#Shutter 16

[autumncalls]

Got my film from my recent London trip back today and really like this shot

📍Canary Wharf, London

📷 Nikon FE, Fujifilm Speed Film 400

[genericpuff]

Tbh at this point you should just make your own webcomic app/website because it would probably be 100 times better than whatever going on with webtoon right now.

hahaha it wouldn't tho, sorry 💀

Here's the fundamental issue with webcomic platforms that a lot of people just don't realize (and why they're so difficult to run successfully):

Storage costs are incredibly expensive, it's why so many sites have limitations on file sizes / page sizes / etc. because all of those images and site info have to be stored somewhere, which costs $$$.

Maintenance costs are expensive and get more so as you grow, you need people who are capable of fixing bugs ASAP and managing the servers and site itself

Financially speaking, webcomics are in a state of high supply, low demand. Loads of artists are willing to create their passion projects, but getting people to read them and pay for them is a whole other issue. Demand is high in the general sense that once people get attached to a webtoon they'll demand more, but many people aren't actually willing to go looking for new stuff to read and depend more on what sites feed them (and what they already like). There are a lot of comics to go around and thus a lot of competition with a limited audience of people willing to actually pay for them.

Trying to build a new platform from the ground up is incredibly difficult and a majority of sites fail within their first year. Not only do you have to convince artists to take a chance on your platform, you have to convince readers to come. Readers won't come if there isn't work on the platform to read, but artists won't come if they don't think the site will be worth it due to low traffic numbers. This is why the artists with large followings who are willing to take chances on the smaller sites are crucial, but that's only if you can convince them to use the site in favor of (or alongside) whatever platform they're using already where the majority of their audience lies. For many creators it's just not worth the time, energy, or risk.

Even if you find short-term success, in the long-term there are always going to be profit margins to maintain. The more users you pull in, the more storage is used by incoming artists, the more you have to spend on storage and server maintenance costs, and that means either taking the risk at crowdfunding (ex. ComicFury) or having to resort to outsider investments (ex. Tapas). Look at SmackJeeves, it used to be a titan in the independent webcomic hosting community, until it folded over to a buyout by NHN and then was pretty much immediately shuttered due to NHN basically turning it into a manwha scanlation site and driving away its entire userbase. And if you don't get bought out and try your hand at crowdfunding, you may just wind up living on a lifeline that could cut out at any moment, like what happened to Inkblazers (fun fact, the death of Inkblazers was what kicked off the cultural shift in Tapas around 2015-16 when all of IB's users migrated over and brought their work with them which was more aimed towards the BL and romancee drama community, rather than the comedy / gag-a-day culture that Tapas had made itself known for... now you deadass can't tell Tapas apart from a lot of scanlation sites because it got bought out by Kakao and kept putting all of its eggs into the isekai/romance drama basket.)

Right now the mindset in which artists and readers are operating is that they're trying way, way too hard to find a "one size fits all" site. Readers want a place where they can find all their favorite webtoons without much effort, artists wants a place where they can post to an audience of thousands, and both sides want a community that will feel tight-knit. But the reality is that you can't really have all three of those things, not on one site. Something always winds up having to be sacrificed - if a site grows big enough, it'll have to start seeking more funding while also cutting costs which will result in features becoming paywall'd, intrusive ads, creators losing their freedom, and/or outsider support which often results in the platform losing its core identity and alienating its tight-knit community.

If I had to describe what I'm talking about in a "pick one" graphic, it would look something like this:

(*note: this is mostly based on my own observations from using all of these sites at some point or another, they're not necessarily entirely accurate to the statistical performance of each site, I can only glean so much from experience and traffic trackers LMAO that said I did ask some comic pals for input and they were very helpful in helping me adjust it with their own takes <3).

The homogenization of the Internet has really whipped people into submission for the "big sites" that offer "everything", but that's never been the Internet, it relies on being multi-faceted and offering different spaces for different purposes. And we're seeing that ideology falter through the enshittification of sites like Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, etc. where users are at odds with the platforms because the platforms are gutting features in an attempt to satisfy shareholders whom without the platforms would not exist. Like, most of us aren't paying money to use social media sites / comic platform sites, so where else are they gonna make the necessary funds to keep these sites running? Selling ad space and locking features behind paywalls.

And this is especially true for a lot of budding sites that don't have the audience to support them via crowdfunding but also don't have the leverage to ask for investments - so unless they get really REALLY lucky in EITHER of those departments, they're gonna be operating at a loss, and even once they do achieve either of those things there are gonna be issues in the site's longevity, whether it be dying from lack of growing crowdfunding support or dying from shareholder meddling.

So what can we do?

We can learn how to take our independence back. We don't have to stop using these big platforms altogether as they do have things to offer in their own way, particularly their large audience sizes and dipping into other demographics that might not be reachable from certain sites - but we gotta learn that no single site is going to satisfy every wish we have and we have to be willing to learn the skills necessary to running our own spaces again. Pick up HTML/CSS, get to know other people who know HTML/CSS if you can't grasp it (it's me, I can't grasp it LOL), be willing to take a chance on those "smaller sites" and don't write them off entirely as spaces that can be beneficial to you just because they don't have large numbers or because they don't offer rewards programs. And if you have a really polished piece of work in your hands, look into agencies and publishing houses that specialize in indie comics / graphic novels, don't settle for the first Originals contract that gets sent your way.

For the last decade corporations have been convincing us that our worth is tied to the eyes we can bring to them. Instead of serving ourselves, we've begun serving the big guys, insisting that it has to be worth something eventually and that it'll "payoff" simply by the virtue of gambler's fallacy. Ask yourself what site is right for you and your work rather than asking yourself if your work is good enough for them. Most of us are broke trying to make it work on these sites anyways, may as well be broke and fulfilled by posting in places that actually suit us and our work if we can. Don't define your success by what sites like Webtoons are enforcing - that definition only benefits them, not you.

[catsupport]

The Pawly Parable

Some alts below

With Collar and not because choices are hard (tsp fan irony)

this ad I got for that one cat game is literally narrator and stanley

[redsray]

Batfam AU where Jason never dies, so Tim doesn't join the family the standard way. Instead, he continues pouring most of his time and energy into his photography, eventually becoming known as a popular photographer for events and all that. So now, picture this: Tim gets hired to be a photographer for a Wayne gala. Obviously, he's ecstatic, because he can take pictures of Batman, Robin and Nightwing and be in their presence for a whole night. Since Tim is so naturally talented in stealth and taking pictures unnoticed, the second one of the fam realises this they're like: this kid is good. Tim manages to go unnoticed by all 3 of them (all bat-trained, one literally batman) multiple times during the night, and even when he is noticed, he disappears before they can manage to get a good look at him; to the sheer amazement of Dick and Jason.

Jason, (very discreetly putting snacks in his suit pocket): i know you're under the table, kid.

Tim: don't mind me, Mr. Todd-Wayne, sir, just taking a few pictures

Jason: right... Jason's fine, and what pictures were you taking from under the table?!

Tim, showing him perfectly good shots of him: these.

Jason: how did you get that. it looks like you took it from the rafters

Tim, nodding: I did.

Jason, glancing at the ceiling: ...what?

Tim, gone:

Jason: no fucking way.

Dick, hearing a very, very faint camera shutter from behind him:

Dick, turning around and finding no one there: what the actual...

Dick, getting the feeling of being watched and whirling around to find Tim staring at him from across the room: ... huh.

Jason, pulling Dick aside: you see that kid too, right?!

Dick, nodding: the camera kid, yeah?

Jason: who is that.

Dick: he's one of the hired photographers, apparently. one of the best in his field, despite his age.

Jason: he's good. like, really good. snuck up on me 4 times already, the little bastard.

Dick: you too? i swear he's constantly watching. it's creepy how well he can sneak past both of us.

Jason:

Dick:

Jason: you don't think...

Dick: no. B would've told us.

Jason:

Dick:

Dick: did he get another kid and not tell us somehow

Bruce: what do you mean another kid?

Jason: you heard us. did you adopt another kid and not tell us?!

Bruce: no?? how would I even?? ... what's this about?

Dick: one of the photographers has managed to sneak up on both me and Jay multiple times already

Bruce: what.

Jason: he also can't be more than like. 15 or 16. so forgive us for assuming you took another one in.

Bruce: do you know his name?

Dick:

Jason:

Bruce: really?

Dick: in our defence, he's very hard to catch. i wouldn't be surprised if he's snuck up on you, too.

[camera shutter noise]

All of them, whipping their heads toward the sound only to find nothing but air:

Tim, smiling from the other side of the room:

Jason: do you see what we mean?!

Cue an entire night of shenanigans where it's just Dick, Jason and Bruce trying to catch Tim and learn about him. Upon finding out who he is and where he lives, Dick immediately asks to keep him as an honorary member of the family. Jason is hesitant at first but at some point Tim calls Bruce Batman instead of Mr. Wayne on accident and Jason laughs so hard he's basically won over. Bruce can do nothing but watch as Tim proceeds to come over almost every night for sleepovers and is coddled by both of his sons. And he can't deny, the kid's investigation and stealth skills are top tier. By the time Dick and Jason both start referring to Tim as 'their younger brother' Bruce has just accepted his fate.

[fridgemissionmaster]

Can’t Sleep, Love: You can’t sleep and bug your demon about it (bros)

It was too hot. Well, your body was, the world beyond your bed freezing. Your mind could not stop racing, paranoia screaming at you to turn on the lights, look around the corner, to not keep your back to the door. Stress squeezed your lungs, breath shuttering.

It was the middle of the night, and you could not sleep. Even if you tried something deep in your belly knew it’d be restless, nothing but nightmares.

Was this any better though, being stuck in your head, waiting through every agonizing second, eyes flickering to the clock just waiting for morning to come.

Stomach churned, acid threatening to crawl up your throat, that disgusting aftertaste clinging to the back of your tongue, the stress of… everything, making you sick.

You just… could not stand to stay in bed anymore. What then though? Doom scroll knowing you’d only get a headache and placing the final nail in the coffin of you getting ANY rest at all?

Warnings: Lucifer: alcoholism, Leviathan: references to lesson 16, Satan: allusions to death/murder, Beelzebub: references to lesson 16

Lucifer

Surely the workaholic was still awake, signing papers meant for the prince, responsibilities not his own being shoved his way.

Your heart raced, was it the wide awake-exhaustion or the paranoia pricking at the back of your mind, you couldn’t discern.

Foot falls quickly and quietly padded across those wooden floors.

You weren’t sure why Lucifer’s office was hidden away, everybody knew where it was, it practically being treated as another common room like your bedroom or kitchen, yet there was still something… enchanting about having to tug on the out of place book to make the bookshelf jolt, before sliding to the side, just enough for the entrance way to be revealed as well as that staircase beyond it.

You froze for a moment on the top of those steps, those piercing eyes already on you. You expected to find them possibly leering from the desk, but no.

An arm lazily draped over the backrest of the couch, head smooshed and resting against the shoulder he peered over to you, face completely flushed, just about as red as his eyes or his nail polish.

A piano and violin duet drifted through the air.

He just stared for a while before a dopy smile slowly drew on his lips.

The sleeves of his button-up were rolled up, gloves discarded on the table beside bottles, several knocked over empty of their contents.

You knew the man had some alcoholic tendencies but…

You hoped it wasn’t as bad as it had appeared in the moment and that he was just very stressed from whatever nonsense Diavolo discarded for Lucifer to clean up this time.

He made no move but those eyes following after you as you crept down those steps. Once you couldn’t be followed any more, he turned around, grabbing one of those bottles, almost knocking another one over in the process before filling that empty champagne flute.

Cheerily he held it to you, the glass slightly tiled, off kilter in hand, that blue liquid almost spilling out. Quickly you took it, fearing Lucifer would lose his grip.

Those fingers twitched as they brushed against your’s, a soft sigh escaping him as he reached out, a hand on your own feeling that warmth. Delight played across his face as he squeezed your hand. A little giggle came spilling out, lightly jostling himself much more than a giggle should.

His breath reeked of this pungent fruitiness, practically burning as it hit your skin.

You let yourself be pulled in by that weak tug, the pair of you swaying across the room, the situation feeling almost dream-like.

He looked to you smiling ever so bright, so unguarded. Even as he tripped back, not crashing with you there to pull him up, his head thrown back in uproarious, almost hysterical, unnerving laughter. It was a new angle to see how sharp his chin was from the underside, his neck surprisingly thick and sturdy, shoulders broad, hair pulled back obscuring none of his face.

He did not refuse as you pulled him close to sway, his face flopping into the crook of your shoulder, a light pitiful laughter still escaping him, almost like crying.

Somehow you managed to drag him along, the man stumbling and humming all the way, the pair of you still in a dance. You regretted going up the stairs, Lucifer almost falling back, making you swear you got a heart attack from the incident.

Finally you managed to get back to his room. It was easy enough to get him to take those last few steps to bed.

You felt the bed bounce under you, Lucifer’s grip on your shoulder tight as he did as told. Even laying down he still swayed a little, incoherent mumbles melding into soft hums.

He felt so pliant under your touch yet you didn’t have the heart to pull away, not with THE avatar of pride nuzzling into your neck, holding you meekly like he didn’t have the strength to but wanted to keep you close. You couldn’t pull any quilts or sheets over yourselves but you did manage a throw blanket.

He melted and crooned as your fingers carefully brushed through his hair, brushing it out of his face. You shushed him sweetly as he tried to speak, you both needed rest.

WARMTH!

He awoke with a start, almost obliterating the intruder beside him before he saw, it was you.

You were beside him on the bed.

Sleeping soundly.

With a groan Lucifer clutched his head, it pounding and throbbing, that awful pain pulsing through it.

You

That wasn’t a dream, dancing together, not this time. But it was always a dream, having that quiet moment in the late night hours. It HAD to have been! Otherwise!

Desperately he tried piecing together those fragmented moments.

What the hell did he say to you in his drunken stupor!? Did he scream out his love for you? Did he say something unbecoming or beg you to stay with him or…

With a sigh he laid back down.

Just what were you doing up so late…

He didn’t like the dark spots under your eyes. Did he keep you up, had you only started getting sleep in the early morning hours to make sure he didn’t get up and do something stupid?

Holding you close he decided it was best to simply wait and rest after placing you back in your own bed. He could inquire about the night once he sobered up and you hopefully forgetting the incident, thinking it simply a delirious dream.

Mammon

He always broke into your room, why couldn’t you do the same to him. It was only fair.

Dashing down those empty halls, tripping over the stairs, you practically sprinting to his room.

It was always surprising how bright the man’s room was at night, soft glows from game systems, lights in display cases, and most notably of all the ones in the headboard of his bed, keeping the area around it gently illuminated more than the rest of the room.

It was easy for one’s eyes to adjust to this unlike the harsh florescents of Levi’s fishtank.

With a flop you fell on the bed, it shifting more than you expected, but you had awoken your first man, him practically leaping out of the thing with a loud, cutoff yelp.

Damn, and you wanted to poke his sleeping face, it’d of been funny.

Buggy eyes stared at you, your hand clamped over his mouth, a finger over your own, after all if the eldest caught you two surely he’d lecture you both the whole day through, for breaking bed time curfew, DESPITE YOU BEING GROWN DAMN ADULTS!

He glared, the look having no bite before it quickly melted away as it always did.

WHAT TH-

A hand clamped over your mouth before that squawk could escape you, Mammon trying to keep in his cackling, shoulders trembling, a bright smirk on his face, dewy sleepy tears in the corner of his eyes.

He LICKED you hand! THE CHEEK OF THAT MAN!

And you were too slow, seeing the glint in your eye and pulling back, leaving you to look the fool with your tongue sticking out.

Damn it, that smile and laugh too infectious, you couldn’t help joining in as much as you wished to stop yourself and feign indignation at his antics. Then again, you did kinda start this from his point of view, didn’t you…

You fell over, face landing on his pillow. Your demon looked to you, confused. He studied you, Mammon always did, why would anyone not want a closer look at the most precious treasure?

…

He laid down next to you.

Mammon always had that rugged charm, even with hair tussled and drool dried to the corner of his mouth he looked handsome. It was hard to read his expression in that moment, but there was definitely something. Calm… serious perhaps? Well dragons always took guarding their hoard seriously.

And he got up and left?

You sat up, watching as he went up those steps, pausing for a moment tilting his head to the top before continuing.

Well… what else was there to do but follow?

A door to his Demonio open for you, him already behind the driver’s seat, an arm hanging across your seat. But wasn’t this car THAT one? Literally the first thing he ever bought after…

Normally, being in such an expensive and sentimental piece one would be nervous to touch the thing fearing hurting it, and it’s owner’s feelings, however… just like ALWAYS, Mammon made you feel comfortable, relaxed.

He quirked a brow as you just stood there before smirking and coaxing you in.

That sort of… confidence, or whatever one wanted to call it, that sort of soft cockiness. That was one trait one could never deny the man had, even under all that impulsive recklessness that got him dismissed, that stride, that swagger of a man with the whole world in his pocket. A jewel to be held only in a velvet case. Strong, and soft.

Those eyes slightly droopy from sleep and unguarded.

Truly a beautiful contradiction of a person at first glance.

Smile sharp, a fang on full display, giddiness beginning to overtake him. He gripped the wheel tight, the pair of you were going to have to peel out of there fast once the garage door opened, the thing a bit too loud, especially in the middle of the night.

Engine roared the moment his foot slammed on the pedal, tires screeching for but a moment sharply turning!

Colorful lights raced by, the car slowly slowing down after that sudden burst. You were at one of the high paths, the heart of the city seemingly far down below, the castle now in the distance the only thing near your level.

Neither of you reached for the radio, the purr of the engine enough.

 Soon lights disappeared, fading into the distance, roads slightly bumpy, gently rocking the car, the occasional soft bump disturbing the consistent movement.

… Were the seats heated? Or had it just been that long since you had last been in a car at night, you didn’t remember it being this cozy though. You looked to Mammon as if that’d magically give you an answer. He still faced the rode, yet he was looking to you too from the corner of his eye.

Actually where were you going anyway?

It didn’t matter really, whatever plan Mammon had, you’d follow, just as he would for you, hell, you didn’t ask questions when following him to the car, so why would you now?

It was nice though…

The road ahead seemed endless.

Damn his neck hurt. As comfortable as his 666 Lexura was, it wasn’t meant to make for a good bed.

Maybe for a demon at least, you seemed just fine.

…

Good, the dark spots under your eyes faded some.

He leaned back, taking in that gorgeous moonrise. He was so tempted to startle ya, it was only fair after the scare you gave him, but… he couldn’t, you were finally asleep after looking so exhausted.

He’d just get his revenge later. For now, since the pair of you were out anyway, where should you go next? Maybe just keep driving, he’d run into something you’d like eventually.

Leviathan

At the very least, you knew with almost certainty that you weren’t the only one awake.

Up the stairs, around the corner that place was not far.

It was almost instinct to knock and recite those phrases when standing before that door, however on nights like these, you had to use a different key. Before even leaving your room you sent ‘.’ in the group chat, then when arriving at that door it was already open a crack.

You always had to cover your eyes when sneaking into the room, the screens and fishtank too bright and blinding, the space no different than it would be during the day.

Keys softly tap, tap, rapped away, the only sound other than the hum of the computer and tank.

You took a minuet to sit on the floor behind that thick bookshelf, it’s shadow blocking just enough so it all wasn’t as much of a strain on the eyes.

It these moments you really got to take in Levi’s room, usually whenever you were here you were dragged straight before some screen or there was an emergency, it was rarer to just… BE there.

Watch as the reflection of the water above shimmered and danced across the floor. It always felt so cold there, but it wasn’t bad like air conditioning blowing directly on you in a winter’s day. No, there was no movement constantly reminding out of it, the feeling hung still in the air tenderly enveloping you.

Occasionally a warped shadow would come by, it broken up into what seemed like many and you’d look up, being greeted by Henry happily swimming along.

Eventually, when you were no longer blinded you’d creep out of that space, taking a blanket out of the tub as you made your way to the beanbag chair in the corner.

His back was to you still, so your gaze drifted back up to those hypnotic waves.

Not long and you heard his voice say something, assumably to the mic on the headset.

In that cozy console corner Levi always had your game within arm’s reach. There was a time when you were here almost every night with the only other one still awake in that haunting house so it was convenient to not have to dig it out every time.

Even after it’s long since been the time of Belphie’s return, and sleep choked your lunges, mind terrified to rest, something screaming this would be the last, there was always a place for you here, every night, no matter what.

A calm farming game…

What were you doing last? It had been so long you had forgotten.

Levi’s character kept waving to you, and you waved back. After taking a few steps away he waved again. Might as well follow.

Through the tunnel, onto the boat, it then dawned on you. You and Levi just unlocked a new farm land.

And so you followed him around, gathering materials and cleaning up the land while he ran around finding whatever was near by.

…

He played thousands of times before you were even born, and yet he always seemed so excited, running around your character and taking you someplace like the waterfall that had that rarer ore or to show you one could recharge more stamina when there were capybaras in the hot springs.

It was a long time after you started to play this together and a long time ago when Leviathan once admitted to you this was one of the first games that really made him happy, no matter how rough the day, it was this one that made things easier, that was why when you came to him that very first time, he brought out this one. You just didn’t want to be alone and would have been content with just sitting beside him… he couldn’t stand it.

All the files were filled and he ended up deleting them all, telling you they were all completed and he’d be needing more room to play again anyway some time soon.

Even this time there was only one file, all the others still empty.

The game wasn’t tedious, but there were repetitive tasks like watering the crops until you implemented sprinklers or petting the animals while gathering their products. The daily pattern was calming, engaging enough to keep your mind away from your thoughts but easy enough you could just… do them not over think about it.

Levi would collect you by the time you were done, give you a meal to recharge your stamina before taking you on an adventure, sometimes a side quest for one of the town’s folk, sometimes going to the woods to befriend a new monster to add to your ranch, sometimes to actually continue the main story of the game for once, sometimes you arrived at a festival or friendship event.

Honestly such a peaceful life, it was no wonder this was once of Levi’s favorites.

It always caught you by surprise when Levi save at the end of the day before quitting, not continuing to another day. Gently he pulled you up before filling his tub with blankets and pillows before leading you inside, and…

…

It was always easy to tell when you were falling asleep, and he didn’t want a repeat of that first night together when he kept you up the whole night and Lucifer ended up getting mad at you for napping in class.

He never went back to gaming too quick, paranoid you’d stumble into a nightmare soon after closing your eyes. He’d simply watch you for a little bit.

Truly a filthy, disgusting person, wasn’t he. To like knowing you’d go to him out of all his brothers, even if it was only for the convenience that he was already awake. Didn’t even have the confidence to tell you he couldn’t play that game without you, with you in his life, he didn’t need the escape, that you brought him more joy in the time spent together than all the happiness accumulated in his endless life.

Pathetic.

The least he could do was keep watching over you, play on one of his portable systems as to not be a TOTAL creep, keep his headphones off and volume low to hear you, glance over to check just in case.

Satan

There was just a chance, maybe Satan had gotten so absorbed in a book he hadn’t realized the time and was still awake too. But did you really wanna risk death by angry demon or collapsing mountain of books?

…

Yeah, you did, better than this torture at least.

Scampering down the halls, holding your breath you tried remembering that light spell, you certainly were not going to attempt going in there blind, you weren’t that eager for eternal rest.

You just hoped no books blocked the door as you tried getting in, you couldn’t stand being stuck in that echoing, creaking hall for long.

Perhaps you used a bit too much force for those imaginary books, the door easily slamming open, before immediately shutting due to the pile behind it collapsing.

…

So it was now an excellent time to run for your life!

Hell, even get caught on your own foot and crash down the stairs, certainly much faster than running down them, right!?

Fumbling in you practically threw your door shut.

Wait…

HE PROBABLY HEARD THAT!

Damn it, and you couldn’t even remember if there was a light in his room or not, did you just wake him!?

HOLD ON maybe, maybe he’d just assume it was a cat??????

OF COURSE HE WOULDN’T WHO WERE YOU KIDDING, YOURSELF!?!?!! AS IF!

Look, he liked you, you’re special and get privileges, maybe he wouldn’t be too mad… Even so you weren’t sure you could look him in the eye. Hi Satan I couldn’t sleep so I thought to wake you up about it. That was just rude and annoying, wasn’t it.

You proceeded to scream into your pillow from the anguish of it all.

Why couldn’t you just sleep like a normal per-

creek

…

RUNRUNRUNRURNRUNRUNRUNRURNRUNRUNRUNRUNRNRUNRUNRUNRRN

Items knocked to the floor, window thrust open with such force for a moment you wondered if it cracked before throwing yourself out hearing the door crash open.

Okay, OKAY woods! Woods are good! Hell, Satan literally got lost in em and thought the pair of you would never make it back in them! PERFECT!

Breath caught in your throat, heart pounding, vision blurred you kept running, even as your bare feet hurt, howls and scratches rang out, branches snapping you kept running.

You j-

Air was knocked out of your lungs as you were tackled hard in the back, yet never did you meet the ground.

And you… fell back? Your view was filled with leaves and branches, the occasional light of a star peaking through as the wind swayed that dark green curtain back and forth.

You didn’t dare move, strong arms trapped you, squeezing you, but not too tightly. Hot breath crawled across your neck in puffs. You could feel a pulse beat against your back.

And there you stayed for a long time, you thought at least, it certainly felt like it.

Slowly you were sat up.

There you were, in Satan’s lap. His eyes, they seemed feral, pupils sharp and thin that dark reflection somehow wider and brighter, his gaze boring through you.

And they closed before nestling his forehead against your’s. His jacket was draped over your shoulders. Despite his slim figure he seemed to lift you up with ease, carrying you along.

Funny how this time it was like he knew the woods like the back of his hand already getting the pair of you out. Admittedly the House of Lamentation was a little off in the distance but still. Of course after that incident he’d memorize the place like the back of his hand.

… Wait, then shouldn’t he have caught you sooner!? How did you get so far!? He seemed to know what you were thinking, his little proud smile shifting to something charmingly smug, simply holding you closer somehow.

It was going to be a lengthy walk back. You were tempted to tell Satan you could walk on your own and he didn’t have to carry you, but something in you knew better.

Under his breath he muttered a spell, any nicks and scratches on your feet and ankles going numb. You almost missed it, his voice so quiet amongst the sound of insects chirping and humming around.

And warm… he felt so warm against the cold.

With you he looked up to those shimmering stars above.

Huh…

He could wake up like this every day.

You and he in one another’s arms, warm and cozy in the quiet.

Idly he smoothed a hand up and down your back watching your peacefully sleeping form.

It was cute how when he tried placing you in bed you still held on to his neck, who was he to refuse your wishes.

He had plenty of time to ponder why you decided to start that little game of cat and mouse last night, but he had to admit after the initial worry that something was wrong and he saw you simply couldn’t sleep and wanted to play a game, he couldn’t help but hug you tighter, a twinge of excitement sparking in his chest!

You could be so cute, did you know that?

But now what? He knew for certain he wouldn’t be wanting to let you go any time soon. Maybe, you were trying to ask for attention in a round about manner, it’d only be fitting to ask you out and get away for the day.

For now, maybe he’d try getting more sleep, a moment like this with you was rarer what with his brothers always around so he should take advantage of this opportunity to simply be with you.

Asmodeus

No, you couldn’t. Asmo was very particular of his routines, including his beauty sleep, you couldn’t interrupt that.

…

..

.

Then again, how was he always able to fall asleep like clockwork? Maybe it’d be alright to just wake him up for a moment, ask, then let him go back to sleep. It’d be like nothing happened!

Quickly you tiptoed across the house, making sure not to make a sound as you passed the other’s rooms.

It was easy enough to slip in, no curses to keep others from getting in to pull pranks, steal things or some such.

The only light there was came from moonbeams through the window casting the place in a soft, pale, ethereal glow. Honestly whith how particular the man could be about his athletics he probably arrange for his room to look as such at night purposefully. That and all the flowers around and for a moment your mind genuinely wondered if you had accidentally stumbled into a fairy’s garden for a moment.

… You couldn’t help that twinge of annoyance that even when dead asleep the man was gorgeous. When he was trying he was beautiful but even when he’s NOT trying he still is! Or did he manage to make sure he always slept in the most perfect way to be oh so alluring to any possible passersby…

Who were you kidding, he probably did, if you didn’t know Lucifer you’d think Asmo to be the world class workaholic in the family.

His perfection had always been eerie to an extent, maybe it was something like ‘too good to be true’ that there had to be a catch to all this, you felt getting too close would spell your doom, that this moment was simply a trap. Yet still you dared to sit on the edge of the bed and… just took it in for a moment. The peacefulness.

And you poked his cheek. Very soft. Very squish and plush. 10/10 would poke again, and so you did a few more times, just to temp fate and prove to yourself that your anxiety was panicking over nothing.

It was funny seeing him unconsciously and languidly bat at whatever kept poking him. He was a surprisingly deep sleeper, you just needed to pause for a minuet before he seemed to be knocked out again for you to keep up your timid, ticklish assault.

You froze when those eyes cracked open.

He seemed confused blinking once, twice slowly. Then a pout formed on those lips. Your face cradled in the palms of his hands, thumbs pressing over the area under your eyes.

Did you have dark spots? Could he see them even in the dark? The moon’s borrowed light was at your back casting you in shadow so surely he couldn’t have noticed such a minor difference so easily, right?

With a little high pitch groan and stretch he sat up, an airy sigh escaped him, the one that always did when he had to state the obvious.

Of course he’d notice, he could never overlook a single thing about you even if he wanted too.

Before you could speak and ask your question you were gently shushed, Asmo weakly tugging on your shoulders. Not sure what else to do you followed that force laying down on the bed, silk sheets and fluffy quilt draped over you.

Leaving a peck on your forehead and he was gone.

It was not long and he was back by your side, tugging on your arm. The moment you got up a fluffy robe matching the one he wore was wrapped around you.

Of course it fit you perfectly.

He hung off your arm, leading you along out the house.

You often forgot there was a whole garden here, it was rarer for you to ever come by it, when chores were doled out Beelzebub almost always volunteered to look after it so it was not like you ever got a chance to work on it, and you certainly never had the free time what with angels, demons, monsters, reapers, ghosts and all manner of other beings fighting for your attention for you to take time to properly explore the place.

Rose archways, wall shrubbery, patches of various flowers you didn't know the name of, even a little pond water reeds grew out of. Simple compared to the sprawling maze like gardens of the royal palace that you had grown accustomed too but it seemed lovely all the same, you really needed to make time to properly explore it at some point.

It was nice though, to think there were still things for you to learn of this place and the brothers.

The pair of you stood under one of those archways, Asmo inspecting those closed buds, eyes half closed, an arm still loosely wrapped around your own. After picking a few you were taken back to the house.

Placed back on the bed you waited for him as he disappeared into his bathroom.

A warm moist towel was draped over your neck, a light floral scent drifted from it, likely from those little dark petals.

You didn’t question it as Asmo sat behind you, his hands finding purchase under the towel and robe on your shoulders, his thumbs slowly rubbing circles into you. It felt nice…

When was the last time you just… did nothing like this.

Oh, and when did this cutie crawl into his bed?

It took a moment of admiring you to notice not you or him things like the towel almost falling off your shoulders and those petals…

Did you two do something last night? Surely he would remember, but he couldn’t…

Wait!

…

Nope, still nothing.

But he did recognize those petals and that scent Midnight Bloom Roses, his go to whenever he couldn’t sleep, the scent so relaxing, but what were they doing around you? You looked perfectly well rested and relaxed but were you already like that or was it the flowers?

Well, you seemed content so what did it matter, he’d let you sleep, in in the mean time he could prepare some things to pamper you! You’d surely have the best, most relaxing morning with him setting everything up for you! You deserve it~

Beelzebub

Well, you might as well as wait for him.

You laid in bed, a couple of the hanging lights above you lit, watching as shadows danced through that colored glass.

…

..

.

Or would he.

Sometimes he managed through the night. As much as you wanted to see him, you hoped you wouldn’t, it’d mean that maybe, just maybe, no nightmares came to torture him that night, that his stomach didn’t eat him alive, that… that he wasn’t hurt again.

Knock knock knock

It was very soft, so soft that even in deafening silence where one could hear only their breath and the house’s silent groans one could have missed it.

Slowly you got up and made your way for the door.

There your gentle giant stood, he too seemed conflicted about your opening the door, but since you were together, you might as well as make the most of it.

The wall shared by your room and the kitchen was surprisingly thin even after Beelzebub tore it down so you always heard him when he went on one of these midnight kitchen raids. It was actually rather comforting hearing him in those early months into the exchange program, knowing your friend was awake and nearby.

How many times had you done this you wondered.

Beelzebub raiding the fridge while you found something from the snack cupboard. Sitting on the counter, picking at some dried fruit while Beel devoured all that was placed on the table. Eventually on the floor in the corner huddled beside one another trying to not grab something else to fill the void. Quiet talks about everything and nothing that only existed in the moment never to be brought up again.

How many sleepless nights had you been there for one another?

He used to apologize thinking he was too loud and had awoken you which… yes he did sometimes, but he long since learned that wasn’t the only reason you’d be up.

How at times it was… easier to spend time with one another under the shadows of night, his face obscured, his shared eyes behind darkness, hidden away so you could be with only him, in the present.

Only one time did he try apologizing for his twin but you immediately cut him off. Beelzebub had no reason to feel guilty yet he still did all the same like he had hurt you.

This was a mutual need, this time together.

Even after so long and getting on better terms with his twin, it was just hard to sleep some nights, school overwhelming or chaos wrought the day prior still buzzing around in your head.

It wasn’t always like this, before the incident it was because you were unfamiliar with the Devildom, Beel actually ended up giving you a lot of advice in those late nights like how it was rude to look ghosts directly in the eye or if one ever got lost in the Devildom they needed carrot tops or wheat grass on them to find help.

Sometimes it was still like that. But there was something about the night that tended to make one’s mind wander to darker thoughts. And tonight seemed like it had been a rough one for your friend.

Warm milk and honey was simple enough to make, and it was harder to tell if any had gone missing unless the jug was finished. The man was practically perched on your shoulder once he saw you pouring some milk into that pan.

It was more a off hand comment, but he did tell you once the drink was special for him, after all it was the first thing you had ever made for him. You didn’t know he had awoken from a nightmare, that it felt even worse with his twin gone yet somehow you knew he was hurting and made some for the pair of you, you admitted you were hoping to sneak some without anyone noticing to help you sleep, it was hard to what with being in a new place.

Once the milk was heated and divided into mugs Beel set about washing the pan while you mixed in the honey, something he could do for you as thanks.

A deep hum rumbled in his chest taking that first sweet sip, watching as steam gently drifted up, wispy and shaking from the cold.

He wrapped an around you, pulling you close. He was practically a heater, no matter the weather, hot to the touch, in the human world his touch may have been unbearable in the summer or day time, but in the eternal chill night of the Devildom it was so comforting.

… Hesitantly you reached up a hand, wrapping your pinkie around his. With a gentle squeeze he finished his drink before quickly washing and putting away your mugs.

Some nights neither of you wanted to be alone, your silent signal to ask the other to stay a while longer.

If felt childish sometimes however you knew Beel wasn’t a judgmental person and you never judged him whenever he asked the same of you.

Once pinkies were linked he refused to let go, even after you got into bed.

By morning he’d be gone, it was for the best really, his brothers would throw a fit if they found out about these moments and would demand the same. But you couldn’t, this was something for just you and Beelzebub.

There were times where still you couldn’t sleep, but the time didn’t feel as long or the world so harsh. However it seemed like this time maybe you would.

In your bed with you, Beel could understand Belphie better. Body refusing to move, too comfy despite knowing better.

He always hesitated, staying a bit longer than he needed, worrying about making the wrong move and waking you up. And so he watched for any sign, a twitch, an unhappy face, for mumbles in your sleep. Only once he was sure you were resting well could he manage to get up.

He’d sneak away for his early morning stretch and run.

He couldn’t help smiling every time upon his return, breakfast ready and you looking fine and well, if a little sleepy at the table chatting with his brothers or eating something delicious looking.

He could never help reaching out, patting your head as he walked by to the kitchen or nudging your shoulder as he sat beside you. He was just too glad you seemed better and had to do something about it.

Belphegor

The Avatar of Sloth, literally who better to go to when one could not sleep.

It was nostalgic skittering up those hidden stairs, heart racing from the strange shadows that chased after you as you made your way.

The door was already partly open, and peeking in you spotted your prey.

Ironic how he was so desperate to escape and now he freely came back for sleep most of the time…

You noted to yourself to bring this up to Satan, very cat like behavior.

Despite the attic becoming a new lounge area for the brothers it was still about just as dusty as you found it the first time, the dust tickling and getting a few sneezes from you. At least the bed wasn’t with how often Belphegor came to it for rest… Although in the end he was usually covered in dust.

With an unceremonious flop you crashed onto the bed beside him. All you had to do was turn your head a little to see him from the corner of the eye.

Gently you rocked him, calling his name. For you at least he tended to get up more easily than he ever would for any brothers not named Beelzebub.

Now that you thought about it though… you don’t think you ever seen Beel wake Belphie. Maybe something to try some time just to see, if he gets up instantly the info would be good for future emergencies.

Running a hand through his hair got you nothing, poking his cheek got you nothing, shaking his shoulder got you nothing. Odd usually at this point he’s at least grumble something about letting him sleep in a little longer.

If it were anyone else you might have felt guilty for going to extreme measures but, this was Belphegor, he’d just fall asleep instantly again in a minuet and it’d be like nothing had ever happened.

You warned him that if didn’t get up you’d do whatever you had to get him up.

Still no response.

…

So, time to shove him off the bed!

He was surprisingly much heavier than you had expected. That meant you should not have been as surprised as you were at the volume of that thud, yet still it caught you of guard a little.

Leaning over the bed you asked Belphie to wake up once again only to be taken aback!

He was schmunzling! AND DOING A BAD JOB AT HIDING THAT SMI-

WAS HE AWAKE THIS WHOLE TIME!?

Finally that snickering burst out of him and he cracked an eye open to see your ridiculous expression. He playfully groaned about how mean you were, how could you do this to him, so cruel, and at such a late hour too.

It was only fair that he got revenge.

And that was how a pillow was chucked at you with so much force you too fell off the bed.

HOW WAS HE STRONG!?

Already he was curled up on the bed looking at you oh so innocently all the while smirking! What a puntable face, just BEGGING to be smacked, yet he dodged your attack!

Even as you leapt up, going in for a swing, he blocked it with a new pillow!

War broke out! Swings from all directions, blow after blow of fluffiness crashing into another, war cries dissolving into fits of giggles and laughter leaving one out of breath and vulnerable to attack! Truly one for the history books.

Unfortunately so caught up in this little game you fell for Belphegor’s trap, him tackling you knocking the air out of your lungs.

You laid there a moment trying to breath despite all that dust flying about.

Belphegor was surprisingly heavy as you had learned that night, plenty of time he had used your shoulder or lap as a pillow, but it was something else to have all of you be his pillow. Or perhaps mattress would be a more apt word.

Try as you might to push or toss him off the man would not budge. And just as you thought, he was already asleep.

So was this your life now, to be stuck here forever unless the ever napping demon awoke?

…

The demon snuggled into you, so warm and soft, mindlessly you brushed your fingers through his hair again, it wasn’t like there was much else you could do other than follow his lead and try closing your eyes.

What a racket.

He tried ignoring the yelling and crashing that came from down stairs. It’s your fault really, he used to be able to tune out their antics but ever since you arrived and stuck your nose in every one’s business and made the house actually peaceful, disruption from that was harder for his mind to unconsciously gloss over.

For once you were not being dragged around some place or another, his brothers needed to learn that you needed to rest too, aka take more naps with him.

Maybe this scare of you being missing would teach them something about appreciating you and giving you the time and space you need to recharge, hell, they all got you so wound up he had to exhaust you to finally force your body to let you sleep.

And guess what, if you wanted rest, the only demons you could be with without you being dragged into some other world ending crisis was him and Beel, just a coincidence really.

So he let himself drift back off with you. You better remember this favor though, it’s not everyday he sees fit to put effort in for just anyone you know.

[lara4eclipze]

camera!..

[sypnosis] famous actor, y/n l/n had caught herself in a sticky situation — the situation? she was slowly falling in love with her co-star lara raj, will she succumb and take her chance or stay silent and lose the opportunity

[tags] fluff, angst, smau, swearing, offensive jokes, avantika is the face claim for reader, lara is sort of numb, reader is sort of problematic

[featuring] katseye, rośe, DA trainees, le serrafim, aespa, reneé rapp, and etc.

gaslight center || katzeye

01 - new world

02 - diamonds

03 - baddie

04 - FRIED HAIR

05 - loser lesbian

06 - coffee

07 - sweetie

08 - all because i liked a girl

09 - shes mine!

10 - is this pg 13?

11 - WTF?

12 - HOE

13 - haters mad

14 - i still get jelouse

15 - masc

16 - honey by kehlani

17 - PUH LEASE

18 - tokyo

19 - annoyed

20 - new character

21 - the jelouse game

22 - a thread

23 - 3 months

24 - talk

25 - giselles first tweet

26 - clubbing

27 - awake

28 - fetch

29 - fetus lara

30 - confession

31 - shutter [end]

[taglist] @wtfisthisnoclueman @reiiaokii @1luvkarina @yazzyminny @justtluvrr @sunshinez4 @jaythegirlkisser @meizinisnumberone @yeetaberry127 @goofymickeyr @awhrin @karli6 @p1hbrook @xochitlisbest @caratinluv @bowforgodjihyo @lunawriteskstuff @pionarchive

[minniesfiles]

BLOOM WITH YOU | month 2

❧ PAIRING; wonwoo x reader

❧ GENRE; angst, fluff, light smut

❧ WARNINGS; none

❧ WORDCOUNT; 1k

▁▁▁▁▁▁

series masterlist

𐚁₊⊹

▍16 FEBRUARY 2026

“Stop! That tickles!” you giggled. You squirmed slightly as you stood in the soft morning light with your shirt bunched up beneath your chest and belly exposed to the cool air.

Wonwoo was kneeling in front of you with a pink sharpie in his hand. He looked determined, but also mildly frustrated, as he stared at his latest attempt at drawing a heart shape around your navel. Your belly was still small but no longer entirely flat,

“Babe,” he groaned. He sat back on his heels with the sharpie still uncapped in one hand while the other rubbed at his temple. “Just stay still for one second. I need this heart to be perfect or it won’t look good in the pictures.”

You rolled your eyes and playfully crossed your arms over your chest. “You’ve already drawn four crooked ones. I think the baby will forgive you if it’s not Instagram-worthy.”

Your husband looked up at you with that soft grin that always managed to melt your irritation. “This is for our baby’s album, not social media. I want them to see everything and how much we loved them before they even arrived.”

Something about that simple statement made your breath catch. Even after all the years together, all the heartbreak and the six losses you never fully healed from, Wonwoo still had the ability to see hope. And to believe in it.

He reached forward and pressed a kiss to your belly, right over the half-formed heart, and whispered something you couldn’t quite hear. You felt the warmth of his breath and the soft scratch of his stubble. But most of all, you felt the gravity of his love.

You were ten weeks along. The bump wasn’t obvious yet. If anything, you just looked like you had a heavy meal. But Wonwoo noticed everything. The slight curve of your abdomen. The way your hand would sometimes drift to rest there without thinking. The tiredness in your eyes in the evenings, and the small shifts in your appetite. To him, those little changes were signs of life. It was proof that the tiny bean growing inside you was still holding on.

And so, every week since the hospital talk, he had been documenting everything. He turned your hallway into a makeshift studio, with white backdrop, fairy lights, even a ring light he ordered online “just to get the right glow.”

His camera, which he would often use for moody cityscapes and random low-light portraits, now clicked infinite pictures of you. Either laughing, crying, or eating pickles and peanut butter at midnight. But his favourite was when you’d nap with your head on his shoulder while he rubbed soothing circles on your back.

It had started as a simple idea: a photo every week, just to track the journey. But it quickly turned into a full-on project. Wonwoo was capturing memories. Moments. Little evidence of the love you already carried for someone you hadn’t even met yet.

“Turn a little this way,” he instructed, clicking his tongue as he looked through the viewfinder. “Okay, now place your hands under the bump — yes, like that. Perfect.”

You posed. But at the same time you tried not to laugh at how serious he looked, crouched like a professional photographer with a camera strap dangling from his neck. Like the professional he was, he moved with quiet precision as he snapped photo after photo, then stepping forward to adjust your hair or reposition the lighting with gentle hands.

The room was filled with nothing but shutter clicks and your soft laughter.

╴╴╴╴╴

Later when the mini photo-shoot was over, Wonwoo sat with you on the sofa. Your legs were stretched out over his lap while he edited all the photos he shot. The photos were beautiful. Natural and radiant. You simply looked so happy. Soft and full of a glow you didn’t realised you were carrying.

“See? This is what I want our baby to see.” Wonwoo showed you one photo in particular. It was a candid moment where you were looking down at your belly as you faintly smiled with a hand resting protectively over it.

“I want them to know how deeply they were wanted.”

You pressed your face into his shoulder to hide the sudden wave of emotion. “I’m scared to want this too much,” you admitted. Wonwoo didn’t respond immediately. He just kept stroking your arm gently, his fingers finding their familiar rhythm against your skin.

“We can be scared. That’s okay. But let’s still hope anyway” he finally said.

It was easier said than done.

Every time you dared to hope, every time you picked out names, imagined nursery colours, imagined what your baby would look like with your nose or his eyes — it always ended up with you lying within the four hospital walls.

But this time was different — or so Dr. Jung insisted.

The frequent checkups helped. Every week, she ran another ultrasound, checked your hormone levels, and adjusted medications. There were more tubes and blood draws than you wanted to count, and more nights lying awake wondering if every cramp or twinge was a sign of another loss.

But each visit so far had ended with the same sound: a stable, tiny heartbeat. The baby was holding on.

Dr. Jung was cautiously optimistic. With the added progesterone and hormone therapy, your body was supporting the embryo better than ever before. And with constant surveillance, she said she could catch the earliest signs of complication.

You remembered her words clearly: “We’re not waiting for something to go wrong. We’re staying ahead of it this time.”

It helped having her in your corner. She said the embryo had implanted in a healthy area. Your uterus was responding well to the hormones. Your blood flow was better than expected. The baby had a good chance — better than any of your previous pregnancies.

Still, the fear lingered. It always did.

You remember one night, when Wonwoo was already asleep, where you sat up in bed, hand resting lightly on your stomach. The room was dark, save for the glow of the moon through the window. “Please stay. Just this once…stay” you’d whisper softly.

The next morning, you found a small sticky note taped to the bathroom mirror in Wonwoo’s familiar handwriting.

▏We already love you more than life. Stay with us, little one.”

He never asked if you read it. He didn’t have to.

a/n; short but sweet :)

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 19

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11 || PART 1 || PART 13 || PART 14 || PART 15 || PART 16 || PART 17 || PART 18

Steve makes a noise of pain, and Eddie pulls back like he’d been burned. With how hot his face feels, he might have been. Eddie holds his fingers up to his own mouth. His lips hurt enough when he touches them that Eddie’s sure it’ll go down in history as the worst kiss in Steve Harrington’s life.

“Um,” Steve says, voice high and wobbly like he’s going to cry.

Eddie’d almost rather die than have Steve see him right now, but he needs to see the look on Steve’s face to ascertain how the hell he can fix this. So, he reaches up, fumbling blindly until the van’s interior light clicks on.

He blinks, momentarily blinded by the spots sparking in his eyes with the sudden light. When he finally blinks them away and catches sight of Steve, his breath catches.

Steve’s pressed hard enough into the van’s door that it looks like he’s trying to become one with it, and his eyes are wide and panicked, fingers clenching the fabric of his jeans over his raised knees. There’s a speck of blood on his mouth and all Eddie can do is hope that it’s his own.

“I am so sorry,” Eddie rushes out, shuffling forward in his seat, hand outstretched to wipe off the blood, but when Steve flinches away, smacking his head against the window, Eddie flings himself back, palms raised in supplication. “I shouldn’t have done that!”

It’s only as something shutters beneath Steve’s wide eyes that Eddie realizes how many wrong ways Steve could be taking what he’s saying. “Not like that!” Eddie continues, words tumbling over each other in his rush to get them out. “It’s just you were saying all that shit like I don’t want to be here? And I panicked, and just sort of…did that?”

Steve doesn’t say anything in response. He just sits, frozen, eyes unfocused. Eddie really wishes he’d say something, if only so Eddie can stem the stream of bullshit flowing from his mouth.

“Only, I’ve never kissed anyone before, and you’re supposed to ask first, right?” he rambles, still panicking. “Oh my god, I just like, attacked you? I’ll take you home if you want, oh my god, why did I—”

“You want to be here?” Steve blessedly interrupts. Eddie takes gasping breaths, eyes laser focused on the little furrow between Steve’s brows. “Wait, that was your first kiss?”

Eddie feels whatever blood had drained from his face rush back as Steve squints across at him. He’s not crowded into the door, but Eddie’s not sure the way he’s leaning toward Eddie with disarming focus is actually much better.

“I mean—well, you see—I’ve just never—” Steve’s still staring at him unerringly so Eddie takes a shuddering breath and finally spits it out. “I’ve never been on a date, kissed anyone, any of that stuff.”

“Oh,” Steve whispers, a look Eddie can’t read dawning across his face.

“Yeah, oh,” Eddie replies, chuckling weakly when Steve just keeps staring. Eddie looks away, unable to hold the intensity of his gaze. “Sorry I blew it like that. I just sort of panicked, you know?”

“Oh,” Steve says again, a different intonation this time, still just as indecipherable to Eddie.

“Yeah, oh,” he mutters again, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve, unable to look at Steve.

It’s silent again—Eddie wishes it was dark, too. He wants to go home, drag his comforter back into his room and hide beneath it until he forgets any of this ever happened. He might be under there for a long, long time.

But then there’s cool fingers against his chin, and when he jerks his gaze toward him, Steve’s golden brown eyes are very, very close to his own, his lips even closer with the way his breaths are puffing against Eddie’s open mouth.

“Can I?” Steve asks, making it clear what he means as he looks down at Eddie’s lips.

Eddie gasps, body aflame with the power of his blush. “You—you want to?” he stutters out. When Steve nods, still holding Eddie’s chin, he responds, “okay, yeah, yeah, okay—” his affirmations only being cut off by the soft press of Steve’s lips.

It’s soft and dry, pressed chastely against Eddie’s own. Eddie shudders, mimicking the minute movements of Steve’s lips against his own. It’s a revelation to feel Steve’s lips on him, even more so when he feels Steve’s mouth quirk up against his own, like he’s happy to be kissing the bumbling fool Eddie’s become.

Eddie laughs, just a little against Steve’s mouth. It turns into a groan halfway up his throat as Steve threads his fingers through Eddie’s hair, using his grip on the back of his head to pull Eddie closer to himself. As Eddie gasps, Steve brushes his tongue into Eddie’s open mouth, barely delving in before pulling it back and sucking Eddie’s bottom lip.

Steve leaves his lips wet as he pulls back. Eddie tries to chase his mouth, drunk off the feeling of it, but Steve’s fingers fist in the back of his hair, holding him in place. The feeling zings through Eddie from his scalp to his palms, that gentle pull hitting him like electrocution as he gasps back to life.

When he opens his eyes, Steve’s still close, smiling smugly at Eddie. It’s all King Steve without the bite. He wants more, hopes Steve keeps him around long enough that he can see it all.

“You said stargazing?” Steve asks, eyes twinkling brighter than any star in the sky.

Eddie laughs, something bright and bubbling filling his chest as he watches Steve laugh along with him, eyes crinkling almost shut, hand still clutched in Eddie’s hair.

He hopes, ardently, desperately, that a second date is on the table, no matter how disastrously this one has gone because right now, in this moment with Steve’s buoyant laughter echoing in his skull? Eddie’s obsessed with him.

“Yeah, big boy, let’s go.”

***

Steve leans against the cold metal of Eddie’s van and watches as Eddie bounces around in the light of the van’s headlights, helplessly endeared as Eddie fusses with the edges of his blanket until it finally lays wrinkle-free in an empty spot in the clearing. He rushes back to the van a few times, holding snacks and drinks behind his back like Steve won’t see them the moment he drops them to one side of the blanket.

He fusses with it all, too, making sure everything’s lined up just so. It’s so unlike Eddie that Steve might think he’s stalling if he wasn’t beaming the entire time. To finish it off, he grabs a smaller folded blanket and lays it perfectly parallel with all the snacks. Only then does he turn back to Steve.

“My lady,” he says, bowing low and gesturing down to the blanket at his feet. “Your chariot awaits.”

Steve laughs and follows his directions to the middle of the blanket, feeling absurdly guilty about his shoes on it. He drops, crossing his legs beneath him. Once he’s rushed over to the van to turn his headlights off, Eddie follows his lead, sitting close enough that their knees just barely overlap.

Steve blinks away the spots in his vision from the change in light before looking up at the sky. It’s bursting with stars, and the moon’s full enough to illuminate their clearing so that Steve can see the shadows of Eddie’s dimples as he smiles at him.

“So, I was thinking we could smoke a little?” Eddie says, pulling a joint out of the pocket of his vest with a raised brow. “But if you don’t want to, we can just relax.”

Steve grabs the joint from Eddie’s hand, letting his fingers brush against Eddie’s before plucking it free and putting it in his own mouth. Eddie stares, mouth parted, hand still held out despite now being empty.

“Well? Got a light?” Steve asks around the blunt, leaning a bit toward Eddie as he comes back to life and fumbles in his vest pocket like he’s on some sort of time crunch.

Eddie flicks his lighter and watches avidly as Steve sucks in until the cherry catches and burns. He inhales, trying for cocksure and suave, but it’s been a long time and instead he coughs a cloud of smoke right in Eddie’s face.

Steve rolls his eyes as Eddie throws his head back and laughs. “Yeah, yeah, yuck it up,” he says around each little, sputtering cough.

“Sorry,” Eddie replies, but he’s still laughing as he plucks the joint from Steve’s fingers and takes a much smoother drag, using his free hand to pat Steve on the back like he’s burping a baby. “Been a while, Stevie?”

Steve’s eyes are streaming, but he feels light enough that he could float away on the smoke as Eddie smiles across at him, joint still in his mouth.

“A bit,” Steve replies, cheeks heating as Eddie’s fingers brush against his lips as he puts the joint back into Steve’s own mouth, tip now wet with Eddie’s spit.

“Nice and easy, now,” Eddie says. Steve follows his instructions, taking a small, shallow breath in, fighting against the spasming of his lungs as he lets the smoke leave his mouth and float up into the night’s sky. He’s rewarded with Eddie’s quiet murmur of, “good boy.”

Then the asshole takes the joint back, raising his eyebrows tauntingly as Steve shudders.

“Shut up,” Steve mutters, no heat behind the words as he flops back on the blanket and looks up at the stars. “Now show me some constellations, Munson.”

Eddie laughs, dropping down so their sides are pressed together, heads close enough that Eddie’s hair tickles Steve’s neck. Eddie takes one more drag before offering it back to Steve. Steve’s enough of a lightweight now, that the few hits he took have him floating a few feet above his body, so he shakes his head. Eddie reaches over to stub it out in the grass without complaint.

“Okay, see those three stars?” Eddie asks, pointing up into the sky. Steve squints, nodding when he finally locates three stars that seem brighter than the ones around them, forming a wonky sort of triangle. “Well, that constellation’s called, How The Fuck Should I Know?”

A barking laugh bursts out of Steve as he turns to stare at Eddie, incredulous. “You planned a stargazing date and don’t know anything about stars?”

“Well, I thought it would be romantic!” Eddie cries, gesturing wildly enough that one of his hands smacks into Steve’s chest lightly.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Doesn’t even know anything about stars,” he repeats teasingly.

“Well!” Eddie sputters, wrapping his arm around Steve’s shoulders and shaking him around on the blanket as he laughs. “Wayne thought it was a good idea.”

Steve stops laughing, unease curdling in his gut as he asks, “you told your uncle about me?”

Eddie sits up, wriggling his arm from beneath Steve suddenly enough that he flops bonelessly onto the blanket as Eddie peers down at him, eyes wide and manic beneath the moonlight. He latches both hands onto Steve’s shoulders like he’s trying to keep Steve stationary.

“I didn’t mean to!” he blurts out before biting his lip. “It’s just, I tell him everything, and he knew I was upset, and asked what was wrong, and it just spilled out!” One of Eddie’s hands lets go of Steve’s shoulder so he can gesture wildly, like they’re playing charades and he’s depicting a clown pulling a ribbon from his sleeve. “And then he told me that he thought I was gay, can you believe that?”

And honestly? Steve can. But Eddie looks riled enough, and Steve just wants to go back to the calm intimacy of minutes before, so he grabs the hand still propping Eddie up with his own shoulder and yanks it out from under him.

Eddie goes sprawling, landing half on Steve’s chest where he wriggles around like a worm until Steve wraps his arms around him and holds Eddie tight to his own chest. Eddie shutters, then slumps, tucking his head beneath Steve’s chin with a groan.

“First Chrissy, then Jeff, and Robin, now your uncle?” Steve mutters, tightening his hold on Eddie when his words start him squirming again. “Who’s next, the pope?”

“Robin knows?” Eddie asks, breaths puffing against Steve’s sensitive neck. “That explains so much.”

“Hey, Rob’s great,” Steve defends, unsure what Eddie’s weird tone means. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life with her.”

Eddie snorts, but burrows his face further into Steve’s neck, planting a little kiss on the skin there. “You’re so weird.”

“Coming from you?”

“Oh, baby, you had me beat like three deranged decisions ago,” Eddie teases, but Steve barely hears him, too busy replaying baby, baby, baby, over and over again in his head like a cheap record.

“Shut up,” Steve mutters.

Eddie fights against Steve’s restricting arms until he’s propped up, smirking down at him, his curly hair curtained around them. “I’m serious! First, you write secret letters? And to me of all people?” Eddie crows. Steve wishes desperately that he could think of a way to shut him up before this gets even more embarrassing. “And the Chrissy of it all, Stevie, what the hell were you—mph!”

Eddie goes blessedly silent as Steve plants one on him, opening his mouth just enough to hear Eddie make that delightful groaning noise again. Steve wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist, pulling Eddie down until his full weight is atop Steve, anchoring his stoned brain back into his body.

Steve bites at Eddie’s lip, once, twice, before soothing it with his tongue and pulling back, high again off the pitiful groan Eddie lets out.

“I finally found a way to shut you up,” he says softly, but he’s smiling and running his hands up and down Eddie’s back as he pants.

Eddie groans, flopping off Steve, body still pressed up against his side. “You’re evil Harrington,” he mutters, reaching out to take Steve’s hand and squeeze.

Steve reaches for Eddie’s chin again, this time pointing it back up to the sky.

“You see those stars there?” he asks, pointing up and to the left of them. “It looks sort of like a weird rectangle with legs and a swirly neck?”

Eddie squints up, gaze unerringly facing the way Steve’s pointing. Steve watches close enough that he sees the moment recognition lights up his eyes. “That’s Leo.”

At that, Eddie whips his head around to stare at Steve suddenly enough that he breaks Steve’s hold on his chin. “Are you kidding?” Eddie demands, but he’s grinning now. “You gave me all that shit, and you ‘know the stars?’” He throws quotations around his words, making it clear that he’s mocking Steve.

For his part, Steve shrugs, still lying down and grinning right back as he replies, “I learned all the star signs to impress girls. And boys, now.”

As Steve reaches out to tuck a dangling lock behind Eddie’s ear, Eddie stares back at him, no longer grinning. “I’m a Leo.”

“I know.”

Eddie whines, “you’re going to kill me,” and drops back to the blanket, curling into Steve’s side.

“Nah,” Steve replies, uprooting Eddie just enough to reach over and grab the folded blanket to drape over the pair of them, cutting the chill in the air by halves. After all, they’ve got a high to wear off before Eddie can drive him home like the gentleman he promised to be. “What fun would that be?”

***

Steve’s asleep—Eddie can tell by the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath Eddie’s head and the way his breath whistles out of his nose. Eddie doesn’t wake him up. This moment feels too precious, this feeling bubbling up in his chest too new to disturb it, especially after the disaster that was the beginning of the night.

It’s just, Eddie’s never been on a date before, and he hadn’t accounted for the way the popcorn would make his hand too slippery with butter to even imagine reaching across the distance between them. And Steve had been very clear: he wanted to hold hands. And it’d all spiraled out of control from there.

He’s never buying popcorn again.

But, now he’s resting against Steve’s side, head propped up on Steve’s chest, hand clutched in his even though it leaves his arm at an awkward angle. And he’s contending with feelings he’s never experienced before.

It’s like there’s moths attacking his heart and lungs before fluttering down into his stomach, tickling his insides, making his whole being damn-near squirm with the foreign feeling.

He feels almost sick with it—is this what everyone means by lovesick? It’s awful, it’s spectacular. He wants to wake Steve up and tell him about the moths and their fluttering, see if he feels it, too.

But, Steve sighs, and even in his sleep, his arms reflexively pull Eddie tighter against himself, and Eddie lets himself bask in the warmth of his embrace until he falls asleep.

He wakes, his entire body cold and shivering convulsively.

It takes another shake to his shoulder to remember where he is and who he’s with. He opens his eyes to Steve’s face hovering over him, his hand shaking Eddie’s shoulder.

“Wha’s it?” Eddie murmurs, reaching up to rub clumsily at his eyes.

“We fell asleep,” Steve replies, voice gravely in a way that hits Eddie right in the gut. “Come on, man. It’s freezing out here.”

Eddie groans, but dutifully drops his hand from his face to grab Steve’s, letting the other boy pull him upright. It takes him a minute to reorient himself with the concept of standing upright.

By the time he’s upright, Steve’s stacked the uneaten snacks back into the bag Eddie’d brought them in, and is halfway through folding up Eddie’s blanket.

“Is it morning?” Eddie asks, squinting up at the sky accusingly as dawn’s light filters through the trees.

Steve laughs. “You’re cute when you first wake up.” Eddie stands there, brain now fully offline, cheeks heating even in the cold. “Now, come on! It’s cold as hell out here.”

The sound of his van’s passenger door slamming as Steve climbs inside sends him running; he climbs into his freezing van and turns the key in the ignition.

“The, uh, heat’s on the fritz,” Eddie mutters, embarrassed, as the van sputters to life. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Steve replies, and when Eddie glances at him, he’s smiling over at Eddie even as he wraps his arms around himself.

It’s a quiet drive, more out of sleepiness this time rather than the awkward journey of the night before. Steve reaches out to play whatever’s in the tape deck—Metallica this time, and he bops his head along to the beat while Eddie taps the steering wheel.

He pulls into the Harrington’s driveway, and puts the van in park and lets the engine idle.

“Well, I had fun,” Steve says, smiling as he unbuckles his seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride.”

Steve’s already out of the car and walking up to his front door by the time Eddie’s tired brain catches up. He’s out of the van in a shot, forcing his cold legs to move fast as he calls, “wait!”

Steve pauses, hand still on the doorknob, halfway through the door. But he turns around, and waits as Eddie rushes up to him, already breathless from his short dash.

“A gentleman always walks his date to the door,” Eddie says quietly, conscious of listening ears, even this early in the morning.

Steve beams, clearly ready to play along as he curtsies like one of the fine ladies in the movies and replies, “well, you’ve done your gentlemanly duty.”

Eddie shuffles his feet, anxious now about all the other things that usually follow the end of a date. “Uhh—well—can I—?”

Steve waits indulgently while Eddie sputters over all the things he wants, all the things he can’t figure out how to say. It’s okay, Eddie planned for this, so he reaches into his vest’s pocket, and pulls out a folded piece of paper, passing it to Steve like they’re in class.

Steve looks down at it, smile growing as he asks, “what’s this?”

“Open it,” Eddie replies, but he already is, smile only growing as he reads what’s on it.

   Second Date? Yes ☐ No ☐

   First Kiss? Yes ☐ No ☐

“I, uh, didn’t think we’d have already done the whole first kiss thing?” Eddie rambles, the longer Steve spends just staring down at it. “But, it’s customary at the end of a first date, right? I mean not that I have any experience. But, in the movies—”

“I probably have morning breath,” Steve graciously interrupts, holding a hand over his mouth like he’ll be able to contain the stench. But he’s smiling down at the note, Eddie can see the edges of his upturned lips between the gaps in his fingers.

And that’s decidedly not a no, so Eddie crowds Steve until he stumbles through his open front door. Eddie takes a precious moment to close the door to obscure them from view before he cups Steve’s cheeks in the palms of his hands.

“I can’t tell you how much I don’t give a shit about that, Harrington,” Eddie murmurs right before he presses his lips against Steve’s, gently this time because say what you want about Eddie, but he can learn from his mistakes.

It’s slow this time, languid. They’re both tired, and cold, and this date has gone on hours longer than it was ever supposed to. But it’s just as good as their second first kiss. Eddie’s mind goes blank—there’s nothing past the heat of Steve’s lips, and the way those foreign moths squirm within him as arms wrap around his waist. 

Eddie pulls away first this time, pecking Steve’s lips once, twice, thrice, when he groans a complaint. “Now, now, I’m trying to be a gentleman,” Eddie replies, hoping Steve doesn’t notice how breathless he sounds.

Steve pouts, but pulls back, Eddie’s note still clutched in his hand. Eddie stares at it, gut churning much more unpleasantly as he asks, “uh, and the other question?”

“Hold that thought,” Steve replies, and then he just—walks away.

Eddie stands at the threshold of the Harrington’s big, empty house as Steve disappears from view. Luckily for the health of Eddie’s heart, he reappears a few moments later, the cap of a pen in his mouth as he scribbles quickly on the page before handing it back to Eddie.

Eddie looks down at it, smile blooming as he sees the little X’s Steve had written in next to the Yes’s of both questions.

“But it’s my turn to plan the next one,” Steve mutters, and when Eddie tears his gaze away from the note, Steve’s cheeks are dusted with a light pink blush that Eddie has to resist the urge to lick.

“I can live with that,” he replies, damn-near buzzing with excitement.

“I’m going to knock your date out of the park, Munson, just you wait.” Steve’s got a cocky eyebrow raised like he’s challenging Eddie to a competition and knows he’s going to win.

He’s such a bitch; Eddie’s obsessed with him.

“Good luck, Harrington. We both know I knocked this one out of the park.” Steve laughs as Eddie mimes hitting a baseball with a bat with the best form he can manage, trying to appeal to Steve’s jock sensibilities.

“You brought it back around,” Steve concedes.

“But, hey,” Eddie starts, finally breaking eye contact with Steve so he can slip the ring off his finger and hold it out to Steve. “It’s no letterman jacket, but something to remind you of me until our next date?”

Steve’s eyes are wide as he looks down at the ring cradled in Eddie’s palm, and his fingers tremble slightly as he scoops it up. Still, he doesn’t hesitate in trying out fingers until he finds one that fits—the blue gem shines brighter affixed to Steve’s thumb than it ever did on Eddie’s hand.

Steve’s cheeks are darker now; Eddie wants to reach out and see if he can feel the heat through his skin.

Steve swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing as he looks down at the ring on his finger with what looks like wonder. “Thank you,” he murmurs quietly before finally looking up and meeting Eddie’s eyes. “Good luck getting my letterman back from Chrissy, though. She’s obsessed with it. I swear I even saw Jeff wearing it the other day.”

“I’ll fight her for it,” Eddie replies, mostly joking as he throws a couple half-hearted punches just to make Steve laugh again.

“You do that,” Steve says, still smiling as he leans forward to peck Eddie’s lips one more time before ushering him out the door. Eddie’s lips tingle the whole drive home.

When he walks through the trailer, Wayne’s on the couch, watching a game of sportsball on the TV, a mug of coffee clutched in his hand. He looks up when Eddie enters, smirking as he catches sight of whatever look is on Eddie’s face.

“Still straight, Ed?” Wayne asks, before taking a sip of his coffee like the meddlesome bastard he is.

“Shut up, old man,” Eddie replies, walking past his laughing uncle to fall into his bed for a few more hours of much-needed sleep.

PART 20

[revelboo]

Hello, I just wanna say I’ve been eating up your blog daily, I absolutely adore your writing and how you interpret the different bots, if it’s not to much to ask, could I request some more Waspinator?

Sure!

Worker Bee Pt 16

Waspinator x Reader

• “Nope!” Awkwardly sliding off the chair and into the floor to escape, you end up with a leg hung up on the chair and your alien bestie staring down at you. Scrambling to get up before he can ‘help’ you back up, you watch his antennae go back. “Remember the personal space talk?” Head tilting slightly, you shove a hand through your hair. Of course he doesn’t. You’ve only explained it how many times? “Okay. This is my personal space.” Waving your hands in front of yourself, you watch his wings flick. “Right? My space. This is your space.” Waving vaguely an inch away from him and he just leans forward, optics shuttering and pressing his face against your palm. “No, see, now I’m invading your personal space.” Even if it’s just a tiny bit cute. Blowing out a breath when he doesn’t move and just softly makes that humming buzz of noise. Right.

• Mandibles flexing when you pull your hand away, he watches you reach up and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Waspinator’s space is little friend’s space,” he offers and you just frown at him. Can’t understand why you’re so funny about ‘your space.’ You’re sharing a hive aren’t you? A nest? Why is he allowed to touch sometimes and not others? Deciding it must be a weird human thing, your moods indecipherable sometimes.

• Maybe you should try something simpler? Because you doubt he’s going to stop clinging to you like a little kid with their favorite stuffed animal at this point. “Sure,” you mutter. “Maybe just watch where you touch?” Antenna perking up, he’s at least listening. Maybe. Who knows what’s going on in that weird, little bug head as he looks at you then at his clawed servos. “Like,” you start, face heating. How do you explain this to a big alien bug robot with the IQ of a decorative soap dish? Gesturing vaguely with your hands at off limits areas and not even surprised he immediately reaches out and grabs. “Yep.” Prying his servos loose before he tries to squeeze, you gently press his hand to his own chassis. “That’s a nope.”

• Venting at you, because he likes laying his head there to recharge. It’s soft. “Why?” So many rules. Too many, but he’s willing to obey for the most part if it keeps his little friend happy. But he enjoys curling up against you, your warmth and scent soothing him. Reminding him that he’s home. And he’s not relinquishing that. Had figured out that if he just keeps asking why when you ask him to do things he’d rather not do, you eventually just give up and let him have his way.

• You already know that’s his go to when he doesn’t want or just flat out isn’t going to do something. Unless you can convince him there’s a good reason to not do whatever he wants. Taking a deep breath, you roll your wrist. “Humans don’t touch there unless they’re together.” See his mandibles open and hurriedly add. “Intimately together.” And he’s just staring at you with those big optics. “And then only after they date and get to know each other.” Still just staring and you wait for the inevitable ‘why’ or worse, to be asked about being ‘intimately together.’ Cause he would ask and just stare blankly while you try to explain sex to him.

• “Dating?” And your shoulders sag at his question. Hasn’t heard that word before. Listens as you start explaining and realizes it’s courting. Human courting for a mate. Candies and flowers. Movie night. Fancy food. Mandibles working, it’s a curious thing. Can’t really figure it out. The food, he understands. Proving he can provide. But flowers and movies? Knows humans are a bit funny, though. If ‘dating’ is needed to prove his place in your hive, he’ll do it. It can’t be that hard and then you’ll stop this ‘personal space’ nonsense.

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[snowysosturn]

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 21

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Finale

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: Angst, tension, arguments, hurt.

Nick and I stand there, frozen.

My stomach drops to my ass.

Christina is in Matt’s bed.

Fast asleep, wrapped up in his sheets like she belongs there. It reminds me of when I stayed in his bed in the house.

How could he allow her to do the same.

I feel Nick tense beside me, he's silent but I can almost hear the cogs turning in his mind, like he’s piecing together the same horrifying realization I am.

Then the ensuite door swings open.

And out walks Matt.

Messy hair. Shirtless. Sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Looks like she helped him out last night instead.

The second he looks up, our eyes meet.

And everything inside me stops.

Nick moves first, he could never be silent for that long. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Matt’s mouth parts slightly, but Nick doesn’t give him the chance.

“Seriously?” he seethes, stepping forward. His voice is a dangerous mix of betrayal and anger. “You fucking lied to me. To her.” His arm motions toward me, but I can’t move. I can’t even breathe.

Matt tries to speak.

But Nick gives him no mercy.

“I don’t wanna hear it!” he snaps, his voice rising. “I don’t wanna hear a single fucking word come out of your mouth right now.”

Matt’s face hardens, but he stays silent.

Nick scoffs. “You had one thing to prove, Matt. That you meant it this time.” He shakes his head. “And you couldn’t even do that.”

I can’t stand here anymore.

I need to be in my room. So I turn and leave the room.

Not fast. Not slow. I honestly feel like I'm floating.

I can hear Nick’s voice from down the hall, and he's not letting up easy.

“You either care about her or you don’t, Matt.” His words cut through the thick, suffocating silence.

“So which is it?”

I don’t hear Matt’s answer.

Because I don’t think I could handle it.

Nick’s POV

Y/n turns and walks away, and I don’t blame her.

I watch her go, watch the way her arms wrap around herself like she’s holding herself together, like she has to hold herself together because Matt sure as fuck won’t.

But I’m not done.

Not even close.

I turn back to Matt, still standing there like a fucking idiot, like he’s the one blindsided.

“You’ve gotta be fucking joking.” I breathe, the disbelief thick in my voice.

Matt doesn’t even try to defend himself.

Maybe he knows there’s no excuse.

Maybe he just doesn’t have one.

Matt motions me out of the bedroom before closing the door behind him, the two of us stood in the hallway.

“What, I might wake your precious Christina?” I sneer, pointing at the door. “Wouldn’t wanna interrupt her beauty sleep, huh?”

Matt exhales sharply. “It’s not like that.”

I laugh. “Oh, really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks exactly like that.”

He shakes his head, but I don’t soften.

“I’m so disgusted with you.” I shutter. “I thought you would be real this time. That if you were serious about Y/n, you’d to fucking act like it.”

Matt clenches his jaw. “Nick-”

“And what do you do?” I cut him off. “You self sabotage. Again. Like you always fucking do. Because you never know how to handle something real.”

Matt’s eyes darken.

I don’t care.

I take another step forward. “And Y/n?” I point a finger toward the door she just walked toward. “She’s the realest thing you’re ever gonna get. And you know that.”

He drops his gaze for a second, but it’s long enough for me to see it.

Guilt.

Good.

“You know it” I repeat, voice quieter but my tone stays the same. “And you just threw it away.”

Matt opens his mouth, but before he can get a word out, a door behind me swings open.

“Jesus Christ” Chris groans, stepping into the hall. He looks half asleep, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Can you two shut the fuck up? Rachel’s asleep in my room.”

I whip around. “Oh, of course she is!” I snap. “So what, you’ve got a girl in your bed too?”

Chris blinks at me, like he wasn’t expecting that reaction. “What?”

I throw my hands up.  “Seriously, who the fuck thought it’d be a good idea to bring girls out here?” 

I don’t care who hears me.

I don’t care if I wake up the entire goddamn villa.

Chris shrugs, unfazed. “I did?” looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“The fuck are you freaking out about?” he scoffs. “I like Rachel, so I flew her out. I can do that, you know.”

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Oh yeah? And you think that was a good fucking idea?”

Chris crosses his arms. “Why the fuck wouldn’t it be?”

“Because look at what you just caused!” I snap, throwing a hand back toward Matt’s door. “You might not have been the fire, but you sure as fuck were the fuel.”

Chris rolls his eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No, I’m being real.” I hiss, stepping closer. “I want them out. Within the next two hours. I don’t give a fuck what needs to be done. I want them gone.”

Chris’ expression hardens. “That’s unfair.”

I shake my head. “Unfair?” I scoff. “You wanna talk about unfair? Y/n spent this whole trip thinking her and Matt were finally on the same fucking page, and now she walks in to find Christina, of all fucking people, in his bed? And you wanna stand there and act like I’m being unfair?

Chris opens his mouth, as Matt stands awkwardly next to me.

Chris locks eyes with him.

“Wait, what?” Chris’s brow furrows. “She’s in your bed?”

Matt still doesn’t say a word.

Chris shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “Jesus Christ, man.”

I shake my head in complete disgust, looking between the two of them.

“The two of you are fucking idiots” I say, my voice filled with nothing but disappointment. “Absolute fucking idiots.”

Chris exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face, while Matt just stands there, still not saying a goddamn word.

I don’t have the patience for this. Not right now.

Without another word, I turn on my heel and storm down the hallway, heading straight for Y/n’s room on the other side of the villa. My blood is boiling, not just at Matt but at Chris too. They both fucked up, and they both know it.

As I walk away, I hear Chris let out a frustrated sigh before opening his door and stepping into his room.

Matt?

I don’t hear him move at all.

I get to Y/n’s room and try the handle, but the door doesn’t budge. It’s locked.

I sigh, knocking gently. “Y/n, it’s just me.”

A few seconds pass, and then I hear the soft click of the lock. The door opens, and there she is, completely wrecked, her eyes red and swollen, tears streaming down her face. My chest tightens at the sight of her.

“Ah no Y/n.” I mutter, stepping in without hesitation.

Before she can say a word, I pull her into me, wrapping my arms around her tightly. The second she buries her face into my chest, she breaks, her sobs shaking her whole body. I squeeze her tighter, resting my chin on the top of her head.

“He’s an idiot” I tell her. “A fucking idiot.”

She doesn’t respond, just keeps crying, and I hold her through it.

After a minute, I guide her over to the bed, and we settle in. She wipes at her face, sniffling, and I wait, letting her take her time.

Finally, I ask, “What happened last night?”

Y/n takes a deep breath, wiping at her damp cheeks before finally looking up at me. Her voice is quiet, shaky.

“It was fine at first” she starts. “Obviously I was so happy for you, then you’s got up and left after Chris did.” She trails off, taking another breath.

“Then Chris came back with them.”

I already know exactly who she means.

“Christina and Rachel” I say, and she nods, pressing her lips together like even saying the name makes her sick.

“Chris kinda insinuated to Matt about them two catching up.. Nate and I felt awkward, so we went and did two shots and when we came back Matt and Chris were gone, it was just Rachel and Christina in the booth.” She says, staring blankly across the room.

“I mean, I knew things had happened between them before, but Matt told me.. he told me he hadn’t been with anyone since..” She pauses, blinking rapidly, like she’s trying to stop fresh tears from falling. “Since that night in the house. And Vegas was after that, so I didn’t think, I hoped, nothing happened. But the second she started talking, I just knew.”

She clenches her fists in her lap, shaking her head.

“She was smug. She kept making these little comments, insinuating that they were a thing. And when I asked her outright how Vegas was, she just smirked and said “WhAt HaPpEnS iN vEgAs StAyS iN vEgas.”

My jaw tightens.

“That was it for me” she says. “I didn’t want to be there anymore. I knew if I stayed, I’d just get more upset, and I didn’t want to make a scene. I just needed to leave.”

She looks at me with tired, blood shot eyes.

“Nate asked if I was okay, and I told him it was just a weird situation, but.. the truth is, it wasn’t just weird. It hurt.” She pauses. “I don’t think anything happened in Vegas.. Well, I didn’t. But the fact that she’s still here, still acting like she has some claim over him, and the fact that he-” Her voice breaks, and she swallows hard before continuing. “That he let it happen? That he didn’t even try to stop it? It just made me feel like a fool.”

I shake my head, anger building in my chest.

“You’re not a fool.” I tell her firmly. “He is.”

She gives me a weak smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Me and Nate ended up leaving then, he didn’t want to stay either” she says. “I didn’t even say goodbye to Matt, but at that point, I didn’t care. I just wanted to be away from it all.”

I nod. “Was anything said at all?”

She sighs. “Nope, when we got back to the villa. I checked my phone, hoping stupidly that maybe Matt had messaged me. I know he’d seen I left. I just hoped that he’d care.”

Her voice wavers on those last two words, and I clench my fists.

“But there was nothing” she whispers. “Not a single message. Not a bit of concern. And I just, got so angry because I knew why I was angry. Because I care. Because I have feelings for him.”

She blinks, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

“So I turned my phone off and went to bed, hoping that if I slept, the night would be over faster.”

I take a deep breath, letting everything she just told me sink in. I already was mad, but now? Now I’m fucking fuming.

I run a hand through my hair, shaking my head. “I'm going to say it again, but Matt’s a fucking idiot” I mutter.

She lets out a small, sad laugh. “Yeah. He is.”

I pull her in again, letting her rest against me.

I let out a deep sigh, rubbing my face. “I feel awful for not being there for you last night” I admit, my voice heavy with guilt.

Y/n immediately shakes her head. “No, don’t feel bad. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were living your life which you deserve, you were oblivious to everything.” She sniffles.

I lean my head back against the headboard, exhaling sharply. “Well, this whole situation has officially shocked me into being completely sober.”

That earns a small giggle from her, and I smile, relieved to see even the tiniest bit of light return to her eyes.

I tilt my head, looking at her. “Do you want me to stay in here for a bit?”

She hesitates for a second before shaking her head. “No, I think I’d like to be on my own for a little while.”

I nod, respecting her space. “Okay. But if you need anything, I mean it, Y/n, just come get me. I don’t care what time it is.”

She gives me a grateful smile. “Thanks, Nick.”

I squeeze her hand one last time before getting up, heading for the door. Before I step out, I glance back at her, still curled up in bed, her eyes staring off at nothing.

I want to fix this for her. I want to fix Matt. But for now, the only thing I can do is be here for her.

So I leave her room, closing the door gently behind me, and head to my own.

Y/n’s POV

I drag myself off of my bed to  push open the balcony door, letting the early morning air into my room. I feel like I’m suffocating in here, like the walls are closing in on me.

I crawl back into bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling nothing and everything all at once. Numbness settles over me, and I let it. I don’t know how long I lie there, my mind running in endless circles, but it must be at least an hour.

Then, faintly, I hear voices outside on the patio. My ears perk up at the low tones, one voice sharper than the other.

Nate and Chris.

I don’t move, barely breathing as I listen.

Nate’s voice is quiet, laced with disbelief. “I just don’t get it, man.”

Chris sighs. “What?”

“This whole thing. I came home with Y/n last night, and I thought-” He pauses, like he’s still processing it. “I thought Matt was different with her. That he actually gave a shit.”

Chris exhales, and I hear the scrape of a chair moving. “I don’t know what the fuck is going if I’m honest.”

Then followed by a pause.

“The girls are leaving soon” Chris says after a moment, his voice more certain. “I told them they have to go.”

Girls? So that means Rachel is in the villa, too.

I close my eyes, pressing my fingers into my temples. The thoughts of the four of them being in that booth all night. It’s not the four it should’ve been.

“Good” Nate finally says, though his voice is distant, still caught up in his thoughts. “That’s good.”

Neither of them says anything after that, just the occasional sound of movement. I don’t know what to do with any of this. Do I go back to sleep and pretend I didn’t hear? Do I stay curled up in bed and wait for them to leave?

I don’t know.

All I do know is that I don’t want to feel like this anymore.

I swallow the lump in my throat as I hear the girls voices outside, light and carefree, like they have no idea the storm they’ve left behind.

They laugh, saying their goodbyes, talking about how much fun they had. Christina’s voice is the loudest, going on about how this trip is "so needed." Rachel thanks Chris for having them over last night, her tone full of gratitude, like this was just some casual getaway and not the disaster it turned into.

“We’ll let you know when we’re back at our hotel” Rachel says smoothly.

Chris responds almost too casually, “Yeah, do that. Hopefully, we can meet later. One on one.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling the sting in my chest. Of course. Of course, he’s already setting up another meetup, like none of this meant anything. Like bringing them here, ruining everything, was just some minor inconvenience.

How long are they even here for?

I hear the shuffle of movement. I hear Christina giggle, making some passing comment about how wild the night was, and then the sound of the front door closing.

They’re gone.

But the mess they left behind? That’s still here.

I should feel relieved, but all I feel is exhausted.

I don’t move from my bed for the rest of the day. Not for food, not for water. I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of everything settle over me. My mind replays every moment, every touch, every look, every promise Matt ever gave me.

Was it all fake?

Did he ever mean any of it?

Or was his plan to play with me all along?

I feel stupid. Completely and utterly stupid. I let myself believe in something real. I let myself believe in him. And now, I’m left here, in this bed, in this villa, drowning in the realization that I was just another girl to him. Another meaningless moment in his never ending cycle of self sabotage.

Tears well up in my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. I’ve cried enough.

Instead, I just lay here. Empty.

Four more days in this place. Four more days of agony, of being in the same space as Matt, of pretending I don’t care when it’s eating me alive. Within the last 10 days, everything felt different, full of excitement, possibility. Now, it feels like I’m trapped in a nightmare I can’t wake up from.

It’s confusing. All of it. The way he looked at me before, the way he made me feel like I mattered. And now? Now he’s just another person who’s shown me that words mean nothing. That promises are empty.

But one thing is clear.

I don’t want to speak to Matt again.

a/n : GET HIM NICK GET HIM (dw any questions you may have will be answered)

taglist : @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel  @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @chrisstxrnsaxe @sophand4n4 @vickytaa @marrykisskilled @bxtchboy69 @yourfavsturniologirl @julisturn @sydneyylainn @sophia-77n @trevorsgodmother @sturnslutz @yourmother29 @girl24cherry @astronea @pinkdyit

[girlkisser13]

aphrodite cabin headcanons

a/n: i know that the cabins are in order based on where each olympian sits on the olympian council but i find it funny that aphrodite is #10. get it? because she's a 10. i'll stop. 😔

children of aphrodite

• they're the most diverse cabin at camp.

• they're kind of like a cult.

• mean girls quotes. all day. everyday.

• they have loads of spare clothes that they lend out to new campers that arrive with nothing.

• they actually wear the least amount of makeup out of all the campers because they have the gift of natural beauty.

• they help kids work out their sexualities and make sure they're confident and okay with them.

• they are physically incapable of misgendering people.

• trans aphrodite kids can change their appearance at will.

• they know the basics of every romance language.

• they do couples counseling.

• camp matchmakers.

• they're the camp hairdressers and they also run a secret piercing parlor.

• sucker for romance movies.

• they have the most creative ways of swearing ("you impractical second hand prada bag").

• aphrodite gives them charmed bags that can hold ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING.

• they're particularly fond of sweet foods. like they need a little sweet treat after every meal.

• they keep a running list of the best make out and date spots at camp.

• they're always that person that has a tampon or pad if you need one.

• they're the type of people that will chop off their hair if it doesn't match their outfit.

• the cabin hosts regular beauty and self-care nights, where campers can relax and pamper themselves with facials, manicures, and other treatments.

• they are huge advocates of self love and self care. they do everything in their power to teach every single camper to love themselves.

• they are the most lgbtqia+ supportive cabin, as they are also very diverse in the terms of sexuality: imagine a ton of pansexuals, demisexuals, bisexuals, flirty gays/lesbians, a few aro/ace chilling in the background- everyone is represented.

cabin exterior

• instead of being a life size barbie dreamhouse like it's described in the books, its very subtle, and natural, and soft.

• the outside is pink, but such a pale pink that it looks white unless the right light is hitting it.

• there is natural ivy growing on each wall and onto the roof. It wraps around shutters and the frames of the doors.

• it almost looks like a small manor and like it should have been built on some far off hill that is surrounded by flower fields for miles.

cabin interior

• the inside is very warm and welcoming.

• there are so many pictures, posters, mirrors, and shelves that you can barely see the paint.

• lowkey feels like you're walking into a bath & body works.

• their cabin is filled with scented candles.

• pop music constantly plays in the background and everything in there is expensive as hell.

• their beds are tailored to each camper's exact taste. so it's a bizarre mix of furniture from a fluffy bed with 16 pillows to a bed that looks like it belongs in a prison.

• aphrodite charmed it so that it is bigger on the inside.

• there is a walk-in, expanding, closet where you put old clothes you don't want anymore and other siblings can come and get some new clothes if they need them (other campers are welcome whenever invited. it happens more often than it should).

cabin traditions

• at the beginning of every summer, everyone (if they feel comfortable) gets in front of the rest of the cabin and gives names, pronouns, and sexuality.

• there is an item from every sibling that has lived in the cabin somewhere on the walls. all of the pictures, posters, things on the shelves are placed there by a past sibling.

• there's a hook where, if your jewelry breaks in the cabin, you tie it off and hang it there. there is a necklace made of leather with a hundred year old stone heart on the hook.

divider by @chilumitos

[simspaghetti]

Puddlewick Place DOWNLOAD

Hello! I made a new build for Generation 3 of my Piccolo LEPacy, and thought I'd share it with you all as it turned out to be a pretty cute family house :)

I've also made this with minimal CC and as I built it for my LEPacy it only requires WA & Ambitions - so hopefully it will be more acessible than my other builds!

Tour Pictures:

Download & more info under the cut! ⬇️

Basic Information:

Price: Furnished = §196,177 / Unfurnished Shell = §88,901

Lot Size: 40x40 - Built on '16 Puddlewick Road' in Twinbrook

3 Bedrooms / 3.5 Bathrooms

Furnished for 4 Sims: A Couple, a teen & a baby/toddler

This home was built with my sim Ra and his future (potential) family in mind, so it also has a fire truck in the driveway for the firefighter career & a lot of ambitions skill objects around the house

Floorplan: (click to expand)

Expansions Needed: ⛺️World Adventures / 🏆Ambitions

Unfurnished Shell CC:

TS1 montecello door - ilgrandelama

DIY curtains - single 2x1 shutter (MTS)

Black & White Shingle Roof (MTS)

Additional CC for Furnished Version:

‼️You also need everything from the ‘Unfurnished Shell’ CC list‼️

Lemmylou eyelet curtains (all)

Deniisu's gently draping curtains collection

Unlocked painting stencils (via Tedhi)

9thWaveSims Height Adjustable Fire Alarm

TOU: Don’t reupload or claim as your own, tags on posts aren’t necessary but are definitely appreciated :) - Feel free to modify or refurnish the build however you want!

Credits: Based off of this floorplan, and of course thank you to the lovely CC creators I've used!

➡️ DOWNLOAD IT HERE

Link to Simfileshare folder with both Furnished & Unfurnished versions included - CC is not included you have to download it separately from the links above!

These are library files, so they go in your The Sims 3 -> Library folder

As always please let me know if you encounter any issues using this build!

Have fun using this build in your game! I’d love to see pictures of your sims using the build if you do tag me - and happy bonfire night! 🎇✨

[woradat]

SCENARIO: Hall of Record (1/2)

PAIRING – sentinel prime, airachnid, orion pax, d-16 x reader (bonus darkwing)

NOTE – please be informed that scenario-chapter is just an additional part/story that this expands on the HALL OF RECORD (one-shot) not a full series and this might come out a bit weird and a little out of character? I don't know. I wrote this fic with three lattes shot and a lot of confusion, so enjoy?

and you can tell who my fav is. I'm a little biased here

O r i o n P a x

The sound of the metal door—untouched for what might as well have been an eon—whined softly as it scraped against its timeworn track. The hinges gave a creak like an old archivist waking from a nap, cranky and reluctant, groaning at being disturbed after centuries of peace. It was a small sound, really. Barely louder than the low thrum of power conduits far down the hall

But to him, it was the sound of trespass

Orion Pax stepped inside as if the shadows might bite

Faint cerulean light dripped from ancient overhead strips, casting the corridor in the sort of glow usually reserved for ghost stories or forgotten secrets. The deepest level of the archive—the forbidden floor, shuttered by Sentinel before Orion had even existed—still exhaled softly beneath its shroud of dust and disuse. It felt less like entering a room, more like entering a memory that didn’t want to be remembered. He moved like a student sneaking into the dean’s office—half-curious, half-sure he’d regret it

His fingers grazed the edge of a shelf, careful not to disturb the decades of quiet. Or the dust. Especially the dust. It looked like it had unionized

“The Matrix…"

He murmured under his breath, blue optics catching the faint shimmer of dormant holograms “There has to be something here. A record. A clue. Anything” He leaned down, reaching for the ancient relay socket at the base of the console—

“Trigger that, and you’ll wake the whole sound grid"

The voice came from behind him. Calm. Dry. Unhurried. The sort of tone one used when catching a cat burglar who clearly forgot to check for traps. Orion flinched hard enough to rattle a few data shelves and spun around on his feet

You stood there, half-veiled in the shadow of a pillar—taller than he expected, posture relaxed, like someone who’d been waiting for him to trip the sensor just for fun. The faint light from your data reader bounced off your optics, revealing a gaze far too unsurprised to belong to a stranger

It wasn’t your first time sneaking in

“Who are you?”

He asked, voice low but edged with a kind of jumpy defiance. His hand inched toward the nearby control panel—not so much in defense as in that universal gesture of ‘I might make this worse but I’ll do something, I swear'

You didn’t answer right away

Instead, you let out a breath. You sighed—the long-suffering kind. Then tilted your head and gave him a look that could only be described as academic disappointment. You looked at him the way a librarian might regard a wayward patron using a sacred first edition as a coaster

“The better question is: what exactly are you doing here?”

“This isn’t a tourist wing. No one's supposed to be down here. Not unless you're a glitch in the system or a Prime in disguise" Your optics flicked over him like a scanner on autopilot—dusty fingers, light frame, and most telling of all: the cavity at his chest. Empty. No transformation cog. No fancy upgrades

A miner

Your field didn’t spike, didn’t flinch. Just took it in with the sort of ease that said: "Ah. One of those"

He bristled. Just slightly

“And what about you?” He countered, trying for defiance but landing somewhere closer to awkwardly offended “You’re not supposed to be here either… right?”

You smiled then. Not the friendly kind. The kind that curled at one corner like a page in a too-old book “Smart enough…” you said, arching an optic ridge

“For someone who leaves the ventilation hatch wide open while sneaking in"

He snuck into the archives more than once—and more than once, he stumbled into you. Neither of you had the right to be there. You both knew it. But you never sent him away and though you pretended not to care, you always watched him—always

Orion was like a flicker of flame brushing through the ashes inside you. A dreamer, yes—but not a fool. Funny, but never dismissive of history. Stubborn, but when you spoke, he truly listened. He wasn’t like anyone you'd met since the age of the Thirteen

He wasn't afraid to ask stupid questions and he wasn’t afraid of you. You often looked at him with a weary kind of exasperation, the sort reserved for someone who should know better. But he always laughed when you snapped at him, as if the weight of silence in the archive had never once touched him

You told him once—by accident more than intention

The air between you had been dusted with a kind of trust you hadn’t felt in countless cycles. A quiet ease. The sort that hadn’t truly touched you since the age of the Thirteen faded into ash

Orion Pax—a randomly-forged miner with far too much hope and far too little support—was the sort to chase impossibilities like they were his rightful inheritance. He reached too far, spoke too loudly, and stood too often where no one asked him to. And yet, he never stopped. Not even when they laughed

“..I used to be Alpha Trion’s aide”

you said, voice quieter than you expected

He froze. Then—almost immediately—he dropped down beside you, like the truth might vanish if he didn’t plant himself right there, fast enough to catch it. Surprise widened his optics, but so did something else—recognition. The name Alpha Trion carried weight: Scholar. Sage. Keeper of knowledge

“Really? I’ve heard of him, but it was always more like… like a myth—”

“It does sound like a story, doesn’t it?”

You gave a faint huff of laughter, more memory than mirth “But I was there. I walked the Hall of Records with the Primes themselves — I once transcribed battle doctrines meant to change the course of the war. I was Alpha Trion’s eyes. His ears”

“And now?” You gestured vaguely, as if your current state explained itself “..Now I’m ‘Advisor to the Prime’ Sentinel’s pet title”

“Sounds good on a datafile, doesn’t it?”

You let your gaze drift toward the ceiling “But it’s a cage. He doesn’t want my counsel—just my silence. He doesn't want me asking, no more. He says it’s time to let go of the past"

Your voice dipped on that last sentence, quieter than even you meant it to be. Beside you, Orion slowly set his hand—close to yours. Not touching. Not yet. But close enough for the intent to be felt

“So… what will you do?”

“How long will you let him keep you quiet?”

You looked back at the desk. Scattered with restricted data slates—salvaged from sealed archives. A few of which you had, perhaps, allowed him to read. Just fragments

Maybe, in some strange way, you weren’t so different from him after all. You’d slipped away whenever the chance arose. Found your way back into old vaults that should’ve been wiped from the map. You’d pulled truth from the edges of erasure, and hidden it in places no one else would look. In hopes someone, anyone—would find it. Someday

You smiled “It’s not like I’ve been sitting still"

He laughed—low and warm, like it lived in his chest “I think I’m starting to like you”

“No! I mean, I like it when you.. don’t just stay still!” You rolled your optics, but couldn’t hide the fact that the corner of your mouth twitched into a smile as well

“You gonna record me, then?”

“–If I ever turn into something important?”

You stared at him. Long enough for him to shift his weight, then chuckle—awkward and a little sheepish

“Kidding. I know someone like me doesn’t exactly scream historically relevant—”

“Please. I’ve been archiving you every days, spark-for-brains” You cut him off, tone dry, but softer than your usual “And if you ever do become something important… I’ll be the one to write that story. Properly. With footnotes”

He blinked — You didn’t smile–but your optics said enough

D – I6

The underground quarters of the labor miners weren’t much to look at

Concrete walls, low ceilings, overhead conduits that flickered as if sighing with age. Everything smelled faintly of rust and recycled air. It was the sort of place where voices fell flat against the metal and hope tended to decay faster than the tools on the racks. No one expected anything new to walk in and yet—one day, Orion Pax brought someone with him. Not a supervisor. Not a guard. Not an auditor sent from the upper halls

But you. You, who walked in with a step just slow enough to take in the room

Not cautious, exactly—but composed. Observing. Weighing. Like you had done this far too many times, and were still waiting to be surprised. D-16 recognized you before you even spoke. He had never heard your name—not officially. There were no public briefings with your designation, no files that reached the lower sectors. But he had seen you. On every state broadcast, every emergency address, every ceremonial function where Sentinel Prime spoke before the world. You were always there—never in front, but never far like the shadow just behind the throne

Orion had mentioned, in passing, that you had once served beneath the Thirteen themselves. The statement had sounded so absurd at the time—like someone claiming to have dined with myths. But now, standing a few meters from you in the dim half-light, D-16 wasn’t laughing

He swallowed. Then, before his mind could interfere with his mouth— “Did you… really meet Megatronus Prime?”

The words tumbled out like gravel down a mine shaft—too loud, too fast, and entirely unrehearsed

Immediately, he stood straighter. As if trying to fold the question back into his body by sheer posture. His arms snapped to his sides, shoulders tense, expression schooled into impassivity. But even a casual observer would’ve noticed how the plates at his spine had locked up stiff, and how his field—normally tight and subdued—now bristled with mortified awareness

Orion, standing nearby, shot him a sidelong look that all but screamed Seriously and pressed his mouth into a thin line, clearly biting back laughter. His field buzzed with that particular kind of amusement only friends could afford

But you didn’t look offended

You simply turned to D-16 with a slow, deliberate grace. One optic ridge lifted in mild surprise, not mockery. The look you gave him was not one of superiority—but memory. And something just shy of sorrow, your gaze slow and precise, like someone turning over an ancient page

“I didn’t think I’d hear that name spoken aloud” you said, voice soft and even “Not in this era. At least”

Something in the way you said it made the air feel older. D-16 opened his mouth to respond—then overcompensated entirely

“I— I mean, I respect him. Megatronus. I really do. Not that I don’t respect the other Primes! I do! It’s just—his power, it was… I mean, the records say he was beyond classification. Singular”

He said it all in one breath, like pulling off a bandage, or confessing something shameful. The words just stumbled out faster than he could polish them, tumbling over one another in a mess of admiration and awkward intensity. For someone usually so reserved, the enthusiasm betrayed him utterly — The silence that followed was so complete it could have been scripted. Orion exhaled sharply through his nose. If he’d had something to throw, he probably would’ve thrown it. But you—

You just laughed

Quiet. Warm. Deep. A sound dredged up from beneath centuries of dust, as if even your voice had forgotten how to smile “You’re the first to say his name with that kind of light in your optics since the fall”

“If Megatronus could hear you now, he’d probably be baffled that he’s become some kind of hero to miners” You tilted your helm, smiling just a little “Though, honestly, I’m not surprised”

D-16 looked like he wanted the floor to collapse beneath him. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to will away the flush creeping across his faceplates. But then—your voice shifted. Quieter now. Calmer

“I stood beside him. Yes”

You didn’t elaborate immediately. You let the weight of that admission settle, like dust returning to a long-forgotten shelf

“Not as a disciple” you said, after a moment “But as a witness”

D-16 froze. Not just with reverence, but intent. His posture didn’t just still—it listened “Was he really like the stories?”

You didn’t answer at first

Your optics drifted upward, tracing the long silver line of a power conduit above, but your vision reached far beyond it. You were looking back—through wars and ages, through the collapse of dynasties and the silence left behind “He was strong"

“Of course he was. But that’s not what stayed with me” Your gaze returned to him. You didn’t look at D-16 like he was a soldier or a worker—you looked at him like someone who had just asked the right question “What I remember most… was the way he shielded the weak. The way he stood between them and harm like he was born to carry the weight of their world, and never once questioned if it was too heavy..”

Silence again. But not a heavy one this time

A reverent, holding sort of quiet. Then, you stepped closer—not imposing, but deliberate. Your optics met his without flinching “If you want to walk his path…”

“Don’t begin with your fists, begin with what you’d give your life to protect”

You weren’t surprised that Orion kept returning to the old archive. He was persistent like that—drawn to lost records and locked doors the way some bots were drawn to light. What did surprise you, however, was that he started bringing D-16 with him. Not just once. Not as a fluke. But again. And again

Each time, the miner sat with his back straight, posture stiff as if the room itself required reverence. He never touched anything without permission. His focus was unwavering—his questions, clear and concise. Never a wasted word. At first, he spoke like someone walking on thin ice. Awkward, hesitant. Always respectful. And always—always—his questions were about Megatronus

“Did Megatronus ever overrule the other Primes?”— “Is it true he once fought a Quintesson with his bare hands?”– “What did his voice sound like?”

It was always about him in the beginning. D-16 would ask you to recount field notes not available in the public archives. He’d ask what Megatronus thought during the final war—what moved him, what held him back. And you told him. You told him everything you remembered. You spoke of war. Of victories. Of moments carved from metal and memory. You even told him how Megatronus once pulled you bodily from the battlefield—without hesitation

But then—quietly, gradually—his questions began to change. They grew softer. Slower. Less historical. He started asking about you instead. At first, you hardly noticed the shift. His voice was steady, his tone still careful. But the pattern had changed. His curiosity had turned inward—toward the storyteller rather than the story and you realized, one day, mid-sentence— You were no longer recounting the past. You were being recorded into it

He hummed

A low, thoughtful sound—less an answer than a pause, a space carved out to think, to consider. The kind of sound someone makes when they’re weighing the ground beneath them before taking a step they can’t take back and then, it came. The question.

Delivered with the kind of casualness that only made it more obvious

“And—did you… ever have anyone? Back then. During the wars" His voice caught near the end, like the question had tripped over its own boots on the way out

Your optics lifted from the datapad slowly. Not sharply. Just… knowingly “Anyone?"

It was a simple word, but layered with intent. You weren’t asking for clarification. You were asking if he knew what he was really asking

He immediately straightened his posture—a move so sudden it bordered on mechanical. Which was impressive, considering his spine had already been stiff enough to pass for reinforced alloy “I mean—allies. Or comrades. People you… trusted. Fought beside..”

The correction tumbled out like bricks falling into place—too neatly, too fast. His words tried to anchor the moment back into neutral ground, but the field around him betrayed him. It had shifted—subtly, but unmistakably. That buzz of restraint pulsing just a little too sharply at the edges. You didn’t respond right away. Didn’t reach for sarcasm. Didn’t turn away.

You simply let the silence sit between you—undisturbed, like dust in a sealed room “I had those” you said, voice low, level. A truth you’d long since polished smooth from memory “And more..”

That did it. The datapad nearly slipped from his fingers—just slightly, just enough. He caught it without looking, reflexes honed from years in the mines, but his control faltered for a breath. Long enough for you to feel the ripple of heat in his field. Not embarrassment. Something quieter. More sincere

he muttered “Right, of course- makes sense”

His optics stayed locked forward, trained on some far-off point just above the floor. Nowhere near you. Nowhere dangerous. And after a moment that pulsed like a heartbeat— He said it – So softly it barely left his frame “I think… I’d like to be one of them.”

The words didn’t echo

They didn’t need to

They settled into the room like something that had been waiting a long time to be said. You turned to him slowly

Not with surprise. Not with mockery. But with something gentler. Quieter. As though he'd just offered you a piece of himself he wasn’t used to sharing—and didn’t yet know if he should regret it. He didn’t meet your gaze. Couldn’t. But you noticed the tight line of his jaw. The slight tension in his servos. The way his shoulders rose—just enough to brace against whatever answer you might give and his field—normally so disciplined—was frayed at the edges. A flicker of static in his composure. Like a transmission that wanted to say more but didn’t know how. You didn’t press — Didn’t tease. Just… watched him, the way one watches something rare and very carefully offered, without changing your tone, you smiled. Not the kind of smile meant to reassure. But the kind that held memory in its corners. That knew what it meant to be seen

“Then start by asking better questions” you said, voice low—carrying more warmth than he probably knew what to do with “I might even answer them”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Barely. But it was there. Not quite a smile. Not yet

But close

You hadn’t said it like a joke. You hadn’t said it to dismiss him. You said it like you meant it. Like there really was a door, just slightly open, and all he had to do was reach and that—that was dangerous

Because he wanted to. He wanted to know more. About you. Not just the archive, not just your history, not just what you’d seen. You. The way your voice changed when you spoke of memories that mattered. The way your optics drifted skyward when you thought no one noticed. The way you never laughed at his awkwardness—only… watched. Quietly. Kindly. Like it didn’t bother you at all

He let his helm rest against the wall

Shut his optics

Let out a slow vent

He shouldn’t get caught up in it. He knew that. He was a miner. A worker. Just another cogless bot trying to survive and you… You were memory incarnate — You carried wars and wisdom in your voice. You stood beside Primes. You remembered gods.

What business did he have wanting to be remembered by you?

But still—under all that logic, that silence, that self-restraint— His spark pulsed just a little faster

S e n t i n e l P r i m e

The corridor stretched long and silent, wrapped in a hush that felt too deliberate to be natural—like a room holding its breath

Ancient murals loomed on either side, half-lit by overhead glowpanels designed to mimic the old morninglight of pre-war Cybertron. Each image painted a different fragment of the same sacred lie: unity, strength, unbroken lineage. The brushstrokes were delicate, reverent, rendered by artists who had believed the Primes were eternal. Immortal. Immutable.

You moved through that quiet with hands folded neatly behind your back, each step measured, silent. You had walked this wing hundreds of times before. Cataloged each pigment, each artisan’s mark, each brittle metadata layer coded beneath the paint. But now—even the images you knew by spark felt… remote. Like they belonged to someone else’s story. Your gaze paused at a depiction of Solus Prime—tall, radiant, her forge-hammer glowing in the cradle of creation. But the dataplate had been changed: “Commissioned in honor of the Divine Reconstruction”

Reconstruction?

That plate hadn’t been there last cycle..

Your hands clenched slightly behind your back, jaw tightened. Then—footsteps. Not hurried. Not stealthy. Just… assured. You didn’t need to turn. The rhythm was unmistakable

“You always did prefer this wing”

The voice came soft—too soft. Like an echo meant to blend in with the art.

“The lighting’s better here” you replied evenly “Less curated”

Sentinel Prime’s presence filled the space behind them long before his frame did. His silhouette—massive, statuesque, lined with cold gold filigree—moved into view with all the ease of a king inspecting his garden. But his steps were quiet. Thoughtful. He approached not like a ruler claiming ground, but like a memory creeping forward on quiet feet.

“I remember” he said, now beside you

His tone was warm. Familiar. Intentionally gentle “You used to drag me here to correct plaques. Spent hours lecturing me on timeline deviations”

“I let you talk. You do know that, don’t you?”

Your optics flicked toward him, then back to the mural “I wasn’t lecturing”

“You were” he said, smiling “But you were right. Mostly” His voice was lower now, quiet enough to ripple through the stillness like heat. He was standing just close enough for his shadow to graze the edges of your frame

You turned toward him at last. Slowly. He was tall. Too tall. The kind of height that once symbolized protection—but now only loomed. You wasn’t small, not by any Cybertronian standard, but beside him, you looked like something meant to be set aside. Kept behind glass. Preserved “That didn’t stop you from rewriting it all”

His smile twitched. Only slightly

“Things change”

“Convenient”

“I’m not here to argue”

“You never are” The space between them was thick with old familiarity, but strained now—like a song slowed half a beat too long, dissonant where it once sang in sync

“I miss when we used to talk” Sentinel said, his voice thinning with a note too careful to be casual “Real talk. You—challenged me”

“so I’m still here”

“You just don’t like the shape of the challenge anymore” He moved a little closer. Not to dominate. But to surround

“You don’t have to fight me..”

“I’m not fighting. I’m resisting. There’s a difference”

His expression shifted—only slightly. Not quite hurt. Not quite angered. But something beneath the surface moved “Then stop resisting” he said, barely above a whisper “Let me in again”

The words hung too heavy in the air

You turned to face him fully now, field flickering slightly—not with fear, but warning “You’re not asking me to let you in. You’re asking me to comply. To pretend none of this happened. That this mural, and the hundreds of others like it, still mean the same thing”

A long pause. Then—quieter “You want me to become part of the illusion..”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, his field pulsed faintly outward—magnetic, warm, intentional. The kind of closeness that might’ve once felt like comfort. But now only pressed too much, too close “I never wanted to lose you in this”

“Out of all bot, not you”

The words were too tender. Too particular

And you heard it — The inflection. That little fracture of emotion that didn’t belong in a public address. That wasn’t meant for a former archivist. That—if left unchecked—would lead to something harder to survive “Then you shouldn’t have replaced everything we stood for”

Silence

He didn’t step away. Not yet. But his gaze lowered just slightly. Not in defeat—but in the careful weighing of what he couldn’t control and just before leaving, Sentinel said—so quiet it barely moved the air “You don’t have to be the last relic of the past, you could be part of what's next”

“There's still a place for you, beside me”

Then he turned. The shadows swallowed him slowly, step by step, until only the lingering hum of his field remained—warm, familiar, and unbearably wrong. You remained there, surrounded by murals of rewritten myths and stories you no longer recognized, stared up at Solus Prime one last time. And for the first time in cycles…

You couldn’t remember what color her optics had been before Sentinel repainted her

You had always wondered—quietly, carefully—why the miners had no T-Cogs. Why these workers–those newborns, forged strong and silent beneath the surface of Cybertron, lacked the very thing that made transformation possible.But it was only ever a question left unspoken. Not because you lacked curiosity—but because you knew Sentinel would never answer you

And so speculation took root. Not in accusation, not yet. Just quiet observation—hypotheses formed in the hush between truths, the kind no one dared to say aloud. Still, you didn’t want to believe it. You couldn’t. Surely not even Sentinel could be that cruel, could he? Or at least, that’s what you told yourself. Until you could see it with your own optics

He treated you much the same as he always had. The teasing still lingered in his voice, familiar as a memory. The smiles came easily, often too easily—warmer than necessary, threaded now with a tension you couldn’t name. He could have just wiped you off. Silenced you. Replaced you. But instead, he kept you close. Closer than before. You told yourself it was strategy. Easier to watch you. Easier to contain

But perhaps, just perhaps— he couldn’t bear to let you go. Perhaps Sentinel had drawn you so deep into the architecture of his world that the thought of ruling it without you — felt incomplete, dangerous, like failure. And so, in every public address, every state broadcast and ceremonial decree, when he stepped into the light and into the eye of the world— you were always there. Not to speak. Not to challenge. Not to stand as an equal. But simply to stand. Beside him as if that alone would be enough. And it was. That’s all he needed. For the new age he ruled to begin—with you still in it

The plaza had been remade—not merely rebuilt, but reborn for this very moment. Steel arches arced overhead like the fossilized ribs of a long-dead colossus, burnished to a gleam beneath the planetary sun. Between them hung banners of deep cobalt, stitched in gold thread so fine it caught the light like fire

THE ERA OF CONTINUITY, they read

Beneath that, the unmistakable crest of Sentinel Prime—repeated, mirrored, multiplied across every surface like a sigil of divine right. A thousand optics turned as he emerged onto the marble dais. Flanked by honor guard. Flanked by silence.

And flanked by them — You followed exactly half a step behind, as protocol required—close enough to signify loyalty, far enough to signify subordination, your frame was immaculate under the precision lighting, each panel polished, each edge adorned with ceremonial filigree. Upon your chestplate gleamed the freshly-forged insignia of Principal Historical Advisor to the Prime—a title announced only a cycle prior, yet already murmured through the chambers of power like scripture passed hand to hand

Sentinel raised a hand

The plaza obeyed

“My fellow citizens of Iacon” his voice unfurled like silk over steel—calm, crystalline, unyielding “today marks not only remembrance—but restoration. A new page. A unified future”

He didn’t shout. He didn’t need to. His voice carried like gravity—inevitable, inescapable

Behind him, you held your stance with exquisite poise, expression serene, the curve of lips calibrated to precision—not warmth, not joy, but symmetry. The kind of smile meant for monuments, not mouths. You weren’t unrecognizable. You had merely become… curated — A fixture, flourish

“In every age of transformation” Sentinel continued “we must reach not only toward innovation—but to those who hold the lineage of wisdom. And so, I walk forward with those who once stood beside the Primes themselves” He turned—just slightly—enough to cast the gesture like a flourish of choreography, an artist unveiling his favorite piece “My advisor. My historian. My conscience”

Applause

You bowed, flawlessly. An angle measured. A nod practiced

“They remind me—daily—that the past is not to be erased, but honored”

And that, you thought behind your perfect smile, is what a lie sounds like when it wears poetry for armor

The crowd didn’t know. Couldn’t know

They didn’t see the redacted records, the vanishing cross-references, the warped timelines spliced together like a forgery passed off as scripture. But you did, knew every phrase pre-approved for the interview after this, knew which questions to feign surprise at, which answers to lace in ambiguity, which smiles to hold half a second longer—for the press, for the pose, for the pageantry

When the mic was passed to you, you spoke clearly. Without tremor “It is my privilege, to ensure that the light of Cybertron’s past still guides our steps. We move forward… not in forgetfulness, but in reverence”

The voice did not falter. But behind your back, fingers curled

Just slightly

You could feel him watching. Not with threat. Not with command. But with the kind of gaze one reserves for polished statues—an artifact restored, admired, and displayed. He stepped closer. Just enough for proximity to read as intimacy to the cameras drone. Just enough to veil the weight behind the words “That was beautifully said” he murmured

You didn’t even look at him “I know”

“You still surprise me sometimes”

“I shouldn’t”

He laughed. Quietly. It sounded like warmth. But you knew the tone was forged from pressure. You just smiled again— for the cameras, for the world, for the lie. All the while counting the seconds until they could shed this costume of allegiance—

and return to silence. To truth. To records that hadn't yet been rewritten

The applause hadn’t faded. Not truly

Even as the final words of the speech dissolved into the crisp evening air, even as the recording lights dimmed and flickered out, the plaza still thrummed with the afterglow of orchestrated pride. A thousand optics shimmered with patriotic sheen. The banners above caught the wind like the sails of a sanctified warship—reborn, rebranded

Sentinel turned slightly as they stepped from the marble dais. His hand extended—not in earnest assistance, but in something more… choreographed. Just close enough to suggest warmth. Just distant enough to deny obligation

You did not take it. You descended with mechanical grace, each movement refined to ceremony, smile remained a studied curve, not a flicker out of place, electromagnetic field was wound tight, compressed close to frame—static-thick, airtight. But Sentinel didn’t retract. He adjusted A beat. A breath. Then he fell into step beside them. One hand still positioned loosely at their back—not touching, not quite, but present. Suggesting

“You handled that perfectly” he murmured, voice pitched just for them—an intimate register dressed in silk “Even that line about reverence” he added, with a glint behind his words “It almost moved me”

“I was quoting your own speech, from six cycles ago. You just don’t remember”

He laughed—quiet, indulgent “That’s why I keep you close”

His hand settled lightly at the small of your back. A touch that, from a distance, would read as fondness. Dignified. United. Photogenic. The Prime and his trusted advisor—a tableau of loyalty

You didn’t recoil. But felt it. The message in the weight of it. The duration. The confidence. The performance. You tilted your head a fraction—not a glare, not yet, but a signal

“You’re taking liberties” you said, voice sheathed in quiet silk. A murmur passed as jest—but honed like a blade

“I’m taking advantage of optics” Sentinel countered, unapologetic “That’s what this office demands” He leaned just slightly toward you, as if confiding something lighthearted. The angle of his smile curled with practiced ease “Besides” he added, almost inaudible beneath the hum of the crowd “if I wanted to take liberties… I’d be far less subtle”

Your optics slid toward him — Sharp. Unblinking. Glacial “Then it’s fortunate, that subtlety suits you. It keeps your hands clean”

He didn’t respond immediately

Let the silence grow roots. Let the proximity say what words couldn’t. Then, with the grace of a ruler accustomed to applause, he stepped ahead. Half a pace. Reclaiming the lead. Shoulders squared. Expression unblemished. A portrait of command. A symbol of benevolent strength. Behind him, you followed. Impeccably. Your smile still worn like enamel. Uncracked

The drone captured the moment—the Prime descending the steps, his advisor close at his side. A soft brush of proximity. A glance. A smile. Unspoken trust. Unshakable partnership. A unity sculpted for the archives

You kept the pace

Matched the image

“You don’t want me. You made that clear from the beginning”

“No” he said, softer, took a step closer now “I said I could no longer have you in the same way”

Unmasked. Unarmored. No shield of title, no pageantry of power. You’d forgotten how tall he was. Or perhaps he had been refitted—Prime-forged and sculpted for presence. It hardly mattered. What mattered was how close he stood now, and how easily someone like him could end you if he wanted to. One strike. One breath

And yet — He never had. Not once. Not with force. Not with violence. He wasn’t that kind of tyrant 

“You were a pillar” he said, voice slow, deliberate “Unshakable. I relied on that. Trusted in it”

“But this world—my world—has no place for things that do not change” His tone was not cruel. It was… sorrowful. Almost reverent. The voice of someone delivering last rites to something sacred “That doesn’t mean I wanted to break you”

“You’re the last piece of a world that made me who I was”

A i r a c h n i d

The hallway this time was brighter

Wider. Less suited to shadows, and yet—still quiet enough for things to go unnoticed

You stood near the polished threshold of a secondary archive chamber—one of the newer annexes built under Sentinel's regime. The walls were smooth. Unscuffed. Sterile in a way that felt unnatural, like something grown in a vacuum instead of history. Every surface gleamed too perfectly. Nothing here had aged yet. Nothing here had memory. You scrolled slowly through the contents of a datapad—not reading, not truly. Just moving. Optics skating over headlines, edit trails, deleted citation links. The silence here was curated. Sculpted

You weren’t here for the records

You were waiting

And right on cue “You're early today”

The voice arrived like a brush of silk through charged air. Smooth. Deliberate. It always was. Familiar now—but still edged like a knife’s smile. You didn’t look up immediately, didn’t have to

You already knew who it was

Airachnid was leaning against the terminal bank, as though she’d been there since the system powered on. One hip balanced lightly against the edge, arms folded, posture relaxed—but not truly at rest. Her helm was tilted just enough to unnerve, like she was watching from an angle no one else thought to use. Her smile was slight, carefully measured. It didn’t quite reach her optics, but that was the point

“You’re very consistent” you said mildly, glancing at her from the corner of your optics “Do you clock in like this for everyone?”

“No” Her tone was a velvet purr, low and intentional “Only the ones worth watching”

“I’m flattered”

“You should be”

The silence that followed was thick enough to hold shape. You looked back down, scrolling through the datapad with a laziness that masked purpose “Do you enjoy this?” you asked, voice light

“Watching me sort metadata? Or is this just another item on your schedule?”

Airachnid’s helm tilted further, just a fraction “Do you enjoy testing the patience of your security detail?”

“I prefer to test the depth of curiosity”

That earned a quiet sound from her. Not quite a laugh—more a click. Dry. Surgical. Like a scalpel being returned to its velvet-lined case “You don’t strike me as the reckless type”

“I’m not. But I’ve spent more time speaking to corrupted code than to people lately. You’re more intriguing than most encrypted files” Airachnid uncrossed her arms with slow precision and stepped away from the terminal bank. Her movement was seamless—gliding, but deliberate. Too fluid to be lazy. Too elegant to be harmless

“Careful. Curiosity makes a poor shield”

“So does ignorance”

They stood across from one another now.

Not close enough to touch, but close enough to read nuance. Like two scholars dissecting the same artifact, each searching for a different truth beneath the same surface “Tell me something” your voice gentler now

“Were you always like this?”

Airachnid’s optics narrowed slightly

The light from the overhead glowpanels traced cold reflections across her faceplate, catching in the sharp line of her jaw, the subtle gleam of her plating “Define this” she said—quietly, but with that razor-curious edge. Like she was offering you a choice: explain, or be dissected

You didn’t flinch

“Loyal to the point of silence. Efficient to the point of invisibility — I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone hold power so tightly… without wanting it”

Airachnid said nothing. She simply looked at you. For longer than was polite. Longer than was comfortable. Not with surprise—no, she rarely wasted optics on emotion but with something like scrutiny. A kind of analytical regard, like she was reassessing a threat level. Then, just a half-step forward. Just enough to be noticed

“What makes you think I don’t want power?”

“Because you already have it. And yet, you stay in the shadow of someone else’s crest” You didn’t hesitate, voice remained even

Her smile shifted at that—small, curling inward like a claw retracting just beneath the surface. It wasn’t a smirk. It wasn’t for show. It was closer to truth

“You assume I follow him”

“Don’t you?”

The silence that opened between you wasn’t heavy—but precise. Like a scalpel laid on a sterile tray, gleaming and untouched. No breath. No movement. Just tension wound in stillness “I serve Sentinel Prime” Airachnid said, her tone glass-smooth “Because he knows where he’s going. And because he gave me a place where I no longer have to pretend”

You didn’t blink “Pretend to be what?”

Her optics glinted—cool light on polished alloy, the gleam of a trap sprung just enough to warn

“Anything less than what I am” That landed harder than you expected. Not just the words. But the way she said them. The calm certainty. The unapologetic sharpness. You watched her—still, quiet, measuring

“He trusts you”

“Utterly”

“That’s rare”

“That’s earned”

This silence felt different. No longer stretched like wire across a minefield. It settled between you like cooling metal—coiled, yes, but no longer poised to strike. A mutual understanding, or something close. You gave a small nod

“Thank you. For the conversation”

Airachnid didn’t nod back. Didn’t tilt her head. Didn’t break the mask. She simply said, plainly “I’ll still be watching”

“I know” You turned back to the datapad—but didn’t move. Didn’t scroll. Didn’t type. Your hands rested on the console’s edge, tension vibrating faintly in the joints

Behind you, Airachnid moved with the silence of trained instinct—less like she walked away, more like she was subtracted from the scene — Gone. Clean. Seamless. Somewhere behind her careful silence, something lingered. Not doubt. Not regret. But the smallest flicker of recognition. The way one predator sees another in the wild—not a threat, but a mirror. A different species of survivor. She’d known from the first time she was assigned to monitor you

You were dangerous

Not because you fought. But because you watched. Because you remembered. Because you asked questions like knives and in this golden empire built on curated truths, it was those who asked quietly that had to be watched the closest. As her shadow faded into the long corridor. Airachnid didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. You were still there—rooted in archives, cloaked in dignity, poised like a weapon Sentinel still thought ornamental and if there was war coming beneath the sheen of peace

Airachnid would not choose a side

She was the side — Already chosen, already loyal, already lethal

Sentinel doesn't have the time to watch you every day. To follow you. Track you. Monitor your movements. And that’s precisely why Airachnid does it in his place. He entrusted her with the task—assigned her to keep a careful, unflinching eye on you. To guard you, yes. But also to measure. To evaluate. To intercept, if needed — She has never failed him before and so, Sentinel has no reason to question the arrangement

When you are not with him then you are with her. It’s always one or the other and you’ve grown used to that rhythm. Far too used to it. Used to it enough that you’ve begun to speak with her. Start conversations. Ask things. Curious. And, strangely—perhaps suspiciously—Airachnid lets you

She allows the exchange. Doesn’t cut you down. Doesn’t shut you out. Maybe it’s a tactic. Maybe she’s letting the walls fall just enough to get closer. To make it easier when the time comes—when Sentinel finally decides to erase you but you know how to play this game. You’ve survived long enough by knowing when not to step away. And you’re not about to waste the opportunity now

“You already have power and yet, you stay in the shadow of someone else’s crest”

She almost laughed at that. What a foolish perspective. Sentinel isn’t her shadow. He’s her axis. He gave her a place where she didn’t have to soften herself to fit. You doesn’t understand that kind of loyalty. Because theirs is built on memory. On rules. On history. And all of that burned. Still—Airachnid cannot help but.. observe you

You doesn’t speak like a politician. Doesn’t stand like a servant. You carry something harder. Older. The weight of someone who has seen too much truth to be satisfied with a lie, but is too tired to shout it anymore. She doesn’t hate you. That surprises her. She respects. And that’s dangerous. Because it means that if Sentinel ever does order her to remove them— it won’t be clean. It won’t be mechanical. It will leave a mark

The archives were quiet, but that’s nothing new. What was new, though, was the feel of someone waiting in the wings—someone not standing in the open, but lingering just at the edge, just beyond the light, as if they were the shadow. Airachnid’s presence was invisible, like most things she did. The moment Reader began to analyze data once more, she appeared at the edge of their peripheral vision, standing just far enough not to intrude. She didn’t speak. Didn’t even move. She just waited

“I thought you’d be occupied” you said, voice not accusatory but more curious “Or are you always so quiet?”

Airachnid remained still, like a spider perched at the edge of its web.

She didn’t look directly at them. Not yet “Sometimes” her voice just soft enough to blend into the silence of the chamber

“quiet is all that’s needed”

“You’re not here for me to ask you questions”

Airachnid shifted her weight slightly, taking one step closer without breaking that eerie calm that surrounded her “I don’t answer questions” she said, stepping into the slight illumination cast by the panel. Her silhouette now clear, framed in the soft light “I observe. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

You turned, but the motion was slow, thoughtful “Observing? ..or controlling?”

Airachnid tilted her helm a fraction of an inch, her optics glinting in that same sharp, calculating manner they’d seen so often. Yet, this time, there was a softness, a subtle understanding that hinted at something deeper “If I wanted control, I wouldn’t have left you alone long enough to ask me that question”

There was a moment of hesitation—of silence that stretched far longer than it should have. You lowered your optics, a soft chuckle escaping their lips, though it wasn’t directed at Airachnid

“You do like keeping your distance, don’t you?”

“Distance is necessary” Airachnid replied simply, her voice like ice melting in the sun “But observation... that’s personal”

You stopped, looked at her again—not with caution, but with genuine curiosity. For all her quiet, for all her efficiency, there was something about Airachnid that had always fascinated them. The way she moved—measured and deliberate. The way she saw things others missed

“Why do you stay here? Why stay with Sentinel?”

Airachnid’s optics darkened slightly, but she didn’t look away. Her answer came with a slight, almost imperceptible shift in her stance

“I don’t stay. I’m here because I choose to be”

You let the question settle, watching the way she stood, poised but not impatient and just as your optics lingered too long, just as your mind shifted—Airachnid’s hand moved, almost without a thought. She slid a small data disk onto the edge of the console. Not just any disk. One with new directives “It’s not what you’ve been told to look for” she said softly, almost as if she had read the question forming in their mind “But it’s something you’ll need soon”

You stared down at the disk, thoughts moving a mile a minute, hadn’t expected this. Not from Airachnid, not from someone so loyal to Sentinel. But the glance she gave them—fleeting, calculating—spoke volumes

“Just make sure you don’t miss it”

she added, before stepping back into the shadows, fading from view once more. The disk sat there. Silent. Waiting. As if it, too, knew that its secrets had already begun to spill, even before you had reached for it

She remembers their last conversation—low-lit corridor, quiet exchange. The way they tried to read her.

As if she were text on a slab of archive steel. ‘You can’t catalog a predator’ she thinks. And yet… something in you had watched her not with fear, but effort. Like they wanted to understand. To connect

It was foolish. Possibly suicidal. But it was real and real things are rare — She reports to Sentinel later that cycle. The conversation is short “They’re stable. Contained. But restless” Sentinel leans back in his chair. Fingers steepled, voice soft

“And still trying to find where they belong?”

“You’ve already decided where they belong”

He smiles. That cool, refined smile that has sealed fates without ever raising his voice “Then make sure they stay there”

She nods once. No hesitation and yet—Later that night, she walks past the corridor where you sometimes works late. She does not stop. She does not speak. But she slows. Just for a moment. And in that moment, she wonders ‘If they ever fall… will I warn them first?’ It is a thought that should not exist. So she leaves it behind, buried in silence. Where it belongs

Sometimes when you sneak out to hide in the old archives that are considered a forbidden place for no one to invade, or even when you talk to the bots that you shouldn't, she doesn't report that to Sentinel

BONUS ON

D A R K W I N G

The lower quarry shook with the thunder of drills

Sparks flew. Gravel sang under heavy treads. Miners shouted to one another over the noise—some urgent, some desperate, most ignored. And at the center of it all stood Darkwing. Massive. Smudged with energon soot. Half-snapped shoulder armor from who-knew-what yesterday. He barked at two workers who’d paused too long

“I said get it moving, you slagging excuses for bolts! You want the Prime’s wrath down here next?! MOVE!” He raised a reinforced datapad like he was going to throw it. The worker scrambled back —someone coughed

A soft, polite cough. A very high-ranking, polite cough. Darkwing froze. Turned–

You stood at the edge of the overlook, flanked by two silent escorts and dressed in the calm, formal sheen of someone who did not come here to yell, ust… to observ

“Oh. Uh. Sir—Ma’am—Advisor—”

Darkwing stiffened, saluting with one shoulder (the only one still intact) “Didn’t, uh—didn’t know you were coming down today”

“It was unannounced” you replied mildly, stepping closer “I was told this sector has been underperforming”

Darkwing nodded too fast “Yes! I mean—no! I mean—uh—there were some delays. But nothing that can’t be—! Well, you know. Handled. Promptly. Professionally”

You raised an optic ridge. Behind him, a miner who’d just been shouted at looked up, mouth slightly open at the shift in tone “We noticed an unusual spike in damage reports from your crew” you continued

“Yes—eh—that’s…” Darkwing tried to scratch the back of his helm. Realized he had a dent there. Scratched beside it instead “We’re in a rough phase. You know how ore layers get. It’s the… uh. The fault of… geology”

You stared. He stared back.

Then laughed—awkwardly. Loudly “Heh! Cybertron, right? So unpredictable!”

The silence behind Reader was immediate and cold

“We’ll be reviewing your operation logs and your conduct notes”

“Absolutely. Please. All yours. I love paperwork. I dream of audits”

“Of course you do” You turned slightly to speak with their aide, but before they could finish a sentence— “Would you—like some energon, Advisor? We have, uh, local brew. Very unrefined”

“...No, thank you”

“Good choice. It’s terrible”

You looked at him one last time. Measured “Carry on, Supervisor”

Darkwing saluted again—sharper now. Nearly knocked his own helmplate with the angle. Once advisor and their group disappeared from the walkway, he let out a sound between a groan and a short-range radio malfunction

Behind him, one of the miners whispered “Did you just call geology unpredictable?”

Darkwing glared “SHUT UP AND DIG”

Maybe it was Sentinel’s bad habits rubbing off on you. Or maybe it was your own emotionally-repressed tendencies finally leaking out sideways. Because, sometimes.. you enjoyed bothering Darkwing. There was just something undeniably satisfying about watching him get flustered—just a little. The way he’d fidget, posture, start to sweat wires the moment you casually inquired about the progress reports and mining quotas under his jurisdiction. Naturally, that only made you press harder. Because why wouldn’t you?

It was fun. In a terrible, twisted, borderline-unethical kind of way. It wasn’t you. You swore it wasn’t you. And then when you know Orion and D-16. After that, well—let’s just say you suddenly found a lot more reasons to “personally inspect” the lower levels of the mines. Every now and then, you’d find an excuse to stop by. Just a quick visit. Just enough time for a few questions. Some light conversation. Perhaps a little friendly interrogation

Occasionally, you had to bribe Darkwing with a few of Sentinel’s private assets— Nothing serious. A datachip here, a high-grade component there but most of the time? You just threatened him. Nicely. Harmlessly. In that special way that makes guilty bots break into a cold sweat and confess things they didn’t even do. Honestly, it was probably fine. Mostly …Probably

[jikooklove9795]

Hoseok: The Jikook Live Broadcast Supervisor

"Make sure to tell him we're live"

This whole conversation where Hoseok kept reminding Jimin and Jungkook that they were on live reminded me of the Tokyo 2016 live.

You know the live where Jimin was obviously not alone in his room.

Hoseok personally saw to it that we got an "amazing view" of Jimin's room until both of them made it well into the room and ensured the coast was clear because Jimin's bf cough Jungkook cough was in there too but we weren't supposed to know that.

How else are we supposed to explain the way in which both Jimin and Hoseok stays glued to each other while keeping the camera focused only on them at the time Hoseok enters.

Jimin also stresses that he was "alone" in the room. And then he anxiously looks around the room. Maybe to make sure there aren't things around the room which will give away the fact that Jungkook's in there too.

Also, this live happened around the time of the Osaka 2016 live. I guess the Osaka live was in July and the Tokyo one was in August.

I think by this time it was common knowledge, atleast to Hoseok and Taehyung, that Jimin and Jungkook were dating and staying together, sharing hotel rooms. Because. A few minutes after Hoseok Taehyung also walks into Jimin's room and is not at all surprised to find Jungkook there. He too seems to know that he's supposed to act as if only Jimin and Hoseok are in the room besides himself.

You see this, right??!!

I hope you are able to see that there's a person in the second pic. You can clearly see it in the live. Jimin was handling the camera at the time. As soon as he saw Jungkook moving from that room(bathroom?) into the hallway he seemed to realize the mistake (that the camera caught it) and quickly moved the camera to focus on Taehyung making sure not to include that area.

Taehyung passed by that door to the bathroom where Jungkook was clearly staying to avoid the camera. The above ones are the before and after pics. The first where Jungkook is out of sight and then the next where he accidentally passes by and gets caught by the sharp eyes of Jikookers.

It happens not once but twice. At 12:18 min mark of the live.

Taehyung leaves after getting a noodle cup which he came to fetch. This draws attention to the fact that there were two noodles cups before (one for him and the other for his bf). When Hoseok asked Jimin what he was doing when he entered the room, Jimin said he was boiling water for a noodle cup. Now, Taehyung takes one cup leaving Jimin with just one at the end. After Taehyung leaves, Hoseok follows as well but not before teasing Jimin 🤭

Well. Teasing him about his upcoming "private fun" with Jungkook 😁

That's why he left without having dinner with Jimin even though he said he was hungry at the start of the live, despite there being so much food in Jimin's room. Not to mention Jimin also didnt ask him to stay. He seemed shocked and surprised that Hoseok left him in charge of the rest of the live despite the situation. A situation where his bf was waiting for the others to leave the room.

You can clearly see a figure (Jungkook) passing by at the 16 min mark of the live if you look at the reflection on that TV. Jimin's expression is very telling too. He completely pauses and his eyes quickly darts in Jungkook's direction until Jungkook passes by him and sits across from him.

Then there's Jimin laughing about something while looking at Jungkook who is sitting across from him and once again out of sight from us.

And finally the unmistakable sound of a camera shutter going off in the background at the 17:21 min mark of the live. Because Jungkook is snapping pics of Jimin to add to his personal collection.

Like this maybe??!!

Jimin was being a bit naughty here. You know, with the "I'm a big eater" comment then biting into that sausage and laughing. Yeah all of that. He finished half portion of the main course and I think the other half was for Jungkook so he couldn't eat it and kept telling us that he will have that later after ending the live.

I can't even imagine what would have happened if Jimin had accidentally shown that Jungkook was in the room with him. That's exactly what happened in New Jersey 2019 live. Jungkook clearly wasn't planning to show that Jimin was in his room at the start of the live if the camera angle and Jimin's seating posture (leaning away rather that sitting straight) are anything to go by. Jimin coughed/sneezed and Jungkook felt like we heard it and so he had to show Jimin was there too.

You can watch the Tokyo live here:

Why do I think its Jungkook?

Because:

1) They're boyfriends. They spend almost 24×7 with each other.

2) And the countless instances where they themselves have hinted about sharing a room. This being one of them:

3) When members exposed them. I'll just give two instances for this one.

Hoseok:

Taehyung:

4) By their company:

Jimin saying that he and Jungkook share a dorm was simply confirmation of what we had assumed all along. The main concept of companion soldiers is to lean on, to support, to find encouragement and strength in each other. And in Jimin and Jungkook's case it comes with the added benefit of being able to be with their boyfriend and not be separated for the 18 months of their service. It means creating memories together, navigating life side by side and deepening the strength of an already strong bond. For them, no matter how difficult the situation the comfort of being together outweighs any hardship.

They may not be able to say it out loud but actions speak louder than words. And for those who understand, Jikook's story is already being told.

Credits to the owner of the video

[feral-childs-word]

Blood

Fandom: Dc

Yandere!batfamily x male!reader

Description: All your life you lived with your mom until the age of 16. And that is when you live with the Wayne's. But shit really goes down hill.

.·:*¨༺ @cantfindmelol ༻¨*:·.

»--Sorry for the long wait y'all 😔✌️--«

.⋅ ۵ Chapter 1 ۵ ⋅.

Oh God

Oh FUCK no

This is the end

You can't believe it. You thought your life was going okay until now. Fuck

Your eyes wanted to look away from that man and the detective. Your eyes felt like they were burning, oh God how you wanted to gouge your eyes out to stop the burning feeling.

This man is the rich snobby good looking billionaire is your father? Yeah no. You rather step on Lego pieces that those kids used to drop when you started babysitting to earn extra cash. You didn't like this one bit. Especially how his smile didn't reach his face when he was looking at you.

Wait....

Why was he walking towards you?

Oh God no.. stay where you are. STAY WHERE YOU ARE.

You clenched your hand tighter possibly bruising your arms for how tight they were clenching. You watched as Bruce Wayne stood right next to your seat and knelt down from where you were stitting.

Stop

Why is he looking at you like that? That look is disgusting... The look of pity.

Why is he giving you that look? The snobby rich man looking at you with pity. Your eyes then turned to the detective who was placing his hat on the rack.

Please anything than him god.

The detective noticed this and walked towards the desk and sat down right across. While Bruce sat down right next to you.

Your leg started bouncing up and down nervously. Your hands clasped together as you looked at the detective and not at Bruce.

The detective sighed sitting down and shuffling his papers till he pulled out new papers. Discharge papers....

And suddenly the clock started ticking louder than before. Like you were drowning in the slow ticks as the detective and Bruce talked to each other about what ever.

Tik

Tok

Tik

Tok

Stop.

Make it stop

Make this god awful noise stop.

Suddenly you felt a hand. You hated being touched. You hated that feeling.

You jolted.

Looking now at the man who was going to take you away. From everything. School. Friends. And even your home. God how you miss your mom. Her laughter, her love, everything. You couldn't stand that your mother is gone. Gone by death who was eager for her death. Waiting to take her away from you.

You need her. You can't stand it. It's like you were losing your mind not seeing your mother anymore.

"Boy" Wayne said speaking calmly. Your mind stopped and you looked up seeing him staring down at you. "Come on" Wayne says patting his shoulder. It made her shutter with disgust

'don't touch me'

You kept that thought to yourself of course. You finally stood up nodding slowly as Wayne takes his hand away and gestures you to follow him which you comply following him to a luxurious car sleek and clean with no scraps or dents.

That made your stomach turn. You hated how expensive it looked. You missed the truck you drove around illegally when your mom couldn't. It was fun to drive around and easy to avoid cops since they cared more about the villains roaming around rather than simple things.

Snapping out of your thoughts once more when you heard a click. You spotted a butler. Older in the years. Wrinkles slightly and sleek grey hair combed back. Though this man wore a very expensive and clean suit. He nodded at you smiling slightly as you hesitantly climbed in sitting on the soft cousin.

Reaching out you buckled up and sat there as Wayne climbed in the back with you making it even more awkward.

So you just sat there saying nothing noticing the silence and awkwardness but didn't say anything. You couldn't. You felt your throat close up and your lungs tightening like you are having an attack.

God how you wanted to go back home and sleep it off pretending like this was all a dream. That your mother was there waiting for you with some cookies she had bought with the money she saved up for. You missed your cheap bed and covers. You even missed the old and weird smell that was in the house rather than the smell of fresh leather.

You just need to wait a couple more years before you can leave this rich place and go back where you belong.

Just a couple more years...

[brandwhorestarscream]

If d16 was carrying in the movie that could have saved him.

OOH I HAVE. THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS

Part 2 here, part 3 here, part 4 here, part 5 here!

Hear me out, ok. Sentinel Prime heavily, heavily advocates for chastity. He very publicly denounces casual intimacy, waxing poetic about how it's a very special thing that should only be shared with someone you truly love and trust. To give yourself away to a stranger in a one night stand or even casually to a friend is one of the greatest disservices one can do to themselves. Interfacing should only be done with your bonded mate. While it's certainly not illegal, their Prime's warm concern and insistence that they're all special and should be treated as such keeps a lot of mecha's panels closed. The vast majority of them are saving themselves for their conjunx endura.

Now, the real reason Sentinel doesn't want them having sex? He doesn't want them breeding. Specifically the lowest of society, he doesn't want his cogless servants sparking each other up and having babies with t-cogs. It would raise too many questions, and while he has no qualms about taking a newspark's cog out before they're presented to their parents, accidents happen. People slip up. Some sparklings come before their parents can get to a hospital. Some nutcases want home births because it's "more intimate and natural". Some just plain don't realize they're carrying until they start having contractions. Cogless bots popping out babies with cogs will only cause problems, so the best way to prevent such a thing is to convince them that chastity is their best option. Most of them die before they can find someone they want to be with forever, and even among those that do, they struggle to save up enough money for a bonding license. Keeping them repressed and chaste is just another means of his control.

Now, as for sweet D-16 >:) he practically worships Sentinel Prime. He has such blind adoration and trust in him. Orion adores him too, of course, but not quite on the same level. He doesn't look at Sentinel with the same stars in his optics, though certainly has boundless respect and admiration for him. When they're visited by the Prime post-Iacon 5000, they're invited up to his personal suite 👀

Consider: instead of getting immediately jumped by Darkwing, they actually do get escorted up there. It's grander than anything either of them have ever seen, a shining and spotless penthouse with a 360° view of the city, expensive chaises to lounge on and bottles of the finest, smoothest high grade, even a jacuzzi! Sentinel Prime meets them there, and, placing a gentle hand on each of their faces, purrs that he wants to reward them.

"I've never seen anything like what you two did today," D-16 whimpers at his praise, beaming sunshine, and Orion is awestruck. "Come... sit with me."

They follow their Prime obediently and he relaxes onto one of the lounges, pulling the two cute little miners down on either side of him. They talk--or rather, Sentinel talks and they hang onto his every word, each tucked under one of his arms and nestled close against his chassis--and eventually he pops a bottle of champagne and pours them each a glass. Neither Dee nor Orion have ever had such high quality energon before: it goes down thick and smooth and warm, sending a blast of heat through their little bodies that pool in their tummies and make them start to squirm and feel woozy. Sentinel prompts they drink the whole thing, each of them, and by the time they're done they're gasping and swaying. So strong! Too strong!

The Prime's huge blue servo slides onto D-16's face, admiring his dazed expression. His optics are flickering, shutters at their halfway point, and he's visibly flushed, mouth dropped open and pretty lips parted as he pants. Swaying gently back and forth like that, Sentinel can't resist. He leans down and kisses him, gentle but controlling, and D-16 makes an honest-to-Primes squealing noise.

As soon as Sentinel pulls back, Dee wavers and collapses back against the chaise, optics blown wide even as an uncontrollable smile splits his face. He starts giggling, covering his face and rocking back and forth as euphoria bubbles out of him in uncontrollable, adorable laughter. "Oh my stars-" he gushes. "Oh my stars omistars omistars wow...!" His first kiss has left him breathless and elated, barely able to speak, worship and the greatest joy imaginable shining in his optics.

Sentinel Prime has them, both of them, in his suite, over and over and over again. They're both virgins, have never touched another mech or been touched in turn, and their leader takes great revelry is breaking their seals. Fucking their tight little valves until they're wailing and cumming in his lap, sobbing in ecstasy into his neck, clumsily kissing at his plating and swearing that they adore him, they love him, please more, more, more! He frags them on the furniture, against the wall, on the floor, even in the hot tub. He has them both on their knees in front of him on the lounge, licking and sucking at his spike and pushing each other to lap up drops of his transfluid, asks them to use their mouths on each other while he watches. He even asks them to bear their sparks and they do: he doesn't share his own but he's glad to tease at theirs, and it reduces them to mewling little piles on the floor, twitching and rocking and moaning as they crash through overload after overload. Such beautiful little pets, so eager to please, he could definitely get used to having them around for awhile.

When their time comes to an end they've started to sober up, snuggled against his sides on one of the lounges, still whimpering and panting high on pleasure, excess charge making them woozy and giggly even though the high grade is nearly out of their systems. Airachnid arrives and doesn't even give them a passing glance, informing the Prime that it's time to depart. He sends them back to their home in the mines, promising to see them again soon, just as soon as he returns from his next crusade to the surface.

D-16 and Orion stumble home giggling and shoving each other, still adjusting their armor and poking at the paint transfers spattered all over them. They're euphoric, there's no other word for it, high as a kite on pleasure, on the knowledge that Sentinel Prime wanted them and they were able to satisfy him! No longer virgins and instead claimed by the Prime!

Their batchmates welcome them home with a cacophony of cheers and hugs and jostling--MINERS! In the RACE! Their very own brothers, in the Iacon 5000! And- wait, why are you two all wet...?

They weren't intending to tell everyone, but the way they look at each other and blush and start snickering and struggling to explain is telling enough. Ratchet is already approaching with a wrench to scold them, they know better than to let a moment of excitement cloud their judgement-

"Uh, w-well-"

"Sentinel Prime wanted to-"

"SENTINEL PRIME?!" The entire room screams out in shock at once, before the cheering resumes tenfold. Their batchmates got the attention of THE Sentinel Prime?! Sentinel Prime made love to their batchmates! A couple of miners got the attention and affection of their Prime! If they thought the Iacon 5000 was inspiring that's nothing compared to this: before you know it the entire sector is mining energon at a lightning fast pace and they've hit their quotas before shift is even a quarter of the way done.

Orion and D-16 happily get to work as well, eager to do their best so that when their dashing Prime returns to them, they can tell him about how hard they worked and how much energon they mined and how well everyone is going to eat because of them!

When Sentinel Prime suddenly returns and orders triple shifts, they're surprised. Very surprised. It's not like him at all! Pretty soon the miners are running on no sleep and little fuel, some are injured and being denied time for repair and seek medical treatment. And D-16, despite his best efforts, is starting to fall behind after several weeks of the brutal demands. He's getting dizzy which he attributes to the lack of recharge. His servos keep dropping things even when he's sure he has a tight grip on them. He's nauseous, all the time, and multiple times a shift stumbles away from the rest of his crew to gag and vomit in a corner of whatever energon vein they're currently working in. Orion tries to get him to slow down, to stop, because he's clearly sick and needs medical care, but Dee isn't willing to stop. "Sentinel Prime needs us, Pax! We can't stop now!"

It all comes to a head as they're dragging themselves out of a tunnel with a full load of raw energon to be refined. D-16 suddenly stumbles, clamping one servo over his mouth and running off to the side. Orion hurriedly follows him after making sure Ironhide and Jazz have got the minecart.

"Hey, easy, easy-" he comes to rub his back as his best friend bends over, servos braced on his knees and body already rolling with slow, threatening heaves. He moans that he doesn't want to, he's so sick of purging, it hurts, please Primus, not today! "C'mon, just, let it out. You'll feel better once it's out, Dee."

D-16 groans and hunches over further, arms wrapping around his middle. "No... Primes, please- hgk-!"

"OI!" A miserably familiar voice suddenly bellows behind them, and Orion's sympathetic expression drops to sheer annoyance. Oh, no. "YOU TWO! Whaddo you think you're doin'?!" Darkwing is storming up to them. "Sentinel Prime wants his energon, so GET BACK TO WORK!"

"Darkwing, please," for once Orion is polite, one servo still braced on his friend's back. "D-16's sick, he needs-"

"I don't CARE what you think he needs!" Their superior roars, grabbing them both by the shoulders and forcing then around to face him. "I said, get back to-"

Dee promptly hurls all over the slagger's pedes.

He can't hold it anymore, but he tries, clamping both servos over his mouth even as he purges again. Half-digested energon splashes through his fingers and sprays all over Darkwing's chassis, who roars in disgust and backpedals away from him. Dee crumples to his knees, gagging, both servos planted on the floor before he throws up one final time, emptying his already meager tanks and ejecting a puddle of digestive acid that burns at his throat. It dribbles out of the vents on his neck and nasal ridge, and he sobs. Primus, he feels so sick!

Darkwing's response, naturally, is to grab them both and throw them down to sublevel 50 😌 there they meet B-127, and the plot kicks off, though a bit later than before. They make it to the surface and set out to find the Matrix. The journey is significantly longer with D-16's condition, constantly having to stop so he can rest or purge. Orion, at one point, offers to carry him, and Dee is too miserable to protest. Let's Orion gently hoist him onto his back and promptly passes out with his helm on his shoulder. He's overly warm, Orion notices: feverish, surely a sign that he's getting worse. They need to find the Matrix, soon. Maybe it can help cure Dee's sickness! And if not, well, once energon flows again they won't have to mine, and D-16 will be able to see a doctor as soon as they get home. They'll get him the medicine he needs and he'll be just fine.

When they finally arrive at the Grave of the Primes, D-16 is in bad shape. Shaking like a rust rattler, dry heaving because there's nothing left in his systems to throw up, and very hot to the touch. Orion nor Elita nor B-127 have ever seen a mech in quite such a miserable state, and they're all very worried. Orion sits him down on a rock and tells him to rest, and D-16 just hunches over, helm between his knees and arms folded over his head, the epitome of misery. Whimpering softly and praying to the Primes to please, please, make it stop. Whatever this virus is that's tormenting him, please just make it stop!

Then, they find and awaken Alpha Trion.

The Prime notices Dee's condition. Immediately. He can see it, an invisible aura none but the divine can see: this young mech hosts a precious newspark inside of him. Before he tells them the story of what happened, he opts to examine the little one. He's so young, probably too young to be a carrier yet, but he's undeniably sparked. A few decacycles along.

He tells them what's going on, why D-16 is so grievously ill. "Your sparkling is starving," he tells him seriously. "You are not receiving enough donations. Their protoform is cannibalizing your body, that is the root of your sickness. Where... is the sire? He or she should be caring for your needs."

All four of them are staring at Alpha Trion with their mouths open. D-16 is carrying?! He's pregnant?! But who-

Elita one punches Orion in the face as hard as she can, sending him sprawling into the dirt with a cry of surprise. "OW! What the-"

"You slagger!" She plants one pede on his chassis and presses down til she hears metal creak and he goes 'ow ow ow!'. "It was you, I know it was you! Who else would be so dumb?! You got him sparked up and haven't been taking care of him?! You worthless deadbeat! I should rip your fragging denta out with pliers! One at a time! I should!"

"Omigosh, Dee," behind her, B-127's voice has gone airy and light in excitement. He comes up to the silver mech's side, grabbing his servo to squeeze. "Congrats, dude! You're gonna be a mom!"

D-16, for his part, is sat there in shock. Shoulders dropped and loose, mouth hanging open, staring at Alpha Trion with his optics so wide they're at liberty to pop right out of the sockets and need recalibrating. "I'm..." his voice is barely above a whisper, shaking servos drifting toward his tummy. "You mean- I'm-?!"

He's starting to smile, joy bubbling up in his chest. Excitement, too. And terror. And a million other things that he can't name because he's too shocked, but suddenly despite how sick he feels he can't help but start to laugh. Delight blooms in his chest and forces it's way out of his throat as he starts to giggle and chuckle, and before long he's doubled over holding his stomach and laughing with tears of joy streaming down his face.

"I'm- I'm having a-" he jumps up to run over to Orion, shooing Elita off of him and throwing his arms around his friend. "Pax I'm sparked! I- I can't wait to tell Sentinel, he's gonna be so excited!"

"Sentinel?" Alpha Trion's voice goes cold and harsh behind them.

"Yes! Oh- Oh yes, Sentinel Prime, he-"

"He is NO PRIME!" The old mech bellows, and all four of them turn to look at him in confusion. "He does not bear our name!"

"...WHAT?!"

The grand reveal is even more sour this time around. So, so much more sour. The betrayal runs so much deeper, and D-16 is horrified and sickened. Watching the mech he adores and admires so much bowing to the quintessons and giving away the energon that they worked so hard for. It was already bad, but now? Now, he's carrying that monster's offspring. A sparkling conceived under false pretenses, under coercion, under lies. This baby hadn't been created by love and mutual respect, it has been made by a mech that lied to their faces to get them into his bed, to get access to their bodies to use for his own pleasure however he saw fit.

D-16 feels disgusting. Violated. Worthless. He feels tricked and used and abused. He stares down at his body feeling more nausea already roiling in the deepest pits of his tanks. Sentinel had touched him everywhere. There's not a single inch of space anywhere that's clean of that mech's touch.

No one is surprised when he suddenly folds to his knees and screams. Screams with all the force of his anguish, his shattered trust, his broken and reviled body. Manic, he claws at his chassis with feverbright optics, wailing at them to, "Get it out of me...! GET IT OUT OF ME! I don't want it, I don't- I don't want it, GET IT OUT!"

Orion is at his side in an instant, yelping, "Dee, no! Stop, you'll hurt yourself!" As he forcibly grabs his friend's servos to stop him from tearing himself apart. D-16 shrieks a wordless noise of agony, and then collapses forward onto Orion to begin sobbing violently into his shoulder. Clutching onto him like a lifeline, wailing with all the devestated force he can. Bawling against Orion and falling to pieces, brokenly asking what he's going to do.

...

Ok im gonna cut this here cuz it's getting long, like really long and my hands are tired. I can barely move my left side today lmao. Poor poor Dee 😌 hope you enjoyed this nugget of angst! If ya'll wanna see a part 2, you know what to do. The box is open uwu