btw if you need more songs that'd fit zero i recommend the "i am your beast" soundtrack, i was listening to forward operating bass and a thought popped in "wow the chaos of this track kind of reminds me of how my mutuals oc and his almost in contrast with the world state of being, not exactly belonging in a normal way but belonging to nevada nonetheless like salt in water"
also that reminds me i was going to ask how zero feels about nevada the place
This one's a toughie... I spent a lot of time thinking about it, with no truly complete and coherent answer because of how many angles I could approach and answer that question from. I'll elaborate on some of those thoughts in the tags, because it will be messy, but the short context of this image is:
This is an abstraction of Nevada, its bones, its temporal and spatial axis, from its highest to its lowest point, encompassing all of the Occurant[I think it's meant to be spelt Occurrent but not sure], the Nowhere, and the Other Place. This is how Zero sees it, for the most part.
But in its simplest form, Nevada is a place that she likes, even if it's the only place she's ever known. The only life she's ever known.
Some of the imagery used here was taken from a scrapped concept that I still like:
Random tangent incoming but one thing that always fascinated me about Saturday's character is that he doesn't seem to have a clear role in Blakk Industries.
Like C.C was a well-respected slinger so he was likely recruited to raise the general opinion of Blakk Industries, Nacho is an enforcer which I assume mostly means he scares people into giving Blakk what he wants, Twist is Blakk's apprentice, and the large group of mercenary characters Blakk recruits in the trade (which includes Locke and Lode) are most likely either there to A: raise public interest in ghouls kinda like what C.C is there for or B: to do tasks for Blakk that aren't important enough to do himself or send Nacho to do but that he can't just send one of the random unnamed guards to complete.
But Saturday's whole thing is mind control which could be useful to Blakk but Saturday seems way more interested in using that power for his own gain. After all, Blakk wouldn't have any use for the stolen big screen TVs or couch cushions from Caverna Mall
Not to mention Saturday has some lines suggesting that his role in Blakk Industries might be a bit more complicated like "Blakk may have given me the ghoul tech, but I work for no one but myself" in Dawn of the Slug or when he says "I am a business man and this is strictly business!.. although I am running a little low on ghouls Dr. Blakk." after Eli calls him another one of Blakk's minions
I'm probably thinking way too hard about this but I am curious to hear what anyone else might think about this.
Some people's brains come up with nice scenarios. Not mine, though. My brain comes up with things like "Hey if Durge ritually sacrificed Karlach's parents to Bhaal while she was in Avernus and the two of them learned of/remembered this at the same time would that be fucked up or what".
How come when I do research on anxiety and paranoia everything just talks about being afraid of how strangers and society in general perceive you and judge you behind your back? Like yeah thats a major part of it, but wheres all the information about being terrified of dying every single second you're in a car or that the ceiling will suddenly for no reason at all just collapse on you killing you instantly or that The Killer is standing in the hall while you're on your way to the bathroom in the middle of the night???
There was a plethora of scenarios that went through your mind when your mother pulled out that photo album and showed it to your boyfriend, Dick Grayson, before scurrying off to the kitchen.
The first one—perhaps the most probable one out of all the scenes your mind had conjured— is that, he was going to tease you relentlessly.
The second one being: him laughing at the ridiculous poses that you did (God, those stupid peace signs... Who even taught you to pose like that?)
And really, those were the only scenarios that were realistic enough to be true. While other ones are a little too adventurous and highly unlikely.
But in your defense: the chances of those happening are more improbable rather than they were impossible. So, who knows?
What indeed happened instead, however, is one you hadn't imagined would happen.
“Dick, are you crying?”
Glassy blue eyes peered up at you, a vey noticeable pout on his lips.
Gosh, he looked like a kicked puppy, you resist the urge to kiss him in a very improper way...
“No, it's just—” The obvious tears in his eyes, and the loud sniffle certainly begged to differ. “You looked so cute, my love.”
You blinked.
He's crying... because you looked cute as a child?
Why is that sweet? Why is he so sweet? And why do you feel your heart jump in your chest at his words?
Sitting down next to him on the couch, peering at the pink photo album situated on his lap, you asked, “You're crying because I looked cute in the pictures?” Your hand mindlessly fiddled with the edges plastic sheets, flipping through randomly.
His arm instinctively wrapped around your shoulder to pull you closer to his side, his head dropping to your shoulder.
He nodded, lifting his head after. “Yeah, that's one of the reasons. I mean, look at you.” A teasing coo laced his words this time, prompting a roll of your eyes.
“Stop,” You playfully pushed his face away from you with a hand. But failed when he took the said hand to press a kiss to your knuckles.
You hated how heat quickly rushed to your cheeks. You didn't need to glance his way to see the stupidly charming grin on his lips.
You screwed your eyes shut, trying to will the flush away, “Anyways,” you drawled, purposefully in high volume, mostly to steer away from your embarrassment. “You said that was one of the reasons, what's the other one?”
He blinked then, eyes falling to the opened photo album once more “Oh. I thought that when we have kids in the future, they'll look like this. Like you. That's just a really nice thought to me.”
Oh.
He thought about having kids... with you. He thought about a future with you.
Why did the thought want to make you explode—in a good way, of course— just a little bit?
He went on, not noticing the internal fireworks that went off in your head and in your heart. “... to have our kids look like you, I want that.”
He didn't notice your silence at first, not until he did, and he called your name softly, “Are you okay?” His brows furrowed in concern, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.
You didn't respond right away. But when you finally found your voice, the words that escaped were—
“You want to have kids with me?”
It was his turn to blush. “Yeah?” He rubs an awkward hand behind his neck. “Sorry. Did that freak you out?” he asked, a nervous chuckle following his question.
A small smile took place on your lips as you nodded. “A little. But in a good way.” You took his hand, squeezing it lightly in your grasp.
His eyes softened, looking partially surprised. “Really?” Your smile widened when he returned the gesture.
You nodded again, offering him a brighter smile. “I think it's sweet.” You shifted to lean your head on his shoulder.
“Yeah?” His head rested atop yours.
“Yeah. You gotta stop being so sweet, though, Gray, I might just marry you.”
His deep rumbling laugh made little flutters to erupt in your chest. It was so beautiful.
“Why would I do that, if it makes you so happy?”
Damn him. And damn his ability to turn your heart to a puddle just by his words alone.
“See that?” You lightly jabbed a finger to his cheek. “Stop that. Right now.”
You felt his lips fall to your crown.
“Never.”
author’s notes. . . i felt bad about my last dick one shot, so as an apology, i decided to bring back and repost this (yes i did forget that i wrote this blurb.) there will be more fluff soon 🤍
🌀Cw: smut, strip poker, mentions of intoxication/alcohol, switch!Shmilk, souljam play?, oral (f receiving), sexual tension
🌀reader is afab/fem and mentioned to be wearing a skirt
🌀 top dividers / bottom divider
perhaps agreeing to such a tantalizing game with the Beast of Deceit had not been one of your most brilliant decisions. maybe it had been the alcohol in your system that had influenced your stupidity, (or maybe you were simply bored), but you had not expected to end the night practically half naked in front of the cookie who was supposed to be your boss. in all honesty, you yourself aren't even exactly sure how you got into this compromising situation.
what had started off as a night of drinking and gambling amongst coworkers had turned chaotic when Candy Apple Cookie stole (and then proceeded to chug) all of Black Sapphires wine, to which he drunkenly responded by chasing her around half of the Tower of Deceit, much to yours and Shadow Milk Cookie's amusement. however, the pair had eventually worn eachother out, and went back to their respective rooms to go to sleep, leaving you alone with a definitely more than tipsy Shadow Milk Cookie.
the two of you continued the same activities you had been playing before, assorted cardgames and other oddities as you bet on meaningless prizes- nickels and dimes, the last jelly star, your favorite mug- this continued until long past midnight, and eventually, Shadow Milk came up with, in his words, a "much more interesting" proposition- strip poker.
"oh c'mooonnn it'll be fuuUunnn!" his lilting voice had rung out, teasing you due to your slight hesitance. the rational part of your mind was telling you to refuse, but the smell and taste of alcohol was so potent it seemed to fog your senses, and his gaze was entirely too warm, almost uncharacteristically so. just the sight of his enthusiasm broke your resolve, and you agreed, matching his vivacious mannerisms as he excitedly retrieves a deck of poker cards from his pocket dimension. all of this led up to the present, in which Shadow Milk Cookie was doubled over in laughter in front of you as you pouted.
"how can someone be soooo terrible at poker?" Shadow Milk is practically wiping tears from his eyes as he floats through the air, giggling at your dismay. so, admittedly, maybe you had overestimated your poker skills, but you had hoped to win at least one round- but nooooo.
"you have to be cheating," you complain, and another wave of giggles overcomes the cookie in front of you.
"moi? cheat? dost thou truly think so lowly of me?" he sighs dramatically, his sing-song voice rings through the air as he floats across the table until his face is inches away from your own, so close that you can practically taste the alcohol on his breath. as he contorts his body to be upside down in the air, he leans in to add, "maybe its just you who sucks!" he accentuates his words with a boop to your nose before pulling away so suddenly you almost get whip lash.
"its impossible that you could have gotten two royal flushes back to back without tampering with the cards in some way!" you retort, and Shadow Milk Cookies grin grows ever wider.
"uh uh uh!!! not impossible, just improbable, toots. nothing is impossible when you're like me," he tutts, before floating back to the other side of the table.
"don't be a sore loser now, i'm suuurrree you'll win the next round~" he coo's condescendingly, before looking you up and down. "so, what layer are ya gonna lose now, hm?"
"oh, fuck you," you grumble again, and he cackles. "oh, you are hilarious! can't do that while you're fully clothed, poppet~" you flush, but before you can open your mouth to retort, he cuts you off. "now, you've lost again, fair and square, hm? so it's only fair that you follow the rules of the game, am i right? if it's too hard for you to choose what to take off, i can always pick for you~"
you shake your head, already contemplating your next move. you had fruitlessly delayed the inevitable by already having taken off your shoes and socks one by one, and then each piece of jewelry you were wearing individually- much to Shadow Milk Cookies complaints. however now, you were stuck. it was either your sweater, your skirt, or your tights that had to go- you certainly weren't going to rid yourself of your undergarments, and you had no other options. after a moment of thought, you slowly pull your sweater over your head, silently saying goodbye to the warmth of the bulky fabric as you toss it to the side amongst the rest of your clothes.
Shadow Milk Cookie titters with laughter as you turn back towards the table, and looks you up and down with an unreadable expression. you shiver, and not just from his scrutinizing gaze, but from the chill of the tower itself. you hadn't realized how cold it was until now, and you shift your bra and rub your arms in an attempt to warm yourself. meanwhile, Shadow Milk Cookie occupies himself with dealing a new deck, humming softly and purposefully not looking at you as he tosses cards to your side of the table.
it isn't long before you begin to play again, but it's difficult to focus on the game when you're embarrassingly cold. besides, temperature aside, you felt as though you were on display. its not that you didn't trust Shadow Milk, in fact, you probably trust him a bit too much; but it was certainly awkward that you had lost so many times and he continued to win almost effortlessly.
as you continue throwing down cards almost mindlessly, your thoughts begin to wander. what would have happened if he had lost? what item of clothing would he take off first? his bulky collar, revealing his neck? or maybe his large cape, or even his puffy sleeves, revealing his arms and wrists. or possibly even his one-piece suit altogether- you stop that train of thought immediately. now was not the time to get distracted, especially not with those types of thoughts. sure, he was incredibly attractive, that you wouldn't deny, but he was also an immortal, and more importantly, going to win. you don't want to make a fool of yourself, and you need to focus on winning, or else-
"HAHAHAAH!" a delighted cackle fills the room as Shadow Milk throws down his hand, revealing a straight flush. immediately, you groan, burying your head in your hands before throwing your cards to the floor.
"thats it, i quit! how on earthbread do you keep getting such a good hand??!" you turn exasperatedly, ready to storm out the door, and Shadow Milk blocks your path instantly.
"ah ah ah! c'mooonnn just one more round? i'll even go easy on you!" he teases, and you glare at him. he's floating firmly in your way, and as you move to step around him, he simply shifts in front of you again with a shit eating grin. with an irritated groan, you light heartedly shove him, attempting to push him out of the way, but he barely moves an inch in the air, leaving your hands planted on his chest and a mocking grin stretching ever wider on his face. immediately you try to pull away, but deft hands snake around your wrists, pulling you in close.
"ohhohoh, getting handsy, are we? no one ever told you to play nice?"
"says the cookie who rigged poker," you grumble, and he snickers. you're close to him again, and it's ever more obvious that he's looking you up and down in the same fashion of a predator eyeing its prey. mismatched blue eyes travel over your body, and you fight the urge to preen beneath his gaze.
"m' not playing another round," you mumble, and Shadow Milk sighs dramatically.
"leaving me already, hm? and here i thought we were just about to have some fun...."
"i'm not- im not leaving altogether,"
"oh?" Shadow Milk lets out a tantalizing hum before leaning in impossibly close, so much so that your breaths cross and noses are brushing. your chest heaves as you clear your throat under your breath, struggling for words as he locks you both into what seems to be an elaborate game of chicken to determine who will pull away first.
suddenly, Shadow Milk Cookie pulls away, twirling you around in an erratic circle before popping his lips together.
"well! seems that we have come to an impass. why don't we settle this in some other fashion, hm?"
"what do you propose?" you follow along with his game, gently pulling your hands from his grip and crossing your arms.
"oh, i think you already know~" he coos, a mischievous glint already forming in his eye.
"maybe i do," you hum, leaning in towards the cookie in front of you. "but i want you to say it."
a beat of silence passes as you stare into those heterochromatic eyes, and you almost begin to worry that you've pushed the flirting too far until Shadow Milk giggles once again.
"oh, feisty you are! i knew you were my favorite for a reason" you blink at the praise, and before you can even process his actions, Shadow Milk Cookie pulls you up, up, up into the air in a floating dance of sorts, twirling you around in a delighted manner as you yelp in surprise. instinctually, you wrap your legs around his waist as nimble hands hook beneath your thighs, forcing you to effectively cling to him in the air.
"put me down," you hiss, to which Shadow Milk simply giggles.
"ohh, i will! why don't we settle this somewhere else, hm? why not in bed?"
you blink again, unsure if you're processing the question correctly. in bed?
"are you asking to sleep with me?" you blurt out, and he glares at you fondly.
"if you want to put it so crudely, then yes, yes, fine. by the witches, were you always this dense?"
you splutter, stumbling over your words as he looks at you amusedly.
"am i supposed to take that as a yes?" he teases, and you groan before nodding, cheeks flushed in embarrassment at his directness.
Shadow Milk chuckles at your flustered expression, and before you can even blink, an inky blackness surrounds the two of you. it isn't the first time you've been inside one of his portals, but it is still just as jarring as the world begins to reform around you. you find yourself in a magnificent bedroom decorated in lavish navies and blacks, with silver decals and a recurring eye motif all throughout the decor.
you smile a little when you notice the cards you, Black Sapphire Cookie, and Candy Apple Cookie had jokingly given to Shadow Milk on his birthday just a few months prior sitting proudly on a large desk that you assumed to be his. you were so absorbed in your surroundings that you barely noticed Shadow Milk bringing you towards a large, plush bed before he tosses you down amongst the pillows.
you let out an undignified yelp as you settle among the pillows, and pretend to ignore Shadow Milks' responding snicker. still hovering above you, Shadow Milk slowly descends until he's pinned you down on the mattress, straddling you while firm hands hold your wrists to the bed. he looks down at you, seemingly lost in thought before he ever-so-slowly leans down and presses a surprisingly gentle kiss over your lips. he moves to pull away, but you reciprocate more than eagerly as you lips chase after his. the kiss slowly melts from soft and almost uncertain to passionate and messy, and you pretend not to hear the almost breathy whine he lets out when your tongue runs across his bottom lip, begging for access.
he lets you in almost instantly, and you practically melt into his mouth as you explore it with your tongue. eventually, you pull away, panting and shaking as a thin trail of spit connects your mouths. Shadow Milk is flushed, and his eyes avert from your gaze as a blue tint covers his cheeks.
you have a growing suspicion that the beast of deceit is not nearly as experienced as he lets on, and this is practically confirmed when you roll your hips up to meet his. theres already a prominent bulge forming in his suit, and you watch him carefully as his lip twitches and cheeks flush. he's desperately trying to hold his composure, but he seems almost uncharacteristically unsure. nonetheless, you find it embarrassingly attractive, and it gives you an unprecedented surge of confidence.
you push up against the hold he has on your wrists, flipping you both over so that he's the one pinned to the bed. the cookie beneath you looks up at you in surprise, but as he's about to voice his complaint you smother him in another kiss. he obliges, melting beneath you as you straddle him, grinding down on his clothed cock. the only layers between you both are his suit and your tights and panties, and your desperate for some friction.
you roll your hips languidly against his, setting a slow but steady pace as you grind against him. he moans into the kiss, messy and impatient, and his hands dig into your thighs in an attempt to steady himself, leaving runs in your tights. you pull away from the kiss again, and he stares up at you, eyelids heavy and lidded with lust. his souljam clinks against his chest, and an idea forms in your mind.
an experimental hand trails up from his hips to his chest, slowly reaching for the glowing blue souljam. Shadow Milks eyes widen, but before he can say anything, you run a gentle hand over the surface of the souljam. the reaction is immediate, as Shadow Milk cookie throws his head back with a wanton moan. his hips buck up against yours fervently, entire body shaking as you toy with the essence of his very being.
you don't get far in your ministrations however, as Shadow Milk flips your positions once again, a mixture of irritation and arousal evident on his face.
"hhah- that is not something for your grubby hands to touch," he hisses, eyes foggy with pleasure.
"seems like you enjoyed it though," you tease, and he growls.
he pulls away for a second, but before worry and doubt can lodge itself in your mind, he snaps, and you immediately find yourself bare before him. you flush, immediately noticing his nude form as well, admiring his smooth skin and narrow waist. he crawls back on top of you, and your eyes widen at the sight of his length- long and slender, with a few curls of navy hair at the base, and overall very, very pretty. you gulp, but before you can ask how the fuck is that going to fit inside of you, he slides down lower onto the bed so that he's between your legs. you look at him questioningly, and he grins up at you maliciously.
"aw, did'ja seriously think i wouldn't prep you first? i know i'm a lot to handle after all. besides, you don't know how long ive wanted to taste you..." his gaze darkens focusing in on your cunt. a slender finger runs through your folds, and you let out a needy whine as he finds your clit almost instantly. he circles it teasingly, watching as you gush and clench around nothing. you let out a needy whine, rolling your hips in a desperate attempt to get him to just do something, and he tutts.
"ah ah ah! patience, my dear. let me savor this,," he coos, leaning in to lick a hefty stripe up your cunt, and fuck, it feels good- his tongue is monster-esque, long and forked and a pale shade of blue. it flicks perfectly over clit as he devours you, sucking and slurping at your pretty cunny as though he's a starving predator and you're a delicious meal. you mewl, grinding against his face and clamping your thighs around his head as he laughs.
"there she is... go on, embrace it, hm? be as greedy as you want, poppet, embrace that deceit that comes so naturally to you~" he murmurs, almost talking moreso to your cunt than to you. he's meticulous as he makes you unravel, alternating between sucking on your clit and fingering you and letting his tongue explore your hole. it isn't long at all before you feel the cord in your stomach start to tighten, and you let out a embarrassingly loud moan as he focuses in on your pearl.
"fffuck, Sh- Shadow Milk, 'm gonna-" you choke out between moans, clenching around his tongue as your orgasm washes over you. Shadow Milk cookie guides you through it, still licking and sucking until your thighs are quivering from overstimulation.
"o-oh, shit, t'too much," you whine, pulling away as he giggles.
you pant, struggling to catch your breath as you look down at him through hooded eyes. he's peering up at you through his lashes, looking absolutely delectable between your legs. wordlessly, he sucks the remainder of your juices off of his fingers without breaking eye contact with you, and you swear your heart flips in your chest.
"you still up for the big finale?" he teases, crawling up to your level and pressing a dramatic, sloppy kiss to your lips. you welcome him in easily, embracing the passionate makeout session with fervor as you come down from your post orgasmic high. he hums into your mouth, and you realize you can taste yourself on his tongue. that alone invigorates you, and you roll your hips up against his once more, finding his cock already at full mast.
Shadow Milk Cookie lets out a soft groan as you grind up against him, and the hand not wrapped around his waist comes up to tug at his hair. he lets out a needy whine into your mouth as you tug harder, and he shudders as your nails dig into his scalp. hm. "clearly something he's into,,," you think, mentally cataloguing it for later.
Shadow Milk cookie slowly begins rolling his hips down against yours, soaking his dick with your juices. his tip catches your clit and you both whine in tandem, waiting for an excuse for him to just slip in. you roll your hips harder to meet him halfway and he whimpers, breath hitching as he slips inside you. your gummy walls clench around his tip as he slowly pushes in, barely holding back as he registers your discomfort. finally he pushes in all the way to the hilt, and you both shudder.
"hhah, that feels.." you trail off, moaning softly as he begins to roll his hips. his pace is slow at first, but it soon picks up speed as he grows ever more eager. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as your hips collide, his length filling you up and brushing against your g spot so perfectly that your seeing stars. your clit grinds against the base of his abdomen oh-so-nicely as his pace grows faster and faster, the blunt head of his cock practically abusing your walls. you clench around him tightly and he mewls, hips stuttering as he struggles to maintain composure. immediately, you sense a way in, and flip yourselves over, pushing him down against the mattress once again. he squirms, trying to fight for dominance, but you shush him.
"just relax," you murmur, watching his eyes go wide. "let me set the pace, hm? surely the all mighty beast of deceit deserves to be pampered," you coo, and he blinks up at you, eyes almost hazy with arousal. clearly, flattery worked in your favor.
in an instant, you sit back down on his cock, and Shadow Milk throws his head back in a wordless mewl of pleasure. your pace is unrelenting, and you can already feel your second orgasm of the night building up. you snap your hips against his, hands finding his slim waist and marveling in the way his stomach quivers in pleasure with each roll of your hips. Shadow Milk Cookie looks up at you hazily, almost taunting you.
"h-hnghh, surely y-you can go faster than thi-hn!" he mocks, cut off by you grinding down hard against his trembling cock. your pace becomes impossibly faster, watching in real time as he practically melts beneath you, writhing in the sheets. your orgasm is drawing near, and you can tell his is too by the way his thighs begin to shake.
"ffuck, 'm close," you murmur, and the cookie below you nods, too fucked out for words.
"aww, you close too? 'm gonna need words, baby," you tease, and he glares at you. "u-uhmghh, 'm close-" he mumbles, stuttering between moans as his thighs quiver.
"that's it, good boy," you whisper, the praise slipping out automatically. Shadow Milks' eyes widen, and before you can even say anything else, his eyes roll back and he lets out a mewl as his orgasm washes over him. you clench around him tightly, watching as he falls apart. his orgasm brings you over the edge, and you come undone, clenching around his cock and drenching him in your cum. you continue to grind down against him for a few more seconds until he's whimpering, scrabbling at your hips to pull you to a stop. you slowly pull off of him, flinching in overstimulation as his cock slips out, flaccid against his tummy as you collapse beside him. immediately, Shadow Milk curls up beside you, uncharacteristically clingy.
"that was... wow." you trail off, and Shadow Milk Cookie snorts.
"really? is that all you can say?"
"oh, well how would you describe it, oh mighty scholar of description?" you grumble, and he snickers. a comfortable silence fills the room, before you turn towards him to engage in some teasing of your own.
"...so, good boy, huh?" Shadow Milk Cookie glares at you, burying his head in the pillows.
"shut it! if you bring that up again i'll gag you next time," he hisses, and you blink.
"so there is going to be a next time?" you say delightedly, and he groans.
"forget it, forget it!" he turns away from you, and you giggle. you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling his back flush against your chest. Shadow Milk hums softly, and despite your better judgment, you press a soft kiss to the nape of his neck.
"i'd like for there to be a next time," you mumble against his inky hair. "i'd like for there to be many."
and then Shadow Milk explodes because he is emotionally constipated and unable to be vulnerable ever. kabloom !!! in all seriousness tho,,, AAAAA. soo excited this is done and i actually quite like it ! yippee !! i hope its not too ooc,,,, ANYWAYS LMK IF U ENJOYED AND PLSSS SEND IN SOME SHADOW MILK OR PURE VANILLA ASKS 😈 ALSO BLACK SAPPHIRE COOKIE TOO !!!
“That's not stalking!” resents Swerve ”I'm just worried.”
Rewind makes a gesture that looks vaguely apologetic and looks at Tailgate again.
“Watching. He's watching his superhero celebrity crush who's a member of the Wreckers. And so far no one's survived long in the Wreckers, so he's shaking on every notification like a crazy mom.”
Tailgate tries to peer sideways into Swerve's phone
“That sounds stressful. Is that him? Is he dying?”
_____________
Blurr/Swerve, Superhero au, fic under the cut⤵️ Heavily inspired/based on this post
Blurr doesn't think life and death is something he can control.
He's about 99.99999% sure.
The remaining microscopic fraction of that idiotic statistic is held in place by one small but important factor that Blurr can't explain and isn't sure he even wants to explain. It's like the dream logic. The moment you realize exactly how things work is also the moment you wake up to realize it.
The very nuance understanding which destroys all magic or reveals the fact that magic never existed.
That nuance?
Blurr can't die.
And it's certainly not because he's not trying hard enough.
That last one sounds a little radical. But he has a history. His team has a history.
“Wreckers is a pretty peculiar collection of superheroes. It's easy to get into and even easier to get out of (usually feet first and in a bag). No other hero organization loses so many people so often. No other hero organization can also handle the level of threats that the Wreckers eliminate.
Their fans affectionately refer to them as the Suicide Squad. There is...a lot of black humor among the Wreckers fanbase and Blurr doesn't condemn it. Not after having to memorize new names and faces of teammates every six months.
The thing is.
He probably should have been dead a long time ago. A lot. A lot of “that was close” ago.
Just two days after joining the Wreckers, he found himself in the middle of an absolutely monstrous fire and miraculously escaped death by getting away just moments before the entire building collapsed on his head.
Only a week after that, he gets shot. Fifteen times.
And. Look.
Blurr is fast! Being fast is kind of his main thing as a speedster. He did the only logical thing and made an honest effort to dodge, but three of those fifteen bullets still ended up inside him and only miraculously didn't hit anything that couldn't be repaired.
Half a year later, a car falls on him.
Another month - some freaking supervillain decides to infect an entire country with a homemade super lethal virus and guess who becomes the only victim.
At least once a month, various psychopaths try to break his legs.
At least once every half a year he ends up being the one who “heroically saved all the hostages but didn't have time to save himself”.
It's like an endless stream of negative karma.
It's really amazing how such a small piece of civilization like Iacon can contain so many disasters. Even more amazing perhaps is how people manage to survive through all this neat smoothie of misery and violence.
Earthquakes, villains, villains, more villains, terrorists, natural disasters, monsters from outer space, and it all comes out of nowhere and it all takes a hundred percent effort to pack Blurr in a coffin.
Blurr... doesn't know why he's still alive.
He honestly has no idea how he's doing it. He may get into life-and-death situations more often than he does haircuts but every time things come within an inch of killing him. It's impossible luck. Statistically improbable chance. One-in-a-thousand odds. A fucking lightning caught in a bottle, but it happens so often it's like someone somewhere in heaven decided to open a bottled lightning factory and then reward Blurr with the title of their honorary loyal customer.
Blurr doesn't think he has power over life and death.
But here's the thing.
On some particularly violent nights, he wonders that maybe...
---------------
Sometimes Swerve thinks being a dedicated fan should be on the list of “unhealthy” high-paying jobs. One of those where they give you extra cash for the fact that you even bother to show up and then give you insurance and paid vacations.
Okay, that last one might be a bit of an overkill, but it would be nice if he at least had an endless supply of sedatives.
At least some chamomile. Preferably not from the sidewalk. He's not picky.
See, their world decided to change the rules of existence not too long ago and turned such a trivial thing as “trust” into a new in-game currency.
Simply put. If enough people believe something, it becomes true.
What has society chosen to do with that? Of course create an absolutely insane cult of celebrity worship, essentially giving a bunch of already rich and beautiful people superpowers as well.
As if they weren't already living luxuriously enough!
Swerve is not jealous. Certainly not. His first thought when he found out about the new “rules” was definitely not to tell everyone he knows that he won a million dollars and wait for the power of belief to make it true.
He surely wasn't trying to do that. Anyone who claims otherwise is either a liar or their name starts with a T and ends with Gate.
Speaking of.....
Tailgate scratches the back of his head puzzled.
“So you didn't actually win a million dollars?”
They are sitting in a small cafe, the name of which Swerve has honestly forgotten. Or rather he never memorized it, because the local owner of the place prefers to hang huge posters with superheroes right above the name. Swerve is a rather controllable customer.....
Rewind, sitting at the same cheap plastic table as them, hums.
“And here I was trying to figure out if your holey slippers were a cry for help or one of those crazy expensive 'fancy' designs.”
“Ha. ha.” says Swerve slowly and deliberately unhappily “If I get rich one day, I won't tell any of you.”
He slowly takes a sip of some obscure looking substance that Rewind ordered for them all as an experiment and turns to Tailgate.
“Look, it's a pretty fun system. Things that people believe in strongly enough - become real. So if uh, if uh, if we as a whole country believe that our government is honest - that will, in theory, make it honest. Or if a hundred thousand people genuinely believe you can fly, you will be able to fly. That's how it works now.”
Tailgate stares at him. With very large, puzzled eyes.
Swerve tries not to laugh too hard. Poor Tailgate had once gone off to explore the caves and somehow, by some incredible means, managed to get lost and stuck in them for two whole months. Then he crawled out and discovered that magic had appeared in the world while he was gone. Swerve thinks that if he were Tailgate, he'd look very stupid too, trying to realize the absurdity of the situation.
Tailgate is toying with his curled straw.
“So is the government honest now?”
Rewind makes a loud “snrk” noise into his cup.
Swerve chuckles. Not as “funny” haha but more like “we fucked it all up” haha.
It shouldn't be possible to fit all the sense of doom from the world's level of damnation into one expression, but he confidently goes for it.
“GOD NO, did you ever believe that government could be honest?”
“Well...now that's just sad...” decides Tailgate ‘Something good was supposed to come out of this, right?”
Rewind raises a finger victoriously.
“Oh! There are no more incurable diseases! The placebo effect is the new big thing now that a bunch of people have gotten the ability to cure any illness at the snap of their fingers.”
Swerve nods, dangling his drink in his hands.
“There was a guy who claimed he had magic hands that cured everything and gathered a crowd of fanatical admirers around him. So...now his hands are really magic because his followers believe it. Crazy stuff...”
Tailgate puts his elbows on the table, propping his head up with his hands.
“So if I tell everyone I won a million dollars.....”
“I recommend--” Rewind waves his cup “...first make sure you're not wearing holey slippers.”
“Аh”
“That, and you'll need at least about a million people loving and supporting you wholeheartedly if you want this to work.”
“That's...a lot of people,” Tailgate groans.
Swerve shrugs
“That's why all the really cool stuff only goes to celebrities.”
_____
Tailgate cranes his neck curiously.
“Hey Swerve, while you went to place your order your phone started buzzing.”
Swerve falls back into his seat as fast as if he'd just decided the entire floor was lava and starts scrolling through notifications, cursing at spam and useless newsletters.
“When??”
“Just a couple minutes ago” shrugs Tailgate ”Are you expecting someone?”
“I'M...OH NO NO I'M JUST. Shit, wait a minute.”
Rewind leans over to Tailgate and smiles deviously, not even trying to pretend to whisper.
“He's stalking his celebrity crush.”
“That's not stalking!” resents Swerve ”I'm just worried.”
Rewind makes a gesture that looks vaguely apologetic and looks at Tailgate again.
“' Watching. He's watching his superhero celebrity crush who's a member of the Wreckers. And so far no one's survived long in the Wreckers, so he's shaking on every notification like a crazy mom.”
Tailgate tries to peer sideways into Swerve's phone
“That sounds stressful. Is that him? Is he dying?”
Swerve slides down the back of his chair slightly and tilts the phone toward Tailgate
“No, it's not him. He's the one in the blue suit on the left. And no, he's not dying. That bastard is impossible to kill.”
Tailgate lets out an understanding “ooh.”
“Although,” Swerve admits, “ Following him was a lot easier when he was driving cars instead of saving the world.”
He's been a Blurr fan for so long that it can probably be put on his resume already. He remembers watching the Iacon 5000 race with friends with Rewind starting to joke about how they should all bet on someone brand new this year. To fuel the fun, they sat down to pick candidates to bet on based solely on the color of their cars.
Swerve then poked his finger at a random bright blue car and said he'd bet on it because “blue is a fast color.”
Later, his friends would joke more than once that Swerve had the gift of prophecy that day. Because blue wasn't just fast. Oh, God. No. Blue turned out to be the absolute leader, dominating the race track from start to finish.
Swerve remembers vividly the first time he looked at a racer getting out of that car and thought “who the hell is that” and then immediately “how do I find his socials”.
The answer to the second question came quickly. The answer to the first...well. The guy, Blurr, soon turned out to be a faceless celebrity. Shining at numerous races, but never showing his face. Swerve highly doubts it's due to shyness, given...some character traits. (Swerve has a running theory, which is that ...Blurr has no shame. Even as a concept.) Probably just to keep his life anonymous and quiet, he believes.
It's understandable.
He's not judging. But he has to admit that a billion fanarts on what a face under a racing helmet could look like in theory...really...fuels his fantasy.
He's a very normal and sane fan. He tries very hard to be a normal fan and he's doing a great job at it. Maybe except for those moments when Blurr gets into another car accident. Lots of them. Lots and lots of bloody accidents actually and Swerve at first catches a micro heart attack every time he sees the news, but eventually he gets used to it. Blurr is incredibly resilient. And just as rich as well.
Swerve is used to hearing updates about another incident and then seeing Blurr back in the race a couple months later. Just as energetic, carefree, and frankly . Really handsome. As if nothing had happened. As if any danger would just bounce off him without leaving a dent.
It was familiar. It was habitual.
Until, of course, the universe started handing out faith magic to people. Until Blurr walked up to this imaginary box of lottery numbers and pulled out a ball that said “congratulations you're lucky now go and fucking die.”
Blurr is a racer. A damn good racer. Incredibly popular too. Of course his many fans who adore him beyond measure gave him a superpower.
Of course that power was speed.
Of course.
Blue is the color of speed. What else.
As a racer, Blurr is undefeatable.
As a superhero, ..
Swerve still thinks this guy is impossible to kill, but that doesn't mean he doesn't get worried every time he sees the news headlines and live feeds.
“You're alive” Springer states ”Literally how are you still alive?”
Blurr tilts his head because it's the only part of his body he can still move while trapped under ten tons of mangled steel from a Decepticon flying base falling out of the sky.
“Hello to you, too.”
Springer tentatively pulls the nearest sheet of metal and hums in satisfaction when he feels the structure is stable enough.
“Bleeding? Fractures?”
“I think my hair's ruined.”
“No one can even see your hair.”
“Doesn't mean I shouldn't care about it,” snorts Blurr
Springer tosses aside another piece of metal and reaches for his earpiece
“Smoke...? Nah...no really.....REALLY. ....No, you're not going to believe this. ......Aha, digging him out.” he looks away from the earpiece and leans over Blurr ‘Smokescreen wanted me to tell you that he's impressed and,... I quote ’personally saw that damn wagon fall right on your head'. He also wants to know if he needs to shoo away the paparazzi.”
Blurr tries to shrug but remembers in time that it's best not to fidget too much.
“Tell him I'll need a new suit. Let him keep everyone, I'm fine.”
Blurr smiles “My guardian angel is working overtime.”
Swerve takes a deep, nervous exhale, unhooking his fingers from the phone on which he's watching the live feed. Ah shit. Okay. Okay. Alive. Fine.
Rewind looks over his shoulder.
“Looking out for your pookie?”
“HE'S NOT MY
__________
Smokescreen stops right in the middle of an inspired argument with the advertisement agent when his side vision registers a flash of blue to the right of the entirely destroyed street.
“Blurr??”
“Oh, hey!” waves Blurr, “'Sup Smoke?”
The crumbled asphalt beneath his feet crunches softly. Just a few minutes ago, this street was a complete mayhem....
Smokescreen waves the clipboard in his direction
“I thought you had your head ripped off, you suicidal son of a bitch! Do you know how hard it was to calm your hysterical fans down??”
Blurr knows no one can see his face but rolls his eyes anyway. Almost immediately his brain tells him that this was a bad idea, sending a whole bunch of black spots in front of his eyes.
“Hey, you're getting paid for th...ugh...this.”
Blurr doesn't elaborate on the fact that he was sure he was going to be left headless today as well. One of the Overlord's freaking monster minions grabbed him and for a split second Blurr could swear he heard his own neck crunch.
He tries not to think about it.
The more he thinks about it, the less sense it will make.
The more he analyzes, the louder becomes the voice in the far corner of his head saying he should have been dead a long time ago.
A week ago when an entire air base fell on him. Three weeks ago during the battle with Menasor that practically broke his spine. Even earlier, when he was so busy evacuating hospital staff that he ended up being the only one present when that hospital exploded.
He's afraid that if he starts looking into the causes, this magical effect..this life-saving placebo will disappear.
He's convinced it's a placebo. It's the way this world works.
Someone out there must be doing some complex mental magic, keeping him more or less alive and whole and...Blurr is probably going a little crazy. Probably.
Maybe one of those many blows got him harder than he thought. Maybe it's his own self-confidence manifesting miracles of salvation one after another.
(It actually...doesn't sound that unbelievable. Blurr has a lot of belief in himself. Many people would say even too much. The question is whether it counts.)
(He prefers to think it counts.)
__________
Swerve sees red. Lots of it. LOTS of red.
More than he ever wanted to see in his life.
Uh-oh. That's not good.
His vision is blurring. His head buzzes with a nasty sharp static and his left shoulder hurts like a BITCH.
Above him is the flickering, faltering light of the bulb and below him is a growing puddle of his blood. His hair is wet and sticking to his face, making it hard to focus his already shaky gaze.
He makes an attempt to shift, but all it brings him is an explosion of pain.
Ugh.
Sirens are blaring outside, warning the public to evacuate. He's not really sure he can make out exactly what the sound is announcing. He has memorized all kinds of emergency alerts, but the thought escapes him.
What was it
Oh, yeah.
He's been shot.
He's been shot and he's probably going to die because everyone he knows is either too far away or busy evacuating. He vaguely hopes they'll remember about him.
Maybe only after getting to a safe place, but he'll take even that.
The red around him is getting bigger.
He tries to reach for his phone to...where is his phone? Did he leave it in the kitchen? He probably did. Swerve seemed to have no time to grab it when the entire building shook and ugly semi-mechanical monsters fell from the sky.
One of these monsters noticed Swerve just moments later and activated something resembling a cannon mounted in his hands. Swerve then looked at the glowing muzzle and thought that firing this thing would probably send his atoms so far away that his dna would be found on the moon. He could stick his hand down that gun barrel. And his hands are far from the smallest and most delicate hands you can find.
Why did this have to happen on a Saturday? Why not a day later or earlier? If it were any other day, Swerve would be at work right now. In a different place, with other people and probably with a much better chance of not being killed like a loser.
Not sure he wouldn't have been shot, but at least someone would have seen this and picked him up off the floor, put him in their pocket and taken him to the rescue.
Ugh.
He realizes that he closed his eyes at some point and hurriedly opens them. His expertise is by no means professional, but he is almost certain that that weapon wasn't ordinary. He has no idea what it means for him. Maybe he needs stitches, painkillers and a kiss and he'll be good as new. Or maybe it's like one of those films where you get hurt by an unknown creature and then you grab the sink in front of the mirror at midnight and watch the veins under your skin move on their own.
He doesn't feel shot, as silly as that sounds. He feels numb. Falling. Farther and farther away.
He is falling and falling as deep as he's ever fallen in his life. Maybe not as far as "got lost in the woods" far. No, more like " a coin dropped behind the fridge" far. It's not really about the distance but more about the feeling that he's never going to get out of here because no one ever looks in here.
He’s falling until the state of falling starts to register as a resting point, because that's the only variable he still feels. This corner he falls into is very deep and dark and dusty.
He doesn't remember to open his eyes again.
___________
Smokescreen sounds frankly hysterical, yelling at Blurr through his earpiece.
“I understand you like to show off, but you can't outrun a freaking tsunami?!?!”
Blurr only speeds up, “Watch."
“You cocky IDIOT this is suicide!”
“Relax Smoke” laughs Blurr ”You say that every time.”
The half-destroyed bridge shakes and sways like a wounded animal as the water from the overrunning sea crashes into it, gouging into the concrete and bending the metal.
The whole scene is...depressing. Water and debris everywhere and damn. This isn't the first time Blurr is witnessing a large-scale attack by the "forces of evil" as the hero agency likes to call them, but looking at the wrecked cars and scattered debris doesn't get any easier with time. Maybe it just hasn't been long enough. Who knows.
Springer doesn't look like he is bothered by it. But Springer also has a lot more experience being a superhero. With his skill at giving out smiles and encouragement in absolutely any situation, not many can compete.
Blurr certainly can't. In fact. He's got a face with subtitles that turn on in almost any stressful situation. Wearing a mask is probably one of the best things he can do to calm down any random civilians waiting for him to save the day. If they can't see him making panicked grimacing eyes, they'll be feeling much better.
A few more seconds and he's on the collapsing bridge. The people stuck on it look hysterical and bruised, but no one seems injured, so it shouldn't be difficult.
Blurr's plan is simple. Get all the people out of the disaster's path. Then get yourself out. Easy.
Easy?
He can pinpoint the exact moment when something goes wrong.
It's the second that a crooked, hideous-looking monster grabs his leg and pulls him underwater. The second when Blurr fights it with all his might and realizes with sudden horror that his strength isn't enough. That he is. Not enough.
His lungs burn, begging him to take a breath and he doesn't even know which way is the surface because all there is around him is the dark, black, cold pressure of water. It's clinging to him, seeping through his suit, his hair, burning his eyes and making his fingers go numb. It's pulling him somewhere, and he's obeying whether he wants to or not.
His spine prickles with panic.
His personal miracle. His damn magic or guardian angel or cursed luck or whatever the hell it was called. That thing that was always there to catch him like in that game of trust fall. He'd gotten so used to it's presence, he began to take it for granted.
Like the air you trust to be there every time you need to take your next breath.
And right now?
It's not here.
His body takes a convulsive breath and finds nothing but water.
You’d gone out to clear your head, wrapped in a light blanket, and somehow ended up wandering farther than you’d planned. The night was cool and quiet, no crickets, no wind, just the silver shimmer of the moon lighting the path.
And then, without warning, the air shifted, faint sparks in the distance, that familiar hum of magic.
“Malleus,” you said softly.
He appeared just beyond the stone archway, tall and regal even in the soft glow of moonlight, eyes reflecting the sky like twin emerald stars. “Ah,” he said, smiling faintly, “I had wondered who was walking my way this late.”
You laughed. “Do you always appear so dramatically?”
He tilted his head, amused. “Do you always walk into my nights so beautifully?”
You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed anyway. “You’re impossible.”
“Perhaps.” His smile deepened. “But if I am impossible, then you must be improbable, for every time I seek solitude, you somehow find me.”
You wanted to say something witty back, but he gestured toward the grassy hill nearby, where the whole sky unfolded like a painted dome. “Come,” he said gently. “The stars are particularly awake tonight.”
You followed him, sitting side by side on the cool grass. For a while, there was only silence, the kind that feels safe. The stars shimmered endlessly above you, scattered like diamonds.
Malleus’s voice broke the quiet, low and thoughtful. “Faes once believed that the stars were souls, placed in the sky to watch over those below.”
“That’s a lovely thought,” you murmured.
He turned to you, his expression unreadable. “Then, perhaps, there is one up there watching over me.”
You blinked. “You mean…?”
He smiled softly. “You, of course.”
You laughed, embarrassed. “I’m not even up there!”
“Not yet,” he teased. “But if the heavens are wise, they will immortalize you eventually.”
Your heart fluttered at his words. He had a way of making everything sound like a story, and you could never tell when he was serious.
After a moment, you leaned against his shoulder. “You know,” you said quietly, “you don’t have to talk about the stars. You could just… look at them with me.”
He went still, just for a moment, then relaxed, the faintest hum escaping his chest. “Very well,” he murmured.
You sat together in silence, the world small and infinite all at once. His shoulder was warm beneath your cheek, and the tips of his fingers brushed the back of your hand, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed.
So you took his hand first.
Malleus inhaled softly, surprised, then intertwined his fingers with yours, his thumb tracing slow, curious circles.
“Strange,” he whispered. “For all my years of watching the stars, I think this may be the first night I’ve felt truly close to them.”
You smiled. “Because they’re bright?”
He shook his head slightly. “Because you’re here.”
Your heart gave a ridiculous, fluttering leap. “That’s unfair, Malleus.”
He turned, eyes glowing faintly. “Then let the stars judge me.”
You laughed, tilting your head up at him. “They’d probably forgive you.”
“Good,” he said softly. “Because I think I’d like to keep you right here beneath them, beside me a little longer.”
And as the night stretched on, you swore the stars above flickered just a little brighter, as if they, too, approved of the way his hand stayed in yours until dawn began to whisper on the edge of the sky.
You shifted slightly to look at him. “Do you ever get tired of guarding everything? Of being the one who always protects others?”
He regarded you quietly, the question softening his expression. “There are burdens that come with power,” he admitted, “but there are joys as well.”
His gaze lingered on you then, tender and unguarded. “For instance… meeting someone who makes eternity feel too short.”
Your breath caught. “Malleus…”
He turned toward you fully, his hand rising to cup your cheek. The touch was warm, the faint crackle of his magic tingling against your skin like static and starlight. “You are precious to me,” he said, voice low. “And I will not allow harm to find you, not while I draw breath.”
You smiled softly, your fingers curling around his wrist. “You always say things that sound like they belong in storybooks.”
He tilted his head, his lips curving faintly. “Then let us write one.”
You blinked. “Write one?”
“A story,” he murmured, leaning closer, “that ends not with the stars above, but with the ones we make ourselves.”
His words faded into the quiet space between you. The air was cool, scented with grass and night blossoms, and the glow from the moon traced every line of his face, his gentle smile, the sweep of his lashes, the hint of awe in his eyes.
Then, slowly, he kissed you.
It wasn’t rushed or fierce just steady, careful, reverent. His lips brushed yours as if he were memorizing the feeling, as if this moment might never come again. You could feel the faint hum of his magic ripple through him, light and warmth gathering around you like a protective spell woven into the air itself.
When he drew back, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice a whisper that trembled with sincerity.
“I swear upon the stars themselves, I will always protect you.”
You smiled, your heart racing, your hand still entwined with his.
“I know,” you whispered back. “And I’ll always wait for you right here under our stars.”
The sky stretched endlessly above you, but in that moment, the whole universe felt small, contained in his arms, his promise, and the quiet kiss that sealed it.
