#So you can imagine that was really damn unpleasant to experience? because that just. why??? I dont get why you're coming in here to say that

[sepiasys]

Quality interaction that just happened

I love having a quotebook in SP XD

[hellsslibrary]

Hello! There's just not so many sub! Kaiser fics and I'm d y i n g to read those 😔😔

Can I request for a sub! Kaiser x male reader where Kaiser has a praise kink but doesn't ever want to admit it 👀

#a.n. :This is so same! Kaiser is such a babygirl, I want to kiss him, eat him, hug him, and then rock him in my arms and let him relax... But no, this bitch is always top, lol. Even funny.

"I don't like your damn praise! Just fuck me alre—...What?"

!!Warnings: Bottom!Sub!Michael, Dom!Top!Reader, sex on an indoor football field (it's empty, it just seemed interesting to me, imagine the echo there...), praise kink obviously, Michael tries to be dominant, but he's too much of a pillow princess (he came out so gentle... In his own way), in fact everything is quite vanilla, but he kicks you when he's unhappy, also very romantic in general. × And the reader is somehow connected with football company. You can be a manager, a football player, or even a cleaner there, honestly.

The football field in the building was closed at night, knowing full well how persistent football players in the leagues can be. Darkness, silence, idyll... Except for the flashlight from the phone somewhere in the middle of the field and quiet groans echoing from the walls.

"Why did you decide to have sex here? Plus, at this time?" You ask, looking over at Michael, who was clutching at the trimmed grass in the lawn as you thrust into him at a careful, almost tremulous pace.

“I think you said yourself that you wanted to experiment... So we’re starting with something easy,” Blonde whispers, wincing from the unpleasant feeling of artificial grass in his hands, so he just hugs your neck lazily.

“Well, yes, but... You obviously have some other reasons. But I won’t push if you don’t want to talk,” Michael just sighs at your words, but it immediately turns into a soft moan when your lips touch his neck.

“I just love the atmosphere in here, as weird as it sounds, so shut up and fuck me,” A disgruntled mutter escapes his lips, only to be cut short when he tilts his head back, giving you better access to his neck.

You look over his face, surprisingly too peaceful for him. Maybe this place really brought inner comfort to his soul, erasing all the doubts and burdens that he kept inside and sometimes shared with you. Maybe it was. But your heart broke at the sight of him for some reason, you understood his feelings more than anyone... Because you were probably the only one he was able to open up to so much.

“Micha? You’re a good boy,” echoes from your lips almost casually, but with a sickly sweet note that you want to listen to forever and drown in these sweet speeches.

"What was it?"

You find yourself torn from examining his face by his question. And really, why did you say that? He didn't do anything special during your entire session, which lasted about half an hour. And you too... But one look at him is enough for you to understand why.

Your attentive gaze glides over his perfect facial features, long eyelashes giving his eyes an unusual softness and warmth. Instantly you feel the desire to say that he is beautiful, extraordinarily beautiful. Faithful hands, strength and tenderness in every touch, sincerity and warmth in every word, just for you. The desire to praise, to say how much love and kindness he has, how he is able to bring a smile even in the most cloudy weather.

His soul shines brighter than the stars in the sky, his smile can melt the heart of icy granite. The desire to praise, express gratitude for all the beauty and kindness that he brings into this world. He is not just a person, he is magic, miracle, a spark that pushes you to move even in your most difficult moments.

The words seem unfair, but the heart is filled with feelings that are impossible to carry on the wind. Praise, approval, love — all these are small before the greatness of his soul and his existence. You really want to tell him about this so that he understands how amazing and significant he is to you. Just as the sun rises every morning, he awakens in you a feeling of awe and admiration that seems endless and will remain so.

“Because I love you,” You say without thinking, and immediately catch a light, rare blush on his cheeks.

His hand immediately drops down from your shoulder to cover the pink dust on his cheeks, but you intercept his hand, kissing his fingers tenderly, intertwining your fingers together.

"You idiot... Why so suddenly?" He asks, even if he doesn't wait for an answer, lightly kicking you in the side, groaning when you lean over him a little closer, hitting his sweet spot at a pleasant angle.

You find yourself thinking that you would worship him if he were God. It’s not that you didn’t already worship him... But he was definitely the person for whom even an atheist would reconsider their views on the world.

"Why suddenly? I'm always ready to praise you. You are tenacious, driven, incredibly smart, caring for those you care about in your own way... You are simply magnificent."

"Shut up, please shut up. I don't need your praise, just fuck me and..." He trails off, kicking you in the side again as he realizes something, "You didn't say that I'm handsome."

“Your beauty is a fact. But your appearance is far from the main thing that you have, even if you think differently... But if I started to list what I like about you externally, then we would move on to dithyrambs and ballads, and not to the climax."

Michael chuckles, finally distracted from contemplating you in response, realizing that he really feels a knot growing in his stomach. In general, he would never admit that he would be glad to listen to these dithyrambs and ballads and much more if it came from you. He's always taken praise for granted because, yes, he's Michael Kaiser, but now? He's just a puddle in your hands that's trying to look like ice.

“I’m not clenching around your cock right now because...” He cuts himself off, groaning as your mouth sucks on his neck in the area of his tattoo, “It’s not because I liked the praise, is that clear to both of us?”

“Of course, my King, as you say,” You say, biting the skin of his neck, causing him to whimper quietly as one of your hands slides to his cock, stroking it in time with your thrusts.

Your pace gradually picks up as you get closer too. And the sight of Michael, who clearly enjoyed your previous praise, did not at all ease your hard-on, nor did the warm walls around him.

"Call me!" He suddenly shouts, kicking you in the side once again, although you have no idea what he means at first, pulling away from his neck.

"Good boy?" You ask cautiously and to your surprise and pleasure, his cock twitches in your palm, and after a few thrusts he actually comes, squeezing you tighter than usual, which is why you can’t help but cum, thrusting into him a couple of times in post-orgasmic bliss, and then laying down on his chest.

The quiet rhythm of his heartbeat calmed you as he lightly ran his hand through your hair. You were both regaining your more than ragged breaths before the comfortable silence was interrupted by a question that made you chuckle hoarsely.

“Why did you ask this and not state it as a fact?”

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/765871378161451008/im-sick-of-hearing-the-best-smut-is-written-by?source=share

If you want a real reason for why a lot of really good explicit fanfic is written by asexual authors, it's a combination of several reasons.

For aces who enjoy reading about sex but don't participate in partnered sex, there's very little that hits too close to home. An author who has sex a lot will have some things they're not comfortable writing about because it comes too close to unpleasant and awkward IRL experiences. Not so the celibate virgin ace, for whom all sex in fiction is purely fantasy.

Aces who do not experience arousal will not encounter the common erotic author's problem where one becomes too horny to write and stops in the middle to run one out, which means that some aces are more likely to actually finish and post their erotic stories in the first place, and/or to do so in a timely manner.

Kinkster aces are not constrained by what is safe or physically possible, and are more likely to write extreme kink in compelling and interesting ways. Anyone is capable of the flights of imagination that this type of writing requires, but aces for whom impossible kink is their primary or even only way of engaging with sexuality have it easier.

Aces of all types have a more objective view of sex overall, and often find it easier to disengage from the sexiness of the scene itself and focus on how the sexiness is being conveyed by the writing. This is something any capable writer can do, but some people are more natural at it.

Similarily, in longer and plottier stories, some aces are going to have a more objective and external view of how the sex fits into both the narrative and the characters' lives. A bad author of any kind might shoehorn in a sex scene because sex sells, but a really good author will use a sex scene to support character development and further narrative themes. This will come more naturally to someone who has already spent a great deal of time studying what the big deal is with sex in real life.

There's probably more, but the phenomenon of really damn good kink fic (and it's usually kink fic, not just explicit sex) being written by asexual authors is a very real thing.

--

Eh. There's a lot of explicit fic. Plenty of it is by asexual authors, but I think this is more a reflection of the demographics of fandom than anything else.

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s4 episode 9 thoughts

this day had aspects which i did not care for, which is why i am hoping that the thrilling tale of mulder escaping a gulag will bring light and warmth to my heart.

author’s note, post episode: i need answers i need answers i need those slugs destroyed. this episode vastly improved my day and i remembered the simple joys of being alive, such as watching silly TV shows where the characters have an indescribable bond. truly a pleasure to be alive despite it all. scully and mulder, you have shown me such wisdom.

excellent moments for both scully and mulder in this one, which i treasure deeply, and also their together moments made my heart soar. genuinely a good ep!

let us gather to watch this tale!

we begin with a “previously on the x files”. i really hate that shot of mulder squished under that wire cage; it’s deeply unpleasant and i imagine so was the filming experience.

after that, we journey to a convalescent home in florida. now. the last time we went to a convalescent home, i have tried very purposefully for forget what went down. so my expectations here are low.

someone just waltzed in at night and is looking at the old people sleeping with a flashlight.... is this allowed? it probably shouldn't be. is she looking for someone in particular? 

she finds auntie janet and says it is time, he is waiting. now what does that mean?!?!

so she takes auntie janet out and there is some man that she’s in the car with?? he’s hooking auntie janet up to various chemicals. she says she’s tired of the pain and the doctor-y figure puts the green stuff into her. ah, i see what is going on here, as auntie janet hugs this woman and says she is her angel of mercy. 

so it looks like she died, but instead of just dying and that being it, there are oily slugs coming from her nose and mouth. which…. i mean, it’s better for them to come out in a controlled environment and after her passing, right? that seems ideal, all things considered. except for the fact that the oily slugs will now crawl into these people, so that’s a bummer.

HEY! the changed the text after the intro. “E PUR SI MUOVE” <- is that latin? hold on

i didn’t want to figure out what the whole phrase meant because that was part of the fun!! but in trying to figure out if “muove” was latin or italian or portuguese or something, i learned what the whole phrase meant and that it is significant for being uttered by galileo. darn! well, if i had to learn it before i wanted to, you shall too, i suppose. although i imagine if you read this blog, you’ve seen all this before. hmm.

we are in st. petersburg. FORMERLY LENINGRAD! but no longer at this point. someone is knocking at an old russian guy’s door. a young gentleman tells this old guy that “the cold war isn’t over” 

damn. still rings true in 2024. 

and also he gives the old guy an envelope. 

mulder is sleeping in a jail cell. he’s very tucked into that corner. it's adorable, in a certain way. someone is whispering to him. mystery other prisoner guy who can speak english said that he has been lying there for hours, and that the first time (referring to his alien injection) is “bad, very bad”

he calls this alien injection the “black cancer” that lives in the rock. this mystery man used to be a geologist! he was there when they found the fragments! woah... a rock guy... and look what they have done to him :(

okay, so this black cancer comes from the tunguska rock. got it. i am tracking the lore.

so at least hundreds of people have died here, and they seem to be searching for a cure to the black cancer after they inject it into their test subjects.

well! it is almost comforting that maybe both scully and mulder will die horrific early deaths, but at least together, right? because. the actual cancer that she probably has. and the weird creature in his veins now. they’ll have each other, i guess?

sighs. this is not providing me much comfort.

“i’m not gonna die. i have to live long enough to kill that man krycek” <- YAAAAAS i cheered!!!! his dogged determination has now been set to bloodlust mode!! hey, whatever keeps you alive!!!

mystery man sneaks mulder a shank he made over two weeks. that is a very dedicated thing to do, and even more profound to spend all that time and then give it to someone else. “it is wonderful- the persistence of life” damn…. bro has me thinking…. life really IS a gift, huh

back to the USA, where scully is tending to the mysteriously ill dr. sachs, who if you need a refresher, was the guy who was cutting into the mystery rock before he was mysteriously paralyzed. his blood looks a bit thickened (gag) and also there is something in there. EW!!! EW 

EW NASTY WORMS ATTACHED TO A GLAND IN HIM?!?!?!?!

no no no don’t care for that thank you!!!

in virginia, some people get on a bus, including an old man who is eating an apple. they are going to charlottesville. 

also there are some horses. the apple man snuck onto a farm with horses. IS IT GONNA BE THE WELL-GROOMED MAN’S FARM???

is it the russian guy??? well, he introduces himself as “vassily peskow” which seems to answer that question. 

(in googling this to make sure i spelled his name right, i saw that he has something to do with "the syndicate"- is that the official name of the group i have been referring to as the UN alien people for 3 seasons now?!)

he is speaking to the woman who we earlier saw give that stuff to auntie janet, but he has come to see her! her name is dr. charne-sayre, and while i know nothing about her besides her willingness to euthanize her aunt, she seems to have handled a strange old man showing up and touching her horses quite well, because personally i would be throwing hands.

OH!!! HE STARTS CHOKING HER?? the horses are neighing with fury. 

what… did i just see…

scully! at home!!! so pretty….

skinner is behind her!!! he is MAD! he has been trying to get ahold of her all day! well, she was busy??? cut a girl some slack???

he says she owes him some answers about this mystery pouch. he is maaaad! he has to testify tomorrow!! he harbored a known felon!!! ooo he’s gonna get in troubleeeee

she very calmly explains that the pouch has a rock with some sort of creature in it that she has been trying to figure out all day. she handled his anger quite, well all things considered. never forgetting to say “sir”.

but she doesn’t know where it was supposed to be going. HOWEVER…. skinner does! it was going to dr. charne-sayre!!! 

scully knows who this is!! because she is a nerd. said with heart eyes. dr. charne-sayre is a virologist, who has looked in on presidents and also is an authority on “variola viruses” which means something i’m sure, but it’s a mystery to me

OH! it means smallpox! she has been trying to get people to destroy the last remaining smallpox vials. 

(WAIT IS THAT A THING?? is humanity really keeping some smallpox in some bottles somewhere???? i need to look something up after this and the adjust my levels of panic for biowarfare accordingly.

GOOD NEWS! wikipedia says the last vials were finally destroyed in 2015! that feels like it took too long...

wait. just kidding. it highlighted an irrelevant part of the article. another page says they are still out there, the ones in atlanta and russia that scully refers to in the episode. i feel no relief after all.

the ones that WERE destroyed were 350+ vials of smallpox that had just been lost????? HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN???

damn. i need to go down a rabbit hole later that is going to teach me some unsettling things)

anyway, skinner breaks the news that dr. charne-sayre was killed, but blames it on a horse. and i saw what went down and it did not look like any hooves were involved, so idk how tf they came to that conclusion. a choking and hoof marks are not at all comparable??

back to da gulag. a guy kicks mulder and leads him out with a bunch of other men. i find myself wondering about all of the extras there that day, how the filming went. 

UH OH! krycek is up smoking with one of the bigwigs of the gulag!!!! what is he DOING??? the geologist prisoner who gave him the shank says mulder has one chance to kill him, and he pulls out his weapon. OMG HE’S RUNNING FOR IT!!! does he stand a chance?!?

that dude is absurdly fast bro. he gets two solid punches into krycek and steals a truck!!! where is he going!!!

horse vs truck race!!!! who will win??? i hope it’s the truck!!!

so he knocked krycek tf out and took him on the bed of the truck... that is hilarious

i hope all the other prisoners break out too :)

okay, the men on horses are shooting at mulder. krycek wakes up and is slamming the back of the truck. what i want to know is where mulder, who has a famously terrible sense of direction, is driving!!!

he’s trying to hit the brakes but it’s not really working!!! and krycek jumped off!!!! where does he think he’s gonna go 😭😭

no!!! mulder crashes the truck!!! ouch ouch ouch!!

well, instead of resolving that plot line, we jump to the well-groomed man (am i using his name right?) chatting with cancer man in the dark. cancer man bullies him for smoking, as if we don’t only know him as cigarette smoking man or cancer man, but well-groomed man is pissed at cancer man’s various failures!! and wouldn’t you be??

oh!! that person riding the horses- dr. charne-sayre- was well-groomed man’s personal physician! there’s some weird tension between these old men now that he needs the help of cancer man to figure out what went down

“were you sleeping with her?” csm asks, making us all uncomfortable. and well-groomed man doesn’t answer!!!!!!!! EW!!! nasty!!!! he put the mission at risk for his personal pleasure!

damn. hate when cancer man is right about things.

well, i guess they’re both flops at their job. that should unite them rather than pull them apart. 

cancer man asks well-groomed man (and that is definitely going to get confusing quick) to call off "the investigation", which he says he cannot do. but senator sorenson is an honorable man. do we believe him?

i do not. 

somehow, cancer man knows mulder was captured in tunguska and has escaped. i don’t know how this plays into their plan, but cancer man is smirking. suspicious... i hate his creepy smirk.

okay, back to russia. we see the truck that mulder crashed and a bunch of blood on the window, which are not auspicious signs. but no one is in there!!!! the men on horses are baffled!!!

krycek is in the woods, being surrounded by a bunch of people and speaking in russian, claiming to have escaped from the prison camp. they realize from his clothes he is lying about being a prisoner, but they believe that he was accused of spying and take him in?? i guess??

OMG!!! mulder was hiding under a ton of leaves while the men on horses looked for him!!! it was giving a real peeta in the 74th hunger games moment.

so, now we are where we started last episode, with scully swearing to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help her god. and she is reading her prepared statement. people are passing notes as she does so. and then they are rude as hell and cut her off. 

skinner is watching all of this go down, and as she tears into the culture of lawlessness, he does look like he kinda wants to die. but i think she’s serving. 

OMG!!!! they’re taking her to jail!!!! she said idgaf i am NOT giving up mulder’s secrets and that is a REAL ASF FRIEND!!! she’s in jail in her kickass outfit and omggggg what a queen… crossing her arms as she stares out the window…. i love her so deeply 

back to russia, where some guy finds mulder under a ton of leaves, and yells at him for breaking his truck. sorry!! it was an accident. he didn’t mean it :(

the woman he is with is gonna tend to him though, because mulder has that sad puppy dog thing going on. 

she knows some english!!! woah!!! this is convenient for plot reasons and also fuels my determination to keep learning another language so i can be the cool side character that saves the day at least once.

she says that they kill everybody for “the test”, and that her husband makes deliveries, so they spare their lives. but now, no truck…

mulder says we need to get tf out of here, the smallpox scar is tracking you. she says there is an alternative, and gestures to her son with no arms. i do not think this is a good alternative. and the husband comes back in with a knife!!! are we gonna have some hand to hand combat…….

krycek is sleeping by a fire, but then a bunch of people come and get him. one of them has a heated knife!!! are we in amputation mode…

oh. he sure is screaming as that knife is going in… yes, it appears we are in amputation mode

scully is in jail, reading the works of dr. charne-sayre, because she is studious even behind bars!!!! i love that about her. highlighter in hand as she ponders. 

skinner comes to see her! “you holding up?” “i’ve got plenty to read” awwww :( skinner cares about her :( big old softie :( and she is gonna read her way through jail :( she’s just so :(

she clarifies that this is NOT just about mulder!!!! this idiotic commission is wasting time asking about mulder and not about the pouch, the murder, the rock, or anything ACTUALLY RELEVANT at all!!! 

“it is my experience that lawyers ask the wrong questions only when they don’t want the right answer” DAMN what kind of lawyers has she dealt with…? probably plenty in her FBI time. but still. she has seen things.

“it is my natural inclination to believe they are acting in the best interest of the truth” aww… she wants to assume the best of these obviously very shady men

“but i am not inclined to follow my own judgement in this case” <- she said y’all are so god awful not even my natural optimism can salvage this (and i love her for knowing her limits)

skinner makes a remark about following mulder’s judgement instead and i can’t tell if he was trying to be hurtful or not…

back to dr. sachs, dealing with his rock induced injury. NO! the russian guy vassily is here! with a needle!!! what does he need that for??? go away!! i like that rock scientist!!

he’s getting this orange fluid in a syringe and he sticks it into dr. sachs and BLEH i cannot look…………. but the slugs!!! the oil slugs!!!!! 

NO!!! he takes the rock and unplugs the machines dr. sachs was on!!! HE CAN’T KEEP GETTING AWAY WITH THIS 💔

cancer man is explaining that vassily was in the KGB… “how could this be? how could the russians know we were working on our own inoculation?” asks well-groomed man, “six of us knew!” 

an anti-alien vaccine! this could be useful,,, maybe? idk.

cancer man is tasked with finding vassily… but he says someone might save him the trouble

cut to scully back in front of the fancy congress slash senator slash corrupt government people…. she has had time to think about the question she was asked.

and she says she cannot answer! she keeps listing off things she can answer instead, but not about this!

OH! MULDER APPEARS!!! “answer the question miss scully!” (mulder voice) “what is the question?”

YEAHHHHH THAT’S MY GUY!!!

HER REACTION TO HIS VOICE… the little orchestral flourish… his beat up face… his stupid smirk. wait i have to rewatch this. LOOK AT HER FACE WHEN SHE SEES HIM!!!

she says that the death of the doctor was connected to the death of the man in skinner’s apartment, and dr. charne-sayre FOR SURE knew information about the virus. and while i am happy for her triumphant moment, skinner walks in and whispers something to her….

dr. sachs has died under suspicious circumstances!!

this is obviously very important, but in the background you can see mulder say something to skinner, and he reacts as if deeply annoyed. lmaoooo we are soooooo back!!

the bigwigs on the council go to recess, and the absolute MILLISECOND that gavel is slammed, these two nerds JUMP UP to see each other, it’s so cute oh my goshhhh it is for sure making my list of favorite moments this season

AWWW AND THEY HUG AND HE SAYS “good to put my arms around you” OHHHHH MY GODDDD OH MY GOOOOD THE WAY HE’S LOOKING AT HER (and the remark about still having both arms she obviously doesn’t understand yet!!!!)

(screaming into my pillow for a solid 30 seconds before composing myself)

skinner jumps in and says “some other time” when she asks how he got back LMAOOO he has had ENOUGH

scully says please skinner let us go to florida for 15 hours please 🙏 it should be quick but if it isn’t please stall for us please sir…. and he’s all “girl just go and be fast about it” (sternly)

okay! so why florida? because that is where one of dr. charne-sayre’s patients at a convalescent home died of a mysterious virus! yes, as we saw in the very beginning!!!!

NO!! vassily is here!!! can he just wander in?? is that allowed? why are people coming and going from this convalescent home…? is there not a sign in process…?

he’s going for the meds. he pockets some meds and replaces them with a decoy. 

“may we come in ma’am?” mulder asks, shoving his way in <- LMAOOOO god that gag gets me every single time 

so they need to look at the elderly, and scully reports that this dude she just walked up to is dead. and he sees another one with the slugs!!!

these people are test subjects, he says!!! and they have to deal this building right now!!

no!!! vassily was laying in a bed and heard all of this!!! what is this mischievous fellow up to???

mulder says all of this can be traced to one man. and scully…. oh my gosh, the side profile, my heart…… 

IS KRYCEK WORKING WITH VASSILY?

scully and mulder go to visit the leader of the militia they busted krycek with at the beginning of last episode. scully looks so good i’m actually going to gnaw my own arm off holy fuck. that blue trench coat and grey suit combo is lethal.

so this criminal is denying finding krycek in a missile silo, and said krycek came to him. looking for help to make “devices”, and talking about this black cancer developed by the soviets, and used in the gulf war. so how did he get out of the silo....

OH! mulder asks where the other “device” (bomb) ended up, and when the militia leader says “i ate it”, he punches this guy in the stomach and puts him in a headlock. and then he says some very out of pocket things i am not going to repeat, but the point is: krycek took the bomb and put it in a storage garage somewhere in terma, north dakota. ah! the name of this episode is finally understandable!

“scully, get on the phone and get the license numbers for any two-ton trucks stolen in north dakota in the last six months, then call canadian border authorities and have them stop any vehicle fitting that description” (said while gazing into her eyes)

(this line killed me for some reason and i can’t even explain it… just such an odd series of commands out of context!)

“someone used krycek, then krycek used us; someone who didn’t want that rock in american hands” ah. so this whole thing has been a set up. you see, i was too busy thinking thoughts like “i hope he gets out of the gulag” and also “man, i hope scully doesn’t go to jail” and “look at how they hugged!” to put that together. sometimes i am a simple viewer making no conclusions about the grander plot at hand! sometimes i am surface level! i am multi-faceted!

vassily is gonna put the rock back in the ground under the guise of fertilizer for his tomatoes 

WOAH!!! agents in a helicopter :0 they look so good….

mulder is trying to scream over the loud noise of the helicopter doing its thing, which i imagine had to be an awful time to film. scully wisely just nods her head instead of attempting to communicate with words.

haha his hair is all messed up from the helicopter… hehehehe…

so he’s looking in the truck for any sort of rocks or bombs or whatnot. he sees some pipes… he is forming conclusions…

scully disembarks from the helicopter, and her hair is all messed up too (my heart!) as she climbs over a fence to get into this refinery. one thing about these two is they are gonna climb some fences!

vassily sees this going down and hides…… mulder is reaching into the pipe…. trying to grab the hidden rock… he is covered in oil!!!!

and it blowed up!!!!!!! 

no!!!! scully sees the explosion,,, and vassily sneaks up behind her and puts her in a chokehold!!! he grabs her gun!!! he says he will kill her but he doesn’t want to? and that his work is done. 

damn, now she’s gotta get a new gun……

she’s RUNNING to mulder who is soaked in oil and has barely escaped the explosion. she is picking him up and then… cutscene to more testimony stuff.

GIRL IS HE OKAY???

i love when they save each other <3 i love when they have to pick each other up and drag each other to safety <3 i love the panicked screaming of the other’s name <3 i love the fast and furious assessment to see if the other is okay <3 i just love these things <3

scully has evidence to present: linking a number of deaths to a biotoxin brought onto US soil! and the man who delivered it also died! and that guy was the man who krycek pushed off skinner’s balcony!

“alex krycek, who is missing and possibly deceased” oh i know better than to believe his ass is dead

the council is whispering… 

they laugh at the idea of extraterrestrials, and mulder also comes to the stand… what is he gonna do…

“why is this so hard to believe?” he asks. hey i know you’ve had a rough go of it man, and there is literally an alien slug in your body, but she was doing so well…

oh! he’s going on and on about how obvious it is that extraterrestrial life forms exist!! and you need to understand this or else you are denying crucial evidence!!!

ah, i see now why the opening text. just as galileo spoke of the earth rotating around the sun but was scorned, so mulder speaks of aliens and is met with disdain. and yet, the earth continues to spin, and the aliens continue to be in his bloodstream.

“this is not why we are here today” “then why ARE we here today?” okay parallels i see you!!!

they recess… and cancer man stands up in the back……..

back to russia, where vassily is returning home, insisting he is retired to someone in his room.

OH! IT’S KRYCEK! WHO IS ADDRESSED AS “COMRAD KRYCEK” bro… he is congratulating vassily on a great job 

and omg… he’s got a prosthetic arm… they really sawed his arm off…

back at DC (home) the senator is reading files and passing them to cancer man, who is tossing them in a bin??? presumably to burn??

HUH! so much for an honorable man.

okay, so much happened here. let me go in order of which thoughts are loudest.

first of all… did they know this was gonna be what they did with krycek from the start? just asking because i want to know if “needs to be fluent in russian” was on the casting call for that role or if they sprung it on him later. because that would be wild.

krycek, working with the soviets… huh. interesting implications.

second. the alien!! there is alien oil slug in krycek AND mulder now!!!! what is that going to do to them? are they gonna turn into living flash bangs like that one lady did in that one episode?? is it gonna slowly kill him? will be and scully slowly die together? i can’t imagine such a horrible thing….

third. their reunion…. damn it, it was so sweet. the way they INSTANTLY got to their feet when the recess was declared… the way he wrapped his arms around her…. oh man. oh man. and the smiles… the smiles……..

so far, s4 has not really been my jam. but this episode was really good and has given me hope that soon we shall be cooking with gas, in terms of both very juicy plot advancement and special agent bonding moments. i mean, come on, lifting him out of that explosion while he was covered in oil??! i cannot get enough of that!!!

is he going to hide that he has an alien slug in him?? is he going to be that guy in the zombie movie who acts like he didn’t get bit?? or is he going to be honest and tell her?? will she try to find a cure? wait, does he even know what happened?? because he was knocked out when all of that went down…

and what about scully’s mystery illness!!!! is she going to be okay?? are they going to be terrified for each other??

okay, okay, one thing at a time.

so, there’s an alien virus in a rock that landed on earth during the tunguska event, and the americans were working on a vaccine to protect against it. but somehow the russians knew about it, and that is likely due to krycek, who was a double agent on like three counts. they killed the leading expert on the virus in order to prevent a vaccine from being developed, and have previously used the virus in biowarfare (so i guess gulf war syndrome is alien slugs in this universe?). the guy that krycek threw off of skinner’s apartment was the one who was meant to receive the rock containing aliens, but was killed, and said virus rock was intercepted by the russians, who are having a sort of cold war 2.0 moment. over alien slug virus. which, if exposed to, will eventually kill you; why it killed dr. sachs and not all of the other men who were at the gulag is a mystery. and to try and protect the americans against this virus, the leading expert, dr. charne-sayre was testing on the elderly. and cancer man wants to cover up all of the evidence which scully and mulder have presented linking all of the deaths to the rock. 

okay. i think i got most of the lore down.

i want to know what happens next!!! but i am no fool!! i know we will be given random monster of the week episodes which are also excellent but tell me nothing about the plot!!! and now that we’re dealing with alien slugs, i’m wondering, what about the actual little green men? where do they come in? is this a third type of alien? because we have the little green men we’ve seen glimpses of, sometimes mixed with human DNA; we’ve got the aliens that were clones from that species with the poison blood and can only be killed with the needle to the neck; and then these alien slugs. and also a few other random non-central to the plot alien life forms, like the ones in firewalker and ice.

where is the common thread?? how can they tie all of these up?? would tying all of these mysteries up even be satisfying?? or is it better to let some things be a mystery?? did chris carter have plans for all of this overarching stuff, or was he making it up as he went?

so many questions! but for me, basking in the warmth of their hug is my highlight 

[abishekmuses]

Come Some Way

I feel inspired today. I'm writing this without any idea of what I'm going to write about. Just wanted to put pen to paper - or in this case, cursor to dialog box.

I feel flooded with a sense of "yes-we-can" today. Sure, these feelings are transitory and not to be trusted but it still feels good. I see a lot of opportunity around me.

I feel chuffed at the possibility of being able to express myself through writing. What an incredible miracle - using words to express stuff that goes on in thought-form in your brain box? language has never ceased to amaze me in all these years of living on this planet.

I want to write more frequently. I've been saying this for more than a decade now - but well, there you go. I do. I want to hone my craft and get really really good at writing. I wish to be able to create moods and share subtle inner feelings through words. I think the way to achieve this is by writing everyday and by reading a lot.

Something that I understood quite recently with life is this - when you feel bad, it's not necessarily because of something that's going on then - it could also be just a habit pattern of sympathetic arousal - what does that mean?

say you encounter a tiger in the woods; It's scary as fuck and your sympathetic nervous system activates. Your body secretes adrenaline and you go into fight or flight mode. Energy is redirected to strictly necessary functions in order to ensure survival. Unpleasant stuff, subjectively speaking. now, because we have these ginormous cortices (cortex - outer layer of the brain) that can remember the past, extrapolate into the future and work in abstractions, we have the unique ability among all animals to simulate this kind of "encountering a tiger" response in us, at will, even in the absence of any large carnivores.

Memory and Imagination are amazing things but they are also the reason why so many people feel so bad so often. Their brains' threat detection circuits are always on and people are going through their lives swimming in stress chemicals. In my own experience, there was a long history of poor decision making and extremely high levels of uncertainty. This led to a huge complex of sub-optimal coping mechanisms which each gave rise their own web of negative emotions and coping mechanisms. Before you know it, everything sucks all the time and you don't think it can ever end. Now, you get into addictions - because something's gotta give. it hurts too much otherwise. That just fuels the problem - you have even more difficulty making the kind of decisions that you need to make in order to get out of the morass of your life. It doesn't feel like it can ever end. This endless cycle of depression, anxiety, self-hate and poor life choices. Well, it can. it takes time. But it can and today, I stand here as proof that it can. It wasn't easy and it didn't happen overnight. But that whole web of suckiness can be burned. Here's the thing I actually wanted to talk about before I started rambling - the thing that I found out quite recently in life is this - when stressful/negative emotions come up in an intense manner, you don't need to do anything about it. You just need to understand the mechanism of how past experiences and habits are responsible for them and let them be. they eventually go away! This might sound super obvious to a lot of people but to me it wasn't. It was essentially a get-out-of-jail-free-card when i discovered this.

All you have to do is sit and wait, and it goes away? damn. I spent years winding myself up and getting anxious about the fact that i was getting anxious. So many. thousands of hours listening to wise guys on the internet. Reading posts on how to "make it" in life. Jeez. The magic trick is to simply realise how the mind-body system works and then, making good decisions while also understanding that you won't get positive chemical feedback for a while - until you undo all that negative emotional patterning that has now created a pervasive complex of neuro-endocrine (i.e chemical) patterning in you. To put it more simply - you've probably come out of the stupidity that caused you the misery in the first place but now, when you're getting your shit together and doing the right things, you still feel bad. That's a. discouraging as fuck and b. confusing as fuck because now you feel disoriented, demotivated and lost. You don't feel good when you do the difficult thing, so why do it at all? Why not just watch porn, jerk off and smoke weed? That's why this breakthrough was so big for me. All you have to do is sit and surrender to your negative emotions, without any resistance. They leave you 100% of the time, if you don't reinforce those patterns again with your mind. Now, that's easier said than done. Takes some experience, skill, nuance and determination. That's why I said earlier that it doesn't happen overnight. But it does happen and boy does it feel good!

[ded10c]

The Day After International Women's Day

As you may have seen already, yesterday was International Women's Day.

Throughout most of my adult life, the best, closest, kindest, and most loyal and compassionate friends I've had have almost all been women. Every single one has been through something truly awful: abusive relationships, assaults – a horrifying majority have survived one of the worst crimes a person can visit upon another. Some of them more than once. Yesterday was also International When is International Men's Day Day (it's November 19th, to save you turning yourself into a statistic). Alright then, lads - if we're gonna make it all about us, have a seat. It's the next day now, so we won't be speaking over anyone: let's talk. Why is it we can't talk about how often women are subjected to the shit they are without one of you getting on the defensive and saying it's not all of us? Everybody knows that already - and women are even more aware of it then we are, frankly. It's not all, but it's damn sure enough of us - and if you've ever wolf-whistled or catcalled someone, made a move on someone just a little too drunk to think clearly, or commented about someone being "dressed like a slut" or "asking for it", then all the good intentions in the world don't make a blind bit of difference. In that moment you raised a red flag, proudly declared yourself a threat to anyone who'd listen, and told every woman in earshot loud and clear that it’s not all men - but for all they know, if they give you half a chance, it might be you. We live in a world that belittles friendships between men and women. We tease children about it, we have "gay best friend" stereotypes that harm everyone involved, and we've got centuries of society telling men to expect one thing and women another - and what all that adds up to is men who don't know how to be friends with women. Now I agree wholeheartedly that everyone is the sum of their parts, and a lot of those parts are things we can't control. We've all had experiences that shaped us in ways we don't really like. We feel things we're ashamed of and do things we feel guilty about, and somewhere along the line someone decided being a man meant pretending that didn't happen. That may be bullshit - and it is - but it still means generations of men don't talk to their friends about things like that, and we've been passing that down for so long that we might as well call it an heirloom. Just knowing it’s bullshit isn’t enough if you’ve lived with it so long that it’s cost you the ability to imagine anything else. Women are more likely to talk to their friends about those things - men included, if they're close enough. But because we don't, we don't learn how to in quite the same way no matter whether we're talking about our own feelings or someone else's. When we do get to make that connection, it's more likely to be with a woman - and because that tends not to be normal in our friendships, we tend to mistake it for something else. And society tells us not to talk about that either – a huge part of building a relationship with someone is pretending you’re not trying to do that. If you don’t believe me, you just try flirting with someone without either of you being even a little bit coy. See how far that gets you. When we don't talk about or process our feelings, they fester and turn into something unpleasant. We might start to feel entitled and possessive over a woman whose only mistake was trying to be our friend. We might start to feel manipulated and used. We might even start to resent her. (This is what being “friendzoned” is, by the way: misreading her intentions, and blaming her instead of talking to her about it.)

Once those things start happening, we're already on an unpleasant and dangerous path. If you spot any of them, you need to step back and re-evaluate your position. Why do you feel like that? Why do you see her the way you do? Have you listened to how she feels about the situation, or did you assume you already know? Are you blaming her for your feelings, or are you taking responsibility for your emotions and processing them properly? Have you been in this position before and blamed the woman for hurting you when perhaps you said or did something thoughtless that hurt her enough to have to pull away? Has that happened enough, and have you heard enough stories from your mates, that you protect yourself by being distrustful of women in general? I don't think it's manly to pretend to be strong when you're not. I think that's cowardice. I think bravery is about acknowledging your feelings, admitting your mistakes, and trying to do better. I'm willing to bet every man reading this has made at least one of those mistakes before - I know I have. Feeling like that isn't our fault - society demands we behave like this, and these are the consequences. It becomes our fault when we don't listen to the signs that we're hurting someone and don't do something about it. Going forwards, there are a couple of things I'd like you try doing. First, when someone tells you you’ve hurt them, listen, understand, and think about how you could avoid hurting them in future. Second, if you've never been in therapy or counselling, you should consider it. Some of us carry it better than others, but nobody gets through life without something fucking them up a little bit inside. If you don’t know where your scars are and how they affect you, there’s a very good chance they’ll cause you to hurt someone else – usually your romantic partners and your kids. Those women I mentioned aren't just the kind, compassionate people they are today because that’s who they are. Part of it is because they went through something terrible and don't want to see that happen to anyone else. They're like that despite the things some of the men in their lives have done to them - things some of those men are still doing. Some of those men have no idea they're even doing it - and lads, if any of you has read this far and still thinks this doesn’t apply to you, let me be clear: it especially applies to you. It's very easy to hurt someone by accident and never have any idea - and if you can't think of anything, odds are you've done a lot more than someone who can. Right, that was a lot - here's the skinny version. Society shames men for feeling, which means we never learn how to deal with it. That causes us to hurt people – sometimes because we’ve deluded ourselves into thinking they deserve it, but often by accident. We don't know how to talk about feelings, so when people tell us we hurt them we feel accused and get defensive instead of apologising and trying to understand, and that makes the problem worse. Round and around we go.

I see a lot of posts on social media saying things like “men need to do better”. It’s not as simple as that – there’s not a whole lot you can do if you can’t see where we’re going wrong or why. But once you’ve got those two pieces, you can make a start. It won’t be easy: you’re trying to break the habit of a lifetime here and you’ve got an entire society to rebel against to do it. You’ll slip up sometimes. There are going to be moments of realisation where the guilt and shame feel overwhelming – I’m not in touch with all those best friends today, and I owe some of them a bigger apology than I honestly know how to give. But even though it won’t be easy, the important part is that you try. That’s what it means to be a man.

Good talk, lads. Now let's get out there and do better.

[whosjunglejim4322]

SMUT, collegecrush!au, tattooed Johnny agenda, bff Jaehyun! And brief mentions of him being drunk, all the yearning, Johnny is whipped for you but you didn't hear that from me, he's got a big dick, brief dry humping, finger fucking and pussy eating bc....I'm a whore, sensual fucking cause he thinks ur precious teehee ngl I have a crush on this Johnny

A month ago, if someone would have told you that Johnny Seo would be watching The Matrix trilogy with you while sitting on your living room floor under a blanket that he'd brought to the routine occasion - you would have thought them to be crazy. Insane, even.

And not because Johnny is unpleasant to be around, quite the contrary. Despite his popularity he's one of the most levelheaded, endearing frat boys - for lack of better term - you've ever met, and you also happen to think of him as a superhero of sorts, always there the moment you need him.

It had been a party, where the two of you met - sort of. Not shocking, in the least bit, but also not the first place you would have planned to be on a Saturday night. Jaehyun, being the stubborn and puppy dog eyed best friend that he is, insisted that you come along with him - that he'd keep you glued to his side all night long.

Of course, in proper Jaehyun fashion, three tequila shots in and a game of beer pong had him barely cognitive and passed out on some ones bathroom floor within two hours. The house was big, but filled with people and between trying to lift him up while he giggled about your hair smelling so good and sweet - you also feared anyone seeing him like this. Even if it weren't the first time.

His presence spooked you, at first, a light tap on your shoulder from somewhere behind you just as you attempted to lift your aforementioned best friend for what felt like the hundredth time that night. You nearly dropped him back on his head, if it weren't for quick hands and a sturdy grip on the drunk boys slumped shoulders.

He looked like sunshine, honey skin and dyed blonde hair with the dark roots growing out - a soft, comforting smile across the smooth planes of his face. Dark ink peaked out from where the collar of his shirt had drooped, appearing to be spilling from his shoulder. Your arms felt weaker than before, and embarrassment regarding the situation began to make your skin hot.

"I got him, don't worry," he'd assured with a gentle grin, lifting your bestfriend with an ease you almost wanted to scowl at. His height had been startling too, and not just because you were sitting on someone's bathroom floor. "did you guys drive here?"

You shook your head, a sigh of frustration leaving your lips and slumping your posture as you remembered that you both had walked here. Johnny slung Jaehyuns arm over his broad pair of shoulders, and jerked his chin towards the door, which you opened warily.

"I'll drive you home, it's no problem," his voice was soft, reassuring and you were taken aback. He obviously knew Jaehyun, and you'd never met any of his friends that were so...pleasant. "let's get him to my car first."

It wasn't nearly as painful and humiliating to push past crowds of intoxicated people with Johnny leading the way, as it would have been if it were just you. No one even batted an eye at the way he was dragging Jaehyun like a ragdoll, while the boy grumbled under his breath like a child.

People looked at him, of course. Oh, they looked at him. But not because of his human luggage, and it felt odd to see so many eyes on one person, to realize that his presence has the same effect on everyone else as it did you.

He kept looking back, making sure you were still close behind him, and it wasn't until you were outside in the open that you realized he'd been clinging on to the fabric of your jacket, making sure you didn't stray. Your heart felt like it was bursting open. Focus. You'd thought to yourself.

"That's my car over there, can you open the door for me?"

You jogged towards the sleek, onyx colored SUV that looked like a shadow against the dark bushes, and in just a split second Johnny was behind you, maneuvering Jaehyun into the backseat.

"Mmm...leather." Your best friend's giggle made you all the more grateful for the fact that you hadn't had to do this alone, his cheeks bright red and eyes crescent moons from the way he gleefully grinned. Still, you love him nonetheless.

You pulled your jacket off and prepared to drape it over his body before Johnny stopped you with a gentle hand, shaking his head. "I've got two on, let me."

His jacket probably sufficed more anyways, a heavy denim that would actually cover most of Jaehyuns body. You thanked him with a shy smile while he closed the door, and headed towards the passengers seat.

This experience had been the beginning, the car ride home that night being one full of conversations - genuine conversations, and he didn't leave once you both arrived at your apartments. Jaehyun snored in the background while the two of you talked, laughed. It was hard to look him in the eyes, to not make it so obvious - it's hard now, too.

Neo and Trinity kiss on the screen in front of you, and you wonder how Johnny sees you. Sure, he's flirty, overtly sometimes, but there's never been a definitive line to mark where the both of you really are on the friendship spectrum. If you even want to call it that.

Every time he touches your cheek or catches you staring, even when you're walking to your classes and his hand graces the small of your waist just before he waves you goodbye - you have to assume that he knows what he's doing - that the tension hasn't ever just been one sided.

His hair is a light chestnut brown now, longer than usual and flopping into his eyes from the sides. It's unfair, how he doesn't even have to try. The sharp slope of his nose, the bow of his lips, even the elegance of his neck and jaw. That awe from when you first saw him, has never left.

Not to mention that you often times forget he has so many tattoos whenever he decides to wear short sleeves, the art inky and stark against his olive skin - riveting down from his biceps like silk, cascading over his thick forearms and ending at his knuckles.

You turn your attention back to the laptop upon realizing that you've gotten caught up, heart still rattling underneath your ribcage. It makes it worse, the fact that the heat of his body is so close, that you can smell the scent of dryer sheets clinging onto the fabric of his shirt along with the natural allure of his skin.

"Why were you staring at me?" His breath is warm against the shell of your ear and you shudder, surprised by his sudden closeness and the timbre of his voice. You turn to face him with an incredulous expression, feigning innocence - but he makes it damn near impossible with the way he's looking at you - a dark eyebrow raised and a sly smile playing on his heart shaped lips.

"I was looking at your tattoos, cause - uhm, I forget they're underneath your clothes sometimes." You confess, and his knee knocks against yours underneath the blanket.

"Mmhm, so you think about what's under my clothes?" He teases, and takes pride in the way your eyes glower at him, a scoff leaving your mouth. It's hard to be annoyed when he's so vibrant, right here in front of you.

"Just the art, this one's my favorite." Eager to not have the pressure on you anymore, you reach out to grasp his wrist - not realizing how deeply of a need you've had all this time to do so, until you're tracing the flower that's decorating the top of his hand.

In hindsight, it's a bold move - but you can't go back now, not when he's staring down at you so fondly, scooting closer and placing his hand in your lap while you admire his body art.

"Yeah? Why's it your favorite?" He asks, genuinely curious. He nudges your shoulder with his when he sees the shy smile spreading across your lips, your skin hot to the touch. His comfort level has you less nervous than you were before, and the whole thing feels oddly natural, being so close together.

"I don't know, it just suits you. Your hands are so big, and the little vines looping around your knuckles really makes them look...delicate."

You don't dare look up, not when you realize his chest is rising and falling faster than it was before, just like yours is as you spread his fingers out and play with the digits, his face just inches above yours, voice warm in your ear.

"Second favorite." It's not a demand but it's not exactly a request either, and there's a safety in the energy pulsating around you both - mutual, rippling like a current through your bones.

Your eyes deliberately trail up the length of his long arm, scanning, and your fingertips press against the belly of the dragon that wraps around his bicep, sinewy tail tapering off just below his elbow. You've secretly admired this one for a long time, sneaking glances whenever you can. He turns more towards you just the slightest bit, and the closeness begins to make you feel dizzy.

"Your hands are soft."

This time, you can't not look at him, belly filled with a need to see his face, to save the memory of his features so up close in the back of your mind. However, once you do, look up at him - you almost wonder how you'll be able to handle it at all, his amber eyes boring into you as if he's trying to read your thoughts.

"So is your skin." Is what you manage to reply, willing yourself not to look at his soft, inviting mouth - afraid you'll give yourself away. You feel something stroke the side of your cheek and it takes you a second before realizing he's touching you, apparently giving yourself away isn't an issue. You feel like you're being set ablaze.

"Is it really just the tattoos, you think of?" You're not imagining things, he's definitely moving closer - you can smell the starbursts that he ate earlier still sweet on his breath, the wrappers crumpled on the coffee table next to the laptop.

It's all settling in, the realization that this hasn't been just you, fantasizing and daydreaming about someone who hasn't even realized how his natural charm has made you feel.

You're afraid to speak, so you shake your head as a response to his question, the atmosphere thickening impossibly now that he's cupping your chin between his fingers, the tips of your noses almost touching. You've placed your palm against his knee without even realizing it, steadying yourself.

"I've wanted to kiss you since the day we met," he confesses, dark eyebrows furrowed as if he's restraining himself, waiting. "is this...is this okay?" Your lower belly flutters, and you're almost afraid to move, to change anything about this moment and the way it is right now.

"Me too. I've wanted to kiss you, I mean." You breathe out, and now your lips are ghosting against each other, a moment of hesitation that feels both infinitesimal and fleeting. "It's more than okay." A heartbeat passes and he presses his mouth against yours, so pillowy soft that you gasp, surprised.

It's just a second, that he pulls away to look down at you, and your expression is so heavenly - so hazy and delicate. He kisses you again and this time your lips begin to overlap, from top to bottom, suckling and getting used to the feel of each other. He's still holding your face, but with both hands now, thumbs on your cheeks and fingers wrapping around to the nape of your neck.

You cling onto him like you've no other choice, desperate to have him underneath your fingertips, reminding you that this is really happening and that your mind isn't just creating very vivid daydreams. He pulls you closer and you grip onto his broad shoulders.

"Mm, you're so sweet," he lilts between his kisses, tone somewhere between bliss and desire. You're not expecting to be so worked up already. "even better than I imagined." His tongue slips past yours, wet and warm and it's like your body is being put on vibrate.

He senses this too, with the way you're almost in his lap, breath unsteady. His arms are around your waist before you can move any further, pulling you on top of him and locking you to his torso.

"Johnny." You strain, as the feeling within you becomes overwhelming, craving his touch, his mouth. It doesn't help that he's being so vocal, as well - the sounds sweeter, and more desperate than you'd expect from him. It has something feral igniting within you.

What shocks you the most is that he's already hard underneath you, and the thought alone is enough to have you keening further against his chest, tightening your thighs' grip around his trim waist- not to mention you can feel him snug against your ass, material of your shorts so thin it's palpable when he twitches.

So, naturally, your whine is petulant when his mouth departs from yours, his plush lips a deep blush, matching his cheeks in their hue. He's just as worked up as you if his erratic breathing and the way that he grasps onto your sides is anything to go by, and you shouldn't be as surprised as you are about it.

"You...have no idea," he pants, smoothing his thumb over your bottom lip. "how badly I've wanted you. In so many ways."

Your heart feels like it's attempting to burst through your chest in an effort to be closer to him, his sharp eyes lowly lidded but fierce in their honesty. You take this brief moment to touch his face, his soft cheeks and the smooth, taut ridge of his jaw. It all feels too real to be a dream. This must be reality.

"I'm only stopping because, well I like you," it's hard to pinpoint if the trembling of his hands is fueled from his desire or his nerves, but either way he's got your rapt attention. You doubt anyone could look away from those eyes.

"I like you a lot and...fuck, I don't want to do anything you aren't comfortable with or...sure about. Because I'm sure about you." He finishes, sincere and stoic while holding you against him. You feel like you're floating.

"I have a really big crush on you, Johnny," you kiss his mouth and he smiles against it, humming in contentment. Suddenly, your nerves are replaced by pure adrenaline. "and I like you a lot, too." When you pull back from his lips with a soft smack, his expression causes your skin to burn hot.

"So it'd be okay if I did..." he tilts your head to the side, and a flurry of goosebumps descend across your skin, his breath warm against your throat. "this?" A kiss, soft but purposeful, is placed there, and you shudder.

All you can do is nod in affirmation, heartbeat in your ears among other places. Your fingers run through the hair at the nape of his neck while his mouth begins placing warm, wet pecks against yours, and his body lurches when your thighs tighten around his torso.

It only manages to work you up further, of course, brain already high off of the fact that Johnny likes you back...in fact...he truly is as good as you've always thought, sweet and kind and nasty, groaning when you rut your hips against him.

"Baby, you're shaking." He mouths against your jaw, wondrously and laced with an undertone of hunger. His strong arms hold you tight, eyes softening when he looks down at you and realizes just how worked up you really are.

"I just want you really bad, Johnny." Your body emphasizes your point, chest pressed against the firmness of his, nipples hard behind your shirt. He can practically feel you throbbing.

It's a little fucked up, honestly.

No ones ever had him this head over heels, he feels himself melting against you, your voice sweet and syrupy, dripping with this ache just for him and he's losing it.

"Yeah?" He muses, the wide palm of his hands sliding down the curve of your back, and over the swell of your ass where it's planted so firmly atop of him - massaging you there. "Where do you want me, honey?"

The pet names have you too worked up, you really could get off of anything right now and he's tracing the back of your thighs now, swirling his soft fingertips around, leaving a wake of searing heat in their path.

"Want you everywhere, just - mmph." This kiss interrupts you, bruising in it's intensity and he cups your face softly as a silent apology despite the fact that you're letting out small coos of satisfaction, tugging at the ends of his messy hair.

For a second you feel like you're being lifted, not realizing he's just moved you both to the couch until your head is resting against the cushions, inky arms caging your body against the length of his. He groans when you palm at his stomach, touching and rubbing his sides and then the broad of his back.

All the while his free hand, the one that's not attached to the arm holding himself up, does some exploring of its own, palming your breasts through your shirt and squeezing with just enough pressure to have you arching into his touch.

Automatically, your legs wrap around his middle and your heels dig into the dimples of his back, and his hips pivot downwards to nestle right in between yours. You're both instantaneously struck by the sensation of your centers meeting, his length jerking inside of his pants, your clit throbbing in yours.

"Gonna touch you..." nimble fingertips dance over the skin of your inner thighs. "...here, is that okay?" The warmth of his hand cups your sex and now you're positive that wetness has begun to soak through your underwear, senses gone haywire from the way he's rubbing you, up and down.

"Mhm that's - yes, that's okay." You pant, desperate to feel him as well and reaching in between your bodies in an attempt to grasp at him - his height doesn't make this as easy as you thought and your pliant hands meet just his navel, the faintest of happy trails soft against the skin here.

He switches to his thumb now, instead of the heel of his palm to rub you through your shorts. He searches, for a short moment, finding what he's looking for and pressing the pad of his finger against your bud.

He kisses your whimper, shifting his hips and shuffling upwards just a smidge so that your hands can reach his hard cock. You have to maneuver your arm underneath his but it's working out fine so far, your eyes widening once you feel the twitch of his length.

"Oh." You gasp, expecting to have felt it all while you were on his lap, but missing by a longshot. He's big, bigger than anticipated and you're a bit too flustered as you follow it's bulge through his sweats. He groans your name, and you might be short circuiting.

"You're so hard...and b-big, Johnny you're really big." The incredulity of your voice only has his hunger growing, threatening to swallow him whole. In one breath your hands are pulled from him, pinned above your head with his gentle fingers barring your wrists.

"You're so fuckin' cute," he professes with an awed lilt, moving his hips in circles between yours - his shaft, heavy and thick, nudged against your lips. "wanna make you feel good...mm, wanna make you cum."

Butterflies threaten to flutter into your throat and suffocate you, his breath warm and sweet against your cheek before he's nipping at your earlobe. You feel like you're high, spinning yet completely grounded by his weight above you, against you.

"I want you Johnny, want you to fuck me." You try to turn your head, bashful of the way you're being so shameless but he's not having it, keeping his gaze on your every expression, trying not to lose his sanity when you grind yourself against him. Your voice, petulant and needy, is enough to have him at his wits end alone.

"I will baby, I will," he promises sweetly, accentuating his point by letting go of your wrists, and using one of his hands to pry your thighs open. He rolls his agile hips against you and the friction has you reaching out to grasp at his waist - trim and firm underneath your fingertips. "just gotta get you ready first."

He sits back on his haunches and you pout about the lack of content, his pleased grin a beacon as he hooks his fingers into your waistband, pulling your shorts off your hips and past your thighs - till they're at your ankles, and it feels surreal when he throws them somewhere behind the couch, too eager for his own good.

You're brought back to current reality when his big hands caress the tops of your thighs, before creeping down into the soft crease where they're shut closed in embarrassment, and pulling them apart.

He outwardly marvels and you wonder if he can see you clench, the moment overwhelmingly intimate with the way he's staring directly at the wet spot that’s soaked through the crotch of your panties. He takes only a moment to reach out and press his thumb against the dampness, balls tightening with the need to release each time you whimper or gasp.

With his cock leaking in his pants, he wastes no time, taking the flimsy piece of fabric off so fast you don't even have time to by shy about him seeing you naked and glistening in front of him. Furthermore, you don't think anyone could feel even the least but bad about themselves if he looked at them like this - slack jawed, and starved.

"Fuck...you're so beautiful," two long, inky fingers formed into the shape of a V, spread your lips open and then he's moving further away - no, scooting down onto his stomach, and suddenly his breath is a warm puff against your most sensitive parts. "so wet for me, hmm?"

You're not sure you can look away, too enraptured by the visual stimuli that's correlating with the circling of your swollen clit. You want to cry, a little bit. Scream, maybe. He's so beautiful you can't help but to reach out, running your fingers through the front of his chestnut hair and then his eyes are piercing through you like the shock of ice water.

Your body seems to register the feeling before you can process the sight by itself, back bowing off the couch, hips bucking. His hot, wet tongue licks at the hood of your clit, starting slow and picking up pace when you start to squirm. The blossoms painted across his skin decorate the arms that hold you down while his pillowy lips envelop the bud, suckling lewdly.

"O-oh, oh fu-mmm." You're already blubbering, lost and falling into the sensation of everything all at once. You've no doubt that he's had years of experience but this, you're not sure you've felt pleasure like this before.

"Feels good?" He mumbles between the flick of his tongue, hands traveling up the length of your body to grip your waist, kneading your skin. You almost laugh at the question, assuming your trembling body and the way you're involuntarily bucking against his mouth would suffice as an answer. Still, you humour him.

"Mmhm, feels- ohh, mhm feels good." Your voice is barely there, strained and whiny but he feeds off of your every utterance as if it's something he so desperately needs. The smacking between your legs becomes louder and like a magnet, you're drawn to the sight again, coil in your belly tightening impossibly.

He's a muss of hair, the dark strands tickling your thighs when his head moves from side to side. Your thighs attempt to clamp shut but then he's looking up at you again - purposeful in the way he maintains eye contact while he dives down and licks a stripe over your entrance.

You're not going to last long, and he knows this, from every twitch and squirm and whimper - he's preparing for your demise, humming in contentment while the lewd sounds of slickness continue.

He slips a finger inside of you, and then another once he realizes how soaked you are, and this proves to be the beginning of the end. You grip onto his forearms, needing to be grounded to something while he buries the digits inside of you, curling in a come hither motion.

It's all beyond what you thought pleasure could be, it's violet and red and all things euphoric behind your eyelids and the sound of his pleased groans are what finally have you giving out, melting against the couch cushions.

You're not sure if you're making any sound at all, honestly. It comes so quick, violent in it's force and you're hazy headed - tears welling in your eyes from the way he's still massaging you, licking you while your walls squeeze and contract around his fingers.

"That's it baby, mmm, let go."

The velvet voice is warm against your sensitive sex and you're still twitching as you peel your eyes open to peer down between your legs and see him there, staring up at you like you're the sun, slowing his movements while the aftershock of your orgasm seeps through you.

His knuckles are buried to the hilt inside of you and he pulls them out slowly, petal pink lips kissing your clit gently, adoringly. With your brain still foggy and embarrassment no longer present, you grab his wrist, bringing his slick soaked fingers to your mouth and wrapping your lips around them.

He moans an expletive and then he's hovering over you again, watching with a soaring heart as you suckle your juices clean from his digits, lashes fluttering when you open your eyes.

For once in his life, he's speechless. You have to pull him down to kiss you in order to breaks him from his reverie and it's now that he's realizing how excruciatingly hard he is. He doesn't remember the last time he's ever been this worked up without his dick even being touched for more than five minutes.

It's safe to say he's taken by surprise when your hand slips into his bottoms and briefs to palm him this time, and his body lurches against you while a desperate sound bellows in his throat.

"Baby." he coos, relishing in the softness of your palm, the difference in size of his own. He wants to protest when the intense bliss of it is gone, momentarily, only to feel your fingers attempting to pull his sweats down.

You're still buzzing from your orgasm but you've never been more positive about something; about someone. Your whole body feels as though it can't be satiated, not until you have all of him after having such a sweet taste.

"Please, now, want you now." You nibble on his bottom lip and he has to pull himself away or else he'll get too caught up in your mouth by itself, but he's on a mission - searching for his wallet and scrambling for it when he sees the leather square sitting on the floor.

The tips of your fingers and toes tingle with a mixture of unbearable anticipation, and nerves for what's about to come when he pulls the condom from his wallet and tears the corner of the foil.

It's just a second but it's enough to admire him silently, the twitch of his mouth, the elegance of his fingers even when they're eager and uncoordinated. A part of you feels overcome by the need to be encapsulated by his presence, for his skin to be a permanent silkiness against your lips.

He catches you in the midst of staring and it's like he's glowing from the inside out, pulling his pants down his thick thighs along with his black briefs, kicking them to the floor.

Without thinking your arms are reaching forward, gripping the small of his waist as if to still him, and he pauses at your will. He's cupping your chin with one hand while your fingertips explore underneath the hem of his shirt, and you're grateful that he's allowing you to soak this in, that he's not rushing despite the fact that both of you are like exposed lit wires.

"Here, let me take it off." His arms are reaching behind him before you can blink, biceps curling as he pulls his shirt off of his broad shoulders before discarding it with the rest of his clothing.

Your breath is audible, pupils blown wide while you examine the length of his torso and the permanent shapes that are marked there. Only patches of his honey skin peek through the array of tattoos he's got climbing his sides, over his chest, and you swear you've never seen someone so beautiful.

"Take mine off too." You barely manage to get out, and he's kissing your lips again with a soft sort of fondness, while his knuckles graze your skin and your shirt is being stripped from your body. He's back to kissing you and your naked chests meet for the first time, a fierceness gripping you by the throat when when when the shaft of his cock nudges your clit.

"You're sure about this?" He asks, gentle in the way he strokes your cheek with the back of his hand, pecking your mouth between glances at your nipples where they rub against him. His touch travels to your jaw and down your neck, before he's tweaking the buds between his fingers, and your legs wrap around his middle in an effort to solidify your answer.

"Yes, I'm sure," you run your fingers through his hair. "very sure."

Lips press against your cheek and then you're presented with the sight of him again, bare in front of you, just a few inches away. It's now that you really find the courage to look at him, not expecting to be out of breath and shock stricken once you lay your eyes upon his dick.

It's pretty, as pretty as you knew it had to be; curved just slightly, the tip swollen with arousal and a shade deeper than that of his lips that you've come to have photographically memorized.

You watch with probably more fascination than most while his slim fingers roll the condom onto his length, down the shaft that protrudes with a small vein right in the middle, until it's snug and securing the fact that you and Johnny Seo are about to have sex.

As always, here there right when you need him most, aiding you in forgetting about anything that isn't crucial to right now. His arms are wrapping around your thighs and pulling you closer - your small gasp doesn't go unnoticed.

And then, there's also the way he's looking at you, again. It's like he's compacted every emotion you could feel in a moment like this, and somehow managed to reflect it's opacity back at you through the glimmer of his irises.

You jerk your hips against him and he grins at your urgency, diverting his attention to the space between your legs and holding you steady by the hips with one hand while the other goes to grip his cock.

He levels his pelvis with yours and brings the pink head down to your entrance where it leaks for him, gathering the slickness and smearing it through your folds, around your clit.

His fingers search for yours and suddenly he's interlocking them while you feel the initial stretch of his dick finally entering you, a soft expletive leaving his mouth while he pushes himself into you halfway, peering down with half lidded eyes as a silent affirmation.

Your expression must be as expressive as the soft mewls that involuntarily fall from your lips, and he bottoms out while leaning down to kiss you as he's come to realize that this action is single handedly way more addictive than it should be.

You feel so full it's impossible not whine, and within seconds he's pulling himself out of you nearly all the way - mouth hovering over yours so he can watch your features contort when he sheathes himself back in with a snap of his hips.

With the need to hold on to something becoming incessant, he allows you to throw your arms around his neck while your thighs tremble around him, his hips creating a slow but steady pace that draws lewd sounds from between your bodies with every slow drag of his thick cock.

It's strange, how you provoke such tenderness within him when you shudder and pant beneath him despite the fact that he's barely done anything yet- a juxtaposition to the feral, nagging type of ache that brews in the center of his belly to have you even more a mess.

It's not that he's fairing any better, though. Even you can see that, feel it in the way he keeps his lips on your skin, trying and failing miserably to hold back his groans while your nails create crescent moons on the broad of his back.

"You - f-fuck you feel s-so good." He stutters, and if you could find your words maybe you'd even have the confidence to tease him, but right now all you can comprehend is the feeling in which he's providing, the nudge of his tip so deep inside of you.

"Faster, can you - oh yes, yes." It's like he knows what you want before you get it out all the way, and his tongue is warm against your throat while he obliges your request, furthering your haziness.

You're quick to realize that Johnny is a generous lover. Despite the fact that he's holding himself together on the edge of his coherency, he's already atuned to each tense of your muscles, the strain of sweet sounds you coo in his ear. He uses this as a guide, working his hips skillfully, circling when he pushes himself back in.

The fact that you're sopping wet helps as well, audibly soaked and your walls are taking him in so generously he doesn't know what to do with himself. Your hands are in his hair and tug at the dark strands without thinking, drawing a sweet, serene moan from the back of his throat.

"Mm, feels good?" He asks despite knowing the answer, your countenance painted with the colors of bliss. He peers down in between your bodies and almost regrets it due to the pulse it sends through his groin - threatening to send him over the edge too soon.

But it's a sight too mesmerizing, his entire length disappearing inside of you with an easy glide, his hips colliding with the back of your thighs and your clit waiting to be played with. You're just as taken by the sight, surrounded by only him, inside of you and around you like a life force. Your hands travel over anywhere and everywhere, down to his belly where the muscles flex underneath the painted skin with every thrust.

"So good, you feel s-so good Johnny." You're becoming even more petulant but he doesn't mind, not when you're clinging onto his biceps and mewling his name. He slips his tongue into your mouth while his hands cup the back of your knees, hiking your thighs up higher around his middle.

Your skin burns where he touches, his pace increasing and now you wouldn't be surprised if the neighbors knew exactly what it is that the two of you are doing, skin against skin and coos of pleasure echoing through your small apartment. You have a hard time forming thoughts that make sense.

"M' all the way up there baby," his voice is deceivingly sweet, hips dangerous and borderline ruthless now that you two are drenched in the essence of lust and desire, driven by your need to come undone. "such a sweet pussy."

He means it, too. Maybe that's what makes this all so much more enthralling. From the clench of his taut jaw, to the way his dark eyebrows are furrowed, even the crimson of his lips from the way he's been biting down on them - Johnny is nothing but honest. It's somehow stripped you of the shyness you'd normally be harboring, compelling your mouth to speak without a filter.

"It's all yours, I'm yours."

This seems to spur him on, more than you thought because now he's all but cradling you in his arms, mouthing his words against your lips, not allowing even a centimeter of space to reside between the two of your bodies. It feels whole, complete.

"Mm, yeah sweetheart? Mine. Fuck, you're all mine."

It's a growled statement and you quiver against his solid form, warmed from the inside out like a furnace and set ablaze. You're still sensitive from his mouth but that doesn't change the orb of pressure within your belly, or the waves of pleasure that spread through your thighs and up your spine from the way your clit is rubbing against his pelvis while his cock reaches new depths.

You should've known his mouth would be filthy, and it's really ticking every box you've literally ever needed to be ticked and you're sort of embarrassed by how far gone you are already, properly mewling with your fingers gripping onto his bulged biceps where he uses them to hold himself up.

His face is a sight to behold in itself, as well - plush lips parted, cheeks hot and a shade of deep, ravishing plum. If he weren't steadily hitting that sweet spot inside of you maybe you'd actually be able to keep your eyes open long enough to admire it more - but it's obvious it won't be long until you're unraveling.

He's thankful, in a way. Because you're sighing out sweet words that profess how good he's doing, and he swears that he's never felt anything as good as this. Through and through. You're made for him, wrapped around his being, tight like cellophane and it's silly but this is all he's dreamed of for months.

"Open your eyes sweetheart," his hips stutter at the same time you involuntarily squeeze around the tip of his cock as he goes to seep back into you and you're drawn to the plead of his voice. "let me - fuck, let me be yours, please?"

His voice is honey, coating you in it's sweetness and you're teetering on the edge of your release. It beckons you soothingly, like a siren in the wake of a wave and it doesn't calm when you pull him down to your mouth by the nape of his neck, your shared groans being swallowed by the other. Your thighs are a vice around his waist, keeping him locked against you as he grinds his cock into you.

"You're mine, J-John- oh, oh please." His fingers have reached down in the limited space between your shared skin to rub your clit in circles and you know this is it - mind and body completely encircled by everything he's made of, the scent of his skin and the heat of his body and even the way he says your name.

"Want you to cum for me, please, please cum for me baby." His breath is warm against your ear, a vibration that wracks through all of your senses and your body knows it's coming before you do - instantly under the influence of his begs and pleas.

You're descending, voice nothing but a gasp and an echo of an expletive when the dam inside of you finally bursts - leaving you to tremble like a leaf beneath him while the feeling threatens to consume you inch by inch, nerve by nerve. 

You've all but gone limp, bright dots of light flitting through your vision and you feel his mouth everywhere, like a soft, warm reassurance that he's not going anywhere while you spasm around him.

"Just like that, oh fuck, yeah just like that."

In this place of completeness, you bask in the rise in octave of his usually low timbred voice, in the way he's holding you so firmly in his arms, as if scared to let go and put even an inch of separation between the two of you.

You're still twitching when you feel him throb inside of you, your name a warm whisper against the side of your neck while he pumps himself into you with no real rhythm; filling the condom with spurts of his cum while your fingers gently scratch the back of his scalp, through his hair.

Your breaths are ragged and have only that in common, his weight comforting despite the fact that both of you are in such a fragile state. It all feels surreal, like maybe you’ll wake up soon even with his cock still buried inside of you, half hard. More than anything, it feels right. Apprehension nor guilt nor worry brews underneath your skin, instead overshadowed by pure elation.

Wet pecks travel across your throat like marks of gratitude and your smile is automatic, involuntary.

"I meant it, you know," he's out of breath but concise, palm cupping the side of your face as he makes his way to your mouth and kisses you there, afraid to look you in the eyes. "about...about what I want. About wanting you."

You actually do laugh this time, suddenly outrageously giddy at the words leaving his pretty mouth, mildly entertained by the fact that someone could be almost as oblivious as you are. Almost.

He looks worried for only a split second until you're kissing his face, over his nose and fuchsia cheeks, a feather against the soft autumn ground.

"I meant it too," your voice is light, airy and he swears he'd believe anything you told him, even if it weren't as absolutely resolute as it is right now; your smile against his lips like a seal of promise. He meets your gaze, and everything within him calms, settles.

"I'm yours. And you're mine."

This, he thinks to himself, is all he's wanted to hear since the day you looked up at him with all the stars in your eyes.

Completely worth Jaehyun stealing his Armani denim jacket, honestly.

[shorkbrian]

Guided

Okay I’m posting on mobile so bear with me

Was gonna do a thanksgiving feeder fic but I’m tired lol

So instead like imagine Kuroo helping Kenma lose his virginity 😳

(Warnings - NSFW! Rape, obvious denial (by Kenma, he knows it’s bad), Kuroo bein a creep, Kenma being a creep. Just general not good vibes)

Like Kenma isn’t exactly anti-social, it’s just he’s a lil shy and prefers to stay in his comfort zone, which involves gaming and little else.

One day the team will not stop bugging leetle Virgin Kenma about getting a girlfriend (“online girlfriends don’t count!”), and he gets a bit self conscious.

Goes to Kuroo, his best friend, his bro, his homie, asks Kuroo what’s the process - how does he get a girlfriend and lose his virginity?

Kuroo is almost taken aback at first, simply cause he assumed Kenma was either gay or just plain not into dating. But after he gets over his shock, he’s so pumped to show his bro the ropes.

Kenna’s expecting like, a talk, or maybe Kuroo will give him tips about how to pick up cute girls, or something like that.

What he was not expecting, was you.

Sitting on the edge of Kuroo’s bed, sniffling, hands balled into fists on top of your skirt.

And Kuroo’s so excited, quickly ushering Kenma into his room to proudly show off his cute little neighbor. You don’t seem happy, but Kuroo ignores that, so Kenma does too.

There’d be no buildup. Just Kuroo pushing Kenma towards you, before taking a seat in his desk chair.

“Go ahead and touch her.” He prompts.

Kenma hesitates, looking at Kuroo with knitted brows.

“Do you not know how?”

Kenma shrugs. He stands in front of you, raises a hand to your shoulder. You flinch when he touches your shirt, when the weight of his hand rests against you. He plays with a piece of your hair, looking at your face, your body, the cute way you’re trembling and shaking like a scared little kid.

“I’ll talk you through it.” Kuroo offers. He’s clearly impatient, but in an excited way, foot tapping against the ground as he leans forward.

Kenma’s glad Kuroo will be giving instructions. He feels a bit awkward like this, and he doesn’t want you to laugh at him.

“You’re sure she’s fine?” Kenma checks. You look scared and you’re crying a bit, which is kinda hot, but Kenma doesn’t want you telling people he assaulted you or something.

“Yeah, she’ll be alright. We had a little chat before you came over - she’s good with this.”

The way you glare at Kuroo through your tears confirms to Kenma that you probably aren’t as okay with this as Kuroo makes it seem. But Kenma kind of doesn’t care, because he’s chubbing up in his pants as he thinks about what’s about to happen.

“Alright, (Y/N), scoot back on the bed so Kenma can sit.”

You promptly obey, and Kenma slides onto the bed in front of you, following Kuroo’s implied suggestion.

“You should always give ‘em a kiss first. You can use tongue if you want, don’t be afraid to really get into it.” Kuroo continues.

Kenma shuffles closer, gingerly grabs your shoulders. He’s starts out with a peck to your lips, the stereotypical sound of kissing is made as he does so.

Kuroo encourages him to do it again, this time for longer.

Kenma indulges, lets himself linger over your lips. He can taste your chapstick, and it’s not unpleasant. Your lips are soft, and your warm, and Kenma quickly decides he likes kissing.

Then Kuroo tells him to use tongue, which Kenma does, and the younger man cringes at the feeling. He doesn’t like using tongue.

But he enjoys kissing, so he goes back to that, almost sucking at your lips, pressing himself close to you. It’s intimate, and it’s kind of exciting, and Kenma finds himself wanting more.

“You can use your hands y’know. Feel her tits, they look nice.”

Kenma does exactly that, and you squeak into his mouth when his hands grab at your chest. Admittedly, he’s probably a bit too excited, cause the second he feels soft flesh under his hands he’s pinching and groping and pulling, and you’re making pained little noises that Kenma discovers he likes.

Kuroo chuckles. “Damn, you’re going pretty hard there. Didn’t take you for a sadist. You can touch other places too, by the way. Anywhere you want.”

Anywhere?

Kenma pulls back from the kiss, his hands abandoning your breasts to roam over your sides, feel the curve of your waist, circle around to palm at your ass. He’s never touched a girl like this, it’s so different from what he knows of his own body.

That goes on for a little bit longer, but Kuroo’s quickly moving him along.

“Okay, you can lay her onto her back now... or I guess you could go doggystyle.” The older man leans back in his chair. “It’s up to you.”

“Okay.” Kenma breathes. He’s fully hard now, and it’s a bit uncomfortable, his cock tenting his pants like that. But he doesn’t know if now was the right time to undress, so he just does what Kuroo says.

He pushes you to lay down on your back - he wants to see your face. It’s a bit puffy and red from the crying, but it makes you look pretty. Plus, Kenma likes your eyes.

He looks over to Kuroo for what he should do next.

“She’s not wearing anything underneath the skirt.” Kuroo grins, and he looks so utterly pleased with himself, but Kenma doesn’t even register that because he’s flipping up your skirt to see for himself.

And fuck, you really aren’t.

He’s seen porn, he knows what he expected to find. But it’s so different in person. He wants to touch, to feel, so he does. Kenma grabs one of your legs, carefully pulling it to the side so he can see a bit more, and you let him, thigh muscles clenching.

Then he’s running a single finger over your folds and holy shit, you’re so warm and pink and his cock is throbbing and he doesn’t know how much longer he can wait.

“You can take your dick out now. She’s all prepped and stuff, so just go for it.”

Kenma pushes his sweatpants just far down enough that his dick can spring free - Kuroo knows how he is about his body, and Kenma doubts you’ll say anything because you’re staring blankly at the ceiling.

It’s a new experience, so it takes him a second to figure out that he has to part your folds with one hand, guide his dripping cock to your home with the other. You keep... fluttering down there and it’s driving him crazy, he can’t even imagine what that’s going to feel like

The second he pushes inside (you’re all wet and hot and tight and - oh you feel so good) he can’t stop the embarrassing noise the tumbles out of his mouth. His cheeks color red, but Kuroo’s quick to reassure him.

“Don’t worry, keep making noise - girls like hearing that you’re feeling good. And you can talk to her you know.”

“You’re-you’re cute.” Kenma blurts, voice shaky. He’s too overwhelmed to do much, he can hardly breathe right now, he can’t think.

“.... how does it feel?” Kuroo prods.

Kenma has to take a second to calm himself before stuttering out “G-good. Really good.”

He was barely a third of the way in, and the way your walls were pulsing around him, sucking him in, trying to milk him was almost too much. He groaned, hands coming to grip your hips, push your legs up and out of the way.

“Kuroo, it feels so good, she’s so tight. H-holy fuck, oh god, this is-“

Kenma gave a little thrust, and whined, almost crumpling over top of you, panting.

“Take your time, there’s no rush.” Kuroo reminds him, and Kenma huffs.

He’s right next to your face like this, and so he moves just a little bit so he can kiss you again. You don’t do much, but Kenma doesn’t know if you’re supposed to. He just hopes that he’s doing an okay job. Maybe you’re a virgin like him, and don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like? Kuroo would be considerate like that, take into account Kenma’s insecurities.

“Yeah, there you go. Move your hips a little.”

Kenma does, gives a few tiny, explorative thrusts. Then a few more, a bit more confident this time. And then he keeps going, and he finds his cock rutting into you steadily, and he doesn’t know how else to describe it other than it feels fucking divine.

He breaks from the kiss with a low moan, looks at your eyes. You’re crying again, cheeks red, avoiding his gaze. That’s okay. Kenma knows eye contact is hard.

Faintly, he registers the sound of Kuroo’s heavy panting, the low curses coming from where his best friend is sitting. He can’t focus on that though, not when his system is short circuiting.

It’s too much stimulation, and his dick has never been this wet and warm and massages like this before, and then Kuroo’s telling him to pull out and jack off over your face, or your skirt, or wherever, and Kenma doesn’t want to because you keep sucking him in hungrily.

But he knows in the back of his mind that pregnancy is a thing, and he’s not thinking straight, wanting to stay inside you forever. That’s why Kuroo’s here, to tell him what to do.

So Kenma pulls out, whimpering at the temperature difference his cock encounters. He’s so sensitive and keyed up that it barely takes a stroke or two (holy shit, your cream is all over his cock and it’s so wet and he’s going to die of pleasure, fuck) before he’s cumming hard.

He hadn’t moved, so his cum shoots onto your skirt, some of it falling onto your bare skin at your hips.

Kenma finishes, and he doesn’t know what to do. Seconds pass, and his breathing evens out, and he can think again. The younger man pats your cheek softly. “Thank you, you uh, did good. Felt nice.”

Kuroo snorts.

Kenma’s incredibly thirsty, and his dick is still out, and he wants to clean it off.

“You have tissues?”

Kuroo scrambles out of the chair, digs in his bedside drawer before a travel size packet of tissues thumps into Kenma’s lap.

“I’ll go get you some water.” He offers. “You did good sweet cheeks, knew you would.” He tells you, before exiting the room.

Kenma clumsily cleans himself off, then tries to wipe his cum out of your skirt. That’s pretty much hopeless, so he quickly gives up. He notices the slick shining over your folds, so he holds up a tissue.

“Do you uh, want me to-“

“Please stop.”

You’re barely loud enough for Kenma to hear. The man shrugs, before tucking his cock back into his sweatpants, pulling them so they’re snug against his hips again.

He clambers off the bed to throw the tissues away, gets met at the door by Kuroo, who’s holding a cup of water.

“So? You feel like a man now?”

Kenma gives a lopsided grin. He feels proud - the other guys can’t tease him about this anymore, he’s fucked a girl.

Kuroo pats him on the shoulder, before handing over the cup of water. “Hell yeah man! Here, I’ll go finish our girl off.”

Finish her off?

Kuroo catches Kenma’s confused look, and he does his best not to chuckle, but Kenma’s known him long enough that he can’t hide his laughter like that.

“She didn’t cum.” Kuroo offers. “Not your fault, it takes a bit more practice. But hey, you can watch how I do it, yeah? Pick up some technique for next time.”

A quick glance to the bed shows you’ve barely moved, just curled up on your side, arms wrapped around your chest.

“Oh, okay.”

Kenma sits in Kuroo’s desk chair, takes a sip of water while he watches Kuroo unbuckle his belt.

He feels good.

[melrosing]

What do you think about young, pre-Aerys Jaime, personality-wise? I used to think that he was alright, not exactly angel, but intrinsically good. But recently I've been seeing more insistence to paint him as inherently moraly dubious and like... I personaly see it as 'Well look how he turned out in current timeline that means he probably always was fucked up!' and idk i find it kinda dismissive of his experience in KL and how it affected him. What were in your opinion young!Jaime's major flaws?

pre-Aerys Jaime has done basically nothing wrong lol. he has just been a child, and based on all we know, a pretty nice kid all things considered. I think the only thing you could possibly hold against young Jaime is that business w his sister, but honestly why would you - it's certainly severely misguided behaviour, but it doesn't come from a place of malice.

in fact until his post-Kingslayer days we have no evidence of Jaime ever being unpleasant at all. we know he dotes on his younger brother (despite his father and sister's example), that he looks out for his sister, that he likes dogs and horses, that he has childhood friends he still gets along with in adulthood, that he loves his aunt and has a favourite uncle. we know he stood up to a bully (Merrett Frey) as a squire, yet is disparaging of the cruel revenge other squires tried to take on Frey later. and we know that his hero was this supposedly super-honourable knight who could do no wrong.

like I don't think GRRM is trying to tell us anywhere that Jaime was a perfect kid, just that he was essentially very normal, and even quite pleasant; he was not pushing other kids down wells or tormenting babies, or indeed anything close to that. I think it's essentially just the fact that he grew up with Cersei (who was obviously a very different sort of kid) that has people insisting something must've been off about Jaime. but nowhere does the text tell us this. his journey to who he is in AGOT does not resemble Cersei's.

and I mean honestly, excluding his relationship with Cersei, what has Jaime even done wrong, not just pre-Aerys but pre-AGOT? I would say the relationship is the only thing, really. it's playing with fire, putting not just their lives at risk but their children's, with plenty potential for spanning even more widely than that. but you can imagine the headspace Jaime has been in for all these years that has him ignoring these circumstances. sure doesn't make it right, but sympathetic perhaps.

now, what else has he done pre-AGOT? the business with Tyrion and Tysha I think, but given the Tywin's coercion and Jaime's lifelong guilt over this, I wouldn't say this is GRRM trying to show us that Jaime's a bad guy, just a flawed and fallible one.

so I think we basically watch Jaime become a villain onscreen in AGOT when he pushes Bran, and we think he must always have been like that because he is pretty damn dark for the rest of that book. but in reality, he scarcely has a villain arc preceding this: he's just been a mess.

anyway in answer to your last question... I don't think teenage Jaime has any unusual flaws, he's just like... a young dude

[pumpkin-pi-e]

Ah! I’m glad to spark imagination!

Honestly, EM are so loyal to you they probably just paid someone to make ‘noises’ and the three of them just sat on the bed for an hour.

If they saw you holding a knife, it would be out of your hands instantly courtesy of Shouta’s capture weapon. They’d be on their knees begging for your forgiveness. You’d kill Zashi by claiming he didn’t love you. They aren’t proud of it, but at least they know you care whether or not they love you. It brings little solace when you’re bawling your eyes out. They know it’s their doing.

“Sweetie, please, you’ll make yourself sick.”

Hizashi is very sensitive to stuff like that and you’ll send him into a panic attack. “Honey, I’m not trying to make this about me, but I’m panicking. I’m panicking. Please don’t talk like that.”

Shouta leads you to the couch. Previously, he’d checked you over to make sure you don’t have anymore sharp objects. He has Hizashi watch you while he searches your room for anything you could hurt yourself with. You may not like it, but he also does a brief scan of your body. Aizawa doesn’t show it, but he’s scared to death. If you’re harming yourself, he wants to know about it and put an end to it. He doesn’t keep you unclothed longer than he has to. If he doesn’t find anything, he pulls you into a strong hug that lasts forever. Should he find any signs of self-harm, he sighs from his nose and falls onto the couch with his head in his hands.

They fucked up.

In a scenario where Aizawa found suspicious items in your room, the urge to place them in front of you and ask what the hell you thought you were doing would be nearly irresistible. But this was their fault and they needed to fix it. Hell, he might as well have put those marks on you himself.

Hizashi wouldn’t know how to phrase it nicely, so Shouta straight up asks if you’re having suicidal thoughts. Honestly, that’s not something they can help with, so they set you up with a virtual therapist.

You have no reason to believe them, but they swear they haven’t been unfaithful to you regardless.

Also, on the pills: it would be a very unpleasant experience for you since Shouta is going to shove his fingers down your throat; he’ll do it until he’s sure your stomach is empty. It’ll be as sore as your throat. It’s a harrowing ordeal for all of you. Hizashi rubs your upset tummy and gives you medicine for its upset. Shouta makes you warm tea after it settles enough to accept liquids. You’ll find the medicine cabinets locked on your next trip to the bathroom.

The conversation would be an awkward one, they know they were in the wrong.

“Why would you want me to think you were cheating on me?! You said you loved me!”

“We just...” Hizashi realizes how bad it sounds out loud. “wanted to make you jealous?” He winced, but quickly continues, “We thought you’d realize how much you really love us! Were so sorry, baby! We do love you.” He sobs as fiercely as you do.

“According to you, we aren’t even in a relationship. Why should you care?”

“Shouta!” Hizashi’s rebuke goes unheeded.

“It’s true, Zashi. All kitten does is complain. Why are you so upset we found someone who appreciates our company?”

“Shouta, enough.” His warning is stressed with thinly veiled threat. “This isn’t the time.”

“Why isn’t it?” He countered hotly, causing Zashi to faintly see red. The DJ takes measured breaths through his nose. “Babe. This ain’t the time.”

Shouta presses on, willing to sleep on the couch for a few nights if it meant getting the words he wanted to hear from you. “You’re saying you aren’t the least bit curious why Kitten was holding a knife after we gave them the space they wanted?”

Hizashi flexes his fingers, controlling his breathing. “I think it’s pretty obvious. Shou, I don’t like this game yer playin’.”

“You didn’t want us around. Why are you acting out like this when you got exactly what you wanted? Could it be you don’t hate us like you claim to?”

“Shouta Aizawa.”

His words burn your face with shame. You’re so emotionally raw, they lead to another fit of tears. Unkind hands pull at your hair, painful nails dig into your scalp. You need the pain to ground yourself. You’re confused. You should hate them, but you don’t know anymore. Hatred now tastes of bitter longing that left a sour note on your tongue. Nails drive themselves harder against your scalp as you try to make sense of your feelings. You break down before them, hitting your head because you don’t know.

You don’t know.

“Pookie, no. Don’t hurt yourself.” Hizashi takes your hands so he can hold them. Afraid of causing an attack by hugging you, he repeatedly kisses your forehead, slowly and gently. “Calm down, pumpkin.”

“Admit it.” Aizawa’s tone is hard, pressing. An undercurrent of desperation fueling him. His interrogation was so grueling you felt like you were in a police station, held on suspicion of murder.

“You don’t hate us. You love us. Say it. Admit it us as well as yourself.”

Your wail is hallowed like the screech of the damned. You felt equally hopeless.

“Do you wanna win that badly?!” Hizashi whirls on him, his emerald eyes are practically glowing.

“Yes!” If Shouta’s outburst took him by surprise, he does a good job of not showing it. “I’ve had to listen to them claim they hate us for months! You didn’t have to say it verbally. They way you scowled at the sight of us conveyed it good enough. Do you know how much that hurt? Do you know how many times I’ve cried myself to sleep over you?” His dark eyes are glossy, but he doesn’t cry.

Frankly, Aizawa doesn’t think what you’ve gone through is anything compared to what they suffered. And if it was, it was warranted.

“I want to hear the truth. And I want it right now.”

“Shouta.” Hizashi sounds as if he hasn’t slept in days. “This can wait.”

“It can’t.” Shouta remains resolute. Hizashi is losing the will to argue.

“Are you just afraid of what kitten will say?”

“Shouta,” Hizashi is beyond warning. “stop talking.”

Ooh, imagine if darling believes them and someone shows up claiming Hizashi is the father of their child. Zashi would prefer you didn’t find out about it. It would be hard for him to look you in the eyes from his guilt. He’s a good papa, so he pays child support and goes to see them when they’re born. Reader is jealous because that should be their baby.

[hopeymchope]

How would you rank the 18 Class Trials from THH, DR2, and V3 from worst to best?

This is... virtually impossible for me, lol. Comparing the trials from each game to each other?

How about I just rank them within each game? That'll make it a little easier for me to deal with...

DR1

6) 5th. It's driven by lies and ultimately rushed to its end before the characters can draw any solid (pointless/meaningless) conclusions. So of course it's last for this game, and it’s probably last for the entire series as well. If there are any saving graces to this trial, it’s the surprise when your closest ally is willing to let our protagonist die... and that this trial contains the fake/bad ending route.

5) 3rd. Although the main culprit is pretty obvious from the jump, it requires some surprising twists to explain how everything got to be the way it turned out. But did I always find those twists plausible? Errrrm... not really. 

4) 2nd. Pretty good trial that's hurt for me by the fact that there'd barely be any need for a trial at all if a certain third party didn't dick around with the evidence for no reason. Also, the dual nature of Toko is an incredibly predictable reveal. Without those two aspects dragging it down, though, this could easily go higher.

3) 1st. Sure, the major hint given and, subsequently, the eventual culprit are pretty obvious, but this one establishes so much about how the trials work and how much the details you observe will matter that it’s still pretty fun that first time around. The initial surprise of the first victim makes for a great way to keep you invested in the trial experience. This trial is damn near iconic now, so it feels almost mandatory to respect it.

2) 6th. DR1 still has the best "final trial,” easily. SO MANY great reveals, and they all totally work for me. Nothing rings false or disappointing, and it also features Makoto finally coming into his own and taking the lead. I nearly labeled this my top pick for DR1, but...

1) 4th. It's easily the most emotionally dramatic/satisfying for me, and there’s something weirdly inspirational for me about Hina’s incredibly harsh stance during it. This one GOT ME IN THE FEELS, and in part that was because I saw so little of it coming. After the more predictable elements of the first and third trials, this felt like the writing was firing on all cylinders. 

DR2

6) 2nd. You have to accept a couple leaps of logic to make this trial keep flowing, and the fact that trial is ultimately reliant on someone noticing a candy that’s very small and hard to see while the person is also in a stressful situation and they are groggy from being drugged/asleep and it necessitates the person retaining this seemingly useless detail inside their brain .... that’s always bugged me.  The “escape route” conversation even retroactively raises questions about the first trial. Oof. On the upside, the reveals it brought us about Fuyuhiko and Peko were incredibly important, satisfying, and legit surprising turns. And it’s pretty cool how it’s basically a two-for-one combo trial because you have to solve the Twilight Syndrome case before you solve the current case. 

5) 3rd. Other people have pointed out the leaps of logic and missing pieces of this trial, but at the same time, the candlelight hanging is so intense and the ultimate reveal of the culprit is such a brutal turn that I have to give it some props. The culprit’s primary plan is ultimately one of the most ingenious in the series, IMO, and definitely one of the most twisted/fucked-up, which earns it some points. 

4) 4th. This is probably the single murder case in the franchise that I understood the absolute least about when entering the trial, for better or worse. On the one hand, that made it really fun to see the mystery gradually unfurl, but on the other hand, it made it tough for me to provide the right answers at certain points in the trial, leaving me fumbling. A big part of those issues was how it was initially hard for me to wrap my head around the nature of the funhouse via the provided 2D graphics... but once I eventually got there, I had to respect the creativity that went into devising such a “weapon.” Also, it can be hard to tolerate Komaeda in this trial. He’s even more of a know-it-all-but-reveal-none-of-it jackass than ever before, and his turn towards overt cruelty towards the others (and Hajime in particular) left me raging. The culprit reveal is good, but the motive does beg the question of why he didn’t just come forward from the jump.

3) 6th. There are a lot of great reveals in the final trial that totally reframe how you see the characters, and some of them are deliciously twisted. There’s also a ton of great dialogue provided, and in retrospect, it’s actually sort of neat to have one endgame mastermind reveal in this franchise that doesn’t involve the “They were hiding among us this whole time” trope. All that plus the surprise return of our surviving heroes from the first game! However, this is also where they officially reveal a core element of DR2 and its setting that I've never liked. This knocks the trial down a few pegs for me. Of course, by the time you reach the trial, I'm sure 99% of players have already figured that particular "twist" out. There’s adequate evidence to predict it in the first freaking chapter, and I know this because I DID predict it in the first chapter of my initial playthrough... which further hurts the supposed “reveal” of the island’s true nature when it comes around. 

2) 1st. Probably my favorite of the “first trials,” there are lot of components that go into this one. There’s a combination of two premeditated killers plus one spur-of-the-moment accidental victim, there’s a satisfying (though admittedly maybe too easy) reveal of the killer being one of the most unpleasant people to be around during the first chapter, and I really dig how audio became a very important component of the mystery due to the total blackout. This is also the part of the game where we learn just how twisted Komaeda really is, which is HUGE both in terms of its immediate shock factor for a total newcomer and in terms of its impact on the game as a whole. Of course, since it’s a “first trial,” it can’t be too complicated... but they still manage to confuse so many of us with “MEAT ON THE BONE” :P

1) 5th. Again, I will almost always give the most emotionally intense one the top slot. The “traitor reveal” is obviously THAT MOMENT in DR2. I also love how this one used the strange internal logic established early in the game RE: Komaeda’s luck to develop the eventual solution. And forcing us to make use of evidence gathered in multiple locations outside of the immediate site of the body/murder? That more complexity of that type that I see relevant to a trial, the more I appreciate it, and this one has loads of that stuff. Although I guess the investigation isn’t technically part of the trial itself... but it’s still very relevant to it. 

DRV3

6) 4th. I found this whole trial to be just... extremely predictable. Maybe it’s because I was so far into the series that I’d gotten used to its tricks by this point, but this was the most predictable trial for me since the first one in the first game. The whole looping/rollover map setup of the VR? Obvious. The murder weapon? Obvious. Our culprit’s ongoing confusion at everything discussed? Obvious. There were only a couple of points I didn’t have already figured out when I walked into the trial room, and those turned out to be basically irrelevant (such as the bottle of poison). The eventual motive is at least a surprise, but I also found it hard to accept that this culprit would really kill people over it. Overall: Super lame. 

5) 3rd. Another double murder trial, and once again one murder overshadows the other. The séance murder is definitely clever. Sure, you know the culprit pretty early on, but the methodology is the good part. However, the real fascinating one for me is the art lab “locked room” murder. Going into the trial, I couldn’t fathom how they were going to explain that one, and I found the answer both smart and satisfying. It’s funny to imagine how many times the culprit had to try that stunt with the lock before it actually worked, heh. This is probably the best of the three “double murder” mysteries in the series, but the trial isn’t as emotionally affecting as the 3rd trial in DR2 to me. Moreover, the trial loses points for the most infuriating Hangman’s Gambit of the series and especially for the motive reveal. When the killer’s motive can be boiled down to “they’re basically just a psycho serial killer,” it’s not very interesting.

4) 6th. The first part of the trial, which deals with re-assessing the first case? It’s pretty damn on-point. That leads to the mastermind reveal, which... isn’t great, really. It’s not a terribly interesting character to make the mastermind, they have no interesting motives or characterization to unevil, and they’re ultimately just a pawn behind another, off-screen group of masterminds. But then things get uproariously funny to me. The metatextual stuff is just so goddamn ridiculous. It’s frustrating and annoying how much of our not-mastermind’s explanation is clearly full of lies and half-truths that we’ll never have complete answers on, but that’s also part of what makes it all fascinating. We get to swap protagonists like four times! There’s a fake-out Game Over! These are really cool things. But it all leads down the road of our protagonist arguing that fiction does affect reality (yes, good), that fictional people can still matter (definitely) and that... fictional lives are equal in value to real ones? Uhhhhh slow down there, champ. That only works for YOUR universe, where fictional people can be made out of living, breathing individuals. But in light of the metatextual stuff you’re surrounded by, you kinda sound silly AF right now?

3)  2nd. Look, this is still incredibly irritating to me. Also, if you go down the alternate “lying” route at one point, you are forced to accept that these piranhas were somehow trained to only eat dead things, which is just... so deeply dumb.  But what is good is the entire ropeway conceit (which is a very significant part of the trial!) and the idea of the partition inside the tank. This was a murder with an elaborate, intelligent plan that is very well-executed. And the motive reveal? It’s one of the best in the series! I respect that stuff. (If I had the right to toss the execution in as part of the soup, I’d say that it’s also one of the series’ best. Let’s call it the icing on the cake.)

2) 1st. The writing that made this trial work is undeniably clever. The way the narration told us exactly what was happening without really telling us what was happening? It was a masterstroke of both great writing and perfect localization coming together. When it becomes clear during the trial what is about to happen, it’s a huge shock. The transition to another protagonist with the lights flickering out and back on is beautiful. Even the core concept of a protagonist who was willing to step up and try to kill the mastermind immediately is just deeply interesting. And obviously this one made my emotions run high. HOWEVER! I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Kaede Akamatsu was a more interesting, unique, and compelling protagonist than Shuichi Saihara ever was. Ultimately, the protagonist-swap, no matter how well-written, was a mistake because they shifted us from a unique character with an interesting new perspective to a character who is, in many ways, “Makoto Naegi with even less self-esteem.” Yes, I know he has aspects that make him distinct as his own person, but there’s still just too much there that feels like we’ve done it before, and he never fully escapes from that. It feels like a massive waste and a huge missed opportunity to ditch Kaede like this. Now, if they had just done the protagonist swap in reverse — making us start out with Shuichi before flipping things over to Kaede — we could’ve had ourselves something amazing here.

1) 5th. I know I decided that I couldn’t rank all among each other, but if I did do that, I feel confident that the 5th trial in DRV3 would rank very high indeed. You go into the trial unable to even determine who the victim was due to the fact that two people are missing and there was nothing left of the body that spoke to an identity. Going into it, you naturally figure that one of the two missing parties has to be the victim and the other one is probably the culprit. But even with just two friggin’ suspects, the amount of turnabouts in the case that made me rethink all my assumptions was insane. Sure, the explanation for how the person inside the Exisal can maintain “character” is pretty damn thin, but once you get past that, I don’t think there’s a single false note in the trial. It even breaks unprecedented ground by continuing into another Non-Stop Debate after everyone has already voted. And of course, it culminates with a lot of intense emotion. Even the execution is emotionally satisfying! ..... although I’m not sure if I should count the execution as part of the trial, but hey, still. As far as Dangan trials go, the fifth one in DRV3 is basically a masterpiece.

[wisteria-lodge]

lion primary + burnt rapid-fire bird secondary (snake model)

Hi! I’m really enjoying your page and was wondering if you might help me to find my sorting? I can’t settle on Chill Lion Primary or Snake Primary.

I seem to be able to leave friendships really easy

Not *Badger,* maybe? Because Snake can be friends with people who aren’t Inner Circle. Depends on what level of loyalty we’re talking about here… need more data.

if the choice is a stranger in need vs. my closest friend, it would be a stranger I would feel worst for abandoning, but I probably only deeply care about my family members, and friends only to some extent and helping someone in need would make me feel as a better person than just not turning my back on a friend.

… THAT is not a Snake primary answer, I can tell you that for sure.

When I was a kid and my mom would have a fight with my stepfather, I would always side with my mom, even if I knew she was not really right. I did not want to hurt her, but now when I am older, I know how important it is to stand by what you see as right, so I try to d talk about seeing things from both sides, even though I will still stand by her side in the end, probably. There is not much I can do for the people I care about, but when I am given an opportunity to protect and fight for them, I will.

There’s something interesting going on here. Because clearly you acted in a super Snake way when you were younger (‘they might be wrong, but I’m still going to defend them’) but… you felt bad about it. And you definitely *feel* bad about it, in retrospect.

Especially with that situation you gave me right there… I would not be at all surprised if you were expected to model Snake, or even forced to model Snake when you were younger.

But I deeply believe ‘the root of all evil’ is only caring about your own. I think that is selfish and cold.

Yeah. I think you may have an unhealthy Snake influence in your life. The conflict between Loyalists and Idealists is very near the heart of this system, and they do go back and forth, with Loyalists seeing Idealists as ruthless and cruel, Idealists seeing Loyalists as… yeah, selfish and cold. The way I see it, both are beautiful and expansive and know things the other needs to learn - and both can also be warped, and unhealthy, and scary.

I think I would be a better person if I had something to believe in, if I would fight for something bigger than me. I have not found it. Or maybe I did, but there is not much I can do about it. I can not incorporate it into my life apart from personal small actions, and I want to do more

This is very much a Lion primary dream. And I just want to say that the Lion dream does not have to be huge and all-encompassing in order to be meaningful, and real, and fulfilling.

Or maybe I just want an easy and lazy life, just doing what I like and just a bit more and that’s it. Sometimes it is like that too, I believe.

And you know what, that’s kind of a Lion primary mood too :)

I wouldn’t say standing by people you most care about is morally right, but it is a damn strong force.

Still Lion. Like OF COURSE if you can stand by both your morals and your people, that’s IDEAL.

As much as I can remember, I never had anything big and idealistic to believe in, apart from not hurting others, and a lot of what I believe in now is based on that.

You *want* something big and idealistic to believe in, to be happy and fulfilled. That’s still Lion, even if no Cause has clicked with you yet. (I suspect you’re a little burned, which can’t be helping.)

So I was always really harsh to people who I thought were selfish.

Again with this negative Snake influence.

I thought I was a Lion Secondary, but more and more I keep noticing how much I am using honesty as a tool.

Hmmm. Could be a Snake secondary tactic, but Birds do like their tools….

Sure, being yourself is the easiest thing in the world

… everyone does not feel this way. You’ve got strong Lion in your sorting somewhere.

but it also allows you to be seen as readable and trustworthy in your words. I know how much I can shift words or tone just a bit. Sometimes it feels like I am watching from inside, going “oh, you’re doing this now?”

That’s interesting. The way you’re describing thing - the slight arm’s length, knowing the mask is a mask, but also not planning the mask - is making me think more Snake. Although Actor Bird *is* possible.

I am very emotional, and I find it hard to distinguish my morality and moral choices from just general things I do and want.

… so you’re a Lion primary.

So the only other primary on my list could be Lion, which I find hard to understand. How can things turn from some tug of the heart to a full-fleshed ideal? My belief – trying not to hurt people and all that is related to it, in my mind, still comes from a grounded reality, from the fact that it hurts me to see someone being hurt. It’s not because it was idealistically formed somewhere. I think I probably don’t understand this correctly.

Lion primaries aren’t jedi. Their ideals don’t get magically beamed into their heads from some outside force. Lions reason just the same as Birds, they just use a different part of their psyche to do it. The fact that your morality (at its core, at its base) comes from the way things make you feel… that is what makes you a Lion. Birds don’t process things that way.

Maybe this sounds a bit like a Badger Primary, but there is no place for a group in my morality, in my life. Neighbors? Pffft, just let us live in peace and leave us alone. Groups are unpleasant usually. Maybe if you could choose people you like and click with them. Of course, acceptance is important, but it will never be the basis of anything. Have I never had an important group in my life? Maybe, but that would either mean I have been burned for a long time or I am just not a Badger Primary.

You’re not a Badger primary. And while it’s not a universal thing, I would say that Lion primaries tend to be the *most* comfortable with being loners, or spending extending periods of time as loners.

Of course, I use my brain and prioritize in the moment and use logic. I am not a sweet and nice badger girl, although I will be nice and smile and act my part, and sometimes you do hurt someone by telling the truth or putting yourself first, because I also don’t want to hurt myself if I have a different choice.

This is all starting to sound very snake secondary. The practicality, and twisting, and changing in the moment. Although maybe there’s a Badger performance in there?

Even if I can’t feel what others are feeling, I have something informing me about what they might be feeling. Do I care about not hurting my neighbor? It’s more like I care about not hurting myself by getting into a bad situation with them, being shouted at or having other kinds of problems with them, but that’s still some kind of motivation

Move around the problem, be like water.

Honesty is an idealistic value, and I like it, but I think it probably just makes my life easier, easier to read people and be read.

Snake secondary.

I think I also strongly believe in persons’ right to be and express who they are, that’s why I grew up hating gender stereotypes and not really playing into social rituals. I just want to be seen and liked for who I am.

Lion primary.

My Secondary? It probably burned to ashes. Thinking about how I am doing stuff, improv vs build, it just gives me a headache. Improvisation gives me stress, it gives me hell, but it’s the easiest way.

I mean, all the stuff you’ve been talking about - reading people, putting on the right face, changing direction - absolutely counts as improvisational.

Planning, preparing? Lovely, usually -  access denied. I just go head first just because I don’t know any other way and have no interest or energy to search for it. I am easily bored, so even if I wanted to work, prepare, research, I would lose interest so fast that there would be no use in even trying.

I don’t think you’re a Badger secondary - but it’s just hard to tell because you are so down on your secondary in general. You’re telling me that prepping in theory is lovely but you don’t know how to do it? (not that you don’t LIKE it. That you CAN’T do it.)

I always thought I would finally find something I wanted to work on, something I would enjoy putting time and energy into, but that does not seem to come true.

That’s some more of the angst of your charred/unfulfilled Lion primary coming though.

I am disappointed in myself. You know, it would be very nice if I could be witty and smart and improvise in the moment, but I’m not,

So you *like* Snake secondaries at least.

so I just gave up some time ago and now usually go straight with my head first. At least I’m getting the experience I would never get any other way.

Your secondary is burnt, for sure. But just reading between the lines here… I think you’re much smarter and more capable than you give yourself credit for.

I think if I were to be a Lion Secondary and constantly do this, I wouldn’t feel the heaviness over my secondary.

That’s another big sign of a burnt secondary. Doing things isn’t fun, it’s heavy, it’s a chore, it’s a slog.

Okay, let’s talk about recipes and cooking. I will follow the recipe, at least until I get what is going on, which flavor does what, why is this and not that. Then I can ditch it. I can add whatever I want later on. If I know which parts are the most important, I might not even need the recipe.

… okay, so this suddenly sounds a LOT like a Rapid-Fire Bird

Imagine a world where they give you a recipe for an apple pie and say make a pie. You follow it, your pie looks fine. Then, when they taste it, they tell you, Oh, you didn’t know, you needed to use sour apples. You didn’t figure that out on your own? No, dagnabit, I was concentrating on making an apple pie for the first time in my life. I had no experience of this thing. I didn’t know what it would be. Then they tell you, Oh, maybe you needed to use coconut sugar or something else, or maybe should have figured out yourself that it’s too sweet or that you hate cinnamon, or maybe your oven is not working properly, so you need to deal with that. Yeah, that’s how I feel about life and its problems and people.

Oh that’s interesting. Because what *this* bit is sounding like… is the angst of a Built secondary dealing with a lot of Improvisational secondaries. I’m think you’re a Bird… with a lot of Snakes and Lions in your life.

Every chance I get, I try to tell people these little small things that you somehow supposedly had to figure out on your own. You need to crack the system first to know how you can break it the best way to achieve your goals. Life, problems, people are systems I will never be able to crack. There is nothing to grab onto, so that’s why freefalling headfirst is the best and the easiest option.

OH. Burnt bird secondary. Snake model.

Btw, I am reading other submissions while writing this, to not go completely out of the path and get any ideas that would be valuable. I do like to have a net behind me to catch me if I fall, ha.

And another little detail that sounds very Birdy.

So I’m reading you as a Lion primary with a Rapid-fire Bird secondary. Your primary is burned a little, and your secondary is burned a lot. And a big part of the reason for that is that you’ve got people around you expecting you to use a Snake model all the time, and you *do* have one, you do. But it feels heavy to you right now. You don’t hate it, but you’d rather use Rapid-Fire or maybe Actor Bird. And that might be feeding into the general Anti-Snake sentiment I’m seeing here.

[magickastiel]

DAY THREE OF @TOOTIREDMOTEL’S 500 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION! 🥳

✨ prompt three: reunite | handwrite | “about last night” ✨

_

Sam leaves the bar like the traitor he is.

Dean fidgets in his seat. Why did Castiel have to take the seat opposite? Why did he have to come on this trip at all? And why does he look so damn good?

There’s no need for any of it.

Dean takes a sip of his lukewarm beer for something to do. Castiel keeps staring at him.

“What?” Dean snaps, almost dribbling beer down his chin.

“Nothing.” Castiel shrugs but doesn’t stop. “I suppose I am still getting used to seeing you again.”

“Yeah.” Dean snorts, shoving one of Sam’s abandoned fries into his mouth and wincing when he remembers he ordered sweet potato not regular. “Quite the reunion.”

“You’re not happy?”

“‘Course I’m happy. Why wouldn’t I be happy? Got a decent job, got good friends, a successful brother - ”

“I meant about me being here.”

“Oh. Right.”

One of Castiel’s eyebrows lifts slightly and Dean squirms. “You answered rather...defensively.”

“I am happy.” Dean says through gritted teeth. “You were always like this, always goddamn questioning me - pushing me! Just...stop, ok?”

Castiel sits back in his chair, arms crossed and eyes hard. “I 'pushed you'? Into what, exactly? Because if I recall correctly, you kissed me.”

Dean slams his hands down, making the family at the next table jump. His face burns as he hisses, “Oh, you just had to bring that up, didn’t you?! You been waiting to say that all night? Just had to wait for Sammy to go, huh? You probably think I should be thanking you for not telling him! Well, I ain’t gonna!”

“I wouldn’t expect you to!” Castiel glares, jiggling his leg under the table. Dean barely resists the urge to kick him in the shin. “I have been discreet because I know it’s the right thing to do! I’m not here to - to...out you!”

The anger Dean feels dissipates into panic. He looks around wildly. What if the family at the next table heard? He doesn’t know them but what if they tell someone who does know him? What if -

“Dean.” Castiel says, his voice returned to his normal deep calm.

“What?” He tries to have an attitude but it’s already gone.

“I didn’t mean...” He sighs and props his elbows back on the table. “I didn’t want this to be unpleasant. I hoped that seeing me again would be a good experience for you. Something that brings back good memories.”

“Yeah, it...” It does. “It’s kind of a mixed bag, you know?” He rubs the back of his neck and tries not to think about the feel of Castiel’s hair between his fingers or the scent of smoke on his father’s leather jacket.

“That’s understandable. I feel the same.” Dean must look confused because Castiel gives him a small smile and explains. “The short time we were...friends...forced me to confront my sexuality. There was no avoiding it, no pushing it aside. And while that was a good thing in the long term...” He drags a hand over his face, suddenly looking weary. “After you left town, things were difficult for me.”

“Why? Did someone find out?” Dean asks, trying not to sound too panicked. “Did they give you shit for it?” He can imagine Castiel’s snobby classmates bullying him not only for being gay, but for dating a boy as poor and weird as Dean.

No, not dating.

“No, no, nothing like that. It was me, really. All of my suffering was internal.” Castiel smiles again but it just looks sad this time.

“Right.” Dean feels awkward. “Sorry?”

“Not your fault.” He says and sounds like he means it.

Dean takes another swig of beer and lets his nerves settle. “We were kinda confused, huh?” He chuckles, remembering his fake swagger and ‘bad boy’ attitude. “Being a teenager’ll do that to you, I guess.”

“And now?”

Castiel is doing that thing again where it feels like he’s slicing through all the bullshit in Dean’s mind and seeing the one thing he doesn’t want to share.

He swallows. “And now what?”

“Are you still confused?”

Dean thinks about his hands shaking the first time he took a guy back to his apartment, thinks about getting a text from him in work the day after and hurriedly deleting his number. He thinks about how he still has to drive two towns over to even consider speaking to a guy in a bar.

He thinks about the terror that consumes him when he imagines telling Sam and Bobby.

He thinks about what John Winchester would have said.

“I - uh...” He tries to laugh. He can feel Castiel’s eyes on him, patient and soft. “I suppose I am, yeah.”

Castiel’s hand twitches on the table, like he’s about to reach across. Dean tenses, wishing he could just let him. He waits to panic.

But instead, his leg nudges Dean’s under the table and after a second, he relaxes into the warmth. Cas feels solid and strong against him. It feels like companionship, like he understands. Like he can help.

Dean can’t meet his gaze. His eyes trace the label on his beer bottle over and over.

“That’s ok.” Cas says so quietly and gently Dean almost feels like crying. “We’ll figure it out.”

Dean decides to believe him. Just for tonight.

_

all of these are from the same story but hopefully they make sense alone too 💖

read the other parts: one | two

[bondsmagii]

I’m rereading Vicious and after knowing everything about Vengeful everything that Eli did on vicious makes so much sense.

The first time I read Vicuous I always wondered what exactly went through Eli’s head, what was he thinking? When he looked for Victor when Victor was about to replicate his experiment? Was Eli concerned about Victor or was Eli was acting for selfish reasons? What was he thinking and feeling after he got his powers? What was he thinking when Victor attacked him and why was he so quick to think Victor was a devil in disguise? What was his last thought when he was about to become an Eo and how does it relate to healing? What was his thought process when he was trying to give up his life to god and when he decided that killing EOS was the “right” thing to do?

And after reading Vengeful everything becomes so much clearer, his last thought was probably about how he wanted to be “healed and saved” he internalized so some much religious trauma that it affected the way he acted and his thogught porcess, he witnessed his mother suicide on a bathtub and that’s probably why he chose that method both times before and after becoming an EO, his father used to beat him as a kid because he supposedly “had the devil in him” and he does feels like one through his life, doing his best to act as “normal” as possible.

His mother death also explains why he was so worried about Victor and even in the first book Eli talks very fondly of him even referring to him as his best friend and he explains to Serena he thinks Victor died and something sinister replaced him after becoming an EO and this conclusion although rash, it make sense he would try to rationalize and in a way justify the awful things that Victor did after turning into an EO.

And even in vengeful he started imagining Victor to kept him company when he was going through hell, he admits to himself that Victor was the only person who ever truly “saw” him and understood him, pretty much confirming that the “rivalry” Victor and Eli had was mostly one-sided and Eli really did loved him and consider him his best friend.

This also explains his weird behavior towards Victor when Vic himself was trying to turn himself into an EO, Eli witnessed his mother death and probably didn’t wanted the same to happen to Victor after Eli himself almost died trying to recreate it.

The first book also explains that he tried to take his life a second time after Victor got arrested begging for God to take away his power if it had been a mistake, he seemed to externalize all of this negative experience and feelings through his purpose of exterminating the EOS because he sincerely believed that was the right thing to do, his faith although horribly used and mishandled seemed to be genuine based on how we was him literally begging to god to take his life back if everything had been a mistake.

Everyone one of his actions seem to be driven by his childhood and religious trauma and it’s incredible sad to me, he wan’t a sociopath or a psychopath he was just very broken and delusional individual.

And his experience with Serena who forced herself into him also didn’t helped the whole “EOS are devils in disguise” perspective , even since I read the first book (when I didn’t knew anything about Eli yet) I was very repulsed by what Serena was doing to him, to the point that even though I greatly disliked Eli at first I kind of hated Serena more for what she was doing to him. I am also a little disappointed in how the fandom barely acknowledges that what Serena did to Eli was incredibly wrong and messed up.

I have already said this, but the fandom seems to treat Eli very unkindly, they brush over all of his story and just label him as a “sociopath” or “psychopath” barely understanding and completely missing the point of why he behaved the way that he did.

I don’t mind if people hate his character, I did so at first, but the way everyone brush over all of his trauma and the way people completely misinterpreted his character and actions don’t set up right with me.

It’s a little surprising how people can praise Serena, Victor and Marcella despite their awful actions while they hate on Eli for the same reason, overall Eli seems to have been the one to receive the shorter end of the stick by the fandom.

honestly I've read this so many times because you're so right and it's such a relief to know that somebody else out there is capable of critical thinking skills lmao. I think the problem with people's response to Eli is that they think his backstory is an excuse, when in actual fact it's an explanation. go figure, kids who grow up in abusive households will turn into adults with a boatload of issues, and some of those issues are more likely than not going to cause harm of their own. it's totally possible to be both a victim and someone who causes harm; yes, Eli thinks he's in the right, but his actions are still wrong. it's possible to understand both of these things and it's possible to still like his character and sympathise with him, while still understanding that damn, he maybe needs to chill on the serial killing.

it wouldn't bother me as much if people didn't think that Victor was absolutely innocent. people seem to revere him, and it's because in the narrative he's set up as Eli's opposite. the whole point of the story is that there's no good men in the game, but because Victor wants to stop Eli, people see him as the good guy and overlook how cruel he was to Eli throughout their entire friendship, and also how cruel he is to the others. (Mitch is probably the only one there of his own free will. Sydney was an injured 12-year-old child when Victor picked her up, and he did so only because she had information that he wanted -- his first thought was to torture it out of her, but when she gave it willingly and kind of hero-worshipped him in the way a neglected child would hero-worship their saviour, he decided she could stay. Dominic is there by force, because he's a disabled man in constant chronic agony that Victor fixes with his EO abilities, and if he does something to displease Victor or leaves him, Victor has threatened to bring the pain back even worse.) people rewrite both Eli and Victor's personalities to fit this, with Eli being cast as this unfeeling psychopath and Victor the person standing up to his evil, and in actual fact Eli is absolutely not a psychopath -- he's a traumatised adult recovering from a highly abusive childhood -- and Victor is not standing up to evil; he's settling a score. a score he kind of started in the first place, by being a jealous asshole towards Eli's thesis, trying to dominate it because his own sucked, seeking glory off the back of Eli's hard work, and then when he succeeded in his goals and became an EO, immediately murdering Eli's girlfriend and torturing Eli because he was jealous Eli's idea was correct. like, Victor Vale is a little bitch, on god. the reason it ended like this was because he was a god-awful friend to Eli, who was literally Victor's only true friend because he was the only person who would put up with him. go figure that the only person who could deal with Victor's behaviour was a grown abused child. nobody who hadn't been indoctrinated into believing that behaviour was acceptable would ever voluntarily deal with Victor.

literally every decision and action Eli takes can be traced back to his trauma, but go figure that nobody on this website can treat trauma with the nuance it deserves. people on this site seem to think that if you're traumatised you're always innocent and vulnerable; if anyone acts outside of this idea, they're written off. I take Eli's treatment very personally because I've seen people quite literally do this to real life people, myself included. because I wasn't a quiet, easy-to-deal-with traumatised person, I got all kinds of shit. it's the exact same with Eli. because he acts badly, because he does bad things, people seek to dehumanise him and set him aside because he apparently makes abuse survivors look bad or whatever -- when in actual fact acting badly is a very common response among abuse survivors, because we were brought up in an environment where that was normal and we don't know otherwise. not to mention the fact that the kind of mental illness Eli shows -- PTSD, mainly -- has many symptoms that make for unpleasant actions. it's not a crime to show the impact these things have, but people take it so personally. I've even seen people say it's ableist to portray characters like Eli because it gives people with trauma or mental illness a bad name, but no. that's literally not how it works. people with trauma and people with mental illness act badly, they fuck up, they can abuse people, sometimes they do harm or even kill people. ignoring this isn't going to get us anywhere, and if anything's ableist, it's looking at a clearly traumatised, mentally ill person and saying that he's a psychopath and evil and irredeemable. like, come on.

Eli didn't catch a single break for his whole life. everyone he's ever met has abused him horribly. you don't have to like him, but the people who can look at this and see nothing sympathetic about him? genuinely I don't trust them.

[keyboard-cowgirl]

Host, Interrupted - beta request

hey so, I'd like to a find a beta reader for my westworld, dolores/reader, wlw fic. It's been a million years since I've had a beta, but I really want one for this massive project. Let's see... you definitely need to be familiar with all three seasons of the show and comfortable reading heavyTM shit. I don't need much (if any) help with the plot. I need error fixes. I'm real chill to work with and I will happily assist you with any project of yours in return. My story is FINISHED. It's 170k words and the first work in a two-part series. Just to give you an idea of what my writing level is and what the story is about, here's the summary. The first chapter and trigger warnings for the entire story are under the cut. (Yes, my fic title is a play on the movie Girl, Interrupted. Yes, that is very much on purpose)

Non-con, suicide, death, murder, violence, gore, holy shit gore, depression, PTSD, self-harm, eating disorder, alcohol abuse, the works, it’s dark guys but *points at source material* *points at self*

Part I: The Devil is in the Details

 “Do you wake up as I do, having forgotten what it is that hurts or where, until you move? There is a second of consciousness that is clean again. A second that is you, without memory or experience, the animal warm and waking into a brand new world.” ― Jeanette Winterson

 Chapter 1:

 You have the whole train car to yourself. The magnet rail moves at amazing speeds with the kind of grace that feels like you aren’t going anywhere at all, but you are. You’re going to Westworld, the crowning achievement of the tech colossus: Delos Incorporated. The park put them on the map, quite literally after they bought an island in the South China Sea. Some 500 square miles of it is reserved for Westworld alone, the rest is divided between the other parks. You forget how big they are, but none of them are as large as Westworld. No matter how large it is and easy to get lost in, you aren’t going to up and forget why you’re here. You can’t. If you could, you’d have no reason to be on this monorail at all, relaxed into the pristine white seats, sighing at the darkened window.

Minutes pass, and your consciousness has gone somewhere you don’t have to think. A place where there’s no boredom and no worry. You snap to attention when the window lights up to show the interior of the train station. A melody of notes plays from the speaker above your chair. The voice is soft, feminine.

“Welcome to Westworld. Live without limits.”

When the doors slide open, you curl your toes and try to wake them from their fuzzy sleep. Your first steps are tired, unbalanced, and you cover your mouth to hide a yawn. As you walk off the monorail, you glance around the station. It’s just as bright as the train, and you pity the janitors for all the black scuffmarks they have to buff off the tile before you remember that the most tedious labor goes to the hosts.

The hosts – there are a dozen of them, evenly spaced out and waiting to help the guests. But there’s no one else coming off the train, just you. Dressed up and impossibly still, the hosts don’t even acknowledge you. It’s like they’re sleeping with their eyes open. They’re not here for you, but it’s weird that they’re here at all. You scour the area for a safe space when you find your welcoming committee near an escalator.

The two men stay put, but the woman gives you an excited wave.

“Harper!” Your name echoes through the station and you wish she hadn’t said it so loud. Still, you force a smile because this is a friend, and you are happy to see her. You’re happy. You’re happy…

“Hey, Elsie. How are you?” you ask as she crosses the floor to meet you. You barely have time to react before she wraps her arms around you. You can’t get your arms to hug her back, and you tell yourself it’s because she’s squeezing you too tight.

“I’m good, I’m good! How are you? I feel like it’s been so long- but it hasn’t. You lose track of time down here.”

Elsie is rambling, and you find it odd. Elsie isn’t the wordy type. She’s crass, direct, and extremely insightful, but this Elsie is stumbling over herself to make small talk. In a rare display of assuredness, you pat her on the shoulder.

“I’m alright,” you lie. “I didn’t think I’d see you today, but I’m glad you’re here.”

Elsie smiles bashfully, then turns as the others arrive. You recognize the pair she’s with – Bernard Lowe and Robert Ford. One is Elsie’s boss, the other is family.

Bernard adjusts where his glasses sit on his nose before he welcomes you. “Hello, Harper. I hope the ride wasn’t unpleasant.” You shrug. It was nice to be alone after your parents insisted on dropping you off. You can understand their concerns, but you’re not a child. Haven’t been one of those in a long time.

“I wish I could stay,” Robert suddenly interjects. Until this point, you’ve avoided looking at him. He’s an old man now, soon to face the trials of time that a mortal body can’t win. You wonder why he hasn’t died yet. A heart attack could do him in at any moment. Lucky bastard. “But there’s a project that requires my attention.” Go figure he’d leave at the first opportunity. He shouldn’t have come at all, but you let him speak. “I merely want to impart upon you how wonderful it is that you’re here, Harper. Don’t think of this place as a park or a game. It doesn’t have to be that. Westworld,” he raises his arms, displaying the pearly gates to the kingdom behind him, “can be whatever you need it to be. Here, you are awake in a dream.”

You manage a nod, and then his back is turned. His brown leather shoes clop across the floor as he disappears into a service exit between escalators. Seriously, why did he come at all if he was going to leave thirty seconds after seeing you? Maybe some things can’t be mended despite what your mom said.

You, Elsie, and Bernard stew in the silence left by one of the original founders of the park. Dr. Ford is an enigmatic man at the best of times. At the worst, he’s driven by a singular focus to achieve ever loftier goals. His ambition cost him his family once. Really, it’s a miracle you’re here at all, but other, more important people in your life have forgiven him.

“Come on,” Elsie finally says. “Let’s get you ready for your stay.”

As you weave between the sentinel hosts, the three of you leave the train station behind. Bernard takes the time to remind you the rules of the park. He doesn’t have to, you remember them.

“Now, the hosts can’t hurt you. In fact, they’ll do everything they can to keep you from true physical harm.” It isn’t the physical harm that concerns you about your stay here. “The guns are coded to differentiate between human and host. It’s going to hurt if you get shot-”

You clear your throat. “I remember, Mr. Lowe. The internship didn’t end that long ago.”

“Right, right,” he confirms. He plucks his glasses from his face and cleans his lenses as you guys walk into a large closet. Closet isn’t the right word. The place is more like a small storefront. Racks of clothes line the walls and accessories lay in display cases spread throughout. Everything is tailored to be exactly your size, but the collection isn’t fine-tuned to your taste. If it was, the vibrant, lowcut saloon style dresses wouldn’t be here. As you browse, aware Elsie is watching you choose, your mind travels back to the last time you were a part of Delos Destinations.

The internship…

The internship was a means to an end. Just this year, you worked with Behavior, you learned about host coding, and you met Elsie – who mentored you. For three months, you lived underground with the rest of the onsite staff. Everyday was a chore, but at the end of it your grandfather agreed to pay for your master’s degree. Now, you’re back three months later. You aren’t here to work, and you can’t leave until your stay is over.

You select a pair of grey breeches and find a muddy red, button up shirt to go with it. For shoes, you pick the comfiest looking boots you see. Most of your internship was spent in the workshops, but for the next few weeks you’ll be above ground, kicking around in the dust of the “Old West” as imagined by Delos. To hell with looks, you want to be comfortable. You imagine yourself not to care about your appearance, but you still pick out a belt with a holster that matches, and a leather jacket.

When you come upon a case full of guns, you hesitate. The selection of pistols is immaculate, like everything else you’ve seen so far. Everything is so damn clean, and it irks you. The more Delos tries to sell itself as perfect, the more you want to make a mess of everything. You lift the glass cover and grab a silver revolver. It’s heavier than you thought it would be, but it fits in your hand so well. That’s the thing about guns that’s always bothered you. You shouldn’t want to hurt people, and you don’t – for the most part – but every gun you’ve ever held feels like it was made for you.

Elsie and Bernard step out so you can change. When they return, Bernard is back on his tangent of explaining how this trip works. “Now, you’ll start in the center of the park. Sweetwater. Things are tamer there, but there will be plenty to see and do.”

The behavior tech raises her hand to cut Bernard off. “I got it from here, Bernard. I’ll make sure she’s good to go.” Bernard nods and wishes you well before he leaves. With that, Elsie takes a deep breath and adjusts your collar a little bit. “Finally, we’re alone.” You face warms, remembering your past with her. “I know how much you hate this place,” she states. “But I really hope you find some peace here, Harper. You’re gonna have the whole park basically to yourself, take advantage of it.”

You huff and take a step away from your friend. “The perks of being Ford’s granddaughter,” you muse.

Elsie folds her arms over her chest. “Yeah, and if our places were reversed, I’d be taking that old man for everything he’s got.”

You let that statement hang, untouched. “How is it I have the whole park to myself anyway?”

“Brass is going through their yearly audit, and they oh-so-graciously decided to give everyone a three-week vacation this time,” she mocks. “We’re running on a skeleton crew right now, but then the rest of us get to take our vacation whenever we want. I’m thinking Christmas or something else equally inconvenient for management. Maybe every Tuesday for the next 15 weeks. What do you think?”

“Hm, one week for Christmas and ten weeks of Tuesdays.”

Elsie laughs. “Oh, that’s devious, Harper. Love the way you think.”

She’s always been a bit of a flirt with you, but under all her jokes and bravado, you know there’s a brilliant but lonely woman beneath. Unfortunately for her, all you can be is a friend, and probably not even a good one at that. Like right now, how you’re not responding to her. What kind of friend just stands here in awkward silence like this? Where the hell is your mind today?

“I don’t know what all you’re going through,” Elsie muses a moment later, “but you’re not alone, okay? I made Bernard give me this assignment. He and Dr. Ford picked out a lot of the narratives and hosts you’ll come across, but they’re going to be too busy to watch you. I’ll be checking on you from time to time.”

Her sympathy doesn’t feel fake, and that almost hurts. This is the time to push a smile, but you can’t do it. “What hosts? What narratives?”

“I shouldn’t be telling you, but it’s gonna start with a bounty hunter. He’ll take you out to hunt down some bandits. From there, you’ll get the choice to side with the bandits and- and are you sure you want to know this? I feel like I’m spoiling the biggest Hollywood blockbuster of the century.”

You huff out a laugh. You don’t care about spoilers. “Stay away from the bounty hunters and bandits,” you list. “Got it. I’m just not interested in my grandfather’s games.”

Elsie straightens her blazer. “Yeah, but still try to enjoy some of it. Okay,” she tries to psyche you up. “You ready?”

“I hope you’re getting a bonus for this.”

Her hand rests on your back as she guides you forward. “The bonus is knowing I’m helping a friend.”

Your stomach drops. This definitely hurts.

--

You’re on another train. This time, the steel cage rocks beneath your feet and it’s not empty. Hosts are spread throughout the car, planted in their seats, or taking a drink at the bar. You don’t talk to them; you don’t even look at them. You know how real they seem, and despite what your grandfather has planned for you – you’re not interested in what Westworld can offer you. You’ve already got plans, big plans. You’re going to hole up in the nearest tavern and self-medicate until your three weeks are up. You don’t need Westworld to cure you of your ailments. Not that you aren’t sick, you just don’t think it can. Since a young age, the doctors said you had depression. Now that you’re older, 23, they’re not satisfied with the easiest explanation. Now you have another disease.

In a world surrounded by screens and pixels, the experts needed a new term for the bleak existence suffered by the modern man. They call it ‘Tech Fatigue’ but you’re pretty sure it was invented by the Delos marketing team. Medical professionals like to slap that diagnosis on anyone with a designer smart watch and dark rings under their eyes. Rich people – circling their second divorce and an equal number of midlife crises – seek out therapy inside one of the parks. Delos gives the doctors a fat kickback, and bam, the cycle is born. Tech companies like Delos make the problem, the solution, and profit off both. You don’t know that’s what’s happening, but it wouldn’t surprise you.

It’s ironic, really. In order to get away from a world of tech, internet, and social media, you’re taking the first train to the most manufactured place on the planet. In the mile of dirt below you, there’s a whole structure full of tablet-carrying technicians making sure the machines around you work flawlessly. Just because you can’t see the wires, doesn’t mean they don’t exist.

You wish you didn’t exist.

Suddenly, the train whistle screams. You’ve pulled up to the station in Sweetwater. As the locomotive comes to a halt, you get to your feet and grab your leather messenger bag. Nothing in that sack is yours. Except for the odd prescription, guests aren’t allowed to bring personal items into the park. You don’t have any medications because you quit all of those a while ago. Still, you need more than the clothes on your back.

You walk off the train between a flurry of host bodies. For the most part, none of them pay attention to you. They go about their loops, avoid you when you step into their path – all except for a man in a grey tweed frock. He tips his hat as he approaches you.

“Miss Harper? I’m Teddy Flood. Your grandfather paid me to keep an eye on you.”

So it begins. You look him up and down more carefully. He looks like he was plucked right off the cover of an old-timey, cringe-laden romance novel set in the Wild West with his chiseled features. But his eyes are kind, and you’re not sure how to ditch him yet so you play along as best you can.

“That’s me.”

“Can I take you somewhere? A hotel to find a room? I’ve got horses saddled for us if you-”

You hold up a hand. “Okay, I thought I could do this, but I can’t. Just… go away. Or whatever it is you do when you’re not with a guest.”

He tilts his head. “I’m afraid I can’t abide by that request, ma’am. I was paid to keep you safe, and I’m a man of my word.”

“Of course you are.” Your shoulders sag, weighed down by more than your luggage. “Fine, but we’re not doing any of your… narratives.” You should’ve asked Elsie for more details on what your grandfather and Bernard have planned for you so you could avoid it. During your internship, you worked in a different park. Park seven, the newest addition to six others. You don’t know the storylines of Westworld past what you know about old American history. Admittedly, it’s not much.

With a sigh, you press forward and walk right into another cowboy. The stranger grunts and turns, hand hovering over the pistol on his hip. Teddy steps between you two. When the guy sees that his assailant is a woman with someone to defend her, his hostility fades.

“Pardon me, ma’am.”

Though everyone so far has a very natural Southern drawl, the ‘ma’am’ thing is weird. You try to smile in acceptance of his apology, but you know your lips aren’t upturned. You used to be so much better at controlling your expression, your emotions, too. What happened to you?

Confrontation avoided, you continue into town. You almost ask Teddy where the hotel is, but as you become more aware of your surroundings, your question fades. The buildings on either of the dusty road aren’t chic. They aren’t glass and concrete monoliths reaching for the sky. In fact, most of them aren’t even two-stories tall despite the false facade that rises up from the roof like an ornate parapet. Here, everything is made of wood and clay. It’s painted in muted, earthy tones by hand, and it’s like stepping back in time. Horses of every color are hitched on posts outside, and now you kind of wonder where Teddy was going to take you on horseback. You’ve never ridden a horse before.

They’re not real horses, you remind yourself. Teddy isn’t a real man. And nothing in Sweetwater is natural, except maybe for the flies buzzing around a pile of horse dung. Surely, your grandfather isn’t crazy enough to have manufactured insects. Then again, the robotic horses are producing waste that truly, and disgustingly, smells like shit… so anything is possible.

You tell yourself that this whole experience is too much, and you’re going to find the nearest place you can have a drink before you have a panic attack. That place is the Mariposa Saloon. You push through the batwing doors, and Teddy catches them when they spring backwards as he follows you. You told yourself to be ready for the sensory overload you’d face inside, but you’re still slightly overwhelmed. Cigarette smoke wafts under your nose, people are muttering about their card game, glasses are clinking on the bar, and a piano is chiming away in the corner of the room without anyone sitting at the keys. It’s a lot. You can understand how some people would feel alive in a place like this, but it’s not for you.

Still, you push yourself to the bar. Bottles of tawny brown, gold, and clear liquor are calling you forward. You set your hands on the black counter, but the man with the twisted handlebar moustache is serving someone else first. You don’t know why you’re waiting. You’re the only person here who thinks for themselves. You can be as rude as you want to be, and no one would remember it once they were reset. You wait anyway, and one of the brothel girls see it as an opening to take a chance.

The woman’s dress is a deep ocean blue, cut so high you can see the tops of her thighs and the intricate stockings she wears to cover the rest of her legs. You hope she’s going for Teddy, but she stops beside you and grins.

“You’re new.” She reaches up and slowly caresses your face. Between the lace of her fingerless gloves and the warmth of her hand, you’re surprised at how real it feels. “Not much of a rind on you. I’ll give you a discount.”

Turning away from her hand, you clear your throat. “Thanks, but I’m just here for a drink.”

The young woman doesn’t seem too upset by your refusal. “What do you want to drink, darling?” She snaps her finger at the bartender. Throwing a towel over his shoulder, the man finally notices you.

You order a whiskey. When he asks you what kind, you fumble. Did they have different kinds of whiskey in the past? How are you supposed to know?

Teddy chuckles under his breath and answers for you. “Rye. None of that corn homebrew you try to pass off as liquor.”

The saloon girl looks past you and at your tall, handsome company. “Wise choice, Mr. Flood.”

He tips his hat, before glancing at you again. “Nothing but the best for my friend.”

You scowl. “Teddy, we aren’t friends. You don’t even know me.” This is too strange. The bartender sets out two small glasses and fills both halfway. You can’t pretend like this is normal when your normal is leaps and bounds different from the here and now. A drink at home meant serving yourself, and you poured your chilled, name brand whiskey to the top of your glass, then you drank it alone.

Teddy throws his shot back and swallows it all in one go. “I know you better than you think, and I’d like to get to you know more than that.”

You shudder. Oh god, did your grandfather put him for you to… For you two to… You can’t finish the thought. The idea of your grandfather interfering with your sex life is way more than you can handle. Before you even take your first sip, you smack your finger down on the counter – showing the bartender where he can put the whiskey when you demand it.

“Leave the bottle.”

The young woman beside you places a hand on your shoulder and you tense up as she whispers in your ear. “I’m here if you change your mind, beautiful. If I’m not your type, and neither is he, look around. Find something that strikes your fancy.”

You grab the neck of the bottle and pour another shot. Westworld is not for you, you’ve decided. It’s only three weeks you remind yourself. The hat you picked out is making your forehead itch, so you take it off and set it on the bar. Then you hear a loud pop. An older cowboy pushes through the batwing doors, a wash of red blooms across his vest as he stumbles into the saloon.

“They’re here,” he coughs out. “Hector… Escaton and his posse.”

More gunshots sound, and it’s like some miscreant lit firecrackers in the street. The saloon explodes with activity. Working girls scramble to hide behind tables. The bartender grabs a sawed-off shotgun. Teddy puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk before he tells you to get somewhere safe or be prepared to use your weapon.

It’s only three weeks.

[the-odd-job]

Harem AU Chapter 18 - Made Of

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Relationships: Sunstreaker & Sideswipe Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Soundwave, Shockwave, Chromia, Lancer, First Aid, Perceptor, Greenlight Additional Tags: Noncon Experimentation, Angst Words: 14547

( Previous )

Sunstreaker still had a limp the next day. It wasn’t just pain that had stolen his legs from under him—apparently Megatron had generously messed up his entire hips. Knock Out had fixed or replaced everything, but they didn’t have the time to wait for the parts to fully integrate before Hot Shot came to let them know they were wanted at the door.

They could guess what that was about.

At least Sunstreaker stayed on his pedes well enough, partially numb areas making his movement lag or not. The guards opened the doors for them, and on the other side was waiting… The same blue mech that had given them their dinner instructions. He had another smile to give them. “Good morning. Master Shockwave sent me to get you.”

As they’d guessed, then. They nodded their understanding and the mate waved them along. No guards moved to accompany them, oddly enough. Was it because the way wasn’t that long?

It didn’t seem like that was the case when they headed for the elevators instead of any of the other wings on the same floor. Sideswipe watched the number the mate picked on the lift’s control panel. They were way high up, nearly at the top of the whole damn tower.

Their destination, according to the floor the elevator was directed to go to, was far, far lower. He wasn't sure they'd ever gone that low in the tower. They'd been brought in via a rotorflier that had already landed pretty high up, and they'd only gone higher still from there.

Total opposite now. It was going to be a long ride.

And awkwardly quiet if no one said anything, in Sideswipe's opinion. Or, well, awkward for him. Sunstreaker wasn't likely to care, and he wasn't sure the other mate would either.

But in the name of not feeling so awkward himself, Sideswipe spoke up. “You’re from… Shockwave’s harem?” he asked. The blue mech had a brand on him and was clearly running around on Shockwave's business, so… 

They confirmed it. "I am. We never had proper introductions, did we? I'm Chromia." His field flared in proper greeting and Sideswipe's automatically responded to it. Sunstreaker's did too, after a moment's delay.

"You probably know our designations already," Sideswipe hazarded, a guess Chromia confirmed with a nod. He had to have asked for them specifically, anyways. Hard to do that if you didn't know who you were supposed to get.

But if they were going to have some small talk… There were things Sideswipe was curious about, and Chromia might just have some answers.

Firstly, "How high ranking is Shockwave, exactly?"

"He answers only to Lords Megatron and Soundwave," Chromia said, and it looked like this wasn't an off limits topic, because he stayed relaxed and casual. "He's Lord Megatron's Head of Scientific Research. Rather important figure, as I'm sure you can imagine."

As for his part, Sideswipe wasn't feeling very relaxed or casual when keeping in mind where they were going, but tried to pretend he was anyway. Just chit chat, that was all! And learning a bit more about Kaon's ruling class or whatever you wanted to call it while at it. That couldn't hurt. 

But. So. They were headed to get experimented on by what might be the third most powerful mech in Kaon, when they'd already established to themselves that you didn't make it to ranks like that by being nice. "What's he like? Shockwave I mean,” Sideswipe asked carefully. What kind of things could one even say about their mate? ‘Oh, they’re a total rapist and abuser, real jackass, I hate their guts’.

No one in Megatron’s harem would’ve said that. Well, aside from him and Sunstreaker. They would’ve said that.

"Hm?" Chromia looked at him, although Sideswipe wouldn't have called his expression all the way surprised.

He really wasn't sure what to call it at all, but Chromia answered him anyway, unreadable emotions or not. "He's fair, I'll give him that. Unapologetic in the pursuit of knowledge, but you don't need to worry about that. Lord Megatron doesn't allow harm to come to his mates. Master Shockwave respects that."

Out of genuine respect, or because Megatron would do something very bad to him if he broke his rules? Probably the latter.

"What do you mean, 'unapologetic'?" Sunstreaker spoke up sharply. Chromia gave him that same look that neither of them could quite name.

"He'll go as far as he needs to to get answers, when orders otherwise aren't holding him back."

Like orders would be holding him back in his and Sunstreaker's case. Hopefully. But the implications behind those words were… Heavy. Chromia didn't outright say so, but Sideswipe could imagine that as far as he needs to really did mean as far as he needs to. Ethics, morals? Damn those, most likely. It would fit the rest of the place. All the other things they’d already seen and felt them do… What was some experimentation while at it? The subjects probably didn’t consent, but consent meant jackall here.

They weren’t consenting either, but Megatron had given them up for tests and whatever else, so… That was what was going to happen. Chromia’s assurances that no harm would come to them felt thin when he fully expected that even some very unpleasant things would count as not harm.  

Then, was it too personal to ask… Sideswipe asked anyway. “How long have you been in his harem?”

Megatron’s harem didn’t talk about things like that, but then again, they hadn’t gone out of their way to ask either. They had no idea how long anyone there had been in Megatron’s clutches, or how they’d gotten caught in that net, what their life was like before… None of that. They had no idea. 

But Chromia wasn’t put off by that question either and merely chuckled. “Oh, most of my life at this point. I wasn’t that old when I fought in the Pits to prove my worth and gain the interest of the court—and succeeded! Master Shockwave chose me over all the others.”

He sounded… Proud. Really proud, but Sideswipe couldn’t get past the feeling that this didn’t quite compute.

Fought? Gain interest? Chose, like that was a… A good thing?

Sunstreaker recovered from their shock slightly faster, at least partway—enough to ask an entirely incredulous, “You… Wanted to become a mate?”

Chromia nodded, still looking all kinds of self-satisfied. “It is an honor. Not everyone wants it, understandably, but– You’re not Kaonites, are you? Here, those that desire it are given the option to try to impress the court enough to be chosen. Lord Megatron has a pair too, ah, what were their names… Runamuck and Runabout? They were quite a sight when they fought; I’m not surprised Lord Megatron himself would choose them.”

Primus. That was a hell of a lot to digest after all the slag they’d gone through and seen and heard about and… Slag. And they sure as pit hadn’t known that about Runamuck and Runabout, but that was no surprise since they didn’t know that much about anyone. 

Sideswipe released a ventilation he hadn’t realized he was holding, leaning against the wall of the elevator. He felt a little woozy right there. This, the information that some came to this life willingly and even thought of it as a good thing, an honor as Chromia put it… It went against everything they felt. This was hell to them. There was nothing good about any of it.

And some fought to get to their garbage standing. 

But not everyone. “Why doesn’t everyone want it?” Sideswipe had to ask, not particularly fond of the way his voice was caught somewhere between a squeak and a wheeze, but at least his vocalizer worked. That was something.

“It’s a sacrifice,” Chromia shrugged. “You give up a lot of your freedoms and lay your future in the hands of another. It’s not a choice that should be made lightly.

“But many consider the tradeoff worth it. You get to be so close to our leaders, to serve Kaon in such a way, maybe make yourself more useful than you would’ve been otherwise. And obviously, the surroundings you’re given are very lavish and comfortable. There isn’t a hell of a lot to complain about, at the end of the day.”

Not a lot to complain about.

Right on the heels of admitting that even those that took the role willingly lost their freedom, as if Runamuck and Runabout weren’t enough proof of that. They had never suspected there was anything different about them, because they didn’t get treated any differently. They were as stuck in the harem wing as everyone else. They didn’t have magical rights to leave at will.

But… What? It was worth it because they got to be Megatron’s berth toys and ‘serve Kaon’ through their servitude to its sovereign leader?

If that was the logic, then the other set of twins was probably even more honored than Chromia. Chromia only belonged to the third most powerful mech, whereas Runamuck and Runabout belonged to the most powerful. 

It was so messed up.

Arguing probably wouldn’t have worked any better than it did with Megatron’s mates, though. If outlanders, those that had clearly come from outside of Kaon, bought into this bullshit, then how much more were natives going to do the same? They were raised here, into this culture of… What was it? Extreme nationalism or something? If it was drilled into them from the moment they were activated, how was Sideswipe going to change their mind in the duration of one elevator ride?

“How often do those fights take place?” Sunstreaker asked, his voice tight.

“Rarely, sadly. The court does try to keep the sizes of their harems manageable, and that won’t work if they’re hoarding new mates at every turn.”

And it looked like quite a few mecha were brought from outside for some reason. Why even do that if there were willing mecha within your own city?

He asked that much, and Chromia didn’t withhold that answer either. “In part it’s kindness, to rescue mecha from Unified Cybertron into the cultural freedom of Kaon. But maybe a bit more than that, it’s… How would I put it. A delicacy for the ruling class? They have a far wider range of frame types to choose from, and there is always allure to frames you might not find in Kaon at all, or at least not often.”

Kindness.

Delicacy.

So ultimately this whole thing was just because of the arrogance and egotism of Kaon’s ruling class. It wasn’t enough to take willing mecha from within their city’s walls, they wanted the exotic goods from elsewhere too—nevermind what those goods thought about. Living mecha with wills and sparks of their own, brought here to… To… 

Slag. Slag it all.

Maybe they were better off not knowing any of this. Blissful ignorance had kept them from realizing the full extent of Kaon’s depravity, but they were quickly falling down the rabbit hole of being horrifically informed of how Kaonites thought. It didn’t look a hell of a lot like it was only the court that thought this was somehow acceptable. Was the general populace of that opinion too? Did they think being a mate was such an honor that anyone who got brought here for it should be grateful and devote their damn lives to Kaon without question?

“How many harems are there?” Sunstreaker asked while Sideswipe was still busy trying to sort his thoughts into any kind of a functional order with very little success.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever actually counted,” Chromia mused, then began to tick mecha off with his digits without actually saying anything before he’d apparently counted them all. “Nine or ten, if I remember everyone? Lord Soundwave should have one too, but he’s never taken any mates himself, for whatever reason.”

“Is that why Megatron shares… Us? With him?”

“Possibly. I won’t pretend to know their reasoning, but Lord Megatron and Lord Soundwave are good friends.”

So apparently they could build friendships too. That was almost surprising.  

“How big are the harems?” Sunstreaker, again.

“Usually around ten members, and I think there’s at least one that is over twenty mates strong. Lord Megatron’s is undoubtedly the largest, though, as is fitting for a mech of his standing.”

Several times the size of his subordinates’ harems, in other words. What greed.

The elevator stopped, effectively cutting their bit of interrogation short. Chromia, still, didn’t look at all perturbed by all of their questions, just gestured them along when the doors opened to a hallway that didn’t look that different from any of the other hallways they’d seen. They took a couple of turns until they came to double doors similar to what led to the wings located on the harem’s floor. There were guards here too, like there were everywhere, but the doors opened on Chromias approach and in they went.

At first it didn’t look so different and he wondered just where Shockwave was going to do their testing, but then they went through another set of doors, and suddenly there were hallways and doors all over the place leading to who knew where. Maybe just rooms, maybe other, closed off hallways. They took two ramps down, then through big doors, again, and he was getting kind of lost already.

But Chromia walked ahead of them with confidence, so they followed and tried not to worry about it too much. 

More smaller doors and corridors, up until they stopped in front of one specific door that, to Sideswipe, didn’t look any different from all the others. Chromia pinged for entrance, and with minimal delay the door slid out of their way. They followed the blue mech into the room, although they didn’t follow in the short bow Chromia gave to… Shockwave.

Shockwave was looking at them. “Here they are, master,” Chromia said.

The apparent scientist only responded with, “Dismissed,” and at once their guide took his leave. The door closed behind him, and there they were. In a room. With the very creepy Shockwave. The door probably wouldn’t open for them even if they tried to get out.

“First Aid,” Shockwave called without actually raising his voice, and a mech they hadn’t noticed set something down on the other side of the room before scurrying over. They could just catch a glimpse of a brand on his shoulder. Another of Shockwave’s mates, then, which… Was a little weird. Were they working together?

“Yes, master?” First Aid asked once he got closer, and pits but it grated to hear the title at every turn. They were clearly too used to the casual air in Megatron’s harem, at least when the tyrant wasn’t present. Even Megatron’s mates spoke in a more respectful manner around him. Yes, my Lord; of course, master—the works.

It didn’t look to be so different with Shockwave, in that aspect.

“Get them ready,” was the instruction Shockwave said before he turned away. First Aid voiced his understanding, then waved the twins forward.

To the center of the room, where there were two berths, currently pushed together to form one larger slab. The lights in the ceiling above it were too bright for comfort, and Sideswipe couldn’t even begin to name the contraptions that circled around the lights, ready to be pulled down for use. “If you’d lay down and open your chestplates, please,” First Aid requested once they got next to the berths.

Righty! Apparently there was going to be no warmup whatsoever. “Not even a single date first?” Sideswipe said, and it was such a weak joke and his obvious nervousness only made it weaker, but First Aid nevertheless snorted before quickly smoothing his field. Sideswipe could imagine the same happened to his face, if he had one, but once again there was both a mask and a visor in use. It was impossible to tell what was behind them. 

Sunstreaker reached to squeeze his arm before his brother hopped onto one of the berths. Sideswipe followed, and only after they were both sitting on their respective berths did they lay down fully.

“Open your chestplates and bare your sparks, please,” First Aid repeated when they didn’t do that right away. Sunstreaker bit his denta together so hard his jaw ached and Sideswipe gnawed on his bottom lip until he was sure to leave marks–

But after a few more moments of hesitation, they both initiated the transformation in their chassis—their chestplates pushed apart, then their internals moved out of the way, and even more reluctantly their spark chambers pushed forward, until those too opened to let their sparklight through.

“Thank you,” was all First Aid said, looking back in Shockwave’s direction. They didn’t know what the scientist was doing, but fraggit, could he hurry up with it. It wasn’t exactly pleasant to lay around with their spark in plain view, even if there were only two other mecha present to see.

Two mecha too many.  

Luckily Shockwave didn’t take that long before he came over, pulling along a cart with more… Things on it. Probably some science thingies, but they wouldn’t know one whit about that sort of stuff. 

“Don’t close your chestplates,” Shockwave ordered them, and Sideswipe had just the time to worry why he saw fit to say that much–

And then Shockwave had already brought a fancy looking vernier right up to his spark, and by the pits his first instinct was to slam his chestplates right back shut alright. There wasn’t even a warning! Unless the order was the warning. It was a crappy warning if that was the case.

Instead of trying to close his chestplates, though, Sideswipe tried to sit up instead, not because he was really thinking clearly, but just because it wasn’t cool to have something so close to his spark–

But First Aid caught him by the shoulders before he could get anywhere and pressed him back down with surprising strength. 

“Stay still,” Shockwave said, staring at him with that one lonely optic. “You will be restrained if you don’t cooperate.”

...Right. Okay. So. Reminder. There was no saying no to any of this, and honestly he was getting pretty damn worried here–

But Sideswipe bit his lip harder and nodded his understanding even as Sunstreaker growled deep from his frame. 

Shockwave stared at him for a few more seconds before he repeated his original motion and… Brought the measuring tool to his spark. Then he tightened it until it was just on this side if uncomfortable, stopping only when Sideswipe hissed at the near pain.

But he got the diameter as far as Sideswipe could tell, and seemed satisfied with that. He left Sideswipe and his half of their spark alone and went to do the same to Sunstreaker, and Sunstreaker growled some more but didn’t put up a fight. There was exactly nothing they could do whether or not they were tied down, but they’d still rather have even the illusion of being able to protect themselves. 

Better behave, then.

Scanners came next, a whole assortment of them. Some worked from a distance, others were pushed right up to their spark, and it was a fight and a half to not try to stop the process at every turn. It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t comfortable. Their instincts were screaming at them about protecting their core and lifeforce and they felt really damn naked keeping their sparks bared like that, but Shockwave undoubtedly had Megatron’s authority behind him.

And he would force them if they didn’t submit willingly.

So they tried. And succeeded, mostly, only earning themselves a couple of warnings when they jerked or flinched when they shouldn’t have. 

First Aid jacked into their medical ports on Shockwave’s order and took some more readings with their frames’ built-in scanners and diagnostics systems, and rooted around in general. He seemed to know what he was doing, at least, although Sideswipe worried over the amount of data he downloaded from each of them. The pit was he going to need all of that for? Or what was Shockwave going to need it for, rather?

They didn’t ask. Shockwave didn’t seem the chatty type. He sure as pit didn’t tell what he was doing or going to do any step of the way. It would’ve been really nice if he had, but they kept their silence the same Shockwave kept his.

Sunstreaker snarled even harder when Shockwave had taken an ungodly amount of readings out of them and then… “Merge.”

They really should’ve expected this too. And had, honestly.

Didn’t make them any more happy about it.

First Aid stayed connected to their ports and that didn’t help make things feel any less awkward, nor did the fact Shockwave had all of his scanners ready to record the whole damn process, but all the same Sunstreaker rolled over to be atop Sideswipe. He only barely even made it to straddling his thighs before their spark halves already surged from their chambers, meeting between their frames and merging in midair, as per usual—the scant few times they’d had the chance to do this.

The world imploded.

It was fucking heaven. He always forgot what it felt like, and then he wondered how could he ever forget. When the physical separation between their spark halves was removed, so was… Everything. It all stopped mattering, everything their frames had ever gone through—inconsequential.

All there was was the unity and the rightness of being together in the way they were supposed to be, but weren’t allowed to be, not even just temporarily—too risky, not safe enough, always someone who could hurt.

It was that thought that made them attach to the physical world a bit better, now. Sunstreaker’s frame had entirely collapsed on Sideswipe’s, all sense removed from their physical shackles for precious moments. It left their spark mostly protected, at the very least, out of sight aside from the light that bled from the gaps between their frames.

Sunstreaker lifted himself laboriously, just enough that he could look Sideswipe in the optic—rest their forehelms together. It didn’t matter that the circumstances of this were… Less than ideal.

What mattered was doing it. Fuck everyone else when they could have this. Their spark pulsed, whole, comfortable, full, swirling into itself and blending together until there was no end to him and no beginning to Sunstreaker.

They just were.

He just was.

Shockwave still didn’t say anything, but they could feel the intrigue in First Aid’s field. Split-sparks were rare, weren’t they? Mech had probably never seen this before. Had Shockwave either? They didn’t know. 

More scans, more diagnostics, more of everything, but it didn’t matter. They basked in being what they were supposed to be, and it didn’t matter. Maybe they were too compliant right then, too withdrawn, too careless, and maybe this was why they barely ever merged–

But in the moment, it was all the same as long as their spark was whole.

“Can you overload?” Shockwave asked after a while of observing them. They both shook their helms, not quite finding the will to speak—but it was a simple answer to a simple question, wasn’t?

Could they overload their spark like this?

No. Of course not, where would they have even found the energy for that from? Did the whole sparked walk around overloading all the damn time? No? Then neither would they.

First Aid logged and downloaded those thoughts, and those were some high level privileges he’d given himself in their systems.

They didn’t quite find it in themselves to care.

“Pull partway apart,” Shockwave ordered them next, and they did only because they knew nothing would come of it—that their halves wouldn’t part from that. Sunstreaker pushed himself up on his arms, but their spark remained merged, suspended in the halfway point between their chambers. Only tendrils connected it to either frame, once Sunstreaker lifted himself high enough.

Tendrils that weren’t enough life for their frames. Grey began to form at their extremities and creeped towards their core slowly. First Aid outright gasped in surprise—had they never seen that before, either?—but they weren’t dying, no matter what their frames thought. And really, what were their frames supposed to think when they could register the spark weakening? It was only their link to the spark, not the spark itself, but their bodies didn’t differentiate between those two.

Sideswipe grinned all of a sudden, full of mischief. “Watch this,” and he brought his servo between their spark and its connection to Sunstreaker’s chamber.

The tendrils were severed entirely and Sideswipe heaved his brother’s frame to the side before it could fall back over him—his brother’s frame that was, now, fully grey. Without a spark signature, or indeed, a spark.

Dead, for all intents and purposes.

First Aid’s field was full of a mix of shock, horror, and surprise, though he didn’t say anything and didn’t disconnect from them. Sideswipe giggled even as their spark sank into his chamber, larger than before and fitting in so snugly. He would’ve closed his chestplates out of reflex too, if Shockwave hadn’t chosen that moment to start poking around his core again.

This time… He was floating, a little bit, or so it felt like. Light. Right. 

He didn’t really care that Shockwave repeated the whole entire process he’d already put their spark halves through, but now with their spark fully merged. So many scans and physical measurements and who knew what else.

But he was floating. Happy.

When was the last time he’d been happy?

Shockwave did step back eventually and Sideswipe very lazily turned his helm to look at him. “How do you separate?” the scientist or whatever asked, and Sideswipe focused on his frame enough to remember all of its parts.

Stupid, stupid frame that usually acted as a physical barrier between himself and himself.  

Was he supposed to step back to that reality again?

He didn’t really want to.

...But some part of him reminded him it’d be best to follow the instructions they were given, and answer the questions. “Like… Oof. Like this,” Sideswipe managed to click, turning over and taking his turn to straddle his other frame. Grey frame. 

It wasn’t nearly as upsetting as it should’ve been. Why would he be upset? He was just about to resurrect it. Sideswipe sat on Sunstreaker’s thighs, leaned over him, and carefully brought his arms between their frames to pull his spark from his chassis, though not so far he would’ve had the whole nearing so-called death, going grey thing happen. 

Then he sank his claws into it, all of them—caged portions of it into each of his servos–

And began to pull it apart.

It put up a fight, it did every time, but with a bit of patience and care he managed to separate it into two clear portions that pulsed brightly, but were half the size they had been together. One he pushed back into his own chassis, the other he directed into Sunstreaker’s. It hesitated for a second or two before connecting to Sunstreaker frame with an audible crackle and snap, followed by a clang as Sunstreaker’s chestplates automatically closed around it without any conscious thought on his part. Sideswipe barely pulled his digits free in time. 

Color returned to his brother and Sideswipe smiled a satisfied smile even as the gape between them began to yawn again, larger, more uncomfortable by the second.

Not right.

But it was how they lived. One spark in two places at once, directing two separate frames. That was all.

“Move aside, Sideswipe. Sunstreaker, bare your spark,” Shockwave ordered them both once Sunstreaker’s optics had lit up with clarity. Unease was weaving into them and quickly so, but Sideswipe still felt a bit languid when he rolled off of Sunstreaker and back onto the other berth. Sunstreaker was reluctant, but opened his chest back up—not that he even remembered closing it.

And again there was the whole hullabaloo of taking all the readings. That was getting old and tiresome fast, but Sideswipe feared they’d have to bear similar boredom several times still, before Shockwave was through with them.

They laid around all the same, trying to pass the time mostly by focusing on what First Aid was doing in their helms. Unfortunately it wasn’t anything he wouldn’t have already done though, either.

Shockwave only spoke up once he was done and set all of his instruments aside. “How do you know which half belongs to which frame?”

That was… A question. “We… Don’t?” Sideswipe ventured, but it was Sunstreaker who provided the more informative answer.

“Our spark’s one and the same no matter what. It’s the frames that call forth different aspects of it—personalities, if you want to call them that.”

Shockwave seemed to think on it for a moment, then nodded. “Close your chestplates. First Aid, show them to their quarters. Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Lancer will interview you later.”

First Aid disconnected from them and handed Shockwave something, probably all the stuff he’d downloaded, before the scientist left entirely. Off to do some sciency stuff with all the sciency stuff he’d managed to pull from them, maybe? Or something.

They wanted to start splitting sparks, huh? That didn’t seem healthy. He had to wonder how many unfortunate test subjects that attempt was going to take.

...Best to not think about it too hard.

“Follow me, please,” First Aid requested once they’d both safely closed their chassis and gotten off the berths. 

So they did. There were more doors and hallways, although they didn’t go far this time before First Aid stopped at a door and opened it without going in himself. He gestured for them to do so instead. They did that too.

The room wasn’t big and it was impossibly spartan, but there was a berth big enough for the both of them, a desk with a chair, and some shelving that was entirely empty. 

And that was it. There was nothing else. 

They glanced back at First Aid when he spoke up. “For everyone’s safety, the door locks and you won’t be able to come out.” That… Wasn’t entirely surprising, although it also wasn’t particularly welcome. But what was the other option? Let them wander around? There was no way in pit anyone was going to allow that. “I’ll have Lancer bring you some entertainment once he comes to do your interview.”

“What kind of an interview is it?” Sideswipe asked before First Aid managed to close the door. It looked like he was in a bit of a hurry, but took the time to answer anyway.

“Just a questionnaire to chart… Well, everything possible about your spark condition and how it affects you. Being as thorough as you can is the most helpful.

“Lancer should be by soon. We’ll probably see later, so…” Without a proper goodbye and a bit awkwardly, First Aid closed the door. They could hear it lock, too, as he’d promised. 

And then they were alone.

The silence of the room was only broken by the sounds of their frames, and that was… Was the last time they’d had that when Megatron had separated them, taken turns leaving each of them alone in his quarters to break them?

Those times they hadn’t even had each other. This was different. They were alone in the right way, now, but that was… Weird as all pit, after spending so much time in the harem. There were always others there. Even the library wasn’t real solitude. There were sounds made by the others, their fields, energy signatures, everything their senses would constantly pick up and keep them aware of, even when they were consciously ignoring it all.

Now?

None of that.

It was just them, their one and same spark signature, the energy signatures and the functioning, lowkey whirr, hiss, rumble and whine of each of their frames, sounds changing with every motion they made, every shift of weight. But all of that was so infinitely familiar. Predictable. They knew each other inside and out—their spark, and their frames. So… It was nowhere near the same as being surrounded by the others in the harem. 

They weren’t really sure what to make of it. The kind of extreme quiet they were experiencing now they’d only experienced in Megatron’s quarters before this, and if that wasn’t a lovely way to surface some memories they weren’t particularly fond of. In the streets, even during the quietest night, you could hear distant traffic, the hum and clang of the city living around you, its systems making sounds the same any frame did. It was an eternal background noise you could never escape without four walls around you.

Right now? There were four walls around them, and they were who knew how deep into the tower, and here there wasn’t the sounds of the towers’ functions. That was probably deliberate.

They were perfectly isolated in the bright room, locked in so they couldn’t have left even if they’d wanted to, and… They sort of wanted to. There was something infinitely disquieting about the space, its almost clinical emptiness and… Lifelessness.  

Sideswipe sat down on the berth even as Sunstreaker frowned and crossed his arms, glaring at the tiny room at large. They couldn’t help but draw more comparisons to the harem wing. Say what you will about it, but it was alive, and not just because of its occupants. There was actual color, and lights placed so that they cast real shadows even as they lit anything that needed to be lit, and never leaving things so dark it would’ve been unwelcoming. There were the scents—of oil and repairs in Knock Out’s medbay, clean as the room was; the electric scent of the book files in the library, sharp and piquing; the mingling of energon and additives in the dining hall, perfect to rouse one’s appetite; solvent and so many scented products in the washracks…

And the entertainment room and berthroom, with the smells that permeated every other part of the wing too. Lubricant, transfluid, overloads. Interface. It was everywhere in the harem, for obvious reasons.

And despite that, he would’ve rather been there. There was something homey about the lush colors and intimate feel of the harem wing.

This? Despite the light colors and offensive brightness, he was mostly reminded of Megatron’s wing. Megatron’s wing had more furniture than this, but it still felt nearly as empty because of its color scheme and lack of any sort of decorations whatsoever, anywhere. 

Being reminded of Megatron’s living space wasn’t exactly welcome, either.

Here they were though, all the same. And why?

Because Megatron controlled every aspect of their life. 

Sideswipe gushed a sigh from his vents and fell onto his back on the berth. Sunstreaker finally moved to sit down next to him. 

Then there was more quiet and growing discomfort. Not physical, despite the amount of prodding and poking their spark had endured, but… Mental. Emotional.

But they could probably expect to be interrupted by their interview pretty soon. It wasn’t the best chance to try to chill out. And there might be cameras, too. That wouldn’t have surprised him.

...You know, he’d never wondered if there were some in the harem wing. It didn’t feel like a space where there would’ve been some, but maybe there were anyway.

“Wonder who Lancer is,” Sideswipe mused, just to break the silence even a little bit.

Sunstreaker, ever the best conversation partner, grunted.

��Think he’s another of Shockwave’s mates? ‘Cause First Aid was, but he was still, like… Being an assistant to Shockwave or something? In all sciency stuff?” That was weird. Really weird, when all they’d known was Megatron’s harem. Megatron only wanted interfacing out of them. Entertainment.

Were things so different for Shockwave’s harem, or what was going on? 

“We should ask, if we get the chance,” Sideswipe concluded. Theorizing with the very limited amount of information they had was hard as pit, and it would be nicer to get actual answers, anyway. Maybe Lancer would be willing to answer some questions, on top of making them answer questions?

Probably a lot of questions.

Weren’t they just real winners.

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

Lancer was, indeed, another of Shockwave’s mates. He was chipper, but efficient, asking all the questions and recording all the answers, prompting them with more questions that didn’t seem to be on his list if their answers weren’t in depth enough. He charted everything from their experience of their activation to medical history and every last detail they could think of over how being split-spark had affected their life, positively or negatively. He didn’t overtly react to anything they said, either, but remained perfectly professional. Which was nice. It kept things from getting so awkward, despite all the stuff they told—right down to how being so connected made them react to all the rape and abuse they’d endured here.

Of course, they were careful to not state or even suggest they were still very much plotting how to leave the whole place, even as they were frank enough about their dislike over the treatment they’d endured.

“Thank you so much! This will help us a lot,” Lancer said with satisfaction once it looked like he’d bombed them with all the questions he was going to. Sideswipe already opened his mouth with questions of his own, but snapped it back shut when Lancer continued, “Oh! Before I forget…”

He subspaced the datapad he had been using, made the twins a bit envious of his ability to actually access his subspace, then proceeded to pull out other datapads that he set on the desk.

Quite a few datapads, in fact—a whole pile by the end of it. “I grabbed some movies, book files, music, and a few games and podcasts for you! I wasn’t sure what you’d like, but hopefully there’s enough variety that you’ll find at least something to your liking.”

Sideswipe blinked, but Sunstreaker remembered their manners. “Thank you.”

“It’s no bother—you’ll have to stay here a few days anyway. Need to pass the time somehow, right?” He turned to leave, but a noise for his attention from Sideswipe had him halting and looking back at them.

Sideswipe spoke quickly, before the opportunity passed them. “Could we ask a few questions?”

Lancer looked a little surprised, but then smiled with a small laugh. “Well, I did just get from questioning you real good. I think it’s fair to repay that. Okay, what would you like to know?”

Okay, wow, they actually got the chance and Lancer seemed very open to questions too. That was a little unexpected, but Sideswipe gathered his thoughts quickly. “Alright, so… You’re in Shockwave’s harem too, right?” he asked first, and continued after Lancer nodded a simple confirmation, “And so’s First Aid? But First Aid was assisting Shockwave when he was taking all sorts of readings and whatnot off of us. Is that… Normal? For the harems? For Shockwave’s harem?”

“Not really normal for the harems, no,” Lancer answered and sat back down on the desk’s chair. “But it’s normal for us—Master Shockwave’s harem, I mean. Most of us have the know-how to help him in his projects, and he makes use of that.”

Lancer really seemed as forward as Chromia. That was… Nice. As far as getting their questions answered went, anyway. “How do you have the know-how? Has he taught you?”

“He continuously teaches us, yeah, but only really those who already had a background in the sciences or medicine—so, again, most of us. Really only Chromia doesn’t.”

“...What does Chromia do, if not that? Why does Shockwave have him?”

“Chromia is kind of… Our Starscream. Starscream takes care of Lord Megatron’s harem, right? Chromia does that here. Enforces Master Shockwave’s rules and orders, makes sure everyone has what they need, runs around doing Master Shockwave’s bidding when the rest of us are busy.” Lancer laughed there. Sideswipe cracked a smile, just to hide his… Confusion? No, not really confusion. There wasn’t that much to be confused over Shockwave having someone who filled Starscream’s role in his own harem.

Disturbance, rather. They knew what Starscream was like, how… Thoroughly he devoted himself to Megatron.

And Chromia did the same with Shockwave? Even when the other mates didn’t necessarily want to cooperate otherwise? 

Like that?

But Lancer didn’t seem bitter over it, or like he thought it was a bad thing. 

“How come most of you have the kind of backgrounds Shockwave makes use of?”

“We’re not from Kaon, but we were brought here specifically because of our skills. Master Shockwave has enough rank that aside from Lords Megatron and Soundwave, he can pick anyone he wants, and… He wants those with the skills. Lord Megatron has no use for our skill sets, so I don’t know anyone from his harem who could fill our roles.”

Yeah, Megatron really had no use for that kind of stuff, did he? You didn’t need to be a scientist to learn how to suck a spike.

“Doesn’t he work with anyone science type who isn’t from his harem?”

“Oh, he does. Flatline works here full-time, as does Perceptor—and Mixmaster, Hook, and some others occasionally collaborate with him on something. But Master Shockwave finds it… More agreeable, to work with his own harem.”

“...Why?” Sideswipe asked suspiciously, although he thought he might already know the answer.

Lancer shrugged. “We belong to him, and we serve him. He ranks higher than anyone else he works with, of course, and they obey his orders too, but that’s still not the same.”

He was more equal with other free mecha, wasn’t he? Sideswipe suspected they could say no to him, rank or not.

His harem, though? Probably had no such right. Megatron’s sure didn’t, and he didn’t think Shockwave’s was that dissimilar despite his use of his mates as his assistants.

Lancer didn’t say that much, but wasn’t it sort of written between the lines, anyway?

Sideswipe did no more than nod at that.

“Was there anything else?” Lancer asked after neither of the brothers said anything for a moment. Sideswipe gave it an actual thought, but…

“Not right now, ‘least.”

“Cool. If something comes up, ask one of us, we’ll be happy to help.” With that, a smile, and a wave, Lancer took his leave.

The door locked after him. Again. Naturally. Of course.

They both sighed in the silence that was left behind, but Sideswipe plucked the topmost datapad off the pile and turned it on to see what it contained. Sunstreaker did the same with another ‘pad, and… Well. They better get good at passing the time like this, probably.

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

The room had no windows, or clocks of any sort for that matter. If their chronometers hadn’t counted the day, they would’ve never known what time it was. They recharged during what would’ve been the quiet hours in the harem wing, and when no one came to interrupt them right away in the morning… Lazed around a bit. 

Hopefully whoever might come to take them for more tests would at least knock or ping first, instead of just barging in. And energon. They’d prefer fuel at some point, as much as it wasn’t strictly necessary. Yet. They probably, hopefully wouldn’t be here long enough for that to matter, but if they were hanging around for a full orn, they’d definitely have the time to get a bit uncomfortable from hunger.

They didn’t worry about that too much right in the moment, though. Sideswipe had draped himself along the full length of Sunstreaker’s side, his brother’s arm around him, tracing patterns on his armor.

Sideswipe did the same to Sunstreaker, dragging his claws along seams he knew were a bit on the sensitive side, and grinning every time he was a little too good at it and made the golden twin squirm. Sunstreaker didn’t tell him to knock it off though, or hadn’t so far.

He might at some point.

But for now he was too… Thoughtful, to really bother. And Sideswipe knew those thought tracks just as well. 

They merged so rarely. For obvious reasons, or… What had been obvious reasons. For Primus’ sake, they were guttermechs. They didn’t just have an apartment of their own that they could lock the door of and do what they willed. The best they could do was rent a room someone else would always have access to, too. 

Where were they supposed to merge? Nowhere, that’s where. 

So… They didn’t. Hadn’t. They had risked it… What, a grand total of three times in their lives, since emerging from the Well to get discarded in no time at all?

They weren’t old, but even for a short life that… Wasn’t very many merges. It wasn’t a necessity so it didn’t really matter, but pits it felt good. It was probably some sort of sucky coping mechanism to forget about the feeling after every time, because what would they have done otherwise except spend every moment of their life wishing they could do it again?

They’d done it now, and they hadn’t forgotten about it, not yet. It populated their thoughts, the… Feeling of it. 

Would they get used to it if they did it more often? Seemed likely. The whole sparked walked around the way they did all the time and nothing happened to them, but to him and Sunstreaker… It was so novel. It felt so good, was so right, fixed every problem they’d ever had, or so it felt like. It was how they were supposed to be, but how they weren’t despite it all. Was it any wonder knocking all the wrongness out of their life with just one act would be such a drastic difference that it would muddle their thoughts more than a little? That they’d want to just enjoy it, forever and ever?

Like the whole sparked got to do all the time. They took it for granted, didn’t even think about how else it could be.

Well, the twins knew how else they could be. They couldn’t take it for granted, because it wasn’t their usual state of being.

What kept them from occupying only a single frame, from being just one, in one? Was it just a habit? ‘Because that’s how it’s always been’?

Or was it an… Advantage? It never felt right, but it didn’t cripple them either. They could experience life at twice the pace everyone else could, because they were in two. Wasn’t that a good thing?

And the tradeoff was just to feel wrong on such a deep, inescapable level. 

That wasn’t so bad, was it? There were hardly any downsides… That they knew of. They had to admit they didn’t understand their spark very well. They took it at face value, but why did it do the things it did? Why could they be split, when trying to split a normal spark would only result in death? Ask anyone who had ever gotten stabbed in the spark. It didn’t tend to work out so well.

And when they pulled apart, why did their spark exchange its energy perfectly between its halves, neither bigger than the other when they separated? How the pit did it know to do that when there was no… Rift between them, when they were merged? It was just one whole spark with the ability to split for whatever reason, but the re-splitting was always a pretty crude process and still it always worked out.

That wasn’t even getting into their exchange of emotion and thought—or “thought”, rather. Emotion came through raw and unfiltered, but it was never words, never sounds, never perfect images that their spark was made of. Just… A mess. Shapes, textures, color, but they all came together to mean something, if you knew how to interpret it. Put it together. Translate it into something the frame could understand. Their spark was never confused by itself.

It was just the frame that didn’t always keep up with everything. 

They were pretty good at that, and they could also do the most important: segregate. Synchronization came naturally to them, but what they needed to do to function was to… Split their thoughts as their spark was split: one set of thoughts for the frame that was Sideswipe, another for the one that was Sunstreaker. They needed to function separately, steer their frames separately, divide themselves, sometimes to the point they became near senseless to one another–

And that went against their very being, but they had to do it. It was a skill. It had taken practice.

They didn’t usually think about any of this, honestly. It wasn’t important, it wasn’t relevant. What mattered was that they made it work.

But after trying to describe the whole mess to Lancer in as much detail and with as little confusion as they could manage, it was hard to not consider it all—wonder if it mattered anyway. They had no idea.

All they knew was that merging was… Better than any drug in the world, and they’d tried quite a few out of curiosity. 

And they weren’t on the streets anymore. They were never really alone either, aside from right now, but the other mates weren’t exactly… Threats? Were they? They had never actively tried to hurt them.

Could they even consider doing it again sometime, while they were still here? Because they’d be right back to the streets after they got out, and then they’d again be without the chances to do it.

So many thoughts. They should probably stop before their processors started steaming. Sunstreaker glanced at him at that, cocking one of his optical ridges at him and– Primus, he was just pretty. Beautiful. From helm to pede, their commissioners had done at least that right and given him all the looks in the world.

His optical ridges too. Their arch was just… Elegant, and Sideswipe knew that came without trying. 

Sunstreaker’s amusement turned into an outright, huffed laugh when he stared for too long.

Frag it.

Sideswipe lifted himself, just enough that he could silence it by pressing their mouths together—no grace, just want. Sunstreaker returned the kiss with quite a bit more thought behind it, and Sideswipe happily let him take the lead, melting a bit further against that lovely frame.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, you know,” Sunstreaker muttered against his mouth. Sideswipe could feel his grin.

It was his turn to laugh, just a little. “I know.” They were quite a pair, weren’t they? 

At least this much Megatron would never take from them—their self-centered love, devotion. There was no tarnishing it, even if he took everything else. 

They enjoyed each other for a time, cuddling and making out, lazy and without rush. Not that they couldn’t have done this in the harem, but there was always so much going on there, and that wasn’t even going into the fact there was no real privacy to be found anywhere in the harem wing.

Chances were they’d still have the time to get hella bored here even with the entertainment they were provided, but for now they were going to enjoy it.

They did the entire morning. Only a ping at the door interrupted them when it was starting to tip into the day proper. They untangled themselves at the interruption, and were sitting side by side on the berth by the time the door opened after a polite delay. 

First Aid stood on the other side, two cubes held in his servos. “Hope you slept well and have gotten the time to pass. Did Lancer– Oh, I see he did.” He was probably referring to all the datapads; at least those were what he was looking at. 

“He brought us stuff, yeah,” Sideswipe confirmed with a wry grin. First Aid’s field flared with something akin to a smile. He moved into the room just enough to place the cubes on the desk before returning to the doorframe.

It looked like he was going to leave, too, but Sideswipe interrupted that process with a, “Hey.” First Aid looked at him in askance, and out of the mates they’d met he seemed the least inclined to start answering any amount of questions, so Sideswipe kept it short. “When will there be more… Tests?”

“Probably not today. Tomorrow at earliest, I think,” First Aid answered, and… That was kind of surprising? But he also explained the reason for it quickly enough. “There’s a lot of data Master Shockwave wants to comb through before he does anything else. Your spark is very unusual.”

Well. At least they were entertaining some scientist with their existence. Could be worse?

Sideswipe nodded and when they asked nothing else, First Aid bid them goodbye and left. They took the cubes they’d been brought and went to enjoy them. It wasn’t anything fancy, just basic midgrade, but that didn’t make it any less delicious.

And it looked like they wouldn’t have to worry about hunger, at least.

As First Aid had guessed, nothing happened for the rest of the day. Sunstreaker went through the datapads for things to read or listen to, Sideswipe grabbed the couple of them with games on them. They were the same games as in the harem, but he had his saves in his own systems, so it wasn’t a big thing to plug into the datapad and continue playing where he’d left off back there. 

It wasn’t the most interesting day ever. The harem was… A prison. There was no getting around the fact there wasn’t really anything physical to do, aside from ‘facing. And oh boy did the other mates ‘face a lot. Sideswipe had to wonder if some of that was just to try to make up for the lack of any other exerting activities, on top of being prompted by the protocols corrupted by the infernal transmission. 

He and Sunstreaker had put up with it so far because, you know, they didn’t exactly have any other option. They couldn’t just leave to go on drives or whatever. It worked in their favor that they had never had the ability to be as active as they would’ve liked. For the duration of their life, up until coming here, conserving energon had been a necessity. Technically they could have done whatever they wanted to, driven as far as they’d liked to–

But the practice was quite different. 

Now they would’ve had the energy, but not the freedom. That sure got flipped around a bit. 

But so there weren’t any past habits of long drives that they would’ve missed, for as many things there were that they did miss.

And some came here willingly? 

Frag.

Yeah, no, he wasn’t going to get over that anytime soon, especially after what he’d seen at the dinner—though to be fair he didn’t think he’d get over any of the shit that happened here anytime soon. But there was… Something. Their first time here, their whole initiation? Had been awful in so many ways.

But it was just that one time. They’d had some shit thrown at them since then too, mildly put, but they hadn’t gotten gang raped with that level of brutality since.

And the public servants? It looked a lot like brutal gang rape was their entire existence. He didn’t know where they lived, or were stored, what their downtime was like, but slag… He couldn’t imagine there was anything to want in that life. They looked to be halfway to the scrapyard already, on the inside. If he had to make a guess, they probably wished they could’ve gone the rest of the way.

He thought he would’ve, in their place. All the things Megatron had done to them and had made others do to them… It wasn’t those levels of bad. Maybe there was an instance here or there that compared, but it wasn’t continuous. That made the difference. 

Instances like Sunstreaker’s little outburst. Megatron knew how to damage a frame. Getting just beaten would’ve been one thing. Unpleasant and it would’ve hurt too, but it was so outlandish to mutilate a frame with nothing but a spike. Who else could do that but Megatron?

It was just… A more intimate sort of way to punish someone—taking something that was usually done for fun and affection, and using it as a weapon instead.

Violent.

Sunstreaker hardly even ached anymore. The physical signs of the whole incident were all but gone, even at the places where Knock Out hadn’t replaced the parts, only fixed them instead. 

But on the inside? His brother was tough, but Megatron was an enemy like nothing they’d faced before. Time and time again they could not win, not even in a small way, and if they stepped out of line… They were returned to it with devastating certainty.

Would Sunstreaker throw a drink at someone again? Was it worth it?

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

It was near the midday of the next day that there was a ping at their door again. Sideswipe paused and saved his game and Sunstreaker set down the bookfile he’d been perusing, seconds before the door opened to reveal Lancer.

He smiled and waved. “Master Shockwave has some more tests he’d like to run. If you’d come with me.”

Of course there was nothing about were they fine with this, or if they agreed to having more tests done on them.

They weren’t and they wouldn’t have, but you know.

They placed their datapads on the desk before following Lancer out of their temporary quarters and back into the same room from before, with its berths and contraptions. “Dismissed,” Shockwave said to Lancer once they were safely deposited in the room, and so he left.

Leaving them with Shockwave and… There was another mech present too. Red, but even searching, they couldn’t see a brand on him. 

He didn’t look like Kaonite though, not one bit. 

“On the berth,” Shockwave ordered them and they walked a couple of steps ahead of him to do so. Whatever cart the scientist had with him had more things on it, some that they could recognize from last time.

Was this going to be as boring?

Would they get to merge again?

“Perceptor.” With just one word from Shockwave, the red mech came over, although there wasn’t the same… Haste in his motions, as Shockwave’s mates had when they hurried to follow his orders.

There was something different about him in general, although they couldn’t place it. He was nervous though. Not overtly so, but it was still in his field. 

“Yes, hello, we haven’t met yet. I’m Perceptor, and I’ll be assisting Shockw–”

“Lay down,” Shockwave entirely interrupted his colleague—were they colleagues?—to order him and Sunstreaker around instead. But at least this much had already happened, so despite their very extant reservations, they laid down.

“Bare your sparks,” was the next thing, and they did that too, reluctant or not. Shockwave pushed and pulled some of the things hanging from the ceiling around, bringing some lower. Sideswipe would’ve guessed it was a scanner of some sort that he positioned around Sunstreaker’s spark, his brother watching the process with so much distrust.

But if they didn’t cooperate, they’d be made to cooperate anyway, so. He’d still rather go unrestrained.

Perceptor did what First Aid had done and jacked into their medical ports to bring up their internal scans and spark readings. One educated guess, they were going to do something to their spark.

And they probably wouldn’t like it.

The scanner thingy was secured directly against Sunstreaker’s chestplates before Shockwave pulled a different device down and aimed that at Sideswipe’s spark-half. It spun just that much more wildly in its casing as his concern grew. It would’ve been great if Shockwave had even told them what he was doing, but of course he couldn’t be bothered with that much.

Perceptor probably noticed that thought with the privileges he’d granted himself in their systems, because he took that role instead. “We’re going to feed some dead energy into your spark to–”

He didn’t get further than that before Shockwave cut him off with a, “Stay still.”

“What do you mean dead energy–?!” Sideswipe tried to demand in full alarm, but he couldn’t get further than that before Shockwave activated the device directly above his half of their spark. It came to life to shoot pure electricity into his spark, or at least Sideswipe thought it might’ve been electricity, it sure was something–

But that wasn’t what he could focus on.

There was just the pain.

It burned and he could scarcely even hear his own scream as his very core lit up with agony, and pain of the frame was one thing–

But this was so much more than that. It was his very being that hurt, that cut straight into his emotions, the well of his thoughts, his life–

His back arched off the berth, and bringing his spark closer to the device didn’t help at all, but he didn’t know what to do, couldn’t do anything with the–

And then it ended.

Sort of.

Sideswipe collapsed back onto the berth when their respective devices powered down and were moved away from them both, sobbing—from relief, and from pain, because his spark wouldn’t stop hurting and feeling like it was going to tear itself into so many pieces until there’d be nothing but shreds left–

He was barely aware Sunstreaker was gasping, feeling all the same he was, that it tore at the both of them, their one–

“Merge.”

They focused enough to make sense of Shockwave. There was no inflection to the order.

Sideswipe shook his helm, crying. Their spark felt so raw and adding more energy into the play, even if it was just his own, was the last thing he wanted to do–

“Your spark is destabilizing. You’re dying. Merge,” Shockwave said, sounding absolutely uncaring as he stared at one of the screens that might’ve had their spark readings or something, Sideswipe didn’t know.

Perceptor’s field had flushed with very real anxiety and concern where Shockwave had none to give, but at least the unfeeling scientist’s words were enough to provide some… Motivation. Sideswipe looked to the side but Sunstreaker was staring resolutely at the lights above, trying to survive the agony in their lifeforce—and presumably doomed to fail at that, if they didn’t merge. 

So this was what dying felt like, huh? He could’ve gone without the experience.

But he didn’t want to die. There were still things to live for, and this was an out he didn’t want to take.

He rolled onto his front and heaved himself up, gritting his denta the whole way. It wasn’t his frame that hurt, his frame functioned perfectly, but the pain still threatened to cripple him. His spark throbbed so unevenly, its pulses and rotation stuttering in a way he had never experienced before. It distracted him from the physical world something fierce–

But they were probably on a bit of a timer. He had no idea how long it’d take for a spark to destabilize completely, and how long it would take their spark.

Would merging even fix it, or was Shockwave just grasping at straws? Who the fuck knew. It was sort of their only shot though, wasn’t it?

Sunstreaker reached an arm to help pull him over and Sideswipe barely waited until their chests were even half aligned before he collapsed over his twin. Their halves surged to meet each other before he was even all the way down, wove together, became one, seamless, and…

The pain receded.

They were both shaking, their vents barely functioning, but the tearing stopped. Sideswipe let his forehelm fall against Sunstreaker’s shoulder, feeling the ache in their spark even as things… Evened out. Calmed down.

And they, presumably, stopped dying so actively.

“The pit,” Sideswipe gasped, “was that?” He lifted his helm enough to glare at both Perceptor and Shockwave, as much as he expected Shockwave wouldn’t give a damn.

Perceptor looked apologetic, at least. “The energy approximates a spark merge without the risk of actually bonding two sparks and tests your spark’s response to it. Your reaction was entirely unexpected, I assure you; all sparks respond a little differently, but this?”

Right. So nearly killing them wasn’t the plan. That would’ve sort of gone against Megatron’s orders anyway.

Had to wonder how much trouble Shockwave would’ve been in if they had died.

“Pull back.” Was there no end to the orders? And what was this one for?

That. Shockwave was pulling the same zappy device towards them. Was he seriously trying to kill them?

“No!” Sideswipe said instantly, like any smart person with a sense of self-preservation would’ve, and flattened himself further across Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker was growling, hard, his glare beyond vicious.

“Pull back,” Shockwave repeated, still sounding so utterly indifferent. Like he didn’t really care about any of this, about their resistance or their potential death or… Pit, anything.

“Go frag yourself,” Sideswipe snarled.

Defiance. When had that ever worked?

They were locked in a bit of a staring contest before one of the doors into the room opened to admit Lancer and another of Shockwave’s mates they hadn’t seen before. All Shockwave did was nod at the twins, and at once the mates came over—but what for? They couldn’t possibly have strength on him and Sunstreaker, being smaller, slimmer. 

It turned out they didn’t need strength, just speed and deftness, and that they had in spades. “Hey–!” but true to form, no one listened to him. The nameless mate had reached and grabbed his arm before he knew it, and he didn’t have the time to even jerk away before one of his ports had gotten uncovered.

And suddenly Shockwave was there and plugged right in, and pits, his presence in his systems. Shockwave used direct overrides to access exactly what he wanted to access, no detours taken, and–

Severed Sideswipe’s motor controls.

All of them.

His frame immediately fell limp and Sunstreaker started cussing for the both of them, and that was where all of their cooperation ended.

It didn’t matter. Lancer and the other one were fast to grab each of Sunstreaker’s limbs and securely tie them to the berth, as if they’d done this plenty of times before, and once that was done… They, together, lifted Sideswipe’s strutless frame. Shockwave stepped over again and reached between them, doing what they’d done the other day—put his servo between their spark and Sideswipe’s frame, forcing it to disconnect and retreat into Sunstreaker’s chassis only.

Sideswipe’s grey frame was pushed aside, unnecessary.

Sunstreaker snarled and tested the bonds, but they looked to be designed to hold mecha far larger and stronger than him and he got exactly nowhere no matter how he struggled. Shockwave? Had no reactions to give to any of it. Neither did Lancer and the other mate. There was that focus in their fields again, like Chromia had had at the dinner, like… Pits, he didn’t know what to make of it. Were they so task-oriented? How? Why?

Perceptor though, he was different. He was alarmed.

“Get that thing away from me,” Sunstreaker growled when Shockwave unerringly brought the device towards him, clearly intent on trying the whole thing all over again. For what? Did he expect a different outcome, or did he just want to kill them? If merging had saved them, what were they supposed to do when they were already merged?

“Maybe we shouldn’t–” Perceptor tried to say, hovering over them, but once again, he didn’t get to finish.

“Record,” was all Shockwave said, staring directly at Perceptor.

“This isn’t–” Perceptor tried again.

Again Shockwave interrupted him. “Greenlight.”

The other mate, apparently named Greenlight, immediately stepped up, shooed Perceptor away and replaced Perceptor’s jack in Sunstreaker’s medical port with his own. Once he made sure everything relevant was in his reach and available, he nodded at Shockwave.

Impassive, Shockwave brought the device and a scanner to his spark no matter Sunstreaker’s vitriol, and… Activated it all over again.

Sunstreaker grunted when the energy again shot against their spark, and though he feared the worst… That didn’t come to pass. Oh, it wasn’t comfortable and his spark rebelled against the lifeless energy even as it couldn’t escape it–

But there wasn’t the agony. Just discomfort.

Nothing more.

And although Perceptor hadn’t seemed to entirely approve of the whole thing, he now breathed, “Fascinating,” earning a vicious glare from Sunstreaker. It entirely remained that he wasn’t agreeing to any of this, and even when it had looked like Perceptor might care about details like that, clearly his scientific curiosity was winning over. 

It was Sunstreaker’s turn to strongly disapprove. 

“Yeah, great, you didn’t nearly kill us this time,” he growled, venting a sigh of relief when Shockwave turned the zapper off and pushed it aside. 

“Indeed!” Perceptor said, apparently completely missing Sunstreaker’s sarcasm as he hurried over to one of the screens with some readings on it. Sunstreaker couldn’t understand them, but Perceptor sure looked excited. “Your spark’s negative reaction to dead energy when split… Has that ever been recorded before, Shockwave, do you know? But to get a near opposite reaction when you’re merged! I hypothesize that trying to merge with another spark separately would kill you, although we need to go over these readings to find out the reason why—but equally it looks like your spark’s reaction falls into perfectly normal ranges when merged–”

He prattled on further but Sunstreaker tuned that out, judging Shockwave to be a greater concern when the scientist brought more measuring devices of various sorts to their spark and took whatever readings. Many, many more readings. Lancer and Greenlight lingered too, following Shockwave’s instructions to the letter without hesitation even as Perceptor seemed fully distracted by the screens—and was he still ranting? Primus.

The rest had already happened, but when Shockwave took something small, small enough to fit into his spark chamber, and tried to insert it there, Sunstreaker rebelled.

Or tried to, very unsuccessfully seeing he was tied down and whatnot. “The pit is that?” he demanded, but no amount of tugging or squirming would discourage Shockwave.

At least he got an answer out of the mech, for once. “A monitor.”

Just not a very useful answer. Monitor for what?

When he asked this time, no one responded. The little thing was installed into his spark chamber, and then the same was done to Sideswipe’s frame on top having his motor controls reestablished.

Once that was done, they untied him. “Split,” Shockwave ordered him.

Sunstreaker snarled. “No.” Mostly for the sake of it, honestly; he wouldn’t have had anything against having his second frame functional right then.

“Split, or you will be split,” Shockwave said. An ultimatum, huh? So which would be rather have, doing the whole damn thing himself when he at least had some experience at it no matter how inelegant they made it–

Or have someone who had most likely never successfully split a spark do it for him?

Did he really want to have his spark prodded at even more? 

No, he’d rather avoid what he could. Sunstreaker glared, but nevertheless moved over to Sideswipe, straddling his brother’s frame and pulling their spark apart until he had one half to push into the grey frame, the other to keep to himself.

Sideswipe’s chestplates slammed shut before life properly returned to him, and when he onlined good and proper, it was with a growl. Not like he had forgotten what had happened.

Shockwave didn’t seem to care at all. “Lancer, return them to their quarters,” was all he said before he accepted their data from Greenlight and left.

Sideswipe wiped at the tear stains on his cheeks before they both got off the berth and, without a fight, followed Lancer. That… Hadn’t been so mighty pleasant. They’d gotten to merge, sure, but pits, they hadn’t wanted it to be because of something like that.

At least it sort of confirmed their theory that they could function pretty normally even when merged. They hadn’t gotten distracted this time like they had before, though hopefully it wouldn’t need to be just situations that registered as highly dangerous that would manage that. 

And they still had however many days of this?

Pits.

“What’s the monitors for?” Sideswipe asked once they were at their door.

“Your spark had a pretty extreme reaction to the fake merge,” Lancer answered as he opened the door and they went inside. “It seems to be fine now, but it’s better to keep an eye on it to make sure it doesn’t destabilize again.”

Was he sulking? Sideswipe was definitely sulking, and he didn’t even feel like trying to pretend otherwise. “Yeah, Megatron would probably be real unhappy if something happened to us,” he grumbled, plopping himself down onto the berth with more force than necessary. Sunstreaker sat down next to him. 

Primus forbid someone other than Megatron himself hurt them. He could rape and slag them all he wanted, but the moment someone else tried to do what he did? Lines drawn, big time.

Ugh.

“I imagine so, yeah,” Lancer agreed. “Try to unwind for now though, okay? That was pretty rough.”

With that he left and they were once again locked in their tiny ass room that was getting more claustrophobic by the hour. 

They sat in silence for a minute or two before Sideswipe broke the silence with a simple, “Wanna merge?”

Sunstreaker nodded, and merge they did—just to try to wash away even some of what had happened.

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

The next day, again, nothing happened, Shockwave presumably busy with all the data he’d gathered from them.

But every day after that, there was something. They didn’t cooperate half the time, anymore, not when some of the things got increasingly outlandish. Sometimes they were made to merge, other times held separate, many a time Shockwave separated them without even giving them the chance to do it themselves. There were sharp objects, blunt objects, samples taken, the limits of what their spark and its ability to split could withstand truly tested to the last.

More often than not, it hurt. Nothing compared to the whole incident with dead energy, but it still hurt. It wasn’t the last time Shockwave used the zappy thing on them, either, though he never again did so separately at full force—but he did feed smaller amounts of energy into their spark even when they were split, just to test how much they could withstand before their spark started to destabilize all over again.

It never got so bad as the first time, but that wasn’t much of a comfort. 

They had so many wires attached to them, too. To their chest, primarily, as Shockwave went about trying to uncover all of the secrets of their spark and recorded everything he could about everything he did. Their heads weren’t left alone either, usually one of the mates always keeping an eye on what their frames thought about what was done to their spark at any given moment. 

Oh, and all the times they didn’t agree to keep their chestplates open, only for Shockwave to then jam them open. Sometimes there was a see-through pane involved too, when he wanted to sort of protect their spark from the outside world while still being able to visually observe it.

Wasn’t that just so kind of him. 

None of it was pleasant and a few times they honestly feared he’d pushed too far and caused permanent damage, and… Slag, when they were left alone they spent more time merged than separate, now, trying to assure themselves they were fine, that their spark was fine despite everything Shockwave put it through. That was mostly true. Physically they didn’t think he was doing anything that they wouldn’t recover from.

But wasn’t the story always that physically they could recover from everything that was done to them here in the palace, in Kaon, but that matters were quite different as far as their damned emotions went. Sideswipe spent an increasing amount of time crying, not just from the physical pain that sometimes grew to truly uncomfortable extents, but also from the… Helplessness. As ever. If they fought, Shockwave would just have them restrained to whatever point was necessary for him to go through with everything he wanted to do to them without interruptions. 

They didn’t see Perceptor again, and they had to wonder if that was because their disagreement with what was happening grew more vehement and their lack of consent ever more obvious. Perceptor had seemed like the type to care about details like that, where Shockwave definitely didn’t, and where his mates followed his lead. 

They were just as powerless here as they ever were with Megatron. They couldn’t even say they were very surprised by that, but it still… Hurt. 

And no one gave a damn.

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

It was exactly a full orn later that Shockwave finished with another round of doing whatever to their damn spark. Sideswipe was panting hard, his vents wheezing as he tried to center himself after having his spark toyed with—what was it this time, testing how their spark reacted to separation from the frame. After having his half pulled out of chest who knew how many times, every time to the point his frame greyed out… Yeah, excuse him if he wasn’t feeling the greatest. 

Sunstreaker wasn’t much better off. He wasn’t even growling anymore, his optics tightly closed where Sideswipe was instead staring at the bright lights, letting them blind him.

Lancer moved to remove their restraints—that by now had severely worn off their paint from the affected areas—first the ones holding their spark chambers and chestplates open. The moment those were gone both of their chassis slammed back shut so fast it hurt.

But it was still an intense relief, despite the sting.

Neither of them got up right away after their limbs were freed, still reeling a little too badly. However, then Chromia entered the room, and what Shockwave said next was right the thing to bring some more life to them. “Return them to Lord Megatron’s harem.”

They both stilled from disbelief, just for a time before Sideswipe shot to sitting and Sunstreaker leveraged himself onto his elbows. They stared at Shockwave first, as much as the scientist’s back was turned to them, before their attention moved to Chromia.

“Yes, master,” the blue mech said with a small bow, then turned their way and requested their compliance. 

Normally that would’ve been about the point where they told everyone to go frag themselves, but… Was it over? Was this over? Could they go back to the relative safety of the harem and not have to worry about Shockwave anymore?

Pits, they wanted to. They’d wanted to for quite a while now, and with unparalleled eagerness they both jumped off the berths and followed Chromia out of the room—a little unsteadily at first, but they regained their bearings little by little as they went through the corridors and doors, past even more doors, until they’d left Shockwave’s… Area of the palace entirely. Or what they assumed was the portion of the palace that belonged to Shockwave exclusively. 

Things were silent for a time, but once they were closing in on the elevators and their relief increased with every step away from Shockwave they took, Sideswipe’s curiosity got the better of him. “What’s Perceptor’s deal?”

Chromia glanced at him, but answered as readily as he had before. “I assume you mean he doesn’t look too Kaonite? He isn’t. He was brought in because of his scientific proficiency, though I’m not privy to what about him exactly caught the Lords’ attention.”

‘Brought in’? “Did he come… Willingly?” Sideswipe asked carefully.

Chromia smiled at him. “With how protected we keep our city, not many outsiders understand the honor coming to Kaon is. They do with time, though.”

So… No, Perceptor most likely hadn’t come willingly. They had to wonder how close to ‘understanding what an honor it is’ Perceptor was. Shockwave didn’t exactly seem to treat him with a lot of respect, but just as much it hadn’t looked like Perceptor was actively unhappy with being there. He’d looked downright excited at places.

Had to wonder how long he’d been in Kaon and how he had acted when first arriving.

Sideswipe would’ve asked more about it if the elevator doors hadn’t opened to reveal it already had an occupant.

“Lord Onslaught,” Chromia bowed immediately, before he stepped into the elevator anyway, no hesitation.

The twins sure hesitated before Sunstreaker steeled their spark and stepped inside too, Sideswipe following a step behind him.

Then the doors closed and the elevator continued up, with them stuck in the relatively small space with the tank—whose amusement filled the elevator. It was probably their unease that he found entertaining.

“Have you recovered yet, Sunstreaker?” Onslaught asked without much fanfare. Of course, there was no real concern about him. He was just continuing what he’d done at the dinner.

Except this time Sunstreaker didn’t have anything to throw at him. 

Likely for the best, honestly.

Instead of attacking Onslaught with objects or liquids, Sunstreaker contented himself with just one hateful glare before he turned away to ignore him, intent on showing as much disrespect as he possibly could. If Motormaster’s case was anything to go by, Onslaught himself wouldn’t be able to do anything about him anyway. 

Onslaught chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes. Knock Out is quite good at what he does.”

Then, with a glance at their frames, their scuffed portions in particular, “I hear Shockwave got his hands on you, too.”

They stayed silent. He continued, “Spark splitting—now there is a useful ability. Imagine the applications. Doubling the amount of soldiers while granting the pairs a connection that surpasses that of bonded pairs, even bonded twins. Am I wrong? If Shockwave succeeds… My, you would have truly served Kaon, no doubt even earning yourselves a mention in the history books.

“Think of it. Thanks to you, no one could combat Kaon’s elite army. Unified Cybertron and its Prime could never threaten us again.”

Threaten them? When was the last time that had even happened? After Zeta’s failed conquest, how many times had Free Cybertron actually tried to take Kaon?

Obviously they’d failed even if they’d tried, but they honestly didn’t know if there had been smaller wars since the Unification. 

And still… Even speaking of such an advantage, Onslaught didn’t word things as if Kaon would have wanted to go on warpath against the rest of Cybertron. Were they really, honestly that content to just be left alone, or was Onslaught leaving things out?

“I really couldn’t care less about whatever benefits Kaon,” Sunstreaker couldn’t keep himself from growling despite his earlier intent to just ignore the damn mech, even as he still stubbornly didn’t look at Onslaught—whose field burst with amusement, while Chromia’s edged with… Disapproval?

Well, frag Chromia too.

“You should. You are Kaonite now, yourself,” Onslaught disagreed.

This time Sunstreaker glared as well as snarled at him. “Never.”

Onslaught chuckled again, although the sound was cut off when Sideswipe blurted a question before he could stop himself. “Do you uh, have a harem?” Change of topic, anyone?

“I do indeed,” the tank confirmed easily, apparently not taking offense from that either. “One that I share with my team.”

Team? “...How big is your team?”

“There’s five of us.”

Five mecha sharing one harem? He could only hope they had enough mates that… No one got overworked.

Oh, Primus.

Sideswipe swallowed, but still asked further. “Are you the leader?”

“Of my team, yes.”

He had to wonder how high Onslaught ranked overall, though it was probably… Pretty high, all things considered. 

“Cool,” Sideswipe said lamely and things lapsed back into silence until the elevator came to a stop—one floor below their final destination. 

Onslaught stepped out to a bow from Chromia. “Stay safe,” he drawled in parting before he set down the hall to destinations unknown. The elevator doors closed, they traveled up one more floor, and then they were back to the level of Megatron’s wing and his harem.

Chromia led them out and through the relatively short walk to the harem wing’s doors. Soundwave was standing outside, by all appearances waiting for them.

“Lord Soundwave.” Chromia bowed at him too.

“Dismissed,” was all Soundwave acknowledged that with as if he was a Shockwave copy or something, and Chromia bowed again before giving them a smile and then going right back the way they came.

Leaving them alone with Shockwave. Oh, and the two guards standing at the doors but decidedly not opening them, but the guards barely counted.

They didn’t need to wait for long for what Soundwave was here for. “Experiments went well?”

And… That was what he wanted to know? Sideswipe huffed. “I guess, aside from him nearly killing us. But we didn’t die all the way, so yaaaay.” No one would probably care that it all had sucked in so many other ways too.

Soundwave’s visor flashed, and that was about the most reaction they’d ever seen out of the mech. “Permanent damage?”

“Not as far as we know, no?”

“Why do you care?” Sunstreaker growled, glaring all proper where Sideswipe was mostly just miffed.

“Megatron concerned,” came Soundwave’s answer.

And that… Was a bit concerning in its own right. “...Were there that good chances Shockwave would’ve gone too far?” Sideswipe asked carefully.

The fact Soundwave didn’t say anything was probably answer enough.

So. Megatron had entirely and knowingly risked their life, just for the sake of knowledge. Which… Honestly, wasn’t surprising. They hadn’t expected they meant that much to the tyrant to begin with, and if the whole split-spark deal was as useful as everyone made it out to be, what kind of a tradeoff was it to possibly lose a couple of mates and gain an entire army? Megatron would’ve been dumb as hell to not take that risk, even if he’d have preferred them alive.

Sideswipe’s shoulders slumped. It made sense, but it still wasn’t a nice feeling that their life was valued to be that… Insignificant. Not worthless, really, because if Shockwave succeeded then it would’ve been worth it for the powers that be. A loss for the twins, but not really anyone else.

And who cared about the twins?

...He just wanted to be out of here. No one had given a damn about his life on the streets either, but at least there he’d been in charge of it.

Here no one gave a damn and he was completely at the mercy of another.

“Can we go?” Sideswipe asked, voice quiet as he glanced longingly at the harem’s closed doors. He didn’t see Soundwave’s nod, but Sunstreaker did–

And then the guards opened the doors. 

They didn’t hurry in, but it was a close thing.

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