Who is trying to fix Skywarp up? Is it Ratchet? Hoist? …hook, in mourning? None of the above? I feel like skywarp would require a lot of help.
Kaput (on the right) is a medic that specialized in the study of sparks, so he seemed like the appropriate guy to work on Skywarp's malfunctioning outlier ability. Fixit is his little buddy, cuz I think he's neat.
My submission for @turbofox-zines RESCUE BOTS Zine VOL 2.
Here we have the Rescue Bots and Team Bee playing Lob Ball. Since we have seen Blur in the style of RiD and Sideswipe in RB, I wanted to see what the rest of the rescue team would look like if they were to visit Crown City. So I did my best to mimic the style RiD had with the rest of the RB team.
Thank you to Turbofox for inviting me as a guest artist!
Hope you all love this page like I love both RB and RiD ❤️
Tommy goes rigid, eyes wide and disbelieving. And, okay, they've been apart way longer than they were together, but— "Evan, come on.."
If it's a self worth thing, Buck gets that. They have common ground in that and they can work through it together. But if Tommy just doesn't believe him, doesn't believe that Buck knows his own heart? That's insulting.
"I love you, you asshole." Buck's eyes are hot. His heart thumps hard in his chest, a good hurt. "I know I love you because I miss you so much. Because i-it hurts to think about my life without you– and I think about you every day." Sometimes it's straight up wanting Tommy back, sometimes it's frustration that Tommy gave up on them before they had a chance to really try. He's not just lonely, he's missing part of himself, a whole half of himself he went a lifetime without and when he finally found it - found his person - there's just no way he can keep pretending like everything is fine being only half of himself.
But it's not just about him. He knows that, he's not an idiot. Tommy needs to hear that Buck isn't just being selfish, that the reason he wants to be together isn't just because Buck doesn't want to be alone and because Tommy treats him so well.
It's so much more than that.
His flare of anger burns up quick, gives way to sparks of longing.
"I love you because I know you, Tommy." And Tommy is worth loving. "I know you get up at dawn because you like watching the sunrise." Even if it meant leaving Buck alone in bed for twenty minutes. He's pretty sure Tommy always whispered for him to stay, sleep, warm hands stroking his bare arms and the softest kiss pressed to his temple, his curls, the back of his neck.
Buck doesn't know the exact reason why Tommy does it. He could guess, but he'd rather Tommy trust him enough, trust them enough, to share that part of himself. He knows some things about Tommy, but he's greedy. Buck wants to know the why behind everything.
"And on cloudy mornings it always takes a couple cups of coffee until you're not so grumbly."
Buck secretly loved those mornings. The few times where he was out of bed before Tommy and got to make him coffee. Tommy's arm would curl around him in the kitchen, a kiss pressed to his cheek, chin resting on his shoulder as he patiently waited for the coffee to brew.
"And you have reading glasses you don't wear." Tommy looks startled at that, like it was some well-kept secret Buck couldn't and shouldn't have known. "You never wore them when you were with me, and I don't know if you wear them now, but I saw you squinting at your books sometimes and I wanted to take them out of their hiding place and fit them on your nose and hook them behind your ears so you wouldn't be straining for something you enjoy. I want that— to take care of you."
It strikes a chord with Tommy, Buck can see it. The shift behind his eyes: the longing. Tommy wants that, too. He wants to let someone in.
"You don't like olives. But you won't change your order, you'll just eat them and not make a fuss," when we were together, Buck thinks. Because he's come to realise the ways Tommy folded himself up to not make a fuss, not matter how many times his bitchy attitude made an appearance he still didn't let his wants make things more complicated. "You're not as slick as you think you are. I see the face you make."
"I don't make a face," Tommy insists, a hint of that beautiful bitchiness coming through. But he doesn't deny it.
"There's a face. It's like—" he does his best impression of a subtly displeased Tommy, which earns him a scoff that's more humour than annoyance. It eases some of the tension and makes Buck smile. "You like old-timey music. Find it romantic." They danced to it in Buck's kitchen. Tommy mouthed the words, hummed the melody in his ear. "But you also love Bruce Springsteen," and Buck swallows down the memory of attending that concert with Bobby years ago; he'll share it - he wants to share, too - but not right now. "And that witchy woman with the blonde hair—"
"Stevie Nicks."
"Yeah, and your workout playlist is full of pop music," he says, like a gotcha! moment but not a bad one. It's an: I do know you, one. "And you don't think I know."
Tommy gathers himself for a moment, then purses his lips. "I didn't choose that playlist, it was premade. I just searched for 'workout songs'—"
Buck's laugh bubbles out of him as he removes some more of the distance between them. "You run cold, even in L.A. And I loved cuddling with you because I run hot, and I liked being able to warm you up, just a little." He never really thought about it at the time. Probably because most of their cuddling led to sex which was a very efficient warming method. But he's been thinking back over their time together, going over every memory - because he didn't want to forget; because he wanted to know where he went wrong; because it comforted him even through his heartbreak. He remembers finding comfort in Tommy's embrace, in their shared warmth, and the goosebumps on Tommy's forearms when they left a restaurant in the night air, or when they sat together on the couch.
"I liked cuddling with you, too," Tommy shares. It bolsters Buck further.
"I loved wearing your clothes," Buck confesses, achingly fond and aching in the empty part of him where there's been a Tommy shaped cavern for too damn long. "Felt like you were with me, even when you weren't." Not having any of Tommy's hoodies to wear after the breakup was a double-edged sword; he probably wouldn't have taken them off. But he wore one of the sleep shirts he stole (Tommy let him steal) for weeks before he threw it into the wash after he ran out of sugar and almost wore it to the store.
"You looked good in my clothes," Tommy says, quiet, like it's only meant for his own ears. He looks like he wants to say more about it but sobers and changes tact. Tries to put back the distance Buck has been gaining. "You don't know everything—"
"I want to know," Buck cuts off Tommy's attempt to push him away, refuses to let him retreat, give up, think so lowly of himself. Buck wants to know all of him, wants to be let inside Tommy's walls and prove he's not a threat. "And whatever it is won't change the way I feel about you, I promise."
"Evan," Tommy pleads. "You can't promise that."
"I can and I do. That's what love is, right? Loving someone anyway." It's what Buck's wanted his whole life, and now he has the chance to love someone that way.
But Tommy still won't let himself have this. Buck can see the fear holding him back.
"I'm not him." Buck won't say his name, doesn't want to trigger Tommy in this moment that should be theirs. This moment belongs to them. "You're not not enough for me, Tommy." You're everything, he doesn't say, doesn't want to get the wrong message across like last time. "I love you for you, not some idolised version of you. And I'm sorry I didn't find the right words the first time around." Tommy's smile is tentative, wobbly, his eyes sad. "I want to prove that to you, if you'll let me." Buck reaches his hands up to cradle Tommy's face, stubble grounding under his touch, and something in him lights up when Tommy doesn't pull away. "Please let me."
Tommy searches his eyes for a moment and Buck lets him see everything he's feeling, all the love he has for him plain on his face.
"What if I'm not easy to love?" Tommy whispers, like some terrible secret.
Buck's laugh is watery. "And I am?"
"Loving you is like breathing, Evan," Tommy breathes, and Buck's heart skips a beat. "How could I not?"
Tommy loves him.
Tommy loves him?!
"You love me?" Buck.. did not know that. Did he know that? He hoped Tommy would love him but it didn't actually factor into his own confession. This wasn't transactional, he didn't expect anything in return except the hope that Tommy would let himself be loved. Buck does have a lot of practice loving people who don't love him back, so it wasn't—
Tommy's hand fits over his where he's still holding Tommy's cheek. He grasps it gently and turns to press a lingering kiss to his palm. "Of course I love you."
The words don't bowl him over. It's not a surprise, it's more like.. a weight off his chest and getting an unburdened lungful of air for the first time in almost a year. It's something warm suffusing him from the inside out and lighting up where their bodies meet, where Tommy is holding him, pressing loving kisses into his skin. "You love me," Buck says. It's a revelation, a universal truth that he should've known but never thought to ask.
Tommy's laugh is watery now, a few happy tears - Buck thinks they're happy - dropping from his lashes. Buck's thumbs sweep under his eyes to catch them.
"So.. we love each other," he says slowly, unable to keep his smile in check. "I want to be with you. Do you.." It seems silly. Is it silly? Maybe. But saying and doing are different things. There's steps, right? Buck doesn't want to speed ahead, not again. He wants to do this right. He needs to do this right, for Tommy. If Tommy needs time, space, he'll give him that. He'll give him anything—
"Why be apart when we can be together, right?"
Their smiles break free, no more fear holding them back. It's not gone but it's not calling the shots anymore.
They meet in a kiss. Buck pours everything he feels for Tommy into this kiss all the while hoping he gets to do it again, and again, and again. And Tommy presses the same right back - Buck can feel him breaking free of the restraints that bound him, that stopped him from being his full self with Buck, stopped himself from having something good, from letting himself love and be loved. Buck can't wait to know all of him, and his grin grows so wide at the future unfurling between them that their lips have to part, but he doesn't pull away. They stay close, noses brushing and hands grasping.
And Tommy stole his line so it's only fair to steal his. He brushes the words across Tommy's lips: "What are you doing Saturday?"
synopsis: for a while now, weverse has allowed fans to ‘dm’ their favourite idols. it’s controlled, it’s monitored, it’s all very pc… until you come along one drunken night and break the rules. what is supposed to be a harmless act of communication quickly spirals into much, much more and begs the question, how far should communication between a fan and an idol really go?
