#so much in this episode is said without words

[mrsfancyferrari]

24 Hours Without You

Summary: A dare from Lando led to Oscar not having any contact from you for 24 hours. Well he tried to.

Song: Love Drought · Beyoncé

Author’s note: Happy Valentines day to all couples and all singles (like me 🥲), either I hope you have a good day! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 3.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

The lights of the McLaren production studio flickered with anticipation, the hum of laughter from the crew blending into the casual camaraderie surrounding Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris.

The two drivers, known not only for their prowess on the Formula 1 tracks but also for their undeniable charisma off of it, sat on plush bean bags before a camera.

Today’s content was light-hearted—an episode of "Truth or Dare," where playful banter was the currency of the moment.

In the midst of the gleeful chaos, Lando held up a hand, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Truth or dare?” he shot at Oscar, who had his fingers nervously tapping on the surface of his knee.

Oscar, who had been bracing for this exact moment, hesitated. He’d opted for “truth” in virtually every previous round, hoping to avoid anything too embarrassing.

But the staff behind the camera were practically pleading with him to choose “dare”—for the sake of content, of course.

“Dare,” he finally relented, a playful smirk hiding the anxiety bubbling beneath the surface. He expected something innocuous, maybe a challenge to show off an embarrassing childhood photograph or to tweet an old picture of himself wearing an awkward haircut.

But Lando’s grin widened unnaturally as he clapped his hands together. “I dare you to spend 24 hours away from your girlfriend and document it to show the fans how needy you are for her!”

Oscar blinked. “Wait, what?” It was more of a stutter than a question.

Lando, brimming with enthusiasm, leaned into the camera with an exaggerated expression. “You heard me! No calls, no texts, and definitely no see-you-later kisses! We want to see how long it takes for you to break.”

Oscar felt his cheeks flush. This wasn’t just some off-the-cuff banter in the drivers' room. This was being filmed. This was going to be on YouTube. This was going to be everywhere.

He glanced around, hoping for a lifeline from even a vaguely sympathetic face from his engineer. He found none. They were all either strategically avoiding eye contact or subtly smirking.

"What if I say no?" Oscar asked, the words laced with a desperate hope that this whole thing was a joke, a prank that had gone too far.

He’d already planned on going to your house later that day for a quiet movie night and homemade pasta, a tradition they’d started a few years after they’d started dating.

The thought of not seeing you, not hearing your voice, for an unknown amount of time… it felt like a physical ache.

Lando’s grin widened, a predatory gleam in his eye. “Then you have to let me pass in the next 3 races if you're in the lead,” he said, the words dripping with smug confidence.

He knew Oscar was fiercely competitive. He knew this would sting.

Oscar groaned, running a hand through his already tousled hair. “Why are you so against me, mate?” He couldn't fathom Lando's sudden, intense interest in his love life, or rather, in trying to sabotage it.

"I just want to show the world how much of a simp you are," Lando replied, his tone teasing, but with an underlying edge that Oscar couldn’t quite decipher.

“Is this even allowed?” Oscar asked, appealing to the staff, hoping someone would intervene, would point out the absurdity of the situation. This had to be a breach of some sort of code of conduct, right?

"Of course, it is!" Lando declared, throwing his arms wide. "It's content! Think of the views!"

Oscar knew, deep down, that the team probably did see it as ‘content.’

In the cutthroat world of Formula 1, where every millisecond and every marketing opportunity mattered, this ridiculous challenge probably seemed like a stroke of genius.

He looked back at Lando, his friend's face alight with mischievous glee. He looked at the cameras, the expectant faces of the crew.

He looked at the faces of the team, already calculating potential audience engagement.

“Fine,” he said, the word feeling like a lead weight in his mouth. “But you owe me big time for this, Lando.”

Lando whooped, jumping off the toolbox and slapping Oscar on the back. “That’s the spirit! Challenge accepted! And don’t worry, the world will thank me for this entertainment!”

He ran a hand through his already messy hair, a familiar gesture when frustration gnawed at him. He fished his phone out of his pocket, the bright screen momentarily blinding in the dim light of the hallway.

There they were, a string of messages from you, each one a little more frantic than the last.

“Hey, everything okay? You’ve been quiet all day.”

“Oscar? You haven’t even seen my meme! It’s hilarious, you HAVE to see it.”

“Seriously, starting to worry. Call me when you get a chance.”

And finally, a more plaintive, “I miss you. Hope you’re okay.”

He cursed under his breath, a sharp, involuntary sound. Lando. It was always Lando. This stupid dare, this ridiculous game, had ripped a hole in his day, a hole that was shaped exactly like you.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket, the cool glass a constant reminder of the connection he was deliberately severing.

“See you guys,” he mumbled to the departing camera crew, offering a weak wave.

He then turned to Lando, delivered a playful, but firm, punch to his shoulder, and escaped to the sanctuary of his apartment.

He knew, logically, that it was just 24 hours. A single day. But the thought of willingly ignoring you felt like a betrayal, a small chink in the fortress of their relationship.

He cherished your texts, your calls, the small everyday interactions that stitched together the tapestry of their lives. Being without them, even for a fleeting moment, felt… wrong.

He threw himself onto the couch, intending to relax, maybe watch some mindless TV. But your voice echoed in his head, replaying snippets of conversations, silly jokes, and whispered sweet nothings.

He closed his eyes, trying to conjure your face, the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed, the soft curve of your smile. He needed to hear your voice, desperately.

He got up, restless, and paced the small apartment. He considered calling Lando, admitting defeat, throwing in the towel. But pride, that stubborn, annoying companion, held him back.

He’d made a commitment, however foolish, and he intended to see it through.

Sleep evaded him. He tossed and turned, the silence amplifying the absence of your goodnight text, your usual, comforting presence. He got up, made himself a cup of tea, and stared out the window at the twinkling city lights.

Each light, he imagined, represented a connection, a conversation, a life unfolding. And he was deliberately cutting himself off from one of the most important ones.

Finally, exhaustion claimed him, but it was a restless, fractured sleep, filled with snippets of dreams where he was chasing you through crowded streets, always just out of reach.

The next morning dawned gray and overcast, mirroring his mood. He dragged himself out of bed, the weight of fatigue heavy on his shoulders.

Today was qualifying, a crucial part of the race weekend, and he needed to be sharp, focused. This was not the condition that he wants to be in.

He arrived at the track, the buzz of activity usually energizing, today felt like a dull hum. He went through the motions, the familiar routines a small comfort in the unsettling void.

Lando found him in the McLaren garage, a mischievous grin plastered across his face. “Hey mate, have you given up yet?” he asked, slapping Oscar’s shoulder a little too hard.

Oscar winced, both from the physical blow and the reminder of the dare. “Nope,” he mumbled, the word devoid of any real conviction. He was tired, irritable, and more than anything, he missed you.

The thought of the next few hours stretching out before him, devoid of your presence, felt unbearable.

“Don’t worry, Osc,” Lando teased, oblivious to the genuine discomfort he was causing. “Just a few hours left. Think of the gloating rights!”

Oscar just glared at him, the playful banter lost on his weary mind. He wanted to tell Lando how much this stupid dare was affecting him, how much he relied on your support, your laughter, your simple, unwavering belief in him.

But he couldn’t bring himself to articulate it. It felt too vulnerable, too personal.

The day dragged on, each minute a tiny eternity. He went through the qualifying rounds, his performance adequate, but lacking the spark he usually possessed.

He could feel the absence of your encouragement, the subtle confidence boost he always got from knowing you were watching, cheering him on.

Between sessions, he retreated to his driver’s room, fighting the urge to reach for his phone. He scrolled through news articles, read through performance data, anything to distract himself from the aching void that was growing larger with each passing second.

Then, during the buildup to Q3, he was sat in the car and ready to go when his engineer, Tom, spoke over the radio. "Okay Oscar, you're up next, are you ready?"

Oscar gripped the wheel a little tighter, trying to focus on the task at hand. "Yeah I'm ready, is there any changes?"

Tom paused for moment and Oscar thought he hadn't head him. "No changes, but your girlfriend wanted me to pass on a message, she said good luck and she misses you, now go show them what you are capable of."

Oscar's heart skipped a beat. He didn't know you had talked to his engineer, but the small gesture warmed him from the inside.

It was exactly the kind of thing you would do, finding a way to break through his self-imposed barrier without directly contacting him.

The message worked. Oscar's spirits lifted and he felt a fresh surge of determination coursing through him.

He took off onto the track and delivered a blistering lap, securing a strong position on the starting grid.

He should be celebrating with the team, analysing telemetry, strategizing for tomorrow's race. But all he could think about was you. All because of Lando's stupid dare.

The qualifying result helped, but it didn't fill the void. After the debrief, he couldn't take it anymore. He muttered a quick goodbye to the team, ignoring their puzzled looks, and practically sprinted to his car.

He drove to your house, his hands clenched on the steering wheel, his heart pounding in his chest.

He parked the car, took a deep breath, and walked up to your front door. He had a key, a privilege he still cherished. He unlocked the door and let himself in.

“Hello?” he heard you say from inside, his footsteps louder than usual in the silence of the house.

He couldn’t speak. He stood frozen in the hallway, suddenly feeling ashamed and foolish.

How could he have ignored you because of a stupid dare?

He’d prioritized a silly game over your feelings, over his own need to be with you. The reality of his actions hit him like a punch to the gut.

You appeared in the doorway, your eyes widening in surprise. You were wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants, your hair pulled back in a messy bun. He’d never seen you look more beautiful.

“Oscar? What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice a mixture of surprise and something he couldn’t quite decipher. He swallowed hard but found the words stuck somewhere deep in his throat.

“I…um…” He was fumbling, just like the first time he’d ever tried to ask you out. He felt like he was letting a ridiculous dare take precedence over something–over someone–he truly cared about.

"You weren't answering my messages, I thought I did something wrong," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he blurted out, finally finding his voice. “It’s just… it was a stupid dare. From Lando. He dared me not to contact you for 24 hours.”

He cringed at the sound of his own explanation. It sounded pathetic, even to him.

He could practically see the disbelief forming in your eyes, the flicker of hurt morphing into something colder, something more distant.

He’d hoped to mitigate the damage, but he suspected he’d only made things worse. The dare, the explanation, the whole situation… it all felt utterly ridiculous and deeply, deeply wrong.

The silence descended again, thick and heavy with unspoken emotions. Then, you muttered, the words barely audible, “Am I just a dare to you?” The question hit him like a physical blow, a sharp, searing pain that ripped through his chest.

The accusation, even whispered, was devastating. It was the very antithesis of everything he felt, everything he wanted you to believe.

The thought that you could even consider him capable of such callousness was unbearable. He had to convince you, he had to erase any doubt that lingered in your mind, or he risked losing you forever.

“No!” It burst from him, a desperate plea laced with raw emotion, desperation threading his tone. "I love you more than that," he continued, his voice cracking with the intensity of his feelings.

He reached out, instinctively wanting to touch you, to reassure you, but hesitated, unsure if you'd welcome the gesture.

You paused, your gaze intense, scanning his face for any sign of deception. He met your eyes, unflinchingly, letting his own reflect the truth of his words.

He knew he had to be an open book, to let you see the regret, the love, the sheer desperation that consumed him. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as you scrutinized him, searching for any flicker of falsehood.

Each passing second felt like an eternity, the silence amplifying the pounding of his heart in his ears. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, the tension in your shoulders eased slightly.

"Well then, why?" you asked, your voice softer now, but still tinged with hurt. The question hung in the air, demanding an explanation, a justification for his inexplicable actions.

It was a reasonable question, one he knew he deserved. But the truth was, he didn’t have a good answer.

He shuffled his feet, avoiding your gaze. The usually confident Oscar Piastri, the Formula 1 sensation, looked like a scolded puppy.

"I… I don't know why I agreed to it, but I knew I regretted it as soon as I said yes. I couldn't concentrate at all today or sleep without your voice. The only reason I didn't crash out of tiredness was because of your message that Tom gave me," he ranted, the words tumbling out in a rush.

He was scared. You could see it in the way his hands trembled slightly, the way his eyes darted around the room, anywhere but at you. This was the only real relationship he'd ever been in, the only one that felt… right.

He loved you, a dizzying, heart-wrenching, terrifying kind of love that had taken root ever since he saw you in that crowded lecture hall, your face illuminated by the glow of your laptop screen.

"I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, I promise," he pleaded, his voice cracking slightly. He waited for you to speak, to yell, to do anything. But you didn't. He panicked more.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy. You could see the desperation etched on his face, the genuine remorse in his eyes. It was hard being mad at him, especially knowing how much he hated being apart from you.

Finally, you sighed, a weary sound that seemed to deflate him even further. You pushed aside your anger, the petty hurt that had been bubbling beneath the surface for the past day.

You knew how easily Lando could goad him into things, how Oscar, despite his steely determination on the track, could be surprisingly susceptible to peer pressure.

You moved forward, closing the distance between you. He flinched slightly, bracing himself for… what, you didn't know.

Instead, you went on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne – something uniquely Oscar.

You missed it, even though you were with him just two days ago.

Oscar froze, his breath catching in his throat. He gradually relaxed, melting into your embrace, his own arms wrapping tightly around your waist. He missed you too. More than you knew.

"You're lucky Lando told me about it and bribed me with pictures of you looking depressed to not get mad at you," you muttered into his shoulder, your voice muffled.

He chuckled weakly, a sound that vibrated against you. "He what?"

"He’s been sending me pictures all day," you said, pulling back slightly to look up at him. "Apparently, you kept staring at your phone with this forlorn expression. Lando said it was hilarious, but also that he felt bad for you."

Oscar groaned, burying his face in your hair. "I'm going to kill him."

"He did say he'd run if he saw you coming," you said with a small smile. "And, you know, it worked. I was going to give you the silent treatment for a week."

He pulled back, his eyes wide with mock horror. "A week? That’s cruel and unusual punishment!"

"You deserve it," you retorted, but the threat lacked teeth. "Now, tell me everything. How awful was it? Did you actually cry?"

He grinned, the familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "I did not cry. I may have considered it, though."

You laughed, relieved that the tension had dissipated. "So, what exactly did Lando dare you to do?"

"He said I couldn't contact you in any way, shape, or form for twenty-four hours. No calls, no texts, no social media. Nothing," Oscar explained. "He said it would be a 'fun challenge' and that I needed to 'toughen up' or something ridiculous like that."

"And you agreed?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He grimaced. "I don't know what I was thinking. I think I wanted to prove I could do it, that I wasn't… overly reliant on you."

"And how did that work out for you?" you teased.

He sighed dramatically. "Terribly. Absolutely terribly. I spent the entire day pacing around, checking my phone every five minutes. I couldn't focus on anything. Even driving felt more dangerous than usual."

"That's because you were thinking about me," you said, a smug smile playing on your lips.

"Of course I was," he said, cupping your face in his hands. "You're all I ever think about."

You blushed, but your heart swelled at his words. "So, lesson learned?"

"Lesson learned," he confirmed, leaning in to kiss you. "I'm never agreeing to anything Lando says ever again."

The kiss was soft, tender, and filled with the unspoken relief of being together again. When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against his.

"You know," you said, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Lando also dared me to ignore you for the next twenty-four hours. But he didn't bribe me with pictures of you looking miserable."

Oscar’s eyes widened. "You wouldn’t!"

You just smiled, a silent promise of playful revenge hanging in the air. He knew you wouldn’t actually follow through, not completely.

But the thought of it, the tiny seed of uncertainty, was enough to make him cling to you even tighter.

"Don’t you dare," he whispered, burying his face in your hair again. "Please. I can’t handle another day like today."

You laughed, a warm, happy sound that echoed through the room. He was an idiot, a lovable, racing-obsessed idiot, and you wouldn't trade him for the world.

"Okay, okay," you relented. "I'll spare you… this time. But you owe me big time. And you're buying me dinner. Somewhere expensive."

"Anything," he said, pulling back to look at you, his eyes filled with genuine affection. "Anything for you."

And you knew he meant it. The dare had been stupid, a momentary lapse in judgment fueled by Lando’s mischievous influence. But it had also served as a reminder, a stark glimpse of what life would be like without each other. And neither of you wanted to ever experience that again.

You were connected, intertwined, and the thought of being apart, even for a day, was unbearable.

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapped securely around you. The storm had passed, leaving behind a quiet calm. And in the comfort of his embrace, you knew that everything was going to be okay.

As long as you had each other, you could face anything. Even Lando’s ridiculous dares. . . .

[manicmanuscription]

I Got You Sweetheart

Pairing: Rhysand x Reader

Summary: You suddenly have intense flashbacks and the only thing to help calm you down is your mate, Rhysand.

Word Count: 1544

Warnings/Tags: PTSD, mentions of torture (only vaguely described), panic attacks, fluff.

acotar masterlist | main masterlist

divider by @seradika-graphics

Today was a good day.

Today was supposed to be a good day. 

The soft summer sun had the  beautiful carved roads of Velaris glistening, bricks shining with a renewed vigor. Flowers hung from lampposts or sat in windows and it was perfect. 

I didn’t know when it became too much. When the light and soothing chatter from pedestrians became a jackhammer in my skull. 

When the warmth suddenly became blistering, my clothes started sticking to my skin and soon I was suffocating. Too much, too much, too. much.

Everything was too bright and blinding. I stumbled in people’s paths in my desperate attempt to escape the world around me. Everything in my instincts told me to run as my mind was harshly thrust into dark memories. 

The kind and smiling faces of my people morphed into those of my old tormentors. Children giggling turned into a dark laughter as my skin was split open with a harsh edge of a dirty blade as they had tortured me. The bindings that held me three hundred years ago felt fresh on my skin, the phantom pain intensifying as if it were merely moments ago. My feet were pounding against the stone. My mind is screaming at me to go, to get out. I needed to find a safe place, to escape this feeling of terror that had etched itself into my very soul. 

Go, go.  My mind screamed GO! before they caught me, before this feeling could somehow intertwine further into my heart than it already had. Broken bones and my own shattered screams echoed in my ears and I couldn’t. fucking. breathe. 

I could barely hear Rhysand’s comforting voice in my mind, barely noticed his tug on our mating bond over the sound of my trauma dragging my back in it’s terrifying trenches. Barely even noticed when he gripped me by the forearms and winnowed us to our shared bedroom. 

All I could see was the door and I ran towards it, the knob wouldn’t open and I spiraled even worse. Gods I was stuck again- 

I collapsed to the floor, pressing my back against the wall as I sobbed, my broken breathing the only sound in the room. My mate was kneeling in front of me, his hands hovering above my knees as if he wanted to touch me but wouldn’t as if he knew my overloaded system wouldn’t be able to handle it right now. 

Rhys whispered my name softly, trying to break me out of my hysteria. I was starting to get light headed from the lack of oxygen, black dots dancing in my vision as ragged gasps turned into full on hyperventilating. Rhys said my name again,

I think this time in my mind, pushing gently on my walls without being overbearing and making my flashbacks worse but it didn't break me out of my trance. I couldn’t fucking breathe. I was here, yet not. Voices all overlapping and drowning out everything else. 

Memories were pushing to the forefront of my mind and my entire body was shaking. 

Rhysand had never been more terrified, he hadn’t seen you like this in years and he had already tried all your practiced and safe response’s to these episodes so he could hopefully calm you down but nothing was working. So he grabbed hold of your mind firmly, he would never usually do this but this was an extreme situation, the last card he had to play.

Those dark tendrils wrapped around your traumatic memories and pulled them away, he willed your brain to make your breaths come in even waves instead of vengeful gasps, willed your body to stop shaking and replaced the panic with a feeling of safety. He curled himself around your mind, muting everything except for the familiar comfort of the mating bond, throwing love down it as his glittering magic pulsed around you. “Breathe.” He whispered softly, placing a hand over your heart. “Just breathe I’m here love, you’re ok.”

I did exactly that, deep breath’s in and out as my body finally started to relax with each inhale and exhale. I held him extremely tight and enjoyed the way his scent calmed me down.

There was nothing in this moment except his dark magic that sparkled exactly like the night sky seeping into every corner of the room. his arms wrapped around me, holding me close and just gave me a damned moment of reprieve. 

I don’t know how long I stayed like that in the quiet comfort of my mate. I hadn’t had an episode like this in a hundred years. Rhys was always the one to calm me down, always knowing exactly what I needed to feel safe.  Sometimes I hated touch, sometimes I needed it. Sometimes I needed him close and other times I needed him far, yet he was always there. 

Soon guilt settled in as my mind cleared, pulling away from that primal place of flight or fight.

He was supposed to be in a meeting with some of his high-ranking merchants and this wasn’t the first time he’d dropped everything to help me. I sniffled into his shoulder as my stomach twisted. Gods I was so overdramatic and clingy and-

“Stop it.” Rhys whispered against my skin. A wave of reassurance and love down his side of the bond spread through my chest, making me feel all warm and fuzzy. 

“I’m sorry.” I croaked out, my voice raspy from crying. “That word is banned if you remember.” His voice was light but I still felt the sincerity in his words. “I just, I don’t know what triggered it and..I mean..I-“ 

“Sshh.” My mate murmured. Leaning back slightly so he could look me in the eyes. I gripped on even tighter to his shirt at the almost loss of contact. He took my face in his large hands and titled my head so my gaze met his. 

“You do this little spiral every time after intense PTSD moments, I am not helping you out of obligation, I am helping you because I care about you, because I love you. Because you’re my mate, my wife, you are everything to me and you deserve to feel safe and happy. You deserve the world and being there for you is an honor, it is a gift and it helps me feel secure, knowing that I can care for you, protect you. I love you.” I didn’t miss the way his voice slightly wavered on the word protect.

Even though those males had taken me long before I met him I knew he still wanted to rip them apart all over again. His gaze was so intense and it had a familiar heat trickling down my spine. I could feel the truth in his words, see the conviction in his eyes and I slowly let go of the guilt that had tried to overtake me.

“I love you too.” I sighed. “I just..I hadn’t had an episode in so long, I mean that…event…was fucking forever ago and I -“ My voice cracked slightly and I took a shuddering inhale as the urge to cry hit me again tenfold when I started speaking. “I just thought I was healed, it was over, I’d never have to be so -broken- again.” 

Rhysand tilted my head so our foreheads were touching. “You have healed, you have done so much work and I’m so so proud of you baby, look at where you are now from yesterday. From last week? From two hundred years ago? You can’t put a timeline on healing, there are good days and bad days and it is important you have the support, especially for bad days and I’ll always be here. You’re not broken, you can do this. You’re safe baby. You’ll be ok, it'll never happen again.” 

I started crying again at his words, it soothes something inside of my roughened heart and he wiped my tears away with the pad of his thumbs. “You’re perfect just as you are.” 

I reached up and gently pressed my lips against his and he immediately opened up to me, letting me lead the kiss, feel in control and I sighed happily against him. I needed the soft intimacy. It was a balm to my soul and after a few seconds I laid my head on his shoulder once again. I was too tired for words but I pushed my needs to him down the bond and he responded immediately, lifting me up in his strong arms and tucking me in the bed treating me with such care I thought I was going to cry again. 

He curled himself around me and I laid my head across his muscled chest, listening to his strong heartbeat as those fingers drew comforting circles onto my shoulder. The panic had left my body and although I felt so tired from the whole exchange, my body shutting down as all the adrenline finally left and I could relax. I didn't feel as hollow as I usually did after these moments. 

No, I felt completely loved and cared for. Soon his rhythmic touch had me drifting off to sleep. 

I was loved, I was cherished for, I was safe.

[valacre]

: ̗̀➛ The Heart’s Ballad

Megatron x Reader - transformers prime

Image: Megatron, TFP season 2, episode 24

There is an unbridled anger within him, one that expands and threatens to explode at any minute as he thinks through his situation, his problem. You. You are of humankind, fragile, prone to sickness that could kill you without a moment’s notice. And your very life is so short, capable of ending in a single breath. You could disappear the moment he turned his back. It caused a biting cold to pass through his spark, making him dizzy, making him afraid.

That fear was enraging. He hated it. You were a weakness in him that could be exploited. Just the thought of someone – Starscream – finding out what you meant to him could cause disaster. Too easily someone could take you, threaten to kill you unless he bowed his helm and gave up his power; never.

He could never let that happen.

…

Would he let it happen?

Could he give up all that he’d worked so hard to achieve… for you? The thought was absurd, laughable, and yet… And yet…

He thought you dead. The sight of your broken body; bloodied, crying and moaning in pain; had blinded him. He’d not seen Optimus charging from the side, had not heard Arcee’s blaster charging, had barely felt Ratchet’s blow to the back of his helm. All he’d been able to see, to hear, to feel had been you. And he’d thought you dying before him.

The anguish within his spark had been too great.

And then he’d seen you upon that field, surrounded by colourful flora all around you, a strikingly beautiful sight that had him thinking he’d hallucinated, the remnants of the dark energon within him going to his mind again. He’d scarcely believed it when he held you in his embrace, but your breaths, your beating heart, it’d all been there.

The scars upon your head had been there, too. Living proof of your near death. It’d… it’d made his intake stutter, reminding him of that day, reminding him of your fragility.

Your weak… delicate… little human body.

“Megatron?” Your voice was so gentle and soft, unlike any he’d heard before. Organic. He loathed and loved it all the same, and it was pathetic. He was pathetic for falling so low. For falling so deeply for something like you. He hated it. It made him grit his denta and look at you with rage, with love, with frustration, with affection.

“Megatron?” you called again, your brows furrowed as that familiar fear began to form in your eyes. Your lovely eyes glowed in the sunlight, showing details he’d never noticed before, a mixture of colours so entrancing they enchanted him. And he stared; dumbfounded.

“This will be our last meeting,” said he, speaking without full awareness of himself, too lost in your eyes as emotions began to swim within them. So much expression, so many feelings. It awed him.

You said nothing at first, merely staring in abject horror and grief, but all too quickly it dawned upon you, and you looked at him with understanding. And despite the sorrow which still shone so clearly on your face, you smiled sadly at him, attempting to keep your composure.

He released you from his arms. The loss of you was immediately missed, and his digits twitched to grasp you again, but he held back, refusing to give in. He said nothing, unable to find any words, so he took in the sight of you, filing it to memory.

You would not release your hold on your humanity for the sake of joining him, so, therefore, you would die along with your species once he had required the power to claim Earth for his own. It would be for the best, for you, and him. You would be free of him, and he… He would be free of you.

He turned, readied himself to mass-displace, but stopped at the sound of your voice.

“I can see the reflection of these flowers in your armour,” you said, musing out loud. He could hear the gentle smile in your voice, though he wondered what your eyes looked like. “It’s beautiful.”

He paused, looking down at the flowers. White, yellow, pink, and some blue. Briefly, words began to form in his mind, the makings of a poem, but he blinked, and they vanished along with the sound of you as he mass-displaced, transformed, and flew away, leaving you behind.

You watched him, keeping your gaze upon him until he was but a speck in the distance, and even when you could no longer make out where he’d gone, you remained for a little longer. The wind gently brushed your cheek, and you took a deep breath, casting your eyes down upon the ground.

“I do not hate you. I… I…,” you whisper, the words drowned out by the wind as it takes them and carries them away, leaving you in silence as the evening approaches, the golden light of the sun turning darker as it drifts towards the horizon, making your shadow stretch out before you, casting an image of a future you’d refused to accept.

You fall to your knees, and you weep.

Somewhere else, far away and high above the clouds, a warlord; a tyrant, hits the wall of his habsuite, roaring even as he falls to a knee, a servo upon his face, hiding his expression even as the evidence of his grief trickle and falls between his digits, the distorted light of the sunset splitting his shadow in two, casting an image of a future he’d been denied.

Previous Music: Robin Carolan – Shrine, Destiny

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Does anyone actually say that Ladybug and Adrien are fake somehow?

Yeah, people absolutely have that take. It's what spawned the original post. One too many fics and shipping poles that treated Marinette and Chat Noir as somehow wrong for their crushes. (I apparently read fast. My ML fic's read count is in the thousands at this point. It's enough to let me notice trends that bug me whereas one fic would just be a shrug and move on thing.) On the Adreinette side you get, "Chat Noir is the true Adrien! Civilian Adrien is just a mask! Marinette only loves the fake Adrien so she doesn't deserve him!"

Chat Noir gets less flak, but I've seen it enough to know it's very much a thing. There's a reason Marichat wins out over Ladynoir in almost every poll. If you ever see one, read the comments for the logic and you'll see what I mean. People with this view seem to think things like, "Chat Noir doesn't really love Marinette because Ladybug isn't stuttery and awkward around him! He has to love her when she's a mess!"

This kind of thing is so popular that I had to stop reading fics that paired Marinette with other people because the "Marinette is the true version" thing showed up all the freaking time. So many of these fics felt less like shipping stories and more like Adrien bashing where he was punished for liking Ladybug and not Marinette. It was draining. Even my favorite one has a scene to make sure Adrien feels bad for missing what he could have had and it's a freaking no powers AU!

I actually had a really lovely conversation about this topic when the blog was young because this is one that gets under my skin whenever I come across it and I occasionally need to vent a bit. The kind person who indulged my annoyance straight up said that they used to think that the square "have to fall in love as Marichat bc that's when they can be real with each other." Which was not a stance that was unique to them by any means. They were just validating my first-hand observations of the way SOME people view the ship/characters.

There is a version of the true selves stuff that's genuinely sweet though. It's the version you basically summed up where it's less about these two being the "true" versions and more about Marichat letting the two get to know each other without the pressure of the crushes complicating things. After all, the canon square is only a few hours removed from love at first sight which certainly adds pressure that Marichat removes. The existence of this version that means I don't hate Marichat or even the words "true self", I'm just warry when I see them as I never know what I'm about to see.

While I get why canon's near insta love and subsequent writing issues would draw a person to Marichat, I'll also once again argue that the issue at hand isn't the various ship dynamics, it's canon's writing as the awkward Marichat arc shows. Even though the crushes only flipped after four whole season, canon Marichat doesn't feel any deeper than canon Adrienette or canon Ladynoir. It's played incredibly superficial and doesn't even bother to acknowledge that Chat Noir and Marinette have a functional friendship as established in episodes like Evillustrator, Glaciator, and Glaciator 2. Elation writes Marichat as if they've never interacted before and Chat Noir is just going on a date with a fan he's never officially met. Passion writes Ladynoir as awkwardly as Adrienette always was. Ladybug's months of platonic partnership did nothing to change how she acts when she has a crush or how successful she is at confessing.

In a better show, canon's Marichat arc would be used to set up Adrienette as a more solid couple. Marichat would allow Adrien to see that Marinette loves him even when he's being goofy, but they'd agree to not date because a hero and a civilian dating is too risky. Then Adrienette would happen and, oh look, Adrien can occasionally crack jokes and be silly because he knows Marinette can love him even when he's at his most Chat Noir in addition to being his most Adrien. Marinette is a little surprised, but fine with it. Canon doesn't go there though. As far as the show is concerned, Marichat essentially never happened. It was a one-off fever dream both characters completely forgot. Canon Adrienette has Adrien playing the perfect flawless boyfriend who never annoys Marinette with his jokes.

In summary, that post wasn't about saying that Marichat is bad or unhealthy or that there's no version of the true selves thing that's cute. It was me venting a bit after seeing one too many instances of people acting like Ladrien, Ladynoir, and Adrienette could never be healthy because friends to lovers is some sort of golden standard when it's absolutely not. It's a neutral preference. Each side is fine. What matters is how you write it.

Why the "True Selves" Theory is Insulting

Image for a second that you have a friend who's a bit of a ditz. She's also fun, creative, and sweet. You enjoy being around her, but you've never seen her as more than a friend. Then, one day, a fire breaks out at an event that you and your friend are attending. Your lives are suddenly in mortal peril and the same goes for everyone around you because you can't find the exit. You think that you're going to die.

Then, suddenly, your friend transforms. Not in a magical way, it's just a personality shift, but it might as well be magical because it's like nothing you've ever seen! The ditziness is gone, replaced by laser focus and a take-charge attitude that has everyone following your friend without question. When all is said and done, everyone lives because of you friend. As it turns out, her tendency to get easily distracted means that she's a fantastic in-the-moment problem solver.

Going through that completely changes how you see this girl. You no longer just like her, no, you're now deeply in love with her. You tell a mutual friend about this and they laugh at you, then say, "Don't be silly, that wasn't really her! Her true self isn't that brave girl who saved your life! That was special circumstances that don't count. All that counts is the way she acts when there isn't a crisis going on. It doesn't matter that you've always liked her and enjoyed her company, if you didn't fall in love with based solely on her ditzy self, then you don't really love her."

Most people would call this mutual friend insane because of course going through crazy experiences changes the way we view people! Imagine if you had an allergic reaction and your significant other's reaction was to panic and run away, leaving you to die. You only live because you manage to grab your phone and call '911.' That would understandably lead many people to reassess if this is the person they want to spend their life with just like the opposite experience might make you see a person as a good life partner.

Marinette is Ladybug. She gets full credit for everything she's done in the suit and it's perfectly fine for Adrien to become attracted to her after he sees her in action. It doesn't mean that he only values her Ladybug side. He quite clearly cares for Marinette, he just hasn't seen her in the right light for him to fall in love. (And, if we're being frank, Marinette acts like Ladybug all the time when he's not around or when he is around, but a crisis is going on. She's really not that different from her alter ego.)

Along similar lines, Marinette isn't wrong for being drawn to Adrien's sweeter side more than his over-the-top jokey side. There's a reason why Glaciator ended with her blushing. Compare the end of Glaciator to the end of Origins and, yeah, same energy because - in that moment - Chat Noir was letting his Adrien side out by being more sincere and vulnerable, which are the things that Marinette values most in a romance and the things that he rarely shows while in the mask. It doesn't mean that she hates his jokey side, it's just not going to win her heart when Adrien's right there being sweet and sincere while Chat Noir hides his feelings behind a smile and a laugh.

In fact, it's pretty insulting to Adrien to say that someone shouldn't be attracted to his more vulnerable side. That his sincerity is worth less than his jokes. Almost as insulting as telling Marinette that her Ladybug side doesn't count and she should get no credit for being brave as that's not really her. Loving her only counts if a person falls in love while she's behaving in her most over-the-top, cringe, embarrassing way.

I don't know about you, but I would never want someone to hold me to that standard nor would I hold my significant other to that standard! It's perfectly normal to have things that you don't love about your significant other. In fact, I'd argue that part of the magic of a real, lasting romance is having someone who loves you even though you're not perfect. If you are looking for a partner who never annoys you or does something wrong, then you will never find happiness because that person does not exist.

Now that I've said all of that, I want to add that I do think that marichat, "love both sides" stories can be cute. It's just not One True Path to Real Love. It's totally fine if the square starts dating based on the things that they find attractive about each other and then just continue to be in love as they learn about the other side. If anything, that's normal. Learning about a person is what dating is all about! A good relationship is no different than a good friendship, you just get some bonus perks if you're into that kind of thing.

I'll also note that I'm not criticizing stories where Marinette feels like she's the "real" version and Ladybug is the fake because that's a really understandable thing to be nervous about. Tikki saying that shit? Hard no. Terrible mentoring.

[e-dubbc11]

A Pizza His Heart

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F! Reader

Warnings: Implied smexy time but PG-13 for the most part, smooches, fluffy bunnies and unicorns. Maybe a swear word or two.

Word Count: 2.1K-ish

Summary: You never really understood the hype around Valentine’s Day and maybe you were a bit cynical because you’ve never had a valentine but maybe it will be different this year. ♥️

A/N: I know, I know…the title is wicked cheesy(see what I did there? 🤣) Ok, I’m done with the Dad jokes. I just thought this would be a fun little idea, so happy Valentine’s Day to all my lovely friends out there! I kiss you all on the forehead💋💋♥️♥️ I took elements from one of my favorite episodes, Season 9, episode 12 The Purge(“A fish taco?”).

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

It was coming up on Friday.

The dreaded king of greeting card holidays, in your eyes, was Valentine’s Day and you never could really understand what all the fuss was about. One day a year where you dote on the person you love? What a crock of shit.

Mostly, you were cynical because you had never really had someone to call your Valentine…until now.

But Dean didn’t strike you as the romantic Valentine’s Day type. That wasn’t him. He barely knew what to do in a relationship, let alone plan a romantic night out for a cheeseball holiday like Valentine’s Day. But it was alright and you loved him because he was so non-traditional.

Last year for your birthday, he bought you four new tires for your car and took it to be washed and detailed. He really didn’t know any better despite Sam trying to tell him otherwise but you didn’t have high expectations either. Previous boyfriends couldn’t even remember your birthday, let alone get you something that you needed.

You couldn’t fault Dean for trying when others never bothered.

He would bring you your favorite ice cream or candy bar if he saw them while he was out. He’d come home with those really bad tabloid magazines or newspapers because he knew you loved them (he did too) and you would read through them out loud to each other and laugh together at how ridiculous the stories were.

It wasn’t a normal relationship but it was as normal as it gets for Dean Winchester. He loved you more than anything and that was enough for you.

**********

Monday

Watching him pack his bag for a hunt always made your heart hurt a little. It was mostly because you just wanted him to come home safe but you hated to watch him leave.

“Where ya goin’ this time, baby?” You asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Dean was packing his bag like he would be gone for at least a few days.

The sun had already gone down so warm amber glow from the nightstand lamp was the only light in the bedroom. The sleeves to his flannel shirt were rolled up to his elbows, showing off his strong forearms.

Without even trying, he was incredibly sexy.

Unconsciously, you were biting down on your lower lip as you watched him toss clothes into his bag and place his leather toiletry bag on top.

Moving away from the doorway, you walked over to sit down on the bed while he finished. Dean placed his bag on the floor and looked down at you as your gaze met his and he gave you a smile that would melt your insides. His thumb brushed the soft skin of your cheek as you closed your eyes and melted into his touch.

“Stillwater, Minnesota, sweetheart.” He replied in his deep gravelly voice as he sat down next to you.

As you inched closer to him, you gently placed a hand on his chest, and planted a soft kiss on his lips.

“And what’s in Stillwater, Minnesota, handsome?” You asked, in barely more than a whisper.

“Don’t know yet. Sam said a guy weighing over 300 pounds was found dead in his car but I guess when they found him, it looked like he weighed no more than 100 pounds. Sounded like our thing so we’re gonna go check it out.” Said Dean.

There was a breath of room between your bodies and as he brushed his fingers along your collarbone, it sent wild tremors along your nerves from the top of your head, down to your toes.

You kissed him hard, he growled against your mouth as he parted your lips and his tongue stroked against yours.

“You make me not wanna leave when you kiss me like that. Well, I-I mean I don’t r-really wanna leave anyway. You know what I’m tryin’ to say.” He stammered.

Chuckling, you replied, “I know you don’t, Dean. I just wanted you to remember what you’re missing when you go away.”

“Makes me excited to come home, baby.” He said with a sly smile.

You kissed him again.

“As it should.” You said with a wink. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“Talk to you soon, sweetheart.”

And with a squeak of a car door and a loud growl of the engine, he was gone.

You may end up spending Valentine’s Day alone afterall.

**********

Wednesday

Dean called just like he always did.

“So you’re at a wellness spa?” You asked in a confused tone.

Dean was trying to be as quiet as possible because he was still at the spa.

“Yeah, Canyon Valley Wellness Spa. Sam got a job here as a yoga instructor and the only thing I could get was in the kitchen.” Dean whispered.

“So you’re preparing food.” You said.

Dean quipped, “This is not food, baby.”

You laughed. “Ok, well do you know what you’re dealing with yet?”

“Sam thinks it’s something called a Pishtaco.” Said Dean.

You narrowed your eyes and replied, “A fish taco?”

“That’s what I thought he said! But no, a Pishtaco is native to Peru and they’re fat suckers.” He whispered. “So a place like this is a perfect cover for them.”

“Ew.” You replied.

“So that’s why people are thinner when they leave here and why they have marks on their back. Oh shit, someone’s coming. Gotta go. I love you and I’ll talk to you soon.” Dean said, hurriedly.

He hung up before you could tell him you loved him too but it sounded like they were close to solving the case and hopefully he would be home soon.

**********

Thursday Evening

You didn’t hear from Dean at all today. He tried to call every day that he was away but it didn’t always happen. A quick text was all you would get some days but you didn’t even get that today.

Distracting yourself from the fact that he didn’t call or text was difficult but you managed alright. You went out for “Galentine’sDay” with some of your friends from work. They invited you out for dinner and drinks which was just what you needed. It was the perfect distraction and it was a great night but in the end, you still had to come home to an empty house.

You had hoped to pull up to the house to see Baby parked in the driveway and Dean waiting patiently for you on the couch. But the house was dark and the driveway was empty so you knew he wasn’t home yet.

With the pillow gently cradling your head, you stared up at the ceiling in the gathering darkness and listened to the ceaseless winds outside your windows. It sounded like they were trying their hardest to unearth the trees as you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Your last thoughts before falling asleep were of Dean. The way he looked at you with his sage green eyes like you were the only woman in the world, joking with him about wanting to connect the splash of freckles across his nose, or wondering if he was thinking about you right now the way you were thinking about him.

Wherever he was, you just hoped he was alright.

**********

♥️Valentine’s Day♥️

Dean called that morning, said he was on his way home, and that he couldn’t wait to see you. But he made no mention of Valentine’s Day which wasn’t surprising but it didn’t mean you couldn’t do something nice for him since he had been gone all week.

He didn’t know if he would be home in time for dinner or not so he told you not to cook but he didn’t say anything about dessert.

You were lucky enough to scoop up the last heart shaped pie dish at the store so along with that, you bought everything you needed to bake him a heart shaped cherry pie.

As it sat cooling on the counter, you thought about just having pie for dinner when Dean came home. Knowing he probably already ate on his way home and not wanting to eat alone on Valentine’s Day, you decided to eat a little snack and open a bottle of wine because why not, right?

So you enjoyed your glass of wine, cracked open your book and patiently waited to hear the rumble of Baby’s engine and signature door squeak followed by Dean’s handsome face as he walked through the front door.

He was so happy when he walked through the door and you were very happy to see him, unharmed. A lot of the time he’d walk back through your door with cuts on his face, bruises, and sometimes even gunshot or stab wounds.

“There she is. Hey sweetheart, miss me?” Dean asked with a wide smile.

He was carrying a pizza box along with his travel bag.

“Of course I missed you! Hey baby!” You replied. “Is that an empty pizza box orrrrrr?”

Dean knew you were trying to be funny but he still shot you a “look.”

“Very funny, y/n. No it’s not empty, I thought we could have dinner together.” He said, setting it down on the table. “Do I smell pie?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You replied with a chuckle.

After retrieving a couple of plates from the cupboard and getting Dean a beer from the fridge, he carefully watched your face as you opened the pizza box, revealing a heart shaped pepperoni pizza inside.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.” Said Dean, softly.

“Oh Dean…you brought me a heart shaped pizza? That’s so thoughtful, baby!” You replied, getting ready to snake your arms around his neck before he stopped you.

“Crap, I have something else for you. I left it in the car, hold that thought though.” He said with a wink.

When he came back inside, he was holding a single red rose with baby’s breath, wrapped in plastic. It melted your heart.

Dean handed you the rose and nervously said, “All the flower shops were closed by the time I found one on the way home, I found this at the gas station. I know it’s not much but I hope it’s ok.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, flashed a wide smile at him before pressing your lips to his. Dean kissed you back, hard and pulled you in closer to him in a crushing grip. His spicy familiar smell helped you relax into his embrace as his tongue tangled with yours.

Warmth radiated through his shirt as his body pressed firmly against yours. Dean walked you backwards until he had caged you in against the kitchen counter. A low growl escaped his lips and you could feel his hardening length through his jeans.

“It’s perfect baby, thank you. What’s not to love about a heart shaped pizza and flowers?” You asked, rhetorically.

“It’s just one flower, sweetheart. I had every intention of getting you an actual bouquet of flowers but—“ He said, before you gently pressed your fingers against his lips.

“Shh, shh, Dean. When I tell you that this is perfect, please believe me. It really is.” You said.

He finally took his gaze away from you long enough to see the cherry pie sitting on the counter next to where you were standing.

“You did make a pie.” He said, looking back at you with raised eyebrows. “And it’s heart shaped.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.” You said, as your lips curled into a warm smile.

Dean tilted your chin up so he could kiss up and down your neck, your throat, and the deep V-neck shirt you were wearing allowed him to gently kiss you in between your breasts as a strangled moan broke free from your mouth.

“Thank you for my pie, sweetheart. Now, can I show you how much I’ve missed you?” He asked in a low whisper.

Those words in his deep gravelly voice sent a shiver down your spine. The desire behind his hypnotizing green eyes matched your need for him as you clenched your thighs together in anticipation.

“Couldn’t hurt to work up an appetite. I love you, Dean.” You said softly with a smile.

Dean lifted you off your feet and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you off to the bedroom.

“I love you too.”

Your first Valentine’s Day with Dean would be a hard one to beat but you didn’t doubt he would do his best to try even harder next year.

Tag List: @munsonownsmyass @gijos @stoneyggirl2 @vaguekayla

Others that might enjoy: @k-marzolf @jvanilly @fluffyprettykitty @deans-spinster-witch @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @savorxe

If you would like to be added to(or removed from) my tag list(s) for this smexy Winchester, just let me know!

[0tenshi]

🌻Positive Result ~ The Eulogy of Someone Still Alive (TW: discussions of death, physical and mental illness)

HEY!! It's been a bit since I wrote one of these. I kind of wanted to do one for Neuron Explosion Show, but I feel like I don't have much good to say about it. At any rate, NES is a bit of a successor to Positive Result despite having been released first. I wrote Positive Result first and in a far longer amount of time and put a lot more thought into it, that's for sure.

This song has been a long time coming for me. I'm not super open about my own mental state online as a safety measure since I am still young, but my music has always been a way for me to... unleash what I feel without guilt, if that makes sense. I'm quite a reserved person despite wearing my heart on my sleeve, but the lack of pressure with music really draws me to the craft as a whole. After all, most of my listeners do not know me on a personal level (nor should they). Those who do know me, however, are able to get a better insight on me through listening to what I have to say in a way that doesn't put as much direct burden on them as talking face to face would. Perhaps my mindset isn't the healthiest, I am aware that it's cowardly. But it's one of the only ways I am able to process my own emotions, trauma, and regrets while I navigate my young adulthood as of now.

That being said, I'd like to talk as openly as I can about the meaning of Positive Result here. This song features a feeling that I know all too well: pure, unfiltered panic. Powerlessness. An extreme sense of mortality.

I was officially diagnosed with OCD when I was around thirteen, but my symptoms started at a very young age, manifesting mostly in the form of health anxiety. The first instance of this I can recall was how at six years old I would check my lung capacity over and over again, convinced that my breathing was constrained and there was something wrong with me. Checking myself mentally and physically for symptoms of something arbitrary and untrue was routine for so long, for so many years, that I thought it to be normal until I discovered the nature of OCD. The disorder is ravenous. It's time consuming. At times, it is inescapable. It is scary. It is completely irrational. And it's shaped me and my personality in many ways.

"I can't halt the fear

To appreciate

everything I seem

seem to have today

(Now I am contorting wildly, feelings clashing, overwhelming)

And I can't control

what's controlling me and

living while I'm dying every day

(Understanding math so vague, I graph a picture of a morbid day)"

Positive Result features my struggle with the part of my OCD that makes me fear contracting and dying of a physical illness. A lot of the lyrics allude to cancer specifically, ("Even though I cannot sense it, I can tell that my cells are revolting/Turning paradigms to sickness"). The imagery of physical cells "revolting" is something I wanted to portray sickeningly straightforward. I considered using the word "turning" as well, like rotting, or like a multiplying cancer, but "revolting" felt more akin to the betrayal I feel when my mind tries to convince me that my "paradigms" are turning to sickness. In this case, "paradigms" also refers to cell mitosis and the multiplication of cancer cells. "Felt only by these hands of mine" refers to the sense of feeling something or seeing something, a symptom, an imperfection, anything, that isn't actually there.

My episodes of panic with my OCD have lasted me months at a time before. At times, they leave me feeling that my fear will last an eternity.

"With a fear that lasts an eternity, counting one, two, three, to the metronome of destiny

In love with earthly frequencies, the ripping sound of frantic waves

It's growing, flowers exploding, round and round, they're breathing, eating me alive"

Now, the visceral earthly imagery in the chorus is more evocative than meaningful. The thought of a flower exploding, wrapping around you, breathing and eating you alive is an uncanny enough thought. But it's the way mortality feels to me. It's the way I imagine slowly dying. Even though I have never been close to that state physically (knock on wood) getting a very scary phone call from a doctor some years ago got me well acquainted with the proximity that we as animals have to the dirt beneath us. ("Letting go and letting blood can never be rehearsed/Oh, you know I'm gonna claim that I'm only getting worse!") That last line in the yelling section in particular refers to the endless requests for reassurance about my own potential, unreal conditions and my inability to believe the people that told me I would be okay.

I'm also really proud of the next little section where the lines, "This survival rate, forever it is plummeting/these statistics aren't re-re-reassuring me," pop up. This refers specifically to checking compulsions via looking up symptoms on the internet/checking survival rates for various illnesses (I used to do that a lot.) This section also alludes to the loss of control, which, in reality, might be the scariest part of the fear of illness for me.

Also, notice the repeated rhyming of "me" with itself. ("Can't you answer me/those looking down on me"... "These statistics aren't re-re-reassuring me"..."Heal me"). When you're stuck in your head, it's quite impossible to live outside of yourself.

"'Cause the world never pauses for the cowardly

It pushes past the plagued and pageless poet’s elegies

But after all, the only person that's without disease

is only six feet deep"

This section refers to the world seeming to move on without you when you're trapped in panic, along with a slight reassuring thought that 'everyone goes through some sort of illness.' Also this interpolates Glass Pen hey guys ahahahahha, I also reference Cryin' Cryin' with the background line "Don't try to fight what you can't see," interpolate an unreleased song with [ REDACTED ], and reference Neuron Explosion Show with "I don't think I'm gonna make it out/with an ardent voice I scream it." I may or may not be going through an inspiration phase of someone I look up to who motifs a lot ahahahhahahahahah

"BRACING FOR IMPACT, WHAT’S REAL IS PLAIN TO SEE

'THESE THOUGHTS ARE JUST PROTECTING ME'

THE BIBLIOCLAST

TO MY OWN STORY"

The line "'These thoughts are just protecting me'" being in quotes specifically refers to something I learned in therapy about the nature of OCD brains and anxiety. How your brain is constantly trying to protect you despite there being no immediate threats to speak of, sometimes none at all. Also I'm really proud of the line "The biblioclast to my own story"!!! I'm a sucker for a good big word.

And that's really the core of Positive Result as a song. I hope it resonates with y'all however you decide to interpret it! In the scope of MACHINA MORI (which you should check out RIGHT NOW BTW) I see it as staring your mortal self in the face and being afraid of what you see. There's nothing comforting about being mortal. At the same time, there's everything comforting about being mortal. But, yeah. It's scary, it is. However, for me at least, even as I live side by side with this disorder, I'm a certified Lover Of Life and no amount of fear will ever change that for me. Despite how hopeless my music has been sounding lately, I hope you are aware that I, as a person, am not one to let go of hope.

Be prepared for what I have in store for this year. Big things coming!

~Kain Angel, 2/15/25

Thank you: Mage, Io, Tomi, Olay, absolutely every one of my friends, MM TEAM

[killjoy-prince]

House M.D. but it's when a character says the name of the episode

[the-spooky-children]

I think I might know what'll happen with episode 6

So, I've mentioned this before, but spooky month episodes tend to have 2 plots going on at the same time. Plot A is always what Skid and Pump are doing, and the B plot is usually to do with the other people in town, such as Lila, Kevin or the cops. These two plots always come and merge into one by the end of the episode

For example, in Unwanted Guest, the A plot is Skid and Pump buying a Happy Fella, going to the hospital, meeting the Hatzgang there, etc, whilst the B plot is Dexter being killed by Moloch and him attacking Lila, they merge when Skid and Pump walk into Skid's house and Eyes (through Pump) tells him to snap his own neck

In Deadly Smiles, the A plot is, again, S&P shenanigans, playing the knife game with Dexter and then going to the cinema, noticing the doll is missing, and then going to ask Kevin for help, and the B plot is the Happy Fella attacking the thieves, Frank and Kevin. These merge, again, when Skid and Pump enter Skid's house, and Dexter freaks out over the idea of having to spend forever with the kids

BUT. In Tender Treats, it's all to do with the cops, Jack and John. They even appear before Skid and Pump! They're the first guys we see, talking to Mayor Evermore. Maybe this means they're at almost the same level of importance as S&P in the show (I mean they're very VERY clearly parallels to the spooky kids, visually and personality wise), and they (John specifically) are starting off the cult storyline, which is the #1 most important plot point because it's the reason everything is happening, and will eventually lead to the Skiddad shit

And, who's a very close character to Jack and John that we know for a fact will have a main focus in this episode?

PATTY

I'm pretty sure the A plot will be with whatever Skid and Pump are doing with Father Gregor and then the B plot is with the cops figuring what the fuck happened to Patty, and getting in Gregor to do an exorcism, which is the point where plot A (S&P + Gregor) and plot B (Patty, Moloch, the cops) merge into one at the end of the episode

Now I just need to figure out what Kevin's gonna be doing with the 8 minutes of voiced lines he has

Maybe I'm not done with the Candy Dealer theory yet

[proustianlesbian]

i wanted to post this for rosh hashanah but i forgot and i'm lazy. however, i hope that my favorite fictional "old jewish men" had a nice new year 🍯🍎🍏. (they are all canonically jewish, trust me this is 100% real haha don't look them up to verify, just believe me.)

also i can only remember these ones... are they my six (seven if you count runge/lunge from monster but he's not celebrating rosh hashanah, or anything, so i don't put him on this post) OJMs characters i can think of ? probably not but i've really searched a lot inside my brain and i can't really think of others... maybe i'll do a second post because i know i forgot some..

[linda-rose]

say what you will about svu's season 20 lmao, but them continuing that storyline in "Facing Demons," with an amazing callback to the title of Cassidy's last episode AND doing it so well by not making it Over The Top but still significant was 10/10. Might be my favorite episode of this season so far.

[niuxita21]

[mxdotpng]

the zestiria anime fixes and also messes up many things at the exact same time its actually kind of impressive i have to salute them for it

[mariasont]

My Boss Won't Be Happy About This - A.H

a/n: back to bimbo brain rot!!!! inspired by the first season that one episode (you know the one) where hotch is all macho man with elle in jamaica

masterlist

₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

summary: you’re wrongfully arrested and hotch is not happy about it

warnings: creepy officer, inaccuracies of how law enforcement works, hotch being sexy

wc: 1.3k

"Listen I'm not the type of girl to tell someone how to do their job, but I just don't think you're doing it right."

You were speaking to an empty room, or at least, you were speaking to the mirror in front of you. It's the kind of mirror you had seen in countless interrogation scenes, the kind you usually image Hotch standing behind. You let your gaze linger, wondering if eyes are studying you from the other side, listening to your monologue.

"Well, that, and I also just don't think it's very nice." Your brand spanking new heels were tapping against the dirty floor. 

You weren't happy about that. You weren't happy about any of this. Your feet ache, but the fear of the germs lurking on the floor paralyzes any thoughts of relief by removing your shoes.

"And hey, shouldn't I get a phone call? That's a rule, I think," you mumble, lips turning downward in an unusual frown. It seems like the right time for it. "My boss is not going to take this well. I mean, he's got this look, you know? The kind that makes you want to apologize for things you didn't even do."

You conjured up his daunting expression and released a jittery laugh, all while striving to disregard the biting cold blasting from the AC vent, which seemed determine to freeze you into place. 

You were seriously out of your element, not just in surroundings but in dress--so form-fitting it left very little to the imagination. It seemed to be a good idea for a date. That was before you realized said date would be a complete disaster. Now, it felt like a trap. It had been a spectacle for a man unworthy of the effort, and as you sat in this rigid chair, you found yourself tugging at the hem every other moment, a futile attempt to preserve some semblance of modesty.

"So, when he hears about this little error... Well, let's just say I wouldn't want to be in your shoes." Six hours had passed in this dreary space, and you could feel your sanity fraying at the edges. You muttered, half to yourself, "Not that they're as cute as mine, but you get the point."

The door hinge's creak made you sit bolt upright, a silent supplication for Hotch's rescue echoing through your mind. But today, it seemed, the gods were indifferent. The officer who had arrested you stepped in.

"Having fun talking to yourself?"

You flashed your sweetest smile. "Oh, tons! But I'd have much more fun if you'd uncuff me."

He said nothing, folding his arms over his chest as he dragged his gaze up and down your body in a way that made your skin prickle in discomfort. You attempted to dispel the creeping dread, but it stubbornly lingered.

You did what you could to cover up, despite the awkward angle of your arms. "Listen, this is all just a big mistake. I work for the FBI," you insisted, though it was clear the officer's attention was fixated on your tits rather than your words. "Well, I mean, I'm an assistant for the unit chief of the BAU unit. You've heard of Aaron Hotchner, haven't you?"

The officer's mouth closed without a word, as the door was thrust open yet again, and this time, your heart leapt in recognition. Your knight in shining armor with a lethal expression.

His eyes instantly zeroed in on the officer with a look that could curdle blood, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief that you weren't the object of his anger. He approached you wordlessly, his every motion precise and determined.

He carefully shed his jacket, a gesture he seldom made, and draped it across your shoulders. The fleeting caress of his hand against your skin was enough to make you lean into his touch. You let out a breath that you had been unconsciously holding back. 

You watched as Hotch turned, his voice a low, steady force, his words carefully chosen and tinged with an unsettling peace. "Officer," he began, the title spoken almost as warning. "I believe there has been a grave misunderstanding. This woman is not only an esteemed member of the FBI, but she is also under my direct supervision."

He stepped closer, encroaching on the officer's personal space. You watched, almost in slow motion, as the officer's expression morphed into one of sheer terror, his earlier confidence dissolving like sugar in hot tea.

"Six hours," he continued, his voice never rising yet somehow it took up all the space in the confined room. "Six hours of unwarranted detention, without due process. I expect her immediate release. And make no mistake, this lapse in judgment will have its ramifications."

The officer was mute, his fingers clumsily unlocking the handcuffs, his movements hurried, his hands trembling. A twinge of pity flickered within you, but it was quickly overshadowed by the memory of considering the table as a makeshift blanket.

The moment the metal clicked open; you wasted no time. You flung your arms around Hotch, the pent relief and biting chill of the past few hours pouring out of you. You were desperate for warmth, specifically his warmth.

He stiffened, caught off guard by your actions. You feel the anger radiating through him, practically pulsing through his skin. As you clung to him, you felt the draft on your legs as your dress slid up, and without missing a beat Hotch's hand discreetly adjusted the fabric, all while keeping his eyes locked on the officer, a silent warning in his gaze.

Once he was certain you were decently covered, he allowed himself to draw him into his arms. One arm secured around your waist, the other weaving through your hair. You were cold. It renewed another tide of rage through his bloodstream.

With the officer's departure, the room's oppressive atmosphere lightened a touch, leaving you still latched onto your boss.

"Oh, sir, you wouldn't believe it," you started, his hands tracing up your spine and sparking a trail of goosebumps that had nothing to do with the chill. "They kept asking me about a heist, as if I'd know anything about that! And then they show me this picture, and I mean, sure, she had my hair, but that's about it."

You rambled on, and he let you, the absurdity of the situation pouring out in a stream of consciousness. Hotch's hold on you tightened. You could sense the coiled tension in him, a tempest of anger held a bay.

"And the room, it was so cold! I mean, I'm sure you can tell. My teeth were chattering, and all I could think of was how I'd rather be filing your paperwork or listening to Reid's factoids about the quantum mechanics of coffee beans."

You felt Hotch's breath on your hair as he let out a sigh. 

"I'm just glad you're here now," you whispered, finally allowing yourself to relax in his embrace.

Hotch gave a curt nod, his jaw set. He was itching to confront the officer, to unleash a tirade not meant for your ears. But he was well aware of how much you needed him right now, and that trumped everything in his book.

Hotch took a moment to compose himself before speaking. "This isn't just incompetence; it's negligence. I will have this place reevaluated for its standards, or lack thereof."

You took a step back, hands still resting on his arms, and he maintained his grip on your waist. "I bet this is the last time you'll let me go on a date without a full background check on the guy, huh, sir?"

Hotch's hold on your waist firmed just a fraction. "Maybe it's the last time I let you go on a date, period."

He was only half-joking.

"Not even with you?" You tilted your head to meet his gaze, drawing his jacket closer around you.

Hotch just simply gives you that look, the one that says a thousand words without a sound. He's telling you to tread lightly.

"Alright, I'll be good," you giggle, the tension easing from your shoulders. "Can you take me home now, please?"

He nods, "Yeah, let's get you home."

And then he leads you out, thinking to himself that the next person to take you out will be him, but that's for him to know and you to find out later.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[misswynters]

Broken and whole

pairing | Viktor x gn!reader

no warnings just passionate kissing

a short drabble until we wait for the next three episodes with jesus viktor <3 (he’s always been so fine)

– let me know if you would like to get tagged in arcane fics

[note | pls don’t just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned <3

In the night sky as the moonlight shines through the windows, the lab was filled with the low hum of machinery. It had a faint metallic scent of Viktor’s latest work. You leaned against the wall, watching him from across the room as he worked, utterly engrossed in his latest project. He had changed so much recently, both in body and spirit. The hextech augmentation now coursing through his leg gave him a powerful, refined look, yet you sensed a hidden struggle behind his carefully guarded gaze. You knew how he was. His mind was only half here, the other was lost somewhere between ambition and uncertainty.

He hadn’t noticed your arrival yet, too focused on the delicate mechanisms of the device in front of him. You admired him, his steady hand, his unwavering concentration, the way his golden eyes seemed to burn with a fire that was part passion, part burden. Yet you could see the toll it took, even if he would never admit it.

“Viktor,” you spoke softly, not wanting to startle him.

His head lifted, and his intense gaze softened slightly as he saw you. “Ah,” he said, letting out a breath, “I didn’t realize you were here.” There was a hint of relief in his voice, as if your presence offered him a reprieve from the depths of his mind.

You approached him slowly, your fingers brushing the edge of the table. “I wanted to make sure you were taking care of yourself,” you said, giving him a gentle smile. “It’s been days, Viktor. You need to rest.”

A flicker of defensiveness crossed his face, but it melted quickly, replaced by something almost vulnerable. “Rest,” he echoed, his voice laced with exhaustion. “It feels like a luxury I cannot afford.”

You stepped closer, your heart aching at the sight of him so worn down, so caught between his dreams and the demands of his body. “Even visionaries need a break,” you murmured, reaching up to gently place a hand on his shoulder. He was warmer than you expected, his skin cool to the touch from the metal but still unmistakably him.

Viktor looked down at your hand, as if surprised by the intimacy of the gesture. His gaze softened, and he let out a soft, reluctant sigh. “Perhaps… perhaps you’re right,” he admitted, a slight smile breaking through the intensity of his features. “You always have been, haven’t you?”

There was a warmth in his voice that pulled you closer, and for a moment, you forgot the cold metal and complex machinery that surrounded you. You reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face, feeling the tension ease from his shoulders under your touch.

“Viktor…” you murmured, your voice almost trembling with the unspoken words you had held back for so long. He looked at you, truly looked, his golden eyes reflecting something vulnerable, something raw that he rarely let show. “Yes?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Without thinking, you leaned in, your fingers tracing along his jawline, feeling the softness of his skin against the hardness of his prosthetic. His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he tilted his head toward you, his gaze focused solely on your face, as if you were the only thing grounding him in this moment.

“I worry about you,” you whispered, your voice almost lost in the quiet hum of the lab. “You give so much of yourself, but you leave so little room for…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “For someone to care for you.”

Viktor’s expression softened, his hand lifting slowly to touch yours, his fingers tentative but warm. “I… I hadn’t realized,” he murmured, his gaze dropping for a moment before he met your eyes again. “But with you, it feels… different.”

A moment of silence passed between you, and in that silence, the unspoken words lingered, the weight of everything you had both held back coming to the surface. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Viktor leaned forward, his face mere inches from yours.

“Different how?” you asked, your heart pounding as you felt his breath against your lips.

“Like I could… lose myself in you,” he whispered, a vulnerability in his voice that shook you to your core.

Before you could respond, his lips brushed yours, soft at first, testing, as if he was afraid you might pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned into him, your hands moving to cup his face as he deepened the kiss, his fingers threading through your hair, pulling you closer. There was a hunger in his kiss, a desperation that spoke of the weeks, months, maybe even years he had spent holding back, afraid to want this, to want you.

The passion between you ignited, his lips pressing against yours with a fervor that surprised you both. Viktor’s hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, as if he needed to feel every inch of you, as if he were afraid you might vanish. His breath was ragged, each exhale a confession of how long he had kept himself from this moment.

He pulled back, only slightly, his golden eyes searching yours, his face open in a way you had never seen. “You…” he whispered, as if the words failed him, his hand brushing against your cheek. “You are the one thing that makes me feel whole.”

You could see the storm of emotions in his gaze. Desire and hope. They were all woven together, vulnerable and unguarded. You wrapped your arms around him, letting yourself sink into the feeling of him holding you, his heartbeat quickening against yours.

“You don’t have to carry everything alone, Viktor,” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his, your fingers trailing down his arm, feeling the cool metal beneath your fingertips. “I’m here. Let me carry some of it with you.”

He closed his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath as he held you close, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangled in your hair. “I never thought…” His voice cracked, and he took a moment to steady himself. “I never thought anyone could love someone like me.”

Your heart ached at the words, at the quiet self-doubt that he kept buried so deep. You tilted his chin up, meeting his gaze with all the strength you could muster. “I don’t love you despite anything, Viktor,” you said, your voice steady. “I love you because of who you are, all of you.”

For a moment, he simply looked at you, his eyes wide and vulnerable, and then he kissed you again, harder this time, as if pouring everything he couldn’t say into the kiss. His hand moved to your waist, pulling you even closer, his fingers pressing into you as though you were his anchor, the one steady point in the storm that was his mind.

The two of you stayed like that, tangled together in the quiet of the lab, lost in each other. Viktor’s hand traced gentle patterns along your back, his touch tender, almost reverent, as if he was memorizing every detail of this moment. And in that embrace, in the warmth of his kiss, you felt him let go of the weight he carried, just a little, as he allowed himself to surrender to you, even if only for this fleeting, stolen moment.

banner by. @cafekitsune

[wilwheaton]

In a new interview with the New Yorker ahead of his 70th birthday on Monday, the comedian explained his theory about why there’s no “funny stuff” to watch on TV anymore. “Nothing really affects comedy,” he said, “People always need it. They need it so badly and they don’t get it.” Instead of getting sitcoms like M*A*S*H, The Mary Tyler Moore Show, and All in the Family, audiences miss out, he said, as a “result of the extreme left and P.C. crap, and people worrying so much about offending other people.” [...] A look back at some of his earlier comments on a similar subject adds some context, if not clarity. In 2015, Seinfeld sat down for an episode of The Herd with Colin Cowherd podcast, where he explained his aversion to performing stand-up on college campuses. “I don’t play colleges, but I hear a lot of people tell me, ‘Don't go near colleges. They’re so PC,’” he said on the show. After giving an example of his teenage daughter using the word “sexist,” he concluded that young people “just want to use these words: ‘That’s racist’; 'That’s sexist’; ‘That’s prejudice.’ They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

Jerry Seinfeld Draws Right-Wing Praise for Comments on ‘Extreme Left’

This is such a bummer. Tell me you’re a privileged, entitled, myopic Boomer without telling me you’re a privileged, entitled, myopic Boomer.

It’s interesting to me that he says these legendary sit-coms, none of which were cruel, punching down, or hurtful, but were actually satirizing power, celebrating women, changing societal norms through representation, and using comedy to do it all, wouldn’t exist if “the extreme left” had anything to do with it.

Umm. Who does he think created these shows? And is he really that ignorant? Has this guy never read a single interview with Norman Lear? Or literally anyone in the cast of Mary Tyler Moore? I mean. Come on, man!

Teenagers and college students don’t know what they’re talking about when they tell a privileged, entitled, multimillionaire Boomer that his “jokes” can be hurtful, and maybe he could use his tremendous talent to do comedy that is just as funny without being hurtful. Okay. Got it. Keep saying that, and see how far it gets you, buddy.

Hey, Jerry Seinfeld: when blue checks on Twitter are celebrating you being a dick, it’s not because you’re so funny and such a brilliant comic; it’s because they love how you’re validating what garbage they are. You can’t see that, or don’t care, and that’s such a huge bummer.

[todayisafridaynight]

SO FUNNY I was just about to write in complaining that I got sick a day after you posted your last comic... I caught it... yet I don't have an Arakawa to take care of me... [<- I started writing this when you answered my last ask]

OH BUT NO WORRIES AT ALL I always love reading your responses and these were no exception :) It really means the world to me to have you guys listen! I believe I've [probably] mentioned the headcanon is a bit personal [In Other Words projection galore but. Believable Enough. Please DO dare to think... It'll work out...]; I was more or less expecting to keep it to myself forever because I felt the Venn Diagram of people who would know what I'm talking about and be interested had no overlap. I'm incredibly grateful to be able to have these talks and the assurance that's not the case :) and also I just kinda don't wanna Mansplain Jo To You so I'm glad that doesn't seem to be the case as well

AND I MEAN... LOL... LMAO EVEN...

it would be a pretty fair to pursue that line of thinking given he has both visible symptoms of sleep deprivation and things to lose sleep over... reminded of Debt [TWISTING AND WAILING AND CONVULSING] but also the counterpart to Matrophobia you were thinking about...

I absoluuuutely get what you mean by the mirror thing too I see you in the kitchen I smell what you're cooking... same here... very excited to see what he's like when he doesn't have to be a bullet as well... here are those for the sake of completion [If I May I think perhaps he wouldn't feel the need to change his name, just feel a disconnect if it's his father's family name and/or his given name was chosen by his father. Like an ambivalent Aoki I guess; he knows he'll answer to it so why fix what ain't broke and "inconvenience others"...]

SORRY FOR RAMBLING MYSELF HGLDJLKDJG again No Worries At All since you shouldn't be saying much with your Gameritis anyway... I hope your wrist gets better soon, rest up and take care!

NOT MY SILLY COMIC GIVIN YOU THE FLU (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`) hope youre doin better now gettin sick SUCKS (╯x╰ )

oh but yaya of course : i have a cockroach for a brain so im glad star can supplement a lot more valuable commentary (╯▽╰ ) even if i have bugs for brains im still happy to see what you (and star should they write again) have to say :)