#so it’s just like. these ghosts maybe a decade or two older than I am whose thumbprint sits on the clay of my soul. unknowingly

[moonfawnx]

Hands touching, fingers entangling

Nyx Archeron x reader

Chapter 1

Nyx stared at her.

She stared right back.

“Take her to Azriel- she needs to be questioned” his father ordered the two guards.

His heart faltered.

Would they take her to dungeons? Put her in a cell?

Gods she was so small, she couldn’t be older than 25 if she was a human.

“Father” he interrupted them talking.

His father’s eyes met his own, as the narrowed.

A silent question, he realised.

“I can speak to her, instead of Azriel” he spoke, as bis eyer went to his mother, who was looking at him confused.

But as she saw his expression, one of stubbornness and surprise, she understood.

“But-“ his father tried to object, before he was silenced by the high lady.

“Rhys darling, our son is the heir- he needs to learn how to handle this stuff. Let him.” she smiled at her mate.

The pair seemed to have a silent conversation, before Rhys sighed and nodded, before Feyre winnowed him away.

Nyx ordered the guards away as well, claiming that he could handle the girl in front of him.

Or maybe he couldn’t.

As soon as the guards were out, before he could even register what was happening, she had landed a punch straight on his face.

“Were you the one to tell them?” she asked angrily “Were you the reason they caught me?”

Nyx held his nose, a shocked expression on his face as he stared at the female in front of him, scolding him as if he wasn’t the prince.

“I have no clue of what you’re talking about, my lady” he tried to contain his small grin at the human’s fierce.

She was silent as she looked around, inspecting every single detail of his home. Now that he was given a closest look at her, he made sure to admire all of her features, from her shiny hair, to her deep green eyes, her delicate hands, and very, very short legs. Probably due to humanity.

And then, just like that, she turned around and started walking away from him.

“Um, excuse me?” he rushed to her side but was given no attention “My lady, you cannot-“

A frustrated sigh left her lips as she turned and looked at him.

“Respectfully, prince”she gave him a tight smile “i do not wish to be chewed out for sneaking here”

“you won’t be” the words left his mouth quicker than he’d ever imagine. “I mean- it was wrong of course but…”

“But what?” her eyebrow rose, giving him a curious expression.

“But it was also very impressive. And you must have some guts to do that” he breathed out, as he finally really thought about what happened.

A human, that didn’t even reach his shoulders in height, whom looked no more that two decades old, had somehow managed to sneak and twist his father’s shields?

How was that even possible, and why was no one else freaked out?

She opened her mouth, to speak again, but a loud crush interrupted her.

Both their heads snapped towards the direction where the sound came from, only to come face with a very bloody Amren, surrounded by broken bottles, leaking of blood.

“Oh my gods” The girl breathed out, staring at the creature as if she’d seen a ghost.

Nyx quickly remembered, that not everyone was used to his blood-drinking aunt and her unnatural looks, especially not a young human girl who probably didn’t even know the name of the high lord.

But before he even had the chance to explain to the girl the speciality of his aunt, her body was on the floor, passed out.

-

It was hours later, that Y/n woke up in a strange bed, worryingly huge. Her eyes fluttered as she eyed the area around her, noting the dark walls, but the richness evident.

She heard a sound, coming from the door across the bed she was laying in, and then the beautiful man from later, headed towards her, giving her a slight smirk.

Worst of all, the closest thing to garments on him, was the towel wrapped around his waist, as droplets slid through his skin.

“Well, look who’s finally awake” he grinned, fangs flashing.

“Where am i?” was all she answered with.

“This is my bedroom” He replied simply, as if it wasn’t weird how a stranger was in his bed.

Without another word, Y/n was up, heading towards the door, before the princeling stopped her by grabbing her wrist softly.

“And where do you think you’re going beautiful?” he shamelessly grinned at the girl in front of him.

“Three seconds” she only said.

His grin turned into a look of confusion.

“What do you mean”

“One” she started counting, as Nyx looked at her amused.

“Two” she continued, giving him a stern look.

“Three!” the heir finished her counting for her. “What does this even mean-“ he tried to ask, but was too late, as the girl quickly grabbed one of the plates on his near night stand, and smashed it on him.

Absolute wild eyes stared at her, appalled by the hit, and even if he would never admit it, mad that he did not predict that.

His hand rubbed his nose, scrunching it in pain. “Now what was that for”

“Do not touch me again” she sais dryly, completely unaffected by the smack she had landed on him.

“And you couldn’t just say that?” The heir asked bewildered, and for whatever sick reason, felt a soft attraction towards the girl in front of him, due to her obvious to everyone beauty.

“I-“ she started, but instantly paused as her eyes landed on something behind Nyx, towards his balcony.

He turned to also understand what she was looking for, and came across a bloodied Cassian and Azriel sparring.

“My god-“ he heard her mutter, and a few seconds later, she was falling, having fainted again,

“Fucking gods” the heir mumbled, as he once again placed the girl on his bed and-

And fucking headed to take care of his stupid bloody nose she had given him.

-

A/N i am aware this is a very short chapter but trust me, the fun starts by the next chapter!

Taglist: @acourtofsmutandstarlight @writeroutoftime

[tititilani]

Am I writing arguably my first thing in like two years for DBDA? Maybe. Do I even think it's any good? No. Do I particularly care? Also no.

This idea just wouldn't leave me alone so I banged it out in like three hours. Also fun fact, I wrote this partially by candelight because my power went out. Ambiance, anyone? I also posted this on my AO3 in case anyone wants to read this there instead. Just ignore any indiscrepancies in this, I just didn't care that much. <3

wash out the salt from my hands. 1.5 words.

Time moves differently than it does on Earth, as it turns out. Mostly pre-relationship Paineland.

He doesn’t think much of it, at first.

Charles is too caught up in relief, too relieved to have Edwin back where he can keep him safe again, to think about the weird phrasing.

“For decades.” Edwin says with a quiet hitch to his voice, more vulnerable than Charles can ever remember seeing him. He looks stripped down and vulnerable now, without the stiff bowtie and uniform that Charles is so used to seeing him in. Tear tracks mark his cheeks, cutting through the grime that seems to cover every inch of the hell pit they’ve found themselves in.

Their reunion is marred by the gruesome sounds of the last Edwin being devoured at the other end of the room and Charles can’t look too closely at the pile of corpses without getting enraged. He’s already angry at how long it took him to locate Edwin, how many times he had had to go through this loop before Charles could rescue him, but he knows where his priority lies now.

He wants nothing more than to clutch Edwin to him, stitch them together so closely that nothing could ever pry them apart again. He knows it’s not feasible (he’s checked) but he would stitch himself into Edwin’s ribcage without hesitation if it meant Edwin never had to come down to this place again. He also knows that now is not the ideal time for a big reunion, which can come after they are both safe.

“Well, I’m here now, so,” he says, pulling out a lit bomb from his bag and watching the flames glint in the depths of his best mate’s gaze.

“I have been dead for over a hundred and thirty years, after all, of course I should be the bait.”

Edwin’s tone is reasonable even if what he just said is not and he blinks when Charles levels him with a weird look because of it. Something in Charles lurches uncomfortably at the idea that Edwin should be bait for anything again, let alone a hungry beast that seems to specifically eat ectoplasm, and he’s immediately distracted away from it.

“Mate, you are not being bait. We can figure something else out that doesn’t end in you possibly being eaten.”

It’s been some months now since Charles gave a metaphorical finger to hell and rescued the other ghost but the idea of Edwin intentionally being put back in danger still scrapes over nerves that are far too raw. The Edwardian may look as though he is back to his normal posh self, all stiff bowties and perfectly parted hair but he has seen Edward flinch at enough dolls in enough windows to know he is not completely back to normal. Them managing to get Niko back was like slotting a missing puzzle piece back into Edwin’s frame but Charles still knew that there were pieces that could probably never be found.

Edwin frowns at him, fussing with his bowtie in a rare tell. “Per my books, this creatures likes older ghosts for its course – who else can we use?”

Charles thinks on the new and improved cricket bat tucked away in his bag. “I’ve been dead thirty years – should be enough to get the thing’s attention, yeah?”

“Absolutely not!”

(For once, Charles wins an argument.)

The witch is giving him the creeps.

One of her two eyes is bulging out far enough Charles is kind of worried it’s just going to...pop out. He’d try to catch Edwin’s eye but his nose is too far buried in one of the tomes the witch had given them to notice the way said witch is fixated on Charles. She seems to be mostly harmless at least, or at least hasn’t tried anything to make him reach for his bag but the way she is staring at him still has him on edge.

“Your bones are so old now but you are older still,” she tells him in a croaky old voice finally like it’s some sage wisdom and Charles just...has no idea what he’s supposed to do with that. Those books better be so worth it.

“Pretty sure my bones and I are the same age, ta,” he tells her in a voice he really hopes hides how completely bananas he thinks she is. He thinks she’s absolutely around the bend but is trying to play nice to make sure Edwin gets to play in her bookstore as long as he wants to. He’d be willing to deal with a lot worst things if it means he gets to enjoy the little sparkle that new books always put in Edwin’s green eyes.

The bulging eye bulges even more and he leans back in his seat a tad just in case there’s suddenly a splash zone. “Souls are aged by realms traveled,” she says in an even more grave tone while somehow making even less sense at the same time. He has no idea where Edwin has disappeared to in the books stacked precariously around the store but Charles hopes he surfaces soon.

Preferably before an eye falls into his lap or something.

It’s a dark night and Edwin’s head is in his lap.

There are no open cases at the moment, no one in the office, and an abandoned game of Cluedo is on the table. As ghosts, their sense of touch is almost completely nonexistent but Charles still swears that he can feel every strand of Edwin’s hair as he runs his fingers through it. He’s trying to be as gentle as he can be because Edwin deserves every scrap of gentleness Charles can give.

Edwin’s eyes are closed and that little wrinkle that is so common between his eyebrows has been smoothed away into unlined skin by Charles’ thumb. He can’t be super comfortable, his long legs draped over the other arm of the couch, but he also doesn’t seem inclined to move. Ghosts don’t have the ability to sleep or Charles would think Edwin had dozed off against his thigh.

They had been talking a little bit ago but that had faded off and for once, Charles didn’t feel the need to break the silence just yet. He has Edwin close and comfortable and safe and he finds he doesn’t need much else at this moment.

“I did not think I could have this,” Edwin murmurs finally, his tone soft and wondering. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet, something Charles is momentarily grateful for. He knows that if Edwin looked up at him, moonlight in his emerald eyes, that there is nothing Charles wouldn’t do to give him anything. “A century in hell was almost worth it.”

Charles’ hand pauses. “A century?”

Maths was never his best subject in school but even he knows the difference between seventy years and a hundred years. The two of them are so tangled together on the couch that he can feel the moment tension returns to Edwin, tightening up his lanky frame and when he finally opens an eye to look up at him, he looks almost worried.

“I wasn’t sure at first,” he finally says, voice hushed in the darkness of their office. “But time moves differently in hell. This last time in Port Townsend was about a decade. My first...visit was closer to ninety, I think.”

Charles’ hand spasms at that, the only thing keeping him from clenching it is the fact he doesn’t want to even accidentally pull on Edwin’s hair, even if it wouldn’t be felt. Edwin deserves so much gentleness. The sheer magnitude of how much time he had spent down in hell, fruitlessly attempting to outrun its horror, would make Charles sick if he still had a stomach.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks finally when his urge to scream has faded. After another moment, he resumes petting Edwin and almost against his will, the other boy’s eyes slide closed.

“I did not want you to know how long I was down there,” Edwin says in a low voice. “I thought you might be angry.”

“Never,” Charles says fiercely, voice almost too loud in the quiet of their room. “I would never have left you down there, even if it had taken me a thousand years.” He swallows back everything else he wants to say, like the fact Edwin spent so much longer than even a few hours being tormented by a spider-doll demon makes Charles wish he had another doorway and a molotov cocktail or twelve.

I would tear hell apart for you. I will never let you be taken again. I love you.

He thinks it’s an okay time to say it but it lodges in his throat. Charles wants it to be a perfect time, not just an okay time. He didn’t need forever to figure out how he feels about Edwin but he has forever to make it just right. It is the least Edwin deserves.

He looks back down at Edwin to see he is already looking back and he was right – the moonlight in his eyes makes Charles want to give him anything, everything.

[nehswritesstuffs]

ghosts speak in whispers and lies; can't know what's real 'til you're the one who's died - Part One

Okay, so I wasn't going to post this until it was all complete, but at the same time Law's birthday came up and it's too perfect not to start now lol.

3878 words to start, with at least 20k more to come; while definitely not trying to copy these fics by any means, I do have to shout out AO3 peeps DamianFinch for doing something along these lines for Sanji in the fic Obelisk and HyperbolicReverie for Losing Time (You Can’t Go Home Again), two other excellent fics; if you’re in the One Piece fandom and can guess where I took the general premise from then you get one (1) internet cookie; lots of weird shit is on the way you have been warned lol

The Polar Tang makes a stop at an island between Wano and Winner and runs into an unconventional trap. His crew knows it's a long-shot, but there's only one group they can trust to help them get their captain back before it's too late: his girlfriend's crew.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Sleep was something that often eluded Law. He long-knew why: the moment soldiers began to descend upon Flevance was when he stopped being able to sleep well. Sometimes it manifested in being unable to sleep for days, other times he could sleep but only for an hour or two at a time, and sometimes… when things were really bad… there were nightmares. Full-body shakes and screams only led to his navigator bringing him herbal tea and…

“Maybe you should see a doctor,” Shachi shrugged one day. They were docked in a small port on their way to their next island, Wano not far behind them and the Pose still pointing out to sea. Law looked at his crewmate, deadpan. It was not the first time it had been suggested and it still ruffled him like it was the first time.

“Sach, I am a doctor.”

“Well, yeah, but can’t you—I dunno—get a second opinion? From someone very much not yourself?”

“He’s right,” Penguin chimed in traitorously. Almost like bloodhounds, the pair had hunted Law down in the marketplace, nagging him more like a pair of aunties than men barely older than him.“The only part of you that should look like death is your knuckles.”

“Ha, ha; very funny,” Law scowled. He glanced over his shoulder to look across the market as he felt outwards with his Haki; nothing nor no one was tracking them. Good. “I’m fine; always have been.”

“You’re not,” Shachi noted. “We’ve known you long enough to be able to tell that much.”

“I’m fine,” he reiterated. Penguin and Shachi both looked at one another and shrugged. “That’s mutiny.”

“It’s not and you know it,” Penguin scoffed. He looked at his captain and a thought came to mind. “Listen—let’s give each other about half an hour. This port’s quiet, so we meet back here in thirty minutes and then Sach and I get to bring you back to the Polar Tang and you can figure out how to sleep while everyone else is out. How does that sound?”

Law grunted in response; he didn’t need to be babied. It was a good thing that Penguin and Shachi had both been looking out for him for over a decade at that point, or else they would already be Shambled into pieces across the market for even the thought. The pair took that for as close as they were going to get to a positive reaction and left him alone for the time being, promising to find him once the half hour was complete.

He didn’t need their pity, Law thought as he wandered through the market. It was a good place to wander in, to get momentarily lost, to forget for a while. There weren’t many places he could do that; not many places he wanted to do that. He was only walking about aimlessly for a short while when he felt something bump into his legs—a child?

“Oh, sorry mister!” the kid said quickly. He looked at her blankly, though the little girl mistook his regular face for being irritated. “I didn’t mean to run into you!”

“You’re fine,” he grunted. It was only superficial, but the girl looked too much Lami for him to really be angry. “Just be careful, okay?”

“O-okay…?” the girl seemed to be frozen in place, that was, until a young boy appeared from the crowd and ran up to her, putting himself between the girl and Law. After a careful few seconds, he pulled the girl away, leaving Law alone in the market.

“Law-nii, why are you so sad?”

It was a question that Lami had asked him not too long before everything went to shit; a question that had been replaying in his dreams since leaving Wano. How in the hell had he supposed to answer that back then? All he could have asked for was some way for Lami to recover and leave Flevance with him and he couldn’t even manage that. Those last days in Wano, watching Momonosuke and Hiyori interact, seeing the kids running through the Flower Capitol having been rescued from danger… there was a reason he had chosen mostly to retreat to the shipyard in Tokage instead of wander around the city—around Wano—and it was a bit more personal than he wanted to let on. It was fucking embarrassing, what it was, and all he needed to do was wait it out. He had before and he could do it again.

Not that he necessarily wanted to do it alone, mind. He knew that Penguin and Shachi meant well, and that Bepo was easily one of the top stress-reducing members of his crew with how fluffy he was, but at the same time, he wondered what sort of effect Strawhat-ya’s archaeologist would have on him. Part of Law wanted Robin there so that she could wander around with him, holding hands as they enjoyed getting lost together, while another part of him imagined his sleep deprivation could be solved by using her ample chest as a pillow as she played with his hair…

“Son, what’s the matter?” Law looked and saw a middle-aged woman sitting next to a booth that seemed to specialize in odd-looking trinkets. If he thought about it for long enough, she could have even been around his mother’s age…

“None of your business,” he said. Which was the truth; what did he owe a random woman on a random island? Not necessarily any of his attention, and certainly not an answer.

“If you don’t get some sleep soon, you’re likely to fall over and die,” the woman said, “and that’s not going to do those demons of yours any good.”

“You know nothing about my demons.”

“I know enough to see you’re not well, Flevench child.” He tried not to react, yet she could hear the way he sharply inhaled. “Surprised someone knows that accent all the way out here? It’s been a bit, but it’s unmistakable.”

“So you know where I’m from—it’s not that difficult if you know a few key facts,” he scoffed, trying to play it off as no big deal. Except it was a big deal. In fact, he would even call it a huge deal. “Maybe I should kill you to keep you quiet.”

“Hmm, I doubt that.”

“…and why not…?”

“…because I have something that can finally let you have a good rest. You’re worth three billion beri; a man like that can’t be tired and weigh down his crew. Are they able to protect you should a three billion beri threat come knocking on your door?”

Law did not answer, instead keeping eye contact while reaching out with his Haki. Nothing seemed dangerous, she wasn’t concealing a weapon, and no one was ready to ambush him or snipe him from the other side of the market. What was her game…?

“If you want to calm your mind and be able to get some sleep, then look inside that jar on the end; the blue one. You do that and all your worries will melt away.”

It seemed too good to be true. Law stared at the jar at the end of the cart, deep blue with golden circles and swirls for a pattern. He stepped towards it, feeling almost a pull, something in the back of his mind telling him it was alright…

…before he could come to his senses, his hand was resting atop the lid of the jar. He opened it up and looked in; something was in there, clicking angrily at being disturbed.

“Hey, what the hell is thi—!”

Suddenly, the world went black and Trafalgar D. Water Law went to sleep.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Fuck, I can’t believe we lost the captain,” Shachi groaned as he and Penguin searched the market for Law. It was well past the half hour mark and they were beginning to get worried. “Do you think he went back to the Tang without us?”

“Unlikely,” Penguin frowned. “At least we know he can’t go too far. Island’s not big enough for him to run away.”

“Yeah, as though he’d run away and leave Bepo to cry. That bear sniffles once and it’s like the world is ending.”

“He’s protective of us to a fault, I’ll give you that.” Penguin stopped in the middle of the street and put his hands on his hips as he tried to think. “Now if I were the captain, then where would I go?”

“Comic book store? Coin shop? Get his sword professionally cleaned?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Shachi looked around the market, though with no one even remotely matching the description of their cranky baby of a captain, he decided that it was time to break out the big guns: asshole needed to be perceived. “Oi! Captain! Where in the hell are you?!”

“That’s not gonna work,” Penguin groaned.

“You’re just jealous because you didn’t shout first.”

“That is literally the last thing anyone should be jealous about.”

“You’ve always been jealous of me since we were kids: admit it.”

“Jealous of what? The way babes avoid you? Not a chance.”

Shachi rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses and pouted—this was truly getting them nowhere. He kept looking around the market, his eyes catching something crumpled on the ground a ways away. “Hey, doesn’t that look like the Captain’s coat?” Penguin turned and looked where he was pointing, only to hiss.

“Fuck! It’s not just his coat! It’s the Captain!”

The pair rushed over to where their captain was laid out on the ground near an empty stall. No one was around or seemed to be paying attention to them, which was more unsettling than they would have liked to admit. Penguin knelt down and began to shake Law by the shoulder, his captain refusing to respond.

“Hey, come on Cap, we gotta go,” he said. No response. “Listen, I know we all agreed that you needed to get more sleep, but I don’t think you should really be doing it in the street.”

“His sword’s still here, so at least we know it’s not a robbery,” Shachi noticed. Penguin looked and yeah, he was right: Kikoku was laying in the dirt next to Law. He took the chance and felt the pants pocket where he knew Law kept his wallet and sure as shit that was still there as well.

“Law, this isn’t funny anymore,” Penguin said. He took his captain and friend and rolled him over so that he could take a good look at him and see if he had hit his head or anything, only to jerk back at what met him.

There, right where Law’s face should have been, sat some sort of gross, slimy blob. It was a pinkish-grey and pulsing and had tentacles that wrapped around his face in order to keep it in place over his eyes, nose, and mouth. Whatever the fuck it was, it was keeping Law from answering him, as though the captain was trapped in a deep sleep.

“Fucking seas!” Shachi gasped. He and Penguin looked at one another, then at Law, and they knew that they were in deep, deep shit.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Law woke up with a gasp and a shudder, realizing that he was soaked in sweat. Fuck… it was just a dream. A nightmare. Not real. He looked around his room and felt himself grow calmer. It was the bedroom he had been inhabiting since he was a child, not a… submarine…? Shit, his imagination was getting wild lately.

“Wake up, Weenis,” Lami demanded as she pounded her fist on the door. Law went to the door and opened it, seeing his younger sister standing there still in her pajamas. “You promised to let my class watch you in the theater today and I’m not letting you skip out.”

“Aren’t you bossy this morning?” he fired back. “Moer and Vaor get back from work yet?”

“No—they had some senior staff meetings called last-minute and won’t be back until lunch.” Lami then began to walk away. “You better hurry up if you’re going to do the surgery in more than your underwear. Plus you stink.”

Law grabbed the nearest thing he could—a stuffed seagull toy from Sora, Warrior of the Sea—and threw it at her.

“Ack! Pick on somebody your own size!” Lami threw the stuffed toy back, with Law ducking out of the way easily.

“You’re not even three centimeters shorter than me; shut up,” he laughed. “Be ready in fifteen, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lami said, brushing it off as she went down the stairs. Law rolled his eyes and shut the door to his bedroom before pausing.

Huh… that was kind of an intense nightmare he’d just woken up from, if he thought about it for long enough. He dreamt of a jumbled-up world that was completely different than this one, where he was alone in the world and a pirate, of all things. Although he unfortunately knew his favorite comic was mostly just government propaganda, he’d never really go as far as to turn pirate? To be in league with a notorious pirate crew from the North Blue? Start his own crew? Take down bigger and bigger threats to his existence? Defeating Yonkou in the Grand Line?! He never met one of the Pirate Emperors, let alone wanted to provoke one, and yet he had helped to take down two. All because in the dream, the epidemic had instead been a slaughter and his Devil Fruit had been how he lived.

Law was neither a psychologist nor psychiatrist by any means, but he sure as hell knew something was wrong when he woke up sweaty after dreaming that he carried the charred memories of Flevance on his back. He looked at himself in the mirror—no tattoos, no scars from a reattached arm and varied bullet wounds, just him.

Dreams weren’t real, thank fuck.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“What the fuck are we going to do?!” Ikkaku snapped. She gestured at their captain’s prone body laying on a table in the mess hall while Penguin and Shachi looked like they were little kids who just got caught playing with a stray cat. “How in the hell did he even end up like this?!”

“We were just walking around in the market and we literally turned away for two minutes before he was on the ground!” Penguin fired back. “Neither of us saw where this thing came from!”

“What is it…?” Clione wondered. He poked at the thing covering the captain’s face carefully and it clicked in irritation. “Is it alive?”

“I think so,” Shachi replied. “It seems to shift its position every once and a while.”

“What is it doing?” Uni asked. Hakugan just shrugged.

“Shit like this is why I wear a mask.”

“Thanks for the input, but does this mean you know what this is?” Ikkaku sniped, pointing at the… thing. “If you do, I’d love if you’d say something useful for once.”

The entire mess hall was about to erupt into argument when Jean Bart finally came back with his share of the shopping, dropping the crate of potatoes with a gasp. Everyone looked to see an expression that their newest member had never displayed before then.

Jean Bart was terrified.

“Where did this come from?!” he gasped. He ignored the potatoes and instead went to Law’s side, inspecting the creature latched onto his face. “Penguin? Shachi? You were the ones who went with him!”

“We don’t know!” Penguin insisted. “One moment he was normal and the next he was laid out on the street like that. Neither of us saw anything.” Dread settled in his stomach as he realized that Jean Bart was truly and completely unnerved by this. “What is it?”

“This is something that Celestial Dragons use to punish and torture slaves,” the large man replied gravely. “It latches onto the face and injects a powerful hallucinogen into the bloodstream that causes the victim to dream of their dream world. When it gets taken off, the victim is weak from lack of food and the lasting effects of the poison… not to mention the trauma from how they’ve been ripped from their freedom.”

“What is it though?” Shachi asked. “How do we get it off?”

“I’ve seen it done three ways,” Jean Bart said. He poked the creature and it chittered again. “The first way is that there is a device that the Celestial Dragons use to remove it. We can’t consider that an option because there’s only a few of them in existence and they are all in Mary Geoise. Same goes for the second, because it involves the woman whose Devil Fruit ability makes these things.”

“…and the third…?” Ikkaku asked. Jean Bart shook his head.

“There was one person I saw that must have done something to kill the creature from inside of the dream, but I don’t know what exactly.”

“…why not…?”

“He was shot to death soon after waking up, since it was before schedule.” A chill settled over the mess hall—this was not looking good. “We need help; I doubt this is something we have more information on than what I just told you.”

“Get help from who?” Uni scoffed. “I don’t think there’s a lot of people that the captain would trust with something like this, let alone someone who knows about Celestial Dragon torture devices.”

“Then maybe…” Penguin mused aloud, “…we should start with someone who he trusts in general and work from there.”

“Not exactly a lot of those wandering around, and even fewer who are doctors,” Clione reminded them. “Who in the hell would you recruit who wouldn’t get us all murdered when the captain wakes up?”

There was little argument that the list was extremely short, and that the only doctor on it was… well… presented his own problems, or at least his captain did. Not like they had any choice in the matter, did they?

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

After tidying himself up and getting dressed, Law went with Lami over to the hospital. There was always an odd sense of nostalgia as he walked into the building—he’d spent so much time there between it being where his parents worked and the time that Amber Lead poisoning nearly killed Lami… if there was any other place that felt like home, it was this place.

Once he was sure that Lami was off towards her class in the teaching portion of the hospital, it was time to get caught up on what had happened overnight. Law took a look at the charts that were sitting in his tray and scowled.

“Glaring at them won’t change the fact they’re there,” Bepo said. Law glanced over at the polar bear sitting at the nurse’s desk—how dare he. “You need to at least do some evals to make sure that surgery is the answer before you take them on.”

“With this kind of schedule you’re going to ruin my weekend by making me work straight through it.”

“Sorry, but it can’t be helped.” Law tried to glare at the Mink, but Bepo went on the offensive with the cutest teddy bear look he could muster—he’d been doomed from the start. “You could be a fucking mascot character.”

“I could be in Pedes, and then who would help you?” Ah, yes, he had a very good point.

“Oh, there you are,” said a voice. Both Law and Bepo looked to see Law’s mother coming down the corridor, looking absolutely exhausted. “Lami get here okay?”

“I still don’t know if medicine is really the right field for her if I need to keep making sure she gets to class,” Law replied as he gave his mother a one-armed hug full of awkwardness and regret for working in the same hospital as her. “Maybe she really should just take general courses and see what sticks.”

“Nonsense,” she replied. “Both of you have been interested in medicine since you were little, and look at you! Best in your class! Several years ahead!”

“Moer… I was interested in medicine. Lami was interested in how she was staying alive. Those are different.”

“It’s the same thing and you know it. She should just be glad we’re not judging her on your scales.” She then turned towards Bepo and gave him a sweet, tired smile. “Bepo, be a dear and make sure my son eats something at lunch today.”

“Moer…!”

“Yes, ma’am, Dr. Mrs. Trafalgar, ma’am!” the bear said with a salute. Law’s mother laughed.

“Bepo, you’re my son’s friend. I’ve told you that you can call me Angela.”

“Your name is Dr. Mrs. Trafalgar, ma’am.” Law’s mother shook her head before pulling her son down to kiss his forehead.

“See you at dinner,” she said, “and don’t be late this time. I don’t want it to dry out in the oven waiting for you again.”

“Yes, Moer,” he whined. His mother smiled as she walked away and waved, seemingly all too pleased with herself. “She does realize it’s not very professional to have one’s mother pop in at work and talk about family dinner, right?”

“I don’t think she cares, nor does anyone else.” Bepo watched as Law tried to ignore him. “You wouldn’t be so upset if it was Miss Robin.”

“Spouses and significant others show up at workplaces all the time,” Law argued. “I don’t want people to think I’m only here because my moetje checks in on me.” He emphasized the Flevench children’s word for mom with derision, making his lack of approval clear.

“You were the one who chose to work here,” Bepo reminded him. “You could run the entire hospital in Whiteland if you wanted.”

“That would involve being in Whiteland—thanks but no thanks.”

“Who knows? Maybe Miss Robin would like to go?”

“Why she stays here is a mystery.” Except, he knew why she stayed—she had already re-upped her contract with the university and there were few reasons as to why someone from a warm part of the West Blue would voluntarily stay in a place that snowed. “Do you at least have anything that doesn’t involve a pre-existing condition? I at least want to exercise my brain a little bit here.”

Bepo shook his head and chuckled, handing over a specific chart. “You still thinking about having her meet your parents next week?”

“She should have met them ages ago; I can’t back out now.” Law let his vision slip out of focus as he thought about the very terrifying concept of Robin meeting his parents. All sorts of terrifying prospects crossed his mind—it was bad enough that Lami had hunted her down on campus, but his parents…? He didn’t want to go down that train of thought because then he’d never get any work done.

Giving his head a small shake, he came back to his senses and focused on the chart in front of him. He tried to pretend to not notice Bepo’s smirk—at least his friends were as mutinous as pirates. Maybe that’s where his brain was getting it from.

‘Not the time, Law; there’s patients to care for.’

[sequinsmile-x]

Home - Chapter Seven

Revenge - (re·​venge: Noun.)

The action of hurting or harming someone in return for an injury or wrong suffered at their hands.

She'd been comfortable and safe for so long that she'd allowed herself how to forget how it felt to be afraid.

A sequel to The Way Home

-x-

Hi friends,

Thank you so much for the love on this story. I know this has overall taken longer to get out than I usually intended, and I am sorry, but I hope you are still enjoying this fic (despite the heartache) and this version of them.

If you are still enjoying it, please do let me know what you think, comments make me so happy and grateful for y'all <3

-x-

Words: 2.4k

A full list of warnings can be found on the Series Master List.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

“Maybe I should have taken the deal.”

Emily’s heart aches when she looks at her husband, the worry and fear etched into his face so obvious even from across the room that it was as if it was carved into stone. Chiselled into the hills and valleys of his face, making him look older than he was. She crosses the room, placing Eleanor’s toys that she’d gathered to put away on the armchair before she sits next to him on the couch.

“Honey, no,” she says, squeezing his hand, sandwiching it between both of hers, “No you shouldn’t have,” she smiles encouragingly at him when he looks at her, doubt making his eyes seem darker, “You wouldn’t be the man I love if you had.” 

It had hung over them ever since Foyet had called him two days ago. He’d lost sleep over it, tossing and turning in bed next to her until she either laid on top of him, her weight lulling him into a restless sleep, or he gave up and went downstairs, roaming the halls of their home like a ghost of the man who had walked them just weeks ago. 

His guilt, his doubt in his decision to tell Foyet he wouldn’t make a deal only got worse when the police couldn’t track the call. The man who had cracked open their lives in the wind. A shadow that couldn’t be caught. 

“I put us in danger.” 

“No,” she repeats, shaking her head fiercely, swallowing thickly when the motion makes her feel sick, her nausea stronger than it had been when she was pregnant with Eleanor. He still didn’t know about the baby. Her words got stuck in her throat every time she tried to say them, the joy they sparked in her belly feeling misplaced in amongst the sadness they were surrounded by. “You didn’t. You haven’t done anything wrong. You were just doing your job.” 

When she thought of Foyet it made her angry. Fierce hatred she hadn’t felt since Ian had torn through their life well over a decade ago flashing in her chest in a way she hates. Haley had done nothing wrong other than open her front door to a man she didn’t know and she died for it. Aaron had done nothing wrong except for doing what he was paid to do - putting a monster behind bars that hadn’t been strong enough to hold him. 

They are cut off before anything else can be said, the doorbell ringing out throughout the house. Emily leans forward and presses a kiss to his cheek, smiling softly when he turns his head to catch her lips. A soft delicate thing that they’d exchanged countless times throughout the years, something that never lost its spark for either one of them. 

“I’ll get it,” she whispers, kissing him again before she straightens up and heads for the door. She frowns as she reaches the hallway, the air too cool, a slight breeze making its way throughout the home. She sighs when she spots Eleanor by the door, the porch empty as she approaches. 

“Ellie,” she says authoritatively, pushing some of the girl's wild curls from her face, “What have I said about opening the door when Daddy and I aren’t with you?” 

Eleanor shrugs, an apologetic smile on her face, “Sorry Mommy.” 

Emily sighs, not quite having the heart to chastise her daughter properly, and she frowns when she sees something clutched in the little girl's hand, “What’s that, sweetie?” 

Eleanor passes it to her, “The man said to give it to you,” she says casually as she runs back into the house, not even looking back as she goes back to whatever she’d been doing before the doorbell had rung. 

“The man?” Emily says outloud, looking out into the empty street, no one around and nothing looking out of place. Her heart seizes in her chest as she looks down at what her daughter had handed her, he breath knocked from her lungs as everything slows down around her. 

It was a picture. A moment from Eleanor’s latest birthday party frozen in time of what their family had looked like just weeks ago. Haley tucked in the middle of Jack and Eleanor with Emily and Aaron on her other side. There’s a smudge of blood across the middle of it, dried and flaking off, transferring onto Emily’s skin just like it had the night she’d found Haley mostly dead on her living room floor. 

The picture was the only thing that had been missing from Haley’s house after Foyet killed her. The remnants of the frame it had once been in tucked away in a box at a police station. Labelled as evidence as if it hadn’t once been a gift from Emily to her friend. 

The sight of the dots of dark red dried blood against her skin brings her back to herself and she gasps, crumpling the picture in her hands. She looks back outside and again sees nothing, and she slams the door shut, making sure the locks are all in place. Shaking hands double checking them as she hears her husband's familiar footsteps in the hall. 

“Em?” 

She turns to look at him and holds out the picture, watching as the same horror spreads over his face, the lines she’d seen earlier chiselling even deeper into his features. 

“I’ll call Detective Strauss,” he says roughly, his voice tight, and she nods, frozen in place as he makes the call.

___

She knows she won’t sleep tonight. 

The police had interviewed Eleanor, a gentle and soft side to Dective Strauss Emily wouldn’t have thought possible making an appearance as they asked her questions. The description she’d given of the man who’d handed her the picture matched Foyet perfectly, just like Emily knew it would the moment she’d seen it. 

She’d watched the barely controlled anger roll under Jack’s skin when he realised the man who had killed his mother had been so close, that he’d had access to his baby sister. She’d watched similar anger in her husband, his fury, that he’d successfully hidden from their children but not his wife, clear as the cops explained they’d station someone outside their home overnight. 

Jack excused himself to bed early, a tightness to his shoulders Emily had never seen before and a sharp tone to his voice as he said goodnight that sliced through her heart. She knew he wasn’t a little boy anymore, that he wasn’t the kid she’d fallen in love with back when she was barely older than he was now, but she still wanted to protect him. She still wished she could save him from this pain. 

As she puts Eleanor to bed the little girl's inquisitive nature, which Emily usually loves, grates on her, every question about who the man had been, and why the police were so interested, making it almost impossible to not fall apart there and then. She distracts her with a story, staying until long after the little girl had fallen asleep, giving herself the comfort of her daughter fast asleep against her, her soft breath skipping over her neck. 

She sneaks out of Eleanor’s room and into her own, well aware that Aaron had headed to bed at the same time Jack had. She finds him sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees as he leans forward, his eyes flashing up to meet hers as she walks in. 

“I think we should do what they said,” he says, his voice tight. Defeated. An edge to it she’d only ever heard once before. When she’d broken up with him in a misguided attempt to protect him. 

The police had recommended that Emily and the kids go into hiding. A suggestion she’d shot down the second she realised they didn’t mean Aaron too, that he’d be purposely left behind like a sitting duck, waiting to draw the predator out of the shadows. No matter how many times they assured her he’d be fine, that they would have undercover police presence near him at all times, she wouldn’t accept it.

Foyet had escaped from a maximum security prison after all, a few plain clothes officers weren’t going to phase him. 

“No,” she says immediately, her voice firm, “I’m not doing it.” 

“You left me once when you thought it was the best thing for me,” he says, his voice soft and unaccusing, yet a stab to her heart anyway. 

She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest as she shakes her head, her teeth clenched tight as she thinks about the moment that felt like a lifetime ago. They’d basically been kids themselves, freshly in a relationship that felt tenuous at the time, too good to be true when she compared it to the rest of her life. She wishes she could talk to her 21-year-old self, that she could assure her the man she’d fallen in love with, the one who had once just been her neighbour with the adorable son, would be the person for her. The love of her life. She wished she could tell her what they’d go through, all the things they’d get to survive because they had each other. 

It makes his request seem all the more unfathomable, all the more absurd. 

“That was different,” she says, her nails digging into her biceps. 

“How?” He asks, standing up and stepping towards her, desperation thrumming under his skin, forcing him towards her. He cups her cheeks, holding her in place as their eyes meet, “How is it different?”

“We were just kids then,” she says, placing her hands over his on her cheeks, “Now…we have so much more.” 

“Which means we have more to lose, Em,” he says, resting his forehead against hers, swallowing so thickly she swears she feels the force of it in her chest. The bitter despair thick and heavy as it travels down to her gut, making it churn even more than the pregnancy he still didn’t know about ever could, “I need you to do this.” 

She shakes her head, their foreheads knocking against each other, “No,” she says, pulling back to look at him, “I can’t. I won’t…” she blows out a steady breath, “I’m…I’m pregnant.”

It feels like a last-ditch attempt to make him see her way, to make him stop but she watches as it has the opposite effect, his eyes briefly flashing in shock before they become even more determined. She knows Foyet’s MO, had studied it alongside Aaron on those long nights in the lead-up to the trial, and she knew he sometimes disappeared for months. For years.

The thought of it, of raising Eleanor alone, of helping Jack move through his grief and loss alone, of having a baby alone, enough to make tears spill onto her cheeks. 

“What?” He asks, feeling breathless from the admission, his gaze drifting down to her abdomen. Moments from the last few days flash through his mind. How she’d been off her food, how she’d looked nauseated at the mere mention of eggs and bacon that morning. How she’d turned down wine on the evening of her best friend's funeral, “How…why…” 

She smiles tightly, well aware he was asking how long she’d known, why she hadn’t told him, but that he’d stopped themselves. The heavy, cloying layer of grief that had settled over them, smothering everything they did. 

“The morning of Haley’s funeral,” she says, linking their fingers together and letting their joint hands fall between them, “I just had a feeling and I could practically hear her yelling at me to take the damn test,” she says, laughing humourlessly, a sound he joins in on, as she impersonates Haley towards the end of her sentence, “And it came back positive. I made an appointment with my doctor next week,” her smile shakes slightly, “I just didn’t want this to be…tinged with so much sadness. It’s something we’ve wanted for so long.”

He leans forward and kisses her, the fierceness of the action feeling out of place with the tension in the room, the sadness in the air. When he pulls back he’s cupping her cheek again and she turns her head to kiss his palm.

“Em, sweetheart, this is a good thing. An excellent thing,” he says, and guilt bubbles in his stomach when she smiles, the first genuine one he’d seen since she found Haley barely clinging to life. It was wide and beautiful and one of the first things that had made him fall in love with her, and he knew what he was about to say would make it fade, “But it’s all the more reason for you to do what the police have suggested.” 

The worst part is she knows he’s right. That despite her own misgivings, her own desire to be with him, they needed to protect their children. It was a pact of sorts, something they’d agreed to when making Jack a big brother was nothing but a far-off hope, that they’d stuck to the entire time they’d been together. The kids came first. 

Something their own parents had never been able to do for them. 

She nods, a subtle thing he catches, relief spreading through his veins, and she blows out a shaky breath and pulls him into a fierce hug, her grip on his shirt so tight he wouldn’t be surprised if she rips it, “I haven’t been anywhere you haven’t since I was 21,” she says, the words escaping before she can stop them, her voice muffled by his shirt before she pulls back, “I…how am I supposed to be okay with not knowing if you’re safe?” 

He rests his forehead against hers, memorising the feel of her against him, the warmth of her breath on his face. 

“We’ll get through this, Em,” he says, sounding more sure than he felt, “One day we’ll look back on this and know it’s another thing we survived.”

She chuckles bitterly, shaking her head as tears fall onto her cheeks, “How much are we supposed to take though, Aaron? How much are our kids…how will we explain this to them?” 

He pulls her into a hug again, holding her close as he runs a hand up and down her back, providing the comfort he knows won’t work.

“The same way we do everything, baby,” he says, pressing a kiss to her temple, breathing in the scent of her, “Together.” 

-x-

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[septimus-heap]

I just saw your Marcia and Cerys childhood friends au and thought of a random crack au, so since you inspired it you have to read my half-asleep ramblings. Sorry.

Marcia/Cerys childhood friends is canon in this (obviously) and I have no idea when it takes place- maybe a few years into Sep’s apprenticeship or smthing. Anyway, Sep found some random cool magyk thingy in the tower library and brought it to the palace to show to Jenna bc it’s cool and for plot reasons. So Jenna and Sep are trying to figure out what this thing is, poking it and stuff, and decide to have Sep do some show-your-secrets spell or what not so they can figure out what it is.

Marcia shows up at this point to ask Jenna if she knows where Sep is, sees what they’re doing and freaks out. She instantly shoves Jenna and Sep away from the magyk artifact thingy, yelling for Cerys at the same time. Cerys appears because Marcia actually sounds worried, figures out what’s happening, and tries to figure out with Marcia how to stop it as best she can (being a ghost and everything) but before Marcia and Cerys can figure out how to stop it, some fancy lights show up and the two of them vanish. Jenna and Sep start screaming for someone bc they have no idea what just happened but now the dead queen and Marcia are missing and something’s really wrong. Silas bursts in, maybe with Sarah and/or some of the other Heaps, but before anyone can say anything, two teenagers just kinda. Fall out of this giant sphere of light. And these teenagers see people surrounding them- Silas or someone is ready to fight- and panic, running out of the Castle.

Everyone follows, and is really confused when people on the street see these two girls tearing through the streets and just freeze, gaping at them. The girls head to the Wizard Tower and run in, apparently knowing the password, and by the time the Heaps catch up, the stairs are moving ridiculously fast, and every single person is gaping at the stairs. Sep asks what’s wrong and some random wizard goes, ‘Why the FUCK are the ExtraOrdinary and the late Queen running around- alive- looking like teenagers??’ And everyone starts yelling. Meanwhile, in the past, a very confused Alther and Queen Mathilda are trying to figure out why the ExtraOrdinary apprentice and the Crown Princess are suddenly over a decade older, and dressed as the ExtraOrdinary and Queen.

(The amulet doesn’t transfer over when Marcia and Cerys get sent to the past, so it’s just on the floor of Jenna’s bedroom or something)

(Also Jenna and Sep somehow know Cerys. Maybe this is set after Fyre. Switched versions of Marcia and Cerys are about 19. The present has a teenage queen (Cerys is older than Jenna so while she’s here and alive she’s queen) and ExtraOrdinary Wizard)

I have zero idea with this au is. Do with this what you will. I am so so sorry for this gigantic whatever this is.

Okay I've been not answering this bc I want to Add but idk what to add bc this is already so good. 10/10 comedy PLEASE send me more

[nani-nonny]

I swear nonny am about to go to your house and enter just to ask you; WHY YOU MADE IT SO SHORT?!?!?!/HJ

Ngl, i was watching gameplay of video game call " ghost trick " until i got email notification about your " am blue " it took me half minute to realize it's; 1- from you. 2- it's " I'm blue " fic 💙💙💙💙.

I start reading and what else?! Mf Old timer strick again with LCD, am.so close to tackle that mf to STOP BULLYING HIM!! He had enough!/j

Like the cry bullied baby he is, LCD leaves immediately to his tent to cry leaving the big boys to talk.

Blue chewing the jerky reminded me of that one obnoxious kid who chew gum just so he doesn't focus on the lecture in classroom 🤣

When DMD asked old timer why he get called old timer i felt; 1- bruh moment because " old timer = old as fuck ". 2- What if LCD's turn came up?!? ( now idk what i must get worried about?! LCD get exposed to the rest of the leos or WDS's fic end & bishop... Nani you're torturing me).

So back to the name choosing and no lies or disrespect? I feel you took half of chapter describing what old timer feels whe he got asked the question 😂 it made me think " yo nani are you trying to skip or give little details in the fic?! Answer me! " 🤣

After 24 years, old timer finally answer with he's obviously older which wants me to pull the " you don't say " meme xD

Then here comes the age reveling where i get to know REUNION IS 61!! AFTER THAT IS DMD WITH 49 And WDS is 44 and i bet you money on it; LCD is the youngest!! I just know it!! (Which make it more funny because the middle kids are gonna bully the youngest for begin a killer)

Reunion's Audacity calling them " children " made me laugh, imagine his old ass whenever he regroup with them he say " okay kids/children... " or " kids that's enough " 🤣🤣

And then he turns to LCD's tent and called him out remind me of mom when she says " you're (name doing something) tomorrow " which DOESN'T help me sleep at all.

It would be funny if LCD wasn't sleep but after hearing Reunion's order he REALLY isn't getting any sleep LOL.

AND THEN THE BIG STUFF HAPPENS!! My dude slips and admits he didn't win the war on his first try and man oh man!! He cracked some gears into the two (who knows maybe 3 if LCD wasn't sleep).

And then dipped and left like a dad announcing he's going to get the milk.

Leaving DMD & WDS, am sure WDS WANTS to share about his ghost brothers but after knowing DMD lost everyone... Yeah he said nope to that, NANI YOU'RE TORTURING THEM!!!

Hahahaha! All I’m Blue chapters are about 1-2k words long heheh

Also, you have me on your notifs? :((( thank you /pos

Achilles(LCD) just makes it so easy for Old Timer (Reunion) to tease him. /j Old Timer’s totally not trying to see where Achilles’s limits are so that he knows where are the good places to step in a field of metaphorical landmines /hj

“Nani you’re torturing me” I’m not trying to :) /t

Old Timer is a sentimental old man whose therapist told him it was okay to take a moment to himself to think long and hard. And he’s trying not to spill too much about himself, so he has to take a moment to think or he’ll say too much, as seen at the end of the chapter :)

Yess!!! Age reveal! Old Timer is the oldest at 61, Barbarian (DMD) is 49 (I thought a lot about what his age is and nearly made him 53 because it made more sense for the DMD fic but he also greatly exaggerated his age in his fic so… *shrugs*), and Big Blue (WDS) is the youngest at 44 (he’s currently 1 or 2 years younger in his fic at the moment).

Old Timer’s original age was going to be 70, but I cut him some slack and reminded myself that he’s not that old, I’m unconsciously trying to make fun of him. But he does have some elder rights to call them children, they are almost 2 decades younger than him hahaha

And it would be funny if Achilles (LCD) was awake through it all *sweats and runs away*

And oh how the mighty have fallen! Old Timer slips up his words and spills more than he would have liked hahaha! He really kicked into high gear and left as quickly as he could, can’t risk spilling more beans!

“Nani you’re torturing them!!” Nuh uh /t

[onlybonesleft]

"I mean, it's not exactly mine--it's the family's but I suppose it will be mine when my mom decides to give up the ghost," Leonard muses rubbing at his stubble. They were on break officially, so he didn't feel the need to be as fresh as he normally would be. He side eyes Pavel a moment before shrugging. "I sure as hell wouldn't offer if all I wanted for the break was to be a hermit."

Decidedly not true, though. Leonard knew he needed to try to keep up his social circle, which yeah, included the kid even if he was a decade or two younger. Len had always had a few friends growing up who were older and he felt that helped round him out as an individual--having multiple perspectives when needed or just someone with more experience to turn to if he needed help that couldn't be given by his parents. Maybe he could be that for Pavel, if the kid wanted.

Len chooses a bad time to take a sip from his drink and nearly chokes half to death on his drink. He found Chekov's reassurances that he'd be a help and could cook equal parts charming and amusing. It was great that he wanted to help out in whatever way he could, but Leonard was gonna try to keep this to as leisurely a trip as possible. Chekov worked hard and deserved to have an honest to God break. Sure working with his hands in a different way was still work, but it'd work him in a different way.

He chuckles and coughs, waving his hand as if to dispel Chekov's worry (if the lad was worried). "Wrong pipe," Len rasps. "Don't worry about it and don't worry too much about cooking, though I am curious about what you do know. And just a bit of upkeep maintenance probably- haven't been to the cottage in awhile, so it could be a bit more extensive than my mom would lead me to believe."

His smile turns a little wry. "But please don't feel like you have to come along just because I asked. New York would probably have more interesting things for you to do." He shrugs again, stuffing his hands in his pockets after setting down his drink that is now nearly done. "I mean, if you have a travel telescope or something, hell even binoculars, the views of the night sky there are rather breathtaking if I do say so myself."

Pavel's expression changes only slightly to hear that Joanna isn't back at home and though he had no way of knowing unless he askedーthough it was also just as likely that, given enough time, the doctor would have volunteered the information himselfーand he hopes he hasn't soured the evening by reminding him that he was, apparently, just as on his own as Pavel was this leave.

If the captain and Mister Spock had not made plans already, Pavel would have invited the captain to stay, knowing that extended leaves were rough on him, too. However, he dared not get in the way of whatever the two had plannedーhe was happy for them, truly, and not just because he had won that bet with Hikaruーand they deserved a chance to finally relax together.

Luckily, the doctor doesn't look too put-out by his question, so Pavel feels less bad about the way his eyes widen. "You have a cottage on the coast?" He tries to picture what that could look like in his mindーa beautiful old building made of dark wood, far away from civilisation, an antique fireplace, comfortable to live in but maybe intentionally lacking more modern amenitiesー

ーbut then he says it's in a small town and the picture in Pavel's head changes accordingly to include other old, well-loved homes, outdoor markets, and roads that have seen better days.

"You're inviting me to come stay with you?" He needs a moment to process that. "Well, it is no New York, butーyou said something about needing to work on it for your mom? What kind of work? I can help with that, maybe. I'm pretty good with these things!" That way, at the very least, he feels like he will earn his stay.

"And I am also very good at cooking, so don't worry about that either."

[bytebun]

the more I think abt it the more I feel a little insane that the first of my major artistic influences were just randos on the internet with maybe a couple hundred followers that are all just. ghosts now. where are they now. what are they doing…. etc

[kass-storycorner]

I’ve been thinking a lot about the Hu Tao and Chongyun storyquests the past days. Both deal with the afterlife (well the border between life and death so far) and ghosts. We know both are canon in Genshin, they exist for this world. Now what I’ve been thinking a lot about is … how much angst can I write with that in mind? I always see a lot of these how the characters would react to your death but… yeah, have fun with this. Or not.

The ghost of you

Prompt: You died and the characters are faced with the literal ghost of you.

Genre: Angst, Hurt, no comfort (especially for Xiao)

Characters: Zhongli, Xiao,

Format: text

Word count: 1714

This is not proof-read or anything, I just wanted to get that idea out of my head. I also really want to write this idea out for other characters, so maybe I'll share a part 2 in the future. and yes the title might be a mcr reference and i might have two other fics in my drafts named after mcr songsi had a rough week okay

Zhongli:

He loved you. With all his heart, with every fibre of his being, he loved you so much. Zhongli always knew that his decision to live a life among mortals would cost a price, but in his mind, it was paid with his Gnosis all those years ago. It was not until the first of his mortal friends started to die that Zhongli was reminded of how fragile humans were. Of course, he was aware to a certain degree that he would outlive his friends and even you, he just never considered how quickly a human life was lived. You both had spent an entire life together, and while Zhonglis body did not biologically age, he is able to change his form to his liking - so when you grew old and grey so did he. Most people in Liyue would see the two of take your stroll around the city, holding hands and they were enamoured by the way you still looked at each other, just like a newlywed couple. But you grew older each day until one day, on one of your walks through the city, your collapsed. Zhongli was quick to catch you and the people around rushed towards the two, helping Zhongli getting you to a doctor. However, what was a doctor to do, than to tell Zhongli that your body is giving up? The doctor nor Zhongli can do anything against the flow of time, though Zhongli wished he could. He was not ready to let you go, he was not ready for you to onyl life in his memories until the erosion of the earth will erease you from them.

You layed in the hospital bed, Zhongli right next to you never letting go of your hand, when you took your last breath. He sat next to you for a while, not saying a word, tears running down his face until he heard your voice.

"It's okay," there you stood on the other side of the bed, your dead body between the two of you. In all the years Zhongli lived he had seen more than a few ghosts and he was aware of the human afterlife - though seeing your ghost wasn't something he anticipated. "You're dead", Zhongli said quietly, tears still spilling from his eyes. "I know, love. I know. And I wish I could've stayed with you just a bit longer, I really do. But it's time. You gave me such a wonderful life; we spend so many years together and I am so thankful for it Zhongli. For all the stories you told me, for all the sleepless nights we spend together, for all the memories we made. I loved it. I love you." Zhongli still hadn't let go of your hand, still afraid of letting you go, even though the mind he loved was standing so close to him. "Love," he started, his voice heavy with grief. "I have so many more stories to tell you. Will you stay, just for a while longer?"

At that you had to laugh a bit and oh, how much he already missed your laugh. He just heard it a few hours ago, when you were still alive, but hearing it now just felt so painful. "Zhongli, even 10 lifetimes wouldn't be enough to be able to listen to all of your stories. But I'm so sorry to disappoint you, you know I can't stay."

He knew this just too well. Not only as someone who worked for decades as a consultant of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor in Liyue, but also as the former Geo-Archon he knew it was better for you to go. It pained him that he could never follow you into the afterlife that was awaiting you, even Zhongli didn't know what awaits you behind the border between life and death. "Then," Zhongli began, standing up and letting go of your cold hand, "let me accompany you."

Xiao:

Continuation for the Xiao one

Xiao refused to go even near the place you died for decades. The day he lost you was still so fresh in his memories, it pained him even more than his karmic debt to think about it. He always told you, when you were still by his side, that when you were in trouble, in danger, to always call his name. You did. You always did and he would be by your side, protecting you from what would’ve harmed you. The only time you refused to call his name in time was the day you died, and all Xiao could do was blame himself. You were visiting at the Inn earlier that day, standing next to him on the balcony talking about something he doesn’t even remember. What he remembers how happy you were, how enthusiastic you talked about it, whatever it was. Somehow though the conversation shifted, and you both ended up fighting – the reason for it was so stupid and it was all his fault. He was just in a bad mood that day and not even your warm presence were able to change it, so he let it out on you. Trying to push you away, again. Xiao cursed himself for how often he did that, how often he would hide how much he loved you, how much he cared for you, behind a mean exterior that only caused you pain. You knew what he was doing and that day, you just had enough. “Stop trying to push me away, Xiao!”, you shouted at him, tears already filling your eyes. You tried to reach for him, but he pulled away. Keeping you at a distance, again. “And you just stop talking, it’s exhausting to hear your voice.” Xiao already hated himself immediately after he said it, but looking back now, knowing what his words caused… it drove him close to madness. “Fine,” you replied, and he could her how much his words hurt you, “then you’ll never hear it again.” With that you left him. He tried to distract himself from the guilt he felt after your fight with his work, slashing through the enemies, spoiling the earth of Liyue with more blood. For nearly a month he didn’t hear you call him, and he was too scared to seek you out. Scared that you wouldn’t want to see him, scared that he ruined it all. When you finally called for him, when he finally heard you say his name – he hoped it was a chance for him to make it up to you. Xiao was not prepared to find your lifeless body, realising that you called his name with your very last breath. It send him into a blind rage, killing the enemies around him that were the cause for your death. When there was nothing left to kill he collapsed next to your corpse, tears spilling from his eyes, chanting your name over and over like a prayer. Asking himself why you hadn’t called him sooner to only remember what he said weeks prior. It was his fault. He couldn’t help it but to blame himself for your death. If he hadn’t said those words, if he hadn’t continuously tried to push you away… you were right. Xiao will never hear your voice again.

He avoided to go even near the place you died. If he hadn’t done that, if he had visited at least once, he would’ve seen your ghost, wandering aimlessly around. At first you were just confused, what had just happened? The last thing you remembered is that you called for Xiao and now? Now you stood in the middle of a forest, no Xiao in sight but also the enemies who cornered you just now were also gone. For how long you wandered around, confused and not sure what had happened you didn’t know. It scared you. You screamed his name, over and over again but you couldn’t hear your own voice. You just couldn’t make a sound.

He didn’t mean to come across that place again. Xiao learned to live with the guilt and grief he felt, just as he had to learn to live with his karmic debt. Still, it hurts more than he likes to admit. So when he stumbled upon the place he lost you all those years ago, he asked himself how he ended up here again. Something was telling him he should come here, but he tried to ignore that voice, that calling. But when he saw your ghostly figure between the trees of the forest, it used to be a plain field when you had died, he froze. Was it really you? “(Y/N)?”, he called out to you. Oh, how long he hadn’t said your name. It felt foreign, but also so familiar at the same time. But you didn’t hear nor see him, you were too lost after years of roaming the fields that grew to a forest – not being able to understand that time passed, that you were dead. Xiao came closer to your ghost and saw how you screamed something, over and over. His name. It was his name. “(Y/N) it’s me, I’m here. Please, I’m here, it’s okay”, his voice was strained and when your face met his – Xiao noticed how you didn’t look at him. You looked right through him, he noticed now how he couldn’t reach you with his words nor his presences. He tried to grab you, but his hand only touched the air. If he could at least hear you call his name. Xiao felt how his tears ran down his face, his heart shattering again in thousand pieces. Why hadn’t he noticed it earlier how you roamed the earth, lost and scared. He saw it in your face. Why didn’t he come here earlier? It pained him to know that you hadn’t found your peace. Xiao went down on his knees, face buried in his hands. The last time he felt so helpless was when he found your dead body, unable to help you. And now? Now it happened again, he had no idea what he could do to help you, to make you see him. From that day on Xiao spend most of his time watching over your ghost, hoping that one day he’ll hear you call out to him again.

[helliontherapscallion]

Who? (Forlorn Tale of Dionysus Part 2)

Part 1

Warnings: Swearing

Word count: 2,843

(A/N): I’m not exactly sure if this will continue any further, this was just a fun little thing I had in my drafts for a while after some interesting convos in my discord server (which you totally should join, it’s a vibe). This is lowkey word vomit, but eh. This is all strictly platonic btw

“Michael, are you sure you saw a house out here? I really don’t think-” You were interrupted by your much shorter friend yanking on your sleeve to get your attention. You looked down at him in question and watched as he raised his hands.

‘I am sure I saw that house, (y/n)! It is here somewhere.’ 

You fiddled with the sleeves of your thick coat with unease, “alright, but if we don’t find it soon I wanna head back. Uncle Boo and Uncle Tubbo are probably going to start to worry.”

Michael huffed at the mention of his parents. You knew how overbearing they were, causing your friend to crave new experiences and adventures. You’d known him for a couple of years now and he was rebelling more with each passing day. You could relate slightly, Philza and Technoblade had hardly let you out of the house without another person to accompany you. You never really understood why, you were almost thirteen now so you should be able to explore what you want. 

An excited squeal left your friend’s mouth before he started to pull you towards something in the distance, startling you out of your trance. You matched his pace with ease and felt nervous excitement tingle in your chest. 

As you got closer, you could make out small details of the cabin. It was a simple small cabin built out of spruce planks with glass windows and a brick chimney, but you liked it. It strangely felt homey. 

You pulled Michael into a nearby shrub underneath a window and peered in. The interior was also as simplistic as the outside was, looking untouched and tidy as if nobody was living there. You could see that the ceilings were taller than average, perhaps a hybrid of some sort lived here? 

Michael tapped your shoulder, ‘it doesn’t look like anybody’s home right now. Let’s go in.’ 

You opened your mouth to object before the sight of his set jaw and his eyes dead set on something inside made you close it. You learned from experience that when he was this determined, there was no stopping him. You sighed, “fine, but the second we get caught, it was your idea.” 

You both made your way to the front door. Without a second thought, Michael twisted the doorknob and swung the door open. A startled snort left his throat as he stumbled inside, making you put a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter. He jabbed the side of your lower torso, ‘shut up, I thought it was going to be locked.’

He pulled you inside and you both explored the living room. Bookshelves and portraits lined the walls, a single large couch sat off to the side, and the fireplace mantle was lined with a few small golden hooks. Michael made a beeline towards it, admiring the metal. It seems that’s what he saw that made him so determined to get inside. You hoped that he wouldn’t steal them and explored the area further. 

The portraits on the walls were a slight shock to you, they all included some people that you could recognize; in one you could make out a picture of younger versions of Ranboo, Philza, Technoblade, and Niki. Technoblade and Philza were sparring with shining golden swords while Ranboo and Niki sat in the grass on a hill watching with interest. Maybe this was just one of their old cabins? 

You saw people that you didn’t recognize as well. Namely a cat hybrid with striking sapphire blue eyes, a man seemingly human (you say seemingly because your eyes caught sight of pointed ears) wearing a white bandana keeping his jet black hair out of his face, a tall man with green freckles and a creeper mask, an anthropomorphic diamond block with beady black eyes and a wide smile, and a man that looked strangely like Ghostbur except he was wearing a uniform of some sort. However, a demon quickly caught your eye and made your heart leap for joy. There was someone out there that was like you! 

The man looked kind, always wearing a cheery smile and occasionally waving at the camera. He was tall and lanky, always towering over the others by a considerable amount. That made sense, Philza had told you that demons were naturally very tall when you asked him why you were growing faster than Michael when the zombie piglin was two years older than you were. Large wings and horns akin to yours sprouted from his back and head respectively. If he wasn’t constantly smiling, you would’ve thought that he was malevolent. 

You heard the rapid footsteps of Michael’s boots behind you as you turned around. You bounced on the balls of your feet excitedly, “Michael look, another demon! Do you think he lives here?”

You watched as he shrugged and pulled you towards the kitchen. ‘I don’t know, but look! There’s another demon that looks exactly like you!’ 

On the kitchen table surrounded by various trinkets (bottles of wine, gold bricks, stale bread, and the decomposed remains of flower crowns and bouquets being the majority of the items) laid a framed picture of said demon lazily smiling and looking off to the side. Michael was right, they looked exactly like you except at least a decade older. Everything matched your physical features to a tee; from the red accents on their black wings to the way they smiled, it was like they were your clone. The only thing of yours that they were missing was the three circular birthmarks on your forehead. It was eerily uncanny. 

Your eyes widened before you snatched the picture off from the table, studying them further. If you squinted, you could see that there was someone barely in frame. You flipped the frame around and took out the picture, unfolding it. In the picture was your adopted father and adopted uncles and aunt. What was going on? If they knew the demon, why didn’t they ever tell you about them? 

‘Woah, that was smart. Do you think you might be related to them or something?’ He tilted his head before he perked up, ‘could they be one of your biological parents?’ 

“Maybe, but if they were, why didn’t my dad tell me about them? I… have a right to know about them, right?”

He nodded firmly, ‘you definitely do. It’s kind of fucked up they haven’t told you anything about them.’ 

“Yeah, it is. Do you think something bad happened to them?... Oh shit, is this a memorial?” You hurriedly refolded the picture and put it back into its frame. 

Michael’s eyes widened and flickered around the table at the trinkets before he fished out two gold bars from his pocket and placed them onto the table. You crossed your arms, “what the fuck man?” 

‘I thought they wouldn’t miss a few pieces of gold! You would’ve done the same thing if you were a piglin,’ he defended himself before he paused and shuddered, ‘we’re in a dead person’s house, that’s creepy… What if their ghost is right behind us?’ 

You spun around and put yourself slightly in front of Michael, your heart beating in your throat. Nothing was there. Michael snorted, making you slap his arm, “not cool, man.” 

You were about to stomp off until a piece of paper caught your eye. It was a drawing of this person done in messy purple crayon, probably done by a very young child. It was signed by a Michael. 

You turned to the wheezing zombie piglin and patiently waited for him to stop laughing. When he did, you showed him the picture, “did you draw this? Did you know them?”

He scrunched up his brow in concentration, squinting at the paper. Eventually he shook his head slowly, ‘I don’t think so. At least I don’t remember drawing it… This is getting weird.’ 

You nodded in agreement, putting the drawing back onto the counter. You walked towards the stairs and climbed them. They creaked under your foot loudly, a part of you was scared that you would fall through them. It was clear they haven’t been used in some time. 

They led to a small loft, the ceiling coming to a point far overhead. A part of you was glad that this stranger (relative? Parent?) was a demon, it wasn’t often that you found lofts that fit all six and a half feet of you. 

Like the rest of the house, it was very simplistic. A gigantic bed laid in the center of the furthest wall, made neatly with multiple fluffy blankets, part you was tempted to catapult yourself onto it. On the nightstand next to it sat a redstone lamp and a frosted glass of water, cracks spider webbing up the sides presumably from the cold. 

You opened the lone drawer and discovered a book. Upon further inspection, you discovered that it was a journal with the name (y/n) written inside the cover. So this person had your name as well as your looks? This merely raised more questions than answers, so you slid the book into a pocket in your coat to read later. Under the book laid another picture of them posing with the strange group of people from the portraits downstairs. The de- (y/n) looked younger there. On the back, the word family was written and it was dated to be about twenty years old. You also pocketed the picture.

Michael walked over to the window and looked out at the vast tundra only to squeal in alarm. He ran over to you and pulled you downstairs. You looked out the window only to yelp when you saw a few crows standing on the window sill staring at you with their beady eyes. 

You and Michael ran out of the house as fast as the both of you could, the snow being slightly tough to run through for the five and a half foot tall zombie piglin. You could hear the crows following you overhead. After a while of running, you both finally got back to Snowchester and raced past Ranboo and Tubbo. You hid in Michael’s room with the curtains tightly drawn. 

You sat on his bed with your legs crossed and your back pressed up against the headboard. You let your head bang against the wall and you ran your hand down your face. “We’re fucked, dude. We’re literally so fucked.”

‘Uncle Phil’s still out of town so it’ll probably be a few days until they find out.’ Michael plopped next to you, panting and trying to regain his breath. “Still, we’re gonna be in so 

much trouble for going that far out. I didn’t think my dad’s crows were still here.”

‘Might as well read the journal you found before we get grounded.’

You nodded and took out the journal, flipping it open to the first page. You both read the journal until it was dark outside and Michael was passed out on your shoulder. Subconsciously, you wrapped your wing around him as you read the journal. 

The other (y/n) acted like you did for the most part, the only differences between you two was the lack of swearing and the fact that they felt alone even when they were surrounded by people. Your family’s names were dropped several times, especially when they were talking about ‘The Syndicate’. The code names they used were after various Greek myths, leading you to believe that Technoblade was one of the founders of the anarchist group. 

You had learned that their family (potentially your family?) was strangely possessed by an egg and that they were previously possessed by said egg. They had a brother named Sapnap (your potential uncle?) that helped them escape to the tundra. It was there that they found the Syndicate, reminding you of the found family tropes you would read in books. The last journal entry detailed their last mission, how they were going to destroy the Eggpire from within and get their family back. That entry in particular gave you chills, even someone with half a brain could tell what happened to them after that. 

By the time you had closed the book, it was dawn and the sun was peeking out from behind the closed curtains. You shook Michael awake and stretched out your aching body. Your neck muscles protested movement, sending a wave of pain across the area. 

‘Damn, did you stay up all night reading that?’ 

“Of course I did, why wouldn’t I? I needed to find out about my biological parent somehow. I just- nothing makes sense, Michael.” You growled out, your voice deepening and distorting slightly as your frustration rose. 

‘Chill! You’ll figure it out soon, let’s just focus on staying under the radar.’ 

“Too late for that.” 

You both jumped and fell off the bed as you heard Philza’s voice. In the doorway, Philza stood with Ranboo, Tubbo, and Technoblade by his side, all looking equally angry and disappointed. Next to you, Michael shrunk in on himself and smiled sheepishly. He was about to raise his hands to sign, but a pointed look from Tubbo next to him told him that there was no getting out of this one. 

Behind the anger, you could tell that something changed about the way the four were looking at you. You couldn’t tell what emotion they were hiding, whether it be wariness, longing, sadness, or just more unleashed anger, but you could tell that they knew something you didn’t. If the frustration that overcame you when you were reading the journal at the lack of questions answered burned inside of you, then what you felt now was a blazing inferno. 

“We’re going home, grab your stuff (y/n).” 

After a short staredown with the older man, you huffed in anger and gathered your things into your bag. The entire time, tense silence filled the room. Your hands were shaking with the rage you felt searing every inch of you. You could hear the sharp flicking of your pointed tail cutting through the air and occasionally hitting objects near you. 

When you were done you stomped over to your adopted family and shouldered between Philza and Technoblade, speed walking down the hallway. They quickly caught up with you after saying a quick apology and a goodbye, Technoblade grabbing your arm and holding it in a vice grip. 

They led you out of the mansion and into the harsh winds of the tundra. It wasn’t until Snowchester was far off in the distance that Technoblade shook your arm, “what the hell were you thinking, going into someone else’s house like that! You don’t know who lived there, you could’ve gotten yourself and Michael killed!” 

“You really thought I wouldn’t find out, didn’t you?” You ripped your arm out of his hold and spoke in a low voice, struggling to contain your full rage. “I have a goddamned right to know about them.” 

“...I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Philza muttered out and resumed walking back towards your house. “You’re grounded when we get back, no flying or dueling lessons for two weeks.” 

“Of course you know what I’m talking about, Dad! Why are you hiding them from me? I have a right to know about my biological parent even if they’re dead!” 

They both halted in their tracks and glanced at each other in slight confusion. “What-”

“You know damn well who I’m talking about. Gods, I can’t believe you thought I’d never find out,” you laughed sardonically as your hand subconsciously gripped your growing horn. “(Y/n)! You know, the demon that lived in that house? The one that looks exactly like me?! Does that ring a bell or do I have to show you this?” 

You rummaged in your pocket and ripped out the picture, shoving it into Philza’s hands. Technoblade looked over his shoulder at what you gave him. You watched as their expressions turned blank when they saw the demon in the picture. 

Minutes passed with them continuing to stare down at the picture and you were slowly getting impatient. “Why did you never tell me about them? Why are you keeping me from them?!” 

Without looking up at you, Philza mumbled, “you weren’t supposed to find out about them. You were never supposed to find out.” 

“Do you have any idea how ambiguous that is? Just tell me who they are!” You could feel your eye twitch as your frustration grew. 

You could see the internal conflict on Philza’s face growing by the second before he dipped his head downwards and stalked off in the opposite direction of the house. You spread your wings to chase him in the air, but Technoblade’s hand on your upper arm stopped you from lifting off. 

When you looked up at him, the look of regret and sorrow etched into his features caught you by surprise. “Let him go, he needs to do some thinking… (y/n), do you know what reincarnation is?”

General taglist (comment if you want to be added):

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Gender neutral reader taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@totem-awooga  @parkeepingparker  @whatislifebutlemons

[thanksjro]

Bayverse: Treating These Movies with More Dignity than They Deserve or Contain, Because I’m a Goddamned Professional - Part One

TRANSFORMERS (2007) - UNCOMFORTABLE SEXUAL TENSION BETWEEN TEENAGERS THAT I DIDN’T NEED TO SEE

So.

This is a little different than what I usually do.

Clearly.

God, how did we even get here?

Oh, I remember.

The date was September 17th, 2020, and I was in a stream with nine or ten other people watching the first Bayverse Transformers movie. Why we were watching it doesn’t particularly matter- sometimes you just gotta watch garbage so you can refresh your palate for the good stuff, I suppose. Also, a couple of folks wanted to make goo-goo eyes at Blackout’s rotors.

...It’s not my thing, but I’m glad they’ve got something to make the journey worth taking.

I made some sort of comment about only using my brain for this blog’s content, and someone (you know who you are :)) suggested that I take a proper look at the film. Being who I am, I immediately latched onto this idea, despite it being technically outside of what I write about.

And then I quintuple-downed, because winners don’t quit.

Good to know that my BA in Film Production wasn’t a complete waste of time.

Fun fact, I broke my television trying to watch Transformers for this. I think the universe was trying to stop me, by making me perform surgery on electronics, and also aggravating my carpal tunnel.

This movie came out when I was 13, and it was the first Transformers thing I saw after Cybertron. Yes, the anime one. No, not the one that’s objectively terrible.

Anyway.

How did I feel about Transformers when I saw it the first time? Well… it was okay. I liked the robots. I thought Mikaela was pretty, not that I knew what that meant back then. I watched it a few times, if only because my oldest younger brother kept renting it at Blockbuster. It was fun.

Now I’m older, and wiser, and know feminist theory, so my opinion is less “this exists” and more “blind, murderous rage”.

Our film opens up with some claptrap about the Cube™, a MacGuffin of ultimate power that allows the Transformers to create worlds in their image and populate them. Which means this is how they reproduce.

It always comes back to baby-making, doesn’t it?

The narration goes on about how the Cube™ is very powerful, and some folks wanted it for good, and others for evil. The criteria for being “good” and “evil” isn’t established, and I’m not exactly sure how one would define such a thing, when all the Cube™ does is create life, but, well, we’ve only just begun. Maybe we’ll get some answers later on.

Haha, I doubt it.

So, the Cube™ is the catalyst for our 4 million year war this continuity, and that sucker was lost in the shuffle a while back. This is a problem, because, again, the Cube™ is how the Transformers reproduce. Now everyone’s in a mad scramble to find the thing so their species doesn’t die out.

Three guesses as to where it ended up, and the first two don’t count.

Smashcut to the shit nobody cares about- the humans. We see an Osprey fly over the Qatar desert, carrying a buttload of American soldiers. We get a taste of some good old-fashioned xenophobia, as several soldiers mock a guy for not speaking English and loving his mother’s cooking, going full “funny haha gibberish language” on him. We’re two and a half minutes into the film, and I already want to stab something.

Ed Sheeran breaks into the conversation, I guess because he was feeling left out, revealing that he is the New Yorker stereotype of the film, for some reason. The fellas ask their captain, Lennox, what he’s looking forward to most about getting home from their tour, and he reveals himself to be a family man. While he’s been away, his wife had a baby, who he hasn’t so much as held yet. His men respond by mocking him.

For loving his child.

We’re three minutes into the film, and the toxic masculinity might actually make me have an aneurysm.

The Ospreys land, the lads disembark, and we get a snapshot of what downtime during deployment looks like to Bay. There are a lot of kiddie swimming pools involved. Two men play basketball. We watch multiple men take outdoor showers. A young Qatari boy brings Lennox a camelback water pack with a smile on his face. This lets me know that he’s a prop and not a character in this film. I can’t wait to see how many horrors he’ll be put through to simulate pathos.

We get a shot of a helicopter flying over the desert, one that the US military doesn’t recognize as their own. They send a couple of planes to check it out, and said planes get their shop wrecked. The helicopter is revealed to be the same ‘copter that was shot down several months prior. That’s… not good. Ghost helicopter?

No. Not at all, actually.

Lennox gets on a video chat with his wife and daughter, who is wearing one of the most ridiculous baby outfits I’ve seen in a hot minute. And I used to work in childcare, so I’ve seen a good amount of those. The writing implies that normal bodily functions are unladylike and therefore undesirable… in an infant… and that’s when all hell breaks loose, thankfully saving me from more of Bay trying to make me give a shit about these characters.

The helicopter lands, we get a shot of the mustachioed pilot, who glitches (gasp), and the line “have your crew step out or we will kill you” is uttered. Not even trying to hide the nationalism, are you?

This film hit theaters in 2007, when the xenophobia from 9/11 was still heavy in the air of the general populace, so things like this were more tolerated, and in fact approved of. Of course, it’s not like America has really improved on that subject, or ever really had a point where we weren’t terrible about it, since we live in a world where the military-entertainment complex exists.

See, the Department of Defense and a good chunk of American entertainment industries have a little deal going, and have for the last few decades, and it goes like this: The DoD will allow the use of their vehicles, personnel, and bases, or the likenesses of such, for free, in exchange for their operations being shown in a positive/morally justified light. This is why you never see the armed forces portrayed in a way that makes them out as anything less than heroes- nobody would be able to afford the sets/likenesses without the DoD’s aid. This is also why you see straight-up advertisements for the military branches on televison, in cinemas, and online, and why both the Army and Navy have flirted with having Twitch channels.

It’s all a ploy to get you to join the military, kids. It’s propaganda.

But enough about that, it’s time for our first transformation sequence!

We get a lot of moving parts with this, since it’s realistic CGI in a live-action movie, and it still holds up. It’s hard to tell what’s actually happening, but it, if nothing else, feels alien, surreal, and horrific to behold. They even included the original sound effect in the cacophony, which is nice.

Our ghost helicopter reveals itself to be a Transformer, not that we get that terminology at any point in this film. This specifically is Blackout, a Decepticon. The soldiers start firing on him the moment he starts transforming, then are surprised when the thing they started shooting with several guns retaliates. This is the point where everything ever in this military base explodes, brilliantly and repeatedly, because it wouldn’t be a Bay film without it. There’s a lot of shouting and bright lights, and I’m positively certain that a great deal of people died during this fight.

It’s just a shame that I don’t care.

Blackout rips the top off of a building like it’s a tin of anchovies, and then snags all the hard drives he can, downloading everything. This is a problem, but it seems like nobody was prepared for a giant alien robot hack-attack, because in order to shut down the power to the servers, you need to be able to unlock the breaker box, and no one seems to have the key. They solve the problem with a fire ax.

Lennox is leading the Qatari boy through the base towards safety. I should mention that it’s night now, and several hours seem to have passed since the Ospreys landed, so I don’t know why this kid is still here. He’s got, like, a house and family to go home to.

We get some more tank-throwing action, Sergeant Epps almost gets flattened under Blackout’s foot, then the movie decides it’s going to try to make things more interesting by having each shot cut flash, for whatever reason.

Someone shoots Blackout with a rocket launcher, I think, and this is the point where he throws his tiny little man off his back to go do his job. Yes, Blackout’s got a baby, and that baby is Scorponok, his symbiotic pal who likes to dig into the ground and be a sneaky little bastard.

Blackout blows up a ton more military equipment and personnel, and then it’s time for another smashcut.

Now we’re in high school, just like all those dreams I’ve had where I’ve forgotten my homework. This is where we meet Sam Witwicky, our main character, and also the stand-in for our target demographic. He’s insufferable, and I don’t like him. Mikaela Banes, our love interest, is also present in this scene, but we don’t get to know about her character for, like, another 20 minutes, because who gives a shit about women, right? They’re just props, right?

Right???

RIGHT??????????

RIGH-

Sam is presenting on his great-great-grandfather, Archibald Witwicky, for his family genealogy report, in front of a class containing maybe three actors who are age appropriate.

I know child labor laws are a good thing, and that hiring adults to play teenagers is just the lay of the land, but I swear some of these students look like they’re old enough to be on their second mortgage and third kid.

Anyway.

Archibald Witwicky was an explorer, one of the first to traverse the Arctic circle, and apparently his crew was made up of folks from 2007, because I swear the clothing for a few of these dudes isn’t period-appropriate. We get a seamen joke, because of course we do, and a sextant joke, because of course we do. Sam is also hawking all this crap he’s brought in for the presentation, because he is a little bastard who has no idea what his peers would want to buy, or really how to relate to them at all. He’s selling these “priceless” artifacts so he can get a car. Mikaela finds this charming, for some fucking reason. Also, her boyfriend is weirdly stroking her shoulder blade with his knuckles the whole time this is happening, and I hate it.

Archibald Witwicky went mad after his expedition, talking about an “ice man” so often that his family ended up locking him in a mental asylum, likely to be forgotten about. Which is sad. But we won’t be getting into the medical mistreatment of the mentally ill in Bayverse, now will we? That’s just Too Deep™.

Sam’s teacher didn’t very much appreciate having his class be turned into an episode of Antiques Roadshow, but still gives Sam an “A” on the project, despite it being a very poor report that lasted all of two minutes. I suspect the teacher has tenure, and therefore no longer gives a shit about academic integrity. This “A” means that Sam’s father will buy him a car.

Which is nice, I suppose, if I gave a damn.

Sam’s father, Ron, picks up his son in a car he probably bought at the crux of his midlife crisis, in a green that reminds me of a school gymnasium floor, then plays a prank on his child by pretending to pull into the Porsche dealership. Sam isn’t getting a Porsche, which is good, because he doesn’t deserve one. As Sam gripes to his father, a yellow Camaro drives by oh so conspicuously. Wonder what’s up with that.

Instead of the Porshe dealership, they head over to the used car lot, which is being run by Bobby Bolivia, who spends his time yelling at his employees and wanting to murder his mother. Sam is incredibly ungrateful about the fact that his dad is helping him get a car, even though it’s his FIRST car, and nobody gets a nice one the first go around. Or, at least, they shouldn’t, given the statistics about accidents with young drivers.

“No sacrifice, no victory” is uttered by Ron, which is the family motto, or so he claims. Archibald Witwicky said the same thing when he had multiple people dying trying to get to the Arctic Circle, so there’s precedence for the phrase, but we’ll see how it holds up throughout the film.

Bobby Bolivia shows Sam and Ron the cars he has for sale, and Sam is immediately drawn to the yellow Camaro in the lot, though there’s a small problem- it’s too expensive for what he and his father agreed to. Also, nobody knows where the hell it came from, so paperwork might be an issue. When Bobby tries to show Sam the yellow Beetle they have right down the line, everything explodes, because this is a Bay film, and fuck the original material this movie was based on. Bobby lets them have the Camaro for a lower price, suddenly fearful of whatever strange powers have just visited his place of business. “The car picks the driver” is suddenly more than a bullshit line to spout off in order to sell cars, and I’m certain that’s shaken the poor man.

Over in Washington, D.C., the Secretary of Defense prepares to address just what the hell happened in Qatar, lamenting on how young the audience he’s going to be speaking to is. In particular, he’s referring to the two dweebs and the hot chick sitting in one of the rows. All the women in this movie who aren’t someone’s mom are made up to be very pretty. And not even in a realistic way. But we’ll get to that in a bit.

So, the military network was hacked. That’s bad. Nobody knows who did it. That’s also bad. The only lead the US has is a soundbite, which is the signal that hacked the network.

Everyone here at the briefing is going to be helping to figure this mess out. This is great, if you like looking at Rachael Taylor for a few seconds at a time, and can compartmentalize hard enough to make that worth the effort of watching this godforsaken film.

Back at the Witwicky household, we meet Mojo, a chihuahua with a cast that doesn’t seem like it’s actually doing anything. I wish he was the main character instead of Sam.

Sam arrives home from the dealership, and says “alright, Mojo, I’ve got the car. Now I need the girl.”

As if ownership of a person is something to aspire to.

As if women are property to be owned.

As if women aren’t people, but rather commodities.

We’re 17.5 minutes into this film.

We’re introduced to Judy, Sam’s mother. She’s shrill, and annoying. This is by design, because none of the women in this film are actually people, but rather archetypes to bounce off of the male characters.

Sam and his father have a moment of what some might consider banter, then Sam gets huffy with his mom over gender roles for the dog. I, for one, think Mojo looks positively dashing in his bedazzled collar, and to hell with whatever Sam says to the contrary.

Sam drives off to go be a misogynist, with the promise to be back by 11PM.

Over in Qatar, the soldiers and that little boy are running from the attack on their base, as Lennox’s wife watches a public announcement on the matter back at home. The Secretary of Defense lets us know that we’re at DEFCON Delta at this point. Lennox Jr. cries, and all I can think about is how they probably pinched that baby to make that happen. They pinched a baby for Transformers (2007).

The soldiers in Qatar talk about shit they have no idea about, Sergeant Epps going on about somehow having been able to see a forcefield around Blackout through his super special binoculars. I don’t know how, or why, he knows this. I don’t know anything anymore.

Ed Sheeran has his doubts about this whole thing, and Lennox is also present in the scene, because I guess he’s important. Through a bit of dramatic irony, Fig- the guy everyone was making fun of for being bilingual at the start of the film- says that this probably isn’t over, as the shape of Scorponok shifts through the sand just beyond them.

Epps is having a minor crisis over the fact that Blackout saw him, but we don’t have time for that, because we’ve got to get to cover. The lads decide to head to the little Qatari boy’s house. Again, I wonder why he was at the base at all, considering that it seems like they’ve been traveling for a good portion of the day.

Back with Sam, he’s picked up his friend Miles, and together they’re going to a lake party. Are they invited to this party? Yes, but also no. It’s public property though, so it should be fine. As they park, Sam notices that Mikaela is here, which is great for him.

Mikaela’s boyfriend, Trent- whose name I had to look up- is a massive tool, and starts pestering the two boys for daring to exist in his airspace. Miles climbs a tree. I’m glad he’s having fun, at least. Sam makes a joke at the expense of people with brain injuries, and this for some reason? Warrants a shot of Mikaela making the blank “pretty girl” face? In response?

Mikaela saves Sam from becoming a wet stain on the grass, which is very kind of her, and more than Sam really deserves. Trent, his boys, and Mikaela start to head off for another party, to get away from Sam and his tree-loving friend. Mikaela offers to drive, and Trent says that she can’t handle his truck, because she’s a ~girl~. This causes Mikaela to ditch him, and start walking home.

The script knows enough about misogyny to know that this would be a nice “take that”. Michael Bay, however, likely fails to see why everything he did with said script involving this character is a goddamned problem.

Because Mikaela, bless her heart, has a lot of problems.

Let’s start with the outfit: a croptop, a jean skirt that BARELY covers her ass, and a pair of wedge heels that are at least four inches tall. On a character that is, at oldest, freshly 18.

Look, I’m all about self-expression and the freedom to choose how you dress for yourself and yourself alone, but this clearly isn’t that. This is a character, not a person, whose wardrobe was designed for the straight male gaze. She’s wearing fucking STRAP HEELS to the lake. This is about oogling. This is about reducing a whole-ass person to the same status as a piece of meat. In fact, who was on wardrobe for this? I’d like to have a few words with-

A woman? Okay, well, what else has she worked on?

You can’t be fucking serious.

ANYWAY.

Miles just called Mikaela an “evil jock concubine.” I don’t like Miles anymore.

As Mikaela walks down the road, strutting hard enough that I’ve got sympathy pains in my hips, the radio in the Camaro turns on, playing “Drive” by the Cars, and giving Sam a hell of an idea; he’s gonna drive Mikaela home, so she doesn’t have to walk the 10 miles to her house. Why he knows how far she lives from the lake isn’t addressed.

Sam kicks Miles out of the car and goes to give Mikaela a ride, which she accepts after a bit of self-deliberation, and also him making an ass of himself. The shot here is framed with Sam like he’s a normal-ass person, and Mikaela from her breasts to the top of her waist. Because of COURSE it is.

She hops in the car and then goes off about her taste in hot guys. Which is weird, and out of left field. Sam is about as confused as I am, then continues to make a fool of himself. This is his nature as a person. Mikaela has no idea who Sam is, even though they’ve gone to the same school for the last 10 years and have multiple classes together. And the fact that she was staring him down all through his genealogy presentation. And at the lake.

This movie isn’t very well thought out, I feel.

It’s at this point the the Camaro turns the key on itself and starts to sputter out and die, as “Sexual Healing” by Marvin Gaye pops on the radio.

I don’t like how this car is trying to get Sam laid.

I don’t like how this car is trying to get Sam laid with a girl who didn’t even know his name five minutes ago.

I don’t like how this car knows what sex is.

The Camaro breaks down on a cliff, and Mikaela hops out to work on the engine, and also to get the hell away from Sam’s sputtering.

As Mikaela admires the sweet engine in this Camaro, showing off her knowledge of cars, we get several shots of her from her breasts to her thighs, while Sam is treated like an actual person. Don’t bother trying to play it off as an artistic choice, Bay, this is blatant horndogging. This adds to NOTHING, other than my ire.

Sam says more stupid shit, and Mikaela, who must be the nicest fucking person in the world, just tells him to fire up the engine so she can try to sort out the problem. Then he asks why she goes for jackasses like Trent, and she decides that she’s hit her limit for today, opting to walk the rest of the way home. Good on you, Mikaela. Don’t take Sam’s bullshit.

Sam, realizing that he’s put his foot in his mouth for the 80th time today, pleads with his Camaro to do him a solid and work, and this actually works out for him. Great. Sam, victorious, once again offers Mikaela a ride, which she, once again, takes.

He drops her off without further incident, and she thanks him for listening. Even though they didn’t really talk that much. I dunno, maybe they had a super deep conversation offscreen. Mikaela asks Sam if he thinks she’s shallow, because clearly all women need approval from the men around them, and Sam says that there’s more to her than meets the eye.

Which made me groan aloud.

Anyway, she gets inside without a problem, and Sam professes his love for his new Camaro for allowing him to talk to a girl. Or at least talk at her.

Back in Washington, D.C., at the Pentagon National Military Command Center, we’re making weirdly racist calls on who hacked the military.

Up with Air Force One, a conspicuous boombox transforms into a robot, and then runs off to hack shit. The President of the United States requests some snack cakes. A flight attendant goes down to storage to retrieve said snack cakes, and finds that boombox in the elevator with her. Considering this is Air Force One, you’d perhaps expect her to immediately be suspicious of such a thing, but this is Bayverse, and we don’t think here.

The flight attendant brings the boombox down with her and places it on the counter as she goes to get the presidential snack cakes. The boombox immediately disappears. Now, you’d perhaps expect her to immediately be suspicious of such a thing, but this is Bayverse-

The flight attendant opens up the snack cake package, for some reason, and drops the cake on the floor. She then proceeds to eat it, and then act shocked when it tastes like floor. There’s a robot in her fucking line of sight, and you’d perhaps expect her to immediately be suspicious of such a thing-

She leaves to go feed the President floor cakes, and our little robot friend gets to work stealing government secrets. He, if nothing else, looks pretty cool doing it. He’s a very pointy lad.

Back at the Pentagon, Maddie- Rachael Taylor’s character- can hear the hacking. This sends everyone into a panic, because, well, that shouldn’t be happening. The hacking noise is a direct match to the one from Qatar, so that’s obviously a problem.

Back on Air Force One, our little robot friend is looking for “Project Iceman”, which he very quickly finds, and downloads everything they’ve got on it, and also plants a virus. The process seems to be… doing things to him. It’s weird. This movie is weird.

The Pentagon cuts all the system hardlines, stopping the process, but it’s too late- he got what he wanted, just about. Two security personnel come into the room, and the robot kills them both with some spinning blade disc nonsense. Air Force One is forced to land for the safety of everyone on-board. More security detail comes in to deal with the little bastard, but he transforms into a boombox and sits on a shelf to avoid suspicion. Now, you’d perhaps expect-

With the plane grounded, our robot is able to walk his little ass over to a cop car. And when I say walk, I do mean walk; this fucker is in multiple folks’ line of sight and nobody notices a thing. When he enters the car, he’s greeted by the mustachioed driver- the same driver who was operating the helicopter at the beginning of the film. This mustache man is a holographic avatar, one that’s being used by all the Decepticons.

We get our first real taste of Cybertronian language, as our robot- it’s Frenzy, his name is Frenzy- lets everyone know that he’s found a clue to the location of the AllSpark, and, through the power of the internet, knows where to find the guy who’s gonna give them what they need.

Three guesses to who it is, and the first two don’t count.

Back at the Witwicky household, Sam’s car does a runner in the middle of the night. Sam, horrified that his property is being stolen, pursues on a bike, screaming at his dad to call the cops. Sam also calls the cops, as he tears through the neighborhood.

The Camaro breaks into an abandoned building, Sam follows, and we finally get a shot of our audience appeal character. Sam watches in disbelief as a giant yellow space robot shines a beacon into the sky, then makes a video on his flip phone recording the experience. He apologizes to his parents for owning pornographic magazines, and goes to face his probable demise.

However, death does not come from above, instead manifesting itself as two of the strongest junkyard dogs in the known universe, who break their brick-inlaid chains to get at this little dip of a man. Sam is chased through the yard, climbing on top of a couple precarious oil drums, even though there’s a ladder, like, right there. The Camaro rolls in, scaring off the dogs, and Sam bolts, throwing the keys to his ride at his ride. When he gets outside, the cops have arrived, and immediately arrest him.

Back with the US government, the Secretary of State is having a conversation about all the bullshit that just went down with Air Force One. He and his fellow cishet old white men discuss their options, until Maddie comes in to set them straight on some of the facts. They act all indignant about it, because women can’t be smart, right?

Right???

RIGHT??????????

RIGH-

Anyway, we get a weird little deflection of Maddie’s role in everything, because a woman is nothing without the men around her, then she brings up the point that the bullshit that happened on Air Force One went down in just a few seconds, which isn’t something that anyone can actually do. She brings up quantum mechanics, which everyone blows off as nonsense- not that I wouldn’t as well- and theorizes on a DNA-based computer, which is technically a thing, if not trapped in the realm of speculation. It’s at this point that the Secretary of Defense tells her to come back when she can back these wild claims up, and isn’t just clearly spitballing.

And then he snaps his fingers at her, and any point he might have had leaves my brain so I have more room for being enraged.

Back with Sam, we’re at the police station talking to the cops. His dad is here, and Sam is trying to explain that his car is a dude. Even though he took at a video (one that was likely crap, given how quickly he spun his phone around to show off what he was seeing) the cops, understandably, don’t believe him. Then one of them, not so understandably, starts… threatening Sam? With his sidearm? And daring him to try something? This isn’t any sort of statement on the corruption of American law enforcement, it’s just bizarre.

Back in Qatar, our soldier buddies have found a telephone line, and are going to try to use it to get in contact with the rest of the world. It’s just too bad that Scorponok’s decided to make an entrance, and knock said telephone line the hell down. Ed Sheeran has next to no reaction to this, despite it happening maybe ten feet behind him. Fig speaks Spanish, and Ed Sheeran makes a point to be an asshole about it.

Scorponok is about to stab Lennox with his very pointy tail, when Epps notices- finally, someone with peripheral vision- and starts shooting. Then everyone starts shooting, kicking up enough sand to blind themselves, as Scorponok scuttles away, buries himself, then reappears behind Ed Sheeran.

Ed Sheeran does not survive this experience.

The others bolt, not wanting the same to happen to them, and for the fourth time I wonder just why the hell this young boy was at the base in the first place.

Off in the distance, the community of a nearby town wonders just what the shit is going on out in the desert. Our soldiers run into the town, and everyone gets their guns and start firing on Scorponok, who retaliates, because why the hell wouldn’t he?

Lennox demands that the young boy take him to his father, and proceeds to borrow his phone. As shit goes down outside, we have a sort-of gag where Lennox is trying to contact the Pentagon, while a telemarketer tries to get him to buy a phone package. In order for this call to go through, he’s going to need a credit card. This is where the well-known “pocket” scene comes from, as Lennox searches Epps’ pants for his wallet as he fires on Scorponok. It’s probably the best-written thing in this whole film.

With the credit card acquired, Lennox finally gets through to the Pentagon, and tosses Epps the phone so he can talk. Maybe he’s got anxiety about speaking on the phone, I dunno.

Scorponok shows off his disregard for historical architecture, blowing up several buildings, and the US government just watches this all go down. One of the actors in this scene looks like my dad, and it trips me up every time he’s on screen. Anyway, now the Pentagon knows about the giant space robots running around in Qatar. They send over some air support about it. All this manages to do is piss Scorponok off.

So they try it again.

This time it works, sort of.

At the very least, he’s left now.

Tail fell off, though.

Also, Fig’s been grievously wounded. The others, for once, don’t make fun of his native language while they help him hold his blood inside his body.

Back at the Pentagon, Maddie’s looking to prove that the bullshit that’s been going on is of the sci-fi variety, and in order to do that, she’s going to need a little outside help. She takes the information from the Pentagon, slaps it into an SD card, hides that shit in her blush compact, and then runs out the door to Glenn Whitmann’s house. Or, rather, his grandma’s house.

Glenn is a hacker, and shouldn’t be seeing anything that Maddie’s brought him, but everyone knows that confidentiality is for nerds, so whatever.

Back at the Pentagon, Maddie’s immediately been caught. It’s almost like slapping the military network onto an SD card maybe wasn’t such a hot idea. But what do I know?

Glenn takes a look at the soundbite and figures out that there’s a code embedded in the thing in about two seconds. Good to know our tax dollars are being well-spent on the US military, that some dude in his jammies can figure this shit out faster than a whole team of analysts. They figure out that “Project Iceman” is involved with this somehow, and also the existence of Sector Seven. It’s at this point that the FBI busts in. Good. I kind of want Maddie to go to jail for this, because she was about as stupid as she could be handling the situation.

Glenn’s cousin goes through a closed glass door- don’t worry, it’s tempered- and there’s a weird cut before that exact same shot continues, and he’s tackled into the pool. There was no reason for that to have happened, but here we are.

Back with Sam, we’re treated to him in his boxers, shooting basketballs in his room. He goes into the kitchen, where Mojo is standing on a stool. It’s a very tall stool, the sort you sit on, and he’s just… there. I don’t know how he got there. There’s no one else in the room besides Sam, and I know he didn’t put him there.

Clearly this must mean Mojo is God, and being on that stool is his divine will. I will be approaching the rest of the franchise with this in mind, because it’s clearly the only answer.

Our merciful Lord Mojo jumps up on the kitchen counter and begins growling at something through the window. Sam looks out… the opposite window… to find that his Camaro has returned to him, and is less than thrilled about it, to put it lightly. He drops a jug of milk- luckily it was mostly empty, given the sound it makes when it hits the floor- and gives his buddy Miles a call. You remember Miles, don’t you? If you don’t, it’s fine, because he reestablishes his quirkiness with a single shot, as he sits in a swimsuit and bathes his huge-ass dog in a kiddie pool, and answers the phone with a headset he just happened to be wearing. He must get a lot of calls during Dog Washing Hours.


After giving us one of the most intense voice cracks I’ve ever heard, Sam books it out of his house, hopping on a bike to escape his murderous Camaro. He’s not seen the thing commit any murders, mind you, but he seems pretty convinced that it would do the job, given half a chance. Also, this isn’t the bike he rode the night before; that one is likely being chewed on by those strong-ass junkyard dogs. No, for some reason, the Witwickys have a pastel pink girl’s bike, with the fun little handle tassels and the basket and everything. As far as I can tell, Sam is an only child, and if you think Bay’s going to allow for a teenage boy to have the vulnerability to own a pink bike, you’ve not been paying attention for the last 48.5 minutes.

The Camaro gives chase, rolling after Sam on his bike at a brisk 7 MPH down the friggin’ sidewalk, one of the only scenes in this travesty of a film to actually get me to crack a smile. Sam races through town until city planning puts a stop to him, through the magic of using chunks of cement to decorate the mulch around their trees. He crashes his bike, faceplants into the concrete in front of Mikaela, and promptly dies, thus ending the film.

No, he doesn’t die. I just told a fib. I’m sorry.

Instead, he does a flip and lands on his back, likely receiving a concussion, in front of Mikaela and her friends. Her friends laugh, because everyone hates Sam, as they should, and Mikaela says that what he just did was “really awesome.” Don’t try to be nice, Mikaela, this is Sam we’re talking about; you could stick the dude in the freezer overnight and he still wouldn’t be even remotely cool.

Sam gets back to the whole “running away from a car” deal, and Mikaela decides that this is the sort of thing she’d like to do with her day, so she ditches her friends in the middle of their scheduled Burger King™ time to go see what the hell Sam’s on about.

As Sam is chased by the Camaro who is being chased by Mikaela on her motorized scooter, a cop becomes involved, tearing through the streets to join this ridiculous game of tag. Now, we’ve seen two different flavor of cop so far- the mustachioed avatar cop car that picked up Frenzy from the airport, and the dude who threatened a teenage boy with a gun after accusing him of being under the influence of drugs. Either way, I don’t think this is going to turn out well for Sam.

Sam’s cornered himself under one of those really wide bridges where people can park their cars, which wasn’t terribly smart, but it’s Sam, so this is about par for the course. The Camaro manages to miss him, but the cop car does not. Sam is actually pretty cool with the cops being here, as if they could do anything about “Satan’s Camaro.” I guess he didn’t see the decal on the side of this car that says “to punish and enslave…”

Sam attempts to approach the car for help, and gets clotheslined by a car door for his troubles. He hits his head on the pavement, certainly exasperating the brain injury he received not ten minutes ago. Still, he continues to try to talk to the holographic avatar through the windshield, revealing that the bike he’s been riding is his mother’s. Mystery solved, I suppose.

The cop car doesn’t much appreciate being slapped on the hood, and begins to rev violently at Sam, threatening to run him over several times. Then it explodes into being a robot. Sam, who’s seen a lot of really weird shit in the last 24 hours, nopes out of the situation. It’s at this point that I realize he’s wearing a shirt for the band the Strokes. I don’t know why that stuck out to me, but it did. Guess my brain needed something to latch onto during all this.

Sam is running as fast as his little legs allow, as our newest robot friend takes up a leisurely jog to keep pace. Then he kicks Sam. He kicks Sam’s body like the football. This, of course, instantly turns Sam into a bag of jelly and kills him, thus ending the film.

No, he doesn’t die. I just told another fib. I’m sorry.

Sam somehow survives being punted by a giant metal leg and lands in the windshield of a car that doesn’t turn into a robot. Then he gets yelled at by the cop car. This is Barricade, a member of the Decepticons, and Sam’s got something he wants. Or, should I say “LadiesMan217” has something he wants.

LadiesMan217 is Sam’s Ebay username. This is both stupid because no teenage boy existing beyond the year 1985 would have ever called himself that, and also because it’s just stupid.

Barricade wants the glasses Sam presented for his genealogy report, and he wants them NOW. Seeing as the thing he wants is for sale, and nobody had been bidding on it, one would wonder why Barricade and his associates didn’t just try to purchase them like upstanding citizens. Perhaps Decepticons don’t understand the concept of money, or perhaps they don’t have a stable address to have the glasses shipped to. Or perhaps nobody considered that angle when the script was being put together. Who can say?

Sam gets back to running away from Barricade, we see where Mikaela got to, and the two of them collide. Sam rips Mikaela off of her scooter, and they both fall to the ground. Mikaela, who did not buckle the clasp on her helmet, asks Sam what his fucking problem is. Then his problem shows up, and they take a very long time to get up so they can run. So long, in fact, that the Camaro has to swing in to save them. After much pleading from Sam, Mikaela gets inside Satan’s Camaro, and the two of them are whisked away to safety. Barricade pursues, and then the butt rock starts.

There’s a lot of screaming and yelling, the Camaro busts through a window and several shelves in an abandoned building, there’s some drifting, and then suddenly it’s nighttime. Barricade somehow got in front of the Camaro, and is circling like a shark. The Camaro locks the two teenagers inside itself, though I suppose they could climb out through the still-open windows if they really wanted to. The Camaro cuts the engine off, then cuts it back on and bolts for the exit, and this somehow tricks Barricade long enough for them to get past.

The Camaro dumps Mikaela and Sam out one of the doors and then transforms into that yellow space robot we saw a bit ago. It’s Bumblebee! Nearly an hour in, and we finally get a proper look at the little bastard. I guess that’s what happens when you spend the first 20-something minutes on being xenophobic and appealing to the focus groups that think it’s fine sexualize high schoolers.

Bumblebee- no, he’s not introduced himself yet, but I just can’t keep calling him “the Camaro” anymore- comes out of his transformation ready to square the fuck up. Barricade throws himself at Bumblebee, they roll around on the ground for a bit, then things start sparking and exploding, because this is a Michael Bay film. Frenzy jumps out and starts chasing down Mikaela and Sam, while Bumblebee and Barricade murder death punch each other. Frenzy manages to grab Sam by the ankles, drag him to the ground, and rip his pants off. Not sure how that happened, considering he’s still got his shoes on.

While Sam’s busy being chased by a sentient pile of safety pins, Mikaela’s taken it upon herself to be proactive about her survival, and is raiding a nearby building for power tools. She sprints out holding an electric jig saw and saves Sam by decapitating Frenzy. If you know anything about Transformers, then you know this doesn’t actually kill Frenzy, but good on her for being a badass. Why couldn’t Mikaela be our main character again? Oh, right, because she’s a ~girl~.

Sam punts Frenzy’s head, like, 50 yards, which seems like something he shouldn’t be able to do, given that he’s a massive weenie, but there you are. With that out of the way, Sam takes Mikaela’s hand and they run off to go watch the giant robot fight. The bottom of Frenzy’s head turns into a spider and he crawls his way over to Mikaela’s purse. He’s gonna steal her gum, the fiend!

Mikaela and Sam have, unfortunately, missed the giant robot fight, which means that we, as the audience, have also missed the giant robot fight. Which is unbelievably stupid, seeing as everyone who has ever watched this movie came for the GIANT GODDAMN ROBOTS.

Mikaela asks just who the hell the yellow robot is, I guess because she’s finally had a second to process what the hell’s going on. Sam claims that he’s a super-advanced robot, “probably from Japan.” Whether or not this is a reference to the Japanese origins of the original toy line isn’t clear, though somehow I think it’s more xenophobia. Sam also makes the claim that if Bumblebee had intended to hurt them, he would have done it by now. This is quite the jump from a few hours ago, when he was calling the poor guy “Satan’s Camaro.”

Sam finally, finally asks Bumblebee what his deal is, and we get our first taste of the Bayverse Bumblebee Gimmick. The Gimmick here is that, due to an injury to his vocal processing, Bumblebee cannot communicate through traditional means, i.e. speech. Because of this, he instead strings together sentences by flicking through the radio frequencies and choosing key words. This can lead to some interesting audio design, like describing his fellow Autobots to “rain down like visitors form heaven, Hallelujah!” because a radio sermon fit what he was trying to say best.

This gimmick is one that has been used in other pieces of Transformers media, at least in part. Bumblebee is unable to speak traditionally in Transformers: Prime, and instead communicates in beeps and clicks that his teammates can understand, but not so much the humans, save for Raf. In Bumblebee (2018), the idea was used whole-cloth, with the injury resulting in his inability to speak happening on-camera within the first 10 minutes of the movie, and the idea of “expressing oneself through music” being introduced by his human companion Charlie Watson.

All in all, I rather like the idea going on here; it’s an interesting part of his character that opens up for a lot of interesting and creative moments.

It’s just too bad it was introduced in fucking Bayverse.

But yeah, anyway, the other Autobots are coming to Earth. Shit’s gonna be lit.

Bumblebee turns back into a Camaro, and Sam uses the power of FOMO to get Mikaela to go in the car with him. We get a shot of Barricade fucking dying on the side of the road. Frenzy murders Mikaela’s phone, and then steals its identity, including the little bejeweled heart stickers. Good thing Mikaela remembered to go get her purse, otherwise he probably would have felt very silly doing that.

Mikaela refuses to sit in the driver’s seat, seeing as she now knows Sam’s car is sentient, and sort of feels weird about this whole thing. Sam suggests that she sit in his lap instead, as the camera angles to give us a peek at the cup of Mikaela’s bra. When asked why the hell she should do such a thing, Sam says it’s a concern about her safety, given that the middle console of the car does not have a seatbelt. Sam either fails to recognize that seatbelts going over two layered bodies won’t save either of them in the event of a crash, or he’s just trying to make an excuse to have a pretty girl in his lap.

Given what movie this is, I’m going to guess it’s the latter.

Mikaela has a similar line of thought, but scoots over anyway, saying that the seatbelt line was a “smooth move”. It wasn’t, but if I picked apart every single bad line Sam had in this film, I’d be here all day.

Mikaela questions Bumblebee’s taste in alt-mode, which offends him to the point of dumping both her and Sam out in the street and driving away. He returns, moments later, as a sleek new Camaro, that I’m sure some car aficionados would call “sexy.”

Bumblebee’s alt-mode is a 2009 Chevrolet Camaro, of which there were none during the time of filming. It was put together for this movie in roughly five weeks. Sam is blown away by the fact that he now owns a car that does not currently exist in his universe. Mikaela is impressed, or at least she would be, if women were allowed to show that emotion in a non-horny way in a Bay film.

Judy doesn’t count.

As Bumblebee breaks into yet another restricted area, we get a shot of the Earth from orbit, as several objects rocket towards the planet. Sam and Mikaela watch the Autobots burn up in the atmosphere, and Mikaela tries to hold Sam’s hand as they do, and it’s at this point that I have to address how much I hate these two’s dynamic.

I don’t give a single solitary shit about this romance, because A) it’s poorly written, B) Mikaela could do infinitely better than Sam, C) I dislike Sam so very much, D) Mikaela, who is a way more interesting character, got placed on friggin’ love interest duty because ~girl~, and E) it’s useless padding to try and make me care about what’s happening here, and I just DON’T. I do NOT care about whether these two get together or not.

We see the Autobots crash-land, three out of four of them causing massive amounts of property damage and possibly killing at least one person. Their stasis pods crack open, and they each climb out, completely naked and in desperate need of clothing to hide their shame. With a quick scan of nearby vehicles, they’re once again decent to be seen in public.

Bumblebee drives the kids out to what I can only assume is the warehouse district he sent that beacon out in, as our collection of good guys finally come together at long last. A massive Peterbilt semi-truck stops directly in front of Mikaela and Sam.

We’re over an hour into this film, and we’re just now getting to the quintessential Transformer, Optimus Prime himself.

In the original cartoon, Optimus’s alt-mode was what’s known as a cabover truck, one where the cab- where the driver sits- is seated directly over the engine. These were popular during the days when maximum truck-lengths were much shorter than they are currently. This is why when you look at height charts for Optimus over various continuities, his G1 cartoon counterpart much shorter than his other iterations.

Modern trucks are longer, and don’t need the cab to sit on top of the engine to save on space. The designers chose to use a Peterbilt to make sure that Optimus would have an imposing stature when compared to his fellow Autobots.

Because heaven forbid we not have heightism come into play in this film.

Our Autobots transform, and say what you will about these bastards being visually incomprehensible, the transformations themselves are cool as hell. My personal favorite is Jazz’s, where he does a cool windmill into his root mode.

Optimus crouches like he’s looking at a cool bug on the sidewalk and addresses Sam by name. He doesn’t even acknowledge Mikaela, which I find to be a bit rude, but whatever. He then introduces himself as the leader of the Autobots.

Peter Cullen is back as the voice for Optimus Prime, sounding wonderful as always. He almost wasn’t brought on for this project, because Michael Bay didn’t want him. If the fans hadn’t thrown a hissyfit, who knows who we would have gotten to be our space dad for the next hour and a half?

This is actually an issue that’s recurred several times in the last few years, and not just with Cullen; Frank Welker, the voice of Megatron, as well as many other Transformers, has been refused roles within Transformers properties. In general, this is because both Cullen and Welker are union actors, and Hasbro would prefer to hire sound-alikes than pay more money for the originals. This isn’t to shame the non-union actors, goodness no, just to merely point out less-than-fantastic business practices.

I realize there have been a lot of tangents, but you have to understand that I am suffering as I do this.

Optimus then introduces his team- there’s Jazz, whose first line is “What’s crackin’ little bitches?”, Ironhide, who incorrectly quotes Dirty Harry, and Ratchet, who calls out just how obnoxiously horny Sam’s character is. We also finally get Bumblebee’s name.

Mikaela asks the very good question of why the fuck the Autobots are here on Earth. Optimus explains that the AllSpark is here, and they’ve got to get to it before Megatron does. He then goes on to explain who Megatron is, stating that he “betrayed” the Cybertronian empire.

No, how exactly he did that isn’t addressed. We’ll just have to take Optimus’s word, I suppose.

If you’ve sussed out by this point the the AllSpark and the Cube™ are the same thing, congrats! You win. Megatron followed the AllSpark to Earth, where he promptly was neutralized by the cold of the Arctic circle. This was 110 years prior to the events of this film, and where Archibald Witwicky came in to the story.

When the expedition was happening, Archibald fell through the ice during a collapse, and ended up finding Megatron’s frozen body in an ice cave. He went poking around on this strange metal giant, and ended up activating Megatron’s navigation systems, which imprinted the coordinates of the AllSpark onto Archibald’s glasses.

Don’t ask how that works, it just does.

So, the Autobots need the glasses, so they can find the AllSpark before the Decepticons do, so those guys don’t use it to build an army out of Earth’s machines, which will destroy humanity.

Sounds simple enough, let’s go get that vision correction device!

Back with the military dudes, everyone’s taking a gander at the tail that Scorponok left behind. They theorize that the metal that makes up these giant murder-robots reacts to extreme heat, but elaboration on that point will have to wait, because the tail has begun to flail. They quickly strap it down, then call the military to let them know to strap anti-tank guns onto anything that’s going to be approaching any giant robots.

Meanwhile, in an interrogation room, Maddie and Glen have been left to sweat a bit. Glen takes to stress-eating, while framing it as a psychological tactic to subconsciously prove his innocence to the FBI.

This is a fat joke, with the added nasty layer of Glen being a black man about to be interrogated by one of the most intimidating white cops I’ve seen in a hot minute.

Glen immediately folds, pinning all the blame on Maddie, and claiming that he’s been a perfect angel his whole life. We get some weird purity culture out of him, before Maddie lets the FBI know that she needs to talk to the Secretary of Defense, NOW.

Over at the Witwicky household, Sam’s parents are watching the news, trying to find out what all those loud crashes were about. Optimus Prime drives down their residential street, the rest of the gang in tow, then they all park to wait for Sam to go get the glasses.

For about 20 seconds.

Sam has to physically hold the door shut to prevent his father from coming out and seeing several very tall robots from outer space tip-toeing around his freshly-landscaped yard, I guess because they got antsy. Optimus plods around on the grass and breaks a fountain, and our benevolent god Mojo comes out of the house, assuredly to smite the leader of the Autobots.

Mikaela runs onto the scene, and Sam chastises her for not controlling the robots who didn’t even acknowledge her existence, outside of pointing out Sam was sexually attracted to her.

Mojo pees on Ironhide’s foot, which prompts Ironhide to threaten to shoot the creature. This is why Ironhide isn’t getting into heaven. Sam, one of Mojo’s chosen few, claims that the mortal shell of his god is seen as a beloved pet by many humans. Sam runs into the house, before Mojo can incur his divine wrath on the Autobots.

While Sam goes to get the glasses, the Autobots decide to do a little peeping on the house, watching his parents watch TV. Sam tears his room apart trying to find the glasses, and Optimus thinks that it would be helpful if he brought Mikaela up to help look. It’s at this point that I realize that Sam has an utterly bizarre fish tank.

I mean, legitimately, what the fuck is this? No filter, no plants, might not even have any rocks on the bottom. Is this a comically oversized bong Sam threw a couple fish into? What the fuck.

Mikaela starts looking for the glasses, running into what is likely a box of porn mags, then they both look out the window to find that the Autobots have decided to hide in plain sight by transforming... in the middle of Sam’s backyard. Amazing work, gentlemen.

Sam finally convinces the Autobots to go sit in the alley and wait, only for Ratchet to run into a power line and trip into a greenhouse. The resulting impact is interpreted as an earthquake. Judy does not have the reaction one might expect from someone who’s lived in California for at least ten years.

Ratchet’s fine, by the way.

The power cuts out, and Ron goes up to check on his son, because he’s at least a halfway-decent father. Ratchet’s shining a light to aid in the search for the glasses. Sam’s parents notice this bright light, and bang on Sam’s door to see what’s up.

Sam quickly hides Mikaela and then attempts to salvage the situation, answering the door and trying to control the narrative. Unfortunately, Ron is far too inquisitive for Sam to do this, and then Judy asks if Sam was masturbating.

Judy, is privacy just not a thing to you? Because if not, it really ought to be.

She keeps going with it too, trying to come up with code words, until another one of the Autobots trips and causes Ron to panic again, climbing into Sam’s ancient claw-foot bathtub to protect himself. He looks out the window to check on his beloved yard, lamenting that the earthquake tore it up.

Ironhide is strongly considering killing Sam’s parents. Optimus tells him that they don’t harm humans, and also begins to wonder if he made a mistake bringing this guy along.

Back in Sam’s room, it’s becoming increasingly obvious that Sam is an absolutely terrible liar, and Mikaela reveals herself, if only to prevent Judy from trying to talk about self-pleasure again. Of course, now she gets to be subjected to both of Sam’s parents objectifying her, so this might be a lose-lose situation.

Sam is reminded that his backpack is in the kitchen, just in time for the government to show up at his house. Mikaela makes a comment about Judy being nice. I suppose on a surface level, yes, being told that you’re gorgeous by someone’s mom is nice. I do have to question the context that compliment took place in, however.

Sam’s about to hand the glasses over to the Autobots, when someone rings the doorbell. It’s Sector Seven, and they’re here to talk to Sam about his stolen car being part of an issue involving national security. Ron and Judy are more concerned about their yard being torn up, Judy yelling that they “need to get their hands off [her] bush.”

We still have another hour of this movie.

The agent leading this mission asks Sam to come with him for questioning, which his parents are very much against. Mojo also voices his displeasure, but it would seem that Agent Simmons is not a follower of the Tenets of Mojo. Sam gets geigered, and his readings are high enough for Sector Seven to take him and everyone in this house into custody.

As Sam and Mikaela are riding in the back of the car, Simmons brings up Sam’s Ebay account, and also the phone video he took of Bumblebee earlier in the week. Mikaela is rather unimpressed with Sam at the moment, probably because he’s gotten her arrested. She still tries to help him out though, because she really is just the nicest fucking person on the planet.

Alas, the combined efforts of these two teenagers isn’t enough to fool the long arm of the law, especially when it’s a branch of said law that deals with extraterrestrial activity. Simmons threatens to lock up these literal children for life if they don’t start talking. Mikaela isn’t taking the bait, so he goes after her father’s parole hearing instead.

Yep! As it turns out, Mikaela and her father stole cars to get by, and she’s got the record to back that claim up. Simmons calls her a criminal, then says that criminals are hot. Mikaela looks like she’s about to cry, and I don’t blame her in the slightest.

Optimus, I suppose because his dad senses were tingling, takes the opportunity to place his leg in the road for the car to run into, then grabs said car like an unruly cat and lifts it until the roof rips off due to stress. The agents in the other cars pile out and point their guns at the giant space robot. The rest of the Autobots quickly relieve them of their weapons.

Optimus notes that Simmons doesn’t seem surprised that a bunch of giant robots just took all his guys’ guns, and demands that he exit the vehicle, posthaste. Simmons obliges, after a bit more prodding. Mikaela undoes Sam’s handcuffs, and he gets fucking pissy about it, as if this girl he’s had a grand total of three (awkward) conversations with should have told him something as personal as “hey, so my dad’s in jail and I’ve been to juvenile detention.”

Luckily, she doesn’t let him get away with it, calling him out as the spoiled, self-centered, privileged little shithead that he is.

Of course, we don’t get any sort of real acknowledgement from Sam, having to move on with the plot. Perhaps, if we hadn’t spent the last hour and 20 minutes faffing about on drivel, we could have had Sam get an actual moment of self-reflection, and potentially even character growth. However, this is Bayverse, and everyone knows that personal accountability is for fucking sissies.

Mikaela and Sam ask several questions, but get no answers from Agent Simmons. And then Bumblebee pees on him.

I hate that I had to write that. I hate it very much.

Anyway, I don’t know why that had to happen, but it did, and I’m nothing if not thorough.

Optimus tells Bumblebee to cut it out, and with that the Sector Seven agents are cuffs and left on the side of the road. Mikaela orders Simmons to strip, as punishment for threatening her father, then cuffs him to a street lamp.

...Yes, that does sound like a bizarre sexual fantasy, doesn’t it?

Unfortunately for our teen heroes, they forgot to confiscate everyone’s phones, and Sector Seven knows what’s up, thanks to the power of speakerphone. More cars and a couple of helicopters show up basically immediately, and the Autobots decide it’s time to dip.

But not before Ironhide fires off a pulsewave into the ground that causes a five-car pileup.

Optimus, I suppose because he knows he chose a ridiculously flashy alt-mode that is in no way practical, just picks the kids up in and places them on his shoulder like a couple of parakeets, then takes up a leisurely jog to get away from the eyes in the sky. He runs through the city, racking up what is likely millions in property damage, as the helicopters pursue. He passes by a “Legalize LA” billboard, which feels odd to see, given what movie this is.

The ‘copters somehow manage to lose Optimus, despite him being relatively slow, and having a notable radiation level that they’ve been using to track him. He hides inside the scaffolding of a bridge, only for Mikaela and Sam to slip off of his polished body to their deaths, thus ending the film.

No, they don’t die. I just told another fib. I’m sorry.

Bumblebee snatches them up just before they hit the ground, the impact of his metal body catching them at 75 mph, killing them instantly and ending the film.

Nope, that doesn’t happen either.

Mikaela and Sam are fine, some-fucking-how, but Sam’s dropped the MacGuffin glasses. The helicopters swing back around, having noticed the sound of a car crashing into the ground and the screams of two whole adolescents. They break out a fucking harpoon gun and fire on our kid appeal character.

Repeatedly.

They wrap up Bumblebee in a series of cables, as he screams like a moose. Mikaela and Sam are held at gunpoint by what is honestly far too many dudes, and are then arrested for the second time in ten minutes. Bumblebee is smoked... because he’s a bee? Sam, not liking this one bit, finds the strength in his weenie body to push a cop off of himself, run at one of the dudes with the smoke guns, throw him to the ground, and then start smoking him. He’s immediately tackled, but points for trying.

Sam and Mikaela are placed back into custody, and the rest of the Autobots regroup with Optimus to see what the plan is. Optimus says that they can’t save Bumblebee without hurting humans, so I guess Bumblebee is just a POW now. Well, at least they got the glasses. That’s cool.

Back at the Pentagon, things are getting dicey, as the other world powers are starting to suspect that something’s up. The Secretary of Defense is approached by a man with a mustache and a briefcase. He’s from Sector Seven, but the Secretary gives not a fuck about mysterious organizations. All the computers in the room suddenly go down, the virus from earlier working its magic- only this time, the blackout is global.

Mr. Mustache opens his briefcase, while explaining that Sector Seven is something known as a “special access” sector of the government, which is why nobody’s ever heard of it; it’s beyond top secret. Commissioned by President Herbert Hoover 80 years prior, it deals with alien life.

When the Beagle 2 spacecraft was lost on the way to Mars in 2003, the mission was declared a failure. This was a lie. The Beagle 2 recorded several seconds of Mars before being crushed to death by a Transformer. This tidbit is pretty funny, given that the Beagle 2 was rediscovered on Mars in 2014, seven years after this film released. Not a terribly mysterious death anymore, is it?

Comparing the footage from Mars to the footage from Qatar has Sector Seven thinking that these are the same species. Which they are. God, it’d be so fucked up if there were two species of giant robots in this film.

Mr. Mustache theorizes that because the Transformers now know that they can be harmed by human weaponry, they’re being proactive about their safety and shutting down all forms of communication technology with that virus that keeps popping up. It’s only a matter of time before the shit hits the fan for humanity.

Mr. Secretary tells his guys to try going analog with comms, breaking out the short-wave radios, to tell their ships to return home.

Over at an Air Force base, Lennox and the gang have landed, only to be scooped up by a bunch of dudes in suits.

Back with Maddie and Glen, the two of them have fallen asleep in the interrogation room, Maddie still wearing her friggin’ four inch pumps as her legs are propped up on the table, crossed in a way that seems rather uncomfortable. Glen gets to sleep like a normal human being, with his head resting on his forearms. Why this place doesn’t have a holding cell for these situations is beyond me.

Mr. Secretary comes in to bring Maddie on as his advisor. Glen can come too, I guess, considering he’s the one who actually figured out the sound file virus.

We get a little military glorification, and then it’s revealed that Mikaela and Sam, as well as Maddie and Glen, are aboard this helicopter. Their paths cross at last. Our heroes are transported to the Hoover Dam, where Bumblebee is also. They are still smoking him.

Meanwhile, the Autobots are figuring out where to go, with the power of Archibald’s glasses. Ratchet, who I guess is omnipotent, senses that the Decepticons have also figured out the location, and that this is going to be a race against the clock. And I mean, he’s right, but the phrasing is a bit odd.

Jazz wants to know when they’re going to save Bumblebee. Optimus says that they aren’t, and that Bumblebee’s sacrifice is noble, and that he would want the Autobots to leave him and complete the mission. As this is said, we get another shot of Bumblebee getting smoked and trapped in a lab. Yep, this is totally what he would want. He absolutely signed up for this, giving himself up to the government and not at all fighting like mad to not be captured.

I don’t think Bayverse Optimus actually knows what martyrdom is, which is bizarre, given that it’s a major trait in a lot of other iterations of the character.

Ironhide isn’t even sure why they’re bothering to save humanity, given that humans are violent and awful, his point being hammered home as Bumblebee is tortured for scientific reasons. Ironhide seems to have forgotten that Cybertron has been at war for literally millions of years. Optimus has faith in humanity, however, stating that we’re “young”.

And then he says that he’s going to end his own race, by destroying the Cube™, which is how they reproduce, because that’s the only way to end the war.

Which is arguably one of the most hardcore fictional applications of eugenics ever conceived.

Being advocated for by Optimus Goddamn Prime.

We still have another 50 minutes of this movie.

Optimus then proves that he does, in fact, know what self-sacrifice is, stating that, if all else fails, he’ll shove the AllSpark into his spark, which will destroy them both. He’s pretty chill about it, too.

Up on top of the Hoover Dam, Frenzy has fallen out of Mikaela’s bag.

Mr. Secretary is also at the Hoover Dam now, as is Lennox’s team. Oh, and Agent Simmons, who is thankfully wearing pants. He offers to buy Sam a coffee, as repartitions for threatening his family, arresting him, and being a complete creep to a teenage girl. Sam gives not a fuck about caramel macchiatos with extra foam and chocolate drizzle, however. He only cares about his car.

Mr. Mustache, who is also here, needs Sam to spill the beans on all these friggin’ giant robots that are running around. This is where Sam realizes he has the upper hand for once, and he starts making demands. One such demand is having Mikaela’s record scrubbed clean, which is an actually very nice thing for him to have done for her. We’ll see if his intent comes to fruition. For now, it’s time to talk about Bumblebee.

We get a shot of all these folks heading into the secret base hidden inside the Hoover Dam, and it’s at this point that I notice that Maddie’s shirt is basically see-through.

Inside the Dam, we see that Sector Seven′s been keeping Megatron this entire time, keeping him neutralized with cryo-stasis since 1935. Cryopreservation was invented in the 50′s. This isn’t a nitpick, I just thought it was a neat little fact.

Megatron being on Earth has resulted in most modern technology. This sort of plot point always bothers me, because it takes away agency from the entire human race. We didn’t use our own ingenuity and work ethic to advance society, we plagiarized from a more advanced species. I dunno, it just rubs me the wrong way.

We get the part of the movie where info is hashed out, so that everyone is on the same page, Sam spouting off Autobot propaganda. We can forgive him for this,considering he’s 16, and no one is immune to propaganda, especially when they have zero way of doing their own research to form their own opinion with.

Sector Seven also has the AllSpark, kept in the room next to Megatron’s, like the chumps they will soon find themselves to be. It’s about ten stories tall and the reason the Hoover Dam exists. With so much concrete suppressing its alien energies, surely no one will ever find it!

Except for Frenzy, who came in through a mouse hole. Whoopsie-doodle!

The AllSpark zaps the nasty little man, restoring his body with its weird MacGuffin powers. Frenzy tells all his coworkers that he found what they were looking for, and everyone starts heading over.

Maddie asks Mr. Mustache what exactly he means by “energies”, perhaps worried that this whole thing has been some elaborate ploy to get her to invest in magic healing stones. Mr. Mustache brings everyone into a testing chamber, since the best way to explain how the AllSpark works is through a demonstration.

There’s a big fish tank in the middle of this testing chamber, in which Agent Simmons places a donated device from the crowd- Glen’s Nokia phone, specifically. Simmons makes a geologically-confused comment. When this is pointed out by Maddie, Mr. Secretary hushes her, simply saying that Simmons is a strange man. The tank is locked down, and then the show starts.

Cube™ energies are shot into the tank, and the phone explodes into life, transforming into a gorilla-shaped gremlin creature. Happy birthday, little dude!

Little dude starts shooting at the tank walls, cracking the glass until Simmons pulls the trigger and ends it. Happy deathday, little dude!

The Decepticons are making tracks towards the Hoover Dam, but Starscream- yeah, he’s in this now, don’t worry about it- arrives first, because he is a very fast jet. He transforms, showing off his ridiculous Dorito body, and fires on the base’s generators. The resulting explosions can be heard all the way down in the testing chamber, and Mr. Mustache calls upstairs to see what’s up. Looks like Megatron may be getting warmed up, seeing as his ice bath has been cut off. Lennox asks if there’s an arms room in Sector Seven, which sort of feels like asking a bakery if they have any flour.

Frenzy has entered the room that houses the controls for the cryo-stasis and set that whole system to “no, thank you”.

Mr. Mustache runs through the base, screaming for everyone to get to the Megatron chamber. Off in the distance, the Autobots approach. Could probably used some fliers on your team, huh Optimus?

Back with Frenzy, he’s decided to just straight-up raise Megatron’s core temperature directly. Hope he doesn’t do it too fast; rewarming hypothermia victims recklessly can do some serious damage.

Outside of the base, Lennox and the boys are loading up with weaponry, along with what’s the entirety of Sector Seven′s cannon-fodder department. Oh, and all the main cast. Yep, just got a couple of teenagers chillin’ in the munitions room.

Sam wants Simmons to take him to his car- he hasn’t used Bumblebee’s name in a hot minute, not sure what’s up with that- even though Simmons is currently busy loading a very large gun. Simmons doesn’t want to do that, because he’s got no idea if what Sam mentioned earlier is even true, and he doesn’t want to pin the fate of humanity on a single Camaro. Lennox takes this opportunity to tackle Simmons, despite likely not knowing that Bumblebee is one of the “good guys”. A Sector Seven guy very much doesn’t like that, and points a gun at Lennox, which prompts all of his guys to also start threatening folks with guns.

Mr. Mustache walks in on the scene, but doesn’t do anything, since he isn’t armed and knows better than to tangle with someone who’s packing. Simmons tries to intimidate Lennox, because he must have missed the day of boot camp where they tell you that guns kill people. Lennox is fully committed to shooting this dude in the lungs before Mr. Secretary suggests he give the people what they want, before things get ugly.

Simmons takes everyone to the robot torture department of Sector Seven, where they are still smoking Bumblebee. Geez, you’d think they’d have something in place for if they ever came across another giant robot after Megatron, but I guess not. The gang gets everyone to stop smoking Bumblebee, which allows him to stop moose-screaming and strongly consider murdering everyone involved with his forced captivity. Unfortunately, revenge with have to wait, as we’ve still got to deal with the AllSpark, and the fact that the Decepticons are here.

They take Bumblebee to the AllSpark, where he makes direct contact the thing, causing the AllSpark to transform, compacting itself down into a far more reasonable size that Bumblebee can carry in one hand. It doesn’t seem to weigh more than a grown adult, if his body language is saying anything. I’d make a joke about the conservation of mass being ignored, but since this is Transformers, I can’t really say much. Conservation of mass doesn’t exist for this franchise.

Bumblebee would really like to get this show on the road, and Lennox agrees, quickly formulating a plan to get away from Megatron and taking the AllSpark to Mission City, which is relatively close to their current location, so that they can hide it there.

Lennox, I know this plan is a first draft, and we don’t have a ton of time for revisions, but the whole point of building a whole-ass dam around the Cube™ was because it was very difficult to hide, given its magical MacGuffin powers. Regardless of this flaw, Mr. Secretary agrees. Lennox also asks that the Air Force be involved in this, I guess because the U.S. military wanted more screentime.

Of course, that whole “global blackout” thing is still going on, so we’re going to have to get creative with how we’re going to contact the Air Force. Mr. Secretary and Simmons make a break for the WWII-era radio Sector Seven has, while Lennox and the boys head out to shoot things, and Mikaela and Sam hop into Bumblebee with the Cube™.

This is about the point that Megatron wakes up. The first thing he does is introduce himself, which I thought was very polite of him. Then he breaks out his flail and starts bashing shit around. Not so polite, that.

Over with Bumblebee, we’re shown that the AllSpark, all-powerful object that can create life and is the whole reason this conflict is even happening, is just chillin’ in the back seat by itself. It’s not even buckled up.

Megatron escapes the base, and it’s actually super easy. He just transforms, goes through the tunnel, and he’s free. I feel like we could have at least attempted some security measures for in case the cryo-stasis failed, given that we’ve had this dude in containment for the last 70-something years, but okay.

Starscream comes over to say hi to his boss, not that Megatron gives a shit. He just wants to know where that fucking Cube™ is. When Starscream tells him that the humans have it, Megatron makes a comment about how Starscream has failed him yet again. This is their first interaction in this movie, and Starscream’s been in the story for a grand total of five minutes at this point. I know that this is a reference to their dynamic in just about every installment of the franchise up to this point, but it doesn’t feel earned in the slightest. Even if it’s going to be expanded upon in future sequels, this is a shit-tier way to set their (awful) relationship up.

Not that anyone should ever bank on getting a sequel anyway, but that’s a discussion for another time.

Megatron tells Starscream to retrieve the AllSpark, and then we cut over to the radio plotline. The radio, which is so cobweb-covered I feel like Sector Seven needs to have a serious discussion with their custodial staff, has its nobs and buttons fiddled with by Simmons until it crackles to life. But where are the microphones? Everyone starts looking for the mics, as Simmons pushes Glen into the seat, I guess because hacking modern computers and using Depression-era radio tech are similar enough.

Maddie asks Glen if he can hotwire a 90′s-era computer to transmit a tone through the radio, so that they can send a Morse code message to the Air Force. Which sounds ridiculous to me, but I don’t know enough about radios or computers to know if that sort of thing would be possible. Maybe it’s fine. Or maybe it’s Hollywood bullshit. Who knows?

Back over with Bumblebee, we get a bunch of car commercial shots, of both him and the other Autobots. Aww, the gang’s back together again! Nobody tell Bumblebee that Optimus was completely cool with leaving him to his fate.

Optimus and the gang whip around to join the convoy, and everyone makes their way towards Mission City.

Back at the radio subplot, someone’s bangin’ on the door, trying to get in. The others try to block the intruder, while Glen does his hacking stuff. Mr. Secretary breaks a case and pulls out a gun that’s about as old as he is.

Glen gets the computer working, and Mr. Secretary gives him the Super Secret Military Codewords™ to use to talk to the Air Force. While he does that, Simmons finds a flamethrower and starts burning Frenzy as he attempts to enter the room. The Air Force receives the message for an air strike. Oh, goody.

Over with the convoy, it appears that the Autobots and Lennox’s boys are being pursued by the Decepticons. It’s difficult to tell, seeing as the cameras have gone full Bay-mode, but I’m guessing that’s what’s up. One of the Decepticons flips over a minivan, likely killing a family of five. another causes a multi-car pileup.

Bonecrusher transforms, then Optimus transforms. Bonecrusher iceskates across the highway, slamming into a bus so hard it just straight-up explodes. He is on fire. He tackles Optimus, and they proceed to fall off the side of the raised highway they’re on. Then they beat the shit out of each other, until Optimus decapitates Bonecrusher with his arm-sword.

Yeah, space dad is a little intense in the Bayverse.

Back at Sector Seven, Frenzy’s decided to leave the door alone, and instead is crawling through the ventilation shaft. Mr. Secretary and Simmons fire off shots into the duct above them, as if bullets would do anything against this nasty little pile of needles.

Frenzy bursts through the bottom of the duct and crash-lands into a glass case, taking cover behind a pillar and fires on the humans on the other side of the room. While this shootout is happening, Glen receives a response from the Air Force, just in time for Frenzy to accidentally decapitate himself with one of his own spinning blades of death. This time, he does not survive losing his head.

The Air Force will be sending fighter planes to Mission City, and to establish this, we get several shots of what some might call “military porn.”

Over in the city, the convoy has arrived. Lennox hands several short-wave radios over to Epps, telling him to use them to direct the Air Force when they arrive, so they can take the AllSpark... somewhere, I guess. Above, an F-22 zooms across the sky. It is not one of the Air Force’s F-22s.

Ironhide recognizes Starscream, and gets ready to throw down. Bumblebee grabs a nearby Furby truck and hoists it up to use as a shield. This marginally works, as the missile that hits the truck doesn’t immediately kill him, though it probably did all those Furbies inside.

The resulting explosion throws all the humans around, Mikaela getting weird heaven lighting as she lies unconscious on the pavement. Sam gets it too, though, so I suppose I can’t complain too much about this particular shot. They touch hands. I really wish that I could take this moment of vulnerability as being anything other than an attempt to set up a romance between these two teens who have known each other for maybe half a week. This movie has so starved me of genuine human interaction I'm jumping at the smallest of scraps.

Bumblebee actually didn’t get out of that missile-strike unscathed, his legs having been blown off. All those Furbies died for nothing. Tragic. Sam asks Bumblebee if he’s alright, and immediately tells him to get up. Sam then remembers that Bumblebee’s legs are off, so he yells for Ratchet.

Over with Lennox and Epps, they’ve realized that the plane they saw wasn’t one of theirs. Which, you know, has already been established, but points for getting caught up, fellas. Sam is crying and still telling Bumblebee to get up. Bumblebee is dragging himself across the pavement and whimpering. It’s awful. Where the fuck is Ratchet? This is basically the only reason he’s in this film, and he’s nowhere to be found.

The actual Air Force calls on the radio, asking for their location. Brawl, who is a tank, starts firing on Lennox’s gang. Jazz and Ratchet race through the city streets. How they were separated from the rest of the team is anyone’s guess.

Sam takes a little sit on the pavement to be with Bumblebee, while Mikaela decides to problem-solve and heads for a nearby tow truck. Bumblebee hands Sam the Cube™ because, as the designated protagonist, it’s his job to handle it in the climax of the film.

Ironhide is shot at several times by Brawl, narrowly avoiding being hit each time. This, of course, means that the people he drives by in this shot are almost assuredly dead, since they’re right next to the explosions. He transforms and does a flip, as the film goes slow-mo on a shot of a woman in a low-cut dress watching him flip. She screams. Ironhide screams. I scream, though probably for a different reason.

Jazz jumps on Brawl, managing to kick off a couple pieces of kibble before Brawl grabs him and throws him into the side of a building. Ironhide, Optimus, and Ratchet descend on Brawl, and so does Lennox’s team, Brawl losing a hand and getting thrown into his own building as a result.

Mikaela breaks into the tow truck and starts to hotwire that shit. Wow, a relevant back story that culminates in her being able to save the day, thus completing her arc and staying on-theme for her character. Why isn’t Mikaela the protagonist again?

Oh, right, because ~girl~.

Megatron lands in a nearby alleyway, and Ratchet, knowing this dude is bad news, tells everyone to head for the hills. Jazz isn’t fast enough, however, and gets shot for his troubles.

Mikaela drives the truck over to Sam, who is still sitting there with the Cube™, and tells him to get his ass in gear.

Jazz gets taken to the top of a nearby building and is ripped in two by Megatron, who acts like a bird of prey the whole sequence. Down on the ground, Brawl is starting to get back up from his smackdown. Blackout appears on a nearby skyscraper. Things are looking grim for humanity.

Mikaela and Sam hook Bumblebee up to the tow line as Lennox approaches them. Sam has left the AllSpark out of his line of sight, like a fool. Despite seeing this, Lennox still gives him the flare to let the military know where to pick up the AllSpark. Doesn’t even acknowledge Mikaela. He tells Sam to head for the white building with statues on top of it and set the flare on top of the roof. Lennox can’t leave his men, because he’s the head of his operation. Why he can’t send literally anyone else who isn’t a 16 year-old boy isn’t made clear.

Sam really doesn’t want to do this, probably because he’s a child, but Lennox has recruited him to the military against his will, so he must. Lennox then attempts to make Mikaela leave for her own good, but she tells him to fuck off, because she’s gonna save Bumblebee. Clearly, this is a win for feminism.

Epps radios the choppers coming from the Air Force to let them know they’ll be picking up a package from a teenager, thus locking Sam into the job. Ironhide and Ratchet vow to protect Sam from the Decepticons on his way to the pickup point. Not one single person has pointed out how fucked up this is.

Sam starts to run off, when Mikaela stops him to let him know that she’s glad she got in the car with him roughly an hour ago. They don’t kiss goodbye, which, honestly? Good. This fucking movie hasn’t earned that. Sam for sure hasn’t earned that, even if he did clear her juvie record. No word on that having actually been done, by the way. Sam never got confirmation, and I feel like he’s not really the type to follow up on things.

Brawl fires off some shots and makes things explode. Ratchet and Ironhide provide cover fire as Sam sprints down the road. Yep, they’re making this idiot WALK to the pickup point. Sure hope the elevators are working today, otherwise this is going to take forever.

Sam carries the AllSpark like a football, and in a better movie, this would have been foreshadowed by Sam having actually been a football player prior to the events of the film, perhaps removed from the team for some character flaw he’s since grown from/accepted. However, this is Bayverse, and well, men don’t have to justify their existence in the story with things like themes and having even an ounce of thought put into their character.

Back with Mikaela, Lennox has refused to learn her name, calling her “girl” as he screams at her to get Bumblebee hooked up to the tow truck. Which she was already doing when he got here. Lennox, dude, you’ve got a daughter now, you’re super extra not allowed to treat women like this.

Optimus Prime pulls through an alleyway and crashes into a pile of garbage. I can forgive him being late, seeing as he is a big rig, and probably had to take the long way into town so he didn’t get stuck in too-low tunnels. Don’t worry about how we briefly saw him during the Brawl take-down. This is his for real entrance into the climax.

He whips around and transforms, ready to throw the fuck down. Megatron spots him from his perch and descends.

Y’know.

Like a vast, predatory bird.

Megatron shoots at Optimus in his alt-mode, and Optimus catches him like a frisbee. Unfortunately for Optimus, it would appear that the horsepower on a Cybertronian flightcraft is hella intense, and he’s carried away. The two of them crash through an office building, then roll around in the streets punching each other in the face, debating the worth of humanity as they do so. Wish I actually gave a shit about either of these people, but alas! The film spent most of its runtime objectifying women and insulting minorities. I know nothing about Optimus, and even less about Megatron.

Megatron transforms his arms into a laser gun, and Optimus does the same. They shoot at each other. Optimus gets thrown into a building, then lands on the sidewalk below, definitely crushing a dude underneath him, but I guess we didn’t check that the shot was clear for where the CGI was gonna go, so he’s fine.

Sam’s still running through the streets, while Blackout murders, like, so many people behind him. Starscream lands in front of Sam, running into roughly 30 cars as he skids to a halt. Ratchet and Ironhide fire on him, as Sam takes a breather behind a car. Starscream transforms and blasts off. He was here for about 15 seconds. Sam begins running again.

Megatron is now following Sam, because he wants that Cube™. Sam is hit by a car- not an evil one, just a regular car- and trips. The impact makes the AllSpark activate, which grants several machines in the vicinity the gift of life, including the car full of bitchy women that just hit Sam, who are upset that hitting a human being might have scratched the paint.

I get it, you hate women, can we PLEASE stop beating this dead horse?

Sam finally gets to the pickup building, which turns out to be abandoned and fenced off. Good thing the gate was open, otherwise things could get really complicated. He heads inside, Megatron crashing through a floor-to-ceiling window shortly behind him. Megatron makes the claim that he can smell where Sam is. I’m going to choose to believe that he isn’t lying here, since Ratchet did something similar earlier.

Sam finds the stairs, and Megatron calls him a slur.

He doesn’t, really, but the voice modulation certainly makes it sound that way.

While this is happening, Mikaela is driving the tow truck down an alley, dragging Bumblebee behind her with the tow cable. She stops for a moment to have a short breakdown, seeing as she is a teenager in what is currently a warzone.

Sam is still running up the stairs. Outside, the military shoots at one of the Decepticons. It is, of course, doing absolutely nothing to the giant metal space robot. Mikaela concludes her moment, looking back at Bumblebee, who gives her the okay to keep going with dragging his ass across the pavement. She whips the truck around and tells Bumblebee “I’ll drive, you shoot.”

Mikaela then proceeds to speed down a main road of this sizable city backwards, running into cars and more or less shoving Bumblebee along to his destination.

The military has finally realized that their efforts have been pointless, but it’s okay because Bumblebee is here with his superior firepower. Bumblebee proceeds to shoot Brawl in the chest, which kills him. After this, he tries to act cute, lifting up his battle mask in a very “did I do that?” way, as if he’s not the same guy who ripped Barricade apart earlier.

Sam, meanwhile, has finally reached the top of this dilapidated building. Helicopters are approaching his location, but will they make it to him before Megatron does? Honestly, I’d be more worried about Starscream on the building just due East.

Sam is just about to hand the AllSpark over, when Starscream fires at the ‘copter, causing it to crash and nearly chop Sam to pieces. Optimus Prime runs towards the scene, on a roof that I refuse to believe could actually support him. Megatron punches thought the roof from the bottom and asks Sam some philosophical questions. Sam can’t answer, given that he’s hiding on the edge of this building, his flimsy grip on one of the angel statues being the only thing keeping him from falling.

Megatron tells him to give him the AllSpark, and in exchange he might not kill him immediately. Sam tells him to fuck off, and Megatron flails the chunk of building he was hanging on to, causing Sam to fall to his death, thus ending the film.

I’m lying to you. Michael Bay is making me into a liar.

No, Sam is, instead, caught by Optimus, very likely breaking several ribs on impact. This is the point where I realize that they’ve given Optimus fingernails. Sam clings to him like a baby koala, as Optimus parkours down the sides of two buildings, Megatron in pursuit. Megatron actually lands on Optimus 2/3rds of the way down, causing the both of them to fall onto the pavement below. How Sam survives this is a mystery.

Megatron recovers from the fall first, flicking a human away from him for having the audacity to exist in his space. The flicked person hits a car, and is almost assuredly dead. At least, I sure hope so, given that this is the director cameo by the Bayman himself.

Feminist icon Megatron?

Feminist icon Megatron.

Optimus comments on the fact that Sam almost fucking died to get the AllSpark out of dodge, and we get the return of “No Sacrifice, No Victory”. Which, I mean, I guess he’s allowed to say that, since he’s actually had to do something that warranted it. His dad doesn’t get to, though.

Optimus then tells this teenage boy, who has already had a hell of a day, to kill him by shoving the AllSpark into his robot-soul-heart, should he be unable to defeat Megatron.

I dunno, I just feel like it’s a bit of an ask.

Sam climbs off of Optimus so the Prime and Megatron can rumble. He runs through the ruined infrastructure of the city, so he’s less likely to be crushed. Optimus tells Megatron to square the fuck up, stating that “one shall stand, one shall fall.”

Then he gets ragdolled around a bunch, so maybe he should have saved the talk for later in the game.

The military is running around some more, stopping in an alley to see Blackout transform to root mode. Yes, the goo-goo eyes were indeed made by several members of the watch party that started this whole thing. People went wild for Rotor-Cape Johnson.

The fighter jets from the US military are arriving in a minute. Epps warns them to aim for the robots that aren’t evil. Lennox and the gang spread out, reminding each other to aim for the underboob, since Transformers’ armor is weak there. Epps marks Blackout with a little green light, which Blackout almost immediately notices. Blackout fires on the military.

Lennox has stolen a motorcycle and is driving through the streets to circle back around and jump off of the bike, sliding on his back to shoot Blackout directly in his underboob. Wonder what his uniform is rated for for road rash.

Sam is watching as Optimus gets his ass handed to him. Up in the sky, Starscream commits identity theft, and then attacks the Air Force. The Air Force can multitask however, and light Megatron the fuck up. Sam has, for some reason, come out of hiding, and Megatron uses this to his advantage, trying to take the AllSpark from him.

Optimus tells Sam to put the AllSpark in his chest, but Sam has a better idea. He shoves it into Megatron’s chest, which has been basically shot open at this point. Megatron makes a Space Invader noise, convulses a bit, then falls over dead.

Congrats on your first murder, Sam.

Optimus tells Megatron’s corpse that he got what was coming to him, then implies that they’re brothers. What flavor of brother isn’t established, but neither was basically anything between the two main faces of the franchise in this film, so it’s fine.

Ironhide walks up holding the two halves of Jazz. Optimus informs Sam that he now has a life-debt to this child. Whether or not Sam is absorbing any information at this point is up in the air. Mikaela shows up, with Bumblebee in tow.

In tow.

In tow-

Sam stares at her blankly. Mikaela stares back, making the pretty girl face. Man, what a great dynamic these two have.

Jazz is dead. That sucks. Optimus is handed his corpse to hold, while he thanks his new friends for helping out.

Then Bumblebee talks and he’s fucKING BRITISH.

Sam is obviously shocked by the fact that Bumblebee is British able to talk now, since not talking has been his whole thing up to this point. Optimus doesn’t let it phase him. Neither does Ratchet, despite having been working on Bumblebee’s throat injury for centuries at this point.

Bumblebee wants to stay on Earth with Sam. Optimus is just like whatever. Sam agrees to have a sweet Camaro from outer space.

Optimus pulls what is left of the AllSpark out of Megatron’s chest. I’m sure that’s not a setup for potential conflicts, not in the slightest.

Over in Washington, D.C., the US President has ordered Sector Seven be terminated, and all the Transformer corpses be disposed of. And by “disposed of” they mean “thrown into the ocean.” Dang, sure hope Earth signed some sort of agreement with the Transformers so that they never come to Earth again. You know, just be proactive about our galactic safety.

The Linkin Park kicks on, as Optimus gives us our bookend narration, telling us what the Autobots plan to do now that their race is at a genological dead end. As he does, we see Lennox reunite with his wife and child, who I had genuinely forgotten were in this movie.

Optimus is pretty chill with Cybertron dying out, because now they know about Earth. We get a shot of Sam and Mikaela making out, a shot that becomes more and more horrifying the further they zoom out, because they’re making out on top of Bumblebee. Who they KNOW is a sentient creature at this point.

And then it gets even worse, because the shot changes, and oh hey! Turns out that the rest of the Autobots were just chillin’ off to the side while this went down. Optimus continues his monologue, just walking around in his root mode as he tells all of Makeout Point how they’re “robots in disguise” now.

The monologue is actually a transmission he’s sending out into space, inviting any of his leftover pals to come kick it on Earth with them, because Earth is pretty cool.

And that’s where they leave us.

IT TOOK THREE PEOPLE TO WRITE THIS SCHLOCK.

So. Bayverse 1. A film showcasing xenophobia, misogyny, and toxic nationalism. It’s rough. Is it the worst film I’ve ever seen? Not even close, but it’s bad, and it was a huge deal at the time of release. Everyone was seeing it, everyone knew the actors and robots, everyone had a scene that they liked. Everyone was exposed to Bayverse, and as a result, a lot of people entered the Transformers franchise thinking that it was all like this.

And really, how far off would they have been in 2007?

When a franchise refuses to introduce female characters until years after being established, when all those female characters have the exact same body type, when a franchise hires misogynists to write stories, when it allows shit like “Prime’s Rib!” to be published- no wonder Michael Bay was approached to direct.

What a mess.

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

COMING SOON:

TRANSFORMERS: REVENGE OF THE FALLEN (2009) - MEGAN FOX I AM SO FUCKING SORRY

TRANSFORMERS: DARK OF THE MOON (2011) - WILL YOU JUST STAY DEAD

TRANSFORMERS: AGE OF EXTINCTION (2014) - SHUT UP ABOUT THE LAW SHUT UP ABOUT THE LAW

TRANSFORMERS: THE LAST KNIGHT (2017) - ACTUALLY, FUCK CONTINUITY

[atagotiak]

Time Traveling Quasi-Reformed Vader

A whole bunch of scattered thoughts with help from @phoenixyfriend​ and @dracothulhu​

So. One thing that’s fun is Darth Vader fics where he has not fully developed a moral compass, but he’s willing to outsource that to people who do have one.

Another thing that’s fun is time travel AUs

So Post-RotJ (and post reunion with Ghost!Obi-Wan) Anakin wakes up. Which is a little weird, he thought consciousness might work differently when you’re dead and all that.

What’s even weirder is he’s like, 15.

Now. He knows that Palpatine can’t be trusted with power. And also just like, on a personal level, he hates Palpatine’s guts now, so he’s not interested in joining him again.

Padmé is pretty great but like. That’s complicated, not least because he hasn’t re-met her yet he knows even less about how to approach pretty women than he did when he was 19, which is kind of impressive. So, approaching Padmé is tabled for uh. Sometime after he gets a little more stable and learns how to function in society as something other than a murder-cryptid.

And also, he knows that Obi-Wan has always cared about Anakin. To the point of still caring about him decades after the worst of betrayals and even after literally being murdered by Anakin. So naturally, Anakin is all-in on the unhealthy devotion.

And crucially here. Obi-Wan has not time travelled. He has no idea what’s going on. Anakin doesn’t want to disappoint Obi-Wan or make him sad and there’s just no not-awkward way to say ‘Hey I don’t know if it was the galaxy’s most intense vision or if my soul literally went back in time, but I fell and destroyed everything you love and then killed you in a possible future’

But still. He wants to make Obi-Wan happy. And also he does want to do good. He feels guilt about the things he (hasn’t yet) done and this is an opportunity to do better. But he still has spent two and a half decades being Darth Vader.

I want you to imagine teenage Anakin asking questions like: “Hey Obi-Wan, how much torture is too much?” “Any torture is too much torture Anakin!”

Anakin is skeptical but hey, torture makes Obi-Wan upset, so. No torture.

The other thing that would be disturbing to Obi-Wan is how deferential Anakin now is. TCW Anakin is perfectly happy bickering with Obi-Wan about everything and I feel like that probably started as a teenager.

Now he’s not like that. Sith hells, even when he sneaks out and does concerning stuff it’s mostly just to impress Obi-Wan.

And yes, Anakin has always wanted to impress Obi-Wan. But this is different.

The speech patterns, especially early on, also can’t help.

From Dracothulu:

cracking puberty voice "what is thy bidding, Master"

Anakin’s entire personality has changed overnight in some very concerning ways. Poor Obi-Wan is going to have a meltdown over all of this.

From Phoenixyfriend:

Obi-Wan getting calls at 3 AM from Anakin like "Hey... I have a sith lord at my mercy, should I kill him?" "Anakin what the ACTUAL FUCK"

"I'm pretty sure this is a 'murder good' situation but I thought the same thing about the Tuskens--" "ANAKIN WHAT"

"When did you find a Sith, I'm--aren't you on Coruscant right now?"

"I walked into the Senate and picked a fight with Sidious. I think I should kill him, he's too dangerous to leave alive, but maybe you want him for information? Or--"

"Anakin who the fuck is Sidious"

Just imagine Anakin like a very proud cat dropping a (not yet dead!) mangled mouse at Obi-Wan’s feet. Only the mouse is a Sith

But honestly, I’m not sure he’d go straight for Palpatine, Anakin is absolutely an impulsive and fighty person, but he’s probably still pretty afraid of Palpatine and he is a formidable fighter, especially now that he’s a few decades younger. Taking Palpatine down is definitely the plan but maybe not immediately. He does find some excuse to distance himself though. Anakin just can’t spend that much time pretending to genuinely like him anymore.

He would absolutely run off for a bit and do this with Maul.

Nixy:

Cats bringing you half-dead spiders is a time-honored tradition

"He killed your space dad so it's your decision if you want to kill him"

"Anakin there are SO MANY THINGS WRONG WITH THAT SENTENCE"

"So... you want ME to decide if he dies?"

"NO"

Much like a cat he is confused by Obi-Wan being disturbed weirded out by this.

Nixy:

In Anakin's defense, bringing half-dead enemies to his master's feet was one of the few things that made Sidious less likely to torture him for kicks

It's a learned behavior

“I thought stopping Sith was a good thing?”

“Well, yes. But you should wait until you’re older. And better at ethics.”

The way he handles Dooku is actually more subtle. By comparison, at least. As while evil grandpa is definitly evil by this point, he is still well-respected by the Jedi (who have no reason to suspect him of anything evil yet) and giving an injured Dooku to Obi-Wan as a present would go even worse than with Maul. He spams Dooku with anonymous messages about how Palpatine is a dick who’s going to betray him. He also keeps an eye out for any suspicious things Anakin could actually act on.

Anakin runs into nine year old Ahsoka, and yes he feels guilty but he’s always feeling guilty about something. He quickly becomes a mentor for her again and when Obi-Wan finds out he’s a little concerned and wants to supervise. Not for Ahsoka’s safety. But he does worry about what Anakin might be teaching her.

(Ahsoka does start biting people more often after she starts hanging out with Anakin)

Obi-Wan, seeing Anakin’s newfound interest in kids (or at least one kid) signs him up for some part time crèche assistant things. Both to give him some supervised time with kids in the hopes that it’ll be calming and constructive and a liiitle bit beacause Anakin could probably benefit from secondhand kindergarten level “outside of a sparring ring hands are not for hitting” lessons

This is, at least at first, drastically less grounding for Anakin than intended, though he doesn’t ever complain. (And helping teach kids how to behave does help a bit with reminding him what social norms are)

I feel like he doesn’t end up a crèchemaster. Too many bad memories and too much guilt to be caring for these kids full-time. But he does keep teaching the occasional class for little kids, like binary for beginners, or how to make basic circuits.

They asked him to teach introductory saber lessons once because he’s good with lightsabers and good at teaching. He had a breakdown.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

If you're still doing these, how about alamort from the prompt list?

alamort (adj) : half- dead of exhaustion

CW: Blood, trauma response, memory loss/traumatic memory recovery, callous talk of murder, nonsexual nudity, pet whump references, guilt, referenced stabbing

Jake Gets Fucking Stabbed: One Two Three Four Five

The water went cold a while ago, but Antoni hasn’t moved. The chill of the porcelain along his lower back soothes the itching, aching burn scars underneath, the icy blast of the shower raining down on his locks his muscles into a constant teeth-chattering shiver, but it feels good.

It feels so good

It feels like what he deserves.

“How did you fuck up this badly?” Artyom asks, snapping the words in Russian as he cleans the wounds down his little brother’s arm. Misha won’t look at him, all gangly teenage elbows and knees. “Huh? What am I supposed to tell Mama if this happens again?”

“It won’t,” Misha mumbles, sullen, looking off to the side and not anywhere near him. “I’ll figure it out. Anyway, he’s not going to tell anyone, so it doesn’t matter, does it?”

“Doesn’t it?” Artyom reaches up, gripping Misha’s chin, leaving a smear of red blood along the line of his jaw as he forces his brother’s eyes to meet his own. “Did you wear gloves, Misha? At least did you do that?” 

Misha doesn’t answer, but Artyom knows what the lack of answer really means, and groans, letting go and sort of throwing Misha’s head to the side at the same moment with his frustration. “Misha! We talked about this!”

“Well, it’s not like I’ve done it before,” Misha says, still in that sulky mutter. “And i was by myself, you didn’t exactly help.”

“I’m not going to help you kill people!” Artyom wraps the bandages over Misha’s arm so viciously his little brother hisses at the pain. “I am no killer, Misha. And I’m not going to be one just for you.”

“Fine. We’ll see how Mama feels when I’m in prison and you have to tell her it’s because you wouldn’t help me.”

Artyom takes a breath, lets it out. Closes his eyes. There’s already a headache throbbing in his temples. “Misha... fine. Where did you leave the body?”

Maybe they can find it before the police do.

There’s red on his palms, even as the rest of his skin is clammy and pale from the water. Red on his palms and in the burns he is covered with, beginning at his wrists and covering every inch of his torso and back. Burns he earned, burns he took to make up for the crimes he was a part of.

Right?

Antoni shudders, scrubbing at the inside of his left hand, but the red gets worse, if anything. So much blood on his hands, and it won’t come off. It just stays there, a stubborn stain a decade old or more. All of the others, those were only the avalanche, but the first body is the shout that brought down the snow.

Antoni is a collection of rotted bodies and hidden bones, he is all the things he did not stop, he is all the ways he helped hide evil from the light. 

Jake’s blood had run from him first, when the shower water was still hot, when it scalded his skin until he could barely breathe for the pain. Jake’s blood had swirled pinkish in the water, gone down the drain and disappeared. Jake’s blood had been worthwhile to carry, to wear on himself. That had been saving a life, but the bloodstains left everywhere else are from lives taken.

He stares at the scar on the inside of his left wrist, where he and Chris had their barcodes removed together. It’s pale, a shimmer of skin that isn’t quite the same as the skin that surrounds it. No burns, but he is struck with a sudden urge to find Mr. Davies and ask for one. 

Mark me this way, how you marked all my other sins.

He shudders, lets out a choked-off sob that even he can barely hear over the water.

He was a pet for a reason, he was a pet because of what he’d done, but he hadn’t known. He hadn’t known what he did to deserve it. He had suspected but he hadn’t known, he hadn’t-

He knows now.

He could fall asleep here, the unlocking of a whole life inside his mind leaves him half-dead from the exhaustion and guilt, but he can’t sleep. He can’t stop. Not until the blood is gone.

It won’t come out.

“Tyoma!” Misha catches him in a hug, and the two of them laugh. “I missed you!”

“Missed you, too, Misha.” The airport is a busy hum around them, but Artyom has eyes only for his little brother, as always. ‘Mama is waiting at home. How was everyone?”

“Good!” Misha glances side to side, and then leans in to whisper against Artyom’s ear. “I did one there, in Russia, Tyoma. Just one.”

Artyom felt a bit of ice in his heart, lodged there unmelting, a pain he can’t dig out. “Misha, you promised-”

“I couldn’t help it. What are they going to do, Tyoma, track me from thousands of miles?” Misha laughs, and pulls away, and Tyoma follows him, taller and older but endlessly lost in the circle of Misha’s life, endlessly bound to the results of his choices, endlessly putting his small, once-sickly little brother first.

Family first.

Artyom spends the next few months waiting for a call that never comes.

Antoni hears voices outside the bathroom door, muffled but shouting, and he puts his hands over his ears to block them out. Maybe this is it, the end of the life he worked so hard to build, the end of the life of caring for one family because the ghosts of the other will no longer allow him to rest.

He has to turn the water off eventually.

His hand shakes almost too badly to manage it.

Even after it stops, he sits, shivering and dripping and naked in the bathtub. He can’t remember how to stand up to go get a towel. He can’t remember where the towels are. He can’t remember where he is, only the list of deaths that linger on his back, in his mind.

He tastes bitter and salt on his tongue, and starts to cry, holding himself in the tub. Every inch of his skin is burning, every round circle a brand new flame pressed there, Mr. Davies’s voice impassive and soft against his ear.

You deserve this, love.

“I kn-know,” Antoni chokes out, his voice low and broken. “I know, I know, I know...”

You deserve to suffer for what you’ve done, and everyone you ever touch will suffer, too.

Antoni thinks of Jake, bleeding out onto the kitchen floor, screaming as Antoni packed his wound, crying out for his mother.

They always cry for their mothers, while Misha-

Antoni can’t let the thought finish.

Desperate for something that will hurt him the way he deserves to be hurt, he lets Mr. Davies back into his heart, his mind, his body, and remembers his heavy hands in Antoni’s hair, the loathing in his British lilt.

You deserve this, my pretty little ashtray, this and far, far, far worse than I could ever give you.

Antoni rubs at his hands but the red stain there won’t ever come out. He sobs over the blood on his hands and whispers, to the voice in his mind, “I know.”

-

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @whumptywhumpdump @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @newandfiguringitout @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whumpiary @endless-whump

[redrobin-detective]

Starlit Vigil

Dannymay Day 4: Stars _____________________________

Everything has a story to it, a tale interwoven into it’s very being from it’s birth to it’s death. Sometimes the mystery of the story is as much a story in and of itself. 

Scientists and researchers can’t say when the constellation first appeared in the night sky. It could be seen above Antarctica, near where the edge of the continent meets the Indian Ocean. It confounded a great many people as stars simply didn’t appear out of nowhere. But these did, slowly over the course of several decades sometimes years apart but two appeared within hours of each other. Each new star, eight in total, had a glistening, almost unnatural twinkle to them. The constellation was named Mnemosyne after the Grecian goddess of memory and the stars eight of her nine daughters, better known as the Muses. 

You’ve always had your eyes turned towards the stars and Mnemosyne in particular had always captured your attention. You can’t really explain what it is about those stars that speak to you. Maybe it’s sheer impossibility of their existence. Perhaps it’s the particular beauty of these stars, sometimes appearing to shift in shape and change colors. Or it could be the story behind the stars, the mystery that couldn’t be solved and so imagination filled in the holes left behind.

They say there was a great king, hundreds of years ago. A king who was powerful and kind and helped create the world as we know it. The land of the dead exists and certain people can interact with those beyond it. Technology and understanding have advanced dramatically and, while no life would ever be perfect, there was a general sense of peace that could felt in this world and the next. This king loved our world so much it’s said he plucked the greatest jewels he could find and placed them in the stars where he could watch over and cherish them forever. It’s a sentiment you can understand. 

You study astronomy in school and when you’re given a chance to travel to the Antarctic Circle to study Mnemosyne, you can’t say yes fast enough. The bitter cold and isolation is a small price to pay to see your favorite constellation up close. Maybe when you see it with your own eyes, you can unravel some of the questions people have been asking over the years. Why the goddess of Memory? Why are the stars named after the Muses but missing the muse of astronomy, Urania? What is the true story behind the supernaturally bright stars that appeared out of nowhere?

It’s hard to sleep during the day, partially because it goes against your normal circadian rhythm but you’re also too excited for night to come. For the stars to come out. You bundle up in the warmest clothes, pack your cameras and notebooks and throw the highest quality telescope you can carry over your shoulder. Arriving at the best site for star gazing, you are so delighted by the clear skies and sparkling stars that it takes you an extra moment to realize that you’re not alone.

At first, you think it’s one of the many researchers conducting studies at the pole but it’s soon apparent that this is someone new. Their hair is stark white, almost appearing one with the blustering wind as it’s blown around. You can’t see what they’re wearing because a thick white cape covers them entirely; it has the consistency of freshly fallen snow. Atop their head floats a crown made of pure, crystalline ice. Your eyes widen behind your protective goggles. The existence of ghosts was common knowledge by now but it’s another thing to see one up close. You turn to leave, before the spirit notices you.

��Don’t leave,” he says quietly but despite the roaring of the wind, you can hear him perfectly clear. “You came to watch the stars too, I don’t mind. Mnemosyne is my favorite.”

“Mine too,” you say back without even thinking. “I would love to know their stories.” The ghost turns to smile at you and his eyes are a bright, glowing green without any pupils or sclera. 

“Come, I’ll tell you about them.” You know you shouldn’t. While most spirits aren’t malicious, this one exudes a power you can’t even imagine. But you find yourself stepping closer anyway. You want to hear the stories of the stars and his smile is the warmest thing you’ll find for miles. Somehow you know this ghost won’t harm you. He points up at Mnemosyne and your twin gazes stare up in wonder. 

“They say souls and stars are made of the same ingredients. When I was a boy, I loved this thought. There was something comforting in knowing that, no matter where I went, that I could carry the stars within me,” the ghost explains, looking at you joyfully. 

“But unlike stars, souls are mortal, impermanent,” he says, his smile turning sad. “So I thought, why not put a soul into a star? Then it could last for eons.” He turns back to the stars with a melancholic expression. “Danielle was the first, my little sister. She was always fragile and after only a decade of life, one day she just broke. Her core was too damaged to become a full ghost so I offered her another way to live on. I took the brightness of her smile and made it into a star, into Euterpe. She was the muse of lyrics and poetry, they say she was the ‘bringer of delight’. It suited Danielle.”

“My enemy died next,” the ghost continues. “He hurt me and, moreover, hurt the ones I loved. But he was the only one who truly understood me. His existence comforted me no matter how much bad blood existed between us. His life was full of misfortune, most of it self-inflicted but his fear of death pulled on my heart. My last move in our battle was to make him a star as well, Melpomene, the muse of tragedy. I put him far away from Danielle, I think he’d hurt her.”

“My parents passed a few decades later,” the ghost whispers. “Mom went first, in her sleep. Dad always followed her example so it wasn’t a surprise when Dad followed her in death before the day was done. They were scientists, I think but they loved me very much. Things were tense, I remember being afraid for some reason but their deaths pained me. They were too fulfilled to become ghosts. I grabbed bits of their essence before it dissipated and made the stars Polyhymnia and Terpsichore, the muses of hymns and dance respectively. They were a perfect couple, partners in everything. A song and a dance, always in time with each other.”

The wind rustles the ghost’s cape, he clutches it as if he is cold. You cannot tear your eyes from the the soft grief on his face. 

“Valerie went next, some sort of illness; I can’t remember the details,” the ghost frowned. “She had no desire to become a ghost, no matter how much I asked her to stay. I am King of All Ghosts and yet I got on my knees and begged for some part of her to keep with me. In the end, I stole a bit of her fading spirit and crafted Calliope, the assertive muse, the author of epic poetry. She shines so brightly up there like she had in life.”

“Jasmine died peacefully in her sleep like our mother. She was always protecting me, even in death. Her devotion to knowledge and my wellbeing kept her by my side for many years but it wasn’t enough to last forever. When her spirit was nothing more than wisps, I took her core and placed Clio with the rest of our family. The muse of history, the proclaimer of great deeds fit my older sister well.”

“Tucker and Sam stayed with me the longest. Tucker went first, a quick death from an aged body followed by years as the playful spirit I always knew him as. Sam, my life and my love, passed the same and was my queen in death as she’d been in life. But love can delay death but not deny it and their spirits needed to move on. I kissed them both, my soulmates and made them into stars. Thalia, the muse of comedy and idyllic poems for the light Tucker brought to me. Erato for Sam, muse of love and its poetry for all that she inspired and gave me.”

You see glowing tears running down his face, he holds his hands out to the night sky. His fingers are curved as if wanting to reach and tenderly brush the faces of people long gone. Only they’re not gone completely. You look at the stars with a newfound appreciation. They are no longer pinpricks of long dead light but people who lived and died and yet still lived on in such beauty. If you look closely, you can almost see them. Brushes of red hair, dark rugged skin, the glint of glasses, a flash of amethyst eyes. 

“There’s no Urania,” you say quietly, the wind tossing them. 

“Not yet,” he says longingly, “but soon. The Zone and the Earth are at peace, they won’t need my protection for much longer. When that happens, my spirit will leave this world and join my loved ones in the stars as Urania.” This ghost has been dead for longer than you’ve been alive, longer than many of your most recent ancestors. But his love can still be felt, still burns high above in the sky for everyone to see. What better eternity is there?

“May I tell their story?” You ask and he only nods in response, not taking his eyes off Mnemosyne. You get the feeling he has forgotten about you, caught up in the light of his loved ones shining down on him, waiting. All at once, you realize how late it is, how cold. You leave to return to the research shelter, to write the history of the miracle constellation. 

The stars made out of souls, crafted by love.

Twelve years later, you are not surprised when you look up and see a ninth star in the constellation of Mnemosyne. It glows brightly, twinkling with the other muses as if in conversation. You can only smile through your tears, so profoundly happy that Urania’s lonely vigil is finally over and they have assumed their rightful place among the stars. 

[orangegreet]

No Minor Miracles

This is a completed story - pending only an epilogue at this point. Reposted to Tumblr from AO3.

Summary:

“Hello Aleksander.” He closed his eyes at the sound of her whispered greeting. Could she have picked any other night? Any other than this one? “Why do you haunt me when I feel at my weakest to defend myself?” He asked. “You are always droll when we meet. First I am your demon and now I am your ghost.”

_____________

Captured by Grisha slavers and ultimately shipwrecked between West Ravka and Kerch, Alina is orphaned and stranded on the other side of the Fold.

In secret, the Sun Summoner is raised and trained thousands of miles outside of Os Alta and the reach of the Black General.

Ambition leads her to seek out the infamous Shadow Summoner in her twenties—only, he isn’t what she expected.

Yet still, she leaves Os Alta broken-hearted and unsure and both Alina and Aleksander resolve to stick to their own sides of the world for some years after.

—Until a weary night on the war front pushes the Black General to reach out to his old enemy.

What follows is an ongoing struggle for power, information, dominance and, ultimately, each other.

But with two such Saints involved, surely miracles will abound.

Chapter 1 | A Night on the Warfront

He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as four of his soldiers continued their debate. The map spread out before them was littered with crude markings. A dirty shell casing sat near the edge of the Fold, the scale of it far out of proportion considering it was reported to be a small camp with no more than five tents.

“The West is closing in. They have some kind of advantage. Otherwise they would not drift so close to the Fold.”

“What do you propose we do about it? You can hardly expect us to sneak through the Fold on our end and catch them off guard.”

“I’m not convinced it is the West at all—our scouts themselves weren’t sure.”

“You don’t expect Shu Han to set up so far North in enemy territory.”

“I’m not saying that, I’m saying we don't know that it's army at all. Could be refugees seeking the protection being so close to the Fold can provide for all we know. We’ve seen it before.”

The General reached for the decanter, eyes bleary with lack of sleep. He refilled his glass. The soldiers continued to debate.

“You’ve seen it before? And when was that?” Ivan stared down the Inferni.

The young man stuttered, eyes shifting cautiously to the General who paused with his glass aloft.

“R-Rumors maybe but…years back we had intel of refugees camping near the Fold at the behest of the Sun Summoner.”

The General made no outward sign of recognition. He took another drink and placed his glass back on the table.

The neatly coiled rope at the center of his very being seemed to writhe. His heart picked up pace and he shot a covert warning glare at Ivan to keep his mouth shut. The Heartrender glared back, averting his gaze to the Inferni once more.

Internally he reached for the tether, intending to coil it back up and press it down again but he found once he touched it, he could not bring himself to let it go. Blame it on many late nights, war weariness and something else he refused to acknowledge in the presence of subordinates.

The tether gave a dull throb in his grasp.

The General forced himself to speak and quell the tension building in the tent.

“Rumors perhaps. We won’t know until it is too late. We must assume it is the West attempting the next step in secession. Prepare a skiff. I want the strike unit outfitted with the shielding cloaks. We send the skiff through on one side of the camp while our team traverses the Fold on foot on the other.”

He felt her presence in his chest first as the embers present stoked to a fiery glow. The General continued to stare at the map with a hardened glint in his eyes and ignored her apparition; his hand squeezed the tumbler.

“While the camp is preoccupied with the skiff, the strike team will take them out from behind. No prisoners.”

“And if they are refugees, sir?”

The General lifted his eyes to her. Her raised eyebrows expectant on her otherwise impassive face.

“No prisoners.”

She cocked her head at him but stayed quiet, surveying his whole being. Plotting his features for the signs of weakness, he was sure.

“You have your orders. You are dismissed.”

“But-sir which soldiers should we send on the skiff—“ The Inferni began.

“Ivan.” The General didn’t have to complete his request.

The Heartrender escorted the young Inferni out.

The General looked at her and then back at the decanter, determined to pull his features together though he felt his control slipping.

This, of course, was evidenced by her very presence.

“I feel I should offer you a drink. Though I am not sure if you could taste it.”

“It would be a warm gesture though. I wouldn’t decline to try.” She stepped closer to him and he struggled to keep the tension from his posture, his breath from hitching at the sound of her voice. How long had it been again?

He allowed himself the time to take her in. A decade had passed without seeing her. She looked older in some vague sense. Mostly in her eyes. He could tell by her gaze that she was severely less innocent than a decade ago.

Her posture too. She held herself with grace and dignity, the insecurity of youth long since fallen away.

“You’re looking well.” He said.

She blushed without a hint of modesty and he felt the warmth emanating from one of them. He couldn’t be sure who.

“I could say the same of you. Your hair has grown long. You look like a warrior.”

Her hands were clasped in front of her. Not reaching toward the dark locks that hung past his shoulders, half of it pulled back and tied with leather.

“I have been a warrior more often than not during my lifetime. I’m pleased to hear I look the part.”

She smirked at him and reached for his hand, bringing the glass to her lips for a sip.

“Can you taste it?”

She shook her head with a demure smile.

He took the glass away, musing out loud, “I thought not. This connection is beyond anything which has been studied but I do recall I could never see something unless you touched it.”

He put a hand on the map and watched her as she swiftly took in the details proffered on the table and then glanced back at him. Her eyes betrayed nothing.

“You did used to visit me more often than you do now. Though perhaps those visits were simply part of your own research efforts.”

When he didn’t respond for a few moments she continued, “I wondered if you had forgotten about me altogether.”

His chest bobbed a little higher under his breath as he studied her but eventually he decided how best to play this new hand.

“I do not consider myself forgetful in any regard, Miss Starkova.”

The liquid swirled in his glass as he caught her momentary bristle at the moniker. No doubt many years have passed since she was addressed as such.

He hummed, amused at her ruffled feather and resolved to push his luck, dipping his finger in the glass and looking up at her. “Now you mention, I do wonder…”

He lifted his finger to her lips and she scolded him with her eyes but allowed her tongue to brush over his skin. When her eyes drifted shut he couldn’t stop the backs of his fingers trailing over her cheek.

“Some things don’t change, do they? You favor the same casks of wine pilfered from the cellar of a Tsar.” She tutted and he smiled at her.

The first real smile she had seen him give in over a decade. Her insides pulsed.

“Then you are not forgetful, either.” He said in lament. He turned away from her.

She sighed. “This is tiring, please can we speak normally? Some time has passed since I last received your call. Did you mean for me to come to you tonight?”

He huffed a breath. “A compelling question for us both, I think. I wish I knew.”

When her eyes turned wary, she stepped away from him and he almost shouted at her. “No. Not—not yet. Just stay.”

The wariness turned to concern and she studied his features without reticence.

“What has happened? Tell me.”

“Nothing has happened. Nothing. It’s just—“ His hand raised to stroke her cheek again and he adored the way she leaned into it. Had she ever done that for him before? He could not remember. Not forgetful, indeed.

“Rumors.” He murmured. “Rumors reach me always of your life. Rumors of your death, of your sainthood and of your miracles. Tonight I—I wished for a miracle.”

Smiling sweetly, she cupped his face in her hands and stepped to him.

“My dear Aleksander,” Her eyes searched his for a moment. “The only miracle tonight lies in the possibility of two enemies who allow themselves to meet as friends. It would take two saints to pull that off. I am but one saint and cannot tell you the outcome. How strong is your desire for this miracle?”

His jaw clenched. He was so tired. Tired of wanting. Tired of losing. Tired of feeling like he was trailing behind. Forever out of step with her when he simply desired to be at her side.

His hand wrapped around the juncture of her shoulder and neck and he shook her. “You are no saint. You are a demon. My own personal demon sent from below to torture me on this plane. That must be it. I have yet to die and pay my dues and my sins have grown too great.”

Many late nights had led to this. Many years of keeping the door to her firmly shut led to this.

Time had passed differently for him in this after. Before her were calmer centuries poised in a position of patience and waiting. Since he had known her, known of her existence really, this frenetic energy was sparked inside of him that he could not shake. Time was centered acutely on constant anticipation. Anticipation of meeting her, experiencing her power. Then, once he knew her, heard her speak, felt her touch, mingled his power with hers-everything inside was reignited. His greed, desire, lust, rage, justice, truth, hope. It was chaos and tumult and agony contained inside an ancient man who was not ready for it.

Centuries of emotions being quelled and dulled and hammered flat into nothing before her existence. The last decade spent attempting, fruitlessly, to grow back that callous.

A moment of weakness and he reforged his connection to her. The meager protection he hoarded around himself the past few years fell away like an autumn leaf and now he was nothing more than a naked limb in the winter snow, completely exposed before her. Begging for her warmth.

It was enraging.

Her hand covered his on her neck and she squeezed it but did not attempt to remove him. She looked at him with such sadness that he felt it ache inside himself. Although it could have been his own sadness. There really was no way to tell in the moment.

“I know your sins, Aleksander and I am not here for absolution. I am here because you called to me and I wanted to answer.” His hand dropped away from her. The emotions which were so clear on his face a moment before grew opaque to her.

She swallowed, “I know your sins. And I have missed you.”

A ripple across his eyes and then nothing. He pushed down his insides.

A stoicism formed in his demeanor and it was with complete control that he let out his next sentence. “I hate you. For leaving me, I hate you.”

She drew herself up into a more formal posture with a deep breath.

“You wanted to mold me in your image. But it did not take and I would not let it continue. It has been better this way, I think. I would have hated you had I stayed.”

He scoffed. “You would have gotten over it, given enough time.”

She smiled at him, formality breaking with the warmth in her eyes. “Just as I believe you will, my oldest friend. My eternal friend.”

He blinked and his eyes gathered tears. She pretended not to notice, scared to spook him.

“Why did you leave?”

“You know the answer already. I’ve just told you.”

“Would it have been so bad to stay?” The emotion was seeping into his voice now and she stepped toward him with caution.

“I could not bear to hate you. It is better this way. We are both better, stronger. Worthy.”

Her eyes don’t lose their warmth but he felt the accusation the same. He would have sacrificed every ounce of his goodness, sanity and patience to keep her under his will. He would have sacrificed her for it.

“Are we?” He asked quietly. They both knew what he was asking.

She stroked his cheek and he nuzzled it.

“What you have in patience, I have in hope.” His eyes closed.

“Why do you stay away from me, Alina? Even now? I am well enough tortured. Surely your task must be done.”

Another sigh. “It is not so simple when it comes to you and me. You are my Inevitable. We will have an eternity together in my future and yours. It is only natural I want some time to live in autonomy before we begin. You were granted centuries to yourself, you recall.”

“Centuries of waiting, solnyshka. Centuries alone.”

She said nothing but continued to touch his cheek, his jaw, her eyes taking in every minute detail of his face. He called her there. She did not know when he would again.

“Will you make me wait more centuries for you?”

She hummed in amusement.

“Would you wait that long for me?”

If you ask.

He wanted to say it but he had given her so much of himself already. Greed smothered over his burgeoning embarrassment. She would leave soon enough and his desires wouldn’t be tamped down neatly anymore.

Possessive and greedy. That was how she knew him.

He wanted to possess her the way she seemed to possess him. Her ownership over him felt effortless to him and he half hated her for it. He gripped her hips dragging her flush to him.

Her breath startled and fanned over his face. He paused for only a moment and then pulled her mouth to his.

His lips sliding over hers in a heightened sense of torture. Could she taste him? If not she could surely taste his blatant desire. Completely exposed and on display for her to see.

He wrenched his mouth off hers, hand clasped to the back of her neck.

“Have you taken other lovers?”

The words were hissed through clinched teeth and his hand fisted into the fabric around her hips, holding her close.

Her eyes flashed into his and then down to his mouth where she pressed a kiss. Sweet as gentling an agitated animal. She pressed another and lingered.

Far from being quieted, he panted into her mouth, fisting a hand to her hair in a rush and crushing his mouth to hers.

The moan from her throat drifted into his mouth and he swallowed it up, lifting her onto the table and plunging them into what felt like the most familiar fantasy or memory or deja vu for them both.

Everything was different. Nothing had changed.

He tangled his tongue with hers, a reluctant groan escaping from his own throat.

She knew she should stop it. It would be harder to keep going without him if she let herself have too much.

Gradually their heat seemed to lower into a simmer and they both sighed into it. His hand stroked her thigh and his other held her jaw tenderly.

He pulled her into a languid kiss, holding her face as he pulled away.

“General—“ she started as he slowly parted the fabric wrapped around her waist. He eyed her with a dark silent look as he went to his knees.

“Would you have me kneel to you, Sol Koroleva?”

She smirked at him, weaving a hand into his dark locks and pulling him forward. His answering smile was glorious to her eyes. Victorious and tender at the same time and she relished it as he devoured her center.

“Aleksander.” Her voice was weak and he shook his head, clutching her harder. Hands gripped her thighs and secured them tight over his shoulders and he groaned into her further. His tongue relentless in pursuit of her pleasure. Driving her higher and harder than she knew was possible.

A torrent of pleasure with him and she briefly mourned what she realized was now over. There would be no other lovers. Not for her anyway.

The vibrating tether in her chest was a living thing now. Where it previously lay dormant, it now pulsed. Untamed and unleashed and rooting into her body at multiple weak spots. The palms of her hands, the soles of her feet, the nape of her neck, the base of her spine. Her gut. Her chest.

It was everywhere and she was lighting up from within with the magnitude of its power.

The strength and bond of their somehow ancient connection. Ancient in the way it stretched behind them in time but also in the way it surged forward into the coming years. Into their Inevitable future.

If she wondered whether the effect was the same for him, it didn’t take long to recognize the surrounding shadows pouring from him as he lost himself in her. She whimpered at his alternating ferocity and gentleness before remembering.

Her responsibilities. Her promise to herself.

“Sasha.” There it was. Firm and accompanied with a tightening of her hand in his hair, tugging him away.

When his gaze flicked up to meet hers she almost gasped at the feral look of him. Shiny mouthed, panting. Knuckles white where they pressed her thighs to his shoulders. Eyebrows bunched in irritation at her interruption.

Her rabid, wild Shadow Summoner pulled from his meal before he was sated.

“We can’t.” Her voice was strained. Irritation deepened into defiance across his features.

“Another lover, is it?” He spat the words out.

Her eyes squeezed shut and she felt the wetness in them gathering and shook her head.

“There is no one else. There will be no one else.” The grip on his hair gentled as she smoothed the back of his head and he lost a centimeter of rigidity from his posture.

“Then why.”

“It’s too soon.” The words were stifled. More wanted to follow but she would not let it and he grunted in frustration.

“We can’t.” She repeated to herself.

His face drifted back toward her shining folds, his eyes locked on hers as he brushed a careful tongue over her core. She whimpered again, hand twisting his locks and she meant to pull him away.

“No, Alina. You can.” His heated breath fanned over her and she shivered, “Just you. For tonight.”

She looked dismayed but it melted when he bestowed another long, slow lick to her center.

“Please.” The word came from his lips and it shocked both of them. Her hands stroked over his ears and met in his hair and when he leaned in again she did not stop him.

He was wonderfully cruel in his own brand of torture. His touch purposefully delicate and calculated. He worked her up toward the edge before redirecting his attentions until she calmed.

“Sasha.” The cry was wrenched from her mouth as she tried to snap her thighs shut around his face. To force the attention she was desperately craving thanks to him. He persevered in keeping them open. Leveraging her pleasure for his purposes.

“Promise me.” He demanded between a soft caress of his tongue, tone at odds with the motion.

“Promise what?” It was a struggle to keep her eyes open as her head wanted to tilt back.

“You will come back to me.”

“You already know that I will.”

He pressed a finger into her, then another.

“Promise it. Promise you will be mine. Only mine.”

She keened and clutched his wrist in encouragement.

“And will you be mine, General? Will the Darkling belong only to the Sun Summoner?”

His fingers curled and he licked his lips, watching her take her pleasure.

“I will give myself to you alone, Alina.” His fingers curled again and she shuddered feeling so close to something so big.

“Then I promise to be yours. As much as you are mine. I will take everything you have to give, and everything you try to hide away will be mine. All of it will be mine, Sasha.”

He grunted, swallowing against her and sucking. She screamed out as she finally finished. Wave after wave of pulsing euphoria spreading over her and through her and from her chest and into the very root of her being.

The lapping continued and he kept his eyes fixed on her for the minutes following as she trembled and shuddered under his attention.

Bestowing a few lingering kisses to her thighs and smearing the moisture across them, he carefully removed her legs from his shoulders and got to his feet. When he was planted firmly between her legs, he took hold of her face again.

His forehead leaned against hers. She reached for him this time and kissed him hungrily. To her surprise, he broke away, breathing in through his nose in a deep way. His chest brushed her with each breath.

“I’m trying to prove to you I can be sweet and you are making it very difficult.”

Her answering smile was radiant.

He kissed it.

“Tell me where you are.” The demanding tone was back and she chuckled.

“I’m here. With you.” Fingers stroked his chest. His hand covered hers and he pressed it into himself and growled.

“I forgot how much you infuriate me.”

“I underestimated how enjoyable it would be still.”

His nostrils flared but his chest warmed at her mirth.

She pinched a strand of his hair between her fingers, still grinning, “We’ve brought about your miracle, after all. It is very satisfying to be this holy. Do you not agree?”

He had no words, only kisses which he placed on her cheeks, her ears, a nip to her jaw, a pull on her neck.

“Aleksander,” it was whispered. He sensed her imminent departure and kissed her again with increasing desperation. She met him with equal fervor, both unable to get close enough to satisfy the ending. When his face was buried into her neck and she clutched his body to her, she made a last attempt to secure his soul.

“In light of our miracle, can I make a request?” He nodded against her shoulder, a tender kiss placed over her pulse. “Sometimes you should take some prisoners. Please.”

Her eyes raked over his features, some kind of affection or devotion shared in their last looks. With them it seemed one posture easily slipped into the other. The lives of Saints, he supposed.

Then she was gone.

[d-criss-news]

Actor And Producer Darren Criss Reveals His Creative Process

The producer, singer and actor talks his approach to songwriting, discovering his sound and how he’s ready for the next chapter.

We don’t know about you, but we’re currently experiencing the Bank Holiday blues. With the realisation that our days of summer maybe coming to an end were in need of uplifting sounds and singer-songwriter Darren Criss is keeping the energy going with his fun-filled EP “Masquerade”. Between the slick alt-pop productions and high-octane energy, the artist puts his theatrical abilities and prowess at the forefront of the EP. Laced with serene dance floor-ready melodies, the actor and musician instantly gets the party going on the project, kicking it off with “f*kn around”.

“The dirty secret is that every song is character-driven,” the artist revealed when discussing the project. “I just chose wording that could perhaps aid people into understanding this exploration of genre, this self-aware exploration of genre a little more. For those people that only know me as an actor, I’m trying to guide them into this notion of music and songs being a form of acting.”

No newcomer to the scene, the artist has spent the past decade gracing our screens in the cult favourite Glee and the thrilling Assassination of Versace: American Crime Story. Wanting to continue his musical journey in the form of producing and writing, we caught up with the multi-faceted artist talking his growth over the years, staying creative in a pandemic and how he’s ready for the next chapter.

Check out the interview below now…

Hey Darren, how are you? How has this past year been for you? It’s a strange question to answer because everybody’s answer is so much more complicated than what you can say in a quick easy tight polite answer. You know, I’m well, as well as one could be given the situation. I feel, you know, luckier than most. Even with the music that I just put out there’s still more that I’d like to do, but I got to do even more than I thought I’d be able to. So that tends to be kind of the theme of the past year and a half. I feel like I’ve been so consumed by working on so many things for so long, that not a lot of people outside of my inner circle know about that. You know, it’s been a lot of high output but seemingly low visibility. So now finally getting to put out some of these things and talk about them… tipped scale of visibility versus output is hopefully having a chance to even out for a bit, to where the amount of work I’ve put in can somehow match that people you know may or may not know about what I’m doing. You know, I’ve been really busy. I’m the kind of guy where if you give me a white canvas it’s a more…I wouldn’t say stressful, but I’m more likely to fill up a blank canvas immediately with as much shit as possible – I guess that is more stressful than having only a few places to fit things in, and I usually keep pretty busy. Ironically when I’m really busy, that’s when I can get stuff done. Like you know that phrase ‘if you want something done ask the busiest person in the room’, and I think there’s a degree of truth to that because you know, the chaos kind of begets chaos, and productivity begets productivity, and in a lack of anything else to do it was like ‘I wanna do all these things!’ and then it gets really crammed, so it’s nice to be kind of simmering down from this overwhelming call to arms to get as many things done as I could with this new unprecedented free time that I had. So, in short, I guess, am well if you wanna use that! I feel, I’m just relieved that a lot of this stuff can exist somewhere outside of my head but it’s a complicated answer, I’ve been able to do a lot more than I thought I’d be able to.

With everything that happened last year, was your creativity affected? The time that it yielded is the kind of time that a lot of creative people fantasise about. Of course, we would have all preferred it in a very different way when you say ‘if only I had time to sit down and work on this’. I think we all have; I say creative people but we all say, ‘if only I had time to paint the kitchen, learn a language, get in shape’, you know do something different that requires a bit of time and focus. We were all given that golden ticket, of course take that with a massive grain of salt, I’m fully aware of the price with which that came, of course if we had the choice, I don’t think any of us would have wanted it to happen the way it did. But none the less, for those of us who did take the time to focus, to hopefully be productive and proactive with the situation we were thrown into, it was creatively beneficial to finally get to address things that had been sitting kind of on deck and dormant in my mind, and it was just a matter of having the time to give them any attention. One of the joys of jumping between acting and music is there is a battle of time commitment, because neither one is a thing you can do casually. If you’re acting in something, there’s a great degree of scheduling that really eats up a large chunk of your day. While I’m in an acting project, I’m writing stuff and playing music but the actual logistics of producing music is as time consuming as the acting. I am envious of people that can kind of just show up, sing a song and leave. I, unfortunately, am not that kind of person. Writing a song is only a small piece of putting music out. Production really does take a large part of my emotional and intellectual efforts, and I really dive in head on. And that’s not even mentioning the promotional side of it. So, it really does take a lot of time to dive into those things, and I was finally given that. If anything, it was hard to decide what part of my musical menu that I wanted to serve up. It just came to a matter of what felt right at the time, what seemed fun. I kind of wanted to put out something that was positive and fun, and unapologetically so. And something that really showed up for a side of me that I felt like hadn’t been represented in the past. The musician side, and unfortunately, we haven’t been able to perform these very much. We’ve done little videos here and there. Stuff that really showed my roots as a musician, a garage rock guy, a guy that really likes getting in the weeds of production. In the past I’ve put up things that are a little more analogue, singer-songwritey, and this is more me as a producer and a musician.

How did you first get into music, what sparked the interest? Well, I’ve been playing music my whole life, and not casually either. It’s such a massive part of my identity, and that’s one of the main driving forces of me wanting to put out as much music as I possibly can. These five songs on this EP are a small part of a much larger body of work that I’m dying to get out whenever I can. When you’re a songwriter, or just in general a creative person, you have more ideas back logged than your body can execute. This is only a small part of a much larger puzzle, and a lot of these songs, the ones that I’ve put out and the ones I’m still trying to put out, are ghosts that have been haunting me however many years., some more than a decade, some more than two decades. The reason I mention this is because I’m trying to illustrate how pivotal music and making music has been throughout my life. I started playing violin when I was 5, and that was a big part of my cultural education, learning how to play an instrument that is so dynamic and requires a pretty specific ear and technical ability. Now I’m not saying I was fantastic at the violin, but I think the training that I had on it from 5 until my late teens really shaped the way that I would create music and think about music, certainly as a writer and a producer, but with just how I would jump between other instruments as well, because the violin was such a great touchstone for me to end up taking up the piano or guitar, or drums, or other instruments that would really formulate how I create music. Between being the orchestra nerd kid that played a lot of music throughout my young life, and also being the guy that would play in bands, its just been such a huge part of my life. As I’ve gotten older and gotten to understand this other version of myself that exists in more of a public view, that has little to do with that I know, I have started to notice that person, that avatar of myself, isn’t necessarily associated with music. And that was troubling to me, so I wanted to rectify that.”

And now you’ve just dropped your EP, talk us through your mindset going into the project? If I was just a recording artist, and that’s all I did, I’d like to think that I’d have a much larger body of work to show for. I feel like a lot of songwriters feel this way. There is just simply too much music…now I’m not gonna say it’s all fantastic, there’s a reason you have to triage the ones that you think are the best at the time, and there are many songs that I feel would be outdated, they feel very of the time 10 years ago. But you’re always trying to put your best foot forward with the pile you have lurking behind you. So, it is a hard thing to decide which thing you want to put out. Killing your darlings is always a hard thing, figuring out which ones to really focus on is difficult and it usually comes down to who you decide to collaborate with – right before the pandemic was one of the most tumultuous times of my career where I was producing and acting in a show for Netflix, and I was also kind of show running, acting, writing music for, editing, doing everything for this other show I created called ‘Royalties’ on another platform. I was doing both at the same time, and one of the things that made this possible was the people that I would collaborate with. A young man by the name of CJ Baron who I produced and wrote this EP with, he’s sort of the midwife that I chose out of working on Royalties because we had a lot of great songs together. I keep referring to myself as a producer, but I do it from a much more cerebral space, whereas he is a much better technical producer than I am. We really shared a lot in common, so by the time I realised that I wanted to make a piece of music you have to decide ‘who do I want to go down this yellow brick road with?’ And when I decide with CJ, that kind of already hinted at the kind of music that I would put out because he has his own fingerprint, and so I thought there’s something that I have that might mesh well with that fingerprint, so that kind of helps the decision process along of what songs am I gonna put out. But in another world CJ wasn’t interested, so then I think ‘Okay let me try and produce an album with this person’, and that person would reveal a different selection of songs. I’m very open to seeing what the universe is allowing and pushing towards, and I kind of follow that northern star to figure out what songs I’m gonna put out. But the mindset was always ‘put something out’, on a completely pragmatic level. What did I want to have to show for if whenever we got out of this crazy, new age of ‘what does this pandemic mean? We have time to do stuff, when it’s over what do I want to sit there and say that I accomplished?’ And at the very least I needed to put out a few songs, so that was really my mindset – no excuses, this is the time that you used to hope for, and so what are you gonna do if you’ve got the golden ticket, you’ve won the time lottery – so don’t fuck it up Darren! That was my mindset.

You describe them as character-driven singles, why is this? The dirty secret is that every song is character-driven, I just chose wording that could perhaps aid people into understanding this exploration of genre, this self-aware exploration of genre a little more. For those people that only know me as an actor, I’m trying to guide them into this notion of music and songs being a form of acting. The number one question I always get it ‘which one do you prefer?’ and I always say they are the same to me. When I’m an actor I treat characters, characterisation of my voice and body, characterisation of how I deliver words like a piece of music. You’re scoring it the same way, there’s cadence, dynamics, volume, nuance, all kind of things that can make ‘a piece of music’ unique to a person. And that’s how I treat dialogue and characterisation. The other side of that coin is I treat music like I’m acting, like each song has its own character when you’re playing live or recording in a booth. You are donning the proverbial mask of that character and what it requires. I really wanted to keep people into this idea that at the end of the day, it’s all performative and all part of a narrative that don’t necessarily have to do with each other and the way that if you ask Alexa to play a ‘Jack Nicholson playlist’ it would be very disjointed. It would be like okay The Shining, that’s a vibe, and then it would go to As Good As It Gets, and that’s a completely different vibe. They wouldn’t necessarily be on the same playlist, but they are distinctly and undeniably Jack Nicholson. So I always thought that it was a bit of a double standard that actors can do this but in music, you know, I’m proud of this but it’s also very annoying – a lot of my songs would probably not playlist together on the same genres because you have more jazz songs, like a trip hop chill tune that might end up in the back of a Starbucks, but that wouldn’t necessarily go on the same playlist as a tune like ‘I Can’t Dance’, which is a crazy song because it doesn’t even sound like me, I’m literally putting on a different voice, I’m singing like two different people putting on an affectation. There’s a lot of things that are very different but uniquely and distinctly me. The word masquerade is a celebration of a lot of different masks, and in theatre we talk about ‘The Masque’, and how each Masque has it’s own style, history and culture, and I really love the genre, and I love Masques, and I love things that make them interesting, and celebrating things that make them unique, and really trying to maximise their effectiveness as a genre with whatever tools I have as an artist, so that’s really what I’m trying to go for, this whole character driven idea is – it’s all a masquerade.

It very much has a fun-filled vibe to it, was this your intention and why? I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I sat in a studio saying ‘Hey lets not have fun!’, especially during a time that was as fraught with a lot of troubled times. This EP was recorded during very troubling times, so I think I’d be delusional to think that whatever joy is in this EP was not some kind of reaction to that, trying to offer something positive is definitely my MO in life in general, so that’s always gonna bleed its way onto my records. Like it or not. The intention is to record things that can be effective. If the vibe you feel is fun, great. If you feel any vibe at all, whatever the fuck that means, that’s a win for me. If that happens to be the word ‘fun’ then awesome, there’s a lot shittier adjectives that can be derived from this body of work so I will absolutely take it. My intentions are again to try and honour the songs. When you write something it has its own magnetic pull, it has it’s own gravitational pull that you have to kind of follow. If a song sounds a certain way, you want the lyrics to feel the same way that it sounds, and you want the production to feel the way that it vibes for lack of a better word. All songs have different body types and dressing it up and knowing how to tailor it to accentuate the things that make it fun or sexy is really sort of a strange alchemy. It’s not up to me how people experience it, but that’s what makes it fun. Once you put something out into the world it’s up to other people to use their own adjectives of the suit you tailor. I’m always excited when it leaves my head and becomes somebody else’s experience. So hey, if it’s fun – great!

What do you want people to take away from the project? Obviously, I hope people enjoy themselves. Any musician or artist would hope that there’s some kind of memorable experience to be had from it. If I was talking about what I hope people take away from it, that doesn’t have to do with the music itself, I hope that every time I put out music it’s me broadcasting this notion that this is something that I do, and that this is a big part of my identity. I think the songs themselves and what they’re about and how they feel are less of an insight into my identity as the notion of me putting out music is, because I feel like for any artist your journey is a constant negotiation between how you see yourself and how you would like to be seen, and how audiences are willing to see you. And you know, sometimes that balance is not always even. Sometimes the way they see you isn’t the way you see yourself, and sometimes the way you see yourself isn’t the same as the way they see you, so you want to be somewhere in the middle. And ‘Masquerade’ is a huge step forward for me to try and represent who I am and what I’m about to folks who might not see that. So that’s the biggest goal I think with any release but particularly this one.

Who would you cite as your inspirations? I’m one of those people that, when I say that everything inspires me, I’m not trying to be cute. It’s a problem. It’s an actual scourge on my life, where I find everything interesting. I find everything inspirational. It’s such a core belief that I have that there is inspiration to be derived from every walk of life. Stuff like from a lawn chair to a Bach cantata, there are so many things that can be interesting and incorporated into some creative output. It’s just all about how you look at it and how you can perceive and understand where it comes from. There are so many things that are inspiring to me. Of course, this is the massive macro answer that you weren’t looking for, you’re probably looking for ‘what artist are you inspired by?’ I think I’m just inspired by people who are really genuine to themselves, and this is an ironic answer considering that I actually try to be as many different people as possible. It’s a strange thing that actors are celebrated for not being anything like themselves professionally. And musical artists are separated for being as close to themselves and putting their souls as close to the chopping block as possible. I think I’ve really found my niche as a storyteller. I’m envious of some of the great troubadours of history, that can put their souls out on the record for us and put their own personal experience into things. Leonard Cohen and Joanie Mitchell, and Carole King, more modern people like Taylor Swift who really can just bare their souls for us. I really admire them because that’s not a muscle I have. And when you’re an artist I think ‘Okay so what muscle do I have?’, and I think ‘Okay I’m like a playwright, I can make each story for these songs and try and bring them to life with as much accessible ability and reality, and as much truth as I can convey, that’s not to say they’re disingenuine, they’re born from a genuine idea but they’re supported by my background as an actor. Baring myself isn’t something that comes as naturally for me, I really admire those people and I try and perhaps emulate a lot of their song writing in whatever limited way that I can. Genres are inspiring to me, lets talk about song writing, and then there’s producing which are two different things to me, because when I hear music I hear chords, I hear melody, I don’t listen to the snare sample, but I always hear the bare bones and then I think about production. So as far as producing is concerned I think it’s really important to know all genres and to listen to what makes each one interesting and respecting those genres, and then when you are producing something yourself, and then taking from each thing by knowing why and how they work within that genre, so again to use a song like ‘I Can’t Dance’ which is a nod to late 70s/early 80s, somewhere between disco and new wave, I’m employing the things that make those genres fun, to me at least, and trying to smoosh them together in a way that sounds cohesive. So…everything is inspiring to me, it’s hard. But each song has a different source of inspiration, but they don’t transfer between all songs.

You’ve also wrote for animated series and for Glee, is the process different for producing? “This is actually a very good question. I think this ties into what I was saying before about writing for narrative is something of a calling that I think I’ve realised more recently is kind of where I can plant my feet more easily than any other type of song writing. I was mentioning the people that can bare their souls, some people have a really good ability of putting themselves out there but also writing as a satirist of character that he creates. The person that is a master of this is Randy Newman, he’s one of the greatest American songwriters of the 20th century. He has an amazing ability to create these scenarios or create first person accounts of people that aren’t actually him, but he can contextualise with his literal voice, his song writing voice, and make those their own sort of satirical version of himself. There’s a lot of layers going on there, but I’ve always thought of him as really excellent. He’s like a playwright with music, he’s writing musicals, I mean he’s won Oscars for writing music for narrative! That’s something that I’d really like to do – from a technical standpoint it’s actually very liberating because when you’re writing music with your name on it, you’re the artist, then there’s this sort of weird expectation that you’re trying to service which is why I like this idea of putting the mask on and separating the songs from my own personal experience, because I need to separate myself from my own experience of the music you’re hearing, at least on the surface. My big break was A Very Potter Musical, that I feel to this day are my biggest hits because I don’t really have hits, but as far as the songs that people know that strangers know of songs that I’ve written, they were songs that were written for characters. It’s a bit like painting by numbers. If you just write a song from scratch about anything, it’s like the canvas I’m talking about again. You can do anything, or go anywhere, and that’s overwhelming. Having parameters, knowing where the gates are, is extremely helpful, knowing when the deadline is, knowing how long your party can go for. It means you can maximise the space you know you have. When you write for narrative you go ‘this is the character’, ‘this is how they speak’ – so you already have your lyrical information there – ‘this is how they talk’, ‘this is the singer, the singer has a great range that goes from this note to this note’, ‘in this scene we need the character to go from point A to point B, and we want it to be a song that sounds like X’, so you create all these amazing little ingredients, and I look at artists like a service industry, I really enjoy servicing what the person or the experience requires. When I have a menu of ‘we want this, this, this’, it’s like okay great I’ve got you! A three-and-a-half-minute song that sounds like this song, but has to be in this key and has to be a duet, I really thrive on that. And it’s probably one of my more favourite versions of song writing. And usually there’s a deadline, so I can get it done! Because I need to get it done for production. I really enjoy coming back to writing for narrative, because I did that for Royalties with CJ, and when I realised how much I enjoyed doing that and how productive I was when I was writing for a narrative, that’s when I got into the idea of ‘I need to stop trying to bare my own soul in music’. I think if I treat it like I’m writing for a character, not only can I get it done faster but I feel like I can make things stronger. So that’s when I decided that’s what I’m gonna do for this next EP. Writing for other shows and characters is what helped me realise my strengths as a songwriter.”

What is next for you? What are you most excited for? “As I mentioned I think productivity begets productivity, and that’s exactly what happened with this EP. Even if the pandemic hadn’t happened and I didn’t have the time, I think I would have been just as emboldened from working on Royalties with CJ and it got me very excited about working on music and how much joy that gives me. Any artist will say the same answer, but I think by the time stuff comes out artists are already over it because they’ve been living with it for a year and a half, and in my case over a decade with these songs, so I’m always ready to move on and go to the next thing. Everything is a stepping stone, so I’m very happy that this EP is out, I think it’s a great representation of a lot of stuff that’s been unaddressed for far too long. I just wanna get going, it gets me excited about keeping the ball rolling as a songwriter or as a producer, I just don’t want this to be like ‘This is the thing I did during the pandemic’, I want to keep it going and be more proactive about keeping time aside for it, because that’s the name of the game. When you’re acting or doing music, you have to balance it with time, and this pandemic has shown me how much I enjoy spending time on music, so I’m gonna carry that on. But of course, as soon as I say that, that’s when something unexpected and something too juicy that I can’t keep my hands off it happens on the acting side. One learns to be pretty flexible, because as soon as I say one thing something else will happen, and that’s been the narrative for the past decade of my life. I hope to just keep going. I’ve been this lucky for this long so I’m not gonna pretend like I’m going to keep being this lucky. If I get to act great, if I get to do music great. I can’t believe I’m in a position where its like ‘oh if the acting thing doesn’t work out, I’ll just do music!’ or the other way around, it’s a highly privileged list of options, and I’m fully aware of that. So as long as I can have one or the other to fall back on, I will always be excited about option. It’s not always up to me, so we’ll see. Everything that I’ve put out is just a way for me to renew my lease with my ability to show up for myself as well as people that I don’t knows ability to be interested in what I have to do next. But I won’t flatter myself, I’m not gonna say that lease is forever, so I’m just trying to put in the time and work to keep it at the very least somewhat interesting.”

Photography - Amanda Demme