demonsdaughtertf

[demonsdaughtertf]

POKER FACE: COPS AND MOBS AU 

Swindle is known for his business prowess, though he is arguably much more infamous for being a notorious gambling addict. Lockdown, also man with a keen sense of business, always manages to get Swindle into a poker table with him. They’ll bet, fold, go all in, maybe fiddle with their chips a little, but Lockdown knows how it’ll end. He wins every single round, and Swindle never could figure out how that damn bounty hunter manages to do so! Does he cheat? Maybe he’s got a third or fourth eye! The real answer, is that Lockdown just pays attention. He is a mercenary, after all! He knows which direction his prey dances or when they’ll cower. He can even anticipate their next thought! All this he can see as plain as day, regardless if you have the best or worst poker face.

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AU and character designs: @pastelpaperplanes

Comic art: me! :D

I had so much fun making this!! I really missed doing storyboard style comics so this was a good way to get back on it while also challenging myself to really maintain consistent coloring and shading. I love this AU pastel made and I only hope I have more time in the future to create more art for it!

[demonsdaughtertf]

here’s a dumb joke comic that has literally taken me like….. 3 yrs? maybe? before i just decided fuck it

anyone remember this tweet lol

[demonsdaughtertf]

Hi! I love your tf roleplays!! I noticed that Beautiful Oppression was missing from your Ao3 and was wondering where it went...I hope you plan to finish it one day as it is my favorite of your fics...The whole Tarnma dynamic coupled with jealous Kaon and the Vos/Helex with asshole Tesarus is something I never knew I needed but fell in love with...hope you’re doing well and all!

Hi there! Sorry I haven’t replied, I barely use Tumblr anymore! Unfortunately the role play my buddy and I made into the story has been deleted. My old rp pal has shut down her A03 and the story became an orphan work :/  If you are interested in starting a role play with me (we can do something just like it--I still love the DJD :) ) let me know! I’ll check my Tumblr more often in case you want to private message me. Or if you want me to get in touch super fast I live now on Discord. My username is DemonsDaughter and my code is #2044. 

[demonsdaughtertf]

It can also make questionable decisions and repaint your room with infernal imagery!

Commission for @megapurrv who had asked for a comic about Thunderclash crushin’ on Rodimus and trying to impress him, so I did this silly thing! Thank you for commissioning me, I really hope you like it!!

[demonsdaughtertf]

So the more I re-read MTMTE, the more i’m seeing EVERY hint about who tarn really was. Like, the main reason for the “Tarn is Roller” theory was this panel:

But no one noticed this little shit: 

In the words of the immortal Junkrat:

Inconspicuous.

[demonsdaughtertf]

OH MAN, I saw this post and I was like, yeeessss, rubs hands eagerly, I know what I have to do 

[demonsdaughtertf]

Here’s the final piece from the Landscape episode of my Master Course series! Found the perfect opportunity to teach painting environments, hope you guys dig it! 🚏🌿

[demonsdaughtertf]

Some TFMR comic stuff that had been sitting around for some time. Still a WIP, but not sure if it would be finished at all.

[demonsdaughtertf]

[demonsdaughtertf]

trustme-imamedic‌:

“If you trip ontop of me I feel that I may meet my inevitable demise alot sooner than expected.” Pharma chuckles, that was a whole lot of tank to land on such little of a jet.

Though maybe he wouldn’t mind being crushed by such a handsome creature. Hook may not be too pleased.

Pharma allows Tarn to move him about like the little ragdoll he is, settling sweetly in the purple mech’s huge lap. Such a nice seat Tarn was, Pharma straddled his lap like he’d been doing it all his life. “You know, you keep stroking my wings like this you’re going to summon a demon that you might not be able to exercise.” He smiles wondering if the mech remembered just how sensitive they were.

Ah yes, Kaon. “Shouldn’t you be getting a replacement?” He almost sounded like a bratty teenager there. “I was under the impression that when one of you dies another one comes in.” He raises an opticridge then looks down at the huge Decepticon insignia in his hand. He never wanted to be a Decepticon, but the way things were turning out the killers had been treating him better than any Autobot ever had. Pharma’s pride was too strong to admit any of that though. He presses Tarn’s mask to his white chest- it took up quite a bit of it. “Purple kindof clashes with my paint job don’t you think?”

He looks up at Tarn again then leans- setting his mask down on the little table next to them “I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later, I am your medical officer after all.” Pharma’s wings twitched, approximately one million things running through his processor. “I’m afraid I can not replace Kaon though-” those words felt like acid in his mouth, Pharma was much better than him! “Not that the little fucker was irreplaceable- I’m sure anyone could sit in front of a screen and point, he didn’t even have optics I-” Pharma stops, his internals clicking a few times and a hiss of air slowly creeping out of his broad shoulder vents. Calm. “My apologies… I’m trying to say that I have no experience in tracking. I can fly a ship- obviously. But the other I would suggest you use Vos or someone else. It pains me to admit that I am not in fact good at everything.” A sentence that also felt like acid.

“I fear no demons when they are from your conjuring,” Tarn chuckled, although he wasn’t sure if he wanted to allow one of those ‘demons’ to emerge now. With Pharma’s condition it might be better to let him rest rather than entice him with wing rubs. 

The tank knew those wings were sensitive but his hands simply moved to touch them each time Pharma was settled in his lap. Much like someone would pet a cat’s back when it curled up with them, Tarn wanted to stroke across the smooth edges of those wings. 

When Pharma’s tone changed and the conversation shifted to Kaon’s absence, Tarn inwardly punched himself. He should not have mentioned it so soon. Despite his reservations saying anything he knew it had to be done. Before he called for a replacement he’d offer the place to Pharma. 

A scarred face frowned when Pharma claimed purple would clash with his paint, Tarn saying nothing for a moment. “I understand. I will seek another to take his place.”

Tarn gently tapped Pharma’s chest with his clawed digit. “You will remain as my medic. I would like to see you wear a brand someday but it can wait. Perhaps a silver one would be more suitable to your paint?”

The conversation about Kaon was only causing stress and aggression, things Tarn wanted to avoid while Pharma’s helm was recovering. “You are far superior to Kaon, there is no competition. I simply wanted to offer you a place even closer to my side.”

He leaned down and nuzzled Pharma’s cheek and then asked which author was his favorite. It was time to move their thoughts to more peaceful endeavors. 

Under the Knife

[demonsdaughtertf]

prowls-analysis‌:

The youngster tucked his head under Scavenger’s chin, trembling, as Scrapper and his mates roared into combat mode and charged the monsters. Synthesis, unlike almost any other child, adjusted his balance to let Scavenger hold him, but didn’t reach up or around the adult to take hold to steady himself. He kept his hands tucked close to his body, afraid of touching the wrong plate and being thrown to the grinding, hissing monsters, which were now sprouting Seeker-like wings and cockpit assemblies as Prowl’s varied demons merged across time and memory to become a disorienting chaos of terror–

Keep reading

Scavenger startled slightly when the little one who had been quiet up until that point burst into tears. His bucket curled tightly against his back like a scorpion ready to strike, his optics wide behind his red visor.

“Synthesis, it’s okay. I know it sounds scary and a lot of going on over there, but I’ve got you and the others are making sure you’re safe. Those bad guys won’t be able to hurt you when we’re around,” he reassured, hoping the words would reach some part of Prowl’s battered psyche. 

As Prowl wailed the dangerous shapes the other gestalt members had been tearing apart melted under their assault, turning into nothing more than some gloppy black ooze. Long Haul spat at the forms that no longer came towards him, stomping at the dread with barely withheld aggression. 

“Frag off,” he hissed, showing his dentas at enemies that were no longer there. Hook rolled his optics, swatting his gestalt mate to bring him back into reality. The fight was done for now. Prowl was their main goal now. Him and his very tricky mental attacks. 

The doubts and fears that now pummeled their mental defenses did manage to tear down a few walls. Scrapper stumbled when the doubt pointed out that they might be doing more damage than aid, only to be caught mentally by Hook and shown how medically this was important to work with Prowl through these times. 

If they wanted him to heal, they needed to hold out with him. 

Long Haul faltered with the mention of their own gestalt tension, reaching for Scrapper’s support as his mental wall crumbled under the attack. Scrapper came to aid him, repelling the worries with the facts. Their gestalt had saved one another more than they argued. That and arguments were a way of reaching decisions and communicating. It was better than silence. 

Hook’s defensed broken down when Mixmaster was mentioned, his guilt for never being able to fully repair the mech’s mind eating away at his resolve to be strong. His psyche moved towards Mixmaster’s, hoping to find that his mate was ‘okay’ and void of any anger at his subpar cranial repair skills.

Old Scores

[demonsdaughtertf]

trustme-imamedic‌:

-Its a sense of home, of the past.- Pharma Remembers how he spent hours on hours learning the language bit it was much easier for him to learn for some strange reason, it felt natural. Much more natural than the cybertronian they were speaking now. It was more professional- proper. He found himself writing alot of his reports and studies in the old language. Ratchet was never any good at reading it. -I feel comfortable around Hook, a familiar face, a piece of my past when everything was okay, regardless of faction or the war. So I understand where Vos is coming from, that is also why I learned it. Patients are more comfortable around mech’s that speak their original language, I know quite a few dialects from a few different cybertronian planets.-

Pharma happily moved wherever Tarn wanted him, his red feet quietly clinking as he padded out with Tarn to the hall.

And there it was, he was up where he belonged. He leaned against Tarn, resting his poor helm against Tarn’s, his blue servos sitting on the tank’s collar. When he motioned his helm Pharma sits up and looks at him, nodding in response. Delicate servos moved to the sides of Tarn’s face and he felt along the edges with the tips of his digits to find the small release hitches, a little click as he took the mask off.

Pharma smiled softly, enjoying the gorgeous view. He holds the mask in one of his servos and drapes his arms loosely around the brute’s neck. He wasn’t going to say anything because professing Tarn’s beauty every time he removed his mask was bound to get old to the big bad Decepticon eventually. Instead he chooses to give him a soft kiss then sets his forehelm to his-hopefully Tarn could walk without looking.

-Understandable. Vos certainly feels comfortable in your presence. I have never seen him so relaxed until you came into the picture- Tarn admitted, remembering how the sniper rifle had preferred the quiet sanctuary of his laboratory. Now that Pharma was on the ship the smallest member of the team was much more active.

He hummed when Pharma told him about his relationship with Hook. It made sense. Hook was one of his classmates, one of the few who had experienced the medical world before their world had fallen apart. It made the black and purple mech think, wondering if their people would ever come together again. Tarn doubted the rifts could be closed now. 

It was too late. One side had to win, and he intended it to be his own. 

“I will make sure the Constructicons are safe, then. If you are friends with Hook I want to protect them so you never lose another part of your history.”

Tarn rumble-purred when he had gathered the tricolor jet into his arms, rocking him slightly like a youngling as Pharma settled in his hold. He pet gently along the back of Pharma’s helm before the mask was unclipped. Pressing a soft kiss in return to the jet’s forehead, Tarn didn’t fuss when his companion blocked his view. He knew where he was going by heart. 

“You had better hope my pedes don’t miss the steps,” he chuckled once he opened the door to the library and began to cautiously move down to the lower level where the best couches were. 

Tarn plopped them down in his favorite chair and chuffed. “Now that we do not have Kaon, tracking will become more difficult. He was a natural at the art, despite being a vile traitor. In his absence someone must take his place.”

The tank continued to pet his companion’s wings as he spoke. 

“Would you like to become an official member of the Decepticon Justice Division, Pharma?” 

Under the Knife

[demonsdaughtertf]

trustme-imamedic‌:

“I’m glad Hook was able to return me to my handsome self again, I’m afraid I could not live on normally knowing that I’m ugly.” He chuckles “Yes it must have been a gruesome sight, for me too have offline I must have taken alot of damage and lost alot of energon.” Pharma frowned at Vos, knowing the poor gunformer did not enjoy seeing his medic almost decapitated. “For a Decepticon that doodles on all his homework and asked for my help regularly, Hook turned out to be quite the miracle worker.”

Pharma glanced up at Tarn when be commed him - I’m glad to see Vos favors me over that wretched chair. I don’t blame him.-

“This is the second time you all have saved my, you must care atleast a bit to keep me alive.” He smiles “Looks like there’s no leaving now.” Pharma was joking of course, He had grown attached to the majority of the group, regardless of how be did not want to in the beginning. Pharma no longer wanted to go anywhere that Tarn was not. Was be being clingy again?

The jet let’s go of Vos as he wanted to go off with the others then he turned his arte tion back up to Tarn again “Light is my enemy right now, my optics are still sensitive, they are adjusting.” He says, using his blue servo to share his dim optics. “I would also like to sit considering my gyroscope is thrown off and it’s making my helm swim.” Pharma then sighs realizing he was complaining. “I apologize, I do not intend on being like this all night.”

He then steps closer to Tarn, looking up at him with his wings pointing straight down and back, his silent way of asking to be picked up without holding his arms up and bouncing like a toddler. He would never admit to this though.

“Hook has been useful and now I will owe Scrapper’s gestalt some favors. They claim I do not, but as I'm sure you know that is untrue. We all expect things in return for our services. At the very least they will always be forgiven even if they  stray from the Cause. I cannot go about killing those who save my glorious jet, now can I?”

Tarn didn’t like the idea of being in debt to anyone, much less a combiner team, but there was no help for it. The ‘doodling’ medical student Hook had become more valuable to the Cause than Tarn had ever anticipated.

-Vos was surprised you knew how to speak as he does. That wins him over nearly instantly these days. You could be a traitor and he would likely ask for the mech to be kept alive so long as they could converse. It is the strangeness that we have come to know so well from that mech-

Vos chittered when he was released, the mech shaking Pharma’s hand once in a kind gesture before he moved back to give the aerial some space. Helex and Tesaurus seemed to know it was time to move on, the smelter motioning for the sniper rifle to follow. 

‘Give them space, they need it,’ he thought, sending the sense to his mate. Tesarus snorted, rolling his optics behind his visor before they plodded back to the couch. 

Tarn nodded in understanding, ushering the tricolor mech towards the entryway. Once they were outside and no longer in view of the others, he chuckled when Pharma gave him that pleading look to be held. 

“Come here,” he soothed, picking Pharma up with a gentleness no one else had ever seen. “I will find a good place for us. Perhaps the library. The lights are dimmed unless given a command to brighten for reading.”

The tank rubbed between Pharma’s wings as he began the journey down the hall to his favorite room on the Peaceful Tyranny, gesturing with his chin to ask Pharma to aid him in removing his mask. 

“Would you be so kind, love?” he inquired, optics sparkling. 

Under the Knife

[demonsdaughtertf]

Scrapper sensed the tension in Prowl’s frame yet he was unwilling to let the little one go. He wanted to protect him from everything, the possessive, dominant coding of the gestalt leader demanding he fulfill his promise to defend the ‘weaker’ members of his team. He would show Prowl that hands didn’t always hurt, that being held didn’t always lead to some unsavory experiment or surgery. 

There was such a thing as pure affection and someday Scrapper hoped the broken soul would come to understand that. It would be a long, hard road, but with luck and persistence they would reach their goals of recovery and tentative peace. 

The others stayed close, following Scrapper as he led the way from the dark city. As he walked he began to feel the familiar stickiness of dread, the black tar bubbling up around his pedes. They slowed, Long Haul cursing the goop while the others began to worry about their exit from the confines of Prowl’s mind. 

“Why does he keep making this?!” Long Haul demanded, glowering as he yanked a pede free. Hook growled for the rock truck to be quiet.

“He is mentally abused, Long Haul. He has been a victim of multiple kinds of attacks over the course of his life and it manifests in the form of black slime. Do not go about making it worse!”

“Scrapper?” Scavenger asked, putting a hand on his leader’s shoulder. 

“What?”

“The mechs you killed are getting back up.”

Indeed, the corpses were becoming animated again, their limbs stitching back together like grotesque puppets. Their optics onlined with an eerie light and soon they were making their way through the rising dread to reach their intended targets. 

“Scavenger, keep Prowl...Synthesis....safe. I’m going to kill these things over and over again until he knows we mean what we say,” Scrapper growled, gently transferring the terrified frame of a child from his arms into Scavenger’s. “Long Haul! Hook! Mixmaster! Rip them to pieces!”

The zombies were disgusting and disturbing, but they proved no match for the enraged gestalt. Scrapper was at the forefront of the attack, crushing and tearing the corpses over and over again. When one formed back together he killed it yet again. Long Haul was living for the excitement, whooping as he demolished the hordes. Hook was silent save for a few grunts, his energon knife wielded with skill that showed he was more than familiar with the art of knife and sword fighting. 

“Synthesis? When those things are gone I’ll set you down,” Scavenger offered, petting tiny, quivering door wings with the upmost care not to cause pain. “You don’t have to be scared of them anymore, though. We all keep each other safe from the bad things out there.”

He gestured with his helm to the scene unfolding, watching as Scrapper tore an already damaged frame in two before hurling the pieces over his gestalt mate’s heads. His defense of Prowl was relentless, unyielding, and confident. Scrapper knew how to defeat the evils he was put up against as they were not his own. It was far easier to deal with those demons rather than his own. 

Old Scores

demonsdaughtertf‌:

“Little one, you will work only if you wish to. We aren’t going to force you to complete tasks. You may not be registered yet and your creators may have treated you like a drone, but now that you’re part of my big family?-” Scrapper said, trailing off at the question to fully pick Synthesis up in his thick arms. “-you’re going to be an equal.”

Scrapper’s battle mask had been pulled back the entire time and he offered the mechling a warm smile. He might have a rough, worn from work face, but he was genuine. He meant what he said. Synthesis and Prowl would never have to be afraid of being alone again.

“You’ve got a lot to learn about being in a real family, but we’ll show you the way,” Scavenger piped up, the excavator padding over to brush his loving psyche up against the black and white mechling’s. 

“I think it is time we move on from here,” Hook said, the crane glancing around the desolate area. “Synthesis needs to be out in the light where he can create things and have some space. The confines of these walls are damaging to a young mind.”

Scrapper nodded, cradling Synthesis in one arm while his other calloused hand caressed the youngling’s helm and ever-so-gently encouraged Synthesis to rest it against his chest. “I agree. I think it’s time we go home.”

The leader of the gestalt moved first, the others following behind him in a large pack. Scrapper was glad they were behind him and that he had a visor because as he walked a few silent tears of washer fluid escaped from the corners of his optics. Two landed on Prowl’s sheltered frame while the rest pattered harmlessly against Scrapper’s collar guard and rolled under his jaw. 

The mechling couldn’t quite suppress his reflexive squeak and the automatic stiffening of his entire body as Scrapper gathered him up and lifted him off his feet. For as much of the child’s short life as he could remember, being touched by an adult had more often been a precursor to misery than anything positive. The Brothers had only picked him up when he had done or said something especially bad and needed to be Censured. The memories of being carried off for yet another cycle of software “corrections” and punishment swamped the bond with thick, tarry dread and an overpowering awareness of powerlessness. The Synthesis of Righteous Foresight, the living Embodiment of Objectivity and future Final Judge obeyed the light pressure on his head and leaned it on the massive chestplate of his self-declared new guardian, his doors still held at stiff, awkward angles and visibly quivering. 

Keep reading

[demonsdaughtertf]

prowls-analysis‌:

The child allowed Scrapper to collect him closer and lean forward to put those massive, dangerous arms around him. Synthesis’ anxiety and desperation flashed across the bond. He had been taught by both his reading and harsh experience that a single misstep, one mistake, could destroy a lifetime of perfect work, or even cost the offender his life. He wanted what the strangers said to be true. He wanted to be part of a family–a family like those he had read about, with adults who would take him places and show him things and teach him how to make friends…the youngster was more than a little vague on how exactly it worked, but he did know that most parents didn’t Censure their children when they made mistakes or said bad things. Synthesis knew for a fact that most youngsters were sometimes allowed to read or do some things that weren’t related to their mandated Work. If he could have that–if he could watch the trains without fearing Censure if he was caught…

…”I’ll do anything you want me to,” he said softly. He was trembling in Scrapper’s arms. “I’ll do anything you want, if you register me and let me live with you. I’ll work hard. I promise I will.” The tension in the bond increased another notch. Please please let that be the right thing to say please don’t get mad please don’t push me away don’t leave me alone please tell me how not to make any mistakes! It wasn’t a conscious plea or even phrased in words, but the emotions spoke eloquently.

“Little one, you will work only if you wish to. We aren’t going to force you to complete tasks. You may not be registered yet and your creators may have treated you like a drone, but now that you’re part of my big family?-” Scrapper said, trailing off at the question to fully pick Synthesis up in his thick arms. “-you’re going to be an equal.”

Scrapper’s battle mask had been pulled back the entire time and he offered the mechling a warm smile. He might have a rough, worn from work face, but he was genuine. He meant what he said. Synthesis and Prowl would never have to be afraid of being alone again.

“You’ve got a lot to learn about being in a real family, but we’ll show you the way,” Scavenger piped up, the excavator padding over to brush his loving psyche up against the black and white mechling’s. 

“I think it is time we move on from here,” Hook said, the crane glancing around the desolate area. “Synthesis needs to be out in the light where he can create things and have some space. The confines of these walls are damaging to a young mind.”

Scrapper nodded, cradling Synthesis in one arm while his other calloused hand caressed the youngling’s helm and ever-so-gently encouraged Synthesis to rest it against his chest. “I agree. I think it’s time we go home.”

The leader of the gestalt moved first, the others following behind him in a large pack. Scrapper was glad they were behind him and that he had a visor because as he walked a few silent tears of washer fluid escaped from the corners of his optics. Two landed on Prowl’s sheltered frame while the rest pattered harmlessly against Scrapper’s collar guard and rolled under his jaw. 

Old Scores

[demonsdaughtertf]

prowls-analysis‌:

The youngster stared, his confusion receding just a little bit. He was still frantically trying to find some firm point of reference, some pattern that would tell him what to do about the nameless strangers appearing from nowhere all around him. His young and overstressed psyche teetered on the edge of complete breakdown…then latched onto a word.  

Keep reading

“Yes, family. You can be one of us, no questions asked. We didn’t all come from high parts of society. We’re a bunch of misfits ourselves,” Scrapper chuckled, keeping his arms wide open for the little soul. “No one here is going to be upset that you aren’t registered.”

“We can register you, y’know. Just pretend you’ve been ours since the start and try to give you a better life. Maybe all this dark city stuff can be tossed out. Stick with us, kid, we actually want to help you,” Long Haul said, making sure he wasn’t silenced in the process. He wanted Prowl to know he was a friend, blundering through the delicate process despite what Mixmaster said. He merely gave the other gestalt member a huff, motioning to Prowl as if to say ‘see, I can play nice!’ after he spoke.

Scrapper held his breath as he watched the thought process in Prowl’s optics. He was considering all his options, glancing between the mangled bodies and the living ones. The scene was surely a hard one for such a small mechling to grasp emotionally, yet the bulldozer could tell Prowl was coming around. 

Then it happened. The decision to move forward. Scrapper made no movement as he waited for that tiny hand to curl around his thumb, the pressure of the nervous youngling’s squeezing digits making the brute’s spark melt. How could anyone have tortured such an innocent little one? How could the Brotherhood have created Synthesis - Prowl - only to use him as some kind of drone? If Scrapper hadn’t been such a battle hardened mech he would have broken down right then and there.

“Yes, Synthesis. You’re going to live with us now. We want you to be part of the family if you’ll have us,” Scrapper murmured, trying to keep his voice steady so as not to betray his emotions.

He used his other hand to gently nudge Prowl closer until he could be hugged, the bulldozer on his knees cradling the small sedan. He wanted to pick up the mechling but also didn’t want to scare him, making sure his arms did not hold so tightly that Prowl felt like he couldn’t escape if he wanted to. He was free to pull away at any time.

Old Scores

[demonsdaughtertf]

trustme-imamedic‌:

Pharma looked up at Tarn listening to him contently, fully invested in every word spoken. His wings pushed up to the mech’s touch- though there really wasn’t much power to them, it was an acknowledgment rather than the normal plea for more. “I was wondering if they were okay-” He smiles a little when Tarn kisses his check, his wings flicking a couple times. “-I was unaware of what had happened after I was shot so I feared that maybe everyone had suffered. And of course again I was of no help.”

He chuckles quietly at the thought of Tesarus actually considering the jets well being then hooks an arm with Tarn’s and holds it close as they walked to go find the others, in Pharma’s own way he was being clingy and not even realising it. Despite his feelings for Tarn he tried not to display too much in such ways, especially since Tarn had a group of Decepticons to run and didn’t want to cause distraction.

The brutes were so nice when they were sleeping, it was strange how they could look so docile then wake up and be complete pains in the aft. Well Tesarus anyways. Pharma looks up when he heard the familiar sound of Vos making his way to his location, he half expected the mech to drop down ontop of him but thankfully he used the mound of sleeping giants instead.

Optics wide he thankfully reacts quick enough to brace for Vos’ impact, wrapping his arms about the only mech here that was close to his size. “Vos-” He said a bit strained but smiles “I’m glad to see you recovered well.” Pharma chuckles.

“I’m embarrassed that I have yet again been an inconvenience. I do not intend on going anywhere any time soon… and maybe I should suggest putting me in a rubber bubble..”

“You have been of great help to us before. It is our turn to repay your efforts. You prevented me from killing Tesarus and repaired him and Helex after I was through with them. I owe you a great deal,” Tarn assured, not wanting Pharma to undersell his qualities as a medic and a member of the team.

Tarn smiled behind the mask, accepting Pharma’s clingy arm and even curling one of his clawed hands around the jet’s. He was not ashamed to be seen so close to Pharma, not after the near death experience the aerial had survived. He deserved to be happy and Tarn knew if he could kill Overlord, very few would dare comment about the status of Pharma.

Plus, with Kaon out of the way, there really was no one who would become jealous or troublesome. Helex and Tesarus were bonded and therefore not an issue whatsoever and Vos would rather play felinoid than be anyone’s mate. 

Tarn could have Pharma all to himself. 

“Vos, no! He just recovered from surgery!” Tarn yelped, although it was too late. Vos had already darted over to his favorite medic and had situated himself right in Pharma’s arms. Happy purrs and clicks followed, many words mumbled in Primal Vernacular that sounded content. 

He was glad Pharma was back safe and sound. 

~How do you feel? Your head was...it was quite a sight. I would not normally balk at the image of gore but seeing that it was you, a good friend? It was sickening~ Vos crooned, petting Pharma’s helm very lightly with surprisingly delicate clawed hands. ~At least now you are whole and we have been rid of the vile one~

-Vos now refuses to say Kaon’s name- Tarn commed Pharma, shrugging slightly. -He seems to believe that will help ‘kill’ Kaon even further if no one speaks of him. It is some ancient theory, I presume-

“I’m glad to see you back in one piece as well,” Helex chimed in, the smelter approaching but keeping a polite stance. He didn’t want to loom. “We like you on the team. You’re good to us.”

“I need you more than I like you. So I guess I’m happy you’re back,” Tesarus added, his strange roundabout compliment/insult probably the best Pharma would ever get out of him. Any sweetness he possessed was strictly for Helex.

“Shall we make a dinner to celebrate Pharma’s return?” Tarn asked, glad that everyone took the hint and went off to help prepare such a feast. “Now that we have food waiting...would you like to rest? Spend some time in the library or observatory? Anything you wish, my dear,” he purred, voice silken and soft as a feather.

Under the Knife