#warning for incoming vent

[joojdraws]

Comforting each other after a loooong, stressful day...

[hightidejellyfish]

Oh, “Deltarune tomorrow” this, “GTA6 got delayed again” that, “we’re getting Silksong-” well how about we shut up for five minutes??? I don’t even mean this in a rude way, as it is perfectly fine to be excited about something new, but if it’s the only thing you ever talk about until it releases then you need to chill the hell out. I’m so tired of obsessing over something for so long that I’m disappointed when I finally get to experience the fucking thing because I’ve made up this perfect image of it with thousands of what-ifs and theories. Half of the time I don’t even know when something releases until people say “we’ve been waiting so long for (blank)” and I’m just wondering when the goddam idea was even conceived. It’s also SO horrible and rotting for your brain that unless you have the capacity for hyperfixation of a GOD, then you will fell burnt out about said thing and you will go into a recessive slump because it doesn’t bring you the happiness that it did before. I also know exactly how that would feel because it’s happened to me before and it sucks like a motherfucker. Please think about anything else for any allotted amount of time, or god forbid be bored for a second (it’s good for you, I promise), I am literally begging you.

[manlymothman]

sigh

[reidsism]

➳ FRIGID — S.R

to nav 𓇙 to s.r mlist 𓇙 to records!reader mlist

spencer reid x archivist!fem!reader

a blizzard hits quantico. dr reid checks on the records room, even with basement three feeling like ice

wc: 1.3k

warnings: noneeee omg im on a roll of fluff lately wthhh

a/n: my babies. my lil nerds. written in my notes app at 2am running on no sleep so it’s not like. the best. i honestly kinda hate it lowk but idc i love these two anyway

Quantico is buzzing.

Phones ringing off the hook, agents shuffling out early, everyone murmuring about the incoming snowstorm barreling towards Virginia, the warnings coming in fast.

Hotch left just minutes ago, reminding the team to head home before the storm hits.

Morgan followed, same with Garcia and Emily and JJ and Rossi hours ago.

And now… Spencer’s alone. He blinks at the clock on the wall. 7:12pm.

The office is nearly empty, just two agents still packing up at their desks, but he knows they’ll probably be gone soon.

And then he frowns. Because he knows you probably left before the rush of the evening crowd, you hate the crowds. But you’ve lost track of time before—many times, in fact, and instead waited for the end of the evening rush to head out.

But today he just has a… a weird feeling. Like something’s wrong, a tugging low in his gut that just won’t settle.

So he grabs his scarf and his messenger bag and heads onto the elevator, pressing B3 instead of G.

He watches the numbers drop on the screen as he descends three levels below the rest of the FBI.

As soon as the doors open—cold. Dry, stinging cold.

Like, actual, literal basement air-conditioning-in-February cold. The kind of cold that bites at your skin, sinks into your very bones and stays there.

And the hallway here is always cold but this- this makes Spencer tug his coat a little closer to himself.

He walks to the only door, peeking into the room labeled Records Archive like he has before.

“Hello?” he calls out. “Dewey? Are you still here?”

No answer.

Just the faint hum of the vents and the shuffling of paper and the clicking of the long-busted space heater.

Wait… shuffling of paper?

He steps in further, about to call out again when—

A sneeze.

He rounds the corner of a hulking shelf to find you curled up on the floor, huddled under three thick blankets with a coat on, boxes of files scattered around you like a little fort.

You look frozen—your poor nose. He’s half-convinced it’s about to chip like glass. Your lips are trembling, your fingers, gloveless and shivering, grip the folder in your hands tightly.

You’re actually shaking.

Spencer gapes at you, all shock and worry. “Oh my god,” he drops to a crouch, panicked and furrowing his brows tightly. “What are you still doing here? Why didn’t you go home?” There’s something not far off from horror in his voice. “It’s freezing down here.”

You blink at him, tired, a little hazy. Dazed, in a way. You look at him blearily, like you’ve just woken up from a nap. “Metro’s shut down.”

His brows don’t relax from their tightly knitted form. “Why didn’t you take a cab?” he asks, taking the folder out of your hands and setting it on a box nearby.

You shrug lamely. “…I don’t trust taxis.”

There’s a pregnant pause, Spencer eyeing you carefully. There’s a glint in your eye, one he doesn’t recognize. He sighs, fully dropping to a kneel now. His coat is wrapped tightly around him, and it’s really fucking cold in here, but he shrugs it off and drapes it over your shoulders anyway.

His hands rub gently up and down your upper arms, bringing some warmth to your body. “Do you trust me?” he asks softly, warm brown eyes peering into yours.

And it’s that that breaks you. Not the cold, not the incoming snow, not even this cold, dark, underground room.

It’s him. Just that look on his face, kind and earnest and concerned and—god, you don’t know if anyone’s ever asked you that before.

So you nod. Slowly, softly, hesitant, perhaps. But no less sure.

And he smiles, this soft, warm little thing that curls gently at his lips.

He moves to a crouch again, taking your trembling hands into his as he helps you stand from the ground. “Okay.”

You follow him out of the records room slowly, quietly, his hand hovering just over your back. You’re wearing your own coat with his still draped overtop, having shrugged off the blankets and left them in a heap on the floor. You’re going to have to clean up tomorrow.

You feel warm, though. For the first time, perhaps, in this frigid hallway of sublevel three.

His hand brushes yours gently in the elevator, just once. Just enough.

You don’t pull away.

You’re walking out of the lobby and towards the parking lot when he speaks up. “You don’t trust cabs?” he asks softly, curiously. There’s no interrogation in his voice, just genuine wonder.

You shake your head silently. You haven’t for a long time. Too risky. Too personal. Too dangerous.

He smiles warmly, opening the passenger side door of his car for you. “I’d like it if you would tell me, one day. Why, I mean.”

You blink up at him, seating yourself in the car. “You want to hear?”

Spencer just looks at you like you’ve said something ridiculous, preposterous, like you shouldn’t have had to ask. “Of course. It’s you.”

You’re silent as he rounds the car and starts the engine.

He drives you home in his little beat up Volvo, heater on full blast, the softest tones of Bob Dylan’s Shelter from the Storm coming from the radio.

You almost laugh at the irony of it all, but he’s already pulling into an empty spot in your building’s parking lot, and you’re about to get out when he’s turning off the ignition and getting out of the car himself.

You blink in confusion as he rounds the front of the car, opening your door for you. He helps you out with a warm, gentle hand in yours and you just… stare up at him.

Spencer simply shrugs. “I’d like to walk you up, if that’s alright,” he says plainly. “Just make sure you get inside okay.”

The snow’s falling a little heavier now, the big white flakes landing in his fluffy hair and on his shoulders and, oh.

He looks pretty like this.

You just nod, pushing the thought away as a tiny hint of a smile tugs at your lips as you lead him upstairs.

You unlock and open your apartment door and he looks around.

It’s… sparse. Empty. Quiet.

Bare walls, but cozy corners. There’s a thick blanket on the back of the couch and stacks of books on the floor. Historical prints, file boxes used as bookshelves, a cup of tea half-drunk on the coffee table, a mahogany throw pillow on the chair.

He stares for a moment. Then smiles. “It’s nice,” he says, hands nervously wringing at the strap of his messenger bag.

You blink at him, turning around to face him. “Really?” you ask, brows furrowing in veritable confusion.

“Mhm,” he nods, still smiling. That kind of soft, shy, sideways smile that reaches his eyes and nowhere else. The kind he gets when he’s being totally genuine. “I don’t know. It feels like you.”

And really- it should be an insult. This place is barren.

But… it is you, isn’t it? Little else but papers and history and warmth? Browns and greys and all comfort and home?

You smile up at him, shy and a little nervous. “Thank you, Dr. Reid. For the ride.”

He nods. “I wanted to, honestly.” He huffs a laugh. “I can’t believe you were going to stay in the records room.”

You wince. “Yeah, maybe a bad idea in hindsight.”

“It was really cold down there.”

“I know. Thank you again,” you smile.

He backs up a step. “Anytime, really.” His eyes glance to the elevator. “I’ll um,” he clears his throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nod shakily. “For sure. I’ll see you then.”

And when you close the door, your little apartment feels just a tad warmer than it did last night, even as the weather rages outside.

But you pause as you’re toeing off your shoes.

Spencer’s coat still rests on your shoulders.

You fling the door back open and peek down the hallway but- he’s gone.

You sigh. You really will have to see him tomorrow.

And somehow, the thought makes you smile.

[rensylph]

Hihi! I'm not sure if you do nsfw or not, but if you do..PLEASE. IM BEGGING U TO MAKE A NSFW VER OF THE GENSHIN HIGH SCHOOL AU😭😭🙏🙏

Sure I guess, you guys consider whenever it's canon or not canon to the au. I'm sorry if it's bad It's my first time writing nsfw stuff

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍 ( 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐀𝐔 ) 𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐅 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

<< yandere genshin ( school au ) NSFW version >>

⚠️ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ⚠️

You are a student at teyvat high, a prestigious highschool only for the wealthy and the elite has managed to get in due to one of your family members managed for you to be a student in the school, little did you know your presence will catch the hearts of many students. Characters: Diluc, kaeya, thoma, ayato, alhaitham, kaveh, childe, scaramouche, xiao, kazuha, albedo, vent

⚠️ Warning : this may have NSFW content ⚠️

(English is not my first language)

𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄

NAME: (name) (last name)

CLASS: 2A

CLUB: music club

FAVORITE SUBJECT: (your choosing)

(Name) A second year student, a member of the music club, born from a middle class family has become an object of many students desires.

Diluc

A complete virgin, I mean he was saving for marriage but if you want to do it now he wouldn't mind he was having fantasies about you guys wedding night. I mean if you're planning on going to college why don't you move in with him and get married with him after college. Your life would be set.

Every time he thinks of you he couldn't stop popping a boner, even the slightest touch of your hand causes him to go crazy and go to the bathroom.

But the good thing is that the new arrangements with the student council president ayato, you and him will cross that border.

Kaeya

He has his fair share of sleeping around with the population of the school, so he's very experienced compared to his brother's diluc who is a virgin. He doesn't understand his brother's saving his virginity for the right one, until he meets you.

I mean he uses his charms to enchant the school to get everything he wants now he's regretting his choice because his reputation as a playboy is well known, causing you to avoid him entirely .

And every time he tries to flirt with you or try to indicate action, you would just look at him with a confusion. You're impossible to flirt with and so oblivious but that's a cute trait he could fix if you let him show you a good time

Thoma

Another virgin, unfortunately he has to witness you and student council arrangements and deal to keep funding incoming for your club

He's not allowed to do anything but Just watch you in the hands of predators that are willing to rip your flesh apart and feast on you.

But he also carries fantasy of himself and wishes for you and him to be together so he just needs time to strike. So you and him would be together without anyone disrupting your time.

Ayato

There are new arrangements with you and the student council, when Ayato called you and told you he had no choice but to cut the funding for the music club, and when you begged ayato saying you're willing to do anything, this gave him an idea.

So once a week or month, after school you would go to the student council meeting room and let your body be devoured by them, you allowed them to do anything with you.

Even tho the arrangement is with the entire student council, you and him would sometimes book a hotel room to spend the night together. And will use toys on you during school if you do not behave

Alhaitham

Of course accidentally witnessesing one of your rondavous with the student council, he decided to use it to his advantage. He used it to blackmail you and the student council president ayato.

So every time you do something wrong on a test you will get punished, and if you did well on a test you will be rewarded. As well every time you or him visits each other's house there will be some in course with each other

Plus every time he is stressed or overworked you have no choice but to follow him and distress him no matter the location. In school, bathroom, literally anywhere and you have to keep quiet if you guys don't get caught.

Kaveh

Poor kaveh seeing the love of your life having intercourses with your rival and roommate that gotta hurt. One time when you were with alhaitham. In exchange of keeping his mouth silent he also wants to have the same deal as alhaitham.

So every time when you finish with alhaitham you have to go towards kaveh. Heck maybe he will join you with alhaitham.

On the bright side, he's not been as stressed as before as well and he get a better view of biology and how does your body works

Childe

He's very pent up and everytime he win a game he will always expect you to reward him for doing good In the game.

Every time he's invited to a party, he will ask you to be his plus one and will not let you leave his side. If you're bored here don't worry he will take you somewhere more fun

He will take you to a hill, and you guys will make out in his car or just drive you back home so you and him could make out there. And he gets verbally jealous whenever someone tries to flirt with you

Scaramouche

Whenever he feels jealous or he feels like it, you will have to expect being pulled to the side drag into an empty broom closet and make out there

He doesn't even help you put your clothes back in or do after care just smash and go.

But sometimes he is gentle or whenever he's feeling a little nicer he's more gentler with you and gives you after care sometimes

Xiao

Also a virgin, he's very shy during his first time but gets the hang of it when you guys started to do it more often when he's not busy

He's very shy and nervous during his first time as well every time when you guys decided to have intercourses but he does have impressive stamina he can last for hours

He gets jealous when other students manage to get you before him, he once saw you walk out of the broom closet with scaramouche with a sweety body and disheveled clothing, so every time when he's jealous he's rought

Kazuha

The most gentlest and sweetest out of all of them, he can be rough but if you want to and ask him politely.

He always gives you the best after care after doing it, as well as gives you milk tea or any drink you want after doing it.

Will write poetry about your time with him In detail and will read it to you in the middle of it, it describes how he was feeling and what he wants to do with you and the things he's gonna do with you in extreme detail and find it amusing you blushing.

Albedo

He's very curious on how the human anatomy works during intercourse, so he asked you to do it with him so he could study how the body works

He calls your hook ups an experiment of the human body, he will write down every reaction thru every position or toys he uses on you.

He will say "how interesting" after managing to get a reaction from your body. And every time you guys do it, you will wear his lab coat.

Venti

The most open about your hook ups to make your other admirers jealous. And every time you try to shut him, he will reply with you " I thought you were enjoying it"

Likes to tease you a lot and grind against you when you are playing your music, same as Kazuha will write poetry about your time together.

Will always try to convince you to hook up or go another round even tho class is about in 5 minutes other wise you guys gonna be late I mean he doesn't care when ever he's late or not

[hrtfelt4u]

guest check. | sohee lee.

020. not alone. (written portion)

trigger warning: pstd, claustrophobia, panic attack

Kazuha wasn’t wrong. You pretend to stretch your neck after tucking your phone away, twirling your face around to see Seunghan talking to Haewon in an ushered tone. Her face is twisting, like she’s being misunderstood. 

You bare your teeth, having a good feeling you were the cause of this argument. Kazuha slaps your forearm in response, making your expression wear out. 

“Hella obvious.” 

“Sorry.” You apologize, a little smile slipping out because of her light scolding. 

“How drunk are you, from 1-10?” 

You side-eye your best friend, hearing Eunseok yell to everyone his Uber was going to arrive in ten minutes. Shotaro’s was getting here in twelve.

“Can you relax? I’ve taken like 6 in the past two hours.” 

Her face is deadpan. “Yeah. Half of them, in the past fifteen minutes.” 

You roll your eyes. “I’m fine, trust me.” 

“Okay…” She sings.

You had vented to her about what occurred with Haewon not long ago, before stating you weren’t going to speak about it anymore. Kazuha was weary to give you alcohol in your upset state so you had to go out of your bedroom yourself to drink. 

She belatedly followed you, forcing your heavy hand to only pour half a shot of cheap vodka the first round. The second, you took with Anton and Riku, and the last with everyone before Seok and Taro ordered rides.

You had also brushed off Riku’s slightly concerned look at the sudden pace you were going, avoiding looking Sohee’s way completely. Both of those guys, besides Liz and Kazuha, had crazy reads on you, and you just wanted to move on and have fun tonight. 

Liz slides over, a soft grin on her rosy cheeks as she tips her head to the side. “So! What’s the goal tonight, girls? Anything fun?” 

“Maybe kiss somebody,” Kazuha shrugs, “It is Valentine’s weekend, after all.”

You hum. “You might contract herpes.” 

“And… with that, my statement is retracted.”

Liz nudges your arm. “Don’t instill fear in her. Zuha, do it. Now, my goal is to not throw up tonight.” 

“Smart move,” Kazuha nods solemnly, catching Liz’s elbow when she side-steps unsteadily, “You were going ham earlier.” 

“Hey! Free alcohol is free alcohol.” 

“Not free!” Riku bumps in with an easy smile on, slinging an arm around your shoulder, “Channie bought for tonight; he told me all about that cut on his forehead.” 

Liz waves away Riku’s teasing, blowing air out her mouth. “That big baby is fine. I’m not gonna continue to be pinned for his stupid decision to push me out of the way.” 

“Of incoming danger. You should thank him, you know? Now your pretty face is all intact and he isn’t.” Kazuha points out. 

“I have!” Liz exclaims, “I’m not gonna kiss his feet over it. That asshat already has a big enough ego.” 

“Heard that!” Sungchan mutters from across the kitchen, only sending an impassive face over before peeling Shotaro off him. They were slightly wrestling because the latter wanted a smooch.

Liz promptly ignores him, giving Riku a look. “Any goal for you tonight, Narnia boy?” 

Riku grins, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to Sohee. “I’m wingmanning my boy tonight.” 

“No…” Kazuha, even though she had scolded you earlier for your obvious facial expressions, scrunches her face. 

Liz hums in interest, subtly looking to you for your reaction. You’re feeling hot now, not just because of the alcohol hitting, but because of Riku’s words. A jealous feeling is bubbling in your stomach, but you’re trying to suppress it, eyes drifting from Sohee to Anton beside him, nursing a beer.

“Tell me, does anyone actually have a proper Valentine this year? Tonie does, doesn’t he? He told me so!” You ask, changing the subject. 

Riku shrugs while looking around the room. “It is tomorrow. From what I know, just Tonie, Wonbin, maybe Seok. Oh, and Hannie.” 

Reaching his roommate in the corner, he tilts his head. “Um…”

“Yeah… maybe not by tomorrow…” Liz whispers.

“Liz.” You reprimand.

“What? Oh, sorry. I said that outloud.” She cringes. 

You blink away from Riku’s quiet observance of your reaction. He’s clearly figured out you’re involved in that spat somehow. 

Eunseok thankfully takes the attention away from you when he shouts again. “Who’s riding with me?! I need five people!” 

Liz throws her hand up, gesturing for you and Kazuha to raise yours too. You subconsciously look over to see if Sohee has as well. You hate that you did that before you could control the urge. Riku easily follows your group’s lead, getting him and Sohee in Eunseok’s car. 

Sungchan is fucking around with his hair in the bathroom, Anton, for some reason, cleaning up all the shot glasses in a drunk cleaning spree. With Wonbin in the toilet, Taro yelling at him to hurry up, it’s clear the rest will go in the other car, including Hannie and Haewon, who are still arguing in the corner. 

Looking over there again, you decidedly are the first to take action to the entryway. You have to help steady Liz, who’s giggling often while tugging on shoes. Kazuha can’t help but laugh along at your friends’ drunk antics. 

You spend the whole ten-minute car drive desperately trying to pay attention to Liz and Zuha only. Riku, without knowing your feelings for Sohee, is loudly discussing a wingman strategy with determination. 

You’re lost as to why this is even a thing that Riku was doing for his roommate. Sure, Sohee was single, but did he come to him, asking for help talking to girls tonight? Why was Riku so adamant to find Sohee someone to warm up to? 

Whether you mean to or not, you’re definitely more silent than usual and Liz catches on, cuddling up to you. As if sensing something is off, she whispers in your ear, “Is everything okay?”

You nod, maybe a little too quickly. She’s your best friend so she catches the bullshit lie easily, big eyes getting wider in empathy. 

“I’m fine, really!”

“What if I, in retaliation, wingwoman someone for you?”

You laugh without any power behind it. “Maybe, Liz. Let’s just focus on having fun tonight. You, me, and Zuha.” You squeeze Liz’s arm, trying to give a more convincing smile to her. 

She still doesn’t believe you but lets it slide, knowing not to push. “Okay. I hope they play ‘Get Busy.’ Who usually deejays at Jiung’s?”

Eunseok turns around from the front passenger seat. “Keeho does. He’s pretty good—” 

The conversation in the car continues, and you’re glad Liz’s attention is off you. The ride comes to an end as the car turns on a dark street, music slowly getting louder as you approach the house. 

The neighborhood is lined with cars and people conversing outside in the dark. There’s a few groups of people scattered, smoking, laughing. It’s not rowdy yet, which is good. You want to have at least an hour of fun before there’s too many people and the function gets shut down. 

Kazuha has you tight in her hold the second you get out of the car, both of you shivering from the cool night breeze. Of course, Seok is dapping up possibly every mutual in sight, making your party of people pause every five seconds. 

“Let’s just abandon him, he’ll find us later.” You hear Sohee mutter behind you, before he taps Seok, letting him know everyone else was going inside. 

Instantly, stepping inside is much better, albeit only because of the heat in the packed house. Thank God you were drunk because otherwise, you’d be more disgusted by the rowdiness and sweat. 

Riku guides everyone to the back kitchen, exclaiming when he sees someone he recognizes. 

You somewhat register who he greets, a handsome guy with blonde hair and a bright smile, currently looking over some type of jungle juice. 

It’s loud, so they only talk for a little before Riku is loudly shouting to introduce everyone. 

“YN, Sion! Sion, YN!” 

He continues on listing names, but Sion’s eyes stay captivated on you for a few seconds longer than everyone else. You can’t lie, you feel flattered, but can feel the heavy gaze of Sohee from the flirty interaction. 

From a glance backwards, you catch his jaw tighten. His hands are deep in his baggy pants, looking off to the side like he was busy observing the room.

Kazuha taps both you and Liz’s shoulders, grinning and pulling you along in the crowd, but not before letting Riku and Sohee know you three were gonna go dance. Easily, you bob to the music, saying hi to Zuha’s friend, Yunjin, and a few other girls. 

You get lost in the bumping bass of a fun song playing, letting your mind drift away from the stressors of tonight. The alcohol buzzing through your veins lets you let loose, laughing and moving along with others in the crowded living room. 

It’s nice to feel so inebriated, moving your body along to the beat and having fun with Liz and Kazuha. The night blurs together easily, with Zuha introducing you to more people she’s friends with. The names, you forget the second after exchanging. 

You and Liz partner to go to the bathroom, holding each other’s hands tightly through the crowd but you can’t remember too clearly. After, you drag her to the kitchen for that jungle juice, slightly feeling your drunk fading. The fuzziness felt too good and you were scared going back to overthinking once the tipsiness would fade. 

Being the extrovert she is, she taps Sion friendly on the shoulder. She gets in his ear about the drinks, and you let her take the lead in talking. His dark eyes linger on you over Liz’s shoulder though, an alluring smirk on his pretty lips. 

He shrugs, gesturing you two towards the juice. Happily, you take charge in stepping forward, taking red Solo cups in his hands, and filling them up for you and Liz. Before you know it, you two are caught up in a lazy, surface-level conversation with him and his friend, Yushi. 

Yushi is clearly enthralled with Liz, being the beautiful and charming girl she is. You have a harder time keeping up with Sion though, not because he was bad to talk to, but because through the fog of your mind, Sohee pops up in your thoughts again.

You’re upset, reminded again of his presence here at this party as well. You don’t want to, but your eyes do wander around, trying to catch his figure you’re ingrained in your mind. 

Maybe he’s already had luck chatting up a pretty girl at this function. You think that his smile could lure in anybody, eyes crinkling and ensnaring someone for the night. Again, your stomach gets tied up in knots imagining about it. 

Sion catches that your attention is wavering, leaning down to talk in your ear. “Looking for someone?” 

You lie easily, the corners of your lips spreading across your warm cheeks. “I think I need some fresh air.”

“I could go out with you?” 

“Um, I think—” 

Liz hears all this somehow over the music, swatting you away with an encouraging smile. She puts a phone hand gesture up, mouthing, “Call me if you need!” before giving an enthusiastic thumbs up. 

You know this girl was only talking to Yushi for you to chat up this Sion guy. She seemed in false confidence that he could cheer you up tonight.

He takes the lead in going to the back porch overlooking the backyard, hovering a hand over the small of your back. You have to admit, the drink and night air does in fact help with clearing your worried thoughts, at least for a little.

It’s easy to distract yourself talking to Sion for a bit, but your eyes can’t stop subconsciously searching for a certain mussy head of hair— Sohee. 

Instead, what you do find is a red-haired girl, clearly disheveled and upset. Haewon is ranting to her girl friends, slightly louder than everyone else wandering about the backyard. Her friends are clearly sympathetic, close and reassuring her. 

You slowly stand up from leaning against the railway of the porch, stepping to the side for Sion’s body to block Haewon from your view. 

Sion’s strong eyebrows bunch together. “What’s up?” 

Sion also mirrors your movement, in turn gathering Haewon’s eyes to the two of you together. 

You curse under your breath, eyes closing and abandoning your drink. She’s even blatantly pointing to you now, and you don’t even know where to begin to explain to Sion. 

“Um, look. I’m gonna go— I see someone I don’t exactly want to talk to currently.” 

“Huh? Who?” He turns, and you clutch his arm to halt his movement. 

“Dude!” You berate, Sion laughing a little at your reaction. 

“Should we go back inside?” 

Nodding strongly, you yank open the back door but the sight that meets you forces you to skid to a stop. 

Sohee is smiling small against the back wall. He’s listening to some girl standing before him, her long, ebony hair shiny with all the strobe lights. 

What you were wishing you wouldn’t see tonight is right before you and it’s even worse than you had imagined. Your heart feels like it’s dropped to the bottom of your feet, slowly cracking seeing him entertain someone else. 

It didn’t help that your drunk state was now heightening feelings, negative ones flowing in like a wave through your body. 

Sion’s momentum of walking forward forces him to bump into your body, frozen in the spot by the door. As if it wasn’t torture enough, Sohee’s eyes happen to latch onto your devastated form. 

He straightens, face dropping at seeing you, before his gaze slides up to Sion beside you. Without thinking at all, you abandon Sion by your side, feet padding quickly down the porch steps. 

“Wait, YN, where are you going?” Sion calls out.

You honestly don't know where you’re going either. Just somewhere that wasn’t at the party or in the backyard. Anywhere but here. 

It gets darker quickly without the lights from the house shining as you reach a line of trees. Catching the faint silhouette of a small building, some kind of shed, you race to reach it and rest your back against something solid and firm. 

Your breathing is heavy and you’re slightly hiccuping from trying to keep your tears at bay. You begin to hear the crunch of light, hasty steps approaching. Haewon slides into your wet view, face ablaze with fiery emotion. 

“Oh, this is rich. You just ruined my fucking relationship with Hannie tonight, did you know that? Now you have the audacity to cry?”

You put a hand out, words to defend yourself unable to form on your tongue with your throat so tight. 

“No, no. Listen to me here, bitch—” Haewon angrily steps forward and you tug at the lock latch, cold against your back. The shed door gives way, swinging in and pushing you and her into the confined space. 

Immediately, you’re overwhelmed further, eyes struggling to adjust in the dark. Horrible memories start to rush into your consciousness, bringing you back to two months ago. 

The water drips from the ceiling in slow beats, a steady rhythm that echoes through the silence of your apartment. Each drop lands in the bucket you’ve positioned beneath the leak that’s lingered for days, ignored by the landlord you’ve begged far too many times for help.

A damp stench is always coming from the kitchen. Mold hides behind cracked tiles and stained backsplashes. The floorboards groan beneath your steps, your feet layered in socks against wind that slips through the windows. Your old apartment was a palace you just endured, never lived in.

But, in the cold dark of the shed, that night comes back.

You’re not in the shed anymore. Not really. You’re in the closet, bound and silenced. Your breath catches and your heart lurches. You can feel that robber again; the gloved hand clamping over your mouth, being shoved into your own closet. The cold tape wrapped around your wrists tight, with your fingers twitching with fear.

He rifled through your life like it meant nothing. Cabinets were slammed, drawers yanked open and ripped from their hinges. Furniture crashing to the floor.

You had no idea what he wanted, probably anything valuable. Whatever it was, you prayed that you weren’t part of it.

Now, under the press of darkness and the sharpness of Haewon’s shouting, the memories swarm in. Your knees weaken and the shed is like a coffin. Panic fills your lungs and you can’t breathe. You can’t think.

Your hand scrambles against the walls, desperate for something solid.

Haewon’s words seem to falter as her frustration turns into confusion, your body crumbling in front of her. She speaks smaller but you can’t make out the words. Your pulse is drowning everything else out.

The shed door bangs open, but you barely register the sound. A voice cuts through the air but raw, afraid.

“YN!”

You’re pulled into a hold with warm arms anchoring you.

“I-I can’t— I can’t breathe—”

“It’s me. It’s Hee. Sohee. I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you.”

He sinks down with you, and somehow you’re now outside. He’s bracing your trembling form against the cold, muddy ground.

“Feel my hands? That’s me. You feel the air? It’s cold, right? Just listen to my voice. You’re safe.”

You cling to the sound of him. His hands against yours are gently peeling your fists open, pressing on each trembling fingertip. He’s a wall behind you, solid and unmovable as you shudder and finally sob.

“I’m here,” he whispers, rocking you gently. “You’re not alone.”

Reality comes back with the bite of the cold air, the texture of his jacket, and your breath in hiccupping gasps.

Then the dam breaks. The sobs come hard, heavy— pulled from somewhere deep, somewhere you locked away. Sohee holds you through all of it, his voice an anchor.

You didn’t know you were holding this in until tonight. All this hidden hurt. The combination of everything was its trigger, and for the first time in a long time, you had finally let someone hold the weight with you; with someone you were adamant on not letting in. 

Sohee.

___

(ignore timestamps unless stated otherwise)

author’s note: whew that was a lot yn trauma dump... talk about a depressing turn sorry y'all! we’ll be on the up though trust 🤞

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taglist (closed): @dutifullyannoyingstrawberrie @reibbons @amortiff @banez @totalnieparksunghoon @holyhaech @jvngw0nlvr @the-phantomss @hsified @aangelll0 @heewrld @jaellymint @nekotoni @imsosoheee @hanniehq @dearmynayeon @kitty-won07 @w3willris3 @kamelyrics @rksbae @jungwonbropls @kyubing @buns-inhiding @taroddori @niinaskrr @enaile23 @sunflowerbebe07

(c) hrtfelt4u 2025

[robolvrr]

i beg of you more prowl!!!!

maybe a drabble? what if the reader is some kind of thief/criminal when he's sent to patrol and help forces on earth?

no rush 🤍

cat 'n mouse ·˚ ༘

[ request - 2/11 finished ]

prowl x gn! jewel thief drabble. warning: suggestive language and content. not full nsfw.

midnight strolls by at snails pace, rain battering rooftops and car hoods. it's bitter and it's cold — you bank on this, because a certain exhausted security guard will very likely be too busy snoozing company time away and not notice the skylight letting water pour in, splashing the tile.

this little job should set you up for the rest of the year, if you play your cards right. you rarely don't.

slinking down the corded wire, your frame twists downwards, a quiet clikclikclik of your grappler setting you comfortably on your feet.

the museum is pretty like this. shrouded by raincloud and slivers of moonbeam flirting edges of paintings, marble statues. a squirm of your lips follows by a roll of your shoulders. such lovely pieces, stuck to rot and be stared at by uppity people, lacking appreciation.

you'll take good care of your findings, you assure yourself, creeping past cameras you've taken time to reboot, slipping into vents until you find the usually locked room of the city's latest eye-candy.

"the weeping diamond." so dramatic.

a jewel is a jewel and you'd be inauthentic if you didn't get your hands on it first. when you press forward, it's almost like letting out a long, breathy sigh. your palms find the glass casing and you cut a perfect circle.

a smile finds your lips next.

"put it down, thief."

it widens, cheshire. oh?

"ah. so it was you parked on tenth and cherry?"

this should frighten you. because you've not bothered putting on night vision, leaving your human sight to squint at shadows.

you see those ocean blues. angry. expectant.

"how much longer do you plan on throwing your life away?"

that indistinguishable mass starts to move. closer, until it's hovering over your income and the mystery disappears. isn't this your luck? attracting the attention of the boys in blue and their precious new toy.

"gotta make a living, somehow." -- his hand, much larger than you, grasps at your wrist. through the electric hum comes a shockingly, human scoff.

"by breaking the law? i highly doubt that's all you have available."

you give him a coy blink. you can almost see him calculating the miniscule changes to your body language.

"well, aren't you just a good cop. go ahead and put the cuffs on then. guilty until proven otherwise, mm?"

tugged forward, a laugh is earned. he's tired of this game.

"you're a criminal. responsible for several heists in the past six months. responsible for multiple of other crimes, such as resisting law enforcement, grand theft auto - do i need to continue? if anyone should be spending time in a cell", his face is close, those metallic lips torn in a snark, "it's you."

his rant is cut short as he feels the warmth of you press into him. so tempting. all his manhandling sets you on fire. he can see it, each degree, see you wet your dermas with your glossa - prowl snarls, his motor making a frustrated rumble.

he can't even bother to separate the languages between you anymore. he curses and it sounds like a clatter of pipes, whisper of broken gears. still, you press forward as much as he lets you. his gaze dips down to your chest, once.

"and there's nothing i could do? nothing at all, that might change your mind?"

your other hand presses to his helm. traces, suggests.

he's thinking. he should put you in his alt-mode and never unlock his doors.

he shouldn't be thinking of you.

how you'd look peeled of that ridiculously, tight clothing of yours. how you'd look spread open, cheeks flush. on your stomach, ready. on your knees, apologetic.

a vicious daydream he's been trying to uproot flashes before his very optics; a repetitive one that's haunted him throughout the year he's trailed your activity. your legs somehow fitting around his midriff, vocals shrieking when he pounds down and in you, harder and harder until those flimsy bed contraptions snap —

his grip loosens. you're free of it faster than a spooked kitten.

brought to the moment, his surprise gains you some time to escape. and when you start your motorcycle, it's still raining, your skin is still hot and you wish for a moment that the vibration of your bike's engine was him underneath you instead, adrenaline pumping blood as his sirens flare not far behind in your rearview mirrors.

a neverending cycle of cat and mouse. but just who is chasing who?

robolvrr 2024.

a/n: WHEW. i feel like prowl would definitely have a batman dynamic. 🫣 this was fun, thank you for your patience!

[adrixivy]

I like to think that Peter is always aware of his surroundings. Even when he seems to not be paying attention or looking around. So no one can surprises him. He in fact, hates surprises(unless its those pleasant and good news one. He cant detect those)

As we all know, Peter’s spidey sense warns him of any incoming danger to himself or anyone. So anyone trying to come up behind him is immediately caught off guard when they’re suddenly slammed onto the floor by a kick that sweeps them off their feet or grabbed by the collar and lifted then slammed onto the ground. A thug shoots a bullet, he easily dodges it like he it was his second nature. Someone pointing a gun at Steve as he’s full with fighting off mobs, he’s webbing the gun and taking them down.

What if his spidey sense not only warn him about danger but his surroundings. He gets directions or some tingly feeling and he just goes from there.

He walks in school, worrying if he did his Spanish essay he submitted earlier well. He chews on his lips and his eyes are on the ground and suddenly, he feels his hairs at the back if his neck stand up and gets a warning from behind. He turns to see Ned behind him and the shorter groans. “I was gonna surprise you! Damn you and your spider tingle!” He just laughs

He’s casually walking in the tower and suddenly he gets a warning.

Left!!

He looks over and catches an arrow with a blunt end with his right hand. Moving the arrow out of his view, he looks over to see an amused Natasha and a cheerful look on Clint’s face. The grin the man had immediately left his face as he scurries to a vent as he hears Tony’s screams. (“Clint, what the hell are you doing to my baby?!”)

Danger!! Right!!

He looks around his surroundings and sees a concealed gun. There’s definitely accomplices so he quietly calls 911 anonymously. He’s in a bank right now to accompany May and he does not want a bank robbery right now. So he quietly walks past the person and pickpockets his gun with a piece of paper he had in his pocket. He takes the gun with the piece of paper and hides it somewhere reasonable for the police and hides himself from the camera.

This gets me thinking. The Avengers definitely never landed a prank on him. Even if it’s elaborately planned. Like some set-up type of prank. He’s probably the master of pranks and is untouchable.

Down!! Up!!

He looks down to see a trip wire just as he was about to enter his room. He looks up with an unamused look to see Clint with a bucket of glitter in his hands in the vent. He smirks lazily. “Caught ya, Mr Barton” Clint groans and rolls his eyes.

Back!!

Clint flips the bucket upside down in a quick motion which Peter jumps back the moment he sensed it but half of his body is covered because no matter what, glitter gets everywhere.

Peter tweaks and is chasing after Clint in the vents, shouting the wildest violations to Clint without actual foul words that Clint almost surrenders due to how offended it was he had to stop. Almost. (Peter finally calms down as Tony calls for him and he helps Peter cleans up as he shouts at Clint)

It doesn’t count as a prank to Clint because Peter was not surprised. Just got caught in the glitter

[waitingandwishing]

hiiiii ! :D first, i just wanted to say that i love your writing so much !! <3 i was wondering if you could do the sbg gang x fem reader that suddenly breaks down and starts crying. reader is usually very calm, level-headed, and always happy. she stays positive no matter what, she tries to lift the mood, and just looks out for everyone emotionally & physically. she never talks about or shows any negative emotions like being really sad or angry or stressed. but everything with the phantoms and her friends getting hurt, eventually takes a toll on her and she just breaks down for the first time and admits she’s scared.

it can be platonic on romantic !!

also im sorry the request is long 😭 i havent really requested anything before and idk if i described it right

tysm!!!

-> context: you've always been the greatest

-> fandom:school bus graveyard

-> warnings: angst.

Platonic:

You've always tried to be a good friend. That was the main thing that defined every aspect of your life. Whether it be giving Ashlynn earbuds whenever it got too loud, talking with Aiden because he needed someone to vent to, letting Ben relax with you in comfortable silence, reassuring Logan that he's enough, letting Taylor let out her frustrations about her mom, or helping Tyler with cleaning up the house and cooking. You were always there.

And it was so hard to be this way. To not want to scream and cry and throw things everywhere. It was so hard. But you had grown used to it. Grown used to stomaching the sight of blood every time you wrapped your friend's wounds, grown used to being someone they could lean on even if you were so close to snapping.

No one really noticed how your smile fell slightly every time they weren't talking to you or how you stopped saying, "I'm fine." as quickly as you used to. No one really noticed when you just sat in silence with a blank face.

You were always alert to others' discomfort, checking in on the others constantly, even when you were exhausted. You went out of your way to cook, patch people up, or stay up late keeping watch. You were so put together and seemingly... Perfect.

But it was hard to be perfect when your two friend's just died and you ended up being kidnapped by the government. Thankfully, before you could fully explode, Logan had found a way to get every one out of their rooms and found you.

You were so grateful, but the first thing you did like always was to ask him, Ashlynn, and Taylor how they were feeling. You knew this was definitely overwhelming for them. Eventually, the whole group managed to gather into Tyler's room and talk about things while you helped manage his wounds.

As they talked, you felt like you were going to explode, this was so stupid! The fear, the stress, the anger you felt boiled within you before eventually flooding through your body.

You were so angry, so tired of everything, that you started to cry. Weirdly enough, you also felt absolutely nothing as you did. It was only when Logan asked if you were okay that you started to wipe the incoming tears. "Y-yeah, I'm fine! I don't know why I'm crying right now, haha..."

You were sure that the others were feeling the exact same thing, and instead of being selfish and crying, they were probably trying to figure out a way to escape. You were being stupid for crying, the thought repeated inside your head multiple times. You tried to stop, tried to keep the feelings in, but it hurt so much that it was almost suffocating.

It was only when Taylor went to hug you that you fully embraced your sobs. You cried for the longest time, sobs racked your body and you gasped for air. You felt so overwhelmed that you felt like you were drowning.

"I'm so sorry, I don't know why I'm like this... I-I'm trying but I'm so scared! This is so stupid and attention-seeking-"

For once, you didn't know what to do. Logan soon started to cry as well, hugging you and confessing he was scared shitless too, Aiden also joined in on the hug, Ashlynn simply sat down on the bed, Ben wrapped an arm around Taylor, and Tyler begrudgingly joined in as well.

For some reason, you had never felt more seen in your life.

ASHLYNN:

As the unspoken leader of the group, she had so much stress put on her to figure out plans to escape the dimension. So she appreciated it whenever she could vent to you about how she felt.

But when you were at the facility and you started crying, she couldn't help but feel as though she didn't do as good of a job as she could've done. If that were her, you'd notice right away that something was wrong. But she didn't notice anything wrong. And that honestly made her feel... Guilty.

Ashlynn vowed from then and there she'd start paying more attention, to try and be more mindful about what she said, and be there for everyone just like you were so then you didn't have to care for everyone alone. Similarly to what you did for her.

AIDEN:

As someone who knows what it's like to never be seen and taken seriously, Aiden felt horrible. He should've seen the signs, the fake smiles that were similar to his back then, the darker bags under your eyes...

He almost felt like crying along with you and Logan too. He knew what it was like, how to feel that way about yourself. It felt so wrong to have simply brushed off your feelings for the sake of his because that was what others did to him (As my headcanon of course)

Aiden tried to be a better friend after that. To try to stop talking about himself and ask how you felt. To take a second and simply enjoy the moment with you and the others instead of living through it. To be more mindful about his awareness to the best of his abilities.

LOGAN:

He liked you a lot actually. You were someone he trusted to be vulnerable with unlike the rest of the group. He liked knowing you were there for him and liked knowing how understanding you were, he just wished he could have done the same for you.

You understood him more then most people did. And when you started to cry it broke his heart. You kept in so much for the sake of being there for others, you tried so hard to be nice and joyful like always. Oh it was just too much for him to handle and all of a sudden he was crying with you too.

Logan wanted to be stronger like always. Stronger for the group, and stronger for you as well. So then he could manage to pull through by himself without depending on you and also so you could deal with your own problems without juggling his as well.

TAYLOR:

She knew that you were always such a friendly and kind person but had no idea you were feeling this way about yourself. Of course she didn't though, nobody did because you were so good at hiding it. She knew that you were one of the most amazing people out there, that somehow you were able to understand everyone in the groups problems.

So it broke her heart when you started saying how self-centered you were for crying. For doing a normal thing all people would do in a situation like this. She felt your body shake as she hugged you tightly, and it scared her. It reminded her of her mom when her dad died, how badly it affected her. She didn't want anyone, especially her friend who she cared deeply about, to feel that way.

Taylor wants to be someone you can go to. Someone you can also rely on and someone you can talk to. She doesn't want you to feel like your relationship with the group is transactional because of how you're kind of like the group therapist.

TYLER:

He understands you a lot more then you think. He was unfortunately given the role of 'caretaker' in his family when his father died, and you were a big help in helping them get back on their feet even before Savannah.

Seeing you have the weight of 'group therapist' on your shoulders resonated with him a lot more then he thought it would've. He understands why you felt the way you felt more then a lot of people could and that furthers your connection between each other.

Tyler is someone who understands you. Someone you can also talk to when you're feeling overwhelmed by emotions and/or feeling like you can't tell anyone in fear of being a burden.

BEN:

He knows what it’s like to bottle up the pain. He did it through anger, you did it through positivity. Your joy reminded him of who he was before his life started to fall apart.

He knows what it’s like to fall apart alone. So watching you finally unravel, especially when you've been the strong one for everyone, hits him hard. He felt helpless, because there was no fixing this, and he knows it. But there’s also understanding. Deep, aching empathy. He gets it. He gets it.

Ben can be what no one was for him, a hand in the dark. He doesn’t need to talk at all. His comfort comes from just being there, anchoring you with a steady presence. There's a small painful sense of gratitude, because this is where his pain means something. It helps someone else.

(a/n: I was sort of stumped on how to do this one so I'm so sorry if this wasn't what you were expecting!!!)

[cilleatandserve]

ᴄᴀᴘᴀʙʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠᴇ

Masterlist

Summary: After seperated lovers are conveniently and temporarily single, the flame reignites. Although it was extinguished for a reason.

Warnings: Cheating, Smut(unprotected p in v), Death, Yearning, Rejection

A/N: Feels a bit rushed but nonetheless hope it’s interesting!

London, England.

February 20th 1914

Do you want the truth? Grief is like spilled glitter. When it first spills, it’s everywhere, an overwhelming mess. But as you clean it up, it seems less intense, though every now and then, you still find remnants, sparkling reminders. Grief is love with nowhere to go, and it has defined the last three months of your life.

Your husband passed away from influenza that December. His recovery depended on rest, but that rest was tragically short-lived. His death was anything but peaceful, a term you resist applying to it. It has debilitated you, and your income is dwindling in this unforgiving economy. Rain pours heavily as you stare out the window of the cold house he left behind. You've always hated winter, despite England's persistent chill. Your breath slows, matching the rhythm of raindrops tracing paths on the glass. For a moment, your memory pulls you back to the summer of '03, to your adolescence.

Everything comes and goes in waves. The landscape remains unchanged: the cornfields, the cows, the flies, the constant coughing. The musky air fills the rows, permeating everything, even through the ash-infested vents from distant fires. It eats away at the bark of trees, just as this grief eats away at the last vestiges of happiness clinging to your bones. The other night, wrapped in crisp sheets, you clenched your body, imagining yourself as an embryo in your mother's womb. It was the only source of warmth and comfort capable of lulling you to sleep. But now, you see sheep grazing on green pastures outside the window. You hope they have water. Sometimes, you imagine being reincarnated as one of them, jumping over the low wire fences to freedom. You wonder how far you could get before a human catches you, tames you, and brings you back to their living painting—a life to observe as they wash dishes, smeared with the mother's milk they stole from you.

But it's not all darkness and despair. There are moments of hope. You wonder if, in the future, you’ll look back and think that these miles of cornfields, these anguished breaths, these forced smiles, these fleeting moments of calm, were all worth it. You don't know exactly where you're supposed to be. A hollow thought takes control, leaving you adrift in uncertainty.

Birmingham, England

June 13th, 1899

You and Ada were thick as thieves, partners in crime with a shared love for chaos. The days were a canvas for your pranks, each one more elaborate and ridiculous than the last. You’d spend hours whispering plans, giggling over the potential mayhem you were about to unleash.

But then there was Thomas. He moved with a quiet authority that made the air around him shift. While you and Ada reveled in your youthful antics, he seemed to carry the weight of the world in his eyes. His gaze alone was enough to make you freeze, a stark reminder that there were consequences to your actions.

Despite the undercurrent of respect, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of fear. Thomas was a force to be reckoned with, a man who demanded order in a world that often felt like it was spiraling out of control. You knew that crossing him would be a mistake, and yet, the thrill of pushing boundaries often outweighed your better judgment.

December 2nd, 1906

The thought of Thomas still makes your heart skip a beat. It's funny, isn't it? How someone who once seemed so distant and intimidating could become your secret confidant, your stolen moments of peace. It all started so innocently, a shared glance here, a lingering touch there. Before you knew it, you were both caught in a whirlwind of unspoken desires, drawn together by an invisible force that neither of you could resist.

You smile as the memories flood back, the clandestine meetings, the hushed whispers in the dark. The beach in winter, your sanctuary, the waves crashing against the shore like a symphony of secrets. The water, crystal clear, reflecting the raw emotions that swirled within you. Thomas, his eyes softened, his touch gentle, a stark contrast to the stoic figure you once knew.

Sixteen, young, and reckless, you dove headfirst into a love that was as pure as it was forbidden. There were no labels, no expectations, just two souls connecting on a level that transcended words. You built a world of your own, a haven where you could be vulnerable, where you could be yourselves, away from the judging eyes of the world. It was a love born in the shadows, fueled by passion and secrecy, a love that would forever be etched in your heart.

London, England

April 8th, 1919

Spring flowers bloom, a sight you could easily grow accustomed to as you gaze out the same familiar window. It was once obscured by relentless rain and a disheartening absence of sun, but now, it frames a scene of renewal, painting your world in vibrant hues. You check your mailbox, a routine task that has become almost meditative, only to find a letter—an invitation to a wedding. Interesting, you think, a wry smile playing on your lips, considering how few people you've allowed into your life since your husband's passing.

Wariness creeps in as you open the letter, discovering it's an invitation to Thomas Shelby's wedding. Your heart skips a beat, momentarily ceasing its rhythm as you read the rest of the letter. The words blur, however, as your mind fixates on the sender's name, replaying old memories. You and Thomas had drifted apart naturally, a gradual fading of contact, yet you had somehow underestimated your significance in his life to warrant such an invitation.

Ignoring the letter seems like the easiest course of action, a silent declaration of your unsuitability for a wedding you're convinced will be both awkward and dull. It would be so simple to let it gather dust, to pretend it never arrived, and to continue living in the quiet solitude you've grown accustomed to.

September 28th 1919

Weeks turn into months, each day blurring into the next with a monotonous rhythm, and no letters break the silence. It's surprising, really, how a tiny, almost forgotten fragment of your life has now ballooned into a significant part of everyone else's narrative. Thomas has become quite infamous, his name whispered with a mix of awe and apprehension, but you find yourself resolutely uninterested in those affairs. Or anyone's, for that matter. Your world has shrunk, the boundaries defined by your own solitude.

Yet, even within your self-imposed isolation, news finds a way in. You didn't need to receive any formal correspondence to learn of Thomas's wife's death—Grace Burgess. A beautiful girl, she was, young and full of life, now tragically cut short. The news casts a shadow, a somber reminder of the fragility of happiness.

You can no longer ignore the situation, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on you. The right thing to do, the only thing that aligns with your sense of decency, is to send your condolences. It's a moral obligation you can't sidestep, a bridge you must cross despite the lingering discomfort. You resolve to travel as soon as possible, compelled by a sense of duty, perhaps a flicker of lingering affection, and a deep-seated need to offer solace in the face of profound loss.

Birmingham, England

October 5th, 1919

The train ride stretches on, yet the journey seems to pass in a blur, your mind teeming with a torrent of thoughts. Thomas never coped well with grief; you witnessed it firsthand with the loss of his mother and father. You can only imagine the depths of sorrow he must be navigating now. Uncertainty gnaws at you, though, as you're unsure of where you stand with him, especially considering the complexities of his love life. It's not as if you parted on bad terms, but time and distance have created a chasm between you.

Upon arriving at Birmingham station, you make your way toward his house, guided by directions from a helpful passerby and a diligent driver. You knock on the imposing wooden door, and to your surprise, Thomas answers almost immediately, as if he had been passing by. His face is etched with fatigue, a mirror of the weariness you remember seeing in your own eyes back in 1914. Though he betrays no outward surprise at your presence, he wordlessly ushers you inside.

“Thomas, I'm very sorry about your loss," you murmur, settling into a chair as he urges you to remove your coat and accept a cup of tea.

He appears to be simmering with anger, though he restrains it in your presence. First impressions after a long time, but you've aged gracefully, still retaining a youthful glow. He's not sure he can say the same for himself. A wave of guilt washes over him, a recognition of his failure to offer support during your partner's passing—a partner he never approved of. Perhaps that's why he kept his distance.

"Not your fault," he says quietly, but the words ring hollow. He knows, deep down, that it was his fault, or at least he strongly believes it to be.

“I'm here when you need me. I always have been," you reassure him, though the sincerity of your claim is undermined by your absence over the past decade.

"You came all the way down to Birmingham, huh?" he joked through the dark. You both knew he kept track of your location, though neither of you mentioned it. You looked too much like Grace for him to stay calm. Or maybe Grace looked like you. He definitely had a type: beautiful, intelligent women.

"Yes, I'm sorry I couldn't make it to the wedding. I, uh," you stammered, trying to come up with an excuse through the sudden brain fog. He spoke before you could embarrass yourself further.

"That's fine. How long are you here for?" he asked curiously, changing the topic from his grievance.

"Just the weekend," you answered as you fiddled with the handle of your mug. It had been a while since you two had talked, and he was very different. The stoic Tommy you were once afraid of was back. It was as if he had never left, just temporarily gone. You didn't expect the spark to return instantly, though you noticed he never stopped looking at you. And not in a normal way, but with an intimidating gaze. The kind of look someone uses when they want to devour you whole.

Before you could say anything else, he reached across the small space between you, his hand gently cupping your cheek. His thumb stroked your skin as he leaned in, his eyes never leaving yours. The world seemed to fade away as his lips met yours. It wasn't a gentle, tentative kiss; it was full of pent-up longing and a raw intensity that sent shivers down your spine. His lips moved against yours with a possessive hunger, and you found yourself responding in kind, your fingers tangling in his hair. The kiss deepened, a silent conversation of unspoken desires and unresolved feelings.

October 6th, 1919

The morning sun sliced through the heavy velvet curtains of Tommy's bedroom, painting stripes of gold across the unfamiliar landscape of dark wood and sharp angles. You stirred, a groan escaping your lips as you stretched, every muscle protesting the unfamiliar mattress. Your eyelids fluttered open, and the hazy memories of the night before crashed down on you like a tidal wave. Tommy's face was mere inches from yours, his dark hair a chaotic mess against the crisp white pillowcase. He looked younger in sleep, almost vulnerable, but the lines etched around his eyes hinted at the battles he fought even in his dreams.

Panic seized you, a cold fist clenching around your heart. How could you have been so reckless? The intensity of his gaze, the desperation in his touch, the way he made you feel like the only woman in the world - it had all been a carefully constructed illusion, a temporary escape from the harsh realities of your life. You had allowed yourself to be seduced by the ghost of a past that could never be resurrected, a dangerous game with a man who would always prioritize his own ambition over your happiness. The vulnerability of the moment, the allure of what once was, had clouded your judgment, leading you down a path you knew was fraught with peril.

A wave of nausea washed over you as you slipped out of bed, your movements as silent as a shadow. The opulent room, once a symbol of Tommy's power and success, now felt like a gilded cage, trapping you in a web of your own making. You gathered your clothes from the floor, your fingers fumbling with the buttons as you dressed quickly, desperate to erase any trace of your presence. Tommy stirred beside you, a low groan rumbling in his chest, but he didn't wake. You hesitated for a moment, a flicker of tenderness warring with the overwhelming sense of regret. But you knew that lingering would only prolong the inevitable, dragging you deeper into a cycle of heartache and disappointment. With a final, lingering look at the sleeping figure in the bed, you turned and fled, leaving behind the wreckage of a night you knew you would forever regret. As you walked away, a profound sense of loss settled over you, mingled with a fierce determination to reclaim your life and forge a future free from the intoxicating grip of Tommy Shelby. This wasn't the way forward, you reminded yourself. You couldn't allow yourself to be consumed by a love that was ultimately destructive. You had to prioritize your own well-being, even if it meant leaving a part of yourself behind, forever buried in the shadows of Small Heath.

London, England.

November 7th, 1919

Tom was distraught concerning your absence in his room, the emptiness echoing around him like a haunting melody. You were the one person he had ever allowed himself to be vulnerable with, and now you had left him, just like always. It was a familiar pattern, one that traced back to your teenage years when he had poured out his heart to you, only to watch you walk away time and time again. Months passed, and he tried desperately to erase the memory of you, battling his grief over Grace, who had always been a constant in his life. His love-deprived mind spiraled into a dark place, and in a moment of reckless determination, he found himself on the first train to London, propelled by a desperate need to confront the ghost of what you two once shared.

Arriving at the location scribbled on a note from one of his men, he knocked on the door, his heart pounding in his chest. When the door swung open, it revealed you, shrouded in darkness, already ready for bed. The sight of you sent a rush of emotions through him, and before he could fully grasp the gravity of the moment, he blurted out,

“Will you marry me, Y/N?” The plea hung in the air, thick with desperation. It was clear this was not the ideal cycle, and you felt a wave of indignation wash over you. It felt profoundly disrespectful to both Grace and your husband, despite the prolonged time you had spent single.

Your initial surprise quickly faded, replaced by a rising tide of anger. How could he think this was the answer? But Tom continued, his voice trembling as he almost begged,

“Please tell me not to go. We’ve been here long before. I’ll always be yours. I can feel you with me like I did before. I'll wait here tomorrow, outside your door. Like I did in December, when you held me close.” He paused between each sentence, his vulnerability laid bare before you, yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all a mirage. He would never be something serious, and deep down, you knew you wouldn’t either. Fate had decided long before you met that this was not the path for you both, and as much as it pained you to admit it, you had to let him go once more.

Birmingham, London.

August 3rd, 1921

Almost two years had passed before he found someone to take your place. And this time, she would be at the wedding. You drive to Birmingham, a place you haven't visited in what feels like forever. Your red dress is a bold splash of color, standing out against the sea of beige suits. As you walk into the event, you can't help but scan the room, amusedly counting the familiar faces from Thomas's new life. You find a quiet corner and sit there throughout the ceremony.

After it ends, you're approached by Thomas and his wife—Lizzie, you believe. "Y/N. You came," he says, then adds, "You look beautiful." The nerve of him. You can see Lizzie is barely holding it together. But you just smile and offer your congratulations to them both. You don't seem as upset as he still is, and he seems as happy as he'll allow himself to be for you.

Later, as the wedding winds down, you find yourself on the balcony. Thomas comes out to smoke a cigarette, offering you one, but you decline. You quit a long time ago. "If you're in a good place, I won't mess with that," you say. You realize you can never truly get enough of him. No matter how much you try to escape, you always crave his presence and attention. You assume he feels the same, considering your frequent meetings over the years. His silence is broken by the tears forming in your eyes. How far have you fallen, chasing after a married man who could have been yours? "I need to leave," you say, turning to walk back into the crowded room and out to a taxi waiting outside. He follows for a moment, but gives up when Lizzie places her hand on his shoulder, not even bothering to ask who you are or what you mean to him.

As the taxi pulled away, Y/N watched Thomas recede into the background, his figure framed by the warm glow of the wedding venue. The tears she had fought back on the balcony finally streamed down her face, each drop a testament to the years of unresolved feelings and unspoken words. The city lights blurred through the taxi window, mirroring the confusion and regret swirling within her. She couldn't shake the image of Lizzie's hand on Thomas's shoulder, a silent claim that echoed the life Y/N had once envisioned for herself.

The weight of her decision to leave Birmingham years ago pressed down on her. She had sought freedom and a new identity, but in doing so, she had inadvertently created a void that Thomas had filled with someone else. The red dress, once a symbol of her boldness, now felt like a costume, a desperate attempt to recapture a moment in time that was forever lost. As the taxi navigated through the city streets, Y/N realized that her craving for Thomas's presence was not just about him, but about the life she had left behind and the person she had once been.

Back at the wedding, He watched the taxi disappear into the night, a sense of finality washing over him. Lizzie's touch was a grounding force, a reminder of the life he had chosen and the commitment he had made. Yet, Y/N's unexpected appearance had stirred up dormant emotions, a bittersweet reminder of what could have been. As he turned back to rejoin the celebration, he carried with him the weight of unspoken words and the knowledge that some connections, no matter how profound, are destined to remain unresolved.

August 5th, 1921

As you settle into the flat you booked just for this wedding, the plush armchair feels like a mocking embrace. The London skyline glimmers outside the window, indifferent to the turmoil in your thoughts. You replay the wedding in your mind, the champagne flutes, the forced smiles, and then your abrupt departure. "What a waste," you mutter, the words hanging heavy in the sterile air of the temporary apartment.

Suddenly, a knock echoes through the hallway, jolting you from your reverie. You open the door to find Thomas standing there, his eyes mirroring a mix of longing and regret. Before you can speak, he pulls you into a passionate kiss, a desperate plea for something more. "I can't keep pretending, can you?" he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. "Let me come in, let's talk."

Inside, the air crackles with unspoken desires and forbidden possibilities. "What are we doing, Thomas?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. He steps closer, his hand gently tracing the curve of your face. "I want us to be more than friends," he confesses, his gaze intense. And in that moment, the boundaries blur, and you both step into the dangerous territory of an affair, fully aware of the consequences that await.

You don't hesitate, grabbing Thomas by the collar of his expensive suit and pulling him into the flat. The urgency is a tangible thing, a force pulling you both forward. You stumble slightly, kicking the door shut with your heel before pushing him gently towards the bed. The mattress feels thin beneath him, the sheets crisp and cool against his back.

He looks up at you, eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and anticipation. You lean down, your lips meeting his in a kiss that's both desperate and tender. His hands begin to wander, exploring the curve of your waist, the small of your back. A thrill courses through you, a heady mix of guilt and excitement.

Breaking the kiss, you settle onto his hips, straddling him. The weight of your body presses him further into the mattress. With a practiced move, you lift your dress, the fabric sliding easily over your skin. Thank god you chose something simple, not one of those layered monstrosities that would take forever to get off. The air thickens with unspoken desires, the promise of something forbidden hanging heavy between you.

He sets your panties aside before unbuttoning and taking his cock out. With a few strokes, it hardens and is positioned below your hips. With a groan and a swift push, his cock sinks into your hole. As deep as possible as your hips meet his. After a few seconds of heavy breathing, you move your hips against his slowly before his hands help you speed up. Your hips move up and sink down, your legs spreading and feet curling with each movement. He groans and his head rests back. He remembers suddenly why he loved you so much. No one else felt like this.

What does this mean for you both? Is this a fleeting, one-time encounter, or the start of a prolonged affair? As the high begins to fade, worry creeps in, clouding your thoughts with possibilities. He had just come inside you. Had he used protection, one of those new latex condoms? The thought of a child in this economy, in your current situation, sends a shiver down your spine. Half of you is completely opposed to the idea, but the other half is strangely enamored. You imagine a child that looks just like him, with his temper, his energy, running around causing chaos. It's a cliché, isn't it? One touch, and you're already wrapped around his finger. You need to get yourself together.

Get yourself together.

[wanderingmind867]

Nico scowled. "It's none of your business, but I don't belong. That's obvious. No one wants me. I'm a child of -" "Oh, please." Will sounded unusually angry. "Nobody at Camp Half-Blood ever pushed you away. You have friends - or at least, people who would like to be your friend. You pushed yourself away. If you'd get your head out of that brooding cloud of yours for once -"

Ohh. Okay. Wanna play that game, huh!? Wanna victim blame the character I project onto!? No! No, how fucking dare you! Nico did not push himself away! He didn't necessarily reach out, but other people could have reached out! Instead they ostracised him! They made him feel unwelcome! As did you, I bet! So take your smug attitude and get out of here, william solace! You stupid victim blaming jerk! You have no right to speak for another person's experiences! Fuck you!

This is actually hurting to read. Because it feels like someone telling me: "oh, by the way? Remember how you have no friends besides your dad? Yeah, that's your own fault, actually." And that hurts. If anyone said that to me in real life, I would cry. Cry and then want to kill them. And is this meant to be the big romantic moment between Will and Nico? If so, wow. This is possibly the least romantic thing ever, and I think I now understand why some people hate solangelo. In time, maybe i'll forgive and forget. But this struck a nerve. So fuck you, Will Solace. And an extra fuck you to Rick Riordan, who wrote this victim blaming trash.

PS: I wrote this at school earlier. I'm just gonna say sorry right now. I shouldn't have said curse words and gotten so mad, but it struck a nerve. It struck a big, big nerve. So I had to stop reading and write this long, angry vent in my phone's notes app. There's some more posts like this incoming. Just as a warning.

[lexicorp]

Transformers Earthspark: Another Place, Another Prison

Officially in the era of the fic where Star gets to interact with people! First on the list is Megatron, because i very much think that if anyone, he would be the first to visit Star in jail lol. Primarily due to lingering unresolved issues/curiosity. It's always funny describing other character's actions in this style of Starscream voice writing due to the fact that he just constantly dunks of Megs XD

Previous chapter: Judgement Day

First Chapter: The Need For Read

Next Chapter: Perception

Chapter 4: Lingering Ghosts

Starscream had thought slowly rusting in the Titan was bad, but this was worse. He kept hearing pedsteps through the halls. Voices of Decepticons that had long since been liberated. Saw flashes in the edges of his optics of Soundwave, Skullcruncher, Swindle– He knew they weren’t there, he knew it. But yowling growls in his audials from the croctobot, or a hum in the walls that was typically a warning of an incoming electric shock; they were too much. The Decepticons were gone. G.H.O.S.T was gone. The Auto-glitches had just repurposed their resources for their own use. It was logical. As Shockwave would say. 

Starscream’s vents were irregular as he paced, servo’s pressed against either side of his helm. His optics were locked open, although they weren’t exactly functioning. He couldn’t focus. Surely, he should be able to think of something to escape this Pit if the Autobots wouldn’t listen to him. He’d done it before, right? He’d had the assistance of technical difficulties or a select few cons- but he didn’t need them! He just needed his processor to stop assaulting his sensors with useless noise.

Even so, this place should be a better position than trapped in the Titan, he supposed. He knew its structure far better, and there were still bots somewhere around here. Not phantom bots. Actual bots. Starscream faintly wondered where they had placed Spitfire and Aftermath. Had they been incarcerated here as well? What had happened with the Quintessons? 

Had they all died in battle? Was he all alone in here?

Starscream hadn’t actually seen any of the bots again after waking in this cell, he realized. That was not a good thought. Those Autobots were far too painfully resilient to not find some impossible way to obtain victory. Of course they were still alive, they had to be. If they weren’t, he’d find it rather insulting. Even if they’d refused his help.

How long had it been? Primus he couldn’t even track the position of the sun from in here! This was ridiculous.

The quiet had overtaken the air again, and he wasn’t quite sure if it was better or worse. Starscream slumped against the back wall, staring at the energy field that contained him. If only he could psychically will the blasted thing to erupt in flames. Wouldn’t that have been a nice outlier ability. Alas, it remained as it was.

More time passed in a storm of static. Until Starscream was suddenly snapped to attention by a familiar voice. Megatron.

“Starscream.” The ex-warlord stated his designation so plainly, and it made him shoot to his peds almost immediately. 

He had to play off the reaction in a way that clearly stated he was not startled, so he seamlessly shifted his posture to lean against the wall casually. “Megatron. How nice to see you.” Starscream controlled his vocalizer to pace his words smoothly, and with a twinge of theatrical false cheer. “I’m flattered! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Megatron’s optics narrowed ever so slightly. “A question. What exactly do you hope to accomplish?” After Starscream just stared at him blankly for an uncomfortable amount of time, Megatron crossed his arms and elaborated. “I know of your schemes. That you always thought yourself better suited to lead the Decepticons. Yet I fail to understand how you can continue to be so dense as to reinstate the conflict after our rally against G.H.O.S.T. The war is over!” His volume rose to which Starscream’s own optics narrowed. “You are… frustratingly unpredictable. So. I ask you. What is it you aimed to gain from any of this?”

Starscream put a servo to his hip and a sinister grin came to his faceplate. “Oh Megatron… You are as short sighted as ever. Honestly, did you really think that any of the Decepticons would accept the way things ended? It wasn’t just me! Sure, the idea to forge New Cybertron was all my grand design and I will not share credit for that– but they all followed me because they craved action. It isn’t over. Even if you keep me here, Shockwave has clearly taken charge of his own direction. All you are is a traitor that we can easily move on from. Your defaction isn’t so revolutionary. Get over yourself.”

Megatron in-vented and raised his arms to gesture his exasperation, “That did not answer my question, Starscream.”

Starscream chuckled and gave him a mock bow, “Apologies if that wasn’t what you wanted to hear, my Lord.” He put as much scorn as he could into the title and revelled in the way Megatron squirmed. 

The ex-warlord balled his servos into fists, “Stop. Answer my question.” He demanded with the signature growl Starscream was used to, and his optics brightened.

“Aw, is the Prime’s passive little pet getting angry?” He taunted brazenly. If Starscream could push Megatron’s buttons enough, he’d surely open the cell to try and continue their conversation by way of his fists. The fool had always been easily baited. 

Megatron was clearly agitated, but unfortunately, made no move towards the cell’s controls. “Why do you still insist on antagonizing me? You know all about being a traitor, Starscream. New Cybertron my aft, you just wanted the power for yourself! All you did once you accomplished your goal was become an agent of destruction and swat your comrades aside to be scrapped! I acknowledge the mistakes of my past… but you cannot seem to make up your processor where your own priorities lie! I have proven myself dedicated to a reforged focus towards peace. You persist in being a weasley pest for little reason but for your own immediate gain!”

Starscream flinched back slightly as Megatron jabbed a digit pointedly in his direction. The absolute gall. Crimson lightly flickered between his wings as a power in his spark flared.

Megatron’s disgusting voice box continued to prattle on with his accusations. “When we were faced with the Dweller in that cave. When you sprang into action to the Terran child’s aid. That day, I had a sliver of hope, that you may actually be capable of changing your ways. I had never seen that side of you– but I suppose even then it meant nothing. What changed?! How could you betray her perception of you so flippantly, and offline sparklings no less?!”

“I DID NO SUCH THING!” Starscream shrieked abruptly with a step forward and his optics glitching red, which caused the other mech to straighten in surprise. “Hashtag, Spitfire, and Aftermath are PERFECTLY functional!! The latter two may still be in stasis– but there is no reason that they could not be rejuvenated if I had access to adequate fuel! Hashtag was clearly still capable as she got her own little payback with the energon extractor! My effort towards New Cybertron held no ill intent towards her, and she’s fine. Then, it is not as if the chaos kids are incapable of functioning without those Embershards. You do not see the other Terrans with them, do you!? No. You don’t. Those two just wanted a bit of revenge for their surprise sacrifice–of which was a necessity that I knew they wouldn’t relent to willingly. That is why they were determined to remain unresponsive! I didn’t betray anyone!” A small, manic laugh escaped him and he added without thinking, “I don’t even remember what happened after I put on that Primus damned corrupted gauntlet!” Apparently, even without the surges from the Titan, the chaos energy spikes had stayed with him. He was probably shaking too much to be taken seriously.

Megatron looked at him with a strange expression on his faceplate. Starscream wanted to blast it off, yet of course, no plasma cannon. Plus the cursed wall between them still. Seriously, why wasn’t the idiot breaking it down to beat him into the Pit by now!?

“You don’t…” Megatron vented in confusion, mulling over what had just been said. “You can’t possibly expect me to believe that.”

Starscream scoffed, “Oh spare me your doubt. You know nothing. You want to accuse me of betraying the Decepticons? They abandoned ME! And you LET them! I cannot say I am surprised, but for you to say it’s MY fault?? That is just how they are! That is why I cannot count on anyone but myself! And so what if I went a bit overboard with the gauntlet’s power? Earth deserves to BURN! What reason has this place given me to harbor any opinion otherwise? Cybertron is our home, not this organic mess! And YOU got the Allspark incinerated by the Prime’s moronic decision to blow the space bridge! You want to make a new life here for Cybertronians? Forgive me if I am a bit skeptical of how to accomplish that with humans running around.”

Megatron continued to scrutinize him with regard to his statements in a way that was no longer amusing. He had no right to look at Starscream that way. Like he was insane. He wasn’t insane! This fool wanted the truth and he couldn’t even take it!

“We do not know for sure if the Allspark was destroyed…” The big lug didn’t even sound like he believed it himself. He just wanted to live in the denial of his pathetic field of flowers with that equally stupid mech he pined after for vorns.

“You only attempt to believe otherwise to savor your vision of your precious Prime.” Starscream spit. This statement brought a more pleasing air of irritation to Megatron’s faceplate that made Starscream grin again. 

“Additionally,” Megatron tried to deflect, “Humans, as a general species, are not our enemy. We are perfectly capable of coexisting. Dorothy convinced me of this. Humans are just as varied as us Cybertronians. Violence… has proved itself to not be a viable means towards real progress.”

 Starscream could roll his optics at the initial drabble, but hearing Megatron try to admonish violence as a whole– Megatron? He knew he’d gotten soft, but this was absurd. Especially when that hypocrite’s first greeting card was still a signature blast of plasma to the chassis. 

He stared at the silver mech, Starscream’s optics flickering back to blue as the crimson lightning retreated into the deep seeded hole in his spark. Starscream slowly started to laugh which devolved rather quickly as he nearly doubled over, steadying himself on the wall and covering his optics with a servo. “Y-you– HAH! Oh my Primus that’s RICH! You, Megatron, the infamous warlord. You want to preach to me about violence being wrong?! Do you hear yourself?!” Starscream struggled to articulate anything more coherent than that in his hysteria.

He thought of Thundercracker, who had held shiny ideals in his spark all those vorns ago. Before Megatron had sent them into a battlefield they should never have entered. Starscream had tried to explain to their incompetent, illustrious leader exactly why, and was subsequently tossed aside as usual. Forced to lead his trine to their demise. He had slipped away from the carnage, only to realize that his trine mates were nowhere in sight. Megatron had told him to retreat and leave them. Starscream didn’t listen, yet still had only found a barely conscious Skywarp in the rubble. Thundercracker died fighting a battle he had never wanted to fight. He had constantly asked Starscream to advocate for less brutal or reckless tactics favored by the warlord, but those pleas had never been heard. Any time Starscream had offered an alternative to ramming their helms into a wall of Autobots, he would be assaulted into submission for daring to question their lord. 

Starscream can understand caution in battle, but the absence of violence in conflict is a foolish aspiration. He had explained that to Thundercracker when they first joined the Decepticons. Now here was Megatron, standing before him after all these vorns, denigrating the framework of a cause he had forged. 

The fool seemed at a loss for words as he blankly watched and waited for Starscream’s laughter to die out. Starscream’s vocalizer whirled at the strain as he finally pulled himself together, “Be-believe me, I would love to list exactly every single reason to explain just how hypocritical you have become Megatron; but I know from experience that words are useless on your thick helm.”

Megatron ex-vented and ran a servo down his face, “Starscream… would you please work with me here?”

Starscream’s optics widened and his wings flicked back. It was his turn to be left absolutely flabbergasted. This mech truly was full of surprises as of late. Why was he talking like that? What was he trying to pull now?

Starscream straightened himself and now eyed Megatron more warily, “Work with you?” He paused for a bit of drama and to analyze the ex-warlord’s frame-language, then assumed a sweeter tone as he put his servos behind his back. “I will only agree to be cooperative if I am to get something out of this exchange, my dear Megatron. As is in my oh so self-serving nature, after all.” He placed a servo over his chassis for effect. “If you wish for me to disclose anything of interest to you, you’ll have to bargain for it.” The seeker slid up to the cell’s barrier and leaned forward with a conniving smirk. 

Megatron’s faceplate looked positively disgusted. Good.

“You are in no position to make deals, Starscream.” He proclaimed like a fool.

“On the contrary, I am in the exact position to do so! What have I to lose if you refuse? Disclosing anything you desire without anything in return would still leave me with nothing in the end. So give me some incentive, hm? Or do you plan to remove this silly barrier and beat it out of me like the good ol’ days? Wouldn’t that just be easier? Oh, but that’d challenge your cute, flimsy little ploy of pacifism, now wouldn’t it?”

Megatron threw his servo out from his side like he could smack the idea away. “That is not what I’m here for!” He insisted as his volume rose again, “All I wanted, was to try and have a civil conversation with you! But I should’ve known that’d be impossible.”

Starscream’s grin dropped, and he rolled his optics with the swing of his hips which he landed his servos upon, “Ah yes, I am sure that is all you came for.”

Megatron’s servos clenched into fists as they often did when frustrated, but the slagging idiot still wouldn’t relent to his typical violent impulses. “Fine. What could you want in exchange for giving me a legitimate answer to my question?”

“Hm, I assume my freedom would be off the table?” Starscream tried, which Megatron answered with a glare. “Pity. With my vast array of skills, I would be a far more valuable asset to you all on the outside–”

“No. Get on with it.”

Star grumbled his complaints, then paused in thought. “Well, perhaps you could permit me a meeting with Hashtag. Speaking with her would certainly be far more pleasant than being forcibly subjected to your disgusting faceplate.”

Megatron’s expression shifted to that confusing state from before, then reverted back to one of stern suspicion. “Very well, but she will not be alone. She will have an Autobot chaperon close by.”

Starscream’s wings flicked in a mock shrug, “If you insist. It is not as if I intend to manipulate her to my whim in an effort to convince her to release me from this Pit. That would be absurd. Shame on your paranoid processor for thinking it.” He tisked.

Megatron actually rolled his own optics, which Starscream found extremely amusing. “Right. On that note, tell me, what are your intentions? You still seem to be fond of the sparkling, despite your recent actions. Help me understand, Starscream.”

Perhaps the Prime had put him up to this.

“A little back and forth of being at odds isn’t unheard of, especially amongst Decepticons. Why do you act like it is so strange?”

“It’s a matter of loyalty, Starscream. The infighting amidst the Decepticons was by no means an advantage, in fact, it was a constant hindrance!”

Starscream scoffed, but couldn’t think of a good retort to the statement. It was objectively true, and he would not tell Megatron he was right. He waved a servo dismissively, “Regardless, what else was it you wanted to ask me?”

“What is your endgame?”

“Ah well, ideally I would lead the Decepticons to victory and rule over a newly forged Cybertron.” He stated plainly. “Although, determining a means at which to breathe life back into the ball of scrap it’s become, is the most tricky. But if everyone had just listened to me,” He put a servo to his chassis, “then we could stop with the silly killing each other dribble and finally reformat our government as intended, on a very much alive Cybertron. On the other servo, you just decided for yourself that you were tired of playing war with the Prime. I might have agreed with you about starting some form of delegation. But no. How could any of us have any right to be consulted by the mighty Megatron. You just up and decided to go behind our backs. And now you love to prattle about being a team. Tch.”

Megatron hummed disapprovingly of the seeker’s snark. “How did your scheme to use the Emberstone to control the Titan and destroy Witwicky possibly work toward those goals? That was a rather needlessly violent approach, and aimed towards Earth’s inhabitants, not Cybertron.”

“Well I couldn’t exactly reach Cybertron, now could I? Because someone destroyed the only space bridge. And the technology here is far too primitive to rebuild a new one. The situation changed my approach. Evidently, it was a flop, but I blame Quintus and his faulty artifact for that.” The lingering energy in his spark sent a sort of warning shock that made his optic and wing twitch. He flatly ignored it. “Now if you want any more oddly interpersonal queries answered, we can discern another trade."

Megatron stared a moment before turning away, “No, that will be all for now, Starscream.”

Suddenly, Starscream actually felt as if he didn’t want him to leave. Had he bored the mech somehow? Scrap! He hadn’t even succeeded in riling him up enough to open the door! But he couldn’t think of anything else to say that wouldn’t be overtly obvious that he was intentionally aiming for a confrontational response. Then here he was, being dismissed as if he were still a soldier under the oaf’s command. No matter. At least he had scored a meeting with Hashtag. That could be something to look forward to, he supposed. 

“Uh- right then… don’t forget our deal!” It was too sudden for Starscream’s liking.

Megatron didn’t even respond to him as he rounded the corner. Conversation. Yes that mech was as skilled in that department as ever. Whether he was too wrapped up in whatever thoughts were sloshing around in his helm, or if he pointedly ignored Starscream for some reason or another; it was always hard to tell. 

Now, Starscream was left to his own devices yet again. Alone. No need to be dramatic, he didn’t actually enjoy Megatron’s company. Solitary was surely preferable. 

He just hoped they wouldn’t forget him in there for too long this time…

That’s all it was.

[weirdlookingsnakewithlegs]

You dare break my heart like that?? /j

This can only be rectified with fluff

I repent

Nightly Excitement

Words: 978

“Stop squirming you piece of scrap!” Starscream snaps, grabbing Skywarp by his pede before yanking the other towards him. He snatches the squirmy seeker by the waist and holds him tight in his lap.

“Nooo! Let me go Star!” The purple seeker tries to claw himself out, reaching for the blankets. Thundercracker moves to stop him, effectively sandwiching Skywarp between him and Starscream.

Pouting, Skywarp finally goes limp and looks between the two of them with a heavy exvent. “You guys suck.”

“Your wings are dirty and your hinges are creaking, let Star clean them.” Thundercracker rolls his optics, his servos resting on Starscream’s thighs to keep Skywarp steady. The captive only continues to pout before yelping when he feels Starscream nip at his hinges and he attempts to whirl around and smack at him. Thundercracker holds him steady.

Using his fangs, the trine leader works to gently remove any beginnings of rust, licking the hinges afterwards to provide a protective layer from the elements. Skywarp squirms the entire time, complaining about the ticklish feeling surging through his wires.

Thundercracker only laughs at his suffering and once it’s over the purple seeker lunges at him, devolving into a pile of brawling frames. From the side Starscream shakes his helm, yet the smile on his face never disappears.

Before they know it, Skywarp is suddenly thrown back into their plush little nest. The trine leader nearly yelps when Thundercracker moves back over, pinning them both underneath his heavier frame.

“Thunder! You are much too heavy for this mechling behavior!” Starscream practically shouts, attempting to push the other off as Skywarp resigns to his fate(dramatically feigning his death as well).

“Nope, consider yourselves in timeout.” The cobalt seeker rumbles, taking a moment to get comfortable as he stretches over their laps.

“Skywarp was the one misbehaving!”

“You tried to kill Megatron today!” Skywarp unhelpfully chimes.

“I did not! He should be paying attention to his surroundings, a real leader expects an attack from every angle.” He flinches when Thundercracker brings a servo up to wave it in his face.

“Shut up, be a good pillow and be quiet.”

“What in the-“

“Pillows don’t talk, Starscream.” Thundercracker interrupts, nuzzling his helm further into his trine leader. The red seeker only exvents in annoyance before poking the other’s chassis while Skywarp sneakily seems to be doing something to Thundercracker’s pede in the background.

“You’re lucky I sympathize with you.”

“You’re lucky I warned Megatron about your incoming friendly fire.”

“…Touchee but you reek. Invalid response therefore.”

“I know, char and burnt rubber, happens with the boom. What, are you going to run me an oil bath?”

“In your dreams, I just don’t want your stench sticking to me.” Starscream just barely finishes his sentence before Thundercracker moves to yank Starscream to his chassis.

“I’ll show you stench!”

Starscream can’t stop his laughter, “Ew no! Let me go, you roughian!” He scrambles as he attempts to pull away from Thundercracker. Skywarp, despite whatever his action may have been, cheers on the new brawl.

“Get his aft Star!”

“Why are you cheering for him?!”

“Because I’m the better of us Thunder!” Starscream cackles.

They continue to wrestle, both of them having much more nightly energy than Skywarp could ever dream of.

The brawl somehow ends up on the floor, Skywarp watching from the edge of the bed, arms dangling off the side. Eventually it ends with Starscream shoving Thundercracker’s helm in the floor, declaring righteous victory up until the cobalt seeker pokes him in the vent.

Starscream yelps and immediately scrambles back into the nest. “Cheap shot!”

“Look at you two, nice bursts of energy!” Skywarp chuckles as he looks between the two, “You seemed pumped TC.”

“He got to kick Drag Strip’s aft today, of course he’s rowdy.”

“I love putting that glitch down, it’s the best feeling in the world.” Thundercracker’s wings twitch upwards with pride, a grin appearing on his expression as he slowly stands up. “You should’ve seen his ugly face Warp.”

“Ah yes, the only time TC is excited,” Skywarp declares wistfully, “is after he’s kicked another mech’s aft.”

“Raised to be prim and proper, born to be a menace.” Starscream chimes sweetly in response.

“I plead guilty on all charges.” Bowing, the cobalt seeker then notices something on the side of his leg and upon further investigation narrows his optics at Skywarp. “Care to explain why there’s a drawing on my leg?”

“I was feeling creative, come on. Work with me?”

“Last time we let you paint on us you snuck in a vulgarity.” Starscream prods at Skywarp’s side plating, smirking when the other squeaks and writhes away.

“It’s your fault for trusting me.” Skywarp responds with a grin, sticking out his glossa only to yelp when Thundercracker flicks him between the optics.

The cobalt seeker flops back into the nest, exventing when Starscream moves to lay against him. “Mm, keep talking like that and you won’t get another chance.”

“Ugh fine, I’ll be good! Now scoot!”

Skywarp nudges Thundercracker a bit to slip underneath his fanned out wings and Starscream watches with amusement as he struggles a bit to do so, Thundercracker purposely making it difficult for him. After a moment of struggle, Skywarp lays comfortably under the other’s wing, arms stretched out as he rests his helm against one of the pillows.

Starscream barely manages to keep his small smile from growing wide before he to moves to get comfortable. Rounding the pair he settles in front of them, Thundercracker moving to stretch an arm over his back, just shy of his wing hinges. The cobalt seeker pulls him closer to rest his chin comfortably on Starscream’s shoulder. The trine leader’s wings slightly cover Thundercracker’s arm and the rest of Skywarp, making sure both of them are somewhat hidden away.

“You smell.”

“Shut up Skywarp.”

[fuddsgf]

si no le contesto - s. golbach

sam x latina ! reader

warnings: cursing in spanish, arguing, drinking. use of pet names.

translations will be provided

7 missed calls from mi amor

incoming call mi amor

answer decline

1 new voice message!

play delete

“samuel si no contestas ahora mismo ni siquiera pienses en volver a casa, me estas estresando!”

“Samuel, if you don't answer right now, don't even think about coming home, you're stressing me out!”

6 voice messages remaining

play all delete all

“sam, don't forget to pick up the advil before you get home”

“hey sam, i know you're busy but i wanted to let you know that i just finished the report and that probably when you get home i'll be sleeping be careful ok? i love you”

“sam, i'm getting worried answer your phone”

“samuel, enserio ya deja de jugar y contesta tu telefono”

“samuel, seriously, stop playing and answer your phone”

“oye, sam, ya vente a casa, ya es tarde”

“hey, sam, come home, it's already late”

“samuel contesta tu pinche telefono ahora mismo, que estas haciendo?”

“samuel, answer your fucking phone right now, what are you doing?”

the girl paced back and forth in the living room constantly looking at her phone hoping to see at least a message from her boyfriend but nothing.

samgolbach added to their story.

the girl clicked on the notification slightly sick to her stomach that not once did she get a call back from him but he posts on his story like he was not ignoring her calls a few seconds ago.

instagram opened up to the boys story, it was him at a party the flash from the phones camera being the only source of light shining in the boys face as he held a tequila shot towards the camera before shooting it down his throat making a face as the liquid made its way down.

“he could post but not answer my calls or messages? just great.” she thought. as she was analyzing the video it skipped to the next story colby’s story it was a video some what similars to sam’s but sam was in the background talking to a girl but not just any girl his ex.

they were laughing and drinking together before she grabs his hand and starts taking him upstairs that’s when the video cuts off.

not only did he not answer her calls but now he was cheating on her “wait no sam could never cheat on me he’s not the type” she thought as she sat down on the couch “or is he? no don’t doubt that he’s an amazing boyfriend he would never cheat on me” her thoughts raced as she tried to distract herself.

“think about what they could be doing right now, how hes probably doing everything he does to you” the thoughts had her head spinning.

she couldn’t have these thoughts not at this moment. she made her way into her room deciding to just sleep these thoughts away.

-

after a few minutes of tossing and turning to find a comfortable position to fall asleep in the girl was finally tired enough to let sleep take over.

the low creek of the door opening and closing shuffling and the feeling of the bed sinking behind her woke her up she knew it was him the smell of alcohol and perfume not just any perfume a cheap knock off of her favorite perfume filled her nostrils

“hey honey” spoke sam as he placed his hand on her waist “how was your night did you finish that report for work?” he didnt listen to the voice messages

“si, ya lo terminé trajiste el advil que te pedí?” “no, im sorry babe i forgot” liar “oh really?” she asked not looking at him “yea, the meeting lasted longer than i expected” “is that so?” she sarcastically replied grabbing her phone and heading to her instagram and opening it to his story “because according to you and colby’s stories you were at a party” she showed him the video as she pushed him off her to get up.

“yes, i already finished it, did you bring the advil i asked for?”

“what?” his voice slightly lowered “yea, i saw them didn’t think about restricting me first before posting did you? oh and don’t get me started on the fact that you were talking with your ex in colby’s video or the fact that she took you upstairs”

“babe, that’s not true we didn’t go upstairs” he replied as he got out of the bed “don’t try to lie your way out of this! i saw the video and it clearly shows that you two went upstairs!” she argued.

“y/n, please you know i would never do anything to hurt you!” he exclaimed as he slowly walked towards her “no sam, aver donde te vas a dormir porque aquí en mi casa ni te quiero ver”

“no sam, see where you're going to sleep because here at my house I don't even want to see you”

“what y/n you can’t be serious it’s four in the fucking morning!” “ni modo mi amor hubieras pensado en eso antes de llegar a estas horas oliendo a alcohol y perfume barato” she said as she pushed him out of her apartment closing the door in his face and locking it.

“too bad my love, you should’ve thought about that before arriving at this time smelling of alcohol and cheap perfume”

-

1:30pm

mi güero <3

y/n?

babe i’m so sorry i couldn’t make home last night my flight got delayed and i had no service at all

baby? are you mad at me? i’m sorry for not responding sooner or answering your calls you know if i could i would have please don’t be mad at me.

wait you’re probably still sleeping you most likely finished that report so late last night

yup, you did those voice messages you left i’m sorry i couldn’t answer but i’m already in my uber i have the advil and i’m bringing you your favorite breakfast from your favorite restaurant:)

as sam got off the uber making his way into his girlfriends apartment trying to balance the coffee with the breakfast bag his luggage and his phone he carefully unlocked the door making his way inside.

“y/n, honey it’s time to wake up” he whispered softly shaking the girl awake “huh?” she responded standing up and rubbing her eyes “goodmorning beautiful, go wash up while i go get your food from the kitchen” he smiled as he looked at her lovingly “sam?” “yes baby?” he asked turning to meet her eyes “what are you doing here?” she asked “what do you mean what am i doing here i live here silly” he laughed slightly “wait what” she whispered looking around.

“are you alright babe?” he asked worried going back to kneel down next to her “si estoy bien solo un poco confundida” “why, are you confused love?” he asked looking at her confused written all over her face “weren’t you at a party last night?” she mumbled confused “a party? no i was stuck at the airport in australia last night” he replied pulling out his phone to show her the pictures of him goofy around at the airport with colby.

“that’s weird never mind i think i just had a bad dream” she explained getting up to go get washed up in the bathroom.

i must’ve been dreaming because sam was clearly stuck at the airport with no signal. the things my brain comes up with when he doesn’t answer me.

this is probably shit but i’ve been super busy with practices and school but i’m on break so imma try to grind and get some stuff i’ve been working on out anyway hope you enjoyed this :)

🏷️: @sturniolobendystrawsposts @hearts4chris @patscorner @lexisecretaccx @tubl-mc @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloblogs @sturniolos-blog

[pinstripe-wings]

I’ve been in the mood for Jazz/Prowl, so I wrote this:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65281249

I also put it under the read more, cause why not:

Title: The Vent Incident

Rating: T

Tags: Jazz is going stir crazy, Prowl is bad at feelings, downtime equals more energon, Prowl discovering things about himself, fluff and humor, a bit of, nonverbal communication.

Summary:

“Why have you not left?” Prowl asked. “Or entered my office properly?”

“…I’m stuck.” Jazz flashed a tight smile. “Help a mech out?”

-

A perfectly ordinary start to his morning ought to have been a blatant warning sign that such a peace was too good to be true and would soon be interrupted.

Prowl didn’t even have to calculate how high a percentage on whether or not he’d be disturbed; the mere fact that today marked a whole Earth year of no fighting against the Decepticons.

It wasn’t the end of a the long running war, but it was a very much welcome break to get things into order before a resurgence in battles.

Between today’s continued lack of enemies to engage with and an equally quiet base, Prowl’s anticipation of receiving an early break from his otherwise productive start to the day grew.

But until this expected interruption, there were more reports to be filed, forwarded to appropriate addressee, or be stored.

Prowl went through recent reports quickly and efficiently, mostly dull and uninteresting, considering the lack of Decepticon movement. There were a few incident reports than was usual, but unsurprising when there was a base full of restless mechs and femmes looking for something to pass the time.

Ratchet was displeased with the amount of damage he and First Aid were repairing due to reckless driving or aggressive sparring.

Prowl checked his chronometer.

Ah.

In approximately two Earth hours, he was to go retrieve a cube of energon to fuel himself with.

This was plenty of time to finish up the newer reports, and with a less cluttered office, Prowl could later move on to the backlog of old reports and records.

The time passed in a peaceful silence.

Prowl allowed his tacnet to churr some data, based off of other times that the base had been so pleasantly quiet, then added in the probabilities of what might or could happen based off those calculations.

There was a (24%) chance of some mech getting into Wheeljack’s workshop; never a good thing, as one never knew what that mech was up to at any given moment. There was a (62%) chance that someone was in the medbay being scolded by Ratchet. There is less than a (2%) chance that the Decepticons might attack the Autobot base; perhaps (6%), if any new scout reports came in, but unlikely to be of any substance.

Prowl ran another calculation to do with the inaction in particular, weighing it against the mechs and femmes in the base.

A (96%) chance that he will be subjected to the presence of one mech in particular was unwavering.

Almost as soon as he dismissed other results, Prowl’s doorwings lifted and tilted. The tactician had just alerted to a telltale vibration that was currently headed toward his office from the left. Prowl consulted the time, then nodded absently to himself as he gathered data pads within reach.

There was his incoming visitor.

Said visitor was not quiet in the least bit, on purpose (83%) as the vent grate overhead was removed. The grate cover was unnecessarily dropped with a loud ‘clag’ as it hit the floor. 

“Heya, Prowler.” A cheery voice greeted the tactician.

”Jazz.” Prowl greeted as he picked up one of the data pads before him. He tracked the saboteur through vibrations with his doorwings. Prowl noted that Jazz remained within the vent.

Not unheard of, when Jazz wandered through the base’s vents, but it was somewhat less expected.

Prowl knew well that Jazz’s ultimate goal in sneaking into his office was to either snoop, or sprawl his entire frame over Prowl’s own as closely and affectionately as possible.

Currently, Jazz tapped his digits against the wall in a beat none but Jazz himself heard. 

“May I assist you with anything?” Prowl questioned, once he deemed enough time had passed to allow Jazz the opportunity to worm out of the vent, yet the mech hadn’t emerged.

“I was just checkin’ on ya to make sure you’re gonna join me fer some energon in ‘bout an hour.” Jazz began to use his other hand’s digits to tap, which created a more elaborate beat. 

”I plan to.” Prowl’s helm tilted as he mused over why Jazz might believe he needed to ask. Prowl turned over a few numbers, then dismissed them. He had failed to turn up in the past, so it made sense for Jazz to clarify. “Wouldn’t a comm have sufficed for that query?” 

”They’re off, my mech.” Jazz’s voice lilted upward.

Prowl checked, confirming the other mech’s words.

So they were.

“My apologies. I wasn’t aware of this. An oversight, on my part.” Prowl reactivated the temporarily muted comms from emergency-only pings. “Was there anything else you needed from me?”

“Other than you, Prowler?” Jazz’s tone shifted, the rhythmic tapping ceasing.   

Tac net struggled to make sense of that tone, eventually settling on fondness (57%) and teasing (79%) within Jazz’s vocals.

“Let me rephrase.” A hint of fond exasperation welled within Prowl. “Is there anything you need from me while I’m on shift, or do you have plans for after we get our energon?”

”Nah, was just checking’ on you.” Jazz sounded happy, digits drumming against the wall. “As fer after refueling? Might have somethin’ for the end of your shift. I got plans you’ll like.”

Prowl considered Jazz’s words, and after figuring that was all, he refocused on the backlog of old reports. The tactician was able to focus for all of about fifteen minutes, during which Jazz could be heard wiggling, his claws digging into metal, and the mech’s armor being audibly scraped against the vent’s entrance. Prowl assumed this meant Jazz had finally decided to join him in the office until the break, so he didn’t need to fully pay attention to Jazz’s antics. At least until Prowl’s wings picked up on the vibration of a slow vent of frustration.

Interesting.

Had Jazz not been done conversing with him? Why hadn’t he said anything, if that was the case?

“Why have you not left?” Prowl asked. “Or entered my office properly?” He finally turned in his seat, helm tilting back to observe the black and white mech.

“…I’m stuck.” Jazz flashed a tight smile. “Help a mech out?”

“There is a 24% chance that you cannot fit through some of the smaller vent shafts within this base.” Prowl studied Jazz, a frown present across his derma as he puzzled this out. “You’ve had a 95% success rate of exiting into my office without scraping your armor or causing yourself any duress.” Prowl tracked Jazz’s helm motion, visor vibrancy, and his servos. “Usually falling out to land on your pedes after a flip to place yourself onto my frame. Oftentimes directly onto my lap.”

“I guess I finally packed enough mass into my protoform to be noticeable. Y’know, with no missions to run, no one to seriously spar with, and lotsa extra energon to go around.” Jazz’s helm and arms were currently out of the vent, as were his shoulders, likely after some skillful twists. But most of Jazz’s chassis is, as he stated, stuck.

It’s obvious even from where Prowl is seated that Jazz’s armor is pressed outward around his protoform. Prowl’s doorwings flare out as he focused. The other mech’s field was held tight to his frame, so Prowl focused on Jazz himself.  Prowl soon picked up on the minute shift of pedes, the louder spin of his spark, and the sound of various struts flexing and straining. “You are unable to go back out the way you came?”

”Nope.” Jazz lifted his arms out to Prowl beseechingly as he flashed another smile. “C’mere and help me, Prowler.” Hands stretched out toward the Praxian who was otherwise (outwardly) watching the scene indifferently.

”When I could use this to my advantage and get more of my work done?” Prowl asked dryly. He saw Jazz’s smile become fixed, but still, the saboteur held his servos out steadily. “Being stuck there means you cannot interfere until I assist you out.”

A new tactic was pursued, much to Prowl’s faint amusement.

“You wound me.” Jazz grinned despite this as he lifted one hand to press over what little of his chassis poked out of the vent. “I thought we were tight, Prowler.” Jazz, for whatever reason, chose to lightly twist two digits together, as if n emphasis of his words. “I thought we’d spend time outta of the base and watch the sunset together.” The hand splayed wider over armor. “I wanna get private time with my boo.” Jazz’s derma were twisted with mischief as he attempted to heave a dramatic ex-vent. This was somewhat lessened in intended effect, as Jazz merely scraped his armor into the vent itself.

Prowl’s own derma twitch up as he rose from his seat and approached the vent.

Jazz immediately perked up, both hands rising to…point at the tactician.

Prowl stared.

”Aw, c’mon Prowl, you gotta recognize the finger guns.” Jazz gestured again, only to have the other mech’s confusion deepen. With a light groan of exasperation (good-natured fondness, 89%) Jazz spread his larger servos out to make grabby hands at Prowl.

Prowl stepped forward and lightly grasped Jazz’s hands, which slowly curved over Prowl’s in return to gently squeeze them.

”Prowler?”

Prowl stood there holding hands with Jazz, quiet, before he leaned up on his pedes to reach the vent, and brushed his derma to one of Jazz’s audial horns. 

“You’re killin’ me here, babe.” Jazz bemoaned as he insistently tugged on Prowl’s hands. “At least gimme a lil smooch if you’re not gonna help me outta this vent.”

Smooch.

Another human term, like ‘finger guns’.

”I did.” Prowl murmured, even pressing another ‘smooch’ to Jazz’s other audial horn. He hid a smile over the ex-vent, even as Jazz leaned into Prowl’s derma.

“Didn’t peg ya for teasin’. Guess yer learnin’ some stuff while we’re on Earth.” Jazz managed to nuzzle on of Prowl’s cheeks as the tactician twisted his hands out of Jazz’s grip.

“Hold still.”

With an interested hum, Jazz froze in place.

Prowl moved to grip the upper and lower part of the vent, and heaved.  The metal crumpled under his hands. Prowl stepped back one done, and braced himself, as he was correct in the assumption that Jazz would be upon him in seconds.

And he was.

Jazz was out of the vent, happily wrapping himself around Prowl’s shoulders and waist.

“I thought we were waiting until after shift to do something.” Prowl stated, even as he wrapped his arms around the smaller mech.

“Aft.” Jazz said without heat as he angled his helm while he leaned up to capture Prowl in a kiss. 

Prowl indulged this for approximately one minute, before leaning back. “I should finish my current work before we retrieve our energon.”

“You always have some kind of unending work.” Jazz said lightly as he dropped off of Prowl to land lightly on the floor.

Prowl had a very distracting end to his current shift, which Jazz lingering just in his periphery being a distracting, if attractive, nuisance. Jazz continued to be very distracting, so much so that ending his shift and retrieving their energon became a distant memory the moment the two of them left the base for a drive.

Jazz said he had plans for them, and one of those plans was to be as much a menace on the road as he could be, goading Prowl into chasing him by having the tactician’s Enforcer past stir at the sight.

This was acceptable, since there were no humans around in the area to see two cars racing about.

Prowl’s entire focus was on Jazz in his alt mode; sleek, teasing and inviting as Jazz revved his engine while driving alongside  Prowl.

Then, Jazz sped off.

A thrill of the chase dashed away anything else that Prowl may have been contemplating in the moment. He spent most of his processing power on keeping up with Jazz, around the curves in the road and sharp turns, with only a small part of his processor keeping alert for danger. Prowl wasn’t sure where Jazz was headed, but the two of them were driving far away from the base, no doubt as far out as they could to not have any bored mech follow them.

Prowl caught up with Jazz as the two of them drove up to the edge of a cliff. As they went back to alt mode, Prowl noted that there was an overhang above them to block out possible weather.  Prowl looked back to Jazz, and in the moonlight that was at the edge of the overhand, Prowl got a proper look at Jazz. He’d been wondering why Jazz had become stuck in the vents. Prowls answer was right before him, visible to his own optics.

There was a faint bulge of protoform showing beneath Jazz’s endure chassis to either side, which pressed his armor out just a tad. It’s enough of a change that it accounted for Jazz becoming stuck within one of the larger vents that were on base.

Jazz noted the way Prowl studied him; with a smile, Jazz leaned back to better show off his armored front, and the peeks of protoform. Jazz’s visor brightened as he shuffled across the rocky ledge he was standing on to press into Prowl’s side.

Prowl realized with a jolt that the sight he was seeing meant that Jazz was healthier than was usual. Prowl’s right doorwing curved back, allowing which Jazz closer. Prowl felt a hand slide up take his own.

Jazz held Prowl‘s hand to the protoform in the saboteur’s side when he fluffed his armor up a little to allow access.

Prowl brushed digits lightly along old scars that came from either battle, or torture, during times that Jazz was held captive by the Decepticons when caught in a spec ops mission. At present, Jazz’s field was alive and vibrant.

There was also a sneaky hand slinking up along Prowl’s side in a ‘finger-walk’, until the digits dipped down under armor to trade protoform.

Prowl hadn’t been aware that he’d gained some bulk since energon hadn’t needed to be rationed as closely.

Jazz’s light, playful touch settled on the tactician’s wrist port, tracing lightly along.

”Do ya wanna let me know just how much you like ta see me like this? I can tell, just do y’know. Yer makin’ those optics light up in that way y’do when you like somethin’.” A digit pressed down on Prowl’s wrist port, then released the pressure to pet it. “We’re alone. You interested in this, or do y’just wanna hold me close tonight?”

Prowl considered the offer, his helm tilted down to meet the visor and the soft, relaxed smile beneath it. He turned over what he was up for, what he wanted to do, and thought about the way Jazz was not as jittery as he had been earlier in the day. A longer pause as decisions were made, before Prowl’s wrist port all but snapped open to reveal curious cables that began to twitch through the air.

~

Jazz woke up with his helm and shoulders resting comfortably on Prowl’s lap. He laughed, amused by the way he’d been unexpectedly knocked out. As soon as he was able to use his words, Jazz reached for Prowl.  “Guess you missed me a whole lot before we gotta year of no fighting, yeah?”

Prowl’s hands wordlessly clasped Jazz’s. 

“S’okay, I heard ya loud and clear here.” Jazz clumsily tapped a digit to Prowl‘s now-closed wrist port. There was a sense of satisfaction in the saboteur as he stared up at Prowl, admiring what he saw. “You look good too, y’know, without that tac net drivin’ you to the edge of your processor with dozens of possible outcomes for a battle plaguing ya.”

Prowl moved one of his hands to rest on Jazz’s helm, palm heavy even as his digits were light as he carefully traced the sensitive audial horns. Prowl lifted his doorwings up in order to pick up Jazz’s EM field. It only amplified the sensation, of Jazz giving off a large, strong field of happy/content/affection. Prowl could sense Jazz’s vents, and used that, as well as Jazz’s field, to see what the other enjoyed right now.

”S’nice.” Jazz said, apropros of nothing.

Prowl’s wings settled into a comfortable position as he was assured that Jazz was well, despite inaction. Jazz was even able to drift back off to recharge with Prowl keeping careful watch, while Jazz hugged one of the tactician‘s arms close over his spark.

This was something of a rarity.

Jazz falling into recharge outside of base, or recharging without his team around him to keep watch. Jazz was usually on guard, more so than Prowl himself.

This was different.

Prowl found he approved of Jazz relaxing around him, outside of the safety of the base.

The lack of conflict with the Decepticons was doing wonders for Jazz’s physical health, if not entirely great for mental, given the stir-crazy energy and need to move and do something. Perhaps Prowl could discuss options with Optimus Prime at some point, as Prowl was certain (92%) that other mechs and femmes were in the same position as Jazz was.

…though Prowl did have enough free time to spend with Jazz in peace and quiet, as they were now.

Prowl’s hands roved down from Jazz’s helm to slowly, gingerly rest over neck cables. He marveled that Jazz does not immediately rouse and try to stab him. Jazz didn’t even leave recharge when Prowl settled his palm over the med port on the back of his neck. Prowl’s doorwings twitch as he moved his trapped arm to trace his digits along protoform, which peeked out from under Jazz’s armor in certain places. Jazz’s grip loosened, intentionally or not, to allow Prowl to better linger along the seams of armor.

Jazz’s field was muted; calm, content. It meshed with Prowl’s own alert, if equally calm, field.

Perhaps soon, the two of them will be able to continue their pursuit of one another, if the peace they were unexpectedly experiencing stretched on.

It’s quiet.

There’s no incoming fight.

Maybe there’s hope for the war to end.

”Don’t think s’much Prowler.” Jazz sighed out as he snuggled in, still half on Prowl’s lap. “I can hear your processor workin’ from down here.” A short pause. “You good?”

Prowl said nothing in return, but he communicated his current unexpectedly relaxed mood. Prowl leaned over, free hand moving to cup one of Jazz’s cheeks upside down, his digits lightly caressing. Prowl lifted Jazz up at an angle with one leg, careful to not upend him. Then, Prowl pressed his chevron to Jazz’s helm crest, where he lingered for a time.

A hand eventually reached up to rest on Prowl’s cheek in return, a digit gently tweaking the armor of his helm.

”Love ya too, Prowler.” 

[she-who-paints-with-fire]

STORMBRINGER

Shift. Breathe. Move. Breathe. Turn. Breathe. Fire. Breathe.

Lux had been trained to always keep a particular mantra in mind: "Space buys time, time buys options, options buy victory."

[TARGET LOCKED]

[SHARANGA MISSILES ARMED]

Combat in a hard vacuum turned this mantra on its head.

In hardvac combat, space bought time, but the more time you had, the more problems you had. In hardvac combat you were on a time limit. Every breath of oxygen was precious; every bit of inertia needed to be metered out. Sure, you had the heart of a star and were powered by a series of cascading nuclear reactions that were for all intents and purposes providing infinite fuel, but if you were light-years from the nearest station, you'd run out of oxygen long before you got back into a pressurized environment.

If combat was a dance, hardvac combat was trapeze. One wrong move in your performance and you would break your neck.

[RADAR LOCK WARNING]

Lux wove right, narrowly avoiding a ship-scale laser. She could nearly feel the heat on her flesh; she could certainly feel it on her metallic skin.

[JAVELIN ROCKETS ARMED]

[FIRING JAVELIN ROCKETS]

Explosions rippled across the outer hull of the Calamity Supreme as Dawn Always Comes soared up the spine of the ship, scattering missiles across the railgun mountings, hoping to destroy or at least disable something important to lessen the storm of incoming fire that her battlegroup's Huron-class frigate. I Refuse To Sink was, at least, weathering the storm.

[TARGET LOCK]

[SHARANGA MISSILES ARMED]

Dawn Always Comes danced sideways once more and unleashed a barrage of self-guiding missiles against one of the ship-scale magnetic rails. Electricity ran along the rails as another slug prepared to fire; Lux found something that looked like an exposed support section and imagined it burning.

[TARGET LOCK]

[GANDIVA MISSILES ARMED]

It was like she was handing out explosive party favours, or lucid-dreaming. She closed her eyes and the target exploded in her mind, then she opened her eyes and saw twisted, burning metal. Energy continued running down the magnet lines; far down the railgun barrel a metal slug was slotted into place.

[WARNING - WITHIN APOCALYPSE RAIL BLAST AREA]

Lux darted upwards into a lag roll, spinning sideways and spiralling low until she was running alongside the hull at barely [ALTITUDE, ALTITUDE] ten metres. With but a thought and a muscle twitch, she targeted two laser-defense turrets, closed her eyes, and fired.

[TARGET LOCKED]

[SHARANGA MISSILE ARMED]

Flames leapt and devoured the metal like greywash. Lux paid them no mind and sped further down the hull [RADAR LOCK WARNING], rolling right and [CHAFF / FLARE, CHAFF / FLARE] firing countermeasures to disrupt a hostile fighter's targeting lock, dancing along the golden path like a tightrope walker at ten million metres in the sky.

Another laser passed close, superheating metal, causing no damage. Lux kept striding the golden path. Breathe in, breathe out.

"Captain Korai to ALLCOM. We're holding steady but taking a beating--if you could focus on disabling weapons systems, it would save a few lives."

Lux smiled despite herself, then refocused. She knew how to do this, even as point-defense formed a web around her and she continued to dance along the tightrope, finding every hole and slipping through like rainwater caught in a net.

Breathe in, breathe out. Dawn Always Comes strained against inertia as it shot upwards in a clean Immelmann turn. As she rose she looked at the Calamity Supreme, taking it in, analyzing all angles.

She closed her eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out.

She imagined it in every light. Every angle. She saw the crew onboard. The miles of circuitry. The guns, half-loaded. The broken armor panels. The ones still holding strong. The shattered hulls. The vented compartments. Those rooms that still teemed with life. The bunks within which the crew slept. The locked bulkheads. The engines, roaring and ready at combat speed. The bridge, from which the captain organized the entire ship.

She imagined the perfected ship. She held it in her mind. Silvery strips of metal chaff framed her like twinkling stars; flares formed an afterimage of wings.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Sacrifice time to expedite victory. Do it right. Breathe in. Breathe out.

[AVENGER SILOS ARMED]

On Venus, a thunderstorm began to form. Convection cells rose and cooled; lightning coiled and prepared to leap. Lux reached up and held the clouds tight.

[SHARANGA MISSILES ARMED]

Raindrops gathered in those heavy clouds. Wind began to speed up. Animals covered their patches of grass.

[JAVELIN ROCKETS ARMED]

Karateka sat at the centerfold of the storm, watching the rain swirl around her.

[GANDIVA MISSILES ARMED]

With a deep breath, she focused on the wind as it began to howl, the rain as it began to fall, the force of a hurricane all around her. She took it, focused it, let it flow through her. A thousand-thousand-thousand raindrops fell away from her palms as she released the stormclouds from her grasp.

[DIVINE PUNISHMENT PROTOCOL ACTIVE]

Raindrops that, taken together, could carve away the earth.