#His only connection to humanity has been Dys and he still doesn't want this to happen

[mercy-burning]

(3) the trilogy. || THE DOCTOR.

in which the doctor finds the landlord's favorite missing trilogy of books on a quiet, snowy day... content: strong language, allusions to sex, kissing, fade to black fingering) word count: 3.6k

series masterlist | main masterlist

NOTE: Lots of fun stuff to come with these two soon! They're my favorite <3

———

On the days where Spencer is snowed inside, the perfect remedy should be a couple of books by the fireplace, but the fireplace is quite frankly impossible to keep up with (he never knows how much wood he actually needs and despite how many times he's tried, he swears the matchbook he has is faulty. It never starts.) And, he's read through all of the books he brought with him. Three times each.

The library is an option on a normal day, but the snowfall is so extreme that Stanton had called his house earlier in the morning to inform him that everyone had been requested to hold off on getting sick or injured until the Doctor was safe to leave his home. Sardinia is locked down for the day, he went on to explain, until the crew he'd called in to plow the roads with their heavy and capable machinery could tend to them.

For a town as small as this one, Spencer had just assumed everyone would have figured out how to manage heavy snow without calling in reinforcements. It's human nature, after all, to adapt to your surroundings and make do with what you have if not to develop a solution.

And then he looked outside, and he understood. He couldn't even see white. It was gray—the most snow he'd ever seen, caking every window and blocking him inside.

He spent a solid two hours scraping what he could off the windows and away from the door, until he created a pocket of light from the window above the couch and gave up on the rest. The wind at least had died down, the only noise available to him being his breathing and the creaks of the floor as he walked around. The sun was bright and it was above freezing, so he figured that should help melt what little bit he couldn't manage to scrape away. He showered, fought with the fireplace for another twenty-minutes out of pure boredom, and then gave up on that, too, thankful that the house had electric heating and the fireplace was merely for aesthetic purposes if nothing else.

And now, he sits on the couch, mindlessly thumbing through a book he's already read and wishing he had something else to keep him busy. Boredom only leads to wandering thoughts, and whenever he allows them to, they veer off into the inevitable direction of his landlord. Which only makes him more restless.

The very moment her beautiful, swollen and kissed-out lips enter the periphery of his brain, Spencer pushes himself off the couch and forces his legs to do the wandering instead. He doesn't even care where, he just needs to walk.

She'd been avoiding him since then—until she came to visit to have her stitches removed, and then she avoided him again. Their meeting then had been professional and straightforward, she jokingly handed him a ten-dollar bill for his trouble, and then she went home. He'd debated bringing up the kiss, maybe apologizing, but he also didn't want to risk poking the bear when, in the moment, the bear seemed relatively mollified. It was safe to assume they could silently move past it and remain civil, if not friendly, so that's what he did. He never brought it up, and they simply existed in each others' lives as background characters. No harm, no foul.

It admittedly saddens him a little, that familiar glorious fire in his body slowly dying out day by day without her spark to feed it, but... it's also safe. Given his temporary arrangement, that is exactly what he needs; Zero complications.

Still, it hadn't completely prevented his thoughts from wandering... He can't help it.

But damn it, he tries so hard.

Like now, as his feet pace back and forth along the hallway connecting his living room to the two little bedrooms on the opposite side of the cabin home. His eyes scan the oak paneling on the wall, finding it odd that one board is out farther than the others. It's not a vast difference, and to anyone walking down the hallway, it wouldn't stand out at all. But since his eyes are scanning everything with intent, something that small is impossible to unsee once it's been seen.

Spencer comes closer to inspect the wood, running his fingers along the grain when he feels the board shift a little. He presses harder, then tries with both hands to wiggle it out of place as he inspects the entire board from floor to ceiling.  Eventually, he notices that the nails holding it in place are extremely rusted and barely holding the board upright.

"She has to have a toolbox hidden in this place somewhere..." he ponders, turning to search.

After finding no luck in any of the cabinets, under the kitchen or bathroom sinks, or in the coat closet, he walks back to the guest bedroom and rummages through all the knitted blankets he's collected. For a while it's like he'd find one every time he entered a new area of the cabin that he hadn't explored. A few of them lay draped over the living room furniture now, but to keep the place organized to his liking, he just haphazardly folded and piled them into the guest bedroom closet, not thinking to see if there had been anything else in there.

Sure enough, once the shelves in there are completely clear of fabric, Spencer looks all the way on the highest one and can see a small pile of something shoved in the back. He reaches for it, hoping for something useful but finding only a stack of—

Books!

Not what he'd come in here for, but he isn't about to complain. Especially since he'd really just been so bored that he went in search of a tool box to fix the most negligible problem this house could possibly have.

He flips one over and sees the words, "Agent of Seduction," embossed over a couple in embrace. There are two more, "Agent of Passion," and, "Agent of Retribution."  Their covers are worn and well-loved, pages yellowed and creased, the spines barely readable. As he quickly fans through the pages, expelling the dust from its home between them, he wonders how there are even pages left. It looks (and smells, to be quite frank) like it should be falling apart at the seams.

It doesn't look like what he'd typically reach for, but... It's new. And since he really has nothing else to do...

Spencer sits down on the floor of the closet, nestled between piles of blankets, and opens to the first page of Agent of Seduction.

———

Dear Mom,

Today I might have stumbled onto the scariest story I've ever read. Not because it contains ghosts or horrors so intense that it gives you nightmares, but because of how accurately one major aspect parallels my current situation, as if I don't already feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone.

Don't get me wrong, it isn't entirely believable, especially where the crime-solving aspects are concerned. In fact, it seems like the author had merely watched something on TV and thought, "That doesn't look too hard to make up!" and thus, "Agent of Seduction" was born...

However, I'd be lying if I said I didn't get spooked by just about everything else.

The basic premise is that FBI Agent Samuel Stern must go into hiding to protect his identity from one of the most dangerous criminals the Bureau has ever encountered. In creating this brand new life for himself, he meets a woman named Rachel West, who he falls in love with. She's feisty and quick-witted, and when Samuel's past comes straight towards them like a freight train, she refuses to jump out of the way (much to Samuel's annoyance). Their relationship is built solely on fire—mutual attraction and nothing else—but while they're on the run together throughout the three books, they learn to open up and be vulnerable in a way that only enriches their feelings and the desire to truly love and be loved in return.

By now, you already know about my very own Rachel West, my landlord and the woman I can't stop thinking about... A lot of Samuel's inner monologue about her was extremely close to, if not exactly the same as, my inner monologue about Y/N. At one point near the end of the second book, Rachel gets kidnapped, and the final installment follows Samuel's journey to find her and finally exact his revenge on the criminal who has taken everything from him.

Inevitably, this journey leads Samuel to the grand realization that he's in love with Rachel, and after they finally reunite, the two of them live happily ever after.

Unfortunately, it was rather riveting.

Given the obvious major parallel here, you can also probably understand why it's spooked me. The details behind Samuel's "vacation" aren't necessarily the same as my own, but the mere fact that he works for the FBI and is protecting his identity far away from home... That in and of itself is far too much of a coincidence.

I know it's fiction. I know that real life is different from Samuel's... But I saw something in his story and in his relationship with Rachel that filled that hole of misunderstanding deep in my gut, and while I enjoyed myself for the most part, I also, unfortunately, have come to realize that I can never let myself pursue the fire and fall in love with Y/N.

I won't let her be tainted by my real life. Because if evil does, somehow, penetrate the snowy, magical borders of Sardinia and dig its claws into the purity within, there's no telling what I would do.

I can't let it happen.

———

Y/N loves snow days. Surprisingly, Sardinia doesn't see a whole lot of them— not like this anyway. It's rare that the entire town is on standby, but on the occasion that it is, she locks herself away on the back porch and watches the snow fall through the glass. It's cold, but she doesn't mind. She prefers it— hasn't known anything else, nor has she ever longed to.

The sun has started to set, and with the promise of oven-ready lasagna in just a couple of minutes, there isn't anything that could possibly dampen her perfect Sunday.

She only wishes she could figure out where she left her favorite trilogy. On snow days like these, especially back when she was in Junior High (the act of hiding them from her grandmother making the lure of the story even better, of course), reading Agent of Seduction was her favorite pastime. She'd read the entire trilogy back-to-back at least twenty times by this point, so she probably could have had it memorized. In fact, there are scenes that she has memorized, though nothing ever compares to reading them word for word.

At one point a few years ago, she'd accused her grandmother of stealing and selling them, though the woman denied it with a howling laugh. "I never gave a shit about what you read. Hell, if only you knew some of the books I hid from my mother when I was a teenager..."

At the thought of her grandmother, Y/N sighs, wishing she'd had the courage to ask her about them. The memory of cringing and quickly changing the subject is standard and funny, sure, but she hadn't known there wouldn't be much time left to even think about asking those questions.

Now, she doesn't have her grandmother or her favorite trilogy, and all she's left with is an emptiness that she hopes soon to fill with noodles and cheese.

Instead of the oven chime, three loud knocks sound at the front door, jolting her out of her reverie, and Y/N sighs again.

So much for a perfect Sunday...

Who the hell could possibly be knocking on her door today? The whole town is on lockdown... Only an idiot would be brave enough to—

"Doctor?"

Spencer's figure, sure enough, stands before her in a backdrop of golden, glittering white. His coat is caked in snow and he seems to be drowning in layers and layers of scarves, a plastic bag hanging from his hand as he manages a stiff smile; He's freezing.

"What the hell are you doing here? Don't you know the entire town is o—"

"On lockdown, yes. I know. But I brought you something."

Her instincts are telling her to usher him inside, but there's a fear that freezes her instead. Once she lets him inside on a snow day, there's no telling how long he'll stay. And those are consequences she would rather not discover today.

"Oh?" is all she can manage.

Spencer holds the bag out and she takes it. "I found these in your—er, my closet. I don't know if they belonged to you or not, but I figured it was a safe bet since it was your house... Anyway, I just... I thought I'd return them."

Opening the bag, hearing him explain, and seeing the familiar tattered cover of her favorite book all at once is like a fever dream. She almost can't believe it. In a whirlwind of emotions, she grabs the doctor by the jacket sleeve and tugs him inside without a sound, and he stumbles through the door with a start.

"What's wrong?"

"You're a fucking wizard."

"Excuse me?"

Her shaking hands gently retrieve the paperbacks from the plastic as he shuts the door behind him. She doesn't even care that he's technically been invited inside now.

Unbeknownst to her, as she fans through the pages just as he had when he found them, the sight brings a gentle smile to his lips.

"I was just thinking about these books a few minutes ago... I used to read them every snow day, over and over again to keep my mind occupied..." Then she laughs, shaking her head. "I thought I'd lost them for good. They were in your closet?"

"Mhm. Guest bedroom, all the way on the top shelf, in the back. I was looking for some blankets, a—"

"You didn't read them, did you?"

Her head snaps up and Spencer blinks at her for a moment before carefully answering, "No."

Something about it feels off to her. They stare at each other now, and suddenly she realizes the gravity of the situation, which is that he stands in her house, claiming not to have read her favorite books (which are sexually explicit in nature), even though his face clearly claims otherwise. He had brought them to her house during a weather lockdown of all days, right after she'd just been thinking about them, and she felt so grateful in the moment that the thought of kissing him on the mouth seemed like the perfect gesture of gratitude.

Obviously, there is only one outcome.

He needs to leave, now, before she does something stupid.

"You probably wouldn't like them anyway."

"Oh?"

The beguiled look on his face practically begs for elaboration, but she's not currently in the business of giving him one.

"Thank you for bringing them to me," she says, hoping to suggest finality and get him out the door. "I haven't had an entire night with no obligations to sit down and read these books in years. I'm way overdue."

He only stares back at her, his gaze unwavering in intensity. If he's disappointed at all, he doesn't show it in the least. She's afraid he might try to banter or take off his jacket, but in the end, the doctor only gives her a gentle nod.

"You're welcome."

A flood of different sensations come racing through her body then, as Spencer turns to leave; Relief that he's relenting, excitement to finally have and hold her favorite story again, hot tension under the residual potency of his staring, and the nagging feeling that whatever wildfire the two of them seem to have made together isn't actually anywhere close to being extinguished.

The door opens, swallowing the doctor in a halo of light, and just before he closes it behind him, he calls over his shoulder, "Enjoy yourself, my dear."

The paperbacks suddenly feel heavy in her hands. She almost drops them to the ground, cursing his name.

------------------------

"Go away!"

Samuel's heart nearly shattered at the crack in her voice. He couldn't bear to witness his dear Rachel and her burning flame slowly dwindle under the suffocation of his true identity. His real life, once again, had attempted to take away everything he held dear to him, and he would be damned if he let it succeed this time.

"Rachel, please! You have to have to understand, I hated having to lie to you!"

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" she screeched, whipping around and snarling in his face. Alas, her fire remained, though it was unmistakably fueled by scorching pure rage and not the low-simmering wicked desire he's come to crave and adore. The pain in his heart worsened as she jabbed his chest, a fragile reminder of the new life she's breathed into him and the steady ache to protect it at all costs. "You're just like every other man I've ever met, except you might actually be worse! You put me in danger, and then spared me the details! And for what, so you could play the savior and 'protect' me? Huh?"

"You don't understand..."

"Then make me understand!"

The truth was that he couldn't let her go. No matter how annoyingly stubborn she proved herself to be, Samuel could not resist the warmth that settled in his bones when she touched him. He could not sit back and tell himself that she meant nothing to him when every time she quirked her eyebrow, he felt the overwhelming need to know everything she's ever felt. He wanted to know her. He wanted to experience her, in every single facet.

But he also didn't want his life to destroy her.

"It is killing me... Every day it kills me to know that the man who took everything from me and ruined my life is out there, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it... It kills me to be away from home, and it kills me to have to pretend like I'm not filled with unbridled rage every time I wake up... It kills me to know that I've let myself get attached to someone else, because it just means that's one more thing for him to destroy. But... God, Rachel, you've fucking set this fire in me that I can't put out. You're so sharp and strong and funny and beautiful, and you're so fucking stubborn... You're breaking down every defense I have, piece by piece, and for both of our safety, I should just let it go... But I can't..."

Her hardened stare hadn't eased, but her hands started a slow, gentle ascent over the planes of his stomach, up and up until they rested on his chest.

Samuel pressed one of her hands firmly to his heart. "Do you feel that, Rachel?"

"Your heartbeat?" she asked sarcastically through her teeth, her eyebrow quickly flinching upward.

"Yes. What you're feeling there is your work, and your work alone."

Unsurprisingly, Rachel snorted. Still, her fingers flexed over the fabric of his shirt and pulled him closer. "It's not healthy to put all that credit onto someone, you know. It could do irreparable damage."

It was true, but she was being snarky, as always. Which meant she must not have hated him as much as she was letting on.

Samuel took that as a good sign, deciding to allow himself to be cocky. He stared deep into her eyes and brought a hand to her throat, gently grazing it with the back of his knuckle. "So? Tell me I haven't already ruined you beyond repair..."

Rachel hummed and leaned into him, never one to turn down a challenge. "Says the man who just bared his soul out to me with tears in his eyes five seconds ago... Sounds like I'm the one who's ruined you."

Their breaths were so close together now, noses barely touching, Samuel didn't have time to process the look in her eyes before he said, "And now you understand," relenting and kissing her deeply.

She clutched his shirt so hard, he thought she might literally tear it to shreds in front of him as her devilish mouth battled him with a strength of its own. Rachel was fighting, even now, desperate to hold onto that power and control. And that was all fine and good, usually, but Samuel felt it in his bones that this time it was different.

Things between them now were different, and they always would be.

Whether he could put a name to that difference he didn't know, but he didn't care. He just wanted her to really truly understand how important she was to him, without the fight.

She had complete control over him, but she didn't need to prove it.

Samuel could do that on his own.

He backed her into the wall and brought her hands to her sides, inching languid, wet kisses down her jawline. Never in their time together had he been so gentle in control, so slow... Fire left no time for meticulous passion, only quick, sharp lust.

"What are we doing?" she breathed, rolling her body into him. "What is this?"

"I meant it, Rachel," Samuel vowed into her neck, his hand deftly undoing the button of her pants. "You're changing me... Giving me something to live for again..."

A soft gasp escaped her as he slid his hand smoothly down the front of her pants, and he reveled in the sound. The moment his fingers breached her entrance, she melted into him, crying out in a whimper.

"That's right," he sighed into her neck. "Enjoy yourself, my dear..."

[keferon]

Chapter 2 of Blurr storyline >:D

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head is all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Part one

Holy shit I actually managed to finish it…..Oh. My god.

Under the cut⤵️

Is it stupid to miss someone who doesn't even exist?

Probably yes, but hey, Swerve already has several degrees, might as well get another one. A degree in Stupidity or something. Who cares?

For the first few days after waking up from his coma, he feels like he's going crazy. Everybody has realistic dreams, right? The ones where you can scrutinize every angle, memorize every face and smell and sound. The ones that make you lie still for a while after waking up, grasping at every thing you can. Trying to memorize everyone you meet, imprint them in your head.

Because apart from your mind, they don't exist anywhere else. So that's your only way to keep them.

It never works. Obviously. Details slip away. Impressions fade. Just a couple days, and you won't be able to recall anything but the main events from memory.

Wait, hell, not days. Cycles.

His life is a weird, pathetic, fantastical circus. Earth term. Heh. There are no circuses on Cybertron, haha!

But Swerve remembers. And the word circus, and the smell of asphalt, and rains that were made of water not acid. Remembers the English language. Can speak it fluently, even if you wake him up in the middle of the night.

Remembers his work schedule and remembers which company makes the best details. And Tailgate with his bright blue uniform and Wheeljack with his endless experiments and Swindle with his expensive coat and of course...yeah, no, don't think of Blurr, don't think of Blurr, don't. Don't.

He'd heard about it. Read about it, too. Mechs waking up from comas and doing wild things. Some forgot how to speak at all, some gained a new skill, some lived a whole life while they slept.

Articles tell Swerve, don't worry, what you've experienced isn't unique. The doctor tells Swerve that the same thing has happened to others before you, it will be okay, it will pass.

Swerve isn't sure he wants it to pass.

He's been in a coma for who knows how long. The medic said it was caused by an internal trauma that decided to suddenly get worse. One minute he's recharging , the next he's gone. Internal injuries are insidious.

So it turns out. One day he just disappeared from the world because he was busy slowly dying in his room and no one noticed until a thief tried to sneak in. The only one who came to him was a Mech who wanted to steal his stuff. Huh.

That feels revolting. Swerve liked to think he had enough friends. Or at least enough good connections. Enough those who should have noticed his absence, right?

Apparently not. His shifts at work were reassigned, his contacts never texted him first, his...

His small persona wasn't important enough for anyone to notice his disappearance.

Would his human coworkers notice? Would Tailgate have noticed? Or Jazz? Swindle?

Jazz would have noticed, he was always surprisingly attentive when it came to his friends. And he was friends with just about everybody.

Swindle would probably get upset about the money he'd lost.

It's amazing how much his brain-- wait, no, his processor. How much his processor could create to entertain him. It's a more elaborate world than the most complex series Swerve has ever known. And that scrap had forty-six seasons and fifteen encyclopedias!

People, Earth, a bunch of new languages and rules and all for the sake of the end being like, OOPS! ...it was all a dream. Hilarious. Worst plot twist ever. Swerve hates it when stories go in this direction even more than when they kill off their characters.

In his humble opinion, death is better than the revelation that none of the experiences made sense or had any value. In terms of writing scripts obviously. Haha.

He's busy roaming haphazardly through his own memory. He's looking, comparing, trying to find inconsistencies or things that don't make sense. All the stuff that usually gives away the fact that what happened was a dream.

Most of his memories are occupied by--No. Frag.

Don't think about Blurr, don't think about Blurr, don't think..

He's thinking about Blurr. A lot.

Blurr occupies a surprisingly important role in his comatose dreams.

In the time he spent just looking at him, you could hand-build an entire Mech. Maybe even three. Swerve remembers picking up every bit of merch he could reach with his paycheck. Watching hundreds of videos and buying every new themed drink even if it was a flavor he didn't like.

Then spent a surprising amount of time resenting Blurr for not living up to his fantasies.

Blurr's behavior hadn't helped either, of course, but now, looking back at the past himself Swerve thinks that.. Oh wow. You weren't just annoyed at him. You blamed him for ruining your beautiful fantasy. You were having so much fun entertaining yourself with thoughts of this marvelous image, and he came along and corrupted it. Poisoned the well you drank joy from.

But that's not quite true, Swerve thinks.

Blurr was more complicated than that. But exactly how, he'll never know. All he has are his memories, and those memories are cut short at the most interesting point.

Swerve knows this plot twist. The asshole character that no one loves at the last second turns out to not be what everyone thought, but it's too late.

Oh no, he's not an evil jerk, he's actually traumatized. Oh no, he wasn't bad, he was actually secretly helping everyone. You thought he was awful? Well now you're going to feel awful reading fanfics.

Serevus Spayne didn't actually betray the main character's dad, no no, he was in love with him! Bam. Drama.

Swerve isn't a big fan of this stuff. He likes his characters developed properly. But he can't deny the appeal of a character leaving behind a bunch of questions you thought you knew the answer to.

Uggh.

The doctor was wrong. These thoughts don't go away. These memories don't dull.

Swerve just boils in them, constantly getting stuck in his own head. Sometimes he puts English words into his speech and everyone looks at him strangely. Sometimes he reflexively says some inside joke and no one gets it and he's left standing there with an awkward smile. Because. Guys, you don't understand, if my coworkers were here they'd think it's hilarious. I promise, in my fantasy world, it's funny.

When he gets a job on one of the Autobot ships, he accepts it thinking it might be a good distraction from his thoughts.

When he happens to see Prowl with a tiny human on his shoulder in the corridor of that ship, he thinks he's lost his mind.

The whole thing. The whole load-bearing structure on which his picture of the world has been held suddenly gives a lurch. Living your life in a super realistic dream is wild, but meeting a character from your dream in real life??

Freaking cursed.

Jazz looks puzzled by his reaction, but all Swerve can think about are two things.

One, if Jazz is here, does that mean everything else was real, too???

Two - holy shit, Jazz is tiny.

It never occurred to him. But he didn't really know what size humans were. Well, sure, he could measure it in numbers. But he was among humans himself. And about the same size. He was generally even shorter than most of them.

If Jazz is so small, he can't imagine how tiny Tailgate would be. Or--

He can feel his spark freeze. In fact, he can almost hear the sound of a string breaking in his processor. Does that mean Blurr is real too? Real and just as tiny and currently dead? Because Swerve was there but was too convinced it was all just a dream to help?

He's going to get sick.

He needs to talk to Jazz right now.

____________

Swerve taps his fingers nervously on the countertop. Come on. You're good at talking. Talking is your greatest skill. All you have to do is tell someone else about your comatose hallucinations and hope they don't think you're crazy.

They're sitting at a table at the bar. More specifically Swerve and Prowl are sitting at the table, and Jazz is sitting right on the table. (God he's so small).

“So uh. I got injured a while back and...uh...well, it got worse, turned out important systems were affected and I kind of. I was in a coma. For a really long time.”

Jazz frowns

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

He speaks in a mildly wonky Common, Swerve notes to himself. He waves his servo a little too cheerfully in response.

“'Ay it's no big deal really. I saw a whole other world while I was asleep and like. See, I thought it was just my fantasies, but it seemed very real and...”

Swerve mentally crosses his fingers.

“And it was about this planet called Earth and about people who were building their own inanimate huge robots to fight huge aliens and their boss wanted to launch Mechs into space, so he picked the best of the pilots named Jazz and sent him on this test mission and...”

Jazz looks at him with huge eyes before switching to English in surprise.

“Mech, what the hell?”

“...And we lost him...” finishes Swerve with a sad smile.

Before thinking for a bit, and adding.

“I'm going to show you a trick I can do.”

And then projects his holoform onto the table in front of him.

This. It's weird. Not in a way that would tilt it in the direction of unnatural. More like walking around in his comfy indoor pajamas right in the middle of the street. Being human is familiar to him, but being human amongst huge Cybertronians? Strange. And a little creepy.

Prowl looks confused.

Jazz looks absolutely frantic.

“SWERVE????”

Swerve doesn't even manage to respond, only to smile in relief before Jazz rakes him into his arms. In his holoform, Jazz feels right again. He's taller than Swerve and oh boy, he's alive and unharmed. To think everyone thought he was dead, staying up nights trying to find what was left of him, and he was on the other side of the universe the whole time?

Swerve chuckles into Jazz's shoulder. Then picks him up and spins him around a couple times just because he needs something to get his energy out. Man, it's nice to hug people. Warm and soft, eight out of ten.

Jazz pulls away but still stays standing very close. Swerve can literally see the happy stars in his eyes.

“Dude, I'm not complaining but what...how???? You just kinda..."

Swerve laughs and twitches his eyebrows playfully.

“I still speak English, you don't have to torture yourself with Common.”

“Oh thank fuck.” Jazz throws his hands up dramatically “you're my favorite person right now.”

There is a polite click of the vocalizer resetting above their heads.

“I” Prowl says “very glad you two are happy but I'd like some explanation”

Swerve presses his head into his shoulders guiltily. Prowl has the unique ability to always sound like you've done something wrong in front of him.

Although Jazz doesn't seem to feel the same way?

“Short version - I sleepwalked my holoform to another planet.”

He pauses dramatically.

“The long version is...”

Jazz raises his hand

“What's a holoform?”

Swerve sighs.

“It's a holographic avatar that I can project using a holomatter generator. Sort of like a remote controlled game character.”

Jazz whistles impressed. And then immediately turns back to Prowl

“Have you been able to do that all this time too?“

Prowl hums

“I can create an avatar, but it takes a lot of practice to make it at least believable. And to fully perceive the world through it takes even more. It's a whole new technology. What Swerve does is essentially an art form. Sophisticated and impressively detailed may I add.”

Swerve shrugs shyly. He's still using the holoform to stand on the table next to Jazz. Looking up to speak to Prowl isn't exactly comfortable, but Jazz definitely looks like he's been missing the human presence. Swerve isn't human, but he might as well be.

“Thank you. Yes! Uh. Anyway, it seems while I was in a coma my processor projected my avatar onto Earth and I...let's just say I lived there for a while.”

Jazz laughs

“Dude. So you're telling me you were basically sleepwalking the whole time?”

“ I was.”

Prowl frowns.

“But the range limit of the holomatter generator is only four hundred miles...”

“.... I had a lot of practice...”

Jazz claps his hands.

“You learned a whole other language! Got an ID!. You had a job!!!”

“I got carried away,” Swerve admits.

Jazz scratches the back of his head, still looking very amused

“How many degrees did you get? Haha wait no, I have a better question, did you pass your driver's license?”

“Two. And I failed my driver's exam.”

“Dude you are literally a car without a driver's license!” collapses Jazz on the table with laughter.

Swerve blows the hair out of his face

“Says you who retook the physical several times. You couldn't pass the "being human" exam.”

Jazz just wheezes incoherently in response. Prowl looks alarmed.

“Don't worry, that's him getting excited. So...where have I been...”

Swerve nervously shoves his hands into his pockets

“...Do either of you two know where Earth is?”

Prowl twitches his door wings

“No. Since Jazz was teleported we don't have much clues.”

Swerve grimaces. Scrap. Of course nothing's going to be that easy. He's also been, like,....teleported.

He stands there for a couple minutes and just feels fifteen different emotions rise up in his head at once. A crooked, unsteady smile creeps across his face.

He's thinking.

Oh hell, yeah! I knew it wasn't a dream!

Then he remembers the mess he left behind.

Oh, no, it wasn't a dream.

Jazz puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Swer... Swerve? Dude, are you okay?”

“Ah frag..” Swerve says weakly ”it wasn't a dream.”

Jazz looks...puzzled.

“Is that bad?”

Swerve remembers his friends. Remembers the Mecha program. Remembers fire and smoke and screams and rumbling and crackling flames. Ashes flying through the air and the smell of burnt wires. He remembers blood and debris and...

“It's...complicated.”

This wasn't just a stupid plot twist he'd dreamed up because he'd watched too many shows. This wasn't a hallucination or a disembodied fantasy that just happened to linger in his head. This was real. His friends exist out there somewhere. His work and his collections and his little apartment...

And Blurr. Was real. Or still is? Swerve doesn't know. Blurr wasn't a product of his imagination. He was real and what he did was real and Swerve left him there alone, bleeding and trapped in rubble and tiny and...

Hahahahah oh fUCK.

He doesn't like this plot. It's too much. Too much to handle, too complicated, too ambiguous.

It's also probably too late.

But he can't leave it like this, right? Blurr went into the damn burning building just because of the possibility that there might be someone alive in there.

And Swerve doesn't even have to go through the flames. He has to look. He has to try at least.

Jazz glares at him with a worried look on his face

“ That expression you have...”

Swerve puts the smile back on his face.

“I need to get to Earth.”

___________________

Swerve is not an idiot.

Or maybe more accurately an idiot, but with several degrees.

He's well aware that finding Earth in space with only a description of it is impossible. Which leaves him with two options.

Ask the Quintessons. Or look for it himself.

The first sounds like death. The second like coma. Swerve has exquisite enough taste to know which is better.

He just needs to do some preliminary reserch.....

Jazz, now back inside his Mech looks doubtful.

“You're not going to die suddenly and for no reason, are you?”

Swerve laughs.

“Pfffff what, no of course not, would I kill myself hah. No no, look I'll just put myself in stasis for a bit. Send myself to Earth. And try to figure out where it is from there. Get the coordinates. If I'm lucky, I can see what Space Bridge the local Quintessons use. All you'll have to do is wake me up after a while.”

“It's not harmful?”

Swerve makes an uncertain gesture with his hand...servo.

“If I have enough fuel. And an additional connection to an external generator.”

Jazz tilts his head

“ Why are you so eager to get to Earth? Don't get me wrong, I miss it too and want to go back, but.”

Swerve bites his knuckles.

“ I have some unfinished business?”

“Pshhhh you sound like a ghost.”

Swerve only laughs in response.

_______________

Concentration is tricky.

Swerve tries to think about Earth. And not to think about the fact that he doesn't know where it is. If he's already been there once, he might as well go there again yes? In theory? Perhaps?

Except for the possibility that his sleepwalking just takes him to random planets. That would be very inconvenient. It would be a whole new level of lost

Shit. No. Earth. Think Earth.

What's he even gonna do when he gets there? How far away is it? Swerve is very talented with his holomatter generator, but if it's really far away... maybe he should reset some settings.

He mentally starts going through his options. Does he need tangibility? Probably not. Come to think of it, it would only make him more vulnerable and take a lot of energy. Yeah, the tangibility has to go. What else? Touch, too. Sight and hearing should stay, that's not even a question, but colors and textures are not really necessary.

The amount of detail and picture quality can be reduced as well. His holoform will become colorless and grainy and will probably ripple with static, but he'll survive it.

After he finishes making changes to his holoform he thinks about his old stuff left in his house. Then about the posters. Then reminds himself that he needs to focus on the goal or he'll never find Blurr and...oh FUCK his phone! Where was his phone when he disappeared? Was it found?? There were so many personal things on that phone, he's hoping the phone was burned under the rubble. Either that or the arriving investigators will find his browser history and he'll go into another coma from pure embarrassment.

He blinks dazedly when he realizes he has loads of rocks in front of his eyes. Oh..Did he screw up? Did he end up on the wrong planet? Is it a cave or--

Then he notices the odd shape of the “rocks” and. Oh, no. It's not a cave. It's charred concrete debris.

This is the place where he was last.

He hastily looks around. Anxiety creeps up the back of his neck, makes him feel like something slippery and cold is crawling over his skin. There is nothing but ruins all around.

Blurr is not here. The place where his Mech was lying is empty.

Which means he was at least found and dragged out. Dead or alive.

Swerve's bites his knuckles. Okay.

All right.

He's got things to do.

_______________

He's trying to stay out of sight. Which isn't hard, considering he's just a hologram. At first, he just sneaks around in the quiet areas. Then proceeds to do a facepalm and start teleporting. Think, Swerve. Did you read all those comic books for nothing? Superheroes who couldn't really use their superpowers creatively always annoyed him. And he does, in fact, have a superpower. Gotta get creative, right?

He stops and looks at himself again. His holoform is going static and is a dull white color. He thinks for a bit, and then shrinks himself. Thinks some more, and makes himself almost transparent. There's no way he could pass as a normal human right now, so he'd better just do his best to avoid being seen by anyone.

He looks around thoughtfully. Hmm. Even if he's going to be absolutely tiny, he needs to make sure no one sees him, otherwise the whole base will think the Quintessons are now spying on them through holograms or something.

Breaking the rules feels...it's exciting.

All his ..human life here he hadn't thought about it, but if he threw away the rules he was used to about what people could or couldn't do...

He looks up in a sudden rush of sly genius. All people look under their feet when they walk, but how many look up? And how many of them notice the barely visible tiny holoform hiding just behind the blinding lamps?

The answer is probably none.

Swerve projects himself onto the ceiling and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for his impressive intellectual accomplishments. A creativity degree should definitely be a thing.

A degree in spying on the Quintessons' ships wouldn't hurt him either.

Fortunately sneaking onto their ship turns out not to be that difficult. Swerve makes himself absurdly tiny and hides in the darkest corners that no one would ever think to look into. Why hasn't anyone thought of using holoforms for spying before? Could he be the first to think of it? He doesn't know, but he mentally decides to patent the idea.

Finding the Space Bridge is surprisingly easy. The local Quintesson fleet is clearly used to being the dominant force in space. And that's generally logical. Even if humanity collects a mountain of money from somewhere to throw a dozen Mechs into space - there will be thousands of monsters waiting for them. In such a situation, you don't have to hide, the guards are enough.

Well done, well done, don't hide, Swerve thinks, copying the coordinates and address of the space bridge to himself. You have absolutely nothing to fear here, he thinks, so stay where you are and don't move. Please and thank you.

Once the coordinates are obtained, he... has some freedom to explore. And he uses it for probably the most boring-sounding thing in the world. He returns to his usual workplace.

It’s simple. As damning as the Mecha program was, Swerve loved his job in it. He loved his position in the assembly shop. And he missed his friends.

He quickly teleports through several rooms, continuing to hide close to the lamps. Tailgate is here. Alive and unharmed. Wheeljack is too, though his face has some scars added to it. It's great to see them again, even if he can't talk to them right now. No one will probably react well to a grainy unexplainable hologram. He's just glad to know they're okay and honestly, the last thing he needs is paranoid Onslaught installing extra signal jammers.

It takes time to find Blurr. Partly because Swerve is terrified of what he might find if he started looking. So he goes to check the death lists first, and only after flipping through and re-reading them three times does he finally exhale in relief.

Blurr's name isn't there.

So his smug, shiny ass must be around here somewhere.

He checks the hangar. Flips through the Mech launch logs and feels an uncomfortable knot begin to form in his chest. Blurr's Mech has never been repaired or launched even once since the incident. Its plating has been replaced with new, well polished, and put in a prominent place where anyone who wants to can take a picture of it. But all the internal systems are destroyed. This machine hasn't been used for anything other than being a beautiful exhibit.

That's...something's wrong.

He checks offices and schedules as well as eavesdropping on a few conversations and ends up secretly following Swindle, who is arguing loudly with someone on the phone. He says something about deals and how he doesn't need anyone meddling in his business. Then he talks about how he's got everything under control and the person on the phone is “a dumbass who's making drama out of nothing” and that “he doesn't need anyone's handouts". Then he sighs and says, “you know how celebs are. Dumb and dramatic. You can't take their words literally.”

Then drops the call and for a couple seconds looks like he's just had a large bill taken right out of his hand. Curses again, but in a quieter voice. Leafs through his contacts and stops at the one signed 'free ice'.

“Blurr? Where are you? Wha...ah, no wait. No, the advertising agency called. No, liste...Can you shut up for one second?Where are you?

Uh-huh....... Uh-huh.Okay.

Give me half an hour...okay, yeah.”

This is it, Swerve thinks.

He shrinks himself further and teleports under the collar of Swindle's coat.

He wants to take a look. Just. Just a peek. Make sure everything's all right. Then he can go about his original mission in peace. He watches Swindle get in his car and drive off somewhere. Swerve doesn't recognize this part of town. The houses here are much nicer than where he lived. The streets are cleaner.

He tucks himself further under the coat collar. He's not going to be a stalker or anything, but he's worried and he doesn't have time to wait for Blurr himself to show up for work. Just one little look and that's it.

Swindle's car stops outside a beautiful, shiny hospital. Swerve nervously tries to bite his knuckles, but remembers he's disabled touch in his holoform. Shit? Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi

Blurr looks like a mangled corpse.

Okay, not really. His left side that faces the door to the hospital room looks like a mangled corpse and that's the first thing that catches Swerve's eye when he's inside.

Blurr is pale and thin and his hands are covered in bandages. The left side of his face has been turned into an absolute ugly nightmare. A piece of his ear is missing. In the place of the left eye is a creepy empty hole.

Suddenly Swerve realizes why Blurr didn't show up for work. You can't even show him to his coworkers like that, not just to the public.

Blurr turns his head and the spell breaks. His lips stretch into a cocky smile.

“'Got bored without me Swindle?”

Swindle doesn't show the slightest emotion at the gruesome sight. He casually pulls a chair over to the hospital bed and sits down.

“Shockwave is trying to sneak a new project into the program. And he's slowly swaying investors to his side, using you as an excuse. Tells everyone you're a poor martyr he can save if only he's given the green light from above.”

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

“Not that he's wrong. The doctors say I need to pick a new career because with this...” he jerks his head to the left implying his damaged half, ” neither racing nor piloting is an option for me anymore. I'm out of your project.”

Then he stops talking for a few seconds and raises an eyebrow curiously.

“You wouldn't have come here in person just to say that. Why are you really here?”

Swindle adjusts his glasses

“Have I ever told you why I made the contract with you?”

“Because you like money” Blurr says without hesitation.

Swindle lets out a quiet chuckle.

“Fair point. But money wasn't my only priority.”

He pauses for a second. Gets up. Draws the curtains in the room. Checks to make sure no one is outside the door.

Goes back to his seat.

“You didn't see what the Mecha project was like before. Brutality and absolute disregard for human rights multiplied by a thousand. People were desperate and no one cared to maintain any decency.”

He raises his hand when Blurr rushes to say something.

“No no, listen to me. If you think things are bad now, you're right. But it used to be much. Much, much worse.”

Swindle sighs and adjusts his glasses again

“Vortex was taken as a boy. He wasn't even out of high school when they shoved him into the lab. Me and Onslaught were pulled right out of the college exams. The others were no better, although they were usually a little older. My point is that it was allowed. It's what the superiors could do and no one told them no.”

Blurr tilts his head and gets a little all turned around to see Swindle better with his right eye.

“But you... found a way to change that, didn't you?

Swindle rubs the bridge of his nose

“I have no power over my own superiors. But Onslaught and I have come up with a plan. Look. I'll put it in simple terms for you. Above me is my boss, and above him is another boss, and so on but at the very end of that chain are people from the government. The investors. So we figured out a way to cut through the chain of command and influence them directly. Make them worry about us. It's a kind of social shield. Onslaught is a genius.”

Blurr blinks.

“Why are you telling me all this.”

Swindle takes off his hat and just. Crumples it in his hands. The back of his head shows numerous scars and the glint of tiny metal implants barely visible behind his hair.

“You're that shield right now, Blurr. You can't leave.”

Blurr's eye widens

“Is that why you insisted on ‘befriending’ me with all those bullshitters?”

“I needed to make sure that in their minds we weren't just a military unit. To keep them thinking that we're as human as they are. So I gave Project Mecha a face.” He tugs on the hat again, “Your face.”

Blurr runs his fingers through his hair

“Shockwave can't do whatever he wants cause...because of me his efforts would risk going public and people wouldn't like it and it would ruin the reputation of our investors-and-they'd-cut-off-his-funding.”

Swindle puts his hat back on.

“Exactly.’ That's why he's being so persistent right now. He knows you're vulnerable and he wants to capitalize on the opportunity. Make you part of his new project and tell the world about it. Make publicity his weapon, too.”

The lamp above them flickers faintly. Blurr takes a breath. Long and tired and exhausted and. a bit doomed.

Swindle puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Please. Don't leave. At least not now. And don't let Shockwave get to you. That would open the way for him to get to the rest of the pilots you represent.”

They just. Sit in silence for a while. Blurr quickly taps a finger on his knee. A rapid tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Swindle moves his hand away and gets up from his chair.

“There's a press conference coming up. I need you to be there. I've told everyone who needs to know that the problem is exaggerated and you're fine but they need to see you.”

Blurr smiles sourly.

“My lawyer is going to charge you such a handsome sum for that stunt.”

Swindle laughs, but his cardboard advertising smile doesn't reach his eyes.

“We’ll see about that. Seriously though. I need you there.”

Blurr bites his lip.

“I..don’t know...”

Swerve...doesn't know what to think of that.

Blurr shows up for the press conference. Late, but he makes it. Just as Shockwave is presenting his new project in his amazingly well-pitched voice. Blurr swings the door open and waltzes lazily inside, skillfully pretending not to notice the many cameras and eyes instantly directed at him.

Swerve, whose memory is still fresh thinks for a second that no, no this can't be the same person. Past Blurr looked like a wreck. Past Blurr was tense and tired and hunched over. Present Blurr couldn't look more alive. His shoulders are squared proudly, there's that cheerful springiness and grace in his stride. He moves with ease and confidence. Smoothly.

The left side of his face is neatly covered with fresh white bandages. Carefully, without leaving the even the slightest gap through which his injury could be seen. His hands are hidden under a fancy jacket. He smiles wide and bright and squints playfully toward the table.

The very embodiment of nonchalance. The few pilots sitting in the audience roll their eyes.

Swindle breathes out a barely perceptible sigh of relief. Swerve, once again using Swindle's collar as a tactical cover, can't help but let out a silent triumphant laugh. Maybe slightly more nervous than he is supposed to be.

Blurr sends Swindle a sly, sharp smile and even knowing it wasn't meant for him, Swerve feels his cheeks heat up.

Ah, damn it.

Swerve breaks the rules. He tells himself that peeking is fraught with consequences when it comes to military organizations, but he can't stop himself from being curious. And from worry, too.

And now that he knows where to look, he sees things he'd rather not see.

Blurr ... is crumbling.

Swerve doesn't know all the details and consequences, but that incident did leave a mark.

But every time Swindle calls him and says “I need you at some place in two hours” he gets up and assembles himself into a human being. Like a goddamn puzzle. Tapes and covers the burned half of his face. Covers up the bruises and hides the stitches. Fixes his hair and sets off on shaky legs to pretend he's fine.

He smiles so bright and carefree, laughs so sweet and beautiful that no one would ever think that even standing up sometimes hurts.

And continues to act like a jerk of course.

The only difference is that this time Swerve mentally gives him the presumption of innocence before he starts judging.

Blurr does a lot of things that seem rude. He also does a lot of things that are actually rude and figuring them out without resorting to alien superpowers would be nearly impossible.

When the pilots see Blurr sitting right on the table while negotiating with investors, they roll their eyes and make comments about his terrible manners. Or when he stops showing up for even the most basic, rudimentary training.

Or when he develops that stupid habit of leaning his elbows on people standing next to him.

It's the model behavior of a rich, spoiled brat.

It's also an inconspicuous way to stay upright.

Employees say “that dumbass has never heard of personal space.”

Investors say, “I think he likes me.”

Blurr leans on Swindle's shoulder and through a charming smile says “Don't move or I'm gonna fall.”

Swindle also keeping up the smile discreetly holds him back, pretending it's a friendly half hug.

Swerve feels like yelling at both of them, but he's not sure what for exactly. For one thing, Blurr in his condition is very VERY VERY contraindicated to even get out of bed, let alone participate in social activities.

On the other hand, without Blurr, everything is going down the pit.

Without Blurr, all the government sees are dry reports and spreadsheets. Without him, all the high command has is numbers and a sense of impunity. Swerve is sickened by how easily people tend to forget that numbers represent other people.

Most pilots are able to draw a parallel between deteriorating working conditions and Blurr's sudden fondness for staying home instead of working. But they think the rich jerk got scared and ran away. Considering the way Blurr has always behaved at work - Swerve can't even judge them too much for it. They assume Shockwave getting more freedom is the cause of Blurr's absence, not the result.

Blurr's influence only becomes noticeable when it slowly starts to fade away. It's like switching from expensive tea to a cheaper one. The awful flavor only becomes noticeable in contrast.

Blurr doesn't lead the development of new technologies or go out to fight in the field. He doesn't make plans and reports, he doesn't participate in drills, he doesn't cover anyone's back in battle.

But he's the one who puts his hand on the government's shoulders when they're about to sign the next piece of paper. He's the one they have to look in the eye before they have a pen in their hands and a document authorizing Shockwave to stick more needles in people's brains.

It makes a difference. Small one. But still.

It turns a disembodied imaginary “combat units” into a tangible person.

From “do you want to accelerate the combat training of new soldiers” to “are you willing to tell the living, breathing guy standing in front of you that shoving poison under his skin is an idea you approve of.”

More importantly (And Swerve actually admires Swindle for this) Will you be able to explain anything to your families later on, when this same guy is on TV all over the country saying that's what you did to him?

There have been two fronts here all this time, Swerve realizes.

While the pilots were protecting people from monsters wearing teeth and armor, Blurr was protecting the pilots themselves from monsters wearing ties and lab coats.

After another conference, Shockwave stops Blurr in the hallway.

“Good show.”

Blurr laughs. Soundly and proudly.

“Thanks darling~ Sorry I interrupted you. Your speech sounded like something important, but I don't really know much about nerd stuff.”

Swerve, hiding on the ceiling again, snorts.

Shockwave doesn't move. Doesn't give any indication at all if he's offended or upset or whatever.

“It must have been hard getting here with your injuries.”

Blurr shrugs and lazily turns his head around distracted.

“It's just a few bruises here and there. Not the end of the world.”

Shockwave nods slowly. His voice and posture and all, Swerve thinks, looking very uncomfortable.

“Of course it isn't. But hardly good for your career.”

Blurr freezes.

No, Swerve thinks. Shit. No, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't

“Your brilliant achievements have always been a source of admiration to me” continues Shockwave “it would be a pity to lose them.”

Blurr makes an indifferent face and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“Like I said. Not the end of the world.”

Swerve imagines choking Shockwave. Dropping a lamp on his head. Maybe jumping on top of him himself. Shut up, he thinks. Shut up, shut up, stop fucking talking.

Shockwave with a nice, slow gesture pulls out a notebook from somewhere and flips a couple pages.

“Multiple burns, cracked ribs, poisoning from carbon monoxide and combustion products of toxic chemicals...”

Blurr visibly shivers and looks away.

“...loss of vision on one side...” Shockwave continues reading, ”and partial hearing loss. Finally, the impact of neural link malfunctions. And this, if I'm not mistaken, is on top of the already existing memory problems?”

Shockwave takes a step closer. Not fast enough to make it look threatening, but enough to hover.

“It may not be the end of the world, but it is the end of you.”

He writes a set of numbers on the same page, tears it off, and hands it to Blurr.

“You are broken. I can fix you.”

Blurr frowns, but takes the piece of paper.

“That fixing would involve giving you consent to mess around with my head, wouldn't it? It's brave of you to think I'd go for that.”

Shockwave tucks the notepad into his pocket.

“I can assure you, neither I nor anyone else is interested in your brain. I just want to give you back what you're truly valued for.”

Blurr flinches.

“I don't need your help.”

“ If you say so,” Shockwave agrees easily. Nods, slowly and smoothly. Then starts to walk away “But you do need your fame.”

...

“By the way, you might want to wipe the blood off.”

Blurr waits until Shockwave's back disappears around the corner, then quickly pulls a tissue from his pocket and brings it up to his nose.

____________________________

Swerve wakes up looking up at the ceiling of his room. The high, metal ceiling, of a metal room on a metal spaceship.

Holy shit...

Jazz pokes him gently on the forearm

“Are you alive? You've been gone for like quite a while...Did it work?”

“Hey Jazz” frowns Swerve “what do you know about Blurr?”

Jazz laughs

“What are you fanboying over him again? Still??? Dude's smug and arrogant. Good boss though. I was hired to perform at his parties before I became a pilot.”

Swerve sits up and rubs the back of his head.

“Ah...”

“So it worked?”

“Wha...ah! Yes! Yes, it worked! I managed to get the number and codes from the space bridge the Quints used on you. We just need to find another space bridge and we'll have a pretty much direct route to Earth...well. Or rather, to the Quint ship that's located near Earth. You get the idea.”

Jazz rubs his hands together happily.

“I'll take it.”

Swerve jumps to the floor and heads to grab an energon cube. Man, these holoform exercises are burning energy like crazy.

He stares at his metal hands like an idiot for a couple minutes. Just...Contemplates how non-human they are.

He has eight fingers again instead of the human ten. Huh.

Prowl downloads the information he's gotten and immediately runs off to plan a route to the nearest working space bridge and for a while Swerve is just.

Left to himself.

He tries not to think about Blurr. What would he even say to him? Hey, look, I'm sorry I accidentally set you up, see, I'm actually an alien who was sleepwalking and thought you were fictional, surely this won't affect our non-existent strictly professional working relationship? Nah, screw that. If he's going to sound crazy, he needs to at least come up with a good presentation for his insanity.

....

Is it weird to think humans are beautiful if you're not human? If you're kind of human, but only in your soul and only half human?

He looks at Jazz and Prowl.

“You two get along really well.”

Jazz chuckles, sitting on Prowl's shoulder.

“Right now, yes. But we got on each other's nerves quite a bit when we first met.”

Swerve looks up at Jazz's chattering legs from his height and thinks. This is working somehow.

On the other hand, Jazz is the exception rather than the rule. He's friendly with everyone, he's easy to get along with, he's the soul of any company and most importantly, he was a little too much into robots before he discovered they could be alive. If anyone could find common ground with the Cybertronians, it would definitely be Jazz.

_____________________

”Are you a ghost?”

Swerve shrieks in fear and gets covered in static. He hadn't planned on talking. He hadn't planned on being noticed at all. Blurr was supposed to be asleep! And Swerve just wanted to close the curtains and leave, because there's some noisy party going on outside and bright illuminations are very bad for a patient already suffering from neural connection withdrawal.

He freezes in place like that dude from Jurassic Park. Like if he's still enough, he won't be noticed. Oh, or was that from another movie?

“I'm just uh” he awkwardly reaches up and closes the curtains “Lights. Bad for...you...now.”

Blurr chuckles. It sounds suspiciously joyful. His whole posture and facial expression. He looks very relaxed for someone who had a ghost materialize into the room out of thin air.

Swerve traces the line of the IV with his gaze. Oops, that looks like painkillers.

“Yes I am. Uh. A ghost watching the curtains. And now the curtains are fine, so I guess I'd better go?”

Blurr squints amusedly.

“You can walk through walls?”

“Uh, I can teleport into the next room?”

He backs up his words by making himself disappear and reappear in another corner of the room.

“Cool!” says Blurr cheerfully.

Swerve is involuntarily infected by his mood and makes a couple dramatic bows as if he were some kind of magician.

“ Show me more?”

“Hehehe okay eh” Swerve spreads his arms like he's presenting something and then makes himself the size of a soda bottle and teleports to the edge of Blurr's bed “Ta daaaa~”

“Wooooo look at you, you're like an action figure~”

Blurr immediately makes an attempt to touch him, but fails to reach and drops his hand back on the blanket.

Swerve chuckles and steps closer. It's funny to see the usually incredibly agile Blurr struggling with something so simple and ridiculous.

“They really drugged you huh?”

“It's not the drugs” snorts Blurr ”...it's my eye.”

He raises his hand once more and hesitantly pulls it towards Swerve until it bumps into his hair

“... depths Per…percen.. ah, shit. I can't tell how far away things are.”

Swerve just. Lets Blurr fidget at himself, while starting to feel really bad at the same time.

"If you can't tell how far things are, how are you going to drive?

Race???”

He must have a plan right? Something? Let’s-prove-Shockwave-wrong tactic???

Blurr drops his hands back on the blanket

“I won't.”

He freezes when the all too close fireworks rumble outside the window. Then points to his head.

“With this. I can't drive, I can barely walk at all, and I look like horror movie material. Pathetic heeh.”

Swerve sits down quietly cross-legged on the blanket.

“Well...at least you're alive....”

Blurr shakes his head.

“If I had died, it would have been epic. You know? Dharm...dramatic! It would be big news and everyone would be talking about what a hero I was or...or something...”

“...”

“Swindle would be so angry, but he'd figure out a way to make money out of it. He'd make a commercial about how people should be heroes. I'd be remn..remembered for being cool and brave and stuff.”

Fireworks can be heard from the street again. Swerve notices that there is a thin slit between the closed curtains through which a slim, flickering strip of multicolored light streams into the room.

Blurr frowns and leans back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling.

“I've turned into a boring wreck. My records will be beaten, my career forgotten , and all the guys from work will remember me as a brat. In a--in a--in a way, it's worse than death. Shockwave's right.”

Swerve isn't sure what exactly would be an acceptable gesture of comfort, so he kind of just. Places his hand on the blanket covering Blurr's lap.

“Hey, don't say that. I think what you're doing is great.”

“Liar” smiles Blurr crookedly ”You hated me. I saw your posters collection.”

Oh shit. The ones he ripped off the walls and destroyed in a fit of fan frustration? He didn't even hide them, just shoved them in the back corner. Aw, man...

Swerve folds his arms awkwardly across his chest.

“I can be mad at you and think you're cool at the same time. I'm a multitasker.”

“You're a very specific kind of ghost.” says Blurr. Then, apparently inspired by the painkillers, decides to drop the conversational equivalent of an atomic bomb on Swerve's head “You died because of me?”

Swerve stiffens.

“I...Wwhat?”

“You know.” he makes a gesture with his hand that's ..unclear what it's supposed to mean. “You were working there with everyone else, and then there was that fire and I was sure I saw you down there under the rubble.”

He's silent for a couple seconds before he hesitantly continues

“And then no one could find you so most assumed you either burned or ran away. And now you're here with all your weird ghost stuff, so you must be dead.”

Swerve has.No idea what to think about it. And what to say? He's been so busy blaming himself for Blurr getting hurt that it hasn't occurred to him to think about what it looks like from Blurr's own perspective.

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head’s all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Swerve wants to run around and bang his head against the wall.

Instead, he gets up from the hospital bed. Carefully.

“You're high. I'm not going to explain things to you while you're high, you won't understand or remember them. Go back to sleep. It's the middle of the night.”

“You'll tell me later?”

Swerve hums quietly and pulls the curtains all the way closed.

“If future, sober Blurr would want my company.”

---------------

Jazz looks at him. Very intensely.

“Are you going to tell me who this mystery person you keep coming back to Earth for?”

Swerve snorts.

“What makes you think it's anyone in particular?”

“You're right, you're right~” raises his hands in surrender Jazz “So are you going to tell your friend the whole thing?”

Swerve crosses his ..metal arms over his metal chest.

“Is it that big of a deal? He thinks I'm a ghost or something.”

Being a ghost...somehow better, he thinks. If you're a ghost, it kind of automatically implies you're human. Or was a human.

“Sooner or later, he'll put the facts together~” says Jazz in a chant.

Swerve laughs.

“That's unlikely. He's got a pretty bad memory.”

_______________

His plans to stay out of anyone's sight combust with a dramatic pop the next time he projects himself to Earth. He doesn't plan to interfere, he doesn't even plan to linger. He just wants to see what's going on.

He actually just quietly sneaks into the hospital to make sure nothing's happened to Blurr since last time, but when he finally finds him then...oh shit, is that Pharma in the same room with him??? This can't be good.

They don't speak, but Pharma has clearly locked his eyes on Blurr and starts making his way towards him with the relentlessness of a industrial metal press.

Swerve does some rough math in his head. If he briefly gives his holoform back its detail and voice, will that be enough to fry his processor? He's not sure.

Pharma gives a believable impression of a shark getting close. The staff, as if sensing something untoward is about to happen, leaves the room in a hurry.

Blurr looks indifferent, but Swerve's attention is drawn to the way he squints tensely. Man, the lamps are too bright in here.

Pharma smiles sweetly and reaches out for a handshake

“Mind some company?”

Swerve's mental processes fly out the window. Oh no no. Not Pharma. Not in his fucking fanfic. He quickly changes his work clothes into a slightly more business-like looking shirt. Thinks for just a moment and adds a cap to his head to blend in more strongly with the attendants and hide his face to an extent. And then projects himself around the nearest unoccupied corner and runs out of behind it looking as anxious as he feels.

“Blurr!!! Sir, there you are!!! I've been looking everywhere for you!”

Pharma wants to say something, but Swerve doesn't even let him start. He stands in front of Blurr separating him and Farma expressively waves his hands trying to keep his head down.

“The guys you were talking about didn't bring the new hydraulics! It's a disaster, we'll have to use the one on the old models!”

Blurr, to his surprise, backs up his act almost instantly

“Really? But I thought there was nothing to take from the old models?”

“That's exactly the point! I got the paperwork this morning and...oh those assholes are going to screw it up if you don't step in as soon as possible!”

Pharma tilts his head

“Can it wait? We were actually talking here!”

Oh no, thinks Swerve I'll show you who's talking.

“Sir, no offense but this is a matter of extreme urgency. Are you implying that the safety of your patients is not important?”

“What do you mea...”

“Old faulty hydraulics, that's what you want?” raises an eyebrow in horror Blurr.

“No I'm just...”

“I had a better opinion of you, to be honest.”

“I...” opens his mouth Pharma “...WHAT...?”

Swerve shakes his head.

“And I thought his profession was to help people, can you imagine?”

“Wh..”

Blurr rolls his eye.

“Any idiot can get an important position these days.”

“Wait..”

“Tell me about it. Especially doctors.”

Pharma looks like he's about to start pulling the hair out of his head.

“Can at least one of you shut up??”

Swerve adjusts his cap in a businesslike manner

“Sir, I understand you're a bit detached from reality spending so much time in your department, but you need to take better care of your reputation.”

He raises his eyebrows knowingly

“Wouldn't want the rumors about you to turn out to be true. You know what I mean?”

Pharma doesn't even answer anymore. Pharma just looks like a discarded fish.

“…..Wha....there's rumors?”

“Of course” shrugs Swerve ”Ask Norman, he usually knows everything about everyone. And about your interesting tricks with safety, too.”

He leans in conspiratorially, effectively pulling all of Farma's attention to himself

“So if I were you, I'd stay out of any more things you don't understand.”

Pharma wants to say something. Swerve can tell by the look in his eyes. Pharma tries to come up with a witty and context-appropriate response, but this whole conversation has no more context than a typical episode of Teletubbies.

“Where does this Norman guy work?” finally finds the ground beneath his feet Pharma

Swerve shrugs.

“Block C, if he hasn't been transferred yet. He's already been fined several times for spreading harmful information you know? The guy can't keep a secret.”

Pharma throws his hands up angrily and storms away. Probably looking for context. Or revenge.

A quiet cough sounds behind Swerve's back.

“So. Should I be worried about Norman's health?”

Swerve feels the hair on the back of his neck shiver and slowly turns to face Blurr while still looking somewhere on the floor.

“Uh...only if you're concerned about the fate of fictional characters. I made up Norman's wife, she'll be upset if he gets fired for gossiping.”

Blurr chuckles. Then goes silent. Then, after a couple seconds, starts laughing again. That's a good look for him, Swerve thinks. It's not like Blurr's usual velvet-smooth laugh that he uses at social events. It's more like a quick, jerky giggle, and in Swerve's subjective opinion, it's pretty damn cute. He can't help but grin.

Blurr snorts one last time, cutting off the laughter.

Then he reaches out his hand to him.

Swerve reaches back, expecting a handshake, but Blurr ignores his hand and instead goes for his cap and lifts it by the brim.

Swerve, not expecting this, freezes with his hand outstretched.

Blurr freezes as well, still holding the cap in his hand and looking...like he's rethinking his life. A little.

Ugh, and how to explain it all to him....

“Uh...you...uh...probably don't remember me. I...it's...”

Blurr shifts his gaze from Swerve to the cap in his hand. Then back to Swerve.

“You're real???”

Swerve awkwardly waves his hands in front of him

“Ah not.., not really. Do you know why Pharma was looking for you in the first place? He doesn't work with patients anymore, he's been reassigned to the research department, right?”

Blurr shrugs.

“Last time I saw him, he said I might have implant rejection in the third ..uh..what? stage? or something? I think he's trying to get me in for a checkup.”

Swerve twitches.

“Third??? How are you still standing???”

He then quickly reaches up with both hands to Blurr's head and tilts it so he can see his face better. Using one thumb, he pulls his lower eyelid slightly and mentally catalogs. Temperature normal, pupil normal, eyes are steady, no darkening or trace of blood on the eyelid. Implants? He puts both palms up and gently feels the places behind Blurr's ears. No signs of rejection or malfunction.

“No no no” sighs Swerve ”You're fine, it's only stage two. I mean, second sucks too, migraines and all, but you just need to rest and no bright lights and...” he finally notices his hands are still on Blurr's head and pulls them back as fast as if he's been burned ”I MEAN I'm uh...sorry, I didn't mean to, I...”

Blurr laughs quietly.

“I'm glad you're back.”

_____________________

He wakes up in his quarters and can feel his face burning.

When he goes out to get the energon, Jazz throws him a look.

“Is something wrong? You're all kinda...shaky.”

“Hhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuu” imitates signs of life Swerve “Say, doesn't it bother you that Prowl isn't human?”

Jazz smiles

“ Oh, I went crazy when I found out. But we figured it out.”

“Like...on a scale from ‘bad grade in school’ to ‘an asteroid is coming to Earth’ how crazy was it?”

“Worried about what your human friends will think?”

Swerve swings back and forth on his heels

“Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff. Whatnooooo, no of course not. I'd be worried if I planned on telling them at all.”

Jazz frowns

“No offense, but keeping secrets isn't your strong suit.”

“Haha” Swerve waves his servo “ Watch me.”

[droopywrites]

did you ever did a part 2 to jjk dudes meeting their child who’s from the future?

⋆｡Part || of JJK MEN meeting their future kids｡⋆

Author's notes: I don't think I've posted it! Considering it kind of left my mind and the old draft is gone, but I did write everything I remember here. Also, it's like 3am and I wrote this crying, not proofread.

CW: Swearing, killing, cannibalism(?) like mention of eating people, children.

Pronouns used for the kids: She/her for Geto and It/its for Sukuna.

Part | (Warning, it's from 2021)

Geto

Starting off strong with Geto.

Definitely another girl. He's such a girl dad.

On a regularly scheduled day like always; it was wake up, talk with his connections, mingle with his family, check on Mimi and Nana, see whatever the hell the non-sorcerers wanted, get greeted by a little girl that wasn't supposed to be on the estate...

What the fuck.

How did she even get here? Why is she here?

Geto would stare at this child in confusion and look around, waiting for someone to claim her.

He has a soft spot for children. Sorcerers, of course. Non-sorcerers, debatable.

So, low and behold this little girl running up to him to clutch at his robes. Him trying to pry her off of him with her relieved cries of "Papa! Papa!" escaping her lips.

Papa?

Holds her by the shirt's scruff like a cat and squints, ready to scold her but pauses when he sees her face.

Because, holy shit, that's literally his twin. And suddenly every rare hookup played in his mind.

But no, she looked no older than 3. He hadn't been with anyone at that time, or ever yet. Not that far.

Drops everything for the next couple of days just to make sense of the situation, only telling his beloved family.

Mimi and Nana fawn over the idea of a little sister but are a bit restrictive if it's not a permanent thing.

The girl didn't speak much except for addressing Geto, the twins, oh and you.

You...?

You.

You.

You, who had just returned from your trip overseas to oversee some tasks involving curses.

You, who the little girl immediately ran to and called "Mama! Mama!"

You, who Geto stared wide-eyed at and surprised as you two tried to settle the fact nothing even happened between you.

Yet.

When that little girl eventually left to her own time, with everything still fresh and confusing, Geto eventually approached you.

Because, well, he wanted to see that little girl again.

After few dates, then a relationship, then marriage. Maybe.

Sukuna

Listen, he is NOT spreading those cursed genes of his pre-human/post-cursed-spirit.

Man hates love.

But, during the Heian period. When some stupid kid wandered into his life as if it always belonged there, maybe, maybe, there was something else in that space in his chest but hunger and his definition of love.

So, there it was. Whatever it was. Standing there with large eyes focused on him with a semblance of admiration and malice.

"What are you looking at, brat?"

"You."

The audacity of this thing. He killed it immediately.

And then it came back. So, he killed it again. And again. And... what the fuck.

This little shit was persistent.

His kid. He doesn't know how. But definitely his kid.

A worthy successor? Fuck no, he's not dying or leaving it as some birthright to a hindrance.

Learning of its origins was pretty interesting, to say the least.

"Not a human? I figured. A curse made from me, huh? Someone weak must hate me so much."

That meant a human parent. Or multiple human parents. Gross.

He wasn't getting into that.

The kid was though.

It often visited this village to... eat? Kill? Fight? Whatever makes it happy.

...

The hell do you mean it was visiting its human mother?

It had a mother? It had a mother that cursed him so much it resulted in a personalized cursed child?

He could see it stare longingly at that woman's village and before he could even kill her, his offspring said goodbye.

"I'll see you in the future, yeah?"

And then Sukuna was sealed.

He probably searched for his offspring in the Modern era.

Author's notes 2: Stopping with these two because it's been a while since I've posted seriously on this account, 2 years? Maybe I've gotten better, maybe not. This was the idea but with updated better minds. Maybe I'll do the others separately again, Yuji, Yuta, Megumi, Toge. Just did the adults first. Doing Choso and Higuruma definitely.

[sssarrrra]

Dying to stay alive. Why does Fyodor Dostoevsky enjoy being killed on purpose? Bsd analysis

Why Dostoevsky looks so young despite living for centuries? I think it's because he often gets killed. He literally has no time to age.

His skin care routine is being murdered every year or so. Maybe, even more often.

Fyodor CAN age, he isn't immune to it. He isn't immortal. He's ability isn't about eternal youth. He can get gray hair and wrinkles. But he doesn't. Dostoevsky looks almost identical to how he's been when he's met Bram centuries ago (minus a scar and an outfit). So why is it?

Let's assume that the physical "age" Fyodor naturally gains can be transferred to the new body he enters. And the only things that get "erased" are traces of harm left by someone else (bruises, cuts, scars, etc.)

Let's pretend that we know Fyodor's "biological" age. And it's 20. (That's just an assumption for this example!)

It would go like this: Fyodor's biologically 20. He lives until his 22, than gets killed. His "new" body will have the age of 22. Then he lives until he's 26 and dies unnaturally. He's biological age in the new body is gonna be 26.

And so on and so on. It means both his appearance and physic will gradually change. But we see NONE OF THAT. Present Fyodor is almost a twin copy of Fyodor from the past.

It means that Dostoevsky has never lived longer than a couple of years max without dying and respawning into a new body. He probably dies quit often and can't even get old enough because he simply doesn't have time.

Maybe, he has some mark on his calendar: "Need to die every year to keep my body young and relative healthy". And it's a strategy and nothing else. But I feel like there is more to that.

Dostoevsky probably enjoys the thrill of death (or near death) experience for various reasons.

People sometimes describe Dazai as a "suicide-addict", but THIS is a new level of it. These two share a hobby of trying to die often. But Dostoevsky not just tries. He dies. Fyodor's way of getting a rid of his stress is being brutally murdered by someone else. I wounder, if Dazai knew it how it would make him feel? To find out that Fyodor is drawn to death in the same way that he is? We'll find out eventually.

Dostoevsky meticulously got himself killed probably more than 300+ times or so. And, yes, sometimes it was work related incidents due to his plans. But he didn't HAVE to die so often, did he?

It honestly seems, that for Fyodor "dying" is just an extracurricular activity he does to pass the time. Some ppl go their friend's house to play video games. And Fyodor goes to someone's place -> dies there.

Maybe, Dostoy tries to connect with people by "dying" by their hands? When he transfers his mind into a new body, it makes him feel less lonely, somehow?

For example, Fyodor didn't have to break into Bram's castle and chat him up about demons. He didn't have to put his life on a line just to see how Bram would react to his musings about world-politics. He knew he would die, obviously. But he went anyway. Just to "catch a glimpse" of Bram (in his own words). And then, of course to get murdered. Did he hope that Bram would be the one to deliver a final blow? Did Fyodor secretly want to "posses" Bram's body from that long, long time ago?

You know how ppl joked about Fyodor's hobby being captured on purpose? Add "dying" to this list, asap.

He's reasons for overusing his ability to "reincarnate" are probably complicated.

A part of it is a need to escape/ease his guilt. Dostoy wants to feel like a martyr that has a right to commit sin. Maybe, it's his own self-punishment, a form of self-harm. He believes these short or long moments of agony "erase" the harm he does to others or, at least, balance it out.

On the other hand, Fyodor is still a human who wants to belong. But he spent decades in paranoia and isolation that affected him immensely. So now the only "true" connection Dostoevsky can create with someone is when he inserts his consciousness into their body. The flow of new feelings/goals keeps him distracted from himself and his bleak view of the reality. So he does it over and over.

Or is it just a boredom thing? Like living is such a drug he can't help but try to die?

Dostoy is too afraid/guilty to go to heaven right away so he passes time by adding bits of different personalities to himself. He has this semi-free subscription to people's agendas, he only has to die to access them. It keeps him entertained. Like a Netflix but he has to die to watch a "movie" from someone's POV, with their goals/emotions intact still.

Dostoy wants to pick up a new passion/hobby? No problem. He just needs to find someone who likes that particular interest, and than get murdered by that person. Then Fyodor can gain their insights into the topic (possibly).

I wish I could see the way Dostoevsky envisions humanity. It seems like he's both enmeshed with it to the point of losing himself and at the same time he's discarded by humanity and isolated from it.

It's such a mixed-up experience. No wounder Fyodor's mind is so… Bizarre.

[simonbrain]

cw cannibalism

No because the idea of Simon loving you so much he’d be willing to feel your flesh in his mouth :( ties in greatly with his history as a butcher. His love is all-consuming, overwhelming. This carnal desire for you to take something so inherent to you to give to him. He hasn’t known gentleness or kindness. When you two consume each other it’s the only way for him to truly express his love. Always have a piece of you in him. For him to feed off of the sustenance that only another human can provide. It’s pure intimacy, what could be more vulnerable than letting someone become a part of you?

my goddd anon this is perfect like you get me!!! also it's funny bc i'm listening to the first taste by fiona apple and like. yeah. i think it fits here kinda

cw: graphic depictions of cannibalism, body horror, and death

i like the idea of simon trying to fight it at first, assuming it's just his brain juggling around a few intrusive thoughts in an attempt to taint the only reason he's even alive still, only to slowly give in because he loves you so deeply it aches.

his heart shouldn't flutter at the image of snapping you between his jaw and tearing you apart, huffing and snarling until blood is spilling into his mouth and pieces of flesh stick in his teeth. he shouldn't swoon at the thought of swallowing you down, of treasuring a part of you in his rotten body so that you're with him always.

he doesn't know how to muzzle his hunger because all he knows is to take, to bite with the intention of breaking skin until his prey eventually becomes pliant, if it isn't already dead. but when it comes to you, it's how he shows his unconditional love and devotion, and you know this.

he wonders if you'd let him eat your heart next, just so he can understand what perfection tastes like. he wants to feel your innards flow down and settle in his belly, warming his body from the inside. he almost mourns the fact that he can't just take a piece of your heart and shove it next to his own, just so that you're connected even when he's halfway around the world.

it's what he loves so much about you: the fact that you're not easy to break, that you also have teeth—sharp, pearly whites that like to beam gleefully at him—and he wonders if you've ever thought about consuming him too. if you've gotten the urge to replace all of the ugly scars on his body with your bite marks, or if you've wanted to just completely rip them off his skin and greedily gnaw away. the one on his ribs would be a good start, and he can imagine you prodding around his insides after feasting on him, maybe blessing his poor little heart with a few kisses.

he says a quiet prayer in his mind when he sits you down one evening, hoping to whatever is out there that you won't take off running as he unboxes all of his inner turmoil. he doesn't see the way you lean in closer, too busy minding a spot on the carpet, but it does catch him off guard when you cut him off mid-ramble about how lovely he thinks your blood would taste on his tongue with a kiss. the feel of your soft lips against his while he was talking about something so horrific should have been enough to snap him out of his sick fantasies, but the way you kiss him so deeply, as if you're impatient for him to taste you, too, has his stomach twisting in all the right ways. he can't wait to feel close to you, to truly be one with his girl.

his very own bread and wine.

alternatively, the first and last time simon gets to taste you is when you're dying, very bones-and-all-esque. you're lying on the ground, a bullet lodged in your chest as he tries his very best to keep you alive, only to realise with choked-up desperation that you're not going to make it. he doesn't even question it when you shakily reach up to tug his mask off, nor does he pull away when you weakly guide his head down. you mumble a faint eat me, baby, and he does. gorging himself on your body because even in death, you give, and he takes.

[hogwartslegacyreactions2]

Hey, I'm pretty sure that this was asked before, but I can't find the post.

What if MC died in the repository instead of professor Fig?

(I'm sorry, but I'm in an angsty mood)

I love your posts, and thanks

A/N: I do have vague recollection of answering a similar prompt once upon a time, but nothing wrong with a reprisal!

HLC REACT TO MC DYING IN THE REPOSITORY

WARNING: angst, death, grief

Dark ancient magic flew violently through the air around MC. The whirlwind of human agony consumed them as they released silver blue light from their wand. The magic thrashed and roared as MC expelled more and more effort to contain the chaos. Cracks started to form along the length of their wand.

Time slowed for them. MC could see Fig's silhouette just beyond the veil. The hundreds of young souls above them weighed heavy on their conscience. If they can't do this, everyone will die. They had to use all of it.

MC closed their eyes and whispered their goodbye. A light even brighter than the one from their wand emerged from their chest. The ancient magic within them burst forth with the fury of dragonfire. The silver light merged with the darkness, and as quickly as it had appeared, the magic vanished.

MC was gone. Their broken wand was all that remained.

SEBASTIAN SALLOW: He has officially lost everything. After losing his uncle, Anne, Ominis, and MC all at once, he's cracking. They can't be gone. Not them. They were too powerful to just vanish. He just has to find them. Yes. That's what he needs to do. He leaves Hogwarts. He MUST find them. Then Anne will see. Then Ominis will know. What he did was worth it.

OMINIS GAUNT: He rarely speaks anymore. The silence in his life has become so oppressive it took his own voice. The good life he thought he had was nice while it lasted, but now it's all come apart. It's only a matter of time before he loses Anne too, and when that happens...he doesn't know what he's going to do with himself.

ANNE SALLOW: She doesn't know how to feel about MC's death. On the one hand, they were trying to be a good friend to her and her brother but on the other...they also enabled Sebastian in his treachery. She's so very tired of the pain. She just wants to go to sleep.

IMELDA REYES: Well, damn. Mc was the closest thing to a friend she had in years. Someone competitive but friendly and fun to have around. They could dish out as much sass as she could, and she respected them for it. She cries a little at the end of year feast.

NATSAI ONAI: She should have been there. She could've done something! Why didn't they tell her!? She would've had their back! She....she...she breaks down into sobs so intense, even her mother can't comfort her. Her best friend was dead. Her heart was shattered and it would never be whole again without MC.

GARRETH WEASLEY: What? No. Nonono. Not them. That's impossible. They couldn't be dead. They're too strong to be.... He's in denial all the way until the MC's memorial service at the end of year feast. Then he breaks down. A bit of his fire died with MC.

LEANDER PREWETT: He wasn't super close to them, but he was still quite fond of them. They were a real friend. He hopes they're at peace and raises a goblet in their honor.

AMIT THAKKAR: He feels cold and numb all at once when he hears the news that MC died in the attack. He'd grown to care about them. He cursed himself for not spending more time with them when they were around.

EVERETT CLOPTON: He and MC didn't talk much outside of flying class but he had liked them. It was a shame he didn't get to know them more. He doesn't feel like eating when the feast is presented.

POPPY SWEETING: She hadn't cried this much since she left her parents. She finally made a friend, and just like that, they were gone. She doesn't know if she could make another friend again if she wanted to. Was she just doomed to lose every human connection she made?

ELEAZAR FIG: He wholeheartedly and inconsolably blames himself. Even if this fate couldn't be avoided, why did they have to die so young? He can't stand to hear the words "ancient" and "magic" in the same sentence at the same time anymore. It sends him into a dissociative trauma spiral.

He finds MC's wand. It's snapped in the middle with bits of wood frayed outward like the very core of the wand exploded. The two pieces are held together by the slightest sliver of wood.

He retires from teaching at Hogwarts. He doesn't trust himself with the care of students anymore. He doesn't trust his own judgment. He's tortured every night by the survivor's guilt taunting him that he should have done more. He should have protected them. He shouldn't have let them go as far as they did. They weren't ready. They couldn't handle the power they were forced to control. It takes everything in him to not attempt to destroy the map room with the portraits of the Keepers. He just leaves.

But every once in a while... On quiet moonless nights.... When he sees MC's wand displayed with Miriam's, he hears a whisper. A quiet breathy whisper that he could swear on his life sounds like MC. He chalks it up to the fact that he could be going mad from grief, but it's still strikes him as strange... If he looked at the wand hard enough... He could swear he sees a blue glow...

[minnaci]

death cannot harm you in any way that matters, but when you wake up to astarion's fangs in your neck, a part of you regrets missing out on the most human of experiences— intimacy, connection, and love. perhaps you shouldn't have invited him to join your party.

contents: astarion x gn!reader, suggestive, neck kissing, astarion-typical toxicity (astarion nearly kills reader but it's romantic... trust), based on the early scene in bg3 when astarion first joins the party and kills tav, reader has never been in a relationship and is inexperienced in romance and sex, thoughts on death

you wake to two sharp points of pleasure-pain at your throat. consciousness swims around you, slow and hazy like a smoke from a dying candle. "astarion?"

"hush, little thing." sure enough, your newest traveling companion's voice caresses your ears. ah, vampires. always so hungry. perhaps if you had awoken earlier, you would still have the will to fight him off. but now, warmth floods your body. your perception narrows to delicious sharpness of his fangs against your skin, to the steady, demanding weight of his body over yours.

"feels good," you stumble over the syllables, tongue thick in your mouth. a moan escapes you— a graceless, wanton thing. black creeps into the edges of your vision, but a sudden sense of urgency creeps into your heart. it's imperative that he knows— "astarion, 's so good."

"of course. sweet little things like you deserve a bit of pleasure now and again, don't they?" something dark tints the edges of his voice. you get the sense that he's not really listening to you, and it makes you pout. he's too focused on draining you dry, it seems. for shame! you muster the energy to wiggle a bit in his grasp, and astarion detaches long enough to coo at you. "now, now, don't fuss. just keep feeling good for me, darling."

you wiggle a bit more, a hint of a frown crossing your face. death has never scared you. it's simply the next great adventure, you think, with an added bonus of reuniting with the loved ones you'd lost along the way. that being said...

"i don't want to die yet," you say, even as your eyes roll back in your head. the feeling of blood draining from your neck into astarion's warm, wanting mouth makes your head spin. "you shouldn't kill me yet."

"and why is that?" he humors you once more, pulling back long enough to look you in the eye. you reach up to caress his cheek— trembling and tender. surprise flits across his face. his hand comes up to steady yours, as if on instinct.

"i haven't done everything i want to do yet." you struggle to focus. his features distort in your vision, but his cheek remains firm under your touch.

"oh? and what would those things be?"

"wanna be kissed." something about the blood loss makes the truth feel less pathetic to you. "wanna be fucked. wanna feel wanted. you probably don't get it. you're too pretty to understand."

there's a lengthy pause as your eyes flutter shut. your eyelids are simply too heavy to open. for a second, you think that maybe you've died already, but the pressure of his hand over yours keeps you clinging to life.

"...i can't do this to you." astarion huffs, as if the vestigial remnants of his moral code have personally slighted him. "you poor, pathetic thing. the only things you crave are simple touches?"

"'s not simple. 's everything. everything i've ever wanted."

"kissing and fucking aren't all that they're made out to be, darling." for the first time since you met him, astarion's voice loses that charming, snake-oil quality. "and feeling wanted doesn't always feel good, you know."

"i don't know," you say.

"hmm?" distantly, you feel surprisingly strong arms rearranging your limbs. a skin full of cool water appears at your lips, and a blanket is drawn carefully over your prone form.

"i don't know how it feels to be wanted." you pry open your eyes with herculean strength. astarion's face swims before you, sharp angles and delicate features highlighted by the light of the moon. "will you show me, astarion?"

"no." he smiles, and something shutters closed in his expression— some hint of vulnerability that you hadn't even realized he'd revealed until it was gone. his smile is an ugly, tight-lipped thing, so removed from how enchanting he normally is— he's dark and bitter as the coffee grounds you've squirreled away in your pack. you're vaguely aware of a new tension in his shoulders, a new set to the corners of his mouth. he's scared, you realize, the epiphany coming through a fog of semi-consciousness. what does he have to be scared of? you're the one who initiated, you're the one who put your weakly-beating heart on the line. "i'm afraid the cost of my love isn't a price you'd be willing to pay."

"that's okay," you say, letting your eyes close once again. exhaustion reigns over your bones, flows through your veins. somehow, rejection manages to hurt worse than imminent death. "thank you, though."

"for what, darling?"

for listening. for not laughing. for being kinder in his rejection than anyone has before.

"for not killing me," is what you finally settle on.

astarion does laugh, then, and that strange tension around him dissipates. "you really are too precious. here, my darling. take this as a consolation prize."

you're too tired to say you don't want a consolation prize— you've been the consolation prize your whole life. warm breath ghosts over your skin, and a soft pair of lips brushes over your forehead, your cheeks. there's a pause, then the barest hint of pressure over the corner of your mouth.

"there." astarion's voice filters into your brain from far, far away. "now you can't say you've never been kissed."

tagging: @enchantedforest-network

[undreaming-fanfiction]

My Blessing

Back when Eddie was still human, he used to think it would be incredibly cool to be a vampire. Child of the night, Nosferatu, all that stuff from his beloved books. He would be untouchable and the people who wanted to hurt him just for being different would wither away and die of old age while he'd still be the same. Maybe he'd visit them in their dying hour and sneer at them, taunt them as they were about to see what awaits beyond. All of that used to sound so good.

As he's learned during last 80-ish years, being a vampire sucks (no pun intended).

He sees it all. World wars. AIDS epidemic. Satanic panic. More and more pain, people wasting away before his eyes. The music is cool, but he wonders if he'll grow tired of it all. Eddie is still young, he doesn't want to believe that this is all there is. But each year, each decade makes him more and more hopeless.

And he's so, so lonely. He still has Wayne, his vampire uncle (he categorically denies the term "father" or "maker"), but he sometimes too resigned, too used to all the pain and violence. He doesn't know many other vampires and making any sort of a connection with a human is painful to think about. People are so fragile.

He's always loved turning into a bat and just flying around the city, avoiding the curious eyes of humans and finding lone vantage points, observing the night life on the streets. One of his favorite spots is on top of the Harrington bank, a building from the 1920s with old bronze statues and old, tall windows. He started visiting the ledge in late 1980s, sometimes spending the entire night there. He'd land on the ledge and turn back to his real form, plopping down next to a statue of a young man. It's so human-like, Eddie forgets it's just an object, a piece of art, and talks to it. He tells it about the stuff that has been happening in the world, all that's fucked up but also the good things, how he saw a group of girls chasing away a stalker of a random lady, a homeless guy giving his last few bites to a stray dog. How a kid he used to know in the 80s is now all grown up and has children of his own. He sometimes wonders who made the statue, but there is no signature, no mark, just that pretty face looking down at the street, lost in thought.

It's on a stormy night in 2022 that it happens. Eddie lands in his favorite spot, lights up a cigarette (immortal lungs are a great thing to have) and talks to the statue, as always. Tells it how he actually wrote a novel and got it published, summers are long and the daylight doesn't kill him but it sure hurts, rambles about how he got Wayne his first flannel shirt and it was love at the first sight. The rain is thick, heavy, but Eddie likes it, it makes him feel a bit more alive. He hears thunder, closer and closer, but the lightning is probably somewhere behind him, he doesn't see it.

That is, until it hits the statue, and Eddie panics because sure, it was just an object, but it was like his friend, it was a constant in his life, what is he going to do-

And then the statue straightens its spine and groans.

Eddie's cigarette falls somewhere into the streets and burns a hole in the umbrella of a lady bitching about the undeserved help provided to the poor. Not that he notices. His eyes are glued to the statue that stretches its arms and runs its fingers through the thick hair that suddenly has color, a sun-kissed brown, and then it turns to Eddie and smiles.

"Oh finally, I was waiting for ages to introduce myself. Hi. Thanks for keeping me company all those years. I'm Steve. Steve Harrington."

Eddie shakes the offered hand in daze and mutters "Eddie, Eddie Munson" before promptly turning into a bat and...what? Does he want to run away? Does he want to shriek his little heart out and never come back? Probably not. Not with Steve smiling at him like he's the best thing in the whole world. So he just lands on Steve's outstretched hand and squeaks "Still Eddie Munson, only pocket size."

And Steve, bless his heart - does he have one? Do statues have hearts? - just laughs and tucks Eddie under his old-fashioned jacket to protect him from the rain. "Oh, I know. The first time you landed here and turned back, I thought I'd finally gone crazy."

He opens a window behind them and climbs inside with Eddie, a window that's always been dark, the only dark room in the whole building. And then they talk. Well, Steve does.

That's when Eddie learns the room is Steve's, preserved, stocked and cleaned throughout the decades. That he's the only son of the founder of the bank, Richard Harrington, now fortunately long dead and burning in hell. That even before the Great Depression hit, the bank was facing difficulties and Richard Harrington decided to make a deal with...something. Something ancient and lurking in New York, something feeding off the misery of people living there.

That's when Eddie learns that Richard Harrington offered his only son to preserve his fortune.

He just stares as Steve shrugs, retelling his story as if it was no big deal, finding a change of clothes for both of them in a huge closet full of things both old and new, a strange blend of fashion spanning last century. "It was a deal for one hundred years. One hundred years of prosperity for one hundred years of...that. I guess my father felt a little bit guilty afterwards because he included in his will that I'd always have a place to come back to. This room. And some financial security too, that's what he'd said before he passed away. He used to talk to me through that window sometimes, after my mother drank herself to death."

"Uhhh." Edward Munson, ever the eloquent fantasy book author, has nothing better to say.

He turns back to Eddie, smiling at him and offering a black t-shirt. "I don't think he knew I could hear him, that I heard and saw everything. Still, nice to know he cared...as much as he was humanly able to." The smile doesn't falter as he adds: "I don't want to sound pushy, but maybe you should turn back to change clothes? You're still wet."

And oh, Eddie is still a bat. Yep. With a sound that sounds like a plop, he transforms back and takes the t-shirt. "Thank you. Steve. Uh. That's  fucked up, man," he offers lamely.

"Oh yeah, it sucked. Well, used to," he nudges Eddie, tossing him a towel when he sees his hair dripping on the floor. "But then you started showing up. Talking to me." Now his smile is slightly smaller, sad, and Eddie wants to visit Richard Harrington's grave and punch his remains, build them into a bird feeder, revive the asshole and kill him again. "It was just...so lonely. I had no way of telling you, but when you started visiting and just, kept showing up, almost every day, it felt like a blessing."

Eddie swallows, his throat suddenly dry. "A blessing?"

"Yeah." Steve turns to him and the sincerity in his eyes is so intense Eddie feels like turning into a bat again and flying in circles, shrieking into the night. "You were my blessing, Eddie," he says as he squeezes his hand.

And Eddie just stares, his undead heart breaking for this boy, cursed just as horribly if not worse than he is. "You know I'm not...not human, right?" he whispers but his hand doesn't leave Steve's. "I guess you can probably tell from the bat thing, or that I'm literally the room temperature-"

"-or the fact that you once told me that it's a shame I'm not alive because I look delicious and you're sure my blood would be too," add Steve with a mischievous smirk.

"Uh. Shit, yeah. That too," Eddie stutters, trying to recall all the embarrassing stuff he told Steve during the last thirty or so years. "That...doesn't bother you?"

Steve snorts in laughter and shakes his head. "You literally thought I was a piece of bronze an hour ago, man. Does that bother you? Did you prefer me when I didn't talk?"

Eddie scoffs at that, offended. "Hell no. You were just a pretty face, but now you're a pretty face with a ton of personality. I...you know, you were my blessing too, I think. Even if you couldn't answer, I didn't feel as much alone next to you. Is that weird to say?" 

The squeeze of Steve's fingers gives him the answer he needs, but he still melts inside when he hears "not at all. I just hope you won't get bored of me now that I'm...different," he whispers, staring at their joined fingers. "You'll probably find me boring. I don't know much about what's going on outside. I could watch and you told me a lot, but...uh. The world seems so hectic and fast-paced, it will probably take me a while to catch up."

And Eddie has to laugh because that worry is so strange to hear voiced out loud, as if Steve being alive, breathing and next to him, as if that made him something less. "Oh just you wait, Steve. You spent over thirty years listening to me ramble, now I'm expecting at least thirty years of your monologues so we can be even. You know my dirtiest secrets now and I'm a man with a thirst for knowledge. Really," he adds because the young man next to him is still silent, "you have nothing to worry about. I've kept you company and you have done the same for me...and it works for us. So what's a little confusion about these modern days? Come on pretty boy. I will be your guide."

Steve gives him a smile that is so radiant Eddie thinks it should hurt, it should burn him like a torch, but it's just warm. Kind. "I can work with that."

Steve is the only human Eddie ever turns. He expects to agonize over it for much longer, to feel guilty, but Steve has already lived longer than he has and he still has thirst for life that is infectious, something that drives Eddie to join him, try new things, not mourn what is lost to time but be thankful that he has the chance to see it all. He finally wants to participate, to join the world again, not just observe it.

The first time Steve turns to a bat, he ends up flying in circles in absolute ecstasy, laughing and making the weirdest somersaults and loops. Eddie could watch him forever and the best part is - he can. And he does.

But before all that, Eddie brings Steve to see Wayne, to introduce him to his only family. Wayne shakes his hand and gruffly laughs: "Well, look at that. My boy has finally moved on from that statue."

Without missing a beat, Steve smiles at him and announces "oh not at all, sir. I'm the statue."

Eddie has some explaining to do, but for now, he just laughs.

[astronautrobot]

I actually made these before the intro comic and I couldn't wait to show them to you

Only child

The only turtle Splinter was able to save. Because of this same reason, he is overprotected by his father.

Has suggested several times to go out and look for the others, but his dad just won't risk it.

Carries his brother's masks with him everytime he goes out, in case he finds them.

When Splinter made his mask, he asked him to make one for each of his brother's too so they could eventually use them.

Terribly frustrated and even more angry than cannon, due to both his dad's negative to find the others and not being able to find them himself

Still dreams on going to school and meet more people, or more like someone else in general.

Really likes hugs and hopes he's good at them. He is, but ofc no one hasn't told him yet.

Has a stuffed animal that keeps him company, a turtle named Spike.

His dad gave it to him when he was a toddler so he wouldn't miss the others so much when it was time fo bed. Splinter doesn't know he still has it.

Ran around the city until he found the Zoo. That's where he grew up.

Really connected to animals for this same reason. Often feeds strays and pigeons.

After the incident, rumors about alien turtles expanded around the city. They became kind of a urban legend.

Mikey, being the creative theater kid he is, eventually saw this as an opportunity to disguise himself and walk freely among the humans.

The trick was not to look too real in order to not stand out from the other mascots. He had to get crafty.

The most familiarized with humans, as he technically grew seeing them constantly and interacts with them daily.

Found by kid Rocksteady a few hours after being separated from the others. Was more than welcome by the other Mutanimals.

Both afraid and fascinated by humans.

He understands why the others are scared of them, but can't help but think it was a human who created all of them in the first place.

Is really conflicted with the idea of giving the humans the same treatment they had received for years. He believes it will become a cycle and won't really fix anything.

But he firmly thinks his family comes first and doesn't want to disappoint.

Super Fly's right hand.

Leads the team when the big brother has to attend other business.

Is the best at strategy and genuinely knows how to make the fam work together.

Can be intimidating when he really needs to in order to deal with the criminals. His BatMan voice is actually useful here.

-Initially raised by TCRI

It hasn't been that long since the Baxter Stockman incident. TCRI was still on alert and when they heard about the strange creatures that appeared one night in the middle of New York, a team rushed to the scene. They managed to catch one of them.

Baby boy was neglected of physical affection.

A turtle wasn't on Stockman's records, so they were really confused as to where he came from. Taking on account the previous encounter with the fly creature, they theorized mutants not only had powers, but they were radioactive too.

Lab... rat turtle?

Scientist quickly found out the mutant actually had the intelligence of a human toddler and a lot of potencial. Some of them were interested on trying to raise him like a child, but Ultrom, still with the idea of creating mutants just to be used as weapons, refused to this and only keep him around to study him.

Donnie was initially treated carefully, as they were aware he was technically a baby and didn't want to risk their only specimen dying. They drew only enough blood to have an idea what they were working with.

Unfortunately, before they had the chance to start extracting his blood to actually recreate the ozze formula, he escaped.

This happened during one of the first attacks of Super Fly to TCRI. Donnie was around four years old.

He didn't went too far though. He had been locked up his whole life and wasn't really familiarized with the outside world. He managed to stick around without being noticed.

You can guess how he got tech savvy.

He eventually stumbled upon anime and One Piece quickly became his favorite.

The 'found family' trope really got to him. He feels a connection with Brook, with the whole lost crew and being left alone for a long time thing. He is hoping to also find his own nakamas.

.

.

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I usually don't ask for this, but I would really like to know know what you guys think about it. Also, please point out any typos so i can correct them

This is part of the TMNT Scattered AU

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Steve Rogers: In Queerness, Time, & Loneliness

I think about being queer and how that intersects with my perception and experience of time a lot. I think about how we, as queer people, live the same length of time when untouched by cruel violence of ignorance (re: hate crimes) or brutal disease compounded into something worse at the fault of human stigma (re: the AIDS crisis), but how it can feel different even though it is the same objectively. With the same length of time, queer people don't typically--in my experience--follow the assumed cishet trajectory of Western life with these particular scripted milestones. Get an education. Get a steady job. Fall in love. Settle down. Be married. Buy a house. Have children. Grow old. Retire. And die surrounded by your spouse, children, and grandchildren. It isn't always that exact order but, usually, those milestones are hit in one order or another, rather, they're expected to be hit.

How isolating must it be then for Steve Rogers? The isolation of pure time in so many ways. Steve who thought that maybe he wanted a spouse and family, and that typical cishet life, only to meet tragedy head-on without time to grieve unconsolidated dreams.

He blinks and finds all of his friends have done those things. They're on the way to completing the list--those friends he was supposed to age alongside and have peaks and valleys with are dying now. They have complete families. There are generations with children and grandchildren.

And I think it strikes Steve as a feeling of incompleteness in himself, even if he's not sure if that's what he wants in this new era. A strange longing for something he can't(?) have, something he doesn't even want(?).

Steve just doesn't have the same sense of time anymore, post-ice. It's as if his internal clock has been altered and warped by the serum right alongside his very bone and flesh. He is in purgatory. The markers of his life, the one he was assumed to want, to have unfulfilled and waiting for him after the war, haven't come. He's missing so many milestones that should've come and gone already. Are they gone? Are they still ahead of him? How old is he really? Does he deserve the typical life, if he finds the want for one in himself, buried underneath this crushing loneliness that presses on his lungs and makes it hard to breathe air? Air that's the same. His lungs are the same. He is no different, but it seems that everyone else has changed and the rhythm of their breathing leaves Steve out of sync.

If Steve ignores the typical life, deeming it already too far gone, what can he shape his own life into? What is the life of someone who isn't heterosexual in the time he's been woken to? A life of secret would've awaited him in the 40s if he hadn't been chasing a pre-prescribed life with a family and children and social acceptance. Now, he needn't hide. What does being unhidden look like when he has no connections, though? He feels invisible in plain sight.

His life feels unscripted and he needn't know what comes next. And in an attempt to catch up and cure some of his deep loneliness so he's on the same page as all the people around him, Steve consumes pop culture, right?

I assume that includes some updates in social acceptance with regards to the LGBTQIA+ community. And when he finds those stories, he must encounter the trope, again and again, of queer people claiming that their life only began when they came out. Steve doesn't know what that means to himself. Is that why time feels the way it does? Not existent and yet so utterly constricting? How has he lived such a life that people tell him about all the great, incredible things he's done, but his life--his real life--has yet to begin? Where is he in his life? Is he supposed to be making mistakes and finding out about what it means to actually stand on his own two feet as an emerging adult in his mid-twenties? Is he supposed to be sucking oxygen through a tube from a tank with rattling breaths as he dies, aging out of life? Where is he? What time is it? Is he alive? Is he dead? Who can he talk to? Who would understand? Would anyone understand?

When won't he be so lonely and unmapped? Straddling two worlds. Time: between the 1940s to the 2010s. Identity: his sexuality as well as his life goals. Both time and identity seem equally tearing and isolating.

Who does he become, a man out of time?

gif credit @/theavengers

[xvxblahhhxvx]

A ramble/analysis about the significance of the bar in The Day I Picked Up Dazai

Ok, so I just reread the day I picked up Dazai, and read side b for the first time, and man do I have many, many thoughts, but one thing in particular struck me, and that is the bar. More specifically, the reason why they go in the first place and why it is significant. (spoilers for the day i picked up dazai side a, obviously)

The first time the bar is mentioned is when Odasaku and Dazai are having a discussion about death and why Dazai desires it. Oda says that "he is a fool for wanting to die" and that anyone is fool for dying before going to "that place." He doesn't specify what it is though, and Dazai thinks he's making it up at first. The way Odasaku speaks about it, it's as if it's some magic place, a place that only some can see the true value of. This intrigues Dazai, because one important thing about him is the fact that he's always searching. Always looking for something interesting, some reason to keep living, some proof that life isn't the boring place he believes it to be.

The second time this place is brought up is when Odasaku and Dazai are in the cell, and Oda is trying to convince Dazai that he should escape with him. He mentions that the place is nearby, and that they should escape and go. Now, Dazai is truly curious about it, and it works. He says, "how long has it been, I wonder? To have somewhere I want to go...I have a feeling that even if there is nothing at that place, it will be fine as it is." He's excited, and looking forward to the place that Odasaku has been, for lack of a better term, hyping up the entire light novel. Even if it may not be so interesting after all, like Oda said it might not be.

Still, when they arrive at the bar, Dazai acts a little disappointed at first. The place Oda took him to was really just a bar after all. Odasaku even admits that he lied, that where could he take him to that he wouldn't already know, and that he was merely teasing him. Dazai is taken aback at first, but in the end, he finds value in the place. They sit for ages, talking about everything and nothing, playing poker, and drinking. And despite being disappointed in the beginning, it ends up being enough for Dazai.

And now, for the actual point of this ted talk, the reason why this is so significant is because to me, the bar represents Dazai's search. He is always looking for something interesting to keep him alive, but the fact of the matter is, there is nothing. Oda says as much to him when he dies; nothing in this world is going to fill the void of loneliness inside of Dazai. But the fact that he took Dazai to something as simple as a bar, a place he said he was a fool for not going, the place that intrigued Dazai so much signifies that Dazai would only find something in a place as simple as a bar. That for all his searching, the answer might just be playing a game of cards and talking to a friend while having a few drinks. Dazai feels so far removed from human connection, but in truth, that is the one thing that could even attempt to fill the void, even if just a little. He will keep searching, keep looking for some external factor that may allow life to interest him, the thing that he would be foolish for dying before seeing, but the answer might just lie in spending the night in a simple bar with a friend.

[zedleaked]

[APPARENTLY PEOPLE HERE WANTED TO KNOW THE HUMAN AXIS LORE SO IM JUST GOING TO COPY MY TWITTER POST HERE…] BASIC GIST IS THAT THIS IS JUST A GENERAL HUMAN AU. MONSTERS AND HUMANS SWAPPED. WOWIE!

ANYWAYS READ MORE FOR AXIS

AXIS ORIGIN IS STILL A BIT FUZZY. HERE HE'S LIKE CHUJIN'S ADOPTED SON [GENDER NEUTRAL],, CATGIRLTRICKSTER ON TWITTER SUGGESTED CHUJIN JUST FINDING YOUNG AXIS IN A PIPE OR SOMETHING AND I THINK THATS REALLY FUNNY... THOUGH HIS ORIGINS WOULD BE VAGUE. IF ASKED HE'D SAY HE DOESN'T REMEMBER.

ALSO NOTE BEFORE I FORGET. AXIS WAS JUST BORN WITH ONE LEG. THERE IS NO LORE REASON TO WHY ITS MISSING, IT IS JUST THE WAY HE IS. CHUJIN MAKES HIM A ROBOTIC LEG SO HE CAN HAVE AN EASIER TIME.

SURE I COULD GIVE A FUCKED REASON AS TO WHY HE DOESNT HAVE IT BUT I DONT FEEL LIKE IT.

AXIS WOULD BE AN APPRENTICE UNDER CHUJIN SIMILAR TO MARTLET [I NEEDA DRAW MARTLET EVENTUALLY] PLUS IN GAME THERE'S FLAVOR TEXT ABOUT HIM FLIPPING THROUGH THE ROYAL GUARD HANDBOOK IN HIS MIND. HONESTLY. MARTLET AND AXIS BEING FRIENDS THROUGH SHARING THE SAME INTEREST IS SILLY...

HE'D WANT TO TRAIN HIMSELF TO BECOME A ROYAL GUARD OR AT LEAST A PROTECTOR TO PAYBACK CHUJIN FOR TAKING HIM IN. HE'S GOING TO PROTECT HIS FATHER AND HUMANKIND. IT'S HIS BIGGEST GOAL IN LIFE.

STEAMWORKS STILL EXISTS. ITS JUST CHUJIN HADNT BUILT THE AXIS MODELS IN THIS AU BECAUSE. YOU KNOW.

MAYBE HE SAW POTENTIAL IN HUMAN AXIS, SEEING HOW DETERMINED HE IS TO GROW STRONGER AND PROTECT PEOPLE. CHUJIN WOULD WANT HIM TO HONE HIS SKILLS TO BECOME SOMETHING... BIG.

IN A WAY. AXIS WAS A PEEK INTO WHAT HUMANS COULD BECOME AND WHAT THAT COULD DO FOR HUMAN SOCIETY UNDERGROUND.

MEANWHILE AXIS IS ENAMORED BY STEAMWORKS AND JUST CHUJIN'S WORK IN GENERAL. HE REALLY ADMIRES ROBOTS, HE THINKS ABOUT WHAT ITS LIKE IF HE HAD ROBOTIC MODIFICATIONS.

AND LESS LORE RELEVANT BUT HE ALSO HAS CONNECTIONS TO KANAKO TOO! THEY ARE THE SIBLINGS EVER. THOUGH IVE BEEN WONDERING HOW CEROBA NOT KNOWING AXIS IN STEAMWORKS WOULD WORK. IT'D BE KINDA WEIRD FOR CHUJIN TO KEEP A WHOLE ASS CHILD SECRET FROM HER.

THEYVE PROBABLY SEEN EACH OTHER AND NEVER HAD MUCH SIGNIFICANT

INTERACTIONS FOR THEM TO FULLY REMEMBER EACH OTHER. AXIS SPENDS A MAJORITY OF HIS TIME AT STEAMWORKS OR DOING ROYAL GUARD SHIT, AND WHEN HES NOT DOING THAT HES PROBABLY PLAYING WITH KANAKO [WHEN CEROBA ISNT AROUND]

AND WELL. WE HAD TO GET TO THIS PART EVENTUALLY. ONE DAY A MONSTER MAKES ITS WAY INTO THE UNDERGROUND AND STARTED KILLING PEOPLE. DALV [WHO I ALSO NEED TO DRAW] GOT CAUGHT UP IN THE FRAY WHILE PLAYING WITH KANAKO [AND AXIS TOO]. UPON SEEING HIS FRIENDS GET HURT. SOMETHING CLICKS.

AXIS HAD TRAINED UP TO THIS POINT. THIS WAS HIS MOMENT. HE HAD TO SAVE THE PEOPLE FROM THE THREAT IN FRONT OF THEM. INSTINCTS KICK IN AND HE GOES IN TO FIGHT THE MONSTER WHILE DALV TAKES KANAKO TO SAFETY.

THIS MONSTER WAS TOUGH. HE WAS ALMOST KILLED. BUT HE HAD TO PERSEVERE.

SOMETHING JUST ACTIVATED IN HIS SOUL.

HE FELT A SURGE OF POWER. THE ONLY THING HE KNEW IN THAT MOMENT WAS TO.

GET. RID. OF. THE. THREAT.

IN FRONT OF HIM WAS JUST. A HEADLESS BODY THAT SLOWLY FADED INTO DUST.

THAT... HE DIDNT MEAN TO GO THAT FAR.

SIMILAR TO CLOVER IN GENOCIDE, AXIS HAD RAPIDLY LEVELED UP AND SHOT A POWERFUL ATTACK AT THE MONSTER IN RESPONSE TO ALMOST DYING. HE NEEDED TO KEEP GOING NO MATTER WHAT.

STILL. THE CONSEQUENCES OF HIS ACTIONS LAID HEAVY ON HIM.

HE HAD KILLED A LIVING, BREATHING THING.

SOON AFTER CHUJIN WALKED IN ON THE SCENE COMPLETELY HORRIFIED. AXIS, ASHAMED OF WHAT HE HAD DONE RAN TOWARD STEAMWORKS TO ISOLATE HIMSELF, SIMILAR TO DALV.

SURE, HE HAD SAVED PEOPLE FROM THAT MONSTER BUT DID HE HAVE TO BE SO GRUESOME?

CHUJIN RAN AFTER HIM, TRYING TO GET HIM BACK

CHUJIN FINDS HIM AT STEAMWORKS, WALLOWING IN JUST. EVERY EMOTION.

HE TRIES TO COMFORT HIM THOUGH AXIS IS STILL INSISTENT ON NOT GOING OUT.

THE TWO REACHED THE COMPROMISE THAT: AXIS WOULD GUARD AND PROTECT STEAMWORKS AND THAT CHUJIN WOULD CHECK UP ON HIM EVERY NOW AND THEN.

SO THATS WHAT HE DID. HE STAYED AT STEAMWORKS, WATCHING OVER THE PLACE AND ITS ROBOTS FOR….. AGES.

EVENTUALLY CHUJIN'S CHECK UPS GET MORE SPARSE UNTIL JUST. NOTHING.

AXIS NOTICES TOO THAT LESS AND LESS SCIENTISTS ARE PRESENT AT STEAMWORKS. UNTIL THERE IS NO ONE THERE.

WHEN ASKED IF HE WAS GOING TO LEAVE

TOO HE SAID

"NO. MY FATHER AND I HAD REACHED THE AGREEMENT THAT I WOULD STAY AND PATROL THIS AREA, AND THAT I WILL DO." THERE WAS NO CONVINCING HIM TO LEAVE. SO THE OTHERS RELUCTANTLY LEFT HIM BE.

DAY BY DAY HE WATCHES STEAMWORKS FLOOD AND DECAY. WHILE HE STAYS THERE TRYING TO KEEP UP THE AGREEMENT BETWEEN HIS FATHER AND HIMSELF.

NO ONE HAD TOLD HIM.

ONE DAY THOUGH HE FINDS THAT STEAMWORKS SUDDENLY ACTIVATES RIGHT BEFORE SEEING A MONSTER ONCE AGAIN.

OH HE REMEMBERS THE PAST WELL. IN THIS AU IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE FOR HIM TO GET HIS MEMORY ERASED.

WHILE THE EVENTS PLAY OUT MOSTLY THE SAME COMPARED TO NORMAL UTY.

AXIS SEEMS MORE HESITANT THAN USUAL. AND PROBABLY MONOLOGUING A LITTLE SIMILAR TO WHAT DALV DOES

BEING A HUMAN. HE POSES LESS OF A THREAT ON HIS OWN. HOWEVER. MY GUY SETS UP HOME ALONE TYPE TRAPS N SHIT TO TRY AND CATCH CLOVER INSTEAD [PART OF HIS ROYAL GUARD TRAINING!!.

ONLY RESORTING TO USING "ROBOTIC MODIFICATIONS" HE HAD FOUND WHEN CLOVER REALLY [ticks] HIM OFF.

AND YES. HE STILL GETS A ROBOT SPOUSE IF A PACIFIST PLAYTHROUGH HAPPENS. HUMAN AXIS IS OBJECTUM. ITS REAL.

SO YEAH THAT IS ALL THE THINGS I THINK.

HOLY SHIT THIS THREAD IS LONG. FEW PEOPLE WILL READ THIS I THINK BUT I STILL WANTED TO GET STUPID AU THOUGHTS OUT. UH. YEAH HOPE THAT IS GOOD OR SMTH.. FEEL FREE TO ASK QUESTIONS 🥺

[m3r1m4r5u333]

Okay I've settled on my head canon which is that Eddie is bi (or some version of "likes women and men"), too... I need to ramble about it because this popular idea that Eddie is gay just bothers me tbh it just feels ignorant, bi erasurery. And sure, maybe I'll be proven wrong, but in the mean time...

I think the reason why Eddie just can't be happy with the women he's pushing himself to date is because he's only really ever been drawn, and loved, two people: Shannon and Buck.

And these women he's since dated... are neither of those people. So the other relationships are just... fake, unhappy. Not because of sexual incompatibility, but because they're loveless, on Eddie's part.

The romance with Shannon started as a teen-age romance. They were childhood friends and lovers, but they were too young and immature to really handle the stress of parenthood, and despite that, pushed into a marriage.

It was too much for this young, immature, love to survive. Them freaking out and not being a team.... That just started to hack away at their mutual trust, and that eventually killed the romance, and the marriage. This immature love just could not handle all this pressure, and co-exist with that dying trust.

And then, Eddie meets Buck when his and Shannon's marriage is on a break. She's runs, is away for a long time, Eddie is raising Chris alone... And Buck steps in.

And Buck is insanely helpful, a major stress relief -letting Bobby know that Eddie is struggling to find a caretaker for Chris. Researching for ways to help Eddie... He finds Carla to help them. Buck takes one look at Christopher and melts, wants to spend time with them... Eddie thinks "Woah. This guy is amazing. This is someone I can count on, who has my back."

So Eddie just moved on from Shannon. He did love her once... but then they killed their love and marriage, together. Mutual destruction.

Eddie didn't trust her anymore, she didn't trust him after he'd enlisted in a panic to run from the parenthood, from Christopher's diagnosis... they were fighting all the time... and then she just left him alone with Chris.

And I refuse to demonize her for leaving btw, she was young, under a lot of stress, and Eddie was running from his parenthood. Eddie needed that push, to take responsibility, and connect with Chris!!

But still.. She left, Eddie was hurt and alone, and really doesn't trust her anymore, and then he meets Buck.

So Eddie moves on. His and Shannon's romantic love just... dies. And when she finally tries to re-connect. Yes, he still finds her desirable, and the human bond is still an important one. But where's the love?

They've known each other since they were children, they're friends, Shannon is Christopher's mother. But Eddie no longer really loves her like he once did. He tries. He forgives her, for everything, and really tries to mend their marriage, even proposes again after finding out she may be pregnant...

But it's just too late for both of them, they don't really work as a couple, and she realises she is tired of this battle, she is done.

Shannon leaving.... this made Eddie move on from her, even though he tried to deny it, even to himself. By leaving, Shannon gave the final killing blow to their already fractured mutual trust. Then she was gone for a long time, and when she finally came back, Eddie had already moved on, connected with someone else. She even says this - I was away for too long.

She realises that their marriage dead. She is shocked when Eddie keeps pushing her away from Chris, realises their mutual lack of trust. And she finally admits to herself that she doesn't really want to get back together with Eddie.

Eddie is dragging his feet, not really accepting her back, keeps looking for a "sign" that would say they should have another serious go as partners. Only proposes after there's another pregnancy scare.

Shannon thinks, this marriage is too broken, I want out. We both deserve something better than this. So it is a story of falling in love, and falling out of love.

And then she dies, and Eddie grieves, deeply. He did love Shannon, even though their marriage was a failure. He'd loved her in so many ways. She was his friend, she was his wife, she was Christopher's mother.

However, I do feel like the reason why he struggles to date after Shannon's death is a combination of grief - being afraid to try again with anyone... and it's denial of his feelings for Buck, and also fear that what if... This happens again, what if he loves and they leave. I think the key problem here really is Buck.

Eddie has already fallen for someone, and tries to deny it, ignore it. He thinks this is a road that would take him nowhere, so why try. He thinks Buck is straight!

So he starts pushing Buck away because this odd family unit they have...? Where is it going really, he thinks, Buck doesn't want him.

This line, said to Buck:

"Somehow we became a ready-made family and I... I don't know if I'm ready for that."

It's grief for Shannon, and it's unrequited love for Buck, and it's about being unable to love Ana because of those both massive things stopping Eddie from being able to connect with her.

Remember.... that Buck starts the thing with Taylor before Eddie starts dating Ana?

Eddie, looking like a zombie, hosting Buck and Taylor, telling Buck that he needs to move on, Eddie has. (Yeah it's a lie.)

And remember all these talks about Eddie needing to move on, before he goes on dates?

This is Eddie, trying to move on, and find his third family unit.

The scene with Eddie and Buck when they've just met, Buck bragging that "some of us don't need good lighting to look good..."

And then Eddie at the fire station, looking at Buck, forgetting to introduce Ana to everyone, realising his mistake and saying to Ana;

"Oh, you've never been here!"...

Because she wasn't, Buck's presence just erases her from Eddie's mind, it's like she isn't even in the same room.

It's true, Eddie realises. Buck really doesn't need good lighting to look good, not to Eddie.

"Even in the dark, this place is amazing."

It's terrible, but disturbingly true for Eddie. This feeling, of existing in the darkness, alone, and watching someone who just doesn't need good lighting to look amazing. They just glow anyway, overwhelmingly, they just erase everyone else from your mind.

I feel like this symbolizes deep, unrequited love really well. Even in the dark this place is amazing.

So Eddie keeps struggling. He won't let Buck close because that's killing him, but he also can't let go of him. He's just ...always dying.

And then Buck comes out to him? It's a shock. It's a brief moment of dumb, wide-eyed hope.

But then Eddie immediately realizes... This changes nothing. Buck is dating someone else. Buck is falling for someone else. Buck is still... Just a friend.

Nothing has changed for Buck, and therefore not for Eddie either. Eddie is still alone in this. And keeps dying.

So... The point I'm trying to make here.

I feel like this struggle we're seeing, it's not about Eddie being gay. He fell for Shannon, they agreed the sex was never the problem.

Even this new relationship with Marisol. He does feel sexual desire for her... Their sex life is great... Until he learns that she was almost a nun? Imagine being in the closet, bi, and realising your girlfriend was almost a nun?

It's truly "eyes on the ground". Would she still want her, if she really knew who, or what, Eddie is? Would she be disgusted if she learned about all of Eddie's fantasies?

How can Eddie trust her?

So... That's what making him run from Marisol. I do think he's making a genuine effort to move on from his old flames - Shannon and Buck.

I mean... Remember Eddie's talk with his tia? Learning that she had been married before, and refusing to even try dating someone else, until her friends dragged her out?

And ultimately this made her move on, meeting someone else. And soon she didn't regret trying again.

So Eddie is trying to move on from Shannon, and Buck.

But can he? Is he?

One thing about Buck's coming out, and the following scene, the talk with Eddie...

Noticed the buddie subtext, and the bisexual subtext of the lines when he talks about Marisol there? About needing to go home.

The "menu" is not the issue. The issue is that he doesn't want to go home, to Marisol. (Lol, there's btw that bicycle again, hanging on the wall behind Eddie's back. Bi subtext!!)

Eddie does desire her. ... He just doesn't love her. And that keeps happening... Because his heart is already taken.

[dark-dragon-8]

Me writing a fic planner for my Supernatural fic series/AU and it slowly turning into a "try and keep as many of the characters you like and/or need for the plot to get where you want it to without it being too OOC and/or nonsensical all while still keeping your current ongoing plot relevant and have it make sense" challenge

Because ISTG people are dying 𝘸𝘢𝘺 too often in this show. I had to get creative with Sam's reactions and power limitations just to keep Crowley alive during that one scene Dean tried to kill him when they both first met him.

I had to give Sam a fucking aftershock from Dick Roman exploding so that he won't kill Crowley right then and there.

I know I'll need to find a way to keep Rowena and Charlie alive at some point in the future because they'll be killed off later on in the show and I can't have that.

I'll have to somehow keep Death alive (haha) too because I love him too much to let him go.

The only characters I plan on keeping dead so far are Bobby, Meg, John and everyone else who died in earlier seasons (besides maybe Jessica, but that's just because she's not as close to Sam in this AU)

Ellen and Jo will still be alive, though, since I'm not leaving the boys without a support system. Downside is that the two of them will be experiencing the death of their husband/father (respectively) all over again.

I'm keeping Balthazar alive too because I 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 Castiel to still have some sort of loyal subordinate/connection to Heaven.

At least Dean doesn't kill anyone (important), not yet at least (I just finished season 7) hopefully it stays that way because that man is pretty much the only one I don't have to keep on monitoring 24/7. He's honestly the most chill person in my fic when it comes to killing off plot devices, which is hilarious because I plan on making him a sadistic half demon that's kind of like the Antichrist once he gets the Mark of Cain (which was surprisingly the easiest plot twist I had to write, thanks to how I saw his demon self has been written, I swear he's the only one not killing everyone else around him just because).

I'm currently holding on by a thread of "Sam believing he's impure and therefore doesn't use his powers often" logic while also applying a good amount of "Sam uses his power in every single scenario in which he thinks Dean might be in danger" logic. It's a very stressful road and I swear to Chuck, if I didn't have an ending in mind, everyone would've been dead except for the (good) humans, and Sam would have been the culprit, maybe Castiel too, and Dean would've been surprisingly innocent (I know, it baffles me too).

I just realized, as I was writing this that maybe I just need Crowley to chill, but I can't write that because that would be character assassination of the highest degree (Crowley is a sassy drama queen and I'd rather die than take that away from him)

[hellsingmongrel]

I can't help but think about how Vash, after the trauma of having Rem killed when he was so young and then learning to expect the humans he grew to love to grow old and die or be killed in so many myriad ways and even having them betray him for the bounty money or just out of fear, must have developed so many difficulties allowing himself to get close to people.

Abandonment issues SUCK. You want to be close to people, you want to love people and develop connections and have friends and loved ones you can spend time with and be happy with, but you become so sure that anyone you get close to will just end up leaving you for one reason or another, and nothing you do will ever make them stay, so you just...stop trying. Stop letting yourself get attached. Stop letting yourself hope these will still be there or even reach out to bridge the gaps.

You can be friendly and outgoing and happy in the moment, but that's all it is; momentary. So you just let yourself be happy with the little glimpses if friendliness that you get from time to time and never hope for anything more. It's easier that way, you won't get your hopes up, and you're alright being alone, you've always been alone, it's ok. It's ok.

Except it's really not, and sometimes the loneliness just eats away at you, and you wonder why you were so wrong, why you were so bad or broken or a problem, or not made right to live like other people did, and why you have to be so Different that you're best hope is to just be allowed to exist Around other people, not With other people.

It's no wonder he has so much trouble never settling down, or why he only lets himself be happy for small spells between the downward spirals. He wants SO MUCH to be human, just like everyone else, worthy of love and companionship and the kinds of connections everyone else on the planet shares. He just wants to fit in and be loved, and the more his abandonment issues are reinforced, the worse it makes him feel about himself.

And then, he finds the one human who refuses to abandon him, even if he should, even if it means it puts him in danger, even if at first it's just because he HAS to, and maybe Vash feels like someone finally wants him to be around, and makes him feel a little more Human, and like maybe he can finally have a friend. Or a partner. Maybe he can let himself try to be loved.

And then he's Abandoned all over again, except it's not like every other time. It's not because he's not worthy of having someone next to him, and if he just catches up, then he can save him from the things his brother is doing, and he can be happy for a little bit longer! He doesn't have to say good bye all over again so soon, just let him be on time!

But no. It was never going to work out, was it? He should have known better. So much of what's happening has to be his own fault in one way or anotuer, so it's just his fault that this happened, too, wasn't it? It was his own fault for letting himself get his hopes up, anyway. He knew better. He doesn't get to have people who love him. It's his own fault that his world feels like it's breaking all around him while he digs a solitary grave out behind the orphanage. He's a blight on everything around him. Everything he loves ends up leaving him, eventually. He just wishes everyone he gets close to could stop dying in horrible ways. At least the betrayals mean the people will still get to live their own lives, happy and safe, once he's moved on to the next path on his neverending road.

[myangelhaven]

These are my recommendations of JISUNG fics! It will be updated once in a while for new stories I have read. Hopefully the links work (lemme know if it doesn't)

Credits to the authors!! All information written is taken from the authors' post and has not been modified. Reminder that some fics are NOT for minors, so please read the key and avoid 18+ contents.

HAPPY READING!!

KEY [❀]: fluff      [𖤓]: angst      [☄]: sad      [☾]:smut      [⟡]:smau      [𖦹]: humour      [✮]: my favs 

˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖✮-------------JISUNG--------------✮˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖

DRABBLES & SHORT FICS

ten things han jisung says when he thinks you’re asleep by @soobnny [❀]

Rule breakers by @ppiri-bahng [❀][𖤓][suggestive][pining]

reader isn’t the angel everyone thinks they are

A perfect disaster by @jae-bummer [❀]

Your bias confesses through text message while sitting next to you.

no title by @astraystayyh [❀][suggestive?]

domestic morning where they also remember  snippets of their (enemies) past.

Red-handed by @straykeedz [❀][☾][fwb] 1.2k

Han Jisung pounding into reader over the kitchen counter and getting caught by Lee Know and/or Bang Chan.

Not that innocent by @straykidshoe [❀][☾] 1.3k

Seven minutes in heaven with the music major, the [by all that mattered] rumoured virgin. You assumed that you would need to teach him how to do everything- and if not that, then leave the stuffy closet needy and wet. But what happened is much different

You're still a traitor by @skzonthebrain [𖤓][☄][nonreciprocal pining][fwb] 1.4k

"He broke the rule of not sleeping with anyone else, but you broke the rule of not falling for each other."

Back to blue by @peachiejeongin [❀][𖦹][established relationship] 1.6k NEW

Jisung messages you out of the blue one day, and before you know it, you are at the Stray Kids dorm dying his hair back to blue.

the accuracy of philosophical aphorisms by @skazoo [❀][crack][vampireau] 2.6k

ok, you're tired, but you're sure those two floating, glowing, red orbs(?) are staring right at you.

Talking body by @hyungszn [❀][𖤓][ratedM][mutualpining] 2.8k

The downfall of womankind (read: you) is a trim waist, tan skin, and a delectable belly button.

You Lose If You Get It First by @jinxhallows [❀][☾][idolau] 3.2k

The heat by @hwanghyunjinenthusiast [❀][☾][✮][aphrodisiac] 3.6k

When your roommate brings home a bag of strange cookies, you two don't think much of it. Assuming whoever sold them to him was lying about them containing an aphrodisiac. You both quickly come to realise that you were very, very incorrect.

The night we met by @jisungsjheekies [❀][𖤓][soulmateau] 3.6k

Soulmate connection: born with a tattoo of the date you first meet your soulmate - Y/N’s is 22/09/19

It's a scream, BABY! by @tyunphoria [𖤓][☾][✮][ghostface] 3.7k

when you thought you finally escaped that psycho who calls himself ghostface . . . think again. he always finds you.

Lucid dream by @changbeanie [❀][𖤓][vampireau] 4.7k

You keep on having the same dreams about the same person every night. What happens when the boy in your dreams is the new kid in town?

Resurrected by @changbeanie [❀][𖤓][☄][zombieapocalypseau] 4.2k

In the year 2193, humans are in threat of extinction. In order to preserve what is left of humanity, the government set up a sanctuary. However one day, you found yourself in one of the restricted areas. What will happen to you now? Are zombies really what people claim them to be?

Bad guy by @jl-micasea-fics [𖤓][☾][fwb] 4.4k

He’s the classic bad boy, the one you shouldn’t want but can’t get enough of. It’s only too late you realise, you should have listened to the words of warning from your brother.

Rebound by @yoongihan [❀][☾][✮] 5k

Recently broken up with and cheated on, you decide to go to your first frat party and see what is so appealing about sex with a stranger.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄more to come!⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

☆--------Jisung's masterlist || skz masterlist---------☆