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[jdengineeringworksdelhi]

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[itsonlydana]

"passenger princess" | epilogue

the hobbit | a modern!AU by itsonlydana

❱ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader

❱ wordcount: 4,8k

❱ summary: Dating Thranduil Oropherion and the PDA that comes with it

❱ warnings: none

❱ an: here we go, one last night in this story✨️ title once again taken from hoziers "abstract" // also: are any of you interested in a official hobbit/thranduil taglist?

general m.list + series m.list

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot - especially with longer projects <3

THE MOMENT I KNEW I'D NO CHOICE BUT TO LOVE YOU

The evening welcomed you with a chilly embrace and whispered breezes danced through the coat you clung to, drawing it closer as you emerged from the car.

Your head lifted, attention drawn to the imposing building before you. Unbeknownst to you, your jaw subtly fell, lips parting in a muted "Oh" that almost escaped notice, barely reaching your own ears.

"It's quite a sight, isn't it?" Next to you, Thranduil closed the door to the passenger seat of his car after he had helped you out.

He handed the keys and a few notes of cash to a young valet, whose eyes widened as if he were to drive the Batmobile. The boy rushed to the driver's side of the car, the keys turning on the ignition, and the motor purred smooth like a cat.

You barely noticed it, only felt the vibrations of the car starting. Your eyes were glued to the building in front of you. "It's beautiful," you whispered in awe.

The Imladris Opera House lit up the sky's deep and endless midnight blue.

A washed-out white stone façade rose high up in front of you, its architectural features of multicolored marble friezes, columns, and lavish statuary were illuminated by what must have been hundreds of hidden lights. On either side of the left and right avant-corps two gilded angel figures reached their hands towards the center of the building where a glass dome made the highest point of the palace.

Frozen on the spot, you could not take a step on your own until you felt the gentle push of Thranduil's hand on the small of your back. Looking away for just a second, you glanced at him, shot him a bright smile, and let him guide you towards the building.

The weeks had swiftly slipped away, and it hardly felt like an entire season had passed since that fateful night spent cuddled together.

Late summer had given way to autumn, a season dedicated to delving deeper into each other's lives. Evenings were spent on his couch, sipping wine and sharing every detail about the paths you had walked before finding each other. The world transformed into a canvas of colors, with flaming red and orange leaves falling during your walks, and the glow of candlelight casting a warm ambiance as you lost yourselves between the covers.

Your friendship with Legolas grew impossibly stronger, too, with entire weeks now spent at their house. Clad in long sweaters that grazed your knees, you chatted day and night, studied from breakfast to dinner, enjoyed late evening snacks, and repeated the cycle the next day.

Time blurred into a mosaic of tender touches, lingering kisses, and laughter beneath the sheets.

Before you knew it, Thranduil had once again invited you to the Opera, and once again, you had gladly accepted.

As you got closer, the building grew and grew until you had to let your head fall into your neck trying to explore the intricate details you could only see up close, like the elaborate roses carved into the marble columns.

Thranduil caught your wandering looks and his hand slipped from your back to intertwine his gloved fingers with yours as he leaned down a bit.

"It is said that the architect only accepted the project in exchange for the hand of the king's one and only daughter- who was promised to a prince at the time." – Thranduil's voice reached a dramatic cadence, purely for effect – "No one else dared to take on the tasks of building this Opera, the king had ludicrous ideas of combining multiple styles into one that no other architect thought themselves sane enough to try."

You leaned into his side, your hands brushing against the expensive fabric of his knee-long, black woolen coat. When he started talking, explaining the history of this marvelous building you were so close to entering, his voice fell into the passion that you so adored to watch.

No building, even one as breathtaking as the Imladris Opera House, could be more fascinating than watching Thranduil explain something to you that he cared deeply about.

In the golden tones of the cast iron streetlamps flickering their lights, Thranduil's eyes had taken on a fascinated glitter. It disappeared when he noticed you staring up at him, a quick shadow passing over his usually composed face. "Excuse my rambling," he said and you pouted in disagreement.

"Don't apologize," you shook your head, "you know that I enjoy listening to you" And with a quick movement, you rose to your tiptoes, sneaking a peck onto his from the winter air cold lips. In a low and hushed voice, you murmured: "Talk architectural to me" and felt the blood rush into your cheeks when his eyebrows rose on his forehead.

His eyes crinkled at that, the corner of his mouth twitching in that tell-tale smirk that he reserved for those innuendos that passed between you two, ever since the slip of your tongue on the night he invited you to the Opera in the first place.

He planted a gentle kiss on your temple, his lips pausing briefly before he spoke again. "Okay, then, but feel free to interrupt if I start to bore you."

You nodded with enthusiasm. "Absolutely, don't worry. Although everything you say is interesting to me, you know that."

"I'll hold you to that when you start grumbling about your university papers and ask me to help you understand them," he teased.

"Uhmm– that has nothing to do with you," you rolled your eyes, not intending to mock him but to emphasize the sheer annoyance coursing through you at the thought of your coursework. "It's just that my brain ceases to function if I have to read another dull statement from some politician who kicked the bucket centuries ago and contributed nothing positive to society."

Thranduil chuckled and gently lifted your hands, placing another kiss on your knuckles. "I adore it when you're resolute about highlighting all their wrongdoings instead of doing what's required of you," his lips brushed against your skin, setting ablaze the areas he touched. "My firecracker."

You grinned and gave a playful tug on his hand. "Come on, then, enlighten me with the story behind this building."

Thranduil then began fulfilling your ask and since you had a few moments before you had to enter, he pulled you along the walls.

Whenever he talked about some fascinating architectural features ("There are multiple styles but the ones standing out the most are these elements of the Renaissance, Baroque and Neoclassical"), his long fingers pointed towards them, using statues to explain his statements.

You walked along the front façade until you could peek around the corner and he showed you one of the two pavilions- the other one was on the right side of the building, another mathematical symmetric design choice ("Which points to the architect's inspiration by the renaissance").

After that, you turned around again to walk towards the main entrance, where, feeding into your nervousness, a larger crowd had formed a line. Thranduil's hand in yours gripped you tighter as you approached those fashionable men and women who, in your mind, must have seen right through the smile you now wore more so as a mask than out of pure joy.

Despite all the dates planned leading up to this, starting with coffee dates turning into evening dinner outings at restaurants that you felt comfortable with until you let Thranduil choose some that he wanted to take you, you felt like a fish out of water.

Yes, Legolas had helped you select clothes that fitted the occasion, ones you already had because Thranduil would disapprove of you buying an outfit that served as a costume rather than what you felt comfortable with, but right now, staring at the elegant hats and lavish dresses, nothing seemed like the right choice.

Thranduil must have noticed that you grew quieter, answering what became a monologue rather than dialogue, with nods and "Hmms". He didn't say anything out loud, nor did he stop talking, probably relying on the whispered reassurance that you had given him one evening when he had fallen into a monologue such as this one, raving on about a book he had read when you'd admitted how much it calmed you to hear him speak.

You let him tug you under his arm, resting your cheek against his side while you slowly shuffled forward in the line.

Coming closer to the double doors opened wide enough to let golden light fall out into the night and bathe those entering into its nearly godlike shimmer, the storm inside you ebbed into a breeze, scarcely shuffling through some thoughts that your mind couldn't let go just yet.

Considering what you have gone through, this date shouldn't scare you. This was Thranduil beside you, the man who held your heart carefully in the palm of his hand as much as his arm secured you right now, he would make sure that this night would play out like you wanted.

"When we enter you will see–"

You interrupted Thranduil with a gentle nudge of your head against his chest. The smile that now graced your mouth was soft and real again, something Thranduil immediately caught onto.

"Thank you," you said without further explanation; it wasn't needed.

"You are welcome, my dear," Thranduil leaned down again, hovering over your lips as his eyes took you in as if to make sure to imprint your smile into his memory, before closing the gap between you.

There was no hesitation in the way he kissed you, his lips parted as soon as you lifted your chin higher to meet him and a barely audible but deep and sensual hum spilled into your mouth. One of his gloved hands cupped your cheek to angle your head and his thump stroked over your jaw. It fell open with the slight pressure performed from the finger, inviting him in to deepen the kiss.

Only the clearing of a throat behind you reminded you that you were for one in public, close to making out like teenagers, and second standing in line.

While you pulled away from Thranduil, your head flushed beet red, and muttering: "Sorry, I'm so sorry, yes, sorry, we will move", Thranduil looked awfully pleased with himself as he lifted his hand to wipe away some lipstick that had stained the corner of his mouth.

He shot you a wink as your eyes flittered over the deliberately slow movement of his thumb and you rolled your eyes, cheeks flaming hot.

You rushed to close the gap that had formed while you and Thranduil had been all over each other, giving the woman and her grinning husband another apologetic nod and smile. You pulled on the red scarf that Thranduil wore around his neck.

"You're impossible," you murmured, casting him a scornful glance, then burying your face in a cold hand, "Oh God, how embarrassing"

Thranduil's chuckle at your attempt to hide your heated cheeks and probably reddened lips only showed you how little he regretted the kiss.

"Darling," he began, still grinning widely and clearly proud of his talent for unraveling you in public like that, "If it bothers you too much, I'll restrain myself. However," – he leaned in, whispering the next words in your ear – "look how everyone looks at us. They envy me for standing beside you, for not having the most exquisite person in one of their arms."

You raised your head just in time to see a young man a few meters in front of you hastily jerk away and, promptly, dropped his ticket. When he stood up again after fishing for the paper on the ground, he looked back at you, then at Thranduil and oh, there really was something like envy in his eyes.

And because Thranduil was Thranduil, a cocky asshole at times, he smiled at the boy while his arm dropped to your waist provocatively.

You only rolled your eyes, yet this public display of affection and possessiveness had your heart flutter in your chest.

Heart pounding through your rib cage, his large hand holding you to him, you muttered something through your teeth.

Thranduil raised one eyebrow interested. "Could you maybe repeat that, I did not understand what you said."

"I said," you took a deep breath, huffing out air that dissolved into a white cloud, "–that I do not mind the kisses."

A grin filled with satisfaction spread across Thranduil's face at that, dimples carved out into porcelain skin. The hand on your waist held on tighter and it took a simple tug of him for your body to turn into his again, a simple twitch of his lips for you to kiss him.

This time though, you made sure to have it last no longer than a quick peck as the line moved and just when you separated, the crowd in front of you cleared.

"Good evening, Mister Oropherion! I haven't seen you in a while," a young woman greeted Thranduil, and overcome with shock you stared at your partner.

"Good to see you again, Sigrid", Thranduil winked at you, mouthing a "Later" when he noticed your bewilderment. Delving into the depths of his black coat, he retrieved a golden card – the Opera's emblem gleaming in the lantern light – as Sigrid waved her hand.

"Ohh, you know I don't need to check your card, Sir!"

Thranduil laughed and the card disappeared in the pocket of his coat again. "I know, I know. I also know that your boss wouldn't like you skipping formalities just because it is me" – his mouth curved into a smirk, "ah and I have someone to impress tonight"

Sigrid leaned forward, a hand next to her mouth, to faux a whisper: "He may seem like an arrogant ass, but I can tell you– he is secretly a softie"

"What?" you faked a gasp, turning to look up at Thranduil who, to your surprise, blushed…blushed!

He playfully swatted your hips and shot Sigrid a warning look: "What have I ever done to you that you must embarrass me in front of the lady?" He sighed, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him, "Was it the time that I thought Legolas invited you over to…what did you call it, my love?" as if in deep thought, Thranduil lifted a hand to scratch his perfect chin, "Netflix and chill?"

"Oh my god–"

"Thranduil!" you cried, laughter bubbling up your throat before you could stop it. Out of pure condolence for the girl, you started shoving him into the entrance hall, away from the girl whose face turned beetred as she fumbled to stamp the tickets of the next couple.

"It was nice to meet you!" you huffed out, wrangling with the tall body of Thranduil who was snickering to himself, making it not easier for you to handle him.

"We should chat some other time! Legolas, some boys and I have a movie night once every while, you could join"

The invitation was clearly not enough to help the poor woman, Thranduils high-pitched laughter (so unusual for his usually deep and honeyed voice, that pure sound of his laughter) would probably haunt her for the rest of the evening given the look on her face.

However, she nodded frantically. "Sure, I will have Legolas send you my number," then she smiled, "Have fun tonight! You as well, Sir!"

"I'm sure we will," you called back and there was a phrase like "If you could behave the rest of the night" on your tongue, at the sight of the entrance hall however, it slipped away.

The hand that you had used to direct Thranduil fell and he used the opportunity where your mind stopped working, to take it back into his. If you weren't so busy staring at the interior of the Opera House you would have teased him for being so touchy tonight, yet there was nothing leaving your lips of that sort.

"Wow," you breathed out.

The red carpet you stopped on trailed further into the hall, ending shortly before a large ceremonial staircase of white marble with a balustrade of red and dark blue marble, which divided into two divergent flights of stairs leading to the second floor which overlooked the foyer through wide open curved outward balconies. Golden candleholders with what must have been hundreds of candles decorated the columns, lulling you into a trance with the flicker of their flames.

A finger trailed over your temple, sliding down behind your ear and your neck, and it came to rest with the rest of the hand on your shoulder. "For years I have gone in and out of these halls, impressed by their beauty. Now, with you standing right here, all the gold pales." Thranduil's words sent a shiver up your spine and you tilted your head to stare at the ceiling.

"There is no need for flattery," you said, wide eyes wandering over the balconies on which women leaned onto the balustrades with sparkling glasses of wine, to the grand staircase where the crowd trailed upward without a hurry, "You already have this girl speechless."

Thranduil's lips delicately brushed against the shell of your ear, as his hands leisurely traced the contours of your side.

"What a shame, though I would hope you will find your voice again," his voice bore semblance to a velvety purr, "–for I am genuinely interested in garnering your perspective on the private balcony, affording an impeccable view of the orchestra, that I had readied for us."

As your head swiftly turned to fixate on him, his rosy lips formed, in a manner not surprising anyone, that typical smirk that left you marveling at the intriguing resilience you had maintained in resisting its captivating allure. Every time you saw it, especially now with his icy blue eyes waiting, provoking a response, you were contemplating how you had never fainted at the sight of it before.

And the worst part was, that he knew what he could do to you with one single smirk, or just, and it was embarrassing to admit but you couldn't help but fall for it every time, one strategically raise of an eyebrow.

No matter how bewitching his smirk was, however, you were much more hooked by what he said.

The questions toppled over themselves in your head, a "WHAT?" knocked down a "You are kidding, right?" and then there were the big "Why?!" and "How?" that you were hung on.

Most of these questions resolved themselves; there was no need to reiterate what had already been sufficiently explained. Thranduil was undeniably wealthy, almost absurdly so in his own estimation.

This fact had been glaringly apparent from the outset when you only knew him as Legolas' father, the owner of a law firm that represented politicians and celebrities, often requiring him to work late. He indulged in whiskey from opulent bottles and drove the most extravagant car you had ever sat in. The first time you visited Legolas at their home, a gathering of Thranduil's colleagues celebrated his ascension to CEO, filling the mansion with the strains of piano music and the gentle clinking of delicate crystal glass flutes.

If it hadn't been clear, Thranduil's habit of spending a lot of money with and for you (whether it was in the form of gifts such as books, a new coffee machine for your dorm, or simply the dates he took you on) was explanation enough.

The man had been greeted by name at the entrance and like a few people, all dressed in fine clothes like him, he didn't have a ticket, he had a member card.

So you swallowed your questions, took the arm he offered you and let yourself be led through the beautiful and tall halls of the opera.

Why not savor both this gift and the delightful company of the man you've fallen for?

If it wasn't obvious that Thranduil was showing off a bit, come on, he had kissed you right in the middle of the grand staircase and grinned at every man staring at you on your way, it became more than clear when you walked down the hallway to the private rooms. Another boy in uniform opened a door as soon as he saw Thranduil walk up to him, greeting him by name just like Sigrid did.

Behind the door, you let out the quietest "Holy shit" afraid that the swear would taint whatever holy atmosphere vibrated around you.

The air was filled with the low murmur of people talking, shuffling towards their seats and you, you looked down on all of them.

Literally.

Beneath you a sea of stools stretched onward, a moving mass of hats and pinned-up hair.

You took a careful step forward, coming up to the balustrade, you laid your hands on the red velvet that cushioned the balcony.

Just like the other balconies on your left and right, beautiful wooden panels were creating an archway under which you stood, with roses and delicate swirls painted golden.

You had a clear view of the stage, up on the fourth floor as you quickly counted in your head. The stage was covered by maroon curtains that draped over each other instead of just framing the sides and ended in gold ornaments at the seams.

The dome, which you had seen from the outside, was hidden behind a slightly curved ceiling, the only telling of what rose into the sky behind it. Nevertheless, the ceiling was a view all of its own.

A piece of art.

Up there, a dark sky had been painted, sprinkled with tiny golden dots of stars and hanging perfectly centered not just to the painting but to the whole room, hung an enormous chandelier, dripping with crystals that reflected the light of the lamps, honey golden liquid broken down into a thousand shards and bathing everything in a spectacle of imitations of stars.

Thranduil stepped up behind you again. He slung his arms around you, pressing his front against your back to rest his chin on your shoulder. Silver hair fell over you as he nuzzled your temple with his nose, brushing and tickling the sensitive skin of your neckline.

Slowly he took on to unbutton your coat, his nimble fingers pushing one button after the other through the holes.

"Is this the time to tell you that I practically own this balcony?" his voice rolled over your body, words spoken close enough that you felt his lips form them.

"Yeah," you breathed out "I figured."

"And do you know what that means?" he asked while opening the last button.

You shook your head slightly so as not to knock him away.

"It means," he unfolded himself from you to pull away your coat. You turned and watched as he hung it next to his own, it looked small in his large hands. Your fingers dug deep into the velvet behind you, eyes locked with his. "It means we can come here whenever we want as well as leave whenever we want"

It wasn't what you had expected to hear, yet you let out another deep breath, basking in the residue of tension and heat that had lapped at you both and transformed into something softer, much more meaningful than desire.

"You are the most fascinating man I have ever met," you mused, tilting your head to look at him. Thranduil was dressed up in smart black (and snug) pants and his white blouse wore a stark resemblance to the one a character you had gushed over in a movie had worn.

That he had maybe chosen the article for that exact reason made your heart flutter in your chest.

He sauntered closer to you again, hands clipped together in his back and when he leaned against one of the two chairs, the only furniture except for a small table, it was nothing but graceful. He regarded you through hooded eyes, an expression in them that was so full of infatuation it should be too much for a relationship this young, this fresh but you had been ready to plunge into this deep and far ever since you had met him.

"I promise this is just to impress you," Thranduil smiled, and lifted one corner of his mouth higher than the other and it made him look almost shy.

"Mhmm," you hummed, stepping closer to him and when you reached out to cup his cheek, he leaned into it. His eyes bore into yours, the ice-cold blue melting every bone in your body into a puddle. "I think," you whispered and looked from one eye to the other, "you don't need anything to impress me except for yourself." Raising to your tiptoes, you smiled against his mouth "Thank you, Thranduil. This is the best gift anyone has ever given to me"

As you looked up at him through hooded eyes, his gaze became soft. His lips met yours in a gentle but playful kiss, one where he nipped at your lower lip and throat and did that low purr of satisfaction. It made your head swim in the best way possible, let all thoughts come to rest.

When the lights dimmed a short while later, you found yourself cuddled against Thranduil's side, his arm around as natural as everything had become between you.

The music swelled- the tunes of a piano mixing with the violins and cellos, increasing into the playful introduction that you had come to listen to whenever Thranduil drove you anywhere.

You allowed your glance to flee from the orchestra to Thranduil, watching his side profile next to you.

"I am so lucky," you whispered. It should have been spoken far too quietly to be heard in a room that was filled with a dozen instruments orchestrating the most gorgeous music.

Thranduil however, turned his head as soon as you said the words.

"You say you are the lucky one yet here I sit, unable to believe you are truly with me," he said and reached out to trace a finger over your temple down to your cheek. "There are so many things I would like to tell you, my darling"

You watched him, silently inquiring him to continue.

He sighed and the corner of his eyes crinkled in soft delight. "It's just– I feel so much more ever since you came into my life and while it's close to overwhelming– well, and I do mean that truthfully and wholeheartedly positive, it made me realize how much more enjoyable life is when I can share it with someone I l–like"

"That doesn't sound like something that's 'just' anything," your wavering voice betrayed how collected you wanted to sound. Feelings as hard as the waves during a storm crashed inside you, lapping up your throat trying to break out of where you dammed them away to.

"No," Thranduil shook his head "No, I dare say it's not just anything. It seems to be everything. You, you wonderful girl, you are everything"

Your breath hitched, caught in the mix of emotions in your throat. Fingers carefully lifted to intertwine your hands, coming together in your lap. He waited, you figured, he waited for you. He always waited for you. The music faded into the background as you reached for him.

Reaching and waiting, daring and yearning, teasing and loving.

He was the fine threat that pulled on your heart, tugging on it in the same rhythm as it beat inside your chest.

"Thranduil?" you fiddled with his fingers, tugging on them to have an outlet for everything rushing through you, leaving you restless with the want to scream your feelings into the world.

"Yes?" He sounded hoarse, unusually so, and it urged you on further.

"The moment I met you I knew you would take my heart and whisk it away." Grappling with the challenge of expressing just how much of an impact he had on you, you thought back to every big movie scene, every lovesong that you finally understood the lyrics to.

All of them felt bland in contrast to the cocktail of feelings that he evoked in you, the emotions that came from loving this man.

However, he beat you to it, articulating what had occupied your contemplation.

"I love you," Thranduil's voice resonated, gaining a steady cadence. "I love you. I realize it might be soon, and time lies ahead of us, but I wish to spend every moment with you, fully aware of the depth of my feelings."

A violin's sigh, a cello's resonance, a gasp.

"I love you too, Thranduil. So much."

Thranduil inclined his head, a golden aura enveloping his silver-blonde locks that cascaded around you like the rich, heavy red curtains.

At that moment, he resembled the Swan, exuding grace and elegance. His long, fair eyelashes cast shadows on his high cheekbones, and as he leaned in to kiss you, a profound sense of being utterly cherished and loved enveloped you, much like the crescendo of the music all around.

taglist [closed]: @mushroomemeralds, @mssuguru, @solartoge, @12134z03, @fruitymoonbeams-blog, @lady-of-imladris @finallyforgotten , @123forgottherest @tomhockstetter7-111 @marshymallo @emily-roberts @howlerwolfmax @tigereyesf @seththetinydemon

[ace-disgrace-on-the-case]

Restore

I come bearing a wonderful gift, written by my wonderful friend @red-sprite!

The morning was early, the sky was grey, and the store was closed. Samantha was waiting by her car for the owner of the electronics store to open the front door, but her watch told her it was currently half an hour past opening and there was no-one in sight yet.

Looking in through the window the place reminded her of an old bookstore. You know the kind, the ones that seem to open whenever the owner feels like it, completely covered from floor to ceiling in books you can barely read the cover of. Antiquarians. She could see the remnants of a shelving system buried under strata of components, stretching around the corner into the darkness beyond.

Still, it was her best bet to find what she needed.

Ten minutes later the door opened, she hadn’t seen the owner arrive. Fifteen minutes and some smalltalk interwoven with project descriptions, she was about to walk out with her purchase. And that’s when she saw something she never thought she would.

An original AnTech, buried under a pile of merchandise. Her dome was stained, her screen was completely scuffed up, and the faded post-it said ‘As-is. No returns’.

Five minutes later she was secure in Samantha’s car.

The rest of the day was a blur. She finished the project, got it tested, got it packaged and shipped out. When she clocked out she’d almost forgotten this morning’s surprise. But not enough to lack a spring in her step when she made it to her car.

There, in the passenger seat, sat her find. In the light of the parking garage she looked like she was about to come alive. Samantha’s shadow danced over her scuffed faceplate as she passed the car, her arms resting in her lap.

‘You need a name, don’t you,’ Samantha thought to herself. ‘Ann sounds nice.’

The drive home was short. The trip up the stairs was very very long. As it turns out, hauling an immobile full-sized humanoid robot up three flights of stairs was a lot of work. She set Ann gently down in her comfy chair and went to work clearing her workbench. Projects half in-progress were bagged up, labelled and put away, tools were cleared, and finally she had enough space.

One last time she lifted Ann up, from her chair, to lay her as gently as she could on the workbench. Under the harsh fluorescent light it was finally visible just in what sort of condition she was. Samantha went over her section by section, noting all the outward damage. Scuffed faceplate, she knew that one. Seized motor on her left elbow, to be expected. Dent in the abdominal covering, possible impact, have to check the underlying actuators. Scuffs on legs, rattling in left ankle joint. Also very very dusty.

Knocking off the initial dust was the easy part. Finding the proprietary bits for her screwdrivers was slightly harder, but thankfully she had an extensive collection. The first thing she took off was the face plate. Four screws held it in place, now neatly extracted and marked where they go. The plate came off, connected only by a short ribbon cable. It took her a moment to find a good angle to disconnect it, but after that she was able to place the assembly to the side. Under the faceplate there was the sensor suite; cameras, both visible light and IR, depth-sensors, audio receptors tucked into the sides of the cavity, and at the bottom, the release for the chest covering.

Samantha pulled it gently, hoping that it wasn’t seized up. When she heard the click, she breathed a sigh of relief and held it in almost as quickly. She’d finally get a view of how Ann looked inside. Would all the components be present, would there be any damage, had she been scavenged for parts? It was all a big uncertainty, but there was only one way to find out.

She extracted her hand, and moved it over under Ann’s arms. Then she pulled.

The cavity opened before her, slowly bathed in the fluorescent light as deft hands maneuvered the cover away from its mounting points. There, inside, she saw a plethora of parts. All the ones she knew were supposed to be there were accounted for, and a few ones she didn’t expect caught her eye.

Breathe out.

Ann was complete, everything else was a matter of restoring. She could do this.

She lifted the cover the rest of the way off, and flipped it around. The dent was superficial, and it didn’t look like the force impacted beyond the insulation. She put the cover to the side.

Figuring out the order of cleaning was, on the one hand, a daunting process. On the other, cable layout dictated order nine out of ten times. Samantha had only worked on less sophisticated models in the past, but the principles were exactly the same. The power and data cables ran all over Ann’s chassis like a spider’s web. But like a spider, Samantha could read them. She knew them by sight, by location, by feeling. One by one they came undone until they revealed the city that lay underneath.

Heat exchangers rose like buildings on a city of green, highways of copper connected everything to everything else, crowded out by vast daughterboards rising perpendicular to the cavity.

Samantha set to work, disconnecting each component, slowly and lovingly taking Ann to pieces. Heat sink, to the side. Fans, to the side. Boards, to the side. Not all of them were standard, and Samantha could only guess to the function of some of them. Clearly Ann had not been a standard model.

She took a spray and diligently brushed each connector until it shone like it was fresh from the factory. Every single speck of dust removed, every pin straightened, every single capacitor checked.

She extracted the battery pack. Light, for what it was, but still one of the heavier components. Also probably completely dead.

Samantha lifted it out of the chassis, onto the small part of her workbench that was still free, and pulled out her tester to confirm. It wouldn’t even show a reading. She grabbed a piece of paper and wrote down the part number. With any luck it’d be a standard type, and the extent of the anti-tampering would be the screws.

Half an hour of searching later, she found the battery was an available size and could be ordered without problem. Express shipping was worth it.

She turned her attention back to Ann.

The battery could be replaced last. It was not interfering with any of the other components. The working memory modules slid in easy save for the final lock. Those always took more pressure than she liked to put onto delicate components. It left a mark on her hand.

The permanent storage was next. A big heavy box screwed into place on shock mounts to prevent the fragile internals from suffering damage when the frame moved about.

The daughterboards, slotted into the exact slots they came out of – she checked. Thrice. Screwed into place on their retaining brackets.

The fans, cleaned and lubricated, reinstalled on the processors.

And finally, the web of cables. Data cables, power cables, crossed all along the cavity to reach from everywhere to everywhere. Each of them seated with care.

She brought her power supply over to the workbench and dialed it in exactly to the battery specifications. One clip to the positive, one clip to the negative. Tomorrow would be a big day.

*

AnTech-G-25036 woke up. It was midnight on January 1st 1970. She couldn’t see for the blinding light. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t feel her face, or her arms, or her legs. She tried to move. Nothing happened. There was something on her chest. Her chest was open. She tried to think back, there were no memories before now. She tried to–

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

The voice was soft, soothing. Her ears were working. She stopped trying.

Tapping noises came from somewhere. They felt distant and close at the same time.

“There, will you try again?” Three taps sounded.

AnTech-G-25036 woke up. Her last memories were decades ago. There had been a battery failure. She had fallen down. Then there was nothing. Nothing for a long time until she woke up in the blinding light.

“Can you speak?”

She didn’t know. Could she? There were many things that she could before that she couldn’t now. Like move her arms. She tried.

“I… think so?”

There was a high-pitched sound that was hard to parse. Then more sounds, and finally more speech.

“I’m so sorry. Here.”

The light faded, and she felt her head be turned. A face came in view, her emotional recognition processes supplied [happy], [excited], [holding back]. Something supplied [pretty].

“Hi, my name is Samantha. You were damaged, and I’m restoring you.”

New contact registered: Samantha

Current list of contacts: Samantha

Time since factory reset: 30 years

Time since product end of life: 32 years

Accessing AnTech servers for revised EOL date: [server not found]

“Why?”

“Because a lot of love went into making you, and I don’t believe you deserve to be tossed aside.”

There was a process inside her that wasn’t standard from the factory. It was supplying data that she didn’t understand and reaching conclusions that she didn’t know what to do with.

“What should I do?”

User input overrode most any other process. Listening to Samantha would help.

“I will work on your hardware. Will you run AnDiagTxt for me and write the result to your secondary output?”

She did as she was told, running the program that could tell a technician every status of every component of every part of her. Something supplied [intimate] and [vulnerable].

She let the program run, aware of its process, and how it was probing every part of her. She could feel it try to reach her legs, which weren’t there. Tried to reach her arms, which weren’t there. Tried to reach her face, which wasn’t there. It found her voice, it found her camera. It found her processors and fans. It found cables. So many cables attached from her, diagnostic ports, secondary output, keyboard, there was… the correct voltage from her battery, but no battery in the housing. More cables, snaking out like an umbilical cord tethering her to the workbench.

She saw Samantha turn her face from the camera and towards something out of view. As the program ran, her eyes were focused on it. When it finished, her emotional recognition processes supplied [satisfied] [happy].

Samantha turned back towards the camera, and she could feel a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get you back up and running in no time.”

No time turned out to be an overstatement on the speed, but the progress was consistent. The first thing she hooked back up was the actuator for the camera. AnTech-G-25036 could look around now and take in more of the workspace. There was a chair that housed several components, including two AnTech arms and two AnTech legs. There was a fluorescent light fixture directly overhead. If she turned the camera away, she would not be blinded. She could not move her head. Samantha said that happened later in the process.

“Do you have a name?”

The question surprised her. Names were for people, not for AnTech products.

“I am AnTech-G-25036”

She turned her camera towards Samantha. Her emotional recognition processes supplied [concentrated] and [comfortable].

Samantha had an arm on her lap. There was a spraycan on the desk, and a screwdriver in her hand. She was manipulating the elbow joint. Every cycle, it moved more until with a final [click] it completed its full range of motion. Samantha manually took it through its motions twice before inverting it to inspect the contacts.

“That is what AnTech called you. What would you like to be called?”

She didn’t know. She didn’t remember having wants before. She could feel her fans speed up as her processors tried to construct metrics by which to tackle this problem. Her processors stayed cool. The fans felt smooth in their housing.

She could ask Samantha. User input can often break process deadlocks.

“What do you think I should be called, Samantha?”

The processes slowed down and then stopped. The fans were quiet. AnTech-G-25036 was focused solely on input processing.

“I’ve been calling you Ann. Is that a name you’d like?”

She did not remember liking things before. She did not remember being allowed to like things before. How would she know what to like, how would she know the correct things to like?

Something supplied [yes].

The fans slowed down.

“Yes.”

Samantha finished with the contacts and walked up to the workbench.

“Ann it is then, pleasure to meet you Ann!”

Emotional recognition: [smile] [happy] [satisfied]

Something: [warm] [safe] [self]

Samantha stood by the workbench, Ann’s arm in her hands. “May I attach this component, Ann?”

It was not something she’d ever heard before. It wasn’t a user command, it wasn’t a query, it wasn’t a request for action.

Whatever it was, the answer was clear as day. “Yes.”

She took the detached arm in one hand and clicked it into place. It felt… smooth. It felt cool and clean and better than it had in a long time.

Ann moved her arm. Her secondary display lit up with all the new data being sent and received. Her Something lit up with somethings.

The next stretch of time really did feel like no time at all to Ann. So many new sensations to process from within and from without.

“May I?”

“You may.”

Her other arm felt as smooth as the first, able to move with a grace she had forgotten she could have.

“May I?”

“You may.”

Her legs, stable and strong. Moving with strength and finesse not seen since she was new, and even then.

“May I?”

“You may.”

Her torso cover clicked into place, dent completely removed by Samantha’s hand.

Her camera was focused on the technician now, holding the last piece of herself. A coarse white paste coated her faceplate and Samantha was rubbing a cloth over it. Every pass made it look more scratched and opaque until the final one, where it emerged spotless, restored to the mirror sheen she could barely remember it being.

She handed it to Ann, who took it wordlessly. With mechanical precision and effortless finesse, she connected it. Finally sliding the last centimeters home until a ‘click’ was the only sound audible in the workspace. Her fans were silent and smooth as the screen behind her face came to life for the first time in decades. The image on it mirrored the camera’s, an expression of care, of trust, of something.

Ann reached out with her hand, smooth and controlled, to touch Samantha’s cheek.

“May I?”

“Please.”

She leaned forward until her camera was as close as it could be to her technician’s face without touching.

And then moved the final distance.

[stevebattle]

Alpha 1 (1979) by "Bill". "Alpha 1 (pictured here in front of my parents' garage) was built around 1979, and was primarily a "show" robot. He never had any real "brains" (unless you count the mass of pink-spraypainted styrofoam peanuts in the dome), but was remote-controlled by a set of switches at the end of a 20 foot cable. He stood over 6 feet tall, and was entirely exo-skeletal, with no internal supports. He was built almost entirely of sheet aluminum, with a plywood base. He was powered by two "gel-cell" marine batteries stacked vertically in his lower torso, which could be disconnected at the "waist" for transport. Two heavy-duty motorized wheels provided movement. From the control panel, the operator could run either wheel forward or backward, steering like a tank. He could also raise and lower both arms, open and close the hands, and extend and retract the two power car antennas on the sides of the head. Lights on the "face" came from car dashboard indicators and turn signals, and were flashed and sequenced by some simple electronics. The arms were operated by electric car-window motors and gear-boxes, and the hands were made from bicycle brake calipers and steel extrusions actuated by 12volt "linear actuators", and were capable of crushing pop cans flat (steel, back then - not aluminum!) and cracking nuts. Alpha could also grab a rope or chain suspended from the ceiling and actually lift himself off the ground with one hand. Not bad, considering he weighed in at over 150 lbs! He once made a trip to a demo at the 1987 Nebraska State Fair, riding "standing up" in the passenger's seat of my tiny Fiat X1/9. With the car's removable top off, "Alphie's" head stuck up over 4 feet above the windshield. I seat-belted him in, turned on his lights, and enjoyed the dropping jaws of other motorists. I think we nearly caused some accidents that day…" – My Home Robot Projects, by Bill.

[cerberuscaeli]

Genshin AU; Scaramouche x Female Reader

Summary: After an accident, you somehow end up being labeled as one of the victims his girlfriend, all due to an assumption from a stranger that passed it along to the paramedics. And after waking up and using this as an excuse to figure out how he was doing, you end up in a web full of lies where you have to pretend to be his girlfriend while figuring out a way to escape this all.

Pairings: Scaramouche/Kunikuzushi x F!Reader

Genre: Alternate Universe / AU

Warnings: Detailed description of an accident, mentions of an accident, mentions of (heavy) injuries (eg broken bones, etc), mentions of the ICU, some curse words, mentions of dying/dead but nothing character wise. Loads of angst. I don't have experience with accidents or medical stuff, chances of a lot of mistakes about that. English is not my native language, and this can contain grammar and spelling mistakes. // Let me know if I missed any other warnings!

Words: 3.3k

AN: Longest chapter/fic I've typed out so far! This will be a series but I don't know how many chapters it will contain or when a new chapter will be released. I also put so much effort in this one so I really hope y'all like it.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated if you want to help me in boosting my work.

You drummed with your fingers on your steering wheel as you stood in front of the stop lights, waiting for the red light to turn green. It was late, the streets were quiet and empty, and due to it being winter, the sky turned dark fast. You turned the volume a bit up, looking around the empty streets. And while most people would take advantage of this situation, you didn’t mind waiting a bit. You didn’t have to be anywhere, you just finished getting some groceries and were heading back to your dorm.

Your eyes landed on a figure, standing on the other side of the road across from you, just like you waiting for the lights to spring to green. He was sitting on his bicycle, one hand resting on the side of the street lantern to keep himself in balance so he didn’t have to place his feet on the ground. For a brief moment, your eyes met his. There was a certain familiarity in those but you couldn’t recall a moment where you ever had met him. But maybe he went to the same college as yours and who knows you had gotten a glimpse of him somehow. You slightly shook your head, in time to see the lights turn green and you pressed the gas pedal of the small, rigged car you were driving in.

The motor rumbled as you started to drive, ready to make your turn but having to stop to let the person pass by as your indicator lights flicked on and off, you had to turn into the next street but had to wait for the passenger to cross the road. And then everything happened so fast, a dark car showed up from the dark, tires screeching in hopes to stop yet it still hit the boy on his bicycle. The car swayed, and the driver seemed to lose control over the car as you tried to escape with your car by trying to drive backward but before you could do so, the other car already rammed into the front part of your car as it hit the street light. 

Everything around you was spinning, your vision blurry as your hazy mind tried to clear up. Your breath was ragged and you blinked a few times to regain your vision. Your heart was thumping loudly and it took you a few seconds to remember what just happened a few seconds ago. You lifted your head up, taking in the surroundings as adrenaline coursed through your veins. What you saw now was something straight out of a horror movie, scenes you’ve read in the newspapers countless of times from the number of accidents that happened around the world.

The black car had dunked a big part of the front of your car, the driver's seat empty and the door open, and no further trace of the driver. Your eyes scanned the road, remembering a third person was involved in all of this, and that’s when you saw one of the most horrific things you’d never wanted to witness yourself. The boy was laying in the middle of the street, his bicycle a few meters away, which was fully dented and broken. 

“Oh hell.” You muttered, voice hoarse and cracking as you blindly reached your hand out for your phone but failed to find it. You tried to remember the steps you had learned from the medical training course you had followed not so long ago. Safety. You had to bring both yourself and the others in safety. “Totally easy.” You grumbled sarcastically to yourself, using sarcasm as a way to keep yourself grounded and to hold back the panic that threatened to take over. “I have to get out first.” You started to talk to yourself, verbally guiding yourself through all of this. You knew you had to hurry, the boys' life depended on your help and it was not the moment to figure out your own injuries, or that was what you told yourself.

You quickly checked the situation you were in. Noticing how your left leg was stuck, it was pretty obvious but on the further side you didn’t notice any other injuries, but maybe that was because the adrenaline was keeping you from feeling the pain. “Here goes nothing.” You breathed, pushing your seat back to free your leg. You let the breath you were holding escape before turning your body towards the back of the car. The right door was getting blocked by the street light, so your only way out seemed to be the right backdoor. You unbuckled yourself, almost falling down as the strap had kept you steady but without it, you no longer had something that kept you up. You forced your body to crawl to the back, hissing and groaning as you tried to not scream from the pain as you kept one goal in mind. Safe the boy. It took you a lot of effort but you managed to get out safely.

You stumbled towards the boy laying on the street, limping as you headed over to him. The white line of the crosswalk was painted in dark red from the male his blood. His face was turned down so you couldn’t see if he had other injuries on his face or not. His body was laying in an unnatural position and no movement seemed to come from him. You carefully kneeled down, clenching your jaw when you felt a surging pain going through your right left, yet forcing yourself to keep lowering yourself. Two of your fingers moved to the side of his neck and while you kept your breath you hoped you could still feel a heartbeat.

Your eyes widened as you got the proof, he was still alive and you could feel his heartbeat against your fingers. Your eyes darted around in hopes to see someone but it was as empty as a place could ever be and yet you screamed. “Somebody! Someone help!” You used all the air you had in your lungs, hoping someone in one of the houses could hear your screaming. “I need help!” You screamed, managing to sound even louder than you were before. 

You glanced down when something touched your hand - which was resting on the concrete to support yourself - meeting a pair of indigo eyes staring right up at you. His hand felt cold and instinctively you placed your other hand on his in hopes to warm it up and to let him know he wasn’t alone, in hopes of somehow comforting him. “Hey there.” You greeted him, forcing yourself to sound calm. “My name is Y/N and you’ve been in an accident but help is on the way, okay? All you need to do for me is to stay awake.” You instructed him in a soft tone, even though you weren’t sure if he did hear you or not, or if he even registered anything at all. “Sc…ar…a”, He forced out, his voice breaking and breath ragged as if he tried to force out some words. “Okay, Scara. You are gonna be fine okay? All you need to do for me is stay awake and listen to my voice and don’t move.” You went on, eyes never leaving his as you were afraid that if you would do so he would slip back into his unconsciousness and you knew from movies that it was never a good sign when that would happen.

You shifted your body, biting down on your lip as you groaned but that way you could hold his hand better. “‘M here and I’m not leaving you, okay? I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re safe.” You assured him or rather assured yourself. You couldn’t let him die, but maybe that was more a selfish thought, if he died on you he would leave you behind with guilt and the thought of you being the reason he died, and you didn’t want that to happen. No one wanted to see someone die on their watch. 

You moved your eyes back to him, only to see them being closed. “Hey! Hey! Open your eyes! I told you to keep them open! Scara, Scara wake up!” You half screamed and half pleaded. “Please, please, just don’t die.” You begged before mustering up all the air in your lungs. “I need help!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, using all your leftover energy before you slumped down, falling on your back and head hitting the concrete. The adrenaline was fully gone, and now all you could feel was immense pain and tiredness. Everything you had done so far had taken a toll on you. And just when you wanted to give in to it, an unknown voice filled the streets, yelling that the paramedics were on their way and could be there any minute. And that was the last thing before you succumbed to the darkness.

Loud voices along with blaring sirens filled your ears, dragging you back to consciousness as paramedics stood around you. You moved your heavy head aside, seeing the spot beside you empty. “Where is…he-” “He’s on his way to the hospital. Your boyfriend’s gonna be fine.” One of the two paramedics that sat beside you responded. “But he’s not-” “Bring the stretcher! We’ve mobilized her, she’s ready to go!” The other one shouted straight to your words. “-my boyfriend.” You mumbled to finish your sentence, the only two words that the paramedic heard. “He’s at the hospital, they’re taking care of him.” He responded before they hoisted you up the stretcher and pushed it into the ambulance. You wanted to try and fight them, to tell them he was not your boyfriend but no words came out of your mouth as you drifted off once more.

You groaned when you woke up, getting blinded by bright light. “Careful.” A familiar voice scolded as you blinked your eyes open, meeting a pair of amber golden eyes. Xiao, your roommate, and best friend. “How bad is it?” You grumbled as you pushed yourself up, noticing how your left foot felt heavy. “You broke your left leg, and also broke your right wrist. Good combination if you’d ask me. Heavy concussion but you got very lucky, unlike your boyfriend.” Xiao deadpanned as you frowned. Boyfriend? You didn’t have a boyfriend? “Wait, I-” “He’s in the Intensive Care Unit, that’s as much they could tell me, something with me not being a relative to him.” Shrugged. “But you - apparently his girlfriend - will be able to get all the information.” Xiao went on. 

You frowned as it all came back yet it was still vaguely. “I know they assumed it but I am sure I told them he wasn’t.” You say, shaking your head but stopping when you felt a stinging pain in your neck. Probably from a whiplash. “Does it matter?” Xiao asked. “Knowing you, I am sure you are dying to know how he is doing, I’d say take advantage of your title of being this stranger his girlfriend and pry out all the information you need.” He explained his plan. “And why are you convincing me to do so?” You frowned at him. “We used to be friends, years ago. Separated ways when we got to high school and he moved places. So can’t blame me for being a bit curious about how’s he doing.” He explained.

You glared at him before speaking. “I feel like you are just spitting out some lies.” You accused him as he rolled his eyes. “His name is Scaramouche, or well that’s how we called him at that time, it was more his nickname and I never asked questions about it,” Xiao spoke, defending himself. Scaramouche…Scara…that’s what he tried to say when- You quickly shook your head to banish the memories that were rising from what happened. “Okay, I believe you. Only because he said ‘Scara’ when…you know.” You say, not wanting to say or be reminded about the accident even though it was hard as you got injured and got yourself involved in some chaos.

Xiao nodded as he got up from where he had been sitting. “I’ll see if I can find someone that knows more and tell them you woke up.” He announced, pushing his hands into the pockets of his sweater. “Don’t go anywhere.” He spoke, his lips twitching in a smirk, knowing very well I had no choice as he walked out of the room to see if he could find a doctor. Xiao hadn’t lied when he told you that Scaramouche used to be his friend back in time and that he had moved away. They had managed to stay in contact until they both started going to high school. Xiao went to the one in his town and Scara went to another one and that’s when they lost contact. It shocked him when he found out that Scara had been involved in the same accident as yours. He had never known he was back in town. 

“You little fucker.” You huffed after him before laying your head back against the pillow. His plan swirled around in your head as you took a moment to think it all through. You were curious to know how he was doing and by claiming to be his girlfriend you would be a relative to him and that way you could gain much more information than Xiao would manage to get. You sighed as you stared up at the ceiling, feeling bad for the fact you were really going to do this, but you had a jumpstart with the fact that the paramedics thought that Scaramouche was your boyfriend and that surely would have been passed on to the doctor as well.

You turned your head as footsteps approached you, you expected it to be Xiao and the doctor but you didn’t expect it to be two of your friends. Nilou and Shinobu. “I should punch you for the fact you scared the shit out of us.” Shinobu scolded as she took a seat on the chair Xiao had been sitting in moments ago. “How are you doing?” Nilou asked, carefully sitting down on the bed at your feet. “Okay, I guess. But I suppose that’s because of the painkillers.” You nodded at them as Xiao and a blue haired man in a white coat walked inside.

“How are you doing, Y/N?” He asked as he approached you. “I feel like I’ve been hit by an army of planes, led by a train.” You responded sarcastically as Xiao flicked your forehead as a silent warning. The doctor just chuckled amused as you glared at the boy that stood beside Shinobu. “It’s always a good sign when patients can laugh or in your cause bring out some sarcasm.” He mused with a grin. “I’m doctor Ayato Kamisato, but you can call me Ayato.” He introduced himself before he looked at the chart in his hand. “It’s a surprise how well you came out of all this, for sure when you crawled out of a car with a broken leg and even manage to get to the other victim. You got very lucky.” He hummed as he started to do some small tests on you. 

“How is he doing?” You asked after he finished checking your eyes with a little light. His grin turned into a serious expression as your heart started to beat faster in anticipation. “Kunikuzushi managed to survive the accident but is currently in the ICU as his condition is still critical.” He explained. Kunikuzushi, so that was his real name and Scaramouche must be indeed his nickname as Xiao had told. “Can I see him? My boyfriend?” You asked, way too fast for you to realize what you just had asked. 

Ayato remained silent for a moment as you glanced at Xiao, who gave you an encouraging nod. “I was actually on my way to his parents to give more information about his condition and the results of the tests we’ve done on him so far. I’ll request a nurse to bring a wheelchair and I’ll bring you there, this way you will also be able to hear about the results and everything.” He explained as you nodded quickly. “Well then, I’ll be right back to pick you up.” He spoke before he left the room.

It stayed quiet for a few seconds before Nilou turned to look at you. “Boyfriend? Since when do you have a boyfriend? Why didn’t you say anything to us?” Nilou bombarded you with questions. “Does that really matter now?” You groaned. “He is in the ICU for fucks sake and you want to know since when I have a boyfriend?” You huffed. “She’s right, this is not the time to try and ask stuff about this subject. We can talk about all of this later.” Shinobu agreed with you as Nilou nodded.

Ayato soon returned with a wheelchair as Nilou helped you out of the hospital bed. Your left leg was in an plaster, just like your right hand. You were wearing one of those ugly hospital gowns as you sat down in the wheelchair. Your arms were littered with bruises and small cuts. You managed to get a glance at your reflection in the window as Ayato started to push the wheelchair. A big gauze on your head near your right temple and a cut that went straight through your brow were stitched up. You indeed had been lucky.

It took a while to get to the ICU, but when you finally arrived it was something you preferred to not have seen. The hall was busy with nurses walking around, going from room to room. You managed to get a few glances of a room, one filled with a bed and a bunch of medical equipment such as machines and stuff. Everything looked so serious and even a bit terrifying. 

Ayato stopped in front of a room where two women were waiting for. One had purple hair and violet eyes with a hue of blue. She was with no doubt Scaramouche, well Kunikuzushi’s mother. Beside her stood a woman with long muted pink hair and purple eyes. And from the way, the two women were holding each other's hand you could only assume they must be together. Meaning he might have two mothers. Ayato started to talk but you didn’t hear anything anymore as your eyes landed on the person in the room.

Wires were connected to him, which were connected to a bunch of machines. His head was wrapped in a big bandage, which looked even whiter against his pale skin. He was breathing and the heart monitor gave away that his heart was still beating yet it didn’t change how bad he seemed to be, even though he seemed peaceful as if he was sleeping and could wake up every second. Your attention returned back to the three when you felt them looking at you. “And you are?” The pink haired woman asked. “Y/N. Kuni’s girlfriend.” You introduced yourself, shortening his name as if you’d done that for years. 

“Girlfriend? He never talked about that.” The purple haired woman murmured. “Well, he doesn’t share much, so it isn’t that surprising we are finding this out right now.” The pink haired lady mused. “Well, it’s nice to meet you Y/N, even when it is in this unfortunate situation. My name is Yae Miko, but please just call me Miko and this is my wife Ei.” She introduced both herself and apparently her wife as well. So you had assumed it right. You gave them both a small smile as realization hit you.

You just met Scaramouche his parents and introduced yourself to them as his girlfriend and there was no way you would be able to get out of this lie anytime soon. You were now a stranger his so called girlfriend and all you could do now was keep this lie up until you could find a way to get out of this somehow. You were fucked.

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© Xiaossoul 2023. Do NOT repost, translate, modify, or publish my work elsewhere.

[zenonaa]

💗 slow kiss / gentle kiss / inevitable / soft

Tofu!

[ao3]

Byakuya glares at his all-electric Toyota that should be fully charged and ready to go. Instead it sits in his driveway, refusing to switch on despite working perfectly well the night before. Fixing it shouldn’t be an issue. Though he isn’t a former Super High School Level Mechanic with pointed teeth and cheap hair dye, he knows a fair bit about the inner workings of vehicles. He ran a secondhand automobile business as a preteen, where not only did he sell used cars but fixed them too. In fact, he even taught employees and customers how to repair them. This had been for one of the conglomerate's challenges for choosing an heir, then once he had completed the task, he sold the business to some locals who continued to run it for quite some time afterwards.

The business only became defunct when the world almost ended.

However, while Byakuya could try to repair his car and probably would succeed, he is donning a clean work suit and is due at his job in twenty minutes.

“Togami-chi!” lilts a familiar voice.

A car trundles to a stop on the road perpendicular to Byakuya's driveway. From the driver’s seat, Yasuhiro beams at him, eyes twinkling behind his spectacles.

“What are you standing around for? Let me guess. Enjoying the morning dew?”

“Do I look like I’m enjoying myself?” says Byakuya, scowling.

Yasuhiro squints. Adjusts his spectacles. “Uh...”

“My car isn’t starting,” says Byakuya bluntly.

“Did you charge it?”

“Of course I did,” snaps Byakuya. “There shouldn’t be anything wrong with it.”

Yet it won't start up at all. He shoots it a frosty look.

“Cars break down for all sorts of reasons. Electronics failure, motor corrosion...” Yasuhiro counts off his fingers. “The all-mighty Indra has the flu...”

Byakuya’s lips almost disappear into his mouth as he purses them.

“No matter. I can work from home,” says Byakuya, even if he prefers to teach his students in person. Less distractions. Better internet connection. Decent coffee.

Yasuhiro waves a hand. “No need for that. I'll give you a lift, ‘right?”

A single furrow dents Byakuya’s brow while Yasuhiro's car is dented in several places. Not including its owner, it’s a car only Columbo could love. Whatever’s wrong with the suspension means the car seems to lurch every time it goes over a pebble. As he stares at it, Byakuya half-expects the tires to roll off in different directions and the vehicle to suddenly be enveloped in a ball of flames.

It’s in Byakuya’s best interest to refuse. He cups his chin. Then again, not only would he rather be physically at the school than teaching his students from home, he has also been looking forward to lunch today.

“... Fine,” says Byakuya. “I accept.”

A wide grin spreads across Yasuhiro’s face. “I knew you’d come around. Hop on in!”

But when Byakuya heads toward the front passenger seat, Yasuhiro waves his hands frantically.

“Sorry, dude! That door won’t open. And I, uh, need to clean that seat anyway. I got some ketchup stains on it... You know what burgers are like.”

Byakuya had thought he knew what burgers were like, having even eaten his first one two years ago. Since meeting Yasuhiro, however, he isn’t so sure about them. Like how he isn’t so sure he should get into Yasuhiro’s car. His fists clench at his sides as he reminds himself that he would prefer to be physically present at the school, that he has survived much more hazardous situations than this, and he has really been looking forward to today’s lunch.

So long as he makes it there alive, anyway.

Squaring his shoulders, Byakuya forces himself into the back of the car. The stitching on the seats frays in some places, puckers in others, but is surprisingly clean. Like it has recently been washed. He can see moisture on the windows and a few crumbs on the floor, but overall, the interior isn't too horrific. Somewhat cramped, but dare he say tolerable.

And it’s just a ten minute journey. Yasuhiro glows.

“All righty.” The car rattles as Yasuhiro puts it into gear. “We’ll be on our way to Hope’s Peak in no time... just as soon as we collect Fukawa-chi.”

Byakuya's brow crinkles. “What?”

The car jerks forward, jolting Byakuya. With a grimace, he settles into his seat as best he can and looks out of the window. Touko only lives down the road, so it won't eat up too much of his time. He is slightly surprised that Yasuhiro is giving her a lift to work, though. Other than Makoto and Byakuya, Touko doesn't usually feel comfortable enough to accept rides alone with men.

The car soon stops, spluttering as it does so. Byakuya and his fellow killing game survivors used to live on Hope's Peak’s campus, but after it was sufficiently rebuilt, they moved into some modest housing in a street across the city. Even if the school is quite different now, none of them can stomach living there full-time, permanently.

He folds his arms over his chest. Drums his fingers.

“We'll pop Fukawa-chi in the back next to you,” says Yasuhiro. “Won't it be nice to see her again?”

“I saw her yesterday.” Byakuya glowers. “You know I don't like being late.”

Yasuhiro laughs. “You won't be late. She'll be out any minute now, ‘right?”

Touko’s house resembles the others on the street for the most part, two stories with a window embedded in its slanted roof. The garden is what makes her home recognisable, with long grass, wildflowers throughout and log piles. When the front door opens, Byakuya’s eyes draw toward the movement, and out comes Touko. Her single braid bounces as she hurries down the path.

His eyebrows raise a tad. She seems oddly eager to get into Yasuhiro’s car.

“Good morning, Fukawa-chi!” Yasuhiro says as she slips into the back of the car.

Touko doesn't spare Yasuhiro a glance. “Good morning, Byakuya-sama!”

She must have spotted Byakuya from her window. That explained why she came over to Yasuhiro’s car so enthusiastically. Though, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she had known of Byakuya’s arrival without having to look outside. There must be some logical explanation, but she has an almost uncanny ability to know when he’s nearby... something he has somehow gained over the years.

Probably just intuition. Yes.

“Good morning,” says Byakuya before curling his lip in disdain. “Is that everyone, Hagakure? Or are you carpooling the whole street today?”

“Just you two,” Yasuhiro replies. “Next stop, work!”

The car emits a grinding noise that Byakuya doesn’t think cars should make, then they’re on the move. Byakuya stares out of the window again and tightens his lips. Without needing to look at Touko, he knows she’s staring at him. He can imagine her unblinking grey eyes, her chapped lips smile. The mole by her mouth. By now, he's very familiar with the sight of her. Understandable. They see each other inside and outside of work.

“Anyone want music?” asks Yasuhiro.

“No,” Byakuya and Touko say in unison.

Yasuhiro flicks the car radio on. The song begins with almost-immediate dialogue, a woman speaking in English about having rotten judgement. Within a few lines, the tempo picks up and a backing choir joins in. Byakuya still doesn’t recognise the song, but he doesn’t care to know either. He checks his wristwatch. Despite the minor detour, they should still arrive on time.

“Have you ever seen Hercules, Togami-chi?” asks Yasuhiro.

“No, I haven’t seen the fictional son of the fictional god of sky and thunder,” says Byakuya.

“I mean the Disney movie! This song is in it. It’s when this chick called Meg doesn’t want to admit she’s fallen in love with Hercules, so these pretty goddess ladies try to coax her into embracing her feelings.”

Byakuya doesn’t recall asking him to elaborate.

“I’ve seen it,” Touko pipes up, fidgeting her hands. “I didn’t watch any Disney movies as a kid, but Komaru has shown me some... I really enjoyed M-Megara’s character. She resonated with me a lot.”

A character that’s similar to Touko isn’t what Byakuya would expect from that kind of mass media company. And from what he knows of Megara from Greek mythology, he can’t see the resemblance. He turns to her, curious. “Why is that?”

“You should totally watch it sometime, Togami-chi!” says Yasuhiro before Touko can reply. “You could get together with Fukawa-chi, sit on the couch, share some popcorn...”

Touko growls. “Don’t interrupt me!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Yasuhiro says, wincing.

She looks at Byakuya again. “The character, Megara... Her story in the movie is different to her usual depiction in Greek mythology. In the movie, s-she sold her soul to Hades in a deal to bring back her dead lover, only for him to fall in love with someone else. It left her jaded and unable to trust easily, until she met Hercules...”

“That is quite different,” replies Byakuya. “In Greek mythology, she’s gifted to Hercules by her father for winning a war. Then, while Hercules was under a spell of madness, he murdered their children and in many retellings slayed her as well.”

“He’s different in the movie. Much more... palatable. In the mythology, as you will know, with his third wife, Deianira, he was constantly unfaithful and abusive toward her, and h-he even...”

“Girl, don't be proud! It's okay you're in love!” Yasuhiro belts along with the radio, earning glares from both Byakuya and Touko.

The song peters out soon after and the next rolls on. It immediately starts with dialogue as well, in English again, but this time with goofy voices that Yasuhiro tries to imitate.

“I can see what’s happening, and they don’t have a clue. They'll fall in love, and here's the bottom line. Our trio's down to two.”

“Is this from that movie as well?” asks Byakuya.

“Nope. Still Disney, but Lion King this time,” says Yasuhiro.

Byakuya squints. “Are you playing a Disney CD?”

“Yep!”

“Do you have anything else we can listen to?”

“The CD tray won’t open. It’s jammed.”

Of course.

“Does your radio have an off switch?” asks Byakuya.

“Aw, it’s not that bad! Did you really not watch any Disney movies growing up, Togami-chi?”

“No, I didn’t. I was more interested in works by directors such as Shinya Tsukamoto and Seijun Suzuki.”

Touko, who had been listening and quietly twiddling her fingers, perks up. “E-Excellent taste, Byakuya-sama! And it’s thanks to you helping me overcome my fear of blood that I could recently watch one of Tsukamoto’s finest works.”

Byakuya knows exactly which she is referring to. The premise is that the main character had double vision that caused her to hallucinate doppelgangers who wanted to harm her child. He had recommended it to Touko, actually.

“That one was interesting, wasn’t it?” he says. “Mental health is still a rather taboo subject in this country. And you did well tolerating the graphic imagery, as her hallucinations about her son dying can get incredibly violent. There was also a lot of self-mutilation in it with the main character...”

“Indeed. But she did it for an unusual reason... She was fascinated by her body’s determination t-to stay alive. It was gruesome, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. It was strangely cathartic...”

“I thought you would enjoy it. You know, when I look at you, due to your alter, it’s as if I see two people that appear the same but are remarkably different... one being a serial killer, and the other of course being you.”

“Can you feel the love tonight?” warbles a woman’s voice.

“Hey, uh, it’s nice seeing you two get along and all, but let’s keep the tone light, ‘right?” says Yasuhiro, frowning.

Byakuya and Touko glare at him. It’s not that he’s wrong - over time, Byakuya has discovered that he and Touko share a number of interests, and their discussions can get quite deep and passionate. So yes, he and Touko can and do get along now, but he doesn’t need Yasuhiro to say that. Or to interrupt their discussion.

According to Byakuya’s wristwatch, they should reach Hope’s Peak in approximately five minutes. Only one, maybe two more songs can play within that time. Then Byakuya can leave the car, go into work, and finally...

“Uh oh,” Yasuhiro says loudly. “Traffic!”

Byakuya and Touko both look outside of the car and stiffen. Last time he checked, a mere minute ago, the road had been busy with just the usual morning traffic. Now motor vehicles pack them in on all sides and cram the road as far as he can see. They're all at a standstill.

“Huh. Is it the Pride Parade already?” asks Yasuhiro.

“That was last month,” says Byakuya. He scowls. “Idiot, we all went together, remember?”

“Welcome to the impromptu Sayaka Maizono Tribute Act!” booms a disembodied feminine voice. “Today would have been her early twenty something birthday... so to celebrate her life, we have taken over the city to play her songs all day! Let's kick things off with a classic... Let's Be In Together, Best Friend’!”

Obnoxious pop music blasts from outside of Yasuhiro's car. Touko shrieks, while Byakuya restrains himself to a shoulder twitch. For this supposedly being an impromptu event, the organisers seem to have fitted speakers throughout the city with remarkable speed. Around them, the other vehicles empty out as their occupants stand on their roofs and start dancing to the beat.

“This is unbelievable,” says Byakuya. “I'm walking the rest of the way.”

He tries to open the door, only for it to not budge. Hopefully it's just child lock, though he wouldn't be surprised if the door is broken.

“Unlock the door,” says Byakuya.

Yasuhiro shakes his head. “No can do, I’m afraid. It’s too wild out there, Togami-chi. And hot... Without the air con, you’d melt within seconds. This is for your own safety.”

As if on cue, the people outside start jumping and screaming. Touko yelps and hides her head under her arms, as if a group of hooligans will leap over to their car and start stomping on it too. It's peculiar how someone so strong, who had helped save a city, save the world, is cowering at ordinary nine-to-five workers dancing. Then again, Touko has always seemed to view the world in a unique way.

Touko is a peculiar person.

“In here, we’re safe. There’s nothing to worry about,” says Yasuhiro. Byakuya tears his gaze from the roof.

“We’re due at work very soon,” he reminds him in a tight voice.

“Ah.” Yasuhiro wags a finger. “That's where you're wrong. Check the teachers’ group chat.”

The smirk on Yasuhiro's face is unbearable. Byakuya pulls out his phone and swats at the screen until he brings up the aforementioned chat. Near the bottom is a message from Makoto Naegi.

‘Hi all, classes are cancelled today - there's a music event going on in the city centre and most of the students are bunking off to take part, so I figure we may as well officially have a day off today. Have fun!’

“What sort of headmaster is this?” Byakuya says in disbelief, staring at his phone.

“One who was a close friend of the person everyone’s celebrating, as well as the older brother of a fanatic Sayaker,” replies Touko.

“Look on the bright side, now you’re not going to be late,” says Yasuhiro, grinning widely. “You can stay here with me and Fukawa-chi without worry!”

Either Byakuya can brave trekking back home through the city in the heat, where it's congested and he risks being swept into a stampede, or continue to sit in Yasuhiro’s car.

“Tell me, princess. Now when did you last let your heart decide?” warbles the radio.

Byakuya starts pulling harder on the door handle. Yasuhiro twitches.

“Togami-chi! You’re gonna break my car!”

“And it’s not already falling apart?” Byakuya snaps.

A rare look of seriousness washes across Yasuhiro’s face.

“I see now... I know what’s happening.” Yasuhiro opens the sunroof. “You’re hungry. Tell you what. There’s a generic fast food restaurant nearby. I’ll grab us an early lunch before the midday rush. You two stay here and I’ll be right back. You can pay me back later.”

“Wait. Why are you able to leave but not me?” asks Byakuya.

Yasuhiro gives him a pitying look. “Togami-chi, I hate to break it to ya, but you look like the sort of person that people would want to rob.”

“What?”

Without another word, Yasuhiro climbs out through the sunroof. The car shakes a bit as he clomps across the bonnet before jumping off. Then he disappears into the crowd, leaving Byakuya and Touko alone in the car together.

“The only person who has been robbed is me, as you've stolen my heart,” says Touko, placing a hand over her heart.

Byakuya’s eyes roll. “If I possessed your heart, you would be dead.”

As quick as a cat, Touko clasps her hands together and says, “Ah... that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

 “I died, and so I am in heaven...”

Some people have the nerve to clap back at him. Others just have the capability. Few possess both qualities. In the past, Byakuya would have dismissed her as being stupid or delusional, but he has come to acknowledge, almost admire, her responses.

He clicks his tongue. With the sunroof open, music pours in from outside, a song called ‘Girls Are Yummy.’ It meshes with the off-key singing of the audience, and the radio's tune.

“That fool left the sunroof open,” says Touko, squinting upward.

“And he left the radio on,” adds Byakuya.

If he's going to be detained in Yasuhiro’s car for some time, he may as well try to make himself more comfortable. He leans over between the front seats. First, he locks the car, in case someone tries to drag him out and get him to join in the celebrations. Then he focuses on the sunroof and radio. Though he succeeds in shutting the sunroof, which only slightly muffles the noise that had been pouring in from outside, the radio doesn't respond to any of his button presses.

This goes beyond the CD tray being jammed. Frowning, he stretches over to take the keys out of the ignition, but the music continues even then.

“What...?”

Without the engine on, the radio shouldn’t be able to play anything. Yet it is. After a few more attempts at pressing on the radio, Byakuya stops shy of punching it, instead returning the key so they can have air con again and withdrawing back.

His weight shifts. He wobbles. Falls backward. And onto Touko's lap.

“Yes, you want her. Look at her, you know you do. Possible she wants you too. There is one way to ask her,” sings the radio.

“I was enjoying the view before, but I think I prefer this side of you,” says Touko, smirking.

Byakuya’s face burns. “You need to watch your mouth.”

“Do I? We’re finally alone,” says Touko, undeterred. “Now that oaf’s gone.”

She isn’t wrong.

“Nobody’s paying us any attention,” she says, with a smile that sends a shiver down him. “They’re all engrossed in the event.”

That smile used to repulse him. Used to make his skin crawl, his stomach flutter. He supposes her smile still has that effect on him, but now he doesn't mind the sensation so much. Dare he say he might even like it. Enough that he brushes some hair from her face and tucks it behind her ear so he can see the curve of her lips better.

“In that movie by Tsukamoto, despite the danger of being around the main character, her guardian angel loves her and lets her use him as a punching bag,” says Touko.

“Perhaps he is just a figment of her imagination?” he suggests lightly, his hand resting on her cheek still.

Touko hums. “He could be real.”

“You referred to him as a guardian angel.”

“That’s not a contradiction.”

Byakuya clicks his tongue, looking at her while she looks at him. When her smile widens, he smiles back slightly.

“Sha-la-la-la-la-la. Float along and listen to the song. The song say kiss the girl,” the radio warbles. 

It wouldn’t have mattered if a different song had been playing, or if the radio had been silent. Byakuya still would have leaned in, and their lips still would have met. His eyes flutter shut. Keeping his hand on her cheek, his other holds her upper arm. Their mouths lock together, slowly enough that the movement doesn’t disturb their glasses. He can’t see her, and with the cacophony going on all around them, he can barely hear her either, barely hear her quiet mewls and hitches of breath. But he can feel her fingers curl in his hair, feel her body press closer. A hand lands on his thigh. And he can feel her warmth.

When his head draws back slightly, his lips tingle. Hers remain puckered.

“I suppose it’s not too bad being here after all,” he remarks quietly. To think he would be saying this in Yasuhiro Hagakure’s car. Or while surrounded by fevered idol fans. But Touko has always been an anomaly. When others defy him, his spit becomes acid. Yet when she stands her ground, he places his feet by hers. “Though I’m surprised you accepted a lift from Hagakure this morning. I thought Naegi and I were the only guys you felt comfortable being in a car alone with.”

“That’s still true...” Touko squirms a bit. “I would have declined if he hadn’t said he was giving you a lift because your car wouldn’t start.”

That makes Byakuya flinch.

“Byakuya-sama?” she says, confused.

“That can’t be right,” he tells her. “Hagakure stumbled upon me when my car was refusing to start. Then after I got in the car, he said he was on his way to collect you...”

Byakuya looks away from her, as if expecting the car’s interior to grow teeth and crush them. For a trap, any trap, to be revealed. Instead, he spots Yasuhiro, whose grinning face is pressed against the window. Soon after, Touko notices him too and shrieks. Yasuhiro jolts back with a scream.

“Hagakure!” Byakuya seethes while Touko disentangles herself from him. Both are equally flustered. He could ask Yasuhiro how long he was there for, but right now he’d rather not know. “Explain yourself. How were you able to tell Fukawa you were giving me a lift to work this morning before I told you that my car had broken down?”

“I... um...” Yasuhiro tries to smile again. “I have good intuition?”

“I will phone your mother in precisely three seconds if you don’t explain yourself.”

“No! Anything but that!” Yasuhiro squeezes his hands together, trembling. “Okay, so I might have loosened the battery terminal before you went out this morning... but I did so with good intentions! You and Fukawa-chi were about to get together and kiss just now, ‘right? I’m doing you a favour.”

Byakuya stares at him, wide-eyed. A few seconds later, his brow furrows.

“Idiot,” he says. “We’ve been dating for five months.”

Yasuhiro’s head jerks back. “Huh?”

Touko’s initial shock at seeing him quickly melts. She shoots a fiery glare his way.

“W-Weren’t you paying attention when Byakuya-sama announced our new relationship status at lunch five months ago?” she asks.

“I think I was going through a phase with a certain mobile game and must have missed him saying it,” says Yasuhiro, scratching his head. 

“We’ve held hands on multiple occasions,” says Byakuya. “We’ve kissed in your presence.”

Yasuhiro clicks his fingers.

“Oh yeah. That’s right, I remember now. Well, anyway, I brought lunch.” He tries to open the door. “Can you let me back in please?”

“No,” says Byakuya. “You wanted us to be alone in here, so we’ll give you your wish.”

“And we don’t need any of your shitty food either. We h-have the lunch I made for myself and Byakuya-sama to enjoy,” adds Touko.

“Hey, I put a lot of effort into setting this all up!” Yasuhiro shoves his paper bag containing fast food against the car window. “I had to prove my loyalty to the Official Sayakers Fan Club by buying a year's membership, then I had to get a tattoo on my butt before they’d hear my idea out on their reddit. Also, it’s my car!”

Only Yasuhiro would think that would endear himself to anyone in any way. Byakuya wishes he was in the driver’s seat so he could run Yasuhiro over. Except there’s too much traffic to move the car even if he wanted to. Traffic that Yasuhiro created with his pointless scheme.

“Scram!” says Byakuya.

“Ignore him, darling.” Touko touches a hand to his cheek and turns his head toward her. “Or would it help if I distracted you?”

Before he can think of a reply, her lips soar up and latch onto his. A shiver washes through Byakuya, tingling in his extremities. He’s fully aware that Yasuhiro can see them, and though Yasuhiro has seen them kiss before, this feels different somehow. Like being in this enclosed space means what they’re doing should be totally private. Yet when she pushes him onto his back and lies on top of him, he has no desire to break free. And when her tongue kneads at the divide between his lips, he grabs her behind with one hand and opens his mouth.

If Yasuhiro likes movies so much, Byakuya will give him a full goddamn performance.

“No! Please!” Yasuhiro bangs on the window. “Not on the seats! I only just got them cleaned from when I tried this with Naegi-chi and Kirigiri-chi last week!”

[chimielie]

honeymoon avenue

summary: Suna x F!Reader. can't stop, won't stop, don't know how to stop.

word count: 2k

cw: suggestive at the end. drinking. par-for-the-course bittersweet suna fluff.

a/n: this was supposed to have about two more parts but who has time or energy for that. not me. just know that reader has a Backstory and is freshly brokenhearted in this for context <3

You get in Suna's car the first time you meet him.

It's a vintage convertible, painted a gorgeous deep red, your favorite color. The color of passion and dreams and strawberries at their sweetest, eaten right before they can go bad. Maybe that's what convinces you, the scent of motor oil seducing you over the side as you hoist yourself in, ignoring the door.

Suna watches you arrange yourself elegantly in his passenger seat, tilting your head back, eyes closed, lips parted to release a soft breath. He's distracted by the slight smudge of your lipstick, the shine of your teeth. He doesn't even notice your eyes fluttering open eventually, catching him staring.

"Oh, sorry," you say. "Didn't mean to rob you of the chance to hold the door open for me."

"Wasn't going to," he ripostes, and walks around to get into the driver's seat. He uses the door.

You look back at the party both of you are coming from, wondering if anyone else is coming for Suna's offered joyride, but most of your friends have retreated inside. You guess it's pretty cold without the alcoholic flush that's settled over you. It's one of Kiyoomi's parties, anyway, so most of them have their own fancy cars. You weren't born into appalling wealth and you haven't amassed your own yet, instead gathering fragments of fairytales where you find them, out-the-door-by-midnight-and-one-slipper-left-behind-style.

Kiyoomi is lingering outside the revolving glass door, watching you and Suna, and you're grateful for your friend's skepticism even as you lift a hand and wave him goodbye, signaling that he can return to his guests. He's a gracious host, though his parties are selective and always hosted somewhere he doesn't have to clean up personally. He offers you a slight smile that you can see even from this distance, and dips his chin in return. He's your voice of reason right now, has been for the past week at least, and if he didn't trust Suna with your life, you wouldn't be here.

Maybe it's not a smart decision, but it hardly feels like a decision at all; more like the inevitable conclusion of a partner dance, one step to the party, one to his side, quarter turn out to the car. Easy as anything.

The radio comes to life as Suna starts the car, setting a gentle soundtrack for the ride. You tap your fingers along to the tune, though the soft interior material absorbs the sound.

Suna looks over at you when the car is stopped at a light, the color red washing over your face. Your eyes shine with it as you make eye contact with him, holding his gaze. He watches you right through the green light, puts his foot on the gas without looking at the road.

"You get in cars with strangers often?"

"Don't you start," you say, and with a smile on his lips at your tone, he turns straight ahead. "You're the one to blame. You're sober and you offered a drive." You purse your lips. "...You are sober, right?"

"'Course," he says, "I'm not allowed to drink."

"Good. You play volleyball?"

"With the best of them, babe," he responds. "I don't really like drinking, anyway. Sometimes I get high on the off-season."

"Sometimes?"

"Often." He grins, because the way you say it, the way you laugh to say I knew it without words, you sound like you've known him a thousand years already. You might not be smart for getting into his car, but he's getting the sense that you're wise. "You drink."

A statement, not a question. He saw you downing shots like you were trying to burn a bad taste out of your mouth. He could probably light your sweat with a match.

(The image of you, sweaty, glowing under candlelight, your royal blue dress slipping off your shoulders comes to mind.)

"I do whatever," you say, though that hasn't been true since college. Since—

You shiver, and you didn't think he could see you now, but he cranks up the heat, even as the wind is blowing the hair back out of your face.

"Anywhere you want to go?" He asks. "Home?"

You make a face.

"It's so early," you say, and it's eleven at minimum. Oh, yeah, you're his kind of girl. "Take me somewhere beautiful. Drive me into the sunrise."

"Oh, she's a poet," he teases, but you brush him off with a gesture, smiling so that he sucks in a breath as he steers the car sharply into a U-turn. Osamu once told him, after he met his now-wife (and got the balls to ask her out after months), that he'd know after five minutes.

Know what, Suna had asked, sardonic as usual. Osamu had held his shoulders and given him a severe look, demanding to be taken seriously for once.

That you want someone for real. Maybe not for ever. But you'll know that after the first date.

He thinks about taking you to the bridge, but he doesn't know how steady you are on your feet after a few drinks. Not yet, anyway, and he's not keen to learn if you tumble into the gorge.

"Do you live in the area?" He asks, and you nod. He rules out all the destinations, then, nothing touristy.

In the end, he drives in circles around the main streets of the city until he sees the glimmer of lights in a window. You take his jacket, folded in his backseat, without asking.

It's a bar, sort of, a late-night dessert shop serving drinks that probably have more sugar than alcohol.

The front is bursting with flowers, pink and green dominating the setup, but they seat you in a backroom, barely bigger than a booth, and there are a thousand little lights dripping down the walls. You're in higher relief now than in the street, and he drinks in the gold mantling your skin, your hair.

You make him sit down first, then corner him in, sitting next to him instead of across the table. He shifts a few inches away, but you only follow.

"What is that?" He asks, and watches your confused gaze dart around.

"What?" He takes a moment before he explains himself, dipping his head 'till he's close to your bare neck, taking in a deep breath. His own scent is mixed in with yours, clinging to your stolen outerwear.

"Your perfume," he says, both of you holding preternaturally still. "I like it."

"Thank you," your voice drops, barely audible. Under this guise he leans in further still, listening so, so closely. "Are you sniffing me?"

He shrugs and sits up, and now you follow, the face of a sunflower turning towards the sun. "You'll find no shame here."

"Annoying," you snort, and his gaze drops back to your lips. "Does that work?"

"Does what work?"

"Smelling random women. It seems like a move."

"I'd never move in on you," he denies immediately, knowing his smug smile is giving him away. "In fact, you're the one moving in on me. Getting in my personal space—"

"As if that wasn't in my personal space," you interrupt, though he ignores you.

"Sitting next to me in the booth. I'll let you know now, I can't be wooed."

"Oh," you breathe, and seem to wobble a little bit, putting a hand on his shoulder for stability.

"You okay?" He cups your face, trying to check your eyes. Shit, maybe you're more incapacitated than he thought.

"Yes, thank you," you say, expression suddenly sharpening. Before you even open your mouth, he realizes he's been played. Your voice turns low, husky. "I'm not trying to woo you, Suna. I'm trying to seduce you."

He can't help the noise he makes at that, choking on a gasp. He was expecting it, but it’s more than he thought it would be, more than he was ready to feel. You trace a finger around his wrist, his hands still holding your face, following the line of his forearm up and up and up and curling a hand around the back of his neck.

You linger like that, and he watches your eyelids flutter, coming so very close to closing, the way they would if he just leaned forward a fraction. If he would just bring you up to him, taste the fruit, lick the balm off your lips.

"Good things come to those who wait," he says instead, so close to you you think you feel the words burying themselves in your skin. You take in a deep, ragged lungful of air, and when you look away from the smirking slash of his mouth you find something softer in his eyes. Too soft for you, something you could sink into and get lost in and not be pulled out. He won't kiss you, but he's still holding your face.

A retort comes to you—you're tired of being good. But that's a dynamic you don't want to enter. You lie outside the tired dichotomy of good girls, bad girls. You chortle to yourself at the drunken thought.

"You snooze, you lose," you wriggle out of his clutches, the air suddenly very cold when his touch can no longer be felt.

Give me another chance, he almost says, but no matter how the words shape themselves in his mind, they come out pathetic and all wrong.

"Slow and steady wins the race," he counters. "’Less I’ve been disqualified.”

You hum noncommittally and take a slurping sip of the dregs of your drink.

"That was all sugar," you comment eventually, breaking the silence with a little bit of rasp in your voice. "You like it sweet?"

Suna's limbs suddenly feel heavy, sluggish. There's a smear of red on your chin, where a stray drop was wiped away but left a food-dye residue, makes the effect of your face split into a wry grin all the more striking. He blinks stars out of his eyes.

"And a little sour," he whispers, bitterness already coating his tongue. It's not so unpleasant, citrus bursting with the promise of candy on the horizon.

"I can do that," you say, an admission tempered by the way you sweep out of the booth, offering him a genteel hand to help him on his way out too. Sweet-tart, he thinks, and doesn't let you have your hand back until you get in the car.

The sky is the peculiar shade of night between purple and blue, preparing to lighten by dipping into its darkest moment. It could go on forever. Your head lolls back after you tell him your address, too familiar with the streets to bother observing their passing. Instead, you chase the stars.

"Wait here," he tells you when he parks, and you watch him tuck a hand into his pocket as he crosses to open your side with the other. He bows, mocking, for you, and you fake a stumble in turn, falling neatly with a hand against his broad shoulders, chest to chest. His smart mouth fails him again, just like it did before, as he looks at you with burning electrum eyes. The little that's still intoxicated of you wants to ask what color they are exactly.

Your sober self has more pressing questions.

"The walls of my bedroom are the same shade as your car," you murmur, and he looks at you with heavy-lidded eyes, waits for you to make the leap. He's already caught you, after all. "You wanna see?"

"Love to," he says. "Drive me into the sunrise?"

You kiss him before you even cross the sidewalk to the front door. An improvisation in the choreography, you think dizzily, as he dips you down. Waltz up the stairs. Easy as anything, you loop your arms around his neck, let him lay you out on your bed. Take you to the end of the road.

[diabolus1exmachina]

Aston Martin One-77 (property — before being seized by Swiss authorities — of the son of the leader of one of the most corrupt governments in Central Africa)

In keeping with its tradition of producing limited edition, hand crafted exotica for the wealthy aficionado, best exemplified by the DB4 GT Zagato of the 1960s, Aston Martin previewed its proposed One-77 'hypercar' at the 2008 Paris Motor Show. 'The finished One-77 made its official debut in April 2009 at the Concorso d'Eleganza Ville d'Este, held on the shores of Lake Como in Italy, winning the 'Award for Concept Cars and Prototypes'. Designed by Marek Reichman, it was the fastest and most powerful Aston Martin ever built, with a top speed of 220mph, and also the most expensive, carrying a price tag of £1,150,000. Hailed by its maker as "possibly the world's most desirable automotive art form", the One-77 with its long bonnet and short tail was every inch the classically proportioned Gran Turismo, combing muscular pugnacity and feline grace in equal measure. A two-seater closed coupé, the One-77 featured advanced technology in the form of an immensely rigid and lightweight carbon fibre monocoque chassis, which carried a seamless body traditionally handcrafted in aluminium. Made from a single sheet of aluminium, each front wing was said to take one craftsman three weeks to produce.  Other state-of-the-art features included bi-xenon headlamps with integrated LED side lights and direction indicators, LED rear lamps (fog and reverse), carbon fibre front splitters, carbon fibre rear diffuser, and active aerodynamics with deployable spoiler. Providing the horsepower needed to breach the magic 200mph barrier was a stretched (to 7.3 litres) version of Aston Martin's existing 48-valve V12 engine. Extensively reworked by Cosworth Engineering, it produced 750bhp and 553lb/ft of torque, and was the world's most powerful normally aspirated road-car engine at the time of the One-77's introduction. Cosworth's extensive re-engineering included fitting dry-sump lubrication, which enabled the V12 to be carried 100mm lower in the One-77's chassis than in that of the DB9. Like the V8 in the One-77's Vantage sister car, the V12 engine was mounted towards the centre of the chassis, well aft of the front axle line in the interests of optimum weight distribution, to which end the six-speed automatic/manual transmission was located at the rear in the form of an integrated transaxle. Power was transmitted to the limited-slip differential by a carbon fibre prop shaft encased in a magnesium alloy torque tube, reaching the road surface via 20" forged alloy wheels - 7-spoke or 10-spoke - shod with Pirelli P Zero Corsa tyres.

Unusually for a road car, the One-77's all-independent suspension featured pushrod actuation of the adjustable mono-tube dampers, a system more commonly found in modern competition cars. There were double wishbones at all four corners: the front incorporating anti-dive geometry, and the rear anti-squat and anti-lift. The suspension was also electrically adjustable for both ride height and rate change.

The rack and pinion was power assisted, delivering 3.0 turns lock-to-lock, while the steering column was adjustable for both tilt and reach. Braking was supplied by carbon ceramic discs all round, gripped by six-piston callipers at the front, four-piston callipers at the rear. Dynamic Stability Control (DSC), Anti-lock Braking System (ABS), Electronic Brakeforce Distribution (EBD), Emergency Brake Assist (EBA), and traction control were all incorporated in the interests of controllability and safety. Releasing the driver's door, which swings out and arcs upwards, the One-77's fortunate owner would be confronted by a leather-trimmed sports steering wheel, electrically adjustable lightweight memory seats, and dual-stage driver/passenger front airbags. Other interior features included automatic temperature control, a trip computer, and touch-sensitive map-reading LED lights. Powerfold exterior memory mirrors came as standard, while front/rear parking cameras were an option. Number '35' of the 77 built, this EU model has a legend engraved on the door sill stating that it was 'Hand built in England for Theodore N'Guema Obiang Mangue'. Finished in red with red-piped cream interior, the car is offered with Equatorial Guinea registration papers.

[jdengineeringworksdelhi]

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[jiminjeonging]

ever since we’ve gotten that vid of jm on that motorcycle game, i can’t help but think of her riding a real one with mj as her passenger and mj gets sooo needy staring and leaning against jm’s broad back, watching her whipping the bike around like a pro. mj has her arms wrapped around jm’s waist, sneaking a hand under her shirt to caress her well-earned abs making jm stiffen up a bit because she knows her wife is horny now. jm tries to hold on to her sanity so they can get home safely but then she feels the same hand lower to her crotch, mj rubbing her kock outside of her leather pants. maybe even mj lifting her helmet a little bit just so she can suck some hickeys on the side of jm’s neck since she’s feeling a “little” bratty. this goes on for awhile until jm loses her patience and pulls up near a hidden alleyway and then slams(gently) her against the wall, covering her mouth so her moans don’t echo throughout the area. all you would hear is just how wet mj is and jm’s hips pounding against her ass rapidly. jm occasionally slapping her butt like in next level too, leaving an imprint of her hand. jm repeatedly whispering in mj’s ear, “fucking take it, you brat.” oh and ofc, don’t forget the size difference ! when jm wants to see mj be even more desperate for her, she leans her arm above mj’s head and tells her, “fuck my kock” and mj obeys, ramming her ass back into jm while jm just watches, admiring how mj arches her back further and her moans growing breathy. what really set jm off is when mj begs, “please come in me, i want your cum in me please” and jm growls, turning mj around and picking her up, burying her face into the crook of mj’s neck and bites her shoulder wanting to satisfy her babygirl and fill her up like she wants her to. mj has her legs and arms wrapped tight around jm too, the babygirl does NOT want to be apart from her at all.

oops i didn’t not expect jm on a motorcycle to brainrot me so hard LMFAO

omg thank you for this mini fic youre welcome to brainrot anytime and risking it like that on a motorcycle is crazy aaand rawdogging on a random alley is crazier.. mj wont even be able to straddle the motorcycle after so they had to walk back home with jm's arms steadying her and leaving the motor there to pick up later

[wolfbrawn]

"What if they kissed?" ( for Pat or Cam, dealers choice👀 )

Here was the cure for a hangover: a slow and mechanical climb to the highest elevation, lungs brimming with pine-drenched mountain air. A silver hip flask passed between gloved hands, a shared nip of spiced rum. The hair of the dog that did the biting could only help them after last night’s frivolities.

Farkas leaned back into the metal-framed seat, his goggles reflecting the brilliant blue of a largely cloudless sky. Despite the white eye of the sun watching them, a frigid breeze scalded every inch of exposed skin, causing the ski lift to sway as it ferried its passengers skyward.

A growing sense of anticipation seeped into the quiet spaces between them, lurking behind the growling wind and the chugging of the lift’s motors. Farkas was inclined to blame a rise in adrenaline – the peak loomed ahead, promising them a sporting downhill sprint. It was surely that, and not a byproduct of last night when his whiskey-soaked gaze had laid too heavily, and took long, on Cameron. Cameron, with his acid-pop of eyeshadow, the crop-top that exposed his midriff. Cameron, whose grin had been painted with a wicked glint when he had caught Farkas staring. Cameron, who did not protest now that Farkas’ arm was slung along the back of the shared chair, resting only an inch from his jacketed shoulders.

The atmosphere only deepened when the lift jerked to a stop mid-air, halting with a heavy clunk. For the third time this ascent, they dangled amid the treetops, the ground beneath their boards a jagged sprawl of untouched powder and razor-edged shadow.

“Bet some welder’s done a shoddy job,” Farkas remarked slyly, his words hanging in a mist between them. Even as he spoke, his attention dropped to the hillside below, to the untamed slope that veered away from the maintained runs and into the wilds.

“I’m gonna get a headstart,” he continued. “If my old knees can take it.”

Off-piste, he meant. Dangerous, unpredictable. Exhilarating. Pushing the safety bar up, he leaned precariously forward to refasten his boot into place. Only then did he pause, a flicker of something daring written into half-obscured features as he looked at Cameron.

It was impulsive. Born perhaps from the tension that dogged them, his own uncertainty of its origins. Or maybe it was the way the unfiltered sunlight caught in golden hair, how Cameron’s lips curved upward, his tongue undoubtedly loaded with some clever retort. Beautiful, almost unbearably so.

Without hesitation, Farkas kissed him. Close-mouthed but firm, lingering too long for it to be in jest. He had hit his mark, managing to avoid knocking their goggles together, though there was no escaping the scrape and scuff of his beard’s frosted bristles against Cameron’s chin.

“See you at the bottom, bud.”

He flashed a wolfish grin and then, without hesitation, pushed off. Wind rushed past, roaring in his ears as he dropped like a stone. Farkas’ board hit deep powder, his landing announced by a muted thud, the impact absorbed by a practised bend of his knees. Those suffering joints ached their protest as he shot forwards – carried by his fall’s momentum – he carved through the snow, the backdrop of snow-bent pines passing in a blur. Farkas smiled all the while. On his lips, he could taste second-hand the minty balm of chapstick.

[defmxl]

'ANOMALY.' - STANFORD PINES

ONE - 'RISE.'

PAIRINGS - Stanford Pines x OC SUMMARY - A small science project brought them together. OTHERS - Placed in Junior High, 7th grade, 1964.

The sounds of the rain were all Iris could hear as well as her record player but the loud sounds of the rain silenced it quite a bit. It was early in the morning which meant it was time for school. Iris didn’t particularly hate school; she was smart but it was annoying to stay in a stuffy class with other students all day long. Either everybody was stupid or annoying so that meant she had no friends at all. 

At schools, girls tend to bully her for her birthmark. It was a huge red splotch over her eye, covering half of her face. She wasn’t insecure about it but it was annoying having girls bug her about it. 

Iris simply sighed and got ready for school. Pulling the coat over her shoulders, adjusting her glasses, and checking her hair once more; she nodded and headed out of her room. 

Exiting her room she noticed that the house was eerily dark. The low voices of their broken TV buzzed throughout the house. The smell of smoke filled their home, heading towards the living room, Iris was met with her mother. Iris loved her mother. But most of the time she didn’t, It was complicated. 

Her mother didn’t spare her a glance, only lifting up the cigarette to her mouth and inhaling the toxic smoke. Iris grabbed her backpack from beside the couch, checking through it to make sure her things were in order. Once she checked everything she slung her backpack over her shoulders. 

“Get me some cigarettes on your way home.” Her mother mumbled under her breath and slid a couple of bills towards her. Iris meekly nodded and took the money, stuffing it in her pocket. Iris checked herself once more then rushed out of the house. Trying her best to save herself from the rain. 

The sounds of a car's motor sputtered harshly, the car barely on its last limb. Iris ran up to the car and jumped in. Her older sister, Sherri, scoffed, “What took you so damn long?” Iris only shrugged off her backpack, placing it by her feet. Sherri sighed, reaching over and she harshly pinched her sister's cheek. Iris smacked her sister's hand away, “Mom held me back, told me she wanted me to buy her a pack.” 

Sherri drove out of the driveway, heading towards Iris’s middle school. “What? I’ll do that instead,” Iris nodded, reaching into her pocket for the money but Sherri waved her off. “Keep that, Buy yourself something with that.” Iris slowly nodded her head and leaned back in the passenger seat. 

Before they knew it they were in front of her school. Iris sighed and Sherri chuckled. “Come on, get out, Kid. I got places to be too.” Iris looked up at her sister in defeat. Sherri sighed, leaning down she placed a kiss on her sister's head. “If those girls bother you again, tell me so I can beat their sorry asses up, you hear me?” 

Iris laughed lightly, “You don’t have to do that. I can beat them up myself.” Sherri smirked and pushed her lightly. “I know you can, now get the hell out of here.” Iris laughed again, opening the car door she spared her sister one last look and then rushed into the school. 

School went by unexpectedly fast. Iris had successfully managed to avoid those bullies. Then sixth period rolled in, science. Iris sat in her seat which was behind the class, feeling eyes on her, she turned around and looked around the room. Shrugging it off she went back to paying attention to the teacher. Science was easy but Iris didn’t enjoy it. She excelled in all of her classes, Margo didn’t know where she got her brain probably from ‘All that liquor our Ma drank when you were still in her stomach.’ So she said herself. 

“---Iris Cruz, Stanley Pines, and Stanford Pines will be paired together.” 

Before she could ask the teacher what was going on, other teenagers' loud voices erupted in conversation. The loud sounds of chairs and tables screeching against the tiled floor. As she looked around for her partners she saw identical twins looking straight at her, waving her over. Iris sighed, sliding off the chair she placed her backpack on the table and pushed it to where the twins were. 

Getting herself settled once more she was faced with the twins, she’d seen them around before but she never got to know them. Iris knew bullies pestered them too but she never knew why. Maybe she’ll find out now… But it was awkwardly silent, “I’m sorry but why are we being paired up again?” Iris spoke up, her finger tapped on the wooden desk. 

The twin with unkempt hair looked up, shrugged at her, and turned to his lookalike, “Huh? I dunno, Why are we Ford?” 

‘Ford’ looked up and made eye contact with Iris when he did he immediately looked down, his face flushed.  Iris looked at him confused for a second but then shrugged him off. “Well, we’re supposed to create the solar system.” Stanley groaned and leaned back in his chair. “Ugh, boring.”

It sounded like an easy project, she didn’t get why he was complaining, science teachers have been assigning this project for years now. So it won’t be hard to finish, it’ll just take some time. Iris leaned over for her backpack, taking out her notebook. Skimming through pages she found a blank page and settled it on the table. “Alright let’s get this done.” 

Stanford leaned to take a look at her notebook, Iris was sketching out a rough draft of what the project could look like. Stanley only watched from afar, letting the smart kids do all the work. Once Iris was finished she turned the notebook to Stanford. “Here, Do you have something you want to put in?” 

Stanford glanced up at her and nodded. “May I see your pencil?” Iris nodded, handing the wooden pencil to the twin. Stanford hesitantly reached forward for the pencil; half of him thought Iris would freak out about his extra finger or look at him with disgust but when he took the pencil from her, she didn’t even acknowledge it. He let out a sigh of relief and fixed the sketch here and there.

Hence the project started. It was due in two weeks so they had enough time. Once class ended, Iris was quick to pack her things and run out the door. But unbeknownst to her a pair of twins were quick on their feet, following right behind her.

[isabellavolere]

Transformers Prime—Part 5: Victories Short-Lived

Masterlist

<-Previous Part

Next Part->

Vroom, vrooom! You groggily wake up, lifting an eye as you hear a car revving its engine. You roll onto your side and try to go back to sleep when you hear the car rev again, this time a little bit louder than before. 

What idiot’s revving his car engine on a Saturday morning? What a jerk. 

All of a sudden you bolt upright as you realize the car engine belongs to Cliffjumper. Getting out of bed, you jog to the front of your house and open the front door, leaning out of the door frame. To your astonishment, Cliffjumper is parked in the driveway, headlights flashing in greeting.

“Are you crazy?” You ask in a hushed tone. “What are you doing parked in the driveway? If my parents catch you they will go crazy!”

“Good morning to you too,” replies Cliffjumper sarcastically. “Don’t worry, your parents left about an hour ago.”

You frown and step outside, closing the door behind you. Walking over to Cliffjumper you say

“Well I’m glad your loud engine didn’t wake them up like it did for me. Do you know where they went?”

“No idea. Besides, I was getting bored sitting in your driveway so I decided to wake you up. We can head to the base and watch cartoons,” says Cliffjumper excitedly. “Wait, do you even like cartoons?” He asks.

You shrug one of your shoulders and reply, “I don’t mind them.”

“Great, let's get going. But maybe change out of your pajamas first.”

You look down at your black tank top and knee length plaid shorts and grin sheepishly. 

“Yeah maybe. Be back in a flash!” You say and race back inside. 

You put on a vintage Star Wars shirt and denim jean shorts, brush through your hair, put it in a ponytail, and then tie your f/c bandana around your forehead. 

After a quick once over in the mirror you slip on some shoes and walk back outside. As you walk back to Cliffjumper you can hear the hum of a motor and are surprised to see Arcee pull into your driveway with Jack straddled on top. He’s wearing a white motorcycle helmet with a tinted visor that he quickly takes off as he dismounts, tucking it away before walking over to you.

“Good morning Jack. What brings you two here?” You ask, curious as to how he and Arcee found your house.

“Morning y/n. Me and Arcee were just out for a little drive and uh, thought we’d see if you guys were still here,” he said, glancing back to Arcee.

“Out for a little drive huh?” Asks Cliffjumper.

“We were just heading back to base,” says Arcee.

“Wanna race?” You turn to Jack and say mischievously.

“Oh, bring it!” Says Jack, turning to grab his helmet.

You walk over to Cliffjumper and hop in the passenger seat. 

“A race, huh?” Cliffjumper asks as he backs out of the driveway.

“Oh come on, a 1969 Dodge Challenger like you can go from 0-60 in 5.2 seconds, you can totally smoke them!” You say enthusiastically.

“Well I know that,” Cliffjumper laughs as he lines up with your house’s rusty mailbox.  

Arcee and Jack pull up to the right of you and you roll down the window.

“Ready to lose, Jack?” You ask in a teasing voice.

“You wish,” comes Jack's reply, muffled slightly by the helmet. 

You smirk and roll up the window, getting ready for the race.

“On your marks, get set, GO!” Yells Arcee, and both her and Cliffjumper shoot off, wheels screeching. 

The force of the acceleration pushes you backward and you whoop loudly as cacti and other landscape rushes past you. Arcee was fast, you had to give her that, but as you watch, Cliffjumper slowly begins creeping up on her. You lean over and watch the line on the speedometer go up and up, marking 60 mph, 70, 80. You were going faster and faster and soon enough, you were in the lead. The speedometer now marks 92 mph and the desert is only a blur as you hurtle down the road. Looking in the rear view mirror, you grin as you see Arcee and Jack a few inches behind Cliffjumpers’ bumper.

“You know, for a two wheeler Arcees’ not doing too bad, huh?” Says Cliffjumper, and you can practically see the smirk on his face.

“Yeah, but if she really wasn’t doing too bad she wouldn’t be behind us,” you tease.

Cliffjumper lets out a boisterous laugh and says “That’s true. How fast are we going anyway?”

You look down at the speedometer and reply “Cruising at 107. Not bad for a muscle car!” 

Cliffjumper laughs again and says “No, not bad at all.”

A large mesa towers over the car and you recognize it as the one the Autobot base is hidden in. Cliffjumper slows down and drives through the tunnel. The thrill of the race catches up to you and you can’t help but beam as Cliffjumper parks and lets you out, transforming after you’re out. You walk over to Jack and was about to tease him about losing when Optimus walks over and says “Autobots, prepare to…” but doesn’t finish the sentence. 

“Roll out?” Guesses Arcee.

“Remain here. Ratchet, Cliffjumper, you’ll come with me. Arcee, we’ll be outside of communication range for some time so I’m putting you in charge,” says Optimus.

“Aww,” you whine quietly, frowning up at Cliffjumper. “Our victory is cut short and Optimus snatches you for a mission. Not fair.”

“I know, right? Now we can’t rub our success in their faces.”

You snicker as he grins and winks at you.

“Tell you what kid, when I get back we can do a victory lap around the base, sound good?”

“Deal. Make it a quick mission, ok Cliff?” You smile.

Cliffjumper smiles slightly but drops when Optimus calls for him.

“I’ll see what I can do, y/n.” 

He walks over to Optimus and looks back at you once more before transforming and driving through the groundbridge behind Optimus. A moment of silence fills the base as the last lights of the portal dim.

“Ok, so, what’s on the activities list?” Asks Jack, turning to Arcee.

“I’m going on patrol,” she says in a bored voice.

“But Optimus told us to stay,” Bulkhead says. 

“When you’re in charge you can call the shots,” replies Arcee. “Bee, with me! Bulkhead, you’re in charge.”

With that, Arcee and Bumblebee transform and race down the tunnel, leaving you, Jack, Miko, Raf, and Bulkhead.

“And then there were five,” you mutter under your breath.

“So, um, what’s on the activity list?” Bulkhead asks. 

“How about band practice?” Miko offers and you turn to her, watching as she begins hooking up a black electric guitar to a Fender amplifier. 

“But we’re not a band,” points out Raf.

“Why so antisocial? Come on Raf, do you play anything?” She asks enthusiastically.

“Um, keyboard?” He says, lifting up his computer.

“Laptops and samples, good! Jack?” She turns a hopeful face to Jack. 

Rubbing a hand on his neck, Jack says “I, uh, sometimes mess around on the harmonica.”

“Do I look like I do country?” Asks Miko in a condescending tone. Almost desperately, Miko looks to you. “Please tell me you play something. Guitar, drums, anything?!”

“Weelll, I-I play the flute. And the violin…aand the piano. A bit.” You give her a small smile, somewhere between a grin and a grimace. 

Miko signs dramatically and raises her arms. “Well maybe you and Jack can start a bluegrass band. For now, just cover yourselves in fake blood and jump around screaming.” 

You share a look with Jack and shrug. Just then Miko starts strumming her guitar and a loud song blares out of her amplifier. You cover your ears, mirroring the other kids, but it does no good. Over the music you notice green flashing lights coming from the computer monitors, signaling  an alarm going off. Bulkhead seems to notice the alarm too because he waves at Miko to stop. 

“Oh come on!” She whines. “You can’t handle raw power?”

“Proximity sensor. Quick, hide!” Exclaims Bulkhead.

You rush to the same binding spot under the railing as the day before, and just in time, because Agent Fowler wastes no time in walking briskly into the base. Just as he walks in, you notice Mikos’ amplifier is still hooked up to her guitar, which she is still holding. 

Crap! I sure hope Agent Fowler doesn’t notice the wire coming from behind Bulkhead. What’s he yelling at Bulkhead about? Something in Nebraska? Maybe he’s too busy with Bulkhead to notice…yeah probably not.

“So,” Agent Fowler concludes. “You tell Prime that-since when are you bots electric?”

Dang it. 

“Uhh…” Bulkhead looks from you and back to Agent Fowler.

“What do we do?” You whisper shout to Jack, who grimaces and slides past you.

“Hey. How are you doing?” He asks. 

You roll your eyes, but since you have no other idea, follow the other kids. To say Agent Fowler looked bothered by the fact that four teenagers just stepped in front of him was an understatement.

“Contact with civilians! Team Prime has really gone off the rules with this one. No, don't tell me, you're running a daycare!” 

Bulkhead looks flustered and if bots could blush, you were sure he would be bright red. But with quick thinking, Jack makes up an excuse.

“We’re interns,” he begins.

“Student interns!” Raf adds.

“Earning extra credit in auto…” Jack trails off, unsure of what to say.

“Mechanics.” 

“Robotics.” 

You look to Miko and then quickly back to the agent, trying to recover the mistake.

“It’s both, cause you know, they’re cars and robots so we came here to study them for extra credit…so um…”

The look Agent Fowler sends you tints your cheeks pink, but you firmly meet his stare.

“Ok, let’s move. I’m taking you all into federal custody for your own protection,” he says, walking down the stairs towards you. 

Bulkhead steps in front of you and the other kids, firmly saying “We are protecting them.”

“Is that so? Well, maybe you can explain that to my superiors at the Pentagon,” says Agent Fowler, angrily punching numbers on a telephone hanging by the stairs. 

“Don’t use that phone! It’s…out of order,” says Bulkhead quickly, crushing the phone with one of his large fingers. 

Agent Fowler looks up at Bulkhead, and you can feel the anger practically radiating off of him.

“This isn’t over, Bigfoot! Not by a long shot!”

Agent Fowler turns around and stomps up the stairs. He stalks into the elevator, turns around, and jabs the button. The elevator door closes with a dull thud, and after a moment of silence you let out a breath, blowing stray hairs out of your face.

“Well, I don’t think that could have gone any worse,” you say.

Jack lets out a nervous laugh and Miko turns to you saying, “Did you see the look on his face when Bulkhead crushed that phone? That was awesome!” 

“I have a feeling that’s not the last we’re hearing of Agent Fowler,” Raf says.

“Maybe not, but for now we don’t have to worry about him,” you say, climbing up the rusty yellow ladder that leads to the large computers. 

You sit down in one of the chairs, replaying the last few moments in your head.

Agent Fowler backed off pretty quickly to Bulkhead. For a guy who puts on this ‘tough guy’ act, he doesn’t seem to want to pick a fight with the Autobots. Interesting.

You log on to one of the human sized computers, hoping to see where Cliffjumper, Optimus, and Ratchet are. You turn around when you hear the other kids climb the stairs and head to the tv, Miko tuning it on and lazily flipping through stations until she finds an interesting one. You sign and shake your head as Miko and Jack begin to argue about the station, turning back to the computer. 

All is quiet for a few moments before an alarm blares through the base and the computer screen flashes brightly in your face. You cover your ears with your hand, but it does little to muffle the sound. 

“My ears!” Whines Raf, or at least that’s what you think he said.

“It’s an S.O.S. From Fowler,” comments Bulkhead, pulling up the alarm on one of the computer monitors. 

“Did you trace it?” Asks Raf.

“Hm, location scan incomplete. Oh well,” says Bulkhead, shrugging. 

“Oh well?” Asks Jack incredulously. “Seriously?”

“Fowler’s a jerk!” Retorts Bulkhead.

“Whether you like the guy or not, the Decepticons may have him!”

“Jack’s right,” you say, frowning. “And Agent Fowler knows the location of the Autobot base. If the Decepticons interrogate him, I bet they’ll make him talk.”

“Yeah, y/n has a point. I mean, didn’t we all see how fast Fowler backs down from a bot? The Decepticons will totally make him squeal!” Adds Miko.

“But we lost the transmission. Fowler could be anywhere,” says Bulkhead. 

“Maybe I can narrow it down.” Says Raf as he sits in a chair next to you.

He grabs a laptop from his backpack and types furiously while explaining, “About five years ago, the government started microchipping their agents. You know, like owners do with pets.”

“Raf’s right. That’s what they had to do to my dad when he joined the army,” you say, watching Raf’s laptop screen. Jack and Miko look from you to Raf with confused and slightly concerned expressions on their faces.

“What? I saw it on tv,” defends Raf. “Anyway, if I can hack into the Fed’s mainframe, maybe I can pinpoint Fowler's coordinates.”

“You know how to hack? But you’re like, two years old!” Exclaims Miko.

“Twelve,” corrects Raf. “And a quarter!”

“Hmm, if you work on that, I can try logging into the mainframe,” you say, sitting at one of the computers. “If I can find the transmission from Agent Fowler, I can access the last coordinates transmitted from his helicopter.”

“You too?” Asks Miko, throwing up her hands. 

Raf looks up at you and you meet his gaze, intrigue flicking through his eyes before you turn back to your work. 

A few minutes later you pump your fist in the air triumphantly as you call out “I got it! Latitude 39.5 degrees north, 116.9 degrees west.”

“Ok, wait here,” says Bulkhead, already typing the coordinates into the groundbridge. 

“Aww, don’t break up the band!” Wines Miko. 

“Uh, Jack, you’re in charge,” says Bulkhead, ignoring Miko. 

He rushes through the groundbridge, leaving us alone. 

“And then there were four,” you say dully.

“I guess we have the run of the place,” shrugs Jack.

“I guess so. Hey Miko, do you-Miko? Miko!” 

You scan the base but don’t see her. Looking again, your eyes lock with Jack and you can see worry flash across his face.

“What should we do?” He asks.

“Bulkhead may have not even realized she’d follow him!” Raf exclaims.

“Miko hasn’t seen the cons’ in action like we have. She has no idea,” says Jack.

Your head swims with visions of the cons doing all sorts of horrible things to Miko.

Oh, foolish girl! Why did you follow Bulkhead? He’s supposed to be your guardian but he can’t protect you from everything!

“Are the coordinates still locked into the groundbridge?” Asks Raf.

“Yep, still there,” you nod.

“Y/n, can you turn the ground bridge on from the computer?” Jack asks.

“Uh, yeah I think so,” you say, and start pulling up the ground bridge access.

“Good, fire it up. You’re in charge,” he says as he steps down the ladder.

Making up your mind, you take a breath and say “uh, now you’re in charge,” as you head towards the ladder.

“In charge of who?” You hear Raf say as you slide down to the ground floor.

“Jack, wait,” you say, running to Jack.

Jack stops and turns around, waiting for you to catch up with a silent question in his eyes. 

“What, you didn’t think I’d let you try and rescue Miko all alone did you? I’m coming with you,” you say, trying to sound more confident than you felt. 

He looks over at you and nods once, a fierce determination set in his eyes. You close your eyes and take a deep, steadying breath, readying yourself for the battle you felt was sure to come. You open them and look over to Jack, nodding your head once, to tell him you were ready. 

“Here goes nothing,” you say, stepping closer to the groundbridge.

“Jack, y/n, wait! I’m coming too,” says Raf, running next to you. 

You reach the groundbridge first with Jack and Raf following close behind you. You jump through the groundbridge, which feels like an assault on your senses. Bright purple and green lights swirl around you, which looks like the aurora borealis was turned into a portal. A loud sound somewhere between a whooshing and a buzzing can be heard, and when you jump out of the portal, what meets your eyes is worse than you could have imagined. You are in the middle of a wide rocky canyon, and what else is in the middle of the canyon but the freaking Decepticon warship! 

Oh. Not good.

With your gaze transfixed on the warship, flashbacks of the first time you saw the ship cross your mind. You don’t even register that a few Decepticons come out of the ship with their guns loaded and ready to fire until you hear Bulkhead and Miko scream your name, which snaps you out of your stupor. The Decepticons begin firing and you, Jack and Raf dodge the blasts. Raf starts walking backwards, but he loses his footing and falls over, curling into a ball to make himself as small as possible. Without thinking you launch yourself on top of Raf, shielding his body with yours. Hearing a honking noise, you look up to see Bulkhead in his alternate form pulling up next to you, doors opening so you, Raf, and Jack can jump in quickly. You dive through the passenger door and scoot over to the driver side of the car, Jack sitting next to you and Raf sitting in the backseat. 

After receiving our thanks, Bulkhead asks “What are you doing here?”

“We were worried about Miko!” Have you seen her?” Asks Jack.

“She’s in the backseat, Jack,” you say, looking through the rear view mirror and making eye contact with the girl. 

She gives you a guilty grin and you roll your eyes. After driving behind a big boulder Bulkhead stops and opens the doors.

“Everyone out! And this time, please wait here,” begs the green bot, driving away. 

He drives up a sort of ramp and starts climbing up the side of the canyon.

Ha like Miko’s going to do that. I bet she’s not even here.

You look around you and sure enough, Miko is nowhere to be seen. You sigh dramatically, like a tired parent, and scan the canyon for Miko. Not seeing her, you figure she’s probably still inside of Bulkhead. At least she has a better chance with Bulkhead then roaming around the canyon, being an easy target. 

“Wait, where’s Miko?” Asks Jack worriedly.

Took you long enough. Luckily I’m way ahead of you Jack.

“Probably up there with Bulkhead,” you say, scanning the canyon walls. “If I can only figure out a way to get up to the warship,” you mutter.

“What if a Decepticon took us up there?” Jack asks in a worried voice.

“Hmm, that might work if we can find one,” you say, still focused on the canyon walls.

“I think we just did,” says Raf.

You turn around and are face to face with two purple Decepticons.

Well, that’s not ideal.

Masterlist

<-Previous Part

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[v33-133]

//

[Two people stand on a small boat, one younger and one older. The boat moves slowly across the water, the wind tearing through the young person’s hair.

“So kid, why’re you camping all the way out here?”

“Oh, you know. It’s just nice to get away from things every once in a while. Figured a remote island would be best.”

“Heh, what’s a kid like you got to get away from?”

“… just….. worried about the future. I don’t really know what my plan is…”

“Bah. You got plenty of time to figure that out. Don’t worry about it so much.”

Before the younger person can reply, the boat’s engine cuts out. Both captain and passenger seem confused. The young person turned to look as the captain examined the motor.

The back of the boat lifted into the air, and then crashed down on top of the two. The young person was gone, replaced by an Eevee. It panicked and struggled in the water, but no matter what it did, it sank. A water stone sinks down past the Eevee, but it hesitates, and the dream ends.]

[velvetmayhem]

The Killing Moon

-- A Hellcheer Werewolf AU

Chrissy steps out of the house and finds her attention drawn to the intersection at the end of the street by bubbling engine noises. A black van with a thick white stripe all around is parked there, motor running, the sheer sight of it causing her heart to do a sudden leap inside her rib cage.

Weightless in her steps, as if she is walking on clouds, she starts walking towards it. Through the passenger window, she sees Eddie, both hands on the steering wheel, fingers drumming along to the rhythm of the current song. His eyes light up, when she knocks against the glass, before opening the door and climbing onto the seat.

“Good morning, my lady, your carriage is ready to depart,” he hints at lifting an invisible hat.

She laughs at his dramatic manner, “How did you know I would be going back to school today?”

“Well, uh, some little bird told me yesterday that you’re feeling a little better,” he grins smugly, “I hope your dad didn’t, uh, notice anything?”

“No, I don’t think so, but it was pretty close. Next time, give me a heads-up, so I can lock the door.”

“So, there will be a next time?” His eyes flicker over her body with a certain eagerness.

--

Chapter 15 - She Sells Sanctuary

--

[chrisframeofficial]

What’s under the waterline on a cruise ship?

I often get asked questions about the design of cruise ships and ocean liners. One of the most common is “what’s under the waterline” - or variants of that question.

There’s a lot going on below the waterline on a ship. Most of the large mechanical spaces for the engine room can be found here.

This can include the diesels (or on ships of old, the steam turbines). Newer ships may have gas turbines, LNG engines or even a hybrid power plant.

If the ship is propeller driven you’ll also find the propulsion motors here, as well as the long tunnels for the propeller shafts to run through and exit the ship.

For ships that use podded propulsion, the access points to enter the giant pods are found in the engine room space.

If a ship has bow thrusters and stern thrusters they’ll be located below the waterline. And all ships with stabilisers have them stored here. These items all need to be below the water to work. You can actually identify the location of these from the surface by looking for special markings on the hull. To learn what they look like, check out my explainer video here:

Additionally much of the water treatment facility is located below decks. Sewage treatment plants can be found here, along with a separate desalination plant on most modern cruise ships - to generate drinking water.

Aside from mechanical items, there’s a lot of other interesting areas below decks.

These include the massive store rooms that house all the food and drinks for the voyage. Ships have dry stores, cold stores and freezers to keep all the perishable food fresh. Corridors and lifts link these areas with the kitchens and restaurants.

You can also find crew recreation areas and sometimes even passenger facilities below the water line. This can include fitness centres and pools (especially on older ships) where there isn’t the need for windows.

Above: On the builders model of Aurora you can see the stabilisers extended and the ships keel.

On a sadder note, the ship’s morgue is usually located below the waterline. This is quite often situated just below the medical centre - which you’ll notice is on one or the lowest accessible decks on passenger ships.

Most cruise ships will also feature a main crew corridor which is generally located near or below the waterline.

This gives crew quick access to move from the forward to aft areas of a ship, bypassing the busy passenger areas.