#still don't know if it's better this way or not

[secriden]

Just going to cry again (see: my previous post about the parallels between the storage room scene and the abandoned factory scene) about parallels and juxtapositions in the store room scene vs the one in Styles bedroom:

Both these scenes have such a tone of desperation and are characterised by an overflowing of emotions, but in drastically opposite directions.

(Note, some of what I say in this post directly relates to concepts and themes I talked about here, so it may not wholly make sense without that context.)

The scene in the storeroom is filled with frustrated desire. Fadel kisses Style because he wants Style's body and also wants to take his frustrations at Style out on his body. He doesn't need to look Style in the eye (and in fact very intentionally only does so only in small snatches) because this isn't about a connection as much as it is about a release. Fadel's kisses come fast, hard, and are intended to bruise more than to adore.

But episode 5's scene is filled with much more quiet and tender sort of desire. Style is kissing Fadel so much more slowly and purposefully. He keeps looking back at Fadel, checking in to see how he feels and whether Fadel is enjoying it. Everything Style wanted in Episode 3, he now gives to Fadel here, pours the secrets of his knowing and choosing Fadel anyway into the way he presses his lips onto Fadel's skin. His kisses linger, they carry a weight but are not gentle, and contain meaning that Fadel's kisses couldn't in Episode 3 because in all honesty they were relative strangers back then.

There's also the way there's such a ferocity and carelessness in the way Fadel starts the encounter in episode 3 that is juxtaposed beautifully by the slow, tender, almost hesitant way Style slides his lips onto Fadel's. Both of them are in such different headspaces, between these episodes and its especially evident in the way they care so much more about the other person's comfort and how intentionally they showed that to the audience.

There's hunger present in both scenes but what this hunger is focused on is so drastically different. In the storeroom, they're both mainly focused on a physical release; its primal and visceral but lacked emotional resonance. Fadel gives Style what he knows Style wants (that hint of danger, with the hand on his neck), but its not because he really cares about what Style wants on anything more than a physical level. In Style's bedroom, however, Fadel is drunk (intentionally and by his own design) and desperate to open himself up to Style on an emotional level. Meanwhile, Style wants that desperately too, but knows that Fadel shouldn't because of his own terrible secret. So this kiss is what they both will allow themselves - an honesty and a hunger for this deeper connection they can only share in act but not in words.

In the storeroom, Style wants Fadel to want more than his body but knows (or thinks) he can't push for it yet, so he remains passive, lets Fadel do whatever he wants, lets him turn and shove and place Style how he wants because at this point, this is all Fadel will give him. Here, Style is passive in spite of what he wants. But in the bedroom, Fadel is passive because it's what he wants; he wants to let Style do whatever he desires to and with Fadel's body. He wants to lay himself as bare as he possibly can, which is only physical, and so he does.

And because the encounter in Episode 3 lacked that emotional connection, the focus is merely their respective releases. There's a sense of two people trying to find pleasure and 'finish' while remaining emotionally disconnected despite actively having sex with each other. Because in some ways, they didn't really need each other in that moment to get there (there's actually a lot of truth in what Fadel says about it being easier to just jerk off alone). In sharp contrast, the scene in Episode 5 isn't focused on the destination but on the journey. Style is taking his time and Fadel is letting him - Style is choosing to worship Fadel's body, with his fingers, with his lips, to respond to his vulnerability with gentleness and tenderness and adoration. The goal has stopped being about finding a release, it's about allowing both these men to revel in the giving and receiving of pleasure.

The point of these scenes is to show to us the ways in which Fadel and Style have grown to care for and, dare I say it, love each other in ways that are so purposefully portrayed by showing the nature of their physical connection. Because the ways in which these scenes are the same and yet so wholly different showcases how their touches are now no longer merely tied to their senses any longer, but also to their hearts as well.

[keferon]

Chapter 2 of Blurr storyline >:D

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head is all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Part one

Holy shit I actually managed to finish it…..Oh. My god.

Under the cut⤵️

Is it stupid to miss someone who doesn't even exist?

Probably yes, but hey, Swerve already has several degrees, might as well get another one. A degree in Stupidity or something. Who cares?

For the first few days after waking up from his coma, he feels like he's going crazy. Everybody has realistic dreams, right? The ones where you can scrutinize every angle, memorize every face and smell and sound. The ones that make you lie still for a while after waking up, grasping at every thing you can. Trying to memorize everyone you meet, imprint them in your head.

Because apart from your mind, they don't exist anywhere else. So that's your only way to keep them.

It never works. Obviously. Details slip away. Impressions fade. Just a couple days, and you won't be able to recall anything but the main events from memory.

Wait, hell, not days. Cycles.

His life is a weird, pathetic, fantastical circus. Earth term. Heh. There are no circuses on Cybertron, haha!

But Swerve remembers. And the word circus, and the smell of asphalt, and rains that were made of water not acid. Remembers the English language. Can speak it fluently, even if you wake him up in the middle of the night.

Remembers his work schedule and remembers which company makes the best details. And Tailgate with his bright blue uniform and Wheeljack with his endless experiments and Swindle with his expensive coat and of course...yeah, no, don't think of Blurr, don't think of Blurr, don't. Don't.

He'd heard about it. Read about it, too. Mechs waking up from comas and doing wild things. Some forgot how to speak at all, some gained a new skill, some lived a whole life while they slept.

Articles tell Swerve, don't worry, what you've experienced isn't unique. The doctor tells Swerve that the same thing has happened to others before you, it will be okay, it will pass.

Swerve isn't sure he wants it to pass.

He's been in a coma for who knows how long. The medic said it was caused by an internal trauma that decided to suddenly get worse. One minute he's recharging , the next he's gone. Internal injuries are insidious.

So it turns out. One day he just disappeared from the world because he was busy slowly dying in his room and no one noticed until a thief tried to sneak in. The only one who came to him was a Mech who wanted to steal his stuff. Huh.

That feels revolting. Swerve liked to think he had enough friends. Or at least enough good connections. Enough those who should have noticed his absence, right?

Apparently not. His shifts at work were reassigned, his contacts never texted him first, his...

His small persona wasn't important enough for anyone to notice his disappearance.

Would his human coworkers notice? Would Tailgate have noticed? Or Jazz? Swindle?

Jazz would have noticed, he was always surprisingly attentive when it came to his friends. And he was friends with just about everybody.

Swindle would probably get upset about the money he'd lost.

It's amazing how much his brain-- wait, no, his processor. How much his processor could create to entertain him. It's a more elaborate world than the most complex series Swerve has ever known. And that scrap had forty-six seasons and fifteen encyclopedias!

People, Earth, a bunch of new languages and rules and all for the sake of the end being like, OOPS! ...it was all a dream. Hilarious. Worst plot twist ever. Swerve hates it when stories go in this direction even more than when they kill off their characters.

In his humble opinion, death is better than the revelation that none of the experiences made sense or had any value. In terms of writing scripts obviously. Haha.

He's busy roaming haphazardly through his own memory. He's looking, comparing, trying to find inconsistencies or things that don't make sense. All the stuff that usually gives away the fact that what happened was a dream.

Most of his memories are occupied by--No. Frag.

Don't think about Blurr, don't think about Blurr, don't think..

He's thinking about Blurr. A lot.

Blurr occupies a surprisingly important role in his comatose dreams.

In the time he spent just looking at him, you could hand-build an entire Mech. Maybe even three. Swerve remembers picking up every bit of merch he could reach with his paycheck. Watching hundreds of videos and buying every new themed drink even if it was a flavor he didn't like.

Then spent a surprising amount of time resenting Blurr for not living up to his fantasies.

Blurr's behavior hadn't helped either, of course, but now, looking back at the past himself Swerve thinks that.. Oh wow. You weren't just annoyed at him. You blamed him for ruining your beautiful fantasy. You were having so much fun entertaining yourself with thoughts of this marvelous image, and he came along and corrupted it. Poisoned the well you drank joy from.

But that's not quite true, Swerve thinks.

Blurr was more complicated than that. But exactly how, he'll never know. All he has are his memories, and those memories are cut short at the most interesting point.

Swerve knows this plot twist. The asshole character that no one loves at the last second turns out to not be what everyone thought, but it's too late.

Oh no, he's not an evil jerk, he's actually traumatized. Oh no, he wasn't bad, he was actually secretly helping everyone. You thought he was awful? Well now you're going to feel awful reading fanfics.

Serevus Spayne didn't actually betray the main character's dad, no no, he was in love with him! Bam. Drama.

Swerve isn't a big fan of this stuff. He likes his characters developed properly. But he can't deny the appeal of a character leaving behind a bunch of questions you thought you knew the answer to.

Uggh.

The doctor was wrong. These thoughts don't go away. These memories don't dull.

Swerve just boils in them, constantly getting stuck in his own head. Sometimes he puts English words into his speech and everyone looks at him strangely. Sometimes he reflexively says some inside joke and no one gets it and he's left standing there with an awkward smile. Because. Guys, you don't understand, if my coworkers were here they'd think it's hilarious. I promise, in my fantasy world, it's funny.

When he gets a job on one of the Autobot ships, he accepts it thinking it might be a good distraction from his thoughts.

When he happens to see Prowl with a tiny human on his shoulder in the corridor of that ship, he thinks he's lost his mind.

The whole thing. The whole load-bearing structure on which his picture of the world has been held suddenly gives a lurch. Living your life in a super realistic dream is wild, but meeting a character from your dream in real life??

Freaking cursed.

Jazz looks puzzled by his reaction, but all Swerve can think about are two things.

One, if Jazz is here, does that mean everything else was real, too???

Two - holy shit, Jazz is tiny.

It never occurred to him. But he didn't really know what size humans were. Well, sure, he could measure it in numbers. But he was among humans himself. And about the same size. He was generally even shorter than most of them.

If Jazz is so small, he can't imagine how tiny Tailgate would be. Or--

He can feel his spark freeze. In fact, he can almost hear the sound of a string breaking in his processor. Does that mean Blurr is real too? Real and just as tiny and currently dead? Because Swerve was there but was too convinced it was all just a dream to help?

He's going to get sick.

He needs to talk to Jazz right now.

____________

Swerve taps his fingers nervously on the countertop. Come on. You're good at talking. Talking is your greatest skill. All you have to do is tell someone else about your comatose hallucinations and hope they don't think you're crazy.

They're sitting at a table at the bar. More specifically Swerve and Prowl are sitting at the table, and Jazz is sitting right on the table. (God he's so small).

“So uh. I got injured a while back and...uh...well, it got worse, turned out important systems were affected and I kind of. I was in a coma. For a really long time.”

Jazz frowns

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

He speaks in a mildly wonky Common, Swerve notes to himself. He waves his servo a little too cheerfully in response.

“'Ay it's no big deal really. I saw a whole other world while I was asleep and like. See, I thought it was just my fantasies, but it seemed very real and...”

Swerve mentally crosses his fingers.

“And it was about this planet called Earth and about people who were building their own inanimate huge robots to fight huge aliens and their boss wanted to launch Mechs into space, so he picked the best of the pilots named Jazz and sent him on this test mission and...”

Jazz looks at him with huge eyes before switching to English in surprise.

“Mech, what the hell?”

“...And we lost him...” finishes Swerve with a sad smile.

Before thinking for a bit, and adding.

“I'm going to show you a trick I can do.”

And then projects his holoform onto the table in front of him.

This. It's weird. Not in a way that would tilt it in the direction of unnatural. More like walking around in his comfy indoor pajamas right in the middle of the street. Being human is familiar to him, but being human amongst huge Cybertronians? Strange. And a little creepy.

Prowl looks confused.

Jazz looks absolutely frantic.

“SWERVE????”

Swerve doesn't even manage to respond, only to smile in relief before Jazz rakes him into his arms. In his holoform, Jazz feels right again. He's taller than Swerve and oh boy, he's alive and unharmed. To think everyone thought he was dead, staying up nights trying to find what was left of him, and he was on the other side of the universe the whole time?

Swerve chuckles into Jazz's shoulder. Then picks him up and spins him around a couple times just because he needs something to get his energy out. Man, it's nice to hug people. Warm and soft, eight out of ten.

Jazz pulls away but still stays standing very close. Swerve can literally see the happy stars in his eyes.

“Dude, I'm not complaining but what...how???? You just kinda..."

Swerve laughs and twitches his eyebrows playfully.

“I still speak English, you don't have to torture yourself with Common.”

“Oh thank fuck.” Jazz throws his hands up dramatically “you're my favorite person right now.”

There is a polite click of the vocalizer resetting above their heads.

“I” Prowl says “very glad you two are happy but I'd like some explanation”

Swerve presses his head into his shoulders guiltily. Prowl has the unique ability to always sound like you've done something wrong in front of him.

Although Jazz doesn't seem to feel the same way?

“Short version - I sleepwalked my holoform to another planet.”

He pauses dramatically.

“The long version is...”

Jazz raises his hand

“What's a holoform?”

Swerve sighs.

“It's a holographic avatar that I can project using a holomatter generator. Sort of like a remote controlled game character.”

Jazz whistles impressed. And then immediately turns back to Prowl

“Have you been able to do that all this time too?“

Prowl hums

“I can create an avatar, but it takes a lot of practice to make it at least believable. And to fully perceive the world through it takes even more. It's a whole new technology. What Swerve does is essentially an art form. Sophisticated and impressively detailed may I add.”

Swerve shrugs shyly. He's still using the holoform to stand on the table next to Jazz. Looking up to speak to Prowl isn't exactly comfortable, but Jazz definitely looks like he's been missing the human presence. Swerve isn't human, but he might as well be.

“Thank you. Yes! Uh. Anyway, it seems while I was in a coma my processor projected my avatar onto Earth and I...let's just say I lived there for a while.”

Jazz laughs

“Dude. So you're telling me you were basically sleepwalking the whole time?”

“ I was.”

Prowl frowns.

“But the range limit of the holomatter generator is only four hundred miles...”

“.... I had a lot of practice...”

Jazz claps his hands.

“You learned a whole other language! Got an ID!. You had a job!!!”

“I got carried away,” Swerve admits.

Jazz scratches the back of his head, still looking very amused

“How many degrees did you get? Haha wait no, I have a better question, did you pass your driver's license?”

“Two. And I failed my driver's exam.”

“Dude you are literally a car without a driver's license!” collapses Jazz on the table with laughter.

Swerve blows the hair out of his face

“Says you who retook the physical several times. You couldn't pass the "being human" exam.”

Jazz just wheezes incoherently in response. Prowl looks alarmed.

“Don't worry, that's him getting excited. So...where have I been...”

Swerve nervously shoves his hands into his pockets

“...Do either of you two know where Earth is?”

Prowl twitches his door wings

“No. Since Jazz was teleported we don't have much clues.”

Swerve grimaces. Scrap. Of course nothing's going to be that easy. He's also been, like,....teleported.

He stands there for a couple minutes and just feels fifteen different emotions rise up in his head at once. A crooked, unsteady smile creeps across his face.

He's thinking.

Oh hell, yeah! I knew it wasn't a dream!

Then he remembers the mess he left behind.

Oh, no, it wasn't a dream.

Jazz puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Swer... Swerve? Dude, are you okay?”

“Ah frag..” Swerve says weakly ”it wasn't a dream.”

Jazz looks...puzzled.

“Is that bad?”

Swerve remembers his friends. Remembers the Mecha program. Remembers fire and smoke and screams and rumbling and crackling flames. Ashes flying through the air and the smell of burnt wires. He remembers blood and debris and...

“It's...complicated.”

This wasn't just a stupid plot twist he'd dreamed up because he'd watched too many shows. This wasn't a hallucination or a disembodied fantasy that just happened to linger in his head. This was real. His friends exist out there somewhere. His work and his collections and his little apartment...

And Blurr. Was real. Or still is? Swerve doesn't know. Blurr wasn't a product of his imagination. He was real and what he did was real and Swerve left him there alone, bleeding and trapped in rubble and tiny and...

Hahahahah oh fUCK.

He doesn't like this plot. It's too much. Too much to handle, too complicated, too ambiguous.

It's also probably too late.

But he can't leave it like this, right? Blurr went into the damn burning building just because of the possibility that there might be someone alive in there.

And Swerve doesn't even have to go through the flames. He has to look. He has to try at least.

Jazz glares at him with a worried look on his face

“ That expression you have...”

Swerve puts the smile back on his face.

“I need to get to Earth.”

___________________

Swerve is not an idiot.

Or maybe more accurately an idiot, but with several degrees.

He's well aware that finding Earth in space with only a description of it is impossible. Which leaves him with two options.

Ask the Quintessons. Or look for it himself.

The first sounds like death. The second like coma. Swerve has exquisite enough taste to know which is better.

He just needs to do some preliminary reserch.....

Jazz, now back inside his Mech looks doubtful.

“You're not going to die suddenly and for no reason, are you?”

Swerve laughs.

“Pfffff what, no of course not, would I kill myself hah. No no, look I'll just put myself in stasis for a bit. Send myself to Earth. And try to figure out where it is from there. Get the coordinates. If I'm lucky, I can see what Space Bridge the local Quintessons use. All you'll have to do is wake me up after a while.”

“It's not harmful?”

Swerve makes an uncertain gesture with his hand...servo.

“If I have enough fuel. And an additional connection to an external generator.”

Jazz tilts his head

“ Why are you so eager to get to Earth? Don't get me wrong, I miss it too and want to go back, but.”

Swerve bites his knuckles.

“ I have some unfinished business?”

“Pshhhh you sound like a ghost.”

Swerve only laughs in response.

_______________

Concentration is tricky.

Swerve tries to think about Earth. And not to think about the fact that he doesn't know where it is. If he's already been there once, he might as well go there again yes? In theory? Perhaps?

Except for the possibility that his sleepwalking just takes him to random planets. That would be very inconvenient. It would be a whole new level of lost

Shit. No. Earth. Think Earth.

What's he even gonna do when he gets there? How far away is it? Swerve is very talented with his holomatter generator, but if it's really far away... maybe he should reset some settings.

He mentally starts going through his options. Does he need tangibility? Probably not. Come to think of it, it would only make him more vulnerable and take a lot of energy. Yeah, the tangibility has to go. What else? Touch, too. Sight and hearing should stay, that's not even a question, but colors and textures are not really necessary.

The amount of detail and picture quality can be reduced as well. His holoform will become colorless and grainy and will probably ripple with static, but he'll survive it.

After he finishes making changes to his holoform he thinks about his old stuff left in his house. Then about the posters. Then reminds himself that he needs to focus on the goal or he'll never find Blurr and...oh FUCK his phone! Where was his phone when he disappeared? Was it found?? There were so many personal things on that phone, he's hoping the phone was burned under the rubble. Either that or the arriving investigators will find his browser history and he'll go into another coma from pure embarrassment.

He blinks dazedly when he realizes he has loads of rocks in front of his eyes. Oh..Did he screw up? Did he end up on the wrong planet? Is it a cave or--

Then he notices the odd shape of the “rocks” and. Oh, no. It's not a cave. It's charred concrete debris.

This is the place where he was last.

He hastily looks around. Anxiety creeps up the back of his neck, makes him feel like something slippery and cold is crawling over his skin. There is nothing but ruins all around.

Blurr is not here. The place where his Mech was lying is empty.

Which means he was at least found and dragged out. Dead or alive.

Swerve's bites his knuckles. Okay.

All right.

He's got things to do.

_______________

He's trying to stay out of sight. Which isn't hard, considering he's just a hologram. At first, he just sneaks around in the quiet areas. Then proceeds to do a facepalm and start teleporting. Think, Swerve. Did you read all those comic books for nothing? Superheroes who couldn't really use their superpowers creatively always annoyed him. And he does, in fact, have a superpower. Gotta get creative, right?

He stops and looks at himself again. His holoform is going static and is a dull white color. He thinks for a bit, and then shrinks himself. Thinks some more, and makes himself almost transparent. There's no way he could pass as a normal human right now, so he'd better just do his best to avoid being seen by anyone.

He looks around thoughtfully. Hmm. Even if he's going to be absolutely tiny, he needs to make sure no one sees him, otherwise the whole base will think the Quintessons are now spying on them through holograms or something.

Breaking the rules feels...it's exciting.

All his ..human life here he hadn't thought about it, but if he threw away the rules he was used to about what people could or couldn't do...

He looks up in a sudden rush of sly genius. All people look under their feet when they walk, but how many look up? And how many of them notice the barely visible tiny holoform hiding just behind the blinding lamps?

The answer is probably none.

Swerve projects himself onto the ceiling and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for his impressive intellectual accomplishments. A creativity degree should definitely be a thing.

A degree in spying on the Quintessons' ships wouldn't hurt him either.

Fortunately sneaking onto their ship turns out not to be that difficult. Swerve makes himself absurdly tiny and hides in the darkest corners that no one would ever think to look into. Why hasn't anyone thought of using holoforms for spying before? Could he be the first to think of it? He doesn't know, but he mentally decides to patent the idea.

Finding the Space Bridge is surprisingly easy. The local Quintesson fleet is clearly used to being the dominant force in space. And that's generally logical. Even if humanity collects a mountain of money from somewhere to throw a dozen Mechs into space - there will be thousands of monsters waiting for them. In such a situation, you don't have to hide, the guards are enough.

Well done, well done, don't hide, Swerve thinks, copying the coordinates and address of the space bridge to himself. You have absolutely nothing to fear here, he thinks, so stay where you are and don't move. Please and thank you.

Once the coordinates are obtained, he... has some freedom to explore. And he uses it for probably the most boring-sounding thing in the world. He returns to his usual workplace.

It’s simple. As damning as the Mecha program was, Swerve loved his job in it. He loved his position in the assembly shop. And he missed his friends.

He quickly teleports through several rooms, continuing to hide close to the lamps. Tailgate is here. Alive and unharmed. Wheeljack is too, though his face has some scars added to it. It's great to see them again, even if he can't talk to them right now. No one will probably react well to a grainy unexplainable hologram. He's just glad to know they're okay and honestly, the last thing he needs is paranoid Onslaught installing extra signal jammers.

It takes time to find Blurr. Partly because Swerve is terrified of what he might find if he started looking. So he goes to check the death lists first, and only after flipping through and re-reading them three times does he finally exhale in relief.

Blurr's name isn't there.

So his smug, shiny ass must be around here somewhere.

He checks the hangar. Flips through the Mech launch logs and feels an uncomfortable knot begin to form in his chest. Blurr's Mech has never been repaired or launched even once since the incident. Its plating has been replaced with new, well polished, and put in a prominent place where anyone who wants to can take a picture of it. But all the internal systems are destroyed. This machine hasn't been used for anything other than being a beautiful exhibit.

That's...something's wrong.

He checks offices and schedules as well as eavesdropping on a few conversations and ends up secretly following Swindle, who is arguing loudly with someone on the phone. He says something about deals and how he doesn't need anyone meddling in his business. Then he talks about how he's got everything under control and the person on the phone is “a dumbass who's making drama out of nothing” and that “he doesn't need anyone's handouts". Then he sighs and says, “you know how celebs are. Dumb and dramatic. You can't take their words literally.”

Then drops the call and for a couple seconds looks like he's just had a large bill taken right out of his hand. Curses again, but in a quieter voice. Leafs through his contacts and stops at the one signed 'free ice'.

“Blurr? Where are you? Wha...ah, no wait. No, the advertising agency called. No, liste...Can you shut up for one second?Where are you?

Uh-huh....... Uh-huh.Okay.

Give me half an hour...okay, yeah.”

This is it, Swerve thinks.

He shrinks himself further and teleports under the collar of Swindle's coat.

He wants to take a look. Just. Just a peek. Make sure everything's all right. Then he can go about his original mission in peace. He watches Swindle get in his car and drive off somewhere. Swerve doesn't recognize this part of town. The houses here are much nicer than where he lived. The streets are cleaner.

He tucks himself further under the coat collar. He's not going to be a stalker or anything, but he's worried and he doesn't have time to wait for Blurr himself to show up for work. Just one little look and that's it.

Swindle's car stops outside a beautiful, shiny hospital. Swerve nervously tries to bite his knuckles, but remembers he's disabled touch in his holoform. Shit? Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi

Blurr looks like a mangled corpse.

Okay, not really. His left side that faces the door to the hospital room looks like a mangled corpse and that's the first thing that catches Swerve's eye when he's inside.

Blurr is pale and thin and his hands are covered in bandages. The left side of his face has been turned into an absolute ugly nightmare. A piece of his ear is missing. In the place of the left eye is a creepy empty hole.

Suddenly Swerve realizes why Blurr didn't show up for work. You can't even show him to his coworkers like that, not just to the public.

Blurr turns his head and the spell breaks. His lips stretch into a cocky smile.

“'Got bored without me Swindle?”

Swindle doesn't show the slightest emotion at the gruesome sight. He casually pulls a chair over to the hospital bed and sits down.

“Shockwave is trying to sneak a new project into the program. And he's slowly swaying investors to his side, using you as an excuse. Tells everyone you're a poor martyr he can save if only he's given the green light from above.”

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

“Not that he's wrong. The doctors say I need to pick a new career because with this...” he jerks his head to the left implying his damaged half, ” neither racing nor piloting is an option for me anymore. I'm out of your project.”

Then he stops talking for a few seconds and raises an eyebrow curiously.

“You wouldn't have come here in person just to say that. Why are you really here?”

Swindle adjusts his glasses

“Have I ever told you why I made the contract with you?”

“Because you like money” Blurr says without hesitation.

Swindle lets out a quiet chuckle.

“Fair point. But money wasn't my only priority.”

He pauses for a second. Gets up. Draws the curtains in the room. Checks to make sure no one is outside the door.

Goes back to his seat.

“You didn't see what the Mecha project was like before. Brutality and absolute disregard for human rights multiplied by a thousand. People were desperate and no one cared to maintain any decency.”

He raises his hand when Blurr rushes to say something.

“No no, listen to me. If you think things are bad now, you're right. But it used to be much. Much, much worse.”

Swindle sighs and adjusts his glasses again

“Vortex was taken as a boy. He wasn't even out of high school when they shoved him into the lab. Me and Onslaught were pulled right out of the college exams. The others were no better, although they were usually a little older. My point is that it was allowed. It's what the superiors could do and no one told them no.”

Blurr tilts his head and gets a little all turned around to see Swindle better with his right eye.

“But you... found a way to change that, didn't you?

Swindle rubs the bridge of his nose

“I have no power over my own superiors. But Onslaught and I have come up with a plan. Look. I'll put it in simple terms for you. Above me is my boss, and above him is another boss, and so on but at the very end of that chain are people from the government. The investors. So we figured out a way to cut through the chain of command and influence them directly. Make them worry about us. It's a kind of social shield. Onslaught is a genius.”

Blurr blinks.

“Why are you telling me all this.”

Swindle takes off his hat and just. Crumples it in his hands. The back of his head shows numerous scars and the glint of tiny metal implants barely visible behind his hair.

“You're that shield right now, Blurr. You can't leave.”

Blurr's eye widens

“Is that why you insisted on ‘befriending’ me with all those bullshitters?”

“I needed to make sure that in their minds we weren't just a military unit. To keep them thinking that we're as human as they are. So I gave Project Mecha a face.” He tugs on the hat again, “Your face.”

Blurr runs his fingers through his hair

“Shockwave can't do whatever he wants cause...because of me his efforts would risk going public and people wouldn't like it and it would ruin the reputation of our investors-and-they'd-cut-off-his-funding.”

Swindle puts his hat back on.

“Exactly.’ That's why he's being so persistent right now. He knows you're vulnerable and he wants to capitalize on the opportunity. Make you part of his new project and tell the world about it. Make publicity his weapon, too.”

The lamp above them flickers faintly. Blurr takes a breath. Long and tired and exhausted and. a bit doomed.

Swindle puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Please. Don't leave. At least not now. And don't let Shockwave get to you. That would open the way for him to get to the rest of the pilots you represent.”

They just. Sit in silence for a while. Blurr quickly taps a finger on his knee. A rapid tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Swindle moves his hand away and gets up from his chair.

“There's a press conference coming up. I need you to be there. I've told everyone who needs to know that the problem is exaggerated and you're fine but they need to see you.”

Blurr smiles sourly.

“My lawyer is going to charge you such a handsome sum for that stunt.”

Swindle laughs, but his cardboard advertising smile doesn't reach his eyes.

“We’ll see about that. Seriously though. I need you there.”

Blurr bites his lip.

“I..don’t know...”

Swerve...doesn't know what to think of that.

Blurr shows up for the press conference. Late, but he makes it. Just as Shockwave is presenting his new project in his amazingly well-pitched voice. Blurr swings the door open and waltzes lazily inside, skillfully pretending not to notice the many cameras and eyes instantly directed at him.

Swerve, whose memory is still fresh thinks for a second that no, no this can't be the same person. Past Blurr looked like a wreck. Past Blurr was tense and tired and hunched over. Present Blurr couldn't look more alive. His shoulders are squared proudly, there's that cheerful springiness and grace in his stride. He moves with ease and confidence. Smoothly.

The left side of his face is neatly covered with fresh white bandages. Carefully, without leaving the even the slightest gap through which his injury could be seen. His hands are hidden under a fancy jacket. He smiles wide and bright and squints playfully toward the table.

The very embodiment of nonchalance. The few pilots sitting in the audience roll their eyes.

Swindle breathes out a barely perceptible sigh of relief. Swerve, once again using Swindle's collar as a tactical cover, can't help but let out a silent triumphant laugh. Maybe slightly more nervous than he is supposed to be.

Blurr sends Swindle a sly, sharp smile and even knowing it wasn't meant for him, Swerve feels his cheeks heat up.

Ah, damn it.

Swerve breaks the rules. He tells himself that peeking is fraught with consequences when it comes to military organizations, but he can't stop himself from being curious. And from worry, too.

And now that he knows where to look, he sees things he'd rather not see.

Blurr ... is crumbling.

Swerve doesn't know all the details and consequences, but that incident did leave a mark.

But every time Swindle calls him and says “I need you at some place in two hours” he gets up and assembles himself into a human being. Like a goddamn puzzle. Tapes and covers the burned half of his face. Covers up the bruises and hides the stitches. Fixes his hair and sets off on shaky legs to pretend he's fine.

He smiles so bright and carefree, laughs so sweet and beautiful that no one would ever think that even standing up sometimes hurts.

And continues to act like a jerk of course.

The only difference is that this time Swerve mentally gives him the presumption of innocence before he starts judging.

Blurr does a lot of things that seem rude. He also does a lot of things that are actually rude and figuring them out without resorting to alien superpowers would be nearly impossible.

When the pilots see Blurr sitting right on the table while negotiating with investors, they roll their eyes and make comments about his terrible manners. Or when he stops showing up for even the most basic, rudimentary training.

Or when he develops that stupid habit of leaning his elbows on people standing next to him.

It's the model behavior of a rich, spoiled brat.

It's also an inconspicuous way to stay upright.

Employees say “that dumbass has never heard of personal space.”

Investors say, “I think he likes me.”

Blurr leans on Swindle's shoulder and through a charming smile says “Don't move or I'm gonna fall.”

Swindle also keeping up the smile discreetly holds him back, pretending it's a friendly half hug.

Swerve feels like yelling at both of them, but he's not sure what for exactly. For one thing, Blurr in his condition is very VERY VERY contraindicated to even get out of bed, let alone participate in social activities.

On the other hand, without Blurr, everything is going down the pit.

Without Blurr, all the government sees are dry reports and spreadsheets. Without him, all the high command has is numbers and a sense of impunity. Swerve is sickened by how easily people tend to forget that numbers represent other people.

Most pilots are able to draw a parallel between deteriorating working conditions and Blurr's sudden fondness for staying home instead of working. But they think the rich jerk got scared and ran away. Considering the way Blurr has always behaved at work - Swerve can't even judge them too much for it. They assume Shockwave getting more freedom is the cause of Blurr's absence, not the result.

Blurr's influence only becomes noticeable when it slowly starts to fade away. It's like switching from expensive tea to a cheaper one. The awful flavor only becomes noticeable in contrast.

Blurr doesn't lead the development of new technologies or go out to fight in the field. He doesn't make plans and reports, he doesn't participate in drills, he doesn't cover anyone's back in battle.

But he's the one who puts his hand on the government's shoulders when they're about to sign the next piece of paper. He's the one they have to look in the eye before they have a pen in their hands and a document authorizing Shockwave to stick more needles in people's brains.

It makes a difference. Small one. But still.

It turns a disembodied imaginary “combat units” into a tangible person.

From “do you want to accelerate the combat training of new soldiers” to “are you willing to tell the living, breathing guy standing in front of you that shoving poison under his skin is an idea you approve of.”

More importantly (And Swerve actually admires Swindle for this) Will you be able to explain anything to your families later on, when this same guy is on TV all over the country saying that's what you did to him?

There have been two fronts here all this time, Swerve realizes.

While the pilots were protecting people from monsters wearing teeth and armor, Blurr was protecting the pilots themselves from monsters wearing ties and lab coats.

After another conference, Shockwave stops Blurr in the hallway.

“Good show.”

Blurr laughs. Soundly and proudly.

“Thanks darling~ Sorry I interrupted you. Your speech sounded like something important, but I don't really know much about nerd stuff.”

Swerve, hiding on the ceiling again, snorts.

Shockwave doesn't move. Doesn't give any indication at all if he's offended or upset or whatever.

“It must have been hard getting here with your injuries.”

Blurr shrugs and lazily turns his head around distracted.

“It's just a few bruises here and there. Not the end of the world.”

Shockwave nods slowly. His voice and posture and all, Swerve thinks, looking very uncomfortable.

“Of course it isn't. But hardly good for your career.”

Blurr freezes.

No, Swerve thinks. Shit. No, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't

“Your brilliant achievements have always been a source of admiration to me” continues Shockwave “it would be a pity to lose them.”

Blurr makes an indifferent face and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“Like I said. Not the end of the world.”

Swerve imagines choking Shockwave. Dropping a lamp on his head. Maybe jumping on top of him himself. Shut up, he thinks. Shut up, shut up, stop fucking talking.

Shockwave with a nice, slow gesture pulls out a notebook from somewhere and flips a couple pages.

“Multiple burns, cracked ribs, poisoning from carbon monoxide and combustion products of toxic chemicals...”

Blurr visibly shivers and looks away.

“...loss of vision on one side...” Shockwave continues reading, ”and partial hearing loss. Finally, the impact of neural link malfunctions. And this, if I'm not mistaken, is on top of the already existing memory problems?”

Shockwave takes a step closer. Not fast enough to make it look threatening, but enough to hover.

“It may not be the end of the world, but it is the end of you.”

He writes a set of numbers on the same page, tears it off, and hands it to Blurr.

“You are broken. I can fix you.”

Blurr frowns, but takes the piece of paper.

“That fixing would involve giving you consent to mess around with my head, wouldn't it? It's brave of you to think I'd go for that.”

Shockwave tucks the notepad into his pocket.

“I can assure you, neither I nor anyone else is interested in your brain. I just want to give you back what you're truly valued for.”

Blurr flinches.

“I don't need your help.”

“ If you say so,” Shockwave agrees easily. Nods, slowly and smoothly. Then starts to walk away “But you do need your fame.”

...

“By the way, you might want to wipe the blood off.”

Blurr waits until Shockwave's back disappears around the corner, then quickly pulls a tissue from his pocket and brings it up to his nose.

____________________________

Swerve wakes up looking up at the ceiling of his room. The high, metal ceiling, of a metal room on a metal spaceship.

Holy shit...

Jazz pokes him gently on the forearm

“Are you alive? You've been gone for like quite a while...Did it work?”

“Hey Jazz” frowns Swerve “what do you know about Blurr?”

Jazz laughs

“What are you fanboying over him again? Still??? Dude's smug and arrogant. Good boss though. I was hired to perform at his parties before I became a pilot.”

Swerve sits up and rubs the back of his head.

“Ah...”

“So it worked?”

“Wha...ah! Yes! Yes, it worked! I managed to get the number and codes from the space bridge the Quints used on you. We just need to find another space bridge and we'll have a pretty much direct route to Earth...well. Or rather, to the Quint ship that's located near Earth. You get the idea.”

Jazz rubs his hands together happily.

“I'll take it.”

Swerve jumps to the floor and heads to grab an energon cube. Man, these holoform exercises are burning energy like crazy.

He stares at his metal hands like an idiot for a couple minutes. Just...Contemplates how non-human they are.

He has eight fingers again instead of the human ten. Huh.

Prowl downloads the information he's gotten and immediately runs off to plan a route to the nearest working space bridge and for a while Swerve is just.

Left to himself.

He tries not to think about Blurr. What would he even say to him? Hey, look, I'm sorry I accidentally set you up, see, I'm actually an alien who was sleepwalking and thought you were fictional, surely this won't affect our non-existent strictly professional working relationship? Nah, screw that. If he's going to sound crazy, he needs to at least come up with a good presentation for his insanity.

....

Is it weird to think humans are beautiful if you're not human? If you're kind of human, but only in your soul and only half human?

He looks at Jazz and Prowl.

“You two get along really well.”

Jazz chuckles, sitting on Prowl's shoulder.

“Right now, yes. But we got on each other's nerves quite a bit when we first met.”

Swerve looks up at Jazz's chattering legs from his height and thinks. This is working somehow.

On the other hand, Jazz is the exception rather than the rule. He's friendly with everyone, he's easy to get along with, he's the soul of any company and most importantly, he was a little too much into robots before he discovered they could be alive. If anyone could find common ground with the Cybertronians, it would definitely be Jazz.

_____________________

”Are you a ghost?”

Swerve shrieks in fear and gets covered in static. He hadn't planned on talking. He hadn't planned on being noticed at all. Blurr was supposed to be asleep! And Swerve just wanted to close the curtains and leave, because there's some noisy party going on outside and bright illuminations are very bad for a patient already suffering from neural connection withdrawal.

He freezes in place like that dude from Jurassic Park. Like if he's still enough, he won't be noticed. Oh, or was that from another movie?

“I'm just uh” he awkwardly reaches up and closes the curtains “Lights. Bad for...you...now.”

Blurr chuckles. It sounds suspiciously joyful. His whole posture and facial expression. He looks very relaxed for someone who had a ghost materialize into the room out of thin air.

Swerve traces the line of the IV with his gaze. Oops, that looks like painkillers.

“Yes I am. Uh. A ghost watching the curtains. And now the curtains are fine, so I guess I'd better go?”

Blurr squints amusedly.

“You can walk through walls?”

“Uh, I can teleport into the next room?”

He backs up his words by making himself disappear and reappear in another corner of the room.

“Cool!” says Blurr cheerfully.

Swerve is involuntarily infected by his mood and makes a couple dramatic bows as if he were some kind of magician.

“ Show me more?”

“Hehehe okay eh” Swerve spreads his arms like he's presenting something and then makes himself the size of a soda bottle and teleports to the edge of Blurr's bed “Ta daaaa~”

“Wooooo look at you, you're like an action figure~”

Blurr immediately makes an attempt to touch him, but fails to reach and drops his hand back on the blanket.

Swerve chuckles and steps closer. It's funny to see the usually incredibly agile Blurr struggling with something so simple and ridiculous.

“They really drugged you huh?”

“It's not the drugs” snorts Blurr ”...it's my eye.”

He raises his hand once more and hesitantly pulls it towards Swerve until it bumps into his hair

“... depths Per…percen.. ah, shit. I can't tell how far away things are.”

Swerve just. Lets Blurr fidget at himself, while starting to feel really bad at the same time.

"If you can't tell how far things are, how are you going to drive?

Race???”

He must have a plan right? Something? Let’s-prove-Shockwave-wrong tactic???

Blurr drops his hands back on the blanket

“I won't.”

He freezes when the all too close fireworks rumble outside the window. Then points to his head.

“With this. I can't drive, I can barely walk at all, and I look like horror movie material. Pathetic heeh.”

Swerve sits down quietly cross-legged on the blanket.

“Well...at least you're alive....”

Blurr shakes his head.

“If I had died, it would have been epic. You know? Dharm...dramatic! It would be big news and everyone would be talking about what a hero I was or...or something...”

“...”

“Swindle would be so angry, but he'd figure out a way to make money out of it. He'd make a commercial about how people should be heroes. I'd be remn..remembered for being cool and brave and stuff.”

Fireworks can be heard from the street again. Swerve notices that there is a thin slit between the closed curtains through which a slim, flickering strip of multicolored light streams into the room.

Blurr frowns and leans back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling.

“I've turned into a boring wreck. My records will be beaten, my career forgotten , and all the guys from work will remember me as a brat. In a--in a--in a way, it's worse than death. Shockwave's right.”

Swerve isn't sure what exactly would be an acceptable gesture of comfort, so he kind of just. Places his hand on the blanket covering Blurr's lap.

“Hey, don't say that. I think what you're doing is great.”

“Liar” smiles Blurr crookedly ”You hated me. I saw your posters collection.”

Oh shit. The ones he ripped off the walls and destroyed in a fit of fan frustration? He didn't even hide them, just shoved them in the back corner. Aw, man...

Swerve folds his arms awkwardly across his chest.

“I can be mad at you and think you're cool at the same time. I'm a multitasker.”

“You're a very specific kind of ghost.” says Blurr. Then, apparently inspired by the painkillers, decides to drop the conversational equivalent of an atomic bomb on Swerve's head “You died because of me?”

Swerve stiffens.

“I...Wwhat?”

“You know.” he makes a gesture with his hand that's ..unclear what it's supposed to mean. “You were working there with everyone else, and then there was that fire and I was sure I saw you down there under the rubble.”

He's silent for a couple seconds before he hesitantly continues

“And then no one could find you so most assumed you either burned or ran away. And now you're here with all your weird ghost stuff, so you must be dead.”

Swerve has.No idea what to think about it. And what to say? He's been so busy blaming himself for Blurr getting hurt that it hasn't occurred to him to think about what it looks like from Blurr's own perspective.

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head’s all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Swerve wants to run around and bang his head against the wall.

Instead, he gets up from the hospital bed. Carefully.

“You're high. I'm not going to explain things to you while you're high, you won't understand or remember them. Go back to sleep. It's the middle of the night.”

“You'll tell me later?”

Swerve hums quietly and pulls the curtains all the way closed.

“If future, sober Blurr would want my company.”

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

Jazz looks at him. Very intensely.

“Are you going to tell me who this mystery person you keep coming back to Earth for?”

Swerve snorts.

“What makes you think it's anyone in particular?”

“You're right, you're right~” raises his hands in surrender Jazz “So are you going to tell your friend the whole thing?”

Swerve crosses his ..metal arms over his metal chest.

“Is it that big of a deal? He thinks I'm a ghost or something.”

Being a ghost...somehow better, he thinks. If you're a ghost, it kind of automatically implies you're human. Or was a human.

“Sooner or later, he'll put the facts together~” says Jazz in a chant.

Swerve laughs.

“That's unlikely. He's got a pretty bad memory.”

_______________

His plans to stay out of anyone's sight combust with a dramatic pop the next time he projects himself to Earth. He doesn't plan to interfere, he doesn't even plan to linger. He just wants to see what's going on.

He actually just quietly sneaks into the hospital to make sure nothing's happened to Blurr since last time, but when he finally finds him then...oh shit, is that Pharma in the same room with him??? This can't be good.

They don't speak, but Pharma has clearly locked his eyes on Blurr and starts making his way towards him with the relentlessness of a industrial metal press.

Swerve does some rough math in his head. If he briefly gives his holoform back its detail and voice, will that be enough to fry his processor? He's not sure.

Pharma gives a believable impression of a shark getting close. The staff, as if sensing something untoward is about to happen, leaves the room in a hurry.

Blurr looks indifferent, but Swerve's attention is drawn to the way he squints tensely. Man, the lamps are too bright in here.

Pharma smiles sweetly and reaches out for a handshake

“Mind some company?”

Swerve's mental processes fly out the window. Oh no no. Not Pharma. Not in his fucking fanfic. He quickly changes his work clothes into a slightly more business-like looking shirt. Thinks for just a moment and adds a cap to his head to blend in more strongly with the attendants and hide his face to an extent. And then projects himself around the nearest unoccupied corner and runs out of behind it looking as anxious as he feels.

“Blurr!!! Sir, there you are!!! I've been looking everywhere for you!”

Pharma wants to say something, but Swerve doesn't even let him start. He stands in front of Blurr separating him and Farma expressively waves his hands trying to keep his head down.

“The guys you were talking about didn't bring the new hydraulics! It's a disaster, we'll have to use the one on the old models!”

Blurr, to his surprise, backs up his act almost instantly

“Really? But I thought there was nothing to take from the old models?”

“That's exactly the point! I got the paperwork this morning and...oh those assholes are going to screw it up if you don't step in as soon as possible!”

Pharma tilts his head

“Can it wait? We were actually talking here!”

Oh no, thinks Swerve I'll show you who's talking.

“Sir, no offense but this is a matter of extreme urgency. Are you implying that the safety of your patients is not important?”

“What do you mea...”

“Old faulty hydraulics, that's what you want?” raises an eyebrow in horror Blurr.

“No I'm just...”

“I had a better opinion of you, to be honest.”

“I...” opens his mouth Pharma “...WHAT...?”

Swerve shakes his head.

“And I thought his profession was to help people, can you imagine?”

“Wh..”

Blurr rolls his eye.

“Any idiot can get an important position these days.”

“Wait..”

“Tell me about it. Especially doctors.”

Pharma looks like he's about to start pulling the hair out of his head.

“Can at least one of you shut up??”

Swerve adjusts his cap in a businesslike manner

“Sir, I understand you're a bit detached from reality spending so much time in your department, but you need to take better care of your reputation.”

He raises his eyebrows knowingly

“Wouldn't want the rumors about you to turn out to be true. You know what I mean?”

Pharma doesn't even answer anymore. Pharma just looks like a discarded fish.

“…..Wha....there's rumors?”

“Of course” shrugs Swerve ”Ask Norman, he usually knows everything about everyone. And about your interesting tricks with safety, too.”

He leans in conspiratorially, effectively pulling all of Farma's attention to himself

“So if I were you, I'd stay out of any more things you don't understand.”

Pharma wants to say something. Swerve can tell by the look in his eyes. Pharma tries to come up with a witty and context-appropriate response, but this whole conversation has no more context than a typical episode of Teletubbies.

“Where does this Norman guy work?” finally finds the ground beneath his feet Pharma

Swerve shrugs.

“Block C, if he hasn't been transferred yet. He's already been fined several times for spreading harmful information you know? The guy can't keep a secret.”

Pharma throws his hands up angrily and storms away. Probably looking for context. Or revenge.

A quiet cough sounds behind Swerve's back.

“So. Should I be worried about Norman's health?”

Swerve feels the hair on the back of his neck shiver and slowly turns to face Blurr while still looking somewhere on the floor.

“Uh...only if you're concerned about the fate of fictional characters. I made up Norman's wife, she'll be upset if he gets fired for gossiping.”

Blurr chuckles. Then goes silent. Then, after a couple seconds, starts laughing again. That's a good look for him, Swerve thinks. It's not like Blurr's usual velvet-smooth laugh that he uses at social events. It's more like a quick, jerky giggle, and in Swerve's subjective opinion, it's pretty damn cute. He can't help but grin.

Blurr snorts one last time, cutting off the laughter.

Then he reaches out his hand to him.

Swerve reaches back, expecting a handshake, but Blurr ignores his hand and instead goes for his cap and lifts it by the brim.

Swerve, not expecting this, freezes with his hand outstretched.

Blurr freezes as well, still holding the cap in his hand and looking...like he's rethinking his life. A little.

Ugh, and how to explain it all to him....

“Uh...you...uh...probably don't remember me. I...it's...”

Blurr shifts his gaze from Swerve to the cap in his hand. Then back to Swerve.

“You're real???”

Swerve awkwardly waves his hands in front of him

“Ah not.., not really. Do you know why Pharma was looking for you in the first place? He doesn't work with patients anymore, he's been reassigned to the research department, right?”

Blurr shrugs.

“Last time I saw him, he said I might have implant rejection in the third ..uh..what? stage? or something? I think he's trying to get me in for a checkup.”

Swerve twitches.

“Third??? How are you still standing???”

He then quickly reaches up with both hands to Blurr's head and tilts it so he can see his face better. Using one thumb, he pulls his lower eyelid slightly and mentally catalogs. Temperature normal, pupil normal, eyes are steady, no darkening or trace of blood on the eyelid. Implants? He puts both palms up and gently feels the places behind Blurr's ears. No signs of rejection or malfunction.

“No no no” sighs Swerve ”You're fine, it's only stage two. I mean, second sucks too, migraines and all, but you just need to rest and no bright lights and...” he finally notices his hands are still on Blurr's head and pulls them back as fast as if he's been burned ”I MEAN I'm uh...sorry, I didn't mean to, I...”

Blurr laughs quietly.

“I'm glad you're back.”

_____________________

He wakes up in his quarters and can feel his face burning.

When he goes out to get the energon, Jazz throws him a look.

“Is something wrong? You're all kinda...shaky.”

“Hhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuu” imitates signs of life Swerve “Say, doesn't it bother you that Prowl isn't human?”

Jazz smiles

“ Oh, I went crazy when I found out. But we figured it out.”

“Like...on a scale from ‘bad grade in school’ to ‘an asteroid is coming to Earth’ how crazy was it?”

“Worried about what your human friends will think?”

Swerve swings back and forth on his heels

“Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff. Whatnooooo, no of course not. I'd be worried if I planned on telling them at all.”

Jazz frowns

“No offense, but keeping secrets isn't your strong suit.”

“Haha” Swerve waves his servo “ Watch me.”

[heavyhitterheaux]

Love Bites (NSFW)

See Me Through You Blurb

Synopsis: You bite your husband out of affection that leads to something else

Pairing: Husband!Joe Burrow x Wife!Reader

Requested by a gorgeous anon 😍

Series Masterlist

Do not engage if you are underage

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

“Did… baby…. Did you just bite me?” Joe asked as he glanced over at you noticing that you had now moved your position and was laying your head on his shoulder.

After you had bitten it of course.

“No.”

“Then what did I just feel on my shoulder? You know… the one that you're laying on?”

“I don't know. Beats me.” You replied as Joe was still eyeing you.

“I don't believe you.” He told you as he turned back to the movie that was playing on the television.

“Okay? And what am I supposed to do with that information?” You asked him as you picked your head up to slowly bite down once more. This time on his upper arm.

“BABY!”

“I can't help it! You look so biteable today! Well everyday but I have to stop myself because I would literally bite you for hours. I watched your presser and went FERAL.”

“You literally go feral from the moment you open your eyes. And is that why you sent me a text calling me a whore?”

“Says the person who got me pregnant. And yes those are MY ARMS not anyone else's!” You told him as you softly bit down again except this time leaving a kiss on the same spot in your path.

Joe didn't say anything in response except slip his tank top over his head and throw it across the room as he eyed you.

“Get over here and sit on my lap.”

“Oh?”

“Are you going to continue to stare at me or do what I told you?” Joe asked as you felt a light smack to your ass since your body was already slightly turned towards him.

He didn't even bother waiting for you to move before he literally pulled you onto his lap.

Several kisses were placed on your lips as he reached underneath the t-shirt that you were wearing and started to play with the waistband of your thong.

To give him easier access, the t-shirt was pulled over your head and added to the pile that Joe had originally started. Seeing you weren't wearing a bra, Joe smirked and began to place kisses on both of them, but before he did, little bites were placed on your sensitive skin first.

The wetness between your thighs began to increase and you knew on days like this that you needed for your husband to give you his undivided attention.

Joe's mouth found its way back to yours as your thong was pulled to the side and his fingers started to lightly graze across your folds making you moan as one of his fingers was placed inside.

He wasted no time in breaking the kiss and telling you to stand up so that he could get rid of the rest of his clothes along with the last piece of clothing that was covering you.

As he put you back in your original spot on his lap, your arms wrapped around his neck as you slowly eased your way down making a moan escape from both of your mouths.

When you got into a comfortable pace and began to ride him, Joe took this opportunity to leave small bites accompanied with kisses all across your body where he could reach.

“Mmm, baby.” You breathed out as you threw your head back in pleasure and Joe held onto your hips tighter.

He then placed one of your nipples in his mouth and bit down lightly before he began to suck on it making the moans escaping from your lips grow louder.

“Shiiiit.”

“You better ride me and act like you want it. How bad do you want to cum, baby?” Joe whispered in your ear and your only response was riding him faster.

“That's what I fucking thought.” He told you as you felt another light smack to your ass.

Joe could tell you were tiring out and decided to help you from underneath. After a while his movements became sloppy and both of you hit your peak at the same time.

Your arms were still wrapped around Joe's neck as you were trying to catch your breath and moved to rest your head on his shoulder.

As he was rubbing small circles along your back, you lifted your head to kiss him, but as you did, you also bit down at the same time and could feel Joe smirk as you continued to kiss him.

“If this is the result of me biting you, I need to do it more often.”

“Be careful what you wish for, baby. Now lay down because I'm nowhere near done with you.”

[fledgedragonfox]

Secondary Colors & Tertiary Souls

Two lovers have reincarnated throughout history, destined to find each other and fall in love all over again. There’s also this third guy that reincarnates alongside them… we don’t really know what he does.

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

I've honestly lost track of how many times I've been here. Watching from the outside as they found each other again. Sometimes they remember, sometimes they don't. But they always find each other. And sometimes they find me. But never in a way that matters. I came close once. Violet came back as a beautiful young woman and I happened to be a strapping young man from a noble family.

This was way back when dragons were still trouncing around the countryside. I was her betrothed, and I was so happy. But then she found Forest, as one of the most gorgeous dragons I'd ever seen. To be fair every other gorgeous dragon was either Violet or Forest in another life, but still. He was breathtaking. He stole her away, and they lived happily ever after. 

I don't like to think about how bad things were after they left. I'd like to think that if I came that close to them again I'd handle things better. No elderberry wine and cliff edges for me, thank you very much.

But, well…

It's hard to keep going like this.

There’s a legend about us you know? Two souls, born into the world over and over again. They always find each other. And every time, their love burns through the barriers of forgotten times, and they embrace. Every time, they come back and without fail, a third appears. No one quite knows why, but the third soul is always present. Either in passing, or as a foe, or even a friend. Some say that when the three meet, you can sense it happen. But always it is the lovers, and their shadow. 

They were an orcish warrior and an adorable scholar. I was a merchant passing through their village.

They were a pair of rebellious halflings. I was an elf who barely had a chance to speak to them before the war.

They were a lake spirit and a knight. While I was an ogre he'd been tricked into slaying.

They were a priest and a fair maiden. I was a dangerous lich, despite only using my powers to heal.

They were a bookseller and a musclehead. I was just a regular at the coffee shop they frequented. That time we became pretty good friends. 

They were starcrossed lovers, an astronaut and an alien. And I worked on mission control millions of miles away.

I get to see them come together again and again and again. But I never get a chance. Sometimes we see each other in the interim. The place between life and death. Sometimes they remember me from the previous life, those are the best moments of my existence. We talk, reminisce, apologize, and promise to remember next time. But they rarely ever do. And even if they do, they almost never remember me.

Right now, I'm a bartender. Serving drinks to assholes all night long. Night after night. Last time the higher ups apologized again for the trouble with my memories. They promised that this time things would be different. This time, when I die again, I won't have to come back. My paradise has been waiting for almost a thousand years, and will still be there when I'm ready. I might be ready to just rest, and let them keep up this asinine cycle they have going. 

That’s when I see them. Violet is a tall man wearing a black turtleneck. He looks so kind, like he always does. Forest is a large man, with a thick beard and a wide smile. They are perfect. Just like always. Even when Violet’s sword was cutting through me, or when Forest was soaring away with Violet in his claws. They were smiling at each other, their hands clasped in each others’ as they danced to the pulsing music. They had matching rings on, married once again. 

They glance in my direction and slow in their dance. I fumble, dropping the tumbler in my hands all over the bar. Sticky booze and ice scatter across the surface and soak my apron. I swear quietly, trying desperately to mop up the mess before it could drip onto any customers. I may be set in the afterlife, but here I need this damned job. I jump when paper towels gently move my frantic hands out of the way. My breath catches in my throat. 

They were here. Frantically setting up a paper towel barricade with the help of the security nearby. My hands are shaking. I’m smaller in this life. Lanky, and awkward, and too many stuttered out excuses. I hadn’t really been taking care of myself this time around, if I’m being honest. Forest takes my hands, trying to stop their shaking. My eyes snap to his and I feel it. Oh this one was going to hurt. These ones always did. He remembered me, or at least something about me. I was a homeless man last time. I lashed out in frustration when I saw them walking down the street. They later visited me sometimes after I apologized. They brought me sandwiches sometimes. Then the cycle started again.

“It’s you.” He said. His voice isn’t angry or sad. It’s a soft voice full of awe. I will fully admit that I am beyond confused. We must have been standing here a while because Violet finishes cleaning and looks at us. I expect him to lash out or question his husband, whatever his name is this time. But he doesn’t. He looks at me, and starts to tear up. He remembers too. This is going to really suck. Last time I was so tired and sick. This time I’m a pathetic lanky loser. It’s been a few minutes, both of their hands are clasping mine. I can’t look at them. I keep my gaze to the floor. This will be the last time. I promise myself that, at the end of this one I am staying in the after. 

“Pumpkin.” The name, the name I’ve only ever used sparingly in the after. They said my name. I can feel myself crying as I look at them. Their gazes are full of sorrow, regret, awe, and something that they had only ever had for each other. Forest guides me around the bar, the pair nearly jumping over the counter. The other patrons and bartenders give us strange, knowing, looks. Then they hug me. Well, envelope me more like. They are both bigger than me. They wrap themselves around my soggy boozy body. 

“We’re so so sorry.” Violet mutters into my hair. Forest it patting my front down with paper towels, muttering apologies and explanations that I barely hear. It takes me a few minutes to catch up. But I can still feel it. I feel a shift in myself. Like something slotting into place. 

“You remember…” My voice is a whisper, and I begin to sob when they nod and pull me in between them. They remember. Maybe they’ll want to stay with me in paradise. Maybe this life won’t be quite so bad. They’re running through names I’ve had in the past, some that even I barely recall. When they kiss me, one after the other, it feels like all of the pain is being seared away. 

I’m not a shadow anymore.

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OK! I'm probably gonna make more of these at some point but here we go! A writing prompt for chrimmas!

If you're interested, I have a patreon and unfortunately a gofundme available if you want to support me.

All of the details for the gofundme can be found on the gofundme page, I promise.

Pareon: https://patreon.com/A_M_W_Harris?utm_medium=unknown&utm_source=join_link&utm_campaign=creatorshare_creator&utm_content=copyLink Gofundme: https://gofund.me/d271f0c4

Two lovers have reincarnated throughout history, destined to find each other and fall in love all over again. There’s also this third guy that reincarnates alongside them… we don’t really know what he does.

[unknownati]

xi. slow morning

a/n: from my draftz if theres typos dont tell me im blind and proud... as a side note i feel like i write intimacy better than anything else AM I TWEAKING.

warnings/tags: gn!reader, no use of y/n, no desc of reader's physical features, fluff and smut, short, handjob (e! recieving—very ekko focused), intimacy (both nonsexual and sexual), cuddling, morning sex, modern!ekko, slight sub!ekko, hoping this position is understandable lol, no morning breath mentions y'all arent in each others face, half-proofread...meaning i gave up halfway thru. goodnight! 🙋🏾‍♀️

_______________________________________________

warm slivers of sunlight seep through cracks in the curtains, spilling on your face as your eyes fluttered open, making a slow ascent into consciousness.

you're met with a phone screen, a pair of hands framing the device. ekko's. a thumb swipes along the screen, transitioning into the next video. two cats cuddling. you watch him hover over the send button, tap it, choose your profile, and type the message 'us :)' before sending it to you. your phone buzzes faintly on the nightstand, though you don't reach for it.

gentle breaths seep into your ears from behind you, relaxed and steady. a shift in movement, warmth enveloping your figure—his arms, which you reach up to stroke. his hold is protective and grounded.

he was long awake before you, you can tell from the way his voice sounds, smooth and airy.

"morning, angel."

it's a stark contrast from when he first wakes up. he sounds more gruff. more miserable. much like how you sound now.

you groan, soft. you stretch to rub the sleep out of your eyes. "g'morning."

you don't feel miserable, though. far from it. waking up in his arms is the only way you've ever liked waking up.

neither of you will be getting up any time soon. not with the way your legs are tangled together, the way he presses a tender kiss against the shell of your ear as a secondary greeting, it's all too...weighted. too comfortable to just brush past. it's the weekend, anyway.

you turn, neck slightly craned, forehead pressing into his clavicle. his scent clings to him, as intoxicating and heavenly as ever. the faint traces of last night's shower linger. you know he used your body wash—he always did. shea butter lied above a layer of his basic lotion (eucerin, you put him on since he has drier skin), completed with that divine cologne he uses. forest-y, notes of pine and bergamot.

your fingertips drag along the bare skin of his side, and he twitches away from your touch. a breathy laugh exits him.

"that tickles."

you stop, moving down to his core. "sorry," you murmur. it's half-sincere.

your digits dance across the surface of his stomach, quite literally. you create legs with your pointer and middle finger, making your little hand-person do twirls and jumps. his laughs bubbles again.

"that tickles worse," his chin meets the crown of your head when he looks down, unable to catch your expression. a hand meets your nape, mimicking your movements.

it's featherlight and playful, as if bugs are scuttling along your skin. you laugh the same as he does, shoulders shrugging up in discomfort.

"okay, okay! i'm sorry."

his hand settles at the bottom of your back, right where your spine curves inward. it's relaxed at first, but then it presses. pulls you closer. as if there's even any more space to close.

your legs wrap around his waist, the leg which you lay on pushing beneath his hip to raise it. it's only uncomfortable for a second, then it's like you're slowly melting into each other's forms. bare chest to bare chest, chins resting on the other's shoulder, hearts swelling at the same speed. you know your leg will fall asleep soon, but you don't care.

yet, he's not paying enough attention to you. not as much as you'd like. sure, his hand is stroking your back. sure, he still seems like he's trying to find ways to pull you closer. but his focus strays. it's all on his phone, undeserving.

his eyes stay glued to the screen, darting around. some video about owls. his hand was beginning to falter, his affection slowing.

greedy. you need more. you know how to get it.

you shift away and your hand meets his side again. he flinches, assuming you're continuing with your ticklish movements. he settles once realizing you won't. then it trails, a slow drag down towards the front of his boxers—a light blue pair with snoopy and woodstock printed in an even pattern. you bought them for him a while back, and he was never one to complain. plus, they were comfy.

only when your fingers breach the elastic band did he notice what you were doing. he doesn't stop you.

he wasn't soft for very long after you reveal his length. feeling it grow stiff in your hands made your heart rate pick up.

"i've barely even touched you yet," you murmur, turning to litter his neck with open-mouthed kisses. he groans in response.

his tip prods at your naval once his dick is standing at full attention. an airy chuckle flows from you into his ears. your fist closes just below the head, thumb reaching to rub along the sensitive underside. each vein, each ridge that you trace over elicits a whine—ones that are close to melodic, satisfying hums to your ears.

your hand moves agonizingly slow, long strokes that leave his mind going fuzzy. it's not long until his tip starts crying, which you happily collect as lubricant. his brows knit together, delicate gasps overlapping the video in the background.

ekko's face nuzzles into the junction connecting your neck and shoulder, plump lips pressing into the end of your collarbone. his moans muffle against your skin.

"hidin'?" you ask, your free hand reaching to run through his locs. he nods, slowly thrusting his hips up into your fist, meeting your movements halfway.

a small noise clicks behind you, and whatever video he was watching stopped. then a thud against the mattress. he dropped his phone. another arm clamps around you, and you know you've got him good.

finally, the attention is on you. his grasp on your body is tight, the sweet desperate nothings he whispers into your ears as he curses and begs you not to stop are angelic.

"fuck...don't stop. please, you make me feel s-so good. god, baby—"

you loosely echo his words back to him, voice sultry and raspy. "yeah?" you purr. "feels good?"

your wrist flicks faster, too quick for his lazy hips to keep up with. he loses rhythm, his pants stutter. he murmurs something, too shyly for you to hear, yet you can only assume he's coming undone. your theory is quickly confirmed, his movements slowing to a stop as he releases all over your hand and tummy, fingertips pressing into your back.

if only you could hear his pretty cries better. against your skin, they're low and subdued, but you can hear the incantations of your name paired with his voice breaking off at the peak of his climax.

neither of you realized how tense his body had become until he relaxes against you, hand still weakly skimming along your lower back.

still, your bodies were heavy. neither of you wanted to move. but the cum dripping off you was starting to feel weird, and you want it off.

you barely even get to think about moving before his arms squeeze tighter around you. "ekko, i wanna go wipe this off."

"not yet," he whispers shakily. "just...a few more minutes. can't be done with you yet."

you've definitely won his attention. for a few hours.

[my-castles-crumbling]

teatime - December 22nd - Black brothers, mentions of jegulus - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 417

Regulus had always had trouble using his voice.

Perhaps it was because Sirius was always louder. He practically insisted on being heard, so Regulus just...allowed it. Why bother, really? Plus, if Sirius wanted to be the one always getting into trouble, who was Regulus to stop him?

Or...perhaps it was because he had more of a sense of self-preservation. He knew, mostly from watching Sirius, what the consequences were for speaking up. He'd have to be stupid to say something. It was smart, to keep quiet, right?

But as he grew older and stopped listening to his parents' skewed view of things, he realized that Sirius's wasn't loud just to be loud. Sirius was loud because he chose to be. Both because he couldn't stand the oppressive environment of their family home and because he was protecting Regulus.

And still, Regulus stayed quiet. And he hated himself for it. It made him feel sick, knowing he was turning a blind eye to the way his parents acted. Knowing that he acted like he supported it, sometimes.

Until one day, he'd had enough.

They were at teatime, and as usual, Sirius was being berated for being a disappointment. But beratement was turning to yelling and anger, and wands were being drawn. And usually, at this point, Regulus would have excused himself. But he thought of who he wanted to be. Both for Sirius, and for another boy, far away, sharing a much more pleasant meal with his own family.

"...a plague on this family!" Orion was screaming, want pointed at Sirius's heart as the sixteen-year-old laughed quietly. "We ought to make you feel the pain you've caused us!"

"Go ahead, Father! Won't change who I am! Or do you think you can curse the good out of me?" Sirius retorted snidely, eyes wild.

But as Orion raised his wand and opened his mouth, Regulus blurted out, "I'm dating James Potter!"

And suddenly, things were so quiet, you could have heard a pin drop.

Walburga spoke first, slowly turning to her younger son. "Regulus, don't joke about such things," she said dismissively.

"I'm not joking," he said, his entire body shaking. He caught Sirius's eye, and the other boy sent him a shocked-but-proud expression. He tilted his head up defiantly and said, "Will you curse me too, then, Mother?"

And, an hour later, as he and Sirius showed up at the door of the Potter Manor with a small bag, disowned and parent-less, he'd never felt better about himself.

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 10k tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation a/n: merry early christmas guys to those who celebrate 🥹 series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

Christmas is coming up soon. In about two-ish weeks, give or take. In this case, you’re giving. It’s December 14th, and the days are passing by too fast for your liking. You wish you had more time—to do a lot of things, actually. Luckily, with your rent being paid along with next month’s, that’s given you at least some sort of freedom. 

You can thank your ex for that. 

So, you’ve been saving for Koji, spending less on yourself. Not like you did much of that in the first place, but still. Again, guilt riddles your insides, insecurities plaguing your mind. Koji has never been a spoiled kid, having grown up quite frugally because of his equally frugal mother. Your tree, something you bargained for at the nearby spot in town that sells trees for the holiday season, is bottom of the barrel. Of course it is, you bargained for it. Sparse areas, branches way too thin and tiny, the height of the entire thing is just about as tall as you are. You keep your box of Christmas decorations so you never have to buy new ones each year. The lights you use are a warm yellow, with a few little bulbs dark because they burnt out. It wraps around your tree in a very messy way—Koji’s doing. A floppy white star placed at the very top of your tree, just barely holding on. 

Little pieces of decorations hang from the frail branches: some snowflakes, red and blue balls (Koji said they looked like Spider-Man), and your most favorite one of them all that sits at the top: a picture of you and Koji from a photo booth two years ago. He was only three and you could still carry him then. Chubby cheekbones on display, a wide smile to match. You two are wearing Santa hats, head tilting into his with an equally ecstatic smile. You can’t look too long at it before you start getting emotional. 

So mom of you. 

Anywho, your point is that while the setup may look dull and even unattractive to most, you still find warmth in it. So does your little boy too. Although he doesn’t exactly know better, considering all you’ve ever had was skinny trees and years-old decorations, he doesn’t complain. 

Of course, he does ask you sometimes about why the trees in the movies look different or why his friends have entirely decorated houses and you two don’t. You bottle it up to a simple, “Well, we’re not like other people, baby.”

He understands—most of the time. 

Even so, he doesn’t show disrespect. As long as he spends time with you, getting even just three gifts, it’s all enough for him. So you feel guilty for not giving him the full Christmas experience a child should get, you feel insecure that other people are having the holiday season so much better than you are, and if you could, you’d do anything to ensure Koji has a real Christmas one time. At least once. It’s the least you can do as his mother, and it’s the least he deserves. 

Because the holidays are meant for happiness, cheeriness, and family time. All things that feel very forced for you right now. 

“It’s good to see you again, Y/N.”

Your lips purse, hoping it resembles a smile. But Shoko always reads you easily, dissecting your emotions. “You too, how have you been?”

“As good as I can. Late nights, exhausted, seeing someone’s leg split in half. You know, the usual.”

A small chuckle falls from you, nodding in silence. “I’m glad you were able to do what you want. ER work, right?”

“Yep,” Shoko hums, leaning back against the bench, coffee in hand. “Though I did have a friend who helped me get through it all so quickly.”

“Really? Who?”

“Cheating.” She smirks behind the rim of her cup. 

Your eyes roll, sighing as you mimic her posture. It feels odd seeing her again for the first time after so many years. You gathered the courage to text her number, feeling distraught and overwhelmed last night. Right after you sent the text asking her to meet up the next morning, you slightly regretted it. Does she think I’m weird? What if she says no? God, what is wrong with me?

Your doubts were proved wrong when she replied with a simple “See you”. Simplicity was always Shoko’s thing. Something that you almost envied from the woman. You wish you had composure like her. Of course, her life isn’t exactly simple considering she’s dealing with people with broken anything and blood all the time, but you can tell she thoroughly enjoys it. She finds pleasure in her job. 

Again, this is something you’re also slightly envious of. 

“So….” She finally says after a beat of silence, turning her head over at you. “I want to ask the obvious, but I think I’ll wait. I want to see how you’re doing first.”

You worry your lip between your teeth, peering down at your fiddling fingers. The words are a little hard to get out, and a little embarrassing too. You don’t really want to vent to her after years of no contact, but it’s hard not to. At this point, you’re like a broken dam. Spilling and spilling by the minute until you completely break down. “Things could be better. I just have a lot on my mind and what I’m dealing with.”

She nods in understanding. “Like the articles and stuff?”

You sigh heavily in exhaustion, raising two fingers to rub the space between your brows. “Yeah, that’s one of them. You seen ‘em?”

“Many people have.”

Of course. “I just don’t get it. Why is it such a big deal he has a son no one knew about? Are these kinds of ‘issues’ really that important to rich people like him? Like, c’mon. It’s not like he killed a man. He has a son but everyone’s treating and acting like this is horrendous and astounding news that we should be fearful of.”

Shoko tilts her head, her gaze steady but not intrusive. “Rich people thrive on spectacle, you know that. Every little thing becomes a headline, especially when someone like Gojo, Japan’s sexiest man alive of 2024, is involved. He’s a household name, Y/N.”

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. You forgot the fact that he’s been given that title. The article popped up on your Google just yesterday, giving in and tapping on it. The first picture that greets you is a very intimate, black-and-white picture of Satoru shirtless, with unbelted pants. He wasn’t looking at the camera in that one, but the way his arms were raised, accentuating his biceps made you feel a tiny throb. The first of many from that photoshoot the article included. “But why does it have to be this? Why is it such a scandal that he has a kid? Like, what are they even expecting from us? An apology? A press conference where we swear to never let it happen again?”

Shoko’s smirk is faint but wry. “You think logic applies here? The higher the pedestal, the harsher the fall. Gojo’s not just rich—he’s Gojo. Untouchable, perfect, untamed. Add a secret kid to the mix, and it’s like handing tabloids their golden ticket.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “It’s so stupid. They’re acting like we’re some corrupt dynasty with skeletons bursting out of the closet. It’s not even a big deal!”

Shoko takes a sip of her drink, watching you with a calmness that somehow makes you feel seen. “It’s not a big deal to us, no. But to them? It’s betrayal, gossip, leverage—anything but what it really is. Just life.”

Her words settle in your chest, a grounding sort of clarity that you hadn’t realized you needed. You couldn’t—probably ever—understand the thought process of the elites of Japan. You’re a bit glad that you won’t. But in this situation, you just wish they would think like normal fucking people for one second. That’s hard to do when you grow up with a silver spoon in your mouth and everything at your fingertips. You peer over at her, your lips pressing together as you process everything. “I just…I don’t want Koji dragged into this. He doesn’t deserve it. That’s one of the main reasons why I kept everything a secret in the first place. But now look at us, everything has just changed so…so fast. I’m not ready for it, neither is my son.”

She lets the quiet air linger for a moment, your venting finding placement. “No, he doesn’t deserve it,” Shoko agrees. Her tone is firm, an anchor in the storm of your thoughts. “And neither do you. But the way I see it, you’ve got two choices: let them dictate how this plays out, or take control of the narrative yourself.” Her words linger, the weight of them grounding and unsettling all at once. Taking control of the narrative sounds easy in theory, but the reality feels like standing at the edge of a cliff, the wind threatening to knock you over.

“Easier said than done,” you mutter.

Shoko shrugs, but there’s an edge of reassurance in her expression. “True, but you’ve already been through worse. You’ve got more strength in you than you give yourself credit for. And if anyone can handle this mess, it’s you.”

Her confidence in you feels foreign but comforting. You nod slowly, gripping onto her words like a lifeline. “Thanks, Shoko.”

“Anytime.” She raises her cup slightly in a mock toast, her smile small but sincere. A beat flows through, a comfortable silence. The two of you watch the snow cover the ground with its beauty, the sun barely peeking through the cloudy, muted sky. You can’t help but draw the parallel. The sun, peeking, but hidden behind the heavy clouds, yet still present—trying, despite the odds. That’s you, isn’t it? Not gone, not entirely defeated, but dulled. Struggling to shine through the weight of everything pressing down on you.

Shoko breaks the silence with a soft chuckle. “It’s pretty, isn’t it? Quiet, too. Almost makes you forget the world’s still a mess.”

You nod, your gaze following the gentle swirl of snowflakes. “Yeah… It’s like everything’s paused for a moment. Peaceful.”

“Peaceful,” she echoes, leaning back in her seat. “Funny how something so fleeting can feel so permanent in the moment.” Her expression stirs something inside you—a quiet ache you’ve been trying to suppress. You glance at her, lips parting, but the words get stuck in your throat. She doesn’t push, doesn’t probe. Shoko’s always been good at giving space without making it feel like a void. Instead, she takes a long sip of her drink and says, “You know, snow’s a great equalizer. Covers up the mess, and makes everything look the same. Like the world gets a second chance. It’s the start of something new.”

Those words make you immediately remember Satoru’s. Snow’s the start of something new. That should be a good thing, right? You should be glad. However, how many more changes have to happen until something good comes your way? There’s only so much one can go through in such a short amount of time.  But as Shoko said, you have more strength than you think. You’ve been through worse. And while that may be true, at this fleeting moment, that couldn’t be any further from the truth. It’s easy for her to say since she’s not actually living your life. 

You haven’t exactly talked talked to Satoru yet about all this, about what he’ll say, what his parents will do. But they probably have good lawyers, right? Maybe they’ll put out a statement that any further harassment will be met with legal action. Or he’ll take pride in his son and show no regrets. You really don’t know. Your optimistic side wishes that Satoru will deal with this smoothly and how you want him to. But your pessimistic side says this will continue on until who knows how long. People randomly coming up to you, making remarks on social media, finding your job, finding your own social media accounts that you’ve had to take down.

Seriously, why the fuck do they care so much? Even after Shoko’s explanation, it’s still not enough for you. At the end of the day, we’re all human, we all do human things. Jesus Christ, you could never last a day in Satoru’s position. On constant public display and scrutiny, it’s exhausting and infuriating. 

Satoru’s taken Koji off your hands for the while. It’s around four in the evening now. Although you were hesitant at first, he assured you he would do his absolute best to make sure nothing wrong happens and that he stays safe. And besides, it’s nice to have the place to yourself for a few hours. It’s confusing, because while at times you feel so defeatedly lonely, other times you welcome it with open arms. 

But every parent probably feels like that, right? Praising the day they get even two hours to themselves, not worrying about making sure your child isn’t choking. 

Anywho, you’ve taken the liberty to take a nice and warm refreshing bath. The heat does wonders to your skin, sighing wistfully and eyes closing in relaxation. The warmth envelops you like a comforting embrace, melting away the tension you didn’t realize had settled in your shoulders. It’s rare, these moments of solitude—where the only sound is the faint ripple of water as you shift slightly in the tub. You sink deeper, letting the heat seep into your muscles, as if the bath could wash away not just the stress of parenting but the heaviness of everything else weighing on you.

You tilt your head back against the rim of the tub, exhaling a deep sigh. It’s strange how quiet the apartment feels without Koji’s laughter or even Satoru’s voice filling the space. Strange, but not unwelcome. For once, there’s no background noise, no constant buzz of responsibility. Just you and the stillness. You almost wish you can share this stillness with someone else, but throw that thought out your mind fast. 

Your fingers trail through the water absentmindedly, thoughts wandering. You wonder what Satoru and Koji are up to—probably indulging in some sugary snack you’d never approve of at this hour of the day because Koji’s sugar rushes just last so long. The image makes you smile faintly. Despite everything, Satoru’s been trying. And even if you don’t say it aloud, you notice. He’s been so good with him, the two are incredibly close and it’s like the past five years of absence never existed. You always knew Satoru was that type of man. He got along with kids well, children almost seemed to magically gravitate towards him. It’s…very attractive. 

Once the bathwater starts to cool, you decide to reluctantly push yourself upright. Wrapping a towel around yourself. You pad into the bedroom, the cold air nipping at your damp skin. With Koji gone until probably around eight or nine, the silence settles over you once again. You glance at the clock on the nightstand—still hours to go before they return. You grab a soft blanket and curl up on the couch, flipping through channels aimlessly. Nothing really holds your attention, but it feels nice just to sit, undisturbed. As you take a sip of tea, you can’t help but think: Maybe you should let yourself enjoy these moments more.

It’s hard, but you should probably make more of an effort to take care of yourself. If you’re out of it, you’ll be unfit to care for Koji. And that’s your biggest nightmare ever. You blankly watch whatever show is playing after turning the TV on, but your mind seems much more louder than the voices from the characters on screen. You wish you could just shut off the constant worry, stressing, and overthinking about pretty much everything in your life. 

Before you know it, your feet are guiding you back up, leading you down the hallway and to your room. The closet is to your left, a single door with a small lightbulb overhead that weakly shines its light and illuminates the inside. Your clothes hung up, shoes on the floor. Some of Koji’s old toys lay next to your shoes, having meant to donate them but never getting around to it. You go down to your knees, moving further inside the small closet. Having to push a few jackets to the side for better visibility, moving your shoes out the way. Stuffed in the very corner of your closet lies a worn black box. When you pull it out from its hiding spot, the lightbulb makes visible faint letters that are threatening to peel away. 

Cheap markers. 

There’s little dribbles of flowers and smiley faces along the sides, a stick figure image of a boy and girl. The boy’s eyes are drawn with the brightest blue marker you both found out the time. It’s a little shitty representation, but the boy’s line for an arm is connected to the girl’s arm; holding hands.  

OUR WORLD

Something you both agreed was cheesy, though you thought of it. He wrote it. You had the ideas, he made them come to life. 

Your breath catches as you brush your fingers over the worn box. The faded decorations are a time capsule—a reflection of a simpler, yet complicated past. A mix of laughter, innocence, and heartbreak lingers on its surface, as if the box itself holds memories you’ve long since buried. You hesitate for a moment, thumb tracing over the stick figures. The blue-eyed boy. The girl with a faint red-lipped smile. The images were so carelessly drawn back then, yet they now carry an almost painful clarity. A reminder of what once was—and what could never quite be again. Sliding the top off the box, you’re immediately greeted by the faint scent of old paper and something else merely nostalgic. Photographs, letters, and random trinkets fill the space. A keychain, an old movie ticket stub, and at the very top, a small folded note with handwriting you recognize instantly.  

"To my favorite person,  

No matter where life takes us, remember this moment, okay? This one is ours."

His handwriting feels more impactful than you thought it would. Your chest tightens as you unfold the note fully, memories flooding back with each word. Satoru had written this. Back when things were different—when the two of you weren’t carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. When promises felt unbreakable and the future seemed...possible.  

You carefully place the note back into the box, your hands trembling slightly. There’s so much in this little box that you’ve avoided for years. So much of what you were, who you were, with him. And now, it feels like the box is staring back at you, asking the question you’ve avoided for so long.  

What are you going to do with all of this?  

Why have you kept this? After all the time? You remember telling yourself the day of your break up that you’d throw everything out—burn it all. But everytime you even touched it, you came to a brutal realization. You can’t. For some reason, you couldn’t get rid of it, couldn’t bring harm to this reminder of the lives you’ve lived and left behind.

You found comfort in the idea that one day in the future, you would be able to. But you also found comfort in the box itself. Oh how wrong you were. And that fact twists at your heart, your blood wringing out in the process. Leaving you with a dull and soulless shell. Staring down at the remnants, going through them—everytime. Maybe you haven’t ever had the strength to get rid of it, you wonder if you ever will. 

Pictures of your younger self, of Satoru’s younger self smile up at you like they’re taunting you. As if the past can sense the future’s despair. They’re simple pictures, cute but simple. Just how you two wanted it. The quality isn’t that great, considering most of them were taken on shitty disposable cameras. 

“Because it’s sustainable!” You argued when Satoru questioned the device when you first pulled it out. He simply scoffed and rolled his eyes, lips upturning into a smile the second you readied the device for a photo.

A picture is worth a thousand words. 

Whoever came up with that phrase is a genius, but you also despise how much truth is held to that single sentence. Pain. Nostalgia. Longing. Happiness. Regret?

Flipping through the small pictures is like going through your very own time capsule. Each snapshot carries a story, a moment frozen in time that feels both distant and heartbreakingly close. The childish doodles lining the box seem to echo your younger self’s voice, innocent and untouched by the weight of reality. A photo catches your eye—a little blurry but unmistakably Satoru, grinning with his arms slung lazily over your shoulders. Your cheeks in the picture are flushed, and you can almost hear the laughter that must’ve been spilling from your lips when it was taken.

Then there’s another, of the two of you sitting under a sprawling tree, sunlight filtering through the leaves. His hand rests on yours, casual but intimate in a way that makes your chest ache now. You remember the warmth of that day, the way he’d joked about how your hair glowed in the light.

There’s a card, too, nestled beneath the pictures. The corners are slightly bent, but the words inside are still intact. His handwriting is unmistakable, bold and messy:

“To the girl who makes my world brighter every day. Don’t ever stop smiling—it’s my favorite thing about you. Love, Satoru.”

“Hah, I didn’t know you were such a poet.” You teased. 

“Ugh, shut up.”

Your fingers trace over the ink, your breath halting. Time may have passed, and life may have twisted and turned, but this box feels like a portal to a version of you that still believed in endless possibilities. And yet, the ache in your chest doesn’t falter. Instead, it lingers, a reminder of how much has changed—and how much you wish hadn’t.

The final picture is one that almost tears at you. A silly one that you would’ve never imagined would push at your heart like a heavy door stuck in the way of your own contentment. You’re kissing him, the side profile of your two faces as you indulge in each other's lips. Satoru’s free arm slightly out of frame since he’s the one holding the camera high. You both are holding your left hands up, showing off your Ring Pops on each of your ring fingers. His red, yours blue.

“Let’s pose like a couple who just got married!”

You sighed. “Satoru….”

Written on the white border frame of the photo are the words:

She said yes!! 

A melancholic laugh escapes you, tears hitting the picture. It’s colors are already slightly altered from previous wetness. Your chest feels tight, eyes closing with a sinking stomach. Why do you always do this to yourself when you’re already feeling upset? Why are you still so affected by it? Will it get better with time? But how much more time?

You gasp and flinch when the front door is rung, eyes widening as you swiftly and messily put the contents back in, sliding the top back on and stuffing the box in its hiding spot once more. After closing the door, you walk down the hall and to the peephole. Your brows furrow. “Satoru?” You ask as you open the door. Confusion hits you, seeing your sleeping son in his father’s arms. Koji’s backpack slid on top of Satoru’s shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

“Um…dropping Koji off?” He replies back like it’s the obvious, his own pale eyebrows knitting as he regards you. “…Are you okay? Why are you crying?”

Shit. “I’m not,” your hands raise to your cheeks, wiping any trace of your previous emotional breakdown, swiftly denying his words. “I thought you were coming back later.”

“It is later, Y/N.” He frowns and steps in, allowing you a better view of the dark night sky. 

What the hell? Since when did it get dark? Slowly, you close and lock the door, blinking rapidly as you try to gather your bearings. Just how long were you on the couch for? How long were you reminiscing? Turning around, you see Satoru come out from Koji’s room.

“Put him down, showered and dressed him already. Little man played a lot today.” 

“Oh,” you murmur, unsure of what else to say. You lean against the door for a moment, trying to regain your composure. Satoru’s words feel oddly domestic, almost like you’re living a life you’ve long since moved on from dreaming about—or tried to.

He sets Koji’s backpack down by the couch, brushing invisible dust off his sleeves as he glances your way. “You sure you’re okay?” His voice softens now, genuine. Concerned.

You force a small smile, crossing your arms. “I’m fine. Just…lost track of time, I guess.”

Satoru studies you, his crystalline eyes searching your face like he doesn’t quite believe you. He shrugs lightly, though, not wanting to push. “Alright. Koji was great today. Took him to that park he keeps talking about. Got some ice cream. He wore me out.” His lips quirk into a small grin, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Thanks for doing that,” you say softly, glancing toward Koji’s room. “He loves spending time with you. He always talks to me about your guys’ missions.”

“Hah, yeah, well…” Satoru scratches the back of his neck, leaning his tall frame casually against the wall. “I love spending time with him, too. And you know, it’s not just for him.” His words are light, but there’s a weight behind them, one you’re not sure you’re ready to unpack tonight. You don’t know what he really means by that, but it’s probably best that you don’t. You’d look into it too much. And like he said, you’re already complicating things even more by almost kissing him the other day. 

You nod, your throat tightening as you look anywhere but at him. “I should probably check on him. Make sure he’s really asleep.”

“Y/N.” His voice stops you in your tracks.

You turn slowly, meeting his gaze. “What?” you ask, your voice smaller than you intended.

He hesitates for a moment, his brows furrowing as though he’s deciding whether or not to say what’s on his mind. Finally, he sighs and steps closer. “If something’s bothering you…you can talk to me. You know that, right? You look like you’re crying and I—”

Your heart clenches, the sincerity in his voice almost too much to bear. “I know,” you manage to cut him off, your voice sharper than you had wanted it to be.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the air between you heavy with unspoken words. Then, Satoru clears his throat and steps back. “Alright. Guess I’ll head out, then. Call me if you need anything.” You hum, watching as he heads for the door. Just before he leaves, he pauses, glancing back at you one last time. His eyes linger for a second longer than they should, and then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

And you’re left alone again, the weight of the evening settling back over you like a familiar, unwelcome blanket. You want to scold yourself for losing track of time so easily, letting yourself get lost for such a long time. He probably thinks something’s wrong, and while you appreciate him being mature and overall cordial enough to offer his ear, you don’t want to give him that. It’s embarrassing and almost too vulnerable for you right now to vent to your ex. 

You know that saying that the last thing or person you think about before you fall asleep is what you’ll dream of? He stares at the door, trying to will himself into stopping his train of thought, but the vision of you won’t leave. Not tonight. Maybe it’s the nagging scent of your clothes he can still smell, or maybe it’s the way you looked so raw, so unguarded. Maybe it’s the promise he made to himself years ago to never let you go, to never let you fall apart without him. Now look where he is.

Satoru’s mind is a whirlwind as he steps back into the cold, dark air of his penthouse, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality he wasn’t quite ready for. He should’ve left things simple, right? Drop off Koji, make sure everything’s okay, and then go. But of course, he couldn’t help himself. He had to ask, had to reach for that sliver of connection that still seemed to remain between the two of you, even after all this time. Or maybe he’s not reaching, he’s just being a good person. Or maybe there is no sliver of connection at all.

He rubs his face with one hand as he walks down the hall, his thoughts staying on your expression, the tightness in your smile, the way you tried so hard to hide whatever was eating at you. Your red eyes that seemed glossy enough to tell him what you had been doing before he arrived. He should’ve pushed, should’ve stayed longer, but something told him it wasn’t the right time. Also, not to mention the fact that he’s not entitled to know anymore, and he shouldn’t want to. He wishes he could forget—wishes it wasn’t so easy for him to still care about you after everything you’ve put him through.

Still, his mind can’t stop replaying the way you looked tonight, like you were holding back—like you were on the edge of something he couldn’t reach. And now, that’s the last image he sees before closing his eyes: you, standing there, fragile but strong, trying to put on a brave face when he knew you were anything but okay. 

He slides into his bed, sinking into the comforting mattress. Stop thinking about it, he tells himself. Just go to sleep.

But it's useless. The thought of you doesn't leave him. It never does in times like this. But that's the thing, isn't it? He always cared. Always would. Any good man would

As the awaited sleep stretches on, his mind drifts back to those moments—the way you wiped your face quickly when he mentioned the tears. How you didn’t let him in. He can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this.

Before he knows it, he feels the weight of his own exhaustion, the pull of sleep starting to take over. He lets his eyes stay shut. Stretching out on the bed, his thoughts blurring into a fizzle. The room is quiet, too quiet. But just like that, he’s falling and falling into a realm where the weight of everything else disappears.

The first thing he sees startles him. It’s just you, standing in front of him again, your eyes locked with his. 

You’re both staring at one another before it’s like someone slowly raising the light switches. Sun peeking through the blinds of the kitchen you two stand in as you place a hand down to your stomach. When his eyes follow it, he then notices the rounded swell that’s visible from beneath the dress you wear. 

“Hey, you’re awake.”

You giggle, voice smooth and inviting, stepping closer to him until you can reach his hand, intertwining your fingers. 

Yep, definitely a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. 

“I made you breakfast, your favorite.” You guide his hand to your bump, chuckling softly. “But baby here was getting hungry, so we may have gotten a little taste test before.”

Satoru’s heart skips a beat, his fingers instinctively brushing over your rounded stomach as you guide them there. The warmth of your skin under his touch feels real, too real, and his mind stumbles, trying to make sense of the situation. The room around you starts to feel like a glimpse into an alternative universe. Soft, golden light spilling in through the blinds, the smell of something warm and inviting persisting in the air. It’s almost too perfect, too serene to be real. And yet, he’s standing here, his breath caught in his throat as his fingers rest against the gentle curve of your belly. The weight of it, the life growing inside you, sends a quiet thrill through him.

You giggle, the sound of it so familiar it makes his chest ache. It’s like nothing has changed. Like you’re the same as you’ve always been, only…this time, things are different. There’s a quiet tenderness in the air that wasn’t there before. He swallows, trying to fight the growing confusion in his chest. “I—I don’t understand,” he murmurs, his thumb lightly brushing over the small, soft swell of your stomach. He knows it’s not real, but it doesn’t stop his brain from wandering into beliefs of if it were. “How… how are we here?”

Your smile widens, that knowing glimmer in your eyes that makes his chest tighten with something he can’t name. “We’re here because this is where we belong,” you say simply, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. You nudge his hand a little lower, guiding him to feel the tiny movement beneath his palm, the small shift of life inside you.

It’s then that the weight of the moment hits him all at once, his heart thumping in his chest. The quiet reality of what you’ve built together, the life you’ve shared, and everything that could’ve been. He’s overwhelmed, caught between longing and disbelief. His voice cracks when he finally speaks again. “Is this what you wanted? What we wanted?”

You laugh softly, resting your forehead against his chest, your fingers still entwined with his. “It’s what I’ve always wanted. What we have always wanted. Stop acting weird.” Your words are a balm, soothing yet laced with something deeper, something that speaks to both of your hearts, even if this is fake.

In this moment, everything feels right. It feels like you’re back to where you both belong.

Satoru stays still for a moment, the warmth of your forehead pressed against him, your fingers gently intertwining with his. The softness of the moment seems to wrap around him, the image of you—here, with him—so perfect that it almost hurts. The softness of your touch, the way your body feels against his as you stand close, it’s like he’s been starved of this connection for so long. A quiet ache settles deep within him, but it’s not the hurt he’s used to. No, this is something else—something far more complicated.

He shifts slightly, his gaze never leaving yours as you lift your head. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to feel this again,” he admits, his voice low and tentative. The vulnerability in his tone catches him off guard, but it feels natural, like you’ve always been the one person he could let his guard down with. “You and…us. Everything that’s happened.”

You hum softly, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand. The smile on your lips is small but full of quiet understanding. “I know, Satoru,” you say, your voice steady, like you’ve been carrying this weight for far longer than he ever realized. “But this…” You glance down at your stomach before meeting his eyes again, “This is what we fought for. This is what we still have.”

He feels the truth of your words settle into him, but it’s a bittersweet sensation, one that pulls at something deep inside of him. It’s almost too good to be true, this version of reality, and he can’t help but wonder why his mind has conjured up this visualization—this perfect picture of you and him, together in a way he never thought possible.

“But what if we don’t get it right?” he asks quietly, his brow furrowing in uncertainty. “What if we’re too broken to fix it? We’ve made so many mistakes…”

You place a gentle finger against his lips, silencing him before he can spiral further. “We’ve always been broken, Satoru,” you say softly, “But we’ve always found our way back to each other. And that’s enough. Right?”

The way you say it, so sure of yourself, sends a warmth through his chest. It’s a peace he didn’t think he would ever have again. His heart beats a little faster, a little steadier, as he finally lets go of the lingering doubts, the fear of what’s beyond this moment. He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the weight in his chest. “I don’t know what’s next, but for now… I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your eyes soften, and for a moment, he sees it—the connection between you two, unbroken, unshakable. Even in the midst of everything that’s happened, the messy past and the uncertainty of the future, he realizes that some things are worth fighting for. “This is enough for me,” you whisper, closing the distance between you, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It’s gentle, but it carries everything—everything he’s been wanting to say, everything he’s been longing to hear.

And god, the way your pretty lips feel against his is heavenly. It’s strong and long-lasting. Hand to your cheek as his head tilts to deepen it, feeling your warm breath enter his mouth like a soft pull. He’s tempted to dance his tongue along your own.

As you pull away, he feels a quiet peace settle over him. The dream, though fleeting, has given him something he didn’t know he needed. A glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, they can find their way back to each other for good.

But the atmosphere darkens, like putting a blanket over a lamp. Your own eyes dulling into something he saw before he left you tonight, something he’s been seeing everytime he visits you. Your smile dropping into a placid emotion. Satoru’s heart stutters in his chest, the warmth of the moment slipping away like sand between his fingers. The light around you seems to fade, the world losing its softness and vibrancy. A chill washes over him, creeping through his veins like ice water. Your smile, once so gentle and inviting, disappears into something far more distant, as if a part of you has shut down completely. The joy that had filled the air vanishes, replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence that wraps itself around both of you. His eyes widen in confusion, and he takes a step back, searching your face for any hint of explanation. He feels the air shift into a freezing temperature.

"What—?" He stops himself, his words catching in his throat, trying to make sense of the drastic shift in the atmosphere. The way your hand falls to your side feels like a finality, as though the reality he had just witnessed—of you, of the hope in your eyes—was nothing more than a simple illusion.

The weight of the silence presses down on him, smothering. His gaze moves down, and that's when he realizes the baby bump has vanished. There’s nothing there. The roundness, the warmth, the promise of new life—gone. In its place, there's only the smooth curve of your stomach, flat and unchanged.

"Y/N?" His voice cracks on your name, disoriented and desperate for some kind of explanation. "What happened? What…what’s going on?"

But you don’t answer right away. Instead, you look at him like you’ve seen a stranger, a shift in your eyes that only deepens the growing pit in his stomach. Your gaze is cold, distant, almost as if you've already resigned yourself to something. Satoru swallows hard, his hand instinctively reaching for you, but when his fingers brush against your arm, it feels like the connection is completely severed. "What’s wrong? Talk to me," he pleads, his voice raw and filled with confusion. 

You take a slow, deliberate step back, the air between you two growing heavier. "Satoru," you say, but your voice sounds far too calm, far too final. "This is the reality, isn't it? This is what it always was—always will be. A dream. A fantasy."

His mind races, his heart pounding in his chest. "No, this isn’t a fantasy! We—we had a chance. You and me, and Koji…and the other…We were—" His throat tightens, unable to finish his sentence.

But you cut him off, the finality in your words sinking deep. "You left, Satoru. You just wanted us to end, didn’t you? It’s why you didn’t fight for me the day we broke up—fight for us. You made me make that promise. You left, and that’s what this is now. A memory. The past. Something we’ll never, ever get back.”

The words land like a blow to his chest, sharp and cutting. His chest tightens as he searches your face, willing for you to show him that this is just another moment in the dream—that the warmth would come back, that the hope would return. But your eyes are cold. The distance between you feels insurmountable.

He opens his mouth to speak, to argue, to fix whatever it is that's wrong—but nothing comes out. The truth is, he doesn’t know how to fix this. Not anymore. Not when everything between you feels so broken, like fragments of a life he no longer knows how to put together. 

And just like that, the warmth of the dream fades completely, leaving him in the cold, dark reality of what’s been lost.

“I wish I kept Koji from you. I wish you weren’t his father.”

Satoru startles awake, jolting upright in his bed. He feels like he’s just been splashed with ice cold water, in a way, he has. Raising his hands to his temples, face scrunching in discomfort. He’s breathing fast and hard, heart feeling like it’ll just pop right out. His hands trembling. 

The sounds of birds tweeting a song is what he hears next. The morning light filters softly through the curtains, but it feels blinding to him, harsh against the remnants of the nightmare. His chest rises and falls rapidly, each breath shallow and frantic, his heart still racing as he fights to steady himself. The words you spoke echo in his mind, sharp and cutting. I wish I kept Koji from you. I wish you weren’t his father. The pain in those words, the hurt, is still so vivid in his memory. 

Satoru places his hands on the sides of his face, trying to ground himself. His fingers dig into his skin, as if the physical pressure could somehow push away the remnants of the dream, make it vanish. But it lingers. It hangs heavy in the air, suffocating him. Why did you say that? Why did you feel that way? Do you actually feel that way in real life? Are you planning to take Koji and run away with him again? Did you seriously regret having a child with him?

He inhales deeply, his breath shaky, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart. The sound of birds chirping in the distance serves as a reminder that the world continues to move outside of his turmoil, but it only makes him feel more disconnected. He pushes the blankets off of him and swings his legs over the side of the bed, his feet hitting the floor with a thud. His mind races, trying to make sense of what he’s feeling. That dream—it wasn’t just a nightmare. It felt like a warning, a reminder of how fragile everything has been, how much he’s lost. How much he’s failed.

The promise.

The weight of what’s happened between you two settles heavily on his shoulders. And it makes him feel cautious—scared that you’ll do what you said you wouldn’t, all over again. 

Satoru stands, his body still trembling slightly, and walks toward the window. He peers outside, letting the light touch his face, even if it’s almost too bright for him right now. It’s peaceful outside, the world as it always is in the morning: calm, serene, untouched. But his own mind is a storm, and no amount of sunlight seems to clear the clouds. He closes his eyes and exhales deeply, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream, the guilt gnawing at him. The idea of you saying that you wished you’d kept Koji from him—the thought cuts deeper than he’s willing to admit. What does that mean for the future? 

What does it mean for him?

Satoru feels his heart aching with the need to fix things, to understand if you actually feel that way. But he's left in the quiet chaos of his own mind, unsure of where to begin. And that's the worst part: not knowing where to start.

Whatever, it was just a dream. Dreams aren’t real. Don’t think too much into it. 

A text message pings, causing him to look over. The sight of your name forms a twisting feeling to reside in his core, frowning. It’s like when you dream about your significant other cheating on you, so the next morning you’re a little mad at them for no reason. But this time, he’s not sure if it’s for no reason. 

Maybe you actually feel like this, feeling regret for not keeping Koji from him any longer. You’ve obviously shown to be good at keeping secrets, so who’s to say you’re not still doing that. He grabs his phone, clicking on your message and pushing down the resentment that continues to bloom once more. 

Y/N:

Hey, have u had any luck with the leaker? 

Satoru sighs heavily, eyes closing momentarily before opening them back up and typing you back. He can’t help the shortness in his response. 

Satoru:

No 

Y/N:

Pls let me know of any changes

He doesn’t bother replying, tossing his phone on his bed and getting up and ready for the day. Of course the thought of the identity of who leaked the photo has been running rampant in his mind day in and day out. But he just woke up from a particularly scary nightmare—or a message?—and he doesn’t need his mind overwhelmed anymore than it is right now. 

As he goes through his morning routine, Satoru can’t shake the consistent unease. The nightmare, your text, and the weight of everything that’s been happening swirl in his mind like a storm he can’t escape. He brushes his teeth with more force than necessary, gripping the sink as the toothpaste foam spills over his lips. He stares at his reflection in the mirror, his pale blue eyes duller than usual, rimmed with exhaustion.

He can’t stop wondering—what if there’s truth to his nightmare? What if you do regret letting him into Koji’s life? The thought gnaws at him, a relentless ache in his chest.  

The leak complicates things even further. Someone out there—someone close enough to know—exposed him and Koji to the world. The conversation with his mother plays again internally. Someone close or possibly a business partner. But what if she’s wrong? What if it’s someone who’s not close, but still smart enough? And while it’s caused a media frenzy, he knows the real damage is more personal. It’s the wedge it’s driving between him and you. The accusations, the whispers, the uncertainty—it’s all feeding into the growing gap he’s been struggling to bridge.  

He pulls on a shirt, his movements jerky as his frustration builds. He hasn’t been able to sleep properly for days either, his mind consumed by the mystery of the leak and the uneasy tension between you two. It’s not like you’re outright hostile, but there’s something there—something distant, guarded. And now, after the dream, he can’t stop replaying the worst-case scenarios in his head.   

The atmosphere in the room is cold, tense—calculating. Out of the four people situated inside, none speak. Just looking at one another in silent scrutiny. Yamato and Akane are sitting side by side, seated across from them are another married couple. 

Kenji and Emi Nakamura. 

Kenji and Emi Nakamura exude the quiet confidence of people used to wielding power. Kenji’s sharp suit is impeccably tailored, his posture straight and commanding, while Emi, poised in a sleek dress, sits with her legs crossed, her hands folded neatly on her lap. Despite their calm appearances, their sharp gazes and the slight twitch of Kenji’s jaw betray their impatience.

Yamato leans back in his chair, his arms crossed, his eyes cold and unwavering as they meet Kenji’s. Akane, seated next to him, is the picture of composed elegance, but the slight tap of her heel against the floor reveals her tension. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, until finally, Kenji speaks, his voice smooth but laced with thinly veiled irritation. 

“So,” he begins, his piercing eyes flickering between Yamato and Akane. “Are we going to dance around the issue all day, or will one of you have the decency to explain how this... mess...got out and why the man who’s dating our daughter suddenly has a secret son?” 

Yamato doesn’t flinch. He lets the accusation hang in the air for a moment before responding, his tone measured. “We don’t deal in leaks, Kenji. And we certainly wouldn’t jeopardize our own family’s reputation for... what? A scandal? That’s more your style.”

Kenji’s expression hardens, and Emi places a delicate hand on his arm, a subtle but firm reminder to keep his temper in check. She smiles politely, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Let’s not turn this into a blame game. We’re all here because this leak affects all of us—your family, ours, Satoru’s and Himari’s.” 

Akane’s lips twitch into a faint, humorless smile. “Don’t patronize us, Emi. You and I both know you’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this. You’ve always wanted to see Satoru fall from grace.”

Emi raises an eyebrow, her smile unfaltering. “I want what’s best for our families, Akane. A public scandal doesn’t benefit anyone, least of all Gojo or the Nakamura name. Besides, our daughter quite loves your son.” 

Kenji leans forward, his hands clasped together on the table. “Let’s cut the theatrics. Who is responsible?” 

Akane’s heel stops tapping, and she fixes Kenji with a sharp look. “We’re working on it. Our investigators are thorough, and they’ll uncover the source soon enough.”

Kenji’s eyes narrow. “They’d better. Because the last thing the Nakamura name needs is a public scandal about a conniving young man and our innocent daughter. She’s already receiving enough scrutiny as it is.”

The tension in the room ratchets up another notch, but Yamato remains unmoved. His voice, low and steady, cuts through the silence. “And if we discover the leak came from your side, Kenji? Are you prepared to deal with the consequences?” The two men lock eyes, a silent battle of wills, while their wives sit in their respective corners, poised like chess queens ready to strike. The room may be quiet, but the unspoken threats linger in the air like a storm waiting to break.

“We’d never do something like this, especially if it affects our daughter.” Emi replies firmly. She tilts her chin up slightly, an air of indignation radiating from her as her perfectly manicured hand rests on her husband’s arm. “You should know better than to accuse us of such underhanded behavior, Yamato.”

Yamato’s wife leans forward slightly, her tone equally sharp. “And you should know better than to express such hostility towards us. Tenka Couture benefits more from Gojo Group than vice versa.”

Emi’s smile tightens, her composure threatening to crack. “Why, of course. We’re just saying, Himari has nothing to gain from this mess. If anything, she’s a victim of it. The constant media scrutiny, the endless whispers. How do you think that’s been affecting her?”

Kenji slams his hand on the table, the sound reverberating through the room. “Enough. This isn’t about Himari. This is about finding the truth. If your investigators are as thorough as you claim, then we’d better find answers—and soon.”

Yamato meets Kenji’s glare with a calm intensity. “Rest assured, we will. But until then, I suggest you keep your own people in check. If we find out this was an attempt to sabotage Satoru—or worse, hurt him—there will be consequences. You know that better than anyone.”

Kenji leans back, his jaw tight, as Emi places another calming hand on his shoulder. “We don’t want this to escalate any further,” she says, her voice softer now but no less firm. “For everyone’s sake, let’s handle this with discretion.”

Akane glances at Yamato, smoothing down the front of her skirt. “We agree. But let’s make one thing clear—if the Nakamuras are involved in any way, there will be no forgiveness. Not from us, and not from Satoru.”

Kenji sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Of course, we understand. But again, we are in no way involved with this leak. With the revelation of this…boy, it messes up everything. Himari and Satoru are a couple. They’re supposed to represent unity between our families and companies, a partnership that benefits both sides. This child complicates that narrative. It puts everything we’ve worked for at risk.”

Yamato’s eyes narrow, his sharp gaze cutting through Kenji’s words. “We understand, yes. But at the end of the day, Satoru is our son, this boy is…well he’s a part of our family now. Your concern seems to be more about appearances than the actual implications for Satoru’s life or the boy’s well-being, but I understand that. My wife and I too are concerned with the way this sudden news could somehow stain our reputation.”

Kenji leans forward, his hands clasped tightly on the table, his expression taut. “Appearances are everything in this world, Yamato. You know that. If this story continues to spread, the consequences won’t just affect Satoru or Himari—they’ll ripple through both of our families. Investors, business partners, the media—they all thrive on scandal, and we can’t afford to give them fuel. They’ll begin to wonder what else we’re keeping a secret.”

“Himari and Satoru’s relationship isn’t as stable as you think it is,” Akane counters, her tone measured but resolute. “This revelation didn’t create the cracks; it only exposed them. Maybe it’s time you and your daughter accept that.”

Emi bristles at Akane’s insinuation, her voice cold but precise. “You underestimate my daughter’s strength. Himari has always handled challenges with grace. She and Satoru will navigate this together—if you and your family stop meddling.”

Yamato cuts in, his expression calm. “Let’s not pretend this is solely about Satoru and Himari. The Nakamuras have as much to lose as we do. But let me remind you, Kenji, that this child—Koji—isn’t just a complication. He’s Satoru’s son, and that makes him family. As the adults in this situation, we also hold a certain level of accountability as for keeping this child away from public eye.”

Kenji’s jaw tightens, his composure threatening to crack. “Family or not, this boy’s existence jeopardizes everything. Himari has been nothing but supportive of Satoru, and she doesn’t deserve to be overshadowed by a damned secret from his past.”

Akane’s voice slices through the tension like a blade. “Supportive, or opportunistic? Don’t confuse loyalty with convenience. If Himari truly cared for Satoru, she’d understand that his son isn’t just a ‘secret’—he’s part of who he is now.”

The room falls silent, the weight of Akane’s words lingering. Kenji finally stands, his movements deliberate. “We’ll see how this plays out. But if you think we’ll let the Nakamura name be tarnished by this… situation, you’re mistaken.”

Yamato rises as well, his eyes locking with Kenji’s in an unspoken challenge. “And if you think we’ll allow anyone—anyone—to undermine Satoru or the Gojo legacy, you’re equally mistaken. The truth will come out, Kenji. Be prepared for it.”

With that, the couple turns and leave, their exit leaving the Gojos in a cloud of tension and unease. Akane finally speaks, her voice low but firm. “Remind me again why we are pushing through with this arrangement. The Gojo Group hardly needs Tenka Couture. We’re more than capable of standing on our own.”

Yamato exhales, running a hand through his silver hair. “It’s not about needing them, Akane. It’s about the influence. The Nakamuras have deep connections in sectors we’ve been trying to expand into—fashion, entertainment, international markets. Aligning with them strengthens our position globally. We settled this years ago, okay?”

Akane crosses her arms, her expression skeptical. “At what cost? Their arrogance alone is enough to make me question this. And let’s not even get started on Himari. She might be poised on the outside, but she lacks the fortitude to handle Satoru’s world. She clings to the spotlight, but she’s not ready for the shadows.”

Yamato’s jaw tightens. “You’re not wrong, but this arrangement was never meant to hinge on her ability to ‘handle’ Satoru. It’s a strategic move, not a personal one. I thought you understood that.”

“Strategic?” Akane’s voice rises slightly, her composed exterior slipping. “Do you even hear yourself? This isn’t just a business deal anymore. There’s a child involved now—your grandson. And yet, we’re expected to sideline him for the sake of appearances?”

Yamato’s gaze hardens, a rare flicker of emotion breaking through his typically stoic demeanor. “The boy is not being sidelined. But if this situation spirals out of control, it won’t just be Satoru’s name dragged through the mud—it’ll be Koji’s, too. I’m trying to protect all of them. As much as I dislike this situation and as much as I do not care for getting to know this boy, at the end of the day he’s connected to us.”

Akane steps closer, her voice softening but losing none of its edge. “And how do you expect to protect Koji by tying Satoru to someone who doesn’t have the heart to care for him? Because that’s what you’re doing, Yamato. You’re forcing a partnership that benefits no one but the Nakamuras. I’ve told you this from the start that it won’t do us good. There are plenty of other people we can contact that won’t involve forcing our son into an arranged marriage.”

For a moment, Yamato doesn’t respond. His broad shoulders sag just slightly, the weight of the conversation settling over him. “This isn’t about what’s ideal, Akane. It’s about what’s necessary. And until we find another way to stabilize this situation, the arrangement stands.”

Akane shakes her head, turning away. “Necessary, huh? Tell me, Yamato—when did we start sacrificing our family for necessity?”

Her words hover in the air as she walks out of the room, leaving Yamato standing alone, the tension thick and suffocating. He glances out the window, the city lights reflecting in his cold blue eyes. “Sometimes,” he murmurs to himself, “family is the sacrifice.”

Kenji and Emi sit in the back of the blacked out Escalade. One visibly more angry than the other. The assistant up front hands Kenji an IPad. “Here, sir.”

Kenji takes it without a word, scrolling. On the screen, a plethora of all the personal information regarding the woman who caused all this. 

You. 

Kenji’s grip tightens on the iPad as his sharp eyes scan the screen, each line of information making his jaw clench harder. Birthdate, address, financial records, employment history—it’s all there. How pathetic. Every detail meticulously laid out like a blueprint of your life. Beside him, Emi glances over, her expression less angered and more calculating.

“So,” she finally says, her tone icy and deliberate. “This is her.”

Kenji doesn’t reply immediately, his focus locked on the screen. An ID picture accompanied the words. The photo of you, Satoru, and Koji catches his attention, and his lips press into a thin line. The leaked photo. “The audacity,” he mutters. “She hides this little punk tyke for years, and now she’s a problem we’re forced to deal with. They both are.”

Emi tilts her head, her perfectly manicured nails tapping lightly against her armrest. “She doesn’t look like much. Hardly someone who should be causing this much of a stir. But appearances can be deceiving.” Her lips curl into a faint sneer. “Especially for women like her.”

“She’s more than just a stir. She’s a maddening, infuriating liability with baggage from hell,” Kenji snaps, handing the iPad back to his assistant with a flick of his wrist. “The kind that could ruin everything if we’re not careful because they themselves have nothing to lose.”

The assistant clears his throat nervously from the front seat. “Sir, should I proceed with the next steps?”

Kenji leans back in his seat, his eyes dark and unrelenting. “Not yet. I want to understand her first. How she operates. What she values. Everyone has a weakness. Once we find hers, we’ll decide the next course of action. Though, I assume it’s the ragged infant.”

Emi raises an eyebrow, her tone almost teasing. “You sound like you’re preparing for war.”

Kenji’s gaze flickers to his wife, his expression unreadable. “Aren’t we?”

The tension in the car is palpable, the low hum of the engine the only sound as they drive through the city. Emi’s lips curve into a faint smile, though her eyes remain cold. “She won’t win, Kenji. Not against us. Not against our sweet baby girl.”

“She won’t even get the chance,” Kenji replies, his voice hard and certain. “We’ll make sure of it.”

a/n: this is my present to u all!!!! happy holidays! ❤️❤️

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[zombie-bait]

As an animation student I absolutely hate live action adaptations like the ones Disney's been churning out the last few years. They strip away all the artistic intent of the original pieces of media and turn them into grey, heavily cgi-ed experiences that don't even carry a quarter of the whimsy. The purpose behind these adaptations isn't to fully utilize a new medium and find a unique way of retelling the original story, it's just to make money.

Imagine you see a painting, let's say The Mona Lisa. Now, you can put on a black wig, pose in front of the countryside and take a selfie in the same pose. Is it fun? Yeah, sure. It's the kind of thing you can send to your friends or maybe post on an account. But to argue it is superior somehow because it's "real" is an insult. You could spend thousands of dollars on makeup, cameras and lighting but still, it will not carry the same cultural impact. It can't.

And don't get me wrong, photography and cinematography are 100% an art form. You can do beautiful things with a camera that cannot be done through any other media. Cosplay is another beautiful example of artists bringing their creative interpretations of characters into the real world. People who do those should be admired and appreciated. But we know that's not what's happening here.

You might not think The Little Mermaid (1989) or Beauty and the Beast (1991) are as artistically valuable as something like The Mona Lisa. That's the thing about art, no one really gets to decide what piece of art is or isn't superior to another. But all three are definitively intentional art. It doesn't matter if you're an overworked in-betweener for a mega-corporation in the 90's or a famous renaissance painter working on a portrait. Either way, you're pouring a little bit of yourself into your creation. Every choice you make has intent behind it and years of hard work, even if you're not conscious of that.

These adaptations are an expensive selfie boasted around as a superior product. Because that's all they are, products imitating art. You end up losing those intentional choices somewhere along the way as hand-picked colours, distinct silhouettes and visual storytelling all get dulled into the same "realistic" shape. And children deserve better. Not just because exploiting families by rereleasing content is scummy, but because I whole-heartedly believe that children deserve artistically rich, complex stories. Almost every animation student and professional that I know got where they are because they were inspired by something. Maybe it was Beauty and the Beast or My Little Pony or Animaniacs or How to Train Your Dragon. But there's something immensely powerful about being a little kid and being shown a completely new, beautiful way to imagine and interpret the world. And you find yourself sketching day and night to replicate that interpretation until suddenly you're creating something new, with intention, that's never been made before.

I'm sure there are plenty of kids who like movies with realistic-looking animals. But the animals aren't realistic because these corporations thought kids would enjoy them, they're realistic because studios executives that don't actually give a shit about art or animation think they are more visually impressive and needed to come up with an excuse to recycle content instead of daring to do anything new. They don't care about artists, they care about consumers.

Since we keep getting "live action" CGI remakes of already perfectly adequate animated movies, and because people need to understand that animation is a medium and not a genre, I have prepared this primer about the importance of Visual Language for Conveying Information.

Can you tell what the personalities of these two mice are?

Can you tell now?

Which of these two tigers feels safer to be around?

Which of these three dogs is the funniest one?

If you can answer these questions, then you already have experience with the idea of visual language and stylistic choices being used to impart narrative meaning. If you can understand why these choices were made to impart meaning, then you can understand why animation is a medium for telling stories that has its own inherent value, and is not merely a "placeholder" for the eventual implementation of photorealistic presentation (aka "Live Action" CGI). Animation does not need to be "corrected" or "legitimized" by remaking it into the most representational simulation of observable reality.

[captain-huggy-bear]

To Fight a Ten Year Old

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: N/A

Summary: In which Quinn is prepared to time travel to whoop some ten year old butt because you tell him a story from your childhood and he takes it personally.

Notes: Alas, I did in fact experience this as a child, but I can laugh about it now :) Also writing soccer instead of football actually hurt me.

Very silly + short idea to be honest but hope it brings a smile to some faces!

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

It's a stupid little back and forth the two of you have going as you get ready for bed, silly little questions like 'tell me about your first broken bone' and 'why is your favourite animal your favourite?'. It's something Quinn and you have been doing since you first started dating. It started as a way to get to know each other better and ended up a habit, a ritual of sorts.

Each year the questions get harder to think of as your lives become more intertwined, most of your stories featuring the other, but it still raises interesting moments from your childhoods and silly little stories that explain a lot about you or him. Things you probably wouldn't find out about each other unless you asked these random questions or a family member brought it up at Thanksgiving or Christmas.

Today is no different. You're going through your night routine, taking off your make up and moisturising your skin, while Quinn brushes his teeth in the adjoining bathroom, door open so you can talk.

"Okay..." He's thinking hard, even as he talks around his toothbrush leaning his head out of the bathroom to watch you as you wipe away your eyeliner, "How about first heartbreak?" His voice is muffled around the toothbrush and almost sounds like he's underwater, despite this he never seems to want to wait until he's done.

"Like first heartbreak? Or first proper heartbreak?" You're running a cloth over the rest of your face as you ask, wiping away concealer and blush, an array of colours smearing the fabric. Your skin being revealed bit by bit.

"What's the difference?" He briefly disappears back into the bathroom to spit out his toothpaste and put his toothbrush away, but you know he's still listening as you explain.

"Well, first heartbreak is that time as a little kid that you thought you were in love and got hurt by it but it wasn't serious. You were probably over it by the next week, and first proper heartbreak is when you're older and it actually is heartbreak and you can't get over it for at least 3 months."

He hums as he comes back to lean against the doorframe, shoulders looking delicious without a shirt on, "First heartbreak, probably less depressing for a Monday night."

You take a moment, reaching for your moisturiser as you think back. There are many moments you could think of where you thought you were in love as a litte kid and had your heart broken as a result, but one stands out the most.

"Okay, um...When I was 10 years old I really liked like this boy in class called Cameron but Cameron really liked Emily, a girl 2 years older than us." You can still remember it now, the way he used to sit with her whenever he had the chance, how she clearly did not want a kid 2 years younger than her hanging around, how lovesick he was...how lovesick you were.

"Okay, so Cameron likes a cougar?" You glare over at him as you rub moisturiser into your skin, disapproving as he grins at you, straight teeth peeking out from behind his lips.

"2 years apart at the age of 10 and 12 does not make someone a cougar, Quinn!"

"I don't know, baby, seems pretty cougar-ish to me." You roll your eyes at him as he strolls closer to you, taking your comb in hand and tilting your head forward gently. He's careful as he starts to detangle your hair, careful not to pull too harshly on your scalp, much kinder than your mother used to be when you were a child. Quinn's always careful not to hurt you, apologetic if a tangle pulls too roughly.

"You're ridiculous. Anyway, where was I?" You reach for the detangler handing it back to him as he works, closing your eyes gently.

"You liked a spotty kid called Cameron." There's a hint of dislike riding his voice, even as his fingers are careful as they pull strands of your hair apart, teasing out knots.

Your eyes flash open and meet his in the vanity mirror, lips pursed at the way he insults a ten year old he's never met, "I liked a tall, cute kid called Cameron who was into soccer."

"Yeah, like I said, spotty." The dislike turns to a jealous sort of mumble, matched only by the sour look on his face that has you huffing out a laugh.

"Are you jealous of a ten year old?"

"He's not ten anymore..."

"Do I need to remind you this is a story of heartbreak?"

"Still, should've been me." His hands slide from your hair, comb having been put back on the side, and down to the base of your neck. Long fingers working at the tension there, you lean back into his fingers even as you call him out for his ridiculousness.

"We didn't even know each other! You're absurd, anyway, so I was certain Cameron was my future husband and I decided to be very brave one Valentine's day and get him a card and a gift." You lean a little to the right as Quinn hits a knot on the left side of your shoulder, you sway back into him.

"I'm proud of little you, that's gutsy." He can almost imagine it, little you bravely handing over a glittery red and pink monstrosity, little bows in your hair and chubby cheeks.

"I know, braver than I am now." You're not sure you'd have been brave enough to do something like that now, it had been Quinn after all who'd made the first move, Quinn who'd set the pace of your relationship at the start, "So I get him some chocolates, those stupid cheap heart shaped ones, and I make a stupid card covered in glitter and all sorts. I take my time and I write a heartfelt confession inside and then decided to give it to him in front of the entire class."

"No..." His voice drops, horror filling it as he looks at you through the mirror, mouth slightly open, eyes wide. You nod at him, confirming his worst fears, he knows how this is about to go down.

"Yeah, rookie move. I do it though, I hand it over and then he proceeds to not even read the card and um, rip it up in front of me and the entire class while telling me that he was going to marry Emily."

His fingers still in their massage. In fact, Quinn completely stills, his entire body rigid as he frowns at you through the mirror, there's a silence, long and heavy before he speaks.

"Where does Cameron live?"

"Quinn." You turn in your seat to look up at him, lips pursed together.

"I'm serious where does he live I'm going to go have some words with him," He crosses his arms and there's a brief moment where you're distracted by the strength and definition in his forearms before you really process that he's considering having words with a guy who broke your heart when you were ten.

"About his choices when he was ten?"

"Yeah! Who does that to someone, not only did he reject you, which is an insane decision by the way, he embarrasses my baby in front of the entire class!" Quinn reaches for your hands as he rants, pulling you to your feet, as his fingers twist and twine with yours. You'd think he's just joking but his tone is completely serious and it makes your heart warm, no matter how silly he's being. He's genuinely personally offended on your behalf about something that happened when you were a child, before you knew each other. It's sweet. Silly and absurd, but sweet.

"You can't fight a guy who broke my heart at the age of ten."

"Sure, I can or I can get Millsy to do it." He cracks a smile at that, even though he's serious about wanting words with this Cameron, he's also aware he's being absurd. He tugs you closer by the hands even as you glare up at him like a disappointed parent.

"You are not setting Miller on my childhood crush!"

"Why not?"

"Because it's ridiculous! It was over a decade ago!" Even as you protest you're smiling, arms reaching up to rest over his shoulders and around the back of his neck. Fingers twisting the strands of brunet hair that rest there.

"And, he broke your heart and that's not acceptable, baby, i'm sorry, I have to defend your honour." Quinn palms rest on each of your hips, pulling you in as his fingers curl into your pajama bottoms.

"But, it was a good thing."

"How is that a good thing?"

"Because if he hadn't done that, I might have married him and been stuck in a loveless marriage and then never met you or met you but not been able to be with you." You look at him with a little smirk like you've beat him at his own game, like you've outplayed him in a game of chess.

"So you're saying that I actually should be thanking that spotty kid for breaking your heart?"

"Yes."

There's a moment of silence as he draws you ever closer, leaning down to brush his nose against yours, all soft lidded eyes and warmth. Pliant like a docile house cat.

"I'm not thanking him, I will, however, not get Millsy to fight him." It's mumbled so close to your lips that they're brushing his, an almost kiss that speaks volumes about where his mind is now.

"Good, because I'm not breaking you or Miller out of prison."

"You don't love me enough?" He doesn't even have the decency to pretend to be offended or care as his eyes are heavy, focus on your lips, not your eyes and certainly not on the ten year old he was threatening to set Miller on 5 seconds ago.

"Oh, I love you enough, but I do not have that skill set, honey."

"I don't know, think you could probably charm the officers into letting me out, baby." Quinn brushes the tip of his nose purposefully with yours and you know he's seconds from breaking and just kissing you, he has his tells, his little gestures that have consistently given him away.

"You suggesting I seduce the police now?" You pull back just enough to get his attention, to force a pout from him at the distance, his fingers scrambling at your back to pull you back in.

"...Nawwh, only me."

"You're an idiot." He pulls in you in with enough force that your chests bump with a soft smack, rubbing his cheek against yours just because he knows the stratch of his beard will get a giggle from you as you shy away from the sensation.

"I'm your idiot though."

"Mmm, my idiot." You mumble it against his lips as he finally breaks, self control being ditched in favour of the way you sigh against his mouth. He tastes like spearmint toothpaste, minty and sweet as his lips part beneath yours with a hum.

Maybe heartbreak at ten sucked, but you can't help but be thankful for it when you ended up winning the jackpot when you scored Quinn. So much better than spotty ten year old Cameron.

[angelovi]

Homecoming.·:≈☆≈:·.

cw; 18+ content, minors dni: spanking, fingering (r! receiving), oral sex (r! receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it before you tap it), breeding, age gap (reader is 22, ghost is 41), mirror sex, ghost is fully clothed in this, having to be quiet, gun fucking, quickie

summary: Its been a year since the supposed death of your husband after he was deployed, but when you wake up to find him lying next to you, alive and well, your life changes for the better.

an: short story, didn't wanna do too much lol

wc: 675

Marrying a soldier was always going to be tough, but getting the call that he was MIA while you’re carrying his child? That kind of loss cuts deeper than you ever imagined.

After a challenging hour of rocking and singing lullabies, you’ve finally settled your newborn baby girl to sleep for the night. As her tiny chest rises and falls in the soft glow of the night light, you feel relieved, determined to keep her peaceful and undisturbed.

You get into bed, but the sheets don't feel comforting. The light from the street lamp creates shadows that remind you of Simon's disappearance. You think about the laughter and good times you had together, now replaced by fear and worry.

You close your eyes, hoping to sleep, but feel overwhelmed by sadness and anxiety. Time seems to stand still, and you feel stuck in this moment, longing for the normal life you once had.

As you wake up, warmth envelops you from the big muscular man spooning you. You feel a curious stirring in your lower abdomen. The dim light filters through the curtains, highlighting the contours of his strong physique. His steady breathing and the security of his presence create a mix of intrigue and calm.

"Simon?.."

"Shhh, go back to sleep, love," he whispers softly, his movements tender and unhurried, as if memorizing the feeling of being this close to you. As my moans grow a little louder, Simon leans in, his lips brushing my ear as he murmurs, "Gotta be quiet, princess. Don’t wanna wake the baby. You’re such a good mama, I know you can keep it together for me…"

Simon slides his fingers into your mouth, stifling the moans threatening to escape as he takes you from behind with relentless precision. His grip is firm as he shifts you, positioning you to face the mirror beside the bed. “Look at yourself,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding, “See how perfect you look while I’m ruining you.”

The first orgasm builds faster than you anticipated, crashing into you like a tidal wave.

Your body trembles as the wave of pleasure overtakes you, your legs threatening to give out beneath you. Simon’s grip tightens on your hips, steadying you, a low, possessive growl rumbling in his chest.

His hand comes down to roughly meet your ass, spanking you hard. "That's my girl."

Your eyes meet your reflection in the mirror, cheeks flushed, lips parted, and a dazed expression that only fuels his intensity. Simon doesn’t relent, thrusting deeper, determined to chase your next high before you can even catch your breath.

"Daddy, fuck!" you gasp, barely able to get the words out.

That catches him off guard, his movements faltering for a moment before his lips curl into a slow, wicked smirk. "Say that again," he growls, his voice low and commanding, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

"Daddy.."

"Again."

"Daddy!"

"Good girl." He pulls out quickly and you whine in protest. He spares a sympathetic smile before grabbing his pistol, ensuring the safety is on.

After seeing your concerned expression he reassures you. "It's alright love. You trust me yeah?" Before you can even mutter a response you can feel your hole being prodded at with the barrel of the pistol.

"S-Si!"

"It's alright baby take a deep breath.. Big stretch.." He slowly inserts the barrel of the pistol into you and you gasp at its size.

He slowly pulls the gun out before pushing it back in, feeling the way you instinctively tighten around it.

You toss your head back as a wave of pure bliss crashes over you, unable to hold back the soft sounds escaping your lips. "S-Si I'm gonna-"

"Let go. Make a mess around my gun baby girl."

With his words pushing you over the edge, you let go completely, surrendering to the moment without a second thought.

The baby's soft cries pull you from your haze, her stirring breaking the silence of the room. Simon chuckles, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Looks like you woke her, love. Guess we'll have to work on keeping it quieter next time."

[goqmir]

cis people reading this post, you should understand two things:

1) if you think you are being kind and have a good relationship with a trans person, and you misgender them or deadname them once or more every time you see them, you are not being kind, and you probably don't have as good of a relationship as you think.

why? because misgendering and deadnaming fucking hurts. it actually hurts more than you can comprehend. it hurts like hell. it hurts like you just got stabbed for real and i'm not joking and it never ever feels better.

so answer me this: if you wanted to hang out with someone you love, and every time you did so they stabbed you once or twice with a big sharp knife and it hurt like fucking hell and left a lasting wound on you, would you still go hang out with that person regularly? if not, why do you feel entitled that the trans person you have this relationship should come visit you, knowing that possibly more than once you'll deadname or misgender them? why are you putting a knife to their throat?

2) you actually, inherently, need to put in more effort about the little parts of speech, such as pronouns, names, and gendering words and phrases, when talking to a transgender person rather than a cisgender person. it's actually more effort. you need to take the time when talking to make sure you phrase things correctly so you aren't misgendering them or deadnaming them. because, as we've established, and even though it might be a simple mistake to you, it hurts like hell to them, like a knife entering their body.

cisgender people do not have this problem, so it's somewhat harder to hurt them in casual conversation by mixing up a pronoun (which is a common mistake when talking without thinking too much for anyone!). when talking to a trans person, you need to think about your words. every cis person i've ever met not only doesn't understand this, but feels entitled to not having to pay any more attention to gendering me correctly than any cis person. and that doesn't work, because cis people don't get stabbed by simple words that are easy to mix up. you gotta talk slower and more thoughtfully until gendering this person right is second nature and if you don't you will hurt them and they'll bleed and it will be entirely your fault.

trans people are not weak because they can be hurt by your carelessness-- rather, you are cruel for hurting them for it. and the only way to not hurt them is to stop and take a second to think about what you'll say before you say it to them. but no cis person i've ever met understands this. maybe you could be the first?

sometimes i see cis people say "trans people will understand if you misgender them at first. i call my nephew 'her' all the time and he knows i don't mean it" no he doesnt. he probably never hangs out with you for more than ten minutes because that's how long you can last in a conversation before making him feel like shit. also he thinks you're, best case scenario, stupid for not being able to figure it out, or worst case scenario, uncaring about him and his needs. he doesn't like spending time with you. you're deluding yourself into thinking you're far kinder than you are. you're weird man.

[fakevalentine]

pls write about sevika eating ass🙏 and happy holidays!!! :D

cw ! good old ass eating. all my writing is gross but my butt stuff is like extreme just a warning also if u know the artist of this fanart pls lmk :3 happy holidays!

sevika is an ass woman. she loves ass, big or small she loves it all. of course, boobs are great, but watching all that flesh bounce and redden under her hand was just completely incomparable.

and when you come strolling out of the bathroom in that ridiculous white and red santa lingerie that barely covered anything, well... she was already ready to shove your face in the mattress, but when your turned around...

oh.

her eyes locked on how the thin fabric of your panties disappear between your asscheeks, emphasising your body that made her almost drool. and she's on you before you can say merry christmas.

face down, ass up... as usual, sevika lapping at you from behind. all you can really do is whine and moan into the sheets, your santa hat falling off and the lingerie still on, just your thong pulled to the side for your woman.

her big hands engulf your ass, spreading you open and landing a glob of spit on your hole, watching it dribble down and into your pussy with a proud smile.

she leans back down to catch the line of spit, following it back up to your ass and slowly tracing the ring of muscle with her tongue. you don't really understand the fascination she has with your butt, but you don't exactly complain about it either.

you're always bent over, or she's casually groping or smacking it, edging towards it when she eats you out— you can't stop her, and you've learned that it feels way better than you thought it would.

she slurps and sucks at your asshole, her thumb finding your clit and rubbing in slow circles to match her tongue. you tremble a little from the dual stimulation, grabbing the sheets under you as you pant. "s-sevika.."

she hums, keeping you still while her tongue massages and rubs against you, groaning as she feels you clench against her tongue. she reluctantly pulls away, still circling your clit. she takes in your glistening holes on display, and suddenly she's never been happier.

her gaze then wanders over to your face, half of it smushed against the bed and your eyes squeezed shut. cute.

sevika eats ass i said so.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ taglist !

@danfelog @fortluocha @ocharavitys @uhh-lana @amastarxoxo @pearlcigs @abbyspup @sunrxxyz @inui-ii @chaostudi

[the-boy-meets-evil]

where you belong | kmg

(where the holidays bring you back to the person and place you need to be.)

pairing: mingyu x fem!reader genre: exes to lovers (lite) | fluff & smut rating: explicit, minors DNI word count: ~1.2k warnings: kissing, smut, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (don't do this, they're in love), that's really it

note: SURPRISE EM! 💕🫶🏻 this is for my baby @gyuswhore for the secret santa event hosted by @camandemstudios. i was so happy to get you and i hope you're surprised that it was me. this was a lot of fun!

tag list: @tinyelfperson, @dokyeomkyeom, @miriamxsworld, @hongrizon, @klecksstorys, @gyuminusone, @aaniag, @straykidswhoo789, @kimseokgen, @beomesbabe, @haolistic, @vanishingboots, @babybae-shisui, @harrythepottypus, @okiedokrie, @nuttywastelandmentality, @writingbarnes, @tomodachiii, @gyuhao365, @jjin-kun, @divinityyyy, @dibidibidismynameisleeknow, @tinkerbell460, @aidanjoon, @cookiearmy, @tusswrites, @kaepjjangiya

There’s something about the holidays that always has you reflecting on the last year. It’s kind of a way for you to figure out what works and what doesn’t before starting fresh in the new year. The past year has been a blur of keeping busy and projects for work. It feels incredibly fulfilling in so many ways. All things considered, it’s been a really good year for you. 

Yet, you can’t keep your mind off the start of the year when you and your boyfriend broke things off. It isn’t some sad story of heartbreak or someone doing something horrible. You both just realized, as you spent New Year’s Eve apart because of work, that maybe it was a sign to give yourselves a chance at something different. Both of you agreed that it made the most sense. Life was pulling you in different directions and it felt like the time to really push forward in your separate work lives. 

If it’s meant to be, it’ll always find a way. You genuinely believe that. So, when your ex walks into the tiny little coffee shop two days before Christmas, you take it as something of a sign. You shouldn’t even still be in the city and this isn’t a coffee shop you’ve ever been to before. But, your travel plans got delayed and you’ve been meaning to try this place for months. His eyes land on you from his position by the counter and he doesn’t seem surprised either. Your heart constricts a little at that shy smile and the way his shaggy hair bounces as he shakes his head. 

“I can’t believe my luck,” Mingyu says when he approaches. “I figured you’d be gone.” 

“I had something come up last minute. I was supposed to leave last night,” you say and he smiles. 

“I’m not sure I want to leave at all now,” he admits. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you.”

“Yeah, same,” you admit. 

“I just moved and I actually live around the corner. Do you want to catch up?” he asks.

“Let me just get my coat.” 

Catching up goes from filling each other in on the last year to Mingyu cooking the best meal you’ve had in ages to lounging on the couch and laughing over silly shows. It’s easy to fall back into such a sense of comfort with him. Every part of you still seems to know every part of him. Some things you would have to explain to anyone else just instantly make sense to him. But, it feels different too. It feels like the last year has allowed you both to realize what’s actually important. Maybe it taught you how to better prioritize your time. 

Something else is easy, too. You fall back into bed with him without a second thought. This is different now, too. Sex wasn’t ever an issue, but he wants you to show him exactly what you want now. Wants it to be perfect for you. The kind of thing that you can’t ever get over. You’re not really sure you ever got over him the first time and you want to tell him you don’t plan to let go of him this time.

“I’ll teach you whatever you want to know,” you tell him. 

“Teach me how to be good for you,” he answers, breathless. 

And you do. Mingyu is a giver, always has been. This is more than that, though. This Mingyu wants to map your reactions to every little thing he does. He wants to watch the way you squirm when his tongue flicks against your clit just right. Wants to memorize the way your thighs squeeze his head when he licks into you. Even if it’s always been good, it’s never been like this. It’s never felt like he’s worshipping your body in quite this way. 

With a moan, your back arches against this bed and your hands scramble to find purchase on something. Anything. You try to keep up a stream of instructions like you said you would, but Mingyu’s also a very fast learner. It doesn’t take him long until his mouth is moving in the perfect way between your legs. Only take one comment for him to add a finger. Doesn’t need to be told how to hit you just right with those fingers. You’re a writhing mess and you’re not even sure that you can think straight anymore. He’s got you seeing stars as you come hard on his tongue and his fingers. 

“I’m not sure you need me to teach you anything,” you say after catching your breath for a second. 

Mingyu’s got a bit of a smirk on his mouth, still glistening a little. “Maybe I just like hearing you talk me through things when you’re coming undone.”

“Oh, it’s like that?” you joke back. 

“We can see if you need to teach me anything else,” he says with that sparkle still in his eyes. 

“You’re not done with me?” you ask and try not to sound too hopeful.

“No,” he says and kisses you before you can respond in any way. 

It always seemed crazy to you to think that someone could kiss you stupid. Until Mingyu kisses you like that after nearly a year apart. Until you remember all the kisses for every different occasion. Now it just seems crazy to think there’s anyone out there for you other than him. He keeps kissing you as he settles his body between your legs, hovering his body just over yours so that he doesn’t put too much weight on you. Keeps kissing you as he uses a hand to line himself up at your entrance. Keeps kissing you as he slowly presses into you. The pace is slower than you want, filled with all the things you’re feeling. All the affection and reverence that he’s always shown you. 

“Mingyu, please, I need more,” you finally moan out. 

And it happens like that again. He lets you teach him just the pace that you want. He lets you set the rhythm alternating between slow, languid strokes and hard, fast snaps of his hips. Everything else around you disappears. All you see is the love in his eyes as he takes you in. Everything about this moment is perfect. The absolute best way that you can imagine to end the year. Almost as good as him pushing you to a second orgasm just before he follows right after you.

It seems too early to be awake if the light coming in through the cracks in Mingyu’s curtains is any indication, but the smell of coffee wafts tantalizingly into the bedroom. You’re incredibly thankful that you changed all of your holiday plans to stay with Mingyu. It clearly isn’t just the post-sex haze that has you wanting to stay. Your heart is full to bursting with warmth. He’s always been it for you and you’re thankful that you get to spend another holiday with him. 

So, you pull on a baggy shirt Mingyu has lying by the side of the bed and slide out of bed. You walk over to the window to see what’s making it seem a little brighter outside. Amazingly, snow falls gently in beautiful, swirling patterns. The whole world is quiet and you know you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. 

I hope you enjoyed it ❤️

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Dustin moved to the window by Steve’s front door and pressed his face to it.

"Robin. . .why is Steve talking to Santa?" Dustin asked and turned to look at her.

"Oh, he knows him very personally. He called him over for you guys," Robin said.

"Steve knows Santa?!" Dustin shrieked. "He never said!"

"Okay, do you still bel - ," Robin started to say.

"WHY IS STEVE KISSING SANTA?!" Dustin yelled, his face pressed to the glass.

"Oh, well, Steve’s been a very bad boy this year, and he's trying to work his way back onto the nice list," she replied.

"BY SEDUCING SANTA?!" Dustin yelled. "That's not how you do it!"

Mike, Lucas, Max, Will, and El entered the hallway.

"What's going on?" Max asked.

"Steve knows Santa! He called him over, and now he's cheating on Steve with him!" Dustin yelled.

"What? Is he trying to get on the nice list or naughty list?" Mike asked.

"Fuck this," Max swore.

They all spilled out onto the front lawn with Robin following after them.

"You guys do know that Santa isn't - "

"STEVE!" Dustin yelled.

"Oh, goddamn it," Steve cursed as he pulled away from Santa. "I've ruined - "

"Are you cheating on Eddie?!" Dustin yelled, his hands on his hips. "You're my brother, and I love you, but if you ruin this relationship with Eddie, I'll never forgive you!"

"That's sweet, Henderson, but completely unnecessary," Santa said and pulled his beard down to reveal Eddie. "Surprise!"

"Oh my god!" Dustin exclaimed.

"Don't beat yourself up, Dustin, it's an easy mistake to make!" Eddie said cheerfully.

"Why didn't you tell us?!" He asked.

"Uh, well, Steve wanted to keep it a surprise, and I thought you were old enough to know," Eddie said.

"It makes sense now, Eddie wasn't here last Christmas!" Mike exclaimed.

"And it makes sense why his wounds healed so quickly," Lucas said.

"And why he can drive so fast," El said.

"And why he is so good with animals," Max said.

"And kids," Dustin said.

"He's great with kids and storytelling!" Will exclaimed.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Eddie asked.

"I don't know," Steve frowned.

"He loves elves and Lord of the Rings!" Lucas exclaimed.

"Oh my god! Eddie's Santa Claus!" Dustin yelled.

"I have to call Nancy!" Mike yelled.

"We have to call the rest of the party!" Dustin yelled.

Robin, Steve, and Eddie watched dumbfounded as the kids ran back inside.

"Do they still believe in Santa?" Eddie asked.

"This is the first time I'm fucking hearing about it and we've known them longer than you," Steve said.

"Maybe since they know that the Upside Down exists, they think other things like the North Pole exists," Robin said.

"Makes sense," Steve frowned.

"I am NOT telling them that I'm not Santa," Eddie said, crossing his arms. "You do it, Steve!"

"I'm not doing it!" Steve yelled.

"I'll do it!" Robin yelled and then paused. "After everything they've been through. . .don't they deserve to believe in a little bit of magic?"

"I don't know. . .we would be lying to them, Robin," Eddie said.

Meanwhile, the kids were watching them argue from the window.

"So, how long do you think it'll take them to realize that we don't actually believe in Santa Claus?" Max asked.

"A while," Mike snickered.

"Eddie should have done a better job at hiding the Santa costume," Max said.

As Robin, Steve, and Eddie fought on the front lawn, the kids watched with freshly made hot chocolate and Christmas music playing in the background. Snowflakes began to fall from the sky, dancing around to land on the ground.

"The mood is right. The spirit's up. We're here tonight, and that's enough. Simply having a wonderful Christmastime. . ."

[nefariousnemesis]

okay, so. OP i hope you don't take this as me getting upset, i just get super passionate about pokemon and need to explain to everyone in the audience why most people did not think to do this.

first is the most obvious thing like. it came down to arrogance right? the leaders before this were some of the biggest pushovers in pokemon history. falkner and bugsy. another point is that a lot of people don't really want to use pokemon from past gens unless they REALLY love them.

any way it's time to go over the type of team most trainers would've had at this point. you got your starter, you got your pikachu/mareep, free eevee, flying, and bug poke.

now. here's the problem: barring chikorita (who takes not very effective) and totodile/eevee (takes regular damage), EVERYONE on this team is weak to rock. also who would've guessed a gym leader would have type coverage?? actually. this is a good time to bring up the crown jewel: this ABSOLUTELY ingenious setlist and break it down:

Stomp: a 65 base power move and 30% chance to flinch. not only that, but it's a STAB move making the moves power closer to 98. yeah.

Attract: a status move that has a 50% chance of working every turn. to make things worse, your starter (who would normally be doing the most heavy lifting) is very likely to be male.

Milk Drink: basically just recover/soft-boiled/roost (ok so roost is a bit different) which is VERY GOOD. 50% of max health is even better than any potion you would have access to at this point. also wanted to point out but if you slapped whiney's clefairy before she had a chance to heal it, that means when you FINALLY managed to whittle milktank's health down, she could just heal it with her two potions as well but. why would she at that point when she's got MILK DRINK.

ROLLOUT: oh god. so. it comes to this. here is all the numbers and information on pokemondb.net which i will post now and we can all boggle at the absurdity of these numbers:

so yeah. as you can see the big problem is even when you switch out your pokemon into another one, even if it's something with high defense, as long as the move hits, it has a chance of a OHKO.

(btw in hgss miltank is level 19 instead but in exchange holds a lum berry. just in case you wanted to like. paralyze it or something you gotta do it AGAIN)

miltank is a pokemon that does not evolve so i guess the best way is to describe it is that pokemon with no evolutions have some pretty strong base stats compared to ones that have yet to evolve fully.

here's an estimation of what the machop you would trade IF it was the same level as miltank:

and here's quilava (the starter i chose):

ok, not bad-

NOW THIS IS MILTANK:

as you can see, even if your pokémon were a few levels higher, they're still at a disadvantage here. machop has some low base stats so unless you train and evolve it, its STILL going to be a battle as a turn 4-5 rollout can most likely oneshot it. this is why, for speed runners or nuzlocks the beginning is almost always the hardest just in terms of your options being severely limited and shit like this.

an way just to close this out but this post really unlocked another interesting memory in me. you need drowzee to trade for the machop and like. drowzee in joto was MY FIRST shiny pokemon and i captured it on route 34. i didn't know what it was, but it LOOKED special. reading this post, i wonder if i was looking for drowzee specifically for this purpose?

idk about y'all but when i was playing pokemon as a baby, i did not know defense and special defense were separate. or attack and special attack for that matter, i just saw a move and clicked on it. flame wheel looks cool on quilava and has a higher number than ember, so im keeping it. even though it's attack stat is the weaker of the two. so yeah. machop is the closest to a "hard counter" we would've had for miltank but fortunately whitey's strategy really only works the one time. the best thing to do was level up your pokemon or catch a heracross or quagsire. for full transparency, whitney is the only time i've ever been bested by the game's AI (not counting battle frontier...) but i think that's awesome. it taught me to become more diverse and creative with my movesets. any way i just think breaking stuff down like this is a lot of fun, and i always find it interesting when a community of people all had the same experience.

wait hold on yall didnt just use the machop that resists rollout, is immune to attract from female pokemon, can ko normal-types in like two hits if you just train it a little, and is basically given to you for free in the very same city you fight whitney????

[bunnwich]

HELLO! Do you have a summary of how you portray Leona's personality in your stories? I'm a big fan of your Leona and Yuu stories and I've read them multiple times www /gen I always feel like you just nail how he would act and say things and you inspire me to work on my own fics and get better at writing scenarios with him. Than you in advance ily🙏 🦉anon

How I Portray Leona in General and in Romance

HI ANON! So I've gotten this question a few times and someone in my discord asked me basically the same thing so I'll share with you what I wrote a few months ago about Leona and the general way I write him. (it's quite funny bc a lot of these things come up in Chapter 7 when we see his dream. I AM CURSED WITH APOLLOS'S GIFT OF PROPHECY WITH THIS MAN ISTG)

I hope this is helpful?? I would like to point out that the way I write Leona is fully based on my biases and life experiences. And that a big part of fandom is projecting what you wanna see in characters while still making them feel like the same character we know in canon, yk? Good luck with your fic writing! And thank you!! mwah mwah.💚 --

So Leona takes himself as a direct person, BUT he hides A LOT. He purposely misdirects people to get a reaction out of them. (Ex: pretending to be incompetent to anger someone) or he's playing with them. HE LOVES GAMES. Everyone is a chess piece, he has to feel in control bc that’s all he has ever had over everyone else; his wits. He’s a dickhead. He will say offensive shit to scare people off.

It’s a test to see who sticks around. He has no reservations when it comes to this. You take him as he is. And despite how some people write him he’s kinda silly? Like dad jokes. Why does he joke so much about eating people, who knows? (He says shit like Namby-pamby ffs) Why are you a 40y/o in a 20 y/o body?

I HC he purposely talks casually and gruff to distance himself from his upbringing. (I like to mix proper language and slang with him bc it feels right? Also lots of animal puns, and nicknames. HE'S CORNY AF)

In general, I don't think Leona is an entirely romantic person in canon, however in my timeline, I do HC that he, like Scar has this “want vs need problem” with connection to others. He thinks it's just praise he wants (or to be king) BUT he NEEDS TLC. What was Scar MOST jealous of at the end of the day?? Mufasa’s connections, a ✨queen✨, a family! BEING KING DID NOT MAKE SCAR HAPPY!! He needs to be needed and in Chapter 2 novella, he admits he HAS to numb himself to not care. I feel like this is something he constantly battles with. Yeah, he's lazy but it's partly bc he’s tired. He’s burnt out.

On the surface, he projects 100% nonchalance. He wants you to think everything he says is just "off the cuff", but it's not. He plans everything!!! He’s a mentor, big bro, caretaker. He is not the best at comforting words but he enjoys being a leader bc people appreciate him and look up to him. Something he never got at home.

Leona and ✨Romance✨

He fools himself into thinking he has the upper hand at first and keeps his distance keeping an eye on the object of his affection. Why would you catch his eye? Well, his greatest strength is picking up on OTHER STRENGTHS. Chessmaster. He is a mentorrrr and caretaker lowkey, he wants others to NEED him and rely on him. HE WANTS YOU TO NEED HIM.

At first, he would place himself in your path, trying to be helpful in a very tsundere type way. But he would still be causal and keep ruffling your feathers to gauge how you feel for him. He guards his heart pretty heavily. And more and more he is slowly collecting info about you he would find more ways for these meetings to happen until he realizes: "Oh shit, I’ve caught feelings." This one is the winner. He’s the king of nonchalance but also...he’s a very overly sensitive person. No doubt he’s freaking out a little, he doesn't wanna screw this up. But, he’d never show it.

I do think he wants to be challenged and given some pushback (insert manga panel about "something being harder to get and therefore is better"), He wants to WORK for it, to prove himself to you that you SHOULD choose him. He wants to impress you. It makes him feel alive. A person who keeps him on his toes.

And once this ”game” of cat and mouse starts to happen. He might start to let his guard down if you are shown you can be trusted with his VERY VERY delicate feelings, that you DO accept his flaws, treat him differently than all others, and see past his gruff demeanor. It is a test of sorts. He is testing that you can “handle” him. MORE GAMES.

He’d let you set the pace though. He won't be the first to give in. To kiss you or confess first. But he would fall first HARD. He’s not been given much one-on-one attention in his life so he would crave that time with you. Physical touch is a big one, but he would not be pushy. He'd tease your boundaries and become addicted to your time together.

But yeah, this push and pull goes on for a while, all the while he’s gauging how you react to this. Memorizing it all.

He’s def one of those texters who erases their sentence like 5 times when they are nervous bc he is cookin' up the RIGHT response to endear you. (Not in a sappy way of course more in a: “I know you miss me, mouse.” snarky sorta way.) Though he can be self-deprecating on bad days. He’ll act confident, though soften up behind closed doors.

I think once he realizes that you have picked up on his simpery and there's no going back...all bets are off. He doubles down, no longer ashamed of hiding it. (Assuming at this point the person has reciprocated these feelings too!) He wants to be yours and he’s not subtle. Someone to be by his side.

Then you get the REAL simp Leona, who lowkey mumbles the sappiest shit to you in his native language when he holds you, (bc he’s still embarrassed to be vulnerable, though this will fade over time) He’ll be your biggest supporter, and wants you around him as much as you can be.

This just keeps going until you're married. Congrats you now have a lion to take care of forever.🦁 Hope this helps!✨