#yes I would go to the ends of the universe with her at the helm

[in1-nutshell]

Hey it's me again how about some more old Predacon buddy maybe how they interact with the other predacons or possibly have Predacon buddy accidentally get teleported to another universe maybe beast wars? Like how would they interact with the maximals or interact with the predacons I am not surprised if old Predacon buddy adopts waspinator Just have like a good old time =]

One way to summarize this request:

Buddy: *sees Waspinator*

Grandparent mode activated.

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy the Old Predacon meets the Maximals

SFW, Platonic, Cybertronian reader

TFP/BW

Buddy doesn’t like to point digits when it comes to blaming others.

But in this case, they will make an exception.

If the Wreckers hadn’t lobbed so close to the relic, Buddy would still be napping in their sunny space waiting for the kids to arrive from school.

Jack was going to show them his art collage.

Miko was going to show off her ballads that she had recorded earlier that day.

And Raf was going to get the next movie of that dinosaur series they were watching.

But no, now they were getting some stick out of their digits on some planet.

The place looked a lot like Earth in the Dinosaur movies Raf had shown them…

…

Time travel, dimension hopping and spiked energon were all on the table in trying to explain all of this.

Buddy seen some goofy ways bots and cons have gotten into strange situations, Buddy had to think of every possibility.

Buddy sitting in their bi pede mode in a thinking position.

They feel a poke to their side.

“Hmm?”--Buddy

Buddy looks down to see a small green servo.

“Help…please… you…squishing me…”--Waspinator

Buddy yelps out and stands up.

A smaller green mech was etched onto the mud below.

Buddy carefully grabs the mech and places him gentle on the ground.

“I am so sorry for that! I didn’t even know you where there!”--Buddy

Waspinator shaking his helm a bit.

“Big Bot appear out of nowhere, how?!”--Waspinator

“It’s a long story.”--Buddy

“Wazzpinator has time.”--Waspinator

“Waspinator? Is that your designation young one?”--Buddy

Waspinator nods his helm.

“And big bots?”--Waspinator

“I’m Buddy.”--Buddy

Waspinator tilts his helm.

“Buddy?”--Waspinator

“It’s not normal, but it suites me.”--Buddy

“Yezz I am a Predacon under Megatron’s command.”--Waspinator

Buddy’s optics twitch a bit.

“Megatron? And you being a Predacon? But you don’t have the same logo as mine?”--Buddy

“You Predacon too?”--Waspinator

“Yes, but they are not factions. We are a species.”--Buddy

“What?”--Waspinator

“… Waspinator have you seen any humans here?”--Buddy

“Like them?”--Waspinator

Buddy looks at some early humans playing with a stick.

“… Oh Primus I jumped dimensions…”--Buddy

Waspinator gives Buddy a rundown of the Predacon and Maximal war.

All Buddy wants to do now is hit their helm on the nearest tree.

Buddy asked more about the Predacon’s faction.

Buddy’s optics twitched hearing their leader was Megatron.

Buddy didn’t like the things the Predacon’s were doing.

They shifted the attention to the Maximals.

They seemed a little rough around the edges, but they seemed like the better option to ask for help.

“Which way is the Maximal base?”--Buddy

“Buddy want to go there? Why?”--Waspinator

“They seem like the better option for asking for any help. No offense, but the last time I put any faith in a Megatron, it didn’t end up well.”--Buddy

“Oh…”--Waspinator

“But you’re going to take me there.”—Buddy

Buddy stands up stretching a bit, getting ready to transform.

“WHAT! No! Maximals hurt Wazzpinator!”--Waspinator

“I will make sure they don’t. You have my word. Now are we ready?”--Buddy

“But Wazzpinator need repairs.”--Waspinator

“Then you fly with me.”--Buddy

“WhaaaAAAAAAAHHHHHH!”--Waspinator

Waspinator nearly faints at the full dragon size Buddy is.

Waspinator had a fun time flying on Buddy’s back.

Beats flying all the way to the base by himself.

The Maximals nearly fainted when a giant dragon with Waspinator landed near their base.

Buddy politely greets them and asks for someone to look at Waspinator.

There is some opposition to letting the enemy in, but they are quickly shot down by common sense.

Buddy looks at this version of Prime and asks to speak with him about their situation. Many of his teammates are very much against this, but he calms them down and goes with Buddy.

He looks almost as lost as Buddy is when they tell him what happened.

Optimus agrees to give Buddy and Waspinator haven for the time being.

Things are a bit tense for the next couple of days as many try and tip toe around the giant dragon.

Buddy was so big they couldn’t even get onto the ship even if they crouched. They opted to stay outside in their beast form for the nights. Anyways, it wasn’t like someone was going to attack a behemoth like them.

Slowly the Maximal’s start warming up to Buddy and their kind nature.

They were all defiantly surprised hearing about their backstory, some more than others.

Waspinator starts his journey to becoming a fellow Maximal, thanks to Buddy talking to him about the good that could come with this new change.

Waspinator makes up for a great Maximal with the right guidance and support.

He becomes Buddy’s second shadow while Buddy stays at the Maximal base.

Buddy has plenty of time to tell stories about their times as a gladiator, their time with the Cons, and their time now with the Autobots.

Buddy talking to Cheetor, Rattrap, Waspinator, Silverbolt, and Dinobot.

“What do you think they are talking about?”--Tigatron

“Maybe about their favorite tree from yesterday.”--Airazor

“Hmm, maybe.”--Tigatron

Back to Buddy…

“Then I raised my sword above the crowd, drenched in the energon of my enemies and asked if they were finally entertained.”--Buddy

Buddy mimicking a sword slash for their audience.

“Wow! How long was that Buddy!”--Cheetor

Buddy scratches their helm.

“Hmmm… Don’t remember the exact date, but defiantly when I was around your age Cheetor.”--Buddy

“Awesome!”--Cheetor

“Wait how long was it though? Couldn’t have been that long right?”--Rattrap

“Aww, that sweet of you to think Rattrap. But I am a bit old.”--Buddy

“But how old?”--Silverbolt

“…”--Buddy

“…”--Maximals

“How old Buddy?”--Dinobot

“How about I tell you the story about the time I scared Orion Pax in the halls of Iacon from the top shelf?”--Buddy

“Buddy stop ignoring the question.”--Dinobot

“Listen to your elders.”--Buddy

“How old are you!?”--Waspinator

A familiar looking portal appears one day, and Buddy knows its their time to go. Their team finally found them.

They make sure to give each of the Maximals hearty hugs before they leave.

Buddy hugging all the Maximals.

“I will never forget your kindness my friends. If you end up in my dimension, just call for me!”--Buddy

Buddy gives an extra hug to Waspinator.

“Stay strong my friend. You are so much more than what you give credit.”--Buddy

Waspinator hugs them, trying not to cry, before letting go.

Buddy transforms and flies into the portal.

Buddy exits the portal to see the bewildered faces of their family.

“What took you so long?”--Buddy

“BUDDY!”—The Kids

The kids crowd around Buddy’s pedes while the rest of the Autobots follow suite.

Things are finally back to normal.

[forevertrueblue]

This may be controversial around here but the more I think about it I might be more excited for James Gunn's new DC Universe than future MCU stuff on the whole.

Most of the projects in the "Gods and Monsters" lineup aren't overly exciting to me on paper since most of my faves from the comics or previous movies don't appear to be there, so I was kind of meh on the whole thing at first.

But this is the guy who made the two best CBMs of the 2020s so far (and it isn't close, either). The guy who stans Harley Quinn at least as much as I do and helmed her best movie appearance to date. The guy who made the Suicide Squad work. The guy who let all the Guardians live* and find new purposes in life without needing to be permanently punished for their pasts, while also not totally breaking up the found family, even if not everyone is going to continue the fighting. And he ended it on a literal dance party ending!

Now, he's not immune to the "redemption = death" trope that I'm really sick of but I get that it's gonna happen sometimes. And even some of those deaths he's helmed have felt more like happy moments than entirely sad ones. ("I'm a superhero!") But I definitely think his own history of messing up then being better comes into play here, which is great because it means he truly empathizes with these characters rather than seeing them as needing punishment all the time. This is a pattern I keep hoping the MCU will break but then it doesn't. (Again, except for Guardians.)

I think he's gonna make a lot of the heroes I'm not that excited about atm really appealing to me, and then do them justice!

*Yes I know he was involved with the decision to kill OG Gamora and her death ended up being a fridging to further Thanos, but I have a feeling had he done it in Guardians 2 like he was toying with it would have been more for her arc than anyone else's.

[zacksfairest]

Top 5 favorite books of 2023 and 5 least favorite books, go!

Oh boy! I was so very kind to myself this year and read mostly bangers. Let's see what we've got.

The Dragon Republic by R.F. Kuang. Now, I love the entire Poppy War trilogy, make no mistake about that. It completely rewired my brain and has firmly taken up the spot of Favorite Series Ever. But The Dragon Republic specifically was just It for me. It gave me everything. A well thought out and executed campaign of war, not sparing us the grizzly details (civilian casualties, civilian displacement, the logistics of moving a large army, how ACTUAL BATTLES work), as well as WAR CRIMES. But in addition to that, I was given Rin and Nezha. The epitome of Show Not Tell where it comes to developing feelings. Hateful schoolmates turned comrades in arms turned almost lovers turned mortal enemies. A tragedy that serves as a mere backdrop to the larger tragedy happening in the country at large due to a lingering invading force and a newly sparked civil war. This was easily my favorite book of the year, and I have been chasing the high from reading it ever since. Outbound Flight by Timothy Zahn. Yeah, I've owned this book since 2006 and never read it. What about it? I am well aware that was a major blunder on my part. Perhaps had I read it sooner, I would have been able to hop on the Thrawn train much sooner than 30 years late. This book truly had me sucked in right from the start. Young soldier Thrawn? Dedicated to his troops and his people? Willing to do anything to keep his people safe from the dangers that lurk in the infinite abyss if the universe? Swoon worthy. And also watching Maris be all heart eyes over Thrawn was a big Same Girl moment. Mr. Zahn knew what he was doing to us all along. Yet another book that understands how battles work! And with characters at the helm that are actual good tacticians and understand how battles work also. Dark Force Rising by Timothy Zahn. Yes. Another Thrawn book. Shut up. I loved the entirety of the (original) Thrawn trilogy, but this one really stood out. Leia was allowed to do her thing and be a force to be reckoned with in her own right. Also it felt good seeing a pregnant woman not be sidelined just because she was pregnant. Leia Organa-Solo does not stop and will not be stopped. This was yet another book that understood war and tactics, as well as the espionage that goes into ensuring proper battle plans can be laid out. I owe Zahn my life for being so consistent with this content, as I am a drowning lass in a sea of books that do not fucking understand how this shit works. Also, Thrawn won this round, which felt good. Felt organic. Hell Bent by Leigh Bardugo. AH, YES. The book that proved I was right to put my faith in Bardugo and her plans for Ninth House. We got hot demons! We got fucked up journeys to hell! We got vampires! We got it all here, folks! I'm still super hoping that we get to see someone fuck Darlington by the third book. I want to see that demon dick in action. I hope it's fucked up. The Stolen Heir by Holly Black. This one went an entirely different route than I thought. I expected your standard YA fare: hot dude and meek girl meet, are at odds for a bit, fall in love, etc., except with fae. I should have known better. It's Holly Black, after all. Instead I got a viscious girl as my main character, a hot fae dude (Oak, baby. You're all gown up!), but they have most definitely not fallen in love by the end of this book. I got to put this on my Problematic Villain Love Interests shelf on goodreads! And not even for the reason I usually do! I still think about that final line: "I can't pretend that I don't like the sound of him screaming my name."

As for our bottom five... well. It's a bottom three. Like I said, I was kind to myself this year (also I read a lot of manga. Don't look at me.)

The Resistance Girl by Jina Bacarr. We don't talk about this one. I technically started reading it at the end of 2022, but I didn't finish it until we were decently into 2023. So it counts. It was awful. Terrible. An affront to the written word. And not for the reasons that everyone was up in arms about it. Writing was terrible. Characters were awful and indistinguishable from each other. Plot was bad. Dialogue was the worst slop I've ever laid eyes on. Descriptions not much better. It was just awful. A Curse for True Love by Stephanie Garber. This one was a spirit breaker. The Ballad of Neverafter was so goddamned good. The ending specifically was spectacular and left us off on a wonderfully torturous cliffhanger. I was so excited for what the final book had in store. However, I was so caught up in the euphoria of having a delightful fucked up immortal love interest in Jacks, that I forgot that Garber is Not Great at ending her series. The book overall really wasn't fantastic (a tragedy), but there was a Specific Line toward the end that fucking just. Ruined the entire book for me. Lowkey ruined the whole series, but I fight hard to prevent that from being the case. I loved the first two books so much. I refuse to let terrible storytelling and copouts and a single retcon ruin it for me. Final Fantasy VII Remake: Traces of Two Pasts by Kazushige Nojima. This one was really just a big letdown. It was just a meandering tale of Tifa and Aerith's childhoods. We somehow just completely skipped over how traumatic their respective experiences were at the hands of Shinra. We instead decided to give me boring as fuck stories about their everyday lives. Like. I get it. This is really just a money grab and a way to generate hype for FFVII: Rebirth. But still. Have some pride in your work, Square! Have pride in your characters! Let the writers have fun! I still stand by the idea that the translator might have had a bit to do with why I didn't enjoy it, though. The Kids Are Alright remains one of my favorite books, and the writing for that was fantastic. It was written by the same guy who wrote this book! And it had, what I would say is, the best english translation for a Japanese novel I've ever read. But the translator who worked on the FFXV novel The Dawn of the Future also worked on this Tifa and Aerith centric novel, and I wasn't a giant fan of the writing in the FFXV book either. So while the translator probably played a part in how much this book disappointed me, I don't think much could have saved the meandering plot and redundant experiences contained within.

[agentrouka-blog]

I think people forget that Gendry in show got Edric Storm plot. Gendry in books is a tertiary character. If Ary@ is going to meet him in books, it will be at Riverrun. But I don't think he would go to WF with her. Also like him, Mya Stone is introduced to Sansa story. Both Baratheon bastards befriended Stark girls in disguise.

Yes, it’s sad that they turned Gendry into this carricature. :(

The most interesting and significant thing about her friendship with Gendry is that they have genuine classist conflict. Which is why I also believe that they will likely meet again, and in a different universe with a time skip may have explored that with a vaguely romantic angle. As it is, it’s still waiting for another confrontation on the subject of class conflict and respect.

When Arya wants to escape Harrenhal, Gendry is not enthused. He is, in fact, deeply sarcastic. 

"And if we did escape, where would we go?"

"Winterfell," she said at once. "I'd tell Mother how you helped me, and you could stay—"

"Would m'lady permit? Could I shoe your horses for you, and make swords for your lordly brothers?"

Sometimes he made her so angry. "You stop that!" "Why should I wager my feet for the chance to sweat in Winterfell in place of Harrenhal? You know old Ben Blackthumb? He came here as a boy. Smithed for Lady Whent and her father before her and his father before him, and even for Lord Lothston who held Harrenhal before the Whents. Now he smiths for Lord Tywin, and you know what he says? A sword's a sword, a helm's a helm, and if you reach in the fire you get burned, no matter who you're serving. Lucan's a fair enough master. I'll stay here." (ACOK, Arya IX)

She considers Gendry her pack, but Gendry has a very different outlook on life. She is a “wolf” because she has a house sigil, she is ultra highborn nobility, while for Gendry the lords are like the clouds that come and go far out of his reach. They are not the same.

That's not to say he's right in thinking that who rules makes zero difference to the smallfolk, but Arya is essentially viewing him as a transferable good. Her father allowed her to bring her swordmaster Syrio along to Winterfell, why can't she just bring along her blacksmith friend? His perspective is entirely secondary to her own, and his lack of agreement, his invocation of their status difference doesn’t cause her to respond with even a reasonable counter-argument. Just anger at his lack of cooperation.

This conflict is not resolved from either end. 

One of their last exchanges before being separated features a return to the class divide and how it shapes their priorities.

Gendry joins the Brotherhood for very deliberate, political reasons. He chooses his own group, based on his own sense of justice. He willingly accepts the risk to his life, answers the question he asked a book earlier. Why wager his feet for the choice who to serve? Because it does matter. He has evolved in his priorities.

“At the hollow hill, what you said about being King Robert’s men, and brothers, I liked that. I liked that you gave the Hound a trial. Lord Bolton just hanged folk or took off their heads, and Lord Tywin and Ser Amory were the same. I’d sooner smith for you.”

Arya has no evolved yet at that point. All she hears is:

Arya bit her lip. He means to leave me too.

Her reaction is to lash out to cover up her hurt feelings, as she usually does:

As Arya was cinching her saddle girth, Gendry came up to say that he was sorry. She put a foot in the stirrup and swung up into her saddle, so she could look down on him instead of up. You could have made swords at Riverrun for my brother, she thought, but what she said was, “If you want to be some stupid outlaw knight and get hanged, why should I care? I’ll be at Riverrun, ransomed, with my brother.”

She dismisses his personal convictions and frames them in contrast to the privilege of serving her family, she clings to her own status as a highborn lady worth of ransom, from up on her horse. 

This becomes an uncomfortable stance to take later. Their final exchange before her kidnapping is about this:

“Did the Lannisters kill the people who lived here?” Arya asked as she helped Anguy dry the horses. “No.” He pointed. (...)

“Who did it, then?” asked Gendry.

“Hoster Tully.” Notch was a stooped thin grey-haired man, born in these parts. “This was Lord Goodbrook’s village. When Riverrun declared for Robert, Goodbrook stayed loyal to the king, so Lord Tully came down on him with fire and sword. After the Trident, Goodbrook’s son made his peace with Robert and Lord Hoster, but that didn’t help the dead none.”

A silence fell. Gendry gave Arya a queer look, then turned away to brush his horse. (ASOS, Arya VIII)

That noble lord killing smallfolk is her grandfather. Her people. Killing people like Gendry. They are not the same.

Their relationship is begging to be revisited. To show Arya having grown beyond viewing lowborn people through the lens of her personal attachment or her own sense of justice, but within the context of her own privilege. To make room for their perspective even if it doesn’t include her. To actually be a lady, own her privilege and answer it with duty. 

There is a theme of comparing their hands. “She has the hands of a blacksmith”. He laughs at her dainty hands and says she couldn’t wield a hammer, yet she has calluses from training with a sword. Swords are made by blacksmiths. Her weapon is made by his hands.

If Gendry represents the smallfolk, and Arya the nobility, then she needs to become worthy of carrying a sword, of being handed that privilege by people like him. Not because it’s “a shade more fun than needlework”, but because it represents power and justice and needs to be tempered with duty and responsibility. 

Arya’s sword needs to serve the people, not herself.

Sadly, all the show saw in them was an opportunity to get Maisie naked. :(

[scorpionyx9621]

TW: Death, Queerbaiting, and Voltron

Like I'm sorry y'all I'm just as hyped for the new content as much as anyone but the second I heard Lauren Montgomery was the one directing the first animated movie my heart sank to my god damned stomach.

For those of you who don't know, Lauren Montgomery was one of the co-directors for Voltron: Legendary Defender with fellow LoK creative director Joaquim Dos Santos. For those of you who very fortunately were not on this god forsaken hellsite between the years of 2016-2018 VLD had this website by the god damned throat. From seasons 1 through debatably 6 it was a genuinely good, if weirdly paced show. Then from Season 7-8 the show went down the shitter. FAST.

To make a long story very short that can be easily explained much better than I ever could by a brilliant YouTube miniseries by The Sin Squad. Lauren Montgomery and Joaquim Dos Santos both had an original script that involved killing off one of the characters, but were forced by their production company DreamWorks to keep said character (It's Shiro.) Alive because DreamWorks correctly predicted that Shiro would become the favorite character of the show.

How did Lauren Montgomery and Joaquim Dos Santos react to this news that they had to re-write a heavy portion of the show just to keep Shiro alive? Well they made it work for Season 3-6 with minor jabs towards DreamWorks here and there. Yet the second they could get Shiro introduced fully back into the team on Season 7 onwards they do a litany of things ranging from pretty good to exceptionally bad.

Announce that Shiro actually died but we're gonna fudge with reality and our own universe to bring him back (cool I guess)

Instead of expanding upon Shiro's role as a leader and a character just designate him as a talking head and a wallflower until they get back to earth (Bad)

Upon getting back to earth, the show shoves a half-baked romantic subplot for Shiro involving another man whom we know Jack and Shit about only to have him be on screen for all of like 4 minutes, 3 of them he's fighting with Shiro, and the last 1 minute he's dying. Perpetuating the bury your gays trope yet again. (very derogatory and bad)

Take a character who literally could have been the champion of diversity in an animated show (A gay, physically disabled Japanese man suffering from PTSD) and turn him into a wallflower for what could have been a fantastic growth opportunity and just have him go through even more trauma all for shits and giggles. (Hatred)

LM and JDS both fully admitted that they did all of this and the reason for this being largely because of their resentment towards DreamWorks and they both regret how the show ended. (*Screams into the dark, cold, uncaring void*)

I do not mean this post to be an attack towards Lauren Montgomery. She has a family and loved ones who care about her, sh does not under any circumstances deserve harassment or threats. She is a professional writer who makes a whole lot more money than I do and is able to churn out a literal multi-million dollar franchise in less than 3 years. Even if said franchise crashed and burned in a way that is only comparable to the finale of HBO's Game of Thrones. She has the professional chops and I don't. I am not at all trying to say I could ever fix Voltron after the literal maelstrom of a shit storm it became with the fandom literally threatening to kill people over ships.

But I am never going to forgive her and Joaquim Dos Santos for what they did to Takashi Shirogane. Ever. And after hearing the announcement this morning that she's at the helm of this upcoming animated movie I cannot in good faith just sit by and let people not know what she has done. Yes you can call me a crazed Shiro Stan. You wouldn't be wrong. But Lauren Montgomery and Joaquim Dos Santos both tortured and maimed a disabled Japanese character and turned him gay only for the woke points and to create more pain. They never wanted to make Shiro gay in the first place because they never wanted Shiro to be alive at that point.

I am happy to see that the Team of Bryke is working very closely with Lauren Montgomery on this if only because they were they original creative directors, but if I were in their position being forced to give one of the highest positions to a well known and documented bad-faith actor, I'd keep her on as tight a leash as possible. I'm still going to watch the movie, but I am going to be hyper-vigilant about the fact that Lauren is the one at the helm. I want this movie to succeed just as much as anyone else, but like I said, I cannot in good faith just stand by and let it not be known what Lauren Montgomery has done and what she could be capable of doing again.

[puckwritesstuff]

What happens if TVA! Loki and Main Timeline! Sigyn meets Disaster Evaded AU! Vali?

I kept writing and rewriting this one because it wasn't going the way I wanted it to, and eventually I had to surrender to the characters as they are.

Thank you for the ask!

---

Váli wasn’t quite certain why Heimdall had asked her to survey this particular section of Midgard, but she assumed that her grandfather had his reasons. When she was sent down, she landed near the base of a bluff by the sea. She wore her Valkyrie armor (the first time she’d been sent out since earning it) and her father had leant her Laeveteinn. She could hear arguing at the top of the bluff, loud enough to make out what they were saying.

“Look, I understand, but it’s not here!” one voice said.

“But this is where it’s supposed to be!” the other voice said. “We must have ended up in the wrong universe.”

“How is that even—”

“Because there’s an extant multiverse now, my heart,” the other voice said. “Now give me that so I can get us home.”

Váli realized that she recognized the voices. Moreover, she knew exactly who those voices belonged to. But that didn’t make sense, they should still be on Asgard…

She slowly made her way around the ridge and to a path up the bluff where she wouldn’t be seen. She could see a man wearing a helm with a broken horn and a woman in black and gold. They were arguing over a small, orange device that Váli didn’t recognize. Váli kept low and slowly approached. She drew her sword.

“I can’t believe Mobius let you take this,” the woman muttered.

“‘Let’ is a strong word,” the man said. “Give me another moment, I can get this to work.”

“Work, yes,” the woman said. “But we need the right universe to go home to.”

“Well, give me a moment, darling, I—”

The man paused, looking around. Váli froze, trying not to be seen, but the grass wasn’t that tall, and the bluff wasn’t that steep. He blinked when he saw her.

“Sylvie?”

The woman gasped and looked to Váli. The woman sighed.

“No,” she said. “No, that’s not Sylvie. It’s okay, we aren’t here to cause any harm.”

Váli stood up straight. Approaching them only confirmed that Váli was looking at two adults who exactly resembled her parents. They looked at her like they were seeing a ghost.

“This realm is under the protection of the Throne of Asgard,” Váli said.

“Yes,” the man said, stepping forward. “Váli, it’s—”

Váli gripped the sword tighter and raised it. The man paused, stepping back.

“Who are you?” Váli asked.

“Who do you think we are?” the man asked.

“Not who you look like,” she said.

The man shrugged. “I suppose that’s fair.”

“We’re just trying to get home,” the woman said. “We don’t mean any trouble.”

“Then how do you know my name?” Váli asked.

The two paused, exchanging a look.

“We know another young woman like you,” the woman said. “Váli used to be her name, too.”

Váli lowered the sword slightly.

“Please, there’s no need to fight,” the man said, gesturing to the sword. “We’re not going to cause trouble, I promise.”

Slowly, Váli sheathed the sword. The man nodded, almost studying her face.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“We have the right place, but the wrong… place,” the man said. “You can tell your grandfather there is no threat to the Nine Realms here.”

“I would think that two Lokis in one universe would be cause for concern,” Váli said. “There are some days it can barely handle one.”

A slow grin spread over Loki’s face.

“You were listening,” Loki said.

“So if you’re from another universe,” Váli said, “how did you end up here?”

“That's a very long story,” Loki said. “But a very good question.”

“Is Nari all right?” the woman asked. “In this time, in this place. Is he safe?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?” Váli asked.

The woman sighed in relief, turning away.

“Who is Sylvie?” Váli asked.

“You,” Loki said. “From another time. Another place.”

“We’re trying to get home so we can find her,” the woman said.

Váli nodded.

“I don’t think I understand,” Váli said. “But I also don’t think you need me to.”

An orange door appeared out of nowhere and Váli jumped, reaching for her sword.

“No! No, it’s okay!” Loki said. “I think I got it to work.”

He looked back at Váli.

“Go home,” Loki said. “I’m sure your parents are waiting.”

He nodded to the woman before going through the orange door and disappearing. She looked back at Váli before heading through the door herself and it blinked out of existence. Váli reached out to where it was and there was a faint hum in the air that faded quickly.

Finally in New Asgard, Sigyn and Loki appeared in the empty living room, the apple slices still slowly browning on the coffee table. The two didn’t say anything for a moment, but Sigyn slowly sunk down onto the couch, her head in her hands, and started to cry. Loki sat next to her, pulling her close.

“She’s okay,” he muttered. “We’ll find her, it will all be okay.”

He kissed her temple and she collapsed in his arms.

[fearsmagazine]

THE EXORCIST: BELIEVER - Review

DISTRIBUTOR: Universal Pictures

SYNOPSIS: Since the death of his pregnant wife in a Haitian earthquake 13 years ago, Victor Fielding has raised their daughter, Angela on his own. When Angela and her friend Katherine disappear in the woods, only to return three days later with no memory of what happened to them, it unleashes a chain of events that will force Victor to confront the nadir of evil and, in his terror and desperation, seek out the only person alive who has witnessed anything like it before: Chris MacNeil. -Universal Pictures

REVIEW: William Peter Blatty’s novel, “The Exorcist,” spawned four feature films and a tv series. This forth film is helmed by director/executive producer David Gordon Green and co-story contributor and executive producer Danny McBride (yes, that Danny McBride). This is the same team who worked with Blumhouse Productions to breathe new life into the Halloween franchise with 2021’s “Halloween Kills” and 2022’s “Halloween Ends.” A bit out of their league here, the story disregards many important rules of myths and religious belief system for derivative elements of genre films and franchise films.

Let me address the film's positive portions first. I enjoyed Amman Abbasi and David Wingo’s score that incorporates movements based on Tubular Bells by Mike Oldfield used in the original film. I enjoyed Cinematographer Michael Simmonds’ work in capturing moments that were reminiscent of the original film, especially the opening sequence similarities, and clearly his work with Green on “Halloween Kills” and “Halloween Ends.” The special effects makeup is good, but not great. In an area where special and visual effects can work in tandem there is nothing here that feels fresh or original, or even transcends what has gone before.

The cast is fantastic, with the amazing talents of Leslie Odom, Jr., Ann Dowd, and Ellen Burstyn. Leslie Odom, Jr. does the best he can with the material that never allowed me, especially as a father, to connect and empathize with the character. Ann Dowd is riveting as a former nun, now a nurse, with skeletons in her closet and is left to sum up their experiences. I liked her character, but, again, never fully connected with her. Then there is Ellen Burstyn. When she is on screen she is 100% and commands the scene. However, her screen time is limited and it clearly feels like an appearance that serves more as a franchise hook than an honest integration into the plot.

Okay, so the story… Clearly they were following a formula that they constructed from watching the films and not any other literary sources or Joseph Campbell. William Friedkin even sought out one of the people who influenced Blatty’s novel, Father Amorth, and later made a film about the exorcist. There are set pieces, including the exorcism, that feel like separate pieces that they attempt to fit together. There are parts of the story that feel like they are simply checking off boxes and don’t feel centric to this particular story. As someone who has studied world religions, I loved the idea of who these people of different faiths were going to come together to save these girls, but it simply fell apart. There are rules, many similarities between beliefs, that are discarded for genre film cliches and shock value. There are setups that lead to expected outcomes and some things that make no sense. There are a lot of assumptions and things not explained that one might think would be revealed in the next installment. By the end, actress Ann Dowd’s character sits at a table delivering a monologue about evil, the devil and hope as a montage shows the audience where this experience has left these characters. One scene in particular feels like it is the purpose of this entire film, in a way detracting from everything that has gone before or any message the film tries to make.

THE EXORCIST: BELIEVER feels more about creating a franchise and an attraction at 2024 Halloween Horror Nights at Universal Studios. It’s one of the better Blumhouse Production films, but the material is beyond the grasp of the writers. Strong performances are wasted in service of a superficial screenplay that weaves in several lines that are written for laughs, and they get them, but don’t really belong here or uttered by the characters that do. The central idea never fully gells and the question of innocence feels to fall by the wayside. As a colleague pointed out, the trailer makes the film look better than it actually is. One can only hope that this is not the first in an attempt to “exorcize” the material in hopes a franchise.

CAST: Leslie Odom, Jr., Ann Dowd, Jennifer Nettles, Norbert Leo Butz, Lidya Jewett, Olivia Marcum, E.J. Bonilla, Raphael Sbarge and Ellen Burstyn. CREW: Director - David Gordon Green; Screenplay - Peter Sattler and David Gordon Green; Based on characters created by William Peter Blatty; Producers - Jason Blum, David Robinson, and James G. Robinson; Cinematographer - Michael Simmonds; Score - Amman Abbasi & David Wingo; Editor - Timothy Alverson; Production Designer - Brandon Tonner-Connolly; Special Make-up FX Designer - Christopher Allen Nelson; Special Effects Supervisor - Heath Hood; Visual Effects Producer - Andre Coutu.

OFFICIAL: www.theexorcistbeliever.movie FACEBOOK: www.facebook.com/TheExorcistBeliever TWITTER: twitter.com/TheExorcistBlvr TRAILER: https://youtu.be/xovJ0GYy75A?si=sxtTkCDkz9pxlcn7 RELEASE DATE: In theaters October 6th, 2023

**Until we can all head back into the theaters our “COVID Reel Value” will be similar to how you rate a film on digital platforms - 👍 (Like), 👌 (It’s just okay), or 👎 (Dislike)

Reviewed by Joseph B Mauceri

[sitchurama]

*salutes* 💜

[avaantares]

I'm about to be controversial, y'all.

So... am I the only one who's extremely unexcited to see RTD put back in charge of Doctor Who? I know lots of people have fond nostalgia for his era of showrunning -- and that's fair; my favorite DW characters and storylines also hail from those seasons -- but I keep looking back at his Whoniverse and remembering

the poor handling of season arcs: e.g. shoehorning the words "Bad Wolf" into every episode to suggest there's a continuing story and then... not having it signify anything except the fact that the words "Bad Wolf" were in every episode. Ditto "the bees are disappearing," et al. There was no building story, no progressive reveal, no real sense of continuity -- but then the season finale would throw out some supposedly-shocking revelation that pretended it tied everything together. Only it didn't feel like a proper payoff, because all we'd gotten was a random line once per episode to tick the requisite 'season finale reference' box.

what he did to some characters in DW, and his "defense" for it, which he then recycled for Torchwood: His stated reason for stranding Rose in an alternate universe/wiping Donna's memory/killing half the cast of Torchwood is because (and I can't find the exact quote right now, sorry) he's not interested in telling satisfying stories, but wants to do things that will shock the audience so they remember it and talk about it 50 years from now. (Sorry, but shock value alone isn't good storytelling. If I want to be angry/horrified/surprised/confused by events, I would just watch the news instead of a scripted TV show.)

the (frankly insulting) things he said about the fans and their attachment to said characters after their disappointing endings in DW/Torchwood. (Dude, you know we can hear you, right?)

what he did with the Torchwood sequels: His exact quote, cited by (I think) Scott Handcock in an issue of Vortex, was "Let's drive it off a cliff!" And then he proceeded to trash almost all of the established character growth from the previous decade's worth of series material.

the bulk of Miracle Day, which he wrote, and which was... You know, I've already written thousands of words detailing all the ways that series fails to support the continuity of the previous three TV seasons of Torchwood and the greater Whoniverse, so I won't reiterate all that here, but the fact that he directly contradicts his own previous scripts, scenarios, worldbuilding and characterization multiple times in that series really doesn't reassure me that he won't do something incredibly jarring and out of line/continuity with a new DW season.

Now, all that said, did RTD also do some things well as DW showrunner? Yes, he did. He certainly deserves credit for successfully resurrecting a franchise that had previously failed (more than once -- *cough*American Doctor Who movie*cough*). He established the Time War mythos and set up the Doctor's subsequent recovery arcs, which became a touchpoint for the series as a whole. He introduced numerous great characters, cast members, and villains, including several of my personal favorites. He created Torchwood, a show I love despite its many, many flaws. Some of the most iconic episodes of the new series were produced during his tenure ("The Empty Child," "Blink," "Midnight," "Silence in the Library," et al.). And in total fairness, as much as I loathed the execution of Miracle Day, I do think it had a solid premise and raised fascinating questions, and could have been a really good stand-alone sci-fi series if it hadn't tried to be a Torchwood sequel/spinoff.

I'm also not going to argue that DW is perfect right now and should stay just as it is, because the series has definitely been treading water lately; there have been numerous story and long-term continuity issues during Chibnall's era. But what it really comes down to for me is that despite those good, lasting innovations he made in launching the reboot series, I don't really see a new RTD-helmed season fixing the troubled state of Doctor Who as it stands, because the things he did well aren't necessarily what the show needs to regain its sense of balance after the uneven scripting and continuity-flaunting turns it took over the last couple of seasons. At best, it will be a hard reset to an early-series atmosphere that largely ignores the questions raised by recent installments, rather than a recovery from the continuity-nuking bomb dropped during the last season finale. At worst, he'll continue the problems delineated by the bullet-pointed list above, and the series will sink deeper into a hole.

To me, the RTD re-appointment really feels like BBC/BBCA trying to cash in on the early-NuWho nostalgia train to regain the viewership it lost during Jodie Whitaker's tenure (not her fault at all, but some whiny little boys viewers ragequit at her introduction because *gasp* a female Doctor?! how dare! while others lost interest because of the weak scripts or other failings of the past couple of seasons). I think the decision is motivated less by "what is best for the development of Doctor Who as an ongoing series?" and more by "what's the fastest shot in the arm we can give our struggling ratings so we can capitalize on the upcoming 60th anniversary?"

I hope I'm just being paranoid, and RTD defies all my expectations and brings something new and delightful to the next series of DW. But I can't deny that when I read the announcement, my gut reaction was just, "Ugh." Maybe it's just the Torchwood fan in me, burned too often and in too many ways to trust RTD to stick the landing, but I'm honestly feeling more trepidation than anticipation right now.

[in1-nutshell]

Loved when mtmte Megatron met his sparkling from tfp and how he offered for them to come with him and the lost light crew and buddy saying they would stay in tfp but what if buddy said yes to his offer what would their life with the lost light look like and would they vist tfp crew?

Fun fact: This was going to be the original response when Megatron offered Buddy, but decided not to last minute.

Now because there are way too many shenanigans' that would happen on the Lost Light if Buddy joined, I summarized the highlights.

Hope you enjoy!

What if... TFP Megatron's daughter with the opposite personality agreed to stay on the Lost Light?

SFW, Platonic, Slight angst, Familial, Cybertronain reader

TFP/MTMTE

Already a heavy considered in the beginning.

When Megatron did offer Buddy a spot on the Lost Light, Buddy hesitated, but ends up agreeing to go Megatron and Prime.

Optimus knew this was a possibility… but he hoped that deep down she wouldn’t leave.

Buddy turns to Team Prime and begins to give each one of them a long hug.

“This isn’t our last goodbye. We’ll meet again I’m sure of it.”--Buddy

Buddy hugs the kids with light tears slowly moving down her face as Miko sobs close to her spark chamber.

“You better come and visit us.”—Miko

Buddy hugs a bit tighter.

“I’ll come and visit you guys. I’m not going to leave forever. It’s just…”--Buddy

“You deserve it, Buddy.”--Ratchet

Buddy looks over at Ratchet a bit in disbelief.

Buddy puts the kids down and moves to the older mech hugging him dearly.

“After everything, I probably would have gone too.”--Ratchet

“Oh Ratchet…”--Buddy

Another set of arms envelops the two.

Optimus is now hugging them.

Buddy reaches for him too.

They stay like that for a bit before Buddy lets go and gets set on the ground.

She walks over to Megatron and grabs his servo.

Buddy looks back with a teary smile.

“Thank you all for everything.”--Buddy

Team Prime waves good-bye as the two bots walk into the portal.

On the Lost Light…

Buddy and Megatron walk out as the portal close.

The crew takes a moment to understand that Buddy was with them.

That could only mean…

“BUDDY!”--Tailgate

Tailgate runs over and hugs Buddy.

Buddy hugs back as everyone else comes over.

Whirl snatches Buddy up.

“I guess that means you’re stuck with us now, huh?”—Whirl

Buddy wipes a happy tear from her optic smiling.

“Yep. Your stuck with me now.”--Buddy

Whirl pats Buddy on the helm as she looks over at Megatron.

He still has his servo in hers, still smiling.

Many of the Lost Lighters were overjoyed to keep Buddy with them.

There is a celebration at Swerve’s for Buddy officially joining the crew.

It lasts for a couple of days.

There was a lot of laughter and tears shared.

Buddy had never felt so loved as at that moment.

A bit later Buddy heads off to the med bay with Ratchet.

Since she was going to be staying permanently in a different universe, they wanted to make sure that Buddy’s frame could stand the adjustment.

Thankfully all scans prove that it was possible for Buddy to stay in this universe, with some framing modifications and internal work done, it was entirely possible.

The next few days are filled with Buddy going in and out of the labs and med bay.

The crew is giving their support in any way they can.

Megatron is by her side whenever he can.

Thankfully it’s more time since Rodimus and Magnus agreed to let him take some time to be with her.

There is another celebration at Swerve’s when Buddy comes in with their new frame.

Whirl twitching his claws.

“Urgh! When is Buddy coming? It’s been ages already!”--Whirl

“We need to be patient Whirl; Buddy is already trying her hardest to adapt to everything on the ship. We can’t rush everything.”--Rung

“That still doesn’t explain why she’s—”--Whirl

Buddy walks into Swerve’s with her new frame with Megatron and Ratchet by her side.

“Hi… how do I look?”--Buddy

Skids comes by and pats Buddy on the back.

“Looking sharp Buddy!”--Skids

Rodimus places her a Rodimus star for ‘Being the best Buddy’.

Many more crew members come over to see the new frame design.

But it’s not all fun and games.

Buddy gets her own habsuite a little away from Megatron’s.

He lost count of the number of times he had nearly torn down the door when she woke up screaming.

Ravage now sleeps close to Buddy offering comfort from the nightmares.

Buddy takes full advantage of the fact that Rung is willing to see her, not that he would turn her down.

Eventually she feels more comfortable talking with the others about more detailed things about her life in the other universe and what happened on the day she was taken.

“He suddenly started calling me Orion… I tried—tried to tell him it was me…sometimes he would stop for a bit…other times it made him—made him…”--Buddy

Nautica and Velocity sandwich Buddy in a hug as ore tears and hiccups come out.

“Thank you for sharing Buddy. We know this isn’t easy for you to talk about this.”--Rung

Buddy takes a shaky vent and nods.

“I can continue… just give me a nanoclick.”--Buddy

“Take as much time as you need.”—Velocity

Nautica carefully wipes a tear from Buddy’s face.

“We’re here for you.”--Nautica

Many bots offer their support creating a strong support system.

For example…

The minibots extend a servo to bring Buddy into the minibot’s only nights.

Whirl and some other bots create the Buddy protection squad.

Rewind and some other bots offer to fill in on facts and history about this universe.

Magnus nearly cried when he heard Buddy recite a passage in the Autobot code by memory.

Buddy tries to find her place on the ship too.

No longer in command of an army or being Prime’s niece, she had to make a name for herself from scratch.

As it turned out, Buddy took a lot of interest in Rewind’s line of work as an archivist.

“Wait so you’re telling me he just jumped from the roof onto the flyier? Where? Why?!”--Buddy

Rewind shrugs.

“Domey said once that he liked being on the rooftops and would jump, literally, into action when it was needed.”--Rewind

“…Please tell me you have some footage of that.”--Buddy

“…Give me a few minutes.”--Rewind

Other bots are not jealous nope, not at all.

Brainstorm and Perceptor are able to recreate a device to send anyone to Buddy’s original dimension after a couple of months.

But Buddy isn’t touching that thing.

Not just yet.

Not for a while.

Someday… but not today…   

[i-drink-and-i-write-fics]

Peredhel

Erestor Peredhel x Samantha Johnson (OFC) - Unknown Chapters

Work Summary: Sam is a modern world woman that finds herself in Middle Earth with no way home. So she makes the best of her situation and becomes a cook for Rohan before traveling around Middle Earth for a few years to learn more about the food. She returns to Rohan days before a farewell party is being held for Lord Elrond before he parts for Valinor, where she meets Erestor. Who has been debating his own fate.

Sam Johnson’s Bio

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Chapter 1: Home Sweet Home

Summary: After a few years of traveling around Middle Earth to learn of food and culture, Samantha Johnson returns to Edoras. Her long-time friend, Eomer, reveals how much has changed.

Notes: My NaNoWriMo project!

Sam is from the modern world, but in her universe, LoTR doesn’t exist so she’s like Jon Snow: she knows nothing lol!

I know I was going to do a celebrity faceclaim, but none of them looked as good once I put the long elf hair on. Picture whom you want for Erestor.

Divider by @firefly-graphics​

Edoras. The capital of Rohan, where the Riders of Rohan gather to serve their king and protect the people. The first home Sam had known since entering Middle Earth.

Sam rode up to the gates that were actually closed for the first time since she had called this place home. Rumors and stories had spread across the land of a devastating battle at Helm’s Deep, an attack on Gondor, and of an army marching on Mordor. Hopefully, Sam could get some answers.

“Who goes there?” A voice called out from the top of the city walls.

Sam raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, “It’s me, Sam! Please inform King Theoden of my return.”

Silence greeted this statement before the city gates slowly opened. Sam watched them for a moment before riding through the city and up the hill to the keep. As she pulled in front of the stairway that lead up to the House of Theoden, Eomer came strolling out, a large smile on his friendly face.

“Sam! It has been far too long, my lady!”

“That it has, old friend,” Sam dismounted her ride before allowing Eomer to crush her in a hug. “I see not much has changed since my departure. Though, hopefully, King Theoden has come to his senses about keeping Grima around.”

At the mention of Theoden’s name, Eomer became somber. “I have forgotten you were not around for the major changes in Middle Earth. Please, come inside so that we can regale each other with our stories.”

Sam worried about Eomer’s tone. “Somehow I believe your story may be more interesting than my own.”

They passed through the large doors into the keep as they talked and Sam was instantly tackled around the waist. Blonde hair blocked her vision and she began to giggle.

“I never would have picked you to be one to drop the formalities just to tackle someone with a hug.”

Eowyn pulled back to smile at her friend. “It is far too exciting to see you once again. Alive and well!”

Sam looked up and saw a handsome man with dirty blonde hair and a beard smiling at the exchange. “Oh, you have company!”

“Oh!” Eowyn blushed as she looked over her shoulder at the young man. “Yes, this is Faramir. His father had been the Steward of Gondor.”

Sam bowed her head as the man walked up. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“The feeling is mutual. I have heard so much from Eowyn and Eomer about your adventures together when you lived here. Is it true you are not from Middle Earth?”

“Faramir!” Eowyn chastised.

“It’s ok. Really. I stopped being homesick after the first few years. Yes, I’m not from Middle Earth. I’m from...well, it’s really hard to explain. But long story short, Gandalf has concluded I’m here to stay. And so I’ve made a great home here in Edoras.”

“Perhaps you will share your store at the feast if you are comfortable,” Faramir smiled.

Sam’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Feast?”

Eomer cleared his throat. “Lord Elrond and his house will be here by week’s end. King Aragorn wanted to have one final feast for his kin before they sailed west for Valinor. They wished for a more intimate space so we have offered our keep.”

“Oh! Well, then I better get settled and head towards the kitchen. Is Evelyn still working?”

“Yes!” Came Eowyn’s excited cry. “She’ll be so happy to see you. Let me lead you there.”

Sam laughed. “Ok, ok, but let me greet your uncle first. I can only imagine how hurt he would be if I did not say hello.”

The room became solemn, and Sam instantly knew something was wrong.

“The stories are correct, aren’t they?  The battle at Gondor. The unnatural orcs running around. A huge war at the Black Gates.”

Eomer sighed. “Yes, they are all true. A small group left Rivendell a few years ago with the purpose of destroying a very powerful ring. Sauron’s ring. They were successful, but many were lost. Including our Uncle during the battle at Minas Tirith.”

“Oh my God,” Sam instantly gathered Eomer and Eowyn in a tight hug. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Eowyn sniffed in Sam’s ear, trying to keep back the tears even though it had been a few years. “Now, let us get you to the kitchen. You can show us all that you have learned on your travels.”

As the two women walked down the hall, Sam glanced back towards Faramir’s direction. “So is that why the son of the Steward of Gondor is here? For the Elf party? And Gondor has a king now?”

Eowyn gave Sam a small smile. “No. Faramir is the Steward of Gondor now. His father died during the Siege of Minas Tirith and his older brother was killed by orcs as he was trying to protect the hobbits in the Fellowship.”

“The Fellowship? Yeah, we definitely have a ton to catch up on.”

Eowyn gave a bigger smile at that. “We certainly do! I wish to hear all about your travels and to the different lands you visited. Which were your favorite?”

Sam laughed. “That’s a tough question. While I loved the people of Dale, I have to say the food was amazing at the Grey Havens. So many different cultures mixing to create a unique concept of food. Though, I will say no one makes comfort food like the Shire. Even if they are a bit wary of outsiders.”

“Did you dare venture into Mirkwood?”

“Didn’t have to. While I was in Dale, I ran into the Captain of King Thranduil’s guard, Feren. He was impressed with my cooking and asked if I would show the staff back in Eryn Galen a few things.”

Eowyn’s eyes grew wide. “I did not think King Thranduil allowed outsiders to touch his food.”

“Oh, I doubt he ate anything I made while I was there. Hell, I think he forgot I was there half the time. Which wasn’t a problem for me. I was there to learn about food, not schmooze politicians.”

Eowyn blinked in confusion. “What’s schmooze?”

“Right,” Sam laughed, “I forgot I haven’t been around for a few years and some of my slang may have been forgotten. C’mon. Let’s have a refresher course while I meet the new kitchen staff.”

Back in the main hall, Eomer was trying to explain where Sam came from better for Faramir. But it was far too confusing to put into words. As Eomer tried once more, a guard came into the room and bowed.

“My King, a counselor of Lord Elrond’s has arrived.”

Eomer’s eyebrows furrowed. “So soon? We were informed Lord Elrond’s party was not arriving for another three days time.”

A very tall Elf with long, black hair, piercing grey eyes, and a serious look came strolling into the room. “Indeed, but I have come ahead of Lord Elrond at his bequest. We have heard from Mithrandir that you have a chef from another world. While I may have concerns, Lord Elrond is intrigued and wishes to see if they can make some of his favorite foods.”

“Aye, that we do. Sam is an amazing cook and I have no doubt she will be able to make anything Lord Elrond desires.”

“Sam?” The Elf wrinkled his nose. “What an unusual name.”

“She says it is short for Samantha, a common name in her world. And what is your name, if I may ask.”

“Erestor Peredhel, Chief Counselor of Lord Elrond.”

Eomer gauged the elf in front of him and wondered if he should risk bringing him to Sam, knowing very well she could be the type to speak first and think later when someone has been rude to her. And while Erestor hasn’t been rude, per se, he does have an air about him that Sam would find...off-putting as she had once worded it.

“King Eomer?” The Elf pressed.

Eomer looked towards the kitchens and then back towards the Elf. “Forgive me, Sam has just arrived back to Edoras mere moments before your arrival. I do not believe she is receiving guests at this moment but I will be glad to ask on your behalf.”

“Please do. I shall wait here.”

Chapter 2

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[mrsarnasdelicious]

Tis a Wild Universe [BMFM Fic]

Warning: Self Insert and artistic liberties!

Yes, this is probably a dead/dying fandom, but I will never let it go. So yeah … I am probably talking to a wall with this fic. Which is fine by me, as long as I can talk.

Charley’s cousin is in dire need of some help, which the bro’s are willing to provide. Especially Modo develops the feels for her. Limburger is interested in the girl for entirely other reasons, especially in using her against our Hero’s. But eventually Limburger and also the bro’s go back to Mars, taking along two human women and a few plant species to revitalize the red planet. The war wages on and it seems Throttle is finally taking his role at the helm of the ship.

Ch 1: Fins that reach far

Bring bring, bring bring. “The phone’s ringing!” Vinnie yells. “I ain’t deaf Vincent, only rather occupied.” Throttle hollers in return. “I’ll get it, I’ll get it.” Modo gets up, throwing his polishing rag over the handlebars of his bike. He walks over to the phone. “Last Chance Garage, this is Modo Maverick, what may I help you with?” The big fella is polite as ever. The man on the other end of the line asks for Charlene Davidson. “I will hand her the phone, one moment please.”

Modo walks over to Charley. “It is for you Charley ma’am.” He says. Charley wipes her hands on a rag and takes the phone from Modo.

Naturally the mice are curious, but Charley walks away from them.

“She looked sort of .. troubled. I hope it is nothing serious.” Throttle says. “We should leave her alone for a while. Let’s see what Fishlips is up to. Chi-town is unusually quiet this week.” Modo adds. “Yeah I need some action!” Vincent says. “Then we check on the big fish.” Throttle nods. “But our bikes are in .. maintenance mode.” Vinnie hangs his ears. “We’ll take the bus.” Throttle says. He dons his nukeknucks glove and lowers his shades for better vision. “Bro’s it is time for a calmer sort of rock and ride.” Modo chuckles.

But just as the mice are about to go to the door, Charley returns into the garage. She has tears in her eyes. “Charley girl!” Vinnie rushes over to her. Charley wails and presses herself against the white furred martian. Modo and Throttle come over as well. The three friends enclose their human companion, holding her while she cries. “It’s alright Charley babe.” Throttle cooes sweetly. Charley sniffles and shakes her head. “No boys, not this time.. I was just called about my sister… She passed away, along with her husband and youngest daughter.. And somehow...” Charley lets out another loud wail. “Yes, somehow?” Throttle encourages her. “Somehow my other sister wants to give full custody of my one surviving niece to … To Lawrence Limburger!” The mice can see the anger in Charley’s green eyes. “Well, now we know why the Big Cheeze was so docile the past week.” Vinnie says. “He is in England, preying on my niece.” Charley hisses.

“But what would he want with an innocent little girl?” Modo asks. “Tessa is not a little girl anymore. She’s University age now. Last time I spoke to her over skype.. That was half a year ago .. She said she did freelance translating. French, German and Latin. She ain’t stupid. But she has no idea who Limburger is. And she hates her other aunt.” Charley dries her tears. “We need to go to Colchester, ASAP.” The spice is back in her voice. “Colchester, is that in France?” Vinnie asks. “No, England. I’ll need to use my savings to book us tickets to the UK. And I’ll need to call Tessa, to let her know that we will be coming.” Charley wrings away from the martians and runs to her computer.

“We had best get packing. To the scoreboard, bro’s.” Throttle says.

~ ~ ~

The following morning, Charley and the mice have boarded the plane to the continent of Europe.

The mice are not happy. Their bikes had to stay behind in Chicago. The mice don’t like leaving their bikes behind. It feels very unsafe. But they don’t want to let Charley go on her own. Not to mention they are itching to meet Tessa.

“What happened to your sister anyway?” Throttle needs to make small talk to break the tension. “She and her husband got into a car crash. Their youngest was also in the vehicle.” Charley answers. “All the more reason to prefer bikes.” Says Modo. Throttle can’t help but chuckle a little. Vincent, however, remains silent, which is of course rather odd. “Vinnie what is the matter?” Modo asks his white furred friend. “I don’t know bro, I just feel like we won’t, ya know, blend in in Clutchester.” Vinnie replies, gazing out of his small round window. “Colchester.” Charley gently corrects.

Throttle thinks on the matter for a little bit. “Vincent has a point. The windy city has bikers enough. Colchester is very different.” He says. He exchanges a look with both Charley and Modo. Charley is thoughtful, Modo rather insecure, which the tan martian recognises by the narrowing of Modo’s sole slitten pupil. The big mouse’s tail swishes a little. Throttle nudges his tall brother in arms. “Don’t worry bro, I read that the UK is a cesspool for the strange and unique. Maybe we just fit right in.” He says. “You read?” Charley frowns at the leading mouse. “I do have to know a few things about the stage before we ride into battle. Being caught unawares is very lacking. I wasn’t Stoker’s successor for shits and giggles.” Throttle seems a bit irked by Charley’s surprise.

~ ~ ~

They take a taxi cab from the airport to a very decent looking house in Colchester. A strict looking woman is waiting on the front porch.

Charley swallows audibly. Modo takes Vinnie’s suitcase, so that Vinnie can take their terranean friend by the hand to give her confidence. Charley looks at her three friends. “That is my older sister Syl...” She muttered. “Syl does not like me, or Tessa, for that matter.” She looks like she dreads talking to her sister.

The mice get why when Syl meets them on the steps of the porch. “What did you have to sell to be able to afford four plane tickets, Charlene.” Her voice is sharp and mean. Modo’s eye lights red. This sour old hag is not allowed to insult his friend. Throttle puts a hand, with activated nukeknucks, mind you, against his chest. The amplified power is needed to hold Modo back. “Not now, big fella.” The leader whispers. “I am not here for you Sybil. I am here for Tessa.” Charley says. She is very well capable of standing up for herself. “She is inside.” Syl’s nose scrunches rather unattractively. “Then we will be there too.” Charley marches past her older sister. The mice follow her without looking at Syl a second time. Charley opens the front door. “It has been a while since I’ve been here last. They redone the place, I see.” She mumbles. “It isn’t much different from how we used to live, Save from the fact we prefer to use stone instead of wood.” Throttle comments.

Charley trails into the kitchen. Throttle and Modo put down the suitcases and the mice follow her.

Modo is last to enter the kitchen. But he stops in the door frame, frozen and dumbfounded in his tracks. He suddenly begins to understand what Vinnie finds so interesting about Charley. The girl standing at the counter makes all of his thoughts fade out. He’s never felt like stopping in his tracks for another individual before. Of course stopping for someone in need or in order not to drive someone over is entirely different. Modo thinks to himself that this must be how Throttle felt when he first saw Carbine.

They had only just graduated the academy, Throttle with flying collars, Vinnie only barely. They had been as old as 17. And the war with Plutark had only just been admitted to be true. It was before Stoker had grounded the Freedom Fighters. It was before Mars was sold. They were young and sick of practising their aim on sandraiders. They joined the army. At the same time as a certain Carbine Canonball. She was spicey and perky. Modo was polite and Vinnie showie, as usual. But Throttle, usually so cool and collected, looked like he had his foot in his mouth. He was awestruck and dumbfounded and so was Carbine.

The young woman is short and gently curved. Her hair is red as the fur of a fox. Her pale face is littered with freckles, even on her lips and the lids of her eyes. She wears a skinny black, torn up jeans, a green tanktop and a white hoody. Her ears are pierced in multiple places and her bottom lip once. She wears a necklace with a wolfhead pendant. She looks up at Modo. His heart sinks into his boots. Her eyes are unbelievably blue.

“H-hello, ma’am.” Modo sputters. She approaches him with the elegance of a panther. There is an unfamiliar tightening in Modo’s trousers. His cheeks heat up and he thanks all his lucky stars that he has fur to cover it up. “Hello sir, my name is Tessa Lockheart.” She extends her hand for him to shake. Instead Modo decides to use his good hand to bring hers up in order to kiss her knuckles. ”My name is Maverick, Modo Maverick.” He tries to sound as sultry as he can.

Charley rolls her eyes. “He watches too much James Bomb.” She says. Tessa giggles softly. “I think it is kinda cute.” She says softly. “Just wait until the helmet comes off. She’ll know I am muuuch cuter.” Vinnie says. Without an ounce of hesitation, Modo removes his helmet. Throttle and Vinnie follow suit. Tessa is shocked, but recovers very quickly. “Miss Tessa, allow me to explain. We are the Biker Mice From Mars. Martian Cave Mice, to be precise. My name is Throttle Davidson.” The tan leader extends his hand. Tessa takes it and they shake on it. Vinnie butts Throttle aside. “Lovely to meet you sweetheart. I am the baddest motorcycle mama jama on all o’ Mars. The name is Vincent van Wham. But you can call me Uncle Vinnie.” He winks and gives Tessa a crushing hug. Charley turns red as a beet. “Green next!” Tessa giggles.

“You took our little reveal surprisingly well.” Throttle says. “This is Englands and we are an hour drive away from London, anything is possible here. Plus, I have my own … secret.” Tessa replies. “But that’ll have to wait until the old dug up banshee went to her hotel.” She seems to softly growl.

“She has a hotelroom?” Rage appears in Charley’s eyes. “She doesn’t want to be alone with me after dark. I dine and sleep in solitude.” Tessa sighs, looking disappointed. Modo’s eye lights red. “You are all alone at night?” He asks. Tessa nods, but gives him a confused look. “Easy big fella. If Limburger wanted to get to her, the old woman wouldn’t have stopped him, even at day time..” Throttle tries to soothe his friend. “Limburger … The fat man in the suit?” Tessa asks. The mice nod. “He smells like rotting dolphin tar.” She scrunches her nose adorably. “Yeah … The Big Cheeze did not invent showers.” Vinnie says. “Is he..?” Tessa is reluctant to finish that sentence. “He is our, as you could call it, Arch Nemesis. He usually wreaks havoc in Chicago. His race wiped out most of ours. He’s from Plutark. They are … fish like.” Throttle explains. He leans in to lightly tap Tessa’s forehead with his antennas. He shows her how the Plutarkians wrecked Marks. A single tear rolls down her cheek. Throttle catches it. “Such pure heart.” He says softly.

Sybil comes into the kitchen. The fact that the three mice don’t even startle her is very worrying. “Did you already find a hotel? Or are you unable to afford that?” She sneers at Charley. Tessa snarls like a wild beast. “They will stay here. Feel free to piss off to your hotel.” She bares her teeth, showing her sharp and elongated canines. Sybil backs off, her eyes wide. Tessa barks and Sybil stumbles away. “Now bugger off.” Tessa says. Sybil leaves in a hurry.

“I wonder how she met Limburger.” Throttle says thoughtfully. “And how she convinced the court a twenty year old needs a legal guardian.” Charley adds. “Both are worrying issues, but can we save it for later, I need a nap.” Vinnie stifles a jawn. “Let me show you the guest room.” Tessa says. She leads her guests to the first floor. She gestures to the large guestroom. “One queen and a fold out couch. I sleep across the hall in my parent’s room.” She says. She holds herself so strong, even when grief turns her eyes watery.

Charley hugs her niece. Both women still refuse to break. Even when the three Martians join the embrace. “It is okay to cry.” Throttle whispers.

The mice know their fair share of losing. Modo and Vinnie lost their fathers in the war. Throttle’s father is a prisoner of the Plutarkians. Modo’s brother in law, Rimfire’s dad, Rover Refton died after brutal torture at the hands of Dominic T Stilton. Vinnie’s older brother Welder is left with severe PTSD. And Throttle’s brother and sister are both lost. Nobody knows where Harley has gone and only Mother Mars knows if that rat killed Mace. Yes, the heroic trio also has scars on their soul, which influences the way they act, at times. It is true that centuries of war with the rats and the sandraiders have engraved a durability into the DNA of the Martian Cave Mice. But the war against Plutark has been taxing, even by Martian Standards.

Yes, Vinnie has always been rather hyperactive and a rush chaser. But to cope with the death of his comrades and relatives and the destruction of his brother’s mind, he’s become an outright adrenaline junky. He’ll get trembles when there is no rush to be had and has an attention span of a terranean gerbil. Modo, gentle giant he is and always has been, does his best to uphold the values his grey furred old mommah has taught him and the duty his black furred late pops has charged him with. He fights with honor and treats those around him with valor. But in his heart there is a lot of fear, insecurity and anger. His temper runs hot rather quickly. He might also be susceptible to bouts of depressive emotion. Throttle, on who’s broad shoulders rests the responsibility of the Martian liberation, also feels the burden of guilt. The guilt of leaving Mars behind to make sure Earth does not become part of the conflict. His heart is empty and insecure for his family as well as for his lady love. He might be prone to melancholy at times, but so far he is the most resilient. But none of them have ever hidden their emotions. Even though they are the manliest of martian men. Because they have been raised with the idea that their emotions are a manifestation of the sacred. And to always let them show to those closest to your heart.

But Charley and Tessa keep their tears in. Because it feels to them this is not the time yet to cry.

Charley leans into Vinnie’s chest and heaves a sigh. Tessa looks up at Throttle. He gives her a gentle nod. Tessa closes the embrace on her aunt. She is keeping it together still. Throttle gently gives her shoulder a squeeze. Tessa heaves a sigh as well. “Thank you guys. But this is just the beginning.” Charley gently lets go of the embrace. “We’ll get some rest.” She says. Throttle nods and gestures to the guest room.

Tessa leaves, heading down the stairs. “Poor girl, about to be alone in this wild universe...” Throttle open the door to the guest room. “No way bro, she’s got us.” Modo flaxes his bionic fingers, showing his agitation and determination. “Do you think what I am thinking?” Vinnie sits on the side of the bed and takes off his boots. “That you are in dire need of new socks?” Throttle pulls the lever on the side of the couch, while peering at the numerous holes in Vinnie’s socks. Vinnie snorts. “Yeah, that too … but about Lil’ Red.” He replies. “Is it Little Red already?” Charley asks. Vinnie nods. Throttle spreads a blanket over the sleeping couch and sits down to take off his boots. “Your family is ours, Charley girl. Plus, Limburger is keen to get her in his cheesy fins. Keeping her close is the best way to make sure she remains safe.” He says. Modo flicks his tail. “She will come to Chicago with us.” His voice is almost demanding. Charley looks up at him. “We will have to take Syl to court, though.” She tells him. “We will, if that is what it takes!” Modo replies. After a few hours of sleep, it is the grey mouse that awakens from his nap first. He smells roasting meat and his mouth starts to water. He slowly gets up from the couch. Throttle stirs, but doesn’t wake up. Vinnie and Charley, on the bed, notice nothing. On socked feet, in his pj bottoms, Modo leaves the room. He silently closes the door behind himself. He toes down the hall and stairs.

He finds the ground floor cloaked in silence, so deliciously devoid of Vinnie’s snoring. He smiles despite the direness of the reasons he is here. He is well aware that Tessa must be hurt, traumatized and probably scared, but he is happy to have met her and to be in her presence.

A few minutes alone with her is just what he is looking for. He finds her in the kitchen, her back turned to him. Modo tiptoes over. “How was your nap, Mr. Maverick?” Tessa asks, her voice innocent and sweet. She does not turn to him. Modo gapes at her, his jaw hanging slack. “Now now, no need to be so surprised.” Tessa giggles. Modo does his best to compose himself. “H-how did you know?” He stutters. “Chemosignals.” Tessa turns to him. “Everyone has their own scent and every emotion it’s own signals.” She has to crane her neck to be able to look at him. Modo feels flustered again. Her blue eyes just seem to suck him in, so much. His self consciousness is starting to rear its ugly head. Thoughts like I should have showered and I should leave her alone shoot through his head. He flicks his tail nervously. Tessa puts her hand on his arms. His hair stands on end, making him look rather fluffy. Tessa giggles again. “You smell nice, Modo...” She cooes, ever so sweetly. Modo has to look away from her, because he feels like he would do foolish things if he’d keep looking at her.

“Would you like something to drink?” Tessa asks him softly. Modo, who feels positively parched, especially with all the over thinking he has been doing in the few minutes he has only been in her presence. “What would you like?” She draws open the fridge. “Got any root beer?” Modo sits down at the kitchen table. “No, I am sorry...” Tessa shakes her head. “I have actual beer, though, and wine. I also have cider, cola, ginger ale and cream soda.” She says. Modo tries to hide his disappointment, but his ears start to hang. “I’ll have cream soda… Never had that before.” He mumbles. Tessa nods and pours him a glass. “Enjoy luv.” She cooes. Modo feels his heart skip a beat.

Throttle is downstairs after a little while too. He’s taken the time to put his trousers back on, but didn’t feel like wearing his vest. He’s bunning up his hair as he walks into the kitchen. “There you are big fella.” He puts his hands on Modo’s shoulders. Modo looks up at him. “Missed me?” He asks teasingly. “Of course, I will always miss the brethren I ride with, when they are not in sight.” Throttle takes the chair beside his grey furred friend. “So, what is cooking, good looking?” He says, good natured. “Stew.” Tessa answers, pouring Throttle a glass of cream soda too. “I can only hope she is as good a cook as your ma, Modo.” Throttle grins and takes the cream soda from Tessa. “Thank you Tessa girl, so sweet.” He says gently. Tessa smiles softly. “Yeah, my grey furred ol’ mommah’s cooking, now there is somethin’ I miss.” Modo sighs softly.

Vinnie and Charley come down as well. “What does my beady little nose smell!” Vinnie singsongs. “Tessa’s specialty.” Charley replies. “Specialty huh, I am eager for a taste.” Vinnie jogs over to the stove, lifting the lid off of the pan. Hot steam hits him right in the face, causing his face mask to haze over. “Ouch.” He slams the lid back onto the pan. “Be careful you.” Charley gives him a little yank on his tail. “Hey, careful with the merchandise, sweetheart.” Vinnie whines.

“Come on you two, sit down, let me do the work.” Tessa says. “You are my guests after all.” She nudges Charley towards a chair. Her aunt sighs and plops down. Vinnie sits in the chair beside her. “Wine?” Tessa asks Charley. Charley nods. Tessa pours her a glass of sweet red and Vinnie a glass of cream soda. “Shouldn’t you get yourself something to drink too?” Modo asks. “I have tea.” Tessa sits down at the table, a warm mug with fragrant tea. Throttle heaves his glass. “To Mars, bro’s.” He hollers. “To Mars!” Modo and Vinnie echoes. They clang their glasses together and upend the contents into their mouth. Vinnie belches loudly. Modo belches louder. Immediately after he realizes that wasn’t the most gentlemanly thing to do in front of Tessa. “Pardon me ma’am.” He says, hanging his ears a little. Tessa pats his good hand. “Better in than out.” She cooes. “Still not very polite.” Throttle teases. “Like you never do it bro. Even around Carbine!” Vinnie objects. “Yeah, but I’ve known Carbine for about 9 years now, Vincent.” Throttle points out. “So?” Vinnie seems to miss the point. “We have only just met Tessa, we need to give her the chance to think we are gentlemen.” Throttle says. Tessa has to smile gently at that.

Dinner is served in painted bowls. Charley admires the Egyptian looking motive. “Brand new, ma bought them a week ago.” Tessa says with a sigh. She struggles lifting the large pan from the stove. Modo gets up. “Let me help you.” He grabs the pan as if it weighs little more than a feather and sets it down on the table. “Thank you, Modo.” Tessa says sweetly. She grabs a ladle and gives everyone a bowl full of rich smelling stew. “Eat up, sweetlings.” Tessa says sweetly. “Oh you bet.” Throttle picks up his spoon and scoops himself up a big mouthful. He takes his time to taste. Modo and Vinnie peer at him intently. “Just like yer ma’s cookin bro.” Is Throttle’s verdict. Only then Modo and Vinnie dig in as well. “Oh mommah, you’re right Throttle, this is like my grey furred old ma’s cookin.” Modo praises. Tessa flusters a little and smiles.

For a while all three mice are silent, just enjoying the stew. Charley and Tessa neither feel the need to say anything. That is, until Tessa clears her throat. “It is time I reveal my true self now.” She says. She has the attention at once. Throttle puts his bowl down and Vinnie’s fork clatters onto the table. Modo folds his good hand over his bionic one and gives her his undivided attention. “Tell us whatever you feel we should know.” He says. Tessa nods and heaves a deep sight.

“You had your own little reveal and now I shall have mine. I hope I am not too monstrous.” She says. “I am sure you won’t be.” Throttle gives her a crooked smile. Tessa gives the three mice and her aunt a hesitant look, but then seems to take heart. Her eyes turn from blue to red, her hands turn to long nailed claws and her teeth grow longer and sharp. With a jolt she gets up, her chair tumbling backwards. The mice startle when they hear a loud snap,as if someone breaks a bone in two. Tessa is hunched over. Her ears are growing pointed and there is foxy red fur on his arms, and white on her chest.

Vinnie and Charley gape at her. Throttle has his fists clenched with tension and Modo rises. “T-Tessa...” He reaches out, but she backs off. The snapping sound returns and Tessa’s back straightens out. Her fur fades away and her facial features return to normal. She turns her blue eyed gaze to Modo. His heart skips a few beats in relief. “Are you alright?” He asks. “Yes, don’t worry about me.” She puts a hand on his arm to reassure him. But it only makes his heart leap faster. Tessa notices it and back off, picking up her chair and sitting back down. Modo sits down as well.

“And what do we call this?” Throttle asks calmly. “Loup Garou, Homos Lupus, Werewolf. Whatever you want. Here in the UK we are mostly named Lyco’s, Lycan’s or Lycantropes. Many consider Lyco a slur, but I don’t mind.” Tessa replies. “I thought werewolves only excited on tv.” Vinnie says. “Just like Aliens, perhaps?” Tessa asks teasingly. “Y-yeah… point for you.” Vinnie mumbles.

Tessa clears away the dishes. Modo picks up the pan and puts it back on the stove. “Need any help?” He asks. “No, not at all, sit down, I’ll make you all coffee.” Tessa shakes her head, her red locks dancing on her shoulders. “Alright, Vinnie drinks decaf.” Modo says. He wanders from the kitchen to the living. He flops down in the large armchair by the fireplace, looking as if he is lord of the house.

“So, what is the plan for now?” Vinnie asks, looking at Throttle. “Tomorrow we scout out Limburger and try to talk to Tessa’s aunt. If that does not work we have to set up a lawsuit ASAP. I will have to study on the laws of this country a little bit.” Throttle replies. “We have to get Tessa away from Limburgers sleazy fins as soon as we can and if need be, we get restraining orders for him and her other aunt.” Modo adds. “Hmm don’t rush into it too hard bro, we just need to make sure Tessa can be her own person, without Limburger as her legal guardian.” Throttle says. Charley nods. “Throttle is right. I don’t have money to do all sort of weird stunts in court, we just need to make sure Tessa is safe.” She tells the mice. “And then Tessa sells the house and comes to Chi-town.” Modo says.

He, in his distracted curiosity pulls a lever on the side of the couch. A foot rest flops out of the chair and the backrest tilts down. “Ah, a mouse could get used to this.” Modo chuckles and gets comfortable.

Tessa comes into the living room with two mugs of tea and three cups of coffee. She puts down the tray and hands her aunt a cup of tea. “PG tip for me aunt.” She cooes. “Ah thank you Tessa.” Charley smiles. “Decaf for me future uncle.” Tessa hands Vinnie a mug of coffee. “Hey, who said I wanted decaf?” Vinnie whines. “Bro, we don’t want to put up with you hyperactive ass all week.” Throttle says. Vinnie groans and drops six sugarcubes in his coffee, stirring profusely. Tessa hands Throttle a mug and walks to Modo to hand him the last one. “I see you have found my father’s chair.” She cooes. Modo jumps up as if he’s been sitting on a hedgehog. “I’m s-sorry Ta-Tessa ma’am. I meant no disrespect.” He says. Tessa clutches the mug of coffee and is very glad he hadn’t taken it from her yet. “It’s fine luv, sit down.” She says softly. Modo slowly takes his spot in the chair again. Tessa sits on the armrest and hands him his coffee. “My father was a large man as well. I have my Lycantropia from him. He was very strong and a good man. I’ve always aspired to be like him. You fill his chair out well.” There is something sentimental in Tessa’s eyes that makes Modo weak.

“We know the feeling, we all aspire to be like our old men in some way.” Throttle says. “Our fathers were all great warrior in their own respect, with heart for the cause and they all perished… Safe for mine. Mine is a prisoner of war.” He tells. “I am so sorry for all three of you. I wish there is something I can do for you.” Tessa says softly. “For our fathers it is too late, Tessa girl, we are here because you need us. We are here to make sure Limburger doesn’t get to you. We are grateful to stay under your roof and eat at your table. And we can only hope this doesn’t take too long.” Throttle replies, a kind smile on his face. Tessa sits beside her aunt on the couch and focuses on her cup of tea. She is silent for the most part. She is sad, the mice understand. But they also know not to pry.

“I’m heading to bed. Good night.” Tessa says. She hugs Charley and gets up. “Sleep well sweetie.” Charley says. “Yeah sweet dreams, sweetheart.” Vinnie pulls Tessa into another bone crushing hug. Tessa wriggles free. Throttle gets up for a fatherly kiss on the girl’s forehead. Tessa giggles and pats him on the chest. “Tell us if you need anything.” Throttle says. “I will.” Tessa says. She bends down to give Modo a kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight.” Modo mumbles, feeling how his entire face heats up. “Thank you.” Tessa smiles weakly and heads upstairs.

The mice sit around for a little while longer, but only for half an hour or so. Charley nods off against Vinnie. He picks her up and heads to the guest room. “We’d best go to bed too, big fella. tomorrow will be a taxing day, if things will go the way I suspect them to.” Throttle rises to his feet. “Yeah, I suppose you are right.” Modo gets up as well. Together they head up the stairs.

By the door of the master bedroom, Throttle halts.

“Do you hear that, only now that she is alone she’ll show her emotions...” He mumbles.

Modo peers at the door to the master bedroom. “Go to her big fella. I know what you feel. I have felt it too, with Carbine. I still feel it for her. But I suppose terranians need more time to catch the vibe.” Throttle places a hand on Modo’s shoulder. “Let her know she can rely on on you big fella.” He says. Modo nods and puts his hand on the master bedroom doorknob. Throttle enters the guest room.

“Tessa?” Modo knocks the door. There is no answer. He twists the doorknob and opens the door. He finds Tessa on her bed, still dressed. He goes over, sitting on the edge of the mattress. Slowly he reaches out his good hand to gently stroke her hair. Tessa turns to him, looking at him. Her face is wet with tears and she sobs softly. Modo gently strokes her cheek. “It’s okay to cry.” He rumbles softly. Tessa whines like a kicked puppy. She crawls into his lap. Modo puts his arm around her. She curls into him and sobs heartbreakingly. “See, there it is, let it out.” He says softly.

“T-thank you Modo.” Tessa mumbles. “It is quite alright baby.” Modo replies. Tessa giggles softly. “I do feel like a baby in your arms.” She whispers. “I’ll keep you safe, I promise.” Modo runs his bionic fingers through her hair. Tessa shivers at how cold the digits are and gooseflesh rises on her arms. Modo immediately removes his hand. “Don’t stop.” Tessa whines. “S-sorry.” Modo resumes the motion.

Slowly Tessa nods off. Modo gently tucks her in and toes out of the master bedroom. He goes into the guestroom. Vinnie is already sleeping, his arms around Charley, who peers over his shoulder to look at Modo. Throttle is seated in the windowcill, looking at the night sky as if he peers up at Mars. “How is she?” He asked softly. “Asleep, but very sad.” Modo sits on the edge of the sleeping couch. “We better get some shut eye too bro.” Throttle comes over to the sleeping couch as well.

[everlarkficexchange]

Not today

Written by: @emilia206

Prompt 4: Trope: Jealousy Katniss. Modern AU Katniss Everdeen sees his ex boyfriend as the date of one of her coworkers in the company party. She shouldn’t care, because she broke with him, one year ago and still…. when their song plays, against her better judgements, she finds herself dancing with him. [submitted by @alwayseverlark] 

Rating: Mature

Word count: 8062

British lingo you might be unaware of:

A-Level’s - Last form of examination before students go off to university. 

Ladbrokes - betting shop

Tesco - food store

(If I left anything out, let me know)

A/N: Thank you to my wonderful beta @melting-starlight, on ao3 she’s Starlight_Wren.

Forlorn, she stares down at her lager, it’s the first moment of quiet she’s had since she entered the pub. Plutarch had been the first to drag her away, talking about everything from what his lunch was like to how much the station was missing her shows. She had only been able to nod and smile, making agreeable noises at the appropriate times, but otherwise letting all of his words wash over her. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, Plutarch had bustled off through the crowd to go talk to another unsuspecting colleague. She had tried to crane her neck over the other patrons’ head, to see if she could spot either Johanna or Annie, the only reason she had relented and come to this thing. But before she could make any discernible recognition, Fulvia, Plutarch’s right hand woman, had sidled up behind her, saying that they simply must ‘catch up’. Ever straight to the point though, she had skipped pleasantries and gone right to the heart of the matter. What had she been doing this past year? 

The answer was a pretty simple one, but for some reason that escaped Katniss, it needed lots of explanation. She had spent close to forty-five minutes getting her brain picked apart. Trying, to no avail, to explain to the silly woman the exact reason she had uprooted her and left everything behind to travel all over the globe. Meeting new people, not many, but some. Enough people, Katniss thought. At first, there hadn’t really been a point in it, other than she had to get away from the shit show that was her life. Five years she’d worked at that stupid radio station, blathering on about meaningless things that made her mind fog up with the mundanity of it all. And all she had gotten out of it was a small damp flat in the north of London, with expensive bills and an insufferable landlord. Five years of only seeing her little sister once, twice if she was lucky, a year. Five years of shattered dreams and a dead end job. And still, this woman could not understand why she would want to leave. Of course Katniss never said any of this to Fulvia, but it had been swimming around her head throughout the entirety of the conversation. Instead, she had given watered down reasons and held her tongue as Fulvia had gone on to say, “But what about that boyfriend of yours? I remember him being so supportive…” 

She didn’t want to get into that, how she had left him behind. It had been a year and the wound that it had inflicted still ran too deep, was too painful to get into. Especially with nosy, judgy Fulvia. So, she had politely excused herself from the conversation, taking to the bar and ordering herself an overpriced pint. Fantastic. It wasn’t like she was strapped for cash or anything. 

Having given up on searching for Annie and Johanna at this nightmarish reunion, she had found herself a quiet corner in the buzzing room, sitting on a lumpy sofa and setting her drink down on an aged wooden table that had ring marks on the surface from drinks overspilling. It wasn’t often that she thought about Peeta, having long since trained her mind to immediately turn and run in the other direction if any thoughts began leading her down that painful path. But now, with Fulvia bringing him up, and being surrounded by people who had all been privy to their relationship, it was only inevitable that she should think of him. Specifically, the last time she had seen him.

 —————————–

His face had closed off, completely shuttering all emotions that would otherwise flick across his face. And still, as he stood, staring blankly at her, she continued talking. Trying to explain herself, explain why she just had to leave.

“Please Peeta, believe me when I say it isn’t you,” she whispered, “I just feel so trapped in my own life, and I feel as if I don’t leave now, I never will get anywhere.”

“What about us?” he replied, tone blank and neutral, but still betraying the underlying anger and confusion.

She shook her head sadly, tears falling unbidden from her eyes. Desperately wanting him to hold her and tell her it would be alright, but needing him to stay well away from her so that she could do this. Finish this, clean and precise as Johanna had told her to do it. 

“Right,” Peeta said, voice hollow.

They stood there, silence engulfing the little flat. It was never silent in there, the generators downstairs always humming, her boiler constantly gurgling away, but it seemed even these held their breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“I think you should leave now,” Katniss said to her feet, not daring to look up at his face. 

She stood in her kitchen, stock still, as if any movement from her would cause her to break and shatter on the linoleum tiles of the floor. She listened as Peeta collected his toothbrush and spare clothes. Katniss flinched at the sense of finality she felt when the door banged shut.

 ————————-

Their break-up had been anything but clean and precise, and it wasn’t a wonder considering that Katniss had been at the helm of it. It was ironic, really, that for five years, her income had depended on her being able to talk for hours about nonsensical things, always upbeat and on the ball for the listeners chiming in, but when it came to her own boyfriend, she hadn’t been able to get the words out right. She had made him think that it was him that was suffocating her, when in actuality it was everything. She was pushing thirty and already she could feel herself stagnating. 

She wished that she could do it again, try not to make such a mess of it as she had done. How could she have known, though, the profound affect it seemed to have had on Peeta? He had always been so supportive of her decisions, only asking that she open up to him and be honest. Of course she hadn’t expected him to be completely OK with her decision, but she had been hoping that he would at least understand her reasoning. Instead, he had been angry and confused, perhaps even rightfully so, before he had completely shut down becoming cold and distant in the moments prior to him slamming out of her little home.

“Penny for your thoughts?” a perky voice said next to her, pulling Katniss out of her reverie. 

Looking up, Katniss couldn’t help but smile at the big brown eyes that were peering down at her. Rue. Her intern from a year ago. She didn’t look much different,  just a little older and worse for wear. But that’s what this job did to you, lured you in with promises of bigger and better ahead, before getting you trapped and very much stuck. 

“You don’t want to know,” Katniss replied, shuffling over and making space for the young woman.

“Oh, and why’s that?” Rue asked, her lips quirked upwards in a smile.

“Neither thinking, nor talking about it will solve a thing,” she mumbled down at her glass before taking a prolonged drink from it. She reveled in the fizz and slightly bitter taste as it washed down her throat. 

“Well, if you’re gonna be all closed off to me, your favourite intern, I’ll let you in on all of my issues to date,” Rue said, taking a sip from her own glass.

Katniss smirked. It was true that Rue was her favourite intern, but that wasn’t exactly a feat. Most interns that Katniss had been given the responsibility of taking care of had been so awful that they were fired within their first two weeks of working at the station. 

“So, remember how you warned me before you left, that this job ‘will suck me dry of all inspiration and motivation’ whilst also ‘dashing my dreams and love for the craft’ but not before ‘restricting what me on what I can talk about, and instead giving me stupid shows that will make me want to die’?” Rue paused, taking a drink from her pint.

“Yes, I do recall telling you all of those things, I assume you’ve come to the conclusion that I was correct and that you should have saved yourself while you could,” Katniss said, trying not to gloat at the fact that she was at least right about something, and it wasn’t just her overreacting and being dramatic.

 Rue nodded her head vigorously, her corkscrew curls bouncing, “Well, I’ll be honest. At the time, I thought you were just being dramatic, or maybe you were bitter about something, but you really were so right. I can’t get anyone to take me seriously or invest in any bigger show ideas, or get them to take on or promote more obscure artists. The sponsors continuously overlook me so that they can pour more money into presenters who have a body to boot. Even though that shouldn’t matter, ‘cause we’re on a fucking radio, nobody is looking at the face or body behind the voice anyway!”

 “And as soon as I try to get Plutarch or Fulvia to give me a recommendation so that I can move to something a little more low key and less industrious, they tell me that I shouldn’t leave, that I have so much potential, and that it would be such a waste for me to go do something less mainstream, because how will I ever be recognised then?” Rue finished with a defeated groan, flopping back against the leather cushions. 

Looking up at the ceiling, Rue asked, “How’d you get out? I mean for me, it’s just an endless cycle of early mornings, playing music that makes my ears bleed, and frustration that after all my hard work, I’ve just become another peppy girl on the radio.”

Katniss snorted at this, “Depressing, isn’t it? After all the analysing of different styles of music and poetry, it amounted to this.”

“Fuucckk,” Rue groaned at the ceiling fans, “It’s depressing because it’s so painfully true. Do you know how many hours I spent holed up in my room studying for my Music and English A-Levels just so I could at least get a seven, and now I’m stuck here.”

Katniss nodded her head, “Only ‘cause I did the same thing though. What were we thinking?”

“Ugh, I know! My mum told me that this was an ‘unsustainable career path’. I hate to say it, but I think she may have had a point.”

A crash came from the other side of the room, effectively interrupting their mutual venting session, a clattering of glasses fell to the floor and shattered, causing both Katniss and Rue to jump before turning around to see what happened. A flustered waiter apologised profusely to a skimpy blonde who looked upon him with narrowed green eyes, and a stain that looked an awful lot like red wine spilled on her yellow dress. The few people who had been applauding the waiters slip up began to slow their claps when they realised that the unfortunate woman who now had a stain across the front of her dress, was not taking it on the chin as it were. In fact, she looked like she was a few seconds from throwing a fit.

“Oof, would not want to be that guy,” Rue remarked, “Glimmer looks about ready to go get his ass fired.”

Katniss turned to look at Rue, who was leaning her chin on the back of the sofa, “How’d you know her name?”

Rue made a face, “She’s a presenter at the radio station, she does the show that Annie used to do.” 

“Shit, really,” Katniss said, blowing air through her teeth to make a low whistling sound. “That show was one of the more popular ones.”

“Still is. Rumour has it that the company hired her to replace Annie, who was making noises to leave, so they sent her Glimmer as an intern. Annie left a week later, claiming that the work environment had become insufferable.”

Katniss had turned back to watch as the waiter bent to pick up the broken glass, whilst so-called Glimmer rolled her eyes impatiently at another waiter who was handing her paper towels to try wipe up the mess on her dress. While watching, Katniss listened intently to what Rue was saying, “People weren’t surprised when she quit. Glimmer is quite literally the epitome of a toxic work environment.”

“Oh well, this just makes me all the more glad that I left,” Katniss said. Annie had emailed her when she’d quit, but hadn’t given a reason why. At the time, Katniss had just assumed it was because both Johanna and herself had already left, but this must have been the breaking point for her. 

“Oh, she’s not even the worst of it,” Rue said, a cynical smile touching her lips as they watched another woman with jet black hair and pinched features walk up to Glimmer, she took the paper towels from the waitress and threw them down to the floor, yelling something unintelligible, “That’s Clove. As you can see, she’s got quite a temper on her. She’s the one who replaced Johanna as DJ. The two of them together are quite… formidable.”

Katniss turned in her seat to grab her drink from the table so she could drink and watch this scene unfold in front of her. She would be lying if she said that it wasn’t just a teeny bit entertaining. Taking a sip from her mellowing beer, she almost choked when she saw who was joining the show. Blond ashen curls, broad shoulders, and a slight limp from a rugby injury that had never quite healed. It was Peeta. Her Peeta, consoling this shallow, pitiful, blonde bimbo. 

She could feel Rue’s eyes on her, watching for a reaction. Katniss swallowed painfully, oblivious to the taste, eyes glued to what was happening in front of her very eyes. Maybe it wasn’t him. It couldn’t possibly be him. There was no way, absolutely no fucking way, that the Peeta Mellark that she had known all throughout secondary school, was even remotely affiliated with such a cow. Deep down, Katniss knew that she was possibly being a little harsh, but jealousy, lots of it, was rearing its ugly green head, skewing her opinions.

“Yeah, and then there’s that,” Rue uttered, “reason number fuck knows what as to why I ‘strongly dislike’ Glimmer.”

Katniss breathed deeply, shoving down the irrational, possessive anger that was overcoming her. She cleared her throat, which had become exceptionally tight in the last two minutes, “Are they… an item?”

“I wouldn’t say so,” Rue said, turning around to face the other way again, “as far as I know, they’re just fuck buddies. Who knows, though, maybe he does the wine and dining as well.”

Katniss, following suit, also turned around, sitting stoically, and taking slow sips from her sweating drink. “So he’s fucking her.”

Rue nodded, sighing a little as she did so, “I know it might not be my place to comment-”

“It probably isn’t then,” Katniss interrupted, wanting very much to go back to her hotel room now.

  “But,” Rue continued, “you were really fucking dense to let that man walk away from you. I have no idea what happened between the two of you, but even I can appreciate that ass, and oh my god those shoulders,” she pretended to fan herself, before turning incredulous, “and he’s not even my type.”

Katniss snorted at this, turning around for a quick second, to survey the specimen that was now patting down an incensed Glimmer. She couldn’t deny that he still looked sexy as fuck. He definitely seemed to have fared this year a little better than her. Turning back around, she looked down at what she was wearing. A simple dress that she’d bought from a charity shop when she was sixteen, it was light blue and the material was soft and light, perfect for the humid weather that London summers were, but it did look as if it might be on its last legs. Her hair was loose for once, and hung in ebony waves down her back, but otherwise she hadn’t made much of an effort, as could be seen by her scruffy trainers and mismatched socks. She didn’t need to impress these people anyway. 

“Yeah, stupid indeed,” Katniss muttered. 

They sat there then, silence washing over them, until the unmistakable sound of a speaker system being plugged in echoed throughout the crowded room. Katniss looked up to see her friend climbing up onto the bar, a little wobbly on her feet, but her voice was commanding no less.

“Alrighty, I’ve been asked to do a little set tonight, but because I forgot to set up a good playlist that will please all of you old folk, I’ll be taking requests,” she made to get off the bar, but paused mid-step hollering across the room, “And if I think your song request is shit I won’t play it, feel free to take it personally.”

Katniss didn’t really care much for the offer to request music, she was just relieved to know that Johanna had, in fact, shown up. She had been wondering whether either of her ex-work-colleagues had actually bothered. Knowing that Johanna was here, though where she’d been all night was something Katniss would like to know, meant that Annie was probably here as well. 

Rue, on the other hand, immediately got up. Kissing Katniss on the cheek, she proclaimed, “Oh, I have a song that Jo simply must play.” 

She walked off into the crowd, but abruptly turned back, looking down at Katniss, who was still cocooned in the soft leather of the sofa, “Also, if you get any interesting job offers don’t be scared to recommend me,” with a wink, she waltzed off again.

Alone once again, and trying desperately to distract herself from the ‘pat down’ Peeta was assuredly still giving Glimmer, Katniss gulped down the rest of her pint, before standing to go get another. 

Waiting at the bar for the barmaid to get to her drink, she tapped out a rhythm on the polished wood. Distracted, she almost didn’t notice the familiar opening chords to a song she hadn’t let herself listen to in a year. 

Johanna’s voice sounded over the speaker system, “For all you lovesick idiots here tonight, Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey.”

Katniss’ breath stilled in her chest, this must have been some sick joke the universe was playing on her. Despite herself, Katniss searched the room for the familiar face that she had once danced to this with at prom. Scanning the crowd, her eyes finally landed on a seemingly just as stunned Peeta Mellark, his face so pale and pinched he looked like he was about to throw up. He, too, looked to be scanning the crowd. He couldn’t know that she was here, could he? She knew  that she should probably shrink back into the shadows, or, better yet, vacate the premises and head back to her hotel room, to avoid any unnecessary drama that she most certainly did not need. Yet, against her better judgement, she stood her ground, not actively looking to be seen, but not hiding from sight either. 

Her eyes stayed on him, noticing with a missed beat of her heart that Glimmer and Clove were both conspicuously absent. The song had already passed the first verse when Peeta’s eyes finally locked on hers. His eyes widened in surprise, but beneath it was still the same warmth and affection that had always been. Her sharp intake of breath told her all she needed to know, those baby blues could still make her knees weak, could still make her feel like she was adrift and untethered in a desolate ocean, with him being the only tether to reality. Their gazes locked on one another as the second verse began;

A singer in a smoky room

The smell of wine and cheap perfume

Peeta’s eyes stared holes into her, and for a moment it was as if no time had passed, as if he was standing on the other side of the school’s assembly hall as an entire year group of nervous sweaty eighteen year olds danced the evening away to overplayed 80’s tracks. Katniss was even greeted with the familiar erratic beating of her heart, wishing and hoping that he’d just bottle up the nerve and ask her already!

That night, she had been the one to walk across the dance floor to ask him to dance, but tonight, it seemed it would be Peeta who would take the first tentative steps towards her.

For a smile they can share the night

It goes on and on, and on, and on

 Drink forgotten, Katniss stepped away from the bar, walking towards the people already congregating to dance on a small open space on the floor. The first chorus sounded through the room;

Strangers, waitin’

Up and down the boulevard

Their shadows

Searchin’ in the night

Streetlights, people

Livin’ just to find emotion

Hidin’ somewhere in the night

They met in the middle, and Katniss looked up at him through her lashes. 

“For old times sake,” Peeta murmured down to her, offering his hand.

She tried not to let his remark sting, that their relationship is in fact in the past. That he had moved on from her, that she should too. But falling into his arms, head resting over his breast bone listening to his heart thumping away, letting him sway them to the music, felt so natural and familiar. The tears stung behind her eyes, and she bit her lip to stop herself from sobbing out loud. She didn’t want to be sad, to mar this song with her regrets, when it was accompanied by so many good and happy memories. Of the two of them messing around in his kitchen, or her bedroom. 

So, she swallowed down her tears, and let herself fall back in time to when things were simpler. Letting the music and words wash over her, rejuvenating her weary soul.

Workin’ hard to get my fill

Everybody wants a thrill

Payin’ anything to roll the dice

Just one more time

Some will win

Some will lose

Some were born to sing the blues

Oh, the movie never ends

It goes on and on, and on, and on

She laughed when he spun her, then recaptured her in his arms. He swooped low, before lifting them back up and spinning them in slow circles. 

Strangers waitin’

Up and down the boulevard

Their shadows

Searchin’ in the night

Streetlights, people

Livin’ just to find emotion

Hidin’ somewhere in the night

She took the lead, moving them faster, along to the tune of the song. Pulling away from his embrace, but holding on to his hands, as she spun herself to lean her back against his chest with his arms crossed protectively over her.

Don’t stop believin’

Hold on to that feelin’

Streetlight, people

Don’t stop, believin’

Hold on

Streetlights, people

As the song began to slow again, and Steve Perry ad-libbed his way through the end of the song, Peeta turned her again so that they were pressed chest to chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and their steps became so minuscule they could do it on a pie plate if they wished to do so. She stared up into his bottomless blue eyes, a genuine smile lighting up her face for the first time this evening. 

“I missed you,” he whispered.

Her smile faltered slightly, and she looked down, ashamed at how easily she had let herself fall back into his arms. The moment of magic had ended, and she was thrown back into the icy cold reality of her life. For christ’s sake they hadn’t spoken in a year, and now suddenly they were dancing and laughing on the dance floor!

Don’t stop believin’

Hold on to that feelin’

Streetlight, people 

He turned them one last time. He leant his cheek on the top of her head, sighing quietly as if knowing about the beratement Katniss was giving herself in her head. He swayed them as the song faded out. She pulled away, chancing a glance up at his face. The pain she had inflicted onto him shone through his eyes, and though it killed her to do it, she could only pull further out of his arms, backing away. He watched after her, arms limp at his sides, and she turned, pushing through the crowd.

“Oi, watch it!” Someone called after her as she shoved past people. 

Finally, after stepping on numerous toes and elbowing a few people in the sides, she made it over to the makeshift DJ table. Johanna was leaning against it, chewing on a toothpick as she announced in a lazy drawl the next song. Behind her shoulder she could see Annie leaning heavily into some guy with bronzed curls and tanned skin, Katniss thought that she had seen him before in a couple of Annie’s instagram posts. 

“Ahhh, Brainless,” Johanna called out when she spotted a breathless Katniss standing before the table, “here to make a song request? Maybe another one that you can dance to with lover boy.”

“What the fuck, Jo?” Katniss cried out, “Did you put that song on just to mess with my head? ‘Cause it sure as hell worked.” Katniss ran her shaking hands through her hair, not caring if she messed it up, or if it got tangled. 

Johanna raised her eyebrows in surprise, “Wait, you don’t actually believe I put that song on, do you?”

“Well, who else, Johanna?!” 

“I didn’t even know you were here up until five minutes ago, let alone him!” Johanna spat out, incredulity lacing her voice, “And besides, I’m only taking requests this evening. I did let everyone know,” she sniffed, rolling her eyes.

“Ok fine, if it wasn’t you, then who?” Katniss hissed, “Because I will start throwing arms if I have to, Jo.”

“Jeez, don’t get your knickers all in a twist, it was only a little dancey,” Johanna teased. Looking at Katniss’ bemused face, she relented, “If you promise to not beat the living lights out of her, I’ll tell.”

“‘Kay fine, I promise,” Katniss said, her anger subsiding a little. Whoever it was, it wasn’t their fault that she couldn’t just leave when she definitely should have, “Just tell me who.”

Johanna nodded her head in the direction of the bar, Katniss followed her gaze, eyes greeted with an apologetic looking Rue. Rue grimaced a little, apparently having watched Katniss’ outburst. At least she looked sorry, Katniss thought. 

Her anger having dissipated, the feeling of regret and sadness settled cold and heavy in her stomach. She deflated against the table, feeling very tired all of a sudden, “I need a smoke,” she muttered, “Lighter,” she held out her hand.

Johanna grumbled under her breath, fishing through her pockets for a lighter. “Give it back after,” she warned, slapping it into Katniss’ outstretched palm.

Katniss weaved her way through the crowds once more, being a little more careful to not piss off so many people this time, until she got to the coat rack next to the door. The coat rack itself was leaning over under the weight of all the coats draped over the top of it. After some digging around, Katniss found her light jean jacket and pulled it out from underneath the mountain of others piled up on top of it. Pulling it on, she pushed open the door to the pub and stepped out into the night. 

It looked like the sun had just gone down, streaks of orange fading into the sky as dusk settled over the stinking, sweltering city. It had cooled off quite a bit from earlier, and Katniss huddled herself further into her jacket, trying to leech off any residual warmth from it. She walked down the shallow stone steps,  found herself a place to light her cigarette. Leaning against the cold brick wall behind her, not caring if she got her coat or dress dirty. She fished a loose cigarette out of her coat pocket, and lit the fag, taking a long drag from it, breathing it back out into the cooling air.

“Those things kill, you know,” A voice sounded from behind her. She scowled at how it made her heart leap hopefully in her chest. 

“I know,” she almost growled, wanting him to fuck off back to Glimmer already. She couldn’t deal with having him thrust back into her life, pretending like nothing happened between them. Like she hadn’t irreparably fucked up their entire relationship, just because she felt ‘claustrophobic’.

“I thought you were quitting?” Peeta asked, walking to stand next to her and pulling out his own cigarette. 

She passed him Johanna’s lighter, “You can’t talk,” she snorted as she watched him light his, “And anyway, I am. I just keep emergency ones in all of my coats, and in a few of my trousers.”

Peeta laughed at this, “Yeah, sure does sound like you’re quitting.”

“Hey,” she protested, “I never keep a lighter on me, that way I have to ask someone, and then they’re also accountable for my inevitable lung cancer.”

Peeta’s eyebrows rose at this, and he took a puff from his own cancer stick, “Oh yeah, and how long did it take you do that mental gymnastics.”

Katniss only rolled her eyes, and they both stood next to each other staring out at the street. They watched as a bus pulled up at the stop, and an old man stumbled out, hobbling into the Ladbrokes opposite. A siren blared somewhere in the distance. Two extremely drunk men sat on the steps a good ten metres away from them, but were loud enough for their slurred words to reach the two.

“Listen Katniss, about before,” Peeta started, breaking their comfortable silence, “I didn’t mean to make you feel crowded or guilty, or anything like that.” He looked to her, but she stared resolutely ahead, taking slow small puffs from her cigarette.

“It’s fine,” she finally said, “forget about it. I probably shouldn’t have even danced with you in the first place, what with you being with Glimmer and all.”

“Ah, shit,” Peeta breathed out, “I didn’t think you knew about that.”

“Yeah well, I do,” Katniss snapped. 

Peeta looked as if he wanted to say something, but Katniss cut him off before he could, “I really don’t want to know.”

Peeta nodded his head. They were quiet for a moment.

“I mean, it’s not like you’re not allowed anyway,” Katniss said, scuffing the toe of her already scruffy trainer against the cracked pavement.

Peeta huffed out a bemused, short-lived laugh, “Care to explain that, whilst we’re out here talking civilly?”

“What?” Katniss asked, “Are you asking why I broke up with you?”

Peeta nodded his head once more.

Katniss sighed, “I feel like I’ve told myself and everyone around me the same explanation about a million times, but standing here it doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Well, that’s convenient,” Peeta whispered.

Katniss sighed, trying not to sound too exasperated. What’s it to him anyway, she thought. “Look Peeta, I told you before, and I’ll say it again. It wasn’t you.”

“Doesn’t mean I’ll ever stop asking myself if I did something,” Peeta said.

Katniss finally turned to look up at him, as he stared up at the darkening sky, searching it for the few visible stars, “We’re not even thirty yet, Peeta, I’m not ready to settle. I wasn’t last year, and I definitely am not this year. And I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if you told me you weren’t ready yet either, and you’re allowed to be with whoever you want, even if it is someone as silly and shallow as Glimmer. I guess it’s better to get your mid-life crisis out the way now,” she said with a smirk, before sobering and adding quietly, “I’m not completely oblivious Peeta, it’s not like I don’t see her appeal.”

Peeta looked down at her, opening his mouth, she was sure, to deny that Glimmer’s big boobs were the reason. She held up her hand to stop him, “Who knows though, maybe someone’ll convince me to come to this thing again next year, and I’ll see you again. Hopefully with someone other than Glimmer. And just like this year, I’ll steal you for a dance, and then lure you outside for a smoke, and we’ll catch up,” she paused for dramatic affect, stealing herself for what she was going to say next, “After that, you’ll kiss me, right up against the cold brick wall,” she watched as Peeta’s eyes widened at her bold statement.

  Maybe it was her pint of beer that had made her so free and uncaring with her sentiments. Though Katniss would never describe herself as a lightweight, she admitted to herself that it had been a good six weeks since she’d had a proper drink. On second thought, she remembered the last time she drank before tonight being a little over a week ago, and it had been a cider. She grimaced at the thought. Fuck, she mused, when did I become a lightweight? Peeta cleared his throat uncomfortably, prompting her to continue, but unsure of whether she was finished or not. Katniss mentally shook herself before finishing in a low, sultry voice, “Just like you’re going to do this year.”

 “Fuck,” Peeta breathed out, and Katniss watched him visibly struggle to swallow. She tried, and failed, to suppress her smug little smirk, that she could still affect him like this. It eased the green beast within her, the one that had wanted to stamp her foot and cry out earlier when she had witnessed Peeta wiping down the front of Glimmer’s dress. She shook her head. She didn’t want to think of Glimmer, Peeta was out here with her now, that must count for something, right?

“Are you, umm - being serious?” Peeta stuttered, and despite herself Katniss grinned at how flustered he was getting, the pink staining his cheeks betraying how agitated he really was, “Or are you just pulling my leg?”

Katniss took a long drag from her fag, sucking on it until it was down to the stub, “Do I look like I’m joking, Mellark?” 

She watched as his pupils dilated even more in the darkening night, until the blue of his irises were only thin rings around the black pits of his desire. She reveled in being able to do this to him still, after all this time. It comforted her, in a weird, possessive, unhealthy sort of way.

 “No,” he whispered, voice hoarse and barely audible. He dropped his cigarette on the floor, not even bothering to stamp it out before stepping forwards. Large hands came to a rest on her waist, pushing her further back against the wall. She bit back a slight moan at the way he seemed to shelter her, the stark contrast of the cold wall behind her, nipping at the backs of her legs, and the heat that enmantend from his body and radiated onto her. She took a deep shuddering breath, pushing her chest upwards against his. Her hand shook slightly as she stubbed out the remnants of her cigarette against the wall next to her, before letting it fall to the ground as well. 

Their faces were so close now, their mouths only a hair’s breadth apart, all it would take is for one of them to lean in, to close the tantalisingly small space between them. “Tell me you want me to,” Peeta uttered, breath fanning her face. She bit her lip, a sly grin gracing her features.

She leant up on her tiptoes, tracing a path to his ear lobe with her breath, “Peeta Mellark, I want you to kiss me up against this brick wall, until I’m breathless and my knees are weak.” 

 He groaned loudly, and she was about to tell him to be quiet when his lips descended greedily on hers. Knocking the breath right out of her, as he sucked and bit tenderly against first her top and then her bottom lip. She whimpered, admitting to herself that she had missed the way it felt to be kissed by someone who cared. Who didn’t just do it as a way to get into her underwear. 

It was his turn to smile smugly, he pulled away from her, and she chased his lips with her own. Wanting them back, wanting him to plunge and plunder. She huffed out a frustrated growl when he moved even further away. She opened her eyes, taking in his face that grinned with feigned innocence down at her, “What’s the matter Everdeen?” He asked teasingly, “Knees not weak enough yet?”

She glared at him, he knew exactly what he was doing, and she wasn’t having any of it, not tonight. Lifting her hands to his hair, she played with the blond locks, smiling up at him demurely. She would tell him what she wanted step by step if necessary, but she didn’t think it would be. Cocking her head to the side, she mirrored his look of feigned innocence, before tangling her fingers into the shorter hairs at the back of his head, and pulling his lips back down to hers. He grunted against her, and she opened her mouth ever so slightly in invitation. 

It took her all of two seconds to lose all inhibitions, Peeta’s hands moved up from their resting spot on her waist, one cradling the back of her neck and one stroking up and down her back in a motion that made Katniss giddy with desire. Their tongues met in a dance, reacquainting themselves. Peeta’s dove into her mouth, rediscovering everything he already knew about her. 

Peeta placed his leg in between her own, which had opened a little of their own accord, bringing it upwards slightly, daring her to grind up against it. Stubborn as ever, though, Katniss refused to take the bait. Knowing him, he would probably tease her, pull away before she could really get going. But when he tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth, she relented. She could feel her knees turning into jelly, forcing her to slump down onto his leg. She ground down on it experimentally, the rough material of his jeans rubbing up against her boy shorts. Katniss swore into his mouth, and did it again, letting the motion stimulate her throbbing center. She was almost glad that he couldn’t feel the intensity of the heat that seemed to be pouring from her core, but another part of her needed him to know that he could still do this to her. Could still drive her to do halfway insane things, like letting him ravage her up against a wall with all of her ex colleagues a mere few metres away. Pulling his head down further, she held him there, desperate to drink more of him in. 

“Katniss,” he whispered against her mouth, before diving right back in. 

It was her turn to grunt at the power in which he started almost devouring her mouth, she could only cling to the locks of hair wrapped around her fingers, in hopes that she wouldn’t just crumple to the floor. She was rocking against his leg in a steady rhythm, each stroke of his rough denim trousers against her center making her more frantic, desperate for more. Her nerve endings felt frayed, threatening to short circuit and send her spiralling through the abyss. Peeta continued to busy himself with her mouth, pulling away before delving back in, more thorough and rough each time, so that she could only whimper helplessly into his mouth.

It was when the hand that had been stroking leisurely circles into her spine crept towards her front before meandering downwards, that Katniss came somewhat to her senses. She stopped his hand with one of her own, before it could get to the hemline of the skirt to her dress. She pulled away from his lips that had been stroking soft sublime on hers, and looked at him. Eyes blown wide, lips swollen and red from kissing, blond hair tousled and mussed from all her incessant tugging. She was sure she was mirroring this disheveled appearance back at him. He lowered his leg from where it had stayed resting against her, but his hand stayed trapped between their two bodies. If it weren’t so painfully obvious how much they had missed each other, it would be comical how fast and hard they’d fallen back into heated touches and frantic kisses. 

She took a deep breath, wondering if she should apologise, or at least explain, but her brain was still fogged with arousal, and she was finding it very hard to look him in the eye. Instead, she got back on to her tip toes and brought her arms up around his neck, pulling him close to her for a hug. She rested her head against his shoulder, and he slowly brought his arms around her waist, holding her to him as well.

“One day, Peeta,” she began, talking into his neck, “one day…”

“But not today,” he finished for her.

She nodded and squeezed him tighter, a hundred memories of them together flooding her mind, and for the second time this evening she had to fight back the urge to sob. She could only be relieved that he had understood, understood why she couldn’t let him do that, not now, and certainly not here. 

He squeezed her back, and she swore she felt him inhaling her smell, at any other time this would have turned her on beyond reason, but now it only saddened her. How had she managed to fuck it up again? He pressed a quick kiss into the juncture of where her neck met her shoulder, before releasing her from his grasp. 

She wobbled, still a little unsteady on her feet, but managed to start walking in the direction of her bus stop. As she walked past the two drunk men that were still sitting on the stone steps to the pub, she heard one of them call out to her.

“Is the show over, sweetheart?” he asked, sarcasm along with whatever he’d had to drink lacing his voice, “That’s a shame, me an’ Chaff here were really startin’ to ge’ into it.” 

Katniss turned to look at the man who had said it, scathing reply waiting at the tip of her tongue, but before she could say anything, the other man, Chaff she assumed, slurred out;

“Won’t you give an ol’ man a kiss before you go?” The two men guffawed as he made kissy faces at her.

“Arseholes,” Katniss muttered under her breath.

The man with salt and pepper hair down to his shoulders called after her again, though all traces of amusement were gone from his voice. He sounded surprisingly sober when he told her, “I see the way you have him wrapped around your finger, sweetheart, you could live a hundred lifetimes and still not deserve what he gave you tonight,” he burped loudly and continued, “One day he’ll realise that, he’ll realise that he’s better than tha’, be’er than you.” 

 Katniss tried to ignore his words as she waited at the traffic light for the little green man to pop up so she could cross the road, but they still made her blood run cold, because maybe he was right. She turned her head to the side, waiting impatiently for the cars to come to a slow at the T-junction, when the old man, who had since left the betting shop, added his own snarky comment to the fray. If she had known how many people were watching them, she wouldn’t have let it get that far, or go on for so long.

“When do you think he’ll notice the exact degree of your indifference?” He asked in a voice that was weathered and old, but still demanded her attention. He had posed his comment as a question, but he said it as if he already knew the answer. She wasn’t indifferent, she thought, but doubt coursed through her. Hadn’t she just used him to prove a point? A stupid petty point, that she was better than Glimmer. She shook her head at the notion, it had just been a drunken mistake, nothing more.

She turned her head to face the decrepit old man, biting out a response, “Those are some awfully big words for a filthy old beggar, let’s hope you don’t choke on ‘em.” 

The old man threw his head back and laughed, his cracked voice making it sound more like a cackle than anything. To her surprise the man actually did start choking, on his own blood. He bent forwards, crouching low as he spat blood to the floor. 

“Gross,” Katniss muttered, before hurrying across the road. To hell with the traffic, she thought, she just needed to get the fuck out of here.

 The shame and regret were already starting to curl themselves around her, and she felt almost sick with it. She was once again being reminded of how easily being around Peeta could fuck with her head, how it could make her do things that she otherwise wouldn’t do. That she’d sworn to herself wouldn’t happen again. Because, yes, her drink might have had something to do with it, but it was also him, he was intoxicating. The moment she had noticed he was in the room, she had wanted him, needed him. And it might be true that she could make him feel the same way, but people never seemed to see that he was just as good at it as she was. He was always the sweet golden boy, who had had the misfortune of falling in love with the likes of her.

She looked across the street when she arrived at the bus stop. The pub was pouring light from it’s windows and she heard the music playing. Peeta had already disappeared, and Katniss wondered how much he had heard. She hoped none of it. The old man was shuffling into the Tesco next door to the Ladbrokes, and the two men were still sat outside the pub, drinking from flasks. She looked up at the timetable that the bus stop provided, and cursed under her breath when she saw that her bus wouldn’t be arriving for another seven minutes. 

She was about to start walking down the highstreet, so that she wouldn’t have to stand, waiting like a sitting duck, when her phone vibrated in her coat pocket with an incoming message. 

Pulling it out of the pocket, she read what it said.

Johanna Mason [Sent 10:21pm]: Where are you? I’m hungry and bored, wanna get smth to eat?

Katniss considered ignoring the message, but her stomach rumbled in response to the thought of food.

Katniss Everdeen [Sent 10:22pm]: At the bus stop across the road. Don’t you have a set? 

Johanna Mason [Sent 10:22pm]: Ofc you are. Yh I do, but any moron can do this. These song requests are driving me insane tho, so… food?

Katniss Everdeen [Sent 10:23pm]: Yh alright, what tho?

Johanna Mason [Sent 10:24pm]: I could really go for a kebab… and a smoke. We’re leaving now.

Katniss looked up from her phone. Shit. Johanna’s lighter. Peeta still had it. She watched as Johanna banged open the doors to the pub. Trailing after her was a wobbly Annie and the man from earlier. Katniss looked around her, hoping one of the many corner shops littering the street were still open, but they were all depressingly closed. Katniss glared at the closed signs on all the shop doors as if their existence offended her eyes, because in that moment, they really did.

She’d get that lighter back - she turned and saw the group crossing the road - though, maybe not today.

[rocksinmuffin]

BeastWars waspy falling for shy & confident queenbee technical/medical assistant maximal(who,also cares for him when the universe is giving him BS)& ends up confessing to her after he quits the preds. It can be fluffy smut of u want. I love transformers & beast wars are one of my favs. Bug boi needs some lovin💛💚🐝🌷. Sorry if I'm talkative😅😓 I love your blog btw😍, have a drink & some watermelon🍉🍉🍹🍹. Have a cool summer!!!

When you first start repairing him, it’s out of principal. You might be a warrior due to circumstance but you are a medic first and foremost. Your function is to heal, not harm.

He’s a Predacon and fighting on the opposite side of the war and he has caused your fellow Maximals harm but despite his faction he’s still Cybertronian. His metal still dents when he’s punched and his frame still bleeds energon when it’s sliced and—Predacon or not—no one should have to deal with having their head and limbs separated from their body again and again and again. Waspinator is the most danger-prone mech you have ever met and it incites something like sympathy from you.

He’s pitiful, you think to yourself as you reattach his arm to his body, hidden from enemy and comrade alike as you silently work. Waspinator is uncharacteristically quiet as well, compound eyes focused on the tools in your hands as if you might decide to deactivate him at any moment. Still, he continues to come to you after every battle, continues to trust you with the dents and scrapes of his frame that are not worth taking a dip in the CR chamber, even if he doesn’t trust you to do it without his optics on you the entire time.

You notice he comes to you even when there have been no battles between the Maximals and Predacon. You don’t ask how he sustained the damage and you don’t turn him away. He continues to watch you as you work on his body, watches the careful motions of your services as you do your best to finish repairs with minimal discomfort. You make the mistake of glancing up in his optics and you can’t identify the emotion in them but it isn’t distrust. You turn back to your repairs, ignoring the warmth in your spark and your faceplate as you work.

Over time, you get used to the staring, to the unnamed emotion Waspinator directs at you, to the uncomfortable heat in your spark chamber. It would be unprofessional of you to let such little things distract you from your work. You’ve learned to make quick repairs with laser blasts whizzing by your helm and you learn how to deal with the way Waspinator puts you on edge by doing nothing at all.

You’re not sure how many times you’ve repaired him when he tells you he’s left the Predacons. Hundreds, maybe. Enough times that you’ll regularly chat instead of working in complete silence. Idly, you ask him where he plans to go now that he’s no longer welcome at the Predacon base. He might try his luck out in the wilderness on his own but you think it’s more likely he’ll rely on Optimus Primal’s good will and ask to join the Maximals.

You raise a brow plate when your readings show the pulse of his spark increase. His frame shakes where your servos are working on him and you have to pull your tools away and stop for fear of pinching the more sensitive wires. When you look up into Waspinator’s optics he averts them, faceplates taking on a purple tint as energon pools and gathers beneath the surface.

“Wazzzpinator wazzz hoping he could be with you?”

Not the Maximals. You. He wants to be with you.

He watches you with hopeful anticipation, awaiting an answer. Words fail you. It should be easy enough to say yes but you can feel your vocalizer tickling with static. Instead, you forgo your words in favor for instinct. You place your servos on either side of his face, pulling him forward so you can press your forehead to his.

You hope this is answer enough for him.

Judging by the arms that wrap around you, it is.

[lilflowerpot]

Soulmate AU where the marks on one person's skin show up on the other, but obviously they can't understand each other's writing, so Keith mostly just tries to express himself through art instead. So naturally, when he starts investigating the Blue Lion he starts drawing THAT too. Which is why, when Voltron shows up, Lotor is Dead Certain that the blue paladin is his soulmate, and he desperately tries to force himself to fall in love with Lance even while he's like "... Really? THIS guy?"

Lotor’s soulmate is not illiterate, but they may as well be. He’s compared their careless scrawl against every language in the Imperial data banks - thrice! - and it’s simply... not there.

“They’re a primitive,” Ezor nods sagely from where she’s half draped over his shoulder, eyeing the illegible lettering on his wrist with an entertained curl to her lips, “must be. Guess the universe wanted to counterbalance all your insufferable braininess.”

When Lotor shrugs her off with a snarl, she has the audacity to laugh.

Acxa’s kinder, or she tries to be, comforting him with the notion that if his soulmate is a primitive, they’re at the very least an educated one, or better yet of a more evolved society wherein knowledge of scripture is commonplace, so... they’re not feral.

Zethrid seems to half wish that they were, if only for the thrill of it.

“And the sex,” Ezor tacks on with an evil little grin, “the sex would have been fantastic.”

Her soulmate’s raucous glee drowns out any further discussion of the topic.

-

So they can’t communicate, not with words, but if Lotor’s soulmate is anything it’s tenacious (and the Prince can’t help but admire that). They come to the conclusion that pictures are the way to go, painting Lotor’s forearms with a veritable rainbow of quadrilaterals, each containing varying stripes and symbols, and then a series of dotted squiggles that Lotor is beginning to recognise as their approximation of a question.

The problem being he doesn’t actually know what it is that they’re asking.

There’s one rectangle - the majority of which is striped red and white, with a one contrasting quarter of stars in a blue sky - that his soulmate keeps coming back to, and Lotor realises it must be a clan symbol of a sort, indicative of their own people and culture, but... once again scouring Imperial logs turns up nothing of import. Frustrated, Lotor practically carves the hateful Imperial emblem into his palm with jagged lines of ink - Vrepit Sa - and turns in for the night.

In the morning, his arms are wiped clean.

They stay that way for a quintent.

Two.

On the third, he hears back, and it rocks his entire world view.

Kraliept Sa.

The lines are careful, deliberate, as if someone unfamiliar with the old scripture had taken great pains to transcribe that singular character, and Lotor quite simply can’t believe his eyes, because that would mean... that would mean that the only two things he knows of his soulmate are in direct contrast with one another: the first being that they are completely isolated from the Empire, and the second more impossible yet, that they have ties to the Blade of Marmora.

-

They continue this way for almost a decaphoeb, and it’s not perfect, but it’s something.

Lotor sends renderings of the stars, his ship, Kova, and in return his soulmate replies with sketches of the animals and sunsets and vast expanses of desert on an alien world.

One evening, they blur blues and greens into a perfect little marble on the inside of Lotor’s knee, an arrow pointing to one of the green patches labeled with a sequence of characters that the galra Prince is beginning to recognise as his soulmate’s name - though he can’t so much as begin to guess at how they might be pronounced - and so on the opposite knee Lotor paints Daibazaal, and then, because that feels inadequate, smears his thumb through the centre of the planet he no longer calls home, doodling a battalion of ships leaving the wreckage in a mass exodus, the children of an orphaned world.

And once more, his soulmate falls quiet.

-

It’s almost a full phoeb until they reach out again, and when they do Lotor finds them franctic, frightened, their little blue-green marble only the beginning; an entire solar system follows, complete with details such as what Lotor assumes must be an accurate number of moons on each planet for how deliberately they’re marked out, and then-

A ship.

It’s small and unassuming and positively archaic in design, but it’s a ship nonetheless, and as Lotor watches, his soulmate draws and erases and re-draws that same design until it’s traveled the length of his leg - thigh to ankle - and ‘lands’ on an unassuming moon of the most distant planet. They circle it with agitation, jabbing whatever implement they’re using to mark their own skin so violently that Lotor’s quite sure they must bleed under the force of it, but he doesn’t know what to say, let alone know how to say it if he did.

The next morning, his soulmate’s mural has gone.

The phantom ache of it remains.

-

They call him Champion.

Lotor only takes interest because of the timing, because of the circumstance, because it’s Sendak’s fleet that located these new lifeforms on a desolate moon in some distant corner of the universe, and of all Zarkon’s commanders he most of all has something of a reputation for toeing the line between cruelty and outright sadism.

The odds are one in a million, but that’s not a risk Lotor is willing to take.

He paints an obnoxious criss-cross of colour onto his own face that will be impossible to hide or mistake for anything other than what it is, and sends his generals to ascertain whether the Champion or either of the two lifeforms that accompanied him - soon to be subject to the work camps - share the mark.

They don’t, not one of them, and so Lotor chalks it up to coincidence and moves on.

Finding what could almost be mistaken for the legendary Blue Lion on the back of his hand only for Voltron proper to re-emerge into the universe after thousands of decaphoebs with the Champion himself allegedly at the helm, is not so easily written off.

And this time, when his soulmate abandons him to cold silence, it feels final.

-

Thayserix was very much a spur of the moment decision, but Lotor has never been so glad of such impulsivity as he is now, with the blue Lion of Voltron having been stolen from the thick mists and safely in his grasp.

Though, it’s not the lion that interests him.

Yes she’s a beautiful beast of considerable power, but in this case it is quite literally what’s on the inside that counts, that being of course Lotor’s soulmate... or so he’d thought.

Princess Allura of Altea cannot be them.

At least he certainly hopes not.

She’s lovely, in theory, but they’ve been in a stalemate for the past varga with her sullenly refusing to so much as consider entertaining Lotor’s attempts at hospitality, let alone conversation, and instead quite stubbornly standing with both her guard and weapon raised.

“I really would simply like to speak with-”

“Release me.”

Her end of things has consisted solely of those two words, and the monotony of it all really is growing rather tiresome.

Narti saves him from another repetitive bout, slinking into his mind and whispering that the rest of Voltron have located them far more quickly than Lotor would have thought possible.

The worst part is he’s almost grateful.

“Very well,” he growls, temper wearing thin, “your friends are here to collect you Princess, perhaps they will be more amenable to a little tête-à-tête, hm?”

They are not.

“Release Allura,” is the first thing to pass the dark-haired Paladin’s lips, teeth bared and tongue sharp, and it takes everything Lotor is not to simply concede on the spot.

“Frankly, I would love to,” he spits, gratified by how completely this blindsides the lot of them, every face on the holoscreen struck blank by his immediate compliance. “I do not believe she is the individual I am looking for, nor does she seem inclined to assist me in locating whosoever is. Answer my questions, and you are welcome to her and the blue Lion both.”

“We... We are?” It’s an older gentleman who speaks up, the only other altean among them.

“Absolutely,” Lotor hisses, and then graciously concedes: “the mistake was mine. I simply wished to open a dialogue with who I had assumed to be the blue Paladin, but as she is of a background that would doubtless have allowed us to communicate in galra script, that no longer seems the case.”

Their group look like they’re going to ask him to further explain what must sound to the lot of them nonsense... all except the black Paladin whose eyes have gone wide on some personal revelation, whispering “you,” as if he can’t believe his ears, only to spit out an obscenity before repeating himself with all the fury of an imploding star. “You!”

There are several exclamations of “Keith-!” as those violet eyes narrow to slits, the man smacking his hand down and cutting their com-line dead.

Ezor, helpful as ever, mumbles: “Well that went well,” quiet enough that it’s almost as if she doesn’t mean for everyone in the otherwise silent cockpit to hear her.

-

For the first time in ten thousand decaphoebs, the black Lion is - technically - in Imperial hands.

Lotor couldn’t care less.

The man who strides out of her is a veritable firestorm, all dark brows and snarling lips, and in a heartbeat Lotor knows, he just knows, who he is.

What he is.

Galra, for one, almost certainly a hybrid like Lotor - it’s the eyes that betray him, half luminescent with rage - and there’s a gorgeous poeticism to that.

Reckless for another, and behind him from where she’s been brought to stand witness, Princess Allura is clearly horrified to see her companion step from Voltron’s keystone and leave it completely unprotected, but the Paladin doesn’t seem to care, and neither does Lotor.

“Release Allura,” he growls again, voice like thunder and just as electrifying as he storms across the landing bay without hesitation, not even stopping to glance in his fellow Paladin’s direction and affirm that Zethrid has, in fact, released her as instructed.

No, Lotor’s soulmate simply fists pale fingers into paler hair and hisses, “fuck you,” into his mouth before kissing the Prince senseless.

-

Later - much, much later - Lotor is pleased to report back to Ezor that the sex is, in fact, fantastic.

[unimooshi]

Christmas Fluff Snippet Megapost

(brought to you by your host Mooshi bc I’m stuck at home and wanna procrastinate cleaning my room :) )

Rated: G/Fluff

Relationship(s): Literally as many I can think within the span of 3 hours as they’re all basically 1 paragraph long. Feel free to read whichever ones you want I’m making word soup rn. We smackin’ tonight kings, queen, and royals in between😌😭✨

All relationships can be whatever universe you want, unless stated otherwise. Have a good time

Also please keep in mind that I haven’t read a lot of the comics and have a limited knowledge on the cartoons bc I haven’t watched some of them, but I’ll try my best to write out the dynamic as I see it.

1) Starscream/Optimus (StarPrime) you knew we were gonna start with OTP

“I know you wanted to visit Earth for a small vacation, but did you really have to choose the coldest of Earth months to visit?”, Starscream said with borderline disgust as he stared at the snow at the bottom of their ship, the only redeeming thing about the environment was the setting sun.

He kneeled down and scooped up a pile of snow, watching it crumble away between his digits. His internal heating system kicking into overdrive to compensate, little puffs of steam floating into the air. It wasn’t that it was cold, the issue was how wet it would be. The mess that would be made inside their circuits and the water dripping from exposed wiring made Starscream shiver.

“No, I didn’t have to but Earth has such a happy culture this time of year and I wanted to share that with you. I think you’ll like Christmas. Cheer up, let’s take a walk.” , Optimus planted a small peck on the side of Starscream’s helm and stepped outside, the soft crunch of snow following the Prime.

Starscream reluctantly stepped into the snow and groaned with how much water his sensors were already detecting, “How happy could this holiday possibly be with frozen condensation falling from the sky and getting into your circuits?”

“Well, according to what can be found on the internet, it’s an annual religious festival, but most humans use it as a time to see loved ones and celebrate their love for one another.”, Optimus took Starscream’s servo and interlaced it with his own, removing his battle mask to reveal a soft smile with blue optics to match, “and besides you can take a warm lather in the washracks later while I warm up some energon. I know you like watching Earth movies every once in a while.”

Starscream really couldn’t argue with his conjux and just vented out more heat, the puff leaving a trail of white steam as it floated into the evening sky. If being on a mud ball planet meant Optimus would be relaxed then he supposed it would be worth getting his circuits drenched for. Honestly, doing anything was worth it if it meant his Prime would stop thinking about his responsibilities even for just a cycle.

“Your strobes are blinking by the way.”

Starscream stopped walking and flapped his wings into view then dipped them low, brushing it off.

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t.”, Optimus rolled his optics and laughed, holding his conjux’s servo a little tighter.

———

2) Knockout/Breakdown (KOBD)

“Merry Christmas Knockout!”, Breakdown burst into the Medbay with a clumsily wrapped box.

Knockout nearly dropped his datapad and jumped from the sudden intrusion, his servo switched out for his buzz saw until he saw who it was.

“Breakdown!”, Knockout vented out and transformed his servo back, “Don’t scare me like that so suddenly.”

“I’m sorry, but I just wanted to finally give you this. I knew you just had to have it when I saw it and I really hope you like it.”

“All is forgiven. Thank you.”, Knockout casually tore away at the wrapping and lifted the lid, his optics glowing brighter.

“Well...do you like it?”

“Like it? I love it!”, Knockout unfolded the white stripe vinyl inside to it’s full length, laughing with a full smile, “You always know just what to get me!”

He put his gift down on the examination table and went to go hug his conjux, climbing up a little to properly plant a kiss.

As high as the mood was brought up, it was quickly shot down again.

“Wait, I’m not done with your gift yet.”, Knockout left for his datapad and scrolled through something.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to give me one. Your company is the only gift I need.”, Breakdown tried to comfort his conjux, but Knockout held out a servo to stop him.

“That’s a sweet sentiment, but it doesn’t feel fair if I had my gift before yours is even done and I don’t want you seeing it while it’s incomplete.”

“I’m sure I’ll like it even if it’s unfinished. The thought matters more than what it is. Can you tell me what it is?”

“Are you sure?”

Breakdown nodded excitedly.

Knockout sighed and handed over the datapad, “It’s only about 75% of the way done, but it’s a transcription of that Earth book you wanted to read but couldn’t find an online PDF version of it.”

Breakdown scrolled through the pages of words and felt his frame melt.

“I know it’s not as good as what you gave me but—”

“I love it!”, He lifted Knockout off the ground and squeezed, “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome but watch the paint!”

———

3) Bumblebee/Blitzwing (TFA Blitzbee)

Bumblebee wasn’t one for snow to be perfectly honest. Sure, making snowmen and having snowball fights with Sari were fun, but he mostly did those activities to make her happy as her best friend. The frosty windows on the base served as another reminder as to why he liked to stay inside where it was warm and there was plenty of oil to drink, so it was rather ironic when he started seeing a mech who could make ice and enjoyed just burying himself in the frozen stuff.

“Come outside my little bee~”

Random sang softly and taunted him from outside the Autobot base. The heat from Blitzwing’s system fogging up the window further. Everyone else in the base had retreated back to their rooms for the night, leaving Bee free to do what he wanted in the living room. At least, he would be if there wasn’t a giant beige and purple bot trying to get him outside.

“No way Blitzbrain. It’s beyond freezing out there. I’m not locking up my servos just so you can eat street snow again.”

Bumble whispered harshly and opened the window, a gush of frozen air creeped their way through the cracks of his frame. His central heating system kicked online.

Random’s glossa slithered out of his intake, “Aww why not?”

“Because it’s gross. And that’s saying something when it comes from me!”

Vrrrr.

“I suppose that’s true.”, Icy’s lips pouted outward as he pressed his digits to his chin. His sharp features standing out in the crisp darkness of the night, “But aren’t you the one always wanting to go out? Why is it so different this time?”

“Because time impossible to drive in snow and I don’t wanna deal with traffic.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“So?”

Vrrrr.

“So why don’t you want to come out here and spend some time away from this stupid base you tiny bug bot!”

Bee held a digit to his intake, “I’m right here idiot, you’ll wake everyone up and then they’ll see you and then we’ll have to fight.”

Vrrrr.

“You’re afraid of the snow aren’t you.”

“What? No. That’s not—I’m not afraid of it are you kidding me? Only sparklings are afraid of stupid things like that.”

“Ok, so you just don’t like the cold.”

“So what if I don’t?”

“Even if you can’t drive, it’s still a nice night for flying.”

Bumblebee’s optics widened, “Flying?”

“Yes. Calm winds, clear skies, no organics or bots in the streets, what more could you wait for?”

“You’re gonna take me flying?”, Bee’s voice rose in pitch and he looked up at his mechfriend with stars in his eyes.

Vrrrr.

“If you keep repeating the same thing I’ll crush you with this wall!”

Vrrrr.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen something go splat!”

Random laughed at his own morbid thought.

“Ok, first of all, don’t crush me. You’re like three times my size, you don’t need a wall. Second, as long as I don’t have to get my servos wet I’ll be there in a nanoklik.”

Bumblebee gave a quick peck before racing away to touch himself up a little for his small impromptu date.

———

4) Megatron/Soundwave (MegaWave)

Megatron was busy. Again.

Soundwave didn’t mind it much as he just worked on his reports, but deep in his spark he really hoped he would’ve made some time to be with him. There was no such luck unfortunately. Soundwave knew his leader was always busy which is what made their small times together all the more special and intimate. Nobody ever saw the side of the warlord that he did and he was quite proud of that. It made him feel special.

>Soundwave.

A private communication line blipped open from Megatron. What convenient timing.

>Yes, Lord Megatron?

>I need you to send a message to Shockwave about the latest export of energon. There will be a delay because of Autobot meddling, but it shouldn’t take more than a couple earth cycles to have everything in order.

>Message received. Will be sent as soon as possible.

>Good. By the way Soundwave, I’ve left something for you in your desk compartment. Consider it a token of my appreciation for all you’ve done staying loyal to the Decepticons.

>Understood. Thank you Lord Megatron.

With that, the line cut off and Soundwave was left alone again in the communication center. His optics glanced over at the large compartment in his desk and opened it. Inside he found a small stack of datapads and one single use datapad filled out.

—

‘To: Soundwave

Silent as a thief in the night

You crept into my spark and took flight

Your visor so full of mystery

Yet take away much of my misery

In war there is treachery

In war there is loyalty

No words could ever be strung to say how much you mean to me

Merry Christmas,

From Megatron

—

A/N: I’m done with this post. Whoop. 4 short stories in one post. This is all I could crank out in a few hours. I didn’t anticipate this day to be so busy for me😭😭. I’ve been hanging out with family and dropping off gifts for friends at their door step. You can kinda tel I gave up at the end and poems aren’t really my thing. I’ll finish the rest tomorrow, so just pretend that whatever I post tomorrow was done today. Tell me what you think and have a nice night. I’m gonna pass out now. Mwah.

AND YES WHEN I WRITE MEGS IN ANY FIC HE IS A MUSHY BASTARD WHEN HES NOT AN ASS HAT AND THATS ON SOFT BASTARDS😌✨✨