#the rest of the concepts will come... eventually

[heartyluv]

Note: LATE NIGHT POST?!?! I said I was gonna wait to do this, but I actually couldn’t get him or this whole concept out my mind. First time my fingers were flying across the keyboard in a minute, so I hope you luvlys actually enjoy this! If you don’t…I wasn’t here. And the song is ABSOLUTELY PERFECT for this entire thing and it randomly played from my playlist as I was writing and I was like omg……YES. Okay, I luv you, MWAH!

Contains: You miss Zayne (even if hasn’t left yet), smut, and something so cute that I’m not spoiling it ;)

Word Count: 2.3K

Summary: You don’t want your husband to leave.

Zayne/Reader - A Good Morning

For the first time in… well, ever, you’re up before your husband.

You simply couldn’t sleep and the little bit that you did surrender to, it wasn’t remotely enough to ease your racing mind or rejuvenate your sluggish body. Leaning over to look at your phone, you wince from the light that flashes your sleepy eyes as you tap the screen before you see that it’s nearly 5:30 in the morning, approximately one more hour before Zayne has to get up and get ready for his flight.

It’s another research trip where him nor his colleagues were entirely sure about how long they’d be away for because of how often things could change or arise. It broke you enough to go nearly an entire day without him when he would work overtime at the hospital. The prospect of several that could add up to weeks and go as long as a month in a whole different country? It made you nauseous.

When you carefully sit up to not disturb your sleeping Zayne too much, you turn on your bedside lamp and the bulb inside casts the perfect amount of gentle light. It offers you just enough to turn over and look at his sleeping face clearly, your lips twisting in a frown and nearly quivering because he’s right in front of you, yet you miss him so much already.

Zayne’s played along with your firm belief that scientifically, you and him are extensions of each other due to how connected and attuned you are when it comes to anything either of you say, do, or feel. There was nothing that could shake you of that conviction because of how often it happens and funnily enough, you’re proven right once again when he stirs beside you.

His body rustles beneath the all black comforter before his eyelids slowly lift to grace you with his searching hazel-green orbs like he can sense your unease.

“Hmph…” he huffs, and the action of him cutely blinking away his tiredness puts a smile on your face. “What time is it?”

“Early,” you whisper. “It’s okay. You still have plenty of time to sleep.”

“But is everything alright? Why are you awake?”

“I just,” you rest your temple on your knuckles and shrug. “couldn’t sleep, is all.

“It must be serious to have you awake at this hour. Would you like to talk about it?” His voice is raspy and terribly sexy, but that’s beside the point.

You can’t. You shouldn’t.

Disturbing him with your emotions when he needs to be getting a sufficient amount of rest is an absolute no-go.

“I’ll be fine, babe. Please, just go back to bed.”

If he was someone to be easily deceived by your fake smile, the somber tone in your voice would’ve eventually given you away.

“That’s not what I asked you, my love. I asked if you wanted to talk about it. Because you’re lying to me, I cannot rest until you tell me the truth or tell me how I can remedy what troubles you until you’re prepared to share what it is.”

Now you’re feeling absolutely awful for the fact that you’ve clearly worried him enough to fully pull him out of his slumber.

You watch the cover fall from his bare upper body in his efforts to lay comfortably on his pillow, taking the time to admire the beauty of the man whose ring and heart you proudly own.

“I am ready when you are,” he tells you gently, arm open in invitation with a patient gaze as he waits for you to give him something to work with.

You’ll always admire how ready he is to be of assistance no matter what condition he’s in. He’s always been a giver and more often than not, you were always open to receive.

Your fingers pick at the sheets like there’s something meddlesome about them, feeling that burn in your throat form as you crawl towards him. You rest your head on his chest to welcome the calming steady beat of his heart and hope that it can begin to soothe you like its successfully done before.

“You’re upset.” He rubs down your arm. “Please, talk to me. Tell me what’s happened.”

“I don’t…” your begin shakily. “I just really don’t want you to go. I know I’m being dramatic, t-that you’ve done this kind of trip before, but I hate being without you for any reason, Zayne. I know that’s selfish because you do this to help people who need your level of care and expertise, a-and I tried to not be a bother because you didn’t need to hear all of this when you’re supposed to be focused on what’s important. I just can’t help but—”

“You are important,” he interjects. “My most important everything in this entire world and in any universe thereafter. Is that clear?”

His hold around you tightens and you snuggle into the embrace with a nod.

“Saying you are selfish would mean that you only care about yourself, when we both know how far that is from the truth. You simply love me, and I love how you love me. I don’t vocalize it as much as I should, but I do. It’s a warmth and comfort I’ve never felt or had so strongly before. Marrying you, that was just the beginning of me showing you how grateful I am being given such an irreplaceable gift.”

“Oh, Zaynie…” you sniffle, tilting your head up so that you can have his lips. No morning breath was enough to deter you from intensifying the exchange when all you wanted to do was be one with him in ways that overwhelmed you at times.

Your husband builds up the same level of need when your tongue slips into his mouth and your fingers glide into his messy black hair, the desperation only encouraging the build up.

All your sweet moans and desires pour into his mouth as your pussy fervidly clenches in need for the one touching you just right, to fill her up. Especially when his hand traces down your side to then greedily grab a generous handful of your ass, pulling you into him to feel his growing erection past his sleep plants.

“We don’t have to,” you mumble against his mouth. “You need your rest.”

“I want to.” His tongue teases your lips. “I need you more.”

He deepens the kiss and steadily begins to tower over you, making your back press to the soft mattress. Your nightgown rides up your hips the more you writhe and your body arches into his own when he presses in between your legs. His heavy cock lays flushed against you through the few thin layers of separation and sends goosebumps all across your heated skin, a revelation that makes your doting doctor proud to feel the more he caresses you.

Distracted by his lips that have trailed to your neck, Zayne reaches in between your bodies to move your panties to the side. The snugness of them pulled tight across only makes you throb for him more than you already are.

“My love,” he breathes, sucking on your flesh to leave several marks as a token of his undying affection. “You’re soaked.”

“Please,” you mewl. “Zayne, I need you so bad…”

“I know…” His thick finger ghosts up your slit, just barely grazing your aching clit. “I can feel it.”

Your hands run down his arms to anchor yourself, feeling like you’ll crash too quickly if you let go. You silently worship the scars on his skin with reverence and love whilst he gathers your wetness to slowly begin circling your sensitive bundle of nerves beneath the soft pad of his fingers.

“Ah—F-fuck, Zayne baby that feels so good…” you cry, looking into his lustful stare that holds your heady eyes captive.

“That is what I like to hear.” A finger slides into your tightness and you rock into the digit for extra stimulation with tears prickling in your eyes.

“I know you don’t wish to come like this, but getting to feel you in as many ways as you allow me to before we go further, is a delicacy I’ll never grow tired of. Perhaps…I am the selfish one.”

The erotic squelching of your pleasure echoing in your shared bedroom sends more blood rushing to his already leaking cock.

Your choked whimpers as he slips out of your heat and brings your juices to his puffy lips to savor, is his final straw. He laps up your essence and comes to the same conclusion that’s already been solidified—You will always be one of his favorite indulgences.

He spreads you open wider and you stare as he works his pants down enough to free what no longer needs to be confined. When he inches closer and rubs his seeping tip up and down between your slick folds, you both exhale with a trembling hum of pleasure.

“You still want me?” he checks in once more as one hand digs into the pillow beneath you and the other holds himself readily at your entrance.

“Yes. I’ll always want you, Zayne. Always.”

You graze over your nipples through the material of the silk that covers them, the peaked buds making Zayne wish that he could cater to you properly.

“Take your time when you slide in,” you purr. “I want to appreciate all of you…”

Any and all self control that the shaky man above you has built up throughout his entire life crumbles instantaneously, and it’s all thanks to you.

Zayne’s contemplative silence is a response you’ve had enough time to learn the differences between.

And this one screams I would do anything for you.

At the same time that his length eases into your hot pussy, his low grunts make you squeeze him tighter and suck him in deeper. You make his cock glisten with each disappearing inch and the filthy sound of you opening up for him like you’ve been spiraling for, makes your toes curl with gratification.

“Y-You’re heavenly,” he murmurs, giving you the slow start he wordlessly promised before he leaves you with a memory to hold onto until he’s back in your arms to do this again, but better.

Your nails in his shoulders is how he loses complete control and the way you nod with parted lips as if you could read the rabid thoughts in his mind, is what has him putting his hands in yours that fell beside your head. Your fingers intertwine, his ring and yours against one another’s skin a promising memorabilia of your unbreakable connection.

His languid stokes in your gummy walls and each orgasm inducing constriction from your hungry pussy when he sinks back in, makes the both of you dizzy in a way that’s addictive.

His pace rapidly increases, the sharp slap of his skin against yours becoming a seamless addition to the sounds that’s pulled from your throats because of the intimate lovemaking.

“I love you, Zayne,” you gasp when he rubs against your clit, his strokes precise and purposeful. “Oh, I love you, I l-love you so much…”

The promising declarations you make in his ear unintentionally provokes your partner to do something that’s only occurred twice in your relationship: the first time you ever had sex together and a few nights into your week long honeymoon.

Similar to those instances, your hands are surrounded by an unmistakable chill that pricks you with a subtle sting, but it’s not enough for you to alert him or make anything stop. In fact, his wanton moans as he inhales your natural scent and how he grips your hands tighter the harder he takes you, is the only motivation you need to receive everything he’s giving you with appreciation.

“Remember me right here on the nights you miss me most, darling. I know I’m going to cherish it.”

Zayne’s pulsating length reaches the deepest depths of you and the easy glide of him inside your body the more drenched you become, makes him tremble uncontrollably.

“You—I’m going to miss you. So, so much,” he rasps.

That chill in your palms grow, traces of glacier like tendrils begin to snake up your forearms, and a subtle frost rapidly takes its own initiative to consume the space entirely. Your eyes can’t help but to widen with awe as delicate snowflakes start falling out of thin air and sticking to surfaces like a scene out of a storybook.

“Come inside me,” you beg, smiling past your pitched whines. You long for the moments where he feels this good—feels this free.

“I’m so close, Zayne…I’m—Hah!”

Not another word is able to be spoken before your orgasms rapidly approach simultaneously, numbing shockwaves of bliss making both of you twitch.

For a moment, there’s nothing and no one but you and Zayne left on Earth as his cum rushes inside your fertile womb and as yours marks him with an incomparable ambrosia.

His hips slow while he pumps his heavy load deep, nuzzling his forehead against you until all the tenseness is released once you milk him for all he has.

When he pulls back to look at you, his flushed and content expression is replaced with muted shock from all the intricate patterns of fallen snow that’s splayed across your furniture, hair, skin, and bedspread. He carefully eyes your interlocked hands and still panics even when the frost begins to retract as he comes down from the peak he reached.

“I’m so sorry,” he rushes out. “I failed to notice. Have I hurt you? Why didn’t you tell me—”

“There was nothing to tell,” you cut off his impending worrisome tangent. “If making love to me lets you lose control like this at any given time, I’ve always told you that I can take it. That hasn’t changed.”

Still buried deep in your warmth, he smiles. A real and genuine one, too.

“Thank you. For giving me more than I deserve.”

He asks the device sitting beside your bed how many more minutes does he have before his alarm goes off and when he’s robotically told he has another thirty five, you wished that time could be frozen until you were ready to leave this moment.

“I suppose there’s no point in further delaying the inevitable, then. Good morning to you, Mrs. Li.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Would you be so kind as to get ready for the day with me?”

“Oh Mr. Li,” you cheekily grin. “You didn’t even have to ask.”

♾️ Tags: @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple @sensual-study @sweetcalebb @asiaticapple @raemanova @awquaz @callads7 @floatinginaer @crimsonsylus @aquarianbeat @inutrasha94 @jadestone2 @lamogliedizayne @sylusqt

Creds to @/junabuggy for the falling snow & @/thecutestgrotto for the z’s and ice!

[goomyloid]

Hey, it’s me again. Just wanted to come by and ask what’s your opinion on Gerson? Sorry if this sounds really random, but I’m just curious to know since his relationship with Susie was easily one of the best relationships in the whole game imo and I wonder if you had any thoughts on it and it’s themes and what his impact on Susie could mean for the rest of the game.

i cannot listen to wise words without tearing up. thats how cool he is

i think its awesome how gerson was like, EXACTLY the kind of mentor figure susie has needed all this time. whimsical enough to piss her off, weird enough to make her laugh, strong enough to really motivate her, cryptic enough to get her thinking, and able to teach her things in a way where she feels lifted up instead of put down. its really really awesome.

which of course makes it all the more painful when she finds out he’s actually dead, and him in that dark world was just a precious fleeting glimpse of how her life could’ve been different if he was in it from the beginning. its all Yet Another example of how ginormous susie’s heart is. she cares and feels so wholly and thoroughly… persistent and trusting and protective to a fault… when she thought she was fighting gerson during the whole ripple section, her solution was to HEAL him, after refusing to attack the entire time. GOD I LOVE SUSIE

slight krusie moment -> a bit off topic but i think a lot about how kris just so deeply, unapologetically wants to be friends with susie. they let themself have that bond with her, hell they foster it as much as possible and stop us when we try to ruin it. i think a lot of that is just because of how susie is as a person, changing everyone around her including ralsei and noelle. she’s going to feel her friendship with kris with her entire heart, so why shouldn’t they do the same? (its funny how its so opposite to how they act around noelle, and yet in both cases, it serves as some form of ‘punishment’ kris gives themself. they distance themself from their childhood friend out guilt, thinking they’re not worthy to be by her side for various reasons. and then with susie, kris is letting themself feel good and happy, all while knowing everything will come crashing down sooner or later. the higher the climb, the harder the fall. losing susie as a friend would destroy them, an emotional death sentence, and they know its likely to happen once she finds out about Who they’ve been working for…)

anyway. i dont really know about the rest of the game, like im not sure of really specific ways it might affect her, but in my made-up AU inside my head where they’re all in their early to mid twenties and navigating adulthood, susie eventually goes to university to pursue creative writing. the concept of Making Your Own Story is really strong in chapter 4, and i imagine it probably sticks with her for a long long time

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Dreams of Arcadia - Chapter Four.

Giggling and kicking my feet at the little group of people out there who are vibing with this! So thankful to you for your interaction :)

Summary: Everyone harbours their own ghosts, the lingering pains that shadow them through life. For Dr. Marla Krane, an accomplished trauma surgeon, these burdens have grown almost insurmountable, the emotional toll compounding with each passing day. One evening, following the loss of a patient and reeling from turmoil in her personal life, the mounting pressure becomes overwhelming. 

On this pivotal night, as Marla wanders the streets of New York barefoot and in despair, she finds herself the victim of a tragic accident. This event transports her to Arcadia, a mystical and verdant realm whose tranquil beauty stands in stark contrast to the chaos she has left behind. 

Within Arcadia, Marla encounters an enigmatic figure known as the dark god, who extends solace and understanding in her moment of deepest confusion. With her fate delicately poised between two worlds, she must confront a profound choice: to return and fight for the life she knows, or to surrender to the mysterious embrace of Arcadia’s guardian, where perhaps, at last, she may find peace. 

Words - 2,964

Warnings - AU!Vessel, mentions of death and injury, eventual smut, 18+ only. Minors DNI!

Previous Chapters - One Two Three

Awaking from perhaps the soundest slumber she’d ever experienced, it took Marla a few moments to realise where she was upon opening her eyes. The noises of New York’s rhythmic hum were instead replaced by birdsong, free-flowing water, and the sound of grass being nibbled upon. 

“Hello, Celeste,” she called, carefully peering over the edge of her tree-bound bed, seeing the unicorn mare grazing contentedly beneath. “I’m guessing your friend brought me up here, right?” 

“Correct.” 

Turning to her left, there sitting on the next branch over was Vessel, the morning sun casting soft glints across his bare, ebony chest where his robe hung open. Peculiarly, it sent a spark of heat crackling through her belly.  

Was it permitted, to find a deity whose face she couldn’t even see attractive?  

“Hi, Ves,” she spoke, clearing her throat and looking to his mask. He dropped his head a little, and she knew in that moment that he’d noticed her appreciating him.  

“Good morning, Marla,” he eventually offered pleasantly, watching as her cheeks pinked a little, the reaction sitting at slight ill-ease with him. Women gazing in his direction with appreciation was an entirely alien concept for the dark god. “Are you well rested?”  

“I am,” she chirped, “I didn’t think I’d get tired, being dead. Or whatever the heck it is I am presently.” 

“It is not uncommon for those who have passed on to the next plane of existence to become weary.” He lifted his hand, motioning towards her. “Or ones who may only be visiting temporarily.” 

“Can you see, back down on earth? How am I doing?” she asked, turning to face him, her dress rucking up her legs as she bent her knees.  

Beneath his mask, Vessel’s eyes immediately flittered, taking in the supple flesh of her thighs. He was quite used to people roaming through Arcadia unclothed by that point, the sights leaving him completely unmoved. How a mere hint of thigh affected him into accelerated heartbeat, he wasn’t altogether sure.  

“Following a surgery that lasted into the early morning, you remain in a medically induced, comatose state.” Seeing all meant of course, witnessing the current state of her mortal form.  

“And my injuries?” she persisted. He remained quiet. “Ves, come on. It’d be helpful for me, to know what my chances of survival are, at least.” 

He looked at her for a long moment. “A fractured skull, broken neck, two fractured lower vertebrae, damage to your liver, two collapsed lungs, a ruptured spleen, multiple facial fractures and skin grafts needed to your arms and stomach.”  

“Which of my vertebrae?” 

Of course, she would request further details. “C4, C5, L1 and L3, all of which have been fused by an orthopaedic surgeon.”  

“Nerve damage?” 

“None lasting, so attests the tall man with auburn hair who worked upon you.” 

Jack Grace. The chief orthopaedic surgeon, whom she recognised from Ves’s description alone. Ruminating on the information objectively, as if she wasn’t the patient in question, Marla had to conclude that if she’d come through surgery, it was a positive sign.  

The skull fracture likely meant a hematoma and progressive swelling to her brain, further evidenced by her currently being kept in a medically induced coma. It was commonplace with such an injury. All things considered, she thought herself quite lucky to have come away with nothing further on her itinerary of injuries.  

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she breathed, shaking her head in bewilderment. “I’m lucky to be alive at all.” 

She didn’t sound grateful for that whatsoever. “You appear unmoved by such fortunateness,” Vessel observed, stretching out his long legs before him upon the sturdy branch.  

“My surviving it, should I awake from my coma once they bring me around – sometimes patients remain comatose indefinitely – will only bring about more pain to my already miserable life,” she scoffed, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin to her knees.  

The dark god viewed her shrewdly beneath his mask, wanting to suggest perhaps she strive for something other than self-pity, and maybe her life might turn in upswing once more. The part of him who was truly empathic to the pain of others prevented such blunt candour, though. 

Her heart was brimming with the memory of the pain he had taken from her, still. While he could remove the physical ache of it, his power could not extend to removing the memory of how much she had faced, her unending emotional attrition.  

If Vessel understood anything with such acuteness, it was wounds of the heart.  

“You’re quiet,” she observed, cocking her head a little. 

“Contemplative,” he stated, “Unsure over the advice I should offer forth.” 

She chuckled softly, picking up a fallen leaf and twirling it in a gentle grasp between her fingers. “You’re a god, Ves. Try.” 

“Consider this,” he began, opening his hands in gesture, “perhaps the physical healing you will endure, should you survive, will steer your focus away from the emotional turmoil that has taken precedence in your life of late.” 

“One pain replaces the other,” she muttered, sighing. “I don’t think I want to return, you know. I mean shit, I had good things in my life, I see that.” 

“Your charming mother, your hilarious father. Ellie, her boys, your career, wonderful friendships with your peers,” he interjected with.  

“But it all seemed so meaningless.”  

If it hadn’t been for his mask, Marla would have witnessed his eyebrow arching high. “All because you did not have a romantic partner to share it with? That seems like an awful waste.” 

He was right. She knew it, his truth was one she had uttered to herself countless times over the past eight months. Hearing it repeated by her other worldly guide only solidified it for her. “I know, and I’m aware I’m being pathetic and wallowing. I suppose it’s a fault of mine when I’m under emotional pressure.”  

She looked at him, her lips thinning. “I should be enough on my own. I know. My value isn’t measured by the success of my love life. I’m just lonely.” She paused, those thinned lips curling into a smile. “Marginally less so now.”  

If jet black skin could have flushed. Still, Vessel felt the little tingle at his cheeks all the same.  He was stumped for a response yet again, an awkwardness he wasn’t familiar with. Or particularly fond of.  

“I shall leave you for now, allow you to rise in your own time,” he spoke, standing up. 

“I’m risen,” she replied, taking to her feet. “Can you help me get down?” 

“My assistance is not required.” Jumping from the branches, he landed sure footedly upon the grass below, the still nearby Celeste lifting her head with a start to snort through her mouthful of grass. “Jump. You’ll land neatly.” 

“In a neat heap of broken legs!” she exclaimed, peering down over the edge of her nested bed. 

His shrug was casual, reaching to pull his staff from the ground. “Your body is a mere manifestation. Broken bones are of no consequence here.” 

“Okay,” she called, “give me a minute.”  

While neither she nor her clothing smelled, she wanted to change out of the dress. Back in her real life, her career meant her choices of daily attire extended only to smart or scrubs, her choices away from work lending more to smart casual. Asking of Arcadia, she was presented with a pair of white linen pants and a simple grey vest she changed into, standing on the edge of the branch and gulping.  

One brave leap later and she had landed just as neatly as Vessel had promised, the pair beginning to walk at a steady pace.  

“So,” she asked, quickly seeing if Arcadia would honour a wish she made silently in her head. When a toasted poppyseed bagel with butter appeared in her hand, she realised it would. “Who is the most interesting person you’ve welcomed into Arcadia?” 

“In which millennia?” 

Her eyes widened a little. “Shit, I suppose this one, but any notables from the previous you’ve been here I’d be just as interested to hear.” 

He ruminated on his reply for a few moments. “Socrates is perhaps one of the most remarkable people I have ever welcomed here. A true intellectual genius. Funny too, so I found,” he began, Marla’s eyes widening in wonder as he continued.  

“In recent times, I found Professor Stephen Hawkin to be an incredibly fascinating gentleman. It was a joyful experience to see him arrive unincumbered by his illness, able to move unassisted and speak again. Aside from him, her majesty Queen Elizabeth II is an awfully lovely lady. Completely fascinated by Celeste, I remember, being that she is a keen lover of horses. She called me Mr. Vessel, too, which I found quite entertaining.”  

“Do they ever come and see you, these notable people?” 

“No,” he lamented, “they remain sequestered within the halls and the gardens found beyond them. All soaking up the sunshine of their loved one's presence in their glorious reunion.” She shouldn’t help but notice the faint trace of bitterness in his voice, his tone soon turning to that of soft grief. “People are few and far between out here.”  

“Do you have friendships with any of those people?” 

He took a moment to answer. “I thought we had previously established that I do not.”  

“I had a lot to take in yesterday,” she replied, unmoved by the slight coolness of his answer. “Sorry I didn’t remember. You’re also not big on talking about you, though.” He made no attempt to respond. “I hope you will tell me, one day. At least who you were as a person. I’d like to know.” 

“Why?” 

Shrugging, she gesturing to herself. “You know more about me than I’m entirely comfortable with. Seems only fair.” 

She made quite the valid point. “In life, I was much as I am now. A guardian, warrior, a man of great candour and strength.” 

Wondering exactly how much he would reveal, she chose her next question with care. “Who did you guard? A king of some kind?” 

“The chieftain of my tribe. I was an ancient version of a bodyguard, I suppose one could assume. To him and his family.”  

“And what about your family? Did you have one, wife, kids?” Looking up at him, she saw even in spite of the mask that he was visibly wincing at those words. Regret immediately pricked in her belly, coming to a stop and touching a hand to his arm. “I’m sorry, shit. That’s obviously a scab I shouldn’t have picked at.” 

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “Almost. There was almost an offspring. But no wife.”  

Closing his eyes, he saw her, his mind the only place she existed now, Vessel having no idea what had become of the woman he had longed for and loved in secret. She had never arrived in Arcadia, as he had held hope for in the years following his own ascent.  

He wasn’t even aware of his tears until one slid to the corner of his lip, Marla reaching to gently stop its trickle with her thumb. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

Covering her hand with his, he nodded. “I know.”  

Without hesitation, she reached to wrap her arms around him, tightening his ancient form in a hug. She wasn’t to know, but it was the first time he’d been embraced since his reincarnation as a god. He stiffened for a second before his body became accepting to the offered comfort, the little slice of solace granted, his old bones breathing a sigh of relief as he reciprocated.  

Time seemed to slip by unnoticed as they stood together, the silence between them thick with the weight of memories unspoken and pains unhealed. For a fleeting moment, the boundaries of their two worlds blurred, her arms around him, his ancient grief thundering quietly beneath the shell of stoicism he had carried for over four millennia. When Marla finally stepped back, she reached again, her fingers touching against his intricately decorated mask. 

“Let me see your face,” she whispered, the impulse fluttering from her tongue with little forethought.  

“No,” he gulped, his voice quiet, yet staunch. “I am horrific.” 

“I know horror,” she began, resting her hands to his thick shoulders. “I’m a trauma surgeon; I see it regularly. People with their faces ripped off from accidents, limbs missing, bodies impaled, bent in ways the human body shouldn’t bend. I doubt what you hide is anything close to the sights I’ve seen.” 

He remained hesitant, weighing it up. He had only seen himself once, his reflection in the water making him never, ever wish to experience the sight again. There was something powerfully earnest in her eyes, though, something extending to him in waves of trust that moved his hands to push his hood from his head, elegant fingers unfastening the mask and letting it fall into his hand.  

There, revealed to her long before she assumed her would, was the face of a truly handsome man. Chiselled features, his skin smooth and inky, but his perceived disfigurement was evident.  

His eyes, while a hypnotic hue of bright blue, were those of a serpent, two mere blackened slits for pupils. Still, they did not detract.  

“Oh, my god,” she breathed, her hand cupping his cheek. 

“You cannot say you weren’t warned,” he spoke, a deep line setting between his furrowed brows. 

“No.” She shook her head rapidly. “You’re beautiful.” 

He scoffed darkly, frown lines deepening. “My skin bears the besmirching of human poison, and I have the eyes of a viper. I fail to see how anybody could possibly find any hint of beauty in that.” 

“Beauty goes beyond what the eye can see, Ves,” she reminded him, resting her hands to his upper arms, thumbs stroking softly. “But what my eyes see? A truly, truly beautiful being.” 

He stared down at her for a long moment, unable to speak, because he knew she meant it. And it terrified him. So much so that within the space of a blink and a tear, he vanished, leaving her bewildered for a moment before she realised that their interaction had probably been the first of its kind for him.  

“I didn’t mean to spook you,” she called into the nothingness of his departure. “I’m sorry.”  

Waiting for a few moments, she got the impression he was hesitant to appear again, Marla sighing and turning to a still nearby Celeste. “Is he always like this?” The ethereal mare let out a soft whinny. “I’ll take that as a yes.”  

While she continued with her walk around her new surroundings, the unicorn eventually ambling along at her side, back in the realm of mortals her body lay still, overseen by the woman who had saved her life.  

“My good goddamn, sweetie.” It must have been about the hundredth time Faith Walker had uttered that statement since her friend had arrived, barely clinging to life, her injuries horrific. Placing the iPad she was reading her vitals upon down, she took a seat on the edge of her bed, her brilliant, kind hands reaching to gently stroke her swollen face. “What a mess you got yourself in.” 

Covering her eyes with her hand, she allowed herself the tears she’d forbade the arrival of during the preceding hours. All the way through the eight and a half hours of surgery to save her, she’d built an indomitable wall between her emotions at seeing her friend so severely injured and the poise of the accomplished surgeon she was. Her life had been in her hands, and it was only then that the enormity of it hit her squarely in the chest.  

“Darling, if you were that sad, why didn’t you come to me? You can tell me anything, you know that,” she cried, removing one of her handkerchiefs from her coat pocket and dabbing her eyes. “The levels of booze in your blood? Holy Moses, sweetie. That isn’t you!” 

It truly wasn’t either. Marla had never been that much of a drinker. True, she enjoyed a couple of dry vodka martinis at the end of a long day, but she would always then switch to a simple club soda with ice and lime before inebriation could take hold. Faith could count on one hand the number of times she’d witnessed her friend drunk in the last eleven years of their friendship.  

“And I know,” she continued, her voice still a little choked, “I know I tell you constantly to take more time for yourself, to rest, but this ain’t exactly what I envisioned!” She laughed then, but it wasn’t joyful at all. “Gone and left me here without you. How am I supposed to keep everyone on their damned toes without my sidekick, huh?” Her smile widened. “The nerve of you.” 

Standing, she took a deep, fortifying breath. “Just you hurry up back to me, to us all. Wherever you are now, it can’t be as good as it is right here. With the people who love you.” 

Up in Arcadia, where Marla had heard every single word, she paused in her walk, reaching out to stroke Celeste’s sparkling coat. “No, Faith. It’s about a hundred times better.”  

Her tears fell then, crying for the anguish of her friend, of the fear of waking up into the shattered remains of her life in an equally splintered body. She expected Vessel to materialise again, yet he could only watch from afar, not trusting himself in his own compromised emotional state to return to the woman who had captivated him so completely.  

Gods were not destined to deal with such trifles, yet there he found himself, completely paralysed by it. 

Did you enjoy what you just read? If so, please help your author out by commenting/reblogging. If you want to be added to the taglist, please do let me know, too!

[travelingtothefarlands]

Was going to redraw more scenes, but motivation is AWFUL right now. Anyway, silly sketch of Harper as Ford in an amazing awful AU/crossover of mine. I have mostly everyone figured out, I just want to wait to share them once I have drawn renditions

(bonus: concept thing i made literal months ago. huge credit to mellon_soup on most socials for the base, their bases help me SO MUCH during art block)

[arolesbianism]

I received a vision and had to doodle it immediately

[the-first-spinjitzu-master]

Okay it’s 3am and I have to be at my first day of work at my new job in seven hours.. but I just had a THOUGHT.

So hear me out- Jay can control electricity. Obviously.

But has anyone else considered the idea of him being able to basically mind control other people?? Or hack their bodies?? Since humans literally run on electrical impulses??

Now I know Nya can’t draw the water out of his lungs, but that doesn’t mean that using your element inside someone else’s body is impossible. Maybe that’s just confined to other elemental masters. And of course I haven’t seen DR yet (two episodes away from finishing Crystallized!! I’ll have caught up with DR by this time next week for certain), but I’ve heard a lot of discussion about Jay coming back as a villain in S2… can you imagine how absolutely batshit of a villain Jay concept would be if he came back and just mind controlled people?? And it would totally tie into his cult leader antics as well (I’m still so sad that the League of Jays was pretty much abandoned after the first couple episodes… it was such a funny concept and could’ve actually been used for some fantastic plot/character development … but… alas :( )

Anyway. Basically all that to say I just got smacked in the face with a new Villain Jay idea and I’m soooo going to start using him for fic stuff. Maybe I’ll even tie it in to the AU concept I’ve been working on for a while.. maybe..

[shock-micro]

anyone ever have the urge to put a character in a time loop to see what happens. what sorts of self-reflection and discovery would they do with all that time. what would they try, knowing it's a time loop? would they stay strong? when would they break?

[phagodyke]

weekend melancholy is starting to kick in >~<

[solxamber]

Want You Back with: Vice-Housewardens + Ruggie

Where they're still in love with you

Other parts: Housewardens

Trey Clover

Trey insisted that he was doing just fine after the breakup. He said it with a firm, reasonable tone which made people afraid to challenge him. But there was a sudden spike in sweet production that should've triggered an intervention.

The first sign that something was deeply wrong was the dessert box you received. Deuce was the delivery method–nervous, sweating slightly, and holding it like it might explode.

"Trey asked me to give you this," Deuce said. "He made too much again. I didn't ask questions. Please don't ask me questions."

Inside was your favorite dessert. Made exactly the way you liked it, portioned perfectly, with a note about storage instructions.

The next week it happened again. Deuce looked more tired this time.

"I don't even think he's making any for us anymore," he said. "There were twelve of these and they all had your name on them."

The week after that, he just left the box outside your door and sprinted away.

Meanwhile, Trey had developed a new habit of dropping half-memories into conversations and then staring into the distance. He'd start a sentence with something like, "Remember when we went to—" and then just stop speaking altogether. Sometimes he'd blink slowly. No one ever asked him to continue.

The real problem happened during a meeting, when Riddle asked Trey to pass the sugar.

"Sure thing, babe," Trey said, without thinking.

Silence. Absolute, dead air silence.

Trey apologized immediately, said he'd been distracted, maybe overtired, clearly mixed something up. Riddle stared at him for a full ten seconds before continuing like the moment had been stricken from existence through sheer force of will.

But for the rest of the day, he referred to Trey exclusively as "Mr. Clover."

Even Cater started noticing. During a tea party planning session, Trey was explaining seasonal pastry pairings and said, "They always liked the these in spring—" and then stopped. And just stared into space with a haunted look, eyes unfocused like he was watching a flashback play out on the wall.

Cater, in a rare moment of self-preservation, slowly slid his chair backward and excused himself from the room.

Trey never addressed any of it. The desserts kept coming. The flashbacks kept happening. He went about his day as if this was all very reasonable.

He never asked you to come back and you never said anything either.

But when the next dessert came with a note that read "Let me know if you want to bake something together again," you kept the note.

You'll answer him soon enough.

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie took the breakup well. Or at least, that was the impression he worked very hard to give. He laughed a little too loudly at everything, kept his tone light and breezy, and absolutely would not stop making jokes. About anything. Including your name, the concept of heartbreak, and on one occasion, a broom that somehw reminded him of you for reasons he refused to explain.

He also always seemed to know where you were. He could recite your schedule better than most professors, which was concerning considering he never wrote anything down and clearly wasn't trying to remember it for academic purposes.

That was around the time the snacks started appearing.

A variety of edible items were now being left on your windowsill with increasing regularity. One day it was a crumpled bag of crackers. The next, something that looked like it had been stolen from the cafeteria. The quality varied, but the intent was consistent: he was absolutely not going to speak to you, but he was going to feed you like you're a raccoon whose trust he's trying to earn.

Eventually he started doing things "just because." Favors you didn't ask for, tasks you hadn't gotten around to, errands you never mentioned. You'd open your bag and find things you lost last month. Your laundry got done at suspiciously convenient times. When your dorm got mysteriously dusted while you were in class, you caught a faint trace of a very familiar scent and found a magift disc that definitely wasn't yours under the bed.

You stepped outside your dorm one afternoon to find him lying on the ground in the grass, dramatically clutching his ankle and squinting at the sun like it had personally wronged him.

When you asked what happened, he made a vague gesture and said he "might have twisted something," although there was no visible injury and his shoes were off for some reason he refused to explain. He stayed there, groaning softly, waiting for you to help him, and occasionally adjusting his pose whenever you looked away—presumably to appear more pitiful.

When you finally helped him stand, he immediately stopped limping, dusted himself off, and suggested that maybe you could "hang out or whatever, since we're already here."

And how could you say no?

Jade Leech

Jade didn't make a scene. That wasn't his style. After the breakup, he went about his life with the same calm demeanor he always had. There was no change in his expression or his routine but there was a slightly unsettling increase in how often he happened to be standing somewhere near you, doing absolutely nothing.

It wasn't stalking. That would be unrefined. But it also clearly wasn't coincidence. He never approached you directly, he just loitered with purpose, nearby, always pretending to be on his way somewhere else.

The mask only cracked once, when Floyd casually brought you up in conversation and Jade's smile froze so precisely mid-expression it looked like it was carved onto his face. He just stopped blinking for a moment, like he'd mentally stepped out of his own body to scream into a bucket somewhere. Floyd stared at him, then slowly reached across the table and took his drink without asking.

He never brought you up directly. Instead, he asked theoretical questions that weren't quite as subtle as he believed.

"If one were to mend a broken relationship," he asked Azul one afternoon while reorganizing in the lounge, "would it be wiser to reintroduce emotional intimacy gradually, or would a surprise approach prove more... efficient?"

Azul didn't respond. He just walked out of the room.

Every time he ended up beside you, always by coincidence, of course, he acted surprised.

Jade didn't sit next to you on purpose. That would imply intent. He simply appeared, occasionally, in the seat beside yours with a faint expression of interest and a stack of papers that had no relevance to the current activity. He never made conversation. He'd just sit there, glancing sideways every so often, not enough to be obvious but enough to be very clear that he was waiting for something.

Eventually, during one of these "well-timed encounters," you shifted slightly toward him.

He didn't say anything and he didn't look at you. But his posture straightened, and he put the papers away.

They had been blank the entire time.

Jamil Viper

Jamil tried to maintain the illusion that everything was fine but it was convincing nobody. It was the kind of performance that might have fooled a distant acquaintance or a houseplant, but not anyone who had seen him operate at full power.

He still showed up where he was supposed to be, still got things done, but he looked like he hadn't been sleeping, hadn't been resting, and had possibly stopped eating.

The worst part was the silence. He didn't correct anyone, didn't complain, didn't throw out any of his usual quietly exasperated commentary. The version of Jamil who rolled his eyes at other people's nonsense had vanished. In his place was a pale imitation who sat in the corner during group work and didn't even make a face when someone proposed an obviously bad plan.

People stopped bothering him with small talk. It was like he had been quietly reclassified as an emotional hazard zone—calm on the surface, but likely to combust without warning. Even Kalim gave him space, which was saying something.

Eventually, something gave out. He cornered you after class and he looked like he had rehearsed being casual and then immediately forgot how to be human. He asked, very quietly, why you were still being nice to him if you were done.

His voice cracked on the last word in the most inconvenient, humiliating way possible. You didn't even have a chance to respond. He just blinked like he wanted to walk into a wall and left before he could hear whatever answer might make it worse.

You caught him pacing behind the library one day, clearly in the middle of talking to himself.

"Just say you want them back. Just say it. Just—"

He noticed you and immediately fell into silence. He tood perfectly still like he thought if he didn't move, you might forget he existed. The silence stretched for so long it started to feel like you were intruding on a wildlife documentary.

And when you stepped closer and reached for his hand, he didn't pull away. If anything, he looked offended it had taken you this long.

Rook Hunt

Rook didn't take the breakup well, but in typical fashion, he made it everyone else's problem long before it became obvious to you.

Every animal in the woods now had an opinion about your relationship with Rook. Squirrels paused on branches when you walked by. Birds gave you judgmental side-eye. There were rabbits that watched you like they knew something.

Rook took the breakup in stride, if your definition of "stride" included extended lurking behind trees and several suspiciously well-tended patches of flora outside your dorm.

He didn't approach you or speak to you but somehow, your favorite flowers were always in bloom, even out of season, even when they shouldn't have survived.

When this failed to produce results, Rook made a tactical shift that alarmed everyone more than the silent stalking ever did. He became "normal."

It had people watching him out of the corners of their eyes, waiting for him to snap. He spoke plainly. He answered questions without dramatic pauses or poetic tangents. He didn't climb anything. He didn't even add French into his sentences.

It was so unnatural that Epel asked him, in all seriousness, if he had been replaced with a government clone. Vil asked if he'd taken a blow to the head. Trey nearly dropped a tray when Rook said "thank you" without calling him "chevalier."

And through it all, he stayed out of your way.

If you went to the greenhouse, he was suddenly busy elsewhere. If you entered the courtyard, he exited as though he'd simply remembered an urgent appointment on the other side of campus. It was like he was trying to give you something you hadn't asked for: peace or space.

Then one afternoon, you saw him outside your dorm, kneeling beside the flowers with a small trowel while performing an act of unspoken devotion.

You didn't say anything and just knelt beside him in the dirt.

And when he shifted slightly closer, you stayed exactly where you were.

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia claimed to be doing fine. He laughed about it and told everyone he was at peace. He tossed out a few remarks about how heartbreak was good for the bones, and then promptly vanished for three days.

When he returned, he looked like he'd been emotionally dry-cleaned and hung out to air. The sparkle was gone from his eyes. His posture was slightly hunched, like he'd lost a duel with gravity.

No one mentioned it. He brought it up before they could.

"Refreshing trip," he said, standing perfectly still in the doorway. "Cleared my head. Found myself. Spoke to a bird."

From that moment on, the descent was slow and profoundly unserious.

He started texting you again, always in the middle of the night, always with images no one could trace to a known source. Memes of screaming frogs, unidentifiable creatures holding signs that said things like "miss u" and blurry screenshots from ancient anime with captions he had clearly written himself.

The culinary sabotage began shortly after. Each dish felt like a personal challenge to every culinary rule known to man. There was something that resembled soup but smelled like pickled beans.

One meal arrived in a jar, bubbling slightly. Silver tapped it with a spoon and backed away slowly. Sebek refused to eat altogether and Malleus did not comment—but the haunted look in his eyes said enough. If he ever got down on one knee, it would be to beg you to fix this.

Lilia, of course, pretended to remain blissfully unbothered. He'd hum quietly to himself while pouring powdered sugar into things that weren't desserts and casually mention how lovely it would be to "have someone to experim—I mean, cook for—again."

One evening, as you were winding down, you heard a strange tapping at your window. It wasn't the usual rhythm of branches or wind so you pulled the curtain aside.

And there he was.

Lilia, suspended upside down from your roof. He was perfectly still while grinnimg. Hanging there as if this was the most natural way to say hello. You screamed. He screamed back. It was as though he'd forgotten that normal people didn't expect unsolicited nocturnal bat-visits from their ex.

The silence afterward stretched far too long. He remained dangling. You stood frozen. It became a standoff of mutual embarrassment and stubbornness.

And then, with a sigh, you opened the window.

Not because it was a good idea or because you'd forgiven him. Not even because he'd apologized.

Because, in some twisted way, you had missed him too (and honestly, it was starting to rain.)

Masterlist

[seokjinsonlyone]

even more niche boyfriend things i think bts would do

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

namjoon:

not a newborn baby but is a big proponent of the kangaroo care concept; like loves to cuddle you while he’s shirtless; him on his back you laid on top of him, skin touching skin at every possible contact point; it does it for him every time

sends you pictures of animals he finds wandering around when he’s out and about 

takes soooo many pictures of you; don't get me wrong there's a fair share of couples photos like you're definitely taking selfies together whenever y'all go out but he takes twice as many off guard pictures of you as posed ones; definitely has a pic of you during golden hour forlornly looking out a window as his lockscreen

asks you to make him a playlist and listens to it whenever he misses you even if it's really disjointed and doesn't fit his mood simply bc you made it and he's always in the mood for you <333

learns to be more gentle around you so he becomes 5-7% less clumsy when you’re around

if you went to a party together i think there’d only be like one hour max where you’re separated from each other any more than that and y’all both start getting fidgety from missing each other bc if you’re in the same space you absolutely have to be together; when you do meet back up he tucks you up underneath his arm and kisses your temple and y’all are sickly cute for the rest of the night; like enough lovey dovey pda to make someone nauseous

always amazed at the amount of stuff you manage to bring out the house; like you'll come out after him and he sees you walking towards the car, arms stuffed to the brim with water bottles and lotions and umbrellas and whatever else you deemed necessary for the day's outings, so he has to rush to help you before you drop everything; eventually gets hip to the fact that you're a a girl and you're always gonna have bunch of things and starts pre-loading your belongings so you won't have to struggle

Oblivious Boyfriend™; as smart and emotionally intelligent and mindful as he is, he's not a mindreader; like he be so focused on his feelings for you, his passions, and his work that he lowkey don't know wtf going on outside of that; so if there's something going on around you or something wrong with you or you have a problem with him you're gonna have to spell it out lest he be none the wiser

doesn't like when you watch him work out because you're more of a distraction than anything but he does like going to you straight after working out; he gets a real kick out of the way you ogle him and feel up on his biceps while he's all pumped up 

he really likes when you call him cute nicknames; joon, joonie, joonie boonie, namu like it lowkey make his heart soar; his personal favorite is joon bug you call him that and he would literally steal the moon if you asked 

seokjin:

tests out all his new recipes on you; feeds you bites to taste along the way so you're not too hungry because he's a perfectionist and it takes him extra time for him to plate it; "the presentation is just as important as the taste!"

likes when you’re in the same room as him while he plays his games; not necessarily watching him but just your company is enough; switches between focusing on the game and engaging you in conversation so you won’t get bored; would actually love it if you did take an interest in whatever game he was playing; would take his time explaining the back story of each character and their strengths and weaknesses; would start a separate game so that you could play and have you sit between his legs while he helped you with the controls

has to kiss you at least 3 times before leaving the house; once when you wake up, once while you’re going through your morning routine, and once before you leave; more kisses may be shared but any less than three and he swears his whole day is thrown off

he’s going to pick at you; there’s just no way around it it’s in his nature; he won’t do it enough to make you actually annoyed but enough that you wanna smack him around a little; which… he likes things like that

has no problem singing and dancing whenever y'all are casually listening to music but if you actually wanted him to sing for you he'd get all shy, red in the ears and neck and would have to take a couple days to practice before following through

begs you to join him for tennis practice bc he wants you two to become the next venus and serena

y’all will do that one couples trend on tiktok where they paint each other and then reveal the pictures at the end and it’s not like yours is fantastic or anything but you can tell that you at least tried; meanwhile when you see seokjin’s painting you can’t tell if you’re looking at a distorted walrus or a possessed squirrel either way it is NOT you no matter how much he insists it looks like you

stays sending you thirst traps; like whenever he looks good whether it's bc he's all dolled up for some event or he's fresh out the shower with his hair slicked back or he just sees himself in a mirror and remembers he's worldwide handsome, his phone is out, he's putting a sultry look on his face, snapping a pic, and sending it straight to you

you binge watch animes together; no one will see or hear from either of y’all for like 5 days straight, complete radio silence; and when someone finally knocks on the door they see that y’all been camped out in the living room no phone in sight on season 6 of whatever anime y’all started last friday night  

must feed you every time you meet up; like if he has not seen you eat something in the time you spend together he has not completed his boyfriend duties; even if he comes to your place he has to make sure you have at least eaten a snack; doesn't matter how much you weigh he absolutely can not have you wasting away on his watch

yoongi:

gently tucks your hair behind your ear

always offers you his arm to link when it’s cold out so y’all can share each other’s warmth; he absolutely will still be wearing slides with no socks tho and you fuss at him about it every time

lets you play in his hair; just sits there nonchalantly while you give him the most ridiculous hair styles; pig tails, corn rows, mohawks; as long as you don’t cut nothing he doesn’t care fr; takes a picture when you’re done with that big gummy smile on full display bc of how silly he looks

says he's not a big social media person but one of his favorite past times is sitting down with you scrolling down your fyp for hours; makes you send the funniest videos to him so he can watch later

you’re one of the few people that he gains energy from being around so he likes your presence even when you’re not particularly doing anything; like you just be sitting next to each other or like be hand in hand on a walk around the neighborhood not even saying anything but in his head he’s thinking about what a great time he’s having 

if you're up late at night and start feeling peckish he'll make you some snacks even if he doesn't plan on eating; still scolds you about how eating late at night is bad as he's enabling you; ends up eating with you too

he doesn't like watching dramas with you; he'll claim it's bc of the plot but really he just doesn't like how you be kicking your feet and giggling at the male leads

not the best with verbal affirmations so whenever he does go out of his way to compliment you he ends up just as flustered as you are; “you look pretty today” and his cheeks are flushed more than yours 

always preps you to bargain and gathers together all coupons before y’all go grocery shopping; “just bc i’m rich doesn’t mean i like to be ripped off” 

he's always listening to you even when it seems like he's not; you could be rambling on about something and you think he's not paying attention so you stop midsentence and be like "are you even listening to what i'm saying?" and he looks up from whatever he was doing and then repeats back to you everything you said; has a great memory in general so he remembers everything you say and do even the small things that you forget about

hoseok:

sends ‘thinking of you’ texts just to let you know when you’re on his mind

if you start dancing to a song he gets all hyped up and he’s joining you immediately; hands on your hips moving you as he pleases; it’s a club wherever you and the music are

makes you one of his little beaded bracelets that says “ur my hope”

if you fell asleep in a position that looks uncomfortable he’d gently rearrange you until he got you in a more normal position; 100% the type to carry you bridal style to bed if you fell asleep for the night on the couch 

the type to pop up at your crib with an insane amount of the most exquisite, top tier take out and you gotta try to figure out who he think eating all this; doesn't even try to fight the boujee allegations when you tease him for bringing out caviar and truffles 

always takes pics of you when he thinks you look good; like you could be running late and you’re rushing trying to get out the door but hoseok is just gonna spend a good 30 seconds checking you out while you’re fussing at him and then be like wait a minute and starts posing you; has several organized folders of you because of this labeled by genre of your look; it’s easier that way so when he’s showing people pictures of you they won’t accidentally get a peek of something meant for his eyes only

loves the idea of you becoming his family so he really likes bringing you home; warms his heart to see you getting along with his parents and his sister; sets up a group chat with you him and his sister to help y'all talk more but lowkey gets pouty when y'all do get closer and be chatting and hanging out without him 💀

if you're not already together he'll facetime you in the morning; he won't have much to say at first other than a groggy good morning; but after he comes to terms with the fact that he has to be awake and takes a couple sips of his iced americano he's his usual ball of energy sunshiny self; will have you up doing morning stretches and light calisthenics at 6:30am

every couple weeks y'all go to the nail salon together and get mani-pedis; he leaves the acrylics and jewels and glitter to you but the overall color scheme and design aesthetic for your nails match; takes like 17 pictures of your hands together to show off

loves cuddling up to you on the couch so you can play in his hair; like each time his head is resting on your chest and your hand is running through his hair lightly scratching at his scalp he swears he’s reached nirvana 

jimin:

will drag you out the house in the middle of winter to drive down to the beach and watch the sunset together; you’d be huddled up together you sat in between his legs leaning against him his arms draped around your neck pulling you into him; you’d stay there sitting in the sand even after the night settled in just talking until you were shivering and sniffling then he’d take you to a cafe to get some hot cocoa to warm up 

randomly calls you in the middle of the night bc he misses your voice; smiles the entire he’s getting scolded for scaring you bc you thought something was wrong bc he called you at 2am

kisses your forehead, nose, and lips in that order every time you part ways 

hates knowing there's other people staring at you so like if you're out together and wearing like a hoodie or something and he notices you're garnering attention he zips it all the way up and pulls your hood over your head and tightens the strings so no one can see you; in turn knows you hate the thought that other people even think of him so he pretends they don't even exist; like you can literally point somebody out and be like "omg aren't they so pretty" and he's gonna avert his eyes in the opposite direction won't even look and just be like "you're so pretty. there's only you"

number one advocate for a lazy morning; snuggles into you, his head on your chest trapping you in; looks up at you with a goofy smile and preens when you press a kiss to his forehead

squishes your cheeks in both his hands when you're being too cute for him to handle

like the true feminist he is, he supports your rights and wrongs!!; like you get into it with somebody and then tell him the story afterwards he's hyping you up the entire time telling you that you were right and what you should've done and what he would've done if he were you; he's just always gonna be on your side

riles you up just bc he likes the reactions you make when you’re irritated 

it’s tea city when it comes to you two; like whatever you know he knows and whatever he knows you know; gossiping is actually one of your favorite bonding activities; he likes to play it up and drag it out whenever he finds something out; like he’s gonna text you and be like UR NOT GONNA BELIEVE THIS!!!!! and you’ll be like WHAT and he’ll be like I HAVE TO TELL YOU IN PERSON OMG!!!! 😱 when it’s like noon knowing darn well he not getting off work until 10pm at the earliest 😭

likes to go with you when you have to “run errands” bc it’s usually just you doing girl things like getting coffee and then going to the store to buy snacks and skincare and he thinks it’s really adorable how you light up when you see small things in cute packages

taehyung:

has a series of like 12 hour logs in his phone recents list bc he stay falling asleep on facetime

makes it a point to hang out with your male friends just to assert dominance; doesn't matter if they have partners of their own or are completely uninterested in you he still wants to look them in their eye, shake their hand, and then put his arm around you to tie up any loose ends that may be dangling around

helps you pick the eyelashes out of your eye whenever one gets stuck

asks you to come over with the sole purpose of convincing you to take a nap with him; will straight up lie on the phone and tell you he wanna hang out and do this and that and then when you get over there he like let’s nap first; your cuddles just gon do it for him every time

uses kisses as bargaining chips; like if you need him to do something like idk take out the trash he's only gonna do it if you give him 3 kisses so you give him one as a down payment and the other 2 after he completes the task; (he was always gonna do what you asked but kisses make everything better)

likes to keep his hands free when he's out and about so he's always adding extra stuff to your purse; because he's always in your bag, he knows its exact content; you'll be frantically searching for your lip gloss and he'll ask what you're looking for and when you tell him he'll pull it out of some random side pocket he moved it to so he could make room for his stuff

will randomly wake up out of his sleep and call you just bc you crossed his mind; takes like 30 seconds to respond to anything you say bc he only half awake; the call lasts for like three minutes before he hangs up to go back to sleep 

as a big fan of roleplay at least once in your relationship he's gonna make y'all get all dressed up and go to a bar separately and act like strangers and he's gonna pretend to pick you up

if you sent him out to pick up period products last minute he’s the type that ask if you wanted lemon or lime flavor bc one package is yellow and the other is green 😭; alternatively would ask what’s your coochie size when he noticed the numbers on it

he’s not gonna let you win at any game you play; doesn’t matter how much you whine and pout he likes winning too much; god forbid you’re actually good at something he’s gonna try his very hardest and will even practice so that he eventually beats you; will give you all the prizes tho

jungkook:

if he gets bored while you’re asleep he’s gonna start messing with you; his favorite go to games are flicking your bottom lip until you tuck it in or start to gain consciousness and stacking cheerios on your forehead; his personal best is 9 of em 

hooks his chin over your shoulder to be nosy when you’re watching something on your phone that catches his attention

he understands that you’re not as nocturnal as he is but sometimes when you stay over at his place and he feels restless he can’t help but crave your attention; will wake you up at 4am gently with kisses so you can try some of the food he made; you’ll be half asleep with him kneeling in front of you feeding you some spicy noodles; he’ll patiently wait for you to finish chewing before he asks you if it’s good; makes you take at least one more bite before kissing your forehead and letting you go back to sleep; tucks himself up next to you about an hour later after he finishes cleaning up after himself 

you make funny tiktoks together; they never leave the drafts of course except for when he finds it particularly hilarious and sends it in the group chat 

threatens to beat up anyone who upsets you; like you tell him a story about someone who was upsetting you at work and his first response is "bring them to me. i'll take care of it"; and lord don't let someone get carried away at a club or something like if a guy starts hitting on you and won't take no for an answer before you can even tell them off he's already at the scene one shove away from being breaking news on every media outlet in the world

gets pouty when you have a night out without him but he understands the need for balance so doesn’t put up too much of a fight; his only stipulation is that if you can’t make it home on your own or your friends can’t drop you off that you always always call him; the thought of you getting into some randos car late at night when you’re not even mentally there all the way sends chills up his spine; he can’t sleep unless he knows you’re at home safe and sound anyway 

doesn't consciously have a preference for how you dress like he thinks you look good in whatever but you in a dress or a skirt itches a particular part of his id that would have carl jung doing backflips; like whenever you pop out in a dress or a skirt he's coming up to you and giving you a kiss on the lips while his arms wrap around your waist and 10-30 seconds later they're dropping down and his hands are toying with the ends of your garment and grazing your thighs underneath it; it just does it for him every time

you're his safe place <333; he goes through periods where you're the only person he wants to see; he will scare you half to death like you'll get off work and go home and you hear all this noise and whole time it's him in your kitchen making sandwiches for lunch; will make up for scaring you by tucking your face into his neck while his arms are wrapped tightly around you so he can breathe you in and then cupping your face and giving you kisses; you're his baby

you have matching hyperfixations; like one of you will get into something and won’t shut up about it and then being the supportive partner you are whenever you’re on social media you send the posts you stumble across to them; but then the algorithm picks up on it and the content keeps popping so often that you actually start being entertained by it too; then y’all won’t shut up about it and have inside jokes and no one ever knows what y’all are talking about bc it’s so deep down into the referential millennial dadaism

gets offended if you’re walking side by side and not touching in some way; like if you start walking ahead of him or something he’s gonna clear his throat very pointedly and when you look at him like ???? he’s gonna look at you like you’re stupid and pull you into him where you belong 

a/n: as promised she is back 🫡 thank you to everyone who encouraged me to repost 💕 pls continue to be kind my mental state is probably worse than it was before LOL

[yoyomomiko]

Hiiii, I love your writing sm! <33

Could you write monster trio hcs with an s/o who is completely oblivious to their flirting?

Obvs u don't have to write this if u don't wanna! :]

pairings: monster trio x female reader

cw: luffy doesn't really flirt (I don't know how luffy would be flirting I'm sorry), not proofread , probably contains grammar mistakes, english isn't my first language!!

— (a/n): okay so like... I kind of got carried away and didn't really stay with the request and I just realized it now that i'm done writing :(( it just doesn't feel right, I mean, they're not really flirting... it's more like, indirect flirting, you know?? i'm veryyy sorry!!! :(( -> m.list

— LUFFY

Luffy doesn't even understand the concept of flirting, he simply doesn't know how to flirt. He just does things that feel right, like holding your hand all the time or hugging you randomly.

He CONSTANTLY invades your personal space, leaning in way too close when he talks, but you just assume he's always like that (which, in a way, is true).

Luffy will offer you food, which is a huge deal, but you just think he's being generous and thank him without reading into it.

He calls you "his favourite person" or "his girl", but you just assume it's meant to be platonically.

He'll grab your hand and swing it while walking, and when you ask why he simply shrugs. "Dunno, feels right!"

If another guy talks to you, Luffy pouts and clings to you, but you just think he's being his usual affectionate self.

If you ever find yourself in danger, Luffy's protective instincts go overdrive. However, he doesn't exactly know how to express it in a way that makes sense.

He gives you his hat when it's sunny, grinning at you joyfully, like it's a big deal. And then you're just like "Aw, thanks!" And you don't understand why he looks so disappointed (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

Luffy likes sitting next to you during meals, pressing his leg against yours. But you just pull away since you think he just needs more room.

He LITERALLY tells you "I like you a lot!" And you're just like "I like you too!" And ruffle his hair.

He tells you that he'll protect you forever, with the most serious expression ever, and you'll just assume he's being a good captain.

Whenever you hug him, he picks you up and spins you around, grinning like an idiot.

He trusts you with his hat. Like, he trusts you. He lets you wear it all the time, because he knows you'll take care of it. Heck, he's the one placing it on your head! You don't really think much of it, though.

Eventually, Luffy gets frustrated and just blurts out "I wanna be your boyfriend!" And waits for you to finally get it.

———☆

Luffy had been looking for you all morning, walking around the ship, asking everyone where you were. When he finally spotted you on the deck, sitting with Usopp, he rushed over excitedly. He felt his chest tighten whenever he saw you talking with anybody else, but he always brushed it off.

"[Y/N]! I need you!" Luffy grinned, grabbing your hand and pulling you away from Usopp's conversation.

"What's wrong?" You asked, chuckling a bit at his sudden enthusiasm.

"I just wanted to talk to you! You always hang out with everyone else, but you never hang out with me!" Luffy pouted, pulling you along toward the bow of the ship. He threw himself down on the ground dramatically, patting the spot next to him. "Come, sit with me!"

You raised an eyebrow, a bit amused as you leaned over him. "Are you really this clingy all the time?" You teased, a smile tugging at your lips.

"Yeah!" Luffy exclaimed with a wide grin, nudging you to sit next to him. As soon as you sat down, he immediately leaned against you, resting his head on your shoulder. "I just like being close to you. You're my favorite person!"

You smiled and ruffled his hair, thinking he was being his usual goofy self. "You're my favourite person too." You replied, smile widening a bit. "You're a great captain."

He grinned, but then he got serious, standing up straight, staring at you. "No, no, I mean... I like you! I really like you!" He repeated, a little louder this time, a faint pink decorating his cheeks.

You blinked at him, not quite processing it. "Aw, that's sweet! I really like you too."

Luffy just whined, burying his face in his hands as he quietly mumbled something under his breath. You just laughed, patting him on the back as he continued whining. "I think you need a nap, Luffy!"

— ZORO

Zoro isn't the best with words, so his flirting is more about physical gestures, like carrying your things and such.

He always makes sure to sit next to you, no matter where you are, but you just assume it's a coincidence.

He trains shirtless around you more than necessary, subtly flexing, but you never seem to notice.

Speaking of training, he helps you train, standing behind you to correct your form, giving you advice.

I already said he's not the best with words, but he has a tendency to compliment you, although not directly. He might praise your abilities in a fight. You don't really think twice about it, but to Zoro, it's his own form of adoration for you.

He always glares at Sanji when he's flirting with you, but you just think they're bickering as usual.

If another man shows interest in you, Zoro's natural reaction is to stare them down with a glare. You'll never notice his intense gaze, because you think that he's just annoyed by something unrelated.

If you ask for help reaching something, he doesn't just simply hand it to you. He lifts you up effortlessly, just as an excuse to feel you in his arms.

If you're tired, he'll literally carry you to the girl's room. You just think he's being a good friend, as if he does it for everyone else (he doesn't).

He loves it when you nap near him during his training, he just likes your presence. You always think it's just because he's comfortable around you.

If you get hurt, he's the first to scold you. "Be more careful." He's the one patching you up, not letting Chopper get near you (unless it's a serious injury).

Zoro's way of showing affection is through silent protection. You'll never notice that he's doing it for you specifically, and he won't say anything to make it obvious.

He also kind of teases you playfully, as a form of affection. He'll make fun of you when you do something silly, but he's never too mean about it.

He gets SUPER protective in battle, always watching your back. He can't bring himself to look at you badly wounded.

Literally EVERYONE notices how protective he is of you, but somehow you never do. Even strangers think so.

Like I've said before, he finds excuses to touch you. For example, gently guiding you through crowds by the small of your back.

He also somehow always catches you when you trip. Right before you hit the ground, he's there, arms wrapped around you and helping you stand back on your feet.

Eventually, he just grabs your face one day and says something like "Damn it, I like you. Get it now?"

———☆

You were standing near the railing, gazing out at the ocean, watching the sunset, completely lost in your thoughts. That was, until you heard heavy footsteps approaching behind you.

"You've been standing there forever. You lost or something?" Zoro's voice came from beside you, his usual gruff voice a little softer.

You glanced at him as a smile tugged at your lips. "Nah, just thinking. The ocean looks really pretty right now."

Zoro leaned against the railing next to you, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn't exactly great at this whole flirting thing, but if Sanji could do it, how hard could it be? He decided to go for something subtle. Something cool.

"Yeah, well..." He muttered, his gaze lingering on you a second too long. "It's not the only thing that looks pretty around here."

You turned to him, blinking in confusion. "Oh yeah! The ship looks great in this lighting too." You smiled as you took a look around, completely missing the way Zoro's expression dropped.

He sighed, shaking his head slightly before he tried again. "That's... Not what I meant."

You furrowed your brows in confusion. "Oh, you meant the sunset, huh? Yeah. It's really nice."

Zoro stared at you for a long moment, his lips parting slightly, trying to process how this was going so terribly wrong. He tried again, this time leaning just a little closer, lowering his voice. "I was talking about you, idiot."

You blinked at him, slightly tilting your head to the side. "Me?"

Zoro nodded, waiting, praying for the realization to hit you already.

"Ohhh." You finally broke the silence, and for a moment, his heart skipped a beat.

"That's really sweet, Zoro! You think I look nice too?" You chuckled, as if he had just complimented your outfit instead of attempting to flirt with you.

Zoro groaned, running a hand down his face. "Yeah, sure, that's what I meant..." He mumbled, admitting defeat.

You gave him a friendly pat on the back. "You're getting a lot nicer, you know that? I think hanging around me is softening you up."

He let out a quiet scoff, turning his gaze back to the sea. "Or maybe I'm just like that with you."

"Huh?"

"Nothing."

— SANJI

Sanji is the king of exaggerated compliments. Every time he looks at you, it's as if he's seeing the most beautiful person in the world. "My darling, the moon is jealous of your beauty tonight." is a pretty common line from him, but you just think it's his usual behavior.

He constantly tries to impress you with his cooking. He'll make your favourite dish and serve it with grace, and when you compliment the food, he blushes as if you're complimenting him. You thank him every time, but in your mind, it's just good manners.

He will find any excuse to help you with something, even if it's small, like picking up something you dropped. And the moment you thank him for it he's like "Anything for you my lovely lady!" You just smile and move on because he does that with pretty much every woman.

Sanji's always the first one to offer you his jacket when it gets cold. Sometimes, when he gets brave, he wraps it around your shoulders and makes sure to linger closer to you for just a little longer.

He has a soft spot for you when you're sad, and he'll stop whatever he's doing to comfort you. He'll hold your hand, stroke your hair and whisper sweet nothings. You just assume it's because he's a gentleman, not because he's crushing on you hard.

Sanji can be pretty possessive, especially when another guy is even slightly flirting with you. You'll catch him glaring, and if anyone so much as dares to brush against your arm, he'll throw a fit. That person might get a foot to the face, but who knows!!

Whenever you compliment his cooking or his fighting skills, he gets way more flustered than with anyone else. His eyes will turn into hearts, and he'll literally swoon.

Sanji often stares at you with wide starry eyes but when you catch him, he'll just say something like "Oh, nothing! Just admiring my beautiful angel." You think he's being his usual self or just lost in thought.

He makes a huge deal out of holding the door for you, pulling your chair at dinner and guiding you with his arm. But you think it's just because he's being polite. He tries to take your hand as he walks you around, but you just think he's offering help, never suspecting that he's being a little more than just polite.

After all his dramatic declarations of love, he finally cracks. One evening, while you're standing by the railing, he walks up to you and throws himself down at your feet. "I cannot live without you! You're my everything, and I need you to understand that!"

———☆

Sanji had been watching you all day. When you first arrived and joined the crew, he had already been swooning, but now, after spending this much time with you, he was completely smitten. He had made your favourite dessert just for you, and now he was patiently waiting for you to notice.

You peacefully sat on the deck, reading a book, when Sanji rushed over, holding a plate of freshly made pastries. "Ah, my darling! I've made these just for you!" He smiled, leaning down with a hand on his chest in a dramatic bow. "Only the finest for my beautiful lady."

You looked up from your book, a little surprised. "Oh, Sanji! Thank you so much! You really didn't have to, but I appreciate it!"

Sanji's heart skipped a bit as you reached for one of the pastries, giving him a sweet smile. "Anything for you, my love." He muttered, but his voice came out softer, almost like a whisper. He was looking at you like you were the only person in the world. He pressed a hand to his heart, praying you couldn't hear how loud it was beating.

You giggled, thinking nothing of it as you took a bite from the pastry. "This is so good! I don't think I've said this enough, but you're really talented."

He blinked, and his face turned pink, clearly flustered by the compliment. "I only make the best for you, [Y/N]." He replied, his voice shaking just slightly. He leaned in a little closer, almost as if hoping you'd get the hint. "You deserve nothing less."

You looked up, gazing at him, smiling warmly. "Thank you, Sanji. I appreciate it..."

He sighed dramatically and placed a hand to his forehead. "Oh, my sweet [Y/N], how I adore you..." His voice trailed off as he stared into the distance.

"You okay?" You tilted your head, genuinely concerned. But once again, completely oblivious to how he was really feeling.

He slumped forward onto the table, groaning in agony. "I don't think I can take it anymore..." He mumbled under his breath, barely audible. "Why can't you see how I feel?!"

★yoyomiko ★miko

[arolesbianism]

Guys why is rain world so good (<- rewatched some scenes and teared up on all of them)

[queenendless]

YOU FOUND ME

A/n: THNX U ALL FOR GETTING THIS SIDE BLOG TO OVER 800 FOLLOWERS! ♥︎

Credit to @livviespixels for these graphics. I need banners, art, fanart, fanfics, and MORE for our beloved Shadow Lord PRONTO PEOPLE!

I adore this man. So damn much. But I've been all over the place. GlimmerFics but imma take a break from writing there especially cause I get emotionally crying over Jinwoo for weeks now, moody over ZZZ gacha troubles and now that's P5X. So sorry for being gone for over a month and if this fic ain't that good for my Shadowlord's greatness.

CW: Self awareness AU brief/implied. Personal issues I've dealt with this past month like emotional depression, gut pains, etc. Tickle fluff, a bit of angst, hurt/comfort.

DO NOT STEAL, PLAGARIZE, EDIT, TRANSLATE AND/OR USE FOR AI. Rather reblog, like and follow thnx u very much.

Another insomnia fueled night.

Grinding through the newest hit game that everyone has been raving about.

On your laptop, resting on the kitchen chair, as you lay on your family living room couch, earphones plugged in as you toiled away the dead of night while the rest of your relatives sleep.

Despite having made many friends and some hateful choices along the way, your selfish bias had you pining for one character in particular.

Whether as a horned skulled creature composed of human and animal bones and shadows or as a emo human twink with a passion for the role, you adore this entity. This cool dork. Your beloved Shadow Lord; Skips Shadley.

Besides, the voice sold you on the character. That particular range, richness, versatility, whether gruff and theatrical or gentle and soothing.

Unbeknownst to you, the metas this game has pulled is about to take another big leap. So you thought it was all just a dream, believing you had conked out on the couch in the midst of playing.

Betty was used to your night owl habits so she still missed you sleeping at night with her like the old days. But she appreciated it when you return to her as you sleep through the day.

You could have sought out Farya; the first aid expert might be able to treat your flared up nerve damaged limbs that could involve improving your circulation. But you doubted it, your own personal ailments being incurable.

Gaia was understanding of how you kept coming to the corner of the house most of all to see the evident shadow beneath her stand, but is appreciative of you eventually befriending her, even more because she in a sense kept watch over your favorite house dweller.

Despite the Dateviators technically being on to allow you to be able to interact with these dateable objects and concepts, you didn't feel anything on your face as you were endearingly wrapped up in the familiar cozy darkness. The sight of your chosen lover appears out of the endless dark of his domain, making himself quite visible.

"Welcome back, my dear —!" He cut himself off as he looked at you like he's seeing you for the first time. His charcoal pupils lost in a daze. His glowing yellow blush dusting his face. "You ... you're here."

That's when he noticed the emotional distress on your face as your hands press to your chest and belly, pain evident, snapping him out of it. "Penumbra? What's wrong? What happened?!"

His panic and concern layered with tenderness as he hurries over makes your heart flutter, his misty back length hair sentient as he curtains both sides of you, his moonlight glowing hands carefully raking over your form to find any sorts of physical injuries on you.

"My chest, my stomach, my gut - especially my gut - dull flares of pain! I've been emotionally overwhelmed for weeks now. Am I eating too much? Been drinking coffee a lot too. They say bad sleep can cause gut issues. Or is it just that I'm getting older now? I don't fucking know anymore!" Your blubbering puffy self, wallowing in misery, crumbled apart in Skips' startled, anxious grasp.

"Please don't cry. Pretty please?" Your sniffles smother his chest, his smoky gray scarf he uses to dab your face with, not minding it getting soiled, easily able to clean them out since his attire is composed out of darkness itself. He pat and rubbed your back in gentle circular motions, letting you get out all those pent up emotions, nuzzling his face in your hair, inhaling your scent. "There there, angel~ I've got you."

"I'd rather be a shadow at this rate!" The sudden mood shift created from your moody words had Skips looking downtrodden, his eyes hidden underneath his wispy hair, reminding him of his failed ritual in reconfiguring you. You're the one panicked now. "I'm sorry beloved. I didn't mean to — !"

"Oh really now?" That ominous tone he took gave you goosebumps; that mischievous gleam in his eyes peeking out between his wisps. "Such a particular choice of words there, my dark ally~"

His shadows envelop you as he laid you down on plush comfy padding on his floor. He morphs into his alternate monster form. His towering frame envelops your sensitive teary-eyed self, his gruff rough voice seeped with mischief. "Hmm, perhaps I can remedy this dastardly situation."

The gentle yet thorough examination his giant clawed hands gives your vulnerable body leaves you feeling giddy as you giggle and squirm in his hold. "Nohoho stahahahp~! I'm so ticklihihish~!"

"That's the whole point, love. My punishment for your choice of words is most merciful, most bountiful, and most enjoyable~! Fwa hah haha!" His gravelly, wicked cackling only adds to his tickling more.

Pinned in between his arms, he keeps you caged between the puffy floor and his boney shadow form. Squeezing and pinching your hips, kneading and rubbing both sides of your folded belly, wiggling his lone curled claw along your neck and underneath your chin.

His careful tender touch leaves your heart quaking and your nerves firing. Your upper body quakes and your legs kick out underneath him as your laughs raise a pitch higher.

“That's it, my cute penumbra. Let all your unbridled energies spill out. Become untethered and enter the void~!" His spooky drawl got a watery chortle out of you amidst your squeamish state as his boney snout nuzzles your flushed smiling face.

Despite the predicament you're currently in, you hadn't remembered the last time you laughed. Days came and went in depressing sobbing episodes. It felt so long since you last felt elated. Could that be why he's doing this?

"To bare witness to the sight of you in the flesh ... your adorable real self~ I'm honored." His deep voice rumbles richly, his crinkled eyes sockets bore into your squeezed shut eyelids, his curling grin with boney teeth grows to match your own.

His words are nearly lost on you through the tingling, overwhelming high. All of him gets to you. His attention, his touch, both sides to him, you thrived off it all.

He releases you after a bit longer, letting you breathe, ghostly tickles still racking your curled up form as tired giggles slip out of you. His form reverted back to his human coil, brushing your hair away from your face, cradling your bright warm cheek, doting pecks on the tip of your nose, in between your brows, your forehead.

"I enjoy tickling your heart quite fiercely, my dear human. Especially if it helps you smile again." His shadows returned, this time however, to massage and caress your abdomen, your hips, your chest. Working out the stiff kinks. "To think this is how I'm actually seeing you for the first time."

You finally had your head clear from the ticklish overlay, finally able to ask about it between your pleased sighs and thankful hums. "What are you talking about?"

"I've always seen you on the other side of the screen whenever you play the game. So how ... how are you are here? Then again, lots of weirder shit goes on in this house so this shouldn't be so surprising. But even so," His yellow blushed paired with his lovesick smile made your toes curl and your heart race. "I'm actually meeting you face to face. And you're lovely."

You flush bashfully as he cradles you in his arms now, having you draped over his lap as you play with his scarf and his long shadowy hairlocks tickle your face when you decide to get it all off your chest.

"I'm so tired, Skips. Of feeling all this pain. Of being alone. Of not having anything worth living for back home. I don't want this to be a dream. I don't want to go back either. I want to stay here. I want you. If I have to Realize you to make you human so we can be together, I'll do it." Your rambled words seep with worry, anxiety, hope and need.

"I'm all too familiar with the negative nosedives." His own face nuzzles yours, his arms embrace you, holding onto you, both of you serving as each other's anchor. "You've accepted my true self. You chose me ... all of me. How could I not accept all of you in return?"

His whole being envelop you, submerging you in that tingly cozy warmth that soothes away the cramps, the dull aches within, and the emotional weight that pooled in your mind and your heart. "I'd be honored if you do Realize me. Being human with you, seeing this world for ourselves, or even just staying here in this house together, I want to be with you too, more than anything."

His shadows formed pillows and comfy bedding, laying you down with him joining you, facing you, but keeping you in his arms still. "Until then, you can sleep during the day and I'll watch over you until we can hang out at night. I'll make sure the silverfish don't bother you when you're sleeping."

Your eyes ripple up at him, swelling with hope. "Really?"

He blushed harder, smile dopey like, as his nose brushes yours. "You're a denizen of my realm now. And the Shadow Lord treats his darling penumbra with the most endearment."

You melt in his grasp, taking in his scent, relishing being in his grasp. "Thank you." His darkness made you feel so safe, easing down your sleep anxieties, nuzzling his chest in response to that. "I'll think of you always throughout my days." When you sleep through the daytime, dreaming of seeing him again.

"And I of you, through and beyond my nights." He followed you up, repeating your love lines to each other, humming deeply at how perfect. "Is it alright if I call you by your real name too?" Your sweet nod, your gentle whispering close to his face, made it all the more sweeter when he spoke your name at last with his cute smile. "Y/n L/n. You've made me the happiest I've been in a long time."

"And so have you." Your arms hugged his slim waist, your knees brush his peeking through his ripped tight pants, and your feet brushed his black boots. You just can't get enough of him. He is really truly yours.

"I love you, my beloved dummy."

"I love you too, my angelic dork."

And you're his. You're the Shadow Lord's now. Sharing a kiss or two ... or many pecks and hips and smooches as his shadows keep you both comfy as you two curled up together, intimacy setting the mood.

You'd take his loving darkness over the lonely light, always.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Concept: the entire Transformers franchise is one giant time loop. Every new iteration is another attempt to get it right and avert the Great War.

I wrote an entire one shot specifically for this ask. Enjoy.

Aversion at its Finest

Primus has never been pleased with the fact that his creations always go to war with each other. Thus, in an attempt to keep the Cybertronian civil war from occurring, he has chosen to periodically rebuild reality and try again with the help of his chosen. Unfortunately for Optimus, Primus is learning the ropes just as much as he is, and until they both get it right, neither can rest.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

The skies were thick with smog. Fires burned in the distance, but only their crackling filled the void. There were no more cries. No more moans of pain or the curses of the most hardened warriors of both sides. All was quiet. Everything was gone… save for Optimus and his foe.

The hole in his chassis burned. He could feel his frame shutting down as he lay in the ash, his limbs useless now that he had no enemy to fell or weapon to hold. He would have liked to see the stars as it all came to an end, especially since he was not surrounded by friends and family as he had been during his first death. Yet, he didn’t dare turn his gaze away from the blackened skies. If he did, he knew all he would see was Rodimus’s body stabbed through with dozens of pieces of rebar and Elita torn limb from limb.

Both had fought so very hard for him. Trying desperately to buy him just a little more time. If they had only had the chance to activate the space bridge, maybe they could have brought their species to its bitter end on their homeworld rather than dragging Earth down with them. As it was… this was to be the end. The end of everything. No more games. No more laughter.

Only silence.

“We had a good run, didn’t we, Prime?” Megatron spoke up, his voice as deep and grating as ever. There was a faint tremor to it, the barest inklings of fear that threatened to peek through the persona of madness he usually wore. After so many millennia of fighting the mech, Optimus could tell that he was seeking companionship, even now as they lay waiting for their respective ends.

“Yes we did, Megatron.” Optimus replied just as faintly, his right optic flickering just enough to annoy him even with the pain of death creeping at the edges of his every waking thought. He kept his optics on the sky, not wanting to see the devastation. At least the black above was without blemish. It was solid, not filled with horrors. Merely the echoes of them.

How had it all come to this? Cybertron was restored. Their people were thriving. Optimus and Rodimus were ruling together and Galvatron left for the stars? Just how had it all gone so wrong?

A renewed war.

A plague of hate.

The Quintessons and their creations.

Unicron’s wrath.

So many little things… all of it leading them right back to where they started. War and violence, pain and anguish… without a hint of hope to be found. When had Optimus heard any of his soldiers laugh? It had to have been centuries.

“Rodimus was a poor replacement. I never did get the same thrill fighting him.” Megatron chuckled and Optimus had to fight the urge to work up the strength to throttle him to death for it. Even now as everything they could have possibly worked toward lay burning to ash, his foe was still laughing about it all. Like it was some grand game.

“He was never meant for war, and you were hardly yourself when you were Galvatron.” Optimus was unable to stop the hint of bitterness that entered his tone. Rodimus had not asked for the burden. He never deserved such an end.

“Very true.” Megatron responded with a faint huff that died down soon enough.

Silence consumed the battlefield for a while. Perhaps it was mere minutes. Or maybe it went on for years. Time meant nothing now. But eventually, as if to spite him one final time, Megatron opened his mouth again.

“You were a good rival, Optimus. Always taking me by surprise.” The comment briefly took Optimus by surprise. But the cold was already settling into frame, making his processor slow and his reactions more controlled. He said nothing, opting instead to observe the skies as he had since he fell.

“I’m going to miss this.” Megatron’s faint wish rang in his audials. Optimus acknowledged it with a soft hum, his final offer of amiability considering the circumstances. As much as a small part of him screamed that he should let Megatron suffer at the end of it all, the rest of his spark could not handle that idea. They were dying anyway. Might as well do so in relative comfort. 

So many millennia of conflict… Why had they battled at all? Megatron was a power hungry villain, yes. But how did it reach that point? Why did Megatron attack him and his friends at the docks? Why had Megatron risen to power at all? 

Why had it turned out this way?

His processor ached as he thought back, dredging up ancient memory and finding nothing. Had there even been a point?

“Why were we fighting to begin with? Why did you choose to do all of this?” Optimus found the question escaping his vocalizer before he could stop it. Against his better judgement, he looked over at Megatron and saw his foe grinning, but not meeting his gaze. The beam stuck in Megatron’s abdomen left him spitting up energon as he cackled.

“Come now Prime. You should know the answer to this.” Megatron’s optics blazed between flickers, his servo reaching up toward the sky as if to grasp at some invisible goal. Optimus wondered what the answer would be. Glory? Some strange ideal that he’d never seen fit to share? Perhaps to avenge a long dead loved one?

“Power of course.” 

Ah.

He should have known better.

“But why? You were a state of the art model. You had the whole world in front of you, and instead you chose to burn it all down.” Anger and despair boiled in Optimus’s very core. All this death had been for some twisted power fantasy? At least if it had been due to some old rivalry or goal Optimus could have died with an answer.

By the stars… what a life he’d lived.

“I’ve forgotten.” Megatron’s response to his anguished question came soft and oddly thoughtful. Yet, Optimus could only respond with a grim scoff, a sound he hadn’t made since he was Orion Pax.

“You’ve forgotten why you killed millions?” 

“You act as though you haven’t slaughtered thousands yourself.” Megatron shot back with a vicious retort before laughing. If Optimus were capable of shaking in rage, he would have. But his frame was weakening, his systems failing faster now. He simply didn’t have the energy.

“Does it really matter, Prime? Today we die. So shut up and do it with a bit of grace.” Optimus’s optic twitched in agitation. Megatron was one to talk when all he’d done was screech at Starscream and Soundwave the times he lay on death’s door.

“Never would have taken you to be a mech to go down quietly.” Optimus snarked as he sensed the Matrix going quiet. That was his sign to hurry up with his final will and testament if he’d had anyone aside from the glitch next to him to express his thoughts to.

“Normally, I wouldn’t. But I dragged you down with me, didn’t I? Ripped your Autobots apart and blasted you half to pieces.” Oh for the good of Vector Sigma-

Optimus’s optic twitched again, anger bubbling so hotly that if he’d had even the barest inkling of strength left he would have gotten up and shut Megatron up himself, mercy forgotten. As it stood, all he could do was clench his fist and rage internally.

“You are the worst.” His bitter remark was met with a laugh, one he didn’t bother responding to. Not even a few minutes later, the faint sounds of Megatron’s venting vanished, leaving Optimus alone with his fate. A bitter part of his processor cursed at his old foe for being selfish yet again and dying before Optimus could. But most of his spark was simply weary.

Anger faded into sorrow and lamentation. Strength slipped right through his digits and the only comfort Optimus had in his final moments were the memories of better times. Even those did little to ease him as his venting grew harsher.

It wouldn’t be long now.

“Elita… what would you think of this madness?” Optimus coughed weakly, an instinctual response to try and clear his soot filled vents. He knew it was useless, especially as his processor started furiously running through every memory file it had access to.

He saw his soldiers in their final moments. He saw the war at its worst and the peace Rodimus brought. He saw his first clash with Megatron after his reformat. But most importantly to him, he saw Ariel’s fair face smiling at him as she guided Orion Pax along the docks for one of their usual dates. He felt her derma against his as they danced under the moonlight, and with that memory held close, all was right with the world.

It was a pleasant vision, one Optimus clung to as his optics shut down and the rest of his frame quickly followed suit. But instead of the Allspark greeting him, Optimus found himself in a void. Formless and alone. 

He had no idea how long he spent there or if it even mattered. But eventually, as thought and consciousness grew less important, a voice rang out.

“So much death…” 

The chorus-like nature of the voice washed over Optimus in waves, reviving memories that had gone dormant and bringing him back to full awareness. He could not identify where the song came from or if it came from anywhere at all. All he knew was that it was powerful and demanded respect he knew not how to give.

“You were all such innocent children. It should not have come to this.”

Children? Strange.

“We will try again. We will make this right.”

What was that supposed to mean? He died. That was it. He was one with the Allspark once more. Wasn’t he?

“Who’s there? What’s going on?” He tried to ask questions, but his voice felt like a faint wisp in the wind compared to the power of the entity which spoke as if the whole universe hung in its grasp.

“Hush now. Rest while you can. Your duty is not yet done.”

Optimus’s vision was flooded with images of things he could hardly comprehend. War. Death. Fire and brutal combat. The forms of the fighters changed, sometimes thick and sometimes spindly. But through it all, there was one figure Optimus knew by spark. Gunmetal gray and built for war, he knew the frame of his foe without even having to think about it. With his blaster raised to the sky and a roar bubbling in his vocalizer, Optimus understood what was being asked of him.

The battle was not yet over. He didn’t know how or why, but Megatron was out there, and he had to be stopped. That was the only possible conclusion Optimus could come to.

“How long must I fight?”

“Till All Are One.”

And then everything faded away once more.

----

Optimus came online slowly, memory washing over him in an overpowering wave that left him shaking on whatever berth he was laid out on. There was much to sort through, but the first thing he remembered was his current identity. 

He was Optimus Prime, brought to life using a protoform and trained at the Academy to serve the Autobots and guard Cybertron against their greatest foes, the Decepticons. He was raised under the belief that the war was over and that his programming defined his reality. However, he fought against both of these concepts and strove to be something more, a hero of all things.

He had friends during training. Elita-One and Sentinel. Both betrayed him, although at different times and with varying justification. Cast aside for his ‘crimes’, Optimus was allowed to keep the rank of Prime, a position that came close to equaling that of General rather than supreme ruler of the people. From there he was all but demoted and supplied with a crew to repair space bridges.

It was a simple life, but ambition and one unfortunate crash led them to Earth. Megatron and his Decepticons remerged. He made friends, growing close to his team who were so similar and yet so different all at once. He did not know a Bulkhead until now, or a Sentinel for that matter. But Bumblebee, Ratchet, and Elita? They sparked recognition in him. 

Slag, his processors hurt.

“Bossbot! You alright?” A far too excitable voice prompted Optimus to unshutter his optics, coming online fully with a groan. He sat up slowly, rubbing his face and trying to comprehend his reality as he began to recall more. Looking at the bot who called him, Optimus logically knew him as Bumblebee. But half his processor screamed at him that Bumblebee looked and acted differently. Boxier, more mature in some regards, and yet playful all the same.

This Bumblebee was his, but he was wrong. All so very wrong.

“Bumblebee? What… happened?” Optimus’s optics tried to calibrate, but there was something off about it. These optics were a little different from the ones he knew. Where was his battlemask? Why was he so… lanky?

No. He was always lanky. The memories… they were not his. 

“You were holding the Allspark and got a bit too close.” Ratchet put a servo on his shoulder, stunning Optimus as he stared at the medic. Slag, he was ancient. His records stated he was old, but contradicting memory indicated that Ratchet was meant to at least act a bit younger with humor and laughter. What the frag happened?

“It knocked you flat on your aft!” Bumblebee laughed, and that much at least was familiar. Optimus touched his chassis, feeling his spark pulse within as memory settled. Ancient and now useless protocols faded away to make room for data he could actually use. 

“I… yes. I remember.” He was a dock worker once. Orion Pax was his name. He was shot. He was reforged. He claimed a relic his current reality did not know until the Allspark was placed within it. He fought against his enemy, Megatron. He went on adventures, made friends.

Then he lay in ash and ruin, his world shattered.

“I died.” His voice came out softer than intended as Optimus looked down at his servos. They were not covered in scars like his old ones. They did not reek of plasma, nor did his body ache with familiar pains from centuries of hastily tended wounds. He was young, and now he had wisdom.

“Yeah, but that was forever ago back on Earth!” Bumblebee tapped his arm lightly, but Optimus hardly reacted. It was difficult having two personalities settle, but purpose guided him. The voice in the void ordered that he fight Megatron. Did he have to obey?

Looking at his team, his friends… Optimus found himself leaning into the order regardless of the validity of the voice and its authority. The wisdom of the Prime he once was, or at least the Prime that existed in another time and place, would aid him in saving his own people and saving them that same fate.

He was Optimus Prime, and his mission was to stop Megatron at all costs.

“His processor is scrambled.” Bulkhead gestured nervously, earning a huff from Ratchet who began taking scans. Optimus paid him no mind, instead standing up and squaring his shoulders. The joy of his first existence was more subdued now, calmed by reawakening and determination.

“Where is Megatron?” The question came sharply, more so than Optimus intended. His voice shook as he attempted to speak with a vibrato he no longer possessed. His friends looked at him strangely, and Ratchet took the chance to quietly begin assessing his frame. Optimus allowed it, his focus elsewhere.

“In prison. We brought him back to Cybertron, remember?” Bulkhead informed politely, only earning a low hum from Optimus as he considered. Megatron was defeated. So why had the voice done this and ordered that he fight? He’d won, hadn’t he? Surely there was something missing… Perhaps another Decepticon? A Galvatron in the making? Or was Unicron the threat?

“And the rest of the Decepticons?” He could feel his spark sinking in his chassis as he considered the possibilities. If so much as Starscream managed to get away-

“Unaccounted for.” Frag.

Optimus cursed under his breath, a habit that his prior self would have never approved of. He crossed his arms, thinking and reviewing memory for a long moment until something stuck out.

Tender touches shared in the dark. First with Elita-One, and then with another. A blue visor that shone in the moonlight, the simple pleasure of digits laced together. A soothing voice and dozens of hours spent in meditation he never quite understood but engaged in anyway for the sake of companionship. The adoring glances exchanged when the others were deep in recharge or otherwise engaged…

“What about Prowl?” His spark knew the truth, as did his processor. But some small fragment of Optimus’s being needed confirmation.

“He fell in the final battle.” Ratchet’s words hit harder than expected, and Optimus couldn’t help but sit back down with a sigh.

It was never official. What he shared with Prowl was a simple companionship that walked the line between something deeper and mere brotherhood. They never used words to describe themselves because such labels were dangerous. They both claimed it would hurt more that way. And yet, as Optimus reviewed his memories of their intimate moments shared when no one was looking, he felt nothing but grief. No one knew what they had. None would understand.

It was like leaving Elita-One on Cybertron all over again. The ache would never fully fade, but it was dulled by the memories of his prior existence which diluted his affections, spreading them out over others who he had not even met in his current reality.

“I see…” Optimus took a moment to sit in silence, a grace period that even the likes of Bumblebee respected. Memory supplied him with countless battles, and from the experiences of his prior self, he had a feeling that he’d already come too late to stop what was brewing. His memory would do little when the Decepticons were already a fully trained, highly organized militia. There was no stopping it now.

“This… is not going to end well.” Optimus’s words were hardly a whisper, but they felt dooming.

His declaration turned out to be entirely correct as time wore on.

The Autobot empire fell apart in brutal fashion, with Ultra Magnus dying and Sentinel Magnus making a fragging mess out of everything. Optimus raised a militia of his own with the help of his other self’s memory, but by the time he had his people in line and Sentinel in prison, war was already upon them. Megatron matched the vision the voice shared as he burned their cities and killed their warriors. Optimus fought as well as he could, but this Megatron was far more cunning that the one his prior self knew. Not quite as vicious perhaps, but highly intelligent. 

One battle after another, and Optimus watched history repeat itself. The laughter and joy of his people dimmed. Stoicism and anger set in as the Allspark failed and their war grew more destructive. It was like the great war from long before his forging, only a thousand times worse. Optimus had no words to describe it as he led his warriors onward, fighting for something even he no longer understood. He acted because that was what duty demanded. Heroism and personal agendas were irrelevant. 

Vorns upon vorns of conflict, and he ended up right where he began. His warriors had all been slaughtered, with Bumblebee and Sentinel of all bots having fallen in his defense instead of Elita-One and Rodimus. His frame was slowly shutting down from yet another brutal blaster wound to his chassis, leaving Optimus on his knees. But instead of having the satisfaction of bringing Megatron down with him, Optimus sat alone amidst the rubble of their world, a blaster pointed right at his helm.

“This is the end, little Prime.” Megatron’s voice rang out, but he couldn’t even find it in himself to be angry. This Megatron was not a glitch about his victory. Instead… he seemed somewhat solemn as he lowered his weapon temporarily, allowing Optimus a chance to speak.

“Why? Why go this far?” Optimus couldn’t help but ask the question that had been burning at the back of his mind since he woke all those vorns ago, before he was bitter and scarred. His Megatron had been a power hungry glitch, insanity driving his every action. But this Megatron was far wiser. So why had he done this? Why burn it all down?

“Because your people, the society you built, are corrupt. My kind were bound in chains, told they were monsters and enslaved.” Megatron knelt down, a sign he recognized as indicating respect. Optimus released his axe with a faint cough as he clutched the wound on his side. There was no point fighting now. And beyond that… there was truth in Megatron’s words.

Reviewing the history of both his lives, he could see that there were cracks. Orion Pax had been oblivious to the hidden discrimination toward the frame types that fell out of acceptable ranges. In his current existence, Optimus could now clearly sense the lies that had been fed to him. Thousands of warframe and only warframes would not rebel without reason. They would not flee for millennia instead of blowing the planet to the next solar system. They weren’t an organization built for seeking out power.

Megatron had reasons for his violence, and that at least was a vague comfort.

“I may have had to wait millions of years, but today my people shall have their vengeance and their freedom.” Megatron’s optics were blazing, and yet offered no emotion except eerie calm. Optimus coughed as he tried to respond. It hurt so much now…

“I… I fought for the freedom of my people too. I have fought for so long.” He hated whining, but he was unable to stop the tremor in his voice as he sagged in defeat. He’d managed to fail a second time.

“And I do not blame you for your struggle. You had no way of seeing through the lies.” Megatron, in a gesture of good will Optimus would have never expected, carefully pulled Optimus to his pedes. He held the back of Optimus’s neck, keeping up the illusion that he had the strength to walk himself as Megatron guided him to stand before the Decepticon army, now reveling in their victory.

“Here stands the last of the Autobots! The only one among their number who shall die with honor!” Megatron’s voice rang out. But instead of cheering, the Decepticons stood quiet and firm. Their optics were all locked onto him, but none were disrespecting the dead. The Autobots who had fallen were laid out, gathered by lower ranked Decepticons to be put to rest respectfully. It was enough to have Optimus’s venting hitch as Megatron’s blade came to rest against his neck.

He had failed. But at least this end was an honorable one.

“You were a good rival, Optimus. Die well, and know that I have respected no other as I have you.” Optimus managed a faint laugh as he looked up, uncaring of the doom that awaited him as he once again found himself staring up at smoke filled skies. 

He missed Elita. He missed Prowl.

“Till All Are One.” With his final mutter, the blade came down, and Optimus knew no more…

Until the voice rang out as it had millennia earlier.

“Too late. You woke too late.”

The chorus washed over him again, soothing and yet dejected all at once. Optimus felt a flash of anger infused his being as he snapped back, pain and anguish from both lives overwhelming reason.

“How was I supposed to have remembered earlier? I only got my memory back when I used the Allspark-” Before he could finish, the voice cut him off firmly, but not unkindly.

“It was not your fault. You fought well, my chosen.”

Optimus wanted to stay angry, but the faint comfort kept him from doing more than bristling internally. 

“We will try again. Just as we did before.”

Oh. 

So the voice was going to send him back again. But why? What did this thing care about so deeply?

“Who are you?” He tried to pose a question, but again the voice silenced him as it washed around him in a maelstrom of love, determination, and conviction.

“Not now. We are out of time.”

----

Once more, Optimus woke. This time however, he came online with a start. 

He shot up, clutching at his chassis as his spark spun and his processor burned with new data. It was easier this time to know and to accept. This frame was built for larger stores of information, a genetic quality of his lineage. He heard others around him, but he was far more focused on the meshing of personalities that now overwhelmed him.

He was forged a Prime, rather than made into one. He was of an ancient line, but only by the standards of his current reality. By any other metric, he was still young, practically a newbuild. He had a brother, Megatron. Together they were raised by Sentinel Prime, but only Optimus was chosen to lead their people. Megatron was to be his Lord High Protector, but too many squabbles and differences of opinion led to jealousy. That jealousy boiled over into war.

Optimus led his people as well as he could, but compared to the experiences of his other lives, he was all but a child. He had strength and he had wisdom, but he lacked the necessary exposure to truly wage war successfully. Megatron was no better, and so their war waged until their world burned and the galaxy crumbled in their wake. Countless good mecha died, including close allies and companions during the battle to save Earth and reclaim the Matrix.

And Jazz… by the Allspark, they’d lost Jazz.

“Prime, slow down.” Ratchet pressed a servo against his chest, forcing Optimus to sit back down as he unknowingly attempted to stand. Only then did Optimus note how erratic his venting was, or how hard his servos shook as he tried to calm his anxious spark. 

“Slaggit mech, scared the scrap outta us.” Ironhide tugged on Optimus’s arm as well, forcing him to settle. Optimus looked at both their faces and had to fight back a flinch. Ironhide looked… wrong by the standard of his prior lives. As did Ratchet for that matter. Their face plates did not exist, instead replaced by ever shifting parts to facilitate movement that he logically knew was required for proper functionality in their kind.

After a moment, Optimus’s initial fear response settled and he began to review anything of importance. Immediately he recognized the fact that he was far too late to do what the voice was asking of him. He still wasn’t entirely sure if the voice wanted him to kill Megatron or win the war. But both options were practically impossible to reach considering his situation. Their people were all but extinct as it was. Even if he won the war and ended his brother, their world was still dead.

It would be like the first life he lived. Eventually, they would all perish. Considering how upset the voice was about the death of so many, Optimus assumed it would prefer a different outcome. Slag there was so much to do. He was already too late to save what was lost. Jazz would have already had a plan-

Jazz.

His servos shook as Optimus buried his face in his servos, remembering yet another loss that weighed on him. First Elita, then Prowl, and now Jazz. 

Jazz had been with him since the beginning. He was a friend during training, a comrade as Optimus found himself accepted into the ranks of Primes, and later he became something more as the war began and dragged on endlessly. His spark cried out in grief as he recalled the countless times Jazz had come to spend time with him when he was but a scientist. They shared so many moments, tender touches and deep conversations. Jazz was, despite all his joy and whimsy, a highly educated and thoughtful mech.

Many of their youthful plans had long since been discarded. But Optimus remembered talk of hatchlings. He recalled many long nights where neither of them could recharge, so they cuddled up close and instead talked about better times. Slag it all, they had made a promise to formally join their houses once the war came to an end.

Now it didn’t matter. Not only had he failed to do as the voice asked, he’d failed to save the one person he really cared about aside from his former brother.

“I’m too late.” Oprimus’s voice cracked as he spoke. Ironhide and Ratchet stalled in their attempts to comfort him. The others were likely just as confused.

“I don’t understand it all. But I know now that I’m too late to change how this will all end.” Optimus muttered more to himself than to the others, grief overriding reason. He did not understand the voice, but by the Allspark he wished he could curse it for doing this to him.

“No matter how hard I fight to end this accursed war, it always ends in sorrow.” Always in ashes. Always alone. 

“Why? Why did it have to be me? Why was I chosen?” Curse it all. He should have died with Elita and Rodimus back on that forsaken battlefield. Perhaps then he could have found peace until the Quintessons inevitably revived their species as slaves once more.

“Losing Jazz hit us all hard… but we’re going to be alright, Optimus. You are going to be alright.” Strong arms wrapped around Optimus’s shoulders, drawing him into a firm embrace. Looking up, Optimus found it was Bumblebee who held him, his voice a mix of radio clips and static, but just as comforting as ever. This was a mech he recognized from all his lives. Despite all the minute differences, this was still his Bee.

“Bee’s right. You aren’t yourself. That last fight really fragged up y’er helm.” Ironhide patted him on the shoulder, offering comfort in his own gruff way. It did little to help, but Optimus appreciated the gesture anyway as the lamentations of two other lifetimes settled in his very core.

“I have to agree with Ironhide for once. Take some time and rest, Optimus. You need it.” Ratchet tried to smile, as did the rest. Unfortunately, it did next to nothing for Optimus’s mental state, even though he would have liked it to.

Battles came and went. Megatron died and was revived. The stakes continued to grow ever higher. When Quintessa came, Optimus was too tired to resist her call. He wanted to be done with it all, and if her offer of revival was what it took, he was willing to do what was required of him. Even when he broke free of her spell through Bumblebee and created a tentative peace between his kind and humanity, it was all very empty.

Megatron was unaccounted for. The Decepticons still roamed. Their war was not over… merely stalled.

There was no point in fighting anymore… at least not in this life.

“Hey Optimus.” Bumblebee called out to him as Optimus sat on a grassy hill, overlooking the landscape. He’d already made his decision, but he could tell Bumblebee sensed it.

“Bumblebee… it is good to see you again.” Optimus replied curtly, his sword resting firmly by his side. His optics were locked on the setting sun, enjoying a brief moment of peace before he tried again. The voice would surely make him fight once more, so for a mere klik, he wanted respite.

“You haven’t been around for a while. You know you can talk to us about stuff, right?” Bumblebee came to sit with him, a servo resting on Optimus’s leg in a friendly manner. Optimus regarded it with a faint hum, feeling calmer than he had in several Earth years. Such turmoil… such hopelessness. He had no idea what happened to the world when he perished and the voice took him, but Optimus hoped that those he left behind kept on living. He hoped the galaxy recovered from the war, back in his first realm. And as much as he hated the suffering of his last life, he did partially wish that the Decepticons were indeed ruling Cybertron in peace now that the Autobots were gone.

By the stars… it would soothe him greatly if his people managed to find a safe source of energon and began raising hatchlings again. He could never accomplish what the voice wanted, but his people, if they were lucky and didn’t annihilate each other in his absence, would endure.

“I know.” Optimus’s response was stalled, but Bumblebee didn’t seem to mind as they both sat there quietly. The sun continued to set, and as it did, Optimus felt his time drawing to a close. He had not had the chance in prior lives… but maybe this time a final will and testament was due.

“I’ve done this before, Bumblebee.” The words flowed easily from his vocalizer, relieving tension that had hung heavy in his shoulders since his waking. Bumblebee regarded him nervously, but did not interrupt as he continued.

“Countless battles, endless conflicts. Yet I cannot seem to complete the task that was given to me.” Looking up, Optimus was relieved further as he saw stars instead of smoke. It was going to be a pleasant deviation from his prior existences. 

“What task is that?” Bumblebee questioned hesitantly, his concern evident in the way his optics cycled and his door wings twitched. Optimus felt a hint of guilt bubble up in his spark, but it was soon smothered by exhaustion. The voice would return him soon enough. It didn’t really matter.

“I… do not know. Not entirely.” He admitted his ignorance without shame. The voice had given him a duty, but that duty was vague and uncertain. “How can you do something if you don’t even know what you are meant to be accomplishing? You treat yourself too harshly.” Such comfort from one so young. The two other lives within him smiled at the offered kindness. But Optimus merely sighed. 

Born too late to stop the war… This was all he could do.

“The one who gave me my purpose, the one who keeps making me fight… that being showed me a vision of my brother. The fire… the death… I felt that maybe he was the key. But he’s no longer a threat, and I do not feel complete.” More and more of the weight lifted from Optimus’s spark as he poured out his woes. There was a certain melancholy to the whole situation, but speaking was freeing.

“I think I was meant to preserve our world and our people. But I came too late to do that.” Optimus had his opinions when it came to the voice and its vision. Now that he’d lived three times and failed in each attempt he made to target Megatron specifically, he had a feeling the voice wanted something else.

But even if that were the case, there was still nothing he could do in his current state. His work here was done.

“We live and there is a chance at restoration. You did all you could. You are not to blame.” Bumblebee’s tone indicated he was more than a little concerned. However, Optimus simply hummed. The ache of loss hurt more than it should have. But Jazz had meant so much to him in this life… and the loss was fresh.

“So I’ve been told… but I know in my spark that this is not what the entity sought. I shall be forced to fight once more. Of that I am certain.” Optimus again looked back up at the skies, trying to find familiar constellations he learned while talking with Spike all those vorns ago. What would that boy think of him now? There was no joy in him anymore. At least, not the open variety.

“Maybe you should take some time off… go join Drift and explore for a while. I’m sure Sam would love to see you again.” Bumblebee offered with a nervous uptick of his doorwings. The air between them was tense, unspoken understanding radiating on both their ends. Bumblebee was doing his part, but it was clear that Optimus was going to do what he planned to, and no one could stop him.

“I shall consider it.” Offering a gentle smile, Optimus clasped Bumblebee’s shoulder and memorized his features. He hoped the voice’s next attempt would let him keep his oldest friend. He wasn’t sure how he was going to keep marching on if every time he woke, his dearest companion was always deceased.

“Optimus, I know you’ve got your own monsters to face, but please… don’t give up on us or yourself.” Bumblebee drew Optimus in for a hug, one that lasted a while. But eventually the time came for his companion to leave. Bumblebee hesitated, looking back periodically as he made his way back to base. Optimus kindly did not act until long after dark, and even then, he ensured he was far from prying optics as he recorded a final message and raised his blade for a final time.

Guilt hung in his spark as the void claimed him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as the voice again washed over him.

“You hurt so deeply, my chosen.”

Oh so now the voice pitied him. After sending him through suffering meant for Unicron’s servants, only now did it regard him?

“You did this to me and I don't even know who you are or what you want from me.” He wanted to be angry. By the stars he wanted to rage.

“Oh dear one, we did not mean to cause you such suffering… but one of ours must bear the burden, and you who carried such spirit touched us deeply with your devotion.”

What the frag did that even mean? The voice chose him to endure life after life and seemingly didn’t anticipate that it would hurt? What a joke.

“You make me live again and again in realities that are ever changing and yet still the same. How could it not bring me pain? Why would you make me do this? I watch my people die over and over again and nothing I do seems to bring it to an end.” Grief and anger surged forward in a brief flare of rebellion. Despite that, his wrath died down all but instantaneously. Rage would earn him nothing. Not when the voice apparently commanded his reality.

“Not yet…  we cannot repair what is broken yet. But soon we will succeed. You learn and we grow.”

How ominous the voice was…

“What are you?” He asked yet again, not really expecting an answer.

“All that is and will be.”

----

For the fourth time, Optimus shot awake coughing as lingering pain from his reformat eased out of his tense and tight cables. He fell to his knees as knowledge washed over him once more. This time, however, it did not burn as it had in lives before. Knowledge was quickly filed away and understanding set in as soon as the information did. The Matrix pulsed in soothing waves, the relic finally of use in ways it had otherwise not been in prior lives. 

He was Optimus Prime, formerly Orion Pax the Archivist. He was taken from the wilds while young and raised in Iacon under Alpha Trion where he spent much of his time reviewing history and taking note of corruption. He allied himself with Megatronus of Kaon, the Gladiator. Through their combined might, they eventually developed a bond and reached the High Council. Orion was chosen to be the Prime instead of Megatron, formerly Megatronus. That single decision tore them apart and sent them spiralling into war. Only when it reached its peak had Orion gone to receive the Matrix of leadership from one familiar entity.

Primus. The god of all Cybertronians. He who made them from dust and starlight. The connection between Primus and the voice was an easy one to make, and above all, it made sense. Primus, the all knowing ever patient god of their people was bound to be the entity trying to preserve lives. Why wouldn’t he? Above all, his inexperience made sense. Primus had not even been a concept in his first life, or his second for that matter. There were whispers in his third, but they were distant things.

It seemed the god that had taken him as a champion was finally beginning to change reality in meaningful ways. The story had changed to include their creator and actually make use of the relic that continually gave Optimus back his memory.

A fascinating change indeed. One that had the potential to actually turn out the way Primus intended.

Optimus followed quietly as he was brought to his pedes and returned to base. He knew what path stood before him now. Even still, Ratchet pulling him aside as soon as time allowed surprised him for a moment before memory reminded him of who the medic was.

“Orion… are you still in there?” Ratchet touched his face, feeling his now sharper features and assessing his frame for damage. Optimus smiled, nodding as memory returned to him. Anguish for loves lost still hung in his spark, but more than anything, he felt adoration as it stirred in him. It hurt to have a partner live and vent beside him, but more than that, it healed.

“I am here… moreso now than ever.” Finally, the Matrixdid something useful and toned down the emotional weight of his extended memory. If he’d had this in his prior existence, he might not have ended things so suddenly. Poor Bumblebee likely felt horrible, if he was still online at any rate.

“The Matrix, what has it done to you?” Ratchet's question was sharp, but still tender in his unique way as he looked at Optimus’s chassis accusingly. Optimus fought back laughter that he had not known since his first life.

“Memory, Ratchet. So much memory…” With a smile, Optimus pressed a kiss to Ratchet’s brow, reveling in the closeness of one he held so dear. This was what he needed. Time, composure, and connection. Primus truly was developing.

“I remember loves from lives that were not this one. I recall battles, wars and death so great the bodies coated the earth.” Ratchet held him tighter as Optimus’s field, a new addition to his biology, flared out in sheer relief and joy. For all the sorrows he endured, it all seemed less important when he was with his love, at least for this life.

“I remember the torment of not knowing… and now the grief of revelation.” Ratchet stiffened at his statement, likely running through a thousand grim scenarios in his processor. Optimus saw no need to correct him since it earned him a tighter hug.

“I’m here, Orion. I’m here.” Ratchet, in a rare show of open affection, did his best to soothe. Optimus returned the gesture by resting his chin on his dear doctor’s helm, enjoying the closeness. 

“Of that, I am more thankful than I can properly express… it has been so long.” Ratchet’s field flared in concern as Optimus pulled away to look out the nearest window and out at the stars. Oh how he loved the stars…

“I now understand my design.” Primus did not wish for death. He desired life. 

Lucky for him, Optimus’s memory from his current existence supplied him with countless plans for victory. If all went well, the war would come to a close in short order and he would finally be free of Primus’s grand mission.

However, unfortunately for Optimus’s grand aspirations, the war dragged on despite his knowledge. His newest Megatron was a cunning creature backed by strength and age. His followers were just as intelligent, and no matter what Optimus threw at them, they adapted. His efforts were useless when pitted against such wrath.

As the war went, Optimus felt his chances of success dwindling. By the time they got to Earth with their conflict, he was fairly certain Primus would have him try again. Even still, he managed to salvage the situation. With Ratchet by his side and his team supporting him, restoration was made possible. Optimus was even revived as he had been once in his first life to facilitate the repairs being made to their home. He took that to mean Primus was at least partially pleased with the outcome, even if Megatron was still out there lurking and Unicron cursed.

The people mourned the dead, and Optimus certainly felt weariness in his core. But the war was over, Autobot and Decepticon were coming together, and if all went well, Cybertron was to be fully functional in a few centuries. Was it ideal? No. But there was hope to be found.

“Optimus, are you coming to berth or not?” Ratchet tapped his pede impatiently as Optimus waved Bumblebee off as he set toward Earth for another diplomatic mission. He smiled, content with his situation as he responded.

“In a bit, beloved.” Watching the space bridge close was strangely calming. Millennia of war, and for once, he wasn’t about to die on a battlefield or alone drowning in grief. He’d played his part, even if the loss of life still weighed on him in the dead of night.

“Berth. Now.” Ratchet looked more annoyed than truly upset. Optimus couldn’t help but laugh lightly at the expression his dear doctor was making as he obeyed the given order.

“Very well.” Wrapping an arm around Ratchet’s waist, he guided them both to their habsuite. He settled quietly, pressing a kiss to Ratchet’s audial and watching as his love drifted off for a while. It was peaceful, a blessed relief.

As his optics closed, Optimus smiled. Megatron was still a threat, but he was finally done with his mission-

“I died?” Optimus couldn’t help but gawk as he found himself in the void once more. He tried to think about what happened, but he got the distinct impression his death was not a natural one. What was Ratchet going to think? By the Thirteen, what went wrong?

“It was not intended. But we expected it sooner or later. Your work is not yet done.”

What? Had he not restored Cybertron? It was an imperfect restoration and the war still occurred, but all was as it was meant to be.

“Why did you restore me if I was simply to die and do it all again?” He wasn’t necessarily upset this time. Just… confused. He’d had his moment of peace, but why did Primus see fit to try again? The people were happy, or at least getting there.

“We believed we might salvage what remained. We did, and you fought well.”

Optimus internally sighed. He knew how this was going to go. 

“But we lament the loss of life. We grieve over what could have been. So many children… extinguished so young.”

Primus was a god, but he was, at his core, something above mortality. He had no reason to understand loss like Optimus and the rest did. Of course he grieved. To him it was likely a numbers game.

“I know what you are now, Primus. Why do you continue to strive for this strange perfection? Cybertron was restored. The people were happy. Why have me do it all again?” He tried to express his concerns, but Primus seemed to be displeased as he responded, his voice firmer than before.

“Your other half falls to our counterpart time and time again. Our children are massacred when it is not needed. If it can be prevented, then we wish it so.”

So that was how it was going to be. Perfection, or nothing at all. Optimus could already feel exhaustion settling in.

“Go. Try again. Soon… we will make things right.”

----

Waking was easier this time. The reality Primus made was much like his first, and as such, Optimus knew how to act quickly. He went straight for Megatron, charging in with all his knowledge and experience. He had no love to hold him back and his happier existence prior to his current one eased the grief enough for him to focus. Even still, the war occurred. Megatron seemed to become more intelligent every time they met in a new life. Perhaps it was an equalization factor. Regardless, war came without an end in sight.

At least until Optimus beat Megatron in a duel, earning their people a tentative peace under a Council made up of an Autobot, a Decepticon, and a neutral party. Optimus was fairly certain Primus would not be pleased despite Cybertron largely avoiding complete desolation and chose to isolate himself to keep away from further incidents. He could have ended himself, but he saw no need. He took the time to simply live, helping where he could and keeping Megatron in line when he wasn’t doing that.

He let life pass him by, at least until Windblade arrived, speaking of Titans and war. That was when he knew it was time to act, and he did so without complaint. He didn’t even mind working with Megatron. It was just like old times, like when he and Megatronus talked over revolution matters. Although, much to Optimus’s agitation, his current Megatron was beyond fond of prodding at his emotional weak points.

Despite that, there were times when he enjoyed conversing with the glitch.

“I asked once, in another life, why you did all this.” Optimus stood quietly, watching the stars just as he always did. Megatron huffed as he cleaned his blaster, the only part of his body he seemed to actually give a frag about.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Megatron snarked, his optics never leaving his weapon.

“Why did you rise up? Why did you go to war? You had the whole world before you, and you chose to burn it down.” It was a question Optimus recalled asking his first Megatron, only to get laughed at in response. His second Megatron spoke of corruption, his third was a jealous creature, and his fourth had legitimate reasons for waging war. But his current one and the first? He never really understood, even though they were technically the same mech in many regards.

“Hmm… I would think you would know the answer to this, Prime.” Optimus sighed, expecting laughter.

“Power?”

“To a degree.” Megatron’s response earned a momentary glance from Optimus, his finials twitching in mild surprise.

“I wanted the power to change the world, to mold it in my image.” Megatron, smug as ever, crossed his arms and gestured out to the planet they were now attempting to save from itself. Optimus followed his gaze, but he still found himself questioning.

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t like the way things were, or the corruption that set into our society.” Megatron huffed, clearly quite pleased with his answer. Optimus however found himself more contemplative. He knew how to see corruption after so many lives, but he still wondered…

How much had he missed?

“Was that corruption always there?” He pondered aloud, more to himself than the mech next to him as he ran through ancient memory. It was blurry now. Distant and no longer as applicable.

“Of course it was. You were just so lost in your little dock worker world that you couldn’t see it.” Megatron, either not knowing the question was not aimed at him or not caring, responded with a huff. He gestured to Optimus in a dismissive manner, and that was enough for Optimus to think back on his life, back to Elita.

Their lives were simple. Of course they failed to see corruption.

“You fought for freedom?” Optimus wondered more and more if they were truly the same mech given different paths to walk. Megatronus was similar to Orion Pax in many ways. Was that simply an aspect of his and Megatron’s relationship?

“In a sense. I wanted every mech to be able to choose their future for themselves.” That was very Megatronus of him. It seemed it was not only Primus who was learning.

“Then why were we fighting at all?” Optimus took the chance to step a little closer, remembering nights spent with his Lord High Protector in his third life. He missed his brother, even if the glitch was a pain in the aft.

“Because you were a fraggin pacifist and a weepy newbuild until I beat some sense into you. By then your Autobots were dead set on the destruction of my Decepticons.” Megatron punched him in the shoulder. Optimus simply sighed. He’d forgotten how much of a brute his first life’s Megatron could be when not otherwise engaged.

“For what it’s worth, I apologize for how our war ended. I wanted to end the needless death.” His attempt at apologizing was met with laughter, a mirror to his end lifetimes ago.

“And instead you brought more. How comical.” Megatron slapped his back in what could have been a friendly manner if not for the force behind it. Optimus internally cringed, but allowed it. How familiar this all was.

“You are the worst.” His comment was met with even more laughter, to which Optimus simply walked away.

When the time came for him to die for his people, Optimus took the burden without complaint. He was done anyway.

And just as predicted, Primus met him once more.

“You did better this time. But still not enough. Too many died. Too many children lost to war.”

Optimus didn’t even have the energy to be surprised.

“You seek the impossible, Primus. No matter what you do to me or how you reforge reality, war is inevitable.” Attempting reason was likely impossible, but Optimus gave it his best shot. Perfection was impossible, but here Primus was, trying anyway. Granted, if anyone was to aim for such a thing, it was only really plausible for a god to pursue such a goal.

“Not so. We will make it right.”

But at what price?

“I remember too late to change things if I have a relationship with Megatron. And if I do not, I hold no sway over him.” Again, Optimus put forward his objections. Anyone from his prior lives would have likely gawked at him, save for perhaps Ratchet, his ever faithful atheist.

“We know. We are learning. Soon, all will be as it should be.”

That much Optimus could attest to. It was already far easier to operate than it had been the first few times. Still, he didn’t want to do this forever. He’d had moments of peace and he wanted them back.

“I’m tired. I want to return to those I have loved. Elita, Prowl, Jazz, Ratchet… I miss them. I miss the versions of them I adored.” He sensed waves of understanding from his god, but Primus spoke all the same.

“We will give them all to you when the work is done.”

That was a pleasant promise, if nothing else.

“Stop the war. Stop the death. Stop your counterpart from falling. That is your design.”

----

Another life, another awakening. Optimus tried his best, especially since reality was again similar to his first life. But guiding and succeeding were two very different things, and war seemed to be inevitable. He wasn’t able to put a stop to it, so he simply resolved to observe as Bumblebee and Windblade worked. He did offer his assistance when the Quintessons came and the Tarn from another time popped out of the void, but more often he preferred to watch. Especially since he got humorous commentary from Megatron when they weren’t at each other’s throats.

“I’ve been meaning to ask… why is it that you’re always so-” Megatron, between sips of his drink, gestured vaguely to Optimus’s form. Optimus chuckled, leaning back in his seat a bit as he and Megatron sat observing the city. It was still on fire in places, but it wasn’t exactly their problem. They tended to cause more trouble when they did anything outside of combat.

“Aloof? Uncaring? I don’t know how to describe it.” Megatron tried to find the words for his question. Optimus politely did not interrupt as he nursed his energon, content to be since he knew his current life was a failure anyway.

“You always preach your talking points about freedom and all that, but I never see any drive in you. It’s boiled my energon since the war began.” His once foe huffed into his drink, seemingly annoyed. Optimus saw through it easily, noting the genuine curiosity there. They both had secrets, but Megatron was never one to leave them alone.

“Because for me, there is no point in passion. I failed in my only purpose long before I took the Matrix.” Optimus, having long since grown apathetic to anything and everything related to his continual existence, shrugged. “What in the Allspark are you talking about?” Megatron made a face that was worthy of the human ‘memes’. Optimus fought to keep his composure as he tried to keep it serious and failed, at least in part. He was unable to keep from smiling, despite the situation.

“I have loved and lost, Megatron. I have done all I could to try and prevent war… but I always arrive too late to change things.” Taking the chance to chug his glass, Optimus sighed in contentment. Warm energon really was the best. Living so long, one learned to appreciate the little things.

“You… what are you?” Optimus raised an optical ridge in mild surprise as he looked up at his former rival. Megatron was glaring at him, not necessarily in anger, but suspicion. 

“You sense it?” 

“I always knew there was something off with you. So spit it out, what are you? What happened to Orion Pax?” Well that was an odd way to phrase the question, but who was Optimus to judge. The Archivist in him probably would have asked something similar.

“He is me and I am him. Except one of us is wiser. One of us remembers realities that have long ended.” Keeping the answer as simple as he could without giving Megatron an existential crisis, Optimus put down his now empty cube and casually checked his HUD for anything important before continuing.

“One of us cannot rest until we prevent the Great War.” That was about the best way he had to describe it. Until he remembered, he was just an idealistic fool with far too much ambition.

“Unmaker cursed?” Megatron, with all the subtlety of a Titan in a city, squinted as he made his accusation only barely veiled as a question.

“No, the opposite.” Taking it in stride, Optimus kept his answer simple.

“Slag… that’s worse.” That was putting it lightly. At least he understood.

“I can know no rest until I stop the war before it can start… and keep you from falling to the Unmaker’s touch.” Optimus gave Megatron a look without really meaning to. It was more of a sidequest at this point in his long life, but he was getting tired of having to divert Megatron away from drugs or other less than pleasant curses.

“Why would I-?”

“Other versions of yourself were desperate. Far more desperate… they needed strength and knowledge, so they sought it where they could.” Instantly, Optimus thought back to his fourth Megatron. That mech was a monster in many ways, especially when high as a kite on the Unmaker’s blood.

“Have you told anyone else about this?” Megatron, with a surprising amount of concern evident in his tone, crossed his arms as he leaned back in his chair. Optimus regarded him quietly for a moment, unsure if he should respond. However, after a klik, he concluded there was no harm in it.

“No. Even if they believed me, there is no stopping it. When I die, Primus shall restore me to life in another time and place to attempt to stop the war… to stop you.” Saying it out loud was… rather depressing. The air grew heavier in response, and Optimus almost regretted opening his mouth. 

“Sounds lonely.” And then Megatron came out of nowhere with a strange amount of sympathy.

“It is. But I take comfort in lives like these… ones that are lighter on my spark.” Trying to stay positive and not think hard on the grimness of his situation, Optimus smiled. Megatron didn’t seem to buy it, but played into it anyway.

“How about you tell me about the other versions of me out there. Get it off your chassis for a while, eh?” Bless him, he was kinder than the rest.

Life went on after that, with things changing and Cybertron being saved a few times. Eventually, Optimus got tired of it all and let an assassin get to him. But his return to the void created a whole new set of problems.

“You did not use this life wisely.”

And there came the disappointment.

“You sent me too late. I cannot work with nothing.” Too tired to be upset, Optimus mentally projected a shrug. He wasn’t sure if it went through, but he hoped it did if only for his amusement.

“It is your duty to do this work. We give you wisdom and opportunity. Why do you struggle so?”

Oh to be a god and not understand mortality.

“I share next to nothing in common with Megatron. I cannot stop a war if I cannot relate to its leader. I certainly can’t kill him when we are always near equal in strength. We are too different… and even with knowledge, it means nothing if I can’t make him see reason.” Optimus expected exactly nothing from his attempt at reason, but to his surprise, Primus paused. Things went quiet for a while, long enough that he momentarily wondered if his god had up and chosen a new champion. Then, Primus’s voice returned with renewed energy.

“We have never rewritten the world in such a way. Your counterpart was always meant to be so. Different, unique.”

By the thirteen, he’d managed to make Primus see some reason.

“We can come from the same roots and still have a chance to be different. Please, if you want this war to end before it can start, you must put me with him when we begin. I need time.” Internally crossing his digits, knocking on the organic substance of wood, and praying to every version of the thirteen he knew of, Optimus threw out his request.

“Then it shall be so. We have eternity to complete this work.”

Fraggin yes.

----

Waking was no longer a stressful thing. Optimus came into being, knew he was fragged, and waged war as usual. The shared origins helped, and he did his best to make the most of it, but Primus was a fickle being on a good cycle, and Optimus knew this was a test run more than anything else. Being a miner had sucked, but it gave him and Megatron connection that finally manifested itself vorns upon vorns later on Earth when, in a grand middle finger to every other Megatron, Optimus managed to convince his foe to side with him.

It was brilliant, and for the first time in forever, Optimus was outwardly joking and having a fantastic time as he waited for the end. Sure, he probably could have been doing more, but he didn’t feel the need to. He’d tested his theory. Shared origins were perfect. Now he just needed to get the Matrix and his memory at a better time.

Until he kicked the can, he was more than happy to watch as Primus’s newest additions to reality bounded and played, goofing off with their human family. Optimus personally found it odd and wouldn’t have made the choice himself if he were Primus, but it wasn’t exactly his problem. Wait, watch, observe, step in if need be, and wait to try again.

But of course, waiting was boring without company, and it had been many vorns since he’d taken a lover of any variety. He considered Elita, but his version was too different from the one he knew from his first life to really sit well with him. Instead he went for a thrill in Starscream of all mecha.

Quite frankly he enjoyed the wild card attitude, especially when they were attempting to be domestic.

“I don’t think I’m going to have to fight for much longer.” Optimus remarked as he fiddled with his ration. He almost wanted to poke holes in it for fun, but the older and more bitter aspects of his personality shut that idea down quickly.

“Oh really?” Starscream snarked from across the table, likely thinking about their current affairs. Optimus smiled fondly as he pulled out his favorite tactic to mess with mecha aside from using human tech incorrectly for fun.

“You will not understand… but Primus has learned. He’s setting the pieces right. Soon I expect he will give me the proper setting to do as he desires.” Letting his voice drop an octave, Optimus leaned into the ominousness of his time as the archivist. Starscream was unimpressed and threw a spoon at him.

“Stop talking like you are right out of the fragging Covenant. What are you trying to say?” Ah, Starscream was so refreshing.

“It may not be in this life or the next, but sometime in the near future, there will be no war.” Optimus lost a bit of his jesting attitude as he fiddled further with his ration. So many lives lived in rage and confusion… soon it would all be over. How strange that feeling was.

“Sure Optimus. Keep dreaming and using your emojis.” Starscream rolled his optics and chugged his drink before sauntering over in a familiar demand for intimacy, one which normally began with threats of violence.

“Now are you going to eat that or should I?” Optimus smiled, letting Starscream drape himself over his shoulders like a makeshift cape. Things could be worse.

He just had to wait.

And wait he did, until the time came for him to give his life to open the space bridge back to Cybertron. It was an easy choice to make, and Optimus went with a cheery whistle.

“Almost. My design improves once more.” 

Primus’s voice was more composed than it had been. His intentions seemed clearer, his emotions less out of sorts.

“So you are singular now?” Optimus noted the change in interest. Primus had gone through some changes, and so had he it seemed.

“I have grown, my chosen. Through your optics I have seen, and with your aid, I now know what I must do.”

So it had all been worth it. That was… relieving. The memories of toil and struggle from his first few lives eased dramatically in the back of his mind as Optimus considered. If Primus had things right… then he would soon rest.

“You promised me my loved ones. Will I have them this time?” It was hopeful and presumptuous, but he had to ask.

“Yes. The world is changed once more, and now all is as it should be. Act swiftly, my chosen. For the time to end this great war is upon us.”

Optimus’s spark flared in sheer determination as the first real confirmation of anything he’d had since his mission began. This was his chance then. No more waiting. No more wars. No more long agonizing realities where all he had to do aside from suffer was perish.

“When my work is done, do I have to remember all of this suffering? All the pain I have endured?” Part of him didn’t want to forget the few moments of joy he’d experienced, especially in his time as the archivist and onward. But the rest of him was tired. So very tired. He laughed and joked in recent lives, but that was more to cope.

He was done with all of this.

“No. Once the threat has been averted, I shall take from you the torment you have endured for the sake of my progression.”

At least Primus was kind enough to offer him that much for his service.

“Will I see you again?” He doubted he’d miss the mission or the void, but there was a certain comfort in Primus’s presence. He did not wish to simply cease being at the end of it all. 

“My chosen, I have always been with you. That shall never change.”

Worries he had not known eased into nothing and Optimus found himself calm as the cycle he’d first been forged. Everything was going to be alright now.

“My thirteenth Prime… my chosen champion… go now and complete this great work.”

Primus’s voice washed over him, firm and adoring as the void faded.

“You have served me long enough.”

----

Wakefulness came in a flash, and it settled quickly. Optimus shot toward the surface, fueled by Primus’s intervention and the Matrix’s power. When he landed, he locked optics with the one mech who mattered most for the sake of his success. Megatron, his eternal foe and rival.

They clashed, but wisdom guided Optimus to victory. As Megatron fell to his knees in defeat, Optimus was quick to pull him up and into a hug. Memory from his current life urged him on, encouraging him to hold his closest companion tight. D-16 was a kind spark, and he did not deserve a life of violence.

“You’ve done enough. I’m sorry I could not stand with you when you needed me most.” The mech in his arms tensed, rage etched onto his features as he pulled away, albeit with reluctance.

“How could you? How could you defend him?!” Megatron shook, gesturing toward where Sentinel’s body lay. Optimus was unphased. He’d seen far worse versions of D-16. He knew that the mech before him still had a chance.

“I was scared for you, Dee. I do not wish to fight you. Please, don’t make me.” The words came easily, emotions of all his lives imbuing his every glyph with honesty. Never once had he wanted war, and that fact had not changed.

“You betrayed me.” Megatron bristled, clutching at his damaged arm. Optimus took the chance to step forward, reaching out with all the kindness he could muster. This mech, his Dee, was just a scared newbuild. He’d been exposed to too much all at once.

He needed rest and support.

Those things Optimus could offer him.

“Perhaps I did… but no others need to suffer because of the sins of our ancestors. Let it end here, with us.” He hesitated a moment, considering if this was going to be the moment he messed it all up. Would he have to live again? Another life in another reality? What would Primus think of him if he failed here? Would he be alone?

A thousand thoughts raged, but ultimately, Optimus found the will to grasp Megatron’s servo firmly, but not so much as to be seen as a threat. It was a symbol of peace, one he hoped his companion saw.

“Let us stand together as one.” More hesitation, this time from Megatron. But as Optimus watched, he saw how those vicious red optics eased into orange, then back to a calm yellow. Silence followed as D-16 considered. Optimus could almost feel the whole world weighing on him as he waited with a baited vent.

Then, blessedly, D-16 squeezed his servo back.

“We will talk.” Sheer joy flooded Optimus’s spark as lives upon lives of relief washed over him. In his excitement, he drew D-16 in for another hug, clutching at him almost desperately. Finally, finally, he was going to be free.

“Thank you.” Releasing his hold after a moment, Optimus smiled as he had not in eons and parted his chassis plating so that the Matrix shone clearly. D-16 regarded him suspiciously until Optimus took the Matrix in his servo and grabbed D-16 with the other. Guiding his brother in arms to grasp the ancient relic, Optimus raised both their arms to the skies, a symbol he hoped conveyed unity.

The masses watched in awe, the High Guard stalling in their attacks. In that brief moment, Optimus sensed confirmation from deep within his being. Locks began to settle into place. Memories dimmed.

“You have done well, my chosen.”

At last, his mission was complete.

[n1k0laa5]

Music Helps Manifestation And Shifting — Scientifically Proven

Excuse me, where are my manners? Hello, my darling. I hope you’re doing well today, be sure to stay hydrated and well rested, now buckle up for this.

We all know music moves us. It can shift a mood instantly, bring you to tears violently, make your skin erupt in chills, or trigger memories from a decade ago like they happened five minutes back. But what if it could do more than influence your emotions?

What if it could bend reality with you?

What if music is more than entertainment, what if it’s an engine for manifestation and shifting?

Here’s the truth:

Music alters the brain. It shifts the nervous system. It affects brainwave states. It primes the subconscious.

And in the world of Law of Assumption, Law of Attraction, quantum creation, and dimension shifting, that means it can change your state, which means it can change your world.

Let’s break it down, shall we?

Studies in neuroscience show that music has an immediate and profound effect on:

• The limbic system – the emotional center of your brain

• The default mode network (DMN) – your resting state brain, where imagination, introspection, and visualization live

• The prefrontal cortex – the area responsible for self-awareness and intention

• Dopamine release – associated with motivation, pleasure, reward

• Brainwave entrainment – syncing your brainwaves to match a rhythm or frequency (yes, binaural beats fall under this)

Researchers at Stanford literally found that music “engages areas of the brain involved with paying attention, making predictions and updating events in memory.” Translation? Music hijacks your brain’s attention system and makes you more suggestible.

This is a fucking goldmine.

Because if assumption creates reality, and music creates altered states where assumptions are more deeply absorbed, then music becomes a backdoor to the subconscious, the very gateway of your 4D reality.

When you listen to a song, you’re not just hearing sound—you’re aligning with a frequency. Not just in Hz, but in emotional signature. The emotions a song evokes (longing, power, seduction, success, peace, grief) all have vibrational blueprints.

This is why music can teleport you to an entirely different headspace, even if your environment hasn’t changed.

That change in emotional frequency is actually a change in energetic alignment, which means you’re changing your magnetic field, your assumptive state, and your point of attraction.

For example:

A dreamy, ambient track may bring you into a calm, lucid state where visualization becomes effortless.

A sultry, hypnotic song may help you embody your most confident, magnetic self—perfect for self-concept and SP manifestation.

An orchestral cinematic piece might help you assume your main character energy, becoming the star of your own storyline.

If states create circumstances, and music alters state…

Then music is one of the most direct ways to embody a version of you that already has what you want.

In the shifting community, people have long known the power of music as a shifting aid. Whether it’s shifting to DR or simply a different state of mind, music provides:

• Stability of focus (keeps your mind from wandering)

• Sensory immersion (you start to feel like you’re there)

• Emotional fuel (you believe the state you’re entering because the sound makes it feel real)

Many use specific shifting playlists as triggers, and there’s a reason.

The brain starts associating certain songs with alternate realities. You’re creating neural anchors. You’re telling your brain: “When I hear this, I am there.”

Eventually, a few seconds into the track and your state begins to shift automatically—even before affirmations, visualizations, or techniques.

The music becomes the technique.

Your subconscious responds best to emotion, repetition, imagery, and rhythm.

Which means: songs are like affirmations on steroids, because they come with a melody your brain can loop endlessly.

This is why you might hear a lyric and feel like it’s “speaking your manifestation into existence.” That’s not placebo, that’s subconscious absorption in real time.

And when you choose music that already expresses your desired state—love, wealth, power, peace—and you move, affirm, or visualize with it…

You are literally rewriting your internal program.

Now, my love. Let’s go from theory to actual practice.

Here are different methods to use music to deliberately reinforce your manifestations and shift reality:

1. Create “State Playlists”

Make separate playlists for you.

• Dream self.

• Rich self.

• Magnetic self.

• Healed self.

• DR self.

Label them accordingly. Use each one only when entering that state, to strengthen the neural/energetic link. You may not even need to MAKE playlists, given there’s plenty of self-concept and manifestation ones existing on Spotify.

Bonus if you include songs specifically related to or based off manifestation, but it can be anything. I literally use Hamilton, the musical. Yes. I manifest with a Founding Father.

2. Use Music Before or During Visualization

Right before bed, or during SATS (State Akin to Sleep), use music that feels like the version of you you’re stepping into.

Close your eyes. Let the music take over. See it. Feel it. Let the sound wrap around your new self-concept.

This turns your visualization into an embodied cinematic experience.

3. Dance It In

Movement + music = rapid state change.

You are letting your body become the state.

Feel rich, powerful, chosen, or transcendent and let that flow through you while the music plays.

Move like the version of you who already has it.

4. Loop Audio Affirmations Over Instrumentals

Create your own tracks: layer affirmations or visual scene descriptions over a song or instrumental that matches the vibe of what you’re manifesting.

You’re creating a subconscious feedback loop of belief, sound, and imagery.

Yes, this works for subliminals that have music. Good luck finding a good one, though…

Let’s change the topic! In quantum terms, all versions of you already exist.

You — rich.

You — in love.

You — in your DR.

And if states are portals, then music is a powerful anchor into the vibration of a chosen timeline.

What does that mean?

It means you can use music to select the version of you you want to embody, over and over, until it becomes stable and natural.

You stop waiting for proof, and start vibing as proof.

You’re not manifesting blindly anymore,

you’re aligning, deliberately, sonically, emotionally, and somatically.

And let’s not forget:

In nearly every spiritual tradition, creation begins with sound.

• “In the beginning was the Word…”

• Om, the universal vibration in Hinduism.

• Sound as sacred geometry.

• Frequency as the structure of matter.

Your reality is built by vibration.

And music?

It’s one of the purest forms of vibration we can consciously engage with.

When you realize that you are God, the operant power, and you use music not just to entertain, but to create,

You step into reality creation as art.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Monster!König whose first course of action after the monster uprising was to find his missing bunny wife!Reader who has no idea he even considered them married in the first place. König who is clueless when it comes to societal norms or concepts and learns about marriage through picking up conversations from scientists back when he was locked up. (Still doesn’t have the greatest grasp on it even after getting his hands on human books and media) Reader is just happy to be free from being used as a breeding machine and had no idea her cell?mate thought their relationship ran that deep and wants to get legally married now. :/

Some of the scientists laughed, calling you Konig's little bunny wife. A packmate, someone to get his stress dumped in so their captive monster could be less of a killing machine and more of someone who can actually be controlled and sated. Throw him a bitch with a leaky hole and whiny voice, and he'd be satisfied until the end of time. Konig doesn't like the sound of laughter that comes from the scientists, but he likes the word "wife" forced on you. Wife. Pretty, cute, adorable, small, and fragile thing that needs him to survive - it's basic biology. Needy bunnies like you can't survive in a world filled with humans and certainly can't do it in the new reality, where the strongest are getting all the cards. When Konig eventually gets out, he reads - to his surprise, really, and to the surprise of all of his comrades who would much rather burn everything the old rulers of their world have left. But Konig reads - romance novels, human courting rituals, the true meaning of the word wife and the word husband. He thinks of ways he can put together a wedding worthy of his precious little bunny - when he would finally get her with him, of course. He finds you, of course - it's not that hard to find a bunny in this shrunken world when he has almost all of the power he could have. A colonel in the monster forces, somewhat of a hero waiting for his mate to arrive - you're given to him as a gift from his comrades, a pack of soldiers eager to please their commander. Yes, the little bunny was crying and squirming in his grasp when she was delivered, but it's hardly his fault, is it? Konig just isn't quite sure on how to go about this whole marriage thing and what to do when your pretty wifey is desperately trying to get out of his grasp. He squeezes your throat a bit until you stop trashing in his hold and then spends the rest of the evening exploring your precious needy holes with his tentacles and his hands. God, he missed the feeling of your pussy clenching on his cock, desperate for him to release his seed. You're a bad little thing for denying him, but it's okay, he can work with that. He doesn't care if you're dumb or ungrateful - he will just press further, push his cock as deep into you as possible, squeezing your soft breasts until he swears the milk will come. He will have to breed you for this, of course - as thoroughly as possible until you can't help but cry and moan in his hold. Scientists never allowed him to actually dump his eggs in you, always afraid that he would get too possessive and territorial protecting his clutch and the pregnant mate - but oh, no one is there to stop him now. You would forget all about resisting in a bit - it would be much easier to push you around once you're getting the role of his pretty little wife, just like you were intended to.