#cringing and scraping at the notion of being found wanting

[iamnotlookingidonotseeit]

christ it's hard not to treat everyone who asks me for better than i'm giving as my god and/or confessor

[andypantsx3]

Hii can I request a deleted scene for "if I could keep cool" that tells chapter 2 from Shouto's POV? I would absolutely love to c what was going through Shouto's head when he figured out that Y/N was just a cleaning lady and what was the moment that made him want to ask her out when he saw her at his house afterwards! Thank u!!

I accidentally got carried away, so this bad boy is 1.9k!! My apologies lol. I hope you like it!!

It wasn’t every day that someone told Shouto Todoroki to go fuck himself. 

Particularly not quirkless civilians, and never those he’d rescued. 

There was usually a lot more breathless gratitude, some bowing and scraping, and—mystifyingly—a lot of phone numbers, handkerchiefs, and very unsubtle attempts to get a hand or two around his biceps. Shouto didn’t really know what his biceps had to do with it, but he’d seen the same thing happen to Midoriya and Kirishima as well—and Bakugou once, before he’d nearly gnawed the woman’s hands off—so he assumed it was just another social cue he’d never understand.

As little as he cared for social cues, however, he was certain that there was usually a lot more thank you and a little less go fuck yourself involved in the whole rescuing process.

But then, he’d also never told off a civilian for having been kidnapped before. 

A civilian who, he’d come to realize almost immediately afterward, hadn’t deserved it.

When he’d asked his mother her advice over the phone, she’d told him the best thing to do was to be honest and try to start fresh. “White flowers mean forgiveness—tulips new beginnings,” she’d advised him.

So Shouto had ducked into the nearest florist and brought back an apology in hopes that you would accept it. 

He might have known, however, that you’d manage to turn even a simple apology completely on its head.

The clatter of cleaning supplies in his kitchen on Thursday afternoon told Shouto you’d let yourself in for your usual shift. He followed the sound, only for it to halt at his approach, the kitchen seemingly empty as he drew nearer.

He stopped short, fighting down a surprised swell of amusement when he realized you’d ducked down, hiding yourself behind his counters as if anyone, especially a pro hero, might be fooled by that.

“I know you’re there,” he said, keeping his tone even.

He heard a muttered swear word, and then you were rising slowly to your feet, wearing a sheepish expression, and clutching a bottle of windex like a weapon.

You looked just as you had the day of your rescue, though obviously a little less harrowed by a kidnapping. You were dressed casually in jeans and a simple shirt, no indicator that you were an employee of a cleaning service—Shouto felt at least a little justified in his mistake from last week.

You were clearly a college student, the backpack dumped at his kitchen island was evidence of that much, overflowing with textbooks and notes as it was, and you looked just slightly disheveled, like you might have come straight from class.

It was part of some nebulous, unassuming appeal to you, now that he had occasion to notice. He’d remembered your features twisted up in disdain, but they were open in surprise now, your eyes wide, fixed on him. His own eyes were drawn to the scrunch of your nose, a little curl of embarrassment that he suddenly found himself unable to tear his gaze away from.

“I, uh, thought you weren’t supposed to be here,” you admitted to him with a visible cringe.

Shouto almost laughed. He didn’t know much about you, but it was clear to him now that you weren’t anything like a crazy fan. You looked like you’d rather be anywhere but here at the moment. In fact, you looked rather like you might bolt any second.

A strange feeling shifted in his chest, and Shouto cut right to the chase.

“I owe you an apology,” he said simply.

You startled so violently that you dropped the windex. “W-what?”

Shouto sighed, admitting, “My manager schedules the cleaning days. I didn’t realize that you were—that is to say, I thought you were a fan who had broken in and managed to get kidnapped while you were at it.”

You gaped, another confused little expression that Shouto found himself fixating on with an intensity that surprised him. The weird feeling in his chest shifted, burning a little hotter. 

He wondered absently what other expressions he could get you to make.

“Oh, I, um...nope. Not a fan,” you said, and the feeling grew more insistent. 

He paused over the phrasing—not a fan. 

It had never bothered him before, when someone was a bigger fan of a classmate than they were of him, or weren’t really a hero fan at all. Shouto honestly did not quite understand why hero work was so tied up in fandom in the first place, and only attended fan events because his manager’s temper was not a thing to be trifled with. 

He wanted to be a hero who put people at ease, but ease was the last thing he felt with people clamoring all over him. Fighting villains was infinitely more preferable.

So why did your admission that you weren’t a fan of his niggle at his brain, like a particularly insistent parasite?

Who were you a fan of, if not him? 

“...Well, glad that’s cleared up now. I’ll just, uh, go then,” you said, grabbing an armful of the cleaning supplies and shoving it back under the sink hastily.

Shouto had moved before he knew what he was doing, getting himself in between you and the door out to the hallway. 

“Wait,” he said, feeling uncomfortable. “I want to make up for what I said to you. You...didn’t deserve that, especially not right after you’d been kidnapped by a villain.”

He watched you eye the space between his hip and the counter, like you were considering making a break for it. As he watched your face, he felt some strange hope that you might try it, a certainty he would catch you. 

...Why did he want to catch you?

You waved a hand. “It’s fine. You saved me, we can call it even.”

Shouto’s mouth turned down minutely. He’d behaved badly, but surely you’d credit him better manners than that. “It’s my fault you were taken in the first place. I’d like to apologize properly.”

Your face did something weird, then, another distracting little curl of the nose. “You don’t actually have to go fuck yourself,” you blurted.

Shouto stared at you, caught off guard.

“Uh, I mean. You saved my life,” you babbled suddenly. “And yeah what you said to me was super rude, but what I said to you was also super rude. So, um, I’m sorry too. And I really would just like to call it even and forget about it because it’s super embarrassing for both of us and I could literally die thinking about it.”

You stopped suddenly, looking self-conscious like you’d realized you’d been rambling. Shouto almost wished you hadn’t.

“I hadn’t really planned on it,” he said quickly.

“Hadn’t planned on what?”

“Fucking myself,” he clarified. You choked on a shocked laugh, and he let a small smile tug at his mouth—there.

Finally.

Finally you looked a little more comfortable with him. 

Shouto tried hard not to look too pleased with himself.

“Oh, well that’s good, then," you said. Then you puffed up a little, adding, "That’s probably a job for your actual secret lover.”

Good lord. “Not you, too.”

You threw him a smile, and Shouto’s heartbeat tripped over itself. “But I have evidence. I saw that homemade soup in your fridge once with the love note attached.”

It took him a moment to focus on what you were saying, but Shouto recalled the soup in question. It had been quite good, even if Bakugou had spent almost a half an hour ranting about what a weak ass little bitch he was for catching a cold. It had almost been worth it, the soup was that delicious. “Ah yes. That secret lover.”

“Cute pet name, too,” you said.

Shouto let out a low laugh, recalling the note. “You fucking fuck, was it?”

You laughed too, tension easing from your shoulders. Shouto’s eyes hungrily traced even that small movement.

A dawning sense of what was happening finally settled over him as he pronounced, “As it happens, however, I did already plan more of an apology.”

You looked up at him, your brow furrowing. “You planned...more of an apology?”

He gestured to a tall vase of white tulips on the kitchen counter. Your eyes went a little rounder as you observed them. You looked like you weren’t sure if they were for you, as if there were another previously kidnapped cleaning girl lurking about, who might be in need of an apology.

What a fascinating thing you were.

“I’ve been told that they mean forgiveness and new beginnings. I had hoped that we might...start over,” Shouto explained. He couldn’t help but feel self-conscious.

“I didn’t bring you any flowers,” you blurted.

He covered up a surprised laugh with a cough, the feeling in his stomach burning hotter. “I hadn’t expected them.”

He watched you turn back thoughtfully to the bouquet, certain now.

Over the phone, his mother had also said white flowers carried connotations of honor and purity. Two notions, Shouto realized with a growing sense of curiosity, that may be entirely inapplicable to his feelings about you.

He didn’t know much about you, but he knew for certain that he’d like to know more. And as he watched you reach out to pluck at a petal, wearing a shy little smile, he thought that yes, honor and purity had very little to do with his intentions at the moment.

You thanked him for the flowers, and Shouto made it clear to you that he hadn’t meant what he’d said about you being unwelcome here. He wanted—no, desired your return now. 

“That’s good to hear, thank you,” you said. Then your smile went a little mischievous. “As you can see, though, it didn’t really deter me.”

Shouto let himself smirk. “If I hadn’t seen the cleaning supplies already on the counter, I would be concerned that you’d come back for revenge.”

“There’s still time,” you joked. “Maybe I was going to play the long game and fill all the bottles with Sprite.”

The mulish statement surprised him into another laugh. “I hope the flowers are enough of a deterrent.”

You looked over the flowers again, then smiled up at him. His eyes caught on your mouth.

“The bribe has been accepted. Your countertops are safe from me.” You paused, then added, “For now.”

The hot feeling was everywhere now, simmering just underneath Shouto’s skin. He left himself lean towards you, relishing in the way your breath caught in a tiny hitch. “Be warned that I will do whatever it takes to ensure the safety of my countertops.”

You complained that he hardly used them, but complied nevertheless. Then you bullied him out of the kitchen, that tiny little scrunch back on your nose.

Shouto let you have your way, making his way over to the couch and settling on it with a book he had absolutely no intention of reading. Instead, as he watched you clean, he considered things.

He had always been straightforward about his goals. Once he’d chosen heroism as his dream, he’d let nothing stand in his way, working diligently all through UA, shooting nonstop through the ranks before breaking into the top five this year, one of the youngest to have ever done it. 

He was deliberate about what he wanted. He worked hard for what he wanted.

And as he wandered back towards the kitchen, questions ready in his mouth, he knew what else he wanted.

He wanted to know more about you.

He wanted to spend more time with you.

He wanted…

Well, he rather thought he wanted you.

I was going to edit this but every time I went to touch it, I made it worse. I hope you liked it anyway!

Garbage Fest masterlist & schedule.

[pangtasias-atelier]

Happy (Late) Birthday @timiddeer

Really sorry about getting this out kinda late, but I hope you enjoy this! Did this obviously based off of our conversations bhdjnjb. 

@my/followers, I’m sure you all already follow them, as you should, but if you haven’t, do so now. There art is great and their style is adorable!!

______________________

Silverware scrapes against the table as Romani pushes the empty plate away from him. Nothing but crumbs is left on it, the sugar cookies completely devoured. Bringing his arms back, Romani rests them on his churning gut. The overstuffed belly taxed from food piled inside, he huffs as it complains at him. His stomach is further discomforted by the armrests, his stomach splaying onto both of them. Sitting in his chair, the back of his throat whines as the armrests dig into his cushiony thighs as well. Romani catches a glimpse of his act of gluttony, several plates of snacks of sweets left barren from his gluttonous rampage. All of them gifts from Ritsuka in thanks of Romani’s service as navigator and doctor along with maintaining head of staff, Ritsuka’s gifts only seemed to grow with each gift offered.

First it had been a simple tray of cookies. The whole batch was meant as thanks to the staff of Chaldea as a whole. Emiya offering tips to Ritsuka, Romani had nothing but compliments about Ritsuka’s delectable cookies to Ritsuka when he ate one. Then it became a cake for the staff, Romani complimenting that as well. The treats in all honesty had been delicious, but their taste was trivial in comparison to Ritsuka;s expressions. The way his shoulders perked up, the way his chest puffed out, the way his face brightened, all simple mannerisms that Romani noticed and loved. Soon, Romani had even begun to receive special gifts as stand-in director. Those had been simple at first too: first cookies, then cake pops, then brownies, and so on, Ritsuka always offering something different from before, each as delicious as the last. Though his personal gifts didn’t stop Romani from indulging on the now mini feasts Ritsuka would throw for the staff. Pretty soon, the extra sweets and the lack of physical exercise for his job - the severity in its stress far more than making up for it - made it easy for pounds to creep up on him.

Dressing for the day had been his wake up call. His white pants just ever so slightly more difficult to button up than it once had been. His coat pinched and warped around his thicker body. A doctor, Romani knew all too well of his reasons for the extra heft. A quick course to cut back made up, Romani only lasted until Ritsuka gave him another gift.

Profusely apologizing to Ritsuka, the perfectly neat and decorated slice of strawberry in Ritsuka’s hands nearly fell to the floor in Ritsuka’s shock and dismay. Offering his own apologies for bothering the kind doctor, Ritsuka nearly retreated with his head down before Romani had abruptly grabbed his shoulders. Several minutes of consoling Ritsuka through his insistent worried protests and assuring him that it all had indeed been a joke had netted Romani the slice of cake. To drive his point him, he had even taken a bit of the cake, nearly dropping it himself once the sweet creamy frosting touched his mouth, the cake itself so light and moist. Offering whatever compliments he could offer to Ritsuka, inept in describing such a wondrous creation, Romani could only be dismayed at the way Ritsuka’s shoulders seemed saggier than usual, his smile not as bright.

That had been the last personal gift for some time, Romani mentally beating himself all the while. His diet long forgotten, a change and upsize in clothing helped assuage that concern. Romani was fervent in tasting Ritsuka’s desserts during the Chaldea potlucks. Perhaps his enjoyment was not just from seeing Ritsuka’s happiness, Romani did indeed savor each bite. But none compared to the ones Ritsuka would give him and him alone. A gift given to him not out of servitude as was his life as Solomon, but one out of pure gratitude and adoration.

It was then that Romani had, pathetically, asked Ritsuka for some cake during one of his more stressful days, his coffee the main component in keeping him sane. Recoiling from Ritsuka’s silence, he had instead been left agape when Ritsuka happily chirped okay, rushing off to bake some and promising to bring it to his office.

And Ritsuka kept to the promise, bringing an entire cake to Romani. Internally sweating, Romani had offered his thanks, gratefully yet playfully hugging Ritsuka and ruffling his hair. He had easily eaten half, his sweet tooth knowing no bounds unlike his stomach. But mentally unable to waste a gift for him, completely made for him upon request, Romani stomached the other half later in the day. He had tried to ignore the way Ritsuka kept staring at his stuffed gut and his shock upon first spotting the empty tray. And he succeeded, but failed in ignoring Ritsuka’s burning face, a blush spread wide. Forcing his mind to not explore the notion of asking Ritsuka to rub his bloated tummy, he instead profusely thanked him once more, telling Ritsuka how much he always enjoys his baking.

Gifts back in full force, Romani didn’t understand how Ritsuka could handle such exorbitant amounts while still in charge of so many eccentric servants. And the victim in all of this was Romani’s figure, his figure blowing out as both tossed glances to each other but never vocalized.

And today’s gift was just as excessive as the others. Romani had stuffed himself full of cookies, brownies, cupcakes, custards and even more that his stomach didn’t want to imagine. Coat currently undone, Romani slowly continues to rub it. His arms tired, he ignores those protests in favor of his protesting stomach.

“Romani!” The door to his room suddenly opened, Romani’s eyes open wide. Not from the visitor, Ritsuka a common guest at this point, but from what his visitor carries. An entire strawberry cake brought, for him alone to eat, his stomach groans not only from the idea of more food in it but also from the pit of warmth enveloping his entire form, Ritsuka’s niceties addictive to Romani. The inept mage’s attitude and mannerisms far different from any regular mage, the entire group so entrenched in their egos and projects to care much about anyone else, Romani found Ritsuka's entire behavior so intoxicating.

“I brought you cake…” Ritsuka falters, eyes wide upon catching Romani in such a disheveled state.Placing the massive cake on the table, Ritsuka stands in front of Romani. Reaching a hand out, Ritsuka retracts it as if remembering it. ‘Are you okay?” His eyes full of concern, he instead places a hand on Romani’s shoulder.

Caught in such a way, his stuffing parallel to the way Artoria and her many forms eat, Romani’s blush intensifies. “I’m fine,” He breathes out, hands still on his gut but no longer rubbing it.  

“Okay,” Ritsuka quickly responds, eyes not meeting Romani’s. “Then I’ll be lea-” Already ready to escape, Ritsuka jolts as Romani grabs his hand.

“Uhhh,” Romani makes himself an overfed deer in headlights; his mouth closes and opens as he tries to think, his mind refusing to cooperate.

Ritsuka watches Romani intently now, his heart beating. Taking a deep breath, he nearly laughs as Romani’s gaze shifts back and forth. Following the line of sight, he spots the cake. “Do you want a slice?”

“Uhhh, yes…” Romani sinks into his chair, his double chin pressing into his doughy collarbone.

“Coming right up!” Emboldened by his baking being so coveted, Ritsuka cuts a slice, A small one, Ritsuka awate of Romani’s bloated state. No longer so shy, Ritsuka tsks at Romani, Romani absolutely crammed in his chair. Placing the plate down, he reaches for Romani’s hands, gently smiling at him. ‘Let me help you,”

“Okay…” Romani keeps his head down, offering his hands to Ritsuka.

Ritsuka grunts as the chair fights back, the armrests refusing to let go of Romani. Only grabbing one hand, Ritsuka grabs one of the armrests. Helping him up, Romani pops out.

Cradling his whining gut, Romani refuses to make eye contact, waddling his way to his bed. His thighs chafe, pale blubbery thighs rubbing up against each other His gut sways, each waddle worsening it and his complaining gut. His splayed moobs lightly bounce with each step. His eyes find the wall extremely fascinating when Ritsuka grabs on his hands, helping him. The bed thankfully low to the ground, he easily sits down, his gut sitting comfortably in his lap. So lethargic, he groans, absolutely winded. Sitting, his eyes widen as Ritsuka gently pushes his shoulder, easing him into bed.

Ritsuka smiles as Romani complies, still ever so shy, Guiding him, he nearly chuckles as Romani’s eyes drift to the slice of cake again. Romani lying down, his gut rises above his chunky cheeked face. Unable to see Ritsuka, he presses his head into his pillow as Ritsuka places a chair down beside him. Cake in hand, Ritsuka sits down.

“Say ah,” Ritsuke gestures, opening his mouth as he brings cake to Romani’s mouth.

“Ahhh,” Opening his mouth, Romani shifts in bed. Stomach gurgling, he ignores it as the heavenly cake goes down his throat. Without another prompt, he opens his mouth for another bite. And another and another until his open gullet finds no more coming. Cringing, his stomach acts up once more with no more food to distract him. A hand on his stomach, Romani freezes.

“I’ll help you get comfortable,” Ritsuka tosses out, as if the suggestion is as mundane as bringing a bicarbonate of soda. Gingerly reaching forward, he rests one hand on Romani’s stomach. He leaves it there, the warm palm of his hand brushing against it. No complaints from Romani, Ritsuka softly rubs his hand across the plush expanse of Romani’s stomach. Focused, Ritsuka doesn’t catch Romani’s small distress.

Embarrassed at being coddled, Romani turns his head away from Ritsuka. Something bubbling in his throat, he hides his oncoming whine. Wishing to ask for some more attention but unused to it, Romani simply remains lying, accepting Ritsuka’s light touches.

Ritsuka keeps at his rubbing, Romani’s little huffs encouraging him to do so. Other hand free, he deftly lifts up Romani’s shirt. Romani’s body instinctively clenches, but his soft nearly inaudible moans betray him. Carefully pulling up Romani’s shirt, Romani’s stuffed gut slowly reveals itself as if a turtle leaving its shell. Pale doughy skin rises like dough, Ritsuka holding himself back to not fondle Romani.

Romani much more comfortable, he rests a weary hand on his breast. Mentally yawning, he groans as it comes out. So warm and safe, he lets out another yawn, the food coma setting in. Eyes drooping, he turns to Ritsuka, his face warming at the twinkle in Ritsuka’s eyes. Closing his eyes, a soft snore escapes.

Romani snoring under his touch, Ritsuka pats his stomach. “Don’t worry, you’ll get the rest of your cake when you wake up,” He covers his mouth as Romani hums in his half asleep stupor, Romani nodding his head as well. Still patiently seated, Ritsuka keeps rubbing Romani’s stomach, loyally waiting for when he wakes up, ready and happy to feed him the rest.

[anotheraucreator]

Chapter 1 Notion!Tale

Barren Wasteland (Specter)

“Ehew…”

Specter tried to slow his breath as he walked in the wasteland of an unknown AU

“I need water…” He said mouth parched

He shoveled snow with his hands until he lost feeling, but found nothing.

“COME ON!” He dug even deeper into the ground

But the snow began to melt as flames sprouted from below.

“Crap!” he backed away quickly before the being could see him

He hid behind a bush as a thing that could only be described as a beast

The flames around him looked as if a snake was coiled around his body, while he wore charcoal armor that had cracks filled with lava. His eyes weren’t even there but instead were just hollow holes, and his lips split open as if they had been torn apart from each other.

His entire body was made up of white fire incinerating nearly everything in the vicinity.

This was the one known as The Inferno, Emperor Blaze.

Specter’s heart panged against his chest, screaming to get out.

“Hmm, I could’ve sworn someone was here.” Emperor said

He burned the very ground he walked on and sent out flames towards hiding spots.

Specter just wanted to run away, ‘get out of here!’ he thought to himself

He looked around for an escape, when he found the hole Emperor emerged from.

“Where are you~?” He incinerated more and more potential escapes and places to hide

Thankfully Specter was behind him, all he needed to do was jump down.

He began to count down “3...2….”

“Gotcha!” The Emperor turned around quickly and Specter’s heart skipped a beat

“1!!!” He rolled out from under the bush he was hiding in as Emperor reduced it to ashes

Specter got back up and ran towards the entrance to who knows where

“Not so fast.” The Emperor threw out several blue flamed arrows that seemed to erase the air itself, a bead of sweat formed on Specter’s face as he dodged one arrow

He slid into the hole as The Emperor spoke

“I’ll find you again.”

***

“Gah!” Specter had fallen into a cavern and onto a solid rock

He got up with panging in his head

The cavern was hot and humid with several cracks in the walls where lava flowed

The paths which used to be rivers were completely devoid of water.

This only made Specter thirstier.

He limped through the cavern as his hair puffed up until he finally found some source of reflection

He needed this as he couldn’t keep his physical form unless he knew what his appearance was

The flames had combined with some sand and created a field of glass, it was a truly beautiful sight. He ran over and looked into the reflection of himself.

A teenager, brown curly hair, blueish-green eyes, freckles, and tanned skin. His body was well-built seeing as he was surviving with no food or water for months.

After seeing his reflection he sighed and lied down on the glass field.

“Entry number 300, my trust in him was quickly betrayed, It seems the Emperor wanted the ectoplasm for energy, thankfully I escaped.” He had been making entries in an old tape recorder he found. Before he had been clustered and woke up in this unfamiliar landscape

His sanity was lost the first 100 recordings, but he managed to gain it back while in the Emperor’s kingdom. His mother always told him he was special, but was this true? He couldn’t even fight off the Emperor and on several occasions was nearly eaten. He was alone...in a barren wasteland.

As he was deep in thought, the glass broke, revealing a creature so hideous it seemed to shake Specter’s SOUL

A beast with a spinal cord outside of it’s body, one huge yellow eye with a red pupil, teeth able to chew through with steel with ease, red leathery skin, no legs, and two skinny arms with mangled claws. It was so big it filled the entire area below the glass field, which was about the size of a large town.

-GROAA!!!

The monster let out a large roar with it’s mouth open as Specter fell towards it.

Specter wasn’t scared of it however, as he had dealt with more fearsome creatures.

Ectoplasm left his pores, he formed it into a large tentacle about ¼ as big as the monster.

But he quickly created more and latched them onto the creature, at first it seemed useless as Specter was falling even faster towards the monster’s mouth, only 2 minutes until he would be digested. But he had a trick up his sleeve, an electric current dashed down the tentacles hitting the large monster with nearly 10,000 volts of electricity.

The monster shrunk as it was dried of nearly all of it’s blood before turning into slightly undried jerky. Specter fell onto the body and it cushioned him as expected.

He had gone even deeper under the surface, but he didn’t have time for that

He dismantled the monster with a large knife made of Ectoplasm. And started a fire by using his Ectoplasm as an oil and scraping two rocks against each other, sparking a decently sized fire.

He cooked the meat of whatever the monster was (He just started to call it Eyegoblin), and ate it. And like expected, it tasted like vomit, but he still ate it anyway. He needed some food after all that’s happened. His hand was burned from the fire of Emperor, and his other burned from cooking the meat, his left foot lost a big toe from having to fight a wendigo-like skeleton, his right arm had several slice marks from fighting a crazed little girl, and his chest had a deep hole in it that he got from being impaled by a bone from a taller skeleton. Thankfully the hole wasn’t through his body and was able to be covered with ectoplasm until it healed. He thought he looked a little like iron man with his chest like this. As ectoplasm was a pulsing blue slime-like substance. But Specter knew he wouldn’t be able to enjoy his rest and went deeper into the lower floor of the cavern.

Wow, you’re quite Dull (Xerox Sans)

I walked into another room this one filled with...rubber ducks.

“Frikin Discord did this didn’t he?”

[Author: No, this place is...odd]

I turned towards the ghost-like entity known as the author who always traveled with me. Of course they were more like a body base, not looking male nor female, with no special features, just a floating body wearing a jacket and jeans that were for both girls and boys.

“Tsk, I felt a shaking and appeared in this maze of doors, how is this not Dis?” I asked

[Author: *Gasp* Are you doubting me! I feel so hurt.]

I cringed at their words.

[Author: Well in all honesty, I actually have no idea what’s happening, this isn’t my creation]

I looked down the polished, ceramic, hallways. They were white and shone beautifully.

And then there was a girl skeleton. Wearing the usual attire of an armored ninja, but shrunk to fit her and no mask. She had a large pencil on her back and a pouch of miniature bombs on her side.

“Ey kid, go away” I shouted

The skeleton’s eye sockets darkened and she ran towards me at an incredible speed. Seemingly surpassing sound itself.

“Oh shoot!” I barely dodged a bomb that exploded, creating a large crater.

A bead of sweat formed on my skull as a dodged yet another explosion.

[Author: Nope, I ain’t bout to late you storyshift]

“Crap!” Xerox shouted

He ran towards the skeleton with no other option and summoned a gaster blaster

The blast rushed towards her but she easily dodged and threw another bomb that stuck onto Xerox

“I’M HIJACKING THIS!”

[Author: But my time aint up you still got 5 minutes]

‘Crap,crap,crap!!!!’ Xerox thought as the bomb exploded propelling him into a wall, nearly breaking through it. He was coughing up blood but he still had some abilities.

Several red knives shot up from his back and rushed towards the skeleton’s head

[Author: Funny how two skulls are fighting aint it.]

‘SHUT IT’ I thought

[Author: oh no]

“YES!”

[Author: Rest In piece Dull]

“Dull’s a nice name” I said

I proceeded to dash behind Dull and kick her into a wall, she coughed up a large amount of blood. I then summoned BRAVERY fists which crushed her deeper into the wall, and lastly I summoned a gaster blaster that shot her straight through two more walls. She sat there, nearly dead and unconscious

“WOOO I WON” I celebrated

[Author: No, you cheated]

“No u”

[Author: -_-]

“LOSEEERRRRR” I danced over Dull’s body, she began to twitch

“Welp time to go!” I teleported into another room as Dull woke up from her unconscious state.

[donatello-writes]

Not Quite Human - Donatello x Reader

Part II can be found here --> (x)

The gentle glow of the television lit up your darkened apartment, you were wrapped up in a blanket on your couch hanging on every word of a news broadcast. Four mysterious vigilantes aided the police department in defeating the ominous alien spacecraft that threatened New York city not but a week ago. A smile crossed your lips as you entertained the idea that if aliens existed in this scenario, perhaps the vigilantes weren’t human either. Gossip flew regarding the identities of the heroes ranging from aliens to monsters, and many accounts claimed to have seen what were described as “swamp things”. A notion that delighted you, as matters of the occult and mythical creatures had always held your interest, even though you knew that none of it was real. 

“Maybe I’ll see one of those swamp things,” You voiced to your empty apartment and chuckled.

Deep down within the sewer systems, a certain nerdy turtle sneezed while in the midst of having the meltdown of his life. The champions secured their victory over the Krang, and they finally had some down time, but Donatello couldn’t relax. The brainy terrapin paced back and forth in the living room of the Lair so furiously, one would think he was attempting to wear a hole in the floor. He was understandably restless, as his thoughts on what his older sibling had done whipped around in his head like a maelstrom. A memory so vivid in his mind, it felt as if it’d happened yesterday. The vial of ooze shattering against the walls of the lair, lost forever.

“How could he do this?!–Don’t answer that, it was a rhetorical question…I know Raph is a doer not a thinker,” the teched-up turtle vented his frustrations to Michelangelo, the person he often turned to for emotional support. Much like himself, his little brother was more sensitive and empathetic than their other two brothers. 

“I dunno, dude…but hey, it’s not all that bad bein’ green,” the orange masked turtle smiled warmly, trying his best to comfort Donatello, as he always did. Despite his cheerful demeanor, he was hurting over the impulsive decision as well. Raphael meant no malice with his actions, he honestly had no idea what this meant to his younger siblings, but that fact didn’t make up for the outcome.

“Neither of them understand, but I know that you do, Mikey,” the fretful terrapin sighed heavily, meeting eyes with his brother. Both of the young turtles yearned to know what it felt like to be human, to be able to walk around topside without being viewed as freaks or, worse yet…monsters. With their only chance having been destroyed by an act of impulse, they were both understandably distraught.

“Yeah, I totally get it,” Mikey admitted, finally showing his disappointment with the situation. “But what can we do? The purple stuff that we had is gone now.” 

Donatello’s expression fell into anguish at the veracity of his brother’s statement. “That’s true, and it’d be impossible for us to successfully secure more from the Shredder…Not just the two of us, anyway,” The bespectacled turtle’s eyes focused downwards as he finally settled down into a seat. “Also, we don’t know for sure if they have more of the formula created.” 

Michelangelo’s face almost looked pained at this point, he didn’t want to think about the harsh reality of the situation for even a moment longer. He rose from the table, giving his brother one last half-hearted smile.“Well, it was a nice dream, but what-evs,” the now undeniably gloomy young terrapin patted his brother on the shell before getting up and trudging to his room. 

Donatello pinched the bridge of his snout as he sat alone in the common room, despair consuming him. All he wanted was to experience what it was like to be human, and he would never get that chance now. The ooze was unsalvageable, what little remained was now still splattered across the lair walls. His golden eyes became misty as they beheld Raphael’s masterpiece, in all it’s glory. Suddenly, a bit of light reflected off a small portion of the stain, grabbing the brooding turtle’s attention. Was it really still liquid? Impossible.

Jumping to his feet, he approached the wall, inspecting it thoroughly. The ooze had somehow remained viable, his jaw dropped in disbelief. The once sorrowful terrapin’s hope was renewed, all he needed was even the smallest amount for analysis and he could find a way to replicate it. Now filled with excitement, he bounded into his lab to retrieve a petri dish and swab to collect the ooze specimen. He scraped his prize from the surface with great precision, careful not to contaminate it with too much concrete from wall upon which it was affixed. After successfully recovering a sample, Donatello let out a relishing chuckle as he shut himself away in his lab, fueled by enthusiasm and determination. 

In the months following the start of his endeavor, he lied about the specifics of it, telling his brothers that he was working on some amazing invention that would aid them in their missions. It was obvious that he couldn’t tell Leonardo or Raphael, as they clearly didn’t understand. And after much debate, he finally came to the decision to leave Michelangelo in the dark as well, not wanting to get his hopes up; that, and he was awful at keeping secrets. The genius worked tirelessly, months rolled by, and before he knew it, a year had passed. He felt as though he wasn’t accomplishing anything, becoming increasingly frustrated with each passing day. 

It was 5:00 a.m. when a sleep deprived and starving Donatello stumbled out of his lab in pursuit of sustenance. He wore his purple mask as a necklace and groaned with every step that he took towards to the kitchen. Once there, he made a bee line for the coffee pot, his savior. Raphael had just finished his early morning workout and spotted the elusive mad scientist, stalking him into the kitchen. 

“Whaddaya doin’ outta yer geek den?” the question came in the form of a growl as the burly terrapin eyed his younger sibling, who simply responded by shooting a glare in his general direction. 

Choosing to ignore him, Donatello simply continued setting up his coffee, clicking the appliance on to work it’s magic, and then reached into one of the cabinets, to retrieve a box of blueberry flavored Pop-Tarts. 

“Whut eva…” the hot-headed turtle’s words trailed off as if he had more to say, but he stopped himself; this silence was fleeting, however. As always, he just couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie, so he started again,“Ya know…when I got a problem wit someone I tell ‘em, but I guess I’m just bawlsier than most.” the bait was set, and he waited for his younger brother to take it. The troublemaker used this tactic with frequent success, but Donatello was in no mood for his shenanigans, and the mechanical sputter of the busy coffee pot was the only thing to be heard between the two turtles. 

The still sleepy terrapin proceeded to pour his coffee, and munch on his breakfast, letting Raphael stand there and simmer. When it became apparent that he the he no interest in talking, the rageful reptile’s temper went through the roof. “FINE. I thought so! Avoidin’ any sawt of conflict like usual! Enjoy yer cawffee break.” He stormed out of the room grumbling.

“Conflict…” He muttered to himself as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the word turning over and over in his head before he had a sudden realization. “That’s…that’s it!!!” He exclaimed, rushing from the kitchen with his coffee mug in one hand, and half-eaten Pop-Tart in the other. The genius sped past Raphael, rattling off scientific terms to himself like a mad man. When he reached his lab, he turned and stopped to stare down his brother before grinning wide and slamming the doors shut. 

“DONNIIIIIIE!!!” Raphael roared, racing up to the large laboratory doors and thrusting his fists into them. The doors showed no signs of permitting entry from the assault, but he did leave a significant dent.

*****************************   

Across the city, you ran down the darkened streets dressed in a lab coat and business casual. You were late for work, but chose the sweet relief of alertness over punctuality, as you quickly slipped into a small coffee shop to grab a cup. And today, you needed that extra boost of energy more than any other. After securing your liquid adrenaline, you happily headed to work, not needing to walk far. You approached the gigantic facility that was TCRI, and walked inside. As always, you held up your credentials to the guards at the desk, who permitted entry, and touched your badge to an electronic pad which then granted you access through secure titanium doors. 

Doing your best to stifle the overwhelming stress that all but consumed you as of late, you drew in a deep breath and went about your normal routine at the laboratory. As the day wound down to a close, you prepared to carry out the mission you had been given. It was now late into the night, and all of your colleagues had long since left for the day. 

You remained, working on the latest project involving nano technology as a form of biological warfare. Subtly sabotaging the efforts of the project; in good conscience, you couldn’t allow it to be successful. The very idea of implementing this abhorrent tactic made you cringe, but you did what needed to be done in order to carry out a far more important assignment, retrieving a vial of Dr. Stockman’s highly sought after genetic modification formula. Tonight, you would secure a sample to bring back to your actual employer.

The security guards weren’t even a bother, all you needed was a little bit of Nitrous Oxide to temporarily take care of them. Slipping silently into the main laboratory, you did a quick survey of your surroundings before proceeding. Having already knocked out the security cameras, and programmed them to show previously recorded footage, you were not concerned. Knowing exactly where it was kept, you located the ooze and tucked the vial into your pants pocket posthaste. 

“Y/N?” Instantly recognizing that voice, you turned to see one of the head geneticists, Sampson, steadily approaching you from across the room.

“Hello, Sampson.” You greeted your colleague tactfully, showing not even an ounce of lost composure from his unanticipated presence.

“Why are you in here? This isn’t your working sector.” He inquired through narrowed eyes, all the while analyzing you skeptically.

“Doreen asked for my assistance with the centrifugation of subjects 2201XJ8 and 2243XW9.” You had glanced briefly at the recent project files earlier in the day to prepare yourself for just this type of scenario.

“That’s odd…2201XJ8 and 2243XW9 were contaminated and, thus, thrown away several hours ago…” suspicion piqued, he advanced towards you quicker than you could react. Attempts to flee came too late, and he managed to grab hold of your collar. Swiftly wriggling out of your lab coat, you gained freedom from his grasp. Thinking on your feet, you hit the conveniently placed bright red lock down button and slid underneath the door, trapping your coworker inside. Something told you that you weren’t the first person to do that. 

Sampson wasted no time dialing a contact in his phone as he watched you escape, “Yes…Hello, I heard that your gang will do pretty much anything for the right price…I have a job for you.” He knew full well that he couldn’t enlist the foot ninjas for assistance, admitting his incompetence to the Shredder was a fate worse than death. Completing the transaction with his hired thugs, he smiled deviously as they confirmed their pursuit of you. The sunrise met your eyes as you fled the building, taking off down the street knowing that you weren’t out of the woods just yet.

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

It had been over a year since Donatello began his quest for the ooze, and now the culmination of his hard work was finally coming to fruition. And in all irony of ironies he, partially, had Raphael to thank for it. The purple liquid bubbled within the beaker that housed it, begging to be tested, and the genius just couldn’t resist. He carried on like a kid who received the keys to a candy store. 

Unfortunately, he couldn’t test it right away, what with his brothers in the lair. With all of them present, it would be impossible for him to slip out in his human form unseen. So he waited. Several days later, the police scanner picked up a report of foot clan activity, and Leonardo called his brothers together to discuss plans to investigate. Donatello smooth talked his way out of going, claiming he was close to a breakthrough in his research, which wasn’t a complete lie. He simply neglected to mention that it pertained to the purple ooze.

With his brothers out chasing the foot, the brainy terrapin had the lair to himself, at long last! Well, with the exception of Master Splinter, but sneaking past him was a non-issue. Donatello was beaming as he ­­­peered into the vessel that contained his scientific masterpiece, just one sip should be enough…He knew that the effects of his synthetic ooze would be temporary, a purposeful attribute given to it by him, it’s creator. All the purple clad turtle wanted to do was experience what is was like to be human. If, following the testing phase, he felt as though he was meant to be that way, he’d later rework the formula to be permanent. That, however, was a venture for another day, now was the time for experimentation. 

Shutting his eyes tight, he drank from the vial. After waiting for a moment, he opened them, unsure of when it would take effect. Suddenly, his muscles began to ache, as a tense feeling surged throughout his body. He watched his fingers divided from three to five on each hand, just as he’d witnessed when he tested the formula previously. Gradually, his skin changed from green to a pale peach and his scales smoothed out into soft flesh. The excited lad tripped over himself while rushing into his bathroom, wanting to watch in the mirror as the transformation unfolded.  

Donatello stared back at himself in awe, he had ears! The oversized tortoise shell glasses he always wore slipped down his face more than usual as his snout took the shape of a much smaller, yet still prominent, human nose. Freckles dusted across his pale cheeks and shoulders as wavy raven black hair cascaded down from his head, delicately framing his face and stopping just a few inches past his jawline. He was so distracted by his new facial features that he didn’t even notice his shell had disappeared. 

Once the metamorphosis was complete, the triumphant brainiac threw his head back, and laughed like an evil genius. A slight reduction in body mass occurred during his shift in form, not enough to be discernible to the naked eye, however, it was enough to cause his pants to lose their grip on his hips. The villainous laughter was interrupted when his bottoms proceeded to slip from his slender human waist, and he grabbed his Millennium Falcon patterned boxers before those followed suit. 

“Oh no…what am I supposed to do? I can’t go topside in the nude.” to remedy his immediate and unexpected need for human clothing, he turned to Michelangelo’s room. That pack-rat of a turtle collected mundane artifacts as if they were valuable treasures to be hoarded, surely he’d be able to find something usable in that mess. Donatello entered the room, piles upon piles of clothing, unusable electronics, and other clutter filled it, along with several empty boxes of pizza. He scrunched his nose at the effluvia that hung in the air, his little brother somehow managed to make his particular corner of the sewer smell even fouler.

Holding his breath, the nerdy young man randomly chose one of the many mounds of oddments and rummaged through it. After some digging, he managed to find one black muscle tee that read “Rad Dude” in a trendy red colored font, a pair of very worn black converse shoes, and a pair of denim jeans, ripped at the knees. The best article of clothing he’d found in the stash being a flannel shirt in various shades of purple. Having no time to be picky, the thief made off with what he’d found.

While returning to his laboratory to get changed, the turtle turned human was nearly knocked out by the putrid clothing that he held in his arms. This was unacceptable, there was no way he was going to wear something that smelled worse than a sewer, he needed to wash the garments before he ventured to the surface. Stepping into the seldom used laundry room, Donatello flicked on the lights and blew the dust from the old machines. As he reached for detergent, he wondered if they even still worked. Tossing the clothing and soap into the washer, he turned it on to find, much to his surprise, that it was still fully functioning.

Now needing to wait for his clothing to go through the entire washing and drying process, the impatient turtle fidgeted in frustration at the unexpected delay. Coming to terms with his predicament, he passed the time by logging the alterations that occurred during his shift in form, to ensure he had enough information to further his research on the ooze’s effects. Making quick work of his notes, he then switched the laundry to the dryer. The waiting game began anew and he swiftly found himself consumed by boredom once more. He wondered what else he could do to fully immerse himself in the human experience. 

Thinking about how atrocious his clothing smelled, and worried the washing may not fully rid the garments of their stench, he decided to create a fragrance. Knowing full well that humans often wore scents to conceal smells, but also for the purpose of attracting potential partners. Donatello scoffed at the thought, the likelihood of him finding another person who shared mutual interest during the, more than likely short, duration of his experiment was slim at best. 

As if he were concocting a a witches brew, the bespectacled lad swirled together various scents into one of his unused beakers. In no time at all, he had a cologne with top notes of orange blossom and vanilla, middle hints of almond, and a musky base. More than satisfied with his Eau de Don, he dabbed it on gleefully.

All the sudden, a clatter came from the living room, and the sound of his brothers voices could be heard. Donatello’s smile dropped, there was no way they’d already returned from their mission, it felt as though they’d just left. The digital clock on one of his many computers proved him wrong, it was already 4:00am! He’d gotten so carried away in preparation for his excursion topside, that he paid no attention to how quickly the hours flew by. 

Thankfully, the time spent wasn’t a complete waste, he documented when he administered the ooze and was tracking the duration of it’s effectiveness. Exactly eight hours had elapsed, and he was still human. Quite an impressive lasting ability, he thought, giving himself a congratulatory pat on the back. Unfortunately, with his brothers now home, he was effectively trapped in his laboratory for the time being. He couldn’t just saunter out of his lab looking the way he did, what a spectacle that would be. 

“Looks like I have another sleepless night, er…well, day at this point.” He chuckled to himself, slumping back in his computer chair. It took two more hours before the potency of the ooze came to an end. The reversion from human to mutant being, unsurprisingly, more painful than the obverse. Now returned to his old turtle self, the purple masked ninja ventured out into the common room, only to find his brothers passed out on the couch and the floor. He stifled a laugh, turning on his heel back into his laboratory. Seizing this opportunity, he wasted no time administering himself more ooze and stealing up and away to the surface.

Wintry weather was drawing to a close, and a slight warmth danced on the breeze as spring began to move in. The mutant in human’s clothing relished in the glow of the sun, something he didn’t have the privilege of doing often. Strolling down the street like Toby McGuire in Spiderman, Donatello was smiling from ear to ear. He was topside in broad daylight and not a soul took notice of him, he couldn’t believe it, it almost felt like a dream.

Not paying attention to where he was going, the happy go lucky lad found himself lost in a more secluded side of town. Sure, he could easily navigate New York at night, but the city looked so different during the daytime. Suddenly, a cry of distress shattered his concentration. It came from somewhere nearby. Instinctively, the ninja rushed in the direction from which the voice originated. 

The shouts led him to an alleyway where two rough looking men circled around you, your hands poised to fight, but subtle shuddering alluded to hesitancy and fear. They were both very muscle bound, one slightly smaller than the other, with distinct purple dragon tattoos on their arms. When Donatello approached, they immediately took notice of his presence. 

“What’s going on here?” He demanded a response from the ne'er-do-wells, despite knowing the answer.

“Get outta here, four eyes.” the smaller thug scoffed, “You see, this little rat has something that we want.” and the larger man chimed in, “So, it’d be in your best interest if you left us to our business.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Donatello stood his ground, “It’d be in your best interest if you left them alone.” He then assumed a fighting stance. 

The brawnier of the two men eyed the brave young man and laughed incredulously. “And just what exactly are you going to do to stop us, little man?” 

To which Donatello replied, “Looks can be deceiving.” aside from having a height advantage, there was no denying that the thugs had significant size over him. They were far more massive compared to his still muscular, yet lithe, build. Finally acknowledging their potential threat, the two men advanced towards their new target, leaving their prey behind.

The stranger turned hero locked eyes with you, “Run, you have to get out of here, it’s not safe!” an exclamation that was cut short by the smaller thug, who came rushing at him, brandishing a knife. With keen reflexes, Donatello deflected the attack, kicking upwards at just the right moment to send the knife whipping over his assailant’s shoulder. Once you’d seen that maneuver, there was no way you were about to leave. You were far too intrigued by this ridiculously tall young man with undeniably amazing fighting skills, you yearned to learn more.

“Alright, mister fancy feet, it’s time to dance.” the larger man jested as he cracked is fists, fitting brass knuckles onto them. Donatello scanned the area and grabbed a nearby pipe from the dumpster, twirling it through the air, just as he would his bow staff. If there’s one thing his father taught him, it was that anything can be used as a weapon if wielded properly. 

“Haha, look at this, I guess dance class is over, and now it’s time for baton practi–” using the metal pipe, Donatello knocked the wind out of the hulking hoodlum before he could even finish his taunt, sending him flying backwards into a pile of garbage. 

“I suppose I can strike ‘taking out the trash’ from my list of chores.” Donatello snorted at his own one-liner and his gaze happened upon you, as you watched with wonder. A smile played across your lips, and you laughed at his witticism, waving to him. The suddenly flustered hero awkwardly waved back.

The knife wielding thug recovered his weapon, catching Donatello off-guard as he flirted with you, slipping the knife to his throat from behind. The thug was unsuccessful in his attempt, however, when the captive drove his heel into the man’s foot, causing him to release the knife. While his assailant was distracted, he reached both arms around, heaved the man over his shoulder, and back dropped him onto the hard pavement. There was no recovering from that attack anytime soon. He then shifted his stance to face the other foe, who had since recuperated from the previous assault. The behemoth barreled towards him like a charging rhinoceros. 

“Bad move, I know exactly how to deal with this.” Donatello smirked as he anchored himself with the pipe, and delivered a swift low kick to the thug’s ankles, causing him to topple to the ground. Confident that he had both enemies disabled, your victorious rescuer turned his attention to you.

“Are you alright?” the lanky lad inquired as he sprinted to your side, adrenaline still pumping from the fight. He failed to stop soon enough, resulting in him accidentally knocking you against one of the brick walls in the alleyway. The two of you were nose-to-nose, so close that you could feel each other’s breath. His towering form would have been intimidating, if not for the goofy smile on his face. 

“Aaah, oh my god, I am so sorry!” He promptly leapt back, “You didn’t need that on top of what you’ve already been through today. I am really, really sorry, I’m such a klutz.” He apologized profusely, running his fingers through his purple tinged black hair, refusing to meet your gaze.

“Jeeze, that was like something straight out of a cheesy rom-com.” You jested, in an attempt to ease his nerves. 

Not the reaction that he was expecting, the nervous hero let out a sigh of relief. “Y-yeah, I suppose that it was, wasn’t it?” He stuttered, still a bit anxious, but less so thanks to your funny observation. 

“And you’re certainly no klutz, I saw the way you fought off those goons, you’re incredible! How’d you learn to fight like that?” You asked him, eyes filled with amazement and genuine curiosity. 

“Well, my father taught me, along with my brothers…” Donatello replied flatly, in an attempt not to appear worked up by your compliment, for fear that he’d make a fool of himself further. Butterflies were forming in his chest, he’d never spoken to another person so close to his age, aside from April and Casey. 

Unfortunately for him, you were eager to learn more about your happenstance hero, and before he knew it, he was being quizzed rapid-fire. “Oh, you have brothers? How many?” and with barely a breath in between, you rattled off more questions. “What are their names? What’s yours?”

“Uuuh…three…Leonardo, Raphael, and Michelangelo…And I’m--my names Donatello.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Donatello. My name is Y/N! What interesting names…are your parents big fans of Italian Renaissance artists?” You looked to him, eyes wide with curiosity.

“Okay, stop. STOP. I don’t recall agreeing to a game of 21 questions!” He put an end to your onslaught of inquiries. 

Enthusiasm quashed, you backed off, smiling at him sheepishly. Though it wasn’t long before you bounced back, and with one hand on your hip and the other pointing at Donatello, you offered a proposal. “Alright, then…Would you like to play 21 questions?” Your eyes flickering with anticipation, the same kind of unrelenting determination he frequently saw in his brother, Mikey. 

From experience with this personality type, Donatello knew it would be easier to simply humor you rather than try to get out of it. He was absolutely baffled by you, your intentions were unclear, and he was not certain that you were someone he could trust. Regardless, he reluctantly agreed to engage in your game. 

“I’m so sorry for that…sometimes I get a bit carried away. I enjoy meeting new people and learning about what factors lead to making that person into who they are.” You grinned, playfully kicking up your feet as you strolled down the street together. It was obvious that Donatello was trying to keep his distance, as the space between the two of you was fairly significant, to the point where it appeared as if you were walking separately. “You don’t trust me, do you?” He cursed at how perceptive you were. 

“Well, to be honest, no…not really. We’ve only just met.” He stated simply, his eyes scanning you up and down with suspicion. There was a long silence before you broke it with another question.

“How tall are you?” He was amused by the obvious question and quickly answered, “6'6”“ 

“You must garner a lot of attention walking down the street.” a comment that threw him into a fit of laughter as he thought about what he actually looked like. If only you knew how little he drew attention this way compared to if he strutted down the street in his real form. 

“What? HA! Me? No way. Now if I were–” Donatello clammed up, he nearly outed himself  to human that he’d just met. As if you’d ever believe him, but still…there was just something about you, you were easy to talk to. He laughed again at the thought before continuing, “Uuuh, so, you said that you have a dog, right?” He attempted to redirect your attention by also engaging in the game with his own inquiry. 

“What was that? You just trailed off mid-sentence.” an attempt to no avail, you demanded a reason for his inexplicable change of subject. “And…I don’t remember telling you that I have a dog.” in that moment, roles reversed, and you were the one suspicious of him. 

Another misstep, this was very out of character for Donatello; and for the first time in a while, he felt vulnerable. After some quick reflection, he realized that he’d picked up on the dog’s scent during your accidental close encounter in the alley earlier. Though his nose appeared human, his senses themselves, remained as sharp as they’d always been. 

“Are you a stalker?” You questioned him bluntly. 

“What? No, I’m not stalking you, I promise.” 

The sincerity of his answer confirmed your speculation to be false.“Alright…but I’m watching you!” You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“Who’s the stalker now?” the charming young man shot you a cheesy grin upon delivering his terrible joke. You stuck your tongue out at him, and he chuckled. A sudden breeze whipped up, startling the two of you. Even though the winter weather had mostly gone, a slight chill remained in the air. You shivered reflexively, realizing that you had sacrificed your coat amidst the chaos of escaping from Dr. Stockman’s laboratory. 

Donatello immediately noticed your discomfort and removed his flannel over-shirt, giving it to you with a warm smile. His cold blooded innards were not happy with his choice to shed clothing, and he was unable to disguise his own trembling reaction to the cold as he handed you his shirt. Without saying a word, you reached out a shaky hand and took it. While you were putting it on, a blush crossed you face for just a moment, as his scent wafted up from the clothing. 

“Thanks.” the pleasantry was all that you could muster for words as you fought hard to stave off your rosiness. 

“Purple looks good on you.” that sweet compliment pushed you over the edge, and your face flushed completely red as you turned away from him. 

“Y/N…Are you alri–” His sentence was brought to a halt as an all too familiar feeling hit him abruptly, indicating that the ooze’s potency was waning. Aware that his time as a human was now limited, he took a queue from his older brother, Raphael, and acted on instinct. The distressed young man proceeded to back away slowly before breaking out into a full sprint. With your back turned, you were none the wiser. Feeling suddenly alone, you finally turned to find that your escort had vanished, leaving only his flannel shirt to remember him by.

…to be continued.

[timelordthirteen]

Some Other Time - Part 7/??

Mr. Gold/Lacey French, Explicit

Summary: College student Lacey dumps her boyfriend and needs a new apartment, it just so happens her professor, Dr. Gold, has a room to rent.

Chapter Summary: After the holidays, the tension is getting to Lacey and Gold, but of course something gets in the way before they can act on it.

Notes: IT HAS BEEN 84 YEARS. So sorry it's taken forever to update this, or anything really. Hopefully this is me getting out of my slump. Don't hate me.

[AO3]

“Don’t let me interrupt.”

Lacey’s eyes went wide and she jerked against the couch cushion, her hand stilling between her legs.

Gold stepped into the small living space that was the top floor of his house with a bemused expression, and slipped a key into his pocket. Gasping, she pressed her thighs together and scrambled for the throw blanket on the back of the sofa to cover herself, but the blanket wasn’t there. Her face flushed. All her confidence in his attraction to her had gone out the window now that he was here, but she forced herself to hold his gaze as he came towards her.

Like most things in her life, Lacey’s plans for seducing Gold over the holidays hadn’t gone as planned. Christmas had been lovely, and Neal’s presence in the house brightened the place considerably. Gold had been more jovial than Lacey could have ever imagined, but Christmas morphed into New Year’s, and somewhere in those first few days of January the festive feelings ebbed. Neal left, and it was back to life and school, days that seemed to drone on forever in the dark, cold days of winter.

She wasn’t sure how it had happened, but suddenly it was February and nothing had changed. The frustrations of day to day life, living in proximity to Gold but never truly with him, was getting to her, so much so that she’d skipped out on office hours today, something she almost never did, and came home early. He must have wondered if something was wrong and come looking for her.

Whatever it was that brought him here, she was more than grateful.

Gold stopped just in front of her and flipped his cane up, holding it by the shaft instead of the handle. Then he lowered it to her knee and pressed the handle gently against her skin on one side and then the other, urging her to open her legs. “I meant what I said. Don’t let me interrupt.”

She licked her lips and spread herself open, sliding her fingers through her slit with a wet, slick sound. Her mouth fell open on a long, low moan as she moved over her clit, lightly trailing over the little nub. He watched, enraptured, his lips parting slightly as she pressed her middle finger inside her pussy, using it to draw out more of her arousal.

Her eyebrows arched and she slumped a little lower on the sofa cushion. “You wanna watch me fuck myself, Professor Gold?”

The words forced his eyes from her cunt to her face. His cane was still between her legs, resting on her thigh, and she reached for it, wrapping her damp fingers around it and pulling it up to her swollen folds. The shiny gold handle was cool on her fevered skin, and she let out a small gasp as it pressed against her, allowing her eyelids to flutter closed. The handle was a perfect fit, the lower part teased her entrance while the gentle curve rested against her clit.

She guided the cane up and down, sliding through her slit with a sloppy wet sound, and pulling a long low moan from her throat. He was still holding the other end and after a few movements, she could feel added pressure and opened her eyes to find him focused intently on her.

Gold’s jaw was clenched tight and he swallowed hard before he pulled the cane away. She let out a small, whimpering noise as the stimulation ceased and felt her pussy tense, empty and unsatisfied. The cane rose up and his head tilted as he offered it to her parted lips. Without a moment's hesitation, she leaned forward and licked her essence from the smooth brass, smirking when he made a noise just as desperate as her own.

He dropped the cane to the side and fell to his knees, crawling forward the last foot until he was between her spread legs. His hands were even warmer than her skin as they moved up her thighs, pushing them apart as he bent his head.

Lacey keened and arched her back as Gold’s hands slid beneath her, cupping her backside to lift her to his mouth as he tormented her with soft, patient licks. His tongue swept through her over and over, caressing like the gentle kiss of a lover and not the rough passion she desired. He was teasing, drawing out her pleasure, and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she squeezed them shut, her leg coming up over his shoulder to curl and press at him, urging him to give her more. One hand slipped into his hair and scraped at his scalp, pulling a moan from his throat as he gave her clit a hard flick of his tongue before he pulled away.

Her strangled cry of protest made him chuckle, and she looked down to see him gazing up at her, his mouth smirking and shining.

“What do you want, Lacey?”

She pressed her lips together as he brought one hand up to cup her mound. A finger nudged at her pussy, circling her entrance and taunting her with the thought of being filled and fucked. She must have said the words out loud because a second later, he pushed two fingers inside her and curled them, shifting until she swore and lifted her hips, signaling that he’d found the right spot to make her lose her fucking mind. His mouth returned, lips closing around her clit and suckling while he slid his fingers deeper.

Lacey’s orgasm hit with force and she rolled to the side with a sharp, choked sound, clenching her legs together. She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut as her body throbbed around her fingers. The fantasy slipped away with the rush of breath through her nose, and the reality she was left with made her feel empty in spite of the pleasure still thrumming in her veins.

After a few minutes, she pushed herself up and wiped her sticky hand on her t-shirt. She stood up and made her way to the bathroom to turn on the shower, pushing the faucet to the hottest setting. Steam rose up around her as she peeled off her clothes and dropped them to the floor.

The scenario replayed itself in her mind, especially the part where she’d imagined licking her juices off the handle of his cane. Unfortunately, Gold would never barge into her space and catch her, and everything her facsimile of him did would probably having him blushing from his ears to his toes. There was a better chance of her stumbling in on him, but even that seemed a bit too far-fetched. With a sigh, she stepped into the hot spray and grinned at the thought of what she might do if the fantasy was reversed.

“Don’t let me interrupt.”

Gold froze. His eyes went wide as Lacey sauntered across the room, her hips swaying sinfully in her leather mini skirt. He glanced down and covered himself with his hands, attempting to hide the tented front of his trousers. Cringing, he shifted closer to the desk, hoping that if he put a physical barrier between them it would somehow save him from further embarrassment.

She’d told him this morning that she would be covering an evening lecture for Professor Vincent. He hadn’t expected her home until after eight, yet here she was, walking into his office, fresh out of his naughtiest dream. Her lips twitched as she came around the corner of the desk, and he bit back a noise as he tried to slide his chair out of the way.

“Need some...assistance, Dr. Gold?” Lacey leaned towards him, one hand planted on the desk, the other reaching for the arm of his chair. Her eyes trailed down to where he cupped his erection, and she licked her lips slowly.

“Lacey...” he said, his voice more breathless than he would have liked. “I’m - I -”

His words halted when she met his eyes, her teeth dragging over her bottom lip, shiny and red with what looked like fresh lipstick. “I can see that,” she replied, shifting off the desk and dropping to her knees.

Gold felt his chair turn and he let his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them, Lacey was between his legs, her hands pressing over his trousers as they slipped up to his hands. She gave him a small squeeze, her thumbs rubbing back and forth over his skin as she eased them away from the erection straining against his zipper.

“Please,” he said, wincing and refusing to see her face. He didn’t want to see the mockery or rejection that he knew would be there. “Lacey you - you don’t -”

“I want to,” came her soft reply, and he swallowed hard and looked down. Her expression seemed almost shy, and she was biting at her lip again, but in a more uncertain way.

He blinked. “You do?”

Lacey grinned devilishly and started to pull his belt free of its buckle as she hummed an affirmative. “Have for a while, but I never caught you in the right moment.”

She freed his cock and stroked him up and down softly. He groaned, any further words dying on his lips as she took him in her mouth. His eyes glazed over as he watched her sink slowly down his shaft. She stopped when the head of his cock hit the back of her throat, her lips pressed tightly around him, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he focused on the feeling of her hot mouth dragging back up his length.

One of her hands wrapped around the base of his cock where her lips couldn’t quite reach and the other pressed against his hip to keep him from thrusting upwards. She swirled her tongue and hollowed out her cheeks, tearing a whimpering cry from his throat as he fought to keep himself still, his knuckles white as he gripped the arms of the chair. The wood creaked sharply as his hips lifted, and she pulled away.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his head lolling back as her hand took over, slipping up and down, spreading a mix of saliva and precum with her fingers.

“Do you want to fuck my mouth, Dr. Gold?”

Gold sat up, eyes wide, and licked his lips. She was gazing up at him almost innocently, an absurd notion given that her hand was wrapped around his cock. Her fingers tightened, squeezing him hard and drawing a long, low moan from his throat.

“You can,” she said, smiling and leaning over his lap. Her mouth hovered over his cock, warm breath teasing as her tongue flicked lightly at the head. “Let go, Rum. Just let go.”

His eyelids fluttered and he groaned loudly as she slipped him back in her mouth and holding him lightly in her lips. He lifted up experimentally, pushing a little further inside. She moaned and scraped her nails against his thigh, and it was enough to have him right on the edge of coming undone. He could feel it building as he thrust into her mouth, faster and faster. The slick slide of her hand and lips, the roughness of her tongue, was too much to take.

Gold cried out and bent forward, cupping his hand around his cock as he pressed it against his belly. Spurts of cum soaked into the fabric and slipped between his fingers, warm and sticky, as he panted and tried to catch his breath. Eventually he sat back in his chair, grimacing at the mess on the front of his shirt, and reached for the tissue box on the corner of his desk to clean himself before heading upstairs to shower and change.

He both loved and hated that particular fantasy. It felt dirty and wrong to think of Lacey that way, to use her body for his pleasure, to imagine all the filthy things she might say and do. Yet the idea that she would want him to, that she would want him at all, was too tempting to resist. Despite what Neal had tried to convince him of over Christmas break, Lacey was just a friend, and someday, if she stayed at the university, she would be a colleague when she finished her studies. He was happy to provide her a place to live, but he feared that his desires might get in the way of all that if it went on much longer.

Perhaps, he thought, it was time to discuss other living arrangements with Miss French.

Lacey hitched her bag further up on her shoulder as she made her way down the hall.

She took a deep breath, smiling to herself at the scent of old wood and varnish and paper. The old building that housed the offices of the History and English departments had that same comforting smell of a library. It pulled at something inside her, the unnameable thing that drew her to words on a page, to museums, to art, to all of it.

Her hair swayed as she shook her head. The last day had been strange. She’d stepped out of the shower after her little masturbatory fantasy with a sense of purpose. She liked Gold, and she was ready to put it out there, albeit gently. Dinner, just the two of them, somewhere that wasn’t his kitchen or their shared house, somewhere with those little votive candles sitting on white tablecloths. It had made her sappy, sentimental, even hopeful.

Turning the corner at the end of the hall, she made her way through the double doors that separated the department director’s office from the rest of the space and then stopped suddenly. The secretary was gone for the day, but that wasn’t unusual for after five on a Thursday.

What was weird was the sound coming from Gold’s office.

It was English and high-pitched, with a trilling laughter that grated on Lacey’s ears. She frowned and stepped softly towards the half open door. Coming around the side, she peered into the room and nearly dropped her backpack.

“Oh, Rumford - can I call you Rumford, darling?”

Gold glared at the woman intruding on the quiet solace of his office in the evening. “No.”

Zelena was only momentarily taken aback. “Dr. Gold then?” she asked, running her fingers along his forearm. “You like a little...formality?”

He shifted and tried to pull away from her, but the space was small and he was trapped between her and a stack of books he’d meant to reshelve weeks ago. He didn’t mind a little clutter, especially when it was books and artifacts he’d picked up on his travels, but he was extremely cross with himself for not having cleaned up sooner. Although faced with the prospect of more uncomfortable conversation with Zelena Green or knocking twelve first editions to the floor, he knew what he’d pick.

The way she said his name made his skin crawl, and he shivered in spite of the stuffy warmth of his office. “I don’t like anything,” he snapped, throwing her another sideways glance.

She laughed, and he had to close his eyes at the irritating noise.

“Oh, come now,” she said, leaning far too close for comfort. Her breath was warm on the shell of his ear and it made his stomach turn. “I’m sure there are plenty of things you like. Maybe I could try to find a few of them...”

Her eyebrows lifted and her grin widened, showing him a flash of teeth . She looked like was going to eat him alive, and he twisted abruptly in his chair. The motion caught her knee and sent her tumbling, while behind him the stack of books thumped to the floor. On instinct, he reached out and caught her by the arm, which resulted in her being pulled into his lap.

He grunted as she came down on his bad leg, causing the muscles to tense and sending a jolt of pain through to his foot. Inside his shoe, his toes cramped, and he rocked backwards. Zelena went with him, bracing her hands on his shoulders and bringing her face entirely too close to his.

There was a noise in the doorway and they both turned their heads to see Lacey standing there. Her eyes were wide, and Gold swallowed.

“Well,” Lacey managed, pausing to lick her lips as a sick feeling rose up in her gut. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

Gold mouth opened to say something, but he didn’t have a chance as Lacey turned and left.

[qwertythepopstarian08]

Relentless

Fourth and Final part of Tick and the Moon

The tense jumps around in this one as well, I’m so indecisive. It starts out solidly in present tense, but then it gets wacky about a third of the way through, so be warned. 

I threw in a Danny Phantom reference cause why not?

Also tumblr ate half of this literally seconds after it was finished why? If it’s not that good in the second half you know whyyyyy....

that’s why there’s no word count but it’s probably at least 1500 so be warned.

Breeze knows what to expect when Tick doesn’t come back from his trip to the lake. 

She expects to find him completely lost to the madness of Celeste, completely gone until sunrise, a beast until day arrives. 

However, she could never expect this.

Even on all fours, he’s taller than her by a long shot. 

Breeze knows she should be at least slightly afraid, slightly perturbed when she finds Tick full-on Celestial, covered in sparkling lake water, with Mermiie feathers stuck between his gills. He’s pale as a sheet, the only remnants of his natural bright pink hue present around his paws, which shine with a strange shade of blue.

At first he growls at her, little emotion besides rage present in his eyes, but the closer she gets, the quieter the growl becomes, until he’s purring passively, his normally violet eyes a sickly, sad shade of magenta. Liquid static of the same color drips from his eyes like tears, and he’s careful not to let any get on the bat, who eyes him cautiously, even as he slowly trotted around her. 

The odd static has taken on a solid form as well, Breeze realizes, watching the frilly, dark pink fins on Tick’s back twitch. But there’s no anger or violence in the Celestial’s movements, so she’s not afraid anymore, even though she knows she should be. 

“Did you fight the Mermiies?” she questions, protective. Tick’s gills and fins droop slightly, his eyes shimmering with a sapient level of melancholy, his absent-minded trot becoming frantic. It’s then when Breeze notices the small, yet painful looking, scrapes and cuts lining Tick’s upper back and sides, the sparkling water and static especially prominent. “They hurt you, didn’t they?”

Tick whimpers, then glances towards the unnatural lake, the sad whine shifting to a snarl. His screen glitches slightly, and he cuts off, shaking his head. Frowning, Breeze steps closer, despite herself, and Tick snaps his head towards her, his wide, watery eyes narrowing with a glitch. 

Garbled words flash across his screen, which Breeze barely catches, her breath halting. 

“Not all here... stay back... not Tick.”

“What?” she breathes, and Tick whimpers again, holding his head low. 

“Not safe,” flashes quickly across the display, before being replaced by, “Need cure... before I snap.”

Breeze stares deeply into his eyes, searching for any traces of the anger. A small frown threatens to cross her features, before she sighs, smiling warmly.

“But you won’t,” she reassures. She’s tired of breaking people’s hopes down; she’s going to help someone for once. “You can’t.”

(She knew that it wasn’t really him, just a hollow copy, but she can’t stand to see any variation of Tick sad, even if he’s a Celestial. Even if he won’t remember.)

It’s Tick’s turn to study her features, a single error sign flashing across his face before he looks away, twitching. 

“You... are... sure..?” 

The words are a bit hard to read, appearing slowly, and Breeze can tell that he’s about to lose himself again, one wing reaching for her bag. She forces a wider smile as her wing-paws close around a vial of concentrated sunlight, wanting to avoid alarming the Celestial. 

The momentarily peaceful Celestial lets out a trill, then leans closer to the bat, nuzzling his screen against her cheek. She jolts at the touch, feeling how strangely cold he is, before uncorking the vial of sunlight, expression blank.

“See you in the morning, Tick.” 

The corrupted axolotl squeaks as the concentrated sunlight splashes against him, his eyes filling with light the color of his normal eyes before his screen went bright, his features engulfed by the light. Breeze grunts as he goes limp, barely catching him as he loses consciousness. The constructs formed by the static vanish in puffs of sparkling energy, dissipating into the air along with a portion of the spectral fog, and the bat finds herself smiling genuinely, watching as Tick’s natural hue of pink returns, his breathing soft. 

Gently, she lowers him to the ground, reaching for a vial of glowing ink from her supply pack. A part of her is nauseous at the idea of recreating the Moon Rune after this, but she steels herself, terrified at the thought of Tick being as susceptible to the moon’s darkness as this. 

With a deep breath, the flying fox begins her task.

She’d worked all through the night on the pattern, and it wasn’t until sunlight began to peek through the trees on the horizon that she heard it.

“B-breeze?” the high-pitched, soft voice startled the bat from her work, a tool not unlike a pumpkin carving knife held loosely in her paws. Magical ink dripped from the tool as she looked up  abruptly, her eyes heavy and tired.

Quicker than the bat would think possible, the axolotl Sparkyr had stirred from his near comatose state, his eyes, back to the bluish shade of violet, filling with intelligent curiosity as he gazed at his surroundings. 

“Where are we?” he asked slowly. A residual glitch flashed across his screen, and Breeze had to stop herself from chuckling as Tick, acting on impulse, swatted at his own face, one eye twitching before he sat up, nearly hitting Breeze as he turned around to face her fully. “What happened?”

The flying fox narrowed her eyes, exhaustion clear on her features as she prepared to explain, before Tick’s gaze landed on the lake, his breath audibly catching. 

“Oh.”

“Uh... you went Celestial again,” Breeze said cautiously, watching as her friend’s bright eyes dimmed a bit, his features quivering. 

“Okay.” The Sparkyr hybrid’s eyes snapped back to Breeze, worry replacing the hollow fear as quickly as it came. “Did I... did it hurt you?” 

Startlingly quickly, Breeze shook her head, dropping her equipment so that she could gesture wildly. 

“Of course not! You controlled yourself. You didn’t hurt me,” she reassured him. 

He looked away, skeptical. “I don’t remember that.”

Breeze smiled slightly, staring into Tick’s eyes. “But it was you, and I could see it. Even if you weren’t all there, your heart was.” 

Tick sighed, looking down at his paws, watching as his claws glinted in the sunlight.. A strangely distant memory of the very same claws shining with Celeste’s light flashed in his mind’s eye, and he flinched. 

“It tried to fight the Mermiies, didn’t it?” he whispered. Phantom aches ripped at his sides, clawing at him and sending waves of nausea through him, straight from his core. “Nearly lost.”

“It’s okay, Tick-”

“It’s not. Not with this.”

Breeze found herself frowning at his dejected behavior, her heart aching at the sight. “You can’t just wallow in guilt forever. An optimistic axolotl once told me that any problem’s better with friends and tea.”

Tick found himself laughing bitterly, his paws clenching into fists. “Not this. Not when I’m some kind of Pix-Fae hybrid and runes don’t even help me.” He glanced at Breeze for a second before looking back to his claws, his screen dimming. “I think I’d rather be half ghost or something than... whatever this is.” 

Sighing, Breeze grabbed him by the shoulders, frowning with determination. 

Softly, she continued her argument, “No, you’re just some monster, Tick. Sparkyr, Wherewolf, Celestial or otherwise, you’ve got to be the optimistic one between us, right?” She chuckled. “I don’t think the world would be the same without a ball of sunshine like you, no matter what form you take.”   

“Guess you’ll have to do, then,” he spat back, and the bat could nearly sense the pain in his words, like he wanted to be happy again, only to feel like he didn’t deserve it. 

Breeze cringed, reminded of herself, then shook her head. “That’s not me, though.” She pointed to the Sparkyr. “And this isn’t you. I know.”

“But...” he hiccuped, and the emotional dams broke. 

A small, pitiful sob left Tick as he covered his eyes, his tears dripping as clear, salty liquid instead of static. He just about collapsed into the bat’s arms, his blue screen filling with flushed pink to match the rest of him. Breeze jumped slightly at the sudden movement, only to sigh, patting the tall axolotl’s back.

“It’s okay, Tick.”

 Looking up, he mumbled, “Are you sure?” A tiny, reluctant smile quirked at the corners of his mouth, and he blinked away tears, searching the flying fox’s face for any doubt in him. He squeezed the almost blush bat once more before breaking the comforting hug, sniffling. “What if the Moon Rune breaks again? If I h-h-hurt-”

“You won’t, not anymore,” Breeze nodded, still feeling slightly strange at the notion of being the optimistic one in the situation. With a grunt, the little bat jumped to her feet, tossing her tools into her bag as she looked to Tick, who let out a deep breath, resigned with the bat’s newfound optimism. “Now, what do you say we get out of this dump and get that tea?”

(She was done breaking people’s hopes down; it was only right, to undo the damage before it was too late.)

She held out a paw to the axolotl, who could only stare, a different kind of tears welling up in his eyes.

“I guess you’re right...”

Tick couldn’t help the widening smile that spread across his face, wiping away his tears.

“Forgive and forget, huh?”

The Sparkwhere accepted the paw.

[siorca]

for @madamoisellegush, who gave me the prompt: Blackarachnia/Slipstream and my take on Soulmate/Nemesis markings.

I got a little carried away with this, because this was meant to be super short, but I actually had a ton of fun writing it, especially with writing Slipstream and trying to incorporate a way to play with a concept that I don’t normally like.

Slipstream scratched at the name marking her plating, only succeeding in chipping the paint around the word. Blackarachnia still looked as elegant as ever, written in a pretty cursive that seemed to flow together effortlessly. She scowled, rubbing at her arm, the plating still smooth to the touch, slightly sticky where Blackarachnia was scrawled.

The name itself - and she concluded that it must have been a name because it didn't sound like the type of word spoken in casual conversation - sounded familiar, something that scratched at the back of her processor that she couldn't quite place. Maybe Starscream had mentioned it in passing in one of his rantings. Even if he were still alive, Slipstream would loath to ask him about it, partly because she hated him, but mostly because she’d rather seek out the information on her own. She was stubborn like that; unwilling to ask others for help even if it would aid her.

The name was a more recent phenomena, too, only appearing within the last week, which made it easier to hide from what remained of her brothers. Not that she really cared about what they would say about it. They were all a pack of idiots in her optics, anyway, and if it weren't for the begrudging feelings of kinship she felt with them, she would have abandoned them swiftly the first opportunity she got.

However, her secret was safe until just moments before, when Skywarp managed to spot the markings, swallowing his nerves enough to ask her about it. Skywarp was her favorite, only because he was easily cowered to stay out of her way. It was this fact that saved him from losing an optic. But if there was one thing that they all shared in common, it was an insatiable curiosity, and Skywarp was perhaps the worst case.

In the ensuing confrontation, Skywarp trilled something about a “destined person,” to which

Slipstream had snorted, waving him away. She didn't need fanciful, romantic notions about people she didn't even know. And she certainly didn't need her cowardly brother crowing at her about it.

She rubbed at the plating again. She knew Skywarp wouldn't tell Thundercracker nor Sunstorm about it, only because he was terrified of both of them and tended to try and avoid them. Not that she particularly cared either way, she just didn't want to deal with more nosy brothers.

It did leave her curious because she knew that none of them had one on their own arms. She did remember a name being scrawled across Starscream’s arm, but she only ever caught short glimpses of it, never enough time to really decipher what it said.

At this point, her frustration was beginning to eat away at her. She hated mysteries. She hated not knowing something. Her wings twitched erratically, catching onto the subtle breeze where she stood out in the open. Perhaps a long flight will help burn off some of the excess energy she was building up.

--

One of the more frustrating things about living as a rogue was the lack of a proper database. Slipstream barely held enough resources to keep her and her brothers safe, yet alone the ability to maintain a supercomputer. The abandoned ship they've huddled into was corroded enough already, bits of it falling off almost every day. There was no thought put into piecing together the old teletran outside of the basics - making sure it could still work the lights and the energon dispenser for one. The practical part of Slipstream was perfectly fine with that. But her current situation left her lacking in rationale. She couldn't help but bemoan the lack of actual information.

Flying helped keep her mind steady, if only for a short while. She attempted to keep herself blank, only focusing on the changing air pressure and the feel of gathering raindrops on her wingtips. It worked, up until a blip on her radar had her sensors on high alert.

She descended a fraction from her high altitude, ever careful of an Autobot ambush. It was remote enough where she was that it was unlikely for her to run into one, but she didn't want to test that theory. She circled around the trigger, gauging that it was an abandoned outpost of some kind - Cybertronian by the looks of it. One more fly-by of the vicinity only provided that no life signs were detected.

As she descended further, she picked up on the fact that the place looked well maintained, at least for an object that was meant to be abandoned. It unsettled her, but she was driven on by an idea. This place was bound to have a decent database, hopefully one that was equally as well kept as the outside of the base. Her answers may lay right behind the heavy door.

She transformed, her blasters held out in front of her while she surveyed the grounds. When nothing out of the ordinary happened, she relaxed minutely, strutting up to the door with her usual confidence. It was pried open easy enough and she walked into the darkness.

--

The lights overhead were automatic, turning on only as she walked under them. It made for a very perilous runway; only knowing what was immediately in front of her. She walked slowly, her audios tuned to pick up every little sound. It was deceptively quiet, only the clicking of her thrusters haunting the hallways, only heightening her growing feelings of unease.

The facility was large, with twisting hallways that led to nowhere. A dead end here, a looping corner there. She grew impatient after the first twenty minutes, small growling noises of frustration escaping her vocalizer.

Huffing, she turned another corner, miraculously coming across a deep set of stairs that traveled far below the base. The space was narrow, barely big enough to contain her wings. Cringing, she pressed on.

It was a long trip down. She felt claustrophobic, every little scrape against her wings made her grit her dentae. Her peripheral sensors were receiving interference, too, only worsening the further down she went, making it twice as difficult to navigate. She fought the urge to panic, even as the stairway gave way to a brightly lit room, glossy with freshly polished gunmetal walls.

The room around her was some sort of command center, large with several monitors dotting the walls. Each one was fuzzy with distortion, creating an otherworldly effect. Her wings stretched imperceptibly as she walked the circumference. Each one was in perfect working order, simply not tuned to any sort of frequency. She looked at each one curiously, her optics sweeping over each one. The fuzz made her optics cross.

Finally, she came upon what she was searching for. At the center of the room was a large teletran, the screen a deep black, but the keyboard lit in a bright orange. It looked in pristine condition, clean and shiny, with only a few small chips marring the screen to show its age. Her audios picked up on a pleasant, inviting him coming from it.

Slipstream smirked. In a few quick strides, she was in front of the monitor, her talons skimming delicately over the keys. The blackness faded into a bright blue that washed over Slipstream in one large wave. She loaded up the archive. “This had better be worth it.”

--

There were many things that Slipstream could be researching right now. Ways to build a more efficient base, more economical ways to synthesize energon, or even a few blueprints for a choice superweapon. Yet, here she was, buried under research on a “destined person” - just like Skywarp had told her. It wounded her pride that he would know about something like this before her, but then again, the absurdity of its existence only showed how gullible he was. He had probably only known about it through one of his stupid romance novels. Or at least that's what she told herself.

She shuffled through another academic paper, scowling that science would even be involved this situation. She took what information she could from the article, between the heavy bits of jargon and occasional self-flattery from the author, and compressed it into a few short sentences to add to a file she had compiled on what she had learned.

So far, she knew that having a name was a rarity in and of itself. On the flip side, people could go their entire lives without a name, only to wake up in the throes of old age to one scrawled across their plating. Destiny was fickle that way: choosey, finicky, but most of all, random. Attempts to understand it were often met with resistance. There were plenty of theories pushed forward, but Slipstream wasn't interested in any of them. What she was interested in was the fact that the person written there was usually someone who was to play an important role at some point in their lives, usually as lover, but just as commonly as an adversary, an inconvenience, or even as a benefactor. It was impossible to predict what a meeting between two names would be like until it actually happened.

She snorted, scratching at her plating again. What absolute nonsense.

Her peaceful research was cut short however, when she found herself wrapped in a sticky substance, causing her to fall to the floor. She shrieked, her wrists and upper arms bound tightly to her chassis, while her legs were completely wrapped in white. Struggling with it only seemed to make the material tighten, which only encouraged her to shout expletives at her assailant.

“How dare you?! Get this slag off of me!”

“Hush.” Slipstream watched as a figure appeared from the minimal shadows, taking in the shape of an oddly organic looking femme. One with many eyes and sharp looking legs on her back. Slipstream shuddered. “This is my lab.” She held a blaster in her hands, pointing it squarely between Slipstream’s optics. “What are you doing here?”

“None of your business,” Slipstream said, petulantly. She flexed her talons in their prison, trying in vain to cut at the silk. She growled.

The figure smirked, walking closer to the console. This close, Slipstream could tell that she held a significant size advantage over her, but in her current state, she had no chance of overwhelming her. She had no choice but to wait this out.

“Destined person, hmm?” The femme turned to her, hand on her hips and a teasing smirk on her lips. She laid the blast on the keyboard, creating a line of keysmash through Slipstream’s document. She scrutinized Slipstream’s prone form, long and hard, almost as if analyzing her, until a spark of recognition lit up her optics. “You're one of Starscream’s clones aren't you?”

Slipstream scowled. “I'd rather not be associated with that buffoon, but yes, I am.”

She laughed. It was a small one, more of a snicker than a proper sign of amusement, ending with a sort of hissing noise. It showed off the fangs lurking in the recesses of her mouth, making Slipstream squirm uncomfortably. “You and me both.”

Slipstream raised an optic ridge at her, but the femme didn't elaborate. Rather she decided to glance through the intact part of Slipsteam’s notes, a predatory smile forming on her face. She circled her then, her figure low and intimidating. “Now why is someone like you in here, researching this of all things.”

“Wouldn't you like to know,” Slipstream said, cheekily.

“Why yes I would.” The femme grinned dangerously.She bent over Slipstream, twisting her forearm until Blackarachnia was visible. The talons gripping her were sharp, far sharper than what Slipstream was packing and Slipstream couldn't help a small sound of warning slip from her lips.

The femme’s eyes widened in surprise, before her face blossomed into a wide grin, all sharp teeth, right beside Slipstream’s face. “Why you lucky girl.” She turned her own wrist over, displaying a matching Slipstream in messy scrawl.

“You're Blackarachnia?!” Slipstream blanched.

Blackarachnia nodded. “Now, that just leaves the question: are you friend or foe?” She tilted her head, her wide grin growing more mischievous. “Or possibly something more?”

Slipstream shuttered her optics at Blackarachnia. She couldn't really tell her, didn't know much about her to really gauge an opinion. She swiped her optics over her frame and couldn't help but notice Blackarachnia preen at the subtle movement.

Slipstream smirked. “Untie me and we’ll find out.”