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lets-try-some-writing · 7 months

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The Secret of the Primacy: Emotional Exploration

With his secret out in the open, Optimus is left to flounder with the way the team are treating him. He's not used to it in any capacity, but he can't help but want to explore now that he isn't being suffocated by lies.

@wildlygay as per your request, here is more of this Au :)

Previous part here.

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With his secret out in the open, Optimus was ready to bolt at any moment. He had been warned countless times by the priests and by Alpha Trion that if anyone discovered what he was, he was doomed. He knew the various methods of gruesome execution common amidst Autobots and Decepticons for severe crimes. He had no desire to die deep beneath that duty that blanketed his every thought and action.

He fully expected to be treated poorly, abused perhaps, tortured if the team were angry enough despite the care Ratchet showed him. He was mentally preparing himself to be beaten half to death when he finally woke from his breakdown induced recharge cycle and met the optics of the team one by one. However against all the odds he predicted, the team did not even frown at him with malicious or angry emotional wavelengths in their fields. If anything, they were sorrowful. He didn't understand, but he quickly came to be confused above all else when the team adjusted the way they treated him.

Over the course of the next few weeks, he was treated gently, so much so that he started to both fear, love, and despise it. Ratchet's care was the most blatant and welcome for Optimus. The medic took every opportunity to shower Optimus with affection in his own gruff way. Optimus could be doing anything and suddenly Ratchet would be by his side, gently touching his arm and praising him for whatever he was trying to accomplish. Other times he could be quietly working on Iacon database files and Ratchet would slide over an energon cube, usually with a treat as well. Optimus had never been one for sweets usually, but they came from Ratchet and his foster Sire seemed to know how to make them in such a manner that they were only so sweet as to be enjoyable.

Ratchet stopped yelling as much too. When normally he would grumble and make a fuss, he quieted and kept his complaints to himself. It worried Optimus a great deal at first, that was until Ratchet made it clear that he refused to act like a sparkling when Optimus was in need of care. That part agitated the Prime to a degree considering all he'd gone through, but he couldn't deny that it was nice being able to try his best and actually be praised for his efforts instead of being regarded with grim appreciation.

Ratchet also took to establishing and actual routine for Optimus to follow, one that he both enjoyed and hated. The medic no longer tolerated his self destructive habits and instead made it law that he was to recharge for at least a groon per cycle. Cybertronians don't need to recharge often, in fact it is only required once a human month or so. Only sparklings required frequent recharge, and so the fact that Ratchet made a point to drag Optimus to his berth every night for recharge was both a welcome relief and a prod at his pride. He was mostly grown. Not even Bumblebee was subjected to such frequent recharge standards. Even still, Optimus obeyed his foster Sire. He quietly adored how Ratchet would guide him to his quarters, and without commenting then proceed to tuck him in, ensuring Optimus got at least one hug before he was left to rest.

Sometimes on bad days when Optimus fell back in on himself, trying to maintain the persona he crafted prior to the reveal, Ratchet would stay with him as he recharged. It was a comfort to know that his foster Sire was beside him, reading a datapad or filing a report of some sort even if a small part of Optimus was bitter over being handled in such a manner.

Compared to Ratchet's sudden shift in behavior, Bumblebee and Bulkhead were comparatively rather unchanged. The biggest differences in how they acted were merely in regards to how much work they left to Optimus. Where before Optimus would gladly take on mountains of work so that Bumblebee would have the chance to play and so that Bulkhead could spend time with Miko, his efforts were no longer allowed to fly. Bulkhead and Bee took their patrols far more seriously and went on them more frequently. Their reports came in on time and were detailed, with no need for Optimus to fill in blank spots or otherwise adjust their work. Not to mention the duo suddenly cared a great deal about actually fulfilling their chores at base. Before they would try and brush them off when possible, but seemingly overnight, both could be found doing any and all chores that normally fell to Ratchet and Optimus.

The Prime was thankful for the newfound dutifulness of his sparkling and brother in arms, but there were more than a few accidents due to Bulkhead attempting to mop and Bee trying and largely failing to dust with grace. In the end both were kindly asked to stop and focus their efforts more on the mission, to which there were quite a few sighs of relief. Despite that, both were quick to take up other work that Optimus normally handled. Bulkhead swiftly became Optimus's greatest obstacle when it came to his usual habit of working late at night. If Optimus tried to sneak out of his room after his appointed recharge time, Bulkhead would lay a servo on his shoulder, give him a look, and guide him back to his berth. It was bothersome and made Optimus feel small, but in the end the extra recharge time made him happier and more productive overall so he didn't fight the effort.

Bumblebee for his part simply became more affectionate. He regarded Optimus as his Sire without care for the truth of the matter. However, as he was now well aware of the delicate state of his Sire's mind, he went out of his way to show his appreciation when he could. Optimus was never particularly touchy in his raising of Bee, but he had a few habits that he kept, such as checking in on Bee when he did lay down to recharge roughly once a week. Bumblebee took that normal habit and used it to convince Optimus to rest alongside him. He would hug the Prime and ask for a song as if he were younger than he really were. And Optimus, wanting to feel needed and appreciated, never ceased to offer whatever affection Bee wanted. If Bee came to him asking for a hug, Optimus would give it. His sparkling almost never asked for such things, so the Prime gave them with glee. He very nearly cried whenever Bee would thank him of tell him he loved him. Deep down he was acutely aware of the fact that Bee was likely trying to tend to him like the rest of the team, but the desire to be needed overrode most of the dark concerns that lingered.

Compared to Ratchet's almost complete 180 regarding how he treated Optimus and Bee and Bulkhead's relative static nature, Arcee sat somewhere in the middle. She did not coddle Optimus like Ratchet did. She would still utter her grievances and treat Optimus as a proper warrior, offering him respect as her commander and trusting him to take care of himself in battle. But unlike Bumblebee and Bulkhead, she was more willing to show her normally hidden maternal nature. Ratchet couldn't be on watch all the time, and so when he was otherwise occupied, Arcee stepped up to the plate and took to getting Optimus into healthier habits. Her main mission was to get Optimus to deal with some of his mental issues. Ratchet tended to his health with far more dutifulness than Arcee could ever hope to replicate. And while she was no paragon of mental stability, she knew a few ways to get a mech to at least begin dealing with their issues.

She made it a point to try and get Optimus to do something aside from work or tend to others during his waking hours. Her efforts largely amounted to getting Optimus to assist her in certain recreational activities under the guise of needing assistance. It was not hard to get the Prime to sit down with her and try to sketch out things she required aid 'identifying'. It quickly became clear to her that Optimus actually enjoyed drawing after she attempted other activities with him. Thus she quietly spoke to Ratchet, and from there, Optimus developed a new habit that he kept from everyone.

He had no clue that Arcee's requests for him to help were underhanded. He simply enjoyed being needed and was pleased to sit down and assist her in drawing things she needed help figuring out. But from those drawings, he found a bit of a passion for the activity. Too many vorns of being denied any and all ability to act his age ensured he told no one of his interest, especially as he tried to improve and observed far more skilled artworks done by humans and Cybertronians alike. Often his inner voice demanded he quit his newfound recreational activity, but once he started, he was unable to stop.

Optimus told no one when he started taking sheets of scrap metal and engraving tools and hiding them away in his room. He told no one when after Ratchet tucked him in for the night, he proceeded to use said materials and carefully engrave things that he saw and envisioned. Over the course of weeks, his room was quickly filled with sheets of metal engraved with various depictions of things he enjoyed. These works he hid under his berth when he was finished with them due to his insecurity, but late at night he would look over them with a degree of joy. He loved engraving, especially engraving stories depicting his life, or rather Orion Pax's life. He loved drawing Orion, Ratchet, his team, the human children, and all others he knew well. It was his secret pleasure. He was a Prime, and thus he was not afforded the luxury of enjoying recreational things. As such he kept it close to his spark, telling no one up until one late night-

-When Ratchet walked in on him engraving.

His first response was sheer panic. He froze up like a deer in the headlights, his engraving tool dropping to the ground as he sat still as stone amidst his sea of artworks. Ratchet stood still for a long moment too, both of them locked in an odd dance of will until Ratchet took a step forward. Optimus in turn all but began to throw his engravings back into their hiding place up until Ratchet grabbed his arm to stop him. The Prime froze up again, expecting a reprimand or hit to come from his actions. Instead, Ratchet sat down beside him slowly and very tenderly began to look over Optimus's various works.

The Prime was two kliks from passing out in sheer terror when Ratchet oh so softly ran his digits along an engraving Optimus did of Orion working in the archives. Along the bottom he carved his Sire's name and a tender line. Ratchet looked to be near ready to cry as he read, and at that, Optimus feared the worst. And yet against all his fears, Ratchet did something he did not expect.

Ratchet: These are gorgeous Optimus.

Optimus: They are merely scribbles. I could be performing more vital tasks instead of dabbling in this craft-

Ratchet: No, you honor him with your work... He would be proud.

Optimus: ...

Ratchet: You were not intended, but I knew my friend Optimus. He would have been proud to know you are his creation.

Optimus: That cannot be true. I killed him. My creation led to his death.

Ratchet: He died so that you might live. He did not know that you were made from him, but I imagine that if he were here, he would be happy to know that his descendant is continuing the work he left behind.

Optimus: Leading a war? No, I do not believe he would take joy in knowing what I have done.

Ratchet: Perhaps. But he would know that you have done all you can. He was kind, I do not believe he would begrudge you for your choices. If anything, he would be pleased to see you fighting so hard despite all the obstacles in your way.

Optimus: ... It is just an engraving. It means nothing.

Ratchet: It means you are trying, that you are growing. By doing that, you bring honor to Orion's name.

Optimus: I...

Ratchet: These are wonderful Optimus. Do not doubt that, not ever. Continue this, I can see it brings you joy.

To say those words meant much to Optimus would be an understatement. He was still distraught, but after Ratchet saw and praised his work, he slowly began leaving engravings for the team and the children as gifts. He didn't know how to fully express his thanks, and so he offered that which brought him joy.

#maccadam #transformers #transformers prime #optimus prime #team prime #ratchet #bumblebee #arcee #bulkhead #secret of the primacy au #fluff/angst #it has been *counts fingers*#seven months #yep long time since I got to this au #its actually one of my favs alongside AI optimus #surprised it took me this long to get back to it #annnnnnnnnnyway #here yall go!

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badlydrawn-brostrider · 4 months

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READ TAGS OF DIRK BRO HUG.... can we see bro melting into hug w dirk. falls to knees please im so soft for melty bro so true

==> BRO: Melt into your splinters arms.

[ It's not so much melting as it is you falling apart when he pulls you in. He's solid and warm and so small. He shouldn't have to see you like this. ]

[ He never complains, or really says anything period. Just holds you for what feels like forever until you finally feel normal again. It's embarrassing how quickly his shoulder grows damp. You don't deserve this. ]

[ . . . For just a little while, you think you don't care. ]

( @badlydrawn-dirkstrider )

#for now this is the closest yall will get to him melting into dirk.......#touch starved sad bro go brr #sorry guys its more angst #bro strider #dirk strider #dirkin time #homestuck ask blog #hom3stuck #homestuck #anon asks #does this count as hurt/comfort #it still counts as soft melty bro its just SAD soft melty bro ABDJDN

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clowningaroundmars · 8 days

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heeyyy yaaalllll

so i was thinking to myself, i love punkflower. i really do.

what if there was a hobie in miles' universe and he didnt have to do the whole long distance relationship across dimensions thing, though? just keep his lil secret crush on spiderpunk a secret and keep it pushing, only to literally bump into his own hobie brown in 1610 one day?

wouldnt that be cool, guys?

wouldnt it? :)

wouldnt :) it :) be :) so :) cool? :) and so cute too?

Miles was late.

It was his first day back, the very beginning of his junior year at Visions Academy and he was late. God damn.

His parents were really gonna kill him this time, no doubt about it. There weren't even any good Spiderman excuses he could use to weasel his way out of getting into trouble this time! He'd just have to cross his fingers and pray that his chemistry teacher for this year wasn't a total hardass like last year's English teacher.

Maybe he could make up some dumb excuse this time, try to wriggle his way into the professor's good graces with some blatant lie. Anyways, whose dumb idea was it to put him in a class so damn far from the entrance doors so early in the mor--

BRRRRRRING!

Miles tore around a corner just as the final bell rang throughout the mostly-empty hallways, inciting panic in his chest and making him nearly launch himself down another hallway just to get to his class.

In his haste, he nearly knocked over a very tall and very... familiar looking person that happened to be in Miles' trajectory. Luckily, bodies didn't end up colliding but the shock of having a person fly so quickly into their line of sight shocked the both of them into skidding to a sudden stop.

The tall person ended up dropping a textbook and what seemed like an enormous packet of papers, because sheets scattered absolutely everywhere, almost like snow.

Ugh. Of course.

They both stared down at the mess in the middle of the hallway floor for a beat.

Then, Miles exhaled a laugh, shaking his head.

"Aw man, I-I'm sorry! I just uh... here, lemme just--"

They both bent down to quickly scoop up the papers as Miles stuttered and spoke a hundred miles a minute, trying to apologize for the heart-stopping scare he caused. Just as Miles shuffled the papers together in his hands, he finally looked up at the unlucky student he almost football-tackled first thing in the morning... and nearly dropped the papers onto the floor again.

Kneeled right in front of him with papers and a textbook tucked under a skinny arm, long fingers nervously plucking up what was left of the rest of the packet, was none other than... Hobie Brown.

Oh. God.

This Hobie didn't seem to be Miles' Hobie, though.

(Miles' temperature rose a bit as he quickly thought: wait, my Hobie? That's not right, either.)

Instead of large freeform locs that tapered off like wicks, he was sporting long uniform locs that were piled up high in a loose ponytail on his head, most likely due to the school policy that stated boys needed to have hair above the nape of their neck. Miles kinda wondered about that policy, if he ever decided to grow out his hair; would pulling his hair up be enough? Or would they police his hair length and force him to cut it all off?

Well, turns out the answer was literally right in front of him. Another shock to the system right after the first one.

That was Miles' excuse, really. It was just so dang early in the morning and he really really wasn't thinking when he opened his mouth and basically shouted "Hobie?!"

It honest to god sounded like it echoed in the hallway.

He slapped a hand over his mouth, immediately chastising himself for the stupid mistake he made, mentally kicking himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid!! He wasn't supposed to know this guy obviously, they hadn't even met in their dimension yet!

Hobie, for his part, didn't seem perturbed by this at all though. He took the papers from Miles' hands and straightened himself back up to his full height, offering a hand so that Miles could stand up too.

He shrugged shyly and hid behind a couple locs that happened to fall back into his face, holding the books and papers closer to his chest.

"Uhmmn yeah, sorry. I-I'm runnin' late to my first class so I can't really give any autographs right now. Maybe later... if we see each other, ok?"

Miles blinked owlishly. Did he just say... autographs?

And wait a minute... was this Hobie... American?

Miles' poor little sleep-deprived mind was being blown again and again. He really didn't know if he was ever going to recover from this.

Hobie started to back up and walk away so Miles held his hands up to stop him. "Wait wait wait, autographs? I'm not uh-- sorry, this is weird," he laughed, rubbing his neck. "Nah, man. That's cool. I don't really want any autographs. Are you uh-- are you famous, actually?"

It was this Hobie's turn to blink owlishly now, hesitating a bit. A non-pierced eyebrow was raised as he said, "I... I kinda am...?"

He turned and pointed out the giant window of the hallway that they happened to be standing by, and Miles craned his neck to peer outside.

It smacked him right in the face once his eyes landed on it: a giant billboard fixed atop a neighboring building that depicted Hobie Brown in a luxurious-looking perfume ad. He sported the same locs as he did in real life, wearing shiny-looking makeup and giving the viewer the fiercest, smokiest look Miles has ever seen from a model in a hot minute. He was clutching deep purple satin, wrapped in it, basking in it. A single perfume bottle with a deep purple bow on the neck was photoshopped next to him, matching the overall vibe of the ad.

Miles was rooted to the spot, absolutely gobsmacked. How in the world did he miss that?!

Distantly, a small echo of a conversation he had in what seemed like a lifetime ago floated up from a memory. "I was briefly a runway model" pulsed in his neural pathways for a quick second.

Slowly, the gears started turning in his head. Slowly, he turned back to his dimension's Hobie Brown, who was giving him a strange sort of look.

Miles awkwardly tried to gather himself up, waving his hands around as he struggled for a non-weird explanation to his very weird behavior.

"I-I mean-- ahahaha! Yeah I mean, obviously you're famous! I was just y'know-- playin' with you. Pulling your leg and all that, I guess... heh."

The strange dubious look on Hobie's face didn't budge. "...Right."

Miles coughed conspicuously, trying to change the subject. "But uh yeah, haven't seen you around this school much then! Are you... you in a different grade than me or...?"

The corner of Hobie's mouth twitched suddenly, and for a split second Miles wondered if he said something wrong.

But then Hobie chuckled a bit. "No, I don't think so? This is my first day here. Like... ever. So I'm not really surprised you haven't seen me before. I just transferred over."

Miles practically sighed in relief and nodded, hands in his pockets. "Right! Right, very cool. Welcome to Visions then, I guess. Uh... I'm Miles! Miles Morales. Nice to meet ya!"

He goofily stuck a hand out, which Hobie actually accepted. They shook hands for a second, and then Miles was suddenly taken aback by how cold his hand was against his own skin. It was a definite contrast to the warm and lanky body he remembered practically draped across his own, back in Mumbattan.

He forced those particular memories away for now.

This Hobie was smiling down at him, sad eyes set inside a seemingly genuine expression of fondness. "Cool. I'm Hobie. But, uh, it seems like you already knew that, so."

"Aha, yeah yeah! It just-- honestly it's just the shock of, uh, running into a major celeb in the middle of my school that really got to me, I think. Sorry. I probably look like a total weirdo right now!"

Hobie shook his head, and Miles took the opportunity to really study this guy now that the shock was over and the vibe was more chill. This Hobie was just as long and lanky as the punk anarchist Miles was already well acquainted with, but he held himself completely differently. Where Spider-Hobie was all confident strut and careless swagger, this Hobie seemed to be all reserved grace and... sadness? He definitely reminded Miles of a willow tree drooping down into a lake, beautiful but tragic at the same time.

Okay Miles, get it together, he thought, stop thinking this guy is beautiful. I mean, he is beautiful yeah... but c'mon man, focus!

Hobie's non-pierced lips were moving now, finishing a sentence that Miles most definitely did not catch.

Then, Hobie looked at him expectantly.

Oh shit. He just asked a question didn't he? Fuck.

"Uh, sorry... one more time?" Miles grinned as wide as he could, apologetic. Nice going, Morales, the humorless voice in his head chimed in. Definitely not convincing this guy you're an alien from outer space or anything!

Hobie huffed a laugh and cleared his throat. "Sorry, my fault. Sometimes I mumble and... yeah. Mom says I need to work on that," he sighed, then continued, "I was just wondering if you knew where room 301 was?"

Miles nearly jumped with the force of the realization that just hit him.

"301? Mr. Moriarty's class?"

"Y-yeah, that's the one," Hobie smiled, twirling a loc on one finger and tugging it a bit. Then he tucked it back behind his ear. "I'm actually so lost it's not even funny, I'm godawful at directions and like, navigating. I've been looking for it for like 20 minutes now--"

"That's where my first class is too! AP chem!"

Hobie seemed to brighten up a bit at that, straightening his posture up from his own self-conscious hunch. "Oh cool! We should probably get going then, if we don't wanna be more late than we already are."

Without thinking, Miles places a hand on Hobie's shoulder and steers them both towards a classroom right at the end of the hallway they were in.

"Of course, right this way! Pretty lucky you ran into me, huh? I can help you find your other classes later on if you want, too."

For the first time since nearly crashing into him, Miles looked up at Hobie and saw genuine happiness in his eyes as they grinned at each other and walked down the hall together.

"...Yeah," Hobie said, nodding slowly. "Yeah that'd be pretty cool. Thanks!"

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Their chemistry teacher ended up not being a total hardass after all! Especially when Miles rolled up with none other than Famous Model Hobie in tow, immediately causing a ripple of whispers amongst the students sat at their desks.

Mr. Moriarty was a short and stumpy old man with a kind face and a severely receding hairline. He took one look at Hobie after squinting at his attendance sheet, accepted Miles' quick explanation that they were late because Hobie's minty fresh enrollment got him all lost in these maze-like hallways, and excused their tardiness with a wave of a hand.

"It's the first day and you were very kind to help a new student out, Mr. Morales. You're both excused for today, but try not to make a habit of it, alright?"

Miles bobbed his head as he picked his way past rows of desks. "Absolutely, sir. No problem at all. Thanks a bunch!"

Hobie stuck close to him, and smiled a bit as the only two desks left empty in the whole room happened to be right next to each other, right up in the back of the class. Nice.

They took their seats and exchanged a couple of glances as they pulled out their notebooks, barely listening to their professor's quick introduction and class syllabus. Well, Miles was barely listening, anyways. He was too caught up in the euphoria of running into a dimensional variant of one of his friends, in Visions Academy no less! His mind started to wander a bit. Did a 1610 Gwen exist too? a 1610 Pavitr? Were they also here at Visions? And what was with these random stares he and Hobie were getting from their fellow classmates right now?

Every now and then a student's head would swivel back to glance in their direction, awestruck looks evident on their faces.

How famous was Hobie anyway?

Of course, there was that giant billboard conveniently placed within view of the school's back hallways near a busy intersection, but Miles really started to think. He sneakily pulled out his phone and swiped down to the lowest brightness he could in case the classroom's fluorescent lighting wasn't enough to hide the phone screen's own light.

He kept his face straight forward, eyes flicking to and from his typing that he was trying to conceal behind the student sitting in front of him. He typed Hobie Brown model, Hobie Brown perfume ad, Hobie Brown supermodel, getting absolutely nothing every single time. Well, nothing that looked like the Hobie Brown sitting next to him, who happened to be dutifully scribbling down some notes in his notebook. Miles looked down at his own empty sheet of paper and quickly copied his new friend, whipping out a pencil and hurrying to catch up with the lecture on the whiteboard before the professor moved on.

Groan. What gives? Was Hobie this super accomplished, totally famous supermodel or not? Maybe he wasn't on social media, oddly enough. Maybe he just started an illustrious career and happened to be famous only in Brooklyn right now? No, that didn't make sense. If he was some small-time influencer or whatever, people would not be asking for autographs so often that Hobie would just automatically assume anyone who recognized him wanted one. And the looks on these other kids' faces convinced Miles that... maybe something was missing. Maybe he's just not searching up the right terms?

Agh, if only Spiderman business didn't keep him totally detached from reality sometimes. He really felt like he and the rest of the world were on totally different planets. If he had any friends besides Ganke, he probably would've heard about Hobie by now.

He bit his lip in concentration, trying to multitask between forming theories and keeping up with the lesson in the front of the classroom.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a pair of eyes staring straight at him that didn't belong to the other classmates he barely even knew. He glanced over at Hobie, who quickly looked away.

Was that... an embarrassed look on his face just now? Miles scratched at his jaw a bit, more confused than before.

That was weird. Whatever. Anyways...

Before long, class was over and the bell rang. Miles and Hobie both meandered slowly up to the door and hung around the outside, leaning against the wall as they compared schedules before they had to make their way to their next class.

"Dang," Miles lamented, clutching his own schedule and moving to slot it into the cover of his binder. "Looks like we don't share any more classes besides 1st period..."

Hobie stopped his hand and squinted at the sheet again, glancing back at his own. "Uhmm... nah, actually. I think we might have 6th period together? Right after lunch."

"Do we share a lunch period too, actually?" Miles asked excitedly.

Hobie made a small noise of triumph, a smile playing over his lips. "Yeah! 1st, lunch and then 6th. Okay. Better than nothing, right?"

Miles chuckled, shoving his schedule into the plastic and tucking it under his arm. "Definitely. We can eat together at the cafeteria if you want! I'll walk you to your next class though, since it's basically right around the corner."

Hobie shrugged his own backpack back onto his shoulder and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. His eyes were cast downwards as he grinned at the floor and said, "yeah, if you don't mind... that'd be pretty cool."

This guy sure does like the word cool, Miles thought, and away to Hobie's next class they both went. They both ignored the various whispers and stares in their direction. Miles was already used to it by now.

They walked together amiably, in near lockstep for a little while before Hobie finally spoke up again.

"... So... if you don't mind me asking... why are you so nice to me if you didn't know I was famous, then?"

It was an innocent enough question, but it kinda caught Miles off guard nonetheless.

He laughed nervously. "Uhh ahaha, whaddya mean? I did know you were famous! I just... y'know my brain doesn't work the best real early in the morning. I'm, uh. Sometimes I can be pretty weird, if you haven't noticed by now."

Hobie nodded slowly, digesting this information for a bit. "Yeah, you did recognize me in the first place, I guess. It's just weird, you're like... the first person I met that doesn't look at me like I'm made out of solid gold, though. That's all..."

They exchanged glances again, and Miles' brain was working into overdrive, thinking of an appropriate response.

Before he could open his mouth, they finally reached their destination and Hobie bumped Miles' shoulder with his arm, smiling.

"So, thanks. For, uh... this. All this."

Miles raised a brow at him. "Oh yeah, this is nothing. I just walked you over to your next class, no biggie. My class is right over here anyways, so--"

Hobie laughed and shook his head, the expression lighting up his facial features unlike anything Miles has seen on that face yet.

"No, Miles. Not just this. I mean, like..." Hobie dipped his head, a bashful sort of move. "I mean, like, being nice to me. Like forreal. I really appreciate this."

They looked at each other for a moment, something real warm growing in Miles' chest all of a sudden, something... familiar.

He was just about to casually brush the gratitude off a second time with a dorky quip, before some girl's screechy voice interrupted their private little moment out of nowhere. It honestly startled them both, and the nice warm atmosphere dissipated immediately.

"Oh. My. GOD!! Is that Hobie Jones? Like actually?!"

She giggled and bounded up to them, blatantly ignoring Miles to insert herself between them and crowd into Hobie's space. She coquettishly asked for a selfie with him, promising to tag him on social media. The sudden commotion unfortunately attracted some other students who then took their cue to also bother Hobie for autographs, selfies, throwing compliments left and right.

Miles backed up out of the crowd, eyes still on Hobie as he watched the poor guy metaphorically slip on a mask, the very same that Miles saw when they first met not 2 hours ago. It was a sad, detached sort of look, and Hobie was forced to hunch in on himself to meet his fellow students' heights as they snapped selfie after selfie. His lips formed a smile all the while. His eyes did not.

A pang of sympathy hit Miles as he slowly turned away and made his way down to his own classroom without so much as a goodbye. He shrugged to himself, shaking his head. Yeah, he knew how that felt, just trying to mind your own business and live your life, do what you have to do-- and being stopped by nearly every living being within a 50 ft radius wanting their photo ops and their babies kissed.

Miles smiled to himself as he shouldered his way past other students and sauntered into his class, right on time. The bell rang as he reached his desk, and he pulled out another notebook out of his bag before the realization finally hit him with the force of a truck.

Wait... Hobie JONES?!

Miles quickly glanced around at his surroundings and mentally kicked himself yet again for choosing a seat so close to the teacher's desk, almost right up at the front. Damnit!

But the teacher wasn't in the classroom just yet, most likely making a quick run down to the printer down the hall to make copies of the class syllabus or something.

Okay, Morales. Gotta be quick.

He hastily pulled out his phone yet again, one eye on the door. He quickly typed in Hobie Jones model in his browser's search box, letting out a breath as search results loaded up and gave him exactly what he was looking for this entire time.

Bingo.

Hobie's face popped up in the image search previews, all sorts of cool and striking photoshoots lit up in all kinds of different ways. And the very first link at the top of the page? Hobie's own Flickstagram.

With a shaky hand, Miles tapped the link and impatiently waited for it to load, for his phone to get with the program and just open the damn app already. He kept glancing every so often at the door yet again, praying that the printer or copier-- or whatever-the-hell that was keeping the professor away from the class-- would keep them away for just a second longer.

He finally cast his gaze back down onto his own Flickstagram app and his heart nearly dropped out of his chest.

At the top, right next to Hobie's own smoldering profile picture was his username: hobiemjones

hobiemjones... hobie m jones. Hobie M. Jones.

M.J.

Miles exhaled again and tucked his phone away in shock just as the classroom door opened yet again and all the students quieted down. This class's teacher made their way over to their desk, piles of papers in hand. They started to pass them out to the students in the front row, introducing themself and then going over the usual attendance policies.

Miles accepted the syllabus sheets with trembling hands, turning to pass them over his shoulder once he got his own, his mind running a hundred miles a minute.

Peter talked nonstop about his wife, whenever he managed to stop talking about his baby, that is. It was always MJ this, MJ that. Flashes of a middle-aged man staring forlornly at a picture of his then-ex wife-- grieving the one who got away-- raced across his mind's eye. His universe's own MJ standing at a podium, strong but deeply hurt as she addressed all of Brooklyn after Spiderman's funeral.

"She wanted kids and I... just wasn't ready," echoed over and over in Miles' mind. Of course, they're together now. But the way Peter talked about his divorce... oh god.

Wait... was Miles ready for kids? Were he and Hobie going to have a messy on-and-off again relationship that ended up with them having to care for a spider-baby just like Mayday?! Maybe even multiple spider-babies?!?!?

Miles loosened his tie a bit, sweating profusely.

The fact that neither Hobie nor Miles were equipped with the parts to make a baby together flew right over his head. No... instead, his mind skipped straight to marriage, messy emotional fights and inevitable breakups. How was he gonna juggle school, work, Spiderman stuff and a relationship all at once?!

Without realizing, Miles started hyperventilating.

No no no no no, cool it Miles. COOL IT. Don't be weird. Miles mentally slapped himself and tried to even out his breathing as he leaned back in his seat and wiped some sweat off his brow.

He just proved to Miguel O' Hara and the entire multiverse this past spring that he can do his own thing, canon events be damned. Miles Morales was no victim to fate. Maybe all of the other spider-people had their own MJs. But maybe in this universe, MJ and Spiderman were... just friends. Good friends! ...Yeah, yeah, just friends...

The idea floated around in Miles' head throughout the entire rest of the class, but it didn't really make the tightness in his chest loosen up any at all.

Once the bell rang again and everyone started packing their things up, Miles dawdled a bit by the door, fumbling with his phone as his classmates filed out of the room. If he was late enough, maybe he'd completely miss Hobie in the hallways and not have to see him at all. Miles double-checked, triple-checked his schedule again and again, mapping out an eventual escape route through the halls in case Hobie's path did intercept Miles'.

God, Miles thought ruefully, checking the hour on his phone for the 15th time in a row and smiling awkwardly at his teacher's questioning glance. You're being so fucking weird about this right now!

The rational part of his brain kicked in and presented a quick slideshow of other calmer, more reasonable explanations as to why he really shouldn't be avoiding his new friend like the plague all of a sudden.

1. Hobie probably doesn't and won't like me, it stated. There is literally no proof that Hobie Jones is even into guys. Or me, Miles Morales.

2. Even if Hobie Jones is into guys-- or me, Miles Morales-- that does not mean the endgame is automatically marriage. No sir, no proof of that at all!

3. Canon events were officially disproven. Kinda. Mostly. Sort of?

C'mon, bro. Just man up and get out there. You're gonna be late for the next class soon anyways.

Right. He inhaled deeply and steeled himself.

"Okay well, uh. Have a nice day Mx. Gonzalez! See ya... tomorrow." Miles cringed inwardly at how lame that sounded, but his teacher didn't seem to notice as they bid him a nice day as well.

With his heart in his stomach, Miles slowly made his way into the hallway and started walking at a brisk pace, keeping his eyeline straight in front of him, trying to reach his next class on the floor below quickly but manageably. It was when he reached the stairs that his heart sank even lower.

Hobie was standing right next to the stairwell, glaring at the school map placed on the wall off to the left, fingertips on his chin as he mumbled to himself. He was glancing up and down between the map and his schedule in his hand, clearly befuddled.

Damn, he really is bad at navigating, Miles mused, once he recovered.

But as luck would have it, tragedy struck right then. Miles being pretty much the only other kid in the hallway attracted Hobie's attention, and even though Miles' feet kept him moving, he almost tripped on air once Hobie perked up upon seeing him.

"Miles!" Hobie grinned and waved him over, clearly happy to see him.

Oh noooo. Miles was not as happy to see him.

Without thinking, he launched himself down the flight of stairs, hopping over the railing and landing loudly on the 1st floor. Once steady, he basically sprinted over to his 3rd period class, completely missing the way Hobie's sunny grin slowly disappeared and his hand lowered back down to his side.

♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

Lunchtime came and went. Miles ate his packed lunch at his usual perch on top of the school building, where he always hid while trying to avoid the rest of the student body. He managed to pick a good spot away from prying eyes, and it never failed him.

Hobie ate alone, at a table tucked into the corner of the cafeteria despite being invited to several other tables. He sat and chewed sadly, locs back in front of his eyes, posture hunched over and defeated.

6th period came and went. Miles purposefully kept his gaze averted as Hobie walked in 5 minutes late. They sat at opposite ends of the room, never acknowledging each other's existence.

The school day ended and Miles made his way back to the dorms, sighing with relief once he glanced out the window and saw giant rainclouds rolling in over the horizon. Man, was he glad he got to bunk up on campus with his best friend! He greeted Ganke, kicked off his shoes and climbed up onto his bunkbed, laying back with a sigh. Maybe tomorrow he'd confront Hobie about his erratic behavior and apologize. Maybe.

But that was a problem for future Miles...

♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

Outside, the rain started falling fast and hard.

Outside, Hobie M. Jones waited miserably by the curb with an umbrella in hand, getting drenched by the water nonetheless. He checked his phone for the 15th time and sniffled angrily, pocketing it and gripping onto his umbrella handle.

Late. Again.

His mother was late to pick him up, as usual.

He swiped at a tear rolling down his cheek and finally loosened his ponytail, letting his locs fall all around his face.

Once she arrived, his mother was going to inevitably ask him how his day was, look only slightly concerned about his angry tears and ask if he made any new friends anyways, despite knowing the answer.

No, mom, Hobie would say as he kept his eyes glued to the car window.

No. I didn't make any friends.

#spiderverse #mine #miles morales #hobie brown #heeyyyyyyy... im back. again :) with some angst this tiiimmee ahaha #hope yall dont hate me for this lil meet-cute turning out the way it did 😅#it just.... turned into angst i guess #we all know peter parker and mj are always a tragedy before a theyre a romance yanno what i mean?#soooo yup. miles is no different tbqh #do they end up together tho? WHO KNOWS!!!#maybe they do get together and have their lil spider babies in the end! LOL #also yeah i know mj already exists in 1610 #but lets uhhhhh pretend that EVERY spiderman has an mj. just like they have a gwen! ahaha #or maybe............ hobie jones isnt even an mj after all!! *foreboding music*#YOU decide!#anyways yeah... hope yall liked this one too LMFAO #i'm really in my fic writing era now jfc #who knows what i'll show up with next time?!?! :)#thx 4 reading as always ♡#punkflower #← i hesitate to tag this bc its technically not PUNKflower yanno what i mean #buttttt well. adding it in there anyways. hope yall dont mind

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tomatoswup · 1 year

Text

phone calls

summary: two old rotary phones begin the connection between two souls. One from the past and another from the future.

warnings: angst, literally angst, sad vash :(, hurt/comfort but its not the comfort you think it is. kinda more like an acceptance comfort

pairing:vash x reader

-inspired by the movie "The Lake House"

A/N: am i a fiend for writing angst? yes. do I like reading it? NOPE. wanted to get this out before I hustled on school work hehe. But fun fact this was originally longer but I rewrote and condensed it b/c I thought it was too long for just a one shot lost media typa beat. honestly i don't think i wrote this right but fuck it we ball. I recommend reading this with the saddest song you have bookmarked. Enjoy!~

"Hmmm...Well you got some personality to you.” You mumbled, staring at the old red vintage rotary phone sitting in front of you. How did you come to achieve this old relic of time? Well in short terms, you liked to think about it like an equation.

Old attic + mischievous white cat = you adventuring to go find said cat and to your dismay, said cat scares the living ever hell out of you making you lose balance and fall backwards into endless towers of boxes.

Fun times right?

Those bruises weren't gonna be….

But that was the least of your problems at the moment. As expected, the rotary phone suddenly started to ring, shaking and clicking in itself, making you sigh in disappointment. Grabbing the phone, you yanked it up to your ear “Hey, yeah I don’t think this is gonna work.” You deadpanned “Now we know that we're always gonna be connected, what is this? The 5th time?"

"Damn and I thought you hanging up would’ve solved the problem. I don't think we could connect with anyone else though! I asked the farmer about it and he had no idea!" Chirped the male on the other side of the line.

Of course! It sounded like a normal conversation between two individuals but even Einstein himself would've been baffled at these circumstances. Imagine this, you find an old phone and you had been playfully talking into it until a voice actually responds without it being connected. Strange right? And no, you were sure you hadn't been seeing any strange figures on the sides of your vision.

Now here you were, trying to figure out what the fuck was going on alongside the man who had introduced himself as Vash The Stampede.

"21st century my ass, Google isn't doing shit!"

"Wait hold on now, did you just say 21st?"

"Yeah? Something wrong?"

"Uh well.. It's just that its actually the 32nd century."

You blink a few times "No, it's not. My calender literally says it's the 21st century. It's general knowledge."

"No I'm pretty sure its the 32nd century!" Vash snapped back.

Silence filled the air on both sides.

"WAIT A MINUTE-"

And thats how the unknown man from the future and you hit it off.

After this discovery, the two of you talked on the phone for a while, sharing things about each of your own time periods. And you slowly found yourself enjoying the conversations you would have with Vash who you soon found out, was pretty goofy in his own way, but kind. And unknowingly, Vash felt the same way.

What was an accidental and odd situation turned into practically an everyday thing for the both of you now.

After work, you always looked forwards to that red phone on your nightstand until one day, you decided to decorate it with cute little stickers because why not?

After all, it was fasinating to hear things about the future. Sometimes you'd laugh at the way Vash described it, like something out of an old wild west movie.

"It's all just desert! Really!" He groaned out as you chuckled, holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder as you put books and CD's away on your bookshelf "At least you can make some cool sandcastles or something!"

"With what water?"

"Your tears." Snorting, you listen on as he whined through the receiver. "Hey but just imagine me helping you build them! Makes it hurt less."

Vash let out a exaggerating sigh "But seriously, it's not always sunny were you live?" He asked curiously.

"Nope!" You smiled, slipping one of your favorite books into place "It changes every so often really. Depending on the season." You hummed out, looking out the window to your right to see the drenching rain down with its spring showers.

"Season?"

"Sometimes it rains and sometimes it gets super cold. Other days it just gets too hot and if we're lucky, we get days with perfect temperatures. Its never the same but I guess that's the beauty to it here. Every day is a new sight no one could really get tired of. "

Or a new headache.

Vash stayed quiet on the line, and you imagined how he looked like deep in thought. Eyebrows furrowed, his supposed pointy blonde hair messily spread out across his pillow, and eyes as blue as the sky looking up at the ceiling in concentration.

…Okayyy that’s enough out of you.

He didn't say the eye part himself but you liked to ponder on the idea.

"That sounds beautiful.."

And to that, you smiled. "Yeah, it kinda is."

But something in your head made you stop and look down at the book you had in hand, unsure if you wanted to say anything.

"Hey Vash.."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry that I'm the only person you could really reach with this thing. I know you really wanted to talk to your friends.."

"Why are you apologizing? It's not everyday I talk to someone from the past! From even before No Mans Land!”

You sigh and slip the final book away to which Vash adds in one more sentence. "And even if you weren't, I like talking to you."

You scoff in good humor "You're lying blonde."

"NO I"M NOT!" Vash gasps out dramatically "Oh how you hurt me so!"

"Hardy har har." You chuckled, shoving a box of things you wanted stored away in the corner of your room. "At least I know I'm speaking to someone as beautiful as the nightsky!" He huffed out trying to sound manlier.

“Yeah? Now how could you tell that?"

"Because I know a pretty and kind soul when I hear it."

E-Excuse me?

Your face flushes red "Alright cowboy are you trying to soften me up?"

"Pftttttt nooooooo~"

Your conversations never ceased to end, and when talking to Vash about practically everything, it felt...comforting. To know there was someone to listen to your struggles, and listen to his own. It felt so intimate.

Sharing about your life on Earth, the things you do and him speaking about his own life and travels around his home planet.

One day, Vash and you had been talking for the night and he mentioned something that gave you a sense of familiarity.

PROJECT SEEDS.

A large project that's been reported on the news for more than a few months now so of course you caught onto that. You've watched their segment on TV before. Something about bringing life to other planets?

You knew the Earth was dying, scientists had announced that someday in the nearing future, the very sun that shone down on you, would destroy you. But did that really matter to you anymore?

The project had been accepting registrations for boarding their new ship incase it happened. Your sister got to register in time but you had been too late. All the slots were filled.

That was a very odd day to say the least.

But that didn't stop you from speaking to Vash.

"Vash, do you ever think you'll see me in the future?" You pondered one night as you were cuddled up in your blankets, the cold being unbearable this winter season.

"Well, I hope so. Sometimes it gets tiring speaking into a thing of metal and plastic hehe.." You could practically hear him playfully grin through the receiver.

You gripped the handle of the phone tight as tears threatened to leave the corner of your eyes.

"I hope I get to see you one day Vash.."

He went quiet for a moment.

"I do too.."

That night, you slept with the phone held to your chest as the fluttering feeling in your stomach never ceased. And you didn't want it to.

Vash had made it a routine to call you every night at exactly midnight to check in on how you were since he couldn't really do it in person either way. And every time he called, it felt as if he heard your voice for the first time all over again. The warmth in his chest made him smile when you answered the phone with the nervous pitch in your voice.

"Vash?"

He found it theraputic to listen as you talked about your day, the normalicy and peace No Man's Land and that his own life had lacked.

Hanging out with friends, reading in libraries, and more.

How he loved it.. Hearing you speak so fondly, so excited, it felt refreshing to Vash.

You were full of life

And Vash wouldn’t trade it for anything.

With every time you spoke his name, he felt like melting into a puddle. He just wanted to hear you repeat his name over and over again, and no, he'll never get tired of it. He could spend an eternity laying in the dusty bed of the farmer’s home just listening to your voice. Listening to your worries, your hopes, and the momentary jokes you would tell him.

But as the days passed, after one full year and a half of the two of you speaking over the old rotary phone, you answered the phone one night with a change clear to Vash. You sounded so weak, so sickly and out of breath.

"Are you alright?" He asked, hearing loud shuffling and things falling on the other line.

"I-I'm fine!" You coughed out as Vash peeked out the old wooden window in the room he was staying in, spotting Wolfwood and the broadcasting girls waiting for him to join them.

"Are you sure?" He breathed out in honest concern, feeling his fingers fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.

"I'm fine Vash, seriously." Your voice weakly echoed through the receiver "Just a little sick, that's all.."

"Please make sure to get some rest okay? I'll ring you when I come back."

"Promise?"

"I promise lov-" Vash caught himself, quickly shutting his mouth.

"Hm?" You hummed out in question.

"Sorry a fly got caught in my throat! Hahaha!" He played off before sighing.

"Take care of yourself, for me okay?"

"I will, I will.." Before Vash put the phone back onto the base, you said one more thing.

"Love you." And with that, the familiar ding of the phone receiver on the other line rang through Vash's ear, signifiying the end of the call.

And Vash was left in utter silence and awe. Love. Love you said. Him?

A fond expression instinctively grew on his face, yet the churning feeling in his stomach wasn't one of butterflies, but one of dread. He couldn't help but leave with the gut feeling that something was wrong.

When Vash returned back to his room and picked up the phone at the same time the two of you would call each other at every day, there was no reponse.

He called your name and no sound came out of the other end. So he put the phone back down onto the base and lifted it back up again to his ear as the same dread slowly seeped into his chest. The room was starting to feel a bit more heavier than usual.

"Hello?" He breathed out nervously as he felt his forehead start to sweat.

"Come on.." He muttered to himself worriedly. Maybe you weren't home in time and had gone to the doctor. Yeah, maybe that's the reason. So Vash left the phone alone for the night for the first time but the prodding feeling in his chest didn't leave.

He tried the next night.

No response.

Maybe you had stayed over your parents' for the day.

He kept the phone by him whilst he napped, waiting for the ring of the phone to wake him up like an alarm, but that didn't come.

He tried the next night, the next night, and continued for the next 3 months until finally.

One night, Vash just stared at the old red phone that hadn’t rung since that day, anticipating at least one final call, one last goodbye from you. Sitting on the bed side, he kept his eyes on the phone until finally Vash couldn’t hold it anymore and cried. Clear waters falling down his cheeks as he tightly held the phone to his chest in desperation.

Did you forget about him?

Did you find the love of your life and decided not to bother with him anymore?

'Come back.'

'Dont leave me please.'

'I love you."

'Please speak to me.'

The string of desparate thoughts ran through his mind as the burning sensation grew in his chest. He can't breathe. He gasped for air as his quiet wails filled the night.

Don't go.

The morning after Vash permanently left the farmer's residence. Of course, he took the phone along too, incase you ever decided to ring back but to Vash's dismay, it never did.

And Vash thought back to you, from time to time, stil wondering if you remembered about the red phone that sat in your room and the idiot blonde on the other side of it.

2 years had passed since that night, and both Vash and the gang found themselves in the city of Augusta for their annual merchant gathering, an event in which all the merchants from around the planet come and trade their valuables or tools in a big, single event.

Crowds of people flooded the streets as the stands were all surrounded to the brim. Vash had been walking beside Wolfwood, who was talking about some bounty hunters causing trouble around when something red caught his eye from an stand that they had walked past, causing Vash to stop in his tracks. Eyes widening in realization, he rushed over to the stall, leaving Wolfwood in the dust.

"H-Hey where are you going!?!" Wolfwood called out but Vash ignored him. His leather clothed hands slammed down on the stall table, the young man who managed the stall yelping in surprise.

"H-HOW CAN I HELP YOU?!" The man nervously shouted out as Vash reached over and picked up a very familiar red rotary phone "Where did you get this!?" He exclaimed in urgency. "How'd you get this!?"

"I-I-" The young man quickly cleared his throat and regained his composure at the sudden burst from the tall blonde-spiked haired man.

"It's a very old device! Back during the old days according to my great-grandmother!"

Vash looked down at the red phone, very dusty but he was able to make out the sticker decorations and doodles that were scattered around on it. Inspecting it more, he turned it around to the back and saw something melancholic.

"12:00 PM Midnight" was written on the back of the base with black marker. The time the two of you would call each other every night those years ago.

"Sorry, is.. is there anyone I could talk to about this?" Vash apologized, giving the young man a somber smile as he held the phone to himself, as if someone were going to rip it away from his grasp.

The man observed Vash for a moment, before nodding and giving Vash directions to his great-grandmother's home, right outside the border of Augusta.

"There you are!" Wolfwoods' voice rang out angrily behind him "The hell did you see now?!"

Vash turned to Wolfwood and simply gave him a smile "We're gonna be paying a visit."

It didn't take long to reach the old worn down home and greet the owner of the property, a small old lady to which surprised Wolfwood that she hadn't kicked the bucket yet.

Vash, of course, elbowed him in the rib for that one.

Seeing the phone in Vash's arms, the lady let out a small smile "My, I haven't seen that phone since I was a child..." She quickly showed Vash and Wolfwood inside, explaining how the phone came to be here.

"According to my grandfather, our lineage began with two sibilngs who were born and raised on Earth. When Earth neared its end, the daughter of the family was able to escape whilst the other sibling unknowingly stayed behind on Earth."

The old lady snapped her fingers to Wolfwood and waved him over "Be a dear for me and put this on the table."

Watching Wolfwood put a very old and deteriorating box on the table, the lady continued.

"Well, the sibling died before the daughter left Earth, so in attempt to preserve her family's memories, the daughter took some of her siblings' things, something to remember them by."

The old lady points to the phone in Vash's arm "That was one of them. And here-" The lady patted on side of the box "-are the things she was able to take with her. Check them out yourself." She softly motioned Vash to come closer with her frail, wrinkled hand.

Hesitating for just a second, he took slow and steady steps towards the box, biting the inside of his cheek in attempt to not just cry.

Damn, he sure felt like a cry baby these days.

Putting the phone down besides the box, Vash reached into the box and pulled out various things. Old shirts, CDs, a wallet, wired headphones, books, and something he never thought he'd ever see in fine print that made his breath hitch.

A colored photo I.D and on the side of it, your full name printed in black.

It was you.

These were your things, these shirts you've worn, the CDs you've listened to, the wallet you used in your day-to-day life, but he kept his eyes on the I.D.

Vash stared at your photo, the features you've described to him once were in his hands, proof of your existence.

He couldn't hold it anymore, how could he? Silent tears ran down his face as the small giggles he let out, turned into full on laughter.

He laughed and laughed whilst holding the I.D close to his heart.

You didn't purposely leave him.

You hadn’t meant to.

The same gracious laughter morphed into sobs as he grabbed everything he had taken out of the box, and enveloped them tightly into his arms.

This was the first time he was able to physically feel you, even if you weren't there yourself. He wished the smell of the favorite perfume you had gotten one day had still lingered onto your shirts, he wished he could've shared and listened to your favorite music alongside you. And he wished you were beside him, looking through all these things with him. He wanted to hear you reminsce your past and your present again.

Oh he wished.

Vash spent hours at the old ladies' home, looking and observing every single one of your belongings. There were some he remembered you talking to him about, and others he didn't recognize.

But it was time for him to leave and Vash knew it.

Looking up at the sky outside, he softly smiled, caressing the small compartment he had your I.D pocketed in.

"C'mon needle-noggin. Time to get your ass moving!" Wolfwood shouted ahead of him.

Letting out a large exhale, Vash muttered out a few words before running to catch up with the priest "Wait up!"

Behind him, two objects were left behind in the sand, placed neatly besides a metal nameplate.

The two red cherry rotary phones glistened in the sun, one filled with stickers and the other covered in dirt and scuff marks as your name plate, that had been cleaned of any dirt or scratches, continued to sit in peace as the windy breeze passed on by.

"I'll live on. For the both of us."

#but its ok yall together in the next life :D #i made vash cry too much but he's such a sweetheart im sorry #vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader #trigun imagines #nicholas d wolfwood #trigun angst #vash imagine #one shot #no sugarcoating straight angst half way through #trigun stampede x reader #was not physical comfort but instead acceptance comfort #was gonna write a bonus paragraph but my eyes burn i've reread this too many times #i have procrastinated on exactly 3 assignments that are due today #vash the stampede #trigun headcanons #i'll edit it later

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hybbat · 1 year

Text

"You saved me so I can kill you", "my wretch of a wife", and "30 seconds" all happened in this series, yet y'all cry divorce on the ranchers.

#and i dont mean this in a 'theyre secretly cuddling between sessions uwu' way #i mean all their interactions have been at most silly at least completely neutral #yall act like theyre bitterly trying to murder each other in every scene theyve been in together #like the one time they ever dealt damage to the other wasnt immediately followed by an apology #the fh people are still out here even after the entirety of dl and 24l so far and yall are here acting like ranchers is made of sugar glass #team rancher #if you like angst thats fine but theres so many post crying that its all over #or acting like its a struggle #you dont need copium when they havent even done anything #sorry but every other duo gets a dramatic devastating moment to point to for why theyre divorced #and the worst ranchers get is 'if we ever 1v1 i could totally beat you anyways running away now' for people to act just as devastated #sorry im super salty this week #and just tired of rancher tags being walls of 'the world is ending and theres no recovery'

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vivitheanimaxen · 5 months

Text

It had been almost a full moon cycle, and there was no sign of Tango anywhere.

Etho wouldn't say it out loud, but he was starting to get really worried. He knew better than anyone just how dangerous ocean currents could get in a storm, and how unpredictable they could end up being. Etho himself had been thrown into a crevasse he'd never seen before, which was great luck.

It meant that there wasn't a chance of him getting beached again. Etho made a habit of knowing which direction the shore was at all times, because land meant humans, and humans meant nothing good.

It hadn't taken long for Etho to get back to the valley where Doc's pod was set up, and beyond some minor scrapes and bruising, he'd gotten out of the whole incident pretty well off. Bdubs showed up a few days after him, cut up and missing a few scales, but not much worse for wear either.

And then a quarter-moon went by without Tango showing up. There wer no signs of him, period. Because of their connections through Doc and a few of the other big pods in the area, it was hard for a mer as distinctive looking as Tango to drop completely out of the ocean.

The only way for that to happen was if he'd been hurt bad enough to where he couldn't swim, or he'd been trapped somewhere he couldn't get out of.

That, or he'd been beached.

After a half-moon, Etho suspected that Tango was dead. Or worse.

Hopefully he was dead.

The hivemind had been able to track the storm that had caught Etho's pod off guard.

As it turns out, a large stationary pod in a very distinct location was a very good rendezvous point. The hivemind eventually got their hands on every rumor and scrap of news that made it's way through this part of the ocean.

The storm had swept inland, through a section of sea that was little more than sandbank after sandbank before it ran straight into the shore. It was seeming more and more like Tango had been beached.

Bdubs was insisting that they go looking for him.

Etho couldn't help but be hesitant about what they might find.

In the end, Etho gave in to Bdubs' desires, and they gathered what they needed to go searching. Etho made sure to pack a wide variety of medicines, things to fight an infection, even materials to splint a broken bone. He didn't know how badly Tango might've been hurt-- but it wasn't any question that he was.

And with a series of directions from the hivemind, they were off.

It was a tense quarter-moon for Etho, that was for sure. He hated being this close to land. Etho insisted on giving the human settlements right on the water a wide berth, so it took even longer for them to make any ground.

Etho didn't know what to expect or if they would find any signs of Tango at all.

Bdubs seemed convinced that they would find something.

Etho couldn't decide if finding Tango's scales on that jetty was a good thing or a bad thing.

They'd sheltered in a cove for the day, wanting to get out from under the pounding waves. Bdubs had found a sheltered spot where the waves wouldn't push them right up onto the sand. It was a place that formed a little eddy, where the debris was built up. There was a lot of seaweed and driftwood and human trash caught there.

It had been a flash of sun off some of that human trash that made Etho look closer.

It wasn't human trash at all-- and there were broken scales caught up in the mess. That was mer gear-- pouches and belts made from woven kelp and grasses, even some tools made from shell and flint. After looking closer, Etho's heart dropped out of his chest.

This was Tango's gear, those were Tango's scales, and someone-- or something-- had cut them off. Etho had never heard Bdubs as quiet as he was while they were picking through the mess, and he would probably never hear Bdubs that quiet again.

But the thing that really signed Tango's death sentence was the shredded sections of fishing net tangled in with his gear. And with how clean those cuts were?

Etho dropped what he was holding like it had burnt him. He turned away, squeezing his eyes shut against the dawning horror.

Humans had gotten to Tango. A fate worse than death.

"Etho?" Bdubs drifted closer, "Etho, are you-- are you okay?"

Etho couldn't respond, focused as he was on the water pumping over his gills and the flexing of his spines. The last thing he needed was to stick Bdubs right now. The hivemind had helped him to mix an antidote of sorts for his venom, after he'd accidentally gotten Tango once, but it still wasn't fun to experience.

And this close to a human road? Where they could be spotted if they weren't careful? It would be a death sentence for both of them.

"Hey. Hey-- Etho look at me--" Bdubs took Etho's face carefully in his hands, tipping his face up so their gazes met, "Whatever happened to Tango, we'll find him, alright?"

Etho hugged himself tighter, pressing his spines flat, "The humans got him, Bdubs. That's-- the cuts in his gear? In the netting? It's too clean to be anything but humans. Or another mer, but mer wouldn't cut off another mer's gear and discard it like trash."

"We'll still find him, Etho. Right? We've got to."

Etho puffed out a mouthful of bubbles, trying not to show the despair coating his every thought, "Sure, Bdubs."

"We can comb this place for any clues, I'm sure the humans would have left something." Bdubs gently laced his fingers into Etho's, pulling him away from the rocks, "Let's find a spot to sleep, it's almost noon and we've been up all night. We can come back after dark, all the humans will be asleep and we'll be able to search everything in peace."

Etho nodded, letting Bdubs lead him away. There was nothing they could do. Not right now, when the threat of being seen by humans was so great.

So, they found a sheltered place to hide, and Bdubs left Etho there while he went on a quick hunt. They'd brought food with them, rations that would last for days yet, but they needed to save that for when they found Tango. And right now, Etho was in no state of mind to be hunting.

Bdubs returned maybe an hour later, bringing with him a couple fish and a bundle of edible seaweed, pulled straight from the silt.

Etho ate what he could stomach-- which wasn't much-- and then curled up with Bdubs to hopefully get some rest.

They went back to the beach in the evening.

The tide was low, leaving numerous tidepools along the edges of the jetty where they'd found Tango's gear. Etho and Bdubs combed the beach like a pair of basking sharks, looking for any more signs that Tango had been there. They only came up with more meaningless debris and a few more of Tango's scales.

It was a testament to how distracted Etho was, that the humans had managed to get so close without him noticing. They were practically right in top of him, out on the rocks of the jetty.

"Shhh-- Skizz, you gotta turn off the light or you're gonna scare it away--"

"Ugh, fine. But it's you're own fault if you trip and fall into the water and drown."

Ironically, it'd been the sound of their voices that had alerted Etho to the human's presence, not the dim light they were using to navigate. He immediately took advantage of the light clicking off to dart into the shadows of the rock, whistling a desperate warning to Bdubs.

Also ironically, Bdubs didn't take the warning as a sign to hide. In fact, he popped his head above the water to get a better look.

Etho made a split-second decision, tackling Bdubs back down into the shadows where they could both stay safe and hidden, but it was too late. They'd surely been seen. Both of them.

"Why did you do that? Those might be the humans that took Tango!" Bdubs protested, squirming against Etho's grip.

"That's exactly why, Bdubs." Etho hissed, his eyes peeled for any sort of movement from the humans, "They might try to take us too--"

"Alright, fine. But we should still see if they have anything of Tango's."

"We are not attacking a group of humans. There's only two of us."

"There's only two of them too! We could take them. Especially if I can get them into the water."

"They aren't going to be lured in like fish, Bdubs, and there might be more of them." Etho frowned, letting go of his pod-mate, "But I might be able to get them into the water. But you've gotta stay right here. And stay hidden. Got that?"

Bdubs nodded. Etho could tell he wanted to ask more questions, but as long as he would stay put, Etho would answer all of them. Later.

Etho carefully poked his head above the water to listen, trying to gather more information on what was going on.

"I wasn't seeing things, right? There's two merpeople down there."

"Yeah, I saw them too. They know we're here though. I didn't see where they went. Can you?"

"No dude, they've completely disappeared!"

Good. They were hidden well enough.

"I've got a recording of tango on my phone from before he started talking. Maybe we can get them to come up?"

"That might work. Just be careful."

Etho had been preparing to call back to the humans in their own language, hoping to mimic the sound of one in trouble to get them close enough to pull into the sea with them, when he heard it.

That was Tango's voice. Calling out for him and Bdubs.

Etho choked on air, unable to help his own answering cry before he bit down on his hand to stop himself. No. It was a trick. Etho knew what a recording was. He'd seen them before, heard them before.

The voice was slurred and in pain, and flat in a way that only recordings could be, but it was unmistakably Tango.

The humans were trying to catch him and Bdubs too. That was the only reason they'd do this.

And the worst part was, it might actually work.

Their reaction to his call was immediate, the scuffling of human feet on rock coming closer to them. Etho couldn't focus, not with Tango's voice in his ears. He couldn't bring himself to duck away, to avoid being seen.

Bdubs popped up beside him a moment later, his fellow mer scanning the rocks for any sign of their missing podmate, "Etho-- What? Do they have Tango with them? I can hear him--"

Etho shook his head, fangs still buried in his hand to prevent himself from calling Tango's name, paralyzed as the pair of humans slid down the rocks down to where the tidal pools were, mere feet away from him and Bdubs.

Etho couldn't do anything but watch as he brought a fate worse than death down on the head of his last remaining podmate.

#ethoslab #bdubs #impulsesv #skizzleman #angst #minor self harm #panic attack #aka Etho has a trauma response #viviwrites #emberfish au #dont mind me #yall get a treat #it was time for a different perspective methinks #and I enjoy writing for Etho #we're totally not procrastinating my original story that i should be writing #its fiiiiiiiiiiiine #hermitfic

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kaeyachi · 10 months

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Kaeya runs after Klee across the vast and open grasslands of Mondstadt. Their giggles are scattered by the winds, sounding much like a duet between wind chimes and piano keys.

Diluc stares in wonder from a distance.

He swears he could see his father chasing both him and Kaeya across the very same fields. He could hear their giggles- like a symphony, being scattered by the same winds. His father scoops down and reaches for the red and blue blurs. He manages to capture the both of them, eliciting loud laughter and protests.

Then Diluc blinks.

The illusion falls. It was Kaeya, not their father, who managed to capture the giggling little girl instead of two young boys, spinning her around as he hugged her tightly.

Diluc may have his father's hair.

His father's nose.

His father's mind.

He still isn't like his father at all. In his opinion, his similarities with the man are all superficial.

Diluc feels an ache in his chest as he continues to observe the duo dance together, as if they were in their own little world.

Diluc turns around and walks back home alone with one thought in mind.

Kaeya is like their father in the ways that mattered the most.

- a companion piece to this post-

#oh its diluc angst this time #yes its a companion post ehe #diluc #diluc ragnvindr #kaeya #kaeya alberich #klee #inspired by the recent events because kaeya was being very parent in my opinion!#ALSO DONT TRUST DILUC #he is very much like his father too #beyond the so called superficial #diluc just cant see beyond the lens of kaeya looking like a parent #diluangst to partner up with the kaeyangst #did yall know that kaeya is giggly

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illyth · 5 months

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Me, after getting completely burnt out by a job and not writing creatively for like four years: man I really should think about writing something again. I just need to find something I am passionate about to use as a jumping off point *immediately starts writing LU fanfic*

I'm gonna post the full thing on AO3 either tomorrow or Sunday but for the time being I just wanted to share this somewhere. This is a 400 word excerpt of a single chapter that is maybe half written and already 2000 words and I am planning on there being 3 chapters total so hand to god trust me there will be context at some point (if you know me irl no you don't jk y'all know im a complete gremlin for fanfic) Idk how good it is exactly but its the first thing I have written in so long that I actually want other people to see and I crave feedback, so do with that what you will lmao

cw: violence, blood, injury, the slightest body horror

Time and the Deity both snarled, lunging the god’s blade forward. Majora flung itself forward as well, its inhuman screams reaching a frenzied pitch as it whipped its clawlike hands towards the Deity’s face. Behind it, he could see the length of the helix greatsword erupting from the monstrosity’s back, spraying black blood outwards into the moonlight. But Majora pushed forward still, and Time could feel the Deity’s revulsion as its fingers grasped the sides of their face. Time braced himself for it to rake its claws against his face in dying spite, but something changed. Gently, oh so gently, Majora sank its claws into the flesh below his ears. The Deity screamed in rage and pain, but Time felt no pain. Instead, Time felt callused fingers slip into the seams between the Deity’s consciousness and his own and felt roughly textured knuckles run across his face while the Fierce Deity’s power was pulled from him. In a brief flash of light, Time felt the Fierce Deity fully recede back to his mask.

Time came back to himself holding the Fierce Deity’s blade as it began slowly dissolving into light, the crimson blood dripping from its edges and darkening the dirt beneath them. His mind was hazy and unfocused, as if stunned by a thunderclap. His faculties began returning, but there was a lethargy to them he just couldn’t shake. A distant corner of his brain recognized his brothers in the background, but whatever they were saying couldn’t pierce the numbing in his ears. Inches away from him, Time saw the host of Majora begin trembling. The Fierce Deity’s mask slipped through scarred fingers and dropped to the ground. The host reached towards Majora’s mask with a black arm that was covered in elaborate etchings and ornamentation. After a moment, the cursed mask came loose before also dropping to the ground, clattering off the Deity’s mask. All sound was muffled save for the plip of blood drops staining the masks below as Time’s mind struggled to process the sight in front of him “…Wild?” he managed to wheeze out after a moment’s pause. This didn’t make any sense. Where did Majora go? And why was Wild standing right where-

Time’s thoughts ground to a halt as he looked lower. The helix blade wielded by the Deity, shaking slighting in his weakening grip, was rammed through Wild’s chest to the hilt.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu wild #lu time #my writings #Me: I could write anything #Also me: I want to write this tho #Listen I had literally no clue this AU/fandom existed until after I beat Tears of the Kingdom #but I am already such a fucking sucker for Wild angst #and since I have already read through frankly an unreasonable amount of works on AO3 #(and holy shit yall are so talented omg).#I am making my own #fanfiction #cw violence #cw body horror #but its so slight I swear

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qeyond · 1 year

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Death Note au where Light is stuck in a time loop and no matter what he does L always dies, he freaks out, and the loop begins again. L's fate is so tangled and twisted around Lights plans from the very start, or perhaps it was simply always written to be this way, but no matter how far back he unravels it all he can't stop L's passing. Light tries again and again and again, relentlessly, to change their futures but it feels eternal. Endless. At a certain point Light realizes he can sacrifice himself to ensure L's survival. But no matter what, it all restarts. After a decent number of resets, L catches on to the time loop and with each reset his memories grow stronger, until he's fully aware of his entanglement with Light. They spend eternity searching for a branch in time that's strong enough to hold them both. They learn to weather the storm and to cherish their time together, seeing it as a blessing despite.

#qeyond sucks #lawlight #death note #l lawliet #light yagami #im sure its been done before but you know i gotta think about lawlight angst at least once a day #light for sure starting to lose his mind and grip on reality after the first 50 resets #and if it wasnt for L also gaining consciousness of the situation he'd be truly lost to the abyss of cruel fate #they die forever for the other #i think theyll find that time line that can contain them both eventually though <3 #if anyone could They would #do yall want me to tag this stuff with something so i dont bombard you with anguish #give your hearts a break

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liverpool-enjoyer · 1 month

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fuck crying to songs because you relate to them, ever heard of crying to songs because you DONT relate to them? and never will? (me with fifteen by taylor swift)

#sorry for annoying yall with my angst #i told myself i'd stop after last time #but im in my feelings again #but yeah i wanna relate to fifteen SO BAD #ONCE just ONCE i wanna be able to relate to a love song #even if its a sad one #even if its all too well

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lets-try-some-writing · 8 months

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i wish more continuities played with the horror of being revived after your (presumably) grisly demise. It must be real traumatizing right?? Like, it's gotta be! It could really help with characterizing/building a particular character too (cough optimus cough).

You my dear requester have come to exactly the right writer for this request. I have a fic based on this general premise called A Mere Shadow if you are interested. However, I will never turn down the chance to hurt my blorbo even more.

I may have gone a bit nuts with this concept so hold on-

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

A Shadow of Death

Optimus Prime has been faced with death many times. Even as Orion Pax he did not fear it. Death was a fact of life, one he came to accept in his youth. The Matrix only further eliminated that intrinsic desire to flee the possibility of being killed. To a certain extent, it was a blessing as it kept him from faltering at crucial moments, even if he was met with pain for his determination.

Blaster shots a little too close to his spark chamber for comfort, stab wounds deep enough to be concerning, plague of the deadly variety, and more close calls than he dared to count... they were all nothing compared to the true call and agony of death. The fire that rained down on the base that fateful cycle was torture for Optimus. When Smokescreen found him, he very nearly begged Primus to let him die. Only once he was dragged away did he have time to think and to rationalize. Living in that state was a torment, but at the time, he knew it was to end. He made his peace with death long ago. He did not fear its embrace.

It was painful, but it was meant to end. He felt his spark abandon his frame, he sensed his mortality fading as he gave up his life in the line of duty. He was not content, but he was ready to pass and leave the burden behind. It had been so long, and finally, death welcomed him into its patient arms. Its chill wrapped around him, digging into the core of his being. It ached, but it was not unpleasant, especially as he began to see the fallen welcoming him, beckoning him to come home. His attachments faded and for the first time since he was a youngling, he was at peace. He did not expect to be drawn back sharply by a power he instinctively knew belonged to another Prime. He did not know what to think when he woke in his new frame, one built stronger, faster, and more capable. However he knew it was wrong, or rather his frame was not the only thing about him to change.

There was not time to think or time to consider. All he could do was fight and spend the next several cycles focused on getting his team settled. They needed to see he was strong, and so he kept up the façade as weeks passed and a shadow of death hung over him. He could not tell them, for what would he say? How was he supposed to explain the oddities that hung around him at all hours, making him suffer in silence while unable to speak. Something didn't let him, almost as if there were rules that forbade him to reveal that which weighed on him to those who could not sense his discomfort as he could.

It began the first time he returned to their new base after a scouting mission. He had been chilled ever since he was reforged and thought it perhaps due to his spark adjusting to the new frame or vice versa. He spent hours flying and moving, working his engine and his thrusters to the point of his plating being hot to the touch. Despite that... he was cold, not in painful manner, but merely... uncomfortable. It was enough to keep his senses sharp and yet it was unnatural. He went to Ratchet to try and have his frame examined, but all the doctor could tell him was that it must have been a quirk of his reforging. His systems were operating fine and his fans were regulating his temperature even better than before. There was no reason for him to feel chilled unless it was a mental issue. At that Ratchet attempted to have him sit down for a mental exam, but Optimus waved it off as his frame still taking time to settle.

Optimus did not bring up the topic again, not even when he stood beside burning buildings and still felt that coldness seeping into his protoform. He could feel digits caressing his plating, yet when he tried to check his sensors, there was nothing there. The cold haunted him, and in the end, he wrote it off as a punishment of eluding death one too many times.

The cold was bearable, but he hated recharge with a passion. Up until his reforging, recharge was one of the rare blessed moment of rest he was allowed. But now? He dreaded every instance where his frame demanded time to recover. He tried to drag it out for as long as he could with additives and all sorts of substitutes for rest, including plugging his processors into the database to defrag while he was still up and active. But in the end, the need eventually came, or the team would grow suspicious and he would be forced to retreat to his berth all the same.

Laying down for recharge was always comforting. It was familiar and allowed age old routine to take over, allowing him to vent deeply and simply feel for a while. But that is when the trouble always started. Optimus could never stop himself from feeling the pull of recharge. Once it set in, he couldn't move. His frame froze up and despite him being quite active mentally, his frame eased and rested, falling into recharge long before he did. Sometimes his optics were unshuttered, other times they weren't when the paralysis set in. Whatever the case, it always felt like he was back in that cave, bleeding out and in agony. It was terrifying to be stuck in that paralysis before recharge as nearly every time there was a haunting moment when his vents failed to work and his spark ceased in its blaze for but a nanoklik. But Primus, that one nanoklik always felt like an eternity where his frame almost seemed uncertain if it was alive or dead.

At the end of that long nanoklik he could feel digits running along his frame and he could see things in the corner of his vision regardless of whether or not his optics were functioning. Whispers that he could not comprehend echoed in his audials as his frame began to ache, desperate for ventilation and for energon to continue flowing. Then just as it started to grow unbearable, almost as if he were about to die, then his frame would return to its normal functioning and the paralysis would fade. For the first few deca-cycles after his restoration, Optimus threw himself to his pedes after such incidents and took up the night watch, unwilling to recharge after the threat of death hung over him.

He almost went to Ratchet, he almost burdened his oldest friend with his fears. So many cycles he spent nearly half in recharge as he fought against the need for rest, terrified of that looming death that never came. He did not fear death, but its agony was something he grew to be wary of. It was nearly enough to force him to act and plead with his team for aid. However in the end... he abstained, even though it pained him more when the dreams began.

Optimus had always dreamed, even as Orion. It was part of his nature, and gaining the Matrix only gave his dreams more vividness and viability. And yet... after being reforged, he no longer dreamed at all, at least not as he used to. When he fell into recharge, he found himself in a void with no light, no sound, and nothing to help him determine if he was up, down, or even within his own frame. He could never see his servos, nor could he sense himself moving if he willed himself to. He was simply left in a world of darkness for hours, unable to feel anything except the chill that plagued him during his waking cycles. That alone was nerve wracking but manageable due to the strange sense of peace he found within that void. Sometime he could swear he saw motes of light dash past him, slipping through that void and vanishing before he had time to observe them. He made it habit to search out those motes of light while within the void that came for him during recharge. It kept him occupied and made the chill less startling.

He learned to recharge through it all, but never for long. The lack of rest made itself known throughout his waking hours as he wandered and did his work. The chill kept him awake, but he could not stop himself from feeling the pull of that cold void whenever his focus slipped. It was almost as though it was calling him, trying to reclaim him after he escaped its grasp. Sometimes when he was particularly unfocused, he would find himself standing under the stars, watching and observing, unable to move as his mind seemed to leave the confines of his frame. In those instances he could sense things, he could see those same motes of light dashing around him, and with time, he came to understand what they were.

Life, sparks, souls.

It took time, but he came to understand. By the time Megatron was gunning to rebuild the Omega Lock and Ratchet left to join that effort, Optimus found himself... colder. He had never feared death, it was a part of life he didn't care to know but accepted all the same. Now though? Now he understood it. The chill forever sunk into his frame, and he noted that what once was a mere mental issue became reality. He was cold to the touch, even after battle. Things grew to be more distant, or rather less important as the cycles passed him by. The void that he walked in was trying to reclaim him. He could sense it in the way his spark flared and grew dimmer. The void wanted him back, and every day he was drawn closer to it.

What frightened him after his reforging grew to be commonplace. He didn't fear it anymore. The void that came in dreams came to be a second home of sorts, one he grew more adept at seeing the sparks within. It seemed wrong for him to be at peace with the way his mind shifted and how he no longer was terrified of those brief moments where his frame threatened to fail. It simply did not bother him when he saw the void in the corners of his vision or when chilled digits touched him. It became familiar, and with that familiarity, the living realm grew more distant.

He did not emote often, at least not as the others did. Now he did not express himself at all. There was no need. The world was changed for him. The team worried but chalked it up to Ratchet being gone. They were partially correct. Without that mortal tie, the cold came and seeped deeper, making it easier to slip and see the cracks, the thinner places between reality where sparks darted, returning to their maker after their lives ended. It fascinated him, even though it often had him staring into what the others considered empty space when he was supposed to be acting.

He was changing, and what fully solidified that for him was when he began to feel the chill of death closing in around others. He first noted it around Vehicons, mainly those who had brushes with death or were unfortunately killed in combat. There was little he could do for them, as usually by the time he noted the chill, it had already wrapped around the Vehicon in question, dooming them to their fate. He only acted when he felt it around Arcee before she tried to enter a groundbridge. It was harder to feel, but he still stopped her. When questioned, he found he could not speak and explain, so he opted for vague wording, hoping it would help her to see and understand.

Arcee: Optimus, what was that for?

Optimus: You cannot go there. The chill follows you.

Arcee: Sir? What does that mean.

Optimus: Danger Arcee. A threat I cannot save you from.

Arcee: I don't understand-

Optimus: You do not need to. I sense the chill, I see the looming cloud. Do not go. You shall not return if you do.

Harder to focus, harder to think. Whenever he was not working, Optimus watched the sparks come and go, observing with a strange distant affection he could not place. All the while the chill grew deeper, closer to his spark, and his frame became weary despite its power. He was changing...

And the void wanted him back.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #optimus prime #team prime #angst #shadow of death au #death #alternate universe #Optimus has problems #but he can't say anything about it because of eldritch rules #I love me a mortal turned monster story #can any of yall pick up the hints of my death au here?#Yeah this is kinda a reverse of that #only this time it aint death learning to feel #instead its a mortal learning to let go

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