#I have a type and it’s REALLY concerning

[comatosebunny09]

carpe noctem [ rising action ] | sylus

— summary: you’ve convinced yourself that this is normal. routine. that you’re used to this, sitting like a fly on the wall while their relationship blossoms like a flower turned towards the sun before you. so why does it still hurt? — cw: reader is not mc, reader implied to be femme, assassin!reader, unrequited feelings, mentions of blood & injuries, jealousy, profanity, sexual content, fade-to-black, self-destructive behavior, somewhat of a slow burn, mdni — notes: thank you so much for reading! [ part 1 | part 2 ] — now playing: bmf - sza

Breakfast is uncharacteristically quiet. 

At least, for the three of you, it is. The silence makes way for the lazy swish of cars on the road, the clatter of cutlery against plates, and the idle chatter of the cafe’s other patrons. 

It’s balmy outside. The type of weather that pastes your blouse to your skin and creates a fine film of sweat on the back of your neck. The kind that welcomes mosquitos and makes showering beforehand pointless. And it’s so obnoxiously bright out, nary a cloud in the sky. But you figure you're being unreasonably antsy because you’re hungover and still a little tired. 

Despite the climate, your ragtag team is seated beneath a cafe’s awning, scarfing down food to battle the effects of your collective hangovers before jetting back to Linkon.

Typically, Ms. Hunter would be on about something, filling the space with her animated talk, with you and Sylus occasionally chiming in to tease her or exchange covert words concerning upcoming missions. But she’s still a little worse for wear, with dark lenses perched on her nose and a wrinkle between her brows as she pushes food around her plate.

You snort around a mouthful of eggs at her plight, tucking your amusement behind your hand. Decide to incite a little mischief to distract yourself from the weather and the creeping feeling of unease brewing in your gut. 

“Someone had a rough night,” you tease, reaching for your orange juice.

She glowers at you. Sticks out her tongue, flipping you the bird. You snort into your drink, nearly sending pulp flying every which way.

“Not my fault you have the tolerance of a three-year-old.”

Your eyes crease at the corners whilst you watch her work up to a retort, mouth hanging open like a fish out of water. But before she can get a word out—

“Ladies,” Sylus interjects like a distant clap of thunder pushing across a dark horizon. He’s seated between you at the round, iron-wrought table, arms crossed over a broad chest. Sunglasses shroud scarlet intentions, but you don’t miss the twitch of a silver brow nor the humor meddling with his voice. “Play nice.” 

There’s finality there. He speaks to you like a referee. Like a father who’s caught his children roughhousing, and you both shrink beneath his mock disappointment. 

“Besides,” Sylus continues, casting his amused gaze on you. “You weren’t in the best of shape yourself last night. Are you really in any position to talk?” 

A hot rush of mortification wades over you. You're unsure of its source, whether at your memories of last night or how quickly he came to her defense. 

And so what if you stumbled a bit down the hall, searching for your room? 

You didn’t think he noticed after your exchange. Figured he retreated into his room, or worse—slipped across the hall to keep his hunter friend company into the wee hours of the morning while you tossed and turned, driven to hell by thoughts of them doing everything besides sleeping. 

The recollection makes you bristle, and you turn a scowl down to your food. Grumbling, you plop a slice of toast onto the hunter’s plate. She glances at you, confusion pulling her lips down. 

“Eat,” you order. “Feed a hangover, starve a cold.”

“I don’t think that’s how that goes,” she counters, a pout evident in her voice. But she doesn’t protest, sitting up in her seat to nibble on your peace offering.

You resist an impulse to pat her head, your ire sloughing off, traded for something like fondness. You want to ruffle locks of silken ebony because she’s effortlessly adorable, pulling at those little heartstrings you’d worked so hard to conceal. 

Sylus beats you to the punch, leaning forward to mold long fingers around the round of her head. The world slows, casting a special spotlight on the pair of them. 

You ignore how your chest tightens at the scene. At the affectionate little tug of his lips as Ms. Hunter cants her face towards him, cheeks full and expression doe-like. You try to pretend like it doesn’t make you sick with resentment. Once upon a time, he used to look at you like that. 

Fuck. 

What are you thinking? He is your boss, and she is your charge—your friend. There’s no reason to feel like this, especially considering you practically shoved Sylus into her arms, reasoning you never stood a chance in hell with him. 

You snap back to the present, and suddenly, breakfast isn’t so appetizing. You push around your cold eggs as Sylus and Ms. Hunter slide into easy conversation. You feel like a husk of yourself amid them. Like you’re impeding on something intimate, and your stomach lurches when they draw you into their chat every so often as if pitying you.

You’ve convinced yourself that this is normal. Routine. That you’re used to this, sitting like a fly on the wall while their relationship blossoms like a flower turned towards the sun. And yet, you’ve never been more eager to return to the N109 Zone. To leave these green-eyed thoughts on this island and get back to your distracting life, luring terrible people to their demise and wiping the scourge of man off the face of the planet. 

You suddenly straighten, clearing the phlegm from your throat. Your silverware clatters against your plate as you shove it away, eyes regretfully shifting between them.

“So, what time do we leave?” There’s a whisper of exasperation in your tone, but you quickly conceal it with that playful arrogance you’re known for. 

Sylus and the hunter trade looks of confusion and humor, blind to the turmoil of your mind slowly creeping through the folds and staining your pride like ink spilled into water.

“Eager to get back to work, aren’t you?”

You scoff, taking up your fork, clueless to scarlet eyes studying the crown of your head, narrowing at the apprehensive slope of your voice. “You have no idea.”

—

It’s a pleasure to dance. Of course, it always is. It’s one of the few times you feel desired. Wanted. Useful when your hands aren’t speckled with blood and your knuckles aren’t purpling from bashing someone’s face in for taunting The Devil. 

Dancing is a versatile skill you’ve acquired with time and practice. It's one of the few pleasures you’ve drawn from this fickle life. One of the few things you kept from a past veiled in darkness, the rest tucked away in the hulls of your psyche.  

All eyes are on you. Gazes burning with assorted degrees of desire, envy, and awe beneath the tawny glow of the stage lights. The attention makes you warm and tingly, and your lips salaciously curve as you move your body in time with the music, casting an inadvertent spell on all who dare to watch. 

You’re the center of attention without trying to be and without the influence of your Evol. Of course, you usually are. He’s even told you so. Customers often flock to Sylus’ nightclubs to see you dance, hoping to one day have your affections. 

Or to fuck you. 

You rarely entertain these people. Not unless you have to. Not unless Sylus sicks you on them to further his goals or take down his competition. You’re ever the faithful lapdog, tuned to your boss’ every command, and it makes you sick with how loyal you are to him sometimes. A part of you feels you owe him for this life you lead. He’d snatched you from an impenetrable darkness. Renewed your sense of purpose and redirected your desire for revenge. 

For now, you have this. The recognition of others despite how misplaced it is. They want you for your body, for the promise of what your facade offers. Deep down, you crave something more, something real. But you tamp down those feelings as you bite your lip, putting on a good show, hands smoothing over the surge of your hips. And you’re spurred by the whoops and whistles and shouts of your name as the lights dim, signaling the conclusion of your performance.

Your chest heaves with the effort of breathing, and your cheeks ache with a smile as you pose. The crowd's cheers dampen the violent thrum of your heartbeat—chase away the cacophony of your mind, adrenaline spuming through you like an erupting geyser. 

You look over your shoulder towards the ceiling, catching scarlet-spun eyes from the upper floor’s rail, and your grin twitches the slightest bit. It’s a rush, having the attention of strangers. Having their desire, their yearning. But his attention is much more addicting like Nicotine furling between your teeth. For a moment, you feel seen. Like you’re the center of his universe, and not the pretty, bright-eyed damsel with enough room in her heart to house the galaxy.

Something flashes in his eyes, and the world fades. You mistake it for tenderness. Just wishful thinking. He would never choose you. He’s had four years to make you his. 

Why would he suddenly choose to acknowledge you now?

—

Once the adrenaline ebbs and clubbers flood the dance floor, you’re nestled behind the crowd, leaning against the sticky countertop of the bar, clutching a glass of something acrid and glacial between your fingers—something to take the edge off. To mute the insistent pulse of your nerves.

The music thumps beneath your feet, accompanied by the sparkling chatter of the club’s other clients. Yet you still hear him amid the chaos—the familiar curl of a voice around the vowels of your name. You fix him with an amused, sultry look beneath Lux’s customary red hue. 

“When are you gonna let me take you out on a date?” he asks, worn knuckles easing down the slope of your arm. You track his audacity with your eyes, jerking away from his unwarranted attention, ignoring the goosebumps igniting across your skin.

This, too, is routine—one of Lux’s regulars throwing himself at your feet, begging for an opportunity to court you.  He’s been on like this for months, entertaining your game of cat and mouse. Maybe you’ve given him a false sense of hope because he’s yet to let up. In fact, he’s grown bolder with his advances lately, often popping up when you least expect him, vying for your heart.

It’s endearing, really, having someone who genuinely wants you. Or maybe he doesn’t, but you convince yourself otherwise. Play a sick little game with yourself, fooling yourself into thinking that maybe there’s more to you than your reputation builds you up to be.

You turn towards him, crossing your legs, the leather barstool sticky beneath your thighs. You lean into your knuckles, studying dark brows, whiskey-infused eyes, and full lips. You end your excursion at the thick of his throat, excitement prickling like static in your chest. He’s easy on the eyes, tone velvet smooth. Had you not been a femme fatale, you might’ve given him the time of day.

But for now—

“You couldn’t handle me,” you counter, reveling in how the smugness melts from his face.

He chuckles at your cheekiness, sweeping the tails of his blazer back and stuffing his hands into his pockets. Squares his shoulders, standing akimbo like he’s preparing for a fight, though he might as well be, stepping to you like this.

“Still holding out for that old man, I see.”

It is your turn to wear a wavering smile. Your turn to look silly, the proverbial knife driven into your stomach and twisted. 

You scoff with a sneer, dumping the last vestiges of your drink down your throat. You tear yourself from your seat, reaching past the gentleman to snatch your coat from the counter, pinning him with a haughty look. 

“I’m not holding out for anyone, fucker. And even if I were, it wouldn't be your slow ass.”

With a huff, you brush past him, wending through the crowd gathered on the dance floor to retreat into your dressing room. 

You try vainly to contain a scowl, knowing you’ve been read like the deckled pages of a book deep down. 

Maybe you refuse to move on because you feel like you’d betray Sylus if you did. How, exactly, you’re unsure. He’s had no problem betraying you, quietly shoving you out of the picture in favor of someone who’s hardly seen him bleed. 

—

“Do you like anybody?” Ms. Hunter asks above the steady purr of the SUV’s engine.

Her question nearly floors you. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens slightly, and you almost choke on your spittle. 

You’re stuck in traffic together. 

Knowing the holidays loomed around the bend, someone decided it would be an ideal day to go to the mall. Of course, you weren’t the only people out on the road. 

So naturally, she’s bored, unused to the silence stretching between you. The low croon of the music spilling from the speakers does nothing to ease the tension.

You glance at her, and she’s wearing a Cheshire Cat-like grin, studying you from the passenger seat. You swallow thickly, adjusting your shades on your face, staring at the cars sluggishly easing up beyond the windshield. “I don’t like very many people.”

An exasperated sigh later.

“C’mon! There’s gotta be someone you like. Ya’ know.” She pitches herself closer, her mischievous grin curling in your periphery, and she pokes your side with a pointed finger to get a rise out of you. 

“Someone that gets your heart racing. Someone who makes your face all hot. Makes butterflies swarm in your tummy.” 

You know exactly where this is going. Had you not valued your friendship—or whatever you call this complicated mashup between you—you would reveal the inner workings of your mind. But how insane would you sound, telling the hunter the person who gets your blood racing is the very same man she has tucked in her back pocket?

So, you deflect. With a sardonic smirk, you jest, “You get my heart racing when you fuck up our meetings.”

You squint and flinch away with a laugh in your throat as she swats you, whining at your cruelty. 

“You suck,” pouts Ms. Hunter, falling back into her seat with crossed arms. “Bet it’s that guy who always stalks you at Lux.”

You side-eye her in the rearview, placatingly patting her head. “I like you, stupid. Isn’t that good enough?”

Maybe one day. 

One day, you’ll have the intestinal fortitude to tell her the truth—to tell them both the truth. How you’re falling apart at the stitching, the world you know falling away from beneath your feet.

—

You’re not as strong as you let on. You’re human beneath that flirtatious exterior—still a woman with wants and needs, not immune to the temptations of the flesh. Which is why you find yourself at his doorstep, a glacial, errant breeze ruffling the tails of your coat as the silvery moon haloes your silhouette.

He leans against the doorframe, brown eyes simmering with intrigue as he takes you in. Dark hair sweeps over raised brows. “What made you change your mind?”

You shrug, hands stuffed in your pockets, a quirk to your lips. “Maybe I just need a friend.”

He chuckles low, arms crossed. “A friend, huh?” 

“Yeah.”

There’s no mistaking the pitch of your voice. The air charges with something amorous as he ushers you into his apartment. You brush past him, tamping down your dignity as you disappear into the warm sanctity of his home, his hand reassuring at the small of your back.

Had you taken the time to survey your surroundings, you would’ve noticed a set of beady, crimson eyes peering through the inky night, watching you from their perch atop a powerline.

And had you further investigated, you would’ve heard the familiar whirr of machinery as the iridescent outline of sleek feathers recorded your every move.

[shabbytigers]

literally not trying to fight here, to be clear.

i don’t use siri or alexa or voice controlled remotes either but that’s mostly because i intensely dislike doing anything via voice. i don’t listen to podcasts, avoid videos where a text alternative exists. idk about robovacuums, are those voice controlled too? but in any case i never really saw the point of those one way or another. i am however considering using claude (at some point when i get it together to formulate a question and figure out how prompts work); you can have conversations with claude via typing, and its sophistication is starting to be interesting to me in a way earlier robots like siri haven’t been. i don’t have some deep fundamental rage or fear about robots. idk.

the real-feeling-to-me fears around data are two things

1. classic identity theft, credit card spoofing or whatever. at this point that feels a lot like major weather events: basic weatherproofing makes sense but i’m not structuring my day to day life around precautions. worst case, there’s a situation and i deal with it. i’ve had two incidents in this last year plus, they didn’t actually get any of my money, there were some unpleasant nuisance phone calls etc but worse things happen in war.

i don’t think that google or facebook or apple or even x is running a literal identity theft mob at scale. so for me this doesn’t connect directly to the question of turning off the ai setting on the iphone photos app y/n. the issue is, will they have a data leak that allows a third party mob to do the thing. but at that point we’re back to ambient systemic risk: yeah, weather events are gonna happen, somewhere

2. hostile government surveillance, as @thatiswhy pointed out, is the other concern.

not sure how much to worry about this irl. if i were trans in texas or florida, lots. in new york or berlin … meh, but with one twitchy eye open? normal [sic] governments, not in the throes of full-blown theocratic fascism, have neither the inclination nor the capacity for this shit. given the state of the u.s. it may become a federal level risk imminently, but granular surveillance at scale in a country of 330 million people is a lot and state capacity has been, is, and will continue to be in the toilet. overcoming the sludge in the way of getting anything done isn’t just a question of tech. it will require extraordinarily motivated, focused, willful villainy and a paucity or dereliction of opposition.

once more, however, i have a lot of just very fundamental difficulty causally connecting the toggle on my photos app to the state coming after me to deliberately and malevolently fuck me up. are there plausible scenarios where the state would actually do that? unfortunately yes. will my photo app toggle make any difference? they don’t need my data in particular, they need tons and tons of aggregate data. clearly they’re going to get tons and tons of aggregate data. furthermore, they’re going to get my data. because there are obviously uncountable other things on a well functioning current-day smartphone and in any ordinary human being’s digital life just generally that can be mined in this manner.

again, we’re now talking about something highly pervasive, systematic and infrastructural. the risk is baked into the system. like, i am not going to kill my online presence everywhere, go full black bloc, take myself right tf off the digital grid, due to this vast nebulous inchoate concern. that would be like spending every hour of every day weatherproofing, never going outside, etc, etc. i’m sure it’s worth it to a person with a highly specific and confirmed reason to worry. i do not think it makes sense for everyone or should be recommended on general principles.

also … see, i actually really like the internet? i don’t think phones or social media are a society-destroying plague? i don’t think it’s terrible or unhealthy or whatever to spend a lot of time on the phone, assuming you do also have other shit going on, etc? i feel like there are pervasive and rising anti-phone attitudes that foster a preexisting inclination to point to the phone as the fons et origo of all evil futures, and it’s maybe coloring risk assessment around this. it’s got that dubious-public-health virtue-and-moral panic feel

also also, it’s all a bit beyond my pay grade, but if you’re looking for something to worry about wrt AI, i gather there’s more interesting/concerning issues available than the question of immediate-term data mining inputs and use cases. vaguely offensive, nuisancey shit like this is just the scurf of capitalism, don’t let it get you down, save some reserves for like real problems imho

Oh _lovely_. Everyone go turn this off:

Enhanced Visual Search in Photos allows you to search for photos using landmarks or points of interest. Your device privately matches places in your photos to a global index Apple maintains on our servers. We apply homomorphic encryption and differential privacy, and use an OHTTP relay that hides [your] IP address. This prevents Apple from learning about the information in your photos. You can turn off Enhanced Visual Search at any time on your iOS or iPadOS device by going to Settings > Apps > Photos. On Mac, open Photos and go to Settings > General.

[morlock-holmes]

So, people explaining that AI isn't "real art" bother me, not so much because of the answer they reach but because most of the people saying it isn't seem to romanticize not just commercial art production, but also bizarrely to romanticize AI as well, in ways that bother me for subtle reasons I want to try to articulate.

So, first of all, I personally don't think fine art will be changed much by AI.

"What if the artist isn't directly producing the art but instead letting some process create it?"

Convergence by Jackson Pollock, 1952

"What if the so called "artist" is merely rearranging and recontextualizing something that already exists?"

"What if the artist outsources a tremendous amount of work?"

Cambell's Soup Can, Andy Warhol, 1968

The fine art world already confronted these questions and answered between 1912 and, what, 1980 at the latest maybe?

My point here is not to assert the artistic worth of these paintings but to assert their undeniable importance to 20th century art history.

Nobody paying thousands of dollars for a traditional painting on canvas is going to buy an AI version because it's cheaper; such people are already paying a premium for artistic technique and cultivated human talent.

Or, alternatively, I have absolutely no doubt that people would pay a lot for an AI project with, I don't know, Banksy's name on it, even if it was made with freely available, open source tools, because in other cases people are paying for, essentially, a name.

The fine art community already confronted the questions raised by AI art and we're already on the other side of that confrontation. Statistically, the large battles being waged over these issues already finished before you were born.

The actually (potentially) endangered part of the art world is the commercial art world.

Not fine art, but art produced as part of an essentially commercial process in large part under the direction of other people. Fan Art, scripts for films, stock footage, key art used for commercial campaigns, pulp fiction cover illustrations, etc.

And, first of all, the reason that you can be so romantically attached to low-brow, heavily commercial art in the way that you are without feeling utterly absurd about it is Marcel Duchamp's Fountain and the works of Andy Warhol, so maybe have a bit more respect for them and their place in history if you are going to romanticize commercial art production.

Second, because it is those things that are threatened, defenses of human art against AI tend to have this kind of implicit view that the things which characterize commercial pop art are the most important characteristics of art. There is something about this that kind of bothers me for reasons I have trouble bringing up.

Okay, like, one I just watched a YouTube video where the creator said, more or less, "Can you imagine a world where people are so alienated from the production of art that instead of learning to produce it themselves, they type 'woman painting a picture' into a box on a computer and something just pops out?"

The video background was stock footage of a woman painting.

You have this really obnoxious trend of people who make monetized YouTube videos out of other people's copyrighted clips (Claiming "Fair use") talking about how awful it is for AI to "steal" other people's works, and people who fill their videos with stock footage and library tracks talking about how crazy it is that anybody would want to outsource this stuff instead of learning to do it themselves.

But also, beneath that, there is a kind of picture of "What's important about art" that is being built purely out of commercial concerns but masquerading as belief in something higher, and that really bugs me. Stock footage is elevated to the highest of human endeavors purely because it is commercially threatened by AI production.

[awrkive]

For the milestone bash

No. 23 from the smut list with any of your jks please and thankyou ☺️

23. "I saw on your Amazon wishlist you wanted a dildo. You know I got a dick, right?"

note: last drabble im posting for awhile and also the reqs are closed!! thank u sm for participating in the follower milestone game and im sorry if i wasnt able to write the req that you sent in 😔! dw im still going to go over them once in a while, one of these days.

wc: 1.3k

warning/s: p in v s*x, himbo!jk (hes so stupid i have a crush on him)

Jungkook can be infuriating sometimes. Your friends assume that the reason you dislike him is because he’s a big himbo who can’t even say the word misogyny right and has a GPA lower than a minor earthquake magnitude, but you find that’s the least of your concern when the man has a problem with privacy. 

He doesn’t know it. He absolutely has no concept of it and you thought – upon the first month of being roommates with him – that he’s just the typical fratboy who likes flaunting his body to any audience because he knows he looks good, but he genuinely just doesn’t like hanging around with clothes on and would always forget that you exist and he can’t just parade around with nothing but his tight boxers on during the weekends. 

Jungkook’s the type to not lock his bedroom. He’s the type to not knock when entering the bathroom, the type to not shy away when he sees your underwear in the laundry room. He doesn’t have shame – and it’s exactly why he sticks his nose into your phone charging at the outlet by the island counter with the Amazon app opened while you go and take out the trash real quick. 

In his defense, he didn’t mean to. He just walked past it when he was making his toast – but a very neon picture on your lit up screen caught his attention and when he squinted his eyes, he almost couldn’t believe it. 

A dildo. There’s a pink dildo in your Amazon wishlist, sandwiched by a list of otherwise beige-colored stationery items that included a lot of… notebooks.

And you definitely could not miss it. Not when it’s neon! And not when… what? Eight inches? 

Jungkook scoffs.

That's exactly his size! 

He couldn’t believe his eyes. You… a dildo in your Amazon wishlist? Hah. Jungkook didn’t expect that. He’s always seen you as this… prude, somewhat innocent librarian. And you are actually a part-time librarian at school. And you kind of act sort of prude-ish, and there’s nothing wrong with it – not really, Jungkook thinks. You’re still hot and sexy to him – although, he tries to not think of you that way because you’re really nice to him even though he knows he can be a bit too much sometimes and he knows he isn’t exactly the type of person you keep in your circle.

He kept a rowdy set of friends (except Yoongi) while you go out with your intellectual friend group who are all members of an intelligent club at uni. You know, debate club, the school paper, maths and sciences… Jungkook’s just shocked you even entertain him because boy, do your friends kind of hate him. 

Anyway. The dildo. Oh wow. This definitely changes things – but Jungkook doesn’t know what exactly. He never thought about whether you’re still a virgin or not, but finding out about the dildo in your Amazon wishlist is definitely making him think things.

Can you even handle the eight inches anyway? You’re kind of small. The girls he’s been with had always commented on how big he is but he’s very efficient with it and he knows well enough to make the girl cum twice before putting it in so the stretch doesn’t hurt. Would you use lube if you used that plastic dick? You must, you should… but like, Jungkook is also really good at cunnilingus because no one loves pussy as much as him so maybe, you’d need someone’s help to prep you and—

“Jungkook?” 

Jungkook feels every hair on his body standing up when he hears your voice behind him. In quick succession, he manages to make it seem like he’s checking out the chip on the edge of the counter instead of your phone. 

“Hey!” he greets you with a smile. 

His heart skips a beat when your eyebrows furrow, eyes landing from his face to your phone. None of you say anything until you walk further into the kitchen. Then, you grab your phone and turn it off. 

“I’ll head out in fifteen minutes. I’m sleeping over at Yena’s for a group study. Can you lock the door later?” You ask him. 

It’s weird because it isn’t the first time you went around in a tank top and a pair of short shorts inside the apartment, but right now all Jungkook can think of is how tight your shorts are. And also how smooth your skin is – and how nice your chest looks.

“Jungkook?” You call again, and Jungkook snaps out of his trance. 

“Uh… yeah, sure.” 

“Okay. Thank you.” 

It’s the last thing you said before you take out your charger and go straight to your bedroom. 

Jungkook stands there in the kitchen wide-eyed, a bit stunned at the turn of events. 

———

You knew Jungkook saw that. And you ranted about it to Yena – how embarrassed you were for having him see the damn dildo in your wishlist. You weren’t embarrassed about wishlisting a dildo – you’re just embarrassed that Jungkook has seen it out of all people. 

Ever since that day, you’ve been trying to avoid him. Not that it’s hard because your schedules don’t align most of the time but Sundays are always free and you have no choice but to face him over dinners. 

What you’ve noticed, though, is that… Jungkook is being a little different, too. He usually has that suave, easy-going vibe to him, and it’s fine if his approach to other people has changed as well but you realized it’s only you he’s being weird to. 

So you decide to confront him. 

And it ends up this way. 

“Oh my god–” You gasp audibly when Jungkook inserts the first inch of his cock in your pussy, mouth agape as you stare into his eyes while he continues to get in deeper. 

“Jesus fuck.” Jungkook moans, tightening his hold around your waist. “Tightest pussy I’ve– ah, shit, stop clenching, pretty.” 

You look absolutely delicious with your mouth hanging open, pleasure written all over your face. Jungkook would lie if he says that he hasn’t thought about how you’d look like during sex – especially over the past few weeks but for some reason, the universe has pull its strings for you two to end up this way and the Academy really ought to give him an award for not nutting just right after putting his dick in you because phew, you’re more than what he imagined. 

“Oh, that– that feels good,” you pant, hands reaching out for his biceps. “Harder, Jungkook.” 

And he does go harder, pulling out for a moment and slamming right back into your tight pussy which welcomes and grips him like a vice he swears he’s popping veins over how much he has to constraint himself from going crazy. 

But maybe he’s giving himself too much credit because one second you’re moaning and it sounds like music to his ears but then the next he’s saying something stupid like, “I–shiiit– I saw on your Amazon wishlist you wanted a dildo. You know I got a dick, right?” 

Jungkook’s got to stop running his mouth. Namjoon tells him he’s way too chattery sometimes and he’s right but he can’t help that he has a lot of thoughts in his head! So what if he thinks that he can outdo a dildo in any way? From the looks of your face right now, it seems like he can!

But you have a deadpan look on your face, a contrast to how you looked just seconds ago.

He’s prepared himself for something that would ruin this moment, but you only stare at him and say, “Yeah. So put it to good use and shut up.” 

Jungkook thinks he’d cum in the next ten seconds. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He grunts as he slides in and out, picking up his pace, sweat forming in his temples. He greedily lets his hand wander over your breasts and squeeze one, making you moan.

“Good.” 

You don’t know where you began and ended, all you know now is that as much as Jungkook can be infuriating sometimes, at least he can make you cum. 

And oh, he was definitely way better than the dildo Amazon had just dropped into your door three days ago. 

[totalswag]

Hey girl so I was wanting more dad drew and I was wondering if you could do something like where Tatum is like a teenager and her personality is a lot like her moms which causes them to buttheads sometimes, and in one argument Tatum says some hurtful thing to her mom making her mom cry so drew had to have a talk with her. You can add Leo to idk I was just kinda thinking but besides the point I love your work and I think your amazing keep up the great work girl love ya

teen tension ⎯ DREW STARKEY

authors note stop i miss writing dad!drew, one of my favorites. tatum as a teenager is a mixture of both parents. thank you so much for the kind words it really means a lot. happy new year everyone, i hope you all had a fun and safe night <3

taglist ⤕ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set to go.

masterlist

summary tatum, your oldest, says a few hurtful words to you that make you cry. drew has a conversation with tatum about what she did to you.

warning(s) arguments, crying, child + parent arguing.

Tatum is very much like you when you were a teenager. Moments during the week where you two buttheads about certain things that are typical for a mom and daughters to "argue" about.

However, tonight took a turn for the worse. Everyone was sitting at the dinner table finishing up dinner. It had been a long day at work for Drew and you been home cleaning the house.

Leo was talking about how his day went—recently, Leo, has gotten into basketball and wanted to try out for the school. Drew and you were excited to hear the news and encouraged Leo to try out.

"Tatum, could you kindly get off your phone? "Your brother is talking," you say aloud, attracting her attention as you point to Leo, who has stopped talking.

Tatum rolls her eyes and sets her phone on the table beside her dish. "You can put it on the counter please."

"Why can't I leave it next to me?" She gives you an attitude, "We are sitting at the dinner table eating, and none of us have our phones next to us," your tone remains casual but firm.

"Leo can still talk and I won't be on my phone" crossing her arms over her chest, not bothering to move her phone from the table.

Before Tatum can finish speaking, Drew cuts her off with a clear and serious voice and says, "Tatum, watch your tone and listen to your mom." 

Tatum groans loudly, pushes her chair out, picks up her phone, walks to the kitchen, and puts it down after rolling her eyes in frustration.

"There look you happy mom?" Tatum mumbles "so dumb" under her breath as she emphasizes with her palms raised.

You hear her say, "It's not stupid, Tatum." We've had this regulation in place for a very long time, so I don't see why everyone is acting this way—" Tatum slams her hand on the table and interrupts you in the middle of your statement. 

"Please, Mom, just shut up already. I'm tired of you being irritating these past few days—" "Tatum Ann Starkey you will not speak to your mom like that, ever!" Drew abruptly interrupts her, throwing his fist on the table, causing everyone to jump. He gestures for her to "go up to your room now," and Tatum gives him a terrified face.

The corners of your eyes well up with tears. Leo comes running to you and gives you utter comfort. You are wondering why Tatum has suddenly started acting this way.

Leo hugs you close to him and says in your ear, "You are the best mom ever, mom. You did nothing wrong."

"Thank you baby."

"Leo, while I comfort your mother, could you please return the little condiments to their proper places? "Thank you, buddy," Drew says to Leo, who nods and follows instructions.

"Are you okay baby?" Drew asks, crouching down and placing both hands on your knees, looking at you with concern. 

"I'm fine, just confused as to why she's acting this way towards me," you say gently, sniffling.

Drew and you begin discussing what has just occurred. Drew was not pleased with Tatum's actions toward you, her mother. You do so lot for this family, and Tatum does not need to vent her frustration on you.

Drew soothed you in every manner conceivable, making you feel more at peace about yourself—he's the best thing that has ever happened to you. The sound of his words made you relax, and tears streamed down your cheeks.

"I'm gonna have a talk with her upstairs," he pauses, "I love you."

You give him a soft smile, pulling the front strained away from your face—leaning forward in your chair, thinking what just happened. So many thoughts running through your head.

Drew knocked on Tatum's bedroom door, and you knew he was going to give her a big lecture on how to communicate with your parents. You've discussed this with both of your children numerous times.

Leo walks into the living room with a bowl of ice cream for himself and you—he's always been a momma's boy. Leo brings you the bowl and takes a seat next to you on the couch. "Thank you, Leo," you say, throwing your free arm around him and drawing him into a side embrace. 

"Of course mom, I love you."

After five minutes, Tatum and Drew come downstairs. Drew muttered something to Tatum before elbowing her toward you. Leo moves from the couch to wherever Drew is in the home.

As she settles on the couch beside you, Tatum sighs—crisscross apple sauce. "Mom I'm sorry for the way I spoke to you at the dinner table," she says after a little pause. "I shouldn't spoken to you like that."

You take in Tatum's words, "I forgive you, Tatum. What you said to me really hurt," Tatum lets a tear fall from her cheek, "be cautious with your words, darling, I love you," taking her in for a loving, lengthy hug.

You and Tatum unwind in each other's arms while letting the tears flow. Tatum reiterated the same words to you: "I love you, mom, and I apologize." Regardless of how you argue, you will always adore your children.

⎯⎯ my taglist!

✰ if you would like to be added to my taglist and be notified whenever i post please let me know in the comments or in my ask box. if there's a line across your name that means i couldn't find your account

@chenslucy @whorelaud @drewsephrry @runningfrom2am @diqldrunks @rosezza @rafeyslamb @mymultiveres @starkeyvhs @percysley @francislovergirl @kiiyomei @sukuna-wafiu @skyslowalking @kneelarmhstrung @inthelibrarybtw @liliumz @lovingsturniolo @yanna2coolz @stevesxwhore @skywalker0809 @minyoon23 @bxmaaa @anamiad00msday @ifwfratboychris @stir-knee-o-low @ratgirlcunt @drewstxrky @claudiamoscatoo

[freezebobs]

DBFZ Yamcha and Ten cookies...done!!!

Soo I've been on a mission to recreate the Yamcha and Ten cookies from dragon ball fighterz because they're adorable...and they're finally real!! :'D process and info below! (kind of long lol)

I saw someone share these screencaps from the game a while ago and as someone who never played DBFZ I was so charmed at how cute these things are. I wondered if anyone had ever made cookie cutters for them, did a quick search and didn't really find anything, so just kind of moved on.

A few months later I remembered them again and was like, man, I really would love to see these brought to life lol. And I searched again and actually found someone who made them!!... But they weren't selling them anymore. 😭💔

^Reddit post from user ShadowLord898.

So in the next few days I went into the DBFZ game files, figured out how to navigate them and locate/open the proprietary file types (took...a lot of googling), and eventually found the cookie textures!!! Which I then painstakingly traced over to create vectors.

I thought once I had the vectors, it would be easy to drop them into a 3D program and extrude them to make the cookie cutters. BOY WAS I WRONG!!! It's probably just my inexperience working with vectors in 3D programs, but I tried Blender, Fusion 360, and Tinkercad and had problems in each one before finally figuring out the right approach. (I really almost gave up 🤧 but I hadn't realized that your geometry/topology don't need to be perfect when 3D modeling for print as opposed to, like, something you plan to create a texture for.)

Tinkercad and its extremely user friendly interface, plus SVG import functionality, saved me.

Oh then I realized I forgot to reverse the design, which you have to do for a cookie cutter because of how they work. I thought I would need to flip all the vectors and re-import them, recreate the models... but thankfully there's a "flip" button in Tinkercad. Fixed.

I sent the files over to my friend @.theprocrastinatingengineer on Instagram, who has a 3D printing service, and he was able to print them out for me!

While I was waiting for them to ship I downloaded Cura ("slicer" program for preparing 3D files for print) just for fun. (I was really eager...)

And here's when I finally got them!!!

Despite choosing all the dimensions carefully, I was still surprised how dainty they were when I actually held them in my hand. I wasn't sure if they would work...

So I made the dough and everything, used some 5mm thick chopsticks as guides to roll out the dough to the thickness I wanted. I put plastic wrap over the dough to prevent the cutters from directly touching the dough due to food safety concerns. Here is my first attempt to use them:

After this my mindset quickly shifted from caring about food safety to "what's a little more plastic in my system?" / "I'm here for a good time, not a long time!!" / "welll the dough gets baked anyway so that kills the germs it should be fiiine" **I Do Not recommend others to be so careless... also important note: I was the only one eating these so I didn't have to worry about others' safety 🥴

^The difference between using the cutters with and without the plastic wrap.

This first rolling out of the dough was actually a little too thick; in my design I hadn't accounted for the way the dough squishes up when you press the cutter into it. There wasn't enough vertical space at all, and the dough kept getting stuck in the cutter. It was a bad time!!! (didn't get a lot of photos of the failures here because my hands were covered in flour)

After lots of broken cookie cutouts, re-flouring the surface/cutters/rolling pin, and re-rolling the dough to be a bit thinner, I managed to get these out. I had to support Ten's head like a newborn when moving the dough onto the cookie sheet because the connection to the body was so delicate 😢

AND HERE THEY ARE...fully baked and ready 🥹

For the most part I was going to leave them undecorated like how they are in the game. But @.lamichicuenta made this really cute drawing of the cookies where Yamcha had chocolate decorations and Ten was a salty cracker, and I really wanted to try decorating some to resemble those!! Here are the photos of both versions of the cookies the next day once I was able to get some natural light for nicer pics.

(I meant to poke some holes in Ten's cookie to look more like a cracker but I forgot about it until they were already baking.)

They tasted fine...yamcha was better thanks to the chocolate. 🤭

If you read all this, thank you for following my cookie cutter journey... 😌🙏💖

Oh yeah and I made the vectors, 3D print files, and specs/info all available in a google drive folder here for anyone to use if they want! https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1hQ7uq3leYPK64pGgt3LhFw-70IZnkYzh?usp=drive_link

OH and one last thing, i ended up revising the 3D models to hopefully fix the issue of not enough vertical space. ...turns out I hit the maximum for photos and videos in this post, but you can see it on my twitter here! https://twitter.com/freezebobs/status/1875720926840680678

I didn't get to try these revised models, but they are the ones I put in the drive folder. 😊👍

[nosyp]

HEAR ME OUTTT the boys hearing mc listening to cpr- you know which one ☠️😭🙏 PLSSSS

AAAAA ABSOLUTELYYYY Honestly, this was supposed to be general for all songs but my a/n probs caused sum confusion😭 I'll do it again but briefly :)

First years

Deuce would be so flustered, trying to act casual but failing miserably. He would likely avoid eye contact and stammer nervously, because he's so unsure how to react.

Ace would be a mix of teasing and being flustered. He’d make bold, teasing remarks but inside, he's secretly a little embarrassed. He might crack a joke or two, but you can tell he’s trying to hide how awkward he feels. Like "omgwhyaretheylisteningtothisomgomgomg"

Sebek is very confused but ngl, also intrigued. He’d be questioning the song’s intent and would likely give you a long lecture about how it doesn’t align with his values (even though he’s secretly curious about it).

Epel would be a bit caught off guard at first, blushing furiously. He’d try to act tough about it, maybe even try to tease you back, but you can tell it makes him a bitt.. weird. He’d probably give a little huff and say something like, “That’s a bit much, don’t ya think?” while trying to hide his embarrassment.

Jack would be so awkward. He wouldn’t understand why you’re listening to something so suggestive, and he'd try his hardest not to react in a way that makes it worse. He’d probably give you a shy, “Uh, I don’t know about this…” before hastily walking away, trying to keep his cool but clearly flustered.

Second years

Riddle is visibly flustered but he's gonna try to keep his composure. He’d be stern, maybe scold you lightly for your “choice” in music, but he’s definitely intrigued. He wouldn’t openly admit it though.

Ruggie's dying inside, either trying not to laugh or let his embarrassment show. He’d act like it’s no big deal, shrugging it off with, “You really know how to pick ‘em, huh?” but secretly, he’d be low-key flustered. His tail might twitch or he might shift his weight uncomfortably, trying to play it off as no big deal, even though it is kind of a big deal to him.

Azul'd be the most fascinated at first, trying to keep steady. His mind would immediately start calculating how he could leverage this situation for his own benefit. But inside, he’d be a nervous wreck. He might lean closer and say, “You certainly have... interesting taste. But I suppose that’s part of your charm.” His words would be smooth, but the redness in his cheeks would give him away.

Jade's very intrigued, probably wouldn’t react outwardly but would watch you with a calculating gaze. He’d likely comment on how "interesting" your taste is, his smile never quite reaching his eyes.

Floyd finds it hilarious. He’d be practically rolling on the floor laughing, making playful comments about it. His teasing would probably make things more awkward for you, though he’s definitely entertained.

Kalim would be oblivious at first but then would start laughing because he thinks it's hilarious and cool. He’d maybe even ask you to teach him the song if he’s feeling extra curious.

Jamil is TRYING to be calm, but there’s a hint of concern in his eyes. He’d probably raise an eyebrow and ask if you were okay. He’s a little wary but will respect your taste while keeping a cautious eye on it.

Silver would be confused and slightly embarrassed, definitely not sure what to say. He might make a quick exit or awkwardly sit in silence until he gathers his thoughts.

Third years

Cater laughs it off with a playful smile, finding it hilarious but not fazed. He’s the type to send it in his group chat and joke about it, but he’s lowkey impressed by your taste. Like damn, he didn't know you had that in you

Trey would try to act calm, though his slight smirk tells you everything. He’d likely comment with a playful but reassuring remark, maybe even pull you aside to chat about the choice of song later.

Leona would pretend to not to care, but his eyes would narrow and he’d mutter something like, “Tch, whatever,” but you can tell it got his attention, especially if it’s something he didn’t expect from you.

Vil would be very eeh... about it, possibly giving you a look of mild disapproval. He’d comment on how interesting your taste in music is and might offer a 'better' suggestion to you to make you stop listening to the horrid lyrics you call 'music'.

Rook finds it fascinating, to say the least. He’d probably compliment you on your "taste" with an overly dramatic flourish, and he might even ask if there’s more to your musical preferences than meets the eye.

Oh boy, Idia would absolutely freeze, wide-eyed, caught in the act. His face would go beet red, and he'd start panicking, unsure how to respond. He’d stutter out something like, “W-wait, you—y-you like this kind of music? I-I mean... it's... it's fine, I guess. Totally normal.” His anxiety would skyrocket, and he'd try to hide behind his hair or fidget with his phone, pretending like he didn’t just hear what he heard. But deep down, he's kinda intrigued.

Malleus would be genuinely curious and a little perplexed at first. He might not fully understand the song’s meaning but would definitely notice the emotions behind it, like the lust. His usual calm demeanor would stay intact, but he’d be intrigued by your music selection.

Lilia would find it hilarious and probably tease you a little. He’s not fazed by it, but he might make jokes about how you’ve got a bold side to you that he didn’t expect.

[gpcwsl]

Warnings: kissing?

Lia Wälti x Reader:

Title: A Game Of Hearts

MasterList

The café was bright and bustling, the hum of conversation blending with the whirr of an espresso machine. You sat across from Alessia and Kyra, your coffee cooling in front of you, untouched. Alessia’s laughter rang out as Kyra leaned in to whisper something to her, their private little bubble shutting you out again.

You shouldn’t feel bitter. Alessia was your best friend, and you were thrilled that she had found someone who made her so happy. But being the perpetual third wheel had a way of gnawing at your confidence.

“[Y/N],” Alessia said suddenly, pulling you from your thoughts. “You’ve been quiet. You okay?”

You forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.”

Kyra arched an eyebrow, her easygoing demeanor tinged with concern. “You sure? You’ve been working a lot lately.”

You shrugged. “Work’s work. Can’t exactly slack off, can I?”

Alessia exchanged a glance with Kyra, and you knew what was coming—a well-meaning but ultimately unhelpful attempt to dig deeper. You quickly deflected.

“So, how’s training going?” you asked, steering the conversation back to them.

Kyra launched into a story about their last scrimmage, Alessia chiming in with her usual enthusiasm. You nodded along, but their words blurred in your mind. You stirred your coffee absently, watching the foam dissolve into the liquid.

By the time you left the café, your chest felt heavy.

That evening, your phone buzzed with a text from Alessia.

Alessia: Hey, some of the team is going out tomorrow night. You should come!

You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. The thought of spending another night feeling out of place wasn’t exactly appealing.

You: I don’t know… I’ll probably just stay in.

Her reply came almost instantly.

Alessia: Nope. You’re coming. Non-negotiable.

You sighed. Alessia had a way of dragging you out of your comfort zone, and you didn’t have the energy to argue.

You: Fine. What time?

Alessia: 7. Dress cute.

The bar was already packed when you arrived. Music thumped through the speakers, the bass vibrating in your chest. You spotted the team near the back, crowded around a long table.

���There you are!” Alessia called, waving you over.

You slid into the booth beside her, the faint smell of her perfume a comforting reminder of home. The rest of the team greeted you warmly, their energy infectious. But as the night wore on, you found yourself retreating into your shell.

It wasn’t intentional; you just didn’t know how to fit into the whirlwind of inside jokes and playful banter. Alessia and Kyra were glued to each other, and the others were too absorbed in their own conversations to notice your quiet withdrawal.

Until Lia Wälti appeared.

“You look like you could use some air,” she said, her voice cutting through the noise like a soft breeze.

You glanced up, surprised. She was standing beside you, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to the chaos around you.

“Is it that obvious?” you asked with a weak laugh.

She smiled, tilting her head toward the door. “Come on.”

Outside, the air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain. The quiet was a welcome relief from the bar’s overwhelming noise.

“Thanks,” you said, shoving your hands into your pockets. “I didn’t realize how much I needed that.”

Lia leaned against the wall, her dark eyes studying you. “You seemed a little… out of place in there.”

You shrugged. “I guess I’m not really the ‘night out’ type.”

“Neither am I,” she admitted. “But sometimes it’s good to step out of your comfort zone.”

You nodded, unsure how to respond. There was something about Lia—her presence was steady, grounding. She didn’t push for conversation, letting the silence settle comfortably between you.

When you returned to the table, something had shifted. Lia stayed close, occasionally drawing you into the group’s conversations, and for the first time that night, you felt like you belonged.

The following weeks were a blur of small moments. Lia would invite you to join her for lunch after training or sit with you during team gatherings, her quiet company becoming a constant in your life.

One afternoon, after a particularly exhausting training session, you found yourself sitting on the edge of the field, staring at the empty stands.

“Hey.”

You looked up to see Lia approaching, a bottle of water in her hand. She sat beside you, close enough that her shoulder brushed yours.

“Rough day?” she asked, offering you the water.

“Something like that,” you muttered, taking a sip.

Lia didn’t press, her gaze fixed on the horizon. After a long pause, she said, “You don’t have to carry everything on your own, you know.”

Her words caught you off guard. “What do you mean?”

She turned to face you, her expression soft but serious. “I mean, you have people who care about you. Let them in.”

You swallowed hard, her words striking a chord you hadn’t expected. “It’s not that simple.”

“Maybe not,” she said. “But it’s worth it.”

For the first time in a long time, you felt the walls around your heart begin to crack.

Lia’s idea of a break was a quiet afternoon at a park just outside the city. The two of you strolled along a winding path, the air filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the distant hum of bees.

“This place is beautiful,” you said, your voice hushed as if speaking too loudly would disrupt the tranquility.

“It’s my favorite spot,” Lia admitted. “Whenever I need to clear my head, I come here.”

You walked in silence for a while, the only sound the crunch of gravel beneath your feet. Eventually, you reached a small pond, the water shimmering in the sunlight.

Lia sat on the grass, patting the spot beside her. You joined her, the warmth of the sun on your skin a stark contrast to the nervous flutter in your chest.

“Thank you,” you said after a while.

“For what?” she asked, turning to look at you.

“For this. For… everything.”

Her dark eyes searched yours, her expression unreadable. “You don’t have to thank me, [Y/N]. I’m happy you’re here.”

The air between you felt charged, as if something unspoken was lingering just out of reach. But neither of you acted on it, letting the moment pass.

The team’s weekend retreat was supposed to be a bonding experience, but for you, it was a chance to spend more time with Lia. Sharing a cabin with her was both thrilling and terrifying, every small interaction sending your heart racing.

One night, while the others gathered around a campfire, you stayed behind with Lia. The cabin was quiet, the only light coming from the crackling fireplace.

“I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for months,” you admitted, staring into the flames.

“Why?” Lia asked, her voice gentle.

“Because… I don’t know how to let go. How to stop feeling like I’m not enough.”

She reached out, her hand covering yours. The warmth of her touch sent a shiver through you.

“You are enough, [Y/N],” she said softly. “More than enough.”

You looked at her, your heart pounding. The words were on the tip of your tongue, but fear held you back. Instead, you squeezed her hand, hoping she understood what you couldn’t say.

It happened on a quiet afternoon at Lia’s apartment. You sat across from her, watching her laugh at something you said, and suddenly, you couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“Lia,” you said, your voice trembling.

She looked up, her smile fading as she saw the seriousness in your expression.

“I… I think I’m falling for you,” you admitted, your heart hammering in your chest.

For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then she reached across the table, taking your hand in hers.

“I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” she said softly.

Relief flooded through you, and when she leaned in to kiss you, it felt like the world finally made sense.

The transition from friends to something more was seamless. Lia was patient and kind, her love quiet but unwavering. Alessia and Kyra teased you endlessly, but their support was a constant reminder of the family you’d found.

As you stood on the sidelines during a match, watching Lia lead the team with her steady presence, you couldn’t help but smile.

You weren’t just a third wheel anymore. You were part of something bigger—something beautiful.

And for the first time, you felt whole.

[wheels-of-despair]

I'm Gonna Love You Forever Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie gets some upsetting news and has to hide out at Evil Woman's house for a little while… it's an angsty one, kids. Contains: Fear and nightmares, bed-wetting and blood, childhood trauma and abuse, comfort and reassurance, a declaration of love. Words: 3.7k

A thwap comes from your right.

You glance over and chuckle. Eddie is lying next to you on your bed, on his stomach, and his face is planted in the middle of the history textbook he's supposed to be reading.

"Are you absorbing the necessary information better that way?" you ask, turning your attention back to a battered classroom-issued paperback.

"No," he grunts. "Need a break."

"I understand. You've been reading for a whole," you check your watch, "three minutes."

He groans.

"Finish this chapter and we'll take a break."

He groans louder, head still in his book. And then the phone rings. His head pops up. "It's Wayne, he says I gotta come home right now, can't study any more."

"Shut up," you laugh, smacking his denim-clad ass with your book as you get up and go to answer the phone.

Your brother already has it. You stand in the hallway with your arms crossed, waiting for either a hand-off or a dismissal. He covers the mouthpiece with his hand.

"Eddie's uncle wants to talk to him," he says lowly. You nod, hold up a finger, and return to your room.

"You're in luck, Munson; it really is Wayne."

Instead of looking relieved, Eddie looks concerned. It's understandable; Wayne never calls here. Eddie scrambles out of bed and skids into the hallway on his socked feet.

You sit on the bed and open your book, but don't absorb a single word... because you can hear Eddie's side of the conversation.

"What? Why? No. No. I can't. I'll stay at Rick's or something. I'll let you know. Bye."

It's tense. It's rushed. Something is definitely wrong. You toss your book aside when he hurries back into your bedroom. He closes your door and leans against it, face even paler than usual.

"You okay?" you ask, knowing the answer.

His lip begins to tremble. His eyes start to well. You're off the bed and wrapping your arms are around him in an instant. He squeezes you and buries his face in your neck.

"What happened? Is Wayne okay?"

Eddie sounds like he's starting to hyperventilate, so you guide him toward the bed. You get him to sit, then kneel on the floor in front of him and hold his hands in yours. He's hunched over; his eyes are scrunched tight, his face looking a little green.

"Breathe, baby. It's gonna be okay. Just breathe."

He squeezes your hands until you begin losing feeling in your fingers, but you don't let go. You couldn't, even if you wanted to. Eventually, his breathing slows and he releases his death grip on your hands.

"My dad's out."

You've been dating Eddie Munson for more than six months, and he's barely mentioned his father. You never asked about his parents; you figured if he wanted you to know, he'd tell you. And he did, occasionally. You'd gathered that neither of them were the nurturing type. You knew they were alcoholics. You knew Eddie's mother died when he was 7, and that he came to live with Wayne when he was 8. Everything else was something of a mystery that you figured he'd reveal in time, when he was ready.

Eddie takes a shuddering breath and begins: "He was supposed to be doing 15 years. It's only been 12. He showed up at the trailer a little while ago. Wayne says he wants to see me." Tears fall when he shakes his head. "I can't."

"Baby, you don't have to," you tell him softly. He closes his eyes. "Eddie, you don't have to see him if you don't want to. You're a grown-up. He can't make you do anything." He covers his face with his hands, and you move upward to wrap your arms around him again.

"I don't want to go home," he whimpers.

"So stay with me."

"Yeah, I bet your mom would love that," he says sarcastically, pulling back and swiping at his eyes.

"She literally went to court to fight my dad when we said we didn't want to see him anymore. She'll understand."

"I don't know how long it'll be 'til he fucks off."

"That's okay."

"What if she says no?"

"She won't," you say confidently.

You don't know what his father did to him, or why he was locked up, or why Eddie is so scared, but you know one thing: if that old man comes near the boy you love, it'll be the last thing he ever does.

You move your books to the floor and lie down on the bed together. Eddie buries his face in your chest and lets you hold him tight. You lie there in silence, gently playing with his hair, until you hear your mom come home from work.

"Be right back," you whisper with a kiss to the top of his head.

When you return to your room, Eddie is curled into a ball on his side, hugging your pillow. He looks up at you with fearful, red-rimmed eyes. You ease back onto the bed, lying down to face him, and reach out to tuck his shaggy hair behind his ear.

"Mom talked to Wayne," you tell him quietly. "He thinks staying here for a few days is a good idea, too. Said he'd bring you some stuff on his way to work. Is that okay? Will you stay?"

"Do you really want me?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

"Of course I do," you smile. You gaze into his big brown eyes and feel your heart swell. "I'd keep you with me all the time if I could." You kiss his the tip of his nose. "Oh, and Mom says she's making lasagna for dinner, in honor of getting our very own Garfield."

He snorts.

Eddie follows you into the kitchen when it's time for dinner like he usually does. He stays to eat with you several times a week anyway, so nothing feels at all out of the ordinary.

Until he nearly jumps out of his skin when someone knocks at the door. You place a hand on his leg under the table when your mom goes to answer it.

You both let out a quiet sigh of relief when you see Wayne step inside. He follows your mom into the kitchen, carrying a brown grocery bag and Eddie's Sweetheart.

"Can you spare a few minutes for dinner, Wayne?" your mom asks.

"No, ma'am, just came to drop off some stuff for the boy on my way to work."

Eddie gets up to take his things from his uncle.

"Talk to you outside for a minute?" Wayne asks.

"Yeah." Eddie sets his bag and other lover aside and follows Wayne outside. You stare at the door nervously while your mom packs a meal in Tupperware for Wayne to take with him.

When they return, Eddie looks shy, like a kid who's been coached on how to thank relatives for a gift he didn't really want. He takes his seat, and Wayne hovers in the doorway.

"Thank you again for takin' him in, ma'am. He gives you any trouble, you give me a call."

You smirk. Eddie blushes furiously and refuses to look in your direction.

Your mom laughs warmly. "Please. Eddie's never any trouble. We're always happy to have him." She hands the Tupperware container to Wayne. "Take this."

"Ma'am, I--"

"Take it." You're pleased to see that the Don't Argue With Me Voice works on grown-ups too.

"Thank you, ma'am."

Now Eddie's the one smirking, and Wayne's the one blushing.

"Alright," Wayne rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, "I gotta get goin'. Thank you again, ma'am. Call if you need anything. And you?" Eddie looks up to see his uncle pointing at him. "Be good."

Eddie nods, and Wayne leaves with his Tupperware meal.

The rest of dinner passes uneventfully, and afterwards, you and Eddie pick up the Wayne-delivered goods and return to your room to pretend to finish your homework.

"Where can I…?" Eddie spins around in the middle of your room, looking for a safe place to stash Sweetheart.

"Anywhere you want," you smile, placing his bag of clothes in your desk chair and dropping onto the bed. "Mi casa es… Sweetheart's casa?"

He settles her in a corner, then comes to join you on the edge of the bed. He lets out a sigh that it seems like he's been holding for hours. You wrap an arm around his back and rest your chin on his shoulder.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." He leans against you. "Wayne thinks he'll fuck off in a few days. Most of his old buddies are either dead or locked up. He's staying at the shitty motel by the laundromat. Wayne says he'll probably go back to my grandma's when he runs out of money."

"You have a grandma?" you ask.

Eddie waits a beat.

"That's what you got out of that?"

"You've never mentioned her."

He shrugs, making your head bob with his shoulder. "Didn't like my mom. Didn't like me. Don't know much about her."

"What's Wayne think about him being back?"

"Same thing I do. Wish he'd get hit by a fuckin' truck."

You're rubbing your hand up and down his back when a voice calls from the hall.

"I'm watching Dawn of the Dead, if you losers wanna quit sucking face long enough to enjoy some real entertainment."

You lift your head from Eddie's shoulder. "Wanna?"

"Does it mean I don't have to finish my history homework?" he asks hopefully.

"I was gonna skim the chapter and summarize for you anyway."

"Fuck yeah," he grins.

You head to the living room, get comfortable on the couch, and lose yourselves in zombieland for the next two hours. Not what you would've picked for a soothing distraction from a horrifying reality, but it seems to work for Eddie.

He seems calmer as you get ready for bed. You stand together at the bathroom sink to brush your teeth, letting the toothpaste dribble out of your mouths and growling like zombies at each other in the mirror.

This is, of course, when your mother walks by to say goodnight: When you've both got toothpaste dripping off your chins.

"I don't even want to know," she shakes her head, trying and failing to conceal her smile. "Everything's locked up, I'm going to bed." She doesn't usually announce that everything's locked up, but you appreciate her trying to pass it off as normal for Eddie's benefit.

"G'night," you both gurgle through your foam-filled mouths. She lightly smacks her own forehead with her palm and walks away laughing. You lean forward to spit and grin at each other in the mirror.

Once the lights are off and you're in bed, Eddie practically crawls on top of you. You hold him tight and stroke his hair, finding that one spot on his scalp that's been known to knock him out. It works. You hope his dreams are much happier than his reality as you begin to drift off to the sound of his steady breathing.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, fuck."

You open your eyes to a strange chant and suddenly remember that Eddie is supposed to be with you. You can't feel him. You roll out of bed and turn on the lamp. He's kneeling on the mattress, hair a mess.

"Turn around," he orders. "Don't look."

"Eddie, what's going on?"

"Turn around!"

You're in such a panic, you can't just turn your back on him. Your eyes drift from his frantic eyes to the wet spot he's trying to shield with his body. When your eyes meet his again, he crumbles.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry," he cries.

"Babe, it's okay," you begin.

"I'm so fucking sorry, just let me get my shit and I'll go," he continues.

"Eddie, would you stop?"

"I wish I was fucking dead, I'm so fuc--"

"Eddie! Stop!" Your sharp tone scares him enough to make him stop rambling.

You step toward a corner of the bed and pull the sheet back to reveal what's underneath.

"Look. Mattress pad. Easy fix. By morning, we can pretend it never happened."

He looks from the white corner of the fabric to you, and then back again. His mouth opens and closes several times.

You lean against your dresser and speak softly, resisting the urge to close the distance and embarrass him further. "You're aware that I hemorrhage for a significant amount of time every month, right?"

He nods.

"Sometimes I bleed through. My last mattress looked like such a murder scene, Mom was afraid to transport it across state lines. It's not a big deal. I go through this all the time."

He sniffs.

"Why don't you go hop in the shower? Just put your clothes in the hamper, and I'll throw a load of laundry in."

He starts to protest.

"Nobody'll suspect a thing," you cut him off before he can even begin. "I go through this at least once a month. It's practically expected of me. Nobody'll know."

He looks downward, and you let him consider his options.

"Can you turn around?" he asks quietly.

"Yep."

You turn your back and hear him rustling through his paper bag, and then hear the door open and close. You strip the sheets - only the bottom sheet had any traces of his shame - and ball them up.

You weren't lying; this does happen occasionally. Perhaps not as often as you implied, but enough that nobody would raise an eyebrow at the washing machine going at 3 am. You clean the spot on the mattress pad, change the sheets, re-make the bed, and grab clean pajamas. You'll throw your current ones in with the load, to support your 'It Was Me' story, should anyone question it. (They won't, but it would probably make Eddie feel better.)

"Did any get on you?" He'd crept back into your room so quietly, you hadn't even noticed him. He's eyeing the fresh stack of pajamas you've placed on top of the dresser.

"Nope," you smile, turning around. "Figured we could do with a complete re-set. I'll be right back."

You grab the sheets in one hand and your pajamas in the other, and head to the bathroom to collect Eddie's clothes.

Four minutes later, you return to your room. Eddie is sitting on the floor, leaning against your dresser, his knees to his chest. You sit next to him, but not close enough to touch him. Not yet.

"Please don't beat yourself up over this," you beg. "It's not a big deal."

"Fucking embarrassing."

"Eddie?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

He doesn't respond. You stretch your legs out in front of you, cross your ankles, and get comfortable.

"You know I'm gonna marry you one of these days, right?"

Still nothing.

"What do you reckon our life expectancy is? I figure we've got what, maybe 50 years ahead of us? That's a lot of time."

You place your hand on the floor between you, palm up, to see if he'll take it. He doesn't.

"I'm gonna love you forever," you inform him. "Sickness, health, weird haircuts, awful tattoos, all that jazz. I will love you if you suddenly develop a fondness for Madonna or disco dancing. I'll even love you if you become that guy who brings an acoustic guitar to parties and expects everyone to sit around and listen to him. Actually, maybe not with that one. Please don't be that guy." You pause, hoping for a laugh. When it doesn't come, you clear your throat and continue. "Point is, there's almost nothing that could make me stop loving you. This, right here? Doesn't change a thing. I fucking love you. Get used to it."

He lets it sink in, and then he sighs. Finally, he reaches for your hand. Your fingers lace together. You look over at him, and he slowly meets your eye.

"I fucking love you too."

"You better, Munson," you wink.

He smiles a tiny smile.

"Ready to go back to bed?"

He hesitates and asks, "Can I go out and smoke first?"

"Baby, you're a refugee, not a prisoner. You don't have to ask permission to leave."

"Right," he groans, hauling himself off the floor. He holds out his hands to help you up, and you take them.

"Do you want company, or do you need a minute?" you ask once you're standing.

He shrugs, looking at the floor.

"Because that's okay," you smile, reaching up to brush his hair out of his face.

"What's okay?"

"Needing a minute," you explain. "I just announced my intention to lock you down forever. We're probably gonna occasionally need a minute to ourselves."

"You can come with me," he whispers, kissing your forehead.

You follow him to the back door, put on your jackets and shove your feet into your shoes, and step out into the darkness. You sit next to each other on the porch steps, resting your head on his shoulder and huddling together for warmth as Eddie smokes in silence. It's pretty peaceful out tonight. The black sky is cloudless and dotted with stars. The air feels clean and crisp. Eddie's body provides just enough heat that you're not too bothered by the cold.

He seems calmer after he smokes his cigarette down to the butt, but he uses the tip to light another. It's going to be a long night. You press your fingers between your thighs, starting to feel the chill set in.

"You know the Speedway just this side of the county line?"

A run-down gas station with a cracked parking lot and a flickering neon sign comes to mind. Yeah. You know of it, but you've never been in. Gareth had suggested dropping in for snacks once when you passed by, but Eddie had said everything in there was overpriced and kept driving. You hadn't thought anything of it at the time; you and Eddie are 7-Eleven people, after all.

"Yeah," you whisper.

Eddie pauses so long, you wonder if he's reconsidering telling you whatever he was about to reveal.

"We were on a beer run," he says eventually. "Dad was already hammered. Ran over our mailbox and took out the neighbor's trash can on the way out. Swerved all over the road. I used to think it was fun, riding like that, but looking back I'm surprised nobody died." Eddie stops to take a long drag. "I stuck a pack of Sno-Balls under my shirt while Dad was paying for his beer. You know, those pink coconut cakes?" He glances at you for confirmation, and you nod. "The thought of those things makes me sick now. But when you're that hungry, they look fuckin' amazing. Anyway, the cashier spotted me and said something. Dad's face… I mean, it was already red from the drinking. But it looked like his head was going to explode. Eyes poppin' out of his head, vein throbbing in his neck. He grabbed me by the hair and just started whalin' on me, right there in the middle of the store. I heard people yelling, but I… I kinda just scrunched my eyes shut and waited for it to be over, like I always did. And then when I opened them again, Hop had the old man pinned to the floor."

Eddie sniffles and drags his sleeve across his face.

"I know you've never seen my dad, but he's not a big guy. Hopper could've fucking demolished him. But Hop had a busted lip. Blood just dripping out of his mouth and onto the old man. Sometimes I wonder… if maybe Hop let him get a swing in just 'cause he knew that's what it would take to finally put him away. And it did. He got 15 years for assaulting a cop."

A tear streaks down your cheek, and a smile tugs at your lips.

"Took three guys to haul Dad off. Still kicking and screaming. At me, at Hop, I dunno. But Hopper's the one who took me to Wayne's. Bought me a hot dog to eat on the way, and I think it might've been the best fucking thing I've ever eaten. Even with the sore jaw the old man gave me for getting caught. He always said to never trust a cop, but Hop… he's saved my ass more than once. I guess…" Eddie stubs out cigarette #2 and chuckles. "I guess if you have to leave me for somebody, Hop's a decent choice."

You knock your knee against his, lifting your head off his shoulder to look at him. His eyes are shiny and tear-filled in the moonlight. Is it a crime to think he's beautiful like this?

"What can I say?" you grin. "I've got great taste in men."

Eddie snorts, shakes his head, and stands. He offers you his hands, and you take them and let him help you off the steps. When you stand, he pulls you in for a hug.

"Thanks," he mumbles into your hair. "For tonight. For everything."

You feel like something needs to be said, but you can't find the right words. Instead, you hold him tight and kiss the side of his neck. He melts into you. You stand there, stuck together on your back porch, until a shiver rips through your body.

"Jeez, make us stand outside in the cold all night and get sick, why don't ya," Eddie grumbles, pulling away and putting his hands on your shoulders. He turns you around and pushes you toward the door. "Get inside where it's warm, you crazy woman. You've gotta take care of me for the next 50 years, you don't get to check out early."

You laugh quietly and let him push you inside. You silently shed your jackets and shoes and return to your bedroom, snuggling into your clean sheets and holding onto each other for warmth.

Four days later, Wayne stopped by to tell Eddie that his old man was back in jail where he belonged. Unable to resist the sight of the bar across the street from the shitty motel he was staying in, he'd wandered over, drank too much, and picked a fight with the guy on the stool next to him...

Who happened to be an off-duty Indiana State Trooper, visiting Hawkins to have a drink with an old friend named Jim Hopper.

[jweekgoji]

Hi can I request for yandere Sentinel Prime x maid femme s/o please

Yandere!Sentinel/Femme!Maid!Reader [TFO/hcs]

tw: yandere themes, jealousy, possessive behavior, power imbalance, master/servant relationships, mentions of objectification of reader (from Sentinel's side), controlling behavior. word count: ~1300 additional tags: cogless!reader (but I didn't state reader's height just so it will fit for everyone ig), cybertronian!reader, femme!reader, maid!reader. a/n: It's funny, but in the ± official Transformers comics, at least Nightbird, Starscream and Windblade had some sort of maid job.

I can imagine Sentinel already having a bunch of maids, running up the tower while he's too 'busy' being a Prime.

Knowing Sentinel, and his obsession with appearing like a real Prime, it's not surprising that as soon as he gets his high title, he surrounds himself with a bunch of servants who humbly work for him.

If he wants to live like a real king, then he definitely needs assistants to provide him with constant comfort.

In fact, it amuses me to think that the original thirteen Primes didn't worry about such things. Sure, they were busy on Cybertron, constantly creating new things for a young, future race, but having maids? Yeah, well, no, thanks.

After Prime takes his position, like I said, he immediately surrounds himself with trusted confidants. Airachnid is also a very good help at this point. She may not be quite the 'social' bot that she seems at first glance, but her perceptiveness can easily crack any potential rascal.

Such a concept as 'maids' hardly existed on Cybertron, so the term came right after the Sentinel → Prime.

↑ Most likely, like miners, no one thought about their need until the newly elected Prime decided to introduce a new class.

↑ Given that, there's a good chance that bots that play the role of maids aren't as high just like miners, so it's a likely that maid bots won't have t-cogs either. Poor things.

I'm not sure if it got that much popularity among the rest of Cybertron's elite, but at first the rest of the Iaconians were surprised.

↑ Like, we definitely need a new class of bots that will be used every day as servants and will suffer from the elites? Really?? But yeah...! Knowing how much they idolize Sentinel, I wouldn't even question such a decision.

Sentinel is pretty careful about who he accepts into his inner circle, so naive, incompetent, but utterly respectful bots are exactly what he needs.

This bastard can watch for hours, sitting in a comfy chair in his office, Airachnid standing silently beside him as he flips through each profile.

'Too bright, too dull, I don't like this type of frame-' even without looking twice, it can go on like this for hours until he accidentally bumps into you. Everything about you seemed to fit his every whim. You were the perfect size, the perfect paint job, and without a single flaw, what else could a bot of his stature want?

↑ Yandere! Sentinel definitely got a sense of “love at first sight” in this scenario, but I'm not quite sure what he feels for you can be called love at all.

He's not going to immediately order your services the minute you do, but you can't say he doesn't want to either. Sentinel is very concerned about how he looks in front of others.

“Should I contact her?” Airachnid decides to speak, leaning a little closer to take in the sight of the bot on the panel.

Too focused on his thoughts, the Prime flinches, but quickly hides it as he tries to compose himself and sit up straight in his seat.

“No-no need to, for now,” he clears his throat. ”I need some time to think.”

And then he can't help but come back every time to look at you. It's no secret he's interested. Each new profile is now more boring to him than the last, and at some point he doesn't have the patience not to call out Airachnid.

↑ But...! It would be too suspicious if he only called you. No, he can't let the others think he has favorites, so grudgingly, he might as well call out a few other assistants, even though he hardly paid attention to who they might be. All his attention was only on you.

From the moment you arrive, it seems that everyone's favorite Prime just can't live a day without you. Every day, you'll be at his beck and call.

He needs to clean up his own office in a hurry? You go straight to him. In the middle of the night, you're called to bring a few cubes of energon directly to his chambers? You forget about your rest for the whole night. And sometimes it gets absurd.

At some point, he even forgets that he also has other maids that run errands for him; at some point, you're promoted to be his personal maid.

Since then, you can say bye-bye to your privacy since Sentinel gets even more greedy about it. Having you helping him and cleaning around is not enough at one point. Of course, like any other hardworking person, you need to rest; he doesn't want you to end up passing out because of low energon in the middle of nowhere. That is why you should always be kept next to him.

During the important meetings, when many members of Iaconian elite group came to the tower, discussing boring, important stuff, you're here to make sure that everyone is satisfied and happy. He wants to keep his high rate of approval after all!

Seeing how other bots look you up makes him practically grind his teeth. Part of him hates it deep to the core of his spark; the other is arrogant about it, knowing how none of them can actually have you. You're his personal favorite, so there is no way someone would dare to take Prime's maid.

↑ but if someone dares to make a gross, disgusting comment about you, he'd make sure that they learn the lesson. He wouldn't kill them, since he doesn't want to stain his servos in energon, or lose an important member, so he just scares them off in ‘seize them, cut their throat! oh, wait— I changed my mind!’ way.

The more you stay close with Sentinel, the more comfortable he gets. At first, it's all started with keeping your presence nearby. Nothing too suspicious or weird; you may think he's just testing your skills, and that alone makes you put more effort into your work,  even though the reason for his staring is a little different than you might think.

↑ He's not a hardcore yandere even though when he ‘‘falls in love’, it hits him hard. There will be this overly sweet period with him, where he shows that he does actually care about you. Like when you can't reach for something, he will help to get it for you, or if you're too tired, he lets you rest with him together in the privacy of his office. Overall, when he wants to show himself from the good side, Sentinel is such a perfect mech.

↑ He's always polite, and when he's with other bots who are lower in rank than him, he acts all humble; it's hard not to feel at ease around him.

But as much as a bastard Sentinel is in canon, yandere Sentinel still doesn't treat his darling as equal. Like I mentioned in previous headcanons for Sentinel, he sees only himself as ‘a king’, and sharing that title with someone else will only take the part of power he wants to have.

He's still selfish and arrogant, since he believes that his maid lover was created only for him, and him only. There is a part of him that actually sees you as an object that he wants to possess, and it's not really romantic.

↑ Sentinel loves to control everyone and everything, and his pretty darling is not an exception. If he sees you slacking off when you're supposed to work, he's not shy to scold or even punish you. It's nothing too drastic, at least for now, but that will make you remember that you work for a Prime, after all.

[f4ggydog]

seeing how pretty nat is crying has me thinking about dacryphillia with her <33

any thoughts?

NAT DACRYPHILIA THOUGHTS BECAUSE THIS LITTLE THING IS A CRY BABY AND I GOT STUFF TO SAY ABOUT IT

-nat’s the type to hold back her tears at first. she doesn’t want to show any type of weakness. nat’s always got that rough exterior at first until you make it your mission to tear down her walls and get to that soft core. once you find what makes her tick though, she’s going to become complete putty in your arms.

-nat’s already whimpering like a baby when your hands are caressing and fondling her tits. your mouth on her nipple already triggers her grinding against your body, attempting to create more friction to heighten her sensations. she needs more. she doesn’t want to admit it straight to your face, but she’ll give you signs. and you read all of her sings perfectly, picking up the pace of your movements and sucking more eagerly. your hand rolls nat’s other nipple between your nimble fingers, stopping to squeeze and squish nat’s whole breast every now and then.

-attention on nat’s clit is where the tears really start to flow. she can’t even pretend to be tough around the edges anymore. she refuses to put up a facade. your fingers aren’t enough though. what really gets her to break is when you suckle on her clit like you’re nursing from it. you’ll coo and shush her, letting her know that you’re taking care of her and she’s not going to go without a pinch of ecstasy. and god, you can’t resist admiring the poor sap while her face gets painted with tears. you just have to reach up and kiss them off of her cheeks while whispering, “doing so good for me, baby. you can take a little more.” and when your fingers finally penetrate that glistening opening? forget it. she’s humping into your digits and sobbing into your chest, barely able to control her emotions. she doesn’t want to be soft. but it feels too good, doesn’t it?

-it’s okay though because you allow nat to release all of that tension and intense feelings. you pat her back with a twisted sort of comfort while you stretch her pussy wide open with your fingers in thrusting motions. telling her you’ll go slower and that you’ll take it easy when you’re really only concerned with bringing your crybaby to climax. reassuring her that she’s in good hands and that you understand her, while kissing her tears or flicking them away like they’re an unnecessary distraction. dismissing them like they’re just a required byproduct of your skills in bed.

[astralikacastle]

The SUPER classic RPGs, roguelikes. There's a lot of numbers-nonsense and system-abusing that ends up in those in chasing philosophies of Complete Simulation over realistic simulation, and I can't say I have a lot of good opinions on how to handle trying to balance that and make it feel good beyond adding more stats that weapons can give you, or... Something. Honestly even just handling the idea of distance a little; a penalty to an opponent's ability to attack multiple times? A lot of my thoughts were around more Final Fantasy flavor turn-based RPGs like Final Fantasy, and actionly stuff like darkened souls and monstered hunters.

And on the idea of weapon fantasies and how they can appear in very unrealistic ways, because in the real world you're so right, the dagger is an absolute backup weapon and there are absolutely choices that in a straight fight are WAY better, and it's usually the distance afforded you with polearms, but to what level does your fantasy also include that in real life, it's pretty easy to just immediately do the kind of damage that renders someone's ability to fight significantly hampered, for possibly forever? Versus, say, combats that involve rising to greater odds, surviving heavy blows, and winning by a hair's breadth, only to be able to come back very quickly from those injuries through magickal restoration and basic recuperation in equal measure? And, for that matter, the way people in full plate moved with much more agility than in fantasy, where the heavy armor is seen as turning you into a sort of Bulwark able to get hit dozens of times without any seeming effect? (Angband seems to, or claims to, be based on Tolkein's work, which makes some of these abstractions seem a little absurd, but in something trying to be more High Fantasy, designing away from realistic combat makes more sense!)

And with the way the image of the assassin, the 'cloak and dagger', gets transformed into that image of Pure Skill And Swiftness, I can't say I'm against the idea of daggers being the kings of speed in weaponry in more classic RPGs, but that should usually come with some other trade-off that can make them not feel worth it without really Leaning Into Some Aspect. Similarly, when you want each option to have its own quirks and let people enjoy trying to build into whatever weapons match the images in their fantasy, you want there to be tradeoffs for certain weapon Types. Maybe polearms grant you greater defense, or are able to reach/do equal damage to The Back Line in games that simulate that basic level of strategy, like some of the super-nintendo era RPGs. (Or just go full high fantasy and make the polearm the one people use like a fuckin' pogo-stick, soaring into the air and plunging into you! The super-acrobatic weapon!!!)

I'm also reminded of a thought that came up when blumineck was talking about bows in action games, and that's trading off realism for Tests Of Skill. Bows have WAY higher range in real life than in many games depicting them, but that dropoff (while also good for practical engine concerns e.g. not having to render enemies a thousand feet away from the player) can help enforce a digital feeling of Skilled Headshots. In a more actiony type of game, you also get a lot of weapons that are treated as being Heavy and Slow despite real-life usage being far quicker than one might expect. Polearms, in that respect, might be depicted as being faster than weapons with similar reach, but with more of an emphasis on spacing (hitting an enemy too close to you ends up smacking them weakly with the handle,) or trading off sweeping strikes and focusing on those pointed thrusts, both of which put more emphasis on harsher checks of skill if you end up fighting multiple foes at once where a sword ends up more easily hitting all three (cuz, well, they don't simulate the way hitting someone *really* stops the momentum of your weapon.) And still we're in games where you frequently hit someone a good number of times before they actually fall, and where their ability to fight doesn't seem affected until the very moment they drop to zero.

Idunno, it's fun to think about those differences when abstracting into fiction and leaning into the ways you might make things Feel Different and Equal to allow the fantasies, and also how to incorporate the real to fuel the fiction!

(Almost non-sequitur levels of tangent, older editions of D&D (and by extension Pathfinder) as TTRPGs give polearms the ability for you to hold them up as a counter to e.g. people or animals charging straight at you with all their weight; was that actually something people regularly did in real life, say, hunting?)

RPG DEV: hello... we've put a lucerne hammer into our game. ME [LEANING FORWARD IN THE THRONE OF JUDGMENT]: yes? RPG DEV: yes, we have modeled it in such ways as we felt appropriate, aesthetically and mechanically. ME: ...go on, please. RPG DEV: well you see, if you are playing as a "Human Soldier Warrior" or similar, you would probably be better served in combat by wielding a dagger. ME: would i? RPG DEV: yes. on account of the quickness and extra attacks. ME [LEANING BACK AGAIN AND CROSSING MY LEGS SUCH THAT THE CUSTOM EMBROIDERY ON MY BIG DYKEISH BOOTS IS NOW CLEARLY LEGIBLE AND SEEN TO READ "THE BIG LUCERNE HAMMER LOVER"]: i see. ME: you have allowed your perceptions to be poisoned. you have created a falseness to further seep these poisons into the world. there is nothing for it. ME: you must do it again but correctly this time.

[genderqueerdykes]

Hey hello! this is probably a weird ask but I'm having a bit of a moral dilemma? when I've heard stuff like "you might gain weight going on T" it's been giving me nothing but joy for the future. Like I actively Want To Get Bigger? I'm really skinny now, and have been all my life, and I keep getting comments from people being like "woahh you're so thin I wish I was as skinny as you" and like. I feel bad for wanting to be larger? I know fat people face a LOT of problems and discrimination due to their size, and it's not like I'm not aware of that, but I'm worried this is some weird fetishizing thing I need to unpack. me wanting to be fat that is, and loving the idea of gaining weight on T. like, going from skinny hairless girl > fat hairy man is something I really really want, and is basically a transition goal atp. But I haven't said anything about this bc I'm worried this is disrespectful to fat folk or just downright gross?? idk

that is not fetishizing, you're okay, you should never be made to feel bad for wanting to be bigger, i'm so sorry people are treating you that way

they are objectifying your body and i am so sorry. your body is yours, not theirs. the thing a lot of people don't want to accept is that some people genuinely want to be larger, chubby, fat, and so on. some people genuinely want to be a weight that's higher than what's considered "normal" and that's genuinely not a problem. like i don't get how people don't understand that someone's weight impacts them and them alone. and no it doesn't impact their doctors, because doctors need to be open to working with all body types

people are so possessive and weird about body weight. people feel so entitled to each others' bodies that they will take someone else's weight gain personally. as if it's an affront to them. (or are they upset because this affects whether or not they're attracted to you...?) even people who claim to be fat liberation will get pissed off at people who want to gain weight on purpose. there's nothing wrong with gaining weight on purpose. it's not going to inherently cause health problems for you, and if it does, you can tackle that when it comes. but people are so weirdly possessive of others' bodies. like. i don't think this behavior comes from a standpoint of concern for that person's health.

we are so fucked up about weight that i genuinely think that when they see a well fed fat person they get pissed off because that can't be them. that person is too concerned about dieting and losing weight and toning up and cutting back calories and going without and skipping meals and ignoring cravings. like. it's a projection of how that person feels about their own weight. their taking out their issues about not being able to eat what they want and be the size they want. so much of this comes from internalized fatphobia. most people who get pissed off when fat people enjoy being fat and enjoy eating are people who desperately want to be able to eat what they want, too, but get mad when they see someone who's doing it because they just don't have the courage. a lot of the time it's jealousy

also keep in mind that a lot of people actually like being "overweight" "obese" and so on because they have issues with disordered eating, gastrointestinal issues, anxiety, personality disorders, cancer, chronic illness, or anything else that might lead someone to struggle to keep on weight. for some people, being fat is actually safer.

a lot of people who go on T do so with the goal in mind to be a big fat hairy guy. i was already fat, but i that was my goal as well. i wanted to stay fat. i wanted to add some muscle and then stay fat, which is what i'm doing. so many other trans guys want this. i'm sure many will speak up on this post!

anyways, i'm sorry people have made you feel like that. it's your body you get to choose what weight you feel the most comfortable at. ive never been bothered by my weight. i don't feel held back by it. this is just the weight ive been for almost my entire life. i don't care if the way i look offends someone else, i'm the one who sees me all day long, not them. i'm gonna look the way i want for me, not for anyone else. good luck anon, feel free to come back any time. you are allowed to do whatever you want with your body

[cripplecharacters]

Do you have any advice on what i should take into consideration to not accidentally fall into ableism when writing about a character dealing with the trauma of causing someone a disability (? My main struggle is to not pass off character's personal bias (that they fall into in their psychological struggle with guilt) as some sort of narrative truth and statements about disabilitily. But also I feel like there must be other nuances I should take into consideration. The character who got disabled is very important to the story and is an active character and not just a plot device, but since the story isn't really written from their perspective, i feel that i should be extra careful in how i treat the whole situation

Hi asker,

I think something to take into consideration is: How did they cause the disability? By which I mean, if for example, they injured someone else, was it something semi-purposeful (like a fight), completely accidental that they could not have prevented (like tripping and falling while holding something that, upon breaking, caused a disabling injury), or accidental but preventable (like giving them the wrong medication)? Or something else?

All of those can be traumatic, but perhaps for different reasons. Scenario A can lead to a lot of guilt but maybe justification; "I didn't mean to do it but I was doing what I otherwise felt I needed to do." Scenario B can lead to a lot of survivor's guilt, and scenario C can lead to different types of guilt depending on if and how they take responsibility for it.

It also depends on the kind of disability. Causing someone a terminal disability is going to feel pretty different than causing someone a disability that, while disabling, allows them to still keep living their life. Causing a more severe disability will also probably feel worse than causing them a milder one, because the impact will feel more obvious to the person who caused it and the change in the newly-disabled person's life will be more drastic. Which can be a huge part of the grieving process in becoming disabled, just the fact that it is a large change in a person's life, especially if it's completely unexpected.

My main struggle is to not pass off character's personal bias (that they fall into in their psychological struggle with guilt) as some sort of narrative truth and statements about disabilitily.

Maybe for this, you could present a view on disability by other characters that contradicts the main character's view. Perhaps they share their thoughts with another character, and she says something like "Man, I don't know. That's a weird thing to say. Not everyone who [is disabled / has specific disability the newly disabled character has] is going to feel that way." Or maybe they meet someone else with that same or a similar disability. Or they end up actually talking to the character who they disabled at some point.

Anything that poses an opposing view to the way the main character views it, and is treated by the narrative as being something worth hearing out, will help.

It's completely understandable that the character will feel guilty and worried and upset and even traumatized. But I think the fact that you are concerned about the nuances involved is a good sign.

Hope this helps,

mod sparrow

[rose054687]

Nct dream reaction when you sick

Pairing: nct dream x female!reader

Genre: fluff، relationship,Mention of sensitivity، Mention of illness and influenza.

Note: English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any grammatical errors, because I sometimes use a translator in some sentences.

Pictures not mine it belongs to its owners. 🧸

Mark Lee

It was one of those dreary days when the sky was overcast, and the rain pattered softly against the window. You were curled up on the couch, wrapped in a thick blanket, feeling the weight of your sickness pressing down on you. Your head throbbed, and your throat felt raw, making every breath a reminder of your discomfort.

Just as you were about to drift off into a restless sleep, you heard the familiar sound of the front door creaking open. You looked up, squinting against the dim light, and saw Mark stepping inside, shaking off the rain from his jacket.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, concern etched on his face as he approached you.

You managed a weak smile. “Not really. Just feeling under the weather.”

Mark knelt down beside the couch, his brow furrowing. “You should’ve told me you weren’t feeling well. I would’ve come over sooner.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

He frowned, brushing a few strands of hair from your forehead. “You know I worry about you. Let me take care of you.”

With that, he stood up and headed to the kitchen. You could hear him rummaging through the cabinets. A few moments later, he returned with a steaming mug of tea and a plate of crackers.

“Here, this should help,” he said, handing you the mug.

You took a sip, the warmth spreading through you, and sighed. “Thanks, Mark. You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

“Of course, I did. You’re my favorite person,” he said, settling down on the edge of the couch. “Now, tell me what you need. More blankets? A movie? A foot rub?”

You chuckled softly, feeling a little better just from his presence. “A movie sounds nice.”

“Alright, let’s pick something. But first, you need to eat something,” he insisted, nudging the plate closer to you.

As you nibbled on the crackers, Mark leaned back, scrolling through the movies on his phone. “How about a classic? Something light to cheer you up?”

“Sure, but only if you promise to stay and watch it with me,” you replied, looking at him with hopeful eyes.

“Deal,” he said, a smile breaking through his earlier worry. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone while you’re sick.”

With the movie playing softly in the background, you leaned against him, feeling the warmth of his body next to yours. As the story unfolded on the screen, you could hear Mark’s occasional chuckle, and it made you feel a little lighter despite the heaviness of your illness.

“See? Not so bad, right?” he whispered, glancing down at you.

“Yeah, it’s nice having you here,” you admitted, closing your eyes for a moment.

As the hours passed, the rain continued to fall outside, but inside, you felt a sense of comfort and safety. Mark’s presence made everything feel a little less daunting, and you knew that with him by your side, you could face anything—even being sick.

Huang Renjun

You found yourself curled up in bed, feeling under the weather. Your head throbbed, and your throat felt like sandpaper. It was the day before your big exam, and the pressure was mounting. You knew you needed to study, but the thought of facing the textbooks made you feel even more exhausted.

As you lay there, wrapped in your warm blankets, your phone buzzed beside you. It was Renjun, your caring boyfriend, checking in. "Hey, how are you feeling? I was thinking about you," he texted, his concern evident even through the screen.

You smiled weakly, typing back, "Not great, honestly. I’m worried about the exam tomorrow. I can’t focus like this."

Renjun, always the supportive partner, quickly replied, "I’ll come over and help you study. We can make it fun! Just rest for now."

A short while later, you heard a soft knock on your door. You struggled to get up, but the moment you opened the door, Renjun’s warm smile made everything feel a little better. He walked in, carrying a bag filled with snacks and your favorite study materials.

"Got you some tea and snacks," he said, setting everything on your desk. "I thought we could study together. I’ll make sure you don’t stress too much."

"Thanks, Renjun," you said, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over you. "I really appreciate it. I just hope I can remember everything."

As you both settled down, Renjun began quizzing you on the material. His voice was calm and encouraging, making the daunting subjects seem a little less intimidating. "Okay, let’s start with the key concepts. What’s the main idea behind this chapter?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with determination.

You took a deep breath, trying to focus. "Um, it’s about... the impact of social media on communication," you replied, your voice a bit shaky.

"Exactly!" Renjun beamed, and it made your heart flutter. "And how does it change the way we interact with each other?"

You felt a spark of energy from his enthusiasm. "It creates distance but also connects us in ways we didn’t have before," you answered, feeling more confident.

As the study session continued, Renjun made sure to take breaks, encouraging you to drink your tea and eat some snacks. "You need to take care of yourself too," he reminded you gently, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Your health is more important than any exam."

You couldn’t help but smile at his caring nature. "You’re right. I just want to do well."

"I know you will," he said, leaning closer. "Just remember, you’re amazing, and I’m proud of you no matter what."

The warmth of his words wrapped around you like a cozy blanket. You felt a sense of comfort knowing he was by your side, supporting you through this stressful time. As the evening wore on, you both studied and laughed, sharing little moments that made the stress of the exam fade away.

When it was finally time to call it a night, Renjun helped you tidy up the study area. "Get some rest, okay? I’ll be here in the morning to walk you to the exam. You’ve got this," he said, giving you a reassuring hug.

You nodded, feeling a mix of gratitude and affection. "Thanks for everything, Renjun. I don’t know what I’d do without you."

With a final wave, he left, and you settled into bed, feeling a little better. You closed your eyes, knowing that with Renjun’s support, you could face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Lee Jeno

As the rain poured down in heavy sheets, you hurried out of the office, clutching your umbrella tightly. The dim light of the streetlamps flickered in the stormy weather, casting a soft glow on the pavement. You had stayed late to finish up a project, and now you were regretting every minute of it. Just as you stepped outside, a gust of wind sent a chill through your body, and you sighed, realizing that your umbrella was barely holding up against the relentless downpour.

You quickly texted Jeno, hoping he would respond before you reached home. "Hey, I’m on my way but it’s pouring! I might be a bit late," you typed, your fingers shivering slightly as you pressed send. The thought of curling up on the couch with him made the miserable weather a little more bearable.

Finally, you arrived at your apartment, drenched and shivering. You fumbled with the keys, your hands slick with water, and finally managed to unlock the door. As soon as you stepped inside, the warmth enveloped you, but the chill from the rain clung to your skin. You tossed your wet coat aside and headed to the bathroom to change.

Just as you were about to pull on some dry clothes, your phone buzzed. It was Jeno. "Are you okay? I saw the weather report. Do you need me to come over?" His concern made your heart flutter, and you smiled despite your discomfort.

"Yeah, I’m okay! Just a bit wet. I’ll be fine," you replied, knowing full well you were anything but fine. The cold was starting to seep into your bones, and you could feel the beginnings of a sore throat.

A few minutes later, you heard a soft knock on the door. You opened it to find Jeno standing there, drenched from head to toe, his hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes widened in concern as he took in your appearance. "You look like you just walked through a monsoon," he said, stepping inside and shaking off like a wet dog.

"I could say the same about you," you laughed, but the sound turned into a cough. Jeno’s expression shifted instantly, and he stepped closer, placing a hand on your forehead. "You’re cold! You should’ve told me you were feeling unwell. Come here," he said, leading you to the couch.

He grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around your shoulders, his warmth radiating against your skin. "You should have let me know you were leaving work late. I would have come to pick you up," he said, his voice soft but laced with a hint of worry.

"I didn’t think it would rain this hard," you admitted, leaning into him as he settled beside you. "But I’m really glad you’re here now."

Jeno smiled softly, brushing a damp strand of hair behind your ear. "Let me take care of you," he said, getting up to prepare some tea. You watched him move around the kitchen, his usual grace evident even in the chaos of the storm.

When he returned with a steaming cup, he handed it to you, his fingers lingering on yours. "Drink this. It’ll help warm you up," he instructed gently. You took a sip, feeling the heat spread through you.

As you settled back against the cushions, Jeno wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close. "You’re going to rest, right? No work tonight," he said firmly, and you nodded, feeling comforted by his presence.

"You always know how to make me feel better," you whispered, leaning your head against his shoulder.

"That’s my job," he replied with a soft chuckle, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Now, tell me what you want to do. We can binge-watch that show you love or just talk. Whatever you need."

With Jeno by your side, the storm outside felt less daunting, and you knew that no matter how sick you felt, you were exactly where you wanted to be.

Lee Haechan

In a cozy little apartment, you found yourself lovingly caring for Haechan, who had been struck down by a nasty cold. The days were filled with warm soup, soft blankets, and his favorite movies playing in the background. You had always been there for him, nurturing him back to health, despite your busy schedules and the demands of being idols.

As you sat by his side, you could see the fatigue etched on his face, but also the gratitude in his eyes. "You really don’t have to take care of me like this," he murmured, his voice hoarse yet filled with warmth.

"I want to," you replied softly, brushing a stray hair from his forehead. "You always take care of me. It’s my turn."

Days passed, and Haechan slowly recovered, the sparkle returning to his eyes. Yet, just as he was getting better, you felt a tickle in your throat. You brushed it off, thinking it was just fatigue from taking care of him. But soon, that tickle turned into a full-blown sore throat, and before you knew it, you were the one sniffling and sneezing.

Haechan noticed right away. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, concern lacing his voice as he sat up, his previous illness forgotten.

“I’m fine,” you lied, trying to muster a smile. “Just a little tired.”

But he wasn’t convinced. “You’ve been taking care of me. Now it’s my turn to take care of you,” he insisted, his expression serious.

You chuckled weakly. “You just got better. I can manage.”

Haechan shook his head, determination shining in his eyes. “No way. You’re not getting out of this one. I’ll make you soup, and you can just relax.”

With a sigh, you relented, knowing how stubborn he could be. “Alright, but only if you promise to rest too.”

As he moved to the kitchen, you settled back on the couch, wrapping yourself in a blanket. You could hear the clattering of pots and pans, and a smile crept onto your face despite your discomfort. Haechan had a knack for making even the simplest things feel special.

When he returned, he held a steaming bowl of soup in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. “Here you go, my nurse,” he said with a playful grin, handing you the soup.

“Thanks, Haechan,” you said, taking a sip. The warmth spread through you, and for a moment, you forgot about your illness.

As you ate, Haechan settled beside you, his presence comforting. “You know, I really appreciate everything you do for me,” he said, his tone serious. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You felt your heart swell at his words. “You’d be just fine. You’re strong.”

“Maybe, but I’d be a lot lonelier,” he replied, nudging you lightly with his shoulder.

With the soup finished, you leaned back against him, your eyes growing heavy. “I think I’m going to take a nap,” you murmured.

“Alright, but I’ll be here when you wake up,” he promised, wrapping an arm around you protectively.

As you drifted off, you felt a sense of safety and love enveloping you. Even in sickness, you knew that together, you could face anything.

Hours later, you woke to find Haechan still beside you, a blanket draped over your legs. He was asleep, his face peaceful. You smiled softly, feeling grateful for him. Just then, he stirred, opening his eyes to meet yours.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he said, his voice still a little raspy. “How do you feel?”

“Better, I think,” you replied, stretching slightly. “Thanks to you.”

He grinned, the familiar sparkle returning to his eyes. “Good. Now, how about we watch a movie together? I’ll even let you pick this time.”

You laughed, feeling the warmth of his affection. “Deal. But only if you promise to keep your germs to yourself.”

“Cross my heart,” he said, making an exaggerated gesture.

As the movie played on, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. You were together, and that was all that mattered. Even in the toughest times, love had a way of healing.

In that moment, surrounded by warmth, laughter, and the comfort of each other’s presence, you knew you would always take care of one another, no matter what life threw your way.

Na Jaemin

As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow in the room, you stirred awake, feeling a heaviness in your chest and a dull ache in your head. Blinking against the light, you turned to your side and saw Jaemin sleeping peacefully next to you, his features relaxed and serene, a small smile playing on his lips even in slumber. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight, but as you shifted slightly, a wave of dizziness washed over you.

"Ugh," you groaned softly, bringing a hand to your forehead. It felt warm, and a sense of dread settled over you. You had been feeling off for a couple of days, but you had hoped it was just fatigue. Now, it seemed like it was more than that.

Jaemin stirred, his eyes fluttering open as he noticed your discomfort. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep but laced with concern. He propped himself up on one elbow, studying you closely.

You managed a weak smile, "I think I might be coming down with something."

His expression shifted from sleepy to worried in an instant. "Why didn’t you tell me sooner? You should have stayed in bed," he said, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. His hand felt cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your body.

"I didn’t want to worry you," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jaemin frowned, clearly not satisfied with your answer. "You know I’d rather take care of you than have you suffer in silence. Let me get you some water and medicine," he insisted, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing up.

You watched as he hurried to the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the silence. You felt a mix of gratitude and guilt. Jaemin always put you first, and while you appreciated his care, you wished you could be the one taking care of him instead.

When he returned, he handed you a glass of water and a couple of pills. "Here, take these. You need to rest," he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. You took the medicine, swallowing it down with a few sips of water.

"Thanks, Jaemin," you said, your voice a little stronger now.

He settled back next to you, pulling the covers up around your shoulders. "You need to stay warm. I’ll be right here with you," he promised, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close.

You leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours. "I’m sorry for ruining our weekend," you murmured, guilt creeping back in.

"Don’t say that," he replied firmly. "I’d rather be here with you than anywhere else. We can binge-watch our favorite shows or just sleep. Whatever you need."

You smiled softly, comforted by his words. "Maybe a little bit of both?"

"Deal," he said, a playful grin breaking through his earlier worry. He reached for the remote, flipping through channels until he found a familiar show that always made you laugh.

As the episode played, you felt yourself relax, the sound of Jaemin’s laughter mixing with the show’s humor. You snuggled deeper into his embrace, allowing the warmth of his presence to soothe your discomfort.

"Promise me you’ll let me know if you feel worse," he said after a while, his voice serious again.

You nodded, feeling reassured by his concern. "I promise."

Hours passed, and you drifted in and out of sleep, Jaemin’s gentle voice narrating the storylines and his laughter filling the room. It was a comforting lullaby, and despite your illness, you felt a sense of peace wash over you.

As the day wore on, you realized that being sick wasn’t so bad when you had someone like Jaemin by your side, ready to take care of you. You felt grateful for his love and support, knowing that together, you could face anything—even a little cold.

Zhong Chenle

You sitting at the kitchen table, watching Chenle as he enthusiastically prepared dinner. His cheerful demeanor and infectious smile always had a way of lighting up your day. Tonight, he was trying his hand at a new recipe he had seen online, a spicy stir-fry that he promised would be delicious.

“Are you ready for this?” Chenle asked, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “I’ve added a secret ingredient that will blow your mind!”

You chuckled, “Just make sure it’s not too spicy for me, okay? You know my taste buds can’t handle too much heat.”

“Don’t worry! I’ve got it all under control,” he assured you, stirring the pan with a flourish.

As you watched him cook, you couldn’t help but admire his passion for food. He was always experimenting, and while you loved his adventurous spirit, you also knew he had a tendency to go overboard sometimes. The vibrant colors of the vegetables and the sizzle of the meat filled the air with an enticing scent.

After a while, dinner was served, and you sat down together at the table, the delicious dish in front of you. It looked amazing, and the aroma was mouthwatering. Chenle watched you expectantly as you took your first bite.

“Wow, this is really good!” you exclaimed, trying to hide your hesitation. The flavor was intense, and while you enjoyed it, you couldn’t shake off a slight tingling sensation in your mouth.

“Really? You mean it?” he beamed, clearly proud of his culinary skills.

“Yeah, just a little spicy, but I like it!” you replied, forcing a smile.

You continued to eat, but soon you started feeling uneasy. Your throat felt scratchy, and your stomach churned. You tried to brush it off, thinking it was just a reaction to the spice. But as the minutes passed, the discomfort grew.

“Are you okay?” Chenle asked, concern etched on his face. “You look a bit pale.”

“I’m fine, just a little… spicy,” you managed to say, but deep down, you knew something was off.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit you, and you rushed to the bathroom. As you leaned over the sink, you could feel your heart racing. It wasn’t just the spice; you realized that you must have reacted to something in the dish, something you hadn’t anticipated.

“Y/N! What’s wrong?” Chenle called from the other side of the door, his voice laced with worry.

“I’m not feeling well!” you shouted back, trying to steady your breathing. “I think I’m allergic to something in the food!”

Moments later, he burst through the door, his face a mixture of panic and concern. “What did I do? What’s happening?”

“I don’t know! I think there might have been something in the dish that I’m allergic to,” you said, your voice shaky. “I should have checked the ingredients more carefully.”

Chenle quickly helped you to the couch, his hands gentle as he guided you down. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to make you sick. What can I do to help?”

“Just stay with me,” you whispered, feeling weak. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

He nodded, sitting beside you and holding your hand tightly. “I’m right here. We’ll get through this together.”

As the minutes turned into hours, you felt Chenle’s presence comforting you. He brought you water and even tried to distract you with stories about his day, but your body was still fighting against the allergic reaction. You could see the worry in his eyes, and it broke your heart to know that you were the cause of his distress.

“Y/N, I can’t believe I didn’t think about your allergies,” he said, guilt heavy in his voice. “I should have asked you about everything I put in the stir-fry.”

“It’s okay, Chenle. I should have been more careful too,” you replied softly, squeezing his hand. “I know you were just trying to make something special for us.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just wanted to impress you. You mean so much to me, and I thought this would be a fun surprise.”

You smiled weakly, touched by his words. “It was a nice thought, and I appreciate the effort. Just… next time, let’s cook together, okay?”

“Deal,” he said, a small smile breaking through his worry. “But for now, let’s focus on getting you better.”

As the night wore on, Chenle stayed by your side, making sure you were comfortable. He wrapped a blanket around you and even put on your favorite movie to help take your mind off the discomfort. His soothing voice and gentle touch made you feel safe.

Park Jisung

You and Jisung decided to embrace the winter wonderland. The sun peeked through the clouds, casting a soft glow on the glistening snowflakes that danced in the air. You bundled up in your warmest coat, a fluffy scarf wrapped snugly around your neck, and a knitted beanie perched on your head. Jisung, with his playful spirit, was already outside, throwing snowballs and laughing as he challenged you to join him.

"Come on! You can't just stand there!" he called, his breath visible in the cold air. His cheeks were flushed from the chill, but his smile was warm and inviting.

With a playful grin, you dashed outside, feeling the crunch of snow beneath your boots. You quickly engaged in a snowball fight, your laughter echoing through the crisp winter air. Jisung's competitive nature shone as he dodged your throws, retaliating with perfectly aimed snowballs that hit you right on target. The two of you rolled around in the snow, making snow angels and building a snowman that ended up looking more like a snow blob, but you both loved it nonetheless.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, you both decided to head back inside. The cold had seeped into your bones, but you felt exhilarated from the day’s fun. However, you didn’t realize that your excitement had come at a cost. The next morning, you woke up with a scratchy throat and a pounding headache.

"Y/N! Are you okay?" Jisung's voice was filled with concern as he entered your room, his eyes wide with worry.

"I think I might have caught a cold," you replied, trying to muster a smile despite feeling miserable.

Jisung immediately rushed to your side, sitting on the edge of your bed. "You should have told me to stop playing in the snow! I knew it was too cold!"

You chuckled softly, despite the discomfort. "It was worth it, though. I had so much fun with you."

He sighed, brushing a strand of hair away from your forehead. "You need to rest. I’ll take care of you." His determination was evident, and it warmed your heart even in your weakened state.

Jisung made his way to the kitchen, where he prepared a warm bowl of chicken soup. The aroma filled the room, making your stomach rumble even though you didn’t feel like eating. He returned with the steaming bowl, placing it on your bedside table.

"Here, eat this. It’ll help you feel better," he insisted, handing you a spoon.

You took a small sip, the warmth spreading through you. "Thank you, Jisung. You’re the best."

As you ate, he settled beside you, pulling out his phone. "Let’s watch a movie while you rest. Something funny to cheer you up?"

You nodded, grateful for his presence. He scrolled through options, finally settling on a light-hearted comedy. As the movie played, you found comfort in Jisung’s laughter, his joy infectious even in your state.

"Hey, Y/N," he said during a particularly funny scene, "promise me you won’t go out in the snow without a proper jacket next time?"

You laughed softly, "I promise, as long as you promise to join me."

His eyes sparkled with mischief. "Deal! But only if you’re feeling better."

As the movie continued, you felt your eyelids growing heavy. Jisung noticed and gently nudged you. "Hey, don’t fall asleep on me yet! I want to make sure you’re okay."

"I’m just resting my eyes," you murmured, but the warmth and comfort of his presence lulled you into a peaceful sleep.

Hours later, you awoke to find Jisung still by your side, a blanket draped over you. He was watching you with a soft smile, his fingers gently brushing your hair back. "You scared me there for a moment. I thought you wouldn’t wake up."

You smiled weakly. "I’m sorry for worrying you."

He shook his head, leaning closer. "You’re worth the worry, Y/N. Just promise me you’ll take better care of yourself."

"I will," you promised, feeling grateful for his unwavering support.

As the days passed, Jisung remained by your side, making sure you had everything you needed. He brought you soup, kept you entertained with stories, and even read to you from your favorite books. Each moment spent together strengthened your bond, reminding you how lucky you were to have him.

Finally, after a few days of rest, you began to feel like yourself again. Jisung’s unwavering care had worked wonders, and you were ready to step back into the world, albeit with a newfound appreciation for warm jackets and cozy blankets.

[moominmanoneandonly]

Soo some time ago i started writing my first ever fanfic. It's an Transformers au, basically the retelling of how Orion and Megatron meet focused on gladiator lifestyle + all that class diffrence and Cybertron drama with some Megasound love. Haven't touched it in a while but I believe it's not a lost couse yet.

That said english is not my first language and I have Dyslexia so forgive me for all mistakes that I know are there and any type of opinion about the work would be both a great help and big motivation to continue it.

Ships: Megop, Megasound, KOBD, BulkJack, Dratchet, Megastar(but not really)

Warnings: sugestive topics, mentions of prostitution, very bad fights descriptions,

Title in works

Celling lights were flickering once again. Technically they should've been fixed by staff some time ago but no one really cared about better quality of living or honestly anything concerning gladiators in the Pits that didn't involved fighting.

Megatronus wasn't exactly bothered by a such small think like flickering lights, however he did belive that one day they're gonna give him a seizure.. not today trought.

With a loud clank bigger mech get up from his berth trying to mentally prepere for the upcoming cycle. From what he remembered he only had one big fight today, some meanigless browl with a "Kalis Champion" that was supose to "finally break his wining streak."

Megatron seen recordings of the bot fighting before so he could tell that it was just another marketing attempt and not an actual challenge, he will be able to deal with that scrap easily.. of course making sure that the audience is entertained.

The thing that actually bothered him was what's gonna happend right after the fight. The arena workers were going crazy for last few chords, non stop beeping about upcoming gala that was going to happen on this day. He heard them talking about some big names showing up, even something about "Prince of Vos" if gladiator's memory was right.

Technically those events were supose to be good, they gave a chance to taste some better quality energon and assured a free day right after, since all superiors would be to out of it to care about organizing fights.

But then comes the bad part. The "quality time with sponsors" as his superiors liked to call it. Megatron was honestly quite lucky since his frame was pretty big and his overall build not that arousing to the most of cybertonian sociaty, he rarely get more that one client at those types of events. Soundwave for example had it far worse, with his smaller frame and considerably attractive features. Which was exactly why Megatron made sure to send his dear friend to emergency room just last cycle.

It sounds brutal for an outsider but considering that basically none of his matches tended to stay alive it was obliviously a staged gesture. That said it still did quite some damage to his companians body for those he promised himself to get as much high value emergon as he can today to give his poor friend, maybe also steal some spare parts for cassetes if he's lucky.

For some reason Soundwave seemed to get more and more iritated lately anytime Megatron went to those events without him. He even witnessed him sulking at some point which gladiator didn't even know the cassete player was capable off.

Yeah he really needs to repay Soundwave for all that time in recovery room.

- - -

Walking trought the many corridors of Keons arena he tried to plan his cycle accordingly, he still need to train in the morning otherwise Tarn will get his ass and that mech did not had ANY prefrences in terms of size or build, so yeah he is not letting his "not yet violated by Tarn" achivement disapear today. Otherwise till the fight he still had some free time, maybe he could write down some of the poems or get to finish that data-pad that he stole the last time there was a gala.

After the fight he would have to go to Knockout to make sure he "look his best for the party". Those visits really were something. Mainly tiresome but sometimes it was genuinly funny to see the red mech lose his mind over all those ways he tried to make Megatron apealing, he would said stuff like "I swear to Primus if you wear those black heels again I'm going to cut off your pedes!" and stuff like that.

It was quite exhousting lot of the time but i was also suprisingly educating the rest.

Somehow Knockout with his limited medical knowledge and beautifying talent was able to offer a better information sources than even Soundwave himself. The amount of gossip coming out of the race car could fill in an entire archive on it's one. Sure only 10% of it was usefull but with that amount of given informations it was still a lot.

"Maybe he will know something about the politics this time," Megatron trought.

The last few visits at the salon he spend listening to Knockout ranting about some poor blue mech that he chose to be his future conjux altrought the bot is suposely in some comitted relationship.

Talking to the red race car about morality of his action was like trying to teach an insecticon how to read, those Megatron had to sit still for arks while medic was gushing over his moraly questionable crush.

Now he kinda prayed that the bots ended up together becouse otherwise he's probably going to shot himself today and his dream political carrer will end even before it properly started.

" Attention everybody todays main fights will start in 7 arcs, be prepered for the ring at least an arc beforehand!"

A loud screeching voice came out from the old speakers hanging from a nearby wall. "Perfect" trought Megatron "that's enought time for him to finish his workout read the old datapad and perhaps even mentaly preper for the night. Who knows maybe he will be lucky enough to not fit to any of the guest tastes." With a new hope for this cycle Megatron fully concentrated on his training, quietly counting tics until his next break.

....

Did Orion ever mentioned that he doesn't like gladiators fights? Becouse he really doesn't. They are messy, unnecessarly cruel and honestly world would be better without them in clarks modest opinion. That said Orion never actually seen one nor was ever intrested enought to learn about them.. until now.

For once in his life he really regretted his ignorance

Just last chord he find out that his favorite author was no one else but one of the gladiators from the Pit itself. What even more shocking, he didn't just write those amazing works that Orion had laying on his bearth and any free desk in his romm, but he publicaly talked about them in the middle of his fights.

"Megatronus" A name he first assumed was an peculiar aposthrope to the great Prime turned out to be a much more fitting stage name for a fighter. While the reason why the materials were so limited wasn't becouse of high demand but simple couse the works weren't oficially published.

"How could I not realise it earlier? I work in archives for Primus sake!"

Coming back to the present moment.

-NO, I'm not taking you to that gala!- Ratchet answered him once again while trying to read some important medical research.

-But Ratchet, You need to! This is a chance one in a million! - Orion tried to stand his ground while before mentioned research flew stright at his face.

-NO, I said it already! First Wheeljack and now you. I never espected any decency from that maniac, but from you Orion?! What in Primus name made you want to get involved with such a place. Those parties are a complete debouchery! In fact the only reason why I'm attending such a ridiculous event is becouse it was a demand from work. You shouldn't want to participate in such a thing.-Young doctor didn't at all hide his disgust when he was speaking about the gala.

-Ratchet, I'm telling you this is not about that, I do not care about the event i just.. want to see the person that wrote all those amazing poems and articles. You read them too right? These are works of a genius!!

- And how exactly are you even suppose to recognize them? You don't know how they look like. And most importantantly they're a gladiator!! There's little to no chance for them to even be there and if they will I don't think they be allowed to just talk politics with some random guest!- larger mech exclaimed.

Ratchet looked exhousted. He hasn't slept in a while thanks to one lovely bomber, the gala somehow was supose to waight 1/3 of his final grade and his conjunx was out on some unspecified expediction for Primus knows how long.

- You know what? Let it be, I allow you to go with me, on one condition! For the next 3 chords you leave me alone. No questions about reproduction of insectocons. No covering for your crazy ideas. And absolutely no mentions about this evening to anyone! Got it?!

-Thank you Ratchet!! I promise I won't bother you anymore. You're trully amazing.- Orion was ready to hug his friend if it wasn't for his clear discomfort.

-Why do I feel like this conditon won't keep for long- Ratched mumbled feeling defeated while the archivist celebrated his small victory.

-See you at 8. Do NOT be late! My job depends on it.

...

The stadium was full, there wasn't a single sit that wasn't taken by some fancy mech.

It wasn't completely unusual however Megatron had to admit that it never stoped impressing him in all those years he spend fighting. The idea that so many bots gathered to watch him felt sureal, kinda wished they gathered to hear his speches rather that watch him rip someone spark out but well you can't be picky in those type of situations.

"Dear Femms and Mechs we gathered here today to watch an exhilarating battle between two of Cybertron greatest Champions , Megatronus of Kaon and Victory of Kalis. Who of those two will earn the glory and fame and who will end up in pieces? Only time can tell! Remember it's the last chance to make your bets.~"

The crowd was going wild. Megatron in a meatime looked at the stadium trying to pinpoint any important faces to worry about in the near future.

One that for sure stud out was a red and black mech sitting in it's own loge(/lodge) . They had a small frame, cunning eyes that looked down on him in every possible meaning of the word and probably the most punchable face he has ever seen. They looked pathetic on their own but the amount of guards made them unable to ignore. Luckily this type of mechs rarely were a problem in terms of "sponsoring", always wanting to boost their ego by making sure they the strongest in the room they would always leave him alone, maybe talk some scrap about the greatness of slavery but that was it. That said just in case his flying friend, and to that regard anyone else in the audience might get any wrong ideas Megatron decided to give them his most gruesome and repulsive act. After all this is what they came to Keon for.

Finally after few kliks he was able to face his oponent plate to plate on the big arena of the pits.

As expected based on Megatron research his oponent wasn't anything impressive. His body was covered in all kinds of luxurious gadgets and accesories. Clearly a higher cast. Fighting for fame not survival, winning only becouse of better equipment not skills. That type of mech was what Megatron hated the most.

The moment the match started he made sure to immobilize one of his oponent servos by ripping it off with extreme precision. This type of attack was only possible when the opponent had his guard down does gladiator know he won't be able to redo it no matter how much he tried.

Obliviously the act made the shinier mech furious, rampaging stright at Megatron, almost crushing him in the process if it wasn't for his fast reflexes. Before he had a chance to prepere himself for a next move he was shot with a cannon between his servos.

It was good to know his opponent had at least a bit of combat knowledge, knowing where to shot to entertain the crowd.

Megatron quickly moved from his position avoiding another blow and louding his own cannon. With few moves he was once again helm to helm with the other gladiator, throwing a punch right into his face. ...

_____________________

The fight took quite some time. Mainly to satisfy the audience but also couse Megatron really wanted to ensure nobody in the crowd gets any stupid ideas. He made sure to make himself as unapealing as he can, getting his whole body dirty with energon and diffrent oils spilling out of the other mech while also showing of his big frame to remaind people he was a miner not some classy thing.

The rest of ch 1 doesn't exist

Ch. 2 aka Megasound crumbs

Their lodging was small a and cluttered, diffrent spare parts, garbage finds and data pads scaterred all around leaving little to no space to move. From actually functioning furniture there was a big berth, a boxing bag and a barely working fridge. It was really a lucky find.

-Yo Big M is back! We seen you on the bilboard! It was so cool!!-Rumble and Frienzy as always were runing around and cousing mayhem, destroying anything that they touch.

One of them tried to climb on the gladiator while the other were shaking Ravage awake so she can share their excitment.

-Calm down you two! I got you something- he handed them two cubes of energon.

-Just make sure to absorb all that energy somewhere alse, otherwise this room might not survive.- Two bots stopped listening to him the moment they seen the food but luckily they still know what to do, they greedily took the cubes and sprinted outside with the speed that would made profesional racers jealous.

Without twins the room felt much more spacious, walking trought it he also gave a cube each to Ravage and Laserbeak, petting them lightly as he passed them by.

In the berth laid the owner of the room himself, as always calm looking Soundwave. His wounds seemed to repair pretty well trought he clearly still couldn't move an arm. His smaller frame was curled while the blue mech hold one of the datapads.

He was mad. Megatron know the moment he came into the room. Soundwave might not be expressive but they know each other for so long that it didn't matter. When he was mad he would speak only when it's expected of him and his power field would radiate disatisfaction.

-Listen, I understand you're mad. Fair enough, I would be to if I got beaten like that, I know you wanted to go together this time but this is to much of a risk! - Soundwave was a trully special mech. Where Megatron was nothing more than a miner capable of withstanding bad sytuations, Soundwave was a "Carrier", a bot designed specifically to make and take care of sparklings.

Those type of mechs knew nothing about fighting, they shouldn't have to. Yet here they were. Some stupid high rank wanted a Carrier for his unrealistic sparklings expectations, didn't like the results those threw all of them out. Megatron wasn't really sure how Soundwave was able to survive before coming to Kaon, he don't think he wants to. That said the moment he showed up on the arena was something revolutionary.

Soundwave wasn't just a good fighter, he was a strategic genius! When they first meet the gladiator was starstruck. The carrier was the proof that Megatron needed, that the mechs can be more than what they were made for.

They get along well, trought it took some time to earn Soundwave trust. Only after that Megatron could meet the cassetes, one by one and he enjoyed spending time with all of them. It was something surreal. In a place such brutal and cold as Pits, to have a genuine good relations with other mechs.

The ability to actually have deep political conversation without the other mech looking at you with contempt or pity. Soundwave never judged him, but always had an intresting opinion that let him to improve his thesis. He would always inform him on any mistakes and inaccuracies he made and prized him for any small success. The Carrier especially loved his poetry, something Megatron never expected to be able to share. The blue mech would listen to him for hours and look at him as if the words he spoke were some kind of gospel and not some simple poems.

The only problem Soundwave had was that he was a little bit to.. carefull. He would never let Megatron work on his own acount, always making sure he knows everything that's going on. It was never really suffocating in fact Megatron feel some comfort in knowing someone got his back but for some reason it always got worse when it came to Galas.

The carrier would flip out even at the mention of those events. Gladiator fully understood his disgust especially considering his upbringing however what he did't understand was the fact that the blue mech didn't aply his worries to himself. The only worry he showed in those moments was towards Megatron. Illogical considering that the gray mech was handling it just fine, with little amount of customers and a sturdy build compared to the always cornered Carrier. ..

-We were supose to go together.- The monotone voice of his friend somehow still expressed more emotion than the loudest scream. - Megatron was supose to stay out of trouble. Megatron shouldn't have to dirty himself like that. - the gray mech could see his reflection in the visors of the other.

-I'm sorry.-gladiator wondered for a moment. -I know how stupid it was. You're the only person in here capable enought to stand next to me

That's all i got for now. If it doesnt make sense that's couse none of the scenes are in proper order. Please give opinions it means a lot to me.