#hands still tremoring and I am still suspicious but no chirps so far

[knights-of-the-glittery-table]

Good morning, here is a free sample of being mentally ill and on your own, no cost at all.

Last Wednesday the fire alarm downstairs went off for 4/5 ear splintering rounds at 1:30am then fell silent as if nothing happened. Definitely no fire/smoke/heat issues. I put it down to a fluke.

Half an hour ago it did The Beep right above my head. You know The Beep. That sound that means ‘change my batteries’ but mine are connected to the mains so I was like ‘oh.’

I used the website I used to find the plumber and asked for a callback but like...it did the chittery beep twice again at intervals. I knew it’d be like the beating of the telltale heart going off every once in a while

So I googled it.

Turns out likelihood is, the 9 volt battery used as a backup could need replacing.

I had ONE nine volt battery by pure fluke. I have a little box filled with batteries (all new) and they are you know, the usuals, AA’s and then some of the tiny round bastards. BUT THERE WAS ONE 9 VOLT. FOR REASONS I DON’T RECALL.

So I get out the stepladder (may I bring up to you at this point I have fallen arches that mean I am very very nervous of being even up on step stools due to 0 balance ability and 1000 incidents to go against faith in my ability) and I go to twist it off.

Nope.

Get back down.

Google how to open a bloody mains fire alarm.

First one is too old. Talks about a pin to pull out. No bloody pin to pull out.

Climb back down, check anothe youtube video.

I HAVE TO PUT THE HEAD OF A FLAT SCREWDRIVER INTO A SLOT AND THEN IT JUST COMES OFF.

It did.

I’m shaking like a leaf due to hand tremors I’ve had since March due to heightened anxiety that just never left and worry I will fuck this up.

Climb down. Use teeny tiny mini screwdriver to get the screw out of the plastic, see a 9 volt battery in there. It hasn’t gone off or yelled at me yet.

It’s difficult as hell to get the battery out even though there’s a little ribbon tab, you know the type you pull on and typically the battery pops up and is easy to remove?

Fight with the thing. Finally get it out. Have to unattach it from the wires. One was easy, the other was NOT.

Fetch new battery from the stair I’d put it on. Attach it to connecting things and then realise the electrician who worked on it last PUT THE FUCKING BATTERY IN THE WRONG WAY, THAT’S WHY IT WAS SO HARD TO GET OUT. Put it back in the OTHER WAY this time and components and wires fit much easier.

Tighten the tiny screw on the battery compartment.

Stick it back up and twist so it’s back on the ceiling.

Stand utterly anxious to the strands of my DNA in case it suddenly goes off or returns to its chirps.

Nothing. Did I do it?

Literally stood under the fire alarm and said aloud to utterly no-one

DID I DO IT?!

Sit down a moment, hands are shaking like I’m sitting through a high level earthquake and casting glances of supreme concern to alarm.

....It has not chirped at me again. It hasn’t gone off and scared me to death either.

Did I do it??

I might have done it!

[apopcornkernel]

marichat may—day 19: tuxedo chat

AO3 link here | marichat may masterlist

previous day | next day

summary:

who knew straightening a tie could lead to spellbound trances?

prompts: @marichatmay

———

a.n.

hi sorry for the late updates. i’m going to try and catch up but idk if that’ll work hehe... also the reason why i’m super late is because of the stupid, stupid AP exam that was at four am my time. yeah my sleep schedule is still recovering. have an extra long chapter.

———

Wham!

A crash resounded from far off, tremors shooting through the ground from its source. All over the city, civilians scattered, running, hiding, desperate to put distance between them and what was certainly Hawkmoth’s latest akuma.

And yet, a certain pig-tailed Parisian paid no heed from where she sat reviewing for an exam, a specially crafted study playlist—courtesy of Nino—drowning out the noise from the outside.

Marinette yawned. “Tikki, what time is it?“ She laid her pencil down sluggishly, feeling the effects of late-night studying bogging her down.

The scarlet kwami perked up from where she had laid resting. “About... a quarter before eleven,“ Tikki chirped ever so helpfully. “You should rest, Marinette. What use is reviewing if you fall asleep during the exam?”

“And what use is being rested if I end up failing the exam?“ She shot Tikki a small, tired smile. “I think I’ll place my bets on studying, thank you very much. Sleep is for the weak!“

Tikki giggled, tilting her head up at Marinette. “Sleep is for the weak? We’ll see who’s laughing when you end up falling asleep in class!“

Marinette opened her mouth to shoot back a sassy retort, but then Tikki suddenly, panickedly, dove behind her computer. She whirled around, her eyes darting around the room to find what had caused her kwami’s abrupt flight.

Carefully, she reached to turn off the music that had been reverberating through the room. Wrapped in the sudden, chilling silence, she crept towards her bed, following a suspicious sound that had earlier gone unnoticed. It’s probably just a pot falling over, she reasoned with herself, trying to calm her speeding heart. It’s nothing.

Nonetheless, she made sure to grab the seldom used pepper spray her papa, overprotective as he was sometimes, had gifted her after the events of Weredad.

Just as she was about to reach up and open the skylight, however, a hand smacked the glass down, and she recoiled in stunned shock.

“Don’t come up!“ The unmistakable voice of Chat Noir, muffled as it was, pulled her from her state of fright, convincing the hand that held the pepper spray to lower itself.

“Chat Noir?” she asked weakly, the thud-thud-thud of her heart slowly calming down. “You scared me.“

She cast a furtive glance at the Miraculous Box that lay hidden under a loose floorboard. “I thought you were someone else...“

“Sorry, Mari,“ he said, abashed. “But— well, you can’t come up. I’m detransformed right now.“

She gasped, and had to resist the urge to look up. “Detransformed? Did you have to use your power? Oh no, don’t tell me there was an akuma!“

“There is, princess,“ he said grimly as she watched the shadow of his hand retreat from the skylight. “I haven’t seen milady yet, either. Long story short, I got trapped and I was forced to use my Cataclysm. And, well...“

She heard him chuckle sheepishly. “Your house was close. And it had a convenient balcony, and you have cheese. Right?“

Rolling her eyes, she let out a small chuckle of her own. “Right. But I’m not leaving you up there,“ she said firmly. “Let me find you a disguise. I think I have a Chat Noir mask somewhere here, from the time we made that music video for Clara.“

“Thanks,“ he said, all too grateful for the offer. “I’ll just— wait here, I guess?“

“Yep, stay there, chaton,” she called out, already scrambling down the ladder as she racked her head trying to recall where she had stashed the mask. “I’ll be right back.“

As she rooted in one of the various chests lying around the room, she heard a faint, sweet melody wafting down from above. He’s humming that song again, she realized. The one that goes “little kitty on a rooftop.”

Her chest tightened. Whoever had done... whatever it was that had made him so vulnerable like that had hell to pay.

She bet it was his father. The very same father who had limited his diet for a job. He was a minor, for goodness’ sake. Why was he even working in the first place?

She pushed her vengeful thoughts away. Now was not the time to talk crap about his father. Now was the time to help Chat Noir, as both Marinette and Ladybug.

Spotting a swath of black leather, she reached out to grasp it, and was rewarded with a midnight mask, almost identical to the one Chat had lost when he had detransformed.

Satisfied, she scaled the ladder once more, and rapped on the skylight without looking up. “Chat? I left the mask on the bed. I’ll go get some cheese for your kwami while you come down.” She placed the item down on the covers, careful to position it where he wouldn’t accidentally step on it.

“Thank you again, Marinette. You’re a Ladybug in disguise!”

She froze, half-hunched over the trapdoor on the floor. Ladybug... in disguise... Does he know? How did he know? Oh no, who else knows?

She shook her head, trying to rid herself of her screaming thoughts. He meant it as a compliment, her common sense whispered, trying to make itself heard in a cacophony of noise. Like Adrien, who called you an everyday Ladybug.

 It’s nothing, it’s nothing, it’s nothing, she chanted in her head. A click sounded from above, spurring her on. Now go downstairs and get Chat some cheese, before you accidentally discover his identity.

Quickly, she ducked down, her fingertips skimming the smooth banister as she nimbly descended the steps, her feet knowing the way to the pantry by heart. She grabbed a rejected croissant on her way, her mind going to Chat’s limited diet once more. If he wasn’t being fed properly, she’d do it herself.

Popping another rejected pastry in her mouth, she hunted for the stinkiest, smelliest cheese they had, settling for some blue cheese that her papa only occasionally used in special recipes. Then she went back up, balancing the platter of cheese in one hand whilst swallowing the last crumbs of her pastry. 

Delicious, as always, she thought, humming with satisfaction as she pushed open the trapdoor. Having calmed down, to some measure, she poked her head in, exhaling a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding in when she saw that Chat sat with a mask thankfully on.

But then her breath caught again, when she noticed the black suit that hugged his figure, accentuating the broad shoulders that had grown ever broader as the two of them has matured over the past two years. He turned to her, normal, human-looking, beautiful eyes clashing with hers.

She faltered, and desperately, uselessly, tried to pick her jaw up from the ground.

A cry of “You’re back!“ snapped her out of her haze, startling her to action.

“Ow!” She reached down to rub a foot that had caught on the edge of the opening when she had shot out of the trapdoor.

“Princess, are you okay?“ came the concerned voice of Chat Noir—a Chat Noir who was dressed to the nines, and looked hot, thank you very much brain for reminding me.

“I’m okay, won’t dorry! I mean, don’t worry,” she amended, straightening as she handed him the platter of cheese and watched his kwami zip out of the inside of his jacket and start feasting. She sighed. “Sorry.“

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,“ he said, and she watched his eyes light up with childish joy as she offered him the croissant she had brought up.

Her heart twinged at the pure, innocent hope in his tone. "Of course," she said, laughing when he snatched the pastry out of her hand and gobbled it up in mere seconds. "Whoa there, you starving or something?"

He chuckled, dusting off the remnants of the croissant from his hands. "I was at a formal dinner before the akuma struck, and the uptight, suffocating atmosphere killed my appetite. I should be used to it but… I'm not."

Her mouth dropped open in silent realization. Oh. So that was why he had been all dressed up. How had she, the fashion designer, not realized it sooner?

And… he said he should be used to it? Did that mean he was a regular attendee in those types of things? Was Chat Noir, the mangy alley cat, actually a rich, high class Parisian?

The slightly bewildered voice of the person in question filtered through her swirling thoughts, snapping her out of her little trance.

“Princess? What is it?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” she said, blushing awkwardly. “I just… well, I would’ve never thought that you were actually a socialite behind the mask!”

His hand went to the back of his neck, something she had frequently seen him do when embarrassed or nervous. “Hahaha… I’m not really a socialite, per se,” he said, laughing weakly. “Actually, how about you forget I ever said anything? Milady would kill me if she found out I exposed even a tiny clue about myself.”

Something between a laugh and a huff puffed out of her lips. If only he knew who he was talking to right now.

“Okay then, chaton,” she said, smiling at the amount of sheer loyalty he held towards her—that was, the other her. “How about we change the topic? For example—” she squinted, suddenly noticing his tie was crooked “—that tie. It’s crookedness is practically criminal. How about I fix that for you?”

Without even letting him reply, she stepped forward, and hesitantly reached out towards him, only now realizing what fixing his tie required. 

It required leaning in closer, breathing in his oddly familiar scent. It required a hand skimming over his chest as she curled her fingers around his tie, the material soft and silky to the touch. It required keeping her breathing steady, her heart calm, even when it threatened to burst out of her chest.

Her lashes fluttered rapidly as she tried to set herself straight. Focus, Marinette, it’s just a tie!

Her fingers fumbled as she tried to strengthen her grip on the cloth, and actually start straightening it.

Her breath caught as her head reflexively jerked up, sapphire eyes clashing with emeralds. 

It was indescribable, really, how vibrant and beautiful those eyes were, in and out of costume. That neon green, shining with either playful affection, sincere caring, childish innocence, or occasionally, with unshed tears. 

Right now, though, the pools of green brimmed with something that she, with all her training as a Guardian decoding the secrets the Grimoire held, couldn’t ever decipher. It was something caught between embarrassment, awkwardness, fondness, and… if she dare say so, desire.

She could hear the far-off sounds of the akuma, presumably wreaking havoc on Paris, but at that moment she couldn’t find it in herself to care. All that mattered, according to her speeding heart, was this, right here, right now.

In the end, it had been Plagg’s dry voice that had finally snapped them out of their spellbound trance, pulling them to flustered action.

“I think that tie’s been straightened enough, Pigtails.”

“Oh— oops! Sorry,” she said, flustered. Awkwardly moving away, she stared hard at the floor, trying, hoping, failing to wash away the remnants of the charged tension.

“It’s fine!” He blushed, equally as flustered. “It’s fine.”

“That akuma’s not going to defeat itself, kid,” Plagg drawled out.

He laughed sheepishly. “Plagg, claws out!”

She raised her arm instinctively as a flash of green seared her eyelids, and when she next looked, he was Chat Noir again. 

For a moment, she felt disappointed that his oh-so-well-made suit had melted away with the transformation. But then she noticed something different about his normal get-up, and burst out laughing, disappointment vanishing as quickly as steam on a mirror.

“You—” Marinette wheezed “—you have a mask on top of another mask!”

She watched through laughing, scrunched-up eyes as he felt around on his face and groaned. “I forgot about that,” he muttered crossly. 

He sulkily pried off the disguise, tossing it on the desk, and scowling when another round of giggles fell from her lips. “It’s not funny,” he complained. 

“It is!” 

“Fine, then. I’m leaving!”

“Wait, no, I was just kidding!”

“Too late. Bye~”

And with that, he leapt up to her loft, and bounded out of her room, finally making his way to the akuma.

One last chuckle puffed from her lips. “Silly kitty.”

And then she called out to Tikki, saying, “Tikki, spots on!”

For once, going after her chaton was all she wanted to do.

———

a.n. also this was supposed to be finished a day ago but tumblr decided to delete half of it and i had a minor breakdown,,, huge thank you to all my discord friends yall cheered me up just by talking to me <3

previous day | next day

[seekingjets]

Curious Cat anon: “If you’re still looking for prompts: Megatron tries to give Starscream a surprise gift.”

—

The security deck is quiet for the most part - once you grow used to the background noise of chirping computers and humming radars pulsing back the make of the universe. Starscream scarcely recognized the sound of approaching steps, heavy and unguarded as they were, until Megatron was behind him. He was a weighty shadow in a room of dim lights and stillness beyond the hum of computers and his leader’s natural rumble.

“Do you need something?” Starscream doesn’t turn around until Megatron’s great hand brushes his shoulder. Guiding his attention until he feels wings press against the computer console - his body shifted to stare /up/ at his great and quiet leader. A look of fondness playing warm over optics which shine terrible in the poorly lit room.

“I have something for you.” Megatron’s voice vibrates through the air, drawing a low and pleasing hum through Starscream’s form in response. Starscream has to bite his glossa to keep from scoffing, letting his mouth curl pretty and amicable while he shifts weight. His own gaze drawing down the warlord’s posture. Confident and warm, here for a reason.

“Oh, do you now?” He purrs and watches the wear of wrinkles and repaired seams across Megatron’s face twitch. His own posture loosening to begin lowering to his knees. Hand grasping at Megatron’s hips. “Fine, just make it quick, I actually am on duty.”

He doesn’t get very far before Megatron is making a chuffed noise, heavy servos grasping at pale shoulders and dragging him back up from the floor.

“No not that,” He declines, annoyance apparent and Starscream rolls his optics.

“I’ve never known you to turn it down.” He pinches his mouth, curious then at Megatron’s meaning. “What do you want then?”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the…” Megatron clears his throat, hardly a proud but strangely delicate on manners of debauchery. It was cute. Sometimes. “I actually have something for you.”

“Like what?” All Starscream’s tension pours into wings as Megatron looks /too/ proud of himself. Pulling back to retrieve something from subspace. A simple box of dark metal and no ornate wrapping. It looked little more than a flat cube - plucked from anywhere as innocuous as the rest of the ship.

“A surprise.” He smiles in his “not smiling but most certainly his face has changed” way.

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Why a gift?” Red flags raised as Megatron was not known for giving…gifts.

“Because I wanted to get you a gift.” Megatron explains, motioning with the object with a touch more urgency. “It’s for you. Take it.”

Starscream gives it three kliks…before trying to slap the “surprise”.

“No thank you.”

Megatron is fast enough to catch the box before it gets too far. Fingers wrapping protectively and smile gone, which wasn’t exactly a good sign, but neither was Megatron arriving with a surprise. Who knew what that could mean!?

“Starscream.” A warning, the way he draws out his name is practically a threat to behave. “Control your paranoia.”

“Is it a bomb?” He asks with all earnesty and doesn’t flinch when Megatron gapes in return.

“No it’s not a bomb!”

“Poison gas then? A hoard of scraplets waiting to chew out my optics?”

“You’ve gone mad.” Megatron flickers his gaze before shoving the box into Starscream’s chest. “It’s a gift. Just open it.”

“No.” Starscream pushes back, with absolutely no results. Megatron being a thrice reinforced steel wall: he only manages to scrape at the floor a bit with pedes. “I don’t want it!”

“Take it.” Voices raised and that fond little wrinkle turns to Megatron’s usual look of annoyance.

“You can’t make me!” Starscream tries to duck away, certain that whatever was in Megatron’s mysterious box was punishment for something he was planning on denying later. (the list was long and Starscream couldn’t be expected to keep track of his own treachery!). But Megatron was bulky and crude, a single servo was all it took to wrap Starscream’s waist. Effectively lift and relocate him across the console where buttons flared beneath his weight and Soundwave was likely going to have to fix something later.

“You little brat,” Megatron huffs, diving into his space with the grace of a building collapsing. “It’s just a gift!”

“A suspicious gift!” Starscream defends and childishly pinches Megatron’s chin - immediate reprimand for violating his personal space (of which they never respected of one another but Starscream would be irate when convenient.) “Is this punishment for the mess hall incident? Because I told Soundwave—”

“What incident?” By the dark tremor in his voice Starscream decided to shut his mouth, best not to play his hand too soon.

“Nothing. Nevermind. Forget about it.” Waves it off, choosing to release his claws on Megatron’s jawline in favor of cradling that massive fat head. Letting only a fraction of the weight of his leader’s helm rest in palm, frowning at him with lingering doubt. “So what’s in the box that you can’t tell me first?”

“Have you never heard of a surprise?” Megatron shoots back, resting the box on Starscream’s pale thigh between them, seemingly calm for the moment.

“Of course I have! I surprise Autobots constantly - with gunfire, chemical warfare and recordings of Blitzwing singing. It’s dreadfully effective.” He smiles, trying not to look at the box. A miniscule weight on his leg and yet an unknown danger as far as he could tell! What was he supposed to do, trust Megatron? Who knows what sort of nefarious and terrible things Megatron learned Starscream did and was upset about? Enough to present to him his own demise, the sadist!

“You’re unbelievable.” Megatron groans, his huff sending warm air across Starscream’s frame - trapped now as he cradles Megatron’s head.

“And you’re up to something - I won’t be tricked into it!”

Megatron stares for a klik, frown set deep, before the swerve of his optics streak in the dark. Servo returning to the box and lifting the lid without warning.

Starscream flinches, of course, expecting a great deal of terrible things. Even drops Megatron’s chin in an attempt to better cover himself from whatever horrors were about to burst forward from the small /surprise/. Megatron’s expression doesn’t change though, remains lingering on Starscream. Watching his reaction with a mixture of amusement and flat irritation for his theatrics. A commonly seen look in his leader…and one that Starscream didn’t appreciate now that he was faced with the so-called surprise!

He looked inside the box because he couldn’t resist and nothing had launched onto his face yet - confused at the contents.

“What is it?” He questions behind the cover of his servo, leaning back just in case it was a timed explosion.

“You don’t recognize it?” He sounded less disappointed, more amused, and that certainly annoyed Starscream.

“What? A lump of debris?” Snaps, reaching into the box as a show of confidence to retrieve the bent and scorched shape. The odd flat rock, or metal bit no larger than his own palm with pointed angles and — oh.

“There you go Starscream.” Megatron looks too pleased for his taste, but Starscream’s expression has gone slack in realization. “Unless you’d prefer a bomb?”

“This is your–” Blue claws cradle the disfigured Decepticon badge. The one Megatron war against the first battles of bitter Cybertron. The first badge of its kind which Starscream had believed was lost to a skirmish across Praxus where for a moment they all believed Megatron had also been taken from them. They had feeble resources then and to make such a hearty badge, one which could stand up against the flames and chaos of the blossoming war, Megatron had it cut from his own spark chamber.

A trend which thankfully wasn’t required but certainly made a point about loyalty.

“Now it’s yours.” Megatron’s softening expression was truly his greatest act of war. Something so dangerous, someone so terrible should not be capable of looking so…so….

“I don’t understand. Why?” Starscream fumbles with words, suddenly awkward and yet protective of the piece of Megatron he now holds. Trying to come up with a reason, a logical or at least acceptable answer to the spinning in his head over such an intimate gift.

“Because I want you to have it.” Megatron shifts closer, taking advantage of Starscream’s shock to brush a quiet kiss to his cheek. Something unexpected and altogether unlike his fearsome leader.

But not unwanted.

“You’re ridiculous.” He pulls a frown, watching Megatron’s smug face.

“If you don’t want it–”

“No!” He shrieks, slapping away a hand not even reaching to retake the gift. “It’s mine! What sort of mech are you, trying to reclaim a present! No class, no class at all!” Starscream pulls the object, broken and burnt as it was, to his chin. Holding it there to stare over the chipped and mangled crown of the Decepticon badge, his mouth brushing what once belonged within the innermost core of Megatron’s frame. Metal touched by his life, now belonging to Starscream.

“Do you like it?”

“No.” Starscream lies and clutches the gift all the more tenderly. “Not in the least.”