#i love to watch them... the humble bumblebee...

[rougebouvreuil]

man. i love animals

[fictional-love-is-my-life]

Hello! Could you do Bumblebee/Rodimus having a very wealthy cybertronian S/O who’s super humble? Seeing how Cybertron had/has an issue with classism, it’d be good to see their S/O not be like the rest.

Bumblebee:

His S/O came from wealth, their family quite well known among other Cybertronians. They started off in the world already surrounded by riches. But they rose themselves up, finding their own way to their own fortune, not wanting to rely on their families money. Bee respected that, he thought they were brilliant. They were also the sweetest, kindest, most caring bot he had ever met.

He didn't think he ever had a chance with them. His S/O was always surrounded by other rich aristocrats. Many were good looking and definitely tried to get with his S/O. But by some miracle they chose him. They were the one that asked him out, they were the one that stated they wanted to be in a relationship with him.

He had some insecurities in the beginning. Worried he was not good enough, worried he might be being used for some reason. But his S/O always put him at ease. They showed him, not only with words, but with actions that they truly cared about him.

They showed up to his place to take him out on dates. They made constant public displays of affection, showing him love even in front of other rich snobs. They would choose to stay home and cuddle with him than go out to fancy parties.

Over time, their relationship grew stronger and Bee became more confident. He wouldn't lie, deep down he still had some small insecurities and fears. But they were small, and as time went on they got smaller. Unfortunately, for now, they were still present.

He looked down at the gift in his servos. It wasn't good enough. No way were they going to like it. It was their anniversary, and he had hand made them a gift. But he looked down at it with a pit in his spark. He knew his S/O would like it, but would they really love it? He had no way of getting them something lavish and expensive. Handmade was the only thing he really could do. He knew his S/O was probably going to get him some, expensive amazing gift. Meaning he was not looking forward to getting theirs.

They met up for their anniversary, sharing a sweet evening together. They were winding down with some cuddling on Bee's berth.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" His S/O cheered. They scurried off, then came back with a beautiful and delicately wrapped box. Bee's spark fluttered, partly with love and excitement to get his gift, but also with dread because now he would have to give his. He opened his gift. It was something he had been wanting for a long time, but he couldn't get ahold of (it was quite hard to obtain). Yet here it was. His S/O not only remembered he wanted it, but also managed to find and claim it.

"I can't believe it. Thank you." He embraced his S/O. Hugging them tightly. Then he pulled away. He was hesitant, but he had to just get it over with. He thought about saying he forgot a gift, but he didn't want to see disappointment on his S/O's face.

He pulled out his gift from his inner compartment and handed it to his S/O. It was a handmade mini sculpture of the Cybertronian city his S/O used to live in. In the middle were two toy cars one resembling a Camaro and the other of his S/O's alt mode. His S/O gently took the sculpture. Not saying anything. Bee stared at their face, watching for their reaction. After a second their face lit up, a giant smile spreading across their face. Their optics sparkling as if they were glitching from emotion.

"It's so beautiful! I love it so much!" They beamed, doing a little happy dance. "Look at it, you got my home, you got our work buildings. Look the race track, and you have us in it! It's perfect, absolutely perfect. Thank you." They gently put the sculpture down then leapt into Bee's arms, hugging him tightly. They nuzzled their helm into his neck. He could feel their spark humming lovingly against his chest.

Bee felt thrilled. He knew his S/O loved him, and he knew his S/O loves everything he gives them. He was so lucky to have them in his life. Every day they showed him how much they loved and appreciated him. And seeing their reaction to his home made gift, it really made his spark melt. Bee knew he should worry about their class difference. His S/O had told him previously they preferred made gifts than bought gifts, because it makes them more sentimental. He needed to remember that more often. He needed to remember more often that his S/O was different, that they were true and heartfelt.

He felt so lucky. He hugged his S/O tighter and pulled them to him, falling back against the berth with them still on his chest. They laughed together.

Rodimus:

When he first met his S/O it was in the medbay. He had gotten in a scrap and taken to one of nearby medbays. He was not of lower class by any means, but he also wasn't very high class. Meaning he was just taken to a very basic practice. He wasn't expecting much, to be honest he was expecting some beat down and poor bots barely getting by.

But when he got in, the place was all smiles and laughter. It was a small medbay, not too many patients, but they seemed to be having a good time. Then he saw them, a bot taking care of an ill mech. They were saying something funny, making the injured mech laugh. The bot finished then walked over to him, a large smile on their faceplate.

They took care of him with the best care he had ever received, as if he was getting care from a high class medic. This bot was soft, sweet and kind. His crush hit almost instantly. They spoke for a long time, he learnt they were just volunteering as they wanted to help out. He stayed for hours, going past the time he could have been discharged. He just had to be around this amazingly intoxicating bot.

He got their name, and asked them out, and they accepted. His spark jumping with joy the moment they said yes to a date.

Their date was perfect, a drink at Maccadams, then a stroll around the city. They talked, they laughed, they intertwined their servos. And at the end of the night his date gave him a small kiss.

"This night was perfect. The best date I have ever had." They beamed.

"Maybe we should have a second, to see if it could be even better than this one?" Rodimus smirked.

"I would love that."

Rodimus parted ways with his new date and headed home. The second date was more perfect. And the third even better. By the fourth date they were cuddled at home, just enjoying each others company.

"Rodimus. I have to tell you something." His S/O said. He turned his helm to face them.

"What's going on?"

"I really like you. I think we are great together, and I think we could have a wonderful relationship. Which means I have to be honest about me and my past."

Rodimus was a little worried, unsure what they could possibly say. But he loved and trusted his S/O. He thought to himself, there probably wouldn't be anything they could say, that would make him stop loving them.

"I come from a very rich background. My family, and I have a lot of money and quite a high status." They stated a name, and Rodimus knew it immediately. It was a family that owned a lot of businesses across Cybertron. He wasn't quite sure how to react. They didn't act rich. They didn't behave like a bot of high status. Though they did always offer to pay for the dates. He was surprised, he never would have expected it.

"Why do you volunteer at the medbay? With all those lower class bots? You could get sick from them." Rodimus asked.

"Because they need help, and they need comfort and I want to be there for them." His S/O stated honestly. His spark swelled. They were such a pure spark.

He pulled them closer to him. He loved them so much. Over their relationship he had seen them help so many bots. They offered their time and money to all the lower class bots. They were always kind and cheerful. They were like a bright sun, illuminating the dark times, and he was so lucky they were his.

He didn't care about fortunes, he didn't want his S/O's riches. He wanted them, and he had them, all to himself. That made him the richest mech on the planet.

"I love you so much. You are truly amazing." He whispered into their audial sensor as he nuzzled into them.

This news was not going to affect their relationship. Even with money they were kind. So he was going to continue to love them just as he had been. Money or not he was going to love them with all his spark.

Maybe it did change a little. His S/O has shown him they are truly humble and amazing bot. And this made him love them a little bit more.

[calif0rnia-lovers]

sweet as pie.

a/n: please join me in welcoming sam wilson to the page. first story dedicated to this classic man, surely not the last.

pairing: sam wilson x black!reader

rating: 💙

main masterlist | taglist | divider © @whimsicalrogers

sum: sam is home. although times have changed, his sister’s intentions for him have not. sarah would love for her brother to settle down, and she knows the perfect person to make him do it. but when sam gets caught up with work, he misses the date sarah has set up for him.

words: 2.3K

It’s funny how the human mind works.

How easily certain moments can slip through its cracks. Names, dates, songs, conversations, faces lost to the wind, never to be remembered again. In the same turn, how those same things can be retained, recited down to the last detail in perfection.

Sam Wilson has seen enough in his lifetime--more than most men. No one could condemn him for forgetting the smallest of details from time to time. Sometimes he does. He is human. But, strangely, he can never forget a single detail when it comes to you.

Sam can still remember the first time he saw you.

The coffee-colored, cardboard box you carried in your arms--'living room' written across the front panel in your mother’s flawless penmanship. The dark curls pineappled to rest atop the crown of your head--a last-ditch attempt of fighting the Louisiana heat. The oversized Purple Rain t-shirt faded from too many runs through the wash. The round, black sunglasses sliding down the brim of your nose as you paused to take note of the boy watching you from his front window. Down to the scuffed, worn high tops that could barely pass for white.

He even remembers the soft smile you gave him once he froze--too embarrassed to move from the window after being caught watching you for the third time--before turning to lug the box up the steps of your front porch.

It was the summer of ‘94, and Sam Wilson was running late. He was expected to be at the docks assisting his father. Instead, he was peeping around his mother’s powder blue curtains, attempting to score glimpses of his new neighbors. Primarily their teenage daughter.

It’s not every day that Delacroix welcomes a new resident--let alone an entire family. Later that night, over dinner, his mother shared that you were entering your senior year--same as him.

He still remembers the knotting of his stomach. The strange and unusual experience of being tongue-tied when he’d tripped over his name--his name for god’s sake--that morning, you opened your front door to find him and Sarah on the other side. The kindness of your dark brown eyes as they met his, the soft giggle you released as you ignored his sputtering to accept the chocolate chip cookies his mother sent her children to deliver.

He also remembers the vision of you in your wedding dress. The smile he had to keep plastered on his face the night he learned his skepticism, surrounding death by broken heart, faded. You’ve never felt pain until you’ve seen the woman you love marry another man.

Sam must admit. When he returned, he expected--hoped--that those feelings would have disappeared. That they would have been erased from his life. Only, the moment he returned home, Sam discovered those feelings remained--were stronger even.

Five years later, he found you in the same house. Your parents no lived there. After their return from the blip, they packed up their things. Suddenly, tackling their bucket list was their main priority. You still had your husband’s last name but no husband. He was gone, lost to a younger woman.

Five years later, and Sam Wilson finds himself still frozen by the sight of you.

The long-sleeved maroon shirt he’s tugged on is not his number one choice. It’s all he had in his bag. The time on his watch had forced him into an ultimatum. Either run home, shower, and change into the outfit Sarah helped him pick out and risk being five hours late. Or head straight to your house, and risk being four hours and forty-five minutes late.

Sam opted for the latter.

Flowers in hand, he stands in the gateway of your backyard. His eyes admire the glow of the string lights against your skin. The yard has been transformed. Several tables and chairs, enough to host the entire neighborhood, squeezed into its space. Filled with music and laughter a few hours before the backyard is now quiet. Only the sounds of crickets, and the rustle of the trash bag in your hand, can be heard over the racing of Sam’s heart.

“Hey.” Sam takes a step forward, clearing his throat. “Sorry, I’m late.”

“Late is an understatement.” You don’t bother looking up from the plates stacked in your hands. Dumping them into the black trash bag, you move towards the next table. “You missed the entire party.”

After dumping the trash, you realize that Sam is no longer in the backyard. You find him in the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” You ask, coming to a stop in the doorway.

Sam glances up from the soap-covered glass in his hands. “Helping you clean up.”

You glance around the kitchen, only to find that he’s managed to wash nearly the entire stack of dishes you’ve been dreading the entire night.

“I didn’t realize you still did stuff like this,” you tease. “What with you running off to save the world. Figured you’d just hire someone to do it for you.”

“Guess it’s a good thing I got you to keep me humble,” he winks.

Sam dries his hands with the bumblebee printed hand towel, a satisfied grin on his lips as he takes in the spotless kitchen. He’s too busy admiring his handiwork to realize you’re standing alongside him.

He turns, the snarky comment he’s prepared lost in his throat as he takes you in.

You can’t deny him a smile as you watch his eyes widen, a boyish grin brightening his face as he takes in the plate you’re holding. On it rests a single slice of homemade apple pie, topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and perfectly drizzled caramel.

“I think you’ve earned this.”

“You saved me a piece?”

“No,” you sigh, allowing your eyes to roll. “I actually saved it for me. But if I have to look at your pathetic attempt at puppy dog eyes one more second--”

“You were hoping I’d show up.” The grin on Sam’s face has morphed into a trademark smirk, the sight pulling a giggle from your lips. “You and I both know you don’t save, or share your pie with just anyone.”

Sam’s observation is spot on.

You don’t share your pie--or food, for that matter--with just anyone. In the chaos of hosting the neighborhood, you didn’t have a moment to stop and enjoy your own party. Let alone a slice of the apple pies you’d spent the previous night preparing.

Apple pies--specifically yours--were Sam Wilson’s true weakness.

The moment he sees you lugging home a bag full of granny smith and macintosh apples, he’s on full helicopter mode. You’re not sure how he knows, but he’s got a radar. One that somehow allows him to prophesize the exact moment the pies are out of the oven and set aside to cool.

He’ll show up, stopping by to say hi, or to see if you still need the drainpipe your ex-husband never got around to working on fixed, or to “pass along a message” from Sarah--as though your best friend couldn’t pick up the phone and call. Whatever the excuse Sam Wilson always manages to be the one to get the first slice of your apple pie. He’s smart enough to know that once the children of the neighborhood catch a whiff, they’ll show up on your doorstep. And as much as he loves the kids--Sam isn’t letting them steal his pie.

Sam’s words come out muffled through a mouthful of apples and crust. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, Y/N. You should sell these. You'd make a killing.”

“And I’ve already told you, it’s just for fun,” you dismiss his advice, taking another spoonful of ice cream. “Besides, what do you expect me to do? Quit my good paying--although painstakingly boring--job in the hopes that enough people will like my baking to keep me afloat?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Sam nods, a smile growing as he watches your eyes roll.

It’s a conversation the two of you have had for years. Here is the rundown of how it plays out--every single time.

Sam: suggests that you finally open up the bakery you’ve been talking about since your teenage years.

You: dismiss his words of advice, reminding Sam that most teenage dreams are foolish.

Sam: ends the conversation with, “I’d show up every day for a piece.”

You: spend the rest of the night wondering if he’s right, about taking the chance, only to psych yourself out before going to bed.

“I’m just saying,” Sam sighs, sliding the plate to the side. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned. Life is going to pass you by, regardless, no matter what you do. If you give it a shot, and it fails--which is never going to happen--your life isn’t going to end.”

You glance up from the table, a tiny smile on your lips as you take in his soft smile.

“Maybe you’re right,” you shrug. “If all else fails, I’ll just tell everyone it’s the Falcon’s favorite pie--”

“You’ll have people flooding in from across the country.”

“It’s settled,” you giggle. “I’m using you in my business model.”

“Hey,” Sam chuckles. “As long as I get a cut, I’m not complaining.”

A silence falls over the tiny kitchen as your gaze drops from his.

Sam lightly raps his knuckles against the table before pushing his chair back.

“Uh—I should probably head out. You’re probably tired. I just wanted to come by and apologize...again.”

“Wow,” the light laugh you release halts Sam’s act of standing up. “The second you get what you came for you hit the ground running?”

The response is automatic. The chance to tease him is one you never pass up.

Sam’s brow raises as he takes in your smile.

“That’s not what I came for,” he admits.

“What did you come for then?”

“To ask you over to my place for breakfast tomorrow.”

The proposition hangs in the air, Sam nearly squirming in his seat as you take your time studying his gaze. You let out a sigh, your shoulders shrugging lightly, once you finally speak.

“I don’t know, Sam” You shake your head. Picking up the plate, you stand and cross the kitchen to the sink. “You just have so many responsibilities, nowadays, running around trying to save the world--”

“I’m not going anywhere tonight,” he’s quick with the reassurance. “Or any day, until we get through that date you promised me.”

You turn to face him, arms crossing over your chest as he comes to a stop before you.

“Say I show up. You have to promise me something.”

“Whatever you want.”

He knows that promise can end up being a slippery slope, depending on how hard you’re willing to make him work for it.

“If something comes up, in the future, you call me. And you tell me exactly why you can’t be here. Nobody gets to stand me up. Not the Falcon. And sure as hell, not Sam Wilson. Understood?”

Sam’s eyes drop to your interlaced fingers, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Standing on your toes, you place a kiss against his cheek. “Now, go get some sleep. You’re making me breakfast in the morning. I’m expecting waffles, bacon, freshly squeezed O.J.--the works.”

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[titilationexpress]

StarscreamxReader-Sweet Dreams are made of Screams Ch.1

First ever lemon. Please give your input. Reposting from my Ao3.

You haven’t been able to sleep properly for weeks now. And frankly, you’re wondering if you ever will again in your lifetime.

Yet what caused you to have such a problem with something that once came to you so easily? Ok, maybe not easily. No, scratch that. It was never easy. You had to take some sleeping pills every night to even get a few hours in. Still, how did it happen?

Well, the trouble had started back not long ago. In fact, from what you could recall, it hadn’t even been a full month before your ‘problem’ started. See, you were a fairly average individual. You had your quirks, your habits, the little things that make each person an individual. One particular interest you had though was quite specific, and even more, came from a decade long before you were born.

Transformers.

Oh yes, your beginnings were humble when you first started with the franchise, and you looked with wide, awe-filled eyes. Your starting place was where you first discovered it, the one show that will remain in your heart forever. From that, you got into the characters, the story, the lore of what started as a toyline for young boys (though it was clear now that both sexes had a love for it), all of it. And from there, you went on to past and future generations from your starting point, and now, you were a certified Transformers fan! Hell, one of your favorite sites ever is TFWiki.

With this entrance into the fandom, you took to devouring everything that you could: the cartoons and animes, the books, the movies, fanfiction, fanart, fan comics, doujinshi, anything and everything that you could get your hands on, you did. And not long after, you began contributing yourself, drawing, writing, whatever you could to make your stand and have your place in the community. At first, it worked well enough, you weren’t exactly prolific, yet you were doing well enough. You managed to get a few requests for certain things to be drawn/written, believe it or not, but still, you weren’t overly big.

And then came your discovery of the Reader genre.

What is the Reader genre? Why, as far as you were concerned, only one of the greatest genres ever to be conceived! Well, to be more accurate, the form of writing wasn’t anything new, remembering the ‘Choose Your Adventure’ books. It seemed said genre now spread everywhere, you being very aware of the numerous games and dating sims that ranged from well done and engaging to outright ridiculous and stupid (but those were fun in their unique way). And since you didn’t have any knowledge or time to do that, you settled for writing them yourself. Your first piece was a simple Optimus x Reader with the standard plot and standard outcome, which was a declaration of love and a resulting kiss with the Autobot Leader. You were NOT expecting the overflow of response that it had gotten. You were quite shocked, but at the same time, overjoyed. Soon, you decided to try your luck with another one, this one being of Bumblebee, the scenario being mostly the same, albeit with a bit more cutesy fluff, as in your mind, Bumblebee was always the little guy. This one was just as successful, and you beamed, having finally found your calling.

Since then, you were getting requests left and right for more and more choices, all spanning different universes. From the animated cartoons to the comics, different universes, everything that spanned from the most well-known incarnations to the more obscure. It was through these that you managed to get even more into the Transformers multiverse as a whole and even discovered some truly overlooked gems. You opened yourself up to the people and declared that you would write whatever they requested, but you had some taboos that you wouldn’t touch. But any scenario, character, and universe, all of that was fair game.

You had originally begun working on more mundane, typical stories with expected outcomes (but sweet ones nonetheless), yet over time, the requests and your imagination began getting more creative and crazy. Soon, you were delving into several different areas that you had never touched. Elves, goblins, mermaids, vampires, forbidden love, love triangles, all of these were laid at your feet. And while it took a bit to find your rhythm, all of this having come on you so fast, you eventually got it and soon, you had a wide collection of X Reader stories, ranging from G1 to Prime and IDW’s run.

You mainly did Autobots, for you had to admit that writing for them, while they were still complex characters, came somewhat easier for you. True, each of them had their faults and quirks (both from canon and headcanons people had come up with), yet they were still the good guys, and even those with more questionable morality still came out as heroes in the end. But then one day came where you were asked to write about a Decepticon. This threw you for a loop, as, while the thought had intrigued you, you had been writing for good guys for some time, so a total shift in direction was somewhat off-putting and scary. Possibilities of it being too saccharine or sweet, or getting the characters wrong or out of character scared you a bit, yet still, you wanted to test the waters and see if you could do it. And if you could, this would open up so much more for you.

And judging from the input, you had just struck gold yet again.

Soon, not only were you flooded with requests for Autobots, but now their foes were also available, and, as you found out, people had just as much an attraction for the darkness as they did for the light. Again, the same scenarios were implemented, yet now, they had something of a darker edge to them, which allowed you to explore some subjects you couldn’t touch with the Autobots without toning it back somewhat. In a way, the Decepticons provided you with more freedom. Ironic, seeing as Megatron’s motto was “Peace through Tyranny.”

That said, you went through the list of available characters throughout the generations, and so far, those had been garnering quite a following as well, your Autobot and Decepticon stories neck and neck in popularity. Everything seemed to be going well for you.

Then that one question came.

‘Hey, where’s Starscream?’

Then another.

‘Could you write one about Starscream?’’

Then another.

‘Hey, hate to bother you, yet I think that Starscream could use some love here.’

More and more questions and requests for the particular Decepticon filled your messages, and frankly, you were at a loss on what to do. Truth be told, you and Starscream had something of a complicated history. When you had gotten into Transformers, you had heard of the character, yet at first, you never saw why he had gained such a large fanbase. True, he wasn’t a bad character, yet he wasn’t your favorite. But over time, as you wrote more and more for the Decepticons, as well as read X Reader stories from other people, you slowly began to, as one would say, gain an interest in the winged robot. And soon, you found yourself enamored by the smug jerk as well.

But this only made you reluctant to write for him.

True, when you started writing for the Decepticons, you were allowed to experiment with some more intimate and extreme situations, yet with Starscream...it was different. It was hard to explain, yet whenever you got a request to write for him, your brain seemed to seize up. Thoughts came to your head that you had tried to banish, thoughts that came every time you saw the Seeker’s name. You had no idea what was going on or why this was so difficult, yet it seemed the Silver Snake had taken to making your fingers not touch the keyboard.

You had no idea at all. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

And since you had gotten the slew of requests, your sleep problems began. The moment you shut your eyes, the scenario began all over again.

…

You needed no introduction to where you were or what you were seeing, it all quite familiar to you now. Around you were towering walls of a silvery mauve color, the only available light from above sparse and leaving several areas coated in darkness. This place was all too familiar, for you had seen it many times in your watching and reading of Transformers.

You were in Decepticon headquarters.

Your dreams had been filled with the base of the enemy faction of the Autobots, and at first, it had shocked you as to why you were here at all. But over time, night after night, you came here, and soon, you grew accustomed to the sight of it. You took on the form of your Transformers persona/OC or remained in your regular, human form, whatever pleased you as if you had some control over this environment. Yet as you grew more familiar (you were never sure if you’d be comfortable), you began to explore the place, finding that, to your surprise, there was no one here. No signs of any sort of life aboard the ship, and while it took a good while, you traveled everywhere you could think of, and still, nothing. No Megatron, no other Decepticons, no one but you had been aboard.

At least, that was what you believed when you first had this dream. Then, you heard it. The voice. His voice.

“Oooh, I’m the Boogie Man,”

Singing, serenading, just loud enough for you to hear, yet low enough for you to know it was far away. It always started this way.

“The terrible, horrible Boogie Man,”

Your ears/audio receptors registered the voice as it echoed throughout the ship. When the dreams had begun, you knew immediately who was singing, and then you were more surprised at how it sounded. Sure, it had its infamous high pitch, yet it wasn’t bad to listen to. Daresay, it was rather enjoyable in its own way.

“I come in the middle of the night and frighten bad little girls like you.”

The first few times you had this dream, it would almost always startle you, yet it led you to look down the other balls and corridors of the ship. The results were always the same though: no one was aboard. No one but you...and him.

“Beware, better have a care,”

The song changed each and every time you entered the dream, tonight being a track you heard on a video game you played not too long ago (Bioshock 2 you believed). Yet the songs always had the same effect on you.

“I’m going to follow you everywhere.”

Despite your trepidation, you wanted...needed to follow it.

“I crawl through the ceiling and the wall and call on bad little girls like you.”

Walking, then running, you traversed the winding path before you, taking several left and right turns, having no sense of direction but that voice. A voice that, despite its infamous sound, held power to it, a siren’s song in a way. Ironic, you thought. Still, you followed, for you had reached your limit. You knew what would happen if you didn’t find him.

“I’ll torture you and hunt you,”

And never leave.

I’ve got you where I want you,”

And never let you escape this dream.

“A victim of my dark and dirty plot.”

And he knew it too. He knew he had power over you. And you hated it.

“And at the slightest whim, I’ll tear you limb from limb,”

Or…

“In other words, I’ll put you on the spot.”

Did you?

“Oooh, I’m the Boogie Man,”

You were close. So dangerously close.

“The terrible, horrible Boogie Man.”

Just a turn around the corner.

“I come in the middle of the night and frighten…”

He paused, you stopping in your tracks at what you saw. There he was. Situated behind violet bars of energy in a cell, the Decepticon stood there with his arms folded and looking upon you with satisfied, hungry red eyes.

“...bad little girls like you.”

It was him.

Starscream.

Your favorite incarnation of Starscream, those ruby orbs boring into your own eyes/optics. You stepped back from the cell, eyes/optics wide at what was before you. Sure, if you were to go by dream logic, some part of you always knew that it was ‘him’ that awaited you at the end of this journey, but still, to actually see him, standing there so casually when it looked like he was locked up, it chilled you. As if he had absolutely nothing to worry about.

“My, my, so you finally found me,” he said, his voice perfectly matching the incarnation that stood before you. “Or rather, I found you. Whichever way it goes, it doesn’t matter,” he smirked. “For I already know the outcome.”

You blinked a few times, still trying to see if who was before you had truly been there. “St…” you began nervously. “Starscream?”

The Decepticon chuckled and stepped out of the shadows, allowing you to fully see him. “In the mesh,” he said. “And I see that introductions won’t need to be made either, will they, Y/N?” your eyes/optics went wide. “That’s right, pet, I know everything. This IS your mind after all.”

“Wh-What?” you stammered. “I don’t understand.”

Starscream’s grin only grew wider. “You will soon. You will understand EVERYTHING.”

Just what was he talking about? From the looks of it, he seemed to be enjoying your tension and trepidation, very amused. Your mind went into fan mode, recalling every fact you had known of Starscream and his various incarnations, which then led to you going on the defensive. “You…” albeit, it took you a try or two. “You’re the one that’s been doing this to me. Giving me these...these weird dreams.” the Decepticon didn’t answer, yet it was clear that he already knew that the secret was out (even if it wasn’t much of one). “You’re also the one that’s not letting me have one decent night’s sleep without being trapped here!”

“Or me serenading you?” he added in. “How do you like it? I don’t do it often, yet if I wish, I can stretch out my vocal components if I want.”

Your cheeks grew hot. Damn, this bastard was already making you too wound up, and you had only gotten a few words in! “Well...I’m here now,” you said, trying to sound confident, and, ironically enough, trying to channel Megatron’s dominating aura. “So, what do you want?”

This didn’t phase him in the slightest. Despite him being the one locked up, you were the one who felt like his prisoner. “I think you already know that dear Y/N,” he said. “But to put it simply, I’m feeling left out.”

You were confused. “Left out?” You asked. “Left out of…” you paused. Indeed, you knew well what he was talking about. “My...my reader inserts.”

Starscream nodded. “Quite an extensive library you’ve built up over time.” He told you. “Though your choices could be much better.” he scoffed. “Of course goody-good Prime would be on the list, along with the rest of the Auto-dolts.” Then he grimaced. “Yet there are those that actually want to FRAG Megatron? Ugh! No taste at all!” He then looked back at you. “You’ve written for everyone, from either faction, of every series,” he then pouted. “But none for me. Truly, Y/N, I’m hurt.”

You felt quite awkward. True, while you were known online for your stories, it was your username and persona they were seeing. They weren’t someone that was right around the corner that could walk in and see you writing these things. While you loved doing it, the thought of your family or friends discovering you wrote in this genre was a thought you dared not entertain, as you swore that you’d die from embarrassment. Thus, you were very careful whenever you did it, your room completely locked tight so you could focus without fear of someone barging in. The only times you left during your writing periods were for bathroom breaks and/or to eat/drink something. It was a big secret...and thinking about it now, it was a secret no more to the most infamous backstabber in all of Transformers. You had been found out.

“Well...so what? Are you going to keep haunting me until I do?” you asked. “You can’t do that!”

Starscream didn’t seem phased by this at all. That damned smirk of his both frustrated and made you excited, a combination that left you very unsure. “Can’t I?” he asked.

You didn’t like his tone. “What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s consider for a moment, Y/N,” he said. “You believe that I’m merely a figment of your imagination, yes? A stubborn thought that is lodged in your subconscious. Am I right?” you shifted a bit, knowing well what he was saying would lead to something else. Something that probably would flip everything on its head. “Well...who��s to say that I am?”

“I...I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t. But what I say might just jog your memory.” he then went on. “In your last X Reader, you spoke of multiple versions of the characters, such as Prime and...yes, even Megatron,” Starscream scoffed. “And how it would’ve been peculiar if they met. Then, one of your readers linked you to a page on the TFWiki.” Starscream then chuckled. “Quite an array of knowledge, I must say. Especially for a primitive species such as yourselves. Anyway, said page spoke of what is labeled as the Transformers Multiverse, which, if I may say, is an excuse for you all to toy with and shape us into what YOU want. But back on track, you did a small amount of research on that, then went on about your business.”

“...and what does this have to do with why you’re here?”

Starscream smirked. “Then, after some time, you went and read the entries of me from various series and incarnations. To get a better feel for what you were thinking of writing. What you wanted to write. Only, you never did.” You were about to speak again, but the seeker spoke again before you could. “There was one detail from my earliest incarnation that spoke of a ‘ghost’, an immortal spark that couldn’t be snuffed out. One that could travel through space and time.” He drew closer to the bars. “And then discovered a way to travel through dimensions. Wherein, I found out all about how so many humans have seen my reality behind a television screen.”

What was he talking about? What did any of what he said mean? It was then that it all clicked for you. Sparks were essentially the ‘soul’ of a Transformer, which Starscream’s was indestructible. You read that he made an appearance in Beast Wars, and had made cameos elsewhere. What was before you right now...mere feet away…” Are you.. “ you stammered. “Are you really…”

The Decepticon nodded. “Yes. Yes, I am, Y/N.”

You were left speechless. No. No, this...this was impossible. It...it couldn’t be him! It couldn’t be the REAL Starscream! He was a cartoon, no, a toy! A damn toy! A toy from the eighties that were made to be marketable to young boys (and the girls that were secretly into it) among several other toys that were made be marketable to young boys (and again, the girls that were secretly into it)! There was NO way he was in your mind right now! He wasn’t real! He wasn’t real! He wasn’t-

“You step out into the chilled air, wrapping your arms around yourself as you do.” the Decepticon suddenly began. “He’s there to pick you up. He’s there to pick you up. You’re both terrified and exhilarated, eager to start the night, but also to make it fly by just enough so nothing embarrassing would happen between the two of you.” your jaw dropped when you heard him say that. How did he- “Know that you recently read over your very first entry? The one that started it all?” he then ‘rolled’ his eyes. “The one that clearly displayed that you had little taste at first?”

Of course, you did! That was from your very first X Reader story! It told of Optimus Prime and you, a human, in a relationship. Odd start, you knew, especially given that Transformer x Human relations was sort of controversial, yet overall, it wasn’t a bad one. Still, the fact he knew that…” No.” you said aloud. “It can’t be.”

He smiled. “I am.”

You stepped back until you hit a wall. “S-Starscream.” you stuttered. “You’re him. You’re the...the real one.” he was quite satisfied with your reaction, you clearly flustered yet cautious at the same time. The sensation drove you mad. But then you remember, this was just a dream! You were just making up all this stuff! You were relieved by this revelation...yet at the same time, you were...curious. Just where would this go if you continued? “Well...well, what are you doing here? What do you want?”

“Exactly as I said before, I feel left out,” Starscream told you. “And considering my popularity in this universe, I’d think me being here should tell you something.”

You knew what he wanted. “You want me to write about you.” it was obvious. “I-I know. I mean, I’ve been wanting to. Really, I have. But...but I...I just…” you sighed. If you knew Starscream (and you had at least a decent enough faith you did), you knew that this could potentially earn you his anger. Yet, to your surprise, he didn’t try to order you around. Instead, he seemed like he already knew you were going to say that.

“You can’t,” he said for you. “Understand, I’m the one in YOUR mind. Thus, you could say, I know everything about you. A perk of being something that, in this universe, started out as a drawing on a piece of paper.” you were confused, this seemed to humor Starscream even more. “Oh, come now. Surely you know that concept art exists, right?”

All of this was so insane for you, yet it was then that you felt the urge to speak up and say something for yourself for once. “Well, if you’re here from the...well, YOUR universe, what are you doing here in the first place?”

“Why, this is one of the few places I win!” Starscream exclaimed. “Of course, when I first came here, I was quite perplexed about how I and many others were known as products from a company called ‘Hasbro’. But overtime, I discovered your version of the internet, and, well, as you flesh bags say, the rest is history.” he then continued, not giving you a chance to speak. “And bring that I am an idea in this universe, I can go freely as I wish, peering into minds,” his red eyes looked upon you. “Become one’s permanent muse or vice versa.”

God, you felt weird. You felt so confused and conflicted. You wanted to sink into the wall to get away, but you also wanted to know more about this. You had to know more. You needed to know more. “So…?”

“So, I’ve come to you, as you’re truly in need of some inspiration,” Starscream said. “As well as some changes in your thinking.”

“Like what? Worshiping the ground you walk on?” you ask, feeling a little bolder.

“Oh, you already do.” he said. “If you didn’t desire me, I wouldn’t be here.” he grinned at your shocked expression. “That’s right, Y/N, I know what truly holds you back from writing about me. Your fears, your anxieties, your loves and lusts.” you had no words. “You fear that you may get me wrong if you will. That I won’t be in character. Or you fear that you won’t be able to satisfy the wants of your readers, as I AM so highly anticipated. Or…” he leaned closer to the bars, the only barrier separating you two. “You fear exploring those more intimate pleasures with me. You’re intimidated and unsure. After all, writing for Autobots is easy, yet us Decepticons are more difficult. But it HAS awakened things in you that you wish to explore on either side. Things that you are dying to let out.”

You had no words, he was completely right. Damn him! The smug bastard knew he had you in the palm of his hand...and yet also probably knew that’s what made you so hot and bothered right now! “So...what? Are you here to force me to write those things with you in them?”

“Dear Y/N, I can’t technically make you do anything,” Starscream told you. “Oh yes, I can stay and torment you night after night until either I pass onto another universe or I grow bored of you, but my reason being here is for both our benefits.”

“How?”

“It’s quite simple,” he said. “We shall go through those scenarios in your head.” his ruby red optics bore into yours/your eyes. “Together.” he then reached out from in between the bars and traced a digit around your jawline. “Believe it or not, I want to help you, Y/N.” his voice was smooth and sultry, something you never expected from a voice like his. “But only you can allow me to do so.” he then stepped back from the bars. “This prison of mine is something you’ve constructed from your fears and insecurities. Allow yourself to embrace what you fear…” he then extended his hand again, yet stepped back as well, sinking into the darkness. “Only then, will you truly be free.”

You were at a standstill. You knew what he wanted, and, to your horror, you were wanting to give it to him. Deny it all you want, this was something that had been in your mind ever since you got the first request for the Seeker. You approached the bars, trying to get some sign that he was still there. Surely he hadn’t left you, had he? No, he hadn’t. He was still there, you could feel him. Watching, waiting, and perhaps, knowing what you would do before you did.

Yet would you do it? Would you bite into that forbidden fruit?

Some while after pondering this question, you looked at the cell, the energy bars vanishing. Why fight it when you could already taste the sweet tartness of said fruit in the back of your throat?

[signaturedish]

What was OP thinking when Harry asked him to rename him? And then his happy dancing? Bc tbh that was cute as hell and OP just—fritzing was also funny

Aww thanks, I had a lot of fun writing such an adorable scene!

Sorry about the wait, I got a weirdly intense influx of business. Idk why every third family in my area had to vacation right now.

I’m just gonna jump right into it, since I really did love that scene and would be happy to expand on it a little further.

At first he was completely shocked. He really thought it was gonna be Ratchet who named him if Harry was gonna pick a new name at all, so that came right out of nowhere. 

And then when Harry asks about shooting him down, some jaded part of Optimus wonders if Harry simply doesn’t want a new name and is using Optimus’ comparatively calmer presence to come to terms with that.

He was glad to provide security, it was his duty, but it would be unwise to hope for more.

As a Prime and then, later, as the Prime who banished the Allspark, he hadn’t ever thought he’d have the opportunity to name a sparkling. He hadn’t even considered it, the notion was so far past what he felt could he had the right to expect.

Still, on the off-chance Harry was being sincere, no matter how unlikely, he would give Harry the one and only name Prime would ever give another being.

He spent the entire night silent and apart from the others, contemplating all he knew of Harry. They hadn’t interacted directly very often, but Prime was always watching, always checking on the physical and spiritual wellbeing of their youngest charge.

It was a difficult decision.

What he’d seen, since their very first day at the base, was humbling. Harry was a gentle creature, naturally empathetic with a strong sense of justice. Genuinely good sparks like that were rare to the point of nonexistence now, an age of battle and death had tarnished even the most honorable of Autobots by the end. 

Besides that, how could Prime concisely summarise even a vague approximation of the hopes and wishes pinned on Harry at this very moment? The first child in a millennia, holder of the Allspark, alien-born, so much of him was new and stunningly bright in their darkest hour.

When Harry finally reconvenes with him the following morning, Prime awaits his decision. He’ll make his peace with whatever Harry decides, whether it be to ignore him completely, contemplate the matter further, or demand his answer as soon as they come to a halt out beyond the base.

It was then, when Harry did ask for a name, that he understood his own caution to be a complete lie. He hadn’t realized how much of himself he’d invested in this endeavor, how unfathomably precious this moment would be to him, until Harry peered up at him oh so shyly, and requested Prime’s designation.

This wasn’t a duty, Prime realized past the searing ache of his own spark expanding far past the limits of its casing, it was a gift in every meaning of the word. And he had been desperate to recieve it.

It was all he could do to croak out his heartfelt gratitude. Wonder was such a rare thing to feel, and yet Prime felt fit to bursting. He had inspired within the last sparkling enough trust and affection to allow him a lifelong connection, and he wasn’t terribly certain how to exist in a world wondrous enough for that to occur.

He can see it the moment Harry accepts, the flurry of coding burrowing it into the deepest recesses of Harry’s processors, overwriting and overruling until it is Silverline who looks back at him. 

And Prime...soaks it in. Like a flower towards the sun, he is enraptured. For once, he is not a Prime staring down at his charge, that is much too plain for what he’s feeling. Formalities and obligations withered and died in the intensity of his own vulnerability. Here, he is simply Optimus, watching over his child. 

Silverline warbles a simple thanks over his com, as if he hadn’t given him the greatest blessing Prime could dream of, as if Prime could part with any of his own gratitude and share it with the sparkling. He is helpless to communicate this, though. The appropriate words too grand and complicated to fit past the lump in his throat.

Silverline’s expressive optics shimmer with gentle care, his posture is open and utterly relaxed, and his charming little wings pluck and pull at his heartstrings with every swoop.

Optimus doesn’t dare reach out and interrupt the sparkling, he’s never had the privilege of being so close to Silverline without a pall snuffing out any of his natural light and he couldn’t bear to ruin this moment stumbling through affection. Silverline’s happiness was dazzling at it’s brightest, it was easy to see how his troops might become possessive over this feeling.

Then, the world melts.

A syrupy, honey-sweet haze slogs Optimus’ processors to a crawl. His spark skips. splutters, and dies right in his chest and Optimus can only watch as overheating warnings and system failures roll in.

Muddled and confused, Optimus waits for the burning fire in his fuel pump to ease and for death to take him.

Except, he doesn’t die? It feels like he should be dead by now, he has most certainly ceased functioning. But as one second, two seconds, fifteen seconds carries on without him, he remains trapped in place.

True awareness swam just before him, elusive, but close enough to that snippets of stimuli brushed him. It was overwhelming, a tidal wave of excruciating emotions, none of which were upsetting, but that only made them more confusing.

His feeble matrix buzzed and whirred with the effort to drag him to the forefront of himself, and he is forced to process the audio data first. It is a purring hum, low and easy. It is a single note that snatches him up by his very core and yanks him out of his daze.

It is an optimal status alert, and it is directed solely at him.

If there were air left in his vents, Optimus might’ve choked. He was left reeling, the burning in his fuel pump ticking higher and higher as what he understood that it must be elation scorching through him. Satisfaction, praise at its highest, acceptance at it’s deepest, a bot wasn’t built to withstand such a brutal onslaught of unrefined joy.

His visual data was processed next, unrelenting, and the sweet haze gumming up his processors doubled its efforts.

Silverline was killing him, Optimus was sure. It was the most deadly, precious attack he’d ever witnessed.

Silverline was dancing. His paper thin wings fluttering wide and trusting, his optics huge and bright and focused right on Optimus. His steps were spiraling, childish, shrouded in Optimus’ shadow as Silverline danced mere inches from him. The optimal status alert hikes higher in volume with each almost-brush of armor, and Optimus couldn’t have torn himself away for all the galaxy.

I trust you, Silverline said in so much more than words, I love you. Stay with me and love me too.

It was a moment of intimacy that would only feel like hello in hindsight. Like they were finally reaching each other, like a bond could be forged. Whatever struggles cluttered their path were at once, easily defeated so long as they stayed together.

Optimus drifted in the euphoria of that connection. In so fiercely loving and being loved in return that he was rooted in place like an insect in warm amber. He could’ve stayed like that for eons, or until Silverline did something else so unreasonably dear that he really did crash.

Thankfully, although he did not feel very charitably toward Bumblebee in that moment, the scout shattered his amber with a loud radio clip and ushered Silverline back to their human charges with a teasing whistle.

Creaking, aged and wizened beyond his admittedly formidable years, Prime straightens and tries to look less wrecked. From the aura of smugness permeating the air, he isn’t succeeding.

-Ventilate, Prime- Bumblebee eventually suggests, and it is only then that it occurs to him that he should do something about the overheating problem reaching critical temperatures in his systems.

He ventilates.

[stories-of-the-multiverse]

BOX - How much has your muse changed throughout their life? What sort of inner demons have they overcome?

BORAGE - How courageous is your muse in general? What limits do they have to their courage? Are there any situations that will give them more courage than they normally would have?

BROOM - How well do they take compliments?

BULRUSH - Is your muse an aggressive person? What situations might bring out more aggression in them than normal?

BUMBLEBEE ORCHID - Is your muse good at figuring out the inner workings of a machine if they take it apart?

BUTTERCUP - Does your muse come from a wealthy family? How wealthy is your muse on their own?

CABBAGE - Does your muse know how to turn a profit if given the opportunity?

CAMELLIA JAPONICA - What does your muse excel at, and are they aware of/proud of these skills?

CAMPANULA - What is your muse grateful for in life?

CANTERBURY BELLS - Who is your muse grateful for being in their life?

CARNATION - What sets your muse apart from their peers, in your opinion?

CELANDINE - What is your muse looking forward to? Alternately, what are some examples of events in your muse’s future that will bring them joy?

CHERRY BLOSSOM - Does your muse do well in school?

CHRYSANTHEMUM - Who considers your muse precious to them? Are they aware of how they feel?

( Flug and 505)

Box - How much has your muse changed throughout their life? What sort of inner demons have they overcome?

((Flug's gone through a lot of phases in his life, and they all culminated into the man he is today. Most of all being hired by Black Hat. It was... humbling. In the worst kinda way.

As for 5.0.5., he never really changed much. At most he'd gotten smarter and wiser, but other than that, he is still the sweet lil innocent baby he was when he was "born".

Borage - How courageous is your muse in general? What limits do they have to their courage? Are there any situations that will give them more courage than they normally would have?

((They are both very anxious and jumpy, although 5.0.5. moreso being jumpy, but he's still kind of a cub here, so cut him some slack-

Though, what gives them courage is to seeing those their care about being in danger, and/or in Flug's case, mistreated. Plane boi will literally throw down with you if you fuck with his loved ones. Or just outright throw himself in front of Black Hat if said boss is the one doing it. That too-))

Broom - How well do they take compliments?

((5.0.5. has pretty healthy self esteem all things considered, so he thanks you for the compliments and returns them to you if you compliment him.

Flug on the other hand has no self esteem and his reactions vary from prideful shect puffing and him being flustered and flattered. Either way, he will internally gush about being complimented forever. You know Doogo's reaction to being petted in Undertale? That's his brain when you compliment him-))

Bulrush - Is your muse an aggressive person? What situations might bring out more aggression in them than normal?

((Neither of them are very aggressive people, though again, if you fuck with his loved ones, Flug is quicker on resorting to violence. 5.0.5. does not have a violent bone in his body and solves his problems with hugs.))

Bumblebee Orchid - Is your muse good at figuring out the inner workings of a machine if they take it apart?

((Oh Flug absolutely is. 5.0.5. though, he's still learning from papa. He'll often watch Flug and lend a hand when directed.

I guaren-fucken-tee you one of these days, 5.0.5. is going to be a scientific genius that solves world hunger or something. Watch it happen I'm calling it now-))

Buttercup - Does your muse come from a wealthy family? How wealthy is your muse on their own?

((Flug is from a middle class family that leans a bit on the low side, but they managed pretty well financially. And by now by himself he's uh... worth a lot I'd say.

Meanwhile 5.0.5. is growing up in a damn mansion-))

Cabbage - Does your muse know how to turn a profit if given the opportunity?

((Flug is p savvy with finances and budgets, even more so doubling as Black Hat's personal assistant and secretary. So yeah, I'd say he's pretty good at that.

5.0.5.'s still learning, he's still a baby, so he knows dick all about businesses and how they work.))

Camellia Japonica - What does your muse excel at, and are they aware of/proud of these skills?

((Flug excels and most if not all fields of science he can get his hands on. Very much an academic. That's the only good thing about himself that he knows for sure.

5.0.5. is a good cook and good supporter, and he also knows that. He's the goodest of boys, and he's very self aware of that-))

Campanula - What is your muse grateful for in life?

((Flug is grateful for the little positive relationships he has in his life. 5.0.5. included. And 5.0.5. is grateful for his family.))

Canterbury Bells - Who is your muse grateful for being in their life?

((Look at the above-))

Carnation - What sets your muse apart from their peers, in your opinion?

((5.0.5. doesn't really have peers, but as for Flug, his chronic over achieving. Fed further by him craving approval from Black Hat.))

Celandine - What is your muse looking forward to? Alternately, what are some examples of events in your muse’s future that will bring them joy?

((Realistically, at this point Flug's future's a taaaad... bleak. And deep down he knows that. Like, he's been going down this downward spiral for years now that keeps resulting in humiliation and ridicule, and it's led him to getting trapped in a deal with an abusive boss, an all powerful ill defined entity at that, with no means of escape in sight.

5.0.5. however is a simple and very positive and happy boy, and he simply looks forward to what new experiences and "friends" the next day will bring.))

Cherry Blossom - Does your muse do well in school?

((Academically, yes, Flug did exceptionally well in school. Socially? Not so much. Which is why he homeschools 5.0.5. And yes, fluffy baby does well.))

Chrysanthemum - Who considers your muse precious to them? Are they aware of how they feel?

((They mutually treasue each other, and they are very much aware the other loves them too.))

[ilikebeesandflowers]

Finale? What finale?

That was just the Empty torturing a wayward gay angel... Here’s what really happened after Cas confessed his LOVE to Dean Winchester and was taken to Super Mega Hell...

Unedited, unproofread, unbeta’d- just pure, unadulterated, whiskey-and-rage-fueled fix-it fic. Ps, El Sol cerveza is the official beverage of fake-dream-worlds, and therefore the entire narrative of the finale is sus.

Love Lift Us Up (Where We Belong)

Cas slumbered, but fitfully. Oblivion plagued him with nightmares.

Some dreams replayed memories, even of memories that were not strictly his: one by one, everyone he loved torn apart at an atomic level, rent, poofed to dust. His sleeping self watched on a loop as Bobby, Charlie, Donna, nameless others fell, obliterated.

He saw Michael slay Lucifer, the foregone conclusion so many times delayed.

He saw Michael betray the Winchesters. But how? Why? Michael had changed, hadn’t he? Adam had changed him. Even asleep, Cas knew this to be true.

He watched Jack, his loving and beloved son, fulfilling the promise Kelly had known he held. Jack bringing peace to the world, restoring balance, returning all life on earth to its rightful places. Cas was certain that this dream was true. He felt Jack’s presence, unmistakable lightness and goodness and purity.

The Empty roiled violently, rippling the fabric of its realm.

The dreams changed again to nightmares.

Dean, alone. Sam, alone. Eileen, alone.

The hunters who had died were again whole and alive, walking the earth as if Chuck’s poisonous animosity had never snuffed them. And yet they were all isolated from one another. Oh, the younger children clung to their parents, but the parents drifted from one another.

Charlie, alone. Donna, alone. Claire, alone.

The loneliness of the hunters infected the denizens of the Empty, and the Empty smiled in its sleep.

Cas dreamed that he watched Dean dying, an ignominious death in a ramshackle barn. He felt a wave of revulsion, of jealousy, like he did in another barn, once upon a time, witnessing a kiss between Anna and Dean. What had he felt then, way back when, when feelings were still so new and frightening? Had he been in love then?

The scene repeated, again and again, a horrible parody of what should have been. A confession of love, two foreheads touching, hands held over Dean’s heart. The scene replayed a hundred, a thousand times, Cas viewing from the vantage of the beloved, but Cas never could see who received Dean’s love. He only knew it wasn’t him. He could only watch through someone else’s eyes, hearing and seeing and feeling with intense loathing what should have been his.

Then Dean was dead.

 The scene faded again. Cas saw Sam, living on, without Dean, without Jack, without Eileen, without hunters or hunting. In the space of a human heartbeat, he was married, raising a human child, a son. In another heartbeat, he was old, then dying, then greeting his brother in heaven.

He felt again a tug as if Jack were near. A faint glow.

Cas woke. Two amber eyes shone above him.

“Castiel,” said Jack, “something is wrong. I need your help.”

Cas scrambled to his feet. “The dreams? They were real?”

Jack couldn’t know what Cas had seen, and yet he shook his head and assured him that, no, those were the Empty playing tricks. “But reality is in danger. Heaven and Hell are out of balance. Heaven’s brightest are all here, when they should be up there. We’ll have to wake them.”

The Empty howled somewhere far off, something that sounded like, “Let me sleep!”

Jack stepped briskly in the inky blackness, tapping here and there, naming sleeping entities. “Hannah, you are needed. Duma, awaken. Gabriel. Michael. Raphael, your services are humbly requested.”

Soon, the din of awakened angels, archangels, seraphs, and reapers had summoned a furious cosmic entity of entropy and oblivion. “KEEP. IT. DOWN,” it hissed.

“And what will you do if we don’t?” Castiel asked, raising an eyebrow to the Empty, who stood before them in the guise of Meg Masters, circa 2009.

The Empty stamped its foot. “I took you in. You all died the death of immortals, a death that cannot be rewarded nor punished, but I took you in! And all I ask for is quiet!”

“But why?” Cas continued. “You despise us. Why do you trap us here?”

The Empty hesitated. “They dream,” it replied. “They dream, and so I dream.”

“We suffer nightmares of your making.”

“No-oo. The dreams are yours.”

“You enjoy the nightmares?”

“No.” The Empty faltered. “They wake me up. You stir, I stir; I must sleep!”

Jack spoke softly to the Empty. “Then expel them.”

“Expel them? What, just set them all free to commit chaos?”

“Just the dreamers.”

The Empty seemed to calculate the price of granting the nephilim’s wish. “That would be almost all of the angels and a number of powerful demons. They might return, clomping into my haven and disturbing my sleep.”

“No,” Castiel put in, his eyes lit with a wry smile. “If you expel them, they will be forever banned from your realm. They become subject to Purgatory, not Oblivion.”

Jack smiled at his father. “Exactly!” He turned again to the Empty. “So you’ll do it?” he asked brightly.

The Empty scowled. It nodded once, as if making a decision.

The world went white, then faded to reveal a sunny meadow. Roly-poly bumblebees flitted between fat heads of purple clover. A nest of chickadees chirped. Cicadas droned. A red kite soared above them, the string held by someone a long way off. Cas’ face softened, as if recalling a long-lost memory.

It hardened again as he sensed something amiss. “Jack,” he frowned, “the walls between the human heavens are failing.”

Jack nodded. “Yes, which is why we need more angelic energy. But watch.” He drew a small window in the air with his index finger. He pushed the cut-out, revealing an adjoining heaven belonging to a woman. Cas recognized her as the mother of the man with the kite. Her heaven contained a meadow: the same meadow that surrounded them, rather than the manicured lawn Cas knew from the man’s original heaven.

“They can co-exist,” he breathed.

“Yes. We can break these barriers and open Heaven. It doesn’t need to be a prison. We can fix it.” Jack grinned again, that same old smile he’d worn in life, when he learned the taste of nougat or the softness of a bunny rabbit.

The sight warmed Cas. The summer sky glowed just a bit brighter. “Tell me what to do, my son.”

***

For six days, as Heaven measures time, the angels, the archangels, and the nephilim worked. First, negotiating a truce with Hell and its imperious but righteous Queen, and then building a Heaven for all. On the seventh day, they rested from their labors. They gathered to watch the humans on earth for a little while. Almost no time had passed: the humans had had just enough time to recollect that they had watched their loved ones vanish; those unfamiliar with the supernatural had quickly forgotten the phenomenon, as well. The hunters in the warded hideout had had just enough time to embrace their newly un-vanished friends.

Sam was texting Eileen, only to remember that he still had her phone, abandoned on the sidewalk mid-text. He laughed at himself. “We have to drive to Eileen’s house.”

Dean lay hunched over the table, carving a word into the polished wood alongside the Winchester family initials. Thus far, it read, “CAST,” and he was just starting on the I. “Pack us up- I wanna finish this, but I can be ready in twenty.” They watched as he finished his tribute to Castiel. He put two fingers to his lips, then pressed the finger pads against the grooves.

Cas itched to know how Dean meant the gesture.

Dean hastily scratched the name “JACK” into the table, too. “You done good, kid,” he murmured, patting the letters as he might once have patted Jack on the shoulder.

The angels drifted back to their tasks. Cas stayed, watching his friends. His family. He followed their movements towards Eileen. He witnessed the tearful reunion.

Sam started sniffling long before Dean pulled up behind Eileen’s little red car. He stepped over the sidewalk, where he had first absorbed her death, and a sob escaped him. In a few strides of his long legs, he was at the door. His hand shook as he reached for the doorbell. The second phone in his pocket vibrated: her doorbell notification. How would she know that he was there? He clapped the knocker, stamped his feet.

The door opened. Eileen. A vision, a sight for even Cas’ sore eyes. Sam was overwhelmed. He croaked her name, and she was in his arms. Where she belonged.

Back at the curb, Dean turned his face from the lovers. He fiddled with his phone, but who could he call?

Cas heard Dean think his name. He felt a pang of longing, but it wasn’t his own. Or rather, it matched his own. Echoed his, merged with his, swelling the aching feeling until he felt full to bursting with yearning for something he thought he could never have. Had thought he couldn’t have. Now, he wondered.

He called to his son.

Jack appeared beside him. He followed Cas’ gaze. “It’s time for you to return to him,” he mused.

“Yes, but,” Cas tripped over the words he wanted to say and couldn’t bear to say.

Fortunately, Jack understood. Without another word, he took Cas’ face in his hands. For a moment, their eyes glowed brightly, then Castiel’s dimmed to their customary shade of blue. When Jack’s golden aura had faded as well, he pulled away from Cas. He glanced down at the slim vial now slung around his neck by a black cord. The substance within sparkled, swirled, its hue a dazzling, electric blue-white. It looked like lightning in a bottle.

Cas swept his son into a crushing embrace. “Thank you,” he wept.

“You can always come home,” Jack told him.

Cas pulled back. “No. Where I’m going is home.” He smiled through the tears rushing down his cheek. “Goodbye, Jack. I love you.”

He rather felt than heard Jack’s reply, as he crossed from the celestial plane to the mortal realm. He stood now on that same sidewalk. Far to his right, Sam lifted Eileen, carrying her bridal-style into her home, letting the door slam behind them. To his left, a long black car. He gripped the passenger door handle, pulled it open. The hinges squeaked. He folded himself inside before turning to the driver.

Dean looked every bit as awed as Cas felt. This was right.

Before he could say anything, even so much as a simple “Hello, Dean,” he found himself in Dean’s arms. Where he belonged.

[khazdorum-stonesplitter]

Kintsugi

Khazdorum went about his business in the Light-blasted Ember Ward, giving succor where he could, and peace where he could not. He was thankful for the work. Work kept his mind from fretting. He’d finally started to feel optimistic about things. He’d met an exceedingly nice and kind apprentice priestess, a Pandaren named Som’awa, who’d swiftly become another welcome ray of sunshine in his existence and the primary reason to tarry in Stormwind’s Mage Quarter. 

He’d asked why she was sitting atop a lamp post, and that had led to a lovely conversation, and he parted with the knowledge that she genuinely liked him. He was still surprised to discover that people actually liked him, but his recovery speed had greatly improved. Where even a year ago he’d have spent long hours questioning each new friend as to the veracity of their friendliness towards him, now he simply accepted it as true once the shock wore off. He’d visited her several times after that, and each time saw him even more enamored of the lass. She’d even appointed him among her “Bestest” friends.

Khazdorum would find other words to convey his meaning if asked, but privately he considered Som’awa worthy of adoration; something he’d only felt of one other person before- and there were similarities between them both blatant and subtle. She smiled all the time, and giggled innocent amusement at the world without restraint. She was humble about her fledgling abilities with the Light, yet had more than few surprises of her own. Khazdorum found every moment spent with her to be enjoyable and fulfilling. Then he’d found out about her blackouts. Something that the world-innocent Som’awa hadn’t considered important or dangerous. Something the chronic and incompletely-reformed worrier Khazdorum had stressed was not normal and should be seen to. He’d wanted to accompany her when she’d left to speak to her teacher about them, to be by her side. To know she was safe. He’d been informed, however, that she was allowed no companions when she visited her teacher, especially non-priests. So he’d watched her leave, his cheer fully crumbling to ash before he’d gone to find his friends.

He’d tried to keep his thoughts positive, his countenance bright as he’d watched Tyra field-strip the steam tank’s turret mechanisms and rant at the mechanics for their shoddy work. He’d tried to keep the worry and mounting fear from his eyes as they all stood in the Canals. Tried. Khazdorum had many sterling qualities. Bravery. Kindness. Empathy. Loyalty. Subterfuge was simply not one of them.

 The most significant tell was perhaps the way he repeatedly glanced at the communications display on his arcaneotech gauntlet, hoping to see an incoming call from Som’awa. The next was the fact he kept reaching up to the jade bumblebee hanging from its chain around his neck. In one of his conversations with Mun-Li, she’d reminded him of the Pandaren practice of repairing broken things with precious materials, restoring the item to wholeness with a beauty unique to itself. She’d gifted him the pendant to remind him that he was “still mending.”

Whichever it was, he’d told Tyra and Mun-Li what worried him so. They’d both been firm that she would be fine, that Som’awa would be okay. Mun-Li had gone further to tell him that he was allowed to worry, just not to let worry consume him. He’d taken the encouragement and stood firm.

Long hours had passed, by his reckoning. He’d run out of tasks for the day, and as he sat down on the edge of Sinfall’s parapet he felt his thoughts creeping back to the front of his mind to harry him. He gently touched the jade around his neck, reminding himself that he was mending, that he was allowing the holes in him to be filled with friendship, with... perhaps love? Certainly affection. Either was welcome as far as he was concerned. A small chime sounded from his gauntlet, drawing his eyes to it immediately. His heart leapt. Som’awa.

He’d almost scrambled to answer her, an alloy of relief and tension forged in his heart at the sound of her voice. A few moments more, and the tension fled him in its entirety. 

She was okay. She was going to be okay. 

It was a good thing, he thought as he conjured a portal to Stormwind, that he did not mind saying “thank you” or hearing “I told you so.” Titans knew he’d be experiencing both, and gladly, for the rest of his life.

@sailor-munli @tyra-greydawn

[araingirl]

That’s how they met

“Ding!"

The silver bells rang for the first time after the veneration of the destruction, for the worship of the celebration. Joss-sticks started emanating aromatic smokes, dipped inside the clay pots. The priests flapped the horsehair fly whisks in front of the holy idol. Lamps kindled, flowers discharged the fragrance and ribbons swayed. Sitting in diamond pose, the chocolate-haired girl drummed the strings of the koto. Melodious jingles of hundreds of untold words sprang from the speechless instrument. The priests chorused:

If you are searching for your lover,

Lose yourself, oh crazy, before everything is over.

If you are searching for your lover,

Lose yourself, oh crazy, before everything is over.

The coco-haired princess opened her mouth. The streams of one thousand cataracts originated from her vocal cord, defeating the tunes of the harp-like instrument. Everybody closed their eyes.

The ways to your abode, oh my lord,

Are just the tales of love,

They're just the legends of romance,

The words of River Fuji.

I recite those words, again and again,

It's nothing but your mercy...

Completing his bath, the slate-haired young man was returning to the temple yard. Suddenly, the magical world composed by a feminine tone chimed inside his ears, overthrowing the chirpings of the birds and the whisperings of the airstream. He felt as if someone had poured cold water inside his veins. Flurries fought against the wetness of his smoky bangs and made them blow. Spellbound, the prince started progressing to the temple. He entered the sanctuary building from the right side. Sitting down on the agate ground, he folded one of his knees and kept another laying horizontally. Propping his head against a flower-wrapped column, he drowned to the river of tunes.

The owner of the honeyed tone continued:

Coming to your reverence, the world is still,

But I'm weightless, because your wishes are guarding me.

But where there is no wish, the life is a desert.

Yet, desert is a flower to me,

As I've lost myself, I've lost myself...

No, the owner of the anonymous songs! You haven't lost yourself. It's I who...who have got lost completely. Your voice is divine; it is the constant truth of the world. I...I can portray you by your tone. I...I cannot see you but paint an image of you on the canvas of my heart. The image is like a starry night; it is embracing me but I cannot hug it back.

Oh tunes! The tunes springing from an unknown voice! You've claimed the seat of my familiarities without being familiar. How perfect you are! You've blossomed like a flower on my arid heart of restlessness...but how strange! You didn't let the waterless land tremble a bit. You didn't melt it, just left it flowered.

The final tune escaped from the instrument as the guy opened his eyes. Not waiting there for a single moment, he descended the stairs. The chocolate-haired girl looked back, noticing the white scarf swaying in the airstream. Her heart skipped a beat, thunderbolts entered her spine. Jolted, she stood up. Leaving her cousins and relatives, she ran downstairs with her lithe feet. Stretching her left arm, she yelled:

"Wait!"

The lord of love became satisfied with her. He turned to her, accepting her wish. Then...

Everything came to a standstill. Wind stopped blowing, birds ceased singing. Flowers looked at them, baffled. His amethysts imprisoned her rubies in their prison without touching them. Both the guard and the prisoner got lost in each other. He appeared from the flowery vines just like the moon, removing all the clouds of the nightly sky.

She gazed at him. The eyelashes of her didn't touch her cheeks. Who was standing in front of her? His hair was two-toned, just representing the skies of sunshine and rainclouds...no no, the skies of days and nights. His face was bright...what? The moon beneath the clouds? The orbs...they were just like purple lotuses growing in any translucent pond, floating under the twin racy icy-blue bows, the thick peaks rising a bit in surprise and slim corners dissolving with the fairness of his skin. Did the surface of moon have ponds? If it had and lotuses grew there, it wouldn't be less similar to the face of the Russian. His scarf was still dancing, winking at her with its invisible eyes. Droplets of the water of river Fuji were still trickling down from his bangs. Broad round shoulders bore the invisible weight of his valor, blue-veined throat had the white twirling scarf at its bottom, keeping the slightly curvy Adam's apple over it. Though it was a sunny day, the brunette felt as if it had been raining in front of her. Even in the rain, the appealing moon was there. There was so much peace on his face that it could even cool the fire. Obvious it was because the one who had to handle the fire always had to remain cool.

Flashback:

A forest. To be clearer, a lane inside a forest. Trees and bushes were by both sides of it, getting mixed with the daylight, embodying an unparalleled combination of light and shadow. In the narrow lane, there was a white horse. On it, a man was sitting, looking back. His hair was two-toned, just like the clouds before rain. His complexion was reminding them about the mixture of milk and turmeric paste. Beneath his fixed eyebrows, there were his eyes, looking like abloom lotuses floating on the surface of a clear pond. He was wearing a pair of comfy baggy trousers, tucked inside his boots and a full-sleeved black top, with purple and grey linings. The upper garment wasn't loose at all, clearly exposing his biceps, triceps and broad shoulders. The white scarf wrapped around his neck was seeming to blow.

Every stroke, every line, every touch of the brushes and colors in the picture was more than perfect. That was ethereal.

Flash forward:

Before her eyes, the creepy jungle of her dream appeared. But it wasn't eerie anymore. The savior was standing there, facing her. It wasn't a dream. It was more than that. It was reality. That was ethereal, so was it.

The moon should have smiled at her. But...why was it seeming baffled?

Perhaps, she didn't know that his amethyst orbs were fulfilling their thirst, quenching the elixir showered by her rubies. The temple, the garden, the instruments-everything disappeared. He found himself in the same jungle where he had roamed in his dreams before twelve years. Her feet were playing tabors there. Her chocolate tresses were playing hide and seek with the air. Her hair was tied into a loose bun. She was wearing a yellow kimono painted with magenta andrika symbols, supported by a broad magenta belt which created a bow behind her back. A pair of kite-shaped fuchsia earrings were dangling from her earlobes, rimmed with gold. Azaleas and golden daisies were tucked inside her hair, over her right ear.

He had seen her before. In the dawns of the late autumn, in the ingratiating nights of the spring.

Flashback:

He was running. His fair feet were smiting the surface of mother earth recklessly. But he couldn't catch her. He was sweating and wheezing. His lungs were craving for oxygen. But he didn't stop. He couldn't stand and rest for a sole second. In front of him, she was also running. But she wasn't panting. She wasn't exhausted. The echoes of her laughter were like the aftershocks of ever-flowing cataracts, rolling down from the crests of high, higher and highest mountains of the world. With her every step on the ground, green grasses were growing. Little but colorful flowers were being upstretched and peeking at the sky. With her slight touch, a leafless tree started growing green leaves. Birds sat on it and began to tweet.

"Wait!" He yelled, "Stop!"

As she heard him, she stopped and turned back at his figurine. Seeing her standing, he also quitted running and stood motionlessly. Her chocolate-colored hair was touching her waist. In the tempo of ever-dancing squall, her auburn locks were also boogying. A pair of irreplaceable rubies were observing him very carefully, situated at the sockets of her eyes. The complexion of her skin reminded the slate-haired boy of the mixture of milk and honey. The rays of sunshine fell on her skin and the succession of those protoderm cells shimmered like solitaires.

He couldn't utter a single word. He silently kept watching her without closing his eyes for once. Every single hair on his body got straightened. He felt warm despite standing on the veneer of his own motherland. In front of her sharp scrutiny, he couldn't stand anymore.

Flash forward:

They both felt like the trees whose roots went deep inside the soil. That's why, they couldn't move, nor their orbs. Eyes felt contented getting the treasury of eyes. From the magical streets of their visions, they found each other's ways towards the spiritual realms of each other's hearts. The color of blood started spreading across their cheeks. Getting the hint, again the birds started singing, flying around them. Flowers bloomed and leaves danced. Bumblebees played their flutes. Nature borrowed the color of love...

"Princess!"

Hearing the familiar masculine voice, the chocolate-haired girl gasped, struggling to emerge from the imaginary world. Her vision met the red-haired Russian who was standing behind his cousin. Startled, the dual-haired prince also turned back.

"Greetings, princess..." He spoke, "Can you recognize me? We met in the refugee camp of sage Dickenson, remember?"

Smiling, the brunette nodded. The redhead continued, "You were willing to meet my cousin. Well, he's my cousin, Kai Alexander Hiwatari. He banned the culture of sacrificing the childless widows in Russia, killed Katherine as well as her force and freed lady Kincaid from the spells of Boris Balkov. Kai, she's Hilary Tachibana, the princess of Japan. She's the one for whom the dwellers of the camp were so calm and relaxed. We used to eat the delicious foods cooked by her."

Like a humble vine, the brunette bowed. Slowly bending down a bit, the phoenix-prince took her right hand and placed a tender kiss on its back, reddening her more. The redhead rolled his eyes at that.

Except his mother and mother-like figures, for the first time, he had lowered his head before a lady.

"Returning from the camp..." Hilary started, "I was feeling worried."

Kai flinched inaudibly. Was he hearing the truth? Had someone been really worrying for him?

"Hilary didn't enjoy a single wink of sleep at that night, prince Hiwatari," Someone's voice could be heard, "Only after getting the news of your victory, she sighed in relief."

Both the boys and the girl looked back. There was the dual-haired princess of Spain standing with a bright smile all over her face.

"Greetings, the princes of Russia," She spoke, bowing, "I'm Julia Fernandez, the princess of Spain and the maternal cousin of Hilary."

"Greetings, princess Fernandez," The redhead glanced at her, "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, prince..."

"Valkov." Tala finished, "My name is Tala Valkov."

Julia looked at the redhead, narrowing her eyes. How red his hair was! Did someone put fire on his head?

"I mean... I was getting worried for everyone," The brunette cleared her throat, flushing, "But when I got to know the news of Katherine's death, I felt relieved. Thank you so much for saving my motherland, prince."

"The pleasure is mine," Kai responded, "The victory of truth is inevitable, princess."

"I know..." The Japanese princess nodded, "Specially when the representatives of truth are fearless and skilled."

The tiny praise sprinkled vermillion on the moon-like face of the slate-haired prince. Smirking, he lowered his gazes. His amethysts roamed over her lily feet. Her nails were shot and pink, pouring cold water in his eyes.

"Anyways," Tala interrupted, "Kai, I came here with a view to informing you that His Majesty of Hayashi Tachibana has called sage Dickenson to his place. Sir Dickenson has decided to take us with him. So, let's go. See you, princess."

"See you too, prince." Hilary smiled. Leering back, the redhead almost dragged his cousin towards the palace. Before leaving, the phoenix-prince didn't forget to look at the chocolate-haired girl. Blushingly, the auburn-haired princess moved back to the temple.

.....................................................................

One of the most magnificent KaiXHilary moments from my KaiHil story “Kingdom”. Don’t forget to read and review it :P 

[milagrosen]

the lack of ko post-tfp is disturbing. imagine how rid15 would have been w him in bee's team. watching sideswipe amd longarm act like primary school drama queens, not leaving bee alone( n e v e r ) and generally being an actual medic to bee's team. bonus points for salty starscream seeing ko as an autobot

Trust me, the lack of Knock Out has not been unnoticed and it frustrates me.A little rant up ahead.

Like after TFP, out of all the Autobots there's two who had the best set-up for continuing the story. The other is Bee and he got that, OP left him in charge and Bee took the charge and he's learning to be such a great leader even equivalent of a Prime by OP's own words (but that's another rant)The other Bot was Knock Out. He left the cons to dust, joined the Bots, helped to save the day and stood there being called a hero and he was even humble about it. Like is that not the best new start to continue his story? As an Autobot hero? How amazing it'd have been to see him grow, wanting to make his wrongs right and make good friends!And i’ll keep saying this but: Bumblebee was the first bot to trust Knock Out, possibly even the first person to trust KO in a long long time. They were hitting it off as soon as Bee realized hey KO actually is for reals. You can see it in Predacons Rising, they bicker at the start and at the end stand next to each other promising to keep the peace. With Bee and KO it'd be about progressive construction of trust and respect through kind gestures.So wouldn't it make sense to have the two bots with best set-ups for continuing story and already blossoming relationship, to be in the next show? Like imagine what rid15 would have been with Knock Out. Like you say, KO eyerolling Strongarm and Sideswipe's arguing, being the team's actual medic essentially Bee's medic, going on missions which KO would've liked cause he would have seen more of Earth. And he wouldn't need to fight if he didn't want to cause Bee has his back, it'd have been so ideal. We would have seen more of Knock Out like we saw more of Bee.I'd have watched an episode where the rest of the team thinks they can handle it and Bee and KO just go to the movies knowing well that they can't handle it and they'd come back and clean the mess.And if i may be bold and say: if Knock Out had been in RiD15 it'd have gotten lot more viewers.Like how amazing it'd have been to see a Starscream VS. Bee & Knock Out 2.0? It was Starscream who KO literally threw on the floor to save Bee and now he stands there as a Bot, next to Bee, finally standing up to SS telling him off after years of realizing how awful SS is. That would have been so great and show so much character growth.I'll give RiD15 though how they used his alt mode in the background cars because that did feel like a nod to the love for Knock Out. And we get to see his photo with the other Autobots so at least the bare minimum.Look i want Knock Out back, he's like my other favourite TF. He's fun and interesting and he has so much potential. But i want him back with the respect and love he deserves.I don't want him to be comic, yes KO is funny and sometimes dorky, that's who he is but i don't want him to be the comic relief. I don't want him back just so you can say he's there. I don't want him back as part of a group or trio or whatever where he's just part of it. I want Knock Out back as a stand alone character as much as Bee, OP, Soundwave, any of them are. Because and i continue stand behind this: Knock Out has the potential and already set traits to be a star. He's already so loved by us. He stands out in his overall being. His story is good and already has much in it that i'm not even going into here that could be explored. It's just silly to me how he's not taken seriously.I think when i say for myself and many others that i think that Knock Out was pretty much meant to have a spotlight and he should have it once again.

[rwbyvein]

Bumblebee: Bird Watching

Bumblebee: Bird Watching

Yang walked into the bar, slowly followed by Blake. Yang moved to the bar while Blake found a table that was out of sight. Yang looked over at her before the bartender got to her. Looked over while the bartender was pouring their drinks, and looked over once last time before weaving her way through the crowd. She reached the table and snuggled in with Blake. She kissed Blake on the lips. She then held Blake's drink up to her lips, and Blake took a sip. Yang then took a sip of her own.

Yang: Nice to get away.

Blake: *affirmative groan*

Yang: Can't believe I actually got you away from your book.

Blake: *rolls her eyes*

Blake: *kisses Yang on her cheek*

Blake: I still love spending time with you.

Yang: *pulls Blake in for a powerful kiss*

Yang: *once again holds up Blake's drink to her lips*

Blake: *takes a sip of her drink*

Yang: *gives her a quick peck on her lips*

Blake: I'm just not fond of crowds...

Yang: *squeezes Blake*

Yang (whispering): I know.

Yang (whispering): Unless you're the one leading them.

Blake: *contented moan*

Yang: It's been some time since you've done that.

Blake: *rolls her eyes*

Blake: Faunus have rights now. The kingdoms have accepted us. Discrimination is illegal. So long as the kingdoms follow their own laws, there's no need for me to protest again.

Yang: *takes a deep drink*

Yang (whispering): Do you miss it?

Blake (quietly): Honestly, I don't know... I don't remember... I never really thought about it...

Yang (quietly): What does that mean?

Blake (quietly): I... needed to do it... and did... When the crowd is working with you... it's part of you... It's when you stop that the crowds get crowded...

Yang (whispers into her ear): Good one.

Blake: *nods to her drink*

Yang: *picks up Blake's drink and lifts it up to her mouth*

Blake: *takes a sip*

Blake: Mmm. Any day of the week, I'd rather be a in dark hole like this, watching the world with you. See anything you like?

Yang: You obviously.

Blake: *rolls her eyes*

Blake: I've got you, and know you aren't going to leave... I just want to know if you see anyone you fancy?

Yang: Ever since I got comfortable with you, they are nothing more than eye candy.

Blake: So, you see any eye candy?

Yang: A few lovely birds here.

Blake: You always did love bird watching.

Yang: *quiet snicker*

Yang (whispering): You never seem to have a problem joining me.

Blake: Mmm. As long as I have my little dark hole to share with you.

Yang: *repeatedly kisses Blake on her cheek and the side of her neck*

Yang: *brings Blake's drink up to her lips*

Blake: *takes a sip*

Yang: *gives Blake a deep, passionate kiss*

Yang: *smushes her face up alongside Blake's*

Yang: So, how about you?

Blake: Oh, a few. Like that redhead. Kind of reminds me of someone we used to know...

Yang: Now that you point it out, damn, I mean, yeah...

Blake and Yang: *quietly stare out from their little dark hole*

The pulse of the music stoked them with energy, as did the girls on the dance floor. First Yang's head started moving with the music, and then Blake's.

Yang: *gave Blake a last sip of her drink*

Yang: *finished off her own drink*

Yang: *stood up and pulled Blake to the dance floor*

Blake: *let's herself get pulled along*

Blake: *gets pulled into Yang's arms and starts moving with her*

To and fro the pair moved to the music, building up energy with every movement.

* * *

The two stumbled out of the bar.

Yang: I'm going to do it.

Blake: Do what?

Yang: *picks up Blake like a princess*

Blake: *scoffs*

Yang: Sound like Weiss, I'll carry you like Weiss.

Blake: I am not some delicate Atlasian princess.

Yang: But you're still a princess.

Yang: *dips Blake and kisses her deeply*

Yang: *stumbles as she nearly drops her*

Blake: *clings tightly to Yang's neck*

Blake: Smoothe.

Yang: Just kiss...

Blake: *kisses Yang*

Yang: Still carrying you like the precious you are.

Blake: If I'm a princess, what are you?

Yang: I'm just a rube from Patch...

Blake: Or, humble hero. You gave up the quiet life to go on a hero's journey.

Yang: You are such a delicate prissycess.

Blake: And you are my valiant hero. You did defeat the evil prince trying to lock me in the tower.

Yang: So, what, I'm like a princess-charming?

Blake: Definitely my dashing hero. And now is a time to offer my dashing heroine her reward.

Yang: Shit, I guess I've got to get you to our hotel.

Blake: If you could. If you would.

* * *

The two nude bodies started moving in the bed.

Blake: Aww... headache... Get me coffee...

Yang: Too bad the Weiss queen isn't here to make it for us.

Blake: *snuggles up to Yang and kisses her on the cheek*

Yang: Yeah-yeah.

Yang: *stumbles out of her bed*

Yang: Do we even have a coffee maker?

Blake: *groans*

Blake: Dying... your pretty prissy princess is dying...

Yang: Maybe... the lobby... but then I would have to get dressed... Wait, that's it! Coffee maker!

Blake: My hero.

* * *

Blake and Yang sat on a couch with a sheet wrapped around them.

Blake: Sweet, wonderful potation.

Yang: *drinks her coffee*

Yang: *satisfied sigh*

Blake: I love you.

Yang: *giggles*

Yang: Every day with you is a new adventure.

[xplrerdolan]

74 for the ask game! if you wouldn’t mind writing about multiple friends? i think they way you write is so good!

you are SO FRICKEN SWEET thank you so much for asking this bubs, the compliment means everything to me 🥺

74. describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns.

a. their hair, shoulder length now, is effortlessly shiny and never out of place. the skin they’ve committed to is glowing, and their facial hair is neatly trimmed, adding to the sculpted, angular appearance of their jaw. their eyes, heavy-lidded and situated evenly beneath two thick, groomed brows, capture your own in the grips of a double take. the brown in them is misleading; look closer. there: green, flickering through the umber like sunlight between trees in an ambient forest. their lips need not pucker to seek a kiss. their voice, though bassy, is delicate, almost curved. the truest of their laughs is accompanied by a swaying of the body and subsequent flicking of the hair. their mind, sharp and clear like a quartz, is decisive; it is often jumbled, but untrained, unwelcomed eyes would never notice. beneath the calm is a storm whose lightning is overwroght and whose thunder is besetting. they demand their time goes unwasted.

b. the first thing you’ll notice is their smile. if you can be so lucky, it might be accompanied by a laugh. the smile, characterized by rounded teeth and framed by cursive lips, is incurably contagious. the laugh, though varied in size (big, small, etc.), is always genuine. their eyes are the shape of almonds and the color of roasted chestnuts; their lashes frame them like petals. above them, their eyebrows are a source of envy. their hair falls over their frame like a blanket of curls. it is bouncy and full of life. it is often adorned with elaborate clips, and sometimes it’s pulled back by a decorative scrunchie. all of this beauty radiates from below their sepia skin, it is the source of their powerful smile: sunlight. indeed, they have a soul that the gods crafted from a singular ray, an ember that burns bright enough to fill the darkness in any space. sure, sometimes they are dulled by cloudy days. but their beaming sunlight will always prevail, and anyone who basks in it is forever grateful.

c. they are such an unattainable beauty. read this carefully: they do not have unattainable beauty (though they are quite stunning, a child of venus without a doubt), they are unattainable beauty. they are coveted, and therefore, they are envied. many will try to experience them, but most of them will succumb to insecurity and end up losing them more quickly than they found them. the few who prove to be worthy will be greatly rewarded; they get past the thorns and are treated with soft, sweet petals. should you find yourself lucky enough to be a bumblebee among their petals, you will soon realize you are thus protected by their thorns. this is what makes them unattainable—only a rare few get to experience such beauty. so when in the presence of their lion’s mane hair, their smiley brown eyes, their full-lipped gift of a smile, make sure to value every second they spend with you. be humbled by their decision to love you; you could only be so fortunate.

d. there are ballads and epics written about them, i’m sure of it. they are not the hero, no—far from it. they are much greater than a mere hero. beneath their defined, delicately down-turned nose is the proof. within that charmingly crooked smile resides a trickster god, one who walks among mortals purely for the fun of it. should there be any doubt cast upon this claim, i will offer my strongest evidence: look at the corners of their mouth. watch the way their most sincere smile still taunts you. the merely aquatinted will fall victim to their powers the most: you may believe they know less. that’s where they want you, and that’s where they’ll leave you. foolish mortals would believe this person is void of cynicism, they would never suspect the divine being which breathes beneath their silky skin. i am apt to believe (perhaps displaying my own foolishness) i may be the only mortal who knows of the spirit within them. what i have done to deserve this ancient companion, i will never know, but i will thank their divine brothers and sisters for them every day.

[hookaroo]

Vocivore, Ltd. (46 of 46)

Also on FFN and AO3 (ListerofTardis)

Tagging @ouatwinterwhump​, @killian-whump​, @sancocnutclub​, @killianjonesownsmyheart1​, @courtorderedcake​, @facesiousbutton82​ <3

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH I CAN’T BELIEVE WE’RE AT THE END!!!!!!

Special thanks again to @sherlockianwhovian​ for organizing the event that started it all :)

A million thanks to @cocohook38​ for the incredible art that I will never ever recover from! LET’S ALL TAKE ANOTHER LOOK AT PERFECTION!!! 

COVER ART 1 ~~~ COVER ART 2 ~~~ CHAPTER 1 ~~~ CHAPTER 7 ~~~ CHAPTER 12 (ART) ~~~ CHAPTER 12 (ANIMATION) ~~~ CHAPTER 19 ~~~ CHAPTER 34 ~~~ CHAPTER 36 ~~~ @sancocnutclub​ WE ARE SO BLESSED BY YOU!!!!!!!!! (**APPLAUSE AND FLOWERS AT YOUR FEET**)

Thanks to everyone who stuck with it to the end and left such amazing and supportive comments!!! I love you all!

I have an idea or two for new stories, but it will be a while before anything is near ready for sharing. In the meantime, may I humbly direct you to my previous works on FFN? 

“Or Sleep with the Fishes,” “They Never Bury Your Bones,” and “A Captain’s Heart” are all whumpy multichapter tales which I may someday also post to AO3. They can be read in any order but the latter two make small references to their predecessors so may as well read in date order.

Also @killian-whump has a wonderful collection of fics (and art!) by other amazing creators of whump so do check all of them out as well!!

________________________________________________________________

One month later…

Emma took her eyes off of the road for a brief moment to glance over at Killian, who was currently reclined in the passenger seat of the Bug. Just as she had suspected: fast asleep. She let him be, knowing that with the rough road coming up, his nap would not last much longer.

He had only been released from the hospital two days ago, Whale having declared that further recuperation could be managed on an outpatient basis, as long as he remained on bed rest and followed the prescribed regimen of medications to support his physical and mental well-being. Uncharacteristically, Killian was submitting to all of it without complaint, even though the drugs battling the brain deterioration, in particular, left him feeling wiped out and frequently sick. He had hardly been out of bed beyond scheduled short trips down the hall to stretch leg muscles and a stiff ankle, to prevent blood clots, and build strength in his recovering lungs. Apart from that, he had mostly been sleeping, although he never turned away the opportunity to have Hope nearby. Even when she was there against her mother's wishes. Killian would fix her with a tired smile, hold out a brace-encased hand, and invite her onto the bed next to him. Oreo-Eeyore usually joined them and, more than once, was left behind to keep Killian company after Hope had scampered away.

Today, Hope was attending a half-day Kiddie Cruise hosted by Captain Smee; the first two had been so popular that the Wish Realm captain of the Jolly Roger had been talked into arranging some shorter sailing excursions without the dire motivation behind it. Emma knew that Killian would have liked to attend as well, had he been a bit stronger, but they both trusted Smee and his crew, and Hope’s Auntie Alice was specifically in charge of the three-year-old this time. 

Of course, there was still a small part of both of them loathe to let her out of their sight for any length of time. Emma was getting better about it; Killian still had major difficulty, as his perverse images of her tortured little body were quick to resurface when he didn't have her physically present to counteract them. But they couldn't be near her all the time, and their errand today was not an appropriate one to include a toddler in.

Just as anticipated, as the pavement gave way to mud and potholes, Killian’s breathing indicated his return to wakefulness. He did not stir or even open his eyes, but Emma saw the telltale signs of pain and tension in the way he held himself and the very controlled manner with which he drew breath.

“You okay?” she asked quietly. “We can still turn back; you don't have to do this.”

Killian merely tightened his jaw and nodded once. And really, she had not expected anything different, but she’d had to try. 

*****

There had been much speculation over the origin of the ruined village which had become the Vocivore’s base of operations. Emma’s personal opinion was that it looked like a long-dead World War II village, and being within the borders of the Land of Untold Stories, it was likely the setting of some sort of war romance or similar BS. The bigger mystery was the origin of the monster itself, and how it had come to reside in the United Realms. She was convinced that they would never find a satisfactory explanation of that question.

Thanks to knowledge gleaned from three weeks’ worth of Exchanges, both Killian and Emma knew that they wouldn't find another Vocivore lurking anywhere nearby, and that it hadn't... laid eggs or whatever. But that possibility would have been a mere fraction of the rationale behind the village’s eventual condemnation, anyway. None of the buildings were structurally sound, and only a few could have been considered salvageable if someone had the motivation. No one did, of course. Suffering leached into every wall, broken window, and rotting ceiling, like blood stains that could never be scrubbed away. So they would be demolished, the materials repurposed when possible, and the land converted somehow; those details had yet to be determined. But today was day one of the destruction. And the church would be the first building to fall.

Killian shifted in his seat, and though his eyes were still closed, Emma could tell by the quickening of his breaths that he sensed their impending arrival.

She had almost decided not to tell him, fearing that it would upset him too much to think about that place, even in the knowledge of its demolition. But an impulse had caused her to murmur the information in a casual, gentle way the night before he'd been discharged from the hospital. He hadn't said much at first; Emma had thought that maybe her initial instinct was correct and he didn't want to even think about it. But then, later, out of the blue and in a tremulous but determined voice, he had surprised her by saying that he wanted to watch. Once out of earshot, she had discussed the idea with Dr. Whale and Dr. Hopper, who had both given a cautious green light, thinking it could serve as therapeutic. But both men had also warned that revisiting the site of so much trauma could be more than Killian could handle so soon, and thus had extracted a promise that she would keep a very close watch on him the whole time. As if she would ever do any different.

Rounding the final bend, the trees began to give way to flashes of bright yellow construction equipment. And even though she was sure she hadn't given any hint, she could see signs of increased tension from Killian, as if he could sense their proximity without having to open his eyes. The ragged shape of the church’s bell tower loomed above the village, looking even more unstable than when she'd first laid eyes on it. She shuddered with an unexpected chill. This was also her first time back; she had not anticipated that it might be difficult on her as well.

The Bug bumped up onto the beginning of the cobblestone road that paved the village streets. Newer model cars lined both sides, indicating the number of United Realms citizens in attendance that day. The liberal application of yellow caution tape blocking doors and windows gave a cheery, bumblebee mask over the pall of death still present in the doomed community. Emma glanced at Killian and found him quietly observing their progress, working visibly to keep his breaths slow and even.

A rose-dusted pigeon strutted its arrogant little way along the gutter, and Emma battled a brief but powerful temptation to swerve in that direction. A few new scratches to add to the car’s nose would be a small price to pay for the satisfaction of flattening the feathered pest. But it wouldn’t make a difference to the problem as a whole, and Emma didn’t want to cause Killian any additional pain, so she contented herself with casting mental curses in its direction as they passed.

The pigeon quandary persisted, no easy solution to be found. Current suggestions included rounding them all up and transporting them to their natural habitat in New York City, trying to get them to interbreed with regular pigeons to hopefully dilute their ability to block magic, or create a strain of avian flu that would target them specifically and wipe them all out. That last one sounded like the premise of an apocalypse movie to Emma, but with the proven-but-painfully-slow success of his treatment for Vocivore-Slave-Brain, Dr. Whale now considered himself even more of an invincible Scientist! than he had before. 

Meanwhile, the shield expanded, and Killian’s ability to survive a longer trek was worthless because even the furthest reaches of the United Realms were now stripped of their magic as well. A visit to another realm altogether was not out of the picture, but everyone, including Killian, had reservations about the effects of portal travel on his hard-earned progress, so that remained a task for the future. To be honest, at this point, not much benefit would be gleaned from exposure to healing magic anyway, though Emma would have liked to spare him the residual pain, and possibly reduce the visibility of some of his more gruesome new scars.

Later, she promised herself. When they were sure the forces of a portal would not disrupt the fragile healing within his brain and cause a relapse of the condition. Today was about his psychological well-being. She pulled into the village square and came to a halt directly in the center, a front-row seat for the crumbling of remembered demons. Maybe it was absurd to feel resentful towards a building for not falling on its evil occupant when it had the chance, but Emma knew she would feel a vindictive pleasure watching its destruction nonetheless.

*****

The car had stopped, but it was as if the church had continued moving, sliding near, swelling in dimension and darkness until it filled the entirety of Killian's view out the windshield. In fact, it seemed to fill the car itself, almost as if the car were inside the church and the church inside the car. Or maybe the car didn't exist at all. Maybe Killian didn't exist at all; perhaps it was his spirit hovering just beyond the crooked door, just out of sight of the cooling corpse it had recently vacated, now on its way to the place of white light and columns where screams no longer rent the cool morning air. 

AT LONG LAST. MY TRIPOD HAS RETURNED.

The voice was not real. Logically, Killian knew that, had drilled the facts of the monster’s defeat over and over into his mind. The words were of his own creation, filling the space where harsh dominion once dwelt. Whale and Hopper had both confirmed that enough exposure to anything and the brain could replicate sensations even in their absence.

That knowledge did nothing to combat the feelings of despair taking root within Killian now.

I EAGERLY AWAIT YOUR PRESENCE, TRIPOD, his Master seemed to say. COME INSIDE AND YOU SHALL SCREAM AS YOU’VE NEVER SCREAMED BEFORE.

Emma placed an understanding hand on his forearm, which pulsed with residual and remembered pain. A muscular, slithery tentacle; Z’s leather strap, pulling on a ring that was no longer present, dragging him where he did not wish to go, restraining him with a shattering ache that had not truly subsided even after initial reconstructive surgery. The stake was gone; its oppression remained.

“Should I tell them to get started?” Emma's gentle voice was way out of place, startlingly jarring among the torture of memories. Killian winced, filling tight lungs with shaky resolve.

"I need to go inside," he whispered, and Emma's expression of patient understanding crumbled into doubt.

“I... Are you sure?”

Killian felt his tentative nod wobble side to side nearly as much as it bobbed up and down. This, apparently, did not do too much to convince her of his confidence. Suppressing a shudder, he reached for the door handle.

“Okay, just... Hold on,” urged Emma as she hastily unbuckled her seatbelt. “Let me get it.”

Even the flash of resentment at his temporary helplessness was not enough to fully drive away the monstrous voice.

YES, it confirmed, HELPLESS. YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO DEFEND YOURSELF OR YOUR FAITHFUL MATE SHOULD YOU ENTER. BUT YOU WILL COME ANYWAY BECAUSE YOU CANNOT RESIST MY COMMAND.

Killian allowed Emma to unbuckle his seatbelt and assist him to his feet, but his eyes never left the imposing scene of nightmares before him. Though so much had changed since his last time crossing that threshold, the ingrained feelings of reluctant terror still clawed at his being as he took a wobbly step forward.

There were strangers in hard hats gathered on the stoop. Their clothing bore little resemblance to sackcloth, yet their presence hearkened back to the revolving groups of dull-eyed guards endlessly cluttering the entrance. The ones who had listened to Killian's screams, watched the tortures, suffered some themselves. And the majority of whom were now dead.

Emma waved a cordial greeting to the relaxed construction workers, who nodded back casually, their posture normal, an ordinary, calm light in their eyes. No duress. No fatalistic numbness. Killian thought he may recognize one or two, but the blurred tentacles crawling across his vision prevented a positive identification. With the hand not currently helping to support her husband's weight, Emma flashed her badge and murmured some sort of explanation, to which one of them replied something about still clearing out the interior. Occupied with fighting oppressive memory, Killian focused on remaining upright, allowing Emma to do the talking.

And then the door was screeching open in a mockery of human suffering. And then he was walking through, joining a procession of his previous selves from the first to the last, each slightly more hunched than the one before, curling inward in anticipation of the pain, less and less able to face the scene ahead. Bowing, body and soul, to the dark of despair.

A blood-tinged shaft of light illuminated a patch of paving stone at the bottom of the stairs, as if highlighting the spot he had fallen so often, had lain in utter torment, visualizing his daughter’s corpse while it was he himself who cried and bled.

The altar was gone. Dismantled, decorative facing and heavy broken surface nowhere to be seen. A few scuff marks and differently colored concrete were the only signs of its once-looming presence at the top of the steps. Other stains marred the empty floor; Killian did not have to work very hard to guess their origin.

He did not wish to get any closer, but his unsteady legs took him forward anyway while dust particles and flashes of nothing became heavy, lurking pincer and wriggling tentacle in the corners of his vision. Each time he blinked, the instant of darkness filled with ghastly mental images: sometimes the Vocivore returned, sometimes the fictional Hope which he’d been working so hard to banish from his memory. He could hardly even feel Emma’s supporting hand under his elbow, or even her presence at his side; he'd always come into this room alone, come to face its worst alone, and his subconscious mind could not reconcile the change in paradigm.

Oddly enough, though, the remembered voice remained as silent as the empty cathedral. Fragments of disjointed scenes continue to play behind his eyes, their haunting soundtrack present but muffled, all firmly in the realm of past torments and absent any current threat. Could it be that the visual evidence of the Master's lair, empty, had shut up its voice once and for all? Killian scarcely dared imagine the possibility.

Only steps away from the scuffed stairs, Killian's weakened foot caught on an uneven stone and he staggered into Emma, who silently braced him up, throwing her arm around him and squeezing in a comforting manner. With a couple of one-legged hops, he managed to regain his balance, though he remained reluctant to put his full weight back on the tender ankle. Emma glanced around and spotted an upended pew in the periphery of the space.

"Can you manage on your own for a sec?" she murmured. At Killian's unconvincing nod, she carefully ducked out from under his arm and hurried toward the pew.

If Killian had felt alone before, the feeling tripled as Emma's presence vanished. The ghost outline of the altar shimmered into view. His arm resting atop with a spike driving into the bone. His savaged body pounding against the wood while he screamed. His bloodied hand, impaled amongst tarnished depictions of wheat stalks and grapevines, shuddering as the last vestiges of life drained away.

And then, again, the image and the words, louder than ever. The old mantra. Hope kidnapped, Hope tortured, Hope dead, no hope no hopenohope…

Quickly back at his side, dragging the long wooden bench along with her, Emma recognized his distress and gently eased him down onto its surface, pulling his aching fist away from his face, quietly urging him to relax, to breathe, reminding him that she was there and that he was safe. Tears dripped onto Killian's lap as he struggled to contain his sobs. Emma knelt before his hunched form, squeezing his wrist and stroking his cheek, shedding tears of her own in response to his emotional turmoil.

After several minutes, Killian managed to drive away the demons and settled into a quivery rhythm of intentional breathing; it was the only way he would escape an eternal spiral into overwhelming hopelessness. His chest ached from the strain, his hand throbbed with the effort of holding his emotions in his fist. The volume of the wrong mantra decreased but did not abate. Still stroking his cheek, Emma murmured, 

“Are you okay?”

Killian gave a tentative nod, and he could feel the remnants of the involuntary tremors that still appeared whenever he was tired or stressed. “Just... Tell me it will get better.”

“It will,” she promised softly. “I really believe that.”

She delicately threaded the fingers of one hand inside his, gently but persistently nudging his fist to relax. When his fingers were finally uncoiled and his palm flat, facing upward, she began a careful massage of the tender flesh beneath the brace.

“We did a good thing, Killian. It's hard for us to say it was worth it. Hell, if we had known all the details, and how long it would take, I don't know that I would have been able to go through with it. But…” She leaned back on her haunches in order to look up into his face. “I've been thinking about what you said to Archie the other day, about how the scars will make it hard to forget everything. And I think… maybe that's the way it should be.”

Killian just looked at her through red-rimmed eyes. Continuing on, she explained,

"Each one represents a wound you bore so that someone else wouldn't have to. And, frankly... we'd all be dead if you hadn't done what you did. Sooner or later, in all likelihood, most of Storybrooke would be dead. So instead of looking at the scars and remembering the awful, I think you should give each one a meaning. A person whose life you saved by enduring all that pain, whom you can think about instead of the torture itself."

Killian studied her, eyes slightly brighter as he turned the idea over in his mind, and Emma flashed an encouraging smile. 

"Need an example?"

Seeing his nod of agreement, Emma ran her finger along his palm, where she knew, underneath the stretchy fabric of the brace, a pinkish-white line marked the entry wound from the dagger stabbed through and into the altar. 

"I can think of two people you’ve called your right-hand man in different situations. For a long while, that position was filled by Mister Smee." She turned his hand over and traced an approximation of the exit wound on the back. "These days, when you go sailing, it's always Henry who takes over the duties of first mate. So... you got this scar so Henry could live. And this one is for Smee." With each person named, she touched the corresponding line on his skin, so gently that there was barely a whisper of sensation in response.

A tear dripped off the tip of Killian's nose as, with head bowed, he watched his wife’s fingers brush his hand. 

Quietly, Emma asked, 

“What do you think? Helpful?”

Killian gave a hesitant, indecipherable movement of his head.

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

The word was faint, hollow with ache but also a dash of hope. Emma clambered to her feet, her hand trailing along his jawline and down until it came to rest with fingers splayed over the twin lines on his shoulder which marked the transmitter’s brutal removal.

“Side by side,” she remarked. “Sounds like Mom and Dad; what do you think?”

Killian winced a tiny smile, and she took that as his approval. Emma sat gingerly on the pew next to him and held his blunted wrist in both hands, massaging the sides once skewered by cruel metal and asking,

“Detective Jones?”

“And Alice,” he added hoarsely. Emma smiled fondly. Then she sobered and laid her hand against his chest, approximating the site of the near-fatal stabbing. It had not fully knitted into a solid scar yet, the outer layers still supported by strips of water-resistant tape beneath padded bandaging. Sudden tears sprang to her eyes as her free hand came up to tangle absently in his hair.

“And this one,” she choked out, pausing to clear her throat before continuing, “nearest your heart… this one's for Hope, I think.”

Killian's vision blurred, and a sob jolted his chest, but instead of the corpse of his nightmares, he saw the charmingly misshapen sketch of the Papa bear, cradling the lump that represented his baby bear as he protected her from a frowning monster that only the mind of a 3-year-old could conjure. He sniffed, wiped his eyes with a careful knuckle, and breathed, 

“Aye. For Hope.”

A long moment’s silence filled the sanctuary as tortures relived began to take on additional significance and gruesome mental images grew new outlines. Emma continued to make her presence known through comforting touch, and finally, over tense neck muscles, her tender fingers found two dime-sized pink discs which had only recently lost their scabs. The matching pair on the other side would be out of her view, but it was clear she referred to all four when she mused,

“I was going to say something about naming everyone in your life who could be described as a pain in the neck, but would that be too flippant?”

Surprising both of them with a quick-witted response, Killian deadpanned, 

“Well, you've already assigned both Jones and Dave, so I'm not certain that leaves anyone else who fits that description.”

The moment of levity clashed so strikingly with everything the building had to come to represent, yet it felt improbably cathartic as well. Picking up on the mood, Emma leaned in to place a kiss on one of the scars, muttering in between pecks,

“Regina?”

 Killian almost smirked. She kissed the other, saying,

“Doctor Whale?”

With a groan, he conceded that point. 

“Most assuredly.” Then he added, “S'pose we can't list Regina without the inclusion of her sister.”

“Zelena. Right. And the fourth?”

“That only leaves one, Swan. Let's see if you can name him.”

Emma truly did not have to think very hard to come up with that one. The uncontested champion of showing up at the worst possible time with tidings of woe. “Oooh! I know! It's Grumpy, isn't it?”

“Unlikely as it is,” said Killian, “this one is for Grumpy.”

Thrilled that he was taking to her idea so positively, she was about to try and make the dubious connection of "ankle biter" to Neal and Robin, neither of whom were anywhere near that category anymore, but at least he'd known them when they were... But before she could go down that path, Killian abruptly straightened and shifted positions so that he faced her a little more squarely.

"Distant friends and relations are all well and good," he said as he reached for her hand. "But there's one person immensely important to me whom we've not yet mentioned."

Emma took a slow breath. She really hoped he wouldn't be upset by what she was about to share. Placing a hand above his ear, she stroked his temple with her thumb for several heartbeats.

"Some scars you can't see," she finally began. "But are no less painful or important. So... the ones you carry in here..." Her fingers stilled, her hand an almost weightless representation of the burden he bore within his mind. "Those are for me. Because I have some, too. And mine are for you. They're the price I'm so willing to pay to have you here with me." Emma snuggled closer, dropping her hand to his back and resting her forehead against his. "It's a burden we'll carry together," she continued softly. "And that's why I believe it'll get better, Killian: we'll help each other."

Killian felt a new sort of pain at the thought of Emma's own trauma, and how she'd been dealing with it mostly on her own as he endured the grueling process of recovery. But he could not deny drawing a small measure of comfort from her words, her expression of empathy and promise of support. He leaned into her and they shared a moment of silent communication, where emotions and vulnerabilities and fears intermingled in an easy acceptance, where it was okay to have doubts and dark thoughts as long as they both clung to the shared hope of brighter days ahead. And in that moment of quiet, Killian mentally reached for the images that might one day replace, or at least live alongside, all the scenes of torture. He watched the brand scalding his palm, then thought of Granny, her false prickliness covering such warmth and generosity. That one was for her. He felt the pincer tearing at his ear and pictured Archie, patiently absorbing as much of the story as Killian was ready to tell, giving advice and professional support as needed; that one was for him. He saw himself pinned to the altar and struggling to breathe, and instead of succumbing to the imagined fire in his lungs, he clung to his tangible Hope, the ability to see her again in just a few hours, the proof of how she viewed her papa and what he had done for all of them. For Hope, he thought. Always and forever, for her.

"Which one are you hearing now?" Emma whispered into the silence, and Killian worked to direct the inner mantra as he'd been taught.

Hope, free. Hope, safe. Hope, loved.

"The good one."

Hope, free. Hope, safe. Hope, loved.

"I’m glad. What say we get out of here; let ‘em finish their work so they can smash this place to smithereens and we can go home?"

Hope, free. Hope, safe. Hope, loved.

Vocivore, defeated.

Hope, free.

Killian, free.

Free.

"I'm ready."

________________________________________________________________

[littlemisssquiggles]

I'm worried about Volume 7 for RWBY. What if they pander to the Bumbleby fans again like they did in Volume 6? What if they make Blake a full-on lesbian and make her and Yang kiss in front of Sun? WHAT IF THEY MAKE EVERYONE IN THE SHOW LGBT!!!???? D:) I'm just a little worried that CRWBY is going to make the show more LGBT (Not that I hate LGBT even though I'm heterosexual, its just that there was too much in Volume 6.

Ooof! This is a pretty touch and go subject anon-chan. So I will do my best to remain as humble and respectable about it while still providing an honest opinion on the matter. Fair warning, it’s a rather long answer post:

I see what you’re basically saying anon. I’m also a straight person but  I am supportive of the LGBT community. Like anyone in today’s media, I’d like for my LGBT brethren to receive just as much good representation because why not? Why shouldn’t their stories and experiences be told too, y’know what I’m saying? Why shouldn’t they be able to look at a character on screen and see themselves in said character since they can relate to who they are as a person and what their experiences?

That’s how I look at it. But there is a fine line between what could be considered great representation and pandering. I’m a glutton for good storytelling and character writing so what I consider great representation is when you’re able to take a certain kind of character—any kind of character regardless of who they are— and just tell a good story with them. Something that makes me as the audience care about said character regardless even if I may not relate directly to them as a person or their experiences.

For example: I may not be LGBT but if you give me an LGBT character with a great story and terrific writing to back them up—one who is not just an LGBT character but a good character overall who is LGBT (believe it or not,there is a difference) then I can support said character. Not just because they are LGBT but because they are a good character. Just like in real life, there is more to an individual than just their sexuality or one characteristic about them. I get that a character’s orientation is a part of who they are but it’s not ALL that they are; y’know what I’m saying?

What I personally don’t like seeing is when showrunners make half-ass attempts at appealing to certain demographics by introducing characters who feel more like cardboard cut-outs or props placed on a string to dangle to said target audience as opposed to being actual characters who feel like real people with exceptionally-written stories that the audience can connect with.

Personally, I am tired of the whole schlock where showrunners introduce LGBT characters like it’s a last minute brain fart. It’s especially worse when they take characters who weren’t initially confirmed to be LGBT at the start of the series but suddenly make this a big reveal later in the series run. I’m not talking S2 but like in way later seasons; like near the very end when the series is about to wrap up. And I’m not even talking like it’s a thing where the character go on a journey of self-discovery where they are unsure of their orientation at first and the seasons are about building up to them coming out. I’m talking straight up saying “This character is LGBT now. That’s it. They just are. Nevermind that they weren’t that several seasons ago. They’re just that. The end.”

I’m looking straight at you Voltron: Legendary Defender and before you, Legend of Korra.  

Additionally, what sucks is that often times, if an LGBT character is introduced in a such a contrived way and you as an audience member complain about it due to how it was portrayed, you end up being labelled with some derogatory term that overlooks what you were trying to say. It’s like some folksactively believe that you should automatically support something just because it represents a minority group and you should be happy that this is what certain shows are doing to breech that.

For example: I, as an audience member, should automatically be supportive of an LGBT character and relationship within a show I like because it is LGBT. Nevermind if it’s good representation, I should just like it because it is this and if I don’t, I’m labelled as being homophobic. Nevermind that I have justifiable reasons for not supporting said character or pairing that have nothing to do with them being LGBT. I’m just automatically roped in with the people who are like this despite my views not highlighting any kind of animosity towards LGBT representation overall.

To tell me that I should automatically support all LGBT rep in RWBY because it is LGBT is like telling me that Emerald Sustrai should automatically be my all-time favourite character because she is a black female character in the show and I am a black female.

Don’t get me wrong. I like Emerald but she isn’t my favourite. Ya’ll know who my favourite is. I don’t need to repeat myself. But should I be considered a racist just because I say Emerald isn’t my favourite despite my reasons having little to do with the colour of her skin but rather how she is written in the series? No.

This is why I don’t like seeing examples where fans are labelled homophobic just because they don’t support Bumblebee or any other LGBT character or ship within RWBY.

Let’s use the favourite character example again. My favourite character in RWBY is Oscar Pine. Oscar isn’t the best developed character within the series but my interest in him stems from the tremendous potential he has to become one of the best written characters in RWBY given the calibre of characters and stories he draws inspiration from. That being said, I can understand why not many people like Oscar. As a matter of fact, my main frustration with Oscar as a fan of his is how he’s portrayed within the show and how his growth and development is often handled by the CRWBY Writers. I understand why it’d be difficult for others to get behind Oscar as a favourite character since the writing, more often than none, doesn’t support how good he could be. (We’ll see if V7 finally changes that).

The same thing can be said for the Bumblebee pair and why there are those folks who are unable to support it 100%. I’ll focus on the Bees as my primary LGBT rep example since they’re the pair you mainly brought up.

I’m aware that there are those special folks out there who harp on this pairing simply because it is LGBT. I know those fans exist and it’s a shame that that’s their feelings but, to each their own. However, as I must say with great emphasis—not everyone who dislikes or isn’t supportive of Bumblebee are homophobic.

I’ll use myself as an exemplar of this. I’m a BlackSun shipper who has zero issue with Bumblebee or the prospect of it becoming canon endgame. On the contrary,as of V6, I’ve wholeheartedly stopped caring about who the showrunners put to be Blake’s final love interest. After watching 6 seasons of the showrunners tease both BlackSun and Bumblebee, I’ve grown tired of this charade they’ve forced us fans to dance to. 

I don’t care who Blake ends up with. I just would very much like for the CRWBY Writers to make up their mind on who they wish to push to be with Blake and stick with said person.

One of the reasons I’ve heard folks say the Writers are pushing Bumblebee now is because Sun is out of the picture and in all honestly, I can see the truth in this. It does feel rather suspicious that the instant Sun is out of the story, it’s suddenly bee season. Say what you wish to say, BlackSun is a ship that has always been at the forefront since V1. 

By my observations, Bumblebee didn’t become as glaringly apparent as it is now until the end of V5 going into V6. 

The Beekeepers can debate as much as they’d like about ‘Bumblebee being planned from the beginning’ but this is simply not true. I rewatched all of RWBY with the recent two seasons still being very fresh in my mind. I recapped the series with an open-mind to see if all those hints that Beekeepers have preached about for years on end held up.

In V1, Blake and Yang were teammates slowly becoming friends similar to Weiss and Ruby and that was basically it. In V2, it was the same energy and I know they had their famous moment in ‘Burning the Candle’ that most Beekeepers like to use as leverage to imply that this was the starting line of Blake and Yang ‘falling in love’ but again, this was not the case. 

That moment could easily be argued as a mere meaningful scene between two very close friends. Blake and Yang weren’t lovers or even seen to be falling in love with each other in that scene. It was just one friend trying to help another during a dire time where she almost destroyed herself with her own obsession over Torchwick.

In V3, same thing—friends looking out for each other. You can basically say that the Beacon Trilogy did a great job of establishing the friendship between Blake and Yang. Particularly Yang’s loyalty to Blake as one of her closest friends.   

From V1, Yang was always seen as someone who had Blake’s back no matter what. No matter how many times Blake was called out for her actions, she had Yang’s support. It’s what made it so heart-breaking to watch in V3 when Yang needed that trust and support reciprocated by Blake during the moment where she was framed during the Vytal Festival or even after losing her arm.

Instead of being there for her, Blake either expressed doubt in Yang (due to her past with Adam) or straight up ran. As unfortunate as it is to say, Blake wasn’t as good of a friend to Yang as she was to her and this was good because it was a set up for her whole arc during the events of V4-V6.

Up until this point, everything regarding Blake and Yang’s relationship had been about their friendship. Friends who are there for each other. That’s the thing. I can make the argument that Bumblebee, as a couple, did not become a real focus until the end of V5. 

And from V6, that’s when the pandering started to slowly happen. This is why I never bought into Beekeepers celebrating the Bees being canon after V6. I didn’t see that and I still can’t understand how the Beekeepers can see Blake and Yang murdering Adam Taurus as a triumph for their relationship.

It is…sort of…but at the same time it isn’t. It’s morally stained. On one end, you have two friends who both suffered at the hands of this villain before working together to take him down but on the other hand, they killed him.

Now his blood is on their hands and what’s bothersome is that the series simply treats it like nothing. No emotional or psychological repercussions for either girl. Again we’ll see if V7 does anything with that, but nonetheless, I did not believe Bumblebee being canon after V6.

Bumblebee isn’t there yet for me. It has the potential to get there if that is what the showrunners wholeheartedly wished to do. I just wished they would take their time to continue to flesh out the Bumblebee dynamic before possibly bringing in romance if that’s in the cards for these two. And I certainly hope that they aren’t only pushing the Bees to score points with the Beekeepers, using their support to push the show.

I’m not saying all the Yang and Blake moments were blatant pandering; but I will admit there were one or two that were glaringly obvious.

Similar to you anon-chan, I didn’t particular enjoy the pandering to this ship last season either. I honestly felt that the showrunners were more focused on the pandering than actually continuing to develop Blake and Yang’s bond overall. 

This is especially sad because there was room for further growth as brought up in V5. However it feels like most of the former tension that was highlighted in V5 suddenly got dropped by the finale, which made me question why even bring it up in the first place, y’know what I mean?

My main justification for not lobbying behind this pair is because there hasn’t been much evidence within the show to really sell these two as lovers for me. And the pandering doesn’t help. I don’t like pandering.

Nothing wrong with tossing some delicious breadcrumbs for potential canon ships within a series. But what I tend to dislike is when showrunners only bait certain ships to score points with the audience members lobbying for this kind of pair when in actuality they have zero intentions of making said ship official. I’ve mostly seen this sort of thing done with LGBT ships in animated series and it gets annoying after some time.

Why string people along like that? If you are not serious about making certain relationships canon or developing them in a way that feels natural, realistic and relatable to a variety of audiences; not just the one it’s mainly targeted at, then…don’t do it at all. 

It’s like what J.K. Rowling has been doing with the recent queer baiting in the Fantastic Beasts series. Why claim that you have that rep within your franchise only to not do it when you had the chance to? So basically you were only doing it for the attention it brings in today’s modern media. Gotta score dem sweet woke points. 

That level of pandering is what I find obnoxious and in the case of RWBY, I wouldn’t like for that to be done for Bumblebee ship or any other LGBT character or ship to come out of the series moving forward.

But to be fair, in defence of the CRWBY, sometimes it’s not always them. In terms of LGBT rep, sometimes a show might not introduce two characters or their bond as being LGBT but some audience members, for whatever reason, end up interpreting it that way and that’s the appeal of it for them. Some might even end up advocating for the show to confirm said characters to be LGBT purely because that’s what they like to see regardless of whether it was the showrunner’s intention or not.

This is what I’m seeing currently within the FNDM where a lot of Bee-shippers are seeing the conclusion of V6 as being a sign that Bumblebee is officially canon when the reality is that that’s not the case. You can almost say that is an example of an instance when the show is pandering to a certain type of audience and that audience takes what’s given and runs far with it even though that’s not the confirmed case within the series itself.

Again, I don’t believe Bumblebee is canon. While I feel like that may be where the show wants to take them, they’re not there as yet. And until the show takes the proper time to develop this pairing in that supposed direction, I’m not going to fully buy into it. But this is only my view. I have no control over how another fan interprets something. I can only speak for myself.

What if they pander to the Bumbleby fans again like they did in Volume 6?

Honestly, I’ll say this again. If Blake and Yang being canonically revealed as LGBT is the CRWBY Writers’ vision for these characters, all I can hope for is that it’s handled well. 

Like I said. I have retired from caring about who Blake ends up with romantically. While I will always remain a BlackSun shipper at heart (since I love my Sunshine boi), Blake’s love life is no longer of interest to me moving forward. I don’t care who the CRWBY picks just as long as they make up their mind and stick with it.

I really hope that the CRWBY aren’t pushing the Bees now because of no Sun. I honestly hope that we don’t get plenty of Bees for the majority of the Atlas Arc only for them to introduce some boring unnecessary drama between them and Sun as soon as they head for Vacuo. Please no! 

Up until now I never got the impression within the actual show that there was ever a love triangle between Yang, Blake and Sun. That kind of stuff was mostly reserved for the toxic side of the FNDM with the ridiculous shipping wars between BlackSun and Bumblebee. I would honestly be mega pissed if the Sunnybees love triangle is made into an actual subplot for RWBY in a future season. HELL NO!

Even now I still believe Bumblebee to be one-sided. What made me get behind Bumblebee was mainly for what it would mean for Yang. Between the two girls, I felt the Bumblebee vibe strongest with Yang more than Blake since at the time back in V5, she was with Sun and her focus was on Adam. 

Because of this, I looked at the show using Bumblebee as a way of showing Yang coming to terms with her sexuality  through realizing what her feelings for Blake meant to her and I was down for that. Very rare do I see animated series touch on the topic of showing characters coming to terms with their sexual orientation and having that ‘coming out’ moment. I’ve mostly seen it done in live action TV shows but not so much in animation. 

After V3, I thought that was what Miles and Kerry were going to do with Yang. Did that happen? Not really. I’m not even sure what was done for V6. All I know is that as soon as Sun was taken out of the picture, the Bumblebee hints started dropping; sparingly but so hard that it’s almost in your face.

To be honest, I wasn’t expecting any Bumblebee hints like that. Since V5 introduced Yang still having tension with Blake over the end of V3, I was hoping that V6 would’ve shown these two sitting down, have a nice long talk and then slowly rebuilding that trust and good rapport that was originally there between them.

 Instead Yang just magically forgave Blake at the end of V5 and then they really never honestly spoke about what happened in V3 at all that season. Sure it had the talk during Brunswick Farm which was a good start; but it never really went anywhere substantive from there. At least not to me.

We got one moment of Yang and Blake discussing Adam in V6 C5 and then the next time that actually had relevance was in C10 after Adam suddenly shows up to mess with Blake. We are thrown headfirst into this grandiose confrontation that I honestly wish the Writers had spent a little bit more time building up to. I knew it was going to happen at some point. I just wish it didn’t happen so soon after Team RWBY just reunited at the end of V5.

We barely got a full season of the girls rekindling their team dynamic; particularly Yang and Blake. Yang and Blake barely had time to truly recover from their prior two seasons of ups and downs before being tossed into the literal lion’s den.

If the Writers end up pandering more to the Bees in V7, I think it should be expected at this point anon-chan. If they did so in V6, it’s going to obviously continue into the next season. I don’t expect it to stop any time soon. Not when they can milk it for what it’s worth. Personally I don’t mind if the Writers plan on providing more great heartfelt character building moments between Yang and Blake unless it leads into their relationship being properly developed. That’s all.

If pandering is part of that then…okay,I guess? I just hope it’s not ALL of it. If Bumblebee is endgame and the show is serious about that then they need to stop puppeteering it around to tease those hungry and rather impressionable Beekeepers and actually focus on ensuring that the relationship is a well-written one. Pandering is not exactly development.

Another thing is that the Beekeepers kind need to tone down on taking everything that happens between Yang and Blake are a sign that they are canon. The lengths at which some of them reach to prove that their ship is canon is…wow, what a reach. I get that you guys want this to happen but for Pete’s sake, practice some patience why don’t you. I get that some of ya’ll are really eager and very passionate about this ship but Jeez Louis on cheese, wait for a clear defining moment that cannot be argued, please.

Let your Writers do your ship justice if they’re serious about it. Let them build upon it. Reinforce it. You can’t really complain too much about a romantic relationship that’s been developed properly. If the Writers do that well for V7 and onward—not really confirming the Bees but taking the time to show their bond progressing from close friendship to love before adding romance into the mix.

If the ship is developed well, I can’t have much complaints. I’m no tsure about you anon-chan.

What if they make Blake a full-on lesbian and make her and Yang kiss in front of Sun?

Yang and Blake kissing in front of Sun…I honestly hope it doesn’t happen because it’d be such a tasteless move; even for the show. Beyond that, I honestly don’t see Sun having a problem with Blake and Yang being a couple. While he might be surprised by it at first, it’s been established in V6 that Sun is only out for Blake’s best interest and overall happiness.

Sun Wukong cares more about Blake Belladonna as a person. As he told Neptune, his reasons for following her to Menagerie wasn’t out of a desire to make her his girlfriend or that she’d fall in love with him for it. He did it because he cared about Blake and wanted to genuinely help her get over her problems with Adam and rekindle her friendship with her team. That’s what was more important.

If Blake and Yang became a couple and Yang is shown to be the person that makes Blake happy then I can only see Sun being earnestly supportive of that; believe it or not.

I’ve said it before and I will reaffirm this. I cannot picture an envious Sun Wukong jealous of Blake’s relationship with Yang. It’s so uncharacteristic of Sun that it sounds nonsensical to even entertain the very thought. 

As a Sun fan, I would actually be more pissed at the Writers making Sun angry over Blake and Yang’s relationship overall than the action itself. 

Sun has always been one of the most supportive friends to Blake so he’d be happy for her even if she’s happy being with someone else and not him.  If Yang is the one who makes Blake happy then that’s all Sun would need to hear. That’s how this squiggle meister sees it.  

WHAT IF THEY MAKE EVERYONE IN THE SHOW LGBT!!!????

Uhmm…I think you need to give the Writers a notch more credit than that anon-chan. 

Just because they’re introducing more LGBT characters; particularly in the main cast doesn’t necessarily mean they are going to alienate their straight audience members. I don’t see them making everyone LGBT. 

There are characters within the series who were already confirmed to be straight (like Ren and Nora, Jaune, Pyrhha, Ozma, Neo, Qrow, Tai Yang and the list goes on). I’m sorry.  I just don’t see this being possible. I can see them adding more LGBT characters to the cast, but not every character in the show. That’s ludicrous!

The reason why we have more LGBT characters is to push for more representation of everyone regardless of gender, sexual orientation, culture, etc. RWBY has always been kind to include a plethora of diverse characters for fans to relate to. That’s one of the things that makes it such a good show. Making EVERYONE one thing, even if its LGBT, contradicts that.

I don’t see this being possible because I’d like to believe the show will always have that nice blend of characters that can appeal to any and everyone.

 I’m just a little worried that CRWBY is going to make the show more LGBT (Not that I hate LGBT even though I’m heterosexual, its just that there was too much in Volume6.

Uhmmmm…..the thing is anon-chan, inclusion is important.

But I also get what you’re trying to say. You’re not against more LGBT rep, you’re just concerned with the pandering aspect of it, right? The kind where the showrunners only shoehorn in these types of characters to push a certain agenda, steering focus towards these characters who aren’t written to be properly fleshed out characters with good stories but rather tokens to meet a certain quota and score those sweet brownie points with the queer community while alienating or downright changing pre-established characters to fit this new mould? Is that what you mean?

I don’t mind more LGBT rep in RWBY. That’s perfectly fine. Speaking mostly for mysef here, I like my LGBT characters the same way I like my straight characters. Well-written and properly fleshed out with good relatable stories and relationships that can appeal to anyone.

I’m not too big on characters who were originally introduced one way and then seasons later, we get the sudden reveal drop that this character is LGBT. I saw this kind of pandering in Voltron when the character of Shiro went several seasons with his past and previous close relationships (outside of Keith) never being an integral part of his arc. 

It was more tailored at characters like Lance and Pidge who were heavily family driven from S1 (which made the Hunk family focus in S7 so odd to me since Lance was the second character to think about his family next to Pidge buuuuut…I digress).

But suddenly in S7, the showrunners revealed at SDCC that Shiro was gay. They announced it at a con before we got the full reveal in the season. His former fiancé was named Adam. A love interest that prior to that season was never mentioned, teased or remotely made into a recurring aspect of Shiro’s story.

Shiro being LGBT was treated more as a marketing ploy for the folks behind Voltron to sponge off with the massive appeal it received from the queer community. However this also ended up backfiring and blowing up in the series’face when that very season showcased Adam—who was only brought in during S7 being killed off in that very same season. The audience was outraged by this and there was massive backlash (which led to some odd choices in S8).

This brings to light my issue with the way in which LGBT representation is handled by certain showrunners,in animation. I don’t think any kind of representation in media is something that should be pandered to. If straight characters are given the respect of being written well with the audience being allowed to buy into their stories and bonds on-screen then why shouldn’t the same treatment be done for LGBT character. In my experience, particularly for RWBY, the way in which the LGBT characters are revealed in the series often feels…forced.

Take for example; the recent reveal of Scarlet David of Team SSSN and Coco Adel of Team CFVY being dropped as queer characters. For Scarlet, it was done in the RWBY Red Like Roses Anthology and for Coco, it was in After the Fall. While I understand that the argument could be made that we never got those reveals in the main series since the show never took the time to really delve into these characters, that still doesn’t make it look less fishy, at least from my perspective.

I dunno. Because of my experience with the Voltron fandom, I get rather suspicious when showrunners suddenly spring the idea that a character is LGBT on its fans years after the series had been long-running, y’know what I mean?

Overall, I just don’t like it when the promise of more rep is used as a ploy to score points with a certain demographic when the attempt winds up feeling hollow and half-assed. 

Not trying to imply that this will be the fate of the Bees and/or LGBT rep in RWBY. I’m just saying, as far as Bumblebee goes, it needs to be handled much better than what we’ve seen in recent seasons.

For now, only time will tell with what happens next. For what it worth. I hope it’s good. 

Sorry for the long talk anon-chan (or to anyone who reads this post). As always, I hope that my thoughts and view points on this particular subject didn’t end  offending anyone in any shape or form.  I’m mostly expressing my honest views on this topic at hand and disrespect is never a direct intention regardless of how blunt my words can become at times/

Overall that’s all I have to say. Hope this answers you anon-chan.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019) 

[helihi]

The Good, The Bad and the Dirty: RWBY Vol 6 Ch 2 Review

If in the first act you have hung a pistolon the wall, then in the following one it should be fired.Holy shit.

This episode was a whole load of a shit ton of things

BTW, this is my opinion and meant to start a discussion, please be civil.

Okay, every time a member of the CRWBY says something among the lines of “this episode is going to be great” or “you guys will love it”, I can’t help but to roll my eyes.

We get it, you guy want to promote the show, but building up the hype in my humble opinion never works. We should let the episodes talk by themselves, or you’ll get an angry fandom.

Am I saying this episode was bad? No, but I wouldn’t really hype it.

The Good:

One of the things I highlighted from last chapter was the tension between Ozpin, Ruby and Yang; this chapter takes that tension one step  further, and pushes Ruby towards one side over the other. Though Raven may have made some mistakes (many actually, I’m sorry, Raven), one of the few things she did right was warning Yang about Ozpin.

Though Ozpin was presented as someone mysterious but ultimately good, I think Weiss “I’m tired of people choosing what they think is best for me” summarizes things pretty accurately. Storytelling wise, keeping the heroes in the dark “to protect them” never fucking works, and you can’t expect these kids to follow you blindly after the shit they went through.

Though I understand why Ozpin might be hesitant to open up, I’m so happy to see Weiss and Blake standing by Yang’s side and Ruby ultimately choosing to doubt Opzin. Is it probably going to bite them in the ass? Yes, using one of the questions like that is, but fuck it. We want answers.

Although I don’t particularly care about Cinder (thanks to vol 5 for ruining her character arc for me), I am pleased that they confirmed she is alive this early. Everyone knew it, there was no point in hiding it really. Now, I am hopeful that they will re take the route of her character arc from volume 4, because Cinder works best when she’s not a lame trope. Raven, she will hunt ur ass.

Weiss complaining about going to Atlas, and the fact the’s not a heiress being actually addressed.

Team WBY with the sass poses.

The Bad

I love my girl Nora, but the comedy felt a tiny bit forced in this episode, and the whole flashback scene at the beginning felt more like padding than anything. I’m not a huge fan of this back and forth in time, it fucks up the pacing.

Hello pacing, my old friend. Does anyone feel like the Haven flashback is out of place? Is not like I can’t appreciate the interactions between Team RWBY, team JN_R, Qrow and Oscar/Ozpin, but that segment was clearly there so the writers could dump some exposition on the lamp and point out the fact that they could use Weiss to get to Ironwood, but here's the thing:

A better place for this scene could’ve been during episode 1. Have u ever heard of Checov’s gun? Well I’m going to summarize it this way: “If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired.”

In other words, if you are going to have the girls doubt Ozpin, and draw attention to the relic’s power, wouldn’t it have been better to build it up in a chapter before the relic was activated? The fact that this flashback scene comes right before Ruby pulls the trigger baffles me, almost as if the writers find the word way to unite different scenes.

Then there’s the way the episode ended: a cliff hanger. My brother hated it; I hated it. We just saw Salem’s past form and knew the episode was going to end there, like a fart.

Jinn... Omg why does her model have to be so sexualized? I mean, clearly everyone is gay at this point, that’s the lamp’s true power, but boy did it make us uncomfortable. Such a trope that could’ve been avoided.

The Dirty:

I mean, after having flashbacks to the fairies of BoTW, Jinn clearly fits here. Her existence is so weird and there’s a mention of the Light God. Doesn’t anyone find it weird that we’re in season 6 and yet the whole lore of this world is a complete mystery? We’ve had RWBY for more than 5 years and everything feels incomplete.

Maria Calavera’s pronunciation of her last name was weird. Someone help Katara, she needs new glasses.

RIP bumblebee (the motorcycle)

Did everyone notice whose names each of the girls calls first? Nice.

Anyways, this episode got me intrigued, then it made me mad: 4/10.

This take us a step back to: RWBY only works when u binge watch it.

[caribouwritings]

If you have any headcanons or scenarios or anything that you’ve wanted to write, I’d love to see them

I got a ton of random headcanons and scenarios I could write! If you want to hear more please ask! (Especially for Mortal Kombat, I am very hype for the next game being announced soon!)

Transformers Prime:- Smokescreen doesn’t like cussing- Ultra Magnus likes classical music and Broadway musical soundtracks, but only listens to them off duty or alone- Arcee is a pro at yoga- Wheeljack is somewhere between introvert and extrovert- Ratchet‘s guilty pleasure is watching medical based dramas (such as Grey’s Anatomy) even though the medical mistakes annoy him

Transformers G1:- Hound loves all animals, but dogs are his favorite - Mirage would rather spend a day reading a good book over anything else- Blaster and Jazz don’t like country music, but they can tolerate certain songs - Skywarp is a huge Disney fan and will break into songs all the time at the drop of a hat- Wheeljack actually meant to make Dinobots as equally intelligent as the bots, but didn’t have the materials to do it, the Dinobots learn like children because of this

Transformers Animated:- Shockwave really did want to be Bumblebee’s friend at times, but knew his mission came first- The Jet Twins love anime, especially magical girl anime - If Blitzwing could get rid of one of his faces, it’d be Hot Head- Megatron actually finds Lugnut more annoying than Starscream but keeps him around due to his blind loyalty - Ironhide only tolerated Wasp as to not be bullied himself

Mortal Kombat:- If Bi-Han met Sereena again, he wouldn’t recognize her because he was focused on his mission and left her alive simply because there was no reason to kill her and it would clear his conscience for killing Scorpion- Everything in the second timeline that went wrong is more Scorpion’s fault than Raiden’s (not really headcanon, but still!)- Ermac is the smartest out of everyone in the Outworld gang due to the knowledge he possesses from all his souls, but he is the most humble because of his souls as well- Fujin hates being seen as second fiddle to Raiden, but will never say anything since he is the only friend he has left - Sub-Zero doesn’t actually like his beard, but never has time to shave it off being clan leader and having to deal with Frost’s ignorance