#I scream and yell about skyfall

[xxnugg3tqu33nxx]

casually screams about skyfall, because I’m surely the most normal ever about it.

I need this cmv to be injected into my bloodstream, I wish to consume it into my bones. I’m surely normal about it. Surely.

[fcble]

blindsided for andrew!

BLINDSIDED: a scene from my muse’s past in which they were betrayed or shocked by what someone did

SONATINA — In which Andrew experiences a cutthroat reality. WORD COUNT: 2.2k SETTING: February 2013 WARNINGS: Mentions of drinking, weed

MOVEMENT I: EXPOSITION.

Andrew meets Nyssa at a house party. He probably shouldn’t be here because he’s three weeks into the second semester of his freshman year, and because he’s a guy. As it turns out, one of his suitemates knows a guy who knows a guy who lives in said house, and that’s why Andrew is half-heartedly participating in his suitemates’ heated debate on whether or not Skyfall can really be considered the best James Bond movie when it released less than a year ago. Andrew is of the opinion that it can, recency bias be damned. The wall vibrates gently against his back in rhythm with Nicki Minaj’s “Starships.” The music plays at a volume that might shatter his eardrums while a small crowd tries to scream the lyrics louder than the speakers.

It’s exactly the sort of scene he would avoid if it weren’t for the free booze. He finds it bothers him much less when he’s tipsy. 

She stops him on his short trip back to the keg, standing firmly in his path. Andrew tries to get around her, but she tiptoes and yells into his ear, clearly in reference to his faded t-shirt, “Top three High Violets songs?”

He doesn't even have to think. “‘Ciné,’ ‘44 Down,’ ‘The Believer,’” he yells back. He doesn’t know who she is, but if a girl wants to talk about dream pop band The High Violets, then Andrew will talk.

“You aren't old enough to drink,” she says, and plucks his annoyingly stereotypical red Solo cup out of his hand.

“Does that matter?” he asks. He doesn't bother arguing, because he knows he doesn't look 21.

“Not to me. Parker”—she uses Andrew's cup to gesture across the room to the lead “Starships” singer—”whose dad owns this place, hates when there are freshmen at his parties.”

Then, as if an afterthought, she adds, “I’m Nyssa.”

“Andrew.”

“You're the freshman who passed Carver’s 3115 with a perfect score.”

“It wasn’t hard.”

When Andrew picked out his first round of college courses, he had no idea that MUSIC UN3115: Independent Composition I, with its surprisingly nonexistent list of prerequisites, was one of the most difficult electives a music major can take, especially when taught by Professor Julia “Hardass” Carver. He certainly never expected to return from winter break as a minor celebrity within the small music department.

He doesn’t tell her about the sleepless nights and the countless office hours and the awful, looming feelings that nothing he makes will ever be good enough. The feelings creep further and further into every aspect of the thing Andrew loves so much. He’s fairly certain his perfect score came not so much from his own efforts, but from the tiny bit of warmth left in Carver’s heart to pity the only freshman in her class.

“You must be the only person to think that,” Nyssa says.

He shrugs. For the most part, school has always been easy for him, and he expects college to be the same.

“Let’s go somewhere quieter,” she says decisively and grabs Andrew by the wrist.

He thinks briefly about his suitemates, probably still arguing about the James Bond film franchise, and follows.

His first night in Nyssa’s company passes under the fluorescent lights of an IHOP, deep in conversation. The hours fly by, until their single order of fries grows cold, and the waitress asks them in a not-so-nice tone of voice to leave if they aren’t going to eat.

Andrew mentally adds “kicked out of IHOP” to his list of things he never expected to happen in college.

MOVEMENT II: DEVELOPMENT.

In the days that follow, he learns more and more about Nyssa Mercer in a steady stream of bits and pieces from a number of places—Nyssa herself, his suitemates, upperclassmen talking too loudly in the halls between Andrew's classes. He learns she's a junior studying music with a focus on theory—similar, but not the same as his composition. One semester into college, Andrew has already mentally categorized all of his classmates within their major. There are the rich kids coasting on their parents' money. The people who played in All-State bands or orchestras and still think they're better than everyone else. Those who picked music because they thought it might be easy and aren't serious about it. Those who picked music because they are serious about it. Andrew places himself firmly in the last category. Nyssa, on the other hand, seems to defy categorization. She's serious about music in a different way—not as a composer or songwriter, but as a fan, or maybe a critic. She studies it like it’s a science.

According to his roommate, Marcus—a double major in clarinet performance and philosophy—she comes from East Coast old money or West Coast Hollywood royalty or some combination of the two. Andrew hasn't bothered to ask where she's from, and she hasn't offered the information.

The upperclassmen speak more about the freshman she chooses to associate with than her. Andrew doesn't mind, because her friends are becoming his friends—to the dismay of his friends. Marcus, for one, makes it clear that he has, quote, “no fucking clue what she sees in you.”

Andrew doesn't take it personally. He has bigger fish to fry than thinking about what his roommate thinks of his company. Nyssa wants to write music with him. She's working on a demo to show her aunt who does something at Universal Music.

Sitting on a brightly rug on the floor of her studio apartment, Andrew realizes there might be something to the Hollywood rumors. He also thinks there are more organic ways of making it into the music industry. He says as much, and Nyssa laughs at the suggestion, though it's not directed at him and without a hint of malice.

“It's the way the industry works,” she says, self-assured and confident about that world away from Anderew.

He knows she's right, but some other part of him thinks it's different now. The times are changing. All anyone really needs is a camera, a microphone, a YouTube channel, and the perfect timing to go viral. He has the tact to know when his opinions aren’t exactly valued, so he mentions none of that. Instead, he sits silently and dreams up melodies while half-listening to Nyssa talk.

The more time he spends with her, the faster the semester seems to fly by. Andrew begins to suspect he spends more time in Nyssa’s apartment than his own dorm. It has its own appeal: it isn’t a space shared with three other people, and it’s mere blocks away from their favorite miniscule live venue. More than that, he enjoys the conversation with Nyssa’s upperclassmen friends. He’s the youngest person in the room, but he’s almost always been the youngest person in the room. He adjusted to that years ago. Now he’s adjusting to the heady scent of weed that comes with the small, intimate parties she hosts, a far cry from the house party they met at. The gatherings feel less like parties and more like what he imagines an eighteenth-century Enlightenment salon was like.

Andrew’s suspicions are confirmed one night when he accidentally locks himself out of his real dorm room. It’s by the far the most stressful event of the semester, because he never slips up like that. He knocks as loudly as he dares for some time after two in the morning, and when no one answers, he calls Marcus until he picks up. 

When the door finally opens, Andrew is greeted with a deadpan, “I thought you were spending the night with your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“I would have bet money you were sleeping with her.”

Andrew feels himself flush. “That's illegal.”

He hears a muttered something that sounds like, “That’s never stopped you before” and chooses to ignore it. He’s certain Nyssa doesn’t see him in any sort of romantic way.

It isn’t until Andrew’s eyes adjust to the darkness that he sees the form of another person in Marcus’s bed. Marcus crosses the room in three hurried strides.

“My friend is staying the night,” he says with a slight pause before the word “friend.”

Andrew nods automatically, because he doesn’t care. It isn’t until a few minutes later, when he steps into the shower, that he realizes he’s cockblocking his roommate.

After that, Andrew returns to his normal routine of spending most of his free time and some of his time that shouldn’t be free with Nyssa. His grades don't slip, because he's too smart for that. His attendance does, and so Andrew's new favorite college perk becomes not the lack of parental supervision, but the way no one takes attendance. It does bring about the new problem of sneaking into the music department to use their private studios, dodging his professors and anyone else who might know him.

They develop a system. It’s always Nyssa who reserves the studio and spends the first ten minutes of the reserved time alone. 

If anyone thinks it’s suspicious that she spends so much time in there, Andrew never hears of it. The professors dote on her, having reviewed much of the music they’ve written. Nyssa always presents it as her work, because it would be odd for Andrew to make an appearance at office hours when he hasn't been to class in two weeks. When they're in private, she never ceases to emphasize his importance to their work.

MOVEMENT III: RECAPITULATION.

Then it's the week before finals, and Nyssa disappears. Andrew learns of this when he finally deigns to attend class again. The gossip spreads quickly through his peers, many of whom knew her by reputation, if not personally. He learns she’s left—dropped out, presumably—in favor of a record deal. No one seems surprised by this turn of events, because everyone knows it’s what she spent the last semester seriously working towards. Andrew’s place in all of this remains unmentioned. He’s gone from the freshman who aced 3115 to the freshman who aced 3115 and let it get to his head, evidenced by the way he missed almost half the semester.

He holds his phone under his desk and sends her a quick congratulatory text. It doesn't deliver, so he jabs the retry prompt a few times. That doesn’t work, so he gives up any pretense of hiding his phone and checks Instagram instead. Their last DM was a meme post shared by him that she hasn’t read. A bit disgruntled, he checks her posts. There’s a new one of Nyssa at an airport, judging by the United Airlines plane in the background, captioned “thx for the good times.” She’s mentioned a few people, and Andrew reads it over twice—skimming quickly at first, then slowly, name by name—looking for his username. He’s nowhere to be found. He sits back in his seat and swipes numbly: Nyssa in their school’s recording studio, Nyssa and a few of her friends at a concert, Nyssa posing for a faux graduation photo, Nyssa at the iconic Santa Monica Pier. Not a single image features Andrew, confirming his worst suspicions.

He takes initiative and blocks her first.

That night, in what can only be described as a moment of drunken weakness, Andrew confesses it all to Marcus. There are smarter decisions to make than getting blitzed when his finals are mere days away, but Andrew’s rationality went out the window ages ago.

His roommate already knows the general sketch of Nyssa’s flight, so Andrew fills in the details of his own role as an unknowing participant in her master plan.

“That goes against Kant’s categorical imperative completely,” Marcus—also drunk—says when Andrew finishes speaking. It’s a genuine, earnest response, but also a reassurance so shocking that it snaps Andrew out of whatever melancholy he had almost lost himself in. He shouldn’t have expected anything else from the guy who read Thus Spoke Zarathustra earlier in the semester and made it a tenet of his very being.

Finals weeks comes to bear anyway. Andrew briefly considers submitting one of the songs he and Nyssa wrote—one he wrote almost entirely by himself—for his 3116 final. He thinks about how many professors she showed their work too, and stops considering it. It's his song, but Nyssa has already gone around saying it was hers. Would anyone believe him over the new darling of the music department?

He spends two sleepless nights dredging up something presentable from the depths of his hard drive. He scrapes by with a 93 and a comment that reads, “What happened?”

He doesn't dare besmirch Nyssa's name, not when the department is still buzzing with her success—never mind the fact that she has yet to release a song. 

Eight months later, Andrew listens to Nyssa Mercer’s debut single. She’s the latest new pop star on everyone’s minds, the pretty, angelic, all-American girl who gave up an Ivy League education and cold-called producers until someone told her yes. He gets all of this from the comment section of her music video.

The song has been altered—polished, mostly—but Andrew can still hear the echoes of himself. He knows the chord progressions he favored all those months ago and the minimalist, tinny percussion he was obsessed with. Despite himself, he checks the song’s credits. Nyssa’s name is there, as a composer and a lyricist, alongside a handful of other names Andrew doesn’t recognize. He presumes them to be her new Universal Music team.

He doesn’t know why he expected anything different.

[the-firebird69]

Things are happening today we're not very good and not good for the morlock is what we mean

-we saw John remillard go down at least 20 times yesterday and he was dying those 20 times he was dead and a lot of people were hitting him with all sorts of stuff and he kept getting up and ignore it and it was awful just doing it now ignoring people threatening him and boy what a piece of s*** that guy is it's amazing that he survived at all he really is a moron and shouldn't be allowed anywhere near our son but the empire thinks they are threatening for stuff and they're going to pay for their indiscrepancies towards us and our son. And John remillard okay heavily he will pay. We're starting to do things that are effective on he and his and a lot of it for example

-today John Reed Millard will lose a lot more than face which he lost every day he's going to lose everything that he's ever owned and he still has. Were going to make damn sure it happens and we're going to take it he goes to court today he is going to lose everything and in Florida who lose all the all the houses and businesses and he's going to court for it. He's going to get his ass handed to him in court and he'll have nothing left. Not only when he lose his houses and businesses and the buildings but he's going to lose everything inside them he's not going to have time to take anything out at all and there's a few reasons for it the biggest is he was using the houses and businesses to store ordinance and devices and he is losing that lands and houses and buildings tonight I really this morning right now and it's very bad for him. Feels like there's like a million houses that's a lot and he is going to lose his plots of land and anything he's building they also seizing his assets. And that includes money because he is a terrorist. They sent it in court they said it owen Friday and says he is never here and is the Skyfall it we need to do a lot more

We have other things in the news right now they're very huge and they should be noted

-the idiot actually Timmy Doyle he is a very rude person and doesn't really speak too much of his own and the reason is very clear. He's up there ranting and raving telling everybody off screaming and yelling and he says I don't have time for this crap and things like that it's always a plan to detonate devices all over the world and people went after him. And the max were pandering to us. And instead of bad time we can see why but that's probably made it worse and people down there examining what's below because of what they did and they're looking at a bigger key and they are amazed. But it's become fairly big and it's getting bigger and bigger and soon huge. That's the way it's going today. And it is over the firebird and the money and watches at valley and they're trying to find evidence about Dave I'll see if he was huge and become small. There's a rumor that he found stuff and he's keeping his secret and that's what he's acting like he's making it pretty hot and heavy out there and it's also drawing attention to the basis of North

-there's a few more things that are happening but these things are huge and if you are that huge you don't have a few footsteps to go from there to Narragansett harbor to watchuset. It's not very far. It's really probably only two footsteps on land and he's there he's doing it for a reason and it was to create bases and he filled within around where her son was working and his dad and they were unaware of it and they didn't fit his dad didn't figure it out but his son did and it's from being in a base underneath and tried to capture a son many many times in that area and it's pretty far all the way to Canton Mass to Franklin Mass is one foot in between and that's what he was up to and he lives out that way and it was went out at wachusett so that's what he was doing kidnap against him and they're stupid people you're like an act together when you're alone your assholes

That is the way it goes here and we don't want to see it he's going to end up getting ready one of you cuz he's going to have to Arnie was trying all the time

Our son says what would you do that for you want a nice story

We hv other things in the news but we're going to publish this is huge

Thor Freya

Olympus

We need to start fixing garbage and other things it appeared to deteriorate ssometimes it's nothing

Hera

We shall

Olympus

[yourheartonfire]

You're a supervillain in high school.

Unbenownst to you, your nemesis actually attends the same school as you, and when some new super-powered idiot comes to town and won’t stop causing trouble during exam week of all times, the two of you decide to team up to take them down.

Prompt courtesy of @united-under-skyfall and @writing-prompt-s

"And stay out, you dumb jerk!" the hero yelled after the retreating figure in the sky. "Ow," they added and sat down hard on the gritty roof of City Hall.

The villain slid out of the shadows, brushing ash and magic off their shoulders. Dawn was breaking and from their perch they could see all of their stupid, podunk little hometown; the park, the 80s era office complexes, the half dead mall. Other than the blast radius over by the high school, it was all still standing.

They'd done it. They'd run off a full-blown adult mask, thanks to the villain's smarts - and the hero's ability to take a punch as well as dish it out.

The hero. They were huddled in themselves, cloak pulled tightly around their shoulders,  head resting on knees, back exposed and unguarded. 

The villain felt suddenly dizzy and hot. Months of chasing each other over rooftops, battling in the streets, and now the hero had left themselves exhausted and open. They could attack now. They should attack now. The hero was totally, entirely at their mercy. The villain glided forward... but for some reason stopped a few feet back.

"You... okay?" they said.

"Fine in a minute," the hero said in that relentlessly chipper voice. "It's mostly the other guy's blood."

"Huh," the villain said, readjusting their strategy. "What are your parents going to say?"

The hero chuckled with an oddly bitter undertone. "That's the least of my worries when they - wait." The hero bolted up to a knee, already in guard stance. 

The villain threw back their head and laughed. It was a pretty good evil laugh. They'd practiced it a lot. "What, you thought it wasn't obvious you're nothing but a child?"

The hero narrowed their eyes behind their mask. "Uh huh. And you're not out here between AP homework and SAT classes?"

"Uh - I - what? No!" the villain stuttered out, in the complete opposite of cool. "You're the - the kid, so stupid and optimistic!"

The hero grinned, their teeth still bloody. "Like your whole gothy-angry-dangerous thing doesn't scream angsty teenager."

"How dare you," the villain said, but couldn't muster up too much heat. The adrenaline rush of discovery was already fading, and exhaustion was coming on fast. And for some reason the villain couldn't quite put their finger on right at this moment, they didn't really mind the hero knowing they were about the same age. Especially if the hero thought they seemed dangerous. 

The villain kicked over an old crate and sat. The hero cautiously settled back into their meditation pose. They stared at each other in the early dawn light and the villain suddenly felt very much at a loss for words.

"So-" the villain said finally, right as the hero said "We should-"

"Sorry, I -"

"No, I was -"

"No, you go."

The villain cleared their throat. "So, what's the deal with your parents? Are they oblivious, or are you a legacy or something? Gotta guard this shithole before you go big time?"

"This is not a shithole," the hero said huffily. "At least it wouldn't be if it weren't for psycho explodey guys. Or -" they glared at the villain "- idiots who waste their powers on petty larceny and vandalism."

"Hey. Nothing petty about my larceny, baby." The villain pantomimed finger guns at the hero, and then immediately wished to fall off the roof and die.

But no such luck. The hero leaned back, bloodstained smile even wider. "Wow," they drawled. "I stand corrected." But their tone, though teasing, wasn't mean. The villain was starting to think the hero really didn't have a mean bone in their body. 

In the light of day the villain was desperately aware of their shitty homemade get-up, the heat in their face that was surely obvious behind a Halloween store mask. The hero, the hero had real gear, real training. They sat straight, chin up, spotlighted in sunlight like they were ready for their close up. The villain felt dizzy again, unsteady on their crate.

The silence stretched. The hero cleared their throat. "You, uh, you know Starlight Burgers makes breakfast burritos?"

"No they don't," the villain said.

The hero gave a little shrug. "It's off menu. The cooks sell em out the window before the place officially opens. If you fly us down, I can hook you up - ever since I saved the place from getting magically robbed."

"Hey," the villain said. "I would never go after Starlight Burgers. I have some limits."

"Great." The hero stood, held out their hand with absolute trust. "Let's go."

The villain raised an eyebrow, crossed their arms to keep their heart from suddenly pounding out of their chest. "Is this a trick?"

"Yes," the hero said straight faced. "A trick to get you to give me a ride to Starlight Burger. I need carbs and protein to finish recovery and I don't have a car."

The villain gingerly took the hero's hand. They didn't flinch. "Well," the villain said. "I guess if I carried you through this battle, I can carry you to breakfast."

The hero snorted but didn't let go. The villain pulled and the hero... the hero came willingly into their arms, into the shadows with them.

The burritos were delicious. The rest of their finals were a disaster.

[lisinfleur]

Mishaps - Chapter 06: Skyfall

Author’s Notes | Wipes are ready? Well, you guys will need it. Words | 1858 ⁑ Warnings: ANGST

Sureness is something funny: it comes to make you whole and safe. Then, when you need to be whole and safe, it vanishes completely just like your sureness about telling Hvitserk you were pregnant, as soon as you saw his eyes...

"Did someone see you? Did you pick everything you needed?"

He was still nervous about letting you free to go, but who could blame him? You knew the weight he was carrying in his shoulders and how it could ruin his whole family.

And now, you were nervous, stumbling on your words, taking more time to answer than you wanted.

"I... No... No one I knew, I..." You stopped.

Closing your eyes, you tried to take a breath, to stabilize your mind and get your thoughts back together as they were before.

You were sure! You had to put everything clear, tell him about who you were, all the mistakes you made and that you were waiting for his child. You had to tell him the truth and clean the facts so the two of you could raise that child in a proper ambient, somewhere different from where you and he were raised after all.

However, at the same time you wanted to tell him everything, that part of you that always were afraid of his reactions was full strength beating your head with all your fears and all the possibilities of what could go wrong. Questions and questions flooding your mind, causing you to softly hyperventilate with the proximity of the moment of truth you were planning your whole way back to his apartment.

"Something happened," Hvitserk's voice sounded intense, causing you to raise your eyes, seeing the fear and suspicious into his greens.

You were hiding something and your doubts and behavior were making it clear for him now. His whole body language changed into a self-defensive mode. You could almost feel how tense his muscles were.

"No, it's not..." You tried to start, to explain he was misunderstanding everything.

Nothing has happened.

No. Something has happened, but not what he was thinking that happened.

"Shit!"

To put something into words was so much harder than you thought! And your difficulty was only making Hvitserk even more nervous, creating an endless wheel: the more nervous he was, the more fear you would feel. The more fear, the more your throat would close. Fewer words, more nervousness for him.

You were the only one that could break that wheel by facing your fear and speaking once and for all!

You rubbed your face with both of your hands and took a deep breath, looking at him, straight into his eyes.

"Hvitserk," you started, decided not to stop this time. "There is something I need to tell you, something I have been hiding for a while..."

You barely started when a loud sound of someone knocking on his door interrupted you, surprising you both.

"Hvitserk Ragnarsson, this is Kattegat's Police. Please open your door friendly or we gonna break in."

For a single moment, the two of you exchanged a glare. Your eyes utterly surprised, staring at him with the clear expression of innocence and shock in your face. It wasn't you! You didn't bring the cops! It wasn't what you were hiding!

But it wasn't what his eyes were saying: broken greens looking at you with all the disappointment of this world, sprinkles of sadness mixed into his expression before anger took everything, causing his lips to twitch, telling you without a single word everything he didn't need to say.

He didn't believe you. In his heart, you betrayed him. How could you? Knowing everything you could do, he trusted you. How could you hurt him like this?

"Hvitserk, I didn't..." You were ready to start explaining when the louder voices outside preceded a break in his door.

You could hear it perfectly: officer Aethelwulf, speaking loud and angrily outside of the door.

"What are you all waiting for? The man has a hostage! Fucking break in!"

If you didn't have recognized his voice, you wouldn't need too much to know it was him since he broke the door by himself, the gun in hand pointing Hvitserk as soon as his eyes could reach his figure beside you.

"Hands on your head! You're under arrest!"

Hvitserk didn't even try to react or do anything stupid that could fuck him even more than that whole situation would do. He knew exactly what would come now. The interrogatories, the humiliation, the violence, and all the fucking shit he would be put on for refusing to deliver any word or information, trying as much as he could to spare his brothers from his stupidity and its consequences.

He turned his back to the officers, kneeling. His greens on you the whole time while Aethelwulf was handcuffing him.

"Stop it! STOP!" you yelled, trying to stop Aethelwulf that just pulled you forcefully into his arms, hiding your body against his, clearly trying to shut you up while the officers were taking Hvitserk away, pretending he was comforting your nervousness...

"You're safe now... It's over," he said, pressing your body so strong that your screams became muffled noises against his shoulders.

"NO! Let him... go! Stop!!"

Hvitserk was taken to a police car down the building and some officers started messing with his things, spreading all over the apartment before you finally kicked Aethelwulf's leg, forcing him to let go of you and yelling loud enough for everyone in the apartment to hear your voice.

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

Your mind working fast, trying to find a way to get Hvitserk out of this.

"We know you're nervous, Miss Watson," one of the officers came closer, trying to be gentle. "This is normal for a kidnap victim, but..."

Poor him.

"My name is not Watson! And I'm not being kidnapped!"

"She's confused. Something pretty normal to this situation," Aethelwulf insisted, pulling you towards the door, "We know each other in a while, I'll take care of everything. Collect the evidence and find me at the Police Department," he completed, leaving the confused officer behind and conducting you towards his car. One of his hands holding your hand, the other around your shoulders, pushing you towards the car almost forcefully.

"Get in," he said, closing the door after you sat and going to the driver's seat, locking the car before straightening himself at the seat and looking at you, "Look, girl, what's your real name... Y/N, right? Whatever. Listen closely," he started, shocking you with his following words. "I have been working on this family for years. Years! I build up the whole map of their activities and nobody gave me a dime of credit until you get me this bastard kidnapping you, for my joy and bliss. So, don't fuck up everything ok? I don't really care about what was happening into that apartment or what the heck did he told you to do, I'll take you to the police station, you give me your testimony towards the kidnapping situation and testify against him in a couple of trials. Bingo: I'll get you a richer identity wherever you want to live and you can enjoy your life at the WPP while I enjoy my promotion and my city clean from these Ragnarssons and their schemes. Everyone is happy, ok? Now get yourself together. And save some tears to the station, after all, I'm saving your life one second time. I think you can be a good girl and give me this moment, right? Right." he said, not waiting for you to answer, turning on the car and driving towards the police department with your shocked expression by his side.

What in the actual fuck was happening in your life?

You knew him since ever, right. But saving your life? Aethelwulf was the officer responsible for your new identity at the program, but he didn't give a fuck to know anything about you before tucking you into that "Mary Ann Watson" suit where he would have left you to get moldy if it wasn't for his obsession about the sons of Ragnar! You owed nothing to that man...

But you kept yourself silent, letting him think he won that match, thinking of what would you say in the testimony to get Hvitserk free from that shit.

You knew it would be hard to speak to him after all that happened. And especially: you knew it was your fault he was in trouble that way. But you could fix things for him and then pray the gods he would listen to you at least about your baby...

  Ubbe was sitting at his couch, messing with the company papers. The first clean containers were starting to arrive and he was proudly seeing his dreams start to become true. It would lower the amount of profit, but he would finally live without the shadows of anxiety and fear overwhelming his mind.

If you work clean, then you have nothing to fear, right?

He was about to finish the organization of the papers when his phone started buzzing over one of the piles - he was using it as a paperweight for a while and it almost made the whole pile come down when it started ringing.

A strange number on the screen - nothing he wasn't used to seeing.

"Lothbrok, Ubbe," he answered the phone, waiting to hear some of the dingy voices that usually were connected to those unknown numbers.

But it was something very familiar that sounded on the other side of the line.

"You were right. She wasn't the right girl for me."

The short sentence was all he had, but also all he needed to hear in his brother's voice to know what was going on. The call was hung up, but it was enough for Ubbe's peace of mind go entirely to hell.

It was Hvitserk's voice. And if he was saying this, so Ubbe was right and she got him in trouble with the cops, which means he was fucked and saying the fewer words possible to avoid them to understand anything about his call.

Ubbe growled infuriated, sliding his hand over the table in an angry outburst, throwing all the piles of papers to the ground, ruining the organization he spent hours setting up. His closed fist punched the table repeatedly and he yelled, trying to put all that fury out of his chest.

"That fucking bitch!" he cursed, thinking how much he was regretting not to put a bullet through your head now.

His fingers quickly dialing Björn's number at his phone's screen, speaking as soon as the first "hello" came from the other side of the line.

"Hvitserk is screwed. We need you."

A bothered sigh came from the phone and Björn's hoarse voice sounded bored into Ubbe's ear.

"Lucky to his I'm back in town. I gonna make the calls."

Hopefully, they could get Hvitserk out of this situation before the mess was too fucked up for them to interfere.

But you were on Ubbe's blacklist.

He wouldn't hesitate one second time...

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[asteriaways]

Hogwarts AU Part 5!

Hiya my darlings! Tis me, your slightly dysfunctional and extremely sleep deprived Queen fanfic writer! And I’m back with Part 5!

And yes, IT IS ANGSTY!!

(Lowkey proud of this, tho)

(Also writing this up when I should be doing my History assessment which is due tomorrow. If that doesn’t tell you anything about me, I’m sorry.)

Okayyyy!

Please, please, PLEASE like, reblog, and comment feedback. It means so much and I would love it if I could see what you guys thought!

Sorry if it’s short! As always, Audrey is based off my bestie. Love ya, babe.

Word Count: 934 words. Short, I know.

Warnings: Swearing, a shit ton of angst. BRING TISSUES!

Ask to be added to my taglist!

  Audrey stalked into the airie, looking around as the countless owls flapped above her, resting on their perches, preening their feathers. She huffed, looking around for her own tawny owl- Mazzello. People always looked at her weirdly whenever she called his name, but she didn’t care.

‘Maz? I know you’re there!’ she called, looking upward into the cyclone of feathers. She felt a soft weight on her shoulder and a nip to her ear, signalling that her owl had heard her.

‘Heyy, Mazzello. Look, I need you to deliver a letter.’ She soothed, stroking his gingery feathers. He nipped her ear in response, bringing a smile to her face.

‘You named your owl Mazzello?’ a voice asked from behind her.

She spun around. An uncontrollable grin spreading across her features when she saw who it was.

‘Rog!’ she giggled, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear.

‘Hey, babe.’ He laughed, kissing her hair as he kissed her forehead as he stroked her owl.

‘Hey. And for your information- yes, I did name him Mazzello.’

‘WoW. So many things I don’t know about you, Audrey Hepburn.’

“You KNOW that’s not my name.’

‘Doesn’t mean I can’t call you that, though.’

‘Ha, ha, ha, Roggie.’ She huffed, stepping away from him, walking to the wide window in the airie. The window looked out over the wide lake that bordered Hogwarts. The sun glimmered on the smooth serface of the shimmering water, reflecting the tinted hues from the setting sun.

‘I mean it, Aud. There’s so many things I could call you..’ Roger replied, coming up behind her, admiring the stunning rays of light filtering in through the glass.

‘Like your girlfriend?’ she snapped, turning to face him.

‘What?’ he spluttered, taken aback.

‘You know what I mean. We’re dating, for fucks sake, Rog. Why can’t we go public with it?’ she asked, folding her arms across her chest.

He sighed, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

‘You know why, love. The boys…. They would only think I was using you. Brian thinks I’m still sleeping around, Freddie has enough on his plate and John…… He doesn’t know a thing about love. We’ve been over this, Aud. Why bring this up now?’

‘Because….. Melody came to me today and said that she and John have started to date, and then she said that I should go after YOU and ask YOU out, because I ‘OBVIOUSLY’ fancy you. And it took so much effort not to scream from the rooftops that you were MY BOYFRIEND!’ she blurted, abruptly spinning away from him.

He sighed, following her as she stalked to the other side of the tower.

‘Aud, I get that…’

‘No, No you don’t, Roger!’ she yelled, startling the sleeping owls. ‘We’ve been dating for THREE FUCKING MONTHS! Do you know what it FELT like to pretend that I’d never met you before when Mel introduced us last week? Why can’t you just say it, Rog? I’m sick of the hiding. I’m sick of the secrets. What are you so scared of?’ she cried, think tears falling from her chocolate brown eyes.

Roger sighed in defeat, frantically ripping his hands through his golden hair. ‘I’m not scared of anything.’

‘You are, Roggie. There’s something you’re not telling me!’ she replied, handing a white envelope to Mazzello’s beak.

‘I’m not.’

‘You are!’

‘I’m NOT!’

“You ARE! What are you so scared of, Roger?’ she yelled, making Roger wince.

‘I’M SCARED OF LOSING YOU!’ he yelled back at her, his voice breaking as he fought the lump forming in his throat.

‘W-what?’ Audrey whispered, her velvet eyes clouded with grief.

‘I don’t wanna tell anyone because that means its official. It means that I could lose somebody I care about even more. I can’t explain it. Don’t ask me to, Aud.’

Audrey shook her head, grabbing her satchel and storming to the door, her thick midnight black hair streaming behind her back. ‘I get that, Rog. But until you’re ready to take us public, whatever this is, it’s over.’

She ran down the stairs, her choked sobs echoing through the deserted tower. Roger stood there, the empty silence filling his ears.

He let out a scream, howling as he sunk down to the floor, covering his face with his hands as he sobbed on his knees, not caring who saw him. After what seemed like an eternity he got up, scrubbing at his puffy eyes with his hands. His ran his hands through his hair, standing in the middle of the room, the only sounds in the darkening, empty chamber being his laboured breathing. What would he do now? From what he knew, Audrey had just broken up with him. HIS Audrey.

He walked down the stairs, as if in a daze. The one girl he had actually like, the ONE FUCKING GIRL he loved. Was that the word? The proper word to describe this feeling of emptiness, of sadness that felt like a literal blade had been driven into his chest? Love?

Roger Meddows Taylor did not do ‘love’. He was a playboy, seeing multiple girls at multiple times. He didn’t believe in love. Not until Audrey. Not until Audrey Skyfall.

Roger Meddows Taylor didn’t believe in love.

Until he was in love.

With her.

Ask to be added to my taglist!

@onceuponadetectivedemigod @shesadramaqueen @ceruleanrainblues @yllwtaxi @avilliansdream @oblivion-queen1 @sophieeelol @tardisgrump

[skyfallofcybertron-blog]

Transformers Skyfall: Chapter 5. Special to Me.

I was built to serve. Literally. My line of cold constructed siblings and I were meant to service bots. Companions and nurses. Sparkling sitters and entertainment units. Toys. I was a toy. I was content on being that. I didn’t know any better.

Until Jetstream entered my life, as brief as it was. My first carrier. She changed everything. She gave me a choice on who I wanted to be; where originally I was only just a Minicon. Just this plaything to sit there and look pretty. To sing a little tune. To make sure she got up, went to bed, took her meds, to listen to her vent and talk about the day. To be more than just an MP4 player with a spark.

Jetstream made me feel larger than any titan. She made me feel like I was worth something more than just the sum of my parts.

I still don’t know what I did for her to agree to it. I had to have done something. I must have.

I just remember waking up in a carrying case. I was groggy and lightheaded. I assumed that someone had to have spiked my energon. The box was only barely big enough to have me on my knees once I came to enough to try and pick myself off the floor. My wings were twisted uncomfortably; cuffed and pinned tightly to my backplates. I whimpered as I held my helm as the little box’s walls spun.

“Alright, there we are, bucko. 10,000 credits.”

“I thought we agreed on 15,000.”

“Eh, that was before I even saw here. If she in mint; 15,000 for sure, but looks like you’ve had her operating for a while now. It’s going to be a time sink to scrub her-”

I slammed on one of the walls to get the two mechs to pay attention to me.

“Erion!! Erion!! I’m sorry!!” I screamed, “Don’t do this!! I’ll work harder!! I-I’ll get a job!! We can make that money-”

Swindle laughed. I felt the case move. I was lifted off the ground.

“A Minicon working?” Swindle mused, “What would you do, shortstack? Primus, that’s adorable.”

I could feel that slaghead start to walk off with me. I pounded and kicked against the walls.

“ERION! I’M SORRY!! TAKE ME BACK!! ERION!?!”

I’m sure that Jetstream’s trine leader could hear me. I don’t know what he was feeling well I was being taken away. If he felt relief for getting rid of me and having a nice stack of credits. Or maybe, he felt some kind of remorse. I can imagine the choices he would have to make as trine leader. I was useless to it. Just an energy sink. Another mouth to feed. I could see why if that was the thing that made him go over the edge.

Everything is so different now.

Despite millions of years of civil war. As terrible as it sounds, I do owe much of who I am to the War. I was given my college education during the last dying breaths of peace. I was praised for it (though I think that was mostly just Calloway’s influence). I did go to more than one rally. I actually marched in a Minicon Walk-Out. Even though the Decepticons captured me, they in the long run, supported me. The Decepticons gave me a job; kept me alive and protected because they saw my worth. The Decepticons gave me Night Glide and he loved me for who I was.

Just like Jetstream and Calloway before him.

I worked away at my desk that was much too big for me. I made it work. I just had to hook myself to the console to minimize everything onto personal built-in databoard.

Beside me was my music player from Earth.  A record player was what Thundercracker called it. He said that it was a dead technology on Earth, but the sound quality was better on vinyl. It wasn’t. Nothing would be as crisp as Cybertronain audio files. Though he was right about one thing. The sound was richer on the plastic. More little imperfections that made it sound more alive the scrubbed clean stale nature our audio sounded like.

Fireworks couldn’t help himself, but carefully fan out the stacks of LPs that Thundercracker sent along with the machine.

“You are a strange one, Skyfall.” He said with an amused purr, “Never been to Earth and you insist on collecting their dead audio units. They're so flimsy.”

“Not to little servos like mine.” I wiggled my digits, “Anyways, shouldn’t you be in a meeting?”

“15 clicks ago. I’m hiding from Pitch.”

Pitch was Fireworks hopeless assistant. I felt bad for the little two-wheelier for trying to wrangle him in any capacity.

“Rrrrright...”

Fireworks dramatically flopped into my work table, “Skyfall, you have no idea how boring these Cybertronian minster meetings are! There’s no flare! No gusto! It’s all just talking and...talking! So. Much. Talking. Skyfall. All tell, no show! Was politics always like this on Cybertron?”

“It was until we started blowing each other up.”

“I would prefer that honestly.” He eyed me, “I’m sorry, sweetspark.”

Velocitron had some...interesting systems of government. They use the literal interpretation of ‘survival of the fastest’. More often than not, their politicians got their job through racing. Or some kind of racing equivalent. All said events where publicized. So, every one of their heads of government was some kind of celebrity. With all that go, go, go in their systems; meetings where not part of the Velocitron lexicon.

“This one.” Fireworks slid over a record to my side, “It’s about cars.”

I picked up the sleeve. It wasn’t. It was a movie soundtrack. It did have people singing about cars, but the car was not the main draw of the film. It was more of murder mystery in a nightclub. Fireworks only picked it cause bright neon on the cover. I smiled to myself knowing that was the fact.

I leaned over and turned off the turnstile; taking out my copy of The Eagles out and replacing it with the movie soundtrack. I flicked the machine back on. Then lowered the needle. The sound fizzled out of the tinny built-in speakers, before the human classic rock started up. Fireworks perked up almost instantly.

“Ooh-oo-oo!” Fireworks sang, “Oh, I picked the one!”

I was snagged off my desk. Yelling in surprise, Fireworks held me close to his chest with an arm stretched out as he twirled the two of us around the room.

“Fireworks! I'm trying to work!”

I tried to be mad at the racer, but my giggles gave me away. It's hard to be mad when you're being swung around to the beat of a good song.

“All you Cybertronians need to learn how to relax and enjoy yourselves. All you guys do is work, work, work!”

“Cause I am at work, work, work!”

“Fireworks, sir! There you are!” Another voice joined us from the doorway.

Fireworks froze. His shoulders sagged and he leaned in onto himself. His faceplate read utter disappointment and disgust. The two-wheeler at the door didn't even need to have his boss look at him to know that Fireworks was unhappy that he found him. The record kept spinning in it’s spindle.

“Pitch.” Fireworks hissed through his denta. Pitch jumped a little.

“Sorry, Fireworks, sir.” Pitch whimpered, “You, have- had a meeting with-”

“Yes, yes, yes. We had a meeting with Optimus.” He gently set me down back on my desk before turning to face his assistant, “And you didn’t come to find me? Pitch! How could you!? You know I’m terrible with time! You’re supposed to keep track of these kind of things!”

Pitch flustered, “I’m sorry, sir! I didn’t mean-”

“I know, Pitch.”

Fireworks sauntered over and patted the top of the smaller mech’s helm. Pitch blinked a few times in confusion. I sighed softly. Oh, here we go.

“It’s alright,” Fireworks continued, “I can fix this issue for us and will apologize to our host.”

“Thank you, sir!”

Fireworks continued out of my office; pushing Pitch along with him. I plopped back onto my aft with an awkward smile. Fireworks; master of slag. The ‘Cons would have scooped him up if he was around for the War. That silver glossa of his would have even had Starscream make a run for his credits.

Before I even plugged myself in to keep working, one of my coworkers popped his helm into my office.

“Sky, there’s somebot waiting for you in the lobby.”

“Glide?”

He shook his helm. I sighed. I could go and have some lunch. I guess. I cleaned up the records. Tidied up my desk and followed my coworker.

In the lobby, was a slick, steel blue Seeker. He was bulkier then Night Glide, but he was a different make of plane all together. While, Night Glide was a slim fighter. This Seeker was stealth bomber. Blue optics seemed to be heavy and tired as he seemed to looking at the floor.

My spark almost flickered out as I started at this mech. Every fiber of my being was telling me to turn around, disappear back into my office and never come back out again. Against everything, my legs stiffly marched towards him. My intakes picked up. I clenched my hand into a fist to keep it from shaking.

“Erion?” I forced myself to address my guest.

The tall Seeker jolted from his daydream and turned his attention toward me.

[starryfromcosmiccove]

Oh! Lookie at this! Imma do it!

Name: not really gonna give that out, but it starts with an N.

Star Sign: Libra (or Lipia for those in the Homestuck fandom ;D )

Height: 5'3

Middle Name: Christina. I'll give you this one.

First four songs of playlist on Shuffle: (I'm already listening to Spotify so...) Thunderstruck by Owl City, Dreams by The Cranberries (very 90s I know), Skyfall by Adele, and Stipulation by Go! Child

Poem/song about me: I've written poems on how I feel, so maybe?

Last Time I played air guitar: idk probably less than an hour ago or smtn.

Celebrity Crush: idk. Flipping... Robin from Cavetown maybe? Idk. I don't really have one. I respect Robin's descisions and I don't really like him like that anyways. He's just the only one I know remotely close to my age.

Sound I love: the sound of permenant marker on paper. 💙

Sound I hate: screaming that sounds fightened (like, not yelling or something, just shrill, scared-sounding screams)

Believe in ghosts?: YES.

Believe in aliens?: Yeah, they're probably out there.

Do I drive: Yes, I only have a permit tho.

Ever crash?: No, thank God.

Do you like the smell of gasoline: depends.

Last Movie you watched?: I think the Captain Underpants Movie a few weeks ago tbh.

Any obsessions?: Mario, Homestuck, and for right now Cookie Run

Do you hold grudges?: Yes, but you really have to be a huge bitch for it to come to that.

Are you in a relationship: No, but I'm not looking rn really. I like get to know someone really well before I date them.

Tags:

@wordlesssounds

@supersexyghotmew95

@friendlyneighborhoodtree

And @sonnet20

Because you are all lovely. :)

I was tagged by @jesstheplatypus to do this so lets go!

Name: Cadence

Star Sign: Aquarius

Height: 5'0 ft

Middle Name: Reann

Put Your Music Playlist On Shuffle And List The First Four Songs: Good To You by Marianas Trench/ Something Human by Muse/ Chop Suey! by System Of A Down/ Sweater Weather by The Neighbourhood

Ever Had A Poem/Song About You?: Nope

Last Time You Played Air Guitar?: Like an hour ago

Celebrity Crush: Michael Cera (i blame Scott Pilgrim)

Sound You Love: My cats meow

Sound You Hate: Forks scratching against plates

Do You Believe In Ghosts?: Yeah

Do You Believe In Aliens?: Yes, we are not alone

Do You Drive: Nopeee

Have You Ever Crashed?: Not yet, thank god

Do You Like The Smell Of Gasoline: Yeah. I’m weird

Last Movie You Watched?: Almost Famous

Any Obsessions?: Cats and Bnha

Do You Hold Grudges?: I try not to but sometimes I do

Are You In A Relationship?: No but there was this one girl I met not too long ago that said we were girlfriends so idk man 😂

I shall tag @passiveagressiveboop @thisprofilewasdeleted @nintendogamergirlexe @anotheraverageotaku

Thats all :3

[theagoraphobix]

Problem Child

2014 Creepypasta Cookoff entry.  I’m still feeling out how far this one goes--the Problems Man has made an unexpected appearance in The Skies We’re Under, my ongoing Don’t Starve series, and that makes him a thread in the Skyfall web, which I’ll probably be untangling until the day I die.

Anyway.

First draft 2014 Age when written: 26 Part of Skyfall Original Entry (NOTE: I am no longer affiliated with Crank//box So//unds) R (General) Warnings: Implied child abuse, body horror, abusive father figure

The Problems Man has always been nice to me. Even before the Best Thing.

When he was there at my birthday, he was better than anyone at stopping my mommy from crying. He didn't have to stop Daddy, because Daddy doesn't cry, but once he was there, my mommy didn't cry at all, and not after he was gone either. I'm not supposed to remember, because I was so little and the lights were so bright and hot, but I do. I remember what he was like, and I remember how it snowed when Daddy took me away in the car. I remember how he was happy in the snow and I was happy too, and it was the only birthday but it was the best, because when he was there, no one cried at all.

I had forgotten him by the next time I saw him, and that makes me feel sad, but I know he understands. I know he understands because he always understands me.

Daddy brought him because I made my bed Filthy every night. I was afraid that he would shout like Daddy shouted, and I cried, but the Problems Man got down on his knees so he wasn't so tall, and he smiled at me, and he said he understood. He said he knew it wasn't my fault, and that he would make it better.

And he did! I couldn't mess up the sheets while I was asleep because I had to be awake to untangle the wires. Nothing came out at all as long as they were tight. I could even go for a long time during the day without having to be a Filthy child, and that helped me do more Chores. I felt so proud and grown-up, and the Problems Man smiled and so did Daddy. Daddy told him that what he did would be useful down the road God forbid his saying it but That Kid. I was glad that the Problems Man was so nice to me to give me so many gifts at once.

I saw the Problems Man lots more soon while I did Chores, and he always smiled at me, even when he wasn't there to see me. He came a lot because other Daddies had much Filthier children than me, and he was always needing to fix them. He worked really hard, even harder than the Good Kids, and whenever he left after a long day, there was no crying at all. He brought special mushy food for the fixed children when they needed it, so they didn't even have to undo anything because the holes were big enough. I was glad I didn't have to eat the yellow stuff, because of the way the fixed kids looked at my regular food. I wished they didn't do that. I did want to see the Problems Man again, though, just for my own self. I was selfish sometimes then.

Soon, though, there was a new machine and it was Loud, Loud, Loud. I had to cover my ears because it hurt so bad. Daddy brought the Problems Man again, and I smiled this time instead of crying, because I knew he was going to be kind to me.

And he was! He smiled, just like before, and he said he understood. He said he knew it wasn't my fault, and that he would make it better. He was right, because he doesn't lie. The very next day I was doing Chores better than ever, because it was so quiet. Sometimes I had to cover the one ear that wasn't all quiet, and I wished he had made them both the same, but I knew I had to listen to Daddy, and anyway I could use my other hand to work.

I don't like to think about the part before the Best Thing. I was so Bad. I was the worst Filthy child. I was bad and dumb, I wasn't Thinking Right and Flying Straight and I I ran away I was so Bad and Filthy I'm sorry I did that. I hope you know I mean it that I was sorry for being so so Bad.

I was Outside cold and Outside dirty and Very Filthy when the Problems Man found me , and I was crying because even though I said I was sorry and I was sorry and I was sorry, I thought he wouldn't forgive me.

I was so stupid! He smiled and he wiped away my tears, and he told me I was very special. He told me that even though I had been very, very Bad, he would make it better, because that's what he does. He's the Problems Man!

The Problems Man took my hand, and he led me for a long time. He was very kind and patient in being slow so I didn't have to catch up too much, and when my feet got tired, he told me how Good I was being by not stopping. It took a long, long time, but he led me to the best place I'd ever seen, so cool and damp. And after he closed the door, he sat me down on a table and let me rest while he talked to me.

He explained that this was a special place for special kids like me, who had been so Bad that he needed his very own workshop to fix them. He explained that sometimes animals ran away like I did, and that I shouldn't feel bad because animals need even more fixing than kids sometimes! And he explained that I shouldn't worry, because he was very, very used to fixing running-away Problems.

And that's when he did the Best Thing!

Now, my life is the happiest ever, just because the Problems Man is so so nice. I don't have to do any Chores at all, and my feet don't hurt because they never touch the ground! I never feel dizzy because my back is twisted up like a candy cane and holds me so snug and close in place.

And there are children! So many children! And they're almost all Good children, and they all love me! They run to see me and they smile and they laugh, and they stroke my hair and pat my back to make me go faster. They love my colors, and they love my music, and they yell and shout, and if it's not too late and I'm not too tired, I always make sure to try to go up as high as I can so they can grab the ring and stay with me a little longer. I watch us go by in place in all the mirrors, and they're always smiling and waving and laughing.

Sometimes, though, they aren't happy to see me. They hold on too tight to the hands of their mommies or Daddies , and they don't want to climb up onto my back, and they burst into tears and scream and kick and want to go home.

And that's when I'm happiest of all, is when those Filthy little children come around, because I know that other Daddies can bring the Problems Man. He can fix anything.

And he will!

[skyfallofcybertron-blog]

Transformers Skyfall: Chapter 3. Famous Blue Raincoat.

Singers never forget. Singers record everything. Their minds are filled with the songs of Cybertron. Generations of stories and history; passed down from parent to child. If I wasn’t sparked Minicon; if I was forged pure, I’m sure I would have learned the way that Singers could communicated through the spark. I lacked that fundamental teaching. However, I still recorded everything and stored it safely behind an near unbreakable firewall.

Commander Starscream deemed that was a priority. So, logically, I was taken to Shockwave. To be improved.

Shockwave’s lab was just a creepy as he was. It was a crosscut of every sick experiment or torture that you could think of, but kept in a neat, organized and sterile fashion. Megatron basically let him have free rein to do whatever he pleased. Most bots hoped and prayed to never see his lab in their function. I shifted on my peds; completely overshadowed by the monstrous mech.

"Minicon," He began, his signal red optic staring expressionlessly at my medical records, "Lord Megatron as deemed that your Singer subsets to be an assist to the Decepticons. Your ability to process information at a quick and efficient manner has impressed him. He has instructed me to enhance your Singer capabilities and proved you with upgrades so you can more suitably function as communications officer and spy. Lord Megatron wishes for the process to begin eminently."

I had no time to make a retort.

The pain was unbearable. Everything was removed and deep wired. Parts disappeared. Parts where added. By the end of it, I wasn't sure what was left of me was me to begin with.

I woke up to the world spinning and my audios screaming. I covered them, but the sound of my own servos and joints made it worst. Not only could I hear my joints, but I could hear the machines in the room inner workings and the conversations through the walls, the marching outside, the yelling from the battle that was being fought clicks away.

My internal gyros couldn't tell if I was up or down or walking or sitting or flying. Intakes turned and I emptied them on the floor. I hung over the side of the berth, my frame staking as I tried to reorient myself. I clutched the frame of the berth tightly in my digits as I struggled to breathe. Long, sticky lines of haft processed energon dipped from my mouth.

I didn’t have a chance to get my bearings. A vechicon drone scooped me up and brought me to my next appointment. Starscream waiting impatiently outside of what I would find out later to be my new home. Starscream grumbled something about the mess I was in, but to be honest, I wasn’t really focusing on that. I was more deterred by the fact that the drone set me on the floor. I was now being forced to stand on my own two peds. The walls looked like they were swimming. I set a servo on the vechicon’s leg just to make sure I wasn’t actually the one swimming. It was definitely the walls.

The Air Commander was greeted by Night Glide. I don’t actually remember how the conversation went. I do have it uploaded and backuped, but even after thousands of years, I never watched the footage of my third pass off. I can only assume that Starscream was stroking his own ego and only threw in the fact that I had just gotten out of surgery. The two Seekers didn’t chat for long. Thank Primus.

Once Starscream and his escort disappeared, Night Glide gathered me up. He set me on his berth while he tried to get any sense of function out of me. It must have been a challenge. Bless his stubborn spark for doing so.

“My name isn’t Minicon…” I remember muttering.

There was a flash of relief in his optics. I remember that clear as day. It was the only good thing that I saw all day. Somebot that actually wanted to help me. Somebot that didn’t want to murder me outright. Somebot that actually cared about me.

“Then what is your name?” Night Glide replied. I remember that he was being ever so careful wiping the energon off of my faceplate.

“...Skyfall...”

Then, Night Glide smiled.

“Skyfall.”

I was pulled from my thoughts when Night Glide tapped me on the shoulder plate. I rubbed my optic and yawned. It was too early for this. The two of us were sitting in a colour parlour; waiting for my appointment. Since both of us had work, I had to get the earliest slot possible. For once, my tinyness was a good thing. It wasn’t going to take long for a complete overhaul.

“Are you alright?” Night Glide asked.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I'm alright. Just tired still.”

“The Immigration Office is making you work too hard.”

“There's a lot of work to do.”

Night Glide’s month became a thin little line of displeasure. I rubbed his leg to comfort him. He took my servo in his.

There was a commotion from one of the offices down the hall. An excited squeal from both an engine and vocalizer. Then the sudden charge of peds. A rounded out groundpounder femme came racing down the corridor.

“SKYFALL! YOU’RE ALIVE!”

I smiled brightly. My optics couldn't believe what I was seeing. I hadn't seen this femme in years and not even because of the War. I hadn't seen Wind Whistler since before being sold to Calloway. I was whipped up in soft blues and pastel pinks as Wind Whistler hugged me tightly to her chestplates.

“Sweet Solus Prime, Windy!” I giggled, “It's nice to see you too!”

“Where’s Jetstream and the mechs!? I haven't seen you guys since Erion’s air show! Primus, that's so long ago now-”

Jetstream.

That wasn't a name I had thought about for a long, long time. A flash of her faceplate appeared in my mind. Gentle yellow optics that was always fill with affection. An affectionation that never blossomed. It just lead to back door agreements and Swindle’s lies.

My spark suddenly ached.

Night Glide once again brought me back to reality. The Seeker stood; setting his servo on my shoulder. He leaned in to whisper, though loud enough for Wind Whistler to hear.

“Now, who's your friend, sweetspark?”

“Ahh…”

The words fizzled out in my voice box. I looked between the now concerned bots. I faked a smile; hoping that it would drown out my spark.

“Ah, yeah, I'm sorry. I haven't introduced you two yet.” I gestured to the Seeker, “Windy, this is Night Glide; my endura and carrier.”

I watched as the poor grounder’s face try to pick an emotion. Primus only knows what Wind Whistler was now thinking. Oh, well. I had plenty of time to explain what happened once we got started. Wind Whistler finally settled on a delight.

“Oh wow! You got hitched!? Congratulations!” She said with a giggle. She looked over to Night Glide, “To the both of you!” Then back to me, “Looks like we have a lot to catch up on, huh, Sky?”

I couldn’t help, but to nod. “Seems like that.”

Night Glide said his goodbyes. He hurried off to work as Wind Whistler chirped away about the last few thousand years or so. She had joined the Autobots in the end. She was stationed on an ark with her partner, Evac. They were basically rescue bots, but for the ship’s inhabitants. Two fast cars racing around to save the lives of bots in distress. Seemed like she had it a bit better than most.

After a few quick hours of surgery and part clean up; I was surprised how good I felt. My chassis didn't rattle nearly as much. The stiffness that I had ignored, to the point where I believed it was normal, was gone. My wings didn't creak anymore. Nor when I transformed. Wind Whistler was insistent that I had go and fly around the building before she started on my new paint. I cycled the block a few times; enjoying the sun. The feeling of wind under my wings. The sensation felt fresh, new, like the first time I took to the air...

I had to admit it. Windy was as good as ever.

I felt like a million credits.

I decided that the grounder would be the one to choose my new paint. Wind Whistler was ecstatic. To be perfectly honest, I had no idea what colors I wanted. I had been sparked a dull gray color with purple trim. I never gave a thought about changing it. It was what it was. Calloway tried a few times to get me brighten up my plates, but I never took him up on his offer. During the War, there was no time to fuss over paint jobs. I was kind of surprised I still had paint still clinging to my metal.

We settled on a flashy chameleon paint; something that changed on the angle and the lighting. It was a brilliant violet as first, but if it hit the right light it flashed a deep blue or a soft lavender. Tiny shimmering flecks glistened throughout the entire finish and it was all wrapped up in a bright orange trim. I looked like and felt like stardust.

With a hug and a wave, I hopped to my shift over at the Immigration Office; definitely feeling better then I had have ever been. I trotted down hallways with a tall stack of data pads as my coworkers stopped to give me a compliment or two. Not going to lie, it was a good ego boost. I began to wonder why I had never done it sooner. Too busy with work, I suppose.

“My, my, my, look at Ms. Skyfall.” I heard a voice purr.

I peeked over my stack. A slick pearly black racer decked out in bright orange biolights was standing in front of the door I was trying to enter. The mech smiled coyly and bented down at the waist to get on my optic level.

“Does Sweet Wings know you’re charming all the mechs?”

I felt my armor puff up in embarrassment, “Delegate Fireworks.”

Fireworks chuckled. If I was to have a best friend, it would be Fireworks. I had only known the racer for a few short cycles. He was a delegate from Velocitron; a colony that prided itself on their speed and engineering. He was part of the latter. Fireworks was a celebrity back on his homeworld. A daredevil with a flare for pyrotechnics. He crashed into my spark and he had falling helm over ped for Night Glide and I. I never could figure out why.

“I’m sorry,” I continued as Firework’s help me with my paperwork, “Where you all waiting for me? I meant to get here sooner.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetspark. The Mistress of Flame is fashionably late as always.”

He rolled his optics. I didn’t really know much about Camiens, but from what little Fireworks spoke about, the Mistress of Flame seem to work on her own schedule. She afterall was her colony’s head figure. The femme must have been a busy bot.

“We’re still puttering around and setting things up.”

“Oh thank Primus.”

I followed Fireworks through the doors to a large chamber room. Delegates from across the colonies milled about the room; socializing with Cybertron’s new government heads. History is written by those who won and those who won where the Autobots. Team Prime in particular took up the mantle of government officials until there was enough of an infrastructure to host an election. That point was coming, sooner than expected, but all of this forward motion was a good thing in everyone’s books.

I did still get shivers just standing in a room filled with some of the most elite Autobot warriors though. They may have been my new bosses and I might have had a flashy new paint job, but they still scared the ever living scrap out of me. So, I did my job; setting up the conference table with the meeting’s tasks and files. Quickly and discreetly. So, I could get in and get the pits out. I wasn’t a warrior bot by any stretch of the imagination.

One bot always noticed me though. Every single time. Without fail. Yet every time, he would make me jump out of my plating when he addressed me. I thought I would have gotten used to it by now. He was the biggest bot in the room after all.

“Thank you, Skyfall.” Optimus Prime softly spoke.

I froze in my spot. Slowly, I turned my helm up to look at the massive Prime. Sweet Primus, he could have crushed me under his ped no problem if he wanted to. Any further back into the War, he probably would have. Yet, Optimus had his usual kind and soft smile on. I smiled meekly in return. Out of instinct. Like the well trained Minicon I am.

“Y-You’re welcome, Optimus, s-sir.” I sputtered out.

Optimus smile turned into the thinnest of frowns. He looked so sad. Or perhaps, disappointed? It would be hard to ever know what happens in the mind of a Prime. I’m not one after all. I have no idea what kind of thought process he has with all that ancient knowledge stored in his helm. I felt my wings droop low to the floor anyways.

After a moment of contemplating; the mighty Optimus Prime did lean down and offer me his servo. I blinked a few times; trying to process what to do. It slowly clicked into place. I handed over one my last data pads to Optimus. My servo was impossibly small in Prime’s as I gave him the pad, but he took it with utmost care.

“Good luck with the meeting, s-sir.” I managed to say.

Optimus Prime’s smile returned. This time, it was a little brighter.

“Thank you, Skyfall.”

“You’re welcome, sir.” I repeated.

The Prime softly nodded. He stood to address the Mistress of Flame and Cityspeaker Windblade. I took the opportunity to disengage from Optimus and skirt over to Windblade to give her the meeting’s notes. Like Fireworks, Windblade was somebot I could actually speak too without going into a panic attack. Windblade reinsured me that Optimus wasn’t going to crush me. I can only be so sure though.

Later that night, I was resting on top of Night Glide’s chestplate. The both of us off in our own little worlds. Just quietly enjoying each other’s company. This is how we loosened up at the end of the day. With just the warmth of each other close. The War made us paranoid for the other’s contact. We both needed it to function.

“Why didn’t you ever talk about Wind Whistler? Or that Jetstream and Erion that she spoke about?” Night Glide suddenly broke the silence.

I fumbled with my data pad. It bounced off his plating onto our berth. For a moment, I forgot that my voice box could work. It crackled as I forced myself to speak.

“Because… I didn’t think I would ever seen them again.” I whispered, “They were my...friends from Kalis. Before I started working for Calloway of Iacon.”

“Friends or masters?” Night Glide accused.

To be honest, I didn’t really have an answer for him.