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[sosouthernbeats]

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[frameconfessions]

I hope the protoframes remain relevant even after this story arc for the Drifter concludes, but I also recognize how complicated things would get with how many characters they could keep trying to make stay relevant, leading to a Konoha 13 Naruto type situation where we have too many relevant characters from Umbra & Ordis all the way to Kaya Velasco.

.

[jacobthewilliam]

[SPITCUPS] Old School Hip Hop Boom Bap Beat - by WOKE BOY WONDERS

[revelboo]

god. revel youre a terrible (affectionate) influence, we got the bumblebee lego in at work and its the CUTEST goddamn thing. they gave him BUMPER STICKERS. and REASONS for said bumper stickers (like his street smarts or w/e and its. not much but i think its cute) AND his shattered glass counterpart- goldbug?? iirc?? is on one of the license plates they gave him and on top of that it TRANSFORMS AFTER YOU BUILD IT. im gonna get him n wrap him and park his cute stickered butt under my tree. they gave him a little bee in his cab and on the back of his little id card thing and everything, its so unreasonably cute

I need pictures, because that sounds so cool! Don’t make me go buy a Lego kit, they’re so darn expensive and I’m broke right now. Unfortunately, it looks like I’m the only one at work today, so I’m going to write nonsense

The Weakends Pt 10

TFP Ratchet x Reader

• Heart racing as he drags you into him, servos wrapped around your arm so tight he’s probably going to leave bruises, but it’s hard to care about anything beyond the fact that he’s finally opening up. And he’s also somehow not quite your size, but much closer. “I’m not okay,” he says again, voice tight with tension as you hesitantly go up on tiptoe so you can loop your free arm around his neck and give him a hug. Because you know exactly how hard it is to say those words, because as much as you push at him out of worry, you do the same thing. Work past exhaustion, forget meals or just not want to eat at all because of stress. Worry over everyone but yourself. And his other arm bands around you, pressing you to him so tight you can barely breathe.

• “I know. You don’t have to be,” you whisper and he feels like a fool clinging to you like a sparkling clutches to their carrier. Embarrassed even as it feels like a weight’s been lifted from him. And you’re giving him permission to not keep up the act, but he’s not sure if that indifference and attitude is all that’s keeping him together. If he’ll break if he loses that armor. “We can talk about it if you want? Or about anything, but Doc you’re crushing my ribs a bit.” And uttering a startled laugh, he eases up his grip on you. Freezing when you cup his cheek in a warm hand, eyes staring up at him. Smiling. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard you laugh before.”

• Sure he scoffs and laughs, but it’s always dismissive or sarcastic. Never real like this and you want to hear it again. Want this tired, exhausted bot to smile. To be happy so bad it hurts. “I laugh,” he mutters, tone defensive as his optics flick toward your hand on him, to your face, back to your hand. Not asking you to stop touching him, but clearly uncertain about it. Making you wonder how long it’s been since someone touched him like this. Held him. Kissed him. Do they do that? There’s so much about Cybertronians you have no clue about. So many things that are achingly familiar to humans, despite how different they are.

• Startlingly soft and warm, your little hand lingers on his face. That touch tempting him to touch you in return, becoming all too aware of the way you feel against him. Could turn his head and let his mouth brush your palm, could run his servos through the softness of your hair. Aware that he’s staring at you, lost in those lovely eyes. Unable to move in case you come to your senses and move away. “You should laugh more,” you say, thumb sliding against him and brushing the corner of his mouth. “I like when you smile.”

• You’ve lost your mind, but it seems to be contagious as he bends toward you. When he vents, it fans across your face and stirs your hair. His serious mouth so close to yours and his big hand sliding from your side up your back as the other lets go of your arm and his servos just barely ghost over your cheek. Blood heating with awareness of him, of those big hands on you as you want something you’re not sure is allowed or even possible. “Do you?” He asks, voice gruff and deep, lips almost brushing yours. Know that any minute he’ll realize what he’s doing and stop. The walls will go back up and you don’t want that. Don’t want to let whatever this is slip through your fingers even if it’s a mistake. Even if you’re just going to regret it. Free hand catching at his chassis, you crush your mouth to his before you can overthink how terrible an idea this is. And he recoils back in surprise or distaste and it hurts, your face heating at the rejection. Then his mouth comes down on yours, those hands tightening on you until there’s no way they won’t leave bruises and Cybertronians do kiss. He kisses with a consuming desperation that leaves you molten with the need for more. For everything.

Previous

Next

[mead-iocre]

Not Like My Mama! | Viviannne Miedema x Wife!Reader

synopsis: a glimpse of Ducky at her football lessons.

warnings: nothing. just pure fluff

word count: 1.0k

————————————

Viv tugs on the laces of the red and white football boots to make sure they’re secure. She had a strict ritual whenever she tied her boots. She would start by aligning her laces, laying them out flat, ensuring there are no twists. This step is essential to her; any sign of imperfection can unsettle her focus.

Viv would always start with her left boot first. She would pulls the laces tight, securing the boot with exactly three knots. The first knot is a standard criss-cross, pulled tightly. The second knot is a loop, ensuring a firm hold. The final knot is a smaller, tight finish, securing the previous loops. To the Arsenal striker, each knot symbolizes control, strength, and precision. 

But the owner of the little boots she was tying did not care about control, strength, or precision. All she probably cared about was running after the ball, scoring a goal or two, and maybe getting an ice-cream after practice. 

“There you go, Ducky!” Viv pats the little boot before smiling at her little footballer. Her daughter was repeatedly glancing over at the pitch to find her friends, clearly eager to join them. Just like her Mama, Evelyn loved football, and she looked forward to all her weekly lessons where she got to wear her special boots. 

When she notices her slightly distracted daughter, Viv gently palms her cherubic face towards her, chuckling when her daughter whines lowly. “Hey. Look at Mama for a second. I have to go to work soon…”

“Quick, Mama. Ducky go play football!” Evie points a chubby finger at where the rest of her teammates are gathering, shouts of glee and excitement filling the park. Viv can see her wiggling her feet into her tiny football boots in anticipation. 

“Okay, okay” Viv admonishes lightly, brushing a hand over her daughter’s hair. Her wife usually did Evelyn’s hair– from pigtails and braids– she was far more skilled than Viv at that department. By some miracle, she had someone managed to tame the little girl’s curls into two, even-ish, pigtails– her preferred hairstyle today. She also managed to attach the little ribbon clips that are the same colours as Evie’s football kit to complete the look. Viv is grateful her daughter did not ask for braids otherwise there would’ve been a meltdown that morning. “Right. Have fun then, Ducky! Mama has to go to work, but Mummy will be here”

Evie perks up slightly, already knowing that she’ll be allowed to run over and join her friends in a bit. “Ducky go now!” 

Viv pulls the very excited toddler into her arms for one last squeeze, raining a few kisses all over her face, and revelling in the sweet giggles she gets in return. With one last kiss to her forehead, Viv stands up on her feet and watches her daughter run onto the pitch and greet her teammates. She turns to you, coming back from buying yourself a drink and a pastry from one of the stalls, and gives you one sweet kiss. You exchange goodbyes and promises to make plans for dinner tonight, and then you watch her walk to towards the carpark. 

————————————

The coach gently rolls a ball towards Evelyn. With determination written all over her face, she takes a few wobbly steps forward and swings her foot at the ball. She misses on the first try but quickly tries again, and this time, she makes contact. The ball rolls a few feet away, and her face lights up. She runs after the ball, her pigtails and ribbons bouncing wildly with each step.

For the next half hour, Evelyn is in her element. She chases the ball, giggles with her friends, and even scores her very first goal. You watch your daughter from the sidelines with a proud smile on your face.

Your little footballer, and your wife's mini me

During a water break, Evie is approached by a new teammate. Evie has never seen the girl before, so she reckons she must be new. 

“My Mama’s good at football” Evie turns to the new girl when she speaks to her. Evie learned earlier that her name is Ashley and she had just moved from up north but Evie doesn’t remember the name of the town. 

“Really?” 

“Mmmhmm. She can kick reeeeally far. Like all the way to the Moon!” Evie tilts her head at that. That sounds very far, but her Mama could probably kick it father than that. “but we only play in the garden when she’s not at the hospital working”

Evelyn makes a noncommittal hum, not disagreeing necessarily but not agreeing either “Hmm. So can my Mama”

“There’s Mummy” Evie points you out amongst the group of other parents. With your sunglasses onto of your head, you were wearing a bright coloured t-shirt so your daughter can easily spot you amongst the crowd. You were chatting with the other parents, but your eyes scanning the pitch, keeping an eye out for her. “But Mama is at work”

“Oh. Just like my Mama! But my Daddy is there” Ashley points to a man who is sitting on one of the benches, chatting to someone else’s parent. “Where’s your Mama?”

“Playing football…” Evie stares at her football boots on her feet. They were red and white and given to her by Auntie Leah. She said she bought them because they were Arsenal colours. 

“Oh! My Mama plays football too! Just like your Mama!” 

“My Mama plays football.” Evie emphasis. Turning her head to find you again, partly for reassurance, and also because she was getting slightly angsty because of her new friend. When you catch her eye, you give her a quick wave from where you were seated, pausing your conversation to focus all your attention on your daughter. When she gives you a quick wave back and turns to her friend, you figured all was fine. “My Mama plays for Arsenal"

Evie looks back at Ashley when she begins to speak again. “Just like Mama! My Mama likes Arsenal too! She likes the colour red very much” 

“No.” Evie stomps her red and white boot once, flattening the grass beneath her boots. She narrows her eyes slightly at her new friend. She didn’t like Ashely anymore. She didn’t get it, she didn’t understand.  

“Not like My Mama. My Mama is Vivianne Miedema”

Short and sweet. I was inspired (and currently have a case of baby fever) so wrote this in like 30 minutes, and have not spelt checked/grammar checked it throughly lol.

next couple of fics will all be leah fics so I wanted to get one more non-leah fic out before I overwhelm you with so much leah w. x reader, so stay tuned for those!

-- kisses, butter.

*This work is my original creation. Please don’t copy, share, or translate it without asking for my permission first. Thanks for respecting that!

[fallenprophets]

midnight, lose my mind

rust cohle x reader

» can be read as a prequel or sequel to televangelism but doesn't have to be

» summary: although you and rust have been "together" for a while now, you've never kissed- and you're perfectly fine with this fact. only now, he seems to want to try.

» warnings: mentions of sex but that's it

» a/n: soooo self indulgent. literally don't know what came over me when i wrote this. listened to lorde and sydney ross mitchell on LOOP. yk. like a normal person

»»»»

I’m not sure how or when our relationship evolved into what it is now. It feels like only yesterday that the most intimate contact with him that I had was the moment our eyes met for a split second across the room; I was lucky if he held my gaze long enough to blink that slow blink of his. And yet here he is, all pretty and domestic, almost, sitting on my bed, shirt buttons undone, hair messy. He’s watching me where I sit on the windowsill, occasionally taking those deep drags of his from a cigarette before passing it to me. I can’t really remember when he first came over; first stayed the night. It just happened, so natural. I just know that now he’s almost always here; and when he’s not, I’m usually at his, borrowing his shirts, smoking his cigarettes. 

He hasn’t kissed me yet, though. That’s something that I think I would remember; I’ve looked at his mouth so much, ached for it. I don’t push it, though. Like him- maybe love him- too much to lose him over something so trivial. He’s done other things for me- after a few weeks, I noticed that I never ran out of cigarettes. When he came over, the dishes crowding my sink would miraculously disappear; dust stopped settling on the piles of books scattered around the living room. I found the other day that the empty first-aid kit I still keep in my bathroom had been filled. He’s even stopped smoking his usual brand of cigarettes, replaced them with the ones I said I liked. 

I don’t say anything; I don’t know if he wants me to notice, if he wants me to point it out, to thank him. For now, I enjoy it. If I’m honest with myself, I still worry that it could end at any minute; that he’ll leave before I wake up, and I’ll only see him at work, when we exchange files. 

It’s hard to believe that, though; because when I come into work, at exactly the same time every day, I find my favourite mug on my desk, filled with coffee- coffee the way I like it, with no sugar but just a little cocoa powder that I buy myself (although that has also magically stopped emptying). It’s real nice, actually. To have someone care for me in that way- to know that when I say something, like how I like my coffee or what my favourite brand of cigarettes is, he’ll file it away into a corner of his brain. 

He told me about his wife, too, the other day. I hadn’t asked; we’d been sitting in his truck, his hand on my thigh, and he’d just mentioned it, told me about his baby girl. 

I’ve never been a particularly optimistic person, but something in me knows that he won’t leave.

I shift, readjust the collar of my top. He’s still watching me in that strange way of his; like he’s trying to read my mind, to learn everything about me through the way I breathe. Not for the first time, I find myself wishing that I could reach through those murky eyes and into his mind, take out his thoughts and wrap myself in them. 

He extends an arm, and I pluck the cigarette- the packet, my favourite brand, sits next to him on the bed- from between his fingers, taking a long drag. My stomach feels strange at the feeling; it’s the closest I’ve come so far to kissing him. 

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” I ask, handing his cigarette back. A routine question, at this point in our relationship. He usually answers with something vague, sometimes that would make Marty flip, and I listen, silent, fascinated. Sometimes, I don’t even register what he’s saying; too busy watching the way his mouth moves, his throat, the slope of his shoulders; dissecting him in my mind. 

“You,” he answers after a brief pause. His gaze has fastened itself to my collarbone. 

My heart hops and skitters like a rabbit. As a teenager, I was convinced the whole butterflies-in-your-belly thing was bullshit, but I think I understand it now. 

I swallow and tilt my head at him, try to read the lines of his face in the soft light. I don’t ask him to elaborate; I like the idea of him thinking about me, of what he’s thinking exactly being his secret. Like a little piece of me, always with him. 

It’s early spring; everything is greener outside, the sun a softer shade of gold. A light breeze blows in through the open windows, stirring the curtains, his hair. I tuck my knee up, rest my chin on him as I keep staring. I’m not hiding it anymore; not the way I used to. Back when we hardly knew each other, when all we had was brief flashes of charged eye contact across the precinct and a whole lotta wantin’, Now, he’s sitting on my bed, and he’s staring at me, so I may as well return the favour. 

I don’t know how long we sit there, just looking. We’ve done it before; often, in fact, we sit in silence, taking each other in. It makes me feel the way I used to feel when I kissed someone, only much heavier, bone-deep. I joked, once, as he drove me home- windows open, cigarette between his teeth, one hand resting on my thigh- that it was our way of having sex. He’d exhaled, almost a laugh. 

Now, he puts the cigarette out in the ashtray sitting on my bed and stands. I move to do the same, swinging my legs down from the windowsill, reaching for the handle to shut the windows. Already, I assume he’s going to leave, go back to his place to beat himself up, maybe. But instead, he motions for me to stop. I do; pull my knees back up to my chest again, push the window open further. 

He sits, and automatically I stretch my legs out, rest one across his lap, the other around his waist. Automatically, he puts a hand on my thigh, rubs it with his thumb. He shifts, and his eyes meet mine, dark and murky yet so, so clear; windows into his soul, I think. 

I open my mouth to say his name, but he shakes his head. He reaches out, his hand cupping my face. His fingers find my pulse, like a reflex. He does it when we’re alone; when we’re sitting in his truck, sometimes, he’ll reach out to press his hand to my neck, feel my pulse. 

His other hand leaves my leg and goes to my throat, resting at the nape of my neck. His skin is warm, and he smells like cigarettes and my sheets. I have a lingering suspicion that the shirt he’s wearing is mine. My downstairs neighbour turns on the radio; a song starts playing, too quiet to hear the words. His mouth is pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight. 

I stay completely silent, try to control my breathing as he manoeuvres us closer to each other, until our foreheads touch. I’m painfully aware of every inch of my body that’s in contact with his; of the fact that he can feel how fast my heart is beating under his calloused fingers, that his breathing is really just as shallow as mine. His presence is warm, comforting. I give in to him immediately, even nudge closer so that our noses bump. I want to close my eyes, so I do; I wonder if he feels my eyelashes against his cheekbone, if it makes him feel a certain way. I think he closes his eyes too, at some point. 

After a few moments of this, I lift my hands from where they are in my lap. Half-open my eyes to find the collar of his shirt. I reach up, trace his chest through the few open buttons. Then I begin to undo them, tug the shirt (my shirt, I’m sure of it now- there’s a pale stain on the cuff from when I broke my nose a few years ago, where a bit of blood dripped) off his shoulders. He lets go of my face just for a moment to take it off fully, never really opening his eyes. I let my fingers trace his shoulders, the dip of his collarbone. Feel the way they rise and fall almost imperceptibly as he breathes, the way his heart beats as I press my hand flat against his chest. 

We’ve never slept together. I don’t mind it, and neither does he, I think- we have other ways of being intimate. It’s the first time he’s ever done something like this, though. Initiated this kind of physical contact.

It’s better than any kiss I’ve ever had; from anyone. It’s personal, it’s intimate, it’s for us only. 

Finally, after what feels like hours of just breathing each other in (at some point, his thumb has started to trace circles on my cheekbone; I shudder when it does, and his breath catches almost unnoticeably for a moment) he shifts, his forehead leaving mine. I’m taken aback by the way it makes me feel; the ache deep in my chest, the way my throat tightens. 

His gaze drops, for the first time ever, to my mouth. 

Somehow, I know that he’s going to kiss me, now. 

I open my mouth, to tell him that he doesn’t have to, that I don’t need him to; but the words die on my tongue as he breaks the small gap between us, pressing his mouth to mine. 

I’m not sure exactly why, but I’d always thought he would kiss harshly, hungrily, maybe a little desperate. I’d pictured him bruising my lips, tugging at my clothes. But no- the way he kisses me is unlike anything I’d pictured. It’s soft, slow, and yes, maybe a little hungry- but not the way I had predicted. He kisses the same way he talks- slow, soft- and it makes me a little breathless. 

I press my hands to the flat of his back, pulling him closer. He pulls away for a moment, just long enough to say my name almost reverently, his thumb dragging across my cheekbone before pulling his away to trace the lines of my mouth. I smile, take his hand in mine to kiss his fingertips. He cups my face again, and I lean into the palm of his hand, suddenly hungry for his warmth, for his touch. He kisses the corner of my mouth, then moves down; slow, methodical, featherlight touches of his lips across my jaw, down my throat. He stops at the center of my collarbone, kisses it. I press my nose into his hair, breathe him in, smile despite myself. 

He comes back up, kisses me on the mouth again. Then he pulls away for good, untangles himself from my legs, stands, takes a few steps away. I stay where I am, wrapping my arms around myself. The absence of his touch, so sudden, is almost painful in a pathetic way. I watch him; I can tell he’s sifting through a thousand different thoughts. My mouth, my neck, my collarbone; all still tingle from the warm, almost feverish touch of his lips. 

He sits down on the bed again, runs a hand through his hair. Finally, I stand too, walk over, sit next to him. I shift to rest my head on his shoulder; his arm finds its place around my waist. I feel him rest his cheek on my head, take a deep breath. 

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” I ask again, still breathless. 

“You.” The answer comes quickly; he doesn’t hesitate this time. And he shifts, his eyes meeting mine. He holds my gaze. 

“You stayin’ the night?” I don't feel stupid saying it, like I did the first time I asked to stay over at his. I feel comfortable, because I already know what his answer is.

“Yes.” Again, he says it quickly, like he was hoping I’d ask. I reach over to thread my fingers through his. His skin is warm. I wonder if he can feel my pulse where our hands touch. 

[galina]

How to create a home for oneself in a new city when you're alone?

get some music on – you're never truly alone when you have a great playlist

even though you might not feel like it, get dressed every day and put your best kit on

join nextdoor or your neighbourhood's local online bulletin, they're full of awful complaints and sales pitches but they make you feel more in the loop

go to your local baker/cafe/grocer and buy something, strike up a conversation if you can, tell them you're new in town, keep coming back and always smile

join your local library, they're amazing

move about – join a local running club if that's your thing, or go to a fitness swim class at the local pool, or sign up to a yoga studio, take a spin class, that sort of thing

don't like sport? try an adult class with the local council, like pottery, or knitting, or painting

your local café, pub, gallery or bookshop probably has a life drawing class, book club, poetry night, chess club, go and have fun

ask a colleague for recommendations of what's good in town, chances are you'll end up grabbing a drink together

go to the club if you're into it, and just get lost in the music, the best safe non judgemental place to get sweaty and press your body to other beautiful bodies

buy yourself flowers from the supermarket

cook for yourself like you would a friend, make extravagant meals because you're worth the time!

take buses and trains to explore the area, take a book with you – have a picnic, walk around, look in shops, go to a museum, just be curious

and: you're going to be ok, promise. I hope you're settling in well friend ❤️

[nonsscrapheap]

did a small snippet of dance of the fire bot in a discord server! decided to make it longer for here! things might not stay the same when i officially make dance of the fire bot an actual story but doing snippets helps me gain a more solid idea for the actual fic :)

===== Dance of the Fire Bot =====

WANTED: HOT ROD [ALIVE, 50,000 SHANIX] WANTED FOR: MURDER, ASSAULT, RESISTING ARREST, DANGER TO THE PUBLIC WANTED BY: SENATE COUNCIL

"What is this?!" Ratchet snarled, gripping the datapad that depicted the young faceplate of a familiar bot. It'd been almost a couple of vorns since then, but he still remembered that red and yellow bot. "Orion—"

The enforcer held his servo up to try and calm the enraged medic, "It was issued without my knowledge Ratchet, but unfortunately it is the truth. Young Hot Rod is wanted by the Senate." He sounded apologetic, and Ratchet's anger eased slightly when he realized that Orion was hiding his frustration. Always composed, this mech.

Still, Ratchet glared at the bounty regardless.

"For clearly false charges! That youngling couldn't have possibly hurt anyone! They just want him for his olfactory outlier ability." He growled, remembering just how kind the young spark had been even after being kidnapped by that damn mercenary. How easy it was to gain his trust because 'he smelled kind'— it's a strange but nonetheless useful ability, Hot Rod's olfactory sensors. To be able to smell things beyond just normal scents...

Orion's expression turned grim and he gestured back to the datapad. "His outlier ability isn't his olfactory senses Ratchet… There's a clip of him attached to his bounty page."

Ratchet swiped and was stunned to see the sight of the young bot lashing out at- "Senator Proteus?!" He gasped, recognizing the mech being— sliced? Burned? Hot Rod had a small blade in servo, and in one surprisingly clean move; DECAPITATED the senator with a firey swing. "Wha-" The clip looped from beginning, showcasing Hot Rod constantly decapitating the senator.

Where did he even begin with the clip? The youngling he'd once saved from being kidnapped, who called him kind to his faceplate, who held earnest green optics, was effortlessly decapitating Senator Proteus' helm from his chassis with such ease while generating fire?

"There is more to this, to all of this, than meets the optic. Ratchet." Orion said quietly, servos clenching as they watched the bot who once helped Orion find and drag that poor addict to Ratchet's clinic, murder a senator. "I just hope Hot Rod is alright…"

Ratchet's grip on the datapad tightened as he watched the clip play over and over again, his optics narrow. "... Orion, look at that. At the corner over there." He pointed to the corner, something dark was moving in the background- sinuous yet spiky. Was it a cable?

Suddenly, the datapad glitched and both Orion and Ratchet were stunned to see the contents of the bounty changed.

WANTED: HOT ROD [ALIVE, 50,000 SHANIX] WANTED FOR: MURDERS OF SENATOR PROTEUS, TWO NYON OFFICERS AND THREE CIVILIAN BOTS, ASSAULT, RESISTING ARREST, DANGER TO THE PUBLIC WANTED BY: SENATE COUNCIL

They removed the clip.

And outright stated who he 'murdered' with the addition of Nyon officers and civilians. Both mechs were stunned for a moment before sharing a glance.

Something was definitely going on here.

===== Dance of the Fire Bot =====

"They changed Hot Rod's bounty." Springer muttered to Arcee, the femme looked downright murderous. Immediately he nudged her with a stern look, "Fix your expression, we're normal bots- here to buy alt mode kits."

Maybe stopping by the board to see Hot Rod's bounty was a bad idea, but the moment he saw his amica's faceplate- well, Arcee would've seen it and dragged him over anyway.

"It's not fair, Hot Rod doesn't deserve this slag." Arcee seethed quietly but did fix her faceplate into something less murder-y and more grumpy. "He saved us, saved Rust Narrows. He didn't-" kill those bots. She doesn't say because Springer nudges her again.

They were in public, Arcee. Watch your words. Springer conveyed through his optics alone- ugh, he hated being the responsible one between them both. That was Hot Rod's job, but Hot Rod wasn't there at the moment.

They had to leave him behind to hide while they bought alt mode kits, their very first alt mode kits.

It was supposed to be a more joyous occasion, they were old enough to get alt modes, to drive around the streets like the older bots... but now?

They needed those alt mode kits to get out of Nyon.

All because their amica killed a Senator who ate fragging SPARKS! The guy was a sparkeater! How did no one know? Was the whole Senate a bunch of sparkeaters? Vamparc mechs that feasted on sparks?

Anyway, they needed to leave Nyon and find somewhere else to hide. Hot Rod did at least, but like scrap they were going to let him go alone.

First agenda of the plan; get alt mode kits.

Second; get the scrap out of Nyon.

Third; get Hot Rod to teach them how to fight like him.

===== Dance of the Fire Bot =====

honestly unfinished snippet but it's a solid standing. again, some details might change in the official story but i'm liking where things are heading :D

[absolutefilthimsosorry]

Spoilers for DnP Incohearent!!!!

I’m having so much fun trying to solve these that I made a list to keep track! Message if you can help me fill in any I’m missing or if I’ve got any wrong!!!

Also lmk if you see any I’ve missed!! I’m going to keep updating this and have it unrebloggable but you can reblog this post to have a link to it!

These are all gathered from this post and this post so check the notes on those first to try to solve them then look here if you need answers!

Sow march cheer ray = so much cherry

Wee nay urn for uke oye yer tub = we’ve never fucked on youtube?

Ta fold in fig = the golden pig

Feed hay hid eho = vday video

Tat he won ape hit morse him he = daddy want a bit more simmy

Watt ken ice hay = what can I say

North key bus teabag king = naughty busty baking

Fool tie enter nit hobo / fall tie mint her nepo moe / fault aye mint earn are ohm owe/ foul thyme inch hermit hole mold = full time internet homo

Cumin mile aid deed or = come in my ladydoor

Hum hay zinc tan = amazingdan

Elven ower fug sedge own = eleven hour fuck session

An berry moth ribeye adam stir = and every month we buy a hamster

March rest array = Manchester eye

Cyst herding yell = sister daniel

Add a ding teps = editing tips

Cop dubai khaki luna = topped by kakuna

Late eat tore = ladydoor

Half tugger etch two eggs cyst = have the courage to exist

Perish she end wink = Parisian twink

Coal ten big/ goal then pick = golden pig

Cyst ordain yell = sister daniel

Train youth inks = try new things

Gay mean moss/ gain ink mass = gamingmas

Soften need = soft and neat

A wools lied = owl slide

Topper bought them hill = top or bottom Phil

Coat fit firenze = golf with friends???

Few ours pig meow fits = viewers pick my outfits

Read less tar = red lester

Eye eight soup igloo = I ate super glue

Insight youth era too walls = inside you there are two wolves

Mine amy stan = my name is Dan

Clap hella = glabella

Hiss teeth rent = hits different

Eel eyes apron kay kiss = Eliza pancakes

See pram haze ink bra jet = super amazing project

Feels lie yawn = phils lion

Fuel ease snot dawn fair = Phil is not on fire

Jaw shush ear son = josh hutcherson

Ball bull him tour food = bauble in your foot?

Sure eck = shrek

High ate dust = hiatus

Add a dink deps = editing tips

Ga hay shoom air age = gay shoe marriage

Pope eat plate aim = poppy playtime

Eat aches stu = it takes two

Goo gal few ed = google feud

Baze ick lee eye meg ay = basically I’m gay

Ko min yout ti ew = coming out to you

Ender knit subvert grew oop = internet support group

Phylis turn yar a sheen yes = PHIL LESTER YOU’RE A GENIUS

With Audi intern yet wean ed brr wood halve mat = without the internet we never would have met

Gum ban yins drool I’ve = companions through life

Reed sons wide answer flail = reasons why dans a fail

Ewan dam ah some are reed = you and Dan are so married

Denver sis fill/ Denver cis full = Dan vs Phil

Or lawn huffing = all or nothing

Dunk rye core raft = don’t cry craft

Mortal jester roam and thick/ Morph adjust row antic = more than just romantic

So wall how debris poll light = swallow to be polite???

Oar hinge art = orange heart

Foray virgo em = forever home

Chai reel loop/ share real oob = cherry lube

Cad boyd anne = cat boy dan

Far turf ill lip = father philip

Tess lit hen ink = the slittening

Forth house indie rolled or touches = four thousand year old tortoises

Hey moth swish roundup floating = a month without uploading

Jam march let pet tea an farms = Je mange les petit enfants

Day lion howl tour = Dalien Howlter

Ima let all kit = I’m a little kit

Feel pearl lays shell ter = Phil plays shelter

Fewer blue key app ending = viewer spooky happenings

Hell low iam tour reel = hello I am Toriel

Laugh tuh gey mile kuh = left to get milk

Villas eek wreck why vuh = Phil’s secret wife

Footy strain gin said dent = ___ strange incident????

Snow core play sum = snokoplasm

Nope puts cereal sleeping mage innit = no but seriously imagine it

Tear rip pulling flu hence = terrible influence

Jeff why eye aisle hike vague liner = fyi I like vagina

Eggs intense all cry cis = existential crisis

List of contributors

@fletthewreck @dandp @deadandphilgames @manchesterau @thephouseplants @awrfhi @jonsaremembers @rachosaurusrex @dapgolf @dan-whoell @dnphobe @dreamingalto @steveandscraggy @phanbeats @danandfuckingjonlmao @pepper-pastry @yonpote @un-interactive-introvert @spaniel-trowel @sisterdanieldyke @queerdnp @morganadelacour @amid-fandoms @spectral-kitkat @goingpheral @angelzonearth @wdapteo @2009phan @dansevilpianotea

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

They're up at Burnley and it's snowing; lightly at first, a dusting of white over grass through the second half that had them shivering in their kits as they slid mud-spattered across the pitch. They'd won thanks to the fucking Roy Kent effect, everyone except Jamie 'cause that'd require coach to actually, well, coach him. To look at a space with Jamie in it and act like he saw a person instead of nothing at all, and he used to wish he was invisible, back when he was a kid dodging fists and snarled words but now he wants to cry, just a bit, 'cause he really is trying and why can't Roy try too?

They're up at Burnley and it's snowing in huge fluffy white flakes as they board the coach and Jamie feels sick, sits in the aisle beside Sam who presses against the window, breath fogging on the glass.

"You know I'd love to give you all a day out in town to celebrate but it looks like it's gonna be a snow day for us, folks," Ted says, stood at the front of the bus with a broad smile under his moustache. They all groan and he chuckles, hands held out in front of him. "Hey, I don't make the weather — and boy, that would be something, wouldn't it? Give y'all a taste of Kansas summer instead of all this rain you've got going on. Or snow, at the moment. Anyhow, we'll make our own fun, won't we boys?"

"It's barely even snowing," Zoreaux grumbles.

Jamie hurries off the coach, ready to crawl under the blankets and draw the curtains where he can't see any of it and he's halfway to the hotel entrance when he realizes Sam isn't with him. Turns and finds him with his face turned up in the middle of the carpark with snow dusted on his hair and his jacket and melting on his skin.

"It's very beautiful," he says softly. Jamie trudges back towards him and there's a look on his face he's never seen before, all wondering and open and in that moment with icy water trickling through his hair and his fingers frozen stiff in his pockets, Jamie thinks everything in his life has been worth it for this moment, watching Sam's face as he watches the snow.

Beside them, Dani kneels to scoop up a handful and yelps, shaking out his hands, pouting with betrayal. "And very cold!"

"You gotta wear gloves, mate," Jamie says. He knocks his shoulder against Dani and Dani knocks back.

"But it looks so soft!"

Inside, Ted leads them to the conference centre instead of up to their rooms and they sit in a circle on the floor, coaches and all. Jamie ends up huddled between Sam and Dani, arms looped over each other's shoulders, two lads who've never seen snow before in their lives and Jamie who has but the cold worms into him more than it does the others, never mind how Isaac teases him that he should be tougher, northern lad that he is.

There are eyes on him, a tiger watching from the brush. Jamie glances up and it's Roy, eyes dark and hard and searching and it's the first time they've met eyes since he returned, maybe ever. Jamie breaks first. Stares down at the carpet instead — ugly fucking thing, pilly and brown and worn out. They're a Championship League team now; can't afford the good hotels any longer. A year ago he'd've thrown a fit, quit in a huff to somewhere that deserved him like he might have done when Ted became gaffer if he hadn't had City to go back to. Only it turned out Richmond had made him too soft to handle Manchester and all that came with it. He'd made it twelve years with dad hanging over his head and then broke after barely a handful of months, huddled in his bathroom with blood in his teeth, told his agent he'd take whatever as long as it was far away.

The door crashes open and it's Zoreaux, back from raiding the hotel bar 'cause Ted wouldn't let him out no matter how much he insisted it weren't a proper snowstorm and the bartender let him buy by the bottle now half the guests who were supposed to come up had cancelled. Pass it around like they had at the curse fire and Jamie still feels stupid for that, a little, spilling his guts everywhere only to be sent back, but part of him wants to try again, just to test.

He hasn't drunk much since he got back, not much appeal in it after dad's drunken rages and the constant refills of neon-coloured cocktails on Lust Conquers All, but he drinks now, both hands wrapped around the bottle of vodka — not vanilla, the regular kind — when it comes his turn, warmer and warmer from the heat of their palms with each round. Sam's slung half over his shoulders and every few seconds he giggles at nothing and Dani says, "what is it, amigo?" and Sam says, "I don't know!" and it just makes him laugh harder. Jamie shoves playfully at his chest — "Right in my ear, mate? Really?" — and they both overbalance so the window stretches above them, one of those long thin floor-to-ceiling things. Looks up at the snow spiralling through the flat white of the sky and like this he can almost feel the cold bite of it on his face, the melting weight of it on his clothes as the water trickles down over his skin.

"I got lost in a snowstorm, once," he says, dreamily. Someone else is talking but they go silent at his voice and that's got to be on the list of prick shit he's not supposed to do, probably, to keep Ted from booting him off the team again, but he can't shove the words back inside now.

"Oh yeah?" Ted asks. "I didn't know y'all got those over here. Sounds like one heck of an experience, Jamie."

He shrugs against the carpet. "Not really. I was s'posed to drive for my da, right, 'cause his usual guy was being a fucking little bitch about it and didn't want to drive in the snow—" that's how dad had put it on the phone when Jamie got called into the principal's office, said his da was on the phone with a family emergency— "and I'd never even been to the fucking neighbourhood, right, so by the time I went and got the car off his mate and his mate gave me this whole fucking stupid lecture about not crashing or getting caught and shit and found the place it was a proper white-out, and my dad had been hanging around so long with this like, massive fucking TV that someone'd called the cops so I just fucking drove off, right? 'Cept I'd never driven in snow before so we got stuck in a ditch and me da sent me out to..." he blinked, bleary with drink. "Dunno. To find someone to tow us or some shit. But I didn't know where the fuck I was and I couldn't see shit so I just walked around 'til I found the road again, and by then dad had got himself unstuck and left, and the buses weren't running so I had to walk home." It's not really a bad story but his heart's pounding all the same and the room's gone quiet. He scratches harder at the carpet; tries to laugh but it comes out strangled and faint. "Good exercise at least, yeah?"

No one says anything, still. The carpet comes up in tufts; he piles them together like he used to do as a kid picking at grass during a fire drill. It's his turn with the vodka again, handed over by a solemn-faced Dani, and he takes a long pull. The alcohol calms the frantic buzz beneath his skin, leaves him tired and heavy and warm, the silence comforting instead of worrying.

After a while, Ted clears his throat. There's a funny tilt to his smile. "Hey, I love me a silver lining. Thanks for sharing that, Jamie," he says, strained. Maybe the cold's got him sick, or maybe it's just the way the floor's spinning that's making him look funny. Jamie flops onto his back.

"Uh-huh. Sure thing, coach."

"It is very stupid to volunteer your criminal history like that," Jan Maas says.

"'S not a crime to drive the getaway car," Jamie says.

"Pretty sure it is, bruv," Isaac says.

"Huh."

"Don't worry, Jamie Tartt! We will not tell anyone!" Dani says, very loudly or else very close to his ear. There's a general murmur of agreement.

"Thanks, amigo. I won't tell anyone 'bout your crimes, neither," Jamie says. "Not that I'm saying you've done crimes and that. But if you have. Unless it's like, murder, maybe. But if you murdered someone they probably deserve it so also not then." He holds up his fist; Dani bumps it on the second try.

"You cannot break a pact made during a snowstorm," Sam says wisely.

"I still can't believe you guys think this is a real snowstorm," Zoreaux says, and Jamie drifts off to a vivid description of the horrors of Montreal in winter.

He blinks awake to find the lads shuffling back to their rooms and Roy crouched over him with his giant fucking caterpillar eyebrows scrunched. The position can't be any good on his knee but Jamie's trying not to get in fights with the coaches so much this season so he doesn't say anything. Roy doesn't, either. He blows out a sigh like one of those panthers Jamie'd seen at the zoo with mummy way back when he was a kid, mouth working like he's trying to force himself to speak.

"Your dad's a piece of shit," he says. "You don't have to find a silver lining." And then he hauls Jamie to his feet and fucking dusts off the carpet lint with the sleeve of his jacket like Jamie's his seven-year-old niece. "You played fine today. Next time you can be fucking great, but first you need to get the fuck out of your head and be more aggressive."

Jamie breaks into a grin. "Aye aye, coach."

[iamfruitie]

Caution and Care Pt. 8

Part 1: Link Prev: Link Next: TBA

Gemstones

Mad had waited until he and Anti were back in their room, putting away their new belongings before bringing up what he had heard.

“They found our records,” Mad said bluntly, tucking a new pair of pants away into a drawer.

“Our…already?” Anti was standing in the closet, hanger and shirt in hand. 

“They must be really good at their work.” Mad stayed kneeling on the ground as he picked up another pair of pants, checking for tags. 

“You don’t think…if they find out about…that, they’ll change their mind?” Anti chewed his lip as he tried to busy his hands by continuing to hang the shirts. 

“I don’t know why they would. It doesn’t seem like something they’d be interested in. We don’t know everything, but we know enough that I don’t think they’d even want to deal with that.” Mad was still bubbling a bit from Dark’s earlier praise of calling him smart. It was the first time an alpha had called him that without adding an ‘ass’ to the end. 

“True. But they’ll look at us differently. Like we’re broken.” 

“But we’re not.”

“I know, Maddy.” Anti paused again, swearing he could hear the shouting again. The demands. The insults. Their attempts at setting conditions that would be worse than death. The fight. The clawing and biting and punching and kicking and begging and crying and-

“Anti?” Mad’s soft voice pulled Anti back to the present. “We’re safe.” He looped his arm through Anti’s. “Maybe we should take a break? We still have a lot of this place to see. I wouldn’t mind a walk.” Anti looked at Mad and relaxed at seeing his smile.

“A break sounds nice. Lead the way.” Anti tossed the shirt on the bed and took hold of Mad’s hand, letting himself be walked out of the room. “I wonder how much is actually opened to us.” He mused out loud. 

“Safe to say the other’s bedrooms are probably closed off.” Mad giggled a little. 

“I never would have guessed.” Anti gave Mad a playful nudge with his elbow. 

“Oh! Hey, Mad!” Jackie greeted when he saw the two enter the main lobby. “Anti, right?” 

“That’s Jackie,” Mad whispered to Anti.

“Hm.” Anti just hummed as Jackie walked over to them. He quickly sniffed the air; the alpha’s scent didn’t seem bad. It was a bit chalky and had some… daffodils. A floral scent. That would explain Mad relaxing around him. A familiar and safe scent for him. 

“Hi, Jackie.” Mad greeted, and Jackie perked up even more.

“It’s nice to hear ya! I also heard that you two managed to convince Dark to buy a bunch of candy,” Jackie said with a chuckle. “JJ did almost the same thing with Wilford when he came in. Someone told me before that there’s like science stuff behind the sweet tooth, like needing the extra sugar to process the…like…stuff making.” He awkwardly gestured at the lower half of his body. “So Chase got some of those like sample jewelry things? Wanna help me tease my brother?” 

“Brother?” Anti echoed. 

“That explains a lot,” Mad stated.

“In a good or bad way?” Jackie asked.

“Good.” Anti and Mad said together. 

“Let’s go mess with Chase.” Anti wanted to feel some pack normalcy, even if he was just watching it. He missed being in a group, talking and teasing and laughing at silly stuff. Having Mad at his side, either joining the fun or resting against him and reading. Those were the best times, and the idea of having some of it back sounded nice and kept him going. 

He was still cautious, eyes always on Jackie as he guided them to where Chase was. His hold on Mad’s hand was tight, reassuring himself that he was there, that no one could take him away. The signs were there and blaring in his face that he was safe, but there was still that worry. It was beginning to calm at least, that was a good step. 

“I can see why the kit is so expensive if you don’t return it,” Chase said, hunched over a table with a vast collection of gems and chains spread out in front of him. 

“There’s a lot to choose from. And this only covers the basic gems and chains. There’s also cuts and sizing to account for.” Wilford said as he stood next to Chase. 

“The cuts?” Chase’s face showed that he was already getting overwhelmed. 

“Breathe.” Dark placed a hand on Chase’s back. “First, find a gem that makes you think of him.” He reached over with his other hand and brought only the gems closer to Chase. Jackie went over to stand with Wilford while Mad and Anti stayed at the end of the table and watched, the other alphas not realizing they were there yet. “Think of colors that don’t fit and put those aside so there’s less to focus on.” Dark continued his help, moving some gems further aside when Chase brushed them away. “Keep narrowing them down.” Anti tilted his head, noting Dark’s patience, something he’s shown a lot of with everyone, including himself and Mad.  

“I don’t know.” Chase chewed the inside of his cheek, sniffing and pausing when he noticed there were more scents in the air. “Hey, guys.” He greeted Mad and Anti. “You can look at the stuff, too.” 

“Really?” Mad perked up, and Anti was already pawing at the gems. 

“Just don’t break them.” Chase chuckled. 

“No promises.” Anti picked up a sapphire, remembering those were the same ones on JJ’s horns. 

“I feel like if I give him a green one, it’d be too much.” Chase shuffled the remaining gems. “I don’t want them to blend in with his hair.” 

“What does he look like?” Anti asked. 

“Tell us about him.” Mad started arranging the gems into little groups. 

“Might as well take advantage of having some omega ears with this,” Wilford said. “Probably would have saved me some hassle.” 

“Oh-uh-his name’s Marvin.” Chase fished out his phone and tapped away for a second before showing Anti and Mad his screen. 

The man in the picture was an omega man lounging on a couch, a book in his lap, but looking at whoever was taking the picture with a big grin. His hair was long and green, and his horns were a stunning dark green that neared looking black. 

“He’s really cool and funny and can outwit anyone. Stubborn in the best way and beyond sarcastic. He really likes cats and works a lot with plants, and his smile is just-damn is his smile the best part about him.”

“Gross.” Jackie faked a gag. 

“Shut up.” Chase reached over to smack Jackie’s arm. 

“You’re being all gross and mushy.” Jackie continued to tease. 

“Like you wouldn't be the same if you talked about Phantom.”

“Don't bring him into this.”

“You started it.” 

“Your face started it.” 

“We have the same face.” 

“Mine’s better.” 

“How-”

“Opal.” Mad cut off the bickering brothers. 

“Opal?” Chase echoed. 

“Opal would be fitting for him,” Mad explained, placing the small gem on Chase’s phone. “I like the fire opal.” He added in a softer voice, the gem in his other hand. Anti just smiled, a jade in his hand, but he didn’t say anything about it.

“Take note,” Wilford whispered to Dark, earning a glare that got him to chuckle. 

“Dude…Dude, that’s perfect!” Chase bounced up. “Maybe with the gold chain and-holy shit, it’s perfect!” He was practically vibrating. “I would hug you if I didn’t think Anti would bite my face off.”

“Smart man.” Anti’s comment got Chase to start laughing. 

Dark watched as Mad showed Jackie the gem in his hand and how Anti was relaxing some more as the alphas laughed and joked, a light smile tugging on his lips. Anti did end up making eye contact with Dark. There was a pause before Dark smiled at him, and Anti glanced away, looking down, but there was a stronger smile on his face. 

Anti found himself really hoping that when they did read their files, Mad was right, and they’d still be able to stay. He was…happy. He didn’t want to lose that. He didn’t want Mad to lose that. He was really liking it here now. He didn’t want to go. 

[sosouthernbeats]

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[ellieeatsnot]

vent abt $h:

About two days about i relapsed after two weeks clean. it was just after a rough start to my morning, snow ruined my attempt to get help with a therapist and it through me threw a loop.

the funny thing (that’s prob just funny to me) is that i accidentally dropped my last blade into the sink while using it to pop my cystic acne lmao. it was a wood burning kit tool blade. one of the sharper things i’ve used.

anyway my dumb ass self bought like a whole ass $h kit the next day. i bought shaving razors primarily because i needed to shave and had none, but then proceeded to buy new bandaids (because the old ones were giving me gross blistering rashes) and scar healing stuff. then broke open a razor when i got home. i didn’t do anything that day but the next i had my rough start and bla bla bla relapsed.

i wasn’t expecting this flimsy ass sheet metal of a razor to cvt as deep as it did. like instant gratification, straight to white. something that in the past i would have needed to go over multiple times to achieve. i kinda scared myself but the blood stopped relatively fast and i was able to put on a bandage and yeah.

today was definitely a wake up call though. it’s about 3pm and i get a call from my best friend. she has frequently struggled with $h, far more than me and has in the past used it to try and off herself. almost worked she had to get surgery and whatnot. i’m so glad it didn’t because i probably wouldn’t be around if she didn’t come into my life. a few months ago she expressed to me about a deeper cvt she did in her thigh at the start of 2024. which relates to this story because she went through the same emotions she did today as then except im so happy i could be there to calm her and reassure her things are going to be okay.

anyway, i get her call and of course i immediately answer. i’ll always answer her calls after all it’s probably one of my greatest fears something could happen to her. i answer and at first im not gonna lie i thought she was laughing but then i realized she was actually crying. i hate the way i responded. “woah! what’s wrong are you okay” i mean it could have been way less shocked and a whole lot more respectful and calm. i think i reacted the way i did because i thought she was laughing at first.

but she then goes on to explain to me, panicked, that she cvt too far. i’m shaking i don’t know if she’s hit a vein or something. i don’t know if it’s in need of stitches, she’s just expressing to me how she has no one to go to and how scared she is and how she doesn’t want it to get infected. i manage to calm her down a little bit, i tried to figure out where it was but she broke down a little so i missed that. once she’s semi calmed down again i tell her and ask her what she can do. and eventually she’s laughing at my jokes and we talk for a good 30min on the phone.

i know that this really scared her. i’ll never be upset with her for scaring or asking me for help. never. i love her so much i just hope that she can genuinely see that i am so happy to support her and love her when she doesn’t have that support at home.

the point of sharing this story is to show to myself that i need to be strong for her. i can’t let stupid things trigger me to cvt deeper. i need to work on my emotional intelligence with reassuring and understanding people. my best friend is so strong and so intelligent and im so grateful to have her in my life. but in a way, and i don’t know how to express this without sounding like a dick, but i am thankful she shows me how serious and intense $h can be if im not careful. she is also teaching me how to trust and form deep emotional relationships where i can learn how to comfort and communicate these difficult situations and feelings. now of course i dont like that she’s experiencing this. i’m not sadistic. i love her so much and she absolutely deserves to live out her dream life, marrying a kind and caring man, having kids, and enjoying the rest of her life in peace and i would do anything to provide that to her. but i can appreciate that i can be there for her and learn from these things.

[sneverussape]

ripple effect

i have evans!severus on the brain so am clearing out some of the old drafts i've had. :)

@greens-your-color prompt # 81 - FOUND

summary: In which Harry and Kathleen Evans are thrown for a loop when their eldest daughter was supposed to have gone out to buy things for supper but instead comes back with a child which she may or may not have kidnapped.

wc: 2123+ cw: child abandonment and neglect and its possible effects (mainly food insecurity)

--

Harry Evans was rarely out of his depth.

He was an engineer by trade, and so most of the hours of his day involved maths, and he liked that because maths was absolute. There was no problem at work that running the numbers couldn’t resolve. He was a fixer at his core; he provided solutions, and the people he had to tell them to generally always agreed with his recommendations. His life from 8AM to 5PM was routine and predictable, he got paid reasonably well for it, and best of all, he always knew what he was supposed to be doing.

But parenting? Parenting was another matter altogether.

-

Harry Evans tried not to stare at the boy Petunia had dragged through the front door half an hour before supper. Instead, he trained his eyes at the muddy footprints they’d tracked on the runner in the hall and made a mental note to clean it before Kit saw.

“Hello, Pet. Will your friend stay for supper?” he asked. Gentle tones always worked for his eldest daughter; it wouldn’t do to work her into the defensive early in the conversation.

Petunia, to her credit, looked remorseless but furious. At what exactly, he couldn’t tell.

“He’s not my friend,” she said vehemently. “But Dad, I caught him stealing from the grocer and Mr. Hannigan was angry and grabbed him and made me lose the money and…and he’s got no place to go right now, I think.”

Harry took the opportunity to study the boy in front of him. He was small and grubby and looked more like a stray puppy than a child. He had never seen him before in his life and sincerely hoped Petunia had not snatched away the poor little blighter without their parents knowing.

“You think?” Harry echoed carefully. There was a slow-growing terror pooling in his gut at the possibility of Petunia having taken away somebody’s child in a fit of social justice. His guardians could be out of their minds with worry. He had just sent her out for butter and eggs not even an hour past, for God’s sake. He had mincemeat ready and waiting on the counter for that night’s supper. The possibility of her not coming back with the ingredients he needed and instead being presented with a strange boy with an even stranger backstory had not been on his list of expected rational outcomes.

“Darling…” He fought to keep his voice calm. “Darling, where are his parents?”

Who is he? was the question he really wanted to ask but he had already glimpsed back at the boy several times, and had seen fear in the wide eyes that had seemed too big for his small face before they shifted to glare downwards at the carpet. He couldn’t have been more than…four years old? He was smaller than Lily, but had a nervous air about him, and Harry didn’t want to frighten him further. Instead, he trained his eyes on his daughter, who was seemingly intent on giving him a full report.

“They weren’t there.” Petunia frowned in blatant disapproval. “He’s always alone. I see him sometimes, when I take Lily to the playground. He wears the same clothes over and over.”

Interesting.

Harry turned his attention now on the boy, who still had his chin practically tucked into his chest. Petunia had a firm grip on his hand, but hadn’t pulled away at any point in the strange conversation they’d been having. There was a little bit of trust there, then. Or perhaps he was really only just scared?

“Hello there,” Harry peered at him, taking the chance to look at the boy in earnest. He was wearing at least three layers of t-shirts over torn jeans, which wouldn’t have been enough to keep him warm. His thin arms were covered in goosebumps and there was dirt underneath his fingernails. The boy was simply too young to be fending for himself but the longer Harry looked the more it seemed that that was the actuality of the situation. Concern for the boy’s well-being suddenly made his gut churn. “What’s your name?”

The boy didn’t answer and remained standing stock-still.

“His name’s Severus….”

That seemed to get the boy’s attention, and he glared up at Petunia when he heard his name, as though annoyed that she had even known, or had dared to tell an adult. She gave him a glare of equal proportions.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I saved you! I saw you stealing from right under Mr. Hannigan’s nose and he nearly throttled you. I had to lie to him!” she said, sounding affronted not at the near-throttling but at the lying. She turned back to her father. “I had to pay for it with the money you gave me, Dad, I’m sorry, but it was the only way we could go. I didn’t want him to call the police!”

“All right, calm down. I’m sure whatever the issue is with Mr. Hannigan, we can resolve it…” Harry said. He made a mental note to expect a call from Mr. Hannigan, possibly tomorrow. The old grocer was cantankerous on his best days and Harry doubted that he would let that sort of incident go easily. The last thing he needed was to be reported to the council…

“…And then Severus all made the lights in the store explode.”

Harry blinked, wondering if he’d heard wrong. At her words, Severus’ head shot up once more, this time betrayal evident on his face.

“I din’t mean it!” he cried. His dark eyes shone with unshed tears as he looked frantically between Petunia and Harry. “He grabbed me an’ it hurt, then I felt kinda hot and then all the lights went boom!”

Ah. He’d heard right then. Petunia nodded as though to confirm the story and Harry rubbed at his temple to ward off the headache that had built up within the past minute.

“It’s like Lily, Dad.” Petunia sounded more unsure now, and Harry all at once knew why she had thought it was best to just grab the boy and go. “When she does…things. He did it too, and I was scared. I didn’t want him to run away and get into even more trouble, and he doesn’t even have a coat! So, I brought him here.”

Bugger his headache, it had come on fast. He didn’t know where to how to process the information Petunia had just given him. He needed an aspirin. He needed to start dinner. He needed to find out who and where the boy’s parents were and to call them. He needed…

“Harry?” Kit’s voice sounded from the stairs. “Is Petunia back? I heard a commotion…whatever is this mess on the carpet?!”

Harry smiled in spite of himself. Kit always did have impeccable timing.

-

Supper that night was takeaway fish and chips from the corner store which he volunteered to get just so he could take a moment to let the buzzing in his head settle. He left the children with Kit, trusting her to be able to wheedle some more information out of Severus that he wouldn’t have been able to say in front of Harry.

By the time he’d come back, Kit had not only managed to find out a few more things about their young guest but also had been able to convince him to wear one of Lily’s old dressing gowns. Severus looked slightly warmer, if not a smidge uncomfortable. Lily sat beside him at the dining room table and attempted conversation. He didn’t respond but did manage to finish the portion of fish, chips, and mushy peas they had served him. Harry pretended not to notice when he saw Severus cramming a handful of Lily’s own chips into the pockets of his dressing gown when she wasn’t looking.

“Ok, Severus,” Kit’s tone was low and gentle, almost as though she was talking to a skittish colt. After supper they had sent Petunia and Lily to the sitting room to watch TV. It was really so that they could have a modicum of privacy, but Harry didn’t put it past either of his daughters to be listening in on the conversation from the other side of the door. “Could you tell Harry what you told me a little while ago?”

Severus frowned. “Abou’ what?”

“Well, your Da for instance. Is he at work?”

At this, Severus seemed to wilt. “I…dunno. I haven’t seen him.”

“How long?”

“Couple o’ weeks now. He went out one day and never came back.”

The statement triggered alarm bells within Harry. Was he hearing correctly? He threw a concerned look at Kit who raised her eyebrows at him. It gets worse, her expression said.

“Where did he go, Severus? Did he tell you anything before he left?” Harry asked. “Where are you staying?”

“Spinner’s End.”

That was the community across the river, where a lot of the factory laborers lived in. It was a hodgepodge area that had a less-than-rosy reputation and was always in danger of being eradicated completely.

The slums, Harry’s brain had stated for him, unhelpfully. He fought to keep his expression neutral to not distress Severus any further.

“If it’s all right with you, you can stay here for the night, or as long as you need, really,” Harry forced out a smile that he hoped wouldn’t frighten the boy. He resisted touching him, although he wanted very badly to gather the poor mite for a hug. He couldn’t imagine how terrified the poor child was, being in a strange house with people he didn’t know. If he had been in the boy’s shoes, as young and vulnerable as he was, he likely would have already wet himself.

Severus, to his credit, only gave him a solemn nod.

“Will…will ye help me find my Da?” he asked, his voice small as his fingers fidgeted in what seemed to be an unconscious manner. The sound of brittle hope in his tone coupled by the air of ready defeat should he be rejected tore Harry’s heart to pieces.

This was a child. How could anyone abandon their own child? And how long had Severus been wandering about, fending for himself by stealing from stores, and asking other adults to help him, only to be rejected? What world was he living in where people could readily abandon their own flesh and blood when they had only barely learned to put their own clothes on? He doubted Severus could even already tie his own shoes.

Harry wondered if the boy’s father was still even alive and he hoped, rather bitterly, that he wasn’t if only because that was the only explanation that he was willing to accept why he had left his son vulnerable to the fates. Anything other than that ruled him out as a cold-hearted bastard and no, Harry was not going to apologise for it.

“We will look for him,” Harry said. He was careful not to make any promises they couldn’t keep. He could, at the very least, look for Severus’ errant father. He vowed to himself that the man would not know a day of peace if he ever found him. “What was your last name?”

“Snape.” Severus said curtly. “Me Da’s Tobias.”

Tobias Snape. That was a start. Harry Evans slowly uncurled the fist he hadn’t realized he’d clenched on his lap.

“And you can stay here while we do, all right? You’re very welcome in our home, Severus. You can stay for as long as you want to.” He repeated his previous offer for good measure, but changing his words slightly so as to ease him into the notion that he had a choice in the matter. The boy nodded again, but was no less fidgety than before.

“Are you still hungry, Severus?” Kit asked, leaning forward so that they were speaking in near-whispers. Bless his wife’s heart. He could already see that Severus was far more comfortable with her than he realized. “It’s all right, you can eat more if you want, we have plenty of food.”

“No, miss, thank ye,” Severus said softly, although his eyes were on Petunia’s half-eaten cod. Harry felt his heart twinge at the sight.

“Why don’t you help us clear up then?” he said, standing up and tugging on Kit’s sleeve as he went. Thankfully, Kit was always sharp as a tack. “Mrs. Evans and I will go to the kitchen for a moment and then we can all gather the plates and things. You can stay here if you like.”

Severus nodded more eagerly this time, and Harry led Kit out to the kitchen, away from the boy’s line of sight. He reached out and squeezed her hand as they stood under the fluorescent lighting in silence. She squeezed back and Harry counted to thirty in his head.

When they returned to the dining room, Severus was still in his seat, but all the plates had been picked clean. He looked immensely proud of himself and smiled when they approached.

“I’ll help now,” he said, the dressing gown’s pockets overfull as he stood, and Harry smiled at him back.

end.

--

related fic: this much i know is true, when tobias meets severus again

all evans!severus content are tagged. click the link to see the tag. :)

[starsfic]

I don't know I'd your still a fan of Encanto but hear me out.

Encanto and Owl House crossover, happens somewhere in season 1, where Mirabel stumbles across the door that Eda owns, and she eventually joins the Owl House family on their adventures.

The moment Isabela Madrigal and Mariano Guzman announced that they planned to eventually marry, Mirabel Madrigal had started saving up money. Her greatest talent was her sewing, after all, and Isabela had more than happily accepted her sewing her wedding dress. The money was meant to buy beautiful lilac silk- the rest of the stuff would be cheap, and Abuela promised to cover everything related to the dress when the time came, but Mirabel wanted to support the wedding, even with her and Isabela’s rocky decision.

Instead, she found herself tapping on the wall, behind a framed picture of her and Antonio at his first birthday party, and Casita opened up. Mirabel grabbed the pouch and weighed it. That looked like enough money to support her leaving.

It was a surprisingly easy decision.

After Abuela humiliated her in public, ignoring her worries to instead claim she was drunk, after her mother chose to ignore her worries of cracks, Mirabel found it was too easy. It was a rash decision, she knew that, but still. Her family didn’t need someone like her.

They didn’t want her.

It seemed like the party blocked Dolores’s hearing as Mirabel packed some clothes, her sewing kit, and the money she had stashed without interruption. The party would continue into the wee hours of the morning, which gave her plenty of time.

Casita clattered at her, but she ignored it. “I’m sorry,” she said instead. “But I can’t stay.” The floor tiles tugged at her, but she pressed on. Outside, nobody was around, allowing her to sneak into the kitchen and grab some snacks.

And then she headed outside, only pausing to wave back to a waving shutter.

The town was silent as Mirabel walked, holding her bag tight.

“Hopefully I packed enough food and clothes,” she had to muse. That was one of the issues of suddenly packing up. She didn’t have enough time to plan. “I should have enough money.” Now that she was thinking about it, Mirabel found herself pulling out the money pouch, pouring a few coins into her palm. “Okay, so this is about five…six, seven…nine…”

Something swooped and Mirabel found her hands suddenly empty of the pouch.

“Wha-” She blinked, looking up. A small brown owl, unlike any she had seen in the jungle before, did an almost mocking loop-de-loop. It gave a cheerful hoot and a nod of its little head before flying off into the night.

Mirabel blinked. The realization sank in.

“HEY!”

She took off after the owl. It was probably one of Antonio’s friends! If it go back to Casita, holding her money pouch, everyone would know what she was trying to do! Mirabel took in a deep breath and ran faster at the thought of Abuela yelling at her, accusing her of not loving the family. She couldn’t handle that.

Except…the owl flew past Casita. Mirabel held her breath as she carefully ran past, ducking her head to ensure nobody poked their heads out of the windows. The owl continued to fly, heading to the old village. Back when the Encanto was newly born, Abuela’s village had created a small shanty village to live in until the main town was completed. Mirabel took another breath, hunching in on herself as she gripped the coins tight. The ruins, to her, always felt like ghosts, covered in ivy and slowly reclaimed by the jungle.

The owl still flew through it and Mirabel still followed until the owl lowered down and down, eventually landing in front of a small hut. The sight that greeted her made Mirabel pause.

There was a door.

Not like the magic doors of Casita, painted with the portraits of the owners. Instead, a yellow eye stared at the little owl as it approached. Mirabel paused and blinked as it hooted. The knob turned with some invisible hand, and the door opened, revealing gleaming white.

The little owl hooted as if in thanks before hopping up.

“No!” Mirabel launched forward, but the owl was already flying inside. She froze. Without that money, she couldn’t buy a place to spend the night or buy food when her food eventually ran out. She needed that money!

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes…

And ran inside.

-_-

Inside Casita, Dolores froze.

She knew the heartbeat of all her family members. Her mother’s heartbeat sounded like a thunderstorm, while Abuela’s heartbeat was strong and steady. She kept a worried ear to her tio Bruno’s heartbeat, reedy and soft. Mirabel was one of the loudest, matching her bright personality, until now.

Mirabel’s heartbeat suddenly stopped.

[hit-song-showdown]

Year-End Poll #58: 2007

[Image description: a collage of photos of the 10 musicians and musical groups featured in this poll. In order from left to right, top to bottom: Beyoncé, Rihanna, Gwen Stefani, Fergie, T-Pain, Carrie Underwood, Plain White T's, Akon, Nelly Furtado, Fergie. End description]

More information about this blog here

This poll highlights some interesting changes in the direction pop music was heading. By this point, it was clear that pop music was shifting towards a more electronic sound and specifically club music. Buy U a Drank by T-Pain is especially notable for this. Most obviously, T-Pain was one of the most successful adopters of Auto-Tune as a stylistic choice. I touched on the plugin briefly when discussing Cher's Believe, but with both that sound and most of T-Pain's discography, the vocal effect was used to give off a futuristic, almost robotic quality to the voice. But that didn't stop Auto-Tune (and T-Pain specifically) from being used as a punching bag for "untalented singing". In case it needs to be said, the exaggerated use of Auto-Tune on these songs were a stylistic choice. If you're using Auto-Tune to fix a bad vocal performance and it sounds like that, someone messed up. (Also T-Pain actually is a very talented vocalist).

I'm also bringing up this song for how it represents a subgenre of southern hip-hop that would become forever associated with the decade: snap music. While it has its stylistic origins in crunk, snap was recognizable for its simpler production and more laid-back sound. Popular snap songs from the time include Laffy Taffy, Crank That (Soulja Boy), and It's Goin' Down. While not on this poll, Crank That (Soulja Boy) is relevant for being one of the first examples of a song taking off online (as in, someone made the song and posted it online themselves). The song was first posted to SoundClick before expanding to a wider audience on MySpace.

This subgenre is more commonly remembered as "ringtone rap", for how this sound really worked with the audio processing technology capable of cellphones at the time. Like "bubblegum pop" in the past and "mumble rap" in the future, the term "ringtone rap" was often used in a derogatory sense.

But the simpler production techniques found on these tracks is also emblematic of how music production was starting to become much more accessible. Crank That (Soulja Boy) was created using a demo version of FL Studio, and the drum loop for Rihanna's Umbrella comes from Apple's GarageBand (specifically Vintage Funk Kit 03). Technology was allowing people to have easier access to both music production and audiences.

Also, this was the year this site was founded. Yay.