#I swear this shit is more entertaining than television | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jxckyx3 · 2 years

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God, I don't even know at this point but this prompt dates back to like... probably two years ago?

(⁠;⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠)

If I remember correctly, I got this idea by watching a show called 'Last Man Standing' on NBC I think? It's hard to remember what television network it was, but I just thought it was cute and funny so here ya have it!!!

❤️🖤❤️

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Ship: Team 6 poly

Top(s): Tyler, Brian & Marcel

Switch(s): Evan & Jon

Bottom: Nogla

AU: Team 6

Setting: /

Type: Fluff

Warning ⚠️: This chapter contains heavy swearing, sexual comments, friendly stalking, mention of sexual harassment, flirtatious comments and other mentions or situations that may disturb, trigger or offend the viewer. Reader's discretion is advised.

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Evan's pov -

"Just like this?" I asked cluelessly, frowning in deep concentration as I mixed the deep red paste with the whisk.

Jon peered over my shoulder, chuckling lightly before pressing a kiss to my cheek.

"Yup! Just like that." He said, smiling sweetly before returning back to the oven to check the cake.

He had wanted to bake a cake to celebrate us moving into our new house. I didn't necessarily know how to bake a cake, let alone a red velvet cake, so he wanted to teach me.

When starting out YouTube career--or trying to start, it wasn't as easy as we thought it would be. We had underestimated all those more famous YouTubers and we realized we couldn't always come off as cocky and rude.

It wasn't a lie that we had put on fake personas when we started, trying desperately to be liked. But after a year or two of trying, we realized how tiring it was and decided to just be ourselves for once.

So we dropped the vlog cams, dropped our fake personalities and decided to just start gaming.

After a year of doing what we actually loved, we had started to get recognition and grew from there.

We weren't really confident in being totally personal online but we didn't want to be fake anymore and came out to our little bit of fans.

It seemed after that, that they had started to like us more. We got more views, more likes and even got sponsors by bigger companies.

During our big realization that we just needed to not care what people thought of us anymore, we decided to move out of our big house that had more rooms than needed and bought a much smaller house big enough for just the six of us.

It had one room but that's exactly what we wanted. The room was large, so that was an upside considering all the clothes and personal belongings we had.

It had two bathrooms, one upstairs and one down. The living room was large, we had an even larger office where we did our recordings--it wasn't very efficient to record in the same room at once, but the fans thought it was funny. Especially when we'd lash out at eachother or tackle one another for fun.

Our kitchen was huge--which was a good thing since my boyfriends loved to cook. And we had a few other entertainment rooms which just had most of our personal stuff. Like collectors items and shit.

The front door was just over to the left of the living room where we had a nice big entrance area and lastly we had a back door connecting to the kitchen. Placed right next to our garage door.

Of course, we weren't entirely big on the internet still, so we had gotten a few jobs here and there. Just the minimal wage because we didn't want to overwork ourselves with stress and all that.

We moved to this new house not too long ago and we were still getting used to the change of setting.

The neighborhood was friendly, filled with kids, parents, elderly and other residents. It was quite large actually, and it took some time for us to remember to not be too loud.

The town was big as well, but it was crowded and the buildings were all pushed really close together. The streets were always full with traffic, there was always kids running around. Going to and from school and what not.

Not to mention that we found ourselves having to be more social than planned.

Back when we lived in our old house in the forest, we never really talked to many people. Hell, we never even went out much. If any of us needed anything, we'd just Dash it.

But now, we had to be more open to friendly chit chat and randomly getting compliments. Especially since half of us worked as waiters or cashier's at grocery stores.

I didn't really mind though. It was different but...it was a good different.

"I'm baaack!"

I smiled, turning to the back door upon hearing the cheery voice.

"Hi loves!" Nogla greeted, wrapping his arms around Jon's neck, who was already pulling him in close and into a kiss.

I set the bowl down on the counter, making my way over to the two. Nogla pulled away from Jon and moved over to me, smiling as he leaned down and gave me the same treatment.

I hummed happily, reaching a hand up into his dark hair.

"Mm, smells good in here. Whatcha makin'?" He asked, pulling away from me.

"Jon wanted to make cake to celebrate the move- and, for hitting two million on our channel." I said, pulling out my phone.

Nogla gasped at that, his eyes lighting up.

"We did?! When?" He asked excitedly, taking the phone from me once I got to our shared account. Jon chuckled at his little fit, wrapping his arms around his waist.

"Just three hours ago. It hit before we even started to bake the cake." Jon said, peeking over Nogla's shoulder to look at the number on the phone.

Nogla sighed in happiness, biting his lip and staring for a second before handing me the phone back.

"Time ta hit t'ree next." He said, earning a chuckle in agreement from Jon. I snorted.

"If you wanted to do that, you could always just go in the back yard." I joked, earning a loud laugh from Jon and an exaggerated huff of offense from Nogla.

"Y'know what? I'm not sucking yer dick tonight." He said, grinning down at me as my smile dropped.

"Who's getting the 'no-sex' penalty now?"

I looked over to see Marcel walk in, looking sweaty as he sipped his water bottle. I frowned, raising a brow in confusion.

"Well me, because I said something offensive, but better question, why the hell are you so damn sweaty?" I asked, watching as Marcel came in and set his bottle down on the counter, making his way over to Nogla.

"Was working out. I ate too much sweets these last few days and decided to do something about it before it got bad." He said, trying to hug Nogla. Who was definitely no having it, considering Marcel was wet and sticky.

"Ewie! Get yer sweaty hands away from meh!" He squealed, running away to hide behind Jon when Marcel made no attempt at listening to him.

"Work out? Weren't you supposed to pick David up from work?" Jon asked, taking the words right outta my mouth. Marcel sighed in delight, finally managing to wrap his arms around Nogla and hold him in a strong hold.

Much to Nogla's displeasure, might I add.

"Yup! But I decided to let him walk today." He explained, earning a hum in confirmation from Nogla.

"What?!" Jon exclaimed, pouting as he looked to Marcel.

"What?" He asked, taking the chaste kiss from Nogla before moving to the sink to splash cold water on his face.

"Ya can't just let him walk home, Mar! Y'know how many sketchy people roam around his work area." Jon huffed, setting his hands on his hips as he looked up at Marcel.

"Well, of course I know that. But David wanted to and I wasn't just gonna say no. Look at him!" He said in defense, gesturing his hand over to Nogla.

He glanced up at us, quickly taking his finger out of the bowl of frosting I had been mixing to give us an sweet smile, swaying back and forth like an innocent child.

"Ugh, no wonder he's the only bottom." I muttered, earning a scoff in offense from him.

"And that's also why we can't just have him walk home by himself. It's too dangerous." Jon said, giving Marcel more of a concerned tone than of anger.

Marcel sighed, nodding in understanding.

"I know, I know. But David's an adult, he can handle himself... mostly." Marcel said nervously, leaning against the counter. I sighed loudly, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Nogla worked as an assistant manager at a library. The women who owned the place was very old and Nogla worked hard enough to get promoted over there.

The library was big and local, so it had lots of people going in and out twenty four seven.

The thing was, the place was known to have a lot of drug dealing going on in there, it was near a hot spot for bad people and there was always criminal activity in or around it when broadcasted on the local news. Or so I heard anyways.

It could all easily just be rumours, but we weren't willing to take that chance.

It wasn't like we were just gonna force Nogla to quit his job because of it all either. He loved that job because he doesn't have to talk that much and he just loves books. And second, he pulled most of the money in that we needed to pay for the bills with so we couldn't just drop that.

So instead, we had just drove him to and from work whenever we didn't have a shift. It was easier that way for all of us.

"Hey, I'm a grown man." Nogla butted in, a small pout on his lips as he continued to stick his fingers into the frosting.

"No offense Daithi, but you're a sissy lala. You can't even look at a roach without screaming like a little girl." Jon said, trying to be as nice as possible about it. Marcel and I laughed in agreement, earning a raspberry in return.

"Nu-uh!" He retorted, glaring half heatedly.

"Yes huh. Now stop sticking your little fingers in the icing or I'm gonna stick my dick where the sun don't shine." Jon grinned, pulling the bowl away and smacking Nogla's ass.

He yelped in reaction, his face burning as red as the icing as we all laughed at Jon's remark.

"Well- I...ugh!" Nogla groaned, not being able to come up with a comeback. We laughed even harder at that, causing his face to burn darker--if that was even possible.

"Fine, ye don't get ta fuck me tonight either!" He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. That only made Jon smirk up at him, setting the bowl down and swiftly bending Nogla over the counter.

A small squeak escaped his lips as Jon leaned over his body, placing his mouth right next to his ear.

"I don't think ya get to decide that sweetheart." He teased flirtatiously. Nogla whined in defeat, trying to push himself back up.

"Argh! I hate t'at ye guys are stronger t'en me." He complained, earning a laugh from Jon.

"And that's exactly why you can't go walking the streets alone, let alone taking the public bus." He said, pulling off of Nogla and helping him stand up straight.

"Eh- but I want ta! I like walking! Helps me think. Plus, today I passed a really pretty park surrounded in big rose bushes! Ya should've seen it." He said happily, a wide smile breaking to his face and replacing the earlier blush.

I sighed, frowning over to Jon as Nogla started to ramble to Marcel about what he had seen and all the different colors of roses.

Of course the two of us didn't like the idea of letting Nogla roam town alone, and I knew that Brian and Tyler would like it even less than us.

But if this is what made him happy, then we had to respect that.

"We thinkin' the same thing?" Jon asked, lifting a brow at me. I hummed, nodding in response.

I glanced up at Marcel and Nogla, who had stopped mid conversation when Jon spoke up.

"Okay...you can walk home from time to time," I started. Nogla started to smile and clap happily before I could finish.

"But," I said, watching as he immediately stopped and gave me a look of hope. I smiled at that, finding the expression all to adorable.

"But you have to watch where you're going, keep your phone out at all times and if you feel like your being followed, go to the most public area you can find and call the police. Or better yet, one of us so we can come pick you up." I sighed, earning a wide smile in return.

Nogla bounced forward and pulled me and Jon in a big hug, squishing us into his chest tightly despite his slim, weak arms.

"Awww, I love ye guys!" He said in a high pitched voice, still somehow jumping up and down with us.

I chuckled lightly, pressing my hands to his back as the others laughed along.

"Yeah, yeah, don't get too ahead of yourself. You gotta do the honors of telling the other two." Marcel piped up, making Nogla stop mid excitement and drop the two of us.

"Shit." He cursed, drooping over the counter in defeat as he already knew what they were gonna think. And those two were the most protective and possesive out of all six of us.

"Ah, don't worry Nogla. I'm sure they'll understand why you wanna do it." I encouraged, rubbing reassuring circles on his back as he sat himself in one of the bar stools.

"Mhm! Plus, ya give mean head. I'm sure they'll give in if you offer a few blow jobs." Jon grinned, pulling his oven mitts on to pull the cake out of the oven.

The sweet smell of red velvet filled the kitchen as he did so, warming up the room. I inhaled deeply, already feeling my mouth water.

"Ye know what? I'm not even embarrassed by t'at. I take it as a compliment." Nogla sighed, setting his work bag down on the floor and folding his hands on the counter.

"Your blush says otherwise love." Marcel said, placing a kiss on his cheek as he seated himself right next to him.

I laughed at the glare Nogla sent his way, picking up the bowl of icing to help Jon finish the cake.

Third pov -

"What time is it?" Brian asked, glancing at his wrist to check his watch.

"Mmm." Evan hummed with a shrug of his shoulders, reaching towards the coffee table to grab a handful of chips from the clear bowl.

It was Saturday and none of the guys had any shifts this week. Valentines day had passed a few days ago, so they were all given a week off.

Well, except for Nogla. The owner had called in sick so he had offered to help the new employee while the owner was out.

"Oh...oh, shit. It's Saturday... Nogla's coming home soon." Brian mumbled, staring down at his watch for a few seconds before grumbling audibly and lowering himself into the couch.

Tyler groaned in agreement, throwing his head back in frustration.

"Why did we have to come up with that stupid agreement anyways?" He huffed, flopping down and laying his head in Marcel's lap.

The guys had all collectively came up with the agreement, that Nogla would walk home every other day of the week. Brian and Tyler weren't entirely happy about it, but Nogla was able to convince them.

"Because we care about his happiness and we trust him to make adult choices without needing our permission." Marcel said, running a hand though his boyfriend's hair. Evan chuckled.

"And because he gives good blow jobs." He reminded the two, small smiles breaking onto their faces.

"He really does." Brian moaned, staring up at the ceiling.

"Jesus Christ, don't get hard!" Marcel exclaimed, noticing the expression on Brian's face. It was the look he had on whenever he was aroused.

"Anyways, we did it because we love him." Evan laughed, throwing his legs over Brian's lap. The Irishman simply pouted, frowning in defeat as he ran his fingers over the muscles in Evan's leg.

"It's not tat I don't trust him. I don't trust 'is work area." He mumbled, earning a humm of agreement from Tyler. Marcel clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes at the two.

"You guys are over exaggerating." He said with a fond smile, resting his hand over Tyler's face to annoy him.

The American huffed, pulling his boyfriend's hand away and pulled into his chest, intertwining their fingers instead.

"They talk about sexual harassment and loitering criminals on the news all the fuckin' time. How could I not over exaggerate?" He asked rhetorically, looking down at their hands with an even bigger pout than Brian.

Marcel glanced up at Evan, the two of them exchanging a smile.

Despite both Brian and Tyler being the most masculine and anger infused out of all six of them, they tend to get like this whenever they weren't getting their way.

It happened more often than expected and the rest of the guys always loved it because they honestly found it cute and hilarious.

Very uncharismatic of the two.

"It's the news, Ty. They're the masters of over exaggerating. Well, besides Google but you get my point. They just say anything to get a unique and big story." Marcel said, giving his boyfriend's hand a soft squeeze with his own.

Tyler merely grunted in response.

The four sat in an awkward silence for some time, Evan and Marcel not knowing what else to say to reassure their boyfriend's.

Then, there was a sudden knock at the door. Brian was the first to shoot up, shoving Evan's legs off his lap and running to the door.

Expecting to see his Nogla, he opened the door with a wide welcoming smile, only to drop upon seeing a tall man dressed in a police attire.

"Uh- hello officer. How can I...help ya?" Brian asked slowly, standing up professionally as he looked up at the cop in confusion.

The rest of the guys stiffened at that, turning their heads to see what was going on.

"Hello sir. You must be Brian Hanby? I believe I have something that belongs to you." He greeted with a tip of his hat.

Before Brian or even any of the guys could question him, the cop turned around and gently pulled Jon up the steps by his arm, moving to undo the cuffs on his wrists.

"Oh my god. Oh my god Jon, what did ye do now?" Brian asked with a loud sigh, running a hand over his face.

Jon's mouth dropped in offense, glaring slightly as the cop released his hands.

"Excuse me?! I didn't do nothin'!" He exclaimed, rubbing his wrists as he moved into the house. He moved to the couch and plopped down like a child who had just gotten grounded from his playstation.

Hands crossed over his chest and everything.

"So...then why did you get sent home by a cop?" Evan asked, smiling slightly in amusement. Jon just stuck his tongue out at his boyfriend, the cop laughing at the boyfriends' shenanigans.

"No actually, he was wandering around the local library? The one just downtown. I got a few complaints about another loitering criminal." He explained with a slight laugh, earning a groan fom Marcel.

"Jon, what did I say? David is old enough to walk back from work by himself. He's fine, nothing bad is gonna happen to him." He scolded, the other averting his gaze in self disappointment.

"I know, but he's too pretty. Someone's gonna snatch him up if we're not careful." He whined, earning a roll of Evan's eyes.

"Anyways, how did ye know my name might I ask?" Brian asked, looking back to the cop. The officer chuckled, gesturing back over to Jon.

"Your boyfriend is quite the rambler under pressure. All I had to do was cuff him and ask what he was doing there. Practically told me everything about you all. Not to mention that David greets me every morning since I'm part of the security team on that side of town." He explained with a shrug of his shoulders.

Tyler burst out laughing, dropping Marcel's hand to roll over and accidentally land on the carpet with a grunt.

"Shut up! I thought he had a warrant for my arrest or some shit!"Jon shouted, only causing his boyfriend to laugh even harder despite the fact that he was lying face first on the floor.

Evan was laughing too. But not because the fact that Jon was horrible when it came to cops. But because the way Tyler had fell.

Marcel simple sighed, shaking his head lovingly.

Brian rolled his eyes with a smile, turning back to the cop once more. He glanced down at his name plate that was right next to his badge.

"Thank you officer Daniels, I promise that this won't happen again. Right Jon?" He asked, raising a brow over at his boyfriend. He earned a puff of breath in response.

"Right, Jonathan?" He tried again, this time more stern yet still keeping on his flashy smile.

Jon glanced at him from the comer of his eye, knowing that look on his boyfriend's face. He knew he'd be in deep trouble if he didn't obey.

"Yeah, whatever." He stuck his tongue out, earning a satisfied laugh from the other.

"Welp, I should get back to work. Let's hope we don't have another incident like this again gentlemen, yes?" Officer Daniels said, giving the guys one last smile and chuckle before heading down the path.

Brian gave him a friendly wave, shaking his head as he shut the door.

"Jon..." Marcel started.

"Can it bitch, I hear ya." Jon grumbled, taking Tyler's old place and setting his head in Marcel's lap.

"Ugh, you guys are unbelievable." He muttered, shaking his head with a happy smile.

"At least Evan's got my back on this. Right Ev?" He said, glancing to the second couch. He blinked, seeing the Canadian staring down at his phone.

"Ev?" He asked.

"Huh?! Nothing!" He shouted, fumbling with the small device and dropping it into the carpet.

Marcel frowned in confusion as Evan cursed, reaching for the phone. But Tyler was faster, reaching over from his spot on the floor and snatching the phone right outta his boyfriend hands.

"What's this?" He asked curiously, darting his eyes around the screen.

"I said nothing!" Evan exclaimed, trying to yank his phone back. But Tyler was faster, wrapping his legs around Evan's waist when he got close enough to hold him in place as he inspected the phone.

The screen was white, with yellow and grey lines randomly placed. It was only then that Tyler realized that they had addresses, and the lines were actually roads.

"Is this...are you tracking Nogla?" Tyler asked, handing the phone over to Marcel as he finally let go of Evan, who had been biting into his knee to break free.

"Uh...no?" He muttered, laying on Tyler's stomach.

Marcel huffed loudly, taking a well needed breath before setting the phone down.

"Like I said. Unbelievable." He muttered in disappointment. He was slightly insulted that the guys didn't trust Nogla enough to let him walk home. And that they didn't trust Marcel enough to believe him when he said Nogla was fine.

He understood why they were so worried. He really did. But they needed to let it go. Nogla was an adult, and he wanted to be treated like one.

Marcel wanted to respect that, as well as have the rest of the guys respect it as well.

"Look guys, I'm sure he's fine. He knows his way there and back by now." He said, trying to comfort them.

"Uh...he's turning the wrong street." Brian suddenly said. At that, all eyes turned to the Irishman, who had picked up the phone in curiosity and was watching the big red dot that blinked as it moved along the yellow lines on the screen.

Marcel quickly snatched the phone from his boyfriend, feeling a wave of worry crash into him despite him being the most supportive of the little fucker.

"Eh, he's probably just chasing a butterfly or something..." He tried to excuse, forcing a small wavery smile as he watched the dot turn into the more unfamiliar streets that they haven't been to yet.

It was still near the library, but it was heading into the opposite direction of their house.

"Uh...at thirty-five miles per hour?" Tyler asked, peeking over Marcel's shoulder as he saw the speed of the dot at the top right corner.

All of their stomachs dropped at that, getting increasingly more concerned.

"Yeah he doesn't run that fast, let's go!" Marcel said worriedly, handing the phone back to Evan and bolting for the door with the guys not too far behind him.

They quickly threw on their shoes and their jackets that sat organized at the entrance area, running out the door in record time.

The house sat quiet, nothing but the sound of the cars engine outside.

"I made it!" A voice called.

Nogla walked in to the living room from the kitchen, having used the back door again.

He frowned, seeing not a single one of his boyfriends in sight.

"Lads?" He called, still earning no response. He pushed his lips into a pout of thought, setting his work bag down.

"Huh..." He muttered, scratching his neck as he glanced around the messy room.

"Probably out shoppin' er some shit." He said was a wave of his hand, rolling his sleeves up and beginning to clean up the mess they left behind.

"Speed the fuck up!" Brian shouted.

"I'm trying! We're near a school zone though, dumbass!" Tyler yelled back, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.

"That car! That car right there! Chase that fucker!" Evan exclaimed, glancing up from his phone to point out the small black car.

Tyler stayed close to the vehicle, practically riding the driver's ass as his boyfriend's continued to shoot and wave the car down.

Eventually, they caught the driver's attention, pulling over on the side of the street.

Jon was the first to hop out, stomping over to the car as the driver hesitantly rolled his window down.

"Oh hello! Why can I do for- ahh!" The man made a noise of shock as Jon grabbed him by the collar, practically pulling him out of his seat and pulling his upper body out the window.

"Where is he?!" He shouted, not caring that bystanders started to stare as the guys raided the man's car without permission.

"W-what? Who? I-i dunno-"

"David, you fuck! Where is he?!" Jon continued, shaking the man as he pulled him closer. Half of his body was now hanging out of the car and he looked absolutely terrified.

"D-david? The as-assistant manager? H-he left a f- a few minutes ago. Like, fif-fifteen I'd s-say?" He stuttered shamefully, holding his hands up as Jon tightened his grip, his glare menacing.

"Found his jacket." Marcel informed, pulling the dark green coat from the back seat that Evan had placed the tracker in.

Tyler growled, grabbing the man from Jon's grasp and fully yanking him out of the car with a loud yelp.

"Where the fuck is he?!" He demanded, slamming his back into the car.

"I dunno, I swear! He left a little bit ago!" The man cried, looking as if he'd literally cry any second now.

"Then why do you have his jacket?" Evan asked, shaking his head as he gestured to the article of clothing.

The man glanced over at him, trying to muster up words to explain himself.

When David told him about his boyfriend's...he didn't expect this.

"Hi! Where were ye guys? I got worried when ye weren't here!" Nogla said cheerfully, opening his arms with a welcoming smile as the guys tumbled into the kitchen.

They all quickly rushed over to him, all trying to hug him at once despite his slightly messy state from cooking.

"Oh!" He said in surprise, holding his arms up and stiffening as his boyfriends hugged him tightly.

Of course, they always tended to show him and eachother affection. But he's never seen them be this clingy before. Especially without an explanation for it.

Tyler was the first to pull back, grabbing Nogla's face in both hands and pressing a rough, intense kiss to his lips before pulling back.

"We love you, so fucking much." He stated, eyes looking determined as he stared down into Nogla's green flustered orbs.

"O...kay?" He said with a small smile, narrowing his eyes at the rest of them.

Now he was very confused. His boyfriends were still very embarrassed about using the L word. Especially Tyler, so this was really new to him.

"Are ye guys okay?" He asked, finally managing to breath as they all let go of him.

"Yeah, we were...we were just a bit worried." Marcel admitted, however not wanting to tell Nogla about their whole trip and how they almost killed his new employee.

Nogla frowned, tilting his head at them with a confused smile before chuckling lightly.

"Well I'm fine!" He said happily.

It wasn't like he was gonna ask why they were worried, why they weren't home when he got here and why they looked like they had just robbed a bank.

He had already knew. Seeing as the newbie from work used his emergency contact to call him and inform him of how crazy his boyfriends were.

He knew better than to mention all that. Instead, he was just happy they were home. Safe and sound.

"So...you traded your jacket for a box of chocolate?" Brian asked, eyeing his boyfriend in disbelief.

Nogla giggled, nodding in confirmation.

"Yup! It was a steal too." He said, turning and grabbing the large heart shaped box from the counter and showing it off to them.

Tyler and Marcel exchanged a glance, both as equally wanting to say something about how dangerous and stupid that was. However they couldn't bring themselves to do it.

Nogla's happy smile was simply too adorable.

"Ye know, ye're a pain." Brian said, saying what they were thinking instead. Nogla laughed at that, shrugging his shoulders as he set the box back down.

"Well, back ta makin' dinner. We're having lasagna tonight." He informed, turning around and going back to layering the dish.

"Yeah...we were just a bit worried." Marcel muttered, feeling slightly disappointed in himself.

All this talk about how the guys needed to trust their boyfriend and here he was being just as bad. He looked over, glancing at the rest of them.

On the other hand, the others were stuck staring at the taller Irishman, watching him cook in interest.

He still had on his casual work clothes and wore a green apron over them. The strings tightened at his back and cinched his waist, showing off his curves beautifully. He wore a head band to hold his dark, curly hair back and he still had on his glasses instead of switching them out with his contacts like usual.

It was no wonder they loved this man so dearly. He truly was irresistible.

"You're right Jon. He is too pretty to be left alone." Marcel gave in, sighing in defeat as the other hummed.

"See? What'd I tell ya?" He teased, smirking as Nogla turned around and raised a confused brow at them.

"Who?" He asked, not having heard the conversation they had too long ago when the officer had dropped Jon off.

"Nothing important love. Just continue what ya were doin' and look pretty." Brian waved him off, earning a small blush before Nogla obligated and faced back the other way.

"Oh yeah. Just like that." Tyler smirked as he leaned against the counter. His eyes trialing down Nogla's back until they stopped at his ass, chuckling lustfully.

"You guys are perverts." Evan smiled, grabbing the box of chocolate from the counter to eat some.

"And what?" Jon said in defense, tone offended but his eyes never leaving Nogla's body.

The Irishman rolled his eyes, smiling to himself as he heard his boyfriends banter and argue shamelessly.

Oh how he loved them so much.

5572 words

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Believe it or not, I finished this in only two days! Ha!

Well I hope you liked it and I hope y'all had a great day!!

Until next time, my loves!! (⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥

❤️🖤❤️

- Jacky

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Featured or mentioned characters:

Main -

Nogla - Nogla, David, Daithi

VanossGaming - Evan, Ev

H2ODelirious - Jon

BasicallyIDoWrk - Marcel

Terroriser - Brian

IAmWildcat - Tyler

11 notes · View notes

high-theyre-frendough · 2 years

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I don't usually reblog art on tumblr (to this page I mean, usually it goes on my main blog cause there's more followers there) but I fucking love art. I fucking love fucking comic artists with their awesome fucking comics with fucking scribbly faces that somehow perfectly encapsulate human emotion. I love traditional artists with their watercolor and crayons and oil pastels and fucking idk acrilic paint and charcoal and pencils and shit. I love seeing timelapses and expressive gestures below finished products. I love seeing it. I fucking love art thats non traditional like throwing rice or assembling Rubik's cubes. I LOVE IT ITS FUCKING GREAT. The skill and creativity. I fucking love it. I love seeing fairies and other magical creatures and scifi settings. I love seeing them so much and i would say fantasy and magic in any setting is beautiful and bassass dddd cause I love faries and shit but honestly all settings great. I fucking love it all. I WANNA SEE FUCKING INKY PAINTED CHARCOLS. fucking helle. i love the goddamn fanart of television shows and other media wirh worse art. i swear to fucking god. some of you artists dont get enough love. even """ammatures""" fuck that. youre all fcuking great. i am more of a writer than a visual artists (((not proof here but trust me when im actually writing i am fucking good at it. fuck you dad. i am good at fucking writing. See, the fucking idiot said. If I just put in active effort to write, and use the baskspace button, the writing becomes better. It is one of my few skills, therefore I feel like I can acknowledge I am good at it. Personally, like I alluded to earlier, I enjoy fantasy. I have spent years escaping into fantasy stories. Sometimes I fail to finish them, due to adhd and depression, but what I do create actually is fucking good. When I was younger, I wrote on Wattpad, and like the pretentious little shit I was, I would leave comments on all the stories I read correcting grammar. I have spent so long studying story structure (admittedly informally) and used to read a lot which, I'm trying to do more again soon. however for the purposes of this textpost, its too much effort especially in this context))) anyways fucking hell one time this person (who sounded kinda young tbh in text) messaged me on wattpad and asked for permission to make FAN ART OF THE MAIN CHARACTER OF MY STORY I WAS WORKING AT THE TIME and i was like HOLY SHIT THEY WANNA MAKE FANART OF MY CHARACTER and they did and were embarassed about it SOMEHOW and it was so good this drawing (looked great)

found it you can read the story here anyways yeah fucking artist. fucking love yoou guys hell yeah. did i mention watercolors? landscape artists? comics? comic writers who use their art as a way to communicate serious things? with non bland fucking corporate art bullshit. thank you for explaining complex issues to me in an easier way. thank you for helping translate news stories and recent issues with colorful doodles and comics to help me understand. thank you for making me more interested in graphs and statistics. thank you for making one facet of numbers that are more acceptable to me. thank you for the above average more competent graphic design. thank you so much. i love you fucking porn artists. i fucking love you furties and trans people drawing ideal selves to show EVERYONE IS AN IDEAL BODY YO SOMEONE BECAYSE EVERYONE SEES DIFFERENT AND YOURELLL FUCKING GREAT and all the beads and candy art and custom sculptures that are useeful or mayve not and doodle sn scrivles and crazy experiments. and fucking dumbass youtubers who spent $$$$ making the most creative but also stupid and useless shit you have ever seen in your goddamn life because who even thinks of theses things ans went through and did it because why the fuck not. you are infuriating but entertain my world compared to the commentators who will make their own little sketches and lectures in their own videos. fucking fucking shit. all og it. whenever i see someone go "idk if i can make animation itll look silly* WHO FUCKING CARES BRING ON THE SILLY AND LET IT SLOWLY AND SATISFYINGLY EVOLVE INTO MORE COMPLEX AND DETAILED ANIMATION FOR THR WORLD HELL YEAH I LOVE THE EVOLUTION FROM SILLY BOUNCE TO MUSIC TO COMPLEX SHORT STORIES AND SHIT YOUR GODDAMN CHARACTER ARC IS NECESSARY FOR ENTERAINMENT JUST FUCKING DO IT BECAYSE ALL PARTS ARE EQUALLY ENTERTAINING IN DIFFERENT WAYS come on just fucking draw. fellow yarn people. i know you. look at me i am you. i am an amature but fuck it ill try to keep up. fucking love you crochet and knitters and sewers making plushies and custom clothing and shit yes fuck yeah. KEEP THAT SHIT UP i just make giant enormous pride flag knitted blankets (cant make money doing that cause no one is dropping $200 for that - which would be underpaying me probably) i have seen the most intricate and detailed fucking crochet lingerie and other outfits and they are so fucking cool all of it i love it fuck yeah. i probably forgot something but for some reason i cannot feel my fingers because there is no bloodflow and they are frozen because i have undiagnosed and untreated circulatory problems

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mlmxreader · 2 years

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To Behave Or Not To Behave | Helmut Zemo x gn!reader

@befreebehappya012 asked: Heey Jack!! Could I request "You're here with me, behave yourself" from your prompt list with Zemo please? Thank yoouu!!

summary: you and Zemo are tasked with something so simple and so easy that it can't go wrong - but it's not exactly in your interests to behave, if you're honest.

tws: swearing, smoking, choking, hair pulling

Gold seemed to fill the room so effortlessly, even with the large chandelier that hung from the ceiling; it made you think of an episode of an old television show you used to watch when you were a child. Two brothers had been tasked with cleaning some chandeliers and Granddad had unscrewed the wrong one, resulting in it plummeting to the floor and smashing. The thought made you bite your lip as you tried not to laugh and grin; furrowing his brows when he heard the quiet snort of a half escaped laugh, Zemo pulled you a little closer against his side as he dared to mumble in your ear.

"What are you laughing at?"

You couldn't resist it, clearing your throat and keeping your voice quiet as you pointed to the chandelier. "Brace yourself, Rodney, brace yourself."

"Who's Rodney?" He asked, confused and vexed, but when you only laughed, he smiled and shrugged it off. He guessed it was something of nothing.

Besides, it wasn't like this was particularly important, all you and Zemo had to do was make an appearance and look pretty doing it while Sam and Bucky snuck around to gather information; all you had to do was walk around, chat up some rich cunts, go for a smoke, have a drink and then go back to the hotel room. It was a piece of piss.

But then Zemo just had to stop to talk to some aristocrat about something, and although you tried to seem like you were somewhat interested, you ended up sneaking away; weaving through the sea of suits and ball gowns, you wound up sat out in the large garden. Parker on a concrete bench as you dared to smoke a cigarette, a habit you had promised Zemo you wouldn't indulge in too much; but a familiar shadow soon came to block the outdoor lights, and when you looked up, you met a pair of all too familiar dark brown eyes, and you smiled.

"You caught me."

"I did," Zemo nodded, sitting down beside you and holding out his hand, humming softly when you passed him a cigarette and a lighter. "I take it you're bored, puppy?"

You nodded, daring to laugh quietly as you flicked ash onto the precious and perfect patio. "Who would have guessed? You brought the fucking Punisher's sidekick to an event filled with cunts."

He raised a brow, taking a long drag and licking his lips. "My apologies. We won't be here long, though."

You leaned into him a little, your free hand on his thigh as you dared to smile a little. "I don't mind it so much... just bores the fuck out of me hearing rich cunts chat shit for ages. Like, we get it! You had a fucking private education! Good for you, you Tory cunt."

Zemo laughed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes before he dared to lean against you a little. "I had a private education."

"You're different," you scoffed. "You're not a Tory cunt."

"Point taken," he mused. "Is there any other way I'm different?"

"Well, a few come to mind, yeah," you dared to steal a look at him as you took a drag from your cigarette and cleared your throat. "I could name 'em, but I don't think you'd want them rich cunts to hear about what we do behind closed doors."

"Not particularly," he admitted. "You're here with me, behave yourself, won't you?"

"Me? Behave?" You tutted, shaking your head. "Zemo, I never thought I'd hear the day you chatted such fucking horse shit!"

That filthy mouth was the thing he was worried most about, not the boredom or the disapproval at being surrounded by a bunch of rich cunts, it was going to be your filthy mouth that blew it all; the words that left it could blow the whole operation. Still, he supposed it would have been more than entertaining to watch you get into an argument with one of those cunts. The thought made him smile as he finished his cigarette and chucked it aside.

"Perhaps I ought to shut you up," he purred, waiting for you to sit upright and throw your cigarette away before his gaze dropped to your lips as he raised a brow, a smile on his lips.

You grinned back, licking your lips and tilting your head to the head. "And how do you think you'll do that?"

"The only way I know how," he hummed, one hand going to your throat and the other on your jaw as he pulled you in, his kiss so harsh and so rough that you couldn't help but to let out a quiet moan as you kissed him back.

You moved to get on his lap, drawing a surprised but pleased chuckle from him as he eagerly pulled you closer, squeezing your throat a little as you buried one hand in his hair, tugging at the brown strands; but then he broke the kiss, his lips a little swollen and his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, a harsh blush on his features.

"Will you behave, now?"

"I suppose," you huffed, licking your lips to savour the way his tasted. "Kiss me like that again, and I'll promise you I will."

"Now that," Zemo dared to give your throat a playful squeeze. "I can do, Mein Stern."

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

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marginalmadness · 4 years

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Summer Nights 4/4

Pairing: Rabbit!Hybrid Jungkook x Y/N

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Hybrid!Fantasy, Romance, Fluff, Slowburn

Synopsis: A freak weather anomaly leads to a chance encounter with a rabbit-hybrid, and your kind nature results in you gaining a small, fluffy lodger, who questions your taste in television shows. It’s won’t be for long…will it?

Warnings/Tags: Heat/Mating cycles, Light Dom/Sub dynamics as part of JK’s heat, Marking, needy/possessive behaviour, edging, sex, oral (female receiving), an almost obscene amount of cum in this chapter, cumplay, biting, breeding talk,

Author’s Note: And finally we get to the good-good. This chapter grew in the editing, much like Endymion did by like 1/3rd, so there’s extra porn in here from what I originally wrote lol. I’m always afraid it’s going to get boring or repetitive but @johobi loved it and that’s good enough for me, and I hope you all enjoy it too! Thank you for coming on this journey with me, and for your patience and understanding as I blue-balled you for three weeks 💜 I also quote one of my favourite TV shows in this chapter, first one to find it gets a free commission!

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Tags: @kookiebunny97 @mintyrae @skswriting @jjkgumdxop @unicornbabylover

Word Count: 7K

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only. The events depicted here are entirely of my own imagining, and have no basis on actual people or events.

Summer Nights: Chapter Four

“I—w-want… you—” you stutter, and his hand slips from your hair to grip your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Say it,” he growls.

“Inside me.”

Your chest heaves. Your walls clench around nothing as you imagine how good he’s going to feel thrusting into you. It’s hard to ignore the wetness sliding from you.

“Good girl.” Jungkook smiles, letting go of your chin.

He sits back on his haunches, grabbing you by the knee and sliding one arm under the small of your back to pull you onto his lap as he moves. You shudder as he wraps your legs around his slim, sculpted waist. His firm, warm hand slides up your thigh towards your entrance, thumb stroking over your clit once—twice—before he takes himself in hand and presses the head of his cock into your heat.

You lean up on your elbows, threading your fingers into his hair to pull him down into a demanding kiss. You tease his lips with the tip of your tongue, licking your way inside and he more than happily opens up for you. You slide your lithe tongue against his, both of you smiling into the kiss before you pull back, pecking his nose and rubbing it with your own. “I want you inside me,” you whisper, forehead pressed to his, eyes tightly screwed closed.

“Baby, look at me.” Jungkook’s voice is soft but gruff; it’s a command. You force your eyes to open, blinking up into the dark, tumultuous depths that peer back at you. His eyes are alight with passion and lust, and something underneath it all that takes your breath away.

“I want you inside of me, Koo.” You nod, trying to express all the affection, longing and trust you feel for him in one gaze.

Jungkook slides into you easily, yet torturously slow. You gasp at the intrusion, wet enough that there’s no resistance or pain. It’s just sweet pleasure as he stretches you, pressing and pulsing against your walls.

“Oh my go—” you gasp, falling backwards and clawing at his forearms. “You’re so—” His cock feels amazing; not too long, but the girth—holy shit, the girth. He’s perfect. A flushed, bulbous head tops a thick shaft that thickens even further towards the base. The deeper he pushes into you, the more he stretches you. His large hand struggles to wrap around its root, and now it’s buried deep, deep inside you. Jungkook stretches you enough that you feel every vein, every throb, every press of his thick tip against that spot inside you.

He pulls out just as slowly, the only sound in the room the laboured sound of your breathing and the slick sounds of him moving within you. Jungkook holds the tip of himself inside you, waiting for something, and as soon as your eyes flick up to his, he thrusts. Hard.

Once.

Twice.

Again and again and again and again, all you can do is hold on, nails digging into his skin. You suddenly have a full appreciation for the phrase fucking like bunnies, because he is pounding into you so hard and fast you can feel your juices being forced out by his cock. Can feel them coating Jungkook’s thighs, making them slick and sticky, but he doesn’t seem to care. Your orgasm builds rapidly, liquid warmth spreading outward from your core, down your legs, up your spine. The hairs at the nape of your neck tingle; you’re so close.

And suddenly your pussy is being filled.

“Darling—ah—!” Jungkook cries as scorching hot liquid coats your walls. He collapses to your chest, huffing and growling against it as he continues to roll his hips, emptying himself deep inside you. You frown, upset at another missed orgasm, when Jungkook delicately moves you onto the mattress.

He looms over you, breathing heavily, the same predatory look in his eyes as before. You glance down to where you’re still connected, legs still wrapped around his waist, and you realise he’s still hard despite the fact he just came.

“Oh,” you whisper, eyes wide. You glance back up at him. As soon as you do, Jungkook is kissing you. A bruising kiss, biting and nibbling his way into your mouth, teeth tugging at your lower lip until you gasp and his tongue slides in.

It distracts you enough that you don’t notice the way he manipulates your legs, hooking them over his elbows until you’re exposed and spread wide before him. Jungkook pulls out, only to slam back into you with no time to adjust. The room fills with wet, obscene sounds. When you realise he’s fucking you through his own cum, heat rushes to your face. Your pussy must be an absolute mess. The depravity of it makes you lift your arms to conceal your blush.

“Don’t do that. I want to see,” Jungkook demands, settling back on his knees and repositioning your legs over his shoulders. He pulls your arms away from your face so he can lace your fingers together. The warmth of him helps you feel grounded. “Don’t hide yourself from me.” He squeezes your hands as he slams into you again, his dark eyes trained on your face. “Don’t ever hide yourself from me, please.”

“O-okay,” you gasp breathlessly as Jungkook pounds into you. “I pr-promise.” The grip on your hands gives him leverage to pull you into his thrusts, the angle and subtle curve of his cock perfect for hammering your g-spot. Each thrust makes you spasm, makes you lose control of the muscles in your thighs. You whine incessantly. Jungkook laughs as you lose yourself to pleasure, laying kisses and gentle nibbles on your ankle. Within minutes he’s coming again, grunting as he spills into you. Your cunt is starting to feel too full. A strange feeling indeed. You’re still yet to have an orgasm and you’re so damn close, so sensitive, that tears prickle your eyes.

Jungkook leans forward, staying inside you, staying hard. He tugs your legs around his waist and starts up a punishing, rolling grind, at odds with the gentleness with which he kisses the tears gathering on your lashes.

Finally, finally, finally.

The pressure against your clit, the thickness of his cock against your walls as his hips undulate; it’s too much. You cling to him as you explode around him, digging your nails into his muscled back.

“Jungkookie, I’m gonna—” you mewl, burying your face in his neck as you shake apart. Every muscle in your body trembles and twitches as electricity runs through it, crackling under your skin. You’ve been edged for so long, kept on the knifepoint of desperation, and now you’re free-falling. Your cunt tightens violently around Jungkook’s cock, grasping it, milking it until he’s growling. He gives you one last slam before emptying himself inside you for the third time. His cock pulses endlessly, coating your walls with ropes of sticky hot seed.

Cautiously, Jungkook slides out of you, cock finally flaccid. The heat in his eyes has diminished to an affectionate glow. Your sweet baby Koo is back for now. Your pussy feels overfull, like it’s ready to burst. You reach down to stroke your stomach and you swear you can feel his abundant cum bulging inside you, even though you know you can’t. Jungkook’s hand covers yours and he hums, flopping happily beside you. His fingers slide lower, over your mound and around your vulva, cupping it delicately. As though to keep everything inside.

“You’re so good for me,” Jungkook mumbles into your hair. “Taking me so well. Gonna breed you so good.” His tone is somewhere between a sigh and a growl and it makes you shiver in pleasure to hear him so possessive of you. “You’d look so beautiful, full and round with my kits.” He lays soft kisses against your temple, rubbing it with his nose.

You snuggle close to him, hands trailing up his chest to carefully cup his face and pull him down to you, demanding a proper kiss. You pull apart and he nudges you with his nose. “You feeling okay?” Jungkook asks softly.

You nod, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth again. “I feel really full,” you whisper against his chin shyly before nipping it with your teeth.

“Full?” Jungkook asks, amused, and you continue to nod as your teeth work their way up his jaw.

“Full of you. I could—” You bite your lip, burying your face in his chest, hiding though your face burns.

“Could what?” His voice deepens. “I asked you not to do that.” There’s a rumble in his chest. And then his fingers are threading into your hair, pulling your head backwards so he can look at you as you speak. You can’t defy him. Don’t want to defy him.

“I could feel you filling me up, then pushing it out,” you whisper, your cheeks flushing in shame. Or arousal. Maybe both. “I could feel how slick and sticky it was as it spilled out of me and down my thighs and over yours. It felt messy.”

Jungkook’s breath grows heavier, coming out in heavy pants. “Fuck,” he swears. “Fuck, I need to look.” He moves, shuffling around the nest until he’s kneeling between your legs, pushing them apart and spreading you open to him. “It’s everywhere.” His eyes roam over your core, the backs of your thighs. “Oh, shit. You smell amazing, love.” Jungkook falls forward, nuzzling his face into the juncture of your thigh and sniffing deeply. His voice grows rough. “Like both of us and sex and I’m getting hard again just from the scent. Fuck. Let me clean you up. Hold your legs for me, baby.” He shuffles even further back, getting into that comfortable loaf shape he loves so much. You grab your legs just behind the knees and whimper softly as he starts laying soft kisses and licks across the backs of your thighs. Nipping and sucking red marks into them. You watch the top of his head work between your legs, breath catching with the occasional glimpse of eye contact, as he intently watches your reaction.

When Jungkook is satisfied with the job he’s made of your thighs and you’re a squirming, whimpering mess, he hones in on your pussy. It pulses and contracts around nothing in its arousal, begging to be filled, his cum trickling toward the cleft of your ass. He separates your folds with his thumbs, exposing your deepest parts to him and giving you one last, heated look before he’s teasing your opening with his tongue. He pushes it in as deep as it will go, digging his seed out of you and swallowing it with a growl of satisfaction. With the flat of his tongue, he gives you a long, firm lick, dragging it over the flushed and swollen area. You flinch and cry out.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks, eyes wide in panic.

“It’s too much… hurts,” you whine, wiggling your hips. “S-sensitive after you being so rough and filling me up.”

“I’m sorry,” he pouts. His lips, shiny with both your juices, stretch into a wide grin. “You sounded like you were enjoying it at the time.” Jungkook quirks an eyebrow at you. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.” He pecks a kiss to the top of your pubic bone, trailing down to lay more at the soft crease of your thigh. His lips are soft and sticky, and so is his tongue when it arrives at your abused pussy. Jungkook dutifully cleans the mess created from your previous rounds, taking his time as though the act were some holy sacrament and it was his duty to carry it out. He alternates from side to side, between kisses and nose rubs, licks and gentle sucks against your skin. Jungkook performs this ritual thoroughly along your thighs and core, until there’s only one thing left. The thing he wanted all along.

The time Jungkook spends worshiping your pussy makes you feral. When he finally, gently dips his tongue into your cunt - just the tip - to tease you, you mewl, clutching at his head. Your fingers tangle into his soft brunette locks as he tongues at his reservoir of cum.

“P-please, Bun. Please don’t tease me,” you cry as your hips wind against the sheets. Jungkook swallows and growls against your open core, immediately diving back in, gentleness forgotten. He attacks your pussy like a man starved, his agile tongue probing and lapping, dragging his seed from you for consumption. Jungkook moans into your cunt like you are the finest delicacy he’s ever sampled. The vibrations send you spiraling, and before you know it you’re coming again. This time in his mouth. “Oh, God!”

Your hips buck wildly, your hands as fists in his hair. You grind your core against his face until your combined juices are flooding his mouth. Jungkook holds you steady, strong as he is, arms wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you in place so all you can do is arch your back and strain against the mattress. Your hips fight against Jungkook’s hold to rise of their own accord.

You come harder than you’ve ever come before and yet Jungkook’s tongue continues to lave against you, lips sucking with abandon. He’s like a wild animal; taking everything you have and demanding more. Every muscle in your body is taut and your slick paints his mouth and chin. But Jungkook is still not done. He licks and sucks, licks and sucks, pulling pleasured pain from you, dark eyes watching you smugly as you shatter on his tongue. You tremble, twitch in ways that are beyond your control as aftershocks run through you. You desperately seek respite but Jungkook is entranced by your messy cunt.

“Mmmm. So beautiful, so sweet,” he murmurs, his licks becoming softer, if just as agonising. The flat of his tongue laps a broad stripe up your slit, only to flick your clit with the tip. You fight to push him off, no words available to you, no air in your lungs. Tears run down your face at the intensity of your orgasm and once you realise you’re not strong enough to push him off, you change tactics, pulling him towards you instead of away.

“Jungkooooooook, nonononono, it’s too much. Bun, please,” you cry, shudder and shake. You tug desperately on his hair.

It works.

Jungkook growls and stalks up your body, every inch of him thrumming with erotic purpose. Your fingers never leave his hair, pulling him to you, guiding him to where you want him.

The lower half of his face is shiny with your juices.

You want to taste him.

You want to taste yourself on him.

As soon as he’s level with you, he drops to his forearms and kisses you. Forces his tongue between your lips, demanding entrance, which you willingly give. Immediately your mouth is flooded with bitter, salty-sweet liquid. He pushes it into your mouth, sharing your mixed essences and you moan as his tongue fights with yours, your mouths full of each other on a carnal, intimate level. You enjoy the taste of both of you to an embarrassing level; it feels so forbidden, so taboo, and your cheeks burn with equal shame and arousal. You swallow everything he gives you, moving your lips to lick and suck at his chin, cleaning him of your own slick. The sound he makes is almost a purr as your clean-up progresses to the underside of his jaw. You’re so focused on pulling happy noises from him you don’t even notice when he wraps your legs around his hips.

Until he slams into you in one, forceful thrust.

“Urgh, love, you’re so perfect. Taking me so easily,” Jungkook grunts. “I’m going to fill you u-up again.” Your hands move from his hair to hook under his arms, clinging to his shoulders, nails clawing into his back as the intensity overtakes you. You’re wrapped around him as much as you possibly can be, whimpering and shuddering in pleasure. Your poor, swollen pussy clenches around his thick girth, trying to cling to him, keep him inside you, claim him as he pounds into you mercilessly.

His pace is ruthless. The sound of skin on skin echoes in the room, drowning out your harsh panting. You feel your skin prickling, heating up with every slap of his hips as they hit the back of your thighs. Jungkook watches you as he fucks you, his gaze more intense than it’s been all night. All you can do is hold onto him, mouth open wordlessly, unable to vocalise much beyond unintelligible moans. It’s a struggle to breathe when he’s fucking you so, his cock stretching you deliciously, making you lose your mind.

Jungkook huffs out a small laugh. “Breathe, darling.” His long, floppy ears hang about his face, brushing your cheeks as he thrusts.

It’s then that you recall something he previously said.

Deviously, you trail a hand from his shoulders to his back, dragging your nails down his flawless, golden skin; just hard enough to leave gentle, red trails. Jungkook shudders, arching his back as he fucks you. Your real prize is the fluffy tail. The one he told you not to touch unless you were in the nest. Your fingers dig into the soft tuft of fur at the base of his spine, scratching gently like you would his ears.

The effect is immediate.

“Fuck,” Jungkook hisses from between his teeth, hips stuttering in their movements. He’s coming inside you again, sudden and unexpectedly. You giggle and continue playing, trailing your fingers through his tail, swirling the soft fur around your knuckles. You smile up at him as he practically vibrates. He comes for an obscenely long time, shuddering all the while.

“Found your weak spot, Bun,” you whisper. Like it’s some big secret.

Jungkook leans down, kissing you roughly, all swollen lips and nipping teeth. “You taste so fucking good with my cum in you. I want to eat you all day, all night. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. I’ll tie you to the bed. My tongue belongs in your pussy.” A hand finds its way into your hair, tightening its grip, pulling your head back. Exposing your neck to him. “The only thing you’re ever going to ride again is my face. Understand?” His voice is a deep, rumbling growl. You squeak out your agreement as his mouth attacks your throat.

Your ambiguous consent isn’t good enough for Jungkook.

You have no idea how, but he starts fucking you harder, piling more force behind each thrust, tilting his hips just right to hit that spot inside you as he pistons in and out. “I said, ‘Do. You. Understand?’”

“Ooh—uh—fuh—Kookie—!” you wail helplessly, your throat raw as you struggle to drag enough air into your lungs. Pleasure builds threateningly between your legs. That's when he strikes. Jungkook thrusts, deep and hard, angling himself to grind against your clit as he winds his hips in a slow, sinuous roll, like waves on the ocean. His mouth attaches to your neck, teeth sinking in deep. He bites and licks and sucks; marking you. The pain is sweet, sends electricity surging to your pussy, making it explode. You can feel yourself tighten around him and Jungkook growls against your neck, pulsing inside you as he comes again.

“You’re so perfect,” he groans, lips never leaving your skin as he shudders through his milking. Your orgasm lasts longer than any you’ve had before. You tremble against him for what seems like hours, his arms holding you steady as he continues to languidly fuck into you. He goes slow and deep, his cock never softening as he moves his mouth to a different part of your neck. You whimper when he switches sides, latching onto a patch of skin just below your ear that would be incredibly difficult to hide.

You feel like you’re having an out of body experience. As Jungkook rolls his hips into you, you continue to ride the high of your orgasm, your entire body weightless. Where he touches you, static electricity dances across your skin; everywhere his hands skim, everywhere his lips touch. He never lets up on your neck, sucking and licking and biting. You’re perfect, you’re perfect, you’re perfect he chants against your skin, working his way down your chest and leaving blooming bruises in his wake. Pleasure continues to wash over you, needlelike in intensity. Tears spill from your eyes; you want to cry out, to yell, but you can’t. Your mouth opens in a silent scream as you thrash against the bed, hands reaching out to grab at anything to ground you. Vaguely, you feel heat flood you again as Jungkook pumps you full of his seed once more.

“Ah!” he cries, somewhere between a sob and a sigh.

He shifts until he has you by the hips and resumes his thrusting without so much as a pause. You can scarcely believe it. His nose trails your midriff to your navel, bunny teeth nibbling the skin around your belly-button. A meandering flower path of vibrant bruises marks you from your neck downwards. Jungkook sits back, muscles rippling, pulling you flush to him. The feeling of floating finally abandons you, your entire body tingles and shivers like it’s been doused in ice water. All sensation rushes down to one singular place; between your legs. Jungkook slams his hips into you, hard and fast, hard and fast. He wraps an arm around your lower back, lifting you, suspending you in the air as he continues to fuck into you with a fury. Again and again. Unrelenting. Your arms flail, desperate for something to hold on to.

“I need to fill you. I need to breed you and you’re going to take everything I give you,” Jungkook grinds out, teeth gritted.

“Yes,” you gasp, forcing the words out. “Fill me. Breed me. I want it, want you,” you sob, covering your face. But Jungkook moves your arm, pinning it above your head, forcing the angle deeper. He stares at you as he fucks your cunt, challenging you. You’re desperate to look away, but you can’t. The intensity of his eyes, the set of his jaw, the sweat dripping down his face. All framed by long ears and damp curls.

It’s impossible to look away from him.

You reach up to pull him into a kiss. It’s open and messy; he’s using most of his focus to fuck you.

“Up, up, I want to be up,” you demand. The hand pinning your wrist to the mattress slides downward and secures your shoulders, lifting you onto his lap with ease. You wrap your arms around him, nuzzling his ears as he readjusts his hold on you to fuck up into you. The change in position provides constant friction to your clit. Your poor, engorged clit that’s been subjected to so much tonight. The curve of Jungkook's cock rubs against your front wall, caressing your similarly sensitive g-spot. His stunning display of strength to hold you up while fucking you makes your pussy clench and gush around his length. You know he’s fit; know he’s stronger than he lets on, but the fact he can lift you and throw you around like it’s nothing has you weak for him; makes you shudder in his arms. You kiss his ears which twitch and flick, and he returns in kind by nibbling along your shoulders, moaning thanks to your endeavours. You score his back with your nails, leaving more marks. Jungkook lifts his head and nudges you with his nose, biting at your bottom lip.

“Mark me,” he growls between thrusts.

“What?” you gasp, frowning in confusion. He can’t be serious. Marking is an incredibly personal thing. You understand Jungkook does it because he has urges; urges he can’t control. But you don’t.

He’s choosing this.

“Do it properly, don’t tease.” Jungkook smirks, kissing you. “Mark me.” He tilts his head to the side, flicking his ear and hair out of the way. You look down, momentarily distracted by the way his abs contract and roll as he fucks you. But then your eyes travel up to land on his taut, sweat-covered neck. Leaning forward, you kiss it, licking and sucking something fierce. Jungkook starts to huff, sending hot puffs of air over your shoulder. His noises change, dwindle into more of a whimper, his hips stuttering the harder you press your teeth into his skin and hum. As you worship his neck with your tongue and teeth, you drag your nails up and down his back, leaving scratches in your wake, rather than just red marks.

Jungkook whines and grunts under your rough treatment; you can feel his cock throbbing inside you as he prepares to empty himself into you once again. You place your teeth against his neck and reach down around his waist to play with his cute, fluffy bunny tail. You twirl the fur around your fingers as you hum, the vibrations from your teeth travelling directly to Jungkook’s neck. And then you go for the kill. You dig in your nails and scratch, scratch, scratch as you bite down harder.

Jungkook malfunctions.

His body stops, going tense, every muscle taut and straining, trembling almost imperceptibly. You feel him release inside you, hot thick spurts of seed that fill you to the brim; that squash and spill out of you as he fucks you. His tremors become a violent shake, an internal quake that starts in his lower back and travels up through his arms. They clamp around you like tempered steel. The shuddering throws off his thrusts and ruins his rhythm until he can’t maintain it anymore. Jungkook convulses erratically, his cock dancing inside you in very interesting ways. The tremors travel down his legs, reaching his knees and making them weak.

“Gghh—haaah!” He cries out, half way between a groan and a yelp. As he falls backwards to the bed, he takes you with him.

Jungkook lays under you, quivering, his eyes closed and nose twitching. Long, floppy ears flutter against your face as he whimpers softly. You can feel his fingers flexing, twitching spontaneously against your back as his hold on you loosens. You hold your weight in your forearms so as not to crush him in his vulnerable state. You lean over him, not knowing what to do. Jungkook just lays there, unmoving, nothing but involuntarily spasms. Did you break him?

“Bun?” you ask quietly, but he’s unresponsive, “Kookie? Jungkook?” You push yourself up into a sitting position as best you can with your legs trapped under him. His arms fall limply to his sides.

You gasp when you realise he’s still hard inside of you.

Your eyes dart around. You bite your lip. Is this normal? Maybe you should have researched rabbit hybrid heats before you shared Jungkook’s. But just as you consider moving, his eyes slowly blink open until he’s looking at you from under heavy lids. Slowly he lifts his hands to skim over your thighs, and you shudder. Even after everything his hands feel incredible against your skin; you never want him to stop touching you.

Jungkook’s strength returns to him, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips to hold you tightly. And then he’s rolling his hips, thrusting into you with renewed determination. Slowly at first, picking up speed, picking up force until he’s pounding up into your pussy at a pace so punishing he’s lifting you off the bed. You can feel how sticky, messy and wet your cunt is; can hear it over the heavy breathing in the room. You lean forward, placing your hands on his chest to steady yourself.

“Please Jungkookie, I need to cum. I need it. I need you,” you sob, nails digging into his chest as pleasure wracks through you.

His face doesn’t change, but his soft, kiss-swollen lips part slightly as he pants in effort. You bite your bottom lip as you watch him, your orgasm building, liquid heat accumulating in your core once again. Your fingers, slippery with sweat, catch on his nipple when you try to readjust your grip. Jungkook whines so you do it again experimentally, digging a nail into his nipple until his hips falter. You drag it across the stiff peak, catching on it and pulling hard. His breath comes in pants as his thrusts become more forceful, more erratic. It’s only seconds before heat explodes out around you, white noise ringing in your head as you come hard and fast. You bend forward, your mouth latching onto his nipple, the sudden touch of teeth pushing Jungkook over the edge. He releases into you again, so forcefully it pushes the previous offering out of your over-stuffed cunt. Cum seeps out around the base of his throbbing cock.

You lick and kiss the abused nipple as an apology. And as if by some miracle, Jungkook finally softens and slips out of you.

“Holy shit,” you sigh, resting your cheek against his chest, a finger idly wandering around the spit-slicked, peaked flesh. Jungkook giggles somewhat hysterically.

He flips you onto your back, pulling a pillow from the nest wall and pushing it under your hips to raise them. Noticing your shuddering, Jungkook grabs a blanket and throws it over you. It’s a sweet gesture, but you’re not shivering because you’re cold. You’re shivering because he just fucked your brains out and you feel like a human water balloon while this full of cum. He curls up beside you, throwing an arm over your chest and reaching up to stroke your hair. His nose finds your ear to nuzzle. He hums happily throughout your afterglow, caressing your hair, nosing your jaw, chin, cheek and temple to scent you. Gentle, reassuring words of you’re so good and such a good mama for my kits filter through your ears.

And in the comfort of his arms, utterly exhausted, you drift off to sleep.

_ _ _

You slowly wake from your doze when you feel something cold and damp on your legs. You sit yourself up with a shake of your head, trying to clear it. Jungkook kneels between your legs in his pajama bottoms, wiping you down with a damp cloth.

“Sorry, didn’t want to wake you,” he says, smiling shyly and wrinkling his nose.

“It’s’kay,” you groan, sitting up. Everywhere aches. “How are you feeling?” you ask.

“Better. There may be another wave later, but the worst should be over.” Jungkook looks around the room awkwardly. “I should—I mean…” he trails off, playing with his ears. “I said some things. I should explain myself.”

“Don’t worry, I know it was just your heat talking,” you reassure him with a smile, even if part of you wished he meant it. Jungkook stares at you, eyes large and round, mouth falling open into a perfect ‘o’.

He nods. “Yeah, I—I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Bun mumbles, nibbling his bottom lip. He resumes the process of cleaning you and avoids your eyes.

“You didn’t. I don’t know if you noticed, but I played along.” You’re not sure what possesses you to say it, but you immediately regret it when his hand stills.

“I noticed,” Jungkook says with a glance at you, his neck flushing red. He coughs awkwardly before resuming his cleaning. “I made food; just a simple omelette,” he diverts, reaching out of the nest to grab the plate. A forkful of omelette is extended to you, to feed you. You smile fondly at him as you gladly accept the offering. You try not to read too much into it; he’s just taking care of you because it’s his heat and you’re his partner right now. You’re in his nest, too, and in his nest, it’s his instinct to take care of you.

You carefully watch his face, entranced by his focus. Entranced by how much care he takes in everything he does. Jungkook looks up and catches you staring. You burst into laughter, as does he.

“Why are you staring at me?” He chuckles, feeding you more omelette.

“You’re very handsome,” you tease easily. “I’d be an idiot not to.” Jungkook scoffs and you grab his face, looking at him seriously. “You’re the most handsome person I’ve ever seen.”

“Even with the ears?” he asks derisively.

“Especially with the ears.” You smile, reaching up to scratch one. His leg twitches and kicks out. Jungkook grabs your wrist, pulling it away from his ear with a giggle.

“Stop it!” He’s smiling, eyes full of stars again and you lean forward to kiss him softly. He’s hesitant at first, but soon gets lost in it. “Is this still okay?” Jungkook whispers against your lips, pecking you tenderly.

“Jungkook, I—” You swallow. “I didn’t do this just because it was your heat. I helped you because—because I want you. I’ve wanted you for a while, I was just scared to admit it. Scared I’d be taking advantage of you.” Your heart is pounding; you’re pretty sure Jungkook can hear it, but the look on his face is nothing but shock, eyes wide as he stares at you.

“Really?” he asks when he finally finds his voice. “It wasn’t just—you took me in when you found me in the rain, looked after me. You’ve looked after me ever since. Are you saying this wasn’t just you taking care of me again?” His voice is quiet, unsure.

You shake your head, running your fingers through his hair. “No, not at all. You’re so— you’ve been so…” You mull the words over. “Yes you’re handsome and the sex was good—” Jungkook quirks an eyebrow, then pouts. “GREAT!” you correct, and Jungkook snorts and ducks his head. “But I also want you. I want you singing in the kitchen in the morning, dancing in it at night as you make dinner. I want to keep arguing with you about what we watch on TV. I really love coming home to you at the end of a long work day so I can argue with you about what to watch on TV.” You laugh. “I want to take care of you, like you take care of me. I want to know about you, your past, where you’re from. I want your good days and your bad. I want to talk about your day, I want to talk about the future—” You stop and lick your lips, moving your hands to cup his face. “I just wanna talk because I like the sound of your voice.”

Jungkook smiles wide, leaning in to kiss you before pulling back and leaning his forehead against yours. “Then I think I should tell you everything,” he sighs.

You pull back slightly, your thumbs coming to caress his soft cheeks and you lean in to kiss him again. “If you’re ready, I’m listening,” you whisper against his lips.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” he says, staring deep into your eyes.

“Crazier than someone who finds a stray hybrid on the street and adopts it?” you ask with a nudge. Jungkook chuckles giddily. “Maybe we’re the right kind of crazy for each other?” Something about the question makes him sober and he takes a deep, shuddering breath before he starts talking.

“I live in one of the villages on the outskirts of the city, almost everyone there is a rabbit-hybrid. A few other hybrids, a few mundanes, but not many,” Jungkook explains, shuffling so he can pull your back to his bare chest and wrap his arms around your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder and continues. “Everyone my age, everyone I grew up with - they’re settling down, thinking about starting families if they haven’t already...” he trails off.

“Everyone? You seem awfully young to be worried about something like that.”

You feel him shrug, burying his face in the crook of your neck to hide a blush you can’t even see. “We like to mate early.” Something warm and dangerous blooms in your chest. “Anyway, everyone was finding their mate; all my friends had either found one or found someone they were planning to mate with and I couldn’t—there was no one I… I couldn’t find—” Jungkook stutters, breath coming out in little gasps against your shoulder. You turn in his hold, finding him staring at you, eyes wide. You lift a hand to gently thumb the soft fur of his long, floppy ear. “I’d shared a couple of my heats with others, but other than that I was alone. I was watching all my friends fall in love and be happy and I wanted that more than anything. But I couldn’t find anyone. I even spent my heat before this one alone. There was no one in my village I wanted to spend it with.”

“I’m sorry you felt so alone,” you say, wrapping your arms around him and hugging him tightly.

“I wished upon a shooting star.” Jungkook ducks his head, hiding his eyes from you. “I wanted to find my mate. I didn’t want to be alone anymore.”

“What?” you ask, pulling back to look at him. He glances up at you, hiding behind his ears.

“I told you I’d sound crazy.” Jungkook smiles coyly. “I was sitting on a hilltop near my village. I liked sitting out there at night; it’s far enough away from the city that you can see more stars. I liked to imagine what it would be like to sit out there with my mate someday. Then there was a bright streak across the sky, and I closed my eyes and wished—wished I was with my mate. I must have fallen asleep after that, because the next thing I knew I was waking up in my rabbit form, cold and wet and under a bush. I ran out of it and there you were.” Jungkook lifts his head to look at you now, eyes sparkling as they dance around your face, trying to interpret your reaction. But all you feel is shock.

“How did you get there?” you ask, confused.

“I have no idea, I just woke up and found myself unable to change back.” He shrugs, arms tightening around you.

“So you were stuck in your rabbit form?”

Jungkook nods in confirmation. “At first. The first few weeks. I didn’t know what was wrong, and when you picked me up I froze; it’s rabbit instinct. I hoped I could run later, but then I realised it was for real - you were caring for me. I thought, maybe—” Jungkook swallows, licking his lips, a large, warm hand reaching up to cup your cheek. “Maybe my wish had been granted. The longer I stayed, the more scared I became that you’d make me leave if you knew I could transform back. I only did it once to contact my family, to let my brothers know I was okay. The storm really did scare me back in my sleep,though, and I thought you were going to send me away. When you let me stay—” Jungkook leans forward and brushes his lips against yours. “I was so happy. So, so happy.” He lets out a shaky breath.

“Wow,” you whisper, turning back around to melt into his embrace.

“Are you mad? Do you think I’m crazy?” Bun asks, a waver in his voice as he presses his lips to your shoulder.

“I—I don’t know. I’m conflicted,” you answer honestly. His arms tighten around your middle as he tries to keep his breathing steady.

“About?” It’s a whisper, his lips grazing your skin like he’s too scared to ask. Too scared to hear the answer.

“I know I should be mad that you chose to stay here when you could have left at any time. I mean, you basically lied to me. But I can also understand why you did it.” You cover his arms with yours. “You were desperately lonely, and something strange happened. You thought this—this miracle happened. You’d be crazy not to take advantage of it.” You turn in his hold, delicately brushing his hair out of his face. “It’s kind of endearing to find out the hybrid I’ve grown so fond of is actually a big, sappy romantic.” Jungkook buries his nose in the nape of your neck and if the sigh he lets out sounds more like a sob of relief, you don’t mention it. “You really think I could be your mate?” you ask, sliding your hand along his toned forearm and entwining your fingers with his.

“I think I made that wish on the hilltop and woke to find someone who is kind, intelligent, beautiful and funny.” You hear the smile in his voice as his lips make their way across your shoulder. “I love how you wear sweaters three sizes too big. Cry at horror movies. Smile when you think I’m not looking.” Jungkook punctuates each point with a kiss. “I keep imagining you in my clothes. I love how you sing and dance when you’re doing chores.”

“You like my singing?” you laugh. You’ve never been accused of being a good singer, and when you look over your shoulder at him, you realise you’re still not.

“I love your enthusiasm when you sing and dance,” Jungkook states diplomatically, eyes filled with mischief. He dips his head to kiss your shoulder.

“You have a beautiful enough voice for both of us,” you say with a smile, slumping so you’re looking up at him and he’s looking down at you.

“I could have met a million different people in the city, but out of everyone, I meet you. Someone I want to make my mate,” he says cautiously, and you squeeze his hand. “You’ll let me stay?”

“You can stay for as long as you like,” you whisper softly, running your fingers over his.

“What if I never want to leave?” Jungkook teases with a smile, and you smile back up at him.

“Then I guess you should make yourself at home,” you say softly. “Take me to that hilltop one night?”

Jungkook leans down and kisses you; a kiss that tastes like love and feels like a promise. “Try and stop me,” he whispers, smiling.

And making himself at home is exactly what he did.

#Jungkook #Jeon Jungkook #Jungkook Fluff #Jungkook Smut #Hybrid!Jungkook #Jungkook x You #Jungkook x Reader #Bunny!Jungkook #Jungkook Fic #BTS #BTS Fic #Jungkook in Heat #Marginal Madness #MM Summer Nights #Summer Nights #Commission

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thanksjro · 3 years

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Bayverse: Treating These Movies with More Dignity than They Deserve or Contain, Because I’m a Goddamned Professional - Part One

TRANSFORMERS (2007) - UNCOMFORTABLE SEXUAL TENSION BETWEEN TEENAGERS THAT I DIDN’T NEED TO SEE

So.

This is a little different than what I usually do.

Clearly.

God, how did we even get here?

Oh, I remember.

The date was September 17th, 2020, and I was in a stream with nine or ten other people watching the first Bayverse Transformers movie. Why we were watching it doesn’t particularly matter- sometimes you just gotta watch garbage so you can refresh your palate for the good stuff, I suppose. Also, a couple of folks wanted to make goo-goo eyes at Blackout’s rotors.

...It’s not my thing, but I’m glad they’ve got something to make the journey worth taking.

I made some sort of comment about only using my brain for this blog’s content, and someone (you know who you are :)) suggested that I take a proper look at the film. Being who I am, I immediately latched onto this idea, despite it being technically outside of what I write about.

And then I quintuple-downed, because winners don’t quit.

Good to know that my BA in Film Production wasn’t a complete waste of time.

Fun fact, I broke my television trying to watch Transformers for this. I think the universe was trying to stop me, by making me perform surgery on electronics, and also aggravating my carpal tunnel.

This movie came out when I was 13, and it was the first Transformers thing I saw after Cybertron. Yes, the anime one. No, not the one that’s objectively terrible.

Anyway.

How did I feel about Transformers when I saw it the first time? Well… it was okay. I liked the robots. I thought Mikaela was pretty, not that I knew what that meant back then. I watched it a few times, if only because my oldest younger brother kept renting it at Blockbuster. It was fun.

Now I’m older, and wiser, and know feminist theory, so my opinion is less “this exists” and more “blind, murderous rage”.

Our film opens up with some claptrap about the Cube™, a MacGuffin of ultimate power that allows the Transformers to create worlds in their image and populate them. Which means this is how they reproduce.

It always comes back to baby-making, doesn’t it?

The narration goes on about how the Cube™ is very powerful, and some folks wanted it for good, and others for evil. The criteria for being “good” and “evil” isn’t established, and I’m not exactly sure how one would define such a thing, when all the Cube™ does is create life, but, well, we’ve only just begun. Maybe we’ll get some answers later on.

Haha, I doubt it.

So, the Cube™ is the catalyst for our 4 million year war this continuity, and that sucker was lost in the shuffle a while back. This is a problem, because, again, the Cube™ is how the Transformers reproduce. Now everyone’s in a mad scramble to find the thing so their species doesn’t die out.

Three guesses as to where it ended up, and the first two don’t count.

Smashcut to the shit nobody cares about- the humans. We see an Osprey fly over the Qatar desert, carrying a buttload of American soldiers. We get a taste of some good old-fashioned xenophobia, as several soldiers mock a guy for not speaking English and loving his mother’s cooking, going full “funny haha gibberish language” on him. We’re two and a half minutes into the film, and I already want to stab something.

Ed Sheeran breaks into the conversation, I guess because he was feeling left out, revealing that he is the New Yorker stereotype of the film, for some reason. The fellas ask their captain, Lennox, what he’s looking forward to most about getting home from their tour, and he reveals himself to be a family man. While he’s been away, his wife had a baby, who he hasn’t so much as held yet. His men respond by mocking him.

For loving his child.

We’re three minutes into the film, and the toxic masculinity might actually make me have an aneurysm.

The Ospreys land, the lads disembark, and we get a snapshot of what downtime during deployment looks like to Bay. There are a lot of kiddie swimming pools involved. Two men play basketball. We watch multiple men take outdoor showers. A young Qatari boy brings Lennox a camelback water pack with a smile on his face. This lets me know that he’s a prop and not a character in this film. I can’t wait to see how many horrors he’ll be put through to simulate pathos.

We get a shot of a helicopter flying over the desert, one that the US military doesn’t recognize as their own. They send a couple of planes to check it out, and said planes get their shop wrecked. The helicopter is revealed to be the same ‘copter that was shot down several months prior. That’s… not good. Ghost helicopter?

No. Not at all, actually.

Lennox gets on a video chat with his wife and daughter, who is wearing one of the most ridiculous baby outfits I’ve seen in a hot minute. And I used to work in childcare, so I’ve seen a good amount of those. The writing implies that normal bodily functions are unladylike and therefore undesirable… in an infant… and that’s when all hell breaks loose, thankfully saving me from more of Bay trying to make me give a shit about these characters.

The helicopter lands, we get a shot of the mustachioed pilot, who glitches (gasp), and the line “have your crew step out or we will kill you” is uttered. Not even trying to hide the nationalism, are you?

This film hit theaters in 2007, when the xenophobia from 9/11 was still heavy in the air of the general populace, so things like this were more tolerated, and in fact approved of. Of course, it’s not like America has really improved on that subject, or ever really had a point where we weren’t terrible about it, since we live in a world where the military-entertainment complex exists.

See, the Department of Defense and a good chunk of American entertainment industries have a little deal going, and have for the last few decades, and it goes like this: The DoD will allow the use of their vehicles, personnel, and bases, or the likenesses of such, for free, in exchange for their operations being shown in a positive/morally justified light. This is why you never see the armed forces portrayed in a way that makes them out as anything less than heroes- nobody would be able to afford the sets/likenesses without the DoD’s aid. This is also why you see straight-up advertisements for the military branches on televison, in cinemas, and online, and why both the Army and Navy have flirted with having Twitch channels.

It’s all a ploy to get you to join the military, kids. It’s propaganda.

But enough about that, it’s time for our first transformation sequence!

We get a lot of moving parts with this, since it’s realistic CGI in a live-action movie, and it still holds up. It’s hard to tell what’s actually happening, but it, if nothing else, feels alien, surreal, and horrific to behold. They even included the original sound effect in the cacophony, which is nice.

Our ghost helicopter reveals itself to be a Transformer, not that we get that terminology at any point in this film. This specifically is Blackout, a Decepticon. The soldiers start firing on him the moment he starts transforming, then are surprised when the thing they started shooting with several guns retaliates. This is the point where everything ever in this military base explodes, brilliantly and repeatedly, because it wouldn’t be a Bay film without it. There’s a lot of shouting and bright lights, and I’m positively certain that a great deal of people died during this fight.

It’s just a shame that I don’t care.

Blackout rips the top off of a building like it’s a tin of anchovies, and then snags all the hard drives he can, downloading everything. This is a problem, but it seems like nobody was prepared for a giant alien robot hack-attack, because in order to shut down the power to the servers, you need to be able to unlock the breaker box, and no one seems to have the key. They solve the problem with a fire ax.

Lennox is leading the Qatari boy through the base towards safety. I should mention that it’s night now, and several hours seem to have passed since the Ospreys landed, so I don’t know why this kid is still here. He’s got, like, a house and family to go home to.

We get some more tank-throwing action, Sergeant Epps almost gets flattened under Blackout’s foot, then the movie decides it’s going to try to make things more interesting by having each shot cut flash, for whatever reason.

Someone shoots Blackout with a rocket launcher, I think, and this is the point where he throws his tiny little man off his back to go do his job. Yes, Blackout’s got a baby, and that baby is Scorponok, his symbiotic pal who likes to dig into the ground and be a sneaky little bastard.

Blackout blows up a ton more military equipment and personnel, and then it’s time for another smashcut.

Now we’re in high school, just like all those dreams I’ve had where I’ve forgotten my homework. This is where we meet Sam Witwicky, our main character, and also the stand-in for our target demographic. He’s insufferable, and I don’t like him. Mikaela Banes, our love interest, is also present in this scene, but we don’t get to know about her character for, like, another 20 minutes, because who gives a shit about women, right? They’re just props, right?

Right???

RIGHT??????????

RIGH-

Sam is presenting on his great-great-grandfather, Archibald Witwicky, for his family genealogy report, in front of a class containing maybe three actors who are age appropriate.

I know child labor laws are a good thing, and that hiring adults to play teenagers is just the lay of the land, but I swear some of these students look like they’re old enough to be on their second mortgage and third kid.

Anyway.

Archibald Witwicky was an explorer, one of the first to traverse the Arctic circle, and apparently his crew was made up of folks from 2007, because I swear the clothing for a few of these dudes isn’t period-appropriate. We get a seamen joke, because of course we do, and a sextant joke, because of course we do. Sam is also hawking all this crap he’s brought in for the presentation, because he is a little bastard who has no idea what his peers would want to buy, or really how to relate to them at all. He’s selling these “priceless” artifacts so he can get a car. Mikaela finds this charming, for some fucking reason. Also, her boyfriend is weirdly stroking her shoulder blade with his knuckles the whole time this is happening, and I hate it.

Archibald Witwicky went mad after his expedition, talking about an “ice man” so often that his family ended up locking him in a mental asylum, likely to be forgotten about. Which is sad. But we won’t be getting into the medical mistreatment of the mentally ill in Bayverse, now will we? That’s just Too Deep™.

Sam’s teacher didn’t very much appreciate having his class be turned into an episode of Antiques Roadshow, but still gives Sam an “A” on the project, despite it being a very poor report that lasted all of two minutes. I suspect the teacher has tenure, and therefore no longer gives a shit about academic integrity. This “A” means that Sam’s father will buy him a car.

Which is nice, I suppose, if I gave a damn.

Sam’s father, Ron, picks up his son in a car he probably bought at the crux of his midlife crisis, in a green that reminds me of a school gymnasium floor, then plays a prank on his child by pretending to pull into the Porsche dealership. Sam isn’t getting a Porsche, which is good, because he doesn’t deserve one. As Sam gripes to his father, a yellow Camaro drives by oh so conspicuously. Wonder what’s up with that.

Instead of the Porshe dealership, they head over to the used car lot, which is being run by Bobby Bolivia, who spends his time yelling at his employees and wanting to murder his mother. Sam is incredibly ungrateful about the fact that his dad is helping him get a car, even though it’s his FIRST car, and nobody gets a nice one the first go around. Or, at least, they shouldn’t, given the statistics about accidents with young drivers.

“No sacrifice, no victory” is uttered by Ron, which is the family motto, or so he claims. Archibald Witwicky said the same thing when he had multiple people dying trying to get to the Arctic Circle, so there’s precedence for the phrase, but we’ll see how it holds up throughout the film.

Bobby Bolivia shows Sam and Ron the cars he has for sale, and Sam is immediately drawn to the yellow Camaro in the lot, though there’s a small problem- it’s too expensive for what he and his father agreed to. Also, nobody knows where the hell it came from, so paperwork might be an issue. When Bobby tries to show Sam the yellow Beetle they have right down the line, everything explodes, because this is a Bay film, and fuck the original material this movie was based on. Bobby lets them have the Camaro for a lower price, suddenly fearful of whatever strange powers have just visited his place of business. “The car picks the driver” is suddenly more than a bullshit line to spout off in order to sell cars, and I’m certain that’s shaken the poor man.

Over in Washington, D.C., the Secretary of Defense prepares to address just what the hell happened in Qatar, lamenting on how young the audience he’s going to be speaking to is. In particular, he’s referring to the two dweebs and the hot chick sitting in one of the rows. All the women in this movie who aren’t someone’s mom are made up to be very pretty. And not even in a realistic way. But we’ll get to that in a bit.

So, the military network was hacked. That’s bad. Nobody knows who did it. That’s also bad. The only lead the US has is a soundbite, which is the signal that hacked the network.

Everyone here at the briefing is going to be helping to figure this mess out. This is great, if you like looking at Rachael Taylor for a few seconds at a time, and can compartmentalize hard enough to make that worth the effort of watching this godforsaken film.

Back at the Witwicky household, we meet Mojo, a chihuahua with a cast that doesn’t seem like it’s actually doing anything. I wish he was the main character instead of Sam.

Sam arrives home from the dealership, and says “alright, Mojo, I’ve got the car. Now I need the girl.”

As if ownership of a person is something to aspire to.

As if women are property to be owned.

As if women aren’t people, but rather commodities.

We’re 17.5 minutes into this film.

We’re introduced to Judy, Sam’s mother. She’s shrill, and annoying. This is by design, because none of the women in this film are actually people, but rather archetypes to bounce off of the male characters.

Sam and his father have a moment of what some might consider banter, then Sam gets huffy with his mom over gender roles for the dog. I, for one, think Mojo looks positively dashing in his bedazzled collar, and to hell with whatever Sam says to the contrary.

Sam drives off to go be a misogynist, with the promise to be back by 11PM.

Over in Qatar, the soldiers and that little boy are running from the attack on their base, as Lennox’s wife watches a public announcement on the matter back at home. The Secretary of Defense lets us know that we’re at DEFCON Delta at this point. Lennox Jr. cries, and all I can think about is how they probably pinched that baby to make that happen. They pinched a baby for Transformers (2007).

The soldiers in Qatar talk about shit they have no idea about, Sergeant Epps going on about somehow having been able to see a forcefield around Blackout through his super special binoculars. I don’t know how, or why, he knows this. I don’t know anything anymore.

Ed Sheeran has his doubts about this whole thing, and Lennox is also present in the scene, because I guess he’s important. Through a bit of dramatic irony, Fig- the guy everyone was making fun of for being bilingual at the start of the film- says that this probably isn’t over, as the shape of Scorponok shifts through the sand just beyond them.

Epps is having a minor crisis over the fact that Blackout saw him, but we don’t have time for that, because we’ve got to get to cover. The lads decide to head to the little Qatari boy’s house. Again, I wonder why he was at the base at all, considering that it seems like they’ve been traveling for a good portion of the day.

Back with Sam, he’s picked up his friend Miles, and together they’re going to a lake party. Are they invited to this party? Yes, but also no. It’s public property though, so it should be fine. As they park, Sam notices that Mikaela is here, which is great for him.

Mikaela’s boyfriend, Trent- whose name I had to look up- is a massive tool, and starts pestering the two boys for daring to exist in his airspace. Miles climbs a tree. I’m glad he’s having fun, at least. Sam makes a joke at the expense of people with brain injuries, and this for some reason? Warrants a shot of Mikaela making the blank “pretty girl” face? In response?

Mikaela saves Sam from becoming a wet stain on the grass, which is very kind of her, and more than Sam really deserves. Trent, his boys, and Mikaela start to head off for another party, to get away from Sam and his tree-loving friend. Mikaela offers to drive, and Trent says that she can’t handle his truck, because she’s a ~girl~. This causes Mikaela to ditch him, and start walking home.

The script knows enough about misogyny to know that this would be a nice “take that”. Michael Bay, however, likely fails to see why everything he did with said script involving this character is a goddamned problem.

Because Mikaela, bless her heart, has a lot of problems.

Let’s start with the outfit: a croptop, a jean skirt that BARELY covers her ass, and a pair of wedge heels that are at least four inches tall. On a character that is, at oldest, freshly 18.

Look, I’m all about self-expression and the freedom to choose how you dress for yourself and yourself alone, but this clearly isn’t that. This is a character, not a person, whose wardrobe was designed for the straight male gaze. She’s wearing fucking STRAP HEELS to the lake. This is about oogling. This is about reducing a whole-ass person to the same status as a piece of meat. In fact, who was on wardrobe for this? I’d like to have a few words with-

A woman? Okay, well, what else has she worked on?

You can’t be fucking serious.

ANYWAY.

Miles just called Mikaela an “evil jock concubine.” I don’t like Miles anymore.

As Mikaela walks down the road, strutting hard enough that I’ve got sympathy pains in my hips, the radio in the Camaro turns on, playing “Drive” by the Cars, and giving Sam a hell of an idea; he’s gonna drive Mikaela home, so she doesn’t have to walk the 10 miles to her house. Why he knows how far she lives from the lake isn’t addressed.

Sam kicks Miles out of the car and goes to give Mikaela a ride, which she accepts after a bit of self-deliberation, and also him making an ass of himself. The shot here is framed with Sam like he’s a normal-ass person, and Mikaela from her breasts to the top of her waist. Because of COURSE it is.

She hops in the car and then goes off about her taste in hot guys. Which is weird, and out of left field. Sam is about as confused as I am, then continues to make a fool of himself. This is his nature as a person. Mikaela has no idea who Sam is, even though they’ve gone to the same school for the last 10 years and have multiple classes together. And the fact that she was staring him down all through his genealogy presentation. And at the lake.

This movie isn’t very well thought out, I feel.

It’s at this point the the Camaro turns the key on itself and starts to sputter out and die, as “Sexual Healing” by Marvin Gaye pops on the radio.

I don’t like how this car is trying to get Sam laid.

I don’t like how this car is trying to get Sam laid with a girl who didn’t even know his name five minutes ago.

I don’t like how this car knows what sex is.

The Camaro breaks down on a cliff, and Mikaela hops out to work on the engine, and also to get the hell away from Sam’s sputtering.

As Mikaela admires the sweet engine in this Camaro, showing off her knowledge of cars, we get several shots of her from her breasts to her thighs, while Sam is treated like an actual person. Don’t bother trying to play it off as an artistic choice, Bay, this is blatant horndogging. This adds to NOTHING, other than my ire.

Sam says more stupid shit, and Mikaela, who must be the nicest fucking person in the world, just tells him to fire up the engine so she can try to sort out the problem. Then he asks why she goes for jackasses like Trent, and she decides that she’s hit her limit for today, opting to walk the rest of the way home. Good on you, Mikaela. Don’t take Sam’s bullshit.

Sam, realizing that he’s put his foot in his mouth for the 80th time today, pleads with his Camaro to do him a solid and work, and this actually works out for him. Great. Sam, victorious, once again offers Mikaela a ride, which she, once again, takes.

He drops her off without further incident, and she thanks him for listening. Even though they didn’t really talk that much. I dunno, maybe they had a super deep conversation offscreen. Mikaela asks Sam if he thinks she’s shallow, because clearly all women need approval from the men around them, and Sam says that there’s more to her than meets the eye.

Which made me groan aloud.

Anyway, she gets inside without a problem, and Sam professes his love for his new Camaro for allowing him to talk to a girl. Or at least talk at her.

Back in Washington, D.C., at the Pentagon National Military Command Center, we’re making weirdly racist calls on who hacked the military.

Up with Air Force One, a conspicuous boombox transforms into a robot, and then runs off to hack shit. The President of the United States requests some snack cakes. A flight attendant goes down to storage to retrieve said snack cakes, and finds that boombox in the elevator with her. Considering this is Air Force One, you’d perhaps expect her to immediately be suspicious of such a thing, but this is Bayverse, and we don’t think here.

The flight attendant brings the boombox down with her and places it on the counter as she goes to get the presidential snack cakes. The boombox immediately disappears. Now, you’d perhaps expect her to immediately be suspicious of such a thing, but this is Bayverse-

The flight attendant opens up the snack cake package, for some reason, and drops the cake on the floor. She then proceeds to eat it, and then act shocked when it tastes like floor. There’s a robot in her fucking line of sight, and you’d perhaps expect her to immediately be suspicious of such a thing-

She leaves to go feed the President floor cakes, and our little robot friend gets to work stealing government secrets. He, if nothing else, looks pretty cool doing it. He’s a very pointy lad.

Back at the Pentagon, Maddie- Rachael Taylor’s character- can hear the hacking. This sends everyone into a panic, because, well, that shouldn’t be happening. The hacking noise is a direct match to the one from Qatar, so that’s obviously a problem.

Back on Air Force One, our little robot friend is looking for “Project Iceman”, which he very quickly finds, and downloads everything they’ve got on it, and also plants a virus. The process seems to be… doing things to him. It’s weird. This movie is weird.

The Pentagon cuts all the system hardlines, stopping the process, but it’s too late- he got what he wanted, just about. Two security personnel come into the room, and the robot kills them both with some spinning blade disc nonsense. Air Force One is forced to land for the safety of everyone on-board. More security detail comes in to deal with the little bastard, but he transforms into a boombox and sits on a shelf to avoid suspicion. Now, you’d perhaps expect-

With the plane grounded, our robot is able to walk his little ass over to a cop car. And when I say walk, I do mean walk; this fucker is in multiple folks’ line of sight and nobody notices a thing. When he enters the car, he’s greeted by the mustachioed driver- the same driver who was operating the helicopter at the beginning of the film. This mustache man is a holographic avatar, one that’s being used by all the Decepticons.

We get our first real taste of Cybertronian language, as our robot- it’s Frenzy, his name is Frenzy- lets everyone know that he’s found a clue to the location of the AllSpark, and, through the power of the internet, knows where to find the guy who’s gonna give them what they need.

Three guesses to who it is, and the first two don’t count.

Back at the Witwicky household, Sam’s car does a runner in the middle of the night. Sam, horrified that his property is being stolen, pursues on a bike, screaming at his dad to call the cops. Sam also calls the cops, as he tears through the neighborhood.

The Camaro breaks into an abandoned building, Sam follows, and we finally get a shot of our audience appeal character. Sam watches in disbelief as a giant yellow space robot shines a beacon into the sky, then makes a video on his flip phone recording the experience. He apologizes to his parents for owning pornographic magazines, and goes to face his probable demise.

However, death does not come from above, instead manifesting itself as two of the strongest junkyard dogs in the known universe, who break their brick-inlaid chains to get at this little dip of a man. Sam is chased through the yard, climbing on top of a couple precarious oil drums, even though there’s a ladder, like, right there. The Camaro rolls in, scaring off the dogs, and Sam bolts, throwing the keys to his ride at his ride. When he gets outside, the cops have arrived, and immediately arrest him.

Back with the US government, the Secretary of State is having a conversation about all the bullshit that just went down with Air Force One. He and his fellow cishet old white men discuss their options, until Maddie comes in to set them straight on some of the facts. They act all indignant about it, because women can’t be smart, right?

Right???

RIGHT??????????

RIGH-

Anyway, we get a weird little deflection of Maddie’s role in everything, because a woman is nothing without the men around her, then she brings up the point that the bullshit that happened on Air Force One went down in just a few seconds, which isn’t something that anyone can actually do. She brings up quantum mechanics, which everyone blows off as nonsense- not that I wouldn’t as well- and theorizes on a DNA-based computer, which is technically a thing, if not trapped in the realm of speculation. It’s at this point that the Secretary of Defense tells her to come back when she can back these wild claims up, and isn’t just clearly spitballing.

And then he snaps his fingers at her, and any point he might have had leaves my brain so I have more room for being enraged.

Back with Sam, we’re at the police station talking to the cops. His dad is here, and Sam is trying to explain that his car is a dude. Even though he took at a video (one that was likely crap, given how quickly he spun his phone around to show off what he was seeing) the cops, understandably, don’t believe him. Then one of them, not so understandably, starts… threatening Sam? With his sidearm? And daring him to try something? This isn’t any sort of statement on the corruption of American law enforcement, it’s just bizarre.

Back in Qatar, our soldier buddies have found a telephone line, and are going to try to use it to get in contact with the rest of the world. It’s just too bad that Scorponok’s decided to make an entrance, and knock said telephone line the hell down. Ed Sheeran has next to no reaction to this, despite it happening maybe ten feet behind him. Fig speaks Spanish, and Ed Sheeran makes a point to be an asshole about it.

Scorponok is about to stab Lennox with his very pointy tail, when Epps notices- finally, someone with peripheral vision- and starts shooting. Then everyone starts shooting, kicking up enough sand to blind themselves, as Scorponok scuttles away, buries himself, then reappears behind Ed Sheeran.

Ed Sheeran does not survive this experience.

The others bolt, not wanting the same to happen to them, and for the fourth time I wonder just why the hell this young boy was at the base in the first place.

Off in the distance, the community of a nearby town wonders just what the shit is going on out in the desert. Our soldiers run into the town, and everyone gets their guns and start firing on Scorponok, who retaliates, because why the hell wouldn’t he?

Lennox demands that the young boy take him to his father, and proceeds to borrow his phone. As shit goes down outside, we have a sort-of gag where Lennox is trying to contact the Pentagon, while a telemarketer tries to get him to buy a phone package. In order for this call to go through, he’s going to need a credit card. This is where the well-known “pocket” scene comes from, as Lennox searches Epps’ pants for his wallet as he fires on Scorponok. It’s probably the best-written thing in this whole film.

With the credit card acquired, Lennox finally gets through to the Pentagon, and tosses Epps the phone so he can talk. Maybe he’s got anxiety about speaking on the phone, I dunno.

Scorponok shows off his disregard for historical architecture, blowing up several buildings, and the US government just watches this all go down. One of the actors in this scene looks like my dad, and it trips me up every time he’s on screen. Anyway, now the Pentagon knows about the giant space robots running around in Qatar. They send over some air support about it. All this manages to do is piss Scorponok off.

So they try it again.

This time it works, sort of.

At the very least, he’s left now.

Tail fell off, though.

Also, Fig’s been grievously wounded. The others, for once, don’t make fun of his native language while they help him hold his blood inside his body.

Back at the Pentagon, Maddie’s looking to prove that the bullshit that’s been going on is of the sci-fi variety, and in order to do that, she’s going to need a little outside help. She takes the information from the Pentagon, slaps it into an SD card, hides that shit in her blush compact, and then runs out the door to Glenn Whitmann’s house. Or, rather, his grandma’s house.

Glenn is a hacker, and shouldn’t be seeing anything that Maddie’s brought him, but everyone knows that confidentiality is for nerds, so whatever.

Back at the Pentagon, Maddie’s immediately been caught. It’s almost like slapping the military network onto an SD card maybe wasn’t such a hot idea. But what do I know?

Glenn takes a look at the soundbite and figures out that there’s a code embedded in the thing in about two seconds. Good to know our tax dollars are being well-spent on the US military, that some dude in his jammies can figure this shit out faster than a whole team of analysts. They figure out that “Project Iceman” is involved with this somehow, and also the existence of Sector Seven. It’s at this point that the FBI busts in. Good. I kind of want Maddie to go to jail for this, because she was about as stupid as she could be handling the situation.

Glenn’s cousin goes through a closed glass door- don’t worry, it’s tempered- and there’s a weird cut before that exact same shot continues, and he’s tackled into the pool. There was no reason for that to have happened, but here we are.

Back with Sam, we’re treated to him in his boxers, shooting basketballs in his room. He goes into the kitchen, where Mojo is standing on a stool. It’s a very tall stool, the sort you sit on, and he’s just… there. I don’t know how he got there. There’s no one else in the room besides Sam, and I know he didn’t put him there.

Clearly this must mean Mojo is God, and being on that stool is his divine will. I will be approaching the rest of the franchise with this in mind, because it’s clearly the only answer.

Our merciful Lord Mojo jumps up on the kitchen counter and begins growling at something through the window. Sam looks out… the opposite window… to find that his Camaro has returned to him, and is less than thrilled about it, to put it lightly. He drops a jug of milk- luckily it was mostly empty, given the sound it makes when it hits the floor- and gives his buddy Miles a call. You remember Miles, don’t you? If you don’t, it’s fine, because he reestablishes his quirkiness with a single shot, as he sits in a swimsuit and bathes his huge-ass dog in a kiddie pool, and answers the phone with a headset he just happened to be wearing. He must get a lot of calls during Dog Washing Hours. 

After giving us one of the most intense voice cracks I’ve ever heard, Sam books it out of his house, hopping on a bike to escape his murderous Camaro. He’s not seen the thing commit any murders, mind you, but he seems pretty convinced that it would do the job, given half a chance. Also, this isn’t the bike he rode the night before; that one is likely being chewed on by those strong-ass junkyard dogs. No, for some reason, the Witwickys have a pastel pink girl’s bike, with the fun little handle tassels and the basket and everything. As far as I can tell, Sam is an only child, and if you think Bay’s going to allow for a teenage boy to have the vulnerability to own a pink bike, you’ve not been paying attention for the last 48.5 minutes.

The Camaro gives chase, rolling after Sam on his bike at a brisk 7 MPH down the friggin’ sidewalk, one of the only scenes in this travesty of a film to actually get me to crack a smile. Sam races through town until city planning puts a stop to him, through the magic of using chunks of cement to decorate the mulch around their trees. He crashes his bike, faceplants into the concrete in front of Mikaela, and promptly dies, thus ending the film.

No, he doesn’t die. I just told a fib. I’m sorry.

Instead, he does a flip and lands on his back, likely receiving a concussion, in front of Mikaela and her friends. Her friends laugh, because everyone hates Sam, as they should, and Mikaela says that what he just did was “really awesome.” Don’t try to be nice, Mikaela, this is Sam we’re talking about; you could stick the dude in the freezer overnight and he still wouldn’t be even remotely cool.

Sam gets back to the whole “running away from a car” deal, and Mikaela decides that this is the sort of thing she’d like to do with her day, so she ditches her friends in the middle of their scheduled Burger King™ time to go see what the hell Sam’s on about.

As Sam is chased by the Camaro who is being chased by Mikaela on her motorized scooter, a cop becomes involved, tearing through the streets to join this ridiculous game of tag. Now, we’ve seen two different flavor of cop so far- the mustachioed avatar cop car that picked up Frenzy from the airport, and the dude who threatened a teenage boy with a gun after accusing him of being under the influence of drugs. Either way, I don’t think this is going to turn out well for Sam.

Sam’s cornered himself under one of those really wide bridges where people can park their cars, which wasn’t terribly smart, but it’s Sam, so this is about par for the course. The Camaro manages to miss him, but the cop car does not. Sam is actually pretty cool with the cops being here, as if they could do anything about “Satan’s Camaro.” I guess he didn’t see the decal on the side of this car that says “to punish and enslave…”

Sam attempts to approach the car for help, and gets clotheslined by a car door for his troubles. He hits his head on the pavement, certainly exasperating the brain injury he received not ten minutes ago. Still, he continues to try to talk to the holographic avatar through the windshield, revealing that the bike he’s been riding is his mother’s. Mystery solved, I suppose.

The cop car doesn’t much appreciate being slapped on the hood, and begins to rev violently at Sam, threatening to run him over several times. Then it explodes into being a robot. Sam, who’s seen a lot of really weird shit in the last 24 hours, nopes out of the situation. It’s at this point that I realize he’s wearing a shirt for the band the Strokes. I don’t know why that stuck out to me, but it did. Guess my brain needed something to latch onto during all this.

Sam is running as fast as his little legs allow, as our newest robot friend takes up a leisurely jog to keep pace. Then he kicks Sam. He kicks Sam’s body like the football. This, of course, instantly turns Sam into a bag of jelly and kills him, thus ending the film.

No, he doesn’t die. I just told another fib. I’m sorry.

Sam somehow survives being punted by a giant metal leg and lands in the windshield of a car that doesn’t turn into a robot. Then he gets yelled at by the cop car. This is Barricade, a member of the Decepticons, and Sam’s got something he wants. Or, should I say “LadiesMan217” has something he wants.

LadiesMan217 is Sam’s Ebay username. This is both stupid because no teenage boy existing beyond the year 1985 would have ever called himself that, and also because it’s just stupid.

Barricade wants the glasses Sam presented for his genealogy report, and he wants them NOW. Seeing as the thing he wants is for sale, and nobody had been bidding on it, one would wonder why Barricade and his associates didn’t just try to purchase them like upstanding citizens. Perhaps Decepticons don’t understand the concept of money, or perhaps they don’t have a stable address to have the glasses shipped to. Or perhaps nobody considered that angle when the script was being put together. Who can say?

Sam gets back to running away from Barricade, we see where Mikaela got to, and the two of them collide. Sam rips Mikaela off of her scooter, and they both fall to the ground. Mikaela, who did not buckle the clasp on her helmet, asks Sam what his fucking problem is. Then his problem shows up, and they take a very long time to get up so they can run. So long, in fact, that the Camaro has to swing in to save them. After much pleading from Sam, Mikaela gets inside Satan’s Camaro, and the two of them are whisked away to safety. Barricade pursues, and then the butt rock starts.

There’s a lot of screaming and yelling, the Camaro busts through a window and several shelves in an abandoned building, there’s some drifting, and then suddenly it’s nighttime. Barricade somehow got in front of the Camaro, and is circling like a shark. The Camaro locks the two teenagers inside itself, though I suppose they could climb out through the still-open windows if they really wanted to. The Camaro cuts the engine off, then cuts it back on and bolts for the exit, and this somehow tricks Barricade long enough for them to get past.

The Camaro dumps Mikaela and Sam out one of the doors and then transforms into that yellow space robot we saw a bit ago. It’s Bumblebee! Nearly an hour in, and we finally get a proper look at the little bastard. I guess that’s what happens when you spend the first 20-something minutes on being xenophobic and appealing to the focus groups that think it’s fine sexualize high schoolers.

Bumblebee- no, he’s not introduced himself yet, but I just can’t keep calling him “the Camaro” anymore- comes out of his transformation ready to square the fuck up. Barricade throws himself at Bumblebee, they roll around on the ground for a bit, then things start sparking and exploding, because this is a Michael Bay film. Frenzy jumps out and starts chasing down Mikaela and Sam, while Bumblebee and Barricade murder death punch each other. Frenzy manages to grab Sam by the ankles, drag him to the ground, and rip his pants off. Not sure how that happened, considering he’s still got his shoes on.

While Sam’s busy being chased by a sentient pile of safety pins, Mikaela’s taken it upon herself to be proactive about her survival, and is raiding a nearby building for power tools. She sprints out holding an electric jig saw and saves Sam by decapitating Frenzy. If you know anything about Transformers, then you know this doesn’t actually kill Frenzy, but good on her for being a badass. Why couldn’t Mikaela be our main character again? Oh, right, because she’s a ~girl~.

Sam punts Frenzy’s head, like, 50 yards, which seems like something he shouldn’t be able to do, given that he’s a massive weenie, but there you are. With that out of the way, Sam takes Mikaela’s hand and they run off to go watch the giant robot fight. The bottom of Frenzy’s head turns into a spider and he crawls his way over to Mikaela’s purse. He’s gonna steal her gum, the fiend!

Mikaela and Sam have, unfortunately, missed the giant robot fight, which means that we, as the audience, have also missed the giant robot fight. Which is unbelievably stupid, seeing as everyone who has ever watched this movie came for the GIANT GODDAMN ROBOTS.

Mikaela asks just who the hell the yellow robot is, I guess because she’s finally had a second to process what the hell’s going on. Sam claims that he’s a super-advanced robot, “probably from Japan.” Whether or not this is a reference to the Japanese origins of the original toy line isn’t clear, though somehow I think it’s more xenophobia. Sam also makes the claim that if Bumblebee had intended to hurt them, he would have done it by now. This is quite the jump from a few hours ago, when he was calling the poor guy “Satan’s Camaro.”

Sam finally, finally asks Bumblebee what his deal is, and we get our first taste of the Bayverse Bumblebee Gimmick. The Gimmick here is that, due to an injury to his vocal processing, Bumblebee cannot communicate through traditional means, i.e. speech. Because of this, he instead strings together sentences by flicking through the radio frequencies and choosing key words. This can lead to some interesting audio design, like describing his fellow Autobots to “rain down like visitors form heaven, Hallelujah!” because a radio sermon fit what he was trying to say best.

This gimmick is one that has been used in other pieces of Transformers media, at least in part. Bumblebee is unable to speak traditionally in Transformers: Prime, and instead communicates in beeps and clicks that his teammates can understand, but not so much the humans, save for Raf. In Bumblebee (2018), the idea was used whole-cloth, with the injury resulting in his inability to speak happening on-camera within the first 10 minutes of the movie, and the idea of “expressing oneself through music” being introduced by his human companion Charlie Watson.

All in all, I rather like the idea going on here; it’s an interesting part of his character that opens up for a lot of interesting and creative moments.

It’s just too bad it was introduced in fucking Bayverse.

But yeah, anyway, the other Autobots are coming to Earth. Shit’s gonna be lit.

Bumblebee turns back into a Camaro, and Sam uses the power of FOMO to get Mikaela to go in the car with him. We get a shot of Barricade fucking dying on the side of the road. Frenzy murders Mikaela’s phone, and then steals its identity, including the little bejeweled heart stickers. Good thing Mikaela remembered to go get her purse, otherwise he probably would have felt very silly doing that.

Mikaela refuses to sit in the driver’s seat, seeing as she now knows Sam’s car is sentient, and sort of feels weird about this whole thing. Sam suggests that she sit in his lap instead, as the camera angles to give us a peek at the cup of Mikaela’s bra. When asked why the hell she should do such a thing, Sam says it’s a concern about her safety, given that the middle console of the car does not have a seatbelt. Sam either fails to recognize that seatbelts going over two layered bodies won’t save either of them in the event of a crash, or he’s just trying to make an excuse to have a pretty girl in his lap.

Given what movie this is, I’m going to guess it’s the latter.

Mikaela has a similar line of thought, but scoots over anyway, saying that the seatbelt line was a “smooth move”. It wasn’t, but if I picked apart every single bad line Sam had in this film, I’d be here all day.

Mikaela questions Bumblebee’s taste in alt-mode, which offends him to the point of dumping both her and Sam out in the street and driving away. He returns, moments later, as a sleek new Camaro, that I’m sure some car aficionados would call “sexy.”

Bumblebee’s alt-mode is a 2009 Chevrolet Camaro, of which there were none during the time of filming. It was put together for this movie in roughly five weeks. Sam is blown away by the fact that he now owns a car that does not currently exist in his universe. Mikaela is impressed, or at least she would be, if women were allowed to show that emotion in a non-horny way in a Bay film.

Judy doesn’t count.

As Bumblebee breaks into yet another restricted area, we get a shot of the Earth from orbit, as several objects rocket towards the planet. Sam and Mikaela watch the Autobots burn up in the atmosphere, and Mikaela tries to hold Sam’s hand as they do, and it’s at this point that I have to address how much I hate these two’s dynamic.

I don’t give a single solitary shit about this romance, because A) it’s poorly written, B) Mikaela could do infinitely better than Sam, C) I dislike Sam so very much, D) Mikaela, who is a way more interesting character, got placed on friggin’ love interest duty because ~girl~, and E) it’s useless padding to try and make me care about what’s happening here, and I just DON’T. I do NOT care about whether these two get together or not.

We see the Autobots crash-land, three out of four of them causing massive amounts of property damage and possibly killing at least one person. Their stasis pods crack open, and they each climb out, completely naked and in desperate need of clothing to hide their shame. With a quick scan of nearby vehicles, they’re once again decent to be seen in public.

Bumblebee drives the kids out to what I can only assume is the warehouse district he sent that beacon out in, as our collection of good guys finally come together at long last. A massive Peterbilt semi-truck stops directly in front of Mikaela and Sam.

We’re over an hour into this film, and we’re just now getting to the quintessential Transformer, Optimus Prime himself.

In the original cartoon, Optimus’s alt-mode was what’s known as a cabover truck, one where the cab- where the driver sits- is seated directly over the engine. These were popular during the days when maximum truck-lengths were much shorter than they are currently. This is why when you look at height charts for Optimus over various continuities, his G1 cartoon counterpart much shorter than his other iterations.

Modern trucks are longer, and don’t need the cab to sit on top of the engine to save on space. The designers chose to use a Peterbilt to make sure that Optimus would have an imposing stature when compared to his fellow Autobots.

Because heaven forbid we not have heightism come into play in this film.

Our Autobots transform, and say what you will about these bastards being visually incomprehensible, the transformations themselves are cool as hell. My personal favorite is Jazz’s, where he does a cool windmill into his root mode.

Optimus crouches like he’s looking at a cool bug on the sidewalk and addresses Sam by name. He doesn’t even acknowledge Mikaela, which I find to be a bit rude, but whatever. He then introduces himself as the leader of the Autobots.

Peter Cullen is back as the voice for Optimus Prime, sounding wonderful as always. He almost wasn’t brought on for this project, because Michael Bay didn’t want him. If the fans hadn’t thrown a hissyfit, who knows who we would have gotten to be our space dad for the next hour and a half?

This is actually an issue that’s recurred several times in the last few years, and not just with Cullen; Frank Welker, the voice of Megatron, as well as many other Transformers, has been refused roles within Transformers properties. In general, this is because both Cullen and Welker are union actors, and Hasbro would prefer to hire sound-alikes than pay more money for the originals. This isn’t to shame the non-union actors, goodness no, just to merely point out less-than-fantastic business practices.

I realize there have been a lot of tangents, but you have to understand that I am suffering as I do this.

Optimus then introduces his team- there’s Jazz, whose first line is “What’s crackin’ little bitches?”, Ironhide, who incorrectly quotes Dirty Harry, and Ratchet, who calls out just how obnoxiously horny Sam’s character is. We also finally get Bumblebee’s name.

Mikaela asks the very good question of why the fuck the Autobots are here on Earth. Optimus explains that the AllSpark is here, and they’ve got to get to it before Megatron does. He then goes on to explain who Megatron is, stating that he “betrayed” the Cybertronian empire.

No, how exactly he did that isn’t addressed. We’ll just have to take Optimus’s word, I suppose.

If you’ve sussed out by this point the the AllSpark and the Cube™ are the same thing, congrats! You win. Megatron followed the AllSpark to Earth, where he promptly was neutralized by the cold of the Arctic circle. This was 110 years prior to the events of this film, and where Archibald Witwicky came in to the story.

When the expedition was happening, Archibald fell through the ice during a collapse, and ended up finding Megatron’s frozen body in an ice cave. He went poking around on this strange metal giant, and ended up activating Megatron’s navigation systems, which imprinted the coordinates of the AllSpark onto Archibald’s glasses.

Don’t ask how that works, it just does.

So, the Autobots need the glasses, so they can find the AllSpark before the Decepticons do, so those guys don’t use it to build an army out of Earth’s machines, which will destroy humanity.

Sounds simple enough, let’s go get that vision correction device!

Back with the military dudes, everyone’s taking a gander at the tail that Scorponok left behind. They theorize that the metal that makes up these giant murder-robots reacts to extreme heat, but elaboration on that point will have to wait, because the tail has begun to flail. They quickly strap it down, then call the military to let them know to strap anti-tank guns onto anything that’s going to be approaching any giant robots.

Meanwhile, in an interrogation room, Maddie and Glen have been left to sweat a bit. Glen takes to stress-eating, while framing it as a psychological tactic to subconsciously prove his innocence to the FBI.

This is a fat joke, with the added nasty layer of Glen being a black man about to be interrogated by one of the most intimidating white cops I’ve seen in a hot minute.

Glen immediately folds, pinning all the blame on Maddie, and claiming that he’s been a perfect angel his whole life. We get some weird purity culture out of him, before Maddie lets the FBI know that she needs to talk to the Secretary of Defense, NOW.

Over at the Witwicky household, Sam’s parents are watching the news, trying to find out what all those loud crashes were about. Optimus Prime drives down their residential street, the rest of the gang in tow, then they all park to wait for Sam to go get the glasses.

For about 20 seconds.

Sam has to physically hold the door shut to prevent his father from coming out and seeing several very tall robots from outer space tip-toeing around his freshly-landscaped yard, I guess because they got antsy. Optimus plods around on the grass and breaks a fountain, and our benevolent god Mojo comes out of the house, assuredly to smite the leader of the Autobots.

Mikaela runs onto the scene, and Sam chastises her for not controlling the robots who didn’t even acknowledge her existence, outside of pointing out Sam was sexually attracted to her.

Mojo pees on Ironhide’s foot, which prompts Ironhide to threaten to shoot the creature. This is why Ironhide isn’t getting into heaven. Sam, one of Mojo’s chosen few, claims that the mortal shell of his god is seen as a beloved pet by many humans. Sam runs into the house, before Mojo can incur his divine wrath on the Autobots.

While Sam goes to get the glasses, the Autobots decide to do a little peeping on the house, watching his parents watch TV. Sam tears his room apart trying to find the glasses, and Optimus thinks that it would be helpful if he brought Mikaela up to help look. It’s at this point that I realize that Sam has an utterly bizarre fish tank.

I mean, legitimately, what the fuck is this? No filter, no plants, might not even have any rocks on the bottom. Is this a comically oversized bong Sam threw a couple fish into? What the fuck.

Mikaela starts looking for the glasses, running into what is likely a box of porn mags, then they both look out the window to find that the Autobots have decided to hide in plain sight by transforming... in the middle of Sam’s backyard. Amazing work, gentlemen.

Sam finally convinces the Autobots to go sit in the alley and wait, only for Ratchet to run into a power line and trip into a greenhouse. The resulting impact is interpreted as an earthquake. Judy does not have the reaction one might expect from someone who’s lived in California for at least ten years.

Ratchet’s fine, by the way.

The power cuts out, and Ron goes up to check on his son, because he’s at least a halfway-decent father. Ratchet’s shining a light to aid in the search for the glasses. Sam’s parents notice this bright light, and bang on Sam’s door to see what’s up.

Sam quickly hides Mikaela and then attempts to salvage the situation, answering the door and trying to control the narrative. Unfortunately, Ron is far too inquisitive for Sam to do this, and then Judy asks if Sam was masturbating.

Judy, is privacy just not a thing to you? Because if not, it really ought to be.

She keeps going with it too, trying to come up with code words, until another one of the Autobots trips and causes Ron to panic again, climbing into Sam’s ancient claw-foot bathtub to protect himself. He looks out the window to check on his beloved yard, lamenting that the earthquake tore it up.

Ironhide is strongly considering killing Sam’s parents. Optimus tells him that they don’t harm humans, and also begins to wonder if he made a mistake bringing this guy along.

Back in Sam’s room, it’s becoming increasingly obvious that Sam is an absolutely terrible liar, and Mikaela reveals herself, if only to prevent Judy from trying to talk about self-pleasure again. Of course, now she gets to be subjected to both of Sam’s parents objectifying her, so this might be a lose-lose situation.

Sam is reminded that his backpack is in the kitchen, just in time for the government to show up at his house. Mikaela makes a comment about Judy being nice. I suppose on a surface level, yes, being told that you’re gorgeous by someone’s mom is nice. I do have to question the context that compliment took place in, however.

Sam’s about to hand the glasses over to the Autobots, when someone rings the doorbell. It’s Sector Seven, and they’re here to talk to Sam about his stolen car being part of an issue involving national security. Ron and Judy are more concerned about their yard being torn up, Judy yelling that they “need to get their hands off [her] bush.”

We still have another hour of this movie.

The agent leading this mission asks Sam to come with him for questioning, which his parents are very much against. Mojo also voices his displeasure, but it would seem that Agent Simmons is not a follower of the Tenets of Mojo. Sam gets geigered, and his readings are high enough for Sector Seven to take him and everyone in this house into custody.

As Sam and Mikaela are riding in the back of the car, Simmons brings up Sam’s Ebay account, and also the phone video he took of Bumblebee earlier in the week. Mikaela is rather unimpressed with Sam at the moment, probably because he’s gotten her arrested. She still tries to help him out though, because she really is just the nicest fucking person on the planet.

Alas, the combined efforts of these two teenagers isn’t enough to fool the long arm of the law, especially when it’s a branch of said law that deals with extraterrestrial activity. Simmons threatens to lock up these literal children for life if they don’t start talking. Mikaela isn’t taking the bait, so he goes after her father’s parole hearing instead.

Yep! As it turns out, Mikaela and her father stole cars to get by, and she’s got the record to back that claim up. Simmons calls her a criminal, then says that criminals are hot. Mikaela looks like she’s about to cry, and I don’t blame her in the slightest.

Optimus, I suppose because his dad senses were tingling, takes the opportunity to place his leg in the road for the car to run into, then grabs said car like an unruly cat and lifts it until the roof rips off due to stress. The agents in the other cars pile out and point their guns at the giant space robot. The rest of the Autobots quickly relieve them of their weapons.

Optimus notes that Simmons doesn’t seem surprised that a bunch of giant robots just took all his guys’ guns, and demands that he exit the vehicle, posthaste. Simmons obliges, after a bit more prodding. Mikaela undoes Sam’s handcuffs, and he gets fucking pissy about it, as if this girl he’s had a grand total of three (awkward) conversations with should have told him something as personal as “hey, so my dad’s in jail and I’ve been to juvenile detention.”

Luckily, she doesn’t let him get away with it, calling him out as the spoiled, self-centered, privileged little shithead that he is.

Of course, we don’t get any sort of real acknowledgement from Sam, having to move on with the plot. Perhaps, if we hadn’t spent the last hour and 20 minutes faffing about on drivel, we could have had Sam get an actual moment of self-reflection, and potentially even character growth. However, this is Bayverse, and everyone knows that personal accountability is for fucking sissies.

Mikaela and Sam ask several questions, but get no answers from Agent Simmons. And then Bumblebee pees on him.

I hate that I had to write that. I hate it very much.

Anyway, I don’t know why that had to happen, but it did, and I’m nothing if not thorough.

Optimus tells Bumblebee to cut it out, and with that the Sector Seven agents are cuffs and left on the side of the road. Mikaela orders Simmons to strip, as punishment for threatening her father, then cuffs him to a street lamp.

...Yes, that does sound like a bizarre sexual fantasy, doesn’t it?

Unfortunately for our teen heroes, they forgot to confiscate everyone’s phones, and Sector Seven knows what’s up, thanks to the power of speakerphone. More cars and a couple of helicopters show up basically immediately, and the Autobots decide it’s time to dip.

But not before Ironhide fires off a pulsewave into the ground that causes a five-car pileup.

Optimus, I suppose because he knows he chose a ridiculously flashy alt-mode that is in no way practical, just picks the kids up in and places them on his shoulder like a couple of parakeets, then takes up a leisurely jog to get away from the eyes in the sky. He runs through the city, racking up what is likely millions in property damage, as the helicopters pursue. He passes by a “Legalize LA” billboard, which feels odd to see, given what movie this is.

The ‘copters somehow manage to lose Optimus, despite him being relatively slow, and having a notable radiation level that they’ve been using to track him. He hides inside the scaffolding of a bridge, only for Mikaela and Sam to slip off of his polished body to their deaths, thus ending the film.

No, they don’t die. I just told another fib. I’m sorry.

Bumblebee snatches them up just before they hit the ground, the impact of his metal body catching them at 75 mph, killing them instantly and ending the film.

Nope, that doesn’t happen either.

Mikaela and Sam are fine, some-fucking-how, but Sam’s dropped the MacGuffin glasses. The helicopters swing back around, having noticed the sound of a car crashing into the ground and the screams of two whole adolescents. They break out a fucking harpoon gun and fire on our kid appeal character.

Repeatedly.

They wrap up Bumblebee in a series of cables, as he screams like a moose. Mikaela and Sam are held at gunpoint by what is honestly far too many dudes, and are then arrested for the second time in ten minutes. Bumblebee is smoked... because he’s a bee? Sam, not liking this one bit, finds the strength in his weenie body to push a cop off of himself, run at one of the dudes with the smoke guns, throw him to the ground, and then start smoking him. He’s immediately tackled, but points for trying.

Sam and Mikaela are placed back into custody, and the rest of the Autobots regroup with Optimus to see what the plan is. Optimus says that they can’t save Bumblebee without hurting humans, so I guess Bumblebee is just a POW now. Well, at least they got the glasses. That’s cool.

Back at the Pentagon, things are getting dicey, as the other world powers are starting to suspect that something’s up. The Secretary of Defense is approached by a man with a mustache and a briefcase. He’s from Sector Seven, but the Secretary gives not a fuck about mysterious organizations. All the computers in the room suddenly go down, the virus from earlier working its magic- only this time, the blackout is global.

Mr. Mustache opens his briefcase, while explaining that Sector Seven is something known as a “special access” sector of the government, which is why nobody’s ever heard of it; it’s beyond top secret. Commissioned by President Herbert Hoover 80 years prior, it deals with alien life.

When the Beagle 2 spacecraft was lost on the way to Mars in 2003, the mission was declared a failure. This was a lie. The Beagle 2 recorded several seconds of Mars before being crushed to death by a Transformer. This tidbit is pretty funny, given that the Beagle 2 was rediscovered on Mars in 2014, seven years after this film released. Not a terribly mysterious death anymore, is it?

Comparing the footage from Mars to the footage from Qatar has Sector Seven thinking that these are the same species. Which they are. God, it’d be so fucked up if there were two species of giant robots in this film.

Mr. Mustache theorizes that because the Transformers now know that they can be harmed by human weaponry, they’re being proactive about their safety and shutting down all forms of communication technology with that virus that keeps popping up. It’s only a matter of time before the shit hits the fan for humanity.

Mr. Secretary tells his guys to try going analog with comms, breaking out the short-wave radios, to tell their ships to return home.

Over at an Air Force base, Lennox and the gang have landed, only to be scooped up by a bunch of dudes in suits.

Back with Maddie and Glen, the two of them have fallen asleep in the interrogation room, Maddie still wearing her friggin’ four inch pumps as her legs are propped up on the table, crossed in a way that seems rather uncomfortable. Glen gets to sleep like a normal human being, with his head resting on his forearms. Why this place doesn’t have a holding cell for these situations is beyond me.

Mr. Secretary comes in to bring Maddie on as his advisor. Glen can come too, I guess, considering he’s the one who actually figured out the sound file virus.

We get a little military glorification, and then it’s revealed that Mikaela and Sam, as well as Maddie and Glen, are aboard this helicopter. Their paths cross at last. Our heroes are transported to the Hoover Dam, where Bumblebee is also. They are still smoking him.

Meanwhile, the Autobots are figuring out where to go, with the power of Archibald’s glasses. Ratchet, who I guess is omnipotent, senses that the Decepticons have also figured out the location, and that this is going to be a race against the clock. And I mean, he’s right, but the phrasing is a bit odd.

Jazz wants to know when they’re going to save Bumblebee. Optimus says that they aren’t, and that Bumblebee’s sacrifice is noble, and that he would want the Autobots to leave him and complete the mission. As this is said, we get another shot of Bumblebee getting smoked and trapped in a lab. Yep, this is totally what he would want. He absolutely signed up for this, giving himself up to the government and not at all fighting like mad to not be captured.

I don’t think Bayverse Optimus actually knows what martyrdom is, which is bizarre, given that it’s a major trait in a lot of other iterations of the character.

Ironhide isn’t even sure why they’re bothering to save humanity, given that humans are violent and awful, his point being hammered home as Bumblebee is tortured for scientific reasons. Ironhide seems to have forgotten that Cybertron has been at war for literally millions of years. Optimus has faith in humanity, however, stating that we’re “young”.

And then he says that he’s going to end his own race, by destroying the Cube™, which is how they reproduce, because that’s the only way to end the war.

Which is arguably one of the most hardcore fictional applications of eugenics ever conceived.

Being advocated for by Optimus Goddamn Prime.

We still have another 50 minutes of this movie.

Optimus then proves that he does, in fact, know what self-sacrifice is, stating that, if all else fails, he’ll shove the AllSpark into his spark, which will destroy them both. He’s pretty chill about it, too.

Up on top of the Hoover Dam, Frenzy has fallen out of Mikaela’s bag.

Mr. Secretary is also at the Hoover Dam now, as is Lennox’s team. Oh, and Agent Simmons, who is thankfully wearing pants. He offers to buy Sam a coffee, as repartitions for threatening his family, arresting him, and being a complete creep to a teenage girl. Sam gives not a fuck about caramel macchiatos with extra foam and chocolate drizzle, however. He only cares about his car.

Mr. Mustache, who is also here, needs Sam to spill the beans on all these friggin’ giant robots that are running around. This is where Sam realizes he has the upper hand for once, and he starts making demands. One such demand is having Mikaela’s record scrubbed clean, which is an actually very nice thing for him to have done for her. We’ll see if his intent comes to fruition. For now, it’s time to talk about Bumblebee.

We get a shot of all these folks heading into the secret base hidden inside the Hoover Dam, and it’s at this point that I notice that Maddie’s shirt is basically see-through.

Inside the Dam, we see that Sector Seven′s been keeping Megatron this entire time, keeping him neutralized with cryo-stasis since 1935. Cryopreservation was invented in the 50′s. This isn’t a nitpick, I just thought it was a neat little fact.

Megatron being on Earth has resulted in most modern technology. This sort of plot point always bothers me, because it takes away agency from the entire human race. We didn’t use our own ingenuity and work ethic to advance society, we plagiarized from a more advanced species. I dunno, it just rubs me the wrong way.

We get the part of the movie where info is hashed out, so that everyone is on the same page, Sam spouting off Autobot propaganda. We can forgive him for this,considering he’s 16, and no one is immune to propaganda, especially when they have zero way of doing their own research to form their own opinion with.

Sector Seven also has the AllSpark, kept in the room next to Megatron’s, like the chumps they will soon find themselves to be. It’s about ten stories tall and the reason the Hoover Dam exists. With so much concrete suppressing its alien energies, surely no one will ever find it!

Except for Frenzy, who came in through a mouse hole. Whoopsie-doodle!

The AllSpark zaps the nasty little man, restoring his body with its weird MacGuffin powers. Frenzy tells all his coworkers that he found what they were looking for, and everyone starts heading over.

Maddie asks Mr. Mustache what exactly he means by “energies”, perhaps worried that this whole thing has been some elaborate ploy to get her to invest in magic healing stones. Mr. Mustache brings everyone into a testing chamber, since the best way to explain how the AllSpark works is through a demonstration.

There’s a big fish tank in the middle of this testing chamber, in which Agent Simmons places a donated device from the crowd- Glen’s Nokia phone, specifically. Simmons makes a geologically-confused comment. When this is pointed out by Maddie, Mr. Secretary hushes her, simply saying that Simmons is a strange man. The tank is locked down, and then the show starts.

Cube™ energies are shot into the tank, and the phone explodes into life, transforming into a gorilla-shaped gremlin creature. Happy birthday, little dude!

Little dude starts shooting at the tank walls, cracking the glass until Simmons pulls the trigger and ends it. Happy deathday, little dude!

The Decepticons are making tracks towards the Hoover Dam, but Starscream- yeah, he’s in this now, don’t worry about it- arrives first, because he is a very fast jet. He transforms, showing off his ridiculous Dorito body, and fires on the base’s generators. The resulting explosions can be heard all the way down in the testing chamber, and Mr. Mustache calls upstairs to see what’s up. Looks like Megatron may be getting warmed up, seeing as his ice bath has been cut off. Lennox asks if there’s an arms room in Sector Seven, which sort of feels like asking a bakery if they have any flour.

Frenzy has entered the room that houses the controls for the cryo-stasis and set that whole system to “no, thank you”.

Mr. Mustache runs through the base, screaming for everyone to get to the Megatron chamber. Off in the distance, the Autobots approach. Could probably used some fliers on your team, huh Optimus?

Back with Frenzy, he’s decided to just straight-up raise Megatron’s core temperature directly. Hope he doesn’t do it too fast; rewarming hypothermia victims recklessly can do some serious damage.

Outside of the base, Lennox and the boys are loading up with weaponry, along with what’s the entirety of Sector Seven′s cannon-fodder department. Oh, and all the main cast. Yep, just got a couple of teenagers chillin’ in the munitions room.

Sam wants Simmons to take him to his car- he hasn’t used Bumblebee’s name in a hot minute, not sure what’s up with that- even though Simmons is currently busy loading a very large gun. Simmons doesn’t want to do that, because he’s got no idea if what Sam mentioned earlier is even true, and he doesn’t want to pin the fate of humanity on a single Camaro. Lennox takes this opportunity to tackle Simmons, despite likely not knowing that Bumblebee is one of the “good guys”. A Sector Seven guy very much doesn’t like that, and points a gun at Lennox, which prompts all of his guys to also start threatening folks with guns.

Mr. Mustache walks in on the scene, but doesn’t do anything, since he isn’t armed and knows better than to tangle with someone who’s packing. Simmons tries to intimidate Lennox, because he must have missed the day of boot camp where they tell you that guns kill people. Lennox is fully committed to shooting this dude in the lungs before Mr. Secretary suggests he give the people what they want, before things get ugly.

Simmons takes everyone to the robot torture department of Sector Seven, where they are still smoking Bumblebee. Geez, you’d think they’d have something in place for if they ever came across another giant robot after Megatron, but I guess not. The gang gets everyone to stop smoking Bumblebee, which allows him to stop moose-screaming and strongly consider murdering everyone involved with his forced captivity. Unfortunately, revenge with have to wait, as we’ve still got to deal with the AllSpark, and the fact that the Decepticons are here.

They take Bumblebee to the AllSpark, where he makes direct contact the thing, causing the AllSpark to transform, compacting itself down into a far more reasonable size that Bumblebee can carry in one hand. It doesn’t seem to weigh more than a grown adult, if his body language is saying anything. I’d make a joke about the conservation of mass being ignored, but since this is Transformers, I can’t really say much. Conservation of mass doesn’t exist for this franchise.

Bumblebee would really like to get this show on the road, and Lennox agrees, quickly formulating a plan to get away from Megatron and taking the AllSpark to Mission City, which is relatively close to their current location, so that they can hide it there.

Lennox, I know this plan is a first draft, and we don’t have a ton of time for revisions, but the whole point of building a whole-ass dam around the Cube™ was because it was very difficult to hide, given its magical MacGuffin powers. Regardless of this flaw, Mr. Secretary agrees. Lennox also asks that the Air Force be involved in this, I guess because the U.S. military wanted more screentime.

Of course, that whole “global blackout” thing is still going on, so we’re going to have to get creative with how we’re going to contact the Air Force. Mr. Secretary and Simmons make a break for the WWII-era radio Sector Seven has, while Lennox and the boys head out to shoot things, and Mikaela and Sam hop into Bumblebee with the Cube™.

This is about the point that Megatron wakes up. The first thing he does is introduce himself, which I thought was very polite of him. Then he breaks out his flail and starts bashing shit around. Not so polite, that.

Over with Bumblebee, we’re shown that the AllSpark, all-powerful object that can create life and is the whole reason this conflict is even happening, is just chillin’ in the back seat by itself. It’s not even buckled up.

Megatron escapes the base, and it’s actually super easy. He just transforms, goes through the tunnel, and he’s free. I feel like we could have at least attempted some security measures for in case the cryo-stasis failed, given that we’ve had this dude in containment for the last 70-something years, but okay.

Starscream comes over to say hi to his boss, not that Megatron gives a shit. He just wants to know where that fucking Cube™ is. When Starscream tells him that the humans have it, Megatron makes a comment about how Starscream has failed him yet again. This is their first interaction in this movie, and Starscream’s been in the story for a grand total of five minutes at this point. I know that this is a reference to their dynamic in just about every installment of the franchise up to this point, but it doesn’t feel earned in the slightest. Even if it’s going to be expanded upon in future sequels, this is a shit-tier way to set their (awful) relationship up.

Not that anyone should ever bank on getting a sequel anyway, but that’s a discussion for another time.

Megatron tells Starscream to retrieve the AllSpark, and then we cut over to the radio plotline. The radio, which is so cobweb-covered I feel like Sector Seven needs to have a serious discussion with their custodial staff, has its nobs and buttons fiddled with by Simmons until it crackles to life. But where are the microphones? Everyone starts looking for the mics, as Simmons pushes Glen into the seat, I guess because hacking modern computers and using Depression-era radio tech are similar enough.

Maddie asks Glen if he can hotwire a 90′s-era computer to transmit a tone through the radio, so that they can send a Morse code message to the Air Force. Which sounds ridiculous to me, but I don’t know enough about radios or computers to know if that sort of thing would be possible. Maybe it’s fine. Or maybe it’s Hollywood bullshit. Who knows?

Back over with Bumblebee, we get a bunch of car commercial shots, of both him and the other Autobots. Aww, the gang’s back together again! Nobody tell Bumblebee that Optimus was completely cool with leaving him to his fate.

Optimus and the gang whip around to join the convoy, and everyone makes their way towards Mission City.

Back at the radio subplot, someone’s bangin’ on the door, trying to get in. The others try to block the intruder, while Glen does his hacking stuff. Mr. Secretary breaks a case and pulls out a gun that’s about as old as he is.

Glen gets the computer working, and Mr. Secretary gives him the Super Secret Military Codewords™ to use to talk to the Air Force. While he does that, Simmons finds a flamethrower and starts burning Frenzy as he attempts to enter the room. The Air Force receives the message for an air strike. Oh, goody.

Over with the convoy, it appears that the Autobots and Lennox’s boys are being pursued by the Decepticons. It’s difficult to tell, seeing as the cameras have gone full Bay-mode, but I’m guessing that’s what’s up. One of the Decepticons flips over a minivan, likely killing a family of five. another causes a multi-car pileup.

Bonecrusher transforms, then Optimus transforms. Bonecrusher iceskates across the highway, slamming into a bus so hard it just straight-up explodes. He is on fire. He tackles Optimus, and they proceed to fall off the side of the raised highway they’re on. Then they beat the shit out of each other, until Optimus decapitates Bonecrusher with his arm-sword.

Yeah, space dad is a little intense in the Bayverse.

Back at Sector Seven, Frenzy’s decided to leave the door alone, and instead is crawling through the ventilation shaft. Mr. Secretary and Simmons fire off shots into the duct above them, as if bullets would do anything against this nasty little pile of needles.

Frenzy bursts through the bottom of the duct and crash-lands into a glass case, taking cover behind a pillar and fires on the humans on the other side of the room. While this shootout is happening, Glen receives a response from the Air Force, just in time for Frenzy to accidentally decapitate himself with one of his own spinning blades of death. This time, he does not survive losing his head.

The Air Force will be sending fighter planes to Mission City, and to establish this, we get several shots of what some might call “military porn.”

Over in the city, the convoy has arrived. Lennox hands several short-wave radios over to Epps, telling him to use them to direct the Air Force when they arrive, so they can take the AllSpark... somewhere, I guess. Above, an F-22 zooms across the sky. It is not one of the Air Force’s F-22s.

Ironhide recognizes Starscream, and gets ready to throw down. Bumblebee grabs a nearby Furby truck and hoists it up to use as a shield. This marginally works, as the missile that hits the truck doesn’t immediately kill him, though it probably did all those Furbies inside.

The resulting explosion throws all the humans around, Mikaela getting weird heaven lighting as she lies unconscious on the pavement. Sam gets it too, though, so I suppose I can’t complain too much about this particular shot. They touch hands. I really wish that I could take this moment of vulnerability as being anything other than an attempt to set up a romance between these two teens who have known each other for maybe half a week. This movie has so starved me of genuine human interaction I'm jumping at the smallest of scraps.

Bumblebee actually didn’t get out of that missile-strike unscathed, his legs having been blown off. All those Furbies died for nothing. Tragic. Sam asks Bumblebee if he’s alright, and immediately tells him to get up. Sam then remembers that Bumblebee’s legs are off, so he yells for Ratchet.

Over with Lennox and Epps, they’ve realized that the plane they saw wasn’t one of theirs. Which, you know, has already been established, but points for getting caught up, fellas. Sam is crying and still telling Bumblebee to get up. Bumblebee is dragging himself across the pavement and whimpering. It’s awful. Where the fuck is Ratchet? This is basically the only reason he’s in this film, and he’s nowhere to be found.

The actual Air Force calls on the radio, asking for their location. Brawl, who is a tank, starts firing on Lennox’s gang. Jazz and Ratchet race through the city streets. How they were separated from the rest of the team is anyone’s guess.

Sam takes a little sit on the pavement to be with Bumblebee, while Mikaela decides to problem-solve and heads for a nearby tow truck. Bumblebee hands Sam the Cube™ because, as the designated protagonist, it’s his job to handle it in the climax of the film.

Ironhide is shot at several times by Brawl, narrowly avoiding being hit each time. This, of course, means that the people he drives by in this shot are almost assuredly dead, since they’re right next to the explosions. He transforms and does a flip, as the film goes slow-mo on a shot of a woman in a low-cut dress watching him flip. She screams. Ironhide screams. I scream, though probably for a different reason.

Jazz jumps on Brawl, managing to kick off a couple pieces of kibble before Brawl grabs him and throws him into the side of a building. Ironhide, Optimus, and Ratchet descend on Brawl, and so does Lennox’s team, Brawl losing a hand and getting thrown into his own building as a result.

Mikaela breaks into the tow truck and starts to hotwire that shit. Wow, a relevant back story that culminates in her being able to save the day, thus completing her arc and staying on-theme for her character. Why isn’t Mikaela the protagonist again?

Oh, right, because ~girl~.

Megatron lands in a nearby alleyway, and Ratchet, knowing this dude is bad news, tells everyone to head for the hills. Jazz isn’t fast enough, however, and gets shot for his troubles.

Mikaela drives the truck over to Sam, who is still sitting there with the Cube™, and tells him to get his ass in gear.

Jazz gets taken to the top of a nearby building and is ripped in two by Megatron, who acts like a bird of prey the whole sequence. Down on the ground, Brawl is starting to get back up from his smackdown. Blackout appears on a nearby skyscraper. Things are looking grim for humanity.

Mikaela and Sam hook Bumblebee up to the tow line as Lennox approaches them. Sam has left the AllSpark out of his line of sight, like a fool. Despite seeing this, Lennox still gives him the flare to let the military know where to pick up the AllSpark. Doesn’t even acknowledge Mikaela. He tells Sam to head for the white building with statues on top of it and set the flare on top of the roof. Lennox can’t leave his men, because he’s the head of his operation. Why he can’t send literally anyone else who isn’t a 16 year-old boy isn’t made clear.

Sam really doesn’t want to do this, probably because he’s a child, but Lennox has recruited him to the military against his will, so he must. Lennox then attempts to make Mikaela leave for her own good, but she tells him to fuck off, because she’s gonna save Bumblebee. Clearly, this is a win for feminism.

Epps radios the choppers coming from the Air Force to let them know they’ll be picking up a package from a teenager, thus locking Sam into the job. Ironhide and Ratchet vow to protect Sam from the Decepticons on his way to the pickup point. Not one single person has pointed out how fucked up this is.

Sam starts to run off, when Mikaela stops him to let him know that she’s glad she got in the car with him roughly an hour ago. They don’t kiss goodbye, which, honestly? Good. This fucking movie hasn’t earned that. Sam for sure hasn’t earned that, even if he did clear her juvie record. No word on that having actually been done, by the way. Sam never got confirmation, and I feel like he’s not really the type to follow up on things.

Brawl fires off some shots and makes things explode. Ratchet and Ironhide provide cover fire as Sam sprints down the road. Yep, they’re making this idiot WALK to the pickup point. Sure hope the elevators are working today, otherwise this is going to take forever.

Sam carries the AllSpark like a football, and in a better movie, this would have been foreshadowed by Sam having actually been a football player prior to the events of the film, perhaps removed from the team for some character flaw he’s since grown from/accepted. However, this is Bayverse, and well, men don’t have to justify their existence in the story with things like themes and having even an ounce of thought put into their character.

Back with Mikaela, Lennox has refused to learn her name, calling her “girl” as he screams at her to get Bumblebee hooked up to the tow truck. Which she was already doing when he got here. Lennox, dude, you’ve got a daughter now, you’re super extra not allowed to treat women like this.

Optimus Prime pulls through an alleyway and crashes into a pile of garbage. I can forgive him being late, seeing as he is a big rig, and probably had to take the long way into town so he didn’t get stuck in too-low tunnels. Don’t worry about how we briefly saw him during the Brawl take-down. This is his for real entrance into the climax.

He whips around and transforms, ready to throw the fuck down. Megatron spots him from his perch and descends.

Y’know.

Like a vast, predatory bird.

Megatron shoots at Optimus in his alt-mode, and Optimus catches him like a frisbee. Unfortunately for Optimus, it would appear that the horsepower on a Cybertronian flightcraft is hella intense, and he’s carried away. The two of them crash through an office building, then roll around in the streets punching each other in the face, debating the worth of humanity as they do so. Wish I actually gave a shit about either of these people, but alas! The film spent most of its runtime objectifying women and insulting minorities. I know nothing about Optimus, and even less about Megatron.

Megatron transforms his arms into a laser gun, and Optimus does the same. They shoot at each other. Optimus gets thrown into a building, then lands on the sidewalk below, definitely crushing a dude underneath him, but I guess we didn’t check that the shot was clear for where the CGI was gonna go, so he’s fine.

Sam’s still running through the streets, while Blackout murders, like, so many people behind him. Starscream lands in front of Sam, running into roughly 30 cars as he skids to a halt. Ratchet and Ironhide fire on him, as Sam takes a breather behind a car. Starscream transforms and blasts off. He was here for about 15 seconds. Sam begins running again.

Megatron is now following Sam, because he wants that Cube™. Sam is hit by a car- not an evil one, just a regular car- and trips. The impact makes the AllSpark activate, which grants several machines in the vicinity the gift of life, including the car full of bitchy women that just hit Sam, who are upset that hitting a human being might have scratched the paint.

I get it, you hate women, can we PLEASE stop beating this dead horse?

Sam finally gets to the pickup building, which turns out to be abandoned and fenced off. Good thing the gate was open, otherwise things could get really complicated. He heads inside, Megatron crashing through a floor-to-ceiling window shortly behind him. Megatron makes the claim that he can smell where Sam is. I’m going to choose to believe that he isn’t lying here, since Ratchet did something similar earlier.

Sam finds the stairs, and Megatron calls him a slur.

He doesn’t, really, but the voice modulation certainly makes it sound that way.

While this is happening, Mikaela is driving the tow truck down an alley, dragging Bumblebee behind her with the tow cable. She stops for a moment to have a short breakdown, seeing as she is a teenager in what is currently a warzone.

Sam is still running up the stairs. Outside, the military shoots at one of the Decepticons. It is, of course, doing absolutely nothing to the giant metal space robot. Mikaela concludes her moment, looking back at Bumblebee, who gives her the okay to keep going with dragging his ass across the pavement. She whips the truck around and tells Bumblebee “I’ll drive, you shoot.”

Mikaela then proceeds to speed down a main road of this sizable city backwards, running into cars and more or less shoving Bumblebee along to his destination.

The military has finally realized that their efforts have been pointless, but it’s okay because Bumblebee is here with his superior firepower. Bumblebee proceeds to shoot Brawl in the chest, which kills him. After this, he tries to act cute, lifting up his battle mask in a very “did I do that?” way, as if he’s not the same guy who ripped Barricade apart earlier.

Sam, meanwhile, has finally reached the top of this dilapidated building. Helicopters are approaching his location, but will they make it to him before Megatron does? Honestly, I’d be more worried about Starscream on the building just due East.

Sam is just about to hand the AllSpark over, when Starscream fires at the ‘copter, causing it to crash and nearly chop Sam to pieces. Optimus Prime runs towards the scene, on a roof that I refuse to believe could actually support him. Megatron punches thought the roof from the bottom and asks Sam some philosophical questions. Sam can’t answer, given that he’s hiding on the edge of this building, his flimsy grip on one of the angel statues being the only thing keeping him from falling.

Megatron tells him to give him the AllSpark, and in exchange he might not kill him immediately. Sam tells him to fuck off, and Megatron flails the chunk of building he was hanging on to, causing Sam to fall to his death, thus ending the film.

I’m lying to you. Michael Bay is making me into a liar.

No, Sam is, instead, caught by Optimus, very likely breaking several ribs on impact. This is the point where I realize that they’ve given Optimus fingernails. Sam clings to him like a baby koala, as Optimus parkours down the sides of two buildings, Megatron in pursuit. Megatron actually lands on Optimus 2/3rds of the way down, causing the both of them to fall onto the pavement below. How Sam survives this is a mystery.

Megatron recovers from the fall first, flicking a human away from him for having the audacity to exist in his space. The flicked person hits a car, and is almost assuredly dead. At least, I sure hope so, given that this is the director cameo by the Bayman himself.

Feminist icon Megatron?

Feminist icon Megatron.

Optimus comments on the fact that Sam almost fucking died to get the AllSpark out of dodge, and we get the return of “No Sacrifice, No Victory”. Which, I mean, I guess he’s allowed to say that, since he’s actually had to do something that warranted it. His dad doesn’t get to, though.

Optimus then tells this teenage boy, who has already had a hell of a day, to kill him by shoving the AllSpark into his robot-soul-heart, should he be unable to defeat Megatron.

I dunno, I just feel like it’s a bit of an ask.

Sam climbs off of Optimus so the Prime and Megatron can rumble. He runs through the ruined infrastructure of the city, so he’s less likely to be crushed. Optimus tells Megatron to square the fuck up, stating that “one shall stand, one shall fall.”

Then he gets ragdolled around a bunch, so maybe he should have saved the talk for later in the game.

The military is running around some more, stopping in an alley to see Blackout transform to root mode. Yes, the goo-goo eyes were indeed made by several members of the watch party that started this whole thing. People went wild for Rotor-Cape Johnson.

The fighter jets from the US military are arriving in a minute. Epps warns them to aim for the robots that aren’t evil. Lennox and the gang spread out, reminding each other to aim for the underboob, since Transformers’ armor is weak there. Epps marks Blackout with a little green light, which Blackout almost immediately notices. Blackout fires on the military.

Lennox has stolen a motorcycle and is driving through the streets to circle back around and jump off of the bike, sliding on his back to shoot Blackout directly in his underboob. Wonder what his uniform is rated for for road rash.

Sam is watching as Optimus gets his ass handed to him. Up in the sky, Starscream commits identity theft, and then attacks the Air Force. The Air Force can multitask however, and light Megatron the fuck up. Sam has, for some reason, come out of hiding, and Megatron uses this to his advantage, trying to take the AllSpark from him.

Optimus tells Sam to put the AllSpark in his chest, but Sam has a better idea. He shoves it into Megatron’s chest, which has been basically shot open at this point. Megatron makes a Space Invader noise, convulses a bit, then falls over dead.

Congrats on your first murder, Sam.

Optimus tells Megatron’s corpse that he got what was coming to him, then implies that they’re brothers. What flavor of brother isn’t established, but neither was basically anything between the two main faces of the franchise in this film, so it’s fine.

Ironhide walks up holding the two halves of Jazz. Optimus informs Sam that he now has a life-debt to this child. Whether or not Sam is absorbing any information at this point is up in the air. Mikaela shows up, with Bumblebee in tow.

In tow.

In tow-

Sam stares at her blankly. Mikaela stares back, making the pretty girl face. Man, what a great dynamic these two have.

Jazz is dead. That sucks. Optimus is handed his corpse to hold, while he thanks his new friends for helping out.

Then Bumblebee talks and he’s fucKING BRITISH.

Sam is obviously shocked by the fact that Bumblebee is British able to talk now, since not talking has been his whole thing up to this point. Optimus doesn’t let it phase him. Neither does Ratchet, despite having been working on Bumblebee’s throat injury for centuries at this point.

Bumblebee wants to stay on Earth with Sam. Optimus is just like whatever. Sam agrees to have a sweet Camaro from outer space.

Optimus pulls what is left of the AllSpark out of Megatron’s chest. I’m sure that’s not a setup for potential conflicts, not in the slightest.

Over in Washington, D.C., the US President has ordered Sector Seven be terminated, and all the Transformer corpses be disposed of. And by “disposed of” they mean “thrown into the ocean.” Dang, sure hope Earth signed some sort of agreement with the Transformers so that they never come to Earth again. You know, just be proactive about our galactic safety.

The Linkin Park kicks on, as Optimus gives us our bookend narration, telling us what the Autobots plan to do now that their race is at a genological dead end. As he does, we see Lennox reunite with his wife and child, who I had genuinely forgotten were in this movie.

Optimus is pretty chill with Cybertron dying out, because now they know about Earth. We get a shot of Sam and Mikaela making out, a shot that becomes more and more horrifying the further they zoom out, because they’re making out on top of Bumblebee. Who they KNOW is a sentient creature at this point.

And then it gets even worse, because the shot changes, and oh hey! Turns out that the rest of the Autobots were just chillin’ off to the side while this went down. Optimus continues his monologue, just walking around in his root mode as he tells all of Makeout Point how they’re “robots in disguise” now.

The monologue is actually a transmission he’s sending out into space, inviting any of his leftover pals to come kick it on Earth with them, because Earth is pretty cool.

And that’s where they leave us.

IT TOOK THREE PEOPLE TO WRITE THIS SCHLOCK.

So. Bayverse 1. A film showcasing xenophobia, misogyny, and toxic nationalism. It’s rough. Is it the worst film I’ve ever seen? Not even close, but it’s bad, and it was a huge deal at the time of release. Everyone was seeing it, everyone knew the actors and robots, everyone had a scene that they liked. Everyone was exposed to Bayverse, and as a result, a lot of people entered the Transformers franchise thinking that it was all like this.

And really, how far off would they have been in 2007?

When a franchise refuses to introduce female characters until years after being established, when all those female characters have the exact same body type, when a franchise hires misogynists to write stories, when it allows shit like “Prime’s Rib!” to be published- no wonder Michael Bay was approached to direct.

What a mess.

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

COMING SOON:

TRANSFORMERS: REVENGE OF THE FALLEN (2009) - MEGAN FOX I AM SO FUCKING SORRY

TRANSFORMERS: DARK OF THE MOON (2011) - WILL YOU JUST STAY DEAD

TRANSFORMERS: AGE OF EXTINCTION (2014) - SHUT UP ABOUT THE LAW SHUT UP ABOUT THE LAW

TRANSFORMERS: THE LAST KNIGHT (2017) - ACTUALLY, FUCK CONTINUITY

#transformers #bayverse #part one #maccadam #Hannzreads #Hannzwatches #text post #long post #film analysis #off topic

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acenancy · 3 years

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The Ace x Nancy x Tamura of It All

I’m here as a hardcore Nace shipper (see the URL) to throw my two cents into the Ace x Nancy x Tamura discussion.

Some of you straight up hate Tamura and that’s cool, I get it, no judgement, but I personally like him a lot as a character. And I LOVE the connection he and Nancy have. Their repartee is entertaining, they share a passion for solving mysteries which is key to being Nancy’s friend, and their very different life experiences help balance each other out.

You know, since one of them is grounded in reality and the other is navigating through life in a supernaturally charged hellmouth.

That being said, I hope they grow closer during S3 WITHOUT becoming explicitly romantic. And I think that may be exactly what happens! At most, I think that while solving magical mysteries, Nancy and Tamura will engage in a fun little flirtationship that will lead to genuine friendship. His partnership with Nancy would be solidified this way as well as his honorary membership to the Drew Crew. This could serve three purposes:

Forcing Tamura to accept the supernatural elements of Horseshoe Bay, thus weaving him more intricately into the plot.

Creating tension between Nancy and Ace 😏

Exploring and adding depth to whatever sort of relationship they’re trying to establish between Tamura and Ace.

I see all of this playing out fairly simply: while Nick and George are busy juggling real life and a wedding, while Bess devotes her time and energy into researching her family history and finding love, and while Ace prioritizes Amanda, Nancy finds herself without proper backup. So! Perhaps unintentionally, Nancy gravitates to Tamura. There's crimes and mysteries to be solved and since her friends are not fully available to her, who better to turn to than the guy who’s job it is to investigate these things? And so begins the Nancy and Tamura buddy cop comedy that is both dreaded and highly anticipated depending on what social media outlet you’re using.

Though let me repeat: BUDDY COP.

I really don’t think we’re going to have an Ed and Lorraine Warren situation on our hands with these two. Truly, if the S2 finale is anything to go by, I think S3 will allow Nancy to grow into herself outside of a romantic or sexual relationship. She’s not running from herself and into someone else’s bed anymore. She’s embracing and learning to love herself. I’d even go so far as to say Nancy’s love interest next season will be...Nancy lmao.

As for Tamura, if they decide to give him a romantic interest, I think they would either have his ex-fiancée reenter the picture or maybe even do him dirty and stick him with Temperance for plot reasons. A doomed Tamura x Temperance romance would actually be fun to see, in my opinion, and would be a great way to open Tamura’s eyes to the supernatural. That’s just me spit-balling, though. Whether it’s because of Temperance or not, I think Tamura is finally going to have to accept ghosts and witches and magic are real this season. It’s just a requirement for working with Nancy Drew.

MOST IMPORTANTLY, we have to address the Nace of it all. Sorry to Tamura but I do believe you’re being used as an obstacle in True Love’s way next season. I think fandom’s general consensus is that the more time Nancy and Tamura spend together, romantic or not, the more jealous Ace will become. While I agree, I think Ace’s jealousy will stem from somewhere a little deeper than just seeing Nancy with another guy.

Take Gil, for example. Ace was sort of jealous of Gil, but more than anything he was wary of him and concerned for Nancy’s wellbeing when she was with him. Unlike Ace, Gil never had anything to offer Nancy except for sex and a getaway car. He sure as hell was never her number one person. In fact, he wasn’t even Nancy’s number five person. There was never a reason for Ace to be envious of him.

Tamura, on the other hand, can prove to be just as much of an equal to Nancy as Ace is. As chief/lead detective, he also has power and influence that Ace and Nancy do not, and access to people and resources that Ace does not have (unless he can hack into them). Tamura can help Nancy bend and break the law without consequence if need be, too. And, although naive in regards to the mystics of Horseshoe Bay, he is just as smart as Nancy and has, on the rare occasion, even been one step ahead of her. Tamura is an asset, to say the least. Together, he and Nancy make a formidable duo.

That’s what will make Ace jealous. More than the prospect of romance between Nancy and Tamura, I think that Nancy finding another intellectual match is what will rub Ace the wrong way. They’ll find themselves at a brief moment in time where Nancy will turn to Tamura for assistance before anyone, including Ace, and Ace will realize he absolutely hates that someone who is not him is Nancy’s partner in crime now.

Maybe Nancy won’t notice, but Ace will probably realize his love for her is not of the philia sort. I’m sure Amanda also will. And? Maybe Tamura will see it too.

Which brings me to one of my favorite dynamics of the show: Ace and Tamura’s.

I’m not gonna sit here and spin my crazy conspiracy theory that they’re brothers. Though that idea will always hold a special place in my heart, slowly but surely I am accepting that Ace’s long lost brother really is Grant. I’m being a total grownup about it. I swear.

Nevertheless, I do think they’ve been trying to build some kind of relationship between Ace and Tamura since before Tamura even met Nancy. What sort of relationship? God, I wish I knew.

They meet each other first, which doesn’t necessarily mean a lot, but it’s worth noting that they’re on each other’s funny little shit lists before Nancy even enters Tamura’s picture. It’s also Ace and Ace alone that hears from McGuinness that Tamura will be replacing him in the same episode. Then, of course, we have that crazy Shabbat dinner in 2x03 that exacerbates their antagonistic relationship further. Then there’s their snarky banter and all of those totally unnecessary side-by-side shots of them saving Noah in 2x10. Apart from Nancy, Ace is the only member of the Drew Crew that we’ve seen Tamura develop a real connection with, even if it is an unfriendly one. And, as of now, their relationship doesn’t even have anything to do with Nancy.

So where are the writers going with this hilarious and hostile bond between Ace and Tamura? Has all of this really just been buildup for a romantic rivalry? Hey, maybe! I really can’t figure out another reason why the writers have gone out of their way to create their dynamic since the Brother Theory has been disproven. But something tells me this may be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

And when I say “this”, I mean Tamura taking a step back from Nancy once he realizes he may just be filling in the love of her life’s shoes. Because that’s where I think all of this is going. Not necessarily anywhere romantic between Nancy and Tamura, but somewhere more friendly between Tamura and everyone.

At the end of it all, Tamura is going to finally embrace the supernatural, he’s going to become an ally to Nancy, Ace, and the rest of the Drew Crew, and, when the timing is right, he’s going to hop onboard the Nace ship with the rest of us.

I HOPE.

Side note: this is just where my head is at. I truly respect all of your opinions and ask that you respect mine too. If you agree with what I’ve said and want to talk, let’s talk! If you disagree and want to talk, we can talk too! Please, just don’t get nasty with me. This is a television show about fictional characters at the end of the day, and I am a real person. Much love to you all. ❤️

#nancy drew cw #nace #namura #abe tamura

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theconstantsidekick · 3 years

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I posted 1,445 times in 2021

389 posts created (27%)

1056 posts reblogged (73%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 2.7 posts.

I added 1,623 tags in 2021

#static verse - 342 posts

#bucky barnes x reader - 255 posts

#mcu fanfic - 153 posts

#marvel imagines - 147 posts

#mcu fic - 143 posts

#marvel x you - 127 posts

#marvel fanfic - 127 posts

#bucky barnes fanfic - 113 posts

#marvel fic - 109 posts

#bucky x you - 107 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#his whole youth fuck that his whole life has been spent in hell that's where he grew up and yet he forgives dean with this one painful line

My Top Posts in 2021

Keep You Entertained | b.b

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader, Past Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader, Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings)

Genre: So much fluff, wow.

Summary: Bucky thinks he might be a boring boyfriend and thus begins his mission to ensure that he doesn't get dumped by Y/n because of it.

(This takes place after the events of Static: Get, Set, Glitch. However, it can be read as a stand-alone piece. But it’s fun. I promise.)

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Recreational Drug Use, Mentions of Sex, Implied Smut Minors DNI, 18+ Only.

a/n: Idk why my one-shots are getting longer. But this is also pretty long. Like over 6k long. But I like it too much to shorten it down. It's kinda like an apology for all the angst I've been throwing your way recently.

sidenote: okay so, I think for a while all you're getting from me are one-shots cause I'm not sure if I should continue Static Verse. I want to, I just think it might be getting too long. Let me know what you guys think.

Bucky Barnes, The Boyfriend (other one-shots) | The Falcon, The Winter Soldier and Static | Static: Get, Set, Glitch | Static Verse Masterlist

“Really, Buck? This is how you wanna spend Friday night? Anyone ever tell you you’re boring? Y/n maybe?”

“And yet here you are, willingly spending your day off with a 107-year-old man. How much more fun could you possibly be?”

And that is how it starts. It starts as friendly banter between him and Sam. And at first, he doesn’t take much offense to it. Yeah, he’s boring. He likes to spend his day in, with his friends, his girl, or his surrogate children (that are technically not his, but totally are) and enjoy the soft silences.

Can you blame him?

His life has never been calm and outside of the aforementioned soft silences, Bucky Barnes is seldom granted freedom to just be. Without some bomb going off in the distance, without worrying about being on the run from the government, without the threat of the Winter Soldier making a reappearance nagging at him in the back of his head, just getting to be? Yeah. That shit’s better than any drug-induced high he could possibly score. Even though he’s yet to try that acid that Y/n keeps talking about, he’s pretty sure the feeling of just relaxing cannot be outdone by anything.

That is until he’s sitting there on the couch on a random Tuesday afternoon staring at the television, burning time before Y/n comes back home from her brunch with Pepper.

And before he elaborates on what exactly he’s watching, you have to understand, he’s got a lot of stuff to catch up on, alright? You don’t really discriminate what media you consume when all you got for 70 years was a filthy beating and cage matches in the name of entertainment, alright? So, keep that in mind.

With that out of the way… he was watching some chick-flick. It was mostly mindless entertainment that he wasn’t thinking much about. But then the girl dumped the guy. He’s not even like 15 minutes into the movie and she just dumps him! What’s worse is that she goes out and dates some other guy right after without even a hint of remorse. She just discards him like yesterday’s trash cause he wasn’t as fun as the other guy, whatever that means! Bucky finds it a little hard to not let the whole thing get to him. But he is who he is so he gets pissed off and turns off the T.V. and grumbles to himself about it till Y/n comes back and kisses his pout away.

She’s a good kisser. Best kisser.

“You okay, sunshine?” She asks, from above him.

Bucky’s lying on the couch with his head in her lap, legs dangling off the end as she reads the book in her left hand and plays with his hair with the right one.

“Yeah. Why?” He asks with his eyes closed, trying to soak up as much pleasure as possible from her ministrations in his hair.

Like he said, he loves the soft silences.

“You’re grumpier than usual,” she answers.

“That’s mean.”

She chuckles, “Truth hurts.”

He frowns. “I’m fine.”

“You’re frowning now.”

“Cause you said I’m grumpy!” He defends.

Then she leans and drops a soft kiss on his forehead. “I love my grumpy baby.” Honestly, how’s he supposed to stop the smile that slips out? She’s a smooth motherfucker. No point in contesting that, is there? “We staying in tonight too?”

He frowns again. “Yes. I don’t wanna go out.”

See the full post

343 notes • Posted 2021-08-15 21:54:02 GMT

Age of Ultron | s.r

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader, Steve Rogers x Peggy Carter (hinted), Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader (future)

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Summary: When Ultron strikes against the Avengers using the Maximoff kids, the visions that Wanda shows Y/n Stark make her lash out and use her powers—powers that her team didn't know about. This is the aftermath.

(These scenes incorporate y/n into the pre-existing story as a character without making drastic changes to the plot or mythos. All the major plot points from the MCU remain in place with the addition of the reader as Static, who is not only a Stark but also enhanced. Whatever events from the canon aren't mentioned, take place without much change.)

Warnings: Mentions of canon typical violence.

a/n: Okay, okay. So this basically a flashback set during the events of Age of Ultron to provide some more information on Static's origin. There are more scenes that incorporate her into several of the films, if this does well, I'll add them as well. While this can stand alone, it is a tie-in to The Falcon, The Winter Soldier, and Static series. Also oh, the tag list is open.

sidenote: I'd really appreciate feedback on this one. Also, buckle up kids, it's a long one.

Truth(5) prev part | One World One People (1) next part | Series Masterlist | Static: Get, Set, Glitch | Static Verse Masterlist

“Folks, this is Laura,” Clint introduced, as he held—who Y/n presumes is his wife—close to his side.

“I know all your names,” replied Laura, hesitantly and waved a dismissive hand.

Laura looked around the room.

Y/n could taste the awkward tension in the room on her tongue. She could even spot Tony next to her throwing out a small wave at the woman. She was standing between him and Bruce, still in her gear while leaning heavily on the beam to her left.

She tried to reciprocate the smile on Laura’s lips but could only muster a twitch of her lip. The exhaustion felt evident even to herself.

Which was fairly understandable considering she had just blown away half an (abandoned) industrial complex to bits only a few short hours ago. She hadn’t used her powers in a considerably long time; give or take half a century, so it was an unusual situation for her to say the least.

Suddenly she could hear multiple footsteps approaching.

Clint turned towards the door and said, “Ooh, incoming,” as a young boy and a girl came rushing down the stairs.

“Dad!” the girl exclaimed as Clint picked her up.

“Hi, sweetheart!” Clint greeted them. He pulled the older boy in for a hug, kissing his head, “Hey buddy! How you guys doing?”

The joy in his voice warmed Y/n up from the inside.

“These are...smaller agents,” Tony remarked.

Y/n wanted to roll her eyes but it would’ve taken effort she wasn’t sure she could dish out at that moment.

“Look at your face!” Clint placed another kiss on his daughter’s head before putting her down. “Oh, my goodness!”

“Did you bring Auntie Nat?” the girl asked, ever so sweetly.

“Why don't you hug her and find out?” Natasha replied from the corner of the room. She stepped forward as the girl rushed towards her, picking her up in her arms.

“Sorry for barging in on you,” Steve apologized sincerely, with his hands resting on his belt. It was his ‘Captain America’ stance and she knew why he was wearing it. He was realising that he knew very little about his team, about the people he had been fighting with. So he was putting up the composed facade to stop himself from breaking at the seams.

“Yeah, we would have called ahead, but we were busy having no idea that you existed.” Tony retorted.

Natasha put the little girl down and stood between Bruce and Clint, who had his arms around his son and Laura on either side.

“Yeah, well Fury helped me set this up when I joined,” he answered. “He kept it off SHIELD's files, I'd like to keep it that way.” He looked at Y/n. “I figure it's a good place to lay low," he added.

There were some more conversations, but Y/n had mostly zoned out for it. She could spot Thor leaving, passing them by and Steve following behind, before she lost her resolve, almost falling to the ground.

See the full post

350 notes • Posted 2021-06-02 08:22:44 GMT

Power Broker (2) | b.b

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader, Past Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader, OC x Stark!Reader (brief)

Genre: Fluff with a touch of angst

Summary: Bucky breaks out Zemo. Sam suggests they need help handling him, seeing as he can push Bucky's buttons unlike anyone else. So they go to the only person who can handle both Bucky and Zemo, the only Stark left in the Superhero business... well kind of. Only problem is, she seems reluctant.

Warnings: A little nakedness? Pretty sfw tho. That's all I can think of.

a/n: Alright, this is me trying something out. This is my first y/n fanfic, that too on tumblr. I write a bit on ao3, Destiel stuff, you can check it out if you like, link in bio. But this is just a shot in the dark. If this gets enough notes, let say... 100? I might write the whole thing, cause I have a lot of ideas. The reader is enhanced and has a pretty deep backstory that I wouldn't mind revealing if this interests anyone. So let me know what you all think, I guess? And oh, the og character? Yeah, it's Ben Barnes. :) But dw, Bucky gets the girl.

sidenote: y/f/n is your full name. y/n is a shortened version which you prefer to go by.

Power Broker (1) | Power Broker (3) | Series Masterlist

The door opens and the first thing Bucky sees is a tall, bearded man with messy hair, who is… shirtless, with low hanging sweatpants… with marks all over his body… And he can hear his stomach fall. Sam next to him is completely frozen as well. Until—

“You’re not the pizza,” The man speaks with an accent. British, Bucky ventures, but there’s some other influences, he can’t quite recount.

“And you’re sure as shit not Y/n,” Sam counters.

A smile breaks onto the man’s face.

See the full post

415 notes • Posted 2021-05-25 20:45:30 GMT

The Falcon, The Winter Soldier and Static Complete Masterlist

This series is now complete.

Summary: A series of scenes with y/n (Static) during the events of The Falcon and The Winter Soldier. Wherein she’s a somewhat retired superhero, doing a solid for the boys, while coping with the aftermath of losing her only family, Tony Stark.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader, Past!Steve Roger x Stark!Reader

a/n: The series goes episode by episode.

Power Broker

Power Broker (1)

Power Broker (2)

Power Broker (3)

Power Broker (4)

Power Broker (5)

Power Broker (6)

Power Broker (7)

The Whole World Is Watching

The Whole World Is Watching (1)

The Whole World Is Watching (2)

The Whole World Is Watching (3)

The Whole World Is Watching (4)

The Whole World Is Watching (5)

Truth

Truth (1)

Truth (2)

Truth (3)

Truth (4)

Truth (5)

Age of Ultron Flashback

One World One People

One World One People (1)

One World One People (2)

Find other works in this same universe—

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759 notes • Posted 2021-05-26 05:37:30 GMT

Static Verse Masterlist

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader (endgame), Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader, Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings), Past Peggy Carter x Stark!Reader (brief, one-sided), Natasha Romanoff x Stark!Reader (shameless flirting)

Summary: Tony Stark's sister's a fucking badass, codename—Static. Here's her story through the MCU.

All of these are complete stories in and of themselves but fun to read together if you'd like.

Warnings: Swearing, Canon Typical Violence, NSFW content tagged in the particular chapter.

In order of release—

The Falcon, The Winter Soldier and Static

A series of scenes with y/n (Static) during the events of The Falcon and The Winter Soldier. Wherein she’s a somewhat retired superhero, doing a solid for the boys, while coping with the aftermath of losing her only family, Tony Stark.

Age of Ultron (ft. Static)

When Ultron strikes against the Avengers using the Maximoff kids, the visions that Wanda shows Y/n Stark makes her lash out and use her powers—powers that her team didn’t know about. This is the aftermath.

Static: Get, Set, Glitch

Following the events of The Falcon, The Winter Soldier, and Static several people from Static’s past make their way back into her life. One of them just so happens to be her ex, America’s Ass; Steve Rogers. How will she deal with Steve’s return, her fragile yet burgeoning new relationship with Bucky Barnes while simultaneously fighting off demons from her past?

Static Verse Snippets

Just some snippets from Static Verse that didn't make it into concrete fics but are fucking important anyway.

Iron Man 1 (ft. Static)

Tony’s standing at the press conference, contemplating whether or not he should tell the world he is Iron Man. What does his (secretly an alien with cool powers, codename: Static) sister have to say about it?

Bucky Barnes, the Boyfriend

Set somewhere around the events of The Falcon, The Winter Soldier, and Static and Static: Get, Set, Glitch, these are small stand—alone snippets with Bucky and his girlfriend (who’s not only enhanced but also a Stark and an Avenger; codename—Static) being hopeless idiots in love.

The Avengers (ft. Static)

The events of the Avengers take place but Tony’s sister’s, y/n (yet to be codenamed—Static) is there to participate in the action.

Captain America: The Winter Soldier (ft. Static)

The events of Captain America: The Winter Soldier take place but Tony’s sister, y/n (yet to be codenamed—Static) has to become a reluctant participant and she fucking hates every second of it.

Avengers: Infinity War (ft. Static)

The events of the Avengers: Infinity War happen. Thanos comes bringing reckoning along with him. And Tony’s sister, Y/n (codename—Static) is right there next to her team, ready to fight.

Avengers: Endgame (ft. Static)

The events of the Avengers: Endgame happen. Y/n (codename—Static) get blipped away. And for a while Tony makes peace with it but then Steve shows up to his door and he discovers time travel. So how can he not at least try to bring her back?

Are You Now Or Have You Ever Been?

The last thing Bucky expects is for Y/n to side with Steve on the matter of killing the man who tortured him into becoming the Winter Soldier.

The Sound of Silence and Static

See the full post

834 notes • Posted 2021-06-05 13:10:04 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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myhockeyworld87 · 4 years

Text

Not So Dangerous Liaison - Sidney Crosby - Part 19

Word Count: 3,081

POV: Reader

Warngings: Language, Smut, NSFW but also kind of fluffy

Notes: This is probably going to get lost with all my comments about tonight’s game but I’m throwing it out there anyhow for you guys. I’m sure I’ll reblog it a couple times. As always feedback is always welcome! Happy Reading!

Not So Dangerous Liaison Masterlist

The two weeks in Cole Harbour went amazingly fast, considering that the pace you were moving at was much slower than when the season was going on. Sid showed you all of his favorite places during the day, while evenings were spent making dinner together then sipping wine down by the water in the Adirondack chairs. His family was over a lot or you were at their place, which Sid thought would bother you but it didn't. You loved spending time with his family and seeing how much he cared for them. It only made you love Sidney more. Sid even got you to go fishing a few times with him, which really wasn't bad until you caught one and you pleaded with Sid to throw it back because you felt bad. Sid just laughed but he did toss it back in. From there on out, you pretty much went just to watch him or more like distract him as Sid said since the two of you would end up doing things other than fishing.

There were always nights spent in the hot tub, that ended up with bathing suits being optional, to the point where you ended up not even wearing them anymore. Long mornings spent in bed were some of your favorites. You expected Sid to stick to his same regimented schedule, but he just seemed calmer and relaxed here, which you could get used to. You hoped it would continue while you were over in Europe.

As you were on the flight to France, you supposed that you were going to find out shortly. "You know I considered hiring a private jet to fly us over here," Sid told you about an hour into the flight, when he came over to your seat. He'd flown you both in dream class, which was the airline's uber-luxury first class, but it meant that your seats were individual so you could lay down and sleep.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Well after the flight home went so well; I was wondering what fun we could get up to on this eight-hour trip." You didn't miss the little wink he gave you at the end.

"Oh no, don't even think about it." You chided him, knowing what direction his thoughts were going. "We are," you dropped your voice down to a whisper. "Not having sex on this flight."

He scooted you over in the seat, so he could sit down with you, though you were practically sitting on his lap by the time you both got comfortable. "We can just close this little door and no one would know."

"Except that there is not room enough in here for two people and everyone can see our heads. It's a hard no there Mr. Crosby." He stuck his tongue out at you, causing you to laugh as the gesture was uncharacteristic for him.

"Fine, but we can cuddle a bit." He reclined your seat back into its bed form. "I'm not used to sleeping without you anymore." It was honestly the same for you. You'd grown accustomed to having his arms wrapped around you holding you close as you both fell asleep.

"That I can do, though it's probably against regulations or something."

"We'll be fine." The seat gave you both a bit more room laying down as you both adjusted onto your sides. You still weren't used to falling asleep on planes, like some of the guys did. Well except for the one time when you'd been with Sid and he'd just been so warm and comfortable; kind of like he was now. You snuggled close to him, your breathing evening out quickly, and soon you were both asleep. Sid had timed the flights so that you'd travel at night and then have most of the day in Paris. It would still probably cause a bit of jetlag but it wouldn't be as bad as if you'd gone in the middle of the afternoon.

The hotel Sid booked was absolutely gorgeous and as you were shown to your room, you couldn't stop your mouth from dropping open. Not matter where you were in the suite, you could see a breathtaking view of the Eiffel Tower. The Suite also had a beautiful terrace, for dining and entertaining, that gave you a sweeping view of the city itself, the Eiffel Tower again highlighting it. Once you were finally left alone, you turned to Sidney. "This is way too much. I can't get over this view."

"Nothing is too much for you." The two of you had made your way onto the terrace, and while maybe Sid's eyes weren't, yours kept scanning drinking in the rich history of the city.

"It's just…so spectacular." You finally turned to Sid, and his arms wrapped around your waist pulling you close. "I've always wanted to come here. I've been to Ireland and England, but France has always been on my list and well to be this close; Sid, I feel like I could touch the Eiffel Tower."

"Well, then we will definitely put it in on our must-see list of things to tour. What else should we put on? The Louvre, of course, I know we both want to go there, but what else do you want to see, beautiful?"

"The Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame Cathedral are both musts for me." You thought for a moment and then said. "Oh! We have to go to The Palace of Versailles. It just wouldn't be Paris without going there." He laughed and pulled you a tad bit closer to him so that you weren't sure where you ended and he began.

"I will take you to all those places and anywhere else you want to go." You were so excited you were bouncing up and down on the balls of your feet, but you stopped so that you could kiss your boyfriend. It was a slow and heated kiss and with the Eiffel Tower as the backdrop, you thought it made for the most perfect moment.

"Thank you, Sid," you finally breathed out and he had a questioning look on his face as if to say for what. "For bringing me here, for getting us the most perfect suite for the next few days, for just…well being you."

"(Y/N), you don't have to thank me. I love you and I wanted to share this all with you." Oh my god! You weren't sure if he'd registered it or not but he'd just told you he loved you. What were you supposed to do now? If he didn't mean it and it just slipped out, you didn't want to make him take it back, that would be horrible, but if he did and you didn't tell him you loved him back you might combust.

"Did you mean that?" and again he looked at you a bit confused. "The part where you said you love me."

"Shit," He blurted out and your heart just sank into your stomach. You physically wanted to go throw up. "I had this whole thing planned out. I wanted to take you to the top of the Eiffel Tower and tell you there how much I love you, but instead, I just blurt it out like it means nothing. I'm so sorry babe."

"Wait so you meant it?"

"Of course, I meant it. (Y/N), I think I've loved for a long time now, but it only became clear to me that day in the elevator and I know you're probably thinking that I couldn't love you that far back but I'm pretty sure I did." He took a breath and you went to tell how you felt but then he just continued. "I analyzed it over and over, you know; like game footage. It was the way we could just talk to one another so easily and the way you'd smile at me. It's always been that way for us and I tried to fight it because I just thought that it would interfere with hockey and all my plans, but that day it all just became so clear. I actually didn't want the elevator to start back up." You knew exactly what he meant for you'd felt that way as well. "All I know is that, I just wanted it to be you and me at dinner and then the whole Christian thing happened. (Y/N), I swear I've never wanted to rip someone to shreds the way I did him. Fuck, that's not what this is about." He raked a hand through his hair. "And I know this is sudden and our whole relationship hasn't been normal by any means. Hell, I only took you on a real date two weeks ago, but I love you, and I can't hold it back anymore. And it's ok if you don't say it back, I get that this is soon, but I need you to know how I feel." His hands grabbed yours at some point and he pulled back just a little bit to gauge your reaction.

"Is it my turn now?" You asked considering he hadn't let you speak for the last couple minutes, and he nodded. "I love you too, Sid." His smile went from ear to ear and you had a hard time not kissing him right then, but there were things you wanted to say too. "I was so scared to give you my heart after that night at the Fleury's. I thought we had a real connection, but then you just sort of iced me out, but I couldn't fight all these feelings I had for you. You just sort of wormed your way back into my heart, even though it was trying to shut the door on you." Taking his hands, you wrapped them behind your back so that not an inch of space was between the two of you. "And you're right this hasn't been normal, but I wouldn't change one bit of it. It's just made me love you more each day." You were tired of talking then and kissed Sid hard, your hands going around his neck as he pulled you even closer to his body. You'd been in Paris all of an hour and already it was living up to its name as the city of love.

When you finally broke apart for air, Sid looked at you saying, "I can't believe this went down this way, but I don't ever think I've been happier in my life."

"Hmm, not even when you won the cup?"

He shook his head. "Not even then," he admitted and you had to say you were a bit shocked. "Maybe I'll be happier if we win the cup again, so I can celebrate the right way with you."

"Oh, so I'd be allowed to wrap my legs around you on national television and kiss you senseless like Anna did Geno?" Of course, you were teasing but you wouldn't mind having that moment with him.

His hands slid down to your ass, where he grabbed you so that you could do that exact thing right then. "Babe, you can do this anytime you want." The fact that you felt him hard against your core even through your clothes wasn't lost on you.

"I love you so much, Sid."

"I love you too, (Y/N)." His mouth was back on yours then, and you kissed him with all the love you felt in your body.

"Make love to me Sid," you finally breathed out and that stupid lopsided grin that you loved so much came out as he carried you back inside the suite to the bedroom. "Watch the…" you said but it was too late as he tripped over the one suitcase and you both went stumbling onto the bed. Sid tumbling down on top of you. "Oof!" When his body landed on you it momentarily took your breath away, but as soon as you recovered you started to laugh.

"You ok?" Sid asked all serious and you giggled out a yes as he rolled you both to his side, joining you in laughter. "Boy, I've really blown it in the romance department today."

You cupped his cheek making sure he was looking you in the eyes. "I wouldn't change a thing." Your lips locked with his and all the silliness of moments ago were gone. Sid's hands roamed all over your body, as your leg hooked around his hips pulling your body close to his. Neither of you were in a hurry, just lazily loving one another. Grabbing the hem of your shirt, Sid gently lifted it over your head, breaking the kiss that had been going on for some time, though your lips returned to each other immediately.

His hands skimmed along your back; fingertips still calloused from the season, but it still sent shivers over your body. There were times when things with Sidney were so heated and rushed, but this was not wanted them. It was as if both of you just wanted to take things slow; love every inch of each other's body. His hand swept through your hair, pushing it back from your face as his mouth continued to devour yours. Your hand snuck under his shirt, and you raked your nails across his abdomen, feeling it contract under your fingertips. It was that movement that had him pulling back so that he pull the garment off. He settled back down beside you and you two continued your unhurried pace.

Time seemed to not exist anymore as you caressed and loved one another. When you couldn't take it anymore, you rolled your hips into him. Sid took the cue and pulled your leggings and panties down your legs. His hands spread your legs as he crawled his way back up. "You're so beautiful (Y/N)." His lips wandered up your inner thighs, kissing and nibbling his way to your core. You could feel his breath as his mouth hovered there and you resisted the urge to lift your hips up to him. Sid's tongue trailed over your slit, just soft little licks making you ache for more. He avoided your clit, as he delved deeper into your pussy. Your hips rising seeking more yet enjoying his mouth on you. His hand stole up to your abdomen and gently pressed down as his tongue worked its magic. Your hands fisted into the sheets, and you moaned out in ecstasy. Two fingers pushed inside you and you sucked in a sharp breath, your walls clenching around them. It was his mouth though that had your hips bucking into him when he sucked hard on your clit. Your juices flooded his fingers as they pumped in and out of you, making a come-hither motion. That simple movement was all it took and you were screaming out his name as your orgasm ripped through your body. Your legs tensed around Sid's head and his arm moved to hold you in place as he worked you through the climax.

As you slumped back against the mattress, Sid stalked his way up your body. Juices coating his lips, as he kissed you. He flexed his hips into yours and you could feel him hard against you. Using strength that you weren't sure you had, you pushed Sid so that his back was flat against the bed. The button on pants came undone with a simple flip, and then he was lifting his hips for you to drag them as well as his boxers off his body. Cock now free you licked your lips before pulling your hair from around your face so you could dive right in. Your tongue snuck out, circling around the head of his shaft and you could taste the precum that oozed out of the slit. Sid's hand stole down to touch your cheek tenderly as your lips wrapped around his member. He hissed in a breath as you took him in, hollowing out your cheeks. What little you couldn't take, your hand clasped pumping it up and down, in time with your mouth. His hips pushed slightly into you, making him hit the back of your throat. It wasn't long after that, that Sid was lifting you off his cock. You knew he didn't want to finish in your mouth, that he'd want to be deep inside your pussy when he finally came and you wanted that as well.

Your body lay on top of him, legs resting on either side of his hips, as his hands came down to grip your ass. He shifted you both so that your positions were reversed and he hovered above you. He pulled back from a deep kiss that you'd been sharing. Your eyes connecting with his instantly. "I love you (Y/N)." The words easily falling off his lips and caused your heart to flip. It was everything that you'd dreamed it would be and you found yourself getting choked up at your first attempt to return the sentiment.

"I love you too, Sid." Your hand tenderly cupping his cheek as you drew his mouth to yours. He slowly entered you then. His cock sliding in between your wet folds. Hands entwining, he pressed them on either side of your head as he moved in and out of your body. That familiar rhythm the two of you shared falling into place so easily. It was as if your bodies were made for each other and no one else. While you'd always fit perfectly together this time it was like finding that piece of the puzzle that had been missing and putting it in. You were just complete.

Sid picked up speed and that tingle built inside you, making its way to the surface. "I love you," he breathed out once more, sending you over the edge as your eyes locked with his. A single tear escaped your eye at his declaration, for there was just so much love, joy, and happiness it couldn't be contained. He followed you a few thrusts later.

His forehead fell to yours and you whispered out another "I love you," before placing the sweetest kiss to his lips. You felt more tears forming and Sid pulled back, making sure you were ok. "I've never been happier," you breathed out reassuring him as he kissed your tears away. You'd never felt more cherished or loved then you did at that moment and god willing it would always be that way.

#Not So Dangerous Liaison Series #sidney crosby #sidney crosby imagine #Sidney Crosby Imagines #Sidney Crosby Smut #Pittsburgh Penguins fanfiction #Pittsburgh Penguins imagine #Pittsburgh Penguins imagines #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfic #nhl smut #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #hockey smut

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do-y0u-have-to-let-it-linger · 3 years

Note

hi!!! can i get an x-men shift please? i’m bi (but hetero leaning) and use she/her pronouns. i’m a sagittarius, INTP, and am super into pop culture, movies tv shows music stuff like that. i’m an introvert, pretty shy at first but once you get to know me i’m pretty funny and kinda an asshole. i’m 5’7”, plus size and curvy, with longish wavy brown hair, blue eyes, and wear black glasses. i dress pretty comfy, jeans and t-shirts, sweatshirts, but i also have a leather jacket when i want to look more put together. mostly wear vans and converse. i love taylor swift, star wars, and all the superhero movies out there. i honestly don’t know what my mutation would be, i’ve never found one that fits right i guess. can’t wait to see who i’m paired with! love your blog, and thank you :)

I ship you with Peter Maximoff!

Warning: ✨contains swear words, mentions of being high, and grammatical errors probably✨

Peter is the type of person who thinks of bold and outrageous plans, but is horrible at executing them.

This is especially apparent now that he is part of the X-Men, because of the high stakes that often come hand and hand with these plans.

Yet at this moment, standing in front of you, attempting to respond to your simple and reasonable question, he feels as though the stakes of this plan are higher than any other he has previously made.

You and Peter were very close, most of you X-Men were. Shared trauma bonded you all like a family. So you were very comfortable around each other, like the: "We literally laugh at each other's farts and say 'love ya!' When one of us leaves a room." comfortable, so it concerned you that he seemed so nervous. You repeated your, as previously stated, simple and reasonable question.

"Peter, what the fuck."

You were mid-way through Empire Strikes Back when he first appeared, standing in front of the TV. Generally, when someone is watching a movie alone with the volume level barely audible, at 2 AM in the morning, they do not expect to be interrupted, but there he was. Interrupting you.

So you had asked him if he wanted to watch the movie with you and he said no.

Then you asked him if something was wrong and he said no.

But after he had stood in front of the television long enough for you to have paused the movie, you had come to the conclusion that he was messing with you. Hence the two "what the fuck"s.

He finally responded, seemly returning to his body after his brain's small vacation to who knows where.

"I need to talk to you about something important, and I wanted it to go a certain way but that way never actually happens so I'm doing it another way." Well, that was even more incoherent than his usual sentences.

"Wait- are you high again?"

"No! No. Well, maybe a little- but that's not the point."

"Sure, now what's going on."

"We're like... technically co-workers because of us being X-Men and shit, right?"

"If Bat-Man and Robin are co-workers, then yes."

"Don't be self-deprecating, you're way cooler than a silly side-kick."

You raised your eyebrows at him, "I wasn't Robin in that analogy, but thank you."

"Wait, I'm Robin?"

"You are a grown man who just used the world silly un-ironically, and I feel like that's something Robin would do. Just to clarify I don't know shit about Bat-man."

"Hey I'm barely a grown man- I'm not 25 yet, that would entail being a grown man, and I've got time 'till then! Anyway, stop going off-topic."

"Then move on from being weirdly defensive about being an adult in the eyes of the state."

"Touché. So, we're co-workers."

"Correct. What's the point."

"That's a problem."

"Why?"

"Well, ok this needs to be prefaced so consider this me shushing you in a respectful and not sexist way. You have been shushed."

"...Ok?"

"Shh! Now I get to ramble. So you know movies?" He gestured towards the school's collection of movies that sat next to the tv, and you nodded confused. "So in these movies, things happen certain ways, but those certain ways seem just as scary as the opposite of those ways." Yeah, he was totally high. "So, wow I'm starting so many sentences with the word 'so'. Anyway- I want to tell you something but I don't want it to be like a movie but I don't want it to be like not in a movie either. So I just want to say it then leave. Like- I'm going to run after I say it. Is that okay? You are temporarily un-shushed."

"If you're dying it's not, but if it's basically anything else then yeah. Go for it, you speedy coward."

"Cool. I mean- the nickname hurt but cool. Cool." He looked at you for a second. "Can you like... turn around?"

"Turn around?"

He now acknowledged that that was an odd thing to ask. "...Yeah. Is that dumb?"

"No, no, I'll turn around." To lighten the awkward mood, you made a joke. "A reasonable price for your terrible secrets to be revealed to me." It was not a very funny joke, but you tried your best and earned a (pity) scoff from him.

You were now both sitting criscrossed on the couch, facing the same direction. You were staring at a wall you found very uninteresting, and he was staring at the back of the head belonging to a person he found very interesting.

"So- basically I think you're... pretty..." He said the word intending to add another adjective after it, like 'cool', but he decided against it because that would be stupid. "And I have this problem where when I figure out I want to, quote-unquote, date someone, which is a gross word, by the way, I'm always friends with them. That means it has to be this dramatic thing. But I don't want it to be! You know? I just want to tell you that I have a stupid crush on you like a normal person. And- that's why I suddenly started hating training, because who likes to see people they want to smooch almost fake die, huh? No one! That's who! And I want to explain why I like you, but whenever I talk to Wanda about you, I always end up describing you the way a first grader describes their crush! Like: she's pwetty and smawt or whatever but that's fuckin' dumb. I guess that makes sense because I don't have crushes on people ever, and I barely dated in school, so I have no idea how to do this and I just want to pass you one of those 'hey, do you like me?!' notes with the fuckin' checkmarks!! And I am an adult person who is kind of afraid of kissing! What?!? Also, I don't have abs like Scott! Or boobs, and I know you like people with or without boobs and boobs are great! Also, to backtrack, don't think that I think you would go for Scott, even though if you were to, I would be supportive of you, but also sad because I would prefer if you went for me! So I want to be normal. Normal like the people in movies who meet someone cute and ask them out and not like the movies with the big stupid confessions. Trust me, if I had noticed that I whatever you like a year ago, I would have asked you out! Well no I wouldn't of because I would be too afraid to talk to you. But anyway I made you this," He reached around you and handed you a folded-up note. "Don't open it until I run away, but just leave it here with your response. If you check no, I bet if we paid Jean enough money she would erase this interaction from our brains. I only have seven dollars but I'm betting on a 'friends and family' discount. But.. if you say yes, I can ask you out like a dick in a movie, knowing you'll say yes because I am a speedy coward. I want you to call me a speedy coward when I do cowardly shit speedily, then do this cute thing where you'd be like 'but you're my speedy coward''. Anyway, I'm going to leave now. Love ya, but in the way we always said it beforehand, not in a dramatic confession way. Sorry I delved into my childhood there. Bye." You felt him awkwardly pat your back.

There was a gust of wind that ruffled your hair, and you knew he had run away.

You lifted the note up, mind empty, still processing everything he had rambled to you, and started carefully unfolding it.

It was one of his previously mentioned "Do you like me?" notes.

You willed yourself not to straight-up giggle like a 12-year-old at his note. It was messily written, and clearly on the back of a mission briefing.

Shit, you didn't have a pen. You looked under the couch cushions but there was no form of a writing utensil in sight! The audacity.

You knew Peter well enough to know that he was probably not too far away, waiting for the result of his question and trying not to spy.

"Hey... uh... Peter? I don't have a pen."

Peter hit his forehead with his hand, where the fuck was he going to get a pen? It's not like he owned pens that were actually in a designated spot! How ridiculous would that be, who did he look like, Charles? Charles! Charles has pens in designated pen places!

So Peter ran into the headmaster's office and found a pen. He wrote a small note stating that he borrowed a pen and that he would return it. Looking at the note Peter found it did not fully encapsulate the desperate need for the pen. The note ended up something like this:

Hey Charles! It's Peter! I took borrowed a pen because a very serious situation manner situation has arised. arisen. From, Peter. You can't get mad at me because if you could legally marry my dad you would be married and I would basically be your step son! Thanks half dad!

He thought the addition of the 'step' in stepson effectively hid the fact that Charles was a father figure of his. What was he doing here again? The serious manner!

In an instant of you telling Peter that you did not have a pen, one appeared.

"Thank you!"

You checked the yes box, but had a want to write something adorable. You couldn't think of anything so you just wrote "This was weird." under your checkmark. Well played.

You entertained the idea of resuming your movie but decided against it, you thought it would be more dramatic if you left the room.

The minute you made your exit Peter sprinted into the room. He opened your note, jumped, pumped his fist in the air, realized that was nerdy, and tried to make a cool pose to recover.

Now he just had to figure out how the fuck he was going to ask you out.

#me 🤝 juxtaposing fancy words with words like stupid and cool and nice because i think it's funny #the muse has been gone for a few days so i hope this is good #screw you muse i'm writing anyway!#peter maximoff x reader #ship request #the ending is weird and the pacing is off but ily so forgive me

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nightcoremoon · 4 years

Text

it's evident people haven't watched enough kids media to adequately understand just what constitutes a kids show as opposed to a show that kids can watch and be entertained by

when I was a kid I watched king of the hill and blues clues (among other things). king of the hill is NOT a kids show by any stretch of the imagination; it is an adult animation, replete with fairly heavy subject matter, sexual themes, political humor, cultural references that kids won't understand, discussion of religion in the modern day, depression and suicidal thoughts, adultery, puberty and sexual awakenings, body image, propane, propane accessories, and ultimately above all else what it means to be family. and blues clues is a show about a man who plays with a shovel & pail, talks to his condiments and mailbox, and sometimes he teleports into the felt dimension, all while playing Sherlock Holmes hercule poirot with his dog, and teaching kids how to count and draw and recognize colors and learn their ABCs. do you see the fucking difference? no? then I'll make it more clear.

dora the explorer & go diego go, mickey mouse clubhouse, handy manny, octonauts, bob the builder, super why, wild kratts, zoboomafoo, jojo's circus, wow wow wubbzy, stanley, doc mcstuffins, max & ruby, wonder pets, bubble guppies, ni hao khai lan, backyardigans, little einsteins, caillou (ugh) and p*w p*trol (double ugh), these are all undeniably kids shows. their audience is children (and the occasional adult by age with severe intellectual disabilities) and maybe the parents whose brains are too fried to care what's on the tv. these shows main purpose is to educate while entertaining on subjects one would encounter in preschool and kindergarten. counting 1-10, ABCs, basic color, basic language, basic intrapersonal skills, basic emotional literacy, problem solving, using your imagination, what sounds do animals make, breaking the fourth wall to ask the audience to answer what's 2+2 or tell them a lesson they learned today like I LEARNED TO NEVER JUDGE A BOOK BY ITS COVER or some simple message like that. it's always light, there's no edgelord grimdark "what if they were dead the whole time" bullshit. it's just good clean simple wholesome [except for paw patrol] programs for kids to be distracted for a little bit of time, while also letting them walk away having said they learned something. at least half of the time dedicated to every single one of these shows is devoted to the same shit over and over again. I'm the map I'm the map I'm the map I'm the map I'm the map I'm the map WE FUCKING GET IT YOURE THE MAP! backpack backpack I'm the backpack loaded up with things and knickknacks too, anything that you might need I've got inside for you. we did it we did it we did it HOORAY! come on vamanos everybody let's go, come on let's get to it, I know that we can do it,

WHERE ARE WE GOING

👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

THESE SONGS ARE BURNED INTO MY BRAIN AND THEYLL BE STUCK IN MY HEAD UNTIL I DIE

say click take a pic, the hot dog dance, CAN HE FIX IT???, pizza! spaghetti!, THE DOC IS IN AND SHELL FIX YOU UP, max & ruby ruby & max max & ruby ruby & max MAX & RUBY RUBY & MAX MAX & RUBY RUBY & MAX, wonder pets wonder pets we're on our way to help the friend and save the day, we're not too big and we're not too tough but when we work together we've got the right stuff, goooOOO WONDER PETS YAAAAY~, yoooour backyard friends the backyardigans (weve got the whole wide world in our yard to explore, thATS WHY EVERY DAY WEEEEERE BACK FOR MOOOORE), were going on a trip in our little rocket ship SOARING THROOOOOUGH THE SKY!!! little einsteins!

I swear to god I've been forced to watch so much children's television in my life it's no wonder there's no room left for serotonin executive function or the ability to speak to morons

point is I know my way around kids shows. my sisters were born in 98, 02, 05, 06, 10, and 18, I think, I don't even know because they're all a blur, I'm literally closer in age to my parents than to my youngest sibling, I never stopped being exposed to kids shows. I know what is and is not a kids show.

adventure time? not a kids show even though kids watch it. it's a "for everyone" show. it's got a target audience of 100% of the planet. steven universe? not a kids show even though kids watch it. miraculous ladybug? not a kids show even though kids watch it. scooby doo? not a kids show even though kids watch it. I'm not discussing the history of adult acceptance of animation, adult animation, or anime, so don't ask. dexter's laboratory. the grim adventures of billy & mandy. codename kids next door. teen titans. fairly oddparents. kim possible. invader zim. AVATAR THE LAST AIRBENDER. totally spies. courage the cowardly dog. the proud family. SPONGEBOB F*ING SQUAREPANTS. powerpuff girls. foster's home for imaginary friends. oh yeah you know what's coming next. my little goddamn pony friendship is mother fucking magic is not. a. kids. show. even though kids can watch it. it is a cartoon. it is an everyone show. that's why it's disingenuous and fucking stupid to decry any fan over the age of 7 as a pedophile and a weirdo creep; it participates in the infantilization of femininity. why is it ok for 20somethings to keep watching aang and squidward and finn & jake and zim and "return the slab" and everyone's totally fine wth that but when it's twilight sparkle suddenly everyone's like whoa you're a huge fucking loser for watching this girly wussy baby show for girly wussy babies. oh some bronies are sex crazed perverts? I'm sorry have you seen just how much porn there is for spongebob? oh some bronies are cringe? I'm sorry have you met half the steven universe fandom? oh some bronies are fascist rick sanchez kinnies with fedoras and katanas? BREAKING BAD FANS, HELLO!?!?!?

this is such a stupid tiring boring argument. maybe magic talking horses being friends and turning their friendship into magic rainbow nuclear fucking arms and blasting the evil out of a demon and turning her into the coolest fucking half-unicorn biker lesbian in the world is something that brings me, and adult, pure wholesome joy, in between bojack horseman and dark souls and breaking bad and deftones and fallout new vegas and jojo and cannibal corpse and other bleak depressing edgy shit that also brings me comfort. and MAYBE me at 16 starting to watch MLP:FIM becoming finally comfortable with the outward public expression of "traditionally feminine" interests is the main reason why I realized I was a girl when I did, and MAYBE I just like how pretty the colorful ponies look, AND MAYBE I KIN WITH ONE OR TWO OR EIGHT CHARACTERS, WHAT OF IT?

AND MAYBE ITS LITERALLY THE BEST LONG RUNNING FANTASY TV SERIES ON THE MARKET RIGHT NOW* SINCE GAME OF THRONES FUCKING SUCKS

but whatever, kids watch it sometimes so it's illegal for anyone who's not a kid to enjoy it, but only if it's something girly because liking girly things is bad because girliness is inherently bad, and the only things that are good have predominantly male casts*. right? right??? wrong, fucker. g4mlp has so much more in common with adventure time & atla than with blues clues or dora the fucking explora...r.

but keep in mind I'm saying this while hugging a blues clues plushie my grandma gave me for valentine's day because it reminds her of when I was a baby because I may not watch blues clues but it still means a lot to me for nostalgia and is 50% of the reason why I love ray charles. kids media isn't necessarily bad. I still do enjoy watching it with my little sisters. all this is is me being anal about categorization because I'm autistic and I LIVE for categorizing everything.

*besides atla obviously

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steepgan · 4 years

Text

t. oikawa - the balcony

in which you befriend your neighbor during quarantine. gn reader.

To put it briefly, your neighbor across from you will not be quiet.

Everyone is cooped up in their respective apartments due to a pandemic, and this guy decides to have a party every goddamn day. You can hear his music when you’re in the shower, and sometimes you don’t want to listen to Firework by Katy Perry. Sometimes you want to listen to One Direction.

Your apartment is situated oddly. The neighbor you speak of is not across the hall from you (if he was, you might have already filed a complaint). Instead, your apartment is given a balcony that directly faces the neighbor in question’s balcony.

Below the balconies is a small street that has passerbyers and chatting people that are looking for a shortcut. You get the occasional street cat that yowls in the trash cans at night and fights with raccoons. They are far more pleasant company than your neighbor.

In other words, the loud neighbor lives in a different apartment complex from you.

Every day is a new horror. Once, there was nonstop playing of Lorde’s Melodrama album (to which you were so concerned to the point of finding your neighbor a therapist), and the next day, there were strange trumpet noises (where did this guy find a trumpet during Covid?)

After the third week of the neighbor’s incessant noise, you take it upon yourself to ask your neighbors if they, too, are perturbed by the loudness. To this day, they do not mind the noise.

You’ll get used to it, they say. We’re neighbors. Sometimes we make noises, too, [L/N].

The noises are seemingly getting louder and louder. You swear you hear a chainsaw at some point. Not even your poor headphones can cancel out the sound. You wonder how your neighbors are faring with this sort of noise.

You hope that they are annoyed as you are this time. If they are, you can laugh at their face and ask who is getting used to the noise now. However, you suck up all your annoyance and pretend that you don’t mind the noise.

Then one day, you snap.

You open your balcony doors and march to the railing that is only a few feet away from your noisy neighbor’s balcony. You clear your throat and try to yell.

“Dude!” you shout. “Hello? Mind turning it down a bit?”

There is no response.

“Hey, man!” you persist. “Turn it down! No one wants to listen to the Backstreet Boys at 6 A.M. in the morning!”

The neighbor who lives beside you opens his balcony door. He sleepily pokes his head through and says, “I, actually, find it quite ni—”

“Go back to bed, Jorge,” you snap. “No one cares.”

Jorge retreats back into his apartment.

Grumbling, you go into your apartment as well. If shouting will not catch the neighbor’s attention, you need to find something tangible. You need something that will physically grab your neighbor’s stupid attention away from the Backstreet Boys.

You pick up the nearest object that you could find and return to your balcony. Without further ado, you throw it over. You aim at your neighbor’s balcony window, hoping to alert the neighbor without completely shattering his apartment and getting sued.

As luck would have it, the infamous neighbor himself opens the balcony door just then. He is rubbing the back of his neck with his lazy brown locks of hair falling here and there, perfectly framing his face.

Unfortunately, you do not manage to get a good look at his actual feature, as the object you chose to throw at him hits him smack in the face. He is taken aback by the sudden force and staggers before falling backward.

You wince.

He groans.

You let out a meek voice. “Holy shit, I’m so sorry.”

The man stands back up, and you flinch as if he rises from the dead. He holds the object in hand and stares at you. He seems a little groggy (rightfully so) as he asks, “did you just throw a purse at me?”

He speaks the truth. You chose to throw a purse at him.

Your neighbor looks more put together than you thought. He maintains a broad, athletic frame and stands at a decent height enough to impress. He leans against his balcony door, and the rising sun peeks over the apartment buildings, shining generously on his face.

The rays illuminated his cheekbones and rich, brown eyes. He tilts his head, his skin pulled smooth over his jaw down to his collarbone. He looks otherworldly. Ethereal, even. It must be golden hour, you quickly convince yourself. It’s just the golden hour.

“It was empty,” you say, not helping your case. You scramble closer to the railing. “Sorry! Super sorry. I just needed to get your attention.”

“You most certainly got it,” the neighbor says, amused. You hope he is not too annoyed. Most of your pent-up annoyance is melted away because you threw a bag at him. “Do you want this back or—”

“Of course I want it back,” you say. “I was just wondering if you could turn down the music a bit. You play it all the time, and it’s disturbing me.”

The neighbor gives you a blank stare. It’s as if he’s never been asked this before. He sheepishly admits, “I’ve never been asked this before.”

Bingo.

“Oh, well, do you mind being a little considerate?” you ask. “And give my bag back?”

“Sorry,” the neighbor says. “I’ll be sure to turn the volume down.”

He does not intend to throw the bag over the balcony as you foolishly did. Instead, he reaches out with the bag in his hand. Your bag dangles over the street, precariously close to falling down.

You stretch over the railing. Your fingers briefly brush your neighbor’s. Warmth crawls up your cheeks, but you blame it on the fact that you’ve kept human contact to a minimum ever since quarantine started.

He gives you the bag, and you hold it in your arms. You are tempted to crack a joke about Covid and ask if he washes his hands regularly, but your neighbor seems like the type of man who knows how to take care of himself properly.

“Say, do you have a party or something every day?” you ask. “You play it so loud, so I’m just wondering if you hold small kickbacks.”

“Every day?” the man goes. He shakes his head and laughs while crossing his arms. “Nah. I try to follow Covid procedures as well as I can. Oh, but, umm, I do have the occasional party to myself.”

“You throw parties by yourself?”

“Why do you look and sound so disappointed?”

True to his word, the neighbor keeps his music down for you to concentrate. You are extremely grateful, as you can now listen to your own television and study for your online classes.

Although you hear the faint drumming beat of music sometimes, you decide that it was far worse last time he blasted his music all over the place so you let it slide. There are a few neighbors who pass you in the hall and thank you as well.

Unable to rest one night, you walk out onto your balcony for some fresh air. After this, you will finally go to bed at 4 A.M. in the morning. In the dim light of the lanterns, you can see a silhouette of a person on your neighbor’s balcony.

Oh, if it isn’t your good neighbor!

(Well, who else would be on your neighbor’s balcony?)

He is on his phone while leaning on the railing. The bright screen reflects on his face, showing his concentration. His athletic build is slightly hunched over his phone as he hums leisurely, scrolling innocently.

“So,” you say, “do you usually stay up until 4 A.M.?”

The man, slightly startled, looks up from his phone and sees you. He cracks a grin that’s more brilliant than the fact that his house plants are still alive despite you never seeing him water them.

“Well, hello, there,” the neighbor says. “I actually get up at 4 A.M.”

You still. “You what.”

“I get up at 4 A.M.”

“No, I don’t think I heard you right. Mind repeating it again?”

“I get up at 4 A.M.,” the man repeats, and although he has said it three times already, your mind cannot process it. While you’re going to bed at 4 A.M., this guy was waking up at 4 A.M. How insane! “I’m an athlete, so I wake up and use an elliptical. Feeling sluggish isn’t good for me.”

It was then you catch his name: Toru Oikawa of Club Athletico San Juan. You can’t bother to be gobsmacked as you do not catch up with sports news, but you keep in touch with old friends who are still involved in sports. You believe that they’ve mentioned the San Juan club a few times.

“Jesus Christ,” you say.

“No, not Jesus,” Oikawa pipes up, “although I’ve been told about the similarities.”

“I’m [F/N] [L/N],” you offer. “It’s very nice to meet you, Toru Oikawa.”

“Likewise,” he says, “unless you're throwing a purse at me.”

“Again, I’m super sorry—”

You and he talk for some time about anything that comes to mind. You ask him to show you a few of his volleyball videos, as you want to see how he plays. You assume that because of social distancing, he’s been unable to practice.

He obtains your phone number and sends you a few videos with a snarky little comment at the bottom, which you choose to ignore. You watch his videos, and you realize that this Oikawa guy is actually really good.

It seems your friendship with him is on feebly, baby-doe legs. There are days where you do not talk to him at all, as you are more of a night owl and Oikawa is the physical embodiment of carpe diem. There are some days where you and he do not let a single hour slip by without texting each other (you must admit that Oikawa is very entertaining).

Your neighbors tease you, constantly reminding you of your previous hatred for Oikawa (back when you did not know what his name was). You tell them that it was perfectly sensible to be mad, especially since he had been so loud, but they wave you off with a smirk of their faces you’d gladly wipe off. You can tell that they think you like Toru Oikawa.

You tell them that the day Oikawa calls you enchanting and thinks of you as a goddess is the day you might consider him as something more than a neighbor friend.

A month and a half flies by, and you are dawdling on your balcony with Oikawa. He is sitting with his legs swinging back and forth through the rails of the railing. His volleyball hands grip the top of the railing as he chats with you aimlessly, the same smile that he typically wears is upon his face.

“You must have a lot of experience,” you note, watching Oikawa’s videos on your phone. “It’s super impressive.”

Oikawa laughs. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” you say incredulously. “I was watching one of your old high school videos, and I compared it to one of your more recent ones. Your growth is to die for. I super admire your skills, Toru.”

“My skills?”

I wish I could say more, you think. You believe your words are not enough to describe how you feel. Nothing is able to amount to the pride you feel towards your newfound friend, and it aches to keep your words to yourself. You can tell that he has suffered, and you can tell that he is suffering even now. You smile thinking about how far he has come, how far he has gone to be standing across from you with such a moonlit smile on his face.

You know how he fights, and you are so proud.

Of course, there is no non-cheesy way to say this, so you hope that Oikawa can read your eyes well enough. You hope that Oikawa knows that you are being more genuine now than ever, and you hope that he does not mistake your authenticity for pity.

“I think you are very great,” you say to him truthfully.

Oikawa’s voice is shaky. “Thank you.”

It feels as if years are going by with you locked in your apartment. Oikawa becomes an integral part in your life and in your everyday habits. You text him nearly every day and find yourself rising early in the morning just to talk to him for a few minutes before collapsing back on your bed.

Your neighbors suggest that you and he have a forbidden lovers thing going on. You ask them where they got that from. They bring up the fact that you and he are from different apartment complexes that just-so-happen to be facing each other.

If your neighbors want their own drama, they might as well try throwing a purse at their neighbor’s window and hope the neighbors are as amicable and handsome as Toru Oikawa. You struck gold with him.

He is easy to get along with. He tells you a lot of stories in the middle of the night and whenever he can. Every experience he tells you about seems to be linked with another experience, which is linked to another and then another. The conversations are flowing out of him, and sometimes, the most you can do is keep giving him positive affirmations so he will keep talking to you.

You like it when he talks to you.

“No phone, Toru?” you note, seeing his empty hands. Oikawa usually has his phone when he talks to you on the balcony. It is strange to see him without it, but Oikawa is a strange guy, you figure. He’s a total dork.

Oikawa is in love with a sport.

You have many athlete friends. Ordinarily, they complain about waking up early and never getting enough sleep—especially when balancing it with schoolwork. They enjoy their sport to a degree, but it pales in comparison to what Oikawa feels toward volleyball.

To Oikawa, and to people like Oikawa, volleyball is a practice. They turn volleyball into a habit. It becomes a habit that they care for the sport, and most importantly, it becomes a habit that they, in turn, take care of themselves.

“Too much blue light,” Oikawa says, shaking his head. “I’m cutting down my phone time. It’ll be better for my eyes, too. You ought to do the same.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you joke. “I have to look at screens all day, even if my eyesight deteriorates in the long run.”

“What will you do if you end up blind?” Oikawa leans on the railing. It’s as if he is trying to get close to you. However, the distance between the balconies is six feet apart. Whether you and Oikawa like it or not, you and he are following safety procedures. “You won’t be able to look for aliens with me.”

You laugh. “I don’t believe in aliens.”

“Well, they don’t believe in you, either.”

You make a sad face.

Oikawa is taken aback. He starts speaking quickly. “They don’t have to believe in you. It’s their loss. I’ll believe in you instead. You don’t need the approval of aliens, and you don’t need their opinions. They’re not even on Earth! The Earth is grand enough with you on it, [F/N]. As long as one person—me, or yourself, even!—believes in you, you’ll achieve greater things than aliens.”

It is then you smile. Oikawa is so silly, you think to yourself. You doubt there is anything else in the world that can replicate the neighbor across from you. He is truly one of a kind. “Thanks, Toru. You’re such a loser.”

“Hey,” he says, “love me or hate me. Don’t do both. Make it make sense.”

With Oikawa cutting back his screen time, you do not receive as many volleyball videos or texts from him. You miss his texts, of course, but this only spurs you to catch him in the mornings or in the late evenings when he gets back from practice. Your whole sleep schedule now revolves around the man. He is your friend, after all.

You slightly envy the man, as he seems dead set on becoming better than the person he was yesterday. However, you and he carry different morals. You do not mind not knowing what to do at all; you live from one day to the next, happily taking whatever life gives you. You are content not knowing what the future holds because you know that it is scary, but nothing is fun without being scary.

You do not need to follow Oikawa’s beliefs. Everyone raises themselves differently than the next person, and that does not make them any less productive. As each experience goes by, people take a different lesson from it, learning and learning and learning. That is human thought.

Of course, you learn a thing or two from Oikawa. You learn that there is always someone better, and that should only move you forward. You come to realize that if life does not lead you along, life will drag you, and you are far too pretty to be dragged.

With this in mind, you finish your project in time.

More weeks fly by, and Oikawa greets you as you walk out on your balcony. He is dressed in his practice clothes, and you are dressed in pajamas. You wrap your coat around yourself tighter, as the colder seasons are approaching and you aren’t so keen on freezing to death.

Oikawa’s brown hair feathers the tips of his reddened ears and touches the nape of his neck. He gives you a small wave, and you groggily wave back in response. It is far too early to meet Oikawa, but it seems you and he have an unspoken meeting time at 4 A.M. You have set many alarms for this man, and you hope he appreciates your efforts.

He holds something in his hands. You ask him what it is for, and he calls it a phone. It is not a phone. It is two cups, and they are held together by string. Oikawa tells you that one of the cups belongs to him and the other you. He stretches over the balcony, and you do so as well.

Your fingers barely whisper over his as you grab the cup from him. Oikawa quickly pulls away, nearly making you drop the cup. You swear you felt as if you were on the verge of a heart attack. You angrily curse out Oikawa for scaring you like that, and he only laughs in return.

That is the second time you’ve touched Toru Oikawa.

What a douche.

“Let’s test out the phone,” Oikawa says, putting his mouth to the cup.

You settle your ear to the cup, awaiting Oikawa’s message to you from your balcony. You wait, you wait, and you wait. Your ear is warm with anticipation, and just as you are about to tear your ear away from the cup to yell at Oikawa for joking with you, you hear something.

It is soft and quiet. If not for the stillness of the morning, you would not have been able to hear it. The voice is very faint, and the voice is very, very him.

“[F/N],” he says. He says your name like a prayer, like something he has kept lodged in his throat. He says it with apprehensiveness and doubt, as if he isn’t sure that it will reach you, as if he isn’t sure that it’ll work—but it does. But it does.

You smile, and you hold the cup to your mouth.

“Toru,” you say. You say his name again. “Toru.”

You flit your eyes up to see Oikawa, to see what he thinks of your personal message. In the dim light of the lanterns that hang on his apartment, you see that Oikawa is blushing. The red of his ears has spread across his cheeks.

He realizes that you are looking at him, and he turns his cheek to the side—a poor attempt of hiding. It is really impossible to keep his expressions from you, as it is only him and you outside. Even your neighbors recognize that there is an hour designated for you and Oikawa.

You put the cup down. Excited, you ask him, “did you hear me?”

“Yeah,” he says, regaining his composure. “Your breath stinks—”

You then throw the cup at his head. Oikawa falls back.

It is every day that you and he speak through the string-cup-phone-thing. You and he speak through it in the mornings when he wants to tell you a secret about his coworkers. Oikawa tells you that he has returned to work, as his team mates (including himself) have tested negative for Covid. You are entertained by his stories.

Oikawa has some of your habits, you realize. He must have picked them up from you during the duration of your friendship with him. When he eats candy, he saves his favorite color for last and eats his least favorite first. When he speaks, he crosses his arms—a habit that you have only because of your easy annoyance. He takes some of your jokes as well and repeats them to his coworkers (and you only know this because he tells you; at least he gives his credit to you).

He finds satisfaction in the littlest of things now. He will bring up how pretty the lights in the street below are, and when you are slightly pissed at anything, he will tell you how those aforementioned lights are nothing compared to you. He likes the smell of the bakery down the street, and he promises that he’ll take you there one day because it’s his favorite.

When he tells you a joke, he looks at your face to see if you are laughing. You think he likes your laugh. Or maybe he likes your time and appreciation. Whatever it is, Oikawa does not grow tired of seeing you laugh.

Toru Oikawa is as strange as you, you believe, and strange people stick together.

“Today,” Oikawa says through the string-cup-phone-thing, “I saw a skunk, and I thought of you.”

You blink. “I hate you.”

“Skunks are cute!” he insists through the cup. “I’m talking about its eyes. It had beautiful eyes. Take it as a compliment! The skunk’s beautiful eyes were so astounding that they seemed to—”

“Don’t try to redeem yourself.”

There are some days where Oikawa is too tired to talk to you, and although you are hurt by it, you realize that he needs time to himself. He sits on his bed, visible through the balcony window doors and buries his face in his hands. He looks defeated. All you can do is watch and pretend you do not see.

The thing about character is that one has to keep building it.

Oikawa constantly compares himself to others. At first it is not visible, but it becomes painstakingly obvious to those who are close to him. Oikawa brings up other volleyball players all the time, and he says that he wishes that he can serve like him or receive like her. You tell him that he can, and he laughs.

His envy is tiny, and you can see it in the way he praises this person’s sets and in that person’s passes. All you say in response is that they have to grow to get there, and that he, too, can grow.

So you wait by the string-cup-phone-thing. The cup hangs from you railing and dangles near your ear. It is too late in the day, but you force your eyes awake every time you feel yourself drifting off to sleep.

You will be here for Toru Oikawa. You will be here for him.

Oikawa steps outside today, and he sees you by the string-cup-phone-thing. You are curled up in a ball, dozing off near your respective cup. There is a lopsided grin on his face that appears whenever he sees you. He feels dizzy.

He sits down on the balcony, reaching for his cup that dangles from his railing. He starts talking. He tells you about his day, and he tells you about what he’s worried about. Although you are barely awake to hear it, Oikawa is glad that you are here anyway. You have this unspoken determination about you that makes Oikawa feel jumpy.

The months pass by, and you realize that you have a strong connection with Oikawa. Although having never spoken before quarantine and having never seen him closer than six feet away, you feel closer to him than ever. You do not need to be holding him; you do not need to be near him.

All you have to do is be there.

There are nights where it is you and him and silence. You and he seem to forget that the other is there with them, but if one were to leave, then you and he would feel as if something was wrong. The Earth will not be the same without the other, and you come to the profound realization that the universe is built upon one thing missing the other.

You are humming, and Oikawa is rolling around his volleyball. There is nothing but the sound of the concrete underneath the leather ball and your broken humming. You hum quietly, and it is breathy and choppy.

Then you hear something from your string-cup-phone-thing. You quickly snatch the cup and motion for Oikawa to repeat what he said.

It is quiet and apprehensive. “Do you want to spend Christmas with me?”

You drop the cup. It dangles. You stare at Oikawa, whose ball was rolling away toward the panel of the balcony window door. He is sheepishly carrying his cup and looking at you, expecting an answer.

“Just reject me already,” Oikawa says. So his invitation has more connotations that you realize. Your heart is like that of a jackrabbit. “Then you’ll never hear me bring this up again, if you don’t want me to.”

He stands there, his hair looking like shiny lucky pennies on sidewalks. His smile is as genuine as ever, and it tells you that even if you tell him no, he will still be there with you because that is what friends do.

If Toru Oikawa were to look in a mirror, he will see a hero.

He is glowing, you think. You don’t know if anyone else can see it. You want everyone to look at Oikawa and see how beautiful he is glowing. He is like the moon. The noisy neighbor whom you once hated is now the person who is most cherished across from you. You believe you can find no one close to Oikawa.

You don’t think you can ever stop appreciating the pillar that is Toru Oikawa, and you don’t think you ever want to. You have a thousand things you want to say, and you do not know which one to say right now. You do not think that this is the right time, either.

Maybe you will say these things later, if you have time.

During the most unfortunate of times, human beings are desperate. Thus, you can say with your utmost confidence that you are here for Oikawa, and that is all.

You grab the cup and scramble to your feet. It is then you lean over your railing and hold the cup to your mouth. You are happy. You are indescribably, ardently, and passionately happy. There is an answer that rips from your throat when you open your mouth. You say something along the lines of hoping that it better be the best Christmas you will ever have.

Oikawa laughs, and he says, “you’re a delight, [Y/N]. I think you’re like a goddess.”

“Delight is a lousy way to describe me,” you say. “Call me mesmerizing, jaw-dropping, and radiant.”

“How about enchanting?”

You think about it. “I think enchanting will do just fine.”

“Right then,” Oikawa says, “[F/N], you are absolutely enchanting.”

#oikawa toru #oikawa x reader #oikawa scenario #oikawa x you #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #oikawa one shot #haikyuu one shot #oikawa #oikawa imagine #haikyuu fluff #i went like philosophical midway BYE #i wrote this for a little collab on quotev dot hell #haikyuu!!#no beta we die like men

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slasherholic · 5 years

Text

chapter synopsis: Michael kills again. Luckily (or unluckily) for you, he seems to be saving the best for last.

chapter warnings: graphic depictions of violence and death, Michael being a mean bastard

Chapter One

Chapter Two

End of the Line | Michael Myers x Reader | Chapter Three

Sometime before Wendy’s hysterical wailing stopped and after the stench of bile dissolved into the background, Travis cut Ashley’s body down.

You shouldn’t touch her, Diane had warned him, but Travis insisted on it. He said he didn’t want to look at her eyes anymore.

You hug your knees against your chest and stare over at where Ashley lies face-down in a heap on the floor, a streak of blood mapping out the path where Travis dragged her by the armpits out of the dark red puddle, depositing her on dryer land, and you cannot say you blame him, not at all.

Ashley’s lids are not shut all the way. One of her eyes still peeks out from underneath long eyelashes, glazed-over and sightless, looking at nothing.

I’m sorry, you feel obliged to tell her out of courtesy; but you aren’t entirely sure what you are apologizing for, and the apology feels empty anyhow. Maybe Michael's heartlessness is contagious.

Or maybe it is because every fiber of your lizard-brain is screaming in hopeful unison, better her than me. Better her than me. Better her than me.

The group sits now in a tight huddle on the floor at one corner of the dusty court. Travis holds Diane in his arms and stares blankly at the nearest basketball hoop. Diane clutches big handfuls of Travis’ shirt in both her slender hands and can’t seem to peel her eyes off of Ashley. Wendy, no longer sobbing, is the only one not sitting—instead she mills around aimlessly in front of the bleachers, pacing back and forth, following alongside the white out-of-bounds line. Sometimes, briefly, you turn and watch her pace.

Then you look away again and return to vigilantly scanning the unlit corners where the flashlights do not reach. You scan for movement; for an out-of-place shadow; for a shape creeping steadily closer.

Michael hasn’t left the room—not after what he did with Ashley’s body.

Like a hunter mounting a prize buck, he has taken meticulous care to display his kill. He knew that you would find it. He meant for you to find it. Now, you’ve given him the pleasure of observing your individual break-downs.

Of listening to Wendy sob and blubber, of seeing Travis clutch at his long hair and swear and punch the bleachers until his knuckles bloodied, of seeing you keel over and wretch on the ground. You are terrified. All of you. Michael knows this—he is lurking somewhere in those reaching shadows, unseen and unnoticed, drinking in that terror like a favored television channel.

You are entertainment.

To your left, Josh lifts his head out of his knees with a little sniffle, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. He licks his chapped lips before speaking.

“Why’d he do that to her?” He asks in a whispery croak, talking to nobody.

You glance at him. Travis and Diane do too.

“Why’d he string her up like that? Why the fuck would he do that man?”

Because he’s playing, comes your internal response, as quickly as if you were reading from a script—because Michael’s actions are play. Because he’s trying to scare you shitless and it’s working. Because it’s fun and he’s getting off on it. Because he’s sick and twisted and evil and just not right; and so are you for needing him.

Diane shifts suddenly in Travis’ lap. She pulls away from his embrace and sits upright.

“It was a pattern in the Haddonfield murders.” She explains softly, absently tracing a pattern with her pointer finger in the dust on the floor.

“The bodies, see, they were all moved around from their places of death, and—and, um, displayed. It’s been happening all around the state, wherever there are mass killings. So that’s why people think Myers is behind all of them.”

She continues to trace her pattern and goes silent. The silence is contagious.

Near the bleachers, Wendy is still pacing. You doubt she even heard Diane’s statement. It’s probably for the best.

“Why don’t you siddown, Wend.” Travis suggests.

You watch Wendy walk over to the bleachers and sit. Then, as if the bench were crawling with ants, she shoots to her feet again—climbing up nine steps—plopping down onto the tenth. She stares at her knees and doesn’t move after that.

“Hey. You.”

You glance over your shoulder at Travis. His eyes are glassy and dull. He’s staring at you.

“So what’s your deal anyway, huh?” He questions, flatly. “Are you, like, some kinda adrenaline junkie? Exploring a place like this alone at night without a flashlight?”

His eyes glint with something bordering on suspicion.

“And you just… ran right into Myers?”

Josh and Diane turn their heads and look at you, too. You glance away from their eyes without meaning to and stare at your shoelaces. Shit; you’ll have to tread carefully here, very carefully; the truth will not keep you in these people’s good graces.

You breathe in deeply, slowly, before speaking.

“Believe me, it wasn’t by choice.” You begin, bundling your arms around your knees, tugging at your shoelace. “It happened so fast—I got home from the store, I got out of my car, I walked up my driveway. The next thing I know, I’m being grabbed and locked in the trunk.”

You shut your mouth quickly. It’s not a lie; it’s just not the whole truth.

There’s another moment of silence. You can’t look the others in the face. For a frightening moment, you can’t tell if they’ve bought it or not.

Then, Josh pipes in.

“How’d you get away from him?”

“I didn’t get away. He let me run. I think he wants a chase, before he…”

Your voice trails off. You glance up from the floor and make eye contact with Josh. His gloomy look tells you that you don’t need to say anything more.

From the bleachers, Wendy murmurs something under her breath.

“We can’t hear you, Wend.” Travis says.

You watch Wendy lift her head from her knees, staring right at you. Her face is an unhealthy color and her cheeks are streaked with tears.

“I said, maybe he just wants her.” She repeats with a sniff. “Maybe if he gets her, he’ll fuck off and leave us alone.”

Your stare-off with her lasts for an uncomfortable time. Wendy sniffs when the snot runs too far down her nose. You pluck agitatedly at your shoelace.

She’s right, in a certain way, your inner-voice chimes in. Michael does want you.

But some bitter part of you wants to tell her, He wants you too. He wants you Wendy, and he is going to get you, and once he’s caught you you’re going to beg him and cry until the tears won’t come out anymore, and guess what Wendy? If you’re lucky he’ll kill you quick—and if you’re not, he’ll do it slowly. If you’re unlucky, Wendy, Michael will kill you over the course of many long months, and it will hurt far worse than that knife would have, because by then you won’t just fear him, Wendy, but you’ll love the sick evil bastard too, he’ll make sure of it—and when your time comes those tears won’t just be terror and fear, Wendy, they will also be the coldest, loneliest heartbreak.

You are so lost in your spiteful fantasy that it takes you a moment to realize the room has gone deathly quiet. As if Wendy’s suggestion is a cool and logical point and not-at-all the desperate petitioning of a girl terrified for her life. As if offering you up to Michael like a sacrificial lamb is a perfectly sane thing to do.

But no, it’s really happening—you can tell by just their stern and guilty faces that the people huddled around you are seriously considering it.

You speak up for yourself before they get to thinking too hard.

“Alright, maybe he does just want me” You tell Wendy. “But what if you’re wrong? What if I die, and he just keeps coming? Wanna know what happens then?”

Wendy sniffles. She makes a face like you’ve kicked her in the stomach. Her eyes scrunch up like she’s about to cry again. You don’t care.

“If I’m dead, and you’re wrong, then you’re gonna be next.”

Wendy makes a choked sound and now she’s crying again. She buries her head in her knees and her body heaves silently.

At your exchange, Diane shakes her head in frustration. She clambers out of Travis’ lap and rises to her feet like there’s a fire beneath her ass.

“Alright, come on, everyone up.”

An awkward moment passes where nobody moves. She snaps her fingers in a huffy way.

“Come on, I’m dead serious! We’re gonna tear out each other's throats if we stay here. We need a plan to get out.”

You gaze solemnly up at Diane, and some defeatist part of you says that it isn’t even worth trying. Michael will get what he wants. Michael always gets what he wants. It’s in his nature and he’s very good at it.

You clamber to your feet anyway, because Diane is right—wherever Michael is lurking in this vast, empty room, it is only a matter of time before he grows bored of watching.

And no matter how much your rational brain has accepted it, you do not want to die tonight.

One by one the others follow your lead, clambering languidly to their feet. Travis first, then Josh. Only Wendy doesn’t get up—from the bleachers, she murmurs that she can hear just fine from where she is.

You get to planning. It turns out that Travis is some kind of urban explorer, and he’s been to the school before. According to him the only exit (and entrance) that hasn’t been blocked off or boarded up over the years is the one they all came in through. The same exit that Michael drove you in through.

“That’s the way we gotta go.” Travis says to the huddle-up, like a football coach giving a pep-talk before the big game.

“We can get out of here—he’s just one guy right? I mean yeah, this is one sick motherfucker we’re dealing with, but he isn’t some boogeyman. Here, look.”

Travis bends, reaching for his hunting knife where it rests in his ankle holster, drawing it out, holding it in the air to enunciate his point.

“If he finds us, I’ll cut him. And then we just run and we don’t look back. Wend, come on. We can’t stay here.”

In your periphery you watch Wendy slowly untangle herself from her knees, rising off the step as though waking from an unsatisfying nap. She begins descending the steps.

Then she trips.

Her scream is jerked out of her as if yanked by a string. She topples in an instant, falling hard, the sharp clank of her head meeting the bleachers echoing in the vastness of the room.

Every head whips.

For a second it seems as though she’s only lost her balance. Then, every flashlight is trained on her like a spotlight. Your blood runs colder than ice water.

Beneath the bleachers looms a dark and imposing figure. The figure’s white face is ghastly in the harsh yellow beams.

Michael has been lurking beneath Wendy the entire time.

His dangerous hand penetrates the space in the steps, clamping like a vice around Wendy’s ankle, tugging with all his immense strength as Wendy screams and kicks at him, trying to pull her down through the gap. Wendy won’t fit.

She aims another frenzied kick at Michael’s hand. This time, the strong fingers are dislodged.

Wendy is on her feet again incredibly fast, pulling her leg out of the gap. She starts frantically down the bleachers, limping.

“Go!” Travis screams, at her, at everyone.

You go. It is a mad scramble for the far door. Travis half-carries Wendy, the two of them lagging behind.

You burst through the exit doors and Josh and Diane are in your wake. Behind you, Travis screams to hold it open, hold it open.

There is a single moment where you gaze back into the dark court and see The Shape approaching, cutting through the darkness like a ship gliding through water, utterly unstoppable.

Travis and Diane collapse through the doors. Immediately Diane swings them shut. She throws her body up against the wood.

“Hold them! Hold them!”

Everybody braces against the doors. The squeak of Michael’s bootsteps over the court booms thunderously, closer and closer, and then—

He kicks.

Your temple slams against the wood. The doors rattle horribly.

He kicks again. His force is explosive. Monstrous. Unbelievable. He does it again. And again. The onslaught does not stop or slow. Wendy screams. Josh is crying. Your combined weight won’t be enough—with every kick Michael is opening the door a few inches further.

Head whipping around, you scan the dark hallway frantically. When you see your saving grace you can hardly see it—the flashlights all hang in occupied hands—but squinting, you know that it is there and not some figment of your desperate imagination. Against the base of the opposite wall lies a thick slab of wood.

You scramble away from the door. Somewhere behind you Travis yells at you to “get your ass back here.” Plank in hand, you scramble back.

Michael kicks again. This time the doors open a little too wide, wide enough for his vicious hand to shoot through the gap. The hand closes around Josh’s hoodie and yanks him violently upward, sweeping him clean off his feet, into the air, effortless. Josh flails and screams.

Travis cries out and swipes at the hand with his knife.

The hand lets go, bloodied now, retreating through the gap again.

“Just a little longer!” You scream, and jam the plank through the handle bars. A tight fit.

Everybody scrambles away from the door. The thunderous kicking on the other side doesn’t slow—it picks up furiously, the doorframe trembling, the walls shuddering feverishly, and for a moment you are sure that Michael in his hideous strength is going to bring the very building down around you. You hold your breath.

But the plank holds dutifully. And the doors do not open another inch.

All at once, the kicking stops.

Everybody drinks in big gulps of air, and nobody moves for a while. Waiting for the dreadful moment when it all starts up again. Waiting for Michael to kick harder this time and deliver the final blow that will twist the doors clean off their hinges. Wendy makes little pained sounds from her heap against the wall. Josh whimpers and shakes like a leaf. Your hands are balled into white-knuckled fists.

...but the silence prevails. The kicking is over. Michael is gone.

Travis is the first to shake off the thick stupor.

“We have to move.” He says, gripping his knife. “He’s just coming around the back. We have to move.”

Wendy sobs in pain as Travis dips down and scoops her up beneath her armpit, dragging her hastily to her feet.

You run again—not alone this time, you think, but as a herd, a herd of terrified animals, barreling through the blackness as fast as Wendy’s injured ankle will allow.

Josh has a breakdown as you run.

“He was in there that whole time.” He keeps repeating, a skipping record-player. “That whole goddamned time, he was just watching us that whole goddamned time.”

“Stop it.” Travis pants between deep, gasping breaths. “Just stop it. I can’t take that anymore. He can’t catch up. We’re gonna be fine. As long as we just. Keep moving.”

All at once there is no more hallway. You’ve reached the end. You double over in a pant, planting your hands on your knees.

Travis was right—there is a door here. Diane shines her flashlight up at it, illuminating the glass pane, and through it you can see the hallway on the other side. Your eyes go wide in recognition.

There, beyond the door, down the hallway, you can see your car, and the pale moonlight filtering in. Your heart leaps into your throat. You can see the exit. Then, you look a little harder and your heart sinks again.

On the other side of the door a blockade of desks and chairs is piled high, a cruel barricade.

Travis shrugs Wendy onto her own two feet, who grimaces as her ankle grazes the floor. He lunges for the door handle, pulling back and forth savagely, as hard as he can.

There’s no give.

He pounds his flashlight hard against the glass in frustration.

“Fuck!” He shouts, his hot breath fogging over the glass. “Fuck! This wasn’t here last time! Fuck!”

“Are we stuck?” Wendy sobs.

“Most of the classrooms have two entrances, don’t they?” Diane asks. “There are open hallways on the other sides of all these rooms, right? Travis, isn’t that right? We can cross through one! They can’t all be blocked!”

Travis locks his hands together on top of his head, shaking it profusely.

“No, no. Most of the classrooms are locked up.”

“Wait.” Josh’s voice trembles, hoarse from crying. “Wait, I think I saw an open one.” He jerks his thumb into the blackness behind you.

“Back there.”

Josh is right; you saw it too. It was a blur, it happened so fast, but yes, you’re sure of it—one of the classrooms had been wide-open.

“You think?” Travis asks. “Or you know? Because “think” isn’t gonna cut it right now, man!”

“He’s right.” You interject. “I saw it too. It’s maybe three-hundred feet back.”

Travis looks from Josh to you. Then back at Josh.

“You guys are positive? Totally positive?”

Both of you nod.

“Okay. Okay, let’s move.”

Wendy, supporting herself against the wall, utters a thin little cry, as if the thought of that is too unbearable to even imagine.

“No! We can’t go back that way! He’s down that way!”

Travis ignores her as he scoops her up beneath her armpit again.

“Jesus Wendy, look around! We’re trapped if we stay here!”

Wendy blubbers in response, her face a red, snotty mess. But it is enough to get her moving.

Your dash back down the hallway is even madder. The flashlights swing about the hall, strobing in the dimness. Your lizard-brain screams obscenities at you as you run.

Predator this way, danger this way, wrong way, turn around, turn around!

You shove each and every one of them aside. Just run.

“There!” Diane yells, jamming a finger out in front of her. Twenty paces ahead, to the right of the corridor, sure enough, there it is.

One classroom door is wide open.

You reach it. Immediately you notice what you hadn’t in your dash up the corridor: the door isn’t just open, it’s ruined.

The shabby thing hangs uselessly on its hinges. The metal all around its frame is twisted and warped. A dreadful feeling settles like a suffocating blanket.

This isn’t right.

“Woah, careful.” Diane says, shining her flashlight into the room. Peering cautiously inside, you know in an instant that it’s some kind of science classroom. The black lab countertops are covered now in a thick blanket of dust. Chairs and upturned desks are strewn about the ground like warzone debris, their metal legs jutting out like bayonetts at every angle.

“Take it slow.”

Travis shuffles into the room first with Wendy attached at his hip, helping her step carefully around the minefield.

“Travis?” You ask after him in a breathy pant, still hovering at the edge of the room.

“What.” He says flatly, out of breath himself.

“All that shit blocking the door back there, none of that was here last time?”

“No, it wasn’t. Can we focus please?”

You ignore him, the gears in your head cranking.

“Okay, okay. So there’s only one hall that still leads to the exit? And it’s on the other side of this classroom?”

Travis has already crossed half the room. Josh and Diane follow close behind, trailing at his heels like ducklings.

“Yeah,” He calls back over his shoulder. “Look, I’ll tell you all you want about this place as soon as we’re ten goddamn miles away, now are you coming or not?”

No, this isn’t right. None of it is. The barricaded door is not right. The broken lock just isn’t right, dammit, it's too convenient. Too…

Oh. Oh. Ice water floods your gut.

It’s too deliberate.

The pieces fall into place.

This is Michael’s doing. All of it. He’s been to this building before. He’s been tampering with it.

This classroom is not a lucky break, not even close—it’s a choke-point. An ambush.

It’s a trap.

You open your mouth to scream. Travis and Wendy step through the doorway at the opposite side of the hall.

Out of the shadows, the black shape lunges.

You watch the ambush from the opposite side of the room, a useless, frozen statue.

Michael’s knife catches the beams of the flashlights and the gore there gleams. He swings it in a powerful arc through the air at Wendy. Denim rips harshly.

With a piercing scream Wendy falls forward into the hall. Travis sprawls backwards into the classroom, unbalanced himself, but springs up again like a cat, pulling his knife from his ankle-holster as he stands, lunging at Michael, swinging blindly.

Michael’s hand strikes faster than a cobra. He catches Travis by the wrist and shoves him with ghastly strength. Travis flies backwards, skidding on the floor, his head colliding with the nearest desk in a heavy thud.

Michael’s bloodied hand closes around the doorknob. He yanks down on it savagely. The knob strains for a moment—the metal around it whining and groaning—then snaps clean off. His red fingers grip the side of the door, and with a lunging step back into the hallway, he slams it shut behind him.

On the other side, Wendy screams hideously.

Travis is on his feet again now, scrabbling madly at the door, trying to pry his fingers between the metal frame to wedge it open. It won’t.

He pounds his fist hard on the glass and yells,

“Run Wendy! Just run!”

You watch through the glass as Wendy clambers painfully to her feet, limping away from Michael.

Michael, vanishing back into the blackness, takes the chase.

Travis begins a mad dash back out of the room. He leaps over table legs and pushes past you in a blitz, erupting into the hall.

“This way!” He screams behind him, already sprinting. “Come on!”

Josh and Diane lap at his heels. You follow orders as blindly as a soldier in a warzone.

Travis takes a sudden right, skidding around a corner. Then, windmilling his arms to stop his momentum, you see him screech to a halt. As you catch up, you can see why.

It’s an intersection.

“Which way?” Diane gasps, doubled-over in a pant.

Josh points his flashlight at the floor.

“Fuck. Oh fuck.”

You follow the light of his beam and see the blood, a shuddery trail of heavy droplets. Wendy’s.

Travis flicks his light down the corridor to your left. On the wall is a sign that reads “POOL” in big blue letters.

“Down here!”

Travis is off again, following alongside the bloody trail like a hound. Diane bounds after him.

Josh does not. He stands frozen in place, his chest heaving rapidly with lack of breath, gazing down the hall after the retreating figures. He glances at you. You make eye contact for a split-second.

Josh turns on his heel and starts sprinting away in the direction you just came. His footsteps get fainter. Then they are gone.

In an instant, you are alone again. All alone in the dark. Alone and rooted in place. Your feet won’t move.

Get out, says the lizard-brain. Get out now while he’s distracted, run back to your car, drive away into the night, keep driving for a long time, don’t ever look back, live in a new state, run away from him, survive, survive, survive.

A tightness blossoms in your throat. You feel about to cry again. You can’t leave; you couldn’t even if you wanted to. This place is a labyrinth in the dark and you do not have a flashlight. If you dash back into those barren halls, you will be blind again. Stumbling and helpless again. Easy prey.

Travis knows the building. Travis is your only chance at escape. Travis is your single hope of living to see the sun come up. The lizard-brain considers these possibilities, ignoring the defeatist chanting of your rational brain <no point all over Michael is going to kill you> turning them over and over, before demanding all at once that you un-stick your feet and dash after the lights bobbing down the hall.

Run, now. Before they fade into the black, gone. Run. Go.

You turn on your heel and run like hell.

For every ten limping strides she takes, Wendy’s next step is a stumble.

She sprawls on the floor and skins one knee bloody.

She gets up again, but oh God, her hip is on fire. Ahead of her is swallowing black nothingness and behind her is death. Every gulping wheezing breath sucks stale moldy air into her lungs but she’s too numbly frightened to care.

The pounding footsteps echo behind, and oh, please no, he’s still coming. Her body is strong and her legs are thick and powerful from a lifetime of athletics, but the pain, she can’t take it. The painful thudding in her ankle will not bear weight.

Why is he still walking? Why won’t he just catch up? She’s sure that he could if he wanted to.

Is this another game?

Now she sees a faint light up ahead, seeping through a door. She swerves left across the hall, falling as she leaves the support of the wall, crying sharply as she falls, picking herself up again in a flurry of arms and legs—she pushes through the doors.

Beyond them is a pool. A big bright moon dances on the surface of the stagnant black water. She looks up. There, she sees the stars. The building has a glass roof. She takes a gulp of air and gets a whiff of a dank, sour smell, so much worse than the hallway. Rancid.

Limping forward again, she moves quickly to the nearest door in the wall. Reaching the door, she yanks on the handle and steps through, and—

Oh, why her? What did she ever do to deserve this?

It’s not another room at all. It’s a stairwell.

Behind her, the doors clamor violently open. Her head whips around. At the sight of him, she is nearly frozen in place—that black looming silhouette, the hideous white face—this is a nightmare, Wendy thinks, it must be, because boogeymen aren’t real.

Doesn’t matter, the nightmare is getting closer. She shakes off her daze and begins to climb.

The stairs are steep and she winces hard at every slam of her foot down on the cement steps. Up one flight she goes, around the sharp bend, up another. Her busted ankle knocks against the cement which triggers an explosion of pain up her leg. Her hands are cold and clammy now, just as clammy as the railing. She is pulling herself more than climbing. Below her, she hears his boots on the steps, climbing after her.

She’s reached the top, and here is another door. She collapses through it.

She must have done something really terrible in a past life, she thinks, staring out at the space behind the door. She must have done something downright wicked to deserve this. God must be punishing her for it.

It’s just the stadium seating above the pool. Three meager rows of three bleachers and a rusty metal handrail. No other way down, except over the edge. She’s trapped herself.

Oh, but she has to keep moving. He’s coming up the last flight.

She huddles into the far corner and presses flat against the handrail. Leaning on the cold metal with her hip, it stings her bloodied skin like dry ice. She turns around, eyes rotating wildly, and watches the dark figure stepping out through the door.

Death stares her in the eyes, towering and faceless.

The Shape approaches.

Ten seconds behind Travis and Diane, you erupt into the pool building. Inside they stand fixed in their places, gawking up at some unseen thing.

Joining them, you see what they are gawking at. You gawk too.

Jutting out from the wall above the pool is a platform with rows of seats. Cowering at the far corner of that platform, gripping the railings, dread setting her face like a stiff, pale, gaping corpse, is Wendy.

Michael is closing in fast.

Travis and Diane scream at her to jump. Jump into the pool, they yell, in desperate chorus.

Wendy looks frantically over the railing—the drop must be thirty feet. But they are right; it is her only chance. Michael will be on top of her in seconds.

You watch in cold horror as Wendy scrambles desperately up the side of the railing, rising to a stand on the top bar, preparing to jump—

—she slips. Her foot slips on her own blood. The railing is covered in it.

Her hands fly open and snap shut again, grabbing at the air, scrabbling for purchase at nothing. Diane utters a sharp scream of surprise.

Wendy plummets like a stone; straight down to the cement.

The crack is sickening. You see a piece of bone erupt through her shin. Your jaw is slack and your eyes are round. Her wails are agony. She writhes on the cement and you can’t look away. You wait for Travis to go to her, to do something.

He doesn’t. He’s white as a sheet.

From the stadium above, Michael peers over the railing at Wendy. He watches her for a moment as if inhaling her fear. Devouring it. Then he turns, disappearing back down the stairwell.

He reappears at the bottom of the steps to stalk slowly toward Wendy.

Wendy sobs and screams as he approaches; she tries to crawl away from him, still trying to reach the pool. You can almost hear her fingernails scraping over the cement, the meaty squishing of her ruined leg dragging awkwardly, uselessly behind her.

You are about to see it, you realize all at once—you are about to witness with your own two eyes just what kind of monster Michael is.

Michael reaches Wendy and his shadow consumes her. Stooping down, he seizes Wendy by her hair and sweeps her with ghastly ease to her knees.

The world around you has melded into a dizzy haze and you feel like you are underwater. You can see—but not hear—that Wendy’s mouth is moving, begging and screaming. There is a grotesque moment where Michael lets her scream, and you think that the world has stopped turning and frozen on its axis. It is just Michael and Wendy, now; just the monster you despise and fear <and love and need>;

and the girl he is about to slaughter.

The world starts turning again as Michael plunges the knife through Wendy’s throat.

The steel erupts out her skin on the other side along with a geyser of blood. Wendy gurgles and bubbles, coughing, but not really, it can’t even be called that anymore; it is a wet meaty wheeze, a deathrattle.

The light is gone from her eyes as she falls limp.

Michael pushes the back of her head hard. He shoves her carelessly forward. She slides easily off his knife, collapsing. The red spreads quickly out around her on the cement.

Michael studies his kill. His shoulders rise and fall slowly, inhumanly steadily. Fresh glistening red drips off the tips of his fingers as easily as water.

Suddenly, he turns. His white visage peers across the room. Your heart pumps away in your throat at a hideous speed.

Michael is looking at you. Not at Travis. Not at Diane. You.

The mask is hideously penetrating, devouring. You watch him back and your mind is silent. Your body is paralyzed. You wait for something within you to change—perhaps for the hole in your chest, the hole that needs Michael, to knit suddenly shut. You wait, and drink in the evil staring back at you, the dark shape that looks human, but on some level is not.

There is no change.

With a broken, savage scream, Travis shatters the silence.

Michael’s head turns. When his eyes are gone from you, you start to breathe again. He seems to study Travis intently, observing the outburst as if transfixed, fascinated.

Almost contemplatively, Michael looks back down at Wendy’s body on the floor.

Then, lifting his boot, he wedges it beneath her side.

You look on in stunned silence as Michael kicks Wendy’s lifeless body over. Rolling her closer to the pool.

It is obvious to you what he is doing, bitterly obvious. You’ve been on the receiving end of that behavior more times than you can count. It is sport, yes; play, yes; but it is not just play. What Michael is doing is far, far more heartless, far more deliberately, calculatedly cruel—

—this is taunting.

This is rubbing salt in an open wound. This is pettiness for pettiness’ sake. Michael is taunting Travis like a schoolyard bully.

And Travis takes the bait hook, line and sinker.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH HER! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU! DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING TOUCH HER!”

Deaf to his screams—or more likely saturating himself with them—Michael does it again. He shoves his boot beneath Wendy’s back this time, disgustingly gentle, as if she were a glass figurine, and flips her on her stomach. He flips her again, onto her back. Again, onto her stomach.

He rolls her to the lip of the pool, and Travis only rages harder.

Wendy’s body teeters on the cement ledge. Her arm flops limply down, wrist dangling in the murky water. Michael, planting his boot down on her side, lifts his head again. The awful white mask peers across the way at Travis—screaming, raging Travis—who shreds his voice raw with every spitty syllable.

With a final, lazy flick of his boot, Michael sends Wendy spilling over into the filthy water.

The body lands with a plop and a splash. It bobs for a moment, sinking then, slipping beneath the grime, gone, except for the ripples spreading out, disturbing the stagnant surface.

In Michael’s hideous stare, you can feel his wordless goading.

“Look; she made it.”

Travis collapses to a heap on his knees and beats the cement.

Michael watches intently. A shudder travels the length of your body—even without seeing his eyes, you know that look. It is vicious predatory amusement.

Then, all at once, as if compelled by some invisible force, Michael’s head whips around. Glancing over his shoulder, he goes rigidly still.

Your jaw clenches up tight. He’s heard something. He’s listening, picking up a fresh scent.

As if forgetting about Travis in an instant, Michael turns. You watch the dark figure stalk around the side of the pool, disappearing through the doors at the opposite end. Gone again.

Travis rages. He screams at Michael to come back, because he is going to kill him. He screams all sorts of obscenities and his voice has begun to crack. Diane watches, hugging herself tightly, crying without sound.

Eventually, his screaming peeters out. Travis falls into silence, spent.

Nobody moves for a while. You watch the ripples in the water until they stop. All is still and quiet again.

Diane looks up at you. Her cheeks are streaked with tears. She looks at you longer, and something changes in her eyes, some jarring realization; then, with huge and frightened eyes, she looks past you, out into the hall, and glances all around her.

“Travis?” She says, the panic rising in her voice.

“Where’s Josh?”

#michael myers #michael myers x reader #slashers #writing #horror #fanfiction #slasher x reader #halloween #end of the line

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