#poll fic

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 9!!

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*****************

You pound your way to the nearest bar, where everyone had agreed to meet. The three of them are standing around, talking over glasses of wine. Your hands are in fists, your nails digging into your palms as you approach. They acknowledge you as you enter their field of vision, but you say nothing. Instead, you beeline for Aziraphale, put your arms around him, and hang on for dear life. Sometimes you just need to hug an angel.

There’s a pause where Anathema says something about your aura, and then Aziraphale hugs you back.

Dear Reader, I’m not sure if it ever happened in your life, but for this Puffin there came a time when it was made very clear that wanting to be held or wanting to lean on another person in public was unacceptable (and, in fact, embarrassing) once you reached a certain age. And yet, we as humans are social creatures. The need to be held is a very normal response, especially after something particularly upsetting happens (like having the sanctity of washroom privacy violated, for example). Perhaps you’re not the kind of person who, out of nowhere, feels the desire to be held, but perhaps you know someone who is. And so, I would like to impress upon you the incredible difference it makes, the immeasurable relief it brings, to know that you have someone with you who will hold you back without question or comment. Just hold you, and wait.

Aziraphale makes it clear he intends to do just that.

“Take your time, dear,” he says gently. And so you do.

After a moment, the clink of a glass next to you makes you look up. Someone has given you a glass of the same wine everyone else has. You pull away and take a sip, feeling much calmer and very grateful.

“Thanks,” You say.

“Anytime,” Aziraphale replies.

“What happened?” Anathema asks.

Thus, you recount how Metatron trapped you in the washroom until he had said his peace. By the time you finish, there are three very angry faces around you. You feel validated enough to take another, much larger, sip of the wine. Aziraphale is the first to speak.

“Well for starters, I invite you to stay in my bookshop however long you like. Pet indeed! You are a help, yes, but you are a guest, and certainly not disposable, whatever he says.”

“And,” Crowley adds, “From what you said, Aziraphale and I can get you home whenever you want anyway. Probably, I mean. No dUbIOus motives involved, at least.”

Anathema seems to be thinking. After another few seconds, she asks:

“Why did you take the coffee?”

You all look at her, surprised.

“Well I mean,” she continues, “If the Metatron wants to know, he probably has a reason. If you tell us, maybe we can figure it out for ourselves and find a way around it.”

“Or they could just not tell him,” Crowley suggests with snark. “Then it doesn’t matter.”

“I mean, it might,” Anathema counters, “We don’t know that it doesn’t.”

“I took it because of the Coffee Theory,” You say with a shrug. It’s not like it’s a big deal. “But I mean, I don’t know why that would matter to him.”

“Well,” Anathema says, “That might depend on what the Coffee Theory is.”

“Well, it’s the idea that the Metatron did something to that coffee he was going to give Aziraphale. To, like, make Aziraphale trust him, or listen to him or whatever, so that he would go back to Heaven.” You pause. “There’s also an interpretation of it where it was a metaphor like ‘take my offer or face death.’ But most people think about the first one, and that’s the one that was in my brain when I did it. There aren’t a lot of people who actually believe it. I mean, not anymore, anyway.”

“So you think the Metatron drugged Aziraphale’s coffee?” Anathema raises an eyebrow. “And you drank it, yes? So...did he?”

“No,” You reply, “It was exactly what it was supposed to be. An oat milk latte with almond syrup. And I didn’t think he actually messed with it. I just wasn’t willing to take the chance, that’s all.”

Crowley’s face scrunches. “And you think he might need to know that for some reason?” He looks pointedly at Anathema.

“He might,” She gives a thoughtful hum. “I’ll think about it. I might ask the Cards later.”

-----------

The wait for boarding didn’t feel so long after that. As you board, you notice how spacious First Class is. Aziraphale and Crowley sit in the seats ahead of you and Anathema, with Aziraphale in the window seat. You notice Crowley casually trying to stick his legs out into the aisle and wonder vaguely whether it’s because he needs the space, or to try and trip the flight attendants. Both? Probably both. Okay, definitely both, you note, as a stewardess almost falls face-first into the aisle. Aziraphale gently swats at Crowley in reprimand, but you can tell it’s half-hearted and wholly-fond.

Your only trouble comes when you need to use the washroom, but Anathema, ever clever and aura-observant, suggests to go with you so that you can knock if anything goes wrong. Thankfully, nothing does, and you both return to your seats.

“You know,” Anathema says, leaning forward, “I just overheard the strangest thing. It seems that all of the normal airline food on this plane has gone missing. All that they have to serve is the first-class food.”

“Wait,” You say, holding back a laugh, “So everyone on this flight gets to eat the fancy, chef-prepared, gourmet meals?”

Crowley doesn’t hold back his laugh. “Oh, the big bosses won’t like that!”

“You two wouldn’t have had anything to do with that, would you?” Anathema asks suspiciously. You notice she’s smiling while she says it.

“Psh!” Crowley waves away the thought. “Why would I? Doesn’t matter to me either way.”

“Honestly, Miss Device,” Aziraphale adds, “I have no idea why you immediately accuse us of something that seems so clearly to be a mere...clerical error.”

Ah-ha! Culprit found. Clerical error your arse.

“You know,” You sigh, “It really is no wonder why Crowley loves you so much.”

“Ngk,” says Crowley. Aziraphale responds with a pleased-sounding hum. You relax, and notice between the seats that Aziraphale places his hand on top of Crowley’s and leaves it there.

They like holding hands – your insides scream.

--------

When you disembark from the plane, you hear all the other passengers around you complimenting the flight attendants on the excellent food and promising to leave excellent reviews online. You keep your laughter as quiet as you can. Aziraphale’s little prank is going to cause the airline issues for YEARS. Crowley must be so proud.

The speed and ease with which you clear customs and baggage claim is probably because you’re traveling with two supernatural entities. In no time at all, you’re outside of the airport flagging down a cab. Crowley opens the door with enthusiasm and outright glee.

“After you, Angel,” he says, “You think 90 miles an hour in London is bad, I can’t wait for you to see this!”

Dear Reader, I don’t know if you have ever been to New York City, but I assure you that Crowley’s driving has nothing on the NYC cabbies. Aziraphale spends the entire drive trying to hold on to something and taking deep breaths as the cab violently jerks to a stop millimeters from the car in front. You suggest he close his eyes. He does. It doesn’t seem to help.

-------

The taxi lets you out in front of The Ritz. Because of course you’re staying at The Ritz. Aziraphale goes to check in while Crowley tells Anathema he needs the washroom, and mutters to you that he wants to empty all the soap dispensers. You try so hard to hold in your laughter that it comes out your nose anyway. The demon flashes you a cheeky grin before disappearing around the corner. Anathema looks at you.

“Probably been a while since he had a fresh audience,” You say to her. She chuckles.

“And you’re so obliging too. No doubt he’s having a great time with all this.”

“Hey, Anathema,” You begin uncertainly, “How...I mean...I’m just worried about...things. How are we going to find Jesus anyway? I just...I don’t really have anymore information to give. I don’t even know if he’s going to be a baby or an adult this time.”

“Hm...” Anathema thinks for a minute, “Well, I’m going to try and get some readings, see if I can get some kind of direction for us to go in. It’s a big country, but what I’m hoping is that it will sort of work like dowsing.”

“Dowsing? Like looking for water with sticks?”

“Sort of. In a nutshell, you pay attention to the vibrations in the Earth, and the closer you get, the stronger the vibrations become. It makes sense to think that Jesus would make pretty noticeable vibrations. That’s my working hypothesis anyway.”

You nod. That will do for now. Aziraphale and Crowley both return, with the demon wiping his hands on his trousers, and the four of you take the elevator to your room.

The Royal Suite.

“Are...you….serious??” Anathema asks. Honestly, you’re too stunned looking around the enormous suite with four bedrooms to say anything. It’s bigger than most houses. You take out your phone and start taking pictures.

“Well, if we’re going to stay at The Ritz,” Aziraphale says cheerfully, pronouncing the capital letters, “Best to do it Properly.”

“But this is ridiculous!”

Aziraphale isn’t paying attention anymore. He’s gone to tell Crowley not to draw mustaches on the expensive artwork.

“Unlimited resources,” You say to her, “Make for expensive taste.”

“No, kidding,” she sighs, “I’m glad you’re here. I’m gonna need some help with these two.”

Ha, You think to yourself, I knew it.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

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^ If you want to see JUST how ridiculous the royal suite is.

[meowmeowriley]

Changes: A Poll-Fic

"Remember, you're not supposed to be here, so don't do anything stupid." Love you too, Price. The Captain had caved. He'd been begging to be part of this mission since they'd gotten the lead.

Soap reached up, rubbing his gloved fingers across the teeth of his mask. The mask he'd stolen from Ghost's room. Gaz had found him clutching it, dried mixture of tears and bile coating his cheeks, and forehead pressed to the porcelain throne. He'd been banned from drinking for the foreseeable future. That was the only stupid thing he'd done. Ghost wore a mask, Ghost only spoke when he had to, Ghost was hard on the rookies, and nobody questioned his mental state. But they did, didn't they? Well Soap didn't. And nobody needed to question Soap, he was fine.

"I wanna be like you when I grow up."

"You wanna be better than me, Johnny."

Well to be better than him, first he had to be more like him. So he'd donned Ghost's mask, to better embody the man's stoicism and presence. Definitely not as a way to hide his chapped cheeks and the bags under his eyes. He'd painted it red, wore a jaw print bandana. Different. Better. Yeah.

Price had finally caved to Soap's insistence he be part of this OP, but issued his warnings. "I know you don't need to be told, but I'm saying it anyway." He'd warned. "They've had him for eight months. Torture changes people, he may not be the same."

Of course he wasn't going to be the fucking same. He didn't need to be the same, he just needed to be alive.

Ghost never really spoke about his past, only left little hints here and there, but Soap wasn't dumb. He'd been through it before. Ghost could handle the torture, and Soap could handle the aftermath.

"I'm fine." He finally answered. "It'll be by the books, Captain." As if anything they did was ever 'by the books.' Price accepted his answer, though he didn't look convinced. It was just the three of them, with Laswell listening in. Gaz was in charge of collecting data on the bio weapon that was rumored to be here, Soap was in charge of the search and rescue mission, and Price was overwatch as the two Sergeants made their way in.

The trio hopped out of the truck, and Price slapped the side, sending it away. Soap and Gaz nodded to one another before splitting up to approach the building from different angles. Price silently made his way to higher ground.

The trek was agonizing, moreso because Soap found himself feeling more impatient than usual. Every time he had to lay low and wait for a patrol to pass he could hear the sand slowly falling, trickling away in the hourglass that was the rest of Ghost's life.

"You sure know how to keep things interesting, Johnny." Ghost had smiled at him, rare that he didn't have his mask, but then again, who other than Soap would challenge the Ghost to strip poker? And who other than Soap would cheat be really really good at strip poker? So good as to force Ghost to choose between his pants and his mask, the last two articles of clothing he had on. Soap himself had only one sock, and his jumper on, choosing to doff his pants so he could keep access to the cards in his sleeves. The  unpleasant cold of the metal chair against his junk was worth it, just to see the surprising decision on Ghost's part to lose the mask and not the underwear.

"Aye, like to shake things up, Sir." He'd said with a wink as he laid yet another winning hand down, only slightly supplemented by his sleeve stash.

He was certainly always one to shake things up. Here he was, itching to shake that damn hourglass up. He'd shake it, flip it upside down, bash it over someone's head and stuff the sand down their fucking throat, if it meant he'd get more time with the enigmatic phantom that had haunted his mind since that shitshow in Mexico.

Price gave the signal, they crawled forward once more.

"This is takin' longer than a constipated snail takin' a shit." He grit out into comms once the coast was clear.

"Soap, while it's nice to hear your voice again, one more quip outta you and I'm pulling you. Watch it." Laswell had gotten the cold shoulder, she'd fed Ghost bad intel. He blamed her, he didn't, couldn't blame her. She was just as worried. Probably.

He just needed to get Ghost back. Repay his debt. Ghost had saved him back then, after all. That's what this was. An eye for an eye, but in a positive way. They were good for eachother. Fixed eachothers problems. Complimented one another, personality wise. That's all.

He crept into the building, silent and unnoticed.

They didn't have much on the layout, just the outer perimeter, so they were going in blind. That didn't bother Soap, he was thriving for the first time in months. He finally had something to do other than run the rookies into the ground.

He dodged patrols, picked off the ones he could get away with had to, using the knife he'd kicked so long ago after Ghost had left it behind.

He found some unlit stairs leading into a basement they hadn't known existed. If I were keeping an incredibly dangerous prisoner, now where would I keep him? Three sets of teeth, plastic, cloth and bone, were bared towards the darkness. He couldn't help it, he felt giddy. He tried to quell his excitement, didn't need to make any mistakes now.

He made his way, thankful for his NVG's as there were no lights, even after descending the stairs. The hallway he entered had doors along one side, nothing much in the rooms, but he cleared each one as he passed. No fuck ups.

Near the end, he found a door with seven locks. Suspicious. Good. Suspicious was good, here. The other doors had been wood, dry rotted and deteriorating, this one was metal.

His eyes itched. He flipped up his NVG's.

Curiously, whenever he blinked, Soap could've sworn he could see symbols on the door, but they'd disappear the longer he looked. He'd blink, a sickening yellow circle with lines and symbols within would appear just as he opened his eyes, but faded so quickly, he couldn't convince himself it had ever even been there. The harder he stared the more the door looked perfectly normal, if you ignored all the locks.

Many many thanks to @stuffireadandenjoy for brainstorming with me on how to make this poll fic work, and to @resident-idiot-simp for being my beta, as always ❤❤❤

[five-rivers]

This is a poll fic set in my Kingdom of Fish series!

.

“Convince us,” said Mom, leaning forward over the remains of dinner.  

“Um, what?” said Danny, leaning back.  “What do you mean?”

Mom made a circular motion with one hand.  “Next time you go out to take readings, you want to go explore somewhere new.  We want you to stay in the areas you already know.  This is all about continuing our research, so convince us.  Why should we let you go somewhere else?”

All three of them knew that ‘let’ was a polite fiction.  Once Danny was in the Ghost Zone, he could go wherever he wanted, and his parents wouldn’t be able to stop him.  He’d also demonstrated his ability to get into the Ghost Zone even when his parents had him locked out of the portal controls.  He didn’t need permission.

However, his eyes still nervously slid over to Dad, who nodded encouragingly.  Danny wanted that permission.  He opened his mouth to speak–

“Pick one place to argue about,” said Mom, interrupting.  “One place.  Not a whole list.”Well.  That made things harder.  There were a lot of places he wanted to go, but maybe he could narrow it down to just a few choices…

[megamindsecretlair]

So 🥲 apparently there are....quite a lot of you following me even after banning the porn bots and folks without age or personality on their blogs. And yall 🥹🥹🥹

You're all sooo sweet 😍 thank you for all the kind words, comments, reblogs, and asks. I know I have a ton of requests to get through and series to update, but I wanted to celebrate yall. And put the decisions in your hands. I will be doing a series of polls over the weekend where YOU get to choose. YOU get to decide the follower celebration fic 🤸🏽‍♀️🙌🏽🙌🏽

First up! Who is it starring? 👀

[my-writings-and-musings]

The thirst for Sexwave knows no bounds, but gotta give Bumblebee credit for a solid second!

Gotta love some Soundwave being all tender and concerned about reader, so here, have some fluff! Soundwave struggling with all his feelings is just fun to write tbh...

Soundwave x Reader

Decepticons rarely lived pleasantly on Earth, as their primary means of survival was avoiding humans who covered all but the most isolated and brutal portions of the planet, but their Cybertronian hardiness meant most could endure extreme conditions without much danger.

Unfortunately, you as a human allied with said Decepticons didn't possess such luck. You'd fallen ill after one too many exposures to cold and rain, forcing the Con in your company to take drastic measures to keep you safe while he searched for the help you needed.

Between the fever and the countless miles of travel you weren't quite sure where he'd taken you, but the time spent snuggled under a load of blankets in his warm cockpit had been nice enough that you didn't care where you'd ended up. The endless frozen wastes and sparse buildings led you to believe somewhere up far to the north, but the Con had found a secure enough bunker and rigged up an effective climate control device by your tiny cot, so you didn't care about the specifics. All that really mattered now was that he'd been gone long enough for you to drift in and out of a feverish sleep multiple times. That still worried you, even if he often went out for similar stretches in the past. It was impossible not to fear for his capture every time he left your side...

Metallic clanks echoed up the tunnel to the outside world, and you snapped awake as the rumble of the bunker seal opening and closing quite literally shook the sleep out of you. Though still exhausted and delirious, you recognized the patter of approaching Cybertronian footsteps straight away, and relaxed when you noted two familiar walking patterns; one with two pedes and one with four.

A Felicon bounded into the circular cement room and came to a halt with a skid, metallic claws sending up a brief shower of sparks before two bright red optics focused on you. Carrying a pouch between his sharp teeth as delicately as he could, Ravage approached you with a tentative sniff, looking you over as he always did after you'd fallen ill. Not entirely coherent, you smiled and put up a hand to meet his muzzle.

"Glad to see you too." you greeted, allowing your heavy head to rest on the pillow as the Felicon sniffed your hand and endured the brief petting quietly. He moved aside when Soundwave entered the room, a literal crate of supplies tucked under an arm. Brushing some of the lingering snow and ice from his armor, the mech dropped to his knees beside your cot, checking you over for a fraction of an instant before he got to work. Cracking open the crate with his claws, he pulled out what appeared to be enough medical supplies to stock a small clinic.

"Medical equipment; acquired." he said in recognition of the obvious, focusing his attention on a kit that appeared to be full of medication for every kind of human illness. You doubted the owners had parted with so much willingly, and couldn't help but hope no one had been squished to provide these.

"How did you...?"

"No casualties to report." Soundwave answered, firm but calm enough that you believed him fully. Organizing his haul into piles by category, he surprised you further when his claws delicately plucked a bag of food from a thick thermal wrapping, allowing you to catch a whiff of the first hot meal you'd encountered in weeks. You couldn't even imagine how he'd acquired such a thing, and no explanation was forthcoming once he finished organizing everything. "Supplies fully restocked and expanded."

Ravage ensured his bag was added to the pile before he settled at your side, offering warmth and comfort as Soundwave gingerly handled the bag of food before laying it down in front of you.

"Rations overdue." he instructed with an obvious desire for you to eat, unable to hide the tiniest hint of uncertainty in his voice as he sat back on his heels. Understanding what he meant, you happily complied, hungry and quite touched by the gesture.

"Thanks, Soundwave." you croaked as you unwrapped the still steaming meal, your exhausted body beyond thankful for some much needed nourishment. The comment made the bot pause, his helm lowering a fraction of an inch as he briefly averted his gaze to mumble his reply.

"Gratitude... unnecessary.'

Ravage made a sound that more resembled a snicker than one of his usual growls, and only wiggled his tail in the picture of innocence when Soundwave fixed him with a hard stare.

[drowninginblox]

Amo vocé

A Pac centric hideduo fanfic

Although no one wanted to say it out loud, the truth was clear. This land was dreadful. After the fracturing of Quesidia island a few months ago, the residents were moved to a new island altogether. One that wasn't a hellscape, my purgatory, or a crushingly systematic institution like that prison they shacked up in for a few days. If you don't look at the bunny boys who hop from resident to resident to bother, this place is amazing. It was everything the old island was, but more beautiful and diverse. Pac, although apprehensive, thought this would be a good change for his family. A new start that he desperately needed, but with all the same bonds. He was hoping to explore it all with Fit at Ramon, but when Fit's deadline came and passed with no word of where he was, and all the eggs suddenly became bedridden with some kind of disease, it was obvious that plans were not going to be acted on for a long time.

Nowadays, Pac is held up in either his or Fit's house. The worry about Fit's- their son ravaged him. Combined with the fact that he hadn't seen Richas in weeks, it felt like his world was crashing down while everyone was living their lives. Was he really the only one Fit told about his mission? Why was no one else questioning where he'd been? Is he-

A knock interrupts his ritual passing. The following silence seeps into him as he rolls his shoulders. The mascot of this hell peaks through the window of the front door "Hola," Pac stiffens, sighs, and forces a small smile. "Oh, Cucarucho!" Welcomes aren't something that should be handed to the devil, everyone knows his name too well. But when he comes knocking, being a good host is always the safest option. Pac opens the door, giving the bear enough reason to make himself at home, investigating everything with his pristine spyglass. All the while leaving no room for questioning. "Hola. Bom dia. O que está fazendo?" Pac cocks a brow, feeling for his scythe in his bag. "Nada de fato. O que está acontecendo?" The bear continues in its search, only bothering with a "Classified."

An unsurprised eye roll follows. "Sim, sim, of course." He mumbles. "Não se importe comigo, não é como se eu morasse aqui." Unbothered by the fact that the island representative is tearing through his house, Pac ops to head to the garden. If not for a distraction from but another instance of his life falling apart.

Fresh air and rich soil weren't as effective as he wished when it came to distracting himself. He would have gone over to the "shit shack" that was Fitche's and Ramon's house, but he doesn't trust the damn bear for shit. "Fitche, volte para casa logo. Por favor…" He found himself fumbling to a rose bush. He hears the door open and close. Cucurucho's bubbles catch Pac's attention. "O que você quer agora, seu urso estúpido?" His hallowed voice surprised him. "Espero que você goste da ilha." They respond in a taunting, monotone voice before placing a box in front of the Brazilian. Pac's curiosity gets the better of him as he follows the bear's gaze.

Yet he's already gone.

He sighs at the plain-looking box. It was just a brown cardboard one with packing tape on it. No address of course, but there was a small message written on the top. "I hope you enjoy the island. :)" If his eyes could roll any harder, Pac would be blind. One huff and a decisive bite of the lip later, Pac ends up putting the box inside his house. In hesitating to put it on the table, he opts to leave it on top of the fridge. Out of sight, out of mind. Yet the question lingered,

[asjjohnson]

Dan Phantom woke up slowly. He could hear the distant sound of traffic.

He wasn't in the thermos anymore.

Last he remembered, his past self had somehow overpowered him, weakening him enough to suck him into a thermos.

He hadn't broken free of it. He wasn't strong enough. His efforts only exhausted him to the point of recuperative sleep.

Each time he tried, despite sometimes managing a dent or two, he would use up all his energy, and the thermos never seemed any weaker for all that wasted power.

If anything, the thermos seemed to grow stronger over time. Or his own efforts weaker.

He wasn't used to being unable to power through something. After ten years of succeeding at anything he put his mind to if he pushed hard enough, the thermos was... humbling.

He was beginning to think he would slowly fade away within it's walls.

But...

He twitched the fingers of his right hand.

Feeling nothing, he flexed them more, noting the air around them. Then moved his entire hand; swung his arm.

Nothing was confining him. No wall. No handcuffs.

He opened his eyes in puzzlement.

Where was he?

[jojolalas]

[Poll Fic] Playing with the new update which allows polls on reblogs. Each part will have a poll on how the story should progress <3 once the fic is finished I'll post the entirety to ao3.  Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Geto Suguru  Synopsis: Gojo was already late to meet Shoko but in true Gojo fashion he stopped for an overly sweet coffee first. He had every intention of grabbing his coffee and being on his way, but there's someone there who looks familiar. (Childhood Friends AU x Coffee Shop AU) Current Rating: T, may go up depending on votes. 

The air was sharp with the threat of snow, cutting through Gojo's hoodie with each gust of wind. His lack of a winter coat earned him a few curious looks on his walk but his brisk pace prevented anyone from making an inane comment. The very last thing he wanted to do on his day off was make boring small talk about how he preferred the cold air of winter to the suffocating heat of summer. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he cringed, knowing who it was without looking. Shoko had practically begged him to third wheel with her and Utahime, and if he was going to spend his day watching those two pretend to not be into each other then he needed some caffeine and a lot of sugar. 

Shoko [9:45] Where the fuck are you? 

Gojo smirked, picturing the annoyance on her face as she paced in front of the museum. They agreed to meet before Utahime arrived to spare Shoko ‘the embarrassment’. 

Gojo [9:45] Coffee :D :D Want anything? 

Gojo sent the text as he pushed open the doors to his favorite cafe, the inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeting him instantly. The cafe was a few blocks out of his way today, but it wasn't like the few extra minutes mattered, he was already late. The interior was cozy, blinds drawn and the lights dimmed to a soft warm glow to create an intimate atmosphere . The air was filled with the dull hum of chatter, conversations all low enough to be unable to pick out individual words. 

He wondered if he should feel guilty about being late to meet Shoko, but he was doing her a favor. Actually, the real favor would probably be in ditching out on her and forcing her to spend time alone with the woman she’d been obviously pining over for close to a year. 

As he patiently stood in the short line, his pocket vibrated once more, and he pulled his phone out with a smirk. 

Shoko [9:48] You're an addict :P Ugh, may as well grab me a black coffee since you're already running late. 

Gojo [9:48] Five bucks you've got a cig in ur mouth rt now! 

Shoko [9:49] Your point? 

Shoko [9:49] You're already late, don't you dare stop to flirt! >_> 

Gojo rolled his eyes, not bothering to respond to her. He couldn't help it if people found him insanely attractive and sought out his attention. A little voice that sounded suspiciously like Shoko reminded him that 'you don't need to flirt back'.

His eyes flitted around, wondering if today would be the day someone caught his eyes instead of the other way around. Despite the reputation he'd inadvertently earned around the office, he didn’t go out searching for his dates. If an attractive person sought him out, who was he to say no? But he rarely saw them a second time. Call him picky, but most people just didn't check the imaginary boxes for him to consider a serious relationship. Not that I even know what those boxes are.

What would Shoko do if I ditched her for a hot piece of ass? Or better yet, if I brought someone to the museum to ‘double date’. Gojo chuckled to himself, imagining the look of horror Shoko would have in either scenario. 

Long black hair in his peripheral grabbed his attention and he zeroed in on the man at a small table along the wall near the pick-up counter. The man sat facing the wall, and Gojo raked his eyes down the man’s wide shoulders and the defined muscles of his back. His hair was loose and flowed beautifully down his back like a silken waterfall.

“Next?” The barista at the register loudly called and Gojo snapped back to the moment. He quickly stepped up, not even slightly embarrassed that he had been staring and missed that it was his turn.  

“Good morning,” he greeted with his most charming smile. “I don't think I've seen you here before, you must be new.”

She nodded, giving him a shy smile. “My second day.”

“Ah! Well, I'm sure we'll be great friends in no time! I’m here allll the time!” He winked before taking pity on the poor blushing girl. “Ok, so, easy order first: a large black coffee. Make it decaf.” He chuckled to himself, Shoko would never know. “And also a large iced quad-shot soy latte with two pumps of vanilla syrup, two pumps of caramel syrup, one pump of hazelnut syrup, one pump of cinnamon dolce syrup, one pump of toffee nut syrup, one pump of white mocha syrup, and a dash of sea salt. Can you top it off with whipped cream, caramel drizzle, and cinnamon powder?"

Halfway through Gojo slowly relaying his order another barista came over to help the new girl. Gojo smiled politely when the seasoned barista rolled his eyes, “I wish the boss would just let us add your usual to the menu to save us the hassle.” He patiently walked her through the order and then left her to finish. 

Gojo winked, thanked her, and paid with the addition of a generous tip before strutting over to the pick-up counter. His attention quickly returned to the man he'd checked out before. Now that he was closer he could see the man's profile; strong jaw, gorgeous eyes, and a long neck which stirred something deep in him. While Gojo didn't date often, he wasn’t one to ignore the pull of lust…

Shoko would kill him. 

She didn't have to know.  

He could just ask for his number and hook up with him later. That seemed like the mature middle ground he should be striving for. Right? 

The man shifted, leaning forward over his laptop, hair falling like a curtain to block his face from view. It moved like silk, and Gojo’s fingers itched to run through those locks to feel for himself. 

As he watched the man typing away on his laptop, the ghost of sharp eyes and a gentle smile tickled the edge of his memory. Childish laughter as he rolled down a grassy hill, ruining his brand new school uniform but not caring because his best friend was with him. It was the last real memory Gojo had of his childhood Geto Suguru. They had been inseparable since preschool, spending every moment possible in and out of school in each other's company. Geto's family moved away when they were twelve. Gojo only found out at school; no goodbye, no warning, just an empty desk, an empty house, and an empty space next to Gojo. 

How long had it been since he'd been reminded of Geto Suguru? It's funny how someone he'd once declared never to forget hadn't crossed his mind in so long. Ten years was a long time to hold onto a childhood friend who’d forgotten you, yet Gojo didn’t mind, the good memories outweigh the bad. 

He shook himself from the memories and back to the task at hand. Hot man- cafe- coffee on its way. Gojo weighed his options in a fraction of a second and took half a step towards the stranger, determined to at least exchange a few words before dashing off to rendezvous with Shoko. A loud voice broke up the quiet atmosphere before his foot hit the faux wood tile.

“Are you fucking stupid or something?” 

Gojo tilted his head towards the commotion, his brows furrowing in concern. The new barista on the register looked like she was about to cry as a man leaned toward her with an aggressive posture. He was tall, muscled, and had several tattoos on his face and neck. What a douche.

“Sir- I-”

As the barista started to defend herself the man sneered and jabbed a finger in her face. Gojo rolled his eyes at the unnecessary aggression, pausing for a moment, torn between the desire to intervene and the reluctance to get involved. The other baristas working were skilled at de-escalating hostile customers, but something about the man put Gojo on edge.  

Poll options for part 2:

Gojo intervenes with a joke Gojo grabs Sukuna's hand and pulls it away from the barista’s face Gojo ignores it and goes to flirt with the hot stranger

All roads lead to stsg, some just include more angst.

[my-naughty-writings-and-musings]

I have unholy ideas and need help narrowing them down so I can bring them into being. Here are all the locations I've thought of scenarios for, and an option to suggest your own because I can't get enough of the bots in this movie. Might just have to write some Arcee smut next...

Please reblog, thank you!

[fivedayslater]

Part 26: Nami and Law

Dinner and a Murder: A Mr. Prince Mystery Masterpost

“It was you!” Sanji says as he turns and points dramatically at Law, “You killed Nami, and Nami killed Ace!”

Law’s eyes go wide, but he covers it up with a laugh, “Are you serious right now?”

“Dead serious,” he says as he knocks some ash off his cigarette, “It could only have been you.”

He laughs again, more bitter and condescending this time, “And how do you figure that?”

“You gave yourself away,” Sanji says as he takes another hit from his cigarette, “when you said you heard Zoro enter the lounge.”

“You think?” He smirks, “And, how’s that?”

“Luffy said he was near the lounge during the blackout,” he explains, “that he was close enough to the door to hear Nami inside. If you were listening so well that you were positive you heard Zoro, why then didn’t you hear Luffy or Nami?”

“Nami was never in the lounge,” Law leans back in his seat, “Luffy must be lying.”

“I’m not lying!” Luffy growls as he turns to Law.

“Relax,” Zoro says, pulling him back, “Let Sanji handle this.”

He gives Sanji a confident grin, which Sanji returns as he shifts his focus back to Law.

Law raises a brow, “It’s my word against his, so what makes him more trustworthy than me?”

“Because we have evidence Nami was in the lounge after the blackout, but only your word that Zoro was,” he gestures to the bracelet, “And why would Luffy lie about being near the scene of the crime so close to the time of the murder? It just makes him look suspicious. He gains nothing from that.”

“And what pray tell do I have to gain by saying Zoro did it?” He says as he crosses his arms in front of him.

“Simple,” Sanji shrugs, “If Nami didn’t kill Ace, you have a weaker motive against killing her. If she did kill Ace, if she wasn’t in the hall with you during the blackout but you were close enough to the lounge to hear everything, then your motive is clear.”

“And that is?” He shakes his head and laughs, “What logic are you running on, Mr. Prince?”

“If you were close enough to the lounge to hear who was coming and going like you claim, you should have heard what happened. So why not tell me once we found Ace’s body?” He pauses to take a drag from his cigarette, “You kept that secret, because you were planning on using it to blackmail Nami into lowering your debt.”

“This is absurd-”

“No,” Sanji slams a hand on the table, “This is the only thing that makes sense.”

He gestures at the evidence, “You heard Nami enter the lounge, you heard her arguing with Ace. Maybe you didn’t hear the whole murder, but you at least knew she moved Ace’s body. Instead of telling me you kept it a secret, let Nami know you knew she wasn’t in the hall like she said she was, and waited for her to come to you after we split up. She came through the secret passage from the kitchen after she ditched Luffy. When you tried to blackmail her with your knowledge of the murder, she refused. You killed her with the candlestick she stole from the lounge, then brought her back to the kitchen, stashed the candlestick, and disposed of the knife in the dining room.”

He points his cigarette at him, “Law, you killed Nami in the study with the candlestick, after Nami killed Ace in the lounge with the knife.”

“A lot of words and accusations there, Mr. Prince,” Law says with a huff, “But where’s the proof?”

Sanji takes a hit of his cigarette as he mulls it over. If he had time to do blood tests and look for fingerprints, he could easily, but he didn’t have the time or the resources. 

He needs the final piece, the one that will prove his theory once and for all.

He glances over at Zoro, who looks back, a fierce determination in his gaze, but there’s something else there. A look of certainty, like he knows Sanji can do this.

Sanji can’t disappoint Zoro, he won’t. He has to come up with something.

And then, it clicks, the last piece of the puzzle falling into place.

“The phone,” he says as he turns back to Law, “Ace and Nami both received texts just before the blackout, but neither of their phones have been found. If I’m right, Nami would have been the one to text Ace to meet her in the lounge.”

“But we haven’t found Ace’s phone,” Zoro reminds him with a frown, “If you’re right, Nami would have gotten rid of it.”

“Yes, but there wasn’t nearly as much time with Nami’s murder. The murderer only had time to stash the candlestick in a nearby drawer,” he says, his gaze narrowing on Law, “So whoever killed her must still have her phone.”

“This is ridiculous,” Law shakes his head. 

“Then prove it,” he points his cigarette at him, “Empty your pockets! Prove you don’t have her phone!”

Law growls, but reaches into his pockets, pulling out a single phone and a pager and slamming them on the table. 

“There are you happy?” He snarls, “That’s all I have, my pager for work, and my own phone. Are you done with your wild theories yet, Mr. Prince?”

Sanji frowns as he stares at them. He was so sure he’d been right, where was his misstep?

Just then a delicate, flowery tune comes from Law’s jacket. 

“That’s Nami’s ringtone for me,” Zoro says with a fierce glare. His phone is out, his screen turned towards Sanji so he can see that he’s calling Nami, “So maybe give the nice detective her phone now.”

The color drains from Law’s face, his shoulders slump in defeat as he reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out another phone. 

Sanji takes it as Zoro ends the call, and opens it to her last message to Ace, sent just before the blackout: 

Nami: If you want to talk, fine. Meet me in the lounge, I’ll be right behind you. 

And just seconds after, a text to herself, with nothing but keysmashes. 

“This proves it,” Sanji says as he shows everyone the texts, “Nami called Ace to the lounge, then sent herself a text to cover her tracks. She and Ace argued, and she killed him with Zoro’s knife, which she’d taken earlier that evening. You saw part of this, tried to blackmail her, and then killed her.” 

He shakes the phone, “The fact that you had her phone proves it!”

“You’re right,” he sighs, completely defeated, “It’s just as you said. I heard Nami and Ace in the lounge when I was in the hall. They were arguing about her connection to Blackbeard, and it had escalated just as the power went out, so I stuck around.” He shakes his head, “I didn't know she’d killed Ace until we found his body. I’d just heard Nami leave the lounge with something and go back.”

“Thus the blackmail note,” Zoro grunts, “Or the start of one anyway.” 

“That was from earlier,” he frowns as his eyes land on it, “You were right, my debt was getting too out of hand, and Nami was demanding more and more quicker and quicker. I had to get out under her thumb anyway that I could. I’d planned on threatening to tell Ace about her work with Blackbeard if she didn’t lighten up.”

“But,” Sanji gestures at the letter, “Ace found out first.”

“Exactly,” he leans forward, holding his head in his hands, “I thought holding Ace’s murder over her head would be more effective, so I kept it to myself.” He looks up at Sanji, his eyes glistening with regret, “Considering how everything turned out, I regret that now. I never meant for Nami to die.”

Sanji takes another hit from his cigarette, “So, what happened when she confronted you later?”

“She came through the secret passage, like you said,” he sighs as he leans back, staring at the ceiling, “She asked how much I knew, and I said all of it. I said I’d keep quiet if she reduced the debt, but she refused. Said she was in too deep with Blackbeard and the secrets I was giving her were her only way out.”

He glances back at Sanji, “She drew the knife on me, said if she’d killed Ace, how was I so sure she wouldn’t kill me too.”

“You didn’t think it would’ve come to that?” Sanji asks.

“I had brought the rope from the conservatory, just in case I needed to restrain her,” he growls and glances away, “But she attacked suddenly, and it wasn’t much use. The candlestick had fallen out of her purse, so I grabbed it and…” he grits his teeth and buried his face in his hands, “I didn’t mean to kill her, I swear, I just wanted her to back off, but I hit her head instead of her arm, and…”

“You of all people should know how fragile the human body is,” Zoro says. 

“I know,” Law shakes his head and looks up again, “Before I could leave the study, I heard you two and Luffy talking outside. I panicked, and took Nami back through the secret passage. I left her, the candlestick, and the rope in the kitchen to cover my tracks, and tossed the knife in the dining room. Then I went back to the study and waited for someone else to find her body.”

“Why didn’t you tell someone?” Luffy asks, his hands balled into fists in his lap, “Me or Ace or anyone? We would’ve helped you.”

“You’ve already done so much for me,” Law covers his eyes, “I didn’t want to take advantage of your kindness more than I already have. I thought I could handle this myself…” he shakes his head, offering Luffy a frustrated look, “But Blackbeard is much worse than Doflamingo ever was.”

Tears form in Luffy’s eyes as he looks away.

Sanji glances at Zoro and Usopp, but they look just as confused by this as Sanji feels.

There’s clearly more to this story but, just this once, Sanji lets them keep that secret between them.

“You still should’ve come to Sanji tonight,” Zoro says, “Or at the very least, not lied to him and said I’d done it.”

“I am sorry about that,” his gaze turns to Zoro, and he does at least look apologetic, “By the time he’d come to talk to me, I was in too deep. I figured if I pointed him in your direction, there was a chance he’d drop the whole thing completely.”

Sanji’s frowns, “Why’d you think that?”

Law raises a brow at him, “Really? It’s pretty obvious you’ve grown fond of him. If there was a chance out of this, that was it.”

Sanji blushes as he glances at Luffy. Are his feelings for Zoro that obvious? He is fond of him, sure, but he’s not even sure what he’s feeling himself, if that fondness translates to love. But for Law to not only notice his affections but try to use that against him…

“Well shows how much you know,” Zoro scoffs as he crosses his arms, “Sanji’s a great detective. He wouldn’t let that stop him from finding the truth.”

Sanji flushes more at the praise, if that’s possible.

“I suppose you’re right,” Law says with a sigh, “This got out of hand, and it’s all my fault.”

He glances around the room, “For whatever it’s worth, I am sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to go so far.”

Bon-Chan bursts through the door just then, seeking Sanji as they say, “The police are here. Did you find the killer? Should I show them in?”

Sanji glances at Law.

[all-my-writings-and-musings]

Giving me polls was the worst move this site could have made but here we are, let the games begin! Please reblog to get the most results and leave any suggestions in the tags/reblogs/replies! Thank you all in advance!

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 7!!!

Beginning|| Previous || Next

It will not surprise you at all, dear Reader, to learn that Aziraphale keeps very little in his kitchen cupboards. There is no stove or oven, and the only thing in the fridge is milk (for his tea no doubt). When you start opening cupboards, you find one pack of custard creams, and a second one of chocolate digestives. Well, it will have to do. You find yourself a small plate and fill it half and half before heading back into the shop just in time to say goodbye to Anathema and Newt.

As they leave, you turn to the supernatural entities in the room.

“So,” You say, “If we’re going to the States, then we have a few problems. First, I don’t have my passport or any ID at all, so airport security is going to be fun. Second, I have no money. Third, I’m gonna need a Walmart or something because I don’t even have a toothbrush, my dudes. Fourth, these,” You indicate the cookies, “are fine for a snack, but overall they’re not gonna cut it.”

“You just leave the airport security to us,” Aziraphale replies. You make a note that he glided right past ‘my dudes,’ they’re getting used to you already. Dammit. “As for the rest of it,” Aziraphale continues, “I suppose a trip to Tesco’s is in order.”

Crowley produces a shiny black credit card from nowhere and hands it to you. “We’ll take the Bentley,” he says. He starts to stand, but you shake your head.

“Nuh-uh, you both stay here,” You say. Crowley raises his eyebrow.

“You realize we can take care of ourselves,” he says, “We’ve been doing it for a few millennia.”

“I’m not talking about that,” You say, “Look, what we’re going into is really dangerous. And I know that your pattern is to just wait to talk about things until you’re in the clear, but that’s not a good idea anymore. I mean, I get that I’m not exactly an expert, but I read just as much as you do and I’ve heard a million stories by this point in my life, and in NONE of them do people ever say ‘I’m so glad I never told them how I feel’ - you know? It’s always ‘I wish I would have’ or ‘I should have told them every day.’ So Muriel and I will go ask Maggie to take us to Tesco, and you two need to talk. Please. While it’s safe, while you have the chance, before things get dangerous and possibly deadly.”

Crowley and Aziraphale are silent. You notice that they aren’t looking at each other. Well, you’ve done your best. Now you need to trust them.

At this point, dear Reader, you are probably thinking to yourself ‘well I would snoop and spy on them while they talk! I want to watch them make out!’ But here is the thing – in this world they are real people, not characters. It’s one thing to say that you would creep on them from the other side of this fiction, but when they’re very real and looking at you in person, things are a little different. For one thing, you realize that real people deserve things like boundaries and privacy, especially for sensitive conversations.

And so, you take Muriel over to Maggie’s shop, where you explain that Mr. Fell has sent the two of you on an errand and you need to stop for dinner somewhere and have no idea where anything is. You flash her the credit card and say ‘It’s all on me,’ and she conveniently agrees with a look on her face that says something like ‘least they could do after all that shit they put us through.’

So the three of you go for dinner at the nearest Weatherspoons, where you and Maggie eat while Muriel watches in morbid fascination. Then you all take the bus to Tesco where you buy yourself a small wardrobe, and manage to coax Muriel into some light blue jeans and an argyle jumper so they look a little less like the Beacon of Gondor. You quickly find out that Muriel has an adorable fascination with fuzzy socks, novelty mugs, and coloured pencils. Of course, you enable their fascinations with a happy heart, and as an afterthought, you grab them a small pot of orange daisies from the flower section. It will give them something alive to tend to while you’re gone. Muriel appreciates the thought. All in all, it’s a long but good time.

You don’t know about the talk, and you’re worried about asking when you get back.

THAT BEING SAID

You and I, dear Reader, not actually being in that world, are allowed certain privileges.

The bookshop is silent for a long time. Both of them are thinking, digesting, processing. Feelings are hard to feel, and harder to put into words. Especially when it has been made clear, twice now in the span of a number of hours, that you absolutely need to put them into words.

It isn’t until after Crowley notices you, Muriel, and Maggie heading down the street that he stands up and begins to pace. A few more minutes pass before he speaks.

“So...uhm...are you going to go first or should I?”

“Are we...are we actually going to do this? Have this talk I mean?” Aziraphale has been shelving books to try and take the edge off. Now he puts down the book in his hands and absent-mindedly fidgets with his ring.

“Well, I mean we don’t have to,” Crowley says, aiming for non-chalance and missing ever-so-slightly, “No one can actually make us.”

“Yes, except it feels very much like everyone is trying to.”

“Trying is the key word there.”

“That’s true enough I suppose.”

The silence returns and stretches. It is anything but comfortable. The air is full of words that they have been told they should say, words that perhaps they want to say, but words that have been dammed up with fear and uncertainty for so long now that they’ve become very hard to un-stick. After a while, Aziraphale clears his throat and speaks.

“I, erm, I suppose you had better go first.”

“Me, right, okay.” Crowley clears his throat now and stops his pacing near the desk. He looks down at the scattered papers and books, the pens and photos and newspaper clippings. The assorted clutter of Aziraphale’s life. Looking away makes it easier to start. He takes a breath. “Um..right...well...we’ve known each other a long time. We’ve been on this planet a long time – you and me, I mean. I’ve always been able to rely on you, and you’ve always relied on me,” another breath, “We’re a team, yeah? A group of the two of us. And...erm...we pretend that we aren’t. Always have. Safer that way I guess.” He looks up at Aziraphale. The angel isn’t looking at him, but he nods anyway to show that he’s listening. Crowley continues. “And I mean...I’ve tried not to think about it much before but...but it would be nice, I mean, UGH” He takes off his sunglasses and rubs a hand over his eyes as though he can massage the words and make them easier to say. “I mean, I would like to spend...mmm….I would like to spend the rest not pretending anymore. Be an us. I mean,” suddenly the dam breaks, and Crowley finds the words come tumbling out, “If Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, we can. We don’t need Heaven or Hell, they’re both toxic. We can be an us, on our side. You and me. What do you say?” He looks at Aziraphale without reservation now. His angel looks back at him, eyes wide. When he does speak, it’s with a smile and a small nod of acknowledgment rather than agreement.

“That was very well done Crowley,” he says. This isn’t an answer.

“Nnyeah, thanks. Your turn though.”

“Right, I suppose it is.” Aziraphale takes a moment to gather himself. After hearing Crowley be so open about this, he feels more resolved himself to do this properly. He faces Crowley and folds his hands to keep himself grounded. “Crowley,” he begins, “I...I wish that this conversation were happening under better circumstances. Although it’s been pointed out that ideal circumstances aren’t a promise that we can wait around for. Well, the thing is that I would like the same thing. Very much in fact. My biggest concern by far is for your safety because, well, frankly I don’t see the point in saving the world again if you’re not around to enjoy it with me. An us, as you said. You and me.” He smiles. Crowley smiles.

“Guess we’d better save the world together then. And try not to die.”

“Yes, quite.”

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, Crowley?”

“You’re my angel. No one else.”

“And you, my wiley serpent. No one else.”

The shop bell dings.

“We’re baaaaaack!” You sing as you waltz through the door, shopping bags in hand. Muriel follows after you, carefully carrying their daisies. “Did you miss us?”

When you eventually get the courage to ask them about their talk later, you get a “ngk” from Crowley, and a “We’ve said all that needs to be said, for now.” from Aziraphale. And that, you suppose, will have to do.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning|| Previous || Next

[ratherbefangirling]

Random poll fic

One / Two

Scene : you are sitting alone in a club, this stunning guy comes and sits next to you.

"You look very beautiful."

"Sorry I have a fiance." You lie and show him your 'shoo away unwanted attention expensive but worth it' ring.

"Hmm is there any way I can change your mind"

"Dude we don't even know each others name."

"I'm Taehyung. Kim Taehyung. And you seem like an angel."

You giggle despite yourself.

"Sure Mr.Kim if you replace my ring with a ring worth five times this right now I might be interested if not I'm leaving."

You say this knowing there's no chance in hell it can be possible.

He nods and then puts a hand in his pocket and pulls out a ring.

"Will you marry me?"

[drsteggy]

And we’re back! This was fun to write.

I decided to go with the wild card option I got, which was this:

[Hand her ancient weapons first]

"I think we were always supposed to fight the calamity together. Not that either of us were prepared. I'll show you- you have a right to see it, I think."

"...Link, what's wrong?"

"Dunno yet. Stay on the platform. If I die you should still be able to get out."

“What.”

Onward:

You can still get inside, correct?

There’s a fight inside that shrine, a tough one. One he had to bail on and return to before winning it. He hasn’t been back here since then, there was no need.

He knows the combat shrines reset with the blood moons. Sometimes he scavenged ancient weapons that way, when he didn’t have rupees or parts for Robbie.

He taps a finger to his lips and frowns. Zelda tilts her head, one eyebrow cocked, waiting for his answer. A week ago, the idea of bringing her down there would have horrified him. She is much more capable on the road then he imagined, even hunting dinner most nights.

He remembers her snap about fighting the calamity. Surely the training area for the hero should work for the princess with sealing power as well.

He answers her by handing her a fairy in a bottle. The fairy will pick her up should she fall.

He hopes she doesn’t fall.

“What’s this?” She slowly turns the bottle in her hands, the tiny pink light bubbles inside, soft bells barely audible.

“Insurance. Also take these.” He thrusts an ancient short sword and a medium sized ancient shield, the last in his inventory, toward her. They are light, and she should be able to handle them. If she had sword training, she hasn’t practiced in a while. “These are the best things to use on what’s inside there.”

Zelda pockets the fairy and accepts the glowing armaments. She gives them a once over and returns her gaze to Link, her mouth open with so many questions, she can’t pick the right one to ask first.

"I think we were always supposed to fight the calamity together. Not that either of us were prepared. I'll show you- you have a right to see it, I think."

"...Link, what's wrong?"

"Dunno yet. Stay on the platform. If I die you should still be able to get out."

“What.”

“Come on.” He takes her hand and leads her to the lighted platform inside the shrine. She gasps and squeezes his fingers as the platform abruptly begins its decent. She is only off balance for a moment though, and is quickly trying to take in as much as she can as the drift down into the darkness.

The platform settles in what is clearly a lobby, with a ceiling so high it cannot be seen. One small door stands before another cavernous room.

Link licks his lips and steps off the platform, Zelda following close behind. His heart rate has picked up its pace. He feels aware of every crack in the walls, the oily smell of guardian that seems heavy in the air. It didn’t take him long to learn what that smell meant.

He runs through an internal checklist of his gear, making sure he has made the best choices for what is going to happen in that next room.

Zelda trots ahead of him, glamoured by the odd architecture. She is almost at the door when he calls at her to stop. She half turns, wide eyed.

“We should go together.” He explains, drawing the Master Sword off his back, and swinging a royal shield in front of him. “Keep your shield high and follow me.”

They step through the door together, footsteps echoing around them. There is the same high, unseen ceiling, and a half dozen stone pillars stand throughout the chamber. When they are about a third of the way across the room, bars drop across the doorway, blocking their exit.

Link’s gut drops. He shivers and sets his jaw. Zelda draws her sword, the white blue sparkle dancing at the edge of his vision.

There’s a mechanical scraping and a platform rises in the center of the room. A pony sized machine sits on it, three guardian like legs holding it up.

“What is that?” Whispers Zelda.

“It’s called a guardian scout and it’s dangerous.”

The small, squat creature sprouts three arms, wielding a shield, a sword and a savage looking axe. All three weapons are made of the same white blue energy.

It skitters forward alarmingly fast and insect-like, homing in on their position.

“Shields up,” mutters Link as the scout fires a volley of light at them. Zelda barks in surprise, scrambling back and raising her shield.

The scout seems to focus on Link, bringing the axe down agains his shield and shaking him to the bone. Zelda takes advantage of this by dashing to the scout’s flank and bringing her sword down.

She gets two swings in before the scout spins around to engage her, snapping its shield forward and bringing the blade of the axe down.

Zelda gasps and backs up, bringing her own shield up and blocking the blow. Link freezes for only a second and then savagely brings his blade down.

The scout spins again, appearing confused with a pair of opponents. It scrambles back, clawed feet scraping the stone floor. Link holds a hand out to stay Zelda as she steps forward to chase.

“This isn’t something I’ve seen before….ah, no, get behind a pillar.”

The scout raises itself up, stretching the arms with axe and sword out and races toward them, spinning its arms around like a deadly pinwheel. They duck behind a pillar. The scout scrambles toward them in that unsettling, almost alive manner and crashes into their hide, shattering it and stunning the scout. Link spins to take advantage of the opening, bringing the sword down over handed. Zelda dives in as well, taking out a leg.

The machine stutters back to life and flips out the axe, attempting to take them both in one blow. Link throws the elbow of his shield arm out, catching Zelda’s shoulder and shoving her back as the axe whistles past his face, narrowly missing his nose. Zelda cries out, staggering back and lifting her own shield reflexively.

The scout collapses on itself and Link hears a familiar whirring.

“Get back! Do you have your bow ready?”

Zelda nods and draws a royal bow she’s been hunting with.

“Just stay out of range of the spinning thing, and shoot, I’m going up.”

Link has never quite known what to think of this particular attack, but he knows that contacting the spinning cable the machine is sending out will hurt. It also creates enough of an updraft that he can use it to get airborne. He snaps out the paraglider and rises into the air. Zelda fires an arrow below him.

Atta girl.

She’s a worthy fighting partner. He had no idea. Had they fought together before?

He flips the paraglider away to draw his own bow, reaching for Revali’s chosen weapon and firing a volley of arrows before he needs to swapping back to the paraglider.

He glances down to see Zelda on the move, firing as fast as she can draw. He should give her a multi shot bow. Maybe one of the Yiga bows.

Maybe later, his arms and sides suddenly protest and he drops to the ground.

The scout tucks into itself again, and starts drawing energy from somewhere. This is it. This is its final stand. He has seen this enough to recognize.

“Zelda! Press in! It can only target one of us.”

The final attack is a guardian stalker style light beam. The scout plants the targeting light between Link’s eyes. Fine. Link begins to circle the scout, shield facing forward, ready to parry the beam back.

Zelda circles as well, directly across from him, slashing. Her eyes are fixed on her target, lips curled in a snarl. She swings repeatedly, landing each blow hard as Link attempts to draw fire.

The final shot never comes.

Zelda lands a final blow on the spidery machine and it drops the weapons it welds, sparks flying out of the top. It collapses before imploding and vanishing. Zelda is wide eyed and panting, grinning from ear to ear.

“I did it!”

“You did it!” Her smile is infectious. Has he seen her this excited before? He doesn’t know. “Here,” he picks up an ancient battle axe dropped by the machine. “You earned the spoils. Come get them.”

She scores a sword and a shield as well as an odd screw and a gear. She runs her fingers along the hilt the sword. “What is it? Is this where you got the one you gave me?”

“I think of them as ancient weapons, but I think they are old Sheikah tech.” Link pulls an ancient arrow out of his quiver. The tip snaps out and into place, white blue light forming the point. “They are particularly good against guardians, but outside a shrine this will stop everything in a single shot. You know Robbie? He makes stuff like this.”

“Robbie? Robbie is still alive? Oh, yes, I forgot.”

“Yes. Robbie and Purah…”

“PURAH!”

“Maybe we should talk about Purah…” he is interrupted when she throws herself at him, embracing him. He stiffens, unsure of what to do.

It’s only been a couple weeks, maybe a few days more since they ended the calamity and he has grown more familiar with her, but this is more than he is prepared for. He takes the hug, only returning it, gingerly, carefully, after a long moment. Zelda seems to understand his discomfort and steps back, keeping her hands on his shoulders.

“Link. This is amazing. They survived. We were able to do it because they survived to help you.”

Link furrows his brow. He has not thought about it that way, but Robbie and Purah were people he met along the way, and new to him. He has been told people were waiting for him and yet he has not thought about what that meant before now.

For the first time, he realizes that he has not just dreamed Zelda into existence. Everything that has gone on since he awoke in the pool at the Shrine of Resurrection, shivering in just a pair of shorts, a new foal to the world, while already full of responsibility.

He wants to collapse at the thought of it, there’s so much he doesn’t know, can barely see the edges of, it’s almost too much. He steadies himself against her palms and returns her smile. “Yes.”

He places his hands over hers and she tangles her fingers in hers. “Zelda, we should go see Impa, I know she is eager to see you.”

Rules* Part 1* Part 2

[my-writings-and-musings]

We have our winner!!

Soundwave put up a pretty good fight though, Bee and Swindle also had a pretty strong showing! Thinking those three should definitely get some fics of their own too!

I went with something sort of silly because there's not nearly enough pining Megatron or Dorothy Malto content out there.

"Megs?"

For all of his boundless courage, Megatron couldn't help but feel a burst of terror when he was startled from his pleasant yet absentminded staring. Averting his optics straight away, he looked down at his side to find Dorothy Malto standing on the raised patch of land he'd chosen for a seat. Wearing casual clothes befitting of their shared day off-duty, her eyes sparkled with something more than mere enjoyment of the beautiful sunny weather. "What's got you so happy?"

Clearing his vents as casually as he could, the flustered mech tried to pretend everything was normal, thinking over his words carefully as he turned back to the scene he definitely hadn't been staring at previously. The young Terrans were all gathered behind the Malto family barn in a loose circle around the only other human present, you. Though too far away to hear what was being said, he could see you were just about done patching up the tiny cut Twitch had earned while the bots had been goofing off, and he knew from experience you were undoubtedly giving her a gentle reminder to be more careful in the future. Seeing such tender care for the little drone made a smile tug on his reluctant lips.

"It is… nice, to have another GHOST agent we can rely on." he answered diplomatically, not acknowledging the host of complex emotions that always rose up in his spark when he spoke of you.

"Mhmm." Dorothy replied with her same smile, following his gaze just as you finished up your patchwork. Twitch tested out the previously injured limb with clear delight, expressing her emphatic gratitude with a transformation and a zip about the sky that brought a chuckle from all present, including the two veterans. "Dr. Y/N is the only one I'd trust with my babies. They've kept every last visit secret, and they'll pop over no matter how small the issue is. The kids just love them."

"I can tell." he agreed with another chuckle as he watched you tenderly insist that the young Terran be mindful of her safety. He knew from experience the request would go unheeded, as young Cybertronians had the same danger defying habits as human youth, but your compassionate efforts made that complex surge of emotions in his spark rise up again. Ignoring it as usual, he tried to explain himself when he saw Dorothy had yet to drop her accursed grin. "Many humans have a… justifiable hesitation around Cybertronians, yet they treat us no differently than their human patients. I cannot begin to express my appreciation for their work."

There was a small sound from the woman he initially interpreted as a welcome dropping of the subject, but the moment his optics drifted back to you her words cut right through his defenses.

"Is that… all you appreciate about them?"

Expression briefly betraying his flustered mortification, he just managed to sound more frustrated than rattled. "What are you implying, Dorothy?"

"Oh, nothing." she replied, obviously fake indifference putting him on immediate edge. Dorothy had long since learned to read him like a book, far more intuitively than he could even read his own emotions, and he knew she was not the type to ever give up. Still, he wasn't at all prepared for her boldness when she finally spoke up, grinning from ear to ear as she did so. "Just that you've been doing a great deal of appreciating with your eyes."

Unable to stop himself from sputtering at the absolutely absurd and not at all true observation, he frantically looked your way to ensure you were still occupied with the Terrans before he replied in a forceful whisper.

"You are mistaken."

She actually laughed, looking beyond amused by the thirty foot warrior struggling with the crush he would deny under pain of literal death. Patting his side playfully, she gave him a wink that sent a blush blooming across his cheeks. "Don't worry, I won't tell."

"There's nothing to tell." he replied in a rush, looking back to you only so he could confirm you had not overhead any of their conversation. By the rare grace of the universe you obviously had not, as you were now in the middle of a very enthralled ring of Terrans and recounting stories of your more interesting assignments to keep them occupied. Once more those accursed feelings rose up in his spark, and he didn't have it in him to deny the warmth he felt every time he laid his optics on you. Seeing your tiny human form surrounded by the towering young bots that you treated with all the compassion and patience of human children simply overwhelmed his defenses.

Thankfully, Dorothy seemed to be willing to let the matter drop at that, and she offered only a playful parting tease as she turned to walk back to the house.

"Sure there's not."

He considered grumbling some kind of further denial, but didn't have it in him to be upset when you made the group laugh and did the same, your beaming smile giving him one of his own.

Dorothy pulled out her phone and turned back after only a few steps, going completely unnoticed by the lovestruck mech until she spoke up one final time. 

"I can get you their number."

Megatron could have combusted on the spot, and he could only try to hide his blush behind his palm as it surged across his entire faceplate.

"Dorothy!"

[cutekittenlady]

Submas Poll Fic

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"Were the questions that invasive?" Drayden asked in concern.

Emmet said nothing.

"Emmet I am concerned about you." His uncle said plainly, "You have never been in a derailment before now. Or even any sort of accident."

"He's right Emmet," Elesa said taking a seat at Emmets size, "please talk to us."

Emmet looked at her for a moment before looking away, "You are both being very kind. But it is unnecessary. I am alright."

"Emmet." Drayden began but hesitated. He wasn't sure if he should ask this. "Do they believe you caused the accident?"

Emmet bristled.

"No! I have not defaulted in my duties! All safety checks and procedures were followed!"

Drayden raised a hand to calm him, "I meant no offense. I just thought that might be why you were being so distant."

"I am not being distant!" Emmet huffed, "I am... merely very tired!"

"We're just worried about you Emmet," Elesa implored. "I mean, an accident happens, one of your pokemon have to literally carry you out, you sit in the hospital looking like this," she gestured at the bandages, "and after all that two weirdos none of us have seen before waltz in, kick everyone out, and talk to you for alone for a long time and afterwards neither they or you will tell us what you talked about."

He hands moved and touched his arm.

"You must understand why that'd worry us and make us think something was wrong, right?"