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uwingdispatch · 2 years ago

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Every Promise

Notes: Brasso/Reader, established relationship, gender neutral reader, post-rebellion/post-war, hurt/comfort, chronically ill/disabled reader

CW: chronic pain, hospital scene (mild) reference to injury, implied sexual intimacy

Ao3 Link

★★★★★★★★

You’ve been a regular at your favorite caf bar since they opened, walking distance from your little house on Gatalenta. You go in for a cup of caf and maybe lunch, get a little work done, say hello to other regulars. Today you’re at your usual spot near the bar when you hear the voice of a man you’ve come to loathe. He seems to know the town based on what you’ve overheard, but he must be new to the neighborhood because he first appeared at the caf bar last week. And every time he comes in he looks at you in a way that makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

Today, he sits right next to you. So you immediately start packing up your things to leave. The barista gives you a knowing look, but before you can step away from the bar, the man says, “Where are you going, sweetheart?”

Your shoulders tense up. “Elsewhere,” you say.

You haven’t even made eye-contact—it should be crystal clear that you don’t want to be bothered. But he insists: “You should stay. We could get to know each other.”

Then Brasso walks in, and immediately all the tension in your body washes away. Maybe the creep takes the smile on your lips as being for him, because he’s loudly telling you he’d like to take you out sometime when the barista interrupts him.

“This is so embarrassing for you,” she says.

Brasso meets your eyes as he quickly crosses the room, “Is everything all right, love?”

Upon hearing Brasso’s voice, the guy looks like he wants to jump behind the counter and hide. He’s clearly run into your husband in town before—your husband who is almost two meters tall and built like a load-lifter droid. When you show him your left hand, displaying your wedding ring, he goes pale.

Brasso takes your shoulder bag from you and kisses your cheek. Somehow the creep is still here, aghast, blurting out an apology—not for you of course, but for Brasso.

“Are you serious right now?” Brasso asks. And before the man can respond he just says, “Get out.”

If that man had a tail, it would have been between his legs as he rushed out the door.

“Thanks,” the barista says. “That guy is the worst but I’m not allowed to kick anyone out unless they’re starting a riot. Doubt he’ll be back anytime soon.”

“Happy to help,” Brasso says, reaching into his pocket for credits as she hands him his regular after-work caf.

“It’s on me today,” she says. “I owe you one.”

“Hardly,” he says.

When she insists on it, Brasso puts his fistful of credits in the tip jar.

“You don’t have to do that,” the barista says.

“He knows,” you say. “He’s going to do it anyway.”

He slides his arm around your waist as you leave the caf bar and you think that nothing in the galaxy could make you feel safer than this, the warmth of Brasso’s touch radiating through your body.

Brasso is wearing an oversized cable knit cardigan over a henley, a few of the buttons left open, with a pair of trousers that he must have had tailored—they fit impossibly well. He’d recently taken to leaving his work clothes at work, usually coming home in something more comfortable. And while you did find his overalls sexy, it’s been nice seeing him in the wardrobe of a man who has finally been able to make time for himself. To relax after years and years of uncertainty.

He catches you staring as he gets into the speeder, raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“You just look really nice, ” you say. “Very cozy.”

He shrugs, a bit bashful. In the back seat, you note a bag of groceries.

“Thought I might make us something special tonight,” he says. “Had to pick up a few things..”

“You don’t have to cook, Brass. I know it’s been a long day for you.”

A shipment that was supposed to arrive yesterday arrived late today, meaning two shipments had to be unloaded and taken care of almost simultaneously. He’d sent you a message earlier, letting you know not to expect him for lunch. But now he smiles as he starts the speeder, takes your hand in his, bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

“You know I have a full team, right?” he says. “It was a long day, but I’m more than happy to make us dinner. You’ve had a very long week, and you deserve something nice tonight.”

You don’t know what it’s like to live in a body that can do that kind of labor day after day and still have the energy to cook or run errands or take care of things around the house. To take care of you. And your week has been long, starting with straining your back at the market over the weekend, that strain just snowballing until you were panicking over whether you’d be able to finish your holonet orders on time. Brasso ended up sending a droid from the shop to help you—a little C1-unit with a curved, green dome who was more than happy to sit with you in your office and label packages, despite some sniffing and pawing from the two tooka residents of your home.

“Okay,” you say. “I don’t know how you do all of the things you do. Promise me you’ll rest tomorrow.”

“Anything for you, love,” Brasso says, pulling away from the parking space. “Absolutely anything.”

This wasn’t how it usually went for you. Usually when the two of you ended up at the med center it was you stuck in bed exhausted and hooked up to an IV. Usually Brasso was pulling up the chair to sit as close to you as possible, holding your hand, fretting as med droids came in and out of the room. But today on his way back from the spaceport Brasso’s speeder had been side-swiped. A hit-and-run. The med center had called you when he was admitted. And when you’d arrived, he’d insisted he was fine. But as soon as a med droid arrived to administer medications, you learned that Brasso had fractured three ribs and had severe bruising on his chest and shoulder.

You’d never seen him like this before, and you held back tears as you dragged that chair from across the room so you could sit next to the bed as you smoothed Brasso’s hair away from his face, revealing a cut he hadn’t mentioned.

“You hit your head,” you say. “Do you have a concussion?”

“It’s minor,” he said, taking your hand and kissing your wrist. “I should be able to get out of here soon.”

“I want to talk to the doctor.”

“I promise, love, I’m fine,” he said. “Nothing a little bacta won’t solve.”

“That’s what you said when you dropped an entire engine on your foot.”

“I should have been wearing better shoes.”

“But you weren’t. And I had to get Vetch to bar you from the yard until you’d healed properly.”

You’d never imagined that Vetch would be a regular part of your life but, after the war, the Urodel had reached out to Brasso, told him he was looking for work and he wasn’t keen to return to Ferrix after how things had ended for him there. He’d always been a bit of an outcast, a strange but sweet individual who—like you—had hoped that things would blow over on Ferrix far before they did. And when he ran, it was self-preservation—the fist of the Empire came down much harder on folks who weren’t human. You’d never been close, but he’d gone missing early on, and was one of the many beings that you thought about on those cold Ferrix nights wondering if you needed to leave before you disappeared too, hoping that every one of those missing beings had left on their own terms.

So you’d offered up your couch to Vetch for a couple of weeks, and Brasso had helped him find salvage work at another scrap yard. Soon he was back on his feet. And when Brasso was starting his own business, he’d asked Vetch to join his small team. Now, the Urodel was family. And when he’d told you that Brasso was trying to walk around on his broken foot just days after the accident, you’d asked him to do you a favor. Vetch was the only person you knew who could outmatch your partner in size and strength, so he was effective in making sure Brasso kept to the work he could do sitting down until the doctor cleared him to do physical labor again.

Brasso sighed, taking both of your hands in his. “I don’t want you to worry about me. This is not a big deal.”

The tears you’d been holding back began to spill over. “Brass, this is a huge deal. Do you know how lucky you are that this wasn’t worse? If I lost you—”

Brasso tried to sit up in bed and you put a hand on his shoulder to ease him back down. Maybe it was the pain in his ribs, but he didn’t resist. Instead he turned to his side and shuffled over, patting the cot. “I’m here,” he said. “Will you lay down with me? I just need to hold you.”

So you climbed into the bed with him, thanking the stars for its generous size due to the larger species that this med center also served. Brasso started to brush your tears away—but the familiar touch as he caressed your face with his rough hands somehow made you tear up again. And he pulled you close, wrapping his big arms around you, hazel eyes bright as he met your gaze.

“It wasn’t worse,” he says. “After everything, I’m not letting a speeder wreck take me away from you. It isn’t happening, all right?”

You nod, knowing he can’t actually promise this, but trying to believe him anyway.

“Those last few years,” you said. “Before you came back…I’d started to think you were dead. And for a moment when the med center called me—”

“I’m here, darling,” he said, touching his forehead to yours, his dark hair brushing your cheek. “I’m never leaving you again.”

He kissed you and for a split second you could almost believe you weren’t in a stiff cot in a sterile room. Running your hand through his hair, the ends just brushing his collar, you thought about all the silver strands that have come in, how many of your friends from Ferrix had never grown old enough to have a single gray hair. How lucky you were that he was still alive, this beautiful man whose face you’d seen on so many wanted posters for years, every day hoping he was safe.

“Say it again,” you asked.

“I’m never leaving you,” he said, his voice soft. “Ever again. I promise.”

It’s after dark when Brasso sends you to the couch to rest with a cup of tea. He’s rinsing dishes and packing up leftovers and rinsing dishes, the tookas pawing at his legs as they wait for him to put down a plate of scraps for them.

“Are you sure you don’t need—” you say.

“Of course I’m sure,” Brasso says. “You hurt yourself this week and you need to take it easy. Let me just finish up here and I’ll bring you something for your back, love.”

You sigh. He’s right. The pain isn’t as bad as the day before, but it’s still there and you know he sees right through you when you say you’re fine. He always has. “I just hate this feeling. Like one day you’ll wake up and it will feel like a burden, how sometimes I can’t help with even the smallest things.”

Immediately, Brasso is at your side, kneeling, one of his big hands resting on your knee. “Look at me,” he says. “I need you to know that that will never happen. I know there are things you can’t do, and that some days that will be worse than others. I knew that back on Ferrix, I knew that when I came to find you after the war, I knew that when I married you and I know that today. Darling, you could never, ever be a burden to me. I need you to believe me.”

“I don’t know what to say, Brass,” you say.

“Just tell me you understand.”

“I do.”

“Okay,” he says, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek. “What needs doing is done. Everything else can wait until tomorrow. Let me get you the bacta spray. That’s been helping, right?”

“It has.”

He gets up and you can hear him rummaging around one of the drawers in the refresher, cursing under his breath as he nearly trips over the tookas chasing each other down the hallway. When he returns to your side he helps you apply the spray to your neck and shoulders, and then your lower back where the pain has been worst. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding as you let Brasso pull you toward him.

“You’re too good to me,” you say, resting your head on Brasso’s firm chest as he wraps both arms around you.

“I think I’m just about the right amount of good to you,” he says. “Honestly I could probably do a bit better.”

You reach for his neck, the ends of his shaggy hair soft in your fingers, and he takes in a sharp breath that tells you exactly how he feels about this touch. When you ask him to kiss you, he obliges, his lips meeting yours with an unexpected desire.

“Do you want to go to bed?” you ask.

“It’s still early” he says. “But if—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“That’s some really effective bacta. You sure?”

“I just want to be close to you.”

“All right, love.”

Brasso helps you up from the couch, leading you to the bedroom where he undresses you, his tender hands moving slowly over your body as he bends to kiss your neck, the stubble on his jaw brushing your sensitive skin.

“You tell me if I’m not gentle enough,” he says, easing the both of you into bed, under the covers.

“I would, but I know I’ll never have to.”

A stubborn lock of hair has fallen forward, obscuring his eyes, and you tuck it back behind his ear, eliciting a smile before he captures your lips with his, his deft fingers tracing the lines of your body, touching you in a way only he knows how. Because he knows you, loves you so specifically and completely that it was almost overwhelming.

As his fingers slip softly past your waist, you throw your arms around his neck and you whisper in his ear: “I love you.”

“And I love you,” he says, his hazel eyes catching the moonlight. “Always.”

★★★★★★★★

Some more Brasso comfort for y'all! Thank you for reading! I hope this fic made you feel seen and loved.

I have a taglist now! Sign up here if you want to be tagged in future fics. (And choose if you only want to be tagged for certain characters.) In the meantime, I’m tagging my taglist as well as some folks who have been reblogging my fics. Love y’all!

@writingbylee @waterpancakeao3 @zinzinina @princessxkenobi @aerynwrites @belfry-bat @phoenixhalliwell @r1-sw-lover @laserbrains @darthanakn @lovedbyth3sun @usernamesarebitches @maul-ologue @operation-spot @writeforfandoms @akgracemk @littlemousedroid @strwrs @saveatruckrideoptimusprime @galaxtc-writings @mintpurplemnm @multifandom-fic-rec-blog @againstacecilia @elasticreality @zombiedixon89 @forresway @diaryofkali @sith-as-heck @alistocats @favficss @themandadolorian @ginger-swag-rapunzel @lyuir @little-wolf-white-peacock @iamsuchanasshat @vvpoisonous @saradika

#brasso x reader #brasso x gn reader #brasso x gn!reader #brasso #star wars brasso #andor brasso #andor #andor series #andor fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #hurt/comfort #established relationship #disabled reader #chronic pain #soft!basso #domestic fluff #star wars #rogue one #uwingwriting

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sleepysak · 1 year ago

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The Bingo Boys* of 2X80- the futuristic D&D and homebrew mashup of a world @samusthedude is DMing!

From left-to-right and top-to-bottom

Daniel's (no tumblr) Stone the Genasi (aka Jasper aka The Rock Dwayne Johnson)

@quaxorascal's Jax the Dwarf (aka Centurion aka "fucking CHUCK?")

My Pétra the Dwarf (aka [REDACTED] aka The Worst Warlock)

@subcorax's Vivian the Half-Elf (aka "oh good he's seventeen")

*(gender-neutral) Descriptions under cut! (Thank you iz!!)

[ID: four full-colour digital portraits of D&D characters, drawn in a style that is evocative of paintings. The first portrait is of Jasper Stone, an earth genasi man. Stone stands in front of a chain link fence at night, looking forebodingly at the viewer. He is wearing a dark grey jacket that covers his entire upper body, with a black hood over his head and a dark grey respirator mask over his mouth and nose. An automatic rifle is held to his back with a black cross-body strap. His short-cropped hair is black, and what little skin is visible is grey and subtly cracked like stone. His eyes are brown, including the sclera. A yellow-toned spotlight shines above Stone, illuminating him and the dust that floats around him.

The second portrait is of Jax, a dwarf man. Jax leans one arm against a wooden bar. The wall behind him has bottles and barrels of various alcohols on shelves. Jax is has brown hair with an undercut and a bun, light skin, bushy eyebrows, hazel eyes, slightly pointed ears, and a full beard, with a braid starting from his cheek and the whole beard bound together with two brass-coloured metal bands. He has lots of dark hair elsewhere on his body as well. He is wearing a black shirt under a blue flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, with the front of his shirts tucked into black denim pants; he is also wearing a dangly brass earring, as well as subtle blue eyeliner and black nail polish. Jax is cleaning a beer glass in his hands with a cloth, his chin raised to listen and watch around him.

The third portrait is of Pétra Carpenter, another dwarf. They have their arms folded on a table; the angle of the drawing is as if the viewer were sitting at the table next to them, and they are looking toward the viewer. They have long dark brown wavy hair worn loose down their back, bushy eyebrows, brown eyes, a round nose, slightly pointed ears, and a short beard. They also have dark body hair on their arms. They are wearing a black denim jacket with the sleeves ripped off, over an old white t-shirt, and fingerless gloves; they are also wearing a black stud earring and a grey trucker hat with text on the front that reads: "in dog years, I'm dead". Pétra grins at the viewer and flashes a peace sign over the bicep of their other arm. Warm light filters into the room from over their shoulder; meanwhile, a shadow in the rough shape of a person looms behind them where the light doesn't reach

The fourth and final portrait is of Vivian Renée, a skinny half-elf teenage boy. He is standing in front of a convenience store at night; a neon sign in the window says "open". He has unevenly-cut straight brown hair with a stark white streak, brown skin, thick eyebrows, green eyes, a long and straight nose, and pointy ears. He is wearing a white cropped jacket with orange trim and rolled-up sleeves, over a black 100 Gecs t-shirt. He is holding his phone close to his face with both hands, and looking at the viewer with an annoyed expression. /end ID]

#sleepy-art #idk what the fuck else to tag it #but hey its these assholes!!!#if youve seen me tag anything 2x80. petra. or van gang. its regarding these guys!!#van gang is petra and their npc besties tho from their backstory #but ya once again thank u iz for yelling at me to actually post them #as u can see by the date on the signature #its been over a year #oops.

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regalokitchens3 · 2 months ago

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2024 Latest 60+ Modular Kitchen Design Ideas

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mohitjoshi041 · 1 year ago

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casagear-home · 1 year ago

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starindiaelectricals05 · 2 years ago

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Single and Double Door SPN Distribution Board

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brasscableglands007-blog · 5 years ago

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brasselectricalcomponents · 3 years ago

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thanksjro · 4 years ago

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More Than Meets the Eye #18- Rung Psychologically Tortures a Man with Poor Snack Management

So, Swerve’s having a less than stellar day, and for once it isn’t linked to his deep-rooted sense of self-loathing.

Good thing he already emptied those stills, otherwise this would be just the hugest mess.

Thanks to some off-panel Whirl shenanigans that took place prior to this storyline, Swerve had Brainstorm put in a few security measures. Of course, Brainstorm being Brainstorm, never does weaponry in any half-measures.

Still, it isn’t quite enough. Looks like Swerve’s going to have to break out the big guns for this guy.

There’s a lot going on here, so let’s break it down.

On the character side of things, it would appear that Swerve is a merciful god of robot booze, as he’s not yet banned anyone from his small business, even when he probably ought to- Fort Max I get, and Whirl has the whole “is also an Autobot” thing going on, but Cyclonus has actively attempted to murder Swerve in the past, and also is the closest thing to a Decepticon they’ve got on the ship at any given time.

On the weaponry side of things, it would seem that Swerve having blown his face clean off his skull back in issue #12 got back to Brainstorm, who- because he’s married to his career and loves a project- immediately got to work on a gun that Swerve could actually handle with his funky little cartoon-man hands. Of course, that doesn’t mean Swerve’s going to get away with his dignity intact, oh heavens no! This thing has a literal smiley face slapped on the front of it. Well, you know what they say: it’s Nerf or Nothing.

Swerve blasts a hole in the Legislator with his silly, silly gun, and the bar is saved from further destruction.

I like to imagine that Brainstorm recorded that victory line himself, because he wants to support his friends, in his own, bizarre way.

Things are looking rough for the rest of the Lost Light, as the Legislators have completely flooded the ship with their forces, as the crew do their best to fight them off. Blaster’s had his titty compartment blasted open. Huffer is screaming. The medics have taken to violence. Skids has broken out the brass knuckles and is making god-awful math puns. The Legislators are still coming, without any end in sight. It’s a real shitshow.

Over on Luna 1, it would appear that Ratchet immediately passed out after seeing Pharma, which is a fair response to seeing someone who’s supposed to be very much dead, I think. Pharma calls Lockdown, they have a bit of banter, and then the scene moves on to whatever Cyclonus and Whirl are doing.

Because these two are the only ones on the away team who can actually fly, they’ve broken off from the rest. Whirl’s getting antsy, and decides he’s gonna fight something. Cyclonus, though he does mention that Rodimus told them not to do exactly what Whirl is suggesting, seems to agree with this line of thought.

Speaking of Rodimus, him and the rest of the gang are zipping around on those M.A.R.B.s, though it appears as if some of the passengers have switched drivers. Rung’s over with Chromedome now, holding on to him for dear life. Maybe they’re having an impromptu grief counseling session as they run from danger. Tailgate’s with Rodimus, and he’s just pointed out that Ratchet got left behind. Rodimus can’t deal with that right now, though, and decides that they need to get away from all these gotdang Decepticons and then figure out their next step.

Then he’s distracted by the literal lineup of dead Titans just hanging out on the moon.

Luna 1’s kinda fucked up.

Cutting back to our framing device- nope, still haven’t gotten caught up with the present yet- Ambus asks what Rodimus did next. Well, a lot happened. A lot. Chromedome jumped out of his therapy session with Rung and transforms into his alt, which I want to say is the only time he’ll do it in MTMTE. Whirl and Cyclonus are faffing about in the sky, more or less toying with the Decepticons following them. Rodimus wants to pull another Fantastic Voyage, much to Tailgate’s horror.

Rodimus zooms into the first crack he sees, but doesn’t manage to lose his attackers. Tailgate provides commentary, as Rodimus wraps the little guy around his neck like a cape, leaps from the M.A.R.B., and does some super sick gymnastics, hanging from a pipe jutting out of the ceiling as the guys who were chasing them run into… well, I assume each other, but it’s not terribly clear.

Crisis avoided, Rodimus drops down, transforming as he does. Tailgate goes with him, because gravity is still a thing on the moon, and we get a reminder that he’s only got a couple days left to live. Unfortunately, it would appear he’ll be spending his final days rotting in a prison cell, as Lockdown shows up with everyone else in handcuffs, forcing Rodimus to come quietly. Everyone seems very put out by this whole situation, especially Brainstorm. He’s downright furious, probably because he got captured by the guy with a fish butt on his head.

Oh, the indignity of it all!

Then again, maybe he’s just focused on working up the cajones to ask just what the hell is going on on this super weird moon. Lockdown obviously isn’t a bad enough dude to be running this operation- we saw what happened the last time he went against someone who actually had the time to plan something out- so our away team has deduced that there’s someone higher up on the food chain here. Also, there’s the whole issue of money clearly being a major factor in all this.

That sort of tech doesn’t just fall out of the sky.

As they’re being walked down this corridor of tension building, Chromedome spies Ultra Magnus in an adjoining hallway. He calls to him, but is very solidly ignored. But there’s no time to worry about Magnus being a rude shit, because it’s time for character reveals!

There’s an interesting little detail about Tyrest’s character, which is a little hard to see given the layout of the art for this page, but here it is, on the end of his staff:

Now, I know that the Autobot badge was appropriated from a symbol meant to represent Primus, but that was millions of years ago. So much for being a neutral party, huh Tyrest?

Rodimus is real peeved about being chased, shot at, arrested, and held against his will, and fully intends to give Tyrest a piece of his mind. Tyrest isn’t interested, however, telling him to shove a sock in it, or be “held in contempt.” While this is happening, Perceptor and Brainstorm have noticed the positively humongous and positively ancient space bridge that Tyrest just has lying around in this room.

Oh no, this is about the baby field from last issue, isn’t it? Brainstorm’s going to jail for infant arson.

Rodimus greatly dislikes this whole situation, and expresses himself through the art of verbal abuse. Smash cut to them back in the cell, Ambus not seeming terribly impressed with how Rodimus handled himself with Tyrest.

The tale is finished, we know where we were. Now how to move forward?

Chromedome asks for a bit more information on our new friend, because the whole “Ambus” thing is throwing him off, and with good reason: how do you tell your late husband’s ex that you had to blow up your mutual partner to keep him from being eaten by a lippy bastard? But this isn’t the illustrious Dominus Ambus- this is MINIMUS Ambus, the lesser known brother. Chromedome/Dominus isn’t completely taken off the table, however, as Minimus uses some awkward phrases that seems to tell me Dominus isn’t confirmed dead.

Rung wants to know what Minimus’ whole deal is, seeing as he’s also in prison with the lot of them. Minimus explains that he’d been moving a shipment of energon derivatives, when Tyrest had arrested him for having traces of space cocaine in his goods.

Was taking his eye really necessary, Tyrest?

Minimus was placed into custody years ago, and has been awaiting trial this whole time. Not exactly sure why, seeing as this moon isn’t exactly off the chain populated. Maybe Tyrest’s just been busy doing things that are absolutely NOT nefarious in any form or fashion whatsoever.

Minimus mentions that he’s lost his Autobot badge, and Rung offers to let him borrow his own- which we’ve never seen him wear because it’s apparently too big for him- but Minimus would rather he wear it himself.

Tailgate doesn’t take to this bit of information about the appeals system very well, seeing as he’s not got years to wait around. He’s beginning to panic, not trusting Cyclonus and Whirl to break them out, and starts needling the others to do something. Brainstorm reveals that his briefcase, which he’s had this entire time, as he always does, has an attention deflector built into it, making it effectively invisible to Tyrest and his goons. Rung feels a certain kinship with the briefcase in that moment.

Imagine walking up to a widower and saying “Hey there, honeybunches, how about submitting to that crippling addiction your late spouse begged you to quit so we can bust out of prison?”

Of course, Tailgate’s only told Cyclonus about his condition, so no one’s exactly raring to go busting out, since they’ve assumed everyone present is effectively immortal.

Over on another part of the moon, Ratchet’s finally waking up from his stress-induced nap to find Pharma channeling his inner Jigsaw. Ratchet gives him some constructive criticism on his new hands, but Pharma’s kind of over listening to whatever Ratchet thinks.

Oh, I hope it’s one of those gag gifts where you open it and get hit in the face with a pie. Those are always a laugh.

Back on the Lost Light, Swerve is looking for his very best friend in the whole wide world. I really hope the feeling is mutual, because there’s no way Swerve would survive that sort of rejection.

The doors to the oil reservoir open, looking like the elevator scene from The Shining, and we see what’s become of our dear, dear Skidsy.

Skids is pretty sure all this Legislator nonsense is because of him, and he’s not about to let people die for his sorry butt today, no siree. He’s gonna save the day.

Then again, this is about where Star Saber pops into existence behind him and stabs him through the spine, so maybe not.

Behold, a bastard!

Star Saber in the IDW run is well-known as being a witch-hunting zealot who can and will commit acts of violence over any perceived slight against Primus he identifies in any given living creature. This is a stark removal from his original character, who is so pure-hearted, kind, and generous, he literally adopted an orphan to raise as his own son. So, what exactly happened here?

TMUK happened.

Back in the days before Roberts was a professional scriptwriter, back before IDW had the license for Transformers, the members of the TMUK fan group decided that Victory’s Star Saber was going to be evil. Why isn’t exactly clear, only that it was a decision that was made not by Roberts on his lonesome, but more as a collaborative effort. Of course, this Star Saber isn’t a one-to-one copy of the TMUK Star Saber- that guy was much more conniving and, uh, Hitler-y, than what we have here.

Getting back to the story, Swerve tries to save/avenge Skids, firing with his custom gun, only to miss every single shot.

Looks like there’s going to need to be a rework on the My First Blaster.

Swerve gets beaned over the head with the butt of Star Saber’s sword for his troubles, his visor shattering in the process. Damn, sure hope he’s got a reading prescription, and not anything he’ll actually need to see.

Back over on the moon, Ratchet’s pretty uninterested in playing Pharma’s little game. It’s just as well though, because, as it turns out, Pharma’s an impatient guy. Must be an absolute nightmare during the holiday season and birthdays. He throws open the box, revealing what’s inside.

THAT IS NOT PIE.

But we saw Ratchet’s face over on the other side of the room. How can he be in two places at once? Well, here’s the thing about Transformers…

They’re pretty darn hard to kill.

Back in the cell, Rung’s doing his part as a member of the away team by passing out snacks. Tailgate reveals his awful garbage disposal mouth. We get the down-low on Tyrest.

Once upon a time, Tyrest was an engineer. Then the war happened, shit got crazy, and suddenly he was organizing exoduses and peace talks with genocidal maniacs, and got appointed Chief Justice by the space pope himself.

Rodimus comes over to get in on the little snack party Rung and Tailgate are having, mentioning the Aequitas Trials- the very ones that were recorded onto Ironfist’s brain back in Last Stand of the Wreckers. Minimus comes over, warning Rodimus to keep hush-hush about those, since they’re top secret and all. Kind of a weird thing for you to do, Minimus. Hell, why do YOU know about these super secret trials, Mr. Nobody Trader Guy? Those were after Dominus disappeared, so it’s not like you had an in through your cool older brother.

Rodimus gives everyone the skinny on the trials, despite Minimus being weird about the whole thing.

Perceptor knows all this already, but I suppose it’s possible Rodimus is the only son of a gun who isn’t subscribed to Wreckers: Declassified and isn’t aware of Perceptor’s whole deal.

Minimus moves the topic over to the crew of the Lost Light, latching on to Skids specifically the moment he’s mentioned. Rung does his due diligence and offers Minimus a ride on the snack train. Minimus declines, Rung insists, and the box of space pocky is dropped on the floor.

Minimus goes to help Rung pick up the snacks, as Rung actively hinders the clean up effort.

Minimus is two seconds from snapping Rung’s scrawny little wrist like a toothpick if he doesn’t quit it. Luckily Rodimus is there to break up this positively bizarre situation. And then things get really weird.

Rung’s been watching Minimus since they got here, noticing things that were very familiar- speech patterns, mannerisms, tone, inflection, OCD behaviors, things like that. Once he developed enough of a hunch, Rung started intentionally antagonizing him by making a mess and putting his Autobot badge on in a way that isn’t up to standards. Why would he do this? Why would he want to cause an outburst in someone he just met?

Well, the thing is, he hasn’t just met Minimus Ambus. He’s actually been serving under him for the last year.

That’s a rather dark use of your doctorate, Rung, forcing a man to reveal his true identity by poking at his mental health until he was about to snap your neck over some candy. You did it so well, too.

Maybe you were on Kimia for more than just psych evals. What was your career officially called again? Psyops specialist is what they have listed on the Wiki. Truth be told, I don’t even know what that entails. Let’s look it up, shall we?

...I guess therapy is his side gig?

So either Roberts meant something else entirely, or Rung is actually super fucking scary.

#transformers #jro #mtmte #remain in light #issue 18 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #overthinking about robots #incoming analysis #comic script writing

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monstersandmaw · 5 years ago

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Wow, somehow it's already the second Friday in Mermay! How did that happen? I hope you're all keeping safe and well, and that our little trips to the beach for Mermay are bringing a little fresh air if you're unable to go out and enjoy it. Don't forget that there's the Discord server too, which should join you up automatically if you have your Discord linked to Patreon. No obligation to take part if you don't want to, but it's there nonetheless, even if you're not intending to stay a patron after Mermay is over.

Now it's time to meet Mottle, to whom you were briefly introduced earlier in the week. Next up is a female kelpie with a male reader, and she's not your average shy and retiring forest spirit...

In this one we have a gender neutral reader, but there is penetrative sex, though anatomy is left vague as usual. The reader has had a rough breakup in the relatively recent past, and is struggling with the aftermath of being treated badly, although no details are mentioned. Eli, our tiefling best friend, wants to use the power of the Starfall Coven to bring some good into your life, but you're a little reserved about the idea to begin with...

I'm inluding a bit more in the content because someone asked me to (so that they know what kind of nsfw it contains), so I hope that's ok with everyone. I usually put anything I feel needs a warning in there, but they asked for a little more detail.

Content: fluff, magic, talk of love potions, alcohol (not drunk sex though), nsfw, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, tentacles, and some tender aftercare Wordcount: 5451

“What you need, sweetheart, is a fucking love potion,” Eli grinned, drunk as anything and listing perilously to one side. The tiefling meant well, you knew that, but seriously? A fucking love potion?

You rolled your eyes and leaned back in the creaky pub chair. The Inglenook Inn was about as traditional a pub as it was possible to get, with dark, scuffed, slightly sticky wooden flooring, a few old horse and centaur brasses nailed to the wall, heavy beams, and of course, the eponymous inglenook fireplace, large enough to hatch a dragon.

“I don’t need a love potion. I’m not going to trick someone into wanting to go out with me. That’s not the point.”

“I didn’t say what kind of love potion,” the tiefling said, leering playfully across the table at you. “There’s more than the nasty old ‘date rape’ ones, you know? No one uses those anyway now - no one will brew them either. Well, maybe only douche bags.”

“Only douche bags say ‘douche bags’,” you grunted, but Eli just laughed and lounged back in his chair, sharp chin raised as he closed his eyes and chuckled softly.

There was more than one set of eyes on him that night, you noticed, but then again, there always was. His skin was colourlessly white, with snaking black tattoos up his neck and just sneaking up onto his striking face over his jaw, with blood red eyes, and massive ivory horns like a ram’s that curved through his long, dead-straight, white hair. He was also one of the most powerful witches in the Starfall Coven, so you supposed he probably knew what he was talking about when it came to the love potion thing. It did still just felt like a cop-out to you though.

As if he’d read your mind, he turned serious and said, “Let me help you. Seriously, I think I know something that will help nudge things along. It’s not fake, it just… expedites circumstances.”

“Eli, I…”

“Think about it,” he said, backing off. “I won’t push you, and I won’t do it without your permission, but I know what I’m doing. It’s how I got Martha and her beau together after all…”

“You’re a meddling little busybody,” you said without any sting.

“You love me,” he smiled and you nodded.

“Gods help me, but I do.” He had been your best friend for almost as long as you could remember and there was almost nothing you wouldn’t do for each other. That, apparently, included getting each other steaming drunk on a Friday night.

“Another?” he asked, standing and somehow managing not to look the least bit unsteady. His white cervine legs and long, feline tail kept him balanced all the way to the bar, and he ordered you both another round, returning without spilling a drop.

It was a fortnight before he brought up your love life again.

The pair of you had met up after you’d finished work, but instead of heading to the pub, you went for a walk along the harbour wall since it was such a beautiful evening. Fishing boats bobbed and rocked in the late spring breezes, and the salt air was stronger here, more potent and somehow even fresher. It blew the cobwebs away almost instantly, and you paused with Eli at the harbour railings, leaning your forearms on the metal and sighing.

That familiar, aching loneliness threatened to choke you and you bowed your head.

Eli, perceptive as ever, rested an elegant, tattooed hand on your back and rubbed circles between your shoulder blades. Down below in the water, a pair of selkies coiled around each other, splashing and yipping, and you turned away. “I don’t want to be some bitter old arsehole about this, Eli,” you said. “I just…”

“You went through one of the roughest breakups I’ve ever heard of,” he said gently. “The way you were treated…” His solidly red eyes flared and glowed as his own power rumbled inside him and he let sparks dance along the fingertips of his free hand. “Seriously, it’s alright to feel so rubbish still. I just wish I could help.”

Sparks continued to fizzle along his fingers for a while and you stared at them, thinking.

“Eli…?”

“Mmm?”

“You know, I think… I think I’d like to try that love -” You didn’t get to finish your sentence because the sea frothed and bubbled beneath the harbour wall, and your joint attention was caught as another of the merfolk surfaced.

Read the whole thing right now, and have access to a story every Friday during Mermay 2020, as well as everything that’s gone up on Patreon before, and join our Discord server!

#mermay #mermay 2020 #octomer #exophilia

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