#because then this type of marketing wouldn’t happen

[twelvedaysinaugust]

With the Pleasing smiley (which I mostly just agree confirms what you said in your tags re fiscal quarter and maybe some degree of copyright arrangement/promo coordination) the one thing that I do find interesting is that it's a little more obvious than Harry's team usually is with their appeals to Larries. Like, with the blue/green stuff, I think it's more like, if it fits within the existing creative direction, we include it, it makes some subset of our audience marginally more likely to purchase our product but outside of that subset it goes unnoticed, but that smiley is very distinctively related to Louis (I mean, he has it copyrighted) in a way that even non-Larries might recognize and see a connection. Like I said, I don't think it actually means anything (other than that they want Larries to buy things from Pleasing), but I was surprised they went there.

Agree with. I was a little surprised to see it myself.

#my feeling #is that all of it is marketing #so I don’t think it’s much deeper than trying to sell a product #at the same time #I agreed with that anon who said #this kind of thing makes them think H/L are still together #or at the very least don’t have other partners that they’re serious about #because then this type of marketing wouldn’t happen #big shrug #but it is something I think about

[wttcsms]

balancing act ; satoru gojo.

pairing satoru gojo x f!reader   word count 3.9k   synopsis gojo bets that he can get you to fall in love in three months, and you bet that he can't go three months with staying committed to one person and not bang them. neither of you plan on losing. content contains modern no curses!au, mentions of sex and vulgar language (but no smut yet), simp gojo <3 author’s notes i plan on wrapping things up quickly this time around, so i have five parts planned for this mini series!

Satoru Gojo is used to a wide array of reactions to any of his antics: awe (the summer analyst, Miwa, always stares at him like he himself is the one who created the stock market), irritation (Nanami is rarely ever in agreement with the comments Gojo leaves on his work), lust (Gojo gives just as much he receives because he’s benevolent like that — his words, of course). 

But he’s not quite used to being laughed at. 

He’s handsome, and he knows it, a deadly combination for any man because Shoko claims that all men are born with an astonishing amount of audacity and it only ever grows as they get older. Satoru brings up the fact that Shoko technically cheated her way through med school, and that any doctor worth her degree wouldn’t get onto patients while lighting up a cigarette of all things, but Shoko is equally stubborn and audacious as any man, and it just makes her a worthy opponent to get into arguments with. 

Being attractive and arrogant isn’t enough to keep him from suffering mild humiliation from time to time, though. The reason why Satoru doesn’t get embarrassed is because the world is unfair, so he happens to be born rich and smart enough and talented enough to just keep on getting richer. Even he is entirely aware of his privilege, but he’s got the type of personality that would be endearing even if he wasn’t hot, so everyone loves him. 

And you don’t hate him, he knows that. He also knows that you don’t love him, which is fine, because it’s not your love, or awe, or irritation, or lust (okay, maybe some lust would be nice) that Satoru wants from you. He just wants you for you, your honesty and whatever scraps of yourself that you toss to him. 

Today’s scraps are your laughter, which rings through the whole entire office, singing above the noisy clacks of keys being smashed by the analysts and the whirring of the printer shooting out hundreds of pages a minute. He feels a warmth spread from his stomach to his chest and maybe it even rises up to his neck, he’s not so sure. He should feel slightly embarrassed, he thinks, to have said something seriously only for you to find comedy in it, but he doesn’t. He just feels pleased with himself for making you laugh, like he’s done something great.

“You are so full of shit, Gojo.” You’re still smiling, even though you’re not bothering to look at him anymore. Your attention is now focused on the report one of the analysts has turned into you, and from the lack of comments you’re leaving, he assumes it’s Megumi’s work. 

“I was being serious, y’know.” Satoru’s more than tall enough to see over the cubicles, especially when he’s standing up, and he leans over it, his head and upper body leaning into your personal desk space. The cubicles don’t do jack shit for privacy, anyway, so he doesn’t feel bad when you complain that he’s invading your privacy. If it was privacy that you craved, you wouldn’t have three monitors raised, each of them displaying a jumble of numbers and words that Satoru doesn’t care about. 

“So was I.” You tell him.

Just thirty minutes ago, you walked into the office with a quad shot espresso, unceremoniously plopped your Longchamp tote onto the floor, and dramatically sighed to get your desk neighbor’s attention. Utahime is always a good sport when it comes to your antics but doesn’t bother extending the same courtesy to Satoru, which he considers to be very unfair considering that he’s technically everyone’s boss. It is his name that’s displayed on the side of the building, and his private equity firm that he’s built up alongside Suguru. 

“What happened this time?” Utahime asks you, like the good sport she is. Satoru, at that time, was pretending not to eavesdrop even though he is, because he’s a nosy bastard. 

“I hate men.” You say, leaning back in your chair. “He left me for someone nice.”

The way you say it lets him — and Utahime, who is actually the person you’re talking to — know that that nice was a direct quote from your ex.

Utahime furrows her brows, looking confused. “But you are nice.” 

Debatable, is what Satoru wants to say, but he’s remaining silent so he can get the full story out of you first.

“No. I’m a workaholic with no personality outside of my fancy finance job.” 

Ouch. 

Satoru doesn’t see an issue with you, though. So what, you’re hardworking and focused? He thinks it’s kinda hot to see someone with so much ambition and discipline. He wouldn’t have hired you if you were anything less. 

“He’s just insecure.” Utahime says, soft voice trying to soothe you, even though Satoru hears the familiar sound of your manicure typing in your login details to your computer. He knows it’s silly to think he can tell the difference between your typing and anyone else’s, and he doesn’t want to think too hard about what that could possibly mean when it comes to defining his feelings for you.

“You said the same thing about my last three exes, and they all said similar things about me.” Satoru can’t see either of you from this angle, but he’s certain that you’re opening up your emails right about now. The conversation is coming to a close, and he needs to start focusing on his own tasks, but then you say something interesting, practically baiting him to come out of his office.

“I’ve decided that from this point forward, I am swearing off men.” 

Utahime laughs. “You can’t just swear off all men because of a few bad ones.”

“Not forever.” You clarify. “Just for the time being. All the men I’ve dealt with  in Tokyo suck.”

On paper, all your exes are fantastic catches. There’s the surgeon (who found you to be too independent), the professor (who thought you were too busy to give him the attention he needed), the hedge fund associate (who thought that he liked smart girls, but apparently, not ones smarter than him), and your newest ex, the investment banker. The irony isn’t lost on anyone — an investment banker criticizing someone for being a workaholic obsessed with the prestige of their finance career? If he was going to scramble for an excuse to want to see other people, he should have chosen some other cliche line instead of using the same one someone else must have said to him. 

“What’s this about men in Tokyo?” Satoru strolls up to the divider between you and Utahime, hands in his pockets, pretending that he hasn’t been listening to the entirety of your conversation from the very beginning.

“That all of them suck.” You say, with that unwavering confidence he likes. 

“I’m a man in Tokyo.” He’s grinning.

“Yeah. I stand by what I said.” You’re not even being courteous enough to look at him, still focused on whatever email is on your screen.

His grin only grows wider.

“Maybe all the men you’ve been with are subpar, but I bet I could change your mind.” 

“Is this even appropriate for work?” Utahime interjects. 

“If it’ll make my dear employee Utahime happy, I can grab someone from HR to supervise this conversation.” Satoru says.

“It’s a trap.” You tell her, lips curling up in a smile that lets him know you’re going to say something very mean and probably true about him. “He’s already broken protocol with everyone who works there.” 

“You’re very disrespectful to your boss. Anyone else would have fired you on the spot.” Satoru only pretends to be wounded by your comments, but everyone knows that he’s as good at taking it as he is at dishing it out. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that Satoru owns this firm because he’s not very good at professionalism himself. 

Utahime mutters something under her breath, deciding not to engage further in whatever it is the two of you are doing.

“So, whaddya say? Wanna test out your ‘all men in Tokyo suck’ theory with me?” He knows this teasing won’t go anywhere, even if he wants it to. You’re good at your job, and you’re good at being a professional. Somehow, he doesn’t think you would consider fucking your boss as something very professional. 

“I would, but I have standards.” 

Satoru wants to make a snide comment about all the guys who have dumped you, but he can’t, because it’s already been established that they’re not just decent by regular standards, but stellar. Rich, successful, well educated men who could probably make you cum. 

Well, Satoru is richer, more successful, and more educated than all of them combined, he thinks. And he would gladly make you cum like crazy, if you let him. 

“C’mon, what’s wrong with me?” 

“Promise I won’t get fired if I’m being honest?” You turn your desk chair, looking up at him with mock doe eyes, and the sight shouldn’t be both endearing and hot to him, but it is. 

“Give me your worst.” He tells you, both of you smiling at the challenge. 

“I don’t give anything of myself to a man who can’t even bother to commit to anyone.” 

Of course, you have a point. Satoru’s not known for dating anyone. He takes women out on extravagant dates, yes, but he doesn’t actually practice the act of dating. 

He doesn’t see a point to it. Most people, save for his friends (a bit weird to consider some of his closest companions are actually his employees), see beyond his shiny veneer, and dating would just complicate things. Dating means someone seeing the duller, not-so-great parts of himself.  

“I could commit if it’s you.” 

The way he says it, without that familiar teasing lilt of his, makes you burst out laughing. He really is trying to commit… to the bit, that is. For a moment, Satoru almost tricks you into thinking he’s serious. 

“You are so full of shit, Gojo.”

You’re focused on your work, not the momentary hurt look that disappears from his face as quickly as it came. 

“Don’t be such a pessimist.” He tells you. “I bet I could make you believe in love again.” 

“Who said I didn’t believe in love?” You frown at that. “I just don’t believe that the men in this city are capable of it.” 

“Bonus season is upon us.” Satoru says, suddenly having a bright idea. He’s so rich that his wealth seems to be an extension of himself, and like all other parts of his body and mind, he uses it to his advantage. 

“Ugh, don’t tell me this conversation is going to affect my bonus check. I really will go to HR, then.” 

“I’ll double your bonus pay if you let me court you for three months.”

“Court me?” You’re laughing at him again. He eats it up, savors it, lets it settle on his tongue and warm his insides. 

“If you’re so convinced I’d be horrible and only prove you right, wouldn’t you jump at the chance to make some easy money?” 

He’s trying to bait you into accepting; you know it. You also know that nothing from Gojo comes easy. He makes it entirely too convenient to forget that he’s razor sharp and cutthroat, the things he needs to be in order to remain on top of the finance scene, but he’s always joking, always teasing, that it feels like he almost doesn’t like being taken seriously. 

“Like I said, I don’t deal with men with commitment issues.”

There was a brief moment in time where you considered going out with Gojo. The two of you have always been rotating in the same social circles, way back to your high school and university days. You don’t shame him for having casual sex because Gojo is genuinely sweet when he wants to be, and you know that everyone he’s ever fucked has done so more than willingly, probably too eagerly. They all get broken up over the fact that Gojo never wants to actually enter into a relationship with them, and it’s probably because they chose not to take him seriously. He has a bad habit of spitting out the truth but presenting it like some sort of joke. A guy shouldn’t take you out to a nice dinner and make you cum twice before even thinking about himself if he doesn’t want a girl to fall in love with him. 

For as long as you’ve known Gojo, he’s never dated once. Never a high school sweetheart or a tumultuous college relationship bound for disappointment and a messy breakup. Even now, he doesn’t follow the example of the other men in positions of power like him, who pursue doe-eyed college girls to shower with affection and trap into manipulative relationships. 

He’s cute and funny and would treat you right, but you can’t deal with the embarrassment of having someone only for one night or two, only to have them do the same thing they did with you, just with someone else. It would feel like a mockery. Your pride doesn’t give you room to give in to Gojo’s charm.

“Is that really your only stipulation?” He shrugs, like this is something insignificant, and you’re being so silly. “I’ll stay committed to you for the entire duration of the bet.” 

You narrow your eyes. “You need to keep your dick wet at all times. I’m pretty sure you die if you don’t get off at least once a day.” 

Utahime coughs, but it sounds too much like a laugh. 

“True, but I bet you’d be great at keeping me alive.” 

Oh, he is definitely getting sent to HR.

“So you want me to believe in love, and you’re convinced you can do this by the time bonus season rolls around, which is only three months.” You’re entering business mode, rearranging the facts and coming up with strategies in your head. Satoru never thought that someone thinking could be so attractive, but here he is, and here you are. 

“I’ll agree to participate, but only if you can handle what I consider to be proper courting.”

“What does that consist of?” He’s got you, hook, line, and sinker. There’s nothing Satoru Gojo cannot accomplish. He’s built up his own wildly successful private equity firm, doubling his family’s fortune. He graduated top of his class. He gives every girl he’s ever been with consecutive, mind blowing orgasms using just his tongue and two fingers. There’s nothing you could possibly say that his natural talents and money can’t handle. 

“No sex. No kissing. No touching.” You lean back in your chair, looking far too smug. 

“Done.” 

He doesn’t even have to think about agreeing, but you falter, just for a second. 

“Really?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“It’s not just you saying no to sex with me, but sex in general.” You pause, trying to spot when the realization of the severity of his situation is. When he doesn’t give you a reaction, just still continuing to tilt his head in mild amusement, you continue. “You can’t flirt or take anyone else on a date, and you definitely can’t fuck them, either.” 

“Yes, I’m aware.” 

“You’re going to regret this.” You huff, certain that Gojo is dumber than you thought. He might think this is all fun and games now, but when he’s pent up and unable to get off, you’re certain you’re going to receive a text from him forfeiting the bet altogether. It shouldn’t bother you that he acts like your addition to the bet is easy, because his failure means your pockets get fatter, but it’s no fun playing games when someone isn’t ready to fully play to win.

“Hmm. We’ll see.” He says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Make sure to finish going over all the analysts’ slide decks because I’m taking you out tomorrow night.” 

The timer for the bet starts tomorrow, then.

Satoru thinks it’s cute that you thought you had him there, dangling sex like he’s some barbarian who can’t survive without it. Sure, fucking is fun, and sure, you’re definitely denying yourself of some of the greatest experiences you could have had, but he uses his brain more than his dick. 

If any girl is worth going celibate for, it’d be you.

Sitting in his office, he can’t concentrate on his work. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much that you think not having access to your body would be enough to turn him away. Either you really do think he’s a sex addict, or the men you’ve been with aren’t as great as they appear to be. It’s probably a mixture of both, but this conclusion doesn’t make him any happier. 

Neither does having Suguru saunter into his office, without knocking. Just walks in, like he owns the place. And with his fifty-percent ownership of the firm, and his last name right next to Gojo’s on the building, he kind of does.

“HR is going to have a field day with you,” his best friend says in exchange for a greeting. Satoru would have preferred a hello.

“HR is in charge of the payroll that I fund,” is Satoru’s retort. 

“Only you would force an employee into a childish bet instead of asking her out like a normal person.”

“Didn’t force her.” Satoru conveniently doesn’t acknowledge the latter half of his statement.

“Didn’t really give her much choice, either.” Suguru smiles. “Shit, even I’d deal with your ass for two hundred grand more.” 

“Well, unfortunately for you, I’m committed to one woman only.” 

“God help her.” And then, after taking a second to think, Suguru continues. “Actually, if He really cared, He wouldn’t have kept leading her to the same places as you.” 

“Maybe I’m her blessing.” 

No one in the office knows why Suguru is laughing so hard behind Gojo’s closed door.

“There’s no way this is legal,” Utahime tells you, taking a sip out of her iced matcha latte before continuing on her half-lecture/half-rant. “Gojo needs to be behind bars.”

A bit dramatic, all things considered. It’s not like Gojo’s comments even make the list for sleazy things male coworkers have said to you before, and you’re not entirely innocent, either. You like to poke and prod at him because it’s fun, and you know that Gojo can take it. 

Utahime does not respect Gojo, but she does like him enough to tolerate him. They’re like brother and sister, so much so that one time, someone made an offhand comment about how they should just fuck to get rid of their antagonism towards each other, and they both threw up because they were so disgusted. 

“It is a bit inappropriate,” Nanami comments, and you know he’s right because when has Nanami ever been wrong?

Granted, Nanami must have been wrong sometime in his life. He started out with a similar background as everyone else working in the firm. He landed an internship and then a return offer in investment banking, despised it, pursued academia, and was halfway done with a PhD program in economics before he decided to come back and work for Gojo and Geto. He doesn’t tell anyone why he came back, and no one is close enough with him to ask and expect an honest answer.

Nanami having lunch with you is a treat because he prefers avoiding everyone in the office, so it almost feels like you’ve won a coveted prize, one to show off whenever you get back to the office. He likes to keep to himself, but even he’s only human. The interest in your little bet with Gojo is harbored by him, too, same as everyone else who’s heard about it. 

You should feel embarrassed about having your life so publicly known, but finance is a small, incestual pool. Everyone working within it knows each other, has fucked each other, and will continue to exclusively hate and love only each other. It’s a bit cultish, if you think about it, so you try not to focus on the social aspects of the job. 

“It’s not like I’m on his team or anything. I technically only handle deals managed by Geto.” You say this in defense of yourself, as if it changes the morality and ethics of the whole bet. It doesn’t, but the attempt doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“Geto and Gojo are essentially two halves of the same whole.” Utahime replies. “Geto just has more public decency training.” 

“You’re telling me that you can see Geto betting someone that he can make her fall in love with him in three months?” 

“No. He’s not as audacious. I like Geto, he’s very cautious.” Nanami looks thoughtful for a second. “He would bet six months, just to be safe.” 

Satoru knows that he’s screwed the moment you’re being introduced as the newest student in his class. School started two weeks ago, so everything’s already been settled. Everything important, that is, so the hottest girl in class has been established, along with who’s going to be relentlessly bullied, and who everyone is going to cheat off of. He has different routes mapped out for getting to class, depending on his mood and who he’s trying to avoid, along with a new secret hiding spot that he’s not going to share with anyone, except for Suguru, and maybe Shoko. 

He likes that he’s already gotten all this shit dealt with so he can spend the rest of the year relaxing, but he’s watching you as you’re standing in front of the class, talking to the teacher and then introducing yourself.

The first thing he notices is that the ugly school uniforms are decidedly not ugly. He comes to this startling conclusion when the boxy, starchy white button-up shirt doesn’t look like cardboard on you, and that the gray wool of your skirt doesn’t wash you out. 

The next thing he notices is that you speak differently than any of the other teenage girls he’s dealt with, save for Utahime and Shoko. Shoko has no issue with speaking her mind, and if Satoru presses enough buttons with enough pressure, he can get Utahime to curse like a sailor. He spaces his aggressions out accordingly, so that way when she does blow up in his face, she does it in the presence of an adult. You introduce yourself confidently; there is nothing shy or meek about you, even though standing in front of a bunch of disinterested teens — your strange new peers for the rest of your high school years — should be anxiety inducing. 

Then, you take the empty seat next to him like it belongs to you, and Satoru is starting to think that maybe it does, that maybe it always has. 

(Well, Suguru is sick today, that’s why the seat was available.)

Anyway, all of his carefully laid out plans are now tossed out the window. He needs to figure out what route you take to get around, and what the rest of your class schedule looks like, and maybe it’s just him, but the former hottest girl in school has now been demoted to second-best. 

He feels a shift in the air, like the universe is trying to signal major change in his life, and rather than run away from it, Satoru settles into his seat, noticing how you’re not even giving him the time of day. 

There’s an unfamiliar feeling rising inside of him; something that says you’re going to constantly knock him off-balance and—

—he kinda likes it.

#satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #fluff #one shot #jjk x reader #smut #fic series: balancing act

[ghouljams]

Medievall au Konig…

King of a neighboring kingdom, who is declaring war. The king and queen, parents of Ghost’s princess, offer her hand in marriage as a peace offering. inviting him over to shortly court/get to know the princess, but falls in love with her lady in waiting? (or any type of servant/help type worker)

God this is dangerously close to my cursed king König from my novel and I am for REAL holding myself back here. This isn't going to be König's new medieval au, but I wanna see Ghost sweat and I love causing the princess pain. So I’m using my cursed König here, because I love him, and also because he’s just a little fucked up, and also also because he is just... incapable of loving the princess lmao

You hate this.

Your maids have spent all day preparing you to meet a man that could become your husband. A king. You pout as they scrub you with perfumed soaps, rubbing scented oils into your skin and hair until every nook and crevice if you is soft and sweet. It's truly the most extensive bath you've ever had, and all you can think of is how badly you don't want it to end. The same with your makeup and your hair, all the primping and poking takes far longer than you would've liked, and yet far shorter than you need. It's miserable, and your maids are too chatty, too excited. They don't leave you alone long enough to cry.

Your parents, well your mother, have planned a rather elaborate dinner to introduce you and the neighboring King. You desperately want to kick and scream, throw things and make a mess until someone takes notice of your misery and puts a stop to it. Your maids tighten the strings of your dress, fix your necklace until it sits just right on your chest, spritz you with perfume, and tip your tiara until it catches the light with the sparkle of tears in your eyes.

"You look beautiful m'lady," your lady in waiting smiles, squeezing your shoulders tight in an approximation of a hug. It's not a comfort. You feel like a horse being trussed up for the market. You say nothing, you think she gets the idea. She's always been a good friend to you. "Maybe he'll be terribly rude and ugly, and the King will kick him out before the meal is over," she suggests.

"One can only hope," you mumble.

Ghost isn’t waiting for you outside your quarters door. Your eyes dart around the hallway, past the knight that offers you an introduction. He should be here, why isn’t he here? He wouldn’t leave you if something important didn’t come up, something must have happened. You turn to your maid, confusion stealing away your anxiety for the moment. 

“Where’s Ghost?” You ask her. You hardly have a spare moment to feel sorry you’ve ignored this poor knight who you’re sure is his stand-in.

“Orders of the King,” The knight tells you, “I’ll be your guard from now on.”

Your heart falls. They’re really serious about this. You wonder if your mother put up a fight, if she was the one to suggest it. It feels like a betrayal of the highest order to look at this knight and tell him.

“I’ll be in your care.”

When all you want to do is throw a royal fit and tell him to get Ghost or get out. You suppose you could. You could go back into your room and send word you won’t be attending anything. Be a true royal brat. You shudder to think what would become of you if you did. Without Ghost to protect you, there’s no telling how quickly you’d be dragged from your quarters. Placed in front of your royal guest kicking and screaming, what a first impression that would be.

It feels like a funeral procession walking down the hall towards the formal dining room. Your feet hardly want to carry you, but you can’t run with an unfamiliar knight at your heel. For all you know he’d chase you down under your parents orders. That was the one thing you never had to worry about with Ghost, perhaps you took it for granted how loyal he was to you and only you.

You stop in front of the heavy wood doors. You don’t even get a moment to collect yourself, barely get a squeeze of your hand from your lady-in-waiting before the guards on either side open them. Immediately your worry over Ghost is replaced by anxiety for yourself.

The doors open, the guests at the table stand, and you look up, up, up, at the man you assume is your neighbor King. The height of him, the sheer mass of musculature and masculinity frighten you. You thought Ghost was tall, does this fucker come from a land of giants? The King tips his head to you, and you dip into a low curtsy. As well trained as ever.

"König," your father smiles, a ringing rising in your ears as König stares you down, "this is our daughter, Princess-" You wish you could say he at least seems interested in you. He doesn't. His eyes look bored at best and disdainful at worst. You wish you could say more but the lower half of his face is masked. You'd wonder what that was about, if you weren't so terrified that this man was going to take you away, he doesn't even seem to want you.

The man, König, has an air of violence to him, madness almost. An air you find infecting your mind even as you walk to your seat. The proximity to him doesn’t help the feeling that if any man would be the hand in your death it would be him. You can hardly imagine what a marriage to him would entail. How cruel could he be, when you couldn’t even sense a spark of warmth from him.

You knight pulls a chair out for you, and you sit, moving on pure instinct. König's eyes slide off of you to touch your maid as she leans to speak to you. You barely hear her over the ringing in your ears, your breath coming short as you stare at your place setting. Did you leave your heart in your room? It feels like you must have, you hardly think it's beating.

You feel like every muscle in your body is pulled taught, tightening to keep your skeleton from shaking. You can’t think against the rising wave of dread that settles over your mind. Your vision is so fuzzy, and the crown on your head is impossibly heavy. The weight of awful responsibility. An animal raised for slaughter, that’s all you are, all you’ll ever amount to. Another bargaining chip in your parent’s pocket to be thrown on the table in front of any unwed king they find important enough.

This is worse than an interview with a nobel. There’s no need for a formal meeting between you and a king. If he likes the look of you he can take you. There’s nothing more that needs to happen to make you his. A wedding is a formality. You’re sure that giant of a man has never heard ‘no’ in his life, and even if he had you’re sure that no didn’t last long. Where is your gentle knight? Why do you have to be doomed to a nightmare when so many other girls get to be loved?

Someone touches you. No one is supposed to touch you. You jerk away, the world snapping back into focus with a rush of sound and color. You maid crouches next to you, your hand between hers, concern clear in the furrow of her brow. You look around the table, the startled expression of your parents, König's wide eyes. Your lady in waiting swipes her handkerchief over your wet cheeks silently. Are you crying?

"I'm sorry," you smile at the other people seated at the table, "I'm just- just so excited at the prospect of marriage I suppose." Your lady- your friend fixes König with a sour expression, still dabbing at your makeup. You glance at your mother to try and pick up the conversation, maybe salvage this torture. She isn’t looking at you, her eyes set on König. Her expression is placating, her smile as warm as a crocodile’s. Political, just like you are supposed to be.

The air in this room is stifling. Your parents love you, but they care about you only as far as you’re useful to them. Despite your mother’s previous words, a king is too good a deal to pass up. Just like a princess throwing a tantrum in the middle of the night is too disgraceful to mention in the morning. 

“She’s not usually like this,” your mother tells König, her voice sweet, “she must be nervous in the face of a man so…” König raises a brow, despite the full plate of food in front of him, he has yet to remove his mask, “handsome.”

You shove off your maid’s fussing, your skin crawling to be touched by anyone. You’re going to be sick. You hardly mutter an ‘excuse me’ before you’re running from the room.

#cod x reader #x reader #könig cod #könig x reader #könig call of duty #könig fanfiction #könig #knight!ghost #medieval au #even tho he isn't in this lol #it is Ghost's story #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #könig mw2 #konig cod

[kakushino]

Kuri Manju

Tomioka Giyuu x AFAB! Reader

Kuri Manju - a traditional pastry filled with pureed chestnut and white bean, served with a steaming hot cup of green tea (autumn pastry)

The shibari artist that inspired me to write this is Hajime Kinoko (Particularly Red Series: Samsara). Let me also stress this: shibari is for everyone, regardless of gender and body type, as long as you keep it safe, sane and consensual.

Tags: shibari (japanese rope art), BDSM dynamic, light choking, creampie, aftercare

Word count: 3.2k

Masterlist | Part 1

Tagging @crimsonkenjii-writes because this is bonus chapter of the Giyuu smut I promised to tag you in uwu

“Not fair… I was having such a good dream…” he mumbled into the pillow. “...had you in it…” Soft grumbles left the half-sleeping man. His voice was much deeper and raspier than normal and it reverberated through you pleasurably.

“You’re really something else, aren’t you?” you huff.

“Don’ know what you mean.” 

You could only conclude he was still a little drunk, otherwise he wouldn’t be saying that out loud. You frankly found this new side of him adorable. If you weren’t concerned about his liver, you would be getting him drunk more often.

Especially if it gave you a repeat of yesterday’s actions.

Your face flushed at the thought. Bad, bad, bad thought.

“Well, tell me where you hide your spare yukatas and where I can find one of your estate workers because you fell asleep right after and my thighs are sticky. I need a bath,” you said as you crawled out of the futon nude. You were confident he wasn’t looking, what with his hangover.

A mumbled instruction after, you found a generic blue yukata that would do for the moment. Considering your juban was stained with cum, you let it fall to the ground and put on his clothes. 

You left him lying there in search of the much-needed wash.

Sasaki, the kind head worker of the Water estate, helped you bathe and even prepared a breakfast for you while you washed. 

To your surprise, the man of the house was already sitting in the dining room, eating his own breakfast. It wasn’t fair that Giyuu looked much fresher and more awake than you did. Did he also take a bath? That was quick…

“Thanks for the meal,” you whispered as you started to eat.

The atmosphere was oddly comfortable, despite whatever happened last night. You were pretty sure he didn’t remember his last words before he fell asleep.

(He did remember.)

Please… date me…

The request still rang through your mind, like a broken record. Did he mean it? 

“Thank you, Kira.” 

You looked up. An attendant was taking away his empty bowls.

“Oh, and Kira?” Giyuu made eye contact with you. “Please take everyone with you to the market today. We want to enjoy some Kuri Manju with our guest this evening.”

Kuri Manju? It’s not yet autumn proper so why…

The attendant bowed and beelined out of the room. 

Wait, this evening? I’m staying? 

Giyuu led you to his room again. There was a slight difference - on his futon was a nest made of the fluffiest pillows you have ever seen. 

He pushed you down onto the nest, his bottomless eyes staring into your soul. He slowly backed off until he stood next to a sizable chest, opening it and finally breaking eye contact. You let out the breath you were unknowingly holding.

However, what he pulled out made your breath hitch again. 

A bright red rope.

Giyuu placed the carefully tied bundle next to him and reached inside the chest again. He took out another, and another, and another bright red rope.

You could scarcely breathe, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a Nichirin blade.

The chest closed with a loud thud, his stare finding yours again.

“Come here,” said the spider to the fly.

And you crawled to him, entranced by his eyes. The loose yukata he provided you with less than an hour ago shifted with the movement, fabric pulled slightly apart, giving him a tantalizing show of your swaying breasts. He licked his lips.

You sat in front of him, on the edge of what he would do to you.

“Strip.”

Before your mind could process the command, your hands were tugging the obi loose and off. The yukata fell off your shoulders almost immediately, and you were bare to his hungry gaze.

Giyuu finally moved. His hand - so rough in appearance - was gentle around your wrist as he pulled you closer to straddle his lap. You took in his scent and warmth, closing your eyes.

“Do you trust me?”

You exhaled softly. “Yes.”

“If you want to slow down, say sake. If it’s too much and you want to stop, say daikon. Those two words will be your safe words today. Do you understand?” His hot breath caressed your ear as he whispered.

“Yes.” 

One of his hands reached beside him, the other placed on the small of your back, the heat branding into your skin.

“Then tell me what you would use if you wanted to stop?” His lips trailed down from your ear, making feather-light contact with your neck.

“I-I’d say d-daikon,” you stuttered, your brain not being able to focus on anything other than him.

“Good girl.”

The hiss of an unraveling rope sent shivers down your spine. He briefly leaned back to encircle your ribs with the first folded-over rope, securing it on itself at your back. His searing hot hands trailed up your spine as he positioned the binding over your shoulder, going down between your breasts. A knot secured it to the first part of the rope, simple yet intricate, and then the rope went up up up over your other shoulder.

The anticipation was killing you. He was touching you, yet it wasn’t really touching. His hands worshiped you, tying you up in the beautiful red ropes creating patterns only he seemed to know. The artful web dug into your skin, the sensation a wonderful contrast to his gentle caresses. 

At long last, he tied off the first rope, and reached for another.

You keened quietly.

“How are you feeling?” Giyuu whispered, connecting the new rope into the criss-crossed pattern at your spine, and continued to create art upon your skin.

You wiggled in his lap, your damp core brushing against his bulge. “I need more…”

He chuckled right next to your ear. “More ropes? More what, sweetheart?” 

“I need- I need-” You trembled like a newborn fawn, trying to grind on him. He pulled at the ropes, manhandling you off his lap as you whined.

“No. Be good and stay still.”

“Giyuu-” 

Smack.

You reeled back a little but his grip on the knots kept you in place. He’d slapped your thigh, an angry handprint appearing as he soothed it over with his touch.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, kneeling steadily.

Giyuu shuffled behind you with another rope in hand. You didn’t dare turn, your breath growing heavy. 

His hot palms soothed over your shoulders, down your shoulder blades, around your ribs before his fingers started playing with your nipples gently. You sighed in pleasure, but didn’t move a smidge. 

“Good girl,” he praised you quietly.

His hands trailed down to your stomach, then around to the back to fiddle with the restraints again. He brought both your arms behind you, starting to tie your hands.

You couldn’t see what he was doing to you, but his warm caresses and the gentle way he handled you told you he was enjoying himself immensely. 

You shivered.

His warmth stopped moving. “Cold?” His lips brushed over your shoulder lovingly. 

You shivered again. “No…”

A chuckle became your answer before ropes encircled your forearms. He secured them against the knots at your back. You could feel the design there was intricate, you wished you could see it.

His hands trailed up your arms, over your shoulders and to your chest softly, rough palms catching at your nipples, sending a shockwave down your body.

“How are you feeling? Anything too tight?”

"I'm alright. Just- please-" your voice gained a whiny undertone, wanting more, needing more yet the light touch itself was so erotic, so satisfying. The mixture of sensations was dizzying.

His fingers ran feather-light all over your body. “What a sight you are…” His breath ghosted over your neck before he placed a kiss on your shoulder. “So beautiful and so wet…”

His middle finger slid between your pussy lips. You were embarrassingly riled up, your juices started running down your thigh long ago. 

“We aren’t done yet, sweetheart,” Giyuu chided you when you tried to grind on his finger, seeking friction. You keened in desperation.

The finger disappeared. Both of his hands cradled your shoulders and he pulled you backwards gently. Instead of falling into his chest, you were lowered onto the small nest of pillows, which allowed you to lay comfortably, despite the arched position his ropes had you in. 

You finally had a view of Giyuu now. His cheeks were slightly flushed, his gaze intense, tracing the bright red knots and lines. He looked a second away from losing control-

-but instead of finally pouncing on you, he reached for the last rope. 

“Giyuu, if you don’t hurry up-”

“Shhhh, no talking,” he commanded you. You immediately obeyed out of some base instinct you had no control over. “I don’t want to hear any noises from you unless it’s sounds of pleasure, do you understand?”

“Ye-”

Smack.

You shut your mouth. Another red handprint joined the first one on your thigh. He soothed over the stinging spot with his searing hot palm.

“Do you understand, sweetheart?”

You nodded.

“Good girl.”

He leaned over you, one hand folded your leg against your body, the other unraveled the rope, readying it for you. You watched in captivated silence as he wound and unwound and spun the rope around your leg, tying it up in the folded position, binding it to your torso so you cannot move, cannot escape. The bright red made a pretty contrast against your skin, digging and creating ridges into the plush. 

Like a fly caught in a spider’s web.

You whined, drawing his attention to your needy expression.

He stood up, looming over your decorated and immobile body. “I’ve kept you waiting for long enough, haven’t I?” His yukata fell down in one quick tug at his obi. 

You didn’t get a chance to see his cock yesterday but now that you could, you wondered just how he fit that beast inside of you. What’s more - it was pretty, like really pretty to look at. It curved slightly upwards and the tip was flushed and leaking, the precum decorating the head like a crown. Your mouth watered staring at it.

Your eyes shot up to meet his and you saw the small smirk he wore right before his face hardened into an expressionless mask.

Giyuu knelt back down and slotted himself between your legs, one bound up to your torso, one cradling his waist. He leaned over to kiss you tenderly, reverently, his hands cupping your cheeks. As he pulled back, one of his palms soothed over your decorated chest criss-crossed with ropes and knots. Down down down he went until his fingertips delved between your pussy lips again, circling your clit loosely, not giving even remotely enough stimulation to feel good… yet. 

You whined loudly in protest. The arched position you were in didn’t allow you to continue admiring his body, you could only see until his bellybutton.

“Impatient, sweetheart?”

The frustration brought tears to your eyes as you stared at him, pleading without voice.

He brought his fingers to your entrance, inserting two in one go. You couldn’t arch your back more but your lips fell open at the sensation. Finally, finally you were getting something. A slow and teasing pace and then the thumb at your clit-

You moaned quietly, eyes closing. “Please~”

His fingertips found the spot inside you that made you mewl. You wanted to squirm, to fuck yourself back onto his fingers yet you could do nothing but take it, ropes digging into your skin. 

"Please what?" He kept an unrelenting but steady pace. A smirk grew on his handsome face.

You strained against the bindings, trying to get- "More."

Giyuu chuckled and inserted another finger, spreading the three out briefly, stretching you. "Better?"

You whined. "Please… I can take you, please-"

“Greedy girl.”

“I need it, please-pleaseplease-”

“Fine but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He withdrew his fingers. 

The tip slipped between your puffy folds, bumping against your clit making you moan. His hand gripped at the ropes under your breasts for leverage. Finally, he slid his length inside - the glide smooth, helped by the amount of juices you made. “-doing amazing, sweetheart,” he rasped out. “Good girl, take my cock.” And you could do nothing but take it.

You keened at the slight stretch. You were more than ready for him. If your mind wasn’t in the clouds, you would have been smug about it.

The pace he set was agonizingly slow, each inch dragging against your sensitive walls. It was too much and not enough at the same time. Each slow thrust made the squelching of your juices echo in the room.

He leaned down pressing his forehead against your temple, his nose into your cheek, keeping up his torture of your insides. “You’re drenched. I bet people on the street can hear you every time-” he slid in, the lewd wet sound so loud “- I do this. Can you hear yourself, sweetheart?”

Yes, yes you could. But Giyuu had long fucked any semblance of thoughts out of your head. Instead of responding, you nearly wailed when his tip pressed against your cervix harshly.

“I can feel you clenching around me,” he exhaled sharply. You could only whimper.

Each stroke sent your nerves into overdrive, you could feel every fucking inch of him. You couldn't believe you could ever lose your mind on a cock, but he made it happen. Synapses fired off faulty messages, making you tremble and whine and shake under him. Your brain scrambled to comprehend the amount of pleasure he brought you with each roll of his hips. 

You clenched your eyes shut.

"Eyes on me."

His heavy hand circled your neck, long fingers squeezing softly at your pulse point - enough to make you light-headed, not enough to truly choke you. Your gummy walls fluttered around his length.

“You like this? You dirty, dirty girl-” he panted harshly.

You peeked into his eyes with a half-lidded and tear-stained gaze, unable to do more.

Thrust by thrust, he inched you closer to the edge at a crawling pace, so slow and loving yet so intense and dirty. If you hadn't been tied, you still wouldn't have known what to do with yourself. It was as if you were a fleshlight for him, a pretty decorated fleshlight, and you loved it - loved being his cocksleeve.

Each time Giyuu bottomed out, he ground against you a little, pushing against your needy clit and making you moan breathlessly.

“Are you going to come for me? Haah- Show me you’re not as naughty as you seem? Be a good girl?”

His tip never gave you a moment of peace, rubbing all the good spots, smooching your cervix, extracting whine after whine from you, moan after moan, all a symphony of wordless praises to him. You were barely coherent.

His eyes flickered down to where you were connected, his pace never speeding up. The hand clutching at your bindings let go of you and instead, you felt his thumb circle your clit.

You came embarrassingly fast when he did that.

Your toes curled almost painfully when the first wave of pleasure crashed upon you. Your whole body shook, muscles taunt, tears falling down your cheeks and eyes nearly rolling back. "Ghi-yuuuuh~" even your desperate cry was slurred as all your senses became muffled.

His eyes were bright, almost feverish, as he held eye contact. His hips buckled at the sudden tightness of your soppy cunt. “Fuck- yes, yes-”

He pressed as deep inside as he could as he came, the movement pressing into all the right spots and prolonging your orgasm, milking him for all he had. Giyuu groaned at the feeling, breathing heavily.

“Good- hah- good girl… Knew you could do it for me,” he whispered, rolling his hips and stirring up your insides. 

You could not think. You could not speak. Your eyes closed as you tried to catch your breath.

“Here, let me get these off of you…” He stayed inside of you as he untied your folded leg first, supporting it so you wouldn’t move too fast and cramp up. Once the ropes were off your leg, he slowly helped straighten it out. His fingers burned against the places where the bindings used to be. Curious, you looked. There were indents from the rope pattern in your flesh, some of them looking a little darker, bruised. His palm soothed over them. “Don’t worry, they won’t hurt soon.”

Giyuu had a slight smile on his face as he slowly pulled out, the lewd mix of both of you spilling out onto the pillows you laid on. He reached down as if to touch you, but stopped, hand clenching into fist, and rolled you over instead so he could reach all the knots tying your arms back.

“You did so well, sweetheart.” There was a slight tug of war behind your back, his movements quick and efficient. Bit by bit, the pressure holding your arms back eased. “Such a good girl for me.” There was a deep ache in your shoulder joints when the final knot came undone and your arms relaxed. “Are you alright?”

You’ve never heard such a soft tone of voice from Giyuu as he soothed over what you were nearly sure were bruises on your skin. “M’ shoulders…” you mumbled.

A quiet “Shit.” echoed in the room. “Let me take off the rest and we can address that.” 

You laid there boneless, pliant, like a pillow princess. You huffed in amusement at the thought. A pillow princess in a nest of pillows. But you loved it. You loved how he gently manhandled you, if that was a thing. 

Despite the complexity of the ties and the time it took to put them on you, undoing them went surprisingly quickly. Giyuu discarded all the ropes in a messy pile by the futon, before he left the room nude. 

You kept your arms close to your body, trying to limit the movement in the hurting shoulder joints as you maneuvered yourself to lay on your stomach. You felt too exposed all of a sudden and the loss of Giyuu’s warmth felt devastating. 

The door slid closed. You glanced up tiredly. His dark eyes observed you for a moment before he kneeled at your side, a damp cloth in hand. He didn’t make you move your position but he did spread your legs and cleaned up what leaked out of you. 

The cloth was thrown to the ground with a wet plop and warm arms embraced you, lifting you slightly. A few pillows of the nest, especially the ones stained with cum and sweat, were pushed to the side. 

Only then did he lay down beside you with you in his arms, a blanket thrown over the both of you. You laid your head on his warm chest, closing your eyes. 

“Sleepy?” 

“Mhm.”

“Don’t, yet. How are your shoulders?” Warm hand slid up your spine and rested on one of your shoulders, gently caressing where the joint was with his thumb.

“Still hurtin’.”

Giyuu exhaled slowly. “I apologize. I should have done it differently then.” 

“It was hot though,” you mumbled, hiding your face in his chest. Your face burned. 

His hands soothed over your back, feeling the imprints of his love. "It was,” there was laughter in his voice. “Did you like it?”

“Mhm.” 

“Then we shall do it again sometime, if you’ll have me.”

So I said the next one will be Obanai... I lied. But the next one of these series WILL be Obanai. I will just add some oneshots in between, mkay?

#tomioka giyuu x reader #tomioka giyuu #tomioka giyu x reader #tomioka giyu #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #smut #kakushino

[archie-sunshine]

Positive Reinforcement(18+ DRIFTROD)

Fic Tags: DRIFT/RODIMUS, background Dratchrod, pov swapping, Dubious consent(in a comedy of errors sort of way), plug n play, messing with code, miscommunications, accidental voyeurism, overstimulation, cumming yourself stupid, reconditioning in a sexy fun way, oral, shower sex, apology sex

WORD COUNT: 11,600~

Synopsis:

Rodimus isn't the worst captain, but he could certainly be better! Drift believes the solution is as simple as some positive reinforcement in the form of a novelty datapatch. Non sexual positive reinforcement. ... at least he thinks its not sexual?

Excerpt: Drift was certain that Rodimus wouldn’t need that big of an adjustment. He just needed a little positive reinforcement! Drift was great at positivity.

Read on AO3 here!

____________________________

Author's notes: I'm back on my driftrod bullshit. This fic was beta'd and conceptualized with the help of @/combjelli, who i highly recommend you check out for their incredible fics!!!!

THIS FIC IS A COMEDY OF ERRORS. IT HAS ELEMENTS OF DUBIOUS CONSENT BUT ITS MOSTLY JUST STUPID.

Drift knew Rodimus better than most people. He understood incredibly well that Rodimus was stubborn, and often abrasive. Some may have described him as annoying. Drift wouldn’t say anything like that about his amica, not in a million years… but he could understand where they were coming from. 

It wasn’t as if Rodimus was unfixable!! He was just… Rodimus… y. He was frequently selfless- when he wasn’t demanding money or stroking his own ego. He was deeply kind- when he wasn’t annoyed or bored. He was incredibly brave- and exceptionally stupid. Every one of Rodimus’ best traits could always be balanced out by one of his worst, but hey, it wasn’t such a bad thing to be balanced! That was very sought after, as far as personality traits went, certainly. 

…

Okay so MAYBE, just maybe, Rodimus could use an attitude adjustment. And Drift wasn’t just saying that because Rodimus had paid for something stupid for the Rodpod with his money again… without telling him. Drift was incredibly forgiving, something that small wouldn’t get to him at all. 

Rodimus didn’t need a terribly drastic shove or anything, just a little bit of a nudge! Drift had needed an attitude adjustment once too, and it had made him a much better, happier, more even tempered mech. The fact that his attitude adjustment had come from hitting rock bottom and then clawing his way out was neither here nor there. Drift was certain that Rodimus wouldn’t need that big of an adjustment. He just needed a little positive reinforcement! Drift was great at positivity. 

It just so happened that Drift had exactly the tool for the job: a topical code patch. He’d picked it up ages ago, from some open air market. He was originally looking for something to play a prank on Ratchet, something that’d make his vocalizer three pitches too high, or make it make animal sounds. He’d actually ended up leaving with a ‘reeducation’ patch, with a programmable code housed inside to offer encouragement for preferred behaviour and discouragement for the alternative. 

And so, there it sat on his desk. It was a little square of green plastic with some unobtrusive little adhesive claws around its edge, printed with a crudely drawn happy face on its surface. He’d double(and triple) checked for viruses and found it was clean, and he’d already programmed it. He felt it was pretty user friendly, even. He’d just inputted [if- Make Choices (Type: Efficient, Considerate, Kind, Tactically Sound), Complete Ordered Tasks(in timely manner), Receive Verbal Compliment = Receive Reward] and [if- Make Choices (Type: Inefficient, Selfish, Rude, Unwise), Failure/Refusal to Complete Ordered Tasks(in timely manner), Receive Verbal Reprimand = Receive Punishment]. The little chip had blinked its indicator LEDs that the patch was primed. 

Drift drummed his digits on the desk. Okay. Pros and cons. The cons were that the patch was almost certainly not EDA approved, he’d found it at a novelty topical patch stall alongside other such ill advised patches as ‘immediately lose control of your legs’ and ‘gives your optic field a pink flower themed filter’. 

The Pros were that Drift was CERTAIN this was what Rodimus needed to change his outlook. Even just a little bit of positive reward for doing the right thing always made Rodimus happy, he just needed a nudge to understand that ‘doing the right thing’ didn’t always mean heroically saving an entire moon from destruction, and sometimes it meant handing in his datapads on time.

Sufficiently convinced of his idea, Drift carefully picked up the patch in its casing and tucked it away into his subspace. He took a deep, relaxing vent, and began to march towards the bridge. 

*

It was unsurprising, if disappointing, to find Rodimus on the bridge, not in his seat, but instead fragging around with one of Tailgate’s confiscated hoverboards. All the usual suspects were working at their stations, save Ultra Magnus, who seemed to graciously relax as Drift entered to relieve him of duty. 

“Drift! Heyyy, check it out!” Rodimus chirped jovially, waving at him as he steadied himself on the board and attempted a kickflip. Unsurprisingly, the board spun out from under him, catching his pede as he stumbled over himself. He didn’t fall over, surprisingly, but he did stumble a bit, awkwardly snatching up the board and tucking it under his arm. “I meant to do that- anyway! What’s up?” 

Drift laughed softly, shaking his helm. Oh Roddy. It was really hard to stay mad at him, though Drift suspected he might be the only bot on board that thought that. “Oh nothing, just, y’know… showing up for my shift.” 

“Cool.” Rodimus grinned at him, trotting up closer to him. “Oh, take care Mags!” He called, reaching a servo up to wave as Ultra Magnus vacated the bridge. Drift casually reached into his subspace while the other mech was distracted and popped the topical patch out of its case. By the time Rodimus had turned back to face him, he’d tucked the patch claw side up in his palm and hid his servo behind his back. 

Drift smiled warmly at him. “Anything of note happen while I was off shift?” He asked. 

Rodimus scratched at his jaw, brow furrowing a bit in thought. “Uhhhh…. Not that I can think of- Oh! Right, yeah, we’re approaching an asteroid field in a couple hours!” Rodimus lit up as he remembered, slinging an arm around Drift’s back. “So I was thinking…” 

Drift brought his servo up carefully underneath Rodimus’ spoiler, waiting for the exact right moment. “Uhuh?” 

“You… me… Meteor surfing.” Rodimus paused for effect, grin broadening out as if it were the best idea he’d ever had. “Whaddaya think!?”

Drift decisively pressed the topical patch down onto Rodimus’ plating, crossing the digits on his other servo in a silent prayer that it wasn’t a dud. “Hmmm…” Drift thought for a moment, a bloom of guilt in his chassis as he grimaced. “Don’t uh… don’t you think it's a bit dangerous?”

“What, meteor surfing?” Rodimus cocked his head in confusion. “We’ve done it before like a million times, what’s so dangerous about meteor surfing?” 

Drift sighed. “For the ship?” 

Rodimus rolled his optics, releasing Drift from his friendly side hug and waving a dismissive servo at him. “Pfft, whatever, it’s handled worse than a couple- Ah-!” Rodimus jolted suddenly, then froze. 

Slag. Drift played it cool, folding his arms over his chassis casually and offering Rodimus an inquisitive, yet not knowing look. 

“... What was that?” Rodimus mumbled, almost to himself before turning to look Driftin the optics. “Did you say something?”

Drift clamped down on his own field. “Hm?” He hummed in blithe concern. 

“... Drift?” Rodimus urged, brow furrowing. 

“What’s wrong?” Drift cocked his head at him and offered a patient smile. He watched Rodimus fumble for words, opening and closing his intake. He failed to surpass the wall of boring, conversational politeness Drift had thrown up at him, opting to shake his helm and sigh. Nice, crisis averted.

“... I’m gonna sit down now.” Rodimus decided, narrowing his eyes briefly at Drift before turning and doing exactly that. 

“Good idea, Captain.” Drift smiled, shuffling a little closer to the captain’s chair. He noted Rodimus’ sudden shudder at his words, once again flicking his optics to stare confusedly at his SIC. Drift kept up his polite smile and stood jovially next to the chair, offering Rodimus a little nod as he finally settled into his seat. 

Rodimus shook his head again, letting out a disappointed breath and settling in. 

Drift allowed himself a pang of pride. He was sure in an hour or so, Rodimus would be happily agreeing to change the ship’s course out of harm’s way. 

*

Rodimus was… mostly certain he wasn’t going crazy. It must have been Drift that was, though. He still couldn’t believe that his amica wasn’t up for meteor surfing. That was like Drift’s… fifth favourite thing! Right after Ratchet, and Him, and Swords, and Spiritualism. It was disappointing, sure, but Drift had been painfully responsible lately, so he guessed this had something to do with that.

Harder to rationalize in his processor was the fact he swore that Drift had shocked him a few klicks ago. He also swore Drift had said something like ‘So close! Try again, Rodimus’ when he’d done it too, which was really fragging weird. He hadn’t acknowledged it when pressed.

Weirder still was when he’d, first, complimented him on his idea to sit down, and then, apparently said ‘Nice Going! Keep it up!’. For some reason, him saying that had made Rodimus suddenly warm and fuzzy for a second. He’d, again, looked at drift, trying to show his confusion, and gotten nothing back. 

So Rodimus wasn’t sure if it was him going insane, or if it was Drift. He settled into his seat, wriggling to get comfortable and leaning back against the back of the seat. The sea of stars and planets stretched ahead of them. The infinite beauty of open space was getting old to look at with no giant rocks flying past. He allowed himself a giddy smile at the thought of meteor surfing. Drift hadn’t been up for the idea, but Rodimus was sure he’d be able to convince him before they made it to the asteroid field. 

He was beginning to zone out into his fantasies of meteor surfing when, again, he felt a sudden bolt of pain zap into his frame, lighting up his tactile sensors all at once for the briefest of moments. He glanced around when again, he heard Drift speak.

[A good captain pays attention!]

Rodimus blinked. He was certain that voice had come from Drift, but it sounded even more like it was inside of his processor. Had he really lost it? Was Drift astral projecting into his brain? No. That didn’t sound right. Rodimus chanced one more glance at Drift. His amica was apparently busy gazing out the observation window at the stars. 

Rodimus sighed a bit and leaned back even more into his chair. He leaned his chin into his servo, pensively squinting out the observation window. If he REALLY looked he could just barely see the beginnings of the asteroid field coming into view, or at least, he could see the planet it was surrounding.

Rodimus bounced his leg impatiently. He checked his chronometer and cursed internally. He still had like 2 thirds of his shift left. He was sure even if Drift didn’t want to come, he wouldn’t mind… say… keeping an eye on things while he did some light meteor surfing. He usually didn’t have problems with that anyway. 

He reset his vocalizer, turning casually to Drift to ask him. “Say, Drift-?” Rodimus only got 2 words deep into his request when he felt another buzz of electricity jolt through his frame. He grit his teeth, biting back a yelp of pain. 

[So close! Try again, Rodimus!]

“Hm?” Drift hummed, turning to face his amica with a patient smile. 

“... Uh…” Rodimus started, manually resetting his optics as he tried to process what the hell was going on. “... You um… You really didn’t feel like meteor surfing?” Rodimus tried, bracing himself for another shock. 

Drift seemed to think for a moment, his brow ridges coming together sympathetically. “Oh… Listen, you know I love meteor surfing with you… but it’s just a little irresponsible to do it at the risk of damaging the ship, don’t you think?” 

Rodimus couldn’t fully tell, but it seemed like Drift was taking a tone with him. It wasn’t exactly mean, but it sounded kind of… chiding. It reminded Rodimus of being taught something. The thought made his plating itch. “... Um… We could go under the field by a bit, and then you and I could-” Rodimus started. He tensed, his digits tightening around the arm of the captain’s chair as another shock hit.

[So close! Try again, Rodimus!]

Rodimus grit his dentas. “I mean, maybe… We could wait to go… meteor surfing… somewhere safer?” Rodimus ground out. His optics flickered a bit as a wash of tingling pleasure came over his frame. He covered up the weak sigh of enjoyment he gave with a cough.

[Very good! Keep it up!]

Drift beamed at him, tilting his head fondly. “I think that sounds like a great plan, Roddy.” 

Rodimus’ body lit up again, a shudder running up from his pedes to the tips of his finials. He made an active effort to keep his vocalizer from producing any undignified noises, clamping his intake shut tightly and readjusting himself in his seat. 

[Nice one! Good job, Rodimus!]

“Pff- yeah… ‘course it is. I’m chock full of great plans.” Rodimus scoffed, a confident smirk tugging at his dermas. 

The two of them once again settled into comfortable quiet for a moment. It… did feel nice for Drift to agree with him on his plans. He wasn’t sure if his code was glitching and making him extra moral today or something, but he wasn’t about to mention it. It’d just mean he would get that concerned look from Drift that he always did and an undeniable demand to go see Ratchet in the medbay. As embarrassing and weird as it was, it wasn’t worth the trouble to deal with. 

Drift cleared his vocalizer after a few klicks. “... So, the course change?” He prompted. 

Oh yeah. Rodimus reset his vocalizer to catch the navigator’s attention. “Hey, can you adjust the ship’s course out of the asteroid field’s path?” Rodimus felt that shudder wash over him again, a little stronger this time, warming him from his tanks outwards. He, again, covered the little pleasured noise with a cough. Distantly, he worried if it was convincing enough. 

[Great choice, Rodimus!]

“... Of course, captain.” The navigator said slowly, seeming a little bewildered by the request.

Rodimus nodded a little. His intake felt dry. Was it warmer on the bridge than usual? “Uhm- In fact, uh… Could you tell me the ship’s current heading again? I’d like to know if,” He glanced at Drift briefly, trying to note if there were any movements to indicate if he was responsible for these untoward feelings. “... if there are any other… obstacles we should be worried about…”

Not so much as a twitch from the other bot as another sizzling wave of pleasure came over his frame. 

[Very good, Rodimus!]

Rodimus could feel his panels starting to heat up. He crossed his legs quickly.

“Absolutely, sir! So, from our current course, it looks like we should be relatively safe, aside from the asteroid field. If we adjust the trajectory by-” 

Rodimus had zoned out, but nodded along pleasantly. He pawed around his processor. There had to be some code out of place, maybe he really should go see Ratchet. 

Rodimus swallowed dryly. Well… it wasn’t so bad… It was weird and kind of embarrassing but…

“Alright then, yes, let's adjust our trajectory to take us…” Rodimus thought for a moment, before pointing at the star map display ahead of them. “Between those two planets there. You said they were uninhabited right?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“Okay, then through there it is.” Rodimus concluded. He bit down on his own glossa as another hot wave rolled over him. He dismissed the prompt to open his panels and leaned back, a little stiffer than usual.

[Great work, Rodimus!] 

Drift laid a gentle servo on his shoulder pauldron. Rodimus absently reached up to brush his digits against it, blinking a bit before turning to look at his amica. The affectionate, proud smile on his face made Rodimus’ tanks feel funny. 

Rodimus smiled back, trying to keep the strain out of his field as he did. 

*

This had to be the best 15 shanix Drift had ever spent. He could count on both servos the amount of times Rodimus had been this work oriented! And with such wise choices. He didn’t want to seem braggy, but Drift believed he’d earned a pat on the back.

“And so- Uhuh… and no other transmissions?” Rodimus muttered, hanging over Blaster’s shoulder as he looked over the datapad he had provided. 

Drift beamed to himself, readjusting his servos to rest on his sword’s scabbards. This was such a good idea. Rodimus nodded, patting Blaster on the shoulder and muttering a quick, “Keep up the good work!” before turning on his heel strut and awkwardly marching back towards the captain’s seat. 

Drift opened his mouth to offer Rodimus a compliment as he passed, however- The expression on Rodimus’ face was… strained. Tense, but a little absent. His optics darted about his amica’s frame, taking in quick details as he approached. His plating was slick with coolant in places, his movement jerky and unfocused, and his optics flickering. 

“Roddy-?” Drift began, cocking his head with concern as he shifted closer. 

“Wuh?” Rodimus turned to look at him, leaning a little too heavily against the arm of the captain’s chair and casually crossing one leg over the other. 

“... Are you feeling alright?” Drift asked. He was trying very hard not to let his processor run, which felt impossible considering the apparent distress Rodimus was under. He monitored his own venting, making sure they didn’t kick on too fiercely at the thought that Rodimus was unwell. He had to remain cool, especially in a situation where he might have to act. 

Rodimus’ field clamped back. Not a good sign. He made a face, optics going a little wide and tracing along a very interesting bit of wall geometry conveniently over Drift’s shoulder. He chewed at the inside of his cheek for a moment before popping his intake open with a click. “... Yeah!” he said unconvincingly, straightening up stiffly and putting his servos on his hips. “Never better, why?”

“Oh- just asking.” Drift shrugged a bit, trying to seem unconcerned. It felt impossible. He cleared his vocalizer a bit, rocking on his heels. He could feel the anxious energy crackling in his frame. He tried for a compliment as Rodimus shifted to sit down. “You’ve been doing really great today by the way.” He offered a warm little smile. 

Drift felt himself tense up as Rodimus’ optics dimmed at his words, jaw briefly going tight and frame quivering for a moment. He half slipped and half sat down into the captain’s chair, seemingly taking a second to compose himself. Drift could’ve sworn he heard Rodimus’ fans click on for a moment before being manually turned off.  “Nnnmmh-! That’s nice of you to say!” Rodimus replied, voice choked in his throat as his digits gripped the arms of the chair. 

Drift’s servo went tight on the edge of his scabbard. He fought for something to say. It was beginning to dawn on him that the correlation between Rodimus’ strange- if not unwelcome- change in behaviour and his odd twitching and sweating and vocal tics may become incredibly obvious to the rest of the bridge. It also was occurring to him that there were several steps in his plan that could have been more thorough, i.e. getting any more specific information on the patch from the seller before slapping it onto his best friend and partner. 

Drift wracked his processor for anything he could remember about processor viruses being passed through patches. It was obviously common, painfully common, stupidly common, but nothing in Drift’s antivirals had pinged when he’d scanned the patch, nor had any malicious lines of code come back. Was he just not thorough enough? 

His optics darted back to Rodimus. The look he had was familiar, but Drift couldn’t place it. He was leaning almost languidly back in the seat, one of his servos cupped pensively over his chin and lips. His pose portrayed a feigned pensiveness, but the knit of his brow was too light for that, the look in his optics too vacant. Strangest of all, Rodimus was entirely still.

Drift swallowed. “... Rodimus?”

“Mmmm?” Rodimus hummed, suddenly jolting again before sitting up fully and folding his hands in his lap. “What’s up?” He added.

Drift fought for the right words again. “... You’re sure you’re okay?”

Rodimus frowned, rolling his optics. “I’m peachy, Drift-” He began, almost imperceptibly tensing before cracking a jovial, but forced smile. “I uh- appreciate the concern but… I’m just feeling…” He seemed to be tiptoeing, staying careful as if he were talking down an armed combatant. “... very… helpful! Today!” He  nodded, as if also convincing himself. 

Drift’s brow furrowed deeper, grinding his dentas with stress. If that didn’t confirm it was the patch doing this, he didn’t know what could. He wished the floor would open up and swallow him for being such a careless friend, putting something so dangerous on his amica. Drift glanced around, surveying if anyone present was listening. He winced. Half the bridge were stealing glances at them, clearly befuddled by Rodimus’ sudden change in leadership style. 

Drift leaned down a bit, trying not to feel awful when Rodimus flinched back a bit. He opened his intake, about to speak when Rodimus quickly held up a digit, optics going glassy as he seemingly read a ping in his processor. 

He watched Rodimus bite down an annoyed groan. It was endearing to see his vocalizer rumble a little in his throat cabling. “Listen, Its-” Rodimus measured his words again, “It’s really… conscientious of you… to be so concerned… but! I promise I’m just fine. Now, Ultra Magnus left some datawork in my office that I have to go finish.” Rodimus said, voice soured with false pep. 

“Oh- Yeah-!” Drift nodded, leaning back and clearing his vocalizer again. “Do you want me to keep an eye on things while you do that?” 

Rodimus paused as he stood up, a look of panic briefly appearing before washing away under another wave of fake polite contentment. “Oh- uh- if you- If that’s not um-” He babbled, his frame tightening again. This time, a brief lick of excess charge arced between Rodimus’ lips. Drift felt his face flush a bit. “I- think. That would be… a really good idea.” He seemed to tense again, his smile looking more like bared teeth as he grit the words out. 

Rodimus began to shuffle across the bridge, almost exaggerating his stride as he made his way to his office. Drift watched the door slide closed behind him and turned his attention back through the windshield of the ship. Anxiety was eating him alive at this point. He tried his absolute hardest not to let the guilt consume him before he found a solution, so he worried his lip between his dentas a bit and took a deep, calming vent, before composing his message. 

[D: Hey, honey. So, hypothetically speaking, what are the chances of a topical datapatch having an as of yet unknown virus on it that can go undetected by an up to date antiviral scan?]

Drift fidgeted for a moment, before adding:

[D: And does the answer change if the datapatch cost 15 shanix?]

He let out a long sigh, attempting to cool his spiraling processor and offlining his optics. He assured himself that even though he’d made a mistake, there was nothing that Ratchet couldn’t fix, medically speaking. He allowed himself to settle into a bit of a meditative state, drawing in a calming vent.

[R: What the frag did you do?]

*

Okay, Rodimus was now PRETTY sure…. He knew what was going on. He wasn’t sure why, or exactly how, but somehow, Drift was behind this. He was just way more complimentary than normal, and considering that apparently, somehow, compliments from Drift- or anyone, so it seemed- made him feel aroused, he was pretty sure this was just some kinky sex thing Drift had wanted to try but been too shy to warn him about. Under most circumstances, Rodimus might have thought that was a bad thing, communication was important in a relationship, even if Drift could be cagier than a zoo sometimes.

Under the current circumstances, his lust-addled brain believed it was actually a very very good, very very sexy thing. He could probably do without his array being stimulated in response to doing his job, but he figured it was some part of an elaborate roleplay he would be let in on soon. 

Rodimus let his mind wander, an indulgent smirk stretching across his face as he considered all the sexy ways Drift would likely be messing with him once he told him what was up. 

Another shock jerked through his frame, stronger this time, making Rodimus’ leg kick up involuntarily. Rodimus hissed as he banged his knee on the underside of his desk, gripping the dented spot and putting his forehelm down on the desk for a moment to groan in anger. 

[Don’t lose focus on your work, Rodimus!] Drift’s voice chirped jovially in his processor. Rodimus felt curse words bubbling up in his vocalizer, opening his intake to let some free when he received another shock before the first syllables escaped.

[A good captain is polite to his crew!] 

“There’s no crew in here!!” Rodimus hissed out to himself, sitting back up and snatching the datapad he was working on off the table. 

Okay, so there were some parts of this whole arrangement that were distinctly unsexy, but he figured when his shift was over he could bother Drift about how lame the premise of his fantasy was. For now, the win conditions seemed pretty simple: pretend to care about his job-

ZAP[So close! Try again, Rodimus!]

… Do his job well for a whole shift, get rewarded when he’s good, get zapped when he’s bad. 

It was just difficult to judge what Drift- and by extension, the program that had wormed its way into his processor- considered good and bad behaviour. So far he had worked out that getting complimented was a guarantee at a reward, as was… sadly… doing his actual job in a more ‘responsible’ and ‘efficient’ way. Rodimus idly tapped at the datapad, doing his best(ish) to focus on the glyphs in front of him as he perused the form. He was pretty sure it was a request from Ultra Magnus that he’d slipped into his datawork, something about an added rule to the ship surrounding the proper conduct of bringing new scientific specimens on board. Rodimus was frankly disinterested. He could feel his array urging him to slack a bit and tend to it. Rodimus already knew what doing so would earn him though.

He signed off on the form, checking a solid ‘No’ for the approval of the rule before setting the datapad aside. Rodimus allowed himself an indulgent little moan at the tingling feeling that washed over his frame. His visual field went rimmed with static for a moment. The arousal clung to his frame, sticky and hot in his tanks as he swallowed the drool in his salivating intake. 

[Great work, Rodimus! Reward strength increased by 20%! Let’s do another!]

Rodimus rocked himself in his seat. He could feel his valve attempt to cycle down, nothing there to squeeze as it helplessly lubricated itself further. Rodimus reached for another datapad and began to scroll through it. Ah, another beautiful form for… something. Release form? Rodimus squinted at it. Boy, it was getting hard to focus. He pressed his thighs together around his panels and rocked a little harder. His optics flickered. He could feel his mesh pressing up against the heated metal of his modesty panels, slick enough to offer little friction. It was maddening. 

ZAP![Don’t lose focus on your work, Rodimus!] 

Right, yes. Rodimus needed to work. He looked back at the datapad, grinding his dentas together as he swallowed the whimper of pain that came with the shock. His spoiler was quivering against his will, having spasmed from the jolt. 

It looked like um…. Uh… it looked like it was supposed to be some… form for… time off? OH! A time off request! Rodimus scrolled through it to look for the designation of who had asked. He raised his brows in surprise when he realized it was Ultra Magnus again. He smirked to himself as he approved it and sent it off. How nice of him it was, to give the big guy a break-

[Great job, Rodimus!]

Rodimus huffed out steam, curling over the datapad and gritting his dentas as another shiver ran up his back strut. He was doing really great. Maybe this was the real reward for being selfless. He decided that probably wasn’t a very altruistic way of looking at things, but then also decided that in the context of whatever weird kink scene Drift was running for him, it didn’t really matter. 

He leaned his cheek against the top of his desk and let his optics go offline. Rodimus tried to remember how many datapads he’d completed before getting distracted- he thought it was 7, which was a new record for him- and tried to weigh that number against how much he wanted to take a break to… take care of business. He nibbled at his lip quietly, letting one of his servos slip down between his thighs.

ZAP![That can wait until after your shift! Keep up the good work!]

Rodimus whimpered. It was an undignified little noise, one he couldn’t help as pain skittered over his plating. He shakily reached out to the pile of other datapads and began to scroll through. He could feel that almost ASMR like tingle of a code rooting around his processor. That probably wasn’t a good sign, but again, if this was Drift’s doing, as he suspected it was, he would be perfectly fine. 

[More motivation needed?] [Accept] [Deny]

Rodimus considered the prompt, shivering again at the way they rang in Drift’s voice. 

[Acceptance Confirmed!]

Rodimus choked down a groan as his sensors lit up again, to a low, thrumming degree. It wasn’t anything too terribly intense, but it was constant now, rather than the quick rolling pulses from before. He ground his dentas together, his vocalizer clicking and whining with static. 

[Let’s do another datapad!] 

Rodimus obeyed, returning his focus to the datapad and beginning to read. His processor felt slowed slightly by the sensation rolling over his frame, but he remained determined. It was uh… He thought it was another acquisition request. Primus, this was impossible. He swallowed again, trying to keep from drooling. He wasn’t about to ruin this feeling with a shock- though the shocks did feel less… annoying… than they used to. He managed to parse that it was an acquisition request for new parts for a replacement shuttle. He signed and accepted again. 

[Very good, Rodimus! Increasing reward]

The feeling ratcheted up another level and Rodimus let out a delirious little laugh. He rolled his helm back to bump against the back of his chair, relaxing into the seat and letting his legs fall open. He pawed around for the next datapad. 

“Hahh… Being helpful rules…” Rodimus mumbled out as he opened the datapad. A brief ripple of stronger sensation rolled over him, reminding him that, yes, being helpful was very good, and he was being a very good bot for being helpful. Rodimus chewed on his lip, trying to clear his vocalizer of the static. 

A longer file this time. He tried not to feel too frustrated at it as he scrolled through. Oh, this was another one of those reminders Magnus prepared for him, something about the new intergalactic laws he’d have to remember that they’d picked up since entering this new dimension. Rodimus’ engine snarled a bit in annoyance as he skimmed the glyphs on screen disinterestedly. He found himself muttering aloud about the stupidity of it all before he could stop himself.

ZAP![Try again!]

A thin whine weasled it’s way out of his traitorous vocalizer. The mix of that pain and the continuing pleasure made him feel odd. He didn’t like how good that felt. 

Rodimus was in the wrong of course, it was very nice of Ultra Magnus to put together a nice helpful document for him to remember! Everyone wanted the best for him after all, especially Mags. He’d have to thank him the next time he saw him. 

Rodimus ground his dentas together. Those thoughts felt wrong in his head, but he needed to think them, he needed to because he was good and helpful and he deserved to feel good. Rodimus dutifully read through the document, reminding himself over and over that he wanted to be good when his attention began to wander. By the time he got to the checkbox to confirm it had been read, he could have cried with joy at a release from the maddening slog. He hit the checkbox and set the datapad aside.

[Good job, Rodimus! Increasing reward]

Rodimus groaned out. It felt like the increase was more intense than last time. He felt his spike attempt to pressurize, bumping against his panels as he held them shut through force of will. He was hanging on by a thread. He reached down between his legs to knead at the sensitive, overheated plating with his palm. 

ZAP![You’re still on shift, Rodimus! Let’s finish another datapad!]

Rodimus keened out, pushing his servo harder against his panels. “P-Please-” He wheezed out, as if there were someone to hear him.

ZAP![You’re still on shift, Rodimus! Let’s finish another datapad!]

He could feel his mesh twitching and aching behind his panels. He pulled his hand back with a hiss, biting back a pathetic whine as it came back wet with transfluid. He felt delirious, his processor fogged with static and lust. He nabbed another three datapads and opened one. 

It was supposed to be… He thought it was… Rodimus could hardly focus. The feeling had wracked up again briefly to encourage him to look at the datapad, and it had completely shattered whatever minute focus he had pulled together to even look at the pad in the first place. He let out another undignified groan, leaning back and letting his legs fall open wider as he scrolled through the near unintelligible pad. He let the other two rest on his belly and shakily gripped either side of the datapad. He brought it close to his face. 

Words whipped past. New… Morale survey…. Less than…. Results… Rodimus fumbled for the approval mark, earning another shock as Drift’s voice curled around his processor. [Be sure to read thoroughly before making decisions!]

“U-uhuh-” Rodimus moaned out, “S-sorryy…” He scrolled back to the top. He managed to gather that it was a memo regarding the results of a crew morale survey and shakily hit the check mark to approve publicly revealing the results.

[Great idea, Rodimus! Keep up the good work! Increasing reward]

Rodimus cried out, unable to stifle his vocalizer as his hips jerked up against his will. His optics rebooted on their own, his visual field full of static and sparks. Embarrassingly, Rodimus felt a spurt of his own transfluid trickle out from under his panels as they quivered. He stared at the next datapad and drooled. It was blessedly short, just a brief memo informing him of the proposed time of their next refuel stop. He confirmed it and braced himself as he shakily went to place it on his desk.

[Very good, Rodimus! Increasing reward]

The datapad clattered to the ground. Rodimus hardly felt his body give out, going completely stiff as his pistons fritzed and tightened. “NNnn-uuhn-!!” Rodimus gasped out, gritting his dentas as hard as he could as his array bloomed in mind numbing pleasure. He opened his mouth again, spitting static as his sensory field was engulfed in intense pleasure. 

He swore he almost rebooted when he overloaded then. His frame went tight and stiff, hips jerking and bucking as transfluid poured out around the edges of his panels. His mind felt melted, the pleasure comingling with the mild sting of another chiding shock. 

[What a mess, Rodimus! You’ll have to clean that up!] 

Rodimus went limp in his seat, engine purring unevenly and chassis shuddering with each vent. The voice was right, it was a mess, or rather he was a mess. He shivered. 

[How are you feeling, Rodimus?] [Query: continue?] [accept] [deny]

Rodimus smiled dumbly, sinking to his knees and pawing around his subspace for a cloth. 

…

[Accept]

“I-I feel… h-hah…. Helpful…” Rodimus murmured, dutifully beginning to wipe the transfluid off his floor. He felt another swell of pleasure as the strange code began its processes once again. Rodimus twitched, the feeling suddenly more intense than it probably should have been. He moaned, his oversensitive array beginning to swell again. 

That was probably fine, right?

*

Drift had slipped away into a maintenance closet after assuring those working on the bridge had things well handled. It was at that point, with a guilty spark, that Drift finally returned the several pings Ratchet had sent him while demanding he call.

Drift cleared his vocalizer, attempting a chipper, confident tone, “Sweetspark! How’s your shift-” He started.

“What did you do, Drift?” Ratchet bit out in complete exasperation. Drift could hear the muffled sounds of the medbay at work outside of Ratchet’s office. He silently thanked whoever would hear him for his conjunx’ privacy, and silently cursed them for how good Ratchet had gotten at seeing through his acts.

“Well-” Drift began. It was like a dam broke. “I got this stupid topical datapatch from a flea market ages ago that said it was something about positive and negative reinforcement- and I figured that Rodimus had been kind of sliding into some bad habits-”

Ratchet snorted, “Sliding into them? Like they weren’t already there.” he quipped, sounding like he was half paying attention. Drift could hear shuffling, as if the medic were looking for something.

“Okay yeah, sure, this is a great time for that attitude, Ratty-” Drift hissed indignantly.

“What did you do with the patch?” Ratchet prompted, glossing over his partner’s offense. 

“... I programmed it so Roddy would be rewarded for doing his job well, and punished for doing it badly-?” Drift choked out. He felt terrible, it sounded even worse when he said it out loud. Primus, he was such an idiot. 

Ratchet’s beleaguered sigh didn’t help. “Alright, and what does it mean by ‘reward’ and ‘punish’.” 

Drift drew a blank. He was a moron, a complete slag for brains. He hadn’t even thought to ask that. “... I don’t know- I figured it would-! I don’t know, set off a dopamine protocol or something, maybe shock him or pinch him or something if he messed up-! LOOK! I don’t know- I messed up- I think I messed up really really bad too-” He had begun to ramble, only cut off as Ratchet hushed him as gently as he possibly could manage. 

“Hey, hey, now that’s not going to help anyone, there’s no need to panic. Can you describe what symptoms he’s displaying?” Ratchet asked. Were he not so panicked, Drift might have made a jab about how much better his bedside manner was when it came to him. 

“I um… He seems kind of sweaty, maybe a little overheated, but nothing terrible like that… He’s kind of stiff, and he keeps shivering and jumping, like he’s skittish or something?” Drift explained. He worried his lip between his dentas and paced around the confined space restlessly. 

Every moment of silence between them felt like hours as Ratchet seemed to be looking something up. “Okay… well that’s pretty… sort of general,” Ratchet mused unhelpfully. “That sounds like it could be a lot of things.” 

Drift fought back a strangled, anxious whine. Clearly he hadn’t tried hard enough, considering Ratchet quickly added, “most of which are harmless or easy to fix!” In an attempt to soothe him. 

“But- some are… fatal?” Drift mumbled out. 

“Drift, it’s probably just a minor bug. If things get worse, you can wrangle him towards the medbay and we’ll get him looked at, alright?” Ratchet huffed out. 

Drift let out a weary little sigh, stepping out of the maintenance closet. Rodimus had been in his office for almost two hours at this point. “... I’m just worried about anything powerful enough to convince Rodimus to complete his datawork.” Drift attempted the joke, knowing before it left his lips that it fell flat. Ratchet chuckled anyway. 

“If you’re that scared you should check on him.” Ratchet offered. 

Drift nodded to himself, despite knowing Ratchet wouldn’t pick the gesture up. “... Yeah, yeah, I’ll do that.” He sighed out, adjusting his posture and trying to casually walk towards Rodimus’ office.

“You know, you could do with doting on him less, Drift.” Ratchet continued, casually holding the conversation as he seemed to be sorting his datapads back in order. Drift opened his mouth to retort, but froze. His digits hovered over the keypad of the door, just shy of activating it. 

He tipped his helm to the side, pressing his audial up against the metal as he tried to confirm what he’d thought he’d heard. A shiver ran up his backstrut to the tips of his finials as he caught the sound of a breathless moan from the other side of the door.

Rodimus’ voice was muffled and slurred, vocalizer raw as he babbled something. Drift strained his audials, muting his call with Ratchet to pick up the sounds he was hearing properly. 

Drift’s tanks dropped.

“... I- ah… I love… h-helping… D-doing datawork is s-so-OH-Oh s-so helpful… I’m a h-helpful captainnnNNnhhh~!” Rodimus moaned, his noises accented by the sound of a creaking chair. 

 He dropped the call with Ratchet immediately, impatiently swatting the code into the control pad next to the door. His vents hitched as his odor sensors were bowled over by the scent of coolant and transfluid. 

His amica was plastered against the top of the desk, kneeling in his chair as he rocked his hips back and forth. He was clutching a datapad in his shaky servos, a stylus pinched between two digits as he scrolled through it. Datapads littered the floor and desktop. It looked like more had been completed in a few hours than he’d done in the entire last decacycle. 

Rodimus’ expression was vacantly content, his faceplate flushed deep with energon and slick with coolant. There was a puddle of oral solvent gathering under his chin where it laid on the desk. His optics were flickering between frighteningly dim and almost white with excess charge.

“Rodimus??” Drift spoke, his intake feeling dry. 

Rodimus’ optics turned dimly to him, his smile suddenly faltering as he looked at him. “D-Drift!” He keened out weakly, forcing himself back into a smile. “D-didjou need somethin’?” he slurred out.

Drift slammed his palm on the door’s close button and rushed around the side of his desk. He could hear his energon rushing in his audials. It was worse than he thought. There was almost a puddle of transfluid under Rodimus’ desk, his panels popped lewdly open and drenched with excess fluid. Guilt roiled in Drift’s tanks. Of course it couldn’t have just been a simple overheating error. Of course it had to have completely fried Rodimus’ processor. Whenever it rained for Drift it poured, it would only make sense that the thing he’d tried to do to help his amica left him a steaming, drooling mess. He’d be lucky to get Rodimus back to the medbay before he melted, from the state of him, let alone get him properly fixed up. 

“Roddy- Oh primus-!” Drift whimpered out, rushing to his side and gently taking his arm. Rodimus was hot to the touch, steam rising from his vents and lips as he clumsily reached a servo down between his legs to try and force his array back behind his panels. He jolted and twitched, letting out something that sounded dangerously close to a sob. “I am so sorry-!” Drift’s hands fumbled, slinging Rodimus’ arm over his shoulders and hauling him up off the chair. 

Rodimus groaned in distress as the datapad he was working on tumbled out of his digits. “W-wait- H-hey-!” He panted out, weakly fighting against Drift’s hold. “‘M fine, I gotta- hahhnnn, f-frag- Drift, I got d-datapads to-” He felt Rodimus go tense, letting out a long, staticky whine. 

Drift began to haul Rodimus towards the door, ignoring his protests as he shuffled him out into the hallway. He kept tensing and shivering, gritting his dentas as he tried to hold in those horribly undignified, horribly distracting noises. “I’m gonna get you to medbay, alright, just hold on for me, Roddy.” Drift ordered, allowing his guilt to wash off his back for a moment. He had a mission now. 

“O-Okayyyy…” Rodimus huffed amenably, shakily wobbling over Drift’s side. 

“Good mech, I’ll-” Drift started, cut off again as Rodimus’ knee joints gave out and he fell heavily against his side. 

“A-ahah- ouuh f-frag-” Rodimus hissed, his free servo coming down to press against his now closed and oozing panels. A glob of transfluid drizzled off of his thigh and splattered on the floor. 

Drift grit his dentas and reached down, deftly hauling Rodimus up into his arms. This would be faster anyway. He began to jog down the hallway, Rodimus dangling from his arms and shivering. He rolled his helm to lay against Drift’s chest, letting out a breathless whine against his plating. “Just hold on, just keep venting for me, okay?” Drift’s voice was a clipped order, not wanting to risk his words getting away from him as he ran down the hallways. 

Rodimus’ chassis shook, his shoulder vents heaving and expelling steam with each breath. “O-oh primus- D-drift- This- ah- T-this is- nn-NNnGHAH!” He cried out, suddenly going tense in Drift’s arms.

“What is it-!?” Drift asked, not looking down. He couldn’t let anything distract him from getting Rodimus to the medbay before he had a full system meltdown. His question was answered when he felt a splatter of wetness hit his arm where he had cradled his amica’s thighs. Drift fought to keep his fuel pump from stopping as Rodimus moaned wantonly and gushed from his panels, leaving a splatter against the floor and Drift’s arm. Focus, focus, his partner was in distress, there was no time to think of anything else, least of all being horny over his sick amica.

He skidded around a corner, judging the quickest route to the medbay and nearly falling down a flight of stairs in his trek towards it. Rodimus couldn’t stop shaking, his vocalizer dissolved into weak clicking static and whines. He dug his digits into Drift’s plating, his hips bucking and rolling as he rode out his overload. His whole frame was sticky with coolant and transfluid, overheated so much that Drift was surprised all the fluids weren’t evaporating as quickly as they appeared. 

Doors, decks, lifts, and hallways were a blur. He hardly gave any mind to the bots he passed, or the fact Rodimus was leaving a trail of transfluid through the decks. He knew when he was lucid, if he was ever lucid again, Rodimus would probably be mortified. It was easier not to think about it. He hoped he was going fast enough that the crew didn’t pay him much mind. 

Drift skidded on his heel struts as he overshot the entrance of the medbay, scrambling in through the doorway. “RATCHET!” He shouted, rushing for his conjunx’ office. 

Drift nearly bowled the other bot over as he shot into the room, disregarding Ratchet’s protests as he rolled Rodimus out of his arms and onto the rarely used medical slab. 

“Slagging pit, Drift, what’s gotten into-” Ratchet started. He had already begun to approach the slab, his intake clamping shut as he surveyed Rodimus’ frame. The aforementioned mech seemed unaware of his own plight, his optics flickering blankly at the ceiling as he moved his intake as if to form words, even though nothing escaped his vocalizer but squealing static and unintelligible moans. Ratchet silently wheeled his desk chair over to the side of the slab and began to examine him. 

Drift kept his own vents as even as he could, offlining his optics and attempting to relax himself. Things would be fine, Rodimus was in good hands, and it wouldn’t be long before everything was back to normal.

“Stop pacing, it’s distracting.” Ratchet chided, not even looking at him as he began to scan the indisposed captain. He was incredibly focused when he got working, regarding Rodimus with a look like he was a crossword puzzle he was trying to solve. 

Drift ignored how handsome that look was on him. He went still, leaning back against Ratchet’s desk and eyeing Rodimus’ prone frame. He felt sick with guilt, now that his job was done and all he could do was wait, he felt the bitter cold of shame washing in. How could he have been so careless? How could he have been so cruel? To think he knew what was best for him-

Ratchet paused, going still for a moment before sighing and leaning back in his chair. Drift looked at him hopefully, then fearfully as he pinched the bridge of his nose and dragged his hand down his face. “Drift.” 

“Is it worse than we thought?” Drift mumbled, half shell shocked at the very concept.

“... Can you recall… the name of the stall… you bought this patch from?” Ratchet said evenly. It was clearly an effort on his part to hold back a note of annoyance. 

“I-I don’t know- It was just a novelty datapatch stand, somewhere in an open market in a port town I think?” Drift supplied readily. Would that really help? He certainly hoped so. He turned his attention back to Rodimus, watching him wriggle restlessly against the slab. “... He’s not fried, is he?”

“No, no he is not.” Ratchet laced his fingers, putting on a sarcastically pleasant look and turning to smile icily at his conjunx. “Tell me, Drift, what do you imagine the potential uses for a patch like this to be?” 

Drift cocked his head, befuddled. He supposed he hadn’t really thought about it, beyond what he planned to use it for. He opened and closed his intake, searching for something to say. “I… I guess maybe to… teach… new recruits…?” 

“To teach new recruits?” Ratchet repeated, his tone saccharine and condescending. “So it’s a military training patch, do you think?” He turned to Rodimus for a moment. “Mind rolling over for me, cap?” 

Rodimus let out a weak, slow groan and did as he was told. His whole frame shuddered again, his joints tensing and twitching as another glob of transfluid squirted out from the seams in his panels. He drooled against the slab, mumbling a garbled “Y-y’r such a g-great doctor, Ratchhh~” before going back to panting and whimpering. 

“Thanks, kid. Now, Drift.” Ratchet reached out, manhandling Rodimus’ spoiler and eliciting another animalistic moan from the prone mech. He lifted the spoiler out of the way, disregarding Rodimus’ babbling as he continued to paint the slab pink. Ratchet pointed at the patch. “Do you wanna tell me which species marks its military patches with a smiley face?” 

Drift’s optic twitched a bit. He bristled, tilting his head at his conjunx. How could he be messing around at a time like this, Rodimus was in distress and he was- the nerve! “I-I don’t know- Clearly you’ve figured it out, can you just get to the point!?” Drift snapped. 

“It’s a BDSM patch, slaghead!!” Ratchet barked back, dropping the pretenses of politeness as he threw his servos in the air. “It’s fragging clogged with interfacing codes and pleasure center triggers, and- AND- If I'm right, which I’m pretty sure I am, I think you bought this from the interfacing section of whatever patch store you got it from!” 

Drift’s intake snapped shut. Heat rolled over his frame, mingling with the guilt in his spark in a sickening tango. He buried his face in his hands. It was already terrible when he thought he’d infected Rodimus with a virus, now he’d possibly infected Rodimus with a virus and made him horny while he did it. 

“He’s fine, Drift, he’s just…” Ratchet threw a look over his shoulder at Rodimus, who at this point was rolling his hips against the medical slab as he gurgled his own drool. “... overheated a little. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone this cycled up in a while…” He trailed off, pausing for a moment before snorting out a laugh. 

“What-! What’s funny about this- this is awful!” Drift wailed. Embarrassment had taken to the dancefloor in his spark too, now. His faceplate burned. 

“He got off this much on doing his job… Primus…” Ratchet snickered, shaking his head before shifting around to fully face Rodimus again. “Alright, kid, I’m gonna get this patch off you, okay?” His index digit swiftly reformatted its tip into a fine scalpel.

 “Mmmkayyyy….” Rodimus mumbled, turning his helm to gaze lovingly up at the doctor. “Y-y’do so much… for the ship, Ratty…” He supplied helpfully, shivering a bit as he reached out and rubbed at Ratchet’s thigh affectionately.

“Only Drift gets to call me that, Rodimus.” He chided gently, nudging the edge of the scalpel under the patch. “Usually these suckers pop right off after they run out of battery, but I don’t think we want to know how long that’ll take.” Ratchet informed the room.

Drift squinted at him, cocking his head. “You seem to know an awful lot about this sort of thing…”

 “I’ll tell ya later.” With a flick of his digits the patch popped off, flipping in the air briefly before Ratchet caught it in his palm. “There.” 

Rodimus let out a confused moan, glancing around blearily. “Wha…? Where’d da….-” He shook his helm, resetting his optics as he rolled over and wheezed out one last gush of steam. “Primus….”

“I’m so sorry, Roddy- I didn’t know-” Drift started, immediately coming to his side. 

“Nnnhh… Frag… That was intense…” Rodimus huffed out, rolling his head to face Drift with a confident, content little smile. “Didn’t expect that kinda thing from you- Ouf!” 

Drift plastered himself against Rodimus’ front, squeezing him tightly and letting out a relieved sigh. “I didn’t know it was a sex thing- I swear, I just thought that-” He started to explain.

“You- Wait-” Rodimus’ tone immediately shifted. “You didn’t know???”

Drift’s spark twisted. “I-I thought maybe I could teach you to be-” He winced at his own words, “More… considerate?”

Rodimus pushed Drift back, keeping a shaky hold on his shoulders. “YOU GAVE ME THE BEST OVERLOAD OF MY LIFE OVER DATA WORK BECAUSE YOU THOUGHT I SUCKED?!” Rodimus shouted, his vocalizer cracking in places from how raw it was. 

Drift bit his lip, “Roddy-”

“DO– DO NOT Roddy me right now-!” 

“I don’t think you suck- It’s just-” Drift floundered, turning to look at Ratchet helplessly. Ratchet just looked back, an amused smile playing on his dermas. “... I dunno, I was wrong- I thought maybe- you’d respond better if you got immediate rewards for… doing the right thing…” 

Rodimus stammered incredulously for a moment, sitting up and shaking Drift’s shoulders. “I-! Wha- I- I’m not a newmake!!! You could’ve told me if you had a problem with me!”

Drift averted his gaze. Rodimus made a strangled, desperate noise. “YOU COULD HAVE!! I’m so approachable!!” 

“Alright, alright, you’re both very approachable and very sorry.” Ratchet piped up, stepping between the two and prying Rodimus off of his conjunx. “You two can talk this elsewhere.” He looked pointedly at the puddle Rodimus had left on his medical slab. “... I have some cleaning to do. Go use the washracks or something.” He shooed the two of them out of the room, Rodimus’ legs quivering weakly as he wobbled out of the office. 

An icy silence had come over the pair of them. Drift kept his gaze ahead, not acknowledging First Aid poking his head out of his office, nor Velocity looking up from her organization work. He almost wondered if it was more odd for them to be both- to varying degrees- covered in transfluid, or that they weren’t talking to one another. 

He cautiously extended his field towards Rodimus, hoping his radiating guilt would clue him in on his apologeticness. Drift winced at the prickling embarrassment and disappointment he got back. 

It was a blessing that the medbay had washracks in it, it was a curse that there weren’t stalls, only flimsy curtains to separate each block from the next. Rodimus stormed into one of the racks and swished his curtain shut. Drift sighed and walked into his own, turning on the taps and offlining his optics as warm solvent washed over his plating. He took the time to clear his mind and vent as slowly as he could. It was hard to shake the regret. 

After a long moment of quiet between them, Rodimus spoke. “... I’m not a bad captain…” He asserted, but it felt more like a question.

“... No. Not at all, Roddy.” Drift sighed, lifting up his arm and watching the transfluid wick off of it. “I don’t think you are… I should have been more responsible, I’m sorry.” 

“... ‘s okay.” Rodimus mumbled. “You should keep feeling bad about it, I think.” There was humour in his tone, but it was outweighed by the bitterness. 

“Don’t worry, I will.” Drift quipped back, the levity in his tone doing little to hide the truth in his response.

“I mean it would’ve been cool if you’d told me!” Rodimus added, glossing over Drift’s words. Maybe he hadn’t heard him. 

Drift rolled his optics, biting back a smile. He was supposed to be feeling bad about this, Rodimus was making it difficult. “Oh yeah?”

“I mean it was lame that you made me overload about doing my job but… I dunno- it felt good, that's all.” Rodimus continued, his voice a bit bashful. “M-most of it anyway, I could’ve done without the… y’know. The shocking. And if you wanted me to fix my act you could’ve just said so.” 

“Would you have turned the ship out of the asteroid field if you didn’t get shocked? If I asked you nicely, no, when I asked you nicely?” Drift asked, trying not to sound too accusatory. He clamped his intake shut as soon as the words left his mouth. This wasn’t the time to be proving a point.

Rodimus stuck his helm around the edge of the shower curtain to fix Drift with his aghast expression. “Well-! Pff- Whatever… I totally would. I value your opinion.” He slunk back around under his washrack. 

“Well then you didn’t need the patch in the first place, and I’m still sorry that I couldn’t see that.” Drift sighed out, trying not to sound too sarcastic. 

“Yeah, I didn’t, thank you very much.” Rodimus sniped haughtily. 

Drift snorted out a laugh. Rodimus returned it after a moment. “... But you liked it?” Drift prompted.

“... Maybe a little.” Rodimus admitted. “... Wish I could’ve asked Ratchet to leave it on so I could finish one more time. Fragger messed with my spoiler on purpose, I just know it.” 

“Oh yeah, probably.” Drift chuckled, pausing for a moment. “... do you ever feel like Ratty knows too much about stuff like this?”

“What do you mean?” Rodimus asked, peeking around the edge of the curtain again. He was squinting through excess solvent, blowing it out of his intake before grunting in frustration. “Just- c’mere- I’m tired of shouting over the showers.” 

Drift turned his taps off and shuffled awkwardly into Rodimus’ wash block with him. “I mean like- He knew kind of quickly what the patch was, don’t you think?”

“I think you’re just a bit dense sometimes.” Rodimus shrugged. He motioned to his aft. “Can you get that? I can feel gunk stuck in the cracks, I can’t reach.” 

Drift raised a brow ridge. “Yeah? You can’t reach?”

“Which of us fragged up today, you or me?” Rodimus shot back. 

Drift rolled his optics, reaching into his subspace for a scouring pad. He wet it under the solvent stream and got to work scrubbing Rodimus’ aft and thigh paneling. “I’m still sorry.”

“I should hope so.” Rodimus sniffed. “It’s fine though, I’m super forgiving, as any great captain would be.”

Drift smiled, kneeling down a bit to get a better angle on Rodimus’ sticky plating. “Aren’t I lucky then?” He teased, curling the edge of the pad around a sensitive bit of Rodimus’ thigh armour and scrubbing fiercely. The other mech twitched and jerked his leg back, pulling in a quick hiss. “I can’t get the gunk out if you're moving.” Drift singsonged, prodding the edge of the pad between a sensitive seam and running it down from his inner thigh to his knee joint. 

“Figure it out then, I’m the victim here, accommodate me.” Rodimus nudged Drift with his opposing knee, as if preparing to kick him. Drift steadied his free hand against the offending leg. 

“Oh, yes sir, I’m so so sorry for my insolence, oh great and righteous captain.” Drift moaned out dramatically, tugging the pad out of his seam and instead opting to rub it carefully over Rodimus’ modesty panels. He let out a pleased rumble from deep in his engine at this, his knees suddenly going a bit wobbly. Rodimus braced himself against the wall, trying to seem casual. Drift could feel his amica’s panels were still overheated, charge wicking off his frame in places still as he struggled to cycle down. 

“Ugh… the one time you do something kinky and it’s an accident.” Rodimus muttered to himself, adjusting his hips a bit as Drift washed him. “... unbelievable.” 

Drift sighed. He considered Rodimus’ words for a moment, wondering if maybe… in the future… after this whole stunt had simmered down, he might be able to convince him- Drift’s mind wandered to thoughts of the blissed out, vacantly obedient look on Rodimus’ face when he’d entered the office. He’d never seen it before, and now that he wasn’t panicking… it was a good look on him.

Drift shook his head quickly. There was no need to do any wishful thinking, he made his decision about that ages ago regarding his wants. He pulled his servo back with the pad still pinched in his digits. “All clean, boss.” He said, patting Rodimus’ thigh.

“I think you missed a spot.” Rodimus hummed cockily. Drift rolled his optics again.

“Did I? Wanna show me where it is?” He gasped out in feigned ignorance, giving his best approximation of a clueless ingenue. It seemed to please him, as he chuckled lowly and adjusted his stance, further sticking his aft out in that annoyingly charming, corny sort of way he liked to do. Rodimus’ panels popped open with a click. The sexy display was likely, in Rodimus’ mind at least, undercut by the pool of trapped transfluid that splattered onto the stall floor.

Drift found it probably too alluring how quickly Rodimus’ spike extended from its casing. He dropped the pad onto the tiles, abandoning all pretenses in favor of stroking a servo up over Rodimus’ spike. “Oh yeah, how could I have missed this?” He joked, using his free hand to pet fondly over his thigh. 

Rodimus let out an indulgent sigh that tapered off into a whine. “Primus, you have no idea how bad I wanted to jerk it on shift…” He mumbled, rocking his hips into Drift’s hand.

“I think I have a bit of an inkling.” Drift chuckled, sliding his other hand up to tease at Rodimus’ drenched valve. The captain jerked then, only briefly, before widening his legs and leaning into Drift’s ministrations. “I suppose the patch um… made it a bit hard…”

“Do you think?” Rodimus gasped sarcastically, only to be shut up by a whimper as Drift’s digits ran along the edge of his spikehead. He brought his index digit up and over, smearing the pearl of prefluid at his slit over the tip and then down over its underside. “A-ah, frag…”

Drift swallowed thickly, his optics flickering for a moment. He hesitated, before leaning in and drawing his glossa luxuriantly up between Rodimus’ valve lips. He caught Rodimus quickly around the thigh before he collapsed, relishing his amica’s surprised moan and rewarding his spike with a few strokes. He caught his node between his lips and laved his glossa over it gently. Drift shuddered as he drew another pleased moan from his amica. Regret and apology mingled in his tanks with the lust that had gathered there. He’d have to remember to be extra nice to Rodimus for the next few cycles, if not for Roddy’s benefit, then at least for his own conscience. 

Drift squeezed his amica’s spike and drew his servo up slowly. He shivered at the long moan that accompanied the movement, as well as the lewd drizzle of prefluid that hit the tile and swirled down the drain between them. He thought he was doing a pretty good job at apologizing already. He pulled back from Rodimus’ node, opting instead to greedily suck the excess fluid from his valveport. He swallowed gluttonously, trying and failing to suppress the growl his engine let out at the taste. He drew his tongue through the folds to press at the first few rings of calipers within, earning yet another groan from Rodimus. 

“P-primus-” Rodimus breathed, rolling his hips back against Drift’s face. “Ah- S-slag… you should mess up more often… you’re great at apologies.” He chuckled hoarsely. 

Drift flushed a bit, half shame, half embarrassment. He wanted to beg Rodimus to not bring it up, but then again, he knew from experience that covering up his mistakes didn’t lead to anything good. He instead opted to run his glossa around the edge of the hole in a careful circle, pausing to lap at his node when he passed it. Rodimus quivered, a staticky whine barely audible over the solvent’s spray escaping him. Drift redoubled his efforts, taking Rodimus’ spike in both hands and smothering it in attention. His right servo teased and rubbed at the sensitive head, gathering the prefluid there briefly before dragging down to the base, his left repeating the motion to give his amica constant, inescapable pleasure. Rodimus’ pistons went taught. Drift thought he heard the click of him locking his joints upright. 

“G-guh- frag-” He panted out, bucking his hips between the sources of his undoing. 

Drift eagerly flicked his tongue against Rodimus’ node again. He drank in the stilted, weak noises Rodimus was making like the finest high grade shanix could buy. He squeezed and stroked and sucked, chasing his amica’s edge ravenously. 

“O-Ouh- D-drift-!” Rodimus huffed out, his digits grinding against the tile. “F-fuh- frag- I’m- ah- I’m close-” He wheezed helplessly. 

Drift trembled with his own excess charge. It didn’t matter, he didn’t care. He drooled against Rodimus’ twitching, cycling valve, savouring the spurts of fluid that dribbled down his chin and chest. He held one servo around the base of Rodimus’ spike, milking the underside of it with his thumb while the other continued to pump. 

He felt his amica go stiff and pressed his glossa flat and hard against his node. Rodimus screamed out raw static, hips bucking minutely and frame shivering. Transfluid splattered both against the washrack’s tile and Drift’s face. He gave an honest effort to swallow down what he could, but even then he relished the feeling of it spilling lewdly onto his chassis. He pulled back, panting, admiring the way Rodimus’ valve cycled and fluttered around nothing in aftershocks. 

Rodimus slowly lowered himself onto his hands and knees, panting weakly as he recovered his faculties. Drift took the moment to reach up and grasp the washrack’s head and extend it to clean off the mess his amica had made, both off his own plating and Rodimus’. Once he was sufficiently pleased with their cleanliness, he switched the taps off. The cooling solvent slowed to a trickle and stopped as he sat down beside Rodimus. He rolled over off his knees and onto his aft, leaning back against the wall for a moment. 

“... Thanks, Drifty.” Rodimus sighed affectionately. 

“No problem, Roddy.” Drift’s voice was hoarser than he thought it would be. He flinched as Rodimus reached over and laid his servo against his thigh, thumbing fondly at the decorative red plating there. 

“You feel a little heated, bud, need a hand with something?” Rodimus asked innocently. Drift didn’t need to reach out to his field to sense the poison in his words.

“... I got a bit worked up, is all-” Drift started, leaning into Rodimus’ touch. 

“Hm! Interesting!” Rodimus smiled bitterly, though it was more playful than before. “You should get that figured out, pal. I’d hate for my favourite amica to be struggling like this.” 

A sliver of guilt wormed deeper into Drift’s spark. He sighed and chuckled goodnaturedly, opening his mouth to speak. He was cut off as Rodimus stood up abruptly, dragging him up with him. 

“I might be wrong, but I think I know someone who’s office needs cleaning.” Rodimus mused, tapping a digit on his chin in false thought. He turned his gaze back to Drift with an icy smirk. “Feeling helpful, Drift?” 

Drift sighed again, offering a pleasant smile. He hoped it covered up how badly he wanted to reduce Rodimus back to a quaking, panting mess. “... Always, captain.”

#transformers #my art #mtmte #valveplug #/nsfw #/nsft #driftrod #dratchrod #smut #lemon #transformers smut #drift #rodimus #ratchet #my fic

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

Testament from guilty gear dealing with a s.o who likes to steal their hat. Because "You hat looks good on me." -s.o probably

I had to type this out quick because I absolutely loved the prompt.

Now! Your wish is my command!

Testament knew very well that they needed to be very careful with their hat around you.

Otherwise, it would be a very real possibility that they wouldn’t be able to get their hands on it until the heat death of the universe, much like what happened to the other articles of clothes you have borrowed.

And that wouldn’t do, not at all!

They have a statement to make with this outfit.

And they need that hat to do it!

Luckily, the hat was placed firmly atop-

A vein came dangerously close to bursting in Testament’s forehead as they felt a distinct LACK of their practically trademarked hat.

All Testament had to say to this was.

“You little cretin!”

Before quickly finishing their tea and heading off to find a certain hat thief.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Oh C’mon Testament! You know that this hat looks absolutely wonderful on me!” You exclaimed as the raven haired gear made another failed grab for the hat atop your head.

“I am not arguing that dear, however, I require my hat to complete my outfit!” Testament bemoaned, hoping against hope that they would be able to retrieve the hat before it was added to your hoard.

“Really? Testament, you have dozens of these!” exclaimed in response.

“I HAD dozens of them, then a certain somebody stole them all.” Testament retorted.

“Then why aren’t you going after the person who stole them!” you cried out.

“I AM YOU ADORABLE BUFFOON!!!” Testament cried, desperately trying to reclaim their hat and failing miserably.

Needless to say, Testament was soon to be in the market for a new collection of hats.

#testament guilty gear x reader #guilty gear testament x reader #testament x reader #testament gg #testament guilty gear

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

You’re Losing Me

Finnick Odair x Reader

Summary: Inspired by Taylor Swift’s “You’re Losing Me.” How Finnick loses the best thing he’s ever had

Warnings: So much angst, the angsty-est thing I’ve written in a long time. Not spellchecked and originally types on my phone. 

Word Count: 1.3k (sorry it’s short, I’m getting used to writing one shots again)

Masterlist

I sat quietly in m- Finnick’s home in Victor’s Village. No matter how long I lived here and how many assurances I had gotten in the past that it was my home too, it never felt like that. I’m not a victor, just a girl who had been lucky enough to never be reaped. But because of my luck I felt like an outsider in my boyfriend’s community here in 4. As for his life in the Capitol? That was uncharted territory I never wanted to touch. As much as he tried to shield me from the issues I was keenly aware of Finnick’s role in the Capitol as well as the conniving souls that dwelled in it.

As I was stewing in my thoughts Finnick entered, clearly exhausted from his time in the Capitol. “Hey,” I called softly, not bothering to look up since I knew he wouldn’t.

I got a grumbled greeting as he continued into his bedroom. His dismissal stung but I had mostly gotten used to it. I wasn’t sure what changed. Maybe he was just exhausted now, maybe someone else has replaced me in his mind, maybe he has gotten tired of my presence, I didn’t quite know. All I knew was that three months ago he had gotten back from this year’s games and he was completely different. He wasn’t the doting boyfriend who was eager to see me anymore. But I just took it because I knew my heart couldn’t take losing him and yet I felt like he was losing me. I could actually feel my affections slipping away, it was like my heart wouldn’t start for him anymore. It wasn’t hell, it was purgatory.

Sighing I got up, heading to the guest room seeing as there was no point in me sitting up.

~

By morning I was up early, way earlier than Finnick. So I went to the market in an effort to avoid the crowds and get groceries before the sun had a chance to spoil them.

Returning to the house I found Finnick standing in the kitchen in half-dressed disarray. “Y/N,” he breathed as I stepped into view. I stared at him blankly, unsure what to make of the situation. He stumbled over to me, kicking off the half laced up shoe. I couldn’t even comprehend what was happening, still unsure of myself when he threw his arms around me. My own arms unable to move both because my brain was still catching up and my arms were weighed down by heavy grocery bags. “You didn’t come to bed last night,” he whispered in explanation, “and then you were gone this morning— Y/N, I love you so much.”

A part of me was relieved to have his attention again but my logical side was saying that this man had disregarded me for months. I scoffed, “How can you say you love me when you didn’t even know I was dying for the past three months? Or didn’t even acknowledge it.”

He stepped back, looking down in shame. “I’m sorry, I just- I couldn’t admit that we were sick.”

“You made us like that. You just stopped acknowledging me.” Tears were slipping out of my eyes now.

“I was trying to protect you,” he admitted. “You know how the Capitol feels about me.”

“Stop, you’re losing me. I know how they felt about you even before we got together. It’s something else,” I confronted him. I waited expectantly but Finnick just stared at the floor. Exasperated and feeling every emotion in existence I filled the silence. “Do something, say something, lose something, risk something, choose something, anything just don’t ignore me,” I begged. Realizing he wouldn’t do anything I spoke again after a beat of silence. “Well if you won’t fight for us… then let me go.” My heart shattered with those words.

That finally got Finnick to respond as he looked up. “What?” He approached me before dropping to his knees, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Y/N please don’t. Please stay, I’m sorry,” now he was crying and begging.

“Look, I wouldn’t marry me either,” I confessed, “but I just wanted you to see me. But I gave you all my best, and all of my empathy but you just watched me bleed.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t.”

“Why now?”

“Because we’re just sitting in darkness and it’s time. Finnick,” the tears were coming so fast I could hardly speak, “I could never lose you but you’re losing me so please, I’m begging you, let me go.”

I felt his arms wrap tighter around me as his body wracked with sobs. “Goodbye Y/N.”

“Thank you,” I sobbed, running my fingers through his hair one last time before stepping out of his grasp. As I grabbed a couple things I watched him fold in on himself sobbing.

~

Finnick felt empty, he had for the past several months now that Y/N was gone. He knew it was selfish but he wished he hadn’t let her go because if he hadn’t uttered those words, she’d still be in his home right now.

Instead, he’s sitting in a bar in 4, ready to get blackout drunk when she walks in, hanging off the arm with an old friend, Ronan Hayden. A guy Finnick had had continuous issues with while he was dating Y/N.

Finnick tried to swallow his anger in the form of his first shot but it only made him angrier. So he ordered a beer, thinking that a slower drink may take his mind off of it.

After stewing for an hour and with his inhibitions lowered by the alcohol, Finnick had had enough watching Y/N laugh at Ronan’s jokes. Taking another shot for courage, Finnick stormed up to her table.

As the angry blond approached, Y/N finally seemed to realize her ex was in the same establishment she was. “Finnick,” she acknowledged in surprise.

“What the hell-” Ronan began angrily.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” Finnick cut him off. “I really am and I know no amount of words can undo the pain I put you through but I have to try to atone for what I did. You know how they say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone? I’m so so sorry I couldn’t appreciate you then but I can now. I’ll spend the rest of our lives appreciating you and trying to make up for what I did and for the months we lost because I was acting like a dick. And- and,” Finnick was nervous and rambling now, sobriety seeming to kick in, “I’ve thought about what you’d do or say when you saw my face again. Whether you’d have me back or tell me to go fuck myself,” he chuckled awkwardly. “But I needed to try.”

She pursed her lips, looking conflicted before she looked down at the table, both men eager for her affections waiting with bated breath. “Finnick… for months while we were still together and weeks after I tried to restart my pulse but my heart just won’t start for you anymore. You wouldn’t choose me and I’m not convinced you’d consistently choose me if I took you back. All I wanted was for you to see me but you kept running in the other direction. An- and honestly,” she stuttered out nervously, turning to look at Ronan, “I’m falling in love again.” The man visibly melted at her words while Finnick deflated. “I’ll be honest, our breakup devastated me,” she looked back up at her ex, “it was like a plane was going down but Ronan here turned it around. I’m sorry Finnick, but you lost me.”

With those words she cemented the door shut and completely tore out Finnick’s heart. He solemnly nodded in understanding. “I’m sorry I lost you.”

Masterlist

#finnick #finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #thg finnick #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader

[bomberqueen17]

loud

riding in the car yesterday with BIL, who is the farmer’s market president, on his way to PA to pick up his daughter from her visit to the midwestern relatives.

his phone rings and he answers it on bluetooth. it’s the woman who’s working the farmer’s market for the farm today. it’s near the end of market. she says she’s just calling to keep him posted on what went on today.

Well, she says, there were some religious fundamentalist types who came into the market to preach, which is a thing that happens. If they stand by the entrance and gently hand out fliers that’s fine, that’s up to them. but when they come in and start yelling, that’s when people get mad and ask them to leave. it’s disruptive and bad for business. But we have free speech, the people always protest, but they can stand on a public street and say whatever they want. Not if you’re impeding business, the vendors argue. Or if you’re harassing customers.

Well, she said, we called the cops, but the cops said they wouldn’t do anything unless the preachers were getting violent. But I had a solution, the woman says. Because the thing is, if they can stand in the street and yell, then I can too. So every time they started preaching, I’d walk out and stand next to them and start shouting about the various goods and services offered at the market, and shout directions to the various booths, and explain the merits of a producer-only market like this, and the importance of patronizing local food businesses.

It usually worked, she said; she had better projection and more fervor than they did, and she sold a lot more stuff than usual because customers would follow her back to the booth to buy things.

“Sorry you had to deal with that hassle,” said BIL, who confirmed that there’s nothing the market can do unless the preachers are directly hassling people or impeding business.

“No no,” she said. “It’s fine, it was a really cathartic release of aggression for me, especially given current events.” And then she laughed. “The thing is they thought they knew what they were getting into, but the thing they didn’t know is, I’m loud.”

#farm life #farmer's market politics #current events #farm stories

[applejaax]

Blue Hour

Chapter 1: The Dreadful Implications of a Pizza Delivery Man

Steve dropped his keys on the table when he entered the apartment. Robin was nestled on the couch fast asleep under an afghan, with the tv mindlessly droning on in the background. He took the remote from her hand and turned it off, startling her awake.

    “Ya gotta stop falling asleep with the tv on, Robin. It’s gonna rot your brain with subliminal messages from infomercials,” Steve said sarcastically, dropping the remote down onto the coffee table.

    “Wow those are big words for you, Steve, don’t hurt yourself now,” she retorted, tugging the blanket over her head and rolling away from him.

   “Haven’t heard that one before.” Steve rolled his eyes and went to the kitchen.

   It was a barren wasteland in the fridge besides some fresh vegetables they’d gotten from a local farmers market for no apparent reason, a single jar of jam, and a few beer bottles. He took one and shut the door.

   “Pizza for dinner?!” He called out. Robin’s hand came into view with a thumb up in approval and disappeared again. He laughed and leaned on the counter, sipping from the bottle in his hand.

    For three years, since he moved away from Hawkins, Steve’s been living with Robin in Illinois. She had been accepted and enrolled in some private university. At first he was upset about her leaving him all alone after everything they’d endured. In the end though it was nothing but a blessing in disguise. He pitched the idea of them moving in with each other and how good it would be for them. Robin wasn’t too keen on it at first because she wanted to make new friends, or even meet a girl she could really connect with, and suspected he’d get in the way. That was a pretty deep cut to his ego at first, he wouldn’t lie. However, with much annoying pleading and begging on his end, she eventually agreed.

     His parents had opposed, especially his father on the premise that Robin and Steve were dating. Steve never fully expressed why that would never in a million years happen but all it took was a, ‘she’s not my type, Dad,’ and that was the end of it. His mother had been the one to fully convince his old man that this was a good thing for his son. Somehow, that worked.

   Now here they were. They stayed about 5 miles off campus in a rundown neighborhood. The rent was low and the standards of living even lower. Everything in their apartment was broken. The ceiling leaked, the floors creaked, and the walls were made out of paper machete. Yet, Steve never felt more at home. He’d rather live here in this dump than step one foot back in their hell-bound hometown. In fact, it was his worst fucking nightmare. This was paradise in comparison.

   He worked a pretty simple office job in a marketing company. It wasn’t ideal but it paid well and didn’t require him to have a degree. He’d gotten lucky, he was aware of the privilege that living in the city provided. Also, who his parents were and his surname did help too. Regardless, he no longer felt like a nobody failure the way he did in Hawkins. There were so many opportunities and options out here. He could truly flourish without second guessing himself anymore. Hawkins had nothing left to offer him and all it took was an outside perspective. He was happy he’d left. He hoped and prayed, for whatever reason there may be, he never had to go back there.

  That was wishful thinking.

   About an hour after Steve had called in their pizza order there was a knock at the door.

   “Robin, pizza’s here!” He called from his bedroom down the hall.

   “I’m busy! Get it yourself!”

    Steve groaned, pausing the movie he was watching and rolled off his bed.

   “You’re so lazy!” He threw the front door open. His eyes grew wider than saucers and it felt like lightening crackled under his skin as time seemed to slow.

    A pair of brown eyes like rich soil after heavy rain, brown curly hair to match in contrast to skin as fair as moonlight. A smile with dimples and lines in the cheeks that caused creases under the eyes that made them light up like fireflies. Steve was dreaming. He had to be. No way this was real. He wanted to reach out and touch his soft skin, when he knew he shouldn’t. He needed to ground himself and stop the impending spiral but it proved to be too late for that.

  Oh fuck. This is bad.

   Steve’s brain malfunctioned and he couldn’t form a single coherent thought let alone any words. His mouth moved like a fish out of water as he tried to form a sentence or even a sound. He simply gaped at the person in his doorway for an uncomfortable amount of time.

   “Uhm, sir?” The man waved his hand in Steve’s face. The cadence and pitch in his voice was all screwy. Not right at all. It snapped Steve clean out of this mortifying stupor.

   He blinked rapidly and swallowed hard, throwing the money at him, snatching the pizza, and slamming the door. He turned and leaned on it for support, trying to catch the breath that was steadily running further and further away from him.

   Robin came sprinting from the bathroom with damp hair and a shocked look on her face.

  “What the hell happened?!” She asked, Steve couldn’t respond, he was paralyzed. “Steve?” She approached him slow with her hand out.

   “Robin, he looked like him,” he managed to say around the lump in his throat. “He looked just like him.” He slowly hugged his knees to his chest and fought the tears that threatened to fall.

   This couldn’t be happening. Everything was going so well. Maybe even too good to be true but he didn’t care. There wasn’t a damn thing out of place and this was the landslide he’d been anxiously awaiting to fuck him over. He was cursed, he was sure of that. There was no other rhyme or reason for it.

   They moved to Robin’s room when Steve found the courage to even stand up. They sat on her bed with the pizza box wide open. The smell of cheese, tomato sauce, and garlic nauseated him despite the fact he was starving.

   “I mean, doppelgängers do exist! They say it’s dangerous to come across your own. It’s really fascinating. I guess it makes sense though because how can we have all these billions of people on the planet and not have someone look exactly like us, you know?”

    Steve didn’t say anything. He let her ramble on as if it would help when it certainly didn’t. This dug up memories he’d presumed he’d buried forever. He was certain he’d laid it all to rest along with his dead boyfriend. After this whole hot mess, he felt like he’d regressed to square one and all it took was a similar face. He didn’t want to throw himself a pity party but damn he couldn’t catch a break.

    “Steve…Steve!” Robin flopped on the bed next to him. “Am I doing it again…with the talking too much thing?”

     Steve sighed and picked up a slice of pizza, biting into it hesitantly and watched the cheese stretch.

    “Kinda,” he said with his mouth full.

    “Shit. Sorry. I’m not good with this sorta thing. Comforting people isn’t my forté. But I’m a decent listener…sometimes.”

    Steve stared at her for a moment, then mustered a smile. A mask that was quick to falter and dissolve away at any moment.

    “It’s fine. There’s really nothing either of us can do in this situation.” He set down the half eaten slice of pizza. His appetite was gone. “You’re right about one thing. I guess we’re bound to see someone who looks like someone we know or knew eventually.”

   “Yeah, but…I’m just- I’m so sorry.”

    “Don’t be. It’s nobody’s fault.” Steve could hear the strain in his voice. “Would you mind if I uhh-“ He signaled towards the door and Robin nodded encouragingly.

    In his bedroom, Steve curled up under his blankets and laid there in the dark for what felt like an eternity. The tears that spilled from the corners of his eyes had finally dried but it wasn’t over. Especially since now all he could do was torture himself with nothing else but the thought of Eddie.

    He meant the world to Steve and taught him so many lessons he wouldn’t have learned otherwise. His mind had never been more open than when he was with Eddie. He was someone everyone could rely on but nobody wanted to put their faith in. Steve did and it was so worth it right up until the very end. He still kicked himself for the period in which he regretted even meeting Eddie. Or that he wished they could swap places. It was only because the visceral pain of letting him go and moving on was something he could hardly handle. The wounds tore open so often that he let the memories of Eddie die, too, just to get some release from the heartbreak.

     It was like he didn’t exist anymore in Steve’s world and he preferred it that way as opposed to living the rest of his life in agony. There was no other way to let go besides that. And tonight, that man at his door, instantaneously destroyed walls he’d put his blood, sweat, and tears into building to free himself of Eddie and everything they’d shared. To put it lightly, this was a slap to the face and a boot to the gut. 

     He was gone. He deserved to be here but he wasn’t. He was never coming back. Steve had come to peace with that, and his grief, before he’d left Hawkins. It was one of the things that helped him cope the most. Now he had to pick himself up all over again and he hoped it wouldn’t take as long as the first time around, or both him and Robin were doomed to suffer.

****

    Steve didn’t remember falling asleep. He woke the next morning to a migraine, swollen eyelids, and the phone ringing off the hook. He shoved a pillow over his head and waited for it to stop. He had work today but he didn’t want to go. He felt like shit after last night. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling for a long time until the phone started up again and forced him out of bed.

    “What do you want?!” He answered gruffly. He sounded like garbage and felt even worse. 

   “Well, geez. Hello to you, too.”

    “Dustin!” He sighed in relief. “Wait, shouldn’t you be in school instead of bothering me at 8 in the damn morning?”

    “The city has changed you, Steve. I don’t like it.”

    Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Get on with it.”

    “Okay, okay. I’m not at school right now because I have something important to tell you. I couldn’t wait,” he paused for a beat. “I think he’s back, Steve.”

     Steve’s heart lurched and plummeted hard into his stomach. His sadness was overpowered by fear. His throat tightened up as panic rose. The room started to spin and he lost his balance, stumbling back into the wall.

   “Steve? Talk to me, man! Are you okay?”

    “I’m- good. I’m good.” He rested his head in his palm and slid down to the floor in defeat. “Tell me everything.”

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #stranger things #steddie au #steddie blurb #stranger things au #gay men #80s #bluehour

[cloveswifey]

Other Woman

Parings: JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Cheating, Swearing, crying, Annoying Kiara, pleading, begging, use of ‘I love you’.

Type: Angst ~ fluffish

Words: 0.7

JJ and Y/n’s love story was a classic tale of two people who found each other in the most unexpected place and fell in love. They shared a strong bond, built on trust, respect, and honesty. They had been dating for a year, and their relationship was going strong.

JJ and Y/n were both hardworking individuals. Y/n, was a successful marketing executive at a prestigious firm. Even though their busy schedules kept them apart for most of the day, they always made it a point to spend quality time together.

One day, I came home from work earlier than usual. I was looking forward to spending some quality time with JJ, but what I saw broke my heart into pieces. JJ was kissing Kiara in their living room, and it was clear that they had been at it for a while.

The sight of JJ with another woman left me in shock. I didn't know what to do or say. I just stood there, staring at JJ and Kiara, their hands wrapped around each other. JJ was the first to realize that I was there. He immediately pulled away from Kiara and took a step back, his eyes wide with shock.

“What the fuck.” I mumble.

"Y/n, it's not what it looks like." JJ stammered, but I didn't believe him. I was hurt, angry, and in disbelief that the person I loved could do this to me.

"Really? So, what is it then? You were just having a friendly make-out session with Kiara in our living room?" I lashed out, the hurt and anger boiling inside of me.

JJ tried to explain that it was a mistake that he didn't mean to hurt her, but I was having none of it. I stormed out of the apartment, not wanting to hear JJ's explanations.

JJ Pov

One afternoon, Y/N had left for work as usual and I had decided to spend the day working from home. As I was typing on my laptop, I heard a knock on the door. I opened it to find Kiara standing there looking upset.

"What's wrong, Kiara?" I asked concerned.

Without hesitating, Kiara burst into tears and confessed her love to me. She told me that she had been hiding her feelings for me for a long time and couldn't keep them to herself any longer.

I was surprised by her confession, I have a girlfriend that I love very much.

Kiara suddenly kissed me; passionately and I found myself lost in her embrace. It was as if time stood still as we shared this moment. However, our kiss was cut short when we heard the sound y/n.

“What the fuck.”

"Y/n, it's not what it looks like." I stammered, I love y/n way too much for her to leave.

"Really? So, what is it then? You were just having a friendly make-out session with Kiara in our living room?" Y/n lashed out, the hurt and anger boiling inside her. "I can't believe this is happening," she said quietly.

Kiara apologized to Y/N, saying that she didn't mean to hurt her.

“If you were sorry you wouldn’t of kissed him.” Y/n scoffed, leaving the apartment.

Y/N realized the depth of JJ's remorse when he showed up at her doorstep, pleading and begging her to take him back.

"She kissed me, I swear," JJ pleaded, tears streaming down his face.

"JJ, you kissed her back," Y/N sighed, her face twisted with a frown.

"I didn't know what I was doing. It just happened. I know it seemed like we were at it for ages but it was only five seconds tops. The second I realized she kissed me, I pulled away," JJ cried. "Please, baby. I love you."

It took some time for Y/n to trust JJ fully again, but with time, they were able to overcome this rough patch in their relationship. They worked on their communication, made time for each other, and promised to always be open and honest with each other.

In the end, JJ and Y/n's relationship became stronger and more resilient because of what they went through. They learned that mistakes happen, but if they love each other enough, they can overcome them.

#cloveswifey #jj obx #obx imagine #obx spoilers #obx2 #obx3 #obx #jj x kie #jj maybank #jj mayback imagine #jjk fanart #jjba oc #jjk manga #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybnak #imagine #sarah cameron #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #outerbanks #outer banks imagine #sarah cameron imagine #outer banks #outerbanks imagine #john b routledge #kiara carrera #imagines #foryou #topper thorton imagine

[cascade05]

Guys Deserve Flowers Too

Saw this post and it got me thinking…

Imagine see a handful of flowers that remind you of Katsuki. Imagine what they are but I was thinking of, well, Imma just collage it cause I don’t know how familiar with flowers y’all are…

On second thought, the picture is giant so I’ll put it…. so where else, maybe…

Anyway, you see these flowers and the kinda look like explosions and the flower lady tells you they (Dahlias) are stubborn flowers and they’re tough to kill so it literally is Bakugo Katsuki/Pro Hero Dynamight and now you HAVE to get them. So you do and you get a few others you think will look good.

Carnations last a long time when they’re cut, not withering as fast as other flowers.

Lantanas are cute little bundles of petals and the orange and red ones are so purty…

Course, you want some green in the bright conglomeration of bursting colors so you go with some leather leaf fern cause they’re big and refreshing.

You leave the shop with two bags of flowers and you’re beaming about them. The excitement kinda plateaus when you get home and realize you don’t have a vase big enough. You’re shocked by that fact because Katsuki’s bough GIANT bouquets for you before. You look everywhere and cannot find a vase.

Then you see one of the decorative jar things—ya know what I mean, right? It was black clay and you never understood why people would get something like that and just eat it sit unused. It just collected dust on a shelf full of other things that collected dust so it’s existence was an annoyance to you but Mitsuki bought it as a housewarming gift so…

Anyway, you used that. It was about time it pulled its own weight anyway, even if your husband would think you’re an idiot for using a decorative like that as a vase. You would argue that vases were a type of decorative and they were meant to be used but that didn’t matter.

What matters is you and the amazing bouquet just finished. Yaaasss! It’s beautiful, no doubt, because it made with l o v e. A fact you will rub in your snooty husband’s gorgeous face if he dares to make fun of you because that’s who we are, right?! Right.

He comes come and you greet him from her spot on the couch. He kisses your head as he walks by, mumbling a greeting of his own before he hops in the shower. You continue reading or doing whatever it is you like to do.

At some point in life, he notices the giant bouquet on the kitchen island and he stops. He didn’t buy those. The man narrows his eyes in thought, mentally going through all the important dates before deciding it wasn’t an important day today. Unless something happened that he didn’t know about. The man decided to probe.

“You got flowers,” he grumbled stupidly.

“Uh-huh,” you hummed absentmindedly, not giving him anything.

“Look nice.”

“Thanks.”

You looked at his back, giggling silently to yourself before looking blankly at your book when he turned around. You could see the confused look on his face out of the corner of you eye and it took everything you had not to burst into laughter.

“You get ‘em from that shop by the bakery?”

“No. They’re from a new place that opened up—by where the farmers market is. It’s a cute little shop.”

He stares silently at you before looking back at the flowers then back at you. You could hear the frustration on his face. He would cave in eventually. Bakugo Katsuki hated admitting he didn’t know something important and if he forgot an important date then it was worse. He wouldn’t ask, but, well, he couldn’t think of a single special occasion that happened today. So, he had to ask.

“Any reason for ‘em?”

You hummed softly, kicking your foot up and down before turning a page. You weren’t really reading but, well…“For you.”

Did he really forget something? But you didn’t usually buy him flowers except on his birthday and, even then, it was always simple and never this large. “Why?” he asked.

“Cause I kinda like you, that’s why.”

He made a face and you laughed at it, getting up from the couch to cup his pouty cheeks. He gently grabbed your hips, tugging you a little close as you look up at him with a soft smile. “They reminded me of you, that’s all,” you say, smiling growing when his ears turn a soft pink.

He doesn’t understand that sort of thing—how flowers could remind you of him. You know he doesn’t, so you explain it. As you speak, your hands move and your arms end up resting on his shoulders as you fiddle with your fingers behind his head. You feel like a schoolgirl with a big fat crush when he wraps his arms around you and gently sways, his red eyes lighting up the more you talk. It embarrassing and you feel like you’re on fire, but you wouldn’t mind burning if it was for him. Not like he’d let you burn. It makes you nervous and shy but you explain it anyway because he’s worth being shy for.

You tell him how stubborn he is and how resilient. How determined and strong he is.

You tell him how his touch lingers on your mind endlessly, how you live for the way you can feel him—can see him in the world around you even when he’s not there.

He snorts softly when you tell him how beautiful he is—how pretty his eyes are—and you puff out your cheek in response, pouting at his lack of faith. You ask him if he doesn’t trust you or if he never looks in the mirror and he mumbles that he trusts you more than anyone else in the world. So you tell him again, that he’s the most gorgeous person you’ve ever met. That the small moments you share with him make you fell close to bursting because you love him so much and you know he loves you too.

You tell him you love how he fits against you—how you fit against him. How safe you feel in his large arms and how protected you feel just by seeing him. You tell him that, after a long day, all you need is one hug and you feel so refreshed and loved.

It mushy and soft and lovey-dovey but you tell him all that anyway. You’re too embarrassed to look at him and he must share the same sentiment cause he buries his face in the crook of your neck, planting a few small kisses by your shoulder. You shyly press your face into your other shoulder, biting your bottom lip as your cheeks burn.

“Do you like them?” you whisper softly, gently fiddling with his hair.

He doesn’t respond, not for awhile. He seeks refuge in your arms—in the safety of your love and you let him. You’re more than happy to. Eventually he mumbles against you. You can’t hear him. You don’t really need to. You know what he said—what he meant. It makes you smile, makes you press his head further into you as you wrap an arm around his shoulder and hug him close. It’s the same feeling driving Katsuki to press his palm against your back and press you even further into himself. His other hand fiddles with your belt loop while he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“You’re an idiot,” he finally says and you snort.

“Whatever, dummy.”

“I should be buying you flowers, dumbass” he mumbles.

You know how grateful he is and you know that he treasures everything you said. You know he only said what he did because he thinks he has to work to deserve you and you know that, even if you told him no. It was you who was undeserving, he would never believe you.

He appreciates your words, you know he does, but he’s an actions kind of man and everything will always mean more to him if he sees your love. You know he sees it which is why he’s so shy all of a sudden. You’re feeling a bit coy yourself and bite your bottom lip, puffing out your cheeks as you do and you can feel the tips of your ears tingling.

“Yeah, well, guys deserve flowers too,” you breathe, “idiot.”

He snorts softly, kicking your shin lightly. “Idiot,” he parrots and you burry your smile in his hair.

It wasn’t until later in the week when Bakugo noticed the black paint on the substitute vase was running off due to the water and, well, you both had a great time trying to find that exact clay decorative in the store. It was a bonding experience, you told him. He called you an idiot but that was no surprise.

@shotorus

#heh oopsies #Mitsuki would beat Katsuki’s ass for ruining her gift #yes she knows it was you #but she would never blame anything on her perfect and precious daughter-in-law #you’re safe bb #back to Bakugo Katsuki and how much we love him #am i right or what #bnha #mha #bakugo katsuki #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou imagine #bakugo drabble #bakugou drabble #mha x reader #bakugo x reader #x reader fluff #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #lol #cascade05 #bakugo katsuki fluff #bnha fluff #bakugo fluff #bakugo imagine

[suukee]

✍️ Fic authors self rec!

When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to other writers you know. Let's spread some self-love! 💛

hello my friend! ☺️ i’m getting to this very late and unfortunately i don’t have any of my fics currently uploaded. i can share the ones i’m in the process of writing or planning to!

HUMANITY’S GUARDIAN

levi ackerman x isekai reader : a media malfunction brings you into a dangerous world filled with humanoid creatures. fortunately, it's a place you recognize. in return, it guarantees your death.

i wanted to blend dimensional travel and one of my favorite shows in one. i feel like levi deserves all the love and comfort after what he went through and i wish i, or someone else, were there to do it. what better way is there than to write a fic about it? it’s slightly reader inserted but not too descriptive.

THE ONE WHO SAVED PARADIS

levi ackerman x isekai reader : a moment ago, you were at the campus library. the next, you’re being escorted to the king of the island for a celebratory feast. adventure awaits beyond the hellish gates, a world of magic and death lies ahead.

this is an isekai fic but more like “the rising of the shield hero” type of universe. it’s medieval. magic and game-like leveling. includes dark content like prostitution, underground market and slavery, alcohol consumption. the reader is a woman, so she goes through catcalling, people calling her rude names, and things as such that adds to the storyline (that said, the reader doesn’t get touched, just yelled at. i don’t have the heart to write that dark of content). this is probably the most darkest fic i have ever written out, so it’s not for the faint of heart.

DEAL BREAKER

ceo levi ackerman x employee reader : the stupid things that people would do for money blows you away. sure, you’re in a desperate need of it, but you wouldn’t do anything insane. something like that would be ruining a blind date on behalf of your friend, completely unaware that man is the ceo of the company you work for. no, of course you wouldn’t make a deal with him, hoping he doesn’t fire you. is the money worth risking your career?

this one is inspired by the k-drama known as business proposal. i wanted to make this comedic but angsty at the right moments. levi strikes me as a workaholic who doesn't want to be in a romantic relationship. i'm trying out love triangles in this one.

A HEAVY BURDEN CALLED FATE

satoru gojo x isekai reader : your mundane life takes a heavy turn when you land up in the world of jujutsu kaisen, a popular shonen manga.

yet another isekai fic but with jujutsu kaisen. satoru gojo is one of the characters that i instantly fell in love with, but this is mostly for comfort with other characters. perhaps we all know what happens in the manga with gojo. but i just want to give so many people a hug, especially nanami. can the reader save people? it’s heavily canon divergent, so i don’t think a lot of people are going to like it if i ever posted it. it’s also slightly reader inserted for the storyline, but again, not too descriptive. also the reader’s technique is literally sung jinwoo because he’s so badass.

last but not least, PROMISE ME

satoru gojo x sorcerer reader : everyone in jujutsu high knew not to mess with the strongest trio. that was you, satoru gojo, and suguru geto. undefeated, one of a kind. a friendship so strong that nothing stood in the way. an intimidating amount of strength combined together. there was always a solution to a problem as long the trio had each other, no matter the horrible things that came by, itching for a fight. but in a world full of curses, nothing was promised except for one thing—an expiration date.

this is a canon fic where you become best friends with satoru and suguru in the early years of jujutsu high, but things happen. you leave to study at your hometown, away from satoru, but you and megumi know each other and keep contact. you’re still trying to find suguru since he left. at some point, you come back as a teacher for megumi’s sake but have to deal with satoru’s shenanigans. does your friendship with him blossoms again? is there more? maybe he ruins it once and for all. maybe you do.

#jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo x reader #attack on titan #levi ackerman x reader #youre-ackermine #asks #mywriting

[impossiblesuitcase]

I know this type of fic will seem strange, but do you remember where Cinder in the first book says that everyone will be aware of what Kai does, and that he will forget her, if this happened as an alternate universe, do you really believe that Kai forgot? of it, or remember it as nostalgia for what could have been as couple

Thanks your for your answer

I intended for this to be a five sentence response. Ha.

(Remember?)

He doesn’t remember her.

Granted, he doesn’t even remember what it feels like to take a full, unstrained breath. Kai is a busy teenager, a grieving son, an ill-prepared emperor and then the happiest widower alive. He can’t pretend to not be overjoyed by his wife’s untimely passing after her brief but bloody one-year stint as empress. The Earthen population didn’t seem to mind much either when the evil Lunar queen was assassinated in her bed by a group of revolting malcontents.

Kai only remembers her when the storm takes mercy on them and calms. The girl at the marketplace. Who’d never worn the gloves he’d given her to the ball she hadn’t attended. The brown eyes he’d never seen again. As the New Beijing Market celebrates a new era of peace with streamers and lanterns and sticky buns, Kai is pulling on his grey hoodie and weaving through the crowds to an unmarked booth. Instead he finds the musty, dark store replaced by a coffeé vendor. The nearby sellers tell him the young mechanic skipped town.

(Kai does remember her joking prod in the elevator, offering up that she was planning to run away to Europe. Now, Kai doesn’t think it was all that much of a joke.)

He searches for her, briefly. Her name turns up no more net results than what had been there the first time he’d sought her services. In checking government records he learns that her guardian reported the disappearance, inciting a police investigation. He has his own staff put on the case, who probably interpret this as a conscientious initiative to apprehend a fugitive as any responsible emperor would. 

Reading the conclusions from the fruitless search by his agents, this is where Kai learns that Linh Cinder is a cyborg.

Something blankets him. Not...disgust or revulsion. Thick, encompassing understanding. He’s near laughter when it strikes him precisely between his third and fourth ribs because he knows that it doesn’t matter if he finds her.

The gloves. The obfuscation. A cyborg, an emperor. This is why she rejected him.

After this, the expressed need to find find find her feels vain. Find her and what? Tell her that—although he likes her—a cyborg would never be accepted by the public as his partner? Then he’d be tearing her away from whatever sanctuary she’s found herself in and subjecting her to capture by the authorities. Because she has cut out her ID chip—illegal. Fled the country without a permit—illegal. Disobeyed orders from her guardian—illegal for cyborgs. Whatever Imperial pardon he could try to extend would be nullified by the Cyborg Protection Act.

It doesn’t matter. She hasn’t been found. He’s no luck at searching for things anyway. That’s why he gave up on Selene. What’s one more thing to give up on?

So Kai doesn’t remember her. But he does revise the Cyborg Protection Act. He is appalled to discover that—despite having Levana’s antidote in his tenuous possession—the cyborg draft is still in operation. Luna is not a trustworthy government under regent Sybil Mira, they fearmonger. They might still need to develop an antidote of their own, they reason.

Both Earth and Luna are barely refraining from seeking blood as it is. After Levana was assassinated, Luna declared full-scale war on Earth, killing hundreds of thousands. Earth retaliated by detonating bombs on the craters of the moon, threatening that next time they wouldn’t spare the inhabited domes. The ceasefire went as follows: Luna and Earth would not intermingle. Luna would provide Earth with the Letumosis antidote in exchange for Earth sending Luna their desperately-needed supplies. No one deemed this agreement as trustworthy. No one had better ideas.

His decision to end the draft is met with mixed response. Kai just secretly hopes that Cinder is watching, holed up in her new musty, dark booth in her new European city with a flicker of pride.

Years past. Funnily enough, Kai learns that—at some point—pretending to forget and forgetting are not so dissimilar.

But sometimes he sees a malfunctioning android down a palace hall and remembers her steady gloved hands on Nainsi. Sees a woman with almost the right shade of brown in her hair and eyes and skin but never close enough. Yet each time, he collects himself, shakes his head and doesn’t give in, and when he marries a second time to a woman he actually wants to be with, his wife’s radiant smile expels any romantic thought of any other girl that has ever crossed his mind.

— — — 

Fourteen years. That’s how long it takes for his loose threads to finally fray. Kai is in his office being briefed by Torin for an upcoming public statement by his cabinet. It has taken fourteen years after Levana’s death to fully uncover all the scrupulously concealed records of the atrocities she committed. As former empress, her crimes have to be reported by the Eastern Commonwealth, though no reasonably-minded Earthen would attribute her crimes to anyone but her own wicked self.

This report intrigues him. It’s not the usual analytics of Levana’s sins against the Earthen public, rather a detailed list of all the Lunars she victimised.

“Why are we reporting this?” Kai asks Torin, keeping his daughter from bouncing off his lap with steady hands. “What Levana did to the Lunar citizenry is beyond our scope of responsibility.”

“Not those on Luna, Your Majesty,” Torin informs. “This report refers to the illegal Lunar refugees who were hiding on Earth.”

Kai vaguely recalls Levana screeching once about how she would kill all the Lunars he had insubordinately smuggled into the country. He hadn’t believed that there were any Lunars on Earth at that naïve eighteen, but a thirty-three-year-old Kai is not surprised. He scrolls past the initial pages of exposition and gets right to the list of victims. He wants a number. How many Lunars were there really on Earth? That day on the balcony, when Levana had claimed that there had been a Lunar among those protestors—had it been true?

It’s page eight that he sees her name.

Linh Cinder. Cyborg. Lunar. Licensed mechanic in New Beijing. Records found to be falsified. True age unknown. True name unknown. Date of immigration unknown.

Cyborg. Lunar.

Kai’s hands are shaking. He places his daughter on the ground. “Torin,” he wheezes, “take her to her mother.”

His daughter’s soft, “Daddy? Was wrong?” goes unanswered.

Once they’ve left the room, Kai is alone with the horror lying in his hands. He clicks on her profile and a full page with her name and portrait appears. It’s a mugshot, but without the official stamp of the Earthen Union law enforcement, he knows it was Levana’s own team of minions doing the arresting. Her hair is loose, glossy and slick. Her eyes defiant but sunken into dark sockets. Her cheeks are full. She was not starving, wasting away in poverty. Evidently she did manage to make a life for herself on the run.

The biography is short. Linh was reported missing by her guardian on 28 August 126 T.E. at 08:31. CCTV footage shows her driving a second-era automobile from New Beijing to France over the course of 8 days. Linh hid in Nice for 7 months using a false ID chip and started a small mechanic business. Records of an apartment lease were found under the false identity. She was discovered by Lunar authorities when a mandatory Letumosis blood test identified Lunar genealogy in her genome. She was swiftly sentenced and executed without a trial on an unknown date for crimes of illegal departure from Luna.

That’s it. The only information. It limns a tale of another victim of the tyrant with not a stroke of sympathy. Kai thrusts down the port, clawing his hands through his hair.

Cyborg. Lunar. Executed.

He calls his wife.

The line clicks immediately. “Honey, is everything okay?” asks his wife, concern cooling her timbre. “Torin said you were all out of sorts.”

His words are faint. “Hey, love, do you remember that girl I liked before you?”

He can hear her smile. “The mechanic?”

“Yeah.”

"What about her?" her voice heaves and Kai hears a small giggle; Torin has brought their daughter back to their quarters. His wife is picking up the heavy three-year-old.

He has no strength to censor himself, even with young ears present. “She’s dead. Levana killed her.”

A long silence. The thread being pulled, pulled, pulled as the fraying creeps up to the heart of it. The girl whispers to her mother, “who Mummy? Who’s Daddy talking ‘bout?”

Her mother doesn’t explain. “Oh, love, I’m so sorry,” she consoles plaintively in that genuine lilt he knows is sincere. His superlatively gracious wife has never judged him for his grief over the lost cyborg, for regretting he couldn’t help the troubled young girl from a bad home. Never has she assigned ulterior motives of him mourning ‘the one that got away’ in some jealous plea for validation. 

He says nothing. He had forgotten her brown eyes, her smile and her gloves. The sarcasm and the pessimism. Each detail had slipped away and now a single photo, an unuttered apology, is trying to resuscitate the dead.

“Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”

Kai reclaims his port and returns to the cover page. It’s entitled: A Comprehensive Account of the Genocide of Lunar Refugees by Queen Levana Blackburn: Names and Implications.

A name. An implication. That’s all she’d be, immortalised in a forgettable list. After the cover page, a number is bolded.

3,582.

The number of Lunar victims. Miniscule compared to Earth’s population. Cinder was almost certainly the only Lunar Cyborg on the list. An oddity. A friendly statistical anomaly.

Never meant to exist. Always meant to be out of reach.

“Kai?”

“It’ll be fine,” he promises, convincing himself of it. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be fine?” she repeats.

That picture is burnt in his retinas; Cinder, forever sixteen. He, now so much older. He doesn’t mourn a lost love. He didn’t love her; he didn’t know her. He mourns an abandoned child who never even knew that someone was looking for her.

Kai exhales slowly and rests his port on the desk next to his wedding photo and his father's signet ring. 

“I’ll be fine,” he affirms, “You know, I don’t really remember her.”

— — — 

@cindersassasin @hayleblackburn @spherical-empirical @salt-warrior @just2bubbly @gingerale2017 @icarusignite @kaider-is-my-otp @slmkaider @luna-maximoff-22 @cosmicnovaflare @kaixiety @snozkat @mirrorballsss @skinwitch18 @vincentvangothic @bakergirl13 @wassupnye @linh-cindy @therealkaidertrash21

#the lunar chronicles #tlc #lunar chronicles #linh cinder #kaider #emperor kai #angst #kaider fanfiction #this is not a lovey dovey happy ending folks

[ryuichirou]

Hey ryuichi, as an artist, how do you feel about Ai art? Do you think that Ai is going to replace artists? Do you think that Ai artists are real artists?

I'm curious to know your opinion on this matter.

Sorry for the late reply, Anon! I wanted to give you a more or less nuanced reply, so it took me some time to think about this topic.

I’ll start with the easy one: no, AI art isn’t going to replace all artists and it’s not going to completely eradicate art as we know it, because art doesn’t exist solely for the practical purposes. As long as people enjoy and feel passionate about making art, art is going to exist in one form or another. But that’s just stating the obvious.

And while there are people who are better or worse at coming up with prompts for the AI, as long as they don’t do any additional work based on the AI-generated image, I don’t consider it being art. I think art is about skill, taste and personality, and this simply isn’t it.

Are people going to lose jobs because of AI art? Unfortunately, it already happens, but it also doesn’t mean that artists are doomed and this is some kind of apocalypse. It’s very important to consider the scale of things, the possible developments, etc. Here are some points to consider…

First of all, if we’re talking about personal commissions and clients that opt to use AI instead of commissioning an artist for their project (or personal use), I wouldn’t say that it’s too much of a loss. I feel like this is exactly the type of clients who don’t tend to appreciate artists’ work and pay them fairly anyway, otherwise they wouldn’t even consider AI as an option. Many of these “clients” would never commission an artist anyway, so they’re not even a part of this client pool. I know that money is money, and some artists would gladly take even a low-paying job from a customer that often doesn’t treat them well (I’ve been there and speak from my personal experience back when I started to offer my commission services), but I am an idealist and think that we shouldn’t spend our time and energy on someone who doesn’t see any value in our work anyway. Not everyone has the luxury of throwing away people who pay you at least something, of course, these artists still need to eat, so that last statement remains an idealistic take from me, keep that in mind.

And if we’re talking about corporations that use AI instead of hiring artists, while it is a problem, I also feel like it’s going to backfire somehow – it kinda does already. Not necessarily in terms of the company getting backlash, but in terms of the lack of quality control over the AI art (if you don’t have any actual artists on board, how are you going to know if the art works or not?) and some other unexpected reasons that are definitely going to pop up.

AI is definitely going to transform the way we think about art and art-related jobs in general. Some jobs might get lost forever, but it happens all the time – there are other brand-new types of art-jobs that are going to start emerging out of thin air. Just like photography and Photoshop influenced the market and art in general, AI is going to do just that.

I’ll note that I don’t think companies are going to stop using AI altogether at any point of the near future though; it’s a very powerful and cost-effective tool, there is no way they are letting it go. AI is absolutely here to stay, and it’s going to evolve and become better and better, scarily better. But this is how I think we should approach it:

People whose work is used for the AI’s learning pool should abso-fucking-lutely give their consent to their work being used, or even better, be compensated for their participation. If there is a new AI that makes a point out of the participation in the learning process being voluntary and well-paid, I think it’d change the dynamic between artists and AI – so far it’s just stealing from them.

Ideally, AI should be used as a base and not the final product. Actual artists could get inspired by it during the brainstorming stage or work over it.

Whoever posts, produces or distributes content that was created with the help of an AI, should absolutely mark it accordingly. In my perfect world, there’re going to be laws about this lol In general, the whole thing needs to be reflected in law, so far it’s way too easy to abuse.

Not only marked, AI generated images should be banned from being sold lol You can press that button and type all the key words all you want, but the result is just a free image that anyone can use and cannot be monetized. I believe this final point would make the majority of AI users just abandon their desire to use it in general – if there’s no profit for them, they’ll drop out, and AI art can be used as a tool like it’s supposed to be.

As you can see, I have avoided saying that people who use AI art are “artists” because I don’t consider them artists. If they don’t transform anything and don’t bring anything new to the table, I, the most important person on this planet, will refuse to give them that title lol

As far as I know, actors and writers have achieved some guarantees against the use of AI during their strike..? I haven’t looked into it, so I don’t know. Also please, keep in mind that I’m mostly talking about illustrations, because this is what I do. AI affects other types of art too, and there might be nuance there that I’m not mentioning here.

In general, I don’t want to demonize AI, because I feel like it’s not a problem on itself, it’s the way people use it that’s brings problems for all of us. This is a very new technology, and we don’t know how to handle it just yet mostly because for the lack of the law system regulating it, this is why there are so many opportunities to abuse it.

Also also, when the novelty of the AI art wears off, we might end up with the resurgence of appreciation for “real human art” or something. We are waaaaay too prone to nostalgia not to go “god I miss it when actual people designed logos” one day, and believe me, whenever it happens, the companies are going to market their stuff as the REAL HUMAN ART by the REAL HUMAN PEOPLE so much that we’re going to get sick of it in 5 minutes lol. But hey, maybe it’ll end up being a reason to pay artists more.

Thank you for reading such a long reply! I don’t want for my blog to turn into a discussion board, so sorry in advance if you address this topic in future asks to give me links or examples and I won’t reply to you, but it depends on the number of asks. I’ll look through everything on my own.

#replies #about drawing

[readingtostaysane]

I'm glad my mom died by Jennette McCurdy - Review

rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ (5)

I’m glad my mom died tells the story of Jennette McCurdy’s relationship with her mother and her path towards becoming an actress and later dealing with the trauma her mother helped inflict on her.

This book deals with themes such as abusive parents, anorexia, bulimia, anxiety, panic attacks and it implies rape and sexual abuse in the workplace.

Prior to my reading I had seen a few episodes of iCarly, however I wasn’t an avid watcher, I tuned in to Disney Channel more. Therefore I went to this book not knowing much about Jennette’s life.

The marketing for this book might have been misleading to some, it was said to be a heartbreaking and funny memoir. While Jennette’s voice as the narrator can be witty, it is mostly provocative, challenging you to react and oppose to what is bring shown. The things that happen are horrifying, sad and at times hopeless.

Speaking of Jennette’s voice, this book is narrated through her perspective as she grows up. Her inner voice changes and evolves throughout the memoir as we see her go through changes. This type of narration worked really well here, it makes it more brutal but also honest. We could see how the things her mom did to her affected her in real time, instead of only reflecting on the trauma she left behind. We also see her slowly coming to terms that she was abused, and I think had she gone a different route and write this solely based on her present self perspective, it wouldn’t have been as impactful.

“I've spent my whole life studying her so that I can always know, because I always want to do whatever I can in any given moment to keep or make Mom happy.”

The relationship Jennette has with her mother is codependent, hurtful and scary. She has no autonomy over her life, her decisions or her tastes because she’s busy trying to please her mother. She carries very heavy weight of responsibility to make her mom happy, she makes sacrifices no child should do to make that happen. 

Her mother is no different, she’s very codependent on Jennette, citing her as her best friend multiple times. She wants to be around her daughter at all times and control every aspect of her life. She knows Jennette so well she can use her words to hurt (which she does in adult Jennette’s life) or to comfort.

"I don't want to act anymore," I say before I even realize I've said it. (…) "Don't be silly, you love acting. It's your favorite thing in the world," Mom says in a way that makes it sound like a threat. (…) "No, I really don't want to. I don't like it. It makes me uncomfortable." Mom's face looks like she just ate a lemon. It contorts in a way that terrifies me. I know what's coming next. "You can't quit!" she sobs. "This was our chance! This was ouuuuur chaaaaance!" She bangs on the steering wheel, accidentally hitting the horn. Mascara trickles down her cheeks. She's hysterical, like I was in the Hollywood Homicide audition. Her hysteria frightens me and demands to be taken care of. "Never mind," I say loudly so Mom can hear it through her sobs. Her crying stops immediately, except for one leftover sniffle, but as soon as that sniffe is over, it's complete silence. I'm not the only one who can cry on cue.

Jennette does a very good job in choosing specific scenes to make a point across. She does one of the things I love the most in literature. Show don’t tell. Some scenes are short but powerful, aiming to show us her mother’s sadistic behaviour, leaving Jennette’s anxiety levels to rise up.

Her mother wanted her to act and she manipulated her until she died just so she could continue that job, the excerpt above is one of the examples of that manipulation happening. 

If I start to grow up, Mom won't love me as much. She often weeps and holds me really tight and says she just wants me to stay small and young. (…) I'm determined to not grow up. 'll do anything to stop it from happening. "Well, is there anything I could do to stop the boobies from coming in?" I ask Mom nervously. (…) Mom is grateful-happy. (…) "Well, sweetheart, if you really want to know how to stay small, there's this secret thing you can do... i's called calorie restriction."

When I read that passage I had to put the book down and scream into the void.

A big theme this book addresses is eating disorders, Jennette’s issues with food start when she’s eleven years old and her mother incentives her to calorie restriction. It’s a very graphic part of the book and possibly the most disturbing. Jennette goes into great detail in how she and her mother planned and prepped her foods (or lack of) and how they measured her weight. It also shows her mother’s careless comments about her body, making her relationship with food even worse. When she starts developing bulimia it is graphic, horrifying and if you’re someone that struggles with this, this might not be the book for you. I thought it was too much, but maybe it was necessary for her to get specific, so we could really understand.

The book doesn’t go into great detail about her time on iCarly and Sam&Cat and it didn’t need to. I understand fans would love behind the scenes, but ultimately this memoir was about her traumas with her mother.

Jennette tells us about “The Creator” and how her workplace was abusive. She speaks about the anxiety and unhappiness she felt when shooting the series, them not letting her direct and episode in Sam&Cat and her friendships that outlasted the show.

She also speaks on how fame affected her and how much she loathe it. This book starts great conversations about the ethics behinds child actors and how much the work conditions fail them. 

Sometimes when I miss her I start to fantasize about what life would be like if she were still alive and I imagine that maybe she'd have apologized, and we'd have wept in each other's arms and promised each other we'd start fresh. Maybe she'd support me having my own identity, my own hopes and dreams and pursuits. But then I realize I'm just romanticizing the dead in the same way I wish everyone else wouldn't.

The book ends with Jennette enrolling into therapy (god bless) and her path to healing. It’s a tough road but she’s making progress. In the end she comes to terms that she can love her mom while admitting she was abusive to her and I feel like that’s a very nice way to close such a tragic and horrifying story.

#booklr #books & libraries #book review #book quotes #books #literature #reading #my reviews #jennette mccurdy #i'm glad my mom died #book recommendations #book reccs #trauma #memoir #nonfiction

[kierancaz]

Ya know I get the appeal of comic book artist having their own go at a character but there's gotta be some standard guidelines to a characters features than just an iconic outfit

Like giving a character darker skin and ethnic features that adds so much diversity to the character for one run just to take them away in the next feels like a slap in the face to fans, especially those with those features.

Like I don't think I can make a call on this but it really feels racist even if not intended and just pushes the western white beauty standards

Sorry for the rant, I know this is common in other types of media but I just feel its most prominent in comic books. Its hard for me to write my thoughts and feelings into words but I hope this gets my point across

Dw anon I def get what ur saying. From what ppl have been saying on that post it has been a huge issue for ages in comic books of characters being white-washed and stuff which really sucks.

I’m not sure if there really ARE any standard guidelines for the way the artist draw the characters, which is why this is such an issue. I’m not even sure if there’s guidelines for the outfits or if it’s just whichever one became the most iconic and sort of cemented itself into the character like it’s a personality trait or smth.

I get what ur saying, I don’t I have any authority to call it racist either but it definitely feels… weird? Idk because I guess I can understand like someone said that Damian was made to be like a clone of Bruce or something? Or that’s how Talia ‘designed’ him to be. Or that maybe some people think that yah all the Robin’s should look the same/very similar to keep their identities a secret or make them more inconspicuous or something.

But those are just reasons I made up right now and I don’t think either of them have a lot of weight for anyone trying to argue them so. Damian has more than one origin if I remember correctly and at least one of the ways he was conceived was reconned so I wouldn’t be surprised if that happened to another one of his origins along the line.

It’s just odd. It’s all odd. Idk why dc would put a pass on Damian’s design in his solo series and then also put a pass on this design when they are SOOOO drastically different. Even without the whole racist thing it’s just incredibly jarring to read a whole 12 issue series of him looking one way and then start his next series and have him look entirely different. It’s, like, bad marketing. UGH IDK HOW TO PUT MY THOUGHTS INTO WORDS EITHER BUT I GET U MAN, I GET U.

#this also somewhat happens with Dick I think #bc I literally just found out he’s canonically Romani ??? #I thought that was a headcanon that the whole fandom just accepted #batman and robin #Batman and Robin 2023 #damian wayne #bruce wayne #batman vs robin #dc robin #robin 2021 #robin son of batman #dc comics batman #dc #dc comics #batman comics #red hood #jason todd #dick grayson #nightwing #tim drake #red robin #the batfamily #batfamily #batboys #batkids #batdad #batfam #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #alfred pennyworth