#gif for reference - pick either muse

[annwrites]

sugar & spice. part one.

— pairing: severus snape x ex-studenthufflepuff!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: you & snape have a chance run-in in hogsmeade six years after you've graduated from hogwarts

— tags: conversing

— tw: eating

— word count: 583

As you exit Honeydukes, you don’t notice the pair of dark eyes which focus upon you as you close your own for a moment, turning your face upward, toward the sun, enjoying the warmth of the day on your skin.

A small smile plays on your lips, but slowly disappears when a shadow seems to block out the light of the day.

Slowly, you blink your eyes open, and stare up at the only now somewhat familiar face looking down at you. Obsidian eyes bore into your own, the scent of mint and parchment invading your senses.

“Miss Y/N, how unexpected to find you here,” he states in a low, velvety drawl.

You crook your head to the side, braid falling over your shoulder. “Is it?”

He raises a brow. “I was unaware you were in the area.”

“Do you keep tabs on all your former students, professor?” You ask, stepping to the side and beginning to walk along the cobblestone streets before you.

He follows alongside you. “Hardly.”

“I work at Dogweed and Deathcap. I live here—in Hogsmeade, that is. I came back perhaps…two years ago now,” it takes you but a moment to do the math of exactly how long it’d been since you had returned to the only place you’d ever truly thought of as home.

He hums his response. “I wonder if it is perhaps you that is responsible for the dismal ingredients I’ve received as of late from your place of employment, then.”

You turn back to him. “I’m sorry?”

He clasps his hands behind him, looming over you, but you don’t shrink away. “As Potions Master, it is imperative that I receive ingredients of satisfactory quality to achieve-”

“It’s nice to see you, too, Severus,” you state with a warm smile.

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve not seen you in nearly six years, and while I’d hoped for a better greeting, complaining about deliveries from the shop where I work certainly hadn’t been imagined among them.”

He stands straighter. “You’ve…imagined it?”

You shrug, reaching into your bag of sweets and popping a sour gummy bear in your mouth.

Your ever-present sweet tooth he most certainly does recall. Some things never change, he muses.

After swallowing, you speak. “If you’d like, I can see personally to all your future orders. I’ll hand-pick the items myself and even deliver them in-person, if you find that arrangement to be agreeable?”

He considers you for a moment—briefly wonders if you’re being facetious. Wonders if you’ll purposefully choose the worst that the shop has to offer as repayment for his rude greeting, but surmises if that does happen, he’ll either cut off doing business altogether, or will come in to complain of your perfunctory performance as an employee and delivery person. 

“Fine,” he replies flatly.

You smile again and he nearly groans at the sight. He’d not remembered you as being quite this chipper years ago. Then again, adulthood certainly seemed to bring a good many into their own. Perhaps it had you as well. The warmth does seem to nearly radiate from your person now.

“It was nice to see you again, Severus,” you repeat the same statement from earlier, expecting a proper response this time.

He frowns—unused to being referred as anything but ‘professor’ by you—then, “You as well, Miss Y/N.”

You nod, popping another gummy bear into your mouth before heading in the direction of your workplace, braid swishing behind you.

[peterparkeeperer]

enchanting (Draco x reader)

There had been something extra ravishing about Draco recently. They didn’t know what it was, but their eyes had been hopelessly drawn to his long piano fingers and the slope of his waist between his pants and tucked in dress shirt for days now.

He’d probably noticed, as y/n was anything but subtle. They didn’t even try to be. They were usually a good student, having to focus solely on the professors speaking as to not get distracted (as they easily tended to be if they didn’t put effort into concentrating) but now they shamelessly sat turned to their partner as he wrote down notes with his rather expensive looking quill.

“What?”

He whispered to them harshly, before noting a quick dot at his paper and turning to them.

“What?”

They whispered softly, a grin tugging at their lips.

“You keep staring at me as if I’m some dog.”

Draco in a collar, they mused. Absolutely unheard of, but the image managed to send heat barrelling through their stomach.

They said nothing at first, instead inching a hand forward to smooth down a pale piece of hair that was falling out of place. Draco might’ve leaned away from this public affection, but they happened to be sitting in the very back. So he only sat still and let himself be coddled.

“Nothing, you just look very enchanting.”

Their hand, done from smoothing back his hair, trailed down the length of his jaw. He shivered. Either from the touch or the indescribable look in their eye. Or both.

“‘Enchanting’? Are you sick?”

They smiled, before turning back to their own quill and picking it up.

“What was it we were supposed to write about? Dragons?”

Draco spoke absentmindedly, “goblins.”

-

It continued, but it got worse. Y/n was beginning to wonder if they had some sort of werewolf gene, as they were acting rather animalistic.

They couldn’t help it. The protectiveness was strong. They sat next to Draco whenever they could, had a hand on his lower back whenever they were walking.

It didn’t stop. He still looked gorgeous. They were beginning to wonder if someone was spiking their food with love potion: but that wasn’t possible.

Why was no one else staring at him constantly? At this beautiful star of a boy who’s beauty clashed with every flower and mythological creature meant to lure people with their looks?

It didn’t matter what he was doing. When he was writing he looked so endearingly thoughtful, when he ate they felt nothing but satisfaction at the thought of him being nourished.

It hit a wall one afternoon when someone was actually looking. Pansy. She wasn’t competition by any means, Draco and y/n were in a committed relationship and communicated well enough, but they way she looked at him like he would ever look back, like he didn’t belong to someone…y/n grabbed dracos arm.

“I need you for something, come.”

He sneered, annoyed at being pulled away in the middle of conversation.

“Alright, you don’t need to rip my arm off.”

Y/n looked around subtly, still having a steel grip on dracos arm despite his tugging, before they entered a broom closet.

“What’s wrong with you?”

They smashed their lips together, hands immediately grabbing onto that cursed waist.

“How are you this gorgeous?”

“I..gorgeous?”

He was astounded. Never had he been treated like this. He had always been expected to be the man, to open doors and take the lead, but it was non existent here. Y/n handled him like he was something delicate, like he was some sort of girl.

“I’m not a girl, you know.”

They knew what he was referring to immediately, and the glint in their eye and the hand on the rim of his pants said ‘oh, I know very well.’

“No, you’re not. But can’t I treat you like something precious? Because you are.”

They looked down on him, a hand coming to his cheek, not much unlike how it had days ago in class. The look in their eyes wasn’t indescribable now. It was patient, adoring. Amused, and devoted. It was a lot.

He felt lost for words, swallowed, and their eyes caught the movement like a shark in love with a particularly small fish.

“I haven’t been able to concentrate.”

They said, and slowly pressed wet kisses to his pale swan neck. He trembled, but snorted to the best of his nervous ability.

“Have you ever?”

They tugged at his waist in tease. “That’s not the point,” they stopped by his ear, breath low and hot, “I love you, more than anything. I love everything you do. I wish I could…crawl inside you and live there forever.”

Draco shivered, and the heat in his gut was making him dizzy, “you sound crazy. Demented.”

“Only for you, my love. Only for you.”

[pumpk1n-writes]

Tell Me All About The Dark Places You Hide ~ Part Two

➥ in which the reader figures out that their best friends are the infamous Woodsboro Killers and decides to help them rather than turn them in. {ft. Mentions of murder, language, stalking}

Part One; Part Three || Word Count ~ 800

Taglist ~ @wasawattpadkid @itzlovelyautumn

School the next day was far too normal, at least according to Billy. English, right before lunch for him, passed too slowly for his liking. You sat in front of him, however, which gave him plenty of time to stare at the way your hair cascaded down your shoulders and one of the sleeves of your jacket kept sliding down your arm no matter how many times you moved it back up.

Finally, finally, the bell rang, signaling the end of that class and the start of the lunch period. Billy ran up to you before you could disappear to wherever you went for lunch.

“Hey,” he started, mentally kicking himself for not coming up with a smoother starting point.

You turned, seemingly not surprised that he was talking to you. “What’s up?”

“Do you want to come sit with me and my friends at lunch? We’re always—“

“By the fountain. I know, and sure. Why not?”

Billy was taken aback by how easy it was. He thought he would have to convince you, or at least talk to you for a little bit before you agreed. He thought back to your conversation the night before while you both walked towards the rest of the group. My friends say I’m wicked smart but no one can tell… Well you’d gotten that one right. Without having talked to you last night, he never would’ve picked you out of a crowd.

Stu and Randy were already sitting at the fountain, but Billy had no idea where Sidney or Tatum were.

“Did they ask you if you liked to hunt?”

“Yeah, do you have any idea why?”

“Because they were gutted,” you broke into the conversation, surprising Billy. “And if you like to hunt, you’d know exactly how to do that.”

Sidney ran up, quickly followed by Tatum. “What’s going on?”

“These douches were talking about the interrogations and why they were asking if people liked to hunt.” Billy answered.

“I didn’t get asked.”

“It takes a man to do something like that.”

You stepped in, shooting a glare at Stu. “Or a man’s mentality,” you didn’t miss the state you got from Billy.

You missed most of the rest of the conversation, your head filled with thoughts of how you were going to figure out who Ghostface was.

“How do you gut someone?” Sidney’s question broke you out of your thoughts, and everything was quiet for a moment before Stu began talking.

“You take a knife,” you didn’t miss Billy’s slight shift in how he was sitting and the subsequent glare he sent towards his best friend. “And you split them from groin to sternum.”

Sidney shivered, and Billy rubbed her shoulder. “It’s called tact, you fuckrag.”

“Hey Stu, didn’t you use to date Casey?”

You smiled to yourself. Motive.

“Yeah for like, two seconds.”

“Until she dumped you for Steve.”

You stood up, catching Billy’s eye. “I have a ton of homework, I think I’m gonna go finish it in the library and just skip the rest of lunch.”

Tatum smiled at you. “Okay, I’ll come over to your place after school and we can study together.”

You nodded happily, turning around and leaving. Billy had no idea you and Tatum knew each other, but it didn’t surprise him. He figured he’d drop by your house later tonight too, but not as himself.

You and Tatum were sitting up on your bed, a big bowl of popcorn sitting between you and some random scary movie on in the background and you discussed the Ghostface murders.

“It’s strange that there’s no clues. Usually they’re everywhere.” Tatum mused, tapping her hand against her foot.

You nodded. “Yeah. Either these killers are extremely lucky or extremely clever.”

“Killers?” Tatum asked, referring to your use of the plural.

“Well, think about it. One moment, Casey is talking to the killer on the phone, and the next he’s in her house without even hanging up. And if he was using a voice changer like I think he was, then he wouldn’t have been able to put it away in time.”

“Goddamn,” Tatum laughed. “You’ve really put some thought into this.”

You shrugged. “I get bored sometimes.”

You two settled into a comfortable silence, watching the movie — Nightmare on Elm Street for another fifteen minutes or so until you got up to refill the popcorn bowl.

You made it all the way downstairs, the talk of Ghostface — or Ghostfaces — forgotten as you turned the stove on.

Suddenly the silence was broken by the ringing of the phone.

“Hello,” it was the same voice from last night, only this time you knew it was the killer.

[lovingmayday]

STREET RACER! HOBIE x STREET RACER! READER

warnings : illegal street racing, gambling, cursing, suggestive

notes : this one's not that much focused on street racing anymore. im so very normal about him, cant you tell?

part 1 ☆ part 2

first off, street racer hobart brown is a menace. did i mention that or was i too busy gushing about him last time?

street racer hobie loves getting a reaction out of you, commenting on things he knows would rile you up. and he can read you absurdly easily

street racer hobie and you make seperate bets aside from the main one. like if you win, he does whatever you tell him and if he wins, you do whatever he tells you. and if neither of you win, its a draw and its boring so either of you have to win

if you won, you'd probably ask him to let you drive his car around for a week or so. and if he won,, well...

"What?" you ask, though it was more of a rhetorical question, if anything. You heard him loud and clear, you just couldn't believe it.

He had his distinct smug grin on his face as he takes steady steps backward to his car. "'Said I'll pick you up at 8. Wear somethin' nice and casual, yeah?" he says with his back finally against his restored vintage on wheels, smirking at your heated face.

You swallowed a lump in your throat and opened your mouth, your words delaying by a bit. "You're not gonna stick around for my answer?"

"Won the bet, didn't I? It's set in stone," he muses, switfly entering his car. "Later."

he took you to a gwen stacy concert (gwen is a referred to as "maybe the most influental musician – the greates artist – of our generation" in earth-138) and you both had a great time

pretty obvious when you woke up that morning in your apartment and in the comfort of his arms

it was another date, then a third and a fourth then the next until you both just couldn't stay away from one another anymore

you know how in wwe, fights are rehearsed and they don't act the same behind the camera? it's half something like that. your races are genuine but your behavior with each other isn't

all hostile and aggressive near crowds and never ending insults and mockery from both sides. none of the audiences knew how much street racer hobie loved eating your face behind the curtains

"Hob–" you manage to gasp out between kisses. Your was hand clutched on his vest as his hand behind your head deepens the kiss. A surprised moan escapes past your lips when you feel his knee between your thighs.

You start to become more light-headed. He starts trailing the kisses down to your neck and you reward him with a few soft mewls.

"H-Hobie, we're late. Stop." You try to push him away, your hands on his shoulders but he intertwines them with his' and pins them against the wall.

His lips return to yours' once again, exhaling contently before he departs. "I don't think you want me to stop either, love," he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours. You slowly open your eyes to see him smiling.

It wasn't his usual smile — there wasn't an ounce of teasing in it. It was gentle with affection and intimacy. You sigh and plant a short kiss on his. "Wouldn't they be suspicious if we bailed at the same time?"

"Would you care if they did?" he asks, moving your hands to rest around his neck as he puts his' around your waist, pulling you both unbelievably closer. You consider it and give him a small peck before shaking your head. "That's my girl."

[not-to-me]

Just Enjoying the View (DW One-Shot)

(Gif is mine)

Fourth Doctor x AFAB!reader | 18+ NO MINORS | I take requests! Actually, I beg for them!

Summary: The Doctor sees you as you’re picking out clothes after a shower.

Warnings: smut, slightly dubious consent at the very beginning (the Doctor being brash), AFAB reader, but only gender indicators referring to genitalia and breasts (wrote this for me and I’m trans masc), my likely lousy attempt at dirty talk, unprotected sex, not the softest not the roughest, slight degradation at one point, I’m not a native speaker either.

———

The hot water that cascaded down your body slowed to a stop as you turned off the shower. Walking over to your towel, folded and placed neatly on the counter, you started drying yourself off. You sighed as you became satisfied with your level of dryness, and wrapped the towel around your body.

You exited the steamy bathroom and headed into your room. Now, to find some clothes, you thought. Crossing your room, you headed for your wardrobe, a little walk-in closet. You stood there, sifting through the fabric of your options as you thought about what you wanted to wear. Maybe something that would make the Doctor look at you for an extra second or two… you smiled mischievously at the thought. You fancied him, it was true, but you also knew he was either too uninterested, too daft or too caught up in his own world to notice it. Still, one can try.

You pulled out a cute dress from the rack, one that you always felt sexy in, but then something else caught your eye as well, so you pulled a sleek suit out too and walked over to the mirror to try and see which you’d like most today. You looked at your reflection in the mirror as you held the dress up to your body, then the suit, then switched them back again, musing to yourself. Indecisive, you sighed and closed your eyes momentarily. When you opened them again, however, you made eye contact with a pair of intense blue eyes in the mirror.

The Doctor.

The Doctor was standing behind you, in the doorway. You froze, unsure of what to say as embarrassment flooded your mind at the same speed as thoughts of how long he’d been standing there did. You hadn’t noticed him when you left the bathroom. You opened your mouth to speak as you felt a few seconds of silence too many had passed, but he interrupted you.

“Oh, don’t mind me, I’m just enjoying the view!” he said, his signature unreadable grin present on his face. He was leaning on the doorframe, hands tucked into his pockets, looking like the epitome of casual. You? Not so much, as you were debating whether to hide away in your bed or chase the tall Time Lord out.

“Doctor… you cant just— why were you just standing there?!” You stuttered out your inquiry, your voice a slightly higher pitch than usual as you turned around to face him. You dropped the hangers with clothes you were holding in favour of clutching your towel tightly and securely to your body.

“Well, my dear, you seemed like you were quite focused on your… choice of attire,” His eyes swept over your body— or were you seeing things— before he continued, “And I thought I’d let you decide, rather than interrupt…” Something told you that was only half the truth as his eyes lingered on your exposed thighs.

“I— I am in a towel!” You exclaimed indignantly, gesturing to your current ‘outfit,’ though you couldn’t help but wonder what those darkening eyes truly meant.

“Yes, I see that…” the Doctor said lowly, beginning to approach slowly, watching for any sign that would tell him to back off, “Do you want to know what I’ve also seen, my dear?”

Your eyes widened at his ominous words. You didn’t know if you truly wanted to know, but you found yourself nodding meekly all the same. The Doctor’s grin grew wider as he closed in on you, and in a move that made your eyes even bigger for an entirely different reason, he reached up and brushed his knuckles against your cheek, caressing you tenderly. Then, his hand moved so the tips of his fingers rested at your temple, not unlike the few times he had helped you sleep using those psychic powers of his. And with that thought, you began connecting the dots. Your face had never been this hot. Yet… some these connections you were making did allude to the idea that the Doctor also wanted you. The very thought made your breath hitch.

“Ah, yes! I probably should have mentioned I’d be able to see some of those little thoughts of yours, before I helped you sleep.” His voice was deepened at the end of his sentence as he gazed at you with a fond expression, his grin having been softened by watching your cute face as you made your realisations.

“Now… the question is,” He trailed his hand down your face, caressing you, and parted your lips with his thumb, “Will you let me reciprocate those desires?”

Your heart was hammering away in your chest, not from fear, but from excitement. Your shaky breath fanned over the Doctor’s thumb when you answered him with a quiet, “Yes.”

The return of his grin was the only warning you got before his hand traversed further down, grabbing your towel and loosening it, taking advantage of your lowered guard, before letting it fall to the floor.

“Doctor!” you exclaimed as you tried to cover yourself, “Haven’t you ever heard of taking things slow?!”

“Hmm, I think not… We’ll have to try it some day!” he said, a teasing tone painting his words as he looked at you like he wanted to take you right then and there. And to be fair, he did. He quickly closed what little distance there was left between you two, grabbing your chin between a finger and a thumb to tilt your head up just enough for him to kiss you.

You felt a surge of desire in your core at his controlling actions, letting yourself melt into the kiss after a quiet, surprised sound. As he moved his slightly chapped lips against yours, his hands both landed on your body, feeling your warm skin under them. Once again, he couldn’t make himself take things slowly, so he deepened the kiss almost immediately, making you gasp by squeezing the soft flesh of your ass. His tongue explored your mouth, and you whined into the kiss, your hands having come up to grip the lapels of his coat. Despite his apparent dominance, you got the feeling he might’ve been out of practice, although he quickly relearned his old tricks.

He began to slowly walk you backwards, toward your twin sized bed. Once the back of your knees hit the mattress, he surprised you by roughly pushing you down, making you fall onto the soft bed. You gasped as you bounced slightly. The Doctor began swiftly taking off his scarf and coat, but made no further move to undress before advancing on you, settling his weight on top of you. He briefly resumed the kiss as he spread your legs with his and found his place between them. Then, he kissed his way down your throat and collarbones, nipping at your skin, until his mouth arrived at the softness of your tits. One big hand came up to squeeze one while his mouth descended on the other, rolling your nipple on his tongue. This turned out to be a good distraction, as he surprised you by running the fingers of his other hand through your wet folds. He groaned.

“Already wet? My, my, have you been neglected?” He mused, mostly to himself, as he continued to mouth at your breasts, leaving hickeys and bites. You only managed to whine in response as he delved a thick finger into your tight hole, working you open. He soon curled his finger, hitting that one special spot, and making you gasp and buck your hips. He started to hone in on that specific spot and all but abused it, wrenching cries and moans from your lips.

Another incarnation of the Doctor would’ve probably taken it one step further and gone down on you, but right then and there, the Doctor knew that he was much too impatient to do so. He would save that for when he wasn’t so ridiculously pent up. So with that thought, he added another finger, stretching you wider yet. His cock twitched in anticipation of your tightness.

The stretch tingled pleasurably and you spread your legs further as he pounded your heat with his fingers. Just when you thought his mere hand couldn’t make you feel any better, his thumb dropped down on your clit. Your hips twitched as you arched your back involuntarily and moaned. You breathing was starting to go quicker and quicker, more irregular, and the Doctor knew you were close to coming from just his hand alone. He grinned and stopped his movements, withdrawing his hand, and leaning back.

You whined at the loss and prepared to make a fuss, but when you opened your eyes, you saw that he had already freed his cock from his pants, which shut you up immediately. He stroked his dick intently as he looked at your wet and swollen cunt.

“Do you want this?” he asked in a low voice, before looking up at your eyes with his own, intense ones. For some reason, his question sent waves of heat throughout your body. Almost as if it solidified the fact that this was happening. So you happily nodded your head.

“Yes! Yes please, Doctor. Please fuck me.” And with that you leant up on your elbows to catch his lips in a chaste, but passionate kiss. He kissed you back, but soon took one of your tits in hand and squeezed, before pushing you down onto the bed once more. You gasped as you felt his cockhead at your entrance before the Doctor began teasing you by thrusting through your wet folds. He groaned at the feeling, but you whined and threw your head back against the pillow, craving more. He chuckled at your impatience. If he was any less impatient himself, he might have teased you further, but he needed to feel your walls around him soon.

Suddenly and without warning, he thrust inside you, giving you little time to get used to his considerable size. You practically cried out at the intrusion, though you quickly welcomed it with a moan. You were thankful he’d taken the time to prepare you, even just a little bit.

He drew in a sharp breath, and couldn’t help but buck his hips, sinking all the way inside your welcoming warmth.

“Ah, fuck… better than I imagined,” he said, pleasure tinting his voice. You could only clench tighter around him as you registered just what his words implied.

“And I can imagine quite a bit, my dear,” he said with a grin.

“Are you thinking about it? Me getting off to your image…” He chuckled breathlessly, then continued, “No, of course you aren’t. Fucked you dumb already, haven’t I?” He punctuated with a harsher thrust than the previous ones, making you squeal as you dug your nails into his back. You proved him right by only moaning and nodding weakly in response to his mostly rhetorical question.

Your moans and whimpers picked up in time with the rhythm of his hips. His thrusts had started out slow and deep, letting you really feel it every time he bottomed out, but then he started growing impatient with his pace.

His hips picked up speed, and soon he was hammering his cock into you, fucking you fast with no mercy. He grunted with the effort, his hands running over your body heavily. You were in ecstasy. You gripped his brown curls, needing something to hold onto during this onslaught.

“Doct—ah!” you moaned his name, not knowing many other words at this point. His name was followed by a series of whines and sobs, making him almost chuckle.

“Ohh… Is it too much? I know it’s a lot, I know,” He said to you in a condescending tone. Instead of giving you a chance to breathe, his hand slid down to your core and he began pleasuring your clit.

“Just keep taking it.”

You were overwhelmed with pleasure. Tears rolled down your cheeks, but still you pleaded with him for more. More of his cock inside you, more stimulation on your clit, more of his voice. You needed him and he provided.

The Doctor’s usually fluffy curls were damp with sweat, but they still bounced in tact with his hip movements. He looked so debauched, even still practically fully dressed. As you looked up at him with a fucked out expression, he admired your features. Your glazed over eyes and your moans and gasps. And your body, that he had dreamt of being underneath his, now tensing up.

You could feel your peak approaching fast. Your hand, still rooted in his hair, tightened its grip in anticipation of your coming high. The Doctor growled in response, quickly snatching your wrist and pinning it over your head, and your other wrist soon followed. He didn’t miss the extra pathetic yelp that escaped you, and his ministrations only increased in their roughness.

“I can tell you’re close… Do you want to cum for me? Yeah?” He asked his hips stuttering, alluding to his own impending high. You could only nod and gabble incoherent words. And had the Doctor been a more patient person, he might have made you wait til you could reply coherently, just for his own personal enjoyment. But his fourth incarnation was impatient more often than not, playing to your favour as you shook with pleasure.

“Cum for me… there you go. Fuck…” He squeezed your wrists tight for a second before letting them go, indicating you were to keep them where they were. You gripped the headboard as it all became too much and your climax washed over you, rendering you completely helpless against the searing ecstasy. Your scream could probably be heard throughout most of the vast TARDIS.

Before you could even begin to think properly, you felt the Doctor’s cock twitch inside your clenching cunt. He groaned as he spilled into your wet heat, and his hips rutted into you shallowly. You happily milked him of his seed. He dipped his head down to kiss your neck before burying his face, riding out his high. Eventually, he stilled his movements with a sigh.

After a few seconds of panting between the two of you, you let your arms fall around him, petting his hair and embracing him. He seemed to like that, nuzzling further into your neck. His weight on top of you was comforting nod you smiled dazedly to yourself. Then the Doctor popped up his head, looking at you with half lidded eyes.

“I bet you’ll need another shower now… and before you ask, yes, I would like to join you.” He grinned that signature grin. You only chuckled at him, but then you agreed nonetheless.

You wouldn’t mind some more intimacy with your Doctor.

[somedaylazysomeday]

A Deal With a Demon - Part Four

You try to help Beetlejuice set up the store's information, but you both get a little distracted.

Beetlejuice x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit. Not suitable for minors.

Word Count: 4100

Warnings: References to demons and witchcraft, background references to a sex shop, oral sex (fem receiving), coming untouched.

Previous | Masterlist

---

You took a deep breath in through your nose, reveling in the rush of it: Halloween. Or, as witches knew it, All Hallows’ Eve. 

Witches with a strong connection to nature got a little more out of the solstices - dark and light at winter and spring, respectively - but All Hallows’ Eve was more egalitarian. 

It was a magical time for everyone, really. The changing leaves were just at their most vibrant and the skies stretched a pale blue overhead. The crisp chill of fall gave each breath a hint of spice and the ground felt solid as iron beneath your booted feet. Spices from baked treats and flavored drinks filled the air. The world seemed to be simultaneously holding its breath and flinging itself vicariously through every moment.

The magic was growing stronger. It felt like you were tapping into the power without any effort at all, and the energy danced over your skin like a series of tingling electric shocks. 

Your senses were heightened, too. Your sight (and Sight) was improved, and you could hear even the faintest sound with clarity. A thousand invisible textures danced under your fingertips, and you could smell anything in the neighborhood from your home.

Which was why you hardly needed Beetlejuice to voice his complaints aloud: “This is so boring.” 

“You’re the one who decided to start a small business,” you pointed out, watching the leaves flutter past the open window. It was far more relaxing than focusing on the pouting pleasure demon in your living room or the intimidating number of forms spread around your ancient laptop. 

When you sensed that Beetlejuice was getting ready to launch another complaint, you gave him a stern look. “And you’re the one who decided that hypnotizing someone to give you a business license was better than doing all of the paperwork.” 

“It is better,” he muttered mutinously. “So why are we doin’ all-a this?” 

“Because,” you explained again, “if someone goes to dig up information about the store - and they will - everything needs to be legitimate.”

Maybe the explanation was harsher than was strictly necessary, but this was the dozenth time you had delivered it. You had run out of patience several hours before and relied on magical means instead. When Beetlejuice’s expression went pouty yet again, you drained what was left of the calming potion at your elbow. Well, technically, second calming potion. You had chugged the first to keep from committing murder against a being who was already dead. 

Wait. Were demons technically alive even though they had never been born? And if they couldn’t be said to be alive, they could hardly be dead, either. Maybe demons existed somewhere outside of the alive/dead dichotomy. 

You shook off the philosophical musings as Beetlejuice started muttering to himself. 

That was certainly enough of that. You weren’t about to let a petulant demon ruin your day, especially not All Hallows’ Eve. “Beetlejuice.” 

The demon in question flinched violently at your use of his name. When he saw the sternness on your face, he seemed to settle in for work. “Okay, fine, let’s do paperwork. But I’m not gonna be excited about it.” 

“Noted,” you said dryly. “Luckily for you, I’ve done most of the hard work myself. I just need some information about dates and where the funding is supposedly from. And we need to pick a new name.” 

“Ooh, a new name,” Beetlejuice said, instantly distracted by that. “What were ya thinkin’? I know I said you could change it, but I kinda like the one we got now...”

“No, it needs to be changed,” you reminded him. “If for no other reason than that it’s not very sexy.” 

Beetlejuice looked offended, baring greenish teeth at that. “Are you sayin’ my name’s not sexy, toots?” 

“It’s not,” you confirmed, but hurried to offer more of an explanation. “But only because the customers haven’t met you yet. You’re not sexy because of your name; the name is sexy because of you.”

“Oh.” He visibly relaxed. “That’s true. I am pretty irresistible.” 

You glanced at a spare piece of paper, hiding a smile. If Beetlejuice was always going to be this easily managed, maybe there was hope for this store. “I have a few ideas written down if you want to take a look. Let me know if there are any that stand out.” 

“Boring,” Beetlejuice announced, scorching a hole through the first name with his fingertip. He continued down the list even as the edges of the first hole continued to smoke and curl. “Overused. Stupid. Boring. Boring. Boring.” 

By your count, that was all of the names you had written. “Well, I guess I’m going to have to find a new copy of that particular form…”

“It needs to be something catchy,” Beetlejuice said, ignoring you and tossing the paper away in favor of framing an imaginary sign in the air. You did your best to listen as you scrambled to pick up the smoldering paper before it caught anything on fire. “It needs to snap, ya know? Grab your attention. But still be somethin’ we can work with. The name can’t overpower the store itself. Otherwise, it’s like… Ya know when you meet the worst, most boring person, but they’ve got a name like… like…”

“Beetlejuice?” you supplied dryly. 

He pointed a blackened fingernail at you. “Watch it, babes. That’s two digs at my name and two times you’ve used it. I’m gonna start taking it personally.” 

“Wish you’d take your business seriously,” you quipped, only partially joking. 

“That’s it,” he growled, eyes flashing in a way that felt more like an animal’s eyes at night than a person. Honestly, deer should have come to mind given your typical life experiences, but all you could think of was a crocodile. “I’m done listenin’ to this kind of abuse.” 

“Is there a different kind you’d prefer?” you asked, betting on the fact that Beetlejuice hadn’t seen enough old movies to be familiar with the joke. 

Sure enough, it took him a moment to work through that, but after he had finished absorbing it, his stained fingertips shot out in your direction. The grasp on your upper arm wasn’t tight, but it was… odd. Beetlejuice’s hands didn’t have the right amount of give in them, not like a normal person’s.

Before you could be swept away in another round of philosophical musings about demons, Beetlejuice used that grip to pull you toward himself. 

You watched, fascinated as his figure grew larger in your perspective, then he was gone. It wasn’t until your hands and knees hit the floor that you realized he had let you go mid-pull, flinging you past himself and onto the ground. 

“What the fuck?” you demanded. 

At the same time, Beetlejuice asked, “What the fuck?” 

While you were glaring at him, the demon was staring down at his own hands, studying them like he would see something moving beneath his pale, dirt-stained skin. 

You took a moment to collect yourself, making sure nothing was broken, sprained, or otherwise damaged. With that done, you tried to demand to know why Beetlejuice had tossed you across the room, but he was so busy talking to you that he didn’t answer any of your questions. And, to be fair, you weren’t answering any of his. And so, you decided to be the bigger person and stop talking. (It definitely wasn’t because you couldn’t concentrate if both of you were speaking at once and trying was going to give you a migraine. Not at all.)

“Fine!” you snapped, throwing your hands in the air and scrambling to your feet. “You talk first. Go!” 

“What the fuck was that? Why are you crawling with magic?” Beetlejuice demanded. Something in his tone told you it wasn’t the first time he had asked it. 

You gave him the stare that deserved. Maybe demons didn’t have as strong a connection to the day as witches, but there was no way he couldn’t feel the way magic hung thick in the air. You could feel it pulse, feel it breathe. You could have been locked in a windowless basement, wrapped in a tarp, and suffering from history’s worst head cold and you still would have known what day it was.

But you tried to be kind. It helped that you counted to ten, then twenty as you took your position on the couch once more. That brief break helped keep your tone even as you answered, “It’s All Hallows’ Eve.” 

Beetlejuice looked blank for a moment, then let out a cackle that belonged on every Halloween sound effect CD you’d grown up hearing. “That explains the power. The way it’s just spillin’ outta you.” 

The way he said it turned an already-odd statement into something dirty. When he licked his lips, tongue only serving to draw attention to his overly sharp teeth, you could tell it had been on purpose. “Don’t you dare. We still have work to do.” 

“C’mon, babes,” he purred, clearly not dissuaded by your sharp tone. “You know I feed on sex. It’ll make both of us feel better.” 

“And then I end up doing the rest of this by myself?” you demanded, gesturing broadly to the mass of papers across your coffee table. “I’ll pass, thanks. At least choose a name. Then we’ll have sex before you leave. Okay?” 

“I think better when my dick doesn’t have dibs on the blood supply,” Beetlejuice countered, unabashedly adjusting himself. “It just makes sense - I suck a little power from the person I fuck and ya have way too much power going on right now. I’m not gonna be able to focus until the two of us get down and dirty.”

“Well, we can cross sweet-talking off your list of skills,” you said dryly. 

Beetlejuice scoffed. “Toots, we both know dirty talk is the most important skill. Fuck sweet-talking. Besides, we both know how good I am with my tongue.” 

You rolled your eyes, though it wasn’t easy to look away from the dizzying display created by his waggling eyebrows. “Beej…” 

“Okay, I’ll make a deal with ya.” That got your attention. If there was one thing Beetlejuice took seriously, it was a deal. “Lemme remind ya how much ya like my tongue, then I’ll do as much boring paperwork as ya want.”

It seemed like a good deal. That in itself was suspicious. You narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t you disappear as soon as the terms of the deal are complete?” 

“What? No, that’s not true! Who told ya-?” Beetlejuice dropped his offended act when you didn’t seem even slightly convinced. “Okay, I usually do, but it’s not a requirement. It’s just a convenient out, ya know? But I don’t have to leave right away. Don’t’cha remember the first deal we made?”

“Yeah, I do remember,” you admitted. The demon nodded, but otherwise, kept watching you expectantly. You sighed despite yourself. You didn’t want to break your concentration streak, but Beetlejuice had already done that. And you couldn’t deny that part of you was eager to see how the extra power would impact sex. 

So you fixed Beetlejuice with a hard stare. “And you promise that you’ll actually help afterward?” 

“Absolutely, doll,” he said, nodding too many times. “Anything ya want, I’ll do it. I promise. I swear.” 

“And it’s not going to hurt when you siphon power from me?” you checked. 

He shrugged. “Ya haven’t complained any of the other times.” 

The suspicion you felt must have been clear on your face, since Beetlejuice rose up on his knees. With the broken springs and worn cushions of your couch, your faces were on the same level. “One way to check.” 

Well, surely there was nothing to lose by this point… You leaned forward, tasting the mossy rain scent of Beetlejuice on the air an instant before your lips met. Someone gasped and you weren’t entirely sure whether it was you or the demon. The power had gathered where you touched him, like static electricity in a globe. It focused on the places where your skin touched, making your lips and tongue tingle as you explored just how strong an effect the magic had on you.

When you parted, both you and Beetlejuice were panting. He watched you intently, pupils blown wide with desire. You couldn’t blame him - it had felt amazing, and if he was right, you were actually losing power. How incredible would it feel if you had been gaining it instead?

“Okay,” you relented. “I guess we can- ah!”

Without warning, Beetlejuice worked his magic and stripped every stitch of clothing from you. His shirt was gone, but he was still wearing his pants. One grubby sock clung to his foot. If pressed, you would have bet that he didn’t own a pair of socks, let alone wear them. 

Before you could begin processing that, he had muscled his way between your legs and grabbed behind your knees. After a hard yank, he buried his face between your legs as you gasped and clutched his head.

Your hands flew to his hair, burying in the thick, shockingly soft strands as you tried to catch your breath and moan at the same time. “Beetle-”

Sharp teeth sank into the tender skin of your inner thigh and you let out a soft cry. “None’a that. You know the rules,” Beetlejuice murmured against you, kissing your leg gently before he set to work sucking a mark into your flesh. Just as the pressure of his lips seemed to reach an apex, the magic felt like it took a deep breath, gathering where Beetlejuice was pressed. 

The resulting pulse of magic made you groan… and pulled a whimper out of Beetlejuice. 

Before you could fully soak that noise in, though it was echoing deliciously in your ears, Beetlejuice moved back toward more sensitive places. His tongue slid out of his mouth… and out… and out, until the tip of it was wriggling against you without him moving any closer to your core. It was disturbing, almost enough to shake you from your lustful stupor, but then it brushed over your clit and you stopped caring. 

 Beetlejuice reined himself in, bringing his tongue back to a normal length as he nosed up and down your slit, laving everything with attention. Well, almost everything. He seemed to be pointedly avoiding your clit then. Part of you was grumpy about that, but with the intensity of everything else, you had to wonder if you would survive him making direct contact with all of the nerves gathered there. 

But you hardly had a moment to note the lack of stimulation before your attention was drawn elsewhere. One thick, cool finger pierced the heart of you and thrust ever deeper until it was buried as far as he could reach. The intrusion felt sharp and intense, but right in a way that felt far too important considering that it was nothing more than a finger. 

You knew he was a powerful demon and you had a half a beat to wonder if he could shift forms, or alter his usual one. Gifting himself several extra mouths and tongues was the only way you could picture him being everywhere it felt like he was. 

Of course, all of those musings were there one instant and gone the next. That was approximately how long it took the sensations to hit you, and then the only thing you could do was desperately bury your hands in Beetlejuice’s hair and ride his tongue.

He gave you plenty to work with, too. He had proven several times that he had far too long a tongue for a typical human, and he seemed determined to coax every inch of it into the tight clasp of your core. As soon as you got used to the odd flexibility of the muscle inside of you, your body clenched so hard that you thought you would push him back out. At any rate, you were quickly getting addicted to the sensation. 

When Beetlejuice withdrew his tongue, it was to give his full attention to that wonderfully sensitive bud at the top of your slit. He didn’t ease into it - no, he wrapped his lips around it and sucked hard. 

You shrieked, thighs fighting to close and push him out, but the demon simply tossed your legs over his shoulders. With your calves and feet dangling helplessly down his back, your kicks were ineffective. You were utterly at his mercy as he feasted on you, and Beetlejuice had never struck you as the merciful type. Your hips danced in his steely grip and even you couldn’t tell whether you were trying to move closer to him or further away. 

Your climax hit you out of nowhere, fully blindsiding both you and Beetlejuice. Your throat hurt with the noises you were forcing from it, but you couldn’t hear any of them. The flood of pleasure rushing through your brain made it ignore silly things, like your sense of hearing. Your fingers were sank deep in Beetlejuice’s hair, wrapped so tightly that your fingers ached with it. You used that grip to hold him against you, hips bucking as you rode his face.

The orgasm was like a feedback loop - the sounds he made sent a wave of wetness between your thighs and a wave of magic absolutely everywhere on your body. When the magic tingled its way through you, it impacted Beetlejuice as well. He was moaning helplessly, fingers convulsing on your hips. The few times you were able to pry your eyes open, you found that he had his closed. 

The pleasure stretched on and on, lasting until your body was aching and your folds were too sensitive to be touched. Beetlejuice was still working you, trying to draw out sensations that had already concluded. You couldn’t fully blame him, though: you were still holding him in place and he didn’t have a choice. 

When you managed to release your grip on his hair, Beetlejuice flopped backward, the hard impact leaving him sprawled on the floor. 

“That was… incredible,” you panted out at last.

“You’re tellin’ me, babes,” Beetlejuice said, sitting up with a wince and a glance at his crotch. “If I don’t take care’a this soon, I’m gonna peel off some skin with these pants.”

“Did you..?” you started, trailing off awkwardly. Ridiculous as it was, it seemed indelicate to ask your demonic lover if he had come in his pants. Instead, you just gave a vague sort of wave. “You know…”

“Go off like a kid who just saw his first nudie mag?” Beetlejuice asked, waggling his eyebrows. “Yeah, sure fuckin’ did.” 

“‘Nudie mag’?” you echoed, grimacing. “Are you a Beastie Boy circa 1992? Never say that again.”

“That song was ‘86, but fine,” he agreed easily. “How about-?”

“Why didn’t you just magic your pants away when you did everything else?” you asked loudly, talking over the first of what promised to be a long list of euphemisms for porn. 

“Hey, it takes a lot of concentration to do what I do,” Beetlejuice informed you haughtily. “And I was a little occupied. It seemed more important to get ya naked than make sure I was, too. Just couldn’t wait to get my mouth on that cunt…” 

His gaze got a little intent at that. Your face warmed with embarrassment and your core gave a throb of either eagerness or dismay, you weren’t sure which. But since you weren’t ready to even think about going for another round, you put on your sternest look and tone. “Beetlejuice.”

“Okay, okay,” he agreed gracelessly. “I got my shirt off, but the pants… Well, it’s a delicate area. I actually went too far the other way. This isn’t even mine.” 

You watched Beetlejuice’s toes wriggling in the filthy sock - especially easy given the large hole over his big toe - and shook your head. “Anyway, I hope that was enough of a break for you. We still have work to do for your store.” 

Beetlejuice pursed his lips and made a loud farting sound. “I still think the name is fine.” 

“Yeah?” you asked challengingly. “Let me go ahead and try it out: Bee-”

A mossy-smelling hand clapped over your mouth before you could fully finish the first syllable. “Anyone ever told ya that you’re too mean for how pretty you are?” 

You would have accused him of sucking up if he didn’t sound so disgruntled. “No.” 

Beetlejuice didn’t seem to have any trouble deciphering the muffled word you’d said behind his hand. “Then you’re either meaner to me than you are to them or they’re idiots.”

“Enough sweet talk practice,” you declared. “What do you want to name your store?” 

“I dunno.” Beetlejuice folded one arm behind his head, and there was something about the angle of his elbow that looked either painful or inhuman. You started getting dizzy when you thought about it, so you focused on the wet spot on the crotch of his obnoxiously striped pants to distract yourself. It worked remarkably well. 

Beetlejuice was, of course, fully unaware of your inner distraction. He sighed, rolling his eyes so hard that you could only see the blankness of sclera between his eyelids. “Can’t we do somethin’ easy, like ‘Wicked’?” 

“I think there could be some confusion there,” you reminded him, half-chuckling. Your amusement faded when Beetlejuice gave you a nonplussed stare. “You know, the hit Broadway musical about a girl with green skin? Could be a relative, you know, though I don’t think hers was rot.”

“Mold,” he corrected. “I have mold, not rot. I wish I had rot. And I don’t really keep up on the Broadway musicals, toots. They’re always canceling the good ones and sending them out on a tour that’s probably just as good, but lacks the dependability of a permanent theater.” 

“What are you talking about?” you asked. “Just… not Wicked, okay?”

“Sure, fine,” Beetlejuice agreed, sticking his tongue out in concentration. “What about somethin’ that means the same thing?” 

“A synonym?” you mused. “Sure. Let’s see… Bad, wrong, evil, corrupt…”

“Nah, not the right vibe.” 

You nodded. “There are other meanings that lean more into the religious aspect of things, if that’s more along the lines of what you want. Immoral, ungodly, unholy…”

“Unholy has a nice ring to it,” Beetlejuice admitted. “But I don’t wanna give people the wrong idea. My store has plenty of holes in it.” 

Even when you made the noise that boast deserved, Beetlejuice was still grinning. You decided to push past it. “Hateful, rotten, villainous, impure, sinful…”

“That one,” Beetlejuice said decisively, sitting up and running a hand over the hair that you had mussed so thoroughly. “Sinful. It’s got everything I like. Sinning… and being… full. Yeah, Sinful. We’ll have to change the logo.” 

You nodded slowly, trying to commit his choice to memory. You really weren’t ready to stand up yet.

“And we’ll have to change the border.” When you glanced down, Beetlejuice was giving you a knowing look. “I know how much you don’t like the dick snake.” 

“I thought it was clever, having it designed as an ouroboros,” you objected. “Maybe we should add lips to where it’s eating the head. Then it’ll look more like a blow job and less like torture.” 

“Whatever floats their boat,” Beetlejuice told you with a shrug. “I don’t object to a little C&B torture.”

“Okay, I’m done with this conversation.” You stood from the couch, brushing random fuzz from your bare ass. There was a price to be paid for being naked and sweating on cushions that were falling apart. “Give me my clothes back. Now that you’ve picked a name, I can get started on all of the branding.” 

“Ooh, branding is fun.” 

You didn’t need to be psychic to know that he wasn’t talking about company branding… or to recognize that he was messing with you. Rather than reacting, you just threw a skeptical stare over your shoulder. “If you say so. Once we’ve figured out the logo, you can get it branded somewhere delicate. Now, are you giving me my clothes back or do I have to go find something to wear?” 

Beetlejuice pouted, but your clothes were back in a moment. In recognition of his lack of complaining, you decided not to mention that you were missing underwear. 

Again.

---

Author's Note - Thanks for reading and Happy Halloween! In case I offended anyone, I have not had the chance to watch Beetlejuice the Musical on tour. I'm sure it's just as good, but I couldn't resist a little fourth-wall breaking.

I don't offer a taglist for mature works, but you can find more on my masterlist.

[asimplearchivist]

' 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕘𝕒𝕫𝕚𝕟𝕘 '

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐕 𝐨𝐟 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄, 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ✴ ⤏ you find optimus musing about the past while surveying earth's celestial sphere. you try not to let your personal feelings impair your ability to comfort him. pairing ✴ tfp!optimus prime/reader | (past) tfp!optimus prime/elita one word count ✴ 9.9k a/n ✴ ⤏ everything happy always happens in the first season, sometimes part of the second season if you’re lucky. this takes place right before the omega keys arc hits full swing but right after optimus receives the message from alpha trion via the star saber. (around/between “legacy” and “alpha; omega”.) it’s the moment of serenity before the storm, you could say.⤏ I've had this fic gathering dust in my drafts for years bc there should have been three more parts between it and 'yosemite falling,' but I'm updating my docs to word files in preparation to transfer everything off my old pc to a new one (which I haven't had a new pc in nearly fifteen years so I'm anxious as hell bc I don't handle change well but I'm also excited so???) and I figured 'what the hell, I'll go ahead and post it since I've been trying to clean out my drafts anyway. ⤏ the word ‘inamorata’ (italian, I believe) is legitimately perfect for optimus referring to elita one and you can pry that out of my cold, dead hands. t r y m e. (and yes, this also implies that optimus knows latin because he’s a giant n e r d .) ⤏ I also used lots of nods and references towards @ss-shitstorm’s backstory for op and elita in fortuna primigenia because she is optilita god. (the only striking difference is that ‘bee isn’t biologically theirs - they just kind of took him under their wing when he was still fresh off the press.)

Something was off.

You sighed softly and opened your eyes, taking in as much of the darkened hangar as you could before you yawned. The kids were sound asleep, as was the Autobots’ newest recruit (who had somehow managed to curl himself around the haphazard circle of sleeping bags and cots in a rather impressive imitation of a cat), and when you looked over you saw that Ratchet was still tapping studiously away at the main terminal, optics dimmed and distant as he worked. When your eyes adjusted you could see that it wasn’t the Iacon encryptions, but what appeared to be a personnel file. You saw a small picture of Smokescreen on the upper left-hand corner and figured Ratchet was either reading in on Team Prime’s most recent addition or filling out a medical file. Either way, it was way past the medic’s bedtime.

You looked back to the slumbering foursome, taking in how Smokescreen’s doorwings fluttered minutely in time with an occasional ex-vent. You smiled warmly at the sight. The newest recruit hadn’t quite found his place among the Autobot family yet, but with how well he got along with the kids you figured it’d be no time before he wormed his way into the elder soldiers’ hearts. You just hoped he wouldn’t take to Miko too much, because you’d sensed a mischievous streak in him the moment you’d found out he’d managed to convince Jack to pull a Miko.

It’d gotten Optimus the Star Sabre, but...that wasn’t the point.

The girl had wanted to hit off Smokescreen’s arrival with a bang, in the only way she thought suitable for someone who knew nothing about Earth - introducing him to slumber parties. He’d been all for the idea, jumping headfirst into the activities it entailed despite him not knowing a single thing that was going on. He’d loved the movies you four had picked out, and had picked up on the concepts and plots surprisingly quickly.

Ratchet hadn't been too enthused about all the ruckus going on, as one would expect, but Optimus had made it a point to soothe him when the medic would begin to grumble too loudly. It was a brief reprieve for the other Autobots, who’d been rather tense of late and needed a little night of fun, and it served to better acquaint them with their newest addition. Bumblebee seemed to get along with him fairly well, and Arcee seemed to regard him with a constantly exasperated but amused air. Bulkhead...acted amiable enough on the outside, but you worried about him. His near-fatal injury and subsequent recovery had hit him hard, and had hit his spirit harder. You’d thought to call Wheeljack to help lift the green ex-Wrecker’s spirit, but...you didn’t think the others would be nearly so inclined to welcome him back so soon after his day trip with Miko. And you’d seen the way Bulkhead’s demeanor would fall whenever he thought no one was looking - you hoped that he would bounce back soon.

You slowly sat up, being careful to make as little noise as you could manage as you slipped out from beneath the blankets and rose to your feet. You padded silently past the recharging Autobot, holding your breath when he twitched and made a soft noise. He settled down almost immediately after, doorwings flaring and closing slowly. It almost reminded you of a butterfly at rest.

You relaxed when you got closer to the main computer terminal, breathing out softly as you reached out and placed a hand on Ratchet’s pede. He jerked minutely under the unexpected touch, peering down until his optics found you. 

He ex-vented, straightening and returning his attention to the screen. “I’m almost finished. Go back to sleep.”

“You can finish it in the morning,” you murmured back, patting the warm metal beneath your palm affectionately. “A couple more hours of recharge than usual isn’t going to hurt you, Ratchet.”

He paused, his mouth pursing briefly, and you worried that he was just going to shoo you away and keep working. He surprised you by ex-venting long and low, hitting one last button and closing the file before letting his servos fall from the keyboard. 

“Fine,” he muttered, tone weary and all too telling. “Fine.”

You smiled gently. “Get some rest, you stubborn old mech. You’re going to need it if we’re keeping the overgrown puppy over there.”

He scoffed softly, but you didn’t miss the curve of a smile he was trying to hide. “You should as well. Who knows what diabolical plot Miko has devised for tomorrow’s activities.”

“I hope she doesn’t drag out the Monopoly board,” you muttered, smirking up at him. “We may as well kiss another Autobot goodbye.”

You shared a stifled look of amusement before you both cracked and chuckled.

“Sleep well,” he said, turning and walking quietly towards the open corridor.

“Sweet dreams, Ratchet,” you returned, watching him go. A sense of peace settled over you and you gave the hangar a visual sweep. Everything was quiet.

But...something still felt...off. You couldn’t put a finger on it, but…

Well, you were still a bit tired. You wondered if you could catch a few more hours with Optimus - you were already mostly awake, but being able to hear his spark whir and his engine rumble beneath his plating always helped soothe you back to sleep.

Optimus wasn’t in his quarters. Everyone else was (even Ratchet - you’d checked), but the Prime was nowhere to be seen. It was odd because Optimus was always somewhere within the base doing something - the only time he wasn’t was when he went on patrol, but he always let you know when he was leaving and would sometimes invite you to accompany him if it was somewhere with little to no risk-factor. But this was unusual. He’d just...disappeared.

It was irrational to think so, because you knew he wouldn’t have left without pretense - but it was something about how quiet the silo was, dark and empty besides the kids (and Autobot) slumbering in the hangar. You could almost hear Bulkhead snoring from where you were, the sound still ringing in your ears since you’d wandered through the hall leading to each of their quarters. (It’d just about scared you to death, the entire corridor dead quiet then filled with an inhuman roar unlike any you’d heard before - it was only after you’d plastered yourself into the nearest corner, trying to keep your heart from beating itself out from between your ribs, that you realized it sounded like Bulkhead.) But the silence, nigh oppressive in its grip, reminded you too much of the long three months that Optimus had been under Megatron’s influence as his past self, memories gone in wake of spending the energy of the Matrix of Leadership on forcing Unicron back into stasis.

You had a sudden, irrational apprehension bubble low in your stomach, and you began to search the base.

He wasn’t in the corridors, or the relic vault, or the energon refinery. He wasn’t in the storage room, or any of the other massive, unused warehouse-type rooms. He wasn’t even in Ratchet’s private lab, which had been your last idea. You even checked his quarters again, just in case your eyes had been screwing with you and you hadn’t actually seen the gargantuan red and blue titan lying on his berth. The entire base was lacking one Prime, and you were getting worried enough that you were starting to consider going to wake Ratchet up to help you find him when you reentered the main hangar and your eyes alighted upon the large metal platform that served as an elevator of sorts, along with its human-sized counterpart that Fowler used when flying in.

Maybe…

As you climbed the ladder up to the platform and sized up the elevator, you crossed your fingers and hit the button with an upward-pointing arrow. The doors slid open smoothly and without a sound, fortunately, and you breathed a sigh of relief as you cast a brief glance over your shoulder at the kids to make sure they were still asleep. Satisfied to see that they were, you stepped inside and folded your arms as the doors shut again. The machine rumbled to life quietly, and the sudden tug of gravity had you drumming your fingertips anxiously against your arm as you ascended.

A few moments later, it stopped. The doors opened once more and a cool gust of air made you shiver. The night was dark and it took a few moments for your eyes to adjust, but when they did you paused. The sky was an inky black, moon a sliver of a crescent but glimmering a bright ivory all the same. It cast a ghostly silver glow across the relatively flat top of the silo, the sand and stones washed out from their usual rich red. It was a bit difficult to distinguish anything of the horizon from the dark skyline, but the glimmer of metal gleaming under the moon near the edge of the mesa caught your attention.

There he was.

You breathed out softly, suddenly feeling not so confident. He was fine. He was probably just taking a moment to himself, enjoying the peace and quiet. You wished that he was resting, but you understood that having much privacy in the silo was sparse when you had three other giant mechs (now four) and one femme occupying it. Optimus had always been quiet by nature, so it made sense to you that needing it occasionally would be part of it, too. (...It made you wonder why he offered for you to go along with him on his patrols alone, honestly. That was probably the only me-time he ever got, save for moments like these.)

Your worry satisfied for the most part, you debated on returning to your makeshift bed and trying to get a few more hours of sleep. You were tired, and your eyes were heavy, and you weren’t sure why you’d woken up to begin with.

A heavy ex-vent, audible even from where you stood, caught your attention before you heard a soft, low rumble that was unmistakably Optimus’ voice. No one else was out there, so the fact that he must’ve been talking to himself made you pause. His words were unintelligible, and you pondered on whether you should leave him be or confront him. But the note of sadness in his tone made your decision for you.

You padded across the mesa, shivering as the breeze picked up a bit and tugged at your hair teasingly. You wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing the flesh of your arms with your palms and trying to keep your teeth from chattering. The closer you drew to the Prime, the more distinct his voice became - but you quickly realized that he was not speaking English. It could’ve only been Cybertronian. You’d heard snippets of it before, brief mutterings and stressed exclamations from the others. And you could only describe it as music.

The tones and harmonics of his voice seemed to rise and fall and mingle as he spoke, rolling and chittering and rumbling through syllables that held no meaning to you. It sounded like he even used his engine to add depth to the sounds, his voice cutting through the air with its deep bass. It seemed deeper, somehow - it sounded as though it were coming directly from his chassis and pouring out of his vocalizer.

It was the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard.

You were suddenly struck with the desire to learn it, but you reasoned that it would be practically impossible. Mechanical beings such as the Autobots were simply more capable of producing more sounds that humans could, in that they could use more of their already more flexible vocals than humans were able.

But the thing that struck you most about Optimus’ indecipherable words was how mournful he sounded. The subtle whistles and whirs and trills descending through the syllables were distinctly sad, and you finally stopped walking when you were a few yards behind him.

"Optimus...?"

He stopped abruptly. You watched as he stilled, his digits sinking into the sand beneath them slightly. He slowly turned, and you swallowed when his optics, dim but still brilliant in the dark, focused on you.

"Sorry," you blurted, shame flaring in your face as you dropped your eyes and clutched at your arms. "I - I couldn't find you earlier, so I just - I wanted to make sure you're okay, but I can - I can go now, if-"

He murmured your name, a gentle serenity against your fluster. It calmed you embarrassingly quickly. "...you are not disturbing me. I was...merely pondering aloud." He turned his servo over and made a gesture for you to come closer. "Please, sit."

You did as he bade you, shuffling forward and settling in the dirt a healthy distance away from him. His servo came to rest in the dirt once again, and you were enraptured by the subtle motions of him tracing circles in the fine, dry grains.

"...difficulty sleeping?"

You blinked, craning your neck back to look up at him. His expression was curious, and mildly sympathetic. "Hm? Oh, uh..." You brushed your hair back out of your face, inwardly grimacing at how oily it felt. "I...I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. Thought I'd find you. I...I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not," he responded. "I did tell you that you could seek me out should you ever need me, did I not?"

"Yeah," you said, biting back the urge to 'sir' him. He'd told you before not to worry about formality with him. "I just...I didn't want to irritate you if...y'know. I didn't want to overstay my welcome."

"You could do no such thing," he assured you, his tone almost frustratingly soothing in how it instantly relaxed you. "You are always welcome to confide in me."

You sighed softly, dipping your head in an attempt to hide your smile. "Thanks, Optimus. Really. That means a lot more to me than I can say."

"You are more than welcome." And God, when you looked back up and caught the subtle smile playing at the edges of his optics and mouth, you swore you felt all the blood in your body rush up into your face. "I am here for you, always. Even when it may seem as though I am occupied with other things."

You nodded, his gentle words relaxing you. You shifted closer to him minutely, wondering just how a small, insignificant being in a world full of people such as yourself could've ended up with the privilege to know Optimus and have his support and confidance.

And then you remembered his sorrowful tone from mere moments earlier.

"...You know, I...you can come to me, too," you said tentatively, trying to look at him steadily but failing when he tilted his helm slightly and God he looked absolutely ethereal in moonlight- "I mean, I know I'm not the best person out there for advice, and I probably wouldn't be much help in the long run, but...I like to think I'm a good listener." You bit the inside of your lip and reached out, pressing your palm against the flat planes of the digit nearest you. "I'm here for you, too."

He studied you for a long, silent, nearly suffocating moment, optics taking in your face and form, expression unreadable. Then he ex-vented, long enough that the warm air gushed over you and made you shiver. His demeanor softened and you relaxed with he gave you a warm, grateful look. "I appreciate the sentiment. Thank you."

"You're more than welcome," you echoed with a ghost of a smile, your insides fluttering as he returned it.

After a split moment, you tore your gaze from his and exhaled, taking in the landscape stretching out before you for miles. The moon cast a silver glow across the desert, making it look otherworldly with the long, inky black shadows and subtle traces of nocturnal life stirring. The stars were breathtaking so far out from town, speckling the sky like iridescent dots of paint glittering against the dark expanse of night. A breeze picked up from the east, making you shudder minutely. Optimus turned his servo up on its side, shielding you from its chilly grasp.

"So..." You nibbled your lip, trying to break the silence. "...what do you think of Smokescreen?"

Optimus seemed to stew on your question for a while before responding. "...He seems to have much potential. But...he is young and has much to learn. Earth poses a challenge to him, as well as learning to be discrete among humanity. He doesn't yet understand that there can be dire consequences to war. But..."

You quirked a brow. "But?"

"...But I find his outlook to be good for morale, though unfortunately it seems to be having a negative effect on the others. They consider him naive, and while it holds merit, he is more than that. He still has hope. He still has courage, though it has the tendency to be...misplaced." Optimus paused for a long moment, looking thoughtful. "It gives me faith that there is still a chance we can end the war."

You nodded, folding your hands together and twiddling your thumbs. You studied the gooseflesh on your arms, soaking in his words. You felt his gaze return to you.

“And what do you think of him?”

You directed your gaze to the sky, tilting your head in thought.

You liked Smokescreen, in all honesty. You liked him a lot. He was zealous and bright and energetic and had such a sunny outlook on the world, looking at Earth as something new and fun and adventurous. He’d already made several inquiries to both you and the kids about humans and your culture, listening intently to every answer and explanation. He seemed to absorb everything he heard from everyone, and he was always eager to learn and help the other Autobots with even trivial things. 

Honestly, it was...refreshing. He was fresh meat, you could say, but you hadn’t realized just how exciting getting to know an alien could be - not to say that the others weren’t, just that they’d already had a basic understanding of the high points of human culture when you’d met them (no thanks to Agent Fowler, in all likelihood). You hadn’t had to explain the process of eating or sleeping or going to school to them (excluding the Satan's Waterfall Incident), but Smokescreen was a whole other ballpark. You’d worried he would have a processor crash when he’d asked why ‘those tiny round organics’ were so different, and were they related to you humans? Having to explain a human’s life cycle had never been on your list of ‘Things To Expect When Making Alien Friends’, but Ratchet had mercifully been there to help translate it into something comprehensible to the greenhorn Cybertronian. Luckily he hadn’t gone into the production of said ‘tiny round organics’. You weren’t looking forward to giving a being several hundred years older than you The Talk.

“I think he’s going to fit in well,” you said finally, looking back up and meeting the Prime’s gaze. “We’ll just need to catch him up on Earth stuff first.”

“Jack has made a good effort thus far,” Optimus said, “but Smokescreen still has much to learn of Earth and its inhabitants." He raised an optical ridge. "I have noticed you've been educating him on some things.”

You flushed. "Yeah, I, uh...he always comes to me with questions, for some reason. I'm not really the best person to go to for stuff like that but I try my best."

"You seem to do fine," Optimus told you. "He has come to me, as well, but it seems that he struggles keeping himself composed when in my presence."

You laughed a bit at that, easily perceiving the puzzlement in his tone. "Optimus, he worships the ground you walk on. You're his hero. I can understand why he'd get so flustered around you."

He blinked, optics rounding minutely. He genuinely looked surprised.

"What, did you think people don't admire you?" you asked, a dubious half-smile twisting your lips. "You're inspiring, and honest, and gentle...all of us respect you. It's hard to be as good of a person as you are and we all look up to you because of that. It's hard not to like you."

His optics brightened significantly and he looked away, engine rumbling quietly. He was obviously at a loss for words.

Humble, too, you thought with a soft smile. And entirely too cute.

You gave him time to recollect himself, continuing to take in the quiet, peaceful air around you. It struck you as odd, sometimes, how different things could change between night and day. You were actually chilled, where you'd be sunburnt and struggling for breath had the sun been out instead of the moon. You'd be able to see distant cars on the highway, but instead you could see the faint glow of Jasper City's lights on the horizon. It wasn't enough light pollution to harm the starfield above you, thankfully, and you began to pick out the constellations you knew of that you could see.

Sirius...Ursa Major...Ursa Minor... Your eyes lit upon a familiar row of three stars, and you grinned to yourself. Orion.

"Did you know we have a constellation called Orion?" you asked, glancing up towards the Prime next to you.

"I have heard of it," he responded, seeming to have finally regained his bearings. "Though I have never taken the time to find it myself."

"There," you said, pointing and directing his gaze towards the general vicinity of the formation. "Those three stars in a row. His body is kind of shaped like an hourglass, and his arm's above his head holding a club. See it?"

"...I do." He tilted his helm, seeming to take it in. "It has to do with Grecian mythology, does it not?"

"Yeah," you affirmed enthusiastically. "His full name is Orion the Hunter, and I think the Greeks considered Sirius to be his dog. He battled a bunch of monsters, including Scorpio, but...I don't really know much else." You looked back up to him. "Did your old name just happen to translate to Orion or was it the closest equivalent you could find?"

Optimus' optics lit up slightly at the question. You wondered if he enjoyed discussing languages or if he just liked answering questions in general. "My original name in Cybertronian stood for ‘hunter of peace’, or so I’ve been told. Orion Pax was the most basic translation that could be made.”

You smiled at the knowledge and, recalling the rumble of his native tongue from minutes earlier, you hesitated. “Could you...what does it sound like? In Cybertronian?”

“I spoke Iaconian before the war began, seeing as it was where I was placed after I was forged. I learned Cybertronian Standard after the war began, which became the normal method of communication to prevent misunderstanding.” He shifted minutely, resetting his vocalizer, before letting out a low trill of syllables overlaying each other in a smooth, pleasing roll. "That is my name, in Iaconian, and in a self-identifying context."

Your brows rose with interest. "Does that mean you have different dialects? And different meanings for the same word?"

Optimus' expression warmed. "There were many dialects before the war, but the provinces had their own primary languages. Standard was used for trade and political interactions. And yes, some words or phrases change slightly depending on who is saying them. For example, my name would sound slightly different if Ratchet were to say it as opposed to one of the others because of how long I have known him as my oldest friend." His optical ridges pinched slightly, mouth pursing in thought. "It is...difficult to explain. But Cybertronian is incredibly complex compared to many Earth languages."

"Well, that's probably because you have a different vocal range than we do," you supposed. "I...I heard you, earlier - I wasn't trying to eavesdrop or anything, believe me - and it's not like I could understand anything you were saying anyway," you amended hurriedly. "But I noticed you were using your engine to make sounds, too."

Optimus dipped his helm, optics glowing in praise. "That is a very astute observation. We use it for filler noises of varying sorts."

Relieved that he didn’t seem to have taken offense to your (half) accidental overhearing, you sagged with a soft sigh. You found it in yourself to smile up at him dorkily. “That’s so cool. There’s so much about your culture that I don’t know, and...” You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “It’s kind of overwhelming to think about. I mean, Earth has over seven thousand languages, not to account for all the people and cultures that speak them. Every country has their own dos and don’ts and there’s just so much for just one person to handle. We’re lucky if we can learn more than one or two languages.” You looked out towards the stars again, wondering if you could see Cybertron from so far away. “And then, to think about your planet, too, on top of that…”

He hummed softly. “...Part of what I enjoyed most about being an archivist,” Optimus rumbled, “was that I never stopped learning. There was always new information, or old data waiting to be discovered in the Hall. I was often teased by my coworkers for leaving late and coming early so I would have time to myself among the tomes and files.” You glanced up at him and saw that he, too, was gazing at the starfield stretched out above the both of you. “I...was devastated when Iacon fell, and further still when the Hall did. It felt as though the last vestiges of home - the last semblance of assurance and safety - were taken from me.” He was silent for a moment. “But coming to Earth has helped, in a way. There is still much to learn, and I’ve enjoyed reading what I can about your planet. It...fascinates me, how vastly different everything here is to Cybertron,” he admitted, his optics flashing faintly. “I enjoy being here, despite...despite our circumstances.”

What a nerd, you thought, stifling the creeping sense of sadness low in your belly. At least he didn’t hate his arguable prisonhouse. (You couldn’t say the same for the others, though - particularly Ratchet.)

“I know it’s unlikely that it’ll ever happen again,” you began slowly, tentatively. His optical ridges quirked in curiosity. “But I’d love to see Cybertron if I ever got the chance. You always make it sound so beautiful.”

Optimus, while he looked somewhat pleased with your confession, deflated visibly. “There isn’t much to see, I’m afraid,” he responded quietly. “According to Arcee, time has rendered it in a worse condition than we left it.”

“Still,” you were quick to rebut firmly, “it’s your home. Even if I could just see a snippet of it for myself, it’d be worth it.”

Optimus regarded you a long moment, optics shuttering in thought. Then, his mouth lifted the slightest of margins. “Should that ever happen, unum parvum, I will be the first to show you.”

Something in the way he rolled the ‘r’ in the distinctly foreign word gave you the impression it was Latin or of Latin descent, but you wouldn’t doubt it if it was some sort of Cybertronian word, either. And even though you didn’t remark upon it, for some reason it still flustered you. So, out of your head as you were, the first words that came to mind were the ones that left your lips (unfortunately). “It’s a date, then.”

As soon as you said it, you felt the bottom of your stomach drop out and your face was engulfed in invisible flame. Much to your shock (and relief), however, Optimus merely chuckled - actually chuckled, which - while you were delighted to hear it coming from him for once - didn’t help the butterflies in your stomach at all, dammit-

“...will be sure to keep it in mind, should Alpha Trion’s message hold merit,” he said.

You recalled the events that had happened not too long prior, how the Star Sabre had begun to glow an ethereal blue and, with it, Optimus’ optics. He hadn’t elaborated on it any further than what he’d already shared - the Omega Keys and the possibility of being able to restore Cybertron (at least, not with you or the kids).

Despite your tendency to let the Autobots’ private, important matters lie, you had to admit that you were extremely curious. It could mean the war as you and they knew it.

“What did he say?” you inquired.

Optimus’ mouth pursed and he seemed to consider his words, his digits twitching beside you minutely. “He gave me the information necessary for the acquisition and use of the Omega Keys, but shared little else.”

You narrowed your eyes. Something in the way his optics shifted when he spoke didn’t sit right with you, but you had no right to demand answers from him. You trusted him, and you wanted him to trust you, too - and that included knowing when to keep your mouth shut and your suspicions to yourself.

His shoulders dropped, though, cutting off any words you could’ve said. “It...troubles me,” he admitted, ex-venting heavily. “It seems there has been such little time since my...lapse in memory, and yet so many things have happened since. Time seems to be slipping from my grasp, and…” His digits twitched, as though on reflex. “...there’s little I can do to retrieve it. I have tried accessing the memory banks stored within the Matrix, but it seems that restoring my full memory until I forced Unicron back into stasis overwrote what I experienced on the Nemesis.” His expression pinched. “I would have been able to access the relics much sooner had I been able to remember.”

“Optimus…” You blinked, taken more than a little off-guard at how readily he’d cracked his armor open, even if it was only just a sliver enough to see into his inner thoughts. You just hoped you could offer something worth his time. “...I think in some ways it was for the best.”

That seemed to catch his attention, as his optics refocused on you almost instantly.

“I mean,” you started, your face warming, “I would rather you have a tiny gap in your memory over you not remembering anything at all. Can you imagine what would’ve happened if Jack hadn’t been able to access Vector Sigma in time? Or missed the opportunity to restore your old memory?” You rubbed at your arms, not wanting to dwell on the possibilities of what could have been. “Even if we had managed to have gotten you back without using the Key, I don’t know that things would’ve turned out the same.”

“Most definitely not,” he agreed.

“But…” You dipped your head, studying the sand beneath you. “Everything happens for a reason. We were still able to accomplish what we have since we got you back, and I feel like you’re still as strong as ever, even if you are missing a few memories.” You risked a glance up at him. “And, for what it’s worth...I’m just happy you’re okay, and there wasn’t any severe damage from expending that much energy. It could’ve turned out so much worse, and I think we were blessed to scrape by with such little trouble.”

“I didn’t have the impression that the time I was absent constituted as mere trouble,” he rumbled. His optical ridges were furrowed in worry. “You were all in danger, severely so, and I wasn’t there to…”

“Optimus,” you pressed gently. He fell silent, watching you attentively. You swallowed. “What’s done is done; what’s gone is past. You can’t dwell on what’s happened because even you can’t stop and alter time. As cool as you are.” You squeezed his digit in hopes of it being a comforting gesture. “Just focus on all the good things that have happened since then. We got a new Autobot, and we managed to get ahold of some of the relics. You got your memory back, and you’re home with us and not with the Decepticons.” You tilted your head slightly. “I think we’re blessed, despite the circumstances. I feel blessed.”

Optimus studied you for a long, long moment, optics shuttering and flickering as he thought intensively. After a while, he lifted his helm back up and studied the horizon once again, and you felt that that particular branch of the conversation was now closed. The air shifted, and you shifted closer to his leg in hopes of getting a little warmer.

Silence followed, peaceful and still. You studied the stars, picking out constellations you weren’t normally able to see due to sheer light pollution, even finding your zodiac sign among the glittering expanse at one point. But even though you’d seen his tight expression ease somewhat after you’d finished talking, Optimus still seemed...off. Absent, maybe. Distant. His optics were dull, unfocused, and dimmed. His demeanor was not his usual careful neutrality. Instead, he just seemed...empty. And it worried you.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, sincerely. He blinked, optics brightening somewhat as he turned his helm to gaze down at you. “You still seem…” You pondered on the right word, nibbling the inside of your cheek before settling on the simplest word that came to mind. “...troubled.”

Optimus remained silent, gaze unwavering. He only returned his optics to the horizon before you both, still oddly emotionless. You began to worry for him in earnest, apprehension bubbling low in your stomach, before his digits clenched minutely on the sandy earth beneath you. In a voice softer than you had ever heard from him, he murmured, “In all the centuries that this war has stretched its hand into, this day remains to be one of the worst that I have known.”

You blinked in surprise, not having expected anything quite like that. You didn’t know what to say, wondering if it had to do with the events in the past week - Smokescreen arriving, the Star Sabre. Maybe it had to do something with Alpha Trion’s message? You’d never heard such plaintive despondency in his normally soothing rumble. It caused sadness to reverberate through your body in an instinctive, sympathetic response.

Optimus, fortunately, did not discontinue his train of thought in lieu of your lack of a reply. “There have been immeasurable losses on both sides,” he continued, softer still. His optics were distant again, unseeing. “So many lost to the tides of bloodshed and hatred - enemies and friends alike. Family.” His helm dipped minutely, the light in his optics fading until you could scarcely make out their glow in the dark. “Inamorata.”

Never before had you heard that particular word, nor were you certain it was even English, but something in the way he said it - the enunciation, the tone, how it left his glossa and lip plating - struck you as deeply intimate and plainly implicative of its only possible meaning.

You lowered your eyes to the hem of your shirt, plucking at the cloth and thread stitching. “I didn’t know you...I didn’t…” You bit your lip. “I...I’m so, so sorry, Optimus.”

He fell silent for a long time, and you were too saddened to risk seeing his expression. You could feel it in your gut - saying the wrong thing, or doing the most minor action could tip this over the edge and result in more hurt than good. Better to let him address it than risk you bungling it up with your...self.

“Your sentiment is greatly appreciated,” he said finally, genuine and quiet. “More than you know.”

You finally plucked up the courage to look at him, and found that his optics had regained some of their normal light. His face was drawn, though. Restrained. As though grasping at his self-control more than he usually did.

You suddenly felt very, very small in comparison to the massive servo resting on the ground between you and his seated form, the long, flat digits dragging shallow but broad furrows into the dirt.

“What was she like?” you asked finally, not knowing what else to say. You almost regretted speaking as soon as the words had left your mouth at the resulting ex-vent that left his frame and washed over your body. You shuddered at the warmth of it, your flesh prickling at the sharp contrast against the cool night air.

You almost didn’t expect him to answer your half-hearted attempt to divert the conversation away from the obviously traumatizing event he’d probably been dwelling on, but he tilted his helm back and focused his gaze on the stars twinkling silently above the both of you.

“She was...everything.” He paused a long moment, seeming to gather his thoughts. “She was brilliant, and bright, and always had an anecdote to offer. She always seemed to smile, no matter the situation.” His optics dimmed suddenly, optical ridges lowering minutely. “I found that she was also a fierce and dedicated warrior when needed.”

You clasped your hands loosely around your arms to fight against the chill of the night seeping into your flesh, studying his demeanor and movements. You’d never thought that Optimus would’ve had someone, even before the war, but now that thought just made you feel ridiculous. Of course Optimus’d had someone - who wouldn’t have wanted him?

“How did you meet?” you asked, trying to fight against the sudden tightness in your throat. “Was it still when you were an archivist?”

You didn’t expect him to respond as quickly and as easily as he did. “Yes. Though it was through rather...unsavory means,” he said slowly. His optics perked back up, however, and you could see the faintest suggestion of a smile softening the lines that had appeared from his frown. “She was a scientist, a naturalist, and a part of a group that was attempting to defend the natural flora and fauna of Cybertron, long before the war when the Council was attempting to expand the cities and populated areas to accommodate for newbuilds. They were protesting outside the Hall, and I was sent by my peers to settle them down and attempt to dissuade them from loitering. They claimed I was the most capable mediator and peacemaker, but I suspect that they simply didn’t wish to deal with the issue themselves.”

“Coworkers,” you remarked.

“Indeed,” he agreed lightly. “When I emerged from the Hall, they were already agitated by a few enforcers trying to get them to leave. I attempted to calm both sides, but someone threw a rather sizeable waste bin at one of the enforcers and struck me accidentally. I woke in the hospital where Ratchet worked, and there was a rather irate femme arguing with him.” Optimus nearly smiled, nearly revealed his denta, and his optics were borderline sparkling. “That was my Ariel.”

Never before had you seen Optimus with such an open expression. No longer was he hiding his inward self under layers and layers of armor and formality and restraint; there weren’t any subtle cracks in his demeanor to hint at what was going on in that helm of his. He feelings were laid bare, open and plain as day to see, and it was something you were struggling to comprehend. And it was nothing like you’d ever been able to draw from him.

“She apologized, once she realized I had come back online,” he continued, seeming not to notice your shell-shocked stare. “Ratchet began to lecture her, but I dissuaded him. It didn’t seem that it had been intentional, though I did admonish her for attempting to harm an enforcer. She claimed she’d simply been attempting to get them to leave.” He tilted his helm back, gazing upwards. “After that, she would visit the Hall occasionally. We discussed our respective fields of study, and she was dedicated to her cause unlike any naturalist I had met. She was fiercely intelligent, witty, and wouldn’t hesitate to let one know exactly what was on her mind.” His digits gripped the ground slightly, as though looking for purchase. “She was the most beautiful femme I’d ever met in my life.”

You pursed your lips, wringing your hands before settling them on your lap in tight fists. “Sounds like she was good for you.”

“It took a long time to build a friendship,” he murmured. “We were similar in some ways, strikingly different in others. But some things are best built gradually.” He looked down to you, catching your eyes. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

You hesitated, biting the inside of your lip fiercely. You tried to quash the low simmer of emotion in your belly, doing your best to offer him a smile. “I do.”

Optimus’ expression shifted minutely, softening, and he released the ground before curling his digits around you carefully. The warmth seeped from his servo into your chilled flesh and you leaned against the firm metal gratefully. Your face warmed with a mixture of shame and puzzlement. There was a knot low in your belly, but you couldn’t determine the cause.

“It sounds like she made you really happy,” you murmured, half to yourself. Optimus hummed quietly.

“We became conjunx endurae shortly before the war began,” he rumbled, a mite more somber. “Sparkmates, I believe is the term you’re more familiar with. A more intimate equivalent to a spouse.” His thumb pressed into the flat of your back, nearly engulfing you, and he began to rub small circles between your shoulder blades that seem half-minded. “She took on the name Elita One when I became Prime. I...I lost her the same day we fled Cybertron. She didn’t make it to the spacecraft in time. She was defending a medical envoy attempting to flee off-world.” When you looked up in concern at the drop in his voice, you saw him grimace and press his other servo to his windshield plating, the faint echoes of pain plainly written on his face. “I felt it, before the reports ever came in. The feeling of my spark being severed from hers, shrinking and dying...it was the worst thing I have ever experienced. Worse than...worse than anything, in all of the war.”

That was something that had never occurred to you before, as obvious as it was. Ratchet had explained the concept of sparkmates to you briefly at your curiosity, and you’d been enraptured by the idea that two mechanical beings with such a unique core as a spark would combine them and, essentially, give pieces of themselves to each other. Over time, the sparks would gradually grow into each other until, potentially, they would be nigh indistinguishable from each the other. But you’d never thought about what would happen if one passed before the other. Ratchet had stated that if sparkmates had been bonded for a long enough time and one of them passed prematurely, it could endanger the surviving spark and potentially drag it down with it.

But here Optimus sat, and that in itself was an assurance that he’d come out of it mostly all right. Physically, at least. The emotion was palpable in his voice, the air felt unbearably heavy around you. His optics had dimmed and his servo was still pressed tightly to his chassis. You wondered if it felt like ghost pains - like when someone lost a limb and their brain still tried convincing them it was there.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, because you honestly didn’t know what else to say. You’d never experienced anything quite like that, couldn’t offer any advice or true sympathies - this was one thing that you couldn’t help him with, but...a part of you was grateful (and more than a little humbled) that he’d still decided that he trusted you enough to share his pain, no matter how old and scarred over, with you of all people.

Optimus seemed to withdraw from his inner thoughts, optics shuttering as they refocused on you. He dropped his other servo to rest on his thigh, the flat of his thumb dropping to the small of your back.

“It was a long, long time ago,” he responded finally, voice more even than it had been. Still, you didn’t miss the lingering, subdued inflection. “It has become...bearable. But…” The corners of his mouth upturned, just so, and you felt an odd, warm prickle - something like static - brush against the back of your neck. It made you shiver. “...being here helps more than one might would think. And...you…” He paused, thoughtful. He dipped his helm. “...you have shown me that it would do no harm to take time to myself, to reflect and decompress, and...I owe you deeply for that. I had forgotten how.” His optics glowed with the smile he would not outwardly show. “You’ve reminded me how to meditate on the past without dwelling on it, when I thought I had lost all meaning of it. Thank you.”

Your face felt as though it were on fire. You floundered for words, mouth dropping open and closing several times before you settled on clenching your teeth together and clutching your shirt for dear life. “I…” You swallowed. “...you’re welcome,” you managed feebly.

Optimus’ engine rumbled, the sound comforting in and of itself, and he returned his gaze to the stars again. You let out a soft exhale, shifting to slump against the solid curve of his thigh. He adjusted his servo accordingly, draping it lightly over your frame to protect you from the chill. You closed your eyes, resting your cheek against the cold metal.

Something occurred to you, silly in that you hadn’t thought of it sooner.

“...You were talking to her, weren’t you?” you murmured.

Optimus was quiet for a while, but you weren’t particularly looking for a verbal answer - his silence was answer enough.

You heard him ex-vent, felt the air shift slightly. His digits tightened over your form minutely. “...I still feel I carry a part of her with me, despite her undoubtedly being one with the Allspark,” he explained softly. “It...helps. Death is a distance unlike any other. Today’s date is...it is when I lost her. When we left Cybertron.”

Nibbling the inside of your lip, you peeked up at him. “You must miss her a lot.”

“I do. But I have accepted it. Perhaps one day I will see her again.” He dropped his helm, gazing down into the desert below the mesa. “I...do not possess supernatural beliefs, despite my ties with Primus. But she made a promise to stay with me, once, before the war began, should she ever be parted from me prematurely.” He let out a quick ex-vent that could’ve been a half of a chuckle. “There have been myths of lingering sparks, that those departed would resist the pull of the Allspark and continue to watch over those they care for, though they are believed to be just that. Rumors of seeing shadows of frames out of the corner of one’s optic, or flashes of light that some believed to be sparks have even been recorded in ancient texts - but science as we know it has proved it to be impossible. Still, I…”

He trailed off, if not a little uncertain, and your expression softened. You tried offering him a wry smile. “That sounds like will-o-the-wisps,” you remarked.

Optimus raised a curious optical ridge.

“It’s an old English myth,” You explained. “A lot of people believed that they were spirits of the dead lingering around to guide people - whether it was to good or bad places depended on different interpretations. But they’re actually just little sparks of discharge in the air.” You shrugged, contemplative. “It’s interesting that we have a similar concept of it.”

The Prime hummed in agreement. “Yet another instance where our culture seems to have passed itself off to yours through time.” He paused. “...Sometimes I feel as though she has been with me. Moments on the cusp of recharge, or overwhelmed in a battlefield. I refuse to believe that she is truly gone.”

“That comes with having faith, I guess,” you murmured, chewing your lip. “Optimus?”

“Yes?”

“You know it’s…” You pressed a hand to his palm, wondering if you should say it. You decided that being plain wouldn’t hurt, just this once. “...it’s okay to grieve, Optimus. No one would be able to hold it against you to mourn for your wife.”

Optimus stared, mouth opened slightly. He went to speak, hesitated, stopped. Then ex-vented shakily. “Perhaps in a different context. But...I am a Prime, the leader of the...I cannot…” He shook his helm, mouth thinning. “I cannot afford to leave those under my command at risk because of personal distractions.”

You blinked, brows rising. “Elita wasn’t a distraction - she was part of you, Optimus,” you told him, as though he needed to be reminded. “She was ripped away from you and they expected you to go on like nothing happened?”

He dropped his helm, tilting it away from you. His optics closed, tightly. “Others who had been bonded far longer than I lost their sparkmates,” he said softly.

“That doesn’t matter,” you persisted, sitting up on your knees and propping yourself on his leg. “You lost the love of your life, and you had to bottle it up, just...just because you were ‘obligated’ to a war you didn’t start. That’s bullshit.”

The armor along his shoulders drooped, tightening against his frame as he cracked his optics open enough to peek down at you. Your heart clenched when you realized he looked confused.

You fumbled for words, opening and closing your mouth fruitlessly. The silence was tense, heavy, and you felt as though you could cut it with a knife.

Finally, you gave him as gentle a look as you could possibly make. And, softly, you said, “You deserve to be taken care of, too, Optimus.”

He looked stricken, wordless as his gaze shifted back towards the desert beyond the mesa. The corners of his optics tensed, his mouth twitching downward. He looked so, so sad, and...it hurt every part of you.

A brief silence. Then Optimus rumbled your name. “...may I ask you a question?”

“Yeah,” you answered softly, closing your eyes and dropping your head.

“How do you do it?”

You frowned. “...Do what?”

“Present yourself with such sincerity. Openness.” The flats of his digits pressed into your front faintly. “You make it seem easy.”

You blushed, turned your head downward. You smoothed your hand over his palm. “I know that if I expect vulnerability from people, I should show myself vulnerable. The same applies to friendliness. Making meaningful connections with people means making compromises, even at the expense of comfort and privacy sometimes.”

Optimus hummed quietly, sounding pensive. You heard his vents hitch briefly, before air gushed from his sides. Your name was low on his lips. “...Would you...assist me in being more vulnerable?”

Your eyes shot open and you lifted your head to stare at him. He met your gaze, optics dim and expression tentative. Then a slow, soft smile wormed its way onto your face.

“You already are,” you told him gently.

He blinked slowly, optical ridges rising faintly, before his mouth lifted just so. “...In that case, I...I owe you thanks.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with it,” you responded, shaking your head.

“You had everything to do with it.” His thumb pressed into your back, a pleasant pressure that cemented his looming presence. “You have shown yourself vulnerable, and...in doing so, reminded me how to be.”

You opened your mouth. You closed it. Opened it again, voice weak. “You can’t use my words against me, Optimus - that’s not fair.”

He chuckled. Honest-to-God chuckled. You felt your heart swell.

“Perhaps,” he responded finally. “Or perhaps I appreciate your thoughts more than you realize.”

You tried offering him a noncommittal shrug, face burning. “Yeah, well, give me credit in your book of memoirs when all this blows over.”

Another chuckle, a little louder and a little longer. “I will certainly remember to do so.”

He paused when you yawned softly, trying to conceal the gaping maw of your mouth by clamping a hand over it. When you glanced up at him, mildly embarrassed, his expression was warm with what you’d dare to say as fondness.

“...You remind me of her, at times,” he told you softly.

You heart jumpstarted. “I...I do…?”

He dipped his helm minutely. “You share similar mannerisms, and you seem to have her innate ability to analyze information and offer the best advice. You have her fire, on occasion, as well,” he chuckled. “But at your core, you have a gentle soul, as she did. It comforts me to see that trait remain in people despite everything I’ve endured. Despite everything that has happened to you.” He paused, regarding your dumbfounded expression, then seemed to become a mite sheepish. “But that isn’t to say you aren’t unique to yourself. You are quite unlike any human I have had the privilege to interact with on a personal level.”

“...’Quite unlike’ good or ‘quite unlike’ bad?” you asked, quirking a brow and trying to smile wryly.

He lifted an optical ridge as well, the corner of his mouth turning upward minutely. “I believe you needn’t my say in it - you are aware of what lies within you better than I.”

You tried rubbing the flush out of your cheeks. “Thanks, Optimus.”

He hummed quietly, stroking a slow circle into the flat of your back. Then he turned his servo over in the sand when you yawned again. “I believe it is time for you to rest,” he told you gently.

“Try to, anyway,” you mumbled, but you crawled into his palm anyway. He curled his fingers around you and you grasped his thumb for support as he cradled you close to his chassis and slowly, carefully righted himself to his feet. Your stomach flip flopped for an entirely different reason then, peering between his flat digits towards the ground that was suddenly very, very far down. Despite this, however, and despite the instinctual fear thrumming beneath your flesh, you knew you were safe. Optimus had never and would never drop you.

But instead of heading for the elevator like you’d expected, he instead stepped closer to the edge of the mesa. You gulped when he lifted his servo and tilted it so you slid slowly against the massive column of his neck. You grappled onto a plate that descended towards his windshields, blinking up at him with your heart rising in your throat. Optimus crouched, turned, and lowered a pede towards one of the small shelves of rock beneath him.

“Optimus?” you pressed, voice hitching into a higher octave as the desert stretched out below you both. “What - what are you doing?”

Optimus hummed, frustratingly soothing. “The elevator is too loud for use at night.”

“So you climb a cliff?” you squeaked, his frame dropping with a slow but inevitable descent and leaving your heart in the roof of your mouth.

“It is something I’ve always enjoyed,” he shared calmly. There was a feline-like quality to his movements, well practiced and assured. Still, it was obvious he was being more cautious - probably on account of you. “I must admit that I climbed many a building I shouldn’t have in my youth.”

“You? Breaking the law?” you said, relaxed just enough to focus on him instead of the ground below you. “Scandalous. What would the others think?”

“I fractured my frame once,” he remarked absently, shaking his helm. “I went to Ratchet for help.” He paused, looked down past you, and his optical ridges furrowed as he considered the available footholds. He steered to the left instead, then took another step downward. “I did not make that mistake again.”

You laughed. “What, falling or going to Ratchet?”

The corners of his mouth lifted, but he did not specify. You laughed again, trying to smother it with your hand. His chassis thrummed and, slowly, he continued to descend the mesa’s side. You peered over his shoulders towards the stars to distract yourself, curling into him as best you could. You both lapsed into a comfortable silence, his optical ridges drawing together in concentration as his optics shuttered and contracting as he focused on his every movement.

It didn’t seem long before he paused, reached up to drape a servo over you protectively, and pushed himself off and away from the mesa. You squeaked as he fell, your stomach jumping into your throat - he landed with a jarring crash, though he allowed his knees to buckle to absorb the impact. You felt woozy, but climbed up onto his shoulder proper as he walked in through the hidden entrance and crept down the corridor with astounding near-silence. You smothered a yawn as he emerged into the hanger, staying close to the edge of the room and lifting a servo for you to climb onto. He lowered you to the ground, and you stumbled on weakened legs before righting yourself. You smiled up at him, hoping you had helped him in some way, to some degree.

The warm glow in his optics and the faint smile on his faceplate told you that you’d succeeded.

You patted his pede quietly. “Goodnight, Optimus. Sleep well.”

“And you as well.”

He stood there as you lingered, hesitating, as you padded across the hanger and returning to your cot. Smokescreen had flipped over at some point, somehow not managing to crush his doorwings in the process, Jack’s mouth was wide open as he drooled, Raf was curled into an unidentifiable ball underneath his blankets, and Miko had lost hers completely, sprawled out like a corpse at a crime scene.

You chuckled to yourself, settling back down and slipping under the blankets with a soft sigh. They were pleasantly cool against your skin, and the cot felt softer than it had before. Maybe it was because you were more tired.

As you pulled the covers over your chest and adjusted your pillow, you cast a look towards the three story metal sentinel in the corner, his optics beacons of light like those fabled wisps of old, silent and waiting. On a whim, you gave him a little wave, offering a shaky smile. You saw the slightest hint of denta before he lifted his servo and returned the gesture before stealing his way into the hall and out of sight like a shadow.

You were glad, because if he’d stayed much longer he would’ve seen how you slowly buried your face into your pillow and wept quietly for him, for everything that had happened to him, for what he’d had to endure for so long without being able to reach out. For the spark-deep weariness that seemed incurable. For the war.

For Elita.

And because part of him would always belong to her.

[ashton-ryder]

bold what applies to your muse, italicize situational ones. feel free to add your own suggestions and carry it on.

tagged by: stolen from zach

tagging: steal it from zach

VOICE HC / MEME

► ACCENT  

“country” │ “backwoods” │ “sailor” │ “upper class” │ "small town" │ “city slicker” | foreign speaker │ refined  

► ELOQUENCE

educated │self-taught | uneducated | doesn’t use conjunctions │ shortens words | omits entire words on occasion | mixes up words │ just makes up their own words! │ archaic english │ dependent on mood or setting | doesn’t use contractions

► TONE

loud │ soft │ room volume │ high pitched │ low pitched │ steady | seductive │velvety │ speech impediment │ abrasive │ gruff │ shrill │ booming │ matter-of-fact │ toneless │ husky │ intimidating │gravelly │ breathy │ nasal │ vocal fry │ chatty │ condescending │ musical │ sarcastic │ suave │ world-weary │ brash │ no nonsense │ authoritative

► HABITS  

refers to self in third person│ incorporates different languages/terms/sayings │ uses gender-specific terms │ adapts to audience │ changes tone around animals or children │ shifts tone when lying │ gives others nicknames │ uses terms of respect towards others

► OTHER BITS

He lives in a softer vocal range, measured, steady and unassuming voice, making subtle sarcastic jokes and seemed like a quiet man until situation calls for it.

Such as when he's teaching a class or training recruits or on a mission or working, his voice can boom across a room and when he speaks like that, people listen.

He's been trying to wane off the habit more over the few years, but sometimes he still slips into the habit of using military terms, calling the hours by the hundreds, and only really catches himself when someone looks at him funny.

He's a very quiet laugher, a chuckle here, a scoff there, but if you're lucky to either have known him when he was younger or heard him with his guard down, he has a very charming, melodic laughter if it ever slips out with the brightest smiles, it's much rarer as he grew older, but it used to be known as the thing that draws people in.

He actually likes shortening names or using family names as nicknames a lot, a habit picked up from the marines, he responds to Ryder as quickly as he responds to Ashton or Ash.

He's a little bit tone death, please don't ask him to sing or hum, it won't be pretty. He unfortunately did not inherit his mom's lovely singing voice, perhaps just a powerful booming voice for other things, like yelling at recruits.

The way he talks about the stars and the sky and space, there is a special endearing tone it his words, soft, humbling, full of wander and curiosity, the reminder of their insignificance on a tiny rock in space.

He becomes especially quiet when he drinks, similar to every time he goes quiet, a lot is running through his head. But when he drinks, it numbs everything out, as if finally enjoying the numbing silence while he still could, before reality comes rushing back at him.

► VOICE CLAIM REFERENCE:

tw: video reference below contains mentions of abuse (and also tw for my heart for luke mitchell crying)

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Muse || Vaas Montenegro

Warning(s): The Pocky Game, bored Vaas, OC (Liv), Vaas being Vaas, short one-shot.

An unexpected storm blew in from the southwest, hitting the Rook Islands like a freight train. Liv found herself caught in it, hiding in her cage at the outpost like a stray. The wind was so strong that it made the rain feel like needles were pricking her skin. She hugged her body close, but it made no difference. And to make matters worse, Vaas was bored. 

Liv never thought she would see the day. On top of being rather clever and unpredictable, Vaas was also creative, even though his ideas were atrocious. She truly believed that braving the storm, as opposed to braving him, was the smartest option; the lesser of two evils. 

This is why she was distraught when Carlos forced her from the cage and took her to the hut that Vaas was currently shut up in. At the front door, she turned to the pirate, pleading to him with her eyes.

“It's such a beautiful day. Can't I just sit in my cage and enjoy it?” 

Carlos gave her a look of disbelief like she had grown an extra head. 

“You have finally lost your fucking mind.” 

She would lose more than her mind if she was Vaas’ last option for entertainment.

“He's waiting,” Carlos mentioned, motioning toward the hut.

Liv tossed him an angry look, then plodded through the front door. As she turned the corner into the bedroom, she saw Vaas sitting at the desk in front of the laptop, watching Zack Snyder's ‘Dawn of the Dead’; it was either a pirated copy, or he found it in someone's suitcase. While he seemed content with the movie, he was bouncing his leg like a stressed-out parent beneath the desktop. He cut his eyes to her and opened his mouth, but whatever he was in the process of saying was lost as he noticed the state of her person, soaked from head to toe. 

“Were you raised by animals? Go change your fucking clothes. You are getting water on my floor,” Vaas chided. He motioned behind him to a pile of suitcases across the room. Some of them were new. “¿Ya nadie tiene modales (does no one have manners anymore)?”

Liv tightened her jaw. It was not like she wanted to entertain him. She was content with sitting out in the damn storm. Without protesting, she strode over to the suitcases and rummaged through them, choosing an oversized t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that she could tie off. As she was standing, she noticed a familiar rectangular box amongst the bathroom products. 

“No way,” she uttered, picking it up. “Look what I found.” 

Vaas paused the movie and peeked over his shoulder, having to squint to read the words printed on the front. 

“The fuck is Pocky?”

“It's a snack from Japan, but you can buy them in convenience stores in America,” Liv answered. She looked at the expiration date and grinned in excitement. “Someone must have brought them on the flight over. I love these things. Chocolate is my favorite, but the strawberry sticks are great too.” 

Besides movies, Vaas had never seen her so enthralled in something. He had no idea she liked sweets. He snorted and watched her put them down on the bed, before hurrying into the next room with her arms full of clothes. When she reappeared, she snatched up the pink box and sat on the edge of the bed. 

“Do you want one?” She asked as she tore open the lid.

Why the fuck not. Vaas shrugged his shoulders. Taking one from her, he took a tentative bite. It was not bad for a biscuit stick with an artificial coating. 

“This gets you wet, no?” 

Liv felt her face heat up. 

“I don't know what it is about them, but they are like crack.” 

Vaas snorted. 

“My friends and I used to play the Pocky Game with them. Invite a big group and see who would bitch out first,” she added. “It's an innocent game, though it led to a few weird hookups. And there's even a drinking game.” 

Vaas could not imagine what sort of game she was referring to. The name seemed ridiculous enough.

“Show me.”

Liv felt her heart race.

“I don't think you'd like it. I mean…it's a game for teenagers.”

“Fóllame (fuck me). You brought it up,” Vaas pointed out. He switched from the chair to the bed, snatching the box from her. “Show me. Come on.” 

Liv tightened her jaw. Why did she have to mention the game?

“So, you take a stick and put one end in your mouth, and I put the other end in mine. We have to maintain eye contact as we each eat to the middle. If the stick breaks, or one of us bitches out, then we lose. It's a tie if…if we kiss.”

Vaas grinned. “Lady and the Tramp, no?”

Liv nodded. It was exactly like that. She figured the concept of the game would sound childish to Vaas, that he would turn it down, but when he slid a stick from the box and placed the coated end against her lips, her heart raced. 

“Be a good girl, querida (darling). Ábreme (open up for me).” 

She nearly whined. As much as she did not want to anger him, she was nervous. Vaas was in no way a coward. She knew that he would take it to the end and kiss her. But was she ready for that? She was not sure. 

“There are other games we can–”

“Abre tu boca por mí (open your mouth for me).” Interjected Vaas. 

Hesitantly, she did so. Vaas slid the coated end into her mouth, then placed the other end into his mouth. His eyes kept hers as they began to eat the Pocky, but even he could see how nervous she was. Her pale skin was red as though she had sat hours in the sun and her blue eyes were glossy. When their lips came close to touching, he reached up and flicked the stick hard, breaking it. 

Liv sat back in shock. Why did he do that? She took the remaining stick from her mouth and tried to ask him, but Vaas gently squeezed her cheeks, puckering her lips; she reminded him of a Naso Tang.

“First kisses have to be special, no?” He winked, then released her. 

Tossing her a stick, Vaas stood with a grin.

“Like crack, you say.” 

He knew Liv would snap him out of his boredom. She was his muse after all. 

It was later that she learned what Vaas did with the remaining sticks, playing a twisted version of the Pocky Game with a few prisoners who were unfortunate enough to not have buyers. Their partners were not humans, however, but vicious crocodiles and cassowaries. 

Liv was fortunate, she realized, and never whined again about having to entertain Vaas. 

[liberty-or-death]

Wangxian Poems "Envious of the green hills that have the serenity of one that’s deep in thought, or the white crane that has forgotten the ways of the world and has a tranquil heart. " (Eight Sounds of Ganzhou.  Picking Unripened Plums to Accompany My Wine 八声甘州·摘青梅荐酒 by Tang Hui 汤恢)

There are a few poems that possibly inspired Wangxian. All these poems are widely discussed among the chinese fans so I thought I’d share it everyone. Anyway they’re all really lovely 😍😍😍

The “Eight Sounds of Ganzhou. Picking Unripened Plums to Accompany My Wine. 八声甘州·摘青梅荐酒” is a Ci written by Tang Hui 汤恢, poet in the Southern Song Dynasty. The “Eight Songs of Ganzhou” is a specific ci pattern.

摘青梅荐酒，甚残寒，犹怯苎萝衣。

Picking unripened plums to accompany my wine. It was bitterly cold, and filled with worries over my ramie made clothes.

T/N: Ramie was weaved by people who lived in the mountains into clothes.

正柳腴花瘦，绿云冉冉，红雪霏霏。

The willows trees are lush, the flowers are withering; like green clouds flowing slowly, and red snow falling like rain.

隔屋秦筝依约，谁品春词？

The house next door has a date with the qin zheng, just who is singing the songs of springs?

T/N: 春词 - This either means the song of springs or words of love between a couple. The Qin Zheng is a musical instrument

回首繁华梦，流水斜晖。

Look back, the former thriving prosperity was like a dream, like the river that flows way and the setting sun.

寄隐孤山山下，但一瓢饮水，深掩苔扉。

I reside at the bottom of the Mount Lu. But I live frugally as I drink from the ladle and cover the door filled with moss.

T/N: Mount Gu is an island on the West Lake of Hangzhou. Gu 孤 also means Lonely so you could also interpret this as the “lonely mountain”. It’s a popular spots for poets in the Tang and Song Dynasty. Bai Juyi and Su Shi have also written poems about it.

羡青山有思，白鹤忘机。

I’m envious (Xian) of the green hills that have the serenity of one that’s deep in thought, or the white crane that has forgotten the ways of the world and has a tranquil heart. (Wangji)

Wangxian’s names are mentioned here. If you do a quick search with of line, you’ll find numerous chinese wangxian fanworks.

怅年华、不禁搔首，又天涯、弹泪送春归。

The passage of time is worrying, and I can’t help but scratch my head anxiously. My tears send Spring off towards the end of the world again.

销魂远，千山啼鴂，十里荼麋。

At this moment, the Koel sorrowful cries echoes in the mountains. The raspberry flower is blooming everywhere.

T/N: Legend has it that when the Emperor Wang Di entered seclusion and passed on, he died and his soul became a Koel.  Hence, when Spring goes and when the Koel cries out sadly, the people of Shu would say “I look forward to the emperor’s soul”, as though the Koel is sending Spring off. 

My Analysis

This poem summarises Tang Hui’s feelings. He was staying in seclusion in the West Lake Mountains, but yet he wants to return to live with others, and he yearns for his love of the Northern Song Dynasty. The first part of the poem is about what the poet is doing, and the second part’s about his envy and love for his Dynasty.

Firstly, I was struck by how said sad and how forlorn wangxian’s namesake’s line is. If we break down it down, essentially it describes someone that loves the silence of the musing mountains, and how the crane remains unbothered by the world. It’s such an apt line given that the cultivational world wangxian lived in really hurt them.

The reference of the “plum” and the “white crane” is said to be a reference to Lin Bu 林逋, the Confucian poet who planted plums and raised cranes, and didn’t marry for the rest of his life. His actions gave birth to the idiom “梅妻鹤子 to marry the plum, and raise the cranes for his son”, which means to lead a life of seclusion and attain a tranquil state of mind. (wangxian living in seclusion and living happily ever after? HAHA)

Another thing that struck me was, was this the reason why CQL put a white crane in the wangxian moment? It clearly wasn’t a key point because there’s a clip of Xiao Zhan and Wang Yibo debating about the existence of the crane, of which Xiao Zhan forgot about it, and Wang Yibo insisted it was there. The crane was never in the book, and I always thought it was a mere decorative feature but now I don’t think so 🧐. Perhaps the directors were paying tribute to this poem? And is this the reason why lwj is often painted in white?

Personally, I did find it interesting though, that the c fandom would associate this poem with wangxian, because unlikely the other themes Wangxian has been associated with (Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji’s name respectively), this poem talks about someone who IS in seclusion, who wants to go back to society. Though yes, if you did focus on Wangxian's namesake's line (羡青山有思，白鹤忘机) in isolation, the poet is envious of those who can stay away from the ways of the world. Whereas in the other poems, and in the novel itself, it was clearly the other way around. That’s just my two cents though! Either way, it’s a really pretty poem. 😍

You can check out @fwoopersongs's alternative translation here!

[cristinatheincredible]

“I’m passing the phone to someone who proposed to me at the exact same time I proposed to her.” (Jamie)

@jamesfactscalvin

send in " i'm passing the phone to someone who..." + a reference to something the receiver's muse either did one time or does regularly that deserves a bit of teasing and a bit of a call-out, and the receiver's muse will respond in turn!:

@jamesfactscalvin

Cristina laughed loudly, remembering that exact moment she often thought about multiple times a day. “Hey!” She hummed for a moment as she tried to rack her brain for a response. “Well, I’m passing the phone to someone who can pick me up and throw me like I weigh nothing!”

[lgcmanager]

TEAM UNKNOWN 004

SCHEDULE TYPE: TRIMESTER ( PART 2 OUT OF 2 ) SCHEDULE RESTRICTIONS: cannot be paired with another trimester schedule, unless stated otherwise. for reference as to whether your muse is eligible for this event, please click over HERE.

on MAY 13, the trainees in TEAM UNKNOWN were reunited with JANG INSUNG. “the other coaches and i are in the process of compiling our feedback but based on the task we have given you a while back, YOUNGJAE and i agreed that for the next couple of weeks all of you will be working on an area that many of you have listed as one of your weaker areas; CREATIVITY. we know that it’s a busy time for all of you with NOSTALGIA happening as well, so let’s get straight to what your next part of the evaluations will entail.”

SOLO PERFORMANCE #1

the trainees will be given files to five songs, which are listed below:

BAR BAR BAR – CRAYON POP

HANDS UP – CHERRY BULLET

ONE OF THESE NIGHTS – RED VELVET

SECRET – WJSN

SUGAR FREE – T-ARA

after the trainees are given a chance to listen to short segments of the songs, INSUNG explains, “for the latter half all of you will be expected to give two performances. the first one is to assess your CREATIVE skills. out of the five songs that you’ve listened to, each of you will tell me privately after this meeting which song you will be choosing for the first performance. with the song selected, all of you will be assigned to a coach who will help you make that song into a version that best suits you. on the day of the evaluation, you will be expected to perform that song.”

as mentioned, since each of the trainees will be transforming their chosen song into a style that best suits them, this means that the trainees will be working on MUSIC COMPOSITION, LYRIC COMPOSITION, INSTRUMENT(S), and/or CHOREOGRAPHY ( POP/HIP HOP/STREET, CLASSICAL, OTHER ). ic they will be spending the first few weeks working on all aspects to understand the fundamentals, but for the rest of the weeks they will concentrate more on the skill(s) that they want to showcase the most in the performance. for muses who have LESS THAN 50 points in any or all of the skills mentioned, they will be guided by a coach. while the coach and their producing team will do a part of the work to form a creative and cohesive performance, the trainee will be expected to give their input on various areas ( eg. musical arrangement and style, instruments used, lyrics ( if adjusted/modified/included for the rappers ), choreography ).

in addition, any muses who have AT LEAST OR MORE THAN 50 points in the creative skills will be given more creative control in aspects where they have over 50 points ( eg. if someone has over 50 points in choreography [ either style ], they will be given the opportunity to create their own choreography instead of letting a coach do it ). due to their busy schedules and allotted time, the performances will be shortened to last around 2 minutes each.

SOLO PERFORMANCE #2

“as for your second performance, since some of you have been attending the language workshops, we thought it was best to put it to the test to see how much some of you have learned.” INSUNG smiled before explaining in detail the second performance.

all of the trainees will be asked to perform a song in ENGLISH or JAPANESE of their choosing. as for the rules, here are some points to consider when selecting the song:

the song must be released before JANUARY 1, 2022 unless it is a song released by a legacy artist/group. for reference on the songs released by lgc groups ( minus the senior artists ), you can click over here ( LGC GIRLS DISCOGRAPHY / LGC BOYS DISCOGRAPHY ).

for trainees who have less than 50 POINTS in ENGLISH and JAPANESE together, they will be suggested to pick a song that was originally in korean ( or had a korean version ) and learn the secondary language song ( eg. agito’s ‘scent of you’, which was originally in japanese, but was released in both japanese and korean ) to make it easier for them.

all of the performances will be around 2 minutes each.

important note: not completing the writing requirements mentioned below can result in being removed from the group. if you are planning on moving your muse to a different path ( acting/modeling ) for q3, you can still complete the requirements below but you will be expected to sign-up for a career path transfer when the time comes.

WRITING REQUIREMENTS

PRACTICES & WORKSHOPS: continue the thread that you had in PART 1 with an additional 4 posts ( 2 posts per mun; 8 lines minimum ) OR write a 300+ word solo about the practice sessions, song selection process, or brainstorming ideas with a coach for the creative performance for +10 POINTS in MUSIC COMPOSITION, LYRIC COMPOSITION, INSTRUMENT ( PLEASE SPECIFY ), or CHOREOGRAPHY ( PLEASE SPECIFY ) !

SOLO PERFORMANCES: write a 400+ word headcanon post about the solo performances. the post MUST include the following: songs chosen, reason(s) behind the selected songs and what specifically was changed in the original song for the creative performance ( eg. musical arrangement, addition of lyrics, original choreography, etc. ). completing this will reward you +5 POINTS in KOREAN, ENGLISH, or JAPANESE, and +10 POINTS in SINGING, DANCING, RAPPING, or PERFORMANCE.

make sure to use the hashtag lgc:tumission for all of the tasks. you have until JUNE 22, 2024 at 11:59PM EDT to complete the requirements and validate your points. please submit the following form ONCE on the points blog.

MUSE NAME ∙ TEAM UNKNOWN MISSION 004 - P&W: +10 ( music composition, lyric composition, instrument [ please specify ], choreography [ please specify] )  [ LINK ] - SOLO PERFORMANCES: +5 ( korean, english, OR japanese ), +10 ( singing, dancing, rapping, AND/OR performance ) [ LINK ]

[strawwritesfic]

Takeshi Yamamoto x Female!Reader: But Uh-Oh Those Summer Nights [Ch. 2]

Summary: “Summer lovin’ had me a blast / summer lovin’ happened so fast.”

Challenge: “10 Summer Events” by someone on Lunaescence Archives.

Ratings/Warnings/Tags: T (Sexual humor; sexual dialogue; summer vacation; comedy; fluff; eccentric grandparents; Grease references; Takeshi & Hayato & Tsuna; Takeshi & Hayato & Tsuna & Reader; Reborn & Tsuna; Reborn & Reader; Original Character & Reader)

Pairings: Takeshi Yamamoto/Reader

Tag List: @imaginesfire​​​; ​ @amart-e

Master List

Chapter 2: Picnic

“And where are you off to in such in a hurry?”

You looked up, breakfast halfway toward your mouth, to see your grandmother smirking at you from the kitchen doorway. Ever since you’d return home from your forced march through the Japanese humidity, she couldn’t seem to stop grinning--like it was all her doing that you’d managed to find some younger people to occupy your time with that summer. And occupy your time with Takeshi, Hayato, Tsuna, and Reborn you had. This only amused her more.    

“I’m going somewhere with the boys,” you answered reluctantly. 

You grandmother closed her eyes and shook her head. “I send you out to get friends and you come up with a harem. You must be a pretty good kisser, huh?”

“Grandma! It’s not like that!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell your father what a harlot you’re turning out to be.”

“Grandma!”

“Oh, don’t be so upright, [Name].” Your grandmother laughed. “I’m just teasing. So do I get to meet these mysterious boys today? Put my two cents in on which one you should go after?” 

You opened your mouth to protest once more. Before you could, there was a knock on the door. 

“Well? You going to get that?” she asked.

Of course one of them had decided to come get you instead of waiting at the prearranged spot like planned. Heart hammering, you turned away and walked to the front door. It took you a moment to gather your courage to plaster on a smile before allowing whoever was out there in. 

“Takeshi!” Just the sight of his grin turned your smile authentic.

“Hi, [Name],” he said. “Ready to go?”

“Completely.” You slipped your shoes on and stepped quickly for the doorstep. Maybe you would get out of having Yamamoto meet your grandmother after all.

“Oh, so this is your little friend!” 

What could you do but turn slowly to find your grandmother standing behind you in the hallway.

“Is this your grandmother?” Takeshi asked, but he did not wait for you to answer before smiling at her as well. “I’m Takeshi Yamamoto. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Same here.” Your grandmother winked. “Are you my little [Name]’s boyfriend, then?”

You could have sworn your heart stopped as all the blood in your body rushed up to your cheeks. Well, now you had no other choice: You would have to shove Takeshi back out the door and all the way to where Hayato, Tsuna, and Reborn would be waiting. Nothing Takeshi could say would prevent your grandmother teasing you for so long you’d both miss the day’s activity, and he’d be uncomfortable around you from now on.

But he didn’t miss a beat. He laughed, then said: “I’m just here to pick her up for the picnic.”

“Hm, well–”

“That’s all right! That’s enough! Thanks, Grandma!” you latched onto Takeshi’s nearest arm before yanking him away from your leering relative. “We’ll be back later! Don’t wait up!”

“Okay!” she called after you as you shoved Takeshi back down the path. “Have fun! And remember: no hickeys!” 

And with that, she slammed the door behind you.

Takeshi laughed again, seemingly oblivious to the fact that your hands were still pressed against his surprisingly muscular back. As soon as you noticed this yourself, you hastily took them off and looked away. But Takeshi seemed oblivious to this, too.

“I wonder why she doesn’t want you to get any hickeys,” he mused.

“Um…” 

Did Takeshi even know what a hickey was? Either way, you really didn’t want to be the one to explain them to him. That could be Tsuna’s job. Then again, Tsuna himself might not have known what a hickey was either.

“What are you idiots just standing there for? Are we leaving or not?” called a familiar irritated vice.

“Good morning to you, too, Hayato. Glad to see you’re as warm and fuzzy as ever,” you said, as the other two boys found you and Takeshi standing outside your grandmother’s house. 

Hayato rolled his eyes and lit what was probably his seventh cigarette of the day.

“Is everything okay?” Tsuna asked.

“Everything is fine,” Takeshi answered. “[Name]’s grandma just wanted to make sure we don’t get any hickeys.”

“W-what?!”

“C’mon, No Good Tsuna,” Reborn said. “A hickey is–”

“I know what a hickey is!”

“Way to go, Tenth!” Hayato said.

“I-I’ve never had one!”

You raised your eyebrows. It was amazing how quickly conversations deteriorated with this lot. Hayato could be grouching at you for being slow one minute, and the next everyone would be celebrating Tsuna finally getting some action.

“Um, guys? The picnic?” you said.

Hayato and Tsuna both stopped what they were doing to look at you.

“O-Oh. Right,” Tsuna said with a shaky laugh.

“Tch! If the Tenth is going, I guess I have to come along.”

“Good! Let’s get going before the sushi goes bad,” said Takeshi. “Let’s just make sure not to get any hickies.”

******

“Hey, Takeshi, will you pass me some more sushi?” you asked about an hour later.

“Hm? Oh, sure!” He handed you another box. “I’m really glad you like it!”

“It’s amazing!”

“Is this the first time you’ve had sushi, [Name]?” Tsuna asked after swallowing a bite of his own food. 

Unfortunately, you had chosen that moment to cram an entire roll of sushi into your mouth. You shook your head at Tsuna and forced the morsel down your throat, coughing attractively as the food slid roughly into your stomach. 

Tsuna cocked his head at you. Hayato, meanwhile, just gave you his best disgusted look as he moved to scoot closer to his boss. Takeshi offered you a carton of milk, which you gratefully took and gulped down.

“N-No,” you finally managed to choke out. “My dad makes sushi all the time at home. It’s not anywhere close to this good, though!”

“Thanks!” said Takeshi.

“Your family really makes this, Takeshi?”

“Yep!”

“It is seriously the best sushi ever.” 

Gokudera snorted and muttered something that sounded like, "If by ‘best,’ you mean ‘most disgusting.’"

“Hey, Tsuna, you gonna eat yours?” “Don’t worry. We’ve got plenty more,” Takeshi assured you.

“Well bring it on! I’m starving!”

Unbeknownst to you in that moment, Reborn was watching your interactions with the boys closely. Sooner or later, it would be time to test you for Vongola--and with Reborn, it was always sooner rather than later.

[neverwholelahey]

Sensory/Specific Headcanons

Muse: Isaac Lahey

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE SMELL LIKE? His inherent scent is that of a damp forest after a rainy day. But the scent of mild soap and detergent can be smelled on him, usually something very mild, because anything that would be stronger would cause his werewolf nose to take offense.

WHAT DO YOUR MUSE’S HANDS FEEL LIKE? His hands, are warm, and surprisingly soft. Sometimes stained with paint causing there to be a contrast of feeling between the skin and the patch of dried paint. The finger tips on the other hand, usually show signs of him picking at them. Even though it heals in just a few hours, some days his anxiousness gets the better of him and Isaac has picked his cuticles and finger tips raw.

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY EAT IN A DAY? It honestly depends on what he's up to. Because if he's in the zone with painting he will forget to eat completely. Unless his partner in crime/significant other comes over and forces him to eat. When he's not in the zone of working on his art, he usually eats a simple breakfast consisting of sugary cereal and milk, along with toast. For lunch it's usually something with a high protein contents, and for dinner, usually some kind of fastfood. And that is if he actually makes time to eat three meals in a day. Which he often doesn't. It's why he tends to be eternally skinny, that and his werewolf metabolism.

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE A GOOD SINGING VOICE? That's verse dependent. Like he can sing, but in most verses it's more like kind of off key but still sounding decent enough to pass as not horrible. Then there's some verses where he can actually sing and his voice is a baritone kind of like Vinny Marchi.

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE ANY BAD HABITS OR NERVOUS TICKS? He has plenty. Picking at his nails and cuticles. Picking at the hem of his shirt, picking at the edge of long sleeve shirts. Picking at drawstrings on hoodies and trousers. He also tends to make himself look smaller, and hunch his back and shoulders along with casting his head down if he's intimidated and nervous at the same time. It stems from his childhood.

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY LOOK LIKE / WEAR? Usually a pair of sneakers on his feet, baggy jeans, or sweatpants. Always adorned in some kind of graphic tee, usually with a comic book reference or movie reference. Most often a hoodie in a dark colour, like grey, dark green, dark blue. If it's colder weather he'll also wear a leather jacket, or bomber jacket. And a scarf, usually a knitted one. He only has a few but they were all made by a family member, which is why he holds them dearly and wears them even when it isn't exactly cold cold either.

IS YOUR MUSE AFFECTIONATE? HOW SO?  Yes. But not with people he doesn't trust. Being a werewolf his affections are very tactile. It's touches, not just hugs and kisses. But the random brush of his hand on the shoulder. A brush of their hands against each other for a moment. If he trusts you, even as a friend, he will give your shoulder a squeeze randomly. He'll let his hand brush against yours. Just showing that he's there and supportive. He'll give warm hugs, and long hugs. If he's your significant other. It will be so much more. It's still simple gestures. Like holding your hand, brushing his thumb over your cheek, soft kisses, long kisses. Make-out sessions, hugs and cuddles. But he doesn't really do public displays of affection. So if you are his significant other, it's more of handholding and random touches if you're out in public.

WHAT POSITION DOES YOUR MUSE SLEEP IN?  On his side, curled up usually. Though that's when he sleeps alone. And not woken up by nightmares. He never falls back asleep after nightmares, and usually ends up just reading or sketching or drawing when he can't sleep. With his significant other, he's either the little or big spoon. It depends on his partners preference. But it's almost always sleeping on the side. And on the rare occasion he can fall asleep with his head on his partner's chest. But it's very rare because he prefers to sleep on his side, because it feels safe, and it's a comfort thing for Isaac.

COULD YOU HEAR YOUR MUSE IN THE HALLWAY FROM ANOTHER ROOM?  It depends on what he's doing. Isaac is usually very quiet and stealthy. However, if he's playing video games, he will get loud, competitive and sometimes even aggressive and curse. But for the most part, people who aren't supernatural won't know he's there unless they smell him or hear his heartbeat, because he's usually that quiet.

Tagged by: @usawfulfew

Tagging: @tmrrwppl anyone who wants to do it cause i'm lazy.

[jangyeevns]

in reference to this post, i’m gonna have a lax little group set in huntington beach, california and surrounding muses ages 21-45 ( maybe 50.. i’ll tweak soon when i decide ) because older muses deserve a place too !! i’m capping it at ten muns for now and it’ll be moots/friends/vibe check clearance exclusive for maximum comfort for everyone. basic rules and info are as follows:

obviously, no god-modding, ship/face-chasing, bubble roleplaying, ooc drama, generally abusive, insensitive or intolerant behaviour, etc or you’re out ! we’re all adults here, so while i’ll intervene when something is brought to my attention, i should assume we all know how to act for these tough and uncomfortable conversations to be avoided or handled privately and considerately.

age ( outside of established rule in next point ) and race-bending are also BIG no’s so let’s not do that, yeah?

muses, fcs and muns must be 21+ to be considerate of ages of majority in some parts, and the rule for aging a muse will be +/- 4 years per the fc’s current age.

recent community fuckery has me adding this, smh. if shipping/having romantic connections comes about, do consider the ages of both muse and fc and not indulge in massive age gaps or power imbalances; chemistry is so valid, but we also have to bear in mind the implications of a 30+ year old fc being with a 22 year old fc, especially as 21 is the youngest age accepted.

you can apply with 2 muses with one being gender, body or racially diverse since i’m not about to facilitate a white and cis as fuck environment because there’s no reason in 2023 ?? this goes for every second muse you pick up when additional muses are allowed once things kick off.

banned fcs shouldn’t have to be rattled off like crazy since lots of lists exist for people who don’t wish to be used and we know most of the problematic people to be wary of, but for those who are either still used in abundance or conflict with personal comfort ( which muns can add onto once accepted ), they include: the hadids, the jenners, kj apa, cole sprouse, nicola peltz, justin bieber, timothée chalamet, ester exposito, dove cameron, danna paola, legacies cast, angus cloud, any zionist, pro-trump or anti-blm tools, sabrina carpenter, george sear, gavin leatherwood, matt daddario, josefine frida pettersen.

interest checks will be on a weekly basis since we all have work, school and other commitments to prioritize at times and rp is a hobby ! since this won’t be an open group, activity checks and hiatuses won’t be mandatory at the moment.

THE APP !

[ faceclaim, age, gender, pronouns ] — i think i just saw FIRST LAST leaving the pier with AESTHETIC ITEM + AESTHETIC ITEM in hand. you haven’t heard of them? they’re a/n OCCUPATION from HOMETOWN, living in NEIGHBOURHOOD and you can always find them at THEIR FAVOURITE SPOT. i don’t know, they seem pretty - NEGATIVE to most, but i thought they were + POSITIVE when i spoke to them; we’ll just have to wait and see what else they have in store for us. [ mun name/alias, age, pronouns, tz ]

feel free to add extras to get a feel for your muse ! it doesn’t impact acceptance if i’m being honest, but i always love a little insight if someone’s even willing to provide it LMAO

SAMPLE APP !

[ tingting_lai, 22, cis woman, she/her ] — i think i just saw PHOEBE ZHU leaving the pier with A SCRUNCHIE COORDINATED TO HER OUTFIT + RASPBERRY PEACH ITALIAN SODA in hand. you haven’t heard of them? they’re a STUDENT/RETAIL CLERK from SOUTHPORT, CONNECTICUT, living in GOLDENWEST and you can always find them at THE BEACH. i don’t know, they seem pretty - PERFECTIONISTIC to most, but i thought they were + EBULLIENT when i spoke to them; we’ll just have to wait and see what else they have in store for us. [ jules, 25, she/her, nt ]

TAKEN FCS !

tingting_lai, bianca lawson

MUN COUNT + FCS !

tbd !

[memphisfaith]

Hearts of Lust: Chapter 13

Pairing Kim Namjoon X Reader

Genre: Collage!AU, Smut

Word Count: 1.4K

Warning: Cursing, mentions of smut, smut, consumption of alcohol, mentions of violence, violence, crack personality disorders, Chaotic energy.

Summary: College is any young adult's prime years, at least that's what Lee (y/n) and Kim Namjoon thought. The two are infamous for two reasons, by two very different crowds. Among the professors they are picture perfect students with perfect scores, attendance, and image. However, among the student body they're the very essence of lust with amazing bodies, sex appeal, and skill. The two, although strikingly similar, butt heads quite a bit with competitions of everything from grades to who can get a person to drop their pants the fastest. With the two of them ready to conquer the school year it's all a matter of Go Big or Home.

We wandered around for a while until free time was over, Namjoon and I spent the next two hours walking the Indonesia section gathering more data and references. Jin texted Namjoon telling him we should start wrapping it up and meet them at the gift shop.

I had gathered enough references for the project so all I had to do was wait for Namjoon. He finished quickly and the four of us met Jin, Yoongi, Hoseok, and Jimin at the gift shop. Namjoon told the three of us to pick one thing and he'd buy it for us. 

Taehyung and Jungkook didn't think twice before running off to pick something but I'm not used to anyone but Yoongi buying me things. So instead I stalled by helping Taehyung and Jungkook pick something.

Taehyung picked out a shark themed baseball cap while Jungkook picked out a stuffed sea bunny plush. I wander around still stalling until I spot a pearl white crab plush. It looks exactly like the one Namjoon liked so much. I pull it off the shelf and walk over to the cashier, as I pull out my wallet Namjoon walks up beside me and places a small jewelry box next to the plush.

"I thought I said I would pay?" He muses as he too pulls out his wallet. "Well this isn't for me." I rebut, Namjoon rolls his eyes "Well it's a good thing this isn't for me either." He jabs. The cashier lets me pay first then Namjoon. 

We moved out of the way to let Yoongi pay for the things his group chose. I didn't say anything as I held the stuffed crab out for Namjoon. A small boyish smile plays on his lips as he takes the stuffy before returning it with the small box. 

"Yoongi warned me that you won't let anybody but him buy you things." He laughs, I let out a light laugh before taking the box. Upon opening it a beautiful dangly mermaid hangs off a silver chain. 

A wide smile spreads onto my lips, "You know I think it's those stories that made you love the ocean, not the manatees." He grins. "But I suppose the Manatees are a reason as well." He adds quickly.

A laugh falls from my lips as I nod, "HAH I did better!" Yoongi butts in as he shoves a bag into my hand. A snort left Namjoon as I fumble to keep the necklace from falling at the new addition of items in my hand.

I sigh before looking into the bag, I shuffle around the bag and look at the stuff Yoongi got me. "A hoodie, a stuffed manatee, and a mermaid statue..." I mumble listing the items. "Thanks Suga" I laugh.

Yoongi nods before flipping Namjoon the finger and struts away. I muffle a laugh until he's out of ear shot, "Please don't take that as a challenge, I'm sure the two of you could buy out the whole store if you tried." I laugh.

Namjoon laughs along with me, "Nah, My only challenger is you Vixen," He winks. I roll my eyes, "As I recall your losing RM," I smirk. Namjoon bucked up with a cocky smirk, "Not for long." He growls playfully. 

I laugh at him, nodding in false agreement. "Let's get the hell out of here before we lose our kids before we can get them home," I scoff, walking past him with a light pat on the shoulder.

Sunday became a lazy day to recover all the energy I lost from Saturday. As of right now I lay in bed with my digital sketch book propped up in my lap. I sip on my coffee as I work on the back grounds for the PowerPoint.

I managed to create three different backgrounds before a knock on my front door forced me out of bed. I drag my feet hoping whoever is at the door would go away before I answer the door. However I had no such luck as the knocking continued as I reached the door.

I swing the door open to meet Jungkook and Namjoon. I quirk my eyebrow at the two before letting them inside. Namjoon walks by with a laptop and a stack of papers while Jungkook carries a big black bag.

"Hi Noona!" The younger cheers with a quick wave. I nod my head in greeting, "So what brings you here?" I question as I close the door and cross my arms. "Jungkook asked for a ride over here so he could ask to use your studio so I figured it would be a good idea to come to work on the project." Namjoon answers.

I nod my head and look over at Jungkook, "Go ahead and use the room kookie," I call jerking my head in the direction of the studio. Jungkook grins and quickly makes his way to the room leaving Namjoon and I together. 

"Well..." I sigh as I roll my neck, "I'll get the drinks and snacks. You go ahead and set up in the living room." I finish walking away to my kitchen to grab said snacks and drinks. I gather up a bag of pretzel sticks, some fruit, and animal crackers before grabbing a couple bottles of tea. 

I carry the hoard of food back to the living room where Namjoon sat on the floor with his laptop and papers sitting on the coffee table in front of him. I throw the food and drinks in the empty space beside it before going to my room to grab my digital sketchbook and laptop.

Upon my return Namjoon has his hand stuffed deep in the pretzel bag as he uses one hand to type away on his laptop. I pay him no mind as I plop myself on the couch behind him and return to my background drawings.

We spend the next two hours like that until Kookie comes in and lays himself across me. I throw my arms over him as he rests himself just under my breasts. I continue my work over his back paying no mind to his child like antics. 

I feel him shift and out of the corner of my eye I watch as he uses one hand to play with the blonde hairs on top of Namjoon's head. Like myself Namjoon pays no mind to him and continues to work.

I finish two more backgrounds before switching over to figuring out how the leaflet should look. Namjoon has yet to give me information for the slides and leaflet so I just made a few designs to pick from.

 I saved the designs and started making footnotes of what the 3-D model should be, I didn't come up with any solid ideas. I groan and rest my tablet against Jungkook's back as he snoozes on top of me. 

A knock on the door breaks me from my moping, "Namjoon could you get the door?" I ask calmly. Namjoon turns to give me a puzzled look but stops when he notices the giant man child on top of me. 

He nods wordlessly and gets up to get the door. A minute later he walks back into view with an annoyed expression, I'm confused until four idiots walk in behind him. Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin, and Taehyung walk in.

I shot the four of them a glare, "Before you say anything—" Hoseok starts holding his hands in the air in surrender. "We come bearing gifts," He finishes gesturing to Yoongi and Taehyung who are both holding takeout bags. 

I stop glaring and nod in approval, Hoseok takes a breath of relief before moving further into the living room. Hoseok and Yoongi sit in the few available chairs in the room as Jimin sits near them.

I watch as Taehyung comes over to shake Jungkook awake. Said boy groans and swats him away as Taehyung continues to pester him. Jungkook finally had enough and got up, he sleepily got up from the couch and slid to the floor next to Namjoon. 

I didn't get a chance to sit up before Taehyung threw himself on top of me replacing Jungkook. I grunt at the force before letting out a sigh, "Hand me some take out," I mumble as I pathetically wave my hand in the direction of the food.

Taehyung hands me the food and a pair of chopsticks before going back to resting on top of me. I hear Jungkook whine and grumble at the fact Taehyung woke him up and made him move just so he could replace him. 

Jungkook grumbles before curling up to Namjoon. Namjoon groans and pushes him away but the boy continues to push himself onto him. Namjoon gives up with a loud sigh as Jungkook curls onto him with a satisfied smile. "So..." I start, "What the hell are guys doing here?" 

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