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tinydefector · 5 months

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Other characters' reactions to Megatron in a romantic relationship with human liaison reader.

Question's and Quiries

Megatron x human reader

Warnings: non

Word count: 1.6K

Request and ask open read pinned post.

Megatron masterlist

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Many aboard the Lost Light would be shocked and concerned to discover Megatron in a secret relationship with the human ambassador for the ship. As Ex leader of the Decepticons, whose sole purpose has been conquest and destruction, becoming emotionally attached to an organic seemed unfathomable to many of the bots.

Word of the unlikely pairing would spread quickly through the vessel's corridors and hab suites. Many Autobots who suffered under Megatron's tyranny for vorns would recoil in disbelief and distrust, and even other bots more worried about the human, were they in a decent state of mind, were they being threatened?. Even neutral crew members found it difficult to accept. Had their captain truly changed after all this time? Or had he simply developed a new, disturbing method of manipulation? Either way, keeping the ambassador closely aligned posed serious risks.

Rodimus was the first to hear rumours among the crew of the Lost Light that Megatron had taken a human ambassador aboard as something more than a diplomatic liaison. He had heard it from Swerve who had apparently heard Megatron drunkenly confess he adored them, loved them even.

"Megatron? In a relationship with an organic?" Rodimus laughed incredulously. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Maybe if it was Optimus, but Megatron? He hates all other lifeforms." Rodimus had stated which made Swerve hit him with a cloth.

"I'm telling you he was mopping around the bar drinking Energex like it was nothing, trying to work on poetry, he's fraggin smitten with the Ambassador!" Swerve states while cleaning more glasses.

"The mech may scare the shit out of me but he becomes a sobbing mess when drunk, I can see why he never drunk during the war, could have ended it so much earlier with a drunken poetry night" Swerve jokes, trying to calm his own racing spark after the earlier interaction with the ex warlord.

Swerve, ever the gossip made news spread like wildfire.

Rodimus, Tailgate, Cyclonus and Skids and heard it from him. Rodimus told it to Drift who told it to Ratchet, tailgate told it to Whirl who shouted about it publicly. Skids had told it to Rung, who in turn relayed it to Ultra Magnus.

"Can you believe it?" Swerve asked other members at his bar, optics wide. "The big, bad tyrant of the Decepticons has gone soft! I never thought I'd see the orn." Though said lightly, there may be an undercurrent of hope in his voice.

Tailgate, on the other hand, would be fearful yet curious. A secret admirer of the human ambassador, they were friends in his eyes, he nonetheless knows of Megatron's violent past. The idea of a human so close to the warlord would fill him with terror...yet also he himself was with a Decepticon, ex decepticon.

As for Cyclonus, his reaction is the hardest to read. Stoic and stalwart, the former Decepticon says little. But observation of his microexpressions hints at deep surprise.

When Rodimus approaches Drift with a similar story, having heard it from several sources, Drift doubts begin to fade, he had watched them for a while but now it seemed as if he theory had been confirmed. "This can't be true... Can it? Why would Megatron bother with a human?, he isn't very... open to contact”

From there Drift finds himself in the medibay, Ratchet let out an exasperated sigh when Drift told him about the rumours. "Megatron, caring for an organic? I'll believe it when I see it with my own optics. That mech is still as twisted and dangerous as ever, no matter who he chooses to consort with.”

When news finally reached Magnus, an emergency session was called. Shouting matches erupted as Rodimus and Ultra Magnus demanded explanations, one in shock and excitement the other wanting to make sure This wasn't a ploy. How did this happen under their watch, and what were Megatron's real intentions? The safety of the crew and their mission was of utmost priority, something the ambassador's unusual relationship with the former warlord could jeopardise.

As chaos reigned aboard the ship, few knew what to make of Megatron and his human companion. But most agreed their unforeseen bond, if genuine, heralded great uncertainty for the future...Cybertronians had never tried courting outside of their own species, and so many questions came from it.

Rodimus couldn't believe it when the rumours started spreading. Megatron, in a relationship with an organic? It seemed too bizarre to be true. Rodimus decided to confront Megatron directly to find out if it really was true. He had found Megatron deep in discussion with the human, hands gesturing animatedly as they spoke. The familiarity between them was unmistakable.

"So the rumours are true," Rodimus said abruptly. "You and the... ambassador?"

Megatron turned, his optics glowing dangerously. "What I do is no concern of yours, Rodimus." He tries to defend before eventually sighing and confirming. Megatron said impassively. "They enjoy listening to my writings, and I enjoy watching them when they work on their projects. Now leave us in peace." But when he confronted Megatron about it directly, the warlord didn't deny it. A smile crosses his face as he talks about them.

Rodimus shook his head in disbelief as he hassled Megatron for more information, how did a relationship like that even work, the size difference itself, one being Cybernetic and the other Organic.

Ultra Magnus was deeply uneasy about the whole affair. An organic aboard one of their ships was risky enough, but for them to be fraternising with Megatron of all bots it worries him. He had fought against Megatron countless times and seen the depths of his cruelty.

"Are you certain of this?" Ultra Magnus asked gravely. "Megatron and a human?" Ratchet could only nod grimly in response, he continues working as Drift sits off to the side. “Shocked me when the Ambassador came in for a health check, learned too much on megatron's interface life, for a lifetime” Ratchet confirms.

"What does this mean for our relations with humans?" Rung wondered aloud. "Will they still see us as allies?” he asked, slightly worried.

It seemed impossible that the Decepticon could truly care for another. He feared this relationship was merely a ploy by Megatron to manipulate the ambassador and advance his own goals.

But watching them had changed his feelings on the matter. Watching Megatron lift them up to watch the stars throughout the observation deck. Listened to Megatron laugh, a true laugh when in their presence. How Megatron went out of his way to make sure they were content.

"I do not understand," Rodimus said slowly, turning to his companions. "Has Megatron gone soft? Or is this some new trickery, like dont get me wrong I'm glad that they are happy but does it feel unreal to anyone else?"

Brainstorm, ever the scientist, was endlessly fascinated. "Just think of the advances we could make by studying their physiology up close!" he said excitedly. "Too bad Megsy's being so selfish, keeping them all to himself." Nautica smiled and reminded him that they was a person, not a lab experiment. But privately, even she wished to learn more about these "humans.”

Drift frowned thoughtfully. "The ways of the spark are mysterious. Perhaps even one as Megatron is capable of love." His optics linger on the Larger mech who was discussing paperwork with the human sitting on the table in front of him. Red optics look down at the human softly as they chat softly amongst themselves.

Ratchet scoffed. "Love is it? I'd believe Unicron had a change of sparks before Megatron. Mark my words, this will end in nothing but trouble and spilled energon. That human has no idea what kind of Mech they're dealing with."

Tailgate let out a squeak of surprise. "Aww, they look so cute! He looks like a love sick sparkling!" tailgate was wrapped in Cyclonus' arms as they watched the two.

Drift shoots Ratchet a look, in turn the medic sighs at his harsh words, he knew all too well what it was like falling in love with a Decepticon, he was being. A hypocrite and he knew it.

And yet, as they watched, Megatron's actions remained gentle, protective even, as he spoke softly with the ambassador. Rodimus found himself hoping against logic that Drift was right - that even the coldest spark held the potential for warmth.

Rodimus ran a hand over his faceplate. "Primus help us, the Senate is NOT going to like this." He states while downing his drink. "We'll need to address them, try to do some damage control before this blows up in our faces. Once we get back to Cybertron”

As for the senate, they were outraged that Megatron would fraternise with an organic, Megatron has a long and deadly history of oppression, war crimes, and casual disregard for other species.

Many councillors would express grave concern over any influence or leverage Megatron might gain through the relationship.

Some would even demand the ambassador be removed from the ship for their own protection. Cooler heads would argue for letting the relationship play out, while closely monitoring for signs of abuse or manipulation.

Ultimately, the senate would likely ban Megatron from direct contact with the ambassador until a full psychological evaluation could be conducted.

But after Optimus steps in stating it was inhumane and cruel they allow the two back together.

That night, Megatron spends it under the stars with his lover, both of them trading stories of poetry, philosophy, and astrology. In his spark, this was where he wanted to be, with them, and he would fight to keep that spot by their side.

#transformers #transformers idw #transformers x human #transformers x reader #transformers lost light #megatron #transformers: more than meets the eye #transformers megatron #megatron transformers #mtmte megatron #megatron mtmte #Megatron idw #idw transformers #tf idw #mtmte transformers #mtmte #tf mtmte

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apod · 10 days

Photo

2024 September 12

Young Star Cluster NGC 1333 Image Credit: ESA/Webb, NASA, CSA, A. Scholz, K. Muzic, A. Langeveld, R. Jayawardhana

Explanation: This spectacular mosaic of images from the James Webb Space Telescope peers into the heart of young star cluster NGC 1333. A mere 1,000 light-years distant toward the heroic constellation Perseus, the nearby star cluster lies at the edge of the large Perseus molecular cloud. Part of Webb's deep exploration of the region to identify low mass brown dwarf stars and free floating planets, the space telescope's combined field of view spans nearly 2 light-years across the dusty cluster's turbulent stellar nursery. In fact, NGC 1333 is known to harbor stars less than a million years old, though most are hidden from optical telescopes by the pervasive stardust. The chaotic environment may be similar to one in which our own Sun formed over 4.5 billion years ago.

∞ Source: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap240912.html

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astroboots · 1 year

Text

EYEM #12

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Miguel has to face his worst nightmare, again and again.

Word count: 8,600

Content: body horror, violence, angst. please come in prepared.

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

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Everything is gone.

It's pitch black in here, and it's the only thing he can see in this cramped and confined darkness that's pressing in on him.

There's no air in this congested space. Everything tastes of sulfur and it burns in his lungs. His heart is pounding. Alarm gripping the base of his spine.

He's afraid, but he doesn't even know why. He shouldn't be.

Miguel hasn't been afraid of the dark for a very long time.

With his optical photo-sensitivity, he's more at home here in the twilight than he is in the light.

So why is every inch of him screaming out that something isn’t right?

He moves, trying to make his way forward, but all there is to navigate him is more seemingly infinite darkness.

The only sound in here is a loud beat of a drum that crowds his ears and he can't pinpoint its source. Everything is obscured and he is trapped in this endless eclipse.

There’s no noise that accompanies his footfall in this space. With each step his feet sink into the mire of unsteady ground. If he stops to rest, it would bring him under and swallow him whole. Even a second of delay here is going to cost him.

The thumping noise is still there... It comes harder and faster now, refusing to leave him.

Taking another step, there is something from the dark that tugs at him from behind. It feels like a grip. An unseen hand that he cannot make out in the thick inky shadows trying to grab onto his limbs.

Gritting his teeth, Miguel pushes back against the force holding him, but it’s not letting go. His claws extend, primed for a fight

The loud thrashing beats pulsing in his ears isn't stopping. He knows this panicked rhythm, will never forget it for as long as he lives. It's the sound of your heartbeat as you fell...

He turns in the darkness, and the sight that greets him makes him freeze.

It’s you.

His heart stops.

Your body is wrong, sprawled against the ground, mangled and broken as your arm reaches out trying to clutch at him.

"Don’t go,” you say.

His lungs drop to his stomach. He can’t breathe. Bile floods his throat. He doesn’t understand what is happening.

“Save me,” your voice calls out to him, this time coming somewhere from his left.

He turns towards the second voice to see another you. You are covered in blood. Dried and crusted on your bruised and ruptured skin.

All the fight bleeds out of him. His hands fall limply to his sides.

"Why didn’t you help me?" you repeat.

Your voice echoes in the blank empty space. It ricochets and bounces off the nothingness and returns back to him with a sharp strike to his ribs.

"You promised," you say and the accusation is repeated and threaded into the next, as he hears your voice again, this time from behind him.

"You let me die," a third of you says.

This you is missing an arm. The space where your right eye is supposed to be is hollowed out.

He falls to his knees, but he can’t feel the ground beneath. He doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know how to help or how to save you.

He can lift a 25,000 pound bus filled with school children barehanded. Can incapacitate a genetically mutated rhino-man in ten minutes flat. But he doesn’t know how to do this again. He’s already failed once and he is powerless in a way that a man gifted with superstrength shouldn’t be.

What are superpowers good for, if it doesn’t let him protect the one person he needs to.

Your voice is small and you sound terrified as you look up at him with those wide eyes of yours that will haunt him forever. "I don't want to die."

"It hurts," another you says. It's gargled and pained. Like there are bruises inside your throat.

"Please."

“Save me”

The voices come in a chorus. They swarm him in a cacophony of sobbing pleas and angry accusations. He squeezes his eyes tight, trying to hide from the black void but the only thing that greets him is more darkness. There is no escape from this.

A thick tar rises from the ground and covers him in it, sealing off his mouth and nose. It fills his lungs with a cold viscous liquid until he can no longer breathe.

This is going to drown him, collapse his lungs with the weight of it, and there’s a part of him, if he’s being honest to himself, that wants it to. At least that would make it stop.

This grief in his chest that refuses to leave him. The sound of your heartbeat that fills his every waking moment. It would all finally stop... right?

The darkness swallows him whole. But it doesn't end. It never does.

The weight eases from his chest. Instead of an end, he re-emerges through the heavy muck and grime and slimy darkness, and there is nothing.

Everything is white. A blank empty void of space where nothing else exists.

You’re gone. Every single one of you. And that is so much worse.

Panic rises in him and he calls your name. There is no response, only the echo of his own feeble voice.

He calls and he calls until his throat is sore and raw, but there’s nothing here. Slumping down, he shuts his eyes, trying to forget how he has somehow managed to fail you all over again.

Then he hears your voice calling him. Soft and singular from all the rest.

"Miggy."

He opens his eyes again, and all he sees are your familiar eyes. Warm and loving and the only comfort he’s ever known.

“Nena?” he whispers.

He reaches up until you’re within his safe reach. He holds you, wrapping his arms around you and pressing you closely to every inch of him, trying to make sure you’re real.

You’re warm in his arms. Soft and precious. He presses his face into the soft crook of your neck, and you smell like the ridiculously expensive shampoo you get from that hipster store in Tribeca and it makes the homesickness he’s buried deep inside of him all this time crawl up through his chest to the surface.

He will always know you. This you. The you imprinted in his memory for the rest of time. The you that he wakes up every morning missing. The you he misses so much it hurts him to breathe when he thinks of you.

It’s you. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you, it’s you.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Nena, I’m so–”

“It’s okay,” you tell him, your arm curls around his neck as you pull him down closer to you. “Stay with me here.”

He nods into your neck where he’s buried. Because why would he ever want to be somewhere you’re not?

“I’m sorry. I was supposed to protect you. I was supposed to –”

You shush him before he can finish the rest of his sentence. “That doesn’t matter, you don’t have to do that anymore.”

Your fingers thread through his hair, and it tingles pleasantly as you press a soft kiss above his ear. “Just stay with me here. Forget about her.”

Forget?

He freezes in your arms, trying to process your words.

He can’t do that.

Miguel made a promise to you, the other you. The you that is fighting your hardest to survive and live back in New York. The absolutely mad and crazy you that jumped off the Chrysler building and fell from the sky just to lure him out. The you who makes weird sour faces while staring at excel spreadsheets all day long. The you that makes him feel something again. Who makes it feel like everything is going to be okay after all, every time you smile.

He can’t just abandon you.

“No, I can’t. I–I can’t stay here. I still need to protect her,” he murmurs into your skin.

“Stop, Miguel.” The arms around his neck squeezes down around him harder, and to his surprise he can’t get free.

This isn’t right. He tries to move away, gently prying himself off. He needs to save you. Has to help you. Needs to–

“Nena, please, I need to–”

One hard hand cups his jaw, tilting his head until he meets pitched dark eyes he doesn't recognize that are nothing like yours. “You can’t save me, Miggy. You never could. Don’t you understand? It’s your fault I keep dying.”

The voice is cold and unforgiving, and the grip tightens on him until it’s painful.

“You’re just gonna make it worse.”

Sharp nails digs into his forearm until it ruptures the skin. “How many more of me do you have to kill before you stop?”

“I didn’t, I–”

He didn't... right? Is it his fault? Is it–

"Miguel!"

He hears his name. It’s muffled and far away. Like someone is calling him from the outside.

Distracted, he looks up into the void, easing his grip. The warmth and weight pressed against him fades. He looks down to see the outline of a torso and arms crumbling in his arms. The features of your face fading before him into nothingness against the infinite blank white.

No, no. no. Tears and panic wells up in his throat and pushes against the corner of his eyes.

Why does this keep happening? He shouldn’t have let go. Shouldn’t have–

“Miguel, wake up.” It’s soft and familiar and he hears it again. There’s no anger in the voice this time. No pain.

The whiteness fades away back into darkness. It’s warm here, wherever it is.

Blinking slowly, he opens his eyes. The first thing he sees is your face. The warmth of your eyes, the soft curve of your lips.

"You looked like you were having a nightmare again," you say.

You are here right in front of him, real and solid and alive.

He shoots upright in bed, arms reaching out before he can stop himself from grabbing you as he drags you into his arms, clutching you hard to him.

"Miguel–" you yelp.

Too hard, and he knows it, he can hear the small squeak of surprise as your breath is squeezed right out of you.

He’s such an idiot.

He should let you go. At this rate he's going to crush you. He’s a big clumsy oaf that doesn’t know how to handle you carefully, but he can't make himself let go. Can't risk that you'll start to crumble into dust the moment he eases up, or that the universe won't find some way to rip you from him again.

“Are you okay?” you ask breathlessly.

Bile of anxiety pushes against the sides of his throat, but he swallows it down. Forces himself to relax his grip on you and let you out of his arms.

“Yeah,” he answers, but it doesn’t sound anything like his own voice. When has his voice ever sounded that weak? When has it ever trembled like this? Why are his hands shaking?

You observe him with worry, then you reach up, resting one hand on the crown of his head, patting gently. Warmth spreads down to his chest and lingers.

It feels good... nice.

All he wants is to lean in and linger in it.

Instead his mind refuses to let go. A thousands thoughts pushes its way to the front.

How did this happen? Did he fall asleep? He was supposed to watch over you while you slept. How did he end up being the one falling asleep?

"I won't let anything happen to you,” you say. Your hand slide down to cup his cheek, searching for his eyes.

“Anyone messes with you, you let me know. I'll beat them up for you.”

He blinks down at you dumbfounded. The absurd image of you, with balled up fist trying to fight a supervillain flashes before his eyes. Then he bursts into laughter. It's so sudden he surprises even himself and the tremor in his hand stops somehow.

You pull your lips into a soft and playful smile.

“What? You don’t think I can?” you lean in closer to his face, as you continue. “Yeah, maybe you’re right, but I know this spider-guy, he'll beat them up for you. He's really grouchy and mean and he bites.”

The smile on your face is so bright it’s radiant even in this dimly lit room. You’re beaming from it and his heart starts to swell, chest feeling full and warm at the sight of you.

He wishes he could hold onto this moment and make it last forever. You look like a polaroid picture the way you’re bent over in front of him, framed by the window behind you and the pink glow of light around you like a halo.

Pink sky.

His smile freezes. He turns his head to look back at the eerie sky behind you. The fractured cityscape of cracked purple and pink, with its warped gravity and jagged skyscrapers that signals the end of the world. The universe is calling time up and it’s going to try to take you with it.

It wasn’t just a dream.

Shit! He’s not gonna let this happen to you. He can’t lose this. He’s not going to fail you. Not again. Never again.

The smile on your face falters. “Where did you go?” you ask and your eyes track his, trying to re-establish contact. “Did I lose you again?”

He shakes his head, putting on a smile to reassure you.

“I’m fine. Just groggy. Slept too long.” His eyes flicker away from the window, and glances at the clock: 7 A.M. the two of you better get going.

There is no more time to lose. He was never supposed to fall asleep in the first place. He’d only wanted for you to get some sleep last night after the broken sky appeared to calm your nerves. The plan was for you to rest for an hour, max two, while he watched over you, before the two of you would check out of this hotel and be gone for good. He hadn’t counted on his streak of sleepless nights finally catching up to him.

“Go pack, Cielito. We better get going soon.”

You hop onto your feet, shoving the handful of your surviving clothes into your backpack in minutes.

His eyes roam over the hotel suite. As pompous and luxuriously decorated as it is, it’s altogether temporary. It’s just a showroom, nothing in here is lived in. It’s nothing like your tiny cramped little apartment in the Heights that is now just a pile of rubble.

He misses your apartment.

The place you call your home, and in another time and another place, it is near identical to the one he used to come home to every night.

The one with janky second hand furniture you picked up from Craigslist adverts. With a table that has uneven legs that you have to prop up with books so things don’t slide off its tilted surface. Or the surprisingly nice sofa you found on the side of the street one summer which led to the infamous bedbugs wars you so dramatically retell.

In front of him, he sees you stop and scan the room and Miguel knows damned well it’s because you’re considering pilfering any free stuff you can fit inside that tiny bag. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he sees you duck into the bathroom.

Then he can hear the clang and clutter of you shoveling everything that isn’t attached to the wall into the backpack.

Miguel doesn’t have anything to pack. There’s no point, he’s been doing this for years now by himself without hoarding belongings. If he needs clothes or personal hygiene products, Lyla always takes care of it for him. Easier than lugging things around with him from dimension to dimension.

The only thing he’s ever kept is his wedding ring that hangs around his neck.

He eyes the small crumpled up ball of paper, that is your poor attempt at practicing origami, perched on the bedside table.

God, the thing looks messed up and ugly.

Reaching out to pick it up in his palms, he stares at it for a long suspended moment, at its warped folded lines and squashed head. Doesn’t understand how you manage to still be so bad at this even with all the time you spend at it. Origami isn’t hard.

He smiles as he continues to stare at it, before pocketing the sad looking Frankenstein-frog.

It’ll be okay to keep one more thing won’t it? A piece of paper doesn’t weigh much.

From beyond the windows, the sky has cracked open, with a menacing glowing splinter positioned right above the hotel. It’s like a billboard sign, pointing right at your location. It feels purposeful.

“You ready?” you ask, as you pop out of the bathroom with an expectant look on your face. “We better hurry up. We don’t want to stick around when the Avengers come by.”

You say it lightheartedly as a joke, but he can see the unease in your smile, the way your eyes flicker towards the window with traces of fear.

His hands curl into fists at his side against the sheets, and whatever smile was on his face slips away at the sight of you like this.

His fangs itch. Screw the Avengers. They are not going to come close to you. He won’t let them.

"Cielo, it's okay. You have nothing to worry about. If they become a threat to you, I'll take care of them," Miguel says.

You scoff with a small laugh, as you try to zip up the overfull backpack, but the fancy complimentary soaps keep spilling from the top.

"What do you mean "take care" of them? What are you Michael Corleone, what're you going to–" You stop mid sentence.

The playful smile drops from your face. Your hands come to a halt above the flap of your bag, and Miguel watches the realization sink into your eyes.

“No. Don’t be silly,” you say empathetically, shaking your head. “You can’t fight the Avengers.”

“I’ll eliminate them if I have to.”

You drop your bag to the floor, where it lands with a thud and you stare at him in disbelief.

"No. No you're not. We're not killing any Avengers. Jesus! That’s some textbook supervillain shit, Miguel. They’re earth’s mightiest heroes!”

Your fingers wrap around your wrist, fiddling with the smooth surface of the device, as you turn back around and look out over the sky.

"I don’t understand. Why aren’t we just using the watch? You said you were done fixing it. Why do we need to be on the run? I thought that so long as I leave this dimension that will solve everything right?"

A flash of endless white invades his mind. The blank infinite void and your face crumbling underneath his fingers.

Fear grips his spine, and he feels sick at the thought. Has to grind down on his jaw to swallow the bile pressing up against his throat.

"No," he grits out.

"Miguel, what do you mean ‘no’?"

He shakes his head, and his lips itch with irritation, “We can’t use it, Not until we know it’s safe. It’s still untested.”

“Well, yeah? But the only way to test if it works, is to actually use it.”

“Not on you,” he grits out.

“Okay,” you sigh, clearly frustrated with him. “What do you suggest then?”

“We need to test it on someone.”

You tilt your head, brows drawn together in deep thought. “What, like… animal testing? Are we going to find a rabbit or something?”

“No, not a rabbit. Their physiological and genetic make-up is too different. Even if they make it through, it doesn’t give us an indication it’s safe for you. We’d need to test it on someone human.”

Your eyes widen at his answer, and he can see the moment it clicks for you. You take a step back away from him, seemingly without conscious thought, as if some remnant survival instinct is telling you to keep your distance.

“We can’t just grab an innocent person off the street.”

Miguel snaps, veins flashing with heat as his hands curl into fists at his sides, and a blinding white crowds his vision. “You wanna go back to the void!? Is that what you want?”

“No, but what if it doesn’t work? What if they get hurt? Or worse, what if they die and disappear?”

Something cold drips through his chest and he feels strangely numb and devoid of empathy for the thought of those other people.

“Better them than you,” he says.

Your mouth drops with an expression of disbelief as you run up to him.

“No, that’s not right, and you know it! Let’s just use the watch Miguel, we’re running out of time.”

There is a faint phantom sound of a beating pulse burrowed in his brain that won’t stop. He tries to bite down against his teeth to make it stop but it does nothing to mute it.

Fuck, fuck. His head hurts, streaks of white pain lashing against his temple. “We’re not taking any risks,” he grits out.

Something touches his cheek, and the suddenness of it makes him flinch until he realizes it’s you.

You and your soft hand splayed across his face as you tilt him down to meet your gaze.

“The world is literally ending outside because of me. People are going to die if I don’t do this. It’s not up for debate.”

He doesn’t understand.

Why don't you see that none of that is important. That's not where your focus should be. After everything that’s happened. After everything you’ve been through, you need to be prioritizing yourself. It’s the only way you’ll make it out of this alive. Why can’t you see that?

“People are always going to die,” he tells you. “I can’t save them all. But I can save you. You’re the only one I care about.”

Your hand slips from his face and he walks across the room, picking up your discarded backpack from the floor and stretches out his hand towards you.

“Come on, let’s get going,” he says.

You don’t take his hand. Your eyes are glued to the floor, and he can’t read your expression. The jarring beating noise in his head is getting louder now. It aches and threatens to split his skull apart with it.

“I’m not going to leave,” you say, without moving.

A bitter sound crawls out of his throat and it tastes like mud. “I thought you said you wanted to live. You asked me to protect you, remember?”

“I know, but not like this. Not at the expense of other people’s lives.”

God this is ridiculous.

“Let them die! This world would turn on you in a second!” he snaps.

It already did once, and he doesn’t know why you would care about the lives of people who never did the same for you.

You bite down on your lower lip as if gathering courage before you meet his eyes again.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me so far,” you say.

Miguel can feel his own brows draw tight in confusion. You sound so formal and unlike you, like he’s a stranger to you. You’ve never spoken to him like that, even back when he first met you and you didn’t even know him.

“What are you talking about?” he sneers. Some part of him doesn’t want to understand what he’s hearing even as you’re saying the words.

You smile, sad and disingenuous and it breaks his heart all over again, cause he’s seen this smile on you before and it nearly killed him.

“You only promised me three months until the universe collapsed. It’s happening now, so our time is up.”

His heart sinks at your words. So this is how it ends up again huh? You’re not going to let him save you.

He can’t even imagine it. Or rather, he can. Can imagine all too well the myriad of ways you could die. All the ways that he could fail to save you again. Knows he wouldn’t survive holding your broken body in his arms a second time.

“Cielito,” he says quietly, tipping your face up to his with his fingers on your jaw. “Please.”

The unease in your eyes is still there and he has to look away. Drop his own eyes, and just stand there feeling like his chest is caving in and taking the universe with it because…. because….

“I can’t… do this.” The words come out in a hoarse whisper. “I can’t lose you again”.

“Then let’s use the watch. Now. No test bunnies,” you try again, eyes sparking with something like a glimpse of hope.

Your fingers curl into his shirt, and he knows you’re doing your best to convince him. Because up until now, everytime you’ve asked him something he’s always said yes.

He's never known how to say no to you.

“You might die.”

You give him a strained smile, as you look up at him and his chest aches at the sight of how sad and scared this one is compared to every other one you’ve thrown his way up until now.

“That’s a risk we’ll just have to take,” you say.

Images of you flash before his eyes, crowding his vision. Of your body, broken and mangled and wrong. Your lip split open and blood trickling down your nose. Of your broken bones and missing eye.

No.

Not this time.

Sadness gives into anger. It burns and simmers in his veins until it roars with an unquenchable flame.

“I’m not gonna let that happen.”

He steps forward towards you and at his advance, you retreat, walking backwards until your back hits the wall. You jolt in surprise at the contact, too focused on him that you’re not paying attention to your surroundings.

You have no survival instincts. You wouldn’t survive two minutes out there alone without him.

“Wait! Wait. Miguel, what are you–”

Your arms raise in self defense to fend him off before he so much as touches you. But it’s no use. It doesn’t matter that you’re using everything in you to try to push him away. Doesn’t matter that you’re summoning every ounce of force against him. It doesn’t make any difference.

He barely exerts any effort, circling one hand around both your wrists, and locks them there against the wall to hold you in place.

If you refuse to let him protect you, he’ll have no other choice but to make you. He parts his mouth, holding you firm against him as he bares your throat to him.

One bite. That’s all it’d take. He could keep you safe while he does what’s necessary, you wouldn’t even know what happened by the time you fully wake. It’d be so simple.

Would be.

But there's a familiar sound that invades his ears. The rhythm of your heart pounding painfully hard and fast. The very same sound that haunts him when he's awake and into his sleep.

He looks down at you, your eyes are wide, brimming with tears. There’s fear there.

You’re scared... of him.

His stomach sinks. This wasn’t supposed to be the way it goes.

He just wanted you safe. Happy. Alive. Why won’t the universe let him keep you alive.

“Miguel, please.” Your voice is small, trembling on the words as you barely get them out. “Don’t do this.”

He stops.

Releasing his hold on you, he lets your hand slide back down against the wall.

Fuck, what was he thinking? What was he doing?

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I–”

He stands in front of you, unsure of what to do or what to say as he gazes down on your frightened expression.

There’s a tremor in your shoulder and the wet sheen of tears threatening to spill from your eyes. All he wants is to draw you into his arms, to hold and comfort you to make it better. But how can he do that when he’s the cause of it.

He keeps his distance, staring down at you. He doesn't know what to do.

"Miguel–" you start.

Before he hears the rest of your sentence, there’s a strange sound that Miguel picks up from a distance breaking his attention.

A low hum of an engine, that makes his entire back tense. It’s the sound of something flying through the air. Not large enough to be another helicopter. But whatever it is, it’s moving at the speed of a fighter jet and approaching your hotel.

Everything in him roars to attention as he tears his eyes towards the window.

There is a small silhouette that grows larger as it approaches in the distance against the broken skyline.

Then it's here.

A plated armor of shiny gold and metallic red that hovers in the middle of the sky against your city view of 62 floors up.

A man covered in alloyed iron from head to toe.

Guess that’s why he calls himself Iron Man. Not very imaginative is he.

Miguel can feel you tense up next to him. Before you have a chance to get any funny ideas (like give yourself up) he puts a hand on your shoulder, cautiously nudging you back to stand behind him. He steps forward until his body blocks you entirely from view.

In front of him, Stark enters through the open balcony door moving forward until he’s standing some 10 feet away from you. It is entirely too close for Miguel’s liking.

There’s a crackle in the air as a distorted voice sounds through the speakers of the armor. “Step away from the lady, Big Blue,” the quippy voice that is unmistakably Stark’s says.

Miguel throws a glance at the Iron Man, the way he’s tracking dirt and scraping his clanky metal feet across your hotel room floors.

“I’ve been told by an old friend that these strange occurrences and the looming end of the world are related to our lovely Disney princess over here. So we’re gonna have to take her in.”

“Miguel,” you start from behind him, nudging at his wrist. “It’s okay, I should–”

He cuts you off. “And what are you planning on doing to her if I did?”

Even behind an expressionless steel mask, Stark averts his gaze. A reflexive gesture of guilt.

Yeah, that’s what Miguel thought.

At least the man has the decency to feel ashamed.

Adrenaline buzzes through Miguel’s veins, and he feels the heady rush of it as he unsheaths his claws, primed for a fight. “You’re not laying a fucking finger on her.”

“Wait,” you shout trying to push your way past him, but Miguel blocks and drags you back behind him.

“Don’t hurt him,” you shout above his shoulder.

Christ!Miguel can’t believe you’re still trying to argue Stark’s case when the man admitted he's planning on executing you.

“We’ve built a device that lets us leave this dimension. Things will go back to normal when I’m gone,” you continue trying desperately to negotiate with the bastard.

Stark shakes his head. He takes another step closer, and Miguel feels fire and brimstone crackle in his chest.

“I’m afraid we’re out of time” Stark says, taking yet another step. “We can’t take the risk. We have no reassurance the universe will just reset when you leave.”

You finally stop struggling against Miguel at those words.

“Sorry, Sparkles. No hard feelings. But it’s you versus the fate of the entire universe. I hope you understand.”

Miguel wants to laugh. He's heard that sentiment before.

There is a hellish whirring sound of an engine gearing up in warning, Stark raises his hand as the reactor in the metal armor goes glaringly bright. Aimed in your direction.

Miguel leaps, grabbing you by the waist with one arm and curling his other behind your head for protection. The first blast hits the wall not two inches from where your face would have been.

He pivots midair, crashing into the nearest wall of glass, making sure his shoulder connects with the window for impact to make your escape. Glass shatters around you both as he leaps from the 62nd floor.

The cold evening air lashes punishingly against his face at the descent. Your arms tighten around his neck, and the two of you fall through the sky, in the way you two have twice before.

Miguel cuts through air and gravity, soaring downwards.

He has to get you out of here. Has to throw them off and lose them.

Something sharp whizzes through his side, with a whiny little noise.

Arrows, he realizes. His fangs practically itch with annoyance.

What kind of idiot brings arrows to a superhero fight?

He tears through the air, intending to dodge them, but an invisible force wraps around his limbs with a punishing force.

The only thing he can see is a thin red fog infiltrating the nearby air surrounding him. Some kind of weird, dark magic. Miguel doesn’t linger on the thought for long.

There’s more of them, the stupid arrows. One after another, all aimed with uncanny precision despite the increasing velocity the two of you are falling with.

Miguel should be able to easily dodge them, but with his restrained mobility he can’t guarantee it wouldn’t leave you exposed. At this angle and trajectory, they’d pierce right through your femur.

Shit! He can't risk it.

Twisting in the air, it’s all Miguel can do to press you closer and cover every exposed inch of you that he can. One arrow pierces right through his ankle, another his side between his sixth and seventh ribs.

Fuck!

Kicking out his feet, against the cladding of the building, he tries to break his fall as best as he can as he sinks his claws into the concrete for leverage to climb upwards.

But he misjudges the angle. Miscalculates the weight. Gets everything wrong.

Sharp pain streaks through his leg as he tries to gain traction one last time, gripping with the claws of his feet. It doesn’t work. He falls.

All he can do is brace your fall with his body so you don’t get hurt.

He lands with a nauseating thud against the hard roof below. Back first, absorbing all the impact, and the white blinding pain spears through the length of his entire spine.

Fuck, everything hurts.

He tries to get up, but his shoulder is fucked. The muscles burn, and he can’t seem to move properly, must’ve dislocated it on his way down.

“Miguel, are you–”

“I'm fine,” he interrupts, biting down hard to stem the agonized groan that wants to erupt. “It's fine. We’re okay.”

He takes hold of the sloping roof tiles beneath his claws, the building seems tilted at an impossible angle. It must be the after effects of this dimension warping.

Gripping tight, he uses it to leverage himself upright, ignoring the painful sensation shooting through the nerves of his back.

He hooks his claws into the crevice of the cement and begins to climb. It's excruciating, but he manages it, laboriously dragging the both of you up the short length of wall to settle you on a ledge, where you at least have the questionable safety of steady ground beneath your feet.

Fuck, you’re shaking, obviously terrified. He pulls you to him until he can cradle you in his arms and between his legs, and wrap himself around you, hoping to comfort you.

This is so stupid. He should’ve just listened to you from the start. Should have had Lyla transport you out of here.

Shouldn’t have let it go this far. He just couldn’t do it. Wasn’t willing to take the risk. Couldn’t live with himself if his miscalculation would be what took your life.

He didn’t want to risk it.

But he’s running out of options.

Because he needs you to live. This version of you. This you who drives him mad and makes him smile and makes him want to live again. Singular and unique, and he’s going to love you until his dying breath. Just as surely as he loves the other you.

“Lyla,” he calls out and from your wrist, the familiar amber glow springs up and Lyla appears. “Calculate the location for a dimension jump.”

“What destination?” she asks, simple and straight to the point. For once there’s no sass. Even Lyla must understand the severity of their situation. That more than everything else that preceded this moment makes Miguel worry about just how fucked the two of you are.

He takes a second to think about it. Where could he safely bring you? Somewhere you could be safe without a doubt. A dimension without Avengers or interlopers or mad crazy shit like this that would put you at risk. A place that he knows like the back of his hand.

“Earth 928-C,” Miguel orders.

He watches you, tucked to his side, eyes wide and afraid and guilt grips at his lungs. How has he managed to fuck it up this badly.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, gripping firmer around your shoulders. “You were right. I’m sorry. We should’ve just done it your way from the start.”

“Mig.” Your eyes soften, the worry and alarm melting from your eyes.

It doesn’t last for very long. The scent of sulfur singes the evening air. Then there's a bright flash of red lightning against the sky.

Miguel only gets a split second to catch it in the corner of his eyes, then it’s already flying towards you.

He leaps in front of you, pushing you back and out of the way.

Whatever it is, hits him with the force of a tank, catapulting him into the air. He doesn’t have time to react but his latent survival instinct reacts for him, webbing shoots out of his wrist by reflex, sticking to a nearby wall. It’s the only thing that holds him suspended in the air so he doesn’t drop some several hundred feet below.

There’s a high pitched whistle echoing between his ear drums. He feels discombobulated. Like he doesn’t know left from right and when Miguel pulls himself upright, everything spins. He is sure that he is going to be sick and vomit.

Reaching down to his stomach, it’s strangely wet. Must be the fucking rain, which is… odd, because the material of the suit is supposed to be hydrophobic.

He brings up his fingers into view, and instead of the shin gray of water, his hand is soaked in red.

Well fuck.

There’s gashes in his suit. Deep cuts that’s broken through the skin. He’s bleeding. Heavily.

Shit, he doesn’t have time for this.

Where are you?

He grits his teeth, ignoring the sharp and searing pain as he grabs hold of the cold metal of a nearby banister and pulls himself back up to the rooftop. A groan escapes him before he can swallow it back down.

It’s fine. It hurts. But it’ll heal.

It doesn’t matter. He scans his surroundings, searching for you. What matters is you.

On the far side of the next building, he spots your colorful bright shirt. You’re sitting upright, which means you’re still conscious.

Still alive. Thank god.

Relief floods him until he spots the looming shape of shiny metal above you. Stark.

Your mouth is moving as you look up at the man and even with his super hearing Miguel can barely make out the words you’re saying above the chaotic noises surrounding him.

“Promise me you won’t hurt him, please.”

A cold sliver runs up his spine when he hears you. The realization lances through him painfully. You weren’t arguing for Stark’s case before.

Why is he always such an idiot?

Stark extends one hand towards you, raising the repulsor gauntlet. The blazing reactor in his palm blinds Miguel’s retinas with a sharp pain.

“I won’t,” Stark promises.

No. nononono.

Miguel leaps before he can think. There is no thought or tactics. His brain is wiped blank, driven by pure impulse and instincts: to protect you. Keep you safe. Keep you alive.

He tears through the air, feet stomping down on the hard iron torso and Miguel grabs the hard metallic throat under his hand, putting his entire body-weight into it as he slams down until there’s a satisfying crunch beneath. Can feel the hard alloy skull hit the concrete with a heavy and unforgiving thud.

A blast goes off, and there’s sharp and bright searing pain that burns along his entire side, but he ignores it.

He slams down again, blindly and without aim. Until the force pushing back against him from underneath stops and goes slack.

The light on the eye sockets flicker. Then the robot suit slumps and powers down in his grip. Miguel lets go, letting the heavy suit fall to the ground, before pulling away.

His feet wobble on the ground beneath as he takes a step back. His line of vision askew and tilted. He can feel his consciousness slipping, and he has to shake his head hard, to snap himself out of it.

He needs to find you and get you out of here.

Everything spins. The skyline seems to swim in swirly lines, and he can’t tell if it’s his consciousness failing him or the reality around him is warping.

From a distance he sees your small silhouette, running up towards him, and all he feels is relief spreading through his chest.

“Miguel,” You reach for him, pulling off your cardigan and shoving the fabric of it onto him, pressing it up against his stomach to slow down the bleeding.

“It’s fine. Leave it.”

“No, it’s not fine! Nothing is fine! You’re hurt, bleeding and–” your voice is trembling, and he can hear the tears pushing up against the surface as your shaking hands fumble in your attempt to try to keep the pressure on him to stem the bleeding.

You’re in tears over worry for him.

You care too much. Always did, and he doesn’t deserve it.

To his left the arc reactor engine whirrs as it reboots and starts back up.

Stark is conscious again.

From a distance, Miguel can hear the faint sound of more jet engines whizzing through the air.

From the corner of his eyes, he can see the silhouette of a woman rising in the sky, bathed in a menacing crimson halo of an aura.

Bastard is calling for backup. The two of you have only a handful of seconds left at best.

You're surrounded.

There isn’t enough time. Lyla is probably not even done with the calculations. There may still be errors. God knows where the two of you will end up this time.

But it’s now or never.

“Cielito.”

At the nickname your eyes dart up to his. The fear in your eyes calms when you hear his voice, and he can’t help the faint smile tugging on his lips despite the situation the two of you are in.

Even though he hasn’t earned it after everything he’s put you through tonight, there’s still trust left in there for him. It is more than he would have dared to wish for.

Miguel cups your cheeks, cradling it in his hands. They're damp, stained with tears that he wipes away with his thumb.

He wished he had some perfect words that could make them stop. Wished he could have done something that prevented them from happening in the first place.

"I'm not going to let you die." He leans down until his forehead rests on yours.

"I love you," he says, and he just wished he'd said it to you sooner. Wished he'd gotten to say it more than once.

There's a lot that Miguel wishes he could have done differently.

“Lyla.” His hand finds your wrist and the familiar cool metal of the device. Then he presses the button and all he can do is hope for the best.

“Get us out,” he commands.

A burst of light erupts all around him. Bright and blinding.

Please let it work this time.

You wake to darkness. Everything is washed in a hue of moody blue.

There’s no one here besides you. Miguel isn’t here.

Your gaze darts to your left and to your right, but you can’t make out anything.

You can’t find him anywhere. Didn’t you two go through the portal together? Why isn’t he here?

Panic climbs up your chest and claws into your lungs, you feel like your chest is collapsing in on itself and you can’t breathe. Did something happen to Miguel?

Miguel was hurt. He was bleeding a lot. It comes to you in scattered fragments. The sharp smell of iron filling your nostrils. Slick viscous liquid, sticky on your fingers. The sound of his choked and bitten off pain as he tried to protect you.

You can’t do this. Can’t sit here and wallow in your fear when there is so little time. You bite down on your tongue, stifling the pathetic sob that wants to climb out of your throat. You make yourself swallow it back down as you force yourself to stand up on wobbly legs, and observe your surroundings.

There’s nothing here. Just this dim muted darkness. Just more empty space. There’s no wind here. You’re not exposed to the environment, which means you’re definitely inside a building somewhere. Craning your head upwards, the ceiling stretches high over 20 feet at least and you can barely see where the walls begin or end.

Where the hell are you?

Bringing your wrist up, you press the power button of the watch. “Lyla?”

Nothing.

Oh fuck, you’re all by yourself.

You mash the button with your thumb, pressing a little bit too hard, as you call for her again.

There’s a pinging sound, as the holographic image floats above your wrist.

“Sorry, sorry! That was a rough ride,” she says as she straightens her heart shaped glasses that are crooked on her nose.

Immediate relief fills you at her familiar face. “Lyla, where are we?”

She makes a face. “I’m not entirely sure. I didn’t have time to finish my calculations before Miggy had me pull you through.”

“Where’s Miguel,” you ask, and your voice is sharp and shrill even to your own ears.

Lyla peers up at you, eyes filled with something that looks like concern. “Your heart rate is very elevated. You might be in shock. Do you want me to show you edited photos of Miguel in a bunny suit to make you feel better?”

From a distance you can see a door left slanted. There’s a flicker of blue and amber light from beyond it, and you start to walk towards it.

“Is that a door?”

“Uhm, boss-girl I don’t think that’s a good idea. We don’t know where we are.”

Despite Lyla’s warnings, you keep going, because whatever danger waits behind that door, it’s still better than the alternative of sitting like a lame duck, wasting precious time when Miguel is hurt and in need of help.

You reach the door and peer into the next room. There are holographic screens in the middle of the space raised on a podium.

In the center of it you see him. His familiar broad back hunched over the screens. Dark-blue fabric that stretches wide over his shoulders. You’d recognize him anywhere.

Miguel.

He’s here. He’s okay.

You run up towards him, nearly skidding on your unsteady feet as you begin to full on sprint. “Miguel!”

At your voice, the whole of his back stiffens and straightens up until he slowly turns towards you.

You run up the podium and you feel like you can finally breathe again as you reach him, flinging your arms around his neck as soon as he is within reach. You want to cry with the overwhelming relief that fills up the whole of your chest as his arms come up and wrap around you like a protective cocoon.

“I woke up and you weren’t here, and I thought, I thought…” you’re rambling, words clogged up with the tears you had held back before. Now though, in his arms, the floodgates have opened and there's no stopping them.

“I’m here,” he says.

One hand soothingly strokes the small of your back while his other gently stroke your face, fingers sliding down your throat and shoulder, assessing you.

“You’re bleeding,” he says.

His voice turns cold, gritted out with anger between his teeth that makes your spine breaks out in shivers. “Who did this to you?”

You raise your head from his embrace, looking up at him in confusion.

No, you’re not the one bleeding, the blood is his. What does he mean who did this to you?

“What do you mean?” you sniffle. “I’m not– The Avengers they– It’s your bloo–” your words come out stuttering and scrambled. You can barely think. Your heart is beating so hard you think it’s going to burst out of your chest.

Lyla said this didn’t she? You’re in shock.

His eyes soften at your distress, and he gently shushes you as he strokes your cheeks, guiding you back to his chest. His hand rests on the top of your head as he keeps you there pressed up against him, locked in the protective space of his embrace.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he says quietly into your ear. His voice is so soft and gentle, in complete contrast to the iron grip of his arms locked around your chest and back.

It feels different.

You stiffen in his arms, and his hold on you tightens. Your blood freezes in your veins. Something is wrong.

“It’s okay, I’m not gonna let anything hurt you, Nena.”

Huh?

No, you’re not–

Miguel doesn’t call you that.

He buries his face into your collarbone, mouth pressing to your skin.

You try to resist, try to anchor your hand that’s trapped between your bodies to wedge and push him away, but he only holds you to him firmer.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs into your neck, and you can feel his warm breath gust over the goosebumped skin. The hint of his sharp fangs scraping across your flesh.

Wait, wait–

“You’re not Mig–”

The rest of it is lost in a pained gasp. His teeth sink into your neck. Bright sharp whiteness blinds your vision and excruciating pain sears through your nervous system. Every ounce of strength in you goes with it, your muscles turn slack as you lose control over your own body.

Everything goes dark again.

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: To my most beloved and bestest of clown @thirstworldproblemss. I love you dearly and I am running out of ways to tell you just how much. You're so special to me and I'm so grateful to have you as a friend and collaborator and muse and everything in between.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #oscar isaac #across the spiderverse fanfiction #across the spiderverse #marvel mcu #marvel #miguel ohara fic #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you #spiderverse fanfiction

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talonabraxas · 2 months

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The true origin and purpose of the pyramids

Basic theory of pyramidology is, that inside of a pyramid is accumulating and transforming universal energy called "orgon". Pyramids in their principal shape polarizing physical vacuum on both contradictory energies that is why they can act both as a transmitter or receiver, is a vibrational device which is able to receive, transform, concentrate, direct and emit energy. In an ancient Egypt they were energizing and uplifting vibrations in whole society.

Pyramid contains of a two words "pyro" or fire and "amid" or center. Pyramid is a device with fire in the center. Where center is well known king's chamber. Precisely in this center most of an energy is concentrated from where it spiraling to the top.

Builders of Egyptian pyramids used technique of harmonic resonance. They strictly observe measurements and proportions, which allows connection to the Earth's harmonics vibrations. Using words sacral geometry in a connection with pyramids we mean, that a builders were using same proportions and ratios, which we can find in nature and whole universe namely golden section (phi Φ=1.618033...)

They were also using a principles of resonance and sound to neutralize earth's gravity to be able to move a massive blocks. This effect occurs by tuning sound source to an exact frequency of a material. Pyramids where also connected to cooperative complex.

Egyptian pyramids were build mostly of limestone and crystal. Atoms of crystal vibrate at the same frequency as a planet earth, by this resonance an electric piezoelectric effect is occurring in inner mass of pyramid . Where one form of limestone is used as a isolating material the other form with magnesium is used as a negatively charged coat of an pyramid. It's acting like a massive wire. Granite is slightly radioactive which helps to ionizing air in all passages and caverns. Great Pyramid of Giza has also spiritual connection mostly to Orion and Sirius.

One of the functions of a pyramid is star gate and multiverse vortex. Pyramid as a portal allows people to reconnect with a source unity consciousness field. Energy of a pyramid reacts to operator's thoughts and intentions. It's acting like a huge amplifier for manifestation reality whatever it is healing, communication or interdimensional or astral travelling.

Energy of pyramid

Pyramidal energy of high vibrations calls cosmic is relating to torsion fields. It is favorable for human body and mind and other living beings. This energy is optically breaks, reflect and polarizing similarity to visible light. Pyramids walls attracting energy inside in all directions. This concentrated energy is affecting molecules or crystal structures of matter within a range of pyramid.

Scientists proved that no matter of a proportions, pyramids are amplifying mentioned energies of torsion fields (cosmic energies) and also energies of electromagnetic spectrum. American scientist Dr. Flanagan says, that Cheops pyramid concentrating energies in a very high frequencies and that is based on fact it has five angles. These corner angles of a pyramid concentrates and directing into energy beam where all four meets in the kings chamber.

Pyramidal energy is healthy for human organism as well as environment around and has multifunctional purpose. It strengthens the organism, heals humans and animals diseases, eases a pain of any kind, quickens healing of ambustion. Pyramid is also good for keeping a food fresh and healthy. Great for balancing a water for drinking or watering your vegetable and fruit. Softens taste of coffee, tea and quickens a germination of seeds. Growing never been faster than when you using a pyramidal energy. Strengthens a vitality, defends reproduce bacteria and microorganism which causes a break up of an organic matter. Living cells would not be affected by dehydratation as it still holds an electric charge and that is why plants or bodies would not be affected. Paradoxically if you like to slow down growth of your plants you don't give them any water they will still keeping very well under the pyramid and wouldn't need watering for a long time.

Many people have been personally convinced, that a pyramid is able to recharge our bodies when we are feeling exhausted, heals and tune our biological processes, but also gives us a tool to work with our psyche, consciousness and better connection to a higher frequencies and dimensions of reality. It's only up to us to what extend we are capable of operating these emitters. Many researchers were made in a wide range of branches as for example biochemistry, medical, agriculture, electronics or practical use for every day of life.

Pyramid Meditation and Manifestation Practices

Because of their physical properties and symbolic meanings, pyramids can be used in spiritual, meditation, and manifestation practices. Here are some ways you can use them to expand consciousness and receptivity to spiritual guidance:

1. Focus and Alignment

Just as pyramids form a point, or apex, at their top, they can represent focusing your attention in meditation. Some people find focusing on a mandala or lotus flower can help to reorient wandering thoughts in meditation. The pyramid can serve in the same fashion, whether it’s a figurine, a piece of art, or even in your imaginations.

In addition, you can focus your thoughts on moving up from the base of the pyramid, which can represent your experience in the material world to its pinnacle, which can represent a higher state of consciousness.

2. Energy Channeling

Pyramids are thought to channel cosmic energy, making them helpful tools for energy and even healing sessions. Placing a small pyramid on or near the head or body during energy and healing sessions is said to help balance and harmonize the body’s energy fields.

3. Manifestation Amplifier

The stable base and ascending sides of a pyramid can also symbolize staying grounded in the earthly plane while reaching for higher goals.

Writing down your intentions and placing them under a pyramid can be a helpful ritual in your manifestation practice. It can also serve as a request for blessings from higher powers when it comes to your endeavors.

4. Generating Creative Ideas

Given their association with enhancing focus and channeling energy, pyramids can be in creativity and problem solving when you want to channel higher energies and spiritual guidance.

In addition, the presence of a pyramid shape can serve as a visual and energetic reminder of your goals, aspirations, and unlimited capacity to create.

5. Gateways

Reflecting ancient practices, pyramids can be used as symbolic gateways during spiritual initiations or significant transitions, representing the journey from one state of consciousness to another.

This can involve meditating within or near pyramid structures to tap into transformative energies.

6. Enhancing a Sacred Space

Incorporating pyramids into the design of a creative, meditation, or other sacred space can elevate the area’s vibrational qualities. The pyramid’s base provides stability and grounding, while its ascending sides support creativity, the quest for higher wisdom, and spiritual ascension.

Energy Pyramid Real Fun, Wow!

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sunmafiber · 1 year

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The Benefits and Limitations of Machine Learning in Business

For personnel working with fiber optic lines, fiber id is a crucial piece of equipment. Without interfering with the signal flow, they enable specialists to identify the type of fiber, ascertain the fiber's orientation, and detect the existence of signals on a fiber.

A fiber identifier is a portable tool that enables technicians to recognize the kind of fiber, determine its orientation, and find signals on a fiber without halting the signal flow. Fiber identifiers function by detecting the light signal that is traveling through the fiber and reporting data on the signal's wavelength and intensity.

How Do Fiber Identifiers Function?

Fiber identifiers operate by detecting the light signal traveling through the fiber using a non-destructive method. Throughout the identification procedure, the fiber is not harmed, and neither is the signal. The fiber identifier's main working concept is clamping the fiber under test between two jaws so that it may identify the presence of a signal without cutting the fiber.

Some of the light that travels through a fiber is lost due to absorption or scattering. The kind of fiber, its length, and any other attenuation elements in the system all affect how much light is lost. The technician can ascertain the existence and strength of a signal thanks to the fiber identifier's and Visual Fault Locator detection of light signals and measurement of light intensity.

Fiber Identifiers' Value

While dealing with fiber optic connections, technicians need fiber IDs as a basic tool. These can aid in determining the type of fiber included in a cable, enabling personnel to choose the proper tools for installation or maintenance. Also, they enable technicians to establish the fiber's orientation, which is crucial for splicing or terminating fibers.

Very helpful for debugging fiber optic networks are fiber IDs. They enable technicians to pinpoint the site of a malfunction or signal loss since they can detect the existence of signals on a fiber without obstructing the signal flow. This is crucial for long-haul fiber optic networks since it might be difficult and time-consuming to locate defects there.

Fiber identifiers and Fiber Interferometer can also assist in avoiding damage to the fiber during setup or maintenance. Technicians can prevent mistakenly cutting or injuring fibers, which might cause downtime or expensive repairs, by detecting the presence of signals on the fiber.

#Optical Light Source #Visual Fault Locator #Fiber Identifier #Fiber Interferometer

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sixteenseveredhands · 7 months

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Namib Sand Geckos: these nocturnal geckos have biofluorescent markings that emit a bright, neon-green glow when exposed to the moonlight

This species (Pachydactylus rangei) is found only in the Namib Desert, which stretches across Namibia, Angola, and South Africa; the geckos typically inhabit the arid, coastal region known as the Skeleton Coast.

In order to escape from the blistering heat of the desert, they use their webbed feet to burrow down into the sand during the day, and then emerge only at night, when the temperature has finally dropped. The webbing on their feet also enables them to run more easily across the dunes.

Namib sand geckos are covered in translucent scales, but they also have a strangely colorful appearance, as the colors/shades of their circulatory system, spinal column, internal organs, and optical membranes remain partially visible through the skin, producing various shades of pink, dark blue, purple, magenta, orange, and yellow.

They also have several distinctive markings running along their lower flank and encircling their eyes; these markings are known to fluoresce when exposed to UV light (including moonlight), emitting a bright, neon-green glow.

Some researchers have theorized that the biofluorescent markings may act as a signal to other geckos, allowing them to locate one another in the vast, desolate expanse of the desert, as this paper explains:

The fluorescent areas of P. rangei are concentrated around the eyes and along the lower flanks. This positioning is practically invisible to predators with a higher perspective (e.g. birds and jackals), but highly conspicuous from a gecko’s perspective. As P. rangei is sociable but generally solitary, and occurs at low population densities, such a signal might serve to locate conspecifics over greater distances ...

Encounters in P. rangei might serve purposes beyond mating opportunities: as the Namib desert has extremely low precipitation, fog is a key water source for its flora and fauna. Fog condenses on the bodies of the geckos, and they lick it from their faces. In husbandry, we have observed individuals licking water from conspecifics, taking advantage of a much greater available surface area.

Additionally, after short periods of isolation, the geckos run to meet each other. The combination of vital hydration with socialisation might reinforce signals that enable such meetings, and the cost of visibility to predators with higher vantage points, might constrain the signals to regions best visible from eye-level and below.

The Namib sand gecko is the only terrestrial vertebrate that is known to use an iridophore-based form of biofluorescence (you can find a more detailed explanation of that mechanism in the article mentioned above). The fluorescent dermal markings are also unique to this species.

Sources & More Info:

Scientific Reports: Neon-green fluorescence in the desert gecko Pachydactylus rangei caused by iridophores

Animal Diversity Web: Pachydactylus rangei

Dr. Mark D. Scherz's Blog: A Neon-Green Glowing Gecko!

Australian Geographic: Skeleton Coast - Namibia's strange desert dwellers

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candidoptronix · 7 months

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Deviser Light Source LS310A with Visual Fault Locator -

Its user-friendly instruments project a high-precision, semiconductor-grade laser for stable and accurate measurements.

DifUse the LS310A/B in conjunction with an AE210, 230, or 270 Optical Power Meter to access new paired functions such as wavelength auto-ID. Dual-λ mode switches between two wavelengths rapidly, producing measurement data for both.

#Optical Power Meter #Visual Fault Locator #Light Source LS310A

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internationaldayoflight · 1 year

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Make them Shine with Light.

The Active Learning in Optics Group in Department of Physics at Quaid-i-Azam university are going to organize a one day hands on workshop at Rawalpindi Women University with 4th Semester undergraduate girls student. We will start with oral presentation on ” Introduction to LASER followed by hands on sessions on: • Different kinds of light sources • Scattering of Light • Reflection, refraction, transmission and total internal reflection. • Proving laws of Geometrical optics, finding critical angle • Working principle of Fiber optics communication • Interference of light • Single and double slit diffraction • Measuring Stress with polarisers

#light sources #students activities #light interference #Light diffraction #Light retraction #light reflection #light transmission #laser technology #optics

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korpuskat · 8 months

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Twines Counterclockwise

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (Gender Neutral) Rating: T WC: 3.6K Warnings: Hanahaki's Diseases, Blood, Injury =

It starts with an itch in your chest. Just the faintest inclination you needed to cough- which would’ve been fine, a normal little human thing that nobody thinks much of. Except that in front of you is a holoscreen, displaying blueprints in glowing 3D, spinning as their creator motions to various features and systems. His fingers are long and shine brilliantly when they cut through white, hovering lines. It’s his updated design of the slicer’s laser, modernized, faster start-up, less heat emission, and-

“Sorry,” You interrupt, turn away, and cough.

He stops long enough to look at you, but with his unemotive faceplate, whatever he’s truly thinking is lost. Probably irritation for impeding his explanation, which makes you resist the urge to duck your head. It’s unprofessional, you tell yourself. Instead you settle for purposefully looking at the design, “Please, go on.”

He waits a moment- perhaps debating how worth it is to snap at a human trying to give him orders. Finally, he continues. If he notices your gaze wandering off the crisp, white lines and back to his hands, he says nothing.

You don’t think much of it, even if you’re having to clear your throat repeatedly just to rid yourself of that itchy feeling. Probably a cold, or perhaps the icy antarctic air has finally started to wear on you. It’s nothing, a quirk of being human in a place so intensely not made for humans, an annoyance- until it isn’t.

And of course, it’s when he’s escorting you through his waiting production lines. Motioning up above to the never-ending converters, arcs of welders and robotic arms, waiting so long to be tasked again. He speaks in that rumbling, low voice of his, explains the modifications he will need to make before mass production can begin. His synth loses its regulation when he gets excited, sounding less deceptively almost-human and more robotic. It’s not a bad sound.

He points overhead towards one line. Even for his size, his movements look graceful, fluid. Each joint is wellkept, oiled, and the gold design on the few scraps of cloth that he wears shimmers in the low lights. He motions again, then turns and looks at you- bright red array, empty black optical slits.

Right. The production line.

You fight to keep the facade of professionalism. He continues. This line needs repairs, did not work with London, couldn’t source the parts for it without raising flags he didn’t have the resources to cover. He would need it to be updated and-

And you’re softly coughing into your fist. Ramattra’s head turns subtly, glancing at you from the corner of his vision. You hold up a hand, one finger in a silent plea for him to wait just a moment. This isn’t a big deal. It isn’t.

But you don’t stop coughing, turning first towards your inner elbow- but it won’t stop. Your throat burns, itches- but each spasm of your diaphragm isn’t doing anything to help. Each cough brings on the next, and the next-

“Are you… alright?” He asks, and oh, you can almost convince yourself there’s actual worry there. It would be a pain if a Talon agent died alone in his omnium, so soon after their tentative agreements. You nod, try to smile between coughs- but it must not work because he follows it up with “Are you sick?”

You don’t get the chance to dissuade him, because you’re doubling over, falling to your knees. Coughs turn to retches, full-body shudders and there’s something in your throat. Tears burn at your eyes, blur your vision, even as three silver claws step in front of you. You can’t stop coughing, can barely breathe between each one and all you can do is flex your throat, hunch over, squeeze your eyes-

Something falls into your hand, still cupped over your mouth.

The itch is gone. Tears cover your face. Finally, you can breathe again, taking in lungfuls of cold, antarctic air- which feel like knives in your irritated throat. With the back of your hand, you wipe at your face, trying to hide the evidence of tears and spittle. You’re so far beyond presentable and the whir of Ramattra’s internals, so close to you now, crouched down to your level, only makes you wish you had declined this promotion entirely.

“Sorry,” You try to force another fake smile, but don’t know if it even really makes it past the intention. “Don’t know what that was.” Ramattra’s head tips, looks you over. He waits there, watching as you struggle to pull yourself together before you finally wave him on, “Give me a minute, please.”

He makes some sort of noncommittal noise before standing up again and wandering down the walkway, giving you some space. He watches, however, keeps you in his field of view.

When you’re sure he can’t see it, you uncurl your clenched hand. Inside, is a pale purple flower bud, just beginning to open.

It doesn’t get easier. A week passes and a small collection of lavender flowers has gathered on your nightstand. Each coughing fit is all-consuming, burns out every other sense until the next part is hacked up. Here, at least, in the privacy of your makeshift quarters you can reach into your mouth and try to grasp at the stem. You touch it- and retch as it twitches deep in your throat, tears springing to your eyes as you reflexively begin to cough again.

On the counter, your phone lights up, buzzes with a call.

You can’t even entertain taking it, no matter who it is. Another failed attempt to catch the stem- which is prodding painfully into the roof of your mouth- launches another round of coughs and tears. The mirror- maybe you can see it? You stumble across the room and switch on the light. Opening your mouth as wide as you can, you still can’t quite make out the shape that’s lodged itself in your windpipe. The flashlight on your phone, however, does help.

And amidst the red, inflamed flesh of your throat is a single, green-brown vine curling against the roof of your mouth. Just beyond your tongue, another purple flower clings to your tonsils, glistening with spit. With the aid of the mirror and light, this time you catch the end of the stem firmly between finger and thumb. You pull--

And pain shoots through you like lightning, sharp and crackling down your throat, across your chest, clawing and twisting into your lungs- and around your hand you cough, eyes pinching shut, dropping your phone as you struggle and yank.

It’s caught somewhere. The vines dig into every crevice they can find, desperately latching onto you. You brace yourself, take as deep a breath as you can and yank again. This time, the stem snaps. A red-dotted string of flowers splatters into your sink.

Your chest clears somewhat, still burning from where you’ve ripped the vine free. Even as you gasp in air, another growth wavers in your chest, dancing with each inhale. Before long, you’ll be back here, pulling another one out.

You really didn’t think it was that bad. Sure, you thought about him often and enjoyed every conversation that managed to veer away from Null Troopers and omniums… but the flowers? How could it have gotten so bad?

You press on one purple petal, swipe away the blood that stains it crimson. The flowers range in ages, a few at the tip not yet opened, tight, darker indigo buds, while the ones at the other end, where the stem is thicker, broken, have popped into lilac blooms. A large flat, open petal atop one tightly still curled.

You love him.

You knew, honestly, but having it be presented to you so blatantly is still… unnerving. And-

bzzt. You startle, drop the flower and look down. On the floor- where your phone had landed- is a face you really do not want to see right now. With a grimace you pick the device up, wipe any blood away from your lip, and answer.

“Hello?”

“You’re lucky I bothered to call twice.” Her voice bites out. You’ve just answered and she’s already bored with this conversation.

“Sorry. What can I do for you, Dr.O’Deorain?”

“Actually,” She almost singsongs, “It’s about what I can do for you. Your gracious host informed me that you are unwell. And while I’m sure he must have bothered to make his workshop more habitable for you, there are several fascinating viruses that live in glaciers.”

Oh.

Ramattra called her.

You grimace, feel another wave of shame that you’ve been sick enough he’s bothered to contact Moira of all people. “It’s not…” You pause- because on one hand, Moira would know how to deal with this. And on the other… even admitting it would show much of a liability you’ve been. Your chest itches already, another creeping vine ready to climb out of your throat. “I know what it is.”

“Oh? I somehow doubt even an omnic would be so concerned about a cold.”

“It’s… Hanahaki.“

She sighs and you can hear her rolling her eyes. “Just because you’re coughing-”

“Full flowers.” You stare down at the purple and red in your sink. “It’s Hanahaki.”

All the frustration leaves her voice in a heartbeat. “Send me a picture.” You do, of the one you just coughed up and the handful of flowers and petals you’ve collected. After a minute, she says something under her breath. “Wonderful.. You, what, had a crush on someone here in Rome and couldn’t confess before you left on a months-long Antarctic tour?”

You bite your tongue. Wouldn’t that be nice? A friendly coworker you could just message about your feelings. As it turns out, you don’t have to say anything at all. She’s too sharp, your silence a little too damning.

“You’re joking.” She scoffs, “Actually unbelievable.”

The urge to cough settles in your chest. Through the tightness you bite out, “Just… tell me what I can do.”

Moira sighs once more, “I don’t suppose talking it out has already crossed your mind?” You don’t answer her. “Of course. Then the only other option would be major surgery. That has its own assortment of risks, the least of which would be you would feel nothing for him anymore.”

That… should almost be comforting. Tears prick your eyes. He’s about to wage a war on the vast majority of humanity, has lectured at length the atrocities he’s seen your kin commit. There’s no chance. And yet… it hurts. Despite the damage that’s come to your body and the shame that follows: being unfit to continue working, for making things awkward, for having feelings for… him. Despite that, it’s still been nice. The warmth that follows him, that settles inside you when he speaks, the way he tips his head when he’s sketching out a new idea, the way his posture shifts, relaxes, when he must think you aren’t looking. Would that all become nothing to you?

A cough sneaks up your throat. You hold your phone at arm’s length, would mute yourself if you could focus long enough. You can’t; another flower has broken loose, tumbles from your lips into the sink to join its brethren.

On the phone, Moira curses in Gaelic. “I am advising you as a doctor to talk to him. I’m sure you kids will be able to figure it out.” Silence is your only response. After all, what was there to really talk about? You’re human.. She sighs irritably, but slowly perks up as she speaks: “Fine. I have some colleagues in Oasis who should be able to assist. You might be the first case of omnic-borne Hanahaki. Would be a fascinating case study.”

It takes a few hours to work up the courage to message him. Taking medical leave, No more than two weeks. Need transport to Oasis.

His response is almost instantaneous: Understood. Shuttle ready.

You pack lightly. Very little of your clothes are appropriate for the wildly different climate awaiting you after a ten hour flight. It’s mostly your work gear, things you haven’t needed while so firmly stationed away from any wetwork. Regardless, you enter the shuttle bay with a single suitcase, in casual clothes covered by a heavy jacket. As it is, the coldness already seeps through the single outer layer, bringing a chill to your toes- and to your chest.

The itch becomes unbearable as soon as you lay eyes on him. The back of the shuttle is open, waiting for you- but so is he. Why? Why must he see you off now?

Ramattra straightens up, folds his hands behind his back. With how thin his waist is, the action doesn’t hide much of his arms. “Agent,” He greets you stiffly, awkwardly, as you approach. “I assume this is more than a simple cough, then?”

“Afraid so.” The back of your throat burns just from two words and his head shifts, almost bobbing back in surprise. Has your voice gotten so bad?

“I see. It is… serious?”

“Yes.” You clear your throat, hope to shoo away as much hoarseness as you can. “I’m sorry for any inconvenience. I’ll return as soon as I am able.”

Ramattra’s white faceplate tips off to the side, a blatant display of curiosity. In what exactly you don’t know. Probably why Talon isn’t just replacing you, reassigning you after your treatment.

“I hope you…” He pauses, seems to taste the words before he says them, “feel better soon.” It’s awkward in his voice, stilted, a phrase so wildly unused, perhaps he’s never even said it. But he gives you that courtesy, even if only because it’s polite- and it makes your heart ache.

And that makes your lungs itch. You can’t even suppress it down to a small cough into your hand. All at once you’re doubled over, heaving coughs into your elbow. The thick taste of iron coats your tongue, blood spraying from your lips. Then, the smooth, suffocating feeling of the flowers.

Purple follows red- and you quickly fall to your knees, unable to catch a single breath between thundering spasms in your chest. Your ribs creak, strain from each movement, the pain in your lungs radiating out and you pinch your eyes shut, wait for it to be over.

His knee clanks to the floor- you don’t need to open your eyes to see that it’s him. A cold, firm hand touches your back. It’s… skittish, unused to the contact, too light of a touch to be reassuring, but it’s alright because every cough jostles you away, brings waves of pain and nausea as a string of buds clings to your uvula.

Another good cough and the vine breaks, half expels the raceme from your mouth. With the other hand you rip it from your lips, throwing it to the floor while gasping for air. For the moment, your lungs are clear- despite the burning pain of frigid air on the open wounds of your throat, the joy of breathing again overtakes all.

Until you open your eyes- and through tears you see the splatters of red- and the long string of purple. In fear, in shame you snatch the evidence of your illness- but it was hardly just the one raceme. A half dozen little buds and broken flowers dot the floor- and as quickly as you can grab them, you still can’t stop Ramattra from picking one up. He pulls his other hand off you, bringing both up to cup the tiny thing.

It’s paler than the purple enamel coating on his plates, laughably delicate as he prods open the two petals, revealing the pistil inside. He stares at it, then mutters, “Wisteria sinensis .” You fight to read any emotion in it at all- but it doesn’t matter, because his next question drips with confusion. “You have… Hanahaki’s disease?”

You can’t bear to look at him, staring instead at the flower. It’s so small in his hand, more like a stray drip of paint than proof of your traitorous heart. All you can give him is a nod, lips held in a tight line, unwilling to address what feels like the obvious.

“I see.” He says quietly, bringing his palm in closer to his faceplate. “Your trip to Oasis is for treatment?”

You nod again, “Surgery. Have to cut the roots out.”

Ramattra stays quiet, his focus not leaving the purple petals. Even when you find the courage to meet the slits of his optics, he does not return your gaze.

“I am… sorry.” As soon as the words leave his synth you look away. This is what you didn’t want. Fuck, it’s what you’ve been trying to avoid. You don’t need his pity or the undeniable knowledge that you loved someone who would be happy to end your entire species- who must hardly spare you a thought beyond the annoyance of financial oversight. Tears burn at your eyes again, but you blink them away, biting your tongue and willing yourself not to cry in front of him.

But he notices your turmoil, and speaks anyway. Hesitantly, a faltering in his voice you’ve never heard before. “I understand suffering because you care for another, yet human relationships confound me. I hope your treatment lets you find peace…” He trails off, but a low hum of his synthesizer lets you know he’s not done. His tone turns quiet, severe. “Know that they are foolish to reject you.”

In an instant you’re dazed, head swimming as your mind parses his words again and again. It doesn’t make sense. That’s- it’s Impossible. There’s something more there, under his words- more than just an empty placation. Something else builds in your chest and you can barely bring yourself to ask “What?”

Ramattra shifts awkwardly, clarifies: “The object of your affection.” His big fingers smooth out the tiny petals as he thinks, “I scarcely think they will meet another more interesting than you.” He draws your hand open to reveal the half-crushed raceme. The sight darkens his voice, “Do they even know how they’ve hurt you?”

Your chest feels tight- and not, for once, because of the flower’s roots. “Ramattra…”

His gaze lifts from your hand to your face. Unemotive, you can’t even begin to read what he’s thinking, but you stare into the black, angular slits for his optics and hope. Hope that he understands what you want to say, the words that have burned in your mind for days, weeks.

Something changes: the soft purr of his system builds, until he makes a noise like an inhale, his ventilation kicking up hard.

And you laugh, feel the tears gather in your eyes again because how could you be wrong? “It’s you, Ramattra.” You smile and you can breathe.

“You…” He starts, looks at the cluster of flowers again, his voice straining, his synth slipping. “Me? I did this to you? I- I thought-” And before doubt can take your heart, Ramattra’s hands move to you- just barely ghosting your side before you’re all but throwing yourself in his arms. His voice drops, quiet in disbelief. “I thought I was protecting you.”

His cowl is soft, silky on your cheek. It chafes where the tears have begun bubbling over. “From Talon? I don't care.”

“From me,” He murmurs. So close now his voice box buzzes in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I… I couldn’t swear how suitable a partner I would be; a relationship cannot be a priority to me when liberation is so close.”

You sigh, focusing on the feeling of his cold ribs under your palms, on the smell of machine oil and incense. “I wouldn’t ask you to set that aside. It’s just- I thought you wouldn’t…” Your lip wobbles, disappointment or fear fighting its way forward. “Since I’m… human….”

“Believe me, I was as reluctant to accept that as you are.” His hands drift over your back, drawing shapes onto your coat.

As nice as it is, there’s a faint itch in your chest. You need… you need to hear it. You draw back- and Ramattra’s idle shapes still as his hands resettle onto your hips. You look up, stare into the black slits once more. “But you… you do have feelings for me?”

He stiffens, voice turning uncomfortable, reluctant to speak it into existence. “You… were an unexpected complication. I had not planned on… caring for any one in such a way.” His fingertips are cool on your skin, tracing chilled lines along your jaw. “Yes. And I am… so sorry for hurting you.”

“It’s okay,” You murmur back, touching each side of his neck. Wordlessly, you draw him down. His movement stutters, awkward as he follows your lead- pulling him closer until you can lay your lips across the lowest part of his white faceplate. His head is somewhat warmer than his hands, leaving your lips tingling and you laughing softly at the absolute unreality of being able to kiss him.

You almost expect him to be offended. Instead, Ramattra’s hands guide your chin down, tipping your head forward-- and the bright reds of his array press to your forehead. You sigh, and slowly open your eyes to peer into the black void of his optics’ slits. Anything else in the world ceases to exist, all that matters is the slowly building warmth in his head and chest, the hum of his components and fans, and the soft press of his hands to your skin.

#ramattra #ramattra x reader #overwatch #overwatch x reader #reader insert #ramattra x you #overwatch x you #hanahaki #almost typod the title as cockwise lol

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