#thats why its all so rusted in there

[thatancient2]

THIS IS GETTING OUT OF HAND

THERE ARE UNDERWATER RIFTS NOW???

[jaikoyaki]

One more chance.

//kim minji x reader//Street racing AU// Oneshot //

— Tied her down to my Queen bed. Tease her just enough to hate me.

SYPNOSIS ❯❯❯❯ Rivals, exes, idiots with fast cars. you race, you fight, you kiss—sometimes not in that order. tonight’s supposed to settle the score. but when has that ever gone to plan?

WARNINGS ❯❯❯❯ Suggestive jokes/themes, Explicit Language, gayness

TAGS ❯❯❯❯ Street Racing AU, Enemies/exes to something, Fluff, Mutual Pining, teeny tiny angst, Underground Racing Culture, FEM!READER

WC ❯❯❯❯ 3.3K

A/N ❯❯❯❯ Bro. Why do all my writing sprees start at 1am. like thats my peak freak hour. I nearly titled this “fast & freaky” 😿🙏 and every time I reread it in the morning I cringe so bad oml. Also fuck tumblr i got this accidentally posted this twice

Minji looks stupid good under neon.

Always has, always will.

She’s got on this oversized firetruck red windbreaker, slung off one shoulder, and a navy cap pulled low so the bold “P” hides her eyes. Not that it matters. You know that look. You’ve memorized it. 

Her little crew is wrapped around her like she’s royalty but you know better.

She never needed an entourage.

She had you.

Once, you were the one by her side. Closer than any of them.

Now you’re across the lot, gripping the wheel like it’s her hand and praying your engine doesn’t stall the second she glances your way again.

You’re parked right at the edge of the strip—an old shipping yard they turned into a half-legal racetrack, lit only by flickering floodlights and the glow of brake lights. Smoke curls into the sky from burnt-out tires. The air’s thick with gas, sweat, and something else you won’t name.

People are everywhere, perched on hoods, crowding around the starting line, drinks in hand, phones out. Some are here to race, most are just here to watch.

“YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS!��

 The host’s voice crackles through the busted PA system, slicing through bass and bad decisions.

“Another night, another round of racing! Don’t cry when your bets flop! And don’t cry too hard when your car eats shit on the last corner!”

The crowd whoops. Somewhere behind you, someone lets off a firecracker.

You roll your eyes and lean back against your car, arms crossed over your chest.

“He’s getting more dramatic every time,” you mutter.

“Yeah,” Ryujin replies, slipping beside you, “but he’s right. Bet money’s gonna get ugly tonight.”

You shoot her a look. “You betting against me now?”

She snorts. “Please. I like my money where I can count it.”

 Then she elbows you. “You know Minji’s crew showed up an hour early just to scout the track?”

Your gaze flicks across the lot. Minji’s still there—right where you left her in your rearview mirror.

“Guess she’s worried.”

“Or,” Ryujin says, nudging your shoulder, “..she’s just taking it seriously. Word is a sponsor specifically requested this race.”

“What race?”

She deadpans. “The one you’re in. With her.”

You blink. “Huh..?”

Ryujin stares at you. “Did you not read the group chat?”

You definitely did not.

“Some hotshot sponsor asked for you two specifically. Said it’d draw a crowd.”

You frown. “Why? We always end up tying anyway.”

“Exactly,” she grins, “they eat that shit up. Everyone wants to see who’ll finally win.”

You sigh, turning your attention to the starting line where two cars rev. Another crew-versus-crew race about to start. One of the drivers signals to the crowd, standing half-out the window, hyping them up. His engine is loud like it's got something to prove. The other car flashes its headlights in response.

“Ten seconds!” the host calls out, voice echoing off rusted metal and sweat-slick concrete. A girl in fishnets raises her arms at the starting line, bandana fluttering from one wrist like a flag.

You and Ryujin watch in silence.

"That one’s from Jeno’s crew,” She murmurs, nodding toward the black Supra with matte decals. “He’s fast, but he always oversteers on turns. Cocky.”

You hum, eyes locked on the track.

The girl drops her arms.

Engines scream, tires screech, and the two cars launch forward like rockets.

The crowd erupts as they rip down the makeshift strip.

They drift the last corner hard, one nearly clipping the sidewall. It's messy, but it earns a cheer.

“Messy,” you mutter. “But ballsy.”

“Mhm,” Ryujin agrees. “Still won’t beat you, though.”

You flash her a small smile. But it fades the second you glance back across the lot—

Minji’s not in her spot anymore.

She’s moved closer to the track, standing just behind the barrier, closer than she needs to be.

And closer to you.

You spot her through the smoke just as another set of tires scream across the finish. She’s got that look on again—the one that says she’s thinking three steps ahead.

Well, fine. So are you.

You push off your car and stroll over, hands deep in your pockets, the smirk already forming.

“You finally come to get a better look?” you ask, stopping just a little too close. Like, you-can-smell-her-perfume close.

Minji doesn’t flinch. “Just wanted to see what kind of excuse your crew’s gonna spit out when you choke again.”

“Cute,” you grin. “You sound nervous.”

Her eyes slide to yours. “You wish.”

You laugh under your breath. “You always talk more when you're trying not to feel something.”

The parking lot was empty, save for the two of you and the occasional buzz of a streetlamp overhead.

“You should probably ease off throttle in that second turn. If the back end slips, counter-steering alone won’t be enough, you’ll need—” She paused, catching herself mid-ramble.

You raised an eyebrow, looking over. “Min.”

“What?”

“You’re overthinking again.”

Minji sighed, low and annoyed, more at herself than you. “I’m not.”

“Yes you are. You nervous?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes stayed on the dark stretch of road beyond the lot, and her voice, when it came, was tight. “It’s not nerves. I just... like to be prepared.”

You nudged her with your shoulder. “And I know when you’re lying.”

She glanced at you, and for a second, something softened in her expression—like she wanted to admit it, to just let it out. But then the wall came back up. She took another sip of her drink, voice casual again. “Then stop asking dumb questions.”

You smiled. “You don’t have to be scared of losing.”

“I’m not,” she said, too fast.

And that was all the confirmation you needed.

Her jaw ticks, just barely.

Bullseye.

“I talk more when I’m bored,” she fires back, deadpan. “And you’re a slow burn.”

You tilt your head, lips twitching. “Funny. You weren’t bored last time you were in my backseat.”

Her jaw tightens.

“Oh—we’re still pretending that didn’t happen?” you say, sweetly venomous. “Should I shut up before your crew hears how loud you were?”

Minji’s team starts glancing around awkwardly. Yours is already watching like this is the undercard fight before the main event.

“And here I thought red was your lucky color,” you muse, eyeing the way it clings to her. “Still looks better crumpled up on my floor.”

That does it.

She spins on her heel and stalks back to her side without saying a word.

You watch her go, a smug little curl tugging at your lips.

She’s rattled.

Exactly where you want her.

–

Minji stalks back to her side of the lot. The crowd’s still buzzing, cheers, engines, someone yelling about lost bets—but she doesn’t hear any of it.

Her head’s still full of you.

Of the way your voice dropped, just enough to make her pulse beat faster. The stupid smirk you wore like it was your default face. God, it’s like you know exactly which buttons to push, and worse, you do it on purpose.

She’s halfway to her crew’s car when Hanni materializes beside her.

“She’s so annoying,” Minji mutters, yanking off her gloves one finger at a time like they personally offended her.

“And hot,” Hanni chimes in like she’s checking off a list. “Annoying and hot. The deadliest combo.”

Minji shoots her a look.

“What?” Hanni shrugs, hands buried in her hoodie pockets. “You keep racing her. That can’t just be about pride. Either you’re trying to prove something to her, or you’re hoping she rear-ends you and calls it foreplay.”

Minji glares. “Hanni.”

“I’m just saying, man.” Hanni says, all innocent. “You get weird when she’s around. Stiff. Clenchy. Very Batman-core.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” Hanni cuts in. “You were flirting and fighting at the same time. Flirting-with-enemies-to-lovers pipeline speedrun.”

Minji scowls, dragging a hand through her hair. “It’s not—she’s just… distracting.”

Hanni grins. “Awww. She gets under your skin. That’s sooo gay of you.”

Minji doesn’t respond. She doesn’t have to. Her silence says enough, especially when her eyes flick back toward the track. Toward where you’re standing.

She still remembers the last time you two raced. The tie. The after. The stupid, breathless laugh you gave her in the dark when you said, “Bet you let me win.” As if she didn’t push her engine harder than she ever had that night just to keep up.

—

Fifteen minutes later, the host’s voice crackles to life again, loud and electric.

“ALRIIIIIGHT! We’ve got a special matchup tonight, folks—one straight outta hell!”

The crowd roars in anticipation.

“Back by very popular demand—Minji of the NJZ Crew, and Y/N from the 88s! You know ’em. You love ’em. You fear what’s gonna happen if one of them actually wins this time!”

People scream. Cameras flash. Phones are up, recording, live-streaming.

Bets are flying, shouted across the space like war shouts. You even hear someone yell “Fifty grand on the 88s!” over the din.

You step toward the line, helmet swinging from your fingers, engine still humming behind you.

Minji’s already there, leaning against her MR2 like she's posing for a photo. Her windbreaker gone, now tied loose around her waist. She’s in a fitted white tank stamped with I ❤️ ME, Her track pants sit low, hips tilted just so— and okay—

You almost hate how good she looks.

Almost.

She glances at you as you approach, then back to her car, jaw tight.

No words?

You grin.

“What? Not even a ‘good luck’? I thought you were a gracious loser, Min.”

She doesn’t flinch. Just shifts her weight and leans into the door of her car, lips curling into the faintest smirk.

“I was just thinking…” she says, voice slow and deliberate, “how nice your car would look with my initials keyed into the hood.”

You blink. Your cocky grin falters for a second—just a second. Long enough for her to catch it.

She saw.

You recover quick, letting out a short laugh. “Dream big.”

She opens her door but pauses, glancing over her shoulder. “It’s cute when you pretend you’re not nervous,” she says, voice pitched lower now. Just for you. “But I’ve seen the way your hands shake after a close race. You still get that adrenaline high?”

Your jaw clenches.

“Why, you offering to help me wind down after?”

She looks at you then. Really looks. Her eyes drag down your figure like she’s memorizing you.

“Only if you win,” she murmurs. “But we both know you won’t.”

You recover fast—ish. Coughing once. twice. Covering your smile with your hand. Okay. She wants to play like that now?

“You always flirt when you’re desperate?” you ask, trying to steady your voice. It almost works.

Minji raises a brow, eyes gleaming. “Desperate?” She steps closer. “L/N, if I wanted to rattle you, I wouldn’t be using words.”

You open your mouth—ready to snap back, or maybe choke—but the host’s voice cracks through the moment.

You blink.

Wait.

You were supposed to rattle her.

-

"Let’s make it spicy tonight, shall we?” the host’s voice booms over the speakers, dramatic. "Winner takes ten grand from our very generous sponsor and... who knows—might just walk away with a real racing contract. That’s right, our mystery backer’s in the lot tonight, hunting for the next underground icon. Think of it as your shot at going pro.”

Racing contract.

cheers and gasps ripple through the crowd. 

That’s new.

That’s everything you’ve ever wanted

Your heart stutters.

You glance at Minji. Her expression doesn’t change, but you notice how her fingers tighten on the wheel, the knuckles turning white.

“And hey,” the host adds, clearly having the time of his life, “loser’s still the winner’s bitch for the night!”

The crowd explodes.

You smirk behind the glass of your helmet as you finally slide it on, slow and deliberate. Your hands find the wheel like they belong there.

Minji’s already seated, belt clipped, gaze straight ahead.

No more talking.

But you don’t need words to know what she’s thinking.

She wants this.

Bad.

Just like you.

The girl from earlier steps back onto the track, arms raised, bandana whipping in the wind.

Red.

Your foot taps the gas once—just enough to feel the purr of your engine under your heel.

Yellow.

Minji’s MR2 booms beside you, low and steady.

You glance once at her, just once, through the smoke and heat.

She’s already looking at you.

And she smiles.

Green.

The second the light turns green, you’re off.

Rubber shrieks against pavement as your tires fight for grip. The force slams you into your seat.

Minji’s MR2 launches beside you, her shift smooth, timing perfect. She’s done this a hundred times. Maybe a thousand.

She’s right there—mirror to mirror, heartbeat to heartbeat. You can feel her, even through the roar.

She's not holding back. Not tonight.

Streetlights flicker overhead, throwing shadows across the cracked asphalt.

You take the first bend a little too tight—there’s a trash bin sitting half in the road.

You overcorrect, swerve slightly, tires skimming the edge of the curb.

Don’t oversteer. She’ll never let you live it down.

Minji doesn’t flinch.

She sees your mistake and takes advantage, cutting inside and passing you cleanly.

Her MR2 hugs the turn perfectly, tires whispering instead of screaming.

Typical.

You spot an opening: a tight, flooded alley shortcut that most wouldn’t risk. You remember it from scouting earlier, but you hadn’t planned to use it. It’s too unpredictable. Still, you dive in.

Water splashes up the side of your car, and for a moment, the whole chassis shudders.

You're hydroplaning—

Breathe. Don’t panic. Catch it.

You do. Barely.

When you burst out the other side, you’re ahead.

Final lap.

Now it’s you she’s chasing.

The road curves into a long sweeping turn, then tightens into a brutal S-curve right before the finish.

You keep your line tight, eyes flicking between the mirrors and the road.

She’s gaining on you again. She knows this part too well.

She’s not even forcing her car just waiting for you to mess up again.

But then—

Halfway through the lap, right before the last turn, something goes wrong.

Minji’s car stutters.

You don’t stop. Can’t. Not now.

You tear across the finish line a second later.

You win.

The crowd erupts. Fireworks explode somewhere off in the distance, a streak of color lighting up the night sky. Your name’s being screamed, shouted, echoed all around you. Someone grabs your arm—probably Ryujin, lifting it high into the air. You barely hear them. You barely hear anything, honestly.

Minji’s out of her car by the time you circle back. She gives you a stiff nod, lips pressed thin like she’s biting something back.

“Congrats,” she says.

You want to say something—Thank you? Did I? Are you okay? Was that real?—but she’s already walking off, disappearing into the crowd before anyone can stop her.

And maybe the crowd’s still celebrating, but all you can think about is her jaw. Clenched. Her fists. Shoved too deep in her pockets. The way her eyes didn’t meet yours long enough to say what she really felt.

She’s pissed.

You know her.

All too well.

-

Later, when the chaos has faded, you find yourself steering your car toward the place you’re 99% sure she went.

An old lot, tucked behind an abandoned strip mall. No lights. No noise. Just the faint hum of a playlist she always swore helped her “focus,” even though half of it was just twice songs and alt-pop breakup songs.

Sure enough, her MR2’s there.

Hood popped. Headlights dimmed.

Minji stands with her back to you, sleeves rolled up, frowning at the mess under the hood like she’s trying to will it back to life.

You park a few spaces down and walk over.

“I thought I told you to replace the starter,” you say casually, eyeing the cables.

She jumps. Just a little.

“You stalking me now?” she says, not looking up.

“No,” you lie. “Just figured I’d find you sulking somewhere.”

“...Not sulking,” she mutters. “Just...processing.”

“Uh huh.”

You step closer. The smell of smoke and hot metal lingers in the air. You glance at the engine, then at her hands. She’s holding the wrench wrong.

You sigh. “You’re gonna strip the bolt like that.”

“I know how to fix my car,” she snaps.

You hold up your hands. “Didn’t say you didn’t. Just offering.”

She hesitates.

Then, quietly so quietly “...Fine.”

You take the wrench from her. Your fingers brush. She tenses.

And suddenly, it’s just the two of you again. Just like it used to be. Two grease-stained idiots under the hood, arguing about torque specs and spark plugs.

“Still a little dramatic,” you mutter, tightening a bolt.

“Says the girl who revved so loud the crowd thought a jet was landing.”

You glance at her sideways. “Eh. Admit it. You missed this.”

She scoffs. “You wish.”

You grin. “You let me win.”

That gets her. Her face twitches.

“No, I didn’t,” she says, but you catch it. That tiny, guilty shift in her eyes.

You step in closer, wiping your hands on your jeans.

“You knew how much I wanted that contract,” you say, voice quieter now. “It’s all I ever talked about.”

Her jaw tightens, and her eyes don't meet yours. She’s thinking—really thinking, like she always does when she doesn’t know how to feel.

You remember those late-night conversations, way before any of this. When it was just you two, talking about your futures under the glow of her dads garage lights. You used to tell her about your big dream of making it as a real racer. You said it like it was just some offhand joke, but she saw it. She always did. The way your eyes lit up when you said it. She knew.

And then, in the present, as the host’s words echoed in the back of her mind, she saw your eyes shine when they mentioned the contract. You were ready to take it, to take that chance, and she let you.

“Min,” you say, softer, “your car was fine five minutes before the race.”

She still doesn’t speak. Just looks away. Jaw tight.

Her lips tremble slightly, but she stays quiet. Always holding back. Always too in control. But not tonight.

You step in closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off her skin. Close enough to see the way her fists twitch like she’s holding back from either hitting you or grabbing you.

You don’t say anything else.

You just wait.

And maybe that’s what breaks her.

Because a second later, she moves.

No warning—just a sharp inhale, and then she’s on you. Arms locking around your shoulders, body crashing into yours like she’s trying to shove all the distance out of the way. She hugs you hard. Desperate. Her breath hits your neck hot and ragged, and you feel the tension in her spine like a livewire.

Her grip’s bruising. Her nails dig into your back like she wants to hurt you for making her care this much. But you don’t let go.

You never could.

She buries her face into the curve of your neck, and the exhale she lets out sounds like a surrender as her hands slide down your sides, fingers pressing into your waist with a force that leaves no room for escape. Her lips graze your skin when she speaks, sounding shaky and too honest.

“I missed you,” she mutters, and god—it’s not fair, the way your heart jumps like you haven’t heard her lie a hundred times before.

Rivals, sure. Exes, yeah. But damn—her hands still remember the shape of your waist better than her steering wheel.

MINJI IN RED LIKE😻😻😜😜 RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

taglist: @arihiu @fruityg0rl @keiji-jin @strangercat @yjiminswallet @hazel-tanthamore22 @idkwhatim-doinghere101 @gtfoiydlyj @Mj.Db @gtfoiydlyjm @somedaydream @peranoo @syronns @angiisss @Drvirgus @aloneinacity @nnewjeansstuff @imsogay504 @sh1ba100 @tashasmywife

[with-my-calamitous-love]

I HAVE A LOT OF REGRETS ABOUT THAT

osamu dazai x reader, 18 dark ages! dazai

you take care of dazai while he’s ill and in a rare moment of vulnerability.

for 🚬 anon! thank you for supporting 🤍

inspired by this is me trying

he didn’t think it was possible to be so ahead.

he was only 18, and had committed hundreds of crimes. he was a young man, and yet the star pupil of the mafia boss. he had only been in the world for less than a few decades, and yet knew the world better than anyone.

so was he ahead, or was he behind? perhaps he was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere.

his head is pounding, feeling the ache in his eyes. his body feels slack, like its giving up on him despite only just growing it itself. he’s weak, and hiding out in his apartment like a coward. if someone wanted to kill him, now would be the time to do it.

luckily, thats not what you’re here to do. much to his dismay.

he was wary at first, letting you in. he says the usual- that he’ll get you sick and that he can handle himself. but the man who’s wrapped in bandages clearly can’t take care of himself, even if its just a simple cold.

so you trudge in anyway, sighing at his empty fridge with only a few expired contents. how he was surviving was a mystery to you.

so you put together what you can, forging a soup with crab meat so he’ll actually eat it. you don’t know, but he’s watching you from his bedroom.

he’s not used to being taken care of.

truthfully, he could follow his fears all the way down. he could let his shiny wheels rust, and succumb to the realities of life. its what he always preaches about, anyway. he says he wants death, but more so just a reason to go on. whether there was one for him was a different question.

he sighs wearily when you bring a bowl of soup to him, only realizing how hungry he is when he can smell it wafting towards his nostrils. “thank you, darling.” he hums, not caring for the way it slightly burns his fingertips when he takes it from you.

normally, he’d call you an angel for taking care of him, and ask you to commit double suicide holding his hand. you know he’s tired when all he can manage is a thank you before he’s eating the soup like its his first meal in days. honestly, it might have been.

“how are you feeling?” you ask, sitting next to him on the bed. he almost smiles when you put hour hand against his forehead, feeling his temperature. maybe he loves your cold hands against his burning hot skin, or maybe he loves you. probably both.

he resigns to remain strong. because he doesn’t want to be an open wound. its hard to be anywhere these days when all he wants is you, but he can’t admit that. what would happen if he trusted? if he let himself be saved? who would he lose?

“i’m okay.” he says, curving his dehydrated lips into a smile.

you sigh.

his lies are a flashback in a film reel. you’ve seen them before, but they still hurt.

“don’t give me that.” you say, clutching his bandaged hands. “let me care about you, ‘samu.”

for just a moment there, his smirk falls.

he’s used to being told that all his problems are mental. he’s used to getting wasted at bars, like all his potential. he’s used to downing everything he could have been, had he not been exposed to evil at such a young age.

evil expects evil from others. dazai himself was evil. so why weren’t you?

he doesn’t know. but he knows he’s anything but okay right now.

“i’m… tired. and my head is killing me.” he whispers, setting aside his near empty bowl of soup. he looks tired.

you don’t say anything, but he does let you gently push him onto the bed. his heart flutters when he feels you tuck the blankets around him, and end with a kiss on his forehead.

“you rest.” you hum. “i’m gonna go do your groceries. you need more than just instant food, ‘samu. but you are paying me back.”

he’s too tired to protest, and maybe he loves being taken care of. this is him trying.

[ifwdominicfike]

you try to get guitarist!matt to listen to one taylor swift song since he apparently “hates” her music

── .✦. ──

“matt im telling you, one song wouldn’t hurt you. or are you just too scared you’ll like it?” you felt the chillest breeze outside and decided to play folklore on repeat because who wouldn’t? anyway, matt was fed up with hearing about “some girl complaining about her failed relationships” but you couldn’t care less.

“sweetheart, it’s literally just the same song but about a different guy. she’s too overplayed i don’t get how you like that shit” he scoffs, making his way around the couch. “everyone says that though, you’ve only heard her pop songs that why — her other songs are masterpieces. all of her lyrics are basically me.” you sarcastically say — but not really.

as he sits down on the cushion you scoot your way over to him, laying your head on his shoulder. “pleaseee just one song? i promise you’ll like it, well hopefully i dont know.” you ask with a smile, he lets out a sigh and finally agrees. “yeah sure come on, show me this song then sweetheart.”

you now have the biggest smile on your face and get up from your comfortable position, and turn to make your way to your shared room to grab headphones “wait here” you excitedly say, as if he would vanish the second you were gone.

when you came back with the black bulky headphones he was already looking your way, smiling at your excited state. “this better be good if you’re this happy about this, if i don’t like the song and its some girly girl pop shit, m’clowning your ass for it.” he jokes when putting on the headphones and adjusting them, you were a little nervous — it was obviously something he would never in a million years listen to on his own but he always shows you his music so whats the worst that can happen ?

you figured why not something from your favorite album of hers, folklore. you were going through the tracklist trying to figure out which song until you were pulled out of your thoughts by matt groaning. “come on sweetheart, m’falling asleep over here” he fakes yawns and rubs at his eyes. “shush i have the song ready, now listen its my favorite!”

you click on the song and look up at him to watch his reaction, you obviously can’t hear the music but you already know how it goes “i’ve been having a hard time adjusting, i had the shiniest wheels now they’re rusting.”

as the song continues to play you can see matt swaying a little, you smile when you notice the amusement on his face. the bridge of the song starts up and he stops all movement, listening carefully as the lyrics spew into his ears. he looks over at you in disbelief, jaw dropped as the song now fades out and he’s slipping off the headphones.

“sweetheart thats you’re favorite song?” he says sniffling “well y-yeah? why is it bad?” you ask confused “no, not at all- s’just really fucking sad” he said chuckles before pulling you into a hug “if y’think thats sad then i need to show you more”

“her music s’not that bad i guess..” he says sarcastically “matt please- you were damn near crying i don’t wanna hear it.”

- avery’s note ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡-

i love folklore. i AM folklore. anywayyy new blurb!!! im so happyyyy i finally finished ONE of my drafts 😭😭

wait omg i forgot to tag you @bluestriips ik you like guitarist!matt !!

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - @ellaapsworld @chrissv4mp @jetaimevous @mattsbrowser @submattenthusiast @flouvela @sturniolosiphone @chrislova @sophand4n4 @mattsfavoritestar @mattslolita @y3sterdaysproblem @strnilolover @cayleeuhithinknott

[bombiikki]

𐙚⋆.˚　────  let me drive my van (into ur heart) °｡⋆⸜

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ – lee hyein x fem!reader !!

synopsis: hyein is tall, funny, smart, she’s an idol, but most importantly—she’s your childhood best friend. you’re not that tall, or smart, and you’re definitely not rich. but, you have a van—even if it is your dad’s van. 

contains: hella fluff. can be interpreted as platonic, minus the fact theyre basically on a date, and the fact they basically confessed, ok so its not platonic i lied, reader doesnt even have a license yet, minji makes an appearance!!, just short and fluff

wc: 3.7k!!

a/n: i once said and i quote “im on a mission to revive njz blr” and so thats why im dropping ANOTHER NJZ FIC IN THE SAME WEEK!!! everyone clap… please… ive also had this idea for a while i js never got to it cuz i was working on the spidey x hanni fic anwyays enjoy chat!!

♪ ༘⋆ now playing – let me drive my van (into your heart) from steven universe

you didn’t need a driver’s license to fall in love.

but you did need a van.

and you had one—technically. it wasn’t yours, strictly speaking. it was your dad’s old clunky beast that groaned like a tired dragon every time it started. it smelled like gasoline and pine-scented air fresheners from 2009. one of the windows didn’t roll down all the way. but it was yours in spirit, in history, in the way it carried your whole childhood in its seats.

the van was parked crooked under the streetlight. it leaned a little to one side, always had. there was a rust stain near the back bumper and two old stickers peeling off the rear window—one of a dinosaur and one of a shooting star. the engine hadn’t run in three days, but it didn’t need to. you weren’t going anywhere.

not physically, at least.

you sat in the driver’s seat, both hands on the wheel, pretending the van was in motion. feet barely brushing the pedals. seatbelt long-forgotten. beside you, hyein lounged across the passenger seat with a pillow under her arms and a pack of sour gummies on her lap. the setting sun poured gold over her like some soft-glow filter you didn’t ask for but gladly accepted. her smile was lazy, tucked into the corner of her mouth like it wasn’t even aware of how it made your heart do actual cartwheels.

the radio didn’t work anymore, but she hummed something quietly. it sounded like the theme song to a cartoon you used to watch together—sweet and out-of-tune. you didn’t say anything. you didn’t have to.

it had been her idea to come out here again. same van, same spot at the end of the street. same snacks. just the two of you, like it used to be. you’d almost said no, scared it wouldn’t feel the same. scared you’d grown too much or changed too quietly.

but when she texted:

bring the van and me

you went. obviously.

“you know,” she said, voice half-buried in the pillow cradled beneath her chin, “you still don’t have your license.”

your fingers curled tighter around the steering wheel—cracked vinyl warm beneath your palms, like it remembered every time you pretended just like this. like it still believed you.

“yet,” you said, eyes fixed on the windshield, like if you stared long enough the world might open up ahead. “i’m manifesting it.”

she snorted softly, the sound low and fond. “you’ve been manifesting since we were ten.”

you turned your head toward her, heart knocking gently against your ribs. she was half-glowing in the last of the sunlight, the kind of quiet golden that made you feel like you were looking at something rare.

“and has it failed me?” you asked.

“you still don’t have a license.”

“minor inconvenience,” you grinned, like a secret, like a dream half-formed.

she laughed. a real one, all teeth and light. it poured into the tiny van like sunshine through an open window.

“god, you’re hopeless.”

you didn’t answer right away. just looked at her again, like you were memorising the way she existed. the way her hair fell into her eyes, the way her voice settled in your bones.

“you love it,” you said.

“i never said that.”

you smiled. “you didn’t have to.”

she rolled her eyes, but her lips betrayed her. the smallest twitch at the corners. the kind that said yes without needing to speak.

the silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was soft. full of every shared moment stitched between now and all your yesterdays. it felt like the kind of quiet that only belonged to two people who knew how to sit inside it without feeling like something had to be said.

you leaned your head against the seat. “i’m almost eighteen, you know. sooner or later, i’m gonna get that license.”

“almost eighteen,” she echoed, teasing. “i’m still younger. and taller.”

you groaned. “that’s criminal.”

“that’s biology,” she said, smug.

you reached into the back, fingers brushing past a crumpled hoodie and the crumbs of old snacks.

“one day, i’m gonna drive this van. like really drive it. and you’ll be sorry.”

she sat up then, the movement slow and sleepy. her hair stuck up on one side from the pillow, and her eyes looked at you like they had something to say before her mouth could.

“i’m not sorry now,” she said.

your breath caught. the kind of stillness that only happens when something inside you shifts, quiet and sure.

she’d noticed, of course. her gaze lingered just long enough to say she knew. but she didn’t tease, didn’t pry. she just leaned back again with the ease of someone who already felt at home here, with you. like she didn’t need an answer right away.

you reached for something safe to say. “the van’s falling apart.”

“so are most of my favorite things,” she said, without even thinking.

your van had been a spaceship once—its wheel a portal, its seats a cockpit, the stars just out of reach behind the fogged-up windows. it had been a castle with velvet curtains made from old blankets, a hotel where your names were written in crayon on imaginary check-in sheets, a submarine where you whispered through paper towel tubes and listened for sea monsters in the silence.

it had been a stage, too, bouncing with laughter as hyein made you dance across the cushions in mismatched socks, choreographing routines she insisted were "award-worthy."

it had been a hideout the night she cried into your sleeve after her first audition—when her voice cracked and her hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and she needed somewhere to fall apart that still felt like home.

and it had been a tent, once. the power had gone out in a summer storm, and your dad had let you sleep out in the driveway, your pillows piled high and a flashlight glowing between you like a campfire.

now it was just a van. but somehow, still everything.

“you know what the best part is?” she asked, resting her chin on her knees.

you glanced over. “what?”

“this thing. it’s always here. always waiting.”

you swallowed. “yeah.”

you didn’t say you felt the same about her.

your phone buzzed against your stomach, screen lighting up with hyein 💫 just as you were half-asleep, sprawled out in the back of the van, window cracked open to let in the smell of summer air and sun-warmed asphalt.

you answered without thinking. “yo.”

“don’t yo me,” she said, a little breathless, a little amused. in the background, you could hear the faint thump of music, some trainer yelling counts in sharp, clean numbers. “you’re the one who texted me a picture of a squished gummy bear in your seat cushion.”

“it looked like a person,” you mumbled.

“it looked like a murder scene,” she replied, then yawned. “you know you’re not funny, right?”

you smiled to yourself. “and yet you keep calling.”

“that’s just muscle memory,” she teased.

but her voice was soft around the edges—sleepy-soft, fond-soft—the kind that only slipped out when she was too tired to hold it back. you could picture her now: tucked in the hallway outside the studio, knees pulled up, hair damp with sweat, cheeks flushed. probably leaning against the wall with that half-exhausted grin she always wore after practice.

“i needed a break,” she added, quieter this time. “and you’re good for that.”

you let that sit. warm and golden and a little too big for your chest.

“how’s practice?” you asked.

“my legs hate me. i think my kneecaps are trying to quit.”

“you should give them a raise.”

“i gave them ice. it’s the best i could do.”

you laughed, and she did too. she always had the kind of laugh that made it feel like everything else could wait.

“guess where i am,” you said, even though she already knew.

“hmm,” she hummed. “judging by the background noise and the weird echo in your voice… let me guess. spaceship?”

you grinned. “bingo.”

“do the engines still make that weird rattling sound?”

“only when we hit light speed.”

she sighed dramatically. “classic. tell your dad his maintenance crew is slacking.”

you stared up at the ceiling of the van, faded and familiar. “do you remember that one summer we camped out here for like, a week straight?”

“we weren’t supposed to,” she said, her voice dipping low with memory. “your dad said one night. and then you made it seven.”

“you kept showing up with your sleeping bag and those microwave s’mores.”

“you had a playlist,” she said, almost fondly. “with like—old cartoon theme songs and weird lo-fi remixes.”

“you danced to half of them on the front seats.”

“because you made them into a stage,” she laughed. “i was eleven, i didn’t know any better.”

“you were good,” you said, quiet.

she didn’t answer right away. you heard a faint shuffle—maybe her brushing hair out of her face, or looking away like she could feel you saying it, even through the phone.

“you used to cry here too,” you added, a little gentler. “when stuff got hard. before auditions. when school sucked.”

“you cried here too,” she said softly.

you blinked up at the ceiling. “i forgot that part.”

“i didn’t.”

there was something about her voice just then. like a secret folded into paper. like if you tugged on the string too fast, it’d all come undone.

you swallowed. “this van’s got all our ghosts in it.”

“yeah,” she said. “but they’re the good kind. the ones that leave notes.”

you could hear someone call her name faintly in the background—muffled and distant. she didn’t move.

“hey,” you said, sudden. “when i do get my license…”

“mhm?”

“let me drive you somewhere. anywhere. i dunno. outer space or… whatever’s past that.”

she laughed softly. “outer space and beyond?”

"yeah," you said, voice light. "i mean, i don’t really have a plan or anything..."

there was a beat of quiet static, just her soft breathing on the other end.

"but i’ve got the van," you added. then, like the words slipped out before you could catch them— "so, y’know... let me drive it into your heart or whatever."

she went quiet, but not in a bad way. you could almost feel her smile through the signal. then hyein laughed. quiet. flustered.

“was that a line?” she asked.

you blinked. “what?”

“you so just quoted a love song at me.”

“no i didn’t,” you said, instantly mortified. “wait—what? no. that wasn’t—that was steven universe.”

“i know,” she said, and now she was giggling. really giggling. “oh my god. you flirted with me with a cartoon song.”

“i didn’t mean to!” you groaned, covering your face.

“you totally meant to,” she said through her laughter.

you didn’t answer, mostly because there wasn’t a defense that didn’t make it worse. but her voice was like sunshine over the phone line, and you would’ve let her tease you forever if it meant she kept laughing like that.

you heard her shift again, like she was standing now. practice was probably calling her back.

“you’ll drive me someday,” she said, softer now, almost like a promise. “van or no van.”

“you sure?”

“i’m already packed,” she said. “just waiting for the ride.”

you were about to pull your phone away when a muffled voice cut through the line—familiar, but distant, like it was coming from another room.

“hyein! stop flirting with your girlfriend and get back to practice!”

you froze, eyes wide in a mix of surprise and delight. there was no mistaking who it was. minji.

“shut up!” hyein’s voice came back, a little defensive but laced with a laugh. “i’m on a break, i can talk to her.”

“right, sure,” minji said, her tone teasing. “a break from what, exactly? we’re doing serious choreography here, and you’re over there giggling with your girlfriend on the phone.”

“i’m not giggling!” hyein snapped back, though it was clearly a lie—her voice still light, unguarded. “i’m just... talking.”

“talking, huh?” minji’s voice turned mockingly sweet. “we’re all sure that’s what you’re doing.”

you could hear the shuffle of feet and the soft murmur of the other members in the background, all joining in on the teasing. it was like being a fly on the wall of hyein’s world. and for some reason, hearing her like this—so real—made your chest warm in ways you hadn’t expected.

“okay, okay,” hyein said, her tone soft but a little embarrassed. “fine. i’ll talk to her later. but you guys are ruining my vibe!”

“so you are flirting!” minji said triumphantly.

“we’re not even dating!” hyein shot back, her voice high-pitched in mock exasperation. “it’s just—just—we’re friends! okay?”

“sure,” minji said skeptically, her voice full of fake sweetness. “friends. totally.”

there was a collective snicker from the other members in the background, and you could practically see hyein burying her face in her hands, embarrassed.

“really, you guys,” she groaned, but there was laughter in her voice despite herself. “stop messing with me.”

you were just giggling softly on your side of the phone, barely able to keep the smile off your face. you were so glad it was you getting to hear her like this, all real and unguarded, even if it was a little embarrassing for her.

“okay, okay,” minji said with exaggerated sympathy. “we’ll stop. but only because you’re clearly so in denial about it.”

“i’m not in denial!” hyein protested, but she was laughing, too. “i just—ugh. i’m hanging up before i lose my dignity.”

“if you had any left, sure,” minji teased.

you could hear the rustling of movement, like hyein was trying to get away from her members, but the teasing didn’t stop.

“i’m sorry,” hyein said, trying to sound serious but still laughing. “they’re just annoying.”

“it’s okay,” you teased back, still smiling. “i’m used to it.”

“you are used to it, aren’t you?” she groaned, the sound soft and affectionate. “well, sorry for having fun.”

“i’m just gonna stay quiet over here,” you teased gently. “don’t want to make you sound any more guilty than you already do.”

“ugh, you are going to make me sound guilty now, aren’t you?” she sighed, clearly defeated.

“you kind of already did that,” you said, your voice playful. “but it’s fine. no one needs to know the truth. we’re just friends, right?”

“shut up,” hyein muttered, but her voice was warm, fond. “you’re impossible.”

“and you’re impossible, but that’s why i love talking to you,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. you didn’t even realize how flirty it sounded until the words hung in the air between you, a little heavier than before.

there was a moment of silence. then, you could practically hear her freeze, her breath catching. “w-what?”

“nothing,” you said quickly, trying to cover up your slip. “just... you’re fun to talk to, that’s all.”

but hyein was laughing softly, her voice teasing. “uh-huh. right. totally just friends, huh?”

you buried your face in your hand, a little mortified now, but still laughing, too. “stop.”

“i’m not the one who started this,” she shot back with mock innocence.

you chuckled, shaking your head. “i’m serious, though. you really think we’re just ‘friends’?”

“i—ugh. fine. maybe,” she said, her voice playfully reluctant. “but i’m not ready to admit it just yet.”

you both paused for a moment, and then the conversation lightened again, both of you sliding back into that easy comfort that had always existed between you.

“all right, i guess i’ll get back to my serious practice now,” she said, still laughing under her breath. “but i’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“okay. go be serious, superstar.”

“ugh,” she muttered with a laugh. “you’re awful.”

the call ended not long after that. and still, your phone glowed with her name like it didn’t want to leave either. 

you were still giggling long after the call. and though the silence settled again, it was filled with something light, something warm. and for a moment, the world outside your phone didn’t feel quite as big.

outside the cracked window, the sky was starting to pinken. and inside the van, you sat alone—but not really. not when her laughter still echoed off the seats.

you weren’t supposed to hang out today. she had a schedule—photoshoots, or maybe it was choreography review. you didn’t ask too many questions anymore, not wanting to be another thing on her list. but then, as always, hyein texted you anyway, like she always did when there was just a little crack in her day.

hyein 💫

meet me at the corner. bring snacks. and van.

you didn’t ask which corner. you knew.

you grabbed sour gummies and a soda in a too-warm bottle, and she brought herself—tall, shiny, seventeen, all lit up with laughter like the world wasn’t watching. she teased you the second she climbed into the van—about your height, about your snacks, about your hair—but it was easy. it was always easy with her.

you hadn’t grown much since middle school. she had. she was taller than you now, and she never let you forget it.

“remember when i had to tippy-toe to reach your bookshelf?” she said, pulling her legs up into the seat again. “and now look.”

“you can reach it now,” you deadpanned.

“and i can reach the top shelf of the fridge,” she added, eyes sparkling with that usual mischievous glint.

you stuck your tongue out. “you’re such a menace.”

“a tall menace,” she said proudly, leaning back, long legs stretching across the seat.

you slumped in the driver’s seat, hands still on the wheel. “i miss being taller than you.”

she grinned. “i miss when you couldn’t drive. oh wait—still can’t.”

“i can drive,” you argued, but your voice faltered a little. “i just legally shouldn’t.”

she snorted. “semantics.”

you both fell into a comfortable silence, the kind where nothing had to be said but everything still felt full. you caught yourself staring at her, her profile in the soft light—unreachable and so effortlessly perfect. it made your chest feel warm, the way things used to be between you, how they could be now, if only you weren’t so good at pretending.

just then, a knock at the van door startled both of you.

you looked up.

it was minji.

you watched as hyein scrambled to sit up, her movements a little frantic, like she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. “unnie!” she groaned. “you scared me!”

“sorry,” minji said, though her grin said she wasn’t sorry at all. “but, date’s over lovebirds. it’s time to go.”

“don’t say it like that,” hyein hissed, her cheeks blooming pink. her eyes darted to you, that little flustered look creeping up her neck, and suddenly you felt like you’d just walked into a private moment you weren’t supposed to see.

minji raised an eyebrow. “am i wrong?”

“it’s not a—” hyein floundered, trying to recover. she turned to you, her face a picture of helplessness. “tell her it’s not a date.”

you shrugged, playing along even though you could feel your heart do a little dance. “depends on your definition of date.”

hyein groaned. “i will scream.”

“so dramatic,” minji teased, already moving to unlock her car. “get in before i leave without you.”

hyein hesitated, halfway out of the van. “ugh. why do you always do this to me?”

“because it’s funny.”

as she climbed out, you couldn’t resist calling out, “it’s okay! i’ll drive her home in my van!”

both of them froze.

minji turned, her expression a mix of disbelief and amusement. “that’s your dad’s van.”

“and you don’t even have a license,” hyein added, laughing despite herself.

you smiled. “yet.”

minji shook her head, smiling in that knowing way. “i can’t with you two.”

before closing the passenger door, hyein leaned back in, her hand still on the handle. the light from the porch behind her caught the edges of her hair, casting a halo around her face. her eyes were soft, her smile barely there, as if she were holding something back—something that was just hers, just yours.

“you’ll get there,” she said.

you tilted your head, unsure whether she meant the license or something else. “where’s there?”

“the license. the driving. the van.” she paused, letting the words linger in the air for just a moment too long. then, in a softer voice, the one she only ever used when she was close, when she knew you were listening, “the heart.”

your breath caught, and for a second, the world around you slowed. it felt like something in the space between you shifted, just enough for you to feel it—a flutter in your chest, the kind you could never quite name. you looked up at her, eyes searching her face for something more, something she wasn’t saying aloud.

she smiled, a little crooked, a little knowing, but so warm that it almost made you forget to breathe. “you’re already parked in mine.”

and then, as if she had just dropped a weight she didn’t want you to carry, she was gone, slipping into minji’s car, leaving you with nothing but the dim glow of the porch light and the steady hum of your heart. you stayed in the van, your fingers still gripping the steering wheel, and for the first time, it didn’t feel quite as parked as before.

you couldn’t decide whether to laugh or scream.

that night, you lay in bed, thinking about the van.

thinking about her.

you didn’t have a license. you didn’t have money or fame or even enough common sense to remember where you put your house keys half the time.

you didn’t know much. you didn’t have a plan.

but you had that van. and a girl who believed in you enough to call it home.

and you had her smile, folded gently in your chest like a paper crane.

so when you finally did get your license, the first place you’d drive?

her.

right into the heart she let you park in a long time ago.

[fwol-jintu]

Shen yuan as a ghost except its a sword grave and he's like the only sword intact there

So imagine this

Binghe goes on an adventure blah blah blah and he stumbles upon a huge ass graveyard except its literally all just swords that have been planted there in honor of the warriors who fell in a battle, each sword having a carving of some sort somewhere to signify who owned them

As binghe walked around and approached one of them however, he finds this sword is.. nameless, ownerless, or so it seems. No carvings, no designation, and yet its the only one intact.

Its not chipped, no scratch or break or weakness point that signified that it had been broken once, nothing. Well except for maybe a little bit of rust and dirt, but still.

He wonders if he should pull it out of the ground to inspect it more. He tries, ignoring the ever persistent screams of his own sword. It seems more agitated than usual.

Ah.. huh? For some reason, he can't pull it out. Slightly frustrated, he takes out xin mo to cut it down- and then hesitated. He's not that bad, no. He ultimately decides against cutting the sword. So be it, remain ownerless.

He inspected the other swords, did try to take them out a few times, but none slipped out. He gave up at trying and just looked around. For some reason, he came back around to the intact sword.

He looked around, and then spotted a particular sword grave. It had a flower, or rather a.. wilted flower. Seems like someone came to visit, and judging by the flower type its probably been 6 days.

He stares at the grave, at the sword. His vision allowed him to read the carved name despite the characters being small. ...Yuguo? Foolish fruit? What kind of name- he doesn't question it. Maybe thats why the owner died. They were "foolish."

He leaves the graveyard. He swears he was leaving, but for some reason he came back... with a new flower. The new flower will die anyway, what was he doing? This is stupid.

...still, he replaces the wilted with a fresh one. He doesn't know how long that one will last. Its a foolish payment, who was he even paying respects to? For all he knew, it could've been-

.... the dark clouds of his mind pester. He shouldn't be like this, he's in a graveyard goddamnit. What if the sword spirits feed on his negativity and manifest? Hah! Who will have the last laugh then, he wonders....

Uh, what the- "aww what a sweet man. Showing respect to the unreturning, are you?" A spirit in the form of a graceful woman conjured almost by wind appears before him, a wide smile and the look of amusement.

????

More start to manifest, little by little, and they all look at him, quipping comments and observations.

"Ho? And here i thought only your descendant is alive. Now who's this handsome lad visiting us unreturnees?" A spirit in the form of an old man said.

"Ooo! Is he not perhaps the new lord that your clumsy lower sheep speaks of?~" this time, the spirit that spoke was in the form of a devilish child, grinning an uncanny smile.

"Does anyone know this uhh.. dog?" "Stop referring to people as animals you one-tap imbecile!" "Hey! Why do you say that to me but not Sahuang?!" "Thats because ---------!!"

Two spirits argue out of nowhere. He did not appreciate being called a dog.

before he can tell them off and show them the title of emperor of the 3 realms, they suddenly vanish.

Like a faint memory, It was all quiet again.

Quiet?

He focused, suddenly. Quiet? Too quiet. Xin mo's voice wasn't bothering him. Before, xin mo was absolutely screaming at him to get out, now suddenly its all quiet.

He becomes slightly dazed though instead of becoming sharper and more wary of his surroudings. The lack of distraction made him suddenly realize he may or may not lacked sleep. He didn't really need sleep, but the emotional exhaustion from all these days was getting to him.

....

Thud.

"Seriously? He fell asleep?"

"Perhaps we were too fightening for the poor lamb, nyehehehe~"

"Ah, youngsters these days..."

..........

He wakes up when he feels a leaf fall onto him. Hm? A leaf? He cracked open his eyes and was immediately assaulted by light. He jolts awake. What...

....

Oh. He.. he fell asleep in a graveyard.

What the fu-

Anyways its getting too long so imma just say that he interacts with the spirits and shen yuan for a while, and then gets a child (courtesy of the Yuguo woman and everyone apparently deciding they were the child's great uncles and aunts) whom he decides to take in (cuz his new family of spirits practically begged him to take care of their only relative)

Oh also prior to his baby inquirement the spirits and him have eventually buddied up (it took weeks but they were friendly enough, even the devilish spirit Sahuang who also happened to be a softie at heart apparently)

and he talked abt his problems w them and all such, mostly shen yuan cuz he was the one usually awake since his intact sword meant his spirit could stay visible for longer

("why does the story seem familiar...?" it took an emberrassing amount of time for shen yuan to realize that was binghe. By the time he did realize, it was maybe sorta too late?)

oh also he opted to sleep at the graveyard sometimes. Most times. Because. No nightmares. Good sleep. No voices in his head telling him to kill someone immediately as he wakes up. Just peace.

(And if the wives notice his absence? Pfft, no. If they question his new kid? "I took her in. Shes adopted." and if he stays at the graveyard for a little while longer each day because they care more about him than anyone ever have? No questions asked.)

And he also got permission to move their swords. Yippai. (He proceeded to clean every one of them and put them in a big special room and if anyone asks why the big meeting room only has swords seated on the chairs and why binghe spends so much time in it, no one answers)

(He kept their brokenness though despite his own protests. They all said its now apart of them and they "cannot return" so its merely fond memories now.)

Did i mention all the swords (or sword spirits) are actually transmigrators and shen yuan isnt alone in this :3

_______________

Some noble: but my lord, can't we just use that room? (Points to the room they passed by that clearly has just enough space for the rest of the other demons)

Said room is the spirit room

Binghe gets angry at the mere suggestion

"Incident" happened

No one talks abt it ever again

____________

Nyy brushing the kid's hair while watching binghe kneel on the ground infront of shen yuan bc he used his powers to choke sahuang out of frustration and sahuang was Not Happy abt it so she snitched to shen yuan (shen yuan vanished after 2.1 seconds of binghe kneeling bc how dare he scold THE protaganist. Yuguo had to take over and make both Sahuang and Binghe apologize to each other lol)

[mellohd]

heres some practice harry sketches i took the pics with my sony cybershot im so giddy rn

so far here are my thoeries SPOILERS!!

I originally thought that harry killed his wife or something because i got spoiled a bit on the series but it turns out thats a diff guy(which i only found out after finding some really cute fanart where they were next to eachother and i was like oh)

I think Harry and his daughter were chosen by this devil worshipping cult (samael mentioned) for something. I think cheryll died maybe(the tape mentioning a child and a fever etc) and is trapped in that hell but im not sure about that.(before i was like 100% he killed his wife and burried in repressed memory and cheryll died at some point BOOM im so smart but then yea i saw that he wasn't blonde guy)

Harry keeps flipping between two worlds, one limbo type one and industrial hell with all the grates and rust. almost like flipping between living and dead world. I say dead because that nurse is 1000% dead I suspected it before i looked up a ref for harry and saw a meme about it and that spoiled she was dead. she was all like "I feel i should not leaveeeee... im so cold harry........." and then i went back in the room and she was gone SUSPICIOUS!

Im really excited to see if cheryll is actually living or not because shes REAAALLY suspicious and alsoo this place is messing with Harry's head, whenever he goes into hell hill hes all like i hear sirens there its like a dream. Like, maybe she died in the car crash or of an illness, or maybe in an accident at work(thats a stretch but the grates rust and windmills is really stumping me! also the tiny babies running around him at the school and stuff allll so interesting) OH OH OR MAYBE CHERYLL NEVER LIVED IN THE FIRST PLACE? DIED AS A BABY? thats why those freindly fetus's were doing 360s around harry??

OH or maybe cheryll died at the car crash and theyre using her soul as leverage in silent hell mode to get harry to do something? AHH SO MANY POSSIBILITIES SO EXCITED!!! I also think that harry is supposed to be the one that maybe guides everyone out of silent hill or save it or whatever. I mean thats kind of obvious with how dahlia speaks I KNOW i just find her comparing him to the hermit and thats the path he needs to follow the hermits path. the hermit, to my knowledge is associated with a lonely man who completed his journey and lends a guiding light to the poeple that are still climbing the summit, i think theres more to it than that in comparison to henry(and also the card itself can be interepreted in many ways) but i haven't thought TOOO much about it yet I just find the camparison reaallllyyyy interesting OHH OH FOLLOW THE HERMITS PATH NOT DIRECTLY CALLING HIM THE HERMIT so he needs to complete his journey to help save the others, maybe healing from trauma of some kind?(CHERYLS DEATHHHH?????)

also interesting thing i noticed when we saw her tied up on the computer screens was it looked like, at what i thought at first was a map, but looks like sigils? They line up pretty well with a sigil grid, the circles reminded me of the starter points but i think im just making useless connections(even tho there do seems to be themes relating to witchcraft & the occult?) JUST SOMETHING I NOTICED also YES I KNOW his daughter is the protaganist in another game doesnt mean that something supernatural and weird and deathy didn't happen to her smh EEEEEEEK SO EXCITED TO FINISH THE GAME!!! IM ON THE WAY TO THE LAKE RN!

[sirxlla]

Ink, Paper, Mud & Memories

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

Warnings: Angst

Prompt: Remembering Jason/Writing in your journal after Jason dies + "I'm alright until Im alone and lately thats all the time. Who else can I talk to? I'm lost. When you left, you took everything with you. The absence of you is everywhere I look. It's like a huge hole has been punched through my chest but in a way I'm glad. The pain is my only reminder that you were real, that you all were." <- from New Moon.

Notes: female reader, italics are actions and thoughts.

-With that said it's all under the cut-

"I wanna compare it to the worst of the worst. Tell everyone its been hell without Jason but it's not Hell. Hell serves a purpose in punishment and its deserved. He didn't deserve to die, I didn't deserve to lose the only man I ever loved, to have Joker send me that goddamn tape...that tape. I see it in my restless hours, I hear his screams in my darkest nightmares. I smell blood in the sweet musk of his cologne, the comforting smell now tainted by what smells like rust or iron."

"To say I'm in hell without Jason would be an understatement. This isnt Hell, this is Purgetory, an endless void of nothingness. The meaning of my being having been sucked from my very soul like a- there's nothing to compare it to, everything feels like an understatement. Nothing comes close."

"I miss his smile, that warm smile that he used to give me. His eyes were bright and so full of life. I wish I could only remember those happy eyes but every time I remember his eyes I see the dead look on his face after Joker beat him to a pulp."

-"That asshole, that fuckin asshole. I'd do anything to avenge Jace. I'd do it without question if Bruce and the others wouldn't keep such an annoying watchful eye over me."

-"I wanna watch Joker burn, watch him beg for mercy as his flesh melts from his bones...Who am I kidding? He's psychotic. He wouldn't care. He'd probably piss himself laughing before he ever screamed."

"Everyone's watchful eyes are annoying but I know they mean well, they want whats best for me, what Jason would want."

-"What Jason would want? Jason would want to be alive!"-

"Jason would want me to be happy, to move on, to find someone. But who do I find? Who is even remotely comparable to such an amazing man? Who's smile brightens up a room like his? Who can make me laugh the way he did? Who's curly hair smells the way his does? Who's gonna click his pen so much I find it annoying but miss it so deeply now that it's gone? Who's him? No one's him."

"Everything feels fine until I'm alone, the pains the only reminder of him, a reminder of his short existence on this planet."

"Who am I writing to? Why am I writing this? Who will read this? Is this helping? WHY AREN'T YOU HERE?! YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! YOU JUST HAD TO GO AFTER JOKER ALONE! I HATE YOU! HOW COULD YOU EVER BE SO FUCKIN STUPID?! YOU WEREN'T STUPID SO WHY THE HELL DID YOU DO SOMETHING SO DUMB! GODDAMN IT, JASON!"

You ripped the notebook into pieces and threw it across the room. Nothing was helping, it had been two years and everyone kept telling you that you would 'heal', 'give it time', 'you're working through the stages of grief.'

You didn't wanna work through shit, if you worked through any of it then it meant he was gone. That he was truly gone and thats just something you couldn't except.

The AC turned on in Jason's room, the air kicked up the scent of him. It's so strong...'Wait? What the hell?' You turned around to see a man clad in black and red. Was that him that smelt like Jason or was it the clash of the smell of Jason and the cigarette smell that permeated off the stranger. Who is he? You blinked, rubbed your eyes and he was gone. You journal was gone and you could almost wear you heard Jason say something.

"Get some sleep, Babygirl. You know you need it."

'Am I going insane? Was that real? I should sleep, I should definitely sleep. No way in hell someone got in here without alarming any of the rest of the family.'

Your head found the pillow falling with a hard and quick thump against the soft fluffy pillow. 'Was the window always open?' You thought before sleep took you in such a deep quick grasp giving you no time to exlore the thought.

In the morning you thought nothing of it, it was clearly a dream. 'The window mustve been opened earlier in the night by me.' You kept telling yourself that over and over that was until you found mud in your room. Red mud? There was no such mud around this part of Gotham and you hadn't been out of this room.

'Was it real?'

'Why'd he smell like Jason?'

'Did he smell like Jason or was it the AC?'

'No, Jason doesnt smoke.'

'The smell was stronger, it had to be him.'

'No, I was just tired, there was no one.'

'Was there?'

'He wasn't.'

'He had to be.'

-> Masterlist <-

[official-saul-goodman]

This is mainly my observation as a non black person watching the reactions of other non black people and especially white people to the show Interview With The Vampire, they are a result of a fundamental misunderstanding regarding the idea of horror.

in a world of white dominated hollywood horror movies that mostly contain gore and white familial tragedy and abuse, none of which ever ever include the concept of race, misogyny and homophobia, racialised misogyny, and racialised homophobia- people cannot digest a horror tv show wherein the main character is a black man who is always and forever a victim of systematic, social, and microaggressive racism. people, specifically white people, have always been uncomfortable with being shown the extent of anti black racism in a way that isnt heavily sanitised or sympathetic to the white cause. to white people, the genre of horror simply does not include race cause they have not experienced the horrors of colonialist genocidal white supremacist anti black racism. and i highlight anti black racism because it is the subject of the show, as well as being a topic that is discussed vaguely by non black people while still being the most perpetuated form of racism from a global standpoint.

to white people especially, as the people who are responsible for the worst crimes committed against black people, anti blackness is just one of life's constants that should not be addressed directly or in detail, so to depict anti black racism so openly as a part of the genre of horror is incomprehensible to them. they dont want to be shown even a smidgen of exactly the kind of shit their ancestors and peers are responsible for, cause horror to them must just be things that they relate to and nothing regarding race at all cause it causes them to confront their comfortable positions. this is the same reason why you see white people saying jordan peele's movies are 'too hard to understand' despite being very easy to understand.

horror to people of colour is a concept that intrinsically includes racialised violence, its a constant presence like a rusted nail hovering near an open wound. and white people reject this. which is why they decided to degrade and miscontrue the purpose of iwtv and call it 'just another self important show thats racist and not worth watching'. cause to them horror is meant to be enjoyable, they want limbs chopped off not the actions of their white ancestors coming back to remind and haunt them. even though horror is a genre that is meant to fill you with... horror. horror to white people does not include the politics of racism, cause they see horror as an apolitical genre (obviously incorrect when everything and the kitchen sink is political naturally).

to the people of color, it is a moment of feeling seen, to see a main character ( a flawed man a pained man) experience the horror of all round racial discrimination, to see the horror of him being dismissed and exploited by the white people around him, the moment of witnessing yourself in the other when you see Louis and Claudia being so utterly sabotaged by so many forces, the way they are pushed to making irreversible devastating decisions cause they think they have no other choice to achieve an escape from a multitude of things they suffer through, the manipulation and abuse they had to become accustomed to. this is the horror, the horror of being immortalised against your will and lack of choices you were given, the horror of being forced to be subjected to racialised misogynistic and homophobic violence for eternity. being forced to live with all these memories and no means of forgetting. all this while enduring the way a white man belittles them for even suggesting that he might be racist while he expresses racist micro agressions (both lestat and daniel). this is real horror that hits home, horror you want to devour as a person of colour cause you want to see more of this story continue, to see what becomes of this living limbo that Louis, Claudia, and eventually Armand have to go through.

and as most white people cannot fathom this, cannot relate, they dismiss this version of horror that focuses on racism as a core element from the perspective of a black man and forever young black girl. they dismiss the show as just being tone deaf colour blind casting cause they didnt even see the trailer or try to understand this show. the white guilt is a shield they use to defend themselves against the frank and honest depiction of anti black racism from the perspective of a black man. they do not want to understand. they want sanitised, digestible depictions of racism so the horror remains fun for them.

even though this show is literally categorised as horror, and has all the hallmarks of classic horror including the camp styling, the blood, the gore, the supernatural, and the violence - the single fact that the show's core theme is based around racism from the perspective of a gay black vampire man is enough for them to declassify as horror in their minds. cause people of colour and especially black gay men must always be shown as having a good time to dissuade the guilt of white people and their responsibility is establishing the systems that oppress gay black men. speak no evil, see no evil, hear no evil, and the evil is not there anymore.

i may have more thoughts on this that i'll express later but thats all i have for now.

[batboyblog]

Hey, do you have any organizing tips for rural/suburban (rust belt) areas? I keep seeing posts about how we all need to build community for the coming 4 years, but, like, how? I join what existing groups I can (including non-political things like DnD), but there’s not many considering my citys population has declined every year for like 60 years. There’s no pride group in my county, nor is there a DSA presence. I do what I can running a political group, but I’m not the most charismatic and can’t seem to get people to show up regularly. (I’ve seen you talk about canvassing and dude- mad respect. I suck at it, even though I’ve knocked doors for years)

you'll have to forgive me, I'm a little sick today, low grade fever, so if I'm a little on the fuzzy side thats why.

first off being consistent and organized is far far FAR more important than charisma when it comes to organizing and leading any kind of group

any ways right now there's a lot of phone banking to "cure" ballots, chasing people who cased provisional ballots, there are a lot of very close House and Senate races that may well come down to these ballots, everyone can check Mobilize for info on that

from there I'd say look up your state's Democratic Party and there should be county parties for every county in the state, start going volunteer for whatever needs doing you'll be amazed by how a willingness to say yes will push you up the party, I'd also look to see if there's a local PFLAG chapter, that might be a jumping off spot for organizing a local pride

I always push people to look into Run For Something you might find a candidate running in your area you can help and support, or you can make calls and help local progressives all over the place, also check out the NDTC which is focused on training, while a lot of its stuff is for candidates it also has stuff for volunteers and people helping on campaigns, I'd sign up for Swing Left, Sister District, and MoveOn.Org

hope any of that was helpful.

[zorosleftmantit101]

Bubble bath

A/N: wrote this after taking an especially nice shower.

C/W: fluff

Characters: not fucked to right them

Luffy: doesn't. Ever. Full stop.

Zoro: baths all of his swords first. They must be squeaky clean than he tucks them into bed with a little goodnight kiss, reads them a story and then wakes up from his weird ass dream by rolling off deck right into the ocean. thats all the clean he needs.

Sanji: cracks out "ALPHA SMELL" body washes proudly asks Nami if she think he smells more alpha male the next day.

Franky: baths in straight oil can't escape getting rust in his ass tho. 😔

Law: yeah he likes baths, he likes them a-lot actually, there so warm they feel like a hug he never got. A warm wave of fresh air on a cold morning A happy feeling on a sad day a- "CAPTAIN, CAPTAIN WAKE UP YOU FEEL ASLEEP AGAIN" oh yeah thats why he doesn't take baths cause Bepo always find him asleep half submerged under the water.

Kid: also bathes is straight oil not because he needs to like franky does he just wants to for the aesthetic of it.

Killer: he is a happy man in the bathtub ill tell ya that. He sits submerged in like meter height bubbles like an idiot.

Buggy: was a model for the L'oriél Paris shampoo adds. Flicks his hair around whenever he washes it like a super star.

Shanks: he sits their till his ass is wrinkly so he can go around flashing his crew mates.

Crocodile: majestic, beautiful, gorgeous gold plated bathtub lined with candles and fragrances of only the most expensive kind. Reads the news paper with his lower body submerged a cigar lit between his tight lips and the ash tray on the bath side. Actually lemme just turn that into a fic.

Mihawk: hes bored. he dosnt look bored. but now what. the waters nice ig but he likes the couch. so tedious he thinks.

Ace: running around butt booty naked while Marco chases him with a towel "ACE YOUR TAKING A BATH" "NEVER"

Sabo: no time for bath its an eat, sleep grind for this man he is batman

[undertakcn]

@wintermulitplied asked:

A box is slid toward Sans, inside is a mix of various treats several things he should hypothetically like, candy, some nice cream and even a bottle of ketchup. But at the top of it all is a note, it reads a very clear message. "I really didn't mean it. Sorry." This was from Frisk, the child behind hidden behind some corner. They....want to talk to Sans but don't really know if he's up for that. Guilt had been eating away at them ever since what happened. // @wintermulitplied

Distantly, he felt a pang of pain in his chest. Which is strange...new. But he doesn't have the willpower to examine anything further.

Instead, he stares at the box from his seat on the couch, tv droning on with some channel or another he'd put on without thinking, mechanically. He knew the kid was close by, and some part of him, logically, knew he needed to do something before they got too in their head about this. Or, well, MORE in their head about it.

So without a word, Sans slowly stood from the couch, bones moving as if every action was dragged down by weights, like his joints were rusted over, and shuffled over to where Frisk was hiding. Some closer, thinking part of him thought he probably looked a little freaky. Some distant, feeling part of him felt he probably should remedy that. Whoops.

He wraps his arms around Frisk, lifting and carrying them to the couch the way a kid with a large teddybear would, and somehow manages to get them both onto the cushions, Frisk held to his chest while dim eyelights stared back out towards the tv.

His smile felt like a weathered, pealing sticker, but he slapped it on anyway.

"s' not your fault, frisk."

That muffled, emotional part of him recoiled. Yeesh, he sounds like garbage. The sharper, methodical part thinks wow, rude. But clears his false throat anyway.

"i knew it wasn't you. not entirely anways. but hearin' it from you...broke somethin' in me i guess. or maybe i'd been like that a long time. but that isn't an excuse to unload on you the way i did. you didn't deserve that. you aren't responsible for the emotions or actions of adults, or anyone else for that matter."

A short pause is filled by Sans idly adjusting the both of them, chin coming to rest on Frisk's head. This was comforting, right? Did he know anymore?

"i'm sorry. for gettin' mad at you, for not helping you, for not being there. for being the unfortunate, unwilling target of my stupid tantrums. it was never that i didn't trust you. you went through hell to set us free, of course we trust you. but, its just that. you went through hell. and you shouldn't have had to. and the fear of you getting hurt again while i'm not there freaked the hell outta me."

Briefly, without his concious input, Sans' arms tightened around Frisk before he remembered himself. How this wasn't about him, didn't deserve to make it about him. Didn't deserve the chance to apologize in the first place.

Stars, why was he here?

"in any case, you didn't do anything wrong, i couldn't do my job to protect you, and thats on me. and us monsters take souls a lot more seriously than humans do, but that doesn't always translate well, huh?"

He tried to make his tone light. It didn't work.

"you're a good kid, frisk. too good for most of us. i'm sorry i made you feel like you weren't."

[mjshortformcjesus]

ok so at the time of my writing this ive listened to high noon over camelot seven times today and heres some little things i love about it (not in any real order but its kinda chronological)

the way jonny says brian when he’s introducing the hanged man. like damnn girl we know what you think about the insubordinate piece of brass but you wanna try being a little nicer?

“the hermit” ohhhhhhh its sooooo mmmmmmm. the instruments when galahad sacrifices himself >>>>> (fun fact: i was blasting that part while my dad was telling me about his childhood which was really silly)

the pendragons. woaw. theyre so

the. the chair. its a chair.

honestly just the world building in general??? its a giant space station heading towards the sun with extreme amounts of radiation and the rust turns into sand dunes and i think thats beautiful

hellfire. what more do i say. galahad ily

british people talking cowboyly. its funny to me

honestly. all of the songs are peak. lyrics, instruments, singing, they really cooked with this one (haha. cooked. on fort galfridian *i am forcibly removed from the place where you are allowed to make jokes*)

mmmmmmm tarot titles. im a sucker for everything tarot. (the way that all the tarot titles are monologue EXCEPT JUSTICE??? owaghhhh) ngl i could make a whole second post about the symbolism of the tarot but now is not the time

“for nothing went to waste amongst the saxons” oh hell yes. big fan of this personally (also. the magnus archives reference?)

listen. i love mordred sm. but why did he name himself MORDRED.

the ending

where. where did arthur go. what happened to him.

“BUT MORDREDS HEART WAS ICE. THE SOUND OF DEATH STILL RANG IN HIS EARS AND AS THE LAST HIGH NOON SOUNDED OUTSIDE MORDRED RODE HIS ROTTEN WORLD INTO THE SUN”

gosh. the end of once and future king. banger. i am in tears

just started my eighth listen and i would just like to apologize for how long this is

[with-my-calamitous-love]

THINKIN’ ALL LOVE EVER DOES IS BREAK, AND BURN, AND END… ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

eijiro kirishima x reader

after possibly the worst heartbreak of your entire life, you finally get to begin again with a certain redhead. for his birthday <3

for @satirediary who said i remind them of kirishima 🤍

inspired by begin again

you take a deep breath in the mirror.

after adjusting your outfit for what feels like the millionth time, the anxiety sets in. you wonder if this guy, who you’ve never met before, is gonna like your outfit. the last guy sure didn’t, especially those high heels. but you do, and thats what should matter. right?

when you get to the cafe, you honestly expect him to be late. but to your surprise, he’s early, waving at you and pulling out your chair. you thank him, but he’s a gentleman at heart. “you look nice.” he says, his sharp toothy grin being just odd enough to be cute. you smile, brushing off your shirt and trying not to make the blush on your face so obvious. this is your first actual date since your previous relationship, after all.

you and monoma went down in flames. for a minute there, he ruined you for every other guy. he left you so sad and so heartbroken you weren’t sure if you could bring yourself to love someone else. but after mina’s third insistence on meeting this great guy, you finally go.

“mina’s told me a lot about you.” you smile, watching as the redhead nods, urging you to go own. you list off all the great things she’s said about him, leaving out the comments on his hot body and his apparently large package.

he honestly doesn’t know why you’re coming off shy as you share stories. at one point, he just watches you talk, loving your your rambles and anecdotes. his friends told him that first dates are awkward, but you two talk like old friends. no rust on telephones or reservations on jokes. he doesn’t get how someone as pretty and as kind as you would ever be nervous telling jokes or stories. but you do.

this guy isn’t your ex boyfriend, evident by his genuine interest in you. he laughs along with you, listening to everything you say. you can tell by his red eyes on yours, actually answering your questions and asking you follow ups. seemingly, he cares about what you have to say. he doesn’t know how nice that is, but you do.

“i saw you on tv once.” you giggle, on your second cup of coffee. neither of you wanna leave each other’s presences right now. “it was years ago, when your class was at that forest training camp.”

“oh yeah? did i look good?” he says, playfully flexing his arm muscles because he loves that pink blush on your face. god, he’s built like he was sculpted. but you’re not gonna let him know that, even though you subconsciously place your hand on his bicep, feeling the firmness of his muscles.

“you know, anabolic steroids are terrible for you.” you quip as he feigns offence. its the first time you’ve genuinely laughed in months. theres probably smile lines on your face now.

he throws his head back laughing like a little kid. its honestly strange to you how funny he finds you- you never really thought you were before. you’ve spent the last 8 months questioning your self worth, wondering if all love ever does is break your heart. but now, in some cafe you can’t remember, with a guy your best friend set you up with, you get to begin again.

the date evolves into walking down the block. you do a mental backflip when he finally works up the courage to hold your hand, the chilled autumn air no match for his big, warm hands. his fingers intertwine with yours lime they’re meant to be there. funny how monoma’s hands never did that.

just at that thought, you almost bring him up. the thought of him now still makes that feeling in your chest arise. how he never liked your heels, how he never found you funny, and how he’d never walk you to your car like kirishima was doing now.

either he senses your anxiety, or is just a ray of sunshine, but he eases your worries with a squeeze to your hand and a continuing of his anecdotes from earlier. “my family watches spirited away every christmas, because its my moms favourite movie. without fail.”

its a minute detail, but you wonder if he brought that up because he remembered you mentioning studio ghibli hours ago. its enough to ease your worries.

“i love that movie.” you utter, heart still racing from the close contact. “oh, i- uh, said that already. sorry.”

but he doesn’t hold it to you for reusing that fact. “don’t apologize, i think its cute.”

and for the first time, you wanna hear what he says. you hope he tells you about the movies his family watches, about his hot-headed best friend and the hero agency he works at. you urge him on as he rambles about the weed brownies denki makes, or the time he almost got expelled from UA. they’re dumb anecdotes, but it feels more genuine than anything else you’ve ever felt.

picturing a future with kirishima, no matter how naive or wishful it may be, brings a smile to your face. for the first time, maybe ever, its something you want. he’s effortless, his affection towards you easy for him. maybe you were never hard to love after all. maybe you just had to wait for the right guy.

when you reach your car, you almost don’t want the date to end. “i had a nice time.” you smile. though its what you always say at the end of a date, this time you mean it.

“me too.” he the redhead says, still holding your hand. “next time i’ll come pick you up. it’ll be easier for both of us.”

there, you blush again, a fond smile on your lips. “next time?”

now, he’s the one flustered, realizing his slip up. he rambles out apologies for assuming, his cheeks matching the red of his hair. after all, he’s just a person to. he’s experienced heartbreak like you have. this is likely a new beginning for him, as well.

you stay silent, but you do press a kiss to his cheek before letting go and heading into your car. he pretends the little happy dance you do before starting up and driving back home.

he’ll definitely tease you for that next date.

[gayforjuza]

reading rusted nation for the first time bc of the rerun and it's so insane?? a steampunk military dictatorship that's basically radioactive, all the rei and blade stuff, huey getting a sprite... this has to be the wildest event right???

Its definitely up there, im behind on most of the 2024 events (planning to just read them all at the end of the year when i make my 2024 video) but from the ones ive read yeah its either rusted nation or chimes of darkness OR possibly gamblers paradise

also about the huey sprite i think it is so funny that thats the only one we have, because this has resulted in people only being able to draw huey in his rusted nation outfit with the mask on 💀 so they'll draw him in some unrelated situation and its like why this boy wearing saian drip

[cozzzynook]

got any blitzbee for blitzbee week? or any ship with bee :]

So i’m a day late but the subject for day one being forbidden had art that inspired me so much.

I loved it.

Bee sneaking Blitzwing out who was kept in the lowest parts of autobot territory after being tortured.

He was physically tortured and it shows with how much energon he’s leaking and how much of his frame is missing. There’s a small pool of energon on the floor, his insignia has been ripped off. His wings were damaged but he could still fly. They badly damaged the treads of his tank alt mode and Bee winces at how heavy the chains are around his secret conjunxs neck cables and servos and pedes are.

They have to keep someone like Blitzwing in stasis cuffs and so the chains act as a numbing agent and keep him immobile. Bee sees all this even if his team tried to keep him from seeing it because they believed he was traumatized during his capture and thats why he won’t speak.

It wasn’t that though.

He and Blitzwing had known each other for millions of stellar cycles. Their courting was long, shy and done before the war actually broke out.

Bee was far older than they thought he was. Yeah he was still a young bot but he was emerged before the great wars really kicked off about a hundred years approximately. He’s only ever known war and it was during the war he met Blitzwing.

He was a young mech that got caught in a blast running to safety. He was relatively fine but the young seeker next to him was not.

Bee doesn’t know how he did it but he managed to bring the large lanky seeker into a destroyed shelter and patching him up the best he could.

Of course he recognized the decepticon insignia after helping him but at that time Bee knew the decepticons were right in fighting for freedom. This was before things became twisted and when Megatron wasn’t a warlord.

It was a couple days later before Blitzwing onlined. The mech was in a daze and couldn’t hold his own helm up. Bee managed to find some energon that wasn’t enough to quench even his thirst but he gave it to the large mech who greedily drank it before rushing to sit up with a wince.

Of course Bee was on guard and scurried back. He wasn’t stupid, a bleeding spark yes but not stupid, he knew he couldn’t take on any bot fighting in the war let alone a con as tall as this one.

But the con didn’t seem at all willing to hurt him in fact the con looked at him like he hung the stars covered by smog and smoke.

Bee can admit he was love struck looking into those optics the first time he truly saw them.

Its why he took the lanky mechs servo in his own and never looked back as he was led to a tent on an old and tribal looking base camp where many cons and those looking for change and safety wandered.

They initially were strangers who felt their spark soar every moment they were near another. Bee knew the mech when his designation was Frostwing.

Sharing soft touches, making sure their tent was clean and warm by the time the mech came back. Making energon for them and others who were injured, helping patch wounds under medics guided servos so he could be of use and not feel like a rusted bag of spare parts.

Before autobots became too underhanded bots were still emerging sparklings and even having them. He would help take care of them and help around the tents so the carriers wouldn’t have to clean and could rest.

He remembers the early days of being with the decepticons off battlefield. They were damaged, broken and hurt. But warm, kind and caring in ways he didn’t associate with autobots.

Frostwing as well.

Especially Frostwing.

Bots wouldn’t believe him if he said the mech who became a triple changer and cannibal once brought him sweet energon every week in the roughest of war zones because he believed he was worth it. This same mech who made sure he was cuddled close to his chassis, rubbing his helm to lull him into recharge with the help of his spark was the same mech who later was injured so badly in the middle of the war they used the triple changer project to bring him back.

Changing him painfully without consent with manipulation and no care for his well being.

Bee knew better than to say something. He didn’t want to risk either of them being offlined. Its was then he knew the decepticons had changed but it was too late.

Frostwing was now a valuable weapon and Bee was far too indebted to them to leave. Not to mention he was the sparkbond and conjunx of Frostwing now named Blitzwing.

His love was given two additional face plates and a fractured processor and frame that left him aching and in pain for what felt like stellar cycles.

Bee stayed up every night with him keeping his frame from over heating and administering pain lines to ease his torment.

He was afraid his love had changed drastically and wouldn’t love him anymore. Wouldn’t be able to live in a frame with a mind so altered and so suddenly after a near death experience.

Bee knew the moment he saw his beloved changed he would stay by his side no matter what. He just feared Blitzwing would not want him.

But his fears were for nothing.

His love, his spark and beautiful conjunx still took one look at him and reached out his servo to wipe away his tears. Blitzwing looked at him like the day they first met.

His mech was still so love with him and Bee couldn’t have been happier.

He felt he jinxed their happiness because it wasn’t long before they were nearing the end of the war that a deadly raid took place.

Carriers were kidnapped, sparklings were offlined, mechs were losing their processors at the loss of their families and the extricating cut off of their bonds.

He knew Megatron still had a spark somewhere left in there because he ordered a retreat and took to the front lines and was the last to board the ship. Whoever he could take he did.

But by then it was too late.

Majority of the sparklings were gone.

The carriers were all offline from the loss of their sparklings or being killed. Sires sparks had given out due to the pain and he was held by high command kept in a tight grip assumed to be a prisoner made to do servant labor.

He remembers the feeling of his spark flickering at watching the ship leave and the battles to come. Blitzwing was his worst trying to get to him. Find any clue of him before being declared too dangerous and wild by Megatron of all bots.

They would send small search parties for him but eventually after the all spark was launched, they stopped.

And Bee was left to autobot command.

Where they eventually put him with a new designation and in bot camp.

Sure he met Bulkhead and they became friends but it wasn’t…life was not the same. Not without his conjunx.

He missed him.

Terribly, every day.

The others knew something was up but not what.

They figured he was too young to have experienced any real pain in life and he hated it. But he didn’t want to expose himself when the elite guard specifically threatened that his former identity not be known.

So he kept his dermas shut, not that his team could tell with his happy go lucky personality, he played his role and part and would then go off looking to the stars hoping for his spark to be out there, alive and well.

He got his wish in the form of two craters in the city of Detroit.

One he remembers being Lugnut who immediately recognized him and thankfully kept quiet and the other, his spark.

Who thankfully sprung into action taking him far from the fight as Lugnut easily handled the others and kept them around him to give the two of them time as Blitzwing soared to the sky shouting incoherent words between all three of his faces while Bee cried tears of joy and screams of pain, relief, agony at being apart for so long and pure happiness at feeling the thrum of his conjunx’s spark swirling in tandem before plunging into his.

His spark soared the skies in a mating dance he readily accepted and trusted without a second thought.

Chirping and cooing with a rev of his engine to a pop of his door wings revealing them in a wing dance of acceptance that made Blitzwing plunge dive. It left Bee a squealing mess of laughter and carefree excitement he hadn’t felt since the day he last raced his love back on their home planet.

They both knew their time was limited.

Bee rushed to kiss his conjunx telling him the words he so desperately needed to say, “I love you,” before his audials heard the most beautiful voice box say it back.

“And I, love you,” his spark always knew how to touch him with words alone.

So long apart yet this wasn’t a stranger before him.

The same Blitzwing he met on the battlefield all those stellar cycles ago. The same Blitzwing who became a triple changer and would try to comfort him even though Bee wasn’t the one in pain. This very same mech who would hand feed him in his lap just because he wanted to take care of him. This very same mech who wanted to shield him from the horrors the best he could during the war. This mech, his mech, whose spark sang for him as they touched helms and became one so easily, after all this time.

This was the same mech he would risk life and limb for without a moments hesitation.

Their many late night meetings on Earth, before the decepticons were captured and brought back to Cybertron, raced through his mind as he snuck into the lower deck of the ship and waited until the coast was clear.

Tears in his optics, servos shaking and spark breaking at the sight of his love who sneered.

So big and strong, even while in so much pain.

He couldn’t help but sniffle and try to silence it before stepping to into the dim flickering light that made red optics more beautiful than they should be in this moment.

“Mein hummel.”

Those optics always beheld the stars when looking at him and he could only hope to do them justice.

“We’re getting out of here,” he kissed, pressing his helm to his beloveds. Servo transforming into a blade Bee cut through the chains as quickly and quietly as he could. Watching his conjunx flick his wings and stretch his frame before scooping him up and making quick work to take the corridors Bee used to sneak inside.

They were halfway free when the alarm rang but by then, it was too late.

“I came prepared,” Bee smiled.

Blurr stood with Shockwave at his side, the one optic con holding most of Blurrs weight as the healing former agent nodded towards them and motioned for them to leave.

Shockwave carried the mech as he ran for it. Blitzwing did the same and Bee made sure to use his arm canon, his original weapon given by his love, to cave in the doorways they passed.

All too soon they were outside making their way into a ship that was rushed to the skies and dodging blaster fire.

Bee could see his former team watching the ship fly away in betrayal and hurt before looking away.

He would never pick them over his spark but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

A servo on his shoulder and he looked to see Blurr shaking his helm.

“Don’t linger, it’ll make it worse.”

Nothing else was said after that.

For once Blurr didn’t talk at the speed of light and Bee had nothing to say.

He burrowed into his spark mate who gripped him tight covering his frame and in return Bee shielded Blitzwing’s spark.

Laying his helm over the shielded thrumming orb of life, he pressed a kiss to it.

And his love helped hide him from the world just as he needed.

-

I love this ship.

If you have any asks about them go ahead my inbox is always open. Hope everyone enjoys this.

This post inspired me