#and I've spent so much time thinking about the optics

[transingthoseformers]

I think for Bayverse hatchlings, if you go with MegOP being their parents, I really think the hatchlings should somehow be randomised. So not a bunch of silver trucks, lol.

That would be because you're correct! I'm a fan of mixing up the colors and patterns bunch (hell even playing with recessive genes some, as you might be able to tell with Fiasco having teal biolights) Plus, shapes wise, there's so much variety to be had as they grow up and change. I feel like most bayverse sparklings start out as silvery and roughly a similar build but as they grow up they start to gain their colors and diversify— plus you've gotta remember how in bayverse we see them scanning different altmodes (remember bumblee in the first movie) so they honestly could probably choose anything.

So while one out of the clutch might end up a blue and red jet, another could be a flat out gray sports car with blue stripes. Another could be a semi truck that's somehow purple with silver stripes. Yet another can straight up not have an altmode and be pure damn red.

I've played around with the idea of their optics changing color with age. in the tfp au I chose white, but I've thought about around red optics working a lot like blue eyes in humans meaning sparklings are born with them and usually they change with age. Plus, I saw in a fic that red optic glass was considered cheaper in general so if you were having your optics repaired or replaced chances are it'll be red— I've thought about this being the reason we see tfp Megatronus have blue optics in the flashbacks but red ones in the present— something happened and they had to be replaced (fun fact! This is actually why Dissent has one red optic but purple everything else! There was an injury to that optic that either needed the glass replaced or the entire thing, and fortunately they were able to get the shanix together to repair it! But not enough that they were able to color match it) and I think this would be the situation in bayverse as iicr we see no sparklings, not the Allspark babies or the hatchlings, with any optics but red

[cyberrose2001]

Hi hi! Your op drawings are so good?? My bby aaa drawing him (bots in gen) is so tough, I get too caught up in the details TT

Anyway, since I miss him lol I was wondering if I could request some... uh, gosh I hate this word but idk anything synonymous. Could I request pussydrunk tfp op?

Hope you're having a nice day/night btw <3

- 🍄

TFP pussydrunk!Optimus x reader

Hi hello!!I am very proud of this and it's probably up there with my list of my favourite fics I have ever written. Thank you so much for requesting and liking my silly sketches of the blorbo. I've written this as gender neutral <3

(lowkey ive been writing heaps of OP eating pussy,,, its a canon event for me i cannot intervene..... anyway its 11AM and i havent slept yet but i needed to finish hggggh *dies of horny*)

Warnings: Oral sex (reader receiving), edging, reader has a vagina.

Word count: 657

18+ ONLY! MINORS DNI

Spending time alone with you has learned to be one of Optimus' most treasured past times. But as much as it pains him, relaxing with you is a rare treat. The usual business of the base either keeps him up all night, or he genuinely has no time. However, he tries his best to make the most of it, whether he's relaxing with you, cuddling you, or with his head glued between your inner thighs. 

Like right now. It was nearing two AM. Optimus has you sprawled out on your shared berth, his face pressed against your aching heat, finally finding sweet relief from his built-up arousal. It's been too fragging long since his face was buried in you. He misses it, and if Optimus had a choice, he would sacrifice everything he's worked for to keep you bare before him.

Two hours. Optimus had been lazily lapping at you for two hours now. At one point, his helm had lulled to the side to rest against your right inner thigh to not strain his neck. His glossa grows tired, and his energon roars through his hot frame.

His stamina is almost depleted compared to when he initially delved into your drenched pussy. Despite this, Optimus still has the capacity to tightly grip your hips, gently massaging them as you lie still for him. He is weary, yet he perseveres, ignoring his aching joints and pulsing spike painfully pressed against the berth because tonight is about you. He will make up for all those lonely nights you've spent in berth alone in one lengthy oral session.

It's very often that when Optimus gives you oral, his mind feels like he's been transported to a higher plane of existence, one where he has no responsibilities or obligations to lead a team, just the mind-numbing taste of you. It makes him dizzy and light-headed, similar to the buzz he gets when he has a high grade or two, but Optimus prefers revelling in you instead to get his high. 

As ever patient as you are with your star-crossed lover, your hips still gently roll and shudder involuntarily against his glossa, and Optimus fucking loves it. He loves your soft cries when he sucks on your clit, and he loves when you clamp your legs around his helm when your orgasm is merely within reach. But he won't let you finish just yet, not when he's yet to relish and thoroughly drown himself in your sticky sweet.  

His warm optics remain lazily trained on your face, only fluttering close when you squeeze his helm. The pressure from your thighs only heightens his hunger, a carnal desire to swallow every drop of your aphrodisiac juices. 

"Mmmmm," You mewl, sweaty palms digging into the berth, "Fuck, I missed this… why don't we do this - aah - more often, baby…."

Optimus doesn't respond, and he can't because his processor is so intoxicated and aroused that he can't even form a single coherent sentence. It's quite ironic, he thinks. A mech of his nature that is so poised and articulate in his vocable is conned by his own desperate need to surrender his intake to his humans' essence.

"Mmmffh," He purrs into your heat, parting your sensitive lips with his glossa, lazily swirling around your bud before pressing a gentle kiss against it. He can't help but grind his spike into the berth below at your whimpers, servos kneading into your soft flesh, "More… Primus, I need more…."

You titter breathlessly, snaking a hand to the top of his helm to lightly press his face further into your pulsing heat, and Optimus delightfully grunts. You shiver, biting back a moan at the vibrations, "Go ahead, hun, you've got me for the rest of the night."

Optimus may need to blow a hole into the sun to prevent it from rising, since one night will never be enough to satisfy his thirst for you.

[stickytrigger69]

Can I ask for idw Optimus finding out that before the war, his Connie (male pronouns if possible) was a… exotic dancer? And ah, much more?

IDW Optimus x Con Reader

Reader is a mech

Readers' frame type, height, paint job, etc, are vague

NSFW minors DNI!

A/N: I've been struggling 😭 I've recently moved states, and it's been interesting to adjust, to say the least. But I should be getting back to it soon. I luv you all, and I really appreciate everyone's patience 😘😘😘

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

He came home angry, and you wondered if it was Prowl again or if someone had stirred up trouble or if he was harassed for conjunxing an ex-decepticon again. Unfortunately, it was none of those things because as soon as the words, 'what's wrong?', came from your vocalizer he glared at you. Suddenly, larger than normal, he stared you down with such fire in his optics it made you want to hide.

"Don't you talk to me, understand. I don't want to hear a peep from you." He pointed accusationally at you before stomping to your shared room. "I need time to think, leave me alone." And that was that. You spent the remainder of the afternoon on the couch, still thinking about what you could have done to make him this angry. Admittedly, he scared you. Past memory has protected you before, and you were ready for it to do so again.

When the time came, you got up to make dinner for you and your lover. You placed his serving on the floor, knocked, then turned around and left back to the living room. If he wants his space fine, but you don't want him to starve, so you listen in, and only when you hear the door open and shut, do you start eating your portion. When you've finished, you set your dishes down and sit there. Sadness had begun to fill your chassis with every bite, guilt settled deep within your tanks.

Thoughts race endlessly through your processor while you sit there in deafening silence. The whoosh of the door opening actually startles you, but you make no effort to look at him. The sink runs, and his dishes clink and clang together before he turns it off. "Why didn't you tell me?" You're caught off gaurd, confused. "Why? Was it because you were scared or disgusted? Why didn't you tell me that you were... that you used to..." He trails off and slowly comes into the living room and looks down at you. "Do you have any clue what I'm talking about?" He pleads with his optics that you will say yes.

"I... I do. I know what you're talking about. And I'm sorry I never said anything." You make room for him and pat the empty seat, wanting him to sit. "I was an exotic dancer at first. It was harmless, I was paid handsomely to dance for grimy mechs and femmes alike from the safety of an impenetrable case, and believe me, many had tried to bust through." He just listens and looks at your face contort with emotion. "Just dancing, they told me, just dance for them, and that's all. You can live your dreams if you just wiggle your aft. I was smaller then; shorter and less clunky." You look down at the added armor. It's made you look more rough around the edges, and it comforts you, "I was also young and naive, and they told me they would protect me, that I could make so much more. Then I started letting them in. They could touch, feel, and taste what they couldn't before. I still danced, but afterward, I would handle them in the back. Or they would handle me, y'know?" You chuckle awkwardly.

"I might take this armor off, show you what my Primus given frame looks like. Megatron had Shockwave fit me this armor, I was uh, distracting the other 'Cons, starting trouble. He understood it wasn't on purpose. Every so often, it would get tight, and I'd have to upgrade, bigger, stronger, better. I think I can..." You tail off and try pulling at your wrist seams until you hear a small pop and hiss. "There it is." You pull it apart, and the seam stretches upwards along the side of your servo like a casing. A smaller servo on the inside, and you smile at the sight of your own servo. "Will you..?" You hold your arm out to him, and he takes it gently. After hours of work, he is finally able to pop the last case around your left tribulen open. Shockwave really didn't want it falling off. Some seams had to be heated and nearly melted to get the welds off.

"I feel so much lighter," you stretch yourself out, "I'll bet I'm faster now, too."

"All of its been a lie?" He asks solemnly, digits trace up and down your arm. Your real arm, he reminds himself.

"No. I never lied. I just..." He is curious, and thus, he pushes you onto the couch. His servos are now even larger, nearly engulfing your waist in just one. His digits start prodding. He loves you so much, thinks you are the most attractive mech he's ever seen, but he didn't know you could become even more attractive and it does something inside of him. No longer angry or betrayed, he feels invigorated instead, wanting to explore the real you and you can tell, teasing his arousal through his field.

"Is your spike still the same size, my dear? I'd like to find out." He stares deeply into your optics as your breath hitches. Your own arousal blooming underneath your panels.

"I was uh, going to tell you, but unff- I ahhh." You grunt and moan with every thrust, now in your berth, lover behind you on his knees.

"Just shut up and take it like a good little mech." Optimus holds your helm up with one servo to speak in your audial. His harsh tone makes you whimper and valve squeeze around him. He then holds your helm down by the back of your neck while the other servo holds your hip tightly. He's so much bigger than you that he easily engulfs your frame with his own, and it thrills you to no end. That, and the rough treatment, do wonders for you. It makes your processor swirl and frame activate every sensory input processor available to overwhelm and stimulate you. Oh, the power of his hips, the grip of his servos, and open vocalizer are enough to make you overload straight into hard reset.

"I had always wondered why, why, after every time we interfaced, you were still so tight? Such a small mech, small valve, should be stretched by my spike." You moan. "I also wondered why or how you had so much stamina. How you were so good at sucking spike. If you were just a natural or if you had practice with past lovers." He slams into you at a fast pace, smirking when you yelp. "But they weren't lovers, were they? No, they were consumers. Investors. Keeping you clean and healthy so they could use you up. As much as I don't like that thought, I can't change it, the past at least. Now, now no one will look at you like that anymore. Only me, no one can have you the way I can, the way I do." Possessiveness takes over him for a moment, and he flips you onto your back. He stares deeply into your optics while inching his spike into your tight, wet valve, and your spike bobs and dribbles prefluid onto your abdomen.

When your frames connect, his optics begin to roam down to your derma and then even further down. "Tell me, sweetspark, how did you get this mod? How much was it? How many 'clients' did you have to take for it, or did one of them gift you with the mod? Did they lavish you with oils and treats? Or were you just a back alley buy mech who got lucky?" He asks crudely while his thumb rubs your anterior node in circles.

"Optimus." You bashfully turn your helm to the side to look away from him. His words are harsh but very much near the truth, and that's what's embarrassing you so.

"Don't you look away from me." He grabs your face and forces you to look at him. "I'm sorry, it got to my head." He leans down and kisses you lovingly, still pumping in and out of you. "There's just something about how dirty you were. So forbidden and delicious." He pulls out suddenly. In one swift motion, he lifts you up and lays down, placing you on top of him. "Show me, do for me what you did for them." He rubs his servos up and down your sides softly. You stare down at him, venting heavily.

"I need access to your valve if that's what you want." He hums curiously but complies, a low 'shhk' sound alerts you of his exposed valve. He waits patiently and watches you slink down. "I'm going to have to dance for you some other time too." You smirk before rubbing your valve against his. Anterior nodes bumping against each other while you take his spike in your servo. Your slick coats his valve opening heavily, making him groan at the feeling your fluids mixing.

"That's nice darling, but..." He goes quiet. His node, it feels. "What is happening?" You chuckle and lean over him, spike still in your servo, but your other travels down between you both.

"Oh my love, there are bits and pieces of me that I've been wanting to share with you." Two of your digits push into his valve. When you pull them out, you put them into yourself to gather more of your own lubricant and push them back into him. "I've also wondered how you would react to this feeling." The feeling on his node travels deep into him. It spreads like wildfire up inside him. It's like a cold wave that makes his servos ball up into fists.

"Not only did certain mechs and femmes get to have me completely, I danced for them. I showed myself off in a glass case. Taunted them with what they couldn't have." You curl your digits inside him and brush against his interior node, making him shiver. And, as if it were a system error, a few seconds after you touched his node, a small burst of electricity pulses from his node in small waves, making him cry out. And without warning, you thrust your spike into his valve and start stroking his roughly.

You pound into his sensitive valve and stroke his spike simultaneously to make him a moaning mess beneath you. "It's not too much, is it my love?" You ask sweetly and he shakes his head.

"More!" He cries, bucking his hips. With a smirk, you thrust harder. Sacrificing speed for force knowing that the effects will last longer and be stronger. He has melted, gone completely limp beneath you. His optics flicker and his field is charged to the brim. You swear you can taste it, the thick nectar of his lust dripping from his core. Suddenly, he takes hold of your shoulders and sits up. He has you confused for a few moments until he starts riding you. Now, on his knees, he bounces in your lap.

You feel your faceplate heat up even more, his actions flattering you, but what makes this moment even sweeter is the way he's looking at you. No one has looked at you this way. You know it's different from the usual looks youd get, but you're not so sure what's different about it.

"Optimus, I still have trouble believing you're actually serious about this relationship of yours. Even after you've learned everything about him and his past. I mean, it was bad enough that he's an ex decepticon, but it's another that he's..." Suddenly, a large servo can be seen over the red and blue mechs shoulder.

"Don't you finish that sentence. I know you don't 'approve' of it, Prowl. But he's my conjunx, and that was his past, not his present, nor his future. And I do believe it has shaped him," Prowl makes a suggestive motion with his servos as Optimus 'monologues' as he likes calling it, "into the mech he is today." Optimus turns around to face the shorter officer who just stares at him.

"Not only personality wise, I'm sure." Prowl rolls his optics. The comment leaves a sour taste in the primes mouth. "But you're right, he's your conjunx, it's really none of my business. I suppose it's just the fact that it's not very professional. For a mech of your status, I'd expect a high-grade conjunx. You've had many suitors, and all of which at least knew what fine arts are. Besides, he's just a trophy wife, as the humans would say." Optimus chuckles and shakes his head. Oh, how wrong is Prowl's statement. You are very intelligent and creative, and you're more than just some trophy wife.

[noisyquokka]

The In-Betweens

PAIRING - Minho x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS - After a year of cat and mouse, Minho realizes his mistake too late. Will he be able to convince you that he's invested in something more?

WORDCOUNT - 7.7k

WARNINGS - Angst, hurt/comfort, some fluff, a lil suggestive, miscommunication, One Night Stand turns to No Strings Attached turns to Fear of Commitment, Minho is bad with serious romantic relationships, emotional-support Soonie (it's a warning in its own right, thank you very much!)

A/N - It's been a while friends, but I'm back...? And I'm bringing the angst train with me! I've written a lot (and I mean A LOT!) of fluffy, happy, cute shit over the years of having this Tumblr, and I've been absolutely hankering for some good angst because I'm a little masochist who loves ripping my own heart out and splattering it onto concrete. So without further ado…

The 8th floor apartment is deathly silent for being situated in the heart of Seoul, Minho thinks. Or perhaps it's the indisputable ringing in his ears that scrambles his senses. He shoulders the front door closed, leaning back into it once the mechanism latches as tired optics scan the dimly lit space. 

The apartment sat the same as it always had at this hour - shadows crawling up beige walls, reaching toward the empty sofa that Minho swore he would replace at some point. The damn thing is about as comfortable as a cardboard box. 

Still, Minho found himself stalking towards the godforsaken thing, tossing his jacket over the back as he crashed against the back of the couch like a crumbling building. An exasperated grunt leaves his lungs, muscle and bones sinking into the weaved cushions like soil reclaiming his remains. 

Gone. 

The apartment was so quiet because you were gone. No longer a home as he had began to think every time he walked in to see your shoes by the door, or a spare toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet next to his. You weren't humming along to the playlist you'd put on whilst making dinner for the two of you. Because you left. Brown eyes close at the realization. Not that Minho had to realize it, no. It was merely a reminder along with the white-noise that whirred within his eardrums as he stumbled closer and closer to his apartment door every night. 

The whirring in his ears stopped only at the weight of a furry shadow against his calf and then his chest. Brown optics met green feline ones as Soonie hopped onto the couch beside his caretaker. Minho visibly relaxed at the cat's presence, deft fingers conforming to orange tabby fur. Content purrs vibrated through one being into the other, melding the two souls into one.

"Soonie..." He breathes, melting even further into the couch as Soonie nuzzles his head against Minho's jaw, white-socked paws kneading softly into his clothed chest. "I fucked up, didn't I?"

The question was more rhetorical than anything. Of course, you fucked up, dumbass! You led them on for months. It was stupid of him to think that you would stick around after months of the push and pull. To be frank, Minho didn't expect this fling to last as long as it did - nevermind evolve into more. 

What could he say? 

He began to enjoy your company a little more than he anticipated. Those moments with you were ingrained in every wrinkle of his brain, more than half of them in this very apartment. Hell, you had never moved in with him, but the amount of time you spent here made it seem as such. Along with the amount of personal belongings that slowly accumulated. He remembers the night he'd teased you about it.

"Not even three months and you're already moving in?" His breath tickles the skin at the back of your neck, chills raising over the exposed flesh as he presses a chaste kiss there. You shudder at the contact, attempting to keep your focus on the eggs currently sizzling over the stove top. The Seoul skyline burns with the start of a new day, casting a persimmon glow through the apartment.

"Mm, I wouldn't consider a toothbrush and a few clothes 'moving in', Minho." You counter, reaching down for the arm that rests over your waist, holding you against him. "Offer's tempting though. Your shower's a hell of a lot better than mine."

Lips twitch at your comment, a faux smirk that chokes him out.

What the fuck...

You had stayed the night again - the fifteenth time in a row now, Minho notes. Not that it bothered him; having a warm body to lie with in place of cold sheets. It had the muscle in his chest working overtime, pumping blood to every last inch of his being, washing over him like a drug. 

That was what bothered him. 

Before you get a chance to turn around, nimble fingers reach for the spatula in your grip, a murmur of, "I got it". A sly grin. That arm around your waist leaves you as the man's attention is taken up with finishing breakfast. 

The usual sounds of the kitchen take over - the sizzling skillet, dishes and utensils clinking, low-fi thumping through the Bluetooth speaker on the kitchen island. Feline trills are a welcome sound as you pull the dishes out of the overhead cupboard. Orange cream hops onto the kitchen counter and nuzzles against your torso in greeting. You glance down to meet sea glass and twitching whiskers.

"Morning, handsome." You coo, fingers carding through the short hairs atop his head. Soonie meows in response, stretching his neck into your palm as you massage his cranium in circular motions. He purrs at the contact, completely mesmerized by your magic fingers. Minho catches the interaction from the corner of his eye, lips pulling back in a grin. 

You hum to yourself as you continue - one hand petting the greedy feline, the other pulling the dishes needed from the cupboard - and Minho can't help his gaze from straying to the source of the sound.

Fucking stunning, he thinks to himself, spatula resting against the edge of the pan. Sun-kissed legs sway along with your hips as you get lost in the beat of the seemingly endless playlist. 

And he gets lost in you.

He swallows as his gaze travels upwards. The shirt that covered your shoulders had belonged to him at one point, baggy and loosely hanging low enough to hide the expanse of your thighs. Were you even wearing shorts? He couldn't recall if they were still strewn somewhere in the hallway with the rest of your discarded garments from the night prior. No matter, it seemed you'd staked your claim to his clothes like Soonie claims the warm, sunny spot near the window in the living room. Even farther, and Minho finds himself at your neck and jaw - the flesh there peppered in deep hues of red and purple. A temporary claim of his own. He grins at the thought -

"-Minho!"  

"Ah, fuck!"

You're beside him in an instant, turning the burner off and rushing the skillet to the sink. Cold water douses raging heat, burnt eggs slipping over the edge of the pan into the sink along with bits of melted plastic. You sigh, leaning against the marbled countertop. You feel Minho's presence over your shoulder, a sigh of his own leaving him. A quiet moment passes, save for the fading sounds of the cooling pan hissing.

"When you said you had it, I sure as hell didn't expect you to mean you were cooking the spatula." You chide, turning to face him. He chuffs at your comment, eyebrows raising as the space between the two of you dwindles to none. 

"I'll have you know that you are the worst distraction this side of interstellar space." 

'Fuck, did I just say that? Out loud?' Minho swears his head is spinning, the scent from your body wash egging it on in the close proximity. 

Your gaze narrows on him and you tilt your head, instinctually wrapping your arms around his neck. Pulling him impossibly closer. Contact that has the man inwardly keening. Like fucking magic, you were.

"Oh, so I'm the problem, huh?" You say, mock disbelief laced in your tone. Your ability to keep the energy playful was godly, even as Minho felt the snare tighten around his neck. You don't seem to notice though, and he keeps up with your banter ten-fold, warm hands settling on your waist. The fabric of your shirt bunches in his grip.

"The biggest problem, baby," He mutters, leaning so close that his breath fans over your lips. His grip on you is firm, one hand traveling up the side of your body until it finds a home at the junction of your neck and shoulder. He feels your pulse sing beneath the skin. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were distracting me on purpose."

He watches you roll your eyes, even as you lean into that touch, a hint of a grin on your lips. Heat floods the back of his neck when you run your fingers through the dark tresses of hair that reside there. Minho catches the groan in the back of his throat.

"Are you sure you're not just... terrible at focusing?" You prod, smoothing down the wrinkles in his t-shirt before your eyes lock with his again. There's a spark in yours - notes of collected mischief that only you could hold for the man in front of you.

"I am more than capable of focusing," He says, but as large hands squeeze the flesh at your waist, you read his actions well enough. 

His hand on your neck moves north, capturing your chin in his fingertips to angle your head upward. Brown optics bore into yours, flitting down to bitten lips, long fingers smoothing the skin with delicate strokes. Then, he's leaning down, and you barely have time to react to the all-encompassing feeling of his mouth on yours. 

He's already deepening the kiss, a rumble within his ribs that sounds like the purring of a cat at the sensation of your nails embedding themselves in the back of his head, teeth grazing the plush of his bottom lip. He revels in the sound that leaves your chest - something between a groan and a sigh. Minho feels himself crashing, the floor beneath him shaky as if a sinkhole is ready to give way. 

This feels too domestic. 

Too real. 

His lungs shrivel in his chest, heart thundering behind its marrow cage with a vengeance. Buried six feet below the surface, alive and struggling to survive long enough to dig himself out. But you've got him ensnared - every time he attempts his escape, you're pulling that cord tighter - like a raptor struggling to break the net caught around its wings. The feeling akin to... anxiety, was it? He needs out and you're not allowing it. 

Minho feels you pull back before he has the chance, heads in a collective haze as you laugh breathily. Foreheads connect, a semblance of comfort for the man; grounding him to the present moment. The apartment is quiet again, aside from two erratic hearts beating and a feline purring somewhere. Finally, you speak up - whispered words kissing his cheeks.

"Got any baking soda?" 

Those brown eyes blink open at your question, brows creasing against your forehead. 

"For?"

"Saving your skillet."

He chuckles, velvet and silk bouncing off the walls of the kitchen, and you can't help how much you love the sound. 

"Bottom cabinet next to the fridge. Middle shelf." 

Minho thinks that your smile never looks as genuine as when you direct it at him. So much authenticity from one individual... for one individual. Was that even possible? 

The cabinet door shuts with a thud, bringing him back to you and the current mess. You work like a well-oiled machine - pulling the handle of what was once the plastic spatula out of the pan, emptying the soggy eggs and water. Minho watched from over your shoulder as you filled the pan just enough to cover the melted plastic and mixed in the right amount of baking soda before placing the pan back on the stove. In reality, you didn't need to do this. Minho would buy a new one if he had to. But you were so quick to fix the mess he'd made, he didn't even bother telling you to stop.

"There! Once it starts to simmer," You clasp your hands together, turning away from the active burner with a look of pride, "the plastic should come up and your skillet will be saved."

The kitchen stared back at him, shrouded in a void. Even without the lights on, Minho could see the demons in the deepest shadows, phantoms that swirled and floated over the space like lions hiding in tall savannah grasses, surveying. Sizing up potential prey. 

And Minho was the prime rib of a wildebeest grazing away from its herd, none the wiser to the salivating maws camouflaged in the desert brush. 

He spots that same skillet on the stovetop - melted plastic a distant memory as you did, indeed, save it. Now, he wishes he'd bought a new one. 

You and Minho had agreed to keep this fling 'no strings attached' from the beginning. And while you had agreed, he couldn't help but notice the difference in your behaviour as the weeks progressed to months. Perhaps you had just gotten more comfortable with him. Let your walls fall the more you got to know him. All Minho knew was that the way you treated him made his chest fuzzy, like carbonation rising to the top of a just-opened soda can. 

The first time he'd felt that was five months in - a simple text message... 

'Can we talk?'

In any other circumstance, Minho would've been unbothered by those three words. Can we talk. It was what you'd expect from your spouse when things weren't going too hot, or an ex wanting to explain themselves, wanting another chance. Someone who wanted to end things. His heart had never tightened in his chest like it had that evening. 

He wondered if he had done something to offend you. Expected you to tell him things weren't working for you and this whole fling was over and done. In the anxiety of it all, he still managed a calm reply of, 'Yeah. Whenever you're ready.'

The reality was that you just needed an outlet to rant about the shit day you'd had at work. Something about your supervisor expecting more from you than the rest of the team you were working alongside. Minho barely comprehended what you were upset about, too enthralled by the searing embers in your eyes through the video call and the passion in your chest as you spoke about the job that you loved and the people that made it less enjoyable for you. If anyone would have walked into his apartment and saw him, they would've thought he was talking with his spouse. The man held nothing but admiration and respect in his eyes for the person on the other end of the call. 

He'd only realized how little he'd been listening when you huffed in exhaustion, heavy palms pressing into sleep-ridden optics. 

"Alright, alright, I'm done ranting for tonight." You'd mumbled, lips twitching into a shy smile. You were never shy with him, what with the way your first meeting ended with the both of you in his bed. And yet you sat in your room, picking at the skin of your cuticles and tried your darndest to evade those brown eyes like a child being scolded by an adult. You had just unloaded about something that didn't even pertain to the guy, never mind your relationship with him. 

He probably doesn't even care. Why did I text him, of all people?

"For tonight?" Dark brows shot up in amusement, a smirk slashing his lips. "So I should expect another call tomorrow?" 

"N-no! That's not what I meant, Minho."

He watched on as you fidgeted with the charging cable that had been connected to your phone, still avoiding his gaze. You had been frazzled, but Minho's teasing had twisted the frayed wires that made up your nerves and grounded you a bit; he could tell. Finally, your gaze slipped from the oh-so-fascinating charging cable and back to him. Somewhere in Minho's foggy mind, letters subconsciously swirled into syllables - and syllables into words - until a full phrase was crafted. Sitting there in a ribcage that fluttered with butterflies. Longing eyes stared at one another through a screen, two people separated by a few city blocks. The phrase weaved through glass and pixels - every molecule that inevitably made up a sentence slithered up vocal chords only to get snuffed out in the last second once you spoke up.

"Thank you."

Minho's ears had twitched at those words, the genuine whole-heartedness in your tone. It had just about bowled him over. He recovered, though; back to his playful and teasing self. A simple jerk of the shoulder. 

"It's no problem."

The connection had gone dead for a moment, your smile frozen in a fraction of time even as your voice rolled through the speaker again.

"I'm being genuine, you know."  The connection returns and Minho remembers to breathe. "All teasing aside, I don't normally rant about my frustrations to my hookups..."

"Well, I'm happy to help you release your frustrations in more ways than one."

"Aaand I'm hanging up!" 

He had to chuckle at the memory, even as the demons on his shoulders cackle like jesters. Something shifted that night. Minho didn't know exactly what that shift meant for his relationship with you, but he felt it in every interaction from that moment on. He still feels it now as the blue light of his phone glares back at him. His thumb scrolls aimlessly through his social feed, posts and photos flying by in a blink.

It's not the distraction he was hoping for. The search bar at the top of the screen beckons him; just one tap of the finger, and their profile is at the top of your history. It has the muscles in his hand twitching. 

With a few swipes, all background apps are closed and the phone is put to sleep. He shoves the device away with a heaving sigh. Things were going... good? 

Weren't they?

This was what he had wanted, right?

It was a fling. No strings to complicate it. Just a way to pass time. To not be alone.

Shaky hands press into distressed denim, nails tearing the fibers apart as he wracks his brain. He digs deeper and deeper, excavating the mountainous terrain of thoughts and memories that he's had over the past year with you. Evidence that one could hold against him if he denied his feelings. Feelings were dangerous.

We weren't lovers. We were just two strangers wanting to fill spare time in our lives.

If the worst lies can torch the soul, Minho was a living effigy; burning alive with each lie he tells himself, affirmations to rewire the way he thinks about you. It's the homecoming to Hell and he'll be lucky to walk away from such torment. Demons get off on torment, after all.

You never thought you'd get attached, did you?

His shoulders set, muscles beneath the skin knotted with tension. The ringing swallows his hearing again. Soonie can't calm the death rattle this time, as much as he tries to.

His excavating turns impulsive and desperate; the metaphorical rocks, mud, and clay displaced from the caverns ceilings, only to crush him under its weight. The earth shifts as he attempts his escape, but he's only digging himself a deeper grave. He's fucking helpless. And yet, through the haze, he spots the ray of light that promises comfort and release.

A tear tracks down his cheek as he reaches for the discarded phone once more. Deft fingers navigate back to the homepage of his socials. One tap of the search bar. Another tap on the first profile in his search history.

And there you were to save him, digging through the mass of soil like a trained canine successfully sniffing out the soul trapped under the rubble. 

Your profile was a mix of your favored things and selfies. Minho had found himself checking your posts when he was bored, unbeknownst to you since neither of you followed one another. He found your posts to be interesting at first. Didn't take long for periodic profile peeks to turn into subconscious ones. 

You had him before his mind could even attempt to intervene with what his heart wanted. 

Truth's pain can never be outrun, but Minho was stubborn enough to try. He'd run himself into the ground instead, assisted in sparking the flames that engulfed your relationship. Fractions of the argument he'd started echo in his head. Words he could never take back.

"What, you thought just because we spent more time together these past few months that I'm suddenly obsessed with you? That all this bonding and bearing souls is gonna end in some fucking fairytale ending for the both of us?"

Your eyes widened, the sudden change in his demeanor made your head spin. The two of you had gone out to the movies tonight, even spent some time at a nearby arcade afterward. Everything was going so well, until it wasn't... 

You didn't expect your teasing joke about having a "date night" to so catastrophically backfire. 

"Where's all this coming from, Minho?"

For the first time since you met, you swore the person talking was an imposter. The words that spilled from his lips seemed to flow so easily for him. You hated it. Minho's gaze darkened, shoulders wound tight in a way that sent up a flag of caution in your mind. It had you so confused that you didn't even realize the snake coiled in the grass. 

"You knew what you were getting into." His voice is unnervingly low, fists clenched so tight you swear they crack under the pressure. "This was nothing more than a fling. It's not my fault that you can't control your feelings."

Your gaze hardened. The air between you had shifted; it's charged. Tense. He's standing so close to you and yet a concrete wall separates the two of you for miles. Your eyes find his and you can't recover. Those same eyes that had become a safe haven for you - warm and teasing and always inviting - were now pools of stagnant muddy water. The viper grows restless the longer you stare, baring fangs in a show of agitation. You shake your head.

"Well fuck, tell me how you really feel. Please." 

You hated that your voice cracked. 

Minho hated that your voice cracked. 

His chest strained with every word from you, ensnared by glassy eyes and the attempt at sarcasm. Still, the emotions flowed from you like a broken dam. It came to you so easily; expressing emotions. Minho loved that about you. And he hated that he loved it. The man sees red because of it.

"This was a mistake. I knew it from the moment we agreed to this."

"Then why bother wasting all this time on me, huh?" Your quick response only fuels his frustration, but you don't notice. "We've been at this for a whole year, and now you're trying to tell me this has been nothing but a-"

"You really think I enjoy spending all my time with someone so fucking needy?" The venom drips from the viper's fangs as it strikes, piercing the muscle deep within your chest. His words reverberate through the kitchen as he unloads his frustrations on you. A flash of orange and white zips past the kitchen entrance, searching for comfort deeper in the apartment. Somewhere deep in Minho's psyche, the rational little guy is attempting damage control, to no avail. The man is wound so tightly that words fly with no filter. Venom floods your veins.

You're nothing more than a fling. 

Just like every other person before you.

You stand there, waiting for him to come down from his epic high. You didn't know where this had came from, considering everything seemed fine between you two since the beginning. Perhaps it was a lapse of judgement on your part. Even so, you didn't deserve the modest amount of insults and hurtful words that he threw at you.

Once he's done, you wait with baited breath and a maimed soul. The apartment is deathly silent aside from the rasped breathing and shuffling of pacing feet. Slender fingers run rampant through dark locks. When Minho turns around to face you, you finally speak; voice as calm and steady as you can muster.

"Are you done?"

You hadn't looked away in the past three minutes since he'd began tearing into you. You couldn't allow yourself to. You had yet to say anything in this exchange that you would regret. As much as he had hurt you, you couldn't allow yourself to hurt him back. Shots had been fired and you had taken every last bullet, felt it tear and burn the chasms of your soul like acid.

Minho breaks first. Dark optics shut, accompanied by a heaving sigh that shrivels his lungs. The guilt hits like a freight train, metal slamming into his chest repeatedly. But he doesn't get ample time to recover from it because you're moving in his peripheral. He watches you reach for your belongings on the kitchen counter - phone, bag, earbuds. You reach for the jacket you'd brought along. The night had been going so well.

It wasn't supposed to end like this...

You shrug the piece on with a heavy heart, the fleece cloaking you in a warmth you know you won't find in this place any longer. Minho stands there wracking his brain for the apology he's searching for. God, he fucking despises himself.

"You know, all I needed to hear was that this wasn't working for you anymore. I would've just left it as it is." Your voice was as steady as before. Soft. Even. A whisper through the trees. Minho swears you have more to say, a pause that has your throat visibly taught. If you did, you shoved it down, turning towards the door where your shoes sit in waiting. They slip on easily, bringing you one step closer to what Minho is dreading. 

But how could he expect anything less after everything he'd said?

You turn to face him for the last time, searching voided optics for any semblance of guilt or regret from the past fifteen minutes of back and forth. But even as Minho's dealing with his internal battles, his expression on his face is one of stoicism. You couldn't read him. 

Fingers grasp the door handle, subconsciously tightening around brass. You take in the apartment for the last time, tongue darting out to wet dry lips before you find his shadow again. The door opens with a subtle click and your brows crease. You can't bring yourself to say a goodbye. It's not what you want, after all. So you settle on the current thought that stabs at your skull.

"Mixed signals aren't as sexy as you might think." Your eyes pierce through him, a fire extinguished as you make your leave.

The door closes behind you with a thud. A gunshot, Minho believes. Because as much as you had tried not to hurt him, your attempts were futile. 

His soul bleeds out on the kitchen floor.

How foolish one could be. 

Minho knew there was some truth to his words that night. He knew he would probably break your heart at the end of it all, mostly on account of his shitty communication when he felt it was time to quit an arrangement. But then again, he'd never dealt with feelings like this before. Never had to fight with himself over whether or not the spike in his pulse was just a mish-mash of lust and desire, or an all-encompassing love that set his heart aflutter. 

And then there you were.

With your domestic affections and your heart-shuttering behaviour. How the fuck could he think over anything when you were around? He may as well cease to exist.

Brown optics rove over the latest post on your profile, a photo that he had taken during one of your many "dates" together. A weekend trip that Minho had mentioned to you on a whim after you'd had a particularly shitty week of work. He had planned everything out, much to your surprise, but you couldn't have asked for a better weekend. You'd spent all night talking about anything and everything during the train ride, and while Minho wouldn't have chosen the night train in any other circumstance, he knew that he'd enjoy it with you. Even if you had fallen asleep, having you there would've been enough. You had arrived at Jeongdongjin station and made it to the coast just in time to experience the ocean waking in tandem with the sun. You hadn't noticed at the time, but Minho had pulled his phone out and captured the fleeting moment with the press of a button. He had never confessed that you had been the main focus of the photo.

The entirety of that weekend had chewed your relationship up and spit it out somewhere in between for Minho. 

Somewhere in between nails tearing bed sheets and plush lips pressing against knuckles. Borrowing old T-shirts and sharing breakfast in bed. Somewhere in between two strangers giving in to their carnal desires and a thick band of silver sitting pretty in a velvet box, weighing heavy in one's front pocket. A much needed weekend getaway spelled more questions than answers that only brought on more conflicts between head and heart.

Only now, he realizes that's exactly what he needed. 

The time on his phone reads 9:57 PM. Minho's fingers curl gently through Soonie's fur as he thinks over his options.

Drowning in his guilt sounds fitting, maybe a bit unhealthy. But he's fought his heart tooth-and-nail for the past few months. And it's gotten him a front row seat to his own self-destruction. Nowhere good, that's for certain!

Minho zeros in on the apartment door with a burning in his gut and a newfound determination. Feline eyes track the shape of his caretaker, hardwood creaking with each hurried step. The door shuts with a resounding thud. 

The apartment is quiet until a quiet chirrup! leaves Soonie's throat. Tabby fur preens as pink toe beans reach forward in a big stretch, tail high and nails protracting with a lazy abandon. A moment passes - tail twitches, a yawn presenting little white fangs, a pink tongue wetting whiskers - before he hops off the sofa and makes the long journey to his human's bedroom. Green eyes survey the room upon entering. 

A pile of dirty clothes lay on the floor at the foot of the bed, Minho's no doubt from the scent. Soonie knows his human hasn't been doing too well. He can sense the inner turmoil every morning when he wakes up, every evening when he comes home. And as much as he tries to comfort him, Soonie knows he can only bring so much relief. 

Whiskers twitch at the familiar scent he's searching for, padding through the bedroom towards the bathroom. A hoodie lays in the doorway, hiding a few other garments beneath. Your clothes. Left behind like most of your belongings that night. He greets the fabric with short trills and soft sea glass; a sort of joyful hello, I've missed you to a long-lost friend. He analyzes the heap before making the executive decision of curling up in it. 

Minutes pass, a city muted by glass barriers. Green eyes close. A deep sigh is released. 

The feline settles in for a cat nap.

ᓚᘏᗢ~~~ᓚᘏᗢ~~~ᓚᘏᗢ~~~ᓚᘏᗢ~~~ᓚᘏᗢ~~~ᓚᘏᗢ~~~ᓚᘏᗢ

The city bustles with nightlife, even at 10:26 on a Wednesday. Your feet ache from the busy work day, having been pulled every which way since the start of your shift. Now, all you wished for was to get home and melt beneath a steaming showerhead. 

Unfortunately, the promise of a nice shower doesn't hold off the severe storm in your mind that is Lee Minho.

You wish that four weeks of no contact would've been the cure for you, but alas. One year with someone doesn't exactly make it easy to erase them from your memory, fling or not. And right now, you'd give anything for some concoction that would wipe the slate clean. The distance didn't help. It only kept you locked inside your head, Minho's words - the good and the bad - glued to every last nerve ending of your brain. 

If you were honest with yourself, you would admit that this illusion that you had manifested was crazy. You and Minho weren't anything beyond two people messing around. You'd fucked around with other people before him without feelings getting involved. But as they say, you can't help who you fall for. The heart wants what it wants. So on and so forth. 

You shake your head as you enter the apartment building, keys rattling in your grasp. One of two elevators is waiting patiently for you and you silently thank the elevator Gods for such hospitality. You press the floor to your apartment, stepping back until your back hits the wall. A sigh leaves you, free hand finding purchase at the bridge of your nose. Your fingers press into the corners of tired eyes, encouraging fuzzy stars behind the lids.

Fuck, what a fool you had been.

All this overthinking has you utterly exhausted.

Perhaps Minho was right; you should have hit the brakes, sealed the cap on your own feelings months ago. But then the what ifs invade your rational thoughts. What if this fling would've worked out? What if Minho had felt the same way for you? What if you had moved in after all, and all those lingering glances and teasing banter was more than a lustful attraction?

What if you keep up this stupid fantasy until the band-aids no longer hide the cracks? 

The thought stings, like slicing your heart with a serrated blade. 

The elevator halts it's journey, pulling you from your intrusive thoughts with a Ding! You make your exit and head down the main hall of the fourth floor. You really need some closure, or a distraction. Maybe both. Both sound good, you think. Or maybe some good ol' reverse psychology. 

What's the point of moping about some guy who was only interested in a quick fuck, right? 

God, now you're fucking grasping at straws. 

All you're realizing is that, lately, your mental hurdles begin and end with Lee Minho. You give up for now, because at this point, there's no winning with your rose-colored glasses on. What you need is a warm shower and a comfort food to go along with a comfort show. 

You turn the corner, steps faltering at the familiar shadow standing a few feet down the hall. Your heart strains against your chest.

"Minho."

Your voice knocks him from his stupor, glancing away from the numbers adorning your apartment door to lock eyes with you. He was here, like an answered prayer. Only you crossed that prayer off your list the moment you left him standing in the entrance of his apartment. Lucifer was laughing up at you from the deepest circle of Hell.

You knew that as much as you attempted to hide your feelings for him, Minho could read you like an open book. On the other hand, Minho was a novel of riddles, every sentence more cryptic than the last. You spent the last few months trying your hand at unscrambling the secrets behind his mannerisms, to no avail. The man rode the middle line at all times. And now, you needed to heal the papercuts that littered your heart.

You straighten at the sound of your name falling from his lips. 

"I uh - you.. you're home late." His voice wavers, and suddenly the carpet beneath his feet is super interesting. Fingers anxiously rub the nape of his neck. Again, you stand before this man, confusion etching the lines of your forehead. 

The Lee Minho you know doesn't act like this. Anxious and fidgeting like a nerved up school boy. He's quite the opposite; bold, confident, if a bit effervescent. 

You remember you haven't answered him, blinking back to the present.

"Yeah... double shift." 

He nods at your short response. You can't be bothered to mask the exhausted irritation in your tone, too focused on the fact that he's standing here at all. Minho's expression holds something akin to relief, and for a moment you find yourself hoping that it's because of you. You internally slap yourself on the wrist for it.

"You don't usually take doubles."

"Why are we doing this, Minho?" You ask, exasperation heavy in your tone. Keys clatter against bits and bobbles, attached to the keyring that's hooked securely around your index finger. "What are you doing here?"

You're already sick of this forced small talk. Sick of tip-toeing around feelings. You're not sure what Minho's intentions are after weeks of no contact, and frankly, you aren't sure you have the energy to care. 

Minho tears his hand from the base of his neck, fingers lacing together at the crown of his skull. The frustration that radiates from him is obvious, even more so when his lips thin into a snarl. You're suddenly wondering if he's here to rip into you again. The fluorescent lights hum a monotonous tune as you stand there watching him shoot daggers at unseen phantoms down the hall. Realization hits then.

"You can't answer that because you don't even know, yourself." 

You can't help the mocking chuckle that rumbles through your chest. He walks all this way only to stand here like a cornered feral cat. That's fucking rich! 

Minho startles at your shoulder brushing his arm, wide eyes narrowing as you fumble for the key to your apartment. Dark optics burn steady on your back, but you do your best to ignore them. Nickel-plated brass shimmies into the lock, aligning the pins in the mechanism. You turn the key.

"I was right," His voice is permafrost, freezing the muscles and joints of your hand on the door knob like some kind of magic spell, "when I said this thing between us was a mistake."

"Go home, Minho-" Your fingers press against brass, slipping into the entrance with a steeping burn beneath your skin. Minho has lived this scene once. Didn't like the ending the first time. He's the only one who can change it.

Minho feels you pushing away, so he pulls back. 

The door stops short of the frame. You look up to find sharp eyes already on you.

"I was right because I knew I would fuck this up with you."

Your body freezes in its place, hips stiff as his words bounce off ringing eardrums. Slim fingers clench against the woodgrain, broad shoulders taking up the sliver of space that's left. Your brows crease above narrowing optics, taking in the enigma of a man before you. There's a cautious plea swimming just beneath dark, tired irises. 

Hear me out. Please. 

A moment passes of just this; a staring contest between two souls, peeling back epidermis to discover the treasures hidden under it's surface. Down the hall, a door rattles it's frame, slammed shut by the careless and exhausted tenant who resides there. It's a draw, with the both of you blinking simultaneously. Maybe... 

When you haven't made a move to close the door, you know your mind is already made up. You release the breath you've been holding. Minho's gaze softens, and although this conversation would be best discussed in private, he doesn't push you to let him in. You're still standoffish, as you should be after the shit he'd said weeks ago. But you pull the door open a bit, allowing him enough space to - at the very least - breech the threshold. He shifts forward, leaning a shoulder against the steel door frame.

"You have every right to slam this door in my face." He says, bores a hole in the damned thing as he speaks. "Hell, I'll even do it for you. I've spent so much time fighting with myself. Telling myself that every stolen glance and lingering touch was part of our arrangement. But then you started to treat this as more than just sex, and I-" 

He falters, runs a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots. Fuck, why was this so hard for him? You may have been right; He doesn't know exactly what he wants to say to you. But he's here, and you're willing to listen. 

So he's gotta try his hand. Lay all his cards on the table. 

"I'm not the guy who settles down. I don't take anyone on dates, or plan trips to de-stress. I spend more money on my cat in a year than anyone else, including myself. And yet, somehow, I've done all of that with you." Minho's eyes glow as he speaks, you swear you spot little embers aflame in gold - A sunrise you've yet to behold. His tone is low, but there's no doubt that he's bearing his heart with every word.

“That trip to Jeongdongjin… I barely remember it because I spent all my time caught up in you. It’s been that way since three months in when I teased you about moving in with me. You’ve had me wrapped around your finger since then, double-knotted for good measure. And that scares the shit out of me! Because I’ve never felt this way with anybody. Like something’s missing when they’re not around.” He shakes his head, as if he's scolding himself. "I said a lot of shit that night that I'm not proud of. Let my own walls cave in on me, and I hurt you in the process. And no amount of sorry could make up for that, I know. But I don't think I could live with myself if I saw you around this city with someone else. And I know you deserve so much more than what I've offered. I don't know how to love someone like that."

The muscle in your chest goes into overdrive as he rambles. You weren't sure what you were expecting when you saw him standing there in the hallway, but you're certain it wasn't this. For a moment, silence fills the space between you two. He sucks down a deep breath, swallows his nerves away. 

"But I want to try. With you."

Oh.

You zero in on the man, eyes deadlocked on one another as you process his words. Minho wants to try. And you want nothing more than to accept his proposal as truth. But every neuron in your brain is firing off red flag like a siren. As much as you've fallen, you've also shattered like a box of fine china sitting on the highest shelf - the height too great to salvage such a delicate parcel. The chemistry is - was there. Undeniably. But now?

Part of you wants to slam the door and forget that this conversation, this connection ever happened. The other part of you wants to give him everything. Pull him in and never let go.

Quit entertaining these fantasies!

You shake your head, eyes closing as shaky fingers press against dark lids, attempting to quell the pounding that's settled in your temples. You wish it'd quell your anxiety. Your ringing ears. You sigh, leaning into the width of the door as you let your hands fall to your sides. Minho's gaze is almost thoughtful when you look up; those hidden embers dulled, but still illuminated by the warm glow of the floor lamp in your apartment. He closes the distance by a half-step and your heart rattles in your chest. 

But you don't back away. 

You don't slam the door in his face. 

And when his bold step doesn't get him in trouble, he brings a cautious hand up. It's unlike him to be so slow like his, hovering over you as if you're a wild animal that's in need of rehabilitation and about to bolt. But you're still here, by some miracle, and you allow him into your space. Because in the moments where Minho's emotions seem to break the barrier of cool rationality he's built for himself, you wonder just how deep his feelings for you really run.

He's gonna break your heart into a million little pieces again. Could you really handle that?

The thoughts tumble until he makes contact, drawing you out of your mind and back into the moment. Warmth bleeds into warmth as his fingers press into the skin behind your ear, calloused thumb skating over the expanse of your cheek bone. You wonder what it'd be like to forget such a tender touch. Your hands find Minho's wrists, sliding lower to grip strong forearms as you rest your forehead on the center of his chest. The rhythm of his heartbeat is steady and soothing - a lullaby for your tired mind.

There's no mistaking the intimacy in these actions, no longer an exchange of rough leather and torn linen, but of pressed lavender and well-worn journals. It's comfortable. Feels like a safe haven. It drowns out every single worry in your head. Even so...

"I need time..." Your voice is a whisper, laced with an exhaustion that dominates your being.

"Alright."

"I can't just fall back into your arms because you say you want this now. That's not how this works."

You feel his voice rumble in your head; sweet like honey, as intoxicating as wine.

"We can start over."

He pulls away from you, lifting your head up to look you in the eyes. 

"Take things slow."

He nods.

"Take things slow... see where this goes."

"But if you ever chew me out like that again, I'm gone."

"Shit, baby, I'll buy you the one way ticket out of Seoul." He says it so seriously, you can't help but laugh. The sound ushers forth galaxies in raw citrine.

You allow yourself to slip into a state of warmth and comfort, your body leaning subconsciously as you bump your forehead with his. Minho's hand slips from your cheek, his fingers splaying at the back of your neck to pull you in until your lips meet. A duet of profound sighs tame rabid nerves. It's slow and delicate, technicolour - Everything you don't expect from him, yet everything you need from him. He takes up your space like he belongs there. 

Maybe he does.

You peel back with a soft smile etching your face. When you press yourself further against his chest, he wraps his arms around you in a gentle embrace, fingers running the span of your back in soothing motions. If this is what taking things slow feels like, then it might be the best thing that's ever happened to you.

"It's getting late." He states, catching the time on the wall clock a little ways from the door - 11:03 PM -and you hum, acknowledging the fact even as you stifle a yawn into his jacket. "I should go."

You crane your neck to catch his gaze.

"Stay for tonight?"

You take in the look of shock on his face because, obviously, he doesn't expect you to ask. But he's already here, basking in your beauty and joy and all the things he's missed while he's been distant. It's written all over his face. And if you're honest, the close proximity and your exhaustion are both catching up to you.

Before you can explain yourself further, Minho's hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together and pulling you into the apartment. The door finally shuts.

Minho doesn't quite know how he'll do it, but as long as he's got this chance, he'll gladly spend the rest of his life making it up to you. 

Psst!! If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read my work 💕 I appreciate you!

[theoceanoasis]

Rodimus on berth rest after having twin sparks. He’s fueling them still sporting that very huge sparkling tank when Drift and Ratchet find him.

This is after the lost light, Ratchet lives, where the two said something that made Rodimus think they wouldn’t want a sparkling or want one with him

He laid between the two of them trying to hide how nervous he was. He'd recently found out he was sparked and didn't know how to tell them.

He decided to discreetly ask them questions about having sparklings. Wondering how they felt about it.

Ratchet had immediately scoffed at the idea saying he was too old and had too much to do. Drift nodded talking about how he wouldn't be a good influence and after everything that's happened sparklings are out of the question.

He felt tears in his optics. Even though he knew this would happen, he'd still gotten his hopes up like an idiot. He tried to hold back tears as he came up with an excuse to escape.

Going back to his apartment he broke down sobbing. Putting a hand against his belly he felt overwhelmed.

He didn't know what he was expecting. Part of him had hoped they would have wanted a sparkling and now he was trying to figure out what he was going to do.

He wanted to keep them which means he'd be doing this alone. It terrified him and he was scared he'd mess his sparkling up by being a terrible carrier.

Looking around his baren apartment he didn't realize how much time he spent with Drift and Ratchet. Unlike their apartment which is filled with warmth and always makes him feel at home.

His apartment was sad and empty with him barely unpacking anything, since he was barely there. It was also too small for him to raise a sparkling inside.

He knew his relationship with Drift and Ratchet was over. They wouldn't want the sparkling and he didn't want to burden them with his decision.

The first thing he needed to do is find another bigger apartment where he could raise his little one by himself.

He also needed to find a way to break things off with Ratchet and Drift. Even though he was just a fling and they wouldn't care if he stopped sleeping with them. He still felt guilty about up and leaving without saying a word.

While he was trying to figure out what to say. He got a call from Drift asking if he wanted to come over. His spark fluttered in his chest even though he knew it was because they wanted a threesome.

Panicking slightly he felt sick at the idea. He didn't want to be in a loveless relationship anymore. He was having a sparkling now and needed to grow up and stop chasing after a fantasy. He was nothing but stress relief to them and he deserved better. He wanted someone who loved him and if he stayed now he'd forever be stuck as a casual fling.

"I'm sorry Drift I can't come over."

"That's fine. Maybe you can come over tomorrow?"

"No. It's been nice spending time with you and Ratchet and I've enjoyed it a lot, but it's time I moved on."

"What? I don't understand. What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I don't want to do this anymore. I need a break to clear my head and get things in order."

"Rodimus..."

"I have to go now."

He hung up. Feeling guilty for upsetting Drift but when he put a hand on his belly he knew he was making the right decision.

After that things moved quickly. He got a new apartment in a nicer area with a better school. It was also bigger and had a nice kitchen. Looking around he could imagine his little one growing up there.

He worked hard on his little one's nursery and by the end it was one of his favorite places in the house. Looking at the crib he felt tears in his optics because everything felt so real. He was going to have a sparkling and raise them by himself.

Feeling a kick he placed his hand on his belly rubbing it soothingly. It was a good thing he'd broken things off when he did because his tanks had quickly swelled. Until it was obvious he was carrying.

His belly was really big and it made it hard to move at times. In the morning he'd always struggle to get up wishing someone was there to help him. Sometimes he'd imagine Drift or Ratchets warmth pressed against him. He'd pretend they were there helping him up and taking care of him. Only to open his optics and find himself in his empty apartment.

Alone except for his little one's who would be here soon.

He'd been in the kitchen grabbing something to eat when he felt a gush of energon. He looked down in shock his body cramping as he went into labor.

He rushed himself to the medbay with a hand on his belly. He was both excited and nervous.

Being taken to a room he went into emergence. After what felt like hours his sparkling was finally there. He smiled tiredly as he heard his little one cry only to gasp when he felt another cramp.

He heard frantic voices and then he was being told to push. He screamed in pain as he pushed again. He was so exhausted and he felt tears fall. Worried he wouldn't be able to push them out when he finally managed.

He stared in shock looking at his twin sparklings. Even though he was exhausted he still reached for them instinct taking over. His little one's cried for him and he kissed their little heads.

Holding them close he felt tears fall because they were so perfect. He opened his chest plates to let them feed and looked them over.

They were a mix between himself, Ratchet and Drift. Which made his spark ache because he wished they were there.

Focusing on his little ones he cooed watching as they cuddled against his chest falling asleep.

After being released from the medbay he was on bed rest. His lower body throbbed painfully and the medics said it would take a while before he lost the sparkling weight and to be patient.

He took care of his sparklings watching over them as they slept. They were both so perfect and he loved them so much.

When they awoke he opened his chest plates and watched as they both fed from him. He brushed a hand against their little heads when he heard a knock on the door.

Assuming it was one of the medics checking in. He unlocked the door shouting.

"It's open!"

He looked back at his sparklings when he heard a gasp. Confused he looked up in surprise to see Drift and Ratchet. Both of them were staring at his sparklings in surprise and he pulled them closer trying to hide them from view.

"What are you doing here?"

He gave them both a nervous look.

"You haven't been answering our calls we were worried about you. We tried going to your apartment and that's when we learned you moved."

"Kid what is going on?"

Ratchet pulled out a scanner and scanned him and the sparklings. Only to look at the results in shock.

"What is it?"

Drift gave him a worried look.

"Those are our sparklings. Rodimus why didn't you tell us?"

He shrugged looking down in shame.

"I asked about sparklings and you didn't want any. I didn't want to burden you."

"No Roddy."

Drift came to his side and he flinched. Pulling his sparklings away from him.

"We were talking about ourselves. We're too old and have gone through so much that we could never have sparklings."

"He's right."

Ratchet came over putting a hand on Drifts shoulder.

"We gave up on the idea a long time ago."

Looking at the two of them he didn't know what to do and he found himself crying as he was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. Drift and Ratchet held him. Sitting on either side he leaned against them for support. For so long he's wanted this and now he's finally got it.

He relaxed against them letting them hold their sparklings as he cuddled against them. He knew they had a lot to talk about but at least he wasn't alone anymore.

[ghostoffuturespast]

Works In Progress 2023: A Cyberpunk 2077 Year In Review

I thought for a hot minute about doing one of those snazzy templates that’s been going around, but editing photos just ain’t my MO and rather than going by month I picked 12 favs that I’ve posted in 2023. Some of them were popular, some of them weren't. Overall, I think I did pretty good for just doing vanilla photomode on console.

You might be wondering why there's a picture of a sticky note. I don't remember when I started doing this, and I'm horribly inconsistent as you can see by the dates, but I'll jot down my word count for my wip chapter and then jot it down again when I remember to later.

I write slow. A lot of times I sit down to write and it feels like the wheels are spinning in place. My minutes and hours don't stretch very far, typically don't add up to much. But days, weeks, months. That's when I can at least measure the progress.

Fic: So It Goes 40/44 - 438,946 words

My V x River Ward and tinfoil hat conspiracy theory long fic. I've spent way more hours on this then I have on any of my VP.

I got tagged by @just-a-cybercroissant @therealnightcity and @wanderingaldecaldo to do some WIP Whenevers. I post my VP pretty regularly, so it’s always seemed silly to do work in progress posts for them, and I don’t know when I’ll have any new writing to share since in between work and the holidays, I haven’t had much time to sit down with anything since my last chapter update. And I've been feeling very... stingy, lately. Especially when it comes to mine and other people's writing. So take this WIP/Year In Review as my offering. Both these series, as am I, are all very much still works in progress. 

I confined my reflections for this year below the cut. If you don’t want to read my long-ass essays, you can admire the pictures, maybe check out my fic, or just move along and have yourself a lovely day.

We’ll start with the easy one.

VP

After at least a year of multiple playthroughs (I’ve played all the lifepaths, done all the endings), it only occurred to me at the beginning of this year to start taking VP. Part of the reason I never did before was because I didn’t realize it was a thing and then by the time I did, I figured I didn’t have much to offer. I play on PS5 and only have access to vanilla photomode, so seeing everyone else’s high-fidelity, ultra ray-tracing, modded, posed, full on virtual photo shoot photos, I was like there’s no way. (Not that I’m hating on PC modders, it’s just not everyone has access to mods or a PC capable of running the game, and I’m all for making art and creative endeavors accessible.) On top of that, all I’d ever heard from most other folks was how much vanilla photomode sucked. In the glamorous world of VP, I didn’t think there was any room for me.

But I started snapping pics anyway. And sure, there are a lot of limitations with vanilla photomode. But what that really translates to is opportunities to get creative. I am also a hoe for subverting people’s expectations, and very much believe when there’s a will, there’s a way.

Environmental and landscape shots were my first subjects before I started branching out into portraits and then capturing story moments. Through VP I found an entirely new way to enjoy a game that I’d already played a ridiculous number of times along with also finally being brave enough to share my V with other people too. I’d always worried about that before, if people would like her. Granted, I know Grandpa’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but whether you like her or not, I certainly think she’s made a name for herself over the past few months. Even if most people haven’t really gotten to know her the way I’d hoped. 

I’ve taken hundreds of photos this past year. Most of which I’ll never share. There’s a lot of flops, a lot of weird experiments, ones that didn’t quite turn out the way I’d hoped, but I’ve learned something from every single one of them. I know how to spot good lighting, frame shots to create optical illusions, get a very limited toolkit to work in my favor, parkoured on all of the things, and heck, I even figured out how to make Grandpa smooch other NPCs. I’ve done atmospheric, mundane, down right goofy, as well as things that most people probably thought weren’t fucking possible.

I can’t say how long I’ll keep doing this, I’m sure I’ll move on at some point, but for now I’m still enjoying myself. There's a lot to explore in this game and I just can’t stop digging Night City.

Now, for the more complicated thing.

Writing

So It Goes… My peace, my war, my greedy and most ravenous of ghosts.

I’m operating under the assumption that most people following me here probably haven't read my fic or aren’t all that interested in reading it to begin with. It’s fine. But you need to understand this fic, my writing, is the main thing that brought me here. This is also Grandpa V’s story. Most of you have met her, but unless you've been reading, most of you do not know her.

I wrote around 185,000 words and posted 10 chapters this year. 2022 was about 253,000 words and 30 chapters, along with several unrelated one shots. However, I don’t think I’ve done a single chapter this year that was less then 10k, and my longest managed to hit 27k. As of the last update I posted, the fic is currently sitting at around 439k words, 40 chapters, and still isn’t done.

I have four more chapters to write. I have written a metric shit ton of words. This is, by far, the longest and most intense creative project I’ve ever endeavored to complete.

When I started writing, I was expecting this fic to be around 100-150k. That seemed to be the average for most long fics. I did not plan on being an outlier. I'm not sure you can ever really plan for that, but I guess I enjoy subverting my own expectations too.

For those of you who are reading my fic, it is my sincerest hope that it shatters every expectation of where you think it’s going. It’s not a joke that I tagged my fic “#an ode to my tinfoil hat”. An ode it has turned out to be. I’ve been sitting on this theory for two years. I have told no one about it. I hope it sticks the landing and hits the way I want it to. I don't know if it will. But fuck, I just want to be done with it so I can move on with my life, take a break, and give myself the opportunity to make and focus on other things before I have to get back on the damn horse.

I wrote less this past year then I did in 2022. I had a lot of life changes, most of which were good, but with times of change come times of adjustment. Along with some realizations that maybe you don’t understand as much as you thought you did. Looking back, I’ve been in a state of unsettled, kuzushi, for a really long time. Which is not a good place to be. It’s how your ass ends up on the ground with a knee knocking out all your teeth. I thought I knew better. Thought I had enough practice to get away from it. But bad habits have good memories.

I think given the circumstances, I accomplished a lot with my writing this year. I don’t know if my writing is exactly where I want it to be. I doubt it every will be, but it’s evolved, grown, and I wrote a pretty hefty stack of words considering I started working full-time again, bought a house with my partner, moved, and have been dealing with the millions of other beans that life tends to throw one’s way. That being said, and for full disclosure, I’ve also been dealing with some of the worst cases of jealousy and envy I’ve had since I was a teenager. 

Frankly, it sucks. They walk with me every fucking where I go, hold my hands to whisper back all my doubts. Try to persuade me to my baser instincts, to be cruel and lash out. But that's not aikido. Luckily, I’m not 16 anymore so it’s at least been easier for me to identify the problem. Though I’m still coming up short in terms of actually being able to do anything about it, and will be for at least a few months more. 

Yeah, I keep talking about it because I don’t know how many people know that I've been feeling this way. And I’m tired of not talking about it in a room full of creatives, because yeah, I know I’m not the only one that feels this way. And not talking about it just makes all that pent up resentment worse for everyone.

Don’t get me wrong, I love writing. But with the way I work and think, it’s a slow, tedious, and incredibly time-consuming art. With how much my fic has snowballed over the course of writing, it’s left very little room for the other hobbies in my life. And as my fellow writers probably already know, writing is an incredibly insular craft. And unlike a picture or an image, which only requires a glance, reading a bunch of words requires time and commitment.

So, when you put yourself out there and share what you wrote, it’s a lonely feeling not knowing whether or not anyone connected with what you put on the page. Especially, when the people who do read aren’t compelled to voice anything and when the people you’d hope would read don’t. And then you're stuck in the dark, not knowing, because neither of us says a goddamn thing.

I started writing this fic prior to actually joining the CP2077 fandom. And I joined the fandom because I felt alone. I’ve been here a while now, albeit in a few different places, and that feeling still hasn’t gone away. I’m still trying to find camaraderie with my fellow writers and carve out something that kinda sort of resembles a home or a sense of community. I watch my peers around me as they seem to build that with each other, except me.

I’m envious of the things that people make and jealous of the relationships those have created and fostered between said people, because for the life of me, it’s been a struggle to cultivate that since I got here. I know it’s selfish, but I also don’t know what about me makes people so hesitant. There have been a handful of strangers that have shown up for me regularly, but as far as people I call friends in this fandom that have shown up and actually stuck around, I can only name one right now. (I know we're all busy. And I acknowledge my writing's not for everyone. I know maybe some of you are quiet, or shy, or probably a thousand other things. I get it. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt any less. People will never know unless you say. Never know unless you take the time to interact or engage. Be brave. And that's true for a lot of things.)

The propensity is for the negative to outweigh the positive. I've got a lot of numbers on my fic, so you would think things would be fine, but at this point they just feel empty. They don't bring me any comfort or real satisfaction. And I hate feeling like the people I know don’t care and that most of you are just talking around me. That I’m some kind of annoyance not fit to interact with. Which may or may not be the case. I don’t know. Again, most of you have never said anything. And maybe I need to accept the fact that most of you never will.

But this is me trying to start conversation.

It’s really shitty, knowing that the thing I want the most is also the thing holding me back. I know how to work on it too, not that it’s any guarantee. The problem is I’m still writing and in a needy state of greed. And because I’m slow, I don’t have the time or the energy to be generous. I can only take right now. I can’t give. 

Relationships require both.

I can’t bring myself to read other people’s writing. I can’t comment, or like, or share if I haven’t read anything. I'm desperate for conversation, but I also don't have the time or assurance to facilitate it with other people right now. And for some reason people never seem to want to talk to me, especially when it comes to writing. I want to be part of conversations, talk deeply with other people. But I can’t speak right now, I'm not in a place to offer generosity without someone first giving it to me.

And generosity and grace is what we all need.

Four more chapters and I hope my ghosts will finally let me read in peace.

[planetamarte]

love in the future

shadomega. poetry in first person pov. warning for major character death. ao3 link

Shadow the Hedgehog, knowing that immortality is not a guarantee for a machine, thinks about the day that will come when E-123 Omega is no longer with him.

---

Grief is a close friend of mine.

I know it’s one of yours, too.

When you go, I will grieve like I never have.

I have kissed the steel strip directly beneath your head across lifetimes,

savoring each spark of electricity when you kiss me back.

I've known the closeness of your metallic flesh,

tracing my fingers along every inch of your chassis,

loving every inch of your sturdy frame

even as it���s rusted and discolored with age.

You've given me quite the amount of scares,

making me carefully move around the wires in your insides

tender enough so I don't break you.

(I used to be way worse at it.

I've gained experience throughout the generations we've spent together;

now I know you like the back of my own hand.)

Every time, I heave a sigh of relief when you power back online,

knowing that the love of my life is still there,

the lines of code that make up your sentience still remaining in their respective places.

I worry for the day you don’t wake up.

That it’s finally time every time.

Maybe you won’t go out that easy;

I know you’re stubborn enough that you wouldn’t want it to happen that way.

I love that about you.

You're not even as stubborn as you once were,

yet you refuse to even entertain the idea of leaving me behind.

I know it hurts you just as much as me.

I have had to worry far less about losing you than everyone else,

but I know the day will come

that your CPU malfunctions—

you take too bad of a hit—

and you won't turn back on for me to look into your optical cameras,

you into my eyes,

and call me your beloved anymore.

When that day comes, I know I will cry the same way I always have

whenever Death knocks on the door of someone close to me

with the sharp tip of his glaring scythe.

I'll lay you to rest, my darling, and I know it’ll hurt when I do.

You want to be the last surviving machine around,

so if it turns out you’re not—

(I know you refuse to think you won’t be)

—I’ll carry your dead processor chip on a necklace close to my heart until the end of time

so that eventually, when the heat of the sun destroys the Earth,

you’ll come right along with me.

[txemptress]

𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐀 | 4.

— “𝐈'𝐌 𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐘'𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌?”

marq's note: I've been piling these up for a while now 💀

After what had happened to her husband, Name shut herself out completely from all the others. Her breakdown caused pain towards others. Especially Eros who had attempted multiple times to be there for her only to be pushed away.

Her husband's funeral came and went with her not bothering to make an appearance. His relatives, siblings especially, did not approve of this and didn't bother giving her the fortune her husband had left for her.

Everyone was mourning the lost of a powerful icon in the empire, unbeknownst to them that someone found this more amusing than anything in the world.

Eros played with a quill, thinking what to answer to a letter regarding the details of death of the duke. He decided that it'd be best to write the actual details instead of reporting it as confidential due to the suspicions that may occur if he dared do so.

In Name's room, laid the weak and frail Name who barely slept and looked horrid. Face stained with tear streaks she looked out the window, watching the countless people walking around and being productive. This productive behavior made her feel terrible for they were there acting so happy and enjoying their works whilst she laid here with no work to be done as well as no happiness to be spent on a productive day.

This caused something in her to stir as in moments she found herself fully bathe and dressed in a dress tailored for her by her husband. He had loved her in this dress. She was certain he'd be happy seeing her like this if his spirit was still here.

Before she could leave the room, a rustling of leaves stopped midway towards the door. A familiar scent greeted her in the air. Turning around she found no one there, yet the strong scent lingered. Who was that? Walking towards the balcony, she found no one there only an empty place with the scent being stronger than before. A sigh escaped her lips as she just left, unknown to her that someone was dangling on the ledge above the balcony.

He watched as the girl left without another action. His rare colored optics gleaming with delight as he jumped down. Rummaging through the papers and things he found a lot of things belonging to her and her husband. He was here to investigate about the husband, and who better to search from than the lover herself?

A smirk played onto his lips as he found a few key information from those letters especially from her diary talking about sudden disappearances and calls given to her husband.

Finishing up with his work, he made sure to organize everything as how they were to avoid suspicion. With that done he had one more thing to do, placing a wrapped gift onto the bed he looked over his shoulder once more to analyze his work before deciding to leave. Hence the reason why there were tons of fallen leaves found the next day.

Name entered her room to find the present. Who..?

Opening it slowly, she found a necklace embedded with a ruby. It was beautiful and certainly unexpected. Did the crowned prince give this to her as surprise gift? He did mention he'd give her whatever she desired to make her happy once more, but this was a bit too much. Taking it, she put it on. The necklace looked amazing and she felt happy receiving it.

From afar a male smiled in relief. At least she enjoys the gift.

Few days have gone by and Name came to thank the prince for the necklace he had so kindly gifted. This made Eros stop since he did not give her that necklace. Eyeing the necklace he wondered who gave it and most importantly how much experience did this person have in fighting due to the thought of challenging the person when the time came.

A ball was approaching, so Name decided to take a trip to the tailor. She had just finished her rendezvous when she accidentally bumped into a male who was running. The male picked up the things for her as he looked up at the same time as her.

A gasp escaped from her lips as she came face-to-face with a familiar set of eyes. Eyes that had haunted her for days. Eyes that belonged to a male who had broke into her room due to being chased.

The crimson eyes that belonged to this same stranger.

akusupas:

@sidra-29 | @that-one-pretty-bitch | @roseadleyn | @d10nsaint

[thebardisabird]

Only time I'm gonna talk about this, thanks.

Peep the timestamp in the picture please. I have always been about not catering to nsfw content of minors, fictional or not. Thank you. I want to start this with: I'm exhausted even having to type this out - but I will ask everyone who saw the posts to just please leave the person who accused me of this alone about this, don't go running into their inbox trying to defend me or be disrespectful to them because that is the opposite of what I want. Leave them alone. I'm very fucking serious - do not fucking do that, I don't appreciate it. I messaged them myself once and only once, and they've made it clear how they feel about me and this situation and they sound like they want to be left alone about this from what I understand so after this - we let shit die. I will not be addressing this further because everything I have to say is right here. If you saw their post, you know what I'm talking about. I'm not giving context - though they called me out by my name I won't do the same and I don't even really wanna make this a thing to begin with, but I AM gonna say this one thing about it because I was called and accused of some pretty awful things. And I saw the screenshot - me calling Mirio, a 'sexy tin tin' as an offhand joke doesn't make me a pedophile - because as far as I'm concerned and that can be publicly seen - I have done nothing to any child or minor, I would rather kill myself (as I've been suggested to do apparently). In fact, I stuck to my guns on being against writing nsfw on the bnha minors on that SAME DAY when I said THIS vvvv

I would like for everyone to move on with this, please. If you're not comfortable with me here because I give you "weird vibes", fine. I won't make you stay. I'm not here to make you uncomfortable, just block me, you're free to do whatever you want and I'm not going to be hurt over it. My disposition was clear. I truly don't know what they're referring to about nsfw content because there is none, but I can speak for myself, what I know I've written, and who I am as a person. and my tags are available for complete viewing (and you all know I tag everything heavily). I do not wish this person harm or hatred and I will not tell anyone who this was because despite how they feel about me and the post they made, they deserve to be safe. I saw the screenshot. I see that I called Mirio 'sexy' 4 years ago and for that I apologize. He's canonically 18, but I completely understand those optics and I can understand the upset and I want to make it clear that I don't view this character in any sexual way. DO want to note however, that there was NEVER any nsfw content made of him. Not once. I still don't know what content they're referring to and none of MY friends both IRL and online have never seen this shit either - and they've been in this fandom and the BNHA fandom for as long as I have. Calling me a pedophile and a predator isn't funny and I am not laughing, I take that very very seriously because I am CONSTANTLY and publicly up in arms about minor safety and the protection of children. On top of that I spent my whole life trying to heal from being preyed on and sexually assaulted when I was a minor, trauma that I am STILL dealing with because one of my former abusers is a family member that I have to see on a regular basis. To be accused of being the very demon that caused me so much harm...I don't even know what to say because that can't be further from the truth and this has been extremely triggering. I think that's all I have. I know my intentions, my actions and how I've conducted my blog for years speak for themselves. I don't mess around when it comes to minor safety or vehemently being against the nsfw content of minors and that has not changed. Not once. This isn't about saving face - I have no face to save. I'm nobody on tumblr, this is the internet. But I won't be painted out to be something I'm not. Especially not over content that doesn't exist and an offhand comment. If people do not feel comfortable following me after this even if it's just because of this whole interaction, I understand. That will not stop me from making ososan content and enjoying the content I make about adults for adult audiences only. Regardless of how they feel about me - let this shit die please and leave them alone. I wish them well and I hope them and their friends are safe even if they feel like it has to be from me.

[poisonflowercorvidae]

Hey, while searching through ao3 I came around "My Other Half " and I just loved it (and I kind of finished really fast). Do you have some kadewave hc?

I'm really glad you enjoyed it! I never really expected anyone to pay much attention to that fic with such an out-there premise, but it means a lot to me that people did/do.

Sorry for the late response, but this got looooong.

My thoughts and headcanons for Kadewave are kind of all over the place because I've shipped these two practically since I first started watching Rescue Bots, and their dynamic changes so much over the course of the series that I think a lot of the specifics of how they get together and what their relationship is like depends on when it all happens in relation to the series and how canon compliant things are

Some headcanons I tend to hold regardless of all that:

Kade and Heatwave are monogamous. I think the idea of polyamory being normalized in Cybertronian society is pretty neat, but it's still not for everyone, and these two just strike me as the kind that would stand by one partner at a time

Heatwave is the jealous type. This is just canon, I think. (Blades: "Kinda scary, but I'm rethinking the whole Kade partner option." Heatwave: "Rethink again.") He's pretty good at reigning it in except for a snappish comment here or there, so Kade mostly finds it funny

Kade has more experience with relationships. It's not necessarily good experience--he messes up a lot in his relationships and/or falls for the wrong people--but he has dated more. While Heatwave has lived longer, even after accounting for stasis, he's kind of the "married to the job" type and spent too much time playing leader and eldest-brother-figure to the rest of Sigma 17 to really do all that much dating

Heatwave can still be a tease, though, especially after they get together, because it’s fun to rile Kade up

We know, from when Cody and Frankie time traveled, that Griffin Rock is more progressive with regards to racial issues than much of America has been, so I tend to think GR also has less of a homophobia/transphobia problem, so Kade doesn’t have to struggle so much with the gender/sexuality aspect of being attracted to Heatwave. The “He’s a giant alien robot” part still took some work, even after they start respecting each other more as firefighting partners

Most of the resistance on both sides to their feelings was still more about how stubborn/hotheaded the other one is

Heatwave does worry over Kade a lot. Like, it’s one thing if Kade stubs his toe or gets a paper cut because of his own stubborn carelessness; Heatwave will just roll his optics or huff some kind of, “Why do you always do that?” But if it’s even the littlest bit more than that--if Kade catches a cold or gets a burn on the job or something--Heatwave will obsess over it and what he could have done to prevent that

Usually, I think there isn’t so much a first to confess or realize their feelings; they just sort of gravitate towards each other over time. The exact timeline or AU could change that, and I can see either one of them spitting it out in a fit of passion after a tense scene, but especially in more canon compliant timeline, it’s just something they kind of...fall into, whether or not they actually talk about it

Neither of them are good at talking about their feelings in either universe. They eventually get better, but they rarely if ever say they love each other around other people/bots, even in timelines where they don’t go through massive misunderstandings before getting together. They’re excellent at showing each other they care, though

Their relationship isn’t 100% an Everyone Can See It situation--some people definitely assume they’re just Buds--but a few people can pick it out. Usually the rest of the extended family, but some faster than others: Cody, because he’s perceptive; Chief Burns, because he’s a Wise Dad; Dani, because she’s a romantic but also because she knows the difference between her own sisterly mocking of Kade versus Heatwave’s metaphorical pigtail pulling; Blades, because he and Dani love to gossip; and Blurr, because whether they mean to or not, Kade and Heatwave trying to train his recklessness out of him definitely results in them dad-ing him

Like I said, a lot of this plays out differently on timeline/universe points. For most of these, I’m going to either assume Kade and Hayley break up or ignore that they got together in the first place, though the polyamory or Kade cheating on Hayley angles are still valid for other people who want to explore them. It’s just for me personally, I really only see Kadewave happening if Kade isn’t with Hayley.

The most canon-compliant version is also probably the most laid back and chill version of them getting together. It wouldn’t happen until late in season 4 or after, because Kade is still dating Hayley through most/all of that season in canon, but by that point in the series, Kade and Heatwave have really mellowed out. Listen to them talking about Blurr at the beginning of “Need for Speed” (Heatwave: “He’s as stubborn as you are.” Kade: “And as hot-headed as you.”); just the way they say it, Heatwave’s done with Blurr’s shit but Kade shoots back all amused and kind of fond. They bicker and trade barbs, but it’s in that “Close enough to argue” (or, if you prefer, Old Married Couple) kind of way where how much they like each other still bleeds through, and by this point in the series, they aren’t arguing about important things like how to do their job any more. It’s smooth going. So, Hayley and Kade split, and after a little while, Heatwave and Kade move from, “Hey, actually, I like this guy,” to, “Oh, hey, I like this guy,” and that’s that.

My Other Half/The Parts of Me I Hide mostly follows that track but with the complications of 1) being set in an AU where sparklings can happen (and interspecies sparklings, specifically, can happen) and 2) Kade getting horribly, terribly broken-bones-and-blood hurt. It turns what could be a simple slide into a relationship into a dramatic mess via bumping against all their issues of not talking about their feelings and Heatwave reacting to Kade getting hurt etc etc.

If we go way back to the first season up through season 2′s “Changes,” this is where Kade and Heatwave are in full tsun4tsun mode. Neither of them wants to admit even to themselves that they like each other, even after they get over the initial friction of their introduction. This is deffo in the zone of, “If they get together, it’s probably after some kind of blow-up fight,” and even then it’s not likely because they’re both too busy going No, absolutely not, I do not find this aggravating creature attractive no matter how many dangerous situations we face down together. “Changes” definitely marks a shift in their relationship because Kade has to acknowledge that Heatwave does actually like him as much as the reverse (”Heatwave cherishes your partnership,” anyone?). It might still take him a while to process what exactly he feels and whether or not Heatwave cares about him in the same way, but it’s definitely the crack in the damn that makes him stop lying to himself that he doesn’t like Heatwave somehow.

Season 3 is the awkward middle ground where they know their own feelings, they have to know that the other likes them to some degree, and while they aren’t really pretending about it anymore, they aren’t ready to say anything about it, either. It’s this dance around it, and all it would take is one little slip to tumble head first into a relationship and--oh hey, new recruits! Let’s deal with getting them integrated into life here rather than deal with whatever we’ve got going on

Some My Other Half/The Parts of Me I Hide specific headcanons:

Heatwave is mad at himself for the first class of recruits hurting Kade because he thinks he should have been there to step in sooner. It might or might not have actually affected the outcome, but he blames himself a bit all the same

This was an exchange I had in mind for the fic that got cut, but Heatwave and Kade definitely had an argument about The Incident that included an exchange along the lines of “What if you’d lost a leg or an arm?” “I’d say I’d be the first amputee fire fighter, but someone already beat me to it. Guess I’d have to settle for the first in Milford.”

Their second sparkling is a daughter named Spitfire

“So, if we’re dealing with a universe without sparklings, where DID Kade go?” Yeah, I’m still working my headcanon for that one out myself.

[c3p-mo]

.

so I most likely have MS

It could be just something else wrong with my brain or spinal cord still can't be properly seen until late Jan, probably can't get the MRI until Feb but the current symptoms and ones from previous years add up to been having it

optic neuritis and uhthoff’s syndrome is the name for what I've been dealing with since July and it's only now somewhat getting 'better'. I can see much better for much longer but still have blindness nonstop and the daily headaches. For the last two weeks I couldn't be on a phone or see a screen for longer than 5 mins without pain and nonstop flashes. Can't even read too long or my eyes just stop functioning. It's a strange thing to experience. And it's the usual first sign of MS.

I also had a small bad fall last month and it was bad enough that I have a complete ACL tear, so surgery is pending. Seeing the doc about it hopefully soon to gauge time frame

I spent all of November on the couch cuz I can't walk and see properly. I really couldn't do anything but it kinda helped in a way. I'm spitballing that one of my "most likely is MS" triggers is stress, so once my partner came back and I'm not physically alone anymore I withdrew from... everything really.

Logged out of everything, muted and disabled anything with a notification, friends unfortunately (whichever ones I think I have left). But in general I really needed to hit pause, questionable that this was a way to go about it but I do feel less stressed a bit. I mean I have to be slow atm with my leg, it literally hurts to try and play games/be on PC and phone, also too broke to do anything but checkout books at the library(which I like to do anyways) so can't do much; my vision has definitely improved better in the last few weeks than the last four months so tiny lining? I'm honestly only here now cuz I 1. forgot insomnia meds and 2. can watch a stream and touch a keyboard without a painful headache after so long and 3. Can actually SEE

I'm rambling at this point and only for myself really. I just finally feel like myself again for the first time in a very long and newest personal lowest year in my life. I'm so exhausted that I can't even bother with wanting to die atm. Almost funny that my brain is trying to do that for me anyways lol. But I know this one normal moment is brief. i think my headspace will be much better as my appt gets closer and i might get back to my online presence with it but for now I'm still thinking about staying off things help.

I am still very tired of trying to be 'normal' and of trying to function through it all. I'm tired of deteriorating every passing year and masking all the chronic pain with no valid name but now I'm closer to some proper and correct reason for it all. At the very least I can get handicap parking privilege and a true medical weed pass. Maybe an eyepatch would look good on me? Using mobility aids with less guilt? Idk

comforting prospects in hard times

[flintstill]

i'm a wreck

so first I thought I might've fucked up my life by not going to the interview even tho I was too sick to travel, and the whole rest of that day was spent in so much emotional pain that even trying to distract myself from it with things I enjoy caused me pain. And then of course the next day I felt better (tho still not well enough), and just filled with so much anxiety.

They did agree to let me postpone and interview virtually--which you'd think is good, except my anxiety is out of control, and also now has me thinking, what if I do somehow match and this acute illness is gone by then but my chronic issues that got worse the past year+ aren't better in time for when the residency starts and what if it makes it worse?

Like I've needed an axiolytic upon waking for the past 3 days. Have been trying to make do with theanine

Yesterday I told my friend/recommender who asked if I could get it rescheduled and said he hoped for the best--I told him that they said I could reschedule my interview virtually when I'm feeling better. And he replied: "Oh. Is your health going to affect your residency?"

Like an enormous fear of mine, that I was not going to share with him, and he asks me point blank. And he's personally acquainted with the program director. I don't know what to say to him. And he asked me last night so idk what my silence since then is saying (thank God my communication has been very inconsistent the past month).

And I don't want to do anything to hurt our relationship or burn any bridges because if i apply again next year I would love and will need a recommendation from him again.

And then back to the virtual interview. My doctors note said I wasn't fit to travel in next 7-10 days, but if it's virtual, I want to feel well enough obviously but I don't want to make them wait too long, and I can sit at my computer before I can travel, but I'm also anxious about the optics if I'm able to virtually interview ~too soon~. I sent them the doctor's note Wednesday and my next therapy appt is Tuesday at 5pm and ughhhhh

she said last time I don't have to decide anything at the time of the interview, but what if they somehow do like me and rank me high, and then i decide I wont be ready, and dont rank them, and then we don't match and that counts against me for next year? idk idk idk

I really really want this. but i don't know if possibly getting it before my health is ready will fuck it up completely, and i don't know if postponing it a year may not get me the same chances and may also fuck it up completely.

[petitelepus]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAOAOWHBWJELDKBWVWJWIE8DHEBB2ODHDBWJ23BRJD9SWBKWOW9SBBWBEIGIG6XTWV1B2MKDODLQM2IEUHFB3J2!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OH MY GOD THIS IS TOOO CUUUUUUUTEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE IT SO FREAKING MUCH!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 😍 😍 😍 😍 😍 😍 😍 😍 THIS IS SOOOOOOOOO CUUUUUTE AND SWEEEEEEET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE IT SO SO SO SOOOO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!! Poor little bee and his nightmare, I'm so glad I could comfort him and make him laugh!! And oh my god, I would totally be super dramatic in a fight, I'm an actor not a fighter after all ;3. XD I love this so much!! It's sooooo amazing!! I wonder what happens next 👀~ If you wanna write another part please? 🙏, of course take your time if you do, I never mind waiting. ❤️

SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT, HERE IS THE CHAPTER YOU WANTED!

You hummed happily as you sat by your and Bumblebee's spot by the small lake. The day was over and night had come, showing off the stars far away in space that also reflected on the calm lake's surface.

You were surprised when you had gotten a silent message from your little lover who had asked to meet you at your usual spot. You admit you were a little confused why he wanted to see you at night, but you didn't ponder it any further since you both spent days with your teammates, Autobots and Decepticons alike.

Besides, meeting secretly like this was pretty fun and exciting. Your relationship was forbidden and frowned upon if anyone would catch you guys. Heck, Megatron could take your helm if he found out!

Suddenly you heard bushes rattle and you looked over your shoulder, smiling and ready to greet your little ray of sunshine… Only to see a piece of the night looking at you. The Autobot ninja, who they called Prowl.

Your frame acted on its own and you jumped up and faced him, your carefree smile long gone as you prepared yourself for a fight.

"Decepticon." The ninja nodded at you and you scowled, "Autobot."

"I'm not here to fight, but I will act accordingly to your actions if you choose to take any."

"You're not Bumblebee." You were summoned there by your yellow lover, not by this ninja. Had Bee sold you out? Were there more Autobots coming? Should you transform and take off before they could take you down and drag you away as a prisoner of war?

"If you're wondering, Bumblebee has no idea I'm here. I hijacked his frequency." Prowl nodded at you, "I came alone."

Hearing this, you calmed down, but you couldn't lower your guard just yet. This could have been a scheme… Though, Autobots rarely schemed as you Decepticons did. But still, you knew what Prowl was capable of, he wasn't an Autobot that should be underestimated.

"What is it between you and Bumblebee?" The ninja asked suddenly and you scowled. "It's honestly none of your business and it’s better that you don’t get involved."

"That's something I can't do. Bumblebee is my friend and I won't stand by and watch you use his naivety for your own good." Prowl scowled, "So I ask you one more time. What are your plans for Bumblebee?"

Both of you stared at each other, silently measuring each other. Finally, you sighed and lowered your guard, "Nothing." You confessed, "I just really like him. He makes me smile and laugh, unlike anyone I've ever met before. He is different."

You smiled as you imagined the little Autobot's cheerful and fun-loving personality. "He just completes me." You said as you fixed your red optics on Prowl again, "And I do everything in my might to take care and protect him."

"After all you’ve done, how can I believe you?"

"You can't." You admitted as you swallowed, "I'm asking you to take a leap of faith and believe me that I don't mean no harm to Bumblebee."

Prowl stared at you long and hard until he finally nodded. "I see… You appear genuine about your feelings and goals with him."

"I am."

"What about your kin? How do you think your fellow Decepticons would feel if they knew you were making acquaintance with Autobot?"

"I'm risking a lot for Bee." You replied honestly, "Treasony isn't exactly smiled upon by Decepticons, and the consequences would be dire and fatal in the worst case."

You frowned, "You probably know this but Megatron isn't exactly the forgiving type."

Prowl looked at you as if he was reading you, and trying to figure out if you were being genuine or lying straight in his face.

"Wouldn't it just be safer for you to leave Bumblebee and return to what you two really are? Enemies."

"I don't want safety. I want Lil B and…" You scowled, "I'm ready to take whatever punishment Megatron prepares for me if that will keep Bee safe."

A heavy silence fell between the two of you. You had just told this Autobot things you didn't even tell your small lover because if you opened up to him, you would be embarrassed by your feelings. Finally, the Autobot ninja nodded.

"I knew you were different from other Decepticons." Prowl confessed with a small smile, but that smile quickly turned more serious frown, "If you hurt Bumblebee in any way possible, you are going to answer to me, and promise you, I will come after you."

"I tell you what I told Bee. I'm a Decepticon, not a monster."

The ninja was done with you. He turned to leave, but before he disappeared into the darkness of the forest, he looked at you one final time "I must warn you, there will be a time when you have to choose who you truly are loyal to."

You frowned as you averted your gaze to the ground below you. "I know." You confessed and just like that, you were alone again but your mind was filled with questions that were lacking answers. You sighed as you took a seat and decided to just stare at the calm lake for the rest of the night.

[emmashouldbewriting]

One question for you, and I am genuinely interested in the answer: How would the Princess of Wales not buying any new clothes put more money in your pocket and ease the cost of living crisis for you?

Anon, you know as well as I do that it wouldn't affect my life at all, so that's a bit of a daft question.

The overall optics aren't good. If this continues throughout the year, the media will have a field day at her spending when they tot it all up in December, and they will dig dig dig for everything new she debuted this year and rip her to shreds, and it'll look even worse all put together in one place. And the British public will most certainly not appreciate a potential 200k+ bill, no matter who paid for it. (She spent 170k last year so this is not a wild number I've pulled out of my arse, btw, it's a reasonable estimate.) At a time when their poll numbers are down and people are very much griping about the cost of the coronation, it may be wise to be conscious about spending. The coronation will only bring so much goodwill.

And again, I'll reiterate that I don't care about her buying new clothes. I very much enjoy her fashion. I hope we see a new dress for the BAFTAs. I just dislike the repetitiveness, especially for such expensive items.

I'll also concede that the brown coat from yesterday isn't as bad as it felt - after doing some research, it seems like she wore the OG one quite a lot publicly (6 times, I think it was?), so it's reasonable that it was one she wore a lot privately and did genuinely need replacing after so long.

[thedaveandkimmershow]

Once upon a time—maybe naively, maybe not—I argued with an acquaintance that the defining characteristic of family is that it's not diminished by distance. It's not weakened by time spent apart.

Basically, I argued that family is not, is not undermined by time and space.

Hmmmmm.

Now what. Was I thinking???

Well, first the acquaintance was kind of pissing me off about how important it is for families to be in constant assembly. Which I know to be false.

The X factor is not:

Time spent together.

It's not quantity of time.

Why?

Because often there's simply no there, there.

And time doesn't change that. Simultaneously converting oxygen to CO2 doesn't make any difference. And forcing connections simply underlines those blunt fact in thick black Sharpie. Because obligation doesn't conjure authentic, sustaining relationships from thin air.

No matter how much we believe otherwise.

Willing it. Doesn't make it so.

So then... what?

Well, lemme just say up front that the roots of my family relationships were set at a time when air travel was the only reliable way to foster intercontinental relationships. Therefore, unless we were millionaire jet setters or diplomats, we really were all separated by time and space. Cell phones hadn't been invented. There was no texting, no messaging, no social media. We had landlines but long distance phone calls were expensive by the minute and the sound in your ear was sketchy as hell. Anything said on our end we'd inevitably hear again on their end before they responded with completely not fiber optic perfectly clear quality.

Writing was an option, of course. Writing was always an option. But I was a kid, we were kids, and that was never gonna happen.

So out of sight, out of mind?

Yeah.

That was a thing.

And yet.

And yet.

Something was set during those limited times we were together on the same continent. Something that's in fact lasting a lifetime.

My lifetime.

To be clear: we're family by name and blood but not just. We're family by attitude. There's something similar in us to varying degrees.

So.

From the beginning of my life we were and are separated by roughly five thousand miles of distance, of which about three thousand miles is the Atlantic Ocean. And my relationship with my family in Holland—aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews and nieces—isn't diminished by that distance. Nor by the time that distance imposes. We legitimately pick up where we left off each time we're together again. One year. Ten years. Twenty years. On my continent or theirs.

So when I hear about the obligations of family as a means of establishing family, of sustaining family... color me skeptical. Relationships come first or there's inevitably no there there when we're pondering the defining characteristic of family. And those relationships don't require time. Not like we think because again, quantity of time does not sustain anything.

In the end, I fully admit to a fuzzy idea of what makes family and what doesn't. All I know for sure is that something binds my family together, binds my cousins and I together. That defies time. That defies space. Something that makes all of us of a kind. Something that defines us as tribe, as connected, as familiar, as known. I wish I could box in a more definitive answer for you.

I just can't.

I'm guessing families must be connected in different ways. They must grow together, become relational in different ways that sustain.

My experience, though, tells me that proximity doesn't fuel relationships of longevity and passion. After all, more than twenty years have just gone by. Enough time has passed for revolutions in technology to have come and gone. For the ways we communicate and travel to radically transform. For each of us to start families of our own with new trailing histories. And for each of our bodies and minds to do that annoying thing of growing up...

And at the same time growing older.

So much time has passed for me that I wonder if what I've been telling people this whole time about family...

If what I've said doesn't hold up.

But then more than twenty years just went by and we still picked up where we left off.

Damn.

That was pretty awesome.

And that's my understanding of family.

😁😁😁

[bluestbirdie]

9, 15, 29

Thank you! In the absence of declaring which one you want, I am deliberately misconstruing your request to extend to both writer and reader edition. If you did mean both, cool.

Writer Edition

9. Favorite pairing you wrote for this year? Yeah, that's totally Jazzprowl. I only have a couple WIPs (UFOs, really) without one or the other.

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you? So, I'm taking most of the stuff I've ever written into next year, in the hopes something gets finished. But there are a few WIPs I'm more excited for and am more likely to complete than others. One I definitely plan to work on and hopefully post next year is the Witch AU, whose working title we will not reveal because it is a Big Spoiler!! It's Witch Hunter Jazz / Witch Prowl with a side of Green the familiar, and it will be a longfic. I'm super excited because I've come up with an awesome conflict and already worked bits of it into the early story. (Actually, after a period of not working on this WIP I forgot that there was an overarching conflict and then later came across my notes on it again. Such a good feeling.)

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year? Oh, hard question. I stayed in a room with a big, beautiful, east-facing window that inspired the opening of Smoke & Mirrors. Reading it just reminds me of the lazy mornings I spent there.

Prowl woke with the sun. For one, daylight streamed inside his window and lit his cottage better than any lantern - and the view outside was particularly beautiful this time of year. Second, the potions he planned to brew today would take the entirety of the daylight hours to complete and test. As they did yesterday. […] Waking, however, did not necessarily mean getting up. Prowl took the opportunity to wallow in his tiredness. The morning rays gently warmed his plating. Unusually, a thick berthsheet lay over his helm - he accepted it, since it kept the sunlight from shining directly into his optics. […]

Reader Edition

9. Favorite rare pair you read works for this year? Oooh, difficult. My favorite characters have so much chemistry with everyone… If I had to choose one rarepair, I'd choose Prowl/Skywarp. Love seeing Prowl and Seekers.

15. Favorite canon concept you read this year? I have read very little canon this year, oops… since I know for sure I read some IDW2019, I'm going to go with the funny little palm greeting they have in that series. Or, I know that I definitely read about how they have the news, which is delightfully domestic.

29. Do you have any works you think are required reading for (fandom)? Transformers? No. Jazz/Prowl? No, but I recommend Aard-Rinn's Crime in Crystals series. If for some reason anyone here likes Resident Evil, and wants to see like the only two major characters who never met in canon meet, the Leon/Wesker fandom is for you. I rec the Things We Don't Tell Chris series by acid rounds (some works explicit).