#so we spent most of the night on the balcony and i retold my friend the entire plot of this book as therapy bc she is amazing like that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

steepgan · 3 years

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someone dear (iii) - d. ragnvindr x f!reader

PART I - PART II - PART III

FINAL PART!!!! also i hate this part the most because i definitely rushed it and i could feel myself losing steam for writing so i wanted to finish it asap LMFAO ALSO DILUC IS HELLA OOC IM SO SORRY I STARTED PLAYING GENSHIN LIKE SIX DAYS AGO IM RELLY REALLY SORRY LAFAHFOA#@*$@)*$

Today was payday.

“You look…” Charles made a face. “Vibrant.”

“I get paid!” you squealed.

“Oh, boy,” Charles said. “You know there’s more to life than money, [Name]. There’s knowledge. You could always learn more. There’s love. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with a significant other, honestly. There’s—”

You waved a dismissive hand. “I know all that already! I’m satisfied, Charles. It’s just not so bad to be financially secure while I’m at it. Money is the best thing ever!”

“Money is the root of all evil.”

“The root of all evil is buried deep within that chest of yours,” you accused. You picked up a clean rag and soaked it in a water basin. “You never let me have any fun on payday. Anyway, today there’s a new book being released, and I’ve been waiting for the sequel since forever.”

Charles nodded. “I think I know which book you’re talking about. Give it time and your librarian friend will have it in the library in no time.”

“That very librarian friend is coming today to hand-deliver the book to me.”

“Of course. Never once would you abandon your shift for books. Though, I think I’ve once seen you leave midway through the day because you saw a cat on the balcony while standing outside.”

“It was a cute cat,” you defended.

“You shouldn’t make friends with cats. They’re very picky and particular with whom they associate with.”

“Ah,” you said absentmindedly, “like Master Diluc.”

“[Name], that’s your boss.”

You deserved the reprimand. “Sorry. It’s not anything bad. I actually took your advice the other day and chatted with him a bit. He’s not as… cold as I thought, but he’s certainly as chilly as Snezhnaya at times.”

Diluc had been somewhat stubborn when you insisted on helping him. You didn’t understand. It was only natural to be there for other people; however, Diluc believed differently. He was right in some ways. Too much dependency would lead one to no good, but that was not your concern.

“Before comparing your employer to one of the coldest nations in Teyvat,” Charles said, “I nominate you to call for Patton a bit today. He’s coming in late ‘cause he’s wrapped up with something today.”

“Do you think me standing out there would do the tavern some good?”

“Try wearing a costume. Draws attention.”

“Right on. Let me see if there’s any maid uniforms in the back.”

As much as you worshipped your own looks on a daily basis, standing outside where Patton typically was took a toll on your body. But your mental health persevered. After all, you were getting paid today. Nothing could deter your smile.

You stood outside, calling out passing people with hopes of luring them in with Dandelion Wine. Diona, who worked at Cat’s Tail, stopped by to convince you to join her tavern. She was ultimately dedicated to sabotaging the traditional and rich wine industry of Mondstadt yet was doing rather poorly at it. You declined politely, as your job was the wine industry of Mondstadt.

Nimrod, one of the usuals, entered the tavern. He dodged his wife who condemned his drinking habits. He typically hung around Angel’s Share for the addicting wine. It was not strange to see him coming in and out of alleyways.

Not even the approaching Master Diluc could taint your spirits.

The approaching Master Diluc.

You’d recognize his hair and determined face anywhere. You were accustomed to seeing it, as you saw him often. You smiled and greeted him accordingly just before he entered the tavern. “Hello, Master Diluc. Have a good day today.”

“I will,” he said. “I assume today’s a good day for you, too.”

“Of course.”

Donna was giving him puppy-dog eyes around the corner, you saw, but she gave him puppy-dog eyes every day, so what was new? Diluc, the brooding bachelor bastard of Mondstadt, was the center of many ladies’ attention.

He was the center of yours because your paycheck was in his hands.

Days and weeks went by.

Because you knew Diluc’s secret and nighttime hobby, it wasn’t strange for you and he to grow closer. When he’d come back to the tavern, you arranged a nice meal for him to eat. Heroes needed plenty of food, you figured.

Sometimes, you’d eat with him in agonizing silence.

He made for mediocre company, but when it was late at night and you had nothing to do, he was a fine person to talk to. He kept his distance, preferring to sit a seat away from you at the bar, idly standing when you were sitting at a table. But you never felt alone on those nights.

Diluc came back injured sometimes, and as each night passed, he let you tend to his wounds pathetically before he went to see a doctor. You didn’t know if he was humoring your concern or if he seriously needed your help.

Even without you, he was doing just fine, but little by little, akin to a trickling stream, he began to rely on you. Another person’s trust was a heavy thing to carry, and Diluc’s trust was the weight of the entire world upon your shoulders. You feared that if you ever messed up, Diluc’s trust would be gone in a snap.

Diluc and you shared meals, which was nothing out of the ordinary now, but there was small conversation. Diluc, to your knowledge, never really participated in idle chatter, but he talked with you about the sights he’d seen around Liyue, the hub of business in Teyvat, and you retold jokes your friends had said and rumors about a certain person that were made just to pass time.

You could pull vicarious wonder when Diluc told you of the other nations. You’d venture there yourself, but your skills in the adventuring department were lacking.

You admitted that you were wrong about Diluc; where you had thought him cold and stoic, he was protective and brave. He treasured his work above nearly everything—to the point he overworked. In a way he was somewhat like you. A little different, though. A little stranger. A little better.

Diluc had grand aspirations and was bold personified. You, too, had something to live for, but it wasn’t as great as his. You liked the little things; you liked the dog who wagged his tail whenever you passed in hopes of you giving it a treat; you liked shopping with your friends; you liked reading new books and joking around with Lisa.

You and Master Diluc seem to complement each other, that’s all, Charles had said then.

“Charles, you’re insane,” you said, pushing Charles’ shoulder. “It’s never going to work. Patton would never agree to putting on the maid dress.”

“And if we bribe him?” Charles asked.

Diluc was standing on the other side of the bar, a brow quirked and a smile lapping at his lips. His arms were crossed, and as much as he tried to seem intimidating, he looked like a friend to you. Before, you would have seen him as judgmental and indifferent, but the Diluc before you was someone who you knew better.

“How much do you think we should give Patton? Maybe we need to sort into bigger pockets.” You peered at Diluc.

Charles said, “What—do you think Master Diluc is willing to put on such a uniform?”

You laughed, and Diluc was looking at you. He didn’t look upset at all. His face was calm, and his pretty cupid’s bow lips were drawn in an amused smile. Oh, he was gorgeous—and upon that thought intruding your headspace, you nearly stopped laughing.

Sometimes Diluc would bring you small trinkets from the winery. You once brought up you wanted an owl statue to put on your balcony to attract other owls (though you were sure that wasn’t how nature worked), and Diluc, sure enough, gave you an owl statue around the size of your torso.

“Master Diluc,” you said. “What is this?”

“An owl statue.”

“Gee, wow! I thought it was a penguin.” You tentatively patted the top of its head. “What’s it for?”

“You,” he said. “I had it laying around the winery.”

It provoked thought in you. What sort of person had an owl statue laying around? You felt the need to give Diluc something back, but what did you have to give him? So that very night, you took him outside of Mondstadt so you could capture a Mist Flower Corolla for your friend.

Typically, you wouldn’t take your employer out on an errand, but you were done with work, so it wasn’t Master Diluc. It was just Diluc. Diluc looked like he wanted to say no to you because he didn’t really devote his time into something so trivial, but you insisted.

“If you needed it that badly,” Diluc said, “you could have asked me. We have plenty near the winery, and I can take care of them easily.”

“It’s not that,” you said, watching an Ice Flower bloom and freeze the water around it. “It’s about the adventure. The message.”

“And what’s this message you speak of?”

“It’s the message of ‘hey, I nearly froze my ass off to get this flower for you, but I care about you enough to risk frostbite.’”

“How… kind of you, [Name].”

You and Diluc spent all night catching enough Mist Flower Corollas for your liking. You wanted a bouquet, and you had a bouquet at the end of the night, at the expense of Diluc’s time and your sleep. You carried the bundle in your hands happily.

Diluc’s fire skills came handy, and it wouldn’t be a lie if you said you brought him along just for it. You liked his personality and his friendship, of course, but his fire skills were a… plus!

On the nights where it was just you and he, Diluc sat nearer to you now. Diluc picked up Charles’ shifts more often and sat across from you whenever you were seated at tables. He sat next to you at the bar, entertaining you out of your boredom.

It wasn’t until one day, Donna of the flower shop was gushing about Diluc, and you felt uneasy. You’d known that Donna was incredibly fond of Diluc, but it never bothered you until now.

Of course, you brought it up to Charles, one of your closest confidants, only third to your bank account and Lisa.

“He likes you back, you know,” Charles said, playing with the tip jar. The coins clinked and clanked in there. “I can tell you that much, [Name].”

“Ewwwwww,” you moaned. “Talking to you about my problems is gross. Where’s Lisa? She’ll tell me the truth for sure. You only want me happy so I can clean the entire tavern for free again. You want me to cover your shift again?”

“Sure I do,” Charles said, “but what I’m saying is true, [Name]. He looks at you all funky.”

“Yeah, because I’m a funky gal.”

“Stop it.”

“Funky, funky, funky.”

“Please.” Charles sighed and set down the tip jar. “It’s like… you and he are weirdly connected. He looks at you a lot. He always looks at you whenever there’s a joke, just to see if you’re laughing, I guess. He must like your laugh. I think it sounds like a horse, personally.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek. You loved talking to Charles. You loved money. You loved your friends, and you loved your happiness. You loved—no, you liked Diluc. You didn’t know what to do when it came to him. Maybe if you kept away, your affections would find someone else to torment.

Like, for example, that newly hired boy next door that nearly killed his shop’s plants. He was a clumsy sort of cute.

But Diluc was not clumsy. He was meticulous and always got the job done. He took care of himself well, and on days he overworked, you made sure he took some time to rest.

You shook your head. You should stop thinking about Diluc for now and focus.

Yet it was always you and Diluc, and Diluc began to invade your thoughts. You brought up weaving flowers into his long hair, and Diluc always turned you down, saying that there wasn’t enough time for that.

You wished to brush Diluc’s bangs back and lightly kiss his forehead, if he was okay with that. Instead, you said to Diluc, you have a big forehead. No wonder you’re so smart.

Can we go back to the part where you said I had a big forehead? he’d retorted.

It wasn’t until nearly a month later did Diluc come to his shift with Mist Flower Corollas in hand and shyly handed them to you. There was a red hue on his cheeks, and his voice was small, afraid of rejection. His hair was tied back in a neater fashion, and his eyes were cast downward.

Become someone dear to me, he had said.

He wore fine clothes and a nervous expression. It was so out of character for Diluc. You felt as if you were watching a high school boy struggle to express his feelings. However, had Diluc walked into the tavern with a more open chest and chin up, he wouldn’t have been Diluc at all.

You liked Diluc as he was—somewhat closed off but kind enough. Mondstadt’s hero. A knight who donned glimmering red hair and a steel exterior. You wondered if Diluc had to prep himself before coming to you.

“Sorry,” he said although there was nothing to be sorry for, really. “I mean, if you don’t like the flowers—”

Hey, I nearly froze my ass off to get this flower for you, but I care about you enough to risk frostbite.

You took the flowers. “Oh, no, I love it. I really, really do, Master Diluc!”

“Just Diluc.”

“Diluc,” you corrected. “Do I get financial compensation if I become someone dear to you?”

“For starters, I could give you a Mist Flower Corolla every day,” Diluc said, “if that’s enough to satiate you.”

“And then?”

“In the evenings, I’d take you to Cider Lake to watch the starry night while you read those magazines of yours. We don’t need to talk. Just bask in each other’s company, really.”

You tried to fight the smile that was growing on your face. You set down the flowers on the bar counter before saying, “that’s it?”

“I’d let you weave flowers into my hair. I’d take you all over Teyvat, if that’s what you wished as well. I’d take care of you as much as you had taken care of me whenever I’m injured. I’d learn your jokes and get along well with your friends because they seem pleasant.”

You didn’t know Diluc was such a romantic. You dusted Diluc’s shoulder. “I would hold your hand.”

Diluc frowned. “This doesn’t feel very equal to me.”

“You want more?” you quipped. “I’d kiss your forehead. And then I’d read to you. That is, if you like fairy tales… Oh! And then I’d take you up to the mountains where we could see the constellations the best! I love constellations; they’re so pretty.”

“Truthfully,” Diluc admitted, “you don’t have to do anything. I think… I think I’d be satisfied if I just had your company.”

“Would you now? And what about Donna from the flower shop?”

“What about her?”

“Oh, nothing.” You pretended to think about Diluc’s proposal. “I have to say, I think I’m enchanted by your offer, Diluc. I’m going to have to say yes. I will become someone dear to you.”

PART I - PART II - PART III

#diluc ragnvindr #diluc #genshin impact diluc #x reader #genshin impact #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #genshin impact x reader #me speedrunning the ending desperately:

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youarejesting · 4 years

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Femme: 28

[MASTERLIST]

Recap: Arriving home from work Hoseok and Taehyung head out for work across town. Jin starts initiating some intimacy leaving y/n a little hot. All previous worries previously discussed with her boss has given her a new perspective of intimacy. A meeting with Namjoon lead to a group activity of outlining all there preferences and kinks when it comes to sex.

Pairing: BTS - OT7 x Reader

Starring: Choi Seung-Hyun (T.O.P)

Rating: Mature Themes.

Warnings: Smut, Oral, Blow job, Squirting, Masturbation, daddy/baby girl, praise kink.

Length: 3.2k words

After deciding it was best to fill out our pages separately after some research and assurance that nothing they wrote would make disgust you. Everyone has different personal preferences and just because one person writes something doesn’t mean it has to happen. You told them there was definitely things on your list some of them might not be comfortable with. So you spent the night in your room looking up all the possible things you think they might bring up and organizing them into three columns.

It was cold, it hadn’t been very obviously cold since you woke in Seoul, but it finally felt like winter. You walked out of your room to see that it was snowing outside, quickly moving to the balcony you inspected the flakes that fell around you. It wasn’t constant like in moves but sporadic and very beautiful nonetheless. An artificial shutter was heard behind you and you turned to see Jin with his phone he had taken a picture of your silhouette against the rising sun with the snow falling around the city.

Smiling he pulled you to his chest, digging your hands under his long sleeved shirt and flattening your palms on his back. He shrieked “Ya! YA! YAAAA!!!! WAE? Ah eottoke, Freezing so Freezing” you laughed at his reaction running inside. He chased you his hair bouncing like the moves of a jellyfish, his limbs swinging in reprimand like an old man scolding some kids making you giggle.

You got dressed in your uniform, you had been specially delivered a winter uniform which had long sleeves and thicker denier stockings in white. You were happy tonight everyone was expected to come home and you were all going to discuss the progression of your relationship. Namjoon had emailed the other three who were not home, the page and gave them instructions to fill out everything.

Jin left early and you grinned skipping along side Jungkook on the way to work, you had started taking different routes to work everyday so you could see more of the town. Today you passed a tattoo parlor watching a man get a snake up his arm, a beautiful specialty store for femmes which had clothes and products and cool little cute items. You smiled walking past a shop that was advertising how many days left till Christmas.

You frowned realizing you didn’t have any presents for the boys. Since winter had come business had started to slow down. Arriving at the park you smiled and saw your boss he told you not to set up the tables and chairs today. Jungkook looked cute in his puffy jacket his nose flushed pink, he leaned down and kissed you his lips were warm tasting like sweet coffee.

He waved before heading off to work and you turned to the boss. “Today I don’t expect we will get many customers, so we won’t open the van until about an hour before lunch” You nodded and asked your boss if he could help you buy presents for the boys for Christmas and he grinned.

You had an idea of what you wanted to get them and smiled hoping you had enough money. You went to an office supply store and looked around before you found what you were looking for, it was a sleek black handled letter opener and fountain pen set. It wasn’t too expensive, you hoped in future you could get him another one that was as beautiful as the most expensive one with crystal handles and other magnificent designs.

You moved onto the next few stores getting all the presents and heading back to work to wrap them. Your boss told you that since it was nine days until Christmas you wouldn’t have to come back to work for a while until the season grew warm once more. You nodded and had an Idea to have a small Christmas party with all your friends.

Heading home early with determination, you were stopped by a sleazy looking man, he was trying to entice you to follow him claiming he could help you and you snapped. You weren’t weak and you were sick of the way you were always treated when you were on your own. You let out a string of curses in a mix of English and Korean. Taking it out on this guy, you poked your finger into his chest pushing him back and people started staring as you called Yoongi who was at home working napping.

“You can get out of my face before, I kick the living shit out of you. Do you understand? If you even think about trying anything I will hurt you” you put the phone on loudspeaker. “Yoongi, I am heading home early and I am about to beat some low life to death, get up and bring gloves. We are going to hide his body”

“Neh, Joonie might not like it though kitten as he works in the violent crimes. But I will take the blame okay. I will fucking end him” Yoongi said in his thick Daegu accent his words full of spite and various swear words as he was shuffling around.

“Ya, Jagiya” Hoseok said looking tough followed by a fierce looking Seung-hyun and Taehyung who pulled you into his chest and bared his teeth at the man. Hoseok took the phone. “Yoongi it’s Hoseok and Tae we are here with y/n. It’s all good I can turn him into pet food.”

Seung-hyun had stepped into the face of the sleaze and was telling him quietly some pretty explicit ideas on what he liked to do to men who try to hurt women. You were impressed by the sheer force of dominance that poured from him. It was heavy and intimidating.

“Should I meet you there?” Yoongi’s deep voice poured from the speaker and the man apologized saying he was just trying to help and stalked off quickly away from the crowds.

“He is gone” Hoseok said and the two spoke quickly before Hoseok hung up. “Jagiya you are so dangerous for us. We would kill all these pathetic bastards for you.”

You walked home arguing with Taehyung about carrying your own bags. “Tae they are presents for you guys you can’t look, I will carry them” Saying this was a mistake as their eyes lit up. The two grilling you about what you had bought them trying to sneak a peek into your bags. “They are for Christmas!”

You got home and Yoongi pulled you forward his hands on your cheeks as he kissed your cheeks and forehead and lips hugging you tightly. “Why do you insist on walking alone, it’s dangerous”

“It shouldn’t have to be, I should be able to walk freely without assholes trying to approach me” You whined exasperated by the way you were treated “That’s it Kookie is going to teach me to fight. I’m going to kick some butts”

“I am going to the studio later, we have our performance coming up soon, so I have to practice. That means I can only help you with the editing for a little while Tae” He left to his room to gather his things before sitting at the table with Taehyung who retold some stories from the wedding and how his assistant photographer Hoseok got drunk.

Namjoon came home early and dragged you to his office. He sighed shutting the door resting his head against it. Before defeated collapsing onto the couch. “Why do you cause me so much worry, the same time I am in the most stressful case of my life?” He mumbled into the leather of the couch. You rolled him over, he looked even worse than yesterday the bags under his eyes were dark and bruising. “I just can’t stop thinking about everything”

“Have you written out your page? You asked and he nodded and you went to his bag and skimmed some of the items and he blushed covering his face with his arm. Catching the words you were looking for in the ‘Yes’ column. “When you specify ‘Oral’ do you mean receiving or presenting?”

“Both, but I don’t want to think about that, I have to talk to you about what has happened today, on your walk home” He rubbed his temples eyes closed. You switched off the light so only his desk light illuminated his figure across the room in a dull glow. “Thank you, I have a headache”

You carefully sat on the edge of his couch by his waist and gently massaged his temples he sighed relaxing eyes closed you got up the courage to gently run soothing hands over his head and shoulders. “Would it be easier to massage my shoulders if I am on my front?”

“No just relax” biting your lip nervous about how he would react to your advances you took slow hands down his sides. Massaging his flanks and then his calves and thighs you wanted him to be relaxed he looked like he hadn't slept in days.

Your hands traveled back up his thighs, gently brushing your palm against the front of his pants. He made a noise but stayed still, you did it again this time firmer, his dark eyes landing on you and your hand.

“Can I?” His only response was a nod, he was nervous and holding back. You unbuckled his belt leaning over to kiss him hoping it would distract from your busy hands. Unzipping his trousers

Namjoon grabbed your ass, tightly squeezing it earning a moan from your lips. You rolled your hips against his and your mouth fell open at how big he felt against you. You had read his page and knew his kinks and preferences, so you felt more confident trying the things you knew he would like. You pulled away from the kiss his pants removed and gently freed him from his navy boxers. You held him in your hand and marveled and he looked. “Namjoon you are huge”

You began gently measuring him with your small hands. He asked you looking sheepish if that was a problem, without missing a beat, flashing him the most innocent grin you could muster. “It’s perfect daddy” Pumping your hand down at the same time. Your hand firmly wrapped around his erection squeezing gently.

His mouth fell open a deep rumbling groan vibrating his chest as your thumb ran over the head spreading pre cum over the tip which grew darker in color the more you teased. He had his head tilted back his eyes clamped shut. Pressing a soft kiss to the smooth tip his eyes flew open once more teasing him breathing hot air down the underside of his length and trailing your tongue slowly back up. Swirling your tongue around the head you took a slow calming breath before taking him in your mouth.

Concentrating on running your tongue side to side on the underside of his cock as you bobbed your head up and down hand grasping the base. You took a slow breath relaxing your jaw your throat everything and attempted to take him a little deeper. It was easier said than done, you couldn't relax enough so you didn't force yourself not wanting to scare him in his first experience.

“Oh baby, I needed this so bad” You answered him with a moan putting in effort and enthusiasm because you wanted to do this so bad for him. He Gripped the couch trying to restrain himself as he came hard inside your mouth, swallowing quickly not thinking too much on the salty taste unsure how you would react to it.

He groaned and you gently pulled his pants back up leaving them unbuckled as he panted an apology for coming in your mouth. “It's okay daddy I liked it a lot, rest now” He kissed you and you ducked out letting him sleep, checking on everyone feeling a little sinful for what had happened, the wetness between your legs throbbed.

You heard a tune coming from Yoongi’s studio and stepped in quietly he turned, with a knitted brow, “come listen to this you nodded placing on the headphones and listening to his latest creation. He pulled you too sit on his lap, and you did hoping he didn't feel the unnatural warm and damp state of your panties. He leaned in to kiss you and you covered his mouth and spoke with the headphones on. “I am happy to kiss you but I um just gave Namjoon a blow job”

Yoongi froze and leaned back looking at you with a smirk. “Did you enjoy yourself kitten, did Joonie, return the favor?”

“He was stressed from work and hadn't slept in days and so I told him to sleep” you said trying to look indifferent.

“He didn't even take care of our baby” his hand on your knee and he watched your reaction as he moved it higher. “Would you like me to return the favor to you?”

You blushed and he grinned kissing you full on the mouth pushing his keyboard back and sitting you on the desk and parting your legs.

“This room is almost completely soundproof kitten have as much fun as you want” he grinned and pulled his chair in close helping you remove your underwear before pocketing them. He grinned grabbing his thighs and kissing and biting you inner thigh and he grinned his lips crashing against where you needed him the most, tongue lashing out mercilessly.

His hands tap the keyboard behind you playing the song through the studio’s speakers, the sound so clear and amazing. He keeps rhythm against your, creating such a desirable heat to fill your body. The feeling escalates, the whole experience is vulnerable with pleasure.

“Right there” your mouth fell open hands grasping his hair as you held him in place and he calmed for the bridge of the song looking up at you. Leaning back panting with a wet grin, he reaching to gently caresses you slowly to keep you on edge. His long fingers pressing gently inside curling against your g spot and he smirked watching you shiver and he smiled.

“Last one kitten you ready?” He leaned back in and continued matching the erratic spread of the final chorus which he did perfectly and pressed against your g spot and you felt a weird sensation unlike anything you felt your toes scrunching and you had always been quiet but not today you couldn't help it, he continued and the feeling built up like a pressure you started to get nervous but it was too late and you cried out body shuddering against him and the table the feeling was like a gush.

You looked at him, his face and plain white shirt covered. You started to cry covering your face. “Please tell me that isn't pee”

“No kitten, women might be frozen but porn isn't and I know squirting, trust me, it's not pee, it tastes sweet, kitten you did so well. You sounded so good and you look so fucking amazing” He held rubbed your thighs encouraging you and stood up holding you tenderly “did you like it, did it feel nice kitten?”

You wiped your tears, feeling stupid for over reacting, “it was amazing I have never felt anything like that before”

“I’m glad kitten, I wouldn’t want this to scare you, take a shower” he kissed you happily and you had to agree it was a sweet taste, you didn't want to leave him unattended but he told you he would take care of it.

“Can I watch?” He froze mouth parting, with a lick of his lips and a nod he got to work removing his sweatpants, you watched him take his time wrapping his long fingers around his long cock. He spent himself quickly biting down on your thigh teasingly. He sent you off telling you he would clean up his desk giving you a wet smack on your behind as you left pantyless.

Taking a relaxing shower, cleaning the mess you made. Dancing to some sexy tunes feeling so feminine like a powerful goddess.Thankfully after you were thoroughly scrubbed and washed when a familiar ringtone chimed through the room. Racing out in a towel you answered the video call from Jimin with a smile “Hello princess”

“Hi my prince, when are you going to be home?” Unable to hide the frown that took over your face when you saw his grim expression. “Your not going to be home tonight are you?”

“Baby I am sorry, the snow is pretty bad here, I might not get back at all” with a small sniff you felt the tears spill from your eyes as he began walking, his brother giving a small smile and a wave over his shoulder. There was a knock on the bathroom door and you placed on the red silk robe. Sniffing and wiping tears, it can’t be helped and you mentally told yourself to save it for when you were alone.

Opening the door you saw Jimin there phone in hand, standing in the hall with a bright grin. His eyes were soft reaching forward to wipe your tears, he opened his arms and you sniffed lip blubbering and eyes leaking profusely. “I missed you”

“My family are here, they wanted to bring food and presents from home, so you can get dressed and come say ‘Hi’, if you want they are all excited to meet you” He went to pull away but you weren’t ready, winding your hand behind his neck and pulling him into the bathroom. A swift kick to the door had it shut with a clatter. He chuckled as you pushed him down onto the bench. Sitting on his lap, kissing him your hands in his hair gently tugging.

He moaned gripping your thighs and pressing his hands firmly into the flesh, massaging them. You pulled away calming down a little. You were panting your robe had started to loosen and he leaned forward kissing your sternum just off center so the rapid beating of your heart drummed against his lips. “I should dress quickly your family are here. Do you want to go?”

“I have been gone too long sweet heart” and you smile dressing whilst still wearing your robe as to not tempt him further, by showing off too much bare skin. You smiled and walked out with Jimin and saw his family greeting them all as formally as you could.

“Puppy she is so cute, oh you will have the cutest babies, you need to eat more food your so skinny” His mother regarded you in her arms hugging you tightly. You smiled at Jimin’s younger brother he was just like Jimin and it was cute they stayed for dinner before heading to a hotel and they promised to see you again before they left back to their home.

After the dinner and all the chatter you all would expect to be drained from social interaction but it was quite the opposite as everyone was buzzing with excitement. Jungkook and Taehyung started the discussion on their pages and you all sat up interested to hear more about what they had to say.

“I have finished my page as well” You smiled watching them “should we read them out loud?”

Femme Media 28

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libermachinae · 5 years

Text

Spark Light

Sequel to “Logic Circuit”

This fic is also available on AO3!

Summary: Prowl is as comforting as Earth’s new black hole and Bumblebee has turned avoiding grief into a sound career option. After the end of the world, though, certain allowances can be made.

⭐ 🐝 ⭐ 🐝 ⭐ 🐝 ⭐

Bumblebee was dancing when Prowl found him. Music eked out the speakers of a transport shuttle, biolights blended and churned together, and several hundred mechs celebrated their continued existence in the universe by pushing their worn-out frames to just the point of breaking. It was a final farewell to the Cybertronian empire, a blending of Eukarian, Devisen, Velocitronian, Camian, Cybertronian sound and life in a way that many had suspected would never come to pass. Under constellations that even those whose species had lived under would have to reacquaint themselves with, dented, scratched, mangled, torn, forgotten bodies danced until overshot joints gave out, weakened armor buckled, frayed wires snapped, and in so doing they made their grief physical and gave it life.

It was the wrong place to seek out new friends. Bumblebee, every eager, ever lively, persevered for as long as he could, until a familiar voice pushed his designation into the space between songs and his optics threatened to flicker out entirely.

“Well, buddy,” he said, putting on his characteristic grin, “it’s been a while.”

Prowl had led him away from the party, up a slope and into the woods surrounding the refugee city. The low hum of thousands of voices carried through the trees, and between the gaps it was still possible to see the lines stretching outside of the Cybertronian aid stations, where volunteers had been working for hours to find solutions for every problem brought forth, from missing limbs to missing friends. Bumblebee had been with them for a couple hours before his human supervisor realized that he’d been one of the mechs directly involved in the battle. He was issued a firm command to take the rest of the night to recuperate, even though he pointed out that the war had prepared him for campaigns much longer and more grueling than this one had been.

Walking away while people still needed help had been one of the most frustrating parts of this long, terrible day, but at least from up here he could see the lines and knew they were moving. Even just a few hours out, progress was being made.

“It has,” Prowl said, glancing back to Bumblebee after letting himself observe the proceedings below. “Is your new body handling well?”

“It’s Wheeljack’s work, what do you think?” He proudly tapped his knuckles against the Autobrand on his chassis. “Getting back into the fight, it was like no time had passed at all. For I could tell, I’d just onlined from a really long recharge cycle.”

“But that wasn’t the case.” Though it wasn’t phrased like a question, the inquiry was there, and both knew Bumblebee was too good at picking up cues to miss it.

“No,” he said, dropping his hand, “I was aware for most of the last few years. Believe me, there were times I would have done anything to drop into defrag for a few hours, but I guess when you’re only kind of alive-ish your processor doesn’t work exactly the same way. I was pretty limited in what I could do.”

An unspoken answer to an unasked question. He’d worked with Prowl for long enough to be sensitive to the subtleties of such a trade of information, though he would always prefer to be forthright.

“How did you find me?” he asked. Even if he didn’t like the game, he knew how to play it, and that sometimes a risky move like a diversion was necessary to get ahead.

“Windblade noticed you while doing a sweep of the area,” Prowl said, accepting Bumblebee’s lead. “She was concerned but felt it would be out of line for her to interfere.”

“And she knew you wouldn’t be bothered by that ‘procedural nonsense.’” Bumblebee regretted the words as his vocalizer was synthesizing them. No matter how he smiled or the cute way his helm tilted to one side, there was no way to turn them into the casual quip he’d intended. Time had not yet healed that old wound, and all he’d done was exposed the damaged protomesh under the plating.

It wasn’t like he was seeking treatment for it, either. Left untended for so long, the frayed circuits and warped edges had become as familiar to him as any other part of his psyche, the way the war had shaped him to the point that he could not remove its influence and still remain Bumblebee of Iacon. He was his failures, and the last thing he wanted was for those who had pointed them out to think he resented them for doing so. Criticism meant people were paying attention. It was a reminder that his leadership had not existed in a vacuum, that there were reasons more than just personal shame to keep trying to be better. His one relief was in knowing that he’d revealed this vulnerability to the mech he knew wouldn’t try to take any of it back. He’d known Prowl to feel regret on only a handful of occasions, and never once bore witness to him expressing it openly.

“We each found the manner in which events played out on Cybertron to be disagreeable, for our own reasons,” Prowl said now, the burn of his optic as steady as his voice. “It might be inappropriate after all that we have done, and all that we allowed to happen, but I do still consider you my best friend. I wanted to check on you myself.”

The declaration surprised Bumblebee. Not being called Prowl’s best friend, which he’d known for some time and been unable to reciprocate for reasons they were both familiar with, but hearing that the sentiment remained even with the intervening years and numerous mistakes stretching out the space between them.

“And what’s the prognosis?” he asked, doing them both the favor of putting off that conversation for another day.

Prowl stared at Bumblebee; his lip twitched.

“Oh, come on, really?” Bumblebee said, waving a hand. “I’m fine—well, I will be. If almost surviving the war taught me anything, it’s that there’s always a way to bounce back. And anyway, right now, I can’t really say that I’m feeling any worse than everybody else. There are some mechs down there who lost way more than I did.”

He stopped himself before he could go too far down that road, realizing that he was starting to quantify lives in the same way that had gotten Prowl is so much trouble towards the end. Their dynamic only worked so long as he was the subjective one, the one who processed individuals instead of numbers, who couldn’t say how many Autobots were stationed at a given base but could tell you half the staff’s favorite energon supplements.

“Here,” he said, brushing away the carpet of needles and pinecones before settling himself onto the dirt. “We worked so hard to save these stars, why not take some time to enjoy them?” Whatever grit got into their joints and seams now would be a negligible addition to the filth caked to their plating. Dust and mud had combined with congealed energon to leave ugly streaks across most Cybertronians’ frames, paint dulled or rubbed off entirely in patterns that probably could have retold the story of the battle if observed carefully enough. Everyone was walking around with a narrative of what they’d been doing when the world nearly ended, and although Bumblebee would be glad to rinse himself of it once the washrack stations were operational, the sense of solidarity provided him with another reminder of why they’d put their bodies through such torment in the first place.

Prowl sat, leaving space enough between them that a third mech could have joined them comfortably. Gaze angled up, to the galaxy that somehow felt just as far away now as his home world, Bumblebee allowed himself to sink back into the feeling he had enveloped himself in at the party: spark spinning in its chamber, fuel pump beating against his lines, gyros calibrating, optics sensing, vents whispering. His body was alive, working, its systems operating in tandem to keep each other functioning. For the first time in years, he could not only see the world, but touch it, grasp it, and the burden of that responsibility was one he accepted with gratitude.

Responsibility under the scrutiny of others was much easier to manage than one taken on with no supervision. Managing Starscream had been a challenge not just for the logistical work involved, but because Bumblebee had never had anyone to assure him that it was the right thing to do, especially given his own track record in leadership. At the same time, there were elements of his self-appointed position that his processor longed to dwell on a little longer, memory files initiating playback without his consent and being halted just as quickly.

Late nights spent pouring over datapads, exhaustive lists of information on—stop.

Unshared cubes of celebratory engex after Starscream’s—stop.

Arguments with Starscream of completely forgettable—stop.

Starscream flying low over the rooftops of New—stop.

Starscream sentencing a mech to—stop.

Starscream standing at the podi—stop.

Starsc—stop.

Stop.

Queue for deletion.

Bumblebee’s sparked jumped and he immediately unqueued the file, holding it at the forefront of his processor to watch the playback: Starscream spinning on a heelstrut and pushing off his balcony with his thrusters, transforming midair and blasting off across the city. It was Starscream’s usual routine and Bumblebee likely had identical copies for every morning he’d spent in that self-indulgence of a penthouse, but he played it through several more times before returning it to his archives, processor finally sated.

Memories were all that remained of Starscream now, and that made them precious: impossible, irresponsible to discard.

His spark was spinning too fast. Silence wasn’t working; he needed to think about anything else.

“Are you okay?” he ventured.

Physical evidence of the battle was ubiquitous to the point that Bumblebee had stopped noticing its presence, but he hardly had to search for it once he started paying attention again. Like everyone else, Prowl’s finish was dusty and dull, paint rubbed off and armor dented in varying patterns across his frame. He was also littered in surface-level scratches, each of them glinting with jagged bits of shrapnel, and his shoulder betrayed the efficiency of some Maximal’s claws. It was all surface-level damage, which meant he wouldn’t be seen until the next round of medical exams took place, but it was still an interruption of the body and its normal functioning. The shadow occupying one side of his face was as loud and present as it would remain unmentioned, too like the new spaces between the stars.

And yet, his remaining optic burned like all the stars still clinging to life, refusing to be extinguished by this or any other darkness.

“I realized some things, about myself and my work, that I’d never had an opportunity to give voice to before today,” Prowl said. He let his singular gaze drift back to the masses of Cybertronians making their way through what could, for now, be considered their home. “For the first time since our return to Cybertron, maybe even since the start of the war, I feel like what I need to do and what everyone else needs from me actually align.” His lips quirked. It wasn’t a smile, but Bumblebee was under the impression that it was all Prowl was capable of now. “How I feel about such a revelation doesn’t matter; I’m going to do what’s necessary regardless. But I have to say, it’s pleasant.”

“It’s the first time in your life the choice doesn’t have to be a hard one,” Bumblebee said, “that’s probably why it feels good. It’s a relief.”

Prowl had his specialties, each of debatable merit and value, but this was Bumblebee’s: listening, filling in the gaps, forming the words that the speakers themselves couldn’t say but needed to be heard. People talked to Bumblebee because they knew he listened, and not in the way Prowl did, cataloguing information and storing it for later use, usually to the detriment of the subject. Bumblebee listened to understand. Though he struggled at times with sympathy, he still often found himself caring about those who opened up to him, causing him to wonder at times the motivations for even some of the most despicable acts performed in the war, regardless of faction origins. He’d stagnated some during his disastrous attempts at leadership, both for the Autobots and Cybertron as a whole, but the talent had remained, and in the years since he’d had nothing but time to practice and hone it.

Conveniently, it also made it easy for him to set aside his own, far less optimistic self-realizations.

“I’m happy for you,” he said, and though it was sincere, it was also inadequate. On all the planets Cybertron’s war had brought him to, not one had a word that would be able to encompass everything he was feeling in that moment, on that day.

“Thank you, Bumblebee.”

They grew silent and settled, trading glances between the cold stars above their heads and the living ones milling around the valley’s basin. It struck Bumblebee that his earlier search for company had been misguided in the same way his attempts at leading had been. He had a reputation for getting along with everyone, but experience by now had taught him that it only applied in one-on-one scenarios. On the dancefloor, surrounded by mechs eager to grab a drink and dance with the first bot to reach out to them, the energy had been right, but there’d been nowhere for it to go. Passed from dancer to dancer, he hadn’t worried about anyone looking too closely at him, accidentally peeling away the palatable upper layers and revealing that which he himself wasn’t ready to look at too closely. He was hurting, that much was obvious, but so was everyone else, and he’d thought that if he’d reached out to enough hurting mechs then maybe it would meet that need he had to connect and understand the internal structure of others.

He didn’t know how the night would have ended if Prowl hadn’t found him. Most likely, it wouldn’t have; he would have stayed on until the last dancers wandered off with the rising of the sun, and then returned to the aid stations to demand they let him help. As things stood now, he doubted he was going to be able to recharge with all the thoughts spinning through his processor, but better to spend these unintended waking hours with someone who he knew, to whom this day and its repercussions would mean the same as they did to Bumblebee.

“Without knowing what you do now,” Prowl said, “would you have tried to stop Optimus from annexing the Earth?”

The question was unexpected, the curiosity backing it a facet of Prowl that Bumblebee was not familiar with. He turned to look at his companion but received no responding glance.

“You mean, if we hadn’t known it would be our last salvation?”

“Yes. Obviously, it turned out to be in the benefit of our species in the end, but on principle, would you have stood against Optimus Prime?”

Bumblebee leaned back, letting his optics slide over the dance of the cosmos.

“It’s not like I could never disagree with Optimus, we argued plenty of times,” he said. “Pretty much every opportunity he took to leave the Autobots, I pointed out what a terrible idea it was, and I was right!”

“So, you’re saying the annexation was a similarly poor maneuver.”

Bumblebee wilted. He’d started to think that this conversation might avoid turning into an interrogation.

“No,” he said.

“It was a good decision?”

Bumblebee ran a hand down his faceplate, ignoring the bits of dirt that came with it.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t even here for most of it. Can you—Primus, can you not ask me that question?”

“What should I ask you, then?”

“What?”

Prowl finally twisted to look at him, not just his face, but his whole chassis turning to face Bumblebee, who was inadvertently reminded of how much smaller he was than most of the other Autobots.

“You clearly have something on your mind, Bumblebee,” he said. “What’s the question you want me to be asking?”

It took Bumblebee’s processor a moment to understand what was happening. Like he had done for so many other mechs, Prowl was now trying to reach across that void, to help light that space where the self grew thin and words couldn’t reach, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to do it on his own and asking for help to finish. It was a ridiculous request, and unselfish in a way that Prowl alone could achieve.

“What I told you earlier,” he said, words coming in such a rush they nearly scrambled, “ask me why.” He had no doubt Prowl would know what he was talking about. It was the only thing he’d managed to say that night of any substance, and Prowl’s constantly running battle computer would have picked it out and categorized it as such.

Prowl’s optic flashed.

“Why were you limited?” he asked. “Why didn’t you stop Starscream?”

There it was. The question that had been following Bumblebee for years, the one he could never close despite his spark’s aching need for resolution. His fans clicked on as his struggling processor started to heat his core, digging and calculating for the answer that had always eluded him.

“He’s tricky,” Bumblebee said, tracking the distances between stars with his optics, “and not just in the way he lies constantly, although that doesn’t make talking to him any easier, for sure. It’s more like his processor is constantly at war with itself. He’s scared of everything, but also entirely overconfident in his ability to defend himself. He doesn’t believe in anything, but still sees himself as destined for some greater purpose. Every time you think you’ve started to figure him out, there’s a contradiction, or he just sabotages himself to keep from being too predictable, and you can never be sure which way it’s going to go.” He meant it literally. Prowl’s battle plans had frequently been sidetracked by Starscream doing something unexpected, though there was no need to open those old wounds by pointing it out explicitly. “His processor works in layers, and they go so deep I don’t think even he knows what the core really looks like.”

It felt good to say it all out loud, to know that at least one other person might now understand the psychological labyrinth he’d been working through over the past few years, even if it brought Bumblebee no closer to understanding how Starscream functioned.

Had functioned. He realized belatedly that he’d said his whole piece as though Starscream were somewhere down in the valley, barking orders at the rest of the refugees.

“It’s a decent analysis, but it doesn’t answer the question,” Prowl said. “Anyone could tell you that Starscream is a difficult mech to work with. Why is it that your approach failed to yield results?”

Bumblebee frowned.

“I already said what I wanted to.”

“And I’m sure that was very individually gratifying for you, Bee, but you told me the question to ask and now I expect you to answer it.” Prowl’s expression was stern, and Bumblebee realized he was no longer talking to his old friend Prowl, whom he had accompanied on his first trip to a nightclub and had gotten flustered when a certain rookie grounder so much as entered the room. This was Commander Prowl, leader of the soldiers posted on Ark-19, greatest tactician of the Autobot army, and ruthless pragmatist.

He had half a mind to leave right then. He always knew it was possible for conversations with Prowl to take a turn like this, and normally he would find some way to laugh it off and change the subject, but he’d done that so many times that day he knew his defensive optimism was already spent. His tactile sensors were prickling from the extra energy being processed to match his frustration, and he could feel a familiar scowl starting to settle on his faceplate, one he’d hoped would go away once the main threat had been disposed of. It was only by the weight of loss that he stayed down, the knowledge that his spark wasn’t ready to handle another goodbye, especially one done out of anger. The crease remained between his optic ridges, but he did not move away from his spot on the ground.

“I wasn’t good enough,” he ground out.

“Even if that were true, I would expect you to be more specific.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say!” he spat. His anger was being fuel by a tangible, uncomfortable heat emanating from his overclocked processor, and he had to vent out a few cycles of hot air before he could trust himself to say more than static. “At first, I figured it was all just a game to him, so I tried to use logic. Find the moves that help him win and give Cybertron a better future, seemed simple. Except, he always found something wrong with it. Either this person didn’t trust him, or that idea had too many contingencies. I could never solve all the problems to make him confident in anything I had to say.

“So, I changed tactics. If he was going to push against concrete solutions, then I could just work him through theoretical frameworks, explain why certain things were wrong and let him make the logical steps to make the right choices. I know it sounds ridiculous, but he wanted to stay in power, and even he realized he would have to be a decent ruler in order to make that happen. It seemed like a good plan, and sometimes it even seemed to work. But then something minor would happen, one of the delegates would spook him or a disaster outside anyone’s control would cause some civil unrest, and he would go straight back to his old habits. I could never figure out what he needed from me.”

“You didn’t know what someone needed to hear? That’s hard to believe.”

“Well, like I said, he was a challenging mech to understand.”

“You made the galaxy’s foremost war criminal switch sides after a few minutes alone together, yet your years spent with Starscream offered no insights at all into his inner workings?”

Prowl was right: Bumblebee was making excuses again. He leaned forward and touched his face, remembering the unfeeling sensation of the battlemask, how it had acted as a buffer between him and Megatron right up until that last critical minute. Being around Starscream had always left him feeling exposed. Even if the other mech didn’t dig in the way Bumblebee had, he always knew how to push back, peeling away the layers of Bumblebee’s arguments and finding the hidden agendas Bumblebee hadn’t even realized he’d been hiding. Though he never felt the need to question his own intentions, the incronguity between method and motivation had given him pause on numerous occasions.

“I tried to be a political advisor, and then some sort of morality coach, and I was always doomed to fail on both accounts because Starscream already had mechs who could function in either capacity. What he needed, and what I failed to provide for him, was a friend.”

It had been no mere accident, either. Trapped in infraspace, kept apart from his friends and forced to watch as they scattered themselves across the galaxy without him, he’d been in just as desperate need for connection as Starscream. Aware of that desperation, though, and the effect Starscream had already proven to have over mechs much less easily swayed than Bumblebee himself, he had recognized the inherent danger in opening himself up to Starscream in any way that mattered. Even if infraspace had been his eternity and he’d never had to face the Autobots again, even more reason not to let himself be shaped into someone he could no longer recognize. So, with political rhetoric and claims for the common good and one-sided efforts to learn how Starscream’s processor operated, he had held intimacy at bay.

And still despite that, he had come to care for the other mech. He knew he was not alone in that: numerous others who’d been swept up in Starscream’s political dealings had ended up with some stake in their leader’s wellbeing, to variable degrees, but he knew there to be more to the connection than the keeping of Cybertron’s population. That had been the start, and remained the basis for some time, but the moment Starscream stepped into his cell, Bumblebee knew he could not leave the fallen titan to his fate. Had Shockwave never returned, he would have stayed for the entirety of the life sentence, acting as companion to the one person in the universe who needed one even more than him.

A part of his processor kept carefully encrypted finally released, and he wondered if Starscream would have opened the Talisman if he’d known there was someone who would miss him.

His vocalizer was working before his processor had decided how to communicate the thought.

“But something must have gotten through to him. I don’t know if it was actually anything I did, but he sacrificed himself to bring down Unicron. He died a hero.”

“Hm.” Prowl was staring at him, analyzing and cataloguing, calculating future outcomes. Bumblebee could almost see the process at work behind his optic, and he wondered if he’d picked the wrong mech to share all this with.

“I’m sure you mean that sincerely,” he said, “but I do feel it my obligation to remind you that this is the same Starscream who proposed to have Metroplex space bridge to Earth while more than half the population was still trapped on Cybertron.”

“I know, Prowl.”

“I’m just saying.”

“I know, I know.” Bumblebee drew his fingers through the dry upper layer of the soil, relishing the feeling after spending too long dwelling on the time in his life when he’d had no body to do it with. “Somehow, despite that, he ended up a true hero. I just wanted one other person to know.”

That felt like the closest he’d come to saying something true all night. Sure, he’d meant everything he’d said to Prowl, and in a certain context and for practical purposes it was true. All of it, though, was part of the system of layers of his and Starscream’s own making, and no matter what degree his honesty took, he always felt that there was something buried deeper, a further truth, like crystals buried in the roots of ore deposits. The desire to not be alone with his knowledge, though, that was pure. Even if Prowl didn’t share his view, took Bumblebee’s faith as a judgement on his character and nothing more: better that than to live alone with his belief for the rest of his life.

A streak of light flashed across the sky, its beauty reabsorbed before it could even be appreciated, and with a wrench of his spark Bumblebee realized that this was his final farewell to Starscream. The other departed would get funerals, boisterous reminiscences shared over pints of engex, teary quiet moments of remembrance, but there was no one with whom he could share this grief, no one who would understand what they’d been through, the intense bond that had been somehow formed from a conjunxing of desperation, loneliness, and a shared hope for Cybertron’s future. In the coming days he would lack the time to give adequate thought to the questions he still had, and as the present stretched gradually away from the past, memories would become unreliable, recollections of certain events contested until all that remained was a winged silhouette and a feeling of ever more unachievable ambition. Starscream’s eulogy had been written in words only ever spoken aloud, his legacy unforgettable and yet perpetually unclaimed.

“Establishing Starscream’s role in our history is going to be an essential if divisive task in the years to come,” Prowl said, once more reeling Bumblebee back in. “You will likely not find companions to agree with you in equal measure to those who oppose your viewpoint, but I would advise against rising to their challenges. Your skills would be better served elsewhere.” He made to stand, brushing off dust as he righted himself. “From what I’ve heard, an old colleague of mine has taken an interest in the new protoforms developing within Trypticon. She’s hoping to assist in their education and development, give them an opportunity to live lives free of the choices we were forced to make. It’s something to consider.”

“What, becoming a teacher?” The suggestion so surprised Bumblebee that he didn’t think to stand as well.

“Yes. You’re one of the few mechs I would trust with such a responsibility, Bumblebee.”

Prowl’s sincerity gave weight to the air, and for one brief moment, it was like the last several years hadn’t happened, and they were once more brothers in arms, fighting the oppression of the Decepticons and defending innocent life wherever it needed them. Bumblebee could never miss the war, but the links he had formed with his fellow Autobots were such that could only be sustained through a cocktail of mutual need for survival and crushing belief that the cause they fought for was the right one. Despite every well-meaning promise between veteran comrades to keep in touch after the fighting was over, there were some connections that could never be revived back to what they were when life and death were commodities in a galaxy-spanning trade.

The spinning of Bumblebee’s spark slowed, its chamber aching.

“I’ll think about it,” he said.

“Good.” Prowl crossed his arms in front of his chassis, his weight shifting in the direction of the tree line. The moment was over; there would not be another.

“I’m going underground in the morning,” he said, voice still steady. “I’ve picked up some fragile cargo that will need to be stored in a more secure location.”

“Oh. Are you coming back?”

“Most likely, once I feel security is up to my specifications.”

“Well, I’ll be here,” Bumblebee assured, easing back again. “And hey, if the Lost Light’s back by then, maybe we can grab Hound and Ratchet and go out for a drink. You know, almost like pulling the old Iacon crew back together.”

“We’ll see if the timing actually works out so well,” Prowl allowed. It wasn’t a flat rejection, though he did turn to leave. “I suspect you’ll be busy soon enough.”

“We’ll see,” Bumblebee echoed. He liked the thought of being busy, of having a role to play in this fledgling society, but he wasn’t sure what it was supposed to be yet. For a couple hours, he’d thought that maybe morale boosting could be his duty to the survivors, but this conversation had him thinking differently. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be known as the passive listener anymore, even if the alternative terrified him, memories of looking down on his Autobots plaguing his processor.

It would be different this time, he told himself. He would make it so. And if he was really serious about making changes from his earlier tactics, he knew one obvious place to start.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you on Cybertron,” he said. The words came naturally, like they’d been sitting in his processor for some time, waiting for him to discover them. “I was so wrapped up in everything else going on that I didn’t notice, but I should have, and I’m really sorry.”

Prowl paused, back to Bumblebee, the whir of normal systems working louder than anything else in the night.

“Prowl?”

“I heard you, Bee. I… I heard you. Have a pleasant night.”

It was simple, a clean cut. Prowl’s form disappeared into the darkness and Bumblebee couldn’t say for sure if he would ever see it again. He suspected he would; though Prowl liked to disappear from time to time, he never trusted the rest of them to be completely left to their own devices and would inevitably slip back into the command structure to keep things operational. Though everything was different now, it was comforting to think that some of their bad habits might stay just the same.

He looked up to the night sky, wondering if it would always feel incomplete, and tried to guess if his emotions were those that one was supposed to feel in such a moment.

“Finally. I was starting to think you might’ve already found my replacement.”

Bumblebee whirled around.

The glow was the first thing he noticed, light bleeding off Starscream’s immaculate frame while illuminating nothing around him, neither the branches his armor rippled around as he moved, nor Bumblebee’s own plating as he turned himself fully, optics wide and flickering rapidly. He was smirking, of course, lit red optics piercing through the night like beacons calling a ship home.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” he chided as he strode forward, grace betraying none of his years spent in military service. “You didn’t really think I was just going to leave you to manage my legacy on your own, did you?”

He was smiling, not smirking, Bumblebee realized, smiling and radiant and gorgeous, and in that moment, he knew he’d been lying to himself every time he said he was afraid of becoming Starscream’s friend. He’d befriended questionable characters before, offered a listening ear to those who had nothing to offer but hateful rhetoric and come away from it stronger in his convictions and his loyalty to the Autobot cause. The wariness that had plagued him in infraspace, that had him turning his newly-built back on Starscream the first moment he could, was forged from the knowledge that his feelings for Starscream had the potential to run much deeper than any of the thousands of friendships he’d formed in his several million years online.

When Starscream came striding through the trees that night, frame glowing like he’d taken the light of Primus with him when he’d slipped out the doors of death, Bumblebee realized, without needing to say it out loud, that to offer his spark to Starscream would mean never getting it back. Starscream could reject him, belittle him, take off into the cosmos and never return to Bumblebee’s side in whatever years they had left, and still Bumblebee would feel the slow-burning jagged wonderful ache, this new desire to be known in a way that had never been of interest to him before. Though he believed (hoped) Starscream was desperate enough for company that he would not betray Bumblebee for this unfortunate truth, the thought of another mech having that much power over him was terrifying, and he was grateful that it seemed they would now have plenty years ahead to let those feelings develop before a time came for critical decisions to be made.

Worries for the future, then. On that day, with the sky twice as dark as it had once been and the shadows of their past lives draped overhead, mechs of all backgrounds were dancing together, celebrating those stars they had managed to save in time with their mourning for those they did not. Bumblebee and Starscream met in the middle, both talking too fast to understand what the other was saying, their shared lights more than enough to illuminate their new world.

#maccadam #transformers #starbee #bumblebee #prowl #starscream #my writing #fanfiction

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navigatinganorthwestpassage · 4 years

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Vulnerability, Humility, & Spontaneity

It’s usually when I’m face down on my yoga mat, in the middle of a routine, when I start thinking about my own vulnerability. This has been happening regularly at the same point almost every time now when I finish planking. I bring myself down to the ground feeling that good soreness. I take a moment to absorb this moment of frailty. My cat is usually staring at me from the edge of the balcony. I think he must be wondering why I am leaving myself so prone being bipedal and all. Often at this time, I see an ant moving frantically across the concrete right in front of my eyes. There I am feeling vulnerable while this organism a minute fraction of my size just goes about its day like any other.

We often do not like thinking about what makes us feel vulnerable. I cringe when I think back about events in the past where I felt dumb or humiliated. I think I have been more actively trying to negate that feeling lately. I am not saying that I ignore or bury that feeling of humiliation. I try to acknowledge it to let it go. Humiliated. Feeling humiliated. Feeling your sense of humility. Being humbled. I think I connect these Hum- words in my head even though their meaning isn’t entirely similar. These words are all certainly related. How often does being humiliated contribute to our sense of humility? I use LearnersDictionary.com in my class sometimes to find good working definitions of English words. The website defines humility as, “the quality or state of not thinking you are better than other people.” That is a feeling that a good humiliation can certainly provide. It is certainly humbling.

We need reminders of our own humility now more than ever. Our experiences are shared even in this time of isolation . I feel my sense of humility is connected to my sense of vulnerability, but it often makes me feel too vulnerable to share anything about either of these senses with others. Lately though, it’s a different story. Here’s a story about a time where I was feeling most vulnerable:

I was in New Orleans about a year and a half ago. My wife went there for a conference. I went just to simply experience New Orleans. This was my second time in the city. I spent the first two nights there going out to see some live music. Before I left Seattle for Louisiana, a friend told me that the Jazz & Gumbo Festival would be happening while I was there. I looked up the artist list beforehand and was immediately sold on attending. The festival happened on Saturday which was the last full day of my wife’s conference. We had not really spent much time in town together as she was attending the conference during the day while I was going out to shows at night. We had decided to meet up at the festival but had not really set a time or location.

I got to the festival mid afternoon. I found myself some gumbo and some drinks. The lineup mainly consisted of local brass bands which I can never get enough of viewing live. Brass bands are incredibly danceable and always mean happy good times for me. The gumbo was delicious. The beer was flowing. The vibe was good. I settled in. I saw two or three bands before my wife started trying to get a hold of me. I told her I was still at the festival. I wanted to still meet up at Louis Armstrong Park where the concert would be going on past dinner time.

Right near sunset, an artist named Shamarr Allen came on the stage. He had played in the past with Rebirth Brass Band. They are awesome. His set was pretty fun. My wife called me in the middle of the set. She was having problems getting near the park in her Uber. If you’ve ever tried to communicate with anyone by phone at a concert, you know it is difficult. You cannot hear much, and it is hard to get somewhere at the venue where you can hear. She told me she was still going to try to get closer to the park. The set continued. Shamarr played a song about the head coach of the New Orleans Saints and some dance move this coach had done after a game. Then he played a song about doing your “weekend dance”.

My wife called me again. I still could not hear her, but I could tell she was frustrated. I started moving away from the concert and slalomed my way back from the stage. I was focused on trying to hear what my wife was saying. I covered my open ear with my hand as I continued to walk away before one spectator motioned for me to stop and pointed towards the stage. He said something to me that I could not make out. Eventually it became clear what a couple people were trying to tell me by this point: Shamarr Allen had just called me out for being on my phone. It didn’t matter the reason. It didn’t matter that I was trying to bring another listener to his set.

People started pushing me back towards the band where some kind of separation in the crowd had formed right in front of the stage. I don’t remember when I hung up on my wife, but I definitely just ended the call abruptly as things turned upside down. I would say there were at least 1,000 people present in the audience. By the time I got up in front of the stage, I had gathered in my head what was about to occur. Shamarr had already been calling people up to the front of the crowd before my phone call. He wanted to see their “weekend dances.” As a tall pale white guy who did not bring his weekend dance to town with him beforehand, I had no plan. I got to the opening in the crowd. At least one person in front of me had their phone trained on me. The band counted me down. “1…...2…….1….2...3.”

I want to point out at this time: I was holding at least two empty beer cans in the pockets of my hoodie while fully immersed in my weekend dance. I cannot tell you what moves I attempted or how I illustrated my idea of what a weekend dance is or should be. I think I just did the same dance I always do when I am at a show. Just a gentle groove except this time many eyes were on me. Was there a spotlight on me during this? How long did it last? Too long. Definitely too long. Eventually the moment ended. I was freed. I think there was (pity) applause. I finally made my escape away from near the stage. I held onto this weird mixture of emotions which probably led to this embattled look upon my face at this point. I was embarrassed. I was frustrated because how in the fuck do you get yourself into a situation like this? I remember some guy saying to me as I stopped by a tree in a daze, “You did it man, you did it,” which is the emotional support comment equivalent of the “Hang In There” cat motivational poster. I immediately left the concert. That was the end for me. I needed to find my wife, and there was no way I was simply going to just go back to a chilled out mood at that show. I left Armstrong Park and found myself back in the French Quarter. I passed a couple heading the same way. One of them went, “Hey, it’s the ‘weekend dance’ guy.” I also need to point out that the person who told me to go to this festival WAS ALSO IN NEW ORLEANS THAT WEEKEND. Fifteen minutes before I made my debut as a public rather than private dancer, I made eye contact with this friend from across the other side of the venue. He told me later that he had video of my performance. I searched YouTube after this concert. I never found myself doing whatever it is that I did that evening in front of that stage. Sequential moves in gentle variation under the bright lights were made. I can’t verify anything more.

Have you ever tried to convince your partner that you hung up on them because an artist on stage at a concert you were attending called you out for being on your phone? No? We went to dinner in the French Quarter where I tried to persuade my wife that I hung up on her because a musician on a stage thought I was being rude. It took most of the night to come down from the whole thing. The whole story was preposterous. I had no way besides my own account to verify any of it had happened. It was an incredibly embarrassing yet liberating thing to happen to me.

I hate hate hate hate being the center of attention. It makes me uncomfortable in almost every setting. I like staying humble, and an event like what I just retold does not allow for that. This story is where all those Hum- related words intersected for me. As awkward as that moment was, I love telling this story, and thinking about it right now reminds me of something else that has been missing so much from life in this pandemic: spontaneity. There has been so little of it. Spontaneity allows for these good and bad moments. Whether you felt comfortable in those moments or not, they allowed for growth and change. I miss being able to just redirect my day with one simple decision. With things opening up and summer feeling suddenly upon us, that spontaneity has returned somewhat. It is also about noticing the small amounts of spontaneity you can add to your day. It’s about sometimes deciding to change your plans at the last minute. It’s about taking your day in a different direction than what you had anticipated. It’s about recognizing those small daily decisions you make which you didn’t know you would make right up until that very instant. We still have plenty of those moments every day, and right now it might take a little more effort to realize we are having them. I hope to never have to think about composing any type of weekend dance ever again. I just want to let it happen if it is supposed to happen.

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