#oh look its another shot of them smooching so original

[eurodyne-d]

[beck-a-leck]

For the kiss prompts, i feel like #23 is too obvious for Fraeger but...

#23 for Fraeger plz xD

I mean, I feel like every time I write Raeger, I end up going on a sensory journey, so I feel like #23 was the only appropriate one for the two of them!

Send me a Smooch Prompt and some characters for all your self-indulgent ficlet needs!

#23 A kiss that tastes of the food they’re eating.

Fritz kicked open the restaurant door – he kicked it gentlyfor the record, it wasn’t like he broke the door down and really what else was he supposed to do? His hands were full, and he was too excited to knock and wait for Raeger to get the door, and it was raining cats and dogs out there so…

Fritz kicked open the restaurant door and loudly proclaimed, “I have procured for us a feast!” before setting the heavy basket down on the countertop.

Raeger raised an eyebrow and surreptitiously checked his poor, abused door for any marks in the paint before pushing it closed behind Fritz. While the farmer shucked out of his dripping raincoat, the chef removed the towel covering the basket and gave its contents an approving smile.

Fritz had done exactly as he had promised, he had procured a veritable feast for them, but he seemed to have forgotten one important thing. “None of this is cooked.”

The basket was filled with fresh produce, fruits and vegetables, a bottle of fresh, creamy milk, and half a dozen eggs, along with a few fragrant mushrooms and fresh herbs. Raeger began removing food, setting it out on the counter, a few apples, leafy spinach, an onion, some peppers, a couple of sweet potatoes, and a small jar of golden honey.

“Well,” Fritz said slowly, coming over to assist in the unpacking. “I was going to cook everything, since our original plan was to go on a picnic, but with the rain forecasted for today…” he shrugged and said quietly, “I thought maybe we might cook this up together. I know it’s your day off, and you’d rather not work today, but—”

Raeger cut him off with a finger pressed to Fritz’s lips. “It’s not work, cooking for you.”

Fritz’s cheeks went red, and he very quickly returned to organizing the food. “Everything’s from my farm. Even the honey, it’s from the last I got harvested from the bee boxes before I gave them over to Elise.” He picked up the jar and ran his finger around the lid. “Should be really good, those bees ate well off of summer nectar this year.”

“I’m sure it’ll be delicious.” He scanned the rest of the produce on the table and reached for the sweet potatoes. “Best to do with these is bake them, we’d better get them in the oven soon if we want to eat them with the rest of the food. As for the others…”

“I was thinking omelets, or maybe a frittata.” Fritz offered. “Something easy, that way you don’t have to work too hard. Heck, even I can cook those if you don’t want to do any work at all.”

Raeger smiled. “That sounds great. Now, what about the apples?”

“Oh, that’s easy. Eat them plain!” fritz picked up one of the apples and polished it on his shirt for a moment before offering it to Raeger. “I won’t let you have these any other way. They’re too good for anything else.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Raeger grabbed a knife from the drawer and took the offered apple. He took a moment to admire the shiny red skin against the blade of his knife before he applied pressure and broke into the crisp flesh. Almost immediately, juice welled up from the cut and dripped into his palm. He could smell the light and sweet scent of the apple and he could only imagine it would tase that much better.

He cut a neat wedge from the apple and offered it to Fritz. He pushed it away. “Nu-uh, first bite’s yours.”

Knowing better than to argue, Raeger took the slice back and put it in his mouth. The skin snapped cleanly beneath his teeth, and the sweet juice coated his tongue. Raeger closed his eyes and smiled as he chewed. An apple was such a simple treat, but there was a certain kind of pleasure that came from eating a perfect one. And Fritz grew perfect apples.

While he chewed, he cut another slice of apple for Fritz and the farmer took it without protest. Piece by piece they shared the apple until there was nothing but the core left. Raeger licked the sweet juice from his fingers as he left to put the sweet potatoes in the oven, and when he came back Fritz was already slicing up the second one.

“These are very good apples, Fritz.” Raeger picked up another slice, and his eye caught something sitting on the counter. He grinned and put the slice down. “But I bet I can make them better.”

Fritz scoffed, a look of mock offense crossing his face. “You dare to suggest that these prize-winning apples need any kind of improvement?”

“I do. And I think you’ll agree with me once I’ve done it. But close your eyes, it’s a surprise.”

Fritz rolled his eyes, but dutifully closed his eyes, and covered them with his hands for good measure. Once Raeger was certain he wasn’t peaking, he opened the jar of honey as quietly as possible and spooned some over an apple slice.

“Open your mouth.”

Fritz did as commanded, barely holding back a cheeky grin. Raeger put the honeyed apple in Fritz’s mouth. Almost as soon as the food touched his tongue, he threw his hands down and opened his eyes.

“Okay, I have to admit, you may have improved the apples. That was a pretty good idea, honey.”

Raeger laughed and rolled his eyes at the moniker, as he licked a bit of honey off his own fingers. The sweetness melted across his tongue and mingled with the faint aftertaste of the apple. He wanted to try a bite of his own honeyed apple.

Fritz was already ahead of him, holding a ready slice with a streak of golden honey on top. Raeger reached for the slice, but Fritz pulled it away.

“Ah-ah, turnabout is fair play.”

“All right, fine,” Raeger opened his mouth to accept the bite, but Fritz pulled the slice farther away.

“Nope, not like that.”

“What, you want me to close my eyes too.”

The farmer grinned, “It’s only fair.”

Raeger rolled his eyes, but smiled and sat back, obediently closing his eyes. What touched his lips was not apple, nor honey. Fritz’s kiss had been quick, but when he pulled away he left behind the faint taste of apples and honey on Raeger’s lips.

Raeger’s eyes shot open to see Fritz much closer than he had been a moment ago. “Fooled you,” he teased before putting the apple slice in Raeger’s surprised open mouth.

“Sneak.” Raeger chewed quickly, not truly savoring the flavor of the crisp apple mixed with the sweet honey, in the back of his mind he was aware of the delicious combination, but he had something more important in mind.

Before Fritz could retreat back to the other side of the counter, Raeger caught him by the chin and pulled him in for another kiss. This one much longer than their first.

And they passed a rainy afternoon trading honey and apple kisses. It wasn’t the picnic they had hoped for, but it was a very pleasant date none the less.

[katreal-fic]

Day 6 — for #fictober 10/07/19

Prompt: “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”

Fandom: Homestuck

Warnings: Cursing, 2nd Person POV, Earth C world building

Part of a series. Please start from the beginning!

Characters: Dirk Strider & Roxy Lalonde

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It’s almost a twelve hour flight from Hearthstone to New City. The consort Kingdom was smack-dab in the middle of the largest ocean on the planet, the proverbial Australia-sized New Zealand of this new world if you remembered your Old World geography right, so nearly every single landmass was at least 10 hours away by plane. You fly faster than a plane, of course, but even once you hit land you have to cross a whole ’nother continent to reach Roxy’s lil developed patch of coast.

Not exactly a hop, skip, and a jump, but the remote location was half the reason you settled out here.

The other half was Jake English, but that was a handful of awkward slimy wriggling worms you’d much rather just casually toss overboard to turn into home-made chum. The fish would probably appreciate it.

Dirk > Jump Off the Shark

The original plan was to head out at four in the morning and be there by 7pm to crash whatever dinner plans Rox had going. But by the time you cleaned up your workshop--you have to keep things tidy. After all, you never know when you’ll have guests dropping in--and sent out your emails about any projects that were expecting activity in the next few days, you found yourself sitting on the edge of your roof, leg bouncing with nervous energy, looking off into the distance towards the dusk end of the sunset cascading over the--mostly--dark coastline.

You won’t be able to sleep tonight. You already know that. You hardly sleep as it is, except when you feel the weight of years you’ve never lived dragging down on you, long days and longer nights and crying babies and howling laughter winding their way into your dreams to the point where you find yourself taking random catnaps at uncertain intervals because it’s a moment of goddamn silence.

It isn’t one of those days right now though, thankfully, but on the flipside, it means you’re in for a stupidly long night.

If you bother to wait. There’s nothing saying you have to. All you told Roxy was you’d be there tomorrow.

You could leave now.

A sick set of orange and black headphones hang around your neck as you lock up behind you, killing the lights except for the courtesy red ones around the outer edges of the complex and the antennae. Your workshop isn’t on any publicly used maps, at least not the way Jake’s estate was, but most shipping lanes at least know to avoid this particular section of the coast.

You really hate that Hearthstone popped up so close to the structure. The consorts don’t bother, but sometimes troll merchants just had to shirk the commonly used ones. As if they weren’t designed to be the most efficient ones. Idiots. Always needing to go around the system. Believing they knew better than those who designed them.

Whatever. You slide your headphones over your ears, letting the laws of physics slide off you like they don’t even exist, your godly accouterments shimmering into existence over your usual black hoodie and slacks. You hate the tights, and the pants, but nothing else quite stands up to the quality of high-altitude insulation brought about by magic PJs. A thought, and you’re pulling up Booble Maps on your shades, relegating it to a small window in the upper right corner, mostly just to get your bearings. It won’t be very useful until you hit the continent, but it at least points you in the right direction.

Another thought and your headphones fill with some sweet tunes, blocking out the roaring of the wind and your own shitty thoughts as your stupid forked half-cape flaps behind you. You pull the hood up and over your head, protecting your ‘do from the wind the best you can.

You have a long flight ahead of you.

The ocean lasts forever, giving way to cliffs and mountains along the western edge of the great land of--you actually aren’t sure if they picked a name for the whole continent yet. The kingdoms don’t cover the whole giant slab of environments that makes up this particular piece of the world. You remember Dave joking about just calling it the New Land to go with New City and New Prospit and New Derse and New Skaia and The Farms and Village-by-Dong-Mountain--you get the feeling the Chess folk as a whole just like straightforward names.

You’re pretty sure everyone in that memo veto’d his suggestion immediately. You hadn’t really cared so you’d just peaced out and muted it before ever learning the resolution.

Booble maps should have it, but again, the Carapace didn’t much care to keep their records up to date. Just like the consorts. It drives you mad to think about not being able to acquire basic information due to someone else’s negligence.

You turn up the volume to lose yourself and just keep flying as the sky begins to turn pink in the east.

It’s a much more respectable hour of After Dawn by the time you touch down on the roof of a high-rise building you think belongs to Roxy and Calliope. You think, you aren’t entirely sure. It’s been forever since you’ve been out this way. Not since y’all got together and built the internet and Roxy came up with the greatest search engine name of all time.

The most recent address you found matches what you can tell of your general location, and the view over the bay--despite it being noticeably morning and not after dark--matches the picture you’d been sent in the email. So you shoot her a quick, ‘I’m here.’

Standing there in your godly PJs, slightly light headed from a 12 hr+ flight being completed in one shot. You slide your headphones off your ears to let them hang around your neck, your ears buzzing with the distant sounds of a city waking up, free at last from the mad shuffling skills your playlist had to go through in order to get you this far. Blinking in the pre-noon light, not even slightly bothered by the cool morning air or the autumn sun beginning it’s still toothless beat down on your skin. You’re a god. Radiation can fuckin’ suck it.

The door to the roof slams open. Roxy’s there in a blur of pink and white. She’s taller than you remember--almost as tall as you are now. Older than you remember--it’s been at least a year, maybe two. But she still squeals and throws herself at you, wrapping her bare arms around your  maroon covered shoulders. Her hands dig into the loose fabric of your cape. Her weight hits you, you rock back and shift to absorb it.

“Oh my gawd, you’re so early!”

“Yes, I’m aware.” You’ve hesitated for too long. A kid who barely learned how to interact with people before you fucked off into your own isolationist bubble. It takes you an embarrassingly long time to hug her back, “Your point? I did say tomorrow. Tomorrow is now today.”

“Smart alec! I told you to warn me, dummy!” Her weight lightens as she sheds her own hold on physics, and hovers to gain back the extra inch you have on her. Her hands come up and push back your hood with it’s attached tiara, freeing your surprisingly sweat soaked hair from its prison. Apparently even magic jammies had their limitations and you might have pushed it just a little bit

She leaves a big wet smooch on your right cheek, underneath your shades. Your eye twitches, but you sigh as she rocks back, disentangling the two of you and standing back with her hands on her hips. “That’s for makin’ me come up here at the ungodly hour of 9 am on a Sunday. I’ll be gracious and not punish you for also taking two years to get your cute little pantaloon’d butt out here to see me.”

“My bad,” You mumble, chastised. For a moment you see through her. A tall imposing lady, white dress and black lipstick. One of the few who could stop you, but too far away to realize that maybe she should. But you blink and it’s gone and she’s smiling at you. You let your princely get-up slide away into wherever the fuck it goes, leaving you standing in a much more reasonable--and tights-less--hoodie and slacks, “Time got away from me.”

“No duh it did. C’mon, let’s get inside and tell the peeps the good news. ARq owes me and ‘peta some ice-cream. He thought you’d chicken out.”

Of course he did. But you let her latch onto your arm and lead you inside.

First | Previous | Next

[pain-somnia]

Title: “dronk” Rating: M (no smut but it feels more appropriate than T) Pairing: SasuSaku and TenKarin Day’s Notes: Drunk Team Taka shenanigans but in a Real Life/College AU; I will possibly write more Team Taka College AU interactions (with possible changes to the Karin ships, only SasuSaku will stay the same) because @saradacchi loves SasuSuiKa friendship

She should have stopped him a few drinks ago.

And all of those shots were definitely a mistake.

Sasuke Uchiha was passed out and Karin wasn’t sober enough to worry about the way she was dragging his body as she pulled him by his legs.

Suigetsu was suppose to be holding Sasuke’s arms but he disappeared once they got outside. Karin wouldn’t be surprised if he got himself picked up and taken to the drunk tank.

I should have stayed home and cuddled with Tenten, Karin grumbled inwardly.

She propped Sasuke up so he was leaning against a streetlamp and sat on his other side so his head could roll over onto her shoulder.

“Ah, shit.”

Karin pressed the power button on her phone two more times, hoping it would come to life. No dice. Her battery had drained a while ago as she overzealously added snaps to her story.

She rummaged through the pocket of Sasuke’s utility jacket and pulled out his phone glad that he finally switched to a smartphone instead of the flip phone he used last semester.

“Here we go.”

Karin pressed Sasuke’s thumb on the home button on his iPhone and unlocked it. She was originally going to order an Uber to get them to her place but the feeling of tape on the back of Sasuke’s cell phone case was bugging her.

“What the fuck?”

Karin squinted her eyes and then removed her glasses before putting them back on when she remembered that she couldn’t see without them.

“Return...to...Sa..kura?” Karin frowned trying to remember what she knew about her friend.

They had become part of a group in their first semester when Suigetsu had forced them all to work on a project together. Karin wasn’t friends with anyone in university yet so it helped that Suigetsu dragged Jūgo over to her seat at the lecture hall.

Sasuke had been walking by, probably trying to figure out how to do all of the work on his own, when Suigetsu wrapped an arm around his neck and sat him next to Karin.

They sort of were stuck with each other ever since.

Karin scrolled down Sasuke’s contact list until she found a Sakura with blossom emoticons and a sparkling heart next to the name.

“Cute...”

Karin dialed the number and right before she realized what time it was, “Sakura” answered.

“Can’t sleep?” A sleepy voice giggled.

“No, actually, he’s passed the fuck out.”

“Umm...who’s━”

“Karin. I’m one of his school friends and I was trying to get him home but that asshole Suigetsu ran off on us.”

“And you’re calling me because…?”

“My phone’s dead and I’m too drunk to remember my girlfriend’s phone number and this idiot apparently has ‘Return to Sakura’ taped on his phone so here I am calling Sakura.”

“You sound very coherent for a drunk person.”

“Thanks. It’s a blessing.”

There was a pause and Karin thought maybe Sakura had fallen back to sleep.

“Are you somewhere safe?”

“Yeah, yeah totally.” Karin pushed back her bangs and took a deep breath. “Do you think you could come get us?”

“It would take me an hour possibly but yes. Anywhere you could go for now?”

“University Diner is twenty-four seven I could try and get us there. It’s only a block away.”

“Okay. I’ll try and get there as quickly as possible.”

“I lost my phone.”

Karin jumped, not expecting Suigetsu to say anything since the last time she saw him was in the bar.

“You didn’t have it when we went out. To prevent any regrets.”

“What was ringing in my pocket then?”

“Nothing you nimrod. Where’s Jūgo?”

Suigetsu went silent. If she wasn’t looking at him she would have thought that he passed out too.

“We lost Jūgo.”

“What do you mean we lost Jūgo?”

“I left ‘im in a safe place after he fell asleep but I can’t remember where…”

“You had one job Suigetsu.”

“To be fair.” Suigetsu took a long pause before his next set of words. “I’m drunk as fuck.”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah. So what are we doing?”

“We gotta take Sasuke to the diner. Then you’re going to look for Jūgo.”

“Can’t you just drag him there?”

“Grab his arms, stupid!”

. .

It was a total invasion of privacy. She would kill anyone if they did the same with her phone but Karin was one jager bomb too many in to care.

She was feeling wired from the energy drink but also slightly brain foggy and she needed to entertain herself somehow.

Sasuke was the weirdest person she had ever met. He had created folders for everything. Not a single app was allowed to float around on its own unless they were the apps on the toolbar.

She learned a lot about him though. He had one email account for gaming, another for school, and one for social media. Karin rolled her eyes that he even bothered with social media apps considering he rarely went on them.

She slid down the booth so her head rest on the top of the seat and sighed. Suigetsu went off to figure out where they had left Jūgo so she was stuck alone at the diner with a passed out Sasuke.

Karin balled up the wrapper to straw for her milkshake and flicked it at Sasuke’s nose. She was already bored with the games on his phone and although his dog was cute, there was only so much cute she could take before she cried because she was still kind of drunk and there was no puppy around for her to cuddle with.

Opening up the Notes app she thought she would find random class schedules and the like. Karin hadn’t expected to find locked notes.

Why would he lock notes?

Karin attempted to open one but it required a password and she couldn’t use Sasuke’s thumbprint to unlock it.

What would he hide? Photos? Sexts???

Karin gagged and put Sasuke’s phone down on the table. She picked it back up again when she realized she could use the contents of the locked notes for blackmail.

Karin wasn’t fond of scooping out the litterbox of the cat Tenten adopted and she could always get Sasuke to do it for her and a bunch of other errands.

But only if she knew the contents of the locked notes.

“Typical,” Karin huffed, blowing her hair out of her face. Sasuke was the type of person that didn’t need a hint to remind him of his password.

She groaned and stretched out her arms on the table top. Next time she was bringing Tenten along.She was her impulse control. Then maybe she would be at home getting smooches and cuddles instead of babysitting a grown ass man.

No. She would have to drag him back to her place where he would be drooling on the comfy couch she and Tenten coerced a salesman to give them at a discount. And then she would be disgusted. So then she would have to draw on his stupid pretty face with a permanent marker.

In fact, perhaps she could get one from one of the waitresses...

“I got here as quickly as I could!”

A pink haired girl plopped down across from her in the booth and brushed Sasuke’s hair out of his face.

Pink.

Pink!

“Your hair. Is pink.” Karin’s jaw dropped in fascination. She squinted her eyes and then backed away with a soft, “whoaaa..”

“Oh wow, you are drunk.”

The girl that could only be Sakura waved over a waitress and ordered a tomato mozzarella panini and cheese fries and a strawberry milkshake.

“He’s going to be hungry when he wakes up,” Sakura explained. She grabbed some napkins and wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth.

“Your boyfriend is a hot mess.”

“Well, he doesn’t usually get this drunk. He doesn’t usually drink enough to get drunk.” Sakura’s mouth quirked to the side as she watched Sasuke’s nose wrinkle up when she smoothed his hair away from his face again.

“I should have realized that when after his fourth shot he shouted something about his girlfriend being his impulse control and slammed three more before promptly passing out.”

“Why did you guys go out drinking like this?”

“Well we just finished a paper and this is the first semester we could actually all go to a bar since Sasuke just turned twenty-one. But tell me how you’re his impulse control. He never talks about you outside of the small updates about what he does on breaks and every weekend.”

“How are you this coherent?”

“Like I said, it’s a gift.” Karin propped her chin on her hands and leaned forward on her elbows. “But please tell me more about yourself and Sasuke. I would like to know some embarrassing things about him while you’re here and he can’t stop me.”

“I don’t think I should.”

“Boo you whore.”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you know all of Sasuke’s passwords?”

“We believe in trust in our relationship. Of course I know his passwords. We have nothing to hide from each other.”

Karin pulled out Sasuke’s phone and flipped it around to face Sakura.

“Then do you know the password to his locked notes?”

. .

“What are you doing?”

When Suigetsu returned to the diner━without Jūgo━Karin was scribbling on a napkin and the girl on Sasuke’s lockscreen was sitting across from her sipping at a milkshake. Sasuke was still passed out except now he was propped up against his girlfriend and drooling on her shoulder.

“We’ve tried like every possible password Sasuke could have used but we can’t unlock this folder of notes.”

Suigetsu looked at Sakura and then back at Karin. He looked at Sakura again for a full minute before holding out his hand.

“Give me the phone.”

“Okay but if we can’t figure it out how are you going━”

“Got it.”

Karin’s jaw dropped as Suigetsu slid the phone across the table. Where the gray lock screen was before was a picture of Sakura looking out a car window.

“What was it?” Sakura asked, eyebrows pulled down in frustration. She should have known him best.

“Bro code.”

“You still unlocked it, Sui.”

“Yeah but I’m not telling you what the password was.”

“Whatever.”

Karin started scrolling down and was confused the further she scrolled. They were all just normal candid photos of Sakura. Why would he━

“OH MY FUCKING GOD!”

All of the patrons of the diner turned to look at the source of the screaming. Karin shot them all a glare.

“What? What did you find?” Suigetsu attempted to grab the phone from her hand but she slapped his hand away.

“Not for your eyes!” She snapped at him.

Karin broke her glare to peek back down at the phone but then looked back up, her cheeks turning a blazing hot pink. She looked over at Sakura and shielded her eyes with a hand.

“I’m so sorry,” she muttered, handing the phone back to the source of her new discomfort. “The first set of pics looked so normal. I didn’t think he would have those.”

“Sasuke’s got nudes!” Suigetsu gasped, a giant grin spreading on his face. He pointed at Sakura and guffawed. “Her nudes!”

“Will you shut up!” Karin yanked on his shirt hard enough for him to fall into the booth. She looked over to Sakura who had gone paler than she already was.

Sasuke continued to snooze away on her shoulder despite all of the noise.

Karin hadn’t expected to meet so much of Sasuke’s girlfriend on their first meeting.

“I can show you my tits if that would make you feel better,” Karin offered.

“No thank you. I think I should just take you all home now.”

“Sui. Where’s Jūgo?”

“Oh shit! I knew I forgot something.”

[reprisedpiece]

Drop Your Pants

Pairing: Ben Platt x ArtMajor!Reader

Warning: swear words, sexual implications 

Request: “i would DIE if u did an art student reader x ben platt !!!!!!”

Word Count: 1815

Note: THIS STARTED OUT REAL FLUFFY ((and the entire thing is)) but the ending,,,, i just had to, im sorry. who knows i might even make part 2 ;---)  as always, feedbacks are appreciated!

MASTERLIST

Without a doubt, Ben found it absolutely beautiful when he found out you were an art student. He always had a knack for art, never really having the opportunities to talk about it as he didn’t have anyone to share the common interest with.

He admits that dating you entailed a lot of cheesy yet exquisite moments. Not that he was complaining. He always got the same giddy feeling whenever you mindlessly drew landscapes on his forearm, asking him to let you paint portraits on his back, and when he catches that glint in your eyes as you pull out your sketch journal whenever you see something worth drawing. 

Heck, there were even moments where he’d catch you staring at him for nearly an hour and you’d present him with a breathtaking sketch. Even if it was a loose drawing, he’d still find it stunning.

He just absolutely loved how you were able to catch every single beautiful thing in your line of vision and interpret them into something even more beautiful through your pieces.

Whenever the two of you hung out and decided to stay in, he’d always persist that it would be in your place.

Sure, your small apartment was a tad bit messy but it represented your personality quite well. It was colourful, abstract, original, vibrant. Just like you, he thought.

He never forgets to bring flowers to when he visits you. They’re not always in bouquets. Sometimes, he brings you a single flower with a small ribbon tied around its stem and it was enough to make you smile for the entire dy.

You’d put the flower/s in a vase near your other pieces as he looks around, marveling at its beauty. His gaze would switch from the easel, to the untouched canvases and sketch pads, to the paint-stained cloths near the stairwell, then eventually to you. 

He’d always see you either with charcoal markings on the side of your left hand or with a touch of paint across your cheek. You were a masterpiece in Ben’s eyes and he felt privileged to be able to even just watch you.

But of course, he also knew that your relationship would bring out of the ordinary moments.

There would be times where he’d be watching something and you’d suddenly ask him to hold his hand up near the light with a certain pose so you can sketch it. There were also time wherein you’d find him by a window, the light hitting his face just right, and you’d ask him to stay completely still.

Nonetheless, Ben didn’t mind all those things for you. He knew it was for your work. If anything, he found your dedication for your artistry simply fascinating.

Though today might be an exception. 

“Babe, I need you to drop your pants.” You said with no hesitation.

He slowly looked up from the book he was reading when he heard you say those words from across the bed.

“I need to what?”

You blew the piece of hair hanging in front of your face. You had charcoal marking over your hands so you couldn’t exactly move it away. “You heard me. Drop your pants.”

“Uhm,” He started, putting his book down. “ Look Y/N, we just ate. I think we should wait until-”

You quickly felt your cheeks heat up as you started to feel flustered. “Oh my fucking god, Ben! No, I’m not referring to that!” You said quickly, wiping your hands with a piece of cloth before smoothing out your sundress.

You were suppose to eat out that afternoon but the two of you got lazy and just decided to order in. Since then, you haven’t changed.

He simply cocked an eyebrow, smiling at you with amusement. “Okay, so why do you want me to drop my pants?”

“I need a nude model,” You started to explain. “I’m trying to sketch some poses and it would be easier for me to visualize it if someone actually did the poses.” 

Ben just stared at you, still determining if you were actually serious. This was definitely something new. Out of all the things you had him do for you, this had to be the most unconventional yet.

"We’re talking about full-on nude?”

Just like colors, you could be very bold. You simply nodded. “Yeah.”

Ben hesitated but started removing his clothes slowly nonetheless. He started with his shirt and his socks. His actions became slower when he started unbuttoning his jeans. You caught a glimpse of his face. You can tell from his expression that he felt nervous.  

“Oh, c’mon. I’ve seen it all, Ben.” You reassured him, kissing him on the cheek before walking to the sofa where you expected him to pose.

He reluctantly agreed as he began walking to the red sofa that was placed across your easel. He began laying on his, side facing you.

“Paint me like one of your french girls.” He tried lightening up the tension in the room, voice wavering ever-so slightly. He had a nervous grin on his face as you told him which pose to imitate.

You chuckled at his statement. He always said that, even when you asked him to do simple hand poses. You made him put the weight of his head against his hand, laying the other on his stomach. You placed a white sheet over his lower body, your hand accidentally brushing over his groin area.

He shifted, clearing his throat. You shot him a look. “Don’t even think about it.” He pouted at you.

“The things I do for you, I swear.” He mumbled. 

You gave him a smooch on the lips. “I know you love me.” You say with a cheeky smile, walking back to your easel.

“Unfortunately, I do.” He said back, biting his lip as he tried to keep himself from smiling.

“Just so you know, I’m sketching you.” You tell him, peaking your head from behind the easel.

“Yeah, can you make sure that my face is covered?” He asked nervously, trying to ignore the itch forming behind his leg. He knew the drill. When you asked him to pose, he had to stay completely still.

“Or just tweak it a bit so it doesn’t look exactly like me. It would feel weird if I had a nude portrait of me hanging somewhere.” 

You hummed in response. "Sure, babe. Whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

Ben observed you as you sketched, watching as your eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Nearly an hour into sketching, you unconsciously stuck out you tongue a bit as you focused on the shading. He couldn’t help but smile as he admired you.

It was when you couldn't find your eraser when things got, well, hard. So to speak.

Your eyes were still focused on the paper as you blindly fumbled around to your side. You continued patting around, looking for your eraser.

You groaned with annoyance when you still couldn’t find it. You were forced to tear your eyes away from your work.

You stared at the top tier of your organizer. 

“Why the fuck do my erasers keep on disappearing?” You muttered to yourself, scrambling the items in search for the damn eraser. It was the third time you lost it in two weeks.

“Damn it. I hope I still have some left,” You whispered to yourself as you dropped to your knees. You bent down, searching for a spare eraser in the bottom tier of your organizer.

Ben’s breathing hitched. Your dress was short so with you bending down, Ben couldn’t help but stare. His eyes shifted to your ass, catching a glimpse of the black lace underneath your dress.

His gaze lingered as you fidgeted around in search for the eraser. It was taking you an awful lot of time but Ben wasn’t complaining. He took in a sharp breath when the skirt of the dress rode higher.

“Aha! I got it!” You exclaim, sitting back on your calves. You scrambled to get up back on your feet as Ben cleared his throat, quickly straightening his body once more.

You went back to your piece, erasing and fixing the wavy line you accidentally made. When you finished with that area, you glanced at Ben as you started to draw his lower body. Doing so just made you laugh.

"Benjamin Platt!” You fake scolded, stifling a chuckle from slipping past your lips.

He stiffened his pose. “I’m sorry! My back started to ache so I just had to straighten my back.” He quickly defended himself as he though you were referring to his shift in pose.

You were giggling at this point. You couldn’t even form words so you shook your head at him, signalling that you weren’t talking about that.

He gave you a confused look. 

You cleared your throat, simply pointing a little bit to your right. Ben’s eyes followed your finger. He almost immediately realized that you were pointing to his groin area where a small tent was formed.

He felt his face red up a bit, trying to be still as possible. “You were wearing the black lace. You know I couldn’t help it.” He whines.

“So you got a boner in like ten seconds?” You questioned him as you looked at him with amusement.

“Just so you know, you were bent over for over five minutes.” He started defending himself again. “And besides, what can I do? You turn me on.”

You looked back at your sketch before looking back at him. “Though I am flattered, your boner changed the way the cloth falls. It doesn’t match the sketch anymore.” You say with a pout on your face.

Ben smirks. “I mean, there’s really only one way to bring it back to the way it was.” He said expectantly. “And you know, you’re the only one who can help with that.”

You rolled your eyes, giving him a cheeky grin. “Nice try, babe. Unfortunately, the answer is no.” You say, his smirk falling.

“Wait, wha-”

“I’m going to move to another area and I will just skip that part for now,” You say as you pointed to his groin area, giving him a wink. “I’ll let it limp down by itself.”

His jaw nearly hit the ground. “So you’re telling me you’re going to leave me here? With a boner? Flustered and all?” He said slowly.

You nodded with a smile on your face. “Exactly my point.” You reply, going back to your sketch.

“I-” He started, eventually closing his mouth as he didn’t know what to say.

You giggle at his expression. “My apologies but you know art comes first.”

He just nodded slowly, obviously upset as his eyes were set on the floor. 

“Hey,” You called out. He lifted his gaze to your face.

You gave him a smirk. “Rest assured, I’ll make it up to you later.”

| part 2 here |

[roseymoseyberry]

Pining (one-shot)

God bless @semianonymity for commissioning me to write this ot4 with as much pining as I could squeeze in. Which when you have four robots involved, there’s a lot of pining to be had, haha. But I love all of these bots so, so, SO much, and I’m so happy that I had to opportunity to actually do something with them all!

Hopefully y’all enjoy this pile of bots who all need to learn how to fucking talk to each other but I still love them so much, haha.

Title: Pining

Series: MTMTE

Ship: Swerve/Whirl/Tailgate/Cyclonus, and all the combinations therein

Rating/warnings: PG or maybe PG-13 for brief mentions of interface in conversations and robot swearing, a bit of casual joking about suicide, mentions of violence but nothing onscreen that’s actually dangerous. Otherwise it’s just fluff and pining and pining and fluff and crushes aplenty.

Summary:

“If I’ve learned anything, good lookin’, it’s that nothing brings mecha together better than fighting together. Except maybe fighting each other. Either way we come out winners.”

Whirl drags Swerve into a scheme to get Tailgate and Cyclonus together, but impossible crushes make everything more complicated.

“Ok, but they’re a couple of complete idiots, right?”

Swerve looked up from the drink he was mixing to flash a confused smile at Whirl, already chuckling even though he wasn’t sure what about.

“Who?” he asked, quickly scanning the room to look for troublemakers. Skids, Brainstorm, and Nautica debating up a storm in one booth, Ratchet and Rung having quiet conversation in another, Chromedome and Rewind gathering a crowd as they were no doubt showing off Rewind’s ability to recognize transformation sounds and gleaning some shanix from overcharged crewmembers who doubted them—

Whirl’s claw closed on the sides of Swerve’s helm and turned it towards the corner.

“Those disgusting love birds.”

“Oh,” Swerve managed before a genuine huff of his vents escaped.

Tailgate had taken the two drinks that Swerve had moments before made for him and already placed them on the table between him and Cyclonus. Both drinks had curly straws poking out of them, and given the way that Tailgate was gesturing at Cyclonus, visor flashing with playful glee, he was no doubt trying to get Cyclonus to use his. The frown that Cyclonus was giving him was quickly softening before Swerve’s very visor.

It was sweet enough that Swerve felt his spark pulse a little faster. Tailgate’s mischief was always cute enough to make him smile, and Cyclonus’s soft side made his spark ache a bit–

“Yeah, they’re something alright,” Swerve managed, returning his gaze to Whirl as he shrugged and went back to finishing the drink in his servos. “It was funny when everyone but Ultra Magnus was betting on when they’d finally clinch it, but at this point nobody is making money because no one in their right mind would have thought they could put it off this long.”

“I had the last betting slot,” Whirl confirmed, claws clacking as they settled on the bar. His optic was still squarely focused on the couple. “They all called me an idiot, but I knew what I was doing. I knew these chucklefrags would take forever. But this?” Whirl flung his arm out dramatically, helm turned to stare Swerve right in the visor, sounding completely serious as he spoke. “Someday soon I’m gonna just slam my misshapen head into this bar until I offline myself just to escape this ‘will they won’t they’ hell.”

Swerve found himself caught between laughing and hoping desperately that no one else in the bar noticed them as he leaned closer to speak quietly.

“Not if I beat you to it,” he joked. As soon as it was out though, Swerve regretted it. After the Swearth incident, comments like that simply didn’t work the way it did when other mecha made them, and just garnered him uncomfortable pitying comments.

But Whirl actually snickered as he replied, “You already had your chance at offing yourself, so be a pal and give somebody else a chance, would ya?”

Rung wouldn’t have approved, called it bad coping, and it was, for sure. But Swerve felt his spark ease at the pitiless honesty of Whirl’s humor.

“Not if you’re gonna do it here in the bar.”

“What if I hire somebody ahead of time to clean up afterwards? You don’t have to even be here, just drop the keys in my capable claws and it will all be over before you know it.”

“No!” Swerve laughed, picking up a towel to smack Whirl on the shoulder with. “How would I get by without one of my best customers?”

“Wooooow, you mean it? Because last I heard, me strolling in here has a one in five chance of violent chaos, which doesn’t a ‘best’ customer make.”

“One in eleven,” Swerve corrected as he finished the drink. “Which means you spend just enough on engex to make up for the times you wreck the place.”

“Wreckers are what we are, even exes.” Before Swerve had even realized what was happening, the drink was plucked out of his servos by Whirl’s claw. It was already well within the copter’s grip and Whirl’s intake clicked open.

“H-hey! That’s not yours!”

“I thought I was your best customer!” Whirl jeered, snickering when Swerve reached out towards him and batting his servos away. While Swerve had proportionally large servos given his minibot frame, there were few bots who could give Whirl’s pinchers a run for their money.

“One of them! And now I’m changing my mind!” Swerve caught his lip between his dentae as Whirl’s optic was trained right on him and his claw tipped the drink until a splash of the liquid dribbled into his funnel-like intake where it jutted out from his neck.

Swerve slumped a bit, exasperated and irritated, but not truly mad.

Whirl’s helm tilted to one side, optic cycling as if he was thinking deeply on the drink.

“Hmm. Yeah, no, you’re right. This drink isn’t mine,” Whirl agreed, casual as could be as he placed the glass back on the bar.

Swerve shook his helm with a bemused ex-vent as he pushed the drink back towards Whirl and reached for a new glass. “Well, it’s yours now, buddy. And don’t think I’m not adding it to your tab.”

“But I don’t even like it!” Whirl whined, clacking his pinchers at the offending glass.

“You told me yourself that you can’t even taste them,” Swerve reminded him as he went about mixing the same drink again for its rightful customer.

“True, but I can still tell how strong a drink is, and that? That’s a drink better suited for cute little minibots like you.”

Swerve’s visor flashed as his face heated, and his servos paused in their movement. Unfortunately, that moment was when he was pouring the sweet additive, and that second was all it took to take the drink from sweet to sickening. Swerve jerked to his senses and cursed as he took in the damage.

Yeah, no. The drink was a goner.

Whirl’s optic was bright with mischief.

“Well, well, look who’s easy to fluster. I’m so going to take advantage of that.”

Swerve frowned as he tried to decide what to do with his mess, if just so he could ignore the way he was definitely hot to the touch now. It was unsalvageable taste-wise. But Primus, he did not want to start the drink again.

He peeked over at the drink that Whirl had stolen. Other than the first gulp of it, it was untouched.

Nodding, Swerve grabbed a mid-tier engex to fill up the disaster drink and swapped it for original drink. All it took was a decorative jelly treat thrown in to sink to the bottom to have the drink topped off again.

“Whoa, hold on! That’s mine!”

“You didn’t even like it and you can’t taste anyway, so where’s the harm,” Swerve replied, trying for chiding but he couldn’t help grinning at the way Whirl huffed indignantly. “Sorry, but you’ll just have to live with your mistakes.”

“Only because you won’t let me use your bar for my dark purposes,” Whirl quipped.

It really was a near thing as Swerve burst out laughing, clutching the drink to his chassis so it wouldn’t spill.

“Frag, Whirl, you’re awful!” he managed between wheezing in-vents and Whirl cackled in response.

“You’re the one laughing at my joke, sicko!”

Swerve had planned on delivering the drink himself, but he was nearly bent in half as Whirl continued with his rambling complaints, so he finally just settled it on the service drone and sent it on its way.

“Just be a good customer and drink your drink,” Swerve said as he opened his vents to air out the heat of his frame now that he could blame it on the laughing.

“I don’t want your frag up.”

“It’s at least twice as strong as the other one.”

Whirl’s optic brightened and the drink was clutched between his pincers instantly.

“Why didn’t you say so, cutie? Love your frag ups. They’re the best.”

Swerve’s spark clenched tight in his chest and it was all he could do to keep his cooling fans from turning on. “You know, I think I like it better when you’re joking about fragged up we are. At least then I know you’re being honest, you know?”

“I’m always honest,” Whirl insisted as he poured the drink into his intake funnel. “Be it about how fragged up we all are or loving your adorable mistakes, I’m always one hundred percent, and don’t you forget it.”

Once the whole glass had been emptied, Whirl imitated a lip-smacking sound and “ahh” before slamming the glass on the counter. “And that’s why you’re gonna believe me when I tell you that we’re going to get those fragwits together. Because that?” His arm gestured back at the table where Tailgate and Cyclonus sat, and even Swerve had to groan as he watched Cyclonus make a face, trying to drink through the straw before finally shaking his head and Tailgate was giggling loud enough for the whole bar to hear as he nodded insistently and swatted at Cyclonus’s servos when he tried to remove the straw. They were both so cute it was unbearable, and between that and Whirl’s comments, Swerve was pretty sure his spark had swelled enough to choke him. “They are not allowed to do that and not be dating. It’s like a terrible Schrödinger’s trap, because they’re so disgustingly cute that you can’t decide if want them to smooch each other or you, you know? I don’t even have a mouth and it’s driving me mad!”

Swerve had his servos braced on the bar surface and leaned in close before he could even think twice, whispering fervently, “Yes. I thought it was just me, but that’s exactly it, right? You want them together because they’d be so good together, but also like, then they’d be off the market so you can finally stop going down ‘what if’ paths in your head.”

“I could finally recharge at night not thinking about how to trick them into thinking I’m worth joining for a tumble in my berth,” Whirl agreed, his optic twisting into his own facsimile of a smirk. “Can move on to tricking them both into it, am I right?”

Swerve’s face felt like it was on fire, his servos twisting together as he felt his grin wobble.

“I mean, I can’t really say you’re wrong–”

Whirl’s pincer was surprisingly gentle when it settled on Swerve’s shoulder, giving his tire a supportive squeeze.

“Then let’s get those idiots together.”

Overwhelming excitement kept Swerve up that night, and he blamed it completely and totally on the fact that he had been invited to help in a romantic scheme. Hell, he had been dragged into it really! Whirl insisted that he needed his help, and that thought alone made Swerve feel light as a feather.

Alright, maybe he should have been a little concerned that it was a plan concocted by Whirl. And truthfully, he had been at first when Whirl had pushed out of his seat abruptly and told Swerve that he’d be by his habsuite after the bar closed for further details, his helm turning this way and that, as if watching out for anyone eavesdropping on them. At first Swerve had thought it sort of paranoid, but the way that Rewind had ever so slightly followed Whirl’s departure from the bar, and then ever so casually went up to the bar to ask what the two had been laughing so much about, made it clear that no. It wasn’t paranoid.

Secrets were hard to keep on the Lost Light.

By the time that Swerve had shut down for the night and was heading back to his room, anxiety was starting to get the better of him. What if it was all just a prank? A joke at his expense? Everyone on the ship knew his love for situational shenanigans so it would have been far too easy to take advantage of that to mess with him.

But Whirl had been there waiting for him.

And once the door was shut they had, for lack of a better word, conspired together.

Whirl immediately started explaining to Swerve that Brainstorm had been working on a secret project that had actually managed to get even Ultra Magnus’s approval. For the time being it was just a simple enough battle simulation arena, though Brainstorm already had add-ons in mind to make it more exciting.

As Whirl described it though, Swerve quickly laughed and interrupted, saying, "You mean paintball? Brainstorm is making a paintball arena?”

Whirl’s optic brightened.

“Oh, he finished it.”

It was for ‘stress relief’ and working through ‘trauma’ – both rung true to Swerve, but he let Whirl have his quotation marks – but really, it was the perfect solution to their problem.

“If I’ve learned anything, good lookin’, it’s that nothing brings mecha together better than fighting together. Except maybe fighting each other. Either way we come out winners.”

Swerve was doing his absolute best to ignore every petname that Whirl had decided to start dropping. It was better to ignore Whirl’s long-running gags and wait until he grew bored of them himself.

But they had ended up sitting next to each other on Swerve’s berth since there wasn’t really any other furniture to sit on except the other empty berth in the room and Whirl had chosen to sit next to Swerve on his instead, and Swerve had no idea how to even begin to question it. And at that point they were at ease, and Whirl had even fallen back against the berth so his claws were waving around above him, and it was all very–

Well. It was hard to ignore how nice it was.

The plan was simple enough. Swerve and Whirl would challenge Cyclonus and Tailgate to a match, and in doing so force the two to communicate and work together to win. Once they started talking and collaborating and had the rush of battle success pumping through their sparks, it was just a hop and a skip for them to finally divulge their feelings to each other and “hump like turborabbits” as Whirl had insisted on putting it.

Swerve had worried about all the pitfalls therein, but Whirl had been adamant.

Whirl was certain they would take up the challenge.

“Cyclonus might not be interested, but Tailgate? He’s a feisty one. He’ll absolutely get into the competitive spirit. And we both know that for all his huffing, Cyclonus will give in. Hell, I don’t mind badgering him if he needs the extra push. It’d be my pleasure.”

Whirl was certain that they would work together.

“Look, Cyclonus may be good and Tailgate unexperienced, but it would kill Tailgate if he had to let that lug take all the glory. That little guy is gonna throw himself into it, and Cyclonus is gonna have to figure out how to work with him or else trip over him constantly and lose it. Plus, he’s going up against yours truly. He’s gonna need help.”

And Whirl was certain that Swerve was important.

"Look, I get it, I get it. You have the slagging worst aim of anyone on this ship. But I have that side of things handled. You’re there because I need your big mouth along with mine to really rile them up. Plus let’s be honest here, Cyclonus is so fragging weak against helpless minibots. You’ll handicap him with your adorable face and complete lack of ability to hit anything smaller than a wall. And if things turn sideways, it’ll only go well for you if he decides to go for a different cute minibot, you feel me, beautiful?”

“But–”

“Besides, who the frag else is crazy enough to team up with me?”

It was a ridiculous idea, but it was so fun and Swerve’s spark felt full enough to burst.

And if Swerve and Whirl just ended up ranting and raving about the two bots well into the night, well. At least they couldn’t judge each other for their shared crushes.

This was totally going to work.

This wasn’t going to work.

Oh, sure, they had agreed to the match. Swerve had made the first move by telling Tailgate about how he had found out about the new paintball arena that would be opening soon, and how Whirl had dragged him into a two-mech team, so they were looking for a pair to battle.

Tailgate had easily agreed, practically bouncing in his seat as he talked about how much fun it would be, and that he and Cyclonus could definitely take them on! The other minibot had nearly made a dash to find Cyclonus and tell him right then and there, but he stopped half a step away and spun on his heel, his visor bright but the light band narrowed as he focused on Swerve.

“Whirl, huh? I did notice you two getting along reeeeeally well last night, and Rewind told me that Whirl left your habsuite this morning. Was that just paintball plotting or–?”

Swerve had turned red hot as he stammered out that it was just a friendly affair, no no not that type of affair, just hanging out!

Tailgate’s giggles were heavenly as he patted Swerve’s servo and assured him that they would be cute, even if Whirl was a handful.

“Or, well, maybe even because he is, right? He’s intimidating, but it’s always exciting with Whirl around. I’ve always kind of wanted to spend more time with him, you know? You should invite me next time you have a ‘friendly’ hangout.”

When Swerve had later told Whirl that, the copter had made a dismissive snorting noise, but Swerve was pretty sure it was meant to hide how flustered the information made him. A light touch to Whirl’s hip, disguised as a friendly gesture when Swerve turned the tables to tease Whirl, revealed how warm he had become to the touch.

Swerve purposely avoided mentioning that Tailgate had taken ahold of his servos while insisting that the battle would be so much fun, that he had to go tell Cyclonus but that later they should hang out, maybe go to the shooting range to practice together since neither of them were great shots, and Swerve had felt like he was walking on cloud nine for a good hour afterwards.

And oh, sure, Cyclonus had agreed to the match after approaching Swerve during a shared break, his face stern as he asked Swerve if he had been bullied into it by Whirl. His concern had Swerve choked up, and his large servo on Swerve’s shoulder was so nice, simultaneously calming and exciting. And when Swerve had assured him that no, he wasn’t being forced, that he was actually as excited about it as Whirl was, the corner of Cyclonus’s lips had curled as he nodded, relieved.

And within the hour Cyclonus had tracked Whirl down and the two had had one of their glaring matches as he told the copter that he accepted his challenge. Thankfully Rewind had been there and was eager to share the video with Swerve and Tailgate over their evening energon.

Swerve didn’t really get warrior types. He didn’t get the glaring, the snippy back and forth, the unspoken challenges. But Whirl’s optic had been bright and the right shade of excited, and Cyclonus’s lips curled into an almost eager smirk when he had turned and stalked away.

It was with the flutter in his spark that Swerve realized what a terrible mess he had found himself in.

Sure, the scheme was on track.

But now two impossible crushes had become three impossible crushes.

And spending that evening at the shooting range with Tailgate and quickly joined by Cyclonus and Whirl who insisted on helping their respective teammates, and then the opposing teammates when they were sure the other was teaching them wrong, surrounded by Tailgate’s bubbly laughs and Cyclonus’s calming touches and Whirl’s boundless energy—

How could this plan possibly work when Swerve was already feeling crushed by the pressure of his pounding spark and the knowledge that it was soon going to break under it all? All he wanted to do was hide away in his habsuite until the whole thing had passed.

But the day came, and Whirl was knocking on his door bright and early, his optic twisted into a half-moon smile as he said they should get in one last practice session before the game.

And it was hard to say no when Swerve had come to love the solid touch of claws on his shoulders.

“Look, it’s pretty simple. You aim the gun, you hit the other team, it leaves a big splotch of paint, and afterwards I use my scanner here to tally which of you got hit the most and thus loses,” Brainstorm explained quickly, practically bouncing on his pedes. Somehow Whirl had managed to convince the scientist that their challenge should be the test run of the battle simulation, so it was no wonder the scientist was so excited to get started. “Best of three rounds wins. Any questions? Great!”

And he was off like a shot, leaving the four bots to face each other. Whirl’s engines were purring with glee and Tailgate’s visor was blindingly bright. Even Cyclonus couldn’t keep his face completely neutral.

And despite himself, Swerve grinned too. He was filled to bursting with nervous energy, and honestly couldn’t really separate out the bad from the good anymore, so he just leaned into the excitement of the others.

“Better hold on to your afts,” Whirl said as he hefted his gun up onto his shoulder. It had been customized to fit his pincers, and was large to hold a large number of the paint pellets inside. When he cocked his hip, the belt around it wobbled, filled with more paint pellets should he need to reload. The same belt was on the rest of them, though for Swerve it was magnetized since he did not have the sort of waistline necessary to keep a belt from falling to his pedes.

As they had practiced, Swerve hefted his gun too, resting it on his opposite shoulder so that they mirrored each other.

“Because we’re about to hand them to you,” Swerve continued, and alright. It was so, so dumb and goofy. He had known it was goofy when they came up with it together, but Swerve hadn’t fully realized how dumb it was. But it seemed to be just the right kind as Tailgate made a ‘pfft’ sound and tugged at Cyclonus’s servo.

“Oh yeah?! Well, you better watch out, because we’re the ones who are gonna get your afts!”

Swerve watched as Cyclonus’s optics slowly offlined, completely aware of how Tailgate’s words sounded and just waiting for—

Whirl cackled. “Naughty, naughty,” he teased before reaching down and hooking his arm around Swerve, lifting him without preamble. Swerve yelped as Whirl turned on his pede, waving his servo as he headed towards their starting point. “If you want ‘em, you’re gonna have to come and get them!”

And off Whirl ran with Swerve under his arm, ignoring the way that Swerve was protesting as he wiggled in his grip. “Come on, Whirl, put me down!”

“But I like carrying you,” Whirl replied, his voice still just on the side of too loud, utterly revved up and filled with boundless energy. “You’re the perfect size! And frag, this is gonna be so good, babe, it’s gonna be awesome!”

“Whiiiirl,” Swerve whined with another wiggle. “You can’t do this whole fight with me under your arm!”

“That sounds an awful lot like a challenge,” Whirl teased, but he did finally stop and put Swerve down so he had his own pedes under him again. “But we have more important challenges right now. You ready to force their servos together in loving courtship?”

“Yeah, of course,” Swerve replied distractedly as he shifted his gun between his servos, getting a good grip on it.

Whirl’s optic was suddenly in his face, so close that the little prongs beneath his optic were practically touching each side of his face.

“You don’t really sound ready to me.”

Swerve swallowed down a moment of panic before forcing his lips into a wide smile.

“Are you kidding? Of course I am! I’ve been dying to see those two together for ages! I’m so ready!”

The optic band narrowed at Swerve.

“You sure?”

“Yeah!”

Whirl didn’t look completely convinced, but moved away. And not a moment too soon, considering how Swerve’s frame had started to heat up and his spark race in his chest. Swerve would have thought that lacking a mouth or even face plate would make being so close face-to-face less intimate feeling, but oh, Primus, he had been so wrong.

The quiet question of how best to kiss Whirl was soundly shoved deep, deep down and ignored.

“Alright.” Whirl straightened completely, dropping his gun from where it was rest on his shoulder so that he now held it with both of his claws. “Then let’s get this party started!”

The two had already plotted their action plan. Divide and conquer came first, with Whirl aiming for Cyclonus and leaving Tailgate for Swerve to handle. Whirl was confident he could take Cyclonus on and beat him, and that sure, Swerve had terrible aim, but he had more experience with a gun than Tailgate did. They could one-two blast them out of the water, which would lead them towards working together more closely.

Closely being the operative word.

So once the buzzer went off signaling the start of the match, Swerve moved from one shelter to the next, glancing around walls and over short barriers as he went. Whirl wasn’t nearly so subtle, instead just hurtling over and around obstacles as he crowed Cyclonus’s name.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

A warning shot was all it took for Whirl to tuck and roll behind a wall, and he was gone. Swerve tried to jog ahead and see where he went, but it was impossible as he turned his helm this way and that, trying to find him. The only suggestion of his location was the echoing of more shots, but they were way off to Swerve’s left, and they were sporadic, almost too similar to the gun fights that Swerve had overheard during the war.

There was no doubt that Cyclonus had already zeroed in on him and they were engaged in a battle as true to war style as one could get when the bullets were made of paint. Trying to circle each other and surprise one another, the whole thing. Whirl was surely enjoying himself, and maybe Cyclonus was as well, considering the eager look that had been on his face and was now permanently etched into Swerve’s mind from the recording of Whirl’s challenge.

That line of thought was gone in an instant though when a paintball whizzed past Swerve’s face. He stumbled back, but he was too slow to find cover as a second shot went too far behind, but the third hit him square in the visor. Swerve’s vision was just a splatter of bright green with bits and pieces visible around the sides.

Swerve cursed as he finally made a run for it, lifting his free servo to his face so that he could try to wiggle his visor free. It had been ages since he had removed the piece though, even for just regular maintenance because who really followed maintenance for visors? But now he was regretting it as he bumped into the corner of a wall, yelping as he did. There was no way he could manage anything while running, so he felt his way around the structure and flopped onto his aft with his back against the wall. Swerve tried to wipe the paint away, but to no avail – it had dried almost instantly, no doubt to keep participants from cheating by trying to hide any hits they took.

“Swerve?! Are you ok?”

Swerve stiffened at Tailgate’s voice. Of course it had been the other minibot that had shot him – there was no way that Cyclonus would have missed the first two shots, and he wouldn’t have aimed for Swerve’s visor.

After a moment chewing on his bottom lip while wiggling his visor, trying hard to get it to move but proving unsuccessful, Swerve finally replied, “I’m fine! Just can’t see through my visor now!”

“Where are you? I can help!”

Whirl was gonna kill him for not taking the fight seriously, but Swerve really was having difficulties with his visor, and surely Tailgate would be able to help as a fellow mech with a visor. Maybe together they could wiggle it free. Swerve wasn’t especially excited to walk around without it, but maybe he could clean it real quick between matches.

His spark clenched tight because fraggit, he was letting Whirl down!

But still, he reached his servo back towards the corner of the wall and waved past it, and shouted, “Over here! Can you see me?”

“Where—oh! Yeah, hold on!”

Swerve sighed in relief as Tailgate jogged past the periphery of his vision, aka the only part of his vision he had now, and knelt down beside him. “I really got you good, huh?” Tailgate said, sounding pleased with himself as he moved in close, though Swerve couldn’t actually see him at the moment. “Do you have optics under there?”

“Yeah, I do. But the latches are sticking.”

“Hold on, I’ll see what I can do.”

Without preamble, Tailgate straddled Swerve’s lap and his digits went to work gently pulling and pushing and wiggling Swerve’s visor, no doubt getting a feel for the latches and where they were stuck. And thank Primus that Tailgate was focused, because Swerve’s attention was shattered as he fought against squirming under his friend’s close attention and closer frame. It was a blessing that he couldn’t see in front of him, because seeing Tailgate right now when they were sitting like this—

“Ok, ok, hold on, I got it–”

With a slow but steady pull, Swerve felt the metal pieces finally slide against each other, and it only took one last tug to pull the visor free.

Swerve winced and offlined his optics immediately because Primus, it was bright! He had forgotten in his flustered state to change his optic settings. It took digging through his processor, but the old settings were still there and took only a second to implement.

Blinking his optics online revealed Tailgate, visor in one servo and his gun in the other. The gun was even aimed at Swerve, ready to take advantage of Swerve in his moment of weakness—

But instead the other minibot was just sort of staring at him, transfixed.

Swerve’s spark squirmed, unable to handle any of the implications of this situation – his friend straddling him and staring at his bare face, so distracted that he forgot his prank—

So instead he just picked up his own gun and shot Tailgate point-blank in the middle of his chest, getting at least three or four hits in while the other minibot yelped and startled out of his distraction. Tailgate tumbled over backwards on Swerve’s legs, complaining between snickers – “Hey, I was helping you!” “You had your gun aimed at me too!” “And you stole my idea!” – while Swerve reached out to try to take his visor back.

The two of them ended up in a rolling sprawl of wrestling limbs and occasionally trying to fire off shots at each other, more of the paint getting on their frames from rolling onto freshly burst paintballs than any that actually hit each other.

And despite himself, Swerve laughed along with Tailgate, his face hurting from how widely he smiled.

“I cannot believe how useless you are.”

“He hit my visor! I couldn’t see!” Swerve protested as he scrubbed his visor with the cleaning solution Brainstorm had given him after Whirl had insisted he wouldn’t continue the matches until his teammate have his vision normal again. The protectiveness of the action had warmed Swerve’s spark, but once the solution was in his servo, Whirl had turned on him.

Thankfully it wasn’t anger he held so much as exasperation.

“So you told him where you were so you could play wrestle with him?”

“So he could help me get the visor off,” Swerve corrected. He squinted as he looked at the visor, focusing on the task instead of the whirlwind of his spark. “And I took the chance to shoot him. He’s the one who tackled me, and – and how could I resist?”

Whirl hummed, his pincers scratching under his helm.

“A fair point. He may be cute, but he’s also full of mischief and he knows how to use his cuteness to his advantage.”

“I don’t actually think he does know that–”

“That’s what he wants you to think!” Whirl started to pace. “Clearly you aren’t up to the task, so I’ll have to take him on this time around.”

“Hey!” Swerve scrambled to his pedes, lips pursed as he said, “Like you did any better! You and Cyclonus tied, so I was the one who managed to pull out a victory, even if just barely.”

“Which is why you’re gonna take Cyclonus on this time instead.” Whirl spun on his pedes and gestured at Swerve. “Cyc and I are too similar, and same goes for you and Tailgate. So obviously we have to mix it up!”

Swerve’s mouth dropped open.

“But—Cyclonus will wipe the floor with me!”

“But he won’t,” Whirl cooed, bending at his hips and stroking his pincer along Swerve’s cheek. “He’s got the biggest soft spot for cute minibots. So while he takes it easy on you, I’ll swoop in on Tailgate and cinch the next match.”

“But what if he doesn’t take it easy on me?”

Whirl’s helm cocked to one side.

“Well, we’re supposed to lose this one anyway. Just have to make it look like it was close so they give it their all in the third one, you know?”

Swerve could feel the pout on his face before he could stop it.

“You mean that you’re purposely setting me up to lose.”

“But in the most polite and gentlemechly way possible,” Whirl quipped, his optic lens a crescent of a grin.

“Are you fragging kidding me?” Swerve grumbled as he peeked around a corner. Once the match had begun, Whirl had once against sprinted across the arena, leaping over cover instead of bothering to use it, leaving Swerve to jog from corner to corner, peeking out each time. Somebody had to try to play paintball the way it was supposed to be played.

Within minutes, Swerve heard yelping and cursing up ahead, and he quickened his pace to see if Whirl needed backup. Maybe Cyclonus had gotten to Whirl before the copter could get to Tailgate, catching him off guard in his pursuit, and Whirl could actually use his back up—

The cursing had shifted into howling laughter that was undeniably Tailgate’s and with one look, Swerve spotted the minibot pinned to the ground between Whirl’s spindly legs, servos raised to cover his face while Whirl pelted him with paintball after paintball.

“Stop, that’s not fair! Come on, get off–”

“You started it by jumping me, you little rascal. You think I would be as easy as Swerve, huh?”

Tailgate just laughed more and one of his kicks finally landed at the apex where one of Whirl’s legs met his torso. The copter grunted – “That’s just low!” – and it was distraction enough that Tailgate got another kick in, and once Whirl scooted away, the minibot raised his gun to fire off several shots right at Whirl’s optic.

Alright, so maybe Whirl had a point about Tailgate being more devious than Swerve gave him credit for.

Swerve just ex-vented in exasperation as he watched Whirl, blind and cackling, grab at Tailgate to drag him back into a tumbling sort of wrestling with paintballs flying everywhere.

“I’ll admit that somebody has a weak spot for minibots,” Swerve muttered under his ventilation.

“I think that goes without saying.”

Swerve’s whole frame straightened and his armor clamped tight as he whirled around to find Cyclonus standing beside him, watching with a disinterested expression that didn’t match the brightness of his optics. A quiet, nearly inaudible ex-vent escaped Cyclonus, and it sounded amused as he tilted his face towards Swerve.

Swerve glanced at Cyclonus’s face, down at the warrior’s gun just hanging in his grip at his side, and then back up at his face.

“You’re, uh. You’re not gonna, you know–”

“Not if you don’t make me.”

“Am I the only one who knows how to actually play paintball?” Swerve asked, but it was hypothetical – the answer is apparently a glaring YES – and Cyclonus took it as such. Swerve lifted his gun to rest against his shoulder. “So then what’re we doing here? Sitting back and enjoying the show?”

There was clanking and clamoring on the other side of the wall, and giggling aplenty, but Swerve found he preferred watching Cyclonus’s schooled face, catching the way his optics shimmered and the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Unless you had another idea?”

Cyclonus gave him a questioning look and Swerve shrugged.

“I mean, don’t you want to, I dunno, help your partner out there?”

Cyclonus’s optics moved again, his height allowing him to see just over the wall, and Tailgate and Whirl really had to be distracting one another if neither had noticed Cyclonus peering at them over the wall.

“I could ask you the same.”

“Well, sure, but Whirl’s having fun. I don’t want to break that up.”

“Then we’re likeminded.” And alright, there was no denying that that – the curl of both corners of Cyclonus’s lips as he gazed down at Swerve – was a smile. “They appear to be enjoying themselves, and the whole point in this exercise in enjoyment, is it not?”

Swerve was pretty sure his spark was going to burst out of his chest if it didn’t suffocate him first.

“Y-yeah, of course. But you should be having fun too, you know?”

“I am,” Cyclonus stated simply. His optics flashed with something almost dangerous looking as he continued, “Unless you would prefer to do something more similar to that?” with a slight tilt of him helm towards the chaos on the other side of the wall.

“I’m pretty sure that would offline me for good,” Swerve replied with an awkward laugh. If the warrior’s strength didn’t get the deed done, Swerve’s straining spark would probably burn itself out from having Cyclonus that close.

“I can be careful.” Cyclonus, with all the grace in the universe, settled himself to sit on the floor against the wall. He reached a servo out towards Swerve in invitation. “But in truth I would prefer to simply talk.”

“Sure! I mean, we all know how much talking I do all the time anyway, so I can definitely handle–”

Cyclonus’s optics flared and quicker than Swerve could follow, his servo snapped up to grab Swerve and yank him towards the warrior, leaving the minibot to fall into his lap while the wall behind him burst into pieces as Whirl slammed through it. Swerve couldn’t see much as he scrambled, face burning as Cyclonus held him protectively, so all he heard was, “Welp, I sure hope that wasn’t you, Itty Bitty,” Tailgate’s squeal of laughter, and then Whirl sprinting off towards the sound.

Cyclonus’s arms were solid around him, servos large and cool against Swerve’s quickly overheating frame, and if this was how Swerve died, it would be worth it.

“I cannot believe you.”

Swerve awkwardly held Whirl’s helm in one spot while so, so carefully rubbing the damp cloth against the copter’s optic to remove the paint splattering it. “Stop complaining so I can get this off, would you?”

“I can sit still and complain at the same time, so no,” Whirl insisted. “We’re gonna talk about the fact that you and Cyclonus didn’t even try! Cyclonus I get, but come on! He gave you every opening and you didn’t even think to fire one ball at him? Instead you two just sat there gossiping like a couple of seekers!”

Swerve’s face heated, but he didn’t feel any real regret. Once he had gotten himself out of Cyclonus’s lap, it had been nice to just sit and chat, and to every once in a while comment on how ridiculous Whirl and Tailgate were.

“He suggested it so how could I say no?”

Whirl harrumphed.

“Of course he did. Cute guy like you – why wouldn’t he want to take the chance to chat you up?”

“Th-that’s not what it was,” Swerve insisted, biting down on his lip as he tried to focus on how he was finally getting enough layers of paint off that he could see the glow of Whirl’s optic light up the bright pink paint from behind. “He’s in love with Tailgate, not me.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s blind.”

“Do you ever stop joking?” Another couple of wipes revealed Whirl’s optic directly, bright and wholly focused on Swerve’s face. The minibot swallowed around the sudden anxiety that gripped him and refocused on his task, leaning in close so he could see the streaks still clinging to the glass.

“I’m not right now.”

“Yes you are.”

The light of Whirl’s optic narrowed.

“If you think I won’t physically fight you about this, then you have somehow misread who I am. I willpunch your face to prove how cute it is.”

“Whirl–”

“I’m serious–”

“No, I am!” Swerve said louder than he had intended, his voice somehow making it out crystal clear even though his intake felt tight and choked. He removed his servo from Whirl’s optic, his digits squeezing the rag too tightly because oh no, it was all getting to be too much, he could feel everything starting to overflow. If he could just cut this all off before it went further, then they could finish up this final match and Swerve would be free to make a run for it before making an idiot of himself. “I’m serious that you need to stop joking about that, ok? I’m already dealing with a lot of emotions right now and I don’t need pity compliments or–”

“Pity? That’s what you think—primus, you’re a moron.”

Humiliation burned in Swerve’s chest as he tried to step away. “Or jokes or whatever, it’s fine, I just don’t–”

Swerve interrupted himself with a squeak when Whirl’s pincer grasped him by the chin, not allowing him to look away when the copter leaned his optic in close.

“Look, let’s make something clear, Swerve. I don’t do pity. Gave that scrap up a long, long time ago. When I say something, it’s either the truth or it’s a lie that’s funny to me. And sure, sometimes it’s funny to me because I’m a mean mech. But this?” Whirl leaned that much closer and Swerve couldn’t keep his engine from whining with some emotion he couldn’t name. “I’m not gonna be mean about this because I get it. Mecha don’t get more unlovable than me, so I get it. Feelings like this hurt, but they’re gonna choose each other and we’re gonna survive that, and we’ll be their friends or whatever, and someday some other mech will be smart enough to choose you, because you, Swerve, are cute.”

Swerve’s spark ached and he could feel the corners of his optics burn behind his visor.

“You’re not unlovable,” he whispered, and Whirl faked a snorting noise.

“Now who’s pitying who?” Before Swerve could answer though, Whirl let go of his chin and started to sit back on his pedes to give the minibot space. “Look, just splash some paint back on my optic. I’ll say nobody gets near my optic and the game is over and we’ll get outta here–”

Something broke inside Swerve.

One of his servos reached out to grab the side of Whirl’s helm while the other pressed down on his cockpit, angling it down so that Swerve could lean in close again. Earlier thoughts flooded his processor and yes, there was no way that Swerve could reach the bottom lip of Whirl’s optic casing without the prongs stabbing into Swerve’s cheeks. But the prongs were easy to reach—

Swerve’s lips pressed a hurried kiss against the inner edge of one prong, the other pressed along his cheek.

Whirl was still talking, but his voice quieted further and further, distracted as he finally trailed off.

His optic was blindingly bright.

“Are—are you kissing me?”

Swerve jerked back upright.

“Uh. Maybe?” Swerve managed before sucking his bottom lip between his dentae. His processor was roiling with regret as Whirl stared at him, shell-shocked and confused.

“Why?”

With a painful clench of his spark, Swerve took another step back before forcing a laugh from his vocalizer, ignoring how hollow it sounded. “You know, that’s a great question, and I’ll get back to you with an answer later, but right now I should – I’m just gonna go, I think.”

Whirl’s optic cycled, watching him closely as the copter shifted, ready to stand up, but Swerve was faster. The minibot looked away and while he didn’t run, his steps were quick and his strides as long as his short legs allowed. It was only when he heard Whirl calling after him – “Whoa, whoa, Swerve, hold on!” – that Swerve picked up the pace.

The overhead speaker clicked on and Brainstorm’s voice echoed across the stadium room, “IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT OVER THERE?”

Panic whipped up around the regret and shame that had Swerve in a vice-like grip as he heard Cyclonus and Tailgate shouting questions of concern. No, no, no, Swerve was not prepared to face any of them, needed to just slip away and hide forever—

Cyclonus slid to a stop from behind a barrier in front of Swerve, optics brightening upon seeing him, though the lines of his face were sharp with concern. His mouth opened to ask a question – maybe he asked it, because Swerve would swear that the rushing pulse of energon through his frame was messing with his audials, so maybe he hadn’t even registered the sound – and Swerve just tried to move around him.

“—Swerve, wait.”

Swerve hesitated and then Cyclonus’s servo grasped him by the shoulder, solid on his tire, and Swerve felt the cleanser that had flooded over from his optics slip past his visor to streak down his cheek.

And then everything seemed to happen at once.

Tailgate must have been practically at Cyclonus’s heels because he was on Swerve in seconds, wiping the cleanser away while watching Swerve’s face intently, “Hey, hey, are you—what’s wrong? Shh, it’s ok, you’re ok, come here,” and Swerve was too weak to resist the other minibot’s arms wrapping around him in a hug.

“Oh good, you caught him! I gotta talk to Swerve–”

“What did you do?” Cyclonus growled, his frame stomping away from Swerve’s side towards where he had heard Whirl.

“Oh frag you. I didn’t do anything. Or at least I don’t think I did – hey, hey!”

“WHOA, NO ACTUAL FIGHTING IS ALLOWED IN THERE. MAGNUS WILL KILL ME.”

Swerve jolted, trying to push against Tailgate so he could turn around, stammering, “W-wait! Whirl didn’t do anything, really!”

He was embarrassed by how shaky his voice sounded, even to himself. Even if they couldn’t see his optics, there was no doubt that they all knew by voice alone that Swerve was crying, overwhelmed by a deluge of emotions he no longer had control over.

Whirl and Cyclonus had gone still, the warrior’s servo still tightly hooked into some plating by Whirl’s neck, clearly in the middle of intimidating the copter. Both though were watching Swerve closely though.

Swerve wanted to just melt into the floor right then and there.

Tailgate reached down to grab one of his servos and squeezed it.

“Swerve?”

Swerve bent his helm, staring at the ground as he bit his bottom lip.

“We were trying to get you two together,” he admittedly dejectedly, not daring to look up even when Tailgate’s systems hiccupped. “Y-you – you guys deserve each other, and should be together, and—and Whirl and I made the plan together, and I thought I could handle it, but then I developed a crush on him too, so with all three of you it’s all been a lot to handle, and–”

“A what?” Whirl asked, completely disbelieving.

Beside him, Cyclonus asked, confused, “Too?”

Swerve shuddered and felt another wave of crying threatening to spill over.

But then Tailgate’s servo tightened around Swerve’s and tugged him towards him again, though Swerve refused to look up from the floor.

“I like you too, Swerve.”

The minibot’s helm snapped up, his visor flaring as he gapped at Tailgate, stammering, “What?”

“I like you,” Tailgate repeated as his visor flickered anxiously, his voice aiming for confidence but ending up somewhere around false bravado. The thought that Tailgate was admitting it now to take some pressure off Swerve came and went and Swerve’s spark swelled at the idea. “I have for a while now. That’s actually why I haven’t told Cyclonus that I uh, well.” The other minibot’s trailed off as he glanced over at Cyclonus, and Swerve might have in any other circumstance snickered about how shocked the warrior looked. As it was, he felt almost numb from shock himself, and he wondered if Cyclonus wasn’t in a similar situation. “I didn’t know if that would be ok with you, so I thought it would be better if I didn’t tell you either of you how I felt, and just – I dunno, ignore it I guess?”

Cyclonus’s expression softened. “You thought I would not be happy for you two?” he asked with more vulnerability than Swerve thought possible from Cyclonus.

“No, that’s not – I don’t like just Swerve.”

“He likes you too, idiot,” Whirl muttered, elbowing Cyclonus, and the warrior didn’t even frown at him, in fact nearly looked thankful for the clarification.

This time it was Swerve’s turn to squeeze Tailgate’s servo, and with that boost, Tailgate looked at Cyclonus, his voice wavering a bit as he admitted, “I love you, Cyclonus. A-and I like Swerve. And I didn’t know if that would ruin our friendships or possible relationship or–”

“You thought I’d demand monogamy?” Tailgate nodded and Cyclonus finally took a step away from Whirl and towards the minibots, and then another. Swerve tried to step away as Cyclonus knelt by Tailgate, but Tailgate’s servo held solid as the warrior cradled Tailgate’s helm and leaned in. “I have lived far too long to assume sparks are so limited in their capacity for affection.”

Tailgate’s visor flashed happily. “Soooooo, then do you…?”

“I do.”

Swerve’s spark ached with joy to see Cyclonus press a chaste kiss to the top of Tailgate’s helm. It nearly went into spasms when Cyclonus then glanced at him and his lips curled into a small smirk.

“Besides, it would seem we have similar tastes.”

Tailgate giggled and Swerve felt like he was overheating as he asked, “Wait, really?”

“I fragging told you,” Whirl commented, closer than before but still distanced from the three. “He loves a cute minibot.”

“Not just minibots,” Cyclonus scoffed.

“Who else then?”

Cyclonus ex-vented heavily as he gave Whirl a look. The copter’s optic rebooted once, and then twice, and then glowed wide and bright as he pointed at himself with one of his claws. When Cyclonus didn’t protest, Whirl said, “Wait, really?”

“It’s complicated, but yes.”

“You are super intriguing,” Tailgate agreed, glancing from Cyclonus to Swerve and finally to Whirl. “I mean, I’m interested too, so, you know. I guess we all really do have similar tastes, huh?”

Whirl was, for one of the first times that Swerve had ever seen him, completely motionless.

And something in that moment – Tailgate’s servo intertwined with his own while Cyclonus looked, of all things, abashed by his own admissions of his emotions, and Whirl looked completely and utterly starstruck by the very concept that the three mecha before him were genuinely interested in him – had Swerve’s face splitting into a genuine grin.

“It’s your turn now,” Swerve said, his spark giving a little nervous palpitation as he reached his free servo out towards Whirl. The copter looked at him, optic glowing with something all too akin to nervousness.

But, slowly, the light curled into that giddy crescent that Swerve had come to love.

“We should get the four of us somewhere a little more private if you wanna know what I want to do to the three of you.”

Swerve grinned and grabbed Whirl by the pincer as the four of them made a hasty retreat to Brainstorm’s whining discontent.

“DO ANY OF YOU KNOW HOW TO PLAY FRAGGING PAINTBALL?!”

[loyalflutist]

I Do [UmiMaki]

A/N: Thanks for sending in your request, Anon! I apologize for getting to it so late, but I suppose it’s better later than never! (I think.) Also, yes, I still take requests. It just takes a little longer to get to them, sob.

The blue-haired female nervously tugged on the end of the black collar as she stared at the full-length mirror. Behind her, Kotori and Hanayo were giving their upmost attention to fixing the standing woman’s tuxedo. A pat here and there, hands sliding over the attire’s materials to smooth it out, every single attention was given. If a single detail is overlooked, that could potentially spell disaster for the archer. Another tug at the end of her collar, Umi gulped and fidgeted.

It finally came. An important part of their life is about to start. Nishikino Maki and Sonoda Umi are going to marry each other. No matter how many times she squeezed her eyes shut and persuade herself that it is a dream, reality greeted her with the magnificent truth.

They were in a relationship for a fairly long time, and they still are. Ever since they began their interaction through μ's, they sprouted as close comrades. An idol for an idol, a song writer and a composer, the two constantly worked together in an effort to bring the highest quality of pop music for the group to perform. Eventually, their teamwork grew into friendship.

Just like a seed, it takes some time for the concept of love to bud into a beautiful white flower. It bloomed into a magnificent one after the second-year student persuaded both Maki and her father to keep her in the idol group. Although μ's did not physically last forever as everyone grew up into young adults, they all remained in contact with one another. Umi and Maki stuck close to each other tighter than that of a knot. Maki achieved her dream of becoming a doctor at a young age as Umi finally took over her family’s business.

After their successes were when the archer’s proposal came.

Ah, the red-haired female remembers it as if it were yesterday. Nishikino closed her eyelids as she reminiscence in another dressing room. The redness that colored the older female’s cheeks, the long awkward pauses that came in between her words, the time it took to finally make eye contact with Maki’s violent sclera, the slipping of the ring on her finger… That was one of the many happiest moments she’s had with Umi.

“Oi oi, Maki, you better not be dozing off on us!”

The sharp voice that lashed out startled the bride from her memory land. Eyes snap open, she then shot a glance at Nico Yazawa. She was immediately greeted with a scowl from the older woman by her side.

“Goodness, here you have the greatest idol taking care of your dress, yet you dare sleep on me?”

“Ex-idol, you mean.”

“Shut up, Nozomi!”

Her white gloved hand covering her own mouth, Maki could not hold back her laughter upon hearing Nozomi shoot a correction towards the short female. This earned another scowl from Nico to both party members. The boastful nature of hers can only be combated by the fortune teller’s rather blunt and sly retorts. It’s always been like this since they knew each other in high school.

“Are you nervous, Maki?” Nozomi shifted the conversation after exchanging a few more blows with her girlfriend. “It is a big day for both you and Umi.”

A faint hum came from the doctor’s direction. Then, a look at the full-length mirror showcased the white wedding gown that decorated her entire figure. The reality was staring right back at Maki. An outfit that can only be worn during the special occasion of bonding two individuals together, she was finally in it. One of her arms is raised to reassure that this wasn’t a dream. Fingers curled inward, the red-head felt her palms beginning to feel wet. Her heart pounded against her chest as it dawned upon her. Marriage… So it really was going to happen. It wasn’t to say that she isn’t prepared for it. It’s more like… she was finally going to make it happen with her lovely girlfriend.

Index finger resting on her chin, the older woman from nearby tilted her head to the side with a grin. Since she was in formal dress as a guest, this made her look less sly and more seductive to a stranger… which earned her a smack on the head from the shortest of the three. Another round of laughter came from the bride as Nico began to rant about Nozomi flaunting her sex appeal to Maki, let alone someone who is about to be married in less than an hour.

“I think she’s more than ready, Nozomi.”

A hand was placed on top of Maki’s shoulder. Everyone in the room turned their attention to the source. With a small smile, Umi gently squeezed her soon-to-be wife’s shoulder. Oh, the heat that crept up to the doctor’s cheeks. Nishikino became flustered and slightly lowered her head.

“You idiot,” she murmured in a small voice. “You don’t have to answer for me, you know.”

This resulted in a chuckling archer. Then, the tall female came close to plant a gentle smooch on her head. Face still close to the red hair, she deeply inhaled with closed eyes, eyelids fluttering open with a satisfied exhale.

“You’re so cute when you’re blushing like that.”

Compared to her young teenaged self who believes that holding hands out in the public is shameful, this is a large step in contrast to the woman’s personality. For Maki, on the other hand, it might take a bit more for her to outgrow from her tsundere phase. Then again, it doesn’t seem like Umi minds.

As much as the atmosphere began to fill up with hearts that apparently led to Nico exaggerating with a disgusted expression and Nozomi giggling whole heartedly in the background, the couple broke apart for their next wedding preparation step.

The premise was prepared hours ago before the newlyweds arrived at the scene with Ayase Eli in charge of the presentation. A wedding cake fit for the wealthy was safely delivered to the main table thanks to Kousaka Honoka’s bakery skills and Hoshizora Rin’s driving capability. Kotori and Hanayo decided to rejoin the guests, the two sitting with the audience in anticipation of the outdoor marriage vows coming up real soon. Nozomi and Nico gave their final preparation with Maki before merging into a large number of witnesses, waiting for the greatest moment of two beautiful women’s lives. Friends, colleagues, families, acquaintances, everyone is present. Their chatters in the luscious open garden near the hotel complex accompanied the hype.

Eventually, Umi and Maki were left alone as the final preparations were made. Nico and Nozomi had to hunt after the Sonoda’s and Nishikino’s family members, so the two are currently lingering behind the sealed double doors. A flower in Maki’s hands, she turned to look at her soon-to-be wife. Her violet eyes used this rare occasion to fully examine and observe the archer’s physique without any interruption.

Her firm posture, calm facial features, and warm brown eyes scream that she’s content with the upcoming part of their life. Umi looks ready for the event. Yet… something was off. Isn’t she a little too… stiff?

“Umi.”

The calling of her name perked the woman’s attention. Okay, maybe it caught her off-guard instead since the suited female nearly yelped out loud. Umi turned to look at Maki with raised eyebrows.

“Y-Yes?”

“Are you… nervous?”

Maki didn’t need a verbal answer to know her response. Both of Umi’s hands came together, fingers constantly pressing its tip at each other as she shifted her gaze elsewhere. A bead of sweat began to form on the side of the woman’s head, an audible, but forced, laughter tumbling out of her lips. This caused Maki to blink in succession. What happened to the confidence her girlfriend just had hours ago?

“Umi…” She retracted one of her hands from holding the bouquet and gently placed it upon Sonoda’s. “It’s okay to be nervous. I’m a little nervous myself too.”

Umi’s hands readjusted themselves so they can hold Maki’s in her grasp. Her thumbs ran against the white glove’s surface, eyes eventually trailing themselves to the woman she loves. No one said anything for a brief moment. All that went on between the two were the longing stares. It took a whole minute till the blue-haired girl felt her tense shoulders slump. Maki gave a small smile towards the other upon seeing this notion.

“It’s okay. We got each other.”

“Yeah…”

“Alright…. STOP!”

Nico popped up in between the two couple and had her arms crossed in an x-shape, a displeased expression scrawled all over her face. The hyperactive ex-idol shifted her gaze from Umi to Maki to Umi again before she returned back to her original posture.

“You both can flirt all you want AFTER the wedding. If I catch you guys doing this one more time, I swear I’m going to puke from the lovey-dovey atmosphere.”

“It’s just Nico’s way of saying that the wedding is about to start,” Nozomi had to clip in, preventing any form of misunderstanding from the short woman’s warning. True to her words, now that they’ve gathered the required members to walk out with the soon-to-be married women, this is the perfect opportunity to go out there and start.

One last squeeze to Maki’s hand was made before they went back to their original position. As nerve-wracking as this is, with each other, there’s nothing that could stand in their way. And so the wedding began.

Music cued by the Russian female slowly filled the air with dignity and formality. Each step the pair took almost felt so surreal, feeling as if they were getting closer and closer to the dream world than reality. Of course, it’s not imaginary at all. It’s hard to deny the budding sensation blooming within their chest of the reality that they’re about to face, and it’s a reality they’re excited about. Once they stood in front of the old minister, the background music died down and complete attention is directed to the females.

Book at hand, the frail, but gentle man cracked it open to the pages befitting for the ceremony. He quietly cleared his throat.

“Now is a time for a wedding.”

The minister glanced at the crowd before reciting for the ceremony.

“Friends, Sonoda Umi and Nishikino Maki, have invited us here today to share in the celebration of their wedding.

We come together, not to mark the start of a relationship but to recognize a bond that already exists. This marriage is one expression of the many varieties of love. Love is one, though its expressions are infinite.

It is fitting to speak briefly about love. We live in a world of joy and fear and search for meaning and strength in the seeming disorder. We discover the truest guideline to our quest when we realize love in all its magnitudes. Love is the eternal force of life. Love is the force that allows us to face fear and uncertainty with courage. But, you must “be of love a little more careful than of anything.” For the giving of yourself in love is difficult: you must learn to give your love without total submission of yourself. Therefore, in your giving, give your joy, your sadness, your interest, your understanding, and your knowledge—all expressions that make up life. But in this giving, remember to preserve yourself—your integrity, your individuality. This is the challenge of love within marriage.”

His eyes, old as they may be, contain wisdom as he dragged the pair over to Umi.

“Sonoda Umi, do you come before this gathering of friends and family to proclaim your love and devotion for Nishikino Maki? Do you promise to respect her, and to care for her during times of joy and hardship? Do you commit yourself to share your feelings of happiness and sadness? Do you pledge to remain faithful to her?”

“I do.”

“Nishikino Maki, do you come before this gathering of friends and family to proclaim your love and devotion for Sonoda Umi? Do you promise to respect her, and care for her during times of joy and hardship? Do you commit yourself to share your feelings of happiness and sadness? Do you pledge to remain faithful to her?”

“I do.”

“May these two find happiness in their matrimony. May they live faithfully together, may they ever remain compassionate. May years be rich in the joys of life, and their days be long upon the earth.” The minister lowered the book and tenderly observed the two women. A twinkle in his eyes could be faintly seen as he proclaimed the last line. “I now pronounce you both wives. You may kiss the bride.”

It’s finally here. Their face came close, their lips closing the distance by an interval of every half second. Then, it’s sealed, both their fate as spouse and with their kiss. It is truly a celebratory event as their friends cheerfully gave their blessings to the new couple. Of course, a few were relieved that they were FINALLY moving onward with their relationship… but that’s another story in due time. For now, Sonoda Umi and Nishikino Maki are officially wives.

[jennaschererwrites]

Dirty Dancing: 10 Most WTF Moments from ABC's TV Remake - Rolling Stone

The original 1987 Dirty Dancing is a movie that worked against all odds. Eighties sensibility (and hairstyles and theme song) shoehorned into a Sixties nostalgia piece, a miniscule budget, a cast of unknowns, and a troubled production – not to mention a heroine named … Baby. And yet it positively crackled, thanks to Eleanor Bergstein's deeply personal script, crazy chemistry between leads Jennifer Grey and Patrick Swayze, and the ethereal gyrations of the late, great Swayze.

Wayne Blair and Jessica Sharzer's remake attempts to be all things to all people, and ends up being nothing to anybody. The 2017 made-for-TV Dirty Dancing manages to be both a grim, workmanlike re-creation of the original – some scenes are rehashed shot for shot – and also a vast extrapolation that bloats the original's runtime by more than an hour. It's also a musical (but only sorta), a melodrama about the decay of marriages, and a clumsy (if well-meaning) treatise on issues ranging from feminism to institutionalized racism.

Buried among all this is the original story: about Frances "Baby" Houseman (a wildly miscast Abigail Breslin), a teen who goes on vacation with her family to a 1960s Borscht Belt resort and experiences a psychosexual awakening while also learning the Mambo. But those unfamiliar with the original material would be forgiven for not following that thread, given how many other ones Sharzer's rambling screenplay has attempted to weave in. Here are just a few of the moments that had us shouting "No!" at our TV screens while clutching our VHS copy of the original to our hearts.

1. The Framing Story Confusingly enough, the Catskills-set tale begins with a helicopter shot of…the Manhattan skyline? It's 1975 for some reason, and a bunch of hastily costumed extras are standing outside a Broadway theater that's showing a sold-out production of something called Dirty Dancing: The Musical. And if that wasn't "What the huh?" enough for you, Baby herself grabs an orchestra seat to watch, voiceover-ing to herself: "You never forget your first love. You carry it with you always." And if she'd added …like a watermelon we could almost forgive this nonsense. But she does not, and it's flashback time. Kellerman's! 1963!

2. The Dirty Dancing Isn't Dirty The moment when the original Dirty Dancing blows wide open is when buttoned-up Baby finds herself inside a packed, sweaty staff party where Kellerman's working classers are grinding against each other with impunity. In the remake, she encounters a largely empty room in which clean-cut choristers perform obviously choreographed dance moves with all the sexual charge of a church social. This is also our big intro to Johnny Castle, the bad-boy dance instructor who'll steal Baby's heart, played with put-upon exhaustion by Colt Prattes. This scene made us wonder if Kellerman's had fallen prey to some kind of Westworld scenario in which chiseled robots dutifully performed the motions of carefree pleasure without actually experiencing it. Has anybody checked for a mysterious maze behind the dance studio?

3. It's a Musical…Kinda? Blair and Sharzer seemed to have half-decided to make Dirty Dancing a musical without fully committing. The remake features most of the Sixties and Eighties tunes from the original soundtrack, but made some of them sung by the actors and others played as incidental music. Case in point: Johnny sings the Contours' "Do You Love Me" while gyrating at the party, but later dances mutely to a cover of Eric Carmen's "Hungry Eyes" playing over the action. Make up your mind, movie! The sung-through parts add nothing to the movie, other than proving that ABC can do a "musical event" just like Fox and NBC can.

4. Too Many Subplots Did we really need to know how Baby's sister, Lisa, got the ukulele she plays in the talent show? Or how Baby got her iconic white dress? So very clearly not. The remake provides no shortage of side stories, most notably the tale of Mrs. Houseman (Debra Messing) and her frustration with her distant husband (Bruce Greenwood). We're glad your working through some stuff, Marjorie, but it's a tangent that's given so much screen time that it threatens to engulf the main plot.

5. So Much for That Lift Oscar nominee Abigail Breslin has many virtues as an actor, but dancing ability is not one. A good chunk of Dirty Dancing is a Baby-gets-better-at-Mambo montage, and in the original it's fun to watch her go from awkward to smooth. In this one, she never improves – but everyone acts like she does. It hurts our hearts to watch Breslin and Prattes practice the most uncomfortable, splay-legged lifts in the history of dance in a pristine pond, pretending that anything graceful at all is happening. If nothing else, at least we get to stare at Johnny's abs, which are pretty much the only well-formed thing in this entire movie.

6. So Much for That Sex Scene Grey and Swayze famously hated working together, but their onscreen sparks were visible from space. The same can certainly not be said for Breslin and Prattes, who both look vaguely put out anytime they have to so much as smooch. The ook factor reaches its zenith in the iconic "Cry to Me" sex scene, which is cringingly restaged – from swirling dip to bare-chest caress – in a way that only emphasizes how little the actors seem to be comfortable making physical contact. We do indeed feel like cryin'.

7. Too Many Issues With its sex positivity, strong-willed heroine and frank discussion of abortion, Bergstein's original movie was a surprisingly feminist piece of cinema for its day. The remake attempts to bring that subtext to the fore, but in doing so undermines its own message. Baby 2.0 is reading The Feminine Mystique and dreaming of becoming a surgeon like her dad, sure; but Sharzer's script also takes icky glee in slut-shaming an older female character (Katey Sagal) and is generally more prudish than the source material. The remake also attempts to touch on racism and sexual assault, but does both so glancingly that it feels cheap.

8. The Autotuned Covers That this Dirty Dancing is tonally all over the map is no more obvious than in the millennialed-up versions of songs from the original soundtrack. We kinda feel like we're at the Kellerman's of old with straight-up covers like Lady Antebellum's "Hey Baby" and Seal's "Cry to Me." But watching Baby learn to dance to Greyson Chance's goopy electronic take on "Hungry Eyes," or seeing Johnny drive away to Calum Scott's over-produced "She's Like the Wind" (originally sung on the soundtrack by Swayze himself) take us right out of the story. We get that ABC wanted to chart on iTunes, but come on. No one's heart is bursting or breaking to this much autotuning.

9. We Are Not Having the Time of Our Lives And it has come to this: the Kellerman's talent show. Baby is sitting in her corner (reading The Bell Jar! Take it down a notch, Baby), missing Johnny. But does he coolly enter in the middle of a song like Swayze does? Oh no, my friends. "This is a summer I'll always remember," Mr. Kellerman declares from the stage. "A summer of family. A summer of friendship. A summer…" "…of LOVE!" Johnny declares, bursting into the room. Dude. For one thing, the Summer of Love isn't happening for another four years. In this version, "I've Had the Time of My Life" becomes a full-cast musical number, which Johnny prefaces by declaring, in case you were confused, "I had the time of my life with you this summer." And to our dismay, Baby still hasn't nailed that lift.

10. What the Hell Was That Ending? Just as we're all dozing off because this thing has already been on for almost three hours, we're back with future Baby in 1975, in the audience of that Broadway play that is confusingly also her life. Baby hangs around the theater afterwards to meet up with…Johnny! Who choreographed a musical, based on a book that Baby wrote about that one crazy summer at Kellerman's! (So much for her becoming a surgeon, we guess?) Into this awkwardness enters Baby's husband, who is not Johnny, and their child, and Johnny looks wistful, or maybe just confused as to how Dirty Dancing has managed to defy space-time and rip off La La Land. It's an unnecessary, annoying coda to an unnecessary, annoying movie. And just when you think it's over, Johnny says, "Hey. Keep on dancing." We would prefer not to.

[one-of-us-blog]

The Wedding of River Song (Doctor Who S06E13)

Today Jon is forced to watch and recap “The Wedding of River Song”, the thirteenth and final episode of Doctor Who’s sixth series, as well as its prequel. The time has come for the Doctor to die, allegedly, but will he accept his fate?

Keep reading to find out…

Eli, you nailed it yet again with your latest recap! I agree that John Quinn was a really likable character, and it was nice to see Blanche be confronted with the idea that she has more to offer than just her bangin’ bod. This is the next in the series of episodes that all feature basically the same plot of Blanche being attracted to a man, finding a reason not to be attracted to him (coming from different backgrounds, a disability, etc.), deciding she’s attracted to him anyway and going after him only to not get him in the end. First it was Jake from VIP Catering in “Diamond in the Rough”, and now it’s John Quinn, and there are at least two others I can think of over the next few seasons. I’ll point them out when we get to them, but I’ll be curious to see if you notice the repetition on your own. Your next episode (“The Impotence of Being Ernest”) is one that’s a lot of fun, and I hope you enjoy it.

For now, though, I’m late as usual and it’s time to get on with the show!

Buttocks tight!

Prequel directed by Jeremy Webb and written by Steven Moffat

As that creepy nursery rhyme plays in the background we’re shown a clock counting down about five hours. Some guards look at some tanks, inside of which some Silence can be seen. Inside of some sort of Egyptian-esque tomb, we see River Song with an eyepatch like the one Madame Kovarian has been known to sport.

Episode directed by Jeremy Webb and written by Steven Moffat

We start out in a very fever dream-esque London in 2011. Steam engines are everywhere, cars tied to balloons fill the sky, dinosaurs are flying around and Winston Churchill is the Holy Roman Emperor. Churchill notices that the time is always 5:02 PM and the date is always April 22nd. His doctor, a Silurian, says that’s the way it’s always been and there’s nothing odd about it. He calls for his personal soothsayer, who, spoiler alert, is the Doctor, and asks him what’s going on. All of time is happening at once, but Churchill wants to know why. The Doctor says this is all because of a dame.

After the credits, the Doctor talks to a damaged Dalek. He opens the Dalek up and steals some information on the Silence from the Dalek’s datacore. The Doc then seeks out a man who was the former envoy to the Silence, but it turns out the guy has been dead for a while and this is actually another Voltron powered by Borrowers. The Doc wants information on the Silence from the Borrowers. Later on the Doc is playing a chess game with the weakest link in the chain of the Silence. The weakest link takes the Doc to the de-bodied head of our old friend, Blueby the Butterball. Butterball can still talk despite not having a body or diaphragm.

Back in London, Churchill isn’t taking the Doctor’s story about blue aliens and all that well. He agrees to hear the rest of the Doc’s story, though, and we pick up where we left off. Butterball says the Silence think the Doctor’s future is too dangerous to let him reach it. He’s the one who will find the question that the Silence don’t want asked. Butterball knows the question and tells the Doc what it is, but we don’t get to know because drama. Back in London, Churchill wants to know what the question is, too. The Doctor explains that the best way to keep a secret is to kill the only person who knows the secret. Everyone’s always talking about silence falling, but the Doc realizes that after he’s dead silence will fall because he won’t be around to ask or answer the question. The Doctor notices a mark on his arm and realizes he’s seen and forgotten a Silent recently.

Back in the story, the Doctor is resolved to run away from his fate in Utah, but then he calls to meet up with an old friend and learns he’s recently died. Forced to confront the idea that time catches up with everyone and everyone has a time to die. The Doc sends out the invitations to Amy, Rory, River and Delaware and sets the stage for what we saw in the first episode of this arc. Back with Winston, the Doc’s now made three marks on his arm instead of just one. Back in the story, River arrives in her spacesuit and reveals herself to the Doctor. The suit is in control, and she can’t stop it. The Doc assures her this was always going to happen and that River won’t remember doing any of this. He tells her he forgives her, and she shoots him.

Or, well, no she doesn’t. She drains the suit’s weapons systems, preventing the Doctor’s death and disrupting a fixed point in time. This locked time into 5:02, causing time to start to die and for everything to have happened at once. Back with Churchill, Winston’s fired his gun without realizing it and the Doc’s got a spear. They’re defending themselves from something, but Churchill doesn’t know what. The Doc explains about the Silence being memory-proof, and his arms are now covered in marks showing a whole lot of them are nearby. They’re above, actually, with a whole cluster of the slender fellas lining the ceiling. Someone throws a bomb into the room and a bunch of soldiers, led by an eyepatch-wearing Amelia Pond, arrive. She shoots the Doc and knocks him out. Amy knows what’s up, though, and she’s part of a team of people who know time’s gone wrong. She knows Rory exists and that she loves him, but she doesn’t know where he is.

Turns out Rory is one of the soldiers Amy is commanding, but she doesn’t recognize him. Also turns out that the eyepatches everyone is so found of aren’t eyepatches, they’re eye-drives that connect to the wearer’s memories and allow them to remember the Silence. Amy and the Doctor arrive at a pyramid where Amy’s people are holding captured Silence. Deeper into the pyramid, the Doc meets River and a captured Kovarian. The Doc makes a grab for River and when they touch time begins moving again, making it 5:03. They’re suddenly back at the lake in Utah and River’s about to shoot, but it doesn’t last and we’re back in the alternate timeline. The Silence begin to break out of their confinements and begin taking out soldiers. Rory makes it back in time, the eye-drives everyone is wearing are based on Madame Kovarian’s tech and they’ve been boobytrapped by the Silence. Everyone is susceptible to death or debilitating pain, including Kovarian. Rory volunteers to stay behind to fight the Silence while Amy, River and the Doctor move deeper into the pyramid, but Amy doubles back in time to save Rory. Amy chooses to leave Kovarian to die to punish her for taking Melody from her.

River reveals that she’s built a beacon on top of the pyramid. Outside of the time bubble surrounding Earth time is still going, so River’s been sending out a message to the past and future calling for help to avoid the Doctor’s death. Thousands and thousands of people touched by the Doctor have come to answer the call, but the Doc insists he has to die. The Doc decides it’s time for a wedding, so he and River have an impromptu wedding and he even whispers his real name to her. He asks her to help set things to right with time and she agrees. The two smooch, and the Doctor dies by the lake in Utah. The alternate timeline fades away and the original one takes its place. River is sent to prison, but she makes a trip to visit her mom. From River’s perspective she just finished up the Weeping Angels mission from a while back, and Amy lets her know the Doc just died. Amy’s struggling with having killed Kovarian, and she wants to talk to the Doctor about it but she can’t. River spills some tea, and lets Amy know he didn’t really whisper his name to River when they got married. River lets her know what he really whispered, but we don’t get to know because drama.

Actually, we do get to know this one! Butterball’s head is returned to its crypt by someone he recognizes as the Doctor. Turns out that for the bulk of this episode we’ve been following a Voltron version of the Doc piloted by the Borrowers. He whispered to River to look into his eyes at the wedding, where she saw a shrunken Doctor and TARDIS safely inside. He survived the Voltron getting shot and burned and made his exit once everyone had left. Butterball points out that we still have to wrap up this first question nonsense. The first question is revealed: Doctor who?

Oh boy.

The End

~~~~~

Well, another series has come and gone! I thought the Borrowers were well-used here, and it makes me dislike their random usage in “Let’s Kill Hitler” less. I thought the plot here was pretty intricate and engaging, and there were a lot of fun callbacks. It doesn’t feel like they cheated their way out of the whole Doctor dying thing without doing some work, and I appreciate that. The Doctor who? thing, though? Come on.

I give “The Wedding of River Song” QQQ½ on the Five Q Scale.

Check back in on Tuesday when Eli will get desperate with the next episode of The Golden Girls, “The Impotence of Being Ernest”, and on Wednesday I’ll deliver my recap of the next Doctor Who Christmas Special, “The Doctor, the Widow and the Wardrobe”.

Until then, thanks for reading, thanks for marrying and thanks for being One of Us!