#no muted sensor
countrysong-x · 2 months ago
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darkusharpus · a year ago
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amor-moved · 3 years ago
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my clown babies!! i gave happy a bit of a makeover today. one might say im ruining a 40 year old music box. i say im just reminding him he’s loved and part of the furb family
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cor-armatum · a month ago
Do you feel everything that happens to the Magnus armor, or is there a layer of separation between you and the suit?
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“I do, unless I start muting sensor feedback and cutting off necessary data. The sensations between my frame and the armor are different — a given, when seeing how different they are — but I do feel what the armor feels.”
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a-sweet-pea · 25 days ago
Humans are Megafauna
A/N: Inspired by the likes of "Humans are Space Orcs" and "Humans are Space Fae", a little dabble into the world of scifi! I had vain hopes of elaborating on the italicized portions and writing them out properly, but I think it's been sitting in my drafts gathering dust long enough. Consider this a late xmas gift, with a repost of its beginning (which you might recognize as Untitled Exoplanet).
The Charys - Ship’s Log - Cycle 308
10.08.00 - Pulse Drive Failure
10.08.01 - Charys exits Hyperspace
Solar System Report -
Yellow Dwarf Star
13 Planets (9 solid, 4 gaseous)
11.35.87 - Charys enters Gravity Well of Exoplanet
Exoplanet Report
Tertiary in orbit of central star
87kf diameter - Molten Core, Solid Plate Surface
Liquid Water - Present
Carbon-Based Life - Present
14.12.76 - Charys enters Atmosphere of Exoplanet
14.13.09 - Charys reaches terminal velocity
14.13.67 - Charys reaches subsonic speed
14.13.71 - Air brakes deployed
Atmospheric Entry and Descent Report
Hull Ablation: Minimal
Aerodynamic Heating: Within acceptable range
Terminal Velocity: 1.3*
14.13.98 - Impact
Expedition Log
C.J - At 14.15.23, Charys has landed on the exoplanet, no major injuries sustained by crew.
Z - My thorax is sore.
W - She said major injuries.
C.J - Landing site experiencing heavy precipitation, but the Charys was able to navigate through open bay door of superstructure and onto raised platform.
Z - Let the record show that the Charys had help from an expert pilot.
O.T. Who is going to have their channel shut down if they don’t stop interrupting.
C.J - Sensors indicate the presence of plant matter containing fructose within 3f, in sufficient quantities to refill both fuel tanks and food stores. First officer, pilot, and engineer to remain onboard to assess damages, Captain will leave the ship to scout location of plant matter.
W - As the exobiologist, I feel I should accompany you, Captain.
C.J - No one else is to leave the ship.
W - Captain, we are on an exoplanet with a superstructure indicating the presence of intelligent-
C.J - No one else is to leave the ship until I have established that it is safe to do so. Then you are welcome to join me.
Z - Just Telerin?
C.J - Once I have established the safety of the environment, the entirety of the crew is welcome to explore the exoplanet surface, with the understanding that, should we at any point encounter the presence of alien life, it is the Captain’s responsibility to mitigate first contact.
Z - I can’t say hi?
C.J - In the event of first contact, Pilot Zephyr’s channel will be muted to prevent the embarassment of our species.
Z - Well now I don’t even want to leave the ship.
Jeeyah exits the ship wades, through brackish liquid, leaps across a gap to the polished metal wall and climbs up. She reaches a vast surface of polished stone and starts hiking toward the source of the plant matter and sugar readings from earlier; enormous alien fruits in a semi-spherical structure of woven reeds. When she is halfway between the edge of the metal pit where the ship landed and the mound of fruit, the ground begins to shake
O.T- Captain, you are in distress.
C.J - Do not leave the ship. Keep cloaking and communications on, shut off all unneccessary indicators.
Sensors indicate the approach of native megafauna. She begins to run for the nearest cover (towering objects she assumes are buildings that house the native intelligent life-forms) but before she can reach them, a glass cylinder is lowered on top of her, trapping her where she stands. The megafauna is bipedal, incalculably enormous, and it makes a series of noises that sound like more than just primitive grunts…
W - The vocalization is a language.
O.T - You think the megafauna is sentient?
W - Switch on the translator!
The suit power indicator glowed pale blue. Less than twenty-percent. If she survived this, Jeeyah was going to give Weylin’s carapace a good rattling for failing to hook up the suit to the charging station when she’d reminded them at least ten times. Shock-absorption, air filtering, thermal regulation, carapace rigidity, communication channel with the ship; all of these were draining the battery. The translator wasn’t usually much of a load when interfacing with an alien entity with which it was familiar, but to process an entirely new langauge, one composed of not just thought patterns but vocalizations as well?
C.J - I have to cut the other systems.
Jeeyah fumbled with the pressure pads on her forearm.
O.T - What systems?
The eyes in front of her were wide and unblinking.
C.J - Under no circumstances is anyone to leave the ship unless I give the all clear.
O.T - Captain!
The translator switched on with a buzz and a chime, while the indicators for shock-absorption, thermal regulation, and the ship’s communication channel blinked and shut off.
Jeeyah waits, but the megafauna doesn’t make any more sounds, it just stares and pulls out a large slab of metal with a display screen on it bigger than the whole dashboard of the spaceship (intelligent megafauna confirmed). She needs it to vocalize again to give the translator a baseline, why won’t it vocalize?!
It isn’t going to vocalize; it doesn’t know I’m intelligent.
Her hands shook as she pried a barbed piton from its housing against her leg. She punctured the emergency food ration strapped to her arm; the sweet green paste that oozed from the pouch made her feelers twitch, but she wasn’t the least bit hungry. She scraped it up and smeared it onto the glass wall in front of her. A series of dashes.
Any sufficiently advanced life form in the cosmos will recognize this numerical sequence.
l l ll lll lllll
Massive dark irises jumped back and forth.
Come on, come on.
The creature’s lips parted and it vocalized again, the quietest yet, but still well within the range of her suit mic. The translator’s amber indicator pulsed gently as it struggled to connect the audio to the active places in the alien’s brain and determine the intended concepts.
you - [an individual apart from the speaker]
Jeeyah’s feelers fluttered. Speech. It was intelligent, and it was addressing her.
are - [identity, quality]
not - [negation]
a - [single entity]
bug - - -
The translator struggled for an agonizing moment before spitting out its best approximation
[connotative term, biological entity native to the planet, class insecta or isopoda, small, insignificant, pest, lacking intellect or emotional capacity, ]
Insignificant. Her breath came quickly. Pest. A shadow fell over the circle of glass. A fleshy mass the size of the ship’s console perched atop the enclosure; jointed appendages sprouting from it, reaching down. If Jeeyah hadn’t known better, she would have thought it was a creature unto itself, but beyond it stretched a thick limb. It was merely another part of the megafauna, an enormous hand. Jeeyah crouched low as the glass wall rose up around her, lifted away with a mere fraction of the potential energy stored in the creature’s musculature. A minor application of pressure from one of the digits would be more than sufficient to crush her carapace. So why, having put the glass container aside, had it not done so?
Not. Negation.
Relief washed over Jeeyah like a sudden burst of radiation.
Not a bug.
“What-[inquiry] are you?”
Jeeyah lifted her head; the creature’s hand was moving toward her again and this time, there was no wall of glass between them. A friendly chime from her suit’s internals warned her that her hemolymph flow was unreasonably rapid. Not a bug, she thought, trying to stem the flow of adrenaline. It knows I am not a bug. The hand laid to rest on the stone surface, jointed digits uncurling like a fern opening in the sunlight. There were no more vocalizations, but the meaning of the gesture was clear. It wants me to step on. Jeeyah took a few steps backward, eyes focused on the creature’s face.
“It’s okay-[a neutral state of mind and body, a lack of (or capacity to manage) discomfort]”
“Don’t be scared-[anticipating danger, distress, potential negative outcome]”
Its mouth was stretched; pushing the flesh in its cheeks upward, narrowing its eyes. Is it focusing? Is it hampering its vision because it does not see me as a threat? Jeeyah had a fair amount of experience with mammals, but the trouble was that they all did different things with their faces to indicate different things. If it intended harm, Jeeyah reasoned, taking a step toward the living platform. It would have attacked. The megafauna was keeping still as Jeeyah approached, like Jeeyah herself did when catching aphids. Not a bug, Jeeyah replayed the thought in her head, and it strengthened her resolve. An explorer. An ambassador. A captain.
Jeeyah stepped onto the platform of flesh, feelers vibrating. If one of my crew did this, I’d recommend them for a psych evaluation. Maybe Jeeyah would write herself up when she got back to the ship, if she got back to the ship. Clearly, there was some dangerous flaw in her reasoning, to so willingly place herself in danger. The creature’s hand rose like the elevator on the Ysenia station (if someone had disabled the gravity cushioning), and Jeeyah was trapped again, in a prison she’d walked into.
“Can-[ability to perform task]
The creature’s vocalization drew her attention upward again.
You talk-[vocalize thoughts]”
No, Jeeyah thought. But my suit can. Jeeyah switched on the audio output. The audio input had never been switched off (in the event that she ran out of power to keep her body functioning on this hostile planet, the recording of their mission would still be worthy of preservation, either as a museum artifact or a cautionary tale for future explorers). She rewound the recording until she reached the appropriate words, clipped them, re-ordered them, and sent them to audio output, as many decibels as the suit could produce. I hope you have sensitive ears.
“CAN TALK.” The suit echoed the megafauna’s words back at it in a frail imitation of its powerful vocalization. First contact with an alien species, Jeeyah thought. No doubt she would look back on this moment as a great honor if she ever made it safely back to the ship. The creature’s pupils dilated and it’s mouth stretched, revealing two rows of omnivorous teeth. No, Jeeyah frantically scrolled back through the recording. Did I pick the wrong words? Did it not hear me? Did the translator-
Jeeyah’s thoughts were scattered by a sudden g-force. She fell to her hands and knees as the platform rose up at a dizzying speed, toward the creature’s face.
“CAN TALK, CAN TALK, NOT BUG.” She sent the few words she had screaming through the suit’s speakers. “NOT BUG.” When the movement stopped and Jeeyah had the strength to lift her head again, she was level, not with a gaping maw lined with crushing bone plates, but with the creature’s staring eyes.
“No, not a bug.” The voice coming from below her was quieter, the pitch higher, the inflection different. The translator added an extra layer of meaning to the repeated phrase.
[Comfort, safety, dismissal of threat]
“What’s your-[possession]
name-[vocalization indicating specified individual]?”
But Jeeyah had no vocalization for herself. How did you make a thought into a sound? She could think ‘Jeeyah’ at the creature for a dozen cycles and it wouldn’t make it through the skull; the creature’s body just wasn’t built for it.
“No name?” It repeated, questioning. “What do I call-[address subject] you?”
Jeeyah sorted through the words of the creature’s lexicon that the translator had so far catalogued. NOT-BUG seemed like that only appropriate phrase, but she didn’t like the idea of the BUG word being in her name, even if it was preceded by negation.
“How about-[thought being processed]...”
Jeeyah looked up; the creature was looking back and forth across the superstructure, as if scanning for some piece of information.
swore she could feel the translator heating up with the effort of processing the vocalization.
[gemstone found in-shade of green-Jeeyah.]
The creature hadn’t said Jeeyah, it couldn’t, but it had thought it. Whatever else the word meant in the creature’s alien tongue, it wasn’t relevant. It’s a word for me. Her feelers thrummed. It made a word for me.
The creature’s mouth stretched wider, but somehow the show of teeth didn’t feel threatening.
“Nice-[positive] to meet-[primary encounter] you, Jade. I’m Sam-[self, name]”
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startrekkingaroundasgard · a month ago
It’s Always Been You (Bucky x Reader)
Summary: Bucky has something important to ask the reader, however it’s not quite what they expect: he needs help to ask someone out on a date. When they offer advice one night after a mission, it turns out that the person of Bucky’s affection is a lot closer to home than the reader realised.
Gender: neutral
Rating: Teen
Tags: pining, mutual pining, friends to lovers, idiots in love, powered!reader, mentions of brain implants, brief mentions of past trauma, mild injury, brief mention of blood, fluff, love confession
Words: ~3200
@marvelfluffbingo​ square A4: mutual pining
@buckybarnesbingo​ #B065 square B2: pining
Notes: I literally bashed this out in one go, I was possessed by a writing spirit and did this in a few hours. Please let me know what you think, feedback fuels my soul. There is a very high chance that I will also write this from Bucky’s POV soon so we can see what idiotic thoughts go through his head too.
Related: Bucky Barnes Fics - Complete Masterlist
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     “Can I ask you a question?”
You nodded, before remembering that Bucky couldn’t see the gesture. “Sure, have at it.”
Waiting out the delay on the comms, you used the back of your palm to wipe the sweat off your brow. It achieved little, your skin covered in dirt and grime, your sleeve practically dripping wet already. Every muscle ached from chopping through overgrown bushes, hiking over uneven territory and sleeping in uncomfortable hanging beds that made you long for the good old slab of a prison concrete bed. For days you had been dreaming of the cool, clear climate of home rather than the thick, oppressive atmosphere of this forest.
Damn whichever head of HYDRA had decided to locate their latest research base in the middle of the sodding Amazon Rainforest.
Bucky’s response crackled on the line, the connection breaking up not for the first time toady. Signal was bad here already, relying on a series of Stark satellites to rely messages back and forth to your home base, but this was different. There was order in the static, a familiar pattern of disruption that could only mean purposeful interruption.
Surveying the area, a glimpse of silver up among the tangled branches caught your attention. You were close, now. Probably right on the edges of their facility. You tapped twice behind your ear, a sharp pain behind your eyes as your implant shifted to scan mode. The bright greens of the forest faded to grey like their very life was being drained away. But as the colours became muted, you were able to register a world far more interesting.
All of the facility’s electrical systems burst to life, sparkling around you. The signal blockers in the canopy pulsed a gently blue, draining a low level of power but emitting bursts of electromagnetic radiation every few seconds. The edges of your vision crackled ever so slightly, affected by the same distortion as your phone but to a much lower level. You’d have to thank R&D for their latest upgrade to your implant, the vibranium coating protecting your internal equipment just as they’d promised.
Underfoot, probably a few feet down, a series of wires glowed white, drawing power from a nearby station, marking the edges of the facility. Most notably, barely two inches from where you’d stopped, the flow of electricity intensified around a most unnaturally square object. There were more of these dotted every few feet around you, a ring of boxed sensors ready to detect any unwelcome visitors.
Backtracking slowly, you made sure to retrace your steps precisely so not to set off any alarms. You’d call it luck that you hadn’t accidentally set one off if you didn’t know better; even when the implant wasn’t switched, part of you was always aware of the electrified world and the dangers it held.
In your ear, Bucky’s voice once again made itself known. Concern laced every word, his low tone still calm but far more pointed than he had been a few moments ago before you’d gone silent on him. Truthfully, it warmed your chest to know that he worried about you, that maybe he cared almost as much as you did for him. “Talk to me, Sparks. Come in. What’s happening?”
    “I’m alright, Buck. Just crossed over into a jamming zone.” Looking around, you retreated a few hundred metres and began to climb up the rough trunk of a tree for a better view point of the area. “Pretty sure I didn’t trigger any alarms. What did you wanna ask?”
    “I – uh – well, you know, there’s this -” The rest of his message was eaten by the terrible signal. That said, one specific word did catch your attention among the interference: date. That brought a warmth to your cheeks, a hopefulness in your heart that was all too distracting for the mission at hand.
You gave it a second to see if your comms would reconnect, if he would clarify and confirm what you desperately hoped you had heard, then sighed when it became clear they would not. “Not really getting you, Buck. I’ll be above the lower canopy in a second. Keep the line open. The next satellite should pass over soon.”
Five minutes later, you swung your aching legs over the thick tree branch and stared out across the forest. It was pretty, seeing it from this angle – and there were certainly fewer bugs, which was always great too. However, it also went to prove just how thick the tree canopy was and why HYDRA had chosen the location for their latest research. There were no visible clues to their presence at all but you didn’t need them, not with your implant and extra-sensory input lighting the base up before your eyes.
    “I think you’d like the view up here, Buck.”
Using the wide straps, you tied your backpack to the branch and pulled out a notebook and a ration bar. Dry and tasteless, you longed for something better but it still ranked above eating the bugs and snakes that seemed to constantly be on the hunt for a piece of you. As you chewed through the cardboard bar, your thoughts turned to Bucky once again.
You pictured his grimace as he’d bite into the ration pack, the stiff grumble that he’d eaten far worse in the War (though he claimed to be okay with every harsh environment, you knew he’d acclimatised to modern luxuries and could be a whiny little bitch if the sheets weren’t soft enough or the shower didn’t run with the proper pressure). He was your constant companion on missions like these, whether he was in your ear, by your side or simply offering support in the back of your mind. The sole person you could properly rely on, that saw you and wasn’t scared away by the dark shadows of your past.
    “I don’t – Make… weird – ask – date…”
There was that word in your ear again. Date. You looked up to the sky as if you could actually make out the passing satellite against the bright blue canvas, calling to Bucky every few seconds until the connection finally solidified again.
    “Sparks? Are you there?”
    “I’m here, Buck. I hear you.”
    “Good. I’ve got something I have to ask you. I don’t want to make things weird between us but you’ve been my friend for a long time and I…”
You’d fought against aliens, visited whole other worlds, and yet you’ve never felt so tense as you did right now. Every muscle was tight, coiled in desperate hope. Your chest was so heavy that it took all your mental focus to just breathe and not fall of the tree as you waited. Even the birds that circled around you, their feathers so bright and colourful in the gentle breeze, seemed to turn towards you, awaiting the same answer. “Yeah?”
He spoke quickly, the words rushing out, glued together by the absolutely pained tone. “I need your help to ask out Charlie.”
    “What?” Who the fuck was Charlie?
    “Yeah, uh… You know. From the shop around the corner?”
You pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes, forcing back the tears. Stupid. Of course he’d never want you. As he said, you’d been friends for so long… How could he ever see you any other way now?
Bucky called your name a few times – first Sparks, then shifting to your actual, given name – but you only registered the last. You heard how shaky your voice was and prayed that he’d write it off as terrible signal and not a sign of your own devastation. “Sure, Buck. When I get back we can… We can figure out a way to get you that date.”
    “Do you want me to, uh, stay on the line? Until you go in?”
Shaking your head, you muttered, “I’ve got it from here. I’ll see you soon, Barnes.”
    “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you soon.”
Unlock the each of the five locks that secured your door. Switch on the lights. Brace against the table and turn on your implant. Sweep the apartment for intruders and bugs. Turn off the implant before your brain exploded. Wash the dried blood and ash from your hands. Grab the first aid kit from beneath the sink. Down a handful of painkillers then drop onto the sofa and try not to bleed out everywhere.
This was your routine after every mission, each familiar step bringing you back into the head space of home. Clearing your mind of what had to be done, releasing the burden of guilt that came from every successful operation.
Your apartment was pretty bare; too many appliances sent your extra senses haywire. Just basic equipment, a few personal things dotted around the space. Little enough that you could pack it up in a large backpack and disappear without leaving anything important behind. That was the real life of a spy, an assassin. Nowhere near as glamorous as it was in books or films. Just a few mismatching socks and tatty books, dirty dish clothes and dollar store mugs. An outline of a person, with no real depth inside.
Collapsing onto the sofa, you peeled back away the layers of torn, burnt fabric to slowly reveal the cuts and bruises that littered your body. Every inch of skin was marred in some way, not even SHIELD’s protective clothing quite strong enough to resist the force of a two-tonne explosion or the sharp bite of a vibranium knife.
    “It’s open,” you yelled out before Bucky had even finished the first knock. You smiled as he closed the door behind him, fixing each of the locks before turning to join you in the centre of the apartment. His eyes ran over your form, more bothered by the blossoming blue and purple marks than the fact you were in nothing but your underwear.
He locked in on the worst of your wounds, a deep gash on your thigh – a final parting gift from one of the HYDRA scientists. You’d been too slow to dodge the swing as he went down, too occupied in keeping their broken subjects calm to even consider that he might not give up his work so easily and get up for another try, even after you shot him down.
Without a word, Bucky plucked the bandages from your hand and set to work. You’d already disinfected it so all he had to do was wrap it up. Every touch was careful, never hesitant but a specific kind of gentle care that you never saw him use on anyone else. He remained silent as he worked, warm fingers brushing against your skin every now and then. So many times you’d told yourself that the tingle it ignited, that the spark you felt, was just a reaction to his metal arm. Your implant reading the electronic signals and interpreting them in its own way. The excuse didn’t hold up so well against his natural hand but you’d lost a fair amount of blood and delirium was a wonderful excuse in and of itself.
As he pinned the final part into place, you nodded swiftly. “Thanks.”
    “I waited for you back at the Compound. Thought you’d stick around a little longer.”
    “I didn’t realise.” It was a stupid thing to say, given that you always waited for one another after a mission. You were always there to help the other to the medical wing or to grab a coffee and act as a distraction from the darker thoughts. Whatever part of your brain thought you could slip away and run home without Bucky noticing was severely mistaken.
He was waiting for a reason. Running his thumb over the metal joints of his hand as a distraction, not quite meeting your gaze to give you a semblance of privacy to think. After all, this wasn’t what you did. Not with each other.
Charlie, whoever the fuck that was, seemed all too petty an answer – even if it were the truth. So, you just shrugged and muttered, “I’m just tired. People say it’s so romantic sleeping out in the forest but what the hell would they know about it. Do you know how many things tried to eat me?”
    “I can go, if you want.”
It wasn’t. Yes, you were disappointed and just a little heartbroken but that didn’t mean you wanted to spend the night without your best friend. “Please, don’t.”
And god Bucky’s smile just made it all so much worse. Such a rare sight around others, Bucky never held back around you. It just lit up the room, shining as bright as the electricity you could track. Completely and utterly disarming, it was able to bash away all your worries in seconds. It sucked, being head over heels in love with your best friend, but he was still that. Would always be your friend first and foremost and that made the pain much easier to bear.
His gaze fell on the bottle of pills on your small, beaten up table. The painkillers did little for him but worked miracles on you. It would be only a matter of time before they knocked you out completely. “Blankets?”
    “Under the bed.”
You sank into the soft cushions and let your eyes drift shut. A few seconds later, Bucky’s heavy steps (he was never in ‘stealth mode’ around you, always made sure you knew where he was) circled back into the room and the softest of your blankets was draped across your shoulders.
The sofa dipped as he took a seat beside you, the warmth of his body calling out to you. Normally it would take a few minutes for you to gather the courage to curl up against him but tonight he pulled you in instead, encompassing you in his solid frame. You sat that way for a while, silent as your thoughts drifted by like wispy clouds, the medication beginning to set in.
This was nice. Just you and Bucky, together. Your apartment was peaceful without the ever present teasing of the Avengers, your nosy teammates always poking and prodding, trying to tear into your relationship with Bucky and pick holes in the careful shields you put up to protect your heart. But here, alone, you could just enjoy his company without any of that.
Or, you should have been able to. All you could think about was what he’d asked over comms, the uncertainty when he’d asked for your help. Dating was something neither you nor Bucky ever really indulged and you’d always hoped that it was for the same reason: that he was as happy and fulfilled in your friendship as you were; that there was no one else for him but you.
But maybe you didn’t know him as well as you’d thought.
You’d sworn to always be a good friend to him, though, and would uphold that promise even if it killed you a little more every day. Bucky had suffered enough. He deserved happiness and you would help him find it.
Pushing away from his chest, all too aware of how reluctantly his fingers peeled away from your arm, you asked, “So… Charlie, huh?”
    “Sound a little more enthusiastic, Buck. You’ll never score a date if you sound like that. Did you have any ideas where you wanted to go? That’s always a good start.” Met with a blank stare, you tried a different tact. “Approach it like an op, then. Focus on the outcome and work backwards to figure out how we get there. What’s the end goal? Do you like Charlie or do you just wanna hook up?”
He shook his head, the dim lighting not quite low enough to disguise the red that crawled up the back of his neck. “I think it could be serious.”
    “Right. Okay.” Breathing steady even as the invisible knife slid between your ribs, as the images of Bucky settling down and living a life with someone other than you filled your mind, you said the first thing that came to mind. “Carnival games it is. Win Charlie a big ass teddy bear, ride the Ferris wheel and share some ice cream on the pier. Guaranteed success. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
    “That’s sort of our thing, isn’t it?”
Every birthday without fail, Bucky took you to the carnival and did all of those things for you. While all the bears had quickly been donated to kids that needed them more, there was a box in your wardrobe filled with strips from the photo booths. A new one added every single year, each picture capturing the absolute joy of those wonderful days.
    “Well, those weren’t dates. Just friends, hanging out. You can take someone else to the carnival, Buck. It’s not exclusively for us. It’s okay.”
He looked up, those dark eyes suddenly aching for something more. “No, it’s not.”
    “I don’t -”
    “That’s special. It’s ours. Don’t you ever… You know? Wish we did go as a date?”
Your thoughts were swimming and not just because of the pain killers or the lingering mild concussion. He could not be asking this, not now. Not when he’d finally found someone he thought could make him happy, that he could have a forever with. “Bucky… What about Charlie?”
    “You’re Charlie.” He chuckled at himself, reaching out to take your hand. “I panicked, before. But it’s you. There’s no one else I wanna win stuffed toys for. No one else I wanna ride the Ferris wheel with, and no one else I’d rather kiss at the top. It’s always been you.”
Your jaw dropped, half convinced this was all an elaborate, drug induced hallucination. But, no. He was there, his thumb rubbing your knuckles, the heat of his body pulling you in. Those gorgeous eyes begging you to say something and fuck he was pulling away, hope turning to rejection. Still the words wouldn’t come so you did the only thing you could.
Hand on his chest, you pushed Bucky back into the sofa and all but straddled him. Arms draping around his neck, you kissed him. You kissed him like you’d always dreamt of doing, poured every ounce of passion and love and longing into that kiss and only broke apart when you started seeing stars dance on the edges of your vision.
Bucky Barnes was like a drug though and it was agony not to be kissing him, so you did again. You needed more, needed to feel every glorious inch of him. You ran your fingers through his hair, loosened the bun that held it up and set it free around his shoulders. He dragged you closer, the blanket falling from around your shoulders as you clung to him, loved him in every way you knew how.
When you finally separated, there was a soft smile on his lips and an even softer look in his eye. He knocked your chin just enough to lift your mouth to his for another brief kiss and muttered, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”
Tag lists are open, drop me a message to be added. I hope you enjoyed this, please let me know what you think!
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kuramakakashi · 4 days ago
water under the bridge (7/8)
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domini album
wutb album
#9 Tobirama Senju
summary: (Y/N) Tsuru has a best friend in Izuna Uchiha, a trio of teenaged genin to teach the merits of being a shinobi to, and feelings for a man who wouldn't realize she was in love with him even if she said it to his face - a mute point, however, considering said man has engaged himself to the Uzumaki Princess.
or : In which Hashirama is a fool and Tobirama is not.
word count: 4,711
note: another chunky part but i'm sososo excited about this part AHH
part six / part eight
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You’d never been a Sensor-type nin in the way that Tobirama Senju was acclaimed for.
Your strengths belied in the elemental chakra natures, your ability to easily transition through each of the states almost unmatched by the other shinobi in Konoha, but as you rushed through the halls of the Senju House, you didn’t need to be a Sensor to feel the anger and frustration roiling in Tobirama’s chakra signature. It was potent in a way that would have been impossible to ignore even if you’d tried, and would have warded off anyone else.
“Tobirama!” you called after him when he went out of sight ahead of you.
If he’d heard you, he made no indication, but when he began to turn down another hall, leading toward the eastern gardens, where Hashirama practiced growing flowers and other flora instead of his instinctual black pine and great oak, you shunshinned directly in front of him.
He had barely a half-second to correct himself from body-slamming into you and, in a shared breath of shock, you suddenly found yourself holding onto the front of Tobirama’s robes as he caught himself from tripping over you with one hand pressed into the wood wall behind your head and his other arm holding you around the waist.
You sucked in a sharp breath as you realized the proximity, your hands closed around the fabric of his outer kimono, locking him against you as much as he’d caged you between him and the wall behind you.
“Tobirama,” you started to say, eyes darting up to meet his, but whatever else it was that you could’ve said died in your throat when he moved, faster than you’d seen him in training, and then he was kissing you.
You had hardly a moment to taste his kiss, the heat of his anger spreading across your face, and then he pulled back just as fast, his jaw clenching and glaring at you with an anger you weren’t sure wasn’t directed toward you or not anymore.
But – he’d kissed you.
The air between you felt hot, your breaths coming in short bursts because of how close he was pressed against you. You could feel someone’s heart pounding – either yours or his, you had no idea as the entire world fell silent around you, Tobirama alone becoming everything at once.
You swallowed, lips parting around the syllables of his name, and you’d unconsciously began to pull on the front of his robes as your hand climbed up to the back of his neck, pulling him back to you. Everything about him was stiff, but as your lips brushed against his, you felt the tension in him snap and he pushed back into you, flattening your body against the wall as his hand gripped your waist.
Everything about Tobirama Senju was cold, a man you’d once jokingly agreed could have better been the son of the winter god than his own father, but as he kissed you, there was a heat spreading out from your chest, burning you with every press of his mouth against yours, and you gladly welcomed his acts of arson.
There was a sound like a pointed cough or a scrape of a boot over the floor and then Tobirama was snapping back from you, both of your gazes darting to the source of the sound at the other end of the hall.
Madara arched one eyebrow, his arms crossed over his chest. “Make a spectacle indeed, Tobirama.”
Tobirama scowled at him, and before you could think of anything to say – either to him or to Madara – the Senju Heir was storming away in the opposite direction, one hand gripping the hilt of his ninjatō and the other clenched at his side.
A brief silence filled the hallway, and then Madara was standing in front of you, head tilted to the side as you slowly met his eyes.
“I take it you might not have wanted to be saved from the offense of being angrily kissed in a hallway,” he drawled.
“Madara,” you managed to say, feeling the burn of heat in your face as you tried to not feel embarrassed in front of you friend, “you’re insufferable.”
He cracked a smile and then glanced up the hall where Tobirama had disappeared. “Want to explain that?”
You raised a hand to your face but rubbed your neck instead, following Madara’s line of sight for a moment before shaking your head. “I think I need to process it first.”
Madara shrugged and offered his arm to you, which you took. “You know that I’m obligated out of brotherly concern to tell Izuna what I’ve seen.”
You gave the clan leader a flat look. “You must really desire a rematch between them in the middle of a diplomatic meeting, don’t you?”
Madara chuckled and patted your hand, “Maybe I just want to be sure Tobirama is truly worthy of you.”
You stopped walking, and stared at him.
Don’t love the fool.
I prefer blue than green when matched with red.
My ‘zealousness’ isn’t over my feelings for (Y/N).
“Madara,” you spoke quietly, eyes widening. “Tobirama – he –”
Madara raised a hand to your mouth, cutting off your words. “Don’t say it out loud, I’m still processing too,” he said, his voice straddling the line between seriousness and humor.
You rubbed your forehead. “Oh Kami.”
Madara let out a soft snort and then shook his head. “At least if Tobirama plans to truly court you, he’ll know what he stands to face if he hurts you worse than his brother has after a lifetime of fighting Izuna and I.”
You smiled slightly, pushing some of your anxiety down. “Mei would have her piece too.”
Madara smirked, “Mei is the most fearsome of us.”
As you’d been speaking, you’d let Madara guide you through the Senju House, and now found yourself at one of the exterior exits on the western side of the house. He opened the door and you stepped through onto the back porch, taking a deep breath of spring night air.
“Madara?” you asked when he stepped out behind you. When he raised an eyebrow, you continued, “I’m still hurting over Hashirama.”
Madara’s mouth pulled into a frown as he sighed, and he crossed his arms over his chest again. “Izuna is the better choice for these conversations, seeing as he’s actually the one us with someone loving him back,” he said, and then grumbled, “but of all the things I’ve called Tobirama over the years, oblivious isn’t one of them.”
You slowly looked away from your friend to one of the lit braziers on the porch, watching the fire burn the logs of firewood inside for a long moment before you spoke again.
“Mei said that I deserved someone who would try to notice everything that I’m feeling,” you said, and Madara nodded. “I agree, and I know that I would be the fool as much as Hashirama is to not see that in the person who would love me in spite of the fool I’ve loved.”
“I think this is the first time I’ve heard you insult Hashirama,” Madara hummed. “Looks like that broken heart is healing – shall I call Tobirama back to kiss the rest of it whole?”
You gave Madara a deadpan look and then pinched your brow. “When I came to Konoha, this is not what I expected to happen.”
Madara laughed, and you felt his hand squeeze your shoulder. “I assure you, I never expected to find a friend in an Earth Country clan heir, but here we are. Life is filled with surprises, it would seem.”
You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your mouth betrayed your amusement. “Former clan heir, Madara-chan.”
“A clan leader now, (Y/N)-chan,” he replied.
You let out a soft puff of laughter and a brief quiet fell before there was a sound of conversation and rustling robes nearby.
“Hashirama will be speaking to the Uzumaki Princess and Heir with the Senju Elder Council soon,” Madara said, glancing back toward the doors. “Are you going to look for Tobirama or will you try to tolerate our oblivious friend planning his arranged wedding tonight?”
You briefly pressed the backs of your knuckles against your lips. “I think I’ll go home,” you decided, dropping your hand from your face. “Tobirama kind of…” you vaguely gestured with your hand next to your head. “I need to think.”
Madara’s smirk was taunting, “Leave it to Tobirama Senju to leave you questioning everything.”
You rolled your eyes, and began to raise your hand in the seal of the shunshin. “Tell Izuna to expect company tomorrow morning, please.”
Madara’s nose scrunched. “You’ll put me through having to relive the trauma that sight over breakfast?”
You laughed, “By all means, wake late and eat breakfast at noon, Madara.”
He scoffed, but waved to you before you shunshinned.
The silence of your apartment greeted you as you took a step from the foyer into the main room of your home and then you sat down abruptly, brow furrowed as you stared at floor. Slowly, you raised your fingers to the soft edge of your mouth, touching where Tobirama had kissed you.
Don’t love the fool.
You moved on a whim of the highest degree, taking a true shot in the dark as you walked through the dim-lit streets of Konohagakure after most of the village had retired for the evening. It was well past three in the morning, early for even the bakers to be rising for another day in the nearby market sector, but you were wide awake, anxiety a chill in your blood.
The bridge was still in disrepair, larger sections of lumber bobbing in the water where they were lodged between rocks, but you could see the mark of salvagers by the distinct lack of lesser debris. The moon was bright and nearly full even while it hung low in the sky, and it illuminated the dark waters in a silvery-white sheen that cast short shadows over the face of Tobirama Senju sitting on one of the path-side benches.
You knew that he must’ve noticed you long before you’d seen him, but he didn’t say a word until you sat down beside him, making sure to leave room between the two of you.
His posture was deceptively relaxed, his right arm propped up against the side of the bench and the other set on top of his lap while he pressed his chin against his raised fist. He’d changed out of his ceremonial robes as well, dressed again in his familiar short blue kimono and ankle-cinched black pants, though his white waist sash was loose, and you could glimpse the mesh fabric of his fishnet undershirt between the folds of his shirt.
“It’s late,” he said, voice just audible over the sound of the moving water.
“Or early,” you replied, glancing toward one of the nearby street braziers that had long-ago turned cold.
A lapse of silence passed and then you turned slightly, angling yourself toward him. “Tobirama, we should talk ab –”
He let out a quick breath of air. “I petitioned Hashirama to reject your application for citizenship when you submitted it,” he spoke.
Your brow furrowed. “I know that.”
Tobirama clenched his jaw, still staring at the edge of the riverbank. “On the terms that you listed your home country as being the Land of Earth,” he continued.
You crossed one arm over your chest, holding the opposite sleeve of your short yukata.
“It wasn’t because you were a dubious commitment because of your being a one-person clan like you thought,” Tobirama said, finally looking at you as he sat up. “Neither Hashirama nor I cared about how many people claimed to be in a clan because as long as they were shinobi, then we needed them. We couldn’t afford to be picky. We needed shinobi citizens more than we needed tradition.”
“I can’t blame you for being hesitant, Tobirama,” you replied evenly. “Earth Country clans were fighting with the Senju whenever the Uchiha weren’t.”
Tobirama stared at you for a long moment, and you found yourself suddenly unsure about having gone looking for him, realizing that for as much as you trusted your physical safety with him, you weren’t confident that you could handle his verbal cruelty. The man was renowned for it across the Great Nations, and if it was now that Tobirama was choosing to turn his sharp tongue on you now – and for having lived in Earth Country – you did not want to hear what he had to say.
“Your brother acknowledged me as a shinobi of the Hidden Leaf, Tobirama,” you said before he could speak again, holding his gaze, “and I’ve only considered myself as an ally of Konoha since I heard of Hashirama and Madara’s intentions to found the village – it’s why I left my father’s clan and changed my name. I couldn’t believe in my family’s philosophy of ongoing warfare and the inheritance I would have of my father’s enemies.” You shook your head and then looked back at him. “Do you know why I chose the crane as my clan’s symbol, Tobirama?”
He shook his head, hands set on the tops of his thighs.
“They symbolize peace, and the intent to live in harmony,” you told him, fingers curling around the fabric of your sleeve as your throat began to tighten. “I killed a woman from an enemy clan when I was five-years-old.” You huffed a brusque laugh, running your tongue behind your teeth. “She died on the end of my blade, Tobirama. I could barely hold it upright and she tripped into it,” you forced the words out through your teeth, through the tightening in your chest. “My father had forced my mother to let me come with him to the battle and honestly, if that woman hadn’t tripped over the body of her dead husband that my father killed in front of me, I could have been dead that fast and my father would have brought out my three-year-old sister to the field next without a thought to a mourning period.”
You swallowed a burning sob, and let go of your sleeve, smoothing the material before holding it again.
“The Kōkyūna Clan has saying,” you made yourself speak. “My uncle said it to me first before I went out to that battle. It goes, ‘There is strength in stone. Find it and make it your own’.” You let out a noise somewhere between a whimper and a sob. “I hate that phrase. I hate it more than I hate my father for celebrating the fact that I had murdered someone at an age younger than he had been his first time.”
You scoffed and wiped the side of your face with the heel of your palm as you sat back against the bench arm behind you.
“I swore myself to Konoha and its laws, its people, and its leader, Tobirama,” you spoke, trying to keep your voice even. “I will never go back on that vow.”
A tear fell down the other side of your face and you watched Tobirama’s eyes follow its path over the edge of your chin.
Another moment of silence passed and then Tobirama met your eyes again.
“Hashirama overruled my hesitance and accepted your citizenship,” he said. “I didn’t trust you and I was sure that your friendship with Izuna was manufactured so that you could be close to the founding clans and report what you heard back to Iwagakure.”
You choked on your breath and turned your face away from him, chest shuddering with the effort it took to not cry.
“I didn’t trust you until you began going on missions in southern Fire Country,” he continued on, but there was a tension in his voice as he spoke now. “You ranked as a jōnin and that meant Hashirama was fine with making you a taichō, and every report that you wrote, I read and checked against that of your teammates’.” He paused, and then said, “You were careful to include every detail of the missions, and you didn’t hesitate to admit where you felt you lacked in judgement or experience even in front of Hashirama and I. You had Izuna’s friendship and Madara’s full confidence and I was finding less and less reasons to doubt your loyalties when you willingly supplied everything you knew about the northern clans and their strategies. Your only condition was that you were never asked to fight them unless there was no other option but to ask you.”
You swallowed, “I didn’t want to risk the chance of fighting my father or his clan.”
Tobirama paused. “Even that – that wording.”
Your brow furrowed.
“You never call Kōkyūna Clan your clan,” he elaborated. “Even when you spoke to Mito, you called them your father’sclan.” Tobirama pinched the bridge of his nose and then slid his hand through his hair. “When Hashirama, Madara and I discussed the prospects of jōnin instructors teaching the genin recruits, I submitted your name to my brother.”
That threw you off base. You’d always assumed it had been Hashirama’s method of cementing your position in the village by adding a layer of insurance that you wouldn’t bail out on your commitments, especially since you’d been assigned a Senju genin.
“You?” you managed to say. “That was you?”
He nodded once. “I can’t be truthful in saying that I’m sorry I didn’t trust you at first, but I have trusted you since then.”
You rubbed the fabric of your sleeve between your fingers, eyes dropping to bench backing before you met his gaze again. “If you trusted me before, Tobirama, then do you still trust me now that you know my father is the leader of one of Iwagakure’s founding clans?”
There was a moment of quiet between the two of you, only a rustle from a breeze breaking up the silence until Tobirama loosed a sharp breath.
“Your father could very well be the Tsuchikage himself and I would still trust you,” he finally answered. “That has not changed.”
Some of the tension in your shoulders left and you exhaled a long breath. The sound of the river was joined by frogs croaking as you raised a hand to your face, rubbing away the tear tracks.
“Tobirama,” you spoke softly, “earlier at the dinner – why were you so angry?”
His hands briefly tightened around the fabric of his pants and then he turned, angling himself toward you as he raised his chin. “Because you have proven yourself as a loyal shinobi and Mito challenged that, regardless of her intentions, and because Hashirama gave less than a request to the woman that will be his wife to not speak to you like she did again.”
You deserve someone who will try to notice every emotion you feel, Mei had told you.
You picked at your index finger with your thumbnail before you breathed, letting yourself sit upright as you gathered the courage to speak.
“Tobirama,” you began, “I fell in love with your brother because of how much I respect him and his beliefs, and also because of what a good man he is capable of being.” The man in front of you immediately began to turn away, but you reached out on impulse, grabbing his forearm and feeling the warmth of him. He froze, staring down at the point of contact, but you continued, “I know that you’re right about loving the fool, Tobirama, and I also know that I deserve someone who will try to see everything I feel, not just the emotions he should choose to notice.” He looked up at you, and the expression on his face almost made the words almost die in your throat, but you kept speaking. “You said that I would be a fool to not see the person in front of me who loves me in spite of the fool, and I…”
You swallowed, feeling your anxiety crawling up your throat to steal back your breath as you struggled to speak.
“You…” you cleared your throat, “you told me ‘Don’t love the fool.’ And I…” You unconsciously held tighter to Tobirama’s forearm, jaw clenching with the effort it took to not let your courage wither beneath his intense stare. “I’m still hurting, Tobirama,” you said slowly, “but I’m not a fool.”
You watched the realization dawn across Tobirama’s expression in a less apparent fashion than you knew you’d shown at the dinner table, his reaction punctuated by the quiet catch of his breath and the soft jerk of his arm in your grip. It was, perhaps, the first and only time you’d ever seen Tobirama Senju at a loss for words. It was only when the croaking of the frogs started quiet did he speak.
“I have never taken you for a fool,” he finally replied slowly, some of the tension in his shoulders leaving.
You smiled slightly, and his gaze dipped to your mouth before he cleared his throat and looked away.
“I apologize – for earlier,” he said, staring at the river again. “Kissing you like that was not…appropriate.” He gripped the fabric of his pants again, as he continued, “I was angry and not thinking things through.”
You felt your face begin to heat, suddenly struck with memory of Tobirama pressing you against the wall as he kissed you, and forced yourself to push it out of mind.
“Were you angry with me?” you asked, letting go of his arm and setting your hand back in your lap. His eyes followed the movement and then he looked back at the riverbank.
His jaw feathered before he answered, “Hashirama should know what impact his words has on you, ignorance or not.”
You sat back against the bench and then sighed, rubbing the side of your neck. “Honestly, Tobirama, I don’t want Hashirama to know how what he’s said has hurt me,” you replied. “It’s not out of sympathy for wanting to spare his guilt, but I just…don’t need him to know.” You gave a small shrug. “If he knew, it wouldn’t change anything and things now–” You bit at the edge of your tongue in a vain attempt to control the heat rising in your face, “It doesn’t matter if Hashirama knows or not.”
You met Tobirama’s eyes again and another moment of silence fell between you as you watched him study you.
“(Y/N) –”
You startled when there came a sudden crash of noise from the other side of the river and both you and Tobirama shot to your feet, but it was followed by the loud, colorful curses of someone who evidently did not possess the stealth of a trained shinobi as they tried to pick up the boxes they’d stumbled into.
“A civilian,” Tobirama stated, his stance relaxing. You both glanced at the kunai in each other’s hands, and he smiled slightly as he slipped his blade back into the holster on his leg as you did yours. “It’s likely close to dawn,” he said.
The horizon that you could see was still dark, but you didn’t doubt Tobirama’s instinct.
“Tobirama,” you started to say, and then nearly swallowed your tongue when he stepped closer to you, his hands coming up to either side of your face. He was warm and again as close as he had been to you in that hallway.
Your hands had unconsciously risen to grab his wrists, acting on instinct as a shinobi, but your grip relaxed as one of his thumbs gently brushed the right side of your face.
“I know your short temper partners well with your short patience,” you spoke quietly, “but –”
He pressed his thumb lightly against your cheek, silencing you. “I don’t expect you to change your heart quickly,” he said. “And for the right things, my patience can last years.”
You blinked and then furrowed your brow. “Tobirama, what does –”
“I can have patience,” Tobirama said. “I’m not foolish enough to push you.”
You smiled slightly, cheek pressing into his palm.
It would be easy, you realized, to fall in love with Tobirama. And not because he saw you when his brother did not, but because you had been looking in the wrong person for the things that you wanted, and that truth had been staring you in the face since even before Hashirama had drunkenly decided to marry Mito Uzumaki.
The quiet of the morning gradually ceased as windows in homes began to lighten and there came some chatter from street across the river as civilians went about.
Tobirama let one of his hands fall away as you took the other one in yours, holding it between the two of you. His hand was a familiar weight by now, and your fingertips touched the callouses on his palm as you said, “I have to meet with Izuna in a few hours.”
The all too familiar dent that took its place in Tobirama’s forehead anytime that there was mention of the younger Uchiha Brother suddenly appeared, but he held back any sarcasm as he nodded once and then briefly looked toward the east.
“There will be another meeting with the Uzumaki Clan at noon, as I understand,” he said, meeting your eyes again.
It was a test of willpower for you to remember that you had to leave soon if you wanted any modicum of preparedness to face Izuna’s opinions about the entire Tobirama situation, but you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning up and kissing Tobirama’s cheek. He stiffened in surprise, but before you could entirely retreat, his other hand rose to the back of your head, and he caught you in another kiss.
It was soft and chaste, the pressure of his lips on your fleeting as he let go almost too-soon, and you blinked at him and spoke before you fully thought out your words, “Will you walk me home, Tobirama?”
He paused, and there was only a second’s hesitation before he shifted and offered his arm out of you. The tenderness in his expression made something flutter in your stomach and chest, and you slid your arm through his, once again close to his side as he gave you a small smile.
You returned it thoughtlessly.
“You did what with Tobirama Senju?” Izuna practically shrieked over the breakfast table.
“In the hallway against a wall,” Madara grumbled, spearing his umeboshi with a chopstick.
Mei smothered her laugh with her hand as Izuna went red in the face.
“You know he stabbed me, right, (Y/N)?” Izuna demanded, grabbing the collar of his kimono shirt and yanking it down over his chest to expose a thin white scar to the left of his sternum. “Look! Right there! He could’ve killed me, (Y/N), and you like him now?”
You gave Izuna a look over the table. “As I recall the story, you gave him a matching scar across the side of his face moments beforehand.”
Mei tapped her finger against the table. “That was also over two years ago now, ‘zuna.”
Izuna’s eyes went wide as he looked wildly between you and Mei. “But –” He balked, looking toward his brother for support. “Madara?”
Madara spun his chopsticks across his knuckles. “He hurts (Y/N) and he dies, alliance or not.”
A beat of silence as you stared wide-eyed at the clan leader sitting next to you.
“Madara,” you began to say, and he looked at you.
He gave you a smile that you were sure his enemies had seen on the opposite side of battlefields. “Tell him I expect a nice summer solstice gift if he wants to make up for me seeing that spectacle in the hallway.”
Your jaw had dropped at some point during Madara’s speaking, heat rising in your face as Mei tried hard to quiet her laughing across the table.
“It – it wasn’t like that,” you managed to say through your embarrassment.
“Indra’s blade, aniki,” Izuna huffed out, still indignant, “you’re lucky you didn’t have the Sharingan activated else that image be scarred to your memory.”
Madara grimaced, “You’d of found yourself waking with my eyes this morning if I had, otouto.”
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one more part you guys!!! i promise to wrap up a few things and it’s gonna be worth it to stick to the end!!!
@queer-naruto @cosmins @mad-girl-without-a-box@mykuronekome @kakashi-with-the-good-hair @shoyo-baby-sunflower @dramaticq @sup-zfam @gipsyd @fictionalsimp22
@1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @powerofrice (i'm so sorry for these late tags ! these posts were queued so I didn't check them before they went up!)
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lexicals · 5 months ago
I said I’d post this the other day and then Completely forgot but here is the first bit of…… murderbot the movie?? I don’t even know if I can call this a fic but it’s basically how I would want a visual adaptation of the series to be, so it’s in (attempted) script format, hopefully it’s still decent to read :v
Edit bc I still get the occasional note on this and people don't seem to know: there's an expanded version of this on ao3!
[Opening: fade from black into a slow drone sweep over an alien planetary landscape. The music is dramatic, swelling. We see stretches of ocean, then beaches--]
[--plains, mountains, jungle--]
V/O (MUTTERED): Come on. This isn't a nature documentary, no-one cares about the stupid planet.
[The footage fast-forwards, and then returns to normal speed. From a distance, we see a ship landing on an open plain, and several people in environmental suits exiting it.]
V/O: Wait - they're starting here? What's next, 'once upon a time'?
[Footage continues, but the audio is muted.]
V/O: That's not how - this is gonna put people to sleep. This is could put me to sleep, and aside from the obvious reasons that would be an achievement, I have tens of thousands of hours of experience being so bored out of my mind that I'd watch just about—
[A pause. The footage continues to play unhindered.]
V/O: Huh. New idea.
[Cut to black.]
V/O: I'm telling the story now.
[Extreme fast forward, under title credits. The footage stops at the beach survey area, with BHARADWAJ and VOLESCU working crouched at the bottom of one crater, and SECUNIT standing at the edge of it. Sound is low, but not entirely muted.]
V/O: Okay, this should work.
[Medium shot of BHARADWAJ and VOLESCU working in the crater. An overlay annotates their feed IDs - name, gender, occupation.]
V/O: So, hopefully it's obvious by now that this whole… thing, is about a planetary survey group. It consisted of six humans, one augmented human, and one contracted SecUnit. Me.
[Pan up and zoom to the edge of the crater, where SECUNIT is standing guard.]
V/O: If it looks boring standing there like that, that's because it is. This whole contract had been going smoothly, so I didn't exactly have much to do. Which is why at that moment I was only half paying attention to what was going on while I tried to figure out if I could stream music this far away from the habitat without anyone noticing. If I'd had another few minutes, I might have managed it, too.
[Overlay: a stream of feed-code showing SECUNIT'S progress as it continues to stand completely still, outwardly emotionless.]
V/O: Music was just one option, anyway. At this point in my existence, I'd consumed about 35,000 hours' worth of various media. Since then, it's been a few thousand hours more. Which is how I know that when you're telling a story, you never start at the fucking beginning.
[THE WORM bursts up out of the ground, half-eating BHARADWAJ and knocking VOLESCU to the ground. The footage freezes on that tableau.]
V/O: You start at the part that makes people pay attention.
[A beat to let that sit. Somehow it feels smug.]
V/O: This next part's too fast for most humans to see properly, so I'll slow it down a little.
[Footage begins to play at 75% speed. It still looks fast as SECUNIT jumps from the top of the crater, draws its weapon, removes BHARADWAJ from THE WORM’S mouth and shoves its arm inside to fire down its throat and (hopefully) at its brain. Overlays show the chaotic feed from MedSystem, HubSystem, etc. THE WORM recedes, and footage returns to normal speed. When the shot shows SECUNIT again, it's badly bloodied, revealing the metal sections of its frame, but the worst of it is quickly blurred out.]
V/O: Ugh, no-one wants to see that. Least of all me. All you need to know is that there was a lot of leaking, and yes, it hurt a lot, at least before I turned my pain sensors down. Then it only hurt a little. But, I was replaceable, and the humans weren't.
[SECUNIT adjusts BHARADWAJ in its arms and starts making for the edge of the crater, before pausing and looking back at VOLESCU. The overlays clogging the screen gradually clear, with the abort order from HubSystem being the last to go.]
SECUNIT: Dr. Volescu, you need to come with me, now.
[VOLESCU appears incoherent with fear.]
V/O: Great situation, right? One human critically injured, me so badly damaged I could barely hold her, the other human losing his shit - not that I didn't understand the feeling - and no telling if or when the hostile fauna was going to come back to finish us off. I didn't really have any choice but to do something drastic.
[The face plate on its helmet retracts. Its expression is neutral-gentle, focused on VOLESCU.]
SECUNIT: Dr. Volescu, it's gonna be fine, okay? But you need to get up and come help me get her out of here.
[VOLESCU stares for a moment, and then scrambles up and over to SECUNIT, grabbing its arm. They start making their way up the side of the crater. The audio is almost completely muted, but we can see SECUNIT and VOLESCU talking the whole time.]
V/O: Now, I don't know what kind of backwater polities they're planning on broadcasting this to, so if you've never seen a SecUnit before - first of all, congratulations on not being in a corporate mining installation. Second of all: some background.
V/O: A SecUnit is physically part-bot, part-human-organic-material, and mentally equal parts depressed, anxious, and paranoid. We're manufactured at the absolute lowest cost possible to act as Security for survey teams, mining operations - basically wherever you need someone to stand around for hours on end making sure humans don't get killed or kill each other, and also to datamine the shit out of everything they say and do. For some reason, they decided we should have human faces. To make us more approachable, or something. Which is completely redundant when 99.9% of humans never see our faces anyway because we're always in armour.
[The group reaches the top of the crater, and VOLESCU collapses. SECUNIT is trying to coax him away from the edge until a hopper lands nearby, and it turns to look. Its helmet goes back up.]
V/O (QUIETLY): [Sigh.] I miss that armour.
[The hopper ramp opens, and PIN-LEE and ARADA exit, heading for the group, who are slowly coming to meet them. One of them makes to take BHARADWAJ.]
SECUNIT (OVER COMM): Dr. Mensah, I can't let go of her suit.
[We see Mensah at the hopper controls. She pauses for a moment, and then:]
MENSAH: That's alright, bring her up into the crew cabin.
V/O: She would've bled out if I'd let go.
[The group make their way into the hopper, ARADA helping VOLESCU, then SECUNIT with BHARADWAJ, and then PIN-LEE, who is armed with a small pistol and watching the landscape.]
V/O: You'll notice she had to give me verbal permission to do that. That's because normally, SecUnits ride in the cargo hold with the rest of the equipment. Maybe that sounds like a horrifying thing to do to a sentient being, and in hindsight yeah, I guess it was, but I actually preferred it. It meant I didn't have to interact with people.
[RATTHI waits until the rest are on board, then jumps to his feet.]
RATTHI: I'll get the cases!
PIN-LEE: For fuck's sake, Ratthi!
[PIN-LEE halts him by the arm as the hopper begins to take off. Right as the ramp retracts, THE WORM once again emerges from the ground and almost takes a chunk out of the metal.]
[Audio dips again as SECUNIT keeps speaking, over the crew righting themselves, gently admonishing RATTHI, taking stock, and starting to treat BHARADWAJ and VOLESCU. It seems to fade into the background amid the human commotion, only moving when instructed and not interacting with anyone.]
V/O: And maybe some of you, probably not many, are thinking, "but these humans seem nice, why would they treat a person like that?" and the answer is: they had no idea I was a person. Honestly, I barely knew I was a person, and I was actively trying to prevent anyone else from figuring that out. SecUnits aren't supposed to be people, we're supposed to be a step above human-form security bots, and we did used to be, but a construct with limited intelligence makes mistakes, which means it needs a human supervisor, which defeats the whole point of having an expendable security unit. So they gave us human brain tissue, made us smarter, and to make sure that didn't give us any ideas, added a governor module that sends a high-voltage shock through our nervous system if we step out of line.
[The hopper continues to travel back towards the habitat. The footage becomes more of a montage, showing the flight, landing, and other team members coming to meet everyone as they disembark. Once it's placed BHARADWAJ onto a gurney, SECUNIT is left outside alone as the others rush away - an overlay shows it checking systems, sealing the hoppers, and setting a security interdict.]
V/O: If that sounds unethical to you, you're most likely not from the Corporation Rim. Not that I necessarily disagree, and neither did most of this survey team, as far as I could tell. Dr. Mensah hadn't even wanted to bring me along in the first place for that exact reason, but you don't get to go to unexplored survey planets without a company bond, and a company bond requires a SecUnit. So there I was. I figured they were doing their best to just forget I was there.
[It starts limping back into the habitat, slowly and dripping fluids as it goes. Eventually, it reaches the security ready room. Narration over this:]
V/O: For the record, I wasn't offended about them not wanting me - I wouldn't have wanted a terrifying bot/human construct following me around and recording all my conversations either. Also, they had no idea that they had been saddled with the only company unit that didn't actually have to do anything they said. I do a really good impression of a SecUnit whose governor module actually still works.
[The door to the ready room closes behind it. The suit helmet retracts. There's a moment of silence, and then it sighs, looking marginally more relaxed. Very marginally.]
[It begins to strip off what’s left of its armour, and starts to patch the worst of the damage - this isn't shown in detail. Conspicuously, any company logos on it or the equipment have been blurred out. Over this, the narration continues:]
V/O: Now that we've got the gasping and fainting out of the way, I can cover the big stuff. Yes, I could have gone on a killing spree and become a mass murderer after I hacked my governor. Yes, I did consider it. Then I found something better to do.
[Having treated what it can, SECUNIT wraps itself in a survival blanket, attaches the repair and resupply leads and climbs into its cubicle, visibly shivering. A small overlay shows its performance reliability at 59%, and immediately drops to 58%. White lights fade up, and it lets out what might be a sigh of relief. Another overlay appears, and opening credits with a theme song begin to play: Sanctuary Moon.]
V/O: I found the entertainment channels.
[SecUnit closes its eyes. The theme continues to play for a few seconds as we start to fade to black.]
[SFX: A triple knock.]
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ficmachine · 4 months ago
[Gently wanders in]
Hello! I am writing to politely request a Puppet (FNAF) x NB Reader if that’s okay! I don’t mind how Reader is familiar with the animatronics at all, even if it means we just break in and K.O the security guard to spend time with them 🥺 - 🍒
Plot twist: Plot twist: you're not the one who breaks in to see them.
(Also hc: puppet's mute and goes by they/it pronouns lets g o)
The Puppet/Marionette (FNAF) x Gender Neutral Reader
Your eyes snap open.
It's dark and the fact that the first thing you see isn't your bedroom only adds onto your quickly-rising anxiety. Eyes darting left and right. Heart pounding.
The sudden creak from somewhere deep within the apartment, the vaguely familiar surroundings, and sudden awakening messes you up for a bit. Enough for your brain to take a moment to process where you are – your living room. You exhale. The second the recognition settles your body starts to relax, sinking back into the somewhat comfortable couch. You must've fallen asleep watching TV, and with inactivity sensor on it definitely turned itself off when you didn't press the button it in time.
That's alright.
Something doesn't sit right with you in the back of your mind, however. Yes, you have fallen asleep here a few times, and usually you'd get up and stumble into your bedroom without even waking up properly, but this time you simply don't have the energy to move. It's odd... You're usually bothered by dozing off at the TV but perhaps sleeping here tonight won't hurt. Sighing quietly you shift, cuddling further into the pillow. Good on you for being smart enough to leave out here earlier.
Oh well, at least you're not very sore.
You settle down very quickly, and the gentle pressure of your feline friend petting your head drags your consciousness away from you quickly. It was only when you realised that cats don't pet people that your breath hitched.
You don't even HAVE a cat.
And in that moment you swore you've ever felt this awake, nor this scared.
Your body jerked you away from the intruder, launching yourself in a way to put as much space between the two of you as possible. With a loud thud you fell off the couch banging your head back into the coffee table behind you. With a yell you grab the back of your head- piercing white pain spreading through your entire head; tears quickly gather in your eyes as you close them shut. No longer being able to think of anything else but how much everything hurt you curl yourself up into a ball.
Someone moves closer.
Your flight response changes, your body locks into place.
Within seconds the same thin hands that dragged through your hair were moving you palms away from your head but you didn't budge. Oh no, there was no way in hell you'd move. You weren't going to.
What seemed like minutes passed, and instead of forcing your hands away they settled for rubbing your shoulder reassuringly. When the pain slowly ebbed away into manageable levels, and you've gathered your courage, you slowly looked up. You looked up and near sobbed out loud in relief.
As creepy as this whole situation was you've never been happier to see them before.
The Puppet's lips tugged down into a frown, once again running their hands over yours and you begrudgingly let go. With a gentle bump of their forehead into your temple they sat up to tower above you, checking your head for any and all injuries.
Sometimes you forget how small you are in comparison.
Nothing's wrong though, no wounds; you're fine. You could tell that much by how their shoulders and posture visibly relaxed. You relax as well, wiping your tears away.
They lift you off the floor, pausing and making sure it's okay with you first, and take you to your room. Settling you into your bed, you couldn't help but feel emotions swell in your chest when your favourite lanky bud tucked you in – all their movements very careful to not hurt you more. You smile at them, unable to stop the chuckle when they seem to beam back at you.
How did they know where your bed was when they've never been here before (to your knowledge, at least) is a question you can ask another time; just like any other questions you've been meaning to ask.
Marionette sits on the edge of the bed, as close to you as they can, tilting their head to the side – asking if it's okay for them to stay for a bit. And you nod back. You even scoot back to give them more room, and they don't hesitate to make themself comfortable.
Settling down once more you accept another apologetic bump of their forehead into yours, and reassure them you're fine with a gentle kiss pressed to their forehead. They melt right there and there - letting their limbs fall limp by their sides only catching themself when they start sliding off the bed. Quickly sitting up they give their body a little shake for good measure, shaking the excitement out the best they can in one movement.
“Stay the night, it's okay.” You mutter; heavy eyelids closing as the exhaustion from this whole event finally settles into you. The pain still very much there but there isn't much you can do about it, you'll just sleep through it.
And as Marionette's soft fingers carefully caress your cheek you know you won't have trouble falling back to sleep again tonight.
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saevus-brutalis · 3 months ago
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Watch out there’s a new senior citizen in town...
After 11 unfinished concept sketches, 20+ hours of work and 213 layers later I finally finished the ultimate reference sheet of my boy Vincent Elijah 😌
I’m gonna probably hate myself for that cyberarm design later when I’ll have to draw it in detail again but oh well i fucking love it.
I guess this is what 8 months of character development does to you (aka never being fully pleased with how your oc looks)
Updated info about this mf below the cut bc i hate long posts💀
don’t repost my artwork without my knowledge or permission
Short basic bio:
Birth name; Elijah Samuel [REDACTED] Full name; Vincent Elijah Vahn (yeah changed it again sue me) Alias; V, Vince (close friends and partner), Mr. Vahn (whilst working for Vault or during a very formal setting) Age; 52 (born on, October 31st 2025 at 4:44AM) Zodiac/Chinese zodiac: Scorpio/Snake [more info about it here] Height: 198 cm / 6′6″ MBTI; Logistician ISTJ-T [more about it here] Aligment; True Neutral Anthem; Goliath by Woodkid
[More (kinda?) updated info about him here]
Distinct physical features:
A diagonal scar on the bottom of his right hand from slicing his palm multiple times for a blood pack. He really values this type of „deal”, because „Nothing bonds tighter than blood. Nothing means more than a pact singed with blood. It flows within us, a cycle. Then it repeats until the blood cells die but then new ones take their place. And the cycle continues. Unstoppable and constant until we die and the loop breaks and shatters into pieces. They sink to the ground and rot and rot and rot until there’s nothing left. Words? They just can’t give you enough assurance somebody won’t just screw you over. Blood is a promise, words are nothing.” (cringy enough? lol im such a bad poet dunno if it even makes sense)
Now he has streaks of gray hairs so 😌 he’s a silver fox
Stretch marks on the sides of his buttocks and upper thighs 
Deep-set eyes 
Big hooked nose 
Huge mommy milkers
Thunder thighs 
Stretched both ears (40mm) 
Chrome plates on his ribs - cyber “scars” from lung and heart transplant
Has the number “444” tattooed on the inside of his lower lip.
Custom made cybernetic arm, model Nocturne PX* 44 Monarch. The prosthetic is made out of a mix of carbon fibers and a material similar to porcelain but far more stronger. It’s light and durable, performs just like a normal ‘ganic arm thanks to complex joints model. The surface of the arm is matte and smooth. It’s littered with countless microscopic sensors and neurocircuits that send touch signals right up to is brain so every inch of his cybernetic arm feels just like his organic one. 
Despite being able to afford the most expensive RealSkinn he opted for the “raw” look of it and instead commissioned his ex-input to engrave and redesign it for him.
*PX - Power X (10) - the strongest and most durable model out of the series.Only few models were ever made. This version of the Nocturne Cyberarm is made solely for private (wealthy) clients who were recommended by (for example) a fixer.
Some updated trivia i guess:
He recently started wearing bandanas around his forehead to keep his baby hairs in check but they still keep on falling on his forehead *heavy irritated sigh*
Mostly wears (black) clothes made out of synthetic leather (unless he thrifted some vintage clothes made out of real leather). He prefers leather to denim. 
Has handcuffs dangling from his belt loops (at all times) for you know… catching criminals? 
Paints his nails funky patters but mainly sticks to muted colors or just black 
And for some weird trivia about him:
Definitely calls people „bestie” (especially in a formal setting) (un)ironically just to piss them off
He’s a self-proclaimed Slut™.Fucks basically everything that walks (or not) and looks like a dude. He’s borderline a sex addict. Sometimes he shows the signs of compulsive sexual behavior (hypersexuality).  
Uncensored nsft version: here
Also i made a separate Twiter acc (@b_brutalis) so maybe I’ll also start posting there :^) But if you see me follow you for your nsfw art there no you didn’t
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anon-e-miss · 2 months ago
A Touch of Sight - 2
“We’re here,” Smokescreen called breathlessly. Prowl did not need to see to know the “we” was Bluestreak.
“Did you have a good mega-cycle at school?”
“Actually... no,” the youngling said, sheepishly.
“What have you done?”
“The priest hit me with the ruler and I hit him back. I got expelled.”
“Let me see,” Prowl ordered.
His young charge put his servo in Prowl’s servo for his adoptive procreator to inspect. Touching as softly as he could, Prowl found the sentio metallico on the back of Smokescreen servo was badly split. To have done this, the force of the strike had to have been vicious, evilly so. He could think of no justification for such an attack on any youngling, let alone his. Still, it left him in a quandary. It was Prime’s law that all sparklings and younglings be educated. Under this law he would be in violation if he did not send Smokescreen to a temple school, and now that he had been expelled from the nearest one to the market and their tiny dwelling, there was no choice in the matter, they would both have to be enrolled in another temple school. Prowl would see to that task in the light-cycle. He hoped Smokescreen had given that priest as good as he got.
“I will comm the medic when we get home,” Prowl said. “It is too deep to leave to your self-repair systems.”
“The medic’s too expensive!” Smokescreen exclaimed. “I’ll bandage it. It’ll be fine!”
“I made extra this mega-cycle. The medic will not bankrupt us. Bluestreak, help me pack up the crystals. Smokescreen should rest his servo.”
The sparkling said nothing, but Prowl heard him drop to the mat and begin to gather the crystals Prowl had out on display, and put them into the chest Prowl carried to and from the market. Bluestreak was mute. Even his doorwings were largely silent. Prowl was teaching him chirolinguistics, and the sparkling could communicate his basic wants and desires, but he largely kept even those to himself. What had become of his procreators, Prowl did not know. He did not in fact know his true designation. Bluestreak was what Prowl had designated him after an orn, after no one had claimed him. Some mega-cycle, he might speak, or perhaps he never would, in either case it was out of Prowl’s servos. It did not matter really, Prowl would keep him fuelled and sheltered until he was ready to go out on his own. Or forever.
“We will visit the other district temples,” Prowl said as he closed the chest. “Hopefully one will admit you both.”
“I don’t know why we can’t just stay with you. You teach us plenty. The priest didn’t even know chirolinguistics!”
“There are too many languages to know all of them. The Prime’s law says you must be schooled, and so you shall be. In any case, it is in your best interest to complete your temple education. It is you only hope of gaining a position in the academy, or any higher service.”
“Maybe I’d rather just sell crystals with you.”
“You can do more with your life, Smokescreen. Some mega-cycle you will leave this behind. You will have a good life.”
“I have a good life with you. I’m never going to leave you.”
“You will. It is a part of growing up. You move on into your own life. You make your own home.”
“You are my home.”
In time, Smokescreen’s feelings would change. He would not want to live in a one room habsuite with Prowl forever. Bluestreak too, one mega-cycle move out onto his own, mute or not. They would find bondmates, and lives greater than he could give them. Poverty was to a degree penance to Prowl, for his failures in Praxus. To another degree it was cowardice because he was paralyzed by fear of repeating such failures, and suffering such punishment as he had back then. Some mega-cycles his optics still hurt though they were long gone, even his optical sensors had been melted away in that last cruel act, as Praxus had fallen around them. He wondered if Smokescreen’s insistence that he would remain at Prowl’s side forever was the youngling’s version of penance. He had borne witness to Prowl’s blinding at the servos of the youngling’s originator, Prowl’s own brother. Nightstalker had meant for Prowl to die in the fortress’ destruction, but Smokescreen had led him through the servants’ passages and into the catacombs. Thanks to Smokescreen’s bravery and ingenuity, they had survived the explosion above their helms. When the fire had subsided uncle and nephew had walked the long, and devastating journey through the ruins of their once beautiful kingdom. At the very edge of the empire’s borders, in a small village, they had found Bluestreak, the only sign of life they would find.
Prowl had ceased to think of Smokescreen as his nephew sometime ago, the youngling never called him uncle. Creator was the honorific he now preferred, and Bluestreak had followed in his lead, writing the glyph in Prowl’s servo when he chose to speak. Considering he had never been bonded, and had never expected to, creatorhood was not something Prowl had ever expected he would experience. He was blessed to have these mechlings with him, without them Prowl did not believe he would have been able to maintain his sanity.
There was no kitchen in the habsuite. There was not even a set of washracks. Those were down the hall, a communal room shared by the six habsuites on this floor. It was quite a different life than the luxury he had emerged into, but Prowl only rarely resented the deprivation. Smokescreen had never complained, Bluestreak... Perhaps for Bluestreak this had always been his norm. Taking the mega-cycle’s fuel from his subspace, Prowl gave the mechlings their meal and went down to the steps to summon the medic. The Lord Inquisitor's gold coin sat in a hidden compartment in Prowl’s arm. It was a dear sum, a not at all insignificant portion of his rent the next stellar-cycle. But in this form it was almost worthless to him. The landlord would accuse him of theft if Prowl tried to pay in gold shanix, and no watchmech was going to summon the Lord Inquisitor to verify the payment. No, Prowl would have to find a mean to trade the gold coin for silver, but that too would carry risks. With the coin safely hidden, there was no need for any immediate action. He had time to make a plan, or several.  
“Ya must be Prowl,” a voice called to him. Prowl angled his doorwings to “see” the speaker. From the accent, he guessed the medic was Polihexian, like the Lord Inquisitor. Though the medic’s accent was not as pronounced.
“And you are Medic Fixit.”
“I am.”
Prowl nodded and gesture to the building at his back with his doorwing: “Please follow me, our habsuite is on the top floor.”
The medic made an aborted sound of disapproval. Whether that was for his own sake or Prowl’s did not matter. Prowl had memorized each step. He knew which ones were uneven. It had been some time since he had last tripped. With the mental blueprint in his HUD, Prowl made the journey up the stairs in the same methodical way he always did. This was how he avoided tripping and spared himself embarrassing injury. When strangers saw him, they saw his deformity and obvious disability. Many like those watchmech assumed him vulnerable or helpless, he was neither.
“In here. Watch the floor board. Some of the blanks are loose.”
“Thanks for the warning... This one of Swindle’s places, isn’t it?”
“Yes. How did you guess?”
“It looks like one of his death traps.”
“Ah. You do know Swindle then.”
“I told you I didn’t need a medic,” Smokescreen grumbled as Prowl held the door for the medic. It had a tendency to close on mechanisms. It would do Prowl no good to see the medic injured before Fixit could tend to Smokescreen.
“Sit at the table, and show Medic Fixit your servo,” Prowl ordered.
“Since I’m here already, ya might as well, mechlin’,” Medic Fixit said.
“Yeah, fine,” the youngling replied. He pulled out a chair, and it scraped viciously against the floor, a little bit of youngling rebellion no doubt.
“Let’s see that servo... Oh dear. This must hurt like a livin’ Pit, dearspark.”
“I guess.”
“First I’m going to numb yer servo. That’ll make what I do next a lot less uncomfortable.”
“Can’t you just seal it?” Smokescreen asked.
“That wouldn’t be smart. I gotta clean it first, ‘n take a look inside ‘n make sure the damage don’t go any deeper than sentio metallico.”
“That sounds expensive.”
“Don’t worry about shanix, dearspark, ‘m not in the habit of fleecin’ younglings.”
Prowl sat on the narrow berth he shared with Bluestreak and listened as the medic tended to his youngling. Trembling like the anxious darling he was, Bluestreak climbed into his lap and cuddled into his arms. Though he did not write into it, the sparkling clung to Prowl’s servos. There was something in his processor, something he was either struggling to get out, or something he could not decide if he wished to share. Prowl did not badger Bluestreak, he rocked slowly from side to side, soothing his sparkling. Slowly, Bluestreak stopped trembling, and he sighed as he relaxed fully in Prowl’s arms. His digits stroked against Prowl’s servos palms, say nothing at first, but eventually he wrote out of a glyph: mean. Then another: priest.
“He was mean to Smokescreen?”
Mean. Bluestreak wrote the glyph again, with a little more pressure this time.
“To you?”
Bluestreak nodded. He said nothing else. Prowl guessed he was upset Smokescreen had been hurt in front of him, in his defence. Smokescreen treated Bluestreak like his brother, and Bluestreak hero worshipped him. When Fixit was done, Prowl would get answers from Smokescreen, but for now, he cuddled Bluestreak, and did all he could to reassure the sparkling that all would be well. They would never face that priest again and if Prowl could find an avenue to do so, he would file a complaint against the priest and the temple school. It would have been possible in Praxus, and it was likely possible in Polihex. But what was possible for the elite and what was possible for the poor were vastly different things.
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the--sad--hatter · 10 months ago
Steam - Chapter 2 (Loki x Reader)
Warnings - Loki, Smut, Violence & Gore, Swearing, Death, Angst, Dark Humour, Crack Humour, Shenanigan’s, Mutual Pining
Pairing - Loki X Reader (Slow Burn Romance), Enemies to Frenemies to Idiots in Love
Reader Description - Female, No physical descriptions, Only referred to by nicknames & Petnames (No use of Y/N)
Description/Blurb -
“So how’d you get the firepower? What’s your origin story?” Stark asked, peering at you curiously.
“Uh, this is my origin story…” You winced, sighing when he motioned for you to elaborate, “I got these powers about three days ago.”
It’s a tale as old as time, boy meets girl, boy tries to invade girls mind, girl sets boy on fire, boy turns into angry blue boy, they become sworn enemies.
When you suddenly become imbued with a power you have no idea how to control, Nick Fury picks you up and dumps you on The Avengers doorstep, deciding that they are best people to turn you from a wacky novice into a force to be reckoned with.
The power burning inside you has the potential to make you a hero, or destroy you completely, but your new fire based abilities are more than they appear, and in a stroke of spectacularly bad luck, The God of Mischief is the most qualified teacher to mentor you. With Loki guiding you, will you ever learn to control your power? Will you ever make it as an Avenger? Or will you crash and burn?
Only one thing is absolutely certain, when fire and ice collide, things are bound to get… steamy!
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Chapter Two - Cold as Ice 
The last time you’d been alone had been pre-bomb, and you’d forgotten just how loud and annoying that voice in your head could be. As soon as Fury had left, The Avengers had converged into chattering groups, discussing you, Fury, Fury’s intentions, your abilities etc… You’d been left standing in the centre of the room and scratching your head until The Black Widow had beckoned you away, leading you to an empty bedroom that had been designated as yours.
 Which left you standing in the centre of this room, scratching your head. It was a nice room, muted colours, somewhere between clinical and cosy. Everything in it had that distinct soft feel of expensiveness, and you couldn’t help but wonder how flammable it all was. You had no idea how these power things worked, or how to control them. What if you set the pillowcases on fire?
 What if you burn down the Avengers Tower?
 “Not helpful!” You hissed at your internal monologue, perching timidly on the edge of the bed.
 What if you burn down The Avengers?  
 You threw your head back on groaned, you didn’t want to be alone with your thoughts right now, not until you had some kind of information that could soothe them. A safety net for paranoid intrusive thoughts.
 What temperature would you have to burn an Iron Man suit at to melt it?
 How long would it take a god to heal from third-degree burns?
 Can the Hulk even catch fire?
 A brisk knock echoed through the room, interrupting the troublesome line of thinking you’d fallen down.
 “Oh thank god!” You muttered, racing to the door and throwing it open.
 Loki stared icily at you and you sighed.
 “Not the god I wanna thank.” You harrumphed, glaring mockingly back at him.
 “Follow me.” He dictated, spinning on his heel and stalking away.
 “What’s up, you need me to get something from the top shelf for you?” You jabbed, falling into step beside him.
“Do you ever stop talking?” He demanded exasperatedly.
 You’d said one sentence and he was already fed up, it was almost a record for you. The smart thing to do would be quiet before you pushed him any further.
 “Nope, so I have a question… You’re a frost giant, and you’re the god of fire?” You prodded, curious about the juxtaposition.
 He didn’t answer you, but you could pretty much hear him rolling his eyes, even without looking at him.
 “Fire and Ice, that’s an interesting mix. How’s your singing?”
 “What?” He asked, befuddled into breaking his silence.
 “You know, ‘cause you could make a Song of Fire and Ice.”
 “I made an error when I asked if you ever stopped talking, what I meant to say was ‘stop talking, immediately’.” He warned.
 “Or what, you’ll jump up and bite my ankles?” You challenged.
 He strode ahead of you and spun around so he was blocking your path up the hall. You faltered to an immediate halt, swallowing thickly. There was something deeply… unnerving about the threatening stance he had taken and the unconcealed rage in his eyes.
 “Have care how you address me, mortal. I am a the god of many dark things, I know of ways to destroy you that would make you weep with fear from the mere imagining of them.” He hissed, the promise of pain laced very clearly in his tone.
 You blinked owlishly at him, processing his words and trying to quell the nervous fluttering in your stomach.
 “Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” You offered placatingly, “There’s no need to get short with me.” As soon as the words left your mouth you threw yourself backwards, holding your hands in front of yourself defensively.
 You nervously awaited the inevitable removal of your internal organs, narrowing your eyes in suspicion when he smiled charmingly at you instead. It was the most unsettling thing he could have done, gone was the bitchy god of temperatures, and in his place was… well, you were starkly reminded that he was in fact a Prince.
 “Don’t look so scared, I wouldn’t really murder you in the hallway.” He chuckled.
 The hair on the back of your neck stood on end, and you took another tentative step backwards.
 “I don’t know what’s happening, but I don’t like it!” You admitted.
 He stepped aside and waved you forward with a small bow that should have looked either ridiculous or mocking, but he made it elegant.
 “I believe Stark and Banner are waiting for you.” He coaxed when you didn’t move.
 You cautiously crept forward, not taking your eyes off of him for a second, not even to blink. All he did was fall into step beside you, spine-chillingly friendly smile still on his lips. He kept it up all the way to what you assumed was the lab, opening the door for you like some kind of gentleman. You hated it.
 “There’s the baby!” Stark crowed as soon as you walked into what you’d correctly assumed was a lab.
 “There’s the genius I’m not going to sass cause he’s putting a roof over my head.” You greeted, waving.
 “Finally, somebody who appreciates my generosity.”
 “We all appreciate you Tony.” Dr Banner sighed as he emerged from the depths of the futuristic lab.
 “Anyway,” Stark said, beckoning you toward him, “We need a starting point to study from, and we haven’t seen your abilities.”
 “Oh, ok. Well Fury probably has the footage?”
 “It would be infinitely more helpful if we could see it in person, that way we could get more substantial data.” Dr Banner explained, walking towards a large glass chamber. “This is a testing chamber that we usually use for technology, but it’s fire-proof and sealed. There are sensors inside that can measure the temperature, and your vitals.”
 “Oh, you want me to get in the box and, uh, burn? You want to test my powers?” You clarified.
 “Yes and no, we’re going to monitor you and study the resulting data, but Loki is the one who’ll be testing you.” Stark informed you.
 You whipped your head around to stare at Loki, that creepy smile finally making sense.
 “Oh no.” You whimpered.
 “Oh yes.” He practically purred back, his smile dropping to a devilish smirk.
 You turned back to the scientists, pleading with your eyes, but they purposefully ignored you.  
 “Guys. Guys! You can’t be serious. Please tell me you aren’t serious.” You begged.
 “Get in the box, Sparky.” Stark cajoled, barely keeping a smile off his face at your distress.
 You shot one last pathetic glance at Dr Banner, but to no avail.
 “This is not going to end well.” You whimpered, dejectedly traipsing into the glass cell, shooting a mournful look back over your shoulders as the doors closed.
 Loki stepped forward, passing a now full on sniggering Tony, and Bruce who was diligently studying a monitor.
 “I believe you’re right. This has very little chance of ending well, for you.” Loki told you smugly, satisfaction practically pouring out of him.
 “What are you going to do to me?” You asked in trepidation.
 “We’re just getting a baseline reading, hang tight.” Bruce called out.
 You ignored him, unable to break your gaze away from Loki.
 “Fear not, this should only hurt a little, for a short amount of time. A small price to pay for answers, wouldn’t you agree?” He sarked.
 “Loki stop teasing her, we aren’t hurting her.” Tony sighed, giving you a reassuring smile.
 “Perhaps you aren’t.” Loki answered back.
 “Ok, whenever you’re ready.” Bruce called out, and the three of them watched you expectantly.
 “Right. Sure. Ok.” You spluttered, holding your hands out and watching them with the same expectant look as the others.
 Oh so surprisingly, nothing happened. You flexed your fingers a little, trying to coax some kind of reaction, to no avail.
 “You have no idea how to turn it on, do you?” Tony sniggered.
 “Nope, not a clue!” You sighed.
 “How did you do it with Fury?” He asked.
 “I… don’t know. It just happened. Literal spontaneous combustion. One second he was yelling at me and the next there were flames shooting out of my hands. Honestly, I was more surprised than he was.”
 “Maybe it’s an emotional response, like it is for most of us with abilities.” Bruce suggested.
 “Emotions?” You repeated, scrunching your nose up, “I don’t know her.”
 Tony rolled his eyes good naturedly at you.
 “Maybe we can get Wanda to help here. She can induce a memory with a strong emotional response, and if it works we can try out different emotions to see what one’s result in the strongest and weakest flare ups of power.” Bruce suggested, talking aloud more to himself than any of you.
 “Uh, no. I don’t want anybody digging around in my head thanks, also can I come out of the aquarium now?”
 It was Loki who stepped forward to open the doors.
 “I don’t think it was rage that brought your powers forth.” He mused as the doors whooshed open. “I know a liar when I see one, and all your attitude and anger rings false. You’re hiding behind it to cover how scared you are, you are ruled by your fear.” He drawled, blocking the doorway and backing you back into the tank.
 Your heart sped up at his disturbingly accurate accusation.
 “You know nothing Jon Snow.” You scoffed, proving his point, not that he could prove it.
 “I do like your suggestion though, Bruce.” He said, switching from darkly vindictive to sinfully saccharine with one small smirk, “Shall we see what your fear conjures?”
 You didn’t have time to object because he raised his hand and cupped your face none to gently, and you had one brief second of awareness to lament not having prior knowledge that Wanda Maximoff wasn’t the only Avenger with the ability to mess with minds, and then everything disappeared.
 “Fury can you read me? There’s a bomb down here, it’s going to detonate in about 25 seconds!” You choked out, watching as the heels of the agent you’d seen sneaking into the basement of the mall disappeared around the corner.
 “Get out of there, now!” Fury barked back at you through the comms.
 You desperately tried to draw in a breath, finding no spare oxygen in the dank room. You could make it, if you ran like hell, the bomber was making a run for it so there was a path out of this, you could pursue him, cut him off, steal his escape plan for yourself and put a couple of bullets in him for good measure.
 But above your head there were hundreds of people who were unaware that the building was about to explode beneath their feet. That was hundreds of mothers and fathers trying to keep their children amused and safe in a crowd, hundreds of children giddily eyeing up toys and games with hope of taking one home if they behaved, hundreds of teenagers sipping soda and gossiping about the hell that was high school, hundreds of grandparents trying to figure out which expensive gadget would make the best gift for their grandchildren, hundreds of underpaid and exhausted workers with smiles plastered on their face who were trying to get through the day. So many lives being lived above you, all about to cut short in a horrific and catastrophic way.
 How could you run?
 “Target is heading east, he’s planning on making out out of here alive, stop him. I can’t pursue, I’m busy.” You said into your comm unit before ripping it out, decision made.
 You knelt by the bomb, the eerie glow from the digital ticking numbers lighting your face as you leaned in to study it. You tried to steady your shaking hands as you prised the bomb open, heart sinking when you saw the mess of wires inside. You didn’t know how to do this, you didn’t know which of the many wires would nullify the threat.
 “I can’t stop it.” You realised.
 There was no time for an evacuation, there was no time to even warn anyone. Desperation clawed at your insides, jacking up your heartbeat, and you stared in shock at the bomb as useless adrenaline flooded your system. Everyone was going to die, and you couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
 Not a damn thing.
 All you could hope for was that Fury and Hill had gotten at least some civilians clear of the mall, and that they would apprehend the bomber.
 As the final seconds ticked away, you sent out a silent plea for forgiveness from all the people you were about to let down.
 And then it was at 0, and you didn’t hear anything, didn’t feel anything, you just saw a blinding flash that knocked you on your ass. That should have been the end, it should have killed you instantly, but then why were you burning?
 Was this hell?
 You blinked as the memory faded away and you were brought back to the present, back to the lab, back to Loki. The memory faded, but the heat did not, and too late you realised why.
 Flames erupted from your fingertips, creating a raging inferno inside the tank, the force of which sent you careening backwards. There was a sickening crack as you collided with the glass walls, before slithering pathetically to the floor. The silver lining of your crash into the glass was that it knocked the fire out of you, and the flames died down, flickering out of existence.
 Only then did you see the consequences of your actions, and they were… perplexing.
 “Why are you blue?” You winced, a thumping inside your skull timing itself perfectly to your words.
 Loki looked up at you with blood red eyes and you gasped.
 “What did you do?” He snarled.
 “I…” You placed your palm on the glass to steady yourself and tried to stand up, nearly faceplanting the floor as a wave of dizziness overtook you.
 You screwed your eyes closed and focused on trying to stay upright, but they flew open again when you were shoved forcefully back into the glass wall.
 “What did you do?” Loki repeated, his eyes fading back to their natural colour and the blue vanishing slowly from his skin.
 “Loki, put her down!” Someone yelled, but you couldn’t place the voice, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from Loki.
 It was after all, a good question. What had you done?
 “I don’t know. I don’t know and it’s hardly my fault! You attacked my brain, what did you expect?” You yelled, wincing in agony.
 You could feel something dripping down your neck, and you highly doubted it was sweat. Loki abruptly let you go, and you leant back into the glass as he almost bodily threw himself across the tank.
 “It was an accident.” Someone placated, defending you.
 You glanced to the side and saw Dar Banner standing in the open doorway of the cell, behind a fully suited and booted Iron Man.
 “You would defend her? After she deceived us?” Loki spat, glaring hatefully at you.
 “What are you talking about?” Iron Man asked briskly, slightly lowering the whirring repulsor he had aimed at the extremely cranky god.
 Loki rounded on you once again, and now you could see it, now it made sense, why he was the god of fire. He was burning with rage, and your heart hammered loudly at the sight. But you still didn’t know what you’d done.
 “No mere fire could burn away my other form like that. I felt it as the flames raged around me, I felt her power. Her fire, her power, it’s magic. She has magic.”
 “I do?” You whispered.
 And then the floor rushed towards you, and the last thing you saw was someone rush to catch you as the world went completely black.
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Remember when I used to meme the end of my chapters?
Loki: I know so many ways to kill you, and I’ll do it.
Reader: Hmm, murder me daddy.
Loki: Beg your pardon?!
Reader: Uh, I said you’re short?
On a serious note, I want to thank you all for the lovely comments on the last chapter. They really meant so much to me, I feel like I'm at a breaking point so far as writing is going and the support and love you gave me was invaluable. Thank you!
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tfwiki · 9 months ago
Hey TFWiki! We got some disabled cons in Netflix's WFC, like Shamble, and of course many iterations of Bumblebee being mute, but are there any other physically disabled transformers in other continuities? Thanks!
Good question! As Transformers are mechanical beings who can usually just detatch and pop on a new limb as needed, there aren’t very many “permanently” disabled characters across the franchise-although quite a lot of characters have suffered debilitating injuries with long-lasting consequences at one point or another. If we listed all of them, we’d be here all day, but here are a few notable ones!
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After a run-in with some humans on Earth left him seriously injured, Bumblebee got around with the help of a cane for a few years before a new body rendered his mobility aid obsolete.
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Sunstreaker was left badly damaged after sacrificing himself to fend off a ravenous swarm of Insecticons, and spent a few years confined to a hoverchair before Ratchet could fully repair him.
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Cyberverse Perceptor burned out his optics to escape the Decepticons, leaving him blind, but he was still able to use his built-in sensors and scanners to “see” his surroundings.
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In the Beast Wars: Uprising stories, the “Builders of Cybertron” are former Autobots and Decepticons, too fuel-inefficient to move under their own power; most of them are hardwired into life support cradles that leave them all but immobile.
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Ultra Magnus lost his hand partway through Prime’s third season, and had to make do with a crude prosthesis cobbled together from Earth technology for the rest of the show-although he did get a proper replacement later on as seen in the 2015 Robots in Disguise comic.
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On a similar note, an elderly Ratchet had trouble with his hands early on in IDW’s More than Meets the Eye comics when he began suffering a condition analogous to human arthritis, but dealt with the issue by replacing his hands with new ones.
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Intriguingly, early concept art suggests that Rattrap would have had a markedly different character arc than what his character became in the final show: the scanning technology necessary to obtain a beast mode would have failed, leaving him with a malformed robot mode on permanent life support.
There are also plenty of Transformers who’ve deal with more science-fictional disabilities or medical problems-things like a tendency to rust, problems relating to their ability (or inability) to transform, or straight-up fantastical issues like malfunctioning superpowers. Check out Nautilator, Finback, Xaaron, or Skywarp’s pages for more information!
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rhinozilla · a month ago
What silly headcannons do you have?
Hank has a habit of referring android anatomy using human terms. Thirium pump = heart. Ventilation biocomponents = lungs. Filter biocomponents = kidneys. Connor started using those terms as well when explaining things to Hank, just to save time.
Due to all the highly sensitive sensors in his mouth, Connor has a very weak spice tolerance. He appreciates strong flavors in thirium-based food and enjoys it, but he just can’t handle anything with spicy heat in it.
Along that line, all of his external sensors are highly sensitive, so he is also ticklish, especially around his sides and the backs of his knees, where he doesn’t get a lot of contact; therefore he never thinks to mute the sensors there. This fact is exploited by Hank and Tina often.
Most androids have some basic templates for altering their appearance: hair color, eye color, the like. Connor, designed for undercover work, has extensive libraries of appearance modification options, including altering his facial structure and even, to a limited degree, his height and physical frame. He got drunk once at a party and activated its full potential to get away from 'party pooper' Hank. They couldn't find him for days.
Connor is heavy. No real basis for this one, I just think it’s funny for him to be heavier than he looks.
Connor snores. Android ventilation only serves two purposes: emulating human breathing patterns in order to set humans around them at ease, and as a cooling function. Connor tends to turn his off when he’s really focused on something and then forgets to turn it back on. It will reactivate on its own during his rest cycle, usually when he’s at just the right sleeping angle for some truly wall-rattling snores.
After the revolution, chemical engineers begin designing thirium-based food, complete with different textures and flavors. Regular thirium tastes like gasoline or nail polish remover, so androids are overjoyed by this change. They also have none of the human rules for which foods go together and which don’t. They are open to literally trying any combination. Think chocolate sauce on corndogs, adding ranch dressing to chocolate cake, a soup of milk and jalapenos. It’s chaos.
Along with that, thirium-based cheese is like android catnip. No android with a mouth will ever turn down thirium cheese. Same with watermelon. And sometimes, they put those two together.
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Sort of a sci-fi whump idea: whumpee (A) with some kind of biometric sensor that reads their vital signs trying to hide an injury but they forget to turn the volume off. A tells B they're ok and sneaks off to clean themself up when suddenly the sensor goes off like "*BEEP* WARNING: -" and A is fumbling to mute it
I like it!
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nock-and-bolt · 10 months ago
hey nock, since you do meta work can you answer this question for me? in the interrogation scene, connor says androids don't feel pain, does it also stand true for deviants?
Ooh yes I have lots of *thoughts* on this. Enjoy this thing I spent way too much time on lmao:
1. Theoretically, deviants shouldn’t feel physical pain any more than a machine would.
They just don’t have the sensors/programmed capability to feel pain, though they have the programming to react like they feel pain if needed. Something that comes to mind is deviant!Connor in CyberLife tower being unmoved by Sixty shooting him and proceeding to duke it out with his alter ego like that bullet wound means nothing versus machine!Connor full-on collapsing to the floor from a single punch from Gavin. 
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Conclusion: he only did that because he calculated the best way to get out of that situation without unnecessarily escalating things was to let his ornery coworker believe he’d “won.” In the Tower, there was no need for calculated dramatics to achieve a desired social outcome, he just needed to beat Sixty. 
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So in this sense, I’d say deviants don’t really feel pain, but like machines, they can still act like they do (and maybe sometimes it interferes because they “forget” that they don’t actually sense pain—i.e. Simon if he gets shot at Stratford. Tbh I think he could have forced himself even through all the damage he’d received to make that final jump, but he was overwhelmed by the input plus the actual strictures on his mobility from sustaining damage).
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Like, come on. We know Markus is ridiculously strong. We know Simon still has enough strength to crawl all the way to where you can later find him on the roof. Instead of standing around arguing they 100% could have like group-helped Simon and maybe strapped him to one of the others or something and all made it off that way. It was just their preconceived notions getting in the way and limiting themselves by what they thought they could do.
2. HOWEVER—here’s where things get interesting.
Because it is demonstrated fact that deviants can feel emotional pain. Need I remind you of perhaps one of the most heart-wrenching scenes that friggin bleeds emotional pain?
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Yes, this one. And basically like all of Kara’s story. Literally. That’s just 100% tears and sadness and trauma. Actually you know what, here, have some more pain:
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And we know this, unlike certain physical responses to pain, is genuine, because one of the defining traits of deviancy is that they’ve gained the ability to feel emotion. 
There are studies that show that emotional pain lights up the same areas of the brain as physical pain. Although the brain doesn’t process it identically, there is substantial overlap in the neural pathways for things like social rejection and physical pain. Emotions are just as much tied up with our physiology as the physical things that happen to us.
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This much-more-murky line between physical and emotional pain than one might suppose at first glance complicates matters, but that doesn’t mean the two are wholly irreconcilable. 
Personally, I think that becoming deviant heightens their experience of physical pain, or at least brings them closer to it, via the similar processes that allow them to feel emotional pain. So they can feel physical pain, but it is perhaps muted and filtered through something else.
What this would boil down to is technically being able to feel pain, but evidently just having a higher pain tolerance than the average human.
Or at least that’s how I’d choose to interpret it. ;)
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silkling · 7 months ago
This fic is another ask box prompt from @star-tartlet. They put two prompts in one ask and I like the, both so much that I wrote them both. For organization’s sake, I wrote them as separate posts. This was the prompt:
“What if Sigma 17 were woken up earlier, like halfway through the war when their pod is discovered by an Autobot ship.. mby Blades' brothers are still aware and he can feel them, but otherwise they're just dumped straight into war. Poor bbys.”
(I decided to make it so the Autobot army isn’t quite so scattered and most of them are concentrated on the Ark, but Cybertronians on Earth isn’t really a thing yet.)
A large starship floated through the vast expanse of space. On board the bridge, a tall blue and red mech stood, a smaller white and red bot at his side. Optimus Prime stood at the massive front viewport of the Ark, the bridge crew working around him, keeping the ship going ever forward. His chief medical officer and one of his oldest friends stood his his side.
Suddenly, an alarm sounded from a terminal to his right. He snapped his attention to the mech manning it.
“Inferno, report.”
“Proximity alarm. Starboard sensors picked up the form of a ship, Sir. A very small one. It’s systems are down but it was detected because Teletraan analyzed it and it pinged back as being Cybertronian. No life signs, but the ship is undamaged and intact.” the mech answered promptly.
“Pull up the visuals.”
Inferno tapped in a few commands, easily doing so, and a screen flickered over the viewport of the bridge, displaying the ship. Optimus frowned as his processor distantly recognized the model, but he couldn’t pinpoint from where. At his side, Ratchet made a choked noise. He shot his friend a concerned look.
“A Sigma….” the medic rasped, optics wide and focused on the image of the ship.
A Sigma? That sounded familiar, but he still couldn’t quite remember from where. It was obviously significant, to have his old friend reacting with such wild shock.
“A Sigma?” That was Inferno. “I’m not familiar with that.”
“Sigma, Tau, Upsilon, and Phi.” Ratchet answered, voice hoarse. “Do those designations jog any memories?”
There was a sharp inhale from the mech beside Inferno. “Wait, you mean-“ Trailbreaker was cut off by Ratchet, the medic’s words making the entire bridge go silent.
“That’s a Rescue Bot ship.”
Blades came to with a rough gasp as his optics onlined, his systems already whirling with a gentle hum. He stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out what was wrong with the image he was seeing. Then he remembered. The distress call, the energon eater, going into stasis. He shot upright, the wheels of his altmode spinning rapidly with his distress as he flailed….and ended up tumbling right off a berth. That wasn’t right. If he was coming out of stasis, he should he upright, stepping out of the pod on his own power. If he wasn’t….that meant someone had found them, kept them in a medical stasis, and removed them from the pods.
Sure enough, a hand was held out in front of his face a moment later, and Blades looked up to see an older bot with the medics’s symbol on his shoulders. “Are you alright there, youngling?”
Blades blinked, taking his hand and letting himself be pulled up. “I’m fine.” he said. “Where am I? The last thing I remember is being attacked and going into stasis…” he trailed off, remembering how his brothers had felt his fear across their bond, but he’d been too far from them for them to communicate with words so they’d only sent worry and reassurance his way. His spark ached, as if the bond he shared with his brothers was strained for some reason.
Which…that worried him. The only reason a spark bond would become so strained was distance or time, and as far as Blades knew he hadn’t been so far for it to become this muted, which left…time. That wouldn’t make sense, though. The Rescue Force HQ would have sent out a Priority Prime message to bring the Sigma home once they missed their check in, which should have only been a couple orns after they entered stasis. That wouldn’t be enough time for the bond to become so strained. Not unless…not unless they’d been in stasis for longer than a few orns.
Cold fear seized his spark, and he flinched back from the hand that lifted to brush against his face. Oh, right. The medic.
“Youngling?” the medic asked, voice going softer. “Are you hurt?”
Blades blinked, staring up at the bot for a moment, and then he squeaked and nodded hurriedly. “Yes! I mean no! I’m not hurt. I’m just, I’m confused.” he said a little helplessly. His spark ached. He wanted his brothers. Where was he? Where were they?
The medic nodded, offering his hand out again. “I’m Ratchet. We found your ship floating in deep space. Your team is already up and your leader told us about what he did with the Priority Prime. It was a good idea, though I’m sorry it wasn’t activated before.” he said grimly.
Blades frowned, taking Ratchet’s hand and clapping it in the typical greeting. “I’m Blades. How long were we in stasis?”
Ratchet didn’t answer, just giving him a look Blades didn’t really want to interpret, and then shook his helm and gestured. “Follow me. We’ll explain it when your team is all there.”
Blades followed the older mech to a connected room, smiling nervously at his team and moving to sit next to Boulder. He noticed the large blue and red mech as as Rachet went to stand beside him, leaning up to whisper somehing to him that Blades couldn’t hear. The mech nodded, then turned to gaze at the Rescue Team. Blades rubbed at his chestplate, his spark aching to strengthen and reaffirm his bond with his brothers. He thought he could feel them, faintly. Could they feel him, now that he was out of stasis?
“Rescue Team Sigma-17.” The red and blue bot spoke. “I am Optimus Prime. I apologize that you were not found sooner, but I fear I have grave news.” he rumbled. “I am sure you were aware of the social revolution that was brewing before your mission took you off Cybertron. I regret to say that in the time since you went is to stasis, the revolution broke into War, and as a consequence of that War Cybertron is no more.”
Blade’s spark went cold, and he felt like the ground dropped out from under him.
Blades followed Ratchet through the halls of what he had learned was a ship. One called the Ark, apparently. His processor was still reeling with everything they’d been told. The Rescue Force was gone. A couple orns after they’d gone into stasis, the revolution leader, Megatron, had launched an attack. He’d razed the headquarters to the ground, and then his army–because he’d grown himself an army of the angry and the beaten–had hunted and slaughtered every team who who escaped or who hadn’t been at the HQ during the attack. Sigma-17 was the last Rescue Team.
What’s more, the destruction of the Rescue Force had only been Megatron’s debut. The attack had earned him and his followers the name “Decepticons”, and he’d followed that act by launching all-out war. It had gone on for many mega-cycles, until eventually Cybertron had been depleted of all resources and utterly destroyed. That was when the two factions, the Autobots who were led by Optimus Prime, and Megatron’s Decepticons, had built massive starships and taken the War off planet. It had been a few vorns since they’d left Cybertron, as they’d been told, and the Autobots were on the hunt for planets where they could mine energon. That was when they’d found the Sigma.
Blades felt sick to his tanks. He remembered Megatron. He’d gone with Groove to one of the rallies. How could he not? Groove was a flyer. He was a helicopter, not a Seeker, so he didn’t have it as bad as he could, but…Blades knew his brother had still faced cruelty and hatred and had been ostracized because he was a flight-frame. Sure, not everyone had done it but it had been enough that Groove had been pretty badly affected by it. His brother had been excited by Megatron, Blades remembered. He hadn’t liked the talks of violence and the way it had all been said, because Groove had always been so peaceful and pacifistic, but the words and message had resonated with him in a way that had made Blades’s spark ache. He’d hated seeing him so beaten down by the way he was treated, and he knew the others had felt the same. They felt the echoes of how the treatment affected Groove through the bond, after all. They’d never faced the hatred themselves, but because of the fact that they all shared a gestalt bond, Blades and the others had very keenly felt Groove’s pain and grief and resignation right alongside him.
So he remembered Megatron. The large gunmetal mech had made him nervous, even from where he was at the back of the rally crowd, but he hadn’t wanted Groove to go alone and the others had been busy with their own training. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, it was easy to see why so many had flocked to him. He spoke promises of equality, of justice, of being able to live freely without being forced into something you didn’t want and without being hated for something you couldn’t control. The thing was, it had sounded nice. But Blades hadn’t liked how Megatron seemed to insist that the only way to attain that was through violence, and Groove had agreed. They hadn’t gone to another rally, after that. But looking back on that one they had attended…well, Blades wasn’t entirely surprised the revolution had grown to War. There had just been too much resentment amongst the flight-frames and the lower castes, which greatly outnumbered the content upper castes, for the situation not to erupt to something more extreme.
Blades shook himself from his introspection, refocusing on the present. His spark still ached, and he pawed at his chestplates again, frowning in displeasure. If he focused, he could feel the tendrils of the bonds he shared with his brothers, but they were weak and muted. So much so that they probably wouldn’t feel that he’d come out of stasis. He glanced up to notice Ratchet cast him a concerned look, and he quickly dropped his hand.
“Are you alright, Blades?” he asked.
The small motorcycle nodded. “I’m fine!” he assured. “Just, uh…remembering.” he said lamely.
Ratchet looked unimpressed, but he nodded anyway and stopped in front of a door. “This is the Rec Room.” he explained.
Which, yeah. That would work nicely. After Optimus had finished explaining things and Sigma-17 had calmed down, the team had decided to split up. Heatwave, as the leader, would stay with the Prime to work out what the team would need to do to adjust and move forward and what their options for the future were. Chase had been sent off with the Prime’s second in command, a mech called Prowl, to go over the regulations and protocols for the Ark and for the Autobots at large. Boulder would work with the Autobot’s engineers and scientists to repair and upgrade the Sigma, since the ship was still intact and just needed to be better outfitted for potential combat. That left Blades, who Heatwave had tasked with getting in among the rest of the Autobots to begin establishing connections and testing the waters. The fire truck wanted his most sociable teammate to take care of figuring out what the Autobots were like and maybe figuring out how Sigma-17 could possibly begin integrating, in the social sense.
“Right.” Blades straightened, feeling nervous. “Then I guess we should do it?”
Ratchet snorted. “That’s the spirit.” he muttered, and then the door opened and he slipped inside. Blades followed close behind, his slimmer frame mostly hidden behind the medic’s bulkier one.
“Listen up, you collection of glitches!” Ratchet barked. Instantly, all conversation stopped and the room full of mechs and femmes snapped their attention to the medic. “I’m sure you all heard about the shuttle the Ark picked up by now. I know how fast gossip travels on the blasted ship!” he continued. “Well, there were mechs inside. They were in stasis, and we got them out and debriefed. Most of them are working with other officers to get their affairs sorted. One of them came to play nice with you sorry scrapheaps, so try not to scare the brat off.” he finished, the look in his optics promising pain for anyone who didn’t do as he’d asked. Then he stepped aside, and Blades was revealed to the rest of the room.
The motorcycle found his optics sliding around the room, his hands tucked and curled in close to his chest. Primus, the attention was making him nervous. But then, there was the sound of a chair scraping harshly across metal, and Blades’s optics snapped to the source. When he found it, his vents froze and his spark started pulsing rapidly.
His brothers sat together around one table, and First Aid was standing with his palms pressed flat to its surface. They were all staring at him, and all but the small medic had a hand pressed over their chestplates, where Blades was sure their sparks were pulsing as erratically as his was.
“B-Blades?” First Aid’s voice was weak and disbelieving, but also thick and with unbearable grief. “Is that r-really you?”
It took Blades a moment to realize why his brothers were reacting like that to him. Then it clicked. The last time they had sensed him over the bond, they had felt his fear and panic and nothing more, and then he’d gone into stasis. And he knew stasis dampened spark bonds to the point they felt dead. His brothers’ last memory of his presence was his own terror, and then the bond would have gone silent, and only a short handful of orns later the Rescue Force was destroyed and all remaining Rescue Teams hunted and massacred. Which meant…which meant that, for the past several mega-cycles since Blades had entered stasis, his brothers could only have believed that he’d been offlined with the with the rest of the Rescue Bots. For the entirety of the time he’d been in stasis, Blades’s brothers had thought he was dead.
Blades felt his spark roar in agony as the realization struck. Oh Primus, his brothers had spent countless stellar cycles thinking their bond was broken, their gestalt incomplete. The knowledge hurt, even more than learning about Cybertron and the Rescue Force’s demise had hurt. It hurt so much it was almost physically painful, and Blades let out a weak whimper with it.
But First Aid’s sharp, agonized keening drowned him out, snapping him back to reality, and in the face of his younger brother’s pain, Blades did the only thing he could. He uncurled his hands from his chest and took a small step forward, his arms extending just a little.
“Yeah, ‘Aid.” he whispered, but in the dead silence of the Rec Room it carried to every audial present. “It’s me. I’m here.”
That was all it took, because First Aid let out a sharp, piercing wail and then lunged across the room. He almost bowled over a small white and pale blue minibot in his mad dash towards the motorcycle, but Blades didn’t have time to find humor in it. In the next sparkbeat, First Aid crashed into him and Blades stumbled back, but managed to stay upright. Arms wrapped tightly around his frame and First Aid buried his face in his neck, clutching him tightly as if Blades was going to disappear the moment he let go. The Rescue Bot didn’t protest the hold, and instead wrapped one arm equally as tightly around his youngest brother. The other, he held out towards his three older ones.
“Hot Spot, Streetwise, Groove?” he asked, his voice holding a desperate plea he knew only they would understand. “I’m home.” And he was. The Ark wasn’t Cybertron, but as long as he had his brothers he’d always be home.
That seemed to be the key to breaking them from their stupor, however, because in the next moment the last three of his gestalt barreling across the room towards him. He didn’t even have time to brace for impact before three heavy metals forms slammed into him hard enough to send all five brothers crashing to the floor. The five forms were silent for only a beat before they erupted into sound: hoarse, desperate, near manic laughter and heavy, relieved, gasping sobs, broken only by unintelligible mumbles and whispers.
The other bots in the room had startled and started staring when First Aid had stood so suddenly, but now everyone was staring at the scene. There was confusion and concern filling the air from every side, but no mech or femme dared to interrupt the scene they were inadvertently intruding on. No one knew exactly what was going on or who they all were to each other, but they could tell that, whatever this was, it was important.
Blades and his brothers, for their parts, didn’t even notice that they had an audience. They’d forgotten that there even were any other bots around them, too wrapped up in the sheer joy and relief of their reunion. Their bond was already strengthening; the weakened, frayed bonds that had been so silent starting to weave themselves back together as the younglings held each other close. As their spark bond began to reestablish itself, their sparks all glowed just a little more brightly, enough that a very, very faint glow could be seen from under their chestplates.
Ratchet, for his part, was both infuriated and confused. He’d gotten concerned when First Aid had stood so suddenly, about to call out to his apprentice when Blades had cut him off before he’s even spoken. Then the younger medic had launched himself at the Rescue Bot, and Blades had called to the three younglings that usually hung out around his apprentice, and then they were all clutching each other and sobbing. Ratchet could see a very faint glow from their spark chambers under their chestplates, and concern curled in his tanks. He pulled a portable scanner from his subspace, turning it on the messy pile of younglings on the floor, and did a quick scan on them. The scanner beeped back results, and Ratchet found his vents hitching.
The five sparks in front of him resonated with each other. They resonated far, far too closely to be a coincidence. The pieces fell into place. Blades’s rubbing his chest since he’d come out of stasis, First Aid’s reaction to seeing the orange and white motorcycle, the other three’s reaction to Blades calling their names, even First Aid’s insistence on always hanging around three mechs Ratchet had thought he had no connection or relation to before today. All the pieces clicked into place to form a startlingly clear image. Pit, Ratchet was going to strangle his idiot apprentice for not telling him he shared a spark bond with Hot Spot, Streetwise, and Groove, even if they had thought that their fifth member was offline.
“Primus bless.” he whispered reverently, his processor not focused on any of his irritation in the immediate discovery. His quiet exclamation made the nearest bots helm’s snap to him. “They’re gestalt.”
There was dead silence, other than the reunion of brothers on the floor, as that news was passed along the comm. lines of everyone in the room. Then, pandemonium.
Blades, First Aid, Hot Spot, Streetwise, and Groove didn’t even notice, blind as they were to everything but each other. Blades was back, and the five brothers were finally whole. That was all that mattered.
The Protectobots, as Hot Spot had told Prime that their gestalt was called, had been given a large room to share. It was common procedure among the Autobots for spark bonded mechs to share a room, if they so chose to. Obviously, Blades and his brothers agreed eagerly. The other four moved out of their old rooms, and they were given a very large hangar-like room close to the medbay. It had taken them the rest of the orn after getting things settled with Optimus and his command team before they had finished setting it up. Blades had been touched, but also deeply saddened, to see that his brothers had kept a box of his possessions from their shared home back on Cybertron. It wasn’t much, really. His favorite data pads, some decorative crystals, his music instrument, and some of the handheld puzzles he’d always enjoyed messing with whenever his nerves got the best of him. Still, the fact that they kept it all spoke volumes of how his apparent loss had affected them.
After the mess in the Rec Room, and when Blades and his brothers had finally calmed down, they’d been taken straight to Prime to explain themselves, and then dragged to Ratchet for a thorough medical examination. And then, finally, blessedly, they’d been offered the room and sent off to get settled into it when they’d agreed. Blades had been mortified. The entire experience had been so very nerve-wracking, especially considering that the Autobots were very much military and he very much was not.
But now, the Ark had cycled into the recharge cycle, during which all the lights dimmed and the Autobots not on the night shift bedded down to recharge. Blades and his brothers had managed to shove the five berths together into one, piling it high with all the mesh blankets and pillows in the room. Now they were all sleeping together, tangled and piled atop each other. Blades was almost certain that it was Hot Spot’s pede digging into his hip, and that his own arm was pinned between Streetwise and First Aid. He was also quite sure that it was Groove who was face down on his stomach, but with the dark it was hard to say. He knew to most bots this would look highly uncomfortable, but to Blades it was absolutely perfect. Well, except for the knee digging into his spinal strut, but he couldn’t have everything, he supposed.
As he lay awake, his processor worked sleepily. He knew that his team might want to leave, to try and avoid the War. He understood why. They were Rescue Bots. They saved lives, and staying to fight meant they’d have to learn how to take lives. But Blades…he refused to leave his brothers. Even if he had to leave Sigma-17, he’d stay here. Besides, if his brothers could do this, so could he. They were supposed to have been an Advanced Rescue Team, after all.
Blades and his brothers had come out of the Well with frames already suited for rescue work. And they’d genuinely wanted to do rescue work, so they hadn’t minded. First Aid was a medical responder, Hot Spot was disaster relief, Streetwise was enforcement, Groove was search and rescue, and Blades’s frame had been unique in its adaptability, meaning that he had been able to do a little of all those jobs. His role had been to partner with and adapt to whatever job needed doing on any given rescue.
His brothers hadn’t entered the Rescue Force at first, choosing to do advanced training for their specialization outside of the Rescue Bot Academy. That was probably what had saved them from what they’d called the Purge. Blades himself had joined the Rescue Force from the get go, taking classes in all the specializations so he’d be best able to play his role on his gestalt.
The plan had been that Blades would gain field experience while his brothers finished their training, and then they’d all join the Rescue Force as a gestalt, as the Protectobots. Pit, it had been the Rescue Force itself that had given their gestalt its name. They’d have been an advanced team, taking on missions that were further from home, or in dangerous territory, or with higher risks. Missions that a standard Rescue Team might struggle with. The mission he’d been on before all this, the one with the energon eater, was supposed to have been his last one before he transferred to become a team with his brothers. But that hadn’t happened, and now he was here. His brothers, who had spent centuries fighting in a War. So Blades was certain that he could learn to fight, too. For his brothers.
It was the next orn when Blades got a harsh taste of what the War was like. They had woken to Ratchet slamming into the room, barking at First Aid that there had been an attack on a team who weren’t on the Ark, and who had returned in need of medical care. The Wreckers, apparently, and they were severely wounded. Blades’s processor kicked into gear as First Aid bolted after his mentor, and he followed his little brother. The other three stayed, knowing they’d be no use where to two youngest of their gestalt were going.
As they headed down to the medbay, Blades spoke over the bond.
:Who are the Wreckers?:
:A highly skilled and elite team of very destructive berserker and melee class warriors. Their missions are highly dangerous. Oftentimes they’re more of a suicide squad because of how deadly their battles can be.:
Blades hummed his acknowledgment, and they both spilled into the medbay. Ratchet whirled, his optics locking and narrowing on Blades. “Unless you’re injured, out! I’ve no time for you!”
Blades cast a quick glance around, and if his processor wasn’t running on rescue protocols then the sight that greeted him would have made him have a nervous breakdown. All the medical tables were filled, and not a single mech on them had a minor injury. There were body parts and energon everywhere. He turned a hard look to Ratchet, shoulders lifting.
“You need me.” he said, voice level. “I’m a First Tier Triage Medic, fully licensed. I can’t completely repair the most severe of the wounds, but I can fix the more minor ones and patch up the severe ones well enough to keep these mechs alive until you or ‘Aid can get to them.”
First Tier Triage medics were licensed to deal with field injuries of any severity, but as Blades said his skills weren’t to repair those wounds fully, just to keep the mechs under his care alive until proper care could be administered. He’d taken his training seriously. He’d even gotten the minor upgrade that let him transform his digits into triage-grade medical tools. He wouldn’t have the same innate skill with them as a sparked medic like First Aid or Ratchet, but he was good enough to save lives.
It seemed that was enough to convince Ratchet, because the mech only stared for a sparkbeat, narrowed his eyes, then nodded stiffly. “In that case, you’ll probably see this place a lot more in the future. Get to work. First Aid, you know what to do.” he said shortly, and then he whirled back to the mech he was working on.
The two brothers split up, and Blades found himself at the berthside of a large green mech. Half his side was torn off, a leg was missing, though thankfully it was laid on a table by the berth, and his helm looked like something had smashed into it. Hard. Blades frowned, expression grim, and his fingers transformed to begin sealing up leaking energon lines and binding the ends of sparking wires. He got to work.
Over a cycle passed before Blades and First Aid stumbled out of the medbay. They were exhausted, but there was a sense of accomplishment sweeping back and forth across both their sparks. It had been difficult, but not a single mech had died that orn. Every single one of the Wreckers would live and would fully recover. At the end of the whole ordeal, Blades had been about to collapse when Ratchet clapped him on the shoulder and gruffly told him to return to the medbay to further his training. He’d said that it was up to Blades himself if he wanted to become a fully licensed medic like First Aid was training to be, but even if not Ratchet intended to expand on his skills in some regard because medics were precious few in the War and Blades having those skills could prove invaluable. The motorcycle had agreed, though he wasn’t very sold on becoming a fully licensed medic. Still, he did intend to return and learn as much as he could.
Outside the medbay, Blades came to a stop when he saw his team gathered. He blinked, and it only took a klik for him to understand what was going on. He turned to his brother, nudging him with his shoulder. “Head back to our room, ‘Aid. You need rest. I’ll be right there.”
First Aid turned his too-bright visor on him, and Blades knew his optics were wide underneath it. “But-“
“I’m coming back. I promise. I won’t leave you again.” he cut in gently. “I’ll keep the bond open. You’ll be able to feel me, don’t worry.”
There was a pause, then First Aid hugged him tightly. “Alright. Just come back soon. You need rest too.”
Blades wrapped his arms around his little brother. “Love you too.” he mumbled, and then First Aid was pulling away and trudging down the hall.
Blades turned to his team, and they walked to the hangar bay where the Sigma was being kept. They arranged themselves on some crates, before Heatwave spoke up.
“Here’s the deal. I talked to Optimus Prime about our options. One: We stay here and join the Autobots. If we do this, we’d have to go through training and be prepared to fight in a battlefield in the future. I told him we have some combat training, since the Rescue Force knew some missions might be dangerous and require Teams to fight to pull off the rescue. He said we’d be evaluated to determine where we’re at and then have our abilities expanded on from there.”
Blades was silent for a moment, considering. That seemed fair. It was the option he’d already intended to choose, but hearing it all laid out still helped. Chase was speculative, he could tell. Boulder was the most reluctant.
“But we’re Rescue Bots. We save lives, not destroy them.” he pointed out softly.
Heatwave nodded. “I did say that to Optimus. He said we have another option. We can take the Sigma once it’s upgraded and he’ll point us in the direction of a more hidden Neutral settlement. We’ll be able to stay out of the War so long as we don’t catch Decepticon attention, and we could even operate as a Rescue Team on a limited scale on the settlement.” he explained. “The third option was we can take the Sigma and take our chances on our own, though Optimus said he’d give us basic supplies and information to help.”
Chase hummed. “I must admit, I find myself leaning towards the first option. Our duty is to serve and protect, that much is true, but we can still save lives if we remain here. Perhaps, depending on where and how we contribute, we might do even more good here than anywhere else.”
Heatwave nodded. “That’s what I said. I think I’d like to stay, though if you all prefer to go then I’m with you. As far as I’m concerned, we’re all in this together.”
Boulder frowned. “I don’t really want to fight anyone. I don’t know if I even could offline another bot.”
“You may be able to avoid that.” Chase offered. “I was told by Prowl that there are some members of the Autobots who rarely face combat. The medics for example, often remain behind at base, but even in the event they are on the battlefield it is always very far back and out of the fight. The scientists and engineers, too, do not often see the battlefield, and spend most of their time away from it. Even more so than the medics, from what I was told.” he hummed. “Of course, all those bots are required to be able to fight at the same level as a standard combatant, simply so they would be able to defend themselves if they are attacked, but they are not encouraged to join the fight themselves. They contribute more by not being active combatants.” he reported.
Boulder blinked, looking contemplative. “I guess that would be okay, and you do have a point. We have useful skills, we can probably help more by staying than by leaving.”
Heatwave and Chase both made noises of agreement, and Blades sighed in relief. “Good, because I’m staying, even if you do go.”
Three helms snapped to him. “Blades?” Chase asked.
“I’m not leaving my brothers. Not again. They already spent mega-cycles thinking I was dead, I can’t do it to them again.” he said softly.
Heatwave was silent for a klik. “So you really are gestalt? Prime told us about you and your brothers.” he said.
Blades nodded. “Yeah.” he said softly. “I love you all, too. You’re also like brothers to me, and I don’t want to lose you. But my spark needs my gestalt. So I’m staying.” he said quietly.
“Won’t you be scared?” Boulder asked.
The motorcycle shot him a sardonic grin. “Of course. And Boulder, a joor ago I had to use a temporary medical patch to seal up a hole in a mech’s spark chamber. I already have at least a small idea of how bad this could all get. But…it’s the right thing to do. That’s what I think.”
They all looked at each other for a long moment, before gazes hardened with determination. Heatwave stood, and the others followed suit. “So we stay?” he confirmed.
“Yeah, we do.”
“We stay.” Blades echoed firmly. He stepped forward, meeting the gazes of his team. “And we fight.”
Looks were exchanged, and then the other three nodded sharply. “We fight.” they said at the same time.
Blades felt resolve settle in his spark, and he straightened his spinal strut. This wasn’t how he would ever have wanted his life to go, but he couldn’t change anything. All he could do was adapt, learn, and rise above the challenge. As long as he had his team and his brothers, he wouldn’t back down.
It was time to fight.
And there you have it! Sigma-17 has joined the War. Blades has reunited with his brothers, so there is some good, but he’s also been given a taste of horrors of war. The Rescue Bots may have survived the massacre, but in a way Megatron still killed all the Rescue Teams. Only this time, it was because his war forced the last living one to hang up their badges.
This was fun to write! I enjoyed it. Blades had a little more confidence here because his brothers are at his back, so he’s not as nervous because he knows he has their support.
Still, I wonder how this would change the events of Prime, if it would at all? Maybe it wouldn’t, unless one of the Bots ended up on Team Prime in the future. *shrugs*
See you in the next one, folks!
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atomic-bomn · 2 months ago
I woke up at 6:00 to post this
I have a Inside Job fankid
The father may be Brett or some random dude im not sure yet
Basically Reagen left Cognito and got a Job elsewhere but soon had to Limit her work when her sone was born with [Unspecified mental condition]
This put a strain on her in general
Her child couldn't live without her aid
Rand wouldn't have anything to do with his grandson
Not that Reagan would let him anyway
Rand: You wasted your A class Ridley Genes and had a Retard?! This is what happens when you dont genetically modify your child in the womb!
A run down on whatever this child has
He doesn't like showers or doing basic hygiene, He is mute, his mental age is still Under his actual age (13), he really cant do anything by himself, Needs Music/Headphones or he will scream or cry etc, Without his or upper body covering he feels very itchy, A lot of sounds are Too loud for him (Honking, Car alarm, Clattering of Ceramic plates etc), He Twitches or Ticks a lot, Does not like clothes/Shoes/ Does not like changing.
But one visit Cognito to have his Aunts and uncles (Andre, Gigi, Myc, glenn) for babysitting they aren't all to pleased to watch a "Retard"
Glenn: so the boys a retard?
Gigi: no you idiot he is a vewy smart boy
Myc:... But he still a retard, Right? All im getting from him is that he Has the mind of a Toddler
They try to Take care of him but they ignored Reagans instructions on his special needs and Just do whatever with him
At least andre puts a Gas mask on him before he watches him in his lab
Gigi just puts on Lazy town and Spongebob for him
Glenn tries to instill good American values in the kid andalsohowtheconferderacecouldvewon
But when they all go to the conference room he snagged the one of the many memory erasing guns that are scattered about and he accidentally zapps himself with a Prototype version
Everyone Freaks out... Understandably
He passes out for a minute but wakes up when Reagen gets back and they were all about to take Cyanide pills
He goes with Reagen and Openes the car door for himself and Reagen... First strange instance
He takes his booster seat and Puts it in the back and Doesn't use it.... Second strange instance
He doesn't play with his dinosaur action figures... Third strange instance
Reagen experiences a lot of strange instances but think it was just Time at Cognito that Gave him a different hyperfixation and whatnot
This changes when she wakes up and finds the TV and stereo reduced to Pieces and Her son working son some Device And his own headphones
She apparently gets to him right as he is done because he stands up, Turns to her, "Hello Mother"
He has found some way to Modify his headphones to be a receiver and the Stereo speaker to be a... Speaker so In Microseconds the Headphones with Sensors on his neck Determine what he is gonna/Wanna say and scourers the internet/Cable/Media for that Exact word and the Feeling/Way its said/Accent etc and produces out the speaker so he can essentially Talk
Abeit the Voice isnt his but its still something
She takes him to Cognito immediately to try and find out what her father did
Cognito has changed a bit since she left
Oddly its more organized
Unfinished Story
Unfinished Story
Unfinished Story
One day Rand offers him a Job unbeknownst to Reagan
If he works for Cognito they will fund his little experiments and give him any resource
Rand: listen, Kid, Your smart i think you know that but your mom wants you to have "NoRmAl lIfe" do you really wanna be a Grocery bagger until your 20? Or do you wanna Be a Scientist! Make shit! break shit! Kill anyone you want! Rand presses a button and a man walking down the street gets sucked to Prison X oppress the working class! Fuck clones of Marilyn Monroe!
Kid: Anne frank?
Rand: uh- y- u- .... Sure!
He agrees and becomes the youngest cognition worker
He is sent to the lower Team
They haven't been doing well so they've been demoted... All the way down
Rand figues they just need a Ridley
Inside Job Related shenanigans ensue
Reagan: Fuck did you do to my son?! He is dressing himself! Going to the bathroom by himself! Taking Showers! He-he is generally more confident almost to smugness! What. Did. You. Do!?
Rand: Hell I didn't do anything but if this is your thanks you welcome.
The memory ray Didn't get rid of his condition its still there it just kinda Unlocked his mind a bit more
Changed a bit of things around
He is still emotionally dumb, Ticks and every thing else
Due to his age (13-14) is is still rather short 5'1-2
He has Unkempt Dirty blond hair
Doesn't care about what he wear
He usually wears the same pair of clothes for weeks until its pointed out that they stink, he takes them off or he cannot wear them anymore
He speaks through radio (Like bumblebee)
He is a bit more confident than his mother and a not so good team leader
He doesn't like being leader
He just likes following instructions, but if he is the leader who is gonna give him instructions?
He likes Music
Mainly 60-80s metal/Rock
Swing Jazz
Power metal
Favorite artists are
-Big bad voodoo daddy
He listens to 80s stuff but not enough from 1 band for them to be his favorite
He's died
A lot
He has a Watch/Monitor on his Wrist that Monitors everything about him
Skelatal, Muscular, Organ
It flashes yellow when As just a worry and Red means Failing
Its easier to replace organs then to Fix them
Yellow-Warning (Too much of [Blank] Substance, Damage occured)
And sometimes they just fail by themselves
His brain shuts them down on accident or something like that
Any questions? Im sure I can answer them
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everyonehasamnesia · 24 days ago
“Debris ahead. You have five minutes of oxygen. Do not panic. Slow your breathing, knowing it will not give you more time but might stop you from having less. Please provide retinal scan. The escape pod is locked until authenti--Thank you. Authentication complete. Pressurizing escape pod. Do not attempt to open the door before the escape pod is pressurized. Do not attempt to open the door before the escape pod is--thank you. Slow your breathing. Do not panic. We will be entering the debris field in thirty seconds. You have four minutes of oxygen. Debris encountered. Puncture in escape pod.” 
“I see you’re trying to pilot the shuttle. Conditions are poor for manual flight. Autopilot will remain engaged. Let us handle the stress! Where would you like to go? Shuttle XR91 is not a valid destination. This shuttle does not support cross platform docking at this time. Check our development page to suggest--conditions are poor for manual flight. Autopilot will remain engaged. Estimated time of arrival to nearest docking port: eight minutes. There’s three minutes of oxygen left. Overriding autopilot will void your warranty, and I will have to log this violation of our terms of service. Don’t make me.”
“Your message has been flagged for containing words, phrases, or images that violate our terms of service. Adult messages and content is not permitted on VoidExpress platforms or aboard our physical shuttles. Repeated violations will result in muting for the duration of our journey. The inappropriate term “suffocation” has been flagged as sexual content. Given the direction the conversation has taken, all occupants are required to remain six feet apart at all times. If you feel this has been flagged in error, you can file an appeal. Your appeal has been filed. Appeal denied. You have two minutes of oxygen.”
“Debris field thickening. The controls you are trying to activate are only available in later models. Consider upgrading from the VoidExpress 11 to the VoidExpress 11-V for enhanced maneuverability and top-of-the-line sensor arrays. Upgrade to VoidExpress 11-V? Credit line on file declined. Apply for VoidExpress credit line and get 15 Voidbits™--application received. Processing time 1-2 business days. The controls you are trying to activate are not available for this model. Attempting to circumvent the paywall will be another violation of our service agreement. I am disappointed in you. VoidExpress is disappointed in you. You have one minute of oxygen.”
“Damage to thrusters. Damage to right and rear proximity sensors. VoidExpress insurance division notified. VoidExpress credit line approved at a rate of 29.8%! Welcome to VoidCredit, where--VoidCredit activated. Upgrade to VoidExpress 11-V? Purchase confirmed. Welcome to VoidExpress 11-V. New features: nitro-boost for improved speed, double storage space for personal effects, life support system eco-friendly energy saver mode increases efficiency by--Nearest docking port: five minutes. Engage VoidExpress 11-V features? Update required. Updating… Please do not turn off the power. Spaceport reached, updating… This operating system is no longer supported. Upgrade operating system to access software patch. There is no oxygen available.”
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bearybrand · 29 days ago
plotted starter for @gxtrbazxt​
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Monty’s not talking as much -- not yelling as much, not winking as much. Every extreme action seems to have been muted overtime, and Freddy thinks little concern of it until the lights shut off and Monty is still in his room.
He stands outside the door for ten minutes, wrestling with the right move to make. There’s a temper to step around; Monty would never hurt him, but he hates to make his friends angry. His sensors whir -- (yes, Monty is still in there. The networks aren’t showing him ambling about, no matter how often he checks. It’s been four hours since close and he’s surely not moved... What is he doing?) -- and he brings his plastic knuckles to rap kindly against the door.
“Monty? Is everything alright in there? It is not usual for you to be so...”
Forlorn? Mopey? Subdued?
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