#they can also talk about their dead loved ones | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

somerandomcockroach · 2 days ago

Text

PLEASE WHEEEEEEEEZEEEEEEE

*DYING BIRD SOUNDS*

YES. YES IT'S SWERVE GODDAM I CAN DIE PEACEFULLY

I am dead. I am so dead.

I LITERALLY CAN'T EXPLAIN THE LEVELS OF JOY THIS WHOLE THING IS GIVING ME RIGHT NOW

YES. YES THIS NERD IS VERY GOOD AT IT PRAISE HIM Had a whole new full life on the other planet - "I got carried away"

PLEASE HE RIGHT AWAY KNEW WHAT TO ASK PFFFHT. Get all transformers to pass exams. I bet 60/40 not pass

WHEEEEEEEEEZEEEE OH MY GOD I LITERALLY. THEY. IT'S. THEY WORTH EACH OTHER WHEEEEZEEE

PLEASE SWERVE. TRUE HUMAN IS HORRIFIED AT THE IDEA OF THEIR BROWSER HISTORY, YOU PASSED THE TEST PFFHTTT .... OF COURSE AHHASGAH UM. HE IS ALIVE! I'M HAPPY HE IS AT LEAST ALIVE! *Nods* Onslaught is a genius indeed AH here comes plot

I continues reaching new levels of dead

Please it's.... how the hell... why... he almost burned to death, he needs a rest or at least to properly look after his skin... not this....

*looks in the distance* Pilots need a fricking tiktok or whatever to show their life to become a new group face

*inhale-exhale* THIS GUY OVER HERE ISN'T A SPOILER BRAT AT ALL. AT ALL. I DON'T KNOW FROM WHICH SIDE SPOILED BRAT WOULD DO IT ALL.

*Looks at Jazz* You need to talk Next phrase is him talking to Prowl and Jazz *Sitting back*

*incoherent sounds*

*EVEN WORSE INCOHERENT SOUNDS*

*goes out of the room*IT'S TOO GORGEOUS TO NOT POINT IT OUT BUT ALSO SO HORRIBLE Blurr... my sweet... ahh I love people under painkillers but I have a feeling the same would happen anyway pfffht. Imagine all of problems and now the thoughts of someone dying because of you ahah... great.... P[OFPGOFPIGOIPSEIES JAZZ YOU ARE TOO FRICKING GOOD AT READING PEOPLE, I'm sure he didn't change the mind about Swerve's reason of absence XDDD

DANG IT. DANG. DANGG. FEHJGEDWJHGBJMCW I'M 'BOUT TO PULL YOUR "GHOST" ASS IN FRONT OF HIS FACE FOREVER BEFORE HE ACCIDENTALLY DIES OR SOMETHING. FOR THE GOD'S SAKE *ROLLS ON THE FLOOR FLORRS WALLS LIKE A ROTATED 980 DEGREE SPIDER* HE SAVES HIM, HE GOT OUT TO SAVE HIM HERE. TAKE IT. TALK HIM DOWN. SHOW WHO IS THE TALKY BOSS HERE WITH THE LIBRARY OF A NERD

HMEWDBNBMCHMNBCHMHMHDSHSSHS *SLAMS ON THE KEYBOARD WITH THE HEAD* NO DON'T SHUT UP, BLABBERS, NEVER SHUT UP HELPA DHJGA Don't you love it when two characters blend it and play a bullshit game of no context to get attention out? You better love it because personally I am dying for one more reason It's so IRONIC even to use NORMAN name *BREAKS THE TABLE* HE IS REAL!!!! YEAH!!! MY NERD KNOW MORE ABOUT HUMANS THAN HUMANS DO. PHARMA, GET OUT OF HERE, BLURR HAS A PERSONAL DOCTOR ....Wellllll I mean TECHNICALLY you already failed at keeping all possible secrets, Swerve.....

I'M SORRY I JUST KEFERON, KISSING YOU IN EVERY POSSIBLE KISSABLE PLACE I NEVER THOUGHT I CAN GO THAT CRAZY OVER THIS SPECIFIC PART GOING ON AND HOW THE HELL ARE YOU SO GOOD AT ALL THIS I AM IN SHAMBLES AND SHAKING I LOVE IT TO DEATH AND WANNA PRINT IT

Chapter 2 of Blurr storyline >:D

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

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

Part one

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

Under the cut⤵️

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

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

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

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

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

Wait, hell, not days. Cycles.

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

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

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

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

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

Swerve isn't sure he wants it to pass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's thinking about Blurr. A lot.

Blurr occupies a surprisingly important role in his comatose dreams.

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

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

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

But that's not quite true, Swerve thinks.

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

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

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

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

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

Uggh.

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

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

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

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

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

Freaking cursed.

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

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

Two - holy shit, Jazz is tiny.

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

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

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

He's going to get sick.

He needs to talk to Jazz right now.

____________

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

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

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

Jazz frowns

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

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

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

Swerve mentally crosses his fingers.

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

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

“Mech, what the hell?”

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

Before thinking for a bit, and adding.

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

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

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

Prowl looks confused.

Jazz looks absolutely frantic.

“SWERVE????”

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

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

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

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

Swerve laughs and twitches his eyebrows playfully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He pauses dramatically.

“The long version is...”

Jazz raises his hand

“What's a holoform?”

Swerve sighs.

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

Jazz whistles impressed. And then immediately turns back to Prowl

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

Prowl hums

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

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

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

Jazz laughs

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

“ I was.”

Prowl frowns.

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

“.... I had a lot of practice...”

Jazz claps his hands.

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

“I got carried away,” Swerve admits.

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

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

“Two. And I failed my driver's exam.”

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

Swerve blows the hair out of his face

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

Jazz just wheezes incoherently in response. Prowl looks alarmed.

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

Swerve nervously shoves his hands into his pockets

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

Prowl twitches his door wings

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

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

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

He's thinking.

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

Then he remembers the mess he left behind.

Oh, no, it wasn't a dream.

Jazz puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Swer... Swerve? Dude, are you okay?”

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

Jazz looks...puzzled.

“Is that bad?”

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

“It's...complicated.”

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

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

Hahahahah oh fUCK.

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

It's also probably too late.

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

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

Jazz glares at him with a worried look on his face

“ That expression you have...”

Swerve puts the smile back on his face.

“I need to get to Earth.”

___________________

Swerve is not an idiot.

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

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

Ask the Quintessons. Or look for it himself.

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

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

Jazz, now back inside his Mech looks doubtful.

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

Swerve laughs.

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

“It's not harmful?”

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

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

Jazz tilts his head

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

Swerve bites his knuckles.

“ I have some unfinished business?”

“Pshhhh you sound like a ghost.”

Swerve only laughs in response.

_______________

Concentration is tricky.

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

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

Shit. No. Earth. Think Earth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is the place where he was last.

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

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

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

Swerve's bites his knuckles. Okay.

All right.

He's got things to do.

_______________

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

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

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

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

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

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

The answer is probably none.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blurr's name isn't there.

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

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

That's...something's wrong.

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

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

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

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

Give me half an hour...okay, yeah.”

This is it, Swerve thinks.

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

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

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

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

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi

Blurr looks like a mangled corpse.

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

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

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

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

“'Got bored without me Swindle?”

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

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

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

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

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

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

Swindle adjusts his glasses

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

“Because you like money” Blurr says without hesitation.

Swindle lets out a quiet chuckle.

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

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

Goes back to his seat.

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

He raises his hand when Blurr rushes to say something.

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

Swindle sighs and adjusts his glasses again

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

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

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

Swindle rubs the bridge of his nose

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

Blurr blinks.

“Why are you telling me all this.”

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

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

Blurr's eye widens

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

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

Blurr runs his fingers through his hair

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

Swindle puts his hat back on.

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

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

Swindle puts a hand on his shoulder.

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

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

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

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

Blurr smiles sourly.

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

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

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

Blurr bites his lip.

“I..don’t know...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, damn it.

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

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

Blurr ... is crumbling.

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

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

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

And continues to act like a jerk of course.

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

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

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

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

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

It's also an inconspicuous way to stay upright.

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

Investors say, “I think he likes me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It makes a difference. Small one. But still.

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

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

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

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

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

After another conference, Shockwave stops Blurr in the hallway.

“Good show.”

Blurr laughs. Soundly and proudly.

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

Swerve, hiding on the ceiling again, snorts.

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

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

Blurr shrugs and lazily turns his head around distracted.

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

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

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

Blurr freezes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blurr visibly shivers and looks away.

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

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

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

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

“You are broken. I can fix you.”

Blurr frowns, but takes the piece of paper.

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

Shockwave tucks the notepad into his pocket.

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

Blurr flinches.

“I don't need your help.”

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

...

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

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

____________________________

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

Holy shit...

Jazz pokes him gently on the forearm

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

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

Jazz laughs

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

Swerve sits up and rubs the back of his head.

“Ah...”

“So it worked?”

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

Jazz rubs his hands together happily.

“I'll take it.”

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

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

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

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

Left to himself.

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

....

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

He looks at Jazz and Prowl.

“You two get along really well.”

Jazz chuckles, sitting on Prowl's shoulder.

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

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

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

_____________________

”Are you a ghost?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blurr squints amusedly.

“You can walk through walls?”

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

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

“Cool!” says Blurr cheerfully.

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

“ Show me more?”

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

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

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

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

“They really drugged you huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

Race???”

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

Blurr drops his hands back on the blanket

“I won't.”

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

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

Swerve sits down quietly cross-legged on the blanket.

“Well...at least you're alive....”

Blurr shakes his head.

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

“...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Swerve folds his arms awkwardly across his chest.

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

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

Swerve stiffens.

“I...Wwhat?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You'll tell me later?”

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

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

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

Jazz looks at him. Very intensely.

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

Swerve snorts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Swerve laughs.

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

_______________

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pharma smiles sweetly and reaches out for a handshake

“Mind some company?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pharma tilts his head

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

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

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

“What do you mea...”

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

“No I'm just...”

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

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

Swerve shakes his head.

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

“Wh..”

Blurr rolls his eye.

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

“Wait..”

“Tell me about it. Especially doctors.”

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

“Can at least one of you shut up??”

Swerve adjusts his cap in a businesslike manner

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

He raises his eyebrows knowingly

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

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

“…..Wha....there's rumors?”

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

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

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

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

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

Swerve shrugs.

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

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

A quiet cough sounds behind Swerve's back.

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

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

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

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

Blurr snorts one last time, cutting off the laughter.

Then he reaches out his hand to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You're real???”

Swerve awkwardly waves his hands in front of him

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

Blurr shrugs.

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

Swerve twitches.

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

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

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

Blurr laughs quietly.

“I'm glad you're back.”

_____________________

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

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

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

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

Jazz smiles

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

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

“Worried about what your human friends will think?”

Swerve swings back and forth on his heels

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

Jazz frowns

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

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

#OKAY I HAD TO OPEN SECOND SCREEN JUST FOR COMMENTS AAHDGHAS BECAUSE I CAN FEEL ME EXPLODING RIGHT AFTER THE RAIN PART #SWERVE KNOWING ENGLISH FLUENTLY. SWERVE KNOWS HOW TO SPEAK HUMAN AHAHA ULTIMATE TRANSLATOR #It will pass. “But does he want it to?”. Swerve isn't sure he wants it to pass. “HELL YEAH”#...Oh okay... haha... here we go... no one minding Swerve... even less than Tailgate I guess ahah... damn....#...Sadly I'm pretty sure human friends would notice....#“In terms of writing scripts obviously” Oh Swerve #“He's thinking about Blurr. A lot” *AGGRESSIVELY SLAPS THE TABLE* THE FACT THAT IN THIS VERSION HIM THINKING OF BLURR DOESN'T LOOK STRANGE #IT LOOKS OKAY. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN NOT OKAY FOR HIM NOT TO THINK. I AM HERE FOR IT.#PFFFHT getting into fantasy world to find an object to fangirl over and find a work to get stuff about this object. Dream XDDD #Holy shit Jazz is tiny - says mini bot now dear imagine your fav character being equal to toy tadaaa #...I might have better use comments section. YES SWERVE. GOT IT #I LOVE WHEN CHARACTERS SWITCH TO LANGUAGE WHEN SOMETHING HAPPENS. HERE WE GO JAZZ #fav #FAV #I'M DEAD #I LOVE IT #I love it #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

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wizardnuke · 2 days ago

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also re: going thru my shadowgast posts i think the best read i've ever had on the dynamic in their early days (meaning up to and including nicodranas) and caleb's importance specifically in like.. thee sparing of essek thelyss, is that in the "you were not born with venom in your veins" speech, caleb was flat out lying to him in an attempt to get essek to keep his shit together until peace talks ended (this is canonical btw), but. but. he's not lying about having hope for him, he's lying about how much hope he has. he made it sound like he's confident that essek can be more than that and he just wasn't. he's making a high-risk, high-reward gamble, he thinks essek's fucked. something is going to go horribly wrong somewhere. bro is sitting on exandria's most dangerous jenga tower of lies. but. he might be able to get out of it and become a useful member of society instead of a horrible little ball of war machine/damage spell-inventor hatred (note: guide to wildemount specifically says that essek wants to build war machines) if caleb convinces him that he can. he needs a push.

caleb has a soft spot for errant, bitter, violent wizards because he's one himself. caleb is not a hopeful man but i honestly wouldn't call him a pessimist either. he's sad, and he's practical, and he's very, very sentimental. the difference between you and i is thinner than a razor. you were not born with venom in your veins, you learned it. you may not live to see the sunrise. but he might, because caleb knows exactly who and what essek is and he has to try to push him in the right direction because nott and the rest of the mighty nein did that for him. they dragged him, sometimes. essek is no use if he's dead. practicality and sentimentality (call it love, even, but not necessarily in the romantic sense) can more than make up for a lack of hope. isn't that the caleb thesis. dragging onward despite a complete lack of hope out of love and a sense of duty for the dead and alive, the lost and the found. you have to try to do the impossible. end the war and save this asshole that's currently looking at you like you hung the stars for him, what the fuck, man.

anyway caleb widogast and the endless drag of doing good despite the fact that he doesn't have a single hopeful bone in his body, the unstoppable force of trying to have hope anyways, the pros of volstrucker-honeypot training, and how it saved essek thelyss

#bro didn't believe a damn word he was saying and it worked anyway. i like your funny words magic man #this is not coherent it's 11pm and I've been baking since 11am

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cryingpariah · 3 days ago

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Something about Zoro being one of the most misunderstood and mischaracterized characters in One Piece is funny (not haha funny, funny sad) to me because?? That’s literally how his introduction starts?? With people misunderstanding him and thinking he’s some big, monstrous demon who kills with cause and cannot be trusted or tamed.

Meanwhile the actual Zoro is a driven guy who is often both literally and figuratively directionless in life and found his goals in life through good people (first Kuina and then Luffy). He's tied up in the Marine base not due to those actual crimes he commuted (well not inherently anyway) but because he ‘disrespected’ a Captain's son and stood up for a little girl. He accepts the challenge they present to him and because Zoro himself is a guy that puts his money where his mouth is he assumes the Marines will uphold their end of the deal and let him go (note the actual shock when Koby tells him the truth)

He joins Luffy's crew but also outright says he’s not gonna let his goal take second place to Luffy or anyone else's for that matter, he bears the weight of two people's dreams, his heart isn’t going to be swayed by some pirate.

Speaking of Kuina, her impact and influence on Zoro's life isn’t talked about enough for my liking. She was Zoro's first friend, his first rival, his first goal. He looked up to her so much and his reaction to her passing cracks my heart in half every time because you can seem him just..go numb. Kuina, dead? Kuina, the strongest person he knows, gone? Kuina, who swore to him just yesterday they’d race to the top of the world together, doesn’t exist anymore. His blank face only cracking within the privacy of his sensei before he begs. He begs on his knees, tears streaming down his face please please please let me take Kuina's sword with me. Let me take our dream to a high neither of us could imagine. I won’t let her name die here.

On top of gaining the Wado Ichimonji that day Zoro also gained…fear. Not of death, well at the very least not his own, he gained his fear of not being enough. Kuina kicked his ass every way a person could and still died, what could someone like him do? So he trains…and trains…and trains some more. Overly, obsessively, constantly telling himself he’s not enough, he’s weak, he can’t protect anyone like this and everyone's death would be on him.

As for Zoro being cold and stoic that’s just…not completely true? He’s not stone, he can be excited or sad or angry just as much as most characters he just sucks at showing it canonically (Kuina thinks he hates her before their final fight after all). Sure he’s not as forthcoming about it as some of the other Strawhats but Zoro's more of an action guy anyway, he'll show his love with his protection and unwavering faith.

In conclusion, Zoro is a ridiculously stubborn, incredibly loyal, mildly emotionally constipated, do what you say/say what you mean kinda guy.

(Also that whole ‘Zoro would kill the whole crew if Luffy asked him to’ thing? Top ten stupidest things I’ve ever heard from the fandom and that’s saying a lot. He’s loyal not brainless and heartless guys if Luffy asked him to do that, he would never but I digress, Zoro would square the fuck up with him so fast. DPMO.)

#mighty morphin Zoro posting time!#love that Marimo dearly even if I didn’t at first (he was too much like me)#one piece #one piece meta #<<<I think?? is this the meta??#roronoa zoro #pirate hunter zoro #one piece zoro #kuina one piece

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hitlikehammers · 3 days ago

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oh golden boy (don't act like you were kind)

part ii: you shined a light on your home

for @kultiras at the ❄️ Winter @steddieexchange 🖤💚

<<< part one

Eddie will not pretend he doesn’t squeak when Dustin bustles past him into the house—a wholly appropriate ranch on the edge of town, with two whole separate bedrooms, no one on the couch anymore, plus a little side room that Eddie thinks probably wasn’t meant as a guest room but can definitely fit about three sleeping bags, four at a push—but yeah, he should have expected Dustin to shove his way into Eddie’s home whether Eddie invited it or not.

He doesn’t have to like it. Or approve of it. Or tolerate it without complaint; without pushing back.

“Hend—” he tries to sound stern, tries to project hand-on-hips-authority like St—

Like some people do. Sometimes. So Eddie’s heard.

“Implied consent!” Dustin cuts him off, voice carrying from at least the living room already, Jesus fuck, this kid; his tone.

Eddie’s glaring hard enough to almost definitely bore a hole through this shithead’s skull, or maybe make him spontaneously combust. If Supergirl was the one glaring, it’d be a done deal.

“You didn’t shut the door, thereby participating in the creation of an entrance,” Dustin’s rambling on and Christ, but he’s such a pompous little fuck sometimes.

“Which is great, and super smart of you,” Dustin tells him earnestly, actually, and wow: if that isn’t condescending, holy fuck; “because the quicker we can address the problem, the quicker it can be solved,” and then he’s turning of his heel and fucking…clapping his hands to together like Eddie’s in goddamn kindergarten.

“So!” Dustin barks with a weird enthusiasm. “Now we can talk about what you did to Steve, and how you’re gonna fix it.”

Eddie blinds at him for a couple couple seconds before throwing his hands up and half-kinda snarling, half-kinda whining:

“What the fuck, man?”

And honestly, Eddie’s torn just now between hurt and angry, indignant and bleeding out a little, because he doesn’t like Dustin accusing him blindly, here, and while he’s long grown past thinking the hero worship was unfounded—honestly, if he’s going to have to think about the man explicitly instead of as the understood ‘you’ that the constant ache of him and his absence has settled as in Eddie’s universe: he thinks what he clocked as hero worship in the beginning probably could have used some bulking up, because…the genuine article was so much more than even the stories Eddie’d refused to believe at the start.

But, back it up: Eddie…Eddie can accept Dustin coming to Steve’s defense—encouraged it, even. But, like, Dustin has stood up for Eddie, too, and just…Eddie didn’t do anything, he’s spent enough cold nights with his arms stretched missing what they’d learned so well to wrap around and hold so close, mourning what’s not there and hell yes, he’s run down every little detail he can think of, where he might have been the one to drive Steve away without ever, ever meaning to, and it boils down the same every time: there’s nothing.

He wishes there was. Because then yeah, like Dustin’s saying—there’d be something to fix. Something to do, to try and salvage what Eddie is entirely aware was very probably the love of his fucking life.

But there isn’t.

“Clearly something is wrong between the two of you,” Dustin gestures broadly in the air, extravagant for no reason but then also it kinda fits entirely because this entire heartbreak of an affair is basically the most devastating thing that’s ever tried to take Eddie down, and he was basically dead in another dimension that one time, so.

That’s��saying something, is what he’s getting at.

“And like, I’ve watched when Steve’s been the one to fuck up, man, so like, I can recognize the signs and,” Dustin shakes his head, looks not exactly apologetic but not entirely all-in guns-blazing about pinning the blame on Eddie alone. At least not without giving him a fair shake to explain first.

Which he’d do, if he had any fucking idea what caused them to crash and burn when they’d been the most solid thing Eddie had ever seen, let alone been a part of; got to feel for himself.

“I know Steve,” Dustin says carefully, kinda slow, almost reluctant, which Eddie doesn’t really get until the next part comes out, a little choked, like tears muscled down:

“I’ve never seen him like this.”

Well. Fuck.

Fuck.

“It’s the holidays, man,” Eddie tries to make it sound casual, or at the very least genuine, like his pulse hasn’t jumped for the idea that Steve’s…not okay. Not fucking thriving like he deserves, now that Eddie’s out of the way of what makes him as happy as he should always be. “Sometimes people are just a little down in the dumps, it’s not unheard of,” and he thinks that lands okay, those are all true things, no one needs to know the way his heart’s thumping like a rabbit as his head goes to all sorts of horrible possibilities, and he shouldn’t let himself slide down those pathways anymore, it’s not his business, Steve isn’t—

“He’s not just sad,” Dustin shakes his head; “he’s not,” and he trails off and Eddie’s heartbeat stutters then jackhammers wild for the way Dustin’s face crumples over a fucking interminable stretch of moments that drives every horror possible through fragile arteries not prepared for how much it hurts, laced with the acids at the base of Eddie’s throat and rising, banged around with every beat and—

“I don’t think he’s sleeping,” Dustin says, so quiet, hard to tell if there are actual tears of just the threat of them. “I don’t think he’s eating,” and he takes a shaky breath that gets mirrored in Eddie’s blood, sniffles as he adds on, kinda desperate, fraying at the seams: “Robin can’t even…”

He stops, breathes a couple of times and collects himself—too good at that. Eddie…

Eddie doesn’t even try to do that, for his part. He’s not…strong, like these kids. Like the rest of this little rag-tag-trauma family unit. Eddie isn’t built that impermeable. S’why he’s always had to put on a show, scare people off before they get close enough to see the obvious.

Until…Steve.

And the proof of Eddie’s weaknesses are front and centre right now, so. Case in point.

“I met him right after he and Nancy broke up,” Dustin’s saying after he takes the time to regroup, huffing a breath and furrowing his brows at nothing, until: “after she did the,” and he circles his wrist around again and oh. Oh.

Bullshit.

Eddie’s brow furrows, too, at that.

“I didn’t know it at the time, obviously, and not like I was really paying attention anyway,” Dustin screws up his face a little, like he’s angry at a lot of people for what he’s remembering, and he’s not exempt from his own list; “but you said it yourself, you thought they were meant to be,” Dustin points at him in the sort of way that presses down on Eddie’s shoulders, makes him feel queasy and just…small.

“Unmitigated love, or whatever,” Dustin half-sneers and he doesn’t think that was the word he used but fuck if Eddie’s not transported back to those woods, to those first inklings that his heart was gonna leap and know it couldn’t stick the landing, would less crack and more like splatter, a messy ruin on the sidewalk for trying, for reaching when there was nothing to hook with a grip—

Except there had been, in the end. He hadn’t known it then—just reveled in the way it felt to brush arms against that man, to lean close enough to feel his heat in the frigid deadspace that was the hellscape they were trekking through.

But the end, as it has come anyway, did in fact leave him a fucking spatter-scape on the concrete, exactly the same as he’d feared at the start.

But Dustin fucking Henderson hadn’t been there when Eddie was making eyes at Mr. Former High School Royalty, so—

“How the fuck do you—”

“Doesn’t matter how,” Dustin waves him off like he’s a fucking idiot for asking a question that’s beneath his concern for the topic at hand. “Youthought that,” he rocks forward in emphasis and okay, fine, yeah. Eddie had thought that.

It’d taken a long fucking while for Eddie to stop thinking it; he’s tried not to wonder, now, if he was foolish to ever stop thinking it.

But: no. Of all the reasons Steve got sick of him, he doesn’t think it was because Steve decided to want Nancy. He remembers every word Steve told him about that time, and how Eddie knew it was downplayed for how much Steve took the brunt of her rejection, for how generous Steve was in hindsight to remember how it went down; how genuinely worrisome it was to know Steve actually saw himself as deserving what he’d gotten.

Still. Back in the Upside Down, Eddie had thought it. Told him to get it back. Couldn’t fathom her not seeing the error of her ways even before he comprehended just how egregious her errors ran the first time, just how little even unambiguous signs of love might still fail to deserve Steve Harrington.

But before he knew: he had thought he understood well enough to judge.

Just more reasons for Eddie Munson to quality as an unmitigated idiot.

“So when he lost that,” Dustin’s picking back up again, has got his explaining cap on, trying to map a diagram or some shit, save that it’s Steve and it feels…insufficient in every way, insulting at that, to think Steve could ever be made…simple like that. Cut and dry.

Eddie bristles at it. Maybe he doesn’t have the right anymore, but: Dustin sure as fuck does, and needs to do better.

“He was still okay enough, after that, to fucking join a quest for demodogs and get beat to hell by a psychopath,” Dustin’s saying with the kind of gravity all of a sudden that feels up to reshaping the world; “all just to protect some kids he didn’t even know.”

Eddie can feel where this is headed, can see the lead up to where Dustin’s going to drop them.

He wishes like hell that he couldn’t.

“So if he’s like this, now,” and Dustin sounds…fucking distraught, like all the posturing of pressuring Eddie to reveal what the hell had gone wrong, what he’d done to destroy them, to lose his Steve: the anger and the bafflement was all secondary.

The kid’s fucking scared.

And this kid? Who’s stared down certain death, who’s jumped after Eddie’s stupid ass when the end was imminent, no question?

That…that ratchets Eddie’s pulse up, considerably. For what it has to…mean.

“I have never,” and Dustin’s voice is kind of raspy, kind of too strained and Eddie…Eddie thinks it’d be shitty of him to say that Dustin only sounds like he’s struggling with a fraction of what Eddie’s starting to feel head-on, the bone-deep trembling worry for the unspoken details that must comprise the current state of Steve, piled on top of the wholesale grief and the mourning of both what Eddie’d had, and what he’d been hoping he’d be allowed, be able to keep.

It’d be shitty to say that. So he won’t.

Say it.

“Eddie, I have never seen him like this.”

And it’s all Eddie can do not to whimper, or moan pathetically because the hurt in those words is visceral, and it’s not supposed to be there because Eddie was the problem, he was what was hurting Steve and he’s out of the equation. So what’s causing this much anxiousness, this much concern? How could something have gone to shit so quickly, in just the weeks they’ve been apart—what’s wrong with his Stevie?

(And maybe Steve isn’t his anymore but by god, Eddie is Steve’s, will be to the day he dies, he thinks—no, he knows; no matter where he goes or who he becomes, a part of his heart will belong to Steve for always, whether it’s wanted or not. So that’s his Steve. Where is heart lives. Where is love burns, even as a nuisance. He can’t stop it. He can’t put it out.

It’s with his Steve, and no other.)

“And like,” and Eddie pulls himself enough out of his wallowing, his fretting, the aching in his fucking veins to focus on Dustin as he eyes Eddie up blatantly, the squints a little:

“You don’t look like you’re doing the best, either.”

Okay. Rude.

“Gee, thanks,” Eddie tries to drawl annoyingly, fails miserably; aim to bat his eyes at an attempt at levity that he knows falls flat as hell.

He doesn’t know if he was even trying for it more for Dustin’s sake, or his own.

“Fuck off, man,” Dustin rolls his eyes; “I’m serious,” then he’s gets that grave tone about him again and Eddie hates that these kids have to even know how to be that serious about anything—least of all him, and his…whatever you call the ruins of your everything, when it comes to—

“You might not be hurting like Steve is,” Dustin tells him plain, doesn’t pull punches; “like you’re joyful in comparison,” and okay, ouch—

“But that’s not a healthy bar to clear.”

And Dustin’s eyes are a little narrowed around the call-out, the judgement on so many levels but they’re also…open somehow. Trying to be receptive, and welcoming.

Trying to be a good friend—for Steve and Eddie alike.

“Henderson,” Eddie shakes his head even before his voice strains; “he,” and all the fight goes out of him, drained dry better than the bats ever managed to leave him which is for the best, really, because what he says next, what he admits next is as good as slicing as artery, the way it flays him open to speak into the world:

“He doesn’t want me around.”

He doesn’t want you—

“Oh, right,” Dustin snarks at him with a glare; “definitely doesn’t wilt whenever you come up, doesn’t leave the room or anything,” then it’s Dustinwho wilts a little, somewhere between a pout and concern:

“When we actually get to see him at all.”

“That would be a prime example,” Eddie notes with a kind of…devastated intent, shoving the stabbing sense of worry at the core of him out of the way to make his point: “of what someone does when they don’t want a person around,” and Eddie is right, he’s absolutely right because that’s just natural, that’s a normal reaction and here is clear proof that—

“Not Steve.”

Dustin cuts Eddie’s mental conviction off at its knees with the sheer amount of feeling, of certainty in his tone, like he knows this one thing beyond all the doubt in the world.

It’s that certainty that sours worst in Eddie’s gut.

“If Steve doesn’t want something, he ignores it,” Dustin says, insistent and so fucking sad; “I think it goes back to his parents, like,” Dustin shrugs, and Eddie feels bile at the back of his throat.

“If you’re unwanted, you’re neglected, treated like you don’t exist,” and not for the first time, Eddie kinda-sorta regrets that the murder charges didn’t stick, because then he’d be tarred and feathered appropriately to just go ahead and off the fuckers that made Steve ever wonder if he was somehow anything less than the best person, the most deserving of everything.

“Because that hurts worse,” Dustin says, low, like he gets it. Like he hates it.

“Being invisible hurts the worst.”

Death would be too easy for those fucking assholes who taught Steve that, just because their own hearts were hateful. Eddie…Eddie wants to run to his Stevie and just, fucking, hold him. Make sure he remembers that it doesn’t matter if Eddie’s near or far, his or never close again: he’ll always matter to Eddie. He’ll never, ever be invisible.

“I,” Eddie licks his lips when the silence stretches too long, and Dustin doesn’t seem inclined to fill it this time. “He,” and Eddie’s mouth is too dry, throat still too tight; “we’ve been—”

“You’re together.”

Eddie freezes, heart doing a kind of hard brake thing that shakes him from the ribs on out, and Eddie may not have know where the hell he was going, how he was going to summarize then sanitize what it feels like to give all that you are and be found wanting in the end—but he hadn’t once considered fucking saying…that.

“What?” Eddie chokes, half-assed at best. It’s shock more than it’s denial, save that it should have been past tense, even if Eddie’s whole fucking soul is still with Steve, but he doesn’t think he knows or even fully wants to reel it back.

Ever.

But while they hadn’t hid anything more than in plain sight? They…no one was ever told they’d been dating, and, he, they—

“If even I can see it,” Dustin says, not unkindly exactly but…definitely blunt: “that kinda means it’s an open secret.”

Eddie coughs around the tight shock squeezing at his throat:

“Those aren’t your words,” he manages, because—they aren’t.

And Dustin looks briefly like he sucked on a lemon, knows he can’t fight the obvious.

“Max,” he sighs, admitting from where he’s borrowing uncharacteristic insight; “she told me I was the last to know.”

Any other day, about any other thing, Eddie would feel a much bigger sense of petty vindication in Dustin’s forced humbling.

As it stands? Eddie’s chest hurts too much to fit any kind of twisted delight of the kind getting any sort of foothold in him.

“Right,” he breathes out in an airy, useless kind of sound, doesn’t know where it’s going, doesn’t know what he’s doing.

He feels…actually?

Dying felt less tumultuous than what’s starting to churn through his veins right now, no fucking lie.

“You guys could have told us,” Dustin prods, a little sad, disappointed—hurt that he was left out.

“I,” Eddie’s mouth works around a lot of thoughts, a lot of half-formed feelings because what would it have been like to hold Steve where the people they loved could see, just because they could? To sit in his lap when he got tired, when the scars ached a little from doing too much for too long with the kids. To warm his hands just under the hem of a sweater. To just, just—

“Doesn’t matter now,” is what Eddie lands on, because it’s the honest conclusion of all his wishful wondering; bitter in his voice as much as it is in his chest. “It’s over.”

Fuck. Fuck, has he even said that out loud, yet? Can’t have—it hits too much like whiplash. Like the world ending.

“Doesn’t sound over,” Dustin volleys back like it’s simple; “is it over, for you?”

He asks it, like it’s enough to love with all that you are when it’s got nowhere to go anymore. Like he can strong-arm that kind of feeling through will alone. That one side can make a relationship on their own.

“It sure as hell doesn’t look like it’s over for him,” Dustin stares him down, now, something shifting in his demeanor that screams that he’s done playing games.

“What did you say?” Dustin asks him, something a little pleading in it, but Eddie’s throat won’t work, he can’t fucking speak and Dustin reads it as avoidance, instead of like Eddie’s heart is trying to rip out past his fucking trachea.

“What did he say?” but Dustin doesn’t sound even remotely convinced for his own self that this is on Steve. That it could be on Steve. And…again. Dustin hasn’t been shy about supporting one of them over the other when necessary.

“I,” and how is Eddie even supposed to breach explaining the chain of events that he can parse, leading to where things stand now? Sorry buddy, your ineffably physical and endlessly affectionate brother-slash-babysitter started refusing my kisses and sleeping on the edge of the bed so he barely touched me when he used to be a goddamn octopus to my sloth, grabbing and never letting go until he did, entirely, which is to say nothing of the sex, fuck, did you know your taxi driver is loud as shit in bed, but then all of a sudden if we even had sex he was suddenly silent and if there’s ever a blow to your ego, it’s to fuck your boyfriend and get nothing in response save sometimes tears he doesn’t acknowledge in the aftermath, that really makes a guy feel special.

Yeah, he’s not going to say that. He doesn’t even know how to get across how Steve pulled away, slow and all at once at the same time, overnight as much as it felt like it happened in pieces. But he stiffened when Eddie so much as brushed against him. He barely talked to Eddie. He was always taking extra shifts at work. He didn’t want to be around Eddie. He didn’t want Eddie, outgrew him in the course of weeks, maybe months if Eddie just hadn’t noticed in the beginning, but, it just…they were amazing, one minute. Perfect.

And then they…weren’t.

“He, I mean, it,” and Eddie grabs at his hair and hides behind it, because all of that’s true, all of what he saw and felt and lost in his relationship with Steve before it stopped: it’s accurate.

But then there’s…everything Dustin’s saying. And…Steve was pulling away from him, turning away from him, but did he…was he seeing Robin, or only at work? Was he seeing the rest of the Party?

“He was,” Eddie tries to find a throughway to follow but he’s too distracted because…was Steve sleeping before Eddie stopped coming to bed at all, because everything he tried wasn’t enough, because it was breaking him to keep lying there and not just be ignored, but be actively avoided? Was he…had Steve not been eating regularly, before Eddie left—

Wait.

Eddie…Eddie didn’t leave. He went to Wayne’s, the home that wasn’t the one Steve grew up in, when he needed to get more clothes. It was getting too cold, and since he’d basically moved in with Steve right out of the hospital and never really moved out, he’d been migrating what had survived the old trailer little by little as needed and so he’d…he’d gone to get things.

He’d broken down when his uncle asked him what was wrong, said he looked like someone ran over his cat.

More like his heart, but. Same idea.

And then he’d…he’d been scared. He’d called the house to try and ask Steve when he wanted Eddie to come back, because he’d wondered after telling Wayne everything—and hearing him talk about what it was like coming back from war for some of his buddies—if Steve just needed some space: but the line had rang and rang and rang. Didn’t even grab the machine.

And Eddie had…Eddie had cried so fucking hard he could have sworn he’d busted something in his eye. But…but…

never gonna leave you all alone again

He gasps to himself when the words run lightning quick through his head, and his heart clenches fucking hard.

Did…did Eddie, did he go and…and leave Steve…

Did he leave his Stevie alone?

No. No, it was, Eddie never wanted to keep his distance.

Eddie doesn’t stay awake to all hours staring the the ceiling while his body reels at what it knows it’s missing because he wants to. He doesn’t jolt awake lamenting that emptiness because he likes it, whenever his consciousness drifts in fitful bursts that he doesn’t feel like he deserves, because while he’d maybe been slinking back to lick his wounds when he went to Wayne’s, he would never have even thought to do this own his own, to be estranged.

Though all of those things aren’t without the parasitic leech of a thought on the side: he told you to leave with everything but words, and only that because he stopped taking at all.

But…but Eddie can’t live with Steve hurting. And maybe Steve doesn’t want him, doesn’t love him like that anymore. But Eddie thought of him as his friend, even if they never had a space between where they were just friends and not everything.

And it sounds like maybe Steve could use a friend. Maybe he doesn’t want Eddie for that either, but. Eddie’s kinda in agony at just the thought of the picture Dustin’s been painting.

“It’s Christmas,” Dustin takes that unspoken cue to pipe back up; “like, I just,” and he ends on a note of straight-up entreaty, damn close to pleading:

“Fix it, man.”

And Eddie…

Eddie doesn’t think he’s wanted, in general. Certainly not to be the one who fixes…anything.

But a nice chunk of his heart is with this man who is apparently hurting, and Eddie’s soul-certain love is fixed on him, probably for the rest of fucking time, so.

He’s sitting here being unwanted already.

Won’t hurt to try; can’t possibly end up worse.

for @kultiras🖤

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @sadisticaltarts @bumblebeecuttlefishes @shrimply-a-menace @wheneverfeasible @1-tehe-1 @themoonagainstmers @dreamercec @ravenfrog @live-laugh-love-dietrich @stealthysteveharrington @tinyplanet95 @theohohmoment @samsoble @tinyloonyteacups @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @pretend-theres-a-name-here @dragoon-ze-great @warlordess @notaqueenakhaleesi @pukner

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contentloadingandstuff · 2 days ago

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Relationship Headcanons - Ganyu x Male!Reader

A/N1: This is a new format, and as such, it includes just one character. Do you think it's comprehensive enough, or is there something I missed? A/N2: When I looked for a gif for this one, I found that the gif I used in the "at the dead of night" Ganyu fic is one of the first results when you search up her name. Nice to know I have somewhat of an impact, small as it may be. A/N3: While I was thinking of making a Christmas special, I decided that the best gift for you guys would just be getting posts out more regularly - so I will post them at least twice a week for the next three weeks at the very least. Anyway, happy Christmas, and enjoy!

Loving Ganyu requires patience and the gentlest approach, but her affection eventually blossoms on its own. She just needs a bit of time and guidance - it's her first time, after all.

Being a notoriously hardcore worker, at first she'll be absent from home for most of the day. Her work-life balance is completely off the rails, and Ganyu will need all the help she can get in overcoming her centuries old habits. Now she has someone, remind her. Tell her that this special someone cares for her very much and would rather not see her worn out like an old pair of boots each night.

An important skill you have to teach her is saying the word “no”. “No, I won't accept overtime”. “No, I have plans this evening”. “No, putting the entirety of Qixin paperwork on my shoulders is not ethical or healthy - Ningguang needs more than three secretaries”. In time, Ganyu will find it in herself to set healthy boundaries on how much she works. True, helping Liyue grow and prosper is her passion, but enough is as good as a feast.

Walk alongside her on this road. Visit her at work, if only to give her a simple kiss on the forehead. Make sure she comes up from the underworld of bureaucracy to the real world. Bring her light snacks. Ask her about her day. Remind her that there is someone waiting for her back home - she will appreciate that beyond words.

Working for the Liyue Qixing means basically swimming in Mora - especially that Ganyu leads a rather humble lifestyle. She does, however, live in a very nice multi-story house with a large garden in the most scenic part of Liyue Harbor, with a skeleton crew of staff to maintain in her absence (that being most of the time). But besides that, her expenditures are very small and everything she doesn't need or put aside, she donates to charity.

While having a boyfriend is nice, she would feel much better if she’d be able to refer to you as her husband instead. Especially that she would prefer to save herself for the wedding night, and make your first “proper” time really beautiful and special. Ganyu is also a bit subservient to you, used to the idea that the husband is the head of the house - no matter if she has more money. At the same time, she is happy to be taken care of and protected, so as long as you treat her right, she’ll be comfy.

While Ganyu isn't one to insist on much in a relationship, she will encourage you to live with her. Her house is big and quite empty… Having you there would liven it up and surely make it much cozier. Coming home to a warm hug and a kiss from her lover is a dream come true…

In terms of past times, well… Ganyu doesn't have much. Her work is her main pastime, or was anyway, and she didn't really see a reason to look for other things to do in her spare time. Just a few conversations with you made her realise that, while you have a broad range of things to talk about, she doesn't quite compete in that regard. Hundreds of years of paperwork made poor Ganyu quite a one-note person, but she will work on that, don't worry.

And so she will frequently come up with things to do, together. Would you like to go to a museum? Or see a movie from Fontaine? You don't have to go with her, but… It would be really nice if you did!

Have any problems at school or at work? Personal Secretary Ganyu is on the case! She's had lots of experience in all sorts of matters and will gladly put it to use in helping out her favourite person succeed. She's a patient teacher and never raises her voice, no matter how hard it is for you to learn or do something. With her backing you up, nothing is impossible.

Ganyu, by her own admission, gains weight easily, so while the urge to fatten her up with love and Qixins is huge, she'll be grateful if you hold your horses. Her thoughts always spiral into self consciousness about weight, so it might be a good idea not to include chocolate. However, a more tender approach to her and her beautiful body - with countless kisses and words of affirmation - may change her outlook on herself. If you do get her something to eat, make sure to feed her - she couldn't say no to you.

Arguments with Ganyu are white crows in your day-to-day life. Being a timid and easy going person, it takes an impossible amount of pressure to make Ganyu lose her composure. If that somehow happens, she will be so upset that her anger will almost instantly fade into tears. She just cannot fight with you. You mean far, far too much for her to be angry. No matter if it's her fault or yours, she will end up apologising for it profusely, hoping to get past this dreadful road bump. Ganyu knows that she is prone to doing this, and will try to be a bit more decisive, only to fail spectacularly. No matter - she trusts you to never abuse that part of her character.

And don't you dare, Ganyu has to be protected at all costs.

At home, she’s a quiet and busy presence - even if it happens to be that time of the month. Ganyu doesn’t really struggle with illnesses or bodily discomfort that much, for which she is really thankful to the fates. At most, when afflicted by either, she’ll get extra sleepy and will love some extra cuddles to make the pains go away.

You are probably the only person in Teyvat that has the right to touch her horns. They are indeed sensitive, but with the right guidance, the feelings of having these caressed are simply divine. Having their horns touched is a very intimate experience for Qilin, and Ganyu is no different. It will always be in bed, cuddled into each other and falling asleep, or while engaging in more lively bedroom activities.

Ganyu has some friends and family, and they are quite happy to keep an eye on her. Xianyun will make sure that you are a proper man worthy of her disciple’s hand, and when she does confirm that fact, expect to hear all about Ganyu’s early life, as well as past hobbies and habits; knowing them might prove useful even in the present day. She will also make frequent visits, if that’s something you are okay with. Shenhe, on the other hand, will not follow you around per se - not you as a couple, that is. Because she will keep an eye on you. If you ever raise your hand at Ganyu, expect to be skewered and served at the next Lantern Rite’s banquet. But as with Cloud Retainer, if you prove yourself to be a good man, expect the same level of protection for yourself - Shenhe knows that your safety is Ganyu’s happiness, and if anything were to happen to you, her adoptive sister would cry her soul out.

Zhongli, being Zhongli, will gladly officiate the wedding.

The secretary is a girl that goes to sleep and wakes up early. She eats healthy and exercises just enough to keep herself from rusting over. Her house is perfectly clean, both thanks to her own efforts and those of her staff, and full of well-tended plants. She's a neat, well-organized and healthy little goat. If it makes you feel bad for your own lifestyle (and it should), Ganyu will be happy to help you care for yourself by cooking healthy meals for you, reminding you of your goals and helping you be consistent. For what? Why, for the delightful moment when you look at yourself in the mirror and finally smile at all the work you have done. Your happiness is her happiness.

Acts of service are her form of love. If you happen to come home later than her, you'll arrive to a nice bowl of warm soup, held by your dear wife. You casually mentioned that you need to, say, iron your shirt tomorrow? Ganyu's got you - even if she had to wake up that little bit earlier to do it. Maybe you're talking about a difficult achievement in one of your video games? If you teach her how to help, she'll be glad to tune in and grind with you. Whenever you act surprised at her actions, or say that she ‘didn’t have to’, Ganyu will always replay with a kind smile and reassurance - she does it because she loves you.

She's the most receptive to physical touch. Sometimes things are going badly and the reasons for it are exhausting to put into words. Those days Ganyu would like nothing more than a simple embrace, your hand in hers, a gentle kiss on the forehead. Your touch reminds her that everything will be alright, and that she does not have to brave the world alone anymore.

Thanks for reading!

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #genshin impact x male reader #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff #fluff #genshin impact ganyu #genshin ganyu #ganyu #ganyu my beloved #cocogoat #ganyu x reader #ganyu x male reader #ganyu x y/n #ganyu x you #ganyu fluff

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dailynnt · 2 days ago

Text

FRIENDS WITHIN TOUCHING DISTANCE

Summary: What happens when two best friends try to get along under the same roof? You've been living with Jungkook for three months now, but your cohabitation is still a challenge for you. He continues to live like a real bachelor without following the rules you agreed upon from the beginning of your decision to live together. Should you find a compromise or should you find a new place to live?

Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ Fem!Reader

Characters: The Reader, Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Min Yoongi, Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon, Jeon Hosuk.

🔞 Age restrictions: 18+

👩🏼‍❤️‍👨🏻 Relationships: ⚤

📕 Number of part: 15/?

🖇️ Tags: best friends, friends with benefits, slow longing, sexual tension, protected sex, unprotected sex, alcohol, drunken sex, inexperienced main character, mafia au, illegal trade, deaths of minor characters, weapons, swear words. Tags will be added as the story is written.

👩🏼‍💻 From the author: Guys, this is crazy. I spent a lot of nerves writing this part. It was the hardest for me. It's also the longest of all the parts I've written. Please, at least there were a minimum of mistakes 🤏🏻 🙏🏻 In this part, we learn more about the clan in which Jungkook works. And oh my god, what is Jungkook going to do with Doohoon? 😵 Please let me know in the comments how you like this part 🥺🫠🫶🏻

🫂Dedication: For you, my love @myjungkookthighs. You are my favorite person 😘🥰 You know that I appreciate you very much and love you🥰💜

⚠️ Warning: English is not my native language, so there may be mistakes in the text. Please don't get mad at me too much! Those under 18, please don't read this story!

📋Tag list: @myjungkookthighs, @notsevenwithyou (If anyone wants to be in my tag list let me know)

≣ Chapter Index ↓

Part 15. Who are you, Jungkook?

𓏧POV Jungkook𓏧

"She's pretty." - Jungkook hears his ex-girlfriend's voice from somewhere in the distance. Jungkook looks after you. He remembers your expression, you looked angry. But he can't really tell if it's because of Doohoon or because of his ex's appearance. He wants so badly to follow you, not to stand here and look at the face of the person he thought he would never see again in his life.

Ha Young hasn't changed much, her eyes as mischievous and playful as ever. She was never serious, like you, for example. She was indifferent to everything. She only cared about her image and the money she had to have in a constant flow.

Jungkook looks at his ex with an angry look. Who is she to judge you? She never loved you, and it always annoyed Jungkook.

Jungkook recalls the time when they were dating against his will.Jungkook remembers how they would fight every time Ha Young found out that he was talking to you.

"She looks much better in person than in the photo. I never thought I'd get to meet your precious bestie." - Ha Young says sweetly. Jungkook clenches his jaw. He's only here to find out what this woman is doing here, and why she's in the company of his former friend and now enemy.

He doesn't have time to listen to her thoughts on you. All he can think about is that you're alone and he's not there. Doohoon is here, which means he will try to get closer to you. He threatened to have you. Not in this life. Jungkook won't give you to anyone because he's become so greedy for you. He doesn't understand what these feelings are, but the thought of you being with another man drives him crazy. Not to mention Doohoon, who can only get you over his dead body.

"You have exactly one minute to talk." - Jungkook says coldly. He has to hurry to get to you, and he doesn't have time for anything else.

"In a hurry? Want to see your upset bestie? She's angry. She's probably dying of jealousy." - Ha Young said and smiled wickedly.

"You'd better speak to the point." - Jungkook says threateningly. Ha Young stops laughing. Jungkook's furious look makes her nervous. But she has a plan to follow.

"Don't get mad, champ. I was just joking." - Ha Young smiles sweetly as she looks at Jungkook. God, he's even hotter than he was before. Maybe she'll have a chance to get into his pants. She has no doubt that she's better than you in bed, and she could make Jungkook feel good. The sight of him now just makes her drool. "I want to smoke a cigarette. Can we go to the smoking room?" - Jungkook clenches his fists nervously, he's hesitant to go with his ex or not. Is he worried about you. He decides it shouldn't take long. A quick conversation and he'll be back with you. Besides, you're under the protection of Hoseok and Taehyung.

Ha Young walks in front, Jungkook walks a little behind. He doesn't look at her at all. He's holding his phone in his hand and checking a text from Hayato.

This guy belongs to Jungkook's group. He is Japanese by birth and lives in Korea. He speaks good Japanese, so he is very helpful in getting the devices back. Hayato writes that the devices were transported to Sapporo. And that Doohoon is personally supervising the transportation. Jungkook wants to curse. Doohoon, that dambass. He getting tired of him doing this shit.

Jungkook writes to Hayato to find out where the devices will be delivered to Spapporo. He also asks for information on how to pick them up.

The loud music and conversations fade away as Jungkook and Ha Young find themselves in a room in front of the restrooms. The room is large. It has sofas and tables with ash trays on them. There is a slight smell of cigarette smoke in the air. There are hoods working here.

Ha Young sits down on one of the sofas and takes out a cigarette from a small black handbag. She seems to have taken it only to have a place to put the pack of cigarettes. Jungkook stands at a distance. He doesn't want to smoke with her. Although he wouldn't mind smoking one to calm his nerves.

Ha Young takes a drag and then a thick cloud of smoke leaves her mouth. She takes another drag and then smiles with satisfaction.

"So is it true that you guys are fucking?" - Ha Young asks, her eyes radiating pure curiosity.

"Do you think it's any of your business?" - Jungkook replies dryly. Ha Young laughs. She takes another drag and blows out smoke.

"Doohoon told me you're fucking her. And that you've wanted to do it for a long time. You wanted to fuck her even when we were dating?" - She asks. Jungkook is angry. Not only is Doohoon a dumb asshole, he also has a big mouth.

"You were fucking Taejoon when we were dating." - Jungkook reminds his ex. "Is it worth it for you to bring up that time now?"

The reason they broke up was because of an affair. Jungkook met Ha Young at a club in Namjoon, the same club where he fought. She worked there as a ring model. They are the ones who carry the signs with the round numbers.

He remembers her flirting and seducing Jungkook. She was always hanging around him because he was the best fighter. Their romance started quickly because they instantly became passionate. They dated for over six months. Ha Young always supported and cheered for Jungkook. She was good at relationships and always knew how to make Jungkook feel good.

Jungkook doesn't know if he was in love with her at the time or not, but he enjoyed being in this relationship. He shared absolutely everything with Ha Young. She knew everything about him without exception. He also told her about you.

When she saw your picture and found out how you were talking to her boyfriend, she often made scenes of jealousy and asked Jungkook to talk to you less. He was angry at this request. He couldn't give you up for his girlfriend. You were his friend for a very long time and he had special feelings for you that no one could understand. You are someone who must be in his life.

But in order not to upset his girlfriend, he stopped writing and calling you first. He was happy to communicate with you when you took the initiative, but after a while your communication went down to a minimum.

When the "super fight" situation happened, Ha Young began to distance herself from Jungkook. While he was dealing with the police, she hardly ever came to see Jungkook at the hospital, almost never answered Jungkook's messages, and even less often answered the phone when he called. Then later he found out that Ha Young was hooked up with Taejoon. He was Namjoon's man. Jungkook found out that she had been fucking him for months.

Jimin was the one who helped Jungkook find out the truth about his girlfriend. He remembers when they broke up. He wanted to punch that Taejoon guy in the face, but Jimin stopped him. He told him that Taejoon was close to Namjoon and if he picked a fight with him, his boss wouldn't like it. And Jungkook would get into big trouble with Namjoon himself. And since Jungkook already has a big debt, there's no need to make things even more complicated. "Some cheap vagina isn't worth the trouble." - Jimin said at the time. It was a big blow to him and he had a hard time with the divorce. But working for Namjoon helped him quickly forget those hard times. Ha Young disappeared from his life, and then Jungkook decided that he would not have a serious relationship, certainly not with the life he had. One-night stands were the best solution.

But now, looking at this woman, he feels nothing. Despite her beautiful dress and makeup, she doesn't look attractive.

Ha Young didn't say anything. She was silent because she had nothing to say. Jungkook knows that Taejoon bought his ex-girlfriend. And he bought her very cheaply.

"So what? Is she better than me in bed?" - Ha Young asked, almost finishing her cigarette. She only had a few puffs left.

"That's none of your fucking business. Tell me why you're here with Doohoon. How come the two of you are here with him?" - Jungkook says rudely. He's already tired of this dialog.

Ha Young slowly finished her cigarette and put it out, throwing it into the ashtray. She stood up and walked over to Jungkook.

"You've become so hard to me. Have you forgotten how good we had together? Is it because of your bestie?" - Ha Young asked as she touched Jungkook's chest with her hand. She lowered her voice to sound more sexy. Jungkook looked down at her hand and after a moment, he pushed it. He didn't want her to touch him.

"Listen, Ha Young. Don't mess with my head. I don't have time for your empty talk and memories from three years ago. If you don't start talking now, I'm going to leave. I'll find out for myself why you're here. And God forbid I find out that you're here because Doohoon brought you here for some plan. You'll regret ever being born." - Jungkook says threateningly. His eyes burn with rage.

Ha Young feels her skin crawl at Jungkook's tone. She's both scared and excited. Has he always been this fucking hot? Ha Young smiles to hide the embarrassment Jungkook has caused her.

This is why she's here. She has a debt to Doohoon and to get rid of it, she has to fulfill her part of the plan. Right now, her task is to get him to talk so that Doohoon can talk to his lovely friend. And then she has to do something special. But she has to wait for a sign.

"Do you want to know why I am here, Kook?" - Ha Young asks.

"You wanted to tell me yourself, that's why we're here now." - Jungkook replies. He senses that something is wrong. Is she stalling or something?

"Actually, I'm here because of you." - She finally starts to speak. "I've been communicate to Doohoon for a long time. Like a year or something. Once... I was saved by Doohoon. The client was terrible, he... I thought I wasn't going to get out of there alive." - Jungkook's ex says with a desperation Jungkook doesn't believe. He scrunches up his face.

"A client?" - He asks again. "What do you do for a living?"

"I work as an escort." - Ha Young says casually. Jungkook nods his head with an indifferent look. Ah, nothing has changed. Instead of a cheap prostitute, she's become an elite one.

"I see. So what? Why are you here because of me?" - Jungkook asks.

"Doohoon told me everything about you. When I found out that you were fucking your precious bestie, I felt so terribly jealous. She always pissed me off. I guess she got what she wanted. Didn't she?" - Jungkook's ex said, her voice bitter. "I've been thinking about you, darling, ever since we broke up. I want you back." - Jungkook laughed softly. Is she stupid or what? What does she take him for if she thinks he'll fall for that fairy tales?

"Really?" - Jungkook laughed.

"Yes, dear, I came here not because of him, but because of you! Jungkook, I remember us. The passion we had." - Ha Young's eyes light up. She moves closer to Jungkook, her voice softer but provocative. "We could start over. I'm better than her. I know the real you." - Jungkook looks at his ex with contempt.

"You don't know the real me. And I don't want to have anything to do with you." - Jungkook says cold.

"You can deny it all you want, but I know you haven't forgotten me. We were perfect together." - Ha Young says. She hears her phone vibrate three times. It's a message from Doohoon. It's a sign, she just needs to wait a few seconds. Doohoon is supposed to text three messages when he's at the door.

Ha Young walks up unexpectedly and presses herself against Jungkook and suddenly kisses him. She captures his lips immediately remembering the feeling. They taste so sweet.

Jungkook is confused, he didn't expect his ex to kiss him. She grabbed his collar and clung to him with her lips. As soon as he comes to his senses, he pushes her away. But not too hard so that she doesn't get hurt. Ha Young smiles with satisfaction at Jungkook.

He raises his eyebrows. He wants to yell at her, but with his peripheral vision, he notices someone outside the smoking room door. Jungkook turns his head, and everything stops inside him.

Your dazed eyes seem to cut him to pieces. Behind you, Doohoon is standing, holding your shoulders and smiling. Jungkook thinks he's going to lose his mind. Are you here with him? Did you see everything?

Jungkook quickly walks over to you. But when he opens the door, all he sees is your back. You run down the hall to the exit. Jungkook urgently needs to explain everything to you.

But Doohoon is standing in his way. Jungkook is so angry that nothing can hold him back.

Doohoon sees you running away because you didn't want to talk to Jungkook. He turns his head and is one step away from Jungkook.

"What did you do, you bastard?" - Jungkook hisses. Ha Young runs after him. She stands silently behind her ex-boyfriend.

"Really, Jungkook, do you have an obsession with taking my girls?" - Doohoon provokes Jungkook. He is already shaking with rage.

"How dare you touch her bastard? I told you that if you lay a finger on her, you'll be begging for breath!" - Jungkook clenches his fists so hard that his fingers crack. Doohoon smiles. Come on, dumbass, it's almost showtime.

"I was just talking to my friend. You don't seem to share anything with her. I told her the truth about you. She was shocked that you belong to the mafia." - This is the last thing he says before he meets Jungkook's fist with his face. The blow is so hard that Doohoon falls to the ground. His eyebrow throbs and hurts like hell. Doohoon feels warm blood trickling down his cheek.

Jungkook is blinded by anger. He's ready to just beat the bastard to death. How did he end up next to you? How did he get the chance to talk to you? Did he tell you that Jungkook belongs to the mafia? Where is everyone? How did he set it up so you could see that kiss? He swears he's going to kill Doohoon today.

Jungkook climbs on top of Doohoon, grabs his hair, and punches him in the face. He puts so much force into each punch that Doohoon's face instantly bleeds. This is the bastard's payback for everything he's done. For the stolen instruments, for the harassment, for telling you things you were never supposed to know, for bringing that whore in here who kissed him in front of you.

Doohoon laughs. He's hurt, but he knows that now Jungkook is in trouble. He doesn't mind sacrificing his face for the sake of the perfect execution of the plan. The plan to ‘destroy Jungkook’. This idiot is like a rabbit caught in a trap.

"I'm going to kill you, you son of a bitch!"- Jungkook shouts as he smashes Doohoon's face beyond recognition. "How dare you lay a finger on her?" - Jungkook is furious.

Doohoon could have really died today. But he is saved by the guys from the Namjoon clan.

Jimin is the first to run into the hallway and sees Jungkook punching Doohoon. Jimin tries to pull Jungkook away, but he's too strong. He shoves Jimin away and continues his work. Doohoon has to die so that Jungkook can finally live in peace.

Taehyung comes to help Jimin. People rush into the room. Yamada and his bodyguards. Jin and Hoseok are here. Ha Young is also among these people. She's the one who called for help. Jungkook is dragged away from Doohoon by force. Taehyung and Jimin can barely hold him, but Jungkook breaks free and screams.

"Let me go, I'll kill him." - Hoseok and Jin also run over to calm Jungkook down. Ha Young runs over to Doohoon and leans over him.

"Please call an ambulance!" - She begs.

Jungkook just can't be held back. He sees his friends and is so angry at them.

"Where the fuck were you guys? Why did you let him be around her?" - The guys look at Jungkook in confusion. Didn't he call them outside because he had something important to tell them?

"Buddy, calm down!" - Jimin finally says when Jungkook is pressed against the wall and breathing heavily. His hands are bruised and covered in blood. His face is also smeared with Doohoon's blood.

"What's going on here, Mr. Jeon?" - Yamada asks. Jungkook is out of his mind. He ignores the party host's question and turns to Jimin.

"Where the fuck is she?" - Jungkook is still breathing heavily. He is released, he stands up straight and his posture is tense.

"I saw her get into a taxi." - Jungkook hears Jin's voice. Jungkook takes off running, passing all the people who came to help Doohoon. When he reaches the half-conscious Doohoon, he stops. Ha Young defends his partner and several of Yamada's guards tense up with their hands on their guns.

Jungkook looks at his ex with contempt as she so desperately defends Doohoon.

"I swear, you fucking bastard. I'll blow your head off if you ever show up near Y/N again." - Jungkook throws in a final word and walks out of the hallway. He leaves the restaurant to find you.

***

Your hands are shaking. You feel something painful squeezing your chest, preventing you from breathing in properly. Tears are running down your cheeks, forming a wet path. Each new tear runs along the established route, hot on the trail and instantly cold.

Your head hurts, from crying and an endless stream of thoughts. Oh God, you're going to go crazy.

You bought a ticket for a night flight to Korea. Your first thought when you realized who Jungkook and his friends really were was to run away. Are they the mafia and who knows what's in their heads? Maybe this trip to Japan is some kind of mafia business. What if you get hurt because of them? You have to run away, right?

You haphazardly stuff your things into your suitcase and beg yourself to get out of there before Jungkook comes. You knew he would. Maybe that's the only thing you know about him. Because it turns out you don't know the man at all.

Jungkook is working for the mafia. These words sound so absurd and it didn't fit into your mind. Your Jungkook, the one you've known since childhood, the one who could smile so warmly and sincerely-how could he be connected to this world? Could he really kill people? A whole bag of guns - isn't that strong evidence that he can?

Your relationship with Jungkook turned into a kind of disaster that threatened to break your heart. You succumbed to the feelings he aroused in you. The image of him kissing his ex was tearing you apart.

You see this picture before your eyes, and his words "mine" echo in your head. You are in so much pain. You pressed your hands to your chest and felt a very dull pain. Tears don't help at all, it seems to only get worse. Why did he say those things? Why did he do that to you? Why did he make you fall in love with him? It's not fair. Why did you find out that he belongs to the Mafia and see him kissing his ex one night? Does fate dislike you so much that it's cruel to mock you?

You ran from bathroom to room to get your things. You were getting ready for a party so fast that you threw everything around. Now you need to spend time putting it all in a suitcase.

Almost as you're packing, you think you should call a taxi to take you to the airport. You grab your phone and enter a request into the taxi app with shaking hands.

You hear the door of your room knocking and you freeze. Your heart is pounding in your chest. Your breathing is rapid. You know who it is.

Jungkook runs into the room and sees you. You're crying and you're almost packing your suitcase. He notices that you're dressed in black jeans and a warm sweater. The dress he bought you is lying on the bed.

Your eyes are frightened. You look at Jungkook and your hair stands on end. He's not wearing a coat, just his suit. His hands are smashed and covered in blood. There is also blood smeared on his face. His gaze was intense, and his eyes were dark, as if a storm had settled in them.

Your heart clenched at the sight. It was him, but at the same time not him. The man standing in front of you seemed like a stranger.

"What are you doing?" - His voice was low, almost hoarse.

"I'm leaving." - You say. Your voice trembles and he scratches at your throat.

"Baby no." - Jungkook says desperately. "Please let me explain everything to you?" - He walks toward you.

"Stay away from me." - You ask with fear in your voice. But Jungkook doesn't hear you. He approaches you and grabs you in his arms. You feel as if you've been frozen. You can smell Jungkook's perfume. For a moment, it seems that this is the most ordinary hug that has always been accompanied by this wonderful smell of citrus and lemongrass. This is your favorite smell. But it's all an illusion. This is not the same hug. Jungkook is not the person you know. Who are you, Jungkook?

"Let go." - You cry.

"It's that bastard Doohoon. He set this whole thing up..." - Jungkook explains. Jungkook holds you for a moment longer and takes your face in his hands. His heart breaks at the sight of your crying eyes. "Baby. My favorite little girl. Please, please listen to me. I'll explain everything to you..." - He's begging you so desperately, but you think you've had enough. Enough of all the darkness that shrouds Jungkook's personality.

You are on the verge of an emotional breakdown. You can't see that face in front of you anymore. You pull out of his arms and silently go to your suitcase. You have already called a taxi. You just need to take your things and leave.

"You're not going anywhere!" - Jungkook shouts. He's angry again. He throws your suitcase on the floor and all your things fall out. You are frozen. Jungkook's eyes are furious. You feel fear choking you. You start to cry harder.

"Please." - You cry softly. "Let me go... I'm... I'm afraid of you." - Jungkook almost faints. Why does your look remind him of all the people he's tortured when he needs to extract money or information? Are you really afraid of him? But he would never hurt you in his life. He is so angry about everything that happened that he probably looks like a monster. You look at him like a monster and your eyes are full of fear.

Jungkook is breathing heavily. He doesn't know what to do, but he doesn't want you to leave. He wants to explain everything to you. But do you want to hear him? But it looks like he can't hold you today. You're going to leave anyway, he knows. His world was falling apart right in front of him, and he didn't know how to put it back together.

Jungkook silently walked out, leaving you alone. You quickly gathered your things and left the hotel without a word.

***

When you arrived in Korea, you went straight to Suwon. On the morning of the day after Christmas, you were on your way from the airport to your hometown. You absolutely could not go to Jungkook's apartment. Everything there would remind you of him. You want to forget everything you've learned about him as much as possible. Your emotions get the better of you, you can't think straight.

Your parents were pleasantly surprised by your arrival. Almost from the doorstep, they thanked you for the Christmas gifts you had mailed to them before you left for Japan. Your parents also tried to ask you about your vacation in Niseko, but you lied that you were very tired from the road and would show them photos later. All of your parents' questions about Jungkook were skillfully ignored.

A few days passed. You kept getting texts from Jungkook that you didn't read and calls that you didn't answer. You even wanted to block him once because he called so often that it made you angry. But this morning you haven't received a single text message or call. In your mind, you're excited. Did he really leave you alone? But you were a bad liar. When the whole day passed and Jungkook still hadn't made himself known, you were upset.

Your oppression was so noticeable that your mom was worried. She asked what was wrong but you couldn't tell her. You lied and said it was just a stomachache. But it was really your soul that was hurting.

You lay in bed and thought about Jungkook. He's not the fucking guy you knew. He's a mafia guy. He probably tortures people. He probably uses brute force. Or a gun.

You have a clear image of him in your head, with a mischievous smile and a gentle gaze. You remember his arms hugging you. You just can't imagine those hands holding a gun and killing someone. You cry again because you are torn apart by feelings and common sense. You want him to be with you right now. He would hug you with his face buried in your shoulder, as he often did, and tell you that he would always be there for you. That it was all a bad dream. That he doesn't kill people and that it was just a mistake. You miss him so much that you want to crawl out of your own body. You don't know what to do. You ask mercy for yourself. You can't sleep without him. You are not full when he is not around.

On the other hand, your common sense says that Jungkook is dangerous and he really puts you in danger if you are around him. Knowing the world of crime, it's a constant threat and risk. You get scared. Jungkook must have been on the verge of death more than once. Your heart is squeezed with incredible pain. What should you do? Talk to him? Ask him to leave this world? Will he be able to do it? Your head is bursting with thoughts.

You get an idea. First, you need to find out everything about the RUN NOIR clan, and you have the opportunity. Despite the fact that it's almost three in the morning, you text your sunbaenim from first-year. Kim Ji Sung is a master of his craft. He is a journalist to the core, so if you need to find some hard-to-find information, this man is a real find. You are lucky to have known him. He taught you what a journalist should be, and you managed to get a lot from him during that year of your first year and his last.

So you were one hundred percent sure that he would help you. You write a short message saying that it's a matter of life and death and that you need detailed information about Namjoon and his clan. From the very beginning to the present day.

The night passes and you only fall asleep in the morning.

You didn't get as much sleep as you would have liked. Your eyes opened on their own at 9 am. You stayed in bed until eleven until your mom called you for breakfast.

You checked to see if Ji Sung had read your text. He had, but he didn't reply. You were nervous. Should you remind him about you again? You texted him and waited.

Your mom sat down at the table with you, having finished setting it. Your father was not at home, he was away on business.

"Are you okay, my daughter? Do you have such bags under your eyes? Are you not sleeping well?" - Your mom was worried. You were embarrassed. It was so obvious how you were hurting.

"I'm fine, mom." - You said softly, smiling. "I was just on the phone for a long time. I've lost my normal sleep rhythm with this vacation." - You turned back to your plate and lowered your head so that your mother wouldn't see your depressed mood. Mom started eating breakfast, believing your lie. She told you about Dad and where he had gone. Suddenly she started a conversation that you had been avoiding since you arrived.

"I've been wanting to ask you, dear. How is Jungkook? Did you come to Suwon together?" - Your mom asks with tenderness in her voice. And you feel like you've been electrocuted. The mere sound of his name sets your heart into a frantic gallop.

"No. He didn't come because he has a lot of work to do." - You try to speak calmly. Even though your pulse is pounding loudly in your ears.

"He's so busy all the time. Yonok is so worried about it. She complains to me that she sees her son once a year. You should talk to him. He should come more often." - Your mother said without reproach in her voice. It sounded more like a request. You mumbled that you would try to talk to him. But it doesn't seem like it's going to happen because you know the reason why he comes so rarely, and you don't know if you'll ever see him again.

"I haven't seen him in probably three years. Yeah, the last time was at your graduation. He must have gotten so handsome. He was always such a handsome boy. Does he have a girlfriend now? Yonok didn't tell me anything about whether he had a girlfriend or not. But he might not have told her." - Your mother talked about Jungkook nonstop. You lost your appetite. You decided that you should either change the subject or just leave.

"Mom..." - You called out. But she didn't seem to hear you.

"You know, I went to visit her recently. She asked me about you, and I showed her your photos. She said you've become so beautiful. Yeonok said that Jungkook should pay attention to you. She wouldn't mind if we became family. I support her completely. You know how much I love Jungkook. He's such a good boy. You've known each other since childhood. Don't you make a perfect couple?" - Your mom looks at you and meets your dumbfounded gaze. Even your moms are there too. Why does everyone around you think you're the couple to Jungkook? Is it all your "loving look" fault? But you're more surprised that your moms were discussing it. If they knew what was going on and who Jungkook really is. Would they have wanted him to be your boyfriend?

You are saved by the ringing of the phone. It's Ji Sung. When you see his name, you grab the phone and run to your room. Your mom can't know what this conversation is about. Closing the door behind you, you pick up the phone.

"Hello, Sunbaenim." - You greet.

"Hello, my precious Hubeh." - You hear your sunbae's cheerful voice. "We haven't talked for so long. When I saw your message, I was so happy until I read its content." - He laughs into the phone, you laugh back. "In where are you get into huh?"

"I'm sorry I didn't write to you sooner. I'm sorry. I promise to fix it." - You apologize sincerely. If Ji Sung were standing in front of you, you would bow low. "I didn't really get into anything. But I need information about these people. Can you help me?" - You said with hope in your voice.

"Do you even know who you're asking me to get information about?" - Your sunbae asked seriously.

"I do. They are connected to crime. Sunbaenim, please, I know you can get any information you want. I just need to know who these people are. And how dangerous they are." - You say pleadingly.

"Y/N, I can tell you without any information that Namjoon is very dangerous. And also 6 people close to him. He's a mafioso who holds almost all of Korea. He is definitely unrivaled in Seoul." - Ji Sung says. You're getting anxious. How bad is it?

"Really? And who are the six people who are close to him?" - You wonder if you can find out anything. You hear Ji Sung laughing.

"Y/N, you've always been inquisitive. But in the case of the RUB NOIR clan, this could be your fatal mistake." - Sunbae warns you. You have no choice. You need to take a risk to find out who your friend really is and whether you can help him leave this world.

"I'm begging you, Sunbae. This is important to me. I will owe you a debt. You know that one day you may need me very much." - You don't back down.

"You're still stubborn, I forgot about that." - Ji Sung says with a lament. You laugh into the phone. "Are you so desperate such terrible trouble on your ass? Do you have a boyfriend in their custody or something?" - You can hear your heart beating. Yes, he is. But he's not your boyfriend. Friend? You can't call Jungkook your friend anymore.

"You could say that. I'm going crazy with this. That's why I'm asking you so desperately. I need to know who these people are." - The lie falls from your lips so easily. You pause for no more than a few seconds. "Namjoon and these six people close to him." - You wait for a response. When you hear a loud exhale on the other end of the phone, you hope that your lie has worked.

"Okay." - Your sunbae agrees. "But you have a very big debt to me. Because Namjoon can cut off my balls just for digging up information on him. And you, at best..." - For some reason, he suddenly fell silent. You were wondering what would happen to you if Namjoon found out that you asked sunbae to get information about him. But Ji Sung didn't finish his sentence. "I'll send you an encrypted link to download the file later this evening. When you get it, text me and I'll delete everything." - You were happy. Your eyes lit up in anticipation of knowing who they all were. Because you were sure that Jimin's name would be among the 6 people close to you.

"It's a deal. I'll be eternally indebted to you if you do this for me." - You said. Ji Sung smiled.

"Don't say such words. Being eternally indebted to me will be your curse." - Sunbae joked.

"I'm willing to endure that in exchange for very detailed information." - You promise. Ji Sung laughs again.

"We have a deal. I'll be in touch." - He says and hangs up the phone. You feel elated. You look at your phone and realize that Jungkook hasn't texted or called you for two days. This instantly spoils your mood. You go to chat with Jungkook and see his last message from two days ago.

09.21 PM 🐰 Jungkook: Baby please pick up the phone.

You look at his name and see the last time he was online. 5 minutes ago. He was online 5 minutes ago, but he didn't text you. You sadly lock your phone and go back to eating breakfast, which has already turned into lunch.

You finish your breakfast and help your mom with the cleaning and washing up. Your mom says that she is going to pickle a crab, she mentions that Jungkook loved her pickled crabs, and you start to get angry that she tells of him so often. Your mom asks you to go to the local supermarket and buy some food for tonight's dinner. Since she will be cooking the crabs, she can't go yourself.

You immediately agree, going to the store will be a great opportunity to clear your head. You go to the bathroom and take a quick bath. You get dressed and go to the store.

It takes about 20 minutes to walk to the nearest supermarket. You walked down the snowy street in your hometown where you used to go to school every day. Along the way, you met some friends and had a nice chat.

Finally, after buying everything on the list your mom wrote you, you returned home. You offered to help your mom with the pickling of the crabs when you came back from the store. She was almost finished cleaning the seafood and said she could do it herself. The marinade was ready, all that was left was to season crabs.

"If you want, you can help me prepare dinner. In the meantime, go do your own thing." - Your mom said gently. You agreed and went to your room.

You didn't do much of anything. You lay in bed, watching a drama, interrupted by your phone. You checked for texts from Ji-sung and Jungkook's online presence. He was online a lot today, by the way. Right now you look at your phone screen and see "online a minute ago". It's strange that he logs in so often and doesn't even write to you. He terrorized you for two days, and now he won't even send you a smiley face.

You felt a sadness that filled your entire consciousness. You blocked your phone in frustration and fell face first on the bed. How terribly you want to see him. To fall into his arms. To breathe in the smell of his perfume and forget that this horrible world exists at all.

The day passes almost in vain. Somewhere in the evening, when the sun went down and the frost outside became stronger, you felt that you were freezing. You got up, found a warm orange sweater and put it on. You also put on your socks because you had been walking around barefoot all day. You were about to leave your room and go to your mom's when you heard your phone vibrate. You had a small hope that Jungkook had texted you.

You grabbed the phone. The text wasn't from Jungkook, but it was just as important. It was from Ji Sung. You wasted no time in reading the message. There was a link. You clicked on it and a file was downloaded to your phone. When it was downloaded, you immediately texted Sunbae and he deleted everything. Before you opened the file, you received another message from sunbae.

05.12 PM Sonbae Kim Ji Sung : It was worth me all this effort. You are now my eternal slave 😁

You wrote a reply:

05.12 PM You: I'll do my best for you too Seongbae 🥺

You couldn't wait any longer. Sitting down on the bed, you opened the file. It was detailed about Namjoon and the "6 close to him":

Kim Namjoon - Leader.

Role: Chief strategist and leader.

Tasks: Developing clan development plans and setting long-term goals.

Organizing business operations and ensuring their efficiency.

Controlling financial flows and providing a "cover" for illegal activities.

Managing relations with other groups and authorities.

Profile: The founder of the RUN NOIR clan (translated as "Running in the Dark") and later the Mono Corp. He is cold-blooded and extremely intelligent. Namjoon is able to foresee several steps ahead, and his leadership is based on respect, not fear. He is an idealist, but his methods are often brutal when it comes to achieving a goal. He is passionate about art. The slogan of his clan and corporation is: "Run the world with art, rule the streets with shadows". He owns 26% of “Moro Corp”.

Min Yoongi - Shadow Leader

Role: Advisor and executor in the "shadows."

Tasks: Control of information flows and operational security of the clan.

Performing the most delicate and risky tasks that require skill.

Liaison with the criminal underworld outside of Seoul.

Characterization: Yoongi is older than Namjoon, but recognizes his leadership because he believes in his vision. Almost no one in the clan has seen his face and he owns 24% of “Mono Corp”.

Kim Seok Jin - Technician and financier

Role: Responsible for technology and financial fraud.

Tasks: Organizing cyber defense for the clan.

Conducting financial transactions, including money laundering.

Providing access to advanced technologies for other members.

Personality: Gene is jocular and seemingly carefree, but he is actually a genius in IT and finance. His knowledge and connections in the tech world give the clan an edge over the rest. He owns a 12% stake in “Mono Corp”.

Jeon Hosok - Supply and Logistics

Role: Head of Supply and Transportation.

Tasks: Organizing the delivery of illegal goods, including weapons and drugs.

Controlling the network of couriers and carriers.

Providing cover for illegal operations through legal business.

Characterization: Hosok always seems cheerful and frivolous, but he is a master at what he does. His cunning and talent for improvisation allow him to solve any logistical problems. He owns a 10% stake in Mono Corp.

Park Jimin - Businessman

Role: Curator of legal business.

Tasks: Management of a network of elite restaurants, nightclubs and gyms.

Organizing illegal fights and ensuring their profitability.

Communicating with investors and maintaining an ideal "clean" image for the public.

Characteristics: Jimin is charismatic and sexy, and has an innate talent for business. His charm helps him make lucrative deals, but his sweet exterior hides a dangerous and relentless personality. He owns a 10% stake in Mono Corp.

Kim Taehyung - Insider in the military police

Role: Source of access to military police information and resources.

Tasks: Using his status as a special forces officer to obtain information and cover for operations.

Organizing clan protection in case of threats from the police or other law enforcement agencies.

Participation in the elimination of "difficult" targets.

Characteristics: Taehyung is a two-faced man: to his colleagues, he is a professional and reliable officer, and to the clan, he is a dangerous and resourceful ally. He owns a 7% stake in Mono Corp.

Jeon Jungkook - "Brute Force"

Role: "Dirty worker."

Tasks: Racketeering, debt collection and elimination of undesirables.

Controlling the security and safety of the clan.

Organizing physical support for other members' operations.

Characteristics: Joined the clan almost four years ago. Participated in illegal fights organized in one of Namjoon's clubs. Has a debt to Namjoon. The amount of the debt is not disclosed anywhere.

You just can't believe what you just read. What killed you the most is that Taehyung is among these "6 close people". Your heart is broken because you thought he was almost a saint. He is also connected to the mafia and you feel sick.

Jungkook does the "dirty work" and you're not surprised. But it says here that he has debts. What is the amount of this debt? And why did he become a debtor? There are more questions than there were before.

You get goosebumps from the description of these people. You know most of them. And most importantly, these are the people in the mafia clan who keep the whole of Seoul in fear. The scariest thing here is that Jungkook is among these 7 people. Good lord, how? How did your best friend, a promising taekwondo fighter, the son of ordinary businessmen become such a man?

Your mother's voice brings you out of the state of prostration you've fallen into because of the information about the mafia clan.

"Y/N! Come downstairs, daughter!" - She shouts at you from somewhere on the stairs leading to the first floor. Her voice is joyful and excited. You block the phone and hurry downstairs. You hear her voice speaking happily to someone. "I'm happy to see you..."

You come down the stairs and freeze, grabbing the railing. No. It can't be! Jungkook.

He's sitting in the living room on the couch next to your mom. She's care him, and Jungkook smiles shyly at her. He's dressed in all black as usual, but he's not wearing any outerwear right now. He's wearing a black sweater and black sweatpants. His bangs are combed to the front and have a slight parting. You look at your best friend and your heart threatens to jump out of your chest. Your fingers and toes go numb. You missed him so much. Tears well up in your eyes, but you stand motionless at the first step up the mountain.

Jungkook notices you and your eyes finally meet. You look into those big black eyes, similar to Bambi's, and you see something familiar and so necessary in them. Jungkook smiles at you lightly.

"Hi, baby." - He says in his trademark Jungkook voice with a hint of apology and playfulness.

↰ Previous chapter ● Next chapter ↱

#jungkook x reader #bts #bts jungkook #jungkook #jungkook x f!reader #jungkook smut #jungkook friends with benefits #bts mafia au

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1296-very-good-year · 3 days ago

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Jayce was handled so horrifically I can't get over it.

He breaks his promise to Viktor and uses the Hexcore to revive him. He makes more Hextech weapons, he doesn't apologize, Viktor leaves.

He goes to the dead future and goes insane in a hole, not knowing what caused the apocalypse, but assumes it has to do with the Hexgate anomaly and blames himself, reliving his mistakes over and over. For months. He is obviously agonizing about not knowing where exactly he went wrong, and that desire to know is his entire drive to climb with a busted leg out of there.

He had been carrying around his heavy, useless Hextech hammer, then he dismantles it and leaves it behind. Symbolism, etc.

AND THEN

He makes it to the top of the hexgate and learns that the mistake he made that ruined the world was using the Hexcore to revive Viktor. It wasn't his own decisions with Hextech that destroyed the world, it was VIKTOR'S.

Him breaking his promise to Viktor, to not let him die, causes the apocalypse. I'd bet he never once thought about Viktor ending the world the entire time he was in that hole.

He also learns that Viktor is the one who saved him as a kid for the sole reason that he is the only person ever who can SAVE the world. From Viktor.

Suddenly, everything he believed was flipped upside down and then exploded into little bits.

So how does Jayce react to learning all of this?

Dunno. We skip past ALL OF THAT. His first words apparently are "Send me back," and then he goes on a single-minded quest to murder Viktor.

Does he still blame himself? Does he blame Viktor? Does he believe himself to be a world-saving Messiah now? Who fucking knows.

Maybe he does blame Viktor, since he never once even bothers to APOLOGIZE to him before or after blasting a hole in his chest.

He then goes about making more Hextech weapons and repurposing existing Hextech into giant cannons. So we can have a cool final fight and Vi can get her gauntlets back.

Sooo... Hextech weapons are fine again, gotcha. I guess we don't need to see him come to the realization that he has to weaponize Hextech AGAIN after seemingly leaving it behind in that hole because it's the third. fucking. time. he's been through that same beat.

(Oh wait no actually Hextech is bad we gotta kill ourselves)

And he believed or pretended to believe Viktor was already dead... "My partner died in this room" after Viktor from the future was very much alive and HAD JUST confessed his undying, reality bending love for him?? Kay.

What on earth did future Viktor talk to him about that made Jayce do anything he did? Because what we got was nowhere near enough to justify any of it.

Anyway, it was such a great plot twist to reveal mage Viktor at the very end, so we didn't get a chance to understand a single fucking thing Jayce did for most of his screentime :)))

Like... Even if you don't like the direction they took the other main characters, at least they got to BE characters with some agency and an internal world... not whatever they did to this poor, poor man.

#arcane critical #jayce talis #viktor arcane #arcane season 2 #mine #like i dunno how people could logically follow any of this #i have to assume they just havent taken the time to think about it yet?#just so so bad #he didnt get to be a character at all he just got to move the plot what the hell

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helen-lucilfer · 3 days ago

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dual ambivalence. - r. braun

do you love him or hate him? does he love you or hate you? well, neither of you know.

- not proofread -

———

the pressure of your entire body weight on one knee in front of Queen Historia is one that you have adapted to within the last 8 minutes. and yet, the pressure on your shoulders and the pressure of Reiner’s voice ringing in your ears is still something you haven’t—no, you can’t adapt to.

Historia’s graceful speech is like rambling in your ears, the temptation to clutch at your throbbing heart as tight as you can unbearable. if not to clutch, then why is your hand above your heart in the first place? especially not when your heart has been feeling like exploding for the past 2 weeks.

was it all really just casual? was it all nothing to him? was it all really just pretend to him? were the late night talks, the hand holdings, the eyes that softened when they looked at me, the “i’ll marry you one day, i swear it”, the “i’d protect you with my life” just casual?

maybe it was.

“hey, kid, hey.” Levi’s hushed voice brings you out of your trance. “it’s your turn.” oh, shit. Historia, Armin, Mikasa, and Hange look at you with concerned faces, Eren just furrows his eyebrows and looks at you sadly. the room is dead silent, you notice. and yet, unlike usual, your face doesn’t flush and you don’t stammer out a hesitant apology. you only stand up with a hunched back and walk to Historia before kneeling down on one knee once again, waiting to receive your badge of honor.

you can tell that Historia wants to console you, just not in a room full of officials and military police members. everyone wanted to console you, actually. everyone knew about how close you and Reiner were, how in love you were with him, how “in love” he seemed to be with you too. even Levi knew—he’ll, even Zachary knew.

maybe that’s why no one’s smiled at you ever since the battle of Shinganshina.

Reiner. are you just another kid who’s really just confused? are you also someone who really just doesn’t know what he’s doing? because if that’s the case, please, just come back to me. i hate it, but i’ve forgiven you already. i’m sure that everyone else will eventually forgive you too. please, just…

come back to me.

but you shook those thoughts out of your head just as quickly as they came.

———

the silence was a bit too much for Reiner to handle.

he looked around at his family members, Gabi and his mother looking especially interested in what he was about to say. about those island devils, that is. what was he supposed to say? something bad, well of course. but what things were particularly bad about them?

“all of them were cruel and barbarous,” he began. “like the time during our introduction ceremony. when the instructor had questioned why she had stolen the potato, she said it was because it looked tasty. maybe it was then when she realized that she was in a bad spot, and yet she proceeded to break off a small portion of the potato and consider it as ‘half.’

“they were all hopeless. an idiot who went to the bathroom and forgot what he went there for. an irresponsible jerk who only thought about himself. a way too responsible jerk who only thought about others. someone who only thought about revenge and the two who followed him mindlessly.” Reiner didn’t realize that he was beginning to slow down as he rambled as his mind drifted to a thought—a person.

you.

“and someone who…believed that anyone who she loved would never betray her, who idiotically believed that anyone who told her ‘i love you’ meant it wholeheartedly even when it didn’t. she believed completely that i loved her even though i didn’t. they were all hopeless, especially the girl i mentioned last.” Reiner explained, his eyes drifting downwards before eventually closing. no, no. you weren’t hopeless. if anything, he was the hopeless one. lying through his teeth that he didn’t love you even though he might as well worship you.

he loves you, he really does. and he’s sorry. sorry that it had to come down to this.

———

Reiner isn’t one to be easily speechless.

there were occasional moments when someone said something so stupid that Reiner didn’t even know what to say anymore, but right now wasn’t one of them. in front of him was Gabi, Falco, Armin, Mikasa, Connie, Annie, and…

there you were.

all in your beautiful glory. you cut your hair, Reiner noticed. they were now barely past your chin—not tho at he cared, of course. you were still breathtaking either way. you weren’t looking at him either—you were turned to the side. Reiner could only see your side profile, although much of your hair hid your face. Reiner could see how your fists were clenched much too tightly to the point where it trembled.

“Connie, w-what—what are we doing-?”

“to save the world.”

Connie’s one liner almost drew out a laugh from you, but you kept composure. no, no, nope, you weren’t going to show even a hint of positive emotion in front of Reiner. you saw Annie side eyeing you with a “seriously?” look, which you tried your best to ignore.

Reiner’s stare felt like bricks on your shoulders, and you felt the temptation to clutch your heart again, something that you’ve been doing for the past few years anytime you felt heartbreak from Reiner. you always felt better afterwards; but you weren’t a kid anymore—you were 20 now, for fuck’s sake. you had to face it.

———

was it casual?

well, now you can confidently answer your 16 year old self with your current 23 year old self that no, it wasn’t casual. having his head on your shoulder and both of your daughters laying in your laps wasn’t causal in the least. the golden bands adorned with encrusted diamonds on your left ring fingers wasn’t casual. sleeping in the same bed every night with his hands on your baby bump wasn’t casual. being married to each other wasn’t casual.

you still weren’t used to it, life in Marley and all. what do you mean eating such luxurious food daily like seafood and ice cream was normal? what do you mean receiving unnecessary kindness and gifts just because you were pregnant is normal? the perplexed look on your face when you were first receiving a gift while pregnant with your first daughter, Riley, was priceless. Reiner couldn’t help but laugh at just how confused you looked when the kind young lady who ran the bakery gave you some extra bread, saying to take care of your body more.

“what’s wrong?” your husband’s voice brings you out of your trance. Reiner looks up at you with soft golden eyes. both of your daughters were snoring softly on your lap, mumbling incoherent things here and there. “im surprised you’re not asleep. usually when you’re pregnant, the one who’s always sleeping.”

“nothing, just…thinking.” you mutter. “don’t worry too much about it. plus, i should be asking you. usually you snore a lot, but you haven’t let out a sound when you slept earlier. what’s that about? too scared to wake up Riley and Remy?” Reiner’s lips press into a thin line, but you know he’s playing. “alright, alright. just thinking about my venomous thoughts about you back when we were still teenagers.”

Reiner huffed and rolled his eyes. “well, at least you don’t have them anymore, love.” at your lack of response, Reiner gasped. “what? you still have rude thoughts about me even in this day and age? we literally have two daughters and another child in your stomach right now!”

“okay, okay, im just playing with you.” you replied. “i don’t, alright?” you pinched his cheek. “now go back to sleep, you idiot.”

———

FIN.

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glitter-stained · 3 days ago

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A bit from the BtFC fic. Jason at the start of his spiralling.

...................................

“Bat’s been gone, they’re saying.”

“He ain’t really gone man. That thing can’t die.”

“Oh yeah? The birds die, don’t they? Why not the big bad bat?”

“’Cause a bird isn’t a bat, that’s why, you-“

“What did ya just call me-“

“They’re gonna rush in, I’m tellin’ you, all the loonies and whatever the hell those things are-“

He tries to lose himself in the chatter. Drown himself in it. He came here for that. The drink he ordered an hour ago still sits untouched. That won’t be enough to drown in. It is the voices that he needs. The arguments, the shouts, the simple, unfiltered, ugly noise of one of the worst dives of the city.

The voices are rough, angry, feeding into whatever fire is clawing at his skin. But they are still better than the other voice, the one that won’t go away. Why can’t he shut up? He ought to be quiet. The dead ought to be quiet.

“…secret…” “…needs repair…” “…a good doctor…”

“Secret” Jason echoes the word once again, his voice a ragged whisper. “Secret. It was our secret.”

And then Bruce put that into words. The secret they were meant to bury in silence. He promised. Bruce promised. You should keep your promises. She never did. They never do.

He shouldn’t have spoken. Bruce shouldn’t have put it into words. To name them gives them power. Bruce didn’t name it…but he spoke out loud.

And what more did he say, in the other messages? The messages meant for his true sons? His heir?

He didn’t keep his promise. He never keeps his promises. Dammit, you should know that by now. Promises are made to be broken.

Jason feels eyes on him and glances up. Whatever the spectator sees in his face has the old fool hurriedly getting to his feet and making for the door. He feels moisture on his face and realizes at some point he started crying.

Okay, "character is entering a mental illness episode, their facial expression (which they aren't aware of) frightens someone and they realize they're crying" is now officially one of my favourite trope (is it a trope? Can I call it a trope? Can we make it a trope? The confrontation between the external rejection and intimate suffering is brutal I love it)

(Also not linked to psychology itself but "the dead ought to be quiet" followed by Jason whispering, and the contrast between Jason whispering and the loud voices in and out of his head at the start of the spiral is pretty great. Ghostboy McHauntingThemes in the flesh.)

The cultural myth about Batman feeding into Jason's turmoil, putting Batman as some kind of creature incapable of dying, talk about a pedestal...

Jason's fixating on the trauma but incapable of naming it even to himself, furious at Bruce for doing so. The "it was our secret" part that really gives the ick because that kind of "keep it in the family" sentiment is so common in toxic/abusive systems

The breach of trust from "he wasn't supposed to mention it out loud" to "what if he said something else to the others" + "promises are never kept" -> anxiety spiral + hints of black and white thinking. He should have kept a secret (Bruce)/She never did (Catherine)/They never do (Sheila? Willis?) The emphasis on the repeated broken promises and abandonment, like he's identifying a clear pattern of broken, betrayed trust and he's the common denominator: "you should know that by now."

Also Jason drinking alone and someone running from him and the subtle mention of his estrangement (qualifying the others as the real sons) all emphasizing how truly alone he is.

I'm eating this up, anon. This is the good stuff, for real

#ask #dc #fic #bftc #dc comics #jason todd #red hood #batman #battle for the cowl #jason todd fic #jason todd fanfic #batfamily fanfiction #snippet from anon

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starscream-is-my-wife · 21 hours ago

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In your nature documentary AU, just how wildly would Soundwave make the humans speculate on what is going On there? Depending on which cassette is seen first, several misunderstandings could arise.

Laserbeak gets seen first and it’s assumed that him and Soundwave are symbiotic because the bird can nest in that chest compartment and probably provides something they need to study further to find. Sure, but is that a CAT? Was it waiting to lure the bird? No, they seem to be getting along! Are those- are those straight up children? Between these two and Lil’ Yellow, are THEIR babies also smaller? Also if those two are being carried because they’re the big guy’s kids, then what’s the deal with the bird and cat?

But if they see the twins first then the animals and all of them “hunting” together, there’s the question of how animalistic the species is.

Haha I love those ideas! I'd like to think that Soundwave would probably be forced to be more diplomatic because of how much he and his cassettes are outnumbered with no backup, so while the cassettes won't harm the humans, Ravage and Laserbeak seem to be more competent at hiding themselves and following soundwaves orders of keeping peace then Frenzy and Rumble, who can't help themselves from messing with humans and getting caught first

Personally how I would have them appear is that strange fissures have been spotted in the forests even though these weren't the signs of a normal earthquake, the mystery was solved when Rumble got careless and was rumbling too close to the roads and the two of them got spotted.

They were so much smaller then Bee and must be younger so they didn't want to hurt them, alot were thinking 'damn these kids are causing alot of damage but they are kids' and 'if these kids also have giant robot parents who found out we hurt them we are dead'

Humans set a trap for them using energon borrowed from the 'good' bots and the twins got caught in a drop down cage, when the humans returned with Ratchet to show him, Laserbeak and Ravage had activated the back up traps trying to free them. Not only were there kids there were pets too?? This is when they hear footsteps and Soundwave appears from the forests. The humans take note on how Ratchet is very obviously on edge and putting himself in between them and the other robo family (?) when Soundwave recalls all of the cassettes into his chest. They transform through the bars and fly into his chest??

Z: 'They transform into cassettes??? I thought they can only transform into vehicles'

P: 'That means that the big one must be something that can play them... how strange, maybe its a different species that comes from the same family as our bots'

Ratchet talks to the other Robot the humans can only hear his Siren tuned rant about keeping his cassettes under control, the other bot speaks, it's the popular hit song barbie girl.

To Ratchet, Soundwave says that he will keep an closer eye on them and that they should work together to get off this planet. Ratchet says that they can talk about it later, Soundwave nods and walks off. The humans are like ??? Are you guys both moms???

Soundwave does have a more boxy figure then Ratchet but he's around the same size if not a little taller (Their only reference to a "male" is Orion who is just larger then average) so now they're theorizing if this new species reproduces asexually or doesn't have a family structure, the resemblance the twin cassettes have is way more noticeable then Bee and Angel, also the animals.. are they children? If they can transform into not just vehicles can they transform into other things? What if that tree is a robot? A small group of people are now paranoid of any technology. The main two humans want to see if the animals have a human form too and just choose to be animals. Are they pets? Are they also intelligent? How old are they? Can they speak? Is the dad an animal bot? Are they just a part of the bigger bot he's controlling wirelessly?? Is Bluebie (Blue Barbie) even female??

Soundwave does bring a wave of uncertainty about the all of bots to some the humans... like yeah they could be animalistic and dangerous! Where's the line! And if those things can cause THAT much damage to the town when they're that young, how much damage can a robot like Truck King do? Is their backup plan of using another truck to defeat him not enough? (It definitely isn't even the main two know that before but now the rest of the town does)

#oh his human dubbed name can also be botbie #this isnt canon but now you got me thinking about the decepticons in the same situation #probably extinction to the human race #just another planet to genocide to starscream and megatron if the autobots weren't here #robot nature documentary au #soundwave #asks #i dont know if they would even know each other lol #that can be up to you hehe

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nomoreusername · 2 days ago

Text

A Perfect Pair

Pairing:Minho x female reader

Summary:Even though all he wants is you, Minho realizes how much trust rumors can hold.

“You two have so much in common.”

It was a phrase you heard far too often. It was one you rolled your eyes at every time too. You and Minho? Seriously?

His arms crossed over his chest, a flash of jealousy shining in them before just vanishing, being replaced with a deep sadness. Because he already knew what came next.

“It’s not like that,”You insisted, staring at the ground to hide your smile.

A/K was your perfect match. You both worked the same job, seemed to like most of the same things, had the same beliefs, the same humor, the same everything. You two were like puzzle pieces that were made to be.

Minho wanted to scream. He wanted to point out that it puzzle pieces are the same shape they have no chance of fitting. He wouldn't to tell everyone it wasn't fair.

He didn't. He sat there, staring down at his drink. Needing it, he chugged the rest of it down, a sour expression on his face.

“Oh come on. You’d be so cute together. Right, Minho?”

Minho was sure the universe wanted him dead. While he knew the reason was that he was closest, it seemed like taunting. Surely it was a cruel, cruel joke.

“Yeah. They’d go alright together,”He shrugged. Your face flushed as you met A/K’s. He was biting his lip to hold back his smile too, both your eyes gaining this glint that twisted his stomach in knots.

Thomas and Newt exchanged a worried glance before looking at Minho. His face was neutral, no sign of his heart breaking in his chest.

“You two will be together one day for sure. The perfect boyfriend and girlfriend.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m heading to bed,”You siged, rolling your eyes and standing up, brushing off your pants.

“Oh come on. It's early,”Fry complained.

“Yeah. And I already want away from you shanks,”You said simply, walking off.

Minho stood, calmly making his way to his hammock. He glared at the ground as though it spit on him. Something it was so hard not to do the more he heard those words.

Thomas and Newt also left without a word, their concern only growing. Jogging over, they caught up with him not too far away.

“Minho, wait a second,”Thomas called, placing a hand on his chest as he caught up. Minho resisted the urge to shout at them to leave them alone as he sharply asked what they needed, clearly just wanting to get to the point.

“It's just we've been thinking, and it doesn't have to make sense, right?”

“What are you talking about?”He asked, sure they were the ones speaking gibberish.

“Y/N smiles when someone teases her, but that doesn't mean it's true. People smile all the time when they're embarrassed,”Newt pointed out.

A hint of skeptical shown, his interest clearly peaked.

“They're not together. So what if it's that?”Thomas continued.

A trickle is disappoint when through him, along with fear.

“What if that doesn't mean anything?”He whispered.

“What if it means everything? What if you confess and she feels it too?”Newt pushed.

“You really think she could?”

“Only one way to find out. Right?”

Minho didn't say a word as he left the other direction this time. At each step he found a nervous grin crossing his lips as he thought about the possibilities. You could feel the same. You two could be something. You two could be great together.

You two could be the perfect match.

Almost running now, he found himself in front of your hut. Too eager at the thought of his dreams coming true, he didn't think as he swung the door open, ready to proclaim his love.

He was met with a sight that made him sick to his stomach. One that he would never recover from.

You were in A/K’s lap as he sat on your bed, both your lips pressed firmly together. His hands were around your waist, traveling under your shirt, as you kissed with an undeniable passion. You had your arms wrapped around his shoulders, keeping him close.

Of course you and A/K were cute together. Of course you fit so well.

You already are.

You both pulled apart, your faces flushing in embarrassment as he stood there, paling under the moonlight.

“Please don't tell anyone?”

“I’m-I’m sorry.”

His voice cracked as he shut the door. Refusing to let his tears spill, he did his best to swallow the lump in his throat as he wished to just disappear.

He’s so stupid. He’s such an idiot for ever thinking he had a chance.

He never wanted to see you again. The chances of breaking were too likely.

Yet he would see you and A/K tomorrow, whether he liked it or not.

#tmr minho x reader #minho x y/n #minho x reader #minho x you #the maze runner #tmr #one shot #pure angst #unrequited love #hurt/no comfort

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lilmisshellfireswritingblog · 23 hours ago

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The Prophecy Chapter 2: Even Statues Crumble

Summary: Aurelia prepares for her wedding to Lucius Verus and marries him to save her own life.

A/N: Thank you for reading this little idea of mine. It literally came to me as I was listening to The Prophecy in the car on the way to work. If you have any requests as to like blurbs or one shots that happen within this universe, please let me know. I also don't do tag lists but, I appreciate the support! Warnings: 18+, arranged marriage, forced marriage, talks of death, second guessing, weddings, Geta being an a-hole, use of flashbacks, talking about wanting to die, emotions., and as always, let me know if I missed any.

Flashbacks are labeled as such.

Separator banner credit to: sweetmelodygraphics.

Aurelia’s gaze flitted to the reflection of the gown on the bed, her heart sinking. The fabric seemed to mock her. Every thread, every seam, a reminder of the future she never wanted. She felt suffocated by her obligations—by the weight of what was expected of her. Her father, her mother, the Senate, the people—they had all decided for her. They had all played their parts in crafting her destiny, and now she was nothing more than a pawn in a game of politics.

The door opened behind her with a soft creak, but she didn’t turn. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this—not tonight. Not before the wedding.

Her servant, Flavia, stepped in cautiously, her voice gentle as she spoke. "Your Highness, everything is prepared. The gown... the feast… everything is ready for tomorrow.."

Aurelia stood still for a long moment, her hands gripping the windowsill. The breeze from the open window fluttered her hair around her face, but she didn’t feel the coolness of it. She barely felt anything at all. She was numb.

“Aurelia?” Flavia’s voice was concerned now, soft but insistent.

Aurelia slowly turned toward her, her face unreadable, her eyes tired but defiant. “You were right to be excited for me,” she said bitterly, her words sharper than she intended. "But I’m not." She felt the sting of tears rising in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She would not cry in front of anyone—not now.

Flavia hesitated, her brow furrowing with worry. “You don’t have to go through with this. You know that, right? You can—”

“No,” Aurelia interrupted sharply, stepping away from the window, her voice suddenly hoarse. “I have no choice. I am to be the Emperor’s wife, whether I want to be or not. It’s this or die.”

Her words cut through the air, thick with the weight of resignation. She hated them. She hated the fact that her life was no longer hers to control. She had no say in who she married, no say in what her future would be. Her marriage to Geta had been forced upon her, too, but at least she had known him, had grown accustomed to his cruelty. This marriage—this union with Lucius Verus—felt like a strange cruelty of its own.

Flavia opened her mouth to protest again, but Aurelia cut her off with a soft, bitter laugh.

“You don’t understand, Flavia,” she whispered, her hands trembling at her sides. “Geta and Caracalla are dead. The empire is in the hands of men who would never think twice about tearing me apart. I am a puppet. A trophy wife. Tomorrow, I’ll stand before the Senate, and they’ll pretend to care, while they all gawk at the new Empress. And Lucius…” She paused, her voice thick with disdain, “He doesn’t want me. He’s just another part of the game. Another ruler who’ll sit beside me in the throne room and we’ll both pretend to love each other.”

Flavia moved closer, placing a gentle hand on Aurelia’s arm. “He’s not like the others, Aurelia. Lucius—he’s different. He was a gladiator. He knows what it means to fight, to survive. He’s not like the men who’ve ruled before.”

Aurelia’s lips trembled at the words. She wanted to believe her. She wanted to believe that Lucius, this gladiator-turned-emperor, was different. That maybe, through some strange twist of fate, he might understand her pain. But the truth was more complicated than that.

She stepped away from Flavia’s touch, pacing slowly toward the edge of the room. Her fingers lightly brushed against the fabric of the wedding gown once more, the weight of it pulling her down. "I don’t want to marry him,” she said quietly, more to herself than anyone else. “I don’t want this life. I don’t want any of it."

The words hung in the air, thick with the despair she had not allowed herself to feel until now. There was a part of her, a small, fragile part, that wanted to scream at the heavens. Why me? Why is it always me who has to bear the weight of the empire’s cruelty?

Flavia, sensing the depth of her distress, approached her once more, her voice softer this time, filled with empathy. "You don’t have to marry him if you don’t want to. You are strong, Aurelia. You can walk away from this. There are other ways."

Aurelia looked at her, her eyes clouded with pain. “What other ways, Flavia? Do you think the Senate would let me walk away? Do you think I could just... disappear?” Her voice cracked, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, her composure shattered. "I am nothing but a political pawn in their game. If I don't marry Lucius, I’ll be executed. They’ll kill me and then they’ll put someone else on the throne."

Flavia’s heart broke at the words, but she stood still, not knowing how to comfort her. There was no escape, not really. Not for Aurelia. Not for the woman who had already lost everything.

“I have nothing,” Aurelia whispered, her voice hollow. “Nothing left. Nothing to give. Nothing to hope for. This marriage... this wedding... it’s all a lie.”

Tears filled Aurelia’s eyes, but she quickly wiped them away, turning away from Flavia. “I wish I could die before tomorrow. Just to be free of all of this.”

Flavia’s breath hitched, panic rising in her chest. She grabbed Aurelia by the shoulders, turning her to face her. “Don’t say that, Aurelia. Don’t even think it! You’re strong. You have so much to live for.”

Aurelia pulled away gently, her voice strained and broken. “What do I have to live for? This empire? This crown?” She gestured helplessly to the room, to the gown she would wear tomorrow, to the life that awaited her. “I never asked for any of this. I didn’t want this.”

She sank into a chair, her head buried in her hands as she trembled. Flavia stood helplessly nearby, watching the woman she had served for so long unravel before her eyes.

And for a moment, the silence between them was unbearable, filled only with the weight of unspoken sorrow.

Aurelia’s thoughts were a whirl of darkness and pain but in the quiet, with the wedding gown looming in the distance, she knew—deep down—that she had to keep moving forward, whether she wanted to or not.

It was marriage or death.

For tomorrow, whether she accepted it or not, she would marry Lucius Verus and she would be Empress once more.

Flashback ~ Before Her Marriage to Geta

The night before her wedding to Emperor Geta, Aurelia lay in her bed, the cool sheets tangled around her legs, but it was the storm in her mind that kept her awake. She stared up at the high, vaulted ceiling, the shadows of the room stretching long and dark, as if the very walls were closing in on her.

She had barely eaten at dinner. She had hardly spoken. The weight of the marriage, of the future that awaited her, hung like a shroud. Tomorrow, she would walk down the aisle in a gown of white and gold, and before the Senate and the people of Rome, she would become Empress Aurelia, the wife of a man she barely knew, a man she had been told to marry to secure her family's place in the empire.

But Aurelia did not want this. Not this life. Not with him. She never wanted the titles or the riches.

A thousand thoughts raced through her mind, but one was clear: she could not go through with it. She would not. If there was any way to escape, to avoid this fate, she would find it. She had to.

She slipped out of bed, her bare feet cold against the marble floor. She had worn the finest silken gown, but now she felt it like a weight—a symbol of the chains that bound her to this life she had not chosen. Moving quickly, she crept to the door, her heart hammering in her chest. The guards would be outside, she knew. They always were. But what if she could slip past them? What if she could leave the palace unnoticed?

Aurelia moved silently through the darkened corridors, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she pressed herself into the shadows, listening carefully for any signs of movement. The stone walls of the palace seemed oppressive in their silence, like the very architecture was conspiring against her.

She reached the door that led to the garden, the place where she used to play as a child, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like a distant memory. The scent of roses filled the air, the sound of the night insects buzzing faintly in the distance. She stepped outside, the cool night air hitting her skin, and felt a fleeting sense of freedom.

But just as she began to move toward the edge of the gardens, a voice sliced through the silence.

“Aurelia.”

Her heart leapt into her throat. She froze. Slowly, she turned to find Marcus Cassius, her father, standing in the shadows, his face unreadable but stern. He had been watching her. Of course he had. The guards would never have let her slip by without reporting it.

“You should be in bed,” he said, his voice soft but firm, like the press of a blade against her throat.

“I—” Aurelia began, but her words faltered. She had no excuse. No lie would work.

She was tired of lying.

“I can’t do this, Father,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I can’t marry him. I can’t marry Geta.”

Marcus took a slow step forward, his face illuminated by the moonlight, and Aurelia saw the flicker of something in his eyes—concern, perhaps, or disappointment. It was hard to tell. His features were always so controlled.

“I know this isn’t what you want,” he said, his tone gentle, but there was an undercurrent of something darker, something unyielding. “But it is what you must do.”

Aurelia’s chest tightened, her breath coming faster as the weight of his words crushed her. “I don’t care about what I must do!” she snapped, her voice rising. “I care about what I want, what I need. And I need to be free. Free from this. I don’t belong with Geta. I don’t love him. How can you ask me to marry a man I barely know, someone I’ve heard only whispers of? How can you force me into this life?”

Her father’s eyes softened, but the hardness in his face never wavered. “It’s not about love, Aurelia,” he said, his voice almost too calm. “This is about Rome. This is about securing the future of our family. Your marriage to Geta will ensure that we remain in power, that our name remains in the annals of history. You were born to be a part of this.”

Aurelia stepped back, shaking her head in disbelief. “I never asked for this. You’ve always made choices for me, Father, but I’m not a child anymore. I’m not some pawn for you to place in a marriage bed just to secure alliances. I want my own life. I want to choose my own path.”

Marcus’s gaze hardened, his jaw tightening. “You’ve never had a choice, Aurelia. You’ve always known that. The empire does not offer choice to women like you. You are a Cassia, and that means you have a duty. Do you think your mother didn’t know this when she married me? Do you think she didn’t understand that duty? That she didn’t make sacrifices for it?”

Aurelia recoiled, her breath catching in her throat. She had never heard her father speak of her mother with such coldness. It was as if the warmth of her mother’s memory—of her kindness and devotion—was gone, swept away by the weight of duty and power.

“I don’t want to be like her,” Aurelia said, her voice barely above a whisper, her hands trembling at her sides. “I don’t want to give up everything for the empire. I don’t want to be controlled.”

Her father’s expression faltered, just for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. “You have no choice. Neither does Geta. The Senate has already approved this marriage. The people will expect it. If you do not comply, there will be consequences for us both.”

Aurelia’s world felt like it was collapsing around her. The walls of the palace, the stone and marble, seemed to close in on her, suffocating her. “I don’t care about their consequences!” she cried, her voice breaking, but even as she said it, she knew she was lying. She cared about the consequences—she cared deeply. A refusal would mean disgrace, dishonor, and ruin for her family. And for herself.

“You must go through with it,” Marcus said quietly, his voice final. “You will meet Geta tomorrow. You will marry him. And you will do it for Rome. For us. For your future.”

Aurelia’s knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the stone bench in the garden, her hands pressing against her face. The tears she had been holding back for so long finally spilled over, and for the first time in years, she felt utterly, completely powerless.

Her father’s gaze lingered on her, but there was no sympathy in it. Only the cold, unyielding expectation of a Roman nobleman.

“You will learn to accept it,” he said quietly, before turning and walking back toward the palace.

Aurelia was left alone, the sound of his footsteps fading as the weight of her reality set in. She could run. She could scream. But she knew, deep down, that there was no escape. Not for her. Not from the life her father had chosen for her.

Aurelia stood in front of the full-length mirror, her reflection hazy in the soft light of the candle-lit chamber. Her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted the silk robe that clung to her skin. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of fabric and the occasional clink of jewelry being prepared by her attendants. The noise from outside—laughter, music, the murmur of the Senate gathering for the ceremony—seemed distant, almost foreign to her in this moment of solitude.

Her wedding day. It should have been a day of joy, of hope for a future that could be built in the light of love and partnership. But for her, it felt like the closing of a door she had never intended to open.

The door to the chamber opened slowly, and one of her handmaidens entered, holding the delicate wedding gown in her arms. Aurelia’s eyes flickered toward it for a moment before returning to her own reflection. The gown was a brilliant red, trimmed with gold thread, the fabric soft and weightless like a dream. The delicate embroidery along the hem and neckline sparkled faintly in the light—symbols of Rome's glory, of the empire's future that was now her responsibility, and her burden.

"Aurelia?" The handmaid's voice was gentle, tentative, as if unsure whether to interrupt her mistress's thoughts.

Aurelia turned, giving her a tight, thin-lipped smile. "Yes, Flavia?"

"The gown is ready to don, Empress. Shall I help you?" The woman’s gaze was respectful, but there was something else there too—a flicker of sympathy that Aurelia couldn’t bear to acknowledge.

Aurelia swallowed the lump in her throat. She didn’t want sympathy. She didn’t want pity. She wanted to scream, to break something, to tear off this crown of thorns that Rome had placed on her head. But she did none of that. She simply nodded.

"Yes," she said softly, turning her back to the mirror so Antonia could help her slip out of the robe and into the wedding gown.

The cold air of the room pricked at her skin as she stood there, exposed, while her handmaiden adjusted the dress. The fabric felt like it was suffocating her, the layers of fine silk pressing against her ribs, wrapping around her like a prison. Every movement she made seemed to tighten the knot in her chest, that feeling of being trapped.

“Do you want to wear your crown?” Antonia asked quietly as she fastened the gown with a delicate clasp at the back.

Aurelia’s eyes closed for a moment, the thought of the crown heavy in her mind. It was an ancient piece, crafted with intricate gold filigree and precious stones, a symbol of imperial power. It had once been worn by the great empresses of Rome, and now it would sit atop her head—whether she liked it or not.

But no. Not today.

“Not yet,” Aurelia replied with a sigh, her voice flat. She didn’t need the crown to feel the weight of this marriage. The crown would only serve as a reminder of the chains that now bound her to Lucius.

The handmaiden gave a small nod and moved to prepare the rest of the ensemble. Aurelia looked back at her reflection, her eyes scanning her face, her chestnut brown hair, now expertly arranged in a complicated updo, twisted with strands of gold. The gold accents in her gown glinted, catching the light like cruel promises.

Her heart thudded in her chest. It was not fear that made her body tense, nor anxiety over the marriage itself. It was the overwhelming weight of her own complicity. She was walking into this union with her eyes wide open. She knew what this would mean for her. For her future. For her identity.

"I should be happy," she murmured to herself. "I should be proud."

But she wasn’t.

She wasn’t anything but resigned.

She had spent her life surrounded by men who used their power for their own gain—first Geta, then Father, and now Lucius. Each had taken something from her. Her love. Her trust. Her belief in what a marriage could be. Now, this marriage would be no different. Lucius was no Geta, certainly, but the coldness that resided between them was something that neither of them could escape. He may have been the son of Lucilla, the true heir to the throne, but she knew him only as a gladiator—someone who had fought his way to power, someone who had been shaped by violence and bloodshed.

The door creaked again, and another handmaiden entered, this one carrying the veil that would cover her face. Aurelia stood still as it was gently placed over her head. She let the fabric fall into place, the lace soft against her skin. It was beautiful, but suffocating.

“You look stunning, Empress,” Antonia whispered, as if her words would somehow erase the tension in the room.

Aurelia didn’t respond immediately. She couldn’t bring herself to speak, to pretend for even a moment that this day was anything other than the beginning of something that she had not chosen.

The heavy silence settled between them, the air thick with the weight of her decision. The marriage would proceed. The ceremony would go on. She would stand by Lucius’s side. She would wear the crown, and she would endure.

In a fleeting moment, as the last of the attendants left the room to give her space, Aurelia allowed herself one last thought: Perhaps, somewhere in the depths of her heart, she still longed for a different life. A life where she was not bound by duty, not made to be the symbol of an empire, not forced into a marriage for the sake of political alliances.

But as the clock ticked, the reality of her situation gripped her again, cold and unyielding.

This was not her choice. Not really.

She was an empress and empresses did not have the luxury of choice.

Aurelia stepped toward the door, the faint sound of the wedding procession echoing in the halls of the palace. She walked down the corridors, her heels clicking softly against the marble floors, her breath steady. Her hands, now trembling once more, gripped the edges of her gown. She could feel her heart race. But she kept her face neutral, resolute.

The doors to the grand hall opened, and before her, in the vastness of the room, stood Lucius—waiting for her. The air buzzed with anticipation.

And she, Aurelia, stood at the threshold, ready to step into her new life.

The price of power. The price of survival.

And, most of all, the price of being an empress.

The grand hall of the imperial palace was bathed in golden light, its columns adorned with rich purple tapestries and intricate carvings that had witnessed countless ceremonies of wealth and power. But today, this sacred space seemed to pulse with an air of something darker—something forged by the sword, blood, and vengeance.

Aurelia Carina Cassia stood near the altar, her breath shallow and her body stiff with anger, her eyes dark and haunted as she gazed out over the sea of guests. Senators, generals, and various figures of power from across the Empire filled the space, their murmurs low and expectant. It was meant to be a celebration of Rome’s new era, but for her, it felt like a bitter mockery.

Her heart still ached for Geta, her late husband. Cruel though he had been, she had found a way to love him—a love that had never been returned but existed all the same. Now, the man who had taken his place as Emperor, Lucius Verus, stood in front of her.

Lucius Verus. He was unlike anything she had imagined. A gladiator. A slave. And yet, he bore the blood of the true Imperial line. He was her captor and her future husband, thrust into this role by the whims of power. He had murdered Macrinus, the usurper who had orchestrated the deaths of her first husband and his brother Caracalla, but in his victory, there was no joy—only a quiet fury that matched her own.

He stood tall and commanding, his piercing blue eyes scanning her face with an intensity that unsettled her. He was dressed in the traditional garb of an emperor, but his bearing—the broad shoulders, the ruggedness, the battle-worn look—betrayed his humble origins. He had spent most of his time in Rome now in the blood-soaked sands, fighting for survival, earning his freedom through the same violence that had stolen his childhood.

He was, in a sense, a mirror to her own loss. She, too, had been forced to survive in a world she could never control.

And now they were to be joined in marriage, a union that was born not of love, but of survival.

The officiant, a high-ranking priestess, gestured for them to stand at the center of the room, her voice smooth and practiced as she spoke the traditional words of union. Her gaze flickered between the two, noting the tension in their posture, the unwillingness that clung to them like a dark cloud.

Aurelia’s hands trembled as she reached out to take the hand of her new husband. His palm was rough and calloused, the grip firm but not comforting. She could feel the history of his life in his touch—years of hardship, bloodshed, and struggle. His thumb brushed against the back of her hand in a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture, but it was enough to remind her that despite all that had happened, they were bound by something now. A shared future of power, of control, and of the very Empire that had destroyed their lives.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she nodded, the ceremony continuing in its formalities, yet her mind was far from the words being spoken. She thought of the fateful choice she had been given: marry Lucius Verus or face execution. It was a choice she had made out of necessity, but every fiber of her being screamed in defiance. She had loved Geta, and in that love, she had found a strange semblance of purpose, even if it had been a hollow one. Now, that love had been torn from her, and she was left with a man she neither knew nor cared to know.

Lucius, for his part, said nothing. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of something that mirrored her own anger. Perhaps it was the knowledge that neither of them had been given the luxury of choice, that their fates had been decided by forces greater than themselves.

The priestess continued with the vows, each word falling like the sound of a hammer on stone. As Lucius Verus spoke his vows, his voice was steady, though there was a quiet intensity beneath it, as if he were speaking not just to Aurelia but to the Empire itself, declaring his authority, his claim to this throne. He had killed Macrinus for the very right to stand where he was now. And she was his symbol of legitimacy, the last link to the imperial bloodline of the old regime.

Her turn came, and for a moment, she hesitated. The weight of what this marriage meant pressed down on her, the reality of her new life settling in. There was no love to offer him. No affection. Just the remnants of a broken loyalty to a man who had never truly loved her.

“I vow,” she said, her voice cold, “to stand by your side, as is my duty. I vow to give you the Empire that you now rule, for what it is worth. But know this, Lucius Verus—there will be no affection, no love between us. Only power. Only ambition.”

For a heartbeat, there was silence. The room held its breath.

Lucius’s blue eyes bored into hers, and for a long moment, she thought he might challenge her words, perhaps even reject her defiance. Instead, he simply nodded, as if he had already anticipated it.

“We will rule together,” he said, his voice steady and unwavering. “There is no room for weakness in Rome.”

And with that, the ceremony was complete.

As they turned to face the assembled guests, the crowd erupted into applause, their faces masks of politeness, their hands clapping with enthusiasm. The new emperor and his empress stood together, united in a marriage that neither had chosen but both were bound by. Aurelia could feel the coldness of her own heart as she stood there beside him, the weight of the imperial crown now heavy on her brow.

Her life, her future, was now irrevocably linked to this man, this gladiator-turned-emperor, whose blue eyes hid more secrets than she would ever be able to unravel. But as they walked down the aisle, side by side, she knew one thing for certain: in the world of power, there could be no true love. Only survival. Only Empire. Only Rome. Only duty.

Flashback ~ The Wedding To Geta

The sun was setting over Rome, casting a soft golden glow over the city that stretched out below the Palatine Hill. Aurelia stood before a tall mirror, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the folds of her wedding dress—a gown of delicate silk and rich embroidery that shimmered in the fading light. The dress, fit for an empress, was crafted from the finest materials, but it felt heavy against her skin. Every stitch, every detail, reminded her of the weight of the day, of the promise she was about to make, and the life she was about to step into.

Her reflection stared back at her, but she barely recognized the woman in the mirror. Gone was the spirited young woman she had been before her marriage was arranged. Gone was the girl who had dreamed of love and adventure. In her place stood a woman bound by duty—her fate sealed by the politics of empire, her future written in the cold, unfeeling hand of power.

Aurelia closed her eyes for a moment, taking in a steadying breath. She would have preferred to wait, to delay this moment, to take time to come to terms with the reality of her marriage. But there was no time. The people expected it. The Senate demanded it. And her father, always the pragmatist, had seen the union as an opportunity for political gain—an alliance that would strengthen the family name.

"Are you ready?" came a voice, breaking her reverie. It was her father, standing in the doorway of her chamber. His expression was unreadable, as it always was, but there was something behind his eyes—a flicker of concern, perhaps, or maybe guilt. He had done what was necessary. But Aurelia knew it had not been his choice either.

She forced a smile, the kind of smile she had perfected long ago when she was a child trying to please her father. "As ready as I’ll ever be."

Her father’s eyes softened for just a moment before he nodded. "You will be Empress. You know what that means, Aurelia. It’s a responsibility to Rome. To the future. Remember all that your mother and I have taught you."

Aurelia nodded, her throat tightening. Her future was already laid out for her, and it was not a future she had chosen. But she had always known that in the Roman world, duty outweighed personal desire. She was a woman of privilege, yes, but she was also a pawn in a game of power and politics.

The doors to the chamber opened, and Aurelia’s attendants entered, guiding her to the grand hall where the wedding would take place. The hall was massive, filled with marble columns and the scent of fresh flowers, the long tables draped in crimson cloths. Guests had already arrived, dressed in their finest to witness the union of the Emperor and the daughter of a noble family. But none of it felt real to Aurelia. It all felt distant, a pageant for the empire’s elite, a performance where she was expected to play her role.

Her heart beat in her chest, faster than it had been moments ago. Not from excitement, but from a deep, gnawing apprehension. This man— Emperor Geta—would be her husband. A man who had already shown her nothing but coldness and indifference. Their marriage, she knew, was not one built on affection or love but on the weight of imperial necessity.

As she entered the hall, she could feel the eyes of the guests on her, their gazes heavy, judging. The high-ranking senators, the nobles of Rome, all gathered to witness the consolidation of power that this marriage represented. But Aurelia’s mind was elsewhere, focused on the figure at the end of the long aisle.

Emperor Geta stood there, his back straight, his expression impassive. His dark hair was neatly combed, and his tunic was rich with gold embroidery, the imperial seal shining brightly on his chest. His eyes, dark and unreadable, met hers briefly as she walked toward him. For a moment, there was a flicker—an almost imperceptible shift in his gaze—but it was gone before Aurelia could understand it.

His presence was like a shadow, looming over her, a reminder of what was to come. He was not cruel—at least, not outwardly—but there was a coldness in him, an emotional distance that made her uneasy. The idea of this man being her husband was foreign, unsettling. And yet, as the ceremony began, she knew there was no turning back.

The high priest stepped forward, his voice solemn as he began the traditional rites. Aurelia’s gaze remained fixed on Geta, but he was unmoved. His lips were set in a firm line, his expression a mask of indifference. He did not seem to care for the ceremony, nor did he seem to care for her.

"Do you, Emperor Geta, take Aurelia Carina Cassia to be your wife, to rule beside you in both marriage and in empire, in joy and in hardship, in life and in death?" the priest asked.

Geta’s voice was low, almost detached. "I do."

Aurelia’s heart skipped a beat. He spoke the words with no passion, no conviction, as though the act was nothing more than a formality to be checked off the list. A formality for the empire.

Then it was her turn.

"Aurelia Carina Cassia," the priest said, turning his gaze to her. "Do you take Emperor Geta, to be your husband, to join with him in marriage, in rule, in life, and in death?"

Her lips parted, but for a long moment, no sound came out. Her mind swirled with conflicting thoughts—fear, doubt, and resignation. She had no choice. There was no turning back. The empire was watching her.

"I do," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.

The ceremony continued, the exchange of vows, the binding of rings, the symbolic gestures of unity. But even as the final prayers were spoken and the crowd cheered, Aurelia felt nothing but an overwhelming sense of emptiness. She was a wife, yes, but not in the way she had imagined. She was a wife in name, a wife to a man who would never truly love her.

As the final blessing was given, Geta turned to her, offering her his arm as he led her from the altar. His eyes met hers for a moment, and in the fleeting seconds, Aurelia saw something there—something cold, something distant. But she couldn’t place it. She wasn’t sure if it was pity, disdain, or something else entirely. But it didn’t matter.

They were married now. The empire will have its heirs. The empire had its future.

They walked together, side by side, but it felt as though they were walking in separate worlds, worlds that had collided for the sake of duty, of power, of an empire that demanded much and offered little in return.

As Aurelia took her place at his side, she couldn’t help but wonder what the future would hold for her in this cold, loveless marriage. Would she ever find warmth in his eyes? Or would she forever remain a figure beside him, a silent witness to the empire’s unyielding march?

In the end, she knew one thing for certain: the wedding had been the beginning of a new life, but it had not been the beginning of love.

The grand dining hall of the imperial palace was a breathtaking sight, adorned with lavish tapestries depicting the heroic deeds of the emperor's past. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, honeyed wine, and exotic spices, while gilded chandeliers cast their warm glow over the guests, whose laughter and chatter echoed off the marble walls. The feast had begun in earnest, but for Aurelia, it felt like an insufferable pageantry, an endless display of opulence that was as hollow as her own heart.

The high table, where she and Lucius Verus now sat side by side, was elevated above the sea of guests, an uncomfortable reminder of the power that now bound them together. At one end of the table sat the new Emperor of Rome, his piercing blue eyes cold and distant, as if he were already surveying the entire Empire with an authority that didn’t need to be spoken. At the other end, Aurelia sat stiffly, her hands clenched in her lap beneath the rich folds of her gown, unable to fully appreciate the luxury that surrounded her. She had been made Empress again, yes, but it was a title that seemed to mock her more than anything else. She had no love for Lucius Verus—her husband only in name—yet here she was, forced to play the part, to smile and pretend that this was all as it should be.

Her gown shimmered beneath the flickering candlelight. It was the color of Rome’s old blood—the blood of emperors, of gladiators, and of countless men and women who had fought for survival. She hated the irony of it all.

Lucius, for his part, barely spoke. His jaw was set, his expression unreadable. He lifted his goblet of wine to his lips and took a long drink, his eyes briefly meeting hers, but only for a second. The tension between them was palpable, like an invisible thread pulling them further apart with every passing moment.

The servants moved around the table with practiced efficiency, placing golden platters of roasted boar, venison, and lamb, their skins crackling with crisp fat, alongside bowls of fresh fruits—pomegranates, figs, and clusters of grapes—and loaves of freshly baked bread. An assortment of cheeses and honeyed pastries were brought in, and the scent of wine—sweet, tart, and heady—filled the air. Flutists played softly in the background, and a troupe of dancers from the East began a slow, sensuous dance, their silks flowing as they moved in perfect harmony with the music.

But despite the abundance of food and drink, despite the spectacle unfolding before her, Aurelia could not enjoy a single moment. Her mind swam with bitter thoughts: memories of Geta, the brutal coldness of his reign, his violence—yet, within that cruelty, she had found something to hold on to, something that had made him hers, even if only in the darkest corners of her heart.

She was brought back to the present by a low voice beside her.

"Not hungry?" Lucius Verus’s voice was quieter than before, his words heavy with something unreadable. It was not a question of concern, but one of curiosity, or perhaps challenge.

Aurelia turned toward him, meeting his gaze. His blue eyes were sharp and intent, as though he were studying her, as though she were the next opponent to be defeated in his personal arena.

"I’m not hungry," she replied, her voice cool, and for a moment, their eyes locked, the silence between them thick and heavy.

Lucius’s lips tightened, though it wasn’t in anger. It was more a quiet acknowledgment of the tension between them. He turned his gaze back to the feast and picked up a roasted fig, placing it delicately in his mouth. There was something almost calculated about his movements, as if every action were part of a larger strategy.

Around them, the feast continued with laughter and revelry. A senator cracked a joke, a group of soldiers clinked their goblets together in a celebratory toast, and a young noblewoman tried to engage Lucius in conversation about the new laws he would enact. Yet, despite the outward merriment, there was an underlying current of unease. The guests were not so naïve as to ignore the strange and uneasy marriage that had just been sealed in the hall behind them.

Lucius shifted slightly in his seat, as though feeling the weight of the eyes that turned toward him.

"You don’t have to pretend," he said, breaking the silence again, his voice low and almost resigned. "I know why you’re here. You don’t have to like it."

Aurelia’s lips tightened at his words, but there was no anger in them. It was merely truth, blunt and direct, as always. She looked down at her hands, unwilling to meet his gaze again.

"I don’t pretend," she replied softly, though she knew the truth of her own hypocrisy. She was pretending, of course. Pretending that she didn’t care. Pretending that this was all something she could endure.

"Then why sit through this?" Lucius asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why endure this charade?"

Aurelia raised her eyes to his once more, meeting his gaze squarely. For a moment, she wanted to say because it’s all I have left, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she said only, “Because I have no choice, just as you have no choice.”

For a heartbeat, Lucius said nothing. He stared at her, as though seeing her for the first time—truly seeing her. His gaze was piercing, intense, yet something flickered in those deep blue eyes. Perhaps it was understanding, perhaps it was something more, but Aurelia could not bring herself to interpret it.

A loud cheer broke the silence, and Aurelia turned toward the noise. The guests were raising their cups in a toast, celebrating the new Emperor and Empress, raising their voices in the name of Roman glory. It was an exultant sound, but it grated on her nerves, like the clanging of swords against stone.

"To Lucius Verus, Emperor of Rome!" a voice cried from the crowd.

"And to Aurelia Carina Cassia, Empress of Rome!" another echoed.

The room erupted in applause, and for a moment, the noise drowned out everything else. Aurelia didn’t raise her glass. Instead, she simply sat there, her hands folded in her lap, her thoughts swirling in dark circles.

Lucius raised his goblet, the flickering light from the candles catching in the deep blue of his eyes, but he did not look at her when he spoke.

"To Rome," he said simply, his voice carrying authority that silenced even the loudest of voices.

The crowd echoed his words, and for the briefest of moments, Aurelia felt the weight of the empire—its triumphs, its cruelties, and its endless hunger for power. It was the weight she had inherited, and it was a weight that would forever bind her to Lucius Verus.

For better or for worse, she was now his. And he was hers.

The feast continued around them, but for both of them, it had already ended.

The grand banquet hall was alive with the sounds of music, laughter, and the clinking of goblets, but amid the festivity, there was a tension that seemed to weave itself into the very air. The feast had stretched on for hours, but now the guests were beginning to murmur in anticipation as the next part of the evening approached. The moment that every wedding in Rome demanded—the first dance.

Aurelia Carina Cassia stood frozen at the edge of the hall, her gown heavy around her, the rich crimson fabric swishing as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She could feel the weight of every eye in the room, the glances that flicked between her and Lucius Verus, the new Emperor of Rome, her husband by forced choice. He was already standing at the center of the room, his posture perfect, his jaw set in that all-too-familiar way of someone who had long since learned to suppress any sign of weakness.

They were supposed to dance. They were supposed to take the center of the room and spin in graceful circles, the crowd watching and applauding as if this were a storybook wedding. But Aurelia didn’t feel like a princess or a queen. She felt like a prisoner.

Her eyes flicked nervously to the musicians at the far end of the room, their instruments ready, their gazes expectant. They were waiting for her to take the first step, to move toward Lucius and begin the ritual. Her chest tightened with the weight of it. She couldn’t do this. Not with him. Not when every inch of her body wanted to scream in defiance.

Lucius turned toward her, his gaze cool but unreadable, like a glacier that had been worn smooth by the passage of time. He was not nervous. Of course, he wasn’t. A gladiator, a warrior forged in blood, who had danced with death more times than he could count. What was a simple waltz to a man who had survived arenas and emperors’ plots?

"You’re stalling," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the growing hum of the room.

Aurelia didn’t respond immediately. She couldn’t. She simply stared at him, that same gnawing bitterness rising within her. She was trapped, caught in the unrelenting gears of this machine—this Empire, this marriage. And there was nothing she could do to escape it.

His eyes softened just the slightest bit, but it wasn’t with warmth. It was a recognition of the struggle she was facing, though he would never voice it aloud. Lucius knew what it was to be trapped in chains, though his were made of blood and iron, not silk and ceremony.

When he spoke again, his words were measured, as though he were giving her a final choice.

"You don’t have to like it. But we have to do this, for Rome." His words weren’t a command; they were simply a fact, one that neither of them could escape.

Aurelia took a sharp breath and glanced back at the crowd. She could feel their eyes on her, the heat of their stares burning into her skin. They were waiting for their Empress to play her part, to show the world that Rome was strong, unified under the rule of its new Emperor. She had no choice. She could feel the weight of it in the pit of her stomach.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened her back, trying to summon whatever dignity she had left, and began to walk toward Lucius. Each step felt like an eternity. Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor, the sound strangely amplified in the stillness that had fallen over the room. Lucius didn’t move, didn’t step forward to meet her. He simply waited, his posture as commanding as ever.

When she reached him, there was a brief, uncomfortable pause. He regarded her with those piercing blue eyes, his expression unreadable. Aurelia wanted to say something—anything—to break the silence. To tell him that she would never be the obedient bride he expected her to be. But instead, she lifted her chin, her jaw set in defiance, and placed her hand on his shoulder, offering him the coldest, most formal smile she could muster.

Lucius’s hand slid around her waist, the touch firm but not intimate. It was a touch that spoke of duty, not desire. He began to guide her into the first slow steps of the dance, his movements practiced and smooth, as though he had done this a thousand times before. Aurelia resisted the instinct to pull away, to lash out, but it was harder than she anticipated.

The music swirled around them, the sounds of the flutes and strings filling the room with a kind of ethereal, haunting beauty. The guests began to murmur, some of them leaning in to catch a glimpse of their new rulers, while others smiled and whispered praises. Aurelia could feel their eyes, their judgments, and it made her skin crawl. This was their moment, a moment they had all been waiting for.

Lucius’s grip tightened just slightly around her waist as they moved in time with the music. The movement was mechanical, almost rehearsed. She could feel the tension between them—an invisible barrier neither of them had the will or the desire to cross. Neither of them spoke. The only sound between them was the soft rustle of her gown as they moved in an intricate, slow circle.

Aurelia’s breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t the dance itself that bothered her—it was the feeling of being so close to him, so exposed. His scent, sharp and masculine, filled her senses, and she had to fight not to recoil. The proximity, the enforced intimacy, made her stomach churn.

Lucius seemed to sense her discomfort, but he didn’t falter. Instead, he gave a small, barely perceptible nod, as though acknowledging the weight of the situation. Aurelia couldn’t tell if it was sympathy, amusement, or something else entirely.

The music shifted, becoming faster, more energetic, but still they danced—two figures moving through the motions, a king and queen of an empire built on blood, sweat, and lies. Their feet moved in perfect time, yet there was a palpable distance between them, a gulf that no amount of waltzing could bridge. It wasn’t the graceful, romantic affair the guests had expected. It was a dance of survival. A dance of power.

Aurelia’s mind raced with thoughts of the life she had lost, the man she had loved, and the empire that had torn it all apart. She fought the urge to pull away from Lucius, but there was no escaping this moment. They were bound by more than the silk of her gown or the glittering jewels in her hair. They were bound by the expectations of Rome, by the empire that had demanded this union, this performance.

And so they danced. Neither of them truly present, both lost in the performance. And the crowd watched, applauded, and whispered their approval, as the two of them continued the endless charade that had begun with a marriage forged in blood.

When the dance finally ended, and the last notes of the music drifted into silence, Aurelia was left breathless. Her chest rose and fell with the exertion of holding herself together, and she quickly stepped back, her hand falling from his shoulder. The applause was polite, distant, but it was nothing compared to the silence between them now.

Lucius’s eyes met hers for a brief moment, his expression unreadable. His lips parted as though he might say something, but then he simply nodded.

"Thank you," he said, his voice quiet, though the words seemed hollow to her ears.

Aurelia didn’t answer. She simply gave him a stiff nod in return, the weight of the crown upon her head heavier than ever before.

Then, she turned and walked away, the crowd parting for her like water parting for a stone, their whispers now louder, more insistent but she didn’t care. All that mattered now was the emptiness she felt inside and the weight of the empire that bound her to a man she would never love.

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