#also getting a bit tired of it being trotted out as The rec for a queer hal story

[heartofstanding]

God, you know, I wish I liked My Own Private Idaho much better than I did (which is... not very) because on paper, it's everything that should appeal to me and yet...

[bluebuckstallion]

the sun will rise again - mlp fic

part two this is part one! part two and so on will be updated/reblogged when they are out! contents: aj and big mac are like. 13 and 15. big mac realizes she is a trans woman, and is guided by applejack, but there is much more to it than just that lol. its also a little hard for her. sappy, feel-good, tough internal conflict but overall happy fic. paragraph one is previewed here, the rest is below the cut! (note: i am aware my blog makes posts a little hard to read bc of a glitch, i am trying to fix it at the moment, i apologize D: i rec reading it on tumblr mobile or highlighting the words as you read, im sorry!)

-

Big Mac shuffled his hooves awkwardly. Racing thoughts fought furiously, cluttering his hurting head, and he put a weary hoof against his temple in an attempt to clear the fog. No avail. It was as strong as ever, the rushing current of rip tide sweeping him in the more he struggled. He insisted he'd never felt this way before, trying violently to shake away the thought, it made him shudder. But deep down somewhere he knew, he couldn't hide this strong feeling he'd become so familiar with. It felt like home, but he was trapped inside with the windows boarded and the floorboards were so old they were making him fall through with every step, and there were thick dusty cobwebs everywhere he tried to rest his burdened hooves. He couldn't leave. Outside of his overflowing head, there was a faint knocking at his door, though he had tuned it out completely. His thoughts whirled, and everything was making *so* much noise, the ceiling fan, the electricity in the walls, the birds outside, even the trees being rustled by the evening wind. Everything was so loud, and so muffled and far away, so close and inside his ears, they twitched eagerly trying to bat the harsh noise away, all collected into one horrid ear-piercing amalgamation of staticy sound. His fur was disturbed by his blankets, and his teeth felt uncomfortable as they grit desperately in an attempt to relax, his eyes were dry despite how much and how hard he was blinking, it felt like even the smallest thing would throw him overboard in this thundering storm of unsettlement. -

The knocking got louder. "Big Mac!" The sound was lost in the chaos of it all, but it prevailed. "Big Mac!" There it was again. It didn't quite reach him yet, though. But my, was it there. Incessant. Pounding. Oh, the headache of it all. Just adding to the pile. It hesitated. "Big Mac." The gentle coo reached him, piercing through the overwhelmingly loud silence in the air, he felt this odd choking sensation in his throat when he registered the voice, so familiar and so loving. But would it continue to be after this? The thought scared him. Fear struck his spine in striking bolts, waves of dread sulked, creeping in and making their nest in his aching body. He was so tired of coming back to this again and again, but it plagued his mind like a cold. He realized his internal monologue had been ongoing - even though it hadn't really spoke - but alas he had been lost in his own downward spiral of paranoia again, and had forgotten to respond. "Yu- uh- eeyup?" he stuttered out like he was drowning, he felt and sounded like a silly foal learning to walk for the first time again. He pushed his hoof lightly against his throat, shocked at his own lack of voice. Usually he was calm and confident, knowing what he wanted to say, despite how little it ever was. However he feared this would give way to his sister finding out, that she would know something was awry with him. "Can I, uh, come in?" the voice questioned. He nodded, then processed he had forgotten to use his words, and managed a sheepish "Yup." "Uh, okay." She responded equally as softly, her voice leaving a tinge of confusion to be interpreted. Applejack trotted in, her hooves making the wood beneath her creak as the old house settled. She nudged the door shut behind her nonchalantly with her back hoof, not taking her gaze off of what was ahead of her. She made a gesture towards Big Mac's bed and tilted her head, knowing he was a horse of few words, moreso when he got this way. And goodness, how he could manage to get into his own head. Applejack understood the feeling, more than he was letting on. Applejack got up and sat down awkwardly, glancing at her hooves as they, too, dragged over one another slowly, she never did like eye contact. Big Mac was more fidgety - he was straight-up restless, as he clapped his hooves together ceaselessly, clicking them atop one another with a hard "Clink." The silence was substantial, but it wasn't like it bothered them, usually. It drove Big Mac up the wall, he was sweating buckets thinking about what Applejack could possibly say. *Did she find out? Does she know? Does she hate me? She hates you. She knows and she hates you. She'll never forgive you. She'll never see you the same-* his thoughts were cut off abruptly. "So, big brother," she chuckled stiffly, "what's on your mind?" Blunt and to the point. She looked upward briefly, catching a glimpse of his face, caught in an uncomfortable twist as his mouth hung downward and his eyes sunk, staring blankly ahead. Neither of them looked at the other, but this again, was not unusual. When she said 'brother,' the word stung like a mosquito bite. It was barely there, but just enough to irritate him. And it grew bigger the more he picked away at it and gave it the time of day. Maybe if he just ignored it it'd heal itself, he thought. Her words in general hung high above his head, and he had forgotten to respond with the way he was over-analyzing it a million different ways inside. What was on his mind, besides this scary, burning question gnawing him alive? He gave a lackluster response to divert any inkling of anxiety, "Oh, nothing," and with that he kicked his back hooves loosely up, and they swung back down heavily in the empty air. What else could he say? The silence sat for a couple of seconds. Too long for Applejack's liking, she was growing a bit impatient with his lack of answers. She looked up and moved her head upward in tune with her eyes, rolling her head from one shoulder to the other as her lips pouted and she let out a quick exhale. She looked down at her teetering hooves again. "Nothing..." she repeated, tapping her hooves together about three times, give or take, she wasn't paying attention. "Oookay.." she said in a quiet tone, and the cadence in her voice had shifted after this minute or two of waiting. She scratched the back of her ear. "Well, if you won't tell me, I'll figure it out myself." She looked up and beamed what was supposed to be a reassuring smile, which came out rather awkward. It fell just as awkwardly. She wasn't the best at conveying emotion, but neither was Big Mac. They had that in common. "Ok, I'll spit it out, rapid-fire," she said funnily, holding her hooves up and moving one in front of the other and back again in tune with the quirky enunciation of the last word. If nothing else, she was making an attempt to lift his low spirit. She inhaled, "Is it about me? About Ma or Pa? *Granny?* Baby Bloom?" and with that she exhaled overexaggeratedly. It took a second, but the half-smile she had faded from her face as he stood there saying nothing, simply folding one hoof over his other arm, rubbing it rigidly and looking away, and what she hoped was not true, had hit her. It was about himself. "Oh.. brother," she whispered to him, "You can tell me anything," she reached her hoof up toward him, pulling it back when it was halfway there as she winced at his lack of response, not even a lean-in to her gesture, but she continued anyway. She gingerly put her hoof on his shoulder. Becoming more confident with her comforting, she rubbed his back gently. "So it's about you?" He took a second, and nodded somberly. "Hey, that's alright. Tell me what's on your mind for real now, when you're ready. If, you're ready." AJ's voice, he found, was quite calming. Big Mac shot a glance at her timidly, then down at her hooves, and back up at her, but he couldn't look too long in order to stop the waterworks from coming. He gulped dryly and looked at the wall, and after the ceiling. He watched the fan dodder decrepitly, but so sure of itself, it's purpose, rotating on it's axis, again, and again, and again. He wished he could be so sure of himself, he wasn't sure if he ever could be, though. And here, he found himself envying the rotating of a ceiling fan. What an interesting moment, he thought sarcastically to himself. Was this really where he was at? He zoned out briefly, watching the blades go in circles, and then snapped himself back to reality with a hard blink, a downward motion of his head, and a squeezing of his hooves. "I..." he started softly and then trailed off. He sighed in dejection. "I- Well, I am me. But... I'm not. I look in the mirror, and it's not me looking back. I know that sounds... stupid, but it's not me. It's not like it isn't who I am, it's just not me. And I, don't know why. I mean I think I do, but I don't - sometimes-" He took a second to collect himself and inhaled, exhaling sharply after, he put his hoof firmly against his chest, as if almost trying to coax the words out. "I'm me, but I'm not. I'm not who I'm meant to be, I, I was born wrong. My body is wrong," he shook his head, like trying to shake the bad thoughts away. "It's not mine. I was born with something wrong about me, outside, inside I'm me, but outside I'm not. But - I'm not bad or anything, it's just that there was something different. And, you know that funny feeling of those butterflies in your tummy when someone you like says your name? I'll get that, but I won't recognize my name as mine, but I do get that feeling when...ponies accidentally call me what they call fillies, even though they don't mean to and fix 'emselves right after, and they act like it's so wrong, but I still get that funny feeling of, goodness. It catches me off guard in the best way... my heart skips a beat. And I know I'm s'posed to like girls, but there was something wrong about me lovin' 'em... it feels like. I feel real guilty-like when I start getting all lovey about one. It feels like I'm not allowed, like there's somethin'.."  he teared up, "different. About me." He emphasized the last word quite significantly. He began to finish, not wordvomitting as much as he was before, instead saying it slowly, as if he was really trying hard to get his thoughts out. "I- I think, I think if I were born in the right body I'd be happier, but I don't want to change me, I just...want to change how people *see me."* Applejack raised her eyebrows and looked down, pushing her hooves together. She couldn't move, and she didn't. Big Mac's welling up had turned to a tear, gently rolling down his cheek. He held his breath, eyes darting back and forth from his sister's gaze - or lack thereof. Applejack held her breath as well. "Big mac, well - gosh." she let out staggeredly, anxiously chuckling, raising her hoof to her chest as she exhaled bluntly. Big Mac felt it coming, Roaring and Crashing. The water was surrounding him still, no matter how subtle it was before, it had been growing this whole time. Internal dread multiplying like a bilious bacteria, out to get him and cover him in it's killing spores. It must've been at least neck-high now. AJ chuckled, "Big Mac, I love you no matter what. You're my family." She looked him in the eyes, "It's gonna be ok." And there was the straw that broke the camel's back. It came through gently, like a soft breeze through his hair in summer, but it broke him so, so ruthlessly. He bit at his bottom lip and released, his mouth turning to a shaky U-shaped frown, and he bawled. Oh, how he bawled. He lunged for his sister's arms, which quickly opened for him to land in. Applejack huffed as the wind left her with his impact, but she regained control of herself and softly smiled, tenderly hugging him back. His head rested on hers, as hers on his. "It's alright big guy," she laughed. "In fact, I think I know exactly what's up." She pushed him off cautiously, and held her hoof against his shoulder. His tears subsided slightly, he wiped them with a trembling hoof. "Have you ever thought that maybe you feel like you're in the wrong body, because you're really a mare? I know nobody sees you that way right now, but I could start if that's who you really are." Big mac's pupils constricted, and he felt a leap in his chest. A mare? He tried so hard to push it out, but he couldn't. A mare. A mare! He let out a small smile, "A mare..." he then promptly shook his head. "But, I can't be. I wish it was that easy, that I could just be a mare, oh I wish so bad AJ," he put his hooves together and shook them, like he was pleading. He pushed her hoof off of him, sighing and speaking again, his voice cracking from the tears and raw emotion, "But I never could. I couldn't. I wish I could, but I'm not allowed to." he sighed defeatedly. Applejack chuckled, "Says who? All it takes is you saying you can. And I'll be honest, I feel like a lot of people don't give it much thought whether they want to be a mare or not - they just are." It all clicked. They, just are. He processed it for a second, and thought, and the thoughts slipped into words, "I'm a mare," he whispered. He smiled, the most genuine smile he'd ever shown. "I'm, a mare." He laughed, looking at Applejack. "A mare! I'm a mare!" His smile faded slightly, "But Applejack, am I still allowed to like other fillies? I figure now I'll have to like colts, that's what I've heard at least, and I really don't want to-" despite his concerns, he still looked quite euphoric. Applejack laughed again, "No, Big Mac, you can still like mares. It doesn't work that way I'm pretty sure." She rubbed the back of her head, "If it's any help, you can do whatever you want... What feels right." She closed her mouth and grinned, waving her hoof in the air dismissively of any negativity, her eyes in the other direction. Stopping, she looked at the ground and fiddled her hooves, "I, I actually know a lot about how you're feeling," she spoke nervously, cautiously, dancing around her words like she had something she didn't want to admit to herself as well. "I, know how you feel - about liking mares and, and the wrong body an' stuff. Feeling like your body isn't yours, it doesn't belong to you and never will, unless you make a big change, or somethin'. I get it. I feel wrong when people say I'm a girl, but I don't reckon I'd feel right with them callin' me a boy or something either - I don't think I really feel like either." She paused, cutting herself off, "I don't expect that to make sense to you, I know it's kind of weird and all." Big Mac thought for a bit, and then nodded, "No, I get it. I mean - I don't, but, I know you're you, no matter what, and I don't care who you are, you're still my sibling." Big Mac smiled nervously, trying to make sure he was doing the right thing. "And you're my sister, Big Mac," Applejack smiled back at him. "Now, how do you feel about me calling you by girl terms? Like, sayin' she, and stuff..." she struggled to think of an example. "Oh! Like, if I meet someone, I'll tell 'em "Oh Big Mac? She's my big sister!" Applejack let out a wide twinkling grin, feeling confident and proud with supporting her sister's feelings. "I, I like that." Big Mac said shyly, and she did. "Wait, how do I do the same for you?" she questioned. Applejack stalled, she really didn't think she'd get this far. "I think... I really like being called he, and brother and such. Although to be honest I'm not your sister and I'm not really your brother, and I still like other fillies - but I'm not one of them, or not in the same way, and - I don't know, it's a little confusing. I think the only way that I'm a filly is in the sense that I'm a mare who likes other mares. I don't really know what any of this is called," he voiced embarrassedly. "I wish I did." Big Mac smirked, "It's okay you don't, I don't know either. And we can learn together, little brother." She fluffed Applejack's hair playfully and her smirk became a toothy smile. Applejack laughed and joined her smiling. "Thanks," he said, quite gratefully. "To be honest, I've known this for a really long time, I just didn't know how to say it," he looked out the window longingly, "I wish I knew how to tell Ma and Pa, or Granny," he laughed a little, "and I don't even know how to tell a baby," he uttered, trying to lighten the mood a little after bringing it back down. Big mac grinned, "Why don't we go out to the orchard, little brother?"

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

A World-- Unsure

dabi / f.reader 

genre: real world to parallel world au? (is that an au? it’ll make sense dw), angst, pinning, fools to lovers? (or dabi is stubborn/scared as all get out)

warning(s): blood, violence/bar fight, descriptions of injuries, cursing (dabi and i both have a potty mouth oops) 

w.count: 9.4k 

synopsis: You were someone in the middle.  You had no mega praise for heros to speak of, but you also had no ill will towards villains either- you had seen both sides. After a few years running a hidden, underground medical base for villains who needed treatment beneath the bar that you ran and owned, you’ve met your fair share of villains.  It was odd to think of them as good people, since you depended on them a lot if you got yourself into a pinch.  In fact, a lot of your patients became bar regulars on the public downlow. It’s not a big shock that you end up meeting Dabi.  

a/n: teehee, first time writing for dabi! I’m pretty excited not gonna lie, since this idea was pretty interesting to think about.  this is the first part of A World -- a two part series! I’ll be working on the next part asap, so hopefully it won’t be a horribly long wait- but we’ll see how my time management is in the long run lol.  (also, the draft was like 8.6k, i dunno how i added a whole 800 more words)

-x-x-x-

You stood behind the bar, shining glasses as you set up the counter and glanced at the clock hanging on the wall just above the entrance of the small pub.  You sighed as you set the glass down before taking the rag you were using and throwing it over your shoulder.  It was quiet in the open room filled with circular tabs, rectangular booths and metal rimmed chairs- quiet except for the footsteps of employees prepping for opening. 

Your black jeans hung on your waist as your white button up was slightly wrinkled, the long sleeves rolled as best as possible up to your elbows.  Your hair up and out of the way so you wouldn’t be constantly fighting it when the rush started.  There was a small, pocket apron around your waist with a pocket for a receipt book, a pen, some napkins and pain medicine just in case another headache walked in the door tonight and a few other odds and ends. The only other thing on your person was the new pair of steel toed boots you had indulged yourself to.  

“Hey, Boss Lady,” one of your employees called. You looked around, seeing the one who called you peeking their head around from inside the rec room. The room itself was probably one of the most expensive rooms you’ve ever put together.  A pool table in the middle of the room, dart boards on either side of the room, a small little entertainment center, a sofa and another mini bar inside run by a trusted bargirl you hired when you opened your pub doors for the first time. 

“What is it?” 

“Is the rec room rented out for the night? I heard some of the others saying it was.”  

That was something else that was different about your little hole in the wall.  Since you weren’t all that popular or big enough for a special vip area or an area in general for occasions like birthdays or anniversaries, your patrons could call and make reservations and get the rec room rented out. However, you only let the room be rented on Fridays, Saturdays and Wednesdays.  The other days, it was open for anyone to come and go as they please so long as nothing is damaged. 

It was Friday night. You couldn’t think of anyone renting it out tonight, but there was a group coming in tomorrow so long as they don’t cancel on you. 

You shook your head. “No.  It’s tomorrow when it’s rented.  You’re clear to leave the dividing ropes put away.” 

“Right on,” they thumbs upped you before retreating back into the room to prep and clean before opening. 

7:45, a quarter ‘till eight- opening time.  You cupped one hand around your mouth. “Hurry up and get your final prepping all done.  Quarter ‘till!” Your employees all made some sort of response or sound back to you, signaling that they understood.  

Part of you always felt a little guilty each opening night since you knew it wasn’t just regular citizens or the occasional hero off duty who frequented your pub.  You knew of the bad people who walk in the doors, stay for a drink and leave without causing a ruckus.  You knew of them, because, unknown to your employees, you had a second job. 

A second job that had a lot to do with the large, concrete basement of your pub that you refused to tell them about.  It wouldn’t be a great business move if you just told people you let villains sneak into your pub to go into the basement where you had a large array of (stolen) medical equipment to treat their injuries. 

-x-x-x-

It was well into the midnight rush of the night when the door opened again.  The loud combination of everyone’s murmurs and the smell of every type of alcohol someone could name off filtered through the air and almost made you pull out your medicine. After three years running this place, one would think you’d become accustomed to the smells combined with the noise.  To no avail. 

You had stepped back away from the bar, your back close to the shelves behind you lined with bottles, cups, glasses, and a small old-style antenna radio that, despite being turned on, wasn’t heard over the ruckus. 

Heading to the opposite side of the bar after being paged by some random man for a neat glass of whiskey.  You snagged a glass, grabbing a bottle of the cheapest brand you could find- because this man’s lack of manners towards a lady, bargirl or not, didn’t impress you.  Pouring the liquor into the glass like it was second nature, you reached under the bar to scoop out a sphere of ice to drop into the glass.  

Sliding it over to the already tipsy looking man, you were called- more politely this time- from another patron for a bottle of beer.  Smiling at him and signaling to him that you heard him, you trotted over to the mini fridge under the bar and grabbed the brand he requested.  

As you carefully, and skillfully, popped the tab off with the bar’s edge, you placed the bottle on a coaster and slid it over to him, tapping the bar top with your hand and serving him with a smile.  He thanked you, which you were appreciative of, before he turned to his friend next to him and continued conversing.  

Moving back to the middle of the bar, you noticed a few empty glasses in front of empty bar stools with bills pinned under them.  Taking the bills and pocketing them, you took the glasses and stashed them below the bar in a small tub you kept in a metal cart for easily putting dirty dishes for later. 

As you wiped down the bar top, you saw another person, clad in a full black get-up slide into a bar stool that was recently left vacant.  They weren’t far from you, just a few feet, but you could smell the scent of smoke on them.  You sighed, knowing exactly who it was.  Anyone would think that the man who just sat down was just a heavy smoker- and he was, but not so much recently so he claims- but you knew better. 

He lifted his arm to rest his elbow on the bar, his chin resting in his palm as you felt him stare at you.  

You didn’t say a thing to him, only got a glass off the shelf behind you, mixed some coke with some rum and added a scoop of ice, before placing the glass on some napkins and sliding it towards him. 

“Like usual?” You asked, retracting your hand as he had already started to pick up the glass to sip on it. 

“Like usual,” he confirmed.  This particular man had a deep voice, always laced with a small rough sound- more rough when he’s tired or just plain exhausted.  It was a side effect of the smoking and other smoke-like quirks of his personality.  “You seem busy tonight.”

“We’re always busy on Fridays, nothing unusual about that.  It’s the start of the weekend, everyone wants to drink.” You threw your cleaning rag over your shoulder, shouting to a call of another bar sitting patron as you felt the black, clad, mask covered man’s eyes on your. “You gonna stick around all night, or are you gonna drink and go this time?” 

He pulled his mask down to uncover his mouth, dark scars showing under the hood of his jacket just long enough to take a sip, and pull it back over his face.  Setting the glass down, he let out a breath and circled his finger along the rim. 

“I think I’ll stick around, just to annoy you.” You could hear the smirk on his face as you held back an eye roll for professionalism’s sake. 

“How courteous, thank you so very much.” He chuckled at your reply as you left your place in front of him to tend to others paging you left and right. He pushed his curled hand into his cheek as he watched you pad back and forth behind the long bar.  You should be grateful he at least planned on paying tonight. 

He remained on his barstool the next few hours, only shifting to look around, take a short spin on the stool, or stand to stretch his hunched body before sitting back down.  Each time his glass was close to empty, you’d knock your knuckles on the bar top- a signal asking if he wanted a refill- and he'd either knock back or keep the glass away from you as a form of saying yes or no. 

Though, it wouldn’t be a proper Friday night mid-shift without something going wrong. 

You weren’t sure why, but when 2 am started rolling around, you always grew weary of your patrons.  It was the prime time for tipsy, or smashed, people to start trouble. Whether with you, or with other paying customers, or  even your employees.  Out of all options, you wished they’d pester you so you don’t have to deal with someone else being harassed.  Though, even when it did happen to you- which was often since your place was stuck behind a wooden, polished bar- you didn’t ever appreciate it. 

You glanced around the filled room and saw a few familiar faces of villains you had treated before who decided to stay in your good graces. 

Them being there did make you feel a bit better about you own safety since you knew if something were to happen, they’d jump up to throw down on your behalf, even if you could handle yourself plenty well. 

You were once again wiping down the wood of your bar for the gazillionth time this evening when some scumbag, a smashed man who was well over your age, stumbled his way to the bar and slumped himself into a stool and leaned over the counter like some hunchbacked gargoyle. 

He reached over the bar to start to fiddle with the beer spigots that lined the end of it. Before he could create a giant mess in the tray beneath them and onto the floor, you rushed over and slapped his hands away.  

Instead of hissing at your stinging slaps, he whistled at your actions to keep your property away from him grime hands as you rolled your eyes.  

“Sir, keep your hands off of the bar tools.” You reached over and grabbed the half empty bottle of beer from his hands before you poured the rest of the alcohol out of it and tossed it under the bar into the bin where it clinked together with the other beer bottles you’ve tossed tonight. “I’m cutting you off. Sober up, leave your payment and get out before I have you thrown out.” 

From down the bar, you knew the scarred man in black was watching you. Whenever this kind of scene went down, you could feel his and all the other familiar eyes on you.  For villains, they sure were people of action and debt. Made you feel bad for calling them villains- if you didn’t think about the crimes they most definitely committed on a day-to-day basis. 

The drunk man slurred what you assumed was probably something close to reluctance at you cutting him off for the night and your swift decision to kick him out after he paid what he owed.  

Persistently reaching over to try and yank on the spigots again, you once again slapped his hands away, going a step further and grabbing his wrists and tossing them away back over to his side of the bar. 

“I won’t ask you again, sir.” 

Your familiar scarred man set down his drink, the contents in it empty as the remaining, semi-melted ice cubes fell together in satisfying clinks against the glass. 

It was times like now where you wished the quirk laws would allow you to use your quirk publicly without a permit or license because of riffraff like this oh-so-lovely hammered gentleman.  You were one to break the rules anyways, so you would if push came to shove regardless and you knew that your customers would keep their mouths shut about it.  

You’ve gone many a night with bar fights and tassels and not a single cop was called because you could handle the situation yourself, or your trusty villain’s had your back. Your little pub and you were a bend in the rules with a great camouflage jacket over your head and trustful patrons willing to keep a secret or get so drunk they don’t remember what happened.  Either option suited you well. 

You weren't a hero, nor a villain.  You were in the middle- a civilian with some spare time and no interest in sharing what you did the time you're not running your pub. 

The man stood from his stool the moment you turned your back to him and not only did he shove his arm against three different beer spigots in a clumsy fall against the bar, but he partly climbed over the bar, reached towards you and yanked you back by your shoulder just so he could get a solid slap on your ass. 

The shriek you let out wasn’t loud, it was more of shock of what was happening, followed by instant disgust.  Your rear stung at the strength the disgusting man used to slap it before he was drunkenly laughing, his gross breath wafting towards you from his half climbed over body. 

Before you could take care of the situation yourself, he was yanked back off to his side of the bar onto his wobbly feet. The instant his feet hit the tile and his chin even twitched to look around to see what yanked him back, glass shattered across his face. 

The scarred man who had silently kept you company tonight- and previous nights before that- had grabbed the back of the man’s shirt, yanked him back and away from you as you righted the beer spigots that had already created a big enough mess and smashed his empty, rum glass against the side of his head. 

The drunk man hit the ground, grabbing and holding his head as blood dripped from the side of his face and ear.  The scarred man looked down at him, shaking his hand about, the purple scars of his wrist showing as he shook the limb.  The glass seemed to nick his palm a bit upon impact, but nothing compared to the nasty wound on the drunk’s face.  

As the drunk lay on the ground, groaning and bleeding, your defender bent to riffle through his pocket and nabbed his wallet.  Pulling out both a card and a wad of cash, he held both towards you. 

“What’s his tab?” His rough voice was stern as you just sighed.  

You plucked bills from his hand, a handful of twenties, before you put it into your pocket.  You looked around, seeing a table from the corner lift a bill in his hand before he waved it at you.  You nodded- they were signaling they had his bill.  They then held up four fingers and then a fist.  A four dollar tab.  You decided that you’d keep the extra as a bonus and maybe tip your workers as well for his behavior.  

“He’s good to go.” You said as the scarred man put the card back into his wallet and shoved it back into his jacket pocket.  He then picked the drunk off the tile and shoved him out the doors before making his way back to the bar. 

He stepped over his glass and ice mess as he toed at a larger piece of glass that used to be the bottom of it.  He then looked at you with a shrug. You could practically seem the smirk on his face before he spoke.

“My bad.” 

Instead of saying anything, you placed a small plastic tub on the bar top and slid it towards him. You flicked your eyes down and he just sighed.  Squatting, he picked up his mess of glass and ice the best he could before he gave the tub back to you to throw away.  You had already gotten a start on the beer mess that made your nose twitch at the stench.  

You always hated the smell of beer. 

“Smells like piss,” you muttered to yourself. The scarred man heard you loud and clear though and he stifled a laugh at your annoyance. Once you had it more or less cleaned, you glanced at the closed fist of the man’s cut up hand. You saw small beads of red drop onto your bar. You pushed a handful of napkins towards him to squeeze into his palm. “Come down when we close. We’ll get your hand properly cleaned up.” 

He didn’t argue. Just chuckled as he took a sip out of his water bottle you had placed in front of him as he shut the napkins in his grip tightly. 

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” 

-x-x-x-

4 am: closing time.  You sigh as you bid your final employee farewell before you locked the door behind them. You sighed as you walked back to the bar, untying your apron from your waist on the way.  You emptied the pockets and placed whatever was inside on the bar top.  There was only one person left in the bar, in the same stool he had been in all night.  

You thumbed through the bills in your pockets, rounding to behind the bar and unlocking the always locked money drawer just under the far end of the counter where a small card swipe sat for patrons not paying with cash.  

Tucking your cash safely away and locking the drawer shut you stashed the key on the keyring with all your other keys in the pocket of your jeans.  You pulled your phone from your back pocket and checked the time.  About half after now.  

“Okay,” you spoke, the man already standing. “Come around the bar and we’ll head down.” 

He followed your lead, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his large jacket with his hood still on even in the new found privacy.  You walked back into the kitchen and beyond to a small landing that had an unlabeled door and then a separate staircase leading upward past a different doorframe.  He looked up the stairs, knowing full well that beyond them lays your apartment.  

Part of him was envious that you lived in your place of work. Technically, he could live in his, but he had his own separate place of peace away for breathers. He could only deal with his comrades for so long in a single span of time. 

You unlocked the unlabeled door that you told everyone who asked was just a closet for your personal belongings that didn’t fit up in the apartment. Opening it, another set of stairs that lead down was beyond it. 

Descending them, the man followed and shut the door behind him. He locked it when it was shut at his back. There was a different entrance to the basement he was descending into outside the bar anyways for the people who knew it was there and needed it.  

At the bottom, you flipped on the lights to the large, open room.  It wasn’t a giant space, but it was large enough to move around and there was a sofa, a work bench you used as a counter for coffee and random objects, tables and chairs for your patients waiting comfortably.  There were two rooms off two of the left side of the main ‘waiting room’ and one to the right- all solitary rooms for overnight patients.  The furthest back room had no door and just past the frame was a storage room of medicine, wraps, gauze, antiseptics, salves- just whatever you could get your hands on. 

You’re even occasionally gifted treatment items from past clients in hopes to repay the debt they feel they may owe you.

You point towards the long, hard top operating table in the back as you make your way to one of the shelves on the wall.  You kept all the basic first aid out in the open since they were easy to replace.

“Go sit,” you direct as the man flipped off his hood and unzipped his jacket.  His white tank top was wrinkle from being inside the stuffy jacket all night and he adjusted his belt to sit comfortably and not pull on his belt loops to dig into his hips.  Ruffling his black hair, he made his way to the table to lean against it. 

You were soon in front of him, hand out towards him asking for his own to inspect.  

“You’re always causing some sort of scene every time you come by. You realize it’s getting old, right Dabi?” 

The face stapled, scarred pyro-villain just grinned down at you, chest jolting with a scoff of amusement as you pulled the blood beaded napkins he held in his hand since you gave it to him away. Then, you poked around with tweezers pulling small pieces of glass away from his skin.

“Don’t lie. You love when I come by. Besides, someone’s gotta keep you on your toes.” 

“I don’t need to be ‘kept on my toes’,” you tutted, making sure there were no pieces of glass left in his palm.  When there appeared to be none, you started dabbing the small cuts with antiseptic as he just kept leisurely leaning on your table.  “If you keep coming here and just to get all cut up, I’m going to start charging you for not only your drinks, but all the patching up I do to you too.” 

“Oh, you’d never,” he mused. He knew you all too well and he also knew that even if he were here daily for scratching his knee or getting a paper cut, you’d never have the heart to charge him anything when it came to treatment.  

Maybe he took advantage of that, maybe he didn’t.  

It didn’t help that he knew you had the hots for him- I mean, you did tell him about how you felt weeks ago; straight o his face no less. He just brushed it all off, knowing good and well that he and relationships in general just didn’t work out.  Besides, he was someone the public knew the face of and he wasn’t just someone to pass on the street and forget the face of.  

Dabi rejected you, you knew he would, but he let you down as easy as he could.  You just simply wanted to put your feelings out there so nothing would be awkward in the future.  It stung sure, but you felt more open with your feelings not bottled up in secrecy.

You wrapped his hand in gauze and called it good enough, placing all your things back where they were. Dabi looked at his hand, flipping it back and forth as he inspected how neatly you’ve gotten at wrapping bandages since the very first time. 

“Not bad,” he hummed. The first time he heard of you and came to get treated, you had to treat a nasty gash on his leg and you were clumsily with your bandaging since he was already covered in scars.  You were so confused on if you could cover them or not and if you did, if there was a special way.  You leaved quickly though. 

“Not like you could do any better.  You don’t really need any more stitches or staples than you already have.” 

“Don’t act like you don’t think they’re sexy,” he teased as he stood up straight, plunging his hands into his pants pockets as he began to follow you around the basement room to room like a dog.  You soon left your basement, going back up the stairs, opening the door and leaving before going up the second set of stairs leading up to your apartment.  

Dabi followed you the entire way with a shit eating grin on his face.  

You sighed as you unlocked your apartment door and looked over your shoulder and down to the burnt man just behind you on lower stair steps.  

“Do you need something?” 

“Yeah. Inside.” 

You cursed under your breath, going inside and him following knowing that you couldn’t argue him out of it.  He often did this, getting treated and then going up to your apartment.  In fact, there was a time when he would pick your lock and let himself in, so you ended up making him a copy so he could just stop doing it. 

He may not be good in relationships and definitely not looking for one, on top of rejecting you, but he could very well enjoy his evenings pestering you instead. they were two distinctly different situations.   

Kicking off his boots and fumbling with his jacket, he hung it on the coat wrack- not willing to be yelled at by you for making your home a mess with his junk again- and let himself in.  He immediately made a beeline for your living room and plopped himself on your couch like he owned the place and paid your bills.  

You had ventured to the kitchen before you went to the living room and tossed him something.  Catching it, he saw a poptart in his hand, still wrapped in it’s aluminum wrapping.  

“Eat. I’m taking a shower.” He shrugged as you turned and headed to shower as he flipped on your television and let himself finally relax. 

It was odd, being around you and in your home.  He didn’t even feel this relaxed and loose in his own apartment by himself.  Where he lived was nothing fancy and it was cheap, but it was his and the location was kept on the downlow just like he needed.  Spending time with the league was fine and dandy, but they could be so damned irritating sometimes, so he didn’t dare even try and nap at the base. 

He let his head fall back against the couch and he took deep breaths.  

On occasions like this, he did feel a bit guilty.  It’s not like he was actually taking advantage of your feelings or your kindness to do what he wanted, you were just  too nice for your own good and let him. Don’t get him wrong, you would scold him if he did something you didn’t like- like leaving his jacket on the floor- so it wasn’t like you didn’t want him here. 

Dabi could hear your shower running just barely under the sound of the tv’s noise.  Sometimes, he’d find himself thinking back to when you told him how you felt and how easily you accepted the fact he said no. 

He was just coming back from another stupid league mission and had a pretty nasty cut behind his left shoulder. You were cleaning the blood off his skin, trying not to snag your rags in any staples before you were smearing something onto the wound, making him sigh in of relief of the cooling sensation. 

It was when you were pasting a gauze pad on his shoulder and patching it on securely when you blurted out that you liked him. All he did when you said that was laugh at you, to which your silence that followed explained that you weren’t joking and were in fact serious.  He looked at you with a face you hadn’t seen before, a look of vulnerability for just a moment, before it shifted to one of seriousness. 

“I’m not interested. Sorry, doll.” You nodded at his quick rejection. Though you accepted it fairly easily, he could still see the slight furrow of your brow and dip in your lips with his rejection.  You may have even seen his rejection coming, but hearing it still had to be a blow to your heart. 

He was glad the relationship between you two hadn’t changed regardless of how you felt and how he said no.  You still put up with his bullshit and he still hung around like a fly you couldn’t smash under a flyswatter because it kept evading the strikes.  It was still comfortable here- in your place. 

Dabi stood from the couch, moving to your window only to lean out when he pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. You had really gotten on his ass once when you caught him smoking in the middle of your living room without a window even open.  You told him to smoke out a window, or go outside to contaminate his lungs claiming you dealt with the smell of smoke enough during bar hours. 

Flicking a small, blue flame with his index finger, he lit the stick and huffed.  Nicotine really accompanied his quirk- it was like he and cigarettes were just meant to be since he himself was a human-sized lighter.

He heard the door to your bathroom open and soon you stepped out with grey sweat and a cheap, cutoff shirt that just barely exposed your stomach on, towel drying your hair.  You looked at him, water still barely dripping off your eyelashes and hair strands untouched by the towel.  

“Glad to see you’re listening to me,” you told him as you nodded towards the smoke that he took a draw from.  He puffed the smoke out the window as he turned around to lean against the open pane.  His hand out the window to keep the crumbling ash from dropping inside.  

“I can behave sometimes too, you know.”

You scoffed at him, turning to grab a water bottle from your fridge in the kitchen and returning to the living room.  “Yeah, not likely.” You sat on the couch to mindlessly watch whatever channel the tv was on and once Dabi and finished smoking, he shut the window and rejoined you on the couch.  His arm was resting on the back of the couch as you had pulled out your phone and began to scroll through apps and occasionally looking back up to the tv. 

It was moments like this where the uncertainty really hit him.  

It was this- these comfortable situations- that frightened him.  He was a bad person, a person who’s done bad things and will continue to do bad things.  He used to sit around your apartment and bug you with questions.  Had you ever ratted anyone out? Were you really a completely secretive person when it came to your unofficial side job? Were you really someone to be trusted? Why did you do what you did in the first place? 

Now, he didn’t ask anything anymore. He grimaced at himself. Maybe he was letting himself get too comfortable here. 

“I’m going away for a while,” he suddenly blurted out.  You glanced up at him from your phone. 

“Have some big job or something coming up?” 

“Yeah,” he lied, “some league stuff I gotta deal with.” 

“Any idea how long you’ll be gone?” 

“No idea.  Probably a few weeks I bet.” Dabi couldn’t stop himself from lying to you and he got irritated at himself for feeling even the slightest bit bad for doing so. This was the only way though, the only way to try and get back to the rough, guarded villain he was supposed to always be.  

Dabi had to get away from you for a while. 

“Well,” you started, looking back down.  He looked at you, seeing you frown just a bit- he bit his cheek.  “Stay safe. If you need any patching up when you get back, you know where to find me.” 

He lowered his chin, his eyes lidding as he hardened his resolve. His decision was final, and he had to follow through with it.  He looked back to the tv, trying to bask in theses few final moments. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

-x-x-x-

Dabi’s irritated. He’s been irritated actually.  

He’s sitting at the bar, not your bar, but the bar in the league’s headquarters.  He sat slouched in a stool as Kurogiri- as usual- stood behind the bar.  The glass of some brown liquor that Dabi had nursed for the past hour started to taste like static to him.  He missed your bar’s liquor- the revelation made him more irritated. 

The entire reason he’s avoided going to your pub and always looked around corners in the city to make sure you wouldn’t bump into him by accident was so he could squash whatever the fuck he was feeling when he was around you down into dust.  Though, theses recent last couple days had proven that his plan was backfiring. 

Instead of forgetting what it felt like to be comfortable and content and relaxed, he was missing it.  He was missing the air of serene you always carried everywhere you went and he dared to say he yearned for it again.  

Dabi clicked his tongue as he pushed his forehead into his palm when Shigiraki had walked into the bar from wherever he had been before.  Seeing the hunched over excuse of a comrade, he groaned. The leader had often heard of your patchwork jobs for villains.  He himself had even met with you once- not for any injuries he had sustained, but for a simple meeting to exchange greetings with potential allies. Anything helped for his cause. 

Shigiraki also knew that Dabi often frequented your pub, and for whatever reason he hadn’t been recently.  His sour mood as of late paired with his lack of attendance to your business and attention was too easy to put together.  

“I’m really sick of you moping around here,” the leader complained.  Dabi lifted his forehead from his palm and glared across the room to the leader who now took a seat one stool away from Dabi. “Go be a killjoy somewhere else.” 

“Oh, piss off.” 

His mood began to spiral rapidly when Toga and Twice had come into the bar as well, coming back from wherever the fuck they had been.  Toga- trying her best to get on Dabi’s every nerve- was told by Kurogiri that his mood was unpleasant because he hadn’t been to a specific bar in town for some time now.  

Dabi felt offended that Kurogiri connected his bad mood to the bar and not you. 

“Maybe I should kick the crap outta you myself, so you can go back to what's-her-name and then maybe you’ll finally lose the attitude.” Okay, that one earned the hand-fetishist leader a growl from the pyromaniac. It only made Shigiraki scoff in a small victory, knowing that everyone around the league could see that his sour mood was solely revolving around you- or lack thereof.

Toga, ever on the hunt for new ‘friends’, immediately jumped at the idea of finally going to the mystery lady who heals everyone just because she has a kind heart.  An idea that Dabi shut down without so much as batting an eyelash. 

“But, why not!” Toga whined.  Dabi rolled his eyes.  Villain or not, Toga was just a high schooler with more than enough psychotic tendencies to warrant concern. If he had it his way- you’d never even get the chance to set your eyes on the blonde, twin-bunned psycho.  

The constant chartering centering in on him and you began to grate on his nerves and before long he was stomping up to his feet and out the bar door.  Shigiraki just scoffed as Toga pouted. Twice was simply mocking and jesting at the burned man who ‘just ran away’.  

Dabi had had enough.  He was going back to your pub- but it wasn’t going to be because he missed you.  He just wanted a drink in peace and fucking quiet. At least away from those idiots. 

-x-x-x- 

Dabi had slithered his way into your bar- pushing his way in with a group so that when you shouted from your place behind the bar to greet them in and to tell them to just find a seat, you wouldn’t recognize him. He had stopped by his apartment before making his way here to change into clothes he hoped you wouldn’t recognize him in either.  

The large, indigo tinted turtle neck he wore was way too large on his torso. The neck was horribly stretched out and pulled up as far as it could be to cover his jaw and mouth so that he didn’t have to wear the mask he knew you would recognize.. He traded his normal jacket with a different one he’d kept around for city crawling as he had it half way zipped up and the hood flipped up to hide his hair and scarred ears. Keeping his chin down, he used the shadow of his hood and the shadows the pub lights casted to keep the scars just under his eyes more or less out of sight.  

He grumbled at himself. Why was he going to such lengths to make sure you didn’t see him in the first place?   In the past, he wouldn’t have gone to the lengths to stay on the downlow in public like this; he would’ve just gone back home and crashed or drank alone or something of the sort.  You probably weren’t even under the impression he was back from the mission you thought he was on.

He slid into a booth in the back corner where he could still see you working behind the bar.  Pacing back and forth, talking and serving patrons and just doing your general work.  It felt strange seeing you work from all the way in the back instead of in his usual barstool, front row seat.  He bit his tongue when he caught himself almost missing his up close proximity to you. 

He was soon slid a bottle of beer- even if he didn’t really like the taste- as he nursed it.  He’d occasionally scan the bar to see what kind of business you had tonight.  When he wasn’t, he was scrolling mindlessly on his phone with glances up to the bar every so often.  He felt uneasy when you weren’t in his sights, even with you so close by.  

An hour after he had entered the pub, the doors had opened roughly enough to make tables turn their heads or hush up their conversations to see who had just made the racket coming in.  Dabi glanced, pulling his hood back just a bit to see past the fabric of it. 

A group of three men had walked into the pub.  Gruff looking fellas, but nothing all that special.  They started scanning the pub area, looking from tables, to faces, to chairs, all the way to the bar.  The flame user didn’t appreciate the snarl on the middle man’s face when his eyes landed on you busting the bar top with your rag.  

Shutting the door behind them, the three of them split apart, one heading towards the rec room and another heading in Dabi’s side of the bar. The middle man marched up towards the bar and instead of taking a seat- opted to lean on the bar between two already seated patrons.  They ended up leaving their bills and scurrying out of the joint. 

You took their payment and bit your tongue to keep from telling the obviously trouble-looking newcomer off for running off your customers.  In fact, you completely disregarded him.  

Once your bills were collected and placed into your apron pocket, you looked at the middle man leaning on the bar square in the eyes.  You held unamused eye contact with him for a beat before you shut your eyes and easily turned away from him. 

Clearly unhappy with the attention he so desperately wanted, he reached over the bar and yanked on the back of your work button up.  You let out a shocked, choked gasp as you dropped the glass you had in your hand.  The sound of shattering glass echoed around the pub as it became completely silent.  

Dabi jumped from his booth, standing at his table instead of leisurely sitting like he had been as he watched the man reach out for your shirt. He growled under his breath when he yanked you back towards him over the bar. 

This trouble-seeker was new to your pub, you could tell this the moment he came in with his two buddies.  He didn’t know of the amount of eyes on him now that he had gained the attention he wanted.  And he didn’t know how many of those eyes were villains ready to take him out. 

You coughed as he tried dragging you completely over the bar just by your shirt collar.  Your lower back pushed painfully into the wooden edge of the bar as your heels came off the floor, your toes being the only leverage you had left on your side of the bar top.  

You wanted to swing your elbow back and pop the son of a bitch in the nose, but you had to keep all ten of your fingers on the front of your collar to keep it from painfully pulling against your throat. You attempted to unbutton the top buttons for a window of breath, but you didn’t get the chance to before you were dropped.  

“Hey!” A voice you had recognized from a past medical visit came from behind you and the man yanking on your shirt.  He had groaned as he dropped you, your unsteady toes combined with your heels slamming back down to the floor and your spine dragging down the edge of the bar all made you drop to the floor.  You hunched over on the floor, gagging as you pulled on your shirt’s fabric away from your neck- the hemming all stretched out and well ruined by now.  

The bar felt like walls that encased around your slumped over body and you soon felt someone hop over the bar and rub your back.  Looking up with teary eyes from your lack of breath, you recognized the female criminal you had treated a handful of times before.  She soothed you behind the bar as it sounded like pure chaos erupted from beyond the bar. 

The short screams and shouts of whatever customer didn’t feel like fighting and fleeing.  you even heard your employees ducking out- as you instructed them to do when bar fights broke out. You did not want to feel out accident reports, so your rules of running when things get nasty was non-negotiable.

You were content to just stay sitting on the floor, catching your breath until the fighting was done.  You knew those who were fighting against the law were already defending you and your pub- they would take care of it.  

It was their safe space and these thugs had just tried disrupting that space. 

It was only when a plume of fire shot out from what looked like to be the back corner of your pub did you jump to your feet. Leaning against the bar with the villainess at your side, holding you to make sure you didn’t tumble over, you saw Dabi.  

“Dabi?!” You were shocked to see him. He hadn’t been around due to his work (so he told you), and you were confused on why he was here now.  Why was he wearing clothes you hadn’t seen before and when did he get here?  

He was quick to jump into the fray, mixing in with forces to drive the stupid thugs out of your pub, but not without beating them within an inch of their life first. Between tables being thrown, chairs knocked over, fire bursting then dispersing and fist and legs flying- it was hard to keep up with what was actually happening.  

What you did see though, was from the rec room someone coming out and pointing their fingers out towards your villains- your allies.  Their fingertips started to open and sharp, needle like tips were ready to be fired out of them.  

You climbed over the bar, the villainess calling out to you to not get involved.  You stumbled into a chair, holding yourself up as you shouted over the commotion. 

“Hey! Get behind a wall or table!” You pointed to the man under the rec room doorway.  “Don’t let whatever he’s gonna shoot out of his fingers hit you!” You were ready to duck back behind a table when you were shoved in the chest by the third man you saw enter with the thugs earlier.  He just appeared from no where it seemed when he struck you.

Knocking you into a nearby table, you slid onto it before it tipped and you tumbled off of it when it fell.  Groaning, you cursed under your breath.  You were getting really fucking sick of being pushed around tonight.  You got to your knees to get yourself back to your feet when you felt something push against your back and wrap around your shoulders, keeping you down. 

Whatever was keeping you down and covered was warm.  It covered your back and kept your shoulders encased.  Reaching up, it was an arm that wrapped around your and it was someone’s chest that pushed against your back.  Looking back you saw his scarred ears and neck before you saw his face. Not to mention the blast of burning blue that shot out opposite of his outstretched other arm.

“Dabi,” you gasped as you felt his body start to push more into yourself.  You whined, his weight beginning to crush you. “Hey, get off me,” you huffed.  

“Oh, you so owe me,” he chuckled before he fell against your completely. His arm dropped and the one that wrapped around you previous fell limp and released you. Rolling off to the side awkwardly to try and catch his fall to the tile, you saw a small needle sticking from his neck.  

“Oh, shit” you muttered.  Turning, you lifted a table to cover your back while the rest of the chaos kept going on behind you.  Pushing him onto his back, he was out cold.  Looking him over, you didn’t see any worrisome wounds on him- in fact he didn’t look wounded at all.  It was only that needle in his neck. “No doubt from that guy’s quirk,” you mumbled as you inspected it.  

Did he cover you so you didn’t get hit with the needle instead? You didn’t want to work yourself up into a frenzy at the thought of him taking a shot for you- but no matter how you looked at the situation, that was exactly what happened. 

It was a small, thin like a sewing needle with a ball point on the back of it.  Whatever this needle is coated in obviously knocked the pyro out.  You peeked over the table to see the same man ready to shoot a second round from his fingertips. 

“Take out the needle shooter! His needles will render you unconscious!” Your shouted leadership to take out one of the three low-level threats was clear and it was probably 20 minutes later when the three thugs were tied up and unconscious.  

You sighed, finally feeling safe again in your busted and destroyed bar.  You groaned for the umpteenth time knowing it was going to cost a fortune to get the tables repaired.  Not to mention the seared wallpaper that peeled from the previous heat and broken glasses, frames and damaged light fixtures.  You would have to close your doors for repairs for at least a month. 

As you looked around, you moved from your sitting position to instead kneel at Dabi’s side. 

“Can someone help me bring him downstairs? And lock the entrance.” Dabi was picked up and was soon being carried back behind the bar and through the doors, waiting for you to come unlock the way down as someone else had safely latched your pub doors shut. Your employees would understand if you just shot them a few texts.  

Before you went into the back, you pointed at the unconscious needle shooter.  “Also, bring him down too, but keep him tied up.  I need to know what his quirk is so that I know exactly why he did and how to treat it. Anyone else who needs treatment, you can come down too.” 

An hour later, you had Dabi’s unconscious body hooked up in one of your rooms to small machines to make sure he wasn’t dying.  Whatever the needle was- you concluded that it at least wasn’t poisonous.  You had taken it from his neck and had it run for tests.  It wasn’t coated in anything, but the tip of it had released a sort of potion into his body from where he had been stores in the ball point end; but you weren’t sure what it was.  

You moved away from your laptop on the small desk you had next to Dabi’s temporary bed.  You leaned your elbow against the wood and stared at him.  

“Until I figure out what exactly happened, I have no idea when he’ll wake up.” You frowned as worry began to churn in your stomach.  It eased you that his life didn’t seem to be in danger, but that didn’t really help anything else.  He was immobile and unresponsive until further notice as far as you knew.

You sighed getting up and searching for his phone.  Finding it in his jacket pocket, you plucked it out and began to go through his contacts.  You were glad you watched him punch in his lock code one day and held it in your memory. 

Finding a contact under ‘Childish Leader’, you immediately began to ring it.  You knew who Dabi worked under, and who this so called ‘childish leader’ was- you did meet with him one time after all.  When the line picked up, you were greeted with a sigh. 

“What,” a strained voice annoyingly greeted.  

“You’ll want to come to the location I’m about to send you,” you started. You swore you heard the frown and confused brow drip on his face when it wasn’t Dabi’s voice that was on the phone.  “Want to know what happened to Dabi? Then get your wrap quirked friend to get you over here, Shigaraki.” 

You quickly ended the call, letting out a shaky breath and feeling your heart pound in your chest. Dabi only ever really complained about Shigaraki, and you had only met hi that one time for general introductions, so you didn’t know much about him.  You hoped that just telling him what to do before sending him your coordinates would be enough to just get him to show up.  You’d deal with the rest later. 

You stood from your chair as you looked down at Dabi.  He always looked quite peaceful sleeping- it was odd since he was always scowling when he was awake. He’d smirk and tease, sure, but you don’t think you’d ever seen a real smile on his face before.  

You chuckled to yourself, touching his hair just once before you stopped- knowing he didn’t like you touching him like that.  He wanted to keep you at arms length because of your feelings and you knew that- so unconscious or not, you had to keep his wants at the forefront of your mind.  

A knock sounded at the door when you saw one of your allied villains come in.  “Some guys are in the bar, asking for you.  Some freak with a hand on his face and a gimp looking dude.”  You almost laughed at the villain's description. 

“Tell them I’ll be up in a moment.” The villain left as you looked once more at Dabi. You smiled down at him. “Thanks for the save, you reckless idiot.” 

-x-x-x-

Dabi groaned as he rolled from his back to his side.  He was only vaguely aware he was previously on his back ,which already annoyed him- he was not a back sleeper.  He peeked his eyes open and stared at the ceiling above him.  

That wasn’t his apartment ceiling? Sitting up, he rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes and taking a breath.  His head pounded and he opened his eyes back up to see the room he was in.  It wasn’t his apartment at all.  He was in a bedroom, but he hadn’t seen this room before.  

The last thing he remembered was jumping into a bar fight at your pub and then covering your back when that finger-freak tried shooting something out of his fingertip at you.  He didn’t even realize his body moved until he felt the needle meant for you dart into his neck.  

Rubbing at his neck, he felt no pain.  Getting up, he looked around the room.  

This room wasn’t yours- he’d seen it before- and it wasn’t anyone else’s he knew of. He wasn’t at the league HQ either, that run down place didn’t have rooms as well kept at this one. Surely you wouldn’t have pushed him off to some random villain until he woke up and this was some stranger’s room... right?   

After a moment, he started getting nosy. As he opened more drawers and books and notepads, he got more and more confused. These were all things he was interested in.  All the notebooks had his handwriting in them and his name was signed on papers and sticky notes scattered on a corkboard hanging on the wall.  The phone on the bedside table and he unlocked with his passcode and started going through it- it was all his information just like normal, but something was off. 

He felt off.  He looked at his palms, the scars he’s had since he was younger still showing on his skin.  Something nagged in the back of his head and he knew that he had to get answers and the best way to do that is to track you down.  

Grabbing a jacket and zipping it up to his chin and placing sunglasses on his face, he left the room that was filled with, presumably his own things, but definitely not his things. 

The roads and buildings all around were the same as he remembered.  However, when he came to your pub’s building, it looked different.  Shabby almost. Trying to go inside, the door was rusted and jammed. Jostling with the door wasn’t getting him anywhere and he knew if he tried to bust it down you’d have his ass on the wall for the damage.  

Looking up, he saw the window that lead into the living room of your apartment.  Walking around the building he started up the fire escape and carefully treaded the side of the building to the window before he shimmied it open from the outside and hopped inside. 

“What the fuck?” The apartment that was once filled with your furniture and belongings was empty.  Not just empty, but it was dusty, barren and isolated like no one had been in there for years. Jogging downstairs, he ran into the bar to find it the same way: empty.

No tables, no chairs, no booths.  No bottles lining the dusty shelves and no frames of art or recreational items in the rec room. it even still had the old, tacky wallpaper instead of the wallpaper he remembered. The stench of dust filtered through his nose and made his throat burn- it was apparent that the place hadn’t been aired out in years.  

Turning back, the door to the basement he had been in so many times wasn’t even there.  When he left the building to go to the basement the backway, the backway in didn’t seem to exist either.  It was like the basement he had spent so much time in with you patching him up was never there to begin with. 

“This is fucking crazy,” he mumbled as he pulled his phone from his pocket.  He wasn’t used to feeling whatever was bubbling in his chest.  It was painful, like caltrops tearing apart his stomach and chest as he searching for your number in his contacts.  He began to start walking back to where your apartment use to be, to go back inside the abandoned pub, when he dialed your phone.  He was soon stuck in his tracks when he caught sight of his reflection in a window.  

The window’s glass was cracked, barely held in place in the frame as he stared back at his reflection.  Reaching up, he ran his scarred hand through his hair. His hair that wasn’t dyed black; his hair that was as white as his mothers. 

“Where the fuck am I?” He breathed as he heard the monotone voice over the phone. 

-I’m sorry, but the number you have dialed does not exist-

[lonestarbabe]

Dog’s Best Friend

(AKA my rendition of the T.K. and the dog scenario) (AO3)

T.K. really isn’t jealous of a dog. He’s not, but he’s also not going to fall for the dog’s cuteness like everyone else. Read on for a puppy versus puppy face off.

The second Owen had brought the dog into the station a few days before, the whole team had rushed over to pet the pup and call him a good boy. T.K. couldn’t understand it because what was so special about that mutt, anyway? He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling like the odd man out, standing distantly as everyone else was enamored with the lively creature.

Owen had found the dog wandering on the streets when they’d been out on a call. He’d been abandoned by his owners, and when Owen found out that the dog had cancer, he couldn’t help but bring him back to the station and announce that the 126 had a new four-legged pal. The 126 acted like the scraggly dog with floppy ears was the greatest thing they’d ever seen, but T.K. didn’t get it. The dog couldn’t even do any tricks.

Worst of all, the dog wouldn’t stop trailing T.K. He’s like the little brother I never wanted, T.K. thought as he felt the dog just inches from his feet. He could barely get any work done with the way the dog constantly wanted to be by his side. Everyone thought it was hilarious that T.K. had a new shadow, but T.K. dreaded it every time he heard those little paws pattering across the floor.

Paul had smiled wryly at the sight of the dog leaping and chasing T.K. He flipped through his book, but couldn’t resist teasing his friend. “Look who’s got a new best friend.”

Marjan shook her head disbelievingly, “I can’t believe he picked T.K. of all people.”

Paul agreed. “I know. It’s shocking that he chose a basic white guy.”

“He won’t leave me alone,” T.K. complained.

“Using your sixth sense, do you think T.K. is heartless?” Marjan asked Paul with a laugh. “Because I can’t think of any other reason for hating that dog.”

“Hmm, I’m not sure, but I was so certain he was a dog person.”

“Yeah, that’s because he’s such a puppy himself,” Judd added.

T.K. ignored them, grumbling to himself as he walked away from the rec area. He snatched the dog’s leash from a hook on the wall where they had cleared some space for the dog. They’d put a bed, food and water bowls, and some toys to make him comfortable. T.K. stomped over to the dog, kneeling to get him ready. He attached a leash to the dog’s basic black collar. Arthur was inscribed in a little metal bone that jangled as he bounced around looking for attention. Arthur, who would name a dog that?

“Have fun with the puppy!” Paul called after him.

“The vet said he’s at least six years old!” T.K. disputed.  But he sure acts like a puppy. You’d think that old age or his cancer would have slowed him down a little bit, but nothing stops this dumb dog. “He’s like forty in dog years.”

“What kind of dog name is Arthur, anyways?” T.K. asked as Arthur ate his dinner. “What does he think he is? An Aardvark?” It was nearly the end of their shift, and the whole station was hanging out and taking turns playing with Arthur.

“What kinda name is T.K.?” Judd countered, petting behind the dog’s ears. He spoke to the dog in a coo reserved for animals and babies. “You’re such a good boy, aren’t ya? Such a good boy.”

“He hasn’t even done anything!”

Marjan stood up from her chair to go over to Arthur, eyes gleaming in realization. “You’re jealous of a dog!”

“No way,” he said. “Why would I be jealous of that mutt?” I’m not jealous. I just don’t want to have that dog around. Just because he’s won over every other person in this room doesn’t mean he’ll win over me.

Mateo looked confused. “Wait. Why do you think he’s jealous of Arthur?”

“Why else would he be so bitter about a puppy, Probie?”

“He’s too old to be a puppy! And I’m not jealous. I just don’t see why everyone loves him so much. There’s nothing special about him. He’s just a dog.”

“He’s our dog,” Judd commented like that should be enough to change T.K.’s mind.

“You haven’t even known him for a week!”

Owen gave Arthur a treat, looking satisfied with the licks he got as a thank you. Of all the 126, Owen was the most attached. He’d seen Arthur and couldn’t resist bringing him home and buying him heaps of toys, treats, and other doggie luxuries. “T.K. is used to being an only child, Arthur. He’ll come around. I know he’s your special buddy.” Owen looked up to T.K. “You never used to have an issue with dogs. Why can’t you love this one?” He squeezed Arthur’s face, “look how sweet he is? And he has such nice hair.” Who cares about his fur? It may be soft but that won’t win me over.

“I like dogs. I just don’t like this dog. There’s something off about him.”

Marjan scoffed, “Yeah, there’s something suspicious about brown eyes and floppy ears.”

T.K. glared through the room, rolling his eyes. “I better go. I have actual work to do,” and as he went to leave, he cursed as the dog trotted behind him. “Damn dog,” he muttered. “Don’t you have someone nicer to bother?”

Somehow, Owen had decided that T.K. should take Arthur home for the night while Owen finished up some paperwork. He reasoned that Arthur would feel safest with T.K. and hadn’t let much space for argument.  “Take care of your brother,” Owen said as T.K. pulled the dog forward by his leash.

“I don’t have a brother.”

Owen raised his eyebrows, the corners of his lips upturning. “I was talking to Arthur, son.”

“Arthur is annoying,” T.K. replied.

“Be nice.”

“Yeah, whatever. See you later, Dad. You owe me for this.”

“Just give him a chance. It never hurts to have a four-legged friend on your side.”

“I don’t know about that,” T.K. said before giving one last wave and leaving his father’s office.

The dog’s energy had slowed since the morning and he whined as he walked through the station. He sat down, refusing to move, looking at T.K. with sad, tired eyes. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

“Get up.”

“Arthur, move those little legs.”

Arthur didn’t budge, and with some irritation, but not as much as he might’ve had earlier in the day, T.K. picked the dog and carried him from the firehouse. “I’m tired too, you know.”

Eventually, he arrived at home and brought Arthur into the house. He laid the dog on a cushion and then went to his own bedroom, closing the door behind him. Exhaustedly, he got ready for the night and flopped into his bed to catch up on texts and relax a little before he went to sleep.

Ten minutes later, he heard a scratching in the hallway. What is he doing now? The dog can’t let me live in peace. He rolled off his bed and opened the door half expecting to see the whole hallway destroyed. Annoying, troublemaking dog.  When the door swung open, the hallway was fortunately not torn to pieces. Arthur calmed at the sight of T.K. and immediately slipped into the bedroom. Arthur leaped onto the bed, laying down on the side opposite of where T.K. always slept. “No, get down, Arthur.” Arthur looked at him puzzledly, head leaned to one side and tongue out. He curled into the blankets, putting his head down unto the bed.

“This isn’t your bed.”

Arthur didn’t respond.

“You’re a stubborn mutt.” T.K. said before settling into his side of the bed. The second his body touched the bed, Arthur closed his eyes contentedly and drifted back to sleep. “You’re such a diva,” T.K. said to the sleeping dog.

He unlocked his phone, smiling as he read a text from Carlos. They were taking things slow, but it was nice to have a friend… or a more than friend… whatever it was that they were.  

Stuck with an obnoxious dog. His name’s Arthur. He’s in my bed rn. U jealous?

I’m jealous you have a dog and a cuddly one at that. Don’t you like dogs?

They’re alright. This one’s annoying. He follows me around.

Awe but you love cuddling. Sounds like your type.

This one is clingy more like.

Look how annoying he is.

Shut up. How can you find that cute face annoying? 

You didn’t have him around you all day. 

Come on, Tiger, at least you can never be lonely with him around.

You sound like my dad.Sorry, that’s a boner killer.

*eyeroll* Yeah, because I was getting so turned on by you insulting cute puppies. 

He’s old!! Why is everyone calling him a puppy? 

He’s cute, Tiger. 

He’s not. 

Anyways, I have to go. Need sleep before he wakes me up at 5 am when he needs to piss. 

Goodnight, scrooge. I hope you wake up with a heart. 

I wouldn’t get your hopes up. Goodnight.

T.K. had no choice but to fall asleep with Arthur snoring quietly beside him, and as he watched the rise and fall of Arthur’s chest, he had to remind himself that he wasn’t going to get attached.

“Stop looking at me like that,” T.K. told the dog the next day when he found Arthur in his bed at the station. “How did you even know this is where I sleep? Go find someone who wants to play with you. I’m tired.”

T.K. just wanted to get some shut-eye before a call came in or at least meditate a little while to burn off the tension that had been bubbling in his body all day. He was trying to use the techniques his therapist was teaching him even if he thought most of them were silly.

Arthur, whose big watery eyes looked to T.K. expectantly and whose tongue hung sloppily out of his mouth, was clearly not exhausted. His tail wagged wildly, and he spun on the bed chasing it. “You think you’re real cute, huh? Maybe you have everyone else tricked, but not me. I know your games. I’m not going to fall for it, pal.” I need to stop talking to this dog. T.K. couldn’t help but smile as Arthur kept chasing his tail stubbornly. Finally, Arthur slowed to a stop when he felt T.K. sit on the bed.

The dog put his paws on T.K.’s legs, huffing happily, tail pattering against the headboard. “Come on, Arthur, stop. I’d like to rest.” Arthur wouldn’t leave. “At least lay down and calm down.”

T.K. gave Arthur a tentative pat on the back, pushing him down to the bed. “You can’t stand on the bed. You’ll fall off.” He looked the dog in the eyes. “What do I have to do to make you go away.” He pouted at the puppy and took Arthur’s face in his hands. “Do I have to scratch behind your ears?” T.K. gave ear scratching a try, and Arthur nuzzled T.K.’s neck in return. “You like that, don’t you, Arthur? Now can you go bother someone else? Have I given you enough?” Arthur snuggled closer. What did I do to make him like me so much and how do I stop doing it?

Absently, T.K. began to rub Arthur’s tummy. T.K. laid next to the dog, letting his head fall next to Arthur’s. He hated how nice it felt when Arthur flipped over and a little head rested on T.K.’s stomach. “You’re dangerous,” he whispered in Arthur’s ear, running a hand through the dark fur on Arthur’s head. “If I’m not careful, I might fall in love with you, and the problem is that I might not get a lot of time with you. You’re sick. My Dad’s sick too, but I’m already attached to him, so all I can do is be there for him and hope for the best. You’re making it impossible not to get attached to you too.

Arthur lifted his head to give T.K.’s face a reassuring lick. “Yeah, I guess that’s right, Arthur. Sometimes love sneaks up on you. It follows you around, and you try to resist it, but it’s always there with its brown eyes and floppy ears. It hangs around even when you say you don’t want it. It stays beside you until you stop trying to fight it. It snuggles close when you’re feeling down. ”

“It’s pretty silly that I’m talking to you like you understand, but you’re an awfully good listener.”

Arthur barked in response despite being a quiet dog. He placed a paw gently on T.K.’s chest. “Loving you will be hard, but you’re not giving me much of a choice, dumb dog.”

“You’ll have a hard time with this cancer. They may have to put you down so that you don’t hurt anymore, but I guess now that we’re friends, I’ll have to be here for you. I can be your emotional support human, puppy.” And maybe you can help heal me too.

[silvokrent]

Gears in Motion - 1

The seed of an idea is planted.

Part I: The Present

There was a jaunty bounce in his steps as Bluestreak walked down the hall. Upbeat rock music trailed from his speakers, encircling him in his own little bubble of sound. Apart from the electric guitar solo drifting from the gunner the halls were quiet.

The abnormal stillness was courtesy of the recent battle early that morning. Just as the sun crested the horizon an alert had come in from some important politician (Bluestreak couldn't remember his name) of a raid on the North Anna Power Plant in Virginia. Autobots had been dispatched, and by late noon the group had returned aboard Skyfire, thoroughly exhausted but still largely unharmed. Gears and Windcharger were both in the medbay, one for burn damage and the other for shrapnel in his upper torso. Blaster and his cassettes were also holed up there, keeping a close vigil on Ramhorn while one of the rhino's legs was being rebuilt.

With everyone else either on duty or in their quarters resting, Bluestreak found little else to do as he strolled through the halls. At least the quiet gave him the chance to catch up on a demo that Jazz had lent him.

So immersed was the gunner in his music that he was caught by surprise when he rounded a corner and found himself near one of the officer-only conference rooms. By the looks of it, a post-battle meeting had just ended, if the sliding-open doors and mass exodus of mechs were anything to go by. Optimus Prime exited first, Ironhide by his side as the two engaged each other in deep discussion. Jazz sprinted out and jogged after the two much bigger 'bots, doubling his pace to catch up as they turned down the corridor.

At a much more sedate pace emerged Ratchet, with Prowl in tow. Without noticing him they continued down the hall in the opposite direction.

At the sight of the Second-in-Command Bluestreak felt his spark do a happy little jig. It always pleased him to see his mentor return safe and sound, especially from a battle where Bluestreak himself hadn't been present. Suddenly eager to catch up, he hastily muted his speakers and trotted down the hall. Four meters away he'd neared enough to catch the tail-end of their conversation:

"…will have the post-op report on your desk tomorrow," Ratchet was saying. The medic sounded cranky, and he sure as the Pit looked it.

"Another datapad to add to the growing collection," sighed Prowl. At the odd inflection in his tone Bluestreak stilled, refraining from calling out and making his presence known. "Joy."

The medic tipped his helm to the side, enough to capture Prowl in his legendary periphery vision. "And here I thought you'd be throwing enough confetti to shame Mardi Gras."

The Praxian's spinal struts seemed to sink a little―a small gesture that few would have normally picked up on, but Bluestreak, so attuned to his mentor's mannerisms, recognized it for what it was. Exhaustion. "Enjoying one's job is one thing," Prowl explained in a voice that aimed for impassive, and fell a little short. "Unnecessary surplus work, however, is another matter entirely."

"So get someone else to do it for a change," Ratchet scoffed, in his usual blunt way. Sympathy for stupidity and the blatantly obvious was something he had yet to perfect, and probably never would. "Otherwise quit bitching about it."

A sharp look was cast on the medic, quickly morphing back into a look of immense self-control. "The only other mechs who can act as substitutes in my stead are Smokescreen, and Prime. As you are well aware, Smokescreen is still off-base in Vegas"―his tone made his opinion of his brother's choice abundantly clear―"doing 'reconnaissance' on alleged Decepticon activity. And Optimus already has his hands full dealing with the Attorney General. It would be unfair of me to impose."

Despite being able to only see the CMO's backside, Bluestreak had a shrewd suspicion that he was rolling his optics. "Then save it for when he gets back."

"Unfortunately, the paperwork needs to be dealt with sooner rather than later." 

"It's not anything new," Ratchet reasoned with a light shrug of his broad shoulders. "I mean, it's not like it's high clearance slag. You just need a signature saying that the contents have been peer-reviewed, right?"

"Among other things," the tactician muttered.

To Bluestreak's faint amusement Ratchet moved to rib the black-and-white in the side. "Look at it this way," said the medic, the nonchalance in his tone causing Prowl's doorwings to flick in undisguised annoyance. "It could be worse."

That was apparently the wrong thing to say.

"Oh yes. Because Ultimate Minibot makes everything so much better," Prowl shot right back.

That garnered a true bit of sympathy from the medic. There was the briefest clenching of hands, as if Ratchet were entertaining the thought of a pair of necks choking in his grasp. Probably red and yellow, if Bluestreak knew any better. Which he did.

"Those little glitches are playing that game again?" Ratchet asked, his voice as smooth as a sword being drawn from its scabbard.

"If my sources are accurate, then yes, tomorrow," Prowl confirmed, in an ominous undertone. "As if my schedule weren't tedious enough without having to take the time out my day to issue disciplinary actions."

A sigh eased out of the medic's vents. "At least two of the usual victims are safe in the medbay."

Leaving just Cliffjumper, Huffer, and Brawn, Bluestreak wordlessly supplied. He himself had been invited several times by the twins and Aerialbots to join in on the "fun," yet always declined. Friends or not, the sniper never felt entirely comfortable with the game, even if he privately felt that Cliffjumper deserved being taken down a peg every now and then.

They were nearing a fork in the hall, where the barracks and medbay lay in their respective directions. Still largely unnoticed by the pair, Bluestreak let himself fall back several steps, still within hearing distance without drawing attention to himself. It wasn't really eavesdropping. “Not technically, anyway,” he’d heard Sideswipe say on more than one occasion.

Medic and tactician paused to exchange parting words.

"If you catch any of the little fraggers, make sure to send them my way." The promise of unholy wrath glittered like chips of ice in the medic's optics. Ratchet drew up his chin a fraction, the threat of dire retribution not lost in his posture. "I'll make sure to sort 'em out. They'll be right as rain by the time I'm done."

"If there is anything left of them once I've caught them," Prowl vowed, expression unnaturally vexed. He gave a deep, calming breath, and the ageless tranquility Bluestreak associated with his mentor returned once more. "I will be retiring to my quarters for the evening. Should you require me for anything…"

Ratchet offered a wry smirk. "I'll know where to find you. Good night, Prowl."

The SIC dipped his head. "Good night, Ratchet."

With that said and done, the two 'bots turned and left.

His good mood feeling suddenly unsettled by what he'd overheard, the gunner backtracked in the direction of the rec room. If Prowl was tired enough to retreat to his room, then Bluestreak knew better than to disturb him.

The depressing turn his thoughts had taken was interrupted by the sounds of playful bickering and good-natured laughter. Intrigued, Bluestreak quickened his pace.

Spike, Carly, and Bumblebee were huddled in the center of the rec room. There were several rolls of colorful duct tape around the humans' arms like gaudy bangles. A dozen empty tubes of wrapping paper were strewn about the space at their feet, with another tube in the yellow minibot's hands. He was attempting to, and struggling with, wrapping the sheet over a massive brown box that easily came up to Carly's shoulders. All three of them were adorned in Scotch tape and pieces of discarded paper, and there was a vaguely handprint-shaped glitter patch on Bumblebee's aft.

"You've got to cut it first, 'Bee," Spike was saying to the scout. "If the sheet's not the right size, then it won't sit right or fold correctly."

"I've never wrapped a present before," protested Bumblebee as he tried, and failed, to redo the crease. He stuck his glossa out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. "And the scissors are too big for me to use."

"Maybe we should use a chainsaw," Carly joked, her attention half on the strips of tape she was storing on her left arm for later use. "That should be big enough. And it'll certainly cut through the paper."

"And the box, and the gifts in the box, and maybe our arms, too," Spike snorted. "Besides, we already wrapped the chainsaw. Do you have any idea how long it'll take us to rewrap it?"

The little spy lifted his head, about to reply, only to catch sight of Bluestreak lingering in the entranceway. "Hey, Blue!" he called cheerfully. Carly and Spike turned, and waved the gunner over when they spotted him. Bluestreak strode over, his optics riveted to the half-wrapped carton.

"What are you guys doing up so late? I mean, I know your curfew isn't for another hour so you don't have to drive home just yet, but it's awfully late by human standards, and I know Sparkplug doesn't like it when you're on the roads after dark." He tipped his head to the side. "What's with all the paper and tape? And why do you need a chainsaw?"

It spoke volumes of the kids' familiarity with the Autobots that they could sift through the ceaseless jabber with barely a bat of their eyes. "Dad's still at work. He's pulling a late shift, so I can stay out a bit longer," Spike answered. "And the chainsaw's not for us―it's for Dad."

"For Father's Day," Carly explained, when the sniper merely stared in bemusement. "We got him a new toolkit, too."

"And a fishing rod, since he loves going out to Bull Run Lake," Spike added. He had resumed trying to flatten the stubborn wrapping paper against the surface of the box. He was rewarded with a noise of exasperation when the paper merely sprung back up like a belligerent weed.

"And I'm helping them, since the box is so big." Giddy excitement lit up Bumblebee's optics. He looked beside himself to have been included in this obviously important human tradition.

"But if you're only wrapping a few things, then why do you need a five foot high box? Couldn't you just individually wrap them all?"

At that, the boy gave a rueful laugh. "Well, it's sort of a joke." He scratched his hair. "You see, we sort of wrapped his gifts in one box, and then put that box in another box…"

"Like nesting dolls," Carly said. "Only without the creepy faces painted on them."

"I don’t know if we can call the wrapping paper a trade-off anymore, though." For emphasis Bumblebee flailed his arms, showing off the scraps of paper that had inevitably found their way across his frame.

There was a soft thump as Bluestreak settled in to watch. "I know I’ve heard it before but could you remind me what Father's Day is again?'" Despite having lived on Earth for years he was still encountering new aspects of human culture. He supposed, he consoled himself, that it made sense he didn't remember this one. Christmas overshadowed just about every festivity, with Halloween, Fourth of July, and (oddly enough) Valentine's Day making close runner-ups. The rest of the holidays out there were either too religious in nature or just downright bizarre for most of the Autobots to concern themselves with.

At that Spike tapped his chin. "Well," he began, clearly trying to put it in a way that would make sense to a species that didn't have biological progenitors, "in most societies family is a pretty important concept. If it weren't for our parents, we wouldn't be here right now. Someone had to raise you, even if they weren't necessarily the people that helped make you. Everyone has a mom and a dad, or two moms or two dads. Or any combination of parents, really." He shrugged. "But anyway, we owe it to our parents for taking care of us as kids. Or just my dad, in this case," Spike noted. A shadow of some darker emotion briefly crossed his face.

"And since my dad is dead, Spike's letting me share his," Carly added. She gave her friend a playful swat on the shoulder, snapping Spike out of whatever fog he’d settled into.

"Yeah." He nodded. "Basically, Father's Day is for celebrating dads and doing nice stuff for them, as a way of saying thanks for everything they do for you."

The gunner gave an absent nod, his optics distant as he thought. "And it's tomorrow?"

"Yup.” Bumblebee jumped into the conversation. "That's why we're trying to get this done as fast as we can.” He regarded Spike and Carly with bright optics. “You’ll let me be there when he opens this, right? I am helping with the wrapping, so surely that means I get to watch too.”

Spike shrugged again. “He’s already got a semi-adopted daughter. I don’t see why he’d object to having a giant alien robot for a foster son.”

Bumblebee snorted. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far…”

“Too late,” Carly said.

With a flex of his doorwings Bluestreak hauled himself to his feet. “I just remembered I really need to go take care of something important, so I'll just leave you guys to your wrapping so you can get it done in time." He hesitated, then bent down and picked up a roll. "Can I borrow this?"

"Sure," Spike said. "I think we're almost done, anyway."

Bumblebee huffed as the wrapping paper once again defied him, getting further crinkled in the process. "Not at this rate, we're not."

"That’s the spirit, ’Bee.”

Unbeknownst to the laughing trio, Bluestreak had quit the room. As the gray mech hurried toward the command deck a single image kept popping up in his processor, of black-and-white armor and a resigned expression. Without slowing his pace he strode directly past his quarters, ignoring his own comment about the late hour.

He had a lot of work to do.

[verdigrisprowl]

Jan 1 Culture Club - The Land Before Time

Prowl left halfway through because Chromedome showed up. And a good thing he did, because then Trepan showed up.

This may make it difficult to go to future movies.

Welcome to the 'chronosmith' room. Jitter: ((Yeah, im just greatful she's got the other films to at least mix it up a bit)) Windchill: (( Great film, but....my god. I still haven't tried to watch it since. )) Windchill: (( I might be old enough and it's been long enough now that I might be able to try. Been like 14 years so let's hope.)) Windchill: (( *stares wistfully out window.* )) Jitter: (( *Restrains self from quouting one of the Spirit songs*)) Jitter: ((That Soundtrack is.... I kinda overdid it on teh soundtrack as a kid)) Windchill: (( I'm sure that's what my sisters latched onto as well, they still have the soundtrack if I recall. )) Windchill: ((It's a good soundtrack but I, a reasonable person, have limits. )) Jitter: ((v much)) Windchill: (( I can remember parts of most of the songs though pffft. )) Windchill: (( The worst part is it's about horses so you know Windchill here would like it. )) Windchill: (( As for The Land Before Time...this is not going to go over well. )) Jitter: ((I think just about anyone can root for the stalion when he's kicking men off his back)) Jitter: (('GET OFF OF MY BACK ASDFASDF") Windchill: (( IT'S JUST...A REALLY GOOD ANIMATED FILM with barely any dialogue. The animation and soundtrack are the heavy lifters. )) FakeProwl: ((hi folks are we lurkin before the movie)) Whirl: ((yes)) Whirl: ((i am gettin seat up but: I love Spirit Whirl: genuinely good movie Windchill: (( Oh no. )) Windchill: (( I was browsing a random dumpster blog and I found this. )) Windchill: (( http://badcharacterdesign.tumblr.com/post/155040963275/spirit-2002-story-of-freedom-and-independence )) Jitter: ((i'm gonna go grab some party mix snacks) Windchill: (( I'mma make coffee, then I shall return to weep over what I have discovered. )) Jitter: (...) Jitter: (lordy) Jitter: ((We all shall weep) Windchill: (( Someone save us. )) Jitter: https://youtu.be/Zlm4QYeysgE Shockbox: (( damnit i need to see more movies because i do not have the context for your pain. )) Windchill: (( T-the broken horse anatomy in that poster shot help. )) Windchill: (( OH MY GOD. )) Whirl: ((WHAT IS THAT NONSENSE)) Windchill: (( You gotta see Spirit. )) Jitter: "Did you even watch the movie you're spining off?" Shockbox: (( i gotta see a /lot/ of things. but i'll add that to the list. )) Jitter: ((and it appears that 'sprit riding free' is a Netflix exclusive thing Windchill: (( We'll probably tie you to a chair and make you watch this one at some point, just saying. )) Windchill: (( It better stay there where I won't see it. )) Whirl: 9(it's gorgeously animated, had a lovely soundtrack, and is pretty dang overall good)) Jitter: ((its boasted as a "Neflix Original" so it will Jitter: "put that hing back where it came from or so help me Ratchet: [[ *squints at that poster* ]] Shockbox: (( i mean i'll be willing to sit down and see it so long as it's with friends. )) Shockbox: (( or during a livestream. )) Windchill: (( Also: Spirit took place in the late like, 1900's so what's with the modern jeans and T's on these girls. )) Windchill: (( Is Spirit immortal. )) Ratchet: [[ okay but is the dark-skinned girl riding spirit's mom becAUSE THAT GOES AGAINST EVERYTHING THE FIRST MOVIE WAS ABAOUT ]] Windchill: (( Also the horses have broken legs and shoulders. )) Windchill: (( I was wondering if that WAS supposed to be Esperanza but...if so she looks more dudely than her son??? )) Windchill: (( The paint doesn't look at all like Rain either so who tf is this. What's happening. )) Windchill: (( Why you desecrate the Only Good Horse Movie. )) Soundwave: ((aha here we go. is it supposed to still say offline?)) Whirl: ((Ye I've not gotten it set up yet)) starscream: *sneaks in* Whirl: *already up in there, fiddling with equipment* Shockbox: *is, as previously mentioned, officially making a first appearance at this esteemed club.* Shockbox: *such high class we have here.* Whirl: ((i'm having some XSplit guff so gimme a sec)) Windchill: *You will regret, Shockwave.* Whirl: *yes, the classiest. Whirl is muttering to himself and occasionally cursing* Jitter: https://twitter.com/spiritridingfre?lang=en Jitter: https://pbs.twimg.com/media/C0O4YxjXEAAHlGW.jpg:large Ratchet: *pops in* starscream: ((I'm not an expert on horses but I feel like that is impossible)) Shockbox: *he's come so far, regret isn't an option.* Jitter: ((Well its a fanpage so??? Jitter: ((And apparently its based on a book series)) starscream: ((no, no I get that, just making an observation, not hating)) Windchill: (( Horse genetics are pretty straightforward I THINK but I'm not even going to do battle with this one I'm already Done(tm) with this. )) ItsyBitsySpyers: *Soundwave comes in with everyone except Zori and Chimera, who would be sparkbroken and sobbing at this film, and sends them scattering. Time for his usual seat.* Jitter: ((I'm just as baffled as anyone else, not trying to bite u Star. We're all confused about this spinoff show) Shockbox: *hm. he doesn't have a usual seat, yet.* Whirl: *pops his head up over the equipment* Do you guys see an image of Heqet, praise be to her, on the screen, yet? FakeProwl: *Appears* FakeProwl: ((there she is. praise)) ItsyBitsySpyers: //Praise! She's right there.// Shockbox: (( she's lovely. )) Jitter: *Out of his storage comes a box nibbles, which Jitter adds to the snackbar* Whirl: FINALLY. Jeez. Sorry we're so late. FakeProwl: *checks to see if soundwave is here/not on a full couch, immediately flops next to* FakeProwl: *he's tired. again.* Rodimus: ((these are in the rec room arnt they? FakeProwl: ((i'm also hearing miscellaneous computer sounds, so clearly audio works.)) FakeProwl: ((and there is music!)) Windchill: (( *nods.* )) Whirl: ((THERE'S YA VALEN HALEN)) Ratchet: [[ OH THERE SHE IS ]] Shockbox: (( glad that wasn't my own computer acting up, jeez. )) Whirl: ((so far, yeah, that's how we've been saying it goes down. The movie room)) Windchill: *Raises hand* You done mucking around yet, mate? Windchill: We gotta fight for the couch. Whirl: *pauses and ZOOPS his neck forward, starig at the new Shockwave* Hey. Shockbox: *stares back.* Greetings. Ratchet: [[ but i still have the loading circle of doom going on. tbh there's a high probability i won't even be able to watch because lmao my internet's been going out every night for the past like. month. ]] Whirl: ...*bobs his helm* Welcome to culture club. Whirl: ((OH NO RATCHET ;n;)) Rodimus: ((so yeah shockbox been here before ItsyBitsySpyers: *His poor ally, never getting all the rest he needs. Soundwave turns himself at an angle to give Prowl a somewhat more comfortable leaning space than a flat arm.* Whirl: ((do you have the film? Wana sync up watching and just pop the chat out? Iv'e done that before)) Shockbox: (( in the general area, but not in the club while in character. )) Whirl: ((But his first time at Culture Club--I think he actually came to Little Shop? But if u want this to be the first time that's ok with me)) FakeProwl: *a flat arm is perfectly comfortable tbh. but he'll take whatever he's offered.* Shockbox: (( yes, i was there for LIttle Shop. fun movie. )) Whirl: *and then trots over and assumes his rightful place on the couch* I'm not fighting you. I'm the host. I'm too dignified for that. Jitterbun: ((please ignore my clone)) Ratchet: [[ i sure do not have the film. i've never seen it remember ]] Whirl: ((I THOUGHT.... U HAD)) Jitterbun: ((REfreshed and got kicked)) Jitterbun: ((FFFFF) Whirl: ((lemme know if the loading goes away aight? We'll try and start then!)) Jitterbun: ((Ratchet I had to refresh to get the loading circle to vanish) Shockbox: *So....I don't suppose there're any takers for being a sitting companion to shockbox here.* Windchill: Dignity? PSSSSH. ItsyBitsySpyers: (txt): Prowl certain this wanted activity? Recharge not desired more? Ratchet: [[ go ahead and start my fren i got two seconds of music followed by presumably freeze-screen and now it's gone black lmao you'll be waiting a long damn time if you wait for me ]] ItsyBitsySpyers: *Frenzy had a decent time in Shockbox's company. He'll plop down nearby again.* Windchill: *Come sit on the Whirl Couch, the violence is free!* Whirl: *he can always try his luck on the Whirl Couch, but goodness only knows how that will go down* FakeProwl: @Soundwave «The Constructicons are still up.» Ratchet: [[ i'm also getting a RIDICULOUS lag on chat. ]] Whirl: ((D:)) Shockbox: *alright, couch buddies with Frenzy it is. not a bad situation. * Whirl: ((It's running pretty smoothly on my end... how is everyone eles'e chat holdin up?)) Shockbox: (( buttery smooth. )) FakeProwl: ((it's fine here)) Jitterbun: ((Your Internet is ill Ratchet.)) ItsyBitsySpyers: @Prowl: (txt): Understood. Soundwave assists if Constructicons not tired later. Jitterbun: ((Here's hoping the provider is on its case)) Whirl: *he will graciously ignore that slight against his dignity because he is dignified; he also swivels is neck around to look for the usual crowd, some of which aren't here, of course* Whirl: *they, as always, are welcome* Rodimus: *trots in then stops* OH Hey.... There is mecha in here. Jitterbun: *Has already eaten half his snack bowl* Whirl: Nope. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble will sit with Whirl and wave to Rodimus. Yo, mech.* FakeProwl: *slightly skeptical look* @Soundwave «Assist how?» Ratchet: [[ lol nah it's been like this since we moved in april. ]] Whirl: We're all just figments of your imagination. Jitterbun: ((Oooh. Wifi or ethernet? FakeProwl: *rodimus. scoots away from soundwave and sits upright.* Whirl: *scoots to make room for Rumble* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Oh? Oh, yes, he sees. All right then.* FakeProwl: *well, upright-ish. kind of a sleepy slouch.* Windchill: *He's trying to decide whether the couch or the floor is better seating tonight.* Ratchet: [[ wifi. we think the problem might be where the modem is located but there's literally only one phone jack in the house so we're *** ]] Shockbox: *shockwave would welcome the presence of buzzsaw, as well. he wasn't a bad movie partner either.* Rodimus: *couldnt care less* Whirl: *you are also "the usual crowd" doofus, join us on the couch* Jitterbun: ((You can try getting a wifi-booster/extender Whirl: *we can both put our feet on you* Jitterbun: ((My sister did that, and it solved her problems Rodimus: *lazy salute at Rumble* ItsyBitsySpyers: @Prowl: (txt): Sound, many uses. Certain frequencies encourage system relaxation. Windchill: *But if he sits on the floor, there's more room on the couch.* Whirl: Anyway, yeah, we got Culture Club. Ratchet: [[ idk. our last house was like twice as big but the wifi worked fine all throuhgout. the issue is the One Room With a Phone Jack in this house is actually an extension ]] FakeProwl: *out of all the people in the room, rodimus is the only one who's teased prowl and soundwave. which is saying something, since whirl is here, who will mock anybody, ever. so he's not giving him ammo.* Whirl: *true... and it might be easier to put feet on you that way* Jitterbun: ((They range from like, $30-60 for a decent one. Still a bit pricy if you're paycheck to paycheck,) Ratchet: [[ WE THINK we think that's the issue. so there's a solid brick wall between the modem and the rest of the house lmao ]] ItsyBitsySpyers: *Buzzsaw floats over to hover above Shockbox's helm when Frenzy waves him over. Laserbeak will settle on Rodimus in the hopes he'll give her snacks.* FakeProwl: @Soundwave «I might take you up on that, then.» Jitterbun: ((The phonejack is an extention? That souns a bit more like a Wifiemitter, than a booster. A booster doesn't need a phone jack, just a power outlet.) Windchill: *But if he sits on the floor, he'd have to work harder to be a pest.* Rodimus: *smirks at the bird coming toawrd him and waves over to the snacks* Ratchet: [[ what. no. the room the phone jack is in is an extension of the original house ]] Whirl: *well, you'd better make up your mind before someone else takes your seat PFFT LOL J/K IT'S WHIRL* Jitterbun: ((Oooohhh.) Whirl: *NOBODY ELSE WILL TAKE THAT SEAT* Ratchet: [[ and we need the phone jack for internet. no phone jack, no internet. ]] Shockbox: *He looks up when he senses a presence just above him, and relaxes a little when he recognizes buzzsaw.* Whirl: ((Any luck yet ratchet? :( I don't want you to miss your turn at CC...)) Windchill: HMMM. Rodimus: Oh hey! *waves @ shockbox* You are back on the ship again! Ratchet: [[ still a black screen lmao ]] Windchill: *FINE. It is decided.* Windchill: *You'll have to suffer his massive butt being on your couch.* Ratchet: [[ SUCCESS ]] Shockbox: Yes, I am. Jitterbun: ((Well yes, but it sounds like you have a cable-modem/wifi emitter plugged into the phonejack in that room. A Wifi Extender/booster is a different excessory. The way it works is Ratchet: [[ and may i say, a very good musical selection ]] Rodimus: *a squish gel snack for laserbeak~* Ratchet: [[ i gotta go feed charlie he's being a pain but then we're good ]] Jitterbun: by being plugged into a power outlet within range of the current wifi modem, and it 'doubles up' the wifi signal, and sends it farther Shockbox: *he waves back after a few seconds, as if almost forgetting to return the gesture.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Laserbeak stuffs the treat into the beak at the back of her face and whistles happily. Yes. This is a good perch for the evening. Nice and warm.* Jitterbun: https://www.walmart.com/ip/40099975?wmlspartner=wlpa&selectedSellerId=0&adid=22222222227029488055&wl0=&wl1=g&wl2=c&wl3=62898910929&wl4=pla-64746551287&wl5=9007824&wl6=&wl7=&wl8=&wl9=pla&wl10=8175035&w Jitterbun: ((ew sorry for longlink)) Whirl: ((AIGHT LEMME KNOW WHEN u are back!)) Whirl: ((also i need to remember to put this song on the blog whops)) Ratchet: *aaaand Ratchet already did the *pops in* thing but since mun thereafter got caught up in ooc chatter and did nothing with the muse...* Whirl: *he'll also scoot to better accomodate Wiindchill* Ah, yes. My footrest. Ratchet: *pops in* Windchill: It is I, the rest for feet. Whirl: THERE'S our guest of honor! Windchill: *Well if it isn't Ratchet, the guy responsible for what evils will transpire tonight.* Whirl: ((are you ready? 8) )) Whirl: ((....i read that as "what elvis will tanspire tonight")) Rodimus: Hold on... *@LB* Shockbox: (( ready as i'll ever be. )) Rodimus: *he is going to look under the table for one of their ravage's bowls* Shockbox: *guest of honor...? Ah, an iteration of the autobot medic.* Ratchet: [[ is prowl still leaning on slendy ]] Windchill: (( Same thing. )) FakeProwl: *hi ratchet. prowl would greet you but he's half asleep and hasn't noticed you.* FakeProwl: ((he's not leaning on him but he's next to him.)) ItsyBitsySpyers: *What's Rodimus want with one of Ravage's bowls? ItsyBitsySpyers: ((and ready when y'all are)) Rodimus: Shiiiit my music Ratchet: *that's fine ratchet has noticed Prowl and he's going to sit with him* Shockbox: (( read that as 'bowels' and let me tell you i'm glad i misread. )) Jitterbun: *Siddles up to his non-friend but lowlevel associate known as PROWL* Windchill: (( Trying the whole making coffee thing again brb, but feel free to start in my absence I've seen this A Million Times. )) Whirl: *he's gonna rearrange himself and nod at Rumble* Feel free to make use of my footrest. It's simply the best. *e's gonna end up like... lying sideways on the couch. There's enough room in the curve of- ItsyBitsySpyers: *Soundwave is suddenly feeling very surrounded...* Whirl: -his waist for Rumble to be able to remain seated on the couch* Rodimus: *going to show it to laserbeak* You guys use these too or just normal cubes and straws? Rodimus: *its prolly larger its just idw ravage's bowl xD* Whirl: After this song, we're starting. Jitterbun: Wonderful! *Will take the time to roll, strech and crack his joints* Whirl: Also, I can't help but notice how absolutely itty bitty you are, Jitter. It's adorable. FakeProwl: *suddenly someone else? turns on optic to look. oh!* Ratchet. It's been a while. Shockbox: *on the side opposite of frenzy is the couch's armrest. he may start to lean heavily on this as the movie proceeds.* FakeProwl: *there is also a Stranger in the vicinity. will ignore, because he's a Stranger.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble decides to take Whirl's advice and try resting on Whirl and Windchill at the same time.* Jitterbun: *May tumblr over himself, as Whirl calls out his petrorabbit form.* Jitterbun: W-well. Its temporary. Shade stuff. ItsyBitsySpyers: *This mostly ends in his upper back on Whirl's side and his ankles on Windchill and everything else CAREFULLY BALANCED IN MIDAIR* Whirl: *is quite content to be Rumble's Everything Except Foot rest* Whirl: *he won't let you fall, mech* Jitterbun: Now if ya don't mind- start the flick Whirl! Whirl: All right! Let's do it. ItsyBitsySpyers: {{Bird not needing straw, Bird got tube! You give, you give. Bird drinks, yes.}} Whirl: HEY. No bossin around the Culture Club presidents. Windchill: *Seems he's pulling double duty tonight. He's okay with this.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Ravage offers Ratchet a blink from down by Soundwave's pedes, but is too lazy to move much.* Jitterbun: *Too late. He's bounding over to find a chair to sit under.* Rodimus: *grins* Sweet now I know what to load up on! *just starts making snack choices he is hella hungry* Ratchet: Mhmm. Evenin', Prowl. Jitterbun: *Don't mind him Stranger. Just making himself comfortable. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Frenzy nudges Shockwave with an elbow and 'whispers'* Whirl: I feel ya. Same thing happens to me. Feel free to call me adorable if *I* ever get changed into a petrorabbit. But, seeing as I was a bird, I figure I've done my time. ItsyBitsySpyers: \\YOU LIKE DINOSAURS? MOSTA YOU GUYS LIKE DINOSAURS...\\ Windchill: Dinosaurs are cool. Windchill: For a bunch of DEAD GUYS. Whirl: *optic expands a bit; this music is already arrestingly good* Rodimus: Ooooooooooooooh we seen this already..... Whirl: I' Whirl: ve never seen it. Shockbox: *He stares at Frenzy for a second.* I have never heard of these 'Dinosaurs' before. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Frenzy grins such a grin.* \\BOUTTA.\\ Whirl: These are dinosaurs. *nods* Jitterbun: *Peeks out muzzle from under somelucky mechs chair* Earth native species- extenict one, but one of 'em. Whirl: ...you want a safe seat, Jitter? Shockbox: ....So they are non-fictional? Whirl: You can come up here. I'm the host. I'll look after ya Rodimus: These are Windchill: *He hasn't seen this film. HE'S READY.* Windchill: *He's not ready.* Ratchet: Pfft. The heck do you think we built the Dinobots off of? Windchill: *Gdi always with eggs.* Windchill: *Somehow, he thinks eggs hatching isn't so cute and pristine.* FakeProwl: *eggs. immediately thinks of tarantulas.* Shockbox: *He's sort of very early in his timeline. Dinobots won't be created in a few weeks in  his time.* Whirl: *aww, look at that one. FIGHTING ALREADY*

Missed some. only a little bit, i think.

starscream: Or it might just be because they are dumb Whirl: Or, y'know, this is a movie and it's all made up. Whirl: Or something. Jitterbun: Organics- they're really amazin' and interestin'. So many different ways they form. Shockbox: To what extent is this movie a work of fiction? Jitterbun: ...but they'realso pretty gross. Whirl: A lot. *HUGELY UNHELPFUL* Windchill: Really convenient earthquake timing, there. starscream: Then why are we watching it Whirl: ((man it must have been so sad for his grandparents to hear their daughter died so far away from them ;u; )) starscream: If it is mostly fiction Whirl: Because it's entertaining. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[From what he understands, dinosaurs were incapable of this form of speech. The creatures are representative of actual species and this event reflects certain circumstances-- ItsyBitsySpyers: believed to surround their extinction.]] Whirl: This is gonna blow your mind, Starscream--but most movies? Are fiction. Whirl: Amazing, I know. Ratchet: We're watching it 'cause I said we would. Windchill: What is this. starscream: I am aware of that, but why are we watching fictional ones Shockbox: Understood. Whirl: Because that's what one of our members chose. Ratchet: *hard glaring at dissenters* FakeProwl: Do we know for certain that dinosaurs were incapable of speech? The Autobos didn't have any agents on Earth at the time. Whirl: Also: they're entertaining. Windchill: *Covers his face.* FakeProwl: I mean, they undoubtedly didn't speak English. But did they not speak at all? Rodimus: *yawns and shoves some more snacks in mouth* Windchill: *Why is he watching this.* starscream: I'm amazed any organics can speak Whirl: I mean, if YOU can manage it, then why can't a bunch of walking meat do it? FakeProwl: *snorts* ItsyBitsySpyers: [[His Shockwave did not report speech as it is commonly understood. That does not mean there was no communication.]] starscream: Shut up ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Body language, scent, territory markers, specific calls...]] Whirl: Nah, I don't think I will. This is, after all, MY culture club. Whirl: Now, I wanna enjoy the movie, so pipe down. Whirl: ...well, okay. OUR Cultue Club. *gestures to co-founder Prowl* ItsyBitsySpyers: {{Little Swoops!}} FakeProwl: *nods grandly* Windchill: *It doesn't sound diabolically tragic anymore, so he's opened his eyes again.* Jitterbun: *Chill rabbit is enjoying the idle crosstalk. Its comforting noise.* Windchill: What is that blue thing? Whirl: *okay now. even whirl is kind of touched by that* ItsyBitsySpyers: *She tugs Rodimus' shoulders with a feeler. Look, organic versions of her missing minion.* Windchill: Besides generous, I mean. Ratchet: *flops across Prowl to peer down at Ravage* Whirl: *the little flying squirt who fought so hard for that cherry giving it to the sad guy* Whirl: *of course, his lack of a face makes it very easy to hide that* Shockbox: Can I at least trust the physical representations of these creatures in this movie to be accurate? ItsyBitsySpyers: *Ravage blinks in confusion and tries to bop Ratchet with a paw.* Rodimus: *was spaced out* Eh what? Ratchet: *and dangles a string of tinsel over the edge of the couch* ItsyBitsySpyers: {{It little Swoops. Rod bot did not see?}} Ratchet: You got that spicy stuff? Whirl: I dunno. Some kinda.... blue thing? ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Somewhat accurate.]] Windchill: It looked like a blue potato. That's what I'm calling it. Rodimus: It that what those were? *stupid grin* Rodimus: A leaf matrix Whirl: They really nailed this soundtrack. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Ravage's optics brighten like three thousand percent. He snaps at the tinsel.* Ratchet: *pulls it back* Rodimus: *snickers* Shockbox: *Will have to look more extensively into these creatures later.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *GROWLS* Ratchet: Uh-uh. You already got some. ItsyBitsySpyers: *SWIPE GIVE IT TO HIM* FakeProwl: ((why does he keep not eating his leaves. god.)) starscream: Brilliant Jitterbun: *An ear perks up  twoards the bargoning mechs* Ratchet: There was a deal. Tinsel for spicy stuff. starscream: What a genius ItsyBitsySpyers: //Poor li'l fragger.// Whirl: Yeah. ItsyBitsySpyers: //It ain't a good time gettin' separated.// Whirl: *spares Rumble a comforting nudge* Shockbox: (( how old is he supposed to be at this point? to not be able to tell a shadow from a real dinosaur.)) Whirl: *he, of course, does not know exactly how Rumble feels, but he will sympathize as much as he can* Windchill: *Crosses his arms.* Whirl: She's my favorite. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Ravage's audial dishes flatten out, but he shakes out a little red cube. Spicy stuff. Give him the tinsel.* Windchill: Look at her tail. Windchill: It points straight up! ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble nudges Whirl back. He ain't sad. It's just moody in here tonight. What're you comfortin' him for.* Ratchet: *is THAT all. that little cube.* Whirl: *because you're his friend daingert* Windchill: *He might be a little jealous, as he does not have a tail to signify when he is having an attitude.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *You only have one tinsel strand. What do you expect?* Ratchet: I know Sludge already brought you a delivery. Rodimus: *this soon to be exstint dinos seems alot like Cybertron pre war -.-* starscream: ((People can recognise themself in a mirror at 6 months, I assume something like that)) Windchill: Rude... ItsyBitsySpyers: *Doesn't it though?* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Ravage grumbles and shakes loose another small cube. He doesn't jam his subspace as full of fuel as the others. He can... get his on the run, as it were.* Shockbox: (( hm. )) Ratchet: *two cubes is acceptable. here's ur tinsel, kitty cat.* Jitterbun: ((Lol little parasite relationship. <3)) Windchill: A cretin appears. Whirl: *theatric gasp* Whirl: Windchill... it's you. Shockbox: (( so much brain damage in this movie. )) ItsyBitsySpyers: *Ravage gobbles up the strand and promptly drags himself along the couch bottom with his claws. On his side.* Windchill: WHAT. Whirl: It's you. Windchill: How is THAT. *He points at the screen.* Windchill: ME?! Jitterbun: *Flips back up* That was- I thought the flora was gonna attack 'em. Whirl: *starts SNICKERING MADLY AT THAT LAUGH* Jitterbun: ... Windchill: Besides the coattails. Whirl: The wing shape. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[...That looks like most flight lessons he's seen.]] Windchill: Well... FakeProwl: ... Falling? Rodimus: *hands LB the last of his snacks* Windchill: Okay. I can almost see where you got that idea. Jitterbun: This is interestin' behavior. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Nom nom nom! She'll hum Rodimus a little thank-you song.* Windchill: But I don't have a face like that at all. starscream: See?  Stupid. Whirl: Pfft. It's hilarious that some fliers needed FLIGHT LESSONS. *preens* starscream: I told you organics are dumb ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Not every flight model comes out of the well perfectly coordinated.]] FakeProwl: ((if she'd kept going she could've blinded him.)) Whirl: I know. Poor things. Shockbox: (( spooky eye was spooky. )) Ratchet: [[ oh my god sarah you had the perfect opportunity to stab it the *** in the eye what'd you stop for ]] Jitterbun: ((FEAR)) ItsyBitsySpyers: *Whirl don't make him come over there* Whirl: *preens more* Windchill: *Never mind. He might be more again to the winged cretin than he originally estimated.* Windchill: *akin wow Whirl: Pfft. Well. This guy isn't gonna grow up to be Chatterbox. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble giggles. Carrier.* Jitterbun: *Stares down the quirky flier, and then windchill. Yeah he sees the resemblence.* FakeProwl: @Soundwave «How did you learn?» Windchill: *SNORTS* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Soundwave shakes his helm at the screen. This feels like life with his unit sometimes.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Glances at Prowl* Whirl: *but yes. He took to the air like a duck to water. But, he wasn't quite as graceful... on the ground... but nobody needs to know that* Whirl: *spastic baby emu whirl* FakeProwl: *glances back. what.* Ratchet: *watches Ravage for a bit with a little smile, then quietly presents to Soundwave A Large Amount of silver and gold tinsel. Christmas and New Year's are past, the time for undecorating has come.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Nothing, he's just thinking of how to explain it.* starscream: Do they think there is only one? Jitterbun: Speaking like there's only one of 'em. I guess they really are young. starscream: They have family and others of their own kind, why wouldn't the sharptooth? Whirl: *she's such a little theatric ***. The best* ItsyBitsySpyers: //She tells stories like Starscream.// Windchill: *Very entertaining.* Whirl: PFFT. FakeProwl: *snorts* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Soundwave is temporarily distracted by the tinsel. He'll stuff that in his subspace before Ravage can make his way back around to the front of the couch and get it.* starscream: Excuse me?  I don't talk like that ItsyBitsySpyers: *He's... not actually sure where Ravage is right now. Hmm.* FakeProwl: *the best part of tonight has been the constant Starscream disses.* Jitterbun: ((The late egg)) Rodimus: Laserbeak Ima bounce, mech now pearch time for you~ ItsyBitsySpyers: [[He will see you are brought more fuel next time.]] Ratchet: @Soundwave ::Don't let him forget he owes me for that.:: Shockbox: (( pfff, spike. )) Ratchet: Heh. Good. ItsyBitsySpyers: {{Aww... okaaaaaay. You come back soon, being more perching.}} Windchill: He's just...eating. Windchill: *Frowns.* Rodimus: *gets up to wander back off* Rodimus: *he isnt at all intersted watching this again* Whirl: Seeya, Rodders. Ratchet: *and now Ratchet will hop off the couch to collect his two cubes.* Jitterbun: Wow- they're lucky they didn't get crushed then! Whirl: That is so. Totally. You. Whirl: *nudges Windchill* Windchill: What. Windchill: I spaced out what happened. Whirl: He was being hugely dramatic. Chromedome: hullo Windchill: Oh. Windchill: Then yeah. Whirl: Like you. Windchill: You got me. Whirl: *IMMEDIATELY TWISTS HIS GHELM AROUND and stares intensely at Chromedome* YOU. FakeProwl: *IMMEDIATELY TENSES UP* Chromedome: oh dang I love this movie Whirl: Hey, Windchill: My teeth don't chatter like that though, unless I WANT them to. Windchill: *Turns to regard the New Guy.* Jitterbun: ((Welcome CD) Whirl: *intense. Stare* Welcome to Culture Club. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rodimus is gone. Chromedome is here. Soundwave interrupts his explanation in progress to ping him, worried* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Ping Prowl, that is.* Rodimus: ((I am still here lol FakeProwl: It was good to see you, Ratchet. I'm afraid I have to leave early tonight. Ratchet: ... oh. ItsyBitsySpyers: ((i meant rodimus had IC wandered off the room, lol)) Ratchet: Well... have a good night, then! FakeProwl: *farewell ping to Soundwave.* FakeProwl: @Soundwave «Let me know if he leaves.» ItsyBitsySpyers: *...Farewell ping/acknowledgment ping.* Whirl: *returns his attention to the film* FakeProwl: *avatar deactivates. prowl is Gone.* Whirl: AGAIN with this soundtrack. Gorgeous. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Well then. He should act like he doesn't know this bot.* Jitterbun: *...and then Jitter starts, staring at where Prowl had been* ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Greetings, newcomer.]] Whirl: *oh dangit sop movie, with the sad tiny baby vulnerable little dinosaur* Jitterbun: Wait- he's been a hologram? ItsyBitsySpyers: [[...Yes?]] Whirl: Oh, yeah. Needles, this is Culcutre Club. Culture Club, this is Needles. Or, as he Whirl: s more commonly known, Chromedome. Whirl: He' Chromedome: Dont call me tHAT Whirl: Fine, fine. Ratchet: [[ >sees Needles >wonders why Whirl is introducing Slendy ]] Windchill: *Waves. That's all the greeting you get from him, consider yourself fortunate, not-Needles.* Whirl: ((that cuttof "he's" was meant to explain prowl so I'll elt slendy do it)) Trepan: Organic Predacons? ItsyBitsySpyers: *Chromedome AND Trepan. Oh dear.* Jitterbun: *Disgruntled by his revelation, and being unintentionlly out of the loop, the petrorabbit begins to groom himself* Whirl: *SWIVELS HIS HELM DRAMATICALLY AROUND AGAIN TO STAAARE AT TREPAN* HEY. You. Trepan: OnO Jitterbun: *All these latecomers* Trepan: "Heello Chromedome: :) Whirl: Welcome to Culture Club Trepan: Thank you ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Organic Dinobots.]] Whirl: They're diosaurs, by the way. *returns attention to the film* Trepan: I brought rust sticks and jelly jets as my contribution to the movie FakeProwl: ((what a pretty spider web)) Jitterbun: *Pawing muzzle and ears* Shockbox: *acknowledging the presence of newcomers* Chromedome: *hungrily motions at the rust sticks* Ratchet: *waves to both Cgromedome and Trepan* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Ravage pops his helm over the back of the couch and watches Jitterbox. Prey... no. No not prey don't eat bots in public. Stay. Stay here, claw the couch.* Whirl: *nods* Those of you with mouths, tuck in. Windchill: I refuse. ItsyBitsySpyers: Jitterbun* Windchill: Because... Windchill: I'm a rebel. Windchill: *He has the biggest mouth of all, too.* Whirl: *looking's free, Ravage; if you make a move Whirl is gonna Get Ya* ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Chromedome and... who might the other one be?]] Whirl: Some kinda masseuse. Trepan: Suit yourself" Handing them over to Chromedome Trepan: "Yes, Whirl. A 'Masseuse'" Chromedome: Yessss~ Jitterbun: *Calmer now and blissfully unware of the new attention, Jitter settles back down and apraises the group once more* Whirl: *I mean, that's all that Whirl knows him as* ItsyBitsySpyers: [[And do you have a designation, masseuse?]] Trepan: " 'Nimbus'" Jitterbun: a Masseuse? You had those on Cybertron? That's a profession? FakeProwl: ((spike is a treasure)) ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Thank you.]] Whirl: Before the war, yeah. He works off a space station though. Jitterbun: Chromedom' and Nimbus- and they're both Massuses. Jitterbun: Sounds like a popular thing, then. Whirl: Nah, Chromedome's an ex-mnemosurgeon. Trepan: Yes, aren't we Chromedome" Whirl: Full-time junxy now. *snickers* Chromedome: Dont drag me into this Trepan Trepan: :P Whirl: ...*looks at Trepan* You know each other? ..."Trepan?" ItsyBitsySpyers: *Oh, this is delightful.* Trepan: "Thank you, Chromedome" FakeProwl: ((clearly tis isn't lava, it's glowing strawberry jam.)) Windchill: *He prefers the on-screen drama to whatever interpersonal drama you've all conjured up, thanks.* ItsyBitsySpyers: ((the blood of berrycron)) Whirl: *also returns his attention to the--what the heck is that* Windchill: *It's a heffalump* starscream: Well that's different ItsyBitsySpyers: \\BOY, SHE YELLS A LOT.\\ Trepan: Sitting nice and quiet for Whirl to forget Windchill: *You can tell by the trunk* Jitterbun: Littelfoot suddenly got strong. Whirl: *ohoho he is npt forgetting THAT* Shockbox: Reminds me of someone I know. Trepan: is Sara Prowl? Shockbox: *Looking directly at frenzy for but a moment.* ItsyBitsySpyers: \\YEAH? MUS' BE REAL TOUGH BEIN' AROUND 'EM.\\ Whirl: Nah, she's not a damn thing like him. ItsyBitsySpyers: *He's ignoring the glance. Frenzy knows he's loud. He can't help it. She can.* Trepan: Murdersaurs)) Whirl: *HE'S PLANNING TO KILL HIM. WAT A LITTLE CHAMP* Jitterbun: ((I never understood that formation at the top)) Shockbox: *Just milking the irony a bit.* Jitterbun: ((Like 'is it a castle)) Jitterbun: ((Is it a cave)) ItsyBitsySpyers: *Littlefoot seems more Prowl-ish right there than Cera ever does.* Whirl: *NOW he's rapt, watching these little baby diosaurs plot to kill this huge horrible creature* FakeProwl: *yknow what prowl might be gone but he still has comm access* starscream: They're going to get eaten Whirl: Hey, but what a way to go--avenging the death of his mother! ItsyBitsySpyers: *Hey, Soundwave's not thinking of it as a bad thing.* Whirl: Might as well give it a shot. Windchill: *Tries not to laugh at the whistling, snorts instead.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Also he didn't say that out loud.* FakeProwl: @Soundwave «Do I get to hear about your flight lessons, or did I give up that right?» Jitterbun: Thats- really foolish. starscream: Is he even sure it's the same one? Jitterbun: Its a wothless, silly thing ta do. FakeProwl: ((no no, that wasn't a reply, it was an introduction to a comm.)) Whirl: Yeah, it Whirl: 's got the one eye. ItsyBitsySpyers: ((ohhh)) Whirl: Or, wait. So I thought. Shockbox: (( has the stream started to lag a little bit for anybody else?)) FakeProwl: ((it's ok here)) ItsyBitsySpyers: //This here's how come ya don't underestimaim us little fraggers.// Chromedome: [ nah :v ] Whirl: ((sorry Shockwave :<)) starscream: ((Mine's okay)) Whirl: It was a good death. ItsyBitsySpyers: {{Brave birdsaur.}} Jitterbun: ...see, thats what risky things like that'll do Whirl: That's how I'd wanna go. Locked n mortal combat with something thousands of time my size. Jitterbun: Coulda just kep on their way, made it ba- Jitterbun: ... Jitterbun: Well, Sometimes ya get lucky. ItsyBitsySpyers: @Prowl: (txt): Will explain now. Whirl: It was worth a shot, I say. Whirl: *the lot of them have endeared themselves to Whirl with their homicidal cmpaign* ItsyBitsySpyers: \\DAMN STRAIGHT\\ Raises his handful of snack to Whirl Jitterbun: ((okay thats cute but how did little even get up there) Trepan: her ghost has been avenged )) Windchill: *He's just glad that unlike the creature he's being compared to, he's too big to be manhandled like that by most people.* Jitterbun: (('give me the blood of the sharptooth'00 Rodimus: ((little foot is rodimus Whirl: ((to Whirl?)) Chromedome: [ is Chromedome: [ wow ok meant is mother optimus to rodimus Whirl: ((oh, wait, yes)) ItsyBitsySpyers: ((like a hear hear snif, about dying locked in combat etc)) Whirl: *nods to him in return* Shockwave II changed their nickname to Shockwave. Rodimus: ((lol i was thinking the matrix was his mom Shockwave: (( seeing as alder isn't here. )) Windchill: I just noticed. Windchill: Spike has the purple eyes of evil. FakeProwl: ((I like how ducky's family just immediately adopts spike. no questions asked.)) Whirl: ((best family ;u;/ )) Chromedome: *sniffles Jitterbun: ((yes. they're so happy to thave their ducky back and are happy to welcome her friend)) Whirl: That was pretty damn good, Ratchet, Whirl: *definitely liked it more than he thought he would* Trepan: *quickly escapes before Whirl asks questions* Jitterbun: (i killed a sharptooth at 6months old) Ratchet: Hehehe. The Dinobots love it. Jitterbun: (Thats quite the accomplishment)) Whirl: *oh, as if he'd disrupt his beloved Culture Club to do that. He can ask you LATER* Ratchet: ... except Grimlock. He's not a fan. ItsyBitsySpyers: @Prowl: (txt): Many renowned energon seekers joined Decepticons. Private lessons given; Megatron ordered. This, same time Soundwave began front line departure, accepted more... Whirl: PFFT, HAHA! Whirl: I can see wy. ItsyBitsySpyers: *What was a good description?* Shockwave: *This ending has been the most saccharine out of anything he has viewed during these gatherings.* Shockwave: *...considering that he's been mostly watching horror flicks, that isn't saying much.* Windchill: Hmph. ItsyBitsySpyers: @Prowl: (txt): More... faction supervision, coordination duties? Whirl: All right! Let's see...hm. I guess I could ask Rodders to pick the next on. Whirl: If he doesn't, I can always ask our co-founder. Jitterbun: Thanks for the seat, Whirl. *Nudges him amiably before hopping off and bounding lightly across the room* starscream: ((I would suggest not googling the VAs)) ItsyBitsySpyers: \\KINDA MUSHY, BUT I GUESS THEM SHARPTOOTH FIGHTS WAS GOOD.\\ Windchill: *Shifts, crossing his legs just enough to disturb Whirl's feet A LITTLE* Whirl: No prob, Jitter. *you might be a freaky Velocitronian pervert, but you're basically a friend at this point* Whirl: Yeah! Gotta hand it to those babies. They did good for themselves. Jitterbun: ((Yeah SS, I think many know about poor  Judith Barsi)) Whirl: *shifts his feet in retaliation* Whirl: ((ye... me too. I shant't bring it up here(( Shockwave: *Seems a bit distant. Thinking dinobot-themed thoughts.* Windchill: ((LEt's not. )) Windchill: *Bounces his leg. Let's go, bro.* starscream: ((that's what I'm talking about, was trying to warn anyone who didn't know)) ItsyBitsySpyers: //Woop!// Rumble was balancing on Windchill, down to the floor he goes. Rodimus: ((First Blood FakeProwl: *ping. faction supervision/coordination makes perfect sense to him.* Rodimus: ((thats what rodimus would pick Ratchet: [[ i literally never look up voice actors but now you mentioned it so i have to ]] Windchill: Oops. Whirl: *SIGHS theatrically and lofts his feet up off Windchill* You may go. As I recall, you've got your own egg to look after. Shockwave: ((  i've seen tumblr posts about it. tragic. )) ItsyBitsySpyers: *Oh, good. He wasn't sure about that.* Whirl: Also, have you got to the doc YET Whirl: *? Whirl: *HE WILL CATCH YOU RUMBLE* ItsyBitsySpyers: *THANK* Whirl: *NYOOM DAD REFLEXES ACTIVATE* Jitterbun: *Is more amazed he made it through the film without chewing a dent into the wreckers armor* Windchill: *He was going to lean forward to check on Rumble, whom he just practically MURDERED, but groans and leans back in his seat instead. That's all the answer you're going to get, Whirl.* Whirl: *you have been firmly but gently clamped in a claw. He sets Rumble down on the couch proper* Whirl: Dammit, Windchill. Am I gonna hafta force you to go to one of OURS? Whirl: Do it before you have to deal with a wriggler! Whirl: Cos then you'll have NO time. Rodimus: ((Rambo:  First Blood thats rodimus's pick Windchill: Don't tell me what to do! Rodimus: ((...I dont tihnk i can get more IC than that xD Whirl: ((SO IT SHALL BE DONE)) Whirl: I will absolutely tell you what to do. Windchill: Sorry, little dude. *@ Rumble, he's really bad at names.* I forgot you were sitting on me. ItsyBitsySpyers: @Prowl: (txt): Most early lessons factual. Introduction data. Part coordination, readouts, other. Later, hovering. Slow, low flights. Whirl: I can come and Get You anytime, so think about THAT and try to sleep easy. Windchill: So? You think you can threaten me, is that it? Jitterbun: *Sits a healthy distance away as he observse the potential roughhousing.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble shakes his helm and gets comfy where he's been deposited* ItsyBitsySpyers: //'S cool. I ain't dyin' from no fall like that.// ItsyBitsySpyers: *Also, Soundwave would not be surprised to hear the Dinobot thoughts if he was allowed to skim and catch them* Whirl: Oh, no, Of course not. FakeProwl: @Soundwave «You can hover? Huh.» Windchill: *Squints.* Whirl: I KNOW I can threaten you. And don't think that I am not a big enougn mech to put aside my differences, swallow my HEALTHY volumes of distaste, brace myself... Whirl: and tell... HIM. Whirl: Your BIG SQUEEZE. Whirl: Your HONEY BUNCHES OF OATS. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Soundwave passes over the short clip from the energon harvester episode where he's doing exactly that over the museum* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Prowl's forgotten already?* Whirl: ((he can hover and he has a Mighty Fine pivot Prowl, you should see it sometime)) FakeProwl: *l o o k. 90% of his attention during that episode was zeroed in on the hot doctor with the seatbelts.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *...Forgivable.* Whirl: ((PROWL. PIVOT.)) Whirl: ((LOOK AT YOUR BOYTOY WHEN HE PIVOTS DAMMIT)) Jitterbun: *...Jitter's come to realize he's unintersted in the direction of public conversation, and so makes a bee line of hops for the snack table, and jumps back on top of it* Shockwave: *Welp. Movie's over. Time to shove three handfuls of energon from the snacktable into his subspace.* Shockwave: *It's starting to become tradition to do this.* Jitterbun: ((Those seatbelts will buckle u in prowl)) ItsyBitsySpyers: *Such a nice tradition to develop, isn't it?* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Eating regularly and all.* FakeProwl: @Soundwave «... Right. It didn't fully register at the time. You don't outwardly appear to have mechanisms to allow hovering.* FakeProwl: **» Shockwave: *it's going to take a lot more work if you ever want to get him sleeping regularly too.* Windchill: Tell him what, eh? ItsyBitsySpyers: *All things in time, if time wishes for it to be so* Whirl: *whirl has no objections to this foreign Shockwave stuffing his face* FakeProwl: ((excuse u those seatbelts are clearly perfectly positioned to act as a leash, prowl ain't the one that's gonna be restrained with them.)) Whirl: *as long as it doesnt turn out he ever hurts, hinders, or otherwise inconveniences any of whrl's pals* Jitterbun: *Wiggles an ear to Shockwave as he passes the snackbar* Whirl: That you're falling the hell apart, and that you need to see a doctor but you won't. I bet HE can make you. Whirl: And not just because he's STUPIDLY HUGE. Chromedome: [ seatbelts are for SAFETY you have been misinformed ] Jitterbun: *Acknowling your prenese, but not looking up from the bowl he's nocked over and started grazing on* FakeProwl: ((YOU HAVE NOT SEEN KNOCK OUT'S SEATBELTS)) ItsyBitsySpyers: @Prowl: (txt): Soundwave's outward appearance hides much. Where Prowl believes Soundwave's feelers kept...? Chromedome: [ thanks now I'm gonna have to look them up lmao ] ItsyBitsySpyers: ((ko's seatbelts are a precious thing)) ItsyBitsySpyers: ((I CAN GET YOU A CLIP HOLD UP)) Windchill: *Crosses his arms, looking altogether cross.* Whirl: ((send it over I'LL SCREEN IT FOR YA)) FakeProwl: @Soundwave «A separate plane of existence.» Whirl: *stares, triumphant. Probably. It's hard to tell with his face* Windchill: That's not how it works. Chromedome: [ *nervoussweating.png ] Shockwave: *he almost wishes his antennae could wiggle back. sadly, that is not how his antennae function. he shows a mite of acknowledgement before stealing from the table.* Whirl: *you have made The Biggest Mistake. You befriended Whirl. He's gonna do everything to keep you in one piece, even if it means turning to people he dislikes* Whirl: You saying that just 1000% convinced me that  it DOES. Whirl: I bet all he has to do is make a face. A SAD FACE. And you crumble. ItsyBitsySpyers: ((https://youtu.be/o_XG1IFyve0?t=1m24s)) Whirl: Because that's what happens when you're all TWITTERPATED. *nudges Windchill with his foot* I know your weakness  now. Jitterbun: *Enjoy your treats, dear scientist. The temporary petrorabbit will bid you more socialization later. Once he's sated this instinctal urge* Windchill: *SNORTS.* ItsyBitsySpyers: @Prowl: (txt): Prowl more observant than most. (amused) Many modifications. All necessary to know. Windchill: That's only like...one weakness. Whirl: ((uh... HM. DOESN'T. WANNA DO SCREEN REGIONS...?)) Windchill: I have several. Shockwave: *Snacks scientifically.* Jitterbun: *...pauses his eating at the sound of music, and looks towards the screen.* Windchill: NOT TELLING YOU what the others are. Windchill: But that's still not how it works. Whirl: ((i dunno wtf xsplit is doin but ol)) FakeProwl: ((i like how my ls is apparently way behind)) starscream: ((dat face)) FakeProwl: ((because the audio only just started)) ItsyBitsySpyers: ((this is an ooc thing btw)) Jitterbun: ....what even is this? Shockwave: (( oh, pff.)) FakeProwl: ((put it on slo-mo)) Jitterbun: Whirl- what's yoru facination with Doctor Knockou's neck? Whirl: (9THIS IS OOC)) Jitterbun: ((OH OKAY)) ItsyBitsySpyers: ((LMFAO THIS MUSIC)) Shockwave: (( /christ/.)) Whirl: ((WHIRL IS NOT ATTRACTED TO KNOCK OUT0) FakeProwl: ((we're showing chromedome-mun Dem Belts)) Shockwave: (( don't tell me you're gonna pull out the careless whisper next.)) Jitterbun: ((THANK YOU FOR CLARIFICATION)) Jitterbun: (SSSHHHH)) FakeProwl: ((prowl is the one into Dem Belts)) Jitterbun: (THATS JITTERS FAVORITE SONG) Jitterbun: (Or on the top ten)) Jitterbun: (Just, pull and snap 'em. Whirl: I don;t need you to tell me, I'll figure em out in time. starscream: ((I never realised he had those until now -_-)) FakeProwl: ((exactly. grab 'em both in your hands and TUG.)) Chromedome: [ alskdjf ] Windchill: Pffft, then you'd better get crackin.' Shockwave: (( that is so weird. )) ItsyBitsySpyers: *But yes. He can indeed hover and pivot Very Nicely. He may not be the fastest in the air, but he knows what he's doing, and that's enough.* FakeProwl: ((i appreciate the loving pan, snif)) Jitterbun: (((Only if you keep zooming in on it it is)) Jitterbun: ((Also that mouse heart) ItsyBitsySpyers: ((i'm laughing so bad)) FakeProwl: ((this is, admittedly, not the most flattering angle)) Windchill: (( You need help. )) Jitterbun: taht half lidded gaze) Chromedome: [ do you think if you tug on them too hard the air bag goes off ] ItsyBitsySpyers: ((LMAO)) Jitterbun: ((NOT SEXY Whirl: ((NOT SEXY BUT COMEDY GOLD)) FakeProwl: ((what we see here is a direct stream of Prowl's brain when Knock Out is on screen.)) Shockwave: (( ...where are his airbags, in bipedal mode? )) Whirl: ((PUFF IM DYIN)) FakeProwl: ((boob)) starscream: ((I want to see what happens when a tfs airbags deploy now)) Shockwave: (( PFFF.)) Jitterbun: ((There is a comic Jitterbun: Of it happeing to Optimus Whirl: (lemme show you a similar situation but from whirl's perspective)) Shockwave: (( a /canon/ comic? )) FakeProwl: ((no no, fanart)) Shockwave: (( a shame.)) Windchill: (( GOD I remember this. )) Jitterbun: Damnit Gunface ItsyBitsySpyers: ((psst >>   https://youtu.be/NG0ZId6Xiao?t=4m32s)) Shockwave: (( holy ***, i want a face that can turn into a gun. )) Chromedome: [ * shot through the heart plays in the bg ] FakeProwl: ((u kno u can play vids at like 1/4 speed on youtube.)) starscream: ((mmmm watcha say~)) FakeProwl: ((i feel like that would enhance all these clips)) Whirl: ((HAHHAA)) Whirl: ((OKAY MAYBE BUT EXPECT HIM TO ADMIT IT 0%)) FakeProwl: ((nice pivot)) FakeProwl: ((AND LOOK. IT'S THE SEXY DOCTOR AGAIN.)) Whirl: ((hgere we go. for prowl AND whirl's benefit)) ItsyBitsySpyers: ((oh my god i'm crying)) Jitterbun: ((I'm happy)) Jitterbun: (SW does the thing)) FakeProwl: ((that's why prowl couldn't remember. like one second after that pivot, DOC KNOCK.)) Whirl: ((whirl never forgets a good pivot)) Chromedome: [ he looks like a slow turning ceiling fan ] Whirl: ((and especially not a gorgeous one)) ItsyBitsySpyers: ((BOY)) FakeProwl: ((CEILING FAN)) Whirl: ((HAHAHA)) FakeProwl: ((g1 soundwave kept hidden by pretending to be a light post)) FakeProwl: ((this is how tfp soundwave kept hidden)) Whirl: All right, you losers/ Time to go. I gotta clean up. *waves a claw* FakeProwl: ((lurking on the ceiling)) Whirl: I'll let you know when I got Rodders's pick. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Very well.]] Chromedome: [ this was nice :) bye everyone ] ItsyBitsySpyers: ((bye)) Whirl: ((THANKS FOR COMIN ALL Whirl: AND THANKS FOR THE PICK RATCHET)) Jitterbun: //Thanks much. See everyone around! FakeProwl: ((YES THANKS FOR THE PICK sorry prowl vanished)) FakeProwl: ((... i think fabu's gone)) Shockwave: (( thank you for the stream! )) Windchill: *FINE, he'll just get up then.* FakeProwl: ((also thanks for streaming)) Windchill: ((Such a good movie... THANK. )) Jitterbun: https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Cj87FzTWsAE8JVS.jpg Jitterbun: Optimus Prime Faceplant Whirl: Remember what I said Jitterbun: now I bid Adu Whirl: *points at. Severely* Whirl: And, seeya, Jitter. Good luck on the rabbit thing. Windchill: Don't tell me what to do. Jitterbun: Yeah yeah- it oughtta figure itself out soon. Jitterbun: *bounds away* Whirl: *he only does it cos he cares, Windchill. That's why he's gotten so unbearable* Windchill: *Y U NO UNDERSTADN* Whirl: *because he's him, tbh* Shockwave: *he's still here. stopped snacking a bit ago. swears he isn't taking more than a bowl with him.* Whirl: *also Windchill you're basically his best pal and one of, like, two people who genuinely seem to care about him, HE'S NOT GONNA LET YOU GO* Whirl: *SO DON'T DIE* Windchill: *And because someone won't talk about it tbh.* Whirl: *he's gonna hop up off the couch, careful not to dislodge Rumble, and get started tidying* Whirl: *very brisk tonight. he has THINGS to do* Windchill: Goodnight. Whirl: G'night, dipshi t. Whirl: *said affectionately* ItsyBitsySpyers: *They're going to get gathered up and flee. They've got tomorrow to prepare for and that means getting enough rest to field Questions.* ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Farewell, Whirl, Windchill, Shockwave.]] Shockwave: Farewell. Windchill: *He is gone, goodbye.* Windchill: *Time to go stew somewhere else.* Windchill: *You are all safe now.* Whirl: Seeya, Chatterbox! Whirl: And you, too, Other Shockwave. Whirl: *srroy, you're Othe Shockwave forever, now* Shockwave: *He accepts that he wasn't the first shockwave in the friend group.* Shockwave: *And, well. he wasn't in any rush to leave, but being that it would have been just him and whirl otherwise, he figures he has better stuff to do.* Shockwave: *The movie might have inspired him, in a few ways.* Whirl: *Whirl isn't opposed to chatting with new folks, but he's distracetd tonight. He has............ a MISSION* Shockwave: (( heheh. looks like all our muses are busy then. seeya. )) Whirl: ((night y'all!))