#and i get a library!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! anyway.

[somerandomcockroach]

PLEASE WHEEEEEEEEZEEEEEEE

*DYING BIRD SOUNDS*

YES. YES IT'S SWERVE GODDAM I CAN DIE PEACEFULLY

I am dead. I am so dead.

I LITERALLY CAN'T EXPLAIN THE LEVELS OF JOY THIS WHOLE THING IS GIVING ME RIGHT NOW

YES. YES THIS NERD IS VERY GOOD AT IT PRAISE HIM Had a whole new full life on the other planet - "I got carried away"

PLEASE HE RIGHT AWAY KNEW WHAT TO ASK PFFFHT. Get all transformers to pass exams. I bet 60/40 not pass

WHEEEEEEEEEZEEEE OH MY GOD I LITERALLY. THEY. IT'S. THEY WORTH EACH OTHER WHEEEEZEEE

PLEASE SWERVE. TRUE HUMAN IS HORRIFIED AT THE IDEA OF THEIR BROWSER HISTORY, YOU PASSED THE TEST PFFHTTT .... OF COURSE AHHASGAH UM. HE IS ALIVE! I'M HAPPY HE IS AT LEAST ALIVE! *Nods* Onslaught is a genius indeed AH here comes plot

I continues reaching new levels of dead

Please it's.... how the hell... why... he almost burned to death, he needs a rest or at least to properly look after his skin... not this....

*looks in the distance* Pilots need a fricking tiktok or whatever to show their life to become a new group face

*inhale-exhale* THIS GUY OVER HERE ISN'T A SPOILER BRAT AT ALL. AT ALL. I DON'T KNOW FROM WHICH SIDE SPOILED BRAT WOULD DO IT ALL.

*Looks at Jazz* You need to talk Next phrase is him talking to Prowl and Jazz *Sitting back*

*incoherent sounds*

*EVEN WORSE INCOHERENT SOUNDS*

*goes out of the room*IT'S TOO GORGEOUS TO NOT POINT IT OUT BUT ALSO SO HORRIBLE Blurr... my sweet... ahh I love people under painkillers but I have a feeling the same would happen anyway pfffht. Imagine all of problems and now the thoughts of someone dying because of you ahah... great.... P[OFPGOFPIGOIPSEIES JAZZ YOU ARE TOO FRICKING GOOD AT READING PEOPLE, I'm sure he didn't change the mind about Swerve's reason of absence XDDD

DANG IT. DANG. DANGG. FEHJGEDWJHGBJMCW I'M 'BOUT TO PULL YOUR "GHOST" ASS IN FRONT OF HIS FACE FOREVER BEFORE HE ACCIDENTALLY DIES OR SOMETHING. FOR THE GOD'S SAKE *ROLLS ON THE FLOOR FLORRS WALLS LIKE A ROTATED 980 DEGREE SPIDER* HE SAVES HIM, HE GOT OUT TO SAVE HIM HERE. TAKE IT. TALK HIM DOWN. SHOW WHO IS THE TALKY BOSS HERE WITH THE LIBRARY OF A NERD

HMEWDBNBMCHMNBCHMHMHDSHSSHS *SLAMS ON THE KEYBOARD WITH THE HEAD* NO DON'T SHUT UP, BLABBERS, NEVER SHUT UP HELPA DHJGA Don't you love it when two characters blend it and play a bullshit game of no context to get attention out? You better love it because personally I am dying for one more reason It's so IRONIC even to use NORMAN name *BREAKS THE TABLE* HE IS REAL!!!! YEAH!!! MY NERD KNOW MORE ABOUT HUMANS THAN HUMANS DO. PHARMA, GET OUT OF HERE, BLURR HAS A PERSONAL DOCTOR ....Wellllll I mean TECHNICALLY you already failed at keeping all possible secrets, Swerve.....

I'M SORRY I JUST KEFERON, KISSING YOU IN EVERY POSSIBLE KISSABLE PLACE I NEVER THOUGHT I CAN GO THAT CRAZY OVER THIS SPECIFIC PART GOING ON AND HOW THE HELL ARE YOU SO GOOD AT ALL THIS I AM IN SHAMBLES AND SHAKING I LOVE IT TO DEATH AND WANNA PRINT IT

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.”

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Just for the Taste

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Masturbation, smut. Word count: ~3k

Summary: Growing increasingly frustrated with the pace things are going at between her and Michael, his girlfriend takes matters into her own hands, quite literally.

Author's note: Day nine of Smuffmas - stockings and sex toys. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She had met Michael in her first month at Oxford university. It was a Saturday night and, unlike the vast majority of people living in her college, she had opted to stay in instead of hitting the town to spend her student loan in one of the many pubs. She had a tutorial on Monday and was determined to impress the computer scientist who would be leading it. Her entire weekend revolved around getting ahead with the required reading in order to have a full understanding of the previous week’s lecture topics. She wanted to be able to talk about them at length, and share her ideas in a comprehensive manner.

Her stomach had dropped as she had reached into her backpack, feeling that her Discrete Mathematics textbook was missing. She cursed under her breath, realising she had left it on the table in the Bodleian Old Library. It closed at 4pm on Saturdays, so she’d have to wait until it opened tomorrow to go and fetch it back.

A lack of a textbook wasn’t enough to deter her though. On average, of students that applied to the Computer Science course at Oxford, only 17% were interviewed, and only 5% were successful. She was acutely aware of how fortunate she was, but also how hard she’d worked to get here, and wasn’t about to let that lapse.

A thorough Google search yielded nothing useful, all of the PDFs she managed to unearth were outdated editions and would have been of no use to her. She decided to go door knocking – the time will pass anyway, she figured, and there might be someone in their room that had a copy of the textbook that she could borrow. A long shot, but it was either that or lose an evening of studying, and she wasn’t prepared to do that.

Unfortunately for her, the Computer Science course wasn’t an especially sociable one – the difficulty of the subject matter and competitive nature of the field it eventually lead into wasn’t a breeding ground for fast friendships, and with only 44 people on the course who were all more than happy to keep to themselves, she had no idea where any of them were actually staying. There had to be at least one in her college though.

The first three doors she knocked on yielded no response, the fourth was answered by a flustered, barely dressed girl, who stared at her in wide eyed bewilderment as a male voice from within the room called out “tell them to go away!”

Her skin ablaze with embarrassment, she descended the stairs and was fully prepared to give up after receiving no response from another two doors, before the one in the far corner creaked open, causing her to turn to face the noise. A bespectacled pair of blue eyes peered out at her, narrowed in suspicion.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

She glanced at her watch – just after 9.30pm. “Yeah, it’s not late…”

“What are you doing?” he asked her. His voice was quiet, but laced with derision. “Are you pissed?”

She shook her head, slowly approaching his door as she clasped her hands in front of her. His stare was piercing and intense, yet his posture was so rigid she got the sense that he’d likely slam the door on her if she moved too quickly.

“I haven’t been drinking,” she said apologetically, “just need to borrow a textbook. You’re not on my course so I doubt you could help me anyway.”

“What are you reading?” he asked, his posture softening slightly, though he didn’t open the door any wider.

“Computer Science.”

“Hmm. I’m reading Maths, so–”

Her eyes lit up, a surge of hope making her heart soar. “I need a copy of Discrete Mathematics,” she said excitedly, “I don’t suppose you have one?”

“Not a physical copy…”

She visibly deflated, her heart sinking in disappointment as her shoulders sagged. “Nevermind then. Thanks anyway.”

“I’ve got a PDF,” he said, opening the door wider as she turned to leave.

She stopped in her tracks, her gaze drifting to where his fingers clutched the USB drive that was clasped to the belt loop of his tan coloured cargo trousers with a carabiner clip. “From what year?” she asked quietly, as her eyes lifted back up to his.

“2005.”

She grinned. That was exactly the year she needed. “You’re an absolute lifesaver,” she told him, her voice breathy with relief.

“I think the file might be too big for me to send over email though,” he admitted.

“Could you not just lend me the flash drive? I can give it straight back tomorrow morning.”

He pursed his lips, eyeing her from head to toe. “How do I know you will? This is a one gigabyte USB drive, it’s valuable. You might steal it.”

She grinned, until she realised he was being serious. “I live in the room directly above yours,” she told him, gesturing upwards towards the ceiling, “so you’ll know where to find me.” She gave him her name, as she fiddled with the clasp of her watch, removing it from her wrist and holding it out to him. “Here, insurance, so you know I’m not trying to steal from you.”

The faintest hint of a smile ghosted across his lips as his eyes crinkled in amusement. “Alright, fine,” he relented, taking her watch from her and slipping it into his pocket. He unclipped the USB drive and handed it to her. “I’m Michael, by the way.”

“Thanks, Michael,” she said with a coy smile, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She made her way back upstairs to her room and spent the rest of the night studying then, true to her word, on her way to the library the following morning, she knocked on Michael’s door to give him back his USB drive.

“I’m glad to see you’re a woman of your word,” Michael said playfully, as she clipped the drive back onto his carabiner, his cheeks flushing at her close proximity.

She held out her wrist and, silently, he clasped her watch back around it. Her skin tingled as his fingers brushed across it, their eyes meeting as their breaths simultaneously caught in their throats.

From that moment on, her and Michael were inseparable. The attraction was instantaneous, deepened by a shared love of mathematics and a refusal to toe the line when it came to the unspoken social hierarchy in place at the university.

Michael was a virgin, and so they took things slowly. She had had a long term boyfriend before going away to university, so she had had sex, but wasn’t overwhelmingly experienced. The split between her and her ex had been amicable; both going away to study in entirely different cities, they had wanted to give each other the opportunity to focus on their respective courses, rather than the pressures of maintaining a long distance relationship.

Things often turned hot and heavy between her and Michael. As their kisses grew feverish, his hips grinding of their own accord against hers, she could feel he was hard, knew that he wanted her, but was often left disappointed when he would hurry to the bathroom for a cold shower before anything truly interesting could happen between them. She cared for him, so she was happy to wait, though the sexual frustration was beginning to take its toll on her.

She had never been more grateful for the bullet vibrator she had brought with her to university, though it was costing her a small fortune in batteries – it had never had so much use before.

Three months into their relationship, she was beginning to get desperate. They had arranged to watch a film in Michael’s room that evening, so she decided to make it more than obvious that she was eager to take things a step further.

She pulled on lace topped hold up stockings and a black, lacy lingerie set, covering it with the red woolen jumper that Michael had left in her room the last time he was there. It fell to her mid thigh, so it wasn't immediately obvious that she had no other clothing on underneath.

They had fallen into the comfortable habit of leaving their doors unlocked when they were expecting each other to come over, so that they wouldn’t have to knock. She let herself straight into his room, finding Michael hunched over at his desk, fiddling with a Blockbuster DVD case to open it, so he could insert the disc into the CD drive of his laptop.

“What we watching then?” she asked, letting her rucksack drop from her shoulder onto the floor as she perched on the edge of his bed.

“Revenge of the Sith,” he answered, turning in his seat to look at her, “it’s a Star Wars film. I thought, erm…”

He trailed off, his lips parting slightly as he pushed his glasses up his nose. She followed his line of sight, seeing that the hem of his jumper had ridden up as she’d sat on the bed, revealing the lacy tops of her stockings. She smiled, knowing her outfit was having the desired effect, before looking back at him.

“You thought what?” she asked innocently, settling back properly on the bed as she moved a pillow behind her to lean against. She didn’t bother to pull the jumper back down, wanting to leave no room for doubt as to what her intentions were.

Michael swallowed thickly, before shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter, let’s just watch the film.”

As the film played, she could hardly concentrate, the closeness of Michael next to her, the heat of his body so close to hers was a distraction. Their fingers were entwined upon the sheets between them, a gesture of closeness and intimacy, but it wasn’t enough. She needed more.

Slowly, she moved his hand onto her thigh, leaving their fingers interwoven there for a few moments while she gauged his reaction. His eyes flitted to hers and he offered her a tight smile before he returned his attention back to his laptop screen. He made no attempt to move his hand away, so she left it there.

Gradually, she disentangled her fingers from his, pulling her hand away until only his remained on top of her thigh. His thumb absentmindedly began to stroke at the lace of her stocking, tracing the swirling pattern of the material as he continued to watch the film.

She had no idea what was occurring on the screen; the light sabers, the red and black face of Darth Maul, it was all just a blur of colour to her as her pulse raced beneath Michael’s touch. His hand moved higher, fingertips brushing against the soft skin of her inner thigh. It took all of her restraint not to just grab his hand and place it where she needed him most, knowing that she shouldn’t rush him. At a maddeningly slow pace his fingers inched their way up, her core throbbing with desire and the crotch of her knickers growing damp with arousal the closer he got. As his fingertips reached the hem of her underwear, so close to pushing underneath, the credits of the film began to roll and Michael moved his hand away, climbing off of the bed towards the desk where the laptop sat.

She wanted to scream in frustration, every nerve ending in her body felt ablaze, desperate to feel something, anything and he was painfully oblivious to all of it.

Not in the mood to answer his questions about what she had thought about what they had just watched – she hadn’t been paying attention anyway – she stood up, tugging the jumper down and slipping the shoes back on.

“Night then,” she called over her shoulder, not giving him a chance to respond as she hurried out of his room and back up the stairs towards her own.

She knew she was being rude and incredibly unfair to Michael, and that they would likely have to discuss at some point how his apprehension towards physical intimacy was affecting her, but right now she was a pent up mess of hormones and arousal and she needed release.

Slamming the door closed the moment she stepped into her room, she flopped down onto the bed, roughly tugging her underwear down her legs and tossing it to one side. She reached into the bedside table drawer, feeling around until her fingers wrapped around the familiar shape of her bullet vibrator.

Thank god, she thought, switching it on and bringing it between her legs, sighing in relief as she pressed it against her swollen clit and her eyes fluttered closed. Her breaths grew heavier as she moved the toy in tight circles to aid the gentle rumble against her sensitive bundle of nerves.

She froze as the door swung to, her eyes snapping open to see Michael standing there.

“Hey, you left your bag, so I– oh, shit, sorry!”

“Wait!” she pleaded, turning the toy off and chucking it down onto the bed as she moved into a sitting position. “Don’t go.”

He let her rucksack drop to the floor beside his feet, closing the door behind him and resting his back against it. His eyes were glued to the floor, his cheeks ablaze as he struggled to find the words. “Were you…were you…um…”

“Yeah, yeah, I was,” she admitted shamefully, feeling her skin grow warm with humiliation.

“Is that why you left so quickly? Because you wanted to…”

He looked so dejected, so sad, so hurt, it made her want to burst into tears. She’d have done anything to take away the furrow of his brow, the disappointed look in his eyes. “Yes,” she whispered, hating herself for the answer.

“Do you not want to with me then?” he asked, his voice so soft she had to strain to hear it.

“Of course I do,” she insisted, “that’s why I was doing…what I was doing.”

“I don’t understand,” he admitted, finally looking up to meet her eye, his back still pressed against the door as she sat on the bed.

She sighed, raking a hand through her hair, unable to keep the frustration from her voice as she tried to explain. “I want you, Michael, but I appreciate that you’re a virgin and I don’t want to push you before you’re ready. I have needs though, I’m sorry…”

“You shouldn’t have to apologise for that,” he reassured her, pushing away from the door and slowly approaching the bed, “I am ready, I just never realised you wanted to, you never said.”

“I’ve been dropping hints left and right, did you not see what I was wearing tonight?”

“Yeah, my jumper,” he answered, rubbing the back of his neck, “just assumed you hadn’t done any washing for a while.”

She groaned, fighting the urge to laugh – for an intelligent guy, he could be so incredibly dense. “I want to fuck you! Is that clear enough?”

Michael nodded, his gaze falling upon the toy that lay discarded beside her. “I don’t know what I’m doing though. I’ve always just been able to do maths in my head, never needed a calculator before, but I know they help people. Maybe that–” he pointed towards the vibrator, “could be my calculator, could help me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Show me how to fuck you.”

The bluntness took her breath away, but the intensity of his stare left no room for argument. “Alright,” she nodded, picking the toy up once more.

Michael stepped clumsily out of his shoes, then moved to the foot of the bed, kneeling upon it. “Go on then, show me.”

She could feel nervous excitement fluttering in her belly as she laid back, allowing her legs to fall open, giving him an unobstructed view of her most intimate area, before she pressed the bullet back against herself and switched it on.

Michael inhaled sharply, his hands coming to rest upon the knees of her bent legs, holding them open as he watched her intently. “What does it feel like?”

“It…it feels good,” she whispered breathlessly, slowly circling the toy against her bud, “there’s pressure, but it feels nice.” 

She gazed up at him as she panted and moaned softly, seeing the way his pupils dilated subtly. His hands moved to his belt, tugging it open, causing her to bite her lip, a mixture of arousal, curiosity and disbelief all fought for dominance in her pleasure-addled mind as she watched him unzip his trousers and free his hardened length. It was long, thick and slightly curved, the tip weeping with arousal.

“Can I?” he asked, gently grasping her wrist to coax her hand away from herself. 

She nodded, allowing him to move her arm to her side, the toy still buzzing in her hand. She gasped as he replaced the toy with the flushed head of his cock, rubbing it in circular motions, allowing it to notch against her clitoral hood.

“Like this?” he asked, his voice strained, and she simply nodded, desperately fighting the urge to buck her hips from the exquisite pressure he was applying.

“Shouldn’t…shouldn’t your first time be special?” she uttered, voice thick with desire.

“We’re not fucking, we’re learning,” he said softly, his gaze never moving from between her thighs as he continued to stroke himself through her slick folds, “and besides, it being with you automatically makes it special.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, they would have been romantic were it not for the lewdness of what they were doing.

“Now,” he said, pulling back slightly and grabbing her wrist again, “show me what else you do with this toy.”

Read on AO3

More Michael fics

[legalmente-loca]

A Car For Christmas

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Summary: Dean doesn't seem to want to be there for Christmas, but it seems that it was quite the opposite

Word Count: 984

A/N: Merry Christmas and Merry Holydays, everyone! This is my @spnfanficpond Secret Santa gift for @spnbabe67! I hope you like it and let me know!

Tags/Warnings: 18+, smut, angst, sex in a car, Christmas is here, established relationship

“I just don’t understand why you don’t want to celebrate Christmas. You’ve always wanted to.”

“We have a hunt, I’ve told you.” He said as he packed his things into his bag.

“I know, but… Dean,” You held his arm. “It’s Christmas…”

He sighed and turned to look at you.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You shook your head.

“No, you’re not.”

He frowned and turned his body towards you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What you heard. It seems like you’d rather hunt a creature that any other lone hunter could than spend Christmas with your brother and me.”

He stared at you and you noticed his jaw tense.

“That’s not true.” He murmured.

“Then prove it.” You looked at him pleadingly in the eyes. “Stay.”

He sighed and shook his head. He wasn’t going to stay.

“I’m sorry, really.”

He walked past you, leaving a kiss on your head before leaving.

A week had already passed, today was Christmas, and you were alone in the bunker. The tree you had decorated with the boys seemed dull, lifeless from the absence of the place.

You had been stirring the coffee in front of you for about twenty minutes. The energy you had been saving for this day was nowhere to be found. But a noise made you raise your head.

Maybe it had just been a normal noise in a bunker that was years old, but you got up anyway and followed the noise.

“Damn… Thing...” You heard a growl coming from the room you shared with Dean.

You peeked through the door and looked in confusion at the back of a man as he fixed something on the bed.

“Dean?”

He turned around in surprise and ran a hand through his hair.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You raised an eyebrow and tried to look behind him.

“What are you doing here? And the hunt?” You asked as you walked towards him.

But he stood in your way, his hands on your arms.

“Well, you said it yourself, sweetheart. It’s Christmas.”

“What’s that back there?” You tried to look behind his shoulder again.

“Hey, hey.” He laughed nervously. “It’s nothing. Why don’t you go to the library for a while?”

“What’s that back there?” You repeated.

“Nothing, nothing.”

Dean tried to move you back, but you managed to get out of his grip and walk past him, seeing what was behind him.

It was a half wrapped box.

You heard him sigh behind you.

“It was supposed to be your Christmas present. But I realized I’m really bad at wrapping these things.”

You turned to look at him slowly, a smile making its way onto your face. Suddenly, you jumped on him, Dean immediately holding you up as you placed kisses all over his face.

“Whoa, hey, hey!” He looked surprised. “You haven’t even opened your present yet.”

You got off of him as you laughed.

“Okay, okay.” You said as you turned around and began to open the box.

When you opened it, you noticed a video tape. You took it and read what was written on it. The Best Lana Del Rey Songs.

You shook your head in amusement.

“Now I can listen to Lana del Rey in your car.”

“Or yours.”

You turned to look at him and he was holding up car keys.

“No… You didn’t.”

“Oh, yes, I did.” He nodded. “I built you a car.”

“Oh, my God…” You slowly placed the tape on the bed. “I can’t believe it.”

“I can show you, doll.”

He took your hand and grabbed the tape before leaving the room. He led you through the bunker until you reached the garage.

You let out a gasp of amazement as you saw a red car next to his Impala.

“Oh, my God, Dean.” You jumped up and down in joy as you walked over to your new car. “You did it? By yourself?”

“Of course I did.” He walked over to stand beside you. “You like it?”

“Do I? It’s the best Christmas present anyone’s ever given me.”

Dean obviously liked that comment. A smile appeared on his face. He really had tried hard to give you a good present.

“You know?” You bit your bottom lip, running a finger down your car before looking at Dean. “I think we should get it new.”

Dean’s mind was working in such a way that he understood your double meaning.

“Oh, I think so too, sweetheart.” He said as he left the tape on top of the car.

He didn’t even wait two seconds as he held you. You wrapped your legs around his hips and he opened the back door of the car, climbing in with you and leaving you on the seat face up. Your clothes quickly came off of your bodies.

“Baby, we'll get this car dirty before you even drive it.”

He entered you and you moaned loudly, your nails digging into his back and earning a growl from him as he started a steady pace, gaining satisfaction from checking out your expressions of pleasure. He buried his head in your neck and began nibbling on your skin.

“God, Dean, harder.”

He picked up speed, the car windows thickening as it swayed in rhythm with Dean’s thrusts.

“Merry fucking Christmas to me.” He mumbled as he pushed you deeper into the seat.

The car seats were starting to get damp beneath you in a mix of sweat and cum.

“You feel so good, Dean.” You sighed.

“Yeah? You like my cock in your pussy, baby?”

“Yes, I do.” You whimpered.

Your eyes rolled and you clenched around him as you came, sending him straight into his own orgasm and leaving his seed inside you, which slowly began to leak out and spread across the seats.

“God…” He huffed. “Merry Christmas, baby.” Dean whispered in your ear before placing a kiss there.

“Merry Christmas…”

Dean Winchester One Shots

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[kiemiu]

my boyfriend's a vampire | ( fem!reader ) fluff + soft hours. established relationship headcanons wc 1.6k (library) + (request)

one. who gained an inevitable infatuation with you because of your uncanny resemblance to a past lover he had hundreds of years ago. you were walking home late at night, lost in your own world while completely in tune with whatever music blasted through your headphones. you were so distracted that you wouldn't even realize a mugger chasing you. highly unsafe, he thought.

it seemed like easy prey to him, he didn't even pull out his usual over the top techniques, he just followed closely behind until you were in a more secluded area. his footsteps got quicker and quicker, and he got closer and closer, until he was barely a wisp away. he grabbed your shoulder, whipping you around. you let out a shrill scream in return, both of you stuck frozen in place. you trembled in fear, while his grip on your shoulder loosened, and fell to your elbow. "mon cherie?" he quietly whispered. your face so familiar, those same plump lips that he missed so much coated in a sticky gloss, your hair the same length as the last time he saw you take your last breath, and your scent carrying solemn memories. you came back to him, at last.

your wide eyes looked at him in fear, your figure physically recoiling away from him the more he stood frozen in shock. your visible discomfort snapping him out of his trance. "oh, um—yo-you dropped this." he muttered out, revealing the lip gloss in his palm that he had snagged from your purse without you noticing. you quickly accepted it before scurrying away, your head whisking behind your shoulder a few times to make sure he wasn't following behind, yet as soon as he saw you slow down your pace, he began to follow you until you reached home.

two. who is your personal shadow. wherever you go, he's not too far behind. always closely analyzing your every move. not in a scrutinizing way, but with pure fixation. after seeing you pass in such a horrific way centuries ago, the simplest tasks keep him infatuated with you. he'll watch you fix a pb&j as if you're completing a once in a lifetime mission. "you don't have to watch me write my essay, matt." you quietly murmured, your eyes remaining trained on your computer screen, even as warmth creeped up your neck from the pressure of his gaze. being caught in the act as well as the simple mention of his name made him shy away from your peripheral vision, resorting to floating behind you. "you just move with such eloquence, mon amour. i can't help but stare." he'd admit quietly, the brush of his lips tickling the lobe of your ear, a small smirk making its way on his face at the sound of your quickening heartbeat.

three. who doesn't sleep but will cuddle you from sunset to sunrise. he knows how important it is for humans to get their sleep, finding that it keeps them healthy and from going completely insane, he ensures that you follow a strict sleeping schedule. usually, when nighttime falls and the moon makes an appearance, he has little to no acception of you staying up past a certain time. only every now and then will he let you bend the rules, but it's very rare. he wants you to maintain the best health possible and will take every measure to make sure you keep it. after having a particularly vicious nightmare one night, matt swore to stay close to you even when you're asleep. you tell him that he doesn't have to do it but he continues to do so anyway, finding comfort in a routine with you, yet never admitting it. always saying "oh, please. the best sleep you get is when you're with me."

four. who is hesitant to feed on you when he starts to get hungry out of fear of hurting you. you've offered plenty of times and each time he's turned it down without an argument. it's not like he doesn't want to, because he absolutely does. hearing your blood rush in thick streams through connected veins has been the main reason on why he's so hesitant on keeping you close, yet he still continues to. even when it drives him mad. albeit pouty, that he won't drink your blood, you've offered animals in the woods behind your house, but he simply refuses to ever feed on animals, having too intense of a fondness for them, you'll sometimes catch him talking to them but you never question it. his hunger only satiated by mutilating muggers and sleazy men in the dead of night when you're fast asleep, always making it home in time to clean himself up and sneak back into bed without you noticing.

five. who lets you dress him in todays' fashion and will unwillingly be your test dummy for wigs and makeup. as time went on, matt grew out of his outdated blouses and followed suit on whatever fashion was popular. he didn't dive too deep into the trends, only wearing what he liked and assumed was more fitting. pilgrim shoes weren't exactly today's fashion and it hadn't been for years. his once colonial style had slipped into a more business casual flair. you liked his style, but you also liked to persuade him into a pair of baggy jeans every once in a while. when you weren't doing that, you were using him as a mannequin to style your wigs on or as a test dummy for new makeup looks. "princesse, this isn't even my shade."

six. who communicates to you telepathically. he's not really one for words unless he's writing them down, and he made that known so you wouldn't be put off by his silence. yet it did startle you when he randomly started to communicate with you telepathically. it became a habit for the two of you, sometimes being in completely separate rooms but still managing full blown conversations with each other. there has been a handful of occasions where you've introduced a friend to matt in your head and not out loud. it's a handy way to communicate, you just have to find a healthy balance.

seven. who writes you love letters. not being that big of a talker or one for boisterous romantic gestures, matt resorts to writing you love letters. everything he feels but can't say has been transferred onto delicate pieces of paper. there are piles and piles of letters addressed to you, some delivered to you, others kept locked away. the ones he keeps locked away are letters that no lady should see. they're shameful, white sheets being stained with red ink as he explains every primal desire that haunts him whenever he sees you, feels you. sometimes he'll go back and re-read said letters, flustering himself at how feral he sounds. he will never let those sheets of paper ever see the light of day. the other letters, the more light-hearted and sappy ones, he'll fold up and put them in different places for you to find throughout your day. under your pillow for you to read before you go to bed, on the fridge door handle, wedged in a flower bouquet, etc.. they can range from a short 7 word sentence to a 1200 word document. all of them oozing words of love.

eight. who loves your obsession with his fangs. he always watches with a fond smile as you cuddle close to him and poke at his fangs. "they're so sharp.." you'd mutter, gently sliding the nail of your finger down one. he'd jokingly bite at your finger as if he'd actually bite it off, making you retract your finger in fear with a shrill squeak, his laugh at your reaction making you laugh with him. with his sharp teeth he makes good use out of them, opening bottles, slicing through bags of chips, cutting fruit, carving pumpkins, etc.. he also likes to do a stereotypical vampire kiss where he dips you down and playfully bites your neck. never hard enough to draw blood, but enough to tickle you.

nine. who turns into a bat to avoid arguments. every time he senses one of your conversations starting to go left, his walls start to build up. sometimes he feels cornered and doesn't know how to react in those situations, he never did even with a millennia of experience. so, his go to mechanism is to turn into a bat. 'bats can't talk so you can't be mad at him' not to mention, how utterly adorable he is in his bat form, hanging in the corner of the roof, all bundled up, his doe eyes warily peaking out past his wings. he knows exactly where to hit the weak spots and will take advantage in his favor. he won't leave his bat form unless the situation is really upsetting/serious to you or until you've calmed down.

ten. who can't lose you again. he knows as a human that your time is extremely limited and precious. but for you, it doesn't have to be. everytime he hears you complain about abnormalities that only humans go through he suggests the idea of turning you. "you know, you wouldn't have to go through any back pain as a vampire." you laugh it off, underestimating how completely serious he is. matt has already dealt with the loss of you one time and he refuses to go through it again. being without you changed him for the worst, so, he'll take any and every measure possible to keep you around. even if it means turning you into a vampire while you're at your most defenseless.

' 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ' 🧛🏻 : @emely9274 @ginswife @chrisstvrns @conspiracy-ash @sturnina @lovetaylorrussellgrr @nervoussagittarius @sacaydia @chrissturnsss @hearts4werka @chrisprincesss @koilaniazul @starsforu @sturn777 @sturniolosiphone @chrisfavoritewhore @sturnsmia @leaningoutthewindow @certainfestivalnerdshepherd @dominicfikeenthusiast

[lollygaggingloser]

Hugo: Have you ever thought about growing old?

Varian (thinking): Sometimes. Aging sounds like it sucks, but I think I could learn to enjoy it. Why? Did you find a grey hair this morning?

Hugo (scoffing): No. For your information, I kind of look forward to aging. I could pull off grey hair anyway. Plus, not everyone gets to experience getting old.

Varian, jokingly: Especially in our dangerous profession. We've had way too many close calls with death already.

Hugo (laughing): Exactly! I think it would be nice to surprise the world if we died of old age than from an experiment gone wrong.

Varian (nodding): Dying of old age certainly sounds more peaceful.

Hugo: How old do you imagine you'd live to be?

Varian (pausing on his work and thinking): Hmmmm....I'd like to live one day longer than you.

Hugo (smirking): Is it truly your life's mission beat me at everything? Now you want to outlive me too??

Varian (laughing): That's part of it, yes.

Hugo: And what's the other part?

Varian: Well...I think living in a world without you would be too boring for me. Plus, I made a promise to you back at the eternal library, after you saved me.

Hugo: That you'd never do anything that stupid ever again?

Varian (smiling): That you'll never have to worry about losing me again. So, if I live one day, or even one minute longer than you, it means you'll always have me around for the rest of your life and you'll never lose me.

Hugo (barely keeping it together): O-Oh...

Varian: Your turn. How long do you want to live?

Hugo: ...I was thinking maybe 90, but now...one day less than you sounds good too.

[prismaticpichu]

Now that I’m thinking about it……..

Since Zack is our narrator, and since he’s directly relaying to us what Sephiroth did in the manor during those seven days…. doesn’t this imply that Zack visited Sephiroth in that span of time?? Sure, he can absolutely deduce the Sephiroth never left the manor (as he or the villagers would have likely seen him), but how does the guy know Seph didn’t take a break?? How does he know he didn’t turn off the lights, that they never went out and that he turned them back on…? Doesn’t it kinda seem… specific?? Doesn’t it seem like “I have no idea what he was doing in that library… And when he came out of it—“ is a lot more fitting for what we see in canon?? Because, honestly, if Zack DIDN’T know that Seph was doing nothing but reading (and actively turning his mind into mush in the process), I would actually argue it’d make more sense for him to deduce that Sephiroth really was possessed by something, as the change from “sad and hurt SOLDIER” to “mass murderer spewing nonsense about the planet” is a lot more jarring without that direct context.

Conclusion: Zack most likely DID visit Sephiroth during his final descent, finding him reading every single time he did… And we know that he failed to get him out of there ;-; ;-; ;-;

~

(At least in CANON, anyways x333 In Pichu’s la la land, Zack refuses to leave that manor without Seph by his side)

[mosoderbergh]

Have some more NSFW Emmrich

I just couldn’t keep my hands off of Emmrich’s breeding kink. Honestly? What a thought. So here’s my own little twist.

The first time, Rook very much accidentally triggers him. They’re still in their honeymoon phase, still at the lighthouse. Everyone sits at the kitchen table. Manfred’S latest shenanigans are discussed. Rook, not for the first time, calls him their “skeleton son”.

“Do you have any children, Emmrich?”, asks Davrin. “Other than Manfred, of course.”

“Ah.” It’s said with a smile, but there’s a buried sadness there. “I’m afraid it wasn’t to be, no.”

“Not yet, anyway”, Davrin chuckles.

There’s a flash of concern on Emmrich’s face. His eyes meet Rook’s, who has already come to suspect this is a sensitive subject. They swoop in to save him.

“Oh, he knows he’s welcome to try and get me pregnant whenever he wants”, they say, their voice dripping with innuendo. They take potions regularly to make sure it doesn’t happen, which Emmrich knows. Their intention is to gross the others out so much the subject gets dropped.

Lucanis chokes on his coffee. Taash boos. Davrin tells them to get a room. The conversation moves on. But Rook catches Emmrich’s glance, his face blank, eyes dark. As soon as the topic is well and truly forgotten he leans in, whispers: “A word, dearest”, his voice tense in a way that gives Rook anxiety. They excuse themselves from the table and Rook earnestly worries that they’ve offended him. They barely make it through the door to Emmrich’s library before he has Rook pinned against the nearest wall. Rook knows Emmrich as an attentive lover, giving to a fault. More often than not, Rook has to do a bit of sweet-talking before Emmrich lets his own pleasure be the focus, and wringing little sighs from him has become one of Rook’s favourite games. Right now, Emmrich is whimpering into Rook’s mouth, groping them with a neediness that renders him clumsy. Rook is more than willing to help. They are undressed within moments, and Emmrich in on them again immediately, taking just enough time to position them both against the desk for support.

It doesn’t take long before they are soaking wet, mainly because this new side of Emmrich turns them on so much they think they might just black out. Usually, Emmrich tends to lavish them with praise, and the way his voice falters in between declarations of affection when he’s losing control is the hottest thing Rook has ever heard - until tonight. Because right now, Emmrich, who usually doesn’t shut up right until the very end, is unmistakably too horny to form words. He enters them with a cry that is equal parts need and relief, as if every second leading up to their union had him in agony. Rook wraps themselves around him, cooing into his ear that yes, Maker, he feels good, this is so right, they want him so much. The one word that makes it over Emmrich’s lips is Rook’s name, uttered over and over, a moan, a whisper, a plea. Emmrich doesn’t last long, and he comes with a groan from so deep within his soul it seems entirely removed from his speaking voice.

Rook wraps their arms tight around Emmrich as he catches his breath against their neck. They can sense his mind kicking back into gear, ever overthinking.

“That”, they whisper into his ear before he can even begin to feel self-conscious about what just happened, “was amazing.”

Emmrich huffs a laugh that is muffled by Rook’s skin. He sounds incredulous. They untangle from each other, just enough for Emmrich to rest his forehead against Rook’s. His smile is somewhat sheepish, but his eyes glow with adoration.

“I truly wish I could explain”, he says.

“Oh, I think I got the gist of it”, Rook says with a grin.

The way he spoils Rook after feels almost like an apology. Rook wishes he left them with enough breath to say there’s nothing to be sorry for. Then again: They’ll have time enough to talk later.

[cupcakeslushie]

How many “seasons” of Empyrean Weeping do you have planned? Rise canonically had two seasons and a movie and you mentioned that there will be a “season 3” (for Raph, Splinter and the Rat King).

Additional question: Do you have any characters in your au that are just straight up original characters? Like characters that are not from any other incarnation of TMNT, kinda like how Draxum and Big Mama are new additions to the TMNTVerse.

I pretty much only have solid plans for one more season after s1, s2, and the movie (even assuming I’ll make it that far lol) and season three will be completely my own. I really want to do my take on the whole pantheon concept, and mixing it into yokai lore. I’ve already started to introduce the idea as we saw in the last few parts of Leo’s arc, and more will be sprinkled in as we go, until it gets the full spotlight in season three!

If I can come up with more ideas after that, and Im still having as much fun creating this thing, as much as I am now, then I hope I can keep it going even longer!

At the moment, since there are so many tmnt characters that we never got to see a Rise version of, I don’t have too much interest in creating any of my own OCs. I’ve never really been one for that, anyway. I think I do better with a base to start from and mooshing it around until I’ve made it my own. Tmnt is great for that. There’s like a 100+ interesting character library to pull from!

[nislost]

unvirgin | chapter 6

warnings: suggestive, people being mean again

(written + smau)

you’re driving back to your apartment after you finished your class. you have 2 hours to get ready and you need to look good. you quickly jump in the shower to shave and take off all that school stench off of you.

after two hours you check how you look in the mirror and you feel good. wearing the two piece outfit your friends voted on that consisted of a tight miniskirt that matched the cropped jacket you had and platform heels because who are you without your heels?

you rush out the door and make your way to the library after you notice you’re 5 minutes late. at least you’ll be fashionably late! you walk into the library searching for the black haired boy and when you do you smile walking your way over. tapping jeno on his shoulder he turns around startled.

“sorry i’m late” you whisper giving him an apologetic smile. “i-it’s fine don’t worry” he whispers before clearing his voice his eyes looking everywhere but you. you giggle at his nervous state before sitting in the empty seat next to him. you noticed he looked good really good…why? well he’s wearing the number 1 kitty cat defeater. gray sweatpants and a matching hoodie.

“so what did you need help with?” jeno asks softly not to bother others around. “everything” you groan “i swear math is my worst enemy” he chuckles at your words. “okay let’s start from the beginning of the topic we’re currently learning” he says as he takes out a stack of textbooks from his bag causing your jaw to drop.

your reaction makes him giggle which in return causes you to pout. “stop laughing at my pain” you mutter. you prepare mentally and physically for the time you’ll be spending here.

30 minutes in your brain is hurting and you’re completely frustrated. you begin working on a problem jeno gave you until your ears pick up a conversation behind you “omg did you see y/n with jeno?” one voice says “omg yeah i bet she’s trying to get into his pants” the other voice replies with a giggle. you can’t blame them you have a reputation, but it doesn’t give them the right to talk about you like that. “she’s such a fucking slut. poor jeno” the first voice says.

jeno notices your mood change and the conversation behind him. “i heard she fucked the principal and that’s why she’s here” they just kept going. they were wrong the reason you even got into this university was because you (kinda) tried in high school. don’t get you wrong you never studied or anything you just did the bare minimum and that got you a 3.4 gpa.

your friends wondered what happened since then and it’s just because you lost motivation and wanted to have more fun, but look where that landed you. you get up from your seat causing jeno to look at you confused and worried. you give him a smile “i’ll be right back” you state before you walking over to where those girls were.

seeing you in front of them made them shocked “what? you can talk shit about me behind my back why not in my face” you raise your brow waiting for them to respond. they just look at each other before one of them finally speaks up. “w-well it’s not like we’re wrong! look at yourself you dress like a prostitute” she spits out. the other girl taps her friend and points somewhere behind you. you turn around confused and see jeno.

“what’s going on here?” he asks. both the girls in front of you begin to stutter “n-nothing” “nothing at all! we’re just talking about how much we love y/n’s outfit” you roll your eyes at their words. jeno just hums in response before grabbing your arm and taking you back to your table. “anyways let’s continue our tutoring. don’t let anyone distract you.” he says giving you back your pencil.

you sigh before continuing solving the equations given.

2 hours pass and you’ve grown tired. “do you think we can stop for today?” you ask letting out a yawn. jeno chuckles before nodding. “oh i forgot to ask earlier but what would you want in return for you helping me? money, food or something else? i’m okay with doing anything” you turn to him. jeno ponders seeing if there is anything you could possibly help or do for him.

“can- no never mind that’s too embarrassing to ask for” he says blushing and looking away. this interests you a lot and makes you wonder. “just ask i already said id do anything” you say softly somewhat implying something. “i-i can’t” he stutters his nervousness makes you grin. you place a hand on his thigh to “comfort” him and it causes him to flinch. “jeno you can tell me” you pout tilting your head. he looks at the hand on his thigh then up at you.

“i have no experience…in you know” he mutters because you could hardly hear him you lean in closer “repeat what you said louder” he looks at you all flustered which makes something purr and it’s definitely not your pet cat at home. “can you h-help me um” he groans “take your time baby” you giggle. his ears perk up at the nickname you didn’t even realize you said.

“can you um unvirgin me?” he says softly looking at you with a vulnerable expression. you can’t help but giggle “unvirgin? seriously?” he looks at you embarrassed. “jeno are you sure? wouldn’t you want to save something like that for someone special?” you giggle again “i have no experience and everyone around our age has at least done it once and all my friends tease me” he looks at you with a pleading gaze.

“fine. i’ll unvirgin you, but only if i pass a math test. just so that’ll give you time to think this through” you stand up. jeno quickly nods before standing up as well and walking you to your car. “u-uh ill text you about our next session” he stutters slightly which makes him want to punch himself. you nod before driving off.

previous / next

taglist: @jenoleeaesthetic @yukisroom97 @4yunogf @iloveyou200 @antifrggile @t-102 @n0hyuck @cigarettesafterjae @bellymellyyyy @dudekiss3r @puzzlepiece-mp3 @nctdreamchaser @snoopyjimin @taeeflwrr @whothefvckami @minkyuncutie @sungsgirl @sunghoonsgfreal @toroufriteh @cookydream @flamingi @purrzitas @grassbutneo

[massivedrickhead]

merry christmas, merry christmas (but i think i’ll miss this one this year)

Words: 1907

Summary: Chloe isn’t going home for Christmas, and her aim is to make it to the 25th without the Bellas finding out.

Notes: Merry Pitchmas @psychoteacher90, I’m your secret santa! So, confession time - I misread the initial message and thought you’d said you like a little angst sprinkled in with your fluff, but after I re-read it last night I realised it said you could tolerate it… I hope you like this anyway, and next year I’m definitely going to read the message more than once 🙈

Read on AO3

@merry-pitchmas

-

“Hey, when are you going home for Christmas?”

The question caught Chloe off guard. Not because she wasn’t expecting it, she just wasn’t expecting it so early into December. 

She thought she’d have more time to come up with an answer. A lie that wouldn’t result in further questions. 

But she didn’t get that time. Beca asked her on the first weekend of December while eating toast with one hand and scrolling through her phone with the other. 

“Oh, I dunno yet,” Chloe replied, trying to sound casual. “Why?”

Beca shrugged. “Just wondering.” 

Chloe thought about maybe telling her the truth. The Bellas’ house was quiet for once, with the rest of the girls either still in bed, or out, or home for the weekend. 

Now would be as good a time as any. 

She opened her mouth to speak but shut it just as quickly. 

No, not now. 

Besides, she didn’t usually go home until a few days before Christmas Eve. Anything could happen between now and then. 

-

Beca asked again a few weeks later, a scowl on her face as she squinted at her phone.

“Do you know when you’re leaving for Christmas yet?” She asked. “I’m trying to organise the Bella’s Christmas party, and no one is free on the same night. Since when were a capella nerds so popular?”

Chloe couldn’t help but smile and roll her eyes as she pulled Beca’s phone out of her hand. 

“You’ll give yourself a headache,” she said, looking down at their shared calendar. Chloe had completely forgotten all about their Christmas party, which was especially surprising since she was the one who had organised it for the past few years.

It was true, there was no night that was free. Each square ticking down to December 25th contained a coloured dot representing at least one of the Bellas and their plan for that day.

Chloe noticed her own baby blue dot was the only one absent. There were no Christmas market trips, or festive nights out with classmates, or neighbourhood carolling. 

She hadn’t been feeling particularly Christmassy this year.

“I guess we just skip it this year,” Chloe said, handing Beca back her phone.

Beca raised her eyebrows. “Skip it?”

Chloe shrugged. “I don’t see any other option, everyone is busy.”

Beca shook her head and looked back at her phone. “You love the Christmas party. I’ll figure it out. Even if we have it at 2 pm on a Tuesday.”

“I wouldn’t stress about it,” Chloe said, standing up from the sofa and grabbing their dishes from the coffee table. “It isn’t important.”

“You didn’t answer my question by the way,” Beca asked, looking up from her phone as Chloe stood. “When are you going to your parents?”

I’m not. 

“I don’t know yet.”

-

Their Christmas party never happened, but Chloe didn’t notice. Or, at least, she pretended not to.

She had been trying to spend the majority of her December trying to pretend that the holiday didn’t exist.

When the Bellas had decorated the tree, Chloe had been hiding in the library.

When they made gingerbread houses, she went to the gym.

When they got drunk on Amy’s mulled wine, she’d been studying in her room, ignoring Beca’s repeated attempts to get her to join them.

For the amount of time Chloe had spent trying to avoid Christmas, Beca had spent double trying to get her involved.

Chloe couldn’t blame her, she knew she wasn’t herself, but she still couldn’t bring herself to tell Beca the truth. 

It would start a much bigger conversation that Chloe wasn’t ready for. One she’d never intended on having in the first place.

She kept it buried and tried to avoid Beca as much as she could for the next couple of days.

-

“Are you sure you don’t need a ride to the airport?” Beca asked on the 23rd. 

“I’m sure,” Chloe said. “You were supposed to leave for your Dad’s like 20 minutes ago, you’ll be late.”

Beca looked at her watch but still dithered. “You’ll text me when you land?”

“Yes,” Chloe said. “Get out of here already.”

“Jeez, Merry Christmas to you too,” Beca said, giving Chloe a hug. 

“Merry Christmas,” Chloe replied, trying not to hold on too tightly. 

She needed Beca to leave, because if she didn’t she might cry.

“See you next year, I guess,” Beca said, ending their hug and grabbing her keys from the counter. 

“Drive safe,” Chloe said.

Beca raised a hand in farewell before closing their door behind her. 

Chloe’s tears fell quickly after.

She picked up her suitcase and carried it back to her room before dumping out the contents on her floor. 

Her plan had worked. 

She would make it through Christmas without anyone finding out she’d spent it alone. Without anyone finding out why she’d spent it alone. 

-

Later that night there was a knock at the door which Chloe assumed was the pizza she’d ordered. 

She had assumed wrong.

Beca was standing on their doorstep, hands shoved into her pockets because she’d forgotten her gloves.

Chloe could only stare back, mouth slightly agape. She swallowed. She could still get out of this. 

“Forget your keys or something?”

“You aren’t going to Florida.” It wasn’t a question, and Chloe couldn’t argue. She was standing there in her pyjamas after all. Her hair up in a towel, face scrubbed of makeup. It was hours after her supposed flight was supposed to have taken off.

“What are you doing here?” Chloe asked, her shoulders dropping. 

“I could ask you the same question.”

Chloe sighed and stood aside so Beca could come in. “Fine,” she said. “I’m not going to Florida. Your turn to answer.”

Beca tilted her head as if confused. “I came here for you,” she said. “You aren’t spending Christmas on your own.” Again, it wasn’t a question.

“Beca-”

“Look, you’ve been distant and sad since Thanksgiving, and I’m guessing it has something to do with you not going home for Christmas,” Beca said. “And you don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to - and I’m assuming you don’t otherwise you’d have said something before now - but just because you aren’t going home, doesn’t mean you have to spend Christmas alone.”

Chloe opened her mouth to speak, but she was cut off by another knock on the door, and this time it was the pizza guy.

“I’m fine,” Chloe said, returning from the door with her pizza. “I have pizza, and trashy movies, and wine. I’ve spent plenty of days by myself before, and this one won’t be any different. It’s just a day, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“I don’t think you believe that,” Beca said. “But, whatever, if you don’t want to spend it with me that’s fine.” Beca pulled out her phone. “But you also have an invite from Jessica to spend it with her family, as well as Ashley, Flo, Legacy, Cynthia Rose, Amy, and Stacie also told me to tell you you could crash her and Aubrey’s Christmas plans. Also Lily offered too, but she also mentioned something about needing a sacrificial lamb, so maybe don’t go to her place.”

Chloe laughed and shook her head, tears burning her eyes.

“Even if you can’t go back to Florida, you can still spend Christmas with your family. Maybe not the one you were born into, but a one that loves you.”

“I don’t want to impose-”

“Chloe I had barely finished typing out my message to them, and all the Bellas were falling over themselves to invite you to their homes. You’re not an imposition.”

“And you?”

“I said I had first dibs,” Beca said. “Plus, this way I’ll get to give you your present. I pulled your name in Secret Santa this year.”

“I didn’t do Secret Santa,” Chloe responded, confused.

“Fine, I pulled Legacy but I have a gift for you anyway.” Beca took hold of Chloe’s hands. “Come on,” she said. “Sheila bought a turkey that’s way too big, my dad needs someone to talk about books with, and I… I want to spend Christmas with you.”

Chloe pulled her teeth across her bottom lip before she eventually nodded her head. 

They ate the pizza while Chloe changed and packed, and then they piled into the car for the short drive to Beca’s dad’s house.

“How did you know that I wasn’t going home?”

“Your flight didn’t exist,” Beca replied. “And I just had a feeling that there was something you weren’t telling me. You haven’t been yourself.”

“I know,” Chloe said. “I’m sorry I’ve been so… Well, you know. I just didn’t want to get into it.”

“You still don’t have to if you don’t want to. But I’m here to listen if you do.”

Chloe didn’t respond right away. She rested her head against the passenger window and watched the flurry of snow begin to fall. 

“I had a fight with my parents at Thanksgiving,” Chloe said.

Beca turned down the music, but didn’t interrupt.

“Things have been tense with them for a while,” Chloe said. “It all sort of boiled over. They overheard me on the phone to Aubrey… Heard me talk about stuff they didn’t know about me and… Yeah. A lot of yelling later and I was, I mean disowned sounds so serious but I guess… I guess that’s what it was.” 

Chloe tried to swallow the lump in her throat but it wouldn’t budge. 

She recognised where they were, and knew they’d be entering Beca’s neighbourhood soon. She wanted to pull herself together before then.

“Jesus,” Beca said, her voice just above a whisper. “I mean unless you were confessing to multiple murders on the phone to Aubrey, I don’t-”

“I was telling her about someone I like. About… About a girl I like.”

“Oh,” Beca said, glancing across the car. “They didn’t know?”

“No,” Chloe said. 

“I’m really sorry, Chloe. You… You don’t deserve that. And they don’t deserve you.”

Chloe sniffed. “I know.” They pulled into Beca’s drive but neither made a move to get out of the car. Chloe could see the glow of Christmas lights through the window, and she felt a pang of homesickness mixed with a rush of gratitude for Beca. “Thank you for coming back for me.”

“I always will,” Beca said. “I hope you know how loved you are, Chloe.”

They sat in silence for a little while longer before Beca spoke again. “So, there’s a girl you like, huh? Anyone I know?”

Chloe laughed. “You know, considering you were able to figure out I lied about going to Florida, you can be a little oblivious sometimes.”

“It’s that obvious? It can’t be Stacie or Aubrey, or Jessica or Ashley. Is it Emily? Or Cynth-”

Beca’s voice died in her throat as Chloe pressed their lips together.

“Oh.”

“I get it if you don-”

It was Chloe’s turn to be cut off as Beca pulled her back into a kiss. 

They didn’t break apart until they heard the front door of the house being pulled open. 

Light from the hall spilled out into the driveway.

Beca’s Dad sighed. “Sheila, I owe you 20 bucks!” He shouted before shutting the door again.

Chloe giggled, and Beca felt it in her chest.

“I guess we should go inside,” Chloe said.

“I guess we should. Merry Christmas, Chloe.”

“Merry Christmas, Beca.”

They kissed again.

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XXIX)

The difference between Abuse and Power

Read part one // Master-post // Continued from here

Sorry it took so long!!! But I made this chapter extra long to make up for it guys!!! I hope you enjoy💛

Merry Christmas and Happy New year!!! I hope you all have a great time and mind yourselves. Thank you all for your words of encouragement during the rough time and making me smile and laugh while I was stuck in the dreaded prison of writer's block, but we are back babyyyyyy.... enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*

Kit heard Ambrose walking behind him. He tried his best to ignore him, but it didn’t really work because Ambrose’s stupid socked feet padded close behind as Kit walked the length of the first floor, away from Nathan and Jude. Away from the stairs Jude threw him down. Away from the abomination of healing and power that Nathan possessed.

“Kit,” Ambrose said eventually. Kit continued walking. He went through the next door on his left which opened up into a nice cozy looking library or study, or something, and walked over to the soft, navy plush couch in the far corner. He dropped into it, deflating like a balloon or a marionette with its strings cut. That’s all he was really, wasn’t it? A puppet.

Black eyes appeared in front of him, pleading, dark brows falling over them like a pitiful, sad puppy. “Kit, listen to me, everything I said and did before… I—”

“Don’t want to hear it?” Kit suggested, his shoulders bunched up around his ears. He felt his eyes water as he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth to stop it from quivering like a child. He raised his blue, bloodshot eyes to meet Ambrose’s stupid fucking demonic black ones.

“I don’t—” Kit said, scoffed, shrugged and ran his hands through his hair until his fingers tightened on the strands and started tugging on them just to show the kind of storm that was roaring in his mind outwardly. Not that Ambrose had to see a physical representation of his desperation. His blue eyes burned and red flashed across them like the glint of moonlight off a blade. Ambrose shrunk away from his crouch. His eyes widened slightly. “I don’t want to fucking hear it! Any of it. Your apologies, your guilt, your fucking excuses!”

Ambrose sat back onto his heels, even his stupid chocolate curls bounced perfectly, and Kit scoffed exasperated, ran a hand down his face, and wiped furiously at his tears with his thumb and index finger.

“I don’t give a fuck if you feel some kind of fucked up bond to me or whatever, Oskar!” Ambrose flinched. Good, Kit thought bitterly. He wanted it to hurt. He wanted to fucking affect this bastard somehow. “I don’t care if you feel bad now, because trust me, we both know you didn’t give two shits when you thought I was just some random hero to terrorise!”

“Kit—” Kit lurched forward, getting his face close to Ambrose’s, his nose curled up in disgust.

“What happened to puppet, huh? What happened to a dog that only exists to obey? I would rather you looked at me like… like I was some fucking plaything for you to break and discard, instead of whatever fucking way you’re looking at me now. You’re—” Kit sucked in a breath, struggling not to hyperventilate. “You’re fucking sick, Rosey. You disgust me. And now I’m on house arrest from your crazy ex-boyfriend, who you seem to hate, but let’s face it, Rosey…”

Kit said. He licked his lips as if he had to prepare them for what he was about to say as he leaned in ever so slightly closer, lowering his voice to a whisper as he got close to Ambrose’s curls covered ear. “What kind of sane person would love you anyways?”

The door to the room swung open. Kit slunk back from Ambrose, his eyes dead and lifeless, expecting to be hurt for daring to insult Nathan’s precious toy but he didn’t care. It was worth it to see Ambrose flinch… to see him crestfallen for once.

But then why didn’t it feel good?

Why did he feel worse than before?!

Why has he become this cruel, hard thing? Was he always this way? Did Ambrose just hold up a mirror and reveal that to—

A flash of hands. Kit didn’t flinch, but his gaze snapped up to cold, furious silver eyes and eyes as cool as a lump of coal. “No,” Ambrose said, his voice soft.

“But—”

“No.” Kit’s eyes flickered back to Ambrose because that wasn’t sad, pathetic guilt-ridden Oskar speaking, that was Omen; commanding, controlled, even. A smirk slid its way onto Ambrose’s face, his black eyes turned even darker, glinting like light off a shard of onyx or jet, filled with humour and sardonic knowing and cruelty. A shiver ran down Kit’s spine as Ambrose used his leverage on Nathan’s hand to raise himself to his feet.

He didn’t break eye contact with Kit as he stood to his full height, which Kit only remembered was a good head taller than him, and then there were two sadistic giants looming over him. Kit fought the urge to shrink back and swallow. He wasn’t going to show them he was afraid. What would they do? Kill him? That would give him his first peaceful night’s sleep in weeks. Months?

“Oskar…” Omen tightened his fingers around Nathan’s wrist and brought his hand to his lips. Nathan stilled as Ambrose wrapped a second hand around Nathan’s long fingers, curling them as he lifted and pressed a kiss to Nathan’s knuckles.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, darling,” Ambrose said, his voice roiling like smooth velvet. Black eyes slunk towards Kit’s. “Especially not with the likes of washed-up heroes before their prime.”

Nathan stepped closer to Ambrose, his back to Kit. “I could kill him for you. Make you a scarf out of his entrails.”

Omen chuckled. Kit’s blood ran cold at the sound. He forgot how silently terrifying Omen could be; how terrifying Ambrose could be.

“You’re sweet,” is all Ambrose replied. He leaned up on his toes to kiss Nathan. Soft, sweet, short, before he pulled away. “But no. He’s used up already. I thought he would be fun to play with, but you can see as well as I can…”

Kit swallowed audibly, his fingers tightened into fists on his thighs as he looked away from the statue staring him down, making him feel two inches tall. “He’s got nothing inside worth taking anymore. He’s given up. He’s not worth the effort.”

Kit stared furiously at the bookshelf to his left, eyes skimming colourful titles trying to ignore the stabbing pain of betrayal in his chest. Isn’t that what he wanted? For Ambrose to stop pretending? Isn’t that why he poked and prodded him until—

“Kit,” Kit’s eyes widened as he felt Omen’s ability ghost through his mind like brain freeze. He shot up off the couch, and grabbed Ambrose’s arm, tightened, pleading.

“Rosey, don’t, pl—”

Ambrose grabbed Kit’s cheeks in one hand and squeezed tightly until Kit’s lips were forced to form a small ring. Kit’s hand shot up and grabbed Ambrose’s wrist, about to beg and plead again. Weren’t they past this? Was this all his fault? Was Ambrose really—

“I think you need a nice, long nap, Kit, don’t you?”

“No!” Kit protested.

“Mmmm, your eyes are feeling so heavy though, aren’t they? And your limbs are exhausted, and you need a really good rest to recover and fight again when you wake don’t you?”

Kit let out a small whine in the back of his throat… because yes, he was feeling tired, and a blissful sleep sounded so fucking good right now. At least then he could turn off the blaring voice in his head screaming danger, danger, danger at him.

“What danger, Kit?” Ambrose asked, his voice so soft and so, so far… away, as if it was a distant melody floating through the air in the other side of the house. Kit swayed on his feet and fell into Ambrose’s open arms. What danger was right, what was he thinking about? His thoughts were liquifying quickly in his mind and sliding slowly away from consciousness. “There we go,” Ambrose cooed, putting his fingers through Kit’s hair. “That’s it, just relax. You want to sleep, don’t you, Kit?”

“Yeah,” Kit mumbled. He went boneless against the villain as Ambrose sat the two of them on the couch again. Ambrose sat down where Kit was before and dragged Kit down with him who was too tired to resist. Kit curled up on the couch as Ambrose gently put Kit’s head on his lap which was as comfortable as a luxurious pillow. Maybe shutting his eyes for a few minutes would be okay, wouldn’t it? He needed his strength after all and… he yawned as Ambrose brushed a hand through his wild, uncut hair.

“That’s right, just a few minutes sleep, and you’ll feel amazing when you wake up.” Ambrose said. Kit didn’t really hear him, but he hummed in reply as his eyes shuttered closed, blissfully unaware of the scorching silver eyes glaring down at him.

***

Ambrose continued to stroke Kit’s hair as the hero’s breath evened out. Ambrose felt his weight droop heavier against him, drifting deeper into sleep in a matter of moments. He could feel Nate’s eyes on him, but he didn’t bother to look up at him, keeping his eyes fixed on the boy’s sleeping head and soft breaths. It was easier to ignore the questions in Nathan’s head and eyes and just focus on the sleeping Hero on him.

God, if only Kit would stay this way forever.

Not that Ambrose would want that, but it would be easier. Why did he have to fight him on everything? Even things that were good for him! It was… exhausting. If this is what having children felt like, Ambrose was almost certain he didn’t want any of the vile things… especially not if Kit remained in his life after all this was over.

He was enough of a handful as it was.

“Why Oskar?” Nate asked, his voice suddenly, terribly vulnerable.

Ambrose didn’t look at him. “I don’t know, Nate. I guess… I told you already. I took too much from him already.”

“That’s a cop out. We both know it.”

Ambrose shrugged. “Think what you want.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Ambrose knew it the moment it left his lips in a tired, defeated sigh. He could feel Nathan’s demeanour shift from confused to defensive in a second, his stance tensing, the air changing around them, becoming thick in Ambrose’s throat.

“Well, if you won’t give me any straight answers, how about I wake him, and ask—” Ambrose’s head snapped up, black eyes catching silver in their void stare.

“You’ll do no such thing.”

Nathan scoffed and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You’re impossible when you’re protective. This is like the Catherine situation all over again.”

Ambrose stiffened. “Don’t talk about her.”

Nathan smirked. He crossed his long arms over his torso, silver eyes gleaming. “It’s true,” he said with a shrug of a shoulder. An attempt to be casual that was anything but. “You always liked to collect strays, Oskar, it’s like a passion project of yours.”

Nathan’s eyes went to Kit in Ambrose’s lap, his fingers wound through the boy’s hair. “Though,” he continued, his voice dipping as his eyes caught Ambrose’s again. “This one you and your father have to share.”

Ambrose’s nostrils flared. “You’re just being cruel for the sake of it now, Nate.”

“So, what if I am?”

“Well, what about you, then?”

Nathan blinked.

“You and all your posturing and grandstanding, how you can absorb so many people’s abilities— mine, Jude’s, my father’s, Kit’s…” Ambrose listed, shrewdness possessing his weighted gaze as he tilted his head at his ex. “How you pretend it doesn’t bother you to hold all that power inside and maintain it there.”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

It was Ambrose’s turn to scoff. The edge of his lips quipped up. “You say that, but I saw how weak you were after healing his wounds. You went pale after, dearest. If you think I wouldn’t notice that then you don’t know me at all.”

Nathan stared down his nose at Ambrose and the sleeping Hero. His eyes softened. “No… maybe I don’t anymore.”

Ambrose swallowed as Nate unfolded his arms. He walked a step closer and leaned down. Ambrose barely suppressed the flinch, but it didn’t matter because Nate could feel Ambrose’s stiffness when he pressed a kiss to his forehead. He smiled against the skin and pulled back.

“I’ll leave you to it.” He said, one hand still lingering on Ambrose’s cheek. He froze midway, and his touch turned bruising as he tilted Ambrose’s head to the side and forced him to look into his swirling, silver eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid, darling. You know how much I hate bruises on your pretty face.”

Ambrose stared as Nathan released him, watching as his psychotic ex walked away, grabbed the door and slammed it shut on the way out. Ambrose couldn’t suppress the flinch that time as he stared down at Kit. He didn’t stir. Still sound asleep. Unaware of Ambrose’s tremors of fear at Nathan’s farewell threat.

Oh, he knew how much Nathan hated bruises on his face alright… he knew all too well just how cruel he could truly be.

***

Six years ago…

Oskar and Max stumbled out of the University pub and down the streets back to their apartment in Old Town. God, what a night. What a glorious night, and how long had it been since Oskar could just let loose with Max like that? Get absolutely hammered. He laughed as he threw an arm around Max’s shoulder.

“I love you, Max.”

“That’s really gay,” Max replied, and the pair burst into snorting laughter. Oskar craned his neck down and pressed a wet kiss to Max’s hair as they walked towards Fagan’s lot. They didn’t notice the group of four guys approaching them until one of them shoulder checked Max.

“Woah!” Max said and Oskar turned, about to tell the dicks to watch it when one of them muttered something that chilled him to the core and froze him in place.

“Fucking fags.”

Max grabbed at Oskar’s arm, sensing the shift in his posture. “Oskar come on. They’re small minded—”

“Excuse me,” Oskar hissed. The men stopped and turned. Oskar shrugged Max’s hand off.

“Oskar, just leave it.” Max said.

“No, I won’t just leave it. What did these pricks mutter but not have any fucking balls to say to our faces, huh?”

Oskar went towards the tallest, broadest guy and shoved him back. “Huh? What the fuck did you say?”

“Oskar!”

“You better back off, lamppost and listen to your boyfriend or you’re gonna get hurt.” The tall— well, tallest of the group — broad man stank of beer and had a truly hideous beard. Both of which Oskar personally took offence to.

Oskar straightened to his full height, a good head and shoulders taller than this piece of shit and grinned sadistically down at him.

“You tell him Mitch.” One of the others said.

“Yeah,” another chimed in, “run back to your boyfriend, faggot.”

Oskar’s head snapped to the offender. He was the shortest of the group, blond – obviously he was fucking blond – with tiny pubic hairs tweezed onto his chin in the mock shadow of stubble. He was stick thin and looked like a fucking weasel with a sharp pointed nose and tiny squinting eyes.

“Number one,” Oskar said, holding a bony finger up. “Ew. I wouldn’t date this man if he was the last man on earth,” Oskar said.

Max blinked behind him. “Uh, ouch?!”

Oskar glanced back over his shoulder. “Hush. You know I love you.”

“Fucking queers, I swear to—”

Oskar turned back to glare at the men again. “Two, it’s fucking homophobic to use the words faggot and queer in a derogatory manner towards my friend and I, and I think you should fucking apologise. Right now.”

“Or what?” Mitch challenged stepping forward.

Oskar’s eyes darkened. “Or else. You only get one chance to do the decent thing.” He said, holding his index finger up, his dark eyes searched Mitch’s face, trying to convey how serious he was. “One.”

“Show this fucking princess what real men do.”

Oskar sighed, his head dipped, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “I did warn you.”

Mitch went to throw a punch and Oskar stepped back. He caught Mitch’s arm and punched him in the face before shoving him back and kicking him away. Oskar brushed away the curls that fell into his eyes before throwing his arms up in defence of his face from another of the dick’s punches.

“For,” Max began, punctuating his sentence with punches, “fuck’s” punch and the guy went down, “sake, Oskar.”

Oskar grinned. “They’re little bitches, Max, what do—”

Oskar’s head whipped to the side suddenly. He didn’t see his attacker come upon him until he was already hit, fire raging in his cheekbone and someone was cursing as a fist drew back. Another blow came from below, knuckles cracking against his jaw. Oskar stumbled back. His head turned skyward as his bottom teeth snapped against his top and ricocheted through his skull.

He didn’t see the third blow come for his solar plexus. The fist landed and Oskar shot forward as he wheezed a startled sound. A hand caught his cheek and slammed a palm against his nose. Oskar cried out as blood gushed down his face, gasping as he stumbled back again, the world dizzy with tears as his eyes watered reflexively.

Then.

Heat in front of him.

Oranges and yellows licked against the air, standing between Oskar and the homophobes. Warm blood turned cold as it poured from Oskar’s nose and trickled down through his fingers and onto his clothes.

“Yeah, who’s the little bitch now?”

Max scoffed. “Fuck off, asshole.”

“Should’ve known you were freaks too,” one of them said. Oskar’s eyes narrowed, tears spilling over his eyelids as he straightened. He could feel his eyes go the same red as his blood and he put a hand on Max’s shoulder, stepping past him.

“Oskar,” Max said. Caution coloured his voice as Oskar stepped around the human fire ball. “Don’t.”

“Fuck it, why not?”

“Oskar! You can’t—”

“Mitch,” Oskar said. The words sounded as sweet as a melody. Irresistible, and why would you want to resist? He knew the moment it hit Mitch’s ears because he paused as the honeyed words swam into his ears. “Kiss the best looking of your friends.”

Mitch obeyed without question.

He chose the second strongest of the four, grabbed his cheeks and slammed his lips against them. The other two, including the little weasel looked a little annoyed more than angered by the fact that Mitch didn’t find them attractive.

Oskar tilted his head to the side and grinned horribly at them. “Aww, feeling left out, uglies? It’s okay. The two of you kiss too.”

“Itch… off…” the good-looking one said, trying to shove Mitch off of him.

“Oskar! Stop it!”

“Why should I?” Oskar demanded, his little finger twitching as rage consumed him. “Maybe I should make them fuck each other in the street like dogs. Maybe then they’ll learn some fucking manners.”

Heat singed the edges of Oskar’s ear, burning away the stray baby curls. Oskar gasped, jumping to the left and cupping his ear with his hand. He looked over his shoulder to see Max glaring up at him.

“What the fuck?” He hissed.

“What the fuck yourself! Tell them to stop! Tell them to forget!”

Oskar straightened. His pride getting the better of him. “Why should I?”

“You know right well why Mr Law major! You know how unethical this is?! I’m serious. Tell them to stop right now, or else.”

Oskar kept Max’s burning stare for a moment longer before the rage dissipated like smoke in the darkness. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Fine,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he turned back to the group of dickheads.

He walked over to the group and told them, “okay loverboys. Enough.”

The group pulled away from each other disgusted. The good looking one, the one that had gotten the punches in on Oskar’s face wiped furiously at his mouth. “What the fuck, Mitchell? Why did you do that? What about Diane?”

Mitch stared at his hands, his face a putrid shade of red. “I- I… I don’t know why I did it… I-” He looked up then at Oskar who stood smugly, hands in his tailored trouser pockets, reeking of expensive cologne and tangible satisfaction. All a farce, a fake, a falsehood, the Oskar that Oskar created after his departure from his legacy role as a hero. “You…” Mitch said, raising a shaking hand. “It was you! You told me… and I- I couldn’t…”

Oskar tilted his head to the side, his smirk widening, exposing his teeth in a wolfish grin. “Couldn’t resist? Maybe you just really fancied him.”

A sharp slap to Oskar’s arm and he yelped as Max stepped up beside him, smog rising from his ears and Oskar felt his blood run cold. “Ow!”

“Tell them to forget. Now.”

“Forget?” The weasel one asked, looking just as terror struck as Mitch and the others. “Make us forget?!”

“You’re a monster!” The other one said.

Oskar bent low and said: “boo.”

The weasel actually flinched. Oskar would have laughed if Max wasn’t about to roast him over the grills of hell, so Oskar clapped his hands together. “Okay, idiots, listen up. You will forget you ever met me or Max tonight. You will forget our faces. You will forget you called us faggots. And…” Oskar glanced at Max sideways and grinned. “Whenever you think of calling someone queer or gay, or faggots, you will remember kissing your friends today. And you will also donate your life savings to a charity for LG–”

Oskar flinched when he felt a lick of heat against his face. “Okay. Not your life savings, but you will donate a small donation fee to any LGBT charity in the city and be general allies to the queer community from now on, capiche?”

The four men nodded dumbly. Oskar straightened with a clap. “Good. Wonderful. Later losers.”

Oskar walked off down Fagan’s lot whistling a happy tune. “Happy with yourself, are you?” Max asked behind him.

Oskar laughed. “Yup. Pretty damn satisfied.”

“That was fucked up, Oskar.” Oskar paused, his smile dimming. Max walked around to his front. “You know that was wrong.”

Oskar let out a huff of breath. “They were fucked up, Max! I’m sick of walking around like I don’t have this power! Something I can use to–”

“To ruin people’s lives?”

“You’re being dramatic.” Oskar said, waving away Max’s dramatics.

“No!” Max protested, gathering Oskar’s attention. “I’m not! Did you hear that guy? Mitch had a wife, or a girlfriend, what if he had kids?”

“Poor kids.” Oskar replied coldly.

Max grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him back against the wall. Oskar’s black eyes widened with surprise at Max’s force. “Don’t you see how fucked up that could be? Telling him to donate his life savings to a charity? What about his wife? His bills? His kids?”

“Maybe being a shitty person means you deserve to have your life fall apart!”

“Is that why yours did?” Max demanded, eyes ablaze. Oskar stiffened under Max’s knuckles. Max may as well have slapped him for the reaction his words caused. Max’s grip loosened. “Oskar…” he said softly.

“No,” Oskar replied. He ran a hand through his hair that had fallen over his eyes, casting them in shadow. God, he really needed a haircut. “No, you’re right. I… I was reckless and I was irresponsible and… you’re right. I’m sorry.”

A silence fell between them. After a minute, Max let go of Oskar’s shirt and let him stand up properly. A grin cracked Max’s handsome face then. “But… it was satisfying to see how horrified they were after kissing each other.”

Oskar grinned and let out a little laugh. “Right?” And just like that they were back to normal and walking down to their apartment block, laughing up the stairs and into the dingy apartment, Max struggling to open the door, having to kick it once, twice, three times, but it stayed stubbornly closed.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Max cursed, and shouldered the door open. The door slammed in and Max stumbled and nearly hit the floor if it wasn’t for Oskar grabbing his arm at the last second, laughing as Max cursed.

“Fucking door!”

“About time you got home.”

The two boys straightened at the voice. Oskar helped to steady Max before he went looking for his boyfriend in the apartment. “Nate? What’re you doing here?” Oskar asked with a big smile on his face. When Nate turned his expression immediately darkened and he was in front of Oskar in a second, hands cupping his cheeks and tilting his head up.

“What the fuck happened to your face?”

Oskar waved him away and went into give Nate a kiss, he missed him he realised. It had only been a few days since they had seen each other, but still. Oskar was drunk and his boyfriend was here, and he was happy.

Nate’s strong hands stopped Oskar from kissing him and Oskar let out a small whine. “What’re you–”

“What. The fuck. Happened to your face?” Nathan asked again and Oskar shrunk under the tightness in his tone. His fingers dug uncomfortably into Oskar’s cheeks and Oskar grabbed Nathan’s wrists and tried to pull them off, but he didn’t budge.

“Nate… Nate,” Oskar said, gasping, eyes pained and pleading. “Nathan, you’re hurting me!”

“What happened to your face?”

“Get off me, Nathan!”

Max appeared between the two and Nathan released Oskar. Oskar took a heavy step back; betrayal pinched his features tight on his face. Oskar shrunk under Nathan’s glare, horribly aware that he had done something wrong and now Nathan was mad, and he hated when Nate got mad.

“Just some douchebags, Nate,” Max said, cutting through the thick tension in the room. “It’s fine. We gave as good as we got.”

“Whoever laid a hand on you…” Nathan said, his voice small, but holding back the ferocity of a storm on the sea. His eyes bright with a cold fury. “Whoever dare hurt you…” he said, his expression softening as he stepped forward and cupped Oskar’s face in his hand again. Oskar flinched when Nathan put his hands on him and wanted to curl up at the look of hurt that passed across his boyfriend’s face. “Your poor face…”

“I’ll live,” Oskar whispered and stepped out of Nathan’s hold.

Max looked between the two. He threw his hands up. “Yeah. I’m also fine, Nate, thanks for asking.”

“Oh shush,” Nathan purred, waving Max away. “You’re like a cockroach, you’ll never die.”

“You could still show some concern. It wouldn’t hurt.”

Oskar excused him as he walked down the hall to the bathroom, his hands shaking violently as he slammed the door shut and locked it. He put his back against the door and gasped when he saw himself in the mirror above the sink. Fuck… fuck… fuck…

Fuck, tears welled up in his black eyes and Oskar felt sick suddenly. A warm feeling climbed his stomach, and he lurched towards the toilet and threw up into the bowl. Not a second later a knock at the door and Oskar froze.

“Osk? Babe, you okay?” Oskar had to tighten his fingers on the toilet to stop his hands from shaking.

It’s fine, he told himself. It’s just a crash from the adrenaline of the fight. It’s fine. He’s fine.

“Oskar?” A rattle of the doorknob and Oskar flinched hard again.

Yeah… the fight, totally what he was afraid of…

The next day when Oskar was walking back to the University, he passed a bloody crime scene that made his skin prickle and crawl, and his blood run cold. “Do we have an ID of the bodies?”

“Good thing we had their IDs, or they’d all be John Doe’s.” One of the investigators said. “I don’t know what did this, but it looks too violent for an animal, too… vicious. Calculated.”

Oskar stopped walking. “Mitchell… Dawkins…” One of the lead detectives said and Oskar turned back, and half ran home and up the stairs to his apartment. He had to throw up again as he stumbled into his apartment, sick to his stomach as nausea climbed thick up his oesophagus. All he could think of was Nathan’s hands on his face, the fury in his eyes… the… oh god… no… there… Nathan couldn’t have done something like that… but somewhere, somewhere deep down, Oskar knew he was lying to himself and that thought made him hurl more than the crime.

***

Ambrose stared down at the sleeping Hero in his lap, his bony fingers gently running through his matted hair, combing out the knots of dirt and blood. “Don’t worry, Kit,” Ambrose whispered. “I won’t let him do that to you. I promise. We’ll get out of here. Together. I promise. Just give me time.”

*~*~*~*~*

Tag-list [lmk if you wanna be added/removed}: @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @blood-enthusiast t t @tippytappytyping @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump @acer-whumpstuff @fa1rie @jesterrinobutter @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @dutifullykrispyland @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @ehobep

[zvdvdlvr]

Stealing the prompt on your holiday celebration post bc it would actually be so cute: Christmas shopping with Spencer Reid??

Christmas Shopping + Spencer Reid

It would be his first Christmas with you. I mean, Christmas while you’re dating. You’d been working with Spencer for a few years but it would be the first Christmas you shared while dating.

Everything, Spencer concluded, was better with you. Waking up to a text message from you was the perfext start to the day. Everything from plane rides, library dates, late-night snuggling, and dinner at a (not) Mexican joint had given Spencer so many happy memories. In fact, he was pretty confident that he could have no bad or unappealing memories with you. Until-

“Baby, it’s been two hours,” Spencer cooed to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you scoured the shelves at Ulta. “I’m sure we can just order this online.”

You sighed and compared the concealer in your hand to the concealer in the picture. “But…”

“Take a picture of it- or just tell me whatever colors you need- and we can go home,” he reasons. Spencer pressed a featherlight, teasing kiss to the fragile skin behind your ear. “Let’s go home, pretty girl.”

Spencer internally jumps for joy when your finallu relent with an “Okay…” and you swung through the checkout line. You shot him a glare when he pressed his car to the reader before you could even get your billfold from your pocket. Spencer just smiled at you. He would have paid for your atuff anyway (like he usually does whenever he has the chance) but he seriously wanted to leave.

“Thank you, my love,” you tell him. He rests his chin on your head as you lean into him and wait for the college student to wrap up your items.

He huma, glad to have finally finally completed the Giant Christmas Shopping Escapade.

[jaimexbrienne-fic-finder]

Any recos of Braime fic. Childhood friends or roommates Jaime and Brienne

Childhood Friends:

if i should fall behind (wait for me) by theworldunseen

Brienne is trying to enjoy her last moments of freedom before another dreadful season in King's Landing when Ser Jaime Lannister comes crashing back into her life.

I Don't Want to Toe the Line by everydayescapeartist

Jaime and Brienne share a lot over the years, growing up the children of parents who are the best of friends.  There’s something Jaime realizes they have yet to share and he’s hoping this year’s holiday party will be their best one yet.  (Also known as that cheesy JB mistletoe fic you didn’t really ask for but I felt compelled to write anyway.  Cheers!)

Unrestrained Summer Fun by tall_wolf_of_tarth

Genna Frey has a solid plan for the summer. She will rent a house in the Riverlands and wait for her divorce to finalise there. The house has a lovely backyard where her son Cleos can play and most importantly, there’s a hot neighbour living right next door - a fact that hopefully will add great value for Genna’s summer plans. Selwyn Tarth even has a daughter who is the same age as Genna’s Cleos.

Nothing can go wrong with this plan. And it doesn't, not at least until Genna's favourite nephew Jaime shows up.

Triple Dog Dare by pearly_rose

Brienne was a good daughter. An excellent student. An amazing goalkeeper. She was a rule follower. She always used her turn signals. She’d never even had a late fee from the library.

But Jaime, he was—a bad influence. Whenever he was around she felt her center of gravity shift, drawing her into his orbit with his golden curls, his sharp cheekbones, his even sharper eyes. His white teeth, flashing dangerous as a shark whenever he’d catch her eye and say, “I dare you…”

There was really only so much charm a seventeen-year-old girl could be immune to before she’d begin making objectively foolish choices.

Roommates:

This is Halloween by captainellie

Halloween definition: Surprisingly, how two roommates plus two kids become a family.

Aisle 17B by ikkiM

Grocery shopping with Jaime Lannister was a nightmare.

Vändpunkt by Lady_in_Red

Furniture shopping can test any relationship, but a day of shopping at IKEA with the roommate you want in your bed is much worse.

Three Months by hillaryschu

And so for three months now, Brienne has been Jaime’s flatmate. For three months they’ve been doing practically everything together. She’s been sitting across from him at breakfast, while he rubs the sleep out of his eyes and shovels cereal into his mouth. They’ve been carpooling to work—Jaime insisting on controlling the music, whether he is driving or not, and then talking over whatever he selects. They’ve met up with friends who give Brienne knowing looks that she blatantly ignores. For three months, Brienne’s been forced to watch Jaime putter around the apartment, sometimes in just a pair of low-slung sweatpants, golden hair sleep-mussed, arms stretching high above his head in an indecent display of tan skin and muscles. He’s always there, giving Brienne a hard time while also being gentle and supportive in a way that feels completely foreign. For three months now, Brienne has been steadily falling in love with him.

[and then smut happens]

Who Killed Andressa Drumm? by Abouqetofdaylillies

This is the only incomplete one on the list and please carefully read the warnings, but they are very much roommates!

Brienne Tarth has made a good life for herself. She comes from a good family, went a good school, and works a good job, as a caseworker with the Riverlands sector of Child Protective Services. Her job is her life, and she's never been much of a romantic.

But one day, she gets a call about an emergency placement; an infant has been found in the same apartment as their murdered mother. Brienne accepts the case to find that the detective assigned the Andressa Drumm's homicide is Jaime Lannister, former workplace jerk turned to unlikely workplace friend.

Jaime needs her help to solve Andressa's murder, and Brienne isn't willing to say no. Jaime pulls her into the case, and later, into his life.

Beast and the Beast by SigilBroken

The Gift by sdwolfpup

Jaime and Brienne are roommates, friends, but not -- much to Jaime's chagrin -- lovers. Can one special Christmas gift change that?

I settled in slowly to this house that you call home by brynnmck

He shrugs. "My honor has been maligned, I have to--"

"Your honor is in your dick?"

"Oh, it's not just my dick," he tells her, his grin going wicked. "It's also my hands, my tongue, my--"

"Stop." She waves her hands in front of her, trying to ward off the images that are suddenly flickering through her brain like a pornographic slideshow.

He crosses his arms over his chest, making his biceps bulge in a way that she's positive is intentional. "All I'm saying is that I bet I could get you screaming my name. And you obviously know I'm right, since you're too chicken to let me."

Brienne grits her teeth. She is absolutely not going to fool around with her semi-drunk, rebounding best friend and roommate because he dared her to. She is not. She is--

"Fine," she snaps. "Give it your best shot."

Or, "Fucking Your Way To Feelings in Five Weeks or Less"

Catfish scheme by tall_wolf_of_tarth

“I’m pretending to be a hot girl on tinder so I can match with my roomate and tell him Im coming over so he’ll clean the apartment”

Brienne pretends to be a hot girl in Tinder so Jaime would clean the apartment. Based on a tweet.

Roommate Wanted by JustAGirl24

Brienne is living in King's Landing and needs to save up some money, so she decides to put an ad on Petyrslist for a roommate. Imagine her surprise when Jaime Lannister arrives on her doorstep.

[fantasyinvader]

In Houses, there was this mention in the library

A continent to the southwest of Fódlan. Due to its extreme distance from Fódlan, rumors of this relatively unknown world abound. Some claim it's a tropical rain forest, while others insist it's merely a giant, frozen plateau. In truth, this vast continent stretches far into the north and south and supports a wide variety of terrain and climates.

The war with Dagda gets elaborated more through a document in Hopes.

Great Tree Moon, Imperial Year 731 Our fleet departed Brigid without incident. Blessed with calm seas, we soon saw the land of Dagda rising up before us. Beyond a startlingly white beach lay dense and ominous woods. Our information indicated that a settlement should be nearby, but there were no signs of people or boats, let alone any sort of structure. We pondered whether to turn our rudder north or south...

...Suddenly, there was a flurry of arrows. The enemy was shooting at us from between the trees. Caught unaware, many men were struck. I rushed to lift my shield. However, we soon realized the arrows lacked in both number and force. The Dagdan army had lost many soldiers in Mach, and then Brigid. They had strength enough to mount a defense of sorts, but perhaps this would be easier than we had thought...

The third fleet, led by Viscount Hymir's son, was drawn into an inlet. An enemy trap. How could he not have seen it? We had intended to veer around the eastern tip of the cape, but through the fog we saw there was a coast to the south as well. With nowhere to go, our ships careened into each other. The lead ship was capsizing, seemingly run aground. Before our very eyes, our comrades...

...The sea was aflame. What sorcery is this? The flames were like a great serpent, its tongue flickering towards our ships. In the open sea, the enemy fleet surrounded us. None of us would make it home alive if we could not break through somehow. Though considering how the emperor will react to our defeat, perhaps it would be best to die here anyway. Still, we cannot abandon our pride...

...Brigid has turned on us and sunk half of our ships that attempted to dock in their port. It pains me to say that all we can do now is run. Brigid only threw in with us after Dagda's losses. Now that the tide has turned, they've thrown in with Dagda again. Savage islanders. Their king never intended to honor our agreement for a second. We never should have...

...I can see Nuvelle. We live to tell the tale. We return with less than a tenth of the ships we set sail from Ginnung with. We were well and truly decimated. What's more, we've lost Brigid as an ally. The Dagdans are truly fearsome. They dance in the air and set fire to the sea. One moment they frolic in the woods, the next you see their fangs. Just what are they...

Really just seems the reason why the Empire lost to Fodlan was, well, they were idiots. They didn't know the full scope of the lands they were attempting to conquer and fell into traps. At most, in terms of technology Dagda had something akin to greek fire. It's also said that Dagda is where some people of the Elites' tribes fled to rather than submit to the empire during the War of Heroes, so maybe they had access to some gift from the Agarthans.

We know that glasses aren't a thing in Brigid, while Almyra does have canons on it's ships (but never uses them in game). Considering that one of Edelgard's questions reveals that the people know about the speed of light as well as how long it takes light to travel between stars. In our world, that happened during the 17th century alongside the invention of modern opera as well as the first publication of books specifically for children (referencing Seteth's supports). Fodlan and the world around it seems to be around the 1600's in terms of tech, around the end of the renaissance and more towards the reformation or age of enlightenment. Edelgard's depiction in Flower's ending paying homage to Napoleon would suggest the former.

Alm and edelgard are a lot alike both of their final goals is to kill a dragon god to give humanity freedom right on the divine and Rigel was like faerghus in value of strength and it’s implied nemesis was king of that place. Cf is the true route for three houses and is what’s best for fodlan

I've been over this before but it really bears repeating: no they're not.

Mila and Duma were having objective negative effects on Valentia due to their degeneration. Mila began not caring about anything other than getting lost in her spoiled sloth and Duma's insanity lead him to not check on what his Faithful were doing. This lead to Zofia becoming lost with no direction and a terrible king, a prime opportunity for Desaix's coup, and Rigel's faith becoming co-opted by crazed fanatics who yearned for destruction. While I don't care for the batshit plan that Rudolf concocted, nevertheless, the conclusion was that Mila and Duma had to be dealt with, something that they themselves agreed upon in the end. That's why Valentia has a Falchion at all, because divine dragon degeneration and refusing to seal your power in a stone means bad times for everyone.

Rhea and the Nabateans on the other hand, don't have an objective 100% negative effect on humanity or Fodlan as a whole. Is stopping tech advancement bad? Yeah, but it's not a black and white scenario because Rhea had precedence of "tech advancement = more war and bloodshed" and she wanted to avoid that. This also accounts for her not wanting people to find out the identities of her and her family. Other than that, most of what Edelgard (and 3Hopes!Claude at that) claim the central church does is false, contradicted by other routes in 3H and 3Hopes or even in the same routes themselves.

Mila and Duma had to go for the good of the future. Rhea and the Nabateans do not.

The situations are not at all comparable. Also Nemesis sucked, he literally nearly genocided an entire race because he was told he'd get power by doing it.

[eqan]

we closed on a house the other day and will be moving over the next 1-2 months (:

[critterbitter]

Language divides and building bridges.

Elesa’s feeling homesick. Emmet, bless his heart, tries to help by infodumping while Ingo frantically runs off to find water (crying is a very dehydrating experience).

((Would you look at that! The kids are picking up kantonese and galarian from each other!))

BONUS:

Heh. Callback.

Want to see more? Here’s the masterpost for submas!