#which—if I recall correctly—is exactly how I felt when I made these

[crookedtines]

Mixed media plein air color studies

[palevcr]

STAY THE NIGHT

she showed up in the middle of the night, all soft tank tops and bare legs, climbing onto him like it was the most natural thing in the world. smelled like strawberry shampoo and trouble. blaise didn’t even open his eyes at first—just smirked, lazy and content, and pulled her closer like she belonged there. maybe she did. maybe he wanted her there every night, in his bed, wearing his shirt, asking for help with homework she didn’t actually care about. she made him weak. soft. filthy. he was half-hard before she even touched him. and maybe that was the point. maybe she liked making him ache. maybe she liked crawling into his bed knowing he wouldn’t stop her—knowing he’d fuck her slow and quiet under the blankets, knowing he’d let theo walk in and see. blaise should’ve sent her back to her dorm. but then her thigh brushed his cock and every reasonable thought vanished.

pairing: Blaise Zabini x reader

genre: smut, lovers/roommates, slytherin dorms, canon divergence

tw: MDNI 18+, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, voyeurism/exhibitionism (mild), possessive behavior, suggestive teasing, Blaise being cocky and soft, Theo cameo (watching), reader being a brat, winter comfort, post-quidditch laziness

Blaise had just stepped out of the steaming bathroom, skin flushed and muscles aching from an unforgiving Quidditch practice that had dragged on far longer than it should have. Every movement felt like a protest; his limbs heavy, his back tight, and a dull throb in muscles he hadn’t even known existed until tonight. With a sigh of resignation, he tugged on a pair of soft black pajama pants and thick socks—because winters at Hogwarts were merciless—but made no effort to find a shirt. It felt like too much trouble, and the residual heat from the shower clung to him like a lazy blanket. Shirtless, hair still damp and curling faintly at the nape of his neck, he threw himself onto the bed with a muted grunt, one arm slung over his eyes to block out the flickering torchlight.

He heard the door creak open and didn’t bother to move. He fully expected Theo to stroll in, sheepish and reeking of smoke, probably in search of cologne to mask the scent of another stolen cigarette. It was practically a ritual at this point. But instead of the familiar scent of tobacco and cedarwood, Blaise felt a shift in the air—a gentle dip in the mattress, a familiar warmth settling over his lap—and then the unmistakable softness of someone straddling his waist.

“Blaise,” a voice whispered, delicate and coaxing. “Are you awake?”

A smile curled at the corners of his mouth as he slowly moved his arm, revealing his face and letting his eyes adjust to the low light. “No,” he replied dryly, his voice thick with exhaustion and amusement. “I’m sleeping. Obviously.”

She grinned, and Merlin, it was criminal how beautiful she looked when she smiled like that—mischievous, radiant, like she knew exactly what effect she had on him. “What are you doing here?” he asked, arching a brow. “Last I checked, girls weren’t allowed in the boys’ dorms. Something about boundaries, temptation… uncontrollable teenage hormones, if I recall correctly.”

“I missed my boyfriend,” she said, all syrupy sweetness, the kind that made his suspicion spike.

“Uh huh,” Blaise muttered, clearly unconvinced. His gaze swept over her lazily. She was wearing a threadbare tank top—clearly intentional—that clung to her like a second skin, the fabric strained just enough across her chest to make him momentarily lose his train of thought. Her arms were folded beneath her breasts, which only made matters worse. Or better, depending on the perspective.

“Can’t I visit my boyfriend when I miss him? Is that illegal now?” she huffed, pouting just enough to toe the line between bratty and seductive.

He laughed then, low and warm, rubbing a hand down his face. “Darling, you only use that tone when you want something. Go on—spit it out.”

She deflated, a dramatic sigh escaping her lips. “Fine. So maybe I came here because I needed something.”

Blaise shifted slightly beneath her, propping himself up on his elbows, eyes half-lidded with amusement. “Mhm. And what might that be, baby?”

Without answering, she reached over to the side of the bed, picking up a battered notebook and flipping it open with exaggerated care. “I may have… slept through Potions,” she confessed with a sheepish smile. “And Professor Snape wants the assignment by tomorrow morning. I have absolutely no idea how to do it.”

The way she looked at him then—big eyes, lips barely parted, that ridiculous little pout—made his heart clench in a way he would never admit aloud. She really didn’t fight fair.

“Come here,” he groaned, sitting up fully now, brushing her hair back over her shoulder as he took the notebook from her hands.

They worked in tandem for a while—though "they" was generous. Blaise did the bulk of it, muttering through instructions, scratching out notes, correcting her half-hearted guesses while she perched on his lap like the world’s prettiest distraction. She didn’t try very hard to help, and she didn’t have to. He didn’t mind, not when she looked like that, all sleepy affection and feigned innocence.

Eventually, when the last potion ingredient had been labeled and the ink had dried, Blaise shut the notebook and tossed it aside with a satisfied grunt. He leaned back against the pillows, arms stretching behind his head, and looked up at her with a soft smile still tugging at his mouth.

“Stay,” he murmured, his hands drifting to her hips, guiding her gently down so that she was lying fully on top of him, her cheek pressed against his chest.

She giggled quietly, breath tickling his collarbone, and nestled into the warm space between his shoulder and neck. She loved the way he smelled—some expensive cologne layered with the creamy, almost edible vanilla of his soap, and something uniquely him. Comforting. Addictive.

“I can stay,” she whispered against his skin, voice drowsy, fingers playing with the delicate gold chain he always wore around his neck. She twisted it idly between her fingers, anchoring herself to the quiet moment.

“Good,” Blaise mumbled, his voice slipping into something even lazier, eyes fluttering shut as sleep began to pull him under again.

Wrapped in the hush of the dormitory, the soft rustle of the fire and the sound of their breathing the only things breaking the silence, they drifted together—two souls pressed close, limbs tangled, hearts quietly, contentedly aligned.

Morning came softly, announced by golden sunlight filtering through the tall windows of the Slytherin dormitory. The light spilled across the bed in gentle waves, warming the tangled sheets and casting a faint glow over the room. Y/N stirred first, pulled from sleep not by noise, but by the quiet warmth of the day kissing her skin. Her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the light, and for a moment she just breathed—held in the stillness of morning, cradled by the silence and the slow, steady rise and fall of Blaise’s chest beneath her.

She shifted slightly, blinking away sleep as she lifted her head to look at him. Blaise lay on his back, arms lax, face turned toward the window, still deep in slumber. He looked impossibly peaceful like that. His sharp features were softened by sleep, the angles of his jaw and cheekbones bathed in morning gold. His lips were parted just barely, lashes long against his cheeks, curls messy and wild from the night. She smiled to herself, heart tugging. He was beautiful when he was awake—sharp and confident, all wit and smirk and charm—but there was something about him asleep that made her chest ache in a different way. So soft. So still. So entirely, stupidly perfect.

Y/N adjusted her position ever so slightly, shifting her hips to get more comfortable, but froze when she felt it—something hard pressed against her thigh. Her brow furrowed faintly as she looked down, only to be met with the unmistakable pressure of Blaise’s morning wood straining against his pajama pants, nestled right up against her leg. The breath caught in her throat, her cheeks warming as her gaze lingered. She swallowed. Her fingers, which had been resting innocently on his abdomen, suddenly twitched with temptation.

Her eyes traced the path of lean, sculpted muscle beneath his golden skin. Gods, he really was carved like some sort of Renaissance painting—sleek and defined and far too unfair for this hour of the morning. Her hand moved before she could second-guess herself, fingertips gliding down the ridges of his abdomen in a featherlight caress. She barely touched him, reverent and slow, as though afraid to wake him. But her curiosity, that slow-burning want she’d grown far too used to ignoring, was winning out over caution.

Then—

“Feeling me up so early in the morning?” Blaise’s voice came like thunder through velvet—deep, rough with sleep, and laced with unmistakable amusement.

Y/N gasped, hand freezing just above the waistband of his pants. Her head snapped up to meet his gaze and found dark brown eyes, half-lidded and full of heat, already watching her. He was awake. And judging by the smirk curling his mouth, he’d been awake long enough to enjoy the show.

“Blaise—” she started, flustered.

But he was already moving, the grin on his face slow and lazy, like a predator stretching before the pounce. In one smooth motion, he rolled them, shifting their bodies so she was on her back and he hovered over her, braced on his forearms. His weight pressed her into the mattress in the most delicious way, his hips settling against hers, and she could feel him—hard, hot, and insistent even through the thin layers of clothing separating them.

“Naughty,” he whispered into the curve of her neck, his voice a low rasp that made her skin break out in goosebumps. His lips brushed against her throat, not quite kissing, just barely touching. “Waking me up like that.”

His hips rolled against her, slow and teasing, making her gasp softly, her hands flying up to grip his shoulders. The friction was maddening. He wasn't even trying yet, and already her body was responding—arch of the back, parted lips, a barely stifled moan as he rocked his hips again, slower this time.

“Did you miss me?” he murmured, lips brushing her jaw. “Or were you just hoping I’d fuck you awake?”

“Blaise,” she breathed, barely more than a whisper, her nails digging lightly into his skin.

He chuckled darkly, trailing kisses down the side of her neck, taking his time, savouring the way she squirmed beneath him. His hand found her waist, slipping beneath her tank top, fingers splaying over her bare skin. “You know,” he murmured against her collarbone, “if you wanted me, you could’ve just said so. No need for all the sneaking and teasing.”

“I wasn’t—” she began, but it was useless. He was already nipping at the skin just above her shoulder, his free hand gripping her thigh and pulling it up to wrap around his hip, pulling her closer, tighter, until there was nothing between them but heat and tension.

“You were,” he said, his voice pure sin. “And I’m not complaining.”

His mouth captured hers in a kiss—slow at first, coaxing, tasting. And then deeper. Hungrier. The kind of kiss that says I know you. I want you. I’m not letting go.

And in that sun-drenched dormitory, in the tangle of soft sheets and sleepy warmth, it was easy to forget the rules. The world beyond the bed faded away, leaving only them—his hands, her breath, the delicious weight of him between her thighs, and the slow, inevitable unraveling of restraint.

Blaise’s hips rolled into hers again, deliberate and slow, the thick weight of his cock grinding against her clothed heat as his mouth trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down the column of her throat. Y/N’s head fell back into the pillows, baring her neck to him like an offering, her breath catching as he suckled gently at her pulse point. She could feel the smirk on his lips—lazy, arrogant, utterly pleased with himself—just before his teeth grazed her skin.

“Blaise…” she breathed, voice already wrecked with need, her body arching up into him without thinking.

His hands were everywhere—possessive, reverent, greedy. One of them slipped beneath the hem of her tank top, palming her breast with a soft groan. “So soft,” he murmured, his thumb flicking over her nipple through the thin fabric, watching it pebble beneath his touch. Her back arched, her thighs clenching around his hips, drawing him closer.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, hips lifting to meet him in a silent plea. Blaise exhaled against her throat, heavy and warm, and slid his hand down between them, fingers curling beneath the waistband of his pajama pants to free his cock. He was already leaking, thick and flushed, precum glistening at the tip as he rutted lazily against the damp spot he’d coaxed from her.

“Fuck,” he hissed, dragging her shorts and panties to the side, the fabric biting into her thigh. He didn’t bother taking them off—he wanted her now, fast, raw. He lined himself up and pressed in, slowly, steadily, inch by inch.

Her mouth fell open in a soundless moan, her arms tightening around his shoulders. The stretch, the heat, the way he filled her so perfectly—it was almost unbearable.

“Perfect,” Blaise groaned into her neck, voice thick with reverence. “Fucking perfect. Always so tight for me. You feel that, baby? Feel how well you take me?”

She whimpered beneath him, hips meeting each slow thrust, nails digging into the muscles of his back as he started to move. Each stroke was deep and purposeful, his rhythm slow and powerful, hips grinding with a precision that made her vision blur. He knew her body like it was his, knew exactly how to tilt his hips, how to drag himself along her inner walls until she was gasping beneath him, her thighs trembling with the effort to stay wrapped around him.

Then—creak.

The dormitory door cracked open behind them.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them looked.

The sound of footsteps—slow, unhurried—and then a familiar voice.

“Forgot my tie,” Theo said blandly, utterly unaffected by the image of Blaise buried deep inside her, sweat-slick skin pressed to skin. He crossed the room with the nonchalance of someone retrieving laundry, plucking a green silk tie from the back of a chair and casually scooping his half-empty cigarette pack from the desk.

“Morning,” he added with a dry smile, and just like that, the door clicked shut behind him.

Y/N blinked, dazed. “Was that Theo?”

“Probably,” Blaise muttered into her throat, not breaking pace for a second. His voice was gravel-dark, rich with amusement and desire. His hands gripped her thighs now, holding her open, holding her down, as he drove into her with deep, unhurried strokes that had her whole body quaking.

“Don’t care.”

Then his mouth was at her ear, voice dropping into something low and filthy—just for her.

“You like being caught?” he rasped, breath hot against her skin, lips brushing her earlobe. “You like knowing someone could see you like this? My perfect girl—spread open, moaning, taking me so fucking well you don’t even stop when someone walks in?”

She gasped, back arching. Her hands fisted in the sheets now, helpless against the way his voice crawled into her mind and settled in her core like molten heat.

“I bet you’d let me fuck you in the common room, wouldn’t you?” he growled, thrusts getting harder now, more punishing. “Wouldn’t even care who saw—Theo, the whole fucking house, anyone. You’d be dripping all over the velvet cushions, letting me bend you over the fireplace while they watched.”

His cock slammed into her with the next thrust, right against that spot that made her cry out.

“Yeah, you would. You’d let Theo watch, wouldn’t you?” Blaise whispered darkly, lips dragging across her cheekbone, teeth catching on her jaw. “You’d let him sit in the corner and wank while I fucked you. Maybe he’d ask to touch. Maybe I’d let him. Maybe I’d show him what it looks like when you fall apart for me.”

“Blaise—” she moaned, legs shaking now, body trembling beneath him.

He was relentless, a steady, consuming force above her—hips rolling, cock pistoning into her with delicious precision, his chest slick against hers, chain necklace dragging along her collarbone with every deep thrust.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Fucking little exhibitionist,” he snarled against her mouth before kissing her hard—biting and tongue and teeth.

Her body was coiling, fire winding tight in her belly, building with every word, every thrust, every filthy fantasy whispered in that velvet voice that owned her.

“Come for me,” he growled, hand slipping between them to rub her clit in tight, deliberate circles. “Come on, baby. Want Theo to hear you scream.”

And she did—body arching, breath breaking, release crashing through her in a blinding wave that made her vision go white. She pulsed around him, clenching so tight he nearly lost it.

Blaise groaned low in his throat, thrusts faltering for the first time. He buried his face in her neck and followed her over the edge, spilling into her with a shudder and a whispered curse, hips rocking through the aftershocks as they clung to each other, gasping, shaking, utterly wrecked.

There was only the sound of their breathing now, tangled and heavy, the slow slide of sweat-damp skin and the lazy thud of his heartbeat pressed against her chest.

“Next time,” Blaise murmured against the curve of her neck, voice thick with sleep and the lazy afterglow of release, “wake me up with your mouth, yeah?”

Y/N let out a soft, breathless laugh, her fingers idly tracing patterns across the damp skin of his back. “Sure,” she whispered, lips brushing his temple, her smile tender and full of affection. She could still feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat where their chests were pressed together, could still feel him inside her—softening now, but still nestled deep, like he couldn’t bear to be anywhere else.

He sighed contentedly and let his full weight settle over her, heavy and warm and impossibly comforting. His breath slowed against her throat, and she knew he was already half-asleep again, wrapped around her like he’d never let go.

“Love you,” she whispered into the quiet, fingers brushing the chain around his neck.

His voice was a low, drowsy hum, muffled by her skin. “Love you more.”

This is quite long I apologise 😛

[caramel1mochi]

cOULD yOu write a fic where fem reader and (some agent) stay at valorant hq while others are at the mission and its summer, super hot outside, and when they come back they see reader and (agent) at the pool playing loud music and having fun, and gekko gets jealous of agent😁😁😁😁😁

Heya, thanks for the request! I wasn’t sure how to wrap it up and I felt bad letting him stay jealous so I added a little extra at the end hahaㅤ

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On the Poolside! [ Gekko x Reader ]

Words: 900+

Please don't copy or steal my work and pass it off as your own! If you'd like to use one of my headcanons or something, I'd love it if you tagged or asked.‎ ‎‎ ‎  

ㅤ

。+❤ฺ·。❤ฺ·。+❤ฺ· +❤·。❤ฺ·。+❤ฺ·

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It was two in the afternoon. The perfect time for a team of agents to return from a mission a few minutes ago.

The sun shined brilliantly amidst the bright blue sky, and there was naught of a cloud that dared stand in its way. Unfortunately, this meant that the rays that engulfed the protocol, Gekko and Neon were uncontested, heating them up like they were pastries in an oven. And to those unfortunate enough to go on a mission during all of this, they suffered the most out of all of them. Which was also Gekko and Neon.

Despite having opted to go to the swimming pool a while ago, swimsuits didn’t really cool them as they marched down the hallway. Thrash in hand, each step heavier than the sound of a jackhammer, the two were ready to flop into the pool like pancakes.

ㅤㅤ

“It should be a crime to send people out to war in the middle of summer, man.”

ㅤㅤ

Gekko complained, promptly earning a nod from Neon.

ㅤㅤ

“Exactly. And to Bind, too? What was Brim thinking?” She huffed. “I just hope the pool’s empty. If one person tries to talk to me on my way there, I swear I'll zap them with my suppressor off!”

ㅤㅤ

Though he aimed to respond to that with something witty, Gekko choked on his laughter once he heard the final sentence.

ㅤㅤ

“Chica, chill. Everyone else left after us; I’m positive it’s empty.”

ㅤㅤ

“Yeah, it better be!”

ㅤㅤ

The halls were quiet and empty of the chaos they’d naturally be riddled with. Mostly because the younglings were out and about, suffering just like the duo were about an hour ago. But this very silence was what made their ears perk up at an awry sound.

Despite the conversation serving as a good enough distraction from the heat, the closer they marched to the pool, the louder the music had gotten. And Gekko just couldn't help but notice it. Especially the genre.

ㅤㅤ

“Yo, do you hear that?”

ㅤㅤ

“Huh? Oh. Music." She sighed in disinterest. "Yeah, they're probably playing some stuff back there. Looks like we won’t be alone, huh?"

ㅤㅤ

“Guess not.”

ㅤㅤ

It was borderline impossible for Neon to sound any less irritated, but I digress.

However, Gekko couldn't stop himself from playing detective in his head in regards to the genre, aaannndd... They turned the corner and finally arrived at the pool, being blinded by the strong sunlight just as they stepped outside. But he was able to finally see who was in the pool when their vision cleared. Yeah, it was Iso who picked that song. Of course it bloody was, who else would pick underground rap? Gekko took a moment to observe Iso as he sat on the edge of the pool, laughing away at something neither of them could hear. Seeing him wear something that didn’t conceal his broad figure was very out of place. But his heart dropped once he saw who he was talking to.

It was you.

Despite being submerged in water, he saw you don some kind of colourful swimsuit with a peculiar design he just couldn’t observe. But something else was on his mind. Beyond how much those colours complemented you, of course. Why was Iso with you in the pool? Neither of you hung out much, if he recalled correctly, so... However, his heart dropped when he saw you suddenly grab Iso's wrist and gleefully pull him into the pool with all of your might. He swore that he saw his arms wrap around you for a second underwater, but he was quick to let go just as the two of you resurfaced.

Ugh…

ㅤㅤ

“Finally. Fresh air. Come on, let’s go.” ㅤㅤ

Gekko didn’t really catch what Neon said. He was too distracted by the sound of you calling Iso’s name in between laughter. He huffed and firmly clutched Thrash in his arms.

ㅤㅤ "You know what? Nevermind.” ㅤㅤ

Thrash immediately grumbled at this.

Neon's eyes widened in surprise once he turned on his heel. However, just as he was about to move back inside, she was quick to grab his shoulder to stop him.ㅤ

ㅤㅤ

"Woah, hey, what’s going on?”

ㅤㅤ

“Nothing.”

ㅤㅤ

Gekko shrugged her hand off, and Neon couldn’t help but tilt her head in confusion.

ㅤㅤ

“Nothing? Why’re you leaving, then?”

ㅤㅤ

“I’m… uh, I’m not in the mood.”

ㅤㅤ

“Okay, that’s clearly a lie.”

ㅤㅤ

“Look, I’m just not in the mood anymore, alright? It’s not that deep.”

ㅤㅤ

He unwittingly glanced at the two of you, getting further aggravated at the contagious joy that kept increasing between you two. Neon obviously followed his gaze, but she looked back at him in disbelief once she caught on.

ㅤㅤ

“Iso and A/N? Is that what this is about?” She crossed her arms. “Gekko, who cares? Just ignore them, or whatever.”

ㅤㅤ

“Are you for real? I’m not sitting here on the side lines just to watch A/N and Iso live it up.”

ㅤㅤ

“Hey, you promised Thrash we’d check out the pool when we get back. Are you seriously gonna go back on your word because of some guy who probably sucks at picking date locations compared to you?”

ㅤㅤ

Neon scolded him as she playfully poked at his chest. And with the encouraging grumble Thrash let out, it was very clear that the little radivore was very much agreeing with her words. She'd know that, wouldn't she?

So… Gekko rolled his eyes with a wide smile he just couldn’t control.

ㅤㅤ

“Okay, fine. I’m staying.”

ㅤㅤ

“About time! Now get a move on, I’m melting out here!”

ㅤㅤ

Neon grabbed Gekko’s wrist and pulled him towards the pool. Due to her strength however, it gave Thrash an escape from his previously firm hold. Thus, Thrash immediately jumped out of his arms and terrorised the pool… much to Gekko’s delight. Even though you were also both inconvenienced at this, not just Iso.

[paulyenvol6]

Toxic

Smutty OS Harry Styles x reader

Contains: adult content, smut, fingering, oral (f & m receiving), overstimulating, p in v, unprotected sex, dom and mean Harry, degrading, gagging, basically smut without plot

Wordcount: ~3.05k

Masterlist

Harry and Y/n had a difficult relationship. The easiest way to describe it is probably to say that they were in a toxic relationship. They fought, called each other ugly things but they always came back.

One of the main reason was the physical attractiveness they felt about each other. They couldn’t take their hands off each other so it wasn’t a rare thing for them to have angry sex after a fight.

"I hate you," y/n said, tears in her eyes. Harry just grinned and slighly chuckled.

"Fuck you, Harry," she then said, having problems holding back her tears.

"Mhm, no, I don’t think so. I'd rather fuck you than myself," Harry said. Now tears fell down her cheeks and she softly whimpered.

"Seriously?" Harry asked raising his eyebrows. "You think crying will make me apologize? Well m’not."

She couldn’t answer and Harry said: "Get fucking over it, Baby. Then we can talk like normal human beings again and I’ll consider fucking you or going down on you. But for that you need to stop crying, don’t want you to ruin my shirt with your snot."

That made y/n only cry more and she whimpered.

"I hate you so much."

Harry laughed. "Mhm, yesterday that sounded very differently. If I recall it correctly I had you whining on the bed and begging for me to touch you. You were a fucking mess."

Y/n looked away from him and she tried to hold back the sounds of her crying.

"So? Will you get over it so we can do what I originally planned for us or will you keep making a scene?"

She didn’t answer and Harry sighed. "God, can’t you just answer me? If you wanna keep sulking m’gonna leave."

"Okay," y/n said, her voice so quiet that Harry almost didn’t hear it.

"Okay what?" Harry asked while rolling his eyes.

"We can do what you originally planned for us," she whispered and Harry smiled.

"There we go. There’s my sweet girl."

He straightened himself and made his way to her. He then pulled a tissue out of his pocket and gave it to her.

"Dry your tears and fucking stop crying."

She nodded and tried to make the tears stop. When Harry saw that it had stopped he caressed her cheek.

"Good girl. Now why don’t you help me a bit, huh? I think I need some release, so why don’t you go on your pretty knees f’me?"

She immediately did as he had asked. Harry, sitting on the edge of the bed, spread his legs so that y/n could kneel between them. She opened his belt and Harry lifted himself off the bed so he could pull his trousers and underpants down. His thick cock was already hardened and y/n wrapped her hand around it. Harry hissed and looked down to the girl in front of him.

"Yeah, that’s it. Keep going." She moved her hand up and down his shaft.

"Now take me in your mouth."

She obeyed him and slowly took him in her mouth. He was very big so she couldn’t take all of him but wrapped her hand around what she couldn't take. Harry groaned.

"Fuck, yes. That’s what you’re good for, right? Being on your knees and sucking my dick instead of talking. Better keep this mouth stuffed."

She moaned and Harry grabbed her hair to guide her the way that he wanted. He began to take control and fuck her mouth. When she stimulated his tip with her tongue Harry moaned.

"Ah fuck, yeah. That’s right, you know exactly how I like it you fucking whore."

He went deeper with every thrust until y/n gagged around him. It didn’t make Harry stop. He fucked deep inside her throat and y/n grabbed his thighs for stability.

He threw his head back in ectasy. "Oh shit, yes. Such a good mouth f’me t’use, dirty little thing."

It didn’t take long for him to come. He shot his load right in her throat which made y/n gag and her reflex was to get away from his cock. But Harry needed her to stay like this so he held her hair tight. When he had finished, he slowly took her off his cock and watched her. Her lips were swollen, she had tears in her eyes and the area around her mouth was covered with saliva, precum and cum. She looked delightful.

Harry grinned and caressed her hair behind her ears.

"Good girl, y/n. Such a good fucking girl. Think you should be rewarded, right?"

She didn’t answer but just looked up to him with her doll eyes.

"Answer me," Harry said and grabbed her chin tightly.

"I don’t know, Harry. Whatever you wanna do."

He chuckled and caressed her jawline. Then he suddenly got up and walked away.

"Get on the bed," he said and while y/n made herself comfortable on the bed Harry walked to the nightstand to get a sip of water. Y/n pressed her legs together to get some relief. She had become so horny while getting mouth-fucked by Harry and had felt herself getting incredibly wet. She had wanted to rub her clit so bad but she hadn’t dared to do so without Harry’s permission (and it had been a bit difficult to ask for it with his cock in her mouth).

Y/n crossed her legs for some friction. He noticed it and chuckled.

"Fucking pathetic."

He then hovered over her and roughly opened her legs. She whimpered at the uncomfortable feeling of her pulsating and needy pussy that couldn’t get any relief as her legs were being spread.

"Poor Baby. Couldn’t get any relief, huh? Probably wanted to rub your clit so bad while sucking me off."

Y/n fastly nodded and lifted her hips to get closer to him. Harry pressed her down and slapped the side of her ass.

"Stay down."

Y/n looked up to him under her lashes. She wanted a kiss from him so badly, but she didn’t dare initiate it. Harry meanwhile pulled up her top and y/n raised her arms so he could take it off her body. He then also took off her shorts so the only piece of clothing left on her body were her panties. Harry shamelessly regarded her body and his eyes traveled down on her. Y/n felt slightly embarressed and vulnerable under his gaze and moved her hands over her belly.

He immediately grabbed her wrists and put her hands next to her body on the mattress.

"Don’t you dare hide from me, Baby. You know I’ve already seen all of this."

"I’m sorry," she said.

Harry leaned down and y/n thought he was about to kiss her but he pressed kisses on her neck while his hands caressed her belly. He then wrapped his lips around her left nipple while his hands played with the other breast. Y/n moaned and wanted to grab his hair so badly. Harry twirled his tongue around her nipple.

"Such a pretty girl. Perfect fucking tits, a nice ass and a sweet pussy."

After a while he stopped his movements and raised his head from her chest.His hand traveled down her body until he reached her slip. Harry watched her face while he slightly, very softly went over the slip where her clit was. She twitched underneathe him and Harry grinned. His finger then explored the area around her pussy, the inside of her thighs and her lower belly. It got y/n so worked up she was a whining mess under him.

"Harry please," she whimpered.

"What do you want Baby, huh?"

"I want your finger on my clit, Harry please I need it so bad."

Harry chuckled. "Well too bad you’re not the one in charge here. So quit the whining now."

He kept his finger on the area around the spot that y/n needed him on the most until he finally gently moved his finger on her clit through he fabric of her slip. Harry went in circles and then when he had enough of the slip he just ripped it and left her cunt bare. Y/n cried out at the sudden movement and twitched.

"Shh," Harry made.

He went back to circling his thumb around her clit and y/n closed her eyes in pleasure.

"Keep your fucking eyes on me, baby."

She opened her eyes again and dug her nails into the bed sheets.

"Feels so good Harry, fuck."

"S’not a nice word t’use for such a lovely lady," Harry said and gently flicked her clit. She whimpered and her eyes rolled back when he increased the pace of rubbing her clit.

"I said eyes. On. Me," Harry growled and gently slapped her pussy.

"M’sorry, m’sorry. It’s hard."

"I don’t care. Do it or m’gonna stop."

Y/n tried to concentrate on looking in his eyes while she shifted on the bed. He was just so good at it. Making her pussy throb and touching her exactly the way she needed it. After a few more minutes she could feel her orgasm approaching.

"M’gonna cum Harry, can I please?"

"You can, Baby. But you’re gonna have to beg for it."

He slowed down his movements and y/n cried.

"No, Harry please don’t stop. Please I wanna come so badly."

Harry grinned and slowly circled her clit with the tip of his finger.

"Please, I was so good f’you. Please Harry."

"Mhm, was that enough?" Harry asked and pretended to be thinking. She looked up to him with her doll eyes and Harry chuckled.

"Dirty thing. You wanna cum so badly? My poor baby. Got you so worked up, everything."

She fastly nodded and when Harry started to rub her faster again she sighed and bit her lip.

"Yes, so good Harry."

After less than a minute she reached her orgasm and cried out his name over and over again. Harry gently slapped the side of her ass.

"There you go, darling. My good fucking girl." She couldn’t help but grab his arms and arch her back at the amazing feeling. When she came down from her high his touch on her clit that hadn’t stop when she reached her orgasm became uncomfortable to her. She closed her legs around his hand and tried to push him away.

"Harry please don’t, it hurts."

"Oh honey, that was only the beginning and you should know that."

Y/n looked at him but didn’t know what to answer. But then he suddenly took his hand off her clit and brought his finger to his mouth.

"You know, usually I’d stick my finger into your mouth, make you lick it clean as if it was my cock and make you gag around it but god you taste too good to do that."

He licked his finger clean and sighed.

"Fucking hell. Never tasted someone that sweet and salty before. Perfect mixture." She was speechless at this picture, she had never seen something so hot before. When his finger was clean he went over her buttom lip with it.

"Open," he ordered and y/n opened her mouth. He grabbed her chin and then spit right onto her tongue. She kept it there and waited for his next words.

"Now swallow."

She swallowed everything and kept eye contact with him the whole time.

"Such a dirty slut. My dirty slut, I’m the only one who can do such dirty things with you and use you like that."

She quickly nodded. "Yes. You’re the only one."

Harry then changed his position and moved down so he kneeled between her legs. He roughly spreaded her legs and groaned at the sight of her bare pussy.

"Fuck. M’gonna fucking ruin your pussy, baby."

He slapped the outside of her thigh at his words and then lowered his head and suddenly licked her pussy from her hole up to her clit.

"Ah shit," y/n cried out.

She was overstimulated but it felt so good at the same time. He teased her hole with his tongue, slid his tongue into it, teased her entrance and circled her clit with his thumb at the same time. It felt so good to y/n that all she could say was a babbling mess. Harry stopped his tongue movements and looked up to the girl.

"Taste so fucking good. Crazy to me that such a dirty, dumb, little thing can taste like that," he said and slapped her pussy, which made y/n whimper.

He then went back to teasing her entrance and after some time switched his tongue and finger movements, so his tongue took care of her clit while he teased her entrance and the rest of her pussy with his finger. Her whole body was shaking when he used his left hand to get the hood, that covered her clit out of the way so he could tease it directly with his tonuge. She jumped and couldn’t help but grab his hair. Harry slapped her ass but didn’t stop. He spread her legs wider with his underarms and seemed to press himself closer and closer to her pussy.

He then looked up to her to watch the reactions of her body and face. The way that she bit her lip, how she dug her nails into the sheets, how her hair fell into her face… 

"Can I come Harry?" she then cried out.

"Yeah you can, love. Come on, drown me with your juices."

Y/n came with a shriek and her legs began to shake even more. Harry watched her orgasm with delight and then, without really giving her the time to relax after her high, he grabbed a condom from the nightstand, pulled it over his hard cock and aligned himself with her entrance. Y/n shivered in excitement and looked up to him with her glassy eyes.

"Please I wanna be full," she whispered while he teased her overstimulated clit with the tip of his cock.

"You want me to stretch your little hole out? Want me to fuck your pussy nice n’deep?"

"Yes please, I want it so bad," she whined and shifted restlessly under him.

"Then stay fucking still."

He then slid into her in one go and y/n shrieked at the feeling. Harry growled and grabbed her hip tightly. Her soft and warm walls felt so tight around him and they stimulated his cock perfectly. His thrusts were deep and intense but he started off with a rather slow pace. His hand traveled to her clit and he started rubbing her. He knew that she couldn’t come only from vaginal sex, so he wanted her to get pleasure from his movement on her clit. She liked it though when he fucked her and she got turned on by it but she just couldn’t reach her orgasm alone by it.

He was now so deep in her that his balls slapped her pussy. Harry suddenly grabbed her legs and bent her knees so they could be on his shoulders. Y/n cried out at the new angle and her eyes rolled back. Harry gently stroke her hair which was a very unexpected gesture for y/n considering that he was so rough with her at the moment.

"Harry," she whimpered.

"What Baby?"

"Feels s’good. Please."

She didn’t even know what she wanted but she just felt so whiny for him at the moment.

"Feel so full."

Harry slightly increased the pace and then his hand wandered to her throat. He didn’t put a lot of pressure on it but softly chocked her. This image of her, her noises and the way that she felt around his cock drove him closer to his orgasm.

"My dirty girl feels s’good. M’gonna paint your walls with my cum and stiff you full with it. Gonna make it leak out of your hole."

"Mhm, yes."

"You’re gonna come too? M’not gonna wait f’you so you better bring yourself to it now."

Her fingers worked on her nipple while Harry kept rubbing her clit.

"Yeah, m’gonna come too. Just a little longer, please."

He stimulated her clit faster and put slight pressure on her throat. She whimpered and grabbed his bicep to hold on to something.

"Harry. Harry, please," she whined and uncontrollably moved her hips.

And then she came and Harry could feel her clench around him which drove him over the edge and y/n could feel him fill her up.

"Holy shit, Baby," he growled and threw his head back.

"Fuck, fuck."

He came down from his high and then gently slapped the side of her ass.

"That felt good," he smirked and y/n tiredly smiled at him.

Harry came closer and kissed her on the nose.

"Aww, my poor baby’s gotten all sleepy."

"Shut up," she giggled and pretended to punch him.

"Have to clean you up first anyway," he said and then left the room.

Y/n watched him with sadness. He was so sweet to her now. It was always like that. After they had sex he was always so lovely and caring but the next day it was gonna be bad again. They were probably going to fight and call each other bad things. She couldn’t say why it was like that but after they had sex they were always getting along so well and felt a strong bond and love for each other.

Harry entered the room again and had a washcloth in his hand. He smiled at her and y/n opened her legs. She twitched when he touched her sensitive and overstimulated pussy and her soothed her thigh by running his hand over it. After he had cleaned her, he gave a little kiss to her clit and then brought the washcloth away.

One minute later he returned and jumped into the bed next to her.

"Thank you, Harry," y/n whispered and turned to look at him.

"No problem," he smiled.

Y/n, knowing that the little spoon was his favourite cuddle position came closer to him.

"Turn around," she said and he did as she told him. She wrapped his arms around his upper body and pressed her face in his neck.

"Feels good," Harry hummed and caressed her arm.

"Yes, it does."

Part 2

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Tough

Peter Steele x Y/N - drabble - 1.3K WC

Part 1

Part 2 (you are here!)

Part 3

Masterlist

Warnings: brief mention of past SA in regards to reader, nothing detailed just briefly mentioned, vulnerability, Peter being softish, Peter scaring reader on accident, alcohol, use of the word groupie

------------------------------------

You felt anxiety bubble up inside of you as you made your way through the large, crowded venue. You wish you had actually looked up his band before going because now you felt like an idiot. You expected a moderately successful garage band, not a platinum album band which you found out as you overheard some fans waiting in line say. 

You finally pushed your way to the side of the stage. “Um, hi… I’m here to see Peter?” you said nervously.

The security guard laughed, “You and everyone else sugar, go on back to your seat.” he said, not budging from his post. 

“No really!” you said truthfully. “Oh wait there's a password…. Fuck what was it… umm… black… Black No. 1!” you said looking up hopefully. 

The security guard chuckled, asking his fellow guard to keep the fans at bay as he motioned for you to follow him. He led you all around backstage, you trailed close behind because you felt like you’d get lost if you didn’t. He opened a door leading to a room with four black haired rockers. A few girls scattered here and there across their laps and what not as they drank their pre-show beers and took shots. 

You stood there awkwardly as the security guard shut the door behind you. Nobody really paid you any mind until it had become glaringly obvious you didn’t know where to go or who to go to.

“You lost?” said the man who you knew from the street with Peter, granted now he wasn’t slumped over hammered. 

“I know you…” you mumbled mostly to yourself. 

The man squinted at you, trying to recall. “Oh you’re the girl Peter wont shut up about! Said you beat some guys ass with brass knuckles!”

“Yeah…” you chuckled awkwardly. 

“Those are illegal I hear.” the man from the couch said with a teasing tone, Kenny if you recalled correctly. 

“Something like that.” you smiled at him slightly.

“You beat someone up… what for?” one of the girls slurred, slightly spilling their drink. You nodded as you walked over to her, taking her drink and handing her your unopened bottle of water. She smiled at you lazily, placing a sloppy kiss on the back of your hand, leaving red lips behind. 

“This guy was trying to feel up a girl and do god knows what else, she stopped him.” Peter’s booming voice said from the doorway where he leaned, watching you once again tend to a girl who needed someone to look out for them. 

“Hi.” you smiled softly as you stood up from the girls side.

“Come with me, we can go somewhere quieter.” he said, softly grabbing your hand and tugging you along with him. He took you through a few rooms before landing in a dressing room that looked like it would fit all the boys to get ready before their shows.

He shut the door behind him before he sat down, his massive body taking up most of the couch when he spread out the way he was. You remained standing near the door. Peter cocked his head to the side, his eyebrows furrowing at your actions.

“I um, I didn’t realize how big your band was…” you said, flicking your eyes to him. “And I say this as respectfully as I can - I don’t want to be a groupie or one of the random hookups you have while in this town… so… that being said I think I’ll go… I can tell one of the other girls to come back and see you on my way out.” you didn’t want to be rude but there wasn’t exactly a nice way to say what you said. 

You reached for the doorknob but Peter was in front of you in a second, his large hand holding the door shut. You felt hyper aware of him, your hand slowly slipping into your purse for your trusty brass knuckles. Peter saw how your eyes were pinpoint on him, how you were holding your breath waiting for his next move. 

“Sorry…” he said, taking his hand off the door. “I um, forget how… scary I can look sometimes.” he said, letting his eyes fall to the floor, like this wasn’t the first time his simple action had been interpreted into impending violence. “I didn’t invite you for… that.” he said, stepping back to give you the opportunity to leave if you so wished.

You didn’t move, “Then what did you invite me for?” you asked genuinely.

“I think you’re cool, really cool.” he said shyly. 

Shy is something you never thought you’d see Peter be. “And you want me to stay here and just be cool?” you asked sarcastically, still wary of his intentions.

He walked back over to the couch, sitting on his hands. “We won't do anything you aren’t comfortable with, my hands are staying right here.”

You let go of the doorknob, sitting adjacent to him. 

“You bring those brass knuckles everywhere?” Peter asked with a small chuckle as he looked at your right hand still inside your purse. 

You let go of them, both of you hearing the metal clink against the various things in your purse. “Yes.” you said with a sigh, leaning back to relax a bit more. 

“If it’s any consolation, I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Peter said seriously.

“How did you…” you asked softly.

“One doesn’t have to be told point blank to know when someone has been hurt.” he said, looking at you with soft eyes. 

You nodded, “It was a long time ago… but I can’t leave the house without these now. No matter how much time passes.” you said patting your purse, hearing the metal clink. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re famous?” you asked. It was honestly all you had been thinking since you saw the massive venue and hundreds of fans. 

Peter shrugged, “Would you have come if I was some sort of smug asshole about it?” 

You chuckled, “You’re lucky I came today.”

“I’m very aware of that.” he said, leaning forwards towards you as he listened intently. 

You and Peter jabbered on for what felt like hours. Slowly getting closer until you were right next to each other. He stopped sitting on his hands with your permission. A knock Peter knew would eventually come finally came, they were on in five. He held his hand out for you as he stood, “So I can lead you to the show.” he reassured you.

You would have taken his hand either way. Beneath the harsh gaze and imposing presence you found Peter to be quite refreshing. He was kind, funny, silly, serious, passionate, interesting, and so much more. The hour you two spent talking felt like an eternity with a friend you had been missing. 

Peter showed you to the side of the stage where you could stand and sit during the show, having a clear line of sight to him.

“We’re on.” said Josh as he and the rest of the guys started to walk out to the stage. 

Peter slipped his hand into yours, giving it a squeeze. “Wish me luck.” he said.

You squeezed his hand tighter when he moved to leave you. You pulled him back, reaching up to the collar of his shirt to pull him down before you placed a kiss on his cheek, “Good luck.” you whispered in his ear before letting him go and slightly shoving him towards the stage. 

He regained his composure quickly but his heart was trying to claw its way out of his chest the whole performance. Especially when he turned his head slightly and saw you swaying to the music, even singing a few of the lyrics to the more popular songs. 

--------------------------------

Naboo's Note:

Down bad doesn't begin to cover it man. I'm obsessed. Somebody lock me away.

[kellyvela]

So I’m sure you’ve seen the discourse between Dany and Sansa stans on the Twitter timeline … but I’ve just come across something new that I hadn’t seen before ??? From a Sansa anti ofc, but it was a blog post from GRRM where someone said Sansa isn’t a Stark anymore/less of a Stark since she lost her direwolf and GRRM responds with “that’s a very astute observation” with a coy smile (I didn’t look at it for long so I’m unsure of the exact wording). Anyway I find it hard to believe that THIS is what Sansa antis are clinging to when there is so much in text to connect Sansa to her indentity, not to mention him listing her amongst his main characters ? Do they just ignore all those interviews ? Do they not read her chapters?

Calm down! That's not from any GRRM Not A Blog, that's from a *FAN REPORT* that clearly isn't a fan of Sansa.

This is the *FAN REPORT* in question:

OCTOBER 05, 2001 ARCHON MEETING (OCTOBER 5-7) In regards to the conversation about the dire wolves and the Starks the point was made (I forget by whom) that Lady was dead and Sansa still alive to which I replied that Sansa wasn't really much of a Stark anymore. IIRC (this is a little hazy), at this point GRRM kind of leaned back in his chair, smiled and said something to the effect of "A very astute observation." (Note: I was hoping someone else would bring this up as I didn't want to do any hornblowing... since Terra brought it up, but didn't recall the wording I felt the need. If anyone remembers his words differently I'll gladly recant.) [Source]

The "IIRC (If I remember correctly)," "this is a bit lazy," and, "didn't recall the wording," should be enough to know that this is more like a wishful thinking, or another Alan Taylor case, and not what actually happened, not what GRRM actually said. In summary, this is not a reliable source.

Here's another *FAN REPORT* (the fan called Terra that the previous one mentioned) from the same event:

OCTOBER 05, 2001 ARCHON MEETING (OCTOBER 5-7) [Note: Edited for brevity,] (...) 7. Short discussion on the significance of the wolf to the Stark kids. Martin made a rather assertative comment about the significance of Lady's absence in Sansa's life. Though I can't recall the exact wording. (...) [Source]

Again, the "I can't recall the exact wording" should be enough to know that this is not a reliable source.

It is really curious that NO ONE that attended that event remember what GRRM exactly said regarding Sansa and her direwolf Lady . . . . Collective amnesia, maybe???

If you are interested in GRRM's quotes about Sansa Stark and the og sources (so you can decide how reliable they are), here's a compilation:

Hope this helps!

[deathmetalunicorn1]

If it's okay could I please ask for a platonic yandere Jack the Ripper with kianna

Like say she meets him after Ragnarok and bandages up his wounds and helps him make tea

And I'm not sure what else to ask so the rest is up to you

-He wasn’t sure what happened exactly after he arrived backstage. He remembers the jeering crowd, angry that he ‘took’ Hercules away from them, and he remembers the hallway that seemed to slowly get darker and darker, but thinking back now, it was him passing out, not the hallway getting darker.

-He felt a pair of small but gentle hands on his arm, holding it up and he felt the pressure of bandages being wrapped around his wounds. When was the last time he felt a gentle touch like this? He couldn’t seem to recall.

-He groaned softly as he shifted, feeling how sore he actually was before the hands on his arm stilled for a moment before his eyes opened, finding a young maiden looking down at him, an unreadable expression on her face.

-She looked like a gentlewoman, dressed in a delicate Lolita style dress, although her gloves off her hands so she wouldn’t get blood on them. He glanced to the side, seeing the bowl of water and bloody rags beside her before he realized he was in an infirmary of sorts.

-When he looked back at you, you tilted your head to the side, “Are you all right?” he was silent for a moment, your voice was soft but sounded a bit broken if he had to take a stab at guessing.

-It was odd, he tried to read you, but your colors seemed muddled, like he couldn’t read you correctly and it made him curious, “May I ask where I am, young lady?”

-You set his bandaged arm across his chest, having finished, “The infirmary. You passed out in the hallway, and I brought you here.” His eyes went wide, like he didn’t believe that a petite little thing like you could do such a thing, and as if reading his mind, you smiled softly, “I’m stronger than I look.”

-He was a bit surprised by your words before he gave you a smile and bowed his head, “Thank you my lady, for everything.” You nodded softly, but you made no move to leave as he slowly sat up, seeing that you bandaged even his large wound in his stomach, “I am grateful for what you have done, Miss…” he trailed off and you introduced yourself to him.

-He told you his name and you bowed your head lightly, greeting him politely.

-It was strange, Jack felt a connection with you, a kindred spirit if he had to put a word to it, you were damaged, but not broken, a lot like him- he could tell you had faced severe heartache and pain in your past, that was the only thing that made sense since he couldn’t read you.

-Jack was kind to you, once he was up and able to move, asking you to join him for tea, which you accepted happily, as you loved tea parties. You also got to meet Hlokk, who was taken by you, thinking the way you dressed was adorable.

-A strange relationship with the three of you formed, Jack felt a closeness to both of you, one that was platonic, but in the way where he wanted to protect you both. Hlokk knew Jack wasn’t as evil as she originally thought and you felt like he was a safe person, he was someone you could trust not to hurt you, a rare person in your life.

[novelties-and-notions]

From The Complete Works of Piers Q MacBean, volume 8, Despatches From a Dark Cupboard (or Closet)

I have to assume that the memories I find in this dark cupboard have been left here by their real owners. How I am able to recall them as my own, I cannot say, but how else to explain my remembrance of being in the Brown Derby on Wilshire Boulevard, when I have never been in Hollywood in my life?

The restaurant was almost deserted at that time of day. The well-known bit-part player Irving Bacon was seated alone at a large table, on which papers were scattered untidily. He beckoned me to join him.

"You can be the first to see this," he said, as I sat at his table. The tall actor gathered together some sheets, which I could now see were covered with calculations. "I have come up with a new way of measuring the stature of Hollywood actors. I'm going to call it the Bacon Scale."

He leant back, and adopted a pedagogical tone. "Until now, our assessment of the stars has been largely subjective. There is, of course, the matter of salaries, but I would contend that that is a secondary value, that only reflects the studios' assessment of a star's value, which must ultimately be derived from the audience's subjective likes and dislikes. Is that not so?"

I nodded agreement, and he continued. "The Bacon Scale is based on objective measurable quantities. First, the number of screen appearances made by any person. I ignore the role they played, because its significance cannot be objectively determined. But I do need to estimate the impact of their appearance, and here, I believe is my special insight. The impact of any actor's appearance can be measured by their height. The taller a person is, the more impression they make, isn't that so?"

"I suppose so. Up to a point."

"Good. So there you have the basis. But it isn't a simple case of multiplying the height by the number of appearances. You see, heights fall into a fairly narrow range, spread around 6', so to take proper account of differences, I subtract 5' 11" and use this height difference as the multiplier. It's quite a simple calculation."

"Yes, I'm sure, but…"

He did not give me a chance to voice my objections, but picked up a sheet of paper. "Humphrey Bogart is 5' 8", that's 68 inches, which comes to -3" when you subtract 5' 11". He made 85 films, so he gets a value of -255 appearance-inches, whereas Lauren Bacall is 5' 8½" and appeared in 72 movies, so her value is", he consulted his paper, "-180. By a similar calculation, I find that Gary Cooper is 472, and so on."

This didn't seem right to me, but Bacon was in full flow, so I said nothing. "To make comparisons simpler, I divide all these appearance-inch numbers by a standard value." Here he adopted a demure expression. "I have appeared on screen 541 times and I'm exactly 6' tall, which means I have a value of 541. So I divide the raw values by 541 to get a standard value, in units of Bacons. When I do the division, I find that Bogart is -0.47 Bacons, Bacall is -0.33 and James Cagney -0.78. To 2 decimal places, that is. Betty Grable was quite short so her 83 appearances only give her a -1.07. And as for Mickey Rooney…"

"Yes?"

"-5.72. Sad, isn't it?"

I couldn't refrain from asking, "Is it the case, by any chance, that nobody is greater than 1 Bacon?"

"Not at all. John Wayne was a big man, at 6' 4", and he made 184 films, so he gets 1.7 Bacons."

I started to object, but no sooner had I opened my mouth than he raised a hand to stop me. "I know what you're going to say. What about Shirley Temple? I admit that child actors are a problem. The studio records give Temple's height as 5' 2", but when she made Wee Willie Winkie she can't have been much more than 3' 6". I think for the moment, I'll just leave the kiddies out. After all, if Shirley Temple, then why not Rin Tin Tin?"

It felt cruel, but I had to point out the flaw in his method. "If I understand correctly, anyone who is shorter than 5' 11" scores less the more films they have appeared in. That can't be right, can it? And what about actors who are exactly 5' 11" tall? They would end up with 0 Bacons, no matter how many films they were in."

His face fell at my words. I tried to encourage him. "I'm sure the problems aren't insurmountable, but I think what you need to do is consult a mathematician. If I run into one, I'll tell them to get in touch with you. In the meantime, keep working on it." With that, I made my escape.

[redyarns]

caught in the undertow

Chapter(s): 3/?

Rating: E

Relationship(s): Orion Pax/Megatron, Optimus Prime/Megatron, Sentinel Prime/Bumblebee

Summary:

When Megatron, leader of the rebellion, escaped from prison, everybot knew one thing, and one thing only: he stole an innocent with him.

---

"I'm not a sheep, how dare you!" Orion hissed, bristling at the insult.

"Oh, really?" Megatron drawled. His red optics glanced up again, and Orion's glossa went dry.

Scrap.

Who knew the cruel and ruthless leader of the blasphemous rebellion was so... handsome?

STORY: START!

Act I, Scene IV: Primes Don’t Party

It was currently aft-crack at dawn and Helios had barely peeked over the horizon, and Sentinel was already suffering. He was stuck, unfortunately, at one of Ultra Magnus’ breakfast banquets that he liked to host for the other council members and the higher caste levels. 

The event itself was exclusive, very exclusive, and it showed in the way the large dining room of Ultra’s personal mansion was filled only halfway. 

Still, all these bots were at least caste level 35 or higher, so they were important figures that Sentinel had to painstakingly dig through his processor to remember, unless he wanted to commit a faux pas and embarrass Ultra again like he did last time. 

The ceiling was high and arched to accommodate for Cybertronians all shapes and sizes, though undoubtedly, Ultra himself was still the tallest and largest out of all of them. 

Paint jobs had been replenished and armor plates were buffed and polished just for that morning alone, which made Sentinel uncomfortably remember his own detailing that he went through a few solar cycles ago. 

He recalled the way both Bee and Orion had teased him about it, but he honestly hadn’t meant to be so… shiny around them. Though he knew that they would never actually shame him for who he was, it had been a little despairing to see the gap widen in between him and his friends that much more. 

He had tried his best to insist to Ultra that a detailing hadn’t been necessary, but his mentor had quickly reminded him why exactly a bot like Sentinel couldn’t neglect such things. 

Sentinel had been under Ultra’s wing long enough now to be able to school his expressions, so he was carefully blank-faced as he stared down at the cube of highly refined energon that had been given to him by one of the numerous maids that Ultra liked to keep around. 

The bot had been pretty, sweet, and had fluttered a servo down his arm as she drifted around him and gave him the cube, and he had flushed. 

But she was low caste, level 10 if his processor went through the database of Ultra’s staff correctly, and Sentinel knew if he even attempted to brush back, not only would he have an actual hell to pay at Ultra’s servo, but the guilt of taking advantage of someone that low level would probably take him out before his mentor could. 

The atmosphere was stuffy. His olfactory senses kept picking up the different perfumes and colognes Ultra’s guests had sprayed on, mixing into a sort of sickly cloud that he couldn’t discreetly cough away without fear of pissing anyone off. 

The air was filled with the sound of the careful clinking of glass cubes and cutlery, as well as the simpering tones of bots trying their best to impress Ultra, who sat at the head of the table and laughed heartily at whatever Mirage just said. 

Sentinel couldn’t help but glance again at his mentor, hoping for even a sense of sympathy from him, since Sentinel had made it quite known throughout their vorns together just how much he dreaded these events. 

But Ultra made no indication he returned Sentinel’s look, much less his need for empathy, and Sentinel swallowed. 

His gears felt stiff, uncomfortable, as he lifted his cube and took a sip. 

The energon that Ultra was so fond of was the highest refined kind, so it slid down Sentinel’s throat smoothly, with a soft, sweet taste that tingled his glossa at the very edges. He wasn’t particularly hungry or anything, but it at least gave him a sense of something to do. 

He didn’t understand why he had to keep attending these things. Out of everyone at the table, he was the farthest from Ultra, even though he was supposedly the future Prime of Cybertron. It was something all the guests seemed to like to mention to him, as if he wasn’t perfectly aware of the expectations set upon him. 

Slag. He really was a party pooper, just like Orion liked to tease him. 

“Enjoying your drink, my Prime?” 

Sentinel almost choked on his energon when there was a soft, purring voice that drifted from his right. When he glanced down, he tried to smile awkwardly at the appearance of Elita-1. She was one of the lower level guests present, caste level 36 if his processor was right. 

But she was similarly one of the most beautiful bots there, what with her gleaming, pink armor and her perfectly sculpted face. She was the current and only daughter of her father, a sickly mech who held the title of Baron. From what Sentinel could recall, she was supposedly far more qualified for the position than her sire, and was the subject of interest among the council during these solar cycles. 

All in all, a remarkable femme. Way more than Sentinel, anyway. 

After a moment of struggling at the appearance of her rather striking countenance and also - his optics darted down shamefully towards her chasses, where her bold, pink paint job had lines that accentuated the curves of her waist and hips - her tone, he finally set down his cube, cleared the static from his voicebox, and croaked, “sorry? Uh, yes, I mean…” 

He ex-vented quietly, his face hot with embarrassment, his cheek plates undoubtedly an unflattering shade of blue as he muttered, “yes, I’m enjoying it. There’s, er, really no need to call me Prime - I haven’t earned that title.” 

“Yet.” Elita’s optics glimmered with something as she leaned in closer. She smelled wonderful; like the jubiline berries that grew in one of Cybertron’s rescued planets, and she smiled, a small, confident thing that quirked at the corner of her full derma as she extended her own cube. “I’ve heard a lot of things about you, my Prime. There’s no one else quite like you. I have no doubt you’ll be an excellent Prime.” 

“Oh,” Sentinel said rather lamely, lifting his cube again and hesitantly clinking it against hers. It seemed to please her, as her smile widened, and he nodded, trying to ignore the way his spark sank at her insisting words. “Of course. Thank you, miss.” 

They drank. 

As they did, Sentinel couldn’t help but look to the side, trying not to let his displeasure show. He knew that Elita only meant the best, as Ultra did, and the council. They had seen greatness in him and decided that out of all the bots in Iacon, he was worthy of becoming a Prime once ready. 

But he couldn’t help but wonder if he was. 

It wasn’t as if he doubted Ultra or anything like that! After all, Ultra had saved him, and therefore deserved all of Sentinel’s loyalty. It was just that - Sentinel had been working for this for vorns, and he still didn’t feel any closer to being “Prime” or whatever. He wasn’t even sure what being Prime would do for him, actually. 

But it was clear everyone else believed in him fully. 

He squirmed lightly in his seat, sipping slowly at his energon. 

He just wanted to know why their belief in him was so uncomfortable. It was certainly different from the way Orion and Bee showed him their loyalty; with them, everything was warm, easy, and yes, at times so stressful that it felt like his paint would peel, but at the end of the solar cycle, he loved them, and he knew they loved him just as much. 

It was a lot. The Matrix of Leadership would one day be placed in Sentinel's servos, and then it would be his responsibility to carry on the legacy of the original Primes. He had to lead Iacon, he had to head the council, he had to replenish the energon that didn’t even flow anymore and instead just lie dormant in their crust. 

So much to do and he wasn't even close to being a Prime, yet. 

His helm was starting to hurt. 

Slag. 

“You seem quite preoccupied, my Prime,” Elita said, leaning closer from her seat to him. She was arching her spinal strut was arched like this, and his glossa went dry as she placed a servo so gently on his arm that he barely felt the brush of her digits against the plating, but his vision was suddenly filled with different sensory inputs as his processor practically screamed at him that she was touching him. “I can provide an audial, if you need. I’m rather good at listening, I’ve been told.” 

Sentinel took a moment to swallow once, twice, and it felt like he had drunk high-grade energon as he realized that she wasn’t going to stop with the my Prime nonsense any time soon. Despite that, he couldn’t find it in himself to mind too much, especially not when she was looking at him like he was the most delicious thing in that room, even with all the energon laid before them. 

“Friends!” Ultra Magnus called from the head of the table. 

It was enough for Sentinel to jerk where he sat and pull away from Elita, who he hadn't even realized he'd been slowly but surely inching towards. He felt shame bubble low in his abdomen as he settled more into his seat, purposefully avoiding Elita's gaze, as Ultra Magnus rose and smiled charmingly at the entirety of his guests. 

Ultra Magnus, in both spirit and body, was larger than life itself. His gleaming paint job of blue and accents of red shined the brightest underneath the numerous chandeliers of his dining hall. 

His armor was thick and bulky, but rather than making him look awkward, it simply made him appear strong, fortified, reliable. He was magnificent, and Sentinel couldn't help but admire him again, intimidated by the sheer amount of presence he took up in the room. 

“Thank you all again for attending today’s banquet. I’m sure you all enjoyed drinking me out of my home.” Ultra chuckled, and there were several titters of amusement throughout the hall as he smiled. “I would like to extend my gratitude especially to my fellow council members. As you all know, we have recently apprehended the leader of the Blasphemous Rebellion, the one who goes by Megatron.” 

Murmurs rose. Several of them shifted uncomfortably, perhaps recalling all of Megatron's crimes. It was hard not to feel the same. After all, the rebellion had been the one and only enemy that the covenant never managed to squash, despite all their attempts. 

Sentinel shuddered slightly, his cooling fans turning on as he tried not to think too hard about it. It made him feel nauseous knowing that he had gone behind Ultra's back and snuck Orion into Titan's Hold to speak with the aforementioned criminal. 

Primus, what would Ultra do if he ever found out? 

“The High Covenant worked efficiently and with dedication in order to at last, cut the head off the beast. Although we know it is in the best interest of all Cybertronians that we expedite Megatron's trial, I assure you, we are all working as quickly as possible to ensure he will come before us and jury without interrupting the sensitive nature of due process.” Ultra paused smiling slightly when there were murmurs of approval. 

“Finally,” Elita muttered from beside Sentinel. 

He almost twitched at her voice. 

“But to celebrate this monumental occasion, it has been decided amongst the High Covenant that a Revitalization Ceremony will take place within the next solar cycle!” Ultra said triumphantly, and this time, the reaction was far more boisterous. 

“Another one? So soon?” Krystal cried out in joy. 

“No way! I have to get another paint job for this,” Mirage crowed in delight. 

“I’m putting my bets on Hot Rod this time,” Blurr said, holding his chin plate in thought. 

As Ultra once again settled down and the dining hall swelled with bots talking over each other in their excitement as well as their predictions on who would win, Sentinel simply sat there, jaw slightly dropped, and his optics trying their best to capture the gaze of his mentor. 

What the frag is he talking about? Sentinel thought, his sensors telling him that his cooling fans were increasing their output even more, the whirring sound tingling at the back of his processor as he struggled to not march up there and practically beg for Ultra’s attention. 

The Revitalization Ceremony was not something the council, and so therefore Ultra, did frequently. It was first perpetuated by a race, the Iacon 5000, where mid caste bots entered and competed against each other for the glory of not only winning, but also getting the chance to become celebrated by the infamous ceremony, where they were granted the honor of becoming one of the city’s trailblazers. 

The trailblazer position was dangerous, deadly, and not easy. It was the only way a bot could climb ranks and achieve a caste level higher than they were born with, but it came with a heavy price. Every trailblazer left Cybertron in search of more energon elsewhere and were granted enough supplies to survive for vorns, but they were also barred from ever reentering society. A safety measure implemented by Ultra, who often warned the city of how numerous plagues and sicknesses floated in the universe, and therefore could potentially wipe out Cybertronians for good. 

And Ultra, the secretly kindhearted and soft mech that he was, hated hosting the Ceremony. He always talked about how good bots had to be sent out and expand Cybertron’s reach at the expense of never coming home, which often had him so upset that some solar cycles, Sentinel had to drag him back to his mansion from the office, since he always over indulged on high grade. 

So why was Ultra holding another one, especially so soon after the last? 

Sentinel’s processor whirled furiously as his system dug up the information from the last race. A mech named Tracks, caste level 26, had won outstandingly and was appropriately celebrated before the ceremony took place and he was shipped out to space for his mission. Sentinel, as only a trainee, didn’t have access to the logs of the trailblazers, but last he had heard, Tracks was doing well. 

It had only been three cycles since Tracks had left Cybertron. Nothing could have happened in that short amount of time. Why didn’t Ultra, who was close to Sentinel, tell him about this decision? Why didn’t any of the other council members? 

Sentinel’s helm suddenly snapped again to the front, as his gaze had been drifting along down the table, and he blinked several times as his face contorted and his disbelief stiffened his derms into a tight line. 

Unless there was a particularly devastating reason as to why Ultra made this decision. 

Don’t tell me… Sentinel thought, his servos clutching so tightly at the arms of his chair that he felt some of the metal dent easily underneath his digits. 

We’ve already run out of energon. 

Dread made Sentinel’s spark sink in his chassis.

No. 

That wasn’t possible. 

The mining output on Iacon had been the highest it’s ever been, and that wasn’t even including the other cities that also tried to mine for their energy source. There was no fragging way that they were running low again, not when Tracks had only been sent out a few cycles ago, and had sent back enough energon to please the council, something Sentinel had overheard numerous times by this point. 

He stared down at the half-full cube of energon in front of him. It gleamed brightly in spite of the sudden fuzziness of his vision. Was this some of the energon that Tracks had found from beyond Cybertron? How much of it had been lost in the refinement process for it to be so concentrated and so clear? 

The process of turning crude energon into something actually consumable was laborious and inefficient, Sentinel knew. At least 80% of the original volume was lost in the makings, and Sentinel’s spark lurched as he looked around himself, at all the cubes, at all the concentrated blue that started to burn his optics the longer he stared. 

How much of this energon was given to them by Tracks, who could no longer come home, and how much of it had been mined by miners? By his friends? 

Sentinel hated how much Bee and Orion had to work in those damned mines. The veins were explosive, a result of their planet being somewhat sentient, and therefore reluctant to allow bots to crawl within itself and chip away at its innards. It always resulted in some sort of injury; whether it was Bee’s worn and shaky servos, new scratches and abrasions on Orion’s armor, or most recently, dents along Orion’s spinal strut after he got caught in a vein collapsing. 

When Sentinel had received the news, he had nearly had a spark attack, and couldn’t even leave the meeting he had been in to check on his friend. 

If they had run out of energon, then yet another mech or femme had to leave their planet for good. Bee and Orion would have to work even more shifts, perpetuated by their odious leader, someone named Riley or Rocks. 

Sentinel was aware of how piercing his stare was as he continued to regard Ultra with a desperation that he could barely hold back from his derma, which had pursed into such a pathetic expression that he was ashamed of it. 

But maybe that pathetic look had some merit, because finally, Ultra Magnus’ optics drifted from Mirage, who he had been having a rather enthusiastic conversation with, and they glanced directly at his pupil. 

Ultra’s ridges tilted upwards slightly. 

The corner of Sentinel’s derma twitched, and that seemed to convince his mentor, who told a pouting Mirage what must have been an excuse to leave, as Ultra stood up, quietly walked over to the door that exited into the hallway, and he jerked his helm slightly as an indication to follow. 

Sentinel hastily stood up as well, grateful that the other bots were too caught up in their gossipping to recognize that their host had slipped away, only to stop when a servo, smaller than his own, laid itself on his arm. 

His sensors practically screamed at him, his optics wide and his mouth parted slightly, as Elita smiled faintly up at him from her seat. 

“Leaving so soon, my Prime?” She said in a light tone. She was teasing him, some part of his processor knew, jabbing at him with the my Prime nonsense, but a larger part of him couldn’t find it in himself to care, not when she continued to look at him like that. “Am I not entertaining enough for you?” 

His voicebox crackled with static as he sputtered, “not at all, miss! I just, uh, I have some - business to take care of.” 

Elita’s smile grew, and she purred, “Prime business, I presume?”

Sentinel’s spark skipped a beat. His glossa tasted dry and he was aware he was staring at her like an idiot, but it was hard not to. After all, with his schedule (both official trainee duties as well as secretly sneaking around with his friends), it meant he often didn’t get to converse with femmes, much less ones like Elita. 

But at the same time, he felt his arm flinch away from her touch, an involuntary movement that would have had him scolded by Ultra if he saw, especially since Sentinel always did have trouble with proper etiquette. 

If I were a Prime, I wouldn’t be begging for answers from Ultra like a sparkling, he thought to himself, but his derma moved to speak something else. “Of course. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you next time, Miss Elita.” 

Her optics glimmered as he drew away. “I look forward to it, Sentinel.” 

He rushed out of there, embarrassment following him like a phantom, and he couldn’t help but ex-vent a sigh of relief as soon as he was past the door and closing it behind him, putting a barrier between him and the chatter of the aristocrats. 

“You’re running like something set your aft on fire, Sentinel. Something you want to tell me?” 

Sentinel straightened and he swallowed simply on instinct as he looked up at his mentor. 

Ultra Magnus was leaning against the wall as he casually sipped at a cube of glowing energon, but it did nothing to diminish the pure power he continuously emitted no matter what he was doing. His cables bulged with strength underneath his armor, and he didn’t even deign to glance down at Sentinel, something that had him tilting his helm to the floor in shame. 

Ultra was displeased. 

“I’m sorry to distract you, my lord,” Sentinel mumbled, his wings barely holding back from twitching. He knew just how much Ultra disliked it when he fidgeted like a newly born sparkling, and his servos clenched themselves into fists behind his dorsal planes as he bowed. “I didn’t mean to - “ 

“And yet you did.” 

A coolant drop beaded and ran down the ridge of Sentinel’s nose as he froze where he stood. 

“I’m sorry,” Sentinel whispered again. He hoped it wasn’t obvious how shaky his voicebox was. The last time he had cried in front of Ultra, it had been an unpleasant experience, one he didn’t want to repeat. Not if he wanted to walk for the next few solar cycles. “I - I simply wanted to ask you a few questions about the ceremony.” 

“Hm.” Ultra grunted. There was the sound of glass clinking as well as the telltale gulp that meant he had just downed the rest of his energon. “You forget your place too easily, Sentinel. It disappoints me that I even have to explain it to you. Just how long must I wait until you become the Prime I expect you to be?” 

The words were cutting, curdled with Ultra’s anger, his dismissive aggression. It made shame welt like a virus beneath Sentinel’s plating, a reminder of just how far he was from actually becoming a Prime, and any small amount of irritation over not being informed of the ceremony decision died down, instead being replaced by the feeling of utter uselessness that he often experienced whenever he let Ultra down. 

“You dare to pull me from my own banquet, which I host out of the goodness of my spark, to ensure that my people and you consume enough energon to perform your duties,” Ultra continued. “All to question me on my own decisions. My decisions, Sentinel, of which I certainly don’t need to indulge the reasons of to anyone, much less you.” 

He accentuated the last, pointed syllable of his sentence with a small thud as he straightened up from the wall, and he took a step closer, enough so that he blocked the chandelier overhead from shedding light on Sentinel. 

Like this, it was clearer than ever the disparities between them - the height of Ultra, his power, his authority, all of which shadowed Sentinel’s own feeble being. It was a reminder of something that Sentinel had known ever since he had been named as Ultra’s prodigy. 

You belong to me, Ultra said with his optics. His gaze wasn’t even a glower, nor was it a glare. It just simply was. It was plain and devoid of any particular emotion, which was somehow even worse than his anger, which was something that Sentinel at least knew how to deal with internally. 

Here, now, Ultra looked at him like he was nothing more than a speck, and Sentinel had never felt so small. 

“It seems I have to remind you again exactly who you are,” Ultra said. 

“F-Forgive me, my lord,” Sentinel stuttered, cursing himself as he did. He couldn’t stop trembling, and he knew he looked pathetic with the coolant dripping down from his helm and down to his ridges, but he couldn’t help himself as he blurted out, “I just think that the ceremony is unnecessary!” 

Ultra didn’t move. In fact, his expression didn’t even change, but his voice was noticeably colder, gruffer, as he said, “Sentinel.” 

“Tracks left only three cycles ago,” Sentinel continued to ramble, his processor sending warning after warning that he was approaching dangerous territory, as with every word that was vomited from his dermas, Ultra’s ridges drew tighter with his distaste. “And he’s been sending enough energon for now! If we could just - just rally the miners, give them better motivation, then I think our mining output would be even greater. They respond greatly to even simple things like provisions, so if we - “ 

“Sentinel.” 

He stopped. 

Ultra knelt down to the ground, at an angle which meant that their faces were optic-level and his nose was invisible to Sentinel.

“Enough.” Ultra's voicebox was gentle, softened by what Sentinel knew was his disappointment. Just that one word told him everything he needed to know; his ideas were being dismissed, most likely due to some flaw in them that Ultra probably recognized instantly, since Sentinel was poor at doing the same. “You are to be a Prime. You are the future of Iacon, the upcoming leader of Cybertron. What good will it do you to question me?” 

“I - I wasn't questioning you,” Sentinel said weakly. When Ultra didn’t respond, Sentinel's voice became desperate, and he couldn't help himself as he jerked forward, so close that their helms nearly touched as he blurted out, “I swear on Primus, my lord! I - you're - you're right. Of course you are. I-I'm sorry for bringing it up.” 

Sentinel could feel himself deflate with every word. 

Of course Ultra was right. Why did Sentinel even try to ask him anything in the first place? It was foolish of him, not to mention disrespectful. It made him feel ill to think he could ever challenge his mentor, someone who had cared and looked after him for so long, and someone who had felt far more like a sire than his actual one. 

Sentinel drooped where he stood. 

“It’s good to see you realize how unnecessary your suggestions are.” Ultra ex-vented harshly, but his touch was light and reprimanding as his digits grabbed Sentinel's chinplate, forcing him to look up again and right into Ultra's intense stare. “But you still have a long way to go. From now on, your training will increase. Seven solar cycles per cycle, and your recharging will be reduced.” 

Sentinel gazed up at him, his mouth parted slightly as he struggled to comprehend what he just said. 

Training was a brutal regime that Sentinel dreaded every time it came up. He was already working so hard that his recharge was interrupted by his nightmares, but to do it even more? 

How would Sentinel survive? 

How would he make time to sneak out and see Bee and Orion? 

But Ultra was his mentor. His sire-figure. 

Sentinel trusted him more than anyone. 

If he thought that this was the best course of action, then Sentinel believed him, and so slowly, reluctantly, he nodded, and for the very first time since they started talking, Ultra smiled. 

“Good boy,” Ultra rumbled, and he stroked Sentinel's helm once, his smile widening when the mech purred and rubbed into his touch. “You will make a fine Prime one day.” 

“Thank you, my lord,” Sentinel said reverently. 

Ultra stood up, nodded once in dismissal, and then he was gone, slipping past the door and greeting his guests with a cheer that Sentinel had never seen around himself. 

He pushed his dorsal plates to the wall and slid down, crashing onto the floor so harshly that several sparks slid right off his armor. 

It always drained him to talk to Ultra. It was usually due to Sentinel making a mistake and therefore having to be punished accordingly, just like this time, and he sighed wearily as he buried his helm into his arms and tried to vent properly. 

When would he ever stop being such an idiot around his mentor? Why was he so stupid? Why… 

Private Comm Link (ID: #836192): Badassatron

Incoming message… 

DES: B-127 (Alias: Bee) - ID: B-127-003025

:: Sentinel? ::

Sentinel shifted where he sat, his helm lifting reluctantly as his processor gently dinged and notified him of a new text from Bee. 

For a moment, Sentinel seriously thought about ignoring it. He wasn't in the mood for entertaining his friends, both of whom he never talked about in regards to his professional life, because they just wouldn't understand. He was in too much turmoil to talk, much less try to play off how terrible he felt in that klik, but he thought about how sweet Bee was any time they met, and so he dragged a servo down his face and slowly typed back. 

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: Yeah. :: 

DES: B-127 (Alias: Bee) - ID: B-127-003025

:: Orion got in trouble again. ::

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: Of course he did. :: 

DES: B-127 (Alias: Bee) - ID: B-127-003025

:: Yeah :( we're not going to be given rations on the next pay cycle. ::

That had Sentinel standing up. 

He felt his ridges burrow into a frown as he urgently tried to think of why in the Pits Bee and Orion would be denied their energon. There was no way Orion did something that bad, right? 

But then again, he had also been the one to break into Titan's Hold just for the chance of gawking at Iacon's most wanted criminal, and Sentinel wearily told himself that it wasn't out of the cards entirely that Orion had probably committed some serious faux pas. 

Just thinking about Megatron had Sentinel shuddering, and he prayed to Primus that Orion hadn’t done something even near that level of illegal as he immediately eyed the servant who had just walked into the hall, pushing an entire cart of refined energon as she hummed to herself. 

Sentinel abhorred stealing; it was illegal and not dignifying for someone of his status, but he also thought about many things. Of the energon being so carelessly consumed and spilled in the room behind him, of the many mechs and femmes who were sent to space with no way of returning home, and of his friends, his miners, who worked so hard to provide for their people and yet now would be denied the fruits of their labor. 

Sentinel pursed his dermas in determination. 

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: Damn that bot. It’s okay, I'll bring you both some cubes. Hopefully it can sustain you long enough until the next pay period. :: 

“Excuse me,” Sentinel said out loud, approaching the servant. 

She immediately flushed, her facial plates turning bright blue as she curtsied and said, “L-Lord Sentinel! It's an honor! How may I serve you?” 

Sentinel smiled at her, hoping that it was more charming than awkward, and he pointed at the cart, where there had to be at least three dozen cubes of highly refined energon. “You wouldn't mind if I swipe some of this, would you? I'm just so parched.” 

She flushed even more and fidgeted where she stood, her digits playing with each other. “Oh! Well, uh, these were meant to be delivered to the guests - b-but if you insist, my lord! I'm sure Lord Ultra wouldn't care, especially since you're you!” 

Sentinel's smile went brittle at the reminder of his mentor. No, Ultra would definitely care, since he was always reminded Sentinel of etiquette and how he could never act as someone below his station, which stealing definitely was. 

“Between you and me, I'd appreciate it if you could keep this private between us,” Sentinel said, his voice lowering as he leaned in close enough that his ex-vent brushed the top of the small bot's helm. He winked at her, fervently praying she would buy his blatantly fake flirting. “I just need to wind down a bit and this energon is perfect for helping me out. Your help would be greatly admired.” 

She looked near faint. “Yes! I mean, of course, my lord! Please take it! And if you need help in relaxing, as you put it…” 

He tried hard not to blank when she curtsied again, this time in such a way that her chassis was pushed out and her spinal strut curved in an obviously seductive manner. 

“I'll be sure to keep your offer in mind,” he lied through his dentae, and after shoveling as many cubes into his compartments as he could, he grinned at her when she left, hoping she wouldn't notice the strained way his derma cinched at the ends. 

Urgh. Sentinel already knew he was bad at amorous connections after embarrassing himself one too many times in front of Elita, but to think that his own flirting could wield such… disturbing results was more than a little disheartening. 

DES: B-127 (Alias: Bee) - ID: B-127-003025

:: Thank you, Sen! Also, Orion wanted to ask if you could bring a little extra this time. ::

Sentinel glanced down at himself, his processor telling him how his weight had approximately increased by at least 1.5% from the sheer amount of energon he had tucked away. 

He snorted. 

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: Fine. How long can you guys hold out until you need to refuel? ::

DES: B-127 (Alias: Bee) - ID: B-127-003025

:: Two and a half solar cycles? Do you think you can meet us at the mines entrance? Before the lift, on the surface. ::

Hm. That was a bit too tight for Sentinel's liking, especially since, as his spark squirmed uncomfortably, he now had a far more rigorous schedule than before, which had already been brutal. 

But two solar cycles from now was his etiquette day, and his instructor, a ditzy femme who went by the designation of Lowlight, was easy to give the slip if he played his cards right. 

Though if he tried to skirk his duties not even a full cycle after his rather poor conversation with Ultra, then who knew what his punishment would be.

Guilt mixed itself together into a slurry in his abdomen. Guilt of once again disobeying his mentor, the bot who had time and time again showed him kindness and discipline, but also guilt over not being able to provide for his friends, who clearly needed the help. 

Being a Prime means helping others, something in his processor said rather loudly. To his dismay, it sounded a lot like Orion, the cheeky afthole, and he felt himself smiling slightly, even if he often wanted to shake his friend for all the trouble he got into. 

That was right. Helping others, servicing his people - that was the right thing to do. It was more than uncomfortable to think about how displeased Ultra would be about this, how it felt like Sentinel was choosing his friends over his mentor, but that wasn’t true at all! He was staying loyal to both of them. He loved both of them. He would never dare to choose one over the other. 

It was fine. 

It would be fine. 

As long as Ultra didn’t find out, then Sentinel would be okay. 

Right? 

Act I, Scene V: If Primes Don’t Party, Then…

Orion had never been so sore before, and that was including the time a vein literally collapsed on top of him and he had to dig himself out since Ricks, the fragging slag-eater that he was, refused to “waste any resources on something that was clearly your fault”. 

He let out a harsh vent as for the first time in at least two solar cycles, the light of Helios filtered through his weary servo, which he held above his optics. It was a welcome sight to at last have a source of light that didn’t come from an artificial source, and from beside him, Bee groaned as they stumbled off of the lift. 

As always, they were the last two to leave. It was a result of Ricks continuously holding them back and reprimanding them for a poor job, though most of the time, it was clear that he just liked to harass them for issues that weren’t even there. Just a few kliks ago, Ricks had screamed at them both for drilling at a 47 degree angle instead of 45, and it had taken everything in Orion not to tackle him to the ground and shove dirt into his mouth. 

The only reason he hadn’t was because of Bee. Out of the two of them, he was smaller and had less endurance, and he had been practically swaying on his pedes by the time they finally put away their jetpacks. 

The idea of being punished with even more shifts and dragging Bee into it when it was so clear that he was only several kliks away from shutting down had wrangled Orion’s temper well enough, and his sensors urged him tiredly about his low energon levels as well as his pain processor overworking itself. 

“Pathetic,” Ricks sneered from behind them. He stomped forward, as he was of course, totally fine. As their team leader, he didn’t lift a single digit to help any of them while they worked their afts off, though Orion failed to see the logic of that. Ricks scoffed when Bee fell to his servos and patellas, his voicebox humming lowly with static. “You in particular, B-127! Honestly, how can a piece of scrap like you still have this job?” 

“Ricks,” Orion said tightly. He didn’t have enough energon in him to swing his fist like he wanted, but he certainly had enough to set a fierce glare at his team leader, who was eyeing him suspiciously, as if he were nothing more than slag on the road. “We just worked three shifts. Lay off.” 

“You worked three shifts because you’re liable,” Ricks said, haughtily repeating what Darkwing had said. “And if you don’t get that attitude in check, I have no problem assigning you to three more, Pax.” 

“I really don’t see that as necessary.” 

Orion made a small, surprised noise of relief when the familiar sound of heavy wings catching the air swooped down, and with a vibrating thud, gold and royal blue filled his vision. 

Sentinel straightened from his landing, his wings folding primly against his dorsal plates, but Orion knew his friend well; the twitching of them revealed just how irritated he actually was, though the aristocrat’s face was plenty pleasant. Too pleasant, actually, a testament to how hard he was covering up his distaste when Ricks’ jaw dropped in gobsmacked awe. 

“Lord S-Sentinel!” Ricks sputtered ineloquently. He seemed starstruck, which was even funnier considering the fact that he barely reached the middle of Sentinel’s femur plating. When Orion squinted, he could even see the faintest sign of a blush starting on Ricks’ face, and he didn’t know whether to laugh or roll his optics. “I-I-It’s an honor, sir!” 

“Charmed.” Sentinel’s voice indicated it was anything but. He placed his servos on his hips and said, “I overheard you scolding these two gentlebots. Is there a problem?” 

At this, Ricks’ facial plating contorted, and he was overflowing with glee as he nodded rapidly. If he had been excited before at Darkwing’s intervention, then he was practically vibrating now, and Orion could only stand there, a servo on Bee’s shoulder plate with a blank expression as Ricks said, “yes, oh, yes, my lord! These two are troublemakers! The worst of my bunch!” 

“Uh-huh,” Sentinel said in a tone that clearly said get on with it. “And what exactly have they done to warrant such severe punishment? From what I see, it looks like their digits have been worked down to their circuits already. I’m happy to listen, team leader, uh - “ 

“Ricks, sir!” Ricks offered too enthusiastically. 

Sentinel’s dermas pressed together. He seemed torn between annoyance and laughter, but if Orion knew him, and he did, then it was a mixture of both. Not laughter at the situation, but a brutal mirth towards Ricks, who was becoming more ridiculous by the klik. “Right. Ricks.” 

“They’ve made a complete mess of the energon deposits, sir!” Ricks huffed, turning around and glaring at both Orion and Bee. The latter of whom was practically lying face down on the ground by this point, the quiet whirring of his fans indicating that he was dangerously close to falling into emergency recharge. 

As Ricks continued to rant, Orion stared pointedly over his shoulder plate at Sentinel, who gave him a slight tilt of the helm. 

Wrap it up, Orion said with a twitch of his optic ridges. 

He’s hard to shake, Sentinel whined with a small frown of his derma. 

So work harder, Orion’s small chin jut said. 

Sentinel nodded minutely. Then, loudly, with a kind of blatant arrogance that he had an easy time slipping on around bots he didn’t like, he interrupted Ricks’ rambling about angles and different sediments with a bored, “team leader Ricks, I believe it’s more imperative that these miners retire and recharge as soon as possible.” 

“Wha - retire?” Ricks repeated. His optics nearly bulged out of his helm. “B-But - Lord Sentinel - you don’t seem to understand, these two slackers - “ 

“I understand plenty, actually,” Sentinel said. He wasn’t hiding his displeasure anymore, and he simply gave Ricks a cursory glance, one filled with so much disgust that it made even Orion feel a little offended. Who knew Sentinel could play the part of an aristocrat so well? “Off with you, Ricks. Your services are no longer needed.” 

Ricks was speechless. His derma opened and closed several times, and for a micro-klik, Orion thought he was about to argue with Sentinel, but eventually, he thought better of it. Whether it was because of his pathetic hero worship or because Sentinel was just that much higher in the caste than him, it had Ricks whirling around, shoving off his own jetpack, and pushing past Orion so harshly that he stumbled. 

“Hey!” Orion couldn’t help but snap. 

“Count yourself lucky, Pax,” Ricks said in a low voice to him. He was furious, that much was certain, and when Orion glanced down at his fists, he was unsurprised to see them clenched and shaky. “I don't know what you did to get his favor, but Lord Sentinel won’t always be here to protect you.” 

And with that, he was gone, storming off to be an afthole to some other poor spark. 

“Did any bot see that?” Sentinel asked after they waited for several moments in tense silence. 

Orion swept his optics around the area. There was nobody there, since all the other miners had cleared out long before their own shift ended. Ricks always liked to keep it that way, so he could freely yell at the both of them without any judgemental spectators. 

He shook his helm in a no. 

“Think he might blab?” Sentinel said, looking worried as he knelt down and tenderly brushed his digits against the top of Bee's helm, muttering to himself when Bee moaned feebly and tried to nuzzle his servo, though it was clear from his slow movements that he wasn't well. 

“No,” Orion said with an ex-vent. “And even if he does, no one's going to believe him.” 

Sentinel gave him a skeptical look but nodded anyway. 

It was important to Sentinel, Orion knew, that no one caught wind of exactly how close he was to Bee and Orion. Logically, it made sense, since miners were only caste level 0 and Sentinel was considered one of the best of the best at level 40. That didn't mean it didn't suck, though, since they always had to tiptoe around like this, out of fear that Sentinel would get torn apart by Ultra again for associating with the lower rings of their hierarchy. 

“Primus. What did he do to you two?” Sentinel sighed, looking weary as he settled down completely and stroked Bee's spinal strut, smiling despite himself when the smaller bot began to make a small humming noise at the touch. “Did you really work three shifts?” 

“Back to back,” Orion said, sitting down unceremoniously, making grabby motions at Sentinel, his vision already starting to get a bit hazy from how hard he impacted the ground. “Cough it up, my Prime. I’m only on 5% energon. Bee’s probably even lower.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Sentinel muttered petulantly, but he was opening his arm compartment anyway and pouring out dozens upon dozens of cubes right into Orion’s lap. 

He gaped down at them. These were way more than he had initially been thinking of, but more than that, these were expensive. Like, expensive to the point that he could work for vorns and he still wouldn’t be able to pay off even one cube. 

What in the Pits? Where did Sentinel get these? Actually, how did he even manage to sneak these all away without anyone raising a ridge? 

“Are you going to just sit there, staring like an idiot?” Sentinel huffed. He was already nudging Bee onto his side and was trying to push a cube past his derma. It was kind of working, except Bee was so sleepy that all he did was just mumble, mouth at the glass of the cube, and then still. Sentinel groaned. “Bee, come on, licking it won’t do anything!” 

Carefully, Orion lifted one of the numerous cubes from his lap and brought it up to his optics. Even just from a visual standpoint, it was so clear how much better this energon was compared to his usual rations. It was a brighter, near neon blue, and completely transparent, unlike the murkiness of the kind he got from pay day. 

It had a thicker consistency, too, something he noticed when he tipped the cube slightly and the energon clung to the sides of the cube. This was the pure stuff; completely concentrated energon that had gone through numerous cleansing processes in order to get the maximum yield. 

Orion took a sip. 

The taste was unlike anything he'd had before. Sharp and sweetened by - his sensors clicked slowly as energon began to circulate properly through his veins - bismuth. A flavor he had never had before, but instantly became his favorite anyway. 

Was this what it was like to be a high caste? He asked himself in awe as he practically chugged the next three cubes without sparing a moment to breathe, something that Sentinel shouted at him for. To be able to have access to this kind of fuel, to have the luxury of sweetening it with a foreign mineral - it was intoxicating, and Orion's energon reserves had never been happier as his system eagerly stored away as much of it as possible. 

“Whoa,” Bee said, perfectly encompassing Orion's current emotions as he finished licking at the innards of the cube that Sentinel had held to him, his glossa extending out and licking his derma, as if trying to get every last drop. “That was amazing! What is this stuff?” 

“It's energon,” Sentinel said, rolling his optics. 

“It's expensive energon,” Bee said in awe, sitting up properly and swiping another one from Orion's lap, sipping at it a little desperately. “This is so much better than the kind they give out at ration time!” 

“Yeah,” Sentinel muttered. He shifted where he sat, and Orion, who now didn't feel like on the brink of going offline, blinked several times as he realized something was off. 

Sentinel's armor, which had been bright and shining with its new paint job since the last time they saw each other, was scratched and worn. At the sharper edges of his chassis and shoulder plates, it was especially obvious, as the gold and blue had chipped away to reveal a much more vulnerable silver underneath. 

Similarly, it took Orion until then to realize that Sentinel was acting weird. He wasn't upset, per se, but he was definitely more subdued than normal, and he kept clenching and unclenching his left servo, his face twitching with minute winces that he glossed over too quickly for anyone who wasn't close to him to notice. 

But Orion had known Sentinel since they were mere sparklings, and he couldn't help the incredulous and justifiably enraged nature of his voice as he said, “Sentinel, what the frag happened to you!” 

Sentinel startled, his servo freezing as it tried to clench again, and Bee paused from stuffing yet another cube into his mouth. 

“What are you talking about?” Sentinel snapped, but it was already too late, and by this point, Bee was leaning in closer, scrutinizing the aristocrat with a small frown, and soon enough, a worried chirp escaped the miner’s dermas as he pressed a digit to one of the numerous dents on Sentinel’s chassis. Sentinel gritted his dentae and hissed out a quiet, but still audible, “ow.” 

“You’re hurt,” Orion said, abandoning the cubes as he crawled over and reached up to cup Sentinel’s cheek, frowning when he winced and tried to turn away, as if doing that would make the fresh bruise on his facial plate any less visible. “What happened?” 

“It’s just training.” Sentinel defended harshly, shaking his helm and pushing aside Orion’s servo as he did. “You don’t have to baby me, I can handle it.” 

“But you’ve never been injured from training before,” Bee said anxiously. He was tracing the dent on Sentinel’s armor with such a dejected look on his face that it physically hurt to glance at him. “Did… Did Ultra find out about Mega - “ 

“No,” Sentinel said firmly. He let out a vent and shook his helm, slumping slightly, his wings limp on his dorsal plates. He seemed more tired after his declaration, his optics half-shut and the glow of them dimmer than they usually were. “Look, just - don’t worry about it. There’s no way Ultra knows about M… Megatron, so don’t even joke about it. The training is just an extra precaution. Even though M-Megaton’s been detained, that doesn’t mean the rest of the rebels are going to be taken down quietly.” 

“Right,” Orion said, his voice unsure as he and Bee exchanged worried, furrowed looks. “Sure.” 

It was hard to believe Sentinel, not even because he was always a terrible liar, but simply because what he said didn’t make sense. Sentinel wasn’t part of the Elite Guard or even Ultra’s personal squadron, both of whom were tasked to capture rebels. Why would he have to go through more training if he wasn’t going to be out on the field? 

“Maybe I can help.” Bee tried to offer, his voice high-pitched with forced cheer as he cuddled closer to Sentinel, something all of them knew that the aristocrat secretly loved. “I can totally code for some better defensive tactics and send them to you! That way you won’t have to get hurt so much from your… training.” 

Bee’s enthusiastic suggestion ended with uncertainty, and Orion knew it wasn’t his imagination when Sentinel squirmed again. 

He wished Sentinel didn’t do this. Any time he or Bee ever tried to ask more about what he actually did as Ultra’s pupil, he just kind of… shut down. Stopped talking. Maybe it was just some protocol stuff that a miner like Orion didn’t know, but it never stopped bugging him how Sentinel was so tight-lipped about his secrets, like they would go around talking about it with other bots. 

It was even worse knowing that the thing Sentinel was keeping under wraps was about his own health. Though Orion didn’t doubt that training under Ultra was both an honor and difficult, he had never seen Sentinel like this, bruised and cut up, almost like he went through a battle rather than a spar. 

For once, Orion wondered if Ultra knew what he was doing, though that thought was quickly shaken away. He had no reason to question the Ultra Magnus, not when he was probably the most honorable bot that Orion knew, so instead, he simply frowned, pondering on whether or not Sentinel would be able to keep up with this new training schedule he was so vague about. 

“I’m fine, Bee,” Sentinel tried to comfort, but he was pretty awful at it, since he could only really pat Bee awkwardly on the shoulder and avoid optic contact. “It’s not serious, and Dr. Ratchet already gave me the green light.” 

“If you told us, we wouldn’t worry so much,” Orion said pointedly. 

“It’s classified,” Sentinel said immediately. 

“Classified my aft,” Orion muttered.

“And don’t even talk to me about injuries.” Sentinel’s gaze sharpened into a glare as he scowled fiercely at Orion, who held up his arms in a placating motion. “How could you be so stupid! Pissing off Darkwing like that, are you fragging serious? Now look at you both! I wouldn’t be surprised if someone mistook you as scrap with how banged up you are!” 

The sudden change in subject wasn’t lost on Orion, and he frowned deeply in frustration. It was obvious that Sentinel was agitated, though whether that was by Orion himself or something else, he didn’t know, though he intended to find out soon enough. Roping Bee into it would probably be easy, since the smaller bot was still eyeing Sentinel with worry.

For a micro-klik, Orion seriously considered calling bullscrap on Sentinel’s deflection. He hated it when his friends were hurt, hated it even more when they purposefully tried to cover it up by refusing to talk about it. 

But slowly, he ex-vented, and soothed the frustration that made his energon pump in anticipation and nerves. This wasn’t the time. If Sentinel wanted to be a stubborn jackaft about it, fine, but Orion would figure it out, and Sentinel would have hell to pay for lying to him. 

“Darkwing acts like he runs the place,” Orion said instead, crossing his arms and looking to the side, huffing as he thought about the mid caste bot. “Just because he’s a higher level doesn’t mean he can treat us like we’re made of slag.” 

Sentinel gave him an incredulous look. “He does run the place, what the frag, Orion? He’s literally your supervisor! You’re being ridiculous. Bee, tell him he’s being ridiculous.” 

“Well,” Bee said slowly. He fiddled with his digits and didn’t look up from where he was curled up in Sentinel’s lap, and instead began to sip nervously at a cube, his optics darting everywhere in an attempt to cover up his anxiety. “It - it wasn’t - it just wasn’t very nice of Darkwing to punch Orion, so I kind of get it.” 

“He punched - “ Sentinel began to shout, only to intake sharply as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He groaned, muttered something about how he needed new friends (which, you know, rude), and spoke with a kind of weariness that only ever came out around Orion. “You can’t act so recklessly, Orion. What would have happened if I hadn’t gotten here in time to stop Rocks - “ 

“Ricks,“ Orion said unhelpfully. 

Sentinel glared. “Whatever. What would have happened if I hadn’t gotten here in time to stop Ricks? Huh? I know he’s a slag-ful team leader, but he’s right, okay? I won’t always be here to protect you. I can’t stop every bad thing from happening.” 

Orion fell silent. 

He didn't know what to say in response, but more than that, he didn't know how to comprehend the feeling of bitterness that bubbled deep within his spark. 

It grinded his gears knowing Sentinel was right in some manner. There was no telling what Ricks would have done if he hadn't intervened in time, but Orion hated how the intervention had to take place at all. 

It wasn't fair. None of it. The hierarchy that they were all born into was so rigid and absolute that miners were always disregarded as nothing more than fodder. But Orion knew himself, and he knew Bee. He knew that they both had dreams and aspirations, and he knew they could be kind, that they were alive. 

Wasn't that enough to demand basic respect? Wasn't just being born enough? Why did it matter that they were birthed without cogs? Why was it that their occupations dictated everything else? 

We wouldn't have needed your help if we didn't have a caste in the first place, Orion wanted to say, but he banished the thought as soon as it happened. 

No. No, that was near blasphemous to think about. The caste had a purpose, just like every other bot did; it was to make sure their society was structured and organized, to ensure that those on top never grew too numerous, and so that trickle-down economics worked for their world, where energon was short in supply. 

So why was he so bothered? 

“Well, I might need your help again anyway,” Orion said, swallowing his ire and instead smiling crookedly at Sentinel, who only looked unimpressed. “Think you can give me a lift again?” 

“A lift? To where?” Sentinel said, his optics squinting in suspicion. 

This time, when Orion grinned, it was genuine, and he was sure he looked at least slightly manic, going by how both Bee and Sentinel made low chirps of concern when he said, “oh, just to visit my favorite prisoner of all time.” 

“Oh, Primus, help me,” Bee immediately whimpered. 

“I'm leaving,” Sentinel stated, but he couldn't actually, not with Bee still in his hold. Instead, he vented harshly, and snapped, “Orion Pax, you'll be the death of us all!” 

Orion laughed. 

“Why would you want to go see him again?” Bee pleaded. “I thought you promised it was a one time thing!” 

“And I thought you said it was the coolest stunt we've ever pulled off,” Orion said. 

Bee smiled sheepishly when Sentinel gave him a betrayed look. “Well, I mean, it was cool…” 

“About as cool as Helios,” Sentinel growled. “No. No! No way, no how. It was already a gigantic risk going once, but going again? It'll just increase the chance that we get caught! And anyway, I can't just give you a lift, thank you very much. They're hosting a Revitalization Ceremony tomorrow and I need to be there.” 

“What?” Both Bee and Orion exclaimed. 

Sentinel nodded, and Orion felt a little floored by the reveal. It wasn't like the ceremony directly affected him, since only middle caste Cybertronians were allowed to participate, but still. 

Hosting one so quickly after their last one was kind of impressive, and he sounded a little hesitant as he said, “but didn't Tracks just - ?” 

“Yes.” Sentinel stared at the ground. He didn't seem inclined to look back up, which was strange, as was the slight static in his voice as he said, “but it doesn't matter what I - well. Anyway, the race is happening tomorrow, and I have to be there. Ultra said how every member of his team, including any trainees, had to be present to show how unified the council is.” 

“Why do you even want to go, anyway?” Bee asked curiously. He seemed less shocked now that the chance of another break-in was unlikely. “Didn't you say you never want to see him again?” 

That much was true. Orion did say he never wanted to see Megatron again, and in all honesty, he wasn't even sure why he was pushing so hard for this, not when he knew going meant he'd at least have to talk to the rebel in order to explain what he was doing there. 

But then he glanced down at the ground again, at the pile of cubes that Sentinel had given him, and he thought about Megatron, about how small he had seemed in that cell, how cold it had been. How there was a chance, even if it was slight, that he wasn't being fed, and just like with the sparkling Orion had given all his energon to, his spark tugged at the thought. 

He couldn't stand for anyone, not even Megatron, suffering like that, and so he shuffled where he stood, and he said, “because I… want to make sure he's eating.” 

“Pardon me?” 

“Come again?” 

Both Sentinel and Bee's contorted faces and disbelieving questions almost made Orion regret telling them his true intentions, but he couldn't back down now, not when he was already in this deep. 

“Orion, do you know how absolutely fragging crazy you sound?” Sentinel said, sounding half-hysterical as he gestured wildly to the pile of energon. “I got those cubes for you and Bee, not for the most notorious criminal of the state!”

“But what if he isn't being fed?” Orion insisted. “He definitely didn’t seem like he had a lot of energy back when we talked!” 

Sentinel's facial plates were quickly going from confused to outraged. “And who cares if he isn't being fed! That's not your concern, and it isn't mine, either! We can't waste energon on someone like him!” 

“No bot deserves to starve, Sentinel!” Orion was getting loud by this point, but he couldn't find it in himself to curb the volume of his voicebox as he shook his helm and refused to step down. “I know he's a bad guy, and I know he's done a lot of horrible things - but he's alive, still! He should be treated with some level of dignity.” 

Sentinel’s face sagged. He held a servo to his eyes, almost like he couldn’t bear to look at Orion anymore. In that moment, it occurred to him what he sounded like; defending Megatron, insisting that he deserved better treatment. Almost like he cared. 

Almost like Orion was a traitor. 

But Orion's loyalties lied with Ultra and the council. His loyalties lied with his friends. There was no way in the Pits that Orion would even entertain the idea that he would betray his city, his people, and put someone like Megatron on top of all of that. 

Orion was just so bothered, so, so bothered by the idea that anyone, not just Megatron, could potentially be treated with such cruelty. 

“Sentinel.” Orion pleaded. He collapsed onto his patellas, ignoring the way dust settled into his joints and seams, and he reached up, clasping Sentinel's digits within his own. He tried to convey how warm he was, how he still loved their council and their leader, and when Sentinel finally sighed and carefully glanced at him, he knew he was doing at least something right. 

“You don't know for sure that he's being starved.” Sentinel seemed defeated, his words buried in his worry and his exhaustion. He didn't seem like the great and powerful Prime trainee; instead, he was just a mech who was tired, and Orion felt guilt prickle in his spark over how much stress he knew he was putting his friend through. “And even if he was, why do you care? Why? He killed dozens of our citizens, Orion. Innocent civilians. That kind of monster doesn't deserve anything but what the council decides as his fate.” 

Orion was speechless. 

Sentinel was right. 

Why did Orion care? 

Was it because of the way the room had been so cold, that frost had encrusted the grate of the vent he peered through? Was it because of how quiet the rebel leader had been, so stoic and so sturdy, even when he sat there in his own prison? Was it because of the sarcastic and biting words he used not out of rage-induced malice, but just for the sake of it? 

Or was it the small spark of amusement that had shined in his red optics, a twinkle that had thrown Orion off so much, that for a moment, he had thought Megatron looked breathtaking? 

Whatever it was, it beat strongly in Orion's chassis, right alongside his spark. It refused to acknowledge that starvation was simply part of Megatron's punishment, that he deserved it. That something made Orion want to do it all over again, to risk his life, all for the sake of ensuring that Megatron kept his. 

“I don't know,” Orion finally said. His volume level was low and full of static, one that he couldn't get rid of even when he cleared his throat and tried again. “I… I don’t know.” 

Sentinel stared. “What did he say to you in there, Orion? What could he have said for you to be like this?” 

Orion's processor whirled. 

What had Megatron said, indeed. 

In all honesty, their conversation had been brief and stiff, stinted by their radically different ideals. It had been easy to get aggravated by the rebel, to have his paint peel from indignation at his disregard for the council and his mocking of Ultra. But it had been so, so easy to recognize the strength of his conviction, of the ideas and views of someone who was so different from Orion that he was just achingly curious to know more. 

But he couldn't say that. 

No. 

Sentinel would never understand. 

If Orion was loyal to the council, then Sentinel was practically devoted; who knew what he would think if Orion confessed that he thought Megatron had been the most attractive mech he ever laid optics on? That Orion had, throughout his entire conversation with him, had been staring so obviously at Megatron's derma that he had been mortified by it? 

“I think we should go.” 

Orion made a small noise of surprise as he watched Bee finally stir from his position in Sentinel's lap. He pushed himself more upright, his servos clasped on top of Sentinel's femur panels to do so, and though his finials were bent back with anxiety, his voice was oddly confident as he repeated, “we should do it.” 

“Bee.” Orion breathed in awe. 

“Bee!” Sentinel snarled. 

Bee shook his helm, brushing away Sentinel's servo when he attempted to grab his wrist and pull him back from standing. Bee approached Orion, an unsure smile on his face, and he said, “you know how crazy I think you are, right?” 

Orion nodded. 

“And that what you're asking is for us to put our lives on the line, again, because there's only a teeny chance that Megatron might be suffering?” 

Orion nodded again. 

Bee nodded back, aborted the movement, and gave Orion a hug. It was warm, a little too tight since Bee was just like that when it came to his hugs, and Orion embraced him back just as fiercely, nuzzling the top of his helm as he did. 

“Orion's right, Sentinel,” Bee said, stepping back, though he didn't pull his servo out of Orion's loose grip. “I know you're right, too. Megatron's a bully and I hate bullies. But he… he doesn't deserve to starve to death. No one does.” 

He paused. 

“And I might have already memorized their entire network.” Bee admitted a little sheepishly. “So breaking in isn't going to be anywhere near as hard.”

“You did what?” Orion said in amazement. “Bee!” 

Bee giggled when Orion offered him a high five. 

Sentinel looked like he'd just swallowed a rock or two. He dragged both his servos down his face, and kept one pressed to his dermas as he said, in a completely miserable tone, “aw, Pits.” 

Orion laughed and so did Bee, the both of them rushing forward to hug Sentinel as he groaned and stood up, though it was slightly awkward since they really only came up to his hip joints. Despite the height difference, Sentinel hesitantly rested one servo on each of their shoulders, and Orion caught a glimpse of something gold moving at the corner of his optic, a twitch from Sentinel's wings as they reluctantly wrapped around them in a warm and metal touch. 

“The race is going to be held tomorrow as soon as Helios is at its peak.” Sentinel said with a rather loud grumble. Still, he squeezed Orion's shoulder gently, a message of sorry hidden somewhere within the motion. Orion smothered his grin into Sentinel's armor as the aristocrat continued to speak. “I still have to be there, but afterwards once the winner is announced and the reception starts, I… I guess I could give everyone the slip and come meet you guys.” 

“Thank you, Sentinel,” Orion muttered. 

Sentinel sighed. 

He continued to hold Orion's shoulder. 

Act I, Scene VI: Thoughts of a Poet

Megatron was tossed into his cell with all the gentleness one might expect from aftholes who looked at him like he was the rest on the bottom of their pede. So, not at all, and he fell to the hard and cold ground with a resounding clang, his sensors telling him that something along his dorsal plates had dented. 

He gritted his dentae and spat out the energon that had been slowly building up from the inside of his cheek after he bit it when his rather lovely interrogator punched him for the nth time after refusing yet again to answer his questions. 

His temperature regulator wasn't working, or at least not that well, and he shivered despite himself as he slowly drew himself into a sitting position and glared at the guards who had dared to push him so harshly back into his prison. 

He ex-vented, the harshness of it causing condensation to drift around him, and he smirked slightly when the both of the guards stepped back a little, clearly unnerved. 

“Stubborn.” Prowl didn't look up from behind the guards as he continued to click away at his datapad. He didn't even seem winded from all the abuse he'd just put Megatron through, as if it wasn't disconcerting to see someone of his own species spitting up their lifeblood and also shuddering at the cold. “They told me a lot about you, but I have to say, your determination to keep your derma shut is still impressive.” 

“Should I take that as a compliment, Enforcer Prowl?” Megatron smiled ruthlessly. He was aware that energon bled through his dentae and down the corner of his mouth, the sight of which seemed to unease one of the guards, a mech who shifted where he stood and looked away. “I'm flattered.” 

“Save it, rebel,” Prowl said. His voice was unimpressed as he tucked away the datapad into his subspace and approached the bars of the cell, glaring down at Megatron as he did. It was degrading that a mech like him could even do such a thing, since Megatron was well aware that if he could stand, he would tower over him. “Ultra Magnus’ patience wears thin. You can't hold out forever, not unless you want to die first.” 

Megatron didn't break away his optic contact. He didn't have to look down at himself to know just how fragged up he was. His armor was tough but it was denting in several places, and he had already bled too many times since the beginning of that solar cycle, when he'd been dragged from his recharge state into the interrogation room as they began to ‘question’ him. 

Though question was a strong word. Torture seemed like a better fit, and he slowly licked his glossa across the roof of his mouth, unsurprised to taste more energon leaking. 

His sensors were telling him that he was running low on his lifeblood to a dangerous degree. If he was going to make it through the next solar cycle, he needed energon and he needed it now, but Megatron knew better than to ask for any. 

After all, prisoners of Iacon never ate, and hatred simmered low and slow in his abdomen as he tilted his helm and observed Prowl with critical optics. 

He was one of the senior enforcers currently serving Ultra Magnus, something that Megatron had gleaned from the various scout notes that Shockwave had gathered before his capture. Prowl was an uptight and by-the-books mech, with absolutely no deviation from the protocols that Ultra and the council had programmed into the enforcer act. 

So basically, if Megatron wanted to eat, it certainly wasn't going to come from this afthole. 

“Tell Ultra I send my regards,” Megatron drawled instead. He settled quite nicely up against the wall opposite of the bars, and he knew how unnerving the scarlet lights of his optics were, especially when he slid them briefly over to the guards again, unable to quell his smirk when the femme one started shaking. 

“You're not worthy of his attention,” Prowl said dismissively, and with that, he was gone, the guards sweeping after him eagerly, the door to the hallway swinging closed firmly behind them, followed by the sound of something locking. 

Megatron was alone again. 

He ex-vented slowly and tried to become more compact against the wall, taking care not to put too much of his dented metal up against it so it could sap more of his heat out. 

His energon reserves were down to the last tenth of whatever he had left over, so at best, if he fell into recharge cycle, he could last another solar cycle at the very least. 

Enough time for his rebels to continue to move out and hide. 

He hoped that they wouldn't do anything foolish in his absence. He had made his orders very clear, to scatter and to lay low for the moment, but more importantly, to not rescue him. If they even tried, they would be walking right into Ultra's grasp, and the rebellion would truly be done for good if that happened. 

Though, he thought fondly, he supposed that they would try, anyway. Starscream in particular had been rather frightening when the scuffle began that eventually led to Megatron's capture, as the seeker had actually managed to take down at least five different Iacon enforcers before Megatron bellowed at him to leave and not look back. 

He could still recall the look on Starscream's face, one twisted with grief and anger, before at last he obeyed and did as told, something that rarely happened. 

It had been at least four cycles since Megatron saw Starscream, or any of the others from the rebellion. His communications processor had been disabled as soon as he'd been thrown onto Prowl's interrogation table, and without it, there was absolutely no contact with the outside world. 

Well. Mostly, anyway. 

Megatron let his gaze drift upwards and pin onto the vent graft, where the frost remained untouched, and yet on the other side, had once carried through the voice of a bot that Megatron had never met before. 

His processor had done its best to cycle through the dozens of files he had on Iacon and its people, but none of the voice clips he had saved matched the one from the bot who had stupidly broken into Titan's Hold just to, from what Megatron had gathered, talk to him. 

Still, their brief conversation had been enough to glean several things from the curious bot. He had been young, for one, his voice box clear of any static that came from age, and he had been too bold to be anything more than a couple vorns younger than Megatron himself. 

In all honesty, it had reminded Megatron of when he'd also been that age. Reckless, doing scrap that definitely would've gotten him into trouble, letting curiosity and arrogance take the better of him. 

But Megatron was older now, wiser from the vorns of leading his rebellion, and it had also been just as easy to assuage that the bot was a council loyalist. It was disappointing, as for a brief klik, Megatron had actually believed he was being rescued, but no matter. 

It wasn't like Megatron was relying on anyone but himself to get him out of this mess, so in all honesty, he was simply curious. 

He was curious about the bot who had enough balls to not only break into Titan's Hold, but to speak to Megatron, the one bot that the council condemned as someone who was basically the risen incarnate of Unicron himself. That little tidbit of propaganda had made Megatron laugh harder than he'd like to admit, but the message had been made clear regardless. 

To Iacon, Megatron was an untouchable, unthinkable threat. The worst of what Cybertron had offered. 

And yet that bot had, what, wanted to see him? Look at him like a spectacle? Prod him for answers that even Prowl couldn't get out of him? Megatron couldn’t understand him at all, and that was what had reluctant intrigue still floating around in his spark, even if he didn’t particularly care for it. 

Whatever it was that led that bot to him, to Megatron's displeasure, it had been enough to soothe his loneliness for the time being. 

Hah. 

Who knew that one day, Megatron would be so lonely that he craved the presence of a mech who stood loyal to everything he hated? 

His optics slipped closed, his recharge cycle already starting to slip into his processor, his frame slowly stopping its shivers as the cold crept silently into his nerves. 

Still, Megatron thought, the last edge of his consciousness drifting away. 

It would be nice to speak with him again. 

[thequietmanno1]

Thelreads, MHA 290, Replies Part 2

1) “You say he tossed you aside and forgot about you, but we know they all think you died, they even have a memorial to you, hell Endeavor was praying at it, it didn’t seemed like he didn’t cared that much. Sure, that was after he started to regret his actions, but still.”- Reminder: At least half of this is him intentionally twisting the facts to suit his public narrative. What Endeavour actually felt or did at the time is still unknown, but everything Toya is saying about himself should be taken with a massive grain of salt. If there’s truth in what he’s saying, it’s only because he’d decided the truth would hurt more than a manipulative lie.

2) “no wait a second, isn’t Toya- Dabi- fuck it, Tobi supposed to be the oldest one? Also, if they had you as this “super hero project” then why did they had another kid?”-Toya is alone in the training room, not being mentored by Enji, and then says that he’d go on to complain/vent about it to his younger brother afterwards. This means he was choosing to train by himself, but running into the stumbling block of his natural incompatibility with his own fire powers, and saw it as him having been “abandoned” by his own father after he just wasn’t genetically perfect enough for him, choosing to put his focus on a younger child who’d have the perfect combination. It’s why he expresses camaraderie towards Natsu, another “failure”, but hatred and dehumanisation towards the “success” Shoto, who got everything Toya has literally been killing to possess just by being born. Whilst complicated, he does seem to have some vestiges of care towards his fellow “failures”, but either animosity or apathy towards his parents, and sheer loathing towards the one he saw as “stealing” his place to exist in the world.

3) “Oooooookay Tobi, glad to know that yeah you really were around when Shoto was born, but because you’re talking about how he was a “success” then this means that you were around when he got his quirk, which would be like, 3 to 4 years old if I recall correctly

and you decided that you’d kill the baby…

…

yeah okay I’m not that surprised by the Twice thing anymore.”- It’s unclear if he meant killing Shoto once he’d become a legitimate hero in the industry to spite his father’s dreams and ambitions, or if he always had the desire to kill Shoto just from the moment of his existence but never really acted on it. Either way, he’s always seen Shoto as his enemy to kill, not his family.

4) “Holy fuck okay seems like Dabi is off his fucking rockers right now.

Jesus.

Alright let us see where this is gonna go, but damn I already see this won’t end well.”- Toya’s always been mad as a hatter. He’s just very good at acting sane (Not that different from the rest of us, really ), and now the mask is off, he’s putting that acting skill to use in emphasizing his insanity and irredeemable nature.  He is his family’s shame, and the world will witness and remember him forevermore because of this.

(MHA ch 279) 5) “Toga please, look at his fucking arm, that thing was never okay to begin with.”- His arm, or his mind? Either one works really, this boy be nuts.

(MHA ch 244) 

6) “The wizard there was… weird, now that I think about it. He was really focused on taking down Endeavor, like the hero was to blame for everything wrong going on with society and only he knew it, but… it wasn’t clear what exactly triggered this. We know what Endeavor did wrong, but he wasn’t supposed to know that. I do wonder why he suddenly thought that Endeavor is the harbinger of their destruction, even though for society in general he is starting to surpass expectations.”- Turns out it’s because the prodigal son himself made him aware of the PLF’s plans and his own personal one to destroy Endeavour on a public scale, aware that Starservant was so unbelievable as a source of information that nobody would trust a thing he said, and that the old man’s only course of action was to try and remove Endeavour and get a new number one in his place, one which wouldn’t cause a societal loss of faith if his dark secrets were exposed and who was genuinely worthy of the position. all of which was only to help bolster Endeavour’s confidence in himself that he was doing the right thing before Dabi swooped in to take it all away and laugh in his face about it. 

(MHA ch 250)

7) “Oh thank god it wasn`t… It seems like it was merely a stalker obsessed with Endeavor, a rare thing to see to be honest, but oh lord why do I feel this character will do something creepy?”- Turns out, not so rare when the head stalker is creating proxy stalkers to prop his old man up so he can knock him down all the pegs, and the whole of hero society with him. (MHA ch 252) 8) “Ah, right, Ball-pondering wizard did try to take down endeavor, almost forgot about it- But I didn`t forgot about the fact he seemed… strangely aware of something… something dark, darker, yet darker…”- Calling back to his failed attack on Endeavour is a neat little narrative trick to tie these two, seemingly-unrelated villains together and help factor in the reveal that Dabi’s the one who’s been pulling their strings the whole time, making him the overarching villain of this mini-arc

(MHA ch 251) 9) “GODDAMMIT NOW I`M QUESTIONING IF TOYA DIDN`T DIED BECAUSE ENDEAVOR REFUSED TO KILL A VILLAIN IN THE PAST- HORIKOSHI CAN YOU FUCKING STOP I`M TRYING TO STAY LOYAL TO MY DABI THEORY”-Good for you for sticking to the correct theory, though it’s possible that Dabi intentionally nudged Ending into targeting one of his family members around Endeavour to grant his insane wish instead of just attacking the man himself and praying for an over-strong blow. For Toya, he’d know that would dig deep into the pain caused by his own ‘demise’, and such emotional anguish for Endeavour was reward enough for him to suggest it to the insane psycho.

10) “Not like Twice at least

Sorry Tobi, you continue your little dance there, although I doubt that Endeavor is even listening right now, he’s still too shocked.”- Toya does not wish to let the past pain fade and the wounds heal, because he never stopped festering in his own anguish over being rendered “irrelevant” for the purpose he was born for. And so, in his spite, he refuses to die or go quietly into the night, using his own family drama as a springboard to launch an attack on the very image of heroics themselves, all to spread the pain beyond even those he’s personally involved with. This isn’t about spreading a message, it’s about spreading suffering and hopelessness for all, in the darkest hour.

11) “holy crap okay yeahSeems like someone is having the best day of his life indeed”- He’s been waiting for this all along, trusting nobody with the truth, hiding everything about himself, all to twist the situation to his advantage, and now it’s finally paid off better than he ever could have imagined, all without relying on outside help. It’s not just his spiteful retaliation on “Dr Frankenstein”, it’s his success at doing this all solo, proving how competent he is in comparison to Shoto.

12) “Dabi is the oldest, and then there’s Fuyumi and Natsu, then Shoto. Dabi says that he was born because Endeavor wanted a super-mega-perfect hero to surpass All Might, but Tobi also said that during his time training there, which should be when he was at least 3-4, Natsu was already there, and he wasn’t a baby, if Tobi was going to him to cry. If endeavor had Tobi, why did he had another two kids? And he implied that he met Shoto and wanted to kill him, but if that was the case then shouldn’t Shoto at least recall his existence?”- At the very least, Shoto has vague memories of Toya from afar, watching him play with the others before getting dragged away to train. However, they never got closer than that, and afterwards, Toya apparently had his accident that disfigured him and lead to them assuming he was dead. By all accounts, Shoto seems to have never really been able to interact well with his family until Endeavour finally became the number one hero, by which point Toya had been “dead” for years. @thelreads

[sunlightandsuffering]

I’ve just read RIP Luv and i had to come here to say you nailed down the angst. I felt so angry at both Eren and Mikasa so many times and their sheer stupidity. But also I could understand their motives and where they were coming from and so I’ve thoroughly enjoyed reading their messiness. I’ll say that Mikasa is incredibly toxic and she needs a lot of therapy. And I’d say that they got together so soon, like Eren should’ve awaited at least to see her actually confronto by her family first before breaking up with Hisu. But should is the keyword here, the easiness with which they got together even though they were in a relationship is, the way I see it, an integral part of their codependence, and it’s not out of place. Ideally, in a healthy relationship, she’d first break up with Porco, and tell her family what she wants without any expectations from Eren. And Eren probably wouldn’t break up with Hisu on the spot, but she’d see his love for Mikasa and do the breaking up herself. However they never had a healthy relationship and I stress my previous point of their toxicity and codependence as the rule of their very mesy relationship. And if it had gone healthily from one moment to the next it not only wouldn’t be believable, but it wouldn’t be them. Which is why I think you also nailed the way they got together, on Mikasa’s whim and insistence and Eren’s devotion to believe her even when he had every reason not to. And for my final point: JESUS CHRIST that first depiction of Porco “dropping her off like a forgotten bag” WAS AMAZING. Peak angst and description here. And I’d turn up on the angst even more to still have Porco be like the is or even worse when he starts dating Mikasa. She dates him out of desperation, he treats her badly, and it’s a double edged sword: she wants to hurt Eren by being with a gig he hates, but she also thinks she deserves to be hurt by a guy like Porco exactly because of the way she’s treated Eren for so long. Porco mistreats her and uses her and she despises it and what it does to her, degrade her, but she loves to see Eren’s protective rage and concern in his eyes whenever porco drops her off drunk and full of his cum dropping down her thighs with her hair ruined and clothes disheveled, just for Eren to see her stumble into the apartment like this. She hates herself and the way she feels degraded and I’ve Eren’s attention on her. Forgive me if this part is too dark or angsty but I’d say Porco being nicer made things easier for Eren in the end when they could’ve been harder for deeper taste on angst, and it fits Mikasa’s problematic character. anyways, great job and great fic as always! Loved reading it! I was waiting for months reading and rereading those drabbles here and was delighted to see I knew some of them by heart while reading the fic! Thank you so much!!

OMG BABE I LOVE U ! THE MOSTEST FOR THIS VERY IN DEPTH REVIEW LOL!!! omg y'all give me too much credit 😂 but i have so many things to say back!!!! For your last point tho I honestly hadn't even considered that!! ANd now I very sadly wish I did lol!! It would have made so much sense and it would have been even more deliciously dramatic!!!!

I think if I can recall correctly my decision to make Porco a better guy was so Eren wouldn't murder him ahahah. And I also think because I didn't want to make it quite that painful for Eren, like ur totally right, nothing would sting more than her showing up fucked out of her mind with someone else's cum dripping down her thighs, I wasn't sure if it was too far and she wouldn't be redeemable anymore. Nice Porco was basically me softening the blow ahahaha 😂

But yes, poor bb boo Mikasa does need massive amounts of therapy lol, she's very toxic and I think u are right they're very codependent and Eren has always been her crutch. To that end though I totally agree with you about how unhealthy their relationship is 😂😂 I literally just discarded her breaking up with Porco he's such an afterthought he's not even a consideration lol. Meanwhile Eren has the actual good sense to break up with Historia, Mikasa doesn't give a fuck she's like give me my mans back. BUT IM GLAD THE ENDING MAKES SENSE AT LEAST! I really struggled with how to get them back together in like a believable way that wasn't too fast and for a while, I was like well maybe there needs to be some big event that forces it but in the end I kept writing and I was like no, these bitches just want to be together, let them be together, Mikasa won't let it be prolonged!

I actually deleted a whole scene where she was trying to seduce him again lol and I had planned to have that little arc go on for longer, but honestly it was feeling too unserious and more BTL Mikasa than angsty FWB Mikasa lol so I was like no, it's ending!! THEY JUST NEED TO HAVE DRAMATIC TEARFUL MAKEUP SEX AND GET TOGETHER DAMN IT!!! And thus, we have their very messy ending lol!

BUT IM HAPPY U ENJOYED THE ANGST, AND VERY PLEASED THAT U THINK I DID A DECENT JOB!! I haven't agonized over a fic like this in a hot minute lol so I appreciate the reassurance 💗💗🥰🥰

[dongle1863]

It was the fifth of that month, if I recall correctly. I had just turned seventeen. Flakes of snow drifted down and collected on top of their eyelashes as if they were dusted with powdered sugar. The thought of stealing a kiss from them crossed my mind for a second, I think because I wondered if they really would taste as sweet as their scent. But, really, it was only an absent-minded thought. I shouldn't let you misunderstand how I felt at that moment by filling your head with pretty descriptions of fresh snow and sugary kisses. They always said I was a bit of a daydreamer so I guess I can't help but remember it that way. I had spent such a long time away from them that I’d forgotten why I had such an attachment to them. Truthfully, I was unhappy. It was just that time of year where I carried a nervous sense of dread and was left bereft of any form of contentment. I grieved and yet it was for nothing and no one in particular. It wasn’t as if my mood was unusual, however. What really made this moment stick with me was the brief exchange of words we had on the corner of the street. In fact, it was one of the only things they ever said to me that mattered and I don't mean that in a way to discredit them. We were both always talking about things that didn't matter to either of us. It was because they didn't think much of me, and I was just too scared to be rejected… no, now that I reflect on it, I was scared of being hurt, rather. They were always more resilient than me; not as timid and fragile. It was all a jumble of words, both what they and I said. It could barely be considered a proper conversation because it was so muddled. What they had said… yes, it was something to the effect of wanting greater purpose. I found it to be a very confusing thing at the time because I’ve never personally held that sort of sentiment. It wasn't as if I couldn't understand it. It was only that I thought we were like-minded so it came as a surprise to me. I asked them if they would be happy after they obtained that ‘greater purpose’ they spoke of. They told me happiness had nothing to do with it and we carried on walking for the rest of the fifteen minutes it took to get to the bus stop. I fail to recall anything else between then and when I fell asleep.

I’ve thought back on our conversation that day many times over the years, probably because it conjured that dull ache I’ve become so accustomed to. It was more comfortable to say I was dealing with the same pains as always rather than to face the fresh agonies of the future. My impression of what they truly meant to tell me has changed as I matured but one thing I was always certain of is that they would have rather have been talking to anyone but me. They seemed to have confided in me purely because they were in so much pain—even saying that, I have no proof that was really why they asked to meet me. Either way, my impression was that they had no other person to be around.

It was around twenty years until we met again. By that time I had tried and failed to find a place for myself in the world and I was considerably more withdrawn than when we had last seen each other. It was not as if I had difficulty speaking at all but even still, I did feel ashamed of who I had ultimately become. I was especially affected by the uneasiness which arose from how acutely aware of my shortcomings I was at the time. One of my old classmates—whom I never talked to much, I confess—invited me to a reunion party. I found myself arriving at the venue with a ticklish feeling of excitement. I had a lot of things I wanted to say and to ask. I still carried them in my heart, against my better judgement. It was exactly because of that weakness of mine that I ended up so sorely disappointed again. I don’t exactly regret taking them up on their offer because, as I understand it now, I was just seeking out pleasure, whatever strange thing I wanted it to be. The look in their eyes seemed to promise me exactly that and I rushed towards that glittering promise, giddy and impatient.

It was a warm afternoon with only a trace of a chill in the breeze. They were waiting beside one of the old alders lining the footpath. They had only come to ask if I was free but by some weird spasm of the mind I felt only disturbed. I was wondering—and I still wonder because it has never left me—why they insisted on clinging to the past the way they did. I detested their cynicism and their distrust of everything in the world. They distrusted me, too; horribly distrusted me. They always needed proof of their own worth so they tested me and my faith in them. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t summon the words to assure them, or even to rebuke their selfishness. My eyes grew sore and I couldn't seem to think at all. Then, a bright spot of light touched my sunken eyes as if the sun had sent some spritely apparition to steal away my tears. I kissed the hand of the spirit which had answered my prayers so graciously and felt its warmth caress over my lips. I would not show weakness and I would not weep. I happily agreed to go with them and kept my abhorrence within me while I settled into the passenger seat of their car.

I was sitting on the balcony of their apartment, watching them stare out into the darkness. Even though the balcony door was closed I could still hear the phone ringing from inside. I had heard it for a while already; ringing and ringing and ringing…

Why did I do that? Why did I let myself end up there again? Sometimes I ask that question myself but it always becomes clear to me soon enough. The thought came to me in the backseat of a taxi I took later that night. I had long been suffering from an internal discord of sorts. I had an almost obsessive desire for any kind of emotional fulfillment in regards to my long standing attachments. It was for a couple of reasons, one of which was that I had spent so much of my life holding onto old sentiments that it would not be anything short of excruciating to separate myself from them. However, I knew that even if it hurt to deny it, that desire of mine opposed any kind of self-preservation I had as an individual. I knew that if I attempted to satisfy my obsession I would only end up living the rest of my life in service to an instinct I do not possess. It is by no fault of theirs. It's only that I know myself too well to believe that I’d have the heart to deny them anything. I also know them too well to believe that they could bear to live their life in abstinence. It's just their nature. I said before that I once thought we were alike. I no longer believed that once I realised that we had never been similar. Not in the least. It will never be within my capacity to be like them. It will never be within their capacity to understand me. In any case, it doesn't really matter. The result would still be the same. In hindsight, I think I also didn’t realise the moment I became resentful of them. I’m very unforgiving in that sense. If I ever come to believe someone had deceived me then I find every memory of them tainted by bitterness and I find it difficult to remember how I originally felt. Maybe I did hate them all this time and only became aware of it that night. 

The phone had stopped ringing for a while by then. They came back onto the balcony and the first thing they did was lie to me. They lied by looking into my eyes and asking, 

“Do you still love me?”

I answered truthfully, of course. We weren't young anymore and I was past worrying about whether they knew or not. Then, holding my hand, they cried silently with their head held down. I comforted them for an hour or so, watching their tears slide down and drip off the tip of their nose. At some point, without warning, they kissed me on the cheek—then on the neck, then on the mouth. Then, they whispered something very quietly into my ear. It was almost inaudible but it carried away all the thoughts from my head as if they had been nothing at all. I wasn't alarmed. I felt more disappointed, really. I couldn’t understand them and yet I could see right through them—I could see who they were so clearly that it tormented me. It was sickening to become the target of their infatuation so suddenly. I abhorred all that I considered shallow lasciviousness because it hurt too much to realise that I was born unable to fulfil their desires. I knew who had been calling them, I knew what they expected of me, and I knew they cried only because they were lonely. Ultimately, the only thing worth knowing is that they would never love me, at least not in the way I love them, and that’s why it never mattered in the first place. It was because I loved them that I wouldn't let them touch me and it was for that reason I refused to stay the night. I left at around half past one in the morning and the last train had long departed so I called a cab to take me home.

I made my way back covered by the cold shroud of darkness and slept through the long hours of the early morning. I had a dream that the future revealed its bare skin to me in the lonely, terrible way only it could. I wished it would never again fill my head with futile jealousies. My eyes once lingered upon the ring of their lover, so covered by delicate arabesques and so illuminated with moonlight. I once swore I would catch their tears like how the rolling waves catch the silvery dew of stars as they weep in the evening. That I did, and yet I could no longer remember it the way I did before. Even the sun had run away from me now. I found myself enveloped in the embrace of the moon.

[mushroomwriter]

Hello again! Just wanted to thank you from the bottom of my heart for making that hermanos gifset, you chose the perfect moment 🥺❤

Yes, it took me almost a week to sit and finish the spinoff since I knew it was so different from what I wanted, and apart from that 1 mention there's no sight of Sergio. Have you finished the spinoff yet? I too watched that moment and felt nostalgic before rewatching some of their scenes and the obsession returned :'D

Oof me too, I'll never forget watching that scene for the first time, Sergio's tears and screams were so heartbreaking, and just the fact that we only find out they are brothers WHILE ONE OF THEM IS DYING IS SO CRUEL! The Bella Ciao scene is forever in my heart, as well as the hug, love the way you phrased it "the quiet happiness when they see each other again" Sergio always looks so content when he's hugging Andrés, and one detail that kills me is that Sergio with other people (except Raquel later on) is someone who is not at all comfortable with physical affection, he's always awkward and stiff but with his brother? He's the one to pull Andrés in for a hug, he's the one that clings harder, he loved him so much and man they deserved better!

(pt 2) All the scenes you mentioned are my favourites too!!! Guantanamera scene is such a comfort scene, despite the sadness I love how Andrés is trying to make his hermanito smile, their adorable dance moves too, they are so precious ;___; LOL that monastery scene is such a BROTHERS moment, never fails to make me laugh. I'm glad it doesn't feel weird, I'm a little shy which is why I took some time before replying too but I loved reading your words abt the hermanos! Don't worry about picking one scene you just made my day by mentioning all of your favs <3 Thank you for the invitation to burst into your inbox to talk abt them anytime hahaha I hope you don't regret it 😁

Hi! I'm so so glad you saw it and loved it!! ❤❤ Right now I'm pretty busy studying since I have an exam next week, but I'm already thinking about what other moments I could gif (I'd also love to find some quote I could use for a gifset about their relationship...)

I haven't finished the spin-off yet, I'm actually still stuck at the scene where Andrés mentions Sergio lol but I will get back to it sooner or later! Also I love that that scene had the same effect on you!

I know, right?! While watching part 1 and 2 I kept wondering about their relationship, because they knew each other's name (if I recall correctly we learn the professor's name right when Andrés uses it in the Bella Ciao scene) and they clearly knew each other prior the heist, not to mention Berlín being so affectionate with him (ruffling his hair, hugging him!) and Sergio clearly valuing his advice... I was really there like "what's going on here what's going on" and THEN they dropped the little brother bomb right before Berlín's death. I will never recover from that.

You're so right, Sergio is so thoroughly comfortable with physical affection from Andrés, it stands out and it melts my heart! And on Andrés' part, well, his character is very... um, how can I put this, Unhinged Bastard Man?, but he can get so soft with his little brother and I'm very weak for it.

I couldn't agree more about the Guantanamera scene! Like, yeah, there's clearly grief in there, especially in how Sergio (who just learned about Andrés' diagnosis) is looking at his brother, but it's still such a comfort scene, with their love for each other and their silly dance moves!

Heh, exactly, that monastery moment is like ultimate proof they're brothers and it's so funny!

Sorry it took me a while to reply, I couldn't find the time right away, but oh, your messages brightened my day immediately, I love reading your thoughts about these hermanos too! I really don't think I will regret my invitation 😁

[katherineholmes]

I was not attempting to be rude I had seen post about the three women protagonists of Vampire Diaries and metta about children, particular how Caroline’s had twins because to write in the actresses real life children.

I am sorry, that something might have got lost in my translations, I am hopeful there are happy endings for Elena and her young family in both stories.

please don’t think I was implicating anything but you do good mettas is all and I thought I could see your opinion, I will be cautious to not write in offensive way any more.

First off, I'm really sorry if I was rude in my answer to the first question. I wanted to make sure I was firm, because I wasn't sure if it was asked in good faith or not, but it can be easy to overcompensate at times, and it certainly wasn't my intention to upset you, or make you feel like you can't ask me questions.

The thing is however, your ask said that it seemed like Elena didn't love the baby in my fics, and I understand why such a thing can happen. Elena is still adjusting to all the circumstances around her, which is why she is more focused on them. Not to mention, she's in her early pregnancy, it takes time for some people to bond with the child they're carrying, in a way, and that's exactly what's happening here, though she is slowly bonding. But, Elena has made conscious choices in both fics about what she wants for herself, without external influence.

In the meta I wrote about TVD and in particular about Caroline's situation, I was talking about the fact that the show, as in the narrative, lacks in giving Caroline autonomy. if I recall correctly, Caroline is saddled with children that aren't her own, without anyone asking her, and she feels a certain sense of having to carry those twins to terms, because Alaric doesn't have anyone. It's not just a surprise pregnancy, it's a surprise surrogacy - and then the show itself doesn't treat it with much sensitivity, which is what my complaint was.

On the contrary, Elena in my fics, has a surprise pregnancy. It isn't expected, but she spends a lot of time thinking about her decision. In both fics, she has the agency to get an abortion if she wants, but she chooses not to. That's the reason I got offended, because it felt like you were saying that I wasn't giving agency to my female character, when I do my absolute to make that Elena has her agency, and if she doesn't, then she fights for it, and takes it for herself.

My metas are my opinions, yes, and if I understand correctly, you thought I was planning to write about forced pregnancy and how Elena would get away from it? That wasn't what I meant darling. I was merely analysing a piece of fiction and drawing my conclusions from it. It wasn't really about pregnancy, not in its entirety, at least. It was about the fact that TVD frequently did not allow female characters to make choices.

And I'd like to think that I do give space to my female characters to make their own choices. If, within the fic, they aren't able to do because of another character, then that's because there is an arc in which they will gain their agency.

As for writing about forced pregnancy, I'm afraid it's an extremely complex subject with many social factors playing into it. Such a theme would require extreme nuance, a level that I don't think I possess quite yet, and I don't want to make a mess writing about something as important as this.

Once again, I'm really sorry about the way I said some things in the last post and if that hurt you in anyway. I misunderstood what you were saying, and as you said, things can sometimes get lost in translation. However, I should've handled that situation a lot better than I did, and that's on me. You needn't worry about making sure not to offend me - I'll make sure to communicate in a manner that is conductive for the discussion in the future.

Thank you for apologising, and for sending this post in, it does clarify a lot of that previous misunderstanding.

[never-ending-fanfic]

I guessed it

Let me rant

Star Wars as of the entirety of it was my dear fixation once around junior high, then I got into atla and voltron for a while and forgot about it. My point is, the fixation happened before the premiere of Rebels and only carried on during it's early seasons, then it stopped and I found something else, so I missed out on the premieres of the rest of the seasons.

Then one summer a few years ago, I needed some background noise and rewatched 1st season of Rebels and then carried on with the rest that I never saw before (I watched the 1st season when it first aired in my country, if I recall correctly). I had NO knowledge of the rest of the seasons, because I haven't been interested in Star Wars for years at that point. By the time I watched the 2nd season I suspected this might turn into fixation again and I was totally okay with it.

Back to Kallus tho

It's safe to say I hated his guts early on and literally at the beginning of 'The Honourable Ones' I still couldn't stand him. I had no idea what would happen in that episode, I went in completely blind. Which was just perfect, because by the time I realised what was happening (if I recall correctly, my exact thoughts were: am I about to witness 'enemies have to work together' trope? Yes past me, that's exactly that and more) it stopped being simply background show to my other hobbies. I watched that episode and as I learned about Kallus, I was shocked to see that I had some sympathy growing in me for him. It started around the moment he decided not to shoot Zeb but instead the creature- that was the moment I went 'there's still something in him, then'. And it only got more intense. Especially at the end. I specifically remember recording a voice message to my Star Wars Clueless Bestie™ explaining everything in detail and how I hope that Kallus turns good and that the creators don't miss a chance to be fucking iconic with his redemption arc. By the time I reached the momemt he came back, I was fully convinced that it was happening.

Then he was not in a few episodes, so I forgot about it and lost a bit of that hope that stirred in me then. UNTIL that one Fulcrum transmission. No idea how exactly it sounds in English, but in Polish the voice was not very easily recognisable through the transmission, the only thing I had was the mannerisms of the one speaking and I remember having so. much. hope. SO MUCH HOPE that it was Kallus. I was not sure, I only knew I wanted it to happen. And I was so ready for that (ask my friend, she was so done with me).

I think you can easily guess that I squeaked and screamed and ran around my room at the reveal in 'The Inside Man'.

It wasn't an unexpected plot twist, by any means considering the earlier episodes, but as a person who watched the sequels before Rebels, you can imagine I had little faith in well done spy trope (no shade for my sequel enthusiasts tho, I didn't specifically enjoy Hux's 'I'm the spy' moment). A part of me was ready to see the creators forget the already started trope and throw it in garbage. It happened before, after all. I would have been heartbroken, but I wouldn't have been surprised.

But then they didn't. They specifically went and made it happen and gave Kallus actual growth and actual character arc. That felt like a personal victory to me.

This was something. This felt earned. Earned by Kallus, yes, but earned by me and my hope that started at 'The Honourable Ones' and only grew the longer it lasted. Until the hope came true and I went feral

Thank you, that's my story

I came very late to the SWR fandom (the first time. I’ve come and gone for a long time since) but I just. I can’t help wondering what it was like when ‘An Inside Man’ first aired and it went from ‘there are rebels in the assembly line’ to ‘Oh yeah Kallus is Fulcrum’

But at the same time he’s acting Sooooo shady when he happens to be in the season before hand so I wonder how many people guessed.

[leclercdreams]

hi! can i get an imagine in which max v is taking care of the reader after an appendix removal surgery?

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮 ❘❘ 𝘔𝘢𝘹 𝘝𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯

pairing: Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

warnings: None really, just overall fluff, Max being a protective and caring partner

word count: 1.42K

a/n: All information was found on google, and translations are from google as well (despite me being able to read Dutch, I can't spell it or speak it really) ENJOY!! ps, Yes I am using summer break again.

Getting surgery wasn't exactly how you wanted your summer break to start, it was the only time you really got to spend with your fiancé. Max had a busy schedule all the time due to his job, one he loved and one you had come to love just as much.

Just three days before you both were due to meet your family in Ibiza for a holiday to relax and unwind you sadly had to call them to cancel. Now two days later you were led into the uncomfortable hospital bed having gone into emergency surgery to get your appendix removed.

Max was moving around the room freely while packing your things, you were allowed to go home if you made sure to not overwork yourself and take it easy for at least two to four weeks to let yourself heel. You could after a few days go on the holiday you two wanted to go on if you could get him to agree.

“Schatje, Are you listening?” Walking over to your side you looked up at Max and have him a sheepish smile shaking your head while he helped you sit up. “No, sorry. What did you say, love?” Taking a seat on the bed he grabbed your hand softly and placed the earrings you always wore in your hand that you had to take off for surgery, wincing slightly when you leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “And my ring?”

Your engagement ring was one of your most prized possessions, it was made specifically for you and if you could recall correctly Victoria had told you he spent almost six months of planning, choosing every little detail on the ring before your engagement. You loved everything about it and about the man who put it on your finger there to stay, only the matching wedding band missing that he had safe and hidden at home.

Sending you a smile he stood once again and reached into the tiny pocket of his jeans pulling out the shiny piece of jewelry. Grabbing your left hand he slid it onto your finger and kissed your hand. “Right where it belongs. Are you ready to go home?” “I’m more than ready, lover.” Helping you out of bed and into the wheelchair he handed you your pillow, and one of the bags while he slung the other one over his shoulder.

Covering your body with some of his merch you had loved since the first time you got it, the perks of dating at the time, and being one of the models for the photos meant you got whatever you wanted. Though you preferred to wear his hoodies just to have his scent with you.

“Mum said she and the family will still join your parents on holiday so it doesn’t go to waste. I’m sorry you have to spend your break stuck with me.”

Rolling his eyes he leaned down and kissed your head while wheeling you out waving at the doctor and some of the nurses. “It’s not a bother for me, and I have been thinking about what you said schatje, if you feel better and ready to move around we can go on a little holiday before the season starts back up.

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆���⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

You had never been so happy to be back in your shared apartment in Monaco, though you missed the gloomy weather of England you would move anywhere if it meant you got to be with him.

Grateful, would be one word to describe what you felt to have him in your life, before going home he had stopped anywhere to get what you needed before helping you get comfortable on the sofa in his gaming room when arriving home. You didn’t want him to change all of his plans so while you were there still with him as he insisted you were within hearing distance and to keep his eye on you.

He was about to go on a streak with Lando, the two continuing the antics they had started during the lockdown. “You sure you have everything?” Giggling at his worry and the frown that adorned his handsome face you reached out to where he was sitting on the edge of the sofa and placing your hand on his cheek. “I’m fine handsome, you enjoy your time with Lan, I’ll be here enjoying my own thing.” Nodding he leaned forward and pressed his lips to your soft ones, returning the kiss eagerly you poured when he pulled away.

“Just one more?” Chuckling he pressed his lips to yours again, sighing softly you relaxed and pulled away kissing his nose and looking into the beautiful blue eyes, the shade of blue that had become your favourite after the years. “Go on, I have my shows to catch up on, I’m behind on Love Island.” Humming he kissed your cheek and got up taking a seat on his chair. You had only placed one of your earphones in so that you could steal everything.

About an hour into the stream your ears perked up when you heard your name fall from your fiancé’s lips, “Y/n is doing very well, sorry for not getting back to you all I’ve spent my time taking care of her. She’ll be up and at it again in no time.” Smiling softly you turned your head to where he was waving at the camera that clearly showed where you were comfortable on n the sofa laptop on your lap. Looking over his shoulder he smiled and looked back in front of him.

When it came to nighttime and you had to take a shower you wanted to let out a loud groan, you weren’t quite sure if you’d be able to wash your dirty hair yourself not wanting to put too much strain on the stitches you had. Hearing a soft knock over the running water you looked into the mirror seeing Max enter.

“Did you read my mind?” “That would be pretty cool, but no, I was actually listening to the doctor when she came to talk to you.” You could feel your cheeks flame up while looking away from him, humming you got into the shower standing under the water thankful for the waterproof bandaid covering the small cut.

Not even minutes later you could feel his hands running down your arms, lips pressing against the soft skin of the shell of your ear a shiver running down your spine. “Need some help?” Turning your head to the side you sent him a smile and pecked his lips. “Please, my love.”

Wetting your hair you forced yourself not to let out any noise when you felt his fingers massage the shampoo into your scalp. There were many things that could be heaven on earth this was one of yours, he wasn’t working too hard on your scalp but also not too soft.

Staying in the shower for as long as you could you both got ready side by side, since he got with you Max had gotten into a nighttime routine, though it was much shorter and simpler than yours he left the en-suite with a kiss to your wet hair you wanted to leave to dry naturally to get the bed ready.

Replying to your mother and his that you were doing okay and you had the best carer in the world taking care of you. He was by your side when you got into bed wincing at the uncomfortable feeling, but when you settled in you sighed and waited for your lover to return to your side.

When he turned off the lights and slipped into bed next to you moving closer he turned on his side and paved his head close to tears his arm going around you careful not to put too much pressure on you. A kiss on your shoulder made you snap out of your daydream and look at him.

“Thank you, for taking care of me and for helping me, for being here, and for loving me. I love you so much.” Drawing patterns on your exposed skin he smiled and lifted his arm up resting on his elbow while he leaned down and peppered your face with kissed your nose scrunching up.

“I love you more schatje. I’d do anything and everything for you always. Now get some rest so you can heal and we can have a short holiday, yeah?”

Letting out a soft laugh you nodded and kissed him one last time moving closer to him wanting to be as close as you possibly could, maybe the surgery won’t stop all of your plans after all.

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