#new invention: Heelys

[dennynumbertwo]

PLEASE PEOPLE WATCH DR STONE ITS SO GOOD AND SILLY AND I NEED DR STONE MUTUALS AFHSHSH

[fatesundress]

⭑ life of the party. tom riddle x reader

summary. when one game is ruined, another begins.

tags. explicitly fem afab reader, smut with as minimal plot as i can physically allow myself, minors SCRAMMM, loosely implied hogwarts university au as always, flirting via mutually assured jealousy, impeccable communication skills, established relationship, the guy the reader is talking to gets annoyed she doesn’t want him but he doesn’t do anything, religious undertones that might have accidentally become overtones, party setting (background drinking & general degeneracy), probably the meanest tom i’ll ever write and i still tried making him nice, fingering, piv, a little degradation but that's life, fawwwk the weeknd but the song this is based on is so sexy, etc

note. Me writing this: nightguard: ON, religious themes: RIFE, shame: ABOUNDING. i am so embarrassed by this. have i mentioned smut doesn’t come naturally to me? i don’t even know how i got here. i’m on heelys at the proverbial skatepark and everyone else apprenticed under tony hawk. Do you understand? ok.

word count. 4.5k

request. yes!

He is what he is. Stoic, sacred, silent and then verbose. You knew he had his fixations before you knew him at all — no one made top of every class without a shadow of obsession to contrast the glint of their excellence — but you could not anticipate how that obsession might translate when applied to a person. You’re not sure he had either.

He is what he is. The muggle world taught him religion and in it he learned only the tenor of devotion. When his fingers take your jaw, trace slow at the stripes of your thighs, steady your hips from under you and hold tight, there’s reverence in it. His kisses don’t wane with the months gone by; they soften with purpose. They rouse with hunger. His eyes don’t waver. Should a good man gaze upon his altar? Should he smile like sin when he gets on his knees? 

He does.

Tom Riddle is what he is and you solemnise in equal part.

You don’t come to these things often, taken aback by the sight of the Slytherin common room in ribbons and banners tattered within the first hour of the night. Bottles glow green in the lake-light on every available surface, scattered about the place and spilled in sticky puddles. 

You’re a wallflower tonight, though not for lack of options. You observe from a comfortable distance the drunken antics of new adults, free to carry their liquor in hand rather than hidden away in pockets and pillowcases. There’s something vaguely entertaining about it, intoxicating where someone else might mind their business and actually get intoxicated, but you see no harm done. Whispers fall on your ears before the rumours make their rounds, couples slink away in the darkness where someone in the crowd might not notice, and the night’s first instance of someone hurrying up the stairs in tears comes barrelling right past you. You invent a story for why to keep yourself busy. 

It’s all just buzz.

Now, if you don’t come often, he certainly doesn’t.

Tonight, he has, and for reasons explicable but few, you’ve found yourselves on opposite sides of the room.

It began on the green couch by the window with a chess set spilled across the velvet — a bet you made with him upon arrival; you find wizard’s chess trite, Tom finds it feckless, but it makes for a good challenge. 

What else could convince a man so perpetually controlled to pour himself a drink? And you imagine, from his perspective: what else could convince a woman so determined to outwit him?

It’s for no nefarious reason — to slight him or see him stumble — but because you love the fractions of relief that colour him, soften him, temper him. It’s because he loves you in every shade, in every pliancy, in each and every fervour. But mostly it’s because you love kindly to best him, and he loves mirthfully to best you.

So you play. The game is slow and teasing, hard to see in the ripples of the lake, and toppled over in the final moves (which you’ll insist you were winning) by the same swaying body that spills its drink down the front of your dress. And so you’re up, brushing your index finger over the corner of Tom’s sudden scowl. You whisper like a joke not to kill anyone but he’s so quick to look like he might that you consider repeating yourself with more conviction.

You poke at the spot where his jaw is tense. “I’ll be right back.”

Drying liquor from lace is a matter of precision even with magic, and this is half-gelatinous like someone raided the kitchen’s supply of jelly and steeped it in something offensively alcoholic. You utilise the clearer light of the Slytherin girl’s lavatory, wetting your dress before evaporating the water from it. There’s the matter then of transforming the stained fabric back to its original colour, and you huff in the mirror at having a game you thought you didn’t care much for ruined so close to its end.

You care about Tom, though. The omphalos of your issue resides there.

(It is fair to say most of your issues reside there.)

With only minutes gone by, the common room crowd looks doubled when you return, and though you wade through you’re pushed back like debris caught in a tide, the bodies more stubborn rubble than you. So you retreat, stand flush at the wall with your arms crossed, and wait for Tom’s eyes to land on yours. To, perhaps, open your mind and let him in, tell him exhaustedly from afar that the game is at rest and you’re ready to leave.

But even he’s hard to find in the bodies unified in breath, flux like a big set of lungs —  and nothing about Tom blurs into the background.

So you wait. You wallflower. You pour yourself a drink.

The moment stretches on longer than anticipated, and after many detached observations of the room, someone else finds you instead. He’s tall, blond to Tom's inkwell black, kissed by summer sun even as autumn soothes its blister. Your gaze wavers back to him a few times though his own is uncertain for all its focus. He seems to be waiting for you to stop, perhaps for the silhouette of someone else to slip by and prove you were looking at them instead. When no one else comes, he traverses the crowd with a straightened inch of pride, stepping through new colours until he’s close enough to you that the light settles emerald-black and you can see the great chasm of his beauty up close. 

His freckles are carefully dusted, his structure strong, all squarish, rugged lines and shades of August.

The chasm is not a lack of allure, per se, it’s just a lack of him. One man’s August to your adherent’s December, the intention of his warmth, a thing that does not come to him like everything else but that he makes and makes and mends when it lapses because he does not want to see you cold. The singular reward of a rarity like that.

“Hi," you say, glancing over a broad shoulder.

“Evening," he responds. He takes you in with a look of (unappreciated) appreciation. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“No, we haven’t.”

He extends a hand. “Oliver Belby.”

“Pleasure.”

You don't offer much in the way of conversation. He’ll vie for your attention regardless of how much of it you offer. So you lean against the wall where the buzz of sound prickles your hair, let him talk, let his hand come up to rest beside your head, and you find Tom.

He’s right where you left him, a new clearing in the crowd making space for your eyes to meet.

His are ice even at a distance. As if you proselytise — as if you could — kneel for another man or let one kneel before you, all of your trysts together faithless.

They aren’t. He must know they aren’t.

But you put yourself here and standing at the target of his gaze has never been marred by the severity of it.

You decide then; when one game is ruined, another begins.

In truth, you can’t deny the element of theatrics in the way Tom denies everyone but you: his soft, penitent smile, the apologetic cant of his head, how his eyes can find you in any crowd and whoever is clinging onto his every word that night will follow his gaze and deflate when they discover you at the end of it. Sometimes it’s harsh. Final. He lacks the patience of pretence. 

Sometimes, the week is dull. Sometimes, the whoever is undeterred. Sometimes you’ve pushed him here. 

No — You’ve never done that before. This is new.

So it’s one of those weeks, and one of those whoevers, on an anomaly you may as well have directed the encounter yourself, and Tom is half-indulgent as he forces his eyes away and you force yours to stay. 

You watch him from across the room as the woman drapes herself across the arm of his chair. There's a furious blush on her cheeks even in the dark, a pretty disarray to her shoulder-length hair, skirts pleated over knees she faces toward him. She smiles and offers him a glass of something, and you know for certain Tom understands this game because he accepts it, eyes flicking back to you as he swirls the glass in contest. 

To that you take an inappreciable sip of your own.

“ — Which is why no one has even attempted to kill one in decades. And capturing one is another thing entirely. My mother works with the Greeks on occasion, and the nearest she came to a den was in the twenties. If she had gone any nearer I wouldn’t be here.”

“Hm?” You look back at the man in front of you. His lips glisten with having licked them between every phrase.

“The manticores,” he says, undeterred.

“Right. Five-X beasts, aren’t they?”

“That’s what I said. I heard from one of my mother’s colleagues that — ”

The woman is whispering something in Tom’s ear, her hair on his cheek. He’s looking at you as if you had said the words. You don't shy away when Oliver leans in to whisper too. It's a strange, fractured language. Too intimate while too detached. Whispers from across the room, desire from another in the place of desire for each other. But the strangeness should not surprise you anymore. This is Tom: beautiful and wicked and the one you chose.

“ — And Nundus are worse. Deadliest creature there is — ”

She’s laughing about something, the woman. Half-reserved, she’s angled toward the party despite her leaning on his shoulder and the dissipating inches of distance.

“ — They stalk in silence. Think of the size of one, right? They’re apex predators… so commanding and still they could be in front of you one instant and gone the next.”

You engage with detached interest. “Really?”

And now Oliver barricades your view, his other hand coming to rest on your other shoulder.

“Do we have any classes together?”

You blink up at him. “No.”

“No, right,” he says, eyes darting to your lips. “I’d remember you.” 

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and you wonder if for some men one-sided discussions of class five beasts qualify as foreplay.

You place a hand on his chest, eyebrows raised and half a startled smile curled. 

“You’re not going to kiss me," you inform him.

His face falls, but with it, at least, does his hand.

“Did you hear me?"

“It’s loud,” he decides suddenly. “Can we go somewhere else?”

You’re not sure you believe that. 

You duck under an arm and search the crowd again. The woman is on the arm of the chair looking thoroughly dismayed, and for good reason —

Tom is gone. 

Your breath is caught.

“This isn’t… You’re not going to…?”

You flash Oliver with a glare. “So you did hear me.”

He makes a pathetically sad face, and you think: it’s a wonder he made it this far when his courtship evidently hinges on the subject of his affection not listening to a word out of his mouth.

“Goodnight, Oliver,” you say tersely.

“What was that for, then?” he asks, and it comes out practically whined.

“That was talking.”

“But you’re —”

“Belby.”

He is what he is. It shouldn’t surprise you when he appears beside you all fatal rage on a quiet lead, narrowly fixed to you. 

Tom’s cold is his median temperature, yes, but in moments like this it’s as much for you as his handmade warmth. He’d pluck the fingers off a boy like Oliver. The digits would string eaves like icicles.

Oliver is looking between you and Tom like something terrible has dawned on him, hands urged to his pockets to soothe the flames your unveiled ties to a man seemingly singed him with.

“Riddle — Mate, I didn’t… I didn’t know she was…”

Tom’s voice is flat, edged with something that makes his monotony sound merciful. “Pity. If only you knew as much as you talked.”

Oliver’s mouth opens and closes and opens again, but wisely he settles on silence instead of excuses, and wastes no time fleeing slowly into the crowd. 

The instant he's stolen by the wave Tom's eyes are on yours and they’re molten. You move to say something but his patience was for show — he’s dragging you by the arm out of the common room and into one of the dungeon's empty classrooms without giving you the chance.

“Tom —" You start to protest, mouth twisted in a scowl. “Tom, you're being —"

He shuts the door behind you and locks it with such delicacy your breath catches at the question of how badly he's holding himself back right now.

“I'm being what?"

“You're…" It's hard to formulate an answer when he's like this. “It was a game. Don’t pretend you weren’t playing too."

Tom inches in, chest rising with angry breaths. “A game, was it? Did he know that?"

“Did she?” you hiss.

“It certainly became apparent when she was discarded so that I might retrieve you.”

“It was as apparent to Belby, judging by the way he was left gawking.”

“And with great restraint I let him. A mercy I didn’t take his eyes so he was left without the ability.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, now I understand; the problem wasn’t the game, it’s that I played it better than you.”

He looks at you for a long time before casting a silencing charm on the room.

Oh.

Oh — your heart barrels off somewhere. You’re without it for a moment, breathless in the wake of the implication of a spell like that.

“Tom," you say politically, “It was hardly a matter of rescuing.”

He nods imperceptibly. “No, it wasn’t.”

“So we’re in agreement.”

He hums a non-answer.

Each step he takes forward, you take back. It's a peculiar way to have a conversation, but part of the game, you suppose.

Interesting he’s still playing.

You still gasp when you inevitably hit the wall, hands going to the carved edge of a windowsill.

“You’re terrible when you win,” he whispers. His lips brush your ear.

You shudder, mouth dry as you press against his shoulder. “You’re worse when you lose.”

His mouth drags down your jaw but he refuses to kiss you, still withholding something, still holding back in some terrible, electrifying way. Instead one of his hands starts to dip down your side. You shiver as he grazes the skin of your breast, exposed by the cut of your dress, and continues down your waist. His mouth traces your bare shoulder as his tongue makes a slow pass, skin beneath leaping at his careful ministrations.

With long, slender fingers he's pulling your dress off button by button, torturously slow, and you feel mocked to have cleaned it earlier. You feel foolish to have left knowing the night would have ended like this regardless.

“Tom,” you say. His name is followed by staggered breaths. Your fingers are clutching the windowsill.

The air is thick as he watches you, flesh exposed by each undone catch. And still he will not kiss you, even as his lips trail along your collarbone and you start to tug instinctively at his belt. He makes the barest sound of disapproval and spins you to face the window, your hands urged on instinct to press against the glass.

“Tom...”

He hikes your dress up your thighs. It clings to your hips, a meagre two buttons left attached to keep it from falling.

Your wand clatters as his fingers work the clasp of your bra and his teeth skim your shoulder, leaving little bites he laves at softly with his tongue. You shudder, arching into him, searching for friction. His touch traverses the shape of you and stops feather-light between your legs.

“Tom —”

“Quiet," he admonishes, a little tut.

Your skin jumps at the caress of his fingers tracing deceptively timid up your thighs, like he hasn’t done this before, like it’s care and not punishment. His favourite oxymoron: the gentlest torture, the cruelest succour.

His index draws upon the lace of your underwear and tugs it aside with a tenderness that makes you gasp. Is there a way to press harder to the glass without breaking it? Is there ever enough to grab onto when he gets like this — so singularly focused on ruining you? 

One of your hands latches onto the arm half-disappeared in your skirts instead, clinging steadfast to the white of its sleeve, your body swaying as if at sea. He keeps you steady, but this is his crown achievement: that he is all there is that can do it when you’re so singularly focused on being ruined by him.

The sinews of his forearm work imperceptibly under your fingers as he appreciates the newly unfettered flesh, two digits sliding between your legs, and he makes a satisfied sound against your shoulder at the wetness he finds there. 

You’re swallowing air with a moan stuck in your throat; too dry, you realise, and feel like you’re choking when he starts to move, gripping his arm somehow tighter.

As a rule, you know how much he loves this, but it’s tenfold under his jealousy and you think deliriously, probably wrongly, that for how much he enjoys pushing you you enjoy pushing him to get here. You’re his and he’s yours, there’s no doubt in it — but what he can reduce you to — this is the translation; the fruition of his fixations put to a person rather than a subject. This is what it is to be his.

Tom’s mouth opens in a smile at your throat, and there it feels more like bared teeth, a smile that is as animal as it is pretty. 

And still he whispers with all the affection of a lover, your name peppered between kisses.

His fingers inch inside you and curl. You’re wedged in the perfect balance of his discrepancy; your disciple and your devil. He worships you in white. He ruins you in it too.

Now his name comes out in a babble, wet, half-drooled. A nip pinches the little space beneath your ear and you clutch impossibly harder to his wrist, your free hand squeaking down the window pane as you grind on his palm. He crooks his fingers against a spot that has you seeing stars, thumb pressed to your clit in a subtle motion, and you feel yourself tip off into an unknown he aquaints you with often. In a blurry, flickering moment, the light gleams somewhere beyond the stained hues of the window. And that should be it. The edge is at your heels and you should be falling. But the sinful press of him at your back commands you to lurch against him, and when you moan for more he pulls his fingers free.

You stumble weakly into his chest, startled.

“What… What?”

“Ask me for it,” he says, his voice hoarse, markedly wanton in spite of himself. But there is hunger and there is greed. There’s a sacrificial lamb and there’s a hunted one— there’s religion and there’s Tom. He invents something that demands greater devotion.

And the sound of leather rasping serge and metal clinking metal reels your conscience in. There are no stars. There’s just him. His belt is coming undone.

“Tom.” You swallow. “I told you —”

“And I want you to ask.” He cups your jaw in his hand, thumb tracing your lower lip. “Nicely.”

Your mouth opens for him and you shiver, pressing further back for contact he doesn’t allow. Instead another small tut is whispered at your neck, relinquished to a kiss.

His finger brushes your teeth when you speak. “I want you.”

You feel him shake his head and you all but whine.

“I want you inside, Tom — need you — please.”

“Please?” he echoes mockingly.

“Please,” you say in an uneven voice, and when your tongue grazes his thumb he eases it further into your mouth with an appeased hum.

And so his zipper comes down and you hold your breath with the weight of your dress at your hips.

He pushes inside you with minimal pause, slow still, to relish the way your little pants hitch, stop, and shudder out in a broken moan; the way your breath is guided by his rhythm, how you’re shaped by him, fitted around him. You careen forward and your palms flatten on the window, trembling at the first thrust. Your fingers quiver down the glass.

Tom pulls you into him on the second, patience abandoned. His lips chase your pulse. His grip on your jaw tightens as his thumb pops free with a string of spit. He nudges deeper at a new angle, your body forced as far as it can lean back, gasping heavenward when your head falls helplessly onto his shoulder.

It’s profane. Your ears almost dull to the sound of his hips snapping against yours, the obscenity of your skin on what he offers of his, but you waver between earth and something else, brought back to him by the torturous sight of the edge he stole you from. Always brought back to him. 

He’s gripping your jaw in one hand as he pushes deeper, and your fingers are lost for purchase on his forearms, trembling to hold onto something.

When he pulls out of you at your brink again, you practically cry out. But you understand when he spins you around again, hiking you up against the windowsill, your shoulders hitting the cool glass with a gasp you barely register in the fog of your desperation. His eyes are dilated to midnight rings. The weight of his desire is frightening. The insistence to claim you better yet.

He wastes no time before slamming into you again, pausing at the hilt to watch your eyebrows wrench together before resuming his pace. When your mouth falls open, he swallows the noise that tries to come out of it.

It doesn’t feel like a kiss. It feels like the prolusion to a bite.

His fervour is all the reminder of how you got here in the first place; the teeth, the force, the grip on your waist. There’s a rough sound he makes in your mouth that you taste more than you hear. The vibration of him is everywhere. You’re too hot and it only occurs to you because your fingers are clawing at fabric instead of skin that he’s fully dressed and your last button has finally snapped, lace pooled on the classroom floor as he fucks you. The thought is consigned to oblivion as quickly as it came. It doesn't matter.

You're clutching at his shoulders, the nape of his neck — trying to kiss him back, but you feel torn in two by the intensity of his ministrations, a low, immolating pressure building in your abdomen. He’s proving something with you, and his is a relentless, unending appetite. You don't really stand a chance. You think you've known that from the start.

Tom is all-consuming. Tom is a force of nature, a whirlwind that sweeps over you. He leaves you breathless and somehow needing more as he wraps his hand around the small of your back and seizes you in place.

Still you find yourself wanting to be held tighter.

“T-Tom —" you sob through the kiss but he doesn't give you enough air to do it. He pushes harder, a rasp at the back of his throat, some carnal thing. He’s not withholding your release now; he’s spurring you towards it.

When he withdraws his lips from yours, his brows are furrowed in concentration. There’s a fine lustre of sweat on his forehead, stray curls pulled across dark, wicked eyes. The sight of him alone is condemnable, but it isn’t for you.

He likes to watch you like this. When your moans dissolve to the torn syllable of his name, again and again. The veneration. Your choked litanies.

You give them to him.

Sleeves drawn up by your body’s baser instinct for skin, you’ve carved a canvas of praise into his arms, marked up to his elbows where your fingers had jerked upward to rake at his back. This time, when you find the cliffside, nothing stops you from teetering off its edge. Flames dance across your skin in an explosion, your collar damp and bitten, your waist in Tom’s vice-like grip. One hard thrust and you’re falling.

The stars are blinding. You decide then they were made by him.

Your head lulls back as shocks of pleasure course through your body, the coil snapped, the hard shape of him inside you demanding impossibly for more. You stumble through the light, vision blurred, praying and praying and praying. His grip comes to find your jaw again.

You keen, addled through the ecstasy, barely conscious of the way his panted breaths hitch at the sight of you in his hands, soft-eyed and puddy.

He always comes apart soon after you, but it happens rarely that your body is so taut on the wire of rapture that his twitching inside you takes you with him. 

This time it does.

You sink against him, thighs numb and wet, one hand slipping dumbly from his figure and swiping across condensation-foggy glass. The second orgasm is an aftershock of the first. It’s slow. It feels like being caught from the last fall. You land in Tom’s arms and they’re holding you through whitened knuckles. His eyelashes flutter, ink-dipped twines of quills, and he steals the shaky sigh from your mouth by pressing it to his.

You kiss lazily and softly. The room feels sheeted in static. The electricity lingers on both of you.

It’s hard not to fall against the window when he slides out of you. You slump on quivering legs into his chest instead, heaving, spend trickling down your legs.

Tom holds you close, adjusting his trousers before sinking down to settle you on his lap. He wipes the sweat from your face and presses his lips to the feverish skin it plastered. Forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, whispers of your name down your jaw like a prayer answered. Your eyelids flutter shut and he kisses you there, too. His lashes tickle.

You love him more than you worship him. You think he likes that more.

He grabs your forsaken dress from the floor and slips it over your bare shoulders, summoning the snapped button back in place before he begins to meticulously clasp the rest together again. His mouth leaves a path at the skin under each one before it closes, and you hum in dizzy gratitude.

“That was,” you say in a very worn voice, “a terrible way to reinforce not making you jealous.”

He glares at you from one of the lowermost buttons and you giggle sleepily, curling a hand into his hair. “Don’t look at me like that. You liked it too.”

He leans back up at that, tipping your chin with his fingers, gaze darting over the wrecked state of you with a pleased gleam in his eyes. “You liked it? What a modest interpretation.”

Now it’s your turn to glare.

He is what he is — pursuit of buttons forgotten as you’re laid down on the moonlit floor to be reminded just how much you liked it.

taglist. @lyis @indimoss @poddzi @esolean @d1anna @maripositanoctruna @mentally-in-northern-italy @ronniemaximoff1234 @moobell55 @jaerang @ramayantika @saltwaterbythesea @acube07 @togenabi @adazito @kitcat334 @blaurghhh @shutupfinn @jaymeeshayden @lilu842 @leaosee @garfunkelworld @definitely-not-captain-america @multiplefandomstan @mangoesareorange [ note: inexplicably, a bunch of my tags aren't working. i tried to fix it but if you didn’t get a notif i’m sorry! ]

[bearpillowmonster]

One thing I miss about the 2000s is that it seemed experimental. It was like what new invention would you see on TV next? It's the Slap Chop, it's the vacuum storage bag, it's a Fushigi, Heelies, Sparking Heel Wheels, Slush Magic, Zoo Pals, Snuggie! And what do we get now? Oh a new...shower head. Oh look, it's a new...blender, they seem reiterative of what came before. Sure, some weren't the best ideas but they could take failures like that, now it's very one and done.

[the-man-who-invented-chess]

My new invention will be motorized heelys so that when my cousins try to talk to me about marvel I can start rapidly careening away from them simply by leaning in a direction

[weekend-whip]

What’s everyone’s spending habits (besides Kai. We all know he budgets like a coupon mom who ends up spending five dollars for two carts worth of food)? Who has the Shiny Object Syndrome? Does Olivia buy dice like a little dnd dice gremlin?

Kai: COUPON MOM and will physically fight anyone spending irresponsibly (read: Cole). Will dig through every single thing they own before deeming whether or not they actually "need to buy" something. Anything "nonessential" he owns is usually in the form of gifts from others.

Jay: Also a bit of cheapskate due to upbringing, but with extreme Shiny Object Syndrome. Tries to avoid spending frivolously, especially if he's able to get things in a more practical way/build them himself, buuuut this is also the guy that once spent his science fair winnings on an electric guitar and also bought an expensive backpack for Nya just because she liked it. If he's not buying nerd shit, he's buying parts for potential inventions.

Cole: Goes from being filthy rich to...not being so, but even after going off to fend for himself + being a ninja, he hasn't quite shaken off the habit of being able to go out and just buy whatever whenever. An absentminded desire for new records, sketchbooks, or snacks often leads to the group being short on cash for other pressing things (driving Kai insane), on top of the fact that he still doesn't quite understand just how expensive things can be. Does get better with time, however, and once he resumes his part-time work at the Rockshot.

Zane: Rarely splurges on anything for himself, but will splurge on supplies, justifying it as necessary—even if it is long before they ever actually have need of it. If he does have a little extra spending money on hand, it usually goes towards new books or movies or a pair of heelys

Nya: About as bad as her brother when it comes to penny-pinching, but far less stubborn about spending frivolously, as the rush of freedom she gets from being able to do so is a call too loud to resist, especially after she gets her job. Primarily her spending cash goes to machine parts and the like, or clothes if her stuff starts becoming unwearable.

Lloyd: Never actually had a lot of spending money for himself; would ask his mom for things as needed/wanted, and Koko would usually find a way to buy it whenever she could. When he does get his hands on some cash of his own, he goes mad with the power and possibilities (even if it's just a dollar). Kai has to beat it out of him. Also has Shiny Object Syndrome.

Jesse: Always at least has a little spending money due to his job at his family's shop, but given their recent harder times (Miranda + aftermath of the Devourer) he becomes a lot more mindful of his spending...but, still has a very strong weakness for new clothes and material for new magic tricks (...and anything that can help to woo Cole).

Antonia: Has an allowance—not a very big one, but it's enough to let her save up and get what she needs when she needs, which is usually writing supplies—or ice cream. Is currently trying to save up for a new bike.

Harumi: Goes from being poor to exceedingly well-off. Went from scraping by on the barest minimum to having just about everything she could want at her fingertips...and she hates it. Never actually wants anything material, but if she had to pick...nice meals and fancy clothes are generally her go-to. Along with history books for no specific reason whatsoever.

Olivia: Relies on a good ol' fashioned five finger discount. Has literally confessed to theft on multiple occasions–if she wants something, she's just taking it, money be damned. When she's feeling too lazy to be stealthy she will buy her snacks + DND stuff...but, y'know, the cash she happens to have was probably stolen too.

Miranda: Pre-incident, all extra cash from working the shop went to video games + the latest Borg tech. Post-incident, every cent she finds goes into funding for her prosthetics, which...isn't nearly enough, but, maybe she'll find another way to make it happen...?

Pixal: Straight up doesn't buy things, as at Borg Industries she has all she could ever need....until getting properly involved with the Ninja. After that, basically becomes second-in-command to Kai when it comes to monitoring their finances, but does have some personal funds set aside for a) emergencies or b) when a new mech idea strikes.

Skylor: Goes from being corrupted rich to being rich on morally correct terms. Things got somewhat dire when first shifting Chen's to under her command alone, but after the rough patches of the changeover, her restaurant chain is still insanely successful with much profit. In her free time, indulges in a lot of the things she couldn't experience on the island (and really wouldn't mind helping Kai and others out financially if they asked, but they're all just a little too prideful to ever actually do so).

[devildomdoofus]

“Wheely Cool” - Part 1

MC shows The Brothers (Part 1) and Undateables (Part 2) what Heelys are.

I want to thank @true-intha-blue for the amazing idea and I hope that they are blessed beyond their wildest imagination✨

‼️WARNINGS‼️

too cute for your own good

💙Lucifer:

What.

In the devildom.

Were Heelys?

When you explained what they were to him, he couldn’t quite understand why you used them when you could just walk to wherever you needed to go. It was much simpler and was much less of a hazard for everyone and everything.

When you added that they could get you where you needed to go faster, it only confused the poor man even further. Just be punctual?

Whenever he saw you scoot past him with your toes up and the wheels rolling on your shoes, he’d shake his head and turn away, attempting to unsee what he just saw. What in the realms made humans come up with such an invention?

It took you practically a century and a half to convince him to at least try them for himself. How, you might ask?

One word: Diavolo.

He convinced the eldest by using a pair them himself (which you taught him to use) and doing so with the biggest smile on his face. If Diavolo enjoys them, they couldn’t be that nonsensical... right?

When Lucifer finally tried using them, he didn’t shake or falter in the least, bit of course he didn’t. What else did you expect from The Avatar of Pride?

And maybe you were imagining things but you thought you saw a glimpse of a smile on his face.

Still, no matter his successful attempt, he didn’t use them all that much afterwards anyway. He simply prefered the old fashioned way of getting around. His own two feet.

Having said that, he did dedicate an entire room for you to wheel about as you pleased without fear of you running into anyone or anything. It had little obstacles for you to move around, a race track, miniature ramps

He had it all set up just for you, seeing as these pair of wheels in shoes made you so happy.. which in turn, made him happy too.

The room just eased his anxieties a bit

💛Mammon:

Yo, did ya just say Heelys?!

Wait right there, let him go get his own pair and you two can have a race!!

Yes, you heard him right and he hopes he heard you right, too. He’s got his own pair of Heelys stashed away.

He and Levi got a few pairs a while back whenever they first came out and the portals for taking trips to the human world were open to everyone.

But, when they got back to the H.O.L, Mammon barely had them for 2 minutes before Lucifer forbid them both from using “whatever the devildom those things are” because Mammon kept bumping into very fragile, very valuable items.

Now that you had a pair, maybe Lucifer would be a little more lenient? He hoped so anyway.

He’d meet up with you in the hallways or open corridors and you two would race from one end to the other.

He even tried showing off and done little tricks like speeding down one side of the hall and doing parkour over tables and vases... maybe this is how they became banned in the first place?

Aaaaand look at that. He got caught.

You had to assure Lucifer that you two would only use them outside or in areas where there weren’t valuable items. It took a day or two of persistent begging, but eventually he yielded.

Depending on how enthusiastic you were about them, Mammon would either buy you a plethora of stylish, limited edition Heelys/Heelys parts, customized to your liking, OR he’d get you two a matching pair and have your initials etched into the sole of the shoes. Of course, he’d have “The GREAT Mammon” etched into his.

He wouldn’t tell you immediately upfront, but he couldn’t put into words just how much sharing something like this between the two of you, meant to him.

🧡Leviathan:

OMG!! Heelys?! Are you kidding?! What pair did you have?!

He then proceeds to show you all of the ones he had bought with Mammon, as well as the ones he bought later just because they were EXTREMELY LIMITED edition Ruri-Chan pairs/TSL inspired pairs.

His favorite pair was one which had wheels and laces that lit up in multiple colors.

Though because of Mammon’s stupidity and the following ban that Lucifer put on them, he never really had the chance to use them all that much.

Until now.

Just like Mammon, Levi assumed that with you using a pair yourself, Lucifer might be a little more lenient... or at least not as harsh in punishment?

You two now had a ‘secret club’ in which you would meet up while everyone was busy doing their own thing, and wheel all around the devildom. Up and down sidewalks, finding a local skatepark and scooting around there, and much more.

Lucifer found about it.

He was... actually very happy. You had, seemingly with ease, gotten his recluse of a brother out of the house and enjoying something that wasn’t on a screen or clogging up the Akuzon delivery truck yet.

Just don’t bring the ‘secret club meetings’ into the House and all will be fine.

As much as he hated the world outside of his room, he enjoyed sharing such things with you and seeing you happy much, much more.

He’d use the excuse of ‘sudden clumsiness’ to hold your hand while wheeling somewhere side by side.

You best believe his face is strawberry red for the remainder of your time together.

Like Mammon, Levi would buy the both of you a hefty amount of Heelys/Heelys parts, customized to each of yours’ likings. Not a single bit of Grimm was spared in decking out the pairs that you had. You two had to have the best looking Heelys in all of the three realms, of course.

Plus, your time together with shared interests made his brothers jealous and that was a major, well needed boost to his ego.

💚Satan:

Beg your pardon? Heelys? You mean the things Mammon and Levi got banned for because it made Lucifer angry?....

please proceed.

Now, normally Satan wouldn’t bother with such a ‘trivial’ thing. Similar to Lucifer, he’d much rather just walk to wherever he needed to go and was, by nature, rather punctual. Heelys just weren’t an interest of his.

Having said that, if using such things could be a pain in Lucifer’s ass, he’d delightfully reconsider. Just don’t expect him to be good at it.

Despite his uncertainty, he got the hang of them surprisingly quick. Be it his ‘fast-learner’ skill or the accelerant from pure spite, he mastered the art of Heelys in a matter of seconds.

Now to put these bad boys to use.

He bribed Mammon and Levi to pull out their pairs of Heelys and came up with multiple plans to irritate Lucifer the most. (Having caught wind of the idea, Belphegor joined in as well, but mostly during moments he wasn’t tired/asleep)

He’d pretend he was still ‘practicing’ using the Heelys and bump into things on purpose, causing them to break, you all came up with a ‘drive-by handshake’ to do directly in front of the eldest as he was walking, he’d place a set of wheels around the House so Lucifer might slip on them and fall on his ass, etc.

Eventually the ‘Anti-Lucifer Heelys Squad’ just became the ‘Heelys Squad’ because he‘d grown accustomed to them and rather enjoyed them for what they were.

And if it meant spending more time with you, then he loved them even more.

💖Asmodeus:

Sorry, what? Heelys? Ahh, is that a famous brand of stilettos?

Oh, you meant the shoes with wheels.

Wait, didn’t Mammon and Levi get a nasty punishment from Lucifer over those things?

Either way.. eh, not really his style.

However, he did enjoy roller skates because it meant he could go to skating rings to party and dance till his ankles ached.

So he met you in the middle and bought a pair of ‘detachable skates’ for a couple of his fashionable shoes so that whenever he’d meet up with you and you were using your Heelys, he’d snap his skates on and roll with you.

He enjoyed sharing such a thing with you so much that he started buying you various, high end pairs of Heelys/Heelys parts and outfits to match them.

He’d also take pictures and videos of you wheeling around, up and down hallways, along sidewalks, practically whenever and wherever you were rolling about.

Just don’t forget to take pictures and videos of him too.

He eventually collected enough content to make a new segment in his vlogs/blogs and would brag about the two of you for hours and hours. Mostly bragged about himself but you were thrown in there plenty of times too.

If you’d like, he’d host parties in which everyone would wear their Heelys or skates and just have a ball.

Such a delightful new development and he was going to explore every aspect of it, if it meant it made you happy in the process too.

❤️Beelzebub:

Huh? What are Heelys?

Oh, you mean the things Mammon and Levi got in trouble with?

He never considered using Heelys because he didn’t really need to. He was perfectly capable of getting to where he needed to go, as quickly as he wanted to, with his long legged strides.

Although, if it meant he could get to his next meal even faster, he’d certainly try them out.

Could he maybe rest a hand on your shoulder, though? He’s a big guy and the miniature, unpredictable wheels now attached to his feet do very little to ease his nerves of slipping and falling onto his bum.

It takes a time or two before he finally gets the hang of it.

When he does, that big dimpled smile appears on his face and he’s grabbing your hand and leading you into the hallway so that he could race you to the kitchen, seeing who could get there the fastest.

Obviously, he wins, but you assume his empty belly was to blame for kicking him into high gear.

You bet him two human world cheeseburgers that you could beat him the next time you race.

Shouldn’t have said that.

Every time the race is to the kitchen or a bet is made with food, Beelzebub is always the winner.

He’ll often poke, prod and lovingly tease you into a bet so that he could fill his belly a little extra with whatever it was you wagered. You would comply because it made the both of you happy.

You were happy sharing a hobby with him and making him happy with food, and he was happy for the same reasons. You and food.

A win-win on many fronts, he felt.

At some point you bought him a pair of Heelys with cheeseburgers on them and he loved them so much, he kicked off his other shoes and put the cheeseburger Heelys on immediately. He wouldn’t be caught dead without them.

He returned the favor and bought you a pair with whatever design you enjoyed most with multiple sets of matching wheels.

If you were close before, you had become even closer and it was all due to a pair of shoes with wheels.

💜Belphegor:

Heelys, huh? Didn’t Mammon and Levi get in trouble over those things?

Like some of his brothers, Belphie didn’t really have any use for Heelys.

His reasons were because it required too much energy to wheel around everywhere, he didn’t move enough in general to begin with to ever need to wheel around, and on many occasions, his brother Beel would carry him to where he needed to go.

With that being said, he did enjoy the idea of pissing off Lucifer...

And using Heelys to do so was a simple enough tactic that, come to think of it, didn’t actually require that much energy anyway...

Fuck it. He’s in.

It took him a few seconds to get used to them but eventually he was able to master it and move with ease. Though not without an attempt at feigning drowsiness and falling down on top of you as an excuse to be very close to you.

He’d use the same tactics as Satan, where he’d bump into things and pretend he was still practicing, leaving sets of wheels lying around the House so that Lucifer might slip on them, and ‘accidentally’ crash into the eldest brother, saying he couldn’t figure out how to stop.

After some time, he came to enjoy them for what they were instead of as a tool for pettiness due to the fact that you two spent much more time together having fun and enjoying each other’s company that wasn’t napping or being lazy.

Yes he still slept and lazed about as normal, but now, whenever he was awake, he spent those moments with you rolling everywhere your hearts desired.

[ace-of-pythons]

More NatM headcanons because I love these movies!

- For one of the Egyptian holidays, when he was younger Nick wanted to do something for Ahk and started to save up for his present. The present in question? A pair of Heelys. Larry, unfortunately, did not get the memo. When he asked Ahk about the guardian statues causing problems, Ahk said "I have no idea what you're talking about guardian of Brooklyn." And he just, rolled off. Larry wasn't expecting it and had a dumbfounded look on his face.

- Attila had found out about the wonders of modern inventions and wanted to try it for himself. He had asked Larry and followed the instructions to a tee. He started to wait for his meal to be done and was humming to himself. Then all of a sudden the box just pops! Attila not understanding what had just happened decided to do the logical thing. Bash the box into pieces. Teddy steps in the employee lounge to find Attila standing over the remnants of a toaster. He sighs and updates the "rules of the museum" book.

- McPhee had gotten a new temporary exhibit for the museum. One that was all about music and musical instruments. Jedediah and a few of his men decided to check it out. Once they saw the beautiful grand piano they knew they had to try and play it. They grabbed some rope and climbed their way up to the keys. After some trial and error, they figured out the best way to go about playing. This way happened to be running and jumping on the keys and all working together. Now you would think that this would be an absolute disaster, but when Sacagawea passed by the hall, she heard a wonderful rendition of "Now a cowboy needs a hat", with Jed singing.

- Due to the resent accident, caused by Jed and Octavius, the song "Sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows" has been banned permanently. If this was any other occasion, many of the exhibits would be mad, as the song is kind of catchy, but this is not the case. Oh no, it was something else entirely. Octavius was the one who wanted to hear the song that came up as an add and Jed was the one who fell on the button that broadcasts to the museum's loud speakers. Unfortunately the link Oct had clicked on had been a virus designed to do nothing but play the song on loop and make it impossible to turn off. The incident ended 5 hours later, when in a surprising display of fury, Teddy shot the computer. This was very, very hard for Larry to explain to McPhee in the morning.

[momo-with-a-knife]

My worst headcanons (first edition)

Zuko and Sokka almost hooked up 8 times before they got together, but Zuko kept chickening out because it took until he was almost thirty to get past that time he overheard Sokka referring to his junk as “the sexamajig.”

Toph reshapes every earthen, stone, or metal surface she sits on to have a perfect ass groove.

Jet survived Lake Laogai and was too embarrassed to ever tell the Gaang. Zuko discovered he was still alive at age sixty when a weirdly familiar old man kept glaring at him in Ba Sing Se.

Ozai’s beard is Like That because he tried to hide a dagger in there once and then had to live the lie when someone guessed correctly about it.

Sokka invented a lot of things, but he’ll always be jealous of Suki, who invented only one thing: heelies.

Aang and Katara once had a three-week fight over whether energybending should be used to ground their children from bending.

Cave dance parties became A Thing after The Incident.

Suki once yelled at Sokka because she accidentally called a one-night-stand’s junk “the sexamajig.”

Ty Lee can absolutely see auras, but tends to tell people what they need to hear about the state of their aura, even if it isn’t really true.

Mai knows.

The Avatar equivalent of that ridiculous “ra ra Rasputin” song is about Jeong Jeong.

Fire flakes are, ironically, very easy to burn into inedibility.

Sea prunes vary from “an acquired taste” to “this is food you only eat on a dare,” depending on where you get them and what your cultural norms are, but they’re actually really good with the right Fire Nation liquors.

Zuko starts swearing like a sailor the instant his reign is secure and he doesn’t need to show proper decorum in order to avoid kicking off coup attempts.

Cabbage guy got his big break a few years before the show started when Iroh hired him for regular restock on the ship. That’s why he moves generally near the Gaang: first he’s following Zuko, then he’s looking for new business because someone blew up his cash cow.

Turtleducks are cute, but a turtle-eagle will absolutely drag away a toddler for food.

Foo Foo Cuddlypoops was dangerously acclimated to humans by his time with Sokka and had to be captured for everyone’s safety. Sokka visits him regularly.

Miyuki knows what she did.

Aang and Katara had a strict no-lemurs-in-the-bedroom rule because it turns out Momo did that creepy thing dogs do where he watched very intently when his people were getting... intimate.

Toph is immortal because dying is for lesser people.

Sokka isn’t dead during LoK. He’s either in the spirit world, lost as all shit, or he’s in space.

[winepresswrath]

Jin Ling runs away four times in maybe a week in a half. Three of those times he nearly dies. He addresses the possibility of facing consequences for this by lying to Jiang Cheng's face about how much he's eating in front of the twin jades of lan. Lanling is about to be a 24/7 ghostbusters themed rave. The elders are going to have to flee to Gusu for sanctuary. The Jin are about to invent like three new kinds of music, glowsticks, and also heelys.

[vetoing-clocks]

Decepticon!Hot Rod Anniversary Q&A

Yes! It happened! On November 13th, 2018, I posted a vignette on Ao3 based on the idea “What if Hot Rod had become a Decepticon in ‘Autocracy’ (and dated Deadlock)?”

365 days and 44,8k words later, the deceptirod AU is still going and I still have plans and ideas for it.

It’s been a huge year for me. I learned a lot as a writer. I achieved some things in my professional path. I made friends in the fandom and got some loyal readers.

I wish I’d noticed sooner that the anniversary was coming up, I would have had something written for today. Since that couldn’t be, I want to thank everyone that sent questions for this hastily put together q&a. I hope you enjoy this glimpse into this little universe I’ve been building.

Everything’s under the cut.

As usual, thank you for reading these fics. This series wouldn’t have gone beyond that first oneshot without the interest and support of all of you.

Anon: So it’s implied events pan out the same as they do when Roddy steals the matrix for the Autobots. Have you ever thought about what happens after? Would Deadlock/Drift’s arc have still happened?

Fun fact: I’ve got this whole AU planned up to the point in which “Transformers: Lost Light” ended. Saying more would be a spoiler.

@kyrinthewarrior​: How did you come up with the idea of Thunderbird and Doctor?

Last year I was writing a canon divergent TFP fic (that’s been on hiatus for over a year, I’m so sorry) in which Starscream realized that he’d never, ever win and decided to become neutral. One of the plot points in it was that Starscream accidentally inspired the Vehicons to start a liberation movement, which included taking names and picking the pronouns they felt fit each one best. Doctor is a character from there, but the name’s different in that fic (hasn’t shown up yet in that fic, actually). I didn’t see any reason to invent a new character to be the medic in Pache when I could just grab one that already existed.

Thunderbird was, like every TF OC I make, an accident. I needed a character with information that could interact with Hot Rod and tell him the things he had no way of finding out on his own (the Great Carrot knows I love Rod, but he’s not in charge of anything that would give him access to privileged information). Now, we have plenty of cold and serious calculating characters, so I decided to write someone that would purposefully try to get everyone to think he’s harmless and good. Someone you’d want to be friends with and would never ever suspect of having a mental file in which he keeps every sign of weakness you’ve displayed around them and who would sell you to Satan for a corn chip if they felt the corn chip was more important than you. Then I went to my list of potential OC names, picked the one I liked best, and Thunderbird was born. The heelys, though, are there because I find them funny (this AU, like many things I do, runs on a delicate balance of things that I love to read, things I find fascinating to explore, and things that appeal to my sense of humor).

@marsreds​: Favorite line you've published?

“I’m sorry, but I love you.”

@marsreds​: Favorite line you've written?

Oof, this is hard, but I’m gonna go with, “Because something has to matter. Because something has to be done. Because there’s nothing else I can do.”

Although I’m also terribly fond of Doctor’s lines about why Medicine’s patron is Adaptus, not Primus. I have a whole mental essay about why Primus being Medicine’s patron doesn’t work, and I’m turning it into a fic one day.

@marsreds​: What do you look forward most to writing?

In general, any bit that foreshadows unwritten fics, or any bit that’s a callback to a previus story (especially when it’s a fic I haven posted yet). Basically, bits that should be rewarding to anyone that decides to re-read the series.

@marsreds​: What even set you off to make this au in the first place?

We were on Discord and someone started talking about how easily Hot Rod could have become a Decepticon. We started talking about how some things would have gone differently, but also how we could keep the canon timeline pretty much the same, and it led to “Hot Rod realizes how messed up their faction has become, so he steals the Matrix anyway and gets shot.” That’s when a line started forming in my mind and I had to write it. 90 minutes later, “The cold” had been written, and from there I had to keep playing in the sandbox. There was too much to explore.

@marsreds​: Can you believe that we didn't know each other when you published the first installment of this?

Wait, we didn’t????????? Didn’t you link me to the server where this whole thing started?

Huh. Wow. You’ve been so present throughout all the plotting that I guess I can’t picture this without you at the beginning.

@marsreds​: What's something that surprised you while you were writing it?

How much it grew. Not as a plotline, but as a world. This was supposed to be an exploration of the progressive distortion of the Decepticon ideal disguised as a hotlock slowburn. I’d maybe throw in one or two OCs from “Such a big deal, though” to make the world seem more populated and believable. Then I was writing “Crash and burn” and I realized I couldn’t really talk about the Decepticons without the Decepticons, but I didn’t know enough about canon characters to fill the world with recognizable names, which forced me to create my own characters. They were supposed to be background characters, show up for a couple scenes, fulfill their roles and disappear forever, and instead they had personalities, alt-modes, and whole stories inside my mind that I can only hint at. It went from feeling like my little AU fanfic to my own alternate timeline, like maybe Brainstorm’s briefcase made it exist and it’s as “real” as everything that’s been published and has aired throughout the years.

Connected to that, I’ve also been surprised by the reaction to this bigger world. I’ve seen someone include Doctor and Thunderbird in their own AU. You declared Crystal Wing your favorite and get super protective of him. I’ve been asked what Thunderbird looks like, and everyone seems fascinated by him. It makes it all feel more and more like its own canon timeline that simply hasn’t been recognized by Hasbro, and that makes me happy.

@marsreds​: Something you would've done differently?

Not really? Nothing that can’t be edited, like the writing in “Alive”, or the bits I’ll eventually add to “Crash and burn” and “Nightlight”.

@marsreds​: How do you come up with names for things?

For characters, I mostly use rollercoasters. I went on Wikipedia one day, found a list of rollercoasters, and wrote down all the names that sounded like they could be used for OCs. Some have been given by others and one is a very unsubtle historical reference that made me feel embarrassed by how shameless it was (there’s a while until you see that name, though).

For places, I think of what happens in the fic in which they’re first named. Then I think of something associated to the events, or to the description of the planet, and then I pick a word that alludes to said events/description and which amuses me. Basically, every planet name is a joke/reference/unsubtle-nod-to-the-plot. All of them. Not very funny jokes, sure, but definitely things that made me feel very clever.

@marsreds​: Am i a good editor and do i actually contribute to the process or are you just humoring me?

Mars, if you didn’t contribute to the process I could just ignore you. When I disagree with your suggestions, I tell you so. When your suggestions make me cry inside but I agree they’re good, I follow them. When your suggestions add to the story, I gladly include them. You’re stuck as my editor until you get sick of me.

@marsreds​: Are hotlock gonna be invited to the thunderdice wedding?

Hot Rod and Deadlock won’t be invited to the thunderdice wedding.

But if there was any way for Hot Rod and Deadlock to be invited, they’d be invited by the groom. The bride doesn’t want to see Deadlock ever again.

@marsreds​: If you had to make a thesis statement for this au, what would it be?

Kindness. That might sound odd in what’s mostly been a slow burn set during a war, but kindness is what everything is built on here. Hot Rod cares about people, cares even when it might get him killed, because somebody has to. Back in Nyon, it was him and the other gutter mechs looking after each other. In “Crash and burn”, his kindness is what saved him, the fact that others remembered what he’d done for them. His kindness is what makes him stand out to Deadlock. It’s his kindness that makes him start doubting the cause and eventually steal the Matrix.

But it’s not only him. Deadlock doesn’t know how to be kind, but he can follow Hot Rod’s lead, follow his example until he can perform kindness on his own. Doctor is in Medicine for selfish reasons, but still goes and puts medgrade in Hot Rod’s hands when he looks like shit, and forces Thunderbird to take care of himself despite knowing he’s a bastard. Thunderbird cares only about himself and his best friend, but he doesn’t see any reason to be rude to people that might be dead the next day.

Kindness is not a weakness and there’s no mold for it. Kindness doesn’t mean never fighting, or never doing anything bad. It just means that, if there’s a good thing you can do, a good thing you know you can do, and there’s no reason not to do it, you should do it. It may never be repaid or it might save your life. You put some good in the world because somebody has to do it. And maybe in the real world kindness won’t be rewarded as it should, but this is fiction, and I’m allowed to write a world in which kindness is valued, even during something as terrible as a war, because it’s a promise, it’s hope, it’s something to hold on to and to remind you that things aren’t always bad.

The thesis is: Hot Rod was kind, and that was the right course of action.

@marsreds​: What would be this au's theme song?

Be More Kind - Frank Turner

@marsreds​: What's deadlock's favourite thing about hot rod? and hot rod's about deadlock?

Deadlock likes that Hot Rod lets him bite him.

Just kidding. Can I say kindness again? But yeah. The fact that Hot Rod cares for everyone. Deadlock came from the streets and was used to nobody giving a damn about him. He joined the Decepticons and got used to being valued for being a fighter. Enter Hot Rod, who values everyone no matter their rank, simply because they’re on his faction. The moment Hot Rod knows you’re on his side, you become one of his people. He’ll take care of you. To Deadlock, Hot Rod is a shelter.

As for Hot Rod? He likes how reliable Deadlock is. He likes that Deadlock seems to have clear loyalties and principles and he sticks to them. If Deadlock says he’s going to follow you until the end of the universe, you can be sure he will. If Deadlock decides to help you, he’ll be there no matter what. If Deadlock has decided that something is wrong, then you can be sure he won’t be looking for loopholes that allow him to do it anyway. He likes that Deadlock is there for him and will always be there for him as long as he deserves it. To Hot Rod, Deadlock is a pillar.

@marsreds​: Objectively, is deadlock considered hot in this universe? (i know hot rod's considered attractive but that's just his personality)

This one technically goes against my “How do I interact with my fiction” rules, because it refers to a detail I’m probably never showing/implying in the text.

What I’m saying is: you are free to ignore this answer if you don’t like it.

It amuses me to think Deadlock is average, physically speaking. People like his face when he’s not doing the murdercat expression, but he’s almost always doing the murdercat expression and has the social skills of a toothpick.

It also amuses me to think that the Autobots think he looks edgy. It’s the bad boy appeal. Hot Rod would find that hilarious.

@marsreds​: What do you like the most about their relationship that is present in this au but not in canon(ish) iterations of these characters?

I wrote three very salty paragraphs in reply to this and proceeded to delete them. Nobody needs that. To be brief, what I like about their relationship here is that their friendship means something to them. Even if this series ended with Hot Rod marrying Thunderbird and Deadlock marrying Doctor, you’d know for sure that there’s so much trust, companionship and love (and I don’t mean romantic love) between them that they’d be in each other’s lives as best friends until one of them died.

@squireofgeekdom: Any songs you associate with any of your OCs?

None yet, surprisingly?

Anon: What sort of key points do you keep in mind to keep track of where characters should be emotionally/in their arc when you're writing stories set at very different points in time, and not necessarily writing them in linear order? It's all very much coherent character/relationship arcs and I'm just very impressed - and the cohesiveness overall. Are there themes that you try to keep consistent across stories to build that?

Pre-Matrix stealing I have a clear idea of how things progress relating to key events, because it’s all very linear. The first relevant change in the relationship happens in “Triage” (still unwritten, sorry), so I know that any ideas for fics that happen before that will have to fit a certain pattern. The next big change is “Nightlight”, because it’s when the mutual pining starts. Before that, it’s only Hot Rod being invested in their friendship. Then it’s only mutual pining until “Declaration...”, and from then on things are mostly stable until “Home” (also unwritten, sorry again).

The hotlock dynamic progresses with their feelings. The only important thing I have to keep in mind is that they must be friends first and love interests second. If I can’t believe that these two genuinely like each other, then it’s time for a re-write. Cybertronians have long lives, which means their friendship must deepen as time passes, and so I can have them noticing or knowing more about each other the later in the timeline a fic is set.

Relating to OCs, there are key elements that will never ever change and which form the base of the interactions. For example, Doctor’s only goal in life is to survive; related to that, Doctor is unimpressed by, but extremely wary of, Thunderbird, despises Deadlock (I’m not talking funny rivalry, I’m talking a feeling that borders on disgust, of finding a person that so absolutely opposes the core of your being that you daydream of beating their face to a pulp and leaving them out for the wolves), and is fond of Hot Rod despite being certain he’ll get himself killed one day. Thunderbird likes to know things for the sake of knowing things and thinks life is one big cosmic joke and that taking it seriously is a mistake; because of that, he’s curious about Hot Rod and really wants to know what will become of him, is reluctanctly fascinated by Doctor, and the only person he loves besides himself is Crystal Wing. Crystal Wing is so slow that he knows he has to use his time wisely, so he’s always in a good mood (it takes too long to overcome a negative emotion), likes everyone immediately (it’s faster to dislike someone than learn to like them), and always says exactly what he means without adornments or metaphors.

As for plotting, I keep notes of key events and the rest is fluid. I know what’s going to happen in “Home”, so I’m free to foreshadow it when I get the chance. I know what happened in “Triage”, so I can write callbacks if I feel they fit the story.

About themes... There are a lot of things this AU is about, but off the top of my head I can mention:

Kindness

Making one (1) person the key to your emotional development is fucked up

Who we are and who we become can’t be traced back to one moment. We’re all the result of thousands of interactions and events that pile up and which we choose to see in a certain way to justify the person we are or want to be

Friendship!

Everything I write must be in accordance to these ideas. Themes and cohesiveness go before everything else, even my own ego and need for approval. Surprising my audience is not as important as feeling I respected the characters and the story.

@choomchoom: Is Hot Rod’s history as an insurgency leader in Nyon commonly known amongst the Decepticons? If not, how did Deadlock find out?

Yes and no. This might count as a spoiler? Stop reading here if you don’t want to know absolutely anything about fics that I’ll write someday.

When Hot Rod arrived, his past was used as propaganda. “Look at the mech we brought in. Someone willing to do whatever it takes in the fight against the Autobots.” Anyone who was around high command or near the area when Hot Rod joined the Decepticons knows his past. After that, it was part of the information in the starter pack. After a while, it wasn’t relevant anymore, and so newer recruits don’t know about his past and might have only heard about this crazy mech that drags injured soldiers out of the battlefield.

@choomchoom: Also if no one has asked about music yet I would love some song recs to cry and swoon to the next time you post an update.

I have a playlist that’s 95% somewhat serious and/or shippy songs (the remaining 5% is “Despacito” and I have no regrets).

Highlights from it include:

The already linked “Be More Kind”, which is this AU’s thesis

The hotlock theme is Los Tres’ “Amor Violento” (loose translation of relevant lyrics: “I’ll spend my whole life in buying yours [...] Love will have to wait for a good while to rest from you and I [...] Because a violent love blinded us / A violent love fulminated us”)

For the post-Matrix stealing to the point at which the war ends, the song is Silversun Pickups’ “Growing Old Is Getting Old”. It also fits for that point at which you realize that your faction has strayed from its original vision

For the Decepticons in the beginning, Los Prisioneros’ “El Baile De Los Que Sobran” (”Join the dance of the left overs / Nobody’s going to miss us / Nobody truly wanted to help us / When we were small we were told / ‘Make studying your game’ / Men are brothers and must work together [...] And it wasn’t so true / Because in the end those games were for others / That ended up with laurels and a future / And left my friends kicking rocks”)

A bit of a post-Nyon mood: Coldplay’s “42″

[bandori-headcanons-tm]

An Introduction

hihi! my name is Jiro. Ako, Tomoe and Aya are my best girls but really i love all of them a lot!

my pronouns are she/her, i'm a big useless British lesbian and i'm a bit chaotic! personally i really enjoy memes a lot and have an A Level in a Graphics which obviously i am putting to good use by using it to create said memes *sweats*. my alignment is chaotic neutral and one day i plan to invent a croc heely hybrid. thank you for coming to my ted talk.

Hello, i'm Moon. My pronouns are she/her and i'm a big bisexual. I like tea, the moon, writing, reading, cosplay, Kanon Matsubara and a lot of other things! I hope to provide you with both a-class and memey content. I have a great love for making au's! I'm currently in university (English major) so sometimes I'm a bit busy and I have to write a lot for uni so, big oof. I'm dutch, so English isn't my first language!

We will be your admins and create the content on your blog, nice to meetcha!

This is a headcanons blog for your favourite Bandori members, which is obviously all of them (uh yeah i sure hope it is *Bandori road work ahead*) do be aware that sometimes this blog can contain serious content but can also produce memey things. We're trying our best so please don't complain if we take too long to announce new headcanons or any other related work. Also just to be clear, we are allowed to say no if we do not wish to respond or answer a request. Lastly, we'll announce when the inbox is closed and when it opens back up again.

In the meantime grab a cup of tea, pull up a chair and enjoy our blog! 

[thatvampireblog]

2000s au headcanons

One of my many promises I'm just remembering I never made good on. If you've been here a while, you'll know that i've been sitting on this au where all the boys survive and it's 2005-2009. If you're new, HI WELCOME TO THE SHITSHOW. Anyway, here we go

David is a mall goth and you can't convince me otherwise. He's ditched the mullet for scene bangs streaked with Manic Panic blue and fake lip piercings. He doesn't understand the internet and pretends it's just because he's "Too Cool" for it.

Marko cuts his hair, adds a few new patches to his jacket and calls it a day. However, when heelys hit the market, he refuses to wear any other shoes.

Dwayne still hates wearing shirts, but thanks to one gag gift from Marko, has embraced the tracksuit trend. At least, the pants anyway. So what if his ass says "Juicy"? It is! Besides, he spends a good deal of time customizing them anyway.

Paul has always been ready to embrace fashion trends, and the 00s are no different. Low rise jeans, nerdy t-shirts, all denim everything, and pageboy hats are really just the tip of the iceberg. He made Marko binge Naruto with him at one point.

Star? Star's never been one to keep her eye on style. However, she's quick to adopt the Copious Amounts of lip gloss. And when they invent jeggings?? You can bet her ass is in them. They're like socially appropriate loungewear. She buys her earrings from Claire's

Michael is....Michael. He's still a t shirt and jeans guy at heart. However he carries everyone's bags when they go out.

The Boys haven't ditched their bikes. They've spent too long customizing them and are far too attached. However, they have to admit that the minivan Mike bought is a bit more....Practical for their needs at this point.

Mean Girls is Paul's new favorite movie. He compares David to Regina George on a regular basis.

Dwayne collected Furbies in the 90s, much to the dismay of his roommates, and when they relaunched Furby in 2005, it was furby hell all over again.

I'll reblog and add on when I remember more.

[poorguysheadisdoingwhatnow]

Poorguysheadisdoingwhatnow Newsies masterlist (updated x3)

probably not complete but whatevs

fics (these will take you to the ao3 website)

Tiny Dancer (co-authored by @fucking-petticoated-swashbuckler)

It’s Not Your Fault

Stars

Time for Heroes

Brothers

Back from the Refuge

We Can’t Lose You

One For All

Of Car Crashes and Comfort

What Are Friends For?

In the Newsies groupchat

monday night

the newsies in the gc

stress and pizza

Davey isn’t allowed to be happy

Race vs. drinking

the years never stop coming

El and Al are Shane and Ryan from BFU

Race took a quiz

Jack is a thief

Jack has a car atm

getting stabbed

partying

Newsies +

eating habits

swearing

punctuality

clothing pt 1

clothing pt 2

skipping class

holiday sweaters

things they know a lot about

things they’ve memorized

pulling all-nighters

new years

Newsies as…

Anna Kendrick tweets

stuff the dorks from BFU have said

some fun ways to use fuck

pakalu papito tweets

quotes from The Office

Salem the cat quotes

quotes from My Immortal

John Mulaney quotes

Newsies texts

Sprace texts

Specs is too tol

Newsies headcanons

smol, swole, tol

Davey is afraid of ghosts

Jack doesn’t get enough sleep and drinks his paint water

Spot + energy drinks

Race + heelys

Mike and Ike are identical did you know that

Race + fluff

spralbert hcs

Crutchie + the holiday season

onesies and WaHo

Newsies AUs

college au part 1

college au part 2

roadtrips

smol star wars au

Tuck Everlasting au

The Truth pt 1

The Truth pt 2

things the dumb boys say to each other

Sprace on smoking

Race owns a washing machine

Davey is the best mom

Spot is grumpy

Javid on homework

Javid on sleep

Sprace and looks

Sprace and sk8er boi

Race and Romeo on failing

Specs is a menace

Sprace say good morning

carpooling

sprace sprace sprace

Jack and Pulitzer interact

drugs

tuesday

Romeo and Race vs. language

the newsies don’t know english

Race + coffee

Jack talks to Les about self-confidence

Newsies and halloween

Spot is a knife

tis the season

Spot mocks Jack

Race is an idiot

Spot is powerful

Specs and Romeo + the office

Jack and Crutchie in BFU

at the mall

Javid are mushy

wtf

Jack’s your man

Race is gay

yeah

Jack needs to work on his grammar

Spot is a villain

Smalls and Race didn’t study for finals

Spot is a bitch

Davey is stressed

dinner was a lie

Crutchie is awake

Mush is gonna kill a bitch

fifteen year olds have no opinions

babysitting

Asks and Answers

cute Crutchie headcanons

Davey headcanons

soft Spot headcanons

trans Race headcanons

some Ralbert

JackCrutchie headcanons

Race and Davey headcanons

Javid’s first date

Javid and newsbians and Les headcanons

irrational fears

physics class

math and PE

newsies + tv

newsies + gymnastics

Jack + graffiti=Davey’s disapproval

high school fashion

Buttons

musicals

newsies + boredom in school

favorite flowers

Jack Kelly headcanons

the name of Katherine’s cat

CrutchiexRace hcs

boysies look out for girlsies

blackmail

AlbertxDavey hcs

fluffy Javid

more JackxCrutchie hcs

Sarah/Crutchie bromance

selling partners

Elmer fluff

Barney Peanuts

Javid first date

Albert x Crutchie

the newsies attempt shakespeare

Ravey fluff

camping

fluffy Javid pt. 2

Headcanons from friends

how Spot really takes his coffee

everyone has a crush on Crutchie

autistic Davey

making out

newsies + caffeine

Race is a dork

Spot’s confirmation name

Albert + procrastination

Katherine + essays

Spot + essays

Milkshake

cigars

Jack is a great babysitter

snow days

snowball fights

Specs’ glasses

Katherine + all-nighters

rowdiness and the blanket rule

Christmas and sketchbooks

bisexual Romeo

Jack is good at comfort

Jack is an actual child

Race is a hugger

time-out chair

tired Spot

everyone’s a mom friend sometimes

newsies and shaving

opium is a gateway drug

Albert is very chill

JoJo and Davey smell good

grouchy Spot

dogs

Medda’s rooftop

Al and Race are so good with kids

you can run but you can’t hide

Spot likes tutus

Jack paints Sarah’s dead pointe shoes

all the newsies are Jake Peralta

Sarah’s earbuds

Race has pointy feet

Sarah wears cool leggings

Barney Peanuts

stress and disney movies

Spot and Race are each other’s mom friend

Crutchie feeds all the animals

Sarah is Frankie Cosmos

Race invented pig latin

Crutchie makes fantastic coffee

Newsies History Lessons

Darcy and Bill

the lodging house

Crutchie!

Inspired by real life convos

viola convos

Race will never grow up

savage choir teachers

Ravey

cleaning the apartment

out of context school quotes

school quotes pt. 2

Audio Edits

The World Will Know at twice the speed

The Top Line

King of New York

Alvin wants to go to Santa Fe

why are these children in the theatre

STRIKE

go and look it up

suffering

Carrying the Banner but yikes

(Bonus)

how to be a newsie

a summary of Newsies

King Of New York

Santa Fe is a metaphor for death

tell Davey how quitting does Crutchie any good

JerJor is fab in Supergirl

seizing the news

listening to Letter from the Refuge

the slide

this bitch empty

OH

1992 newsies appreciation

[notable-bumblr]

The only famous person that’s ever been in my life is my great Uncle Sam who was notorious in a few small towns in New York because he was considered very eccentric. He used to bring dozens of jars to the sulfur springs in these areas because he would bottle up the sulfur water to “keep him healthy” and genuinely liked the taste. Now there’re some springs named after him that taste like rotting eggs. Also, we have two family friends that were nationally famous speed skaters. One of them co-invented Heelies with his uncle.

Anybody else got like,, rlly random connections to famous ppl?? Like my older brothers were friends w Jennifer Lawrence when they were like 12 and I just found out I’m friends w the cousin of the girl who voiced honey lemon in big hero six like, idk what I’m supposed to do with either of these tid bits I feel like I was supposed to live my life in ignorance of them

[theinvulnerabletide]

OC Ask Meme: wardrobe, poison, contact (Whisper); microscope, mixtape, hobby (Oriana); photo album, ufo, interiors (Celandine); fragrance, parachute, psyche (Lyra); conspiracy theory, shooting star (Maggie); lighting, love note, chess board, wild card (any)

Alright, this got super long so the answers are under the cut!

Whisper:

Wardrobe:What is your OC’s style like?

It’s kind of hard to describe; Whisper tries not to beas loud and clashy as, say, Ignatius, but after living with a carnival foralmost seven years, it is hard for her not to be a little bold. Far from themore simple, elegant style she started with. Bright, jewel-tone colors that compliment and play off the color of her skin,complicated embroidery, statement jewelry pieces on her ears, around her neck,and wrists and horns and tail. But while it is bold and eye catching, it is allpainstakingly coordinated, so it’s visually interesting but not exhausting tolook at. She loves cute dresses with diaphanous layers, or travelling breaches andblouses so tight they might as well be a leotard, stuff she can move in, or runin, as needed. Even when she tries to dress simply, there’s plenty of embroideryor an innovative cut to her clothes.  Her brand-new armor, the one with the mithril weave, is a play off of one ofher old performance outfits. It’s a sort of bold teal, the blue and the greensmixing and changing along the fabric, which plays interestingly with the darkerindigo of her skin, and it’s embroidered along the tight bodice with gold. Thesleeves come down to a midshoulder and there’s a bit of flutter to them, andthere’s a bit of a half-skirt, more of a sash really, in a bold blue-green,also chased through with gold. That ends mid-thigh, revealing a pair ofleggings in a darker blue, which disappear into a set of boots she can walk in.It clashes a bit with the gem on her focus, but it works.  Poison: Vices/Bad Habits? What are they?How do they affect your OC?

Whisper has quite a few vices, yes. Drinking, quiteoften, the occasional drug, or spot of gambling, and sex. You know, all themajor ones.

I don’t think they’re too out of hand. While shedefinitely self-medicates with whiskey, and sex when there’s a willing partner,she isn’t necessarily dependent on them. Like, she hasn’t had a single drinksince boarding the Star Song, because drinking and the subsequent hangoverswould impede her ability to work on this spell. But they are the first thingshe turns to when she doesn’t want to deal with her emotions or with whatevertraumatizing thing just happened.

Contact:how does your OC feel about touch/physical contact? Are they affectionate? Ifso, ow do they display affection to others?

Whisper is very touchy; the circus she spent the lastfew years in was very, very close, and there was basically no such thing aspersonal space. While she knows other people aren’t usually as touchy as sheis, she definitely still gets in other people’s personal space quite often. Shehugs people, cuddles up next to them, jabs their arms and high fives and allsorts of things. No forehead kisses though, she thinks that might bemisconstrued. Or construed correctly, as the case may be.

Oriana:

Microscope:Zoom In: describe the little, insignificant details about your OC.

Oriana’s nose is small and slender, upturned at theend. Between that and the freckles that constellate across the bridge of hernose and along her cheekbones, she can almost be called cute, though she won’tthank you for saying it. Her eyes are gold, molten and dark towards the centerand lightening outwards. Her ears are ever so slightly pointed, barelynoticeable under the sable of her hair, even when her hair is pinned up and outof the way.She is shorter than most of the rest of the party, 5’ 4’’ or 5’ 5’’ on a goodday, but broad shouldered and well-muscled, with a little bit of a belly, whichno one ever sees because Oriana is rarely out of her armor, even if her newarmor clings a little more than she’s used to.

Mixtape:5 songs that describe your OCs, or songs they themselves would like.

Take Up Your Spade – Sara WatkinsWaking Up the Giants – GrizfolkNever One Thing – May ErlewineSpark – Backstage CastWhite Flag – Bishop Briggs

Hobby:What do they love? What captivates them? What are their passions?

Oriana has surprisingly few hobbies. She reads, a lot,about everything: copper dreadfuls to ent philosophy, to religious doctrines tohistorical texts. She loves the simple act of reading, of being transported, ofassimilating knowledge and understandingthings.

Stories are what really captivate her though: strongand vibrant heroines and the men who support them, toppling evil empires andmaking their worlds safe forever after.

She also likes to knit, though she hasn’t had a chanceto do that in a very long time. Yarn has been hard to come by recently.

Celandine:

PhotoAlbum: Describe one of your OC’s favorite memories:

Probably the first time she felt like the Lunch Bunchwere really her friends, and not just humoring her or setting her up to be meanto her later, all of them laughing together at their lunch table.

UFO:Identity! What are some of key identifying traits of your OCs? How do theyidentify in regards to gender/sexuality?

Celandine is a 13-year-old super genius, so her intelligenceand creativity, her inventions, are what she puts the most emphasis on. Sexualitywise, she’s 13, so she’s still exploring, but she’s definitely had crushes onboys and girls and enbies before, so she thinks she might be pan.

Interiors:Describe your OC’s bedroom/home/place they consider theirs? What’s in it? Docertain items have special significance to your OC?

Celandine’s room is a little small, even by gnomishstandards, made smaller by her insistence of having an entire workbench in herroom, stocked with tools and materials. Her bookshelf is full to bursting, withmore books stacked on top—fantasy novels intermingled with instruction manualsand text books—and on every other available surface, her projects are laid outin various stages of readiness. Half-finished music boxes balanced on herbooks, her armor on the bed, the heelies she’s working on the actual workbench,and whatever is currently taking her fancy balanced on her lap as she sits inalmost the perfect center of her room.

The only part of her room that’s clean is her dresserand her closet—she keeps that meticulous. Clothes are the last thing she wantsto worry about, so she makes it so she can just grab an acceptable outfit andgo in the morning.

The walls are covered in band posters and schematics,with the one from Kaylie’s last word tour pasted right above her bed. She doeslove music, so she, of course, has a radio that she “fixed” on her bedsidetable, and it is always on while she works.

Lyra:

Fragrance: What does your OC smell like?

Lyra doesn’t wear fragrance—perfumeheralds your arrival as much as an errant step can—and all her soaps arelikewise unscented. So she smells of the leather she wears (leather gloves,jerkin, boots), and the polish she uses on every one of her weapons after takingthem to the whetstone, and possibly, after spending so much time in the crow’snest and at the bow of the Star Song as it races through the skies, a littlebit like a strong headwind.

Parachute: who does your OC trust the most? Who makes themfeel safe? Who would they do absolutely anything for?

There are exactly 8 people in theworld Lyra trusts at all, 8 people she will drop everything to help if theyneed it. Her old party: Arannis, Cora, Atrauk and Haskell, Esssstefan, the Yuan-Tiwho taught her how to fly, Elissssabeth, Lucien, and the milliner who makes herhats in Kamery.

But it’s none of them individually thatmake her feel safe, though having her party at her back helped, as does Lucienwhen he brings her back from a panic attack. The first time she ever felt safeafter the catastrophe in Kamery was when she and her party took the airship upfor the first time. It’s probably the only time she feels safe at all, really,when they’re a thousand feet off the ground and the world below looks small andinsignificant, and she knows nothing down there can touch her.

Psyche: what’s their headspace like? Do they have any mentalillnesses? How do they process difficult or emotional situations? What aretheir coping mechanisms. Lyra’s headspace is… dark, for lack of a better word. Functional, but not muchelse. She spent quite a lot of her time scraping by on the streets of Kamery,in all kinds of deprivation before she was swept up by one of the more highprofile gangs as a sort of catchall, though her expertise was infiltration andtheft, and the occasional murder. She can manage to charm a pigeon into herhand for a small amount of time, but she is just as like to stab them as liftthe thing she needs from them.

Blackthorne tried to hone her into anunquestioning weapon in his arsenal, using pain and necessities as punishmentand reward, and mostly succeeded. The rest of the Magpies—Cyrene in particulartried remind her she was a person, but Lyra pretty much snapped when they alldied around her, killed at Blackthorne’s orders.

So basically, Lyra has some prettymajor PTSD and an inability to handle more complex emotions. So mostly shejust… doesn’t process them. She shoves them back into the recesses of her mindand tries to remain more or less emotionless. It doesn’t work, obviously, butshe has managed to make it so she doesn’t have emotional responses like onemight think. And they always come out in her nightmares and occasional panicattacks.  

She’s gotten better since Lucien hascome into her life; forcing her to talk about them, just being at her back; halfof Lucien’s job is to play therapist after Lyra has a particularly bad episode.He keeps her from breaking apart into a million pieces.

Otherwise, Lyra meditates onoccasion, and keeps her skills sharp. She makes sure she’s never anywherewithout a weapon—which has become easier since she gained some magic of herown—and keeps daggers hidden all throughout her room. She counts them beforeshe goes to sleep, making sure that they’re able to be slid out of theirsheaths and be in her hand at a moment’s notice. And woe to the crewman whotries to slip into her room while she’s asleep without announcing themselves;their like to get a dagger in the eye for their trouble.

Maggie:

Conspiracy theory: what are your OC’sbeliefs? Are they skeptics or do they believe easily? Who acts on blind faith,who needs to see to believe?

Maggie’s relationship with religionis… complicated. It’s not that she doesn’t believe in Avacyn—she sees the magicpriests have, and she assume it has to come from somewhere—but she does distrustthe church, perhaps even the Goddess herself, and has a hard time believing thatthey have the people’s best interests at heart. After all, they’re in power now,and people in power very often will do anything to keep it.

Maggie does also tend to be a bit ofa skeptic, at least when it comes to people, but she knows magic can make quitea few things possible, and that the world is a complex place. Even seeingsomething doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s real. Shooting star: If your OC could have onewish, what would it be?

To see her father again.

Any:

Lighting: Who is the most impulsivecharacter? Who is their impulse control?

Honestly, I love impulsive characters?So more often than not my character is going to just say “fuck it” and do whatthey want. Basically because I have no impulse control myself. I think Az’ar andOriana might be the only charactersof mine who doesn’t give into their impulses more often than the do.

But of my other characters, I thinkWhisper, Lyra and Celandine might be the most impulsive. Whisper is held backby Thia and Oriana and her mother’s voice in her head, Celandine is pretty muchheld back exclusively by Caela (the poor girl), and right now Lyra doesn’t haveanyone to hold her back—maybe Lucien, but crew seems to be just as bad as sheis—she’s had to learn how to hold herself back, now that Arannis and Atrauk andCora aren’t around to council her to be careful.  

Love note: who likes who? Crushes? Relationships? Are theymutual or unrequited?

I think of all my D&D characters,Wren is the only one who is actually in a relationship, and whose love is requited.In fact, finding Narissa, who was taken back to the Feywild, is her wholereason for going on this adventure.

Whisper expects her attraction to mostof the party is mutual—why wouldn’t they be attracted to her, she’s gorgeousand clever and an absolute delight—but the feelings she may or may not have forsome of them she expects are completely unrequited.

Celandine is 13 and has basically hadbrief crush on half the school, though her most enduring one is on KaylieShorthalt, who is also her favorite singer. Since Kaylie and Celandine areyears and years apart and have never actually met, it’s safe to say that’sunrequited.

Lyra has something for Arannis. She refusesto think about it and stubbornly tells herself that it’s just admiration andrespect and friendship, but even if it were mutual, Lyra would never let ithappen. Chess Board: who is the most logical? Orthe schemer/planner?

Az’ar, Lyra and Celandine are all schemers.They’ve all got plans for days, though Lyra less so than she used to. EvenWhisper has schemes of her own, though they’re mostly borrowed from Ignatius’play book. Az’ar is probably the most logical of them all though.

Wild card:

I stole this question from another askmeme, and, well, as someone who loves angst, I couldn’t resist:  Is your character afraid of death? Ifthey got to choose how to die, how would they want to go?

I think, of all my characters, onlyOriana is not scared of death to some extent or another. Az’ar is so terrifiedof it that she’d kill the god of death to secure immortality, and Whisper woulddo almost anything to avoid it herself, at least until her appointed time.

But Oriana would like to die inbattle, Whisper would prefer to die completing her mission, Maggie merely wantsto die ‘doing the right thing’, and I think Lyra has no preference. She’shonestly surprised she continues to breathe. But she expects to go down in ablaze of glory with the Star Song when the years finally catch up with her.

[nerdwaifuu]

The Elemental Experiments (A crappy fanfic I'm writing on FanFiction.Net)~ Chapter 1

Tick tick tick tick...

All the students stared intensely at the clock, as if it was a ticking time bomb ready to explode once the period was over. As the teacher spoke and no one listened, all watched the minute hand slowly making it's way to the 6 while the hour hand was moving in between the 2 and the 3. Once the hand touched the 6, the bell rang. The room then erupted in talking and shuffling of papers and other supplies.

"Alright kiddos, remember to read pages 208 to 214 and answer the Section Assessment questions. These are due as soon as you walk into the door." Mr. L told the students, triggering a chorus of complaints and groans.

One student with blonde, slicked back hair and vibrant icy blue eyes shook his head as his classmates complained as if Mr. L gave them a 20 page report they had to do by tomorrow, not just seven textbook pages and five easy questions asking about minerals where the answers could be found in the text.

All the students flooded out into the hallway, rushing to their lockers with the eagerness to head home. As the blonde teen exited the room, two of his friends came strolling, or rolling in one's case, up to him.

"Hey Zane!" The caramel brown haired boy exclaimed as he rolled by on his new blue heelys that he got himself for Christmas.

"Greetings Jay and Cole." Zane responded, his thin lips forming a small smiled as he examined the two boys. Both were very sweaty because they just got back from gym, and Cole had his now longer hair in a bun and was already carrying his stuff since he stayed after for football. Jay on the other hand, even though he was clearly either too tired or lazy to change out of his gym clothes, but still had enough energy to act like his usual energetic self.

"Alright, heelys squad! Let's go!" Jay shouted, rolling away from Zane and Cole. Cole shook his head and followed Jay with Zane right behind. They both shook their head as some older students noticed Jay rolling through the hallway and soon glare at the other two.

"Oh come on guys! Don't put those heelys to waste!" Jay exclaimed before reaching his locker. Both Zane and Cole promised to at least wear the white and black heelys Jay bought for them, but neither of them ever took part of Jay's "Heely squad" during school hours,

"Woah, Jay, no need to embarrass yourself in front of the seniors... being a freshmen is bad enough." a spikey, brown haired teen with a red hoodie, who just reached Jay's locker, told Jay. His brown eyes hidden behind the black lenses of his sunglasses. Jay rolled his eyes as he and Zane opened their lockers and gathered their stuff.

"Oh shut the eff up Kai. I don't care what the seniors think of me, especially now. All I need to worry about is that damn Bio test coming up..." Jay started to trail off in the end. One thing most freshmen worried about was the upcoming Biology, or Living Environment, tests.

"Oh well, that's your problem... except the Bio part. Ugh, why couldn't I be in honors classes last year... lucky you Zane." Kai grumbled, tugging at his red backpack. Out of the group of friends, Zane had high enough grades to be in Biology in 8th grade, even though Jay was also qualified. Instead, Jay got put into the other honors course. Earth Science, which Zane had to take this year.

"Oh well. Any whoooooo, you guys wanna come over to my parents summer house? I need help setting up that halloween party for this Friday." Kai asked the other three. Unfortunately, all of them shook their heads.

"Got Football practice, then my dad is dragging me to dance classes."

"Nah fam, I need to study for Bio and got a book re- I mean, "literature analysis" for language arts."

"Sorry Kai, I wish I could... however, my father is actually going to be home for once. Echo wants me to spend time with them."

Kai let out a sigh and shrugged.

"Okay, totally understand. Maybe Lloyd or Skylor are free tonight..." Kai responded, before walking away. Jay then cleared his throat and said "Don't have too much fun Kai."

"With which one though?" Kai winked before disappearing into the crowd. Jay chuckled and shook his head as he closed his locker.

"Well, see you guys tomorrow. Zane, tell Dr. J and lil' Echo I said hi. Cole, have fun at practice and acting like a ballerina. Heelys squad OUT!" Jay said before rolling away, also disappearing into the crowd. Cole did a little face palm before walking the other direction to the gym.

"Bye Zane. Also tell Dr. Julien and Echo I said hi." Cole said and quickly waved goodbye before disappearing as well, leaving Zane alone. Zane shot Cole one last smile and then found his way outside. He headed towards the bike rack, grabbed his old white bike, and quickly made his way to the nearby middle school. He put his bike onto the bike rack and jogged over to the car loop. He searched through the few children until he found his copper brown haired brother in the crowd. Unfortunately, after many times of trying to get his brother's attention by waving at him, Zane soon resorted to yelling his name.

"Echo Julien!" Immediately, Echo turned towards him and sprinted through all the kids until he reached Zane, wrapping his arms around his thin waist.

"Big brother! I thought you forgot about me! You were 25 minutes later than usual..." Zane grabbed out his phone to check the time. Echo was right, he was super late this time. Probably standing around while Jay and Kai talked wasn't the best idea...

"Oh... um... sorry about that..." Zane rubbed the back of his head as Echo giggled.

"It's fine. Let's head home. Hopefully mean old Stepmother isn't home today..." Zane smiled as he lead Echo to the bike rack and Echo hopped onto Zane's bike, his arms around Zane's waist.

"Yeah... hopefully not..." Zane responded before he started pedaling towards home. Both boys didn't enjoy the woman their father decided to marry after Echo was born. Once Echo was born, their mother unfortunately died in child birth. Their father thought they still needed a mother figure to help out, especially since Dr. Julien would be at work until late at night. However, the woman he chose to marry, Elizabeth Snow, drives the boys insane.

Luckily, when the two reached the driveway, their stepmother's car was not present.

'Oh hallelujah...' both of them thought as they went inside the house. The house wasn't much, but it had just enough for the whole family. When they walked in, the smell of tea filled the whole house. Yep, their father was definitely home.

"Father!" Echo squealed as Dr. Julien exited the kitchen with a cup of tea in hand. The young Julien ran over to Dr. Julien and hugged him as tight as he could. A huge smile appeared on the older man's face as he hugged his son back, but only with one arm. Echo then soon let go of Dr. Julien and dragged Zane into a big group hug. Their father began to laugh as he held his sons close to him. After a minute, they soon released and questions began to flood out of his mouth.

"So, did you discover anything new? Any new inventions? Did anything explode? What project are you and Borg working on now? Are the coffee machines fixed yet? Did anyone d-" Zane covered Echo's mouth before he could finish the last question. Dr. Julien started to chuckled.

"Oh you are so precious. But, I can't release any information about my projects yet." Dr. Julien said, booping Echo on the nose. The soon to be 12 year old tried to use his puppy eye strategy, but it had no effect on Dr. Julien.

"Well, no more talk about the lab. It's family time." Dr. Julien told the two boys, picking up Echo and carrying him to the dining room table where a game of clue was set up. Then, from there, the three played a couple rounds of clue until they heard a car pulling into the drive way. When the headlights shone through the front window, Zane and Echo scrambled to their rooms and worked on their homework while Dr. Julien quickly cleaned up the game before his wife opened the front door.

"Hello honey." The two overheard Dr. Julien say quickly to Elizabeth as she set her bag down on the now cleared dining room table. Soon enough, the parent's voices became muffled and quieter so Echo nor Zane could hear what they are now arguing about this time.

Both sigh as Echo goes into Zane's room and works in there until Dr. Julien came in, a frown on his face. He sighed before telling Echo to leave for a second so he can speak to Zane alone. Zane and Echo exchanged confused looks before Echo obeyed, closing the door right behind him. Many questions raced through the blonde's mind. Usually his father did this after his stepmother told him something about Zane.

"Son..." Zane was ready to hear it. All this school year, he has been avoiding home. He knows he's strange and doesn't fit in, nothing Dr. Julien could say could change other's opinions. Everyone thinks he's depressed. Everyone makes fun of him. What could Dr. Julien try to tell Zane about this time?

"You care about Echo... correct?" Zane's heart skipped a beat. Such a strange question...

He nodded slowly. Dr. Julien grabbed out a small leather journal and stared intensely at it, like the students in Zane's Earth Science class at the end of the day.

"Zane... promise to me... if I'm ever gone, make sure you are always there for Echo. Keep him safe, and always be careful. And..." He pointed at the cover of the journal.

"Find this journal. No matter what happens. Echo and this journal should be your first priority..." Dr. Julien tells him with a stern voice. Zane can clearly see the fear in his eyes, yet his whole face was not showing any clear emotions from what he could observe. His stomach felt like it was in a knot, his mind was spinning as it tried to figure out the reason for this conversation. Although, Zane just nodded and acted like he understood. Then, Dr. Julien put the journal back from where he got it and left the room. Fear and confusion filled Zane's body as he went back to his homework. His brain was trying to wrap around what he was talking about.

These thoughts continued to swarm in his mind even when he decided to try to go to sleep.

"Find this journal. No matter what happens. Echo and this journal should be your first priority..."

'Why? What will happen?'

A/N: Well then... why am I even posting it here??? Hopefully you like it. Btw, this is more of an alternate universe, so things will not exactly be like in the show. Also, I made Zane and Echo human, so yeah. Hope you all like it.