woradat

[woradat]

GAHHAHAHHAHAA‼️

oh my, how I love u. My dear artist

Biba, Bob and Buba met once｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

He's NOT DEAD!

[woradat]

And here you go, thank for a snacks pal

“We’ll Fight Anybody…”

[PLATONIC]

[Pairing]: Yoru x Cybertronian!Reader

[Synopsis]: Yoru, the Valorant Protocol’s Riftwalker, never expected to experience the “More Than Meets The Eye” moment involving his prized HX20 motorbike.

[Gender Neutral]

[D/N] = Designation (Your Transformer Nane)

[The night life in Tokyo is the time for Yoru to speed through the city with his motorbike. People trot over the famous crosswalk in Shibuya, colorful lights illuminating over which spots many can catch their attention. However, on one particular night, Yoru drove through the emptier parts of Shibuya…]

Yoru: *Riding down the empty streets* Hm…Too quiet.

[The Riftwalker stops in the middle of the desolated street, looking around his surroundings. Shops, restaurants and other businesses were closed for the night, giving away mere silence before unmarked vehicles with headlights on started approaching the agent.]

Yoru: “Great, trouble.” Oi, what do ya want?

[No answer. The suspected vehicles move in closer, Yoru initially about to hop off to confront the “drivers”, but for unknown reasons, his bike moved to have him seated back.]

Yoru: 何だ?! [Nanda?!] (What the-?!)

[More unknown reasons, it started moving on its own, causing him to immediately hold on to the handles. It started backing away, slowly…]

Yoru: What’s this?

???: *Finally speaking through his ear piece* You may wanna hold on tight, Ryo.

Yoru: *Shocked* Who said that-?!

[Tires rubbing against the asphalt, the motorbike seems to have a mind of its own. They turn left, right, any direction to lose sight of the oncoming vehicles behind them.]

Yoru: *Speaking through the ear piece* Whoever you are, this isn’t funny.

???: And I’m not laughing. Those vehicles chasing us are not normal drivers.

Yoru: *Looks over his shoulder* Yeah, my guess is Omega agents.

???: No, far worse than Omega.

[The two led the suspected vehicles to a lesser populated area of Tokyo. Yoru quickly gets off to confront the drivers, but the motorbike moved to block his way. Before he could comment, the sounds of metal shifting, joints rearranging and before his eyes were huge mechs in front of him. All adorning the Deception insignia.]

Yoru: *Furrowed his brows* What are they?

???: Enemies of my own.

[His motorbike started transforming, shifting noises and joints also rearranged to become another mech. This one adorns a visible insignia for the Autobots.]

???: We can forget about tonight’s events or fight about it. Which one?

[Already expecting, the first mech rushes toward the mysterious robot. They subdue the mech by high-kicking at its helm, immediately pops off the frame. A brawl started and Yoru moved out of the way. He watched how skillful his…or what remains of his vehicle to tear down the imposing mechs. Unfortunately, while distracted, Yoru was hastily picked up from the ground by a large hand.]

???: Yoru!

Yoru: *Struggling to get out of its grip*

???: Stand down, Decepti-scum. He’s someone I’m responsible looking out for. *Aiming their blaster directly at the enemy, not showing fear in their stance*

Decepticon: Or what, Auto-loser? Afraid for your little human getting a little boo-boo~?

???: No, but you should be afraid of him.

[In slight confusion by the statement, Yoru was able to reach for his revolver and shoots the bullets right in the ‘Con’s optics. It roared in annoyance and pain, letting the agent go but the robotic savior leaps forward, catching him before he drops hard on the ground. The Autobot in question aims their blaster and shoots. Hitting directly at the Decepticon and the energy blast knocks the helm off its’ frame.]

???: You okay, Yoru? *Checking up on the Radiant agent as they inspect for possible injuries*

[They know how human lives are, Radiant or not when it comes to confronting other beings that don’t match their complexities.]

Yoru: *Quickly gets out of their servos* I don’t know what you are and what happened back there.

???: Well, greetings. I go by [D/N]. I’m a Cybertronian who has the ability to transform into a vehicle, especially your bike.

Yoru: *Glared up into their optics* What happened to my bike?

[D/N]: I…hid your bike somewhere in Tokyo where nobody would find it. *Sheepishly smiles for a moment* I only did what was necessary because I can’t blow my cover. I’m assigned to monitor for Decepticon activity and shouldn’t really reveal myself anymore than already have.

Yoru: *Scoffed* You expected me to believe you. A giant robot who can transform into my bike and fighting off more robots like you.

[D/N]: I know, it’s unbelievable. Except this is reality, actually true and I’m not even associated with Kingdom.

Yoru: *Got defensive* How do you know about them?

[D/N]: You keep complaining about them, Ryo. How your old neighborhood used to be better without their shit ruining everything.

[They notified a Vulture ride back to H.Q. as [D/N] transforms back in a motorbike. Now, idling by Yoru, strapped in and sitting near the disguised bot. Little curiosity had the agent asking them.]

Yoru: How often do you leave H.Q.?

[D/N]: Only times when you leave for missions, unless something urgent comes on my end. Then, I have to go.

Yoru: *Scoffs* How? We’re in the middle of the ocean, an island.

[D/N]: I have a colleague who helps me around.

[Silence was between them for some time.]

[D/N]: *Wearily* Are you going to tell Brimstone about this? Me, being a living ‘bot and all what happened in Shibuya.

Yoru: …No. Not my business.

[D/N]: Good…You know, your colleague remind me of someone I know. Close friends call him “Roddy”.

Yoru: Who?

[D/N]: The agent, Phoenix. He reminds me a lot of him and if the VP were to meet my colleagues, I think both of them would get along.

Yoru: So, two of them.

[D/N]: Yoru…

[Despite the discovery, the Riftwalker would rather not be included with a galactic war between “Autobots” and “Decepticons” as [D/N] explained to him.]

[Reblogs helps creators and creates for more content]

[Tagged]: @woradat @p4ranxoia @therealmrfrog

[woradat]

have you seen this yet

HHELEP

[woradat]

so is Blurr fat now? xD. How about Broadside and other big-tuff bot then

[woradat]

Holy moly

Psychedelic.

[woradat]

I have a few ideas about the plot-fics

I'd love to share these ideas with you because my hands are full right now and I probably won't be able to write them out anytime soon (or I can?) these ideas have been sitting in my head for months, so good luck and start typing my fellow writers 🤟

FortMax/reader (and maybe Tarn?): where Mc is a prisoner here, a convicted Decepticon currently in custody, who is too important to let die (in some ways, not much details bc it only serves to further the plot — perhaps it's some very important and secret Decepticon insider infor. MCs may have a way to permanently erase their data if they wish, making it impossible to retrieve their data even after they die) Tarn will be there to negotiate the prisoner's return, but Fort Max will surely say no

Tarn isn't really there to help the MC, he's there to make sure no information leaks out or MC may be considered a traitor and their name is on the list without knowing that. This would initially lead them to think that DJD was sent to rescue them (which weren't) and attempted to escape Fort Max only to return to their Autobot guards, whom they could trust more – begging and on their knees to prevent him from handing them over to DJD when everything is crystal clear

Mirage/reader: I think you remember my Hide and Seek fic, right? This is a darker, twisted, stalker-esque version. Y'know just kind of that thing? I think it would be fun to try to change the perspective and maybe see that some things that seem cute and romantic are actually not for everyone

Impactor/reader: With MC being a 'con-medic, I'm not sure how the plot will unfold, but holy shit, I love this scary dog af, to be honest. I love the tense and rough yet romantic tone. It might come off as a bit of a suggestive theme

Perhaps MC was too good for their own good, too soft on the battlefield, too kind for the Decepticons, and an easy target for a bot like him. But he can't bring himself to finish you, so.. whatever you think, guys 😗

Sentinel Prime/reader (TFO): ah this mf again. Here, MC is his accomplice. Nothing complicated, just an evil partner that get along together

Trailbreaker/reader (IDW): I really like this guy. He's one of the few characters who's a big of a softie and I still like

The plot is that MC and him are best friends, even though MC obviously doesn't think that way, they still get friendzoned by him (by his insecurity, he doesn't think he's good enough for anyone or anything - and too blind to see how actually you feels or just try to ignore.. Pathetic type of guys, but I love it) MC personality I'm planning will be kind of a "pop bot" here – full of confident, fun to be around, completely different from Trailbreaker to make the dynamic more interesting

It's going to be a beautiful journey of friendship and friend zone, where you can have whoever you want, but that bot is the one who's talking bitterly and sadly comparing his life to yours, blabbering about something while drunk, such as: "how could i leave the room and no one would recognize me anyway" You're already used to this btw

Sideswipe/reader/Sunstreaker: And this one, I can't remember where I read it. Is it come from some fic I use to read or not? because it seems to have been mysteriously stuck in my head for a long time, but it's about twins who happen to like the same bot. Ketchup was the first to show interest in MC and Mustard just being himself (fuck-face-asshole) But he was attracted by the strange feeling of competition and only wanted to beat his twin, only to ended up falling into the pit he had dug himself and BOOM Mc get a Lambros by doing nothing but breath

And I had a dynamic that I wanted to write, but I didn't know which character would fit, which was like: "Oh, I already knew you were cheating. You called with that woman, didn't you?" "That woman is my mom" (maybe screammer would be suitable, but I just don't feel like writing about him, just not in mood) and this 💯 just be a crack-comedy fics

[woradat]

MISSING YOU

SUMMARY – everything is fair in love and war

PAIRING – ratchet x reader

NOTE – this is now part of LOVE TRIANGLE as a side story. I'm still not sure if I should start that series or not, as I don't really understand Drift's character very well (I understood him well when he was Deadlock and Pre-war Drift) and I hope you enjoyed the cute story from before with Black Shadow. Now step aside BS, it's time for the good-old-doc

"YOU! What were you thinking, charging out there like that?! Do you even realize—!"

"It had to be done, Ratchet. I wasn’t just running off for fun. And look at me—still in one piece, right?"

You threw your arms out a little as if presenting evidence, like a magician pulling off a half-baked trick. Voilà, no holes in your plating! No limbs missing! So why did he look like he was about to blow a fuse?

Ratchet’s fists were clenched so tight, you could probably hear the servos straining. His brows had that familiar angry-arch again—sharp enough to slice through sheet metal. He always did get that look whenever the topic of you heading into the field came up. Whether it was your idea or someone else’s, the answer from him was always the same: ABSOLUTELY NOT

And honestly? You couldn’t blame him. Because to Ratchet, you weren’t just another bot trying to be useful. You were—well. Let’s just say if you short-circuited out there, something in him might go offline too

Not that he ever said as much. Not outright. This is not a place or time for that kind of confession

But stars, did he worry. Because you, in all your brilliant stubbornness, acted like you had something to prove. Always did. Always will. Tossing out lines like: "I’d probably be more helpful in the field" Sure. Maybe you were a bit of a klutz in the med ward—always knocking things over, mixing up equipment, injecting the wrong side of the energon bag. But that didn’t mean you had to go and swap scalpels for shrapnel

Honestly, it was bad for your safety

And even worse for his spark

He saw it all—every time you pushed yourself, every effort you poured in just to stand shoulder to shoulder with the rest. Even when your welds were crooked. Even when your scores were hanging by a thread. Even when others laughed and muttered things like maybe you’d been uploaded with the wrong code—like someone in your assembly line mixed up “medic” with “mascot” Ratchet might’ve chuckled the first time he heard that joke

But the second time?

The third? It stopped being funny real fast

Because what would happen if you failed out of the program? If you couldn’t become a medic — the one function you were supposed to perform? The Functionist system didn’t take kindly to failures, and Ratchet knew exactly how cruel it could be to those who didn’t live up to their assigned role — He couldn’t stomach the thought. So he reached out. Steady hands for your shaky ones

And that’s when he really know you

Not as the bot fumbling their way through every practical, but as someone with guts. Grit. A spark that wouldn’t quit. Someone who could get knocked flat and still smile like the world hadn’t fallen on them

Even now, that part of you hadn’t changed

"I know you’re worried, Ratchet. I do. But there are bots out there who need help. And I was careful, I swear. Please… trust me on this" You said it with that same soft tone, the one that could cool a burning processor. Calm. Gentle. Just a little cheeky. Like you knew you were driving him crazy but not enough to stop

And of course, he couldn’t stay mad at you. Not when you smiled like that

Ratchet would never admit it out loud, but war had turned him into something jagged. Prickly. Worn thin and pulled taut. The war had warped him—wound him tighter and tighter until his temper sat just beneath the surface, like an overheated energon line waiting to burst. He was shorter now, angrier, wearier. Every day brought more bodies. More loss. More names he’d never forget etched into casualty reports — you? You saw the same things. Stared into the same abyss – were still the same stubborn, sunshine-blooded bot he remembered from the Academy. The one who got up no matter how many times they tripped over their own tools

He wondered sometimes—maybe those jokes weren’t entirely wrong. Maybe your code was mixed up. Maybe instead of a medic’s script, you got uploaded with a hero’s heart and a martyr’s smile

"...Just don’t make me hold my breath reading your name in the casualty reports"

"So you are worried about me" you teased, lips curling into a playful grin "I get it. I promise I’ll be careful. And you—don’t go brooding too much, yeah? I don’t want your spark shriveling from stress, doc"

Field medics weren’t meant to handle full surgeries. Mostly just patch-ups. Stop the bleeding, stabilize, then ship the injured off to base

But danger still the same

One wrong step, one unlucky blast and you could be gone in a flash. And Ratchet… he feared the day that might happen. Feared that it would break him irreparably if your name ever appeared on one of those reports

Did he have to say it? That you’d become his anchor, his center of gravity in a world falling apart? No. He didn’t

Because for him, it was already painfully, achingly clear

FROM: [REDACTED] Field Medic Unit 5

Morning update! The energon dispenser finally stopped shocking us on contact. That’s progress. I stitched up a Con today who tried to thank me while bleeding out. He said my hands were “gentle like a starburst” ..I think he lost more energon than we though?

And some patient tried to bite me today. I told him I wasn't his energon ration. He laughed so hard he nearly popped a fuel line. I patched it anyway

Ratchet sat slumped in the corner of the medbay, the kind of slump that didn't come from exhaustion alone but from something heavier — something sorrow-shaped. The overhead lights cast a pale, sterile glow across the room, catching on the dried streaks of energon smeared across his servos. His shoulders were pulled tight, like cables wound too far and left under pressure. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared at the empty berth across from him like it might explain everything that had gone wrong today

Then—footsteps. Soft. Familiar. Like a whisper in the silence

"You're still here" you murmured, stepping through the door with a datapad clutched in one hand, your frame moving with quiet care. A tired smile tugged at your lips — small, but real

"I could say the same to you" Ratchet replied. His voice was gravel, but not sharp. More like the rumble of thunder already fading from the sky

You didn’t answer. Just made your way across the medbay, steps slow but steady, like you’d walked this path hundreds of times and still found new meaning in it each night. When you sat beside him, your frame sank with a quiet sigh. Your shoulder brushed against his — not pressing, not prying. Just there. Solid. Steady. A presence he didn’t know he needed until it settled in beside him

He didn’t lean back

But he didn’t move away, either

Instead, his servo shifted hesitant, unsure and found yours. Metal against metal. Warmth still clinging to him from the charge running under his plating. You turned your hand without a word, fingers curling between his, slow and certain, like sealing a quiet pact neither of you would speak aloud.

You sat like that for a while. No words. Just the soft hum of power lines and low ventilations. And then you turned, just a little, and glanced up at him

"You saved a lot today"

He exhaled, slow and sharp at once, like your words hit something he’d tried to bury

"So did you. Even if your stitching still looks like you used your optics closed"

You gave a short, quiet laugh "It’s only slightly crooked now, I’ll have you know"

His mouth twitched — a flicker of a smile that almost didn’t happen. Then, gently, you reached out and brushed a smudge of dried energon from the edge of his chest plating. Your touch lingered just a second too long, tender and unhurried. Ratchet didn’t stop you. Didn’t tense. His optics shuttered, only briefly — just long enough to feel it.

That someone saw him

That someone stayed

"You know..." he said softly, not quite meeting your gaze "I used to think what you do running into the field like that was nothing but foolish bravado"

You chuckled under your breath, and leaned in just enough to nudge him "I am foolish. But someone’s got to be"

He turned to look at you then — really look. And you could see it in his optics: everything he hadn’t said, everything that weighed on him like rust. Fear. Guilt. The ache of care too deeply buried

"You’re still the same" he said quietly "Still ridiculous. Still carrying pain that was never yours to begin with"

You smiled — soft, warm, a little crooked, a little sad. The kind of smile only shared between two tired souls who’d spent too long pretending to be fine

"That’s rich coming from you, Ratchet"

The silence that followed didn’t feel heavy. It felt full. Like a breath finally let out. Like a weight shared between two frames and made lighter for it. Then, he shifted

Not a lot

Just enough

His frame tilted slightly toward you, like a tired starship easing into dock. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke again

"Recharge here tonight. Just... stay"

Your optics widened slightly — not in shock, just in quiet surprise. Then you nodded, slow and certain, as though the decision had been made long before he even asked

"Alright.."

The floor was cold. The lighting sterile. But none of it mattered. Not with the sound of his fans gently cycling beside you. Not with his hand still tangled in yours, grounding you both like gravity after too long spent floating. No dramatic declarations. No grand confessions. Just this: a shared silence, deep and unwavering, stretching between you like a safety net. Like something fragile but resilient. Like home

Ratchet exhaled again. A sound of surrender, not defeat. Then, quietly, he squeezed your hand. Once. Light as a starlight kiss. And you squeezed back

That was all

That was enough

The medbay dimmed into a gentle hush.   Most of the lights faded to standby, leaving only the soft amber of the emergency strips along the wall. You’d stayed just like you promised, curling up near Ratchet on the cool floor, datapad forgotten by your side, optics shuttered and face turned slightly toward him. He thought you’d fall into recharge quickly, worn out from the day, but it surprised him how quietly — how gently — you’d slipped into rest. No fanfare. No twitching fingers or lingering tension. Just… peace

He should’ve looked away

He didn’t

Ratchet stayed still as still as his war-worn frame would allow and let his optics linger on you in the dark. You were close. Close enough that the soft rise and fall of your ventilation brushed the inside of his plating. Close enough that the glow of the medbay lights caught faintly on your face, highlighting the curve of your cheek, the subtle tension finally released from your brow

You looked… calm

Not like the reckless, half-smiling bot that threw themselves into danger with a medic kit half-zipped and a stubborn glint in their optics

But like the version of you he saw only in rare moments. The one that paused long enough to be held in the quiet. His gaze traced the edge of your frame — traced the curve of your helm, lingering at your hand, the way your fingers remained loosely entwined with his — Ratchet let out a low exhale, almost silent. Not from stress. Not this time. From something tender. Careful. Like if he breathed too loud, the moment might vanish

He’d seen hundreds of patients pass through this room. He knew what unconsciousness looked like — the raw, involuntary kind that came with trauma or overload. But this wasn’t that

This was peace

And it humbled him

Because in a world of warzones and casualty charts, you still trusted him enough to sleep beside him. No questions. No walls. And somehow, that meant more than a thousand battlefield victories. He leaned back slightly, bracing his helm against the wall. His optics flickered briefly to low-power mode, but he didn’t close them fully. Not yet

Not when you were here

Not when the thrum of your frame was the softest sound he’d heard in cycles

“Stubborn fool..” he whispered, so low it barely made it past his lips “Sweetspark, why do you have to matter so much…”

But there was something tender in the way he said it. As if here beside him was the only place he’d ever want you to fall asleep again. For a long moment, Ratchet let his finger brush gently against your knuckles. A silent thank-you. A quiet apology. A promise he hadn’t yet found the words for

In that moment, Ratchet knew: If the war ended tomorrow, if the world ever gave them the mercy of peace… He’d still choose to sit beside you like this, quiet, warm, close

Maybe someday, he’d tell you that 

—

FROM: [REDACTED] Field Medic Unit 5

Command says I should stop using star stickers to ‘reward good patients.’ I told them I’m boosting morale. They rolled their optics. But guess who got three mech to sit still for recalibration today? That’s right. Star stickers

I saved one for you. The shiny one with a wrench on it.

—

The lab was too bright

Not because the lighting was harsh, but because it reflected too clearly on the untouched surface of your datapad, illuminating just how long you’d been stuck on the same diagram. The neural feedback loop rotated slowly on-screen—each flicker of its digital lines only serving to remind you how little of it made sense

You hunched over the table a little more, stylus gripped awkwardly, like it might start cooperating if you held it tighter. The other students around the lab were paired off or gathered in small clusters, voices lowered to murmurs of focused discussion or quiet laughter. No one paid attention to you. Not really

You preferred it that way. Usually

So when a voice cut through the ambient hum, clear, dry, and laced with mild amusement, you jumped

“You’re holding that stylus like you’re about to perform a dissection on it”

You blinked up, startled. The stylus slipped just slightly from your fingers. You caught it, barely

Standing across the table was Ratchet

Not just any student. Not just another med-trainee. This was the Ratchet—top of diagnostics, praised by instructors, the subject of more than one whispered: "did you hear he finished that module in half the time?" rumor in the halls. He had that reputation of being intimidatingly good at everything... and yet, in this moment, he was standing casually, arms crossed, an amused glint in his optics as he regarded you

You could feel your fans whir faintly. Not from heat. From nerves “Uh… sorry?” you said, blinking fast, trying to recalibrate your brain into functioning language “I wasn’t.. I mean, yeah, kind of”

Your words tumbled out awkwardly, but Ratchet didn’t mock you for it. His mouth curved upward — not a smirk, not a grin, but something easier. Softer. He stepped closer, pulled out the empty chair across from you, and sat down without ceremony

“Neural feedback protocols, huh?” he said, glancing at your screen. He leaned forward a bit, elbows on the table, his field calm and unbothered, like you weren’t the least confident student in the room and he wasn’t the star of the cycle

“Brutal chapter” he added “I used to think the logs were written in code just to mess with us”

You gave a weak laugh “So I’m not the only one”

“No” he said, looking at you again. His optics were sharper up close, but not cold. Observant. Steady “You’re not”

You hesitated. It took a second before your systems reminded you to speak

“…Thanks”

He glanced down at your stylus, which you were still gripping too tightly “You’re tense”

You blinked “I.. am I?”

Ratchet tilted his head slightly, optics narrowing not in judgment, but in the same way a medic might look at an old, familiar wound

“Yeah. You don’t have to be” he said simply

Before you could ask what that meant, he added “I’ve seen you around. You’re in my triage sim group, right?”

You nodded slowly “Yes. I mean—yes. I think so? You’re the lead, am I correct?”

“Technically” he said, and gave a faint huff of a laugh “But I’m not here to be your supervisor”

His tone was light, but honest. Measured. Like he wanted you to believe him. Then, without any buildup

“Do you want help?”

The question hit like static

Not because of what he said — but because of how. No pity. No superiority. Just… straightforward willingness. A bridge being extended. You stared at him, unsure whether you’d heard right. Then your mouth worked again

“…Really?”

“Do I not look like the helping type?”

You froze. He waited

“…Honestly?” you said, voice quieter now. “You look like you don’t have time for anyone”

Ratchet’s expression didn’t falter, but something in his optics crinkled—like he wasn’t offended, but surprised. Then he leaned back slightly and chuckled “Fair”

“But I do make time when it’s worth it.”

That made your chest stutter for a moment

Was he saying… you were worth it?

“I’m free after systems lab tomorrow” he continued before you could get lost in the thought “You bring the notes, I’ll bring the energon. Deal?”

You nodded, too fast “Y.. yes! deal. Sure. Thank you!”

He stood with the same ease he arrived, tapping his fingers lightly once against the table “Don’t stress it. You’re sharper than you think”

And just like that—he was gone. Back into the current of students, vanishing from your immediate orbit but not from your thoughts. You looked back down at your datapad. The diagram still didn’t make much sense – But for some reason, everything else… felt a little easier, your processor felt a little clearer. Like someone had just opened a door

Sometimes connection begins not with sparks but with a quiet offer, a steady look, and someone saying: "You don’t have to do this alone”

The overhead light flickered once before humming back to life. It cast a cool white glow across the cluttered medstation, making the long shadows on the wall twitch just slightly as the vent fans turned

You sat perched on the edge of the steel table, your legs dangling, boot tips scraping a lazy rhythm against the paneling. A twisted coolant line lay half-open in your lap, the tubing frayed and leaking faint vapor. It should’ve been an easy fix.. should’ve taken you half a breem, maybe less but your hands weren’t steady tonight — Too many field calls. Too many screaming injuries you couldn’t patch fast enough

You sighed, running a thumb over a nick in the connector port. Another hiss of frustration escaped you before a familiar voice answered from the door

“You’re pinching the stabilizer too hard”

You startled slightly and looked up

Ratchet was already walking in. He didn’t wear his usual scowl, but the tightness around his optics gave away the weight he carried. Even after cycles of war, his gait was the same — solid, purposeful, always a little faster than necessary, like standing still too long might kill him

He didn’t ask to help. Just walked straight up beside you and held out a hand. You placed the broken part in his palm without a word. He turned it over once, then twice, eyes scanning it with clinical detachment. But his presence was warm. Anchoring. That had never changed

“You’re forcing the pressure against the bend” he murmured “Let the joint flex first. Here”

He reached over and placed the part down on the workbench between you, stepping in close—close enough that your knees brushed his thigh as he leaned forward. His hands moved with practiced calm, fingers adjusting the tiny paneling with care born from thousands of repetitions

You didn’t move. Just watched the side of his face while he worked. You’d seen it so many times now—in chaos, in focus, in bloodied silence.

But here, in the quiet… it felt different.

“…Y’know, I used to think you were scary”

Ratchet grunts “You still should”

You smile “Yeah. But now I know the grumpy bark’s just hiding your bleeding spark..”

He glances at you sideways “Bold words from someone who couldn’t tell the difference between a pulse capacitor and a dataport six cycles ago”

“I can now” you shoot back, mock-offended

“Barely” he mutters

You grin. He paused. Didn’t look at you

You nodded slowly, eyes tracing the tiny scars on his knuckles “…It was easier back then” And it's not about that pulse capacitor

Ratchet didn’t answer. But the way his hands moved slowed, just a bit. His field flickered, quiet waves of static brushing your frame like the gentle pressure of a memory trying not to surface

After a moment, he glanced sideways, catching your gaze. He looked tired. Older than he should be. But something in his optics softened when they met yours

“You’re better at this than you think” he said.

“That… might be the first compliment I’ve gotten from you in months”

He huffed, more air than sound but didn’t deny it “You don’t need compliments. You just need rest. Which you haven’t had” he said, resuming his work

You tilted your head “Neither have you”

He didn’t respond, but you caught it—the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. A near-smile. One he was holding back. The old version of him would’ve let it show. The new one… was more careful with softness

You watched him for a few more seconds

The medbay was quiet, save for the occasional drip of coolant somewhere in the pipes and the buzz of distant generators. The war was always just outside the walls—but in here, you could almost pretend the past wasn’t gone. You wanted to say thank you. You wanted to say I miss how we were. You wanted to say please don’t get killed tomorrow

Instead, you leaned forward slowly, casually, like stretching. And then, with a deliberate softness, you turned your head and pressed a light, brief kiss to his cheekplate. A breath. A blink. That was all

He froze mid-motion. The connector slipped in his grip, just slightly. You pulled back slowly, expression unreadable

“…Thanks for the lesson, Doc”

You tried to make it sound teasing. Light. The way you always did. But your voice cracked just a hair around the edges

Ratchet stayed still, like his processor was buffering. Then he set the part down with care. Turned to face you, frame still too close. His optics met yours — sharp, unreadable, but not cold. And not angry

“…You're reckless” he said at last. Quiet. Tired. You tilted your head, smiling faintly “Takes one to know one”

He exhaled through his vents. Looked away for a second. Then back

“You’re not funny”

You leaned your weight into one hand, resting it near his on the bench “I made you stop thinking for ten seconds. That is funny”

“If you do that again, I might not let you get away with it” He stared at you. Really stared. Then, barely above a whisper

Your smile widened but your spark ached

“…Maybe I’m hoping for that”

The silence between you buzzed louder than the failing light overhead. And still—neither of you said it. Not tonight. Not yet. But your knees still touched. And his hand didn’t move away from yours — There are a thousand things you can say with a kiss, when your mouth won’t say what your spark already knows

FROM: [REDACTED] Field Medic Unit 5

Got caught in an ambush. Nothing major. Just some singed paint and bruised pride. You’d probably call it ‘avoidable’ I’d call it ‘character building’

Don’t worry. Still functional. Still fighting. Still me (Don’t get mad. I know that face. Stop making that face)

After the ambush there is a quiet moment for once. Sat under the wrecked dropship and listened to the rain hit the plating. It sounded like music, almost. Miss those medbay nights when we didn't have to say anything

Anyway. I'm alright. Just… miss quiet

—

It’s been a long cycle. Haven’t had a recharge worth anything. But I dreamed I was back at the academy. You were arguing with the console again because "it wasn’t calibrated right" remember that? You looked less tired in that dream. I hope you still smile sometimes. Even if it’s just for yourself.

I’ll be back. Eventually. Save me a spot next to the diagnostics terminal, yeah?

..but you never did

[woradat]

Coming by just to say hi! I've been rereading the Black Shadow fic for a while, reader is so funny and like a pathetic meow meow (/pos) and their dynamic is so neat

I've also been sharing your fics to my friends, we all love your stuff! I hope you have a nice day!

<- LICK UR WOUNDS ->

PAIRING – black shadow x reader

NOTE – why rereading when you can have more. It might not be as good quality as the previous one but whatever — tell 'em I say hi too! 🖐️

The airlock door hissed shut behind him

Blackshadow stood at the entrance like a vision conjured by guilt and poor life choices. One servo braced against the frame, his back casting jagged shadows over the walls behind him. His optics glinted, unreadable

Heavy footsteps echoed like war drums on the metal floor, slow and deliberate. Each one pulsed with silent accusation. You didn’t even need to turn around to know it was him. You could feel him behind you — like a black tide rolling in, elegant and inevitable and a storm cloud that gathering over the back of your neck

You kept your attention trained on the blinking navigation screen in front of you, pretending to check coordinates that definitely weren’t the ones you had quietly input just moments ago. Just a little detour. A tiny little detour. One that would’ve conveniently left a certain someone behind on a backwater rock crawling with bounty hunters

Your fingers hovered stiffly over the console

"You're back early" you tried, voice a little too high, too bright "I thought you were still busy terrifying our… associate"

"He’ll talk. Eventually"

The voice behind you was smooth as chrome but undercut with something low and dangerous. Something coiled. Ready to strike

You smiled to yourself, a little shaky "Classic you" you muttered

“Classic me, huh?”

The tone was amused, but the air was thinning fast. Your optics flicked up to the side panel, tracking his reflection as he moved closer. Each step was a countdown.

he passed the mess table

he was at the nav console’s edge

he stopped behind you, close enough for your cooling fans to trip

"Don’t take this the wrong way," you began carefully, still not turning around, "but if I had been trying to strand you—which I wasn’t, obviously, because who would do that? That’d be reckless, and you know me, I’m nothing if not loyal—"

A hand slammed down beside your arm.

The sudden metallic thud rattled through your plating like a gunshot. You jolted, optics wide. Now you really didn’t dare turn

"You changed the jump route" he said, voice low. Too calm. Calm like the eye of a very, very pissed-off hurricane "..You reprogrammed the course. To leave me behind"

You winced “Okay – yes, but only temporarily! You were very occupied! I didn’t want to interrupt your monologue – those things take real dramatic timing—”

"Do I look like I’m laughing?"

Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again

“…A little?” you offered, sheepish

His optics glowed behind you, twin coals burning holes through your back

You finally dared a glance over your shoulder. Big mistake. He was right there, towering and sharp, eyes gleaming like freshly oiled knives. His frame boxed you in—one hand planted beside you, the other reaching up to tap the screen you’d sabotaged, watching as your unauthorized coordinates blinked guiltily back at him

“I had to improvise!” you protested, voice pitching up, both servos lifted in a show of defensiveness that was more ‘panicked squirrel’ than ‘strategic tactician’

“You were doing so well in that meeting. Very intimidating, extremely murdery—ten out of ten. So I figured you wouldn’t mind staying behind to, you know, wrap up a few.. murdery things? while I, uh, secured the getaway route and I thought if I just took off for a second, you’d catch up! You always do! Like a dramatic re-entry! And then you’d be impressed, and we’d laugh, and it’d be fine"

He said nothing

You squirmed

Blackshadow leaned in, helm tilting ever so slightly, like he was inspecting a curious little organism struggling in a petri dish

“You were going to ditch me”

“I prefer the term ‘tactically disengage,’” you corrected, voice rising in pitch

“…Okay fine. Maybe I panicked and tried to ditch you while you were distracted. But in my defense, you’re terrifying and—"

He leaned in, slowly. One arm braced beside your head, boxing you in. His frame radiated quiet menace, but the smirk ghosting across his mouthplate made it worse not better. You froze. His helm dipped until his voice buzzed against your audio receptor

“You really think you can run from me?”

The words weren't loud. They didn’t have to be. They slid in like a stiletto between your thoughts. Your mouth had gone completely dry. You tried a laugh, but it came out choked

“I mean… in theory? With good enough thrusters?”

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he reached forward and disabled your nav input with a single command. The screen died with a guilty blip. And let the silence stretch long enough for you to sweat coolant. Then, with a lazy curl of his digits, he brushed a cable aside from your neck gentle, almost intimate and sure threats. He didn’t look angry anymore. That was worse

Blackshadow tilted his helm just so, as if regarding something fascinating and small. Like a little datapad trying to lie its way out of deletion. He said, voice almost gentle

“Make sure you’re better at hiding the evidence.. before pull a stunt like that”

“…So you’re not gonna kill me?” you asked, trying to sound casual but very much bracing for an energon bath

His optics gleamed. He leaned more, lips barely brush your audio receiver

“If I wanted to kill you” he said, with that slow-smiling menace, whispered “you wouldn’t be standing — I’ll cut off the engines, reroute life support, and leave you floating in deep space with a distress beacon that screams ‘traitor’ on every Decepticon frequency...”

“..So on a scale of one to ‘you’re gonna stab me and airlock my corpse’ how mad are we?”

“I haven’t decided yet..” he said, his voice syrupy smooth as he leaned in more and more, mouth just by your audials “But I am taking over the piloting from now on”

You blinked “Wait – you don’t know how to fly this ship”

“I’ll learn. You can supervise. From a very short leash”

You laughed again, nervous, placating

“Y.. you mean metaphorically, right?”

Blackshadow’s smirk widened

“…Right?”

[Private Log – Do Not Hack, Blackshadow.]

     Dear stupid diary,

     Today started like every other day on this stupid ship with this stupid warlord breathing down my neck like I'm his personal project-slash-pet-slash-criminal sidekick with a broken moral compass. (I'm not. Mostly.)

     He kicked my chair again. For the third time. While I was in the middle of recalibrating the nav system that he overloaded by flying through an ion storm just to “make a point” What was the point? That he’s invincible and dramatic and refuses to read literally any manual ever written? Because, congrats. Message received. Loud and plasma-scorched

     Also, someone tell him it’s not “intimidating” when he stands behind me silently for 6.3 minutes before speaking. It's annoying. Like—what is this? A villain TED Talk on how to increase your coworkers' cortisol levels? He did it again today while I was trying to eat. My ration cube almost fell out of my mouth because suddenly he’s behind me like

     “Did you think I wouldn’t notice that little detour you programmed in?”

     And I choked. Not because I was scared. No. Because I was chewing. And justice, apparently, has no mealtime

     Anyway—YES—I tried to strand him on that trash planet. SUE ME. That place was crawling with bounty hunters, all ready to rip him apart and write a bestseller about it. It was a solid plan. And I almost got away with it too, if he hadn’t literally materialized out of the shadows like a damn ghost with a god complex and grabbed me by the wrist like: “Planning another betrayal? I admire the consistency”

     NO YOU DON’T. You enjoy watching me squirm and make excuses while my processor crashes trying to figure out which lie sounds least like a lie

     For the record?

     My official excuse was: “I thought you wanted a challenge this cycle. You said you were bored!”

     Which, okay. Decent improv. But he just smiled. That awful, slow, predator-smile like he was proud of me for even trying. That’s worse than being yelled at. Way worse. Now I have to live with the fact that he's amused by me. Like I’m some kind of enrichment activity in his enrichment-starved warlord life

     ...Also, he locked me out of the bridge for the rest of the day. Again. I'm currently writing this while hiding in the maintenance ducts with a ration cube I stole (which is mine) because some people think having basic access to food is a privilege

     I swear—next time I’ll leave him on a worse planet. One with lava. Or worse. No signal. With absolutely no affection

[Name Redacted Because He’ll Probably Hack This]

There was an unspoken routine now

Mornings began with you waking up and checking whether Blackshadow had tried to tamper with the ship’s coordinates during the night. You’d half-expect to find the nav console hacked or rerouted to some war-torn asteroid field where your corpse would be conveniently untraceable but no — Somehow, frustratingly, he played nice. Mostly. Instead, you’d usually find the cockpit faintly reeking of his high-grade energon and the lingering ozone scent of plasma burns where he’d cleaned his weapons just a little too close to the flight console

“Trying to intimidate the throttle again?” 

you muttered one morning, wiping scorched residue off the control panel with a rag

A voice from behind: silky, amused, and always too close “Not everything here responds to being sweet-talked, unlike you”

You flinched, turned. There he was leaning in the doorway, lazy posture and optics gleaming like twin blades held just behind your throat “Stop sneaking up on me” you grumbled, heart thumping a little harder than it should’ve

“You think that’s sneaking? Cute.”

Breakfast was… well, not shared. But it was a ritual. You always took yours on the bridge—back straight, datapad in hand, pretending you weren’t deliberately positioning yourself between the only two exits. Black Shadow brought his cube in eventually, propped one foot on the control panel like he owned the place, and started throwing out questions like knives

“Where are we headed next?”

“Who’s paying you now?”

“Who do I need to kill?”

You answered half, dodged the rest, and told him to get his dirty peds off the comms array

Then came the quiet hours. Tense. Suspicious. Full of glances. You worked. He loitered. Read your private logs when you weren’t looking. Stared too long. Smiled too wide. Once he casually asked "By the way... why does your star map have a pre-programmed escape route already saved under 'Plan B'?" with that shark-like grin that said he already knew

That was also the day you double-encrypted every file and slept with a weapon tucked under your berth

When the ship’s onboard lighting flickered into "morning mode" with a quiet hum, bathing the cramped quarters in a dim glow that could only be described as ‘barely awake’. Somewhere in the hull, a generator let out a wheezing cough like it was just as sick of this partnership as they were

You stretched, groaning as you shoved off a pile of datapads that had, at some point, decided your chestplate was the best place to collapse

The silence didn’t last long

“You do know your snoring registers on comms, right?”

That unmistakably smug, poisonous voice floated in before Black Shadow himself did—backlit like some cheap holo-drama villain stepping onto stage. He didn’t even look up from the energon cube he was sipping. Casual. Judgmental. Fashionably threatening

You didn’t miss a beat “You were monitoring my comms while I was asleep?”

“Correction—I was monitoring the ship's security frequencies. It’s not my fault you sound like a dying propulsion unit when you rest.”

You gave him a look that could peel paint off the walls — He shrugged with exaggerated innocence, stepping in and helping himself to one of your private energon reserves without asking, again

“...Hey, that’s the premium stuff!”

“Is it? Tastes like betrayal.”

You rolled your optics “We’re never getting through a morning without passive aggression, are we?”

Blackahadow paused mid-sip, tilted his helm, and looked you up and down—a slow, measuring scan that somehow made the temperature in the room drop ten degrees

“Not as long as you keep trying to abandon me on backwater planets like I won’t notice”

You flinched “Oh, you’re still on that—"

“Still on that? You rerouted the ship’s nav when I was out handling negotiations—”

“Correction” you interrupted “I tried to reroute. Didn’t actually do it. Big difference!”

“Intent counts, sweetspark” He leaned closer across the tiny mess table, optics sharp, cruelly amused—but not angry, just... deeply invested in watching you squirm

You tried to play it off with a breezy tone, swiping your cube back from him “Look, it was a tactical evaluation. I was testing contingency plans. You’re a valuable asset. High-maintenance. Unpredictable. Occasionally homicidal. I had to know if I could handle future missions solo—”

“You programmed the ship to lock me out of the controls, eject me into a landing zone, and ghost-jump to another quadrant”

You sipped. Slowly “...Still just a test”

A beat passed

Blackshadow didn’t blink. Just leaned back in his seat with a predator’s smile and murmured “You really do wake up and choose violence, don’t you?”

“It’s mutual”

...

..

Every now and then, when you stumbled over a maintenance hatch or cursed the cooling system for giving out again, he’d walk over, silent as a ghost, and fix it without a word. Or worse stand there watching you struggle for a minute longer than necessary before finally stepping in with a slow, cruel smirk

And now you’re working on recalibrating one of the ship’s external sensors, perched awkwardly in a narrow shaft with a spanner clenched between your denta. It's supposed to be a quiet job

—clang

A loud metallic tap against the access panel behind you. You jump—nearly sending the whole rig spinning—and glance over your shoulder to see Black Shadow looming at the opening, expression unreadable

“Just checking you’re not installing a backdoor escape hatch” he said mildly

You nearly drop your tool. “I’m replacing a broken bolt, not faking my death and starting over on another planet”

“That’s what you said last time before that whole corpse-decoy stunt”

“That was a misunderstanding!”

“That corpse had your serial number carved into it”

“Artistic license!”

He stared. You stared back

Eventually, he let out a very slow sigh, then ducked into the shaft with you—tight space, now even tighter—and helped himself to your other tools without asking

“Fine” he said “If you’re going to fake your death again, at least do me the courtesy of sending a better decoy”

“Aww, you want a pretty fake me?”

“I want a competent one. One that doesn’t die so pathetically”

..

...

The cockpit was no longer yours

Oh, technically it was—your ship, your credentials, your interface ports. But in every way that mattered, it now belonged to the tall, dark, unreasonably smug war criminal lounging in your pilot seat like he owned the galaxy and had the audacity to look good doing it — Blackshadow’s frame dwarfed the control deck, all blade-edge curves and coiled potential. One elbow rested casually on the armrest, while his other servo ghosted over the console, tracing the edges of your cracked nav-screen with something close to idle interest – like he was reacquainting himself with a forgotten weapon

You, meanwhile, stood just behind him, arms folded, mouth twisted into a grimace that was roughly 30% protest and 70% sheer, righteous betrayal

“Alright, fun’s over. Get out of my seat”

Blackehadow didn’t even look up. Just tapped a few keys with slow, deliberate ease, watching the starmap rotate beneath his claws like he was tuning a fine instrument

“You had your chance” he said calmly “But someone tried to strand me on a hostile planet and flee with the only working escape craft. So…”

He flicked a switch. The ship’s trajectory shifted smoothly, barely a lurch

“…I’m the captain now”

You gaped “You—! You can’t just mutiny me out of my own cockpit!”

“I’m not mutinying,” he said, finally glancing up at you with that infuriating calm “I’m relieving you”

“For what, exactly?”

“Emotional instability. Poor decision-making. Attempted murder”

You hissed like a kettle ready to boil over “That was tactical improvisation!”

“That was abandonment” he corrected “You were going to leave me behind. Admit it”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again “...Maybe” you mumbled

Blackshadow leaned back in your chair with the kind of satisfaction normally reserved for seasoned villains savoring a monologue “Glad we’re finally being honest”

You stormed forward, slapping the side of the console “This is my ship, my rules! I built half this nav system from scratch! Do you even know what that button does?!”

He glanced down and—without breaking eye contact—pressed it. You panicked “Wait—no, that one dumps the secondary energon reserves!”

A low whum echoed beneath your feet. The ship shuddered slightly. You clutched your helm. Blackshadow arched an optic ridge

“Oops”

“You’re the worst” you growled

He hummed, almost thoughtfully, then turned his seat toward you just slightly—just enough to bring your bodies that much closer in the tight space of the cockpit. One servo rested loosely on the console, the other lifting to tap his chin in mock contemplation

“You know” he said, voice dropping a fraction into that dangerous purr he always used when he was about to say something awful “this would all be much easier if I did put you on that leash”

You froze. He smirked

“…You were joking before” you said, voice cracking halfway through the sentence like a snapped energon line “Right?”

He tilted his helm slightly, optics lidded "Was I?"

The silence stretched taut. His gaze didn’t waver—hovering somewhere between teasing and… not. You felt the heat rise beneath your plating in real time “I am not your pet” you managed, glaring—but it came out embarrassingly flustered

“No. You’re lippy. Disobedient. Reckless. But not a pet” he agreed softly, leaning just a little closer. You relaxed — Then he added, almost affectionately “More like a stray. Loud, twitchy. Keeps trying to bite”

You made a noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a splutt

“You—! I do not bite—!”

“You do” he said smugly, brushing past you to check a readout on the adjacent screen. His shoulder almost grazed yours. It wasn’t even intentional — just his natural gravitas filling every inch of space but it still made your spark skip

“I only bite people who deserve it” you shot back, a bit breathless

“Then I definitely deserve it”

You choked. And then genuinely considered throwing yourself out the nearest airlock

—

Their daily life is a never-ending loop of:

Passive-aggressive banter over energon -> Suspicion masked as flirty threats -> You trying to act innocent while plotting new escape routes -> Blackshadow seeing through it every time

And maybe both of them secretly enjoying the chaos way more than they should

[woradat]

you are actually the goat for writing about Blackshadow, it was so good! is there any plans for future Phase Sixer content?

Yes! I actually have plans for them (because why not? They're a pretty cool villain trio, almost my favorites) I have a plot where the Decepticons win the war in IDW and the Facesuckers (I know bad joke) will play a huge role in this new era of rule

In my opinion, for Blackshadow, he would take on more responsibilities and roles than just being a super soldier. I think he might enjoy talking about trade and deals with the other colony? (Only to end up robbing anyway, because it's more fun to play with your prey before before its doom) similar to Deathsaurus (IDW2) in some of ways Except he doesn't like diplomacy and anything too complicated. He's a "straight line" type of guy. He likes wealth and the pleasures that come with it or in between

And Sixshot, I think he'd prefer to work alone, but he wouldn't have a problem taking charge of a battalion or two under his command if Megatron said so. I see Sixshot as having the potential to raise his own army if he wanted to. He would be a great example of what a soldier or warrior should be (to be more specific, what Megatron wants)

As for Overlord, I'm still not sure if I want him to stay with Decepticon or leave like canon. But for fun, I'm going with Canon, though again, I'm not sure what role he'll play in the future. Maybe he'll be part of the rebellion? He might be helping the Autobots with ulterior motives, which is pretty obvious if you ask me

I also imagine that Tarn would be some weird military-trainer type who would teach the newborns/soldier to properly honor the Lord, the way to praise, including the rehearsal of the parade in honor of the Lord every morning, evening (just a side role, he's still DJD)

Soundwave certainly controls the media. What you see, what you hear, everything is under his control, even though there may be a part of him that feels conflicted and that this is not right. Is this really what he was fighting for in the first place? That would be a golden plot

And Shockwave.. I don't know, in IDW I'd say he's a very difficult character for me to understand. He's definitely different, with no allegiance to the Decepticons or Megatron, just his own ambitions — And even after all he's done, Megatron might still give it to him because he's too useful to throw away, but he's careful. He knows how dangerous Shockwave is

Starscream, you know, nobody does politics better than him. It makes sense that Megatron would keep him around (even though if I were Megatron, I'd throw him out). All that politics, budgets? Negotiations? Trade with other colonies? Colonialism? It's all on him.. But Starscream is Starscream, you know how it goes. We all expect betrayal, and so does Megatron

Cybertron will be ruled by a military regime and a complete dictatorship. You cannot change my mind. Neutrals are spared punishment, the Autobots are hunted to the ends of the galaxy, Any other factions or factions that arose during or before the war would be forced to surrender and serve under the Decepticons, or there would be no place for them. Surrender or die, that's it. No exile, that would be too merciful

I can't remember where I read this from (maybe last bot standing? I think), but the Cybertronian are blacklisted from all other races/colonies because of their war. It caused a lot of damage, both to Cybertron and to other planets as well, so it's understandable. But guess what, Megatron doesn't care if they get blacklisted by the galaxy when he has an army that can conquer anywhere if he wants?

But that will probably be a long time before I can write that out and it might not be x-reader/reader-insert also! Let me know what you think. I'm sure you guys have some other cool ideas, maybe for additional characters? Or what other roles do you think would suit them better? let me hear

and hi over there! Thank for checking up with me. I still a live, good health, on my best condition! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ hope you doing great too Anon

[woradat]

I've been into Black Shadow recently and I also loves your Black Shadow oneshot, would it be possiblento request a continuation after reader fixing him up? Will he leave after he got better or will he just tagged along for some time?

<- LICK UR WOUNDS ->

PARING – black shadow x reader

NOTE – who woke me from this long slumber? /with vampire's vibe that rose from a rotten coffin that should have been eaten by termites but somehow still manage to survived for over years — bro, ngl. I don't usually do a pt2 for a one-shot (except for some I intended to do as a multi-shot but was just lazy/out of idea) but COME ON. THIS IS BS MENTIONED (red code alarm)

also If you don't mind some spicy content, I would recommend this to you as well 🤟 hope u enjoy

Phase-sixer had improved. Well. Technically

Improved in the sense that he wasn’t leaking anymore—at least not anything immediately flammable—and he could prop himself up against the wall without collapsing like a bundle of dropped pipes. Sure, his movements were slow, twitchy, and carried all the grace of a half-dead space crab, but compared to the wheezing slag-heap he was a few cycles ago? Progress

He even glared at you now with full optical intensity. That's practically affection

You stood a few paces away, arms crossed, trying very hard not to look like you were ready to bolt. The air was thick with the sterile scent of patchwork repairs, coolant vapor, and mild tension—the kind that crawled under your plating like static. Still, you smiled. The way a con artist smiles when they're pretty sure they’ve almost sold someone a timeshare on a collapsing moonbase

"Well, look who's awake and only mostly horrifying now" you chirped, voice bright like a damaged PA system "Starting to look like a war criminal with potential again"

—Blackshadow, if he ever got around to killing you for real—responded with silence. And that special kind of stare that felt like it could file down your armor from sheer contempt. His optic flicked once. Slowly

“I know, I know” you added, raising both hands as if to calm a volatile mech—which, to be fair, was exactly what you were doing “You’re sore. You’re cranky. You’ve probably imagined fifteen ways to rip my head off. But look on the bright side! You’ve got limbs again. Internal pressure’s stabilized. You even have a leg that matches your aesthetic! And don’t ask how I found it, I’m still scrubbing energon off my floor”

He shifted slightly. A twitch in his servo, more reflex than intent, but enough to make you instinctively take a half-step back. It was like negotiating with a barely-contained natural disaster. One you’d duct-taped back together and politely asked to be your bodyguard

“I’m just saying” you continued, voice slick like oil on a flooded corridor, “since I, y’know, saved your life and everything, maybe we could strike up a mutually beneficial arrangement”

Blackshadow’s expression didn’t change. But his field—subtle, low, coiled like a wire under strain—prickled at the edges of yours. His voice was hoarse, but flat as the bottom of a mining pit

“You’re monologuing”

“I like monologuing. It’s charming”

“It's annoying”

“that's rude but then I’m consistently charming. See? Reliable”

Silence again. If he had optics capable of shooting laser beams, you’d be a smudge on the wall by now

You cleared your throat, resisting the urge to pace. Instead, you pulled yourself up with the dignity of someone trying very hard not to sound like they were bargaining for their life. Because technically, you were

“So here’s my pitch” you said, waving a servo like you were presenting a business model and not trying to blackmail an infamous Decepticon. “I keep patching you up. Get you walking, talking, intimidating again. And in return, you come with me. Meet some of my less-than-trustworthy contacts. You don’t have to say much—just stand there, loom a little. Look dangerous. Which, congratulations, nailed that one already”

His gaze narrowed. You pressed on

“They see you, they panic. I get better deals. You get free upgrades and a chance to feel scary again. Everybody wins!”

A long beat

“And if I say no?”

You smiled like a bot who definitely wasn’t bluffing and absolutely wasn’t internally screaming

“Well. Then I might have to let a little message slip to our friends in the DJD. Just a teeny update. ‘Hey, guess who’s alive and limping around the galaxy again?’ Bet they’d love to pick up where they left off. Might even bring a party hat”

The words hung in the air like smoke from a fire you really shouldn’t have started

Blackshadow didn’t react right away

Instead, he shifted—slowly, deliberately—and placed both servos on the edge of the table like he was bracing himself. But you knew better. That was control. The kind of calculated stillness that said: I could move fast if I wanted to. You wouldn’t like it if I did

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, flat, and sharp as a cutting torch

“Cute”

Your energon froze

“You think you’re the first bot who’s tried to leash me?” he continued, and something in his field shifted—pressing outward now, oppressive, thick. Not anger. Precision “The first to wave DJD-shaped threats and think that buys them power..?”

He just stood slow, deliberate, mechanical in the most terrifyingly precise way possible. His frame made a faint creak, the kind that came not from wear or damage, but from mass. From the reminder that every inch of him had been forged for violence, engineered to carry out executions with elegance

And he stepped forward – Just one step

But it brought him close

Too close

Close enough that you could see where the weld lines met on his newly-attached plating. Where the seams didn’t quite align, because you had been the one to patch him together. Close enough that you caught the scent of scorched coolant clinging faintly to his armor—ghosts of his last battle still etched into his frame like memories he refused to shake

You took a step back. Reflex

“If you tell them I’m alive..” said, tone like acid running under your plating “you’re not just a messenger. You’re the one who found me. Who patched me up. Who hid me..”

“That makes you a collaborator. An accessory. A TRAITOR” He leaned in, just enough that your processor screamed too close. And then tilted his helm, optics glinting with something far too amused “And they love traitors”

Oh

OH SLAG

You opened your mouth

“..rude, again. You could’ve just said: no thank you” Your vocalizer made a sound like a failing vent fan. Then finally “…Okay. Valid point. That is.. um. That’s technically… true”

He didn’t move. He didn’t have to. You were unraveling all on your own

“But—wait, wait, no. I mean. Logically, if I was an accomplice, I wouldn’t even tell them about you being alive, right? I’d want to keep it quiet. Which is exactly what I haven’t been doing, because I threatened to tell them, which proves I wasn’t helping you, which actually clears me of—”

You were spiraling. He watched like someone enjoying a slow-motion crash.

“—So technically” added with a shaky little laugh “the moment I threatened to report you, I proved I’m not on your side, which should disqualify me from accessory status entirely”

Blackshadow blinked once. Slowly. Like he was giving your logic the funeral it deserved

“And” you blurted, doubling down like a champ who forgot what game they were playing “maybe they’d thank me! Y’know, for luring you out! Like—like a honeypot situation!”

You paused

“…Not that I’m a honeypot”

Another pause

“…I mean I could be, but not—not for them”

The silence was deafening. Even your spark was embarrassed for you. Finally, Blackshadow leaned back again, just slightly. Just enough to release that oppressive pressure from your frame. But his smirk stayed. Just a little

“Are you done?”

“…Yes”

“Good”

You exhaled. Visibly

Then mumbled, defeated “...Do you still wanna be my terrifying murder pet?”

Blackshadow didn’t answer you

He didn’t need to, just simply moved

One quiet shift forward. A subtle repositioning of weight. But it felt like a tectonic plate shifting beneath your peds. He loomed—elegantly, deliberately—until your back was near brushing the far wall and you realized far too late that you’d boxed yourself in

He didn’t have to touch you. Didn’t have to raise his voice. Just presence alone—heavy, quiet, intentional—was enough to press down on your field like atmospheric pressure before a storm

“You talk too much” he murmured

His voice was low, rough around the edges, like a servo blade dragged across stone. And somehow, impossibly, it wasn’t angry. It was… restrained. Curious, almost. Like he was trying to decide whether to crush you or keep listening. His shadow cast long over you, partway blocking out the soft lights overhead. You hadn’t noticed how tall he was until now. Or maybe it was the way he moved—like a predator that had all the time in the world

“Y’know” you began, with a tone that you hoped sounded playful and not like a high-pitched panic chirp “if this is your way of negotiating, I have to say it’s very… persuasive. You make intimidation look almost charming..!”

He stepped in closer

A little more close

Now there was only a hand's breadth between you, and his frame dwarfed yours—broken but imposing, scorched but unmistakably him. You could feel the heat bleeding off his internals, the faint static of rebooted systems still grumbling beneath his plating. His optics, flickering dim and dangerous, scanned your faceplate slowly. Like he was reading every little twitch and microexpression you couldn’t control.

You kept still

You knew better than to provoke a wounded animal—especially one with a kill count like his. But Primus, why did it feel so quiet in here now? The room felt like it was holding its breath

Then, his voice again. Lower. Almost… dry

“You think I won’t frag you just because you dragged my broken frame out of a pit and stitched it together with trash and spite?”

You gave a nervous chuckle. “I mean… you could. But then who’s going to clean your fuel lines next time they burst? Hm?”

One optic ridge raised. His expression didn’t soften—but it shifted. Just a little. Interest replacing calculation “And here I thought you were trying to use me”

“I am..” you admitted, because lying now would’ve been worse “But, like… respectfully?”

He huffed. A sound that wasn’t quite a laugh, but wasn’t nothing either. His servo rose. You flinched only slightly but enough for him to notice. He didn’t touch you. Just braced one arm against the wall beside your helm, the edge of his armor grazing the metal. You were caged, absolutely, but not restrained. It was worse than that. You were allowed to move. He let you stay. Which meant you were still alive because he found it amusing

That was somehow more terrifying than any blade

“You’re smarter than you look” he muttered

“Thanks.. you’re scarier than you sound”

That earned a quiet exhale through his vents. Not quite a sigh. Not quite content. The edge of something thoughtful flickered across his features, just for a nanoklik

“I should tear you apart for threatening me”

“And yet here we are” you said, as evenly as you could “Very intact – very… conversational..?”

He tilted his helm slightly, optics narrowing. Your spark thumped hard, then harder

Then, suddenly, he leaned down

Close enough that your helm nearly bumped his. Close enough that you caught the burnt ozone scent clinging to his frame, the sharp tang of damaged circuits still healing beneath plating. Close enough that the next words felt more like heat against your intake than sound in the air

“You’re lucky” he murmured, quiet and heavy with implication “That I’m tired. That I’m curious. That I haven’t decided what to do with you yet”

“I could ..say the same about you”

Your intake hitched. But your smile didn’t falter—at least not outwardly

For a moment, there was only silence. A strange, fragile sort of stillness. Not peace—but the eye of the storm, maybe. Something balancing on the edge of too much tension and too much awareness. Then he pulled back. Slowly. Measured. But before turning away, he murmured—like an afterthought laced with warning:

“Try that DJD trick again, and next time I won’t talk about tearing you apart..”

You swallowed, nodding with a grin that you hoped looked more charming than terrified

“Duly noted”

[woradat]

Is it just me?

Once again, Tamblr decided to post for me. When I set it to 'save as a draft' and when I edited the post to make it private so I could continue, a 'save as a draft' button came up from where the hell who know and I was like

???

So I clicked it. Lead me here

My post is not both in drafts or private post. Thank you very much. And guess what. Someone never lerns, I forgot my old lessons this time and have no backup (I use on app)

[woradat]

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[woradat]

I'm so hungry that I could eat..

A KITTENS

BOO GET JUMPSCARE BY THIS BITCH HAH!

[woradat]

Power of a haircut:

Before After

Has anyone mentioned this yet? I think it's funny

[woradat]

Unbelievable, I suddenly became a starving and hungry over-min because of you again. This is not fair

I've had a few ideas for Overlord (kinda old plotting and similar of yours), one involving his time in G-9, gladiatorial games and the MC who was the champion, the Autobot that enjoying the violence in a twisted way but denying, con hater, desire to kill Overlord but also enjoying the game too much (bc it feels good to kick those con's ass, and Overlord is a good host tho) — He saw that and kept the MC instead of kill just for them to come back and try again

I think it's a good reflection of the dynamic between him and Meg, but this time he's the upper one

And another plot that I haven't gone into much depth or detail about is the MC wanting to die or something. But Overlord is Overlord, he might kill and make MCs wish or just play with them, always on the edge but never really giving MCs death (which I'll go with the second one) gentle enough not to break you, Mc will be so pathetic, I tell you

Agree here and there, I don't think any relationship with Overlord would work out, he's a warning in himself. If you ask me, he was already in a bad state before the war (don't we have to ask why he's called Overlord? Yea?) and because of the war, his thirst grew even bigger. That's dangerous

Also have I mentioned how much I love your character analysis? The way you interpret things is so fascinating to me

warning: its about overlord

when ever i write fics for IDW Overlord, i always envision it as horror & psychological thriller--- not really a romance. like there is only really a subtle hint of romance/eroticism but the horror of having to deal with a mech like overlord infatuated with you always takes centre stage for me when writing him.

a predator/prey dynamic with him would be the scariest thing ever because it's Overlord. you can't tell what he'll do next and to be noticed by him, for him to find you respectable enough to be interested in you? you're just flat out screwed.

i like to envision it in a NBC Hannibal Lector/Will Graham way? he wants you but he is toying with you, playing a game with you and you don't even realize you're in it. i can't see Overlord falling for just anyone. it has to be someone he thinks could even match up to him slightly, someone who can impress him.

i used to have this thought of Overlord with a true equal. someone so deranged that it throws him off and makes him wonder what the fuck is wrong with this person... but like, idk how i can write a reader who would one-up Overlord's insanity. i guess the only thing that could throw him off would be a masochist who enjoys losing a fight because this guy got his aft handed to him by Megatron once and never emotionally recovered, its hilarious.

imagine him getting concerned by this freaky ex-colleague who's enjoying having their ass beat by him and coming back for more and since they're a Phase Sixer, Warrior Elite yada yada just like him, Overlord is actually struggling to kill you, he wants you gone and he's enjoying the challenge--- its been so long since he's had fights with actual stakes but why do you have to moan when he's squeezing your neck supports???

its a more... darkly comedic scenario in a way? but i prefer to use more serious tones with Overlord because this mech is a threat and i think he's absolutely abhorrent and i want everyone to feel that.

i don't see a lot of fics about him and i totally get why but like, if you want to write horrendous mind games and fear-play, he is the mech. he scares me but i find him interesting at the same time. its a love-hate relationship honestly.

hopefully i get to write more of this evil mech once im done with requests

[woradat]

A little update on this blog

I'm going to take a break for a while, I'll be back writing again early next month (so about 2-3 weeks from now) for requests feel free to send them or just want to chat that's alr too

If I have a time or an idea comes up, I might post a little fic here and there including a req I haven't finish during these burn-out state of mine

[woradat]