#but with their extreme expectations in the first place

[harrysxcarolina]

sweet lil secrets

b. eilish; don't worry, i won't tell pt 2

pt. 1

warnings: wlw, soft!billie, top!billie, costars, no plot, cussing, smut, fem!reader, slight teasing, flirting, half proof read...

Quickly tying your hair up out of your face as you plop down in your hair and makeup chair glancing up in the mirror seeing yourself for the first time in the last couple hours. Definitely not expecting it to go the way it did. A small smile works its way across your cheeks. Your hair is disheveled and all over the place. Your cheeks are bright pink while your lips are slightly swollen from the scene you just encountered. Your heart is still slightly beating against your chest as your mind replays Billies soft whimpers. You can still feel the pressure of her against your burning skin. Softly tracing your skin with your fingertips as your bottom lip gets captured between your teeth. 

“Please keep touching me.” 

“You feel so fucking good baby.”

The soft knocking against the metal door pulls you out of your thoughts. Shaking your head as you quickly get up and go to open the door. Eyebrows furrowing as you take in the dark haired girl standing bashfully on the other side of the door. Her hands lay at her sides, her fingers gently tapping along her thigh as her hair gently blew in the warm breeze.

“Hi.” You say with a coy smirk. Looking up at you through her lashes she matches your small smile. Whispering a soft hello in return. The sun brightens the blue in her eyes as her cheeks heat up at your stare. Your tongue swipes across your lips as you invite her into your trailer.

“How ya feeling, Eilish?” You ask with a smirk as you plop back down into your chair crossing your legs as you hold your gaze on her. Slightly rocking back and forth on her heels as her hands dig deep into her sweatpants pockets. The sweats are barely hanging on her hips. Her shirt slightly bunched above her waistline showing off her porcelain skin and the tattoo that permanently lays along her lower torso. Her dark locks cascading down her back as her bangs fall her vision. 

Her bottom lip falls between her teeth as she tries desperately to fight back her bashful and slightly embarrassed smile. “Good. Uh-“ Her bottom lip captured between her teeth, eyes dropping down your body before working their way back up to yours, “really good.” She states as she kicks the tip of her shoe along the floor as she reaches up to run her fingers through her hair cheeks heating up at her confession. 

“Good, I’m glad.” You reply as a chuckle leaves your lips. Her fingers fumbling with the rings lining her hands. 

“So what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask motioning for her to take a seat. Taking a deep breath as she makes her way to the little loveseat across from you. Bouncing her leg anxiously as she nibbles on her bottom lip. Trying to find the words to explain what had happened only just moments before. 

“I just wanted to say that I was sorry and that it was very, actually extremely, unprofessional of me.” She states quickly as she clasps her hands together in her lap in hopes that it would seize the butterflies raging in her tummy. Her gaze avoids yours as she taps her foot. The soft taps echoing in the small trailer. The sunlight peeking through the window shining against her blue orbs. Her dark lashes make them brighter each time she blinks as she slowly brings her stare to yours.

“Don’t stress it.” You hum standing up and moving to sit next to her. “I guess it could happen sometimes.” You state with a shrug as her eyes follow you. You don’t miss the way her breath hitches as she notices the very little amount of space between the both of you once you sit down next to her. You can practically feel the heat radiating off her body as her cheeks turn a bright red. A small smirk plays on your lips as you lean a tad bit closer to her. The tension thick in the air as your shoulders barely brush, your free hand reaching up and tucking her loose bangs behind her ear. Her cheeks once again heat up at the intimate touch as the tip of her tongue glides across her lips. A soft chuckle leaves your lips.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone Billie-“ you whisper as your fingers brush gently across her cheek. Feeling her burning skin beneath your fingertips as she carefully leans into your touch. Her eyes closing as you trace your fingers down her jawline. The pause between you both lingering only for a moment before Billie felt the heat of your breath on her ear as your hands snaked their way around her waist. Slightly tugging her closer to your side. Your fingertips teasing her skin as you trace right above the waistline of her sweatpants. Her head falls back against your shoulders as you slowly slip the tip of your middle finger inside. Tracing her skin feeling the way her breath gets caught as you find the lace of her underwear. Her eyes clenching close as her hand grips the edge of the loveseat. 

Smirking against her neck, “I won’t tell anyone how you lost yourself over my thigh. How you begged me to keep touching you-“ your finger slips under her lace thong finding her clit as the tip of your tongue teased her earlobe. Her hands quickly grip your arm through her pants as her hips buck unintentionally. Holding your hand perfectly still as she fights her chest heaving up and down. Her breathing was harsh and loud in your ear. Her mouth dry as she feels her heart racing against her chest.

“What a beautiful whimpering mess you were Bils-" you whisper as you tilt your head to look down at her. Her body completely fell into you. Head drawn back with her red swollen lip between her teeth trying desperately to fight back the moans wanting to escape. Her dark hair fanning out across your shoulder as her head lays completely against you. The tint of her cheeks rosy and pink as her eyes fight to stay open. Your eyes trace every line, freckle, curve along her face leading you to her lips. god you wanted to kiss her so bad.  

“Tell me, who made you that wet Billie?” You question as you trail your lips along her neck. Your finger slowly but firmly circling her clit. Her hips fighting to buck against your fingers but your arm wrapped around her torso stops her movements, her grip on your wrist tightening as your teeth sink into her neck. Her moans sound like sweet melodies in your ears as your fingers slowly work themselves into her wet folds. Your fingers squeeze her hips as your smirk grows along her neck.

“Who made you such a whimpering mess?” You ask soft and sweet as you capture her earlobe between your teeth. “Holy fucking shit-“ she moans as your words seep into her burning skin. “You. You did. Please-“ Billie begs as she desperately tries to grind up against your fingers. Her free arm encloses around the back of your neck pulling you tighter against her body. Your head now deep in her neck leaving your mark all along her flush skin as her fingers tangle deep into your hair.  

Chuckling, “is that so sweet girl? Who would have thought?” You hum as your fingers tease her folds feeling her wetness seeping through your fingers. You couldn't stop your mind from going wild with all the ways you wanted to continue to make her whimper and moan more.

“Fuck Billie-“ you moan loudly. “You’re so fucking wet already.” Without thinking your hips rut up against her ass at the thought of you being the cause of her being this wet. The fact that you got her off during a scene and it was definitely not scripted was a shock in itself. 

Yeah you guys flirted and teased each other, but you didn’t think it would lead to this. Leading you to being the cause of her whimpering state. Billie had a naturally flirty personality. She unintentionally flirts with everyone. Always making people laugh and welcoming them into the group. It felt natural between the both of you. 

Billie couldn’t take it anymore. Removing you from her grip she quickly spins around, trapping you against the loveseat. Her hand firmly gripping the cushion next to your neck, the other tightly gripping your hip. Pinning you between her and the cushions. Your ragged breaths match as her icy orbs stare down at you. Her thigh sliding its way between yours firmly, pressing it against your aching core. Your eyes roll back as a soft moan leaves your lips, her grip on your hip tightens. Her hips bucking against yours as she lowers herself into your neck. 

“If you grind that pretty little pussy of yours against me again I can’t promise that I won’t fuck you senseless later.” Billie seethed against your neck as you felt her hot breath sliding across your skin leaving goosebumps in its trail. Her teeth graze your skin as she flexes her hips against yours. A deep moan leaves both of you. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this.” She mumbles into your neck. "How long I've wanted to explore every inch of your body. All the long nights on set. All your teasing looks. God, you've been driving me mad." Her words drip down your skin like warm honey as your back arches into her touch.

Your hands reaching up and tangling themselves into her hair. Pulling her flush against your lips as your hips buck up grinding against her throbbing heat. Her hand grips your hips tighter as she works her hips against yours. Lips tangled together as your heads tilt deepening the kiss. Her hand working its way down your body feeling the way you’re reacting to her. Every breath, whimper, every shake and groan. All because of her now. She wanted to devour every inch of you. 

Pulling apart to catch your breath, your chest heaving up against hers. Her forehead lands on your shoulder as her fingers flirt with your waistline. “You were toying with me out there,” she grumbles against your shirt. “With your teasing tone. You soft touches. Your little whimpers.” She whines as she lays a wet kiss along your collarbone. Working her way across the collar of your shirt. Her teeth captured it tugging it signaling she wanted it off. Sitting up and quickly pulling it over your head and tossing it to the floor. Your hair falling down your back as she gently pushes you back down. Wasting no time tracing her lips across your cleavage that was being pushed up by your bra. Groaning against your skin as she leaves gentle love bites in her wake before working her way back up.

Her lips brushing against the shell of your ear as she lets her hot breath trickle down your skin. Causing a shiver to run down your spine. “Now it’s my turn to play with you.” She moans. Her hands snapping the waistline of your pants against your lower torso. Your head leaning back against the couch as you urge her to take them off arching up into her touch. Gliding the material down your thighs as her eyes follow in their trail. Lip stuck between her teeth as she watches you lift your hips sliding your underwear down shortly after.

Her hands dance their way back up your thighs as her gaze meets yours. Her stare is intimidating as you fight the moans desperately trying to escape your swollen lips. Her grin grows as her fingertips trace the outline of your core. Barely brushing against you leaving you begging for more. Her lips hot on your skin as she kisses her way down your body. Stopping briefly to show appreciation to each one of your breasts before she works her way down your torso. Teeth grazing every so often as she flicks her tongue across your skin. Moaning as the saltiness of your body. Her fingers continue their tease as she taps her fingers lower between your folds. Her moans send vibrations throughout your core as she slowly sinks the tip of her middle finger into your cunt. 

Grasping the baggy shirt dangling in the space between your bodies, your hips rut up into her touch. Mouth hanging open as her head hangs against your shoulder. Her breathing ragged as she feels you quivering under her touch. Her hips gliding across your thigh as she thrust her finger completely inside you. Brushing against your walls deliciously as you rotate your hips trying to spread the friction you were craving. Sliding your hands up under her shirt. Making quick work to unclasp her bra and grope her swaying breasts. Her moans loud and raspy in your ear as you squeeze and toy with her breasts. 

Flirting with her nipples as you twist and pull each one between your fingertips. Losing yourselves in the rhythm of your hips, your lips crashing together. Tongues grazing and teeth pulling each other's lips. Neither one of you is willing to forfeit the battle for dominance. Groaning in each other's mouths as Billie works another finger deep inside you. Twisting and rubbing against all your spots as her thumb works your clit. Grinding your hips harder against her fingers as your hand works its way deep into her locks. A deep raspy groan leaves her lips as you tilt her head up. Breaking up the kiss as you force her to look at you. Her eyes were wild and wide. Her cheeks are a deep red and her lips were a soft pink. Swollen and begging to be kissed as she looks down at you. Your harsh breathing matches as you lick your lips a smirk working its way across your cheeks. 

Her lips are mirroring yours as you softly whimper your request in her ear. Her eyes rolling back as she bucks her hips against yours. Sliding her fingers out and between her lips as she tastes you for the first time. Making sure to not miss a drop as she glides her tongue across and between her soaked fingers. Eyes locking with yours wearing an evil smirk noticing the way her eyes darken as she glides her hand up your torso. Feeling your warm skin beneath her fingertips as she works her hand to unclasp your bra. Removing your bra completely before gripping the hem of her own shirt and tossing it somewhere behind her. Your eyes grow wide as you watch her slowly slide her bra straps the rest of the way down her arms. Her breathing is soft and steady as she reminds you to keep your gaze. Demanding your attention as she slowly slides her sweatpants to the pile. Her fingertips hooking in her lace thong as she sways her hips, wiggling the material down her smooth skin. 

Your request is still on her mind as she slides down off the couch and between your thighs. Her hands gripping softly as she slowly aids them open. Leaning down and brushing her lips against your skin. Teasing you as she glances up at you through her lashes. Her tongue glides across her lips before scattering kisses along your inner thigh. Your back arching off the loveseat as your hands grasp your breast. Squeezing and pulling as you rut your hips up silently reminding her where you wanted her. Her grin grows as she continues taking her time kissing every inch she can reach. Her lips venture closer to where you need her; you feel her fingers squeeze your thigh. Flexing her hand as the cool metal of  her rings leaves a chill shooting down to your core. 

“Billie please!” You whimper and beg as you slouch further into the couch. Arching into her grasp as her lips make their way to your core. Your toes barely reach the floor as you feel her hot breath fanning across your drenched core. Her arms looping around your hips pulling her fuller off the edge. Her tongue peaking out between her swollen lips as it flicks gently across your aching bud. Your nerves were on fire. Every single touch had your body firing electricity from the tips of your toes to the tip of your nose. Her teasing flicks against your aching bud had your hips frantically and shamelessly grinding against her wet talented tongue. She gently squeezed your hip as she finally captured you between her teeth and sucked on you until you swore you saw stars. 

Panting as you aimlessly look for something to grab onto. Reaching one hand down and tangling it deep into her dark locks as you guide her mouth completely against you. Her groans fill the room as she sucks, licks, and nibbles at your core. Working her tongue and fingers perfectly against you as she slides two deep between your folds.

Hitting that sweet spongy spot deep inside you perfectly over and over again as her thrust get deeper and harder. Her tongue and lips sucking your clit as you moan out her name. Whimpering and moaning as you work your hips against her face. Her icy blue eyes staring up at you as her tongue sticks out. Slipping between your folds and swallowing every single last drop you were offering as she watched you get closer to your orgasm. 

Her lip between her teeth as her arm flexes and her grip on your thigh tightens. “Fuck, do you know how good you look right now.” Billie groans as she moves her free hand up your body. Taking her time as she runs it across every inch. Caressing your body as if you were made of glass. Her fingertips dance across your skin as they reach your under boob. Your breath catches. Her fingers continuing their sweet torture inside you as she curls them just right. Your hips rutting against her hand as your hands reach for her neck. Pulling her up and flush against you as her breast rubs up against yours. Breathing heavy in your ear as she quickens her thrust causing your fingers to dig into her skin. 

Your ears ringing as your legs clench around her digits. Her arm sliding up under your back and holding you tighter against her as her lips search for yours. Tangling together in a sweet kiss as you feel your body start to crumble under her. Your hands gently cupping her cheeks as she straddles your thigh. Her fingers never faulting as they cause the familiar tingles to start building deep in your belly. Moaning against her lips as you feel her gentle sway of her hips. 

Her wetness spreads across your thigh causing you to pull apart from the kiss. 

“Shit,” You moan, leaning your head back against the back of the loveseat. “You’re so fucking wet Bils.” You whimper as you thrust your leg up against her dripping core. Her fingers twisting and curling even faster as she feels you clench around her digits. 

“Do I feel good, pretty girl?” Billie groans as her voice drops an octave. Her hot breath fanning against your skin as her lips lay a chaste kiss to your sweaty skin. Nodding your head as a soft whimper escapes your lips. Your hips rotating and grinding against her thigh as her fingers bring you to the brink of your orgasm. 

“I need words ma, tell me who’s making you feel good?” She whines in your ear as her hips grind faster against you. Her breath heaves as she feels your legs clench around her. “You feel so good. Fuck Billie!” You moan as your lips find her neck. Capturing her skin between your teeth as you rut against her faster. Making sure to leave your mark along her neck as you feel yourself climbing higher. Your mind is completely in the clouds as you feel Billie on every surface of you. 

Your breathing harsh against her chest as you feel everything around you get quiet. Your heart racing and your vision blurry as she repeatedly hits your sweet spot. Your toes curling and legs clenching around her as your body finally lets go of the losing battle. Your moans bouncing off the walls of your trailer as your fingers grip and grasp at her naked back. Her groans dance in your ears as her hips rut a final time before her body goes stiff. Her lips heavy on your neck as she nips and sucks your sensitive skin. Her orgasm washes over her like cool water on a hot day. Moaning as she feels your hands slide down to her hips encouraging her to keep her motions against your thigh. Her fingers are still thrusting deep inside you at a steady pace as you both try to ride out your highs. 

With heavy sighs and sore limbs you both rest against each other trying to catch your breaths. Your fingers gently tapping along her hip as she lays featherlight pecks along your jaw. Humming softly as you can’t fight the smirk working its way across your cheeks. A chuckle ripples off Billies chest as she furrows her face deeper in your neck once again trying to her bashfulness. Her cheeks burning up as you gently grip the back of her neck pulling her up out of your neck. Eyes glancing up at her as your smiles match. Her lip held tightly between her teeth as she reached down and brushed her fingertips across your features. Her eyes were bright and excited as neither one of you were ready to burst this unexpected little bubble you were in. 

“Wanna get out of here?” Billie asks with a sneaky mischievous look in her eyes. Your smile only grows as you quickly nod your head yes. Pushing her up off your body as you both begin to dress before you both make your way out of the trailer. Not really sure where this all will lead but you definitely weren’t complaining. Not when you felt her hand gently tug on yours before she slowly interlaced your fingers. Leading you towards her parked car. When the raging fluttering of butterflies overtook your tummy when you felt her fingers gently dancing across your thigh as she drove you both back to the hotel. Your skin burning under her touch as the anticipation grew more than you could bare as she pushed you through the door and onto the bed. Her lips leave a hot trail as she sucks and licks your neck. 

Her smirk is undeniable as she lowers her lips to your ear, “Mm don’t worry pretty girl, I won’t tell anyone either…” 

[t-a-a-1]

Can you do bayverse optimus ?Tlk if you can.It can be whatever you want i love your scrumptious writing hehe also ignore this if you're uncomfortable!^_^

Raindrops

Summary: Optimus asks you a very important question.

A/N: Written after the happenings of TLK. 4K Words

Raindrops

....

Everyday since he met you, he’s asked himself the same question. 

“Would you come with me?”

It was a question he had imagined the answer to. A resounding ‘no’.

Optimus didn’t see any reason why you would want to go with him to Cybertron. Leaving your friends, family and career behind. All the commodities Earth provided you will be gone the moment you decide to come with him.

And it’s not like he offers you a beautiful home. Cybertron was hostile, after the war it had become ruins. He dreamed many times of showing you his home in its golden age. You would have loved the museums, the theaters, the libraries, the arts. Would you have loved them as much you love your planet? Would it be enough for you to want to stay?

“It seems Earth and Cybertron’s destiny has always been intertwined,” the sun is setting. Optimus looks at his home planet, now on Earth’s orbit. “If that had been any other celestial object, it would probably cause catastrophic events. But it seems like Cybertron was made to not disturb Earth’s gravitational pull and magnetic fields.”

Your field wasn’t physics but you had basic knowledge on how things worked. Just like he expected you to do, you started to ask the real questions. Something he was trying to avoid as long as he could. 

“But I wonder if that’s because Cybertron currently lacks a core … Maybe once we are able to restore it, Cybertron’s gravitational pull will be too strong and destroy Earth.”

You look at him but he seems lost in thought. You didn’t blame him, having his home planet back must be unbelievable. After so many years of war and lost friends, what he always wanted is right here. 

“When that happens, we’ll have to send Cybertron back to its original place in the universe.”

You expected him to continue the conversation some way or another but it's as if he wasn’t listening or rather he did not want to. Maybe he is tired of everything and wishes to leave immediately. Probably not wanting to deal with humans anymore. 

Sighing heavily, you turn around, the wind moving your hair. The smell of the grass was strong and so a new aroma. It was hard to describe. Metal but alive. It was probably Cybertron. It didn’t bother you but it was different. 

Looking back at Optimus made you realize that maybe he wanted to be alone. It is a lot of process for today. 

“Well, then I guess this is goodbye–”

And suddenly, a servo is in front of you. Stopping you from walking any further. You look back, only to find Optimus’ faceplate extremely close to you. 

“I-I … My apologies, I don’t know what took over me.”

It’s like you triggered something in him with your words. But you weren’t sure what. Now he looks confused and lost. As if I wanted to say more but can’t or don't have the words. You wanted to guess but your mind made you believe stupid ideas. Ones in which you prefer to not indulge any longer. They will only cause you unnecessary pain. 

“It’s alright, you must be emotional. That’s all.”

You wait for a few seconds in which you could see Optimus’ blue optics in all of their glory. They were beautiful as they were mysterious. So close that you could see the small circuitry and cables that make up his optics. Such intricacy that you find yourself lost in them. 

And then … you are ashamed. 

“I must go.”

You say as you look away, expecting him to move his servo but he doesn’t. 

“I must go.”

You say again and this time you see the hesitancy in his faceplace.

He slowly removes his servo and distances himself from you. His optics looks away and then looks at you in a repetitive manner. 

“Do you–”

“I–”

“Oh sorry, you go first–” You raise a hand, trying to get his attention only to be interrupted by the Prime. 

“No, you go first.”

It was awkward. And the fact that it was that way made you wonder what went wrong. In what moment did things between the two of you become so uncomfortable? Was it just the sudden realization of final peace? Was it too unrealistic for the two of you to believe? What is it? 

“Nothing, I was just wondering if there’s something you wanted to say before I leave?”

Optimus servo clutch into fits. He opens his intake but nothing would come out. It was strange to see him this way. So confused, so … innocent. As if he was a kid trying to ask for another piece of cake. Too shy to ask and yet you find these small moments to be a treasure. 

“I was just wondering …” 

He hesitates again. He closes his optics and lets out a heavy vent. Turning his entire body around, you are unable to see his faceplate. 

“When the time comes … Will you …”

His voice becomes so low that you are unable to hear him. 

“What?” 

You ask him, confused by his sudden lack of confidence. 

“Will you … me?”

He says again but the loud wind and low tone voice weren’t helping the situation. 

“... What?”

You ask once again, your voice gets louder, showing your clear annoyance at being unable to hear him.

“Will you come to Cybetron with me?!”

Suddenly, he turns around, you can see his faceplate again. 

It was that expression again. One that you had only seen a few times. That of pure distress. Worriness. Anxiety. You had seen it before. During that time you had been captured by a Decepticon, badly injured and bleeding. His troubled expression was the last thing you saw before going unconscious. 

But now? What was that distressed look for? What was he so worried about?

“I, I–”

What were you nervous for? Why were you stuttering? Your cheeks are getting hotter and you can’t speak. You can’t manage words. The expression on his faceplate had left you stunned as your brain tried to understand the reasoning behind it. 

The longer you take to answer, the more pain is evident on his faceplate. His eyebrows squish together and his optics tremble. His lips formed a thin line that slowly became an upside down smile. He is begging you to end his torment and yet you know you have to tell him the truth. 

.

.

.

.

It’s quiet around the hangar. 

A small base had been built near Stonehenge. It was the logical thing to do after Cybertron had appeared above the ancient pillars. Although the American Government wasn’t too pleased to make negotiations with the British to let them have a base in their land. 

You weren’t even supposed to be here but due to all the commotion in the last days, they let you stay. As well, Optimus and the rest of the Autobots enjoyed your stay. No one asked you when you will leave nor ever mentioned that you were a bothered. So you decided to stay for a couple of days until things settle down. 

And because your boss had asked you to stay and bring back the full story when you are done. 

“Are we just going to pretend Prime is ok?”

“Not like we can do much either or.”

They probably didn’t see you. As they were too busy talking to each other, carrying a few boxes of what you thought to be Energon. Meanwhile, you were typing on your laptop behind some piles of metal. It’s not like you were hiding but you rather found yourself a place where you could not be bothered when you needed to concentrate. 

“I still can’t believe (Y/N) said no … I thought the two of them had a strong bond.”

“Yes but everything she knows is here,” Bumblebee puts down his box as Hot Rod walks close by.  “Besides, they were too different … things wouldn’t work out.” 

“But does she even know that Optimus’s processor has identified her as his Conjunx?” Hot Rod also puts the Energon box down and sits on top of it. “Boss-Bot won’t be able to attach to anyone ever again … Isn’t that a bit cruel?”

“Cruel?” Bumblebee inquiries. “His Conjunx is someone who lives a fraction of our lives. The universe enjoys the game and the Primes are the pawns.” 

“And they know how to play well.”

It started to rain. It wasn’t unusual for rain to come and go in England. 

The bots look at it with amusement. This was unknown in Cybertron. It will take a long time before they can rebuild Cybertron and go back home but this will be one of the things they will miss the most. 

“What is a Conjunx?”

You came out of your hiding spot, behind the bots and they quickly stumble in their steps as they look down on you. 

“What are you doing there?!”

“What is a Conjunx?”

You ask again, not caring whether Hot Rod or Bumblebee looked like they just had seen a ghost. 

“You don’t need to know that,” Bumblebee quickly starts to walk away while Hot Rod keeps looking back and forth. He looks hesitant but doesn’t speak, waiting for Bee’s next action. 

“You said Optimus saw me as his Conjunx,” you don’t move but rather speak loud enough for him to hear. 

“Yes but there’s no need–”

“She should know,” Hot Rod interrupts the talking yellow Mustang. 

“Optimus wouldn’t want it,” Bumblebee stops walking and turns to look at his comrade and you. There is certain determination in your eyes, letting him know that you won’t stop pushing it until you find the answers you were looking for. You had always been known for that, probably something Optimus likes about you. 

“Optimus will die of sadness if she doesn’t know.”

Bumblebee doesn't say a thing but just ex-vents heavily. 

.

.

.

“Would you stay with me?”

That’s what you wanted to ask but you already knew the answer. A resounding ‘no’. There was nothing for him on Earth. Humanity had once betrayed him and now he is doubtful. Humanity will help rebuild Cybertron and after that the transformers will leave. It would be a selfish thing to ask him to stay. You can’t ask him to give up on everything he fought for. His home, his family and friends, everything was on Cybertron. And you just were a human who wanted him to stay. 

It’s still raining. 

But that doesn’t mean you’ll stop looking for him. 

Although you can already feel yourself getting sick. Your hair is wet and your clothes damp. 

It wasn’t unusual to rain in England but you hated how unpredictable the weather was. The wind was also strong but the base was already too far away to back away now. You had to find him. 

Suddenly, a truck you immediately recognized makes his way towards you. The bot you were looking for appeared in front of you but he aggressively stops and opens his pilot door, signaling to go in. 

You didn’t hesitate and jumped right in. Optimus closes the door and starts driving away as you are welcomed with warmness. Although you were cold and tired, you didn’t wait any longer.

“I was looking for–”

“Have you gone mad?” Optimus asks, his voice showing his clear annoyance. “ What are you doing in the rain without proper protection?”

“What? That doesn’t matter, I was–”

You wanted to start asking questions but you started to sneeze. 

“How can I leave knowing you are this helpless?”

And after that, all previous questions left your mind. 

“Excuse me? I can take care of myself.”

“Your actions tell me otherwise.”

You roll your eyes, maybe he had a point. Running in the rain to look for him was probably not the best of ideas. But you were not about to tell him that. 

“And what about you?” you sneeze again although more softly this time as to not to prove his point any further.  “Aren’t you too told to be outside without an umbrella, you could be getting rusty anytime now?”

Optimus didn’t say a word. Your words will resonate at the back of his processor. He can’t believe he ever thought you would say yes to coming to Cybertron with him. You were right, he was an old rusty robot. Too many scars, too many mistakes and injuries. He can’t provide you with anything. Not even a family. 

And yet he is selfish. 

And you sneeze again.

And again.

“Great, I think I am going to get sick.”

He hates that word. Cybertronians also get sick but rarely. But humans are different. According to his research and observations, humans tend to get sick often and tragically a lot of them die. 

Optimus didn’t want to say a word, his pride told him to stay quiet. That you don’t need his concern, you do not wish it nor want it.

But you sneeze again.

“I’ll be taking you to the closest hospital,” he says as he makes a turn, heading for the closest road. 

“I am not going to the hospital, it's just a cold–”

“You are going to the hospital and it's final,”His voice is demanding but you don’t care.

“No, I won’t–”

“Why won’t you take my feelings into consideration?!”

His inside trembles. You could feel how his engine gets louder. The air coming from his vents got warmer and for a moment you felt your heart race. Out of guilt for making the Prime lose composure.

“What if you die?” he asks again. “What would I do after you are gone?”

The more he talks, the more desperate he sounds. As if he was living the circumstances he speaks of. 

“Have you thought what my life would be like without your presence?” you feel the seatbelt across your chest get tighter. “Do you really wish for me to be tormented for eternity.”

“This isn’t about me going to the hospital, is it?”

He doesn’t respond, his silence answers your question. 

“Let me out Prime, I want to talk to you, face to faceplate.”

He drives off the road and takes you to a heavy section of a nearby forest. Raining still, the tall trees prevent the rain from fully touching the ground. But some drops still make it through. Not like you cared about getting wet, you already were but Optimus had other plans. 

Opening the door and removing the seat belt, you jump out of his alt form. You watch him transform, a scene you will never be tired of. It's beautiful as it is scary, yet he is gentle. He knows it can be scary and he moves slower, softly as if not to scare you. 

Optimus doesn’t mass shift but he tries to see you at an eye-level. It must be uncomfortable for him and before you ask him why he doesn’t size-down, you feel him move closer.

He puts one of his large servo on top of you, protecting you from any rain from touching you.

“I want you to be honest with me,” you say as your breath is agitated, your heart pumping against your chest.  “I need to hear it from you.”

“What do you feel for me?”

Without you knowing, Optimus’ spark is also pulsating strongly against his chassis. He moves his optics away for a second, only for them to return to look at you. 

“You are a valuable asset to the Autobot cause.”

“Is that all?”

“You are also an important comrade.” 

You didn’t expect him to fully understand what you were asking. But you were hoping he could read your undertones. 

“I am giving you one last chance,” you say, your hands turning into a fist. You weren’t the best at this either and if you were honest, you didn’t know what you were trying to achieve.  “Is that all you feel for me?”

The Prime has always been known to be eloquent. Especially with words. But when it comes to you, he loses all sense of vocabulary. It didn’t use to be that way. There used to be a time when you meant nothing to him but a friend. 

But you had never stopped looking for him. After the attacks in Chicago, even after Sam’s death, an occurrence in which he blamed himself, you never stopped looking for him

What is it? Why did you do it?

“Look at the rain … Can you count each drop that falls from the sky?”

Optimus moves his optics to look at his surroundings. The rain, the trees, the beauty of nature. It cannot compare to you. 

“No, I can’t,” you respond quickly, your face full of wonder.

“Then, you are the rain,” he says.  “And I am trying to count.”

He sees your hands soften. Your expression had become awkward, with now avoiding eyes and pink cheeks. He has this need to hold you but respects your anatomy. 

“I can’t tell you how I feel because there are not enough words to describe it,” he calculates his words but he finds himself taking longer to answer. “I could recite you all of Cybertronian poetry and yet that doesn't feel enough for me.”

You keep looking at him and he looks away. Your eyes were too beautiful and it distracts him immensely. 

“But if you were to ask me to count each star in the universe I would,” he lets his spark do the talking, finally subsiding the yearning it has been holding for a long time.  “If you asked me to bring you a star, I would bring you a constellation.”

“This old rusted body belongs to you but if you ask me for my silence and distance, I won’t retaliate.” 

“And if I asked you to stay with me, on Earth, would you do it?”

You know it was a selfish question. You didn’t want to make him choose between his world and you. But you just had to know if there was a small possibility, a small chance that the life you had with him could still be a possibility. 

After the accidents in Chicago, you had looked for him, only to find him broken. Sam’s death had affected him greatly but in that grieve of losing loved ones, something sparked. 

Three years. You had lived with him for three years, in an isolated cottage. Where he could have all the dandelions he wanted. Where he could care for animals and the two of you would look at the stars and try to count them. Each one of them. 

“If that’s what you wish,” Optimus says. “I would stay by your side as long as you would have me.”

“I can’t,” you look away this time. “I won’t ask you to stay with me.”

“You have a duty to complete and Cybertron is your home,” there is more to it. More doubts than you are able to articulate.  “When you asked me to go to Cybertron with you, I said no because I don’t think I am worthy to be on your side.”

“Have my actions made you feel this way?” 

“You are Optimus Prime … I think anyone would feel unworthy,” you pause, thinking about the earlier events. “But today, Bumblebee and Hot Rod told me that you see me as your Conjunx.”

Optimus opens his intake only to close it. He looks side to side, trying to evade eye contact. One of the few times you can tell he is shy. But him acting in such a way has also made your body betray you. You wonder if he can tell just how nervous you are. 

“Does that mean — You do?”

“You weren’t supposed to know,” his voice is delicate with an apologetic tone. As if you had just caught him stealing extra energon from the resource room.  “Without noticing, my processor had one day started the Conjunx Ritus and as time passed, we both successfully completed the requirements.”

“And before I knew it, my Spark belonged to you.”

“But we are so different.”

“And yet here we are,” he makes a pause and he hears the rain. He tries to calm down before asking his next question, knowing that this will break his Spark. “Does my affection displease you?”

“No, no, I just–” you stumble with your words. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Is there a possibility that perhaps, in your heart, you reciprocate my sentiments?”

And you stay silent. Mostly because you don’t fully know what is going through your heart and the implications behind it. Can this even be possible? Are your feelings even real? Can he comprehend what your feelings are? Can this … Whatever it is, be real? 

“Please end my torment,” his faceplate looks to be in distress, his optics yearning. Longing for something unknown to the both of you.  “Your silence makes me have hope and I don’t want to suffer when you destroy my delusions.”

Gently, you walk towards him. You reach out a hand and touch his faceplate. Rubbing your soft skin against his cold metal. You watch his optics close, his engine gets louder just a bit but you hear him. As if your touch had saved him, healed him from whatever his processor agonized him with. 

“You are cold,” you say as you put your forehead against his faceplate. “Until you get warm, I’ll stay with you.”

Optimus didn’t need to ask further. You didn’t have to say anything either. He just basks himself into this moment. Not knowing what the future holds but he doesn’t care as long as you are with him. This moment won’t last forever but he wants to think that one day it could be true. 

A moment were he believed he could spend eternity counting the raindrops and stars in the sky with you. 

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A/N: Sorry this took so long. I’ve seen all the Bayverse movies but TLK is a movie that is a bit hard for me to write about because I don’t understand it much lol. But I still hope you like this and that it's not too OOC?  

It was fun to write this! So thank you so much for the request! :) 

[sirianasims]

Chapter 44.5

I get almost halfway through the take before I stumble over my words. With a deep breath, I reach over and stop the recording. Again. I wonder how real actors can stand this, repeating their lines over and over, but quickly veer sharply away from that particular line of thought.

I hit the record button with a little more force than strictly necessary, watching the monitor as it opens a new file for the fifteenth time today. With another deep breath I paste on a smile that gets less convincing for each take.

“Hi guys, it’s Julia!” I chirp, my voice sounding unnaturally upbeat, even to me. I launch into the introduction, trying to hit that sweet spot where it still sounds natural and improvised, as if I hadn’t rehearsed it all morning.

This time, I manage to maintain a smooth delivery from beginning to end, no fumbling, no awkward pauses. Relief washes over me, until I glance at the small mirror under my camera.

One side of my eyeliner is smudged, the wings embarrassingly lopsided and uneven. I finally got my perfect take – and it’s useless. Of course.

I hammer the button to stop recording and toss a mascara onto the table with a clatter. My eyes are burning, and it’s not just from the brightness of the ring light. I grab a makeup wipe and erase any trace of the effort I put in this morning as I shut down the camera. No more today. My heart’s clearly not in it right now.

I head into the living room and sink onto my couch with a weary sigh, phone in hand. Marten still hasn’t replied to the text I sent him several hours ago, before I started recording. Now that we’re official, I figured we’d be texting and talking even more often. Instead, I almost feel more isolated than before. It’s only been a week since our first kiss, shouldn’t this be the giddy honeymoon stage?

I guess I can’t expect him to clear his entire schedule just because I finally decided to sleep with him, but still, I would have liked to see him again this weekend, spend more time together, reassure myself that the feelings – his or mine, I don’t know – are real.

I try to get a few cute selfies. My hair’s still decent, but without the makeup, I look… well, tired. I choose the least unflattering one and send it to Marten.

After a long pause, my phone finally vibrates. “You’re so pretty, Jules. Miss you too. Busy w/ study group, talk later!”

I stare at the message for a few seconds, chewing my lower lip. Somehow, it’s not the enthusiastic, all-in response I crave. He always says that he misses me, but he’s extremely slow to respond most of the time. I get it, his studies are demanding. But is it wrong for me to want more attention? More… appreciation that I’m dating him?

I feel a flutter of guilt. Do I seriously want him to feel grateful? Ugh, I sound like such a diva. I scroll through my favourites, stopping at Samara’s name. She’s visiting her family this weekend, so that’s a dead end. The quiet of my apartment presses in, the air thick with a loneliness that’s becoming too familiar.

On an impulse, I text Miranda instead, and my phone rings seconds later.

“Hey, girl!” Miranda’s voice crackles through the speaker, bright and cheery as always. “What’s up?” Her excitement makes me smile. Maybe some of that energy will rub off on me.

“Not much, to be honest. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out?”

“Oh my gosh, yes! Perfect timing. I was just unboxing some new items for a brand deal and I’d love a second opinion. Come over!”

“I’ll be there soon,” I say.

I can always finish the video later.

It’s impossible to be sad for long in Miranda’s apartment. The moment you step inside, it’s like an explosion of colourful curiosities, framed posters, soft pillows and plants, so many plants. This place is all Miranda, loud and unapologetic.

Her cat, Socks, is curled up in her usual spot on the couch and I’m very careful not to intrude on her space as I cross my legs. At best, that would earn me a scathing look of absolute disdain, and at worst, she’d get up and leave, her tiny furry body radiating contempt.

Miranda has placed two steaming mugs of coffee in front of us, along with some fruit and chocolate.

“Thank you so much for having me over, Mir. I spent all morning messing up a recording and I was slowly going insane.”

“You’re welcome, I appreciate the excuse to procrastinate.” She indicates her unboxing table across the room with a toss of her head. “Got a brand deal, I’ve only worked with them once before, and I really need to get it right. They’re extremely picky, last time I had to redo the video like seven times before they approved it.”

“Ouch. But I guess they were happy in the end, if they offered you a second deal?”

“They were very happy, but it’s still a lot of pressure. So I’m postponing that particular problem until tomorrow, the light is better early in the day anyway. But how are you doing, really?”

The genuine concern in her voice makes me fold immediately.

“Honestly, I kind of hate everything right now. It’s like nothing really makes me happy, even though it should. I mean, I finally hit a hundred thousand followers, I got a new boyfriend, things should be amazing. But no matter what I make, it feels forced, and Marten… I don’t know. I can’t quite get a read on him, I kinda wonder if he even actually likes me.”

“Well, maybe he’s not as intense as… as what you’ve been used to, but he’s clearly obsessed with you. I don’t think we’ve ever hung out without him texting you at least two or three times, and that was before you even started dating.”

“Yeah, you’re right, maybe I’m comparing. I guess it’s too soon to worry about it, it’s only been a week. It’s probably just work dragging me down.”

Miranda looks thoughtful. “Would you rather go back to your old content?”

I shake my head. “No. It’s too niche, I was struggling to reach fifty thousand followers back then, and I’ve already doubled that since switching. I need to stick to something with a wider appeal if I want it to be viable.”

“OK, thought experiment – if money wasn’t an issue, what would you do? No limits, you can do whatever you want?”

The vision bursts into my head, unbidden. I’ve moved to Del Sol Valley, I’m working on movie costumes, maybe musicals or theatre too, and I walk the red carpet in a stunning gown, and Paul is there, and of course he sees me and deeply regrets ever leaving me. Then I force him to explain himself and either slap him or kiss him – or both – and…

“I don’t know.”

“Really? Seriously, Julia, anything goes?”

I force the fantasy out of my head and try to be realistic. “I think I just miss being a little more creative. I don’t want my whole rebrand to go to waste, but maybe I could make it a bit more… fun?”

“Well, that’s pretty doable, isn’t it? I’ve been thinking we could do a collab, maybe it’d shake up the format a little and you could do something new.”

Next to me, the cat purrs contentedly, oblivious to the mild existential crisis swirling in my head. “I really appreciate you wanting to help, but I’m a bit worried it’ll look like you’re just boosting me. You’ve got ten times the followers I do, I don’t want pity views.”

Miranda chuckles. “Oh, girl, no. I’m your friend, but if I didn’t like your content, I wouldn’t risk associating with it, you know? This collab is just as much for me as it is for you.”

I manage a half-smile. “That’s nice of you to say.”

“I’m serious, Julia. You always bring something unique and creative, and maybe it could be a stepping stone for you to add a bit more colour to your channel?”

“You’re right, and I really don’t want to sound ungrateful. This is just so far from what I used to do, I’m struggling to figure out how to combine it.”

Miranda nods. “I get it. But sometimes you have to try a couple different paths before landing on the perfect blend of what you love doing and what actually gets traction. You’ll figure it out.”

Next to me, Socks seems to have gotten bored with her nap. Her ears twitch, and in one fluid motion, she hops off the couch.

We both turn our heads to watch as she leaps onto the small presentation table where a pair of pink boots are ready for Miranda’s video.

“Oh no,” Miranda mutters. “She’s gonna cost me a deal if she touches those.”

The cat sniffs at the box, then at the shiny leather. I’m halfway across the couch when Socks swats at the lid, her claws catching in the wrapping paper.

“Socks, no!” Miranda yelps, leaping to her feet. The cat immediately backs off and starts washing herself, clearly offended that we would ever think she had any interest in the shoe box at all.

Miranda sinks back into the couch as Socks jumps off the table and we both burst into relieved giggles.

“She’s such a menace. Anyway, about the collab…”

navigation / previous / next

[sacr1ficialang3l]

✞︎Did you feel that close to God when you had me on my knees?✞︎

SAM WINCHESTER X READER

SUMMARY: Sam, Dean, and reader are working a case in Nebraska. But when reader sees her boyfriend in that priest outfit, things get a little wild. 4.0k

WARNINGS: smut (MDNI). oral m receiving. blasphemy (lots, please don't read if you're extremely religious or if you don't like things like this). mentions of religious trauma (Catholic guilt folks unite). priest kink (?). the word father is said multiple times but this is not daddy kink.

NOTES: extremely self-indulgent. I feel like there's not enough religious trauma readers. this doesn't focus on that anyway. ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE! this is also my first time writing straight smut, so pls be nice. Enjoy<3

You are trying to act normal, you swear.

It was a quite simple case, a ghost had been hunting down people in a small town in Nebraska. The only connection in between all the victims was that they all attended the same church, which only meant one thing.

Priest outfits.

Sam was standing there before you, hair carefully styled, black suit jacket over his broad shoulders and black pants making him look taller than he already was. But the most important part, the one that made your breath hitch and thighs press together. The clerical collar. 

There was something about it, something sinful about the white stripe of fabric against Sam’s tanned skin. You always thought your boyfriend was hot, but watching him carefully talking with the families of the victims, watching people calling him father. Watching him in that church, bible in hand, a cross looming over you as it rests in the wall behind you, it was driving you insane. 

Your relationship with religion wasn’t the best, that was obvious, but you had never expected for all that guilt and trauma to transform into… this.

But here you are, sitting on a church bench, watching as Sam and Dean talk to the Pastor. You had refused to put on the nun costume Dean had gotten you. (You were sure he bought it at a sex shop. You went to catholic school, nun’s attires didn’t show that much cleavage. Or any cleavage at all.) Therefore, they had decided you were going to be just a new girl in town. A good christian girl.

You were dressed up in a flowy, lacy white dress. It was delicate, and sweet, and pure. You had added some frilly socks and a pair of mary janes. Your hair was wavy and long, falling over your eyes as you looked down at your hands when Sam was handed the communion wafers. There was a dainty chain around your neck, the silver crucifix almost burning where it touched your chest. 

You feel a sense of disappointment when the pastor asks for the communal hosts back. You kind of wished he had made Sam direct the Eucharist. You imagined yourself, walking to the altar to receive communion like a good girl, kneeling in front of Sam. You imagined blinking your big eyes up at him, parting your pouty lips softly, letting him place the host in your tongue. Maybe his fingers would brush against your lips, maybe he’d let his thumb press down on your tongue, making sure you’re receiving The Body of Christ correctly. 

You look up quickly when the pastor announces in a loud voice that Mass would start soon. He invites anyone who wants to confess to do it now, so they can be ready for the Eucharist. The pastor looks down at you, having noticed how his sudden words echoing all around the church had startled you. Your hands were folded as they rested on your lap, and your eyes were so focused on the floor under your feet that they looked closed. He thought you were praying. He smiles at you with kindness, almost as if admiring how you were nothing but a sweet little lamb, so devoted to your faith and so easily frightened.

Oh, if he only knew.

Before the shame and something else you refused to name wash down your spine, someone stands up behind you. The lady, her shoulders hunched and her eyes red, walks directly into the confessional. You and Sam seem to realize at the exact same time who she is. The widowed wife of one of the victims. You watch as your boyfriend quickly walks into the confessional, his big frame squeezing into the priest's compartment. 

The door quickly closes, but not before you can admire Sam’s face, beautiful as ever, being covered by geometric lines that criss-cross his face, the shadows created by the small window in the wooden panel that separates him from the woman. 

Dean comes over to you to give you a quick rundown on all the information they had gathered. Which is to say, not much. You had to admit that Dean also looked good in the costume, but not as good as Sam. But to be fair, you were a little biased. The older Winchester tells you about how he met one of the victims’ daughter, a young woman that was very distressed and asked him if he would want to come pray with her at her house.

You throw Dean a look of disbelief.

“Seriously, Dean? The mourning daughter?”

“We’re just going to pray! You know, a little guided spirituality to heal the heart.”

“Recite one prayer you know, right now.”

Silence. Utter and definitive silence. 

You sigh, rolling your eyes as Dean gives you a wink and leaves the church, that classic mischievous smirk on his face. 

How does he always get so lucky?

Your thoughts are interrupted when the woman in the confessional quickly walks out of her compartment, but the other door stays closed. 

An idea crosses your mind, but it is crazy. It is insane, and dangerous, and sacrilegious.

It takes you about five seconds to get up and walk into the confessional. 

“Hello, father.” You whisper, hands balled into fists in your lap. 

Sam says your name, confused. “What are you doing?” 

You take the courage to turn to him, and you end up breathless. It was quite stuffy inside the confessional, the smell of wood and velvet from the curtains overbearing. It reminds you of Sunday Mass, and Catholic school, and it makes heat pool in your stomach. You can barely see his face through the dumb window, but for what you could see, this was going to stay engraved in your mind forever.

“I’m here to confess, Father.” Your voice is soft and innocent, but there was a slight smirk on your face that made Sam blink quickly, looking completely lost.

“What-”

You don’t let him finish. “The pastor said to confess before Mass, and I’m just following his orders like a good girl.”

That makes Sam choke on his next breath. He looks at you through the grille, but there is something creeping in around his eyes. Lust.

If I wasn’t going to hell before, I am now.

Sam says your name again, but this time there is a strain on his voice. 

“Y-you come to confess?” You could tell he was trying to follow your lead, to play the role you so desperately wanted him to, and in between all the desire, you feel a wave of love for your boyfriend hit you. 

Hell, you were going to kiss him so hard after this.

“Yes, Father.” You whisper, eyes low and focused on your hands. Your voice was small, pure. You were just playing the role Sam and Dean assigned you, after all. “I’ve been bad, Father. I need to be redeemed.”

“I am sure I can help with that.” Sam’s voice still sounds slightly strained, but there was something different. It was the same voice he used when talking to the victim’s families or when he was forced to greet the morning Mass earlier today. Calm, velvety, but with a hint of authority. Of power.

“I am here to help you find peace,...” He almost says your name, but quickly corrects himself. “Tell me about your sins, and I will guide you in how to repent."

You press your thighs together, biting your lip in the darkness of the confessional. You still don’t face Sam, but you can feel his eyes on you. 

“I- I’ve been having sinful thoughts, Father.” You whisper, voice wavery and full of shame. Damn, maybe you should’ve been an actress. 

You hear Sam swallow harshly in the quiet, small box you were both in. No sounds were filtering in, which made you wonder if they would filter out.

“So you’ve been a bad girl, hm?” His voice is so deep, so rumbling. You were sure your panties were already soaked through. “You look so innocent, though.” Sam sounds almost disappointed, and it makes you squirm. “Tell me about them, you little lamb.”

“I’ve been possessed by lust, Father.” You confess, and you have to bite back a smirk when Sam lets out a shaky breath. “I just- there’s this guy, and we’re dating. He’s tall and big and handsome.”

“Sounds like quite the catch.” You can hear Sam’s smile in his words, and it makes you smile too. 

“He is, yeah.” You giggle, but quickly get back into your role. It wasn’t every day that you got an opportunity like this, and you were going to take it. “But when I look at him, father. I just- I feel… things.”

“What kind of things, little lamb?” He asks, back in his priest voice.

“I- I want him to do things to me, Father. Things I shouldn’t want. Things that are not of God.” You murmur, thighs pressing together with more strength.

Sam stays quiet for just a second, breathing heaving. Maybe you weren’t the only one into this. 

“That’s- that’s bad, little lamb.” He declares, when he finally gets a grasp on himself again. “Remember, you must confess everything to get redemption in the eyes of the lord.”

“I- I’ve done things too.” You confess in a small voice. “I’ve touched myself, Father. I just get so… so-” Your cross your legs, the ache on your lower half almost unbearable. “So wet and hot and I just… I fall into temptation.”

Sam’s breath is ragged by now, and you can’t really see his face, but you know what he must look like. 

“You’re quite the naughty one, aren't you?” He murmurs, voice hoarse. He leans closer to the grille, his voice almost in your ear. 

You lick your lips slowly, nodding even if he can’t see you.

“Yes, Father. Please, help me to be pure again.” Your hand moves from where it was gripping your own thigh and starts to run along the outline of the window that separated you from sam. This one was quite big, it went from over the top of your heads until a few inches away from the ground. It was enough. “I will do anything to be holy again.”

You had learned a thing or two in catholic school, and… you found it. The lock that kept the grille closed, but that could be opened when the priest and the penitent wanted to “talk face to face.” You think the situation is deserving

“Will you, now?” Sam, who was often collected and calm, always in control of his impulses, sounded wrecked. “Your sins are grave, little lamb.” He murmurs. “But lucky for you, the Lord wants me to be merciful to you.”

You swallow harshly, hands wrapping around the lock of the grille. You wanted Sam, you needed him. You had never felt hornier in your whole life.

“Please, Father.” Your voice is almost unrecognizable, whiny and pleasing. “Save me from sin, please.”

“Fuck.” You hear him mutter under his breath. 

I just made a man of the lord swear. 

Obviously, you knew Sam wasn’t really a man of God, and he swore like a trucker, but all your mind could think of was the clerical collar around his neck. 

“If you want me to purify you, you’re going to have to follow my every word. You’re going to let me do what I need to do for this cleansing, do you understand, little lamb?”

That was the last straw. 

You quickly unlock the window and pull it until it hits the door of your compartment. 

There he was, Sam with his hair slicked back, a few rebellious strands falling into his eyes. He was sitting in the little bench of the confessional, eyes a little wild and breath heavy. 

And a big bulge in his pants.

As soon as the grille hits the door of the confessional, Sam stands up, his head almost hitting the top of the cramped wood box you two were in. 

“What the fuck?” 

Before he can say anything else, you kneel down, still on your side of the confessional. Your knees hit the few inches of wood that still separated the two of you, but didn’t mind. And finally, you were there, surrounded by the smell of wood, velvet, and Sam. 

You look up at him through your lashes, eyes big and innocent. Your hands were carefully placed on your lap and your thighs pressed together where they were visible, your little white dress riling up your legs, the lace border contrasting against the dark flooring of the confessional.

“I’ll do whatever it takes, Father.” You lick your lips slowly, mastering the look of naivety and fear in your eyes. “Purify me.”

“This is blasphemy.” Sam chokes out, but he still takes a step closer to you, standing right at the edge too. Like this, your face is right in front of his crotch. Your mouth waters.

“Since your sins are so… deeply rooted,” His hand reaches down to you, but he doesn't touch you. His hand hovers over the top of your head, down to your cheek. “I will have to use some unconventional methods.”

His hand brushes your neck, and you think he was going to brush your hair behind your shoulder, maybe even grip your chin and make you look at him. 

Instead, Sam hooks a finger on the cross necklace around your neck and pulls you closer. 

You don't recognize the sound that comes out of your mouth. The back of the chain digs into the soft skin of your neck, and when he lets go of the necklace, the cross falls back against the skin of your collarbones. 

“You know what you have to do, don’t you?” he says gently, slightly condescending. His hand moves to cup your cheek, thumb rubbing over your lower lip.

You nod, almost in a trance, and your lips part slightly. San presses his thumb inside your mouth, and you immediately wrap your lips around him. You suck softly on his finger, eyes never leaving his.

“Jesus, you were made for this.” He breathes out, thumb pressing down on your tongue.

He moves his hand away, and with a little whine, you lean forward until your face is pressed to his clothed cock. 

This was all your idea, and you had loved to watch as Sam’s control slipped as you talked dirty. But right now, you couldn’t come up with anything to say. The hard wood pressing against your knees, the cross burning around your neck, Sam’s words, it was too much. You were getting hazy, and all you could think of was your boyfriend.

You open your mouth and press your tongue over Sam’s bulge over his pants. He hisses, still looking down at you. Almost desperately, you reach out and unbuckle his belt. You pull the clothing piece low enough that you had access to his aching cock, covered by his boxers and big. 

You mouth at him over the fabric, little kitten licks over the bulge, soaking the fabric with spit. 

“Come on, little lamb.” He murmurs, voice strained and breathy. “Show me how penitent you are.”

You pull down the fabric of his boxers until his cock sprang free. It curved up against his stomach, a little dark and huge. 

Spit pools in your mouth at the sight. It didn’t matter how many times you saw your boyfriend’s dick, it was a religious experience every time. 

Especially this time.

A whiny little sound comes out of the back of your throat, and you immediately lean forward. 

You lick up the shaft, from the base to the tip. You savor every vein under your tongue, relish on the little choked gasp Sam makes. You continue to give kitten licks all over his cock, almost reverently. 

“Yeah, just like that.” Sam whispers under his breath, and you finally wrap your lips around his tip, bulbous and angry red. His head drops back and it hits the wall of the confessional with a loud bang. “Good girl.” 

You whimper around Sam, the vibrations making him moan as low as he can, not wanting to get caught. You suck on the tip gently, tongue sliding over the slit, tasting his precum in your tongue.

You moan again at the taste. You loved it.

Slowly, you move your head down, taking more and more of him as you go. Sam moves one hand into your hair, not pushing down but pulling at the roots gently. You suck a little harder, tongue pressing against a particularly pronounced vein. He pulls harder, so hard it makes you move one hand from where it rested on your knee to press it against your pussy. 

Soon, you’ve taken all of Sam. He was nestled against the back of your throat, your lips stretched and puffy. You stay still for just a second, giving you throat time to accommodate as it contracts around his length. Sam’s chest rises and falls quickly, his eyes shutting close for just a second before his eyes return to you. 

“You’re sinful.” He chokes out, pulling on your hair, trying to get you to move. 

And you do. You move your head back until only the tip is in between your lips, and then sink back down. 

Your knees ache from where they press against the hard, cold wood. They will probably bruise, and you couldn’t wait for it. Sam continues to suppress moans and groans as you continue to move your head. You don’t use your hands, you let your mouth do all the work. 

You swallow around Sam when he hits particularly deep inside your mouth, and it has him whimpering. Oh, you need to hear that again.

You lean back, catching your breath for a moment. Sam fists his cock and rubs it on your lips, leaving them glistening with your own spit and his precum. 

“Am I doing it right, Father?” You have half the mind to continue your little roleplay, and it is worthy when Sam’s eyes shut down and his fist tightens around himself. 

“Fuck. Yes, darling. You’re perfect. So good for me, so… devoted.”

You lean forward again, swallowing him down. This time, he uses the grasp on you hair to hold you still and starts to fuck your mouth.

He couldn't move much in the small space of the confessional, but his hips piston as his cock hits the back of your throat again, and again, and again. 

Your hand presses down into your pussy harder, a wet patch staining your panties where you were soaked through. You press on your clit as Sam’s thrusts quicken.

“Fuck, yeah. So good for me, such a good girl.” He was clearly close, his glassy eyes focused on you, his voice wrecked as he babbled a little. “So- mmph, so desperate to be pure, to be good.”

As Sam approaches his orgasm, you double down on your efforts. You circle him with your tongue, contract the walls of your throat around him, let your moans vibrate through him every time you press your hand a little harder against yourself. 

“Come on, Father.” You say, leaning back until your lips brushed his tip with every word. “Let me please you. Give it to me.”

Sam’s grip on your hair tightens when you sink back down on him. His thrusts become sloppy and discoordinated. He was a whimpering, groaning mess. 

Finally, with one last thrust that left him settled deep in your throat, Sam comes with a shudder. His shoulders shake, and his head drops back, leaving you with a very clear sight of the clerical collar still around his neck, white fabric against flushed and sweaty skin. 

The image makes you shiver as your fingers press more firmly against your clit, drawing desperate circles over the fabric of your panties. When the first rope of cum hits your tongue, you feel your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks. Your loud moan is only silenced by the cock still in your mouth, but it causes Sam to shake with overstimulation. 

“Swallow.” He demands, and wouldn’t dream of doing anything else.

You stay there, suckling on his softening length as he comes, almost moaning at the glorious taste of your boyfriend. Your head is hazy with the situation and your own orgasm, and Sam has to practically peel you away from him. You whine as he slips out of your mouth, the last bit of cum landing over your lips. 

“Sorry, pretty girl, but I need a break.” Sam says gently, with his normal voice. 

You look up at him, still kneeling down in the confessional. His breathing was already ragged, but his chest hitches at the sight of you. 

Your eyes were glossy and wide, cheeks flushed, and lips puffy, glistening with spit and his cum. You swallow whatever was in your mouth and slowly lick your lips, tongue swiping up all of his release. He groans, head dropping forward. 

“You’ll be the death of me, you little vixen.” He rubs a hand over his face, and you struggle to stand up. Your legs were shaky from your orgasm and your knees were sore from kneeling. 

You had never felt better. 

Sam quickly notices you struggling and grabs your waist, helping you stand up and holding you carefully against his chest. 

“I can't believe I got you to do that.” You whisper, biting your lip as a sense of embarrassment and adrenaline washed down your back at what you had done.

Sam snorts. “I can’t believe it either.” He huffs, looking at you with that warmth and sweetness you loved so much. His hair was even messier now and his lips were raw from biting back sounds. 

Your hand moves up to fidget with his collar, fingers brushing against his skin, and you feel yourself getting worked up again.

“Don’t even think about it, you insatiable little thing.” Sam’s hand wraps around yours and pulls it away. You look at him and pout, which only makes him laugh and press a peck to your lips. “Who would’ve guessed you were so freaky.”

Sam’s teasing makes you blush furiously, and you take a step back from him. It is his time to pout, but he is way too big to be able to reach past the little window opening. You giggle at his dejected face, and after fixing your hair and dress, and making sure there wasn't spit or cum on your chin, you lean over to press a chaste kiss on his lips. 

“Dean is ‘interviewing’ one of the victims’ daughters.” You inform him, pressing your hands to your cheeks to try and dissipate the blush.

“Is that what kids are calling it nowadays?” Sam jokes, crossing his arms. It made his chest look even bigger, and you need to physically restrain yourself from leaning in and taking a bite off his bicep.

“Apparently.” You shake your head. “You need to wait until Mass ends and then meet us at the motel. If Dean is back by then, we’ll debrief all the information we’ve got.” You lean forward once again, squeezing past the little opening until your nose brushes Sam’s. “If he’s not back yet, then I will be waiting for you in our room.” You press another kiss to his lips, this time a little more lingering. “Make sure to bring the priest outfit with you.”

Before Sam can even say anything, you grab the grille and close it again. You make sure to lock it, and walk out of the confessionary as quietly and carefully as you can when your legs are still a little shaky. You slip out the small wooden box, not before hearing Sam’s almost pained groan. 

Thankfully, everyone was still focused on Mass, so no one paid attention to you. You slip out of the church and walk back to the motel, still in disbelief that you and Sam got away with something like that.

The next day, when the pastor asks you why your knees are bruised badly, you can’t help but smirk as Sam blushes behind him.

“Just prayed a little too hard, sir.”

NOTES: I can't tell if this is terrible or not. Here it is anyways.

[debilsposts]

🦇 My JayTim Fic Masterlist 🦇 

Hello, I’m Tori, and I write fics so bad they should be considered a crime. Unfortunately, I just keep writing them because no one has yet told me to stop. You can find my AO3 here, proceed with caution. 🪫 Currently suffering from an extreme case of writer’s block. If you have demands, now’s the time to yell them at me before I turn to dust. Full list below the cut 👇

✨ SFW ✨

looking most human (feeling nothing like it) – Android AU, Slowburn, Android Abuse, Hurt/Mild Comfort | WIP, 2,366 words (1/?) Android Tim is, for some reason, obsessed with a dead boy named Jason.

teach me a kinder way to say your name – Soulmate AU, Getting Together | Completed, 6,131 words A terrible sleepless night. A perfectly soft morning after.

listen to the sound of you blinking – Gotham Knights AU, Supernatural Vibes, Hurt/Mild Comfort, Open Ending | Completed, 6,252 words Jason keeps ending up in Tim’s room, drawn by something he doesn’t quite understand, something quiet, something safe.

yearning (to keep you warm) – Tim is Bad at Self-Care, Biting, Literal Sleeping Together, Implied Sexual Content | Completed, 4,265 words Jason babysits Tim.

where you land – Fluff, Accidental Kissing, First Dates | Completed, 3,354 words Tim starts to realize that falling isn’t so bad when he knows Jason is there to catch him.

🚨 NSFW 🚨

it's snowing like it’s the end of the world – Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Case Fic | WIP, 19,664 words (6/?) Tim goes missing. Jason has feelings about it.

red lips, white lace – PWP, Feminization Kink, Tim in a Skirt | WIP, 4,039 words (1/2) Jason does Tim’s makeup. He can't wait until he can ruin it, too.

a quiet place to sleep – Hurt/Mild Comfort, Depression, Blood and Injury, Smut | Completed, 17,789 words After a nearly fatal injury, Tim is forced to reconnect with his family. He expects the worst, but it’s surprising how fast things can change for the better. Healing and romance ensue.

bruises fade, feelings stay (I just want to be your boyfriend) – Friends with Benefits, Mutual Pining, 4+1 Things, Misunderstandings | Completed, 12,681 words Four times Jason tries to show Tim how he feels + one time it actually works out.

unfinished verses – Fluff and Smut, BJs, Pride and Prejudice is Ruined Forever for Jason | Completed, 7,213 words “Did you seriously just compare Pride and Prejudice to our toilet roll debate? Are you listening to yourself?”

[psyche-ren]

BACKGROUND PRACTICE

Images on the left side are screenshots of official backgrounds from WordGirl episodes and the ones on the right are my attempt to recreate them! Backgrounds are an absolute nightmare for me to draw. I hate drawing them. Still do! It's slowly becoming bearable though.

I decided to use backgrounds for my fan-made episode featuring my OCs and I need to practice on drawing backgrounds, so why not kill two birds with one stone? Originally I was going to use screenshots from the show in my episode but I don't want to get in trouble with copyrights so I decided to recreate them myself to avoid that. I suck at drawing backgrounds and need to get better at drawing them anyways lol. Drawing, and especially COLORING, these backgrounds was so insightful.

At first glance they appear to be colorful, at least to me they do, but it's actually quite dull. Which makes sense since the background is there to help elevate the story and not take all the attention away from the viewer. But I didn't expect them to be so dull! It feels jarring when you compare them to the bright saturated colors of the characters. Yet they don't seem out of place. Color theory is so confusing. I started to work on the backgrounds from top to bottom; for the most part I would use the color select tool in order to color in the drawings. I did attempt to match the colors without the use of the color select tool throughout each background. It was very difficult. Since the colors are quite dull and desaturated, changing the value of the color can make it too bright or too dark which heavily brings the attention to that area. It doesn't give off that nice smooth unison look.

Another thing I noticed with WordGirl's background is this yellowish overlay that they use for the sky. I never noticed that before. I'm not sure if the background artists use that for every city/neighborhood shot throughout the entire series or if the yellow color just happened to be in the screenshots that I got. I believe it's used to fog out buildings in the very back of the background so they can appear more farther. But why use a musty dull yellow color and not a bright yellow? It's so interesting

I also noticed how incredibly detailed the backgrounds are! When you zoom in on the buildings in the far back of the background, you can still make out each window they illustrated for every single building! THIS ATTENTION TO DETAIL IS SO IMPRESSIVE AND INSANE! I wonder what resolution and dimensions they used for these illustrations. The show came out in the early 2000s and broadcasted on television, there was no way for the viewer to zoom in on such details. Why bother dedicating more time and labor on something nearly no on would notice or attentively look out for? At first glance, the backgrounds appear to be simple but it's actually extremely detailed! There's so much life and character in these backgrounds and yet they have very little screentime. It makes me appreciate it them even more.

[thewinterdrafts]

Part 04 - Recognition | Frostbite Series | The Winter Soldier

Pairing: The Winter Soldier x Original Female Character (1st Person)

Word count: 2,630

Summary: As Elena tends to the Soldier’s wounds, an unexpected moment unsettles the fragile balance of their routine. A single word changes everything, pulling her into a memory long buried. Struggling to contain her emotions, she is left grappling with a question that has no clear answer. And for the first time, when she looks at the Soldier—he is looking back.

Disclaimer: This series is extremely dark, touching on graphic violence, psychological torment, and human suffering in all its forms. If you choose to read, proceed with caution.

Warnings: none for this one!

A/N: hey-hey, we're baaack! i figured while we wait for the Oscars, we might as well read. i hope you guys like it :) happy reading!!

❄️ Frostbite Chapters: Part 01 - Severance Part 02 - Incision Part 03 - Containment Part 04 - Recognition - you are currently here

📍Masterlist

Silence is a weapon. And right now, I’m sharpening it.

The Hydra operatives stand at the edges of the room with their arms crossed, and their eyes locked on us like we’re lab rats under a microscope. They want to see something—a mistake, a sign, some kind of misbehavior they can report back.

I know they noticed the Soldier's reaction to me not long ago. I felt the shift right away—but if they want a show, they’ll be disappointed. I had a plan as soon as they walked in.

I went quiet. Dead quiet. No casual remarks, no small talk, no unnecessary movement. I kept my focus entirely on the Soldier as if there was nothing else in the world but the sutures beneath my fingertips.

The heavy silence filled the space enitrely.

At first, they watched with interest, expecting something—waiting for me to fidget, for him to flinch, for some tiny thing to break the monotony. But I gave them nothing, and neither did he. I worked at an agonizingly slow, methodical pace, making sure that even the sound of my tools was dull. No sharp clatter, no unnecessary noise, just the rhythmic pull of stitches through skin.

The Soldier remained utterly still, his breathing controlled and unreadable. I didn’t know if he understood what I was doing, but if he did, he played along perfectly.

Yulia, smart as she is, caught on immediately. She stayed motionless unless absolutely necessary, handing me instruments as if it were the most mundane task in the world. The seconds crawled into minutes, minutes into an hour. Still, we gave them nothing.

Boredom is a powerful weapon. At the mark of the third hour, one of the operatives shifts where he stands, exhaling sharply through his nose. Another taps his fingers against his thigh, then clenches his fist.

Good. They are getting tired of this.

I carefully place my sutures, tying it off with deliberate precision, taking my time as though I have all the time in the world. I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of a reaction—of anything they could report back on.

Another ten minutes. Another fifteen. Then finally, one of them sighed. "Мы теряем время. [We’re wasting time.]"

The other operative answered right away. "Сообщи. Она просто делает свою работу. [Call it in. She’s just doing her job.]"

I didn't need to know Russian to understand what any of that meant, because Yulia looked at me with a small, devilish smile on her face. We've done it. We've successfully bored them to death.

One by one, they filed out, their boots thumping heavly against the sterile floor. The door hissed shut behind them, and then… more silence.

I wait, listening to their footsteps fade down the hall before I allow myself to exhale. Yulia’s shoulders drop, her hands unclenching at her sides.

"That was… painful."

"But it worked." I murmured, my voice low. "They left."

She huffs out a dry laugh. "Yeah, well. I think they’ll think twice before sitting in on one of these again."

Slowly, I turn my head to glance at the Soldier. 

He is looking at me for the first time in three hours.

Not just observe in passing—he's looking at me deliberately, as if he is acknowledging something neither of us have spoken aloud. The weight of it settles into my chest, stealing a fraction of my breath before I can suppress it. I'm not sure if I am more startled by the fact that he is looking, or by the fact that, for the first time, he made a choice to do so.

I flex my fingers and roll the tension out of my shoulders. I don’t know if he understood what I did. But if he did… he let it happen. Which means he is much smarter than I initially thought.

"You ever get tired of playing assistant?" I ask. I had enough of the silence for the rest of the day.

She startles at the sudden question, nearly knocking over a tray of instruments. "W-What?"

I gesture for the next set of sutures, keeping my tone light. "I mean, this isn’t exactly glamorous work. Cleaning wounds, handing me tools, holding your breath every time I ask for something sharp." I shoot her a glance. "Is this what you wanted to do with your life?"

She exhales through her nose, shifting from foot to foot. "I never got the chance to decide."

She doesn’t sound bitter, just tired, like someone who has long accepted their circumstances. I feel bad for asking her such things, but still, I don’t want to let the conversation die. I need to focus on something other than the way the Soldier’s presence feels different now.

"What did you want to be?" I ask instead.

Yulia hesitates. Then, as if she’s afraid to say it aloud, she murmurs, "A nurse, ironically."

I pause for half a second before refocusing on my stitching.

"You still can be," I tell her. My voice is quiet, but firm. "This place doesn’t get to decide that for you."

She snorts, but there’s no real amusement in it. "That’s optimistic."

"It’s true."

She meets my gaze. "And what about you?"

I blink. "What about me?"

"What did you want to be?"

I exhale through my nose, focusing on my hands. "A doctor."

She frowns slightly. "Not a professor?"

I let out a soft chuckle. "That came later."

"Why?" She tilts her head curiously.

I adjust my grip on the forceps. "Because I didn’t just want to treat injuries. I wanted to teach people how to treat them." I shrug, keeping my voice even. "Surgery is as much an art as it is a science. If you don’t train the next generation properly, then what’s the point?"

Yulia watches me, quiet for a moment. "I think you are a really good teacher."

I offer a faint smirk. "High praise, considering I mostly bark orders at you."

She actually laughs at that. "You do bark orders at me."

"But you listen."

"Yeah, well," she mutters, rolling her eyes, "kind of have to."

I glance down at my work. The stitches are neat and precise. My hands move on their own now, muscle memory guiding each pull and tie. I should be focused on the procedure, but my mind drifts, pulled toward something else—toward him.

The Soldier has not moved. Has not spoken. But his eyes have curiousity in them now.

"You’re serious?" Yulia asks suddenly. "About me being a nurse?"

I glance at her. "Of course."

Her mouth presses into a thin line, and I know what she’s thinking. We may not get out of this. And she may be right, but I'm never going to let her believe that.

"I’ll make sure of it," I say quietly. "When this is over. You'll be a wonderful nurse."

She exhales, shaking her head slightly. "You always sound so sure."

"I have to."

Yulia bites her lip, then hesitantly asks, "Where did you work before all this?"

I glance at the cold, sterile walls around us and shake my head. "A place nothing like this. I worked in a hospital in California, near the coast."

Yulia’s eyes widen slightly. "You lived near the ocean?"

I nod. "Every morning, the air smelled like salt and sunlight." I offer a small, wistful smile. "It was loud, too. People always moving and talking, and I hated it at first. My own head was too loud as well. But after a while… I started to love it."

She looks down, twisting a piece of gauze in her fingers. "I’ve never seen that side of the world."

I pause at that, my chest tightening. "You will."

She exhales, giving me a small, skeptical smile. "If you say so."

A few beats pass in silence before I ask, "How did you learn Russian?"

"Well, I am Russian," she says simply, as if it should be obvious.

I blink at her, taken aback. "You have absolutely no accent."

Yulia smirks faintly, shaking her head. "I worked hard for that. I was always fascinated by English. As a kid, I used to steal old tapes and books wherever I could find them. Any spare time I had, I spent practicing, repeating phrases over and over until I sounded like the people on the tapes."

She glances down at the tray of instruments, idly shifting them into place. "I figured if I ever got out… if I ever had a chance to leave, I needed to sound like I belonged. Like I wasn’t someone who had never seen the world outside a frozen, gray city."

Silence settles for a moment, the steady rhythm of my work filling the space. 

"It took me five years to make my Romanian accent go away."

Yulia’s brows lift slightly. "Five years?"

I exhale through my nose, nodding. "I was twelve when I left. I barely spoke a word of English, and every time I opened my mouth, people knew I didn’t belong."

I pick up a fresh set of sutures as the memory settles in like an old ache in my chest. "I hated it. The way people looked at me when I got something wrong, and they slowed down their words, like I was stupid. So I practiced, like you. Every time I heard a word I didn’t know, I memorized it, repeated it. Forced my mouth to shape the sounds until no one could tell I was different."

Yulia is quiet for a moment. "Did it work?"

My lips press into a thin line. "It made things easier, but I still never felt like I belonged."

Yulia lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh, shaking her head. "That’s the thing, isn’t it? You change yourself so you don’t stand out, but no matter what you do, you still don’t fit."

I look at her, longer this time. I never realized how much of myself I see in her—not just in the way she holds herself, but in the way she never truly allows herself to relax. She is always watching, always anticipating the next moment she might have to run, fight, or endure. We are both survivors of things we never asked for and we have both learned to adapt, and fold ourselves into whatever shape keeps us breathing for another day. We have both spent years pretending not to be afraid.

I see it in the way she clenches her jaw before speaking, how her fingers twitch like she’s bracing for a blow that might never come. I recognize it because I do the same. We are different, but we are the same where it matters.

"Yeah," I murmur. "Something like that."

Yulia clears her throat. "You know… everyone here calls you Professor. What's your real name?"

I look at her, then back down at my work. "Elena," I say simply. "It’s Elena."

As I say it, the Soldier moves again. He tilts his head in almost an imperceptible way, just so he can look me in the eyes. My heart immediately jumps into my throat.

"Свет."

I freeze. 

He spoke.

The word lingers in the space between us, soft but sharp enough to carve into me.

Slowly, I turn to Yulia. She is already looking at me, her lips slightly parted, her expression locked somewhere between shock and disbelief. 

I swallow hard, my voice barely above a whisper. "What… what did he just say?"

Yulia blinks, staring at the Soldier like she isn’t sure if she imagined it. Her mouth opens slightly, but no words come out at first. She exhales sharply, steadying herself, then she finally speaks.

"He just said… light."

Everything inside me stops. My pulse. My thoughts. My breath. A memory crashes over me so vividly that for a moment, I’m not in this cold, sterile room anymore. 

I'm curled up in my mother’s lap, her warmth wrapped around me like a shield against the world. The kitchen smells like oranges and fresh bread, the curtains dance lazily in the golden afternoon light. My mother hums as she brushes my hair, her fingers gentle as they work through the tangles.

"Elena," she murmurs, her voice soft but full of something I don’t yet understand. "Do you know why I gave you this name?"

I shake my head. I had never thought to ask. Names are just names. But Mama smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

"Because you are named after the Sun."

I blink up at her. "The Sun?"

"Yes, puiule," she says, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. "Because wherever you go, you will bring light. Even in the darkest places, even when you cannot see it yourself, you will shine."

I frown, thinking. I know the sun is bright and warm and high above everything else. But me? I don’t feel like that. I am small. I am quiet. I am afraid of the dark.

"What if I don’t?" I whisper. "What if I get lost in the dark?"

Mama’s hands cradle my face, her thumbs brushing against my cheeks. Her eyes are warm and endless, the way only a mother’s can be.

"You won’t. Because light does not disappear, it just finds another way to shine."

She presses her forehead against mine, sealing the words inside me like an unspoken promise. "You are light, my love. Make sure you remember."

A breath shudders out of me, and my vision is already blurring. My hands go slack, the sterile white of the gloves on my fingers distorting through the tears I refuse to let fall. He shouldn’t know this. He shouldn’t know me.

I don’t dare lift my head. I can feel Yulia staring at me now, watching the way I fight to keep my face blank, to keep everything locked inside. But the moment is too raw and real to keep them hidden. The first tear falls and then another. Then they just won't stop.

"Elena?" Yulia asks carefully.

I swallow around the lump in my throat, forcing my voice steady even though I feel anything but that. "My mother—she named me after the sun."

Another pause. This one is heavier. I feel more than see the way Yulia processes this, as she shifts uncertainly. I don’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t this.

Then, she asks, "How does he know that?"

I press my fingers into my palms, trying to ground myself while struggling to find an answer that makes sense. But I can’t. I don’t know how he knows. I don’t know if it’s instinct, or memory, or something far more impossible. But I do know one thing: he is still looking at me.

Cautiously, I lift my head. My breath catches in my throat.

He is watching me, not in the cold, vacant way he observes everything else, but with something else entirely. Curiosity. As if he is trying to figure something out, as if the word he just spoke means something to him, even if he doesn’t fully understand why.

I have spent days working on him, being in his presence, tending to his wounds, speaking around him. And never, not once, has he looked at me like this.

My chest tightens as a strange mix of emotions swelling up, something I don’t know how to name. He recognizes something. Maybe not me, not completely, but something about me.

I want to speak. I want to ask him—Why? Why did you say that? How do you know? But I can’t. My voice is gone. The only thing left between us is silence, and his unwavering gaze, steady and searching, holds something I can’t outrun or deny. 

Recognition.

[hanniescookie]

hai cheng - xmh

pairing - minghao x f!reader

genre - angst

warnings - suicide, major character death, lots of sadness, prepare your tissuees ¿

summary - Minghao knows he's living a hazy dream loving you in the peaceful city of Hai Cheng, but he doesn't know if he wants to wake up.

author's note - helppp i don't know what i just did??? does this even make sense 😭 i only did this so my wifey shuts up about hai cheng minghao 🤍 @jjjjeonww i dunno what you were expecting baby and i'm sorry for making this so sad, but i hope this suffices your extreme want ☝🏻🤍 ly

♪ now playing Hai Cheng by The8

--------------------------**~**--------------------------

The Onset of Winter, HaiCheng

Minghao has lived a long portion of his life yearning.

For a place that's far, far away. Out of his reach. Slipping from the gaps between his fingers.

He doesn't remember an instance where sleep caught him soundly, yet he feels like his life is an unreal dream. Blurred and hazy. Blue and brown. Merry and agonizing.

The city of HaiCheng is beautiful — a watertown laid beneath the starry sky. If Minghao has to name his favourite place in the world, he'd name the sea city within a heartbeat. He finds comfort in the browns of it's land, and the blues of it's ocean. He loves it for it's beauty, for it's solace, and for it's serenity.

But if that was all he loved it for, he'd be damned.

He can't imagine loving the city without you in it.

You who he first saw at the sea shore of the city, laughing as you pressed your feet in the wet sand, marking deliberate footprints. Everytime the waves washed your footprints away, you giggled to yourself, and marked them again.

Minghao had known that comfort equals to art, or the ocean, or the sky, but that day as he watched you play with the waves, he found a new meaning of comfort.

Suddenly, you were everywhere he went. Without much realization, he was searching for you in the quiet alleys of the city, and in the shape of the clouds, and in the sound of the waves. He saw you everywhere, his heart twisting to the shape of you.

Love? Perhaps. He didn't know. He couldn't know. All he knew was that you felt like a dream in his frozen life. You came like a gentle breeze, touched his existence barely with the tip of your finger, and colored his life in you.

If growing fond of you from afar wasn't enough, all at once, you were wrapped in him close enough to knock his breath out. Now you weren't laughing alone at the shore. He was laughing with you, holding you high above and swinging you in his arms on dull golden days.

He found himself walking hand in hand with you on the broken pavements of the city, watching the sunlight dance in your hair. He loved being everywhere with you — holding you and kissing you like the string of his life will be cut short the moment he lets you go.

He recalls the countless nights you spent sitting on the beach, the sound of the waves gently lapping at the shore. He talked about his dreams, his fears, and his passions. You had a way of listening that made him feel like he was the only person in the world, like his words were the most precious thing you'd ever heard.

It's strange that you spoke, but he never quite heard you. He doesn't remember your voice — or he hasn't heard it at all.

You always looked at him with a smile on your face — the smile he had grown to associate with you. There wasn't a single moment in his hazy life where he wasn't connected to you. He was at home, right where he was meant to be.

He wrote about you in his journal, about how beautiful you were, about how he loved your hair and your eyes and how he could die happily in your comfort. He loved you, hopelessly and endlessly.

Minghao knows — the first time your hand slips from his hold — that his heart has to shatter.

He hasn't been someone to fear. But suddenly, he's terribly scared of waking up from this deep slumber. He doesn't have it in himself to drop your hand and still live in this city. He would rather die.

It happens slowly — almost feeling orchestrated by a cruel author. His moments with you become more blue, more dull, and more blurred. Your smile lessens and lessens until it dims to a solemn expression — one he fails to recognise as a part of you.

When he sees you for the last time, the day is golden, and he's wearing a brown coat. He is so happy to see you that he wraps his arms around you in a tight hug, feeling a shallow breath leave him.

You hide your face in his shoulder for a second longer than usual, before you step back. You're crying — hot tears streaming down your face that's mostly covered by your hair from both sides.

You keep taking steps away from him until your cold hand parts from his warm one, and you fade away. As if you were never there. As if you were just a broken fragment his long dream.

The Close of Winter, HaiCheng

Minghao wishes he knew how to deal with a cold HaiCheng when the fog lifts and his world isn't blurry. He desperately hopes for a way back into his dream — one that felt more real than his reality.

He hates that his journal lies open on his desk, and it's filled with you. His teary eyes travel out of his window to see a red balloon float in the cold air. The moment his fingers wrap around the string, he knows he cannot live with himself.

So when he lets himself sink deep down in the ocean that mirrors your eyes, he longs to at least become a ray of light that caresses your face.

[primussavethesemechs]

YO THE EDGE OF SLEEP IS OUT NOW ON AMAZON PRIME!

I think they’re purposely trying to fuck it over by releasing it early with no warning, not putting it under new shows category, and needing to search the full name for it to come up.

Messed up that they’re trying their hardest to screw him over with this, I’m watching it rn to get those numbers up

Edit: apparently they don’t seem to have an obvious plan on releasing it outside the US that anyone knows of and have just moved the goalpost to keeping it in the top 10 for a month, because of course they did. Amazon is pulling a bullshit scam on mark and I’m furious for him, and for the efforts of the fans. This is bullshit and they know it.

[buttercupshands]

thought about this thing for a while

it was extremely interesting to just analyze myself and get like a tier list in my head

[tarraxahum]

This was gonna be a reply to a reply but I thought maybe I should just make my own post. Yes this is about Vi again.

It's no secret that "Vi should've fought for Zaun" and the expectation of her being Vander's prodigy and feeling like the plot dropped the ball on her in that regard and the betrayal at the fact that she's living comfortably in Piltover now are. Frequent sentiments in the fandom. Which I get, but also I feel that this line of expectations is. Diverging from who Vi actually is by the end and what she was realistically capable of.

Vi in season 2 is basically running on fumes and because she has no other options. It is a well known thing in irl activist spaces that to participate in any kind of fight for justice you need to take care of yourself, otherwise you won't have the energy to be any kind of useful to your community. Ekko also says this - "It's not enough to give people what they need to survive, you have to give them what they need to live". Vi has been surviving and not living in any shape or form for years, she's exhausted and broken in places. That's no mental state to fight for Zaun or make any kinda change. I think it's extremely realistic and human and hardly a flaw of writing or the character if by the end the only thing she was able to do was collapse into the safety and peace she was offered for the first time in forever (aka Caitlyn). It's clear that in her last scene she's still recovering mentally - Cait seems to be excited to have any sign of life (singing) from her at all, and the "Are you still in this fight?" question is very loaded. (But it's indicated that Vi is very much still in the fight, so? It's really anyone's guess what she'll do once she's healed and remembers how to live. And don't bring up LoL's Vi brutality thing, it's clear they're different characters).

I think in wanting to see Vi stand up for Zaun or be Vander's prodigy we often deny her the flaw of being a breakable human and forget just how much she's held together by duct tape. Just because she was full of this 'fuck Piltover' fire as a kid doesn't mean she is still capable of matching that energy. Sometimes after lots of trauma humans grow up into tired adults who just want to sit down and feel safe regardless of where it happens and how questionable it might look (re: living in Piltover). Not to mention, that even as a child Vi's main reason for fuming at the Topside was wanting safety for her family and herself. Well, now she's all out of family, she's estranged from the community of Zaun thanks to being in prison for 7 years and Silco changing the place so much, and the only person who's offering her safety and not more fighting (which she's exhausted and thoroughly burnt out from!) is Caitlyn, so. How is where she ended up any kind of surprising or a failure of her writing/character?

Yes, a lot of people wanted a revolutionary, no, Vi isn't one. Dare I say, never really was one. At her lowest, when she's got no one left to protect, she's not trying to fill in that void by taking on protecting Zaun and becoming a vigilante or something, no, she spirals. That is not something on her radar, that's not something she's visibly cut out to do, she cares so so much but on a smaller scale. Even the whole shimmer factory debacle was less about Zaun and more about her desire to hurt Silco personally for what he'd done to her family. If Jinx agreed to run away with her back at the tea party Vi would ditch the entirety of Zaun (potentially leaving it to Silco forever since he's still alive at that point) in a heartbeat to keep her sister and save Cait in one move. She puts on an enforcer uniform BECAUSE she cares for Jinx (through convincing herself that at the very least she should take her out of her misery herself rather than leaving it to people who don't care, yes) and Cait both.

Perhaps a hot take, but not becoming a leader despite being good at taking hits to the head and caring about people in general and being a daughter of one does not make Vi a badly written character or a bad person. It just makes her a person. And a character whose arc culminated in choosing herself. And choosing yourself sometimes means leaving the fight to others (perhaps temporarily, considering the final dialogue). And that's okay.

Arcane is tragedy about flawed people, not a feel-good story about a successful revolution and rich people paying for their crap, and it was never going to be. Ergo one of our main character isn't an upcoming hero in shining armor who was allegedly robbed of her potential. She's just a broken young woman who barely knows how to keep her own little life together and her biggest victory by the end is allowing herself to take a breath and live for once. Yes, while her home down there is still in shambles. Yes, that sounds selfish. For some people a bit of selfishness is the greatest thing they can ever learn for themselves.

[echodrops]

If the "straight women are much more likely to write a spicy and well-written m|m romance with complex male characters because they're naturally attracted to men" claim is correct, then why do straight male authors have acquired the stereotype of writing one-dimensional female characters and lame romances if they're naturally attracted to the opposite gender? Why do they prefer to focus so extensively on the male characters and their bromances then?

First, I think we need to clarify: Absolutely nowhere did I say the spicy mlm fanfics were uniformly "well-written." 😂 There are beautiful gems among fanfiction that have moved me to tears like nobody's business, but there's also just a whole lot of... not very... philosophically deep works out there. I don't want to sound mean, but just being brutally honest, I'd wager if we considered all fanfiction across all fanfic sites, a pretty solid majority of it wouldn't meet most people's definitions of truly "well-written." (Which is completely fine! Fanfic writers aren't getting paid! They're usually amateur authors who are writing for fun and often include younger writers just learning the ropes of grammar and character building for the first time! A fic doesn't have to be perfect to be enjoyable for readers!)

On top of that, let's also just be real--a lot of the explicit-content-for-explicit-content's-sake fics out there aren't really trying to write the most realistic and three dimensional male characters ever. They're trying to write sexy fics; realistically depicting men with life-accurate emotional depth and nuance is often... not the goal. 😂

Of course there are standout fanfics and incredible fanfiction authors. But, if we're being 100% transparent, I think a solid majority of fanfic authors don't actually write male characters that well. A lot of them have limited development, unrealistic or unclear motivations, out-of-character behavior, or a lack of interiority to their thoughts and feelings. A lot of times male characters in mlm fics are even reduced to caricatures of what women want men to do and feel. (I'm not judging here though--if a woman author is writing for women and her women readers want to see men who meet women's expectations, then hey, give the audience what they crave!) Just like Disney princes, a lot of men in fanfiction would seem very unrealistic and flat if you compared them to actual men from the real world!

I think we fanfic readers are just a bit biased, you know. If you're an average fanfic reader, I'm sure you've had the experience many times of being willing to give fic writers the benefit of the doubt even if their works aren't perfect--far more than you would give an actual published author or TV showrunner.

We don't scrutinize fanworks to the same extent that we scrutinize published media. Most people aren't grabbing someone else's fic and writing a ten page essay on how their male love interest wasn't properly fleshed out. Fanfic is full of poorly written men too, we're just not looking for the writing flaws when we read fanfics, at least not to the extent that meta analysts notice flaws in published media.

Side note that I also think is worth thinking about here: Because most fanfiction readers are female (and statistics suggest that a majority are even cisgender women), I think we're already at a slight disadvantage. Do female readers really have the most accurate perspectives on what realistic and three dimensional men would feel or act like? People are people, of course, but my perspective as a cisgender woman is never going to be as "100% genuine" as the perspective of someone who actually identifies as a man.

Second, and sorry, I know this is already long, but I think it's actually a mistake to buy into the stereotype that a majority of male authors can't write believable and interesting female characters. I think this illusion comes because fanfic fandoms congregate around very specific types of media, and often (though of course not always) that media is geared toward younger audiences. The bulk of the fandom claims that "male authors suck at writing women" come out of the shounen anime and young adult genres which are so prevalent in fandom spaces.

The target audiences for both these types of media are teenagers, who (I'm going to be completely honest) are usually not that picky about the development of the characters in the stories they read. I don't mean that no teenagers care about well-written stories (obviously there are many who do!), but that the typical standard for philosophical depth and nuance to which media for young adults is held is, for better or worse, lower than the standard we hold media for adults to.

We don't expect Twilight to be as deep as Moby-Dick. We don't expect My Hero Academia to be Maus.

This isn't an insult to young adult media; we have different genres of content for different reasons, and I definitely would not have wanted every single manga I read as a teenager to be as mentally or spiritually challenging as Moby-Dick. Content for teenagers should be designed to resonate with teenagers, both intellectually and emotionally. Many works for teens can have excellent writing and punch above their target audience demographic too. But the bulk majority of teenage readers are not (yet) going to be experts in literary criticism and sociocultural theories, capable of pounding out advanced meta analyses of the gender dynamics of characters in their favorite stories. Some will, but most won't.

Stories for young adults just don't have to hold up to that level of scrutiny, at least among their target audience.

At its core, however, the issue with the lower standards for depth of character building in young adult media is that it corresponds with lower standards for becoming popular as an author in fields such as YA lit and shounen manga. You don't have to be Leo Tolstoy or Emily Brontë to gain recognition among younger audiences. Sometimes, you don't even have to be good. Twilight was a roaring success, even while people lambasted it for being poorly written.

You don't have to be a literary giant whose books will be short-listed for addition to the canon of classical literature to develop a massive online fandom; Voltron was insanely popular despite being terribly written. 😂 You don't have to be god's gift to storytellers to become a popular shounen mangaka; Naruto is still one of the most popular manga in history and I hope no one genuinely thinks its characters were masterfully developed.

I'm not saying it doesn't take talent! It absolutely does! What I believe is that there's just not a guaranteed correspondence between "this author is popular and has a huge fandom" and "this author is actually good," especially in genres where the target audience is younger and therefore a little less likely to deeply critique the media they consume. Even if your characters--male or female--aren't that well-written, you can still get very, very popular in internet fandoms, especially with younger and more forgiving audiences, where only the rare few in the fandom will dedicate hours of their lives to performing meta analysis of your work, picking apart the writing quality and development of your characters.

So, long story longer: It's not that male writers overall are incapable of writing women. It's that a lot of fandoms spring up around kind-of-poorly written stories in the first place, and male authors who are not great at writing in general are equally unlikely to be great at writing women.

In fact, I'd suggest that male writers who are poor at writing women are probably also not great at writing men. Like, come on, don't tell me you think Bakugou and Midoriya's writing was good by the end of My Hero Academia.

Many popular authors with big fandoms are just being given more of a pass when it comes to writing poor male characters than they are with their female characters, and I'd argue that's likely because of the same reason I highlighted before: Their fandoms are dominated by women who like men and are willing to do more work to flesh out/fix the male characters they're interested in.

(It also helps that, with an overwhelming number of fic writers being female, they have less insight into truly depicting the male experience in authentic ways in the first place; if you are a woman, you're more likely to recognize a poorly written female character on the spot, while having at least slightly less ability to identify the unrealistic or inaccurate elements of male characters.)

Essentially, it's confirmation bias in action: We think men don't understand women, so we scrutinize male writers' depictions of women very closely, all while giving a pass to the fact that a lot of these writers just kind of suck at writing men too.

The "lame romances" in stories written by men aren't exclusively lame because of flat female characters--if the female character is flat, half the time the male character is flat too, and the romance is lame because the writer overall is... kind of lame... 😂

But why all the bromances? I wrote about this in my big long essay before, and I think there's plenty of very complicated reasons that men write so many male-male friendships and relationships into their story (re: coming from genuinely misogynist cultures, deliberately baiting fans with hints of BL, an actual internalized desire for greater emotional connection with fellow men due to perceived male loneliness, self-projection into their own characters, having been told they aren't good at writing women so they've given up, etc. etc.), but I honestly think one of the simplest reasons is genre. The majority of these "bromances" are coming from shounen manga, and shounen manga has some very common recurring tropes, chief among them being the whole "me and my ~RIVAL~" dynamic.

A lot of mainstream shounen stories have had such enormous success with this "young male protagonist and his best bro/rival/arch-enemy" dynamic that, frankly, I think many modern manga are just piggy-backing on the trope. "Dudes who beat each other up and become besties" has worked for so many series now that it's just become a staple of the entire genre.

I also think the market for Japanese manga in particular is very unique, with male manga artists recognizing--and capitalizing--on the power of the "fujoshi" reader early on. It's easy for shounen manga artists to see the benefits of over-stocking their stories with male characters and queerbait, because hinting at mlm ships they have no intention of ever paying out on 1) rarely reduces their male readership and 2) actually broadens their readership dramatically by deliberately bringing in female readers.

Basically, so long as the endgame is a het ship (or at least no ship), male readers will still read a story even if it has mlm shiptease, while more women will be drawn to the story for the mlm shiptease when they otherwise might not be that interested. There's no way to lose.

In essence, on the topic of queerbait, the shounen manga artists were just really savvy and realized faster that "having your cake and eating it too" is possible by incorporating a higher number of male-male relationships in their stories in order to broaden their readership and sales. Comparatively, western media was just much slower to cotton on to this technique, and I'd say it wasn't until relatively recently that western series have begun hyper-emphasizing male-male relationships specifically to appeal to women readers and viewers (see Supernatural, Good Omens, probably Teen Wolf [I don't actually go there so I can't confirm but I feel like this is true lol], etc.).

And, one final sidenote: I think it's difficult to compare published media to fanfic in terms of "featuring what you're sexually attracted to" because in published media, people are at least supposed to pretend their own sexual preferences aren't entirely warping the story, especially in young adult series (which have the biggest fanfic fandoms). Like... Compare: If you're a shounen manga artist you can get away with some panty shots but you can't be a flat out gooner--conversely, if you're a fanfic writer, you can write hardcore porn without hesitation. If we want to make an actual comparison in how much sex appeal sways character gender ratios in fanfic versus published media, I'd say the only comparable match would be comparing the ratio of female characters in harem anime and straight up hentai to the ratio of men in fanfics. We can't be out here comparing like... the original story content of Harry Potter (made for children, cannot be overly sexual) to its AO3 content (where nearly 40% of all HP fics are labeled explicit/mature). You gotta compare 18+ apples to apples.😂

Phew, sorry, that was a lot.

tl;dr: Tons of factors--yes, including misogyny--affect how men write women, but the issue of male writers being bad at writing women is likely being exaggerated in fandom spaces because 1) Fandoms are overwhelmingly female and women are better able to identify and critique poorly written female characters than anyone else, 2) Most of the biggest fandoms on the internet center around stories for younger audiences who haven't had enough time to develop strong media literacy and literary criticism skills, allowing writers to become popular without necessarily needing to be of highest quality, 3) Female fans are more willing to forgive poorly written male characters because they're more likely to be interested in and attracted to those male characters, and 3) A lot of writers just suck in general; it's not localized to just being shitty at writing women.

[brofightiscancelled]

ok kind of an insane ask so feel free to ignore but would you be able to translate "友達バリア" by deco*27? i can't find any translations online and i wanna see if i'm right about the song kind of fitting the matsus... it's also a banger imo

- vocamatsu anon

omg.... tbh i have a feeling deco will make a video for this one which means we'll get an official english translation of it, rendering this completely redundant, but i'm really cheesed to have been asked, so i gave it a shot for you anyways <3

Friend-zoned, love fire, sparks flying HIBANA We're ready, set to lock horns, love's ultimate showdown I'm outmatched- but it's not over yet! I won't let this end! With a dazzling, never-give-up attitude, I'll break through your defenses!

The despair of never getting anything more of this Your behavior, nor what's going on in your head- I can't read it at all! I can't help but envy the kindness you radiate Omnidirectional compatibility- it's just not for me

Carefully-picked down-played words The outcome: A bloody heart True feelings double-crossed by embarrassment; how frustrating, I'm changing sides But that won't fill up my heart What I want is nothing more than to be by your side If you've got something to say, then say it- 'til I defeat you, that is! 3, 2, 1!

Friend-zoned, love fire, sparks flying HIBANA We're ready, set to lock horns, love's ultimate showdown I'm outmatched- but it's not over yet! I won't let this end! With a dazzling, never-give-up attitude, I'll break through your defenses!

I want you to like me! I want you to like me! Friend-zoned, love fire, hey, say "I give up"! With a dazzling, never-give-up attitude, I'll break through your defenses!

Fun things, good feelings- without you, they have no taste at all Sadness, jealousy- if they're cuz of you, then I don't mind them Let's throw down, bro! Better to regret doing it, than not doing it at all! A feeling like I won't need any special moves, YEAH I'm sure everything will be OKAY With an endless supply of love, you're undefeated, AYE Play dead, BYE BYE I'll be the one to throw the first punch

Friend-zoned, love fire, sparks flying HIBANA We're ready, set to lock horns, love's ultimate showdown The lonely and timid me is already no more! With a dazzling, blazing flair, I'll burn through your defenses!

Do you like me yet? Do you like me yet? Friend-zoned, love fire, now, let's immerse ourselves in love! With a dazzling, blazing flair, a never-ending HAO sweetener battle!

Do you like me yet? Do you like me yet? Friend-zoned, love fire, now, let's immerse ourselves in love! With a dazzling, blazing flair, a never-ending HAO sweetener battle!

------

my notes:

my overall interpretation of this song is "I'm trying to break through the friend zone (friendship barrier) so that you like me instead of thinking of me as a friend", so any vagueness in translation went in that direction

The use of "lock horns" in the official translation snippet + the HAO motifs give me the mental image of like, a hand-to-hand kung fu battle, so I leaned towards that imagery whenever there was vagueness (as opposed to like, a military campaign, for example)

deco's official english translations tend to be very liberal, so i tried to keep my translation a little more literal

[sangcreole]

damn. this is genuinely the only space on the internet where I feel completely at peace.

[xamaxenta]

Kind of whelmed

[blackbirdffxiv]

.

"Why did you move to the quiet channel?"

I don't know

Maybe it's because I'm fucking sick of being talked over by three people who can't get their shit together and move to THEIR OWN FUCKING CALL while they're night club FC venue crawling while I'm trying to do content with people and not fucking die in the process?

Maybe because I am sick of not being able to get a single god damn word in because someone doesn't have a fucking off button?

And if I ask someone to chill, maybe give some other folks a moment to speak because they've been trying to for the past 20 minutes, I'M the bad guy?

"Join VC" they said, "It'll be fine" they said.

"Let's just do a private call, it'll be easier and we won't have to worry about people distracting us." I said, but no.

And of course now that no one listened to me there's problems :)