#being back on tumblr means posting about my boy again

[nereidprinc3ss]

I didn’t mean to have so much to say about this but wow do I!!!!

Lots of people say they love domestic spencer reid but I don’t think they love domestic spencer reid like EYEEE love domestic Spencer Reid. Because I love domestic spencer reid where he’s doing nothing. Or he’s being kind of….. not an asshole but…… where it becomes clear that he’s just dealing with his own shit and he’s a flawed person and then I love domestic Spencer Reid where he’s dealing with his own shit and he’s a flawed person but he can still say I’m sorry!!! And they can hug and it’s okay because loving someone requires being close enough to sometimes hurt them!!!! And the realism of this kind of fic just fills me w so much joy like THISSSS is what I want from tumblr dot com I LOVEE the meditative fics where nothing crazy happens and the plot comes from the authors understanding of rich interpersonal relationships!!!! I love!!!!

This was also beautifully beautifully written like a breath of fresh air wow I truly am so lucky to get to read work from such talented people thank you for writing this and thank you for sharing it with us!!

So anyway here are the lines that jumped out at me. There is really no rhyme or reason, I tend to extra love lines that are a little philosophical and ponderous about human connection and boy was this full of that!! I am not a literary critic I am just a girl full of thoughts

You wonder if this moment is real, or if it is something you are inventing to survive.

I just think this is an jarringly astute and concise observation of something we as humans do all the time in relationships and again there is nothing I love more than an observation about human connection that I can point at and go MEEEE I UNDERSTAND THAT I KNOW HOW IT FEELS!!!! It’s very exciting to me!!

Or maybe you are lying to yourself, pretending love is something you can bear no matter how heavy it gets.

This to me was a kind of honesty most fanfic lacks and obviously most fanfic is supposed to be optimistic and perfect and reflect the readers desires back to them but quite frankly to me it hits harder when there is this subtle kind of interpersonal angst and strife that is something we can feel and recognize within ourselves it makes it easier for me to actually connect to the fic. Rather than watching it like a movie I can recognize this kind of sentiment and it’s far more immersive to me and therefore a lot more fulfilling and rewarding and interesting to read

Maybe that’s the point of all of this—not two people standing side by side, but two people learning how to take up the same space, how to move around each other without losing themselves in the process.

YEAH MAYBE THAT IS THE POINT!!! THE POINT OF EVERYTHING!!! THE POINT OF MY ENTIRE LIFE!!! This to me is just beautiful and very succinctly summarizes something I’ve been working on and will probably continue to work on for the rest of my life and I think really the whole point of love and the lesson most people need to learn!!!! Once again I like my fluffy fanfic tempered w this kind of realism!! It adds so much texture

"Oh, lovely. I've got you, it's me. I'm here, I've got you," whispered reassurances pressed into your hair, your ear, your cheek, as he moves.

No yeah actually this IS the sexiest thing a man could possible say or do!! Like care and pay attention and be present and observant!!! I won’t even be talking about this because I love it too much to dissect it

Anyways this is maybe making me look crazy I just haven’t been engaged with fanfic very much recently and I did not go into this with the intention of having anything to say about it afterward but to my own personal deep surprise was so motivated to!! And it was so beautiful and so lovely I had to say something. Pls excuse if I’ve gone overboard!! This is just such a good example of fanfic at its absolute best to me like this is what it’s forrrr this is what I wanttttt!!!! Thank you for writing thank you for posting beautiful

mouthful of sunlight (18+)

Some nights, Spencer can’t sleep. His mind runs too fast, too far, tangled in cases, in horrors he can’t unsee. But in the quiet of morning, wrapped in the hush of young sunlight, he finds solace in you—the warmth of your breath, the slow, steady rhythm of your fingers tracing his skin. The comfort is fleeting; distance is inevitable. His absence lingers in the empty side of the bed, in unfinished cups of coffee, in the soft weight of his sweater draped over your shoulders. But when he returns—exhausted, unraveling—you stitch him back together with soft reassurances, gentle hands, and the familiar ease of laughter. warnings: sexual content (who tf am I), very very wordy, mentions of a cannon-typical case, longing, some angst if you squint, mostly reader and spencer being lovesick fools wc: 7.6k

You wake to the sound of rain, soft against the windowpane. The sheets are warm, tangled around your limbs, heavy with the scent of sleep and him. Faint traces of his cologne linger in the cotton, something clean and quiet, the ghost of him woven into the fabric.

Spencer is still asleep beside you.

You turn your head, slow, deliberate - shifting too fast might startle him awake. And there he is, curled into the pillow, his body half-buried beneath the blankets, face softened by the hush of morning. His breath moves through the space between you in slow, measured exhales, lips parted slightly, lashes resting against his cheekbone.

You could spend lifetimes watching him like this.

The curve of his mouth, the way his curls press against his forehead, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes—the ones you're not sure he knows about yet. You think the mentioning of them would send him into a spiral about aging and lost time but you love their presence. It reminds you of how he's laughed with you in the past, their arrival a notion of his genuine joy. The body keeps score in freckles and scars, and time can be found in the weight of sleepless nights and too many days spent carrying more than he should.

In sleep, he is weightless. The tension he wears so often—creased brows, tight shoulders, fingers restless against his knee—has melted away, leaving only the quiet.

You reach for him before you can think of it, fingers trailing over the ridge of his knuckles where his hand rests on the pillow between you. His skin is warm, his palm lax, open. He doesn't stir so you let yourself press further, sliding your fingertips up the length of his wrist, feeling the slow pulse beneath his skin.

Spencer Reid is always thinking. Always calculating, always predicting, always existing a step ahead, untethered from the present moment.

But, right now, wrapped in the hush of morning, doused in soft rainlight, he belongs here. With you.

The thought is terrifying in its simplicity.

You swallow, pressing your fingers a little firmer against his wrist, grounding yourself in the proof of him. His pulse beats steady against your touch, and you let it lull you, let yourself fall into its rhythm.

Spencer stirs beneath your touch, just the faintest twitch of his fingers against the pillow.

You go still.

A part of you—the part still tangled in hesitation, in old wounds and old fears—worries he’ll wake, that he’ll blink at you with those sharp, knowing eyes and startle away the calm you've fostered. You love Spencer, asleep or awake, but the peacefulness of this moment is something to be cherished. You want to watch him more, to exist in this lulling moment between seconds where life doesn't matter.

He doesn't wake, though, and instead, he shifts closer, instinctive, unconscious. The space between you vanishes, his breath warming your collarbone, his hand brushing against your arm where it lies between you. He is reaching for you without realizing it, drawn in like something inevitable.

And god, that does something to you.

You exhale, slow, careful, and let yourself watch him again, let yourself sink into the quiet reverence of it.

The morning light has stretched further now, slanting through the window, gliding through the messy sprawl of his hair. He is all sleep-heavy limbs, the weight of him pressing into the mattress in a way that drags you forward, leaning against him.

Flesh and bone, heartbeat and heat.

He is here. He is yours.

The way he leans into you even in sleep, the way his fingers twitch like they are searching for yours, even now. The way his body gives him away, whispering the things his lips have not yet said.

You cannot be careless with this. With him. But before the weight of it can settle too deeply into your chest, before you can let yourself spiral, Spencer shifts again—his breath catching, his brow furrowing just slightly, lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

You barely have time to think before his eyes blink open, slow and heavy-lidded, thick with sleep.

It takes a moment, his hazy eyes focusing and unfocusing. Still, he sees you. Not just looks, not just registers your presence; he sees you.

His lips part slightly, and for a moment, he only stares, like his mind is still catching up, like he’s still tethered somewhere between dreaming and waking. Blinking like he's not sure if you're a dream. Likely, everything is clouded by sleepy eyes and fading memories of dreams.

Then, his voice, quiet, still wrapped in the softness of sleep, “Morning.”

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you do the only thing you can—you lift your hand, still resting near his wrist, and press your fingers over his pulse once more. A quiet confirmation. A tethering.

Spencer exhales, slow, deliberate, and then he turns his hand, just slightly, just enough, so that his palm meets yours.

His fingers curl between yours, and you feel it—the certainty, the weight of something unspoken settling between your ribs.

There is morning, and then there is night.

There is sunlight spilling over Spencer’s sleeping form, gilding his cheekbones, illuminating the curve of his mouth. And then there is the stark contrast of shadow—of sterile hotel rooms, of the sharp, artificial glow of a bedside lamp casting his face in harsh relief.

His fingers, curled loosely around yours in the golden hush of morning, become hands gripping the edge of a desk, knuckles white, trembling with exhaustion. His voice, soft and thick with sleep, morphs into something raw, something fraying at the edges.

"I don’t know how to turn it off."

It takes you a moment to realize what he means.

He’s still in his suit, the fabric rumpled, the scent of cheap motel soap clinging to his skin. There’s a stack of case files beside him, a half-empty cup of coffee that’s long since gone cold. He doesn’t meet your gaze, just stares down at his hands, fingers twitching like they’re desperate for something to hold onto.

"Spencer."

Your voice is quiet, hesitant, as if anything louder might shatter him completely.

"Come to bed."

He shakes his head, exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

"I can’t."

A fight, sharp and cutting. His voice raised, your hands clenched into fists at your sides.

"You don’t get it," he snaps, voice raw, eyes burning. "You don’t know what it’s like to have a mind that never fucking stops—"

"I do," you interrupt, and the way he flinches makes your chest ache.

A pause.

Silence stretching between you like a wound torn open, bleeding into the space between your feet.

Spencer exhales, shakily, and when he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper.

"Then why do you keep trying to fix me?"

And there it is.

The knife twisting.

You inhale, but the breath never quite fills your lungs.

The thing is—you don’t want to fix him.

You just want him to rest.

To sleep without nightmares. To let you hold him without feeling like he has to apologize for the weight of his existence. To believe, even for a second, that he doesn’t have to earn the space he takes up.

But you don’t know how to say that in a way that won’t turn into another wound, another reason for him to step back, to pull away.

So instead, you say nothing.

"Fuck. I'm sorry." And it's that simple, really.

Sorry, arms finding each other, whispers of "I know" pressed into necks and soft conversations easing racing minds.

Spencer can't stop the relentless chase of the case in his mind. You can't stop the constant overthinking of being enough, of your body, of desires edging into too much.

Morning. Again.

Spencer, golden in the dawn, the soft breath of sleep still heavy in his lungs. Your fingers ghost over the ridges of his knuckles, tracing the delicate architecture of him, the places where bones knit together beneath skin. Flesh and blood. A body, human and whole.

Then, blood, dark and seeping through the gaps in his fingers, staining his cuffs. Not his blood. Someone else’s. A case. A mistake. A man who didn’t survive the night.

His hands shake as he scrubs them raw in the motel sink, crimson swirling down the drain, his breath coming too fast, chest rising and falling like he’s drowning, like he can feel it slipping between his fingers, the weight of every life he couldn’t save.

You touch his shoulder, and he flinches.

Time lurches.

His head on your lap, hours later. His hair damp, fingers curled weakly in the fabric of your shirt, like holding onto you is the only thing tethering him to the present.

"I don’t know how much more of this I can take."

Morning.

Back in your bed, the light different now, stretched across the sheets in delicate bands. You can’t tell if you’re awake or dreaming.

You wonder if this moment is real, or if it is something you are inventing to survive.

Spencer shifts beside you, a quiet sigh escaping him, and you watch, desperate to memorize the shape of him here, untouched by grief, by the heaviness of what he carries.

You want to wake up to this every morning.

But the truth is, you don’t.

You wake up to the version of him that drinks too much coffee, to the one who is always looking at things that aren’t there, playing scenarios in his head like a film reel stuck on loop. You wake up to the version of him that gets lost in thought mid-conversation, who chews at his nails until they bleed, who flinches awake from dreams he won’t tell you about.

And you love him anyway.

Maybe because of it.

Or maybe you are lying to yourself, pretending love is something you can bear no matter how heavy it gets.

Mornings like this, where he sleeps beside you, still and warm and untouched by the weight of the world—stretch, slow and unhurried, slipping into the day like honey dissolving in warm tea.

Spencer moves through your apartment with the careful quiet of someone who knows how to exist in shared spaces—how to make himself at home without ever taking up too much of it. He is measured, gentle, a man who has spent too much of his life folding himself into small places, and yet, with you, he expands.

You watch him from where you stand at the kitchen counter, hands wrapped around a chipped ceramic mug, warmth seeping into your palms. The coffee is slightly too bitter, but you drink it anyway, because Spencer made it. Because he takes his with too much sugar and no milk, and you take yours with just a little, and the contrast is something you love.

The morning light catches in his hair as he moves about the kitchen, curling slightly at the ends where sleep left it unruly. He wears his clothes loose in the morning—his pajama pants low on his hips, his sweater slightly too big, slipping past his wrists when he reaches for things. He is soft here, unguarded in the way that makes your chest ache.

You don’t say anything when he hums under his breath, something classical, a song you don’t recognize but have heard him play before on nights when he lets the record spin long past midnight.

You don’t say anything when he pours his coffee with one hand and flips absentmindedly through the book he left on the counter with the other.

But you do say something when he starts reading aloud.

“You know, according to the Journal of Neuroscience, studies show that sleep inertia—”

“Spencer,” you interrupt, smiling into your mug.

He pauses, blinking at you, book still in hand. “What?”

You shake your head, setting your coffee down, stepping toward him until you can reach for the book, plucking it gently from his fingers. He lets you take it, watching as you slide it onto the counter behind you, clearing the space between you.

“We’re supposed to be waking up,” you murmur. “Not filling our brains with research before we’ve even eaten breakfast.”

Spencer tilts his head, eyes flickering over your face like he’s considering it. Then, his lips curve, slow and warm. “That’s how I do wake up.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no bite to it. You both know that you love when Spencer rambles, miss it when he's gone, call him craving the sound of his voice when he's away on trips. “Come here.”

You reach for him, and he comes easily, stepping into the space you make for him, folding himself against you like he belongs there.

Maybe that’s the point of all of this—not two people standing side by side, but two people learning how to take up the same space, how to move around each other without losing themselves in the process.

Spencer exhales as you press your cheek to his shoulder, hands slipping around his waist, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweater. His arms come around you in return, slow and careful, pressing you against him like he knows exactly how to hold you.

The shape of each other, the cadence of shared breath, the quiet rhythm of a love that is not loud or fast or reckless, but something slow and deliberate.

Spencer is slow to let you go.

Even as you shift, even as you move to pull back, his fingers tighten just slightly at your waist, anchoring you there for a moment longer. You don’t resist. You let yourself be held, let yourself stay.

But then his stomach growls. Loudly.

You grin against his shoulder. “Well, that’s attractive.”

Spencer groans, burying his face in your neck. “I knew I should have eaten before I went to bed.”

You laugh, pressing your hands to his sides. “Come on, genius. Let’s get you some food before you start reading case files on malnutrition.”

He sighs, exaggerated, but finally steps back, rubbing a hand over his face as you turn toward the stove. “I do have a study on nutritional deficiencies and cognitive function bookmarked somewhere.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “You have studies bookmarked on everything.”

Spencer shrugs, completely unapologetic, and moves to lean against the counter beside you, watching as you pull out a frying pan. He doesn’t help—doesn’t even pretend to help—but he does reach for the bag of coffee grounds again, refilling your mug and his, making himself useful in the way he always does.

“You want eggs?” you ask, already cracking one against the rim of the pan.

He hums, peering into the fridge. “Only if you make them the way I like.”

“You mean, as you proclaimed the first time you stayed over, the right way?”

“Yes,” he says simply.

Neither of you mention how he burned them immediately after, distracted by kissing you in the early light filtering through the curtains of the kitchen window.

You huff, but it’s all affection, and he knows it.

Spencer doesn’t sit while you cook. He doesn’t retreat to the table or get lost in a book. He stays right here, a constant presence at your side, sipping his coffee, occasionally nudging your hip with his when you get too focused.

When you plate the food, he takes his with an approving nod. “See? Perfectly cooked.”

“They;re just scrambled, picky,” you tease, nudging him toward the kitchen table with your hip.

Spencer grins, mouth full of toast. “I have standards.”

You snort, setting your plate down across from him. “Oh, I know. That’s why you’re dating me.”

He swallows, takes a sip of coffee, and then, without missing a beat, says, “No, I’m dating you because I’m in love with you.”

Your breath catches.

He says it so easily.

No hesitation. No grand declaration. Just a fact, spoken between bites of breakfast, like it’s something he’s known for years.

You blink, lips parting slightly, and Spencer—Spencer, who notices everything—tilts his head, eyes softening.

“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching across the table, brushing his fingers against yours. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head, covering his hand with yours. “No, I—I just—”

You exhale, glancing down at where your hands meet, at the gentle press of his fingers against yours. Then, quieter: “I love you, too.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, slow, small, but full of something deep, something certain.

“I know,” he murmurs, thumb tracing slow circles against your skin. “But I still like hearing it.”

And so you say it again, just for him.

Just because he likes hearing it.

“I love you.” Spencer smiles.

After breakfast, Spencer lingers at the table while you move about the apartment, rinsing dishes, wiping crumbs from the counter. It’s a soft sort of silence. When you pass by him, his hand brushes against your hip, absentminded but full of intent, a touch that says I know you’re here. I know you’re mine.

You catch his wrist, squeezing gently before letting go.

Neither of you speak as you make your way toward the bedroom, but Spencer follows, because of course he does. Because his place is beside you, moving with you, orbiting within the same small universe.

Inside, the morning light has stretched further across the bed, creeping in golden streaks over the fabric. The air is warm with the scent of sleep, of coffee, of him.

Spencer moves first, tugging his sweater over his head and tossing it onto the bed. His hair goes staticky, curls fluffed from the fabric, and you reach out instinctively, smoothing them back into place. He stills beneath your touch, the corners of his lips twitching.

“You’re going to make it worse,” he murmurs.

“Probably.” You grin, carding your fingers through the strands anyway, just for the sake of touching him.

Spencer huffs a laugh, but he doesn’t move away.

You let him slip his fingers beneath the hem of your shirt, lifting it over your head in one fluid motion. Let him reach for the zipper of your trousers, sliding it down with the same care you’d shown him.

There’s nothing rushed about it.

Nothing frantic, nothing heated. Just this. Just hands smoothing over fabric, fingers brushing against skin in passing, the quiet, unspoken promise of I know you. I love you. Let me show you.

Spencer tilts his head, gaze flickering down, not to your lips, but to the hollow of your throat, where your pulse flutters beneath your skin. He watches it like a scholar studying something precious like he’s measuring the exact rhythm of you, the precise way you exist in this moment.

And then, with all the patience in the world, he leans in.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Like he has all the time in the world to memorize you.

His lips brush your jaw first—so soft it could almost be nothing, just a breath, just a thought of touch. Then, lower, trailing warmth along the delicate line of your neck, the curve of your shoulder.

Your fingers find his wrists, not to stop him, but to hold him there, to feel the heat of him seeping into your skin.

You shift—not much, just enough to press closer, enough to let your forehead rest against his, enough to let his breath mingle with yours.

His hands slide higher, fingertips grazing the curve of your ribs, the warmth of his palms bleeding through the fabric like sunlight through frosted glass.

Like he understands, without either of you saying it, that this is the sacred part. Not the wanting, not even the having, but the holding. The staying.

He presses his lips to your temple, soft and sure, and you feel it—the weight of love settling between your ribs, deep and real.

“I want you,” he murmurs, voice low, full of something aching.

You shudder, your fingers tightening around his wrists. “You have me,” you whisper.

Spencer swallows, pressing his forehead against yours again, his hands gripping you just a little tighter as he breathes you in.

You feel his adoration in the way he moves—hesitant, reverent. Like he’s unraveling you thread by thread, pulling you apart just to piece you back together in the way only he knows how.

His fingers ghost over the curve of your waist, not grasping, not pulling, just feeling.

Your breath catches when he finally presses closer, the full weight of him sinking into you, a slow collapse into something inevitable. His body is warm, radiating heat like a fever, like a star burning too close to your skin. You curl your fingers into the fabric of his shirt, twisting it tight in your grip, grounding yourself in the weight of him.

He exhales against your jaw, warm and unsteady.

“Look at me,” he murmurs.

You do.

And god, it’s unbearable—the way his eyes search yours, wide and dark and pleading.

His breath stutters when you reach up, cradling his face in your hands, fingertips skimming the sharp angle of his cheekbone. He leans into your touch like it’s instinct, his lashes fluttering, his lips parting slightly, his chest rising and falling in time with yours.

“Spencer,” you whisper, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer.

He answers you with a kiss.

Not rushed, not desperate. His lips move against yours, unhurried but insistent, a careful exploration, a patient claiming. His nose brushes yours, his breath mingling with yours, the quiet sounds of longing pressing into the spaces between you.

You sigh into his mouth, and he shudders, his fingers tightening against your ribs.

“Again,” he whispers.

So you kiss him again. And again. And again.

Until the space between you is nothing, until your bodies are tangled in sheets and sighs and whispered names, until everything is breath and warmth and wanting.

His hands find yours, fingers threading together, clinging, pressing, grounding. His forehead rests against yours, his breath uneven, his body trembling with the weight of this.

“I want you,” he whispers, voice wrecked, shaking, repeating himself.

You tighten your grip on his hands, pulling him closer. “I know,” you breathe. “I know.”

And when he moves again, when his lips find yours with a new kind of urgency, you know—you feel it in your bones—this isn’t just wanting. It’s everything.

Spencer kisses you like he’s searching for something.

Like the answer to every unsolvable equation is pressed between your lips, tucked beneath your tongue, hidden in the soft give of your sighs.

And you let him.

Because you know this—this rhythm, this language you’ve built together. The slow pull of hands over fabric, the careful way he unravels you. The heat that grows between you, steady and unrelenting, like a pot left to boil over.

Spencer exhales sharply when your fingers find the sharp ridge of his collarbone. You press your lips there, breathing him in, and he shivers.

Spencer is reaching for you again, already fitting his hands to the curve of your back, already tilting his head to press open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, your throat, the place just beneath your ear that makes you sigh.

“We’re going to be late,” you murmur, though you don’t mean it.

Spencer hums, his lips still pressed against your skin. “I don’t care.”

You laugh—a breathy, delighted sound that he swallows with his next kiss, his hands smoothing over your ribs, pressing warmth into your skin.

His trousers slide lower on his hips, and he makes a sound—low, breathless, almost dazed.

And then—“I’m sorry,” he murmurs suddenly, against the corner of your mouth.

You blink, pulse stuttering. “For what?”

“For all the times I haven’t been here.” His fingers tighten at your waist, like he’s grounding himself in the weight of you, in the proof that you are here. “For leaving. For missing too much. For—”

You don’t let him finish.

You press your lips to his, pouring everything into it—forgiveness, love, understanding.

When you break apart, your voice is quiet but sure. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Spencer exhales, shaky and relieved, and then—

Then he laughs, something soft and breathless, because you’ve pushed his trousers past his hips and now they’re tangled around his ankles, and it’s clumsy, and it’s human, and neither of you can bring yourselves to care.

Your own clothes follow, piece by piece, scattered and forgotten, because this is more important.

Spencer is warm everywhere, all golden skin and careful hands and parted lips. He hovers over you, his breath fanning over your cheek, his fingers tracing slow, reverent paths down your arms, your sides, like he’s still memorizing you.

And when you reach for him, guiding him closer, pulling him in, he exhales a sound—soft, broken, something like ah, like yes, like finally.

You sigh into him, arching, meeting him where he waits, and the warmth between you turns molten, turns necessary.

Spencer presses his forehead to yours, his breath uneven, his fingers twining with yours in the sheets.

“I love you,” he whispers.

And you—You're lost in the heat, the smell of him. The gentle movement as there's nothing left but you and him and him and him.

"Ah, Spencer," you breathe, and he shushes you.

"I know, I know."

It's quiet, it's breathy laughs, it's warmth building building buildig until something cracks - it has to, it's necessary, it's perfect and lovely and hot honey dripping down your thighs to gather into something greater, something perfect, something more.

It should be impossible, the way you fit together.

Like something sculpted by hands that knew what they were doing, shaping flesh and bone with deliberate care, pressing you into each other until there is no separation, no beginning or end. A seamless thing. Thread looping over itself, over and over and over into infinity. Until it cannot be separated from itself, until it is one ball of mass and moving and friction.

Heat and pressure and warmth build into something more, more more. Spencer is calling your name as if you are lost, you're grasping his back to remind him you're right here.

He tumbles and you're stuck on the edge, unable to follow. It's a brilliant thing, watching him. Eyes screwed shut, tightly. Breath coming out in spurts and spasms. Love, love, love. Pouring out of him and into you.

It's warm, so so warm, and nearly enough to send you to the place of glass shattering and pleasure fluttering and complete unity.

It isn't until Spencer's hips are faltering that he notices you there, hanging on the precipice of masterpieces yet unknown.

"Oh, lovely. I've got you, it's me. I'm here, I've got you," whispered reassurances pressed into your hair, your ear, your cheek, as he moves.

And you fall after him, tumbling down into something safe and known and foreign and unlearnable.

When you clatter back onto Earth, Spencer is warm against you, chest rising and falling in the slow, steady rhythm of shared breath. His fingers—long, elegant, familiar—trace mindless patterns against your arm, mapping you the way he memorizes pages, theories, entire histories. As if you are something to be learned, something to be understood.

As if he hasn’t already written you into the marrow of his bones.

Your limbs are tangled in the sheets, in each other, some quiet aftershock of connection humming between your skin. He shifts, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple, the edge of your jaw, the corner of your lips, his breath still heavy with you.

Whole. Uninterrupted.

Until—

A loud grumble splits the silence, echoing off the walls.

Spencer stills.

You blink.

And then—

Your stomach rumbles again, louder this time, an undignified protest against your distraction.

Spencer bursts into laughter.

It’s warm, breathless, human, cracking through the solemn weight of the moment like lightning through a storm. He drops his head against your shoulder, shaking with it, his entire body vibrating with amusement.

“Oh my God,” you groan, covering your face with your hands.

Spencer’s still laughing when he rolls onto his back, his hand dragging down his face as he tries to compose himself. He fails, utterly, letting out another breathy chuckle before turning his head to look at you.

“I’m sorry,” he says between soft huffs of breath, his eyes bright with mirth. “It was just—so poetic, so profound—and then your stomach actually growled.”

You peek at him between your fingers. “You're going to give me shit when you essentially did the same thing earlier?" You ask, aghast. Spencer nods his head, cheeky smile overtaking his face.

You groan again, but it’s half-hearted, because Spencer is still laughing, and it’s the kind of sound you’d willingly make a fool of yourself for, over and over again, just to hear it.

"Did you not have any of your stellar eggs?" Spencer asks, pulling away from you.

You both wince as connection is lost, resisting the urge to pull him back in again, to be selfish and keep the warmth of him near.

He stretches, arms raised above his head, back cracking. You stay still, stretched across the bed as he moves into your bathroom and wets a washcloth.

"No, I don't really like scrambled."

Spencer hesitates, at the foot of the bed, one knee propped up on the edge. "What?" He asks, frozen, still as a statue.

"I'll eat them but this morning they were too eggy."

"Too eggy," Spencer mutters, voice aghast, cleaning you before pinching your thigh playfully. "Come on, time to get you to work."

The moment lingers, shifting into something softer, something easy.

And then—

You’re standing in the kitchen, hours later, Spencer in his undershirt, stirring a pot of something that smells like warmth, like home.

Your stomach grumbles again.

Spencer smirks, not even turning around. “Should I start reciting poetry, or—”

You throw a dish towel at him.

||||

There is the weight of Spencer pressed against you in the morning, the heat of his breath on your skin, the steady rhythm of his fingers tracing patterns into your ribs. And then there is the cold side of the bed, the imprint of him faded from the sheets, the silence of an empty apartment that settles like dust in your lungs.

He’s gone.

Not forever. Neer forever.

But the difference between knowing something and feeling it is vast, and this morning, you feel it.

The bed is too big. The air is too still. The coffee is too bitter without his absentminded habit of adding too much sugar to the pot when he thinks you aren’t looking.

His absence moves through the space like a ghost, turning everyday things into echoes of him.

A book left open on the table, spine cracked, a scrap of paper sticking out with notes in the margins.

A half-full mug beside the sink. He always assures you he'll finish it later but never does. You don't mind, savoring the reminder of him when he leaves in the middle of the day with little notice.

The sweater he left draped over the back of a chair, smelling like warmth, like him, like something undone.

You exhale, pressing your fingers to the edge of the table as if grounding yourself, as if it might keep you tethered.

You knew this would happen.

It always does—cases that stretch into days, weeks, phone calls that come at odd hours, the sound of his voice wrapped in exhaustion and apologies, the waiting, the not-knowing.

You reach for your own coffee, cradling it between your palms, letting the heat seep into your fingers.

Your phone buzzes. A message. Short, simple.

Spencer: I miss you.

The breath in your chest stutters.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, a response forming before you can even think about it.

You: I miss you too. It’s too quiet here.

Three dots appear. Pause. Disappear.

You wait, staring at the screen, willing the space between you to close, even just a little.

Spencer: I’ll call you tonight. Stay in my sweater until then.

You let out a breath, something soft, something caught between a laugh and a sigh. You reach for it, slipping it over your shoulders, wrapping yourself in the remnants of warmth.

It’s not the same.

But for now, it will have to be enough.

||||

The door unlocks with a quiet click.

You don’t move right away.

You should—should stand, should cross the room, should meet him in the doorway. But instead, you sit still, curled into the couch, the weight of waiting still heavy in your limbs, pressing you down.

Footsteps. Familiar, careful.

“Hey,” Spencer murmurs, quiet, hesitant, like he isn’t sure if you’re asleep, if he should wake you, if he’s allowed to break the silence.

You inhale sharply, and that’s what does it—what snaps the moment in two. You push up from the couch, feet hitting the floor, your body moving before your mind catches up.

You are in his arms.

He exhales sharply at the impact, his bag slipping from his shoulder, his arms wrapping around you with something desperate, something relieved, like he’s been waiting for this moment just as much as you have.

The scent of him—faint cologne, the sterile bite of too many hotels, the quiet warmth that is Spencer—hits you all at once. You press your face into his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, holding tight.

“You’re back,” you breathe, and it’s obvious, unnecessary, but you need to say it, need to hear it, need to confirm it.

Spencer laughs—soft, exhausted, fond. “I’m back.”

You feel the words vibrate through him, feel the shape of them beneath your hands, the weight of them settling between your ribs.

“Did you miss me?” You laugh, a quiet, breathy thing, your grip tightening on his jacket.

“Not at all,” you say, pulling back just enough to look at him, to see him. His face is tired, his eyes a little shadowed, but there’s something soft there, something bright just beneath the surface.

His lips twitch. “Liar.”

You hum, tilting your chin up just slightly, brushing your nose against his, letting the warmth between you settle.

“Say it anyway,” he murmurs.

So you do. “I missed you, Spence.”

His breath stumbles and he kisses you.

It’s not rushed. It’s not desperate. It’s homecoming, warmth where there was once cold. It’s touch where there was once absence. It’s the quiet, certain return of something that never really left.

It takes a while for Spencer to let go and, even when he does, he keeps a hand on you. Not even after the kiss fades into breaths, not even after his bag is abandoned by the door, not even after you’ve guided him toward the couch, pressing your hands to his shoulders until he sinks into the cushions with a sigh.

You don’t ask him about the case.

Not yet.

Instead, you move around him, nudging his shoes off with your foot, smoothing his hair back from his face, pressing your fingers into the stiff muscles at the back of his neck. His eyes flutter shut, and he exhales slow, like he’s unspooling one spiraling thread at a time.

“You look exhausted,” you murmur, brushing your knuckles over his cheek.

“I feel worse,” he admits, cracking one eye open to look at you. “I think I might actually be a ghost.”

You hum, tilting your head. Slowly, you press a finger into the center of his chest, thumping it against his sternum twice. “I don’t know, you feel pretty solid to me.”

Spencer lets out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “Okay, fine. Maybe I’m only part ghost.” He waves a hand in the air, "I hover between realms, or whatever those silly books you read would say."

“Well,” you say, ignoring the dig at your admittedly less-academic reading preferences, pressing your lips to his temple, lingering, “if you were a ghost, you’d be a talkative one. Following me around, rambling about hauntings and historic criminal cases—”

Spencer scoffs. “I’d be a great ghost.”

“Would you?”

“I’d be an educational ghost.”

You snort, letting your fingers trail down his arm, wrapping your hand around his wrist, pressing against the pulse there. “I think I prefer you educational and alive.”

Spencer smiles, but it’s softer now, more worn, and when he leans into you, it’s not just playful—it’s relief.

You shift, curling into him, letting him fold himself against you like he’s been waiting for it for days. He buries his face against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and you feel the tension still lingering in him, the weight of something else.

Something he’s not saying. So you just hold him.

One hand drifts into his hair, threading through the soft curls, the other smoothing over his back, steady, slow. His fingers flex against your side, gripping, holding, grounding. He sighs, deep, exhausted, pressing closer like he’s trying to escape something.

You kiss the crown of his head. “You don’t have to tell me,” you whisper. “But you can.”

Spencer is quiet for a long moment, his breathing uneven, his fingers still pressed into your skin. “The case was a little boy,” he murmurs, barely above a breath. “He lost his—” His voice wavers, and he swallows hard. “His whole family. We nearly didn't find him in time."

It's the most he can give you, the most that the public has probably heard, too, but it's enough to impress upon you the true horrors he's facing.

You close your eyes, tightening your arms around him. “Spencer.”

He shakes his head, shifting just enough to rest his forehead against your collarbone. “I just—I keep thinking about him. How small he looked. How scared.”

You press your lips together, blinking hard, willing yourself to keep it together for him. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice thick. “I know that doesn’t help, but I am.”

Spencer exhales shakily, nodding against your skin. “It helps.”

You don’t know if that’s true, but you keep holding him anyway. Keep smoothing your hands down his back, keep whispering his name, keep pressing your lips to his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, like you can will the heaviness away.

“I’ve got you,” you murmur against his skin. “You’re home.”

Spencer lets out a slow, shuddering breath. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I am.”

Spencer doesn't move much, pressed against you, letting himself be held. His breathing steadies, his hands no longer gripping like he’s afraid of being pulled away.

You shift, just slightly, pressing your cheek against the top of his head. “You wanna do something mindless for a bit? Watch bad TV? Read a book with no footnotes? Stare at a wall together?”

Spencer snorts, muffled against your skin. “Tempting.”

“I'm very persuasive when I want to be.”

“That’s one word for it.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, narrowing your eyes. “Excuse me?”

Spencer finally lifts his head, and there’s something lighter in his expression now, the weight of the case still lingering, but no longer pressing quite so hard against the edges of his mind.

He shifts, settling further into the couch, his knee bumping against yours. “You bullied me into watching a terrible documentary about haunted dolls last time I came back from a case.”

Your mouth falls open in offense. “It was informative!”

Spencer levels you with a flat look. “It was ninety minutes of a guy holding up dolls to the camera and whispering ‘Do you hear that?’”

You press your lips together, fighting back a laugh. “Okay, maybe it wasn’t the most scientific—”

“There was a scene transition shaped like a skull.”

“You didn’t have to watch it!”

Spencer gestures at himself dramatically. “I was physically incapacitated by exhaustion!”

You shove at his shoulder, laughing now, and he catches your wrist easily, pressing a quick, warm kiss to the inside of it before letting you go. The gesture is so easy, so thoughtless, that your chest goes tight with it.

Spencer sighs, shifting so he’s half-leaning against you again, pressing his forehead briefly to your shoulder before pulling back. “But,” he admits, softer now, “it was kind of nice. Sitting with you. Not thinking for a bit.”

You hum, tucking your legs beneath you, leaning into his warmth. “I am great at the whole ‘not thinking’ thing.”

Spencer huffs a laugh. “That’s not what I meant.”

“You sure? I distinctly remember you asking me how I manage to not overanalyze things while I was eating a bowl of cereal the other day.”

“That was—” He pauses, brows knitting together. “Okay, yes, but that’s because you were reading the cereal box like it was literature.”

“It was a compelling narrative, Spencer.”

He tilts his head. “The ingredients list?”

“The lucky leprechaun’s backstory,” you clarify.

Spencer just stares at you.

You grin, nudging his knee. “It’s called escapism, genius.”

Spencer shakes his head, exhaling something close to a laugh-sigh, then shifts again, tucking himself more comfortably against your side.

"Unless you're calling me dumb," you muse, not ready to give up teasing him. He takes the bait easily.

"I would never say that-"

"i'm pretty certain that's what I'm hearing."

"Absolutely not." You sit silently, humming dramatically, hoping for a compliment that you're sure is to come. "You're one of the smartest people I've met, actually. That's why your taste in books and documentaries appalls me."

"You're good at groveling, Dr. Reid."

He doesn't answer, chuckling and pressing his lips against your shoulder in response instead.

After a moment, his fingers brush against yours, hesitant for only a second before twining them together. Quiet settles between you again—not heavy this time, not suffocating. Just easy. Just you and him. Spencer squeezes your fingers lightly, voice soft when he speaks again.

“You make coming home easy.”

Your throat goes tight, and you squeeze back. The shift in tone is palpable. You long to linger in the feeling of warmth and safety and the earnest way he mumbles it. “Good,” you murmur, pressing your forehead to his temple. “Because you are home.”

Spencer exhales, slow and steady. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I know.”

You don’t move immediately after Spencer settles against you, letting his weight sink into the couch, his fingers loosely tangled with yours. He’s relaxed now, softer, the weight of the week still lingering in his tired eyes but no longer pressing quite so hard on his shoulders.

It’s the perfect time to strike.

You reach for the remote, flicking through streaming options with intense purpose.

Spencer glances at you, suspicious. “What are you doing?”

“Putting something on to help you unwind.”

His eyes narrow. “What kind of something?”

You hum innocently. “Oh, you’ll see.”

Spencer watches as you select a YouTube documentary—one you know is riddled with inaccuracies, one that will absolutely send him into a spiral.

The second the dramatic narration begins, Spencer physically tenses.

You stifle a smile. You watched it when he was gone, something mind-numbing after a long day at work, and have been waiting to see his reaction to the ridiculous claims of the conspiracies.

The documentary wastes no time getting things wrong.

A sweeping shot of pyramids. An ominous, overly intense musical score. And then, in bold, serious tones:

"The ancient Egyptians, known for their fascination with aliens—"

Spencer inhales sharply, head snapping toward you, eyes wide with horror. “Their fascination with WHAT?”

You shrug, biting your lip. “Aliens, love. Keep up.”

Spencer throws his hands in the air. “Ancient Egyptian society was a highly advanced civilization with remarkable achievements in engineering, mathematics, and medicine—why does everything have to be aliens?”

You pat his knee comfortingly. “Shh. The experts are speaking.”

He turns back to the screen just in time to hear the narrator say:

"Some theorists believe the Sphinx was originally a statue of a dog, not a lion."

Spencer physically jolts, glaring at you again.

“A dog?” he scoffs.

You bite back laughter. “I don’t know, Spence. It kinda looks like a dog if you squint.”

He looks betrayed. “It doesn't. I know you don't think it does.”

You hum thoughtfully, pretending to study the screen. “Maybe, like, a bulldog?”

Spencer presses the heels of his palms into his eyes like he’s in pain. Give me the remote. There's a better, actual documentary, about 1940s Germany that I wanted to show you instead of this-” he gestures toward the screen, "garbage."

You grin, nudging his side. “Oh, you love it.”

“I do not—”

A new segment starts, this one even worse, featuring a so-called “historian” confidently stating that the Romans invented cheese.

Spencer makes a noise nearly resembling a laugh and you know you've got him.

“No they didn't," he says, deadpan, shaking his head and clicking off of the video.

You lose it. You cackle, curling into his side, shaking with laughter as Spencer queues up an actual documentary, switching on subtitles for you.

“I hate you,” he mutters, but his voice is fond, his arm still wrapped tight around you.

“No, you don’t,” you tease, leaning into him.

He sighs dramatically, dropping a kiss to the top of your head.

“No,” he murmurs, softer now. “I really don’t.”

And just like that, the warmth settles back between you, easy and earned.

Even if he’s still muttering about the Sphinx as the documentary starts.

You settle down like that, listening as Spencer adds his own interesting facts to the documentary. This is home, wholly and truly, sitting on this couch next to him.

You're sure to ask questions, keep him talking, until he falls asleep, missing the sound of his voice the second he dozes off.

[s4int0fthep1t]

finally made that oc post i’ve been procrastinating on for a week anyway…

Meet Oisín (my lotf oc)

description:

- 13 y/o

- only child

- long wavy/curly black hair

- inverted triangle birthmark in the middle of his chest

- throat scar

- tiny button nose

- long eyelashes

- mute (he can speak but he chooses not to) (only communicates with grunts, facial expressions and hand movements)

- he lives in his own hut on the island separate from all the other boys

ok so boom here’s his lore:

so basically as you can probably tell by his name, Oisín is Irish. Now idk if y’all knew this but British people HATED the Irish (and probably still do idk i’m not British🇺🇸) but anyway this hatred affected him (obviously😒) being a boy of Irish lineage living in England. This, along with other reasons, made him an outcast among the other boys at school which lead to him basically having no friends (omg what a loser lol).

(ok so tumblr crashed and i lost like 2 paragraphs of info so i’m gonna try rewriting this next part from memory)

If Oisín could be described with one word…it would be apathy.

(omfg it crashed again and i lost ANOTHER 2 paragraphs i’m actually gonna kms)

It’s not that he hates the other boys…he just prefers to keep to himself. Rather than becoming a hunter, or building shelters, or keeping the fire going, Oisín prefers to just stay in his hut, far away from the others and their constant bickering and chaos.

It’s so confusing, all these possibilities. On one hand, getting rescued means finally escaping this island. But on the other hand, getting rescued means going back home right to the same hellhole he was in before. Thinking about such hard concepts gets tiring, and sleep is the best medicine.

All day and all night, Oisín sleeps. And when he’s not sleeping, he’s picking his own fruits that he doesn’t need to share with anyone. Its not like he’s selfish…BUT, not having to share means not having to interact with the others…which would ultimately make him feel better.

Not being near others means safety, and everybody, especially Oisín, wants to feel safe.

(i’m getting tired to i’m just gonna stop here lol 😭)

Ok so boom that’s basically his lore. to summarize:

- he doesn’t speak at all

- he’s very apathetic

- he prefers to be alone and actively tired to avoid interactions

that’s enough Oisín for today. hope y’all like him♥️

(more coming soon stay tuned🖤)

[mieczyslawsravenclaw]

Eidetic Memory Be Damned -Spencer Reid

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

•Pairing - Spencer Reid x FemFBIAgent!Reader

•Rating - 18+, Minors DNI - Smut - NSFW!!!

•Summary/Prompt - Spencer is tired of only having the memory of you to enjoy during his spicy times , so he just has to intrude into your hotel room after a case is finished…

•Warnings/Content - p in the v unprotected (hey kids- DONT DO IT) ; cursing ; Spence loves to beg to nut in you and does so ; creampie ; some pain play? (just a lil hand on the throat dealio and some hair pulling) ; LOTS of praise on both sides (good boy, pretty girl, etc) ; very mf horny lol ; (basically they do just about everything from first base to last bestie slay)

•Word Count - 3.3k

•Authorʼs Note(s) - Iʼm so mf rusty at writing smut so this is probs not the best, I just wanted to write some Spencer spice cause I had a spicy dream about him lmao RIP >_< Also this'll be my first official post of my writing on Tumblr slayyyyy

•Additional Tags - Switch!Spencer , Switch!Reader , Spencer is a needy brat LMAO , Team has ‘no ideaʼ you two are hooking up (Be so mf fr they do) , Good aftercare is so valid , Spencer loves being cuffed and teased muahaha

As much as this last case had taken out of me, I was more than happy to get to spend some time in my hotel room while the jet refueled and everyone got their bearings. Itʼs not home - far from it, Iʼd been missing my own bed for the majority of our time here in whatever state it was now - but at least it was something.

But of course, the reprieve wouldnʼt last long - a sharp knock on my door confirmed that, about 20 minutes after Iʼd laid down to sleep.

“What…ˮ I groan, frustratedly looking over at the clock.

The knock, again, more persistent this time. And I recognize its pattern now, three short tap-taps. Spencer.

My heartbeat, despite my minor annoyance at being woken up, is hammering now. Spencer seems to do that to me, from the moment Iʼd realized I have feelings for him, carrying into whatever it is that we are now. Secret trysts that Iʼm sure are no secret to our team members, especially Garcia, because sheʼd pried it out of me almost immediately and now waits in her dark little room with nothing else but excitement for the latest updates on us, it seems.

“Are you awake?ˮ A gentle but still much-too-loud voice asks.

I tumble out of bed, rushing to the door. I donʼt even have time to make sure I look okay - Iʼm much too worried about anyone else hearing him. The door is unlocked and pulled open in record time, a stunned lanky man quickly and semi-quietly forced inside.

“Spence, someoneʼs gonna hear you if you keep on like that.ˮ I chastise him, shutting and locking the door behind us. No sooner have I done so, than his lithe form overtakes me, nestling into the crook of my neck with a groan that seems both relieved and not relieved at all.

“Donʼt care,ˮ He pushes me back, until my legs meet the mattress and fold. Quickly following on top of me, he sighs, “Been too long. I miss you. You know I have an eidetic memory, yeah? Doesnʼt mean shit when Iʼm up late and even thoughts of you arenʼt enough to keep me satiated.ˮ

“Someoneʼs gonna-ˮ Hear, I want to say. He knows, of course he does. And Iʼm only half-complaining, with his lips at my neck and his leg sneaking up between mine the way he also knows.

“Donʼt care.ˮ He repeats, the low moan at the back of his throat breaking through into the silent room. “I told you I miss you. Should I tell you about what I use my memory for? And just how much that hasnʼt been enough lately? Or should I show you?ˮ

Itʼs clearly a rhetorical question, but still, he seeks the permission I am more than happy to grant.

“Tell me. Uh, show me. I mean-ˮ

“I can do both,ˮ Even in the dark, I know heʼs got that matter of fact smirk on his lips. He reaches down, holding me by the hip with one hand while the other slips into my pajamas, a practiced motion heʼs all too good at by now. “Usually this is what I remember first. The way your skin feels, how nice it is to make you tremble beneath my touch.ˮ

I buck up, and he chuckles.

“All too eager, arenʼt you? Clearly youʼve been thinking about it too, huh, pretty girl?ˮ A pointed question he knows Iʼll struggle to answer, with his hand and his voice torturing me so.

“No eid- identical- uh, no memory recall whatever for me.ˮ

“Still wouldnʼt satiate, I bet.ˮ He remarks, casually rubbing circles and patterns over my panties. This is how he operates, surely and with no warning. A gentle but firm kiss to my jaw, and he continues, “Itʼs like that for me, at least. I know no amount of recalling how you feel under me will be enough to match just how nice it is.ˮ

Heʼs right, and of course he is; I can barely handle the teasing, the tone his voice has taken in this short amount of time. And I currently dont care if weʼre heard, either.

“Spence-ˮ

“What is it, sweetheart? Too much for you? Not enough?ˮ

“Please?ˮ

“Words, honey. Youʼve gotta use your words. Or you can show me, Iʼm okay withthat too.ˮ He guides my hand down to his.

“More.ˮ I plead, working to undress myself before his hands take over.

“You only have to ask.ˮ

True to his word, Spencer pulls the fabric away, no longer allowing it to be a block between us. Itʼs lost somewhere in the sheets as he kisses me, his practiced hands no longer in the mood to tease. He slips a finger in, and when I let out a keening whine, another, his free hand going automatically to my mouth.

“Now as much as I say I donʼt care, youʼve gotta be a little quiet for me,ˮ He goads, knowing this will only make it harder for me to do so. His breath is hot in my ear, his fingers working a motion thatʼs both breaking pent up weeks old frustration, and yet causing more tension in my belly. “Much as I love your voice. Your sounds. The-ˮ

I rut up against him, my lips opening around his thumb. He works it into my mouth, his voice lowering even further.

“Cmon, show me how much you missed me, huh, princess?ˮ

I moan, words lost in my mind as it spins. Every tug of his fingers between my thighs is building a high Iʼm chasing, and when I get to this point, Iʼm not talking - he is. And he knows it, knows the right words to say to build and break me.

“This is what Iʼm after, this is what I canʼt just remember. Because itʼs all too much to remember how good it feels to destroy you.ˮ

Please, please. I canʼt hold off much longer.

“Now are you gonna cum for me, sweetheart?ˮ

I nod, lips opening and letting his hand free from my mouth as my breaths grow heavy. “Canʼt - Please, Spence, please-ˮ

He presses me further into the mattress, murmuring sweet and dirty nothings into my ear as the dam breaks and I ride my high. Iʼm far too sensitive following, and when I try to push him away for a moment, allow myself to collect some sort of reprieve before we continue, he chuckles lowly.

“See, I can recall that clear as day. But itʼs so much sweeter to have it happening in front of me, you know?ˮ He nestles in beside me, turning me to face him.

Nigh immediately, Iʼm reaching for his belt buckle. Of course he wouldnʼt have changed into comfortable clothes, not even this late- Iʼm sure this was his plan all along, and he tried to fight it as long as he could.

“Someoneʼs eager.ˮ He quips, the smirk growing.

“Youʼve got me thinking about it,ˮ I sigh, letting him maneuver himself out of the constricting clothing. “Coming over and getting me all hot and bothered. I really ought to…ˮ

“Ought to what?ˮ He goads, pulling me onto him with a low noise as we brush together. “Hmm? Are you gonna say…you ought to punish me?ˮ

I nod, rubbing back against him. He lets out a moan, hands gripping my hips tighter.

“I remember how that feels,ˮ He pulls me closer, voice dropping. “But for your sake, maybe you should refresh me.ˮ

When he reaches for me again, I pull back, pinning his hands down above his head. I know he could get out of it if he really wanted to - Iʼm strong, but not stronger than him - but he most certainly doesnʼt want to get out of it. And Iʼm enjoying it far too much to stop myself now.

“Whatʼre you gonna do, cuff me?ˮ He snaps, the bratty attitude far too practiced and already making me a soaking mess.

“I might.ˮ I reach for my pair, knowing all too well that heʼll absolutely lose it once I let go on him. I can hardly stand the anticipation. “Scared, Reid?ˮ

“Terrified. Please, donʼt. Iʼve been a good boy, I swear.ˮ

I push him back while he pleads, tightening the metal around his wrists. The look on his face, muffled as it is by the darkness of the room, is more than enough to spur me on.

“Not thinking about this at all, huh?ˮ I shed my top, if only for the knowledge that his inability to reach for my breasts drives him utterly insane. “And Iʼm sure you havenʼt spent many late nights with the memory of me riding you, have you? Havenʼt had your hands on that pretty cock of yours, thinking about how it feels when itʼs me, yeah?ˮ

“N-Not at all.ˮ

“Itʼs a shame, then.ˮ I tease, feeling him harden beneath me with every word. “Iʼll have to make you confess, I suppose.ˮ

His eyes follow my every move as I back up, slotting between his legs and bending down to kiss along his hips.

“Youʼll never get it out of me.ˮ He groans.

“Is that a promise or a challenge?ˮ I ask, not breaking eye contact as I place a kiss on his sensitive head.

“Challenge? Would I…challenge you?ˮ He still holds onto a moment of sanity, until I take him in my mouth, and itʼs lost with a sigh of, “Oh, would I.ˮ

I bob my head, my practiced motions coming in handy now. The usually-full-of- remarks Spencer Reid folds under my touch, soft deep moans and babble of confessions and wish I could pull your hair passing his lips while I work him out.

After a few moments of this, I let him free - at least from the torture of my lips.

“Where are you going? Please, I wanna cum for you, Iʼll tell you everything I did while I couldnʼt stand to wait for you.ˮ He keens.

“Oh, Iʼm far from done with you, Spence.ˮ I slowly, agonizingly slowly, climb back on top of him, making sure to back right up against him as he tightens against the cuffs. “Donʼt you worry, Iʼll have every measly confession pouring from you. You know I will.ˮ

“Please, let me out- Gotta touch you, I just gotta-ˮ

“Shh, be good for me, wonʼt you?ˮ I lift myself over his face, pressing my folds to his lips. “Unless you wanna stay in those forever.ˮ

He shakes his head, vibrating a ‘noʼ against me.

“Good. Now youʼre gonna pay your dues and clean up the mess youʼve made.ˮ

Eagerly, he laps at me like heʼs never had it before. His utter submissiveness overwhelms him, letting me ride his face to my hearts content. Words are muffled and entirely lost in it, and I know by now that the sounds Iʼm making alone will be heard, but I donʼt really care. Iʼm too far gone in how good it feels to finally have him making me cum again.

“Can I touch you now?ˮ

I slide back onto him, teasingly letting myself rest with just the edge of him pressing into my folds.

“Can you?ˮ I look pointedly at his wrists.

“I-oh, my god, clearly not, but-ˮ

“How about this?ˮ I amend. “You give me a confession, you get a reward. Sound fair?ˮ

“Yeah, sounds just fine. I couldnʼt get off without coming here, you realize that, donʼt you? Youʼre the only thing that gets me off anymo-Oh-ˮ His confession is cut short as I slide him a bit further in, just enough to spur him further. “I mean, I get off, donʼt get me wrong here. But nothing feels as good as when itʼs with you. Nothing.ˮ

“Keep going, youʼre doing good.ˮ I praise, sinking a bit deeper.

“Goddamn you feel so good.ˮ He moans. “Like, my hands canʼt even come close to this, are you kidding? I can try all I want, and believe me, I have - Oh, my god, please donʼt stop - Iʼve been trying all the time, I admit that, canʼt hardly stand being around you and not being able to just fuck you whenever I want.ˮ

I push down further, the stretch he gives me loosing my own moan. “How much do you wanna fuck me, Spence? Tell me, please.ˮ

“God, all the time. Itʼs all I can think about when I get down to it - baby, can I please touch you now?ˮ

“Punishment is a bitch, isnʼt it, Reid?ˮ I smirk, starting to push him in and out of me, slowly and with a devious grin that falters at just how damn good it is.

“Baby, Iʼm gonna get outta these and fuck you so good-ˮ

“Try it.ˮ I raise an eyebrow, stopping my motions.

“Oh- No, Iʼm sorry, please donʼt stop. Iʼll be good, I promise.ˮ

“Yeah, you will.ˮ I drop as far as I can take him, savoring the stuttered animalistic groan he lets out as I press down onto him, pulling his hair and moving my hips around him. As he is want to do, heʼs thrusting up into me, even if heʼs unable to reach me with his hands held up as they are. “Eager, sweet boy. Iʼm gonna ruin you.ˮ

And ruin him, I do. The tension and heat in my belly rides and breaks several times, with him unable to form real words except for the continuous begging of please donʼt stop repeated on a loop until I feel Iʼm satisfied with his demeanor.

Once Iʼve tortured him enough, I reach for the cuffs, ready to let him off the leash - knowing that once I do, the balance will shift. Truthfully, Iʼm just eager to let him be true to his word and fuck me like heʼs been dying to.

“You donʼt need any more confessions from me, then?ˮ He huffs, sweat slicked across his brow from the effort of holding back - though heʼs not really done so, has he?

“One last one, I suppose.ˮ I pull off of him, and the pout he gives nearly makes me sit right back down on him again.

“Alright, Iʼll be good and honest with you, then.ˮ He continues while I set to unlocking the cuffs, “You know the other day, just after we got the final piece of evidence put together?ˮ

I nod.

ˮI was so psyched, I couldʼve taken you right there. I donʼt care that everyone would have known, would have seen. Itʼs just something you do to me.ˮ He finishes, his tone light. Oh boy, Iʼm about to get railed. “I love you. And now Iʼm gonna fuck you like Iʼve been wanting to for weeks.ˮ

No sooner is he free, tearing off the shirt he was wearing and looming over me with the hungriest of looks at my body before pressing himself into me. No wait, no teasing - heʼs not got the control for it, clearly, and Iʼm not complaining one bit.

“Next time, you get the cuffs, pretty girl.ˮ He promises, his hands all over my body now that he can manage it. Hard, precise thrusts, his voice heavy and fucked-out.

“And Iʼll show you just what Iʼve been wanting to do that Iʼm gonna savor in my mind after.ˮ

My nails are leaving deep trails in his back, surely leading to marks that would raise questions if anyone else saw. Heʼs so far in me, almost bottomed out, and itʼs almost too much and yet not enough all at once. I pull him closer, and his hand tangles in my hair while the other clasps around my throat.

“Youʼre all mine.ˮ Spencer growls - truly, thereʼs not other word for it, the purely animal drive taking him to a world where itʼs just us, just this. And Iʼm there too, crying out with the ecstasy his body causes my own.

“All yours.ˮ

“Thatʼs right, pretty girl. Say it for me, I wanna hear you say it.ˮ

“Iʼm all yours, Spence- oh, my god-ˮ

“Good, thatʼs good. My pretty girl. Youʼre so tight, you feel so good wrapped around me, donʼt you? God, what a sight.ˮ Here he is, in his rambles now, and I can hardly contain how close I am. “Wanna tell everyone this is mine. Iʼm the only one that gets to have you, gets to fuck you like this. See you break for me. Only me.ˮ

“Only you, Spence, only you-ˮ

“Cʼmon, I know youʼre close, I can feel it. You get so much tighter, god, if itʼs even possible-ˮ

“Spencer-ˮ

“Thatʼs my girl, cum for me.ˮ

“Donʼt stop-ˮ I can feel the cord in me ready to snap, chasing my most intense orgasm of the night with his words and the feeling of him slamming so deep inside me. “More, Spence, you can give me more-ˮ

“Sweet girl, of course, I know you can handle it.ˮ He pushes himself fully in, my breath catching at the slight pain, yet itʼs still so good, I canʼt stop it, I donʼt want to. “Want me to fuck you so good with all of me, donʼt you?ˮ

I nod against his grasp, and he loosens it a bit, kissing me fervently.

“Please, please cum for me, I wanna feel you all over me, beautiful.ˮ He reaches down, his thumb rubbing circles on my clit. Itʼs the last thing I need to send me over that edge, and I cry out, his name slipping past my lips unwarranted. “Oh, baby, love how you say my name. Like itʼs a prayer, like Iʼm a god.ˮ

“Donʼt stop, Spence-ˮ

“Iʼm close, baby- Oh, I wanna cum in you-ˮ

Another orgasm follows near immediately after this one, and Iʼm grasping at him while heʼs chasing his own, his hands fumbling and his thrusts getting sloppy. He grips the sheets, his breaths stunted.

“Cum in me, please-ˮ

“Iʼm gonna, god, Iʼm so fuckinʼ close-ˮ He tightens around me, muscles shaking as he lets loose, and now itʼs his turn to moan my name a lot louder than he should while he cums. Heʼs so pretty when he does, too - the crease that works between his brows, the round pucker to his lips. Partly through, he kisses me, hard. And when heʼs done, his grip loosens, falling slack on top of me with a contented sigh.

A few moments pass where he just holds me, peppering soft kisses across my face and telling me you did such a good job, baby. Then, he pops up with a smile and comes back with water and a towel, cleaning up after himself.

“Satisfied?ˮ I chuckle, slowly pulling my clothes back on.

“Almost.ˮ He dips his head down, capturing a nipple in his mouth for a few moments. I groan, overstimulated, but still too happy to appease him. “Now, Iʼm satisfied. Iʼm staying in here, okay? Donʼt care if someone sees at this point.ˮ

“Spence?ˮ

“Mmhm?ˮ

“I love you, too.ˮ

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 2 part 1

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

Hey tumblr queers and agathario enthusiasts (I see you guys in the comments! @crybabyheathen, sorry to cause you so much distress! @onceuponalegendbg: I KNOW, RIGHT?? @ragnarockz thank you for being a butch!Agatha truther ❤️❤️)

Let's start episode 2, Circle Sewn with Fate / Unlock Thy Hidden Gate. Which, yes, has no Rio. But it has Lilia! Se let's count our blessings!!

oh my god girl, calm down! she's gone! focus!

that's a beautiful composed shot, with billy's head next to the rabbit, already telling us that he's going to become a son to Agatha

lmao she's about to bolt

aaaand she stops dead in her tracks when Billy mentions the Road. Look at her reflection again! that's so deliberate and so intriguing. how would you guys interpret it?

the Ballad theme playing in the background again. Agatha takes a whole step back when she hears the words "the Witches' Road" and immediately says no. she might be despicable, but there's no way she's getting a kid involved. especially not this kid. because they are somehow connected, otherwise how would she know about the car crash? even without knowing that this is Billy, she already cares about him. and she doesn't lie to him, even the tarots will say so. she might just, you know, omit things or even tell the truth from a certain point of view (already working on her obi-wan ghost mentor tricks)

"The road is no place to a kid." and so he was christened

but I can't stop staring at that rabbit picture. were the set people told to find the brightest bunny they could find? they really want you to notice it

now he's hopping like a bunny too! yes his legs are still tied, but I'm telling you it's all deliberate!! (insert either the pepe silvia or the I've connected the dots meme here)

don't tell him THAT. now he's gonna internalize it and accidentally kill you all one by one. christ.

girl you just got thrown around the room like a rag doll. you put together that outfit in two minutes, didn't even take a shower. you have no make up on. are you wearing ralph's shoes. is that his hat. (her being so frazzled speaks of how shell-shocked she is, she would usually take time to perfect the way she looks, because her looks is her armor)

billy is bullshitting too, he just googled her last night. I mean, I'm 100% convinced he cares about Agatha, but he is faking at least some of that trust and innocence (and good for him because she's a menace)

great, she found the brooch and nicky's hair. who needs a heart anyway, here, tear it out of my chest why don't you

Lilia has such beautiful handwriting. what a multitalent

NO, agatha. BAD agatha. now she's decided she might as well throw a little Road together and kill two or three idiots while keeping the boy safe on the side, which HISTORICALLY HAS NOT WORKED WELL FOR HER. how can she be so smart and SO STUPID

this also goes in the Top 5 Funniest Things Agatha's Ever Done list. now picture again all the dramatic car scenes from episode 1

covens are drawn together by fate and are the truest form of sisterhood??? why is rewatching this show kind of like being repeatedly stabbed in the heart???!!!??

look billy, it's the house where you were born! it was incredibly weird. a stork was there. (oh god, I just realized Billy is 3 years old)

Agatha spits at Wanda's home because a) she hates wanda and b) she hates that people hate wanda. this is the equivalent of being a queer kid and seeing faggot written on a locker (do I need to censor words? do tiktok rules apply now? I haven't written tumblr posts in so long)

except that, as Lilia will tell you, agatha has done a lot to smear witches' reputations, so yeah. consequences of her own actions etc.

be cool, man. mama is having the worst hangover of her life.

oh yes, Billy's boyfriend, Boyf.

shut up agatha, you know you wanna protect that little twink with your whole life

I almost wish I had an extra hour so I could gif agatha throwing the pen out of the window.

don't steal other people's pearls you hooligan (but see? clothes and accessories are props to her)

(by the way you won't find any Billy hate here, because I adore parent-children, mentor-mentee and found family relationships. and I think he's a sweetheart)

agatha discreetly snatching the eviction notice from the door. always thinking ahead, always scheming. the con master at work

*angel choir*

✨✨LILIA CALDERU✨✨

this show gave me a tragic villainous middle aged lesbian, which is literally my catnip, and she's only like, my second favorite character. which tells you all you need to know about the powers of dame Patti LuPone (I know she's not technically a dame) (yet) (I don't care if she's american Chucks, get to it!)

that's all I have time for tonight, can't wait to get me some ✨✨✨✨ Lilia scenes ✨✨✨✨

go to episode 2 part 2

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 08/10✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

Anonimo ha chiesto: I feel like in cannon baby MK was the kind of kid to eat glue, mainly because he hatched from a rock and doesn't know what anything is.

isn’t it like how all babies are? I think I also used to eat glue

@purpleprinceblood ha chiesto: In the spicynoodles bit where you explain how Red Son was charmed by Mk's beautiful personality and kind nature (/silly), you said Mk is Demi sexual Do you have other sexuality headcanons for the cast, or is it just "they're gay for each other"?

Pan for Mei, Bi for Redson, both Wukong and Macaque are in a way pan, in the sense that they don’t really care about gender, but are only gay for each other.

@kehideni ha chiesto: Whatever happened with never drawing a background ever again? :D On a more serious note: may we know the exact relation of DBK and Chiyou(did i spell that right?)? I'm just the nosy type :3

Chiyou has 72 brothers, one of them is an ancestor of DBK

@marcusalexander ha chiesto: I have a question is spider queen in your comic, and if so, is she like a part of the team or enemy or anuite? I'm just curious since she isn't that evil. By the way, I love your comic shadowpeach parents

The AU is set after S5, so I guess she’s enemy

Anonimo ha chiesto: Macaque HAS to be doing a little happy dance in the bio parents AU that murder isn’t considered distinct from self-defense Imagine being like… a legitimate threat to the world around you, and getting put down to defend it, and then being hailed as “the less bad one” because you were killed But this also means that MK probably views himself as a murdered for killing the LBD/Azure Lion too cause again “killing in self defense/defense of others= murder

most likely MK feels super duper guilty for what he did, and will continue to be until he get some extra comfort.

@goldenthecat ha chiesto: I'm wondering, since you watch lmk do you watch other Lego shows too? Like Ninjago or friends

does having saw the ninjago movie and a 4 hours video essay recap about the first 14 season count?

@haruwashere29 ha chiesto: Did wukong put his head over macaque’s chest to hear his heartbeat? 😭😭😭

OH OK NOW WE ARE ON WITH THE ANGST. YES 100%

Anonimo ha chiesto: You said Wukong is warm , change my mind that macaque has absolutely put his cold feet straight on wukongs back while he was sleeping not just cause he was cold but because he thought it was funny

hehe he has cold feet poor boy.

@og-glitch-punk ha chiesto: I'm haunting you at thisnpoint im so sorry but your lmk comic gives ideas and thoughts bro lmao /gen SO HERES ANITHER THOUGHT... If you technically think about it, MK is basically an clone (not but words are EHHH) of Sun wukong because they came from the sane rock. But what about our spooky Macaque? We have no knowledge of how he came to be but we all may assume it's the same way with MK and Wukong. but.. BUT. If Macaque had his own stone somewhere in the shadows then what if there's an basically MK but Macaque verison? Even if not, that would be wild to think about lol

like a slightly more emo version of MK? Something like the OK KO situation?

Anonimo ha chiesto: Hello I just wanted to say I'M IN LOVE WITH YOUR COMIC it's sooooo good I'm obsessed and the recent part... I have no word only emotion Even though I use Tumblr for a while I still getting use to it so.. do you know any other Shadowpeach comics? I couldn't find any 😅

mmmm @kristea9ay is doing a shadowpeach parent story that’s really cute!

Anonimo ha chiesto: I NEED to see wukong and macaque having a cute moment and accidentally touch each others tails yk? 🥺🥺🥺 (and mk quitting is a stab to the chest, i dont think there is anything worse in store... Right?... RIGHT?!)

at this point they ain’t touching the tails “accidentally” anymore these bitches are too gay I can’t anymore-

@amyrosewithoutshadow ha chiesto: I think the next one that will need Sandy is Wukong, lol I always thought about one thing, how Wukong deal with traumas and crises? We only saw him dealing with it during his sleep, but what about a daylight crises? Love your art 💞

he has a “I can do it with a broken heart”-by-taylor-Swift-masking situation.

@alizardonfire ha chiesto: I understand why MK doesn't want to be their successor mostly because I think he needs time to think about all of it. There's a lot to unpack! I love how wukongs more shocked about it. And I think macaque kinda saw it coming?

i think Mac forseen that MK would have changed his view on Wukong for sure. But he didn’t know in which way.

@siennabanana ha chiesto: HDBDJDBDHSHDV NEW HEADCANON UNLOCKED: sometimes he misses his human form but he doesn’t tell wukong and macaque bc he feels like that would be an insult to them and plus he still thinks his monkey form is cool but eughhh dysphoriaa

awwww he might be sometimes! Good thing they are starting to hang out outside FFM as well!

@blazerratbluefire-blog ha chiesto: If Wukong ever manages to be able to control his kaiju form, I could easily see Macaque's kaiju form using him as a bed, and along comes MK wanting in on the action. Then, he proceeds to lay on top of Macaque, squishing him with his kaiju and making a wholesome monkey family bonding session. With Wukonh laughing that Macaque is being squished. Just a funny thought I had.

oh my I think he would be waaayyy to big for the other two ahah

Anonimo ha chiesto: For your LMK shadowpeach AU will Ironfan be making up for all of MK's birthdays she missed? (Dropping off a mountain of presents at FFM?) (My partner joked she would give Redson in a box, not in a bow or anything just in an open box like a cat.)

she would probably make a courtnapping room for her son to gift him, and Red Son would die from embarrassment right there.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Dose macaque sometimes cook for MK and wukong since wukong tends to eat his fur/hair and macaque fonts approve of it

I think yes, he would cook probably really basics but nutrient-full meals, the few times they don’t eat noodle from pigsy shop

Anonimo ha chiesto: TCan we get Red Son and MK Angst because Red Son technology tried to kill MK a lot of times?

just bc of the AU main plot I don’t think so, also bc at this point traffic light trio are all friends with each other.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Speaking of birthdays, I assume Pigsy and Tang celebrate when MK showed up in their life or a random day when MK first asked about his birthday. Would Wukong and Macaque ask Nuwa the day he was put in the rock/broken out of it (I assume he came out and was immediately brought to Pigsy the same day but idk) or is that sort of a sore subject still, with the whole harbinger thing?

I think the best thing would be to celebrate it the day they found it!

@yuk1yun ha chiesto: Giuro che è un mese che provo a rendere il mio cosplay di mk simile alla tua au (perché anche se è semplice è stupendo), ma non so come fare le orecchie... Sono di nuovo qui per dirti quanto adoro la rua au btw :)

ADUYDJYTDY SE HAI BISOGNO DI RIFERIMENTI FAMMI SAPERE! E MANDAMI IL RISULTATO QUANDO HAI FINITO!!!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: I'm just waiting until Mk realizes the other things Wukong and Macaque did, yk like what Sun did to Redson, what Mac did to some of the monkeys all that

I think with time MK will slowly learn everything, but for example I guess now Red Son and Wukong are at truce

Anonimo ha chiesto: I'm just obsessed with your shadowpeach comics!!✨✨ But heey~ how about bai he!? l think it will be super amazing if add her in the future to this little cute monkeys family

awww baby!! I hope she went back to her family honestly! But I also hope sometimes she visits MK!

@yainmy ha chiesto: Oh gods I when I found this bio parents au I got HOOKED. I love it so much and the shenanigans and the angst are just *chef's kiss*. I have some curious questions if you don't mind me asking, but if a similar situation happens in the future like when mk got baby-fied, but instead his forms get split up (human and monkey demon) would he have that child crisis of fear "if im not this certain way they wont want me as theirs anymore", considering he is still learning about the whole monkey business? Also in a shenanigans sort of question, I don't remember how stone monkeys are made in their world but it would be hilarious if mk asked wukong and macaque that since they both are male and they technically "had" him then does that mean they can give him a sibling if they wanted? Sorry if it's to long of an ask 😅

i think MK would mostly feel a sense of loss for the fact that in a way, things should have been like this, like when he “hatched” Wukong probably would have found him if it wasn’t for the fact someone or something brought it to Pigsy shop. He would have grown up with someone who could tell him how to be a stone Monkey and teach him his power. Surely, I think Wukong wouldn’t have been as good as a parent as Pigsy, and MK doesn’t regret a bit how things actually ended up happening, but it’s a bit of a case of “sometimes I imagine how my life would have been if it went this way”

Anonimo ha chiesto: I know it's a bit out of the scope of your comic, but I'm wondering if Mei's design is just stylistic additions as if they were always there due to her dragon heritage, or if you have any ideas of scenes that took place as she grew more dragon features?

she started to grow more and more into them after she was accepted by her family sword and started to use her dragon form more and more.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Do you ever think Macaque and Wukong argue over who the little monkeys on the mountain like more? Like Im 100% sure Macaque wouldn't really care but the idea of not being the favorite bothers Wukong

the monkeys go crazy for soft fur Mamacaque. Wukong will always be pissed at this.

@snsp6 ha chiesto: do u like the hc that Mac has naturally snow-white fur? cs when u showed him wo glamours I realized that u don’t rlly color anything so I wanted to ask if it was still black or some type of mix between the two

akjdkajsbkaj I love for that shit YES. Yeah I don’t really colour my comics but yeah he cover it with glamour

Anonimo ha chiesto: I don't think MK ever really acknowledged that Wukong is a person, still a glorified deity. As mentioned MK hasn't really read the actual book and really didn't know his flawed side. MK has seen the worst parts of Macaque and still accepted him.

and now he knows about Wukong worst oarts and still accept him :D

@alistairliddell ha chiesto: What is FFM?

Flower Fruit Mountain

[kanmom51]

Jikook - Are you sure?!

My take is that they pretty much are!!

I've been mulling over this for a few days now.

Do I write this? How do I approach the subject and how do I even put this onto paper (figuratively)?

I touched on this a little in previous posts, including in my last one about choices. Clear cut choices the two of them made regarding enlistment, the show and how they wanted to spend the little spare time they had before their restrictive 18 months military service.

But this post here is specifically about the show.

Even before the show came out I was thinking about the subject and discussing this with friends. Why do the show? Is there something they are wanting to tell us and if so what is it they are trying to tell us?

The first question was an obvious to me even before the show came out, before we heard their discussion in the car on the way to CT.

It was a way to spend time together in the guise of work (once again, a choice they made so that they can spend much needed quality time together within the constricts of their schedules and upcoming enlistment - and that car discussion sure did show us just how much this was a need for the two of them).

Being such a short time before enlistment, both with separate super busy solo schedules, this here was their way of getting to travel together, including out of the country (for which they needed it to be for work to allow said travel at this point prior to enlistment), spend quality time together, creating those new memories to carry with them into the military, all while under the protection of "work".

It's not that they hadn't spent time together. We talked about this already. This was about it not being enough. Not enough quality time. Not enough memory making time before this life changing event they are going to go through.

We have to remember that when this was initially thought about, the idea of the show, them enlisting together was not a done deal. Can you just imagine that? Them knowing that time is running out and they have to enlist but might have to part ways for 18 months? If so many of us were so stressed out about the idea, what do you think it felt like for them?

There was so much going on behind the scenes, which we were unaware of, it's actually quite comical knowing what we know today and looking back at the discourse surrounding those two - the stories of heartbreaking breakups or just plain indifference to each other - all because people just cannot come to terms with the fact that not all their lives are out on display for us (kind of blows to pieces the whole Jikook are for fanservice narrative, if you ask me), that these two can and do spend time together when only they can, behind closed doors, just enjoying each other's company doing whatever. That there are powers at play (many reasons why they were toned down in public and content in 2023), that there are things they might need to be doing in order to reach an end goal that suits them, playing a long game. And the one sentence I have on repeat since I started here on Tumblr:

Not seeing them most definitely does not mean they aren't there.

And boy did they prove that one to us during AYS. Time after time. They get together. They see each other. They spend time with each other. They share things with each other. And huge surprise (NOT): they do it off camera!!! Without us knowing. Without reporting back to us. WOW!!!

As usual, off track meet Kanmom...

Back to the show.

So, talk about doing this came before they knew for sure that they would be enlisting together. It came months before. Way before July 2023. Toying with the idea, turning it into a plan of sorts and then it took planning and booking and getting permits for filming, including using drones for filming.

This might partially explain why the first trip happened in July and not earlier, although they both did have busy schedules pretty much from April 2023 onward and the trip happened when JM finished recording Muse).

And what about the destinations? Why these three?

Connecticut - I think this one was more of a chance decision, as in it was suggested to them seeing that timewise this was the only time they had available for that first much much needed trip. JK was already scheduled to be in the USA, they had Hybe America to rely on as far as finding locations, places to stay, activities to do and places to eat. And I do think that doing this, the unknown location in a country where they don't speak the language fluently was actually something of a thrill to them as well (going to a location where the chances of them being recognized as JM and JK of BTS were kind of low). But mainly, I do believe this was more of a "we need this trip and we need it now, so we will go wherever, just make it happen" kind of situation. This was "the much needed trip".

Jeju - Jeju is a safe place for them. A place they both love and have visited multiple times separately and together (the last time prior to this trip was only weeks before). Even without Tae, this would have been a lighthearted, activity filled fun trip. Tae being there highlighted them, their intimacy, their connection with each other. And it probably did tame down some of their naughtiness, although we did get to see plenty of that as well. This was "the fun trip".

Sapporo - Japan as a whole is a destination they love. I mean, and JK said that himself, Tokyo is where they took their first alone trip together, they loved Tokyo, and the memories from that trip are dear to their heart to this day. They got to do Tokyo together again. Not together all the time, probably not as much as they wanted to either, but still managed to spend some time together in Tokyo before moving on to Sapporo where they filmed the show. A trip to Japan, Tokyo, and Sapporo as well is a sentimental one. Places they have been, places where good memories were made (as part of BTS and as a couple), places where they will make more good memories that they will carry with them to the military. This is "the emotional/ sentimental trip", or "the nostalgic trip".

And you can see the difference in their behavior between the three trips. Each and every one of those trips meant so much to them but each in a different way. And when you look back at the three as a whole they needed all three.

The perfect trifecta.

The idea was spending time together, making it a work thing allowed for the travel abroad, but it also carved it into a work schedule. Which means, unlike regular time off that can be moved and cancelled, doing this set their plans in stone, in a way, ensuring that these trips actually happened.

This was also a huge opportunity for JM and JK to create content for Army for when they were away. A choice to showcase themselves, their "chemistry", a word used a lot to describe the show. This, on the one hand, was great for JM, who obviously does not want to be visible during his service (and JK is kind of the same, especially when he has JM by his side), and on the other hand created content for Hybe to release while they were away. And having it on Disney, creating merch and a photobook (and maybe there is more stuff to come) is more income for the company while they are away, so win win (that explains Hybe agreeing to this in the first place).

All those are obvious, clear reasons as to why this show came into fruition.

But I do think there is more.

And before I move on to that, I want to remind us all, once again and with feeling, that all 3 destinations were supposed to be Jikook and Jikook only. Jeju was not meant to be a maknae destination. Tae was not invited, and I mean no malice in that. It's just me stating the truth. They let him know that multiple times during the trip. And him being there, in a sense, just highlighted how different they are with each other than either of them or both of them with Tae.

So, they wanted to do a show, just the two of them, visiting different destinations, enjoying different activities, good food and just being (the whole them just being was more evident in CT and Sapporo because of it only being the two of them, although we certainly did get some Jikook BEING moments from Jeju as well).

I get wanting to spend the time together, carve out new memories to carry with them into enlistment, but why show it to us, why the way it was done? Hours and hours of Jikook content, some of just the two basically doing nothing, or nothing much? It's not about sightseeing (not really), it's not about the activities, not really, it's not even about the food (gasp).

This is not about the travel, it's about them!!!

It's about them doing their thing, and us just enjoying sitting for hours on end, watching them do their thing and SEEING them.

Not the places they go, not the things they do, not even the food they eat. It's seeing them do those things, eat those things, be together - them just BE.

And it's about them wanting to give that to us. They want us to see THEM. See what they are together, what they are to each other.

JK and JM know that there are parts of the fandom that have a visceral reaction to them, as Jikook (together and apart - a lot of said hate stems from what and who they are together) . We know that JK monitors SM. Maybe not down to the ugliest, but they know. And still they want to show themselves, because this is who they are and they want to be able to be themselves as freely as possible (depending on just how far they want to be going).

They can't come out and tell us, not yet, maybe not ever. It is what it is, sadly.

But they do want to cement this within the fandom:

JM and JK together can be over the top in every sense. PERIOD.

And when I say over the top I mean as sus as shit...

JM and JK love each other dearly. PERIOD.

JM and JK are inseparable. PERIOD.

JM and JK are close as can be. PERIOD.

JM and JK enjoy spending time with each other. PERIOD.

JM and JK CHOOSE to spend time with each other when they can (the whole Jeju change of plans makes it even clearer) - PERIOD.

JM and JK NEED to spend time with each other. PERIOD.

JM and JK are playful together, as much as they are serious together - PERIOD.

JM and JK care for each other and take care of each other (well they try to as much as the other allows it). PERIOD.

JM and JK enjoy to do the exciting and the mundane together. PERIOD.

*I do believe that JK climbing is just as exciting as rock climbing. And they enjoyed both...

JM and JK know each other intimately - PERIOD.

JM and JK find safety, peace and comfort in each other - PERIOD.

JM and JK do not act like a typical "we are not in a relationship" hyung and donsaeng act - PERIOD.

JM and JK do things bros just do not do with or to each other - PERIOD.

JM and JK share their work with each other - PERIOD.

JM and JK are the embodiment of You are me I am you - PERIOD.

Jikook can most definitley be seen as a unit. PERIOD.

*Something that has been shied away from for too damn long.

Add to all of that those the things you just can't put into words. But they are there. They are undeniable. That chemistry, that love, that need, that je ne sais quoi, that engulfs everything else and makes it all feel like so much MORE!!!

More palpable, more intense, just MORE.

Remember my whole rubber band theory starting way back in 2021, how I think Hybe and Jikook were stretching the boundaries seeing just how far it can be stretched without breaking?

Ear suck stretch, pas de deux stretch, Christmas couples cheer stretch, hickey stretch (these are all moments that were either shown by the company in official content - like memories - or part of officially filmed content - like filmed performances)... and then came 2022 followed by 2023, with the company taking 20 steps back, but that's for another day (if ever).

This here, my friends, is the ultimate rubber band stretch. Hours and hours of content to show us that every single one of those Jikook instances that came before were not a one of. Not forced. Not singular and far apart. That what we have seen of them is NOTHING compared to what they are, because this is them all the damn time. Cameras on cameras off (dare I say that when cameras are off it's way worse?). Together with the others, or by themselves. No more "it might be out of context". We get the context, most of it, and still we get THEM. And that rubber band, it still hasn't snapped, cause there are still those that do not see it, lol. But, I think it's safe to say that many do and those that don't, well, many of them cannot deny anymore just how close they are. Even though "brothers" or "besties" still comes up a lot.

It's funny how things that were obvious to many of us needed to be reinforced by JM and JK in this show. It always baffled me the way a big chunk of this fandom steered away from Jikook, like touching on the subject was a taboo. Like Jikookers were insane, delusional (we are used to be called that). Not only steering away from a romantic involvement, but also that, god forbid, they are the closest within the group of 7. That didn't sit right with many. Ruined their Vmin soulmates dreams, or TKK best mates or whatever (do we raise the subject once again why the clearly closest duo in the group were kind of put aside, not acknowledged as such not only by the fandom but by the company as well?). OR, and I feel like this one is the winner, admitting as to how close those two were, with their clear super suspicious behaviour, would have them have to admit that there was something more going on between them. Homophobia or over wokeness, either way these people were ignoring what the two were signaling to us for years now. And now, well now, we are in chapter 2, or perhaps just before chapter 3. All of them after service. We know from RM how he's bursting at the seams to tell us things he feels he can't say just yet (and couldn't prior to enlistment), I do believe this is going to be something we will be seeing from all of them. They are mature men now, they have fulfilled their duty to their country, they are BTS, talented successful, rich artists. They have signed new contracts after long negotiations. They will have more freedom. And they will be showing us more. Things they couldn't before. And this show, imo, is one of those steps forward.

Let the world see JM and JK as they are. There will be those that SEE them. There will be those that acknowledge their closeness. There will always be those that continue to deny or hate them because they SEE them. But at the end of the day, this here is a step forward for them to be able to live their lives openly, be who they are to each other and with each other, not have to hide or tone back too much (there will always be toning back because you can't be too open on camera and because at this point they are kind of used to it). They don't have to 'come out' officially loudly (if they do not choose to). As long as they can continue to BE the way they want to and live their lives freely the way they want to. It's always been their choice, but this here allows them more freedom within that glass closet if they choose not to break through it. They will be who they are, live their lives freely as they will, leaving others to think as they want, neither denying nor confirming anything.

Let's be clear here though. This too is a choice. A brave one as such. Because no matter what they decide to do, if it is to leave things as they are, or if they decide post military service to 'come out' as a couple (and there could be reasons for them to make that choice), this show here is as loud as @&#%.

And proud as $@&%

*And for clarification sake, just incase, none of the above is me voicing my opinion about if or should they 'come out' or not after being discharged from the military.

I can't believe AYS is coming to an end. Last episode tomorrow. I know we still have the behinds and we still have the photobook coming, but I sure am feeling the "the show has come to an end" blues. This here, what we got with this show I don't know if we will ever get another chance at. Them letting us in as much as they did. I do hope they know just how much we appreciate them allowing us to see THEM and how very much they are loved!!!

[kaeyacollection]

Who's ready for my Master Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss Crepus Theory!!

I originally posted this over at Hoyolab and people there seemed to really like my favorite joke theory that Crepus just tries to gaslight the whole of Mondstadt right after obtaining Kaeya

Majority of this will be the same but with little tweaks for the wonderful tumblr audience

This joke stems from Kaeya's introduction:

and the use of the word "rumored"

Cause it's not like it said beyond Teyvat or the seven nations just Mondstadt

And I mean like c'mon how many families are living off the grid in Mondstadt

(Actually... Don't answer that I forgot Glory's boyfriend is just

Out there in the bush with Razor...)

Initially I had the idea of Crepus walking around the markets one day carrying Kaeya with Diluc beside him running into Varka who asks:

"Who's the boy?"

"You mean my son?"

"Not Diluc the boy you're carrying"

"I have two sons? You know this??"

But then the Caribert quest came out mentioning Kaeya ran away from home near immediately and was dragged home by Crepus just as fast and it became even funnier

Cause imagine you're by the docks one day and richest man in town gets off the boat with no cargo but instead a tiny child you may not have seen before that Crepus seems to be very cross with at the moment and threatening to turn him into a leash kid if he runs off again

In a small town that loves gossip do you know how fast that information is spreading? Cause I do and Varka's knocking on Crepus's door 30 minutes later like:

"Is this what we're doing? We're just taking kids now?"

Both paths lead to Varka asking where Kaeya comes from and getting hit with a

"I think you're a bit too old to still be confused about the birds and the bees Varka"

Varka getting frustrated to the point he just starts demanding Kaeya tell him what's up

Love to see him following in his fathers footsteps of stressing Varka the fuck out

And upon hearing how his birth father left for juice and didn't return Varka went

"Good! That was ALL I needed to know!!"

Follow ups on if his father intended to abandon him or got lost in the storm and needed a search party?

Don't care!! You weren't kidnapped!!

Welcome to the knights! 🤝

Which bringing it back to it only being a rumor

In a town of alcoholics, who's gonna call out the one guy with the winery?

Here's some add ons that got sparked from the comment section 😘

Bonus panels would have included Varka showing up with Rosaria one day mimicking Crepus about "wHaT you ForGot I haD a Kid" sparking a trend within the community of just adopting random children to the point posters are made saying "In Barbatos name: See a child Take a child"

Alice seeing it and pulling a "when in rome" tucking both Albedo and Diluc(who is yelling he is an adult) under her arms and telling Klee if she ever sees someone in need of a mom let her know she'll send over the paperwork right away

And then the last bonus: Venti wakes up, walks in through the gate while playing a tune, and stops when he sees the poster, not sure if he needs to start yet another revolution, or if this one is fine actually

I imagine the posters had to be taken down because visitors were losing their kids left and right and the solution of parents pinning a note saying "not dead & still want custody" to their kids shirt didn't catch on but the saying still lives strong in the hearts of Mondstadt's citizens I mean look Bennett and his 27 dads Mondstadt may have a lot of orphans but the demand is even higher

Comment on original post:

"I have a headcanon where Kaeya fooled first Crepus, then the rest of Mondstadt but.this is too funny!! I want to see this happening!"

Which prompted one of my new favorite lines at the end:

"Wait by fool Crepus first do you mean like Crepus finding him out in the storm bringing him inside to ask him where he lives and Kaeya's just

"? I live here? You adopted me? Are you feeling okay?"

Cause I'm absolutely cry laughing over this that's so good but that also means when Kaeya runs away Crepus is just

"hey no no l'm not misplacing you a second time come home" "

[lonewolflupe]

Experimenting with clones art

Oh Maker, not me being totally nervous about posting this art

Being an artist means you're stuck in an everlasting cycle of change and growth. The need to see progress in every artpiece can be both a motivation and a burden. Sometimes we make these big steps, and other times it feels like we're at a total standstill. And sometimes we just have to take a step back, and be confident with whatever we're used to.

After a super weird January, in which it felt like everything was weighing me down, I'm both very excited and really anxious to take a new big step. I've always aspired to find an art style that gives off Tem-vibes, but is still cartoony. And although I still have a long way to go, I feel like I was finally able to lift my art to a next level again.

Being in the art trenches (thanks for that wording, @ghostymarni ), fighting your way towards progress can be a total pain in the shebs and sometimes leads to disappointment. But once you've made it to the other side and you see what's in front of you, oh boy can I tell you, that feeling is satisfying.

Long story short, to everyone struggling out there with their creative skills: keep practicing, keep trying, and you WILL grow. Remember to take a step back every so often, just to look back to see what you've been through. Because there will be growth, I promise you.

There are so many Tumblr users that inspired me, that helped me be where I am today. And not just artists, but every supportive message has helped me on this art journey. Helped me develop and progress my art style through the months. I can't believe I only started drawing humans back in June. Thanks to all of you out there <3 I can't wait to see where I'll be in another few months!

Alright please excuse me now, it wasn't my intention to get all sentimental. I'll be off to headbang to my favourite metal playlist now, brb.

Taglist (read to join): @aknightreaderr @returnofthepineapple @sunshinesdaydream @xchainfreak @kotemf

[wreckless-tempestry]

“May I have this dance?”

Year of the OTP 2025 — January Prompt

Characters: Finn x Shrimpo (Dandy’s World)

AN: WHOO I managed to make this 4.2k words exactly lmao. Anyway euhh this is my first time posting my writing to Tumblr so I hope you enjoy! These two tickle my brain so I dedicated my January to them (and will probably do so again for the rest of 2025 💀). Not sure how many shrimpbowl enjoyers are on Tumblr but pspspsps come out come out wherever you are.

As far as the whole New Years thing went, Shrimpo wasn’t a fan. Maybe other Toons felt the need to make silly resolutions, or claim it was time for a ‘new them’ but not him – he was already awesome and the best of all Toons just the way he was; there was no need for change! Thus, every January 1st that rolled around was met with Shrimpo’s typical disdain. Clearly such a meaningless date change warranted no means for celebration.

His obviously impeccable logic never seemed to pick up with the other Toons, however, and just like every year Gardenview was hosting a dance that night in the center, with all Toons being welcome to attend. A certain hum of anticipation could be felt throughout the day, with all of Gardenview’s inhabitants bustling about to make sure everything was ready for the big event. Several Toons were helping to set up the final decorations, with Dandy’s supervision, and the rest were getting themselves properly dressed and prepared for the evening.

Shrimpo was… in his room, predictably. He was trying to get in some boxing practice, but it was proving rather difficult to get in the zone when Scraps was loudly rummaging through her closet next door, giggling with her brother Goob all the while. He hated Scraps, he hated Goob, he hated dances, hated hated hated—

“Heya, Shrimpo! You pumped about the dance too?”

Shrimpo’s fist missed the punching bag entirely at the sudden voice behind him, and he whirled around with boiling ire to yell in some idiot’s face — to be met with a familiar gap-toothed grin.

Finn had traded out his usual orange life vest (god how Shrimpo despised that thing) for a white dress shirt and crimson tie, accompanied with slacks that matched the shirt. The cuffs were folded back several times, and those shoes had to be at least 2 sizes too big, yet the fishbowl seemed practically ecstatic. Like staring at a goddamn sun, Shrimpo thought, his previous loathing bubbling down to faint annoyance.

“Your tie’s crooked, dummy,” Shrimpo commented rather than replying, turning back to his punching bag.

“Ack! Come on, Goob, I trusted you!” Finn replied semi-jokingly as he attempted to tighten the offending tie, with little success. Shrimpo sighed in agitation, staring at the bag in front of him for one fleeting moment before reluctantly beginning to take his boxing gloves off. 

“You asked Goob to do your tie? That’s the dumbest thing I've ever heard.” Shrimpo snorted as he approached the other Toon. 

“Well, it was his tie, and he seemed so happy about–” 

In one swift movement Shrimpo grabbed the tie in his hands and yanked the knot upward (albeit perhaps a little too forcefully) so that it rested snugly against Finn’s neck. The boy in question coughed in mild surprise and tugged on his collar slightly. “Are ties supposed to be this tight?” he queried.

“Of course it is! I always tie them right,” Shrimpo boasted, a small smirk appearing on his face as he stepped back to admire his handiwork. No need to mention it was the only time he’d ever tied a tie — surely this was proof enough. 

“Well, if you say so,” Finn conceded, his previous grin reemerging. “Thanks, Shrimpo! You’re a big kelp.”

Of course. Shrimpo knew it was too good to be true, to have evaded any aquatic puns for so long. His smirk fell almost instantly. “That doesn’t even make sense!” he answered with a scowl, crossing his arms. “All you did was switch out a letter!”

“I’m running low on material right now, okay?” Finn complained in response. “I’m going out to pick up some more books tomorrow, and then I’ll have a ton of good jokes for you, promise!”

Shrimpo was tempted to retort that all of Finn’s jokes were terrible and he was a menace to everyone around him, but the fishbowl was already backing out of the room. “Thanks again! Can’t wait to see you at the dance!” were Finn’s final words before he scampered off down the hall.

“Huh? Hey, wait—!” Shrimpo was far too late to call out to Finn and explain that he had no intention whatsoever of leaving his room tonight. What, did Finn think he’d be caught dead on a dance floor? Hell no. Besides, with all the other toons up at Gardenview Center, he might finally be able to get a moment of peace and quiet down here. 

With an exasperated groan, Shrimpo shuffled over to his bed and flopped down onto the somewhat stiff mattress. Punching the pillow once, he rolled onto his back and stared up at his remarkably unextraordinary ceiling. The hallway outside had quieted down significantly, he realized; most of the Toons must already be making their way upstairs to the dance. “I hate pillows,” he muttered for good measure.

It was at rare moments like these, when there was no one around to berate and nothing to profess his undying hatred towards, that Shrimpo presumed he would have some peace of mind. Usually he did, or at least his thoughts weren’t quite so loud. Today, however, his brain seemed to have different plans. Against his own will, he started to think with purpose, and not only about his hate for remarkably unextraordinary ceilings.

The hall was silent. Everyone else was at the dance. Shrimpo was alone in the dorms. The dance would last a couple hours. He had nothing important to do and a lot of time to fill. Thinking would only last him so long before he didn’t want to anymore. Nobody had any plans of running into him. 

Well… almost nobody.

Heya Shrimpo! You pumped about the dance too?

Are ties supposed to be this tight?

Thanks again! Can’t wait to see you at the dance!

Might as well go to bed a little earlier than usual, eh? Not much else to do anyway. He closed his eyes. He could hear the faint buzz of the fluorescent lamps out in the hall. He opened his eyes. He looked at the clock. Four minutes had passed since the dorms had cleared out. 

Thanks again! Can’t wait to see you at the dance!

He looked back up at the empty, empty ceiling.

Thanks again! Can’t wait to see you at the dance!

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He walked over to where he had placed his boxing gloves, stared down at them, and turned back around again. Shuffling a little ways, he opened his closet and stared at what little contents it harbored. He closed it, looked at the bed, looked at the doorway.

Thanks again! Can’t wait to–

He slammed the closet open again. The room felt smaller, the silence deafening. The air hung about him like a blanket made to smother.

‘I need to get out of here.’ He whipped around again to make for the hall, then paused. Where to? Hell would freeze over the day anything worth visiting popped up in this hellhole. The food in the cafeteria might as well be garbage, and he didn’t particularly have an appetite at the moment anyway. Stopping by the rooms of other Toons would be weird, not to mention pointless — everyone and their mother was probably at the goddamn…

He stood in the center of his room, breathing out of his mouth and his sights fixed on nothing. He looked up and to the side. Four minutes had turned to seven.

Thanks aga–

He turned, excruciatingly slowly, and glanced back at his closet. 

Gardenview Center was, predictably, chock-full with guests. Several were up on the dais in the center of the room dancing to the music being broadcast over the speakers. Others were milling around by the food and beverage stations, and yet others were wandering aimlessly about, whether by themselves or with friends. Finn was nowhere in sight.

Shrimpo stood stiffly in the entryway, hands in fists at his side. The most remotely formal thing he could find was some unlabeled letterman jacket, which he had slung over his regular attire. 

“Shrimpo! Glad t’see ya here, friend!” Goob waved at him as he walked past, his sister at his side. He sported an uncharacteristically dignified tuxedo, bowtie and all.

“Shut up!” Shrimpo hissed immediately. “I hate dances and I hate you!” He silently congratulated himself on not completely losing his touch; he still had his fiery tongue after all. Goob gave him a weird look before turning and making his way inside. Scraps gave Shrimpo a dirty side-eye as she passed; he shot her the finger in return.

This is stupid. He whipped around on his heel, fully prepared to take his leave. Why the hell was he here? He had made it abundantly clear to everyone that he wasn't all for such events. Finn would just have to suck it up and deal with it; what sort of imbecile leaves a guy hanging after all but–

A hand grabbed his own from behind him. For the second time that day, Shrimpo spun to shoot a scathing remark at an unfortunate Toon, and was met with the same face.

“There you are! I was waiting for you.” Finn shot him his trademark grin. When the hell would that tooth grow in again? “Not trying to leave yet, are ya? You haven't tried the punch yet!”

“Wh–” Shrimpo was already being all but dragged across the room to the food stations. A couple of Toons glanced at him in what looked like surprise – Shrimpo made a point to glare at them all, despite his slight daze from the abrupt change in plans that was occurring in front of his very eyes.

He blinked, and then he stood in front of a bowl full of some crimson liquid, which Finn was currently ladling into a Solo cup. “Trust me, it’s great stuff!” the fishbowl assured Shrimpo, extending the cup to him. “Teagan was the one who made it, so you know it’s COD-ta be good! Hehehe.”

Shrimpo stared at the offending cup, and the contents of which were the reason his plans of escape had been foiled. Coming back to himself somewhat, he briskly snatched the thing from Finn’s hand, glared at the punch it held within, and downed the thing in one angry gulp. Sweet was the first word that came to mind, though not unbearably so. Tasted sort of like strawberries.

“I hate punch,” he muttered, not with the same bite as he thought it would have. He wondered where all his capability with Goob had gone. All that had changed was the audience, so what was it that kept him from speaking with the venom he knew he was capable of?

“You say that about everything, silly,” Finn chuckled, his eyes glinting in the dim lighting as he helped himself to his own cup. “SHORE-ley there must be something you don’t hate, right?”

Shrimpo was fully ready to counter that it was entirely possible and absolutely true that he despised everything, and maybe Finn should come to terms with that and stop trying so hard – and then all of a sudden they weren’t alone. Skittering towards them was a familiar little runt with a wide smile on her face, Rodger tailing close behind.

“Finn!!” Toodles hopped in place upon reaching them, hands clasped tightly together. Her usual hoodie had been replaced with a remarkably similar dress, except with a lot more unnecessary frills. “Hi hi hi!” Her gaze drifted briefly to Shrimpo, and her facial expression switched to the sort of look bratty little children give you when trying (and failing) to appear aloof. “And you’re here too, I guess.” 

“You little–” Shrimpo had the sudden urge to upend the punch bowl over Toodles’ sorry mug, but was interrupted by Rodger’s more even tone.

“I apologize. Toodles, be nice,” he hummed, his one eye half-lidded as always (though he didn’t look too apologetic). “Though I will say I am… pleasantly surprised to meet you here, Shrimpo.” The older man continued on before Shrimpo could cut in. “Finn, I asked Teagan to reserve Toodles and I a table, and she requested that I open an invitation to you as well. It’s… quite a large table for only three.” Glancing at Shrimpo once more, he added, “I suppose you can bring along your company, if you’d like.”  

“Really?!” Finn brightened immediately, his smile widening. “Well… gee, I’d love to!” His gaze turned to Shrimpo suddenly, fixing him with his bright, questioning gaze. “Only if you want to as well, though,” he added with a light laugh.

‘What the hell –?’ Why was Finn so adamant on keeping him around? Shrimpo wasn’t dumb; he was well aware that he would not be what other Toons might consider good company or whatever. Even Rodger, who was arguably one of the more level-headed members of Gardenview, seemed somewhat hesitant about extending the offer to him – his sole reason for doing so seemed to be out of politeness for Finn’s sake. The boy could have used this opportunity to slip away and head off to do whatever it is normal people do at a party.  Yet for whatever reason, Finn seemed to be completely unbothered by Shrimpo’s demeanor. It baffled the shrimp to no end. And Shrimpo hated being baffled. 

 “Whatever,” he grumbled after a brief pause, glowering at the floor. Seeming to take this as a yes, Finn took Shrimpo’s free hand once more and proclaimed “Lead the way!” to Toodles, who seemed to have gotten bored of her withdrawn charade and was already beginning to skip off in the direction of wherever the hell they were headed, Rodger close behind and Finn and Shrimpo taking up the rear. The latter got the sense that he would not be arriving back at his dorm for a long while. 

Sitting with Rodger and the rest wasn’t… horrible, Shrimpo supposed. Much better than dancing at least, God forbid. He had sort of tuned out the second the rest of the group had moved on from greeting each other, and was now staring off into space with his resting bitch face. 

At least Finn seemed to be enjoying himself, Shrimpo mused with a sideways glance at the boy, who was amiably chatting it up with Teagan. The two of them had always had some sort of friendship, with the latter often inviting Finn to some dumb tea party or whatever. What was the point, anyway?— He would just end up drinking water the entire time. Somebody should host a water party instead; Finn would surely all but jump for joy at the—

“Alllright folks!” Dandy’s sunshiny voice echoing from the speakers derailed Shrimpo’s train of thought. Jeez, could he finish one sentence even in his thoughts?! “We’ll be wrapping tonight up with one more song! Everybody, grab a partner or two and head up to the dance floor!” Cheers rose joyously from the crowd, before hands started grabbing other hands and any Toons not already on the dais began to swarm forwards in small crowds. Toodles grabbed the hands of Rodger and Teagan and leaped out of her seat to join the throng, towing along the two chuckling adults.

‘Ugh.’ Shrimpo had never attended one of these godforsaken parties before, but already he could tell that this was his cue to head out. He rose from his seat, empty plastic cup still in hand – only for his free palm to be captured by another. 

“May I have this dance?” Once again, Finn’s eyes that seemed to almost sparkle met Shrimpo’s, his hand extended towards him. Briefly taken aback, Shrimpo hurriedly regained his scowl. “Are you kidding me? You couldn’t bribe me a million dollars to go up there.” (If such an amount was actually procured, Shrimpo may have reconsidered, but no matter.) 

“Oh, come on. Would it kill you to enjoy yourself, just this once?” Finn’s voice had gotten quieter. “It’s only one song.” 

“I hate dances.” The words sounded less convincing then they had the first time around. 

“You say that about everything,” Finn answered softly for the second time that night. He wasn’t laughing this time. The room seemed to get a couple degrees warmer.

“I can’t promise you you’ll like it, but better to try now than to be left wondering later, right? I have a feeling you’d be even less satisfied than if you just take the risk and see for yourself.” 

People did not look at Shrimpo the way Finn was looking at him now. “I…” Shrimpo scrambled to speak, to refute Finn’s abruptly silken words – what do you care? How can you claim to know how I feel? – and for once in his life found his jaw unwilling to let the words loose. 

Why? When any other Toon could have easily left him aside with little remorse, Finn seemed determined to pull him off the sidelines. He didn’t have to invite Shrimpo to the party, nor did he have to extend a seating invitation meant primarily for him to Shrimpo. And most certainly he did not have to invite him to dance. It could have been anybody that Finn invited. So then why him?

Shrimpo did not know. This he could not deny, no matter how much it terrified infuriated him. 

The music was starting, sounding as if it were reaching him from underwater. Finn’s other hand reached forward to join its twin, wrapping lightly around the back of Shrimpo’s palm. The twinkle in his eye had become warmer. “Please? For me?”

One other fact Shrimpo was forced to acknowledge: Finn did know him, perhaps alarmingly well. Though his brain urged him to refuse, to play it safe as he always did, there was a nagging little flicker of curiosity that could not be beaten down. It whispered possibilities and queries in his ear, one after the other.

What’s it like to dance? Would people be looking? Would I care? Would I enjoy it?

Would I enjoy it more with Finn?

Finn knew the answer to none of these questions.

But maybe he’d be able to find them out.

“Fine.” His voice was almost a whisper, his gaze set on the ground underfoot. He could almost hear Finn’s eyebrows raise. The silence between them seemed to ring in Shrimpo’s ears.

Had Finn remained quiet for any longer, Shrimpo would have disappeared from Gardenview Center faster than Pebbles could bark, but such a thing was never to happen, for Finn smiled and replied, “Okay.” And then the two of them were walking towards the dais, their hands still intertwined. Shrimpo didn’t know if he felt weightless or even more weighed down than before. 

The lights were glaring and the music was even louder and Shrimpo was already having second thoughts, but Finn captured his attention and kept it, and he felt a little more grounded. It took a second of standing and staring at one another to realize that the action of dancing was now a requirement.

“...Um. I might not actually know how to dance,” Finn admitted, giggling sheepishly.

“Are you for real?” Shrimpo quirked one irritated eyebrow, though he found he didn’t feel the familiar boil of anger beneath his skin. It felt funny… not necessarily in a bad context. 

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not that hard,” Finn dismissed with a carefree wave of his hand, glancing over at some of the other dancers. “Uh, let me see… okay, okay, I think I get it! Sorta. Just… try to copy me, I guess. Okay?”

Not unsurprisingly, the instinct to make a snappy comment threatened to resurface, but no words ended up leaving his mouth. Instead he watched where Finn was stepping, how he held himself, and he took the same step. And he did it again. And again. 

Not once did their hands part.

If other Toons had been looking, Shrimpo hadn't been paying attention.

“Let's give a round of applause to Boxten for helping to assemble tonight's playlist!” Clapping ensued from the crowd, with Glisten grinning and uttering a whoo! The music box in question turned a light shade of crimson and ducked his eyes, though a small smile flickered across his lips. “Thank you all for attending, and have a wonderful rest of your year!” The speakers shut off with a click, and all the gathered Toons erupted in jubilant chatter. Some began to file out, while others lingered around for conversation.

Shrimpo stared at it all, unmoving. He didn’t know how to feel. His naturally angry front seemed pointless to him now, so how should he be instead? His chest felt tight, his head a little dizzy, but the sensation was… certainly not unpleasant.

The warm pressure on his hand tightened slightly, returning his attention to the present. “So?” Finn surveyed him inquisitively, grinning from ear to ear. His eyes were brighter than stars. “Was it okay?”

Shrimpo seemed to be having a bit of trouble with his reaction time, for it took a moment of all but gawking at the other boy before he could muster up a response. “...It… wasn’t bad,” he finally answered. 

“Are you glad you tried it?” The two had started ambling out of the center along with the rest of the lingering partygoers, almost without their knowledge. 

“...Uh-huh.”

“I thought so.” 

Neither Toon spoke for the rest of the trip to the dorms. 

“I guess this is where part ways for the night,” Finn hummed as the two paused outside of Shrimpo’s room. The muffled sounds of Toons winding down for the evening could be heard around them. 

“Eh? Oh.” Shrimpo had thought the walk would take longer than that, but he supposed he wasn’t in the most capable state of mind to be the judge of such things.

“Well… Goodnight, then. And, uh…” Finn lingered, looking almost uncertain for a moment. “…I had fun, earlier.” Shrimpo’s hand was released, leaving his hand abruptly cold. He tucked it into his pants pocket, feeling an odd sense of loss.

“Um. Me too. I guess,” he added, his usual habits refusing to be fully abandoned even now. A brief pause, in which the two boys stared unblinkingly at each other. Finn had small specks of amber in his eyes amidst the usual blue — like grains of sand, Shrimpo noted.

The silence quickly devolved into awkwardness, so to spare himself from further tension he muttered, “See you tomorrow,” and began to turn towards his doorway. 

He felt the faint brush of warmth against his cheek, a single soft breath close to his ear, and when he glanced to the side Finn was already dashing off down the hall, whipping around a corner and out of sight in a matter of seconds. He blinked, then blinked again. The hand that had been occupied by someone else’s moment before now raised to touch his fingertips to the skin. 

If he thought about it a little too hard he started feeling weird and fizzy, so he put that train of thought aside, shook his head and entered his room.

Other thoughts quickly rose to fill the empty space in his brain as he took off his letterman jacket. He felt as if something had shifted slightly between him and Finn tonight, though what exactly it had become he could not pinpoint. Should he ask about it, or should he just… know? Or maybe he wasn’t supposed to talk about it at all? Where did they stand with one another now?

Come to think of it, he had never really known what the two of them shared. He had thought that he would naturally be unapproachable with everyone, but a certain someone seemed to not apply to this dynamic the way everyone else seemed to. He found himself acting differently around Finn than he might with other Toons, even if it was but a slight difference — and what had transpired at the dance was decidedly not slight.

But… looking back, although he had certainly felt a little out of place and unnatural, he had felt almost… liberated, in a way. The act of ire came easily to him now with how often he used it around others, but back up on the dais, when the people around him were the last thing on his mind and his only focus was the mimicry of Finn’s steps… he hadn’t felt that uninhibited in years. And, he realized with shock, he wanted to feel that way again in the future.

Which left him wondering: 

How many things did he do, did he say, simply because he wanted to?

Perhaps he should save this revelation for another time. He slipped on his sleepwear and rolled onto his mattress, laying in the same position which he was in only a couple of hours before; the high of the night’s events was beginning to catch up to him. His ceiling was still remarkably unextraordinary. He didn’t mind; there were plenty of other, more extraordinary things he could think about instead.

He rolled over to face the wall and shut his eyes. He was out in seconds.

He dreamed of sparkling eyes and a gap-toothed grin. 

[nonsscrapheap]

TFP: Universal Observation

i cracked, i caved underneath my own pressure and impulse HAVE THIS REACTION FIC OF TEAM PRIME LOOKING INTO ALTERNATE UNIVERSES! i'm gonna test this out on tumblr in an effort to be more active here.

this is mostly going to focus around Raf, Miko and Jack btw! at least at the start. also! this is set around mid-season 1, when Arachnid arrives at the Nemesis.

WARNING! LONG POST!

Prologue: Shattered Glass - I -

[ ----- TFP : UO ----- ]

Omega Outpost One

It started out as a normal day, a normal weekend, spend some time with his mom in the morning before heading to the Autobot base after insisting that he would be okay there. Jack was just glad that she didn't do anymore impromptu visits to the outpost anymore, and that she was trusting Arcee with his safety without hovering.

Look, he loved his mom and he did still feel a bit guilty over the whole Arachnid situation but still, her concern was getting a bit too much. Even for him.

Anyway, as he and Arcee pulled into the base, he found the others already there and gathered around something perched on the second floor area. "Hey guys, what's up?" He greeted aloud as he got off Arcee, giving her his helmet after she transformed for safekeeping.

"Welcome back Jack, Arcee." Optimus greeted back with a stoic warmness that Jack didn't know possible.

"What's with the crowd?" Arcee asked curiously as she and Jack stepped closer, with Jack bounding up the steps to join Miko and Raf on the second floor. There, on the second floor, was a silver and gold sphere with curved glyphs wrapped around it. It was nearly the size of Raf, only stopping at the boy's chest height. "Uh, what is that?"

Bulkhead shrugged, "Dunno, Ratchet found it in storage but we don't remember it being stored there. Like, ever."

Jack frowned, staring at the sphere warily, "Could it be a trap?" He couldn't help but ask, bristling when Miko just casually placed a hand on the sphere. "Miko!"

"What?! Raf and I already touched it before! So have the others! It does nothing!" Miko exclaimed, patting the silver and gold sphere, making a clanging noise as she did so.

Ratchet grumbled, giving the girl a look of intense disapproval. "Nothing so far. We still don't know what it's supposed to be or how it got into the base. And before anyone suggests, no, we did not forget about it. We catalogued every single Cybertronian item that we brought into this base, before and after we moved here, and I am certain that something like this would be remembered." He huffed, arms crossed against his chassis. "However so far, all scans shows it being... inert. Deactivated, with no clear instructions or signs on how to activate it." He glanced over to the Prime who shook his helm.

"My apologies old friend, I have searched through my memories and data files, but I have no knowledge as to what this artifact is. Or what it can do." Optimus replied with slight apology, though he did look back to the sphere, watching Raf, Jack and Miko hesitantly (Miko wasn't hesitant at all) poke and prod the sphere. "But I do recognize the glyphs on the sphere, it is Primal Vernacular. The old tongue of the Primes of Cybertron."

.: So it's a Prime relic or an artifact related to it? :. Bumblebee beeped in question. .: What does it say? :.

"It says, 'See for yourself, what else is out there.'" The Autobot leader answered, intrigued yet perplexed by the sphere's mystery. "Again, I do not know what that means per say, nor do I remember anything resembling this artifact anywhere."

"Well, whatever it is, it's currently broken." Miko said with a huff, still patting the sphere before curling her hand into a fist. "Or maybe we're not hitting it hard enough! Do something already! It's been so boring today!" She exclaimed, banging her fist.

"Miko!" Jack, Bulkhead and Ratchet exclaimed in varying tones of worry and frustration.

Miko gave each of them a deadpanned look as she, Raf and Jack continued to press their palms to the sphere for some reason. It was just warm and weird to touch, alright? "What? It's not like I'll shatter it! It's not made of glass!"

Suddenly, the sphere began to glow.

Immediately, the humans let go of the sphere, backing away with a startled cry. The Autobots were quick to retrieve their charges and step away from the glowing sphere. Light shined out of the glyphs before shooting into the air to... project a holographic screen?

Words began to flash along the screen, first in Primal Vernacular, then in Neocybex, and finally in English.

[ CONTINUITY SCAN 100 % COMPLETE SUBJECTS ' Raf ; Jack ; Miko ' COMPONENT ACCEPTED UNKNOWN ATTEMPTS GENERATED PASSCODE 'BORING' HAS BEEN ACCEPTED KEY WORDS ; SHATTERED GLASS ACCEPTED ]

"What's happening?!" Raf clutched Bee's hands as his guardian held him close, tense and ready for whatever would happen. It was the same for Miko and Jack who were being held up by Bulkhead and Arcee respectively. Ratchet and Optimus stood before the three bots, ready to fight if necessary.

Fortunately, they didn't have to.

The holographic screen merely stayed there in the air, the text being wiped away for new ones.

[ PROCEED WITH UNIVERSAL OBSERVATION? ACCEPT / DECLINE ]

"What?" Ratchet uttered as he and the others slowly relaxed, enough that the three Autobots slowly put down their human charges. "Universal observation? What on Cybertron could that possibly mean?"

"I... do not know, old friend." Optimus murmured, eyeing the screen with a wary optic.

"If... If it's an 'observation' thing then, maybe it's harmless?" Jack suggested, peeking up at the screen with a look of apprehension. Then he spotted Miko's look of interest, and the smile on her face. "Miko... Miko no!" He exclaimed, trying to reach her but unfortunately for Jack, he was too late. She'd been set a bit too far from him.

"ACCEPT!" The teenage girl shouted just as Jack reached her a second too late, startling everyone and immediately the screen came to life.

"MIKO!" Multiple voices exclaimed in varying tones of exasperation and frustration. Miko merely grinned from behind Jack's hand before her eyes widened and she pointed at the screen.

"MMPH! MM-" She forced Jack's hand off her mouth, "LOOK!"

[ Two humans ran through the halls of a familiar looking ship. The colors a little bit brighter though. ]

"It's Raf and I!" They all boggled at the sight of it. "Why are we on the Nemesis?"

"Wait, when did this happen?" Jack squinted, wondering why Raf and Miko were on the Nemesis, hell, why was the sphere showing this?

"It didn't! Miko and I never ran together on the Nemesis." Raf said, adjusting his glasses as he watched him and Miko on screen run through the halls.

"Why do the halls look a little different? More..." Bulkhead squinted, "... brighter?"

"More importantly, why are running and why do they look excited?" Ratchet questioned stiffly, wondering what in the pit was going on.

[ "Oh chiiildren~" A feminine voice playfully rang out in the hallway, almost familiar rapid, multiple pedesteps sounded out. "Where aare youuu~?"

Miko and Raf shared a look, "Split up!" She whisper yelled to Raf who giggled and ran the opposite direction. ]

Arcee immediately tensed, "Arachnid!" She hissed with contempt, recognizing that voice anywhere. And yet, she paused with confusion. Unlike the usual sultry maliciousness in her voice, she sounded... genuinely playful, and soft almost. It made Arcee shiver with unease.

"Arachnid?! Miko, Raf, get out of there!" Jack urged the screen-version of his friends even though they couldn't hear him.

"Woah Jack! Raf and I are here! We're fine!" Miko soothed, though she did look concerned for her screen counterpart. But even she noticed that screen!Miko and Raf weren't really scared? They really just looked excited, of all things. But why? 

[ Miko ducked around the corner, pressing against the wall so she could catch her breath. She huffed, trying to keep herself quiet. She peeked around the corner, eyes squinting. When she spots nothing, she sighs in relief, grinning to herself before she hears a sound coming from above. She looks up and gasps, abruptly, she's snatched upwards.

Meanwhile, Raf was still running in the halls of the ship and just as he turns, he stops as he finds a familiar mech standing in the hall. "Starscream!" Raf exclaimed with delight, reaching his arms up, "Quick, hide me!" ] 

There's a cry of her name, much different from usual- panicked and scared and Miko yelps as she finds herself in Bulkhead's hands once again. The wrecker looking so very concerned for her, "Uh- Bulk? I'm fine! I'm here! I'm- screen Miko's definitely fine! Bulk?" 

Raf gave the screen a bewildered look before he too, yelped when he found himself being lifted up by Bee just like Miko. "Bumblebee!" His friend let out a protective, panicked beep, "Bee?" 

"Starscream?" Arcee repeated incredulously, having been on edge the moment screen!Miko had disappeared. "That's- that cannot be Starscream."

The Starscream on the screen's grey metal was lighter, his wings were folded downwards, there were red and blue detailing that the Starscream they knew didn't have. Not to mention he wasn't hunched over and his optics, they were blue instead of red. The most damning of all though, was the gentle look the seeker had that replaced his usually malicious and scheming expression. 

"I… believe it is." Optimus murmured with slight disbelief, watching how the young human on the screen seemed to treat that Starscream with friendly familiarity. "I do not think it is our Starscream however." 

[ "Hide you?" Starscream mused aloud, "Ah, another game, Rafael? Very well." He knelt down, letting Raf climb onto his servos and opened his cockpit, letting the human settle into the space before gently closing it. "Alright in there?" He asked with amusement and chuckled when Raf replied with a muffled 'yes!' ] 

"Definitely not our Starscream, he would never let a human into his cockpit like that." Ratchet agreed, watching the scene with a nervous tank and a boggled expression. Trying to understand what exactly was happening right now. "This… This is an alternate world." 

They all turned to the medic. "What?"

[ Pedesteps came, alongside the joined laughter of two females. The screen showed Arachnid in her root mode, toting around Miko on her shoulder, servos firmly yet carefully holding on. Miko was laughing as the spider bot jostled her two and fro. "Starscream!" Arachnid called out happily, smiling widely at the seeker. "I don't suppose you've seen Raf, have you?" 

"Hmm, Rafael?" Starscream replied with clear jest, "Perhaps…" His optics not so subtly looked down to his cockpit. Arachnid noticed and smiled mischievously. ]

Arcee was staring at the screen with warring emotions, firstmost was anger and disgust at the sight of the spider femme and then there was confusion at the sight of the fact this Arachnid was different. Not only in looks, her optics were a cyan blue instead of purplish pink, her finish was a dark yet cooler hue of blue with bronze trims instead of gold. But in personality of course, she was handling screen!Miko with obvious care despite having the human girl on her shoulder. And her voice, it was soft as silk, not sultry and had no hidden menace.

Add into the fact Starscream was being equally differnet—

It was a fragging jarring thing to witness, even through a holographic screen. Arcee felt faint. 

Ratchet, was thankfully, just as perturbed as he gestured to the screen. "This is- this is showing us a glimpse into an alternate world. One where the Decepticons are- well, that." 

[ "Now, where oh where could Raf be? He couldn't have gotten far, his legs are, unfortunately, too short." Arachnid mused slowly, snickering at the muffled 'hey!' that was heard from Starscream's cockpit. Not long an 'oops' was heard as Arachnid leaned closer to Starscream, faceplate by the cockpit. "Gotcha. Starscream, if you would?" 

"No Screamy! Take Raf and run!" Miko hollered with a laugh, squirming on Arachnid's shoulder. 

Starscream laughed, shaking his helm. "Perhaps another time, I do still have duties to fulfill. My apologies Rafael." He opened the pit and gently took the pouting tween out. It didn't last long as Arachnid took him as well, setting him to sit properly on her other shoulder unlike Miko, who hung like a sack. "Hm, that's two humans accounted for. Where is Jackson?" ] 

"Primus that is so fragging weird." Bulkhead hissed, still holding on to Miko protectively, but eventually relented when the girl squirmed and scrambled towards his shoulder. He gave in and let her sit there. 

"I know! Looks like the cons are the good guys over there! So weird!" Miko exclaimed, legs swinging as she watched herself call Starscream 'Screamy' and not get obliterated by the con. 

.: … Starscream calls Raf, Rafael like Ratchet… And calls Jack, Jackson- he sounds like a fraggin' gentlemech. :. Bumblebee whirred, scratching his helm while settling Raf on his own shoulder. He glanced over to Jack who had the same look as Arcee, staring incomprehensibly at the screen. Which was fair, the two times he met with Arachnid were horrible but here she was- different on screen in another world. 

[ "Jack's with King Con! Talking about Cybertron again." Miko huffed, wiggling in Arachnid's grip. The femme finally relented, letting the teenage girl down to the floor. She groaned, stretching her limbs. 

Starscream frowned, "Miko, you know he doesn't like being called that." 

Miko pouted, "Aw, but he's like- all wise and stuff! And he leads the Decepticons- plus, you all told us if it wasn't for Optimus and his evil Autobots, he'd be like, ruling Cybertron." 

"In charge of Cybertron, not ruling it. Never ruling it- he hates the word and thought of it." Arachnid corrected gently. "It's why he never chose a Prime name, merely shortened his gladiatorial name to Megatron. He hates being addressed by any other title aside from General." 

The scene changes to Megatron, standing at the control center with Jack on the console. Pictures of Cybertron in its golden age were on the screens, the silver mech had a gentle smile on his face as Jack looked around with wonder. ]

There's a silence in the Autobot base from the scene. "This is a world where good and evil have been switched." Optimus whispered, his usually warm stoicism broken into disbelief, optics widening as he sees such a familiar faceplate. "Megatronus…" He utters, spark aching in his chamber at the familiar-looking mech. 

He looked so much like the Megatronus he once knew, only older, slightly different but his optics were blue as can be and his servo digits weren't sharpened into claws. And that smile, when had been the last time he'd seen it? Before the council meeting? Longer? 

[ "And this… This was my home city, Kaon." Megatron told Jack as the pictures flickered to Kaon. "It was not the friendliest of capitals, far from it, it was where the ruthless tore into the weak. Kindness was rare, especially in the Pits from where I fought." 

"You mentioned that before, the Pits. It was… a gladiator arena, right?" Jack questioned as the pictures changed again. The human carefully walked along the console, aware of the bigger mech that shadowed him, as if to make sure he wouldn't fall. 

"Indeed, glad to know you've been paying attention, young one." Megatron chuckled, "It was named after the Cybertronian version of what you humans would call 'Hell', and quite honestly, it was. I struggled to survive in the Pits, but I did. I found strength, I found power, and most importantly; I found kindness." 

The human frowned, looking at him with confusion. "I thought you said it was rare?" 

"It was, but not nonexistent. Kindness exists everywhere, Jack. Even the smallest of acts might sway or influence another. Sometimes, even creating a cascade of events that escalate into something more." Megatron murmurs, sounding nostalgic, fond yet also somber. "In all the time I've lived, Jack, I've realized many things. I've realized that strength is not everything, that weakness is subjective, that kindness is not weakness and that there is a difference from being nice, to being kind." ]

Hearing this Megatron talk made Optimus feel weak. His voice was so similar, but without the roughened edge of anger-fueled war tingeing his vocals. The growl of rage and slight hint of madness. It was so gentle and warm and wise— A strange sort of feeling that permeated his processor, numbly, he could hear the quiet reactions of the others. Varying from disbelief to outright confused shock. It was understandable, they've never seen this side of Megatronus. This side of Megatron. 

Primus, his words too. 

"Scrap, he's reminding me so much of Optimus but so different, it's weird." He hears Jack mutter and there's a hesitant agreement coming from all around him. 

[ Before Megatron could continue, a warning came to the screens. Startling both of them. "Woah!" Jack almost stepped off the console, but was caught and saved by Megatron who gently settled him to the floor.

"It's a Decepticon distress signal." Megatron said tensely, "Everyone, get to the command center. Now." He said aloud and into the comms. 

It didn't take long for the other Decepticons to arrive. ]

It was bizarre, to see the line up of Decepticons in different colors and all with blue optics, with the exception of Knock Out whose optics were a darker orange here.

Breakdown looked very different, his armor was red, his optics an icy blue and his faceplate a purplish grey tint- surprisingly, he had screen!Miko on his shoulder. Trailing behind him was Knock Out, instead of a bright red finish, the medic was cyan.

Right beside them was Soundwave, who was painted in a very faint purple with light green biolights. He still had a visor covering his faceplate. 

"Woah…" Raf muttered, eyeing the Decepticons from Bee's shoulder. "It's- they all look so different, at first glance it's just the colors and even that is enough to feel- jarring?" Bee made a beep of agreement, nodding to his words.

[ "Signal Origins; Makeshift." Soundwave immediately said, a worried emoticon appearing on his visor- voice synthesized but understandable. "Location coordinates attached." 

"Makeshift? Who's that?" Raf asked as Soundwave picked him up. ]

Bee tensed at the sight of Soundwave picking screen!Raf up, .: I-I know this is supposed to be an alternate world but- :. Primus, was that Soundwave's actual voice?! 

"I know Bumblebee, it's- it's weird. Downright disturbing." Arcee agreed, still looking a bit nauseous at the sight of Arachnid, of the Decepticons alongside the humans on the screen. Even though, they seemed… good. Frag, Optimus' words echoed in her processor, 'good swapped with evil' naturally that meant… oh frag.

[ "An old friend." Knock Out said as he and Soundwave went to the console to locate the distress signal. "He's been away for a while because he wanted to explore Earth on his own. This was before the Autobots managed to follow us here."

"I ordered him to stay away after the Autobots arrived, I wanted to keep him as a hidden operative. You see, Makeshift has a unique ability, he is a Shifter, a Cybertronian capable of turning into another Cybertronian- copying their frame, their looks, even their voice. Makeshift is one of my best stealth agents." Megatron explained with a tense frown. "He is a hardy mech, for him to use a distress signal…"

"Situation; grim." Soundwave finished. 

"Starscream, prepare the groundbridge at those exact coordinates. Knock Out, Breakdown and I shall be going through." ]

[---- TFP : UO -----]

The Nemesis

"I cannot believe my other would let a human inside his pit! Inconceivable!"

"Teal? Teal? Ugh, I mean, it's not a bad look but red is so my color!" Knock Out complained to Breakdown who didn't look too impressed, though he was too busy looking at himself on the screen.

"Can't believe I've got Bulkhead's human pet as my own. Guess Arachnid was just babysitting." At the mention of her name, the spiderbot hissed at Breakdown, annoyed and perturbed by her on-screen self. So gentle, so weak- thankfully she wasn't the only one disturbed by their alternate selves.

"And there's still no information as to how this thing got on my ship? Or how it activated on its own?!" Megatron growled to Starscream and Soundwave but his optics were trained solely at the screen. Taking in just how… different he was in another universe. The implications he's gotten so far… were abhorrent. Yet intriguing. 

"N-No! Master, we have- we have no idea how either happened." 

Soundwave said nothing, but did bring up a picture of a certain text.

[ CONTINUITY SCAN 100 % COMPLETE SUBJECTS ' Raf ; Jack ; Miko ' COMPONENT ACCEPTED UNKNOWN ATTEMPTS GENERATED PASSCODE 'BORING' HAS BEEN ACCEPTED KEY WORDS ; SHATTERED GLASS ACCEPTED ]

Before showing the picture of a certain trio of human children. 

"The Autobot pet humans? Hm…"

Megatron trailed off, optics shining sharply when the screen continued.

This was… interesting to say the least.

[----- TFP : UO -----]

shattered glass designs inspired by @jealousmarquis

winged it for breakdown's colors tbh. also, i was a bit confused on knock out's color scheme from jealousmarquis' pictures, one seemed a lighter blue like teal while the other was a darker blue- for now i settled on teal with thinking maybe knock out liked changing the shades of his finish. idk.

i have no idea when the next part will come but i've definitely a few ideas on what else for team prime (and cons) to react to next! but first, gotta finish the shattered glass segment. the next one will be the last of it (for now).

EDIT 1/16/25: jealousmarquis described their sg breakdown design so i edited it accordingly.

[NEXT]

[suzukiblu]

Why did i only just now learn you were doing 30 days of think pink? oh right bc tumblr decided to hide all of it behind a mature content label 😡 anyways I just caught up from where I left of...in june 2024 and I read until the End of That Scene. fucking cliffhangers, man

ok followup thoughts: kon is actually just as crazy as I would be if I had been repressing my feelings about my best friend for most of a decade and we had saved each others lives countless times. And also I died, got forgotten, and came back to the narrative to find out that my best friend was bi now. with a boyfriend. but tim might be crazier. what do you mean my best friend who I was repressing feelings for for most of a decade is into gay sex now because of a plot rock? Is he going to be straight again after this?!? I can have him, but only for one weekend? My best friend is into every fantasy I can throw at him but there's a time limit. that man (tim) can't stop thinking about the implications even when the best boy is in his bed. No wonder he colored look all I'm saying is that if there exists an outtakes chapter with Tim's perspective of any of this I want to see it

rUDE, Tumblr, jfc.

I will say the "mature" label def does seem to cause some issues that way, because I feel like at least sometimes it just doesn't even show the posts as a thing you CAN choose to expand on? idk if that's a filter thing or just a hellsite thing, admittedly, god knows, hah.

. . . so like, you are objectively correct about everyone's crazy and also I understand the desire for that outtake chapter concept, but I am PRETTY sure that if I wrote Tim's perspective of any of "think pink" whatsoever it would take another 50k to get through literally just the phone call, ahahahaha.

Tim Drake has so much crazy to hide and so much to contain over this long weekend and he is CERTAINLY having some THOUGHTS, and then also is having to deal with Kon, like, being into or ASKING for those thoughts, occasionally unprompted!! FREQUENTLY unprompted, in fact!!!!

Also, like:

"oh, Kon's into D/s too.

oh, Kon's a sub, that's convenien--

. . . oh, Kon's REALLY into D/s too.

. . . . . . oh.

. . . . . . . . . O H ."

That was CERTAINLY a thought process that Tim Drake got to experience in real time. It certainly, certainly was.

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #03 死

† breakfast and training †

"His eyes are the kind of dark that makes you forget there was ever light in the world. And you hate that you're starting to notice details about him."

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⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 5.4k

rating: mature

content: training violence, weapons, strong language, sexual tension

☠ author's note ☠

HELLO MY FELLOW SLEEP-DEPRIVED CREATURES. Welcome back to another episode of "Kiki makes questionable life choices and writes fanfiction instead of sleeping"!

Can we talk about how I wrote like three different versions of the gun scene before my perfectionist brain was satisfied? And by satisfied I mean "fine whatever just post it I guess." Don't @ me about gun accuracy, I play Call of Duty sometimes that's research enough (ㆆᴗㆆ)

Also yes, I am absolutely living for the whole "oh no they're training together" trope. Sue me. Or don't, I'm broke. All I have is caffeine and the ability to make my characters suffer. Speaking of which - Jeon in combat mode? chef's kiss My boy is out there being all professional and grumpy while Y/N is just trying her best not to get shot. We love that for them.

PSA: The whole "Cookie" thing was totally self-indulgent and I regret nothing. V is here to cause chaos and honestly? Goals.

Special shoutout to my cat who watched me write this at 3 AM and judged me silently. You're the best beta reader a girl could ask for, even if your only feedback is knocking my coffee over.

See you next Tuesday, you beautiful disasters! Remember: sleep is for the weak and fanfiction is for life.

crawls back into writing cave while mainlining espresso

Kiki

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Mornings in the castle hit different. Through your window, the sky's doing that thing where it can't decide if it's still night or already dawn—all soft blues mixing with hints of gold. Everything's quiet, like the world's holding its breath.

Then your alarm goes off.

"Why did we agree to this again?" Yunjin whines from her bed, fumbling to shut up the annoying buzz. Her pink hair is a mess, splayed across her pillow like cotton candy gone wrong.

"Croissants," you remind her, stretching until your joints pop. "Fresh, buttery, heavenly croissants."

"Not hungry." She burrows deeper into her blanket cocoon. "Too early for hunger. Too early for existing."

You swing your legs off the bed, bare feet hitting the cold floor. "What happened to yesterday's 'new me, new goals' speech?"

"That was yesterday's Yunjin. Today's Yunjin chooses sleep."

With a snort, you pad over to her bed. It's literally two steps away—your shared room is cozy like that, with just enough space for two singles and matching bedside tables. You give her shoulder a gentle shake.

"And what's tomorrow's Yunjin gonna think about that?"

"Tomorrow's Yunjin's problem," she mumbles, death-gripping her blanket. Smart girl. She knows your next move would've been stealing it.

"Then it's tomorrow's me problem too!" You can't help but laugh, and it finally gets her to peek one eye open.

She lets out the longest, most dramatic sigh. "Fine. Fine. You win."

Your shared laughter is soft, comfortable. It's weird how quickly Yunjin became your person here. Maybe because she's as new to this as you are—no pressure to measure up to badasses like Chaewon or keep your guard up around intimidating figures like V and Jeon.

She joined two months before you did. For her, it meant saying goodbye to having her own room, but she says it was worth the trade-off. Girl's a mess when it comes to sleep schedules, but she keeps your shared space spotless and her determination is s̶c̶a̶r̶y̶ impressive. Like, you've seen her practice seduction techniques until 3 AM, and now here she is, dragging herself up at dawn for... well, croissants and self-improvement.

There's something genuinely good about Yunjin. She's always there—to help, to listen, to just be. Five months in and everyone in Seduction already adores her. Yeah, she's clumsy as hell during physical training, but her mind is sharp. Nothing gets past her—it's like she's got a built-in lie detector.

After yesterday morning's... incident, you're extra grateful for her company.

You both grab your digital cards from your bedside tables—can't go anywhere in this place without them. They're basically your whole identity here, determining which doors open for you and which stay firmly shut.

The castle corridors feel endless this early. Most members are probably still sleeping or doing whatever gang members do at dawn. Your footsteps echo softly as you and Yunjin make your way to the cafeteria, keeping the conversation light.

"Have you had breakfast here before?" you ask, watching her stifle another yawn.

"Once." She nods, her pink ponytail bouncing. "Got up at 10 though. Wasn't worth sacrificing sleep for."

You can't help but smile. "Early breakfast hits different. You'll see."

When you reach the cafeteria, Yunjin taps her digital card against the scanner. The light blinks green, and suddenly your nose is filled with the heavenly smell of fresh pastries. Inside, only a handful of early birds are scattered around the massive space. Makes sense—most people here prefer their beds at this hour.

Your eyes do their usual sweep of the room, casual and practiced. But then something pulls at you, like a magnet finding true north. Your gaze locks with dark, piercing ones.

Jeon.

"Oh, that's Jeon, right?" Yunjin's voice cuts through your thoughts. "Guess he likes mornings too."

You nod, still watching him from the safety of the doorway. Something about the distance makes you feel almost safe. He's got that thing about him—that unmistakable aura of authority that even 6 AM can't dim.

"Damn," Yunjin says after a beat, blunt as ever. "He's hot."

"Let's get food," you mutter, rolling your eyes and heading for the pastry section.

You and Yunjin load up your plates with a bit of everything, especially those famous croissants. Finding a quiet corner, you settle in to enjoy both the food and each other's company, pointedly not thinking about piercing dark eyes or brooding corners.

You try to look casual as your eyes drift back to Jeon for the hundredth time.

He's sitting there, both hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee like it's his lifeline to sanity this early in the morning. The sight of those tattooed fingers curled around plain white ceramic does something to your brain that you'd rather not examine too closely.

"You know, I heard something interesting about him." Yunjin's voice makes you jump. S̶h̶i̶t̶ Great, she caught you staring.

"Oh?" You tilt your head, hoping your voice sounds more curious than guilty.

Yunjin leans in conspiratorially, her pink hair falling forward as she drops her voice to barely above a whisper. It's kind of unnecessary given how far away Jeon is, but there's something about him that makes everyone speak in hushed tones.

"Apparently, he's got this whole... ritual thing going on. Every single morning, without fail, he makes sure he's the first one to get fresh coffee. Like, the first cup from a fresh pot."

Your eyes track back to that cup held between ink-covered fingers. Now that she mentions it, you've never seen him drink anything else in the mornings. The way he's savoring it, eyes closed and expression almost peaceful, makes you think Yunjin might be onto something.

"Every day? He's literally the first one here?" The mental image of Jeon lurking outside the cafeteria doors, waiting for them to unlock, is both hilarious and weirdly endearing.

"From what I've heard. Maybe it's a power move?" Yunjin suggests with a soft laugh. "You know, asserting dominance through caffeine consumption."

The idea of someone as intimidating as Jeon—co-leader of the Assassination Division, member of the Council of 9, literal professional killer—climbing the ranks of one of South Korea's most dangerous gangs just to secure his morning coffee makes something bubble up in your chest.. You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing too loud.

"Imagine that being his master plan all along," you snort. "Join gang, become assassination chief, get first dibs on coffee."

You both dissolve into quiet giggles, but the moment shatters when something shifts in the air. It's like thorny vines suddenly wrapping around your lungs, making it hard to breathe. You don't need to look to know who it is.

"Mind if I join the fun?" V's voice slides over your skin like honey laced with poison, playful but with that edge that makes your hair stand on end.

His arms drape over your shoulders without warning, caging you and Yunjin in what should be a friendly gesture but feels more like being trapped. Your muscles tense automatically. There's something about V that keeps you perpetually on edge—like admiring a rose only to remember it's got thorns that could draw blood.

Yunjin manages a wobbly smile, but you can tell she's as unsettled as you are by his sudden appearance. "We were just... talking about coffee."

"Coffee?" V drawls the word like it personally offends him. He pulls back, throwing his arms behind his head in that carelessly graceful way of his, but stays close enough that you can smell cinnamon. "Boring. Now, this new training program? That's something worth discussing."

His eyes glint with mischief, reminding you of a cat playing with its food. "I'm keen to see what you girls bring to the table. Should be... intriguing, don't you think?"

The way he says it makes your skin crawl. There's nothing overtly threatening about his words, but the undercurrent is clear—the Assassination Division isn't known for playing nice, and V seems to view the upcoming cross-training as his personal playground.

"I'm sure it will be enlightening," you say carefully.

V's energy is infectious, but not in a good way. More like a disease you're trying not to catch.

He chuckles, and those thorny vines around your lungs squeeze tighter. "Oh, I'm sure it will be. And don't worry, yours truly will be there to add a little spice to the mix. Can't let things get too dull, can we?"

Before you can respond, his attention snaps to something—or someone—across the cafeteria. With a dismissive wave that somehow manages to feel both elegant and insulting, he strides off as suddenly as he appeared.

You exchange looks with Yunjin, both of you sagging with relief once he's gone. She looks as drained as you feel, like V's presence alone sucked all the energy from the room.

"Well, that was... something," Yunjin says, and you could write a whole essay about everything packed into that single word. Her pink hair is still slightly disheveled from where V's dramatic entrance messed it up.

"That's one way to put it." You try to shake off the phantom feeling of thorny vines around your lungs. V's presence leaves you feeling like you've been through some kind of emotional washing machine—tumbled around and wrung out.

"But oh my god." Yunjin's whole face suddenly lights up like she's remembered something amazing. The whiplash from her mood shift almost gives you vertigo.

"What?" You ask, though part of you already knows where this is going. Yunjin might be shy and perceptive, but she's also a total simp when it comes to pretty faces.

"He is SO handsome?" Her voice rises with genuine awe. "Everyone kept saying he looks like a prince, but I thought they were exaggerating. They were not."

You raise an eyebrow, wondering if you were even in the same conversation just now. Sure, V's gorgeous—that's kind of his whole thing. The dangerous beauty, the dripping poison. But after feeling his aura wrap around you like a boa constrictor, 'handsome' isn't exactly the first word that comes to mind.

"Did you miss the whole creepy vibe?" You keep your voice low, even though V's long gone. Some habits die hard in this place. "He talked about the training program like he's planning to turn it into his personal episode of Squid Game. With popcorn."

"Yeah, but like..." Yunjin waves her hand dismissively, "have you seen his face? Those cheekbones? That jawline?"

"The way he's probably plotting our deaths as we speak?" You counter, but you can't help the smile tugging at your lips. Trust Yunjin to focus on the aesthetics while completely ignoring the red flags. It's kind of adorable, in a concerning way.

"Doesn't change the fact that he's eye candy," she says with zero shame, stabbing her fork into her breakfast. "Like, premium, expensive, imported chocolate level of eye candy."

"True," you admit, finally taking a proper bite of your croissant.

And it is��true—V's got that whole ethereal beauty thing going on, like a masterpiece painting that happens to be slightly cursed. The kind of face that belongs in museums but also probably comes alive at night to terrorize security guards.

But even as you acknowledge V's obvious appeal, your eyes betray you, drifting back to that other corner of the cafeteria. Back to dark eyes and hurricanes.

Back to Jeon.

It's not like you mean to look.

It just... happens.

Like your gaze has some kind of magnetic programming that keeps pulling it in his direction.

Which is s̶t̶u̶p̶i̶d̶ inconvenient because the last thing you need is to get caught staring at one of the most dangerous men in Kkangpae while you've got croissant crumbs on your face.

The rest of your morning slips by without V popping up again to make your skin crawl. You try to focus on getting ready for what's coming, but your mind keeps drifting to the upcoming training.

Working with Jeon and V's division? Yeah, that's not anxiety-inducing at all.

When you step onto the training field outside the castle, the change of scenery hits different. After being cooped up in the gang's concrete maze, the open space and towering trees feel almost surreal. The cold morning air bites at your lungs—a wake-up call you didn't ask for but probably need.

Today's not just another training day. It's your first cross-training with the Assassination Division, and the tension in the air is so thick you could cut it with one of V's knives.

Your stomach does this weird flip-flop thing as you walk towards the gathering crowd. Working with Jeon after... that incident? Not exactly on your bucket list. The memory of your last encounter sits heavy in your chest, making each step feel like you're walking through mud.

The Assassination Division is already there when you arrive, looking like they stepped out of some action movie poster. Some look ready to murder, others look ready for a nap. But it's Jeon who catches your eye—impossible not to, really. It's like the air itself is swirling around him like a storm about to break.

He's got that look on his face—you know the one. All business, no bullshit, could probably kill you with his pinky finger.

No sign of V though.

Makes sense, when you think about it. Those two aren't exactly besties—more like two wolves forced to share the same territory. Their whole approach to killing is different as night and day.

Jeon's all about precision. Clean shots, minimal mess, maximum efficiency. He's the type to plan every detail, calculate every variable. Need someone taken out from two buildings away without anyone even knowing what happened? That's his specialty. The human equivalent of a surgical strike.

V though? He's chaos incarnate. Gets up close and personal with his kills, leaves a message written in blood if he feels like it. He's the guy you call when you want someone dead and don't care how messy it gets. Planning? Fuck planning—V works on pure instinct and improvisation.

The crowd goes quiet as Jeon steps forward. The atmosphere shifts, less like a raging storm now and more like the heavy air before thunder breaks. When he speaks, his voice does that thing where it demands attention without actually raising in volume. And despite everything—despite knowing better—you find yourself leaning in slightly to catch every word.

"Your state of mind is everything in this line of work," he says, dark eyes scanning the crowd like he's reading everyone's potential in real time. "A calm, collected mind can mean the difference between life and death."

The task he lays out seems simple enough: shoot the cardboard target, hit the center, don't mess it up. But as you watch others take their turns, that knot in your stomach keeps getting tighter.

The gun feels wrong in your hand. Not that you haven't held one before—basic training covers that—but this is different. This is him watching, and somehow that makes your palms extra sweaty.

Then your turn's up.

Walking to the mark feels like crossing a minefield, every step measured and tense. Your heart's going so hard you can barely hear anything else.

Focus. You need to focus.

But Jeon's standing right there, making the air thick and hard to breathe. Your finger hovers over the trigger, but doubt creeps in like poison.

The target blurs in and out. You can feel Jeon watching, that heavy gaze picking apart every flaw in your stance. The pressure builds in your chest until you're sure something's gonna snap.

Just a bit longer. You need to be absolutely sure before taking the shot.

It's not like Seduction gets much practice with actual weapons—your arsenal usually involves batting eyelashes and strategic flirting, not bullets and gunpowder. So it's no wonder the gun starts slipping through your sweaty fingers.

You tighten your grip. A surge of determination hits you like a shot of adrenaline. Come on. It's just cardboard. You've handled way worse situations than this. You can do this.

Your finger starts to squeeze the trigger—

BANG.

That... wasn't your gun.

You flinch, turning toward the sound before you can stop yourself. Through the corner of your eye, you catch smoke curling from Jeon's pistol.

He's standing there looking bored, arm extended like this is just another one of his daily mornings. The gun fits his hand like it was molded for him, an extension of his body rather than a weapon.

When your eyes snap to the target, there it is—perfect shot, dead center, because of course it is.

A̶s̶s̶h̶o̶l̶e̶ Show-off.

You lower your gun, lips pressed tight. His gaze sits heavy on your shoulders, hurricane pressure bearing down until you want to scream. His face gives nothing away, but those dark eyes say plenty—and none of it's good.

"If you're not quick enough, you'll get killed." His voice cuts like ice. "Let that be a reminder for everyone else."

The words hit like a slap. Heat rushes to your face—anger, embarrassment, frustration, all mixing together into something that makes you want to either punch something or crawl into a hole. Preferably punch him, but you're very aware of everyone watching this little show he's putting on.

Both divisions are staring, and you've never felt more like a fish in a very small, very exposed bowl.

Your eyes meet Jeon's, and suddenly breathing gets hard. His stare hits different—those dark eyes boring into yours like he's trying to read your soul, pupils blown wide in a way that makes your stomach do weird flips.

That silver lip ring catches the light when his mouth twists into something s̶e̶x̶y̶ condescending. He opens his mouth—probably to tear into you some more—but then—

BANG.

Everyone drops like puppets with cut strings. Pure instinct.

It's instant chaos. Voices rise into a crescendo of shouts and commands, bodies moving with practiced urgency.

It's kind of beautiful, in a messed-up way—how quickly personal beef gets shelved when shit hits the fan. One minute Jeon's looking at you like you're dirt on his boot, next second he's barking orders to keep everyone safe.

Your heart's in your throat as you scan the crowd for a flash of pink hair.

Yunjin.

But Yunjin's nowhere.

The sea of faces blurs together—no Kazuha, no Eunchae, not even Sakura. Even Chaewon's vanished, which is weird because she's usually got this sixth sense about danger.

Another shot cracks through the air. Your fingers tighten around your gun until your knuckles go white. Your eyes keep drifting to the treeline, where shadows dance between patches of dark green.

A calm, collected mind can mean the difference between life and death.

His words echo in your head, which is ironic considering how not calm you feel right now.

Fuck it.

You're moving before you can second-guess yourself, legs carrying you toward the forest. Maybe it's stupid, but you need space to think. To be calm, like he said.

Plus, the trees might give you cover—an advantage you desperately need right now.

The forest swallows you up. Sunlight filters through leaves overhead, painting everything in shifting patterns of light and shadow. Every step crunches on dead leaves, making you wince. So much for stealth.

V wouldn't be happy.

The chaos from the training ground fades the deeper you go, replaced by normal forest sounds—birds chattering overhead, small animals rustling in the bushes. It's almost peaceful, if you ignore the whole possible death situation.

You spot it then—a ridge overlooking the training ground, hidden behind thick bushes. Perfect vantage point, if you can reach it. The climb makes your muscles burn, but you manage. Up here, you force yourself to breathe slow and steady, trying to quiet your racing heart. Your fingers trace the gun's cold metal like a lifeline.

Your back hits the tree with a thud. The bark scrapes against your spine through your shirt, but you barely notice. Every nerve in your body is focused on that rustling sound behind you.

Footsteps.

Your breath catches. They're quiet—too quiet to be some random person stumbling through the woods.

No, these are the steps of someone who knows how to move silently. Someone trained.

Adrenaline floods your system as you press yourself flatter against the tree. Your fingers tighten around the gun until your knuckles go white. Through a gap in the leaves, you try to catch a glimpse of whoever's approaching, but the foliage is too thick.

Friend or foe?

The question pounds in your head with each careful footstep drawing closer. Your mind races, too many possibilities—it could be an enemy, could be another member searching the area.

Could be death or salvation walking your way.

The steps are almost upon you now. Your breathing goes shallow, controlled. You might be exposed up here, but they don't know that. Surprise is your only advantage right now.

Shoot or strike?

The dilemma tears at you. A gunshot would alert everyone to your location. And if it turns out to be an ally... F̶u̶c̶k̶ No. Hand-to-hand is safer. Quieter. Less explaining to do if you're wrong.

Your muscles coil tight as a spring. When the footsteps are close enough, you launch yourself from behind the tree in one fluid motion, aiming to take them down hard and fast.

Instead, you slam into what feels like a brick wall.

Oh.

It's Jeon.

His reflexes are insane—before you can even process who he is, he's already moving. The air sweeps around you as he twists, disarming you with embarrassing ease. Your gun hits the ground with a clatter that seems to echo through the whole forest.

Recognition hits you both at the same moment. That flicker of shock in his eyes quickly turns to his usual look of disdain, because of course it does.

Then—a misstep.

Your ankle rolls, sending white-hot pain shooting up your leg. You stumble, sucking in a sharp breath. His grip on you loosens just slightly, and something that might be concern flashes across his face before his usual cold mask slips back into place.

"You okay?" His voice is gruff, like the words are being dragged out of him against his will.

"Just perfect," you snap back, because fuck his concern when your ankle feels like it's on fire and your pride hurts even worse.

He just stands there, staring at you with those dark eyes that see too much.

"What the hell were you thinking?" A pause, one eyebrow lifting. "You have a gun, don't you?"

You almost laugh. Because of course. If you'd shot at him, he'd be lecturing you about trigger discipline. Attack hand-to-hand, and suddenly you're an idiot for not using your weapon.

You seriously can't win with this man.

"Well, good thing I didn't use it on you then." The words come out lighter than you feel, dancing between playful and pissed. "And what are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be back there playing commander?"

"That's what deputies are for." The casual way he says it makes your teeth grind. "Besides, I dispatched a team to check the gunfire. Just my luck, running into you instead."

"Pleasure's all mine, chief." You load the title with all the sarcasm you can muster.

"And you?" His dark eyes study you like you're a particularly puzzling target he can't quite line up. "Any reason you're out here instead of following orders?"

"Didn't get any orders to follow." You cross your arms, ignoring how his presence makes your skin prickle. "And that ridge over there?" You jab a finger toward the overlook. "Perfect vantage point. I was trying to be strategic before you showed up."

He actually grimaces at that, like your logic physically pains him. But before he can open his mouth to deliver what's surely another lecture, you add:

"Just my luck, running into you instead."

The words—his own words turned back on him—hit their mark. His eyebrow twitches just slightly, and satisfaction blooms warm in your chest.

Score one for you.

But before you can inwardly celebrate, he grimaces. He actually grimaces before he opens his stupid mouth again.

"That?" His voice drips with condescension. "You think that's prime real estate for observation?" The asshole holds back a laughter. "Alright." He says, and you ponder the merits of hitting him with a rock.

But then he begins walking, and you trail after him, partly because s̶c̶r̶e̶w̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶ he's wrong and partly because... well, where else are you gonna go?

"Remind me again—which one of us specializes in persuasion and observation?" You can't keep the annoyance from your voice. His arrogance is starting to give you a headache.

"And which one of us is known for sniping?" He tilts his head just enough for you to catch the silver flash of his eyebrow piercing. "You think I don't know a thing or two about picking vantage points?"

"Just because you can shoot from far away doesn't mean you know the best places to shoot from." The words come out sharper than intended. "What works for a sniper might not work for surveillance. They're different skill sets."

"How so?" He doesn't even bother looking back now. "A lookout's a lookout, smartass."

Your hands find your hips. "You know what? Ask me that again when you sit in on our cross-training. Might learn something useful."

"Learn from an ensign?" His tilt is mocking. "No—learn from you?" He lets out a low chuckle that makes your teeth grind. "Pretty sure it works the other way around."

"Forgot about Flower?" You can't help the snark in your voice. "She's a chief too, and I'm sure she'd love to put you in your place."

The exhale he lets out is so exaggerated it has to be for dramatic effect. "You're insufferable."

"Feeling's mutual, chief."

You trail behind Jeon through the darkness, trying to ignore how his mere presence makes the night air feel electric against your skin. The silence wraps around you both, broken only by your footsteps until—

A rustle in the underbrush.

Before you can react, his hand clamps around your wrist. No warning, no words—just the firm press of tattooed fingers against your pulse point as he yanks you behind a massive rock. You crash against him, bodies colliding in a mess of limbs and s̶h̶i̶t̶ startled breath.

You open your mouth to tell him exactly what you think about being manhandled, but his finger presses against his lips. Shut up. His eyes scan the darkness beyond your hiding spot, focused and lethal.

And suddenly you're way too aware of him.

The moonlight paints him in silver and shadow, highlighting things you've never noticed before. Like how his eyebrow piercing catches the light—two tiny beads of silver that draw attention to the way his brow furrows in concentration. Or how that lip ring glints when his mouth sets in that stern line you know too well.

There's a scar on his left cheek—barely there, really. Just a whisper of a mark that makes you wonder what story it tells. Your eyes drift lower, catching on the small mole decorating the left side of his neck. It's such a delicate detail on someone who radiates danger, like finding a flower growing through concrete.

But it's his eyes that f̶u̶c̶k̶ y̶o̶u̶ u̶p̶ catch you off guard. Dark and deep, framed by stupidly long lashes that flutter when he blinks. They're beautiful in a way that makes your chest tight—and isn't that just f̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ fantastic? You didn't need to know that about him.

This close, you can see the tiny lines at the corners of those eyes. They speak of sleepless nights and heavy choices, of burdens carried too long alone. Watching him like this—he feels different now, less like a storm trying to drown you and more like standing in summer rain.

The realization hits like a punch to the gut: you're seeing Jeon. Not the cold-as-ice division chief or the intimidating Council member. Just... him. Human.

Complex.

His fingers are still wrapped around your wrist like an iron band. If anything, his grip's gotten tighter, and you're caught between wanting to yank free and being weirdly aware of how warm his hand is against your skin in the cool night air. It's hard to tell if you're feeling trapped or protected.

The footsteps draw closer—deliberate, confident. Not someone trying to hide.

You watch a muscle tick in Jeon's jaw, the kind of tiny detail you wouldn't normally notice if you weren't pressed so close to him. It's fascinating, in an annoying way, how he can look so calm while radiating such intense energy.

His eyes flick to yours for just a second, but it feels loaded with... something. Like you're suddenly partners in this mess, whether you like it or not. It's more communication than you've had in all your previous conversations combined.

The rustling gets louder. You hold your breath. Jeon's gone statue-still beside you, but you can feel the coiled tension in him. His dark eyes snap to a spot in the trees, then back to you with unnerving intensity.

"Shoot there."

You stare at him like he's lost his mind. "What?"

"There." His voice is barely a whisper, rough with urgency. He jerks his chin toward whatever he's seeing that you're apparently missing.

"You want me to shoot a tree branch?" The skepticism in your whisper could cut glass. "Seriously?"

"Just do what you're told." The words rumble out of him like distant thunder, crackling with impatience.

You give Jeon a look, but arguing isn't an option right now.

The gun feels heavy as you line up the shot. Your finger finds the trigger, and for a split second, everything goes quiet. The bang echoes through the trees, making your ears ring. You watch as the bullet hits exactly where Jeon wanted—that innocent-looking branch that apparently wasn't so innocent after all.

A net explodes from the darkness like some kind of ninja trap, shooting toward the approaching figure. But whoever it is moves like water—fluid, impossible, beautiful in a terrifying way. The net hits empty ground with a sad little flutter while your brain tries to process what just happened.

Beside you, Jeon goes still. If you weren't pressed so close, you might have missed that tiny hitch in his breath—the only sign that this wasn't part of his plan. His eyes narrow just slightly, that crack in his perfect mask making your stomach do weird flips.

He pushes you back against the rock, putting himself between you and whatever's coming. The stone digs into your spine, cold and rough through your clothes.

Then everything happens at once.

A shadow vaults over your hiding spot, moving with deadly grace. Gunshots crack through the night, and suddenly Jeon's shoving you down, his body covering yours. The world spins into a blur of motion and sound, your pulse drumming so loud you can barely think.

When reality settles back into focus, you watch the figure reach for their mask. Your fingers tighten on your gun, waiting to see what kind of threat managed to dodge one of Jeon's traps.

The mask comes off.

Oh for fuck's sake.

V's grinning like the cat that got the cream. "Paintball night!" he announces with way too much glee for someone who just scared the shit out of you.

Relief and irritation war in your chest. Of course it's V. Who else would turn a simple training exercise into their personal dramatic performance?

You watch Jeon's shoulders drop, but the annoyance is written all over his face. His jaw's so tight you can practically hear all the curses he's not saying.

Always the professional, even when he's irritated.

V's eyes dances with delight as he watches Jeon simmer. "Don't look at me like that, Kookie," he coos, lips curling into that signature smirk that makes you want to take a step back.

Cookie?

You blink, trying to process that nickname. Looking at Jeon—all dark clothes, silver piercings, and intimidating tattoos—the last thing that comes to mind is anything remotely cute or sweet. The mental image of him buying cookies from some terrified boy scouts makes you bite back a laugh.

Now that's a story you'd pay to hear.

Jeon's eyebrow shoots up in that way that somehow manages to say f̶u̶c̶k̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ more effectively than actual words. His tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek, jaw working like he's physically holding back whatever he wants to say. He's irritated.

"I'll give you some advantage," V sighs dramatically, thorny vines wrapping around your lungs even from this distance. "No fun beating you when you're unarmed." The words drip with amusement, like this whole thing is his favorite game. "See ya."

With one last unsettling grin, he melts into the darkness. Because of course he does. Dramatic asshole.

You're still sprawled on the ground, processing what just happened. Leave it to V to turn a regular night into some twisted paintball training session. The man's idea of "improving stealth skills" is giving everyone heart attacks.

Beside you, Jeon's muscles finally uncoil from their battle-ready stance. He looms over you, and you can't tell if the expression on his face is more annoyed or relieved.

"You gonna get up or what?" The words come out gruff, but there's something else there. Something that might be concern if you squint.

Then his hand appears in front of your face. You stare at it for a second, surprised. It's weirdly bare compared to his tattooed arms, and you hesitate before taking it. His grip is firm but careful as he helps you up.

The whole night feels surreal —one weird training session bleeding into another. You glance at Jeon as he stretches, working out the tension in his shoulders.

The mystery of "Cookie" tugs at your curiosity, but one look at his face tells you now's not the time to ask.

Some mysteries are probably better left unsolved.

next | index

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© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[enris]

CAN I HAVE YOUR DAUGHTER FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE?

synopsis after a year, jake finally earns your father’s blessing. (even if that meant breaking his bank account)

pairing sim jaeyun x f! reader

warnings this is not proofread! i apologize for any mistakes

word count 1.5k+

note first ever official post on tumblr 🥹 and i’m starting it with a slightly long one…bare with me 😔 i hope you enjoy reading, feedback is highly appreciated as i am still kind of new to writing! and of course, if it wasn’t obvious from the title, this is inspired by the song Rude by Magic!

“CAN I HAVE YOUR DAUGHTER FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE?” you watched as jake asked your father the same question, once again. you’ve already told him countless times to not worry about whether your father accepts him or not, but he just can’t seem to live without getting your father’s blessing. so now he made it his whole life mission to get his blessing.

you were watering your precious plants as you heard your dad rejecting him, again.

“my answer is still no.”

the expression left on your boyfriend’s face was just unbearable to see. it almost looked like he was about to cry any second now.

“dad, what’s so hard about accepting him? can’t you tell he’s a nice guy…” you say, trying to convince him yourself, but nothing was working.

“yn, you are way too young to be getting married right now, you hear me? this is unacceptable behavior. and you, young mister,” your father turned to jake who was already staring at him with puppy eyes, “you are not marrying my daughter, you get it? you have been asking me this same question for the past YEAR and it’s been bothering me ever since then. please, leave immediately.”

“what do you mean i’m too young? dad, i graduate from college in 2 months!” you say, but all you got in return was a head shake. you looked over to jake who shrugged back at you.

“yeah, and who’s the one who refused to dorm in? let alone going overseas, you threw a tantrum because you wanted to stay here for college!” your father argued back after a few moments.

you gasped as jake couldn’t hide his smile, “dad!”

“yn, come on, i wanna take you to this new restaurant that opened up.” jake smiled at you as he held his hand out, signaling for you to hold it.

“eh—? young boy, you better not do anything to my daughter, you hear me!? i’m not giving you my blessing for a reason! and you, young girl, you better be home before dark! i can’t stand it when you try to sneak back into the house at 1am…”

“what? you could hear me?” you ask, suddenly remembering all the times you’ve came back home late at night. i guess all the struggles for staying quiet doesn’t matter anymore.

before you could say anything else, your dad went back inside of the house, leaving you dumbfounded.

“i mean—how could he just say that and leave..?! this whole time i’ve been extra careful to not wake him…but he heard me this whole time?!” you couldn’t believe this whole situation, and turned back to your boyfriend.

“well, at least you don’t need to worry about being loud…?” he nervously smiled at you as you stared at him.

you took a deep breath in, “let’s just go to this restaurant. i’m starving.”

you and jake arrived at the recently opened restaurant and were shocked on how busy it was, despite being new. luckily, you guys got a table pretty fast.

“wow, even their menus are pretty.” you say as you scanned through all the foods that were available.

“yeah, they are.” jake responds, but he wasn’t looking at the menu. his eyes were on you as you were looking at what to order.

“hello! may i start off with your drinks for you today?” a waiter soon came over to your table and pulled out her pen and notepad.

“ah yeah, we’ll just take a water.” you say and watched as she wrote it down.

“awesome! are you guys ready to order?” she continues to ask, and you looked over at jake who nodded with a smile.

“uh, i’ll have this pasta please. what are you gonna order?” you turn to your boyfriend who was still scanning over the menu.

“i’ll take the same as her.” he says and the waiter writes down both of your guys’ orders before collecting the menus.

“alright, i’ll be back with your waters and your food will be our shortly after!”

as the waiter left your guys’ table, jake turned to you, his face more serious than before. but of course, what he said was not serious, at all.

“so, how should i suck up to your father?” he leaned in closer to you as he asked.

“what?” you were taken aback from the sudden question he had asked you, “what do you mean?”

jake’s eyes wandered off a bit as he leaned back into his seat again, “well it’s obvious he doesn’t want me to marry you…so i need to suck up to him, don’t i? what does he like? i need to buy him something don’t i? or do i need to show him im a good person…what do i do?”

“woah woah, calm down…what’s all this rush for? you’re acting like your gonna propose to me as soon as we graduate or something.” you say, and you can see the expression of jake’s face change immediately.

“ahaha, i just wanna make sure your father accepts me!” he chuckled nervously, though you can see the sweat dripping down forehead.

“calm down babe. if you are that desperate to get my father’s blessing then you do have to throw a little money around for him..”

“how much money are we talking? if it’s something expensive like gucci or…” jake paused as he noticed the expression on your face. even though you didn’t say anything, it was almost obvious you were telling him he needed to buy something expensive.

jake cleared his throat as he looked at the specific item, “wow…your father is an expensive guy isn’t he?” he scoffed, his hand covering his mouth out of pure shock.

“his birthday is coming up soon…if you buy this for him im almost completely sure his whole perspective on you would change.” you say, and he almost couldn’t even believe you.

“shit, i really gotta buy this specific rolex for him?”

“yeah, he’s been dying to have this specific one.”

all your boyfriend could do was nod continuously as he stared at the price of the watch.

he clapped his hands together, “all right, i’ll get this for him then!” he says with a forced smile. “my bank account will be crying tonight…” he mumbled before walking away to get a person for help.

you rushed over to him, “hey, you don’t have to do this you know? my fathers blessing surely doesn’t mean that much to you, does it? you can just get his favorite food instead.”

jake turned over to you, “baby. if i get him something expensive, especially if it’s something he’s always wanted, he would definitely give me his blessing. if i don’t have his blessing that means i can’t marry you, and i want you to be by my side forever.”

before you could even say anything else jake planed a soft kiss on your lips before calling over a worker.

“do you think he’ll say yes now?” jake asked you before he head inside of the house.

“i mean i sure hope he would…” you responded.

“how about this; if he doesn’t give me his blessing then i’ll kidnap you and after we graduate college we travel overseas and we can get married there!”

you scoffed, “you’re serious about this aren’t you?”

“of course, my girlfriend WILL become my wife and i’ll make sure of it!”

as soon as you guys were about to head inside of the house, your dad opened the door for you. you were shocked, but definitely not as much as your boyfriend who was beside you.

“everybody is getting ready to eat dinner now, what’s taking you so long?”

“uh—hello! yn’s father..” jake waved nervously at your dad who just stared at him. “happy birthday! i got you a gift.”

“oh? what is this?” your father dug his hand inside of the bag and was met with a rolex box. he gasped as he realized what it was.

“it may not be the right time to ask this question considering the special occasion so i apologize in advance. but, CAN I HAVE YOUR DAUGHTER FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE, please?”

you were scared looking at your father’s expression and noticed his grip on the rolex tightening. out of impulse you spatted out a few sentences.

“please dad, he’s really a nice guy. he treats me so well and i love him so much, you don’t understand how much i want him to stay in my life. if you don’t give him your blessing then i wi—”

“silly boy, is this your way of sucking up to me? huh? just because you bought me a rolex i’ve been wanting for ages you expect me to give my blessing to you just like that?” you and jake were both shocked at how your father responded.

“dad—”

“it definitely worked.”

jake’s eyes immediately widened, “wait, really?! i have your blessing?”

“i’ve been testing you all along to see how good of a guy you are and you definitely exceeded my expectations. treat my daughter well, sim jaeyun. im lending you my trust and hope you protect yn.”

you couldn’t hide your smile and so couldn’t jake. you guys both hugged each other before he thanked your father.

“thank you! i promise i will keep your daughter safe. as long as she’s with me only good things shall happen to her!”

© enris 2024. please do not copy, translate, or repost

xtra omg i’m sorry if this seemed messy 😭 again i’m new to doing things like these so feedback is appreciated!

[neonacity]

ARCANE : INIZIO | CH.8 | NCT DREAM X READER

Summary: When human deviants granted with the abilities of the legendary Arcana cards find themselves racing against devious forces, they are left to make a choice that might change the fate of the world itself: be the victims of the game, or become the masters of it themselves.

But will this war end with a crowned hero?

Or will it just create another mad villain?

*****

Note: This is the second book of Arcane. The happenings in this story is a prequel to the first installment which you can check in my Masterlist.

Pairings: Dream 00’ Line + Mark x Reader

Trigger Warnings/Themes: romance, violence, torture, trauma, poly dynamics, suggestive themes, language, psychological, mystery, sci-fi. The concept of the tarot or Arcana cards will be loosely used throughout the series. This is a work of fiction, and the boys are just my muses. I do not post anywhere else but here on Tumblr.

© neonacity, 2024

CHAPTER SONG: Anywhere | Evanescence

Index of characters and lore: (x)

Previously > CH. 1 | CH.2 | CH.3 | CH.4 | CH.5 | CH.6 | CH.7

****

Cold fingers ghosted over your skin, teasing you to slowly wake from your slumber. His touch was gentle as they traced your spine but the roughness of his calouses made you shiver and melt even more against his touch. Jeno felt it and moved his head a little to brush his lips against your forehead. You sighed, the action warming his bare collarbones with your breath.

"Are you awake?"

"No..."

You felt him slightly smile against your hair. You didn't want to open your eyes, afraid that the moment you do, he will pull away from you again. It's been so long since you had him close like this, so open and raw, and you are willing to put in the line anything just so you could live off of this moment for as long as you can.

"Look at me..."

"Jen, it's past midnight. You can leave before daybreak. I don't think anyone will care at all—"

"Run away with me."

You froze in his arms. Slowly, you pulled away to look at him, wondering for a moment if you heard his words well and clear. He looked too beautiful in the shadows of your room to be saying lies he didn't mean. Desperately, you tried to look for a hint in his eyes of guilt, but instead he only met your gaze with an openness that made your throat catch.

"What...?"

Jeno slightly turned towards you and raised a hand to cradle your cheek. His thumb made gentle strokes on your lips for comfort.

"Run away with me. Let's leave everything behind and start somewhere. Anywhere."

You were speechless. Unconsciously, you held back his hand to stop him from distracting you with his touch. He let you do it, but the look he gave you did nothing to soften his determination.

"Jeno, we can't leave the family. You know that. We're both—"

"Masters of a system that we both didn't want nor wished for," he said, cutting you off before you could even finish the words he's heard from you countless of times. "Don't you see? We've always had a choice. Being born into this doesn't mean you have to carry this burden forever."

He sounded so vulnerable yet so held back in that moment that you just knew he had been thinking about this for so long. Is this why he had been avoiding you since you went back to Rosewood?

"Our lives has been set for us the moment the Arcanas chose us as their masters. To have these powers mean we have a role to play. All of us do," you answered back in a tone that almost sounded as if you were begging. You can't help it. Never in your life have you ever considered this, the freedom he is talking about.

"And I choose a life with YOU," he shot back as he finally pulled away from you to stand up from the bed. You sat up as well, your heart dropping at the distance he put between the two of you. The desperation and frustration in his voice was like a slap on raw skin. You watched as he paced and ran his hand through his hair, a gesture that told you it was costing him his everything to say these things now.

"You say there is a war coming, but you don't have to fight it. None of us do. Your father has always given you a choice to run away from this, but you've held back thinking you need to pay a debt you didn't even make in the first place," he paused, before finally facing you again.

"I've made my choice. And I only have ever wanted you."

Silence rang in the wake of his words. You looked at him lost, and he did the same but with an intensity you have never seen in him before. There are only a couple of things in your cursed life that you have always been sure of. One, that tragedy is in your horizon, no matter how much you try to run away from it.

Two, you want Jeno.

Just as desperately, foolishly, and madly he wants you.

Your gaze finally lowered as you let your thoughts consume you whole. Jeno, seeing that as a clear refusal, sadly softened his shoulders in defeat. He looked away and stepped back.

"Forget it."

"We leave at dawn."

This time, it was his turn to freeze. He looked back at you, stunned and silent. You met him head on, your gaze clear and also determined for the first time in years.

"Let's leave together... I want you. I'm not running away again."

*******

Betrayal has a distinct taste.

It’s metallic and sharp, like the bite of blood sitting at the back of your throat that you can never seem to wash.

It also has a distinct smell. One of burnt embers, tossing in the hearth as they melt into smoke.

Betrayal has a distinct color. Oftentimes, it comes in shades of blood and rust. But sometimes, it can also be of flowers…

Trying to cover the bite of poison under their deceiving bright colors.

The man standing in front of the dying fire tried his best to ignore the curve of the deep red lips that smiled at him from the shadows. He wanted nothing more but to get his current business in this cursed room done and over with, but the devil of a woman sitting across him seems to find joy from seeing him internally suffer.

He guessed her reaction was warranted if he were in her position.

Miyoung Lee, renowned doctor and scientist, and one half of Cypher—the leading research institute in this part of the world—was about to unlock what no other academic has done before. Access to powers way beyond the mundane world that govern the aether and the ether… and maybe even the ability to control them.

All because of him. Particularly, what he is about to do.

Junho Lee, a renowned member of the secret Arcana Family, born and destined to protect the celestial forces that were lent to chosen human descendants would probably be the last person anyone would suspect to betray the clan. As a direct son and current head of the main Lee branch, he holds pride in his roots. Before him, his ancestors have made history as Arcana masters themselves. And while he had not been granted the same powers as them, he is about to make his own mark by being the father of one yet to be the greatest of them all.

“Tomorrow, yes?”

“At the break of dawn.”

“And you can confirm that he has no suspicions? At all?”

Junho paused for a moment, watching the fire lick a turning ember on the hearth. The Headmaster of Rosewood Academy is a keen man and a powerful one, but he is also a person with unwavering trust in his circle. Unfortunately for him, he decided to put it on Junho. And now they both have to pay a fair price for it.

“He has none. I made sure the trail is clear.”

The slight creaking of a chair followed by the dull thud of heels against mahogany made him brace. It took him everything he had so as not to flinch at the feeling of long sharp nails running up his shoulders, before tapping the lapel of his coat almost mockingly.

“Good. I have trust in your word, Mr. Lee. After all, you know what it will cost you if you betray me.”

This time, he couldn’t stop himself from stiffly turning at the woman, his eyes cold as steel. Miyoung smiled back with the look of a feral goddess.

“You will not hurt my son.”

“I shall not hurt him if you keep your word. That is the arrangement.”

He balled his fists under the cover of his pockets at the way she said it so smoothly, as if she was talking about the weather rather than the fate of a whole secret society and the individual lives that make it. The first time Junho met the woman, he knew from the start that she was a different kind of evil. But then again, are they really much different? He who has chosen this path for the sake of revenge and glory?

“And the girl too. Don’t forget about her,” he replied. Miyoung took a step back and gave a wave of her hand as if it was just an afterthought she couldn’t care less about.

“Yes, of course. I do not understand the need to save a plain human but I have not forgotten.”

He took that as a signal to leave. He never particularly liked these clandestine meetings and he also didn’t need a reason to be suspected by anyone. Turning towards the door, he barely gave the woman a look as he passed her.

“Keep your word, and you might have the world.”

*******

You might as well have gone mad.

Yes. There is no doubt that you have finally lost your mind the moment you slipped out of the shadowy hallway, your eyes having long adjusted into the darkness by now. In front of you, Jeno’s back looked strong and determined as he led the way, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings for anything and anyone. Even as he moved to guide you, he kept his hand locked with yours as you both traced the steps leading to your escape.

Escape. A heavy word to describe what you two are about to do, but a fitting one nonetheless. The irony, however, lies in the fact that you are not running away from anyone. Your father would be more than happy if you step away from this life and you doubt any of the others will try to hold you back. No, what you are escaping from is your own self. Your identity as a member of the Family and the life you've thought you'll have to see through until your very last breath. Jeno is doing the same, both of you deciding to leave behind parts of yourself that have been bound to your souls since the very beginning.

Yes, after today, you will no longer be IL Matto, and he, La Morte. You will live your life as normal people, and that will be more than enough.

“Are you sure you don’t want to do anything else before we leave?” Jeno spoke in a whisper and you noted how a slight flash of guilt took his gaze. “Maybe write a letter to your father?”

You hesitated briefly, and you knew Jeno felt it with the way he ran his thumb over your hand. A letter is a good idea… at least a word that can let your father know of your decision. However, the thought of doing something so actively as to say goodbye is already choking you up, as if it would make your actions all the more real. So instead, you slightly shook your head and motioned for him to continue walking.

“The sun will be up in less than an hour. We should go…”

He didn’t question you anymore, his answer coming in a gentle squeeze of your hand. The skies beyond the wide windows running through the hallways are already starting to stain with the faintest golden red and you both continued on, silent in agreement and purpose.

It was in the last hallway, just before you could both breakthrough the back exit of the academy that Jeno suddenly paused. Peering from around his back, you saw darker shadows moving against the darkness, as if the source of it sensed your presence.

“Keep back,” he whispered against you as another dark figure lengthened in front of him. He had called on his arcana to act as your shield.

“Jeno…”

“Jeno?”

You both stiffened at the sound of the voice. Just as soon as it appeared, Jeno’s shadow warrior dissipated, revealing a baffled looking Jaemin behind it.

The silence that followed was thick. Jaemin’s eyes looked at you both, before his gaze flickered towards your joined hands. The sight of it made a look of realization dawn on his face, and for the first time, you felt panic crawling up your throat.

“Jaemin–”

You were ready to go on a full-blown explanation when he suddenly nodded towards the exit behind him.

“You both better leave now if you don’t want the others seeing you.”

You blinked, shocked and confused. Meanwhile, Jeno was quiet in front of you, watching his best friend.

“What are you doing here?”

The silver haired boy shrugged off the other’s question with a slight smile.

“We’ve been stationed to go on rounds in guarding the castle. The other hyungs are at the front. Luck is really on your side for choosing this route. If you decided to have done this yesterday, you would have had Haechan catching you both.”

Your gaze moved from Jeno and then to the other boy. For some reason, you felt like they are both talking in codes you couldn’t understand.

“Hey, don’t look so startled, angel. I’m here to keep the bad guys out, not keep you both in here,” Jaemin said in his usual smooth fashion. He gave Jeno a quick look then. “Besides, everyone knows this will happen sooner or later.”

Something about his words triggered something in you, and without even realizing it, you found yourself letting go of Jeno’s hand and going over to Jaemin to wrap your arms around his neck. He didn’t hesitate to hug you back, pressing his lips against the top of your head. Despite his casual demeanor, he held you tightly as if he never wanted to let you go.

“Thank you…” you whispered against his chest.

“If he hurts you, I’ll know. I’ll go get you myself then, okay?”

You smiled and nodded, not even realizing that warmth has started rolling down your cheeks and staining his shirt. When he finally let you go, he gave your arm one last squeeze before looking over at Jeno.

“Take care of her.”

“You know I will.”

He slightly moved over to the side as Jeno joined both of you then. It was a quick moment, but for a few seconds, the three of you basked in that shared little space. You, Jeno, and him. You three who have always balanced each other out… You three who have always been there at the start.

“We’ll write. I promise,” was the only thing you found yourself capable of saying. He laughed softly and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear.

“And I promise to visit… Once all of this is over. Now go. You don’t want the others making a big fuss of you two eloping.”

A shade of red dusted your cheeks despite yourself at the word he used. Nodding, you stepped back as Jeno took your hand again.

“You’ll be safe until the grounds. Once you’ve passed the protective barrier of the school, you have to be more careful.”

Jeno nodded. Without another word, he gently tugged you to pass the boy, a look of thankfulness in his eyes.

“I’ll see you soon, Jaemin.”

“Yes, soon.”

*******

Mark couldn’t figure out the reason he bolted awake from the warmth of his own bed. His breaths came in short and fast as if he had been running, and there was a thin layer of cold sweat on his forehead. He couldn’t remember if he was dreaming or not before this, but when he trained his hearing to check if there was anything amiss, the stone dorms only echoed back silence to him. Shakily, he raised his hand to feel for his pulse, and within the next minute, tried his best to gather his bearings.

His breathing was still uneven when he felt it again, a pull that cannot be seen or heard, but can only be felt energetically deep in his core. Rosewood Academy has always been protected by glamour, an invisible shield that keeps it from catching too much attention from normal people and to protect its students from the outside world. The barrier is made of the same frequency as their arcanas, which means it is pulled from the vibrations of the masters. The stronger the control over your ability is, the most you contribute to it... which only means one thing at the moment.

The school is under attack.

The moment his feet touched the ground as he jumped out of bed, an explosion of noises came from all around him. There was shouting and what seemed like a loud bang from deep inside the castle, and when he tore his door open, he was met by a wild-looking Haechan and Renjun. Jisung and Chenle were on their heels, looking equally worried in their pajamas.

“Hyung!”

“What is happening?”

“Where is she?”

They all talked at the same time, but it was a new voice coming from the other end of the hallway that made them all turn their heads at the same time. Jaemin was running towards them, covered in what looked like dust.

“We’re under attack. Someone’s trying to break down the barrier from the outside!”

“Are you okay? And where is she? We have to–”

“She left. With Jeno. She’s out of the castle right now.”

Nobody spoke after that. Mark wondered for a moment if he heard it correctly, but the way Renjun’s face paled beside him told otherwise.

“What do you mean she and Jeno left?!” Haechan asked, his voice shaky. Jaemin trained a steady look at the other boy and said nothing else.

“We have to go after them,” Mark said, moving to pass the other boy before he even realized what he was doing. His stomach felt heavy, and his limbs felt numb while also wanting to grasp something. The same words screamed at his head again and again.

She’s in danger.

You have to get her.

She left.

I can’t lose her!

“Hyung!”

Renjun’s voice snapped him from his trance. Mark looked down to see Jaemin holding him back, while the other tried to block his way.

“We have to let them go. They’re better off away from the Academy.”

“What do you mean they are better off–”

“Right now, we’re the only ones who know they left. These people who are trying to get inside are after us masters. She is better off away from here with Jeno,” Haechan added, despite his expression looking equally torn. Mark stared the boy down, until finally gritting his teeth and taking a step back.

His action seemed to have made the others relax a little, especially Chenle and Jisung who looked like they are waiting for their older hyungs to give them directions. The sight of the two youngest put some sense in him and Mark looked around the rest of the group as he tried to focus on the more important things.

“We need to help the others. Jaemin, do you know where Johnny-hyung are?”

“Him and Jaehyun-hyung are guarding the north main entrance. Yuta-hyung and I think Mijeong are both stationed in the West and East. I was over there at the South exit but the headmaster came over and told me to look for you guys so we could evacuate.”

Mark frowned. There was a gnawing feeling that started creeping up on him at the mention of the man.

“The headmaster? Was he with Kun and Taeyong-hyung?”

“They weren’t when he came over.”

“He doesn’t know noona left with Jeno?”

Jaemin shook his head.

It only took a moment for him to make a decision.

“We should get to him now.”

The rest of the boys exchanged confused looks but started running after him as he jogged towards the South end of the academy. Mark didn’t know what got to him, but the pull towards the headmaster told him it was the right thing to do at the moment.

“Hyung, shouldn’t we be helping the others? I think the headmaster can handle things himself,” Chenle asked.

“He can. But the Rosewood shield is also held up by our Arcanas, meaning the strongest of the masters have the most influence on it. We’re already compromised without IL Matto and La Morte and he—”

“He doesn’t know it. If he gets hurt, there's a huge chance the rest of the shield will go down as well," Jisung finished his sentence, sounding breathless.

Mark didn’t say anything and continued rushing towards the exit. He could only hope their older brothers are holding up their own forts, but they are also a lot more experienced at them so the odds are a little bit more in their favor. As for you… Haechan is right. You would be better off as far away from the Academy as possible with Jeno. He only prays you two have made distance before the attacks started.

It took a few minutes before him and the rest finally retraced Jaemin’s post. His heart was beating hard against his chest, even as they turned the final corner which leads to the iron-clad gate of the academy. The rest of the boys slowed down as he did, and like a pack, started walking carefully down the hallway. Everything looked still… Dark…

Then, all of a sudden, there was light.

A huge gaping line, similar to a portal tear, rose up in front of them. It glowed on the edges, as if a ragged saw tried to reap a hole from thin air. Mark looked down on the floor in front of it, where a small rounded thing caught its light.

Lying on the spot where the headmaster should have been is a lone copper ring. Mark has seen it all the time, always in the finger of the very man who was the last and strongest protection of Rosewood.

Until now.

*******

It felt like being hit by lightning.

You stopped in your tracks as your insides felt as if they were suddenly set on fire. In front of you, Jeno also paused, looking at you over in worry for a bit before an odd expression also took over his face. As your eyes met, you both knew you felt the same pull—a feeling as if something binding you had been broken.

“Jeno,”

You weren’t able to finish what you were about to say as another flash of pain took over you. This time, it didn’t seem as if Jeno felt the same and he crouched to hold you before you could fully collapse. His face was pale in the slowly dawning light creeping up from above the tree line as he tried to support you on your feet.

“Are you okay?”

“Something has happened.”

His eyes trailed upward, back to the hilltop where the turrets of the Academy were still visible. You have made enough distance from the castle by now, but you could still see some of its looming towers from where you are.

“We have to keep going,” he said, his voice sounding like he was trying his best to calm himself. He helped you up to start pulling you again but you stopped, your eyes wide.

He looked back at you in confusion, but it didn’t last long as he saw the look on your face. His jaw tightened and the fingers holding your hand did the same.

“Don’t…”

“We can’t leave them, Jeno.”

“You can’t go back there. If something really did happen, you have to be as far away from that place!”

“My father! Something must have happened to him,”

He paused, confused at first. Tears were starting to sting behind your eyes, and not only because of the pain still gripping you.

“I felt it. I lost his connection. I can’t feel him anymore, Jeno.”

You knew it the moment the second stab of pain embedded itself on your chest. While all Arcana masters are interconnected, the Triad has a special kind of bond that only the last three can feel. Despite the distance, your father’s energy has always been with you as IL Giudizio to your IL Matto. Now, there is nothing of him that you could feel no matter how much you tried to reach for him. There is just… silence.

Jeno stared at you with a look that you cannot fathom before slowly letting go of your hand. When he moved to cup your face, you avoided his gaze as your tears finally started to fall.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. I can’t do it right now.”

He gently shushed you before pulling you in and kissing your forehead. He was steady in his hold on you as always, but you could feel the sense of defeat when he pressed you closer against him. He held you just like that for a few more moments before his voice anchored you again.

“Let’s go. It’s time to go back.”

*******

Note: Hi, guess who is back.

I know this fic has been dead for so long, but for some reason, no matter how many times I tried to quit it, I just couldn't bring myself to say that I'm done. I'd like to thank the last anon who sent me a message about it. So many people might have forgotten that Arcane still exists, but you gave me the push for now to finish at least this chapter! I am a little rusty at the moment but here you go. <3

Taglist: @effulgentfireflies, @kasperneo, @lostlovesoul11, @byunniebaekhyunnie, @smolpeyy, , @dearj43, @bettyschwallocksyee, @babyksworld,   @yongboksfreckles,  @user103843, @lovehowdream, @glitching-wren, @jhornytrash, @coconuttiez8d, @negincho​, @stopeatread​, @ellatizw​, @huangberryyy, @wonyofanclub​, @lotties-readings , @cabaretyun, @jjaegyeom, @marijmin

[lexicorp]

Transformers Earthspark: Another Place, Another Prison

So I have like a couple chapters planned for this little fic, like 5 or so so far, idk [the number is steadily increasing- got like 23 planned by this point its insane]. And I figured I could prob post on tumblr since i dont know much bout other sites lol. [Tryna see if I can get AO3 tho]

The jist is that I love TF Earthspark, but they again screwed over Star when it wasn't even set up for that after season 1. They did so anyway and I have so much Star angst rotating in my brain, especially after that scene in the last ep of S3 where he was having a goddamn tea party with corpses. Also thinking about how he lived without energon in there, and the chaos energy effects, and how in that rage plague episode everyones behavior was so damn Starscream influence coded that my first theory had been that chaos energy was leaked and Bee had contracted it from the lightning.

a couple of the chaps are gonna be named after episodes in S3.

Summary: Star is isolated and bugged up by chaos energy to function without energon and plays with corpses like dolls and begs for a rescue that never comes [In actuality I am constructing a wack ass eventual good ending for da boi somehow-]. The chaos shit gives him fits of blind rage~

AO3 fic link

Next chapter: No Soldier Left Behind

Chapter 1: The Need For Read

The perception of time has always been a funny thing. Cybertronians, humans, any complex being amongst the stars clocked it differently. For Starscream, any means of organizing it was always a tactical, professional asset. If you thought time could be used recreationally without thought, you were a fool. Any time that wasn’t strictly clasped into submission to fill its roll would become sluggish, warped, and glitchy at best. It was yet another one of those things that would never be your friend.

Like now, for instance, Starscream was bored. So. Unbelievably. Bored. 

So he paced. He had to think of something to get out of this Primus forsaken Titan. After obtaining the full power of the shattered Emberstone with Spitfire and Aftermath’s help, his memory had become filled with even more oh so helpful static. How had he lost? He had the Decepticon army, even if it was rather miniscule on Earth. He had the power of a Prime. A Titan under his will. He had it all under control. All planned out. Everything had gone perfectly! 

Something had happened when the chaos energy sparked from the corrupted Emberstone had flooded his systems. All he remembered seeing after borrowing Spitfire and Aftermath’s shards, and creating his gauntlet became… glazed in red light. He should have crushed the autobots and begun reshaping this pathetic planet into New Cybertron! Not suddenly have the power be ripped away from him as this useless Titan ceased its pathetic functioning! What the frag happened?! 

Nothing about that was right. No one should have stood in his way–

As Starscream began to pace faster, he growled and red lightning fluttered across the surface beneath his peds. The crimson light flickered in his vision but he only felt the jolt in his spark that made his violent rage rise.

“WHAT THE FRAG?! I cannot believe this. Of course. Of course! No. They should have all been ground to ASH beneath my ped. HOW did this happen?! HOW?! I obtained the most powerful weapon on this planet and STILL they pull some miracle out of their afts to-to MOCK ME?! I AM GOING TO KILL ALL OF THEM.” He slammed a fist against the wall, then proceeded to shoot his plasma cannon rapidly; they only created a meager dent. 

He vented shakily before turning back to look at Spitfire and Aftermath, still lazily collapsed across the floor. With the Emberstone power released again shouldn’t they be getting off their afts by now? Perhaps they were still in stasis. He did suppose that the shard they carried sparked them, but surely they couldn’t be this reliant on a rock for the entirety of their function. The Terrans didn’t need pieces of the Emberstone to tramps around, so why should these two? They just needed energon. Or… whatever it was they ran on. Cave water…? Starscream recognized as his energy levels drifted down again, that the chaotic crimson lightning around them was retreating into the atmosphere and elsewhere in the Titan. Fuel would become a problem for all three of them if they didn’t find a way out of this. 

What were the other Decepticaons doing? Pit, what were the Autobots doing?

Why hadn’t anyone come for them? He shouldn't be foolish enough to think the cons would try and break him out of this, especially if they’re now being hunted by the bots again. But at least the Autobrats wouldn’t just leave them up here in limbo. They wouldn’t trust it. They knew he was going to get out of here without them right? The idiots. 

Then again, Starscream walked over to one of the Titan’s optic windows, apparently those Malto’s had created some sort of barrier around them and this part of the city. The scattered chaotic energy was made into some sort of odd weather pattern. Perhaps the bots thought this was enough. And he had seen a couple cons running around down there too. So the plan was to just leave them there. Of course.

He clasped his hands behind his back with a tense hold on his wrist to release some pressure within him. Then began to pace again in front of the window. Observing the happenings below, at some point he spotted Breakdown and Bumblebee conversing to some degree through the barrier. Then they started playing… card games? What idiots. Did they think they could have some sort of petty friendship through all this? They’re just a couple of low-grade fools down there. Laughing, having a bit of silly banter. Pathetic.

Starscream scoffed and commented through a sneer with a roll of his optics, “How quaint.”

Yet he watched. A part of him wishing he could join in. But that was too ridiculous of a feeling to indulge. 

The two rustbuckets eventually dispersed and he found himself searching the sky instead. Then he spotted two jets shooting through the air, dodging clouds and shooting upwards in an attempt to ram the force field. His spark skipped in his chassis and he flung himself up against the optic window.

“SKYWARP! THUND- er–” Starscream cleared his throat with an embarrassed laugh, “N-novastorm! Hey! Get your afts down here and help me! What are you doing up there!? You can’t just ram an energy barrier you fools– Hey hey WAIT!” He hit his fist against the window again as he yelled desperately in an effort to gain their attention, but they couldn’t hear him. 

They didn’t even look his way. Like he wasn’t even a second thought. After they gave up their useless ramming idea they just flew back down to ground level. Never hesitating and only voicing complaints to each other that he too couldn’t understand, although he could imagine.

Starscream’s wings tipped down in his own defeat. His expression was dismayed until the crimson lightning returned in a wave through the Titan and it twisted into a pained fury. Of course they don’t care.

“FINE! BE THAT WAY! SEE WHAT I CARE! I CAN GET OUT OF HERE WITHOUT YOU USELESS MECHS! See–” Starscream’s voice crackled a dangerous, humorless laugh– “THIS is exactly why you can’t count on anyone but yourself. THIS is why I never went out of my way to help those two. What have they ever done for me?! Whatever. They can get scrapped by those chaos clouds for all I care. Heheh… Oh you two understand don’t you?” He glanced back at the chaos Terrans as his eyes flickered between their blue and red. “Hm… I suppose we can’t have you rusting on the floor forever now can we.” 

The chaos lightning leaves Starscream’s optics again, the odd surges going unnoticed by the mech in question. He first hefted Aftermath into a makeshift chair with significant effort. The mech was far too bulky to be convenient if you asked him. Then he went to Spitfire to carefully lift her smaller frame from the floor and thoughtfully sit her up against Aftermath on a table of sorts around the dimly lit spark of the Titan. 

“Ugh, why must you two still be powered down? Even if you might not contribute much at all in getting us out of here, at least you could be more entertaining than this.” Starscream waved a hand judgmentally at them, and Spitfire had the gall to fall down face first from her position. “Oh don’t give me that sass Spitfire, I outrank you!” He scolded, to which she motionlessly mocked him. He gasped and put a hand to his chest dramatically, “How DARE you! It’s not MY fault– the-” Then Aftermath just stared at him with that stupid expression, and his head tilted to the side accusingly. “EXCUSE ME that you two had the last of the shards in you that I needed. You shouldn’t require those rocks to continue your function, and I don’t have them anymore anyway, the chaos energy exploded everywhere. So why has it not returned to you yet? That isn’t my doing! You just want to take your sweet time to spite me.” Starscream crossed his arms in a huff after having been animatedly waving them around. 

After perhaps waiting a moment for a response his ped started tapping, and he hummed. “Hmm… we really need to find some means of fuel in this dump. Perhaps that is all you scrap heaps need to get moving.” 

Starscream began wandering around the little room. Inspecting the streaks across the surfaces, the fact that the centerpiece topped with a glowing green orb was still lit, and the oddly organic flora sprouted around them. The light was clearly from the Titan’s dormant spark, and he doubted they could siphon power from it. The energon extractor spear likely wouldn’t work for that purpose, and he didn’t wish to test his luck and make the thing collapse with them in it. When Starscream reached out to touch the orange tinted bulb protruding from the tip of the flora, a flit of crimson static shocked him and he yelped as he flinched back. 

Well, obviously the chaos energy is power, and was the core of those chaos Terrans. So surely he just needed to gather more of it again. This he was sure the spear could accomplish. 

He retrieved the device from the table and stabbed it into the wall to pull out more of the escaped chaos energy from it. Then, pointed the spear at spitfire first, he always did like her better. He carefully operated it to release a stream of the gathered energy into the vacant spot left in her chassis. Lightning erupted across her frame and even leaked a bit into Aftermath as she leaned against him. But after her shaking subsided, and the energy depleted, she didn’t move any more than that. 

Disappointing. And infuriating. 

“AAAUGH! Why didn’t that work!?” Starscream’s hand holding the spear shook as the energy it loved was attracted to him, red flickering in his blue optics. He growled and pulled his free hand down his face, exasperated. Then threw the spear across the room, “Useless!” and stomped back over to the optic window.

As he looked down at the stupid landscape below, he spotted Bumblebee and… Trash and Mo? Trash was probably not the correct name but he didn’t care. It was funny. How did they get inside? Oh wouldn’t that make Breakdown happy, that the bug had known how to get inside yet never freed his supposed friend. 

Then they actually looked up at him. This made anger surge in his spark. He wasn’t some sort of sight to see in a museum! 

Starscream banged against the optic window and yelled, “You like what you see you slagging BRATS? Come up here and fight me cowards! This is all YOUR fault! You did this! Especially that little human and HER STUPID CYBER SLEEVE! The Emberstone should have never been discovered by you IDIOTS! Maybe none of this would have happened if you had kept your grimy little meat stumps out of where they DON’T BELONG!” His vents cycled rapidly as the red electricity surged through him, his vision now clouded in crimson. “You want to be little Primus damned HEROES but you are NOTHING but yet another threat to Cybertronian kind after the war! Mandroid huh? Guess what! He needed Quintus’ power for his death machine! We would not have needed saving if YOU didn’t exist!” 

Now he was caught between pacing and destroying any surface leading to outside. He wasn’t even sure what he was saying anymore. Why he was saying it. The kids had helped Decepticons and him directly back then when they had never needed to. He wasn’t mad at them. He wasn’t. He hated G.H.O.S.T. He hated Megatron. He hated plenty of people. But how could he blame kids for any of this?

In this moment he fully felt again the power of the corrupted Emberstone stringing along his movements. His whole frame was shaking and his optics sparked violently as his weapons shot red plasma at the glass that was hardly fazed. 

Eventually the chaotic energy died down and Starscream fell to his knees in the carnage. He shuttered as his vision flickered back into the correct hues. He forcibly straightened the speed of his vents as he pulled himself off the floor to whip around and face the chaos Terrans with a wild grin plastered on his faceplate. 

“Oh I could never be mad about the existence of you two sweet sparks though right?!” Starscream’s optic twitched as his voice cracked. He strutted over to the two husks and bent down to put a hand around each of their shoulders. “We’re in this Pit together! It’ll be great! HAHA! YES!” He broke off again to grab the spear and prance around the room theatrically. “We will get out of here and show them all that we aren’t done yet, right guys?! Right! You agree with me Aftermath! Spitfire you know you still have to prove to that Twitch one you are superior, and we can’t do that from here! HAH! Well, maybe we could pretend–”

With a lack of books, it is a quite common thing in history to create stories orally, after all.

[superblysubpar]

Sit Down:

steddie x reader | my blog is 18+

"Sit.Down," he practically growls before soft lips brush along your temple.

"I can't! This is ridiculous!"

Eddie’s dirty sneakers continue to pace over the worn carpet of the lobby. His thumb between his teeth as he glances at the double doors for the hundredth time in less than a minute.

Steve adjusts his arm around your shoulders when you shiver, his other arm wrapped tight around your lower back pulls you closer against his chest.

"I mean, we've been here a fucking hour! And nobody else is in this waiting room and she's clearly sick-"

"Ed..." Your voice is hoarse, muffled against Steve's chest.

Your eyes are squeezed shut tight against the harsh flourescents so you don't see the way your pitiful voice makes Steve's eyes harden in their gaze at Eddie, or the way his jaw tenses when he risks a glance at the doors himself. The only way you know it makes Eddie stop is the jangle of his chain and the sound of his feet dragging halting. Not seeing how broken his face looks when he takes in your crumpled body against the other boy.

"Sorry. I'm just...I hate doctors. I mean I don't hate them, they're cool, they have the drugs you need, but I feel helpless and scared and you look so sick babe."

"Not. Helping." Steve grits out to Eddie in another warning, his arms tightening around you protectively.

They glare at each other until the doors open and your name is called.

You pathetically remove yourself from Steve and start to follow the nurse, wheezing out what brought you in today until you realize the two boys are trying to follow and you turn, hands practically smacking their chests if you had the power behind your weak limbs.

"Stay out here," you plead, nodding towards the chairs.

As the door starts to swing closed behind you, Eddie nods, like the sight of you going through the doors is finally enough to ease his nerves, but Steve's mouth is parted in a protest you don't get a chance to hear.

When you finally come back out to the lobby, Eddie sits in the chair you once were in. His chin propped in his palm, bored in his stare and command of, "Sit down, Harrington."

Steve's hands push through his hair repeatedly, voice grumbling something you can't quite make out as he paces back and worth.

They both turn at the sound of your cough, immediately overwhelming you with questions about prescriptions and food you might want, lips to temples and cheeks as they start to get you bundled back up in your coat and hat and gloves.

A/N: I've been having quite a tough time in various ways, including writing and being on Tumblr lately. @carolmunson had asked how the boys would act with you at an urgent care a bit ago, I posted this, and then almost immediately deleted. I'm re-posting now, trying to feel better about posting things on here again. Thanks for asking for this Carol, and can't wait to participate in The Boy Is Mine too. 💛