#barely even writing

[barelyevenwriting]

Day 5 Here’s What I Remember

Here’s what I remember

After all the things you left me:

    Memories branded into softened clay.

    There is a certain cadence to silence,

Timing steps with exhales

And curling arms into elbows

And too gentle ribs.

    There is an art to the madness,

Words bursting through windows and walls,

Hands that grip too tight,

Leaving marks for too long.

    Your steps are always leaving,

Dragging sadness and nausea away

Back out into halls that I swore

I would never again visit.

    There is a pattern to the lonely,

To the pulling of strings and hairs

And pushing down in imagined misbehavior.

    These are lessons I know,

Step forward then backward,

Always to the side,

Be heard but not listened to.

    There is a madness to words

Flowing in and out of conversation,

Lessons taught in concrete silences.

    There is more of the lesser parts of me,

That I wish I’d never learnt to understand,

To recognize among the chaos.

    You always leaving

And me coming back into silences.

    There was a beauty to pain,

That never lasted beyond the first lesson

Before it dragged us back into the light

Where glass and nails made forgiveness

Their only weapon.

[wraetingsonthewall]

sometimes your brain really just offers you one banger of a sentence and then that's it for the entire rest of the day. creativity expired, the ability to think has clocked out for the day, context for as to how we even get to this sentence? sorry we're all out. this one sentence is all you get.

[puppetslooselystrung]

little comic i made bc i found out abt the fact that molting is a thing.. bugs are so cool

[ofswordsandpens]

thinking about a world in which RR actually committed to the path he set Percy on in hoo (wherein Percy has become jaded, angry, and resentful at the gods for breaking their sworn promises, is frequently sympathizing with Luke, is getting more and more powerful, and frequently losing himself to wrath) and instead of the subsequent Percy Jackson books being about getting recommendation letters, we could have gotten a trilogy exploring a fallen hero arc for Percy (that would ultimately have a positive resolution to it.)

[chronalshifts]

i think a lot of people are calling viktor’s reaction to waking up changed and then almost immediately leaving for zaun unrealistic and like… yes it would be. for someone whose mind has not been affected by the hexcore. he speaks differently, he hears sky’s voice through its influence, he can no longer feel the cold, or the warmth of jayce’s hug. he walks away from jayce because he can no longer feel the affection that kept them together, and he sees no logical point in remaining when they have no common ground anymore. he might not be a machine externally, exactly, but his mind certainly isn’t human anymore.

[sai-int]

so. currently burning up with a 101.2 degree fever and feeling horrible, so i’m thinking of john (price) doting on you, loving you, overall making sure you’re alright.

BUT, the gods insist that—despite being sick—you need dick. unfortunately for john, he couldn’tve predicted how hot you’d be:

—side note: i swear on literally every star in the sky that i’ve read something like this months ago but with simon; im not intending to copy that at all, but also if anyone finds it PLEASE tell me so i can kiss the authors brain

the fever’s been wrecking you all day. your body aches. your face feels like it’s been scrubbed with sandpaper. you’re hot, then freezing, then hot again. eyes watering, nose raw. and even though all you want is peace and quiet and maybe to disintegrate gently into your mattress, john keeps checking on you like he’s running a one-man field hospital in your bedroom.

the door creaks open—again. you groan without looking. “john.”

“i know, i know,” comes his voice, soft and smug, “i’m not listenin’. again.”

you peek out from under the blanket. he’s there with a warm compress in one hand, a glass of water in the other, and that damn look on his face like he’s the one who’s worried sick.

“you’re gonna catch it,” you croak, dragging his shirt higher over your nose. you’ve been wearing it all day—oversized, soft, frayed at the cuffs from how often he wears it to bed. it still smells like him, even though you’ve probably sweat through it twice.

john sets the glass down on the bedside table, leans forward, and presses the compress to your forehead with a gentleness that has your chest aching more than the fever does.

“then i catch it,” he says simply. “not leavin’ you to suffer alone.”

“you could, y’know. just text me from the other room like a sane person.”

“not a chance.” he shifts down into the bed, stretching out beside you, his body already warm and solid. “i know you don’t ask for help when you’re sick, so i’m not giving you the chance.”

you grumble something unintelligible, but when he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into him—blankets cocooned around both of you—you melt fast and easy.

his hand slips under your shirt. big and rough and familiar. he rubs slow, lazy circles into your stomach, the backs of your hips, grounding you in the storm of your fever. you sigh, tuck your face against his neck, even if you mumble, “you’re so stubborn.”

“and you’re terrible at takin’ care of yourself,” he replies, kissing your temple.

it’s all comfort, warmth, and his scent—tobacco and cedar and the faint bite of his cologne. you can barely hold a thought. the heat of him seeps into your bones. you’re hazy, a little dizzy, all soft edges and skin. maybe it’s the fever. maybe it’s him.

maybe it’s both.

because at some point—somewhere between his hands drifting lower and your body arching back into him—you stop pretending to care about being sick. you roll your hips once. slow. deliberate. and his hand freezes on your thigh.

“careful,” he says, voice pitched low against your ear. “keep that up and i’ll think you’re feelin’ better.”

you give him a breathy laugh. “always feelin’ good enough for you.”

john groans softly and nuzzles into your neck, scruff scraping your skin. “fuck you’re warm, baby,” he mutters. “got me hard just touchin’ you.”

his hand slips further between your thighs, fingertips brushing heat and wet through the thin cotton of your underwear. you whimper—all fragile and needy for his touch—and he swears under his breath.

“you’re soaked,” he murmurs, like it’s a prayer. “burnin’ up too, and still wantin’ me. that it, sweetheart?”

you nod, dazed. your body’s too sensitive, skin too hot, nerves already lit up. he moves with a slowness that borders on reverence, pulling your underwear aside, not even bothering to take them off, just baring enough to slide two thick fingers through the mess between your legs.

“need me?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, his voice a low rasp. “tell me, dove.”

“need you,” you whisper, barely able to form the words.

he doesn’t make you wait. he tugs the waistband of his sweats down just enough, then guides himself to your entrance from behind, still spooning you, still holding you close like he’s afraid to let go. he eases into you with a low, guttural sound—one that sends heat spiraling up your spine.

you arch into him, dragging him deeper, and he grips your hip like a lifeline.

“fuck, baby,” he gasps, his breath catching. “you’re boilin—fuck–”

it happens fast.

wayyy too fast.

you’re hot and soft and pulsing around him, and his brain just short circuits. his whole body jerks against yours with a broken groan, hips twitching, and he spills into you before he can even warn you—his head tipping back, face twisted with desperate pleasure.

“…oh… christ,” he mutters, panting, still buried inside you. “that was not supposed to happen.”

you blink, stunned. “did you just—”

“yes.”

“you just got in there—”

“yes.”

there’s a beat of silence. and then you both start laughing, breathless and disbelieving, tangled in fever heat and sticky sheets as his spend drips out of you and down your thighs.

“awh baby,” you coo, sniffling, eyes closed as you lean into him.

he kisses the top of your head, still smiling. “yeah, yeah… only you could be this sick and stilll so fuckin’ sexy. so whose fault is that?”

you groan and bury your face in his chest, flushed for too many reasons.

he pulls the blanket tighter around you both, cock still softening inside you, body molded to yours like he was made to fit there. one hand strokes your thigh. the other covers your heart.

“you’re definitely stuck with me,” he murmurs.

“if you get sick, i get bragging rights for eternity.”

“sure, love,” he hums, nuzzling into you as he shuts his eyes.

“long as i’m with you.”

[choccy-milky]

sometimes you gotta lure your overly-studious ravenclaw gf into spending time with you 🥰 📚 ( from 'Every Teardrop is a Waterfall' by Kat_12739 on ao3, GO READ IT!!! the first story is about seb falling sick and still pushing himself/not admitting he's sick until he ends up in the hospital, the second story is about the birth of seb and clora's daughter and seb's reaction to clora almost dying in childbirth, and the third is about dealing with a fussy newborn lewis😭🥹THEY'RE SO GOOD AND SWEET AND SOMEWHAT SAD (not to mention beautifully written) so go check it out!!💖💖 )

[apiciuscats]

— YOU'RE A... CAT?! | Sakamoto Days

🐾 SUMMARY — After an experiment gone wrong, you've magically transformed into a cat! How does your partner react..?

🐾 CHARACTERS — Shin Asakura, Nagumo Yoichi, Uzuki Kei, Gaku, Heisuke Mashimo, Natsuki Seba, Osaragi [separate]

CONTENT & NOTES — Established relationships, probably OOC characters, comedy and fluff, very very mild depictions of fighting [just in case !]. This is my first fic ever on tumblr, and my first official fanfic I ever shared online. I don't write often so keep that in mind before interacting or judging! I'm so nervous posting this. Any advice is appreciated 🥺

WC — 2.2k total. 200-300 per character.

SHIN ASAKURA —

Shin is not used to the change at all. His first thought is prioritizing getting you back. But looking at you now, sleeping in the sun, he starts to wonder if that’s what you really want. Your thoughts are stranger now, harder to read. Sometimes they only appear as images, and the voice in your mind is much quieter. 

Lu is not alarmed at the change at all. In fact, she takes the opportunity to chase you around, trying to pet you or hold you. Shin chastises her to be more careful. She doesn’t offer any good advice on how to turn you back, either, and tries to get you to drink alcohol. Good thing you're still a human inside, or else that could have gone badly. He finds Sakamoto next, but he’s just as useless, only patting your head in silence.

While he’s at the counter focused on thinking, you jump next to him. He looks at your eyes. They’re the exact same colour as when you’re a human. He has to admit you turned into a very cute cat. He looks at you.

”Meow.”

He doesn’t get what you want, but he eventually reaches forward to pet you. 

You leave fur all over him when you lie on his lap. He misses talking to you on breaks, but you still accompany him, tail swaying leisurely and letting Hana pet you, or playing with Piisuke when Heisuke comes by. You seem completely.. unbothered, at least for the time being. He takes a deep breath and tells himself to relax. 

Admittedly he gets worried when he loses sight of you for the first time. He knows typical cats need their sleep and alone time, but he frets that perhaps some assassin took you. Why would an assassin take a cat in the first place, he doesn’t know, but he can’t help but worry anyway. He gets so relieved when he just finds you sleeping or hiding somewhere in the shop or returning from a walk with the Sakamotos. 

Rating: 8/10. He plays with you and gets you back to human form quickly, and you get lots of attention from the employees of the store. 

YOICHI NAGUMO —

He finds the temporary change so cute! You could be stressing out about it and he wouldn’t even care. Loves randomly picking you up and taking you along his merry way or assaulting you with pets. You know the videos where the owner pets their cats more aggressively each time? That’d 100% be him. He just likes teasing you too much!

He buys you all types of cat toys to see if you’re interested in them. Maybe some feline instinct. He waves it in front of you while you’re trying to nap. You don’t seem to be reacting. In fact, you’re rather annoyed at him. But your hissing doesn’t seem to drive him off. But as he places the plastic mouse closer to you, that’s when you strike! You promptly severe the string and fruitlessly throw the mouse at him. Alright, no toys it is. 

Canonically rich. Buys you a lot of luxury cat food. You seem hesitant eating it, so he buys you food both humans and cats can ingest and handfeeds you. Even if he’s a menace, he still wants to make sure you’re healthy and have a full belly to sleep with. 

He knows he eventually has to find a way to revert you to human form again. He busies himself with that when you’re sleeping. For the time being, when you’re awake, he wants to enjoy the time harassing his cute cat partner. 

He certainly doesn’t trust giving you to any of the Order members. Nor does he think any of them would agree to catsit in the first place. If he’s too busy, he opts to drop you off at Sakamoto’s Store, where Hana is more than elated to give you pets. Returns and sneaks up on you [if even he can surpass your now heightened cat senses] and picks you up, ignoring your irritated meows. The best way to get back at him is to scratch his clothing. 

Rating: 6/10. He gets you good food and makes sure you’re alright, but his relentless petting and teasing will drive you up the wall. 

UZUKI KEI —

The predicament is awkward for him. Kashima might know a way to get you back to human form, he thinks, and tries to prioritize that first.

He doesn’t want you to follow him around on his organization business. Sure, the chances of an enemy targeting a cat is slim to none, but there’s a chance for falling debris, or an accidental slash—… and the sight of him with a cute cat following him really diminishes the cold, calculating killer thing he has going on. 

For the time being, he leaves you with Haruma or Kumanomi, who is equally puzzled at the predicament but more than happy to follow his orders or have a cat companion for the day. Gaku seems like the type of person to forget you were there and abandon you, so she’s the only one to trust in this situation. 

He’s not even used to receiving or giving affection while you’re human, so he’s not sure how to approach it when you’re.. well.. a cat. You’ll have to approach him and somehow get it through that you want pets. Meow a lot or lean against his legs, and he eventually hesitantly rubs your head and chin. 

If you really want to follow him while he does his dirty work, he’ll make sure you follow closely. It’s a comical sight to see for the renowned Slur to have a cat following him like a lost lamb, but why does it matter when all the people who witnessed it are dead anyway?

After a bit, he tolerates it and gets used to the predicament. He doesn’t mind giving you a few pats if you approach him. He still wants the entire thing to be over as quickly as possible. He finds out that as cute as you are as a cat, he prefers you as a human much more. 

Rating: 7/10. Given time to at least adjust, he gets you what you need and gives nice pets.. he’s just mostly unsure what to do. 

GAKU —

The situation doesn’t bother him that much. Eventually, someone would find a way to return you to human form. For the time being, the largest loss suffered is someone to play video games with. 

Lets you sit on his shoulder like a Pikachu or on his lap to watch him play games instead. You fall asleep quite easily, and your claws dig into his skin when you try to get a closer look. He doesn’t care that much. You leave cat fur all over him by the time he’s returning to the others. Kumanomi scolds him, so he opts to play shirtless instead when you’re with him. In the end, Kumanomi is still annoyed, but now you have two things to look at when he games, so what is there to complain about?

He doesn’t discourage you following him around for his job. You just have to be careful. Stand too close while he’s fighting and someone’s body soars through the air and almost smashes you into a wall. 

The fright was huge, but at least he comforts you with some snacks. He’s not sure what to feed you. You don’t seem happy with the idea of cat food— you were still a human in there, after all. He settles for sharing some of his chips with you. 

He’s not very protective over you when you’re a cat. He lets you go for walks or leave the area to explore. So long you return by nightfall he’s content with being alone for the day. Internally he does find that the lack of your company feels strange, and quietly makes sure you’re nearby when you return. 

Rating: 8/10. A surprisingly good cat owner. Lets you do what you want or spend time with him. Just try to avoid tripping him up if you must follow him to a fight. 

HEISUKE MASHIMO —

He finds you so cute! He’s good with animals since he has Piisuke. 

He has trouble finding you stuff to eat. He goes to Sakamoto’s Store and shares a bun between the three of you. His friends from the store are certainly puzzled over the predicament, but it’s good that he has companions he can entrust with you. 

For the most part, he wants to keep you close to him. He carries Piisuke on one shoulder and tries to carry you on his other. However, carrying a bird on your shoulder is much easier than carrying a cat. When he gets excited or sprints somewhere, you have to dig your claws into his shoulder so you don’t fall. He only notices a few minutes later and apologizes with lots of head pats. 

The first day or so he gets you, he’s very worried about you and wants you to be with him at all times. Maybe it’s just something about your smaller, cuter form that he frets you’ll get lost somewhere. He’s no better, but at least he has Piisuke to help him, which you don’t!

You probably strayed off to explore or fell asleep under a thick bush and after an hour or so he’s panicking and bawling his guts out thinking you must have got hit by a car or taken by a stranger thinking you were a stray. Piisuke finds you rather quickly and you have to accompany him until he can finally tell himself that you’ll be fine and you need your own alone time too. 

His excitement is admittedly endearing. He’d want to show off to everyone how cute his partner was as a cat!

Rating: 8.5/10. Fun to be around, not too stressed out about the situation and good with pets. His enthusiasm with you can be a bit overwhelming. 

NATSUKI SEBA —

Treats you pretty well, actually.

When he first learns about your predicament, he’s just like “Oh, damn.” He’d work to find a way to revert whatever happened.. but isn’t against the idea of having you as a cat for a day or two. 

For the time being, he doesn’t mind having you beside him while he works on his projects at the JCC. So long he’s not doing too much heavy work, he enjoys the quiet company.

Gives you a few pets from time to time and is smart enough to consider what foods you’d want to and can eat. 

He doesn’t even mind if you leave too much fur on his clothing, whether it be from sleeping on his sweaters or on his lap. He thinks he can just brush it off afterwards. Turns out cat fur has a knack for getting stuck on everything possible. It takes a thorough wash just to get it off. 

Mafuyu judges him when he sees him with too many strands of thin cat fur all over him. While Natsuki’s not that bothered by the idea of being covered in fur, Mafuyu, who is cleaner, does, and at first avoids you like the plague. Your fur is left everywhere, and it ends up getting on him anyway, so he reluctantly gives in and pets you too. 

It can be pretty boring when he’s busy, so he doesn’t mind taking you to the weapons research laboratories too. If the school happens to have anything against pets, he tucks you into his suit and turns you invisible. Easy. So long nobody moves the suit off the ground or questions why there’s a lump on his chest. 

Rating: 9/10. He’s not a bad cat owner and has no qualms with you leaving for a few hours to explore or you getting fur on him. 

OSARAGI —

Thinks you’re too adorable internally! 

She quietly picks you up and goes about her job. She didn’t think you’d have too many problems with her job. Unfortunately, the crashing of stone and the quick movements she makes when fighting are much more startling with your heightened senses. Everything scrapes at your ears and nose. 

Once she finishes with one of her jobs, she looks over only to notice you sitting at the side, looking traumatized. She only stares blankly, wondering what could have gotten you like this. 

Osaragi decides the best way to calm you down is to buy you lots of snacks. She makes a pit stop at a convenience store and presents you an array of food to choose from. It’s rare for Osaragi to share her food without her own terms, so you should be grateful, even if you can only stomach one or two bites. 

Probably unintentionally babies you with a blank expression. It is canon that she’s rather childish at heart. Takes you everywhere like a little furry companion. Eventually, it does hit her that she’ll need you to return to human form sooner or later. She likes you as a human too, so she has nothing against the idea. 

Although I think she’d typically want you by her side, she does let you off her radar throughout the day so you can nap or have some time to yourself. 

Rating: 7.5/10. Treats you pretty well, but she should be more considerate of your cat senses or how terrifying it must feel to be carried while in a high stakes fight, debris and blood everywhere. 

please don't copy or repost/translate my works, or use it to train AI.

pawprint header: @/dogfoodvendingmachine

[barelyevenwriting]

Day 10 I’m Worried About Her

The way she holds onto breathing

Like she can’t tell

That it won’t make a difference

In the end.

    It might be concerning,

To remember that most of what she

Knows comes from subtle corners

Too soft to be forgotten

    But candy floss recollections

Fade quickly under the cool rain.

They sink too deep

For rosy summer eves to really touch

    The scars they leave behind

Under tired excuses

Slowly pushed to the side,

Too wired and careful

To look at all she hides

Under endless laughter

And water chipped smiles.

    She tells me with soured pleasantries,

That everything will be fine

While her hands grip at the corners

Of everything

That might ever bring her peace.

    I’m worried about her.

    I don’t think she understands why.

[moyazaika]

hmm

[newrochellechallenger2019]

Linecook!Art staying after the place closes with reader and cooking the both of them a little dinner, eating on the steel countertops in the kitchen under the industrial lights, drinking wine that one of them brought over, talking a little more than they usually do...

the only sound left in the diner is the click of the lock, the overhead lights long since turned off, just a strip of light coming from the kitchen as art finishes his closing shift.

'doll?' he calls, 'where you hiding?'

you giggle, the rush of trespassing finally sinking in. 'i'm here.'

art holds out his arms like a zombie, moving slowly through the diner and groaning for additional effect, till his muscly arms wrap around yours and pull you close, as you let out a squeal of delight, giggles never ceasing.

'found you' he murmurs into your hair with a cheeky grin, resting his chin atop yours as the two of you sway slowly in the darkness. intertwining his calloused fingertips with yours, art stepped back, outstretching his arm so he could reach out and kick the jukebox crumpled in the corner, which jolted, coming to life and starting to play some 60's romance song.

you gasp in surprise, smile stretching from ear to ear as art spins you back into his chest, 'i thought that thing was a goner' you shake your head in disbelief, 'god knows how many times i've had to tell kids off for wrestling with it'. you frown at the memories, anger resurfacing.

'you know i think it's super hot when you get mad' art teases, his palms rubbing up and down your arms as he smirks deliciously. you wrinkle your nose, 'seriously, weirdo?' and he laughs, a proper bellowing laugh that makes his chest vibrate against yours.

'seriously.' he says, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, 'your face gets all flushed and you get all indignant and huffy.' his smirk only widens when he notices your expression, 'like you're doing right now. face it doll, i think you're hot.' he purrs all sultry.

'i'm shocked.' you reply, deadpan. 'the dozens of times i've been back to your place gave me no hints whatsoever.' you shrug your shoulders.

'oh really?' his laugh reverberates around the empty diner again, echoing. 'no hints at all?' art beamed as his hands slid down to palm your ass.

you shake your head, doe-eyed as you feign ignorance. 'i was beginning to think you hated me.' the jukebox had started to skip, out of sequence lyrics fading into the background as the two of you stared at each other, swaying still across the diner.

'hated you?' he whispered, those two words reverential in his mouth as he slowly lifted you up, and you had no choice but to wrap your legs around his waist, feeling his belt buckle press against your thighs.

'hmm hated you?' he repeated as if musing on the idea, kissing you again adoringly, and you squeezed tighter as he carefully walked backwards towards the kitchen.

'you'll drop me!' you squeak as the kiss breaks. 'will i?' he grunts playfully as he hoists you higher and you scream, gripping onto him like you'll fall off a cliff if you let go.

'what? a guy can't show off?' art teases, taking one arm off you just to flex his muscles and you screech, squeezing even tighter, 'stop it-'.

'baby- baby- i can't breathe-' he splutters as you, arm coming back to hold you again. 'you're such a scaredy cat' he laughs breathlessly as he deposits you unceremoniously on the steel countertops. 'no, you're just an asshole.' you pout, eyes narrowed.

'oh it's like that tonight, huh?' art chuckles, kissing at your jawline, trying to get you to crack. 'maybe.' you grumble as his kisses grow more feverish, 'mmm...' art's smirk makes his teeth brush against your cheek and you shiver, 'c'mon doll, don't you wanna know why we're still here?'

you blink, as if it's just occuring to you. 'why are we still here?' 'oh, now she's interested.' art teases, flicking your nose and you stick your tongue out at him childishly.

'tonight madam, you're going to have the most romantic night of your life.' he says in a terrible snooty french accent and you have to laugh, which only spurs him on, 'after your romantic dance with a very handsome fellow, the chef will prepare your favourite, pasta on a bed of tomato sauce and fresh meatballs followed by delicate chocolatey squares.'

'so it's spaghetti and brownies? you're making me spaghetti and brownies.' you smile joyfully, flattered that he knew your favourites. he nods mock sagely, 'yes madam.'

'and we couldn't do this at your place because....?' you tilt your head to the side, 'because! my place does not have half as good cookers and...ingredients are expensive' he says casually, brandishing a packet of pasta and you press a quick kiss to his lips. 'thank you, monsieur.' and you don't miss the slight blush on his cheeks.

opening the wine fridge, art pulls out a bottle of red, 'and for the lady?' he holds it out to you and you snigger, nodding, 'why not?' is your reply as you reach for a glass, your fingers enclosing around the stem.

he pours with practice, the alcohol swirling round the glass that it almost looks like a shot from an ad campaign. you take a sip and your eyes widen with delight, 'why are we selling this to customers? we gotta keep this to ourselves, it's delicious '

art barks out a laugh as he takes a sip from his own glass, 'something tells me that'll be a hard sell for the manager.' you swat at him playfully, his laughter continuing as he dodges you downing the remainder of your glass and pouring another, lacking his earned gracefulness.

for a while, the only sounds in the kitchen comes from the crackling of the flames as art boils the pasta, and the knife hitting the chopping board as he dices onions. you watch him with soft intrigue, he's so different when he's cooking, the cockiness melts away from him and he's more measured, and yet free.

'alright...i'll bite.' you half-slur, second glass of wine nearly done. 'why are you here?'

art shot you a look of confusion before turning back to the pot, 'what do you mean, doll?'

you let out a small groan, 'i mean...you like cooking, you're not some old creep or a teen who's always out drinking and just wants money, why are you a line cook in a shitty diner?'

art's sigh is disguised by the sound of meat sizzling as it hits the grill, 'um...i didn't get into culinary school.' there's a long pause but you don't say anything in response. 'so...i scrounged around, got this job, got my apartment and never left i guess.' his voice is smaller than you're used to, an ache in his voice that suggests a wound that hasn't healed.

'i'm sorry, i didn't know.' you reply quietly, staring a little too intently at the countertop like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

'why would you, doll?' art says in an attempt at lightness but it feels forced. 'i don't like to talk about it.'

the words hang in the air for a while before he continues, 'you next, why are you a server in a shitty diner?'

you shrug, 'i needed a job.' you sip your wine as you think it over, 'i dropped out of college and i'd never been a server before so why not?'

'why not?' art echoed with a chuckle as he shoved a tray of brownies in the oven.

'what's so funny about that?' you frown slightly, reaching for the bottle of wine again.

'you dropped out of college for why not?' his brow furrowed, tone strangely firm.

'no! i dropped out of college because i hated my course, and the people, and the lecturers, and the accomodation, and the workload and-' you reply briskly, a challenge in your eyes.

'yeah okay i get the picture doll.' art cuts you off with a raised palm, 'there's not enough jobs for graduates, let alone dropouts' the haughtiness in your voice shocks you, like he'd personally offended you.

'all i'm saying is...' art murmurs as he slides a plate across the countertop towards you, 'plenty of people would've killed to go to school.'

'well i'm not one of them' you snap, affronted. 'okay doll.' he comes round and slots himself between your legs, cupping your face with his calloused hands, stroking your cheek with his thumb. 'now will you try the pasta?'

you relent as art reaches for your dish, twirling spaghetti round the fork and bringing it to your lips, which you part, letting him feed you tenderly. 'do you need me to get you to chew too?' he teases, hand moving to your jaw. you shoot him a playful glare as you chew and then swallow, eyes lighting up. 'holy shit'

art perks up like a puppy, 'it's good?' his voice hopeful as he reaches for his own plate.

'so good' you say eagerly, going in for another forkful, 'it tastes just like my grandfather's, how did you know?' you squeak with delight, mouth half full.

art smiled, a proper rare true smile, before winking at you. 'i'm just that good doll'

'oh you are' you insist adoringly, 'culinary school is missing out.'

art's smile softened slightly but didn't dim. 'thanks baby.'

after a beat, you're eyeing your plate as an idea starts to form. 'i've always wanted to try this.' art's brow furrows as you pick up a spaghetti noodle with your fork. 'bite that end'.

art sniggers, 'doll, that's a movie- it won't work-' 'bite. it.' you hiss warningly, art rolls his eyes and begrudingly takes the noodle end in his mouth, looking every bit as stupid as he knew he would.

gingerly, you place the other end of the noodle in your mouth and start to suck, art mimics you and the two of you get closer and closer to his lips meet yours in a hungry kiss, mouth parted as you swallow the remainder of the noodle before your tongue collides with his. art groans in pleasure, pressing harder against your body between as your fingers tangle in his hair. the kiss grows more feverish, his arms around your waist before the oven beeps and he breaks away, breathless.

'happy now, doll? got your moviestar kiss?' he pants teasingly as he pulls the brownies out.

'very happy' you grin cheesily, your legs swinging off the counter as he takes the empty pasta dishes aside.

'i'm not feeding you a brownie. no way.' art says with joking firmness as he hands you a plated brownie.

'yes boss' you reply jokingly, teeth sinking into the dessert and your eyes light up again, 'it's the perfect texture! just how like it, cakey but not-'

'raw.' art finishes for you, smirking. 'i know.'

you blush, own smile widening. 'stop that.' you devour the rest of the brownie in seconds like it'll disappear if you don't and art has to hide his laugh.

'you've got a little...' his voice is barely a whisper as he reaches out and brushes a crumb from your lip tenderly. in that moment, you could really see his eyes, the grey flecks amongst the green, how they softened when they looked at you.

'thank you' is your breathless reply, lips parting as his thumb pushes between them, tip of your tongue taking the crumb off the pad of his digit and swallowing it, not wanting to waste a morsel of this delicacy.

you're not sure how long the two of you stay like that, staring at each other like long lost lovers reuniting, but the screech of the jukebox sends reality careening back towards you both. 'jesus christ' you jump, startled. 'blasted thing' cursed art under his breath, 'whole place is haunted, i'm telling ya.'

'i wouldn't be surprised.' you shudder at the thought as he helps you off the counter, 'we should get out of here then. i'll drive you home' he offers kindly and you nod, watching as he gives the jukebox a kick for good measure before leading you out and locking the diner door.

the next morning, you roll over in bed and check the work groupchat, 'hey! who closed last night? i don't remember seeing spaghetti and brownies on the menu!'

taglist: @gibsongirrl @glassmermaids @destinedtobegigi @blastzachilles @femme-lusts @glennussy @cha11engers @stanart4clearskin @artstennisracket @pittsick

[winter-parrot]

for @911whatisyourpride week 3: family. took this prompt a little sideways but the idea hit me like a truck like two hours ago and then i typed this entire ficlet directly into the tumblr post dialog like a madwoman, so.

buck doesn't exactly try to adopt a dog, and fails anyway. tommy picks up a dog and an (ex?)-boyfriend. | bucktommy (duh) | post season-8 | 2.4k

------------

Buck keeps thinking about Blaze. Not Bingo, who went back to his family and is probably spoiled and happy and exactly where he belongs. But Blaze, whom for that single day had belonged to Buck. Who had been a friend when he and Eddie were on the outs, and everything was falling apart, and he had nobody to talk to because everyone thought he was overreacting. Someone who was happy to see him, who looked at him adoringly, who took joy from Buck's mere existence and gave joy in return.

Now, his life is a hundred times the mess that it was back then, but the parallels aren't escaping him.

And yeah, yeah, he's always got Maddie. But she's not his, not really; she's got more important people in her life. Her own family. Chimney, and Jee, and newborn baby Robert-who-he-still-cannot-call-Bobby. Chim's got her and Jee and Robert, in return. Eddie's got Chris, and Tia Pepa. Hen's got Karen and Denny and Mara too, now. Athena's got May and Harry, and anyway he's not going to impose on her, not now, not after everything.

Point is, everyone's got someone who's theirs. Everyone except him, that is. For a minute there he thought he might have Tommy, but well. Shows you how much he knows about love, about building a family.

So instead he's sitting all alone--in a shitty little Airbnb he's got for the week, because apartment hunting in LA is anything but fast--thinking about Blaze. And looking up dog rescues, just to dream about holding them all, and bringing one home, and having someone to greet him and be excited to see him when he gets home.

He knows it's pathetic--knew it even then, when he was clinging to Blaze and ignoring Eddie--but the one thing more pathetic than having a dog for your only friend and source of love, is having no one for a friend and source of love. Although, dreaming about having a dog for his only friend and source of love, when he can't even get a dog because he doesn't have a home address and anywhere with a pet deposit is going to be way out of his price range, is probably more pathetic than both.

The thought doesn't stop him from scrolling, and scrolling, and scrolling past the little squares of photos and blurbs. There's a five-year-old beagle named Dot that reminds him a little too painfully of Blaze. A six-month-old mutt of a puppy--they think it's maybe a boxer mix--with bright blue eyes called Frankie. A massive ninety-pound Doberman named Sergeant with a noble air to him--and behaviour problems, apparently. A tiny yorkie, by far the teey-tiniest dog he's ever seen, called Mini.

And then, at the bottom, a raggedy three-legged lab mix called Tres. He's the longest-running resident of the shelter, according to his bio. Lost his leg in an accident, while wandering in the streets. Seven years old, old enough to have trouble being adopted even without the missing leg. He's also got the biggest, most soulful brown eyes Buck's ever seen on a dog. Ever seen period, maybe.

Before he quite realizes what he's doing, Buck has the address memorized and the keys to his Jeep in his hand. No, that's not entirely true. He sort of halfway realizes what he's doing, but refuses to let himself recognize it all the way. Because if he did, then he'd have to acknowledge that it's insane, and then he'd have nothing to do but sit there and think about how pathetic he is, and how sad Tres looked in the photos.

The shelter is almost halfway across the city, because he wasn't exactly paying attention to the location when he started down this impromptu spiral. But that's alright; he's on day one of a four off, so he's got the time to kill. It's early enough, too, so traffic won't even be that bad. (He Does Not think about why he was up so early on his day off. That way lies grief and pain and danger, and he does not want to end up accidentally wrapping his car around a power pole.)

Still, this is LA, and "not that bad" ends up being nearly an hour instead. Plenty of time to think about what the hell he's doing, and all the million reasons it's a stupid, impulsive idea. But he's started this already, going Full Buck as they'd say, and he's determined not to turn back. Maybe he can't take Tres home, doesn't even have a home to take Tres to, but that doesn't mean he can't go see the dog, right? Maybe he can't be enough for anyone in his life, can't make them happy or hold them together, but surely he can be a bright spot in one sad dog's day. He can be good for this one thing.

The shelter's open, but just barely, when he gets there. No cars in the tiny parking lot, thank God, because most sane people don't show up to animal shelters at--he checks his phone--8:17 in the morning. The tiny bells above the door chime a happy little chorus as he walks in. A woman behind the front desk looks up, seeming startled to see him there. Fair enough.

"Hi, u-um, I saw this dog on your website?" Buck says, uncertainty tilting his sentence up into a question.

"Are you looking to adopt?" the woman--Miranda, according to the name tag Buck's now close enough to read--asks, already rummaging for some forms.

"U-um, not-not yet. I don't, um, I don't currently have a pet-friendly place," Buck says. He doesn't have any place, of course, but that's a lot to unload on this poor woman at barely eight in the morning. "B-but, um, but I'd like to someday. When I'm in a- a better place." Winces at the phrasing; apparently he's so chock full of death euphemisms these days, it's leaking out everywhere. "I just, um, I just wanted to see the dog for now? Maybe play wit him for a bit, if-if that's something I can do?"

Miranda looks at him for a long moment. It feels, oddly, like the way Bobby used to look at him. Piercing and uncompromising, but not unkind. Like she was looking at him, really looking, past his shell and right down to the core of him--not to judge, or find him wanting, but just to see. To understand. To maybe even help. The moment stretches like gum, and Buck's not even sure he's breathing. Not until she nods once, sharply, and says, "What was his name? The dog you were looking at?"

"U-um, Tres," Buck says, somehow surprised by this turn of events despite literally showing up here for it. "I was looking at Tres."

Miranda's face turns apologetic. "Oh hon, someone already put in yestereday to adopt him."

Something inside Buck stretches past breaking point, snaps into overstretched pieces. Of course he can't even do this right. Too late and not enough. Forces his lips into a smile that feels far too brittle for how practiced it's become, these past few weeks. "R-right. Okay. That's, that's good for him, right? G-going home to someone who can love him." Love him better than Buck ever could. Who probably has a yard for Tres to play around in, and a cozy fireplace for Tres to curl up in front off, with a fluffy dog bed all set up and waiting.

Miranda nods, but she seems distracted, chewing at her lip. Looks down at her desk. Shuffles through some papers, looking for something. Squints down at one sheet, running her fingers along the lines. "Pick up time, pick up time... ah! Yeah, that's what I thought." She looks up at him, still holding the paper in her hand. "Listen, you seem like a nice guy--the people who come here for the saddest dogs usually are. You can see other dogs, of course, whichever ones you want. But if you've got your heart set on Tres, The owner's out back right now, picking up Tres and his stuff. I can go and ask if he'd be okay with you at least say hi to Tres."

Buck nods, mumbles out a thanks that may or may not come out intelligible past the growing knot in his throat. He can't explain it, why meeting Tres feels so important. Maybe it's because he felt like they were kindred souls, in some terribly pathetic way, forgotten and left behind and waiting, waiting, waiting for someone to finally want him. Maybe it's because he thought that he could save someone, even just one sad dog, from the terrible loneliness eating him up from the inside--and be saved in return. Maybe he just wanted to be good for something, anything, and this was the one tiny thing that felt maybe, possibly, within his reach.

Or maybe he was just a sucker for a sob story and big sad eyes and abandoned dogs. It doesn't have to be that deep.

Miranda pops her head in from the back door where she'd disappeared to. "He said yes, of course. Come on and meet Tres. It'd be good for his socialization anyway, to meet some more people."

Well. At least this whole insane trip wasn't a total loss, then. He can go meet Tres and his new owner, play with a dog for a few minutes, and then drive back to his sad Airbnb so he can keep searching apartment listings. Buck makes his way across the lobby, towards the door that Miranda's holding open. Ducks out through the gap. Steps into a little back yard, lined with straggly grass and patches of sand. Looks around for Tres.

Finds himself looking at familiar blue eyes, instead.

"Evan?" Tommy says, staring right back at him like he's seeing a ghost. His eyes are wide, and so blue, and rimmed faintly red with exhaustion. Buck's pretty sure there's new lines in their corners, stupidly wants to reach out a run a gentle finger over them, to learn their new shapes. Clenches his hands into fists in his pockets to stop himself.

"T-tommy," he says, more breath than word. Has to swallow twice and clear his throat awkwardly before he tries again. "Hey. I, uh, I didn't know you were in the market for a dog."

Tommy shrugs, a little awkward. Something about the motion somehow makes those strong, wide shoulders seem small. "House was feeling too quiet. Thought a dog might help liven things up. Plus, I've always been weak for the puppy eyes." The last sentence comes out with the weight of a confession, too heavy for the back yard of an animal shelter with a soon-to-be-spoiled three-legged dog sniffing around by their feet.

Buck makes his lips curl up at the corner, pretends he doesn't notice it feels more like a grimace than a smile. "You've got good taste," he says, jerking his chin towards Tres. "I had my eyes on him this morning, too."

"Sorry," Tommy says, and it feels like he's talking about more than the dog. "Didn't mean to steal him from you."

It's Buck's turn to shrug, this time. He tries not to think about other things Tommy's stolen, not from him but for him. Tries to hold on to the fading memory of how he felt that sun-drenched morning in Eddie's kitchen, in that helicopter still full of hope over the LA skyline. Tommy's going to be good to Tres. Buck knows, because he was good to him, too. Besides, Tommy's got a solid house, big back yard and a fireplace just like he'd been picturing.

Buck's got no house, and no dog, and no one to go home to. He leans down to pet Tres instead of thinking about that. Lets Tres lick his face and slobber all over him. Pretends that's why dampness weighs down his lashes.

"I was just gonna take him home, get him settled in," Tommy says above him, after a few prolonged minutes of silence.

Buck get up, because he does know how to take a hint, sometimes. Time to get out of Tommy's hair, let him take home the dog he wants without the ex-boyfriend he didn't want. Doesn't meet Tommy's eyes as he turns to leave, because even he's got a limit for how pathetic he's willing to be in one day.

"Do you want to come with me?" Tommy says, the words uncharacteristically rushed.

Buck looks up with surprise. Tommy's got a hand rubbing against the back of his neck in a gesture Buck hasn't seen in ages.

"D-do you want me to?" Buck says. Tries not to feel like he's asking about more than just Tres. Fails. It's like they're having a whole second conversation--except they're not, because they haven't said more than maybe fifty words to each other and neither of them are actually saying it. So maybe it's all in Buck's head; maybe he's gotten so desperate that he's reading signs into innocent

Tommy's wide-eyed again, breathing a little fast and shallow. For a second, he looks almost panicked. Doesn't quite look at Buck as he reaches down to clip a leash onto Tres's collar, and lingers to pet down the line of Tres's spine with a huge hand.

When he stands back up, something in him has straightened. He's steady, looking Buck straight in the eyes as he nods firmly. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I want you to come home with me." Glances down at his feet, where Tres is sitting patiently with his tongue rolling out. "You and me and Tres."

They're still not talking, not really. Not about the them of it all But it's the closest they've come since the helicopter--no, since before that. Since that morning, maybe.

It feels like an invitation. Like a closed door, reopened. Like a second, third, fifth chance at something.

Buck leans down to give Tres one last pat--for luck, for hope, for gratitude, for courage. He takes the hand Tommy opens to him. Him and Tommy and Tres. It feels like a good place to start.

[lavenderfairiez]

I think that if valgrace was canon it would be as popular, if not more popular than solangelo...

[minzart]

Beggars can't be choosers

Ao3 - Next

Decepticons & Reader(GN), Megatron & Reader(GN)

You find an "automatic" tank busted in the middle of the night, and as the good millitar Mechanic that you are, you fix it.

Or, the Decepticons don't have a trained doctor(yet), and you just volunteered as a substitute by their leaders' logic and standards

The sky turned purple as the sun set behind the mountains of the lonely isolated drylandscape, almost like a pure desert, the millitar base of operations growing ever small as you turned your bike gear to 6, letting go of the handle and sitting straight, enjoying the fresh wind around you and the adrenalin of steering the fast motorcycle with only your hips and balance

Some people would call you crazy to accept working at a job from 2 hours of your apartment, in the middle of nowhere, from morning to evening, but you weren't some people and it was a one life time opportunity, after all, how many people can say they work directly in fixing military tanks and jets

Exhausting as the journey to work and back was, you enjoyed your job immensely. Working with machines was your passion since small, from the radios you fiddled with to the second-hand car you first bought, to this bike you saved so much money to have, and finally to all the machinery you could fiddle with at work, some are even experimental builds, those always gave you a headache, the manuals were always so shitty, to build a machine is not the same as to fix it and the engineer seems to always forget this, but also a sense of pride, you were the first to work on them after test release, you were the first to write a good manual for them, a pioneer even

It's not like your superiors would allow an idiot to use said experiments out of training cam- a trail of smoke catches your eyes out of the main road, blending with the night sky, if you weren't so used to watching for signals of a broken engine you wouldn't have notice the fine line twirling with the wind

Now, it's in the middle of the desert, far away from any civilization, anyone with a brain would just call a tow truck... if they had a signal... wich is very unlikely, you would know, and there is a possibility to be a work colleague... ah fuck it, you grab your bikes handle with purpose and drive out of the road, ready to lend a hand, or a ride, to the poor idiot that didn't check their car before coming to the middle of nowhere

It was in fact not a car

It is worse, it's like you asked the universe when you thought about it earlier actualy, like a curse and a goddamed blessing

It was a tank, silver and black, with hints of purple, beaten all around like someone ran it over mud or a very small tunnel, so small it made scratches and dents all over, imposing, really big, one of the biggest tanks you have seem... still not the biggerst tho, with an exasperated sigh you get out of your bike and immediately pull your entry card out

"Alright, get out there, rookie who let you get out of camp in the middle of the night," you say loudly as you use the small flashlight in your keys to light the warmachine "with this unfinished beauty right here eh?!"

The top lid does not move an inch, you get closer and knock the vehicle "anyone in there?"

"I'm a mechanic buddy not an officer, if you don't show me whats wrong I can't help you" you circle around the silver tank, looking for sighs of humans foot steps, maybe the dumbass tried to walk back to camp and left this here-

A high piched sound startles you, looking around franticly until you see it came from the warmachine, the commander's hatch now open

"Oh thank fuck I though you went back to camp by foot do you know how far we are from civilization right now?!" You shout to the open lid, waiting for someone to get out...

No-one does

You look around ankwardly, noticing how alone you truly are in the middle of the night, only you, your bike and the silver tank...

"What the hell..." You wisper and start climbing the machine, noticing how it doesn't have ladders, one thing to put in its reports when you get back to work, one maneuver after another you get to the lift finally looking inside it's hull... no-one was there "what?"

You drop in, looking around, it is the inside of a tank alright, down bellow the drive seat, around valves and pistons and... oh wow, this tank did not have a gun handle, which means it's probably automated linked to a computer, the drivers seat or remotely, you have heard of tests being made for those

"Remote controlled..." You breath out, reaching for the drives seat, looking around for a radio

"And they decided to take you for a ride this hour of the night big guy?" You tap the metal wall gently and chuckles "whose idea was this..."

Finding exactly what you hoped for, you get the radio off the handle and press the signal button, a red lamp lights up, you wait for the signal to pick something... static comes through and you state your name and ID as a greeting, repeating until someone answers

"I hear you loud and clear mechanic..." a gruff voice answers, not your superiors voice, probably the night shift guard "what is your... problem... and how did you found this line?"

The voice seems to think over his words carefully, you sigh softly, a new recruit then "reporting from inside a test tank for the new automatic build, it seems to be busted, awayting orders"

"Ah..." the voice answer amused "I see the problem, due to an... incident, we are not able to send a retrieve crew immediately, would you be able to repair... it... enough to move?"

You roll your eyes, taking the radio far from you briefly, and groaning annoyed at having to work past your hours because you though someone needed help, bringing it back you answer politely and professionally before ending the transmission "I'll do my best"

You sigh again, this is going to be a long night "better start then"

You look around the hull for a tool box, and found out it doesn't exists, another thing to add to the ever growing list of notes of this model, you huff and take out your back pack "fine I'll make do with what I have"

First, the outside, lucky the road weels and track were in good conditions, if slightly damaged, but nothing that a smooth road would break, the motor tho, off that looked nasty, how did it get that bad in the first place, all dented and tubes twisted, with your hammer you did your best to put it in working function again, sometimes you hit it so hard it felt like the whole tank trembled

Untwisthing wires and mending tubes, you spend an hour only on the outside and finally go back to the hull, and there goes another hour checking the other side of the machines engines, and there you find it, along the way a piece of metal broke and is dangerously close to a fuel tube, that was already pierced and dripping a large amount of blue fuel, whatever were the tests they were performing in this thing it looked brutal

"Shit..." You crawl closer, tentatively poking the blue fuel "and even experimental fuel too... well, you didn't explode till now"

First you hammer the pointy dislocated piece back into place and away from your face and the tube, then you can finally crawl all the way in and sit properly, assessing the damage, you grab the piece of metal that pierced the pipe, breathing deeply you ready yourself and with one powerful pull you get the thing out, you hear what sounds like compression pipes working and in a panic you rapidly envolve the leaking pipe in duct tape and scrambles out back to the crew hull

The lights around you start working properly, giving a faint purple hue to the place, you feel the tank moving, and quickly, you pick up the radio forsaking formality for the sake of your mensage "wait! Wait! I have my own bike! I can follow you back to base, stop the tank!"

Then, the weirdest shit happened

"Oh I know human" came the gruff voice, but not from the radio

"But you see, I have other plans for you, little medic" it came from all around you

Like the tank itself was alive... you scream"no, no! NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT!"

Trying to climb up you twist the valve to open the lid, but it doesn't bulge "this is not happening"

You slam your fist in the metal "let me out!"

"I suggest you take a seat and rest" the voice says "we still have 3 arcs untill our arrival"

"Were are you taking me? what the fuck is this? Who are you?" you glare at the radio

"You will see" and he cackle in amusement of your despair "as for me, human, call me Megatron, and soon your Lord and superior"

You buff and tremble, as much of fear as anger, you were trapped, kidnapped even, all because you wanted to help someone else, what a great way to end the night... AND A FRIDAY NIGHT AT THAT TOO, shit... how long would it take for anyone to notice you are gone... two business day maybe? Hopefully? After all you don't have anyone waiting for you, and it's not like you have actual friends in the city or even in your neighborhood... oh you are fucked fucked

As the time passes and realization sinks in you coil in yourself, trying to keep your panic at minimum, you still had yet to meet your kidnapper and you didn't knew what was worse, if this is a matter of war or just a very good hacker

..................

Megatron was livid, absolutely fuming with anger, at the Autobots first and foremost from destroying yet another potential energon extraction mission, at himself from not calling retreat sooner, at Starscream for... every Primus-forsaken thing, honestly

This all boils down to the seekers attempt at killing him in the middle of the battle, one good shot and the warlord could feel the Crack it made inside his frame, and yet he stubbornly chose to keep fighting, if only to show his second in comand he would never fall down so easily, but his pride has yet again show its consequences in the worst way possible

Now stuck all alone in his transformation mode, energon leaking from Primus knows where, without energy to make a COMM signal nor move, the leader of the Deceptcons can only wait for anyone to find him, and he knows someone will, if not Lazerbeak then autobots, either way he knows death is not waitting for him, he still has a mission, a war, to win, he will get out of this as he did many other, worse, times

And find him someone does, a human, stupid little squishy thing, but oh so convenient it even gives him perfect covers, a rookie in the middle of the night, he waits and the thing persists it's attempts at coaching "whoever" was inside him to come out, that's when realization hits the silver mech, of course, mechanics... human mechanics are how vehicle fixers were called by your race, you, to him, were a glimmer of hope, a medic

He had to be careful, this was his chance, if only he convinces you to work him out his worse damage he could crush you after and go back to his makeshift central tower Soundwave and his surviving soldiers were working on not that far from here

He opens his lid, ignores the weird feeling of a moving thing climbing and walking inside of him, and holds a booming laugh as you, yet again, creates the perfect cover for the tyrant, to redirect his voice to only the small radio device in your hands was rookies play for him

And so he waits and watches you work your magic, holding screams of pain from your indelicate work, all in proll of him being able to move again, all a means to an end, and when you finaly gets out the part that had him critically stuck? Oh, the relief, he couldn't hold back the sigh, wich startle the little medic, but your dedication pleased the warlord, you bandaged his energon tube directly connected to his transformation cog, he was finaly able to move and transform

He though about it, transforming right now, crushing the little human inside, destroying their backwaters vehicle, and going back to his Decepticons like nothing had changed... however... the more he thought about it, about your work, your adaptability, your words

Experimental tank, you had called him, you worked with new human technology then, and was versatile enought to work in this mix of human looking but actualy Cybertronian engines, with a basic understanding you would probably be able to work wonders in his cybertronian mode or even outside the vehicle modes

The truth is... it's been two months since his awakening in this strange planet, resources were limited, his soldiers were not even close to top shape, no doctor was in his crew when they crashed into this Primus-forsaken planet, but the Autobots, oh they had their ship, every fight they could be beaten to almost scrap and would be back in perfect condition for another round, it may be not a working ship but it still had Cybertronian parts and halls, and also, they have a doctor

His Decepticons need a doctor, he needs a doctor, there is just so much vague memories and basic instruction can get you by, not one of his surviving soldiers were trained in the arts of surgery or medicine, they were no were near in finishing this second attempt of a base and building a teleportation bridge was out of question while the base was not finished, he had engineers and a spy crew not healers

But you... you were an opportunity, a better chance of survival, a first contact with the potential that humans had for servitude, the Silver warlord locked his lid, taking amusement in your despair, oh this would be his worse and yet brilliant plan yet, if he didn't know better he would think it was proposed by his own second in comand by it's insanity... however, for more that he hates it... beggars can't be chosers

[prince-septimus]

noise

pairing : matt murdock x reader

summary : grief and loneliness can break a person. you won't let that happen.

word count : 1.1k

warnings : spoilers for daredevil: born again.

Hell's Kitchen is loud, even at night. There's no escaping the noise no matter how many walls deep you are. It's louder on the rooftop, almost like the chill New York night air carries all the sounds to the top of the city, carrying them around the tops of the buildings.

You don't know how Matt does it - and maybe nobody does. All this noise, you're amazed he's able to stand it, but maybe he's had enough time to get used to it. You? It's overstimulating enough to make you want to turn around, get off this rooftop, and go find somewhere quieter. It's like the city doesn't know how to shut itself off.

That's why we have vigilantes, that small, usually quieter part of your brain says. All that noise down there that carries itself to the top, it's crime and pain and all sorts of other things that go bump in the night. New York is full of vigilantes and why? Because there's so much chaos that creates all this noise and the neighborhoods just don't know how to sleep.

The city is almost more alive at night than in the day, when all the creeps and haunts come out to play and hide in the darkness, waiting to attack. Even for you, there's no sense of tiredness in your body. You feel alive, and that's probably because of this city and the way it creates its residents. You never manage to escape the life Hell's Kitchen creates for you.

Maybe that's why Matt is up here, listening. You know he's given up the Daredevil moniker, deciding to fully pursue the life of a lawyer and let the law handle the bad guys. You also know that deep down, a part of him needs it - that noise - to be alive.

It's been months since Foggy was murdered, months since they charged Benjamin Poindexter and began the long process of putting him in prison. The city was safer with Dex behind bars - but only just barely.

You don't bother keeping your steps quiet as you cross the rooftop. Matt would hear you either way. Over all the sounds in the city and the chaos in his own head, he always managed to hear you.

"How's the new firm going?" you ask as you reach where he sits along the edge. Carefully, you mimic his position, looking over the city at nothing in particular.

A small smile crosses his face. He's taken his glasses off at some point before you arrived, and they sit on the concrete edge next to him. "Good. We've got plenty of new clients. Really setting a good pace."

Below you, there's sounds in an alley. It's too dark to see, but you hear faint sounds of arguing, and then slamming into trash cans. You're sure Matt can hear more, but he makes no move.

"I'm sorry I didn't make it to Foggy's funeral," you tell him, the sincerity in your apology leaking out. "I was out of town when everything happened, and couldn't make it back in time. I barely missed it."

It wasn't a lie, and Matt knew that. Your flights had been delayed and there was nothing more you could have done.

"I wish I could have been there," you add on softly.

Even with no sight, Matt's eyes show plenty of emotion. You can see the grief that crosses his features, those feelings pouring back into his body. After months, the wound was still fresh. Not just of his best friend's passing, but of what it all meant for Daredevil.

Karen had called you and told you everything. About Dex shooting Foggy, the fight in the bar, and then Matt shoving Dex off the roof to what should have been his death.

Dex had survived somehow. Karen had mentioned something about the repairs he had on his spines and his bones being reinforced, but neither of you completely understood what that meant for the man. All you knew for sure is that he had survived the fall and been arrested, while Matt was left with the grief and the regret that came with Foggy's death and his reaction.

You reach for Matt's hand, gripping it lightly. He allows you to entwine your fingers in his, letting your thumb caress his skin. "I'm sorry, Matt. That I haven't been around as much. It was hard to get in touch. Karen's kept me updated, but she warned me you might not want to talk."

Matt scoffs. "How'd you know I was here?"

The building you currently reside on belongs to the old apartment Matt lived in when he still lived in Hell's Kitchen. The giant billboard everyone complained about was still across the way, but Matt's apartment was abandoned after his decision to get out of Hell's Kitchen.

"Karen mentioned you didn't visit Hell's Kitchen anymore, but I knew that couldn't be completely true."

"Am I that easy to figure out?" Matt chuckles, squeezing your hand.

You smile. "Sometimes."

There's a lapse of silence where the two of you just sit - Matt listening to all the noise, and you staring out at the city.

Finally, you let out a sigh. "I figured you needed someone," you admit. "And I really am sorry for not coming around sooner, but it was hard."

"I felt like I had lost everybody," Matt responds, his voice cracking just a bit. "Foggy was taken from us, and then everything changed. That wasn't supposed to be how it goes."

"I know. Karen moved and I wasn't around, and nothing was the same anymore." Your hand is holding onto his tightly now, and you lessen your grip, still holding on. "I'm here now, if that counts for anything. And I plan on being here for a while. In New York, I mean. Not necessarily Hell's Kitchen."

"I don't think any of us could stay here anymore."

"Yeah," you agree. "I don't disagree with your decision to leave the Kitchen, and I think Karen had a point in moving to San Francisco too."

A pause, waiting to see how Matt reacts to that. You felt bad that Karen had wanted to leave the state completely, moving across the country, but in some grief-stridden way, you agreed with her choice. Maybe that was why you had waited and stayed away.

You knew what the decision to be made was now. To stay in New York and be by Matt's side. To give him just a of normalcy in all the changes he had made in his life. Just a bit of what he had before everything changed.

You scoot closer to Matt, pressing into his side and resting your head on his shoulder. He leans into your touch, his head moving to rest against yours.

"I'm happy you're here," he says finally.

You nod against his shoulder, knowing he can feel the movement. "Me too."

[barelyevenwriting]

Day 9 Paradox

Was I conditioned to hate you

The same way I was to love you?

    Inevitably,

Like sweet droplets of rain

On too warm windshields

Gathering in senseless rivers

Leading everywhere and nowhere.

    Unawares, perhaps

Incidental, maybe

By some happenstance

Of situational context.

    Were we made to cling to each other

Like pollen on dandelion seeds?

    Did you fall gently,

Or did you go too far

Out there out of reach

In peaceful quiet

Where nothing else would ever touch you

    Did we stray too far

Out of sunlight and anger

Until sweet words

And careless disposition

Dared to paint our walls a deeper green

In sadness.

    When did we fall out of love,

You think?

    Where and why?

    Was it simply the quiet?

    Or were we made to hate each other

The same way we were dragged into loving?

Awful, hopeful, terrible and quiet.