#I taught myself to write backwards back when these were going to be comic characters

[spittyfishy]

Hero files: Reverse

Name: Elle Roberts

Age: 24

Height: 5”10

Birthplace: Vancouver BC Canada

Ethnicity: French Canadian

Relevant labels: bisexual

Powers: Smartest woman alive but can only speak backwards

Fav movie: She doesn’t watch a lot of movies, preferring to just let Hera pick or read instead.

Fav school subject: Math

Fav animal: Lobsters

Comfort foods: Meringues, Chocolate cupcakes, soup

Backstory: Reverse was born with extraordinary intelligence, but as she grew up it became clear that there was something wrong with how she was trying to talk. Eventually it was figured out she was speaking backwards, so it was very hard for her to communicate or make friends. She met Hera in kindergarten and she was one of the only kids who bothered trying to get to know Reverse, and they’ve been inseparable ever since.

Fatal flaw: Communication issues, there are things she’ll pick up on that she won’t tell anyone about because to her it was so obvious why wouldn’t they have known too?

[seokiloquy]

Patient Growth - Yaku Morinosuke

Soulmate AU: Red String (the string on your finger points in the direction of your soulmate for about 4 inches of length before disappearing, only to make a full string connection when in each others range of sight)

Requested

Tags/Warnings: GN! Reader, time-skip spoilers, short and sweet.

Word Count: 3k+

“(Y/N), why are you doing math? We had it last semester.”

Pulling the protractor away from your pinky, you looked up to Micky’s face, watching as her eyebrow pushed upwards to her sleek hairline. You clicked your tongue, mouth open for a moment as you slid your notebook in her direction.

“Pythagorean theorem. Seriously, what are you doing?”

You raised both hands off your desk in surrender as you tilted your head away from the girl’s questioning stare. “Okay okay, hear me out.”

“That doesn’t exactly give me good faith.”

“So, the red string soulmate pair has mostly died off as of the late century or so right?”

Micky sighed, swinging her leg over the backrest of the chair in front of you, sitting backwards and she crossed her arms over your desk and leaned forward. “And?”

“And, because a lot of people have no need to know about tricks for the red string we were never taught. A lot of people have tattoos nowadays so I get it, don’t teach about every soulmate history, that’s fine.”

“Get on with it.”

“Okay, okay.” You spun your notebook around for Micky to see it straight on. “After some research, I discovered that people used to use the Pythagorean theorem to find the exact location of their soulmate using the angles of the string attached to their hand.”

“Okay cool, so why are you doing this instead of our English essay?”

Clenching your teeth, you looked away from Micky’s brown eyes to the tiled floor of your classroom. “Well, to be fair I have finished the essay.”

“We were assigned it yesterday.”

“I said it was finished, not good. But besides that. I’ve done five separate calculations, but the angles I’m getting don’t change at all, I’m getting a straight line. No triangle, no location.”

Furrowing her brow, Micky leaned back against the desk behind her, large fluffy hair tickling the back of another classmate’s neck, making them giggle. “Oops, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Mickey leaned back toward you, fingertips pulling at her ends. She sighed, “Have you considered that they might be so far away that 100 metres doesn’t give you enough clear information.”

Reaching for the thread that tied to your pinky, you spun it between your fingers, leaning back as you watched the string fade into invisibility mid-air. “I considered it, but that must mean they’re really far, and I didn’t want to admit that to myself.

“Well, hey. You’ll meet your soulmate eventually, everyone does. So for now, how about you focus on yourself and maybe clean up your essay.”

“Ya, ya you’re right.”

Micky sits for a moment, staring into empty space as your pen slowly lowers back down to the unfinished calculations on the paper. Sighing, she lifted her hand and placed it over yours, stopping the scribbling. “(Y/N), stop. You’re not ready to meet your soulmate if you’re searching for them.”

With a furrowed brow, you clicked the pen close and set in on the table. When you looked up to meet Micky’s eyes the yellow lights in the ceiling dimmed around your vision. “What do you mean by that.”

“Seriously (Y/N). if you spend all your time searching for your soulmate, what are you going to do when you finally meet them? Tell them about the length you went to, to hunt them down? Search for someone else?”

“Of course not—”

Your head shot forward slightly at the smack she landed on the back of it. “Then what?” you didn’t even seem  to move. “What do you want to do in the future?”

Picking the pen back up you flipped it between your fingers, spinning it recklessly before it slipped between your digits as they slowly clammed up under the weight of her stare.

“Do you have any clue?” She looked at your notebook before grabbing it from beneath your arms and flipping over a few pages. Slamming it back onto the desk, the sight that met you was one of a completely cluttered page, filled to the brim with words and doodles. “What about this? Art. Writing. You love comics and stories. Why not—”

“It would never last. Starving artists, you know?”

“Get out of that damn mindset. That’s all a hoax, sure it happens, but art and story’s make culture colourful and interesting.”

You sighed, flipping the notebook closed as the beginning of the lunch bell rang. “You say that as if I’d have a giant impact on society.”

“Who says you wouldn’t?”

Russia’s snow was no joke. It made the shorter male shiver to the bone till he managed to get into the building’s lobby. Though, it did persist until he got a hand on the apartment’s doorknob.

Yaku peaked over his model friend’s shoulder, slowly shrugging off his long thick coat before walking back to the coat hangers at the entrance. “You read?” he asked, moving the red string on his finger as it wrapped around one of the hooks. 

Lev’s home, shared with his older sister, was a lived-in picture of modern architecture. The flat white walls and smooth stone countertops matched the square windows and minimalist paintings. The rent hardly put a dent in their wallets. Rich people. 

Despite the money available, no books shelves in the home were used for actual books, just plants and picture frames. This made the sight of Lev holding a bound stack of paper all the more outlandish. He kicked off his shoes, slinging on the available slippers.

“Huh oh, not often. But Alisa heard that this book blew up and was getting translated into a bunch of different languages, Russian and Japanese included. So we got both and we’re sort of jumping in between the versions for practice, you know? Oh, Alisa’s buying groceries, she’ll be back in time to watch the game though. How was practice?”

Yaku paced over to his friend's sleek kitchen and grabbed a glass, filling it with water. “Pretty good. I'm still getting used to the language, but I’ve gotten a better hang of it. What’s the book about?” The shorter man, two glasses in hand, walked over to his friend and offered one.

Lev gave Yaku a large smile and graciously took it, sipping for a moment before setting it on the coffee table. “It’s a mid-century fantasy, filled with magic, monsters, flying trains. No soulmates though, so you don’t know if the main character’s relationship is platonic or romantic. Not that it’s the main focus of the plot. And the Protagonist is this 18-year-old with no magic but somehow has to stop a magic war from happening between two rival empires. It’s really cool.”

Yaku sat in the opposite corner of the couch, chugging his glass back as he watched an animated movie play quietly on the screen in front of them. “Where’s the author from?” he asked, twirling the pinky tied red string around one of his fingers aimlessly.

“Europe? North-America? Don’t recall. But I did hear that they got scouted to work on an upcoming manga with a small group of authors. Apparently, they are great illustrators. Oh did they design the cover of their book? Ugh, let me check.” Lev reached for his phone on the counter as the door opened behind them. 

Alisa, long silver hair tied up into a neat bun, dropped the grocery bags and shook the snow off her head while kicking her coat off. “Lev,” she huffed. “I texted you to help me with the bags. Ah, Mori, you’re here. Good to see you.”

Yaku gave the older model a smile as Lev dropped his phone and rushed to pick up the brim filled bags of food. “Sorry, sorry. I was telling Mori about the books we bought.”

“Don’t worry I managed. Mori, I heard you made it onto the national team, does that mean we’re gonna have to fly into Japan to support you next year?”

Yaku laughed and waved his hand dismissively, “I won’t force you two. But I think the rest of Nekoma would like to see you again.”

Lev let out a loud snort from the kitchen, “We’re going! No doubt about it!” The tall man took a moment to poke his head out, “Oh, Yak— Alisa! You didn’t tell me!”

The childlike anger in his tone made Alisa laugh, turning around to look at her brother head-on. “Tell you what?”

“Your soulmate! Your tattoo is gold now!”

Yaku, from his position, could quickly confirm. The mandala-like flower on the back of Alisa’s neck had gone from a black to a golden shimmer.

Alisa scrambled, quickly pulling her phone close to her chest. With a swipe of her thumb, she brought the phone behind her and pushed and stray hairs up towards her silver bun. The camera clicked.

Yaku raised a thin blond brow. “Do you,” he paused, trying not to chuckle at his friend’s frantic scuffling. “Do you not know who it is?”

“Well, I can’t recall. Nothing was out of the ordinary today.” She tapped her booted toe against the mat before gasping suddenly. Removing the nail she was biting from her mouth, she grunted and pulled her coat back on. 

She began to ramble. “That damn cashier! I finally met him and she’s my soulmate? Stupid, stupid!” She stepped through the front door, turning around to give them a smile. “You boys enjoy the game, okay?”

The door closed with a dull thud and click. Lev, hands hanging like dead fish at sides, stood speechless. For a minute he stared at the closed door, not noticing Yaku���s eyes on him, before asking a sudden question.

“Do you want to meet your soulmate?”

“Hmm? Why do you ask?”

Lev stepped back into the kitchen, grabbing a bag of vegetables, silently beckoning Yaku to follow. Heeding, Yaku followed.

“Well, I don’t mean to sound negative or anything. I really want to meet my soulmate.” He trailed off.

Yaku sighed and grabbed his own item to help put it away in the fancy silver fridge. “Everyone has growing to do, and everyone grows at different paces.” He paused, stifling a sneer at Lev looking down at him with a bewildered gaze. He threw a pack of ships into his stomach. “If you never meet them, it was never meant to happen right? But soulmates are funny like that and always find their way to each other. You just got to be patient.”

Lev tossed the back onto a shelf, making the ships crunch daily when they landed. “Do you think you’ll meet your soulmate? Soon?”

“I’ve done a lot of growing, and I like how things are going. So ya, maybe.” Yaku looked back into the living room and to the book that sat in near perfect condition. “If it’s any constellation Lev, I think you’ve done a lot of growing too.”

He looked at the taller friend, immediately regretting his words slightly. Lev wore a cat-like grin. 

“(L/N), we’re buying tickets to the Olympic games, do you want one?” Udai asked with an excited grin.

“Uh, hold on.” You pulled the glasses from off the top of your head and onto the bridge of your nose. Standing from your brightly lit desk, you walked over to stand behind one of your teammate’s shoulders to squint at their screen. “Volleyball? Oh, right you played didn’t you?”

The long-haired man laughed, making his chair creak as he leaned back. “So did Akaashi. We know some of the players on the team too.”

You sat up straight, brows shooting as close to your hairline as possible. “You know professional volleyball players?”

Udai let out an airy laugh. “Well Akaashi knows them better than I do, but ya.”

Akaashi, the silent editor that sat across the table, looked up at your bewildered face. “You’re a fan of volleyball?”

“Well, it’s not like I know the name of every player, coach, and team, but I enjoy watching sport in general. Udai, put me on the list.”

Walking back to your desk, you silently listened to your co-authors rattle on about the 3rd act of the story as you made clean lines and whether or not the main character should save the secondary one or not. Sighing, you looked at the black pen you held, before setting it down and gently tugging on your little red string. Akaashi rolled his chair over.

“I’m surprised you haven’t met your soulmate yet.”

“Are you? I’m only two years older than you Akaashi.”

“I suppose you’re right, most people just tend to meet their soulmates at the end of high school or into post-secondary. Typically if they’re in close proximity.”

“Well, I did try to figure out where my soulmate was. My friend convinced me to stop and focus on myself,” you sighed, staring at the papers in front of you. “I’m thankful for that, honestly. If I’m not ready to meet my soulmate, at least I have myself right? I’m happy.”

Akaashi’s head tilted, hair shifting under the fluorescent light as he stared at the small gold tattoo on his wrist with a smile. “Ya, you’re right.”

The stadium, inside and out, was loud. Stacks of hundreds of people slowly making their way around the building and milling about, their conversations made it difficult to communicate.

“So you don’t know how your soul mark works exactly?” Udai yelled into your ear.

“Not entirely. Everyone is different, you know? And not many people have the red string nowadays!”

“Ah, right! Makes sense.”

“Everyone, this way!” one of your co-authors called, as akaashi and another author came back, beers in hand.

Following your group, you made your way to the balcony seats to finally sit down instead of standing among tight groups of strangers. You cast a panoramic look over the circular-shaped stadium at the filled seats that hit the vibrant vinyl colours of the chairs.

“Eh! Akaashi! Is that you?”

Two rows ahead, standing tall, and eagerly running your way was a lanky silver-headed man with a big grin. Next to you, Akaashi stood up, and to be polite you stepped out of his way standing in the stairway to look up slightly at the stranger. 

“Ah Lev, been a while.”

Unable to get back to your seat, you stood between the two men patiently.

“You’re here to see everyone right? Oh, who’s this?” Lev asked, turning his head in your direction.

“(L/N), (Y/N). I’m one of Akaashi’s co-workers.”

The man’s thin silver brows pinched together, tilting his head as he inspected your face before suddenly shooting up onto his toes. “You wrote the Rusted Wing series! I love those books!”

“Ah, ya I did.”

“That’s amazing, I-”

A man’s voice called over the speakers, echoing through the stadium. Lev, in an excited rush, insisted on speaking to you later, before running back to his seat where another silver-haired person sat.

Sitting back down, you breathed slowly as the loud conversations around you died and the players made their way onto the court with an uproar of cheers. You smiled, chanting along until Akaashi nudged your arm.

Yaku, completely in his head about the quickly approaching game, kept his eyes on the red jersey in front of him as he walked forward. The music played loudly in his ears and mixed with the messy sound of cheers his head felt like it was floating in a cloud of complete focus on oblivion.

He stood in line, chest rising as he waited for the anthem to begin, but before they did an elbow hit his shoulder. 

Opening his eyes, he immediately caught sight of the once invisible red string making a complete line, arching its way up into the crowd where he saw your face above the strangers in the crowd.

Yaku was in a daze. Completely blown out of the water, all the thoughts in his mind seemed to escape him.

The game seemed to have started without his knowledge, and finished just as quickly. Muscle memory had done its job well. Yaku only noticed what had happened when his head was forced up to see the winning scores on a large screen.

“Fantastic work Yaku, and you didn’t even break a sweat! You were a monster out there! Absolute beast.” The head coach’s expression was one of amazement.

Yaku blinked dumbly. “If I’m being honest, I hardly remember a thing I did out there.”

“Well, you did fantastically. Conscious or not.”

When Yaku looked back to your seat, location freshly printed in his mind, you were gone. 

He followed the team back into the change rooms. Which happened to be when the rest began to point out the quickly moving direction of his thread. One compared its movements to a broken compass. 

Once able to get out of the musty changeroom, Yaku sprinted. The stadium halls were still packed with people. None paid attention to the short man sprinting though. The string had gone still and Yaku eagerly followed it like a trail of breadcrumbs. He knew his fate would be better than the two german siblings because at the end of the trail would be his soulmate and not some cannibalistic witch. He hoped.

The string suddenly shot forward, growing in length. He came to a halt, panting from his sprint; more than he did during the game.

Only a couple metres ahead, head meeting a higher point against Lev’s arm than his own, was his soulmate chatting happily in a circle while maintaining eye contact with his tall friend. The sight made his ears rumble and cheeks burn with embarrassment.

The content smile on your lips when you finally turned his way made all his patience worth it.

I’m getting better at using ‘They’ as a gender-neutral pronoun in writing without making it feel clunky, which I’m happy about.

I hope everyone has been having a nice holiday. - Bacon

Posted: 17/01/2021

[butterflyinthewell]

Headcanon ahoy!

Ahh, I can’t believe how much fun I had writing Danceverse Ultra Magnus (semi OC) in my Stories Tell Us fic. I was waiting for an opportunity to spotlight him for a bit while he did his Guardian bot stuff AND finally bring to light my headcanon about his specific race / language.

I call Mags a “semi OC” because he’s a named character in the franchise, but hasn’t been seen in the Bayverse movies, so I yanked him up for myself. He first showed up in Lines as a white Kenworth t800 and later changed over to an International LoneStar.

Kenworth

LoneStar

Ultra Magnus is a Rustian. 

Rustians are native to the Sea of Rust, which is like a hybrid of a desert and a plain and the rust storms make Earth’s sandstorms look like dust puffs. Rustians are Cybertron’s equivalent to the indigenous peoples around the Earth, like Aborigines, First Nations, Native Americans, Pacific Islanders, etc..

Autobots are respectful of Rustians. Decepticons...not so much. I’ll get more into that soon.

The racial slur Decepticons use against Rustians is Junkions or Junkers-- it hurts them like the N-word hurts black people. The term exists in Decepticon mumblings because Rustian homes look like piles of junk from the outside, while inside it’s clean, neat and cozy. They build like that because the Sea of Rust is known for its rust storms, and the “junky” looking homes let the wind and blowing rust slide around buildings instead of battering against them and piling up to block the exit doors.

You can call Rustians a Rusty or Rusties because that’s what they’ll playfully call themselves (in their language), but the J-word will get you a one-strike warning if you’re ignorant, and repeats get you smacked in the mouth and kicked out of the social circle. Avoid the J-word! 

Rustians are excellent storytellers. They’re notorious for it! It’s how they pass on knowledge. They love hearing other peoples’ stories, too, the more gripping the better. A favorite game of theirs is for a group to retell a known story with the most absurd twists they can make up without changing the story’s outcome. You lose the game if your addition changes the plot and you win if you’re able to finish the story to its proper end while laughing your aft off. Like, they might tell you the plot to the Die Hard movies, but everybody is wearing tutus or has rainbow colored teeth, or all the cars drive backwards, that kind of stuff.

Rustians evolved for a long time without any contact from the rest of Cybertron, so they have their own language, writing system, culture, beliefs and technology that is totally separate from the Autobots and Decepticons. 

The first outside contact Rustians had with anyone was with the Primes, who they saw as gods capable of appearing and disappearing at will. It was a glowing contact with kindness exchanged from both sides. Then the Fallen came through later and wiped out a lot of Rustians to prevent a Prime from emerging, and it became the first time Rustians had ever seen death. Death was so new to them that they had to invent a word for it because one didn’t exist. 

They thought they somehow angered the gods and came up with prayers, music and poetry to try to appease them and prevent it from happening again. The fear of angry gods appearing gradually faded, but the legends, stories, songs, prayers and poetry about it continued through history.

The Rustians’ second outside contact was the Decepticons, who arrived shortly after Ultra Magnus’ generation first saw the stars. The Rustians were still hurt and the population was slowly recovering from the Fallen’s unprovoked attack. They were no slouch with weaponry and combat, so they were able to put up a fight against the ���Cons. The problem was they were outnumbered.

And Optimus showed up with a small convoy, having tracked the ‘Cons to the Sea of Rust. He realized he didn’t have enough bots with him to hold off the Decepticons in the Sea of Rust, and the Rustians knew they didn’t have enough people to hold off the Decepticons either. 

The language barrier made communication almost impossible, so Optimus made his intent to team up with the previously-unknown bots clear by only pointing his weapons at the Decepticons, never the Rustians. They figured out the rest pretty quick.

Let me make it clear that both teams were screwed if they didn’t join forces, it wasn’t the Rustians getting totally clobbered until the Autobots saved the day. The Autobots were getting clobbered, too. Neither group had a chance of winning on their own. It was a mutual agreement to combine their armies and drive the ‘Cons away. The Rustian Optimus fought back to back with as a team happened to be a young Ultra Magnus. After the battle, they worked patiently through the language barrier and established communication.

Ultra Magnus recognized the Prime engraving on Optimus’ helm and believed him appearing when he did was an apology from the gods for bringing death into their ranks, so he did what people do with a sincere apology-- he accepted. He invited Optimus to immerse himself in the Rustian way of life and taught him their culture, religion, music, stories and their spoken and written language. Optimus offered Ultra Magnus the same in return, which began a complete and equal cultural exchange. Nobody forced anybody to change who they were even though there was quite a bit of culture shock in the beginning. Everybody got over it and worked out a harmonious coexistence. :)

Rustians weren’t technologically behind the Autobots. They had a lot of medical tools and navigation methods the Autobots had never seen, and likewise the Autobots had weaponry and construction equipment the Rustians had never seen. They filled in each others’ technological gaps and got stronger for it. 

Btw, some Rustian tech looks like something out of a steampunk comic because that’s their style. A lot of their art and sculptures are clockwork stuff that moves.

The technological exchange let the Rustians start building “underground” underneath Cybertron’s top layer. A lot of them started living beneath the Sea of Rust as much as living on it.

Optimus told the Rustians he had no desire to erase their culture or their way of life, but he knew the Decepticons wouldn’t hesitate to do exactly that. He offered them a place in the Autobot army if they wanted one, and they were all over it. There are no Rustians in the Decepticon ranks. Not one. 

Rustians have a very distinct accent when they speak Cybertronian; the human equivalent would be somebody speaking English with a Jamaican Patois accent. A non-Rustian who learns to speak enough Rustian to communicate will have a strong and obvious accent, too, like an English speaker speaking Patois. 

Ultra Magnus is perpetually amused by Optimus’ command of Rustian. Optimus comes from the southernmost tip of Simfur and has the Cybertronian equivalent of a thick rural Alabama drawl. Sentinel Prime “cleaned up” his speech a bit and trained him out of his tendency to mumble, but the drawl is bleepin’ obvious in the way he pronounces words. Optimus sounds funny when he speaks Rustian, but he speaks it correctly. He knows Rustians find his pronunciation hilarious and he’s fine with the teasing.

Regional Cybertronian accents (Rustian included) don’t show up when bots speak Earth languages because they download those and pick up whatever regional accent they scan off human voice transmissions, like people talking on cell phones, Skype and so forth.

Rustian has to be learned, so you can’t download it off a dead bot and suddenly be able to write / speak it. Only a native speaker of the language can teach it properly, and there’s a lot of nuance outsiders will never pick up and mimic perfectly.

Here’s a small taste of the language. One phrase will be familiar if you’ve been in the TF fandom for awhile.

Bah weep gragnah wheep nini bong is a universal peace greeting that means “I arrive at your presence peacefully and harbor no ill intent towards you”.

Bah weep is a greeting for when you’re arriving, literally “I arrive” or “I come”.

Nini weep is a greeting to somebody who is arriving, literally “you arrive” or “you come.”

Bah gneh is a farewell you say when you’re leaving, literally “I go”.

Nini gneh is a farewell you say when somebody else is leaving, literally “you go.”

The Rustians gave the Autobots and Decepticons nicknames in their language. Autobots are affectionately referred to “shinies” (ar ang) and Decepticons are derided as “sharpies” (ing arg). They refer to anyone in general who isn’t Rustian as nileeng. It’s a non-offensive term that means “others”.

The Rustian “I love you” is bah ethsteo nini.

Ultra Magnus’ name is still his Rustian name. Ult Ra Mag Nus. He’s got a name people can easily squish together and pronounce in Autobot, Decepticon and English. It means warrior elemental or warrior of the elements, and references an old story describing a Rustian who faces and overcomes the four elements-- ground, fluid, flame and air.

Rustian language sounds like total gibberish to someone unfamiliar with it. Listening to two native speakers of it sounds a lot like radio interference where two frequencies mix up because they talk fast. Optimus asked if he could utilize the spoken and written language as a code language. That was totally cool with the Rustians, and from then on you were likely to find a Rustian sitting in on listening posts and teaching Rustian in the Autobot Academy. They could relay information over Decepticon channels to help conceal Autobot frequencies, and the Decepticons still haven’t caught on to the trick.

Rustians like Ultra Magnus became the Cybertronian equivalent to Navajo code talkers. The written language looks like a bunch of dots, so somebody could carve or shoot holes in something to say “there’s 200 ‘Cons holed up here” or “Warning: Snipers” without alerting the Decepticons that they were onto them.

A Rustian who hasn’t scanned another planet’s vehicles looks distinctly different from other Cybertronians due to their protomatter coming from the Sea of Rust and living life where rust storms can scour a nice paint job off in a matter of hours. 

Rustians are matte and appear rusted, like old vehicles left out in nature for years and years, but they're in good physical condition. They don’t creak, they aren’t breaking down and they can move like any other bot. 

Their optics are white, though a lot of them got blue filters voluntarily so people knew they were friendly to the Autobot cause, and they can turn the blue off any time they want. 

White optics help them see and be seen in heavy rust storms where rust is blowing like sand. Rustians in their native environment will paint reflective stripes on their faces and wear a scarf around their neck with reflectors arranged in decorative patterns to aid in visibility, and they can flip the scarf over and scrape off the paint to camouflage themselves if they need to.

Their creation story says their optics are white because Primus swept the stars from the sky to light the Sea of Rust and the stars became the lens through which they see the beauty of the universe. Cybertron’s oldest star charts are Rustian in origin.

Rustians who scanned an alien vehicle are almost indistinguishable from any other Autobot, so you can’t spot them in a lineup unless you know what to look and listen for. Like all Cybertronians, Rustians don’t attach too deeply to their physical appearances aside from their dot glyphs. They keep those no matter what form they take, and they’re easy to miss. All Rustians have a dot glyph somewhere on their body, so those glyphs, an occasional glimpse of optics without blue filters and noticing an accent if they speak Autobot Cybertronian are the only hints that you’re talking to a Rustian. 

Ultra Magnus’ dots are on the backs of his hands. He’s got a whole bunch of other Autobot Cybertronian glyphs on his body, kind of like somebody who has a lot of tattoos.

But Ultra Magnus isn’t the only Rustian. They are a minority in the sense of not many are left after war tore Cybertron apart, but they’re not in danger of going extinct. 

So I headcanon an onscreen bot as also being Rustian because he’s got dots right smack out there on his chin.

It’s green duster double-gun boi, aka Crosshairs.

Crosshairs goes by Crosshairs because the Autobots have a hell of a time trying to pronounce Kroz Stiz Ay Ras correctly (humans can’t either!) and he got tired of non-Rustians butchering it, so he goes by an Autobot approximation that doesn’t make him cringe. His Rustian name means aims well and swift because he’s ridiculously good at sharpshooting while moving fast.

And I hinted that Rustian survives into the future in the same way languages evolve over time, but readers didn’t know it at the time because I hadn’t “brought out” my headcanon for Mags and Crossy yet. The roots of Rustian words still exist a trillion years after the Autobots first touched down on Earth. 

In Tin Man’s Treasure, the main Trillian characters (distant techno-organic descendants of humans) are named Eth and Steo. :)

[lord-explosion-baku]

Like Ghosts In Snow

While your guardian is keeping a huge secret you take on the nightlife and find yourself in a mad supernatural hellzone.

Vampire AU, Villain AU,

Warnings: EVERYONES NAMES ARE SAID BACKWARDS LIKE THE AMERICAN WAY AND I HATE MYSELF FOR IT TOO. LONG. Eventual yandere villainous bois, eventual noncon, eventual major character death

A/n: My ode to the 1987 cheesy vampire thriller, The Lost Boys. I made this to be based in the same fake California town as the movie which I feel like maybe that could be disrespectful, making these Japanese characters American but it was a lot easier writing for a fake town rather than Okinawa where I had originally tried to set this in. And I’m from California and I might be lazy, sticking to scenes that I know but what can you do? It starts off slow. I’m impatient so I’m sorry if you are too. Vampire boys will COME. LIES, DECEIPT, BETRAYEL, LOVE, AND DEATH WILL COME. Also, I don’t know how to pair this because pretty much everyone wants to bone has a thing for the reader?? The guilty pleasures are real in this fic. I mean, not in this chapter (that I’m still really excited for) but like....?!!!!? Also, Aizawa has poor parenting skills for a reason. Like, he’s not dumb. I could never make him dumb. ALSO I posted this on AO3 but I do not know how to work that site and I’m AFRAID of it. I talk too much. So here it is now. Huzzah.

Chapter 1: Margarita Night

You hummed along to the song that was playing on the stereo while Shouta Aizawa, your legal guardian, drove fast and precise up the coast highway in his red Jeep. Long black locks were flying wildly in the wind, like tendrils searching to grasp on to something. His tired eyes were hard and focused on the road but you smiled at him as he zoomed and weaved through different cars. He got a thrill from the speed.

You were moving, for the third time this year, which was saying something because it was only mid July. It was for Aizawa’s job. The two of you would travel across the country when something new, or rather, old, like relics from a different time would surface and he would start examining, dating, and researching what exactly the piece that was found was so they could be auctioned out or put in a secure location depending on how valuable the relic was. Or whatever. He didn’t go into details as to what exactly he did but when he did you never failed to zone out and start to daydream about something else. He didn’t mind. And you didn’t mind moving. You and Aizawa shared the spirit of adventure. He loved his work and you loved the rush of blood you got when you found yourself trying new things.

You scanned over one of the many articles for Santa Carla California, your new destination, that Aizawa has cut out for you to read up on. You’ve already read up the town history and now you had different clippings of local hang outs, the what to do and what not to do in Santa Carla. You took note of a pretty popular comic book store and the summer sports competitions but it was the night life that seemed to call to you on a specific page. There was a fair in town all summer long, love music, games, dancing, and other festivities. Aizawa didn’t let you out much when the sun was down but you both had agreed that that would change since you were now eighteen. You were excited to say the least.

Finally arriving to your destination, Aizawa drove through a dirt path to get to Tudor style house that sat about a hundred yards away from a cliff over looking the Pacific Ocean. The garden was hardly tended to, vines grew high over the fragmented stone wall that surrounded the house, the ground was covered in bursting star flowers, sagebrush, and ferns.

Aizawa parked the Jeep behind a dusted over yellow VW Bus. Stickers from covered the back of the bus. Some represented different cities across the country some that you’ve been to and some you have not, while most of them were stickers from different radio festivals you have heard about but never attended.

Grabbing your backpack from the backseat you hopped out of the seat and stretched your legs. You were sore from hours of sitting. You slung your pack over your shoulder and walked to the trunk where Aizawa was grabbing your and his suitcases that sat in front of Aizawa’s chest. You made a motion to grab the chest and Aizawa swatted your hand away.

“That’s gonna be too heavy for you,” he said. “I’ll get Mr. Yamada to help me with this. You go ahead and bring in the other luggage.”

You rolled your eyes. Aizawa didn’t ever want you looking into his chest but the fact that you couldn’t even touch it was a bit ridiculous. Still, you walked up the steps to the front door, backpack on, dragging both suitcases behind you, a petty attempt to show Aizawa you weren’t weak, you used your head to ring the doorbell.

Thunderous barking immediately answered the call of the doorbell. Frightened you dropped the luggage and took a step away from the door. You hadn’t known you’d be living with a dog. You were heard some yelling and and rustling on the other end of the door and the barking was muted.

The door opened revealing a very tall man with thick blonde hair in a bun. He wore a blue tank top that showed off his tan muscular arms and warm colored board shorts. His green eyes peaked over his reading glasses at you and smiled revealing dazzling white teeth.

“Wow,” was what he said. “F/N L/N. Aizawa told me about you. He told me his kid was brilliant, too smart for her own good, tough, and charming, but he never told me how much of a stunner you are!”

Your mouth fell open, unable to know how to respond to that. He grin grew wider as a blush dusted your cheeks. You hadn’t expected him to be so friendly.

Aizawa was to your side instantly.

“Shouta!” The man exclaimed clasping his hand to Aizawa’s a pulling him into an embrace. “It’s been far too long!”

“Y/N, this is Hizashi Yamada, or you may know him as Present Mic. He’s a radio host for the local Santa Clara station and a very old friend of mine.”

You gave him a slight smile. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Yamada,” you said offering him your hand.

He took your hand and turned it over kissing the back of it and looking up into your eyes he said, “Call me, Hizashi. And the pleasure is all mine, little one,” with a wink.

Aizawa cleared his throat and Hizashi let out a chuckle. “Let me help you with your bags,” he said picking up your suitcase from the ground and offered to take your backpack, letting his hand travel to the strap on your shoulder. Bashfully you shook your head, excusing his hand, and you made a mental note of the man’s lack of personal space. You were taught to be kind but not stupid. You didn’t think Aizawa would let you live with a man that could be dangerous though.

You followed Hizashi up the stairs and to your new room. The room was larger than what you were used to. The ceiling was tall though it slopes d downwards with the roof, a stream of lights hung around the room, and posters from old bands you didn’t know were plastered against the walls. A queen sized bed with a beautiful wooden headboard sat in the middle of the room. The bedspread was a royal purple with purple and black shiny pillows. It was a tad much but you didn’t mind having a lot of space for you to sleep.

“The sheets are Egyptian cotton,” Hizashi said placing your suitcase down by your closet doors. “It gets pretty hot up here and I’d want for you to be as comfortable as possible while you stay here. If you need, I could bring a fan up later. The window opens but just slightly. It’s been weathered down from the pacific breeze.”

“It’s nice,” you said walking around the room. “I’m not used to having this much space.”

Hizashi smiled gleefully at your approval. “Well, I’ll be down in the kitchen with Aizawa talking old man business type stuff and my,” he paused for a split second, “intern should be here shortly and I’d like for you to meet him. You’re about his age so I’m hoping the two of you will get along.” The way he said that made you doubt that you would in fact get along. “The bathroom is down the hall to the right. It takes a while for the shower is get warm. Old heater. But the pressure is nice!” You nodded at him and he excused himself.

Immediately you started to unpack your clothes into the spacious drawers of the dresser that sat across from your bed, trying to figure out what to wear. You had on sweat shorts and t-shirt, so you’d be comfortable driving for hours on end by you wanted to be at least slightly presentable for meeting someone, a boy, your age, even if you might not get along. You settled on a white tank top and a black skater skirt with black tights. It was too hot to really care for looking pretty anyways.

You trotted down the stairs and slipped into the kitchen. The kitchen was fairly modern styled with an island in the middle. Hizashi has his back turned to you while he sliced limes. He hadn’t heard you come in but someone else had.

“WOOF!” You heard causing you and Hizashi to jump. You turned to the noise and saw a giant red husky running your ear. Before you could react the husky jumped at you causing you to fall back onto the kitchen tiles. He husky had you down with his paws on his chest and he examined your face giving you many sniffs. You kept your hands to your side and avoided looking into its eyes so it wouldn’t see you as a threat.

“Eijirou!” Hizashi yelled across from the kitchen.

The husky took a moment to look away from you and at Hizashi and back at you, giving your face a long lick. When you didn’t push him away he continued to lick your face to your dismay.

“Awwww he likes you!” Hizashi said.

“I-“ you started but Eijirou kicked your mouth when you opened it causing you to finally push him away, “gah! I guess!”

Hizashi pulled the husky away by his collar allowing you to stand back up. “This is Eijirou! I found him a couple months ago! He’s my most bravest boy and he’s very protective of this house! I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about him but I am surprised that he didn’t growl at you! It took him awhile to get used to my intern!”

Eijirou woofed at you again but this time his tail was wagging. You went to let him behind his pointed ears and he leaned in to your touch.

You heard the front door open and Aizawa came in carrying his trunk with a spiky haired blonde boy. “To the left,” Aizawa said and they scooted there way with the chest towards the door towards what you assumed to be Aizawa’s bedroom. “Alright we can put it down here. I can take it from here,” he said.

Your eyes narrowed slightly. You couldn’t even touch the trunk but some boy you didn’t know could help Aizawa carry it? Whatever.

“Bakugou!” Hizashi called to the kid. “Come meet Aizawa’s daughter!”

Instinctively, you moved towards Hizashi and away from the door frame. You didn’t know why you were nervous but you were.

The boy, sporting a black tank top and black sweats made his way over towards the kitchen, wiping away the sweat from his forehead with his arm that was bandaged up. He stopped at the doorway leaning against it.

“Hello,” You said quietly giving a slight wave. He just scowled at you. Yikes.

“Y/N, this is Katsuki Bakugou! He’s been helping me with some projects for about two months now! He’s been a ton of help!”

“Hello,” You said Again, this time with a little more confidence.

He looked you up and down, almost as if he were sizing you up, as if you could be a threat to him. You crossed your arms, out of discomfort but also trying to make you look a little more tough. It was pointless. Bakugou turned his attention to Hizashi. “Did you get my text?” His voice was low and rough. It annoyed you that you thought it was a little attractive. You didn’t like this guy one bit.

Hizashi was surprised. “I- yes! Of course I did!”

“You didn’t respond,” Bakugou said walking passed you and Eijirou towards the fridge.

“I didn’t. It’s not important right now. I had to deal with something a little more important.”

“And that would be?” Bakugou asked into the refrigerator.

Hizashi dropped the lime slices into four classes filled with a frothy green liquid. “I made margaritas!” He beamed.

Bakugou came up from the fridge with a beer in hand. He used his keys to open the bottle. He stared at Hizashi as he took a sip from the bottle. Yikes.

Hizashi sighed. “Y/N, I already asked Shouta if this would be okay. You’ll have a margarita, won’t you?” He said, extending a beverage towards you.

How could you say no when you were a guest in his house and he had already made one? You couldn’t. You smiled sweetly at him and took the margarita in your hand sipping on it. You tried not to scrunch your face up at the strong taste. Hizashi returned your smile.

Aizawa trudged into the kitchen.

“Hey, were having it’s margarita night, grab a glass!” Hizashi commanded Aizawa. Aizawa gave him a dry look but still accepted his beverage. Eijirou began to growl at Aizawa when he got too close to Hizashi. Hizashi patted his head to calm him down.

Aizawa took a sip of Hizashi’s creation. “Christ, did you pour the entire bottle into this?!” He said putting the glass down. Bakugou offered him a beer which he gladly took.

“Wha- no!!” Hizashi said now slightly annoyed. “The kids in Santa Clara like ‘em strong these days!” He said throwing his hands up spilling some of his drink to the floor. Eijirou moves to lap up the liquid but recoiled after giving it a curious sniff. “Well Y/N likes my drink, don’t you?”

You were already halfway done with your drink. You had to hold you breath to drink it down. You didn’t want to be rude but you also wanted it to be over. Hizashi poured Aizawa’s drink into his now empty glass and poured what would have been Bakugou’s into yours. Okay so maybe sometimes you were too kind and that was stupid. And a little dizzy. You hiccuped a response.

You could almost make out a smirk on Bakugou’s face.

“We need to talk about the email from Fulukado.” Aizawa said to Hizashi.

“But it’s... margarita night,” Hizashi nearly pouted holding his glass in both hands like a child with a toy.

“Hizashi, this is important.” Aizawa glared at him and Hizashi shrugged defeated.

“All work and no play makes Shouta a dull boy,” Hizashi drains his drink and made his way out of the kitchen. “Bakugou, why don’t you take Y/N into town. Show her a good time. I’m sure she’s dying to explore.”

You were on the floor playing with Eijirou. You let him like your red face and you giggled at the goofy dog.

“I can’t take her anywhere! She’s drunk!” Bakugou called back.

“Am not!” You crossed your arms like a child. Eijirou woofed at Bakugou as if agreeing with you.

Hizashi came back, holding a key in his hand. “This is for the house. I keep it locked up at night. You can’t be too careful.” He studied you on the floor, wide eyed, running your hands through the dog’s soft fur. “Aizawa, are you okay with her going to town right now? I know Bakugou is responsible enough. He wouldn’t let anything to happen to her.”

Aizawa sighed and looked at you. You gave him a pleading look. He knew you craved independence. “Are you okay?” He asked.

“Absolutely!” You said standing up. “I could totally say my ABC’s backwards, walk in a straight line, whatever. The articles you gave me were interesting! I’m dying to see the fair!”

“The fair isn’t open on weekdays,” Bakugou said dryly.

“Well there’s a comic book store in town, right? I’d love to check it out.” You took the key from Hizashi. “I’m fine! I swear!”

Aizawa considered you. You put your finger to your nose and started walking heel to toe. “Z Y X W V U T-“

“Alright. Go. Have fun.” You were elated.

“Go ahead and take Eijirou too!” Hizashi chimed in as the dog started wagging his tail.

“Seriously?” Bakugou was not happy.

“Go have fun.” It wasn’t an invitation from Hizashi. It was a command.

Bakugou scoffed and made his way out the door, not waiting for you to understand that was your cue to follow.

“Be safe,” Aizawa said as you walked through the door, Eijirou on your heels.

You waved him off. “I always am.”

~

@yandere-inamorata

Chapter 2