#the decades of everything being not /quite/ right

[tuttle-did-it]

With you on all of this. I wanted to like Deanna. But the show seemed to decide that if Riker liked her, that was enough to make us like her.

But if I had been on this ship, I would have found it offensive that someone could just drill into my brain like that. I would have avoided her like the plague-- because I do find it quite invasive to have someone know how I was feeling and why-- all the time. I would feel incredibly vulnerable around someone like that-- if she was as powerful as they say, she could easily not only detect what people were feeling, but also influence that. I would hate being near someone like that because I am possessive of my thoughts and feelings. Certain topics-- especially tv-- sure, I can talk about feelings about that. But real life stuff? My past, traumas, etc? Those are mine. And someone seeing through them and announcing them to the whole bridge crew whenever she felt like it-- or even having the ability to do that-- I would steer clear of her.

And instead of them just insisting it is moral and fine and giving us what-- one single episode where they acknowledge how much power she could have over someone, how vulnerable it could make people around her? How easily she could fuck people over if she wanted to? Play with that a bit more. Have people uncomfortable around her. Have her trying to deal with crew who avoid her like the plague. Have crew who refuse to work with her, have some fucking conflict *somewhere.* have her do something bloody unethical where she crosses a line because she is so powerful and it causes actual problems instead of 'he's angry, captain,' and 'what do you think?' And 'how does that make you feel?' Either she's powerful and there are consequences for that power, or she os not powerful and there are consequences for that, too. But you're right-- everything she says, Beverly could have figured out as well.

Or, hell-- when Troi loses her powers, give her 12 episodes where she is trying to get it back. Where she has to prove she is more than just a lie detector machine. Where she has to become more. Data advanced from his programming. But none of the others ever did. And it was the worst with Troi. Give us a whole season where she has to prove she's more. Where sometimes bits of her powers are coming back, but then they blink out again. Where she just has to work for it and prove that no, she deserves to be there even without the powers. She is good enough to be there without them. Then, maybe she gets them back, maybe not. I honestly think she'd have been a better character of they *didn't* return. Shed have to find *something* more to say than 'he's angry, captain.' 'They're hiding something, captain.' It just makes him look incompetent not to see that. So take away her powers and make her work for it.

She's not a good therapist. I've gone to therapy, a lot. And the advice she gives people is worse than the shit you'd see from chat gpt. She's a terrible therapist. At least make her competent. At least hire a psychologist who can say 'she needs to dig deeper here, she can't just say 'and how does that make you feel?' Thats awful therapy. Barclay was a mess before she met him, but her 'counselling' just does absolutely nothing.

I wanted to like Troi. I genuinely have tried for decades to find something I like about her, some story about her I can care about. And there is just nothing for me. I cared more about Tasha in s1 and 'Yesterday's Enterprise' than I ever cared about Troi. I cared more about Ro Laren in her debut episode than I ever cared about Troi. More about Pulaski in a single season. More about Beverly in a single scene than I ever cared about Troi. Which is sad and absurd because she's in the show twice as much as these women-- maybe more of them all put together. She had to ability to be such a great character. The writing failed, hands down. But the other actors brought something more to their characters, made them feel more real and fleshed out despite the shoddy scripts. I don't feel the same with Marina. I genuinely would have preferred to kill off Troi and keep Tasha (had Denise wanted to stay, I get why she didn't) or to have Beverly or Ro in more often. Troi is one of the most useless characters I've ever seen in Trek. Which is sad cos Trek has quite a fee useless characters.

Agree with Odo comments as well-- it was a stroke of genius that they made Odo a shapeshifter who could be anything. Except he can't because he's bad at it. And it hurts him. Was it for budget reasons and to avoid plots becoming way too easy? Yes. But they did something with it that pushed his storyline forward and gave him conflict. And it gave him an inner trauma that he needed to fix-- to the point where he does things *very* against his own ideals and morals just to try to get answers about who he was, and where he came from. By making his talent his trauma, they invited that story, that discomfort of others around him, his own discomfort about himself and his people, that was just a brilliant way to deal with it.

They *eventually* did the same thing with Wesley-- his genius (which they could only show by making all the other qualified adults around him very stupid-- eventually became his trauma. Became the thing that hurt him and kept him distant from others. And it actually worked really well! It was sad they waited til s7 to give him those cracks and issues, but there were a few tiny fractures in earlier seasons do when it did happen, it made sense. It actually ended up being a fantastic story arc. The thing that made him special was also the thing that hurt him.

There were no consequences to Troi having 1000+ worth of people's emotions every day other than her getting a bit tired and needing some chocolate. Okay? And? We met another Betazoid who completely fell apart just being around one person, let alone a ship of people. And I cared more about Tam in that one single episode than i ever cared about Troi. Make it harder on her. Make it hurt her sometimes. Make her talent her achilles heel. They did it with Tam. Data. Odo. But they couldn't do it with her. So they just stuffed her in spandex and had her say 'and how does that make you feel?' For 7 years.

But DS9 was the only legacy Trek that wasn't desperately allergic to consequence. I wish DS9 had more consequence-- poor O'Brien should have had at least a couple mental breakdowns. But they did what they could with the formula at the time.

star trek characters will literally go through the most life changing traumatic multidimensional extrasensory eldritch hell torture imaginable and then they're fine and the next episode they gotta deal with a guy who is bald

[dinosaurswant2rule]

The trouble with Galadriel and Sauron (what the show won't admit)

Before I get hate, I fully love these two as a couple, I ship them so hard as Sauron and Galadriel and Halbrand/Galadriel (although I would have loved it if Halbrand was just a "dude" with a tragic past not the source of evil incarnate)

Anyway my rant/analysis

I've read a lot of META analysis about TROP/Galadriel / her mistakes/not spotting Sauron for what he is etc / the mistakes blah blah blah

And while it's also fascinating, my big issue with the show and to a certain extent the analysis around her is that and I'm going to say this SUPER LOUD

SAURON IS RIGHT (in a way that doesn't for Celebrimbor or any of the other character he interacts with)

Yes Sauron absolutely manipulates Galadriel and she refuses to acknowledge a whole series of things.

But, for Galadriel, everything he says to her on the raft is absolutely true in a way that's not really true for anyone else.

Galadriel IS cast out by the elves for wanting more soldiers, for hunting an enemy that they think is gone even though she is TADA right as well. Sauron is not dead (Gil Galad grhhh) They don't listen to the commander whose hunted him for decades and led them across the battle field, they just say go away crazy cat lady - we'll just ship you off to Valinor.

And it just annoys me so much, that it's never really acknowledged EVER in the second series that she actually has a point

Sauron WAS NOT DEAD

That they put her directly in the path of someone when she is angry/damaged/still mourning a brother she lost a long time ago

And when they find out she is right, they have GALL to blame her for it utterly

Elrond AND Gil Galad both lay the blame entirely on her shoulders, no one ever really openly says, sorry Gal we put you in a super awkward position where you could have been open to Sauron's manipulation, that's on us and sorry for not believing you first time around.

Elrond - twat that he is (although I love him) sorta says sorry in between make out kisses at the last possible second, but it would have been nice for him to actually acknowledge it that Auntie Galadriel actually had a point.

He also has the nerve to say that she had the darkness calling to her/ that basically she was just an idiot falling for Sauron's tricks / is possibly corrupted herself

And Gil Galad never admits it either - still vaguely regarding her a sparkly flea he can't quite swat

And that she's somehow created another problem he's got to fix

While I totally admit that it's partly her fault, I just don't think the show is written as desperately fair to Galadriel and the second series suffers a lot from it.

After building her as the angry/damaged/virtually invincible soldier in the first series, the second series determinedly knocks her down a peg or two and the men folk take over (this is not helped by the fact that she no female relationships in the series) even though t hey are partly to blame for this mess.

I guess it frustrates me that the writing /the way the cast describe it - they tend to just go with the Galadriel made a horrible mistake and look at the consequences / she really did want what Sauron offered line

Anyway, back to Sauron, HE IS RIGHT, she is dumped by the elves and he is the only one who vaguely sees her as AN EQUAL, he actually finds her determination and obsession APPEALING rather than a turn off.

And it's seen as this monstrous thing, he's saying, but it's not really because he's being absolutely true

I SEE YOU AS AN EQUAL, AS MY MATCH (romantic or otherwise)

LET'S WORK TOGETHER

BECAUSE YOU'RE AMAZING

It's hardly a shock that Galadriel found this appealing because literally no man in her immediate world has ever really acknowledged in this way before and by the end of the series, he stills wants her!

(and in my opinion even after the roundhouse kick to the face)

(this might be one of the reasons her connection is so deep with him)

Celembrimbor on other hand, Sauron plays on his vanity/his desperation/his loneliness? as well as his basic good nature, but he doesn't really ever hit the nail on the head in terms of his situation (cause frankly Brimby is living a decent life)

Sorry this always bugs me when I watch it/read it

Just had to ran this out, much love to the TROP fandom and HALADRIEL and SAURONDIEL too, you're all amazing

Elsa out x

[silence-ofthe-llamas]

More of the Mecha AU-AU goop whilst I studiously ignore that I have to go back to work tomorrow when I have spent the last week doing fuck all. More Prowl!

Prowl didn’t notice it immediately, but once he did the pieces all snapped together very quickly.

He was very careful to not use ‘we’ when he spoke about his mech. He was very careful to not reveal any kind of deeper connection than pilot and AI. He spoke about Jazz like the other pilots spoke about their mechs - like he was his car.

First Aid did not.

First Aid always said ‘we’ without any hesitation or a second of thought - he didn’t even stop and correct himself after speaking. He spoke as if Vortex were a colleague, a friend, and he’d visit it daily doing god knows what in the cockpit - when asked, he said he was decompressing as the hangar was quieter and nobody came near. On the days he didn’t eat in the cafeteria, he was sat by his mech. Sometimes he’d see him eating whilst watching them scrub the gore of off his mech, seemingly unfazed at seeing alien innards being extracted from joints or at the smell of decomposing organs.

Something wasn’t right. It couldn’t have been that he wasn’t a trained pilot, so he was assigning emotions to it - even the other staff at the facility spoke about the mechs as if they were non-sentient beings. Shit, even the public did. They had trading cards like tanks did. They had merch. They weren’t seen as being alive, because they shouldn’t be.

Jazz hadn’t mentioned anyone else being subject to the same experiment that he had. As far as he knew, Jazz was the only one, or the only one to survive - maybe a prototype, maybe the culmination of decades of research. But the fact remained - if Jazz didn’t mention it, he didn’t know that anyone else like him existed.

And Vortex may have been more sentient than they realised.

They thought its AI was just faulty. The going theory in engineering was that it was misidentifying targets because it was being overzealous in its ‘protect the pilot’ objective, and the rumours on base said it was haunted. That it only killed people so it wouldn’t be alone. Prowl wasn’t convinced it was an issue with an AI any more.

Prowl felt his stomach tighten as fear gripped his chest when he saw First Aid happily grab his lunch to go and trapeze down to the hangar to eat with his mech. Did he know? Did he know that it wasn’t an AI, not quite a ghost? Was he in danger? Was the AI going to misidentify him as a target one day too?

All the weird things Vortex did, everything out of character for First Aid, suddenly made sense. It wasn’t the sweet medic with slightly-too-cold hands and the kind demeanour. That wasn’t anything he was capable of, it couldn’t be. No; it had to be Vortex.

So what the hell was he? Who the hell was he? What kind of person did he have to be to be capable of that? To even have those kinds of ideas, to trick the maintenance droids into giving him upgrades he wasn’t scheduled for, to give him internal limbs the mechs weren’t even supposed to have – for what means? What ends? And, worst of all, if he were human – how did he end up there?

Jazz didn’t know. He had never heard of anyone with that call-sign, he didn’t know anyone who fought like he did, he didn’t see or hear of anyone else whilst he was in the facility or whilst he was first being set up. If they were military, they never crossed paths.

He promised to look into it as much as he could.

Prowl promised that he would do the same.

The opportunity came in an unguarded laptop. Nobody was looking, and the area was devoid of cameras. Where the cameras came back in were so busy it was impossible to tell who had been where. Borrowing it on an extended term with assumed permission, it slipped neatly into his bag, and he walked with purpose back to his room.

Jazz had showed him how to cover his tracks before - he’d been very insistent that he had learned how. Prowl wasn’t very good at it, but it would be enough for now. Thinking back hard to his lessons and staring at the password protected screen, he got to work.

There was a name. Svastjan Vasylvych Lomachenko.

All documents and files relating to him were password protected - classified. Apparently he had caused them quite a headache back in the day - he looked to have been on a few payrolls that had them on edge. He couldn’t crack any of them – Jazz hadn’t quite gotten to teaching him any of that and he’d never had any reason at all to break into anywhere. Sleuthing and gathering intel was more Jazz’s speed – Prowl was much better secluded away filtering through it all for what they needed. He chewed his bottom lip and wondered if there was a way to make Jazz more portable. Maybe Wheeljack would do it without asking many questions…?

A little more digging, and spades of patience, earned him more information.

A number. 004. This one seemed to be attached to Svastjan. Another name: Combaticon. The numbers 001 through to 005 were pinned to the name.

Prowl drummed his fingers on the desk. What was the connection between Svastjan, 004, and Vortex? Training material? Had they captured his movements to programme them into the mech? Had he been bought out and loaned his services and expertise to them?

A photograph caught his eye. Five men looking directly at the camera, all crammed into a car. Prowl couldn’t tell what model - he could only see the cabin inside - but he saw the glass in the windows was shattered and the interior pockmarked by bullet holes.

Prowl felt like they were all poised to leap through at him and slash his throat if he looked away. The tallest man to the left was the only one who wasn’t smiling, too busy drawing from his cigarette and looking so above it all. His hand was bandaged and blood was starting to bloom around his knuckles, his dark hair smoothed back and light stubble speckled his jaw. He had his other hand on the steering wheel - he was driving. The man next to him was grinning widely, smeared with soot and missing a front tooth. His right arm was in a sling, his left out the window, probably grabbing the roof. His hair was cropped short and full of dust.

In the back seats, a tall man was having his cigarette lit by a shorter one in a gaudy golden jacket, an expensive watch on his wrist. His face was obscured by what looked like a smear on the lens. The taller man had broad shoulders, and seemed to have one hand on the back of the drivers seat.

There was another man in the photo, but Prowl didn’t notice them.

He was too busy looking at the watch.

Frowning, he zoomed in. That watch was familiar, he’d seen it before. Prowl was not the type to go for designer watches, he liked a good CASIO and that was about as far as his tastes went, so he knew he wasn’t staring at something he’d been browsing for himself. It was analogue, and Jazz had only worn digital.

Where had he seen that watch before?

He felt his eyes droop over breakfast the next morning. He’d been up way too late – and then the alarm had gone off in the middle of the night signalling an attack, and then he’d been deployed, and then he’d had to go to medical for treatment after a particularly harsh whack had him slamming his head on the cockpit and then the list of things he had to do just kept growing and growing until he'd given up on getting any sleep and had gone down to get breakfast.

All in all, he felt a bit shit. He held his coffee tightly in his hands, almost worshipping it. His stomach turned at the thought of eating anything, but he knew that he’d be suffering for it later if he didn’t get something in him. Two slices of bread topped with cheese stared up at him mockingly from his plate. He narrowed his eyes at it. If he had to eat, he wanted lohikeitto – something that would send him into the coma he so desperately wanted to be in.

“Oh, thank god you’re here!” A voice shouted. Prowl almost leaped out of his skin. A man in purple rimmed sunglasses marched over to him, leaning dramatically against the table. “I was worried I missed you, I heard you got injured and you weren’t in medical.”

“Swindle.” Prowl greeted him with an incline of his head. “What can I help you with?”

“You’re still a security guy, right?”

“I suppose so.” When he wasn’t busy piloting and assisting tactical, security pinched him. He had straddled tactical and security before - the two often went hand in hand so it helped to be on both sides.

“Perfect.” He slumped down into the chair opposite him and sighed with his head in his hand. “We’ve been having some weird traffic on our servers. It’s like something- or should I say someone- is managing to access places that should be under heavy locks and keys.”

“So there’s been a security breech?”

“If there were, it would trigger the correct procedure and we wouldn’t be having this conversation. We’d be having a very different one. It’s like they’re just bypassing it all, or the protections aren’t there anymore.”

“Are you suggesting it’s me?” Prowl knitted his fingers together and leaned forwards. “That’s quite a steep accusation to make.”

“If anyone knew how to do it, it would be you.” Swindle snidely replied. “So forgive the caution. Unfortunately for us, the data that’s been accessed is something wildly unrelated to you or your known interests.”

“What data is it? Out of interest?”

“Files on a man called Svastjan.”

Prowl fought hard to school his expression. He knew this would be coming. Luckily, it didn’t take much effort for him to carefully maintain his blank expression.

“Ah. Yes. I see. Unfortunately I cannot help you there - the name means nothing to me, and so I cannot advise who would be best to go to.”

“We’ve already gone to the people of interest.” Swindle chewed his nails. “One’s a total dumbass who I’m amazed can tie his own shoelaces. Not a single bone in his body capable of using the intranet. We’re struggling to track the device that did it, too. Are you able to help?”

Prowl pursed his lips. “Aren’t you able to ask anyone else? Someone who’s actually in security?”

“The data is… sensitive. I need an individual who is already of a like mind, so to say.” Swindle was giving him a strange look. “Understand?”

Of a like mind? His brow knitted together in confusion. What on Earth did he have in common with Swindle? What-

Oh. Of course. His face dropped in realisation. Swindle knew about Jazz, and he knew that Prowl had found out too. They were both in on the same terrible secret. And he was revealing that the secret got bigger: there was another one.

“Are you sure you should be telling me this? I could be a whistleblower.”

“Oh, Prowl, you sweetheart. Didn’t you know? The scum rises to the top. You’re not a whistleblower - you’re an accomplice. You’ve already been very quiet.”

The message was clear. If we go down, you’re coming with us.

He thought of Jazz. If the operation were to shut down, Jasper would be lost forever. His jaw tightened. God damn you, Swindle.

“If I’m sticking my neck out for you, I want two things.” Prowl raised two fingers. “One, I want a raise. A significant one. If I’m at this much risk I want a salary that reflects it. Two, you’re going to tell me which one Svastjan is.”

“Done.” Swindle slapped the table. “You’ll get a bigger room, too. Make the deal sweeter. Second is a bit harder.” He adjusted his collar, pulling away the silk shirt as he swallowed hard. “You see…” he glanced to the rest of the room.

On their own they were two rather unremarkable men. Nobody paid them too much mind unless they had any reason to - otherwise, they were left quite alone.

And people were starting to stare. Watching them closely, leaning in to whisper to friends as they speculated what they were talking about with such intensity.

Prowl leaned back.

“I’ll be on the bridge inspecting Jazz in two hours.” He picked up his abandoned spoon. His soup was probably arctic now. Swindle grinned at him.

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

Jazz was almost vibrating when Prowl walked down the catwalk to him. Prowl couldn’t help but smile at him, the corners of his eyes creasing.

[I HEAR YOU CRACKED A BIG EGG, PROWLER <3]

“I got Swindles attention.” Prowl sighed as he sat down neatly in the pilots chair. “We’re blackmailing each other now. So much for a quiet life.”

[I NEVER THOUGHT YOU’D BE CAPABLE OF ONE]

“I’m being punished.” Prowl leaned in. “Swindle’s coming to give me the last piece of info. I have a name, an id number, and the squad name. I’m fairly certain I know which mech they are, but I want to be absolutely certain before I make my next move.”

[YOU’VE BEEN WORKING HARD]

[DOES SWINDLE KNOW ABOUT ME?]

“I think he’s one of the people who orchestrated it.” Prowl pressed his lips together. “We can safely assume the entirety of high command are complicit, and a few other individuals also.”

[CAN I SQUISH HIM?]

“Once my raise comes through.” Prowl linked his fingers together, rubbing his thumbs against each other in a soothing motion. “Did you manage to find anything?”

[I DID, HOWEVER IT WILL HAVE TO WAIT - SWINDLE IS HERE]

“Shit, already?!”

Jazz trembled with a laugh, the sound of it mechanically melodious. [WHY THE STRESS? IT’S GONNA BE FINE]

“I wanted more time to debrief with you.” Prowl ran his hand through his hair. “By design, huh?”

[IT’S RUDE TO KEEP HIM WAITING, PROWLER <3 SEE YOU SOON]

Prowl hopped down out of the cockpit onto the catwalk, and walked over to Swindle. The man met him with a wave and a wink.

“Let’s get to it then, shall we? There’s no point to the pleasantries when we both know we’ve been naughty.” Swindle leaned against the railing and looked out over the hangar, beckoning Prowl forwards conspiratorially. Prowl stood next to him.

Swindle nodded forwards. “There’s your mech.”

Prowl glanced up at the hangar.

The mechs between his bay and bay 11 were empty – the mechs inside were off for repairs. In bay 11 stood Vortex, a red-headed man was stood next to it. They were too far to see both who it was and what they were doing, but Prowl could take a guess at the former.

“Vortex?” Prowl quietly said. Swindle nodded.

“Yup.” He popped the P.

“Thank you. That might help the investigation some.” He paused for a beat. “What makes you think it’s not him looking himself up?”

“Two reasons. One, he’s not that vain. Two, his style of infiltrating is… different. You can tell when it’s him.”

“I suppose it’s no guessing for you who’s messing with the morning memos, then.”

“Yeah, I’m happy to give that one away for free. It’s him.”

“I wonder why?”

“He’s really bored. Desperately hard to entertain.”

“You seem to know him quite well.”

“I was there from when he was admitted until he was interred into that metal machine.” Swindle quickly replied. “I saw enough to know.”

“Right.”

“Well, that’s everything then. I’ll pass on the details of your pay rise and your room transfer later today, after you’ve had a nap. You look terrible.” Swindle pushed himself back off the railing with a huff and held his hand out to him. His sleeve pulled back, revealing his watch.

A very, very familiar watch. Prowl felt his stomach hit the floor. Swindle had the same watch as the mystery man in the photograph.

Prowl took it and quickly shook it, keen to get him moving so he could process it and debrief Jazz.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” Swindle smiled at him. Prowl mutely nodded. Swindle narrowed his eyes at him.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Your watch, it’s very familiar. I’m trying to think of where I’ve seen it before.”

“Oh, this old thing? It was a gift from my Commander back in the day, you know. I’m sure it’s just some cheap thing off the shelf.”

“I didn’t take you for the type to wear cheap watches.”

“I’m a nostalgic guy.”

Stiffly, Prowl stepped back. “I wont keep you any longer, I’m sure you’re a very busy man.”

“Extremely so! Thank you, Prowl, you’ve really saved my backside.”

“Thank me when I’ve found the culprit.”

Swindle grinned.

Back in Jazz, he paced.

“Swindle is the man in the photograph - I know it. His watch is very distinct. I checked - they’re very rare, they were made by one gentleman in London, - and Swindles watch is exactly the same. He knew Svastjan. What I don’t get is why he’d lie about its value, he’s not the type to be modest.”

[WHO KNOWS ABOUT THE WATCH – SWINDLE’S A MYSTERY. SO HE KNOWS VORTEX? NO WONDER HE WONT GO NEAR HIM]

“You’d think old friends would be keen for a reunion.”

[I’VE FOUND COMPELLING EVIDENCE THAT SWINDLE SOLD THEM OUT – KNOWING THAT HE KNEW VORTEX, I IMAGINE IT WAS TO SAVE HIMSELF]

“He sold them out?”

[THE COMBATICONS, TO BE PRECISE. RECORDS HAVE NUMBERS 001 THROUGH TO 005, BUT 005 IS MARKED AS REDUNDANT. THIS MUST HAVE BEEN SWINDLES NUMBER. VORTEX IS 004, AND HE SEEMS TO BE A PROTOTYPE - BUT THE WAY HE FIGHTS ISN’T A SIDE EFFECT, IT’S WHY HE WAS CHOSEN.] the text rolled across the screen, Prowls eyes darting as he raced to keep up with him. [I’VE FOUND FOOTAGE AND REPORTS ABOUT HIM WHILE HE WAS STILL ALIVE AND HE’S JUST AS BRUTAL. THE GROUP WAS CAPTURED ON AN ANONYMOUS TIP, WHICH TURNED OUT TO BE SWINDLE. HE KNEW THEIR JIG WAS UP, AND HE WANTED LENIENCY.]

“And leniency he got, fuck me. He sold them all out for this?” Prowl felt disgusted. “No wonder he steers well clear of Vortex.”

[EVEN WEIRDER THOUGH - 001 TO 003 HAVE NEVER BEEN ACTIVATED. THEY’RE STILL ON ICE]

“Maybe Vortex was too much? They thought the rest of the team would be like that?”

[WHO KNOWS? THE BIGGER QUESTION IS WHY THEY DIDN’T START AT 001.]

“Who is 001?”

[CALL-SIGN ONSLAUGHT. A MAN CALLED OSCAR DEN KONING, HE WAS THEIR COMMANDER. I MET HIM A FEW TIMES, ACTUALLY. STERN, SCARY, BUT FAIR.]

“Did you ever meet the others?” Prowl sat up straighter.

[NO - HE WAS QUITE CAREFUL TO KEEP ME AWAY FROM THEM, SO I DON’T KNOW MUCH ABOUT THEM. I WAS ONE OF HIS INFORMATION BROKERS, HE DIDN’T WANT TO HAVE ME GETTING ALL MIXED UP WITH HIS TEAM. SEEING VORTEX NOW, I DON’T BLAME HIM.]

“He sure chose his moments to be a gentleman.” Prowl grumbled. “So.” He pressed the tips of his fingers together. “Vortex is Svastjan, and for whatever reason First Aid is the first person he hasn’t killed or mentally broken. Swindle is the reason he is in a mech. They were both previously colleagues working together under Onslaught – do we have names for the other two?”

[I’LL NEED A LITTLE MORE TIME]

“Thank you, love. You’ve done a lot already.”

[SO HAVE YOU! <3 WHAT’S THE PLAN?]

“I suppose we find out exactly what’s going on here.” Prowl pressed his fingers together. “I’m not letting this happen to anyone else.”

Swindle sure chose his moments to be a gentleman too.

Not long after their little chat, he received a placement notice. He was on loan to the American Shatterdome – apparently, they’d had a surge of new recruits following an uptick in funding after their extremely rough winter, and they were in need of a few extra teachers. Prowl had been put forwards as a candidate.

He was willing to bet that Swindle had a hand in that choice, bastard. He’d played him like a fucking fiddle, made him spill his guts without even realising that he’d done it. Prowl was notorious for his teaching methods – they didn’t like to show him off to their allies as he wasn’t the nicest, that often fell to people like Hot Rod and Arcee, when they still had her. So no, he hadn’t been chosen for his sunny disposition – he had been chosen because he was a liability and he was starting to get a bit too close to something.

Removing him from the sanctity of his home base and throwing him into the deep end of a task he hadn’t done since he’d started getting greys was certain to keep him much, much too busy to even think about trying to dig deeper.

Prowl stared out over the ocean, resting against the railing. Ice cold metal bit into his hands through his thin woollen gloves, the soft down in his sleeves protecting his arms. Spring hadn’t come in yet, and there was still a harsh bite to the air. His breath condensed in clouds around him, making him look like a dragon.

Jazz would have liked it.

The thought didn’t pull as hard at his chest as it used to.

[tinfoil-jones]

Why does Ford think he abandoned Stan? It's not like he kicked him out of the house. Is it about not trying to look for him after he was kicked out or not trying to contact him before the accident?

I've gotten quite a bit of asks about Ford and Stan, so I'm going to explain Ford's arc in this fanfic based on authors intent:

Let it be said, first, that Stanford is not some unfeeling monster who hates his brother. He wasn't that even before the story started.

Stan was  initially written as being a bit more sensitive, but was re-written to be standoffish and casual about everything. This was so there was more contrast between when he’s being serious vs when he’s just f***ing around. In a way he kind of switched attitudes with Ford, who was initially going to be more of a jerk who was doing all of this because he wanted to be right.

But that changed because I’ve seen a lot of stories where Ford is a jerk either until it's too late, or it’s almost too late, and Stan is sad and self-depreciating the whole time. Which, it is a dynamic I like, don't get me wrong. But I wanted to do something different - so Ford was instead written with the intention of being the more sensitive one. In a way, to be ironic because he called Stan suffocating before they had their falling out, and now he’s the one insisting that Stan needs to stay with him, while Stan actively rejects him.

This was not written to bash or hate on Ford for what happened to Stan - both Stan and Fiddleford state multiple times that Ford was both allowed to be mad about the perpetual motion machine incident, and he was allowed to cut people out of his life, including Stan. It was always his right to decide who he wanted in his life.

However, the problem is that Ford took Stan for granted. Ford was the one who was wronged, so he decided on his own that he and he alone would decide if he and Stan ever reconciled or not. Ford was open to the idea of reconciling, but only on his terms, and only if Stanley proved his worth to him. He saw Stan as needy, so he never even imagined a scenario where Stan could ever possibly reject him.

The whole story, after all, started because Ford was so ready to just ignore Stan after not seeing him for an entire decade, only to be offended when Stan’s the one who completely ignored him instead. Stanley was the one who ruined things, he shouldn’t get a say in if Ford engages with him or not!

And then there was Fords lie about Stanley ‘leaving home’ rather than being kicked out.

Ford wasn’t going to admit it out loud for a while, but he did feel guilty about Stan being kicked out. More specifically, he felt guilty about how he felt when it first happened. Back then, as he was seventeen and newly betrayed by the person he thought he could trust most in the world, he was hot blooded and impulsive, and he believed that Stan ruined his machine on purpose. Back then, he thought that Stan must have done it out of jealousy towards him, and for a while even believed that Stan deserved to be kicked out. 

And as Ford got older, and he started growing up and maturing, and the incident became more distant and he cooled off about it, he looked at the situation differently. As a grown man, he could look back and realize how clearly not a grown man Stanley was when he was kicked out, and that throwing a minor onto the streets was wrong. While he still believed that Stanley wrecked his machine on purpose, he changed his mind about why Stanley did it. He came to the conclusion that Stan must have just been afraid of Ford leaving him. He still believed Stan sabotaged him, but he at least didn’t think Stan was doing it to be malicious. 

But still, he preferred to keep him out of sight, and out of mind. There was no reason to make attempts to reach out if Stanley himself wasn’t trying to either. He was a con artist anyways, sure his life most likely wasn’t the greatest, but Stan was tough and stubborn, he’d get up no matter what knocked him down or how hard.

And this entire mindset Ford had towards his brother beforehand became… so much more unstable and harder to hold onto once he started to get to know Stan again, albeit as an amnesiac who saw him as a stranger.

Because every time he and/or Fiddleford poked and prodded about his past, it quickly became clear to Ford that Stanley’s life since being kicked out hadn’t just been ‘not the greatest’, it was a never ending series of one trauma after another horrible trauma.

How many times has he been stabbed?

How many times has he been kidnapped?

He was addicted to what?

What ‘worse’ things has he done for twenty dollars?

Why does he know what Necklacing and the Colombian Necktie are?

He… tried to kill himself? Multiple times?

Which States is he banned from?

Why does he think only negative things about himself?

And as Fiddleford tells him outright in CH.18, Ford overcompensates as a knee-jerk reaction - he realizes that Stan isn’t joking about these things that happened to him (specifically when he sees the cigarette scars makes the reality really sink in for him). His guilt over not doing anything when Stan was kicked out, and then his further guilt when he lied to Stan and Fiddleford about the details of the incident, causes him to get way too protective and even a little controlling over Stan because again he hyper focuses on the idea that that he can make up for this, that he can fix this. That is he can keep Stan safe now, maybe he’ll be the brother he should have been in the past decade.

But you can see that Ford changes throughout the story - in the beginning, he corrects everything Stan says in the vein of “I’m this”/“No, you’re this”, and doesn’t take anything he says at face value, he constantly projects who and what he thinks Stanley Pines is supposed to be on this amnesiac who tells him his name is Stan Malone. He also pushes or ignores his boundaries - in CH.9, he tries to force Stan to tell him who gave him the burn scars even though it’s clear that Stan is very uncomfortable with the topic. 

But compare that to the end and near the end of the story - in CH.20, after the “Homeless Shelter” memory, he asks Stan if he wants to talk about it, and drops it when Stan tells him no. In CH.23, Ford also shows faith in what Stan told him about his limitations, because he isn’t concerned when Agent Lolph tells him that he stabbed Stan four times, because he remembered Stan telling him that four would only slow him down.

[cabezadeperro]

2024 in review

I wasn't actually going to do this this year, but what the hell.

2024 has been--weird. I think it's the year I've written the least since 2020, word-wise; it also saw me writing something non-Star Wars related for the first time in four years. These two things may or may not be connected.

Anyhow, this is a pretty short list with five fics that for whatever reason I find the most interesting. They aren't my favourites, they're not the best; but they were hard to write, or I learned something writing them, or I had fun, etc.

half agony, half hope. 34k, codex, T, also known as the persuasion AU though it's more of a homage to one of my favourite novels ever. it was extremely hard to write and it took me a while to get out of my own way and just do it.

you'll like it if you enjoy pining and yearning, smart and competent people so deep inside their own asses they can't see what's right in front of them, the agonies of being 20 and responsible for the lives of millions of people and a clone trooper, jane austen, cody being fucking stupid.

home alone. 2.9k, jango fett/obi-wan kenobi, E. part of my daredevil AU. I don't think it's a very good fic, and I feel too self-conscious to reread it and find out if it's actually bad, but that's okay. The fact that I wrote something like this (that is, something that's quite a bit of my comfort zone for a couple reasons) is good enough imo.

you'll like it if you enjoy fics that are pwp but a bit to the left, trans jango fett, obi-wan being the annoying kind of service top, established relationships and domesticity, superhero AUs that aren't actually about superheroing.

islands. 9.4k, codex + anakin & rex, T. The Force Sensitive Rex fic. I am very proud of this fic. I think it does exactly what I wanted it to do, and I had a lot of fun writing it. I loooove writing these three in different combinations, and I really enjoyed having them interact in such a weird scenario.

you'll like it if you enjoy shrimp emotions, Force Stuff TM, force sensitive clones, fics where there's no Anakin bashing that acknowledge that there is something very wrong with him (affectionate), cody and rex being obsessed with each other, rex being a messed up lil guy.

smoke signals and code. 3.5k, jason todd/tim drake, T. This fic was my return to Batman comics and to this ship after a decade. I think it's kind of rough, but I'm still pretty proud of it, and I had so much fun writing them again and coming back to this world and these characters. In a lot of ways it was very much like coming home.

you'll like it if you enjoy unresolved sexual tension, calculated violence, characters who are too clever for their own good, that very specific brand of fucked-up-ness you find in late 90s/early 00s batman comics, ships that take the trope "enemies to lovers" as a challenge.

irradiated. 1.5k, vader/rex/cody, E. I wrote this as a gift for a friend. It's the kind of fic that is only supposed to be liked by one person--if anyone else enjoys it, that's great, but it is very much tailored for one person's tastes. In this case, that means it is weird as hell. There's a POV change half-way through, it's more of a character/relationship study, it actually doesn't have a plot, it sits right on the border between experimental and presumptuous, I'm not that sure it works. And I had a lot of fun writing it (and my friend liked it ❤️).

you'll like it if you enjoy second person point of view, Vader being weird, a bit of body horror in your not quite smut, open/ambiguous everything, Imperial Era stuff, weird style choices.

[what-strange--options]

Holmes and Watson are unwell about each other (10/10, no notes), but they are also the epitome of “right person, wrong time” which is not a trope i thought i liked but here we are.

I hold with canon all the way until Holmes’ retirement (or somewhere around the mid 90s) (because there’s no way in hell that Holmes wouldn’t have invited Watson to Sussex, or that Watson would have said no, but i better stop before i get off track), so i do in fact subscribe to the “Watson married Mary Morstan” detail that a lot of people find clever workarounds for, and I actually like that more than the alternative. I love that John Watson had an entire separate life, that he tried the married man thing, that even then he couldn’t pull away from Holmes, and that ultimately, when he lost them both and then got Holmes back, he devoted the rest of his life to him. I love that Watson saw and lived the alternative to eternal “bachelorhood” with Holmes, because it makes his choice to go back to him after his return from the dead more significant. Holmes never had a choice imo; he was already firmly against traditional life, and he loved Watson and needed him. Watson didn’t have such qualms about the right way to act in society, so it took trying it out – and death itself – to show him what he really wanted. He got Holmes back, said “oh thank god, i get to try again and THIS time i’ll do it right,” and never left him again (i am side-eying late canon SO hard rn. We are not friends). And that fully-informed commitment is so soulmate-coded i need to go feral but also lie down

[leatherbookmark]

a thing that irks me about wgxn as lsz's Best Parents Ever and lsz himself calling them his fathers iiiis that aren't... parents and basically ancestors... kinda important in chinese culture? yknow, like *gestures at some of the characters' complicated relationships w/ their parents, their legacy and last wishes*? lsz discovers he's a wen and doesn't immediately go "ah well, doesn't matter, they were Problematic and i feel more like a lan anyway", but rather goes to the nighless city with wn to bury the ashes of their family and build a cenotaph for wq. that means he still wants to honor his ancestry, especially since he's the last surviving member of his clan. would lsz just... conveniently forget about all that -- about his parents, whoever they were, who died in the war -- for lwj? hm

[tittyblade]

just had a dream where id picked up fencing again and ive missed it so much tht seeinf it in my dream woke me up completely. what IS thisss let me live!!! the way i LONG for this shit even after years + keep having dreams abt it would make you think i was in a 200k+ slowburn love story

[jackalhadrurusluvr]

repeating my therapists words in my head like the bike message in pokemon

[feral4daryl]

masterlist || MDNI

sweet scent.

perv!daryl x fem!reader

summary: while looking for his crossbow around the house, daryl ends up finding a pile of your dirty clothes and... used panties of yours. and when no one's looking, he decides to have some fun with them.

warnings: EXTREME AGE GAP (daryl is in his late 30s/early 40s and reader is 18), not entirely proofread, smut, mean!daryl sort of, corruption kink, daryl being an absolute pervert, panties sniffing, daddy kink, masturbation, cussing, daryl imagining himself doing the dirtiest things to you (unprotected p-in-v, squirting, face fucking, praising, loss of virginity, cunnilingus and i think that's pretty much it)

word count: 2.8k

a/n: please proceed with caution, this piece of work portrays a few extreme or unusual fetishes, so if you're not comfortable with any of those i've listed above please do not ready this. the idea that inspired this work originally belongs to @dilfsandmartinis.

if there was something daryl absolutely hated, it was the feeling of uselessness.

since andrea had mistaken him for a walker and shot him from afar, grazing his head, useless was exactly how he felt, having to lay down on a bed the whole day and night, doing absolutely nothing but be left alone with his own thoughts. and oh, what a disgraceful fate.

everytime he wasn't focused on hunting, fighting or surviving in general, the farmer's sweet younger daughter flooded his mind. your hair, your face, your stupidly adorable sundresses, everything about you was so... distracting.

daryl wasn't ever the kind of guy to simp for a woman, but that one specific girl made him feel emotions and sensations that were hidden deep within his being for years, maybe even decades. feelings he thought had vanished from his heart a long time ago were now blooming all over again, like he was some stupid teenager looking at a playboy magazine for the first time.

there was something about your innocence, your adorable mannerisms, your sweet voice and your kindness that had awakened something in him, something he wasn't quite sure what it was.

no, he wasn't exactly a young man. and while being aware that you were very young, he couldn't help but feel so guilty for having those feelings. whenever you bended over to pick something up, he had to fight demons not to have a glimpse of your panties. he often wondered how could you be so careless by exposing yourself like that, even if you didn't do it on purpose.

and there was him again, thinking about you. it's like no matter how hard he tried to push those thoughts away, they were like water, always finding a way in.

he huffed, feeling defeated. he knew he was still recovering from the incident, and that he should rest, but why was he following orders around anyways? he wasn't a damn puppy. plus, everybody else had left him there to go looking for sophia. he wanted to be able to help too. he was alive after all, and if he was alive, he believed he should be on his feet.

so that's what he did. he slowly lifted his right foot, resting it on the floor, then he did the same with his left one. his body reluctantly lifted itself up, and he immediately could feel the consequences for laying down for so long, his back killing him and his vision a bit foggy. anyways, he ignored any discomfort and started walking slowly, his head still a little dizzy.

then, he remembered he needed his trustworthy crossbow, he couldn't just leave unprotected like that. he looked around the room he was settled in but it was nowhere to be seen. he knew it was still in the house, so he left the room. he started walking down the corridor, his eyes attentively looking for any signs of his crossbow. he was even starting to think that his mates might've hidden it to force him to stay in the house when he spotted a halfway open door.

his calloused hands pulled it open, revealing a small bedroom, all pink themed and stupidly decorated. no, his crossbow wasn't likely to be there, it just looked like it belonged to one of hershel's daughters, but it was like something was calling him in.

he stepped in the room and it almost looked messy. the dressing table on the corner had lipsticks, combs, all sorts of make-up and girly stuff all piled up and... a perfume.

it was happening again, images of you flooded his mind and it was like he could almost smell you. oh, your sweet scent had the power to make him hard like nothing else. just by looking at that small bottle, just by imagining your scent, he could feel little shock waves travelling all the way down to his cock, threatening to awaken it.

he knew it was wrong, so fucking wrong thinking about a much younger girl like that. and it was even worse considering that you were the daughter of the man that provided him shelter in such difficult times. it felt ungrateful.

when he saw you for the first time, he didn't think much of you. he was actually careful, treating you like the stranger you were. and even when time passed, he never really got close to you. now and then you tried to share a word, even if just a little bit, but it seemed useless since he would reject all your attempted approaches. he didn't hate you like he tried to after acknowledging his disgusting desires for you, but he just couldn't allow himself to interact with a girl that made him sick to his stomach for all the wrong reasons.

your sweetness was almost annoying. the entire world had gone to shit, for goodness sake! dead bodies walking around and eating all the people they could find. how could you act so clueless all the time? daryl even wondered if you had ever seen a walker before, if you knew what was really happening out there. after all, it was very obvious that you were a daddy's girl, always protected under your father's wing.

but strangely enough, acknowledging that only made him protective towards you. he was always somewhat watching, always around you making sure you were safe and he barely knew why, he just felt like he should.

so he didn't stop himself from reaching over to your small perfume bottle. the design was very simple, no labels to be seen, time had probably faded it away. the cap was baby pink and heart shaped, and when he removed it, he immediately brought the bottle to his nose, giving it a gentle sniff.

fuck.

now, he was 100% sure that was your room. the fragrance was the same one that filled his nose and made him drunk in you everytime you walked by. he wondered if that was the scent he would feel if he ever hugged you, burying his face into your chest.

in that moment, he couldn't think about anything else, not rick, not carol, not his chores, not surviving, not even sophia. you were everything that he had in his fucked up mind.

he wouldn't feel so fucking guilty if his thoughts were only about your innocence and sweetness, but they were also dirty as fuck. countless were the times when daryl imagined groping you, running his hands all over your delicate body, feeling every texture, squeezing every junk and listening close to your every little whimper. he would pull your hair, gently at first, just to get it off your face and neck so he could pamper them with little wet kisses, gently scratching his teeth along them. he imagined he'd have to keep you on your feet himself, since you'd struggle to because of how weak your knees would get at all the sensations he would provide you and...

wait, no.

what was he thinking? was he out his fucking mind? he needed to stop those absolutely disgusting thoughts right away. he couldn't keep having those thoughts about you, not when you're out taking care of such important business with the others. he put the perfume bottle back on the dressing table, determined to let all that go. he knew he couldn't just let himself get so distracted like that over something so mundane and unimportant as his own sexual desires but then...

...he spotted a basket filled with clothes when he turned around to leave. his mind immediately started to rush all over again, and for the 100th time that day, he turned careless. he slowly approached it. shorts, tops, pants and so on could be seen at the top of the pile.

in that moment, he had totally forgot why he had entered that bedroom or even left his bed in the first place. he couldn't even remember the existence of his crossbow or his duties.

and then... he gets an idea. he starts going through the pile of dirty clothes and in no time, he finds your panties. they were white with a pink ribbon on the front, a clear reminder of your innocence. for a moment, he just looks at it, contemplating the possibilities. then, he remembers seeing you in it when you bended over to pick some off the floor the day before. he remembers catching a glimpse of it under your yellow sundress when you went to change his bandage.

that meant that those panties had been freshly worn.

if just your perfume ignited such vile desires in him, he couldn't even imagine what your natural scent could do to him. and he was oh so curious to find out. he still felt guilty, but that man had been sex deprived for so fucking long, he didn't even masturbate very often. he knew damn well he was about to commit a big mistake, maybe even starting something he was sure he couldn't finish, but he finally made up his mind.

he flips the small piece of cloth over, eyeing the soft-looking lining of the panties. he gulps, feeling his mouth water right away. god, what was he doing? what was right, what was wrong wasn't even important to him anymore. he just wanted to embrace his sickness.

there was a small stain on the lining, probably from you wearing it. just that sight alone was enough to get him off, and once again, he found himself having to face that tingling sensation inside his pants. he knew damn well what that meant and what was about to happen. but honestly, he couldn't give a single fuck anymore.

in one quick motion, he brought the fabric to his face, giving a long sniff while he rolled his eyes to the back of his head. that fucking scent of yours got him drunk the moment it filled his nostrils. so intense, so feminine and raw, daryl couldn't remember the last time he felt that type of pleasure, or if he had even felt anything like it before.

it made him needy like a horny teenager. he felt himself going back to puberty when all he could think about was jacking off day and night. and it was all your fucking fault.

daryl palmed himself through his denim pants, never taking your panties off his face not even for one second. the natural scent of your cunt was more than successful to make him hard as a rock, the sensation of being in his pants started to get uncomfortable as his dick grew bigger and bigger.

just palming himself wasn't enough.

he slowly unbuttoned his pants and unzipped them, inserting one of his hand in his briefs to catch his hard cock in it, freeing it for the first time in a while. his angry-red tip was literally pulsating while a clear and sticky liquid dropped down his length.

he wasn't able to hold a small grunt as he wrapped his calloused hand around his cock, the rough sensation of his fingers causing him to feel a jolt of pleasure so fucking delicious and guilty at the same time. the archer brought his hand to his mouth, catching some of his saliva to use as lube.

oh, how he wished you were there. he'd make sure you'd get his cock nice and wet with your spit so you could rub it up and down. and then, without warnings, he'd just shove it down your throat, forcing you to prove how much of a good girl you could be just for him.

and just for him. he wanted you all for his own. daryl never really liked to share, specially when it came to a girl like you, so princess like, so adorable looking. your plump lips looked so fucking perfect, and they would look even more wrapped around his big cock.

knowing how fragile you were, he knew you would definitely choke and gag on him, struggling to fit all of him in your mouth. he would whisper sweet encouragement words to you like “tha's it, tha's ma good girl”. he imagined how he would hold your head in place and keep a hand on your throat so he could feel his cock while he aggressively pumped it in and out, making you drool all over him. “just like tha', yeah, show daddy how fuckin' good ya are fer him”.

in his imagination, you would look up at him with those big doe eyes of yours, with a mix of uncertainty and desire to make him proud. “am i doing this right, daddy?” he could almost hear your voice saying it whenever you would take him off his mouth to catch your breath for a moment, never disconnecting your small hand from his thick length.

he started pumping faster, squelching sounds were all that could be heard in that silent room, a proof of his degeneracy. the grunts and stifled moans were only getting harder and harder to hold back. he was sticking those panties to his face and sniffing on them like his life depended on it, like he was a desperate virgin.

a virgin. he wondered if you were one. you sure looked like it, your dad never let you out of sight for long enough for you to try something like that, he supposed from what he knew about your relationship. he imagined how would it feel like to be the one to pop your cherry for the first time.

oh, he would teach you so many things, everything he knows. he would guide you through it all along, teaching you where to touch, where to kiss, where to lick. he would make your virgin little cunny cum so many times it would get all puffy and red. he even wondered if he could make you squirt, stuffing you with his fingers, brushing against your sweet spot over and over again until you were a quivering mess, squirting all over his skull tattoo. and yes, he would make you lick his fingers clean, your sweet little tongue dragging across them, and then, he would kneel down in front of you, not wanting to waste a single drop of your sweet release, attacking your sensitive clit and slit with his lips and tongue.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

he was so fucking eager to taste your slick, to revel in your salty taste. he imagined how fucking good the smell he was getting from your panties was from the actual source. he would lick it all, your lips, your slit, even your ass, but he would give special attention to your little clit, flicking his tongue on it, making it cum again just for him. he would never grow tired of it.

and when he felt you were finally ready for him, he would bend you over just like you used to do so absentmindedly. he would be gentle at first, but knowing himself, he knew he wouldn't be able to hold himself back for too long before absolutely railing the shit out of you, making you cry out and scream his name in pleasure and pain.

and when he flipped you over on your back, he would be able to see the bulge on your lower belly caused by his big cock inside you. just by imagining that he felt himself getting close to the edge. he would press his hand on it, making the little room inside your pussy even tighter. fuck, he imagined the sweet sounds you would make just for him.

all those dirty thoughts and your sweet scent from your panties were more than enough to make shivers run down his spine and his whole body tremble. he kept his eyes shut tight as he licked a stripe on the lining of your panties, trying to get some of your delicious taste. meanwhile, he hadn't stopped his hands not even for a second, harshly rubbing his cock up and down until it was too much.

in a strangled moan, his cock started shooting spurt after spurt of thick cum onto the floor, the dressing table and pretty much anything that was around. he couldn't remember the last time he had such an intense orgasm, the sensation making his mind completely empty except for your image.

his movements got slower until they stopped and he let go of his now sensitive cock. he sighed after catching his breath. he was left with that afterglow and the feeling that he made a huge mistake. suddenly, he felt dirty like before. he opened his eyes slowly, removing your panties from his face and putting them in his pockets. yeah, he knew it was wrong, but he was still planning to keep them for later.

then, when he averted his gaze to the mirror on his side, he saw...

you. standing on the doorframe with a shocked look on your face.

“u-uncle daryl?”

[PART TWO]

a/n: i know, i'm disgusting. i'm sorry. (just a quick reminder, english isn't my first language, so please excuse any grammar mistakes or awkward phrasing lmao, and tysm if you read it this far)

[sonicboomseason3]

a brief recap of what has been going on with the sonic movieverse in the past several months:

paramount has come out in public support of israel

keanu reeves, a man who has publicly rubbed elbows with none other than benjamin netanyahu, reportedly gets cast as shadow for the upcoming third movie

james marsden, the guy who plays tom, got exposed as having written a letter of support for a convicted pedophile

there's fucking??? zionist propaganda in the knuckles series???

kind of connected to the last point but adam pally, the guy who plays wade, is evidently pro-israel too

this is a complete and utter joke.

EDIT AS OF 4/30/24: if people see this version of the post, i'd really appreciate it if you reblog it instead of the other versions, as it's the most updated one with all the information that i want included. thank you :]

you know, it's been a few days since i've made this post, and some of you (not most) are staying determined in defending/justifying/giving the benefit of the doubt to keanu for that photo with netanyahu, whether it's because "it was a decade ago," "him being civil to someone he ran into at a party one time doesn't mean anything," "he's probably just silent because his pr managers won't allow him to speak up," etc. i've made my thoughts on the matter quite clear by directly responding to these people, but at this point, i'm tired of both seeing them in my notes and repeating myself, so take this as my final word on the issue.

i can't help it if you don't think the photo with netanyahu is damning, and i'm done engaging with everyone going out of their way to tell me that. i obviously disagree, especially after finding out that 1. the host of the party, arnon milchan, is a former israeli spy who has a history of developing israel's nuclear program and promoting apartheid in south africa (information that had broken out a few months prior to the party and thus would've been fresh news around the time keanu chose to attend) and 2. keanu has been caught hanging around at least two other weirdos, but if you don't find any of that to be cause for reasonable concern, then there really is nothing else i can say afaik.

with all that said, i'm beginning to realize how strange it is that these people's first instinct when seeing this post is to start debating about keanu's political stances without ever acknowledging any of the other bullet points. you guys realize that this isn't just about him, right? i know tumblr reading comprehension is known for being piss-poor, but like… you realize that i was trying to make a point of how there are MULTIPLE terrible things that have broken out about the people and company involved in the sonic movies, right? and yet, a lot of the people leaping to speak on keanu's behalf in my notes are completely ignoring the parts where i bring up paramount, pally, etc. all in favor of zeroing in on the singular point about keanu and making bad faith assumptions about me for holding him accountable. really makes one wonder where your priorities lie if, in a post that talks about so many other things, me accusing an a-list celebrity with, according to google, a net worth of almost $400 million is where you draw the line and apparently the only thing worth your acknowledgment.

ultimately, what i'm trying to say is that the intention of this post was just to gather up everything that i had been hearing for the past several months and put it all together in one place. there were a bunch of people who didn't know about at least one of the bullet points before seeing this post, and i'm glad that i could help inform them, that was what i was hoping to do! but as for the keanu thing, i've said pretty much all i can say for now, and i don't want to derail the original post even more than i may have already. unless something new comes up, i'm done talking about him.

[inkedbybarnes]

unclear

bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: everyone thinks you're dating bucky, except yourself.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: 18+ minors dni. miscommunication (i love this trope, sue me), angst with a happy fluffy ending, quite stubborn reader, implied smut if you squint, usage of petnames such as baby and doll. lowercase for basically everything.

i haven't finished anything in decades, but i suddenly had an idea just now and decided to write it down. surprisingly, i finished it? might have a lot of mistakes and such since i haven't proofread it yet. also, sorry for using lowercase for this, i kinda like how it looks. hope you enjoy this one!

dividers by @cafekitsune!

comments, reblogs, and likes are highly appreciated. thank you! ♡

“you're confusing me. so... you're not dating bucky?”

wanda tilted her head, confusion etched on her face as you spent your weekly girl's night with natasha. it usually consisted of eating food you all desired, drinking until you got wasted, and spilling secrets to one another.

although tonight, you weren't sure if you had any secrets to spill.

"as far as i know, no. we're just friends, teammates. nothing else," you answered with a heavy sigh. "can we talk about something else?"

"hold your horses, young lady! we are not skipping this topic again. you obviously want a label but he isn't giving you one!" wanda protested. she has been constantly asking about you and bucky's relationship for the past weeks, and you always had the same answer. you don't know.

"have you never talked about it with bucky? he looks at you like you'd get lost if he looks away for a second. not a single soul in the tower would think that you're just friends," natasha interjected, taking another sip from the bottle of beer she held. she had a point, as always. "if he's just playing with you, which i highly doubt for barnes, then just end whatever that is. you deserve better than having doubts and confusion, babe."

you've tried asking him multiple times, but every attempt felt like you were stepping on his boundaries. after years of being controlled by hydra, you knew it was possible that he'd hate the feeling of being rushed and entering a relationship that could potentially feel like a cage to him.

but natasha was right. your "relationship" was no longer anything friendly. he sleeps in your bed, claiming he slept better in it, and wakes up beside you to shower you with kisses. none of you even tried to hide it after some time. you always cooked your meals and ate them together, casually feeding one another and stealing kisses in between. you even stopped going on dates and you had no idea if you were exclusive. you deserved to know what your relationship with bucky was, but you were too scared to lose everything once you asked.

"we're not dating. i only see him as a friend, so you can both stop worrying about me." you lied through your teeth, your chest aching as you realised how stupid this was. you sighed and faked a smile, shifting the attention to natasha. "so, tell me about your date with steve! how was the first ever date of captain america since the 40s?"

wanda was distracted by the question, immediately bombarding the now blushing widow with questions. on the other hand, your mind flew away for a minute, finally deciding to get an answer from bucky.

the annual ball that tony stark held for, well, nearly anyone, was nearing. you only had two weeks left, and you haven't even gone out to find something to wear. it was hard to find any motivation to do all that effort when the person you've been waiting to ask you as his date hasn't asked you yet.

although, bucky had a tendency to get shy and hold back. you knew that. so here you were, standing behind the doors to the gym, knowing that bucky would be training at this hour. you still haven't asked him the question you were supposed to ask him, so you decided to do it all at once.

after you've finished your small pep talk, you opened the door to enter the room and your first instinct was to search for bucky.

considering that he was a huge chunk of a man, he was easy to find. however, the sight of him standing in front of a woman that was too close for your comfort wasn't delightful.

he didn't see you entering the room since he was facing the opposite direction, conversing with the agent that happened to be training as well. she had the sweetest and flirtiest smile on her face, bringing her hand up to his arm, slowly caressing it. you didn't mean to easily hear their conversation as you walked closer.

"so, do you happen to have someone for me to have as a date for the ball? i don't want to be lonely on that night, sergeant," the agent said with an extra pout, swaying her hips side to side like a child asking for candy.

"oh, yeah? i think i have someone for you," bucky replied, breaking your heart into pieces with how enthusiastic he was with his answer. "i'm sure you'll—"

you sniffed. unconsciously. not knowing that your tears were already falling, causing your nose to get stuffy. how pathetic, you thought.

your little sniff caught the attention of both the agent and bucky, looking at you in shock. although, the girl was more pleasantly surprised than the opposite. thankfully, you already had your tears wiped before they could see them.

"oh, we didn't see you there!" she greeted you with your name. "we were just talking about our date for this year's ball. who are you bringing?"

"i haven't decided yet, no one's worth it even if i try," you answered bitterly. "so you're going together?"

before bucky could answer, the agent already had her arm wrapped around his, happily smiling at your question. "yeah! amazing, right? i actually thought you two had a thing, but i guess not. glad things worked out in the end."

and that was your last straw. "well, enjoy yourselves. i have to go and find natasha."

you turned to leave, ignoring the loud calls of bucky. you were glad that you never asked him about your relationship and the ball. you were going to be hurt either way.

you spent the next hours stuck in your room, body covered with a thick sheet as you ranted about your frustrations to friday.

it was silly, you knew that, but you refused to call natasha and wanda to remind you of your stupidity and decided to let an ai robot listen to your problems instead.

"and he even flirted back! answering coyly like a teenager. he's 107 years old, fri!" you whined, not noticing the new nickname you've given the alternative intelligence. "ugh, now i have a broken heart and no date in sight. how did it get to this?"

"perhaps you must discuss this matter with sergeant barnes first. your conversation ended quite abruptly with no clear conclusion."

"no, i don't want the truth rubbed on my face," you said, grabbing another piece of tissue to sneeze in. "you restricted him from entering my room, right?"

friday answered with a yes, then you thanked her for listening and decided to get some sleep after tirelessly crying for hours. you knew you had a team meeting with the avengers in a bit, but you couldn't bring yourself to even walk a few steps.

your sleep ended and you were woken up with friday's reminder that it was time for dinner with the team.

with a groan, you pushed yourself off your bed. bucky would be there, but you were too hungry to care. it would be awkward, of course, but you had to face him at some point anyway.

your feet padded towards the door, opening it after trying your hair in a bun.

"ah, fuck."

you jumped at the voice and the body falling to the floor as you opened the door.

"bucky?" you asked, still in shock. "were you sleeping outside of my room?"

you watched bucky stand up, his hand massaging his aching nape as he looked for your eyes. "friday won't let me in. i waited outside instead. i guess i fell asleep during that," he explained, a frown forming on his face. "did you restrict me from entering our room?"

your eyes widened at his choice of words. our room. he considered your room to be his room as well. while that would've made you melt in an instant, you were still hurt to entertain that possibility.

"this is my room, barnes. not yours, not ours. and yes, i had you restricted because i couldn't face you yet. what do you need anyway?"

"i wanted to see you, talk to you." a flash of pain crossed his eyes. "whatever happened at the gym, it's—"

"bucky, you don't have to explain anything to me. we're just friends. it's my fault i assumed we were something. i just need some time to get over it."

"but i thought we were something as well..." he replied, his voice was almost as quiet as a whisper. "i thought we were dating."

"were we?" you asked, genuinely curious. "we never.. you never said anything. i mean, yeah, i wished it meant something, but i thought you wouldn't want to be trapped in a relationship with me, so i just waited. apparently, i was right and i can't blame you for that."

"right about what? the thing that happened in the gym this morning?" he asked. you nodded in response. "i know it sounds like i was flirting back, well i didn't know at the moment, until i asked steve who was clueless but he called nat to help me out and explained that it looked like i was flirting back. i wasn't. i was just going to suggest sam as a date for her. i would never agree to anyone."

oh. so he just wasn't interested in anyone at all.

"besides this one girl who's constantly been in my head. that's if she'd even give me a chance and say yes. i fucked it up badly before i could even ask her properly."

you knew what hoping got you, but you couldn't help but think that he was talking about you. he'd have to be clueless to say all those things in front of you only for it to be someone else.

"i love you, baby. i should've told you that, i should've made it clear sooner. i'm so sorry i let you have doubts when i could've been reassuring you about what i feel for you."

"bucky..."

"i would never feel trapped with you, doll. only you made me feel so much love and freedom. i'd be a fool to let go of that. i'm sorry it took a few hits and harsh words from natasha to make me realise that i wasn't giving you enough when you deserve everything." he held your face in his hands, bringing you closer to him. you felt breathless, tears threatening to fall but this time it was out of joy. "hydra made sure i had no voice to express myself. now, i'll use it to let you know that i love you so fucking much that it hurts when you're not around. i promise to work on it. if anything like this happens again, ask me, baby. demand things from me. i'll give you everything in a heartbeat."

"even if i ask for your arm?"

he laughed, a sound that was music to your ears. "it's yours baby. although, i do like fucking you with my metal—"

"bucky!" you scolded him, hitting him lightly on the chest.

"sorry, baby. couldn't help it. missed my girl so much."

his girl. you loved hearing that.

"it's only been a few hours. don't be silly," you reminded him, but you knew you also felt the same.

"i miss you even when i don't see you for a second." you couldn't help but laugh at his words. "something funny, doll?"

"sorry, natasha said something similar about you a few days ago," you answered. "i'm sorry for assuming so quickly, bucky. you deserved the chance to explain."

"and you did let me explain. i can't blame you for assuming and getting hurt when i never gave you the confirmation to believe otherwise. don't apologise for it, baby."

"i love you," you said, causing him to grin widely.

"yeah? you love me too?" he asked, a hint of pink tinting his cheeks. "this is official now, right? we're dating?"

you nodded happily, giggling as he landed a kiss to your mouth. "so, you wanna go to the ball with me?"

he kissed you again. "don't. i'm supposed to be asking you that. i had an entire thing prepared for you, i even dragged half of the team to help me out days ago. besides wanda and natasha, of course. couldn't let them tell you about it."

your heart swelled, he was already planning to ask you before all of this misunderstanding happened, and it could've been solved with communication. lesson learned, indeed.

"well hurry because i can't wait to say yes," you playfully threatened him, kissing the tip of his nose until the loud rumble of your stomach interrupted your sweet moment. "ah, right. i was on my way to eat dinner when i opened the door."

bucky laughed, his eyes twinkling witth adoration as he kept his eyes on you. "we can't have you starving, that's for sure. come, let's get you something." he held your hand, and dragged you to the kitchen. he turned to look at you with a playful smile. "wanna cook together like the old times?"

you smiled. "like the old times."

in the middle of your cooking session, you heard whistles and claps along with the footsteps that entered the kitchen. you both turned to find the rest of the team with shit eating grins.

"finally! so is this real or do we need to smack your heads?" tony asked, his hand placed on his hip.

"it's always been real, stark," bucky answered, wrapping his arm around your waist. "except this time, i'm making sure my entire world knows it."

"i think everybody knows you have a thing for each other, barnes." clint added.

"i meant my entire world, not everybody." bucky looked at you with awe. "she's my world."

bucky's answer gained various loud reactions from the team, mostly calling him a cheesy old man and fake gags, but there you were, cheeks heating up as you looked back at him with the same amount of love, if not more.

and he did ask you to be his date to the ball the day after, surprising you with his so-called secret plan.

a year later, he surprised you with a ring as he knelt on one knee.

if you have any requests for bucky, send them my way! 💌

[anantaru]

cw. ⪩⪨ fem! reader, rich boy au, rich boy alhaitham, semi public sex (in a library), he's insufferable, possessive (he's used to getting what he wants n wants you all for himself), a little yandere i feel like

rich boy alhaitham has never experienced the idea of not getting something he so terribly longed for— in fact, the very moment he laid his eyes on you, desire flooding his veins and invading his taste, it's with immediate certainty that he will make you his no matter what.

because you see, it has almost always been that way for him, the idea of something being too expensive has never really crossed his mind in his adult years— although it was safe to say that in order to make you stay forever, he must add more than the couple gifts he had already planned to send your way, such wasn't enough, despite the fact that they certainly would make things a whole lot more easier for him.

because who on earth doesn't like a costly, with diamonds paired piece of earrings from fontaine? hand crafted of immeasurable worth. or would you rather choose the extravagant silken garments from the nation of electro? oh, you forgot already silly? you're of course, getting both, it's on alhaitham after all.

he doesn't understand that this emotion growing in his heart might become quite dangerous in the future, although again, the man was of smart kind, highly aware of the power he held not only with his fortune alone, but his cleverness as well— and there would never be a time in his life where he couldn't utilize the one or the other, or use them all together to get the result he planned to achieve.

dear, dearer, dearest you, alhaitham ponders, as long as the sun was alive, as long as desire merges with his addiction,

"i will pursue you".

alhaitham knows that from the bottom of his heart, he will make you his, and not just have you for a short period of time during those special days— where two people simply let go of steam, soft fingertips glissading over the edges of sweaty skin as you're wrapped around his fingers, the slight swell of your lips, the strong blush on his cheeks, both vividly showing that the two of you cannot keep your hands away from each other.

as expected, you find yourself hidden behind a bookshelf in the house of daena, and alhaitham kisses you like he has been imagining it for decades on end, soft lips dancing over yours as he forces his tongue past your mouth, his hands greedily skimming through your trembling figure— soul catching soul, like each touch of him felt like it was searing through you, burning your clothes.

there, in those precise rolls of fingers repeatedly crossing your sensitive nipples, alhaitham makes himself acquainted with your trace as he graciously feels around the curves of your body and how well you reacted to his touch, kiss and tremble— an immediate reminder for him that you like it when he touched you like that, lapped his tongue over yours like that or pressed his muscular thigh against your wet cunt like that.

alhaitham was cruel in a way— one might even go as far as to assume that pairing an excessively clever man with a boundless amount of money harbors a much darker meaning in on itself.

but right now, he was slightly cruel to you as well when it becomes more and more painful and he knows, he always does, especially when he notices how you're having trouble breathing from his antics, quite wobbly on your footing as you look up at him through soft eyes, lips parted when each kiss of him made your heart clench, unknowing of everything, only waiting until he finally fucks you like you wanted to.

what you do not realize is that rich boy alhaitham was already weak for you, and he could barely wait himself, his mind fighting with his rationality, being overthrown by nothing more than the addictive scent of your perfume blossoming across the skin on your neck.

he flips you around instantly, your figure now squished between his chest and the bookshelf before he flicks your skirt up with ease, almost territorial like he's the only one allowed to do that from now on, frenziedly touching and loving your body like he needed you to breathe and stay alive, like it's only you who can make him be this way.

"ahh— fuck," he gasps into the back of your neck, his hot breath planing across the skin and manifesting a strong shiver down your spine, "i love those earrings on you," as he trails off, your hips twisting and twitching when he finds them with his hands, repeatedly pistoling his thick shaft into you until the lewd, squelching noises of skin on skin were overturning your little whimpers, smack smack smack, it's only getting louder— so alhaitham uses one hand to quickly close one palm around your noisy mouth.

he thinks it's adorable how you forgot that you were still in a library, yet it only showed him that he was doing everything right, only a little more until you're all his.

the scribe has got you covered, okay? alhaitham needs you to realize that from now on, you have nothing to worry about anymore, so please get that into your pretty head! you're far too delicate and pretty to trouble yourself with something such as stress, not anymore— because wether it was intimacy you craved, love you sought after or money you needed,

alhaitham has got you.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[konigsblog]

OCTOBER 10TH — BEST—FRIEND!SIMON. You knew something felt off, that lingering impending doom chasing you, ‘til it was all too late. (NON-CON)

2024 KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. (DAY 10)

You've known Simon Riley since childhood. He's your closest friend, someone who you confide in and care for. There aren't any secrets between you two, and despite being open and clearly too friendly with each other from time to time, you were still oblivious to his envious and sickening attitude towards your significant other.

He dreamt of having you all for himself, to cradle you in his strong arms and have his stubbled face peppered with sweet, hearted kills while his calloused and grimey hands travelled your figure, becoming familiar with your plush body once again after being neglected of your love and adoration. The thought of returning home to Manchester to lay in your arms with your fingers nestled and tangled in his locks of hair left Simon's jealousy worsening. He craved you, yearned to hold you close and for you to reiterate.

Upon returning back to Manchester after an agonisingly long and isolating three month deployment, he was quick to make a visit to you, the first place he'd visit, desperate to admire your beauty once again. Your significant other hadn't been home for quite a while either, far away and across countries on a work trip. Despite keeping in contact with them, you still felt alone, stranded, and lost. You craved that familiar and comforting warmth that they'd bring. Simon couldn't hold himself back from the opportunity laid out in front of him. It was a picture perfect scenario, everything he'd been fantasising of; night-time quickly approaching, isolated and alone, and missing your best friend.

Pouring you a drugged glass of wine wouldn't hurt, right? Don't you trust him, Birdie? Remember his promise to keep you safe?

You didn't suspect Simon of anything, believing he'd never jeopardise your life or put you in harm's way for his own sexual and perverse enjoyment. After all, you've known each other for multiple decades. You had no reason to fear Simon. Your gut feeling told you otherwise, nagging in your spinning and aching head ‘til you were clinging to Simon drunkenly, stumbling over your incoherent words, feeling his rough fingertips wander your plush thighs and explore every inch of your numb, limp body.

He'd thoroughly and selfishly enjoy himself between your plush legs, finally earning what he deserved for always being there for you, through thick and thin.

[pucksandpower]

Just Not Home

Lewis Hamilton x race engineer!Reader

Summary: and I can go anywhere I want … anywhere I want, just not home

The Bahrain sun hovers low over the paddock, stretching long shadows across the asphalt. It’s the first day of preseason testing, and everything feels like a half-forgotten memory — almost familiar, but not quite.

Lewis stands by the Ferrari garage, his arms crossed over the crimson of his new uniform. The Prancing Horse on his chest gleams under the fluorescent lights, a betrayal written in gold thread. He looks down at his phone, scrolling idly, but you know it’s an act. He’s waiting.

So are you.

The Mercedes garage hums around you with the buzz of drills and the low rumble of the cars firing up. It’s your world. It’s been your world for over a decade. But not his anymore. Not after last season.

And then you see him.

He looks up at just the right — or wrong — moment. His gaze locks with yours, and for a second, everything around you dissolves into static. There’s no garage, no engineers, no cars. Just you and him, separated by too many steps and too much history.

You hesitate, then force your feet to move, weaving through the pit lane toward him. He doesn’t look away.

“Didn’t think you’d come over,” Lewis says when you’re close enough to hear. His voice is steady, calm, but his eyes betray him. They’re searching your face like they haven’t seen it a thousand times before.

“Didn’t think you’d want me to,” you reply.

He exhales sharply, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I always want you to.”

It’s too much, too soon. You look down, focusing on the grease smudges on your hands. “How’s it feel? Being in red.”

Lewis glances down at his suit as if he hasn’t already spent hours adjusting to the unfamiliar color. “Strange. Feels like wearing someone else’s skin.”

You nod, unsure of what to say. The silence stretches, heavy and awkward, until he breaks it.

“Do you hate me?”

Your head snaps up. “What?”

“For leaving,” he clarifies. His tone is too casual, like he’s trying to keep it from hurting, but you know him too well. “Do you hate me for going to Ferrari?”

You laugh, short and humorless. “Hate you? No, Lewis. I don’t hate you. I just-” You pause, searching for the right words. “I don’t know what I feel. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated,” he repeats, rolling the word around like it tastes bitter. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

There’s another pause, filled with the distant roar of an engine.

“I miss you,” he says, quietly, like it’s a confession.

You look at him, really look at him. His jaw is tight, his shoulders tense, but his eyes — those damn eyes — are soft and full of something you can’t name.

“Don’t,” you whisper.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t say things like that. Not here. Not now.”

“Why not?” He steps closer, closing the already narrow gap between you. “Why can’t I say it? It’s true.”

“Because it doesn’t change anything!” Your voice rises, drawing the attention of a few passing mechanics. You lower it again, swallowing hard. “It doesn’t change the fact that you’re here, and I’m there, and that’s how it’s going to be.”

“I didn’t want to leave,” he says, his voice breaking just slightly on the last word. “You think I wanted this?”

“Then why did you?”

“Because I had to.”

The words hang between you, heavy and unspoken for far too long.

“Had to?” You echo, your tone sharp. “No one made you, Lewis. No one put a gun to your head.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Bullshit.”

He flinches, just barely, and you immediately regret the harshness. But you don’t take it back.

“You could’ve stayed,” you continue, your voice trembling now. “You could’ve stayed, and we-” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “But you didn’t. You chose this. You chose them.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he’s going to walk away. But then he speaks, his voice low and raw.

“You think I wanted to leave the team? Leave you? I didn’t. But I don’t know. It’s like …” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. “Now I can go anywhere I want. Anywhere. Just not-”

“Home,” you finish for him, and the word tastes bitter.

His eyes snap to yours, and there’s something raw there, something you’re not sure you’re ready to face. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Just not home.”

Your breath catches in your throat. It’s too much, too honest, and you don’t know how to respond.

“Why are you telling me this now?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Because I need you to know.” He looks at you, his eyes pleading. “I need you to know that it wasn’t about leaving you. It was about finding ... I don’t know. Something I’ve been chasing my whole life. But it’s not here either. I thought it would be, but it’s not.”

“Lewis,” you begin, but he cuts you off.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice cracks on the word. “I’m so sorry. For leaving. For not telling you sooner. For everything.”

You close your eyes, trying to steady yourself, but it doesn’t help. His words are everywhere, wrapping around you like a net you can’t escape.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you admit.

“I don’t want you to say anything,” he replies. “I just ... I just wanted you to know.”

The silence between you is deafening, filled with all the things neither of you can say.

Finally, you look at him, really look at him, and for the first time, you see it. The weight he’s been carrying, the regret etched into every line of his face.

“I don’t hate you,” you say again, softer this time.

He nods, swallowing hard. “I know.”

And then, as if by some unspoken agreement, you both step back. The gap between you widens, filling with everything that could have been and never will be.

“Good luck this season,” you say, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest.

“You too,” he replies.

And just like that, it’s over. You turn and walk back to the Mercedes garage, each step heavier than the last. You don’t look back.

Neither does he.

[gender-euphowrya]

huge dev update my grandma is gonna see a psychologist