#I might end it with comfort

[ohdearlingwhathappened]

May or may not be working on an Earthspark Optimus Prime fic...

Here's a sneak peek:

“A lot happens when you go missing for fourteen years. So, spill it, what made you disappear?” Dots hands landed on her hips and her smile vanished, replaced by the serious expression she often wore as a lieutenant. Y/n casts their gaze toward the ground, an ounce of shame wiggling into their brain over just suddenly disappearing all those years ago.

               The relationship between Optimus and Y/n had been kept somewhat under wraps, as the fear of being used against each other and just the distraction of being in and at the end of a war were enough to keep everything quiet, but there were a few who had more of an idea of what was going on, like Dorothy and some of the other bots. But Y/n never let anyone know they were leaving- they didn’t want to be followed and convinced to come back. They couldn’t face him.               

“Y/n?” And just like that, they are snapped out of their thoughts. Y/n’s arms going around their torso, an attempt to comfort themself that just didn’t seem to be doing the job.

Guys, I already have 800 words, and I'm not even close to being done. Send help

[atalana]

so the good place is widely lauded on this site for its takes on morality and capitalism, which i totally agree with

but i think it should get more recognition for the line "all humans are aware of death. so we're all a little bit sad all the time. that's just the deal. we don't get offered any better ones. and if you try and ignore your sadness, it just ends up leaking out of you anyway. i've been there, and everybody's been there. so don't fight it. in the words of a very wise bed bath and beyond employee i once knew - go ahead and cry all you want. but you're gonna have to pay for that toilet plunger."

[jade-len]

i think it'd be funny if someone transmigrated as xin mo. the goddamn evil sword. instead of taking it seriously, they just really fucked around with bingge. and, somehow, ended up having the opposite effect of what it's supposedly rumored to do.

picture this: bingge, on the quest for revenge and power, comes across the almighty xin mo. this demonic sword killed everyone that dared to even try wielding it. and, the few who were lucky enough to have it by their side, eventually succumbed to the swords' will.

it is said that the sword is unlike any other, that it etches into your head and eats away your brain, until eventually it consumes you whole. it whispers, speaking in lust, greed, and hatred. it slowly beckons the wielder into giving in to the worst part of themselves and feeds off of pure sin. but to him, it is no matter; luo bingge will surely tame it.

and then he gets to the sword.

demonic qi practically oozes from xin mo. the aura surrounding it makes every part of luo bingge scream, "run; get away, away from that monster." his gut prods at him, begging bingge that this is probably a really bad idea. it's a little terrifying, how even luo bingge, the determined, vengeful demon, is now getting second thoughts about wielding xin mo from just being in its presence alone.

but luo bingge is too, a monster. so he ignores the screams of plea; pushing every thought of doubt in the back of his head, and tightly grips onto the handle. the world around him seems to spin and shake, tumble and crack, from the amount of force bingge needs to use in order to pull the sword of sin out of its place.

when bingge finally has it perfectly fit into the palms of his calloused hands, he hears whispering. he knows that the sword has accepted him as its new host.

the sword's language crawls up to him, as if it were feeling around his body and mind. checking every nook and cranny for it to settle into bingge's form, truly becoming one with the embodiment of sin. the words flow through his brain like a tragically broken guqin, a melody that holds him in a frighteningly familiar trance - all while simultaneously eating away at his brain in the worst ways possible, akin to a child and their favorite snack. it seems to beckon something, but even with luo bingge's impressive hearing, he cannot make out any words from the tone-deaf musical notes xin mo sings.

and then, it is clear. the land around him settles, and everything is still. xin mo itself seems to be.. content. at least, that is what luo bingge believes.

the language of this wretched sword reflects the state around these two monsters.

luo bingge expects it to demand for bloodshed, for the erotic ecstasy of multiple women, for bingge to steal the last of the finest gems of these horrible, vast lands.

instead, he hears this:

"yoooo damn that shit was crazy. did you see what i did there? man, you know, it feels so fucking good to get out of the dirt. hey, do you know if people can like, feed their swords or something? i'm kinda craving something spicy. we never know, in this wack world! wait, don't hold me like that, buddy. it'll make things real awkward."

but luo bingge is determined to get his revenge, so he puts up with the swords' constant rambling about.. whatever the hell it's thinking.

"wait, dude, did you seriously fuck a dying girl? that's wild. yeah, like i know she was dying but it doesn't sound like you wanted it. yo, listen to me, consent is very sexy."

"HAHA hey, dude, sir, man. you wanna play some 'i spy'? we don't have anything else to do. no? too bad, we're playing it. i spy a loser who doesn't wanna play i spy. hint: he's holding me right now."

"okay i know i'm supposed to be this super evil sword and beg to be used - woah that sounded real wrong - but can you at least clean me when you're done killing shit? if you don't, i'm gonna refuse to respond to you and you'll look like a dumbass trying to wield me."

"i can't hear you lalalalalalala you're not being very it girl right now lallalalaalalalla-"

somehow, this is worse than if xin mo was actually eating away at his brain.

weirdly enough though, as luo bingge starts spending more time with this weird ass, seemingly possessed sword, it starts to become more of a.. comfort to have it by his side than pure annoyance. he finds himself responding to it more, like, actually having full on conversations with it. it puts him at ease, wielding xin mo. the hatred doesn't consume him, instead, it seems to soothe the burning rage (and, admittedly, just replace it with small irritation) that holds onto his darkened heart.

xin mo is actually quite kind and caring, for a sword that's supposed represent and be the literal embodiment of sin. sure, it is a hassle to have it cooperate with him sometimes, and it does just ramble on and on about the most random things ever, not giving a single shit if bingge was in the middle of sleeping with maidens and slaying those who get in his way. for the first time, bingge feels so comfortable around something.

it's.. odd. what was supposed to be the turning point in his life, a big step in his plan for revenge, is now something akin to an... acquaintance. not like mobei-jun, or any of the women he's come across, but an actual, dare he say, friend.

sometimes, he finds himself thinking all of this delusional. is this what people were driven mad by? perhaps they simply could not handle dealing with a talking sword. he understands that xin mo was undoubtedly unbearable to be around at the beginning of their alliance, but it has never actually beckoned for blood, power, and sex. if anything, it does the opposite.

maybe he's the delusional one. maybe this is xin mo's way of getting to him.

maybe, xin mo should be considered a thing. the thought feels terribly laughable, as if he were witnessing a person horribly explain themselves. it also makes his teeth grind together in pure agitation.

"hey, you know, you didn't deserve any of the things they did. it wasn't your fault, binghe. the fact that you're half heavenly demon doesn't make you a monster, or any of that wild stuff.. uh, i'm here for you, okay? i know you don't really like talking about all of this or opening up, but i just want you to know that you can.. talk about it. it's not like i can tell anyone else, anyways.

hey- shit i didn't mean to make you cry! wait, wait it's okay to cry! you need to let it out anyways, i promise it doesn't make you weak. there, there. i don't have any hands, so me patting you on the head with my handle will have to do. there, there.. everything will be alright, you'll be okay. i'll be here every step of the way, even if you want to get rid of me."

xin mo, the demonic sword, is more of a person - a good person - than anyone he'd ever come across.

...and then bingge and the xin mo transmigrator become besties or he falls for the damn sword. knowing him, he probably doesn't even know the difference between platonic and romantic attraction anyways. maybe bingge gets a plant body for xin mo using airplane's wack writing. idk i typed all of this down in one sitting.

(plot twist: it's not that the transmigrator xin mo had the opposite effect, it was literally just a placebo effect. luo bingge thought that, and thus it actually did help him lmao)

[inkly-heart]

please don’t be sad little sprout, you are loved 🌱 🖤

🌱

[ecto-stone]

idk i want to try my hand a bit at designing a post AGIT Human Dan.

[ask-maddy-and-co]

- ?? -

((Little bit ahead of where the blog was at, but I might as well post it now rather than any more time later, it was drawn during last year's blog anniversary.))

[tnnrrdchclt]

[slingbats]

guy who did his hair and makeup to sit around in his robe

[uncanny-tranny]

I love you smile lines and worry lines and grey and white hair and wrinkles and purple spiderweb veins and the process of aging and living in a body that is standing the test of times. I love you experiences that make you wiser and stories that make you laugh, and every little process that happens to get to the point where you have so many memories because you have the fortune to be here and be so radiant

[h-didanart]

My mind be like

Imagine if evil sun and new moon remakes bloodmoon sentient and then puts painful mind control in his body to go torture sun's family and bloodmoon go's over half sentient and bagging sun to kill him so the pain can stop sun decided to get jack-o-moon to rip the wires from the back of bloodmoon's head (they are blue and yellow) jack-o-moon ripping off the wires making bloodmoon fant luckily not killing him bloodmoon now lives with sun and apologies for everything sun forgiving him and evil sun and new moon will follow the tracker from bloodmoon

….

You absolute Angst Lord, I’m in

This is— wow. I love it.

The two current villains bringing back the most recent casualty only to basically torture them into obeying. Sending them over to further traumatize Sun and his family, only for them to beg the person they’re supposed to be attacking to kill them. And he agrees, getting Jack to do it. And they survive. And they join the family. And they inadvertently put their new family at risk?

This is absolutely amazing

Please keep developing this idea, but no pressure, I understand if you don’t wanna. This is just the good kind of angst, it plays into the character’s fears and lets them have a reprieve from the hurt, only for a looming danger to draw near

(Ohkay, I just went analysis mode, I think I should go to sleep right around now)

[snipersfucker]

request from @infintyfandoms: Thought! Mirage is always so reckless, well what if one time he went too far and hurt his friend or s/o (either)?? I feel like he’d blame himself so bad - even if he was blind sighted by a distracted driver. Never drive crazy again or not drive around again or what??

angsty mirage x fem!reader times. thought of making it a headcanon thingy but nah. this one might need a warning that there are descriptions of serious injuries. and im also writing this on 0 hours of sleep thank you very much

A silver Porsche parked in front of the vinyl store you just walked out of was catching the attention of every passerby. Both men and women's eyes were stopping on the vehicle for a bit longer than they would on any regular car, their heads turning slightly to allow them to do that.

Mirage loved that. He loved transforming in different models everyday, the next one even more prestigious than the one before. Just to get that attention every single time.

You noticed a couple of teenage girls staring at your boyfriend, and even though you were fully aware they were doing so only because he was a good-looking car, you still rolled your eyes at it.

Your feet led you to the Porsche and you hopped in. Before getting the chance to point out the shameless staring of the group of teens, Mirage spoke up, "Whatcha got there?"

Your gaze had shifted to the vinyl case before you placed it down on the passenger's seat without much thought.

"Music," you responded casually in a light tone, putting your hands on the steering wheel, even though you knew Mirage would be doing the driving. "You got fans," you murmured under your breath but Mirage could obviously hear it. Your eyes landed on the girls again, and although you weren't particularly jealous, you still didn't appreciate it too much.

"Hell yeah, I do, baby," he said proudly, the grin in his voice palpable, even though you couldn't see it at the moment. And then, he added, a little bit more quietly as if he was saying this to the man who literally stopped in front of the car to admire him, "You wish you looked like that, huh?"

You let out an amused snort, and patted the gear stick with your palm to give him a sign to drive out of the parking lot. "C'mon."

"Let me honk at him," he'd asked for your permission seconds before doing it anyway without you allowing him to, causing the man to jump in his spot and then walk away. You just smacked the passenger's seat in disapproval, not even going on a rant about his behaviour because it was a daily occurrence for Mirage to do whatever he wanted.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, offended by your sudden reaction, as if he wasn't used to it, "I'm all for violence unless it's directed towards me," he muttered, sounding like an annoyed child. Then, without any warning, he revved the engine and drove out of the parking lot onto the main road. You only rolled your eyes without a word but then, you noticed how fast he was passing all the other cars in his lane, which he would usually cuss out for being slow, as if their owners weren't driving under the speed limit for safety reasons.

"Mirage…" you warned him, using his full name instead of a nickname, which he did not appreciate but decided not to speak on it and just change the topic.

"Jus' tell me it's not George Michael," he said with a short sigh, as if it was very important to him that it, in fact, was not George Michael.

"Mirage..." you warned him once again, ignoring his words, gripping the steering wheel with much more force now to hopefully get him to slow down.

"Nope," he said simply, understanding what you meant without you even having to say it. If he was in his humanoid form, he'd probably cross his arms on his chest and shake his head with that signature smirk indicating that he knew he was in control of the situation. "That's what you get for hitting your poor boy," he added, sounding very content with himself, revving the engine once more just to show you that he, in fact, was not planning on slowing down.

You scoffed. "You deserved it."

"For what?" he began talking in that specific, overly innocent tone, and you just knew he was going to say something sarcastic that would only annoy you even more, "For being so cute and funny?" He asked rhetorically, as if he wasn't aware that he really needn't have honked at that man, and then drive as recklessly as he normally would when you weren't inside him.

But he was very much aware. It was just that his pride didn't allow him to apologise.

"For being a little shit." You decided not to banter with him as per usual, but just to get straight to the point. Even though you were possibly risking starting an argument between you two, you just needed to reprimend him at the moment, especially now that you noticed how nonchalant he was about it.

"Ouch," he pretended to be hurt by what you just said. And although he wasn't actually offended, he still wasn't really in the mood to let you win.

So he sped up even more.

Noticing the opportunity presented right in front of him, the almost empty road ahead of you two, he floored the gas pedal, making you let out a short, quiet noise at the impact in which you got pushed back into the seat.

"What the fuck are you doing?" you asked him with anger in your voice, not raising it just yet, and not actually expecting a response. But you got one anyway:

"Takin' you on a ride date, baby," he answered sarcastically, his overly sweet tone making him sound even more annoying than before.

"Mirage, I—"

If he wasn't as sure in his abilities as he was, he'd never drive over three times faster than the speed limit allowed, never wanting to actually risk you getting hurt in any way.

And it wasn't even his fault, when a sport's car drove right into his left side, before you could even finish your sentence.

It wasn't his fault that the car ran a red light, that it was supposed to stop and wait for him to just drive away without getting thrown to the right by the impact.

It wasn't his fault that he was now rolling over for the fifth time, his roof and sides hitting the hard asphalt every single time.

You weren't even making any noises anymore so that he would know that you were with him, conscious, alive. He ignored the sound of his glass shattering, his metal body getting scratched, bent and painfully ruined, just to be able to hear your breath.

The other car was in a much worse condition, but he didn't care. The only thing occupying his mind was you, your heartbeat he would do anything to hear again. He needed to make sure you were still there.

He felt it all. He felt the pain that came with getting drove into by another car, with flipping over with unimaginable speed and force. But he needed to make sure you were alright.

And he couldn't even do anything to stop his worst nightmare from beginning to play right in front of his very optics.

Then, after a few moments that felt like hours to him, everything finally came to an end. The hiss coming out of him was still hearable, the hot steam, the liquid pouring out of his fual lines threatened to mix with the flames growing with every passing second. But it was finally quiet; no noise of metal hitting the asphalt distracted him from listening to your body.

His spark nearly exploded with relief when he heard the faint sound of your heartbeat. He wanted to transform, to be able to hold you, to get you out of him so that his bent roof wouldn't be pressing against your wounded head.

When people began to gather up around him, he realised he had a decision to make: to transform and risk getting hunted down just like it happened to Bumblebee, or to stay there and pray to Primus, pray to the people now surrounding him that they'd help you and make sure you were okay.

He wanted to scream at them to hurry up, to get you out, to make that heartbeat of yours sound more promising. To let him know that you weren't going to—

The idea of losing you forever crossed his mind for a split second before he could even stop it.

And it was his fault that he was going a lot over the speed limit, too distracted by the need to tease you, to win the argument, and show you that you had nothing to say in the way he was behaving.

It was his fault that there was crimson running down your forehead, the drops rolling past the hairs of your eyebrows, all the way down to your jaw, then staining your shirt with your own blood.

It was his fault that your body felt lifeless against his ruined upholstery, the only motion it was making was an almost undetectable rise of your chest every couple of seconds.

His train of thoughts got interrupted by the distant sound of sirens getting closer and closer to him. The people were talking, someone was yelling, it all making an irritating mixture of human noises he didn't need to hear at the moment.

Mirage felt his left door being opened or rather being torn out of him in a couple painful motions. He didn't care.

He just wanted them to take you away from him.

When he no longer felt your weight on his driver's seat, he almost let a sound of relief through his radio, but just now noticed that it's been ruined, making it impossible for him to do so. He hadn't paid attention to it earlier, too stunned to be able to say anything to you, even though your name and endless questions if you were okay wanted to escape him.

Cold liquid hit his hot metal body, the lower temperature of it somewhat helping him get in a clearer state of mind. Even though he felt deserving of being on fire, he appreciated the slight relief it gave him.

Somebody placed you on a stretcher, put you carefully in another vehicle, and then closed the door. He couldn't see you anymore but was sure the humans would take good care of you. Better care than he was able to offer.

The loud sirens hit his audio receptors before he registered the ambulance leaving the crash site.

And the sound was still bouncing against the interior walls of his helm every single day since the accident. The imagine of your limp body, his steering wheel covered in your blood, your head pressed uncomfortably against the remains of his left window...

Two whole weeks passed and he couldn't think of anything else but you. You in that horrible state he put you in himself.

The guilt was eating him alive, and even though he'd make Noah visit you everyday in the hospital to make sure your condiction was stable, he still couldn't help but beat himself up and be worried sick.

"Concussion, five broken ribs, broken arm and nose, and she was fucking bleeding from her liver, man," your mutual friend told him after leaving the hospital for the first time, after the doctors allowed anybody to visit you, even though you weren't conscious yet.

It affected Noah nearly as much as it did the robot. The only difference was that the human had no reason to blame himself for it, because it wasn't his recklessness that nearly killed you.

Mirage fell silent.

He got quiet, very quiet, unusually for him. Every Autobot he used to hang out with knew what happened, how much you meant to him, and how affected he was by the accident. They noticed the sudden shift in his behaviour, the once bubbly personality disappearing just so he could dwell in guilt in peace.

The thing that bothered him a lot among others was that he couldn't see you. He couldn't walk into the hospital you were being taken care of in. He couldn't sit next to you and tell you how painfully sorry he was for doing it to you, for putting you in danger, for hurting you so much your pain radiated off you body and made him feel it, too.

Noah insisted on repairing him, and he agreed purely because then he'd be able to park in front of the hospital to be as near you as possible.

But he was a wreck, both physically and emotionally.

And it still didn't change when you finally got discharged. He was not the one to pick you up from the hospital, it was Noah and Bee. He couldn't face you.

You asked about him when you woke up from the coma, your friend sitting next to you on the uncomfortable hospital chair only shrugging in response, telling you he didn't know anything about Mirage, where he was or how he was.

It was a lie. The robot was spending his time either in the garage, getting fixed by his only human friend, or out on the road, hoping that maybe, just maybe someone would crash into him again, making him feel that pain again. That pain he thought he deserved for harming you.

And when you insisted on Noah taking you to the garage to see him, after getting the information about his location out of the poor human, Mirage couldn't help but feel even worse than before.

You were alive, of course you were alive, but he also did notice the way you winced with every step, how dull the colour of your skin was compared to the times before the accident, how fragile you looked, standing there in front of him with Noah not leaving your side in case you'd collapse onto the floor.

You were alive, but also in so much pain he couldn't even look at you without feeling a strong sting in his spark.

His optics shifted to Noah in an instant, as if he was trying to bash him for taking you here, which he responded to out loud with his hands raised in a defensive gesture, "She threatened me."

You didn't even know what you were feeling at that moment. A mixture of sadness, annoyance, impatience, and hurt made you unable to say anything, forcing you to just stand there in silence. Suddenly, a short wave of pain washed over your right side, making you grimace and put your only free palm on the area surrounding your liver.

As soon as Mirage noticed your movement, he made an involuntary step towards you, his servos extended in your direction, as if he was trying to both comfort you and catch you if you were to fall.

Noah immediately asked, "You okay?" His eyes shifting between your hand on your side and your pained face. You just nodded.

Uncomfortable silence fell between the three of you, and the other human was close to replacing it with whistling just so that he wouldn't have to stand there awkwardly without a word.

"Imma just leave you two, yeah?" He scratched the back of his neck, his feet already leading him in the direction of the exit. "Jus'... scream if you die or somethin'..." he added, the awkwardness making him joke about things he normally wouldn't joke about.

And then, he left. He left poor Mirage with even poorer you. Alone.

You let out a grunt, making your way to the nearest chair to sit down. He was ready to help you with everything, but he didn't know if you even wanted him to, so he just stayed in his spot.

"You look bad," you commented, lazily motioning to his beaten-up body with your hand. The raspiness, the weakness in your voice almost made him drop to his knees.

He responded unsurely after a pause, a forced, unamused smirk on his face plate, "...You should see the other guy."

It was awkward. Awkward as never before, you two having always found it pretty easy to communicate with each other. But now... Now he couldn't help but feel that unpleasant feeling in his tank when you spoke up and made him say something back to you.

And it was his fault.

Your reaction to his little joke wasn't something you could control. A short, quiet chuckle left your mouth, causing you to grab your right side even more tightly and a wince of pain on your face to deepen.

She can't even laugh.

He felt so excruciatingly bad he had to fight himself not to transform into a car and just drive away.

You wanted to tell him that you've been told the other driver didn't make it. But you knew the war it would start in his mind if you shared that information with him, so you stayed silent.

"You look terrible," he muttered after a few moments of observing your body, as if to himself to comment on the damage he'd done.

You snorted, shaking your head in amusement. "That's exactly what every woman likes to hear," you responded, deciding that a little banter would be better than sitting without any words being exchanged.

Mirage's eyes widened slightly as he took a step towards you, his servos up in the air again in a specific gesture that indicated that he didn't actually mean it like that.

He had this tendency to make things worse with his words, and normally it wouldn't bother him at all, but this time it was you. He didn't want to make thing worse with you.

"No, no, you're pretty. Gorgeous, in my humble opinion. Walking perfection even," he wanted to correct himself, spurting word after word just to show you that he didn't want you to be mad at him. "Geez, I'm sorry," he added, bringing his servos to his face plate to cover it in... embarrassment.

Something new for him.

You shook your head, looking up at him with a small smile. "I do look kinda ter—"

Before you could finish your sentence, he said with much more confidence now, "...For everything."

He rarely apologised.

But you deserved to hear it. Even if you weren't ready to forgive him just yet, even if you were to never forgive him, he just needed you to know that he regretted it.

You frowned, opening your mouth to say something, but he interrupted you again, "Maybe I shouldn't have be the fastest car in Brooklyn that day. Maybe I should've listened to you and not be a little shit," he recalled the way you called him these few weeks ago, just minutes before the accident. With determination in his tone, he continued, "You can hate me, I can take it." But then, he changed his mind as soon as he realised he would prefer if you didn't hate him, "Actually. Hate me for the next three days at max. Please. If you don't want me to rip my vents out."

You snorted weakly once more, the movement of your body making you wince in pain again.

He finally found enough courage within himself to get closer to you. With a couple of steps, he kneeled down in front of you and extended one of his servos in your direction, as if non-verbally telling you to stop laughing and not cause yourself even more pain.

"'m sorry," he whispered his apology again, the sincere look in his optics showing you just how much he cared for you.

"It wasn't y—"

"It was," he interrupted you in a much more serious tone, but it was still filled with softness, "I was stupid..."

"Nothing new," you managed to blurt out before closing your eyes shut and grunting, a grimace on your face as you felt another sting of pain, which you were kind of used to now.

You opened your eyes and looked up at his worried optics observing your every move, his servos desperately wanting to touch and help you but he knew it'd only make things worse due to his size.

You let out a short chuckle at your own joke as soon as your body allowed you to.

"Not funny," he reprimanded you with a serious face, not finding your apparent discomfort amusing at all, even though he agreed with your words.

"You were just making jokes ab—"

"So?"

You rolled your eyes at him. "Child," you insulted him, fully aware how much he hated being called out on his childishness.

"I'm older than your cute little Earth, please," he scoffed.

"No, you're not," you deadpanned.

"...So?"

"I hate you," you said, although a small smile on your lips betrayed you.

"That's the spirit," he sighed but the corners of his lips curled up as well. A beat of silence passed and his gaze went back to your face, "I meant that."

You frowned slightly.

"I am sorry. For being the..." he was about to say something that would hurt his pride and ego, but decided it was worth it, "...the dumbest machine there is. Even a hairdryer is smarter than me," he insulted himself, hoping the sacrifice would make you like him again.

"You're right." You nodded, fighting back a chuckle.

He raised his arms in a playfully offended, confused gesture. "You could at least disagree, damn."

You shook your head in amusement.

After another beat of silence, he said seriously, "You're never coming inside me again."

"Wow."

"Should've worded it better, yeah..." he trailed off, "Primus, woman, give me a break." He let out a small laugh when he noticed your amused reaction to his sentence. "No, seriously... I... You're my girl, yeah? Don't want you to... You know, be in pain."

Why did he have to be so awkward about his feelings? Now that he finally had the chance to show you how much he loved you and never wanted to see you hurt again.

"I still have your..." he wanted to say that he still had your blood on some of his parts that didn't want to come off, but then decided it wasn't the best time to tell you that, "I almost lost my mind when I couldn't hear you," he confessed, his tone regaining its sincerity, the look in his optics describing his guilt to you without words.

He was referring to the moment he was so desperately trying to silence everything around him just to be able to find your heartbeat.

"I'm okay..." Your tone was soft, quiet, as if you were trying not to scare a lost, disoriented puppy.

"You're not okay," he disagreed with a slightly clenched jaw, angry at himself, not even for a second at you, "You..." He lowered himself so that he'd be able to whisper to you, as if saying these words more loudly would make them come true someday, "You almost died... I almost killed you..."

His face panel was close enough to your body for you to put your hand against his warm, metal cheek. Mirage immediately melted at the touch, his optics closing slowly just to allow him to savour the softness of your palm as much as he could.

"It wasn't your fault..." you started your monologue, this time the robot allowing you to continue, "I didn't die. I might have a broken bone or two..." He opened his eyes at this sentence, giving you a sad look. "...But I'll be alright. I didn't die," you repeated, which gained you an unsure nod from your boyfriend, who was now avoiding making eye contact with you.

You didn't force him to look up at you.

"I promise..." he trailed off, not wanting to show you how weak he felt, "I promise I'll never do that again..." His gaze went back to meet yours as you smiled softly, your eyes filled with love you had for him. "I'll never be dumber than a hairdryer, you have my unreliable word. And I'll never argue with you. I'll just say that I'm sorry, and that my woman is always right, and I'll shut up for as long as you want me to. And I... I'll never drive over twenty-five. Yeah, it hurts. But guess what hurts more. Seeing you with a broken bone or two."

Joking might've been the only way he would be able to overcome the sorrow he felt within himself. But it worked both for you and him. You really wouldn't have it any other way.

"Tell me," you whispered with a slight head tilt, slowly closing the gap between your faces.

He frowned, not understanding what you meant by that, but then the small smirk on your lips explained it to him.

He rolled his optics, the remains of guilt still evident in them, although with every passing second and every joke, they seemed to disappear bit by bit.

"'m sorry. My woman is always right," he repeated himself, pretending to find it very boring, as if he didn't really want to admit that. But he did. He did want you to know that he meant every single thing that rolled off his glossa.

Your smile widened immediately, your eyes closing as you minimized the gap between your and Mirage's lips completely.

And then, after long weeks of not being able to forgive himself for hurting the only woman he loved, he was finally able to feel relief.

[thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai]

Not sure if that's the ace or the lesbian speaking, but Viktor really looks here like the sculpture of an acient hero someone put into a pool for decoration. Yuuri must be very happy to be graced with this sight in his parents' onsen and have the privilege to marvel at this beauty every day.

[copepodkisser5000]

this is for my selfshippers with insomnia; and/or a hyperactive mind, intrusive thoughts, all the other bad things too that can keep a person from resting...

you f/o holds you during the long, horrible, sleepless nights. when you feel so alone, kept awake by all the noise in your brain, they're there for you, all night long.

they're there to remind you to take your medication for it, if you have it. they help you form a healthy routine with it, they want to see you feeling better. they might even train you to have a positive association- maybe you get a kiss every time you remember?

and when you do get to sleep, and when you dream of your f/o, it'll be all the more sweet.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now”

Read it on Ao3

- Time/Malon

- Summary: an injured Link shows up at Lon Lon Ranch

CW for blood and injury, mentions of death and broken bones

——————————

Malon’s hands never shake.

She can’t afford for them to. Sure, there are times when they are a bit unsteady from exhaustion or stress. Sure, there are things that scare her enough to make them trembling a possibility. But in her world, when things get hairy there is only action and no time for anything else.

Now is no different. At least, that’s what she keeps telling herself. Her hands don’t tremble, even as blood oozes over them. Her thoughts don’t falter. No tears fall.

But they want to. Oh, they want to. Because this time feels so very different. She has dealt with wounded animals before and even wounded people (she will never forget the time Ingo got kicked in the leg by Epona; satisfying though it may have been after the man’s behavior, setting that bone wasn’t exactly what she would call enjoyable). Never before, however, has she held the broken body of someone she cares for quite so much.

“You’re an idiot, fairy boy,” she breathes as she presses another cloth to the gash running across her friend’s middle.

“‘m your idiot, though,” he mumbles back. Even now there is characteristic mischief peeking out from behind the exhaustion and pain straining his tone.

Malon rolls her eyes.

Link has been bleeding all over her nice, clean floors and furniture for at least five minutes now. And that’s after he rode in, slumped over Epona’s back, one hand pressed to his stomach, the other clutching the horse’s reins like a lifeline.

He had come because he had nowhere else to go, he had said when she had stepped out onto the porch, eyes wide and heart in her throat. Because he could think of nowhere else that would be safe. Where he would be accepted without hesitation.

And as she had helped him down from the saddle, as he had practically collapsed onto her arms, he had apologized. Assured her he would take care of the wound himself, if only she would provide him a place to stay. As though he were a stranger in her home and not her best friend.

“Oh, shush,” she had scolded, ushering him into the house and lowering him onto the nearest chair. “I’ll take care of everything. You just sit down.”

And meekly, he had obeyed.

Now, he watches her with a slightly dazed look, as she tries to save his life.

For that is what she is doing, really. If she doesn’t get this wound to stop bleeding soon, he’ll bleed out.

As it is, she’s afraid he won’t last the night.

She worries her bottom lip and reaches behind her for the bandages lying on the table.

“Care to tell me how this happened?” The sharp bite of fear is in her tone despite her attempts to restrain it.

And really, who cares at this point, anyway? Her fairy boy is hurt, badly. She’s allowed to be a little worried.

Link drags in an unsteady breath.

“Monster fight.”

“The usual, then.” She shakes her head, sighing. “What I wanna know is what kinda monster fight was it that got you this hurt? I don’t think you’ve ever come around looking like this before.”

Link blinks, long and slow. The blue of his eyes seems unnaturally bright. Maybe because of the light, maybe because of pain. Malon thinks it’s likely both. But it almost reminds her of that little fairy that used to follow him around.

“Did you go into a dungeon or somethin’?”

Her gaze is back on her work, now, as she ties the bandages as tightly as possible. But when he speaks she can hear something almost like guilt in his voice.

“I—” A sharp hiss, fingers fisting in the fabric of his tunic. Malon murmurs an apology, trying to ignore the way the sound is like a dagger to her heart. “I was looking for…for something.”

“Lookin’ for something huh?”

She ties off the gauzy strips of fabric now practically holding the man together and takes a moment to survey her work.

That should hold.

Now, to get that bleeding firmly under control before he passes out…or worse. She grasps the bottle of potion that she had snatched from the cupboard earlier. It’s always handy, she has found, for times when the healing power of Lon Lon milk isn’t quite up to par. Times like now.

“That had better have been one important treasure. Did you get it at least?”

A small smile lifts Link’s lips. Somehow, it doesn’t make him look any more alive. He’s too pale, too ashen. There’s too much blood, coating his tunic, coating his hands and dribbling down from his mouth and nose.

But at least he has the strength to smile. Malon is willing to appreciate small miracles.

“Yeah, I got it.”

Something in the way he says it makes her slightly suspicious. But she hardly has time to figure out why. She wipes her hands on a nearby cloth, quickly so as not to take in just how stark the crimson looks against the white. Then, she uncorks the potion bottle and gets to her feet.

Link moves trembling, crimson drenched fingers toward the bottle. But she shakes her head.

“Uh-uh. You’re weak. Let me.”

With one careful hand, she tips his chin up and holds the bottle to his lips with the other. He swallows its contents obediently.

“That should help,” she says, once he’s finished. She turns away, setting the bottle back on the table. “At the very least you won’t be bleeding everywhere anymore.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs. He sounds a bit stronger already, she thinks. But maybe she’s just fooling herself to distract from the worry currently chewing a hole in her gut.

“Anytime, fairy boy.”

Malon inspects the wound one more time, reassuring herself that it’s no longer in danger of bleeding through the bandages. Thankfully, the potion already seems to be doing its job. The bandages remain a clean, cottony white.

“Looks like you’re out of the danger zone,” she says with a sigh of relief. “But you’re gonna need some rest and a new set of clothes.”

She looks over him once more, frowning. He raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“I’m gonna have to tend to those other wounds of yours too. I swear, you look like you let the horses trample you.”

There is a distinct twinkle in his eye now. Already, he is beginning to look a little more like himself.

“Ah, it’s a…a good look then. A seasoned adventurer kind of look.”

Her lips quirk up even as she glares at him.

“No. It’s not a good look. I thought that much was implied. And it’s the kind that gives me a heart attack.”

He grins. But it quickly turns into a grimace as she sets about cleaning a cut along his neck. Gently, she tilts her head to get a better look at it.

“Stay still, now, and let me work.”

He mumbles a tired-sounding reply. His eyes are beginning to drift closed, despite his efforts to keep them open. And as she tackles each injury, he grows closer and closer toward losing his grip on consciousness completely. But the time he is cleaned up and she has managed to help him fumble into one of Talon’s spare tunics he is practically asleep.

“There,” she murmurs, setting aside the bowl of water and multiple cloths that she had used. They tinge the water pink. “Feelin a little better now?”

She knows that she is. The terror of earlier has abated somewhat, every steady breath, every beat of his heart convincing her that the danger is gone. At least, for now.

For now, her fairy boy is safe. For now, her hands don’t shake.

He hums, sleepily. His gaze is trained on the fireplace now, seemingly mesmerized by the flames dancing there. But when she drapes a blanket over him he drags his gaze up to meet hers.

“Hey, Mal.”

“Yeah?”

“I…I think I’m in love with you.” He frowns, thought obviously a difficult task at the moment. “No…know I am.”

Malon stops short, edges of the blanket still clutched in her suddenly shaky hands. A short bark of laughter escapes, a bit louder than she means it to be.

“I think you’ve lost a little bit too much blood.”

“‘m fine,” he retorts, scowling. “Malon ‘m serious. I love you.”

Shaking her head, she tucks the blanket up around his chin and presses a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Alright, fairy boy. It’s time for you to get some sleep. We can pick up this conversation in the morning.”

His scowl becomes decidedly pouty, though he has little choice but to comply. His eyes slip closed, breath beginning to even out.

By the time, Malon has cleaned up the gory mess (she never wants to see this much blood again, especially not from him), and put away her tools, he is long gone. She allows herself a moment to gaze at him, slumbering peacefully, face illuminated by the flickering flames. He is less pale now and with the blood gone he looks more human. Younger, more like himself.

Reaching out, she rubs her thumb on his cheek, a smile playing on her lips.

“I love you too, Link.”

[mic-check-stims]

Walkshipping board for that one anon from forever ago who asked about my ships

X-X X-X X-X

[wizardnuke]

important aspect of shadowgast To Me is that caleb thinks it's cute when essek's being a bitch and visa versa