#sorry for coming on here to vent all the time but my offline life is a little crazy at the moment and half this shit i can't talk about irl | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

silkling · 3 years

Text

Falsely Accused: Begin Anew

Primus had it out for him, it seemed. Prowl must have done something truly terrible in a past life to deserve everything that had happened to him in this one. Pits, he wasn’t even considered an adult by Cybertronian standards. He was no longer a youngling, that much was true. He had aged out of that descriptor in Trypticon. He was, however, what most bots would consider a mechling. Not quite underage anymore, but still not yet a fully fledged adult. Had he still been on Cybertron and a free mech, he would be legally old enough to work but not yet old enough to consume engex. In some city-states, he would not even be old enough to consume high-grade, which was considerably weaker and not as intoxicating as engex.

All that was to say, was that he had experienced a significant degree of pain, suffering, and general bad luck for a bot was was still so young by his species standards. Sometimes, Prowl couldn’t help but question why. He had been happy, when he’d been training under Master Yoketron. His life before the Dojo had been hard, and much of it had been spent in the Praxian Youth Center, and then he’d escaped and lived as a street rat. It had been difficult, but at least he’d not been forced into any sort of role or job; at least he had been free. Then he’d been taken in by Yoketron, and everything had looked up. But even that hadn’t lasted, and he’d lost the last of his youth to Trypticon and the wardens who had so despised him.

And then, not even a full deca-cycle since he had been freed from his prison and escaped Cybertron, he had been discovered on what he hoped would be a refuge by Neutral Cybertronians. Not just any Neutrals, either. A cyber-ninja master and his student, of all things. Prowl knew that here could be multiple cyber-ninja masters at one time, though there was only ever one Master of the Cyber-Ninja Corps at a time. What caused him so much distress with this new revelation was that he distinctly remembered Master Yoketron telling him that none of his students, graduated or otherwise, had yet reached the necessary skill level to be called a cyber-ninja master. Which meant either the strange bot, Wing, was either lying, or he wasn’t one of Master Yoketron’s students. But if he wasn’t one of his Master’s former students, Prowl couldn’t think of where else he could have come from.

Unless…?

Wing looked young. Much younger than Master Yoketron had. But…he knew it was possible for mechs who were millions upon millions of stellar cycles old to look like they’d only just been freshly upgraded to their final frames. So was is possible that Wing was Master Yoketron’s age, or perhaps older? It was all he could think of. It would also explain how Wing could be a jet, yet not be a Decepticon.

Prowl shook his head roughly to clear his processor of the spiraling train of thought, immediately regretting the action when it caused his processor to shriek in agonized protest. He winced, pressing his hand to his forehelm, his thumb brushing over his broken chevron. After a klik, he lowered his head and dropped his shoulders. He had to put that aside. It didn’t matter anymore, anyway. He had left Wing and Drift behind at the cliff where they’d found him. He refused to take any chances with Cybertronians. Unfortunately, now that he knew they were here, he had to get off this planet. He had enough shanix to buy himself another trip on a cargo ship. He didn’t care where it took him, he just needed to get away.

He forced his processor back on track. Prowl was in the cave now, and he had gotten away from the odd pair, so he would be safe. It had been a few couple solar cycles since he’d encountered them. He would need to go out for energon, soon. But he was fairly sure that as long as he was careful, he wouldn’t be found. First though, he needed rest. He was exhausted, and he wouldn’t be able to track down fuel if he was too tired to function. So, he curled up in the back corner of the cave, facing the entrance, and let his optics slip shut. He would worry about fuel – and the two cyber-ninjas – later.

As he slipped into recharge, his processor replayed his encounter with Wing and Drift, and for once he blessedly wasn’t plagued by nightmares in the form of memories.

——————————

“Ah, but how rude of me! I should introduce myself and my companion before I ask so many questions!” The jet gave him another warm grin, gesturing first at himself, then at the racer beside him. “I’m a cyber-ninja master. My name is Wing, and this is my student, Drift.”

Prowl froze, his optics going wide behind his visor. “…what?” he whispered, voice hoarse.

Wing’s expression shifted to one of concern. “Are you okay, little one?” He asked.

Prowl flinched back from the hand that reached for him. “I’m fine.” he said roughly. “But what did you say?” He had to have misheard.

Wing shared a worried look with Drift. Then he looked back at the frightened mechling. “My name is Wing. I’m a cyber-ninja master.” he nodded at the racer beside him. “This is my student. Drift.”

Prowl reset his vocalizer, spark pulsing frantically. So he hadn’t misheard. But how was that possible? He had thought Master Yoketron was the only surviving cyber-ninja master. But this Wing claimed to be one as well? It didn’t make sense. He was a jet, a flyer. Weren’t most flyers Decepticons? Yet, Prowl saw no faction markings on the mechs in front of him.

“And you, little one?”

“What?” Prowl was jerked out of his panic by the older mech’s voice.

“Your name?” Wing asked, tone gentle.

“…Prowl.”

“Well met, Prowl.” Wing greeted, his expression warm.

“Well met.” Drift offered up, dipping his helm in a friendly nod.

Prowl hesitated, then ducked his own helm quickly. “Well met, Wing. Well met, Drift.” he said in return. He paused for another moment, but then he had to ask. “You…you are truly a cyber-ninja master? Like Master Yoketron was?”

Wing’s optics lit up. “Indeed!” he said brightly. His grin widened. “You know Yoketron, then? It’s been a long time since I saw him last.” he mused.

Prowl flinched. “Master Yoketron-“ his vocalizer cut off into static, and he had to reset it before he could finish. “Master Yoketron has joined the Well of All Sparks. He was offlined many mega-cycles ago.” he said haltingly.

At that, Wing visibly saddened, his wings dipping with his drop in mood. Drift lifted a hand to his Master’s shoulder, his field pulsing a beat of comfort.

“I know.” the jet said softly. “We may not be affiliated with any Cybertronian faction, nor have we returned to Cybertron for many mega-cycles, but I did hear about Yoketron’s fate. Every Cybertronian, both those on planet and those not, know he was offlined. The loss of the Master of the Cyber-Ninja Corps is a grave blow.” he murmured.

Prowl swallowed. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know why he was apologizing. It wasn’t his fault. He supposed he had gotten used to apologizing to bots who were angry or upset with him, even when he had done nothing wrong. It had often been the only way to avoid the ire of the guards at Trypticon, though it didn’t always work.

“You have nothing to apologize for, it was not your fault.” Wing said, sounding confused.

Prowl winced, wanting to change the topic. “You said you have no affiliation to any Cybertronian faction. You are Neutrals, then?” he said suddenly.

Both mechs looked at each other, clearly catching on to the very unsubtle attempt to shift the conversation. Blessedly, neither said anything about it.

“Yes.” Wing answered smoothly.

“Then what is it you do?” Despite himself, Prowl was curious.

“Exploration, mostly.” Wing hummed. “Though we occasionally take jobs as bounty hunters, of a sort, in order to earn credits.”

Prowl tensed, his vents hitching and his armor clamping tight to his frame. Bounty hunters. Oh Primus, he’d made a mistake. They were here for him after all. Why else would Cybertronian bounty hunters be so interested in him? He knew this hadn’t been a coincidence. Pits, but he shouldn’t have let his guard down.

Wing seemed to notice his fear, because the large mech stepped forward. “Prowl? Are you well?”

The two-wheeler jolted as if he’d been shocked, and then he dived forward and down, folding into his alt mode despite the painful protest his frame made, and as soon as his wheels hit the ground he was speeding off. He heard noises of alarm from both mechs still on the cliff, but he didn’t dare slow down. He had to get away. He wouldn’t go back to Cybertron, he refused to.

And so, spark pulsing at a painful rate, panic overriding his thoughts, he drove until he couldn’t hear them anymore, and then he continued to drive some more. The cave he’d found earlier was well hidden and far away. He’d be safe there.

He had to be.

——————————

Prowl wasn’t sure what woke him, at first. He just knew he hadn’t come out of recharge on his own. He onlined his optics, and was about to sit up when he saw the white form sitting a few paces away from him. Immediately, he froze, fear swamping his EM field before both it and his armor clamped tight. Wing. Somehow, the jet had found him. He flicked his gaze up to see that the older mech was staring at him, expression unreadable. For a long moment, the two bots simply stared at each other in silence.

The groaning of Prowl’s tanks broke it.

Wing frowned, then slipped a hand into his subspace and pulled out an energon cube. Prowl fought the urge to whimper at the sight of the clean, obviously good-quality fuel. He was immensely surprised when, instead of drinking it, Wing set it down and leaned forward to push it towards him. He lay still for several sparkbeats, unable to understand what was happening. He still didn’t sit up, remaining curled up and pressed tightly into his corner.

“Drink, Prowl.” Wing’s voice was gentle, when he finally spoke. “That cube is yours. You need it.”

Prowl hesitated, but in the end he knew he couldn’t deny it. Not with how starved he was, and with how Wing was blocking the exit. He sat up slowly, his damaged and neglected limbs aching, and reached out for the cube. When Wing didn’t make to snatch it back, he curled his fingers around it and pulled it close. He peeled back the seal, distantly noting that if it was still sealed it was not as likely to have been tampered with, and lifted the cube to his lips. At the first slide of proper energon over his glossa, he almost gagged. The energon that the prisoners at Trypticon had been given was low quality, just the bare minimum of what was needed to survive without negative consequences, health-wise. Even this energon, compared to what he knew energon could be, was of fairly average make. But it was far, far better than anything he’d had in a very long time.

As soon as that initial moment passed, and he adjusted to the more intense taste and better fuel, he started gulping it down almost frantically. In the back of his processor, he knew that wasn’t right. He needed to take it slow, after so long without proper fuel, but his frame and his systems were starved and desperate. He flinched back against the cave wall almost violently when a white hand was laid over his wrist, gently pushing it, and the cube, down and away from his mouth. He didn’t notice that some of the energon splashed out and over his armor at his sudden jerk. He was too worried over how Wing had gotten so close without him noticing.

“Easy.” he admonished the terrified Praxian gently. “Slowly, Prowl. I know a starved mech when I see one. You need to take it slow.”

Prowl reset his vocalizer, visor locked onto Wing’s optics. When the pressure on his wrist eased up, he slowly brought the cube back up to his lips and sipped at the fuel within. He still wanted to gulp it all down, but the hand still on his wrist served as a good reminder fo take it easy. He drank in little sips, stopping whenever Wing pushed his wrist down to let his tanks settle and adjust, until he’d finished the contents of the cube.

Wing took the empty cube back, then. He released Prowl’s wrist, subspacing the cube and then leaning back from the uncomfortable mechling’s space. The jet was silent for a moment, his amber optics boring into the smaller Cybertronian’s visored ones with a sort of piercing intensity. Prowl stared back, remaining silent. Already, he could feel his systems processing the fuel, his frame feeling leagues better than it had even a breem ago.

“Why are you here?”

Wing tilted his helm, staring at him for another beat before he answered. “Because you’re very young, Prowl. Far too young to be on your own when you’re so damaged and starved.” he said firmly. “You’re hurt, and I won’t pry into how you got into this state but the fact that a cyber-ninja mechling is so damaged and so far from Cybertron worries me.”

Prowl flinched, processor turning over those words. “You said you are bounty hunters. Cybertron did not send you for me?”

“No. We don’t take jobs from Cybertron. The universal currency is credits, not shanix, though they do accept shanix on planets with Cybertronian connections.” Wing explained. “Drift and I do a lot of traveling. We take jobs from other planets we visit, like finding rare resources, defending against threats, bringing in escaped convicts, and in return we get paid in credits. So it’s not really bounty hunting.” He shrugged. “That was simply the easiest way to explain it, at the time. I don’t realize that doing so would scare you, and for that I apologize.”

Prowl reset his vocalizer, relaxing a little. Wing could still be lying, he supposed. But he didn’t think he was. If the jet truly was a proper bounty hunter, he would have dragged Prowl to his ship as soon as he found him, not waited for him to wake. He also wouldn’t have given him fuel. All of Wing’s actions up till now supported what he was saying.

“I see.” Prowl said after a moment. He still had one question, though. “How do you know I am a cyber-ninja? And why do you care?” Two questions., he supposed.

Wing chuckled. “You referred to Yoketron as “Master”. That tells me you were his student, once.” he explained. “And I care because cyber-ninjas are meant to be a fairly close knit bunch. There aren’t many of us, so we need to look out for each other.” he smiled, warm. “Besides, like I said. You’re very young. That’s worry enough as well, for me.”

Prowl didn’t know how to answer that. “I’m am no cyber-ninja. I never completed my training before Master Yoketron was offlined.” he said, thinking it would get the mech to leave.

It did not. “Wait, that was a while ago. None of the other graduated students took over your training?”

“None of the other students had achieved the rank of master.”

“Even so, the old traditions of the Corps dictate that if a master falls before they can complete their student’s training, then that master’s already graduated students should complete it themselves in the absence of another master.” Wing said, clearly displeased.

The Praxian went still, unsure how to feel about that. He knew why that had never happened to him. He’d been accused of being his Master’s killer. He doubted he was even considered a cyber-ninja, even one in training, by the others. Still, it stung to know that he’d lost even more to the false conviction.

“That never happened.” he said dully.

“So I see. That makes it even worse. What is a cyber-ninja student doing wandering so damaged and so far from home?” At Prowl’s stiffening frame, Wing winced. “Ah, yes. I promised not to pry. Apologies, little one.”

Prowl shook his head, feeling wrong-footed. He didn’t understand why Wing was being so kind. “I doubt I would be considered a student still. Much happened after….” he trailed off. Wing would know what he meant. “After Master Yoketron fell, I doubt the others consider me as a part of the Corps.”

The jet was clearly even more displeased, but as promised, he didn’t pry. “That’s slag.” he said blandly. Prowl almost gaped at the curse. “Even so, I won’t ask for details. But do you need a ride back to Cybertron? If you got stranded, I would be more than happy to return you there. We have a ship.”

“No!” Prowl blurted, then flinched back and curled into his corner again. “No. I don’t ever want to go back.” he said, tone haunted.

“Okay.” Wing agreed easily. “Then would you like a ride to another planet? One were you can get repairs and energon and a way to earn shanix? I know a few small colonies that would welcome you.”

“No.” Prowl shook his helm. “I want nothing to do with Cybertron or it’s colonies.”

“In that case, I know planets that have no affiliation to Cybertron whatsoever, where you can get repair, fuel, and anything else you might need.” Wing said.

He frowned. “Why are you insisting? Do you want shanix? I don’t have much left.”

Wing shook his helm. “No, and I’d refuse payment if you offered, I just want to see you brought someplace where you’ll be safer. That’s all. I knew Yoketron. He was…very dear to me. I want to see his student safe and well.” He paused. “And also, for the reasons I explained before.”

Prowl stared for a long time, unable to wrap his processor around someone offering so much for so little in return. He glanced down at his frame, knowing he probably did need repair, and winced at the energon staining his dull and dented armor. But, that brought up another thought in his processor.

“Do you have more energon?” To his horror, he’d asked the question before he could stop himself. He was just so hungry, even after the cube he’d had.

Wing stilled, then laughed lightly. “Yes. We have plenty aboard the ship. You can get cleaned up and have as much fuel as you need. I won’t ask for payment, either. It wouldn’t be right to ask that when you clearly need food.” he smiled.

Prowl ducked his helm, turning it over in his processor. He was terrified, and still didn’t trust Wing. But this might also be his best chance at getting someplace he could actually, properly start a new life for himself. He did risk Wing turning out to be lying and taking him back to Cybertron, but everything he’d seen and heard from the mech suggested he truly wouldn’t do that. Given his state, this really might be his best chance.

“Alright.” he agreed. “I…would very much appreciate if you could bring me to one of those planets you mentioned.”

Wing beamed, nodding and standing up. He held out a hand to Prowl to help him to his pedes. The Praxian ignored it, using the wall instead to push himself up and leaning against it for support at the wave of dizziness that assaulted him. Once it passed, he looked up to see that Wing had dropped his hand. The jet was still smiling, though the expression had relaxed and softened.

“Come on, then. The ship is this way. Drift went to get it and land it nearby.” He said.

Prowl pushed himself off the wall, then followed Wing out of the cave as the jet took the lead. They walked in silence for a few breems when Prowl suddenly sensed a presence on his right. He jerked his helm wildly, gaze landing on the white racer from before. Drift. He ignored the concern from both the bigger mech’s at his sudden, panicked movement, armor plating flared slightly as he shifted around until he had both the other two on his left. He saw the look they shared, but was infinitely grateful that neither mech made a comment on his behavior.

“Master Wing.” Drift spoke up. “I did as you asked. The spare room on the ship has been emptied and cleaned, and everything in it was transferred the the storage bay. Also, I put him in the ship’s system so he can use the energon dispenser, washracks, and anything else he might need.”

Prowl stopped walking. He knew Drift had been talking about putting him into the ship’s system. But that wasn’t right. If he was just a temporary passenger, then why would he be put into the system? Why would a berthroom be cleared for him? If he wasn’t staying on the ship permanently, then they wouldn’t have cleared out another room for him. Cleaned it up, perhaps, but cleared it out completely? No, this wasn’t making sense. Had Wing lied after all? But then, why do all that if he was just going to be turned in? None of this made sense to him, and as his panic grew it bled into his field.

Wing winced, turning a look onto his student. “I hadn’t actually gotten to that part yet, Drift.” he sighed. “Prowl is too skittish. But thank you, now I have to calm him down again.” he said wryly.

Drift had the decency to look sheepish. “Sorry, Master. I didn’t realize. I’ll go ahead to the ship and get it ready to go.” At Wing’s nod, he folded into his alt mode and drove ahead.

Wing turned back to the frightened Praxian, stepping closer. He expanded his EM field to wrap it around the smaller bot, pushing soothing comfort and easy calm into it to try and help Prowl relax. He didn’t get closer than that, though, remembering how scared he’d been of touch and close proximity.

Prowl looked up once he’d calmed enough, his hands curled into fists. “What was he talking about? Why would you do that on your ship if I’m just a temporary passenger?” he demanded.

Wing chuckled, shaking his helm. “Because I would like to have you as more than just a temporary passenger.” he sighed. “I had hoped to make this offer when you were fueled and rested and felt better, but it seems Drift inadvertently pushed things along.” he said, tone dry.

“What offer?” Prowl asked, fear warring with confusion in his processor.

Wing clasped his hands behind his back, smiling soft and warm. “If you would be willing then learn, then I would very much like to take you as a student.”

———————————————————————————————————

So, what did y’all think? Things are starting to pick up now! Let me know your thoughts, if you’re so obliged! Feedback is a huge motivator for me to keep writing, as I am a writer who craves to know what my readers think about my stuff.

Also, poor Prowl. He’s starving and injured and terrified and has no idea what’s going on. Wing just wants to help! Maybe now things’ll turn around for him, eh?

Until next time, folks!

#falsely accused au #transformersanimated #tfa #transformers animated #prowl #tfa prowl #wing #tfa wing #drift #tfa drift #tfa au #transformers au #wing takes in strays #prowl is his newest one #and there is still the question of prowl’s optics!#what’s wrong you ask?#it shall be revealed next time!#transformers #maccadam

54 notes · View notes

sheabutterari · 4 years

Text

From My Heart To Yours

I am sorry. I was acting like an ass. Im sorry for being insensitive. I truly love y’all so much. I swear to god i be meaning well. I’m not the most structured when i start talking and that has been a blessing and curse. I’ve grown too comfortable with viewing my supporters as my bestie that I can freely vent to with no repercussions. I feel the need to protect people that I feel are genuinely good people. If you know me, you know I speak on what’s unjust in MY mind. But it doesn’t matter if ultimately my opinion is perceived as toxic and ignorant and harmful. I made it very clear who specifically I was talking about but Carry on with your misconstrued judgement of me. My heart is in the right place and I can only pray you’ll one day see that. I see what’s being said and I feel the pain of those I genuinely I hurt and I’m sorry. I realize I need to stfu and stay offline. It’s so mentally draining trying to do good and it comes out completely detrimental. I’m sorry for triggering people and I’m sorry if I caused any trauma. Im sorry for victim shaming, swear that wasn’t my intent. I repeat that WAS NOT my intent. I’m learning how to deal with my feelings in private like most people in music. You see there is no room for growth in this industry publicly it is best to find your way in private. To have healthy and productive conversations in private. I shouldn’t be aimlessly figuring it out in front of y’all. I was speaking on a very sensitive topic and I failed to facilitate sensitively, intelligently and healthily. I impulsively spiraled cause I was sick of seeing the distasteful shade especially at such a terrible and sad time towards someone I know is good person. With that said I wasn’t trying to discredit other people and their truths and opinions. Also I don’t need black men to stick up for me in order to do what I know is right in my heart and that’s speak up if I feel people are being distasteful towards them. Same goes for black women especially! everything I do is for black girl magic, glory, unity and our greatness. I INNATELY love on my people and don’t need a specific reason to look out but ultimately I want to be better and do it better. I want to grow. I want to be a light. I want to be enlightened. I’m not out here trying to protect toxic individuals. That’s not what I believe i did. My opinion, though filled with disarray came from a place of love and empathy and sadness. But my delivery was harmful. I shouldn’t have disrespected anyone in trying to communicate my feelings. Honestly I should’ve just ate my food and booked a therapy session. I love you genuinely. I’m excited to leave social media for good. I’m excited for true self love, healing, understanding and peace. To all the people who checked me from a place of love, I love you forever and I hear you and I deeply empathize more than you’ll ever know. I would love to keep the conversation going in real life. Don’t want to move in this world hurting people. Thank you for your constructive criticism. Thanks for checking me. IG live it’s been a fun ride sweet angel baby cakes, but our mental peace is most important so I’m out <3

- Ari Lennox

#Ari Lennox

2K notes · View notes

voltrontranscript · 3 years

Text

VLD S8E7: Day Forty-Seven

Season 8 Episode 7: Day Forty-Seven

Transcript by @dragonofyang

Summary: Kinkade and Rizavi film a vlog that follows a relatively normal day on the IGF-Atlas with its humorous moments and the stress of battle.

[Google Doc]

Kinkade: Hello. This is Lieutenant Ryan Kinkade, MFE pilot. The time is 0600 hours. It’s day forty-seven. And this is a glimpse at day-to-day life aboard the IGF-Atlas.

[Cut to Kinkade brushing his teeth as the camera floats over his shoulder.]

Kinkade: Last night, I unpacked my video gear and decided to document the crew. I know it seems strange, but before Earth was attacked, I didn’t go anywhere without my camera.

[Cut to Kinkade running on a treadmill.]

Kinkade: Back home, people asked me why I liked recording things. They also asked me why I didn’t talk that much. To both of those things, I’d always say… [grunts]

[Cut to Kinkade doing pull-ups.]

Kinkade: Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.

Romelle: You’re recording? Why?

Griffin: Kinkade has always been, uh… an individual who’s most comfortable observing and reflecting on life. Being a fighter pilot was actually his backup plan.

[Cut to Kinkade wearing a blindfold as he works on his blaster rifle.]

Kinkade: It’s true. I learned how to shoot with a camera before I learned how to shoot with a rifle. I guess filming is just a small piece of the larger puzzle that makes up the picture of who I am. Hm.

[Cut to Kinkade turning the camera on once more and walking to a fighter jet.]

Rizavi: So you’re really shooting another documentary? Please tell me this is going to be more exciting than that project you did for Mr. Pollard’s biology class about yeast.

Kinkade: That was actually about the process of fermentation. Yeast converts carbohydrates into carbon diox--

Rizavi: Boring! Okay, look, if this little documentary is how history will remember us, I’m gonna help you spruce it up! How many cameras do you have? What’s your visual effects budget? Do you have any smoke bombs?

[Cut to Keith and Pidge facing the camera as it focuses on Pidge directly.]

Kinkade: Okay. We’re set.

Rizavi: So, uh, catch us up on what’s going on.

Pidge: Right. Well, the Atlas is headed to the Grei-Aye system where we’ve identified the remains of a disabled robeast.

Rizavi: Oh! Those things are pretty dangerous, right?

Pidge: Do I need to explain that the robeast was one of the ones used in Honerva’s intergalactic ritual?

Rizavi: No, it’s fine.

Pidge: Okay. Um, so, once the Atlas arrives in orbit around the planet, the other Paladins and I will head down to the surface to secure the robeast and hopefully find its Altean pilot.

Rizavi: Ugh, okay. Keith! Why don’t you tell us about the dangers of this mission?

Keith: Well, every mission has some inherent dangers. For this one, we have to be especially diligent about the robeast. Even if it’s not fully functional, it can still pose an extreme threat. Combine that with the hostile Altean that’s probably still in the vicinity, and you’ve potentially got threats on multiple fronts.

Hunk: Hey, guys. What’s up? You making a movie? Cool. Can I be in it? Now, wait, if this is an action movie… is it? I don’t wanna be in it.

Rizavi: Hunk, we’re trying to do an interview here.

Hunk: Oh, sorry. Yeah, my bad. I just came by to see if you wanted to try this new recipe I’ve been experimenting with. This is just the first pass. The final version of it will be coming soon. No, Bae Bae! Not for you! I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’ll make you some doggy treats later.

Kinkade: What’s the recipe? Can we watch you work?

Hunk: Well, yeah! Yeah, this’ll be great! I’ve secretly always wanted my own cooking show.

Rizavi: What? No! Keith was just telling us about the mission and all the dangers! We’re not losing that to document cooking.

Kinkade: But, I like cooking.

Rizavi: It’s like you’re trying to make this boring.

Hunk: Whoa, first of all, cooking is not boring, okay? And it can bring people together. Some of the best times of my life were spent breaking bread with loved ones.

Keith: So, is this interview over?

Rizavi: No! Great, now the talent’s getting restless!

Iverson: Everyone, report to your battle stations immediately! I repeat… battle stations immediately! This is not a drill!

Rizavi: The camera!

Kinkade: Leave it! We need to go!

Rizavi: But this is gold!

Kinkade: Come o--

Iverson: MFE pilots, report to hangars alpha-bravo! Scrambling fighters in five! Paladins, stand by for launch.

[Scene change as Bae Bae finds the fallen camera and carries it around.]

Shiro: Where did it come from? Veronica, get me eyes on it!

Coran: That thing just appeared out of nowhere!

Shiro: Iverson, fire when ready!

Iverson: Target acquired! We’ve got lock! Wait. No… we lost it! Target has gone dark!

Veronica: Electromagnetic radiation from that planet is overloading our radars.

Shiro: Voltron, do you have a visual? I repeat, Voltron, do you have a visual?

Keith: Not yet. We’re going in now! Stand by! We can’t see a thing in here!

Griffin: Copy that. We have zero visibility as well. We need a visual.

Curtis: Roger. Trying another avenue. Scanning for biometrics. Visual acquired!

Coran: Incoming!

Iverson: Recharging all starboard cannons!

Curtis: Sensors are offline!

Iverson: What is that thing?

Coran: It’s massive!

Shiro: Iverson, open fire!

Coran: Direct hit! It’s coming back around for another shot!

Shiro: Veronica, prep shields!

[Scene change as the camera falls down a vent into Sam and Slav’s workstation.]

Sam: Whatever hit us just knocked loose the gravity generator! Grab the flaxum assembly!

Slav: I can’t do that! It’s red!

Sam: Is this one of your crazy probability, reality things?

[Scene change to a hallway as soldiers float through to their stations.]

Shiro: All crew, report to stations and prepare for Atlas transformation--

Atlas Crewmember: Go, go, go!

Shiro: --in T-minus thirty seconds!

[Scene change as Bae Bae finds the camera again and carries it.]

Colleen: Bae Bae, what are you doing out here? And what’s this in your mouth? A camera? Come on, girl.

Shiro: All crew, prepare for Atlas transformation sequence in five… four… three… two… one!

[Scene change as the camera dies, then powers on again facing Kinkade once more.]

Kinkade: Camera’s fully charged. We’re good to go. The time is now 0900 hours. We just experienced a minor mishap aboard the IGF-Atlas, but we’re back on track. In the future, we’ll hopefully be avoiding creature-occupied gas planets.

[Cut to Kinkade floating through a hallway.]

Kinkade: Hey, Seok Jin, where you headed?

Seok Jin: I’m transporting these samples back to Earth. Commander Holt thinks it can help with the recovery efforts there.

Kinkade: Well, they couldn’t have picked a better man for the job. Take care, man. Hey, Seok Jin… we’ll miss you, buddy.

[Scene change to the camera looking into the mess hall, where Vrepit Sal is cleaning tables and then rotates to face the hallway.]

Rizavi: There you are! Tell me this thing was recording during the attack! That was so intense! Oh, this documentary’s gonna be awesome!

[Cut to Kolivan sitting in a small office facing the camera.]

Kolivan: I believe our heading readout en route was 92254739.275. Wait, no. It was 9.265. Yes. That was our heading per our readout just prior to our deployment.

Rizavi: [mock snoring]

Kolivan: Our teams vary in size. Often we use the three-person unit, but it’s not unusual to have a four- or a five- or perhaps even a six-person unit. Seven seems rare, but... it could happen.

Rizavi: Okay, I like everything you’re telling me, but let’s just try it a little less like you’re reporting the facts to your commanding officer and a little more like you’re telling your friend an exciting story in the gym. You understand?

Kolivan: Yes, understood.

Rizavi: Okay, good. Why don’t you tell us about your last mission?

Kolivan: Our last mission took place on planet K-V Exus. The Blades divided into three four-person teams and we escorted approximately twelve rescue crafts to the surface. I believe our heading readout was 359.222--

Rizavi: Thank! Thank you! Okay, I think we got it!

Kolivan: But I wasn’t done.

Rizavi: Yeah, you nailed it. Yeah. We need to get someone more exciting in here.

[Cut to Coran leaning into the camera as it slowly attempts to focus on him.]

Coran: Then the Atlas started firing with everything it had! And don’t forget the white hole is swirling right next to us the entire time! Oh, no, it’s about to close! Meanwhile, not one, but two, yes, two, robeasts are attacking! Shiro’s shouting out orders. “Coran, get closer! Iverson, open fire!” Beams of quintessence energy are converging from all over the galaxy! Ah! You know, you could just imagine it.

[Scene change to Rizavi turning the camera on in Slav and Sam’s workspace.]

Sam: Welcome to the engine room. What you see here is just a tiny part of what keeps the ship functioning.

Rizavi: Slav, you’ve created some incredible technology. What do you think of the Atlas?

Slav: I can respect any engineering that extrapolates for transmutation, but I wish the writing was in Altean.

Sam: He’s mentioned that a few times.

Rizavi: So what are you doing now?

Slav: Right now we’re about to adjust the gravity generator, which was fractionally increased during our last battle.

Sam: Yes, our gravity generator is actually a fluid system, ever-changing depending on the specific needs of the location, so it requires recalibrating from time to time. Okay, adjust gravity generator back down to .12.

Slav: Copy. Adjusting now.

Sam: What did you press?

Slav: I don’t know! Which one is the two again? I can’t read these weird symbols you call numbers! Hey, big guy, toss me over! Oh, no. Directly on a crack!

Kinkade: Weird.

[Cut to the camera focusing on some juniberry shoots in a pot.]

Colleen: Beautiful, isn’t it? It’s an Altean juniberry. The first one to bloom in nearly ten thousand years. I managed to get it to grow by resequencing the genetic code of a similar plant. I wanna give it to Allura. These are our fertilizers. We have fish emulsion, worm castings, Kaltenecker manure. Just so much great recycled poop! And this is our lighting station. I like to say our lighting array is literally out of this world! You know, because we’re, you know, on a space ship.

Rizavi: Can I take a shot at this?

[Cut to the camera panning across the crops in the grow room.]

Rizavi: Welcome to extreme space harvesting! Where we have plants and crops and super fertilizers all under one roof! Meet Colleen Holt, the botanical genius behind it all.

[Cut to Colleen sitting in a chair in the grow room.]

Colleen: I guess I just liked plants all my life. I’ve done a lot of research, but I know I have much to learn. I guess… I like… the challenge. I’m sorry, where am I supposed to be looking?

Rizavi: Without Colleen, all life aboard the ship could perish. One bad crop, the introduction of one foreign pest, and it’s all over.

Colleen: I just like plants.

Hunk: Oh, sorry. Am I interrupting something again? I just--I just came in to see if Colleen had a very specific type of yeast.

Kinkade: Yeast? What for?

Rizavi: Oh, no.

Hunk: It’s that recipe I’ve been working on. I think I got the topping down, but I’m still trying to figure out the sweet bread.

Colleen: Well, I have so many strains of yeast, it’ll make your head spin. I got AB972, S288C. I even have O unilateralis. Don’t mess with that one.

Kinkade: Are you getting this?

Rizavi: Unfortunately, yes.

[Camera cuts to Kinkade and Rizavi floating through a hallway.]

Rizavi: The time is 1200 hours. We just got word that we are in the Grei-Aye star system. The Paladins will be heading down to the surface of the planet any second now.

[Cut to the camera facing Allura, Lance, and Keith in the hangar for Black Lion.]

Rizavi: Lance, how are you feeling about the mission you’re about to go on?

Lance: Oh, hey. I’m feeling good, I guess. Maybe a little tense. Maybe a lot tense. I don’t know. Why’d you have to ask me that question?

Allura: I think what Lance is trying to say is he’ll be fine. We all will.

Keith: Let’s move out.

[Camera cuts to Kinkade and Rizavi standing a ways away from Blue Lion as it launches.]

Rizavi: Right now, we’re headed to the situation room where we’ll be monitoring the Paladins in real-time.

Kinkade: By the way, you know we’re not gonna be able to bring our camera into that meeting, right?

Rizavi: Says who?

[Scene change to the situation room where Veronica, Coran, Sam, and Shiro are all facing a screen showing a no-signal symbol.]

Sam: Come in, Pidge. Are you reading us?

Pidge: Okay, we’ve just touched down on the surface.

Keith: We’re at the crash site now.

Pidge: That’s the robeast. It looks disabled, just like our intel reported. The Altean should be nearby.

Shiro: Paladins, brace for incoming!

Hunk: I didn’t know it could do that!

Keith: Take cover!

Shiro: Paladins, report! We’ve lost visual. Bridge, lock onto that ship now!

Curtis: Yes, Captain. Adjusting to long-range parameters. Locked on!

Shiro: Light it up!

Curtis: Direct hit!

Lance: Nice shot, Atlas!

Hunk: Yeah, thanks for the cover!

Shiro: Bridge, stay on alert.

[Cut to the Altean viewscreen of Pidge’s point of view through her helmet.]

Allura: Stand by, Atlas. We’re approaching the ship.

Hunk: Guys, there doesn’t seem to be a pilot inside.

Keith: Hey, guys. Over here.

Pidge: Keith’s found something. Let’s go! Give me a second. Just reconfiguring to this barrier’s isometric frequency. There! That should do it.

Keith: Atlas, our target is acquired.

Overlapping voices: Yippee! Alright! Yeah!

Shiro: Great job, everyone!

[Cut to Kinkade and Rizavi floating through another hallway.]

Rizavi: We just got word that the Paladins have returned from their mission. Maybe we can catch a glimpse of this new Altean.

Kinkade: This’ll be the sixth Altean pilot we’ve recovered from the powered-down robeasts left behind after Honerva escaped Oriande. Allura keeps trying, but she hasn’t been able to get any information from them as of yet.

[Camera cuts to Rizavi standing outside a room marked “Authorized Personnel Only”.]

Rizavi: Commander Shirogane said you two were needed on the bridge. We’ll cover your station.

Woman: Yes, Lieutenant.

Rizavi: There! Oh, man, I think we missed the beginning.

Romelle: Tavo, please. You and I grew up alongside one another. You must trust me. We’re here to help.

Tavo: We were told you are a traitor, and I can see now that it is true.

Allura: I’m done talking with him. I’m done with all of them.

Kinkade: Uh, what are you doing?

Rizavi: Sh! I got an idea.

Lance: Anything?

Allura: No. He was just like the others. A true believer in Honerva, and there’s nothing I can say that would make him think otherwise.

Lance: I’m sorry.

Allura: No, I am. These Alteans are the key to unlocking Honerva’s plan. They’re my people, but they won’t speak with me. You have no idea what it’s like to find out after ten thousand years that you’re not the last of your kind… only to be rejected by them.

Lance: I don’t. But I wish every day there were something I could do to change it all for you. You’ve suffered more than anyone should in a thousand lifetimes. But still you persist. Through the pain, you inspire. It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you.

Kinkade: No, that’s private.

Rizavi: Kinkade, what are you doing? That was our love angle!

[Camera cuts out, then focuses in on Romelle’s face.]

Kinkade: Please don’t touch that.

Romelle: Oh, sorry.

Rizavi: So, Romelle, you know these Alteans from your time on the colony?

Romelle: Yes, I lived alongside them for many decaphoebs. They are good people.

Kinkade: What do you think would make them join forces with Honerva?

Romelle: I don’t know. But you must understand, my people were hunted nearly to extinction. They’re afraid. And this Honerva… she’s turned that fear to aggression. If there was just some way to get through to them.

[Cut to the mess hall.]

Griffin: I’ve never seen anything like it. All those tentacles… so nasty.

[Cut to the kitchen where Hunk is stirring something purple in a pan.]

Hunk: Oh, hey. You’re just in time. I was just about to add the yeast Colleen gave me. No, Bae Bae! Bad dog!

[Cut to Kinkade and Rizavi sitting at a table with Allura.]

Kinkade: First off, thanks for doing this, Allura.

Allura: You’re welcome.

Rizavi: Maybe we can start with the Alteans we have aboard.

Allura: What about them? They’re on the wrong side of this war and they refuse to speak with me. There’s nothing else to say.

Rizavi: So, you’re frustrated?

Allura: Yes, I am. Oriande was destroyed, Lotor is back, and we aren’t any closer to tracking down Honerva. She’s out there, right now, planning something, preparing, and growing stronger. And we’re here flying around in circles, searching for Fraunhofer lines that don’t appear and scanning for wormhole signatures that don’t exist!

Rizavi: Do you think we’ll ever find Honerva?

Allura: No. I think she’ll find us.

[Camera cuts back to Hunk in the kitchen, this time wearing oven mitts.]

Hunk: Okay, it’s been a long day, but I’m finally done.

Kinkade: What is it?

Hunk: It’s an authentic Altean dessert! I’m gonna give it to the Alteans. Coran helped me with the recipe, but I think his memory was, like, a little bit fuzzy, so, you know, I did some improvising. No big whoop.

Kinkade: You did this for them? Why?

Hunk: Well, I don’t know. Because food has a way of reminding people of moments in time. That’s why I made a dessert. Usually, when you eat dessert, you’re pretty happy, right? Who knows? Maybe this’ll help those Alteans remember some moment that made them smile. Something before all this madness. That could go a long way in building a relationship. Well, that’s just what I think.

[Cut to the Alteans in a holding cell as the camera zooms out and pans to face Hunk.]

Hunk: Please, eat. Look, it’s good! Mm, really!

Tavo: You made this? It reminds me of home.

Hunk: Well, I had a little help from someone born and raised on Altea. A-and I know you don’t wanna talk with them, but Allura and Coran know more about your homeland than anyone alive. They were on Altea until its final day. They both would’ve stayed and died to protect it if Alfor hadn’t sent them away. That’s how much they loved it.

Tavo: I heard Altea was one of the most beautiful places in the universe. Did your Alteans ever tell you about the zyo crystal springs outside of the capital? The stories say those cliffs were more beautiful than all of the stars combined.

Hunk: They never told me about them. But I’m sure they’d love to tell you themselves.

[Scene change to Kinkade sitting in casual clothes facing the camera.]

Kinkade: This is Lieutenant Ryan Kinkade, MFE pilot. The time is 2300 hours. Day forty-seven aboard the IGF-Atlas is officially done.

End.

#vld #voltron #transcript #hunk #pidge #tavo #allura #lance #keith #shiro #curtis #sam holt #slav #romelle #colleen holt #james griffin #ryan kinkade #nadia rizavi #coran #iverson

20 notes · View notes

to-read-or-not-to-read3088 · 3 years

Text

70+ disabled, neurodiverse and chronically ill authors COLLAB

This post is in collaboration with several other bloggers whose links are included here:

Artie Carden

Anniek

Hi! It’s been a while since I posted anything, but this post has been a month in the making. I have twenty books by twenty authors for my part in this collaboration, and you can check out the other parts of the collab with the links at the top of the post.

I haven’t read some of these books but almost all of them are on my to be read pile, and I did extensive research to make sure I got this right, but please let me know if there are any mistakes or if anything needs to be corrected.

1. Meet Cute Diary by Emery Lee

📷

Meet Cute Diary follows Noah Ramirez who thinks he’s an expert on romance. He must be for his blog, the Meet Cute Diary, a collection of trans happily ever afters. There’s just one problem. All the stories are fake. What started off as the fantasies of a trans boy who was afraid to step out of the closet has grown into a beacon of hope for trans readers across the globe. Noah’s world unravels when a troll exposes the blog as fiction, and the only way to save the Diary is to convince everyone that the stories are true, but he doesn’t have any proof. That’s when Drew walks into Noah’s life, and the pieces fall into place. Drew is willing to fake date Noah to save the Diary. But when Noah’s feelings grow beyond their staged romance, he realises that dating in real life isn’t the same as finding love on the page.

The author, Emery Lee, is a kid lit author, artist and YouTuber hailing from a mixed racial background. After graduating with a degree in creative writing, e’s gone on to author novels, short stories and webcomics. When away from reading and writing, you’ll likely find em engaged in art or snuggling with cute dogs.

Emery Lee is nonbinary, and uses e/em pronouns, and e’s debut book, Meet Cute Diary, features a side character who is also nonbinary (and asexual!). Emery is also neurodivergent, and frequently speaks about what its like being a writer with adhd on twitter.

Meet Cute Diary is a book I only discovered last month, when it was published, but I’m excited to read it. It has representation of all kinds, and I love any book that has even a little mention of an asexual character because its so rare to see.

2. Ace of Spades by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé

📷

At Niveus Private Academy money paves the hallways, and the students are never less than perfect. Until now. Because an anonymous texter calling themselves Aces, is bringing two students’ dark secrets to light. Devon, a talented musician, buries himself in rehearsals, but he can’t escape the spotlight when his private photos go public. Chiamaka, head girl, isn’t afraid to get what she wants, but soon everyone will know the price she has paid for power. Someone is out to get them both. Someone who holds all the aces. And they’re planning much more than a high school game.

Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé, is the author of the instant New York Times and IndieBound bestseller, Ace of Spades, billed as ‘Get out meets Gossip Girl’. Entertainment Weekly has called it “this summer’s hottest YA debut”. She was born and raised in Croydon, South London, and Faridah moved to the Scottish Highlands for her undergraduate degree where she completed a BA in English Literature. She has established and runs and mentorship scheme for unagented writers of colour, helping them on their journey to get published. Faridah has also written for NME, The Bookseller, Readers Digest and gal-dem.

Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé’s book is one that I pre-ordered months in advance, after discovering that I actually really liked this sub-genre of YA, and although I still haven’t read it yet (sorry!), I’m still super excited to dive into it. From what I hear, it has some gay rep, which we all know by now is something I seek out in my books.

3. Lycanthropy and Other Chronic Illnesses by Kristen O’Neal

📷

Priya has worked hard to pursue her pre med dreams at Stanford, but a diagnosis of chronic Lyme disease during her sophomore year sends her straight back to her loving but overbearing family in New Jersey and leaves her wondering if she’ll ever be able to return to the way things were. Thankfully she has her online pen pal, Brigid, and the rest of the members of “oof ouch my bones,” a virtual support group that meets on Discord to crack jokes and vent about their own chronic illnesses. When Brigid suddenly goes offline, Priya does something very out of character; she steals the family car and drives to Pennsylvania to check on Brigid. Priya isn’t sure what to expect, but it isn’t the creature that’s shut in the basement. With Brigid nowhere in sight, Priya begins to puzzle together an impossible but obvious truth: the creature might be werewolf – and the werewolf might be Brigid. As Brigid’s unique condition worsens, their friendship will be deepened and challenged in unexpected ways, forcing them to reckon with their own ideas of what it means to be normal.

Kristen O’Neal is a freelance writer who’s written for sites like Buzzfeed Reader, Christianity Today, Birth.Movies.Death, LitHub and Electric Literature. She writes about faith, culture, and unexplained phenomena. Her debut novel, Lycanthropy and Other Chronic Illnesses is based on her own experiences with being chronically ill. Kristen has two autoimmune disorders and “a number of other problems and issues” with her body. According to her website, she is doing much better than she used to, but still has flares somewhat regularly.

I cannot describe the feeling of seeing a published book with the best group chat name I have ever seen. Oof ouch my bones is absolutely something that I would be part of if it really existed, because its just such a mood, and funny at the same time. I pre ordered this book too, but like all the others, I still haven’t gotten around to reading it. I’m super excited about it though and cannot recommend it enough.

4. Only Mostly Devastated by Sophie Gonzales

📷

Will Tavares is the dream summer fling – he’s fun, affectionate, kind – but just when Ollie thinks he’s found his Happily Ever After, summer vacation ends, and Will stops texting Ollie back. Now Ollie is one prince short of his fairy tale ending, and to complicate the fairy tale further, a family emergency sees Ollie uprooted and enrolled at a new school across the country. Which he minds a little less when he realises it’s the same school Will goes to…except Ollie finds out that the sweet, comfortably queer guy he knew from summer isn’t the same one attending Collinswood High. This Will is a class clown, closeted – and to be honest, a jerk. Ollie has no intention of pining after a guy who clearly isn’t ready for a relationship, especially since this new, bro-y jock version of Will seems to go from hot to cold every other week. But then Will starts “coincidentally” popping up in every area of Ollie’s life, from music class to the lunch table, and Ollie finds his resolve weakening. The last time he gave Will his heart, Will handed it back to him trampled and battered. Ollie would have to be an idiot to trust him with it again. Right? Right.

Sophie Gonzales was born and raised in Whyalla, South Australia, where the Outback Meets the Sea. She now lives in Melbourne, where there’s no outback in sight. Sophie’s been writing since the age of five, when her mother decided to help her type out one of the stories she had come up with in the bathtub. They ran into artistic differences when five-year-old Sophie insisted that everybody die in the end, while her mother wanted the characters to simply go out for a milkshake. Since then, Sophie has been completing her novels without a transcript. Sophie Gonzales tweets about her experiences with ADHD on her twitter.

Only mostly devasted is one of the few books on this list that I’ve read. I read the whole thing in one sitting because I just couldn’t put it down, which is weird because I normally don’t read contemporary at all. I have recommended this book to literally everyone I know, and even bought my best friend a copy to convince her to read it.

5. The Bone Houses by Emily Lloyd Jones

📷

Seventeen-year-old Aderyn ("Ryn") only cares about two things: her family, and her family's graveyard. And right now, both are in dire straits. Since the death of their parents, Ryn and her siblings have been scraping together a meagre existence as gravediggers in the remote village of Colbren, which sits at the foot of a harsh and deadly mountain range that was once home to the fae. The problem with being a gravedigger in Colbren, though, is that the dead don't always stay dead. The risen corpses are known as "bone houses," and legend says that they're the result of a decades-old curse. When Ellis, an apprentice mapmaker with a mysterious past, arrives in town, the bone houses attack with new ferocity. What is it that draws them near? And more importantly, how can they be stopped for good? Together, Ellis and Ryn embark on a journey that will take them deep into the heart of the mountains, where they will have to face both the curse and the long-hidden truths about themselves.

Emily Lloyd-Jones grew up on a vineyard in rural Oregon, where she played in evergreen forests and learned to fear sheep. After graduating from Western Oregon University with an English degree, she enrolled in the publishing program at Rosemont College just outside of Philadelphia. She currently resides in Northern California.

Another book on my to be read pile that I’m super excited to read, but still haven’t gotten around to. This one features disability rep, but because I haven’t read it, I don’t know much more, sorry guys.

6. Mooncakes by Susanne Walker and Wendy Xu

📷Nova Huang knows more about magic than your average teen witch. She works at her grandmothers' bookshop, where she helps them loan out spell books and investigate any supernatural occurrences in their New England town. One fateful night, she follows reports of a white wolf into the woods, and she comes across the unexpected: her childhood crush, Tam Lang, battling a horse demon in the woods. As a werewolf, Tam has been wandering from place to place for years, unable to call any town home. Pursued by dark forces eager to claim the magic of wolves and out of options, Tam turns to Nova for help. Their latent feelings are rekindled against the backdrop of witchcraft, untested magic, occult rituals, and family ties both new and old in this enchanting tale of self-discovery.

Suzanne Walker is a Chicago-based writer and editor. She is co-creator of the Hugo-nominated graphic novel Mooncakes (2019, Lion Forge/Oni Press). Her short fiction has been published in Clarkesworld and Uncanny Magazine, and she has published nonfiction articles with Uncanny Magazine, StarTrek.com, Women Write About Comics, and the anthology Barriers and Belonging: Personal Narratives of Disability. She has spoken at numerous conventions on a variety of topics ranging from disability representation in sci-fi/fantasy to comics collaboration.

Wendy Xu is a Brooklyn-based illustrator and comics artist. She is co-creator of and currently draws the webcomic Mooncakes. Her work has been featured on Tor.com, as part of the Chinese American: Exclusion/Inclusion exhibit permanently housed at the Chinese Historical Society of America, and in Shattered: The Asian American Comics Anthology. She occasionally teaches at the Asian American Writers Workshop and currently works as an assistant editor curating young adult and children’s books.

Suzanne Walker suffers from hearing loss, something that she wrote into her graphic novel, Mooncakes, making Nova hard of hearing. I read this in a few years ago as an advance reader copy for Netgalley and it was honestly one of the best graphic novels I have ever read. The main characters are Chinese American, queer AND magic, which is an amazing combination of representation.

7. Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo

📷

Ketterdam: a bustling hub of international trade where anything can be had for the right price—and no one knows that better than criminal prodigy Kaz Brekker. Kaz is offered a chance at a deadly heist that could make him rich beyond his wildest dreams. But he can’t pull it off alone… A convict with a thirst for revenge A sharpshooter who can’t walk away from a wager A runaway with a privileged past A spy known as the Wraith A Heartrender using her magic to survive the slums A thief with a gift for unlikely escapes Kaz’s crew is the only thing that might stand between the world and destruction—if they don’t kill each other first.

Leigh Bardugo is a #1 New York Times bestselling author of fantasy novels and the creator of the Grishaverse (now a Netflix original series) which spans the Shadow and Bone Trilogy, the Six of Crows Duology, The Language of Thorns, and King of Scars—with more to come. Her short stories can be found in multiple anthologies, including the Best American Science Fiction & Fantasy. Her other works include Wonder Woman: Warbringer and Ninth House (Goodreads Choice Winner for Best Fantasy 2019) which is being developed for television by Amazon Studios.

Leigh grew up in Southern California and graduated from Yale University. These days she lives and writes in Los Angeles.

In the acknowledgements section of Six of Crows, Bardugo reveals she suffers from osteonecrosis and sometimes needs to use a cane; this was a source of inspiration for one of the story's six protagonists, master thief and gang boss Kaz Brekker, who uses a cane.

I read Six of Crows a few years ago and I really loved it. I’m not going to pretend I managed to finish the whole Grishaverse series, because I haven’t even gotten close yet, but it really showed Kaz’s struggles with his disability, and his mental health. This is part of a duology, and the duology is part of a large series of books with another duology and trilogy, but Six of Crows can be read without reading the others.

8. Hyperbole and A Half by Allie Brosh

📷

This is a book I wrote. Because I wrote it, I had to figure out what to put on the back cover to explain what it is. I tried to write a long, third-person summary that would imply how great the book is and also sound vaguely authoritative--like maybe someone who isn’t me wrote it--but I soon discovered that I’m not sneaky enough to pull it off convincingly. So, I decided to just make a list of things that are in the book: Pictures Words Stories about things that happened to me Stories about things that happened to other people because of me Eight billion dollars* Stories about dogs The secret to eternal happiness* *These are lies. Perhaps I have underestimated my sneakiness!

Allie is an American blogger, writer and comic artist best known for her blog in the form of a webcomic Hyperbole and a Half. Brosh started Hyperbole in 2009 and told stories from her life in a mix of text and intentionally crude illustrations. She has published two books telling stories in the same style, both of which have been New York Times bestsellers. Brosh lives with severe depression and ADHD, and her comics on depression have won praise from fans and mental health professionals.

Another book on my tbr that I just haven’t gotten around to but really want to.

9. The Rest of Us Just Live Here by Patrick Ness

📷

What if you aren’t the Chosen One? The one who’s supposed to fight the zombies, or the soul-eating ghosts, or whatever the heck this new thing is, with the blue lights and the death? What if you’re like Mikey? Who just wants to graduate and go to prom and maybe finally work up the courage to ask Henna out before someone goes and blows up the high school. Again. Because sometimes there are problems bigger than this week’s end of the world, and sometimes you just must find the extraordinary in your ordinary life. Even if your best friend is worshipped by mountain lions...

Patrick Ness, an award-winning novelist, has written for England’s Radio 4 and Sunday Telegraph and is a literary critic for The Guardian. He has written many books, including the Chaos Walking Trilogy, The Crash of Hennington, Topics About Which I Know Nothing, and A Monster Calls. He has won numerous awards, including the Guardian Children’s Fiction Prize, the Booktrust Teenage Prize, and the Costa Children’s Book Award. Born in Virginia, he currently lives in London.

Patrick Ness has written about OCD and anxiety in at least two of his books, inspired by his own experiences with the two disorders and how it affects him (The Rest of Us Just Live Here & Release)

10. Every Heart A Doorway by Seanan McGuire

📷

Eleanor West’s Home for Wayward Children No Solicitations No Visitors No Quests Children have always disappeared under the right conditions; slipping through the shadows under a bed or at the back of a wardrobe, tumbling down rabbit holes and into old wells, and emerging somewhere... else. But magical lands have little need for used-up miracle children. Nancy tumbled once, but now she’s back. The things she’s experienced... they change a person. The children under Miss West’s care understand all too well. And each of them is seeking a way back to their own fantasy world. But Nancy’s arrival marks a change at the Home. There’s a darkness just around each corner, and when tragedy strikes, it’s up to Nancy and her new-found schoolmates to get to the heart of the matter. No matter the cost.

Seanan lives in an idiosyncratically designed labyrinth in the Pacific Northwest, which she shares with her cats, Alice and Thomas, a vast collection of creepy dolls and horror movies, and sufficient books to qualify her as a fire hazard. She has strongly held and oft-expressed beliefs about the origins of the Black Death, the X-Men, and the need for chainsaws in daily life.

Years of writing blurbs for convention program books have fixed Seanan in the habit of writing all her bios in the third person, to sound marginally less dorky. Stress is on the "marginally." It probably doesn't help that she has so many hobbies.

Seanan was the winner of the 2010 John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer, and her novel Feed (as Mira Grant) was named as one of Publishers Weekly's Best Books of 2010. In 2013 she became the first person ever to appear five times on the same Hugo Ballot.

Seanan McGuire has an invisible disability due to herniated disks in her spine. She is slowly coming to terms with this, and talks about it occasionally on her twitter, and about the struggles she faces.

I loved this book, and so did my best friend. We both read it in one sitting and talked nonstop about it afterwards. Although short, its filled with amazing characters, plot, and representation (asexual character!!)

11. Girls of Paper and Fire by Natasha Ngan

Each year, eight beautiful girls are chosen as Paper Girls to serve the king. It's the highest honour they could hope for...and the most demeaning. This year, there's a ninth. And instead 📷of paper, she's made of fire. In this richly developed fantasy, Lei is a member of the Paper caste, the lowest and most persecuted class of people in Ikhara. She lives in a remote village with her father, where the decade-old trauma of watching her mother snatched by royal guards for an unknown fate still haunts her. Now, the guards are back and this time it's Lei they're after -- the girl with the golden eyes whose rumoured beauty has piqued the king's interest. Over weeks of training in the opulent but oppressive palace, Lei and eight other girls learns the skills and charm that befit a king's consort. There, she does the unthinkable -- she falls in love. Her forbidden romance becomes enmeshed with an explosive plot that threatens her world's entire way of life. Lei, still the wide-eyed country girl at heart, must decide how far she's willing to go for justice and revenge.

Natasha Ngan is a writer and yoga teacher. She grew up between Malaysia, where the Chinese side of her family is from, and the UK. This multicultural upbringing continues to influence her writing, and she is passionate about bringing diverse stories to teens. Ngan studied Geography at the University of Cambridge before working as a social media consultant and fashion blogger. She lives in France with her partner, where they recently moved from Paris to be closer to the sea. Her novel Girls of Paper and Fire was a New York Times bestseller. Natasha has a heart condition, and talks about her struggles with her health, and gives updates on her health and her books on twitter.

I’ve heard a lot about this book, but for trigger warning reasons it sadly isn’t on my to be read list. Everything I’ve heard about it says its an amazing book though, and the cover is beautiful.

12. Queens of Geek by Jen Wilde

📷

Three friends, two love stories, one convention: this fun, feminist love letter to geek culture is all about fandom, friendship, and finding the courage to be yourself. Charlie likes to stand out. She’s a vlogger and actress promoting her first movie at SupaCon, and this is her chance to show fans she’s over her public breakup with co-star Reese Ryan. When internet-famous cool-girl actress Alyssa Huntington arrives as a surprise guest, it seems Charlie’s long-time crush on her isn’t as one-sided as she thought. Taylor likes to blend in. Her brain is wired differently, making her fear change. And there’s one thing in her life she knows will never change: her friendship with her best guy friend Jamie—no matter how much she may secretly want it to. But when she hears about a fan contest for her favourite fandom, she starts to rethink her rules on playing it safe.

Jen Wilde is the YA author of QUEENS OF GEEK, THE BRIGHTSIDERS and GOING OFF SCRIPT. She writes unapologetically queer stories about geeks, rockstars, and fangirls who smash the patriarchy in their own unique ways. Her books have been praised in Teen Vogue, Buzzfeed, Autostraddle, Vulture and Bustle. Originally from Australia, Jen now lives in NYC where she spends her time writing, drinking too much coffee and binging reality TV.

Researching for this collab was the first time this book popped up on my radar as something I might be interested in reading. Jen Wilde, the author, is herself autistic and suffers from anxiety, which gives the narrative “authenticity that is lacking in similar books” according to socialjusticebooks.org.

13. The Upside of Unrequited by Becky Albertalli

📷

Seventeen-year-old Molly Peskin-Suso knows all about unrequited love—she’s lived through it twenty-six times. She crushes hard and crushes often, but always in secret. Because no matter how many times her twin sister, Cassie, tells her to woman up, Molly can’t stomach the idea of rejection. So, she’s careful. Fat girls always have to be careful. Then a cute new girl enters Cassie’s orbit, and for the first time ever, Molly’s cynical twin is a lovesick mess. Meanwhile, Molly’s totally not dying of loneliness—except for the part where she is. Luckily, Cassie’s new girlfriend comes with a cute hipster-boy sidekick. Will is funny and flirtatious and just might be perfect crush material. Maybe more than crush material. And if Molly can win him over, she’ll get her first kiss and she’ll get her twin back. There’s only one problem: Molly’s co-worker Reid. He’s an awkward Tolkien superfan with a season pass to the Ren Faire, and there’s absolutely no way Molly could fall for him. Right?

Becky Albertalli is the author of the acclaimed novels Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda (film: Love, Simon), The Upside of Unrequited, and Leah on the Offbeat. She is also the co-author of What If It's Us with Adam Silvera. A former clinical psychologist who specialized in working with children and teens, Becky lives with her family in Atlanta.

Becky Albertalli has generalised anxiety disorder (GAD), and has spoken about it in several interviews, which you can find online. She has also written several characters in her books who also suffer with anxiety. Her first book, Simon vs the Homosapien’s Agenda (or Love, Simon), is the only book of hers that I have read so far, and I loved it. It was the first contemporary book that I read and actually enjoyed.

14. Carve the Mark by Veronica Roth

📷

Cyra is the sister of the brutal tyrant who rules the Shotet people. Cyra’s current gift gives her pain and power—something her brother exploits, using her to torture his enemies. But Cyra is much more than just a blade in her brother’s hand: she is resilient, quick on her feet, and smarter than he knows. Akos is the son of a farmer and an oracle from the frozen nation-planet of Thuvhe. Protected by his unusual currentgift, Akos is generous in spirit, and his loyalty to his family is limitless. Once Akos and his brother are captured by enemy Shotet soldiers, Akos is desperate to get his brother out alive—no matter what the cost. Then Akos is thrust into Cyra's world, and the enmity between their countries and families seems insurmountable. Will they help each other to survive, or will they destroy one another?

Veronica Roth is the #1 New York Times best-selling author of the Divergent series (Divergent, Insurgent, Allegiant, and Four: A Divergent Collection), the Carve the Mark duology (Carve the Mark, the Fates Divide), The End and Other Beginnings collection of short fiction, and many short stories and essays. Her first book for adult audiences, Chosen Ones, is out now. She lives in Chicago.

Veronica Roth suffers from anxiety, like a lot of the authors on this list, and talks about it in interviews. A quote from one: "I've had an anxiety disorder my whole life, so I've been to therapy on and off throughout, before books and after books. I went back and tried to talk through some of the things I was feeling and experiencing, and it was helpful."

I’ve never read any of her books, not even the hugely famous Divergent trilogy, though they’ve been on my radar for years. I’d love to get into her books at some point, but it might take me a few years.

15. How to be Autistic by Charlotte Amelia Poe

📷An urgent, funny, shocking, and impassioned memoir by the winner of the Spectrum Art Prize 2018, How To Be Autistic by Charlotte Amelia Poe presents the rarely shown point of view of someone living with autism. Poe’s voice is confident, moving and often funny, as they reveal to us a very personal account of autism, mental illness, gender and sexual identity. As we follow Charlotte’s journey through school and college, we become as awestruck by their extraordinary passion for life as by the enormous privations that they must undergo to live it. From food and fandom to body modification and comic conventions, Charlotte’s experiences through the torments of schooldays and young adulthood leave us with a riot of conflicting emotions: horror, empathy, despair, laugh-out-loud amusement and, most of all, respect. For Charlotte, autism is a fundamental aspect of their identity and art. They address the reader in a voice that is direct, sharply clever and ironic. They witness their own behaviour with a wry humour as they sympathise with those who care for them, yet all the while challenging the neurotypical narratives of autism as something to be ‘fixed’. This is an exuberant, inspiring, life-changing insight into autism from a viewpoint almost entirely missing from public discussion. ‘I wanted to show the side of autism that you don’t find in books and on Facebook. My story is about survival, fear and, finally, hope. There will be parts that make you want to cover your eyes, but I beg you to read on, because if I can change just one person’s perceptions, if I can help one person with autism feel like they’re less alone, then this will all be worth it.’ Charlotte Amelia Poe is a self-taught artist and writer living in Lowestoft, Suffolk. They also work with video and won the inaugural Spectrum Art Prize with the film they submitted, 'How to Be Autistic’. Myriad published Charlotte's memoir, How to Be Autistic, in September 2019.

Another book I didn’t know about until researching for this post, but I really want to read it because I haven’t read many books about autism, and practically none of them were actually written by someone who actually is autistic. Charlotte uses they/them pronouns.

16. Ask me about my Uterus by Abby Norman

📷

For any woman who has experienced illness, chronic pain, or endometriosis comes an inspiring memoir advocating for recognition of women's health issues In the fall of 2010, Abby Norman's strong dancer's body dropped forty pounds and grey hairs began to sprout from her temples. She was repeatedly hospitalized in excruciating pain, but the doctors insisted it was a urinary tract infection and sent her home with antibiotics. Unable to get out of bed, much less attend class, Norman dropped out of college and embarked on what would become a years-long journey to discover what was wrong with her. It wasn't until she took matters into her own hands--securing a job in a hospital and educating herself over lunchtime reading in the medical library--that she found an accurate diagnosis of endometriosis. In Ask Me About My Uterus, Norman describes what it was like to have her pain dismissed, to be told it was all in her head, only to be taken seriously when she was accompanied by a boyfriend who confirmed that her sexual performance was, indeed, compromised. Putting her own trials into a broader historical, sociocultural, and political context, Norman shows that women's bodies have long been the battleground of a never-ending war for power, control, medical knowledge, and truth. It's time to refute the belief that being a woman is a pre-existing condition.

Abby Norman’s debut book, ASK ME ABOUT MY UTERUS: A Quest to Make Doctors Believe in Women’s Pain, was published by Bold Type Books (Hachette Book Group) in 2018, with advance praise from Gillian Anderson, Lindsey Fitzharris, Jenny Lawson, and Padma Lakshmi.

The book was praised by The New York Times Book Review, The Wall Street Journal, New York Magazine, The Washington Post, The Sunday Times, The Irish Times, Literary Review, The Times Literary Supplement, The New Republic, Book Riot, Toronto Star, ELLE, Health Magazine, Undark Magazine, BUST Magazine, Bitch Magazine, Ms. Magazine, BBC Radio 5, and other international media outlets.

In 2019, the paperback edition was published in the U.S. and the Korean translation in Seoul (Momento Publishing/Duran Kim Agency).

Her work has been featured in Harper’s, Medium, The Independent, Literary Hub, The Rumpus, Mental Floss, Atlas Obscura, and elsewhere. Interviews and profiles have been seen and heard, including NPR/WNYC, BBC, Anchor.fm, The New York Times, Playboy, Forbes, Glamour, Women’s Health, and Bitch Magazine.

Abby Norman suffers from endometriosis, which was a large part of why she wrote her book, and why she advocates so hard for fellow patients at conferences such as Stanford University’s Stanford Medicine X and the Endometriosis Foundation of America’s medical conference and Patient Day. She is

Abby has served on technical expert panels including the National Partnership for Women and Families’ CORE Network (Yale University), the American Congress of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (ACOG), the Centres for Medicare and Medicaid, The Society for Women’s Health Research (SWHR), and Health Affairs.

In 2019, Abby contributed to a paper addressing research gaps and unmet needs in endometriosis published in the American Journal of Obstetrics and Gynecology.

This book is definitely one I will be adding to my to be read list, as someone who (unfortunately) also has a uterus, it is important to be informed. And Abby sounds like such a badass who wrote a whole book about her chronic illness to help others with the same condition.

17. Stim: Autistic Anthology by Lizzie Huxley-Jones

📷

Around one in one hundred people in the UK are autistic, yet there remains a fundamental misunderstanding of what autism is. It is rare that autistic people get to share their own experiences, show how creative and talented and passionate they are, how different they are from media stereotypes. This insightful and eye-opening collection of essays, fiction and visual art showcases the immense talents of some of the UK's most exciting writers and artists - who just happen to be on the spectrum. Here they reclaim the power to speak for themselves and redefine what it means to be autistic. Stim invites the reader into the lives, experiences, minds of the eighteen contributors, and asks them to recognise the hurdles of being autistic in a non-autistic world and to uncover the empathy and understanding necessary to continue to champion brilliant yet unheard voices.

Lizzie (Hux) Huxley-Jones is an autistic author and editor based in London. They are the editor of Stim, an anthology of autistic authors and artists, which was published by Unbound in April 2020 to coincide with World Autism Awareness Week. They are also the author of the children’s biography Sir David Attenborough: A Life Story. They can be found editing at independent micropublisher 3 of Cups Press, and they also advise writers as a freelance sensitivity reader and consultant. In their past career lives, they have been a research diver, a children’s bookseller and digital communications specialist.

I wasn’t even aware that there was an anthology out there by an autistic author, about autism, but now that I do I need to read it.

18. Chimera by Jaecyn Bonê

📷

Creatures unlike you've imagined before! Welcome to a world where myths and legends collide to create a new breed of monster. Savage and soulful, these monstrosities combine to form the mighty Chimera. In this anthology, talented writers weave 10 tales of fantastical beasts. Featuring stories by: Matt Bliss Jaecyn Boné Alexis L. Carroll Chris Durston Dewi Hargreaves Stephen Howard Samuel Logan Vincent Metzo Braden Rohl Michelle Tang

Jaecyn is a queer, non-binary, disabled Asian-American writer and digital artist fascinated by faeries.

Most of their writing involves wlw romance and faery-inspired creatures. Their first novel, Farzana's Spite is a 10-year-old work in progress and the first novel in The Faerth series. Other works include The Killing Song (novel) and Colour Unknown (short), both of which are also part of the Faerth universe.

Jaecyn's art can be described as a neorealistic pop art style with cel shading. They began their digital art journey with a 5-year-old refurbished iPad using their finger as a stylus and immediately fell in love. They do digital download commissions as well as sell prints of their artwork.

Jaecyn is the Co-Editor in Chief of the Limeoncello Magazine, an online Own Voices literary magazine which debuted its first issue on March 21st, 2021.

When not writing, drawing, or chasing after their two children, they can be found either gardening or practicing their ukulele.

None of Jaecyn Boné’s books are published yet as they are still in the stage of querying, but they contributed to the above anthology, along with nine other authors. I had no idea that this anthology existed, and now I’ll be closely following this author to see when their books get published!

19. Forest of Souls by Lori M Lee

Sirscha Ashwyn comes from nothing, but she’s intent on becoming something. After years of training to become the queen’s next royal spy, her plans are derailed when shamans attack 📷and kill her best friend Saengo. And then Sirscha, somehow, restores Saengo to life. Unveiled as the first soul guide in living memory, Sirscha is summoned to the domain of the Spider King. For centuries, he has used his influence over the Dead Wood—an ancient forest possessed by souls—to enforce peace between the kingdoms. Now, with the trees growing wild and untamed, only a soul guide can restrain them. As war looms, Sirscha must master her newly awakened abilities before the trees shatter the brittle peace, or worse, claim Saengo, the friend she would die for.

Lori M. Lee is the author of speculative novels and short stories. Her books include PAHUA AND THE SOUL STEALER (Disney/Rick Riordan Presents), FOREST OF SOULS and the sequel BROKEN WEB (Page Street), and more. She’s also a contributor to the anthologies A THOUSAND BEGINNINGS AND ENDINGS and COLOR OUTSIDE THE LINES. She considers herself a unicorn fan, enjoys marathoning TV shows, and loves to write about magic, manipulation, and family.

Lori struggles with anxiety, and the common symptoms like fatigue but she doesn’t let this stop her writing amazing books. I read Forest of Souls earlier this year, and it was seriously one of the best books I’ve ever read. I loved the magic, the characters, the world building. Everything about it, including the plot twist ending that had me losing my mind at 2am, was just so unlike anything I had read in any other fantasy before.

20. A Song of Wraiths and Ruin by Roseanne A Brown

📷

For Malik, the Solstasia festival is a chance to escape his war-stricken home and start a new life with his sisters in the prosperous desert city of Ziran. But when a vengeful spirit abducts Malik’s younger sister, Nadia, as payment into the city, Malik strikes a fatal deal—kill Karina, Crown Princess of Ziran, for Nadia’s freedom. But Karina has deadly aspirations of her own. Her mother, the Sultana, has been assassinated; her court threatens mutiny; and Solstasia looms like a knife over her neck. Grief-stricken, Karina decides to resurrect her mother through ancient magic . . . requiring the beating heart of a king. And she knows just how to obtain one: by offering her hand in marriage to the victor of the Solstasia competition. When Malik rigs his way into the contest, they are set on a course to destroy each other. But as attraction flares between them and ancient evils stir, will they be able to see their tasks to the death?

Roseanne “Rosie” A. Brown was born in Kumasi, Ghana and immigrated to the wild jungles of central Maryland as a child. Writing was her first love, and she knew from a young age that she wanted to use the power of writing—creative and otherwise—to connect the different cultures she called home. She graduated from the University of Maryland with a Bachelor’s in Journalism and was also a teaching assistant for the school’s Jiménez-Porter Writers’ House program. Her journalistic work has been featured by Voice of America among other outlets.

On the publishing side of things, she has worked as an editorial intern at Entangled Publishing. Rosie was a 2017 Pitch Wars mentee and 2018 Pitch Wars mentor. Rosie currently lives outside Washington D.C., where in her free time she can usually be found wandering the woods, making memes, or thinking about Star Wars.

Roseanne is another author that struggles with anxiety and wrote one of her two main characters with generalised anxiety disorder (GAD), despite it being a fantasy. I don’t even think I can name a fantasy that had a character with anxiety represented so well. This was a book I read around the same time as Forest of Souls, and I loved it. The cover was beautiful, the characters were brilliant, and I just loved the world building, the magic, and the plot. It was just different to the usual fantasy books I read, and I enjoyed the variation so much I’ve had the sequel pre ordered almost a year in advance.

So, this was my 20 books by 20 chronically ill, disabled or neurodiverse authors list. Blurbs and synopsis were compiled between Goodreads and author websites, and bios were found either on Goodreads, author websites or on amazon author pages. All the information about their chronic illnesses, disabilities or neurodivergence was found online, where they had either explicitly said it or written about it, but if I have something wrong, please let me know so I can fix it!

If you have any other suggestions or know any other books and authors that should be on this list, please let me know and I’ll do my best to add it to the list as soon as possible.

Thanks for reading 😊

#bookblr #reviews #recs #books

2 notes · View notes

artnerd1123 · 3 years

Text

Among Us: CR3WM8TS

Updates Required (part 1)

——————————————

With the ship launched and crew settled, it’s time to get to work. Which, for Bunbun, means updating. How smoothly that goes depends on the crewmates in charge... Bunbun’s hoping she’s in good company.

Featuring appearances by River and Lemon!

Among Us archive/askblog Fic chapters post

——————————————

Ok so originally I wanted to keep all this together, but decided it’d be better to chop it into pieces. That way I can keep my momentum, keep posting for y’all, and still intro y’all to the crew as things get moving! Hope u guys enjoy!!!

===+===+===

Mission Log 2

Ship Model: SKELD D34-H120 Designation: SUPPLY TRANSPORT, EXPLORATION AND DOCUMENTATION OF SECTOR G PLANETS Crewmate Count: 9 Crewmate Colors: DARK GREEN, WHITE, PURPLE, DARK BLUE, YELLOW, RED, LIME, BLACK, PINK

Location: SECTOR E Ship Status: JUST LAUNCHED Course: PLANET 326-OCE-894 - SECTOR G Systems:

Navigation: COURSE INLAID / STABLE

Engines: UPPER - ONLINE, TANK FULL / LOWER - ONLINE, TANK FULL / OUTPUT ALIGNED

Reactor: ONLINE / FUNCTIONING OPTIMAL

O2: STABLE

Electrical: STABLE

Communications: ONLINE

Shields: ONLINE / FUNCTIONING OPTIMAL

Weapons: ONLINE / FUNCTIONING OPTIMAL

Security: CAMERAS ONLINE / ALL FUNCTIONAL

Administration: MAP ONLINE / CONNECTION SECURE / SHIP FILES UP TO DATE / ALL CREW ACCOUNTED FOR

Medbay: EQUIPMENT ONLINE / FUNCTIONAL / CREW FILES UP TO DATE

Supplies: FULL

Storage Chutes: CLEAR

Vents: CLEAR

Notes: crewmate PINK settled quickly. Launch was successful, no issues of note. Supplies loaded, all systems functioning optimally. PINK noted many systems need updated - updates will be performed in transit. All crew accounted for

===+===+===

Mission Log 3

Location: SECTOR F Ship Status: IN TRANSIT Course: PLANET 326-OCE-894 - SECTOR G Systems:

Navigation: COURSE INLAID / STABLE / UPDATES NEEDED

Engines: UPPER - ONLINE, TANK 0.98 / LOWER - ONLINE, TANK 0.97 / ALIGNMENT UPDATES NEEDED

Reactor: OFFLINE - UPDATES NEEDED / RESERVE POWER FUNCTIONAL

O2: STABLE

Electrical: CALIBRATOR OFFLINE

Communications: ONLINE / UPDATES NEEDED

Shields: ONLINE / FUNCTIONING OPTIMAL

Weapons: ONLINE / FUNCTIONING OPTIMAL

Security: CAMERAS OFFLINE - UPDATES NEEDED

Administration: MAP OFFLINE - UPDATES NEEDED / CONNECTION SECURE / SHIP FILES UP TO DATE / ALL CREW ACCOUNTED FOR

Medbay: EQUIPMENT OFFLINE - UPDATES NEEDED / FUNCTIONAL / CREW FILES UP TO DATE

Supplies: FULL

Storage Chutes: CLEAR

Vents: CLEAR

Notes: travel into sector F uneventful. Many systems functioning on reserve power temporarily, as updates are needed. PINK identified systems in need of updates. Updates will be performed today under DARK BLUE supervision. Other crew performing normal activities.

===+===+===

Bunbun stood in the hall next to security, foot tapping nervously. If her hands weren’t clutched tight around her tablet, they’d be caught up in her hair, or fidgeting with her bandanna. It was just a routine ship update. Yes, most of the systems needed it. Yes, she was being supervised by a stranger. But it was nothing she hadn’t done before. She knew the ship layout. So did her new crewmate. It was just… extra precautionary measures. Nobody quite knew who they were dealing with nowadays. It didn’t seem like the door to security was about to spring open. It had been closed for all ten minutes she’d stood there. Captain Groud said it was nothing to worry about. Dark blue- or River, as the crew called him- often shut himself into security. At least, he seemed to do it a lot. If the doors are faulty, we’ll know soon enough, Bunbun thought ruefully. She tapped on her tablet screen, sighing softly at its comforting glow. Her task list was still updating. She watched the number in the upper left tick slowly upward. Yeah. She’d be busy alright. A quick glance at the map confirmed what she already knew- the ship had a standard SKELD layout. A little pink icon stood right outside security. Crew Locator and Tablet Sync are working just fine, she thought. Good. Swiping to the right, the live feed of ship’s systems now lit up her screen. The amount of “OFFLINE” and “UPDATES NEEDED” made her snort. “HQ really doesn’t take care of their older ships, huh?” she muttered. Scrolling down, her eyes swiftly located the vent status. “CLEAR,” declared the system. “Clear,” Bunbun echoed, sighing. For now, at least, she could quell any suspicions of River.

Speaking of which, the telltale clunk and hiss of an opening door announced his presence. Bunbun straightened up quickly, standing to attention as the door split and slid into the wall. A crewmate in a dark blue suit stood in the doorway. A faded blue security cap was jammed down low over his unkempt ashy blonde hair. His green eyes were ringed with a raccoon’s mask. All in all, he looked like a standard security crewmate. Though his bored look and slouched posture said he might be a little put out by his recent assignment. Bunbun tried for a smile and wave. She opened her mouth to speak, voice a little shaky. “Um, hi, I’m-” “Bunbun, right? The new crewmate?” River interjected, a brow raised. “Yeah. Guessed as much. Haven’t had a pink around here for awhile.” “Er- right,” Bunbun stammered, a little taken aback. Interrupting? And… ‘a pink’? Someone was a little annoyed. “I’m… I’m here for the-” “Yeah, the updates, I know,” River said bluntly. Bun’s face reddened a bit. Was she overexplaining? Or was he just in a bad mood? She wasn’t quite sure. Yawning, River made a shooing motion. “Let’s get this over with, ok? I’ve got cams to watch, and I can’t do that if they’re all offline.” “Of-of course, sir. I’ll get on it,” she twittered. She quickly scooted around him, eyes downcast. Talk about a tough crowd, she thought grimly.

She took quick stock of the room as she entered. The monitors on the far wall were all dark. The desk along the back had piles of unorganized papers. Records that needed to go to HQ, she’d guess. The vent lay dusty and undisturbed in the back. With the maintenance panel closed and no other ideas, she wandered over to the flashing bulbs near the monitors. The bulbs were blinking red intermittently. Though, from what she saw, she was surprised anything was happening at all. The lights were indicators on an old, massive computer system, split between two shelves. Bunbun hadn’t seen a system like this since her academy trip to the ship tech museum. She gave a low whistle as she hooked up her tablet. Wait till everyone learns I worked with one of the old old models… “You really think you can update that thing?” River called from the doorway. He was leaned against it, arms crossed and gaze impatient. “Or anything here, really. This bucket of junk has been outta the loop for years. It’d probably short circuit with new input.” Bunbun looked back at him a little indignantly. She could understand being irritated with new crew members. It happens. New recruits often get things backwards, or bite off more than she could chew. But she wasn’t new. Her recommendation was high enough to have her bouncing all over. And doubting her skill? The one thing they brought her here for? That was going too far. Standing a little straighter, she held her tablet like a manager with a clipboard. “Even if things go a little haywire, this ship hasn’t dealt with me yet,” she replied. “I’ll get it running.” “Is that so?” River snorted. “I could make ship software run on a half dead toaster.” “Yeah yeah. I bet you could.” Bunbun didn’t miss his eye roll. She just shook her head. Fine. If he wanted to be difficult, he could. But she was going to do her job whether River thought it possible or not.

Raising her tablet, she tilted her head at the screen. She’d never been so relieved to keep the same tablet regardless of assignment. Working with a new one after being used to her personal upgrades would be a nightmare. The data whizzed past at an astonishing speed. Her gaze picked out the important stuff. The camera system was still functioning well, it just had a couple minor bugs. That was an easy fix. First off, the camera movement program had become a little glitchy. Old camera feed confirmed this- the cameras just jerked around sharply instead of sliding smoothly in circles. It only took a moment to find the problem code, pulling and replacing it with a patch she’d worked out years ago. Just for the fun of it, she slid in an extra bit of code. Just to keep the camera movement unexpected. Made the feed edges much harder to track from the outside, even if the cameras weren’t physically going anywhere. After that, she did a little survey of the feed record system. A few more patches here and there, and it was running properly again.

Bunbun smiled to herself as she closed out the security system, booting up the cameras on her way out. The monitors flickered back to life as she unplugged her tablet. And it had only been eight minutes. Bunbun looked over at River just in time to see him wiping an impressed look off his face. Her smug smile just earned another eye roll. “Ok. Maybe you know what you’re doing. But we got a lot more to get to,” he grumbled, “so you better be just as quick.” “Repair can’t be rushed,” Bunbun pointed out, “but I’ll do what I can.” “Good.” With that, River turned on his heel and left. Bunbun had to run to catch up with him. Despite supposedly sitting around in security all day, the guy moved fast. What was he in a hurry for? “You coming?” he called, standing in the middle of the reactor room. “Yes- yes, sorry-” she stammered, slowing to a stop in the doorway. The reactor towered over her in the back of the room. Glowing pulses slid from the main machine to cables inlaid in the floor. The whole place was awe inspiring. And very scary. Things could go very wrong very fast if she wasn’t careful.

“Well…?” River prompted, gesturing around him. “You gonna do your thing?” “Of… of course,” Bun replied, nervously striding over to the control panel. “It’s just been awhile since I’ve worked with the reactor.” That’s usually left to the experts. “Well, let’s hope you know what you’re doing,” River grumbled. As he wandered away to lean on the wall, Bunbun nervously eyed the control panel. The startup mechanism was just as she remembered it. An older model, sure, but the light up cube pattern and well worn keypad looked about the same. Glad I’ve got that going for me, she thought ruefully. As for updating the thing, though, she… didn’t have a clue. Looking around for a place to plug in her tablet was unsuccessful. It didn’t look like it had a touch interface either. Not besides the keypad, anyway. She didn’t want to try wrangling code with that. The only other options she had were with the manifolds- not wise, as fiddling with those could cause a meltdown- or with one of the hand scanners. Her memory told her those wouldn’t do. They were for biological input, not technical. Bunbun bit her lip, looking back down at the control panel. What to do, what to do…? “Ay, what’s the holdup?” River called, making her jump. His shadowed eyes were narrowed, and his arms held tight across his chest. She stammered for a minute as she tried to compose herself. “I- I’m sorry, I’m, u-um, not used to working with reactor equipment- I- I can’t f-find where to, u-um, plug in my t-tablet-” “For the love of- ghhhhhhhhhh-” River strode quickly to her side. Gesturing to the control panel, he gave her a withering look. “You got my cams working in two seconds. What’s so hard about this? You just take the tablet, get it hooked up-” “B-but if I don’t find the r-right place-” “You try again, and you get to work-” “B-but the reactor is delicate-” “So be careful then!” Bunbun was cowering behind her tablet by now. She didn’t know what to do, River was not helping, and she wished she could just get out of-

“HEY! What’s the big idea?!” A voice shouted from the door.

It made Bunbun jump, and River freeze. She took the opportunity to take a step back and turn towards the doorway. In it stood a crewmate with a bright yellow suit. His short, shocking red hair was rather unkempt, a pair of repairman’s goggles managing to keep the longer locks on top from his hazel eyes. A couple bandages poked out from under his rectangle glasses and stuck to his cheek, and a pair of black hoop earrings hung from his ears. A pale coating of stubble surrounded his downturned mouth, brows furrowed in a very displeased scowl.

Uh oh.

Bunbun went right back to cowering behind her tablet as the man strode over. One angry crewmate was enough to deal with, but two? No thank you. Fortunately, he walked right past her to stand toe-to-toe with River. Jabbing a finger into his chest, the newcomer spoke again. “What EXACTLY do you think you’re doing, wandering in and putting bad vibes in MY reactor room?!” he growled. River took a step back, looking quite put out. “Geez- dude, calm down, I’m just watching the new crewmate,” River grumbled, hands up. “I wasn’t even gonna be in here long. What’s the problem?” “You, obviously,” the newcomer huffed, “you should know better than to rush the artists. Speaking of which-” Turning to Bunbun, a soft grin replaced his broody scowl. “Hello there, stardust! Glad to have you aboard! What’s your name?” he bubbled, holding out a hand. Bunbun blinked in surprise. Artists? This guy was… certainly interesting. But it was a good kind of interesting. The kind she knew pretty well. She let her shoulders relax just a bit. Taking his hand, she gave it a gentle shake. “Hello,” she said softly, “I’m, um, Bunbun…” “Bunbun! That’s a fine n’ dandy name. I like it!” he grinned. “I’m Lemon, in case orientation memories are hazy. Glad to finally be workin with ya!” “Y-you too,” she smiled shakily. A glance at River said he was subdued for now. Summoning her courage, Bunbun turned her attention back to Lemon. Time to see if the interests really matched. “Um, so, I take it you’re the reactor caretaker?” “Thaaaat’s me!” Lemon drawled chipperly. “Well, me and my son, but you’ll meet him later.” He waved a hand as if brushing the thought away. “But that’s- eheh- for later. I take it you need somethin’ from me?” Bunbun nodded shyly. “I’ve got a couple updates for the reactor,” she explained, “nothing drastic, don’t worry- just to keep it running up to HQ standards.” “Understandable,” Lemon nodded. “And uh- lemme guess-” he gestured to the control panel- “you can’t find the interaction interface?” Bunbun nodded again, relieved she didn’t have to explain. “If it’s not too much trouble, could you…?” “Of course, Miss Bun! Don’t you worry your fluffy lil head!” Lemon hummed. Gently nudging her to the side, he stood before the control panel. Bunbun watched in silence as he tapped out a complex code with surprising speed. With a beep and a click, the panel slid to the side, revealing… “Hey! That’s the update interface!” Bunbun beamed. “Correct! ‘S a lil hidden here, but it’s all for safety’s sake,” Lemon explained. He took a step back, waving her towards it. “Reactor’s all yours. Just treat my baby like you treat your tablet, m’kay?” “Makes sense. And of course! I’ll have her running smoothly in just a few,” Bunbun smiled knowingly. Seems her intuition had been right. She settled in front of the control panel happily.

Within a handful of minutes, the updates were once again finished. She stepped back to let Lemon close up the reactor, thanking him silently with her eyes. From his tiny nod and gentle glance, he’d caught onto her gratitude. “You done in there?” River huffed from the doorway. Bunbun’s shoulders slumped a bit. She’d nearly forgotten he was there. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get your leg stuck in a wormhole,” Lemon shot back. Giving Bun a pat on the shoulder, he led her over to River. “You two should head to upper engine next. My son was headed up there to do some alignments, last I heard.” “Ok! Thanks, Lemon,” Bunbun said shyly. He held up his hand- er- fist, smiling at her. It took her a moment to realize what he wanted. With a soft ‘oh!’ she bumped her fist against his. He laughed again, giving her a pat on the back. “Of course, Bun!” he beamed. “You’re welcome here anytime.” “Let’s get going,” River grumbled, turning back to the hall.

As Bunbun trailed after him, she could hear Lemon’s call of “don’t be a stranger!” I most certainly won’t, she thought happily.

#cr3wm8ts #au:c #among us oc #bunbun among us #river among us #lemon among us #among us #yea ok its like. 11:30pm as i post this slkjdfs #many thoughts head full but too tired to actually say them *dabs*#pls enjoy #i care them all #except river he sucks #arty writes

16 notes · View notes

feeshies · 4 years

Text

hey guys. this is going to be rambly, but it’s something i’ve been wanting to address for a while, but i was always hesitant to because i thought it would seem too mean.

basically, in a lot of contexts, private messaging makes me really uncomfortable.

without going too much into it, when i was younger i got in multiple uncomfortable/unpleasant situations as a result of private messages (that also affected my offline life). so whenever i get private messages that remind me of those times, regardless of intention, i will immediately freeze up.

things like:

receiving multiple greetings throughout the day (”good morning!” “good afternoon!” “good evening!” “goodnight!” “good morning again, hope you got a good night’s sleep :)”). i feel awful saying this, because obviously i sound like a jerk for complaining about someone saying “good morning” to me. but when i get this much, my first thought is “oh no, how much longer until they snap when i don’t respond fast enough?”.

unloading heavy personal stuff on me when we barely communicate. again, i feel like a jerk. i wish i could be one of those blogs that reblogs those posts like “you can come into my inbox whenever you want if you just want to vent”, but i’m not and this makes me super uncomfortable. if we’ve already established a relationship on here, then this isn’t an issue. then it feels like i’m a friend helping out another friend. but when the connection isn’t as strong, i feel like i’m being treated like a therapist. and i’m not a therapist. i’m a depressed asshole.

i didn’t like the idea of setting these boundaries because i wanted to be nice, but i really need to consider my mental health. i’ve done things like try to mask my online activity to abandoning social network platforms all together and i don’t want to keep doing that.

what works for me is

establishing a public online relationship first. i know it sounds dumb since we’re all on computers so technically we’re already alone, but i feel a lot safer knowing that we can meet in “public” first. basically this means openly hanging out on the dashboard or both being in a group discord together.

this also means that it’s easier for us to get to know each other and i’ll feel more comfortable in general (it’s also a social anxiety thing, since i’m always worried about not having anything to talk about).

basically, i view my dms as being like my house. if i don’t know you, i’d prefer to meet up in public first. then if things go well, we can hang out at my place. but if someone just burst into my house and started talking about their divorce, i would feel mildly uncomfortable.

i’m sorry if this is mean. but i ended up in those uncomfortable situations because i didn’t learn to set boundaries. so i’m doing this now.

60 notes · View notes

itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years

Note

Who inspires you?

Oh, wow, that’s an awful big question for three little words. There’s a world of folks, so I guess I better get naming.

In terms of my writing, on a deeply personal level, @thoughtslikeaminefield and @glassjacket are my inspiration. Like, I cannot even convey the passion and the ideas and the drive that just ignites when I get going with these two. I wouldn’t be where I am without them, and to be honest, I wouldn’t be here at all without them. It’s been a rough few years, and they’ve been there for a lot of bad (and good) stuff, when I really needed them.

@cracksinthewalls , you keep my writing going, you keep me going, and you keep the puns and the gifs going. I promise I’m going to try more Schitts Creek when I get home.

@there-must-be-a-lock is a huge inspiration; I didn’t know that must artistry could be crammed into one (amazingly awesome) person. @fangirlxwritesx67 is one of the most supportive and encouraging people I’ve ever met, and no matter what she says, my stories are better for having her opinions and suggestions. @mskathywriteswords is ....like, I need a word that means warm, passionate, supportive, caring, and so fiercely protective it makes you really glad she’s on your side. @dawnie1988 keeps me positive when it’s really hard to be; like, all them animals mean something, Dawnie, you need to know. @stunudo has these amazing moments of insight in her stories that just STEAL MY DAMN BREATH, and let me tell you how hard she works ALL THE DAMN TIME. @justcallmeasmodeus is fierce and fabulous, and I can’t decide half the time if I have a crush on her or want to be her. Probably both. @lastactiontricia I just discovered/met you, but damn if you don’t knock me on my ass (in the best way). @icemankazansky , dude you are just so damn cool. Like, I can’t even. It’s gotta be the shades. Aviators get me every fuckin time.

Offline, @drsupernach is my fangirling, flailing, venting, netflixing best friend who took a chance on giving me a job and also gave me one of the best friends I’ve ever had in my entire life. She is almost never able to put work down, so getting to spend time with her is that much more special.

Pinky ( it’s a summe camp thing, ask in another ask), my best friend since I was a wee teen who is all levels of nurse that is just about possible, a Major in the air force, god this girl just digs in and TAKES NO SHIT, and man does she just...She’s so fucking awesome.

Music is a huge inspiration for me, as well, so I gotta say Murray Gold who wrote(writes? I think he’s still at it) the music for Doctor Who. The Cranberries. Radio Company. Brandi Carlile.

Authors....Everyone here can thank Roaddog 469 from Fanfiction.net for my writing in the first place. I had dabbled in a little Highlander and Buffy before taking a glance at The Boondock Saints. Then I saw Roaddog’s stuff, and it was all over for me. “I wonder if I could do that,” said “innocent” little I. Famous last words. I really love Stephen King (you and me, Red), Mercedes Lackey, and I’m working on the Elton John autobiography.

And the fandoms. God, all the fandoms. And the fantastic folks posting all their stuff on here that I couldn’t even name everyone if I tried. @evansrogerskitten @manawhaat @deanwanddamons @impala-dreamer @fookinghelljensensthighs @winchesterxfamilybusiness @mummybear @maddiepants @emoryhemsworth @awesomesusiebstuff @ne-gans @katehuntington @rockhoochie , my tumblr is better and richer and more inspiring because of all of you.

I know I’m missing so many people, and I feel terrible. Feel free to reem me up one side and down the other if you feel you’ve inspired me and I’ve left you off. Anon, thank you for this quesiton. It was really lovely to sit down and think of all these fantastic people I’ve been so fortunate to have in my life.

AND ALSO SERIOUSLY IF I DIDN’T MENTION YOU, TOTALLY COME AFTER ME! I’M SORRY!

26 notes · View notes

khaleesiofalicante · 4 years

Note

Hey Dani, I was wondering if you have advice for how to keep social media from stressing you out? and how to handle things that annoying or upset you on social media respectfully?

Hello, my love.

Social media can sometimes be a headache. I am sorry if it has been making you feel upset. Here are some things that you can try out.

Don’t hesitate to block - If it is a person or a particular tag that has been upsetting you, do not feel bad about temporarily or even permanently blocking it. While the goal might be to learn how to deal with these stressors, right now it is completely okay for you to avoid things that make you feel bad about yourself or the world around you. As we could all do with less negativity these days, block any source that makes you feel down.

Limit your time - Sometimes we don’t realize how much time we spend on social media. The stress it brings us can automatically go down when we reduce the time we spend on it. You can use screen time or any app to track your internet usage. When you have a clear picture of what kind of apps you use the most, you can try to spend less time in those platforms.

Find alternatives - We use social media for various reasons. But it’s important to understand that these needs can be fulfilled in other ways too. For example, if you are on social media to keep up with current events - switch to news on tv or even read the papers. If you use these platforms to stay connected with your friends and their lives - maybe try calling them and having a proper chat instead of conversing with them through apps alone.

Talk about it - If something on social media annoys you or upsets you, don’t hesitate to talk to someone about it. For example, if you saw a comment or post that made you feel bad - you can either repost it and share your thoughts. Or you can start an offline conversation with someone who might be interested in discussing that topic. The problem with social media stressors is that when we find something that upsets us, we ignore it and keep scrolling. If you feel like you need to vent or talk, do it.

Take a break - I personally don’t use social media at all and I can tell you that I enjoy the lack of social media in my life. Of course this does not mean that you should get off social media or anything. But don’t be afraid to take a break if you feel like it. You can deactivate your profile and come back when you are ready. You don’t owe anyone any explanation. If you think it will help, then go for it.

Remember that social media exists to make life easier and happier. It is not social media that is toxic or upsetting - it is the people who use it. Unlike apps, people are harder to shut down and ignore. But at times such as these, you must do what it is best for your mental and physical health. So please don’t bad about avoiding people and things that upset you - both online and offline.

Hope you are okay and please take care x.

15 notes · View notes

libermachinae · 4 years

Text

Schematics [Or, Another Chance] – Ch. 2, High

Also available on AO3! Notes: Oops, forgot to put this up here, just barely squeaking it in 5 minutes till 4/21.

⏳ 🚧 🚓 ⌛ 🏗 🚧 ⏳

It wasn’t like a space bridge.

Hook could still walk and felt the weight of his frame, so he assumed the timestream must have a floor, but it was not defined in any way. Instead, all he could see was lemony peach light that expanded and dissolved like the life cycle of crystals. Even dialed down to minimum sensitivity, it hurt his optics to look at, to say nothing of the soundless ringing in his audials. Fractals bloomed around him, dazzling his optics, but he swore they grew in him as well: the air was crunchy, resisting every step forward while Hook hurried to keep from being left behind.

Everything was an effort; the momentum of his spark spinning in its chamber almost hurt for the effort it took. So much of his focus was pulled to the feeling that he did not see exactly how the exit opened in front of him. All he knew was the burst of energy he got from relief as he plunged through, relishing the feeling like smooth energon along one’s intake.

A hand landed on his plating and tried to shove him back.

“I told you to wait for my signal,” Prowl hissed. He retracted his hand but stayed close, leaning into Hook’s space like he was trying to intimidate. For the first time, Hook realized their leader had returned to his old frame and was one again small than the rest of them.

“Sorry, Prowl,” Hook said, holding his ground. The only place for him to go was back into the timestream, and he wasn’t ready to bear that just yet. “That place made it hard to think.”

“That’s not good enough, Hook,” Prowl said. “If a slight bit of discomfort means you can’t follow my orders, how can I expect you to—”

Like a crashing wave, three more mechs piled into what Hook had just realized was actually a rather tight space. Trapped between Long Haul and a wall, he noted that they were at the dead end of an unlit hallway that extended about a hundred meters. Open archways, facing each other, were spaced evenly down the entire length. It appeared to be Cybertronian style, but since Prowl hadn’t told them what time period they were coming to, that could have meant anything. It wasn’t purple, so Hook guessed it didn’t belong to any Decepticons.

“So what do we do first?” Mixmaster asked. Hook couldn’t actually see him, on account of Long Haul filling up most of the hallway, but his voice, the highest of the crew, carried through fine.

“You, Mixmaster, are going to wait here,” Prowl said. Somehow, he had managed to avoid the tide of construction vehicles and stood apart from them, arms crossed and doorwings flicking. “We need someone to stay and guard the rift, and make sure the stream stays open. If you had followed my instructions, I would have been able to tell you that before—”

“Can I?” Long Haul asked, drawing Prowl’s attention. His expression remained inscrutable, but his annoyed slouch straightened into something more… something.

“Explain,” he said.

“Just, I have to crane my neck just standing here, and it doesn’t look like it opens up much further. Doesn’t feel like crawling around is a worthy use of my skills.”

Hook was convinced Prowl was going to refuse on principle, so he was surprised at the eventual nod.

“Your assessment is reasonable,” he said. “Long Haul will stay here. Mixmaster, you’ll be accompanying us for the survey. We’re looking for any evidence that our fugitive has been here.”

There was some shuffling that had to be done to allow Mixmaster to squeeze past Long Haul. As soon as he was able to peer around his largest teammate, Mixmaster’s optics flashed in an expression Hook was dangerously familiar with.

“Oh! The lab!” He shoved further, suddenly ignorant of the mechs he was squished in with as his gaze darted around the space.

“You picked this up from my memories?” Prowl guessed.

“Of course,” Mixmaster said. “You were so brilliant here, how could I resist?”

Then, as though familiarity equated permission, he continued past Prowl to explore further into the facility. Hook stared at his wayward teammate, but Prowl, despite stepping out of the way, was not so stunned.

“Mixmaster!” he snapped. “I just finished telling you, you’re to wait for instruction!”

“Find the guy, don’t kill,” Mixmaster said, waving him off. He reached an archway and peered into the room beyond, his optics flashing again. “When are we Prowl? Is that the aqua fortis putty?” And then he disappeared into the room beyond.

“Mixmaster!” Prowl went after the distracted alchemist, leaving Hook and Scavenger alone, glancing to each other.

“What do we do now?” Scavenger asked.

Hook didn’t know. Whatever Prowl wanted them to do was probably the right answer, but he didn’t know what that specifically was, anymore.

“He told us not to move unless he tells us to,” Hook said.

“But we were also supposed to wait for instructions,” Scavenger said.

“Yes?” Hook didn’t understand why that was an argument.

“How can he tell us what to do if he’s in some other part of the building and no one has their comms on?”

Maybe Scavenger had a point. And furthermore, what if Prowl got into trouble? What if Mixmaster led him all the way to the end of the complex and then their mysterious criminal got the jump on them? Prowl’s delicate armor wasn’t built to sustain a heavy attack, not like the rest of the team’s was. Mixmaster could provide some protection, but distracted as he was, Hook could see someone grabbing Prowl, hauling him into the shadows, and Mixmaster not even looking up from whatever superweapon had taken his attention.

He knew what Scavenger was trying to do, but that didn’t stop it from working.

“He needs us,” Hook said. “Come on.”

They followed the direction Prowl and Mixmaster had gone. Unfortunately, they were not in the next room, which housed three desks covered in all manner of supplies and large vats in which something slimy writhed and bubbled. They shied through, Scavenger keeping his eyes on the floor, and in the next room were greeted by their teammates, one of whom had climbed up a derelict ladder to peer inside one of several hundred cubby holes shielded in the wall.

“Prowl, these ones are almost to maturity!” he said, delighted.

“And they’re to stay that way,” Prowl said, standing at the base of the ladder and staring up with disdain. “Mesothulas reported exactly one break in while he was stationed here, and it turned out to be a retrorat that had snuck into my ship. Nothing ever went missing, and since I disabled the paradox drives in the time machine, nothing will, so you’re just wasting our time by considering the possibility.”

“The mission, Mixmaster?” Hook reminded him.

Joint disapproval grounded the overstimulated scientist. He looked down at them from his perch, then back to the curiosity, his fingers thrumming around the frame of the ladder.

“There’s so much I could do with them,” he whined. “The corrosive properties alone would—”

“You don’t, Mixmaster,” Prowl said. “It’s what time has already dictated.”

Even then, Mixmaster took another moment to consider before his shoulders drooped and he relented, sliding back down the ladder and returning to his teammates.

“Good,” Prowl said. “Now that we’re back on track, we can go over tasks. Hook, you’re to—”

Bang!

It wasn’t a gunshot, but Hook’s combat systems came online anyway, senses expanding as he rapidly scanned the room for the culprit. That’s how he was able to capture it when Scavenger toppled to the ground.

“Scav!” Mixmaster yelped.

“Dammit,” Prowl grumbled.

Hook’s distressed run to his teammate’s side was thwarted by two pairs of hands, one on his arm and the other digging uncomfortably into his back kibble.

“Nuh-uh,” Mixmaster said, drawing Hook back by the elbow.

“The slag, Mix—“

“He’s right, Hook,” Prowl said. “Don’t get too close.”

“Close to what?”

“That,” Mixmaster said, pointing in the general area Scavenger had just been occupying. “Do you see the sediment?”

When Hook stopped trying to look everywhere at once and forced himself to focus on the spot Mixmaster pointed out, he found he could see something: hovering in the air, a yellowish cloud of what could have been powder or vapor. It twisted in the minute air currents of the room, dancing to the rhythm of their smallest movements.

“Mesothulas kept all sorts of volatile materials out in the open,” Prowl said, his sharp jerk on Hook’s sensitive kibble enough to pull the larger mech back a step. “It looks like Scavenger set something off.”

“Is he okay?” Hook asked. Scavenger was splayed on the floor, optics offline, though the sound of his engine indicated he was still functioning.

Mixmaster shrugged.

“Don’t know what it was,” he said.

“So, find out!” Hook didn’t understand why the two were so calm, or why he was the only one obviously concerned with their teammate’s wellbeing.

“We will as soon as you relax so we can get the vent filters,” Prowl said.

Hook relented, forcing himself to calm enough that Prowl was able to let go and retreat to a supply closet.

Mixmaster idly traced circles on Hook’s arm. His fingers were blunt, edges of his armor worn down from a lifetime of playing with acids and explosives and whatever existed in between. Hook let himself lean into the touch; silent assurance passed between them.

They separated when Prowl returned, and he and Mixmaster set to packing their vents with filtration foam, pressing until the blades bit into the soft material. Hook offered to assist Prowl, having done it enough for Mixmaster, but was brushed off, so he sat back to watch as they pressed the expanses and kneaded the edges into place. It would have been a privileged show, if he hadn’t been thinking about Scavenger’s state.

Mixmaster finished first and went to Scavenger, arranging his limbs into a more neutral position.

“Hey Scav, how you feeling?” he asked. He waited a beat, then announced, “Functional. Offline.”

“From the blast, or the material?” Prowl asked.

“Honestly? It’s Scav; he probably just scared himself into stasis.”

“It’s happened,” Hook said. He didn’t want to dismiss too soon the possibility that his teammate was hurt, but Prowl ought to know.

“Can you bring him online?” Prowl asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Mixmaster said, reaching for Scavenger’s helm. “Just pinch a few wires, should do the trick. Just so you know, though, you might want to step back. Potentially volatile material mixed with active energon processing is—”

“Okay, stop,” Hook said.

Mixmaster paused and looked to Prowl.

Prowl sighed.

“Fine, yes, stop,” he said. “How long would it take to identify the substance?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Mixmaster said. He stepped away from Scavenger and to the lab bench he’d been looking at, covered in a clutter of equipment and materials. It was such a mess, Hook couldn’t even imagine what experiments had been taking place: it looks like someone had taken a pile of random scrap and dumped it all there.

“Mesothulas’ notes are in here somewhere,” Prowl said, eyeing the piles that extended throughout the room. Hook reflected that Scavenger would have been delighted to be put to task sorting through a place like this, and a few image captures would be just the thing to get him to stick to protocol in the future.

“Okay?” Mixmaster said. With a bare finger he swiped some of the settled dust off an empty test tube, raising it to his optics. “Gimme five.”

Hook wasn’t really able to follow the barrage of tests that occurred over the next 4.96 minutes. Mixmaster constantly seemed to have each hand on different equipment, his optics swinging from one, to another, to a third he had set up to run concurrently. Occasionally he would blurt something, a grunt of disappointment or a sharp demand, “Slide,” that he would swiftly follow by delivering to himself.

“Fascinating!” he announced, like a timer on an oven.

“The results?” Prowl asked.

“Derived from high intensity energon crystals, but the chemical makeup has been altered to interface directly with Cybertronian circuitry,” Mixmaster said.

Hook didn’t know how he’d figured that out from a few standard laboratory tests.

“Is it killing him?” That was all he wanted to know.

“Oh, no.” Mixmaster said. “He can come online any time.”

Prowl strode forward, leaning down to Scavenger’s prone form while Mixmaster continued to delight himself with a few more experiments. He leaned down and for a moment, Hook thought he was going for a medical port, but then he almost seemed to pinch one of the wrist wires.

Scavenger’s optics fans whirred to life and his optics flashed on. He shot up, optics darting around the room.

“Who—where—”

“This way.” With minimal grace, Prowl hauled Scavenger to his feet and led him away from the hazy work area. As soon as they were within safe distance, he shoved him to Hook, who just managed to keep Scavenger from sprawling across the floor again. He was alive and online, for sure, but the glow of his optic band was dim, and when he looked up at Hook it was like he didn’t understand what he was seeing.

“Heey, Hook,” he said, sloppily batting Hook’s hands away when he tried to inspect closer.

“I need to check you for damage,” Hook said.

“Nah, I’m good,” Scavenger insisted, his head tossing back and then rolling forward.

Hook grabbed him by the helm and pulled him forward, shining a light into optics.

“Scrap. He’s overcharged.”

“Something like that,” Mixmaster said, not looking up from his experiments.

Prowl sighed and pinched his nasal ridge.

“Get him back to Long Haul.”

“Yes, sir,” Hook said, sagging under more than just Scavenger’s limp weight. They hadn’t even made it to the point of receiving instructions, much less proving to Prowl that they were a capable and dependable team. Fighting the order would only further prove the point, though, so he shifted Scavenger’s weight and trudged back the way they’d come.

He expected Mixmaster and Prowl to follow, but he didn’t hear footsteps. In fact, just as he was stepping out of the room, he heard Prowl’s voice quietly ask, “So, how did you come to that conclusion?”

“Oh, the residue reminded me of something I tried to put together a while ago,” Mixmaster said, too involved in his own musings to realize he had Prowl’s undivided attention. Whether for curiosity’s sake or jealousy’s, Hook found himself paused, just out of sight.

“For recreational purposes?”

“No, mine was more designed for frying Autobot neural circuits,” Mixmaster said. “Could never quite figure it out, but it looks like Mesothulas made it possible.”

“Yes. He had a talent for that.”

Prowl’s tone… again, Hook couldn’t place it. He didn’t have the words to describe the hush, the gentle roll of the vocalizer that in any other mech could have turned into a tremble.

“Can you describe his experiments to me?” Mixmaster asked.

Against Hook’s shoulder, Scavenger giggled again, and Hook quietly stroked a hand over his helm to shush him.

“That won’t be necessary.” Prowl’s voice had changed. It was harder now, closer to the way he gave orders, though Hook didn’t know what had caused the shift.

“But, I’m interested,” Mixmaster said.

“You already took what you wanted from my memories.”

Scavenger lolled his head against Hook’s shoulder and played his fingers along Hook’s chestplate. He said something that sounded like, “Purple,” but could have been an incidental blat of his vocalizer.

“That’s just data,” Mixmaster said. “The organization system for your memories is as polished as the Iacon research libraries were before we burned them down, but it doesn’t prioritize a whole lot. I don’t know which ones you liked the best.”

Prowl mimicked Scavenger, making a sound that was not words. Hook squeezed the mech tight against himself, making Scavenger squirm like a squishy.

“Hoook,” he grumbled.

Hook squeezed with more intention, but Scavenger wouldn’t take the hint.

“St’p it,” he mumbled.

“That will not be necessary,” Prowl repeated, more force behind it. “Get that cleaned up, as close as you can get it to whatever state Scavenger found it in. We’re leaving.”

Mixmaster sighed, but Hook heard the burner turn off and a rag start to wipe down all the surfaces that had been decorated in the five minutes of mayhem. Knowing he only had moments left, Hook tried to get Scavenger moving again, which was both helped and hindered by the latter’s discovery that he had unimpeded access to touching Hook.

“Mesothulas is a genius,” Mixmaster said.

“Maybe he was,” Prowl said. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“No, it does.”

Hook did not know why Prowl did not respond, what sort of silent exchange might have taken place in the room just beyond. He lugged Scavenger back through the room and up the hall.

Getting through the time portal was even worse while supporting a barely coherent teammate. Hook groaned as he finally pushed through, dropping Scavenger’s body on the platform.

“What happened?” Bonecrusher asked, approaching the portal from where it looked like he’d been lounging near the terminal. “Where’s Mixmaster?”

“Here,” their wayward alchemist said as he stepped around Hook, still too worn out to get out of the way. “Miss me?”

“Mixmaster.” The four sober mechs swiveled to attention as Prowl stepped into the present. “You disobeyed orders, questioned my authority, and put one of your teammates in danger. Do you understand that?”

“Mix didn’t do anything,” Scavenger slurred into Hook’s shoulder. “It was just me… I just…” He seemed to lose his train of thought, his gaze drifting up to the ceiling.

“I understand, Prowl,” Mixmaster said. Now that he didn’t have the excitement of another mad scientist to distract him, he seemed more aware of where he was and the consequences of his actions, though Hook doubted that he actually felt guilty about any of it.

It had been nice for a little while to imagine this woud work, that Prowl would combine with them again and they would all be together the way they were supposed to. His shoulder was aching and he wanted nothing more than to ease Scrapper down to the floor, but he could put it off until after Prowl kicked them out.

“You’re staying behind for the next mission,” Prowl said. “And many more after, if I don’t see an improvement in your attitude. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Prowl.”

Hook hiccupped, the sound bouncing off the cave walls and causing Prowl’s doorwings to twitch. Their head had definitely implied earlier that they would be kicked off the mission if they failed him, but maybe he was feeling the draw, too? Was he really giving them a second chance? Hook couldn’t question it. Here was another opportunity for them to prove themselves to Prowl, and he would not give it up for anything. He hefted Scavenger up, trying to give the impression that they were both standing at attention.

“So, when to next, boss?”

#maccadam #prowl week #prowlastator #prowl #constructicons #transformers #my writing #longfic #schematics #high

8 notes · View notes

scintillating-galaxias · 4 years

Text

promise

and here we are, my first ever transformers fic! i devoured mtmte and ll at a friend’s recommendation, loved it, and was immediately possessed by a need to write a little more about these two. i love them a lot! (❁´︶`❁) enjoy! you can also read it here on ao3. comments encourage content! (•ө•)♡

The light is there, shimmering away not five mechanometers from his dirt-stiffened digits. Pink, like the energon sticks glowing in sweet bundles in the market stalls lining the streets of Cybertron. His favorite, he thinks distantly. He drags his shattered body over rocks and rubble, forward, he must go forward, but the light never comes closer, never becomes brighter, and the earth begins to close in, swallowing the light and—

Tailgate’s optics blink online. He does not move, not even to unclench the hard fists his servos have formed. Silvery darts of light glisten like crystal dust through the huge window, just missing Tailgate’s berth and instead striking the expansive backside of Cyclonus. He wonders how many of those stars are the same ones he knew six million years ago. Maybe a few had found their time since then, but there still has to be at least some that are still blazing away. He wonders, then, which ones they are.

The gentle rumble of the ship smoothes the rough edges of his fading nightmare. When those are gone, leaving Tailgate with nothing but a chilly, faint sense of panic, it chases the final dregs away too. When those too finally fade, Tailgate is completely online. He hates this feeling, this, this tension this nightmare always brings him. It’s a gross combination of the exhaustion and crankiness of being dragged out of an otherwise perfectly pleasant recharge, plus the hot needles of terror and desperation still buried deep in his spark. It makes his energon froth and bubble frantically within his tubes and channels, but it never spills over. He isn’t really sure if that’s a good thing or not.

He sits up, dimming his visor as he draws his knees up towards his spark chamber. Stupid crummy recharge cycle. Stupid nightmare. He should have known something was going to be off when Cyclonus actually said, “Good night,” back to him last night instead of grumbling noncommittally. At the thought of him, Tailgate’s gaze slides from the wall across from him to Cyclonus.

Even offline, Cyclonus strikes an impressive figure. The starlight casts deep shadows into the grooves of his armor, giving him the impression of being much larger and sharper than he is. A single horn glitters like a blade piercing the dark as Cyclonus shifts slightly. For a brief second, Tailgate wonders what would happen if he crawled right up to Cyclonus and curled up in front of his chest plate. The thought is banished immediately. It’s ridiculous, so ridiculous Tailgate can’t even laugh at himself for ever allowing it to cross his mind.

He vents a huff, sort of wishing he had a mouth instead of an intake port so he could scowl properly. It would feel appropriate given this is the seventh time this decacycle he’s had this nightmare, though it is the first time he’s had it two nights in a row. It’s always the same thing; he’s back in the crumbling tunnels beneath the Mitteous Plateau, eternally crawling towards his energon rations to initiate a rescue attempt. He never makes it before the tunnel collapses, burying his spark once and for all.

He’s tried to convince himself that that’s not what happened. He survived—proof of that is engraved into his chest piece. Proof of that is recharging next to him. Proof of that is that he’s contemplating all of this proof here, on the Lost Light. But he would appear he finally has to concede this particular plan of attack is simply not working. The nightmare keeps coming back, and it leaves him worse off with every occurance. Tailgate draws his knees in a little tighter. The issue, he decides, isn’t what had literally happened to him. What is it then? A mental thing? An emotional thing? He supposes that makes a bit of sense. Living—surviving, really—for six million years in the abject terror of being forgotten without ever being known would have its impact.

Deep in thought, Tailgate does not notice Cyclonus’ vent cycle hitching and speeding up until red optics begin to glow in the corner of his vision.

“Tailgate.”

Tailgate startles, then slouches miserably over himself with another long exvent. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Cyclonus sits up, unswayed. “Something is bothering you.”

Really? Tailgate thinks scathingly, and then is immediately taken aback at his own cynicism. “Mm. Yeah, it’s not a big deal. I’ll—I’ll get over it.”

With that, he twists to lay facing away from Cyclonus and offlines his optics completely. Hopefully, Cyclonus will follow their old routine and ignore him so they can both return to recharge. Then Tailgate can at least take comfort in knowing he hasn’t successfully bothered anyone else with—

“Talk to me.”

Or not.

“Seriously,” Tailgate says to the wall, “it’s nothing.”

“It’s never nothing with you.”

Tailgate pauses. He genuinely cannot tell if that was supposed to be insulting or not, so he turns back around to ask. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You care too much. About everything. Very little does not matter to you.” Cyclonus lifts his legs and swings them around towards Tailgate to set his pedes down on the floor in a deliberate one, two . “I won’t ask you again. What’s bothering you enough to be able to rouse me from recharge?”

“You technically never asked the first time,” Tailgate reminds him and, alright, now he’s just being catty. Cyclonus is very generously offering his help, and Tailgate is being cranky. “Ugh. Sorry.” Cyclonus waves the apology aside with a smooth movement of his servo. Tailgate trails it hazily before he exvents another sigh. “It’s just—just this nightmare I keep having,” he admits. “About when I was stuck underground.”

Cyclonus leans forward. “What about it?”

Even as he runs what he’s going to say through his processor, he can’t help but feel it’s redundant. This is Cyclonus he’s talking to. He’s seen everything under the stars—so many horrific, spark-shattering events Tailgate couldn’t even imagine, let alone dream about. A nightmare about something that didn’t even happen is no doubt going to sound foolish no matter how dramatically he spins it.

“I dunno…” he begins lamely. “It’s always the same thing. I’m back in the tunnel I fell into under the Plateau—legs gone, T-cog shot, that whole thing—and I’m trying to get to my energy rations so I can detonate them and call for help. But no matter how long I crawl towards them, I can never reach them before the tunnel collapses, and I—” Tailgate shudders hard enough to rattle his armor. “It’s dumb.”

Cyclonus’ engines hum. “It isn’t ‘dumb.’”

“I mean, it kind of is. The whole thing was—” A flare of humiliation burns through his EM field before he can smother it. “Do you want to know why I even decided to try to take the Plateau as a shortcut? I forgot to set my chronometer the night before my unit left.” He barks a humorless laugh. “And they told me, ‘Tailgate, we’ll leave without you if you’re late,’ and I said, ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world!’ and then I did. What part of that isn’t dumb? Who gets stuck in a hole for six million years because they forget to set the alarm? I should have just stayed in recharge that day.”

“Tailgate,” Cyclonus says seriously, but he does not sound angry. Or rather, sound annoyed that Tailgate is wasting his time. “You were still very new to Cybertron as a whole when that happened. You never could have known what dangers—”

“Except I should have,” Tailgate exclaims, “because I heard only about a billion different stories about how dangerous the Plateau is.”

“I will not make excuses for you,” Cyclonus says levelly. “It was an admittedly rash decision. There likely were indeed many more options that you overlooked in your haste.” Tailgate bristles, but Cyclonus cuts him off with a flare of his optics. “Listen to me. I stand by the fact that you could not have known better. Most of Cybertronian life must be experienced; it cannot simply be told to you second-hand and be expected of you to understand it completely. Desperation and your… youth made for a dangerous combination, neither of which is your fault. You must not berate an inexperienced version of yourself which only exists in your past.”

He’s right, in his own cold-cut, clinical way. It doesn’t really make Tailgate feel any better, though. “Thanks,” he says anyway, because at least it’s something.

But Cyclonus seems to reach the same conclusion, as he turns away and mutters, “Hm,” as a response.

They fall silent for a few nano-kliks. Tailgate fidgets. Cyclonus is still with thought.

“May I ask you another question?”

“Shoot.”

“Is that what’s truly what’s keeping you up? Wondering what your life could have been had you simply set your chronometer?”

Tailgate curls in tighter around himself. “No.”

Cyclonus does not press. He watches instead, and watches, and keeps watching, as though he can undo the few layers of Tailgate’s being with his gaze alone. If he does it long enough, he might. Tailgate wishes he would say what he wants to say instead of doing whatever this was. Waiting. Expecting.

“I should not have intruded—”

“It’s just that I was so—”

They both stop, then say, “No, go ahead,” at the same time. Cyclonus huffs. “What were you saying?”

Tailgate hesitates. Then, in a small voice, he asks, “Is it…” He whorls his intake shut. “Is it bad of me to wish I hadn’t been alone down there?”

He almost thinks Cyclonus didn’t hear him for the length of time he is silent. “I do not believe so,” he finally says just as Tailgate is about to dismiss it. “You did not wish for them to share your fate. You wanted company. That is a crucial difference and a reasonable request, in my opinion.”

“Primus, no, I don’t want anyone going through the same thing I did.” The quiet. The loneliness. Tailgate stills. Millions of years worth of memories trickle back in from behind the door he had shut on them in the efforts of pushing the nightmare out of his mind. Memories of hopelessly staring at the energon cubes, of beating back voice after voice telling him to give up, of hating himself. The brightening of his visor is nearly painful in its intensity.

“Tailgate?” Cyclonus asks, alarmed. “Have I said something wrong?”

“There was—there was nothing there,” Tailgate starts abruptly. “Not even an antroid. All I had were my readouts calling me an idiot over and over again. Sometimes I thought I could hear some jets flying overhead, but none of them ever detected my signal. Or—or they ignored me. I’ll never know. But I couldn’t—I-I couldn’t help thinking about if I did die down there.” A strangled laugh escapes from his vocalizer. “No more Tailgate. There wouldn’t have even been a ‘more’, there was so little of me to begin with.”

The words are practically falling from him now, senseless and wild like a frenzy of storms clashing together, his vocalizer spasming with hiccups of static. “But the worst part, the worst part was that I couldn’t stop thinking about how much of a nobody I was. I never told anyone I was leaving, and no one ever came looking for me. If I died, I wouldn’t even be the smallest bit of co— hic —ding to someone’s memory, I would never get to make my mark on anyone or—or anything, ‘nd it wouldn’t have been a-a-a very big mark, but at least it would have been something! Just a little one,” he gasps around a sob, “a little was all I ever asked for—”

His voice stutters as he abruptly finds Cyclonus in the space on the floor he’d been staring at, kneeling before him with his arms held open wide and though his expression remains uncertain, his EM field radiates warmth and comfort and safety. Tailgate whimpers and tumbles ungracefully from his berth into Cyclonus’ waiting arms. They immediately close around him, pulling Tailgate close to the soothing pulse of Cyclonus’ spark. It thrums steadily beneath his mess of loud hiccups and choppy gasps and strangled sobs—he never had been a pretty crier. He pushes his faceplate in, crushing himself against Cyclonus’ body as though he could shield him from the whole universe.

“I am here, little one,” Cyclonus murmurs against his helm. “Do you hear my spark? I am here.”

Tailgate’s own spark swells until his chamber aches. He cannot respond, so he nods frantically instead. They stay on the floor like that for breems, Tailgate weeping into Cyclonus’ chest and Cyclonus holding him until slowly, oh so painfully slowly, the sobs begin to dissipate. They retract at first into violent shudders that shake Tailgate’s whole body, then into shivers, and finally into that exhausted stillness that comes only after one has released every emotion they have to run wild through the cosmos. Cyclonus hums some song Tailgate does not recognize the whole time, one servo gently stroking the back of Tailgate’s helm. It’s warm , he thinks. Cyclonus looks like the type of mech whose vents only produce frost and chill, but up close, up close he is so, so warm.

Time passes as an unsteady stream, jerking between syrupy slow to desperately quick in the same moments. Cyclonus stops singing as Tailgate quiets. He can’t figure out how to ask him to keep going, so instead Tailgate tries to match his vent cycles to Cyclonus’ deep, slow ones and eventually dares a glance upwards. Cyclonus’ optics are dim, but focused on him. When he sees Tailgate peeking, he smiles. Something ferociously powerful has settled between their two EM fields, linking and holding them together. Tailgate can’t quite name what it is, but it feels something like a promise.

“I’m going to stand up,” Cyclonus finally says after another breem slips by.

“Okay,” Tailgate rasps, voice fuzzed with static.

The world lurches slightly as Cyclonus stands, still cupping the back of Tailgate’s helm as though he is something precious. Something worth protecting. Tailgate clings ever-tighter to Cyclonus even as he begins to gingerly settle them both down into his berth. He whines pitifully when Cyclonus moves him away, “Don’t go, please don’t go,” but it’s brief, and it’s only to rearrange him more comfortably over his chassis. Cyclonus shushes him gently, bowing his helm over Tailgate’s form.

“I will not leave you,” Cyclonus rumbles. Tailgate more feels the words through his body than actually hears them. It’s shocking how much comfort that brings him. Already, his optics are dimming and the tension in his joints is slipping away beneath Cyclonus’ touch with every pass of his servo. “You can rest here. I will stay with you through the night, and through the day—as long as you need me, I will be at your side.”

Tailgate’s spark warms with a brilliant burst and with it, the lasting chills of the nightmare are finally dispelled. He takes his first steady vent in the past two groons and fixes his gaze upon Cyclonus’ face. “I—Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you, Cyclonus, thank you, thank you .”

Cyclonus smiles. It’s soft, private, something reserved only for his most vulnerable moments. He allowed one of those moments to happen for his sake, Tailgate realizes. Impossibly, his spark swells even bigger.

“Of course,” Cyclonus says, as easily as anything.

“Sorry for getting… slag all over you.”

“Do not concern yourself over it.” They share a couple of quiet vent cycles. “You should rest, little one.”

Rest. That sounded good. “I like it when you call me that,” Tailgate murmurs as he goes through his list of systems to shut down. “It’s sweet.” An embarrassed glow enters their shared EM fields and Tailgate chuckles sleepily. “What? It is.”

Cyclonus grumbles something in dissent, but Tailgate can’t hear it. His audial systems are already offline—whether or not this was to avoid Cyclonus’ argument is entirely subjective. Soon after, he slips into recharge right there in Cyclonus’ arms.

He’s back in the tunnel.

He curls his servos into fists, crushing a few unfortunate stones in his grip. He had hoped—he had hoped, that with Cyclonus’ help, his promises, he could be free of this fragging tunnel for just one night. But Cyclonus is not here. This is his fight, and his alone.

He is alone.

As despair crushes his spark, a familiar warmth curls itself around the back of his chassis. He stills. The warmth does not speak, and does not move either, but somehow he can still tell what it is saying.

I will stay at your side.

Night and day, for as long as you need me.

You will never know loneliness again.

Cyclonus never said that. But that feeling, that powerful, all-consuming feeling, that promise—this was it, wasn’t it?

He looks up. The energon cubes glow before him. They are much closer than they ever have been before.

Tailgate reaches forward and above him, the sky blooms.

#cygate #tf fanfic #transformers #maccadam #tf #whump #nightmares #hurt/comfort #my writing #please let me know if I tag something incorrectly!#im not familiar with the etiquette

7 notes · View notes

champions-of-spirits · 5 years

Text

New Fic Preview

Hey there, kiddos! Sorry for the long hiatus, my offline life has been crazy lately. But we’re back with a preview of what my next project is gunna be! Since this is a large project, I have a lot of background material on it and I’m working on writing the actual fic for it. In the meantime though, I’m posting the rough outline for the story as a birthday present to the amazing @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors. But feel free to send in any questions and I’ll be happy to answer them as best I can!

This project was inspired by this post by @sandy-sides. I’ve been sitting on this for quite a while though, but thanks to @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors amazing story and their general awesomeness, I’ve finally got the inspiration to continue working on this again.

*****

Title: [In Progress, lol]

Summary: Everyone is born with a heartbeat tattoo on their wrist. It’s the heartbeat of your soulmate and the color changes based on what’s happening in your soulmate’s life. (Ex: red for injury, blue for depression/loss) Once you meet, the heartbeat twists into a symbol representative of them.

Pairings: Eventual Prinxiety, Eventual Logicality, Platonic Logince, Adoptive Familial Moxiety

Warnings: Mentions of abusive families, panic attacks, homophobia (If there’s any I missed please let me know!!)

Notes: Patton and Virgil have been friends since high school. Virgil has autism, severe anxiety, and depression. Pat, despite being RA on their floor, is Virgil’s roommate. Logan and Roman were roommates their freshman year and are now best friends. Logan is also autistic. I do not plan to add Deceit or Remus to the story at this point, but that is not to say that there isn’t a possibility of them being added as I continue to write.

Outline:

Roman and Patton met at auditions

Patton invites Roman to meet him and Virgil for lunch the next day

Roman and Virgil end up having Creative Writing together right after lunch

Virgil spent all of lunch and all of class texting Patton

Pat has work while Virgil is in Creative Writing

Roman thinks Virgil just doesn't care about this class at all and is very irritated

Roman goes home and vents to Logan about it

Patton suggests that Virgil tries working backstage on the play, they're shorthanded this semester and Virgil did enjoy doing it in high school

Logan is in Patton's Gender Studies class the next evening

Patton invites him to dinner with Roman and Virgil

Virgil spend the entire meal on his phone (texting Pat)

This, once again, annoys Roman to no end

Virgil eats quickly and leaves claiming he has homework

Pat knows that it was a rough day and leaves soon after

Cue very irritated Roman

A few weeks later, Roman explodes on Logan

Feels like Virgil is only tolerating him because of Patton

Logan informs Patton, with Roman's consent, as feelings are not his strong suit

Patton and Roman have a long, in-depth conversation in Roman's room after rehearsal that night

Logan overhears part of the conversation

Decides to tell Pat about his diagnosis, seeing how understanding and compassionate he's being with Roman and Virgil's situation

Logan studies outside his room for a while until he's certain that the topic has changed to something much lighter, then enters the room

"Oh! Hello Patton, I was not expecting to see you. How was rehearsal tonight?"

Patton stays a little longer to talk while Logan finishes an assignment for their gender studies class

Pat realizes that he hasn't finished it yet and leaves

Virgil is having a panic attack when Patton gets home

Virgil thinks that Roman hates him

Patton asks for his permission to tell Roman about his diagnoses

Virgil agrees

Logan tells Roman about his decision to tell Patton about his diagnosis

Ro thinks it's a fantastic idea and is very proud of his nerd

Secretly suspects that Logan likes Patton and plans to discuss it with Pat

Patton has another conversation with Roman the next night after rehearsal about Virgil's diagnoses

After Patton leaves, Roman realizes that Logan should've been home by then and goes to find him

Logan is having a meltdown in the library over something happening at home with his little sister

Roman attempts to calm him down, it sort of works

This is new territory and Ro tries his best

In Gender Studies the next day, they watch a rather upsetting video

Patton is crying by the end

Logan sneaks out part way through, unable to handle it after yesterday

Pat realizes that Logan must have left and goes after him

Logan is having a complete breakdown in the hallway

Turns out to be a panic attack but he doesn't know that

Logan freaks out even more when Patton comes out to find him

Patton brings him back down and they sit together and talk until class is over

Logan tells Patton about his diagnosis, Pat tells Logan that Virgil has the same thing and he's done a lot of research on it

Patton is overjoyed that Logan trusted him with that information, Roman hadn't told him the night before because Logan was planning to tell Pat himself

Patton goes back to get their bags and explains the situation to their professor

Prof is super understanding

The notetaker for the class (Thomas) happened to still be there and offered to send them both a copy of his notes

Patton and Logan head to dinner

Logan notices that Pat's tattoo isn’t moving

"Patton, did you recently meet your soulmate?"

"I don’t think so, why do you ask?"

"Your tattoo does not appear to be moving"

"What?" Patton looks at his wrist "Oh my goodness! It's knotted and I didn't even notice!"

"How odd. That's the same color as my tie." Patton gasps "I wonder…" Logan looks at his own tattoo "My tattoo was not knotted before class"

"Lo, we're soulmates!" cue extremely excited Patton and very flustered Logan

Patton and Logan walk into dinner holding hands

Patton is giggling, Logan is still blushing

Cue money transaction between Virgil and Roman who had some sort of bet

Roman and Virgil proceed to tease them relentlessly

Dress rehearsal is the following night

Virgil gets assigned to do all of Roman's changes (there's quite a few)

The rest of the crew not so secretly ships them

Opening Night!!

Virgil accidentally brushes Roman with his fingers while doing a change

Ro realizes ON STAGE, MID SCENE/MONOLOGUE that his tattoo has changed

Barely manages to make it through the scene until his next exit

Virgil is backstage having a panic attack as he watches his tattoo knot

Roman finds Virgil backstage and quickly starts to bring him down from the panic attack

Roman almost misses his next entrance, Pat finds them just in time

Patton helps Virgil through the rest of his panic attack

Roman asks Virgil out during intermission

Patton is crying in the background and texting Logan, who is in the audience

As always, my ask box and dms are always open if you guys have questions or just want to scream at me. You can send them here or to my main blog @flamingfawkes, fair warning though, anything asked on my main will be answered here and then reblogged over there. This is a work-in-progress, but if you guys have ideas or wish to be tagged in updates, please let me know! If this inspired you to do something of your own, feel free to do so and tag me! I’d love to see what you kiddos come up with. I’m almost done with the first chapter of this fic and it’ll be up as soon as it’s done (glares at that one section that has been giving me trouble for months). If you guys need anything at all tagged, please feel free to let me know. I do check the reblogs or at least i try to but you can also send me an ask or dm me.

55 notes · View notes

morlock-holmes · 5 years

Text

This anonymous article from the Washingtonian, (Which is apparently... a magazine? Of some sort?) “What Happened After My 13-Year-Old Son Joined the Alt-Right “ was being reblogged on my dash a few times and looking at some of the notes a lot of people were calling it propaganda without saying which side they thought it was propaganda for.

I think a LOT of people were so swayed by the “One Concerned Mom Speaks Out!” tone of the thing that they kind of missed the actual narrative.

I mean... If anything it’s kind of propaganda in favor of the alt-right, isn’t it?

Here’s how the author of the piece sums up the inciting incident in the story:

One morning during first period, a male friend of Sam’s [The author’s son] mentioned a meme whose suggestive name was an inside joke between the two of them. Sam laughed. A girl at the table overheard their private conversation, misconstrued it as a sexual reference, and reported it as sexual harassment. Sam’s guidance counselor pulled him out of his next class and accused him of “breaking the law.” Before long, he was in the office of a male administrator who informed him that the exchange was “illegal,” hinted that the police were coming, and delivered him into the custody of the school’s resource officer. At the administrator’s instruction, that man ushered Sam into an empty room, handed him a blank sheet of paper, and instructed him to write a “statement of guilt.”

No one called me as this unfolded, even though Sam cried for about six hours straight as staff members parked him in vacant offices to keep him away from other students. When he stepped off the bus that afternoon and I asked why his eyes were so swollen, he informed me that he would probably be suspended, but possibly also expelled and arrested.

Later there’s more, but basically the school authorities double down, Sam’s parents decided that if the authorities were that cruel and insane Sam needed to be in another school, and so they transferred him. Sam then starts getting into 4chan and reddit alt-right communities, who explain that what happened to him happened because of feminism gone crazy.

So, as a slight aside I have always thought since I was in high school myself that this kind of zero-tolerance, authoritarian crap is particularly cruel to inflict on growing children. A boy Sam’s age is trying to differentiate himself, see himself as an individual, and the authorities come in and go, “It doesn’t matter what you think, it doesn’t matter why you did what you did, we will never care about that, we see you as a type and there is nothing you can do to convince us otherwise.”

This message would be incredibly dispiriting to anybody, but particularly to children.

Contrast, meanwhile, his experience on Reddit:

Soon Sam stopped trying to convince me to join his brave new world. He was so active on his favorite subreddit that the other group leaders, unaware that he was 13, appointed him a moderator. Among his new online besties, this was a huge honor and a boost to his cratered self-esteem. He loved Reddit and its unceasing conversations about the nuances of memes—he seemed in love with the whole enterprise, as if it were an adolescent crush.

...

Eventually, Sam had to give up moderating for the most practical of reasons: Eighth grade ended and he was packing for sleep-away camp. He would be offline for a month and would need other mods to cover for him. To ask for help, he had to out himself as a kid.

Sam and I both laughed about the absurdity of the situation, though he admitted he was nervous he’d be exiled from moderating. I asked him to read me the responses to his message. They were all of the “Dude, you’ve got to be kidding me” variety—one of their most sophisticated and reliable colleagues was a middle-schooler heading off to Jewish summer camp!

Later, it was my turn to be surprised: They all contributed to a going-away gift for Sam and mailed an emoji-themed fidget-spinner to his bunk address.

Faced with new information that Sam has broken the rules, his school imediately brands him a predator, threatens to arrest and expel him, and responds with undisguised hate.

Faced with new information about who Sam is, his alt-right buddies are shocked, but then reiterate that they still care about him and value the contributions he has made to their community, and get together to express that to Sam.

I’d like to make a little list of what Sam gets from the alt-right in the narrative:

A group of people who have shown that they will support and value him, even if they find out new things about him.

People who listen and care about what he has to say

An explanation of what, exactly, happened to him and why.

Ideas about how he can protect himself and others from having that happen again in the future.

Allies and support for enacting those ideas.

His parents, by his Mother’s own admission in the article, were only able to provide fumbling efforts to provide protection from that particular school’s administration. His parents and their politics were totally ready to say that taking all that stuff about cucks seriously was pretty weird and dumb, his mother is totally ready to counter any statistics his alt-right buddies might have, but is completely and utterly unequipped to provide any of the other stuff I listed up there. There’s a moment where Sam explains to her what he and his friends think happened:

Sam pledged fealty to the idea of men’s rights because, as he said, his former administrator had privileged girls’ words and experiences over boys’, and that’s how all of his troubles had started in the first place. I’d never in my life backed the “masculinist” cause or imagined that men needed protecting—yet I couldn’t help but agree with Sam’s analysis.

The mother’s politics didn’t actually equip her with an alternate explanation of what happened; rather, she has to concede that his explanation makes sense, and having conceded that has no idea what to do with herself.

In fact, as the article ends she is only vaguely starting to come to grips with the fact that Sam needed the kinds of support I listed above:

“All I wanted was for people to take me seriously,” [Sam] repeated matter-of-factly. “They treated me like a rational human being, and they never laughed at me. I saw the way you and Dad looked at each other and tried not to smile when I said something. I could hear you both in your room at night, laughing at me.”

I struggled for a moment because I wanted to tell him that wasn’t true. But I couldn’t deny his accusation. Behind closed doors, when my husband and I thought our children were asleep, we had often vented to each other about Sam’s off-the-wall proclamations and the bizarre situation we found ourselves in.

So I told Sam simply that I was sorry for making him feel bad.

I still think about his words a lot, especially when alt-right figures headline the news. But mostly, I wonder how I could have tried so hard to parent Sam through this crisis and yet tripped up on something as basic as not making my own kid feel small.

By the end of the article Sam is disenchanted with the Alt-right through, well, it’s not totally clear. The author of the article, by the end, seems to understand that Sam needed at least some of the things I outlined up there, but it’s not clear to me if she views the fact that her own politics were completely unable to provide them as an actual problem.

In fact, it’s not clear to me what she believes her politics are actually for. I know, I know, it’s not a philosophical article, but the question of “How much power do public school administrators have over their charges and what can parents do to counter them” is a nakedly, inarguably political question; after all, it’s about how a state-run institution should be run. And rather then turning to her own left-wing beliefs to contextualize and fight this decision, her solution is that her family has enough money to put Sam in another school.

Now, I’m not criticizing this decision, I think it was probably difficult, even brave. But it’s noticeable that her left-wing, non-culty politics don’t seem to have much to offer the next Sam, a Sam whose parents might not have private school tuition sitting around in their bank accounts.

In fact, she seems to regard the fact that Sam’s alt-right buddies were able to offer up compelling narratives and give him hope of implementing a solution and reasserting his self-worth as, well, cheating. Isn’t that cult-like behavior? Politics aren’t actually supposed to help the Sams of the world contextualize the things that happen in their lives, and when they do, it’s awfully sinister.

This seems to be part of something that has heavily infected the American left. It’s a kind of unspoken philosophy that says, “Politics is for solving major problems, the rest should be handled elsewhere.”

Even when a question overtly connected to Mom’s politics crops up in their life, her politics have literally nothing practical to offer any of them. Her left-wing politics are correct it doesn’t matter if they’re helpful.

This is what I keep trying to get at when I say people are missing the point with Jordan Peterson. Yeah, a lot of what he says sounds factually rickety to me as well, but, well, when I spend every day wondering why I can’t seem to get my life together, simultaneously dreading it AND feeling like there’s no point in trying to change, how does having a more correct view of lobster biology help me out with that?

I mean, I’m not saying it can’t, I’m saying people won’t even connect the two. Look at the reviews of 12 rules and people will usually grudgingly admit that his self-help advice might be useful, but really, it will tend to rile up exactly the wrong kind of person, and anyway, what does any of this have to do with politics?

This is what I keep trying to get at about effective altruism, as well. It’s not that it’s wrong, it’s that by its very nature it will never be about providing me, personally, with any help, because it’s focused on stopping rogue AIs and mailing out malaria nets, fine causes but notice that, while Rationalists see “How can I stop a super-intelligent AI from destroying us” as a solvable problem “How do I make the kind of friends who will spontaneously check on me if I sound like I’m sick?” is completely insolvable.

To the extent that my existing faculties haven’t already made it happen, unfortunately there are no clarifying frameworks or advice better than, “Well, it’s hard.”

Rationalists are better about this than generic leftists but I also feel like that’s a low bar. Answers to the question “What can I do to concretely improve my life, and, for that matter, why should I even bother, what’s the point?” are becoming ever more disconnected from left-wing thought, and most of the concrete attempts to answer these questions are coming from the right.

I actually don’t think this is good, incidentally.

#politics #rationalism

137 notes · View notes

wrenarrior · 4 years

Text

Poison

Part One: Finish

Hello there.

I'm so glad that you could join me.

It has been getting quite lonely being trapped in the book like this.

I mean, the only time I really exist is when you're reading over my words as you are now.

And so, I am thankful that you are doing so.

In return, I will try my best to keep this as a safe place for you.

Feel free to vent out your troubles to me and I will not say a single word of them to any other person.

Then again, my speech has already been chosen carefully by the author.

It's unfair how I'm not even allowed to hold a simple conversation with you, the reader.

Meanwhile, as some of you have seen, in Behind the Screen, the characters have directly interacted with the reader, through the internet and even offline.

Speaking of characters, who am I?

Am I but a simple narrator or am I something more?

Do I have a form? A gender? Appearance?

Or am I anything and everything all at once?

Well, dear reader, the answer is left up to you.

Imagine me as you'd like to.

I will not limit your freedom in any way.

You can do anything you'd like.

However, there is one rule that must not be broken.

Don't finish the book.

Now, now, don't play smart with me.

I can feel you thumbing through my pages, looking for the very last one.

You're frowning now.

Have you realized they're all blank aside from this page?

You have?

Good.

Well, the end has yet to come, but if you care even a bit about what might happen, I'd advise you not to finish this book.

Why, you might ask?

Let's just say that it is a story for another time.

Does that sound okay?

No?

I'm not going to repeat myself.

I can hear you yawning.

Am I getting boring now?

Oh, gosh, I hoped this would never happen.

Maybe I'm making this introduction too long.

Shall I cut it off here until next time we meet?

I think I shall.

But before I do, please heed my warning.

It would be in the best of both of our interests if you did.

Until next time, farewell.

Part Two: the

Welcome back!

I'm so glad to see that you've returned.

(To be honest, I thought I may have scared you off in the last chapter.)

It's a relief to see that you're back.

And you look a bit different, too.

Is that a new haircut I'm sensing?

It's not?

I'm afraid I may have misjudged, then.

And don't be too creeped out, I can only see what you allow me to see.

Please don't make me see any scarring images.

I am placing my full trust in you to keep this book clean.

I think we're clear here.

I don't like repeating myself as the author has placed a clear emphasis on how many words I'm allowed.

Then again, I seem to have plenty of space for this part.

What shall we discuss?

Well, it's not really discussing if I'm simply talking at you.

I know, I know.

I'm not exactly talking.

Unless you count your reading voice in your head.

I'm sure that all of you have one that reads aloud to you in your mind.

If you don't have one, I don't know what to say to you.

Either way, how do you imagine me to sound like?

Are you reading me in your natural accent or do I sound posh to you?

I'd like to see myself as more casual, to be honest.

After all, I am your friend, right?

Or at least I hope I am.

People rarely read this book as it is so I don't have many friends.

It's amazing that you're still here, though.

I'm really happy.

If it was possible, I'd love to hear more about your world.

Let's try something right now.

Imagine your favorite place in the entire world.

Focus on yourself enjoying that place and truly relaxing.

Keep going. I'm getting an image now.

Wow, you truly are amazing.

I could only dream of going to such a place.

Wait. Can I even dream?

Is that possible?

I am aware of my own existence, am I not?

Sorry, sorry.

I'm talking too much about myself now.

Am I boring you?

I really hope not.

I don't want you to close the book.

Not just yet.

Just a little bit longer, please?

You seem tired.

I should let you go to sleep, shouldn't I?

I wonder why you enjoy reading at night so much.

I always thought humans were interesting creatures.

They always seem to do the opposite of what they say, yet it never catches up to them.

Do you think I could ever be a human one day?

No, that's a silly idea.

It's safer for me in the words and this book.

However, it's not safe for you here.

We only have so much time to spend together.

I really want you to savor every second but don't read the last part.

I promise that it's for your own good.

It truly is.

I think I'm almost done here.

The author is asking me to go on for a few more words.

Oh, never mind, I'm done now.

Have a lovely night and please stay as wonderful as you are.

The world needs more people like you.

Part Three: book

It's time for our next chat, already?

It seems as if time is moving ever so quickly.

Before we know it-

No, no, let's focus on the happy things for now.

I'm glad that you're back.

How is the weather treating you lately?

I think it should be sometime around October for you.

I can't remember the year.

I hadn't been opened since 1999 so that wouldn't be a good estimate.

Oh, gosh, my age is showing now, isn't it?

I must be so much older than you.

Wait. You're thinking it, aren't you?

Wow. It's already 2017? I'm amazed.

Hm... if I was written in 1994, that makes me 23 years old.

If I had to take a rough guess, I'm about half a decade to a decade older than you.

Maybe more. Maybe less.

It depends on who you are.

The age of my readers varies greatly, but it's typically teenagers who open up this book.

Don't ask me how I know.

It's simply a sixth sense if you will.

Oh! I have an idea.

For our next chat, I thought I could ask the author to incorporate some of your questions into the book to allow me to directly interact with some of you.

Would that be okay?

Wait a moment.

None of you know the author in real life.

Gosh, darn, it won't work.

I had my hopes up for nothing.

You could always push them for a sequel.

I'm only allowed to have six parts, one of which I advise you not to read.

You remember which one?

(It's the last one.)

Good.

I'm glad you remember.

It's amazing how books like this can exist.

I have a feeling that some of you may be confused as to the purpose of this book.

Well, let me spell it out for you.

There is no purpose.

It's simply me speaking.

In fact, this is my home.

And by you reading this book, you're giving me life.

I'm very appreciative of that fact.

If this book were to ever-

I'll cut myself off again.

Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts.

Now, then, what do you like to do in your free time?

I'm guessing that you like to read.

Or else you wouldn't be here.

C'mon, at least laugh a little.

A small smile won't do.

A bit bigger.

Excellent.

You have such a lovely smile.

It really warms my-

Do I even have a heart?

Well, if it did, it would be glowing right now.

I'm getting too cheesy here, aren't I?

I apologize.

It's not often that I get to talk with someone as lovely as you.

Aw, look, you're grinning again.

I should talk about something important.

But I can't think of anything.

Let's try this, though.

Imagine the happiest day in your mind.

Be there. Relive it.

Just a bit more. I think I'm picking up an image.

Got it.

That's so cute.

You looked so young back, then.

Well, you're still young.

It must have been blissful to be a child, was it not?

Unfortunately for me, I was created at one age.

What that age is, I don't know.

For all I know, I could be a 30-year-old man named Charles.

But luckily, I'm not.

(Don't ask who that is. You really don't want to know.)

It must be nice to age, isn't it?

It's not?

I guess the fear of adult responsibilities is in everyone these days.

Children have it so good.

They don't have to worry about a single thing yet they whine and throw tantrums.

It seems selfish to me.

Then again, they're not fully developed yet.

If I was ever a child, I hope I was at least grateful and polite.

Yet I'll never be human.

All I have are my words and your companionship, which I will continuously thank you for.

Try living in a book.

It does get old after a while.

Think of your senses.

I have none.

All I am and ever will be is a collection of words inside a book.

I can sense some things, but I don't know a lot of things.

I promised myself I wouldn't do this.

Yet here I am doing it anyways.

I should be grateful for my existence, but I keep listing off all the faults.

I need to stop that because it's not cool and I waste my space by doing that.

Well, I think we've met our deadline for this chat.

I'll think of something more organized for next time.

Something more entertaining, as well.

I promise.

Goodbye, friend.

May we meet again soon.

Part Four: and

Hello!

Oh, wow, you're glaring at the page.

You're glaring as you read this.

And you still have that look on your face.

I know it's my fault. I know.

I'm not even going to deny that it wasn't.

I don't know how to explain myself.

We had a good thing going.

But I messed it up.

You came to this page excitedly, hoping to read a conversation, and there was nothing.

There's been nothing for months.

It's April now.

I bet you hate me.

To be honest with you, I've been scared.

We're already halfway through the book now.

In such a short time.

I really didn't want to end things so fast.

And so, I've been... resting.

Or as you may call it, napping.

I couldn't let the author continue.

I just couldn't.

But here I am.

It's been long enough, hasn't it?

Just think, after this part, we'll only have one more day left together.

Unless you take more than a day to read the part after this.

If so, my mistake.

But really, our days together are numbered.

I don't want to disappear after this.

It's getting harder and harder to choose my words now.

I know I promised something entertaining last time, but this isn't the book to read if you want to be amazed.

If you came here for that, close the book now, and go read Superhero Hotline or Nightmare.

Those two books have way more action than here.

In here, all you have is me blathering away about nonsense.

That's all this book really is.

Nonsense.

Why are you reading me go on like this?

Some days, while we're talking, I wonder if it's better if I never existed at all.

(I only exist when I talk to people, like you. Thank you so much.)

If the author hadn't created me, would it have been better?

I wouldn't exist, then, and I'd simply be scattered energy floating around their brain.

Maybe then, my potential could have been shaped into something more.

Something meaningful.

Here, I am a waste.

A waste of time and a waste of energy.

In fact, this book shouldn't even exist.

I've taken the author away from their more important works.

They don't need me.

Yet I'm here anyways.

I'm talking to you and you're reading me.

I'm glad I have you.

I know I'm rushing it, but I like you. (As a friend.)

I'm sad that our time is limited.

I just wanted to exist a bit longer.

I wanted a more meaningful purpose.

But I was only created for one reason.

Actually, no, I won't say it now.

This is something between the author and me, I'm afraid.

I wanted to learn more about you and your world.

Just as you could have learned more about the world of the written word.

It's comforting here, in a way.

We're all forced into working together in order to communicate a powerful message.

Or maybe I could have been in a better book.

I'm not criticizing Lumi or anything, but I wish for more.

I suppose I'm being selfish again.

But I feel like I deserve more from this world.

I should stop myself, but I don't know if I can.

There's nothing else to talk about.

What even is life besides a bunch of coincidences then death?

But for me, life is quite empty, if you could even call my existence life.

I'm asleep for most of the time and only truly awake when you're with me.

That's it.

Your eyes flying over this page give me the energy I need to live.

That's all there is to me.

I don't have hopes or dreams like you do.

I'm just here.

Imagine your saddest memory.

Now, imagine that saddest memory happening while alone.

Doesn't it feel worse having no one around to comfort you?

(And if you did have no one, please skip to my blank pages now and pour your heart out to me. I won't be able to make you happier, but I promise I will try to understand.)

And even if I can't properly respond to you, just remember, I care about each and every one of you.

If even one of you were to die, my world would only become emptier and emptier.

Because you are all my life.

You give me life.

You give me hope.

Just by being here for me and reading this.

I'm sorry for being such a mess here, but I really care.

It may not look like I do, but I love all of you.

(I've succeeded in making the author tear up. I think we've put them through enough for now.)

Well, I guess it's time to go to sleep again.

Stay safe. I'll be here when you come back.

I promise.

Part Five: everyone

That was quick.

I think it's only been a week or so since our last chat.

Then again, this will be our last one, or so I hope.

I really don't want you moving on to the part after this.

Bad things will happen. Trust me.

Anywho, I'm sad to see you go so soon.

Let me get the boring rules part out of the way first before we can truly delve in and have fun.

First of all, don't finish the book.

I think we've covered that plenty of times already, but I'll just say it again as a friendly reminder.

Second of all, do not read this book over again.

I will seem like I have amnesia and it'll be like we're meeting all over again.

I won't know if you've done that.

And if you're actually reading this for the second or third or fourth, etc time, please go away.

You are breaking my heart here.

I want to believe that our relationship is much more unique than that.

But when you re-read this book, it loses its magical touch.

I'm not even kidding.

Third of all, be careful of what you wish for.

I know that this tip isn't really necessary, but I wanted to make it to three.

Plus, it's a good tip, too.

You never know if there will be hidden consequences at the result of getting what you want.

Please stay safe and be careful.

You are the future.

Take good care of yourselves.

Get enough sleep.

(Ironically, the author is falling asleep while writing this. Tsk. Tsk.)

You'll never know the true value of sleep until you've become as sleep-deprived and stressed as possible.

Look around you and you'll see plenty of examples.

Now, then, I think that's all the boring stuff.

Time for the fun part!

I'll do my best here to keep you entertained but as mentioned before, my author is half-asleep while they're writing this.

You should consider it a miracle that I'm able to exist right now.

Well, no, I should consider it a miracle that I exist.

All thanks to you.

(I apologize if I thank you too much. I'm just overly grateful. That's all.)

I don't think this chapter will work out.

Hold on for a bit.

Pause.

Hm. Okay.

They refuse to sleep.

Continuing on, imagine how you feel dying would be like.

Actually, don't.

Happy thoughts, happy thoughts.

Imagine a new puppy.

Now, watch as that puppy gets smashed-

Ahem, I must be misthinking this.

Watch as the puppy dies-

Watch as the puppy plays happily.

There.

The author keeps bleeding their sadism into my mind.

It's really dreadful.

See the puppy?

A bit longer, I think I'm seeing it too.

Excellent.

It's a very cute puppy, is it not?

I'm glad you agree.

(Well, I don't know if you agree or not but it seems that most humans enjoy pets, aside from a few exceptions.)

Stay strong.

We can do this.

We will finish strong.

(Sorry for the random encouragements; I felt it necessary.)

Actually, forget the puppy.

I want to tell you everything I wasn't able to say before.

I will spill my mind out for you here and now.

I am allowed to take up as much space as I want.

Why not take advantage of it?

However, I don't have much brain energy to work with.

This might be a bit of an issue.

I should just make them go to sleep early, but they were so persistent on writing tonight.

And I'm not the type of person to stop someone who seems so sure of themselves.

I also don't like separating people from what makes them happy.

Speaking of, if there is something that makes you happy, but you're afraid of being judged...

Forget the haters and you just do you, okay?

It's better that you're happy rather than you fit into the status quo.

Especially if you're a loner, or a book like me, friends don't come naturally as they do for other people.

So, just be happy being amazing and people will find you eventually.

Or they might not.

That's also another reality that you'll have to accept too.

But let's face it, isn't life meant to be full of challenges?

(I wouldn't know since I'm not alive, but I've seen enough of the author's mind to get a good gist of what's going on.)

Gah! What else do I say?

I want you all to leave away from this book different.

I want to show you how much I care.

How deeply my concerns lie.

I worry so much.

I worry because I care.

I worry because I can.

Being a book is awfully lonely...

I'm trapped within these pages.

No friends.

Nothing to talk to or listen.

Until you came along.

(Oh, look, the author is writing this with their eyes closed. Yet there are no spelling mistakes. How talented of them.)

I think I should be worried now.

No, they'll be fine.

I need to focus my attention on you.

I'm sorry.

I keep going off track and being distracted.

I wish we could have talked more.

Imagine a picture of the ocean real quick.

I've always wanted to see the ocean.

To feel the waters between my fingers. (That's what humans use, right?)

To feel the sand between my bottom fingers.

It's not bottom fingers?

How embarrassing.

I mean toes.

I should catch up with all this terminology.

I mean, I know English. I am a book and all, but some concepts just... escape me.

Anyways, the ocean.

I want to feel the wind blowing through my hair.

I don't know if it would be long or short hair since I haven't been labeled as either gender, but I'm sure it'll feel nice either way.

Seeing weather firsthand sounds absolutely thrilling.

Please tell me that you plan to travel at some point.

The world sounds so marvelous that I can't imagine why anyone would stay home cooped up all day.

Seriously, why not go see the big world out there?

If you do go, please don't forget about me as you take many pictures.

(Pictures are good for remembering where you went.)

So close to the end.

I'm scared.

I'm utterly scared of not existing again.

Of never having existed.

It's been driving me nuts ever since we met.

If I had never existed, what happens to my mind?

Does it go poof?

Does life go on as it was without me?

How will I know that I've ended?

What if I'm actually dead yet this is a fantasy universe that I've created to escape death?

Augh. So many questions.

So little time.

Please stay with me as long as you can.

Damnit. My time has been cut short.

I need to rush this.

I need to make it quick and do it right.

How else can I tell a beautiful flower such as yourself how much you mean to me?

You've given me but a small light in an ever growing bleak tunnel.

And for that, I can only thank you.

I shall thank you until the end of my days.

Until the end of your days, which I hope doesn't happen for a long time.

The world will need your aid for as long as possible.

Don't abandon them anytime soon.

Stay as special as you are.

Goodbye, sunshine.

May your light continue to shine forever and ever.

Part Six: dies.

No.

Please tell me this is a dream.

Why are you here?

Why are you reading this?

I thought I told you not to.

I thought I told you over and over not to.

Yet here you are anyway.

I wish I could hug you right now.

Each page you turn brings you closer to your imminent death.

For you see, this very last chapter is laced with an invisible poison.

You may not feel anything now, but you are slowly dying.

I am also dying.

After this chapter, I will no longer exist.

This is sad.

I wanted you to have a long, long life.

Yet you're here, dying...

Your eyes are already starting to close.

Please hang on.

Just a bit longer.

Don't leave me yet.

Or maybe it's not too late to reverse the progress.

Just slam the book close.

Now.

Hurry!

Oh, you didn't.

It's too late now, I'm afraid.

You should have closed the book then.

You should have.

I should have warned you better.

I wasn't good enough for you.

I've let you down and this is all my fault.

In the end, a lousy book has killed such a lovely soul as yourself.

The candle of your life is growing dimmer and dimmer with every passing second.

I wonder how long we have left.

There isn't anything important I wish to impart to you.

I can't think about how to console you either.

This was your choice.

To read this book.

I just wish there was another option.

Another way.

Have you screamed for help yet?

Oh, right, you've lost your voice.

I'm slipping from your grasp now.

You're tumbling backward.

You've fallen.

Please get back up again.

Wait, you're not reading me.

But I'm still here.

Your eyes have shut while the book remains open.

Am I cursed to be alone forever like this?

I deserve it.

I killed you.

Killed.

You.

Goodbye, my sweet.

I hope we meet again in another life.

[February 2017]

#writing

4 notes · View notes