#no promises I'll write anything

[burningcheese-merchant]

Silent Salt's countenance is... a unique one. Not hideous, not quite, but not conventionally attractive by any means. Coupled with a cluster of scars and other ancient forms of injury further marring his face, he was never an easy one on the eyes, so to speak. He always wore the helm because it was his deeds that mattered, not his identity - or that was how he once thought, in his distant, heroic past. But, in painful, unfortunate truth, it was also partially because he simply didn't want to deal with the staring. With the shock. With the thinly veiled disgust. The forced politeness angered him the most; he knew they were lying, he knew his face perturbed them. He would've respected them so much more if they had just spoken plain.

There had always existed this shallow element of self-loathing within him; never more so than it does with regards to White Lily. She's so lovely, so captivating, and he's... he has to wear a mask all the time, just for some semblance of peace of mind. Hers is a sweet, delicate, almost ethereal beauty. He is grim and gruff and all dark, sharp edges, inside and out. If by some miracle his personality and status as Beast of Silence doesn't drive her away, then his face will. Like it had so many others.

He has never allowed anyone to remove his helm. Not even his friends and colleagues, both then and now (especially not now. Shadow Milk's petty jabs are insufferable even with Salt's face obscured; revealing it again would only escalate the jester's mockery). Even just trying to touch it sparks a terrible rage. It's his security blanket, in a way. Something that grants him a modicum of control over his supposed destiny. He cannot change how he looks, but he can at least hide it. And hide it, he will. From everyone he can, for as long as he can. From her most of all.

Perhaps he could've been more... polite in his refusal of her touch, the first few times. He saw a hand wrapped in green floating towards his face and he responded. The regret that washed over him at the sound of her yelp - startled and pained, an accessory to the tremor in her wrist born from him grasping it so tight - was overwhelming, almost suffocating, and yet... he did it again, the next attempt she made. And the one after that. And the one after that. Nevertheless, for reasons unknown, she persisted.

Must've been that morbid curiosity of hers.

The one time she asked him why he never rid himself of the helm, he answered her simply. "Because I don't want to." Five words - six, technically - conveyed to her through the curling of his fingers and the rattle of his gauntlets as he signed them to her. And she took it well, all things considered. No disappointment, no rebuttals, no further inquiries. Only a slow, thoughtful nod and nothing else. It was a mercy and a relief he didn't think he'd feel so thankful for, until he did.

Something told Silent Salt that she already knew the answer that hid behind the first one. Intuition? Their Soul Jam connection? That glint in her eye that resembled sympathy more than he would've liked? Whatever it is, it hardly matters in the end. She asked once. He answered once. She didn't ask again. That was the end of it.

With time, she grew more bold. No more reaching for his helm; it took a few tries but she learned her lesson there. Instead she let her hands rest on his cold shoulders. Trail along the dents and grooves in his chest. Take one of his gauntlets prisoner, turning it into a test subject, the apple of her curious eye as she studied the metal plates big and small encasing his fingers.

"Your hands are quite large," she remarked one day, some of it to him and some of it just to herself, her eyes still fused to the black sheet of his palm as she spoke. "My friend, Golden Cheese... She once told me that your comrade has large hands, too. Twice the size of hers, in fact. Are they bigger than yours, too?"

Yes, he told her, if his memory served. Once upon a time, Shadow Milk had tried to draft blueprints for armor that would actually suit Burning Spice's brutish proportions, and used Silent Salt's own as both a model and a controlled variable in his design experiments. Spice was as much a foolhardy thrillseeker then as he is now, charging into battle with his beads and bracelets and little else on his person. Whenever the five of them reconvened - and those meetings became fewer and fewer with time - Shadow Milk would nag him incessantly about it. Clucked at him like a mother hen would at an unruly chick. It was once his way of showing concern. Once.

The gauntlets were dirty and must have felt quite cold and unpleasant to the touch. But if White Lily minded, she made no sign of such. In fact, she showed the opposite; if he dared to believe what those slender, linen-wrapped fingers weaving through his own ironclad, mannish ones told him, she even seemed to find comfort in them. In him.

She grew bold, and he let her. A time eventually came when he could no longer help himself - but it was a hard-earned victory if there ever was one. Despite their bond, be it the one forged from their shared divinity or the one forged from their tentative friendship, his old habits and reservations still bound him in chains; memories from a time long gone, of men and women shying away from his sight. Of children rudely gawking. As darkness descended upon his soul, he came to resent them and their harsh reactions, for it was because of them that he looked like this in the first place. Every blade that carved into the flesh of his cheeks. Every creature with terrible claws that sought his eyes as trophies. Every gauntlet that looked just like his own that punched, slapped, poked; whatever the owner could do to leave behind their mark of conquest and shame. Silent Salt endured it all for their sake, and all the thanks he ever got was being gazed upon as a freak. A cautionary tale. A garish art display.

The world branded him a monster long before he ever became one. What reason did they have to be so distraught when he finally did? Is this not what they always believed him to have been anyway?

But White Lily took no part in this wholesale rejection. How could she, when deep down, she was hardly any different? And who would he be to continue mimicking his persecutors, like he has been for far too long?

One day, he found himself under a microscope again. It was cute, how her brow would furrow the slightest bit and she would start to purse her lips the stronger her single-minded focus became. A strand of snow white hair escaped its place atop her head and came dangling, teasing the tip of her nose; yet still, it went ignored in favor of the knight looming past it. Few questioned Silent Salt's bravery, himself included, but now... now he can feel his accursed face growing warm at the thought of tucking that rogue strand of hair behind her ear. Such a deceptively simple thing.

He stood still as a statue as her hands traveled up the metallic expanse of his torso. Up, up, up, along plates that had long lost their smoothness and shine, dipping into scratches and dents left by friend and foe alike, those old scars he wore on the outside. Sneaking past a familiar silhouette, just barely grazing the tips of that fabled fleur-de-lis. He never envied Burning Spice and where his own Soul Jam resided, but in hindsight, perhaps Silent Salt was never much better. With how seldomly he removed his armor, it may as well be his flesh by now. And within his flesh the Light of Silence nested, glowing brighter and emitting a faint pulse upon White Lily's brief disturbance. A broken heart, still as death, woken from its eternal slumber. Dared to beat again by she who held onto its missing half.

Her hands rose to his neck. Some ancient warrior's instinct demanded he take action against this would-be assassin, but he paid it no mind. He knew better. Not that White Lily wasn't capable of such barbarism; she has proven differently a thousand times over by now. He simply knows what an assassin looks like, and what a liar feigning innocence looks like, too - and now, in this moment, White Lily was neither.

His breath caught in his throat when those hands grasped at his head and he felt his helmet begin to rise. Slowly, carefully, betraying their master's hesitation. There was a slight tremor in her wrists - was she expecting him to suddenly reach up and grab her again? To try to stop her?

...The former came to pass, that much was true. But instead of pushing her away, this time, he found the courage to do the opposite: with his hands eclipsing her own, he guided them up and away, taking his helmet with them.

He loosened his grip just enough to let her hands go free. From there, he lowered his helmet and held it tight - so much so that that telltale rattling filled both their ears.

It felt strange for the wind and sun caress his skin again after so long. Once upon a time, he welcomed their embrace; once upon a time, they were a beloved respite, the only reward he ever wanted for himself after a long battle. They never ran away or judged him for this unfortunate face of his; in fact, once upon a time, he might've said and thought that they were the only ones in the whole world that ever believed he was handsome.

White Lily did not run away. She did not veil her disgust behind false politeness. She did not judge that unfortunate face of his.

All he could behold in her own face and eyes was that same old curiosity, adorned with that familiar glint of sympathy and shadowed by sorrow.

She gave her hands back to him. Cradled his face as he cradled his helm, albeit more gently. Ran her thumb over a faded gash in his cheek. Ghosted her fingertips over the claw marks crisscrossing over his eyes.

Silent Salt wondered if she'd already guessed his eyes are purple. He didn't ask. She probably did.

"It must have been terrible," she murmured, some of it to him and some of it to herself, as she observed the scar that threatened to split his hairline.

He nodded. She said no more, but there was no need; he understood what she meant. "It must have been terrible, how you earned each of these." "It must have been terrible, how others would shun you for what you endured." "It must have been terrible, how you felt compelled to hide behind a mask all this time, for lack of remembering any other way to exist." Only White Lily could say so much with so little. He always cherished it.

Through her quiet, endless searching, he could sense that she wanted to know more. In her eyes were questions that she wouldn't let out of her mouth. She wanted to know where the scars came from. What caused them. Who. How. Why.

Despite that morbid curiosity of hers, she did not ask. Although it likely pained her, she held her tongue and gave him peace. This was something else Silent Salt admired, something else that made him favor her above all others. For unlike others, her politeness was real.

He caught her stealing a glance at his lips, the faintest shade of pink tinting her cheeks as she did so. Gone were her sorrow and sympathy, leaving curiosity behind. In their place came... something else.

Perhaps the wind and sun weren't the only ones who believed he was handsome anymore.

She grew bold, and took a step closer - the only step left to take, with how close they already stood. Placing her feet atop his own in a small, adorable way to compensate for her height.

Only now did his supposed bravery return, and grant him the strength to tuck that strand of hair behind her ear. She seemed surprised, more so by his sudden gesture than she'd ever been by his face, the warm color in her cheeks turning more vibrant. He wondered if she could see that he felt just as bashful. She probably did.

She stood on her tiptoes, inviting him to tilt his head down with the soft nudge of her palm against the nape of his neck. He did so without resistance; now it was her turn to guide him.

She grew bold, and pressed a kiss to his scarred lips. And he let her.

[crimeronan]

i've seen a couple people in the notes of this very good post about fictional polyamory by @thebibliosphere say things along the lines of "oh, i've been doing it wrong :(" or "how do i know if i did this right??" or "i should probably give up and start over, i wrote this badly :(" and. no!!!!

(i AM seeing far MORE people say "oh, this clarified and helped me so much, i think i know how to fix issues i've been having with my own story" which. YES!!!!)

listen. if you're a monogamous person who's writing a polyamorous relationship, and you've been focusing mainly on The Triad and All Three Together All The Time as the endgame, that's literally fine. that's a perfectly acceptable and strong starting point for your plotting, imo. you do not need to give up on a story that you've started like this.

but the things discussed in the post Can and Should improve your execution!

you can keep the same plot beats and overall relationship arc 100%. polyamorous relationships are infinite in their formations, every one is unique. "basically a monogamous romance but with three people" Does exist, as a relationship type. you're not hashtag Misrepresenting (TM) poly people with it

BUT i do think it will help to read up on some poly people talking about how their relationships Differ from monogamous ones.

so i have outlined some basic important concepts about polyamory.

MORE IMPORTANTLY though, i've broken down some questions that you can answer throughout the writing process to strengthen your individual dyad relationships, your individual characterization, & your characters' individual feelings/experiences. this is a writing resource have fun

future kitkat butting in to say i spent over two hours writing this and it definitely needs a readmore. it is also NOT comprehensive. but everything should be pretty simple to follow! feel free to reblog if you find it helpful yourself or just want to reward me for how gotdan long this took KSLDKFJKDL.

i've grabbed quick links for a couple of the important concepts, some have SEO pitches in them but the info largely seems to be good. (if i missed anything Egregiously Gross on these sites i should be able to update the links with better ones later, since they're under the readmore.)

sidenote: this is NOT meant to be overwhelming, despite the length. if you can't read all of this, that's Okay. you do not need to give up on your writing.

here we go:

compersion!

compersion is a BIG thing in a lot of polyamorous relationships. it's joy derived from seeing two (or more) of your partners happy together, or joy derived from seeing your partner happy with someone else.

compersion is really important as a concept because it highlights that every individual relationship within a polycule is different -- and that that's a GOOD thing. it's sort of the inverse of jealousy.

by the "inverse of jealousy," i mean that instead of feeling left out and upset and possessive, you feel happy/joyous/content.

i can use personal experience as an example: it's a Relief for me when my partners receive joy/support/sex/romance/etc that i can't (or prefer not to) give them. and i love seeing my partners make each other laugh and be silly together.

it's 100% okay for a poly triad not to be together 100% of the time, it doesn't mean that the third member is being left out or not treated equally when two people do things alone together.

(i have individual dates with my partners all the time! PLUS larger 3-and-4-person date nights.)

if the third member DOES feel jealous or left out, then the polycule can have a conversation to figure out what needs/wants aren't being met, and solve that. this happens semi-regularly in my polycule, as it will happen in any relationship (including monogamous ones)! it's just part of being an adult, sometimes you have to talk about feelings.

metamours!

a metamour is someone who is dating your partner, but ISN'T dating you. this may not be relevant for people writing closed three-person romantic sexual triads, but it's a super helpful term to know.

the linked article also lists different types of metamour relationships with some fun phrasing i hadn't heard before. the tl;dr is: sometimes you'll be domestic cohabitation friends, sometimes you'll be buddies with your own friendship, sometimes you might not interact much outside of parties, every relationship is different.

there's no one-size-fits-all requirement for metamour relationships. sometimes polyamorous people will end up dating their metamour after a while (has happened to me), sometimes polyamorous people will break up with one partner for normal life reasons, but remain friendly metamours.

the goal of polyamory is NOT for EVERYONE to fall in love. it is 100% okay if this happens in your story, it happens in real life too! but it is also 100% okay for characters to be metamours without ever becoming "more than friends."

(sidenote: try to kill any internalized "more than" that you have when it comes to friendship. friends are just as important and special and vital as partners.)

of course there are a million ways for messiness to occur with metamours within a complex polycule, exactly like with close-knit platonic friend groups. however this post is not about that! there's enough "here's how polyamory can go wrong" stuff out there already, so i'm focusing on the positives here :)

open versus closed polyamorous relationships!

i'm struggling to find an online article that reflects my experience without directly contradicting at least SOME stuff. so i'll give a quick rundown

google has a bunch of conflicting definitions of open relationships and whether open relationships are different from polyamory. the general consensus seems to be that an open relationship prioritizes one partnership (often a marriage), but that each partner can have extraneous flings or long-term commitments (most often sexual in nature).

this is not typically how i use the term wrt polyamory. the poly concept is pretty simple. a closed polyamorous relationship is one with boundaries like a monogamous one. there are multiple partners in the polycule, but they are not interested in having anybody new join said polycule.

an open polyamorous relationship tends to be more flexible -- it just means that IF someone in the polycule develops mutual feelings for a new person, it's fine for them to become part of said polycule if they want to! the relationship/person is open to newcomers.

some groups will need to negotiate this all together, others will just go "haha, you kids have fun." just depends on the individuals!

with open AND closed polyamorous relationships, the most important thing is making sure that there's respectful communication and that everyone is on the same page. but there's no one-size-fits-all way to do that.

i wish i could give you guys a prescriptive "You Must Do It This Way" guide, but that's.... basically the opposite of what polyamory is about, HAHA.

feelings for multiple people!

i was gonna tack this on to the previous section but decided it warranted its own lil bit.

a defining feature (....i'm told?) of monogamous relationships is that a monogamous person only has feelings for One individual at a time. they only want a relationship with one individual at a time. or, if they DO have feelings for multiple people simultaneously, they're still only comfortable dating one person at a time & being exclusive with that one person.

this is perfectly fine!

the poly experience is generally different from this. but once again..... polyamorous people all have different individual perspectives on this.

for me, i have never been able to draw hard boxes around romantic vs sexual vs platonic relationships, & i love many people at once. my personal polycule lacks many strict definitions beyond "these are my chosen people, i want to forge a life with them indefinitely, whatever shape that life takes"

some poly people feel explicit romantic or sexual attraction to multiple people at once, some poly people feel almost no romantic or sexual attraction at all. i'd say that MOST poly people feel different things for different partners, which is not a bad thing!

some poly people are even monogamous-leaning -- they have just chosen one romantic partner who is themselves part of a larger polycule. (so this monogamous-leaning person has at least one metamour!)

or alternatively, they might have one romantic partner AND a qpr, or other ways of defining relationships. (this is a factor in my own polycule!)

i made this its own point because if you're writing a straightforward triad, this is unlikely to come up in the story itself -- but it's worth thinking about how your characters develop/handle feelings outside of their partnerships.

like, is this sort of a soulmateship, 'these are the only ones for me' type deal? in which they won't fall in love with anyone else, and can be fairly certain of that?

that's pretty close to typical monogamous standards but you Can make it work. just be thoughtful with it

alternatively, can you see any of these characters falling in love Again after the happily-ever-after? and how would the triad approach it, if so? what would they all need to talk about beforehand, and what feelings would everybody have about the situation?

it's worth considering these questions even if the hypothetical will never feature in your actual canon, because knowing the answers to these questions will help you understand all of the individuals & their relationship(s) MUCH better.

i've been typing this for nearly two hours and there's a lot more i COULD say because... there's just a lot to say. i'll close out with some quick questions that you can ask yourself when developing the dyad dynamics within your triad

first, take a page and create a separate section for each individual dyad. then answer these questions for every pair:

how does each pair act when alone?

how do they act differently alone compared to when they're with their third partner?

are there any elements of this dyad (romantic, sexual, financial, domestic, etc) that these two people DON'T have with the third partner?

if so, what are they?

are there any boundaries or hard limits within this dyad that aren't shared with the third partner?

if so, what are they?

partner 3 goes out of town alone for a few weeks. what are the remaining two doing in their absence?

(doesn't have to be anything special, it's just to get a sense of how the two interact on a day-by-day basis without the third there)

what is something that each partner in the dyad admires about the other -- that they DON'T necessarily see in the third partner?

what problem do These Two Specifically need to solve in the story before their relationship will work?

how is that problem DIFFERENT from the problems being solved within the other two dyads?

doing this for ALL THREE dyads is VITAL imo. that way, you develop complex and nuanced and different relationships that all have unique dynamics.

those questions should be enough to get you started, i hope

then After you've charted the differences in relationships, you can start to jot down similarities in the overarching triad. what does one person admire in Both of their partners? what are activities that all three like to do together? what are boundaries or discussions that all three share?

but the main goal is to figure out how to Differentiate each relationship!

a polycule is only as strong as the individual relationships within it. if two people are struggling with their own relationship, adding a third person won't fix that.

(UNLESS the third person is the catalyst for those two to, like, Actually Communicate And Work Their Shit Out. i just mean that the old adage of "maybe if we just add a third-" works about as well to fix a miserable non-communicative marriage as, uh, "maybe if we have a baby-")

AND FINALLY.

if you're not sure whether your poly romance reads organically to poly people, you can hire a sensitivity reader with poly experience. if you can't afford that, you can read up on polyamorous resources like a glossary of terms & articles actually written by poly people. (and stories written by poly people!)

you can also just.... ask poly people questions, if they're open to it. i like talking about polyamory and my own relationships so you're welcome to send asks if u want, i just can't guarantee i'll answer bc my energy levels fluctuate a lot and i don't always have time.

polyamorous people are in an uphill battle for positive representation right now & so the LAST thing i want to see is authors giving up on their stories bc they're worried about getting things Wrong. well-meaning and positive stories that treat this kind of love as normal, healthy, & aspirational are So So So Needed. even if you guys end up with some funky-feeling details.

seriously, if you're monogamous then you probably don't have a full idea of Just How Nasty a lot of people can get about polyamory. i wish it DIDN'T mean so much for you guys to want to write nice stories about us, but it does mean a lot. and it means a lot that you want to do it WELL.

in conclusion. this is not a prescriptive guide, it's just a way to raise questions. and also, you all are doing FINE.

[akard-kiwi-ao3]

aaauuugh im nervous to post this. Throws this at the Toxichero fans and runs

...Also Griefer is a very aggressive kisser and Player won't admit that they enjoy it because HE KEEPS MAKING THEIR LIPS BLEED--GRIEFER STOP BUSTING THEIR LIP OPEN, YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BUTT YOUR HEAD TO THEIR FACE!!! THAT'S NOT HOW THIS WORKS!!!

[deadlysoupy]

here's a tfe starbee request: post breakbee breakup, bumblebee wants to make breakdown jealous. starscream has been dealing with annoying comments from megatron since their divorce the end of the war and wants to make a point about him not needing megatron. they get together as each others rebounds and end up catching feelings for each other.

or, alternatively, bumblebee defending starscream from megatron's comments about how starscream is too evil to be allowed to exist in the world unsupervised. they aren't even together and don't even get along at this point but it makes starscream go heart eyes (spark eyes?) because other than hashtag no one's ever stood up to megatron for him.

this one took a while but hey, it's here and it turned out better than i thought it would! (quick note tho for the future: you guys should know i'm not one for "rebound" ships. or jealousy, unless it's starscream. there are some lines i dont want to cross and this is one of them. just letting you know that, unless an alternative is provided, like here, i will not write a "rebound" fic)

(Read here on AO3)

The day has not been going well for Starscream.

If he was being completely honest with himself, he's had a consecutive streak of bad luck looming over his helm. Ever since he was imprisoned, come to think of it. He's had it pretty well during their "stalemate" with the Autobots and the Maltos, but it was nothing he would describe as "lucky".

He ultimately failed in his mission to finally have a home, but that wasn't anything new.

Now, he's forced to share space with the person who pushed him so far into insanity, and he doesn't know what to do with himself.

Mainly, Starscream has learned to avoid confrontation with Megatron, no matter how impossible that seemed. It was working — for some time.

This day turned out to be an exception.

They cross each other in the maintenance room. Starscream needs to upload intel on their new human relations — he didn't read the file, it was too processor-numbing for him — and it seemed like Megatron ended up with the same objective. It had still felt like a strange vision, that Megatron would ever do someone's bidding that easily. The room was small, barely enough for three bots, and given Megatron's frame… well. One could say the air started suffocating Starscream pretty fast.

He grits his denta and reaches out his servo to the main panel.

Apparently, that was the wrong move to make. Megatron regards him with a "look", his size — as always — looming over him, murderous optics drilling into his spark.

"What do you think you're doing, Starscream."

He doesn't shudder under the threatening tone. He needs to keep calm, or it will blow his whole plan out of proportion.

"I'm doing my job, Megatron," he answers, staying as still as possible. "Or is this not what I'm supposed to do?"

The warframe clicks his denta. "You never do your job. There's always something with you."

"I've been nothing but compliant with you Autobots ever since you oh so kindly let me out," he can't help but sneer in response. "I have no reason to do harm, so you should just let me do what I came here to do."

Megatron unleashes his pointed dentas, glinting under the artificial lighting of the room. "I wonder how long this charade of yours will keep working, Starscream. We both know you aren't doing your job out of well intentions — your spark will always be rotten."

And Starscream would have agreed with him on any other day. On any other occasion. He would have glowed in the praise, would have considered it to be the mightiest words of affirmation he's ever heard, and he would have gone on his merry way.

But he wasn't going to let this go. He can't keep pretending to like this presence, this… humiliation. Hashtag, the Terrans, and one other particular bot taught him otherwise.

Starscream's backstrut straightens, high on alert, voice loud. "You may believe whatever you want, Lord Megatron, but I deserve to be here just as you do. You've earned your chance to keep your place among the Autobots, and I should have the space to be able to do the same. Unless… you actually don't deserve to be here? Unless you're just the same arrogant fool you've always—"

A servo squeezes Starscream's shoulder and the plating creaks under it. Starscream's frame buckles, but stands firm. "Shut your ammering, Starscream, or I'll remind you why I don't trust your miserable spark with anything of importance."

"What's going on here?" Bumblebee's voice comes from the entrance. Starscream won't admit it out loud, but he's glad to hear it. The Autobot has been the only one keeping him sane in all of his time outside of the brig.

"Nothing, Bumblebee," Megatron regards him with a short look. His servo moves away from Starscream's shoulder — the ping of pain runs across his entire frame, but it goes away quickly. Luckily, Megatron wasn't able to do a lot of damage. "I was simply concerned that Starscream had malicious intentions. Nothing more."

Bumblebee arches an optic ridge, first at Megatron, then at Starscream, who looks away from them both. He was not going to get involved anymore. It would only make things worse.

"Right," Bee says. "So, that's solved, then? Can't you… I don't know… be nice now?"

"Are you insinuating I wasn't, Bumblebee?"

And when that tone is directed at Bumblebee, Starscream's gears are twitching. He almost wants to open his mouth to retort, but Bee beats him to it.

"Well, by the sound of it — no, you really weren't. Yeah, I've been listening," the scout folds his servos. Star glances at him, and the stance almost mesmerises him. He's completely calm… while scolding Megatron. "I know you're trying, Megs, but come on. We need to be better than this. I'll admit, Starscream can be a little… a lot to handle, but if you deserved even a smidge of doubt, then he does, too. He's not that bad once you get to know him. You don't need to second-guess his every move. Just… be patient, okay?"

Starscream isn't sure whether he should be offended, touched, or enraged at Bumblebee's comments.

In the end, he settles on amused. He doesn't recall a time when someone would defend him and, at the same time, be so very kind to someone like Megatron. It's something Bumblebee masters to an art form. And he's growing to appreciate it.

Despite his efforts not to, a smile makes its way on Starscream's face. He turns his helm before anyone notices.

Megatron huffs air out of his vents. "You're right. We should… cooperate," he sounds like he's fighting the words actively coming out of his mouth. Starscream hopes it hurts to say them. "I'll come back later, when it's less crowded. Good day, Bumblebee."

"You, too."

When Megatron leaves, Starscream still has a smile on his face.

"That was some lecture you gave there, little Bee."

Bumblebee shrugs and walks up to Starscream. "Yeah, well, sometimes the guy forgets who's on which side. Gotta approach everyone differently, y'know?"

And there was also that. How Bumblebee chose his words carefully, suiting it for whoever the bot was talking to. It reminded Starscream of himself, in a way, and made Bumblebee all the more… interesting to interact with.

Bumblebee's nonchalance turns into concern. "He didn't… hurt you, did he?"

Judging by the way Bee glances at his shoulder, any answer might set off alarm bells in the Autobot's processor, so there was no way of hiding it. "Perhaps. Nothing I can't handle, though."

Bumblebee frowns. "Are you sure? Do you want me to… I don't know, stay with you?"

A grin snakes up Starscream's faceplate. "What, worried about little old me, Honeybee? Have no fear — I am perfectly operational. Besides, I'm sure you have your own duties to attend to."

The bot wants to protest, an objection on his lipplates, but a blush takes over on his faceplate, and the thought is forgotten. "…sure. I'll… see you later?"

"Oh, you will," Starscream coos, and Bumblebee turns tail as fast as that.

Despite his tremendous desire to shoo Bumblebee out of the room, it's now sparkless and empty. Starscream clutches his shoulder, still aching, but on its way to recovery. He'll manage without help, as he always had.

Next time, perhaps, Bumblebee. Next time.

[otomes-world]

Some things never change

no trigger warnings except yandere themes, 2,7k words and as we all love barely edited text

Probably, running away from home wasn't the smartest decision in life. In any case. The reason for such act depended on the questioner. If it was one of the friendly, elderly aunts, then you modestly told them about the desire to achieve recognition for the family. For younger acquaintances, the version acquired more dreamy shades in the form of recognition for yourself. For someone less meticulous, the desire to see the world was enough.

In the end you couldn't change the past, however, you were not eager to return home and beg for forgiveness, as most casual people painted a picture for themselves. Therefore, you always kept silent about the interesting beginning of the journey, preferring to tell stories of a later period. About how, by pure chance, you met a traveling troupe of artists and joined them. Did you know how to sing, dance, play a role? At an average level, yes.

Was it hard at first? Definitely.

Nevertheless, the stubborn decision to live your own life, leaving all the unpleasantness behind, won out and you, convincing and sometimes negotiating with yourself, swallowed the complaints. The meaningful glances from the other performers were safely ignored. They could think whatever they wanted, as long as they didn’t start leaving comments and sticking their noses into things that weren’t their business. Sounded like passive aggression? Touché.

Be that as it may, after a couple of months of involuntary life together and shared stories, the distance between you decreased to comfortable evening conversations and jokes in a whisper.

Has a small troupe of the same lost souls as you become a family in the full sense of the word? You always answered something vague and tried to change topic to something else. If others noticed, they preferred to tactfully remain silent and intercept the conversation. Everyone had their own reason for wandering, which meant that you were in for a maximum of understanding and a minimum of interference.

At least, these were the thoughts that always visited you at the beginning of autumn. To be more precise, when warm weather started dropping hints of cold wind and a rare drizzle of rain. No, you had no complaints about the season itself, only about your own melancholic mood, which was becoming part of everyday life. For performer, the beginning of autumn marked the end of the working season. Of course, there were occasions when you were invited to brighten up the evening of this or that eccentric nobleman, but they were incredibly rare. If you managed to count them on the fingers of one hand, it was considered lucky.

Winter served as a break for most. For agriculture, for trade, for travel… for you. In winter, finding something to do, a job, became more difficult. It was harder to distract yourself. There were no nights whose sky was painted with hundreds of lights. Noisy companies of people, in the flow of which it was so easy to forget and let yourself be led anywhere.

Inazuma - the nation of eternity, was supposed to be the last major stop this year. To be honest, even as a child you listened with apprehension to stories about this country. About visions. However, the gods did not consider you worthy of their gift. The bitterness of disappointment was felt as an unpleasant aftertaste even at a conscious age. Now you were watching life and the changing emotions on the faces of the townspeople from the window of a small ryokan's room with detachment. An unfinished mask for the next outfit rested on your lap.

It seemed that all the nightmares were left behind, it seemed that they were not afraid of the imminent onset of cold weather. The thoughts of both old and young were occupied only with the upcoming farewell to summer - you preferred to tactfully remain silent about the fact that it was already over.

The needle fell out of your hands with a barely audible ringing sound, falling to the floor. Looking down at your hands, you immediately clenched and unclenched them several times, trying to stop the trembling. This was clearly not the first and not the last winter in your life. Why doesn't the feeling of anxiety leave you? So noticeable that if the needle hadn't fallen out, you could have cut the air with it. Your "friends" wrote it all off as autumn dismals and for a moment you really wanted to sincerely believe their words.

It all started with crossing the border, as if the velvety purple skies were warning you about something in advance, carefully forgetting to specify what exactly. You decided that it was all because of the noticeable change in the weather. After the warm Sumeru, Inazuma seemed cold and unfriendly.

The meeting with Commissioner Yashiro took even the most experienced and seasoned performer, your unofficial leader, by surprise. You remembered how someone briefly mentioned a family whose responsibilities included organizing festivals. However, discussing and obtaining permission from the leader still shook you to the depths of your soul.

Despite the obligatory nature of some moments brought by the new life, you still did not like meeting with nobles, especially tete-a-tete. They reminded you of a time you wanted to leave behind. Memories you wanted to rewrite, erase, bury under a pile of new ones and never think about again. Whether it was a defensive reaction or a personal dislike, no one asked. As long as you performed without causing problems, no one was going to pry into your soul.

Tremble in your hands became stronger, as well as your heart beat faster in your chest.

The Kamisato family estate was amazing, causing admiring whispers from the troupe and anxiety in you. The ceilings were too high, reminding you of a beautiful cage, one of which you had so carefully left. You tried to avoid such talent display in front of the nobles: you wanted to show off as little as possible. Even though you understood in your mind that the probability of meeting a familiar face in a foreign country was extremely small, you could never calm your paranoia.

Hope died last, so you prayed that there would be some urgent matter, any really, that did not require delay and a trusted person would conduct the meeting. However, fate rarely took into account someone's wishes, since the quiet voices and greetings of the servants in the corridor became a sufficiently clear sign.

In such grand mansions, your body acted on its own, straightening your back and wiping all emotion from your face, leaving a neutral smile. Despite all your attempts to imitate your new acquaintances, some habits seemed to be engraved on your bones. Whether it was luck or not, was another question. The singer, who for some reason was treating you like a younger relative, winked to you encouragingly, while your insides turned cold.

You didn’t like the look of the Commissioner. He was pleasant, behaved appropriately, flashing his knowledge of the fine arts, without putting himself in an bad light. Looking at the man from under your lowered eyelashes, for a second you felt a pang of envy. About what your life could have been if you had followed the beaten path, instead of jumping off a cliff with the unknown at its very bottom. Suppressing a moment of weakness, you smiled charmingly when the conversation turned to you, playing the role of a silly person who was passionate about arts.

You stood up, forcing yourself to take deep breaths, ignoring the darkening in your eyes. As soon as your gaze cleared, you tiredly sank down again, reaching for the fallen mask, to which you had been sewing feathers a few minutes ago. The quick and sharp pain made you pull your hand back in panic, while the voice of reason reminded you of the needle that had fallen. Shaking your head a couple of times, as if it could throw out unpleasant emotions and restore your calm, you grabbed the mask in one movement and casually threw it on the bed, or as it was called here a futon. The needle and a bag of colored feathers were carefully put away in the nightstand.

For some incomprehensible, twisted reason, you were the one deciding the organizational issues. To be more precise, this was the wish expressed by the Commissioner, and the kind "head" of the troupe did not object. Words about a pleasant impression, an interesting, new look at the performances and compliments from the servants of the estate - like a porcelain doll - were drowned in the general monotonous noise, while the body still refused to move.

The need to end everything as quickly as possible became sufficient motivation. Visit the estate, solve a few pressing issues and return to your room, lock yourself in and hide from the world until the moment when you would have to go out again. Repeating this phrase like a mantra, you sat in the familiar interior and tried to fight the desire to jump out of the window.

"Are you okay?" A sympathetic voice asks, for a second you even believed in sincerity which it hold.

"Yes, Monsieur Kamisato," the answer bursts out on its own, and then, as if realizing your mistake, you lowered your head in a bow. "I'm sorry, I meant Kamisato-sama."

Some habits are unchangeable.

The man just laughed softly, "You may address me as you prefer. I suppose the language barrier is sometimes difficult to overcome?"

"Thank you, I hope my Fontaine's accent does not offend you. I try to fill in the gaps in the cultural peculiarities of the languages ​​of different corners of Teyvat." You answered, reading between the lines of his question.

You tried to ignore the man as much as etiquette allowed, whose eyes narrowed in satisfaction, like a cat, that had been watching a canary for a long time. Reaching for the papers on which the rough plan of the event was sketched, you were about to change the topic, but he was beat you to it.

"I hope that your stay in Inazuma is going smoothly and nothing has marred the first impression." Slightly tilting your head to the side, you looked at the nobleman, waiting for him to continue. "I assume you know about Tri-Commisions, Yashiro, let me clarify."

Closing your eyes for a moment, you tried to answer as close to textbook as possible, "It's one of the organizations in Inazuma. They, you, are in charge of managing shrines, festivals, and cultural events."

"With such a well-known history, it's rather surprising that we don't have a permanent troupe of performers. Perhaps we should entertain the idea." The softness in his voice, the pleasant, inviting atmosphere, and the innocently asked question made you genuinely disgusted.

"If you think so," perhaps not the best answer, but short enough not to ruin the conversation or make yourself seem rude. You didn't have to be a prophet to not guess what the other side was hinting at. "Would you allow me to ask your opinion on the event's plan?"

As if he had already achieved his goal, the man kindly allowed the conversation to return back to work, which you were grateful for.

You couldn't flash much experience in small talk. Each meeting with the Commissioner made you remember everything that they had so diligently tried to hammer into you, to mold the version that should correspond to the norms.

He had it all. Soft pressure, skill of confidently inclining the dialogue in a favorable direction. Man never showed open aggression, did not give you anything that you could latch on to. Smoothly and gracefully dropped small hints on where he could press if you decided to act differently from the path he had already planned.

"Thank you, I will take your wishes into account and make the necessary changes," politely ending the meeting, you slowly began to collect the papers you had brought and the sheet of notes.

"Have you ever thought about settling down?" The question catches you off guard, the papers almost falling out of your hands, scattering across the table and the floor. Instead, a smile appears on your face and your body moves on its own again.

"You are very kind. Will you allow me to pass on your generous offer to hire our troupe to the others? I do not have the authority to make such a decision on my own."

"Ah, yes, of course," his eyes narrow slightly again, letting you know that trying to play on the meaning of his words would not work. "Your unity is admirable," the implied 'considering your type of work' hangs in the air.

"I will pass on your praise, Kamisato-sama," another bow. "Please, excuse me."

To your great happiness, he made no attempt to stop you. He let you reach the shoji, push it aside, but just before you could close it, he added, "I hope you'll consider the offer personally."

The sound of the door closing ringed louder in your ears than it actually was.

Hope, such a fragile, unreliable thing, had let you down more often than anyone else in your life. Each time, burning and burying another piece of yourself, you thought about home. If a place from the past could be called like that. About too many expectations and too few opportunities for self-realization. About a ready-made life plan, presented on a silver platter, all you had to do was reach out.

Something wet falls into your palm. The unexpected screams of passersby, escaping from the rain, were barely discernible through the veil of white noise. Focusing your gaze on the window frame of the same empty room in the ryokan, you touched your own face with your other hand.

It was dry.

You wiped your palm on the fabric of your clothes and held back a sigh. Although the Commissioner had not specified a deadline for making a decision, your intuition told you that the day of the festival was the maximum you could hope for.

The troupe took the news ambiguously. Some liked the prospect of a permanent job. Some lived for travel.

Some were… you. A rabbit trying to outrun the clock. Or a bud that, instead of falling and brightly flaring up in the flames of the stove, fell off with the wind. Flower that didn't want to become part of someone's herbarium and was now soaking in a puddle, hoping to dissolve in it and disappear as if it had never existed. No one looked at their feet, hurrying about their business in the hustle and bustle of days.

Almost no one.

A beviolent person stopped and carefully unfolded his own album. You just had to reach out. The voice of a familiar singer breaks through the noise of the rain, like the thunder of Her Excellency. Would you be able to say "Yes" once and keep a right to say "No"? Unfortunately, the strength to answer this question was becoming less and less. As was the time until the event.

The trees had already managed to change into different shades of colors, dappled with orange, red and even purple leaves, attracting the gaze of everyone who was ready to look. Despite the feeling of cold, the sun was still warming the earth, giving the last days of trancility. Could the electro Archon take pity and bless her people, waiting for the festivities with them?

"Opportunities to bask in the sunlight like this are few and far between."

"That's how," hearing a voice right next to your ear, you didn't even take your eyes off the waves. Or to be more precise, their barely noticeable echoes, now and then disappearing from sight due to the wind and tree crowns.

What exactly you were hoping to see in the distance, and whether were you hoping, was a moot point. One of those that tensed up the atmosphere from the first words spoken. You didn't want to take responsibility and get caught in the crossfire.

"The Shogun's mood is extremely favorable these days," it seemed someone decided to take pity and throw you a bone. For this, you ignored the light touch on your shoulder. "Thoma conveyed that the fishermen whose boats safely returned to port do not cease to thank her."

You stayed still for a moment, considering something you couldn't give a name. Expectedly, Commissioner was fine with your lack of reaction most of the time, as long as you were where he wanted you to be.

"Winter will come soon"

Was there any meaning in this phrase or did it mean something completely different. Was it spoken for those who could hear, or did you voice it for yourself. You didn't know anymore.

A drop fell on the windowsill and purely by instinct you touched your cheek again, but, unfortunately, the sound of the rain that began once again reminded you how stupid it was to hope for anything.

He lied after all.

[ruby-red-inky-blue]

nope, still annoyed at the fact that Andor gave itself the neatest, most poignant way out of both the question "why is Bix not around in Rogue One" and "at what point does Cassian start doing things that he actively resents doing" (because so far he doesn't seem to feel a large amount of guilt - yes, he says the faces haunt him, but he seems very convinced he can live with it), plus being able to make an actual point about sacrifice while doing it - and then they used it instead for a cheap "badass" moment to end the arc on, even though it once again makes Bix all about her trauma with very little agency and opportunity to show off her skills or qualities, opens a bunch of plot holes and is still just setting her up to die for Cassian's manpain soon.

Because bringing Gorst back into the narrative is actually brilliant. They clearly can't figure out anything else that Bix has going on (not gonna rant about that here. again.), so it only makes sense. But it also actually presents a perfect moral dilemma:

Lonni is running the expansion of Gorst's heinous torture programme

he has likely passed this information on to Luthen, who in turn knows what happened to Bix

Bix cannot move past what happened to her, and clearly has violent fantasies about killing him, suggesting she would jump at the opportunity to kill that guy

killing Gorst would also sabotage or possibly end the torture programme

BUT any attack on Gorst, whose existence and programme is very hush-hush, will also immediately tell the ISB they have a mole very high up

now, you hand Cassian all these cards, and then you give him some kind of mission where he runs across Gorst, and recognises him. You put them in some office alone together, the doctor's back is turned, Cassian has a hand on his blaster - and, understanding that revenge is not worth blowing up their eyes and ears at the top of the ISB because almost nothing would be... he drops his hand, and politely excuses himself, and lets Gorst live.

Then, you have him either confess this to Bix or let it slip on accident. She cannot forgive him, and he cannot agree with her - because it is the greatest possible betrayal of her, but that doesn't make it the wrong choice. Then you have them split over this, and have Bix cut ties with Luthen and all the other rebel contacts too. This could be a more peaceful endpoint for her (she is, at least, free from Cassian and this Rebellion she has no agency in), or, if that is too defeatist, make her last appearances ones where she starts stalking this guy on her own. This way, she actually gets her revenge without needing an assist from the Cool Rebel Guys. So she kills Gorst independently of the Rebels, and depending on how bleak you want this ending to be, she either gets away with it and finally gets to leave Coruscant, or she gets arrested. If she gets arrested, her getting framed as a rebel terrorist for it and it serving to whitewash Gorst's actions to the public, actually boosting the programme, could be very terrible and poignant. But maybe we end on her arriving in some prison camp where she is celebrated as a hero by the other inmates, and hey, we could end it at an ambiguous shot of a rebel ship overhead, suggesting that maybe they're going to be liberated. You know, bring that hope theme from Rogue One back just a little bit.

Anyway, this accomplishes several things that the ending of the Gorst storyline we got does not:

Gorst's return actually serving some narrative purpose over "needs to come back so his death can allow Bix her Moment"

allowing Bix some actual agency and competence that doesn't smack of plot contrivance (instead of a half-minute sequence of her swanning in and out of an ISB building with no explanation or consequences)

moral conflict instead of an oddly unambiguous "you go girl!!" moment that the show has so far always avoided

pushing Cassian further to where he needs to be if they plan on lining him up with his R1-personality even slightly, and putting him more on Luthen's side instead of pitting him against him

allowing them to keep their mole without this becoming a plot hole

give Cassian something to feel genuinely guilty about without that compromising his belief in the cause or needing to fridge yet another woman to do it

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

for me, nothing hits quite like someone who's sick but like...still in a good mood? like either ignoring it or admitting they're not well but still pleasant to be around. like they sneeze and someone asks if they're ok and they just roll their eyes and say "yeah i just have a stupid fuckin cold" 🫠😳👁️👄👁️🤩

[murderspice]

Day I. Cousin's Keeper | Praise Kink

PHEW I MADE IT shout out to @captastra for putting this together (you can find the prompts here!) and to @highend-fade for enabling me and my fresh cadllario rot <3

my other entries: Day III | Day IV (nsfw) | Day V | Day VI | Day VII

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"So."

"So?"

"You and my cousin."

That was the very start of the conversation, so blunt it nearly made Cadfael laugh aloud. Lucanis was precise with everything he did, exceedingly so. Even in a relaxed setting like this one, within the lighthouse library, he arrived armed with only his silver coffee cup and a schooled expression.

Rook didn't say anything in response, but he did turn from his sorting of the bookshelf to lean against it and prompt Lucanis to continue.

"You two seemed…very close, last night."

Ah, right. They did say their goodbyes right outside the Cantori Diamond, after Illario had given him a personal tour of Treviso. Goodbyes that were…charged.

(They hadn't kissed, but it was a very near thing. Cadfael still didn't know if the ache in his chest could be called mistrust or longing.)

Still, something about the way Lucanis said it made Cadfael want to bristle on instinct. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Alright, sure. Let's run with that. Am I about to get a shovel-talk? 'Break his heart and I'll kill you, Rook'?

"Rook." Pin-point precision, yet again, giving Cadfael pause. "You are my friend. And I have trusted my cousin with my life more times than I can count."

"…But?"

"And," the Crow corrected gently, eyes focused on a knot in the grain of the wooden table in front of him. "He is very good at what he does. And, I don't want to see you hurt."

That was the last thing Cadfael wanted to think about. He wasn't naive to it, not at all— from the very beginning, he knew that Illario was an assassin who used his charm to lure his marks. Illario wasn't shy about his work, and Cad was pragmatic enough to brace for the inevitable asking of a favor that may follow one day.

It didn't stop him from wishing, foolishly, that he could have something nice for himself, just this once.

The lighthouse continued its low humming symphony of magic in motion around them, even as the conversation went silent. Neither of them looked at each other for some time, Cadfael eyeing the bookshelves restlessly as Lucanis nursed his cooling coffee mug with a mirroring tension in his shoulders.

They had come a long way from that horrific extraction from the Ossuary. Had this conversation happened a month ago, they would've been throwing knives, literally and figuratively. Now…

"Alright." Cadfael started, forcing his hands to relax where they clung to his own arms. "I trust you, Lucanis." He cracked a grin for the other, even if it didn't completely reach his eyes. "Thanks. For the warning."

Lucanis quietly studied his face, before leaning forward in his seat with a sigh. "There could be a chance. I could be concerned for nothing, and you won't need that warning. A small chance, but…it is there. It's been…I don't know how long it's been, since he took a real interest in someone else. My memory's still…rusty. Muddy? Mierde."

Cadfael snorted, which earned him the assassin's rueful smile.

"If it does turn out that way, somehow, then…" He swirled the last dregs of his drink, putting on the gravest tone of voice he could muster. "Break his heart, and I'll kill you, Rook."

This time, Cadfael did laugh aloud.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

[burningcheese-merchant]

i luved ur burning cheese fic on ao3 especially bc no one posts ab them..im somewhat inspired to post my own burning cheese content

Which one? I've written a bunch of them haha. Whichever one it is, thank you! It always makes my day when people come tell me they enjoy my work ❤️

And I understand your pain... Not enough BurningCheese content of any kind, at least on the Western side. Asian side of the fandom is filled to bursting with fanart and stuff. I think the problem is that most people on our side of the fence are terrified to ship it publicly because there's a risk of harassment and ostracization from the others, because boo hoo toxic boo hoo abuser x abused (and then they'll turn around and ship Hollyt4ya and ShadowSp1ce like the cowardly hypocrites they are lol). I'm tempted to assume most of my asks are anonymous for that reason. It's a shame, really. It's all a shame. Shame that BurningCheese doesn't get the love and attention it deserves and shame that anyone who tries to give it is burned at the stake for it

But I really do encourage you to post content! Pretty please! The world always needs more BurningCheese stuff. I'm only one person, I can't do it all alone haha

[magicalspit]

me reading the discourse posts in the cr tag like do you think these are the exact arguments people are having in exandria about bells hells for the next decade or so

[hatefueled]

[accirax]

I am dying to know your thoughts on Eva Tsunaka now (Damon too. and, to a lesser extent, Desmond, Eloise, Toshiko, Kai and then everyone else)

combining these two asks bc they're pretty similar! clearly, the people crave Eva Tsunaka. spoilers for P:EG Chapter 1!

well, kinda-spoilers, anyways. Venus and I are working on a larger Ch1 think piece together, and lucky for you, i'm writing the section on Eva! i have a hell of a lot to say about her, as she was obviously one of the most major players in this chapter. however, i'll probably save my really in-depth thoughts for that post, and not write them all out here. so, please look forward to that post sometime soon!

as a short version, though, i will confirm that i also really liked Eva. making her the Ultimate Mathlete instead of the Ultimate Liar was a galaxy-brain move, and i'm so happy that they stuck with it until the end. it opened up really interesting character possibilities too, which were explored both in her FTEs (or so i imagine) and in her post-Trial.

as i was playing the daily life, she was one of my favorite characters, although-- perhaps contrary to popular opnion-- she actually dropped in my ranking slightly during the deadly life. not because i felt betrayed or anything like that; i'm always a fan of characters showing their darker/more villainous side. i just felt that some of the things she said and ways she reacted in the deadly life were inconsistent with the character we'd grown to love in the daily life, and therefore undermined my established like of her. again, i'll explain more of my thoughts on this in the major post.

but again, to reiterate, i still really like Eva! and i also think that the character she presented in her breakdown and post-Trial speech was really interesting and unique. you can feel her belief that she knows more than everyone else (even when it comes to how they speak) bleeding into every word she says, and that's super cool.

in general, this tierlist is a good guideline for how i feel about everyone:

i didn't see a tierlist option with Tozu on it, but honestly, i'd put that guy in ily tier. he's great. if i had to rank Mara, i'd put her at the bottom, as she has given me nothing so far other than a cool design (which everyone has).

but let me stress that i don't dislike any of the characters, there are just some that i haven't clicked with as much yet. the closest i've gotten to disliking a character is Jett, just because he was more mean than i expected. but given that the reason why i like Mark is because he was mean, it'd be kinda hypocritical of me to dislike Jett for the same reason. but maybe this tierlist is from ~beneath the veil of hypocrisy~

[pardonmydelays]

clancy is going to be one year old tomorrow and somehow i can't stop crying

[yujeong]

Time was at a standstill. Vegas was holding his breath without noticing, and continued to hold it when he did - he was afraid of what would happen if he exhaled loudly enough to draw attention to himself. His gaze was shifting between Pete and the man who was standing before them in the doorway, blocking their entrance. Vegas had never seen him before, but even so, he recognized Pete in him enough to know who he was. A dangerous aura surrounded him. There was an edge to his presence that Vegas would only come across people of certain circles. He was a fighter. A muay khao. Pete's father. Shame coursed through Vegas' body, smearing his skin, settling in his lungs, rendering him speechless. I thought he was dead, he wanted to tell Pete if he could. He wanted to scream at him, I thought you killed him. Pete was the one who broke the stillness. As if awakened by something, he took a half-step back and made a motion with his arms, almost raising them to his chest, but not quite. In an instant, Pete reverted into the pet Vegas had been keeping at the safehouse, bound by handcuffs and afraid of his belt hitting flesh and drawing blood. A lump formed in Vegas' throat. "Have you stopped practicing? Your form is off." The uncanny similarities between Pete and his father appearance-wise didn't mean a thing when it came to their voices. Vegas shivered. Was this what Pete would sound like in a few decades? (Were these the condescending words he'd choose to spew? Was Pete going to embody his father? Was Vegas embodying his?) "What are you doing here?" Pete whispered. "They let me out for a few days, so I came here to collect some money. Imagine my surprise when I found out my offspring left the job someone found him worthy enough of doing to... do what exactly? Yaai didn't want to tell me." He crossed his arms, waiting for an answer. Vegas didn't know what he was allowed to say. If he was allowed to say anything at all. "It's none of your business." "I'd say it very much is my business, as well as yaai's business who was dependent on the money you were making being some rich asshole's human shield." A choked sound scratched Vegas' throat. He didn't like getting reminded of Pete being the main family's bodyguard, even though he stopped being one mere months ago. Especially like this. That was the first time Pete's father stopped looking at his son and turned his head to look at Vegas. For a moment, there seemed to be recognition in his eyes. Did he know who Vegas was? Did he care? A snort came out of his mouth. He leaned on the door. "Oh, I see how it is." He laughed, scratched his neck. "I never expected you to whore yourself out for money. Tell me, is it preferable to the path I carved out for you?" Vegas could sense the disgust in his voice. He could also see it on Pete's face. He was too astonished to share it, but not enough to be unable to speak. "Khun, there has been some misunderstanding-" "Don't bother. I can recognize a faggot when I see one." Pete's movements were too fast for Vegas to stop him. A direct jab to the nose; his father fell like a pack of cards, groaning like a wounded animal. Surprisingly, no blood - Pete held back. Vegas didn't know what to think about that. "That was a pathetic attack, even for you." "Get up." "We're not in the ring, son." Pete growled. Vegas could see his hands trembling as he was keeping them in the air, maintaining an offensive stance. "That never stopped you before." "You were too young to understand what I was doing back then. What I was preparing you for." Pete was silent. "The world isn't kind. It'll fuck you over one way or another." He got up, spat on the ground. "You still haven't learned a thing. You're too old to afford being naive." He turned around, and without sparing a look at Pete again, said: "Now get the fuck out of my house." (For @musictooth, whose posts about Pete's father have reignited my passion for this specific concept and for @wretchedamaranth, whose comments on my writing are always lovely and precious ❤️)

[soggy-fishsticks]

guys ive been drawing so much lately I've been starting to actually hate it 🙁

[rosylix]

i love that yall scream with me abt felix and stuff lolllll. i feel weird sometimes like i shouldnt post if im not writing cus yall are pretty much here for my writing.. so if im not writing like no one cares abt me lol but idk its still fun and it makes me so happy that yall still think of me even when ive not been active like thats so sweet?? jdnsjfjjs IDKK i cant articulate my thoughts correctly rn but i just wanted to say ily guys! 🤍🤍