#I just think rev and ram in a room would be so funny

[crowcryptid]

V1, Revenant and Ramattra in a room

3 different subspecies of murder robot

What would happen

[hellfirenacht]

C'mon, It's Just One Night (Part 1)

Summary: After getting a fake love note in your locker, you ask Eddie to help you mess up some bullies plans. 

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, smut later, fem reader, reader wears a dress at one point, mentions of bullying, actual bullying, three-shot

Master List

Work Count: 3.7k Words

You ain't seen nothing yet....

The thing that always confused you about jocks and popular kids was that they always assumed that everyone else was dumber than them. Girls would come up to you and give you a compliment that was clearly not sincere and when you thanked them just to get them to leave you alone they would giggle and think that you believed them. Guys would ask you on dates as a joke and you’d roll your eyes and try to ignore them, even as they tried desperately for your attention for their own amusement. 

Thankfully, there were certain perks that came with being in the Hellfire Club. Being associated with Eddie “the Freak” Munson meant that as long as you were standing near your friend, you’d mostly be left alone. You’d sit with him at lunch, try and walk with him to class in the hallways, and in general just tried to avoid any jock that looked particularly bored. 

However it had been quiet over the past few weeks, too quiet for your liking. Honestly, you were almost missing some of the backhanded compliments because it at least gave you a chance to blow off some steam outside of Hellfire. Well, something out there heard your wish and that’s how you found yourself watching from the other end of the hallway as two boys shoved a note in your locker, snickering to themselves. 

Well, this should be entertaining at least. 

They didn’t even try and look around to see if anyone was watching them, too caught up in their own scheme to realize the person who’s locker they were messing with was watching them from just a few yards away. 

“-’s gonna be so funny.” laughed one. You didn’t even know their names. There were so many people at this school that how were you expected to keep up with everyone when you didn’t even speak to them?

“Yeah, she’s gonna be embarrassed and we’ll get a free show out of it.” laughed the other one. 

You were right there. How was it that you could be on their radar for this shit and yet still remain completely invisible? 

The two turned around and you pretended to be throwing something away in a nearby trash can quickly, so that they wouldn’t realize that you had been staring at them. 

“There she is, we gotta go!” you heard one say in a voice that you assumed was his idea of whispering as the two scampered off while trying to hold off their laughter. 

You gave them a generous thirty seconds to get away before making your way to your locker and opening it up, grabbing the note and reading it over. It took everything you had not to burst out laughing right there, and you were just going to throw it away when you had an idea. 

Tucking it into your pocket, you smiled and made your way to the drama room for Hellfire as you started making your own plans for what you’d just read. 

“And with the Dwarf’s golden pick rightfully returned to him, I think this is a good stopping point.” Eddie said, finally sitting back in his chair. He’d been really revved up today, jumping around the table and getting in everyone’s faces as he described what was happening. He’d nearly rammed his head into yours at one point and you had barely managed to lean back enough so he didn’t. 

Eddie was always revved up, always ready to put on a show. He wasn’t afraid to be loud or call out the bullshit of what was expected. Eddie would jump on tables, get in people's faces, declare himself King Freak. 

He was perfect. 

...For your plan. Nothing more. You knew he’d be on board when you explained what you wanted to do. He was perfect for... that. 

As the rest of the club filed out, you stayed behind to help clean up the leftover soda cans and break down the board. You were also stalling because you didn’t want any of the other members to witness what you were about to ask of Eddie. 

“Your Scottish accent is getting better and worse at the same time.” you said, handing him one of the minis. “Sometimes you nail it, and sometimes I don’t think you’re even trying to say anything legible.” 

“It’s better than your character's accent! Is your tiefling from New Jersey or trans-atlantic?” Eddie laughed, shoving his notes unceremoniously in a folder. 

“Why do Dwarves need to be Scottish anyway?” you ignored his question, fully aware that your accents were no better. “I think you should mix it up. Make Canadian dwarves or something.”

This is how Hellfire usually ended, with the two of you joking around and talking about the session and making fun of each other while you tried to get hints about what was to come. He never gave anything away. 

You blew out a few candles and Eddie went to readjust the lights. You reached into your pocket and pulled out the note. 

“So, Eddie.” you started, turning to him. “Remember how last month I helped you study for Mrs. O’Donnel’s midterm and you got a solid B?”

Eddie’s brow furrowed and he stopped what he was doing to look at you. Under the multicolored spotlights he looked... you never had the words to describe it. He just looked like Eddie. The Eddie that should be playing guitar on stage or the Eddie that kept your attention so easily and rapturously when he was running his games. You weren’t ready to say that to his face yet, despite the contradiction of what you were about to do. 

“I remember.” he said, walking over to you and crossing his arms. “I take it you aren’t just bringing up a fond memory of us to reminisce about?”

“Not a chance.” you looked into his brown doe eyes. “It’s time for you to pay up.” And with that you handed over the note. 

Eddie took it with a slight tilt of his head and unfolded it, scanning the contents. 

My Dearest, 

I’ve been watching you for weeks now, enraptored by your beauty. I’ve been too shy to talk to you, but now I want the chance to confess to you. I’m in love with you, and have been all year. I don’t care if everyone thinks you’re some weird Satanist freak because I’m into that. Please be my date for homecoming and meet me at the school at 7:30 pm.

-Your secret admirer  

“It’s not really a secret if you’re handing this directly to my face.” Eddie said, looking up from the note. “And you spelled ‘enraptured’ wrong.” 

“I found this in my locker.” you said, ignoring his comments. “Some jocks think they’re being funny and are clearly trying to pull some sort of prank to humiliate me.” 

“Think it’s a Carrie situation?” Eddie asked, looking over the note again before handing it back to you. 

“They don’t have the guts to get any pig's blood.” you shook your head. 

“So what does this have to do with me? You know that Hellfire doesn’t do school dances.” He said. “I thought we were just gonna blow it off, and Corroded Coffin is gonna do a secret show at the Quarry.”

“Eddie, all your shows are secret.”

“Not true, we have recently gained another groupie. There are now a grand total of six drunks that regularly listen to us play.” Eddie pouted. “Six and a half if you count the cat that’s been hanging around the Hideout.” 

“Yeah, okay, remember me when you’re famous.” You said. “Listen, I need your help. I’m coming to you wanting to cash in my favor. I need the Freak to help me out here, Eddie.”

“For what, exactly?” His eyes narrowed, but you stood your ground. 

“If I show up to homecoming, something's gonna happen. The best case scenario is that I show up and they ignore me and laugh while I wait for this fake person to show up. The worst case scenario ends with pigs blood and me learning I have telekinetic powers.” You explained. 

“So why even bother going? I thought we all agreed that Hellfire doesn’t do school events.” 

That was a good point, and you were making a gamble on this. Eddie didn’t do school events, and tried to make it a rule for his club as well. That didn’t go over well when Mike insisted that he was going to take his girlfriend Jane to homecoming, and everyone finally came clean that Lucas was playing both sides of the field and playing basketball AND doing Hellfire. 

You had to admit, Eddie’s face of disappointment and disapproval was pretty funny. You felt bad for the guy though, he avoided anything school related like the plague outside of this club. Eddie had boasted that he’d never gone to prom or homecoming, and had been skipping any pep rally since his second senior year. 

“You agreed that you didn’t go to events. I never agreed to anything.” you said firmly. “I only agreed to show up every Friday and wear the Hellfire shirt.”

“And again I ask, what does this have to do with me?” Eddie pushed. 

“Be my date for homecoming.” you said. “My fake date. I want you to get to me before they have the chance to.”

Eddie froze for a second, a thousand emotions flashing through his eyes at once. You’d seen this look countless times when one of his players had thrown him a curve-ball and he had to scramble to figure out how to make it work for the game. 

“Your fake date.” he said slowly. “So you want me to- what exactly?” 

“I want you to show up and pretend to be the person who wrote this note.” you explained. “I’ll pretend to be thrilled, you get to be seen with a cute girl at a dance, the gossip train gets something to talk about, and the jocks get their plans foiled. Everybody wins.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes at your plan. “Or you could just not show up at all and just come help us set up for the show.” He said. 

“But that’s not fun.” You pointed out. “Besides, if they think we’re together even just for the night then they’ll leave me alone. Probably”

Eddie looked skeptical. 

“Please?” you leaned closer, making your eyes wide as possible. “Eddie, these dicks have been on my ass all semester. I can’t go two weeks without getting asked out as a joke or having some meat head yell about how his “friend thinks I’m cute”. It’s fucking annoying, and ignoring them has done jack and shit.” 

You saw the stone look in his eyes falter and his shoulders ease up. “You’re really serious about this?” he asked. 

“I am.” you confirmed. “You do this for me, and you can have full creative control. Show up in your Hellfire shirt, hell you could show up in your pjs and I’ll pretend to be thrilled that you’re my secret admirer. We’ll make sure that we’re seen, then we can go to the quarry. We don’t even have to stay for fifteen minutes. Just show up for me, Eddie. Please.” 

Eddie took a deep breath and rubbed his face with his hands. “Fifteen minutes. All I have to do is show up and pretend that I’m your secret admirer and then we leave. Right?”

“Right.” You promised. “That’s all I need.”

Eddie sighed deeply and grabbed his jacket and threw it on. “I am never asking for your help studying again. You drive a hard bargain.” Despite his words he had a grin on his face. 

“I’m going easy on you, if you had gotten an A I’d be demanding that you show up in a full tux with roses.” you teased. “I’m talking about the full cheesy school dance treatment. Corsage, first dance, all of it.”

“Don’t even start, you’d have to get me to completely ace her whole class to get that kind of treatment.” Eddie grabbed your shoulder and started pushing you up the stairs. “I wouldn’t even know where to get a tux.” 

“I think you’re supposed to rent one.” you laughed as the two of you made your way out of the drama room and closed the door. “I, however, will need to actually buy my dress.”

“You’re really gonna get a dress for this? We’re only going for fifteen minutes.” Eddie pointed out. 

“Oh, would you rather me show up looking terrible?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “You really wanna show up and fake-confess to me looking plain and like I don’t care?”

“You really want to sell this, huh?” Eddie laughed. 

“It’s the only way I can think of for them to stop.” You said. 

The two of you made your way to the parking lot. Eddie walking you to your car. 

“Remember Eddie, you have full creative control over how you want to do this.” you said, getting in the driver's seat. “I don’t care how you show up, just go loud.”

“Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson would never disappoint.” he said, closing the door for you with a flourish.

You were going to get a dress for this. 

No, you weren’t, you were only going to be there for fifteen minutes at most. 

But your mom would want to take pictures and be thrilled you were even going. After all, you’d avoided it during your first four years of high school. 

And you wanted to. 

That was the real kick in the pants for all this. You wanted to go to homecoming. You wanted to have a night to dress up and look nice and have fun with your friends. Unfortunately, only the freshmen were going to the dance, and as much as you loved Mike, Lucas, and Dustin, you didn’t really think you’d have a lot of fun with some kids a good five years younger than you. Hell, Mike and Lucas had actual dates and Dustin had a long distance girlfriend! 

You’d be the single person in the group and that didn’t exactly put points in your favor for sticking around for the dance. The rest of Hellfire didn’t bother going to these kinds of things, as this town made it clear that school events were for normal people who enjoyed normal things, whatever the fuck that meant. 

As much as you denied ever wanting to go to homecoming or prom, you knew that you wanted to, and you knew who you wanted to go with. 

On the bright side, at least you’d get your secret wish now, even if it was for fifteen minutes. 

Eddie had made it clear since the first time the words “school dance” were uttered in his presence a few years ago that he wasn’t going to even entertain the idea of showing up. Those nights were dedicated to one shots or longer sessions for Hellfire. So for the past few years you had skipped out on any dances in favor of at least telling your beat up journal that you had technically spent prom or homecoming with Eddie Munson. 

You walked into the department store that you knew had a sizable selection of dresses, took one look at the price tags, and walked right back out. It was insane to spend that money on one night of dancing, let alone fifteen minutes. 

Besides, where else would you even wear a dress like that? You laughed at the idea of showing up to Hellfire, with your shirt on over whatever you would have picked. That’d be stupid. 

....

But it’d also be funny. 

You walked back into the department store and ignored the front and center mannequins to hit up the clearance rack instead. Even as you browsed, you were still trying to convince yourself that you didn’t need to buy something for this. Eddie was probably just going to show up in his old faded DIO shirt and some old jeans (maybe the ones that had that hole in the butt that showed his boxers when you stood behind him, if you were lucky). He probably wouldn’t even brush his hair. 

You had a choice to make. How much of an effort did you want to put into your appearance for this? Should you follow Eddie’s approach and just show up as normal, or should you allow yourself an indulgence in the Cinderella fantasy? What did you want, and what did this revenge situation call for?

You wanted to look nice. You wanted to tell your journal that you had a date with Eddie and that you looked good and that those asshole jocks didn’t even recognize you. Wouldn’t it be better that way anyway? No matter what Eddie looked like when he showed up, the point would be made clear; you were off the market (as far as anyone would be able to tell) and Eddie Munson had gotten the girl. No, not the girl; a girl. Being the girl implied that you were someone that Eddie had an interest in. 

Dresses of different lengths and cuts and colors started to blend together as you indulged in the fantasy of matching your dress to whatever Eddie was going to wear. You flipped through the dress rack while you mentally flipped through all the shirts you had seen Eddie wear in the last few weeks. He favored darker colors most times, the main exception being the white Hellfire Club shirt. 

“Dark clothes don’t stain as easily.” he’d explained before. 

You kept flipping through the racks of last seasons’ fashion, trying to find something that you could wear. Halfway through you considered giving up and just showing up in what you would have worn to the quarry if you hadn’t planned this whole thing. 

You need to commit to the bit. You reminded yourself. These jocks are expecting you to look pretty and then try to embarrass you. Don’t half ass it.

Sucking it up, you made your way over to the normal racks. Your mom had given you some cash to buy yourself a nice dress, but you had been hoping to just buy something cheaper and save the rest to buy off of Eddie later. 

You walked out of the store, bag in hand, with a receipt showing a number that made you feel sick. You reminded yourself over and over it was for you, Eddie, and your mom. 

“Are you sure you have the charisma for this?” Gareth asked. “You always roll shit with any charisma roll.”

“Gareth, I don’t know if you know this, but rolling a die and saying that I’m trying to do something is different than actually doing it outside of the game.” you said as the two of you made your way into the Library. You had it on good authority that this was the jocks study hall period, and you wanted to really sell your plan. 

“I still don’t get why I have to be part of this. I’m not even going to homecoming either.” He grumbled. “This whole thing is stupid. You should just come to the show instead.” 

“I can do both.” you waved him off. “All I need you to do is let me talk at you-”

“You do that anyway.”

“Yes, but this time I need you to pretend to be invested.” You explained. “You let me talk about how excited I am for homecoming and to meet my secret admirer and I use my powers of being able to leave school during lunch to bring you McDonald’s tomorrow.” 

Gareth couldn’t argue with that, no teenage boy could resist the sweet temptation of greasy fast food in the middle of the school day. It was more than a fair trade, even if Gareth didn’t see the point in this. You just really wanted to sell your plan. 

“Remember, all you need to do is ask me who I’m going to Homecoming with.” you reminded him. 

The two of you walked over to where the group of basketball players were goofing off and not really studying, and the two who had slid the note into your locker started nudging each other and snickering to themselves. 

“So who are you going to homecoming with?” Gareth asked, his line delivery stiff and unnatural and disinterested. You had to fight with yourself to not roll your eyes at the lackluster performance. 

“I don’t know!” your voice was a little higher pitched at the response, trying to emulate the cheerleaders you’d seen giggling in their groups as they gossiped. You pulled the note that you had been keeping in your pocket. “I got this note asking me to meet them at the dance, so I have no idea!”

You continued to gush to the disinterested Gareth how excited you were to be asked to go, and speculating on who it could be. The entire time, your friend looked like he’d rather be smashing his head against the table than listen to you talk about this, which was honestly more fun for you than the jocks reactions. 

From the table behind you, the normally loud group of boys were attempting to be quiet as they snickered and nudged each other. You wished that Gareth would try and talk a little more so that you could stop talking to eavesdrop on them. 

When the jocks started getting louder again, that’s when you dropped the conversation. They weren’t interested in hearing anymore and so you weren’t either. 

“So what was the point of that?” Gareth muttered, making his way to the exit of the library. 

“I don’t want them to forget about me. If I’m gonna be completely honest, I really just expected them to totally forget they left something in my locker about this.” you adjusted your backpack, following him out. “I’m committed to the bit.”

“Sounds like you’re just asking for trouble.” He shook his head. 

“Maybe a little.” you sighed. “Eddie and I are graduating this year and I don’t want to look back at my time here and think that I just took the bullshit that was given to me. I just want them to get off my ass for the rest of the year.” 

“Do you really think it’ll work?” 

“Only one way to find out.” 

Part 2 It's Gonna Be A Night We'll Never Forget (Coming Soon)

Dividers By: @strangergraphics

Tag List: @somethingvicked @ladysilence @leelei1980 @seexyyprincess @rosebudsgarden @ghcstpyre @crocwork-clockodile

[writeyouin]

Could you do something where Minimus sees his fem human s/o dressed up in a Halloween costume and she wants him to join in since the rest of the crew (thanks to Swerve and Rodimus) are all participating in a huge Halloween party, complete in costumes? Sorry if I did this wrong. Let me know if I went about doing this the wrong way if I did do it wrong.

Minimus Ambus / Ultra Magnus X Reader – Costumes

A/N – Man, this is done now so only like three or four to go? The others will hopefully be done tonight, but this week I’ve just started my depression meds and boy, they’re a real kick in the head. So anywho, powering through hopefully.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

Loud pounding at the door. Why did it always have to be loud pounding? Why were you never awoken by a sweet chorus of angels, or a serenade of doves? Nope, whenever someone wanted something from you, which was often as the only human on the ship, it always began with an urgent wakeup-call.

“(Y/N)!” Rodimus hollered. “(Y/N), you’ve gotta get up.”

You groaned into your pillow, not bothering to even check the time; everything from your befuddled mind to the time-adjusting lights told you it was far too early for any sane person to be awake.

“(Y/N),” Rodimus crowed again. “Come on, get up.”

“Minimus,” You mumbled, reaching out for your partner, but missing. “Minimus, he’s your ‘sponsability before seven.”

Rodimus pounded on the door again and you looked around groggily, sighing when you realised Minimus had left you in the night again; occasionally, you wished he would spend the entire night with you, though that wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon.

Half-jumping, half-falling, you got off the berth, making your way to the door which Rodimus was still banging on. His voice was now joined by Swerve’s worried one, asking if this was the right time to be bothering you.

You opened the door, grunting unappreciatively. Swerve blushed at the sight of you in your night clothes, having never got over his infatuation with humans. It was fairly common knowledge that he had a huge crush on you, though he tried exceptionally hard not to show it, especially since you had started dating Minimus.

“Uh (Y/N),” Swerve breathed. “Nice to see you here- I mean, not here, you live here, so obviously we would see you, especially since we came looking for you. Did we wake you up? Sorry, I know we did. I tried to tell Rodimus that this was a bad idea. I said, ‘Rodimus, 1AM is too early,’ but he said-”

Rodimus clamped his servo over Swerve’s mouth, ending his babbling and patting the mini-bot’s head sympathetically. “Take it easy buddy, you’re going to blow a gasket like that. (Y/N), you silly bird that I can’t remember the name of.”

“Goose,” Swerve mumbled against Rodimus’ servo.

“Right, goose, that was it. Anyway, you didn’t tell me about Halloween now, did you?” He waited for the obvious no that was to be your reply. Instead you yawned and rubbed some sleep out of your eye, entirely devoid of the energy required to carry out a conversation.

Continuing his spiel as if you had spoken, Rodimus shook his head disappointedly, “No, you did not. I mean, you mentioned it in passing and I had to hear from Swerve here about those epic costumes.”

“Rodimus,” You glowered. “If you’ve come here to ask about a costume contest at ONE IN THE MORNING, I swear I will tear out your vocaliser and feed it to scraplets.

“Wow. That’s just rude considering I’m only trying to make you feel at home with YOUR holiday.”

“I’m going to choke you with your own neck cables.”

Swerve swallowed anxiously and you shot him a soothing smile, “Don’t worry Swerve, you’re safe for trying to stop this lunatic.”

Swerve muffled a polite ‘Thanks’.

Rodimus finally let him go to reach into one of his sub-spaces for a datapad. “Look, just sign this form from Ultra Magnus so we can host the contest. He said we have to get your permission so it’s not, ‘cultural misappropriation’ or whatever.”

You held out your hand bemusedly, any anger dissipating as a solution to get rid of the pair presented itself; you would sign your soul away if it meant getting more sleep. Rodimus handed the datapad over eagerly, his engines revving loudly, giving you a headache. You glared at the form on the datapad, then at Rodimus.

“Rodimus,” You sighed. “This is just a memo that says ‘I can do what I want.’”

Rodimus blinked in surprise, then spoke behind his servo to Swerve, “I thought you said that passed as an Earth contract.”

Swerve shook his helm, “No, I said that in this show, Parks and Recreation, there’s this guy Ron who- It’s pretty funny, he’s the guy that-”

“UGH!” Rodimus leaned back dramatically, “You mean I actually have to do my job and write a lame report? BORING!”

“Rodimus,” You scowled, clutching your aching head. “If you shut up and leave, I will personally write up and sign a consent form for you to take part in Halloween.”

Rodimus shot finger guns at you, “You’re aces kid, see ya.”

And just like that, he was gone, wheeling his way down the hall in his alt-mode. Swerve stood awkwardly on his own, fumbling with his servos, clearly unsure of the social etiquette of what to do next.

“Uhm,” He said almost shyly.

Taking pity on him, you managed a sympathetic smile, “Yes?”

“I- I really like couples costumes, so if you uh- if Magnus won’t wear one with you- I um- Maybe you and I could go together? I mean, not as a couple, but as partners, or something?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Really? That’s great. I’ll uh- I’ll catch you later.”

Swerve hastily transformed and drove away, finally leaving you to get the sleep you desperately needed.

You knocked on the door to Minimus’ office, knowing how much he valued his privacy. Never once since you had met him had you ever just walked into his office; it was one of the many things he loved about you.

“Come in,” He said, his voice deeper than usual which told you he was in the Magnus armour.

You smiled, entering the room, “I have a report for you.”

Ultra Magnus’ lips twitched at the corners and if it was anyone else, you would have wondered why they were frowning; as it was with Ultra Magnus, you practically melted because that was his equivalent of spinning you around in elation.

“You should save that for the berth,” You joked, handing him the datapad.

Shortly after he glanced at the report, he gaped opened-mouthed at you. You had used the ‘Book Antiqua’ font, which was the most seductive of all the fonts. Ultra Magnus could barely read it without getting giddy, his cooling fans switching on with a low buzz.

“I-” He cleared his vocaliser, sitting ram-rod straight in an attempt of maintaining some professionalism. “Thank you, I shall see to it that Rodimus is allowed to perform his Halloween preparations immediately.”

“So, you’ll sign it off?” You asked, needing Ultra Magnus’ signature as well as your own to carry out any event on the ship.

He nodded, scrolling to the bottom, hardly able to keep a straight face with that piquant font daring him to flirt with you. Later, he would have to respond in kind by giving you the kind of report you liked, with the enticing pictures attached between the terms and conditions. Signing it hastily, he put it aside so as to calm himself by not looking at it.

“Wow Magnus, you aren’t yourself whenever you see that font, you know.”

Magnus frowned at you, surprised by your words, “I do not understand.”

“Apparently, you get so flustered-”

Ultra Magnus blushed, waiting for some kind of invitation that he wasn’t prepared for.

“-That you didn’t read all of the terms and conditions.”

He gasped, picking up the datapad again, this time ignoring the ever so alluring font to read everything that was written. Finally, he reached the point you were referring to, whimpering a small, “No.”

“Yes,” You nodded.

“(Y/N), how could you?”

“I’m sorry Magnus, it had to be this way. You would have never agreed to it if I’d just asked, and well… it is a part of my planet’s culture and traditions.”

Ultra Magnus read and reread the stipulation again: Should this be signed by both (Y/N) (L/N) & Ultra Magnus / Minimus Ambus, then the pair shall be entered into the costume contest, in costumes of (Y/N)’s design.

Sighing once more, Ultra Magnus put the datapad down once again. He pinched the bridge of his nose, “Just tell me one thing (Y/N). Why?”

You thought of all the holidays and events you missed out on because of Ultra Magnus. Usually, you didn’t mind, knowing how uncomfortable they made him, but the recent memory of wanting him to spend the night with you was too fresh to ignore. You grinned, “Because, Halloween is the one time of year that I have to get at least one trick in, but don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll never fall for that ever again.”

Ultra Magnus scowled. You were right; he would never fall for such a trick again.

“Okay,” You said from your position in Ultra Magnus’ servo, admiring the Halloween paint job on the armour. You looked at the stage from behind the curtain that had been put up. Riptide was there, dressed as a Rodimus Star, and you had to give him points for creativity if nothing else.

You beamed jovially, “You ready?”

Ultra Magnus was frowning beneath the new face-plate, but he nodded anyway. You had to really admire his handy-work. When you made him agree to this, you didn’t think he would put his best effort in but he did, and now with you dressed in a pilot cap and jacket as Hogarth Hughes and him painted the silver Iron Giant, you were having the bests time of your life.

“I am totally ready,” Swerve practically sang from Ultra Magnus’ side, shaking on the spot with anticipation.

Ultra Magnus glanced distastefully down at Swerve, wondering again why he was there. As it was, you couldn’t stop thinking about Swerve’s desperate need to fit in, and though it wouldn’t help with his crush on you, you had decided to invite him to join you and Ultra Magnus in the contest. With you as Hogarth and Ultra Magnus as the giant, Swerve was left with three choices to complete the ensemble; he could either go as Kent ‘I work for the government’ Mansley, Dean McCoppin, or Annie Hughes, Hogarth’s mother.

In Swerve’s words, he didn’t want to be a villain, so Kent was out, nor did he just want to be spray painted black which removed Dean from the equation. That was how you ended up with Swerve in a pink 60’s diner outfit (that Ten had sewed) and a brown wig, which you presumed was also created by Ten.

Finally, it was Riptide’s turn to leave the stage and go to the back of the mess hall which had been repurposed into a party room, complete with bubbling cauldrons and smoking coffins; you were sure you had seen Chromedome and Rewind canoodling in one of those coffins, closing the door behind themselves shortly thereafter.

“Right,” Rodimus in his alt-mode as Lightning McQueen called; he was the sole judge since most everybody else wanted to be in or avoid the contest completely. “And next to try and top MY ACTUAL FACE ON RIPTIDE, we have (Y/N), Swerve and- WHAT! YOU’RE YANKING MY CHAIN. ULTRA MAGNUS.”

Ultra Magnus used the servo that wasn’t carrying you to cup his helm with a heavy sigh as Rodimus burst into a fit of hysterics. He wanted to ask you if he really had to do this, but even if you let him go, he would feel unlawfully guilty; breaking a contract was no small matter. Besides, he knew he never gave you enough time. You could be with somebody else who was what you needed, yet you chose him anyway, loving both Ultra Magnus and his smaller form, Minimus Ambus. Should you stumble on an unpleasant part of his past, you wouldn’t press him too hard to tell you, rather waiting for him to come to you with the stories of how the events of his life had unfolded. For your kindness, patience and unconditional love, Ultra Magnus knew he would suffer a thousand of these infernal contests.

As such, he stepped forward carrying you and closely followed by Swerve. Seeing your trio did not stop Rodimus’ laughter. Instead, he transformed to his bot mode so he could hold his side as he fell about laughing. “The Iron Giant,” he squeaked, almost tearing up. “It’s so cute, I thought- HA! I thought- it could’ve been like Law & Order- HA HA HA. OR JUDGE, JURY, EXECUTIONER WITH THE THREE OF YOU!”

He slapped his side and it was another twenty minutes till he stopped laughing and finally scored the three of you. Finally, by the last costume, Nautica as an incarnation of Doctor Who, the contest drew to an end. Although Rodimus was greatly amused by Ultra Magnus in a costume, your trio came second; evidently, Rodimus’ ego could not be defeated and Riptide the Rodimus Star won, earning an actual Rodimus Star for it.

“Alright,” You smiled after the awards. “You held up your end of the bargain, now you can be free if you want Magnus. I know you hate these social gatherings.”

Ultra Magnus swallowed anxiously. He did desperately want to get out of there and he was appreciative that you understood that, yet he couldn’t let it go unsaid that the contest hadn’t been completely horrible as he had first expected.

“(Y/N), my darling,” He said, whispering it so only you would hear, afraid of too much PDA.

“Darling?” You smiled. “My, what’s got into you? You haven’t got a fever?”

Ultra Magnus knew you were teasing, though he hoped it wasn’t a real criticism buried beneath. “I- Tonight was not- I um- Do you enjoy this tradition of dressing up?”

“I do. It’s the one night you can be someone else and it’s kind of just one night to be silly on Earth, I guess.”

“Then- We shall do this again next year.”

“What?”

Looking around to make sure nobody was watching, Ultra Magnus retracted his face plate and kissed your cheek, quickly sliding his face plated back afterwards. “I want you to feel cherished while you are with me, (Y/N). I love you and… You should not have to miss out on enjoyable moments for me. Let us do this again?”

Frankly gobsmacked, you simply nodded and Ultra Magnus pressed his helm against yours. You didn’t know it yet, but this would be the first night since you moved in with him that he would stay till you woke up; what had started out as a silly costume contest, had become a precious reminder for Ultra Magnus to get every precious moment he could with you.

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[crystalconjunx]

bayverse optimus with kinktober prompt 19 ewe

19. Dirty Dancing + Closet Bang

Bayverse Optimus/Reader

The new mass displacement drives were incredibly effective tools that allowed for Optimus and the other autobots to shrink to far more manageable sizes. Now that Cade Yeager finally had his barn back and the humans were at relative peace with their presence, his ranch had become a base of sorts.

It was where you and Optimus, along with all the others, could relax safely after a long day. 

It was where you and Optimus were now, sitting on large makeshift furniture while a few of the other bots sat around one of the small human entertainment devices Bumblebee called a "television." 

The movie that was on now had scenes with humans doing something called a 'pole dance,' in which a human woman climbed a metal rod and spun around in some obscure, intricate ritual.

"I don't get it," Crosshairs piped up. "What exactly do humans find attractive about paying women to climb poles?"

"Maybe it's the music?" Sideswipe asked. "It's definitely suggestive."

"No way," Hot Rod added in his unfortunate accent. "It's about the muscles, yes? The human men, they must like how strong the dancing women are."

"Ah, you bozos don't understand anything," Wheelie complained. "She's hot, she dances, she gets off the pole and grinds on his panels a little. It's simple. Imagine if Drift or Y/N here put on a show like that. You guys would go nuts."

Crosshairs cackled loudly, slapping his knees as he said: "Y/N dancing! Now that I would pay to see!"

"Yeah! How much?" you ask jokingly.

That got all the bots' attention. 

"Oh, no, Y/N," Hound groaned. "You've done it now."

"What are you gonna pay her with, Crosshairs? Parts?" Sideswipe laughed. 

"No. Y/N, I have a few bottles of Iaconian high-grade I've kept in my subspace since I left. Do it… and I'll give you one." He offered. 

That got even more of an uproar.

"Woah, woah, woah, you've had high grade all this time?" Hot Rod asked, standing up to move in in Crosshairs.

"Yeah! And fraggin' good stuff at that. You left Cybertron centuries ago. How old are they exactly?" Hound demanded. 

"15,000 cycles, give or take." He answered, kicking Hot Rod back and coming to stand in front of you. 

 So, What do you say, Y/N?" He asked. He held out his hand. "Deal?"

It had been a long time since you had high grade. Since anyone had, honestly. 

"Deal." You said, shaking his servo. You did your best to not pay much mind to his excited grin, but you couldn't turn to face the Prime who was sitting right next to you. 

You could feel his optics on you anyway. 

You were in the middle of a nature documentary when the barn doors swung open and Crosshairs, at his full height, climbed inside.

"Hey, guys!" Crosshairs shouted. "Look what I just nabbed off Daytrader!" 

It was a huge metal beam undoubtedly taken from a construction site somewhere and hopefully, not from the building being constructed. It was rounded and polished, made to look just like one of the poles in the film. 

Crosshairs immediately planted the beam— literally, he rammed it into the ground before welding the top part to the ceiling— and turned to you. 

"Alright, Y/N. Tonight you can make good on your deal and I'll make good on mine. I've even taken the liberty of picking out a few songs for you."

A challenge was a challenge, but even the embarrassment you were sure to face when you failed was a small price to pay for a taste of high grade.

"Alright, Crosshairs." You shot back, glancing up at the pole. In your displaced form, it was a bit intimidating. "You're on." 

Maybe Cade wouldn't notice.

The rest of the autobots who came to watch- Mirage, Hound, Sides, Crosshairs, Drift, and Hot Rod- certainly did, and made short work of rearranging the furniture to encircle the pole and ensuring a full 360° degree audience view. 

Wonderful. You hoped all the 'research' that Wheelie had provided you with would prove helpful. But so what? At the worst, you'd come out with a funny story, a few bad jokes, and a bottle of premium high grade. It would undoubtedly hit better than the few shots of unfiltered sludge that you'd become used to on Earth. 

You were prepared. To Crosshairs credit, the music wasn't bad. It had a nice beat and salacious lyrics that might help you focus your processors elsewhere. 

Everything was going fine until Optimus Prime walked in and took a seat by himself in front of you. 

You took a minute to calm your fans. It was no big deal, right? This was objectively entertaining. He was probably here for a laugh just like the others. 

At least if things got too embarrassing, you could just turn off your optics, right?

Crosshairs clapped his hands to get everyone's attention. 

"Alright, everyone. Here're the rules humans go by. First, no touching the mech's frame at all. Keep your hands to yourselves. If she falls, it's on her. Second, don't interrupt or I'll kick ya in the head. That's it." He said. He snapped his fingers this time, dimming the lights and starting the music from the beginning. 

One of the mech's behind you- Hot Rod, probably- let out a loud whistle when you slowly stood and put your back against the bar. 

You let the music fill your audials, wrapping your servo around the pole and sliding down with your knees closed. Facing Optimus, you slowly spread your legs apart and began to rise back up the pole. You wrapped an ankle around the polished metal and spun, letting your other leg stick out as you managed a surprisingly graceful lift. 

You let yourself cling to the pole again, wrapping around it and holding yourself up with your arms and thighs. You bent one leg around the pole at the knee and leaned back, stretching out until you could see Hound staring at you with his jaw hanging open.

You slid down the pole and onto the ground, letting your legs fall open in a wide split before you lifted your servos caress up your chassis. You leaned and put both your arms to the ground and swung your legs back, lying prone on the ground before pushing yourself up and lifting your hips in a few deep mock thrusts. You moved up on to your knees and crawled to the mech closest to you— Drift, you noticed belatedly— before rising to your feet in front of him, turning around, and revving your engine as you took to the pole again. 

If the bots had been laughing before, they certainly weren't now. You had never felt such a rush of excitement, of power, as the warm air from their rushing vents glanced across your frame. 

You grabbed the pole and ground your panels against it before turning around and opening your legs wide, trailing your servos down to the top of your closed interface panel before splaying them open and dragging them back up. 

You couldn't help but look up at Optimus, seated right in front of you. His optics were like fire, burning across your frame and leaving you strutless. 

Time for the finale, then. You climbed up the pole, one arm over the other until you were well above eye level, before grabbing your leg and entering another fast spin. You ended it by putting both servos on the beam and spreading your legs as wide as you could, interface on full display.

Then you flashed your biolights. Humans had no equivalent, but to Cybertronians— to the mechs looking up at you in shock— it was positively sinful. 

You let yourself slide down the pole as gracefully as you could. 

How humans managed to do that on a regular basis, you didn't want to know. Your protoform was practically melting from the strain. 

From the looks of the cheering mechs around you, they hadn't seemed to notice. 

"That was amazing, Y/N!" Hot Rod said. "I haven't seen Drift lose his cool so quick in centuries."

Drift only grumbled in response, but he offered you a small nod despite his deep blush. 

Hound clapped you on the back. "I think we could start sellin' tickets any day now. At the very least, I think you definitely deserve that high-grade now. Don't ya think so, Crosshairs?"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, reaching into his subspace. "Mech of my word. Here ya are, Y/N. And not a bad show. Let me know when the next show is." He joked while he handed you the large bottle. Especially large, considering your current form.

"Thanks," you said, storing the drink in your own subspace for safe-keeping. "Why don't you try it next time, Cross?" You laughed. 

He fluttered his optics at you. "Oh? Are you saying you think I'm pretty enough?" He laughed. 

The other bots surrounding them quickly pounced on as he went for the pole, leaving you a chance to slip away and relax your vents. You slipped into one of the small storage rooms in the back of the barn. 

And found yourself suddenly pressed against the wall and pulled into a heated kiss by none other than Optimus Prime himself.

Primus, but even displaced like he was, he still felt so big and powerful. You kissed him back, doing your best to match the movements of his glossa with your own as you wrapped your legs around his waist. His fans were practically roaring as he pulled away from you.

"Is this alright? I hope I was not too forward." He said apologetically. "Your dance affected me more than I realized."

"It would be fine if you didn't stop," you said, wrapping your legs a little tighter around him. 

"Y/N," he warned, but you could detect the hint desperation in his voice as he said your name.

"Yes, Optimus, I want you. You're handsome, and kind, and brave, and I really, really want you to keep kissing me." You pleaded.

That was all he needed to hear before his mouth was back on yours. You ignored the sounds of raucous laughter coming from the barn as Optimus's hand found your panel, tracing the biolights around it with reverent servos. 

"May I?" He asked between pressing bites to your neck cables. 

You let your panels slide open, throwing your head back as he wet two of his fingers in his mouth and pressed them against your valve, pushing them in slowly to stretch you as gently as he could manage in his haste. 

You only let him finger you for a few moments, enough to spread you open for him, before you begged him for his spike. 

"Please, please, Optimus, it's fine. Just frag me already!" You begged.

"As you wish, Y/N," he growled before lining his spike up with your valve and slamming inside. It was a little soon, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care as your calipers quickly adjusted.

He wasted no time as he fragged into you hard and fast, his dentae hard and sharp against your shoulder as you held onto him while your engine stuttered in pleasure. 

"Oppy, Oppy, Oppy, please," you cried, pawing your servos at his chest plates, "Please touch me!" You begged. 

He dropped a servo to your anterior node, circling it as he kept up his thrusts. 

"You're so beautiful, Y/N. I knew I had to see you. I knew if I watched you I wouldn't be able to stop myself. They can all watch you, but only I can touch you. You belong to me." He asserted his point with another rough thrust, lighting up those deep-set nodes that had you biting into his own shoulder plates to muffle your cries while he pinched and rolled your anterior node.

"Overload for me, Y/N," he whispered into your audial. "Show me who you belong to." 

The white-hot charge you'd been carrying all night burned through your worn-out frame at his command. You could feel the energy rush through your spark as he hilted himself into you and shared the electric shock that burned you inside and out with pleasure as his spike throbbed inside you.

Slowly, gently, he pulled away and unwrapped your legs from his frame before he carefully lowered you to the ground.

You caught him by the helm before he could move away, giving him a soft kiss this time. His blue optics met your own, and he smiled before sitting next to you. 

"I take it you're coming to the next show?" You ask him as you lean against his warm frame.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." He said, leaning back.

That high-grade would definitely come in handy.

[eulerami]

Not Quite Old Times: Saints Row 2 Fic Troy x M!Boss, (Ignacio.) [Song Inspiration]

        It was always raining in Stilwater. 

          Every time he looked, it seemed the waves would swell a bit more, swallowing some of the coastline, sinking a chunk of road or silted bank, until another piece broke off and took the better part of a block with it. The plains were eradicated, the fields muddy ditches, now rebranded as summertime getaways for unbeatable prices. Finally Stilwater became an island, isolated, alone--paradisaical, with all undesirable at the bottom of the lake. Yet all anyone complained about were their shoes getting wet.

It was ironic, perhaps a little disgusting-- yet there he sat, seat reclined, watching from a parking lot. The Arena District; way out here, across town. He’d come to watch the coast, same as every evening after a long day of doing the right thing.

The ignition was off, rain battered the windshield, and a few rogue droplets still managed to find their way through a cracked window. His fingers flicked the nub of a cigarette while he saw the waves ebb and flow, crashing mere feet from the sophisticated aesthetic, yet technologically useless, dams.

Across the canal was where it happened. The lights of the refurbished bridge shone foggy in the storm. It brought a grunt, as he turned his eyes down to check the contents of the Styrofoam cup in hand, lukewarm coffee halfway drained. It wasn’t that good anyway.

The quiet was welcome. A day of ringing phones and paperwork left his ears still ringing, and he found it pathetic in its own right that he was sore from it. He barely left that gilded office, only to find reprieve in a sketchy parking lot full of dumpsters and sputtering barrel-fires. Smirking, he took a long drag, exhaling through his nose slowly.

Yeah, that felt like home—at least for a few minutes.

He pushed his neck against the headrest, annoyed--despite the generous budget of their glowing benefactors, Ultor still couldn’t supply a car with substantial headspace, let alone leg room. He missed the days of low-rider muscle cars and midnights spent on the hood, watching the stars half-baked and rambling about the future. A dream or a facade, it didn’t matter.  

In the passenger seat, a box of paperwork waited where someone wanting to spend the night with him used to be. Had six years really gone by so fast? The years piled on after a while, and then they were gone.  

As he sighed again, tapping his knee against the door, he let his eyes fall closed to stifle the special sort of exhausted frustration he felt these days. To his left, however, somewhere out there in the storm, the shrill revving of a motorcycle grew louder. He cocked a brow, opening an eye only to peek through the windshield.

As quickly as he had, a motorcyclist shot by, body arched, head low in the night. Sitting upright, he grimaced, squinting through the dark. The cyclist spun out in the barren street,  foot coming to catch, thick back tire skidding with a squeal.

They drove up to the parking lot, a long, methodical pace this time, before rolling to a stop. They seemed to lock gazes with him, out there at the edge of the street, from a face cast in hooded shadow. Overhead lights of closed businesses illuminated their silhouette in warm light, but they were still anonymous. Their hand flexed, the bike responded with a piercing roar of its engine, smoke kicking up behind the tire. “...a’ite, hotshot,” he muttered, sitting upright in his seat. He watched the cyclist, brow knitted, evidence that his souring mood would end up even more bitter before he got a chance to find his couch for the night. The figure in the distance goaded him, revving the gas, coming to burnout but stopping just short with a squeal of the tires. Finally, their hand went to the pocket of a thick sweatshirt, and brandished a pistol.

“Shit--!” Troy ducked under the dash, as a bullet pierced the hood of the car. Once, twice, two pops fired ringing in the night, deafened by the storm--an all-too familiar sound. He hissed between his teeth, raising tired eyes to the ignition, and turning the key. The red-blue lights blared on the cab, siren sounding. The cyclist revved again, foot forcing the sportbike into a circle before speeding off in the other direction.

His foot slammed the gas and the cruiser sped after the other, turning a corner into the empty highway. He accelerated, but the rain painted the other’s tail light as little more than a dull orb to follow. He squinted, the wipers doing jack to mitigate the storm, but he knew this town before the streetlights and levies, and no self-respecting race car had wipers. The sportbike bucked as it hit the dirt, the rider relying on their leg to steer it through the mud, as they crashed through a locked gate. Troy locked his jaw, now gaining ground, as his vehicle fared better than a motorcycle in the mud. Somehow, the cyclist still managed to go speeding up the dirt road through the mountain pass, twisting when needed to force a sharp turn through junk and soggy leaves.

“Where you goin’?!” He yelled to no-one, eyes never leaving the other, as trees and tall dynamited cliff walls blurred by. He was dragged out to the woods, spiraling around the bluff of Mt. Claflin. He nearly rammed the cyclist over the bumps of dirt road, as the bike ahead sped only to come to a slowing halt in the clearing.

Troy sat there, engine idling, white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. A crash of thunder roared overhead, rain heavy and unrelenting, wipers in full speed. He waited a moment, turning off his siren but not the lights, and they flashed and shone over the wet bark of the surrounding forestry. The cyclist leaned over, kick-stand propped, as they dismounted. They turned to stare at him, yet again—soaked to the bone.

Troy reached for the radio, but didn’t dial. Instead his other hand found the gun at his belt, and without taking his eyes from the other, he opened the car door.

Several beeps, interior light, red and blue flashing. The pounding rain soaked his jacket in moments, cascading over the brim of his hat. He raised his chin—structured, disciplined.

“Put your hands where I can see ‘em,” he called, but his voice lacked conviction; those words meant little. He didn’t want to shoot this idiot, for no other reason than he wanted to be home. Hand resting over the gun, still standing behind the car door, he unclasped the snap. When the other didn’t move, hands lazily in their sweatshirt pocket, stance loose, he gritted his teeth. Pulling the gun, he aimed, one-handed and irritated.

“I said ‘hands up,’ shithead!”  The other’s shoulders moved, as if they’d chuckled.

“¡Tanto tiempo sin verte, güero!”

He froze, eyes widening slightly. He squinted again to get a better look through the rain, confusion spreading across his face as his mouth twisted, “...Nacho?”

“That any way to say hello?” A coy, taunting head tilt in his direction brought Troy to exhale, his arm slowly lowering. Scowling now, he shuffled slightly, arm to his side.

He stood there, disgruntled, before exasperation laced his demand, “whataya want?”

“Just wanna’ talk; you don’t seem to know how to pick up a phone, so.”

Troy stared, indignant-- “You shot at me!”

“Got your attention.”

He scoffed, shaking his head, letting it hang. He re-holstered his gun, eyes settled in the mud. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he took a steady breath, before gesturing with annoyed urgency.

“Get’n the car.”

“Más vale que sea digno de mi tiempo--”

“Just shut up and do it, will ya?” He half-barked, voice cracking, twinge of desperation betraying the anger. Ignacio raised his hands in mock defense, but he did as he asked and closed the distance between them. Troy watched him go to the door, moving his box of paperwork to the backseat, muttering, “it’s open.”

Two car doors slammed, and silence.

Ignacio sat in the passenger seat with relaxed indifference, green eyes set ahead to the overlooking cliffs. He raised thick brows, turning his head to look at the other’s profile as he removed his hat, tossing it on the dashboard. The only sound was that of water dripping from their clothes onto the leather interior.

“...You look good.”

“Ha-ha, very funny.” Troy quipped, teeming with reproachful sarcasm, smoothing his hair back.

“I’m serious,” he said convincingly, but Troy still hissed between his teeth. “Never thought I’d see you in blue.”

“Yeah and I never thought I’d see your ass walkin’ again,” he retorted, “...let alone talkin’.”

“I guess I have you to thank for that, don’t I?”

Troy pulled a crumpled pack of smokes from his breast pocket, shaking his head lightly to himself again as he took one in his mouth. Finding the cheap lighter, he flicked it a few times, aggravated when it sparked uselessly. He opted instead for the dashboard lighter, Ignacio looking on in tense silence. “So…” he began, voice trailing off into rasp, patting his knees in fidgeting rhythm, “why’d you do it?”

“Do what?” Troy snapped, finally lighting his cigarette and taking a long drag. Ignacio shrugged, quiet, before looking up at him with genuine eyes.

“Save my life.”

Troy paused, seeing him there with his peripherals, face still obscured by the hooded sweatshirt. He exhaled, smoke wafting in the car’s cab, before he cracked a window and waved it away.

“...Why else?” He asked finally, incredulously, voice breaking again. “Call it habit, maybe. Whataya think I am, huh?”

“I’m not so sure what I think you are,” Ignacio responded coolly, slowly, expression calm and unwavering. “A liar, first-off.”

Turning to him, he got his first good look at the other since he last saw him lying there in a hospice bed. Scarred face from chemical burns, scarred neck from a 6-year-long tracheostomy. His eyes were unchanged, fiercer, but the same as he remembered. He felt his own fierceness soften.

“Yeah, alright.” Troy answered with a defeated tone, turning away again. He continued to puff on his cigarette, before squinting angrily at nothing. “You here to kill me? You wanna’ try that? Ask Gat how that went.”

“No need to get touchy,” Ignacio shook his head, “Just here to talk.”

“About what?”

“What I asked you. Why’d you do it, seeing as you and Julius wanted me dead and all—“

“That isn’t true,” Troy slapped his hand down on the center console, turning to him abruptly. Pointing, cigarette in hand, “I had nothing to do with that—I was pissed and terrified, Nacho, what the fuck do you think—“

“So it isn’t true, then.” He interrupted loudly, tone skeptic and taunting. “You weren’t in on it? You didn’t know how he planned to disassemble the Saints and sell us out? You probably didn’t know about the bomb either, right?”

“Correct.” He replied slowly, sternly, with a locked jaw.

Ignacio chuckled dryly, looking at the floor before glancing at him again. “Should’ve stayed a Saint, Troy; you’re a shitty cop.”

“Any other pearls of wisdom?”

Ignacio said nothing, simply blinking before tilting his head.

Troy’s lips formed a line, thoroughly exhausted, frustrated, and hurt all at once. He wanted to scream at him, he wanted to punch him too, probably, but he also was overcome with the worst of all--relief.

“You want answers? Fine,” he muttered, returning to his slumped position in his seat. Knees apart, head reclined, he smoked for a moment in silence while he tried to lower his blood pressure. “Don’t pretend that I don’t know why you brought me out here, a’ite? I remember this place. It’s yesterday for you, but it’s yesterday for me too. And I was awake the last six years.”

Ignacio remained quiet, simply raising his eyebrows as he reached to lower his hood, patting down his dampened hair. “It’s true that I knew Julius planned to disband the Saints, that was the plan from the get. What I didn’t know is that he planned for you to be the fall-guy for it, so he could fuck off to who knows where.”

“You don’t know where Julius is now?”

Troy shook his head, exhaling more smoke. He closed his eyes for a few moments, before continuing. “You took the fall for Julius, but here I was in the same proverbial boat for Monroe. Lucky for me, you got him before that could happen.”

“He what-now?” “Yeah, you missed all that. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

Ignacio stared ahead, calculatingly a moment, before Troy interrupted the thought. “Point is, I thought I’d just have to arrest you. I didn’t want to do it, especially not after...we, well. You can believe that if you want, but it’s the truth. Julius took it further, knowing you’d never stop.”

“Damn right.”

He inhaled deeply again. “It was a real mess.”

Ignacio watched his face, before looking out at the storm again. He really couldn’t remember much, not even pain.

“I remember you visiting. TV on, you talkin’. Don’t remember what you were sayin’, though.” “Huh?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “Yeah, it’s weird.” His shoulders slumped, and he reached for the seat lever, adjusting it and reclining. He stared at the interior light, looking over at Troy, who looked back in confusion. Ignacio outstretched his arm, and plucked the cigarette from his lips, bringing it to his own. It was Troy’s turn to chuckle dryly, shaking his head and looking at the roof of the car too.

“...I knew you’d wake up.” He murmured. “The first year...was the hardest.”

“You’re right about one thing; it is still all yesterday for me. Even sitting out here, even with that eyesore.”  

Troy turned his head, glancing at him, and then to the Ultor Pyramid in the distance, bright as ever. “Real weird hearin’ you say that.”

“I got a lot to say.”

“I couldn’t even get a peep outta’ you back then, now you won’t shut up.”

Ignacio smirked a bit, scratching his beard. “Depended on the situation.”

“A-ha, yeah, don’t get cute.”

“What was this, anyway?” He gestured between them, “A way to pass the time?”

“Jesus, Nacho—“

“I get it, at least be fuckin’ honest about it.”

“What do I have to do to prove myself at this point, huh? What do you want from me? You really think all the stunts you get away with are all on your own merit? I keep my guys, the FBI, the news, off your nuts on a daily basis. And here you are asking me if—if it was—uh,” he searched for the word in his frustration, “...real.”

“That’s right.”

“Christ,” he sighed, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Why’s it so hard to say?”

“Because I don’t know, alright? I don’t know. I was under a lot of fuckin’ pressure, walking a fuckin’ tightrope—“

“That tends to happen when you lie.”

“I didn’t have a choice!”

“Of course you did, and you’ve made them. So have I.”

Ignacio sat up, taking another drag of the cigarette before holding it between his lips. He started to raise his hood again, as Troy watched him with conflicted eyes.

“I ain’t gonna bother you. But, don’t fuck with me, or my Saints.” He reached for the door handle, as Troy sat up quickly.

“Wait a minute—“

“We’re done here.”

Troy grabbed his sleeve abruptly, forcing him to turn. Ignacio tensed, fists balled, but Troy took hold of his face, yanking him forward, before gripping the back of his neck sharply, pulling him somewhat over the center console.

Still stronger than he looked. “I watched you lay in a bed for six years, with everyone in my ear tellin’ me you were done for, a waste of time, a waste of money. I dragged your bloody-fuckin’-body out of the water when half’ur face was hangin’ off. I had to sit there with the life drainin’ out of you on the fucking cement, you get me?!”

Ignacio’s lips parted to speak, but Troy’s fingers flexed angrily, “shut the fuck up a minute, huh? You have no idea what I’ve been through to keep you breathin’. You have no idea what it did to me  to see you like that. You think I wanted any of this? Someone has to take responsibility and abide the red tape, otherwise, all of it was--...was for nothin’.”

Ignacio stared into his eyes, dark and tired, but the spark of who he remembered still clear behind them. He dipped his chin slightly, eyebrows furrowed, eyes piercing and challenging.

“You really want to play this game?”

“No,” he spat, voice tight. “no I don’t.”  His eyes darted between each of his, brow quivering, before he lowered his head. His grip loosened, as Ignacio’s shoulders relaxed, but only slightly. A long shuddering breath left his nose, as he closed his eyes, feeling the familiar sting. “I don’t care what you do.” His hands left him, trembling, unsure if it was rage or...something else. “It’s over for me. It ain’t for you.” “Estas son chingaderas--” “Eh, ha—I have no idea what that means.”

“Fine.” A gloved hand rose, flicking the stolen cigarette out the window. He took hold of his jaw, Troy opening his eyes, startled. “Good thing I don’t believe that.”

He leaned forward, lids heavy, before pressing his lips to his. A sense of familiarity washed over him, for the first time since he awoke to find his home a reformed metropolis. Everyone in it had changed, moved on, forgotten him and what he was—what he stood for, what so many had bled for. This was his city--it was free under him and his Saints. Even Johnny was oddly...domesticated, matured. The whiplash lingered, an obscure vertigo only he knew.

All save for one.

Troy’s fingertips found his arms, as he tilted his head, deepening their kiss with exhausted reprieve. Nostalgia seared his heart, and brought a lump to his throat he couldn’t force down. Yet, he was overtaken in the smell of rain and smoke, and for a moment, reclaimed his youth he’d left behind.

They parted only for breath, some odd suspension of time. Ignacio felt his forehead press against the other’s, and with a light inhale, his fingers toyed with his hair, and stroked the nape of his neck. A semblance of reality, something present to remind him it wasn’t all a dream.

Troy’s eyes squeezed shut again, before he opened them, glossy and pained.

“I...missed you,” he finally managed, choking out his words. “You don’t know how...how damn hard it’s been, I—“

“It’s all gonna’ change now,” Ignacio told him quietly, “I’m gonna’ retake this city and make it right.”

Troy exhaled slowly, breath catching in his throat before he leaned away slightly. “You can’t go around so carelessly, Nacho, these people, Ultor, they’re bad news man—“

“I ain’t scared.” He told him, thumb coming to stroke his cheekbone. “I don’t want you worryin’ about it right now.”

He let out a heavy sigh, hand raising to rest atop the other’s, before meeting his gaze again.

Ignacio’s lips formed a slight grin, eyes peaceful, yet an undertone of mischief. “...Y’know, this ain’t my Bootlegger. Not much room in here.”

“Yeah,” Troy half-sniggered, letting his head hang, and press into Ignacio’s shoulder, “tell me about it; I bang my head on the door all the time.”

“We could...go someplace?”

“You actually have a house these days? Your car’s gotta’ feel so betrayed.”

“As a matter of fact,” he muttered proudly, brow quirking. “I don’t think you’d wanna’ be seen out that way, though.”

“I happen to have an apartment in Barrio.”

“Really?” He looked at the other in playful disbelief, a brow raising. “Chief of police lives in the Barrio?”

“Yeah, wanted to uh...well, be nearby, I guess. Your hospice was down the road a bit. ...That, and the food’s great.”

Ignacio silently laughed once,“...I guess I owe you an apology.”

Troy leaned up, returning to his seat, peering at him with a somewhat sheepish expression before looking away.

“Eh,” he waved it off, “make it up to me.”

“Oh, I plan to.”

He exhaled through an embarrassed smirk, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing rogue strands out of his eyes. “What uh—what about your bike?”

Ignacio reclined in his seat, bringing his arms behind his head and relaxing. “I’ll call somebody to pick it up.”

Troy glanced at him, before nodding a bit, clearing his throat. “Well, alright then.” He turned the key, starting the car.

He pulled forward, before backing up and leaving down the dirt road. The downpour continued, darkening the night in pounding rain. Still, as they drove and they talked, crossing the bridge, reminiscing in hesitant, short sentences, the air was calm--despite the inevitable storm to come.

[dear-chaton]

We Fly By Street Signs ~ I. Gasoline;

Archive of Our Own Chapters; 1 2

Alright so I found an old story from a year ago and decided to revamp it into a proper drag racing au, so please enjoy the first installment of We Fly By Street Signs

Or the one where drag racing was Marinette’s whole life until a certain bachelor came along

                                                I. Gasoline; 1982

Adrenaline. That hormone secreted by the adrenal glands, especially in conditions of stress, increasing rates of blood circulation, breathing, and carbohydrate metabolism and preparing muscles for exertion

One moment Marinette was staring at the starting line, Alya holding a checkered flag above her head while a crowd gathered around her car and the other racers. The reigning champion revved her engine causing the newbie named Ivan, to do the same. Her best friend since they were little, Nino Lahiffe was parked on the other side and laid a long one his horn.

❝Shut up will ya!❞ She shouted, earning a wild chuckle from the man. Nino gave her a salute before Marinette called her attention on the volunteer waving the flag in front of them. Alya Cesaire, Marinette knew of the girl since primary school and knew she made the right decision to have her be the referee if Nino’s drooling was anything to go for.

❝Racers, start your engines!❞ Marinette and the other racers revved their engines as the crowd around them cheered. Marinette knew every face in the crowd that night, it was hard not to know when she came around these parts to race every weekend. Nino began to taunt the newbie as Marinette began to breathe in deeply, all noise ceasing to exist. She placed her hands firmly on the steering wheel.

There was peace for what seemed like forever but in reality, it only lasted a millisecond as a bullhorn was released and the three racers peeled away from the starting line.

The newbie proved to be a newbie when his car stalled as Marinette and Nino took off. And anyways, this was just between Marinette and Nino, he owed her for pulling strings to get Alya to come tonight and there was no way she was letting the jerk win to impress the girl of his dreams.

It was a simple around the block race, if Alya knew her stuff like Marinette knew the reporter did, then she would know this was nothing to fuss about. Still, it was nice to see Nino get his act together, even if it was for this girl. Things weren’t always so happy and well between them but she was just honestly happy that he was showing part of his old personality again.

That was a story for another time as Marinette took a hard right in order to cut Nino off. Tired squealed, and she knew she was in the lead when she heard Nino cursing at her.

❝Ladybug!❞ Hearing her alter ego shouted making Marinette laugh in delight, her face was sure to start hurting from all the smiling she had been doing. What she didn’t expect however was for Ivan to take the previous turn with ease and speed past her with the bird held high. Marinette scoffed, she wasn’t about to get bested by this newcomer and switched gears to go even faster. Tires screeched behind her, Nino coming to speed with her with his window down.

❝That dirty bastard! He rammed me into the fence and overtook me!❞ He shouted, before speeding ahead. Marinette saw that his paint job was now horribly ruined and knew what she had to do. These were neighborhood races, everyone knew everyone and one of the rules was to never mess up someone’s ride. You were immediately disqualified so that meant, even if Ivan crossed the finish line, it wouldn’t count unless Nino or she passed it.

❝1v1, oh you’re on Lahiffe.❞ Marinette mumbled as she pressed on the gas just enough to speed past Nino and Ivan in the final stretch. It was not even up for debate her win. Nino was sulking before he got out of his car, only to stop when Alya walked by.

❝Ladybug! Ladybug! Ladybug!❞ Everyone cheered, hoisting Marinette onto their shoulders. Nino eventually did join in on the cheering, he knew that Marinette was fair and deserved it. He stepped up to the crowd as Marinette was let down from her throne, fanning the crowds as they silenced.

❝Now to celebrate Miss Lady Luck’s win, are you all ready for the party of the year?❞ He yelled, fist pumping the air. Cheers broke out again as Marinette laughed, surging forward to give Nino a fast side hug and stole his snapback.

The brunet chuckled, giving her a friendly shove and stealing his hat back. The crowd disperses fairly quickly, leaving just them two as they walk to their cars, laughing quietly to themselves. They’re almost there when suddenly Nino stiffens and Marinette knew she had 0.2 seconds to leap away before he puked. But it never came as he swayed from side to side, reaching out blindly for her.

❝I’m fine, just get me to my car.❞

❝You must be insane to think I’m letting you drive in this condition.❞

❝Oh, c’mon I promise Alya I would be there at the party.❞

❝You're sweating and almost fainted, Nino are you taking your medication?❞

❝Of course, I am Mari.❞ Nino wiped the sweat off his brow and looked at her with sadness.

❝It's just a little episode, cmon I might actually get to talk to Alya.❞ Marinette bit her lip in thought, he looked well enough and this was the first time in while that he had an episode. She groaned and Nino gave out a little whoop in excitement.

❝Fine, but I’m driving so you don’t have another accident.❞

❝What about old Jade, I just can’t leave her out here in the open, all alone.❞

❝We can always pick her up tomorrow, when we, oh I don’t know, go on about our normal lives?❞

❝Fine, just let me pick something up at the apartment.❞

❝If you forgot protection I swear to god Nino,❞

❝Mari! No, I wanted to show Alya my new mixtape!❞ Nino blushed as they got situated in her car.

As Marinette drove away from the street, she had to ask.

❝How’s your leg?❞ Nino groaned, rolling up his left pant leg to reveal the same old prosthetic he’s had for the last two years.

❝Still intact Mari, no need to worry.❞

❝But there is, Nino this is the fourth time in two months you’ve nearly passed out while racing!❞

❝I’m fine, honestly Marinette it was two years ago. I got the best of the best right here.❞ Nino knocked on his leg, a knock on the metal sounded back and she sighed. Marinette had to believe him, Nino was always stronger than she thought but that didn’t mean she could just erase the accident from her mind just like that.

❝Please tell me you’ve been using the ointment at least.❞

❝Yes, mother.❞

❝And do you still have the cover or do you need another one. Your birthday is coming soon, right?❞ Silence answers her and Marinette glances at Nino, who was trying his hardest to look stern.

❝Mari, I know you blame yourself, but you know I don’t right? I’m fine as can be.❞

❝But you can’t race professionally.❞ Tears that she had so desperately tried to hold back fell freely. A hand came up and wiped them gently away as she pulled into their driveway.

❝Who says I want to?❞

❝You! You told me your entire life that you want to be a super cool racecar driver and it was your dream Nino, you just can’t give that up.❞

❝Marinette, you and I know fully well that you would keep me off the track even before I got this thing. If anything, you belong out there, not me.❞ Nino sighed, running a hand through his messy locks.

❝Its high time that I stop fooling myself and quit this recklessness, plus I’m not quite ready to lose more than my leg, let alone you.❞ Marinette laughed, as Nino reached over the console to give her a hug.

❝Alright, I’ll be right back unless you want to change clothes?❞ Marinette looked down at her oily rags for clothes and took the car keys. The door to their second-floor apartment was already open, seeing Nino had a head start, Marinette swung it close as she headed to her room to change.

The advantages of having a best friend since you before you could walk; automatic roommate.

The disadvantages of said best friend were as such. Marinette heard a crash come from Nino’s room and dropped everything she was holding, sprinting to his side of the apartment only to find him grinning wildly with a CD in his hands.

❝You are going to be the death of me one day I swear.❞

❝Nice bra.❞ Marinette squealed, covering her chest as she ran from Nino’s room and his stupid laughter.

❝Last time I’m checking if you’re dead or not!❞ She shouted from the safety of her room.

❝Love you!❞

❝Yeah yeah, love you too❞

Within half an hour, they were ready, changed and on the road. Nino was driving this time as Marinette had no clue where the party was in the first place. She wasn’t even the party girl type, but she just couldn’t miss out the moment Nino started blubbering in front of Alya, it was too pure.

❝Oh, I forgot to mention but one of my buddies from school is going to be there.❞

❝Oh no, if this is another one of your ploys to get me on the dating scene, it's not happening.❞

❝No! God Marinette, I learned my lesson after Nathanael,❞ He rubbed his arm subconsciously, Marinette had a good arm when she needed to.

❝I’m just saying, he doesn’t get out much and I would appreciate it if you didn’t bite his head off.❞

❝Just as long as you don’t set me up on another blind date, you got yourself a deal. And when have I ever bit anyone’s head off?❞

❝Are you kidding me right now? Are you serious, do you have a temperature or something? Need I remind you of secondary school where you and Chloe fought like every day and I’m still in shock that you never got suspended.❞ Marinette mumbled to herself as Nino continued to list off her encounters with rude people.

❝Alright I get it,❞

❝Good, I thought for a second you were Marinette’s doppelganger. And since when do you have a ladybug bra?❞ Marinette squealed, avoiding Nino’s poking finger as he steered with his knee.

❝Drive like a normal person Nino!❞

❝Funny you say that miss drag racing queen. What am I, your chauffeur or something?❞

❝Hey, you offered to drive, not me.❞ Nino huffed, taking a right turn before they rolled into a quiet neighborhood.

❝Shit, I think I forgot my phone! Mari, you gotta lend me yours so I can text Alya.❞

❝Nope, the last time I gave you my phone I got a random girl asking to hook up again.❞

❝I told you that I’m interested in Alya and that was one time, I was young and stupid, Mari, please!❞ Marinette all but throws her phone at him, waiting for the telltale noise of typing before jumping out of the car.

❝Thanks, Mari, I owe you!❞

❝Don’t forget your mixtape and we’ll call it even.❞ Nino gave her phone back, locking the car and pulled her up to the house.

❝Have some fun Mari, and don’t get too into your head!❞ Nino shouted over the loud music before disappearing, typical.

Well, she was surely going to show him, as she made her way to the kitchen. Little did she know, this was the party that would surely change her life.

[buzzdixonwriter]

Spoilericious Notes On THE LAST JEDI

That’s good… Luke Skywalker, Kylo Ren, and Yoda (hey, I said this would be spoilericious!) are all in agreement that humanity (because humanity represents about 90% of the Star Wars universe; there’s a whole side issue on human privilege that could be explored but we won’t) has grossly misunderstood what The Force is all about, attributing moral / ethical values it lacks (The Force simply…is), and as such creating a huge mess with the whole Jedi / Sith dichotomy and so should be (literally) burned to the ground and something new built from the ashes.

That’s bad… Based on the amount of training Rey goes through to get to avalanche lifting levels of Force mastery, Rocky Balboa would be an omnipotent god if he could just get into the Star Wars universe.  Y’know how in Hong Kong action films and Japanese anime the characters say, “We need special training,” and they spend thirty seconds to a minute in a montage and come out ready to kick Bruce Lee’s ass?  Not as much training as that.

That’s good… For the first time the Star Wars universe acknowledges the dreadful compromise and complexity of any large scale society, in particular how the wealth of the Star Wars universe is generated through arms sales and as such there is absolutely no reason for anyone to stop fighting.

That’s bad… In his climactic showdown with Kylo Ren, Luke Skywalker (dammit, read the title of this post; I said there would be spoilers) promises him and the fans that ”the war is just beginning”.  Question: Are Disney and the filmmakers even aware that they are criticizing their own business model?  I mean, in a certain sense they’re trapped; by the very name Star WARS they are compelled to tell stories about a grandiose interstellar conflict, unlike Star Trek which is just about a long trip that visits distant planets (or at least used to be…).  But this means that despite the title of Episode IV, there is no hope! and the Star Wars universe is condemned to an eternity of horrific conflict and violent death.

That’s good… Everybody has agreed to forget all about that silly midi-chlorian nonsense.

That’s bad… After presenting a consistently godless universe in ten theatrical features, two TV movies, six TV series, and lord knows how many books / comics / games, the concept of God has been dropped into Star Wars (hell as a concept was introduced back in Empire Strikes Back).  I’m absolutely not saying that God has no place in popular entertainment, just that the universe of Star Wars -- both in concept and execution -- consistently portrayed a culture where the very idea of God had never been introduced (but this may be attributable to bad scripting; see below…).

That’s good… Snoke’s throne room is like something out of a 1950s MGM musical, and I mean that in a good sense:  It looks genuinely futuristic and other worldly.  There are some small edits and cutaway shots in the film that look like nothing else in the Star Wars universe (and not big special effects scenes but rather subtle little moments).  Now and then there are specific call outs to earlier films, in particular Luke Skywalker dying (Fnck you!  I told you there would be spoilers!) under twin suns echoing the moment in the original Star Wars when he stared off into the twin sunset of Tatooine and realized destiny was calling him elsewhere.  And the salt-encrusted mineral world of Crait is the closest thing to a genuinely alien world that we’ve ever seen in Star Wars.

That’s bad… As my son-in-law Bobby Dragulescu observed, the Star Wars universe is only visually consistent:  In no shape / fashion / form does it portray a uniform worldview (or rather, galactic-view) of a society that could actually function.  The political systems are a hot mess, and for all the endless talk about trade alliances in the prequels, there’s virtually no signs of actual large scale interstellar trade or commerce (with the possible exception of the bio-factory on Kamino cranking out endless copies of Temuera Morrison in Attack Of The Clones).  Mind you, virtually all space operas suffer from this flaw (Star Trek The Original Series hid it better than most by taking place so waaay far out there that commerce had not yet completely caught up with the Enterprise).  Star Wars looks pretty but makes no damn sense, and this problem only gets worse with each additional installment, building towers of cards on foundations of sand.

That’s good… Poe’s brief exchange with General Hux was Monty Python / Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy level hilarity, shockingly unexpected in a funny (not offensive) manner, and an absolute delight harkening back to the cheekiest lines in the original Star Wars and The Empire Strikes Back.

That’s bad… The rest of the film has the worst dialog heard in a Star Wars movie written by anybody other than George Lucas.

That’s good… More (human) diversity in the roles, with females and non-whites / non-Europeans filling in a lot of supporting roles.

That’s bad… As much as I hate agreeing on anything with the fragile alt-right critics who decry said diversity, to this specifically limited degree they have a point:  The appearance of such characters was often shot / staged / edited in a way that instead of appearing naturalistic called undo attention to the casting.  “Hey, look!  We’ve got an Asian female doing stuff!”

That’s good… Gimme a moment…

That’s bad… I almost typed “There isn’t a single good performance in this film” but realized that isn’t true; there are several good performances but the bad ones are so bad they suck all memory of the good into a black hole of mediocrity.  Daisy Ridley as Rey does a good job, Domhnall Gleeson as General Hux and Benicio del Toro as DJ both chew scenery with great gusto, Kelly Marie Tran as Rose Tico struggles mightily to make a silk purse out of her sow’s ear and ends up with a nice imitation leather wallet, Andy Serkis draws ahead of Doug Jones as the best-actor-you-never-actually-see-onscreen race, but much to my delight Adam Driver as Kylo Ren goes so far over the emo top that I am capable of forgiving the film of all its grievous flaws.  That being said, The Last Jedi does Carrie Fisher no favors in her final portrayal of Leia Organa (flying through space like a Marvel superhero doesn’t help, either), Laura Dern is woefully miscast and seems to think she’s just doing a table read, and although serviceable as Luke Skywalker, Mark Hamil proves himself to be the least compelling performer to play a Jedi or Sith.  (He does shine as the voice of Dobbu Scay, a trollish alien who insists on shoving coins up BB-8’s nether regions.)

That’s good… ...lemme think…

That’s bad… When it’s good (see themes up above) the script is very good, but when it’s bad (50%+ of the remaining film) it sucks wet farts out of dead porgs.  Finn, Rose, and DJ have an incredibly convoluted / overly complicated hour long sub-plot that contributes absolutely nothing to the story’s final resolution.  They visit a gambling casino world that looks like a crappy swipe from a James Bond movie (tho the Gerry Anderson Supermarionation-looking alien was a nice touch), feature an alien critter race that’s a lift from Syd Mead, and chat incessantly via com-links while traveling through hyperspace despite the fact that tracking ships through hyperspace is repeatedly presented as a radical leap in technology!  And while it’s revealed the First Order has planted a homing device on Leia’s ship (something Darth Vader did in the original Star Wars with the Millennium Falcon) and has an agent on board, nothing is ever done with these ideas.

That’s good… Oh!  Snoke tells Kylo Ren to “get rid of that silly mask”.  That’s nice.

That’s bad… The Last Jedi drops the ball on several plot points in addition to the hyperspace tracking mentioned above.  Luke promises to teach Rey three lessons about the force, but only gets through two and the third one is never alluded to again.  They make a big deal about Rey’s parents being despicable drug addicts who sold her as an infant, completely lacking in Force pedigree which means (a) they are belaboring a non-crucial story point or (b) -- and we’ll give ‘em a benefit of a doubt here -- they’re planting a red herring in order to set up a big reveal for the next movie.  Snoke is demonstrated to be omniscient and capable of planning so far ahead and in so much detail that he can create a fake future in Kylo Ren’s mind for Rey to read, but conveniently leaves a live / fully charged light saber on the arm of his throne to get sliced in half by (and if he’s such a hot snot re Force abilities, why would getting whacked in half ala Darth Maul even slow him down?). 

That’s good… ...I got nuthin’…

That’s bad… Using a starship as a kamikaze by revving up to hyperjump speed and ramming it into the baddies’ ship is a cool idea but makes one wonder why didn’t anybody use it before in the Star Wars universe (c’mon, space torpedoes) and why did they wait to the very last minute to do so -- losing most of the supporting cast in the process -- instead of turning one of the other, smaller ships against Snoke’s flagship?  And nobody in the Star Wars universe has figured out that putting a sharp hairpin turn and/or baffles in an exhaust vent will keep people from dropping bombs / flying spaceships through it.

That’s good… Hey, no Death Star.  Finally.

 © Buzz Dixon