke instead of traveling realms. So magic exists and all of the characters' history is the same but I’m glossing over the whole “Rumple needs to break his Dark One curse” thing. Also, I researched it and baby deer walk 7 hours after being born. - That’ll make sense when you read it. 

Finding the Fun

Well, this wasn’t the oddest position Rumple had ever found Belle in.

There was the time in the Dark Castle when he’d found her perched high up on a ladder tugging on the window curtains trying to let light into the room. He’d been about to chide her, because it was called the dark castle for a reason, but she’d lost her balance and fell right into his arms. There were many other “Belle mishaps” (as he liked to call them) to choose from, but the ladder was his favorite. He’d ended up with his arms full of a beautiful woman, the sun shining down on him like a spotlight and she hadn’t looked at him with repulsion. Instead he saw curiosity and kindness in her bright blue eyes. He didn’t know it then, but that was the beginning of his love for her. 

Currently, he was leaning against the doorframe of their son Gideon’s room. The hallway light behind him cast a luminous glow over the scene inside. Belle was fast asleep propped up by the headboard of their two year-old son’s bed. Gideon was cradled in her lap, equally fast asleep, his head resting against her bosom. He could tell even from across the room that Gideon’s breathing was a bit labored, and he could hear the occasional sniffle from what was undoubtedly a stuffy nose. 

Ah, Gideon finally caught a cold from one of the other children at daycare. Well it was bound to happen at some point. An autumn chill had recently swept through Storybrooke and with it inevitably came runny noses and germ-laden hands.

But his beautiful wife comforting their son wasn’t the ‘odd’ part of this tableau. It was what she was wearing. Rumple’s eyes trailed up her legs. They were covered in sheer black stockings and just a peek of a garter belt could be seen high up her thigh. He could just make out a pair of matching panties trimmed in scallop lace before Gideon’s little body hid the rest from view. His gaze continued to drift upward to her top. It was a thin and rather ragged sweatshirt with the words Storybrooke Library stamped upon it. It even looked like she’d done her makeup more than usual. Her eyes were darkly lined with a winged effect and her lips were a luscious merlot color. 

He tried to bite back a chuckle. Belle had sent him out for a bottle of wine and there had been a wicked gleam in her eyes. It appears Belle’s plans for a seduction had been rudely and quite suddenly interrupted by Gideon’s head-cold. 

Rumple gently closed the door and made his way to their bedroom where he was met with more evidence of Belle’s thwarted seduction. Hanging off the side of their bed was a black corset covered in a black scallop lace just matching her panties. The drawers of their dresser were all pulled out with clothing spilling out of them and several items strewn across the floor. The male part of him groaned at the missed opportunity. The rest of him had a good laugh while he cleaned up the room. 

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

Belle stumbled down the hallway like a baby deer fresh from the womb. Her legs had fallen asleep while keeping Gideon propped up on her lap. Poor little Gid had woken up crying and panicked because he couldn’t breathe through his nose. He didn’t understand that it was just a cold, and he kept pointing to his nose crying “no no no.” Once she was able to calm him down they’d sat in the bathroom with the shower steaming to help loosen his stuffed sinuses followed by a small dose of cough medicine. He still hadn’t been able to sleep without Belle propping him up making it easier for him to breathe. Thank gods toddlers don’t care what their moms look like as long they’re there, because Belle looked very different than usual.

The house was already dark so it must be late. It was always disorienting leaving Gideon’s room after sleeping with him. It felt like his room existed outside of time and space; the white noise machine, the complete darkness he needed for sleep (he must get it from Rumple), the cozy warmth of his body when he insists on snuggling until he drifts off. It all effectively shuts out the world. So when Belle tiptoes out the door, it always takes her a long time to orient herself to the sounds, the light, and the cold of the real world. She has absolutely no idea what time it is. It could be tomorrow for all she knows. 

She makes her way into the kitchen trying to quietly make some tea before she puts herself to bed. The feeling is back in her legs because she definitely felt the chair she just knocked into which, of course, clattered to the floor. The sound echoing throughout the first floor of the house. With a great huff she slouched against the kitchen counter. So much for quiet. 

“Well well well. What do we have here?”

Belle jumped with a little shriek turning around to meet the very amused eyes of Rumple. 

“Rumple!” She pressed her hand to her heart, “You scared me.”

He shrugged and swaggered towards her pulling her into his arms. He was dressed for bed in his deep blue silk pajama set with a matching robe. The contrast in their attire was very apparent. Most of Belle’s makeup was rubbed off  and her hair was a frizzy, tangled mess from the shower steam. She looked up to see Rumple biting back an amused smile. The glee on his face made him look like the imp she’d known during their time in the Dark Castle together. Despite her embarrassment, she found her heart chuckling inside of her along with him. It had been a long time since she’d seen him find something funny other than from sinister irony. 

His voice was quiet and laughing when he asked, “Would you like to tell me about your evening?”

“Only if you make me some tea.”

“Deal,” he said, and with a peck on her forehead, left her arms to tend to the kettle. 

Belle picked up the chair from the floor and settled herself into it. She pulled a leg up under herself, and the silky slipperiness of her stockings made her grimace. The stockings weren’t made to withstand a steam bath and restless toddler feet snagging on them. They were designed to carefully encase each leg and then dramatically shown off in a big reveal that raises blood pressure (in addition to other things), maybe a short session of eye-fucking, and then finally are peeled off in favor of more naked activities. 

“I should get changed,” she muttered to herself.

“And deprive me of the sexy sight before me?”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Obviously this was not what I was going for. Gideon woke up with a cold and it all went downhill from there.”

Rumple set the tea tray on the table, and reached for her clasped hands. “I’m sorry sweetheart. Is Gid ok?”

“Yeah he’ll be fine. I think it scared him more than anything.”

Rumple sat across from her still holding her hand. “I suppose you can’t really explain to a two year-old what a head cold is.”

“Not really.”

“I wasn’t laughing at you. The situation is just….”

“Funny.” Belle supplied with a smirk. “I know. It is. It really is.” She fiddled with Rumple’s finger while trying to shake off the feelings of disappointment and frustration. With his free hand, Rumple began to fix their tea trying to pour hot water into the teapot without spilling. When Belle noticed his adorable attempt to make tea one-handed she released his fingers and clasped her own together in her lap. 

For two years they’ve been trying to heal together. They are both in individual therapy and in couples therapy. Even little Gideon went to play therapy once per month. Now that he is starting to develop his own sense of self they wanted to make sure Gideon had extra support in case their were residual effects from his time in the Dark Realm and…well, from everything else that had happened to him. Because so much had happened. Sometimes it felt like too much. All of the curses, all of the betrayals, and secrets. There were times early on when Belle couldn’t imagine their little family ever being happy together. 

Now, she sees glimmers of hope everywhere. In the way Rumple holds onto her hand even if he needs it back to make their tea; in the way he packs extra snacks in Gideon’s daycare bag “just in case he’s hungrier than usual;” in the way he tells her every single time he has a craving to misuse magic, and instead they talk together until a non-magical solution can be found. 

So tonight she had wanted to create something special for him  — ok, for them. Not that they hadn’t had sex in the past two years, but this was intended to be different. She wanted to play and have fun. It had been such a long time since they’d just had fun. She thought bringing that playfulness into the bedroom would in turn bring it back into their relationship on a whole. 

Rumple sat her teacup in front of her and she grabbed his hand before he could pull away. He looked up a bit surprised at her earnestness.

“I….” She started. “I….” She sighed. She didn’t know how to say it. How to explain what she had imagined for their night together. The simple explanation was not so simple anymore. She closed her eyes and tried to remember what Dr. Hopper had coached. 

The emotions behind a simple situation make it feel complicated. Un-complicate it by first stating the facts out loud.

Belle’s blue eyes pierced into Rumple’s. He could see her internal fight, but was mystified as to what it was about. His first instinct was to jump into the conversation and try to fix it, but he knew that wasn’t what she needed. He has a penchant for trying to fix everything and anything for the ones he loves. After hundreds of years and lots of therapy he’s finally curbing that instinct. 

You don’t have to fix everything. You just have to be present, listen, and then, if Belle asks for your help, you can work together towards a solution .

Finally Belle blew out a long breath and an even longer stream of words. 

“After Gideon went to bed, I sent you out for a bottle of wine even though we have a full wine cellar. I went to our room, put on makeup like Lacey used to wear, and then started changing into some sexy lingerie that I bought specially for tonight. Then everything with Gideon happened — ” she pulled her hands apart and spread her fingers wide as if she could grab Gideon’s untimely cold from the past and show it to him like a picture book at a children’s story hour. 

Once the facts are stated begin listing your feelings. Don’t go into the cause or the reasons for the feelings. State just the feelings.

“— and I am frustrated, disappointed, annoyed, embarrassed, and exhausted. Ok, I don’t know if ‘exhausted’ is technically a feeling but if it’s not it should be.”

Rumple brought his teacup to his mouth gently blowing over the hot liquid’s surface. A bubble of quiet contemplation settled around the table. He and Belle had been diligently working to keep their family together which meant they lived a sedate and routine-oriented lifestyle. 

“Sweetheart, not that I’m complaining, but may I ask what brought this on?”

Belle groaned internally, because of course that was his response. Any sane person would ask that question. Except most people would say something like ‘why did you suddenly decide to act out a cheesy seduction on a Wednesday night?’ 

Belle fiddled with the tiny handle of her teacup while her mind swirled with words creating half-explanations none of which would make sense to anyone outside of herself. Several times her mouth opened to say something but all she could accomplish was looking pleadingly at Rumple with big pitiful eyes. He grasped her limp hands and held them tight. 

“Belle…is there something -”

“-I’m bored!” She blurted out. 

They blinked at each other both surprised for very different reasons. 

“Oh”

“No, not in that way. Not bored of our relationship. I’m not unhappy. I cannot stress that enough.”

“…ok.” To his credit Rumple’s grip on Belle’s hands didn’t lessen. “But you’re bored.” He stated it like it was one of the many facts of their life together; Gideon doesn’t like peas, Rumple is the Dark One, and Belle is bored. 

“I miss the fun part of our relationship,” and even as Belle said it she winced, because in truth there relationship history wasn’t riddled with lighthearted moments. “I want there to be a ‘fun’ aspect to our relationship.”

“Fun.” Rumple repeated it like it was the first time he’d ever said the word in his life. “Well, I’m not entirely certain what to do about that. Should I do something?”

Belle face glowed with warmth and happiness. The Rumple from only a few years ago would’ve never asked if he ‘should’ do something. He would’ve spent days and weeks plotting and planning without consulting her, and then revealed something ‘fun.’ 

“Let me try to come up with something and if it doesn’t work out then you can take a crack at it.”

“If its any consolation, what you came up with looked like it would’ve been spectacular.” Rumple placed a kiss on her hand and leaned in close, “Parental responsibilities simply got in the way.”

“So much for spontaneity.” Belle leaned in bringing her lips to his intending for a quick kiss, but the forward momentum of her body kept their lips locked together. She opened her mouth ever so slightly and Rumple’s fingers cupped her chin keeping her steady while the tip of his tongue gently caressed and coaxed hers. She exhaled and sank deeper into their kiss enjoying the comforting familiarity of it, and grateful that even after all these years her lips still tingled with excitement when he kissed her. When a natural break from the need to breathe inserted itself, Belle leaned back in her chair feeling cautiously excited about this new endeavor. 

———————————————-

This. Is. So. Horrible.

Belle wished it was physically possible to impale herself on the tiny dessert fork before her. The shiny object was sitting next to a plate of pears gorgeously poached in a spiced red wine reduction, and yet the only thought running through her brain (aside from suicide by fork) was her gratitude that the dessert course had finally arrived. 

Gusteau’s was one of the newer restaurants that popped up in Storybrooke after the Black Fairy had been defeated. A quiet curse-free existence seemed possible for the first time and many of the town’s citizens were investing in their hopes and dreams again. Resulting in many new businesses and restaurants opening their doors. 

Gusteau’s was the prime example of a fine dining experience. Heavy beautifully carved furniture was spaced evenly throughout the restaurant and crisp white linens covered the tables. Each tabletop was adorned with a low vase of roses and a miniature lamp that cast just enough light that one could comfortably gaze upon their dining companion. The room on a whole was swathed in heavy, rich fabrics and carpeted to dampen the foot tread of the wait staff as they hurried from table to kitchen and back again. 

Belle thought, at the time, it was the perfect idea for a fun night out. Gideon was enjoying a play date at the Nolan’s house. Their little boy Neal was a few years older, but he played well with Gideon always making sure to keep their games at a pace suited to a toddler. He had the sweet nature of his namesake and seemed to favor Gideon especially. More importantly, it meant their own house was unoccupied. While preparing for their evening out, Belle had visions of an elegant dinner enjoying sumptuous food and good conversation accompanied by just a tad too much wine. Maybe they would take a stroll in the crisp evening air by the water. She loved the mystery of the sea at night. It was a thrilling contrast, hearing the water churning against the docked boats, but the black night obscuring it from view. Once they were thoroughly chilled to their bones they would warm each other in front of their fireplace finding bliss in the comfort of their own home. 

But now…..

She just wanted to go home, throw on some leggings, and crawl into bed until the morning when they would go retrieve Gid. Hopefully he was having a better night. 

Rumple was twisting the stem of his glass of port between his fingers. They’d both given up trying to keep the conversation from stagnating. It hadn’t occurred to her that after hours of talk therapy they wouldn’t have anything to talk about. They started off the evening talking about Gideon - that was inevitable - and then Rumple’s shop and the library, but once those topics had been exhausted, neither of them knew where to direct the conversation next. They were in each other’s lives every day. There wasn’t much more to say that hadn’t already been said at the breakfast table that morning. And Rumple tried, he really did, but gods help them at one point he even commented on the weather. It’s colder than usual for this time of year…. That was it. It hadn’t even been something substantial about the weather that Belle could verbally latch onto and run with. 

So now she was left staring at her dessert like it was the saddest sight in the world. Resolutely, she picked up her dessert fork and (choosing life) cut into one of the pears. As the warm flavors of cinnamon and nutmeg burst in her mouth, she tried to think of something to say. 

“How is the port?” She reluctantly let the question escape her lips, but before Rumple could answer, a cheerful giggling from the adjacent table captured their attention. 

Squinting, Belle could make out a very young couple, in their teens, not-so-secretly passing a silver flask between them under the table. Each time the girl took a small sip she laughed producing a delightful jingling sound and the boy looked at her like she was the sweetest thing on this earth. They were tucked together at the table experiencing their first foray into ‘adult’ dating and all that it entails  — soft candlelight, fancy food and clothing, and hushed serious tones. But like most teens their natural enthusiasm for being unleashed on the world could’t be tamped down. They awkwardly held hands and fussed with their cutlery as they waited for their next course. They talked just a bit too loud. 

Belle’s mind jolted with memories, but she quickly realized they weren’t her memories. They were Lacey’s. Like a book she read long ago and could only recall small portions of the story, Lacey’s memories were vague and full of feeling more than specifics. However, in this moment, she could recall ‘memories’ of Lacey as a fresh teen going to parties and playing drinking games with her peers. She could feel the thrill of drinking alcohol like an adult. Mostly she remembered laughter. Laughing while a bottle spun round and round between her circle of friends; anticipating the person it would choose for her next kiss. Laughing when she proclaimed “Never have I ever…” and watching her friends sheepishly drink a shot and admitting to some embarrassing deed. Lacey’s nights out as a teen were a strange mixture of vulnerability and….fun. Belle could confidently guess that Rumple’s cursed memories didn’t contain anything like Lacey’s shenanigans, and she was positive he’d never participated in even the simple games children played in Fairytale Land. 

She reached across the table and took the glass of port from Rumple’s fingers. Gaining his attention, he seemed dazed like a schoolboy caught daydreaming during his lessons, Belle took a big breath and smiled at him. It was time to breathe some life back into this half-dead date.

“Let’s get the check and then I want you to come with me, but before you do, I need you to promise me one thing.”

Rumple’s eyebrows raised at that. They tried not to practice in promises. They were still learning their own limitations as a couple and making promises could be dangerous. 

“Belle, sweetheart, are you sure?”

“Trust me. Promise that you’ll keep an open mind.” She tried to infuse her smile with as much assurance as possible. 

“Ok, darling” Belle almost missed the sigh that accompanied it, but she wouldn’t be deterred. This was a situation of her own making and she needed to fix it. 

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

The rush of wind was wonderfully refreshing. It was just what they needed after the heavy warmth of the restaurant. Belle had insisted on walking through town. They could get the car later. Rumple had never been happier to be cold, because it meant Belle was snuggled tight into his side. The small table at which they’d been seated at Gusteau’s made it feel like he was trying to hold a conversation with someone on the opposite side of a football field. No matter how hard he’d tried to keep the flow of conversation going it was inundated with long pauses and stilted answers. It’d been excruciating. He’d felt like he was failing Belle with each course serving more awkward pauses than the last until finally dessert was served with outright silence. 

Another gust of wind blew back the flaps of his coat, and he tugged them closer around him and his beloved Belle. They stood by the harbor looking out into the vast darkness of the sea. Belle was practically molded to him. He buried his face in her thick auburn tresses, once darker and curly they had straightened into waves with age, but it didn’t matter. He loved her no matter what. After all, he had changed too - his hair had been chopped short by his own hand. He was sometimes self-conscious of the change he’d made, but as if she could read his thoughts, at those times Belle would take the opportunity to gently massage his scalp letting her fingers slip and slide through his shorn greying hair. How he loved her. It was the reason he was so panicked about their lackluster evening - she was bored. She wanted to have fun, but honestly Rumple wasn’t sure he was capable of such a thing. His life hadn’t exactly been built on the idea of carefree joy. His parents had abandoned him and, until Belle came along, so had everyone else either by death, circumstance, or outright choice. What did he know about fun?

Belle turned in his arms nuzzling the smooth skin of his jawline which then turned into small kisses and nibbles. The biting cold and Belle’s amorous affection had him fighting for breath. 

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to ‘keep an open mind’?”

Chuckling, Belle murmured, “Not quite.” She pulled back a fraction so she could see his face, “Have you ever heard of Truth or Dare?”

Rumple faltered for a reply. “Uh…yes, it’s some kind of game teenagers in this realm like to play.” He couldn’t keep the perplexed look off his face. 

“Yes!” She hugged him tighter and he could feel her jump up and down a little. “I think we should play it.” His comically stunned face urged her to add, “I’ll even go first.”

“Why. Why do you want to play Truth or Dare? Darling we’re a bit old for such things.”

“Nonsense.” Her prim response was accompanied by a tug on his tie. “I think it’s just what we need.”

At Rumple’s raised eyebrows, she continued, “I think we are talked out. We need something fun to do. And unless you want to suddenly become more social and do a…” she floundered for an example, “a pottery class together or some other group activity, then I think playing some silly games together is just what we need!” 

Rumple still looked unconvinced. 

“Please, Rumple. Try. For me.”

And that was the straw breaking the camel’s back. They both knew he couldn’t deny her this. She never asked for much in their relationship, and how could he say no to a simple game? Even one that was excruciatingly juvenile. A great huff escaped him and after one long exaggerated groan, that made her giggle, he said, “ok ok. But you go first.”

Belle straightened up expectedly. “Ok, ask me!”

With an endearing smile, Rumple muttered, “Truth or Dare?”

“Truth!” 

Rumple moved Belle to his side and kept them walking along the pier. He pursed his lips and swayed his head playing at putting some serious consideration into the devious question he would ask. The question she would have no choice but to answer with complete honesty. Rolling her eyes at the theatrics, Belle waited with bated breath. 

“What is the last lie you told?” 

Belle snapped her head up in surprise. She really should’ve known that the infamous Rumpelstiltskin, wordsmith extraordinaire, would’ve chosen a question meant to disarm her. The look of smug satisfaction on his face made her want to kiss it right off him, but that could wait. 

“Hmmm I don’t lie very often.”

“Well you’re a saint, darling, but try your hardest to think of something.” 

Ignoring his sarcasm, Belle answered, “Last week at Granny’s, Snow and Red were arguing about how often a couple should have sex. I happened to walk in for a cup of tea, and somehow got trapped in the conversation.” At this Rumple snorted and Belle elbowed him in the ribs, “Anyway,” she said pointedly, “Snow was saying that after a couple has children, they’ll be lucky to have sex every few months! She expected me to agree, and well….clearly she and David are going through a dry spell and I didn’t want to make her feel bad…..so I just kind of smiled and didn’t disagree with her.”

“That’s it? A lie of omission?”

“It’s still a lie.”

“Barely.” 

“Oh please, it counts and you, sir,” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “are filled with glee to know that we’re having more sex than the king and queen.”

Rumple chuckled and played at trying to bite her finger. 

“Your turn! Truth or Dare?” The sparkle in Belle’s eyes made playing this ridiculous game worth it. 

 “Dare”

“I dare you……to sneak into Granny’s Diner and leave three hundred and fifty dollars in the tip jar. You mustn’t be seen and you can’t use magic.” 

“Absolutely not.”

“You have to! That’s the game.”

“What makes you think I have that large amount of money on me.”

“…….”

“Ok. I have that amount, but I don’t see why I should give it to — wait. Is it possible Granny is having trouble making rent this month?”

Belle arranged her face into what she hoped was the picture of innocence. “Life is full of possibilities.”

“Uh huh, only you my dearest Belle could take what’s supposed to be a devious game and turn it into a tool for good deeds.”

“It’s a gift.” 

“I only have hundred dollar bills on me. Do you have change?”

“No, but I’m happy to amend the dare from three fifty to four hundred.”

“How flexible of you.”

Belle grinned and grabbed the collar of his coat pulling him down for a kiss designed to leave him breathless. She pressed her body against his and sunk her fingertips into his hair pulling on the short locks. When she let him up for air, she whispered, “Complete your task and, maybe afterwards, I’ll show you just how flexible I can be.”

Without giving him a chance to blink, she pulled away and walked ahead of him. If she hadn’t been wearing such high heels he was certain she’d be skipping. Rumple just stood there reminding himself how to breathe and with a shake of his head thought, So this is what it feels like to know you’re being manipulated and not care in the least.

— - - - - - - - - - - - - -

In the end, the dare was quite easy to accomplish. At that time of night Granny’s only had a few patrons, thankfully the kind that liked to keep to themselves, and the only people working were a short-order cook and Granny herself. The plan had been to wait until Granny went into the back, and then Rumple would quietly walk through the front door, slip the money into the tip jar, and continue out the back door where Belle would be waiting. 

But as Rumple waited just outside the front door for the opportune moment, a giant crash could be heard and Granny went running to the back of the building.Before Rumple could register what was happening, he saw Belle scurrying down the street and Granny in the back yelling something about “damned raccoons.” Knowing it was now or never, Rumple whipped open the door, ran towards the tip jar sitting innocuously next to the cash register, and it wasn’t so much that he stopped at the counter rather that the counter stopped him—his custom-made Italian shoes weren’t made for quick movements on freshly mopped floors. So after slamming into the counter, he hastily shoved the cash into the jar, and hightailed it back out the front door. 

Miraculously, no one saw him. 

He found Belle hiding next to the pharmacy doubled over with snorts of laughter muffled by her hands. Her feet were bare and she was holding onto only one of her shoes. She tried to explain between giant huffs of laughter, but Rumple simply held up a hand and said, “Belle mishap.” Before Belle could ask what that meant, he gathered her in his arms and snapping his fingers *poofed* them back to their house in a cloud of magic. 

Belle was still giggling as they stumbled into their entryway kissing and pawing at each others clothing. Rumple wasn’t one to let other’s emotions effect him, but Belle’s joy swept them up creating an elation he’d never known before. They landed in front of the fireplace which had magically been lit and several fluffy blankets and pillows spread out before it.

Smiling like a fool, Rumple pecked kisses over Belle’s body as more and more skin was revealed to him. Her lingerie was nothing like the black corset ensemble he’d missed out on. Instead she wore a sheer forest green bralette with matching hip hugging panties. It was staggering in its simplicity, highlighting the fairness of her skin and giving her curves freedom to move. He delighted in it; kissing and biting and even tickling the spots he knew were most sensitive. Between breathy laughs Belle managed to divest Rumple of his own clothes, and they took their time reveling in each other.

Their previous lovemaking had been permeated with an intense need to show their love and devotion with their bodies. Trying to make up for all the past hurt by clinging to each other while they physically connected as close as possible for two humans to be. But this time was about joy and happiness. Their was no rush to reach their bliss. It would most certainly come, but this was about loving each other with light not darkness. Belle found a few of Rumple’s ticklish spots and for a moment lovemaking was paused in favor of a naked tickle fight until one of Belle’s legs ended up hooking over Rumple’s shoulder putting them in a delicious position that neither could pass up. With mirth in their eyes, a wordless conversation passed between them about Belle’s promised flexibility. 

They rocked together at a rhythm they both knew so well. The familiarity was far from boring. Instead they loved each other with gratitude as deep as their kisses. They were so lucky to know each other this well and for this long. The happiness on Belle’s face was mirrored by his own. It felt like sunlight surrounded them and clear blue skies were reflected in Belle’s eyes. Rumple realized that this was what fun was - it was turning your face towards the sun even on a cloudy day. It was actively finding joy and laughter, and if you can’t find it, you make it. Just like Belle did. 

Afterwards, they lounged by the fire enjoying lazy kisses and caresses. They teased each other about the horrendous dinner they endured, and Belle told him about Lacey’s memories saving their date night. 

“So what other games does little Lacey remember?”

Belle thought for a moment before ticking off her fingers, “Well there’s Spin the Bottle, Seven Minutes in Heaven, Never Have I Ever-”

“Hmmm group games,” Rumple grumbled.

“We could play Two Truths and A Lie.”

“You would dare play a game that requires deception with words with Rumpelstiltskin?”

“Oh I think I could manage.”

Rumple tutted and pinched her side making Belle squeak, “Ok, but you go first.” 

[kasienda]

Celebrity Status: Ch 6 - Just Another Day

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Read on Ao3

Chapter 6: Just Another Day

“Who wakes up thinking I’m totally cut out to be a superhero?!” Ladybug asked. “No one. Certainly not me,” Ladybug said, laughing. 

Adrien winced and x-ed out of the tab. He knew her comments hadn’t landed well before any commentary or analysis came out. 

This was all his fault.

Turned out that while humility and self-deprecating humor played well for a wealthy privileged male teen model, the same traits were not admired in a female superhero tasked with saving the city over and over again. 

He probably should quit as her PR coach before he made things worse, and he’d have to figure out how to make it up to her. 

She groaned loudly behind him, burying her face into one of his throw pillows. 

“It’s not that bad,” he insisted. 

“You’re just trying to make me feel better.” 

“Is it working?” 

“You always make me feel better,” she mumbled. 

Heat burned across his face. He could not have heard that correctly. 

“Oh god! Did I just say that out loud?” 

He laughed, and let himself fall onto the couch next to her. “I’m glad that I can do something to help. Seems like I’m just making the rest of your life worse.” 

“I promise you’re not. I’m a disaster enough at that all on my own. I don’t even care about the internet hating Ladybug at the moment. Like, who cares what they think.” 

Adrien frowned. He knew that public opinion could matter a lot. He didn’t know how in this case, but his father poured hundreds of thousands into public relations for a reason. 

“Right now, I just wish I could get my parents to stop repeatedly grounding me for literally saving the city! It’s not my fault Hawkmoth’s timing sucks!”

He had it easier than her in some ways. He usually was able to get away from his friends pretty easily by blaming his father. And it wasn’t that hard to get out of the mansion when no one paid attention to him. 

At least Ladybug had parents who paid attention. 

"Maybe you just need a more plausible explanation," Adrien suggested. “Is there something in your life that occasionally prevents you from doing your best, or being where you're supposed to be? Something that you could just exaggerate or stretch?"

She lit up, and smiled at him like he hung the moon. "We could say I'm having panic attacks! It wouldn't even be that much of a stretch since I've always had anxiety."

The comment was sobering. "You struggle with anxiety?" he asked quietly.

She blushed. "More than a little bit honestly."

"You seem so confident as Ladybug. Like nothing seems to faze you during akuma strikes."

"Yeah, when it's a disaster I handle it no problem! I guess I don't have time to overthink it? I just have to act? But the day to day things, I'm usually a mess."

“I can’t even imagine that.” 

Her face turned beet red and she turned away. “Yeah,” she croaked. “My best friend could tell you some really embarrassing stories. Thank goodness you have no idea who she is!” 

He smiled. “It’s a shame. I would love to pick her brain.” 

… 

Akuma attacks had become the bane of her existence. The akumas themselves weren’t that bad. But ever since her first interview had gone off the rails, it seemed reporters and journalists smelled blood in the water. They wouldn’t leave her alone. 

Thank god for Chat Noir who usually knew what to say or would physically get between her and any microphone held out to capture another sound bite. But he had to bolt today - said he was about to be missed. 

And this one particular lady would not get off her tail. She finally gave up, and whirled around. 

“What?!” she roared. 

The lady stumbled back. “I umm… I’m sorry! I wanted to speak to you about Alya Cesaire?” 

Ladybug breathing quickened. Had they figured her out? 

She supposed she didn’t need to lie about having panic attacks if she started having them for real. 

“Wh-what about her?” 

…

“Oh my god! Marinette! You won’t believe what happened!” Alya squealed.

Marinette tried not to grin. She had a little bit of an idea. 

“The city is giving me an Award!” 

“What?! No way! What for?” Marinette asked, now letting her smile run free reign. Alya deserved this. 

“My blog was nominated for best citizenship reporting and I won! There’s gonna be an award ceremony and everything. I’m going to be the first minor ever to receive it! Ladybug herself is going to be there!” 

“You’ve already met Ladybug!”

“I know, but– now, she’s gonna give me an award!” Alya turned to her, grinning so widely. “Will you go with me as my plus one?!” 

Marinette’s chest tightened. “Oh! Umm… wouldn’t you rather go with Nino?” 

“Absolutely not! He will be so bored!” 

Marinette made herself smile. “Then of course I will be there,” she said, proud that her voice didn’t wobble at all. She had no idea how to pull this off. 

The akuma alert went off. 

Alya grinned excitedly at her while Marinette just wanted to groan. 

“Looks like it’s time for this award-winning journalist to shine!” Alya squealed.

Marinette smiled fondly. At least one of them was getting something from all these akuma attacks. 

She transformed and followed the sound of nearby explosions. 

The akuma chased a group of teens slightly older than herself. One of them tripped. Ladybug swooped down and scooped her up just in time to dodge the blast of projectiles that struck the ground behind them. 

The boy squirmed in her arms. 

“Hold still. I’ve got you.” 

But the boy only fought harder. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” he said. “I’m better off on my own.”

He broke free in the middle of her arc and fell like a lead weight to the ground forty meters below.

She let go of her yo-yo to chase him, but gravity wouldn’t let her fall any faster than him.

He landed with a horrible crunch and a scream. 

Her miraculous cure healed him after the battle, but she could still see the agony on his face whenever she closed her eyes. 

…

[somethingclevermahogony]

Find the Word Tag

Thank you for the tag @paeliae-occasionally!

My words: Forest, hope, dream and night

Forest

The Time of Glass and Metal in Narul’s mind was a pseudo mythical time, in a past that was impossible to imagine preserved only in the stories told by poets and mothers. A glorious time, a time of beauty and radiance, but also a time of arrogance and impiety, brought to a crashing end by the intervention of the Divine. That such pieces of the past could still exist, scattered in the forest so close to where Narul had grown, filled the slave with wonder, and yet for reasons he could not place, it also twisted his stomach with an alien dread.

Hope

The warrior  appeared as if from the blood soaked dirt itself, one arm brandishing a spear soaked in blood, the other a shattered shield, a curved sword at his belt. Galatides threw himself at the Kishite warrior. Galatides’s bronze plates clanged and squealed as he was forced back by the flurry of blows that were rained upon him. The warrior was like a swarm of hornets, so quick and vicious in his attack that even mighty Galatides could not protect himself. The spear snaked around his shield with ease, striking between the joints and hinges of his protective coverings, so that soon the mercenary's armor seemed to run with crimson. Galatides’s companions could only watch, kept at bay be the whirling cyclone of bronze. When one tried to intervene he found the front of his  helm and his skull beneath, crushed by the rim of the invader’s shattered shield. As the Galatides stumbled and Zatar ripped the shield from his hand with such ferocity that the mercenary lost his balance and fell forward. Wadikir watched hope die at the end of a spear. Zatar’s spear shot beneath the mercenary’s chin, past the bronze helm and armor, no sooner had the first drop of the Korithians’s lifeblood hit the dust, then Zatar’s spear had ripped his weapon free of Galatides skull and sunk it into another man’s gut. The spearmaster was a raging storm of bronze and blood, inhuman in his speed and viciousness, cutting through the once resolute men like a scythe through wheat. Even his comrades were forced to give him a wide-berth lest they be caught in the slaughter. The spearman’s face, bespeckled with the droplets of ruby red was split into a wide grin, he was laughing. 

Dream

Narul winced, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, it felt as if something was slithering up his skin and through his hair, he clawed at his scalp and yet could find nothing. And then there was the pain, or at least the shadow of it, like that which is felt in a dream. He gritted his teeth and could feel something foreign in the back of his mind, coiling and prodding at his thoughts. He tried to drive it away, but it ignored his efforts. Images begin to appear in his mind’s eye, pulled from his own memories.

Night

As their trek continued eastward, the snow muffled the sounds of the night, the birds, and the yipping jackals and wild dogs. Occasionally something would move in the shadows, and Ninma's hand would creep towards the knife hidden beneath her linen skirt, but the shadows would then fade away into the darkness, nothing more than a bounding deer, a horned-rabbit, or a curious jackal.  As she gazed up at the stars stretching out in a seeming infinite carpet across the sable sky, Ninma broke the silence. " So, do you miss Datura?" Jani thought for a moment. " I miss some of the people. I don't miss the village itself though. I actually think Nituru is a bit nicer. How about you? Do you miss Labisa, the big city life?" " Sometimes. There isn't really anyone left there that I know, but I miss being a princess sometimes, or the idea of it I guess. I know that sounds dumb, but it's true. I wonder if one day I could do what Akard did...take back the throne, with less killing hopefully." Jani glanced at her. " You want to be a Queen?"

Tagging @verba-writing , @finickyfelix , @illarian-rambling, and @roach-pizza

Your Words: Dawn, Dark, Death, and Deep

[thenamesblurrito]

So how does society view the 4 factions? Are they always doing hero vs villain battles? If not the Decepticons or Predacons, who are they usually fighting?

society thinks of the faction “heroes” as... well, as a lot of things. as medical anomalies, as threats or saviors, as horrifyingly powerful wildcards that you can only pray will choose to be benevolent today. ask ten individuals their opinion, you’ll get eleven answers. some folks are massive fans, some would like to see them publicly executed, some couldn’t care less as long as they can get to work on time. from a political perspective their existence is nightmarish. let me quote a bit from the seventh ask here about the media:

the heroes aren’t referred to as heroes, but rather as vigilantes at best and violent gangs in a turf war at worst. Froid has remotely diagnosed them with pathological dissent. at the same time, some folks have jumped on the market to make hero merch, and it becomes a very lucrative business for some. public opinion is constantly torn between fear and anger at how they do whatever they’d like and gratitude and admiration for how they throw themselves in harms way to prevent disaster and save people. it’s really a giant mess all the time that changes by the day.

(the rest of that answer is relevant too)

this is just further complicated by the fact that really, while the factions are formed on pretty solid principles in theory, the heroes are just kids who don’t exactly know what they’re doing. there’s only 21 primary protagonist relic users, 26 if you count Soundwave’s minicons, so they’re genuinely more a gaggle of street gangs than cultural movements or political statements or military factions. they’re a buncha teens who stumble across superpowers and proceed to mess around and moralize about it all, in that weird blend of absolute nonsense and genuine deep cuts that characterizes this kind of discourse

as for what they’re actually doing to earn that reputation, they do actually serve the public! ...when they aren’t being stupid and showing off. or being stupid and fighting each other, sometimes, often, even within their own faction. they switch sides and get mad at each other and do weird supernatural stuff on accident, all the time. they flirt, badly, like really badly. they can’t even get their own drones to fight each other. they kill each other without realizing it. they sell fanmerch or make it themselves and occasionally hand out candy for no reason. they sometimes create the very villains they have to defeat!

but seriously they ARE useful. the opening episode has Trypticon nearly tear the JAAT apart, full of innocent children, and the first seven heroes are the only reason the school survived. other supernatural threats include victims of corrupted relics overwhelmed by power and out of control, victims of Unicron administered by the real antagonists of the story, and more random or strange disasters like an ancient predator or a horrible earthquake. the heroes step up every time, each for their own reasons but they are INSTRUMENTAL in keeping people alive amidst this onslaught of threats. granted, many of these threats are created specifically to take down the heroes, but they don’t know that, and if they weren’t there, the school would be eradicated. some of the threats they do create themselves on accident, but they own up to it and take responsibility instead of letting havoc spread. when they can actually focus on doing good for the world, they save lives and make the world better... and then they start arguing about the ideal way to make the world better, and who knows best, and bootlicking and setting an example and sticking it to the man and taking the moral high ground and then they’re fighting each other again. sigh. they’d be so effective if they didn’t nerf themselves...

if you check their bios i sort of assign a rival or equal opposite for each of them, the person they gravitate towards on the battlefield as a well matched opponent. this is both for convenience sake and also to underline how they are genuinely fighting not because of massive moral differences but because of teen grudges, ideological tantrums, personality clashes, and the desire to do cool stuff with superpowers. it’s a rude wakeup call when they have to face the anime serial style monster of the week, because it snaps them out of their petty us-vs-them mentality for a minute, and then an even RUDER wakeup call when they face the REAL villains, because this is legitimate life or death! but, yknow, if they all got along it wouldn’t make an interesting story!

[autisticsponge]

what are friends for? || Dialtown fic

A short little story focused on Randy I wrote while bored, and severely hype fixated on the poor guy.

Warning for depressing topics and themes of death/self destruction, I s'pose (Light fluff at the end though!)

CHAPTER 1/2

“Well this is- is it. Today is the day. The world is REALLY gonna end today. I’m sure of it.” The frail Nokia-headed man whimpers to himself as he peeks his head out of the dumpster he resides in. The sky looks a bit too red for his liking. The air feels rather warm and dry as well. He reaches his bony arm out of the dumpster and opens and closes his bandaged fist to get a sense for the day. “Y-yep… definitely WAY too warm for February… perfect doomsday weather.”

The pathetic man slides back down into the dumpster and curls up in his chair shaped out of trash. He sniffles and fidgets with his sore bandaged hands. “If… if I’m gonna die I don’t wanna be in t-this… this lousy dumpster that is getting FAR too expensive for me. But, I don’t exactly want to die at work either…” The phone-headed man sighs wearily. “Dammit it Randy. Y-you don't get to decide when and where you d-die! You should know this…” He takes a deep breath and sits upright. “Just g-get yourself to work. Death will come when it wants..”

The Nokia man grabs the ripped jean coat he was using as a blanket previously, and throws it on over his stained, blue flannel that sports a busted button. The coat is quite big on his thin frame and helps make him appear fuller than he is. This weirdly tall man clambers out of the dumpster and falls on his phone-face. There’s a soft thud as his body hits the concrete. He quickly sits up and grabs desperately at the bandage sprawled across the top of his head, which has “FUCKFACE” scribbled on it. He runs his boney fingers along the bandage and presses on it gently as he whimpers.

“O-oh no… shit- shit-” Despite believing today is his last day on earth, Randy doesn’t quite fancy the idea of dying from his bandage falling off. Exploding doesn't sound like the best way to go out. Then again, pretty much all ways of dying are terrifying in some regard. 

The Nokia man calms down enough to stand up and stop touching his bandage. He sighs heavily. “Oh whatever… I-I’m gonna die anyways… What does it matter? Just get to work, Randy.”

The pathetic not-so-little man trudges across the wonderfully rancid town of Dialtown, more specifically Downtown, as that's where his dumpster is. Of course he never believed he was cool enough to ACTUALLY live in Downtown. More like he’s a squatter there. 

Randy makes his way to the subway station, trying to avoid eye-contact with everyone. He’s accidentally given too many people the “wrong look” and nearly lost both his kidneys. He nervously scrounges up the minimal amount of change he has to purchase a subway ticket. Since the world is ending, he really shouldn't bother, but deep down Randy is terrified of what will happen if he doesn’t pay for a ticket.

The Nokia man hurries onto the train, nearly tripping over his own feet as he gets on. Instead of searching around for a desolate corner to take refuge in for the ride to Uptown like normal, Randy just hustles to the closest available spot. He ends up leaning against the train wall, squished between two other people. The train starts and he falls into one of said people. He mutters a quick apology and fidgets with his sore hands. Occasionally the pathetic man glances out the train window, only to feel dizzied by the blurring tunnel walls, reflecting back his own bleak existence with their dull grey coloring. Suddenly the world ending doesn't seem that awful to Randy. If everything just stopped, it wouldn't be so bad anymore. It seems quiet. More meaningful than anything he could do while alive.

Before he realizes it, the train comes to a halt and Randy slams into the OTHER person he's squished between. He stumbles over an embarrassed apology and darts off the train before he loses any organs.

As Randy stumbles down the streets of Uptown towards the park, The B o y appears. A short statured lad sporting a red flannel tucked into black jeans, his sleeves rolled up just above his elbow, and a nifty cream colored wall phone anchored on as a head with a little red fez hat sitting on top.

"Oh yo, hey, Rands!" The Boy waves to the significantly taller and more socially awkward resident of Dialtown.

"O-oh uh hey Oliver.." Randy forces a weak smile… despite lacking the ability to ACTUALLY smile…(just dont think about it too hard). "I uh… don't u-usually see you out this early.. are you preparing for the end of the world t-too?"

"I'm ALWAYS ready for the end o' the world, dude!" The fez wearing boy dose some gnarly finger guns. "Now if you're askin' why I'm out an' about, that's simple: Mr. Dickens's sendin' me on some errands. He says I should get out of that sticky ol' cinema more and breathe air that may kill me less, and this was a good excuse." Oliver shrugs. "So how about you, my groovy dude? Are YOU preparin' for the end o’ the world?"

The Nokia man fidgets with his hands, picking gently at his bloody bandages. "I guess men- mentally I'm preparing…" Randy whimpers and looks down at the small man. "Uh… it was nice knowing you, Oliver… I need to get going now." He turns to walk away to the park.

"Um… nice knowin' ya too Rands-? Catch ya later…" The fez wearing lad stares at Randy as he trails away. He hesitantly turns away to carry on with his current objective, though he’s more concerned for Randy than usual.

Randy soon reaches Dialtowns… unsightly park. It's definitely an acquired taste of scenery; a taste most people never intend to have. Between the aggressive wildlife and used needle filled grass there's a lot the park lacks.

The Nokia man's weak heart pounds in his chest as he draws closer to his job site. The pouding rings loudly in his hearing receptors. His breath falls short. "Im gonna d-die here… this is t-the end for me, I can feel it-!" He takes a few shallow, rapid breaths and trembles. "A-at- at least… everyone else will be d-dying too. I-I'm finally not alone in this…" A strange form of comfort overtakes Randy's body and his heart seems to quiet down. A few quick lived tranquil steps leads the awkward man to his job location. The pond.

The paper-shredder-headed swans that reside at the pond peak their beakless heads up at the pathetic man who's entered their vicinity. As far as they’re concerned it's snack time, and Randy's flesh is the hottest menu item.

"Ok guys… let's just get t-this over with ok?" A warm breeze swirls around the Nokia-headed man and he shudders. The swans flap their wings and squawk with murderous intent. “Yep… c-come and.. come and get me-” Randy chokes over his words and sits down at the pond edge. He can hardly believe he’s willingly about to be torn to shreds, but what's the point in fighting it anymore? It was always supposed to end like this for dear old Randy Jade.

The swans share a few skeptical glances, but they know this sad excuse for a “person” can’t do much. The fowls approach him, their wings raised as their heads whirr. Randy clutches his fists, shuts his optical receptors, and sharply inhales.

CHAPTER 2/2

“Hey… c’mon wake up dude...”

Randy groans as he regains consciousness. His whole body feels stiff, and his hands ache and burn. “Wh-wha…?” His optical receptors slide open and the pathetic man is greeted by the familiar face of a special lad.

“Oh thank god– Randy! You’re awake!” Oliver hugs onto Randal tightly, causing the thin man to whimper and flinch. The Boy quickly let’s go. “Sorry… Uh.. how are ya feelin’?”

The Nokia-headed man slowly sits up, his breath hitches from the stiff pain. “Um… to be honest… N-not the best. I really c-can’t remember much. What happened..?”

“I was fixin’ to ask you the same thing, pal-! I was walkin’ back from the flea market after finding some RADICAL goods and.. Well I decided to check in on you, since you were actin' all funky and like, WAY more depressin' than normal, and that’s when I spotted ya laying by the pond. Not very stellar if I’m honest. You really freaked me out man..” Oliver sighs. “Anyways, I brought you to the cinema with me quick as I could. Mr. Dickens fixed up your hands and uh.. I did my best to patch up your jacket.”

"O-oh…. oh.." Randy looks over himself. His hands are wrapped thick in bandages and there's some amateurly sewn patches all over his jacket. Memories of what happened at the pond soon return to the pathetic man's memory. “Im- Im sorry Oliver…” Randal sniffles and whines. 

Oliver puts a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, hey, calm down, bud! It’s all groovy… I’m just curious what happened to you? I mean I know you’ve said those swans can be wicked brutal but I’ve never seen you look THAT banged up-!” The lad gives Randy a concerned stare.

The Nokia-headed man takes a deep breath. The burning ache in his hands grows more intense, and seems to consume his whole body. “I-I um… I was just so sure that the w-world was gonna end today. I d-didn’t see a point in even trying anymore… we BOTH know those swans would’ve won a-anyways..” Randy mumbles. Oliver rubs his shoulder a bit, in an attempt to soothe the pathetic man. 

"Hey calm down, Rands… It's all groovy-" Oliver says hesitantly. Randy sniffles and stares at the sticky floor. "Look uh… sometimes life deals shitty cards. And it's what we do with those cards that defines our character. Even the seemingly worst of cards can be turned into some tubular tale, pal!" The lad says with great enthusiasm. "Your no lost cause, Randy, and I know some day you're gonna kick some swan-ass!" Randy gets an encouraging, hardy pat on the back. 

The Nokia-man perks up. "Thank you Oliver…"

After a few silent minutes, The Boy helps the taller, sadder man to his feet. "You wanna watch a movie? We have some leftover popcorn Mr. D wants me to get sold… I'll scrounge up some money to give to him. He doesn't need to know WE ate it. Long as it gets 'sold.'"

"Um… n-not one of those scary CGI Mock Buster movies, right? . . .right?" 

Oliver sighs. "No… no. We can watch something less scary for you. Hey how do you feel about some classic ol' cartoons? THOSE can't possibly be too horrifyin', right?"

". . ."

"..Randy?"

". . ."

"Randy."

He glances away.

"Oh c'mon Rands! Cartoons? Really?!"

". . . Their moral lessons are so intimidating! I-I could never live up to those standards…"

Oliver sighs heavily. "Okay, you can't get upset watchin' Tom and Jerry, Randy. NO ONE gets upset watching that show. Old dudes on their DEATH BEDS will watch that show."

Randal takes a breath. "Okay. Sure. W-we can watch that then. I-I'm practically on my death bed anyhow..."

Oliver sighs softly, and guides his sad friend to one of the empty showing rooms. After getting a bucket of stale, and questionably sticky popcorn, the two settle down to watch some cartoons on the big screen, playing off an old reel Oliver kinda just.. had lying around for whatever reason.

Randy sinks down into the velvet seat he's in (which is almost as sticky as the cinema floor), feeling significantly calmer than when he woke up. If Randy DIDN'T have Oliver to keep him in check occasionally, he's about 87% sure he'd be mega dead by now.

As the Nokia-headed man starts to drift asleep, holding a now almost empty bucket of old poppy-corn, he can't help but feel just the tiniest sliver of hope swell in his chest. Valentines day is a mere two days away. Who knows, maybe the pathetic man will get asked out by some GREEN cryptid, who'd help him gain confidence and learn self worth. But who knows. That'd be kinda WEIRD huh? A bit far-fetched if you will.

[knownangels]

nightcrawler

Close enough to towns, Benji and Matilda prefer to take their rests in relative comfort. Even for her little farmhand, who grew up in far less luxurious conditions, the hard ground occasionally draws impatience and displeasure. And certainly, the average tavern’s bed offers no more comfort. But that doesn’t mean that a tavern has none of it to offer. 

Or, at least, a tavern’s inhabitants.

“Well,” Benji says, the metal rings of his tankard clacking against the table. “Shall I, or has this one already foolishly stumbled into your web?”

Matilda follows his gaze across the tavern. “You know that I have done worse to people who have said kinder.”

Benji’s smile is syrupy and devious; he’s already two pints down. “And ‘ave you let ‘em?” He teases. His dark eyes reflect strangely with licks of orange from the fire pit in the center of the room. “Say kindness to you, I mean.” 

“Mm. If there is gain to be found in such…pleasantries.” She sneers the word, rolling her eyes. “Does he look capable?” 

Her companion tucks a fist under his chin and assesses. The man who has been watching them — or one of them, she can’t be sure who — balks a bit at the combined power of their twin stare. Benji’s entrancing brown and Matilda’s strange, glowing amber.

The stranger is handsome and, unfortunately for him, both of their types. His hair curls where it sits at the base of his neck, parted to the side in a manner that compliments the structure of his face. Sleek, straight nose, prettily rounded eyes, a pink mouth. 

“In general,” Benji starts evenly, but the words quickly drip into a suggestive, condescending drawl. “Or of pleasantries?”

“Yes.” Matilda says with a smirk of her own, and then they’re tittering behind their fists, trying not to laugh too loudly.

He looks incapable of anything but pleasantry. He looks clean and prim; golden, the way of favored knights, but with a tired smear beneath his eyes. Hair shiny, skin clear and unmarred by spots or scars. Handsome, but wrong. Filthy; the hint of danger about him dirties that glimmer with an aura Matilda is quite drawn towards. Like a bat orbiting the dusk air, seeking sustenance from an abundance of summer-time biting insects, she feels herself empty. She stares at their prey, and decides then:

Be crushed, be ground to nothing between my teeth. Let me bite and feed and be fed. 

Yes. Lovely, this one. Lean with a bit of physical power; Matilda’s preference. Charming, if his slight smile betrays any skill of it, with a tilt towards unfiltered smugness; Benji’s. Matilda could laugh again. That they might silently bargain him like a dice game’s prize. 

Do I feel inclined towards pleasantries this evening, she wonders, her eyes locked to the stranger’s, or is there something else that would sustain me?

Benji’s knowing smile is wrinkled sweetly under the knuckles that he presses to his cheek. “And what would your dashing, mysterious thief say if he knew you contemplated other bodies warming your bed?”

Matilda sucks her teeth. She thinks of that face, shadowed under a night-black hood. Thinks of it lit by candles or the sun or the moon. Clear to her. Beautiful.

“Nothing, if he knows what is good for him.”

Her friend bats his eyelashes and his head tilts, ink-spill hair brushing his shoulder. “And is that you, Til? Are you good for him? Is he becoming agreeably competent with pleasantries?” 

She glares, but it is ineffective when he’s stuck his mind to a jest, when he’s fizzy and floating on drink. “No.”

An answer to both questions — she isn’t sure which one she fears more than the other, but she hopes that they are both lies. 

“Oh, you’ll break his poor heart,” Benji laughs. He taps her wrist in a rhythm that nicely accompanies the bard’s tune swirling in the air. “When we ran into him on the road that time, he looked at you as if he —”

Her — the thief’s face. Open hurt across it, shattering something within her that she dare not name, dare not admit even existed.

“You’d gone,” he had said to her when she pulled him off the roadside to privacy, away from Benji. “I went to see you. I thought…”

“Foolishness.” Matilda had scoffed, her hands on her hips and eyes cast primly to the sky. Veneer of annoyance, a way to avoid looking at him. Because she felt summarily like falling into his arms, and that had enraged her. “You thought foolishness, I am sure. A skill second only to those deft fingers in a lock.”

As if that had been all there was between them. 

“There is little I like less than men who presume to know.” Matilda snaps at Benji, her temper flaring. “Especially when those presumptions meander too close to me.”

He pouts, but is otherwise unfettered by her venomous response. If there is one thing she regrets about their journey together, it is allowing him to peer into her at all. She isn’t sure she could have stopped him in the first place: for such a common upbringing, he is incredibly discerning.

“Yes, honed by time and care for others,” he’d curtly told her one of their first meetings, when she’d roundabout complimented his honed mind.

“Which is to say,” she’d responded impishly, “that you like to waste time in your own thick skull, and that a pretty face will make you weak.”

He’d merely grinned at her, dark brows rising on his forehead. “Ah. So we do have some things in common, then.”

Matilda huffs and stands from the table abruptly, drawing her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Benji stares up at her, eyes lazily half-lidded but piqued with interest. 

“Well?”

“Well.” She announces, tilting her chin. “I am going to fuck the strange one.” She points a finger into his face. He snaps wolfishly at it, mouth a teasing sneer. “Do not — stop that — do not have anymore to drink. You’re properly whetted, and if you have another you’ll not be up until midday.” 

“Heh,” Benji snorts, chin jerking towards the stranger. “Whetted.” 

Oh, powers that be. She’ll find him in the morning, roadside ditch or tucked comfortably in bed. Damn him. She knows which she’d prefer.

*

The stranger’s name is unknown to her; though she gives and drags her own from him, she is fine with that limited amount of familiarity. She speaks nothing of his identity. Doesn’t ask after it, because she has neither want nor need. Unknown to her, she doesn’t say his name. Not for the whole evening, no matter how capable he is. How much she’d like to ask, just because men go a particular sort of stupid when their ego hears it on a moan. Not at the beginning, when he tucks his scruffy cheeks between her thighs. Not at the end, into the small hours – which admittedly drag on the longer she keeps vigil in his bed. It’s a good place to be. Hating to admit any sort of talent, Matilda lets the spite turn prickly. She holds his wrists to the mattress eventually; but, at first, she offers pleasantries. Soft, slow kisses his pink mouth, a strong jaw. Moves close, allows their chests to brush. At first, she rocks sweetly and fluidly in his lap. 

Then she becomes cruel. She expects the same from him. Requires it, even. Her ears prick when he digs nails into her hips. Pins and needles at the hint of danger. 

And, like a bat in the sticky heat of summer, she orbits. Opens her mouth and swallows the potential sting. She finds the soft parts of him and the ragged edges alike. Sets teeth in them until he jerks and moans and whimpers when it becomes enough pain. 

“You’re beautiful,” he gasps as her rhythm becomes fiercer, more demanding. He repeats that, and other things that lovers might exchange, until she laughs in his face.

“Sweet thing.” She tucks their noses together, flashing a dangerous grin. “I am going to use you up.”

She sits straight up then. Instead of pressing intimately close, she takes his wrists in her hands. Pins him beneath her, long planes of lean muscle used to swing a dagger and cause hurt. She makes him vulnerable and slack in pleasure. From her, under her. Matilda likes that taste of power on her tongue sometimes. Nearly as much as the sharp zip of magic beneath her skin as she calls upon it for a spell.

There are no spells here, now. Just bodies. And, perhaps begrudgingly, a bit of kindness along with the bite.

So at first, she offers pleasantries. But by the end, they’ve fluttered off into the night and he begs for them to return. Or, maybe not. Begs for them to stay gone. Begs for more. His pretty face is convincing enough that she offers him one singular kiss as he drags over the edge for a final time, head tossed back. It’s a good kiss, and the only she allows.

When Benji shoots her a knowing eyebrow in the morning, already up and horses tacked, she will refuse admittance of being…reinvigorated.

“Sometimes,” Benji says, lifting her onto the horse with ease, “I fear you a nightcrawler, rather than a witch.” He grins at her. “Bloodsucker. Man-eater.” 

Matilda leans down and snaps her teeth at him, golden eyes flashing wide.

“Oh, my poor sweet friend. Your blessings are few and far between.” She demures, teasingly piteous. “Might you count your safety from my web among them?” 

Benji tosses his head back and laughs. “Gladly.”

[darnellbebop]

The other day I was searching my messages to check for something and accidentally stumbled across some texts from a couple years ago between me and someone I was head over heels for and it was just so bizarre to see the dynamic we had. She’s essentially a stranger now. She’d never text me like that. Hell, she’s getting married this week. Or just got married and is on her honeymoon. I don’t know the specifics cuz she hasn’t spoken to me in over two years and I just found that out by chance. It’s weird. It’s weird that the version of her I knew then just doesn’t exist anymore and the version of her now is this stranger. It’s also weird wondering if I ever held any importance in her life. Maybe I did at some point but honestly I think she was just bored and I was an okay distraction for a bit. I don’t know which would make me less sad. I guess the one good thing is I don’t think there was a way I could have changed things. I feel like I did everything I could. I really loved her though and I feel like part of me stayed broken because of how things played out. Not even like necessarily a romantic element of me but like… a sort of more general part. Like it just feels like I have a general sense of passion for things dulled down. The spark and the drive are gone a lot of the time. I try to get them back and occasionally it works for a little but I kind of feel like long-term I won’t get it back.

[a-lake-of-fire]

Yellow

I am working on something else at the moment, but I also really wanted to do a little bit of something I've never really done before. I call this yellow, and if anyone who knows me in real life stumbles across this, they'll know why.

I never used to like the color yellow, it was always too much, too bright, too loud. I used to think why would anyone enjoy a color that represented something like the sun. The sun is blinding and hot and I've always been more of an autumn person. The colors are softer, it's colder, but still comfortable. I never liked the color yellow.

Yellow, to me, was loud. I was surrounded by loudness all day, every day and yellow was just too overwhelming. Everything about it seemed to be shouting it's presence and if there was any more shouting, I was going to shut down. I got in trouble for shutting down. Yellow was too loud.

Yellow was too bright. When you want to hide, you want darkness, and yellow is anything but dark. Yellow is bright and clear and it doesn't allow for you to just turn it down so you can hide. I couldn't just make it darker. Yellow was too bright.

Yellow was too much. When everyone around you seems so excited and happy to be there, and you, at such a young age, had to drag yourself out of bed just to show up to school and after school you're going to go right back to bed because there's nothing else left to do but lay in the darkness and wait, yellow is too much.

The color yellow was loud and bright and happy and everything I never had, and for that I hated it. I hated how the color of the sun, something needed to live, was lacking-no, missing- from my life. I didn't want to be the one to force it into my life, I like softer, cooler colors. And just when I thought that maybe life in black and white was better than all the aggressive color around, yellow appeared.

Yellow reached out, unashamed of how bright and loud it was and planted itself right in my life. I tried to shake yellow, the noise was constant and I didn't know how to handle that. I didn't know how to incorporate the brightness into the darkness I hid in.

The thing about yellow, though, is it doesn't let you hide. It takes the darkness and it brightens it, slowly, until one day you look around and feel like you're standing in the sun. It's still so loud and unapologetic, but if you focus on just that one sound, everything else starts to fade out. Yellow makes you excited to be alive and eventually your blue starts to become green. And green is a cool color, just like you prefer, but it wouldn't exist without yellow.

And occasionally, the yellow softens. It becomes less loud and less bright and more nervous and in those times, I fear yellow more than ever. I'm no longer afraid of how bright it is, I'm afraid that maybe yellow will become green too, and then blue, and then it will fade into the exact same place I had been when it found me. In those times, I try to lend a little bit of the yellow from my green.

I never used to like the color yellow, but then he smiles and I question how I ever could have hated it. He tells me good morning, every day without fail, for almost two years. And when life seems dark, I cling to that small piece of yellow until he comes back and he tells me about his day and everything feels alright again.

I love yellow now. I love how loud and bright and unapologetic he is. And while I don't tell him, yellow saved my life.

[elainemorisi]

.

[authorluvgxbby]

The Delinquent Next Door - Part 1: Strange Encounter

Synopsis: You come home, only to see your neighbor trying to break into his own apartment. What’s more? He’s a complete jerk!

Pairing: Hanma Shuji X Neighbor! Reader

Genre: Fluff? I’m not sure- (Neighbors to lovers)

Warnings: Mild cussing, insults, mild mentions of blood and violence

A/N: This is my first time posting on here, so I hope you enjoy! (check out part 2!)

Part 1    Part 2     Part 3     Part 4 

All Hanma wanted was to be able to pass the time with a couple of beers he had snagged from the shitty, run down convenience store around the corner near his apartment complex. 

Kisaki hadn’t called him up to take part in another one of his adventurous schemes that he had planned for the night, so he decided to take the opportunity to relax for the night and just wait for him to call him out in the confines of his small, shaggy apartment. 

But, that plan immediately went to shit after he had performed an entire body search on himself for the past half hour for the one thing that was keeping him from entering his apartment.

Just fucking peachy.

Cursing under his breath, Hanma continues to aggressively search his soaked  hoodie and jeans for his keys. 

Just where the hell could they be? I could’ve sworn I left with them...

Then, he pauses, and in that moment, realization slapped him across the face.

Before he had went to the convenience store, he had saw the chance to pick a fight with a few small fry gangsters that were nearby. The reason behind it? Simple. He was bored. And, while doing so, it had started to pour, but, of course, that didn't stop him. 

However, it didn’t occur to him at the time that there was a possibility that he could’ve dropped his keys while he was having a field day with the poor souls that happened to ‘stumble’ across his way. 

After all, he couldn’t just go home without having a little bit of his own fun. Wreaking havoc was something that he needed, so his life didn’t feel as dull as a rock. Picking fights was the same as eating and sleeping in his mind. 

Anyone who took a glance at him, let alone witness the way he would walk around with his clothes that were occasionally decorated with small blood splatters as well as coupled with his bloody knuckles, would know right off the bat that the word ‘peaceful’ didn't exist in his world. 

That included his next door neighbor.

However, the current question remaining was how he was supposed to get inside without his keys.

The answer he was looking for immediately surfaced in his mind.

Guess I’m just gonna have to kick the door open.

Sure, instead of busting down the door like the heathen he is known to be, he could just ask the landlady for the spare keys to his door. 

But, then he'd have an earful of the old hag’s nagging, and that's the last thing he needed to add to his night.

Besides, there wasn’t anyone around to scold him for it, so it was the perfect chance to bust down the door without getting reprimanded in the process. 

Huffing, he lets the plastic bag he had slinked around his wrist drop to the floor with a heavy thud.

He plants his left foot down, while he readies his right foot to kick the door. 

Lifting his right foot up, he shifts all his weight into his leg, forcing his foot forward as he lands the first kick against the door. 

He repeats the action for a few minutes, until he sees a slight crack in the opening, but not enough to completely open it.

Another one should do it.

Before he could kick the door again, he stops mid-way when he hears a familiar voice ring in his ears.

“Excuse me.”

His body completely freezes, as if he was stuck in time for a moment. 

Slowly, he brings his right foot down, and turns his head to the side, only to see the one and only person he’d least expect to be out so late at night.

You. His fellow next-door neighbor.

Usually, you’d be home by 10 and have classical music blasted all night long. How exactly does he know this? 

He just happens to watch stalk you from the stairwell on the second floor whenever he’s out for a smoke. Your routine was quite predictable.

His golden orbs scan over you, observing the tension in your muscles as he casts his gaze at you from a few feet apart.

You wore plain jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, along with an ugly-looking, dark brown apron with nothing but your flimsy name-tag adorning it at the top right corner.

The awkward silence didn’t do the situation any justice as you held the stare of the tall, lanky male, who’s clothes were in the same condition as your own.

“Um...I know it’s not any of my business, but... I don’t suppose you need help getting in?” Your voice slightly trembled, but it held concern for the infamous delinquent.

Furrowing his brows at the offer, he glances at the slightly cracked door and back at you.

“You want to help me break down the door?”

Your eyes flew wide open at the response. 

“Is that what you’ve been trying to do?! Do you not have your keys?” You questioned.

He shoved his hands in his muggy pockets and shrugged. “Lost em’.”

“Why not ask the landlady then? You do realize you are gonna have to pay for the damages? Or even worse, get kicked out?,” You interrogated, folding your arms over your chest. The tension in your body completely melting as you scold the tall male, as if he were a child.

The admonishment and questioning was annoying, yet...cute? 

A smirk tugs at his lips. How amusing it was to get scolded by his usually quiet neighbor. Hell, he’d go so far as to try to add more fuel to the fire. 

“Well I certainly ain’t gonna wanna answer to the old bat, so do ya got any better ideas doll?” The cliché pet name rolls smoothly off his tongue. Funny how he’s trying to to be flirty, despite the odd situation he was conversing with you in.

“Watch your mouth,” you retort. 

The response only causes to further grow the devious smirk on Hanma’s face. His amusement at the small banter doesn’t go unnoticed by you. 

“If you’re so bothered by going to ask the landlady for the spare keys, then you could just pick the lock.”

“Do I look like a burglar to you?”

“I didn't mean it like that!”

He hums, “Sure.”

Strike one.

“Besides, I wasn't talking about you.”

His eyes widen for a moment.

Wait...what?

Shocker much? To Hanma it certainly was unexpected. 

Hanma had never expected his shy, passive neighbor to even have an idea on how to break inside someone’s home. Let alone have the knowledge to pick a lock.

Funny how you can learn a lot from people you barely interact with in just one night.

He quirks a questioning brow as he points a slender finger to the door. Once again, glancing from it and then back to you.

“Are you telling me...you know how to pick a lock?”

Silence. 

You turn your head to side as heat rises to your cheeks. Subconsciously, you slightly shift from one foot to the other.

“Well...I mean...”

“You can pick a lock?”

Strike two.

This jerk.

You whip your head back to him and scoff. 

Unbelievable.

I guess this is what happens when you try to be helpful to the infamous delinquent of Kabukicho. Give em’ and inch and they take a whole damn mile. 

You knew better to expect this, but you were raised to help others, no matter who they were or what they did. Regardless, he was starting to tick you off.

Just how cocky is he?

If only you knew.

“Yes, I can pick a lock.” You force out, feigning confidence in your answer, despite the fact that you were perfectly capable in doing so.

He narrows his eyes, the same shit-eating smirk stretched across his face. “A goody-two-shoes like you can pick a lock? I don’t believe it.” He mocks, folding his arms as he leans against the cement balcony.

And there goes strike three.

“Why you-! You know what. Fine. Good luck busting down your own door!” You huff, as you turn on your heel towards your own apartment room door, fishing out the keys from your apron’s pocket.

“Sure. Thanks!” 

Just who does he think he is, that little-

You pause. Huh?

For a moment, you could feel a twinge of guilt settle in the pit of your stomach. 

Sure he was a jerk. No doubt about it. But, your conscience nagged you a little more about considering his side of the story. 

It was bad enough he’s soaking wet and not even able to get inside to change into dry clothes. He could catch a cold and, in the end, still get into huge trouble with the landlady. 

If you were being honest with yourself, the old landlady wasn’t as much of a saint either. She was quite bitter towards others when she wanted to be (which was everyday when someone even breathed the same air as she did). 

You sighed.

An idiot. That’s what he was.

Biting down on your lip, you reluctantly turn back to see your troubled neighbor once again prepare to bulldoze his door.

You watch as he readies himself to once again to kick it down. 

“Wait!”

A frustrated groan leaves his lips as he snaps his head back to you, only to find you knelt down in front of his door, two hairpins stuck in between the lock as you tinker with the small pieces of metal.

Hanma blinks owlishly a few times.

That was quick.

Oddly enough, Hanma finds himself standing beside you, leaning against the wall while watching carefully as you work.

____________________________________

It doesn't take long until you hear a familiar click of the door unlocking.

You quickly stand up, while picking up the wet plastic bag that had been forgotten long ago.

You peek at the contents, taking notice of the four cans of beer and bag of cheese curls.

The sudden bitter smell of nicotine and the puff of smoke invades your senses.

“I believe that's mine,” he interrupts, gently taking the bag from your hands. He walks inside his room, stopping midway through the door frame, while turning back to you.

“By the way,” he pauses, taking another drag of the cancer stick that was nestled between his parted lips, “What’s ya name?”

For a moment, you blanked at the question. 

“[f/n]. [f/n] [l/n].”

He smiles.

“Thanks for the help, doll~”

You let an exasperated sigh.

“You ask for my name, yet you still use such a corny nickname for me? You’re infuriating.”

He shrugs. “I only asked cus’ I was curious. Get used to it.”

You frown. “Jerk...” you mutter.

You pipe up at the sound of a snort followed by a deep chuckle emitted from the male.

I help him and this is how I’m treated? The nerve!

Silently cursing your conscience once more, your thoughts are interrupted.  

“Nice to meet ya, [f/n]. I’ll see ya around, yeah?”

You absentmindedly nodded.

But, before you could muster a question of your own, he shuts the door without another word.

Now, there you were, standing in front of your neighbor’s half-beaten door, completely stunned.

You shake your head.

You make your way inside your own room while closing the door behind you. Slipping off your shoes and hanging your keys, you silently trudge your way over to the old record player where you would faithfully play Mozart all night long. 

After washing up and settling yourself in your bed, you lay awake as you replay the events of tonight with your troubling neighbor in your mind.

You chuckled to yourself. How silly. 

Sighing, you look out the window of your apartment with a content smile resting on your face.

Deep down, you hoped to see the neighboring delinquent more often. Hopefully, not in an odd situation as what you experienced tonight.

____________________________________________

[tiesthatbind-tf]

I accidentally deleted 2000 words of story for poor Soundwave last night and had to rewrite everything but tbh, they’re absolutely worthit.  Their armor definitely makes me want to experiment with Celtic motifs for Hot Rod!

Full story below.

Suraya Widodo was born to parents Wijaya and Ni Made Saraswati on the island of Madura, Indonesia. They noticed that something didn’t quite seem right with their baby, who was fussier than most, threw fits when brought into crowded spaces and seemed mostly lost in their own thoughts, though this did little to dampen their love.

The name ‘Widodo’ (healthy) was given to Suraya (despite the masculine nature of it, which does lend to Suraya’s nonchalance about their gender in later years) in hopes that they would grow up alright despite their quirks.

Wijaya, a fisherman who wanted to give his family a better life in the more industrialized town of Bangkalan west of the island, pushed himself hard at his work, hoping to earn enough to allow them to settle down there comfortably.

He began to risk venturing out into ocean areas which were occasionally used as smuggling routes where more lucrative catches laid, careful to fish there during specific times to the day to avoid crossing paths with pirates and smugglers.

However, his luck ran out one day when a smuggling vessel came across him in broad daylight and silenced him from alerting the coast guards to their existence with five shots.

Suraya was five.

Saraswati, desperate to find a way to care for her child as the new breadwinner thought she had gotten lucky when a job scouter for a factory in Bangkalan came to the village. They were looking to offer work to single mothers as part of their corporate responsibility programme and extended the offer of employment to her and promised a hostel and training so she wasn’t out of her depth in the assembly line.

Seeing it as the best option, she left Suraya with her husband’s family while she worked and lived in a worker’s hostel on weekdays and returned to see Suraya every weekend.

She would give money to the family to care for Suraya in her absence, which was crucial since they weren’t fond of Saraswati (they had not agreed to Wijaya’s marriage) and found Suraya’s odd behavior off-putting and claims of ‘hearing voices’ potentially a sign of mental illness (which was fodder for them to demand even more money from Saraswati with the excuse that Suraya was a handful).

This routine continued until Saraswati was suddenly killed in a factory accident.

Suraya was nine.

The compensation for Saraswati’s death was enough for the family for only a few months and after it dried up, the neglect and abuse began. Though at times it was odd because Suraya seemed to know when they were in a bad mood and when they were looking for an outlet for their anger, and  the child would somehow almost always magically disappear during those times.

Then an agent claiming to be from the government came to see them.

He claimed he had heard about Suraya via their mother and wanted to inspect the child to see if they would qualify for a place in a ‘special school’ for ‘different’ children, and this had sounded tame enough to the family, who allowed him to see the shy, withdrawn little waif.

However Suraya immediately could tell what his true intentions were—-to have them locked up in a testing facility to figure out their ‘mutation’—-and attempted to run, only to be caught by his fellow officers outside the home.

The family was paid compensation for officially relinquishing Suraya’s care to the state, and did so without question, only relieved to be rid of their ‘burden’.

Suraya was taken to facility after facility in the state for the first few years to have a battery of tests, many painful, run on them to figure out their ‘special ability’ as an Outlier and to see if it could be replicated.

When they were in their early teens, they were transported overseas to a different facility as a bargaining chip for intel, tech and the like, coming into the ‘care’ of people who intended to use them as a government asset.

They never saw daylight except during transportation and they began to plan their escape as they studied the facility’s layout.

Their first attempt at escape didn’t go well however; they were caught, dragged back and had their eyes burned and blinded as punishment (at this point they had shown their handlers that their highly-enhanced hearing made them capable of navigating the world in total darkness, so said handlers didn’t not see this as ‘damaging the goods’).

If the handlers thought that the punishment would deter them however, it didn’t; Suraya just became more careful and subtle with the planning of their next attempt.

The second attempt came during a transport session where there were less guards and less access to tech to subdue them, though it came with a problem they did not plan for.

In their first attempt, they had tried escaping into the countryside. In this one, they hurled themselves out completely unprepared into a world louder than any world they had ever known; downtown London on a weekend.

The cacophony completely overwhelmed their senses and they barely managed to crawl-stumble into an alley as bounty hunters were enlisted to track them down.

It was here that they ran into one Ramiro Vasquez (Ravage) who was immediately concerned about their situation and once figuring out the nature of their distress, gave them his headphones to drown out the noise and kept them safe and hidden until the bounty hunters had left.

He then took Suraya back to the rented apartment he shared with Lara Soelberg (Laserbeak) and both agreed to let the waif stay with them for as long as they needed to be alright, and the three formed a little familial unit as Suraya grew deeply fond of the two Beast Men whom they saw as two of the most compassionate people in a horrible world.

Ramiro however understood that Suraya needed tutelage to properly harness and deal with their Outlier ability; having heard whispers of a secret Outlier school run Senator Sharifuddin Waseem (Shockwave) and knowing Sharifuddin as one of the few good men in the Senate, he decided to take the risk and confronted the Senator about the matter, promising to keep the secret a secret in return for helping out Suraya.

As it turned out the threats were not necessary, as Sharifuddin was genuinely  concerned for them and came to see them personally at the apartment. Initially,  Suraya was apprehensive about meeting someone else about their abilities, remembering full well how the first such meeting ended, but to their pleasant surprise, they detected no malice in Sharifuddin’s intentions; only the desire to help.

They agreed to enroll in Sharifuddin’s Outlier institute, coming back home to see Ramiro and Lara every weekend.

They excelled in their classes and soon mastered their ability and knew how to deal with the overstimulation that came from it, to the point where they could walk the streets with no problem.

In the wake of murders of Senators Nikomedes Momus and Gayathri Sharma, Suraya offered to become a spy for Sharifuddin, who was determined to solve the deaths, and Sharifuddin began bringing them to Senate meetings under the guise of them being his new aide.

They caught the eye of Senator Radbourne (RatBat) who seemed to pick up the fact that they were an Outlier, but rather than bring up the matter, requested that they work with him as well on.... matters regarding his constituents with disabilities.

Sharifuddin has his reservations about Radbourne and Suraya knew they were up to no good and both agreed to the arrangement so Suraya could dig up more information about them.

As it turned out, Radbourne was dirty as dirty as politicians came, but he had nothing to do with the murders. Rather, he was mostly preoccupied with an individual named Morgan Trayton (Megatron), the same individual whom Omar Parvez (Orion Pax)  a friend of Sharifuddin’s, had mentioned as a great writer.

Radbourne asked Suraya to track down Morgan with an offer the man hopefully wouldn’t refuse and Suraya, intrigued about this man with what they’d heard about him from Omar, agreed to do so.

They found Morgan in a vast underground fighting ring in Moscow, and after voicing some skepticism about him walking his written talk, he allowed them to peek into his mind to see how genuine and committed he was to his cause, and it took them aback for a bit to meet someone who despite being mired in tragedy, had Sharifuddin’s desire to make a better world and the iron will to back it up.

They pledged themself to be among the first members of Morgan’s rising revolution (which was aided by Omar spreading his writings through an underground press) and told them about Radbourne’s offer to supply weapons and augmentations to increase profits from the pitfighting racket.

Morgan agreed if only to use these exact items against the Senate once he’d acquired an army.

It was during this time with Morgan that they also met Ramsey (Rumble) and Friedel (Frenzy), a pair of dwarf miners who the man had been friends with for years, and almost immediately got along with their boisterous, gregarious natures. 

They continued to be Radbourne’s liaison with Megatron until the start of the Clampdown when they watched Morgan kill the owner of the Pit, free those who wanted their freedom and take those who were loyal to him to meet with Sharifuddin to formally establish a rebellion.

It was about this time that Suraya found out that Radbourne had been conducting illegal experiments on Beast Men, something they took grave offense to, and they kept mining Radbourne for more information about where the experiments were taking place.

Upon finding out, they personally hunted down Radbourne as Stefan Scavarro (Starscream) initiated the Senate massacre to Radbourne’s labs, where he tried to fight them off only to finally find out the true extent of their abilities.

Badly-injured, his attempt at stopping them from freeing the captive Beast Men—-his “property” as he would yell at them—-ended up with him hurled into a genetic splicing pod (commissioned from a ‘Mesothulas’) which he accidentally activated.

The process twisted him into a Rat-Bat-human hybrid, and rather than kill him, Suraya decided to leave the option to the Beast Men he tortured for profit in what they saw as poetic justice.

After those who wanted vengeance were done with Radbourne, Suraya gave the  Beast Men the option of leaving free or coming with them to be a part of Morgan’s revolution which would ensure that they were never mistreated and ostracized by the larger world again.

Two of the Beast Men took up the offer; Bastien Saville (Buzzsaw) and Gan Go-eun (Glit).

When Morgan, confident in Suraya’s abilities asked them  to establish their own division focussed on spying and intel gathering, Suraya chose Ramiro, Lara, Ramsey, Friedel and Bastien to work alongside them.

While Suraya occasionally questions Morgan’s actions, two things they have never questioned are his dedication to his cause and the compassion he shows to those they care for, and it’s enough for them to consider themself a true Decepticon till the day his objectives are achieved.

[voiceless-terror]

I mean, I don’t believe in the predictive power of dreams, obviously, but still, it’s a deeply unsettling thing to find. I had Tim look into it, as I don’t entirely trust the others not to have written it as a practical joke and slipped it into the archives. - Episode 11, Dreamer

Jon stares down at the paper in his hands.

He’s had many an unkind thought towards Gertrude, his predecessor, the woman responsible for this mess and the current bane of his existence. She’s been the topic of most of his grumbling as he sorts through piles of nonsense and decaying cardboard boxes. He’s got no love lost for her, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy she’s dead. Or, specifically, to have a statement apparently predicting it through the medium of some prophetic dream. Ridiculous. He wants to feel detached, unaffected, but he can’t help the sickly sense of dread that creeps up his spine and lingers in his throat. 

It was your face and the expression upon it was far more fearful than any I had seen in eight years of wandering this twilight city.

Jon doesn’t know Antonio Blake and has no reason to believe him. But he’s known something’s wrong for a long time now.

He’s never admitted it aloud, never within his assistant’s hearing range, but he can feel it, as foolish as that sounds. This miasma of wrong, of being watched, of becoming...something else, that happens every time he records a statement. Despite the academic detachment he aspires to, he does attempt to empathize with each statement-giver and get into their mindset. But what he’s doing here...it’s different. He can visualize it so perfectly, the terror in their words sticking in his throat and setting his own heart pounding, as if he were the one experiencing it and not just regurgitating it to an ancient recorder. He’s always had an ‘overactive imagination,’ as his grandmother would say, but this is relentless in its manifestation. The fear is real, not imagined. Each statement draws him further and further away from the safety he used to cling to, where the only real cases were few and far between and the most sinister things lurking out there in the world were books and the monsters within them.

And as much as he wants to linger on the false accounts and take comfort in tearing them apart, his hands automatically seek the real ones, the right ones. It’s frightening, the ease with which he finds them nowadays. Perhaps he’s a better archivist than he thinks. 

She died and you’ll be next, something whispers to him. He’s being dramatic, as he’s wont to do, but it feels true. Every statement that doesn’t record correctly, every follow-up he has to qualify with an ‘I would dismiss this, but-’ is starting to add up. His nights have become restless. He often lies awake regretting that he ever took this job, that he left the relative safety of research for a position he’s not sure how to fill, his only reassurance Elias’s occasional emails that he’s ‘moving in the right direction,’ whatever that means.

Jon assumed he’d be more removed from the dangerous aspects of the job that research entailed- following up, going to locations, field work. And it’s true, he has assistants to do that for him now. Dependable, for the most part. And while he should feel safe in his tiny office with nothing but dust and paper and cobwebs (good lord, the cobwebs) he feels more unsettled and exposed than ever. He once joked he’d die of old age before getting the archives in order. But now a stroke sounds much more pleasant than whatever happened to Gertrude. If it’s true.

Perhaps it’s a joke, he thinks. Planted by one of the others, designed specifically to unsettle him. Well, it worked. 

It wouldn’t be surprising. He’s...not had the best start. The promotion was a surprise, but not wholly unexpected; he knew he’d been on Elias’s radar, though he wasn’t expecting it quite so soon. He’s young and unfortunately, it shows. The way he stutters through department meetings, talking about digitization while the others, all of whom have at least a decade on him, shoot pitying looks. He stays later and later, the desire to show some sort of progress even as he discovers more mess by the day. The permanent scowl that now graces his features becomes his armor as he walks the halls and feels himself becoming the uptight, unlikable curmudgeon everyone believes him to be. The one time I measure up to expectations, he can’t help thinking.

A joke. There’s a comfort in that. At least it’s familiar.

But it didn’t record to the laptop, his traitorous mind supplies. It's a bit sad he would prefer it to be a mundane attempt at bullying rather than a real expression of the supernatural, but he supposes it’s par for the course. There were many nights as a child he wished for the same thing, for that boy to go back to taking his lunch money and the occasional beating or two instead of…still, he dismisses it from his mind. You don’t know there’s a correlation. Follow up. Disprove it. 

He’s interrupted from his musings by a knock on the door and the vague outline of Martin through the frosted glass. “Come in,” he calls, attempting to inject some irritation in his voice to cover up the shakiness. “Did you need something?”

“Ah, I finished my write up for the Herbert case, was wondering if you had anything else for me?”

His hand hovers over the statement on his desk. He opens his mouth but then closes it, thinking better.

“Can you send Tim in, actually?”

______

“Sorry boss, I couldn’t find anything on this Antonio Blake fellow- well, at least with the details he provided, which were next to none. Proper spooky, though.”

Of his assistants, he trusts Tim the most with this sort of thing. 

On a surface level, it wouldn’t make sense to some. Tim can be loud and gregarious: the typical, charming extrovert. But he’s not unkind and he’s a hell of a researcher, especially when something grabs his interest. He digs into statements and doesn’t let go- not unlike Sasha, though he’s a bit better at empathizing and handling things...sensitively. Easily attuned to Jon’s moods, Tim’s always been willing to lend an ear whenever he gets too in his head about cases, helping him talk things through or on several memorable occasions, go down the rabbit hole with him. He’d taken the statement from his hands with an easy smile, though his face grew serious with the nervous look Jon shot him.

And if Tim couldn’t find anything, well. Maybe it was a prank after all.

He sort of wanted it to be true, frightening as the implications were. Because then it would mean this terrible, heavy feeling on his shoulders was real, and not just the byproduct of his own mediocrity. He doesn’t want to be scared, he doesn’t want to be in danger, but at least it would provide a real reason for panic, and not just his own inability to measure up.  He doesn’t want to prove them all right, collapsing under the stress of a job poorly done and so easily crumbling at a stupid, made-up statement, targeted as it may be. 

“A joke, then.” Jon says, rubbing a hand at his temples, trying not to let the hurt seep into his voice. Tim makes a commiserating noise.

“You know how people are, the institute isn’t exactly popular. You remember last Halloween, when-”

“Yes, I don’t need a reminder.” Jon sighs. He’d rather not relive that day, stressful as it was. “But that wasn’t quite what I was thinking.”

Tim stares at him for a moment, uncomprehending. Jon continues, attempting to make his hands busy as he pointlessly shuffles papers.

“It’s rather pointed, isn’t it? I doubt someone off the street would create such a detailed account of the death of an...archivist as opposed to the usual ghostly drivel.”

A look of pity flickers in Tim’s eyes and Jon has to turn away. “I don’t really think anyone here would-”

“Really? You don’t?” Jon lets out a mirthless laugh, rubbing a hand across his face as he stares down at his desk. “I’m not blind. Or deaf.” The derisive snorts if he goes off on ‘needless tangents,’ how Rosie pretends to be busy whenever he approaches Elias’s office, the way his name badge still reads ‘researcher’ after months of asking for a new one. He’s basically become a pariah.

“Jon, did someone say something to you?” The words are carefully chosen and he’s leaning forward now, making as if to stand up and god forbid, do something comforting. It’s not that Jon doesn’t want the comfort; he craves it more than anything. But he’s gone without for so long he doesn’t trust himself not to break at the gentlest of touches. Being on the receiving end of Tim’s protective streak is nothing new, but he shouldn’t need his assistant looking out for him like he’s some sort of helpless infant. 

He snorts derisively instead, covering up the insecurity and hurt with a sardonic, self-effacing smile. The kind he knows Tim hates. “They don’t need to. I’ve walked in on conversations, I’ve seen the way people go quiet, the looks they give me-”

“Hey,” Tim’s voice is low, like he’s dealing with a frightened animal. Jon wonders how he looks, if Tim’s going this soft. “Don’t listen to them, alright? You inherited a mess, we all did- but we’re doing our best, yeah? Study and record, like Elias said.” Jon doesn’t dodge the hand that finally lands on shoulder, and he’ll deny to anyone that he leaned into it. 

“Study and record.” He repeats listlessly, slumping back down into his seat. He’s let himself get too worked up, acting like a child instead of a boss. He’s not sure when he started wearing his heart on his sleeve, but Tim’s always been good at reading him. Though he’d rather people think him an arrogant ass than the seething mess of insecurity he truly is. 

“Atta boy.” The pat to his shoulder is purposefully light, devoid of Tim’s usually friendly force that sends him stumbling forward. “Now get out of here at a normal time, alright? We can grab lunch tomorrow. Just the two of us, if you like.”

Jon makes a noncommittal grunt, though the thought is nice.  He entertains the idea for just a moment, remembering their occasional outings back in research. Tomorrow he’ll make his excuses. He hasn’t been much of a friend as of late, and he’s not sure he deserves the kindness of company.

“And if there’s anyone that needs a stern talking to from me, I-” Tim wags a finger and Jon rolls his eyes, ignoring the pang of warmth the words send through his chest.

“Don’t, please. It’s fine.” It isn’t. “But...thank you, Tim.”

“Course.” A wink and a sloppy salute to lighten the mood, and Jon feels the tension in his posture ease minutely as Tim shuts the door behind him. 

He lets out a breath and reaches for the tape recorder. He’s wasted too much time already.  

Be careful. There is something coming for you and I don’t know what it is, but it is so much worse than anything I can imagine. At the very least, you should look into appointing a successor.

Good luck.

He fights a shiver as the man’s voice leaves him and the last vestiges of that twilight world fade back to his dimly-lit office. In his follow up, he tries to play it off as a joke. A bit of hazing for the new boss. And yet the uneasiness still creeps into his voice, and he ends another tape on a stilted, half-believed note.

If this is genuine…

Jon prays that it isn’t. 

And like most of his prayers, it goes unheard and unanswered.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32165071

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