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She’s Just Not That Into You » Part III (A Harry Styles Miniseries)

Miss the previous parts? Part One » Part Two

As always, this miniseries is dedicated to @stylesunchained. Thank you so much for reading the first two parts!  I hope part three is just as enjoyable for you all.

Let me know what you think! Happy reading.

Originally posted by glamour-divine

Although Harry had been disappointed to not receive your personal phone number, he still called “Megan” the next day to set up an appointment to see you. The earliest you can see him for a consulting appointment is in two weeks, and when Megan breaks the news to him, he nearly chokes on his morning tea.

Two weeks?

There wasn’t a logical way to see you sooner. There wasn’t a way to spin it in order for him to pop into your shop, especially considering he still had to sign the final papers to make the house his. How could he explain to you that he hadn’t quite sealed the deal yet, so you’d be decorating a completely hypothetical space? He’d already felt like an idiot in front of you, getting caught snooping around your bookshelves, and he wasn’t too keen on feeling like that around you anytime soon.

So, he waits.

He busies himself with packing up the items he knew he wouldn’t need: small, decorative sculptures, a majority of his books, the picture frames that littered nearly every spare surface of his home, his summer clothing that he knew would be completely unnecessary for at least five more months. Once he gets news that the final papers are ready to sign and the house is his, he cleans every nook and cranny of his current house, figuring it might as well be good to spruce it up for the new owners. He meets old friends for lunch, he takes his mother out for dinner, and he begs his sister to come over for a movie night.

And, of course, he reads. He reads the book you spoke so highly of, immersing himself within the worlds of each character, wondering which one you connected with most. Did you cry at the same parts he did? Did you have the same pit in your stomach that he experienced whenever the subject matter turned particularly dark? He needed to know what happened next, reading late into the night, promising himself he would go to bed after he finished the page he was on, but knowing he wouldn’t stop until he could no longer open his eyes.

The two weeks pass, but they feel more like a month and a half than they do a fortnight.

When the day of the meeting comes around, he peeks into the storefront, smiling at your name on the door. He meanders around your shop after checking in with Megan. She nods when he states his presence - a meek little thing with big brown eyes and a nervous giggle - and notifies you that “Mr. Styles is here,” via the bulky black telephone on her desk. He can feel the girl’s eyes on him as he walks around, recognizing some of the pieces from your website.

“Hi!” your voice echoes from behind him, your heels clicking against the concrete floor.

Harry turns around, fully expecting a normal salutation to escape his lips, but instead, his voice catches in his throat. You’re wholly professional, the version of yourself he saw in the magazine shoots. Cropped black pants with pointed-toe heels, a blazer rolled up to your elbows.

You look like you run the place - which, of course you do.

“How are you?” you ask before kissing his cheek and bringing him in for a hug.

That’s a bit better, he thinks to himself, remembering how previously, you’d greeted Nick more lovingly than you had Harry.

“Good, good,” he takes a step back from you, hoping your perfume had transferred onto him so he could smell you on him later - so he could pretend that reality wasn’t against him and that your scent was stuck to him for reasons other than a professional greeting. “Yourself?”

“Excited!” you clap your hands together. “Before we go back, let’s walk around a bit so you can get a sense of where I’m coming from, design-wise.”

He nods, pretending not to have already extensively researched “where you’re coming from,” and follows you until you stop in front of the mock room setups, pointing out some of your favorite pieces.

“Marble is really in,” you explain, tapping a stone coffee table. “But I try not to overdo it. If you like the look of marble - if you like this exact table, even - this would be the only marble piece I’d choose for whatever room.”

Taking his chin between his thumb and forefinger, Harry nods, inspecting the table and picturing it in his new living room. He likes it. Come to think of it, he liked everything. And it wasn’t just to appease you - there was no reason to like a chair just because you liked it - but he could envision nearly every piece in his new home.

“Just got these lamps in,” you turn one on. “I’m obsessed with them. Might snag them for myself,” you smile, clicking the remaining lamp on.

“How often does that ‘appen?” Harry smirks, raising an eyebrow.

“More often than it should,” you laugh. “I’m on this kick of deep greens, navy blue, and gold. Realize it’s not everyone’s cuppa tea, but if you see anything you like, there will almost always be different colors available,” you fluff a throw pillow, adjusting its position next to another.

Harry nods, imagining what his new place would look like decorated with a darker color scheme. He’d never been one for bold rooms - white was his go-to, with him being more concerned about how comfortable the furniture was instead of the color of the walls. You’d done Nick’s living room in bold, dark colors, and Harry loved it. It was his home, he’d told Harry. It wasn’t just a place he stayed and passed the time until he found somewhere else to live. It somehow felt right, even in the summertime, which Harry had initially worried about after seeing it for the first time. The home had Nick Grimshaw written all over it, and Harry was envious of how easily his best friend’s personality was packaged within every room.

He’d wanted that for himself, and you would be the one to give that to him.

He relishes in watching you work the room. You’re completely in your element, answering a couple of questions from Megan when the girl timidly approaches, letting her know that she was free to take lunch just as soon as your meeting with Harry wrapped up. You thank a middle-aged man for his order when he stops in to retrieve a rug, running to hold the door open for him as he heaves the rolled-up carpet over his shoulder. You make a joke with him as he leaves, winking at him with a smile and a wave of your hand.

Were you always this beautiful, or had Harry neglected to see how effortless your charm was?

No, that couldn’t have been the case. He’d noticed right from the second he laid eyes on you that you were something special; something different.

You lead him to the back of the expansive store, asking him questions about his current living space, wondering what pieces of furniture he wanted to keep and which he wanted to ditch.

“Oh my gosh!” you stop abruptly in the doorway to your office, clutching Harry’s shoulder as your eyes widen. “I didn’t even ask you if you wanted anything to drink! Water, coffee, tea?” you shuffle to the mini-fridge in the corner of the room, opening it and then closing it again. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I jump the gun sometimes. Get excited over the idea of a new space to transform and all that,” you laugh, rolling your eyes at yourself.

“Water would be great, thanks,” Harry smiles. He tries not to touch a hand to where you’d touched his shoulder, but he was worried you’d burned a hole through his shirt, what with how hot the area felt to him now.

He notices the familiar smell when he walks into your office, nodding his head when he sees that you’ve got yet another Diptyque candle burning on top of a filing cabinet - he can tell it’s pomegranate without even reading the label. He inspects the decor, loving the juxtaposition of clean lines set against rustic elements which make the room feel comforting and clean.

You pull out a chair with brightly colored fabric across the cushions, offering it to Harry before placing a bottle of water in front of him and walking to the opposite side of your desk.

“Okay,” you wake your computer up, scooting your chair closer to the screen. “I normally take clients through my portfolio so they can see the spaces I’ve completed, before and after I’ve gotten my hands on them.” You adjust the large monitor so Harry can view the screen as well. “Does that sound alright?”

“Of course,” he rubs his hands on his knees. “Whatever you normally do.”

You click on a file, asking Harry if he could see the screen properly. You show him your bigger projects - cafes and restaurants, along with office buildings - as well as clients who had hired you to renovate their houses. You mention how you tend to be inspired by patterns and colors, along with custom fabric you use to reupholster vintage, antique furniture.

“Do you reupholster them yourself?” he asks.

“The smaller pieces, yeah,” you nod, taking a sip from the cup of tea in front of you. “Like that chair you’re sitting on. I usually spend my free time refurbishing the pieces I find. I’ve done chairs, side tables, desks - all that,” you go on, clicking open a picture of one of your completed pieces. “Stopped doing the big stuff when my schedule got busier. Now, I work with a father-and-son team and they do the couches and loveseats,” you click again, a picture of you and two men sitting on a couch in what seems to be a workshop. “There we are,” you chuckle, quickly moving on to the next picture.

Harry knows that he can’t ask you to go back - what would you think of him if he’d insisted upon you showing him the picture again, just so he could see the way your legs crossed one over the other at the knee; how you smiled so easily, your eyes bright and your arms wrapped around the shoulders of both men. You were happy - genuinely happy - and it was a look you wore well.

“So which pieces from your current place do you want to keep?” you ask, meeting Harry’s eyes when he looks up from his lap. “If any…”

“Thinkin’ maybe,” he pulls at his bottom lip. “I’d wanna start fresh? To keep consistent?”

“Perfect,” you nod, minimizing your portfolio and bringing up a calendar. “Okay then,” you begin, moving the monitor back to its original position. “I’ll need to see your new place before I do any work-ups for you. Is there a time this week I can come and see the space?”

Harry’s heart jumps at the thought, even though your intent is purely professional.

You’d said the words, though.

You wanted to come over to his house. To his place. To his home.

“All I ‘ave is time,” he smiles. “So whatever works for you.”

Two days later, Harry finds himself waiting for you at his new property, the wintery London rain keeping him indoors as he paces back and forth in front of the large window overlooking the drive. It was just like London to rain on such a day - a day that should’ve been filled with bright sun to match the occasion - but he was used to the drizzle, no matter how much he didn’t agree with it.

His phone rings, the vibration in his back pocket causing him to jump. An unknown number flashes on the screen, and when he picks up, he’s surprised to hear your voice on the other line.

“So sorry, Harry!” your plea causes him to smile. You sound different on the phone - your voice is less smooth, but he lets the sound of it was over him, regardless. “I promise I haven’t stood you up! My shoot on the other end of town ran long, but I swear ‘m on my way! The GPS says ten minutes.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles. “I’ll be here. Drive safe, alright?”

You say you will and apologize again before hanging up. He grins as he looks out the window, biting his lower lip and furthering the dimples in his cheeks.

You’ve got his number saved in your phone.

He’s got your number now.

Whether it was your business phone or your personal phone didn’t matter. He had a direct line to you, and you to him. Knowing that he’d most likely never use it for reasons other than strictly professional, he felt nearly giddy as he saved your number, creating a new contact for you.

When you arrive, he’s surprised to see that it’s in a van with your logo on the side. Why - based on everything he knows about you thus far - is that the thing to make him hard? And why does his stomach flip so dramatically when he sees you step out of the driver’s seat, dressed in a worn-in flannel and jeans with paint splatters on them? You shuffle quickly over to the passenger’s side, shielding your eyes from the rain. When you emerge into sight again, you’ve got your arms full of materials like folders, tape measures, and a ruler. You laugh as you run up to the front door, shielding your papers beneath your plaid shirt.

How was Harry supposed to make it through the afternoon without a full-on stiffy with you looking like that?

“Hi,” he smiles when he opens the door, the security system beeping throughout the empty house.

“Hi!” you jump into the foyer, trying to catch your breath. “I’m so sorry - I hate being late!”

“Not a problem,” Harry assures you, noticing the pencil tucked behind your ear.

“And I’m sorry for looking suck a mess,” you peel your boots off with one hand, clutching your supplies close to your chest with the other. “Just set up a shoot and didn’t want to be even later in the name of looking presentable.”

Harry looks down at his hoodie and torn jeans, his hair flopping down onto his forehead, “Look more presentable than I do,” he chuckles.

You scoff, placing your boots neatly together, just as Harry did at your flat. He smiles at the unnecessary gesture, appreciative that you didn’t even bother ask whether or not he’d prefer you take your shoes off. Not that he’d have a problem either way - you could traipse mud and leaves all over his new home and he’d thank you for it.

“‘ve got the measurements and whatnot,” he explains as the two of you walk into the kitchen. “The original contractor has the blueprints and sent them over so we’d ‘ave ‘em.”

“Great,” you nod, inspecting the cabinetry from afar. “Think today’ll just be me scoping out the rooms, taking some measurements just to double-check,” you run your hands through your hair after setting down your armful of materials onto the counter. “Not that I don’t trust the contractor’s numbers. I’ve got my own system, though. Years of doing this makes me a creature of habit,” you smirk, flipping open a folder labeled STYLES, H. in bold letters. His heart jumps, thinking that you could’ve been the one to write it. “Wanna help me measure?”

“Of course,” he nods - maybe a bit too eagerly - as you reach for your tape measure and clip it onto the back pocket of your jeans.

The two of you walk through the empty house in your socked feet, Harry remaining quiet until you say something. You inspect each room, writing down how many windows are in each, commenting on where some crown molding will need to be replaced, recommending that the carpet be taken up and replaced with real hardwood to give it a more modern feel.

“Which colors are we thinking so far?” you inquire, unclipping the tape measure. Pulling out the free edge, you hand it to Harry, your fingertips touching his while you cock your head to the other side of the room with a smile. He’s frozen for a moment, willing you to reach out and grace your hand over his once more, but he’s snapped out of it by you walking away from him. He follows your lead, walking to the opposite wall from the one you’re standing against, holding the bulky measure down against the floorboard.

“Like the thought of a dark blue for this room,” he looks around, squatting on one knee when he reaches the wall. “Cozy livin’ room ‘n all that.”

“Good, good,” you grin. “Don’t want you to be swayed by my own likes and dislikes, but I promise you it’ll look good.” You make a quick chart with the ruler you’ve brought on the inside flap of the manila folder, muttering something about always needing to have straight lines, no matter if it was written in on an official document or the inside of a folder. It makes Harry smile, the admission of your quirk. “And if not, we can always change it. Paint is easy to change.”

“Don’t think’ll want t’ change it,” Harry assures, walking slowly backwards with the free end of the tape between his fingertips, crouching down once you’ve met him to measure the width of the room. “Whatever you’ve shown me so far, I’ve loved.”

You peek up through the hair that’s fallen down into your eyes as you scribble more numbers onto the folder, smiling at him in a way he forces himself to remember. His heart pounds in his chest - so much so that he hopes you can’t hear it - and he finds it difficult to swallow the lump that’s housed in his throat.

You work easily together as walk through each room, speaking vaguely about the initial ideas both of you had for the house. You don’t try to sell Harry on one idea or another - you offer a suggestion and if he doesn’t like it, you offer another until he’s comfortable. He feels relaxed, especially once you assure him that nothing is set in stone and that your feelings won’t be hurt if he doesn’t like something you suggest. This is his home, you remind him. It’s all up to him.

“What was the shoot about?” Harry asks as you measure the windows in what will eventually be his bedroom.

“Uneven decorating. Odd numbers look better,” you explain, sniffling slightly. “Always want to have one, three, or five of something, unless it’s like a side table or lamps. But anything on a wall - like framed art or pictures - and table decorations like figurines or candles look best when there’s an odd number of them.”

“You allowed to tell me which publication?” he smirks slyly, leaning up against the wall.

You twist your mouth, trying to conceal a smile. You think on it for a second, tucking your pencil back behind your ear. “Promise not to tell?” you reach out with your pinky, a pseudo-stern look on your face.

“Promise,” Harry links his pinky with yours, trying to conceal his smile by keeping his lips pressed tightly together. How could he say no to a pinky-promise imposed by a gorgeous woman? There were laws against it, he thinks.

“I’m serious!” you scoff, dropping your hand to your side. “I’ll know it was you if you say anything. If you even mention it to anyone - especially Nicholas Grimshaw - I’ll never speak to you again.”

He clears his throat, rubbing his nose twice. He closes his eyes, forcing himself to wear the same stern look you’re sporting. When he opens his eyes, you’re still staring at him intently.

“Swear,” he nods.

“And then you’ve gone and broken a pinky promise, too. Which in my books…” you raise your eyebrows and shake your head with a twitch of your pointer finger in front of you. “It’s HGTV Magazine. From the US.”

“That’s like a major TV channel there, innit?”

“Yeah,” you nod slowly, your eyes widening at the thought. “Now they’ve got magazines. And paint. And furniture. And decor. ‘ve got the market cornered over there. Huge, huge company. Like…massive.”

“And you’ve never been featured in the States, ‘ave you?”

“No,” you nearly whisper.

“That’s a big fuckin’ deal, then!”

“Guess so,” you chuckle, running your hands through your hair. “Thanks for that.”

“Absolutely,” Harry laughs, knocking your shoulder with his knuckles. “Congratulations. It really is a huge deal.”

He knew you were successful, but hearing about how you set up the studio to look like a living room today and would be going back tomorrow in order to get your portrait taken in the room makes him realize just how successful you are. A four-page spread, including an interview on how you’d taken London by storm and your influences would be seen within the American market soon. Their words, not yours, you assured Harry.

As the two of you walk through the rooms on the second floor, he asks how you started within the industry. You explain to him that you went to school to be a financial advisor and specialized in small business accounts. You were a pencil-pusher, you told Harry, and you were stuck in an office all day long. You’d spend your weekends refurbishing antique furniture, finding that you’d had a knack for it. It made you happy - so happy that it was the only thing that got you through the monotony of your work week. Although you loved your clients and always enjoyed the pride that came with their wins, you weren’t especially happy in your job. Something had to change.

After agreeing that all of the light fixtures upstairs would have to be replaced, you went on to talk about how even though you saw how much stress your clients were under running their own businesses, you couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to begin your own business.

“Put my life savings into my first shop,” you flick off the hallway bathroom’s light. “I was eating Ramen nearly every night. Went without electricity in my apartment for a week because I didn’t ‘ave enough money to pay for lights at the store and lights at home,” you laugh. “Feels like such a long time ago…”

You started out selling furniture and other decor items. It was tough, but little by little, you made progress. Eventually, one of your regular customers asked if you were interested in working with her as an interior design consultant for her company. It helped get your name out, and soon you were redesigning spaces for people you could’ve never imagined.

Harry admires how smart and brave you are - he can understand how scary it is to go it alone without knowing the results. He was going through it right now. He was in a more privileged position, sure, but he was still unsure of what the future held, and he could appreciate how much courage it took to start over. It made him look at you in a different light - a light that allowed him to see the struggle you’d gone through, working you way from nothing to one of the best in your field. He’d envied the confidence that you sported when it came to your work and wondered if he, himself, would ever feel that.

Once you’re finished taking down all of the information you need, you follow Harry back downstairs.

“Still raining,” you frown, gathering all of your materials. “Does wonders for the hair.” You pretend to flip it over your shoulders. The natural state of it brought out by the weather makes Harry want you all the more.

“Ye’ look great.”

You tut, rolling your eyes a bit, but thank him nonetheless. “So, ‘ve got to take off,” you state, your body language pulling you back to the foyer. “But I really am so excited to get started on the mockups,” you hop a little. “It’s a beautiful space and we can start from scratch, which is when I have most of my fun.”

“‘m excited too,” Harry smiles.

“‘ll have Megan call you when I’m done with the renderings,” you slip your boots back on. “Should take no longer than a week. So count on next Thursday?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “And congratulations again on the magazine - really is a big deal.”

You tilt your head to the side, all of your features softening. “Thank you, Harry,” you smile coyly. You squeeze him a bit as you hug goodbye, the materials in your arms pressed between the two of you creating a barrier that Harry would rather be without. “I had fun today.”

“I did, too.”

He watches you run to your work van, leaping over a particularly large puddle. He laughs to himself as you struggle with your keys before unlocking the driver’s door, diving into the vehicle with a sigh that he can’t see. He watches as you push your mussed-up hair back, noticing him standing in the front window. You wave with a knowing smile before turning on the engine and backing out of the drive.

It’s that smile - that sly smirk - that pushes Harry over the edge that night.

He didn’t want to touch himself, but he’d been rock hard ever since he saw how beautiful your ass looked in your paint-splattered work jeans as you ran to the car. He didn’t want to defile you in his mind as he stroked himself in the shower, water running down his shoulders and back as he faced away from the spray. He didn’t want to moan your name as his balls tightened, the images of you naked and begging for him littering his mind to the point of no return.

But, he did.

He had to.

Nobody would know - it would be his secret - but if he didn’t jack off to the thought of you, he was sure he’d lose his damn mind.

He pictures you sporting the same upturn of your lips from earlier as you ride him, your flannel from that day still on, yet unbuttoned to reveal your breasts as you grind down against him. You know what you do to him, and your smile tells all. He imagines how beautiful you’d sound as he gripped your hips, slowing your movements to nearly a stop while he pushes up into you, groaning at the gasp you give him in return.

He’d never wanted to be inside someone as much as he wanted to be inside you. He wants to feel your breath against his ear, his name across your lips, your fingertips gripping his shoulders. He wants to know what you taste like - sweet, probably, like the candles you burn. He wants to know how warm you are; how wet he can make you by just the touch of his lips to yours. He wants to hear your moan - feel it vibrate down his cock while he’s in your mouth, that gorgeous pout of yours wrapped around the head of him.

He wants it all, but he can’t have it, so his hand will have to do.

A part of him feels guilty when he cums on the shower wall, his splotchy vision and ringing ears indicating that he gave in too quickly. But, fuck. What was a man supposed to do? You’d smelled so good; your stories never bored him; you were becoming a global success and you’d accepted to work with him.

And your ass? In those jeans?

He was done before he ever began, as far as that was concerned.

He walks out of the shower on shaky legs, a white bath towel wrapped loosely around his waist. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he takes his head in his hands and grunts.

“Fuck’r you on, Styles?” he asks himself.

He leans back onto the covers, his feet dangling off the edge of his bed that he’ll soon replace with another one, based upon your recommendation. He falls asleep that way - sleeps deeply, too, his hair wet and his towel coming undone after he shifts slightly in his slumber. It’s a deep sleep, one that doesn’t produce a memory of a dream, and Harry is thankful for that.

He doesn’t think he could take another night of dreaming of you.

Not if he wasn’t able to turn those dreams into a reality so that his mind could stop wandering day in and day out…

Not if he wasn’t able to get what he wanted…

Not if, he knows, he wasn’t able to make you his.

anonymous asked:

Hey I loved your spark merging theory with humans. Can I have a Drabble or some headcanons on how TFP Optimus and Ratchet would handle this? Would they even try or would the human s/o have to bring it up?

( Melly’s Mod Notes: Thank you anon! For this one, I’ll be doing headcanons for both the characters and I’m assuming this is SFW.

For reference, this is the human/‘bot spark bonding theory mentioned. The picture you’ll find in the linked ask is very accurate of how I look to others when I discuss world building elements that I adore. I’ve been told so. )


OPTIMUS PRIME

✦ It’s brought up during his history lesson of what it was like back on Cybertron, explaining traditions and customs that were unique to his world. At one point he brings up Conjunx Ritus - a ritual done between Cybertronians when they’re certain of their love and loyalties to each other. He explains that final part of this process is spark merging when all has been said and done. It’s where the pair (or more) form a bond by exposing their sparks to each other and letting their energies mingle. He seems so… wistful when he speaks about it. The lights from his optics soft and his smile full of nostalgia and yearning. It’s what makes his human bring up the idea that they could try it out. They’re together and in love so why not give it a shot?

✦ Optimus back pedals away from the idea fast. It would be cute to see him so flustered and nervous but the panic in his optics are no laughing matters. He seems genuinely scared of the idea to try and merge his spark with their… soul? Heart? This is unknown territory for anyone and he doesn’t want to hurt his lover because of his selfish desire to want to be sparkmates with them. They’re giving this their all as is and it seems wrong to demand more from them. It takes a visit and confirmation from Ratchet that it’s a possibility for him to be willing to even think about this and it takes his human promising to end it the moment they get hurt for him to agree.

✦ Everyone tries to chip in when they find out what’s going on. The two try to keep it under wraps with only Ratchet involved - someone needs to make sure the two are fit enough to go through a spark-to-heart session after all - but it isn’t long before the others find out with how strange Optimus and his human are acting. The kids find out first, learning it from their friend and Miko can’t keep a secret under wraps for long. Soon it becomes all hands/servos on Team Prime - Ultra Magnus takes up command when out on missions with Arcee helping him out if he needs help. Wheeljack sticks around longer when he visits the base, asking how the pair are doing and trying to lift the human’s spirits up if they’re tired. Ratchet and Knockout don’t argue as much when it comes to sharing medical duties. It’s almost strange to see everyone working so well together. Strange yet sweet knowing they’re all doing this for their friends’ sake.

✦ During the more rougher parts of the process - especially when the human is developing their own EM Field - Optimus does whatever he can to make them comfortable. He helps them learn how to focus on one thing so the constant bombardment of emotions doesn’t overwhelm them. He makes sure he’s a calm and steady presence whenever they’re together, letting them latch onto him if the need arises. These are the hardest parts for him because it’s hard on them. They’re strong, he knows, and he also knows this is tiring and exhausting them as days turn into weeks and weeks into months. It hurts him to see them cry into his chassis when the feelings of everyone around them becomes too much for them to bear. He holds them close, almost folding over them in an attempt to block the world and keep them safe.

✦ In the end he and his human don’t regret doing this. Not when he feels it click during a session. After eight months of bonding and stopping, of flaring fields and tense nerves - It clicks. Like pieces of a puzzle sliding into place, showing the bigger picture they’ve been working to achieve with all they’ve done. The bond that has felt so frustratingly distant and so aggravatingly close becomes there. Becomes tangible and real for him and his human. Optimus’ vents hitch when the force of the love and compassion and joy he feels from his human becomes his and his joy and excitement and his awe becomes there. He closes his chest and no longer feels the phantom aches and sorrows. Only their happiness as he showers kisses on his human and whispers thank you to them, over and over again.

RATCHET

✦ The human learns it from when listening to Bulkhead and Wheeljack during their Wrecker days. When they begin to talk about how some of their friends thought it’ll be a ‘great’ idea to spark merge there and then during a fight, the human has to raise their hand to ask what that means. Wheeljack tries to be condescendingly funny - when two or three or five Cybertronians love each other very much - and Bulkhead cuts his old friend off to give a more sincere answer. It’s how Cybertronians express their deepest love and affections for those they care about, entering into a union where they literally join their sparks together. One of the sweetest and honest ways to be with someone. The human thanks Bulkhead for their answer when he finishes his explanation and excuses themselves from the get together, saying they needed to find a certain medic of theirs.

✦ Oddly enough Ratchet is open to the idea when the human floats the idea his way. The medic chuckles at their raised eyebrow and surprised expression, no doubt having expected him to shoot it down or scoff at the idea. Why would he shoot them down? Why hesitate? He likes them and they like him. He knows they don’t have a lot of time together so he wants to make it count. If they think trying to merge their heart with his spark will allow them to be closer than he’s willing to try it out. His faceplate flushes when his human gives him a peck on the cheek and they start teasing him for being a romantic sap. He isn’t being romantic. He’s being practical. S-Shut up.

✦ When the couple announce their plans to try and merge their ‘sparks’ together, Team Prime and company do their best to help make the transition easy as they can. The kids, Miko especially, try to not be. Ultra Magnus rearranges duties and tasks in a way that Ratchet has a lighter workload. Optimus and the rest try to be careful during missions, not wanting to tire Ratchet out. June volunteers her services to inspect Ratchet’s lover when a sessions is over. Knockout doesn’t sass Ratchet as much. It’s touching to see how love can bring everyone together.

✦ Ratchet is incredibly grumpy during the more difficult parts of the process. Why? Because his human is grumpy too and it throws him off a bit. He’s so used to them being the more patient one in their relationship, more willing to weather the storm of his sass and his bite. Except they don’t have much patience or calm in their reserves when dealing with all the emotions around them as they reach the final stages of the bonding. This has to be the most difficult period in his life. Having them snap at him or pull away from Bumblebee or the others is strange and frustrating and worrying. Sometimes he wishes he hadn’t said yes to trying to bond. Sometimes he thinks this is a terrible idea and he was being selfish for putting them through this.

✦ Except it is worth it in the end. When their bond finally forms and he’s able to properly reach out to them with not only with his servos and words but with his emotions and love for them. The nerves and stress they have is smoothed out by his calm and patience, easing their anxieties and encouraging their joy when they accidentally respond to him. It’s then that his human realises they can respond to his feelings. They can respond to him and only him. They did. They actually did it. His lover all but throw themselves against his chassis the second he hides away his spark, burying their face against his chassis and laughing in joy. Ratchet asks if they’re crying and can only smile when they say they will neither confirm nor deny that. It’s okay. He knows better.

sly2o  asked:

Concept: AU where instead of going to space, Bellamy + company have been sent on an undercover mission. Clarke goes rogue so she can find them.

Yoooo this is a GREAT concept xoxo thank you.


Clarke took a sip of coffee and stared at her board.  The answer was there— she knew it.  A key clicked in the lock and she looked over her shoulder to see Roan.  He set the take out down on the chipped countertop and turned back to lock the four deadbolts.  “My contact said to check an down in Annapolis; a new gang is set up in the area and he thinks the FBI would be interested in busting them.”

“This is bigger than gangs,” she sighed.  “This is— this big.  World-ending, nuke-launching big.”  She unhooked the string that linked Bellamy to Echo’s old undercover gig.  The human trafficker takedown was big, but this…it had to be bigger.

It had to be, for them to be gone this long.  For him to be gone this long.  Bellamy would take an undercover assignment, but he’d never take one that kept him away for six years.  It was the only explanation she would accept.  For the first three years Roan had told her to drop it, but one day she caught him looking at an old photo of Raven and the next day he showed up at her apartment, announcing that he knew she was working off the books to find the rest of the squad and that he was joining her.

But some days she felt like giving up.  It had been six years with no contact and she had had more than one sleepless night of doubt and fear.  Maybe they’re dead.  Maybe they’re in hiding.  Maybe the Bureau doesn’t know where they are anymore.  Maybe— maybe that night didn’t mean as much to him as it did to me.  But she shook the nagging worries off and picked up Harper’s old file.

The answers were out there.  Somewhere.  And she would be the one to find them.

In Times of War - Part Three

Summary: Y/N and Steve arrive in DC, where they get their first look at their new apartment and meet with their liaison officer, Sam Wilson.

Warning: swearing

Main masterlist / In Times of War masterlist

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A/N: Here is the third part of my entry for @marvelous-fvcks‘ challenge.


Steve Rogers was a stuck-up, arrogant man with a holier-than-thou complex and Y/N had known it from the moment she’d first laid eyes on him. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s star recruit was seriously overrated and she had made it her personal mission to knock him down from his pedestal. If that meant pissing him off until the end of her days, she was fine with it.

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*BTS REACTION: Your Hands Being Shaky at a Fan Meeting*

It isn’t often that BTS comes to your area, if they do it’s for concerts. So when you heard of the fan signing you just had to go, no matter what. However, the excitement of getting your ‘Wings’ album signed didn’t out weigh your anxiety in the slightest. You can’t stop how badly your hands are shaking as you hand over the album to the first BTS member seated…


H O S E O K:

He understands that you aren’t shaking because you are in awe of meeting them. Hoseok is able to tell that you are shaking because you’re afraid of the atmosphere you are in: hundreds of fans pushing each other to get closer to BTS. He finds it absolutely amazing that you came to the fan signing despite your anxiety. The knowledge that there are fans who love them and their music that much fills him with joy and inspiration.

When he hands you back your album he grabs your hand gently and interlocks your fingers. “I won’t let go until you stop shaking. I am your hope, so let me give you some.”

Your eyes are so wide and after some deep breaths you do stop shaking. You give him a shy smile to tell him that you’re okay. You are able to go through with the rest of the fan signing and the members, thankfully, don’t mention anything about how J-Hope helped you. They do give you a bigger smile than usual though.

A couple of months later, Hobi is scrolling through the notifications of the BTS account and most of them are retweets directing them to a video.

He clicks on the link, he trusts ARMY’s opinion. Even though you are wearing a black mask and loose fitting clothes that are suitable for dancing he recognizes you immediately. Truthfully, you’ve been on his mind ever since the fan meeting. Your small interaction plays in his brain on a loop. Seeing you dance the same movements he did, with just as much passion and focus, makes him feel like this is your way of telling him thank you. He goes back to twitter and follows your dance crew’s account.

“Namjoon, when are we going to LA again?”

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(Massively Fattening)

Audio 10: My Feeder Bucket List

Okay you guys so this one is going to be a little more casual and hopefully I don’t ramble too much! So far I haven’t had the pleasure of being a full-time, long-term feeder to anyone so there’s quite a few things I wanna do, a feeder bucket list if you will. I guess we can start with the numbers. I would love to help someone gain 100lbs, just so I can say we hit that three digit milestone. I’d also love for them to be at least 100lbs heavier than me. That’ll probably come first depending on their starting weight. Of course some of this is dependent on height and stuff too, 100lbs could be a lot for someone but I can’t resist those big numbers. I’d like to help someone get to 300lbs, 350, maybe even 400. And when we get there, I want to celebrate with a huge weekend feeding. Maybe set a goal of 15000 calories over the course of 48 hours. That would mean funneling lots and lots of calories into my piggy which is another goal of mine. Even better if I can tie them up. I want to keep track of their gain too… I’ve always liked the idea of a chart on the fridge that way every time they go for a snack, they can see their progress. We’d have weekly weigh-ins, plot the little point on the chart, then go out for dinner to get a head start on the next week’s gain. I’d want my piggy to wear something tight when we go out, just tight enough for them to be aware of how fat they’ve gotten. Of course I’d want to get a booth because I’m hoping their huge belly would be pressed up against the edge of the table. I want to order for them, or at least order something extra they aren’t aware of so when the server brings it to the table, my big piggy pretends to be confused but is secretly turned on at the thought of having an extra entrée. I kinda hope other people in the restaurant will be staring, amazed at my fatty’s size and appetite. If they aren’t staring then, they’re certainly going to be staring when we go to the buffet together. I’d want them to eat at least five full plates, and I’d wanna be in charge of the dessert courses. Afterwards I’d help them waddle to the car and we’d go home for another weigh-in. It might not count for the little tracking chart but I’d curious to see how much weight we can add with a huge public stuffing like that. Speaking of the scale, I’d really love to see my feedee break one… seeing ‘error’ show up on that little screen would be one hell of an achievement. I’d also like to see them break a chair or two. Even if it means purposefully buying some cheap flimsy thing for the sole purpose of collapsing it. I’d want to record it too, with their permission of course. It doesn’t even have to be posted anywhere. I just want to document my piggy’s accomplishments for our own personal enjoyment. Now, with how quickly they’re going to balloon for me, we’ll need to make a few trips to the mall. Of course I’m going to dote on them, be very sweet and encouraging when picking out new, bigger clothes, but I’m definitely going to sneak in a few too-small items in there too. I’ll ask them to come out and show me how everything fits, just so I can see how snug that 3XL shirt is now. Well that’s about all I can think of for now, I’m sure there’s more. You guys will definitely hear about all the other things I want to do with my future fatty when I think of them!

Click here for more feedism audio clips

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Some of my photography inspired by twenty one pilots songs

Before You Start Your Day. This one just feels like the song to me, it just makes sense. 

Kitchen Sink. Something that might seem mundane but you have given meaning to and it gives you hope and purpose at your darkest times.

Trees. The glow in the leaves, or hiding in the shadows in between. It feels like there is something or someone, silent in the trees. And whatever it is, it is more godly than you.

Goner. Almost fully covered in branches, almost fully gone. But the hand is still visible, so there is hope.

Please click them to see them bigger!

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The Magicians Hogwarts AU

Featuring Ravenclaws Julia and Alice, Slytherins Margo and Eliot, Hufflepuffs Quentin and Penny, and Gryffindor (and quidditch chaser) Kady.

(I’m sorry that the formatting is weird, Kady is vertical so she can’t be paired with another image without chopping off her head, and I was trying not to make the post super long.  Please click on them to see them bigger!)

black ink/alcohol markers

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Toby Leonard Moore in NYC 22 1.09 ‘Playing Gods’

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So, no hiatus necessary!
 I might take a little longer to release these new eyes though as I have requests to work on at the same time, but I really wanted to do something new to refresh my mind :) 

I revamped an old sim to show these eyes off, I hope you can see them alright. If not, make sure you click to make them bigger :D
Let me know what you think! <3

Chapter 29

A/N: Here is the next chapter! Please note that this will be the last one for about 2 weeks, hopefully sooner! I will be taking a mini break but will be back with more Harry and Addy very soon!

“Without further adieu, please welcome our spectacular curator who designed this exhibit. Miss Adalyn Mackenzie everyone!” Michael, the director of the museum clapped his hands together angling his body towards Addy welcoming her to the podium.

With a smile Adalyn stepped carefully to the stage ensuring she would not slip in her heels in front of all the people gathered at the museum. Today was the opening of her new exhibit at the Imperial War Museum she had worked so hard on the past few weeks. It was indeed a miracle Addy had completed it by the deadline. Beaming with pride she lifted her head up to see nearly a hundred people gathered. Gently grasping the edges of the wooden podium she began her speech.

“Thank you Michael for the warm welcoming. It is a pleasure to be here with you all today to be part of this wonderful new exhibit opening. Myself and many others who have dedicated numerous hours to make this display possible for all of you to see today are very excited to share it all with you.” Inhaling a quick breath her eyes scanned the crowd noticing the cameras clicking away. The same cameramen that hounded her outside the doors of the museum this morning before work. Breath Addy you are at work. You can’t runaway now. Don’t let them take this from you too.

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