#I had no sense of robot when I was a kid

[theartlockerlocked]

Me:

[al-luviec]

id like to thank ninjago episode snake jaguar for everything but nothing all at the same time

[mrdrhenwardhykle]

Non FNAF old Scott Cawthon art style appreciation post

[welcometogrouchland]

Bee and puppycat lazy in space I love you so so much it's not even funny

[brucewaynehater101]

Android Tim Drake AU:

Drake Industries announced they had successfully created realistic-looking androids that passed the Turing Test (and harder versions of it). They were planning to release commercial models to the public within twenty years.

To go a step farther, the Drakes wanted to ensure no one was skeptical of the androids' abilities to pass as human. Thus, Janet and Jack Drake had a healthy "human" baby by the name of Timothy Jackson Drake. The only individuals aware of this are Tim, Janet, Jack, and a small handful of engineers bound with a fuck ton of NDAs. They planned to tell the public when Tim was eighteen.

While Janet and Jack Drake are aware of Tim's ability to mimic emotions, they do not believe him to be capable of actually feeling them. This leads to Tim's childhood being lonely and neglectful. He is a robot.

At first, Tim is incapable of consuming human foods or using his touch sense. They fix his touch sense by the time he is four (and thus Dick is his first hug), and the food by the time he is six. He is constantly undergoing repairs to allow him to mimic the growth pattern of a child. It's when he is nine that he finally gets pain sensors to discourage and alert him to damage.

Tim is, for all intents and purposes, legally a human. When Janet dies and Jack gets into a coma, Tim stops receiving "growth spurts." He remains the same size even after Jack wakes up from his coma.

When Tim becomes Robin, he does not disclose his status with Bruce, Dick, or anyone else. Given that his parents treat him like an object, a machine, and incapable of feelings, Tim doesn't want to be subjected to that by his heroes either.

Instead, he gaslights the hell out of the Bats, villains, and other heroes whenever he gets hit.

["Tim! You got flung into a building. You are getting a medical exam."

Tim narrows his eyes as his eyebrows raise in surprise. "Bruce.... what are you talking about?"

"I saw you get thrown into a building. You're not getting out of this."

Tim glances to the side and then back to his mentor. He carefully places a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "B... Maybe we should have Alfred check you over."

Bruce blinks in shock as his brows furrow. "What?"

Tim purses his lips and shakes his head in pity. "It's okay, B. We'll figure it out. Whatever is going on, we'll fix it."

Bruce is so confused and concerned he doesn't ask Tim to get a medical check and agrees to be checked over instead.]

Tim becomes an expert at repairing himself because he can't explain to the engineers (most of who were let go after Janet died) how he got damaged. He spends a lot of nights alone in his room turning off his pain sensors (which isn't an automatic process and is difficult to reach)in order to fix the mangled hand, the gaping gash, the crooked foot, etc.

Kon, and conversely YJ, are the first to find out about his status (darn x-ray vision and super hearing). This encourages Tim to create artificial sounds within himself to fool Superman when they first meet. This also forces Tim to wear a long-sleeved uniform and a hood to hide from x-ray vision.

Tim finds comradery with Red Tornado.

When Jack wakes up from his coma, he originally treats Tim as he did before: an object. Dana, though, changes this. Jack can't explain why he treats his "son" that way and slowly morphs into becoming a good father.

It starts as only occurring when Dana is in the room and ends with a very bitter and antagonistic Jack when she leaves. He is initially disturbed by how much Tim is "faking" emotions, particularly because Tim learned to conceal his emotions from his parents as a coping mechanism (not that Jack knows this).

As they start spending more and more time together, Jack begins accepting the idea that Tim is capable of emotions. He starts caring and loving the kid as his own.

Because of this, Jack becomes fearful for Tim. When he learns that Tim is Robin, he is both jealous of Bruce's relationship with Tim and absolutely terrified for his son (what happens if people find out that Tim is an android? How would they treat him? Tim told Jack the Waynes don't know about his status. What if Tim gets injured too badly during a mission and they find out?)

This is why Jack initially forbids Tim from being Robin. There is way too much at stake for Tim if he continues (even though, theoretically, Tim can't die. Jack can keep saves of Tim and import him into a new body if necessary. They both don't want to do this, however, because Tim's body is his. It would feel weird and wrong to put him in another one).

While Tim is prohibited from being Robin, Jack bankrupts his company in the process of getting Tim rights. He bribes the hell out of judges, law makers, etc. to subtly put I'm rights for androids. He wants Tim to have full access to his inheritance, to freedom, and to everything humans can do. He doesn't want Tim to be without it.

Tim doesn't understand why Drake Industries is going under and is pissed at Jack for preventing him from being Robin. Robin is everything to Tim. It allows him to be treated as human. It connects him to so many people.

It's only afterwards, when Tim is finally allowed to be Robin again (and Jack has ensured he did everything he could for now for Tim's rights), that Tim fully understands how much Jack loves and cares for him.

Then Jack dies.

Tim is able to hide the fact that he's an android up until a Red Helmet asshole breaks into the Tower. While YJ whisk him away before the Bats can find out, Jason knows. Jason found out.

[devotedlystrangewizard]

i have such strong memories related to black sails like. it was my mom's birthday. during a weekend. think 2018/2019. we went away for the weekend to this. place. idk what its called in english but yk rent a tiny house for like a few days. whatever. i can remember what it looked like. i sat on that couch watching black sails. my sister and i had to share a room and i managed to break the bed (not permanently) i had to sleep on & because even after fixing it i didnt trust it, i slept on the floor. it was on that floor that i watched s2 of black sails. it was on that floor that i saw that fucking scene that fundamentally changed me as a person. because. listen. black sails was one of the first shows id watched with a queer story. with not one but two major plot threads revolving around queer people's relationships. i remember sitting in the car in the dark as the rest of my family was ordering fries for us and i remember my mom going "hey look gay couple!" in a restaurant. it doesnt feel real. that entire weekend is a fever dream. i thought i was just watching a pirate show. the pirates were gay. the pirates were fucking gay bro. i cried over that show. i wept at the end of it. i had to play boardgames for my mom's birthday and pretend like i wasnt going insane because the pirates were gay and i was just. ough. i was 14 or 15 and i was barely out and i was new to being queer in any capacity and it was such an experience.

[a-passing-storm]

I started watching the Terminator movies, and I... meh. Terminator 1 was Not That Interesting to me, and Terminator 2 had a better premise (imo), but it just... none of it Sits Well with me. (My issue is I’m comparing it to the Matrix.) (I typed this all in the tags but I think I passed the tag limit so that sucks.)

[nvuy]

nuvy. nuvy have you heard of the boothill leaks.

YES i did *salutes*

boothill story leaks under cut;

girl dad girl dad

soooo what about boothill falling in love with a single parent with a daughter hmm hmm

like god if he doesn’t just accidently run into the kid and she squeals over him because “hey!! cool robot man!!” and you chase her down and apologise.

he freezes, because your daughter looks so much like his did.

same hair colour, same eye colour, same energy that he could barely keep up with, just learning to walk on two feet properly and string together words to form simple sentences.

it absolutely destroys him. in the worst and best way possible. especially since your daughter practically develops an admiration for him on the spot, begs to be carried, and you’re confused because “sweetie, you shouldn’t be talking to strangers.”

like like.,,,, example……..

Something small and warm wraps around his hand and Boothill glances up quickly from his lap.

There was a little girl searching for his fingers, barely three years old by the looks of it. Pretty tresses of black hair flowing in the wind near the shoreline, sniffling and barely standing on short wobbly legs.

“I need help,” she hiccups, and Boothill melts on the spot. So small and helpless, like a baby bird away from its mother’s nest. “I can’t find my–”

And of course, he stands up, dusts off his pants, and offers her his hand. He guides her away from the beach back towards the market where crowds of people swarm the stalls.

It’s nighttime, cold, and definitely no place for a little girl to be by herself.

“What’s your parents look like, princess?”

He busies himself searching for any targets that would make sense given the girl’s prattling of your appearance down to the colour of your shoes—“White. Like mine.” Hers light up purple with each step she takes—too many faces, too many people.

He stands to give up when he hears somebody frantically running around like a lunatic to every single store, asking if they’ve seen a little girl with light up sneakers wandering about.

“Calm down. I’m sure she’s around here somewhere,” he heard one of the assistants try.

Another shopkeeper offers a pitiful frown and shakes their head.

Boothill nudges the girl, squeezing her small hand in his, careful of his strength around fragile bones. “Is that them?”

She quickly wipes the tears from her face. She then nods and takes off into a sprint to lunge at you, still sobbing when she wraps her arms around your leg.

You sigh in relief and scoop her up into your arms.

Boothill then has an entire conundrum in the middle of the market square. For one, your daughter is waving him over with a smile on her face. Two, you looked like you were about two seconds away from passing out in shock. Your clothes are askew, hair a mess, face flushed and yet simultaneously drained of blood.

He steps closer anyway, though hesitantly. He can’t say no to the little thing whose grin has now grown double the size of her face.

“This is the man that helped me,” she explained softly to you, pointing at him with a small finger.

You scanned him over.

For a moment, he thought you were going to turn around and book it in the other direction. A random ‘robot man’ in the centre of the town square was probably the least most inviting thing he could’ve been. Not to mention he had been sitting at the docks for so long staring out into the water he knew his hair had been tossed wildly from the wind.

Not that you appeared anymore put together.

Instead, you grab his face with a free hand and kiss him on the cheek.

“Thank you,” you whispered hoarsely.

He almost damn near blue screens. The words ‘anything for you’ fight to come forth out of his throat.

Instead, he lets out a garbled noise before he clears his throat. “Of course. Couldn’t let the little princess run too far.” He teased your daughter with a tap to her nose.

She grabs his finger and presses the pads of her own across the metal rivets and joints like she’s studying them curiously.

Your daughter stared up at you with giant puppy eyes, still holding his hand. “Can we keep him?”

It was your turn to make a weird noise, spluttering with your face heating up. “You can’t keep people.”

All the while, Boothill was staring at you as you chastised her with hot cheeks.

No spouse by the looks of it—nor had the little princess mentioned somebody else. He knew kids liked to ramble on about their parents.

Well, his daughter did. Something cold and metallic turned in his stomach. She used to think her dad was a hero.

He wondered if she still would.

No ring on your finger. Adoration was such a gentle expression on your face, and the way you held her so firmly, yet so delicately, said it all.

Oh, if he wasn’t completely head over heels from the very beginning.

the angst potential. The angst potential. Theeee angst potential. i’m gritting my teeth.

i’m going insan e

[love-and-war-on-cybertron]

Imagine this ✋😌🤚 (Transformers Prime Wise) everyone is in the base chilling and the kids randomly start talking about who’s the most attractive of the bots (based on whatever random criteria list Miko made). while they are all going on about why their personal bot would definitely be popular they start arguing and suddenly call out to reader (who has been minding their business on the couch distracted reading a book or something) and asks them which autobot is most attractive, reader instinctively and with absolutely no hesitation blurts out the bot thats been on their mind for a while nonchalantly acting as if they didn’t pretty much confess their attraction and said bot definitely heard them. (I would love Ratchet or bulkhead, or bumblebee whichever one is easier to write for)(loved your Rodimus fic btw it was so cute 10/10) sorry this request was so long, it’s completely fine if you don’t wanna write this 😭

No need to apologize!! I'm so glad you liked the Rodimus one, it got rewritten like four times XP I still need to catch up on TFP, but I'm a little more familiar with Ratchet from it. I hope you enjoy!

Ratchet was too busy working to pay attention to what the humans were up to. This part had been busted for a week and he needed it for his next project. The talk was nothing but an annoying buzz in the background, occasionally becoming loud enough for him to huff or grunt to try and get them to quiet down.

Something about who the most attractive bot was. How childish! the criteria listed by Miko wasn't anywhere near Cybertronian beauty standards. What did a human know about biolights and kibble? The angular chassis of a tank compared to the smooth curves of a racer frame? This kids would make their observations and laugh, especially when Decepticons were the topic. Prime was called a "daddy" and Bee had "Puppy energy".

"What about you, Y/N?"

Ratchet listens a little closer, but still keeps his focus on his work. You weren't a child, and had a decent processor in that head of yours. You might have some sense not to play this stupid game.

"Ratchet."

Hwat?

Ratchet almost drops his tools in surprise. You, the only human he thought had some sense think he's attractive. Glancing over his shoulder, he sees that you had been just as busy as him when the questioning started. Sat on the couch with your book, looking around, stumbling over yourself to explain. He caught some of it: intelligent, skilled. Handsome for a robot.

Miko seemed to spearhead the grilling despite being the one to start the whole thing.

When you glance in Ratchet's direction, he sees your eyes widen and how quickly you look down when they meet his optics. Shame? Embarrassment? It doesn't sit right to see you teased. Just because you can appreciate an older bot.

"What's so funny?" Ratchet scoffs, "at least one of your kind has some taste." He turns away from the console and over to the platform. Bee chirps and nudges him before getting shoved away by the doctor. "Isn't it time you all leave?"

He leans close, glaring at the kids. Miko tries snarking back about the weekend but Raf mentions a movie playing. Bee volunteers to take them home, perfect excuse for him to go to the drive in.

Wheeljack heads out with them, raising an optic ridge at the medic as he passes by. It's just the two of you left. Ratchet shift, glancing back at you. You don't look at him, sitting back on the couch with your book. Body tense and heated. Trying to look casual and relaxed and clearly anything but.

He vents out and looks back at his project, then at you again. "So... got a thing for old bots huh?"

You hunch down, gripping your book tighter. "Ratchet, I-"

"You uh… sticking around?" He interrupts, "I could use some help."

You peek up over your book. Ratchet had you help a couple times, small hands being able to reach places. And again, being the only human in this base that he thinks has a lick of sense.

"Sure... Yeah..." You put the book down and smile.

Ratchet smiles back, offering his servo for you to climb on.

[castillon02]

When Jason starts to prioritize cooperation as well as vengeance, Tim suspects Jason's self-control still isn't that great. Since he's Tim, well...

He conducts some tests.

Hood is about to murder someone that they need information from when Tim calls out, "Hey, Hood, has anyone ever told you that you're a Decepticon wannabe who probably fucks himself to the sound of his own robot voice?"

Hood stills.

The drug dealer who sold tenth-grader Benny Garcia fentanyl gapes in a way that shows off his recently-missing teeth.

Hood drops the dealer in a heap and turns his shitkicker combat boots in Tim's direction.

Tim bolts. Batman will swoop in to continue the dealer's interrogation; he and Hood have figured out a good-cop-bad-cop thing, though Batman still seems bemused about the chance to be 'good cop.'

Hood races after him.

---

Tim makes it to a safe house off of Robinson Park. He probably lost Hood about half an hour ago, but it never hurts to be careful. Especially when---oh, shit.

"This place is filthy," Jason says, sitting on the kitchen counter that Tim never uses and looking with disdain at Tim's collection of empty energy drink cans, takeout boxes, and crime yarn. Jason's not wearing his helmet or domino, and he taps his boot heels softly against the cabinet door like a little kid. Not exactly danger signals.

But for a moment, all Tim can look at is the boots. It's stupid; the knife at his neck was closer to fatal. But the kicking had hurt the worst.

"Since you apparently have time to run your mouth," Jason says, "and since someone stole my target, it seems like we both have time to clean up in here. I went out and got trash bags." He nudges a box on the counter next to him. The trash bags are the sturdy kind, not the flimsy cheap kind or the extra-strength hide-the-body-parts kind.

Tim has been meaning to get trash bags for this place for three weeks. It's just that he doesn't visit often, and when he does it's usually when he's injured or tired, and he could get things delivered but that's a paper trail he could avoid if he just made time to visit the bodega down the street... "You're a trash bag," he says, even though it doesn't make sense.

Jason rolls his eyes. "Just for that, we're mopping the floor too. Luckily, I came prepared." He hops down from the counter and opens the little mystery closet next to the fridge. Inside: a broom, a Swiffer, a bucket, a pack of scrub brushes still in their plastic, and a jug of bleach.

Ohhh, that's why the closet is so narrow. It's supposed to hold cleaning supplies. Right. Tim definitely knew that. Tim definitely doesn't just have a roll of paper towels...somewhere...that he sometimes puts dish soap on.

He squints at Jason. Still no green danger-eyes. "Darcy and Elizabeth would never let you be part of a throuple with them," he tries.

Jason pulls out a trash bag. "They've got issues anyway."

"Helen Keller would make up new words so she could sign how ugly your face is."

"She was a socialist," Jason says. He holds the bag and gestures at Tim's kitchen table. "So we'd probably just talk about organizing the working class. I don't think looks would come into it. Also, way to be a dick."

"You're so pathetic that Jane Eyre would give up on you like she didn't give up on Rochester," Tim says, figuring he did the research for this attack, so he might as well use it.

Jason actually laughs a little bit. "First of all, there's a lot of power exchange going on in that decision, so jot that down," he says. "Second of all." He looks Tim in the face. "If I start to lose my temper, I'll leave, okay? Or you can just ask me to."

"Even if I asked right now?" Tim asks.

"Even if you asked right now," Jason confirms, though he eyeballs Tim's mess.

Jason's still holding the trash bag. Hands out, open body language, seemingly not homicidal.

Tim had planned for a lot of things with this encounter, including a body bag. Trash bags weren't one of his considered variables. He starts picking up empty cans. "This one can be for recycling," he says, dumping the cans into Jason's bag. New things from old materials. Jason likes that symbolism shit, right?

(Though...new things. Old materials. If there's anyone who ought to be good at that, it's someone who got raised from the dead.

Tim smirks and keeps the thought to himself. Operation: Limitless has been a startling success; he doesn't need to verbalize all his inside thoughts now.)

("Kid, I can tell you're thinking about a zombie joke," Jason says anyway. "You can only tell me after we've brought this shit-heap back to life.")

[revelboo]

Oh my god, I physically NEED a B-127 fated mates fics. He’s so much of a lovable dork, my heart can’t!

I caved… y’all can have the excited, yappy puppy

The Coma Kid

TFO B-127 x Reader

• Tires humming on asphalt, there’s a faint anxiety humming in the back of his processor that’s there wherever he’s under the open sky. A lingering unease that he can’t shake no matter how long it’s been since he left sublevel fifty. Since he left Cybertron. And like he always does when he’s nervous, he talks. Even if it’s just to himself, because he can’t admit to Optimus or anyone else that he’s afraid, can’t even put it into words just to himself. That wide open spaces make him feel so small. So lonely. “This is fine. Totally fine. Absolutely okay,” he says, the sound of his own voice a comfort as it shatters the silence. Because if he says it enough, it must be true. Convincing himself. “I’m okay.” Even if he’s not, he can still smile and keep saying it until he believes it.

• Hair sticking to your nape with sweat, you lean against the rake and work the knots out of your back. Listening to a squirrel fussing from one of the nearby trees, and the peace and quiet is a nice change from the city. Everything feels slower here, more laid back. No stress. No traffic. There’s a faint prickling through you as you stand there that’s almost like that electric taste of lightning on the horizon, a breathless anticipation that whispers a storm is coming even though there’s not a cloud in the sky. That draws your attention to the road.

• Speeding along empty roads, patrolling for Decepticons, he realizes he’s slowing even though he hadn’t meant to. There’s a spark deep ache inside him, pulling at him and he follows it without thinking. Because it echoes through him like a memory. Something familiar. Like the first time he’d met Orion and D-16. Before everything has gone so wrong, when for a short time he’d not been alone. He’d had friends and everything had been perfect for the first time ever. “Where are you?” He mutters and then he spots one of the little organic natives to this world. Little, fragile things. He’s seen them before, but Optimus has forbidden all of them from interacting with them. “I can feel you. Are you calling me?” And he’s transforming without meaning to, seeing you turn toward him, your wide eyes meeting his optics. “Can you feel that? You can, right?”

• Rake falling from your shocked fingers as the car passing by comes apart. Becomes a giant, yellow robot and strides towards you across the lawn, hands outstretched. Hear it talking as it comes at you, reaching for you. A strange feeling of familiarity running through you as you stare at it, that sense snaring you. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.” Those big hands are almost on you when you snap out of that warm haze paralyzing you, because that lulling sense that this is okay is a trap. As soon as you break free of it, you scream and run.

• “Wait-wait.” Lunging, suddenly desperate to catch you, to not lose that sense of belonging, he swipes at your much smaller form. “I said I won’t hurt you! I promise!” You’re fast and he dives, a servo snagging your leg and you go sprawling. Allowing him to drag you back to him by a leg even as you start kicking at his hands with the other. “Stop, it’s okay. I promise it’s okay.” Looming over you, he picks you up and nearly drops you when you try to throw yourself out of his hands. Curling forward around you, feeling the frantic beat of your heart and that sense of home and belonging singing through him as he cages you in his servos. Doesn’t understand what this is, only that he’s never going to be alone again. Never letting go, no matter what. “We’re okay now.” Servos pressing you close to him even as you struggle.

Next

[locomoqo]

Heyyy i was wondering if you could write some Gun and Goo x reader fluff together? Your writing is absolutely amazing! 😁

Also, I was wondering if, in the future, you would ever consider writing for olly wang?

sharking

— gun park & goo kim x reader

details: fluff, the relationship between you and them is all up to you!

A/N: billiards is so cool, I applaud ppl who can play it😋 ..me personally i suck ass at billiards and yes! i'll consider writing for olly wang :DD

Gun and Goo were already mid-argument when you joined them at the pool table, both of them dramatically chalking up their cues. You couldn’t help but laugh as Goo pointed his cue at Gun with a grin that was equal parts competitive and smug.

“Just because you look serious doesn’t mean you’re actually good,” Goo taunted, lining up his shot.

Gun raised an eyebrow, giving him that trademark glare. “And you think you’ll hit anything?” His voice was cold but had that familiar dry humor you’d come to expect from him.

Goo gasped in mock offense. Spotting you, he turned to you, “Bet you’d want to be on my team, huh?” a grin on his face.

“Maybe I’ll just stay neutral and watch you two bicker like an old married couple.” You chuckled, eyeing the table.

Gun actually cracked a small, amused smirk. “See? Even they don’t trust you.”

With a wink, Goo pouted, feigning hurt. “Fine, watch and be amazed!” He dramatically aimed his cue, only to completely miss the shot. You burst into laughter as he froze, trying to save face. “That was…intentional. Strategy, see?”

Gun rolled his eyes, then effortlessly sank a ball in the corner pocket with his usual precision. He didn’t gloat, but the smug glance he shot Goo said it all. “That’s how it’s done,” he remarked dryly.

You clapped, teasing, “Looks like you’re on your own, Goo.”

Goo shook his head with an exaggerated sigh, waving his cue. “One day, you’ll see my true talent,” he grumbled. 

As the game went on, you watched the back-and-forth intensify. Goo kept trying to redeem himself, taking increasingly wild shots—some going in and some not, while Gun played with infuriating precision, each shot calculated and clean. You could feel Goo’s frustration building every time Gun effortlessly sank another ball.

Goo nudged you, whispering, “You’re my lucky charm, right? Just… distract him or something.” His eyes sparkled with mischief, and you rolled your eyes.

“Distract Gun? Are you kidding? He’s like a robot,” you whispered back, shooting a glance at Gun, who caught your look and raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing something.

“I can hear you, you know,” Gun said dryly, leaning down to line up his next shot. He didn’t even need to look up to know Goo was scheming.

“Oh, come on, don’t be so uptight,” Goo groaned, crossing his arms. “Let me have just one lucky shot. I’m doing this for us!” He winked at you, clearly pushing you to be his path to winning.

“You’d need more than luck to beat me, Goo,” Gun shot back, actually cracking a small smirk, which was almost as rare as a total eclipse.

Feeling playful, you moved closer to Gun just as he was lining up a shot. “What if I do distract you, though?” you teased softly.

Gun paused, eyes narrowing when he momentarily glanced at you. “You think you could?” his voice steady, but the corner of his mouth hinting at a smile.

You leaned back, grinning, and just as Gun missed his shot, Goo seized the opportunity, taking a shamelessly quick shot. The ball actually went in, and Goo threw his hands up in exaggerated victory. “See! That’s skill!” he declared, beaming at you as if he’d just won a championship.

Gun straightened, giving him a blank stare. “Lucky,” he muttered, but there was an undeniable trace of amusement in his eyes.

You found yourself caught in the middle of their banter, realizing just how much you loved these moments with the two of them, where even Gun’s serious edges softened.

[childrenofcain-if]

Did your school also have that awful baby project where you have to partner up with another student and be “parents” for like a fake robot baby? The one that has sensors in it and it cries in the middle of the night and you have to feed it and carry it around for like two weeks.

I'm imagining if MC and C had to pair up for that project in school. It's a funny mental image of two kids arguing over a fake baby like they're 40 year old divorcees.

Obviously they both want a good grade but they literally won't stop arguing over every stupid thing about the fake baby.

A whole lot of: “You're holding it the wrong way.” “No, YOU'RE holding it the wrong way.” “Why did you have to dress it up in THAT outfit. It looks hideous.” “I thought it was cute! What, are you not happy unless it's wearing formal three piece suit, get over yourself.” “You're supposed to look after it tonight.” “I told you that I'm too busy with practice after school.” “Well that's too bad, we both agreed that Friday is YOUR night to look after the baby. I'll get it back on the weekend.” “But I can't take the baby with me to football practice! Why are you so inconsiderate?" "Great, look it's crying now. That's gotta be your fault.”

Teacher would immediately be so done with them and ready to take off points for “inflicting psychic damage on the baby by means of hostile environment” or some bs 💀

it was supposed to be a simple project—a rite of passage, really. every student had to go through it: the dreaded baby project. the one where you and a partner were tasked with taking care of a robot baby for two weeks, complete with cries in the middle of the night, diapers that needed changing, and a never-ending checklist of parental responsibilities. it was meant to teach you about responsibility, commitment, and empathy, or whatever nonsense the school administration tried to sell it as.

you, on the other hand, had different thoughts. especially when you found out that your partner for this cursed experiment was none other than C Lacroix.

the moment the teacher had paired you two together, you both shot each other the same look of mutual horror. of all the people in your class, of all the potential partners, you were stuck with each other. it was like fate had a sick sense of humor. C, the person who couldn’t go a day without making some snide remark about you, was now supposed to co-parent a fake baby with you? for two whole weeks? this was going to be a nightmare.

“why do we even have to do this?” C muttered under their breath, running a hand through their hair as they eyed the little plastic baby lying in the crib in front of you. “making this project mandatory is ridiculous.”

“you think i’m happy about this?” you shot back, already feeling the tension between you two rising. “you’re not exactly my dream partner either.”

the teacher, mrs. wentworth, stood at the front of the class, giving out instructions as though this were the most serious, real-world task you’d ever face in high school. you had to pick up the baby, name it, dress it, and take care of it as if it were real. the sensors inside the baby would track how well you handled it, including how quickly you responded to its cries, how gently you held it, and whether or not you remembered to change its clothes and diapers.

C crossed their arms, glancing at the little bundle of plastic with thinly veiled disgust. “how are we supposed to pass this if it’s literally rigged to cry at random hours?”

you didn’t bother hiding your frustration as you leaned in closer, keeping your voice low. “well, maybe if you actually try instead of complaining all the time, we could figure it out. just a thought.”

they shot you a glare. “oh, so now you’re an expert on fake babies?”

“better than you, at least,” you muttered, folding your arms over your chest.

the two of you stood there in a silent, seething stalemate for a moment, both unwilling to be the first to back down. then mrs. wentworth walked over with an expectant smile, handing you the baby and the care guide that went with it.

“don’t forget,” she said, her voice overly chipper, “this baby is your responsibility. think of it like it’s a real, living child.”

C muttered something under their breath that sounded a lot like kill me now but managed a tight-lipped smile as mrs. wentworth walked away.

and so the nightmare began.

***

the first night was a disaster. the baby—whom you both begrudgingly decided to name “charlie,” after a half-hour debate that nearly escalated into a full-on shouting match—began crying at exactly 2:14 a.m. you were supposed to take care of it that night, but when the piercing wails filled the room, you groaned and instinctively checked your phone. two missed calls from C. the stupid app linked to the baby must’ve been ringing off for them.

“are you kidding me?” you muttered, rolling out of bed and grabbing your phone.

when you called them back, their voice was groggy and clearly annoyed. “why is the baby crying?”

“gee, i don’t know, lacroix, maybe because it’s a robot baby that cries for no reason? it’s literally designed to do this.”

“i thought you were supposed to be taking care of it tonight,” they shot back.

“i am, but it’s just— can’t you hear it over the phone?” you snapped. “it’s like it’s possessed. i’ve tried everything, but it’s not stopping.”

you heard a sigh on the other end, and then a rustling noise. “fine. i’ll come over.”

within fifteen minutes, C was standing in your doorway, wearing a dark green hoodie and gray sweatpants, looking very much like they regretted every life decision that had led them to this moment. they made a beeline for the fake baby, picking it up awkwardly, their movements stiff and unsure.

“you’re holding it the wrong way,” you said immediately, wincing as the baby wailed louder.

they glared at you. “no, i’m not.”

“yes, you are. you have to support its head.”

“i am supporting its head,” they growled through gritted teeth. “this thing’s just broken or something.”

you crossed your arms, trying not to lose your patience entirely. “great, so we’re already terrible parents and it’s only day one.”

C shot you a look of half-exasperation and half-amusement. “well, it’s not like we’re competing for ‘parents of the year,’ are we?”

“oh, trust me, we’re not even good enough to be in the running.”

***

by the end of week one, things had escalated.

“i can’t believe you dressed it in that,” you said, eyeing the baby’s outfit with utter disdain. it was a simple onesie, with little ducks printed all over it, but to you, it was the equivalent of committing some kind of fashion crime.

“what’s wrong with it?” C snapped, not in the mood for another one of your critiques.

“it looks ridiculous. you couldn’t have picked something more… i don’t know, neutral?”

“neutral?” C scoffed, narrowing their eyes at you. “what, were you expecting it to wear a three-piece suit? maybe a little tie and cufflinks? it’ll end up looking like a mini version of your dad.”

“at least it wouldn’t look like a clown.”

C threw their hands up in frustration. “oh my god, it’s a baby. it’s supposed to look cute.”

“that isn’t cute.”

“i thought it was cute!”

“well, it’s not. and now we look like idiots.”

“we?” C let out a sarcastic laugh. “last time i checked, i dressed it while you were too busy pretending to care.”

“i care!” you protested, your voice rising.

“really? because you didn’t seem to care last night when i was the one who had to stay up until 4 a.m.”

you crossed your arms, glaring at C. “i told you i had practice. we agreed that i’d take care of it over the weekend.”

“yeah, well, the baby didn’t get the memo.” C turned to grab the diaper bag, slinging it over their shoulder. “it’s your turn tonight, by the way. don’t be a deadbeat this time.”

“i can’t take it with me to hockey,” you said, your voice flat.

“then figure something out,” C snapped. “i have chess club to attend as well.”

you groaned, rubbing your temples in frustration. “this is impossible.”

“you’re telling me.”

***

come tuesday morning, you were a zombie. dark circles under your eyes, your body aching from both the lack of sleep and the lingering soreness from practice. when you met up with C in the hallway before class, you didn’t bother hiding your exhaustion.

“rough night?” they asked, though there was a smirk playing at the corners of their mouth.

“i hope you choke on your chess pieces,” you muttered, glaring at them.

they raised an eyebrow. “such hostility. it’s not good for our charlie, you know.”

“charlie’s fine. i’m the one who’s falling apart.”

“well, you’re supposed to be a co-parent,” they said, their tone teasing but with an edge of seriousness. “maybe if you actually tried…”

“oh, don’t you dare lecture me about trying,” you snapped. “you’re the one who left me with the baby for three whole days.”

“you’re the one who wanted the weekend slot.”

“it was monday yesterday!”

C opened their mouth to argue, but mrs. wentworth appeared before either of you could get another word in.

“how’s it going with little charlie?” she asked with a smile that was far too cheery for how sleep-deprived you felt.

“great,” C said immediately, flashing a charming smile that was only reserved for faculty members.

you shot them a look that could kill. “‘great?’ really?”

mrs. wentworth raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing the tension. “is there something you want to add?”

you crossed your arms, biting your tongue. the last thing you needed was a lecture on communication from your teacher. “no, it’s fine. we’re doing… great, yes.”

“fantastic,” she said with a smile. “just remember, it’s important to create a healthy, loving environment for your child.”

as soon as she walked away, you turned to C. “loving environment? you couldn’t even be bothered to show up last night.”

they shrugged, unbothered. “i had chess club after school.”

you let out a frustrated sigh, shaking your head. “i can’t wait for this project to be over.”

***

the arguing reached a fever pitch by the middle of the second week. it seemed like every little thing about the baby was grounds for debate.

“you’re not holding it right,” C said, standing over you as you tried to rock the baby to sleep.

you sighed out in irritation. “oh my god, can you just back off for once?”

“i’m serious, you’re supposed to hold it like this,” they insisted, demonstrating with an exaggerated motion, as if they were some kind of baby-holding expert now.

“you do realize it’s not even real, right? the sensors won’t know the difference.”

“that’s not the point.”

you clenched your jaw, doing your best to ignore them as you continued rocking the baby. it was past midnight, and you were exhausted—more exhausted than you’d ever been in your life. who knew a robot baby could be this draining? C, on the other hand, seemed to be operating on a combination of stubbornness and sheer arrogance, unwilling to back down from any argument.

“why are you so obsessed with doing everything your way?” you muttered under your breath.

“i’m not obsessed, i just don’t want us to fail.”

“oh, please, we’re not going to fail because of how i hold the stupid thing.”

“well, it’s crying now, isn’t it?” they shot back, crossing their arms.

you glared at them. “it’s crying because you won’t shut up.”

C huffed in frustration, running a hand through their hair. “fine. you know what? fine. you handle it. i’m done.”

“who’s the deadbeat now?” you snarked as they started storming off to the corner. they stopped in their tracks when they heard you and, with a barely suppressed groan, stomped back to you.

“back so soon?” you asked in faux surprise before thrusting the baby toward them. “your turn.”

C rolled their eyes, grumbling under their breath as they resigned themself to doing the baby-holding now.

***

by the time the project finally came to an end, you and C were barely on speaking terms. the constant bickering, the sleepless nights, and the stress of trying to keep a fake baby “alive” had taken its toll. you were both exhausted—mentally, physically, and emotionally.

when you handed charlie back to mrs. wentworth, you couldn’t help but feel a wave of relief wash over you. it was finally over.

“well,” mrs. wentworth said, eyeing the two of you with a bemused expression, “i hope this has been a… productive learning experience.”

“yeah,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “something like that.”

she gave you both a tight smile. “i’ll be docking points for the… tension between you two. i did remind you that it’s important to maintain a healthy environment for your child.”

you and C both opened your mouths to protest, but she held up a hand. “no need to argue. you’ve both done enough of that already.”

as you walked out of the classroom, the weight of the past two weeks hung between you. it wasn’t until you were halfway down the hallway that C turned to you, not meeting your eyes.

“all things considered…” they started, their voice low and reluctant, like they were pulling teeth just to get the words out, “you weren’t that bad of a partner.”

you blinked, turning your head sharply to look at them, unsure if you had heard them correctly. the very same person who had spent the last two weeks criticizing every little thing you did, was actually complimenting you?

“wait, what?” you said, your voice dripping with incredulity. “did you just say something nice to me? are you feeling okay?”

C rolled their eyes, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of their lips. “don’t get too excited. i’m just saying… you didn’t completely screw it up.”

you couldn’t help but let out a dry, sarcastic laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “wow, high praise coming from you. if this was a real baby, it would probably be dead by now with the way we handled things.”

C chuckled softly, the sound catching you off guard. it wasn’t their usual arrogant laugh, the one that always made you want to punch them. this was different—quieter, more genuine. they shrugged, their shoulders relaxed as they glanced at you.

“yeah, maybe. but…” they hesitated for a second, their pale green eyes flickering to yours before quickly looking away. “i wouldn’t have asked for another partner.”

the words hit you like a slow-motion realization, and for a moment, you couldn’t quite process what they had just said. you stared at them, mouth slightly open, completely taken aback.

before you could ask what them meant, they were already walking off, their long strides taking them down the hallway.

“good luck for your practice,” they tossed over their shoulder, their voice casual, as if they hadn’t just dropped a bombshell on you.

you stood there, frozen in place, your mind racing to make sense of it. what did they mean by that? were they actually being sincere? and why did they say it like it wasn’t a big deal?

the hallway felt suddenly quieter, the distant chatter of other students fading into the background as you tried to wrap your head around what just happened. your heart was pounding a little faster, and you felt an unfamiliar warmth creeping up your neck.

why the hell am i getting flustered over this? you thought, shaking your head as if that would clear the confusion.

you let out a slow breath, your mind replaying C’s words: i wouldn’t have asked for another partner.

why did that make your heart skip a beat? this was C—the same person who had criticized every little thing you did, the one who would normally rather die than give you a compliment. and yet, here you were, feeling oddly flattered and confused.

you were about to turn and head toward the gym lockers to get your hockey gears for practice when you realized your hands were still clenching the care guide from the project. you looked down at it, then back at the direction C had walked off in, their figure now disappearing around a corner.

a small, involuntarily giddy smile crept onto your face.

maybe they weren’t that bad of a partner either.

[zosin-ya]

omg i love your work so much! if your free can you do a fluff scenario of kid where his s/o gives him a ton of cute magnets for his arm and he shows them off like tattoos? 🥰🥰🥰

Character: Eustass Kid Content: s/o giving him magnets for his robotic arm a.n.: I really love this idea and I do love Kid. Hope you enjoy!

Kid was engrossed in his workshop as usual, tinkering away at the scattered items on his cluttered table. Screws, metal scraps, and tools lay in disarray, which he periodically shoved from left to right to create a bit of workspace. Despite the apparent chaos, he had his own unique organizational system, that made sense, only to him. Occasionally, you could hear him mutter curses under his breath, as you watched him from the doorway quietly.

His massive form sat at a well-worn workbench, which had clearly seen better days. The wood bore scratches, burn marks, and a missing corner—hastily patched with a piece of metal Kid had slammed against it. After all, it was a workbench, meant to look used, or so he told himself.

The small light aimed at the bench exaggerated his already bulky form. His foot tapped to the rhythm of the music playing in the background as he continued to tinker. He was so absorbed in his work that he didn’t notice your approach.

With your hands in your pockets, secretly holding the little gifts you had gathered, you leaned over his shoulder to see what his calloused hands were creating. Despite their rough appearance, Kid was deft when handling delicate metal parts. You kept quiet, a small amused smile forming on your lips as you wondered how long it would take for him to notice your presence.

Your breath brushed his shoulder, causing him to pause momentarily before resuming his work. He acknowledged your presence with a grunt, "What ya need?"

For Kid, that was quite polite. Anyone else would likely have faced a flying screwdriver or a loud rebuke for interrupting him. But you, you could bother him anytime. Even if he reacted this way, you knew you were welcome.

"Nothing, just curious," you answered innocently—perhaps too innocently. Kid knew you well and sensed you were up to something. He cocked his head towards you, raising an eyebrow, but before he could make a snarky comment, you pulled your hand out of your pocket and let the magnet fall onto his robotic arm. It adhered instantly.

Kid frowned, examining the small, punk-themed magnet now adorning his prosthetic. Placing his tools on the bench, he turned his metal arm for a better look. It was a small magnet, just his style.

"Where’d you get that—Hey!" You interrupted him by placing another magnet on his arm. He didn’t know you’d been collecting these during your travels. Each time you saw a fitting one, you’d buy it, waiting until you had a good collection to surprise him.

With a low hum, Kid turned towards you, still seated on his stool. This was new. He had never considered decorating his arm, which he saw as a weapon rather than a canvas for aesthetics. Your captain spread his legs, leaning back against the workbench, eyes shifting from his robotic arm to you. "What's this all about, huh?"

You stood between his legs, shrugging nonchalantly with a small smile. "It's like having tattoos. You can change them, too. Thought it was a cool idea. Do you like it?"

Kid might be rough around the edges, but he wouldn’t decline a gift from you, even the oddest one. And this? It looked kinda cool. A confident grin spread across his face as he examined the magnets. Most fit his style, though some were cuter, making his grin falter. He groaned in annoyance.

"Y/N, come on. What is this? I can't be running around like this!" He ripped off a magnet featuring a kitten with big eyes and "Anarchy" written below. Clearly, you’d picked it to tease him. Kid was about to discard it, but you snatched it back and reattached it to his arm.

"It's a gift! It’s not that bad. A real man can wear anything, right?." You taunted with a grin, pinching his cheek gently. Kid pulled his face away, rubbing the spot. You always knew what to say to him to make Kid agree. Going after his manhood usually worked. "...you're lucky I like you, Y/N."

He sighed in defeat, giving you a kiss to thank you for the magnets. He liked most of the them, even if a few were embarrassing. But they were from you, and that made them special. You’d clearly put a lot of thought into this, buying so many and especially picking out specific ones which fit his style.

Later that day, Kid kept all the magnets on his robotic arm. His crew commented, mostly positively, but when they saw the "Anarchy Kitten," they burst out laughing, knowing you’d done it on purpose. To their dismay, Kid discovered he could use the magnets as projectiles, slamming them into their faces and easily retrieving them with his power. With a smug grin, he realized the magnets were more useful than he’d thought.

Kid not only kept every magnet you bought but wore them like a badge of honor. Kitten or not, he looked sick with them.

[Click here for more Kid content!]

[cyberrose2001]

TFP Optimus with a goth and metalhead reader. Reader is female. Fluff.

TFP Optimus x Fem!Goth/Metalhead!Reader

Heyy so this was pretty cute to write. I had come up with a couple different ideas but I went with something simple and took creative liberty. I hope you enjoy!!

Warnings: None, Fluff, reader is human.

Word Count: 1,259

'There's no escape from the thoughts inside my head,

Dark days has taken the best of me,

I can't go on like this.'

Sliding the volume bar up, you relax into the stained lounge not currently occupied with kids bickering for player one. They can be pestering at best. However, you love them a lot, especially Miko. That little rockstar has wiggled her way under your skin more than you would've liked. You can't count how often she's come to you with a new metal song she wanted to destroy your eardrums with, in a good way, much to the chagrin of the rest of Team Prime.

So when your fellow metalhead friend goes home with a big smile on her face and the second guitar she's broken this week, you take the opportunity to relax with your own music. With added earbuds, of course.

'Can you turn back time,

To change what you have done?

To shape who you become?'

Shutting your eyes, you let the rolling drums and metallic melodies flood your senses, the lyrics soothing you better than any therapist you could throw money at.

'DEATH BY A THOUSAND CUUUUU-'

Tap tap.

"GAHH!"

After nearly giving the base a new emergency exit via a Y/n-shaped hole through the roof, you rip off your earbuds to glare daggers at exactly who tapped you on the shoulder in your mid-maladaptive daydreaming.

A very concerned, slightly mortified Optimus Prime stares at you right back.

You have now exceeded your yearly quota for embarrassment in the span of five seconds.

"Oh! Optimus, sorry I-" You fumble for your phone that went airborne to the other side of the lounge, quickly pausing your music and clearing your throat, "Sorry, is there something I can... do for you?"

Optimus recovers from your sudden outburst and clears his vocalizer, "Nothing to be concerned about," He pauses, "I think... but I couldn't help but overhear music coming from your small device."

"Oh, these?" You show him your earbuds, heavily used and on its last string of wire, "Yeah, that's what they're used for. Personalised music only you can listen to from, called earphones."

"Ah, a device that recognises its user," Optimus says confidently, "Would it still be functional if another were to use it?"

"Uh, no," You hold back a soft chuckle. Optimus may be an eons-old robot, but it seems he still has much to learn about human culture, "I phrased that wrong. It sends music directly into your ears. Not only does it sound better, but it's more... respectful to the people around you."

Optimus seemed to understand that, nodding and leaning in to get a closer look at the magical, elusive earphones, "Hm, I see. How interesting, I am not sure if Cybertron ever had these."

You're unsure if you should explain the crucial 'ear' part, but then again, you also had some things to learn about Cybertronians.

"Maybe," You say, giving him an unsure smile, "Would you... like to try them out? I'm not sure how they will fit because, y'know, ears."

The mech perks up at your offer, seeming interested in something other than having a candle-lit dinner and wine with his datapad.

"If you allow me," Optimus holds out a servo, "I would be grateful for the opportunity."

God, he's so sweet. It's like you asked him to accompany you to a high school dance, except it's not. He wants to try out earphones.

"I am sure they will be fine. My comlink had previously been modified to accommodate external inputs."

You smile sheepishly. That's a good enough answer and one you were hoping for. You move from the lounge to step onto Optimus' outstretched servo, and now you realise that you've never actually been held by Optimus. You know he's big, but suddenly becoming inches close to his faceplates and getting a feel for the mech's true size has your mind spinning.

And this piece of heavy metal that holds you like a delicate flower is about to experience true heavy metal.

Optimus studies you for a moment longer, and his optics finally get a proper, up-close look at your unique style, "You look quite... different from the others. Before proceeding with this 'personalised' experience, may I ask why?"

That shouldn't have made your face flush, but it did. Questionable choice of wording, but he's right. You do have a different style even compared to Miko. Instead of colourful streaks of pink and the brash early two thousand' get-up, you chose to adorn yourself with all-black clothing and absolutely no bold colours in your hair. Even your make-up, black lipstick, and harsh eyeliner that would make a Christian mother weep. Optimus would undoubtedly question why you chose a different way of representing yourself.

"Well, I'm sure it's strange to you," You begin, trying to ignore how high off the ground you are, "But it's another way for humans to express themselves. It's more of an aesthetic of sorts, but a way of life for others. I guess you could compare it to Cybertronians choosing their alt modes."

Optimus nods, absorbing the new knowledge like a sponge. For some reason, that was easier to explain than the earphones.

"Ah, so it is a distinct way to present yourself to others—an identity of sorts. We Cybertronians are quite limited in our own modifications, partly due to the war." The mech reaches his other servo to your hair, toying with the ends to admire the softness, "I do not find that strange at all that you would choose to modify yourself this way. It's rather endearing and unique; I admire that about your species."

"That's..." Your cheeks flush once again as you watch him play with your hair, "Kind of sweet." You give him a soft smile, touching his servo near your head. He makes eye contact with you, and that's when your breath hitches, and you clear your throat, "But it's not just clothes or... or other mods we can use - we can use music too."

Optimus nods his helm in familiarity, "Yes, I have become aware of that. Miko can be quite the musician." You're unsure if he's saying that to be polite or if he genuinely means it.

"Yeah, I've been trying to teach her, I promise." You chuckle softly, as does he. You continue, unconsciously gripping his servo, "But music is the pathway to the soul, at least for me. It can help me think and even untangle my emotions or just let them be and only soothe. It helps me live in the moment. Like a... a therapist, if that makes sense."

The Prime seems to have connected the dots, "That is why you spend most of your time resting on the couch listening to your music?" Optimus realises his impudence towards you earlier when he startled you, "I see. I apologise for interrupting your therapy earlier; that was rather brash of me."

God, no, he is exceeding unprecedented levels of sweetness now. His optics' soft, apologetic look nearly obliterates you, thinking he had legitimately interrupted a therapy session.

"No, no, Optimus," You suppress a laugh, "It's okay, really. It's a figure of speech. It feels like therapy. Sometimes it's better."

Optimus exhales a gentle sigh, "Apologies. You humans have such expressive figures of speech I have yet to catch onto."   

"It's alright. Now, speaking of therapy." You try to hide your ever-growing affection for him and retract your hand, holding up one end of the small earbud, "How about that personalised experience?"

[rowretro]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕳𝖆𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌

(picture found on tumblr)

✧Warnings: Violence, detailed ghost and gore, blood, a horror themed yandere story, dead bodies, possibly creepy dolls?, mafia demon Won (coz he has a gun in the pic, and I need him to be a demon in this story)

✧Synopsis: Y/n never found herself having to hide in her sweet penthouse, her $500 bottle of red wine spilled out of her crystal wine glass, the stunning door many envied, bloodied and broken. She found herself running, running into danger yet again... and the police were on a search for her, as she's now a missing person case. But Jungwon was on a hunt for her, making sure his darling is safe at all costs.

✧✭☆✧✭☆✧✭☆✧✭☆✭✧☆✭✧☆✭✧☆✭✧

Y/n's blood ran cold. one last audio recording of her discoveries on day 7 of surviving. Surviving what you ask? she doesn't even know what to call it. It's eyes blank white, blood surrounding it's pearly eyeballs, running down it's cracked porcelain skin, dried out, it's long hair, everywhere it trails. She learnt not to touch it or it'll immediately sense she's there. It couldn't see her, but it could hear her. it could hear how her blood pumped through her body, her somewhat heavy breathing but it never knew where she hid. She was in an abandoned school.... a University known for it's paranormal sightings. She'd ran into many bodies, of those who tried to escape, some were streamers, reporters who willingly walked into the death department, others seemed like students who tried to escape.

Yet somehow she managed to find out how to kill it... the monster. Finding random letters a woman named Angela Xiao wrote till her death. Y/n examined how the monster's nails went from plain dead, to growing, blinding white nails. The day time was when it was most safe, it never came out in the late, but y/n remained wary. But now it's winter. The nights longer than days, darkness lasting long. She couldn't remember the last time she slept soundly with her only worry being waking up late when she has a morning lecture.

She figured the monster wrote those letters, it was once a woman, forced into an abusive marriage with a man that hurt her always, until he had it, ripping out her ligaments whilst she was still alive, as the woman screamed bloody murder, according to the random news letters in the cold dead hands in some reporters. There was some talks of a kid's ghost that lurked the hallways too. Her heart ached for this woman, but she had to get rid of this.... cursed being. perhaps perform an exorcism?...

She found a lighter, checking if it'd still blaze up, unaware of her surroundings, when a sudden, gut wrenching, ear-piercing scream shook her. There it was, the monster. Not expecting anything to happen but at least slow the thing down, she set it on fire, running off and hiding. but it kept screaming in agony, its body burning up, as it disappeared to ashes.... Y/n's eyes grew wide as she saw a much prettier woman in the form of a ghost, staring around at the bloodied mess, looking quite hurt... It saw y/n, and left behind a key....

It was the key to get out of this place physically. Hopeful yet extremely cautious, she picked up the key. The sound of clinking, echoed the empty hallways, not too far. That can't be right... she hid in the closet, watching as the shadow grew bigger. Her heart dropped at the sight. another one? she wondered as she saw the porcelain mannequin, walking robotically, its hair looking like an elegant wig a woman's love to wear, a red bow tied around it. the strappy red dress looked like a dress she had worn to a friend's frat party.

Those red glass heels looked as fragile as it's ceramic, glossy skin. "I know you're in here human... I can smell your yummy blood... oh don't be shy come out! it'll only hurt a little... I just wanna tear you open and eat your insides whilst u scream in pain!" it said with an eerily sweet voice. She calmed her breath, hiding well, she saw its face. pupils black, lashes drawn on, like a man had made himself a pretty wife in the 1950's, except it looked creepy, sure it possessed the beauty standards one'd expect in a woman, that were so unrealistic. but it's mouth area was broken off, and it's bloodied teeth, with some skin evident in between.

"Come out dear girl... I can see your dark hair.... what such pretty skin you have there......" she commented as Y/n swallowed hard. "THERE YOU ARE!" it screamed as y/n felt herself giving up, reaching for the blade to end her sorrows so she wont face the pain. as it's cold hands grabbed her shoulders, and opened its jaw revealing many rows of bloodied, long sharp teeth, y/n couldn't help but scream. Yet it dropped dead. glass shattering, soul arising from the shatterred, creepy mess off porcelain and disappearing. Y/n breathed heavily, as she finally cried.

"Fuck it's ok, its ok.... I'm here y/n...." a familliar voice said, Jungwon, the sweet boy in her class, the man she had a crush on.... but... he looked different. Gun in hand, black, featherred wings that had sprouted out his back. She backed away, repeating the word no, scared he's just an illusion. "shh shh.... I promise it is me.... I've been looking for you everywhere.... I didn't know that the curses still lived on earth- but trust me, you're safe with me.... look me in the eyes sweetheart." he said as y/n did so. and she immediately felt his sincerity.

As the police bought her story, and discovered the many dead bodies, they pinned their target, the man who started the curse of course, The man who had killed his wife and child. To the police however, he was a psychotic serial killer who killed every one there brutally and had gotten away with it for dozens of years. Y/n was in Jungwon's home, getting a little used to his demon abilities, and his dear friend Jay who casually sipped out of a blood bag before her. Jungwon could feel she was scared.... god it hurt him that she was so shaken up, in such a condition for about a week.

But he loved it, he loves how she grew so dependant on him... How she dragged him with her everywhere, how he helped her shower, delicately scrubbing the soap on her soft skin, wary of the wounds and cuts. He's loving how she's currently snuggling into his embrace, dressed in one of her short yet comfortable nightgowns, needy for his reassurance. See if something like this never happened, he couldn't have gotten her attention..... The haunting was all that was needed to get her to love him... And he will make sure she'll forever love him. She has no choice, only he can protect her, and only he can love her....

✧✭☆✧✭☆✧✭☆✧✭☆✭✧☆✭✧☆✭✧☆✭✧

A/n: I'm gonna have nightmares for picturing this- but I hope u enjoyed, comment how u feel, and if u want me to make it up to you w a fluff- or maybe smut idk yet(shoot me w some requests, ill try)