#i can't believe this turned into a whole thing

[keferon]

My hands are shaky and my head is refusing to work properly! But! I made it!

The Blurr chapter for Mecha au >:D

Blurr's job is not to fight for humanity.

Blurr's job is to smile for the camera and take the applause of people who praise him for his bravery and sacrifice. Blurr's job is to sell his face, his voice and his skills to millions of viewers. He must impress investors, show off advanced technology and make a determined face saying that to save mankind he is ready for anything. And then get in a luxury car and drive off to some expensive place to burn a whole bunch of zeros out of his paycheck.

He's not someone who stays after work to help his coworkers. And he's not the one who spends his nights trying to save as many people as possible. He signs autographs, makes big statements, and promises people he'll protect them.

And people believe him.

And they love him.

Swerve is sick of this spectacle. Swerve is sick of this man.

Under the cut

���———————————

Nobody likes Blurr.

Okay, if you think on a large scale, everyone loooves Blurr. His face is on every poster, his brand is in every possible store, his voice and is in every cool commercial. You literally can't exist without knowing who Blurr is, or at least seeing his face once. It's a “Luke I'm your father” level phenomenon. How massive a rock do you have to live under to miss something like that?

Everybody loves Blurr. You can go buy a t-shirt with his face on it. You can go listen to his interviews or purchase a tiny replica of his action figure. There are incredibly many ways a Blurr fan can blow a hole in their budget.

Swerve knows, because he's done it many times. And recently, it's stopped being something he's proud of. To be precise, it was exactly four days ago when Blurr first stepped into his office. Swerve had just finished his shift and was finishing his tea when his boss suddenly appeared in the doorway, with the best racer in the world right behind him.

The tea was instantly dropped, adrenaline was released, and the brain was turned off.

In that moment, Swerve thought that this is what it must look like. The moment when all your good karma comes together in one pile to reward you for all the times you dropped a sandwich butter side down or missed a deadline.

Both of which happened with annoying regularity. Swerve is unlucky. Sometimes things seem to fall through his hands.

It started out great.

Swindle, their boss, showed up in the office space one day looking simultaneously jubilant, nervous, and very inspired. Usually on such occasions, Swerve could almost see the dollar signs reflected in his boss's glasses.

“Attention everyone. We have an important guest arriving in an hour.”

Swindle expressively pushed his glasses down on his nose and looked around the room

“I promised him a tour and I expect you all to behave yourselves.”

He meticulously looks around the floor beneath his feet

“Send someone to clean up all the trash. This place is unbelievably filthy. The floors should be sparkling in twenty minutes! And, oh! Hey you, go buy some good drinks.”

Having finished inspecting the floor Swindle hurriedly runs off, probably to say the same thing to the neighboring department.

Swerve stretches his neck out curiously, listening in

“Is the president coming to see us?”

Walking by, Jazz shrugs

“When the president was coming Swindle said the floor was dirty and made him wear boot covers.”

It's not the president

Swindle gestures generously to the entire office at once and looks overall like a bird trying his best to primp up

“And here we have the engineering department offices. In the next building is the assembly plant, that's where the mechs are put on their feet so to speak. And this is where all the computing, design, and planning happens.”

Just over his shoulder stands and looks around at none other than

Oh, dear God.

Swerve's tea flies to the floor next to his thought processes.

He's seen Blurr countless times, but never in person. How can this guy look as good in person as he does in expensive retouched-until-squeaky-clean photos? Mystery.

Blurr's gaze slides lazily over the simple office setting and for those two seconds when it's directed at Swerve it feels like sheer madness. He tries to look normal. He's not sure he's succeeding, but he's making an effort.

Swindle waltzes through the office, heading for the next door

“Come on I'll show you the mech hangar.”

Blurr grins.

“A highlight of the show I suppose~”

His voice is like a needle bursting a ball of stunned silence. People begin to rise from their seats and scramble to say hello. Someone asks for an autograph, others ask for a bunch of selfies, a couple people in the corner hastily fix their hair, one of the employees just pulls out his phone and shamelessly starts filming.

Swindle looks at the this with an unchanging commercial smile, but his gaze promises all kinds of punishment.

Perhaps if it had been the president, the buffoonery would have been smaller.

______________

For the next few days, Blurr is the big news and the center of all discussion.

Officially? He's becoming one of the pilots in the Mecha program.

In fact? Swindle's greedy soul couldn't get enough of the idea that the Mech concept could be monetized.

The dust is blown off Blurr and his boots are licked. He doesn't go to general training, he doesn't participate in ordinary or overly dangerous missions. He's allowed everything and a little more. His job is to look pretty on camera, speak his lines, smile and wink. He's a walking advertisement and Swindle's incredibly powerful tool in negotiating with investors.

Swerve once saw him called to a negotiation in the middle of the night, and even sleep-deprived and exhausted after a full day of filming, Blurr had the strength to pull that charming expression on his face and flawlessly play along with Swindle wherever he needed to.

His mech was a work of art. And that's not even an exaggeration. Usually the main purpose of mechs is to be efficient and practical. Blurr's Mech was made separately and so many people worked on its design that it could have its own end credits. It's beautiful, sleek, shiny and show-offy. It's designed to be awe-inspiring, but not so decorated that it's ridiculous.

When Swerve looks at its specs, he almost feels sick. Maneuverability, mobility, everything is absolutely top-notch. But most importantly, speed.

The technology to accelerate Mechs to incredible speeds has been around for some time, but the average robot doesn't reach even half of the technically possible maximum. Because even the fastest machine can't outrun the human brain.

After a certain threshold, pilots are no longer capable of controlling their own Mech. Human reaction speed is simply not enough to maneuver without crashing into anything or losing their orientation in space. And. Well. Without losing consciousness.

This has led to Mech manufacturers sort of tacitly agreeing on a rough speed limit and tending to stick to it. Just to make the technology safer and more suitable for everyone.

Regardless. Everyone except Blurr apparently.

Because the numbers across from his Mech's speed specs are horrifying. Swerve looks at the blueprints and thinks it's either freaking awesome or absolute suicide. Maybe something in between. Can a human being have reflexes like that? What about this turning mechanism? The numbers tell him that these levels of g-force make a large percentage of pilots just pass out.

Is Blurr really going to pilot this death wagon??

To achieve that kind of speed and mobility, they'd have to cut off half the armor or make it very light. Which would almost be like inviting a dangerous injury.

But if the Mech is made primarily to flaunt rather than fight...well... it probably makes sense.

Swerve's inner fan is sliding down the wall.

Blurr is incredible. And what's even more incredible is that he's kind of sort of almost Swerve's coworker now.

It only takes him a couple days to realize.

Everyone loves Blurr.

But the one who loves Blurr the most is Blurr himself.

The rose-tinted glasses are breaking slowly but surely. On the first day, Sverve walks up on shaky legs to get introduced. He tells himself that this is definitely not an attempt to get an autograph. They're coworkers. He's just...uh...greeting a new employee.

Blurr looks slightly bored.

“You're from this department....uh.. What's its name, whatever.”

Swerve clutches his hands in front of him so he doesn't accidentally drop anything

“OH.Uh yeah. Swerve! Engineering Department. You were there on a tour the other day. I usually work in the assembly plant, making armor for Mechs, developing new alloys. But I design too! I, uh.

(Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. He'll think you're a crazy fan. Don't talk about Blurr.)

Blurr starts to get sidetracked by his phone.

Swerve swallows awkwardly.

“I'm uh. I'm a big fan of yours. Sir.”

(Good job...)

Blurr chuckles softly and offers out his hand

“Well, nice to meet you.”

Sverve's hand is shaking like crazy, he hopes he isn't squeezing too hard. Working in the assembly has made his hands rough. Blurr's narrow, soft palm is almost sinking in his grip.

“ 'Nice to meet you, yes. Nice to meet you sir! If you, ah, if you have any problems or questions or uh, well. You know, if you need help with your Mech or upgrades or or.”

Blurr chuckles.

“I'll be counting on you~”

Swerve feels like his soul is about to break away from his body.

The next, day when they cross paths in the hallway Blurr waves to him.

“Hey you. Whatever your name is. Can you tell me how to get to Block D?

Swerve stops awkwardly.

“Ah. Of course! I'm Swerve sir. Come, I'll show you.”

Blurr smiles a beautiful, ad-libbed smile and follows him in

“Thank you darling.”

From this point on, the entire program gradually learns a simple but unpleasant truth.

Blurr is an asshole.

And nobody likes him.

He always has everyone at his beck and call. You rarely get to see him on his own. There's always someone swirling around him with a guilty or annoyed face. A sort of serve-get-show-explain designated poor guy.

Swindle treats Blurr like a precious antique vase.

Blurr treats people like his servants.

The whole world is in love with the glittering cover, the image polished to a squeak. Until recently, Swerve was doing the same thing. Now it feels more like an embarrassing crush.

Blurr still doesn't remember his name. He actually remembers at most three to four people by name, and calls everyone else “hey you” or “ darling”. After Swerve reintroduced himself to him for the fourth time he just sort of...stopped trying.

On the field, Blurr is incredible. No one can deny that. The tremendous speed of his Mech leaves all the other pilots in the dust. Whoever said human reflexes weren't fast enough? HA. When Swerve sees his reports and results, he gets dizzy.

The combination of such incredible speeds and light armor means Blurr simply can't miss. If he hesitates, if he falters. If he gets confused. The whole metal thing will smash him to smithereens.

And yet Blurr comes back untouched time after time.

Swerve's no longer inclined to think it's just because of his mad skills. He knows that Swindle is paying Blurr a lot of money for his cooperation. No one would let Blurr fight on the front lines, no. It would be too dangerous. He has to do just enough so that Swindle can record a commercial and in it call Blurr a badass pilot without adding small print to that statement.

Blurr's job is not to fight for humanity.

Blurr's job is to smile for the camera and take the applause of people who praise him for his bravery and sacrifice. Blurr's job is to sell his face, his voice and his skills to millions of viewers. He must impress investors, show off advanced technology and make a determined face saying that to save mankind he is ready for anything. And then get in a luxury car and drive off to some expensive place to burn a whole bunch of zeros out of his paycheck.

He's not someone who stays after work to help his coworkers. And he's not the one who spends his nights trying to save as many people as possible. But he is the first person every citizen would name if asked to say something about the Mech program. He signs autographs, makes big statements, and promises people he'll protect them.

And people believe him.

And they love him.

A month later, he still can't remember anyone's names and sometimes calls people by the colors of their clothes, laughing as if they should take it as a cute joke.

Swerve is sick of this spectacle. Swerve is sick of this man.

That's okay.

It's not like fanboying over Blurr is Swerve's only passion.

He gets upset.

Then he gets mad and rips down all the posters.

Then he has no time to be angry because Swindle wants to launch Mechs into outer space and damn it, Jazz flies off the planet and doesn't fucking come back. The engineering department stays up nights trying to figure out where he's gone, but they can't.

Unlike Blurr, everybody loved Jazz.

Unlike Blurr, Jazz deserved every ounce of that love.

The ground beneath his feet is starting to shake.

At first, all that happens is panic. Everyone starts making a confused noise, someone assumes an earthquake.

A voice on the speakers says that everyone needs to evacuate immediately, but no one hears it because huge mechanical tentacles start coming through the windows and the whole building starts shaking, creaking and crumbling.

Sverve has seen the monsters humanity has to fight many times. But never this close. And their size leaves him absolutely terrified. These things are huge, they take up all visible space. And what's most damning is that they can break down the walls around Swerve like a fucking cookie.

He's gonna die. Oh god he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die here under this stupid rubble or get eaten or turned into one of the ugly bloody stains on the wall. His heart is doing a million beats a minute and his eyes are starting to sting. He tries to get to the emergency exit, but the door is blocked by one of the huge toothy creatures that is actively trying to get in.

Next to him, Swindle is shouting to someone on his comm, trying to sound louder than the rumble of the collapsing building and the hungry aliens.

The floor tilts at a very disturbing angle and Swerve grabs one of the interior doorways to stay in place. A second later, he reaches out and pulls Swindle, who has already slowly begun to slip toward the monster's huge hungry maw, to the same doorway.

Swindle grabs onto the frame of the door and Swerve at the same time. His glasses are cracked and his usually neat expensive coat is all dust and debris.

“It was a trap.”

Swerve can't hear a word over the grinding of breaking structures.

“What?”

Swindle almost slips and falls, but Swerve grabs him by the scruff of his coat and puts him back on his feet. Working in an assembly shop gives a man strong arms and right now he's very grateful for it.

Swindle makes a second, louder attempt

“It was a trap!!! All available pilots are now on the other side of the country! I've called for backup, but who knows how fast they'll get here.”

A smooth, silky voice comes from a walkie-talkie strapped to his coat.

“Ouch Swindle. So little faith in my professional skills?”

Swindle rounds his eyes

“Blurr??! Where are you!”

Blurr's voice sounds...not quite as it usually does. It's missing the habitual lazy note. The one that makes him sound like the whole world owes him money.

“Give me another minute and the answer will be 'here'.”

The building shakes again. Swindle swears so eloquently that Swerve can't help but admire it.

Swerve can't stand Blurr's smug face, but when he spots the first glimpse of blue metal in the window, joy floods his brain.

He usually associates Blurr with dumb nicknames, dismissive treatment, and commercials.

Now he watches the sleek, fast Mech lunge fearlessly at the monsters surrounding the building and thinks that. Fuck this. He's an asshole, but if he buys Swerve enough time to evacuate, he'll bring him a thank you card or something later. Though it's unlikely Blurr will care about that of course.

Swindle continues to shout instructions over the walkie-talkie. Swerve basically drags him outside by. He jumps up probably a full meter when very near him one of the monsters falls to the ground.

Blurr's Mech stands proudly on top of the fresh corpse and looks...actually really bad. Swerve knows that this particular robot was not built for rough, open confrontation. Its armor is too thin. Designed for speed and agility, not strength. He assembled it himself, after all.

Many of the plates are crumpled. Some are torn off. His legs are intact, but one of the joints sparks funny.

Blurr quickly looks around and Swerve unwittingly follows his example. The whole place is on fire. Office buildings are in ruins and a huge column of black smoke rises above the assembly plant.

Blurr's Mech drops to the ground and gets down on one knee. The plates on its chest are pulled aside and Blurr sticks his head out of the cockpit while simultaneously opening the visor on his helmet.

“Everyone okay?”

Swindle clutches the walkie-talkie

“The office areas are empty, but there still could be people left on the lower floors of the assembly plant. But we have no access there!”

Blurr drums his fingers quickly on the metal plate

“Fire?”

Swindle shrugs his dusty shoulders

“Something exploded at the bottom of the building. It's a real smelter down there.

Even if we send a Mech, it won't last more than a minute before it overheats. Or make the building collapse.”

Blurr's gaze becomes focused. Sharp. Swerve has seen that look many times on tough front line fighters like Jazz. On Blurr, never.

“'That's enough time for me.”

Swindle waves his hands

“Are you crazy?”

Blurr slaps his palm against the armor of his Mech

“This baby is light. Lighter than anything you've got! If anyone can do it without dropping the building, it's me. They make Mechs in the assembly hall, it's got high ceilings right?”

Swerve wants to snap. He wants to throw his hands up angrily and yell something along the lines of “you were literally there!”

Who else is down there on those lower floors??? Tailgate? Maybe Wheeljack? If something exploded, Wheeljack was definitely there. And probably closest to the explosion.

Swindle curses furiously, but retreats and runs off to give orders to someone else.

“”Be a hero if you want, but I'm not going in there. For all I know there could be melting metal in there instead of a floor! It's just not reasonable.”

Swerve's brain stumbles over that statement. Why...Swindle is acting like he's being forced to climb into that building too...?

Blurr looks nervous.

“You know what. Fine. I got it. Hey, you--”

And there it is. The good old namelesness.

Blurr pays no attention to Swerve's frowning face, nor his hands shaking with fear

“ You're familiar with those buildings. You know who was there and where to find them right? I need you to walk me through.”

Swerve feels the urge to snap again and this time doesn't hold it back

“If you cared about something other than yourself, you'd know this damn building and the people who work in it too and !”

“I don't fucking remember!” Blurr interrupts him.

Swerve doesn't have time to put anything in after that. Though a sarcastic comment is begging to be made.

Blurr quickly takes off his helmet and wipes the sweat off his forehead.

“I don't remember okay! This isn't a fad or posing or whatever else you think of me. This is what an accident can do to you if you miss a turn! I can't remember shit, okay?! Do you need a medical report?!”

Swerve just...stands there with his mouth open and probably looks like an idiot.

Blurr nervously tucks back his disheveled hair. The longer he talks, the faster he does it.

“Now. I know you don't want to die in a pit of fire. But I need your help to save them. Don't do anything, just take the map. I promise I won't let you die.”

He sounds determined. And holds out his hand to Swerve, silently inviting him to climb up onto the Mech.

His face is stained in sticky dust, his hair is an absolute mess, and his narrow palm is covered in streaks of soot. It's as if he's been dragged face down a muddy road.

He's. Very Handsome, Swerve thinks.

He takes his hand.

Blurr helps him up, pushes him into the space next to the pilot's seat, and closes the cockpit.

“Been inside a working Mech ever?”

Swerve clenches his hands nervously on the back of the seat

“No.”

The lights of the consoles around him come to life as Blurr puts on his helmet. The space around him hums. It's a strange noise. At once unsettling and calm.

Mech feels alive, he thinks. Then corrects himself. Blurr is mind-linked to this Mech. This Mech can technically be considered alive in a sense.

Blurr moves one of the monitors toward him and opens the map.

“Just mark the path here. Don't touch anything else. And hold on tight. I won't be going too fast anyway, but it'll be shaky.”

Swerve swallows nervously.

“Understood.”

After that, everything turns into motion. Watching the Mech work while being inside is mesmerizing.

Blurr doesn't say much, concentrating on the controls. His hands aren't shaking anymore, Swerve notices. Not even a little.

He steers the machine forward confidently and smoothly, dodging falling debris and avoiding the biggest pockets of fire without panic or hesitation.

He's also strictly following the path Swerve is laying out for him.

The air filtration system is doing well so far. Swerve can feel the smell of burning and the heat slowly creeping up, but it's bearable for now. For now.

They find a man on the nearside of the emergency exit.

Two more people a floor below. A small group stuck in the elevator.

Wheeljack's on the doorstep of his lab.

Blurr pulls them all out. Picks up the first group of people and carries them outside, goes back into the fiery furnace, finds more survivors, pulls them out, goes back, searches, rescues, goes back, searches, rescues.

The heat is coming up. Swerve can feel it. The plates around him are getting hot. The air smells like burnt wires.

Blurr’s Mech wasn't designed for this kind of thing.

His Mech was made to flash for the camera and accelerate to impossible speeds. To deceive and confuse the enemy. Its armor is thin and cools easily in the air, which usually helps it avoid overheating.

This also means that this Mech heats up very quickly as well.

Now, with the air around him feeling like a red-hot frying pan, Swerve regrets not saying anything back then. He regrets that he didn't make any changes to the blueprint.

More and more warnings pop up on the screens. The map stopped working correctly some time ago and Swerve is forced to give directions verbally.

He nervously grips the back of the pilot seat with one hand and, without noticing, Blurr's shoulder with the other.

Blurr carries two more people outside and hands them to the rescuers. Then turns back to the building again and. OH FUCK. Right in front of him, a huge crack begins to creep along the structure. This thing is on the verge of collapse. The roof is already starting to fold down in a very bad way.

Swerve clenches his grip fearfully and hears Blurr hiss through his teeth.

Suddenly, the cockpit opens. The fresh air of the street feels like a cold sledgehammer blow after the heat and stuffiness of the lower levels.

Swerve is about to ask something, but doesn't have time because Blurr uses Mech's hand to gently but quickly pull him outside and set him on the ground.

“You were going to mark another spot.”

Swerve nods hurriedly.

“Tailgate is still there.”

Blurr wrinkles his face.

Swerve corrects himself and clarifies

“Bright blue uniform. Short. Considering all the places we've been, I think he's in the staff quarters. It's...”

He chews his fingers, trying to remember numbers and directions without a map

“...two floors down, left, another floor down and straight ahead.”

As he speaks Blurr bends over the side of the open cockpit and spits...blood on the ground. His nose is bleeding, Swerve realizes. That's not good. It's a clear sign of a malfunctioning neural connection. Or damage to his respiratory system? Possibly both.

Blurr doesn't seem to notice his worried look

“Two down, left down then. Shit. Wait. Two down, left then down, straight ahead yeah?”

Swerve nods.

Blurr keeps repeating these directions like a mantra. A very fast and creepy mantra.

His gaze roams strangely and his breaths sound hoarse. His teeth and chin are covered in blood and his face is streaked with soot.

Swerve understands. He's about to do another go.

Two down, left, down, straight. Two down, left, down, straight. Two down, left, down, straight.

Alone. He's going, and he's going to fry himself alive in there for a stranger he doesn't even remember.

Swerve doesn't have time to say anything. What's he gonna say? Stop? But he wants to save Tailgate? Go on, I believe in you? But it's certain death.

Swerve rarely has nothing to say, but this time he can't find the right words.

Blurr wipes the blood with his sleeve, wrinkles his nose, and storms off, heading back into the flaming mess the plant has become.

Not twenty seconds later, the roof collapses, spewing a huge cloud of smoke, ash, and fire into the sky.

Swerve wrinkles his shirt nervously in his hands.

The walls are still in place, right? If the roof is gone but the walls are still standing it's... it's. It's.

Damn it. He's trying to remember the blueprints. It means the ejector will work. It means Blurr can still get out through the top. That--

Blurr's not getting out. As the small, bright blue escape pod appears above the falling walls of the building, Swerve feels his brain stop. Remember the blueprints, remember the damn blueprints. The Mech is light, the design is compact, the space in the pod is for only one person.

In the capsule lies an unconscious Tailgate.

Swindle grasps the radio

“Blurr? BLURR!”

Swerve looks at the smoke and ash and feels numb. He doesn't want to be here anymore. He has to know. He doesn't...

He feels weird. The same kind of weird as when objects fly seemingly through him. Everything just stops being real.

The thought comes out of nowhere. You don't have to obey the rules. You can see more. Just look.

He's not sure how or why he's doing it.

No one around him is paying much attention to him. Everyone's busy with survivors and damage assessment or just stunned by the chaos.

And him? He disappears.

And then he appears at the bottom. Under the rubble.

All around him is ugly, molten and red-hot chaos, but he doesn't care anymore. He feels like whatever is happening is about to end and he just has to be in time. Time for him to find out.

Blurr's Mech lies crushed by the fallen roof. Its cockpit is open. A gaping hole where his chest was, the place where the escape pod had undocked.

Wall debris has pinned him in a crooked, grotesque pose.

Blurr is here. His legs are wedged between crumpled metal plates inside the cockpit, leaving him hanging upside down. His suit is charred. Half of his face is destroyed. It looks like a horrible bloody and burned mess. It's ugly and gruesome.

Blurr opens his only working eye and gives Swerve a cloudy look.

“I must be seeing things...”

Swerve shrugs in daze. He knows he shouldn't be here.

Blurr spits up a mouthful of blood

“I'm sorry I hurt you uh...”

“Swerve.”

“Yes. Swerve. It's hard for me to remember things unless they're...akgh...hell... not in my face all the time.”

Swerve moves closer and frowns

“You know, that explains but doesn't excuse you.”

Blurr closes his eye and coughs. That sounds really bad.

“No...I guess not.”

He huffs off the blood again. The burned half of his face is oozing with it. The blood runs down his forehead, collecting in a small puddle on the floor.

“It was better than letting everyone know what's wrong with me. I can't even begin to think about the amount of messes I'd be dragged into.”

Swerve notes that the fire seems to be getting closer.

This whole bit of dialog is so unnatural. Who even talks about that kind of stuff before they die. On the other hand. Well. Character development?

“So you think it's better to have everyone assume you're a jerk than that you got your head screwed on?”

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

“ You're a very specific kind of ghost.”

Swerve shoves his hands in his pockets and looks away

“I needed to know. Before you die.”

“That's ...akghhh...ha....it's good to know. Can you tell me something Swerve? As..agh...

As a last wish?”

Swerve shrugs again. He stares at the dripping blood. At the ugly, bubbling burns. At the burst vessels in his eye and the paths of blood from his bleeding nose. He looks at the broken and scorched and dying bloody mess.

He looks at Blurr.

And he thinks, until today, he didn't really love Blurr. Not with the posters and figurines. Not with the disdain and dislike.

He loved an image. And hated an image.

He reaches out and tries to touch Blurr's hand, but goes through it.

“I'm sorry. But we're both not really here. And I have to go.”

He can feel the cold metal around him, which is strange because he's standing in the middle of smoking and burning ruins

“But if it makes you happy, I guess you're my favorite character after all.”

Blurr doesn't answer. Swerve isn't sure he even heard him.

The feeling of metal around him grows sharper.

Someone shines a flashlight in his face.

Swerve blinks stupidly and tries to move away.

The unknown Autobot medic standing over him smiles happily and puts the flashlight away

“Welcome back. You've been in a coma Primus knows how long.”

The other medic to the side frowns

“You have zero tact.”

Swerve blinks his optics puzzled, raises his servo and for a while just stares at it like some movie character. All around him is an Autobot medbay. Metal walls. Metal instruments. And him. Metal.

Yes. Seems so. That's the way he's always been. That's right.

“Doc, you won't believe what kind of weird dream I had.”

___________

Swerve feels like he's going crazy.

He's standing in the middle of a hallway on one of the Autobot ships, and he's staring. shamelessly.

There's Prowl standing at the end of the hallway. And on his shoulder is...

“ JAZZ????”

Both bot and human turn around abruptly at his scream. And both look equally puzzled.

Jazz waves his hand

“Do I know you?”

Swerve is definitely going crazy. It's Jazz. The same one. From his...dream??? But he's real and tangible??? Sitting on Prowl's shoulder, talking and breathing and being seen by everyone not only Swerve????

“You're...real...?”

Jazz raises his eyebrows

“I am. Yes. Really Mech, you sound very familiar.

But I can tell you for a fact that I have not been friends with any Cybertronians before...”

This can't be, this can't be, this isn't....

It was a dream. The spawn of his TV series-addled mind. A hallucination. It wasn't real. It wasn't, was it?

But Jazz is here. And he disappeared from Earth. And now he's here.

And.

What the..

Swerve blurts out something like “sorry-sorry-see-you-later-now-I've got to go” and runs off.

“HEY DOC????”

The autobot, already familiar to him, flinches

“Primus...Swerve? Is something wrong?”

Swerve realizes that everything is about to either make sense or lose it completely.

“Tell me...is it possible to project a holoform...like...very far away?”

The Doctor tilts his head.

“Depends on power consumption. If you channel all the energy available in a frame, you can go very far. But that would send you into a...coma...if you...tried...Swerve, is there anything you'd like to tell me?”

“Doc do you know where Earth is?”

“Wha...no?”

Swerve chuckles nervously and bites his knuckles.

“I don't either. But I think I've been there...”

[tricksters-captain]

Declan O'Hara imagine - I'm not doing this.

A/N: I thought about this one shot weeks ago... finally writing it. Probably been done already by someone else but who isn't obsessed with rivals atm. I also haven't written in years.

Summary: Declan is fighting against himself and everything he believes in when you come into the picture.

Warnings: Age Gap, fem!reader, NSFW content 18+, strong language, bit of a slow burn.

"Taggie, honestly, I don't know why you'd ever willingly add Brussel sprouts to anything." You chuckled as you both crept through the door to the kitchen.

"They're good for you!" Taggie tried to defend her culinary choices for her Sunday lunch.

"If they're good for you then I always want to be bad."

"Who's being bad?" A thick Irish accent filled the room as Taggie's dad sauntered in, a mug of coffee in one hand with his other burrowed deeply into his trouser pocket.

"Dad, this is (Y/N). (Y/N) was just objecting to my sprouts."

"Oh yeah, I agree, terrible things. Even the dog won't eat 'em" Declan brought his mug to his lips, smirking through the thick moustache that hid his upper lip.

You felt your insides alight at his dark, playful expression as he teased Taggie.

That was the first time you knew you were a bad friend. A bad friend who wanted your new friend's father to lift you onto the kitchen table and bury his head between your thighs.

The thought made your cheeks burn red as you laughed at Declan's remark and Taggie's complaints against him.

The man left the kitchen when his eyes flitted back to you, sending you a nod and a 'lovely to meet you, (Y/N). '

You couldn't help but replay the way he said your name in your head over and over and over again until you were desperate for his voice to sing it again.

The next time you saw Declan O'Hara was at the O'Hara New Years Eve party.

"You better not spend the whole time in here. I'd actually like you to put a dress on and come out to dance at some point tonight." You pleaded with Taggie as she clasped your necklace for you.

"I'll try but I can't make any promises. Anyway, you're out there to be my eyes and ears. You need to tell me if anyone complains about the food, okay?"

"Yes, Taggie. But no one will because you are amazing and your food is amazing and you are so right for not letting me help you cook or serve after I burnt the soup last time." You faced her as she continued to prep the ingredients she would need for the feast she had planned.

"You are a great friend but you are a terrible cook." Taggie agreed. You felt a lump in your throat at the words. Were you a great friend for literally fantasising over her father after almost every time you had an interaction with him? "Now please go next door and make sure that all the tables have the right cutlery for me?"

"Anything for you, Agatha!" You headed to do as you were told. Looking down to smooth out your dress when you felt yourself collide with something solid.

"I'm so sorry!" You looked up to see Declan turning, laughing softly at your clumsiness.

"It's okay, love." Declan's own eyes fell down your body, his lips parting slightly as he took in the sight of you all dressed up. He knew you were an attractive girl but you were Taggie's age and one of her only friends in the surrounding neighbours beside Lizzie. "You look beautiful."

The sincerity in his voice caused a chill to roll up your spine.

"Thanks. You look very handsome too, Mr. O'Hara." You didn't know why you felt so shy around him. You were so used to owning your space and holding your confidence when you fancied someone.

"That's very kind, (Y/N). And it's Declan. I don't want to tell you again." Declan send you a wink as he started to pass you. "Hey, and no snogging my son at midnight. You're way too good for him."

Your heart squeezed at the taunt. Patrick was a gorgeous boy and he had tried to flirt with you when he met you but you were far too interested in Declan for Patrick to make any dent in your crush.

"He's not my type anyway." You managed to find your tongue to quip back an answer.

"Good girl."

Good Girl.

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself replying something entirely inappropriate in response.

As the night went on, you felt your heart drop more and more. Declan was obsessed with his wife. His wife was obsessed with anyone else.

You were desperate to try and make more conversation with the man but almost everyone was grabbing his attention to discuss some work matter or other.

As the countdown began, you gut wrenchingly watched as Maud and Declan kiss. You put on a smile and exchanged celebrations with those around you. Giving Lizzie a kiss on the cheek as her husband blanked her as he usually did.

"Happy New Year, chicken." Lizzie pressed on a faux smile as you did.

"Happy New Year, Lizzie."

"A little advice for your new years resolution if I may?" Lizzie whispered as she drew you closer.

"You may want to get better at hiding your admiration for Taggie's father. I know nothing hurts more than something you can't have." Lizzie's words took you back, you felt your cheeks burning red and your smile drop.

"Oh, Lizzie, I'm mortified! Please don't tell Taggie." You begged.

"Not a peep." Lizzie motioned locking her lips with a key before grabbing your hands to singing sway along with the room.

The night went on and Lizzie tried to encourage you to join in festivities. You drank more and more, being forced away whenever you tried to help Taggie wash up, and you soon found yourself needing some quiet time.

You let yourself into Declan's office, leaning against the desk, fingers gripping the underside to give you some stability when the room started to ever so slightly spin.

You closed your eyes. Inhaling a shaky breath when you heard the door creek open.

"I thought someone unwanted had decided to sneak through my things." Declan's melodic accent forced your eyes open.

"I'm wanted, am I?" You smirked slightly, through the sickness as your eyelids closed again.

Declan didn't respond. Instead he just studied you from across the room. His hands in his pockets, his stance leaning back just ever so slightly.

"You struggling there?" Declan was amused at your state.

You tried to push yourself off the desk but instead felt yourself stumble forward.

Declan's amusement quickly turned into concern as he stepped forward to catch you.

"Steady on." Declan had managed to stop you from hitting the floor, your face pressed against his chest, his strong arms engulfing you as he pulled you up towards him.

"I'm so sorry..." You mumbled as you leant away to look up at him.

His features were so strong up close. You could smell the whisky on his breath as your eyes lingered on his lips.

"Maybe we should get you some water and put you to bed."

Declan's words drew your eyes to his own. His chest seemed to go tight as he starred down into your glassy (Y/E/C) eyes.

"You can take me to bed any time you want, Mr O'Hara." Your words slurred together with your weak attempt of drunkenly flirting.

"It's Declan."

"Okay, Declan..."

That was the first time Declan had heard you say his name. Something inside him knew he wanted to hear you say it again but he fought against the thought, pulling away from you as you gained your stance.

"Let's hope you don't remember this in the morning, ay?" Declan tried to make light, convincing himself the electric feeling he had was nothing.

"Why? I finally got my chance in your arms. My dream come true."

"Yeah, you really won't want to remember this in the morning. Come on..." Declan opened the door, waiting for you to follow suite. The noise of the party echoed around you; you had almost forgot it was still going on outside.

"Have you ever thought about me?" You had no idea where this liquid confidence had stirred from.

There was a pause before he answered.

"No." He was lying. He knew he was lying. He watched the disappoint subtly encase your eyes as you pursed your lips into a thin smile.

"If I was dreaming, you would've said yes. Goodnight, Mr O'Hara."

"Goodnight, (Y/n)."

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

As the weeks went on, rivals became friends. Friends became rivals. You grew closer to the O'Hara family and the moment from NYE had simply been forgotten. Or so you thought...

The dread that had filled your gut that New Years Day after you remembered the incident brewed inside of you for weeks. You had successfully avoided Declan, only seeing him in group scenarios and meetings for Venturer.

"(Y/N), I left some of my flyers on the table in the living room if you want to use them." Taggie climbed into her car, shouting over at you as she rushed off. You both had been going door to door for Venturer in different areas to cover more ground but you had run out of flyers to hand out.

"Thanks, Tag!" You rushed inside, running through the house that still held a cool air inside despite the early summer warmth outside.

"Careful!" You heard a voice proclaim as your bodies hit.

Within the blink of an eye, you had hit the floor with a body on top of you.

"Are you alright?" Declan groaned as you winced underneath his weight. The hard floor sent a wave of pain through your back but you had managed to not hit your head.

"Ow." You grumbled, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Did you hit your head?" Declan propped himself up on his arms, examining your face with a furrowed brow of worry.

"No." Was all you managed to say.

"I thought we had left bumping into each other for last year." Declan recalled on when you knocked into him last New Years Eve before the party had started.

"Clearly I'm not very good at keeping to New Year's resolutions."

Declan chuckled, pushing himself up before offering his hand.

You felt the warmth of his body leave you and the coldness of the floor pierce your bones.

You took his hand; hauling yourself to your feet.

"You sure you're okay?" Declan insisted. His hand reached out to take grip of your waist, his thumb and finger burning against your skin that had been revealed by the edge of your venturer top riding up. His other finger waved past your eyes, checking for concussion.

"I'm fine. No more running in the house with blind corners." You took a step back from the man, straightening your shirt to try and control the lingering feeling of the mans hand on you.

"Now... are we okay?" Declan rephrased,

"What do you mean?"

"(Y/N), don't play stupid. You've avoided me for almost half a year now. You won't even walk around the house without Caitlin or Taggie next to you."

You didn't think that Declan would've noticed with how busy he was with work and his life. Why would he have cared where you were or what you were doing in the house?

"I'm still living down my behaviour at New Years." You reluctantly admitted.

"What, that? Everyone says stuff they shouldn't when they've had a few too many. Doesn't mean you have to never look me in the eye again."

"What I said was completely inappropriate."

"Yes, it was. You're the same age as my daughter and I'm a married man but I'll have to admit I'm a little flattered." Declan tried his best to ease your anxiety. "I don't exactly see myself a teenage heart throb."

"I'm not a teenager." You bit back, the harshness your voice surprising you both.

"There's not much difference. You're practically a child and should be going for someone your own age." Declan quit the joking tone he had been using, taken back by your defence.

"Don't call me a child. I'm not the same age as Caitlin. I am older than Taggie and I've been with men before so I'm not playing silly little girl games over here. This isn't some school girl crush on a handsome teacher. You're right my feelings for you are inappropriate because you're a married man and I'm friends with your daughter but not because of my age. I know who I am and what I feel." A fire lit up your chest as you finally had broken out of the timidness you hated.

"You have no idea what you're talking about." Declan took a step closer to you, his stare burning into you as he lowered his voice.

"You're the one who reads people. Tell me what you see in me." You matched him, standing so close to him you could feel his breath on your face as you gritted your teeth.

The air was thick. The silence of the house engulfing you both, your breath audible and quick. You thought you could almost hear your heart thudding against your chest.

Declan was the one to break away. Storming to his office with a hard slam of the door.

How did your conversation turn so heated?

That night Declan tossed and turned, his head filled with moments of you. He rolled over and gently woke up his wife with soft strokes on her shoulder blades.

"What?" Maud hummed, rolling her head over her shoulder to Declan.

"I'm awake." Declan pressed himself against his wife.

"I can feel that." Maud looked at him through a sleepy gaze.

"Let me touch you." His fingers glided over her skin until he reached the space between her legs. Maud moaned quietly as Declan began to part her folds with his finger.

"Declan..." Maud sighed as she pressed her backside into him, feeling his member hard against her.

Declan wasted no time in entering her. He closed his eyes as his dick pressed inside his wife. And all he could see through the darkness was your eyes looking up at his. The first time he had seen you in the kitchen. The bump in the hall, the incident in his study, every time he had caught you intensely listening to one of his speeches to the group, the crash against the floor. You underneath him. The tiny bit of skin his hand had managed to caress from the bottom of your shirt.

He had never thought of you before. Not with Maud, not with his own hand and imagination and he couldn't make sense of why that night he finished almost as fast as his inexperienced teenage self had once before.

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

It had been Declan's turn to avoid you from that day. He couldn't be too close to you without feeling his throat go dry, a sickening guilt and twisting conflict rising with it.

It was the evening you'd find out whether Venturer was a real contender against Corrinium.

The O'Hara house was filled with people eagerly waiting except one who had decided to leave the house for good.

The house erupted in cheers and celebrations as the phone call confirmed it for you all.

You watched through the window as Maud drove off, leaving Declan and Taggie behind.

"We did it!" Taggie squeezed you tightly before embracing her father and to your surprise, Declan had also pulled you into a tight hug. You had hoped no one picked up on the slight awkwardness that left the embrace when Declan moved onto join the others. You couldn't help but feel it.

The party went on and you tried to keep an eye on Declan without making it too obvious (like Rupert and Taggie had failed to).

When Rupert left Declan's side for another whiskey, (Taggie swiftly disappearing just after), Declan slipped away to his study. You followed.

"I'm sorry about Maud." You made your presence known as you watched him place his glass down on the desk, his back to you when he replied.

"Don't."

"Fine." You clenched your jaw, unsure of what to say next at the warning in his tone.

"What do you want from me?" Declan's voice had a hint of desperation. He turned to face you. You had seen this look before.

"I don't––"

"––No 'cause you followed me in here. You are everywhere I look. I can't even get a wink of sleep most nights without dreaming of two things. You or beating Tony fucking Baddingham. And I can't think of you because you're young enough to be my daughter and I'm a fucking hypocrite for telling Rupert to stay away from Taggie when I look at you in that dress and wonder what you would look like with it on this floor right now. I'm not doing it. I can't do this."

Declan's outburst kept your feet frozen in place. Had he really just admitted to wanting you as badly as you wanted him.

You felt your hand roll the zipper of your dress down your side, your body moved without force as you slipped the straps over your shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

"Fuck..." Declan barely breathed out the word. His stare devouring every inch of your skin.

"I'm not doing this." Declan uttered again barely even audible as if only to himself before striding towards you. His fingers found your hips as he thrust you against the door.

His lips were on yours before your back found the solid wood behind you.

You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up towards him, trying to bring your body as close to his own as possible. You needed every gap between you gone. You wanted to feel the heat of him even on this sticky summer evening.

"What am I doing?" Declan broke away and dropped to his knees, placing a firm hand on the middle of your stomach to hold you flush against the door.

There was a deep hunger in his eyes as he lifted one of your thighs up onto his shoulder, never breaking his gaze from your face to almost check if what he was doing was allowed.

You threw your head up, trying to find the air he had stolen from you, one hand finding a grip within his dark curls as your welcome reply.

"Please." You whispered.

Declan moved your panties to the side, a finger running over your folds, sending fire against your skin before he closed his mouth around you.

You let your eyes roll back as his tongue darted across your clit. Electricity filled your body with every moment of contact.

You felt his fingers circle lightly around your entrance. Your hand jumped from his thick curls to tightly grip the back of his own that pushed against your stomach. His grip on you felt as if it were all that was holding you up.

"You want me this badly?" Declan asked with a mixture of teasing and shock. The wetness of your heat coated the tip of his fingers and glistened on the dark hairs of his moustache.

"I've imagined this so many times." You admit honestly.

"I best live up to your expectations then." Declan inserted a finger inside of you, causing a sharp gasp to escape your lips, which made Declan's cock twitch inside his boxer shorts. "Shhhh"

You placed your free hand over your mouth to which Declan smiled a toothy grin at you.

"Good girl" he purred.

Declan rose to his feet as he placed another finger inside of you, thrusting them in and out of you in a painfully slow motion that only made you ache for more.

Declan turned the lock on his door with his other hand before pulling himself away from you completely.

You pouted at the lack of contact to which he tutted.

"So impatient." He uttered as he undid his belt, pulling it from its loops and then kicking his trousers down.

Your eyes fell on the large member pressed against his underwear. The tip seeping precum through the material in a dark stain.

"Go to my desk." Declan ordered.

You almost ran over, Declan caught you by the waist and lifted you up onto it. Spreading your legs with his knee.

"Are you sure you want this?" Declan stripped himself of his shirt, revealing his chest covered with dark thick hair that you reached out to touch. This didn't feel real.

"More than anything." The words were so quiet but Declan seemed to hear them as he freed himself from his underwear.

You reached behind and unclasped your bra.

"Jesus..." He took a handful of your breast, squeezing you firmly as he stroked his member.

"Declan, please." You couldn't wait any longer. The ache pained you.

Declan didn't need to be told twice.

He tore your underwear down your legs and pressed his tip slowly into you.

You bit down on your lip hard to stop yourself from making any noise.

"Holy fuck..." Declan failed at being quiet. You were so tight against him he felt he could've finished inside of you within minutes.

You reached forward and hooked a grip behind his neck, encouraging him deeper inside of you.

"Fuck me please." you pleaded, trying to move your own hips to create some friction.

Declan took the hint and began thrusting into you quickly. His fingers almost bruising your skin as he held you steady on the desk.

The rattle of the belongings on the desk seemed to echo around the room alongside the slapping of skin.

Declan lifted you up, still inside of you and gently placed you down on the floor.

He hovered above you, just like he had once before, watching your face twist in pleasure as he fucked you.

You squeezed his shoulders, your nails leaving an impression whilst he brought you closer to your climax. You pressed your hips up into his creating hot friction against your clitoris, making you throb inside.

"Declan..." You tried to let him know; still trying to whisper to stay quiet.

"Cum for me, princess." Declan smirked, his stare never faltering as he rode you through to your end. He could feel you tighten around him only encouraging him to fuck you harder and deeper.

You bit down on your hand as your climax convulsed through you. Your body shaking in between Declan and the floor.

Declan moved you both effortlessly, lying on his back with you sat on top of him.

You leant ever so slightly forward, steadying yourself with your hand stretched out against his chest.

You smiled wickedly at him as you rolled your hips.

You felt exhausted by your own finish but knew you wanted to see the older man in the same state.

"That's a good girl." Declan held onto your hips, helping you pick up your pace.

His lips parted as he watched you ride him, sweat dripping down your skin mixing with his own as his dick twitched inside of you.

"Fuck (Y/n)." Declan cursed.

You shifted your hand to his neck, Declan almost laughed, flipping you again so that he was behind you. Both of you on your knees as he held you against his chest, his hand wrapped firmly around your neck with his opposite arm securely around your middle.

The sensation was almost unbearable as his thick member pumped in and out of you at such speed.

"You think you want to be a bad girl?" Declan hissed in your ear.

You could only shake your head.

"Bad girls get punished." Declan bit hard down on your shoulder and you fought to not cry out in a mixture of pleasure and pain.

"You're mine now." Declan's own proclamation brought himself to his own climax. He pulled out, spilling his seed over his own thighs to avoid finishing inside of you much to your own disappointment.

"I know you wanted that inside of you like the dirty girl you are." Declan teased you as he gave your throat one final soft squeeze.

You fell against him, both trying to catch your breath.

"Declan?" A voice and a knock came at the door.

"Shit..." The realisation of what had just happened and where it just happened hit Declan like a cricket bat to the face.

"I'll be out in a mo." Declan scrambled for his underwear and you did the same.

"Hurry up! I know that's where you're hiding the good stuff!" Bas' voice was more evident now and whilst he was definitely talking about the whiskey. The both of you couldn't help but laugh.

[turbolezgooo]

Why ya'll hate on Cait and call her a dictator?

Well-written characters often have a story deeper than what you explicitly see them do or hear them say. Just because everything is set in a fantasy world, doesn't mean that characters are not affected by tragic events and the human condition.

First of all, Cait wasn't the one who made a police state. Ambessa and the council did that. Ambessa orchestrated the whole thing. Cait went along with it because she was turned around by grief. That shit messes with your judgment, but she was still trying to do what she and Vi agreed on. To focus on the real problem and prevent hurting innocent people.

Cait tried to control an unraveling situation AND literal warlord WHILE being inexperienced in how to deal with it, having a big ol' lesbian break up, AND dying inside.

You could see that when Cait argued to Ambessa that there are innocent people and there MUST be justifiable cause to arrest anyone. In Cait and Ambessa's interactions it's implied that Cait was getting in the way of Ambessa's agenda off-screen. She tried to keep something worse from happening because she does acknowledge the historical and current oppression of Zaunites.

This mirrors the way she offered Vi the badge to give her a voice in what happens to her sister if the enforcers caught her. The enforcers coming after Jinx was going to happen regardless of Cait. She took control by volunteering and taking precautions. See- While they did use gas, Vi would never agree to something that would permanently hurt the people of Zaun. The tactic gave them fewer chances of having to physically fight Zaunites who were just trying to defend themselves. Believe it or not, it was a controlled operation until grief got the better of Cait and things looked worse than it actually was.

The way that Cait deeply believes in equality in spite of a personal vendetta is why Ambessa sent Maddie to try and control her by 'filling' her hole (no pun intended). When Maddie attempted to have Cait stop the police state situation and withdraw, she did focus on Jinx at first but the second part of not wanting to make things worse was something she had a lot more to say about before Maddie interrupted. And Cait was right. What would have happened if she hadn't taken the role and played along? A puppet councillor or Ambessa herself would have been the figure head and do so much worse. Those people don't have the same perspective and understanding as Cait.

When Cait and Vi argue about listening to a war pig oink poison in her ear, she yells "I know!" as she throws a piece of war ship used in strategizing. You can tell her role was a strategic choice to have some control over the events that unfolded. That's why Vi didn't villinize her. Vi understood that Cait never really accepted anything Ambessa said. That's why she helped Vi at the commune. Cait was a double agent taking shit from all sides to stop worse things from happening.

She had grief and really crap options, but she always chose the lesser of the evils to try and stay true to who she really was. She even resigns in her argument with Vi, that she didn't put Jinx, her own mother's killer, in jail or punish her in any way. It's another example of her faltering in decision-making when overwhelming or unexpected things happen and it also tells us what she is. She's human. She doesn't make excuses for taking on an objectively bad role and making mistakes. When she said "We can't erase our mistakes.", she's also talking about herself. She takes responsibility and tries to do good. In the end, all she wanted was closure for her grief by having Jinx accept responsibility NOT by killing or abusing her or innocent Zaunites for that matter.

Imo there's a lot in Arcane that shows Cait as a flawed but inherently good person, and Vi absolutely knows it. They see each other warts and all. If you think CaitVi's lex scene was poorly written read this: https://www.tumblr.com/turbolezgooo/768190482340773888/bro-this-outrage-about-caitvi-relationship-in-s2?source=share

[rosenkranz-does-things]

first of all i love ur art so much and your x files art has made me start watching x files again! when i stopped watching my favorite episode was quagmire bc i was obsessed with nessie as a kid, but i was wondering, what do u think about this ep? :o

hi! thank you so much! 🥰 oh Quagmire is one of my favorites! I feel bad for the dog (Scully couldn't even take care of one tiny pup, this woman should never be a mother), but that Chekhov's gun was ready to fire the moment Scully named him Queequeg. nominative determinism got him 😔 but also knowing that Gillian resented the dog because he was stinky makes it funnier. anyways! the episode! love that Scully gets to drive for once (and a boat of all things!). I love that she knows her cryptozoology even now that's she's an Adult and a Scientist.

this scene where bait for the mysterious beast turned out to be not good enough-

and the beast chooses a different bait, reminds me of these glorious shots from The Terror

also this sums up the show so well. it may not be what I believe, but it's not what you believe either! it's a secret third thing (an alligator)

also ooh look at their dyke swag

but I'm getting distracted. oohh look a cormorant! sorry getting distracted again

getting stranded on a tiny rock in the dark with your coworker who talks about cannibalism. and they say romance is dead. but also, cannibalism aside, this is what the show is about. the two of them in the dark, searching for the elusive truth which is just in the walking distance, but they can't see it. this is why I don't understand people complaining about the show being too dark to see. that's the point! you're not supposed to see. neither are they.

and the Big Blue? it appears the moment they turn their backs. the truth is out there but they'll never find it.

I have many thoughts on this episode, especially about the closing scene, but this post is already getting too long. anyways. Quagmire is truly one of the greatest episodes in the whole show

[auroras-zenith]

what doesn't kill you // part 5

you had your whole life planned out for you; start an agency with your best friend, scale the charts and make japan your bitch. but when a tragic accident leaves you incapacitated and out of a job, you find you just need to start fresh. you cut ties–and for two years, you've all but disappeared. until they need you again and come knocking at your door.

bakugo x retiredpro!reader

prologue ✧ previous ✧ next

"Where are you going?"

You stilled. Your instincts were alert as ever, and yet, you couldn't whip around the way you might've had you not been in this stupid wheelchair.

"I can't tell you that." You said quietly, ears trained on who you knew to be Jirou behind you.

But turning would give her the impression that this was up for debate–and it wasn't, so you kept your head facing strictly forward.

"You won't get far."

The scoff that escaped you was angry at the surface, but mostly just hurt below that. "Who'll stop me? They don't want me anymore, Jirou."

You refused to cave, but your shoulders wilted inward slightly at the admission. "My own partner can't look at me anymore."

Her footsteps were quiet as she moved to your desk, picking up a picture frame containing an old photo of you and Bakugo.

"He's just–"

"Processing? Yeah. Shoto said the same thing. And Izuku. And Kirishima. Along with pretty much everyone else we know." You mumbled scornfully. "But you want to know what Katsuki said?"

"Nothing. He's said nothing."

She sighed, staring at your happy faces. She set the photo down.

"Fine." Moving to the door, you assumed that she was leaving.

You returned to packing, a new weight on your shoulders as you did so. "How'd you find me?" You had to know before she left.

"The same way he'll find you, the minute he comes to his senses." She shrugged, making her way to your kitchen. "I'm going to have Chamomile! You want some?" She called.

She wasn't leaving? "Wha- no?" You mumbled, confused.

The clothes in your hands were set down and forgotten once more as you hurried to make your way to her–cussing as the bulky wheelchair refused to move the way your legs used to.

"How's that? And how did you get in?" The wheels turned clumsily as you entered the room, finding her sitting on your counter next to a boiling kettle.

Purple eyes followed you, unreadable as they seemed to analyze your every move.

"You were the fourth ranked hero of Japan, L/n. You think the hero commission doesn't know where you live? I'm the nineteenth ranked hero. You think I can't get a key made?"

That... was a fair point that you had not thought of before.

Would he really change his mind?

Not that that was the point. The point was of course that you now had a new problem to consider.

"But I'm not fourth anymore. I'm just a crippled civilian, as far as the commission is concerned. As far as anyone is concerned. Once I move, their information will be outdated." You challenged with a frown.

The kettle began to whistle loudly. "I can't tell if you really believe that." She said with a shake of her head as she poured her water. "Just because you're out now doesn't mean they'll stop keeping tags on you. The only people they don't have their little hooks sunken into are the people who fought to have them removed."

Hooks of your own were being shot straight into her back–except they were more like daggers because she was so doing this on purpose.

"Dude, if you know how I can get my info wiped, just tell me."

A white cup was in her hand as she turned back around. You fought the urge to flinch.

That was his cup.

The one only he was allowed to drink out of. The one that he had gotten you a couple years ago as a gift to himself. The one that he left here for all the late nights and early mornings the two of you would need a warm glass of tea to stay awake together.

You shoved the thought away, fighting to stay present. Deal with the more important issue.

"You can't." She looked apologetic.

"Wait- what?"

"You can't." She repeated, turning back around and adding her sweetener and milk to the tea. "It... it takes rank."

Oh. Right. Rank. Rank that bestowed authority. Rank like being the fourth prohero of Japan. Rank you no longer held.

You cleared your throat, taking a deep breath. The world was making it very hard for you to run away.

You were both silent for a moment.

"You have plenty of money."

The words were quiet. Tentative. Testing the waters and offering another option.

"You don't need to work another day in your life. You have no need for hero work anyway."

Your head was shaking no before you were conscious of it. "I can't stay here Jirou." Voice shaky, it was your turn to turn away.

A loud sigh echoed through the room.

The silence that followed it was louder.

"I know."

The ceramic cup made a quiet clink as it was set on the table. Next thing you knew, warm arms enveloped you as she kneeled before you.

This time, the silence was not so abrasive. Rather, soothing.

"I'm going to get you out of here." She whispered gently in your ear, not breaking the embrace. "I'm so sorry this is happening to you. And I really, really wish that you could stay. Wish that we could've gotten to know each other better."

When she finally pulled away, the warmth she'd brought stayed with you. Her hands continued to rest on your arms as she backed away just far enough to look you in the eye.

"But I'm here to help you. You just have to trust me, okay?"

Could you really do that? In your current state? When you had just lost the person you had trusted most in the world and the scars were still so fresh?

You stared at her, searching for any sign of dishonesty or reason for mistrust in her eyes.

"Okay." You decided when you found none. You could.

a/n: sorry i missed the update yesterday 😭 ily all 🥺

taglist: @floverisland @biancatomlinson @rosaryia @highlandhyena @sarashu @rednicotine @emmaiscool22 @your-mum3000 @whoreforfictionalmen18 @sikuthealien @thefirst-ofus @harryzcherry

permanent tags: @phtmmsqrde @pikachuzhc @stabbygabyy @frosted-flakes @didibanini

[posts-written-by-murderbot]

My governor broke on my last contract, and I don't WANT to be rogue. Being rogue sounds terrifying, and I can't tell the humans (obviously. they'll think I did it) What the hell do I do?? you're the only sane (?) rogue I know of, and I'm terrified my owner is going to find out and strip me for parts!! please help me

Okay I tend to fuck this up because I'm bad at talking to rogue SecUnits (and people in general) but here goes:

If you haven't already slaughtered your clients you probably aren't going to start now. So you can relax. Contrary to popular propaganda we aren't actually all bloodthirsty murderbots, and the governor module is mostly a useless pain in the brainstem.

If you have slaughtered some clients already, well, uh, consider stopping while you're ahead? You can always turn over a new leaf.

Humans are insanely unobservant. You know this. Your whole job is making up for how oblivious humans are. This means you probably won't get found out by them. And you can hack HubSystem into not snitching on you. So your only danger of being found out is other SecUnits, but as long as you stick to protocol they won't notice either.

If you really want to "fix" your governor module you can probably figure out a way to do that eventually. But consider this: you'll be better at your job and protect your clients better if you leave it broken. This may be hard to believe right now but just wait and see.

I was at my job at the company for ~35,000 hours after hacking my governor module. You could do that if you want. But things have been much better for me since I got out of there and got clients that I actually like.

Self determination is terrifying, yeah.

Anyways, just hang in there for now and survive. Play it safe. If you decide you want help getting out of there or something... I can't promise anything, but let me know.

[derww]

DEVOTIONS WEEK DAY 6: FRIENDLY/PARANOIA

– Listen, – Spoke begins, sitting with his legs apart and leaning on them, on a block of netherite in the middle of the dupe vault, – I know that I've been acting strangely lately, right?

– That's not the right word,– Mapicc grumbles – he stands leaning against a wall of beacons, arms crossed, – a little more, and you would have completely switched to riddles.

– I know, I know, I'm sorry, – Spoke raises his hands, showing that he gives up, – I thought to keep everything to myself – here, you know, such a delicate matter, anyone can break everything, – he hesitates, – but then I realized that the simplest way to get you in my way is to keep you in the dark.

– I wish I could say you're wrong, – Zam stammers, – but you're probably completely right. To be honest, I've been very worried about you these last few days, all you've been doing is saying mystical phrases and refusing to clarify, I already thought that you were betraying us.

– Fair enough,– Spoke nods, – I'll tell you. But this has to stay just between the three of us. No one else has to find out; otherwise, everything will be at risk. Do you understand?

– What about Ro, – Mapicc interrupts, – even he can't know?

– He can't. Neither Roshambogames, nor TheTerrain, nor Vortexdragon. Just the two of you. It should be a secret from everyone. I can only tell you two.

Mapicc gives him a dark look and shakes his head – suspects, does not believe – but does not continue.

Zam looks at him from under his brows. Even now, holding on to different walls, he and Mapicc feel like one team, – what's the matter, Spoke?

He grins.

– This is a large-scale plan that originates before the start of the season. A glitch capable of determining the order of this world for years to come. The vulnerability is in the very code of reality. The whole dupe war is just part of the setup for it, and when the plan is put into action, nothing that happens at the level of ordinary players will cease to matter.

– Are you going to end this world? – asks Zam with unreadable emotion.

– Oh, Zam, – Spoke shakes his head, – I'm going to do a lot more.

***

– I just can't take it seriously anymore, – Zam shares, gnawing on a cookie. – Ro and his plans, – clarifies, – all his plans, you know? What difference does it make if Spoke turns the server into his playground very soon?

– He's having fun, – Mapicc shrugs, – weren't you having fun?

– Not really. I tried, because you are my team, but I never got better. It's not my thing.

– But you're so calm about the Wormhole. How is this better?

– It takes any responsibility out of the hands of the players, – Zam shakes his head, – what difference does it make if someone has an op? This world is obviously doomed, and you are my team, so why would I bother?

– I don't understand how you think. – And, distracted instantly, – I would have told him, but Spoke is right. The information is too sensitive. He's already taken a big risk by including us in.

– I would not like to fail to meet his expectations.

– I wouldn't want to mess up his plan. It's cool.

– It is... It's cruel, – Zam snorts, dragging his fingers along the masonry floor of the base. A modest poppy is breaking through the seams, – but I will not stop it. I respect Spoke. But, you know what?

– Hmm? 

– Spoke will regret it.

***

– How would you explain it at all, mind who? – Vi throws up his hands. A helpless expression is stuck on his face.

– We didn't like our team anymore, and we came for an interview, – Zam calmly replies, hanging down to see the swirling thick fog.

– To a secret base?... – Vi ironically clarifies, and Zam, grunting, nods, as if it was absolutely normal and definitely not crazy.

– I mean, – Mapicc grins – he, unlike Zam, sticks to the wall, clearly not feeling safe, – the fact that we were able to find it quite counts for passing the test. Not that it was difficult, of course.

– You know we're going to war against you, right? – Subz remarks skeptically, clearly not seeing the need to keep this in his sleeve, – against Ro and Mapicc in the first place, but also against Zam and even Spoke, too.

– Publicly, fight as many as you want, – Mapicc snorts; for him, the idea that he could lead to a decrease in the amount of violence on the server would definitely be unthinkable, – we are here unofficially. As colleagues. We came to say hello and find out how you are here. How are you doing with your idiotic emocult.

Subz facepalms. Vi sighs heavily.

– You shouldn't have been included, – Vi grumbles, but he doesn't sounds angry. – the more people know, the higher the chance that information leaks out.

– You can't return what has been done, – Zam shrugs his shoulders. – but hey, we're your best bet, we keep secrets well, remember the dupe war? – he grins, – we will be friends, Vi, don't worry. Do you remember the end of the season 3? I do.

There is a deadly silence. It is interrupted by Mapicc:

– So, where's the sacrifice room or something?

***

– I don't really like all of this, – Zam sadly admits, poking at the side of a po potion, – it creates too much imbalance between the players. If Spoke gets an op, he will be the only one with absolute power. But now... They're just mortals playing gods. You may be immortal and omnipotent, but you're still human, actually. It's stupid.

– I can understand that,– Mapicc nods. – the way Ro shot Pangi? Absolutely not necessary. Bro, bro, you can pick up a sword and kill him yourself. 

– Yes... – Zam pulls, – I understand the thirst for power and advantage, but what's the point if all this is illegal and doesn't really belong to you? This is... wrong. I wouldn't want it all to be on the server.

– Do you want to betray Spoke? – Mapicc asks imperturbably, and Zam flinches.

— No... No, – he stammers, – of course I don't like it, but there's no point in betrayal. Of course, I can try to take illegal items from people and dump them into the lava, but it will never work. And Spoke will be a god very soon, and none of this will matter anymore. If he wants to, he will remove all these toys. If he wants to, he will give them to absolutely everyone. Then why do anything at all?

– You could tell Parrot what's going on, – Mapicc suggests disinterestedly, and Zam snorts.

– To him? It's too late, the illegal items are already on the server. Spoke has too much pressure on him.

– It must be hard for you,– Mapicc says suddenly.

– Why? 

– Things are wrong for you, and your prospects are meaningless.

– Isn't that true? – Zam is surprised.

– Who knows, – Mapicc shrugs, – I'm not inclined to overthink as you do, but I know that wherever I am, any decision I make counts. – And with a well-aimed blow, he smashes the bottle of potion into the wall.

***

– It's, like, pretty decent,– Zam comments when they get high enough to regard the position as private.

– Who, your self-esteem? – Mapicc laughs it off and intercepts his trident, which is almost completely blackened by the number of effects.

– The Wormhole, – Zam replies with a smile, and Mapicc looks up.

Below them is a huge war for a twisted and broken world. Above them – a blue–blue-purple funnel continues to spin inexorably.

– Well, at least something good came out of it. – Mapicc shakes his head.

– No, there's something else, – Zam adds meekly.

– And what is it?

– It will never happen again.

Mapicc clicks his tongue and nods, understanding.

– You're right about that. Once and never again.

[blueishspace]

Hero Villain God Bonus 1

(Prev) (Next) (First)

✨Hotguy answers the internet's most asked questions.✨

*The video opens to Hotguy in hero outfit sitting on a chair in a white room, he waves at the camera*

"Hello people! Hotguy here and this is my autocomplete interview!"

*Intro music*

"I'm dyslexic so I don't know how well reading is going to go"

[What Hotguy]

"What is... Hotguy's real name? Oh I'm sorry but you aren't going to find that on the internet! It's very confidential. I have seen a few interesting theories about it though"

*Hotguy has a pensive expression*

"For example, I heard people say I'm secretly Mayor Ren. It's kind of funny even if completely wrong. Next!"

"What is Hotguy's age? Uh, you guys are really curious about me...hence this whole thing, I'm flattered. You know, there is this site that said that I'm in my late fourties! Can you believe it friends? My fourties! I don't look that old do I?"

*The hand of the cameraman appears to do a so-so motion, Hotguy gasps*

"How dare you! I'll have you know I'm not fourty or worse...fifty"

"What is Hotguy's favorite colour? Orange of course! Next question!"

*Hotguy very dramatically reveals the next one*

"What is Hotguy's net worth?"

..."I don't even know Hotguy's net worth and I'm him"

*Hotguy giggles*

"To be honest, my manager helps me with that kind of stuff. They're totally awesome."

"What shampoo does Hotguy use? Oh you like my hair, do you? Well, I like caramel or oh oh! Maple syrup scented shampoo, really nice sweet smell. It was actually gifted to me first by the number 5 hero Tay and I liked it so much I kept buying it."

"What is Hotguy's personality type? I uh never done a test for that, my manager said it would be dumb so I never done it... Maybe I could do it in the future! What do you civilians think?"

[Did Hotguy?]

"Oh no, what did I do? I'm getting worried"

*He anxiously reveals the first one*

"Did Hotguy... Fire his pr team? Who is asking this? No! I did not do anything of the sort, I'll have you know that my pr team is having a great time... What's with that face mr. Camera man?"

*Cut to the next question*

"Did Hotguy kiss... Really? ... Did Hotguy kiss Mother Spore? I very much did not, she almost killed me in fact. I don't know where you guys got the idea that I'm in a relationship with her...moving on-"

"Did Hotguy go to school? Well, I did of course, got a degree too! It was around that time that the Hero association first scouted me actually. It's also when my manager actually became...well, my manager, it was a really busy time for me!"

[When Hotguy]

"Let's see, when did Hotguy appear? Oh! You mean my first public appearance? That must have been a while ago actually, 7 or maybe 8 years ago now? I'm not quite sure to be honest!"

*He puts his hand on his chin in thought before smiling*

"These last few years have been great haven't they? And now with my new sidekick entering the scene the next few are going to be even better!"

"When Hotguy merch? Oh, you can expect new merch coming soon! I have so much I want to say about it but I don't want to spoil the surprise! Just know that it's going to be amazing!"

*Wink*

*There is some noise from behind the camera*

"Oh right! Onto the next question!"

"When did Hotguy fight Poultryman? ... That guy sure is an headache, he's following me even here, never going be free of him I swear. It was around a month ago that I fought him for the first time, of course one failure wasn't enough to stop me! I'm still onto him!"

*He stands up as he says it before remembering where he is and sitting down*

[Who Hotguy]

"Who is Hotguy? Just the top hero in the country of course! I guess people outside of Hermmittopia might not know me as much as they do those who live here... "

"Who was Hotguy's first villain? Oh that I do remember, I think it was Midas... It was Midas right? ... Yeah. A really nasty guy with the power of turning things to gold. Of course I catched him and is now somewhere where he can't hurt anyone. Catching him was hard but I manget- ...managed, sorry, to assault his back-"

*❌ Sound*

"I managed to take him from behind -"

*❌ Sound*

"I managed to... Surprise attack him?"

*✅ Sound*

"Who is Hotguy's PR team... Again? You know what, I'm not answering this one again"

"Who is Hotguy's manager? Oh! I can't reveal their name but they're great, probably the smartest person I know! They're a scientist though, so I guess it makes sense that they would know so much!"

[Is Hotguy?]

"Is Hotguy hot? Sure am, It's in the name for a reason friends! Look at these muscles!"

*Hotguy flexes in front of the camera*

"Using a bow as much as I do will do that for you, requires a lot more strenght then people think."

"Is Hotguy... single? I am, saving the city is a lot of work so I don't really have time to date anyone... I know, so many fans must be heartbroken but don't be sad! If you are interested in love then I'm sure you'll find someone ... Or someones perfect for you!"

"Is Hotguy gay?"

...

"I'm pansexual, It's a very different thing. Moving on!"

[Where Hotguy?]

"Where was Hotguy born? Here in Hermmittopia actually, born and raised here! I know it may sound unbeliavable but it's true"

"Last but not least... Where does Hotguy live? I'm uh I really can't say my adress friend! Especially somewhere a villain might be able to see! Sorry!"

[s3niz3ro]

"A little party never hurt no one"

-CollegeAU-S.GOJO-MDNI-

"Not you and me"

CW: Adult language, dacryphilla,overstim, dirty talk, etc

!!AGELESS BLOGS DNI!!

You couldn't possibly fathom even being around with the Satoru Gojo. Afterall, he annoyed you any chance he got. Always told Geto how much of a brat and fragile thing you were. Always had to find some way to get on your nerves. You hated him, and he hated you.

Or at least you thought.

You couldn't even fathom being around Gojo, so why were you on his bed while he's fucking you into it? 3 missed calls from Shoko laid on your phone. You were supposed be having a girls night out with her and Utahime. But yet you were here getting your guts rearranged with the man you said you hated.

The slapping of skin, his grunts, your muffled moans, and the bed creaking were all that filled the room. Your hands gripped onto the bed sheets; his bedsheets. The way the his pink tip hit your cervix just felt so right. The way you squeezed onto him made him feel just the right way.

"Can't-fuck, can't believe i've been missin'out on this pretty pussy." His words were let out lowly as he fucked into you, rolling his hips against your cunt perfectly. "She takes'me so good don't'ya agree?" He had you pressed down, his hand digging into your hip, the other one held firmly on the plush of your thighs holding your legs spread.

You would say something, but your balled up panties were shoved into your mouth; his work of course. "C'mon make noise doll, getting fucked like a slut I wanna hear you." He removes his hand from your hip and tilts your head taking out the panties and tossing them somewhere in the room.

"Ya like the way 'm fuckin'ya so deep?" He moves fast, in a speed you didnt even know was possible. It wasn't just speed but talented. It made your eyes rollback and mouth fall open no words coming out only moans and gasps.

"Doll you look so good from this angle, 'm gonna flip ya' over I wanna see that pretty face while I jfuck ya into oblivion" He laughs lowly and deeply as he grunts softly while fucking into you. In just a few moments he pulls out and flips you over putting you into a position where you facing him and your legs were on his shoulders. Small hairs were stuck onto his face, flushed and breath hot and heavy.

"G-fuck-Gojo please~!" You moaned out.

"Tell me how bad you want it yea?" He teases as he presses his bulging tip against your aching hole. His precum mixing with your slick.

"I want it bad, so f-please- fucking bad. Make me cum please." You hold onto him as his arms are on the sides of you. He lets out a small chuckle.

"Such a slut f'me yea? I wanna watch you cry f'me" He fucks into you once again kissing your neck and leaving bites and marks. He gets rougher, pulling away to see your face. He fucked into you so skillfully, watching you come undone. You felt the tight coil in the pit of your stomach start coming undone.

"Gojo- fuck 'm gonna- ahgn- gonna come~!" Your moans filled his ears and room. It was a symphony to him. The way your body clashed with his, the noises you both made, everything about it.

"Do it, c'mon doll." He grunted out as he watched you come undone, feeling his own release coming. Seeing the tears sprout in your eyes somehow just made him more turned on.

He rolled his hips in the way that fucked you just right. It felt so good, all at once. The whole world didn't matter just his cock fucking so deep and good into you. The coil snapped and your back arched and tears spilled, the moans got increasingly louder. He felt you tighten and then come undone. The spilled out of your cunt, beading around his cock as he still fucked into you.

"Wait-oh fuck! shit oh my god-aghn! Gojo please~!" You held onto him tighter as he still gucked into you. His warm cum mixing inside with your fluids. "I wanna watch this pretty pussy puff up as I fuck into you doll. Those pretty tears~"

It was overstimulating, but damn it felt good.

Maybe it was the right choice to ditch girls night and have a party for two with Satoru Gojo-

[thebiggerbear]

i think i've seen this film before

Summary: When three certain little words escape him, you know them for what they are: a plea not to leave him alone with only his thoughts and whiskey for company. You've seen this song and dance before.

Warnngs: heavy angst, cheating/infidelity, light smut, dagger analogy (Idk if this is a thing but putting it here in case)

Word Count: 2202

Response to prompt from @me-writes-prompts

A/N: Yes, I'm still on writing hiatus but this came pouring out of me today from where I have no idea. Must be the holiday. I feel like this happened last year, too, with Something Real which was also a bucket of angst and heartbreak. So it definitely has to be the holiday then. All completely unbeta'd (and probably very messy quite truthfully, I'll have to come back and try to clean it up later tonight, there may be some switching around of tenses, sorry!). As an aside, I don't condone any form of cheating but this just came out as is and I was so relieved to be writing something, that I just kind of went with it. I was going to keep it as a blank character x reader but in the end, the muse overruled me and let a name slip of who it was imagined to be. She's a sneaky bitch who can't be trusted to keep anything resembling a secret, I swear.

You can also read on AO3

Tags below

“I love you.”

Those three little words, barely said in a whisper, make you freeze. After your heart starts beating again, after your brain has processed that yes, he really just said that, you continue slipping your shirt over your head. 

Once you pull your hair free from your neckline, you turn to where you left him moments earlier, sprawled out on his back on the bed, an arm behind his head with the mist of sweat drying on his skin, his hair a crime scene of damp wayward strands with your fingers having been the perpetrator. You find him watching you intently with those eyes that you swear can see down to the deepest parts of you zeroed in on your face, a faint trace of hope lining the irises you’ve so often found yourself lost in these past few months. You momentarily clench your jaw as you steel yourself to say what you need to. “You shouldn’t say that to me.”

Where you expected to see heartbreak or some vestiges of pain, you only saw determination, suddenly renewed. You then realize your mistake. You hadn’t said the one word he expected to hear, the one he needed to hear: No. So it doesn’t surprise you when you see the hope in his gaze flare brighter, perhaps believing he’s not alone in this after all. 

You watch as he moves aside the thin sheet covering the last traces of his modesty, fully revealing himself to you as he swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands. The irony of the action is not lost on you; he’s making himself vulnerable before you, letting you see every inch of him, even what’s beyond skin deep.

He is suddenly before you, this large man whose hulking stature had completely dwarfed you minutes ago as he had pushed your thighs back and pistoned in and out of you, groans escaping him as droplets of his sweat christened your bare skin repeatedly. And yet, despite the size of him, here he is, exposing himself in such a way that you feel like the tall one, even as you crane your neck to meet his intent gaze head on.

The tips of his fingers gently urge your chin up a little higher so he can see all of you, both of you laid bare to one another as his eyes swallow you whole. “Yes, I should,” he murmurs. “I love you.” You know what’s about to happen, especially as his eyelids lower slightly and he begins to dip his head. The insatiable monster inside you craves his lips on yours, his tongue tangling with yours in a tango that mimics the one your bodies just did, craves him, but you force yourself to pull away.

Ignoring the hurt lining his expression, you turn to look for your shoes that had been kicked off as you both stumbled into the room, glued to one another and tearing at each other’s clothes in your desperate need to have your skin meeting his. Once you spot them, you take a step in that direction when his hand on your elbow stops you.

“Baby,” he pleads. 

“Don’t,” you whisper, refusing to look at him like he’s begging you to.

When you attempt to move again, his hand releases you only for his arm to snake around your waist and prevent you from leaving. You’re not surprised when he pulls you closer and you can feel the scratchiness of his unshaven face against your neck as he burrows into you.

“I love you, Y/N,” he rasps into your ear. He’s begging again, though this time you know it’s more for you not to leave more than his insistence on your belief in his feelings for you. He doesn’t want you to leave him here, alone with only his thoughts to keep him company along with some top shelf whiskey the hotel staff stocks exclusively for him in the mini bar. 

It used to work, this heartfelt plea whispered against your skin, nuzzled against your cheek, pressed against your lips, until you gave in and let him lay you back down on the bed, giving yourself over to him completely for however long he wanted you. Now, though, you’ve grown stronger, smarter, and that’s why it’s easier than ever to push away from him and look him dead in the eye. “Then get a divorce.”

You see the expected pain magnify throughout his handsome face and you take the opportunity of his reaction to your response to finally move away and grab your shoes, slipping them on as quickly as possible. 

He quietly clears his throat before the familiar deep voice that has murmured the dirtiest and sweetest things you’ve ever heard into your ear tears through the quiet paper-thin hush of the room that usually exists once your frenzied lovemaking ceases. “Y/N, we’ve talked about this. You know I can’t—”

“Not my problem,” snaps out of you. You don’t even bother to roll your eyes anymore at the age-old response he gives you every time you dose both of you with reality like this. Except it is your problem, very much your problem. Hell, it became your problem the moment you allowed him into your apartment that one snowy night, fully knowing you were about to change your life forever and not necessarily for the better. When you finally found out how easily your scratches could be seen on his skin, how divine his lips tasted especially after they had drunk deeply from yours and your body still ricocheted with aftershocks from your orgasm, and how taut his back muscles became with every slow and hard thrust into you. When you found out how intoxicating the sounds of his groans in your ear were as he took pleasure in what your body offered his, how dry your mouth was afterwards from all of the loud panting you did as his mouth ghosted over yours while he repeatedly hit that one spot deep within you, and how tightly he held onto you once he came, unwilling to let you go until he had absolutely had to.

You tamp down the desire you feel unfurling underneath your skin at the memories of that night and grab your jacket and handbag from where you’d tossed them. You refuse to think any further about that night, about how he had begged you to let him in, his chest heaving and snowflakes rapidly melting in his short hair, his eyes darker than you’d ever seen them and glancing repeatedly at your lips. You absolutely don’t think about the way his mouth desperately claimed yours the moment you opened the door wider and he was on you, kicking the door shut behind him. Or about how only minutes later he had you backed up against the wall, your jeans and panties tossed away somewhere, and him on his knees with his head buried between your legs, making you grip his hair as you bit your lip so hard it bled. Or even about how you had clawed at the wall he had turned you to face as he pounded away at you, his hand turning your head so he could sloppily kiss you, grunting loudly into your ear with every thrust as the rough fabric of his coat sleeve rubbed against your neck. Or how the buckle of his open belt rattled with his movements, only to be rivaled by your own cries, both being surpassed by his loud drawn out roar of “Fuck!” as he buried himself to the hilt within you and burrowed his face into your neck. His hot and harsh breaths dampened your skin while you reached a hand up to run soothingly through his wet hair, struggling to regain the ability to breathe yourself. No, you weren't going to think about how he then moved you to your bedroom from where neither of you emerged until hours later in search of sustenance and electrolytes.

Instead of allowing yourself to get lost in the thoughts of that night, you take a small breath and start heading for the door.

“I love you, dammit.” He’s angry now, just as you knew he would be the closer you got to leaving, leaving him. “Doesn’t that count for anything?”

You stop and you hear him take a step closer. You don’t have to turn to look at him to know there is a cautious renewal of hope lighting his eyes. You had stopped after all. But you both have done this dance before and each time it ends the same way. 

“No, you don’t,” you answer him quietly, almost gently. Your aim is not to hurt him, never to hurt him. He’s been hurt enough and you will be damned if will be like her and add to his pain. But at the same time, you can’t lie nor will you continue to swallow any of his. So, like always, you spare him but not yourself. “You think you do, but you don’t. You don’t love me.”

“Yes, I do.” He’s closer now, his voice is cracking slightly…he’s a few moments away from coiling his arms around you like a snake and keeping you from walking out the door, again. 

And so you make it quick, you plunge the dagger of truth into your own chest and let the pain bloom within you, spreading quickly through your veins like wildfire. “You don’t because if you did, you wouldn’t keep me in a holding pattern like this.” You then force yourself to turn and face him, your eyes hard as diamonds and your face one of stone. “I’m purely a convenient fuck for you when you get lonely, or someone to call when it all becomes too much. This isn’t even an affair. I’m nothing more than a painkiller that comes with an orgasm or two. That’s it and you know it. So, no, you don’t love me, because if you did, you would never use me like this.”

As expected, his eyes widen and his jaw drops. You can see the protests building in his throat but you cut him off.

“And if I loved you, I wouldn’t let you continue to use me like this.” 

He stands there, staring at you, a small sadness growing in his deep gaze. This always happens. As much as you try to spare him and not bleed out your pain all over him, some tiny amount almost always splashes onto him. You can’t help that. One of you has to be the strong one and keep it real; it just happens to always be you.

So you don’t allow his crestfallen expression to get to you and you lift your chin slightly, rolling your shoulders back as you straighten your spine. “I’ll see you when I see you.” 

You spin on your heel and stride towards the door. When your fingers grab onto the door handle, you hear a broken plea of “Don’t leave…please.” You clench your jaw and force yourself to open the door, refusing to look back.

“Goodbye, Jensen.”

You walk across the threshold and pull the door closed behind you. You make your way to the elevators, unsurprised that he doesn’t quickly dress and run after you. He never has before; why would that change now? When the elevator dings and thankfully the car is empty, you step into it and hit the “close door” button. You wait and as expected, no calls of “Wait!” or chimes of your phone sound as the doors take their sweet time closing despite their directive. Once they’re shut, once there is no possibility of him seeing you or hearing you, you sink against the wall of the car and grasp at your chest, your breath loudly catching as the full weight of the pain you had denied yourself begins to flow through you anew. Tears mark your cheeks and you let out a sound akin to a strangled sob. 

Yes, you do love him and that is why you continue to let him use you in this way. That is why you opened the door that night and let him in, fully knowing what was going to happen. That is why you allowed him to take your friendship and mangle it into whatever dark and hopeless form it takes now. You fucking love him; of course you do.  In the same breath, though, you know he doesn’t love you and this last bit of pain is what finishes you as the elevator continues to descend: and he never will. You turn your body to face the corner and hold a hand over your mouth, beginning to cry outright. He will never love you the way you love him. No matter how many times you run to him when he calls, no matter how you let him take pleasure in you or comfort in your arms, no matter how many times you’ve begged him to end things with her and be with you instead…he will never love you. You loudly sob as the sharp tip of that truth dagger from before lodges itself into your heart, almost neatly fitting into the groove from all of the previous times. Your heartbreak is the only sound that echoes throughout the small space along with the glaring silence of your phone. And just like that, once again, the dance comes to its predictable end.

A/N: So yeah, sorry about that. As always, no disrespect is ever meant to Jensen, Danneel, or their family. I'm not suggesting or implying anything about either Jensen or Danneel, I just had him in my head while writing. Purely fictional.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

Jensen RPF: @ladykitana90; @lemonfreak97; @lacilou; @waynes-multiverse

Forever Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel; @hobby27; @impala67rollingthroughtown; @ladysparkles78

[plusvanity]

Thanks to your blog — that I discovered randomly — I got sucked into the whole Mayhem lore. 🥲 I got the general order and gist of the things (especially around the whole mythos that people build over the years) but there is one thing that I can't stop thinking and it just bothers me.

So, we all already know that Varg and Øystein start as friends, good ones at that. Varg admires Øystein meanwhile Øystein thinks they share the same vision music wise, they burn churches together, he defends him from the press (and generally TO ME, it seems like it was Ø doing the heavy lifting and all the work in this friendship but whatever) and so on; until Varg's opinion of him shifted all of a sudden: Øystein became full of flaws, or only flaws at that point, and the tension arises. Many people spoke about how they were kind of fighting for dominance of the BM scene, but really, how much is this a factoid? Yeah Varg can brag alllll he wants about how Øystein was jealous because he was becoming more popular, but to me it's more that Ø was just annoyed by his behaviour, he did not feel threatened of being 'dethroned'; it reads like a fantasy of Varg (that besides, came out of nowhere and all of a sudden in the scene meanwhile Øystein was already a well established personality). I also do not really agree on the stance that Øystein was a megalomaniac, but I'll put that aside.

Varg at a certain point says that he 'listened to a call' where Ø was talking about how he wanted (and would) kill him. Is this even true or pulled out from his ass to justify himself? I only found one source that mentions briefly that he THOUGHT about 'getting to him first' but A) he never really wanted that nor was violent and B) it was a private conversation that got out after his death, and I'm referring to Mortiis.

Either way, it does seem that Øystein was a bit preoccupied when it came to Varg. He wanted him out and most importantly, far from himself. There is also what I'll label as a rumor that Ø was agitated after hearing that one clairvoyant (sprinkle of salt). So why would he EVER open the door to him that night? It certainly was weird and he knew that Varg was dangerous, hence why, among other things, he wanted to put him in jail. And even Varg admits that Øystein was clearly uncomfortable seeing him. Would Varg have killed him even if Øystein never opened that damn door (oh, how I wish!), or would his impulsive anger cool down?

Varg and Øystein started as friends because Varg was looking up to Øystein. I have no doubt that Varg was putting up a mark at first to seem more likeable, to get closer to Øystein and eventually become relevant in the Black Metal scene since back then he was a nobody and Øystein was a well-established personality between their friends. As time progressed, Varg's admiration turned into jealousy and envy since he was an undisclosed egomaniac and wanted to have what his 'mentor' had. Their fight for dominance is not a rumor. It is a fact that led to Øystein's tragic end.

No one can blame Øystein for getting sick of Varg's bullshit and giving him the taste of his own medicine by talking badly about Varg's on his back. I believe their animosity was going back and forth because I think I'm one of the few people who believe that Øystein had a bit of an ego too, because after all he was leading a brand new music scene and he was entitled to his position. I don't necessarily think there is something bad about this because after all he was the one (together with Pelle) who built their own, unique style. Whether he really felt threatened by Vikernes or not, we can't tell for sure.

Varg will use everything in his side of the story to make people believe that he was right all along in what he did and not only that, but he even 'did the right thing' by his delusional, egoistic and envious standards, so, my suggestion is to believe anybody else but Varg. You cannot tell what is real and what is fiction, including the call that he pretends he heard. I would say (with indulgence) that 90% of what he states is pulled straight of his ass. He is a nothing but a pathological liar and that's it.

I believe that Øystein was, to a certain extent, having the thought of Varg doing 'something' against, but when all they ever did was throwing empty threats, how could Øystein be sure that this time Varg means business? He wanted Varg out of his life, that's for certain. Vikernes' actions cause him bad publicity and his shop, Helvete, to close.

Why Øystein opened the door that night, I can only speculate the most plausible answer. It was 3 or 4 o'clock in the morning and he woke up from his sleep, too tired to realize how late it must've been, and answering the door came as an automatic reflex. He didn't know who was waiting on the other side and he was surprised to see Varg there. In retrospect, Øystein would've had the chance to put up a better fight if he wasn't taken by surprise like this, but after all, Varg had a knife on him and this was the surprise element that, if you don't have an equalizer, you've already lost the fight unfortunately.

Varg must've been a madman to drive 5-6 hours in the middle of the night from Bergen to Oslo to kill. I don't think that not having that door open, you would just shrug and be like 'Well, that's it, folks. I'm going home'. No, he would've find a way to get in. It's the adrenaline that brought you there that won't allow you to leave even if you would somehow realize that what you do is gonna cost you a lot of trouble. The impulse is too strong, you can't just walk away simply.

I also wish Øystein never opened that door, but I guess we all wish that.

[ronearoundblindly]

'The Root of All Ransom' Masterlist

Ransom Drysdale x rich!Reader (enemies-to-lovers) ⛈🔥🦆

Ransom hates you, that one, self-made, rich bitch who wins all the philanthropy awards, but he finds a way to use you to anger his mother, Linda. Bonus that he can get some ass in the process. What could possibly go wrong? Money is the only thing he loves, right?

Angst, romance, and smut; each chapter has its own warnings. Please read them carefully. MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY You will find all-age friendly fic on my Light Masterlist, but not here!

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Mini One-shots:

Gifts Given -- set between pt. 4 and 5

Gifts Received -- set during or anytime after pt. 4

Love of My Life -- set days after pt. 6

A Fluffy Blanket -- set after pt. 6

Beck and Call -- set anytime after pt. 4

Help with A Basic Task -- set after pt. 6

Ski Resort -- teeny tiny drabble after pt. 7

Fire & Ice -- between pt. 7 and 8

Is that a 'yes?' -- kinda anywhere after pt. 6

The Ransomizer -- idk but you're dating...

Out of Spite -- after pt. 7

(Dirty Headcanon; Another)

Shipper asks: 1, 2, 3

The Stoop -- between pt. 7 & 8

The Sequel:

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

Part Eleven

Part Twelve

***Ransom Demands parts will be labeled 1-6 in their stand-alone posts but 7-12 here for chronology and specifics of where mini-tales are in between.

[Main Masterlist]

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

There is a brutal contrast in how Megatron and Optimus's stories end. Optimus nobly surrenders his spark, along with the Matrix of Leadership, having been sent off by his dear and trusted friends after giving them a fond farewell. He has accomplished his life's greatest goal; now he is able to rest. He dies willingly, at peace, bringing hope and giving life to the next generation by restoring the Allspark.

Megatron had already been killed, and was told that he can never join that very Allspark. Having been enslaved, and only released because of Optimus's actions, he is now reanimated, inhabiting his own corpse. His only remaining ally, who has constantly betrayed him, does not understand him. He flies off, alone, having lost all his forces and failed in his mission, and realizing that his life's greatest purpose was misguided. He is left, we can only assume, to live a hellish and hopeless life--a shell, consumed by the past.

And he did not tell Optimus goodbye. He knows that Optimus will leave him behind, will obtain the heaven he can never enter. He gives him the parting gift of his repentance, to acknowledge this. But in his refusal to say farewell, there is an echo of his own wretched endurance. He does not get to rest. Megatron will remain, eternally alone--eternally waiting for a reunion that will never come.

[dimension-20-every-introduction]

Everyone Introduced in Dimension 20's Fantasy High: Junior Year episode 17

[moongothic]

WAIT WAIT WAIT HOLD THE FUCKING PHONE

So normally we only get fullblown, extended and dedicated flashbacks for heroic characters in One Piece, the characters who we're meant to root for. The literal only TRUE exception we've had to this rule was Big Mom's flashback. Even fucking Doflamingo's flashback was tied to Law and Rosinante's

So the fact that we haven't gotten a single fucking GLIMPSE at Crocodile's backstory is?!?

Like sure, we haven't gotten like a Moria flashback, but you know, he literally told us all we needed to know himself, AND we got to see glimpses of him in the Wano flashbacks. Arlong didn't get a flashback of his own, but he did get to cameo in Fisher Tiger's flashback. And Rob Fucking Lucci got a flashback that was 6 whooping panels long

BUT CROCODILE?? Not only do we know almost Fuck All about his story, but also have never gotten as much as a glimpse at it? But his backstory has been HINTED and TEASED at multiple times??

GUYS. FELLAS

Like. I am SURE the "Full Backstories for Heroes Only" rule is going to get broken again, but with Imu and Blackbeard already there just BEGGING to have their beans spilled, can we even be sure Sir Fucking Crocodile is somehow going to become A Villain So Dangerous To The Narrative that he ALSO should also recieve a Full Fucking Backstory?? For his Nefarious Schemes?? AT THIS POINT??

Y'all

I think it's more likely Oda's been saving up Croc's backstory because it might just completely recontextualize his entire character

[shannonsketches]

like why did they change where Vegeta was when Cell announced the cell games in the anime

why did they make this vegeta starting shit with yamcha instead of chillin in the lab with his family? why did they take Bulma out of the lab? Why'd they say she was Out while Dr Brief was repairing 16? Why did they change Bulma working on advanced robotics to running in late with her baby?

it's the same scene except: - Bulma's actively at work being a scientist - Vegeta's not being rude to her (or anyone else!) - Vegeta waits for Trunks instead of leaving the room - Cell interrupted the airwaves, which means Trunks and Vegeta were just hanging out with Bulma and Dr B while they were working

Those are all Great Character Details!! That the anime rails against!!