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howi99 · 1 month ago

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Son of the blue lion chapter 2

In the middle of the night, someone is entering RWBY'S dorm

*poke poke*

Yang: Mghn.... zzzzz

*poke poke*

Yang: *mumbling* Ruby, stop it, it's too early-

???: *whispering* Yang, i need your help.

Yang: *still half asleep* ... Jaune? Why are you...

Jaune: You got a motorcycle, right? I need to use i-

Yang: *now fully waking up* Woah there! Bumblebee isn't something that i- mfhm!?

Jaune: *placing his hand on her mouth, making a silence gesture* Don't wake up the other.

Yang: ... *Slowly nod*

Jaune: *removing his hand* Now, i know Bumblebee is like your baby, and i wouldn't ask you for help if i didn't have to leave but-

Yang: *aghast but still whispering* You are leaving!? W-why?! *As her eyes get used to the dark, she can see that Jaune is in his complete armor.* Does it have anything to do with what happened yesterday?

Jaune: *looking away* It's... nothing any of you should be worried about. I don't want anyone else to be hurt.

Yang: ... *Shaking her head* I can't just let you go alone, just wait for me and-

Jaune: *fear in his eyes* No!

RWB_: *Waking up from the sound*

Ruby: *looking at the source of the sound* What the... Jaune?

Weiss: *taking her scroll to get a bit more light* Why are you here!?

Blake: *take one look at him* ... You know, if you wanted time alone with Yang, you should have told me.

Jaune: ... Shit.

_____________________________________

Team RWBY is now looking at Jaune, who is now sitting on a chair

Weiss: *massaging her temples* So let me get this straight; you enter into our dorm in the middle of the night in full fighting gear so you could get Yang motorcycle to go fight an evil man in Vale... *Look at Blake* Ever got an impression of déjà vue?

Jaune: *sigh* That's the best i can say, yes.

Ruby: But why don't you want our help?

Jaune: ...

Yang: Wait... Is that man..?

Jaune: *looking at the ground* He was one of them, yes.

Yang: *eyes glowing red* And you wanted to go fight him alone!? Didn't you warn Blake of the same thing?! That she would get killed if she tried going against the White Fang by herself?

Jaune: *shaking his head* It's not the same, nothing is the same.

Blake: Ok, that will be the kettle calling the pot black, but what do you mean it's not the same? I almost died at the dock and against the mecha. Had it not been for my team...

Jaune: We don't have the same goal at all. *Getting up* You want to stop the white fang, yes? Well, what *point to himself* ""I""wants is to murder the sons of bitches who tortured my best friend!

The room turn silent

Ruby: ... Murder? But... You are one of the kindest guys I know!

Jaune: *Turn to Ruby* Well guess what? I'm not! I'm a monster and all of you already know! You just all like pretending i never spoke about my past and what i did!

Blake: You were forced!

Jaune: Forced? I was forced to see a bunch of kids die while they drained me of my blood for that damn crest! But when it came to killing the slavers, you think i hesitated?! When it comes down to killing a man in cold blood, i highly doubt any of you could deal with the guilt! And look at me! I'm perfectly fine!

Yang: No you are not! You told us how awful you felt after killing them even if it was to save others!

Jaune: *punching the wall, leaving a hole* CAN'T YOU SHUT UP!?

Yang: *flinching, then goes to say her piece of mind before stopping, as she sees him cry*

Jaune: *trying to wipe his tears* I CAN'T LET YOU GET HURT DAMN IT! I-I CAN'T PUT ANYONE IN DANGER! I... I WON'T LET ANYONE ELSE LIVE THROUGH WHAT I DID! I... I...*Looking at Yang, tears falling slowly* i can't live with the thoughts of my friends getting hurt or killed...

???: *sigh* And what about us? Aren't we allowed to not see you hurt?

RWBY+J: *turning to the door, seeing the rest of team JNPR*

Pyrrha: *crossing her arms* Imagine how horrible WE would feel if anything happened to you.

Nora: *sniffling* I don't want to see more people go...

Ren: And even less our fearless leader.

Jaune: *sigh* Guys- *get slapped*

Ren: *looking at Jaune in the eyes* You really thought you were the only one who had it rough during the years? I saw my village get destroyed, the few survivors getting either kidnapped or killed. You think i... No, *point to Nora then himself* WE never wanted to avenge them? Nora also has a crest, what do you think we had to do so she wouldn't get caught?

Jaune: ... *Sigh* I just... I just wanted to protect you guys-

Pyrrha: *shaking her head* No, you wanted to die a hero, try redeeming yourself by fighting someone who is far above us in terms of power.

Jaune: ....

Nora: *goes to Jaune, hugging him* Please... Let us help...

Jaune: ... *Look at everyone, then back at Nora* Tsk, way to make me feel bad. Fine! You all win! I won't go get myself killed.

Nora: *hugging him tighter* That's not what we asked...

Jaune: ... *Sigh* Everyone, i need help.

Nora: *now looking up at him, still hugging him* Now we are talking!

#jaune arc #rwby #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #ruby rose #yang xiao long #nora valkyrie #lie ren #pyrrha nikos #rwby au #son of the blue lion au

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our-happygirl500-fan · 11 months ago

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When asked about the missing Turtle siblings plot line that had originally been planned for season 3 of Rise it was stated that one of the Turtles missing siblings would have been trapped in another dimension for years while the other would have been Big Mama's Assistant.

While we don't know much about the other missing Turtle sibling the Rise team did tell us that they had been planning to name the two missing Turtle after artists similarly to how the Turtles were named after Renaissance artists & that Big Mama's Assistant could have possibly been named after the painter Frida Kahlo with Frida being the name that was considered for Big Mama's Assistant.

This wouldn't have been the first time a character has been named Frida however as back in 2017 Nickelodeon released a short called 'Teenage Mecha Ninja Turtles' which follows a future version of Mikey’s students who fight crime in Turtle mechs with each one of Master Michelangelo’s students are named after different artists.

There are some similarities between Rise & the Teenage Mecha Ninja Turtles as Frida 'the red Turtle’ is the leader of the team similarly to how Raph was the leader of the team for most of Rise.

Due to how Rise & the Teenage Mecha Ninja Turtles both had 'the red Turtle' as the leader & how they both would have possibly had a character named Frida, part of me wonders if Frida being a possible name for Big Mama's Assistant was possibly inspired by the Teenage Mecha Ninja Turtles & if the other missing Turtle sibling could have possibly be named Kusama after Yayoi Kusama similarly to Frida's team mate from the short.

Considering that we only know a few things about the missing Turtle siblings that the Rise team have told us & we only have the brief appearance of the extra mutation chambers in the episode 'The Evil League of Mutants' as well as Big Mama's Assistant's appearances we can only really speculate about what they would have been like but it is fun to wonder about them.

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtles #big mama's assistant #frida hamato #teenage mecha ninja turtles #rottmnt #tmnt

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lets-try-some-writing · 1 year ago

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Cybertronian Civil Warfare

One wrong move. That was all it took to make Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, mad. Now Strongarm and Sideswipe have to deal with the unfortunate consequences of their actions by participating in Optimus's game.

(First chapter of a fic I am writing that will showcase some of the stuff being at war did to Bee and co :3)

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

No one was entirely sure what thought process led to the current situation, but Strongarm could remember when it started.

The team had gathered to celebrate what was quickly being dubbed the third liberation of Cybertron when it all began. Strongarm and her team, the Bee Team as they were called, were invited to celebrate with Team Prime in the newly constructed crystal gardens attached to the restored Hall of Records. Optimus Prime himself had been the one to give out the invitations, and not a spark had refused. Sideswipe had of course made a fuss about having to go to what he assumed was a formal event, but Strongarm had shut him up well enough beforehand.

Meeting Team Prime in a more civil setting was exciting and she had no intention of missing it for the world. But of course, someone had to screw up. And that screw up in turn led to a series of unfortunate and poorly thought out words.

Primus, did they frag up.

“Look, all I am saying is that I don’t get why you all are so high strung all the time.” Sideswipe remarked as he sipped from his cup of high grade. His optics flared a pale blue, a sign of overcharge from too much to drink. A scowl marred his features and Strongarm suppressed the urge to march over and swat him.

“Why is that Sideswipe?” Optimus questioned patiently from where he sat at the head of the table. The others present had largely continued on with their activities, uncaring of the conversation, but Sideswipe could sense the way the others threw their fields wider, subconsciously keeping an optic on the situation.

“It's pretty bad with Bee. He’s always whining about us using too much energon and he gets angry about us not being up all night long for our patrol despite the fact that we have cameras.” Sideswipe glared at their leader and Strongarm almost burst from the rage pooling in her spark. Did the little glitch have no respect? These were war veterans for Primus’s sake.

“Sideswipe, keep your grievances back at base. We are in a public area-” Bumblebee chimed in, chastation heavy in his tone. The former scout’s optics cycled in on Sideswipe, a sign of agitation that Strongarm had long learned to notice serving under him. Only Windblade’s firm grasp on her arm kept her from getting up to teach the mech across from her a lesson.

“Bumblebee, let him speak. It is at times like these that such issues should be aired.” Optimus sat perfectly composed in his chair, his attention on the red speedster as Sideswipe grumbled and continued, his words somewhat slurred as he continued.

“You all constantly act like you are better than us. You treat us like newsparks. I’ve been functional for long enough! By old Cybertronian standards I am fully framed!” Sideswipe slammed his cup onto the table as if he were a sparkling and glared at the elder mecha present. Smokescreen stood up abruptly from where he was seated, anger etched onto his features.

“You are a newspark Sideswipe. I am still considered young even though I was forged during the height of the war.” Smokescreen’s servos were planted firmly on the table, his doorwings twitching as he glared. The Wreckers at the table paused in their activities, their words quieting as they stopped to pay attention. Their stillness swiftly led to the remainder of the table falling silent to observe.

Strongarm couldn’t help the way her plating clamped down around her as the war veterans present seemed to make a shield around themselves with their fields. It was suffocating to endure.

“That’s exactly my problem! You get treated so much better than us and you don’t act much different!” Sideswipe wasn’t making any sense. His logic wasn’t adding up, and yet his field screamed of outrage. Evidently he had a lot more going on than he could voice. But Strongarm didn’t care to hear it.

“Sideswipe! Don’t be so rude! We are among war veterans and heroes!” Strongarm stood up as well. Her field flared in anger and Smokescreen looked over at her so sharply that she almost felt the urge to sit down. Ratchet slowly began to rise, his servos up in a placating manner as he attempted to speak before being cut off.

“You all fought in a war. So what? I’ve fought Cons and they weren’t even all that bad!” Sideswipe stood proudly despite the fact that he obviously wasn’t thinking straight. Strongarm wished she could sink into the ground as the gazes of the elder mecha present all zoned in on Sideswipe as if he were fresh energon ready for the harvest. She couldn’t tell whose field was whose, but she didn’t need to. All of them were running with an undercurrent of rage, at least those amongst team Prime. Windblade, Drift and his minicons, and Grimlock quickly began to gather beside Strongarm, stepping back from the table as things became more heated.

“Sideswipe, I believe you are not thinking clearly. What you are saying is insinuating a great deal more than I think you intend to convey.” Optimus was still composed ever as the rest of Team Prime slowly began to get up and move. Sideswipe didn’t seem to notice as Bulkhead carefully, and with surprising stealth, pulled the table out of the way in time for the Prime to stand.

This felt practiced, rehearsed almost in a sick way. Strongarm wasn’t sure what to do, what to say even. But she wasn’t given the chance as Bumblebee stepped in front of her and the rest of their team, his gaze surprisingly steely as the situation continued to unfold.

“Bee, what’s going on?” Grimlock asked hesitantly. The dinobot was not usually one to look so… concerned. It startled Strongarm in a way. He was usually always ready for a fight, even against one like Optimus. Here though? It looked like everyone, including the battle hardened Drift, wanted nothing to do with the situation.

“Quiet. Optimus will handle this.” There was no room for disagreement in Bumblebee’s voice. He was surprisingly stern. Usually he was loose in his methods of leadership. However as Smokescreen came over and stood at attention right next to Strongarm’s leader, she felt fear begin to gather in her spark.

This was serious, and everyone seemed to know it.

“I mean it all! I don’t get why you all do all this stupid paranoid slag all the time! Always on our afts about our energon usage and lack of combat training or all that other scrap!” Sideswipe’s field was vicious and sharp, but untrained. His didn’t hurt. But those around them? By the Allspark, Strongarm could feel pinpricks running all along her plating from where Bumblebee and Smokescreen practically emanated outrage.

“Sideswipe.” The Prime’s tone had shifted. It was subtle, almost too soft for Strongarm to notice. But her training under Bumblebee had done her good. She wasn’t a spy by any means, or even a special agent. However the few weeks of interrogation training she underwent were having their influence.

Optimus wasn’t happy.

“I don’t want to hear whatever fragging excuses you have, you old bag of bolts! You wouldn’t be held in such high esteem if you just ended the war when it began!” Everyone froze, even Grimlock. Windblade seemed too shaken to speak, her wings dipping so low they almost touched the ground as she stared on in horror. Strongarm was sure she was making a similar expression as Optimus’s expression changed.

He always wore gentle expressions, or at least a soft firmness or strictness. Now though? His optics were startlingly wide, almost as though he were looking at Sideswipe as some sort of prey animal. Optimus’s posture dipped, becoming tenser and his digits twitching ever so slightly. A true predator.

“Sideswipe, that is enough.” Arcee hissed through gritted denta. The elder femme seemed two kliks away from shredding Sideswipe and appeared to only be kept in place by Bulkhead who glanced down at her in warning. Grimlock was shaking like a leaf and Slipestream and Jetstorm weren’t much better off. They huddled around their carrier unit fearfully and Drift subtly drew his swords, the tension in the air setting him on edge.

Strongarm couldn’t blame him when she found herself palming her pistol on instinct.

“The Cons we’ve fought have been smallfry. Sure Megaton might have been a piece of work, but you could have ended this easily! But NO, you dragged it all out! Our planet DIED because you and the rest of these plasma helmed glitches didn’t want to put aside your egos and end things!” Strongarm didn’t think things could get worse. Evidently she was wrong. Team Prime were all angry. Even Ratchet seemed to be on the cusp of letting loose what Strongarm could only imagine was a legendary string of curses.

Despite that, Sideswipe must have been absolutely sloshed since he just. Kept. going.

“Great and mighty Optimus Prime my aft! All you did was make things worse! We wouldn’t have had to deal with all this Primus forsaken fallout if you had just done the right thing in the first place!” There it was. Strongarm could feel it. This was the pinnacle. One more word and things were going to explode.

“Sideswipe. This is the only warning I will give you. Be silent now, or I will need to take disciplinary action on account of you disturbing the peace.” It was a bit of a stretch legally. However it seemed Optimus, and the rest of team Prime for that matter, didn’t care all that much. The tension was heavy. It was too much.

“Sir, that would be an abuse of power. Sideswipe has the right to free speech. He can technically say what he wants regardless-” Over a dozen optics fell on Strongarm like lasers. She wished she hadn’t spoken, but she couldn’t back down now.

“What I mean to say is that, uh, Autobot law does not permit…” She trailed off, but the wrath of those present was already on her. Sideswipe didn’t even seem to be aware she was speaking on his behalf. A bitter part of her processors resented that. She was hurting her reputation with Optimus Prime and likely the rest of team Prime just to stick up for him.

“What are you insinuating Strongarm?” She didn’t need to look. Bumblebee’s optics were boring into her with such intensity that if he were to be granted the ability to kill on sight, Strongarm was sure she would be dead by now. Still, no one else spoke up. The team were silent save for their unspoken anger which hummed in the air like a dooming court sentence.

She floundered, stress prompting her to rehearse what Sideswipe had said. He was saying things that no one was able to, words which should never be spoken aloud. However as she fidgeted with Optimus’s far too wide optics glued to her, she sputtered out a response.

“He makes valid points!” Oh if looks could kill, Strongarm was sure that she and Sideswipe would be dead a thousand times over.

“How so?” The Prime questioned, his tone too smooth and practiced. It was akin to how cashiers and those who worked in customer service would smile and wave even as they internally cursed to the stars and beyond.

“It’s just… according to the records, the war started because you and Megatron had a disagreement and failed to work it out. Then as the war went on, neither of you were willing to compromise or kill the other…” Smokescreen stepped forward, she could feel his field pressing against her. He felt murderous, so much so she couldn’t bear to look as Optimus tilted his helm ever so slightly in what had to be faux curiosity.

“And it is also stated that the Decepticons weren’t really all that much of a threat beyond their numbers. The Autobots had superiority throughout a good portion of the war, but it was never used. The Decepticons could have been crushed easily if you look at the tactics and the resources available at the time.” Any other words died on her glossa as Smokescreen’s servo pressed heavily on her shoulder, his face so eerily composed that she genuinely feared for her life. Optimus didn’t so much as twitch as he hummed, his optics cycling ominously.

“So that is what you believe. Is that what the history books say?” Sideswipe had evidently finally begun to sober up a bit as he stepped back. Optimus’s field, which had up until that point been held totally at ease, finally spread out.

It was just a flare, but it dropped Strongarm to a knee as she looked up in horror. Optimus was mad. Her plating rattled and her hydraulics tensed as fear threatened to overwhelm her. Windblade, Drift, his minicons, and Sideswipe didn’t appear to be fending much better when she glanced over at them.

“You believe our sacrifices were for nothing? That the countless dead were lost in a meaningless conflict? How very amusing.” Strongarm didn’t know Optimus, she didn’t even try to claim she was acquainted with him to any serious degree. But his voice… it wasn’t him. He wasn’t talking like the Prime she knew and served alongside back on Earth.

However, just as quickly as it came, the tension dissipated like smoke as Optimus straightened his posture, composed himself and turned to exit the garden with only one final declaration.

“It seems you have much to learn. Return to your base of operations until you receive further orders. I do not wish to see you at this moment or for the foreseeable future.” Then, just like that, Optimus left. Strongarm promptly hunched over and purged whatever she had consumed during the gathering. Sideswipe for his part immediately found himself smacked so hard upside the helm by Bumblebee that she was sure he was seeing stars. Those of team Prime were cold as they quietly gathered their things and left, not another word uttered between them.

Ratchet lingered just long enough to throw a hangover cure at Sideswipe’s face, but beyond that, only Smokescreen stuck around until Bumblebee waved him off. They were fragged. Strongarm could sense it as she was pulled to her pedes and put in with the rest of the Bee team in silence. Bumblebee said nothing as he dragged Sideswipe behind him by his right pede, uncaring of the pained groans of the speedster.

Windblade and Drift offered their arms to keep Strongarm steady as her tanks churned in nausea and her vision swam. She accepted it without question, not even having the energy to yell at Grimlock as the dinobot all but threw himself through the space bridge back to Earth.

They had messed up royally.

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It was to be expected really. All sorts of double patrols, cleaning duty, and plenty of additional training sessions made perfect sense considering how badly both she and Sideswipe had messed up. However the predicted backlash from Optimus never arrived. Strongarm spent months dreading it, even waking up in terror a few times in fear of those far too wide optics zoning in on her.

Yet, as the months passed, nothing happened. Bumblebee was cold for the first little while, but he settled back into his usual behaviors within a month. Grimlock seemed to forget all about the incident, Drift and Windblade put it behind them, and Sideswipe spent quite a few weeks in a similar state of alertness to Strongarm before he too calmed. Everything went back to normal without any word from Optimus, not even a transmission or a single set of orders.

Everything… was normal. And somehow that scared Strongarm more than it comforted her. She had never seen Optimus so angry, and from the looks of it, neither had Team Prime, at least not in a very long time.

Her anxiety grew each passing month, until at last, after around a whole year on Earth, a transmission arrived from Cybertron along with its messenger.

“Hey kiddos! I’ve got a message from Prime for you all! It's addressed to Sideswipe and Strongarm specifically, but I am pretty sure it was intended for your group as a whole.” Jazz, the special operations agent who Strongarm hadn’t seen since they took down the Council, stood before them. He was as cheerful as ever as he handed over a singular holographic disc. Bumblebee took it from him before Strongarm or Sideswipe could do so.

“Did he give any instructions?” Bumblebee questioned simply, suspicion lacing his tone. Jazz shrugged and smiled, his visor glinting in the light as he put his servos on his hips casually.

“Turn it on. Whatever he has to say will probably be on there.” An obvious assumption, but one Strongarm found herself somewhat concerned with as Bumblebee nodded and plugged the disk into the terminal. There was a long harrowing silence in the space as the rest of team Bee gathered around, watching with rapt attention as the screen flickered on.

“Greetings. It has been some time since our last communication.” Optimus’s voice rang out clearly in the space as his face pixelated into being on the screen. He seemed completely at ease as he sat in a chair, a series of datapads at his side.

“In light of your previous statements, I have taken the time to prepare an activity for all of you to participate in. All save for Strongarm and Sideswipe will not be forced to participate if they choose to not engage.” She was already being singled out. Beside her, Strongarm sensed Sideswipe stiffening. This was the other pede finally dropping. Their punishment for speaking out of line.

“Before you bring forward any legal concerns, let it be said before I begin that everything I have prepared is well within my rights. The provisionary council has given me the authority to move your team as I see fit, and all supplies and resources used in the upcoming activity have been funded through my personal efforts and connections.” Optimus sat smugly, or at least that is how it looked to Strongarm as he leaned forward, a little closer to the camera. Fear rattled down her spinal struts as she came to the dark conclusion that the whole year of silence hadn’t been because Optimus forgot. No, she had not been so lucky.

He had been preparing for whatever this was.

“Your involvement is compulsory.” Again, a warning. In the video, Optimus smiled, but it was a sickening thing that left Strongarm’s tanks churning. She reached out to hold Sideswipe’s arm instinctually, seeking the comfort of another as Windblade and Drift came nearer, doing their best to offer silent comradery as the words continued to relay through the audio systems of the terminal.

“We will be engaging in a real time strategy game made as realistic as possible through my resources. This game will take place in the uninhabited city of Helex in exactly one Earth month. You will have the entirety of that time to prepare.” A grin grew on Optimus’s face, and Primus, Strongarm felt that same churning in her tanks all over again. She wanted to be sick as the Prime tilted his helm, an unnatural ease to his movements.

“You may recruit whoever you see fit. However you may have no more than a hundred units under your control.” Every word was punctuated, almost as if Optimus had long ago rehearsed the lines.

“Any Autobot you can convince to join you is within your rights to recruit. To make things fair, I will not call upon my team or any close allies amongst the Autobots to assist me.” Every movement was far too crisp, practiced even as Optimus held up a datapad showing a map of the city of Helex.

“Are you putting it together now?” There was a degree of amusement in the Prime’s voice, and looking around, not a spark seemed to like it. Not even Bumblebee.

“You will have three main objectives which will be given to you a day before the start of the game. I have not selected these objectives. All objectives have been chosen by Elita-One and other neutral parties.” This was real.

“Complete all three of these objectives, and you will have victory. However in the event that neither faction involved in this conflict completes all of them, the one with the most completed objectives will be victorious.” Strongarm’s hydraulics threatened to falter as Optimus kept talking. Bumblebee held her up by the arm and captured Sideswipe by his neck guard. Their leader was deadly serious as he listened and forced them to endure.

“Further details will be given to you upon your arrival at the site. In the meantime, prepare for any possibility. This is war, and I have no intention of going easy on you.” Why? Why did it have to be Optimus Prime who they angered?

“Designate a leader and begin recruiting. You will have no resources from the state, so all of your preparations must come from your own sources. My advice is simple. Recruit those with influence.” Optimus smiled again as he leaned forward in his chair, his optics too wide and too threatening.

“I do this not out of malice or bitterness, but instead to make a point.” Not out of malice her aft. There was no way there was not a personal grudge involved for Optimus to put so much effort into this.

“It is my hope that our game will give you a taste of what our war was like. May you find victory, or failing that, learn a lesson amidst this trial to come. Till all are one.” The video shut down with a dooming whirl and Strongarm struggled to not purge right then and there. What had they gotten into?

“So we are playing that game…” Bumblebee murmured, his optics distant.

“You kiddos made him really mad. Well it wasn’t just you, but you certainly played a part! This will be interesting to watch play out.” Jazz commented with far too much cheer in his tone. Was all of this just a game? Even Bumblebee didn’t seem phased.

“He can’t seriously be expecting us to do this- this bloodsport!” Sideswipe burst out, breaking the atmosphere.

“I agree. Isn’t this going too far?” Windblade commented carefully.

“Nope! This is a common game amongst troops, at least during the war. Rion just seems to be taking it to the next level.” Frag it all.

“Then I suppose there is nothing to be done. I shall join this game, if only to give my students additional training.” The minicons under Drift’s command look decidedly unhappy, but Strongarm could only feel a bitter sense of relief. This was really happening.

“We… better get to work.” Strongarm choked out, her vocalizer failing her as the image of Optimus’s grin burned itself into her mind.

What had she gotten herself into?

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #aligned continuity #transformers rid2015 #strongarm #sideswipe #bee team #team prime #optimus prime #jazz #bumblebee #post war cybertron #optimus is a little unhinged #but he has his reasons and his plans #it aint all for pretty reasons

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clingyduoapologist · 11 days ago

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Dude I do love Genji but like, imagine being Tracer and you haven’t seen that angry emo kid from blackwatch in decades and you’re really just excited to be back together with the old gang and suddenly this motherfucker turns up in a sleeveless hoodie and starts going on about how he traveled the world and really found himself and won’t shut up about how enlightened he is now and to make matters worse he chooses to make his entrance by virtually single handedly 1v1ing a fucking mecha the size of a city block with nothing but a sword and magic. Meanwhile you’re out here trying to step up as a leader, as one of the original members of overwatch and yet EVERYONE is like wow tracer genji is so cool and chill, tracer he’s so wise I’m glad we have genji on the team, omg tracer do you think genji likes me??? like none of them even know that this is the same kid who chopped off two of his own robotic fingers hours after waking up with them while trying to impress his doctor and called you gaycer the entire week you came out to everyone. Like what do you even do in this situation

#genji is sometimes sooo annoying I’m kind of obsessed with him #it’s kind of dangerous actually #overwatch #genji shimada #lena oxton

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preciouslandmermaid · 10 months ago

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🕸🕷 my heart is a hornet's nest 🕸🕷

Pairing: Insomniac Peter Parker/Spider-Man x Fem!Reader (code name: “Huntress” + she is Kraven’s daughter)

Rating: T

Summary: It's been thirteen months since Kraven was killed by Venom. Despite everything, you're still in the city and helping a nerd - named Peter - in his garage try and save the world. It's hard to ascertain where your old life as a hunter ends and your new life begins. Somedays you can't even tell if you're moving forward or not. But, the pull you feel towards Peter is magnetic. And it's bound to end in catastrophe if you pursue him.

Even as part-time Spider-Man, Peter knows his relationships with others puts them at risk. He doesn’t want to throw you back into the carnage, into the fray, to the wolves you claim to be so comfortable around. He can't risk it. He can't risk you. And the long nights in his garage are really, really starting to wear at him.

Prompt: "Are you afraid of me?" / "Do I look afraid?"

tags: enemies to Lovers/enemies to friends to lovers, no use of y/n, secret identity, unresolved romantic tension, first kiss, light angst, slow burn, mutual pining !!

🕷🕷 ( read on ao3 ) 🕷🕷

Kraven snaps your name like a whip.

“You’ll oversee this one, huntress.” he says without looking away from the screen.

A mixture of pride and trepidation curdles beneath your skin. Kraven is trusting you, but he trusts plenty of his hunters. You lick your lips. The transfer of Martin Li. You promise Kraven that you’ll put the team together and leave before the hour.

No one questions Kraven’s decision. You don’t get special treatment purely because you’re his blood. In fact, if you look closely (which you won’t), you’d say that Kraven treats you worse than his other hunters. He expects—he demands – more of you.

There will be a target on your back when Kraven completes his hunt and finds a worthy enough predator to kill him. But that’s nothing new. You’ve had a target on your back since you were young enough to understand the way of the world; predator and prey, hunter and hunted, kill or be killed.

You lift your arm-- THUNK!—the throwing knife hits its bullseye.

“Huntress,” a hunter named Erik approached you, “you want five VTOLs?”

THUNK! This one is a little off-center and you blame Erik for distracting you. You exhale, balancing your weight, and lining up your shot. Erik is bold. Kraven named you the leader of Li’s abduction. He shouldn’t be asking questions. Your eyes narrow.

You pivot on your heel, fast as a viper’s strike, and flashing silver spins through the air. It’s beautiful.

Erik makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

Your throwing knife wobbles from where its pinned Erik’s hood to the wall. His eyes flick to the blade. He’s lucky you didn’t miss. Otherwise the blade would’ve sank into his throat or he would lack an ear for the mission ahead.

“That’s what I said,” you yank the knife from the wood, freeing him, “wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Erik says, voice tight and clipped, and his eyes darken. You know he is loyal to Kraven, not you. If he managed to kill you – Kraven would be disappointed, but he wouldn’t mourn you. Nature is cruel and so is your father. You sheath your throwing knives while keeping one eye on the hunter.

Erik hasn’t left which means he could be planning his next move. You tense and wait for the inevitable blow. Come on, you think, try it. You’d be happy to fight off your frazzled, nervous energy. You should probably conserve your strength in case things with Martin Li go bad.

Erik nods, “huntress,” and leaves.

You roll your shoulders and return to the weapons cache. I’ll bring Martin Li to Kraven and he’ll have his wonderful fight. He’ll achieve his dream.

Nothing will go wrong. Nothing could. You’ve been planning this for months.

******

Peter wobbles to his feet, his head ringing. Whoever these guys are—they’re serious. The tech they’re using is insane. Invisible drones. Laser swords. What’s next? A few giant mecha-robots intent on crushing Harlem? He shouldn’t think about it – he doesn’t want to jinx it.

He stares into the face of the capable, dangerous stranger with smoke burning his nostrils and scalding his throat.

Dark soot clings to your clothes, your expression venomous and focused, furrowed and tight. The light frames you, bouncing off the east river in sparks, and refracting over the small throwing knives clutched between your knuckles. She’s fast, like really fast. Fast enough that he’s concerned you have a spider-sense of your own. Who the hell are these guys? Miles kicks a drone in mid-air and metal-on-metal crunches together like a compacted soda can.

Peter jumps before the blade can slice through him. It whistles through the air, hits and – literally bounces! -- off a metal pole. His lenses widen. He twists his body. His nerves ignite with impending danger, but he’s in the already dodging the first blade.

He’s Spider-Man.

He can’t stop physics.

Your second blade cuts through the air and burns when it cuts his shoulder. He lands on his feet, a sharp inhale drawn through his teeth, and resists the urge to check the injury. She can’t have that many knives on her!

Your lips quirk, “are you afraid of me?”

“Do I look afraid?”

“Hard to say,” you make a gesture around your face, “with the mask and all.”

“Where’s yours?” he propels through the air with his webs slung behind him, “I thought--” you deflect his punch, “most bad guys—” you stumble backward when he kicks your chest, but recover quickly, “want to keep their identities a secret.”

“I have no shame in who I am,” your leg swings over his head.

“So uhhh...who are you?” he quips. His palms land flat on the cold, metal surface and his spine curves, his body moving like a question mark, and avoiding the onslaught of your assault.

“Serious question!” he says a little louder this time while your silver knife dances through the light as it carves his webs into flimsy pieces.

A burst of green flares flash against the gray smoke. His heart flips. The raft jolts to the side. They’re going to drag the ship underwater! The heavy-duty spears punch through the metal as if it was made of tissue paper.

“We gotta get this ship free!”

Peter spares a final glance over his shoulder and you leap from the other side. Are you landing on another boat? A life raft? Are you going to swim away? He has no clue. He can’t spare any further brain cells on it though. He slides down the tilted raft toward the giant spears that function like fish-hooks into the industrial, military transport raft.

***

It’s been approximately thirteen months since Kraven met his end.

You’ve found that keeping count provides some strange, twisted comfort. You wake up, check your calendar, and strike another tally mark into the wall. It feels good to carve the line into the sheet-rock, little flecks of white catching on your thumb and falling like cremated remains onto the hardwood floor and clinging to your socks.

Sometimes you run into old hunters, vying for territory, and hoping to claim some scraps that Kraven left behind. Many, however, fled to Kraven’s homeland to play out the tragedy of a power vacuum and continue Kraven’s legacy.

None of them have impressed you. Not the ones that have sought you out, hoping to kill Kraven’s kin, and earn glory. And definitely not the ones who you’ve run into accidentally. Those are the worst. They’re cowards. They’re mice. You stumble upon them, trying to eat the crumbs off Kraven’s table, and your retribution is swift and bloody and a pain in the ass to clean up.

You wonder what Peter Parker would say if he knew. You pull your sweater over your head. Peter, the nerd running a research foundation out of his garage, happens to be your only...well, friend is the wrong word...but he’s your only something in this city.

You aren’t supposed to have ‘somethings’. Attachments, as Kraven would call them. Attachments made you weak. You thought it was hypocritical for your father preach this advice when he had a wife and multiple children. Not anymore though, you finish lacing up your boots, everyone’s dead now except for me.

The cassette clicks with a satisfying ‘CLUNK’ into the player and you slide your headphones over your ears. The player was a gift from Peter. No. Gift is the wrong word. It’s on a loan.

“What’s this?” You cradled the cassette player, “it looks ancient.” You twisted the sharp-grooved circles. They remind you of strange teeth. You click the play and pause button. It’s clunky. It’s right-angles and lackluster chrome and the buttons make noise.

It’s the antithesis of the technology you grew up with around Kraven.

You love it.

Peter rolls his chair over to you, “it’s not ancient. Maybe vintage. God, do we call it vintage?” he sounds so baffled that you almost smile, “you know, record players and vinyl are making a big comeback so it’s only a matter of time before Walkman do too.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond, “do you want it?”

“Huh?”

“I’m not using it obviously.” He smiles, “I think I have a few cassettes lying around and there’s no shortage of music shops in Brooklyn.”

Your fingers tighten around the device. The wild part of you, the part that Kraven nurtured through violence and toxic loyalty, wants to throw the device on the ground. See how sturdy it is and compare it to the tactical, military-grade equipment you grew up with. How many pieces will it break into? A dozen?

You gaze into Peter’s earnest face. His eyes are warm, light mahogany. There are soft lines that kiss the corners of his eyes. You think when he is old, he will have many wrinkles around his eyes, and it takes a second longer than normal for your lungs to refill.

“I’ll borrow it,” you say, unable to accept his random kindness, “and return it before our work is done.”

“Great!” Peter coughs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I mean, that sounds good.”

The cassette clicks, whirring warm in your palm, and switching the song. The subway rushes past in a gust of tepid, moist air that smells both stale and greasy. You scan the crowd. The citizens range from individuals wearing jean jackets with sewn patches, to baggy street wear, to plastic bags on shoes, to gym athletics and smart watches.

Someone gets on the train wearing a camouflage parka. Your spine stiffens. Your fingers twitch to the weapons hidden inside your coat. Do I know your face? You shift your body and peer at the subway windows, allowing the ghostly transparent reflection to reveal the stranger’s face.

As you wait for the right angle, the right lighting, you consider your options. Tail them out of the train—could be a trap, but their numbers are never that high. Get close, press the blade to the artery in their thigh, let them see your face before you sink the blade in and leave on the next stop. The timing would be tricky, but not impossible. Not for you. Bail on Pete and spend the next several days tracking the stranger until you’ve found and confirmed their hideout. An ambush. Quick and silent.

The stranger coughs into their sleeve and your fingers fall away from your knife.

You’re glad Pete isn’t here. You’ve never traveled together and you likely never will. It’s safer that way. It keeps him out of your personal life.

“That’s the problem with attachments,” you mumble to yourself, “you start wondering what they might say if they knew you.”

*****

Pete rubs his eyes with his fists, “do you hear birds or is that just in my head?”

You don’t lift your head from the microscope, “it’s birds.”

He yawns. There have been plenty of late nights in his garage shared with you, but this one feels different.

Maybe it’s because of the mercurial light flickering along the planes of your face.

Maybe it’s the notes by your hands, the edges of your fingers smeared black from ink.

Maybe it’s the unplugged headphone wire dangling from your throat and brushing ever-so-often against your exposed collarbones.

Shit. He blinks, looking away. He can’t get mixed up. He’s grateful to you. You donated the notes first, but then pieces of Kraven’s equipment, and then...you came around more and more. You wanted to see what he was doing, wanted to see his progress, or ‘see how helpful your notes are.’ He likes it. He likes having you around.

But, even as part-time Spider-Man, Peter knows his relationships with others puts them at risk. He doesn’t want to risk you too. And it’s not because you can’t fight. To him, you’re finding your place outside of Kraven’s shadow and he doesn’t want to mess that up. He doesn’t want to throw you back into the carnage, into the fray, to the wolves you claim to be so comfortable around.

The sequences before him blur into gibberish. He peeks up through his hair back to you.

Your name is the first word out of his mouth, followed shortly by “you’re bleeding!”

“I tried to catch the sample,” your voice is laced with frustration, “I can’t believe I dropped it.”

“It’s fine,” he opens the first-aid kit that’s stowed beneath the desk, “let me see.”

***

You blink at Peter. Earnest, helpful, kind Peter. You cradle your hand to your chest. It stings, but you’ve faced hornets stronger than this. The tiny shards of glass bounce colorful reflections from the holiday lights strung around Peter’s garage. The wild voice tells you to dig the shards out with your nails.

The blood is starting to stain the hem of your sweater.

Peter doesn’t blink. He doesn’t flinch away. His offered hand holding the gauze doesn’t shake.

You swallow. Why isn’t he shying away from the woman made of shrapnel? Doesn’t he know you’re lethal?

“What?” his eyebrows lift, “are you afraid of me? Or is it medical care in general?” soft humor folds into his brown eyes, “I promise my co-pays are reasonable.”

His words shatter the stiffness of your muscles.

You say, “do I look afraid?” you extend your bloody hand to him.

His fingers curl lightly and gently around your wrist. He flushes the wounds with water before plucking the glass out with a pair of tweezers. His brow furrows in concentration. Your neck prickles and a tingling sensation travels down your spine.

You’ve seen his furrowed brow a hundred times. However, you’ve never experienced it as the subject. Peter holds an antiseptic wipe between his long fingers. His touch is unbearably gentle and you wish you had something to compare it to.

“This might hurt a bit,” the soft, low rumble of his voice is strangely intimate.

The words fall out of your mouth, “I’m used to it.”

“Are we going to unpack that?” He slides the wipe across your angry, throbbing skin.

“No,” your lips twitch, “unless you have a psychology degree I’m unaware of.”

You’re fascinated by the way his fingers move along yours, light and precise, carefully wiping away the blood and wrapping your hand in gauze.

He says, “maybe it’s time for a career change.”

You smile. “What career?”

Peter chuckles, “okay, I walked into that one.”

His eyes lift to yours and his jaw slackens, like he’s finally caught the creature stalking him in the woods, and his fingers twitch on your wrist. The charged moment hangs undisturbed in the air, sending signals through the ether and rearranging the flow of blood in your veins.

His cheeks flush rosy and sweet. The pink hue reminds you of that pivotal morning a few months ago when Spider-Man gave you a sunrise and Pete’s number and a hope for a different future. Your fingers curl into his. And the carefully wrapped gauze prevents you from feeling the warmth of his palm. The wild voice tells you to rip the bandages off and run home. Your knees bump into his.

There’s always so little distance between you.

It’s a small garage, after all.

You tilt forward and hear Pete’s sharp inhale. There isn’t a moment of hesitation. Not for you. You know when to strike, when to move, and when to hide. It’s been drilled into you since birth. Hesitation is a lack of courage, in confidence, and you’ve never lacked either of those.

Peter’s mouth collides with yours.

Your ever-present and paranoid guard slips and you close your eyes to savor it—savor him.

The pliant softness of his lips melds into yours and your exhale shudders between your lips. His hand slides from your throat and holds your cheek, his thumb pressed into your cheekbone, and your hip bumps into the side of his workbench when you stand.

Peter remains on the stool, his neck arched, and his lithe legs part for you to enter the space between them. The thrill illuminates your chest like a red flare against a black sky. His lips play against yours, eager and a little clumsy, and you clutch the front of his wrinkled cotton shirt.

He mumbles your name.

“Shh,” you nose skims along his, recapturing his lips, because you think words might ruin it. The hanging lights flash their merry little dance. There’s fragments of glass under your boots. Ink stains your fingers, blood stains your sweater, and Peter’s tongue stains your lips.

You’ve experienced blood lust. You’ve felt it pounding through your ears and sharpening your focus into razor-thin virulence. You’re familiar with the excitement of a good hunt, a worthy opponent, a well-matched fight. Spider-Man, you think, I’ve felt this with him. But those were mixed with violence, and blood, and bruises.

This – this moment with Peter – is wholly different. Your heart pumps the same blood, pushing it through arteries and valves, but your hands move to caress, to clutch, and stroke through the fine strands of his hair. Your lungs tremble, not in pain, but in elation. The passion rolls through you in waves of syrup and brushes your skin like branches of fir.

Peter’s phone buzzes – loud and incessant – and he groans before tearing his mouth from yours. His cheeks are ruddy, eyes bright, and his chest heaves with hungry gulps of air. You’re glad to know you aren’t the only one affected by the strong pull of – whatever this is – between you.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta--” he lifts the phone from the table, “hello?”

You watch Peter’s face while he talks on the phone. He’s too expressive. He’d make a terrible hunter. And probably a bad poker player, too. You want to kiss him again just for the hell of it. And feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your palms, feel his breath mingling with yours, his tongue and the blunt force of his teeth.

“I have to go out, um, do you want to come with?” he tilts his chin toward the garage door, “we could – uh – get something to eat along the way?”

You hands twitch at your sides. Your coat, draped on the desk chair, is laden with hidden pockets for knives and darts and small vials of poison. An arsenal for protection, an arsenal for vengeance, the truth of your soul. A soul that Peter cannot – should not – bear witness to.

“Can’t.”

His expression deflates, but he recovers with an easy-going smile.

He shakes his head, “that’s cool,” and says, “another time then.”

You make a noncommittal sound.

***

You finish setting up the tripwire at your apartment door and wipe your palms on your sweatpants. The windowpanes glisten with raindrops, painting the empty corners dark blue, and blurring the myriad of ever-changing traffic lights.

You scratch beneath your ear, upsetting your headphones, and flop onto the couch. The cassette whirs like a little hamster running through its wheel as the song fills your head and blocks out the honking below. You’ve grown to like the city of noise, the city that never sleeps. It’s a concrete jungle. A unique hunting ground.

Tap, tap, tap --

You jerk upright and your head whirls to the noise. Spider-Man perches on the ledge of your window, his red and blue suit shiny and dripping. You cautiously close the distance and begin to disarm the trap before unlatching it. It creaks noisily as it slides open and old paint chips cling to the windowsill.

The cool wet air is tinged with the scent of exhaust fumes.

“Weird time to visit,” you say.

“I was in the neighborhood.” He slips through the window like a salmon and lands soundlessly on the hardwood floor.

You’re going to have to move. You don’t want Spider-Man keeping tabs on you.

“But this isn’t a social call,” he continues, “I need your help with something.”

You lift one eyebrow, “I’m not a mercenary,” then you add, “and even if I was, I doubt you could afford me.”

Spider-Man laughs. “It’s nothing like that!”

You fold your arms across your chest. Spider-Man gives you the vague details of a criminal that he’s had trouble tracking down, could use your expertise, and fighting skills, and so and so forth. It’s a good pitch, you’ll give him partial credit for effort, but you’re not interested in becoming a vigilante – or a hero.

“So, what do you say? We’ve teamed up before.”

Against the symbiote. But, your motivations were selfish. You weren’t helping Spider-Man or trying to save the city. You were weakening Venom.

“No thanks.”

“What?” His lenses widen, “seriously? After my whole speech and everything?”

“Try a power point next time.” You shrug, “I’m retired. No more fighting for me.”

Spider-Man glances around your apartment and there’s evidence of your hypocrisy across every surface. A case of black, tactical arrowheads sits on your coffee table. There’s several target posters hanging on the wall across from your couch with pockmarks embedded into the paper. There’s unfinished gadgets and an open toolbox on the floor near the kitchen where you like to eat breakfast and tinker.

“You’re a bad liar,” there’s a smile in his voice, “just this once, huntress, that’s all. For old times sake.”

You muster the energy to glare at him, but it lacks true heat. “You mean the old times when I was actively trying to kill you?”

Spider-Man shrugs languidly, “we all have bad days.”

That wildness, the hunter that lives inside you, under your skin and in the marrow of your bones is grinding its teeth and trashing into your ribs. It’s hard to determine where you begin and the hunter ends or if they’re destined to forever be intertwined.

You’re a wildcat, unable to be truly domesticated and all your attempts have been in vain.

But, then you remember the warmth of Peter’s lips, his gentle hands, and genuine laughter. You tell yourself, there is room for softness inside of me, for even tigers can purr.

You tell Spider-Man to wait while you get dressed.

“One time,” you hold up a finger, “that’s it.”

“One time.” he agrees with a nod.

Together, you rush into the monotone rain-soaked evening for your first hunt since Kraven’s death.

#spider man x reader #spider-man x reader #reader insert #insomniac spider man #insomniac peter parker #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker fanfiction #enemies to lovers #insomniac spider man x reader #insomniac peter parker x reader #no use of YN #marvel reader insert

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brandwhorestarscream · 3 months ago

Note

Reincarnation au

Oh my, Optimus, Prowl and Starscream?! 😂

I'm imagining the constructicons pampering their leader, and, considering that there are multiple sparklings, making little jokes about the "mini-gestalt"

Starscream has a lot of emotions about this, a lot. But he has the rest of the Aerie + Windblade, Wheeljack, Bumblebee to help(they are also discreetly taking precautions after the discovery). Cybertron's News media are going crazy

IDW Optimus is... reacting as well as can be expected of him, Ironhide (who is the only one I remember) by his side and helping as best he can.

The lost light is now setting up a mini daycare, of course megatron is still deciding (and talking to rung and ravange) but the triplets + drif and ratchet sparklings are still a small team

(Which of the triplets is pink and maroon?)

Im just gonna answer these point for point. Please note, singleton pregnancies for non-seeker mecha are the norm for this AU and Rodimus having triplets is an outlier. Everyone else is only expecting one

1. The constructicons certainly try to pamper Prowl, but he is not reciprocal. He's like a feral cat: he'll accept food and attention but if you try to touch him he'll hiss and bite you

2. Starscream kept the cycle under wraps for as long as he could, and he's not at all keen on letting anyone get too close. It takes a lot of pestering (and abusing Sky's warpdrive, let's be honest here) just for his trine to get into his quarters to look after him. Thundercracker lectures him on taking it easy and not working so hard as the carrying cycle progresses, and he + Skywarp have their servos full constantly running after their workaholic trine leader trying to get him to rest lmao

3. Optimus is... God, I don't even know. How would IDW OP react? It's not like he's opposed to having a sparkling, but it just feels too soon. It wasn't planned, and he's kind of overwhelmed by....... Everything. Sparklings are a lot, being a parent is a lot, and he's still got a crazy busy schedule despite not being an active political leader atm. Ironhide threatens to sit on him if he won't allow himself time to rest lmao

4. It takes a hunch of schedule shuffling but with Ultra Magnus on the case there's quickly an airtight schedule for bitty care that guarantees they'll all be supervised by at least 2 responsible adults at all times during the work day. It's a bit of a transition after the mamas finish with maternity leave (Ratchet only takes 2 days off before he's back in the medbay with bitty strapped to his back smh), but they make it work

4.5 Megatron is still having a crisis over his impending parenthood. This can go one of two ways: he's had sparklings before and lost contact with them thanks to the shitshow of Cybertron's system and it's a repressed trauma response, or he has first-time carrier jitters combined with infinite guilt about The War and worrying his sparkling won't be able to have a good life with his name attached to them 🤭

5. Roddy's triplets are G1 ("Pinky"), TFA ("Maroon"), and Cyberverse ("Lil Red"). Mama Rodimus hasn't given them names yet (aka idk what to call them lol) so for now they're just called their colors. Kinda like Nightprowler was dubbed Lil P for the longest time

#reincarnation au #prowl #starscream #megatron #rodimus

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kismetconstellations · 5 months ago

Text

I found this Reddit thread, the other day, and got a good chuckle out of this particular response:

And, while Shiro having this sort of raw, incontestable, and unmatched power makes him a True Underappreciated Icon, it also stands as the loudest, most glaring testament to the Voltron: Legendary Defender showrunners not knowing what they were doing.

Basic Writing 101 would suggest that, if you intend to kill an important character off, you don't not only open your series on them, but continue to spotlight them as completely intrinsic to, and inextricable from your still ongoing narrative.

Obi-Wan Kenobi's death impacts Luke Skywalker, but doesn't cause the entire story of the original Star Wars trilogy to fall apart.

When Gandalf appears to die in The Fellowship of the Ring, his absence is felt, and impossible to ignore, but the journey of the other main characters continues, nevertheless, and his revival in The Two Towers only aids the narrative's progression, rather than derailing it.

This is due both to Obi-Wan Kenobi and Gandalf not being the central characters of these stories, and George Lucas and J.R.R. Tolkien knowing exactly what stories they intended to tell. And, not just competently tell them, but tell them in ways that have touched and continue to inspire generations of storytellers and story-enjoyers, alike.

The crew behind Voltron: Legendary Defender, however, seemed to have no idea what story they were trying to tell, to begin with, let alone how to tell it.

On its surface, this is a mecha cartoon series about four teenagers and one adult from Earth who find themselves jetted into space to, under the guidance of an alien princess and her quirky advisor, pilot giant robot lions that combine into an even bigger humanoid robot, and fight to free the universe from the tyranny of an evil alien empire. It's packaged as an ensemble show, in the vein of Teen Titans, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Power Rangers, Justice League, most X-Men cartoon series, and so on. Thus, it can be presumed that no one character on the team is more important than any of the others.

While an attempt is, indeed, made to give each of the seven members of Team Voltron their own internal and external conflicts and days in the sun (with the exception of poor Coran, who exists primarily for comic relief, and viewers are scarcely given insight into anything beyond his quirky anecdotes, eccentric mannerisms, and fear of losing Allura), Shiro is overwhelmingly given the most emotional pathos and narrative significance.

The series opens on his abduction and imprisonment.

His escape from Zarkon's ship and recapture by the Galaxy Garrison is the impetus that launches the plot, and brings the five pilots of Voltron together.

He's specifically singled out as the de facto leader of Voltron, and given the most significant role of Paladin of its largest lion, and decisive head.

He has personal ties to all three of the major villains of the first two seasons as a direct victim of their cruelty, and as the series continues, this remains a trait exclusive to Shiro, and Shiro alone.

Sendak is Shiro's personal tormentor, something implied as early as the pilot,

and that continues to be emphasized in Sendak's subsequent appearances.

Haggar was responsible for the experiments conducted on Shiro that lead to the amputation of his right arm and its replacement with a weapon, and feels a sense of entitlement to Shiro's body.

It was Zarkon's ship that Shiro was held prisoner on after losing his crew, Zarkon was the previous Black Paladin, and Zarkon's persisting connection to the Black Lion is a conflict that Shiro ultimately elects to resolve on his own, even if it means a hand-to-hand fight to the death.

There are several episodes (Across The Universe, Space Mall) where the younger Paladins, Allura, and Coran are engaged in comedic shenanigans while Shiro is fighting for his life in explicitly high stakes situations.

Shiro's leadership, compassion, selflessness, and heroism are illustrated over and over again for Shiro's sake, and to it drive home for the audience just how incontrovertibly vital he is in the fight to overthrow Zarkon, and restore peace and liberty to the universe.

"Why are you helping me?"

"As a fighter, and a leader, you give hope."

Instead of writing Shiro as one component of a larger story, making his removal from it possible in the right hands, he was written as the heart of that story. Which rendered excising him from it an exercise in futility, as he is integral to every poignant narrative beat. I.E., his bond with Pidge/Katie being one of the major reasons she chooses to stay with the team instead of venturing out on her own to look for her father and brother.

Shiro is, in essence, Voltron: Legendary Defender's equivalent of Leonardo from the 2003 Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles series--The emotionally beleaguered, self-sacrificing and scarred (as of the end of the third season and entirety of the fourth, in Leonardo's case) leader, who is by far, the most skilled and experienced fighter, and spiritually advanced member of the team.

Leonardo, too, had personal connections to several of his series's most powerful and imposing recurring villains, with two of them (Karai and the Daimyo's son) hellbent on destroying him, specifically.

There are instances (The Shredder Strikes Back Part 1, and the episodes covering the Battle Nexus Tournament) where Leonardo faces higher stakes in juxtaposition to his brothers' lighter-hearted, more comedic exploits, and he underwent the most intensive character arc; battling feelings of anger, guilt, self-loathing, and PTSD before finally achieving inner piece and returning to his family as a more mature, composed, and even greater leader than he was, before.

What the staff behind Voltron: Legendary Defender effectively did is kill their show's Leonardo and replace him with Raphael (Keith). Then, aggressively backtrack on that decision by bringing in a clone of Leonardo who much, much (roughly four seasons) later turns out to have been an infiltrator created by a character with direct relation (Karai/Haggar) to the Turtles and Splinter's greatest enemy (Shredder/Zarkon) brainwashed to attempt to kill the real Leonardo's loved ones. Only for the clone to be taken out of commission during an emotionally-charged confrontation with Raphael, after which his consciousness is overwritten as the Real Leonardo's lifeforce is magically transferred into his body... Just so the newly resurrected and sorely missed Real Leonardo can mostly stand silently around, be disrespected, and do nothing of significance for the rest of the show.

Anyone with any knowledge of the Ninja Turtles franchise, this particular iteration of it, decent storytelling, or even a lick of common sense would tell you that this move is ill-advised, at best, and a terrible idea destined to crash and burn, at worst. But, these showrunners were, evidently, oblivious to their own poor decision-making and ineptitude, and chose to rip out the stitch that held their messily woven tapestry together, causing it to irreparably unravel right in front of their and their audience's eyes.

And, blaming Shiro for that blind incompetence is exactly like blaming that deliberately torn stitch.

#Takashi Shirogane #Shiro #You're nothingness but shining and everywhere at once.#Voltron: Legendary Defender #Meta.#VLD Meta.#This show was helmed by a bunch of hacks who didn't and still don't deserve the incredible character they created.#All I want is to fly with queue.

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