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March for Raph Day 4: Sunset

“Come on, Raphie!” Mikey pleaded again, tugging at the folds of his ill-fitting coat to drag him back toward the manhole. “We gotta get back fast or we’re gonna get in real big trouble!”

That was why Raph hesitated. This would probably be his last look for a long, long time if (when) Papa found out. Following the dizzyingly tall buildings up, up, up, he stared at the burnt reds and oranges soaring overhead. The sky looked like it was painted just for them.

Strangely, his eyes stung. But that…that was fine. He just wasn’t acclimated to topside light.

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fly boys

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Autobot Jazz Week! day 1: Behind the Visor

i like to believe that jazz's eyes look like starlight! 💙

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3. Too Loud - TMNT 2007

Soft Rasey for the soul.

It's night.

It's night, which means he has things to do: crimes to stop, goons to catch, leads to chase, brothers to disappoint.

It's night, he has things to do, but it's too freaking loud to do any of them.

Raph presses his palms harder against the roof's edge and focuses on the bite of jagged asphalt through his gloves. Kicks back and forth to feel the air push against his legs and stares at the ground like the vertigo he got used to a lifetime ago might save him from the pounding in his skull. That erratic pulse of the city, alive and clawing through his brain.

He's seriously considering the merits of melting into the rooftop by the time Casey shows up.

Casey clambers onto the roof all bluster and boisterous joy. He's stealthy when he wants to be, which is conveniently never when Raph is around to make fun of him for lacking it. The familiar gripe builds up in his throat and chokes. It's already so loud, and if he gets them both going, it'll get even louder, and he's really not that worried about stealth, but it hurts.

He lets Casey jostle him into a side hug and rant about work and share the latest gossip from April and Angel as he stares at the ground and pretends that every word out of his mouth is a distraction from the pain instead of another rubber band wrapped around his skull like a swollen watermelon waiting to explode. He doesn't know how Donnie lives with these all the time. He kind of wants to sob.

Casey barks a laugh at his own mediocre joke, and before Raph can think, he's tipping over the knife edge of hurt into anger.

"Shut up!" he hisses. Ugh, he sounds about as pathetic as he feels.

"Dude." And Casey looks about as offended as he sounds. "What is your problem?"

"Nothing," Raph bites out.

Casey reaches out to push him. Raph can already tell it'll be weak, with hardly any power behind it, and how dare he? Raph already feels like shell; Casey could at least fight him like he means it. He snatches Casey's hand, yanking him forward to snarl in his face.

Casey doesn't even fight the hold. He visibly resists the urge to roll his eyes and then. He pauses. His gaze scans back and forth over Raph's face. He lifts a hand close enough to touch, and Raph flinches away without thinking.

"Hey," Casey says steadily, "just me."

He slips his hand behind Raph's head, loosening the knot of his mask until it falls limply around his neck. The pressure release brings relief and another sharp stab of pain. It's everywhere now, and he can't even think straight, it's just—

"You gotta tell me when you're hurting, man," Casey whispers.

A cool hand settles at the base of his skull. The first soothing sensation since he forced himself out of the lair with a pulsing cord of tension between his temples. It takes him a minute to remember what Casey said as he leans back into the hand.

"'M not hurt," he murmurs.

Casey huffs a soft, humorless laugh, but if Raph's eyes weren't closed, he's pretty sure he'd see that stupid smile Casey can't seem to stop looking at him with lately. There's this bubble around them now, suffused with Casey's warm affection in a way that buffers the sounds of the city.

"Come on, let me take you home." Casey tugs on the hand Raph still hasn't let go of.

"Don't wanna go home." He tugs back, hugging the five slim fingers to his plastron. When that doesn't get a reaction, he squints his eyes open to glare.

"Is that"—Casey gestures with his head—"supposed to convince me? You look like a wet cat; that's a wet cat look."

"Oh my gosh, shut up," Raph groans. Ow, even grinning hurts.

"Either you let me take you home, or you're sleeping on my couch."

"Fine."

"Fine, what?" Casey complains, and Raph is really getting tired of being talked at.

He pushes to his feet, dragging a spluttering Casey up with him. The headrush is nearly unbearable, but Casey steadies him without a word.

"You're driving," Raph mutters, tipping forward until his cheek presses against Casey's shoulder.

Tomorrow, when he wakes up on Casey's crappy sofa, melted ice pack slipping to the floor, he'll wonder if he imagined the press of lips to his forehead.

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Love the thought concept of Knock Out going as high as he does in medic ranks due to seekers generally trusting him more than, let’s say, gladiator medics. Of course the only medics available to the Decepticons are ones who worked on gladiators in Kaon. Any other medics who tried to join were rightfully hunted down as a fixed Decepticon is a dangerous Decepticon. Seekers wouldn’t trust gladiator medics near their delicate wiring, not to mention their wings. Knock Out is a similar size, sometimes smaller than bulkier seekers, and is viewed as having a more steady servo.

(I know Starscream is lanky and only has like a couple inches on Knock Out but I imagine there’s a wide variety of height in flight frames.)

Comedically Knock Out joining the Decepticon expecting to do light medical work and mainly be a grunt because his only knowledge is cosmetic reforms; suddenly getting flocked (ha pun) because it got out he knew basic welding and has the razor thin talons like seekers.

And Knock Out going from faceless recruit to on-call medic for the Elite Trine in days, maybe weeks. It’s very common to be woken up in the middle of the night by Skywarp needing his shoulder joint popped back in. Knock Out had to learn on the fly (another pun) by wringing out information from the stubborn fliers on how to fix them. He picked up the basics of their language because they refused to speak standard half the time.

Just, Knock Out accidentally becoming a seeker favorite despite being a grounder.

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Yellow Dwarf Star Bumblebee

The body is round

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Bluestreak is the only one allowed to ride Prowl. And Bluestreak enjoys it, because Prowl goes FAST. A secret adrenaline junkie he is.

Eheheheh

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I don’t know what I’m doing haha

I just wanted to illustrate the difference~

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🐢🐢🐢🐢

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Quick Blurrfish AU drawing :3

@keferon 🫡 I’m multitasking my hyperfixation, watching J Decker at the same time, I love all the team…..for what I saw they have a very strong attachment towards eachother and I love this aspect a lot

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I’m trying haha

The stripe thingies on his cheekbones are gills I think? Or maybe just purely decorative things idk

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A bunch of doodles because I got inspired but the fic SSTP wrote~

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Bug.

@velvetwyrme

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Okay so like. IMAGINE it starts pretty usual. Swerve hangs out in the Aquarium for whatever job related reason and accidentally makes friends with the weird looking fish hahah

But then the big Tsunami-flood apocalypse comes and everything is destroyed and water everywhere and all the buildings turn into sharp heavy deadly rubble and now Swerve has to team up with that weird looking fish because the end of the world contains A LOT of water and he never was a good swimmer

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After years of living in the adulting world, I think I’ve come to a realization: Manners exist to guide you to good conduct even when you’re in a bad mood.

When you’re happy, when you’re feeling generous, when you’re pleased with your gift or your service or your outcome, it’s easy to be nice. It’s easy to tip the waiter well when you’ve had a good day. It’s easy to thank the teller or the clerk when you got what you wanted out of the transaction. It’s easy to smile and chit-chat with strangers on the road when you’re in a good mood.

It’s hard to tip the waiter when you didn’t enjoy your food. It’s hard to thank the clerk for their time when you’ve just been told there’s a problem with their account and they weren’t able to fix it for you. It’s hard to think of something nice to say when your aunt gave you a crappy sweater you neither need nor want. It’s hard to be nice to people when you’ve had a shitty day. It’s HARD.

That’s what manners are for. Scripts and phrases that you learn by rote to say when you can’t think of a single nice or good thing to say from your own volition. Yes, they’re scripted. Yes, the sentiment is empty. But the scripts work in every situation, and the emptiness provides a buffer between your own unhappiness and the rest of society.

Because most of the time, it’s not the waiter’s fault that the food you ordered wasn’t what you expected. It’s not the clerk’s fault that your account is overdrawn. It’s not the fault of the barista or the stranger on the subway that you got fired today or your favorite aunt died. But even when you can’t summon a smile or a cheery word, you can still have manners, because they will serve you the same in sunshine or rain.

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Super messy tfp ratchlock sketches