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revelboo · 7 months ago

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Everything Is Alright

Chapter One

Rolling through the clouds, Starscream almost feels free. Everything dragging at him left behind far below. Up here, the paranoia and anger can’t hold him. He can think. So it’s an effort to make himself land, transforming at the last minute so his peds gouge up dirt and rocks as he slides. And reality sinks back in like it always does as soon as he’s grounded again. Up there, he sometimes just thinks about not stopping. That maybe he could just fly away and leave the hurt and frustration behind. He never does, though. He can’t.

There’s nothing really here, just thickly wooded land and a winding ribbon of asphalt running through it. Nothing to indicate there’s energon here. Venting softly, he maps out the terrain. It’s such a little thing that he almost misses it. A branch among the trees cracking. And he turns toward it, arm lifting.

That small move saves his life. There’s no mistaking the Autobot spy lunging at him, denta bared like a feral beast. A blade humming in his fist that almost sheers through a wing and drives into his side. Reeling back with a cry, he spots the little scout raising his own weapon. And he’s transforming even as his wound pour energon and scream at him. Thrusters igniting and bowling Jazz over. Knowing he’s not bought himself any time at all.

Scrap. Just like every other time he reaches, everything’s gone sideways. All the intelligence Starscream had received in his reports had indicated that the Autobots were unaware of the energon deposit the Decepticon scouts had picked up on their scanners. Supposed to have been only a recon mission to get a better lay of the land. Not an ambush. Meaning someone had set him up. He should be used to it by now, it shouldn’t still have the power to hurt him.

Turbines screaming, Starscream can feel the wound in his side and wing pulling. Too much damage to get any altitude, so now he’s down over a wooded stretch of road. Every attempt to climb sending darts of tearing pain through him and spurring the Autobots to double their attacks. Trying to ground him, because once they do it’s over and they know it as well as he does. Pain burns white hot as his own fury through him even as he steadily loses altitude and any hope of just flying away from his pursuers. No, that wing is hanging on by a prayer to Primus and pure, unadulterated spite as he drops even lower. His wingspan too wide for the narrow road he’s flying over as he dips down below the trees and feels the tips of his wings cracking branches to rain down into the road. Every impact jarring through him, trying to tear him apart.

Not that the debris is doing a blasted thing to deter the two Autobots in pursuit. No, Bumblebee and Jazz are right there, still firing on him as they swerve around the bigger branches. It’s almost funny that he’s going to be brought down by only two of them. It’s insulting.

He rolls slightly around a curve, wingtip scraping the asphalt in a spray of paint-scraping, painful sparks. Knows they won’t give up the chase. Can’t now that he’s bleeding energon and running like a startled turbo fox. Because while he isn’t exactly outgunned, he has little doubt that they’ve already called in for backup. Fury twisting about his spark, desperation claws at him.

Calling in his own? Having to beg for help even from his own trine? Weak. And weakness doesn’t survive long among the Decepticon ranks. Maybe Thundercracker and Skywarp won’t exploit that weakness to ursurp his spot, but Megatron would feel that it’s a teaching moment. And beat it into him with his fists. Besides, someone had tipped off the Autobots that he’d be out here. Betrayed again, even though at this point it really shouldn’t be a surprise. Another tight corner. So tired, but then that spark deep exhaustion is something he’s well and truly used to. He’s on his own, but that’s nothing new. When you can’t trust anyone, you learn to rely on yourself. To push harder, fight with the desperation of the cornered. They might bring him down, but he’ll drag at least one to the Pit with him.

Weapons fire peppering him, he swings another curve and there’s a car up ahead in the distance. For a moment, he thinks it’s over. That this is the reinforcements the Autobots must have summoned. But, no. It’s only a human. And an opportunity.

One more mile to get it together. Except, you’ve been telling yourself that for how many miles now? It’s been halfheartedly misting rain for the last several minutes, but you don’t bother to roll the windows up on your old sedan. Not when you desperately need the chilly feel of the wind sinking icy fingers into your hair and tearing at your ponytail to help numb the anger and stress just there under the surface. Because it always falls apart when you think that maybe this time you got it right.

But even with the speedometer pushing 65 on the wooded country road, there’s no outrunning yourself. Or stopping your mind from sifting through the fallout from your latest boyfriend. Letting the intrusive thoughts in. Like maybe he’d been right, and you hadn’t really made enough time for him. Even if you both worked crappy, full-time jobs that consumed more than their fair share of your time and energy.

If anything, it was as much his fault as yours, right? Hands going white knuckled on the wheel, you crank the rock and roll even higher to let the thump of the bass roll through your bones and send your thoughts flying. You’re out past the county line now, the road just an inky ribbon of asphalt snaking through the woods. Occasionally, the setting sun dazzles you through the gaps in the trees in piercing, painful flares of red and gold.

From the depths of your mind comes the thought that you could just keep driving. See where the road went until it ended somewhere on the coast. It was a lovely dream, but just that. You weren’t brave enough to just go. That’s why you still lived in the nowhere town you’d grown up in. Your foot settles a little more firmly on the gas pedal, slaloming around lazy curves as you try to shake off the mellow ache, because now you’re angry with him and yourself.

You could do it. Flip the proverbial bird to everything you know, especially your awful boss, and just nope off into the sunset without a plan. Probably end up living in the car if it didn’t break down before you even managed to cross the state line. It was funny in a decidedly unfunny way, because your own worst enemy? You. It’s always you.

Snorting at yourself, it takes a minute to register the new sound over the wail of an electric guitar pouring tinnily through your speakers. What is that? The fine hair at your nape prickles as it rolls over you, a thunderous scream that locks the breath in your lungs. Eyes darting up to your mirror there’s a moment of blank disbelief, because no. That’s not a jet right behind you, flying lower than a jet has any reason to as its huge wingspan sheers off branches in its wake. It can’t be.

There’s no time to argue with the impossible vision because the belly of the jet slams and scrapes along the roof of your car with an awful shriek, and panic lights you up. You haul at the wheel, foot slamming down on the brake and then you’re sliding on the wet road. Things get a bit funny after that. Trees right there and the noise of the impact. Your forehead bouncing off the wheel and then slamming back as the airbag deploys with enough force you’re stunned again.

Your world blurs into a confusing smear of impossibility when you lift your head and feel your heartbeat throbbing at your temple. For a moment, you can’t figure out the seatbelt, everything hurts, and your mouth tastes like old pennies.

In the distance, a rumble of thunder rolls as the buckle finally unclips. The door is partially dented in by the impact, so you crawl out the window, head pounding to match the thunder. But thunder doesn’t sound like that. This is a staccato thumping that makes no sense. Guns? Probably that jet exploding. Your awkward slide out of the car via the window isn’t dignified or graceful. Twisting to land on your hip instead of your face, you lift your head. Everything’s muddled and you definitely have a concussion. That’s the only way to explain whatever the hell it is you’re looking at. There are giant robots in the road and one of them has wings painted like the stupid, low flying jet that had tried to kill you. And they have guns. You don’t even know what to make of this particular hallucination playing out in front of you. Staggering up out of the ditch and onto the road, it feels like you’re on a ship, the ground pitching and rolling under your feet as your stare up at the nonsense. You definitely brained yourself good. Most likely, you’re still in the car bleeding out and this was your mind’s idea of a consolation prize. Except you’d never actually liked sci-fi or robots.

Turning unsteadily as your whole body screams in pain, you stare from the jet and its fiery red eyes to the other two imaginary head trauma robots. One’s yellow and the other is white with red and blue accents. And they’re not shooting the jet anymore. They’re just staring down at you in the same kind of dumb stupor that's weighing you down. Your legs get a bit cute on you and your knee thumps onto the road. Feeling the grit and loose gravel digging into you cuts through the hazy fog of pain and disbelief.

Because it’s real. And then the panic rears its head, screaming at you to run even as you freeze. You’d always kind of assumed you’d do well under pressure. That you’d at least do something. Kneeling there as the misty rain slowly chills your skin, you don’t move. You can’t. Not even when you see the jet monster lunge right at you, big hand reaching.

It's almost serendipity when the human staggers up into the road between him and the two Autobots. Gaping up at them with no sense of self-preservation or fear. Staring at him in the optics like he’s no threat to you. Brave, but so stupid.

Because his options are limited. How long until the Autobot’s backup arrives? Feeling the wound in his side pulling as he lunges, he’s only barely aware of Jazz’s cry. The human is softer than he expects, that soft flesh giving horribly against his servos as he catches you and lifts you out in front of him like the most ineffective shield ever. Aside from a wheezing sound halfway between a gasp and a moan, the human just hangs there in his grip, unresisting. Maybe broken.

All that matters is that Jazz and Bumblebee have frozen. Maybe it isn’t so ineffective. Because the Autobots are forbidden from harming organics. Especially humans. Baring his denta in a feral smile, he backs away from the two.

“Let the human go, Starscream,” Bumblebee says, voice as steady as the weapon still raised toward him in threat.

An empty threat. A laugh escapes him, his smile turning nasty. “No, I don’t think so.”

Whatever is inside humans is hot, sticky, and leaking unpleasantly against his servos. The sensation is almost enough to make him chuck you at the two idiots to buy himself some time. Small hands push at his servos as the thing in his grip shudders. You’re silent, though as you look up at him with big, terrified eyes.

Spark thrumming, he keeps moving back. They’re really going to let him go just because he’d nabbed a human with no survival instincts whatsoever. It’s too sweet to believe. Eerily quiet in his grip as you sluggishly leak red fluid from a gash on your head, those wide eyes meet his optics. Turning on his heel, he pulls you into his chassis as he transforms, pain rippling through him. There’s a terrifying moment of very real fear that his wing won’t hold. That he and his hostage will crash back down, but his turbines roar and he’s gone. Still can’t get any altitude, but they’re not firing on him. Not pursuing all because they might hurt the weak little organic he grabbed. It’s almost too funny to think something so stupid just saved his life. This pitiful thing’s life is worth more than his to them.

You’re no longer silent, he can hear your rasping gasps. Maybe transforming around you had finally broke through your shock. Something definitely had. He can feel your little hands scrabbling at his interior in a panic, the sensation causing his metal flesh to crawl all over. Because you’re inside him. Touching everything. Leaking that sticky red stuff inside him. The only consolation at all was that you aren’t screaming.

Yet.

“Keep your filthy little hands to yourself,” he snarls as you paw at the seam of his cockpit as if you want to be jettisoned. Nearly begging for it. As tempting as that thought is, the docile, little thing has potential. Namely as a way to keep the Autobots from firing at him.

Snatching your hands back, wide eyes dart around his interior. So, you aren’t quite as addled as he’d thought. Surprising. “It’s talking. The giant, metal death robot is talking,” you mutter, voice soft and raspy with pain as you tuck your hands against your chest.

“Starscream.” The annoyance is immediate and the human flinches at his tone, shoulders hunching. You don’t respond, though. Just make that weird, gasping sound as you look around for an escape.

Aside from a low, moaning when he transforms around you a second time, you’re silent as he keeps you trapped inside his canopy. One of your soft hands slaps against the glass to make him shudder, hearing your breathing becoming louder and more frantic. There’s the fear he’d expected. By some miracle, he makes it inside the base and to his quarters without getting stopped. Though, Skywarp gives him a look as he limps past. A low growl and a flash of denta enough to discourage his trine brother from needling him for the moment. Wondering if he walks past if he’s the one who betrayed him.

Closing the door behind himself, the pain of his ruined wing crests and threatens to wash over him. Servos gingerly touching his side and wincing when they come away wet with energon, he picks up an empty energon cube and pops his canopy. With a startled cry, you fall out into his palm, and he drops you into the cube. The walls are high enough that he doubts you can manage to get free and even if you do, where will you go? Placing the cube on a shelf, his optics narrow as you scramble to the far side of your prison, eyes wide.

Whether or not you’d meant to, and it’s definitely not, you’d saved his life. And he’s not sure how he feels about being in the debt of a human. Venting softly, he turns and leaves you to go find the medic.

You slide slowly down the smooth glass wall to land on your butt as your legs just give up. The apparently not hallucinatory, brain trauma induced, giant robot stuck you in a big, square aquarium and even though the top is open, you can’t get enough air. Or stop shaking as panic sank its teeth into your throat.

Reaching up, you gingerly touch your temple. There’s blood there, but sticky and not actively bleeding you think. And even if you’re not imagining all this, you probably, definitely, do have a concussion. You can’t motivate your shaking, noodle legs to stand, so you crane your neck to study your prison. The walls are much higher than you are tall and featureless. No way to get a good grip to climb out, even as you very briefly entertain and dismiss the idea of parkouring up the corner of the box to freedom, because that isn’t happening, and you know it.

Which leaves you all alone to wander the shores of melancholy regret in the silence of the empty room. There’ll be no seeing where any other roads go now. No second chances. You tunnel your fingers through your hair, pulling on it as you try to gather yourself. To think it out. Feeling miserable, you look around the big room. It's giant robot sized and surprisingly spartan. There’s a flat metal berth along one wall, a desk and chair, what might be storage drawers, but blessedly little else. No mementos of a life lived. No trinkets. Something about that nags at you, but you don’t dwell on it.

You’re not sure how long your big, evil robot, Starscream, is gone. Hours? You’re almost drowsing in your corner even as you shiver uncontrollably in the icy room. Apparently cold doesn’t bother giant robots, but then, it’d been very warm when you’d been trapped inside its interior. Any other time you’d have been ecstatic about riding in a jet. Fear for your life had soured the experience. You’d explored your head wound with tentative fingers and decided it wasn’t that bad. A little gash at your temple.

You bang the back of your head on the glass wall of your cage when the door opens, and your kidnapper returns. Those glowing red optics slide your way before dismissing you. That stare is weighing you and finding you lacking. Shifting to drag your legs against yourself, you watch it move to an oversized chair and slump. Teeth chattering, a new concern surfaces. This horror knows you need food and water, right?

“Almost brought down by two weak Autobots,” it mutters, dragging a hand down its face in a disturbingly human gesture. For an alien robot murder machine, its face is uncannily human. It reaches back to prod at one of its wings. It looks better than it had, you realize. “Nearly ripped my wing off.”

Was it talking to you? Unsure, you dart your tongue out to wet your lips. Somehow you hadn’t yet won yourself a Darwin Award even though you’d blundered into the middle of a fire fight between huge, angry robots while gawping like a hick tourist. Did you dare push your luck? “How dare they,” you say, voice a barely-there, raspy whisper. Mostly being sarcastic, although it’s more tired than anything else.

It hears you, though. That big head turns to stare at you, and you wilt as its wings flit up a little higher and the silence stretches. You shouldn’t have said that.

“Right?” Starscream demands suddenly, growling voice full of irritation. It sounds like a he, you decide. Though since it is whatever the hell it is, who knew. Staring right at you, he bares his denta in a smug snarl. “I could have destroyed them then and there with one servo.”

It’s almost funny as the alien death machine actually puffs out his chest a bit when you nod in agreement, teeth chattering. And then you run with it, playing devil’s advocate, because staying on his good side? Definitely a good idea. “They wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Of course not,” he sneers, rising to tip his head at you with almost predatory interest. Drifting away to a wall, he retrieves a huge blanket and drops it unceremoniously on you. The material is soft as silk, but some chemical smell clings faintly to it. You still cocoon yourself in it, face poking out to watch your evil robot return to his chair and his sprawl. And the silence spreads between you, studying him since he’s studying you in return.

The shivers slowly ease, but don’t go away altogether. That doesn’t stop you from drifting off, though. Your sleep is thankfully a dreamless void that sinks its claws in and drags you under. It’s almost pleasant up until something bounces off your head and the pain you’d left behind in sleep screams through you. Along with the realization that you’re being buried alive. Clawing your way free, you fall on your face, swearing.

And look up to find Starscream staring down at you, his lips twitching in cruel amusement at your expense. Your heart runs wild, rabbit-fast in fear. Red optics shift behind you then back. Wary, you turn to look and find he’d buried you in a mountain of beef jerky, chips, soda, and- its food. He’s brought you food. That has to be a good sign, right? Why bother to feed you if he’s just going to squish you.

Sure, he could have not dropped it all on your head, but you aren’t about to tell him that. Just like you aren’t going to think too deeply about where the food came from either. It’s not like he can just waltz into a store and buy stuff. You’re snapped out of thoughts of sirens and explosions when you realize those fearsome optics are scrutinizing you. Waiting for your reaction?

“Thank you?” Your voice is soft and uncertain, but the big, scary robot freezes all the same. Those wings on his back flip up then back down. Like he’s surprised that you’d thanked him. Just like the complete 360 he’d pulled when you’d agreed with him before. Like your captor isn’t too used to being listened to or appreciated. And he not only loves the attention, he might just crave it. Fawning over him is a small price to pay for your life. And that smug, preening smirk paired with those little wing flutters? For a kidnapping, killer robot, he’s kind of adorable. Not that you’re ever going to admit that out loud. You like living too much for that.

You freeze when he reaches into your cage before scooting back from that massive hand. Unwilling to give up your warm blanket, you drag it with you and suck in a sharp breath when he cages you in his hand and lifts you out. His grip isn’t as rib crushing as the last time he’d snatched you up and you cling to his servos, heart racing as he places you on the desk.

Scrolling through reports, Starscream keeps an optic on his new- what, pet? Yes. A pet. Letting out a long-drawn vent, he works and tracks the human as you stand up still wrapped in the cleaning cloth he’d given you and dragging it along as you cautiously move around his desk. It only takes a low growl under his breath to discourage you from getting near the edge. Those big eyes dart up to him in surprise before moving away from the drop.

Satisfied that you’re not going to launch yourself to a stupid death, he resumes perusing reports. “Can you believe those idiots?” He grumbles to himself out of habit. “I told them that mine was unstable.”

He hears your quiet steps as you move closer to him, little face tipped up toward him. “They should have listened to you,” you say, the words surprising him.and he studies you. While your hair is matted with dry blood, it doesn’t look like the wound is serious since you’re up and about.

Were humans usually this astute or had he just picked a particularly smart one? His wings adjust slightly as he turns his attention to the tiny creature. “They never listen to me.” Reaching out he ghosts the tip of a servo over your head, surprised by how soft your hair is. And you go still under his touch, head lowering as he slides that finger down your back. Feeling the rapid beat of your heart against his servo.

He'd had a petro rabbit once, the tiny, fragile thing so trusting. It would eat from his hand and come willingly to him. Petro rabbits weren’t exactly clever, though. Couldn’t distinguish him from Skywarp and had died for it. And even though Skywarp had claimed it had been an accident, Starscream had never really let it go. Or believed him. Suddenly unsettled, he gently strokes over your head again. Soothing himself and his new pet.

Because this time would be different. He freezes as you lean into his palm, slowly relaxing. Your skin is colder than he remembered, and he frowns as he carefully curls his servos around you. And you shift eagerly into his warmth with a little noise of pleasure. His optics flit to the empty energon cube as you relax further against him, your own big eyes peering up at him trustingly. He'd never actually been this close to a human, he realizes. Certainly never touched one.

Venting softly, he uses his free hand to pull his datapad closer so he can finish going through the reports. Stiffening when you lay your head on his servo, little hands clinging as you soak up his warmth. Not sure what to make of your trust when he can’t trust anyone. So how can you trust him when you don’t even know him?

#starscream x reader #transformers x reader #idw starscream

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lovinglonerhybrid · 5 months ago

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Redalert crochets. It helps with his anxiety and is a good way to get bugs into bots rooms. Inferno has a chest full of sweaters and mittens. Prowl is the proud owner of a nice pair of wing cozies, and every bot on the ark has their own personal plush made by red. And yes there all bugged, for safety reasons. Especially after soundwaves cassettes begin stealing them.

Some of the plushies the bots have:

Jazz-Glitchmouse

Bumblebee-turbo puppy

Prowl-petro rabbit

Sideswipe/sunstreaker-turbofox

Hound-cuttlefish

Mirage-ball python

Cliffjumper-retrorat

#transformers #maccadam #lovinglonerhybrid #tf red alert #tf inferno #tf mirage #tf hound #tf prowl #tf jazz #tf cliffjumper #tf soundwave #tf headcanons #crochet #plushies #tf g1 #mcaddams #transformers g1

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proneterror204 · 7 months ago

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DPxDDD

Jazz woke up to her phone ringing. A quick look at her clock showed it was 3:00am. She answered the phone knowing it could only be a certain ghost fighting team.

"Hello?"

"hey Jazz, its Sam. I was wondering if you could come pick us up?"

"What happened?"

"Well funny story. Tucker and I were in school and Tucker was talking about aliens and UFOs and I was talking about Other types of spirits like yokai and demons."

"You mean you two were arguing with Danny stuck in the middle."

"Well.. Yeah. Anyway I bet Tucker that he couldn't find any yokai and he bet me that I couldn't find any aliens."

"*sigh* and did you?"

"... We both did. Tucker found some turbo granny who cursed him and stole his genitals. And I found some aliens who wanted to harvest my reproductive organs. But then a cursed and possessed Tucker came in and started fighting the aliens and I reawakened my plant powers. Then Danny came in and saved us. But now Dannys fighting the Turbo Granny and a crab monster to get Tucker genitals back and we could use a ride. So please?"

Jazz stared at her phone with a WTF expression. "...Sure. this is apparently apart of my life now."

#dpxddd #Danny phantom x Dandadan #This is basically the first episode #and part of the 4th.#I dont know why i wrote this #but i HAD to #I highly recommend watching Dandadan and Danny phantom.#danny phantom #dandadan #fanfiction ideas #danny fenton #sam manson #jasmine fenton

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rwac96 · 2 months ago

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Undercover Troubles (Crossover Shitpost)

Jazz: *currently in his Alt Mode, the Martini Racing Porsche* "Remember, bots, this' an undercover mission. No goin' into 'Bot Mode unless it's absolutely necessary."

Bumblebee: *currently V.W Wagon* "Understood, Jazz."

Cliffjumper: *currently Porsche 924 Turbo* "Gotcha, Jazz."

Chase: *currently a Police Muscle Car* "Affirmative."

Hound: *currently a Mitsubishi Jeep J59* "Right with ya."

Jazz: "Alright! Autobots, we rollin'!"

*The five Autobots drive off, going their separate ways; Cliffjumper makes it to his designated spot: in front of a movie theater*

Cliffjumper: "Just a few blocks from the research lab, certainly a target for Decepticreeps."

*As Cliffjumper waited for any sign of Decepticon activity, a certain couple exited the theater*

Cliffjumper: "Uh-Oh, better turn on the facsmile." *activates a hologram resembling a middle-aged man*

Yang: *approaching the 'car'* "Finally, the Uber's here."

Blake: *squints* "Um, Yang, something smells off with our Uber."

Yang: "Babe, this' the first Uber that's actually on time."

Cliffjumper: *clears his throat as the pair enters him* "Uh, yeah...I'm your Uber...Larry."

Blake: "So, you know where our apartment building is, right?"

Cliffjumper: *nervous* "Yeah, I do." *internally* 'Scrap! Jazz never mentioned anything like this!'

---

*Chase waited close to an alleyway, though the Police Autobot found himself spray-painted on*

Chase: "What on Cybertron is 'ACAB'?"

Hound: *parked next to Chase* "You're better off not knowing."

---

Jazz: "Alright, we're close to the lab. You've heard from Cliff, Bee?"

Bumblebee: "Uh..."

---

Yang: "Okay, Larry! This isn't our neighborhood, man! Are you even our Uber Driver?!"

Blake: "So it took you that long to notice?"

Cliffjumper: *anxious, realizing his cover's blown* "Uh...my phone stopped working?"

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dragqueenstarscream · 3 months ago

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Jazz being Optimus’ wing man is 10x funnier knowing that Jazz knows who she is. Like, “Yeah man you and Seraphina would be great. Lots of chemistry. Trust me I can see the sparks. Play your cards right and my job will be easier— I mean, I’m rooting for you OP!”

lmao jazz is playing the long con here. if he plays it smart, then not only does his workplace friendship with sentinel improve, but he also gets to see turbo virgin optimus finally get some.

#jazz is so funny i love him #transformers #tf jazz #optimus prime #sentinel prime #transformers animated #tfa jazz #tfa optimus prime #tfa sentinel prime #seraphina prime #sentop #maccadam #answering things

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king-candybug-backup · 6 months ago

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Hi, I was wondering something. Can you maybe give me a quick summary of what your fic ‘Kill Switch’ is all about? And where I can read it? :)

Heck yeah, totally!!! :D So to sum it up (somewhat) briefly, Vanellope finds out that King Candy is still alive because he’s been so deeply entangled in Sugar Rush’s code for so many years that the game thinks he belongs there now, and so has been respawning him when he dies. However, it hasn’t been respawning him properly, so he stays horribly injured and in Cy-bug form, trapped in Diet Cola Mountain and all that jazz. Vanellope, though still VERY much mistrustful of him of course, figures that leaving him to be basically tortured in a painful death/respawn cycle for however long is kinda, like… way too cruel for her liking, so she decides to help him out and use heal kits to patch him up, but like, slowly, so that she can figure out how to deal with this whole “murderous a-hole still alive and kicking” situation. 😂 Candybug starts off sorta playing along with her because she’s the only ticket he has to get out of this stupid mountain lol

Unfortunately for them, it’s discovered that another unplugged villain (Sinistar) had heard through arcade gossip about the whole ordeal with the Cy-bug infestation of Sugar Rush and the monstrosity Turbo turned into when eaten by one, so he intentionally sneaks into Hero’s Duty and gets himself eaten by a Cy-bug to become a hybrid as well, and starts game-jumping all over the place to eat weapons and characters for more power-ups. At that point, things start snowballing out of control with Sinistar rampaging all over the place, and so Vanellope, Candybug, Ralph, Felix, and Calhoun are all basically forced to team up because if they don’t work together on this, Sinistar will 100% without a doubt kill all of them, lmao. So it’s basically just a lot of Candybug being a major asshole while everybody else has to very reluctantly put up with it because he’s literally the only person who can 1v1 Sinistar in emergency situations, also meanwhile Vanellope is trying VERY hard to figure him out and reign in his assholery as much as she can, lmao (and somewhat succeeding in very small areas, but, y’know, it’s Turbo. He’s a massive bitch who is very unwilling to change. 😂) Also he’s been going through a bit of an ongoing mental health crisis/depression spiral the whole time due to his world constantly falling apart around him SO THAT’S BEEN FUN

(Sorry if this explanation isn’t very good, I was trying not to make it super long while also still covering most of the main stuff, lol. It’s readable here on AO3!)

(Tfw you have to rely on a mentally unstable Cy-bug that hates you and tried to kill you multiple times to stop a DIFFERENT Cy-bug from eating you for your glitching powers so that the arcade doesn’t get completely destroyed ← Kill Switch in a nutshell lol)

#Wreck It Ralph #King Candy #Candybug #Vanellope #Sinistar #Text Post #Asks #KillSwitch #Thank you for the interest! <3

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stylized-corpse · 4 months ago

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Orbits @ Turbo Haus - 02/21/2025

#Orbits #post rock #jazz #Turbo Haus #live music #Montreal #Long Vowel Shows

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keferon · 8 months ago

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*thwack*

Get his ass!

*insert about the cruel indifference of the universe vs the indomitable human spirit, idk*

————————

Prowl watched Jazz wrap his discolored torso with some sort of cloth type bandage, fascinated by the way the injury seemed to mimic the injury that Jazz’s… mech… had taken during the battle just breems before. The first time that Prowl had gotten to watch Jazz patch himself up, he had hovered worriedly and awkwardly. At the time, he had only just learned a few cycles before that his closest friend was an organic who piloted a mech-like body as a weapon, and not the mech itself.

Jazz had babbled on and on about how his mech could take serious damage and he would be fine, but sometimes the “DRIFT” connection between organic and machine meant that some wounds transferred over to the organic body. If Jazz took a blow to the helm and lost it, he wouldn’t have to worry about dying, but he would have a helm-splitting headache afterwards. Apparently, it had something to do with the cerebral connection that was needed to pilot such a large piece of machinery like it was an extension of your person. Some kind of unethical science that definitely would have had some bots going to jail if Jazz were Cybertronian. It reminded Prowl too much of Shockwave.

When the Praxian had expressed his discomfort at the slight connection he had made, Jazz had given him a small sad smile. The words that Jazz spoke in reply would probably haunt him for deca-cycles.

“When we were invaded, what was and wasn’t ethical kinda got thrown out the window. We were losin’ cities everyday, our population was dwindin’, either due to the Quints or due to civil unrest. Humans… we ‘ave short lives compared to you guys. But we love’em. Threw all our cards into one basket, and prayed. Monsters to fight Monsters was the propaganda they spread when I was growing up.”

Prowl’s optics dimmed lightly as he watched Jazz stretch upwards, pulling at the bandages and heavy bruises. The human made a slight groaning noise as bones popped from the stress. He turned to look up at Prowl, spinning a-top Prowl’s desk to give him a wide and mischievous grin. Prowl snorted faintly, watching his friend with a fondness in his EM field that he knew Jazz couldn’t feel.

“They never said anything about wha’ the Hunter Program does to the pilot. Only that when ya signed up, ya got a mech matching your specific specs and the opportunity to go slay monsters. Sometimes the mech was prebuilt, from a pilot who died and left their mech still intact, and sometimes you got your own personalized one. The mech itself though… they were never the unethical part of the program. It was all the serums and shit that they stuffed into me to ensure I’d survive the DRIFT process. I… I remember being tied down to a med-bunk and… and just flashes of horrific pain.”

Jazz walked up to Prowl, still grinning, preening almost like a turbo kitten. The Praxian laid out his servo so Jazz could crawl aboard, being mindful of his organic friend. He lifted Jazz up to his shoulder, relaxing as Jazz tucked himself in close, humming softly as he settled in the take a nap on Prowl’s shoulder. Prowl’s doorwings fluttered a bit.

“Yer not wrong. That what we did to survive was unethical, probably inhumane. But… humans… we hate losing. We do unspeakable things when given the right motivation. For some it’s love, loyalty, family, country, pride, greed. I’ve seen pilots pull themselves from their mech’s corpse, waving a gun at the jaws of a monster, whilst missing an arm and half their face. I’ve seen doctors tie down rookie pilots and pump them full of drugs and serums, watch them scream and plead for mercy, watch them die when it’s too much for their body to handle, so that pilots don’t die the minute they try to DRIFT. Yer not wrong. Humans can be vile and cruel and outright terrible, but we can also strive for peace and love and kindness. It’s that, that makes us survivors.”

Jazz’s humming fell quiet as he fell asleep against Prowl’s neck, causing the Praxian to relax slowly back into his office chair. He looked up at the data pad that Knockout had given him, containing Jazz’s full medical checkup. The list of everything in near critical condition for his species was… alarming. Jazz had said he felt fine during the checkup. Knockout’s reading said differently. Knockout’s readings said Jazz was dying. That Jazz had been dying for years.

Jazz knew he was dying and wasn’t moving to fix it. Because pilots have their life for their planet, and pilots had a set expiration date.

Jazz had accepted this date.

Prowl had never been so angry.

“An expiration date” made me silently stare into space for a while. Hoooly shit….

#mecha pilot jazz au

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the-silver-chronicles · 6 months ago

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2025 Year Of The OTP January Prompts: "Our Love" [Boa Lurking In The Bliss]

Tagging @voidika @raresvtm @josephseedismyfather @noodlecupcakes @imogenkol @socially-awkward-skeleton @inafieldofdaisies @aceghosts @cloudofbutterflies92 @cassietrn @direwombat @adelaidedrubman @derelictheretic @davrinsgriffons @shallow-gravy @strangefable @statichvm @carlosoliveiraa @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @alypink @shellibisshe @josephslittledeputy @skoll-sun-eater @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @florbelles @minilev @justasmolbard @yokobai and @seedsplease

January Prompts based on this Year of the OTP fandom event. I've tackled the following prompts: First Kiss, "May I have this dance with you?" & Sharing Clothes.

Showing off my first completed January oneshot for this event, called Our Love, which can also be found on AO3 here.

This is one of the few lighter and fluffier oneshots for this event, so already starting off good. I am quite excited to do the rest, especially when it comes to the August Prompts.

Anyway, you can read the oneshot below the cut or on my AO3 above. Enjoy!:

Title: Our Love.

Series: The Silver Chronicles (Far Cry 5)

Pairing: Boa Lurking In The Bliss (Silva Omar/Faith Seed)

Prompts: January - First Kiss, “May I have this dance with you?” & Sharing Clothes.

Genre: Romantic Fluff. Light Angst (Silva tends to overthink).

Words: 3,095.

The snowstorm hadn’t let up. The flurry of white flakes relentlessly rained down on the roof of the lodge by the roaring winds, covering it in a deep powder.

Silva would have to shovel some of the snow that built up near the porch and balconies, but that would be a tomorrow problem.

At the moment she was busy pouring two mugs of chocolate caliente that she made from scratch, while Faith was getting changed into something cleaner. Silva managed to avoid most of the mess, thanks in part to the apron she wore.

The dark beige was accompanied by a steam that carried the sweet scent of the chocolate. Taking the apron off, she left it on the kitchen bench, opting to clean it up later as she carried the mugs over to the living space, placing the one on the small table in the middle while taking a seat on one side of the couch while awaiting the return of her housemate.

She could hear the jukebox inserting the next record, playing some jazz song she never cared to learn the name of. She remembered gifting it to Elsa when her younger hermana uncharacteristically complained about having to change each record personally once the song ended. Silva suspected Elsa only complained to get her to build something again, a little time for herself rather than all spent on her hermana and hija.

Not that Silva ever mentioned it. She rather enjoyed putting together that record player. She missed tinkering, especially now.

Silva blew on the steam leaving her mug, carefully bringing the chocolate caliente to her lips as she sipped on the burning, yet deliciously rich liquid.

They were near the end of the first month of being stuck in her late-hermana’s lodge, and the blizzard storming outside hadn’t let up. There were moments of calmness, sure, but that would never be enough time for either her or Faith to escape down the mountain without getting caught right back in the snowstorm once more. Again, she reminded herself.

She only hoped that the storm put a pause on the Reaping. Not that she didn’t trust her friends weren’t doing fine without her. Although, a small part of her wished she was there with them… just to make sure they were safe.

But another and more vocal part of herself was relieved by the sudden separation from the mass violence. There was guilt that gnawed at her for such a thought, but she pushed it away.

Especially when she heard the approaching steps of the only other occupant in the lodge.

When turning back to see Faith, she was immediately met with the sudden change in style from the other woman.

Instead of one of Elsa’s old dresses that better fitted the style she was used to seeing on the Seed sister, Faith instead wore a loose flannel shirt and culotte that belonged that previously belonged to Silva.

Not entirely an issue that she had in itself. It was just Faith looked good in her clothes.

Silva could not keep her gaze off of Faith, and she blamed the warmth in her cheeks on the caliente.

“Something on your mind, Silva?” Faith asked in her approach, rounding the red sofa to take her seat next to the deputy. Her green eyes lightened at the steaming chocolate caliente waiting for her on the small table.

Silva didn’t answer immediately, too busy gawking at Faith in her attire, before swallowing down her surprise and replying, “No, no, nothing much… you look good, by the way.”

Faith seemed to appreciate the compliment, her smile growing bigger as she replied, “Thanks. Just thought I’d try something else on while the dress gets washed.”

It didn’t explain why Faith went into her room for clothes, but she wasn’t complaining.

Faith turned her focus to the caliente awaiting her, and in curious anticipation, Silva observed as the light brunette lifted the mug to her lips, lightly blowing the steam like she herself had done, and sipped the scalding caliente with a pleased hum.

“This is delicious,” Faith replied with a smile, the woman’s words settling a feeling of relief on Silva’s mind, “We did a great job, wouldn’t you agree, Silva?”

Faith’s words evoked an eyebrow raise from Silva; sure, they had produced the caliente together, however Silva distinctly remembered Faith mucking about, at one point playfully attacking her with chocolate covered pastry brush.

Despite this in mind, Silva decided on agreeing with Faith, giving kudos where kudos were due, “For a first timer, you certainly did exceptionally well.”

Faith beamed at the praise, and Silva drank more of her caliente, before throwing Faith a mischievous glance in her grey eyes as she added, “Although, I don’t remember the process being so messy. Nor the part where the pastry brush would try covering my face in chocolate powder.”

Faith snickered at the memory, softly bumping against Silva’s shoulder as she pointed out, “You didn’t seem to mind. In fact, I’d go as far to say you enjoyed the trouble.”

Silva’s lips tugged into a bashful smile, feeling warmer. She remembered the surprise of the powdered pastry brush tapping her nose when she glanced over to check Faith’s progress, and the bubbling fun that resounded in her beating heart when dodging and batting away more attempts to dust her face in the delectable cocoa.

“I did,” she replied softly.

A comfortable silence filled the air, a contrast to the raging winds outside. No tension, no suspicion. Nothing but a calm trust between the two women.

Silva wanted to shift closer, close enough that her shoulder could barely brush against Faith’s, perhaps her knee leaning against the other woman’s own, too.

Though Silva held back such impulses. She couldn’t do that, not when things were… comfortable. She knew she shouldn’t overstep now. Yet, the urge remained. There was a small voice inside of her that told her that reasonably, it couldn’t hurt to try. Neither action would be anything big, and if Faith showed any sign of discomfort, then Silva would simply cease the action altogether.

However, if Faith did allow it… then how could that be interpreted? That Faith simply doesn’t mind her closeness? That she’d use it as a way to gain a better hold over her for Eden’s Gate goals?

Or… or perhaps most frightening of all, it could mean that Faith may reciprocate the same desire she does? The want to be closer, to be held, the awkward and yet not uncomfortable hot sensation that is always accompanied by the slight pace of speed in her heart. Was it implausible? Silva couldn’t be sure. While she certainly desired such an outcome under any other circumstances, it would be devastating here; the knowledge she found another who once more held a mutual feeling for a companionship no other could grant them, only for that person to be someone who’s her enemy; whom she is expected to bring down, in whatever means necessary.

Silva wanted to close the distance, to just see if there was a chance, but at the same time knew she shouldn’t, as not only would it hurt more if the time she was forced to confront Faith came, but it’d perhaps be better if she didn’t try, make it easier to do what would need to be done and avoid risking any further complications.

However, Silva doubted it could be that easy.

Silva was brought out of her storming thoughts when she and Faith heard a resounding click from across the room.

Both glanced over to the jukebox, Faith watching in interest as through the visible glass, the finished record was lifted from the spinner by the “arm clamp” and gently placed to the back of the stack. It travelled down to the next record, tenderly pulling it up and placing it flat onto the spinner, prompting the stylus to touch down on the spinning record.

Through the speakers of the jukebox, the next song began to play, starting with a sudden beat before a gentle string begins to play and the synchronized harmony of a woman vocalizing an “ooh”.

From there the lyrics began.

“There’s a girl in town/And word’s gone around she’s just fine.”

Faith tilted her head with intrigue, yet confusion. Silva couldn’t blame her lack of understanding, as the other woman wasn’t well attuned to the Spanish tongue. Silva herself was still unsure where Elsa got this particular song.

Regardless, she liked it. It brought a sense of… normalcy.

Although, she couldn’t deny that the song playing at this moment set a certain mood she wasn’t sure was appropriate… for herself and Faith that is. The timing couldn’t be any less impeccable to her earlier spiral of thoughts.

“So I don’t worry my head/’Cause I know her heart is tied to mine.”

Silva swallowed down the rest of her caliente, placing the mug on the table. Unexpectedly, Faith placed her unfinished mug down too.

Silva observed as Faith glanced to her and just as swiftly looked away, wringing her hands as she intensely narrowed her eyes down.

It was always fascinating to Silva to see the constant flux of change in the woman’s expression, especially when she was out of the Bliss.

Though Silva could tell Faith was somewhat nervous about something, thinking it over repeatedly. The deputy was ready to shift off the couch and had an excuse prepared on the tip of her tongue to give her housemate some space when Faith caught her off-guard by grasping her wrist.

“Would you like to dance?” Faith blurted out, the sudden volume making the dark-haired woman pause in her ascent from the couch.

Silva tilted her head, blinking at Faith, a little confused and a bit shocked. It was the furthest thing she’d expect of the other woman, and certainly not something Silva expected Faith to want to do with the likes of her.

There was beat of silence, and Faith looked down to her hand gripping on Silva’s wrist. She cringed, lightly letting go.

Silva flexed her hand, planting herself back onto the couch as she turned her full attention onto Faith, “Why would you want to? With me, I mean?”

Faith brushed a strand of light brown hair back behind her ear, her lips a thin line as she thought of something, anything.

“Well, it’s… it’s because it sounds like the kind of song you’d dance with a partner- or I mean someone else with, you know?” Faith played it off, rubbing at her arm, “You don’t have to, but I’d rather not dance alone…”

Silva chewed at the inside of her cheek. Faith’s excuse seemed too sloppy to be a total fabrication, so she was telling a bit more of the truth. Though Silva was hesitant to accept Faith’s request.

While a dance didn’t inherently hold a romantic inclination, it was still rather intimate. Silva knew she was growing more attached to Faith the longer they remained snowed in, a complication that would only prolong the inevitable pain or hinder the necessity of her mission entirely. She knew neither of them were willing to abandon their respective factions nor join the other’s; Silva was loyal to her friends and detested Joseph Seed and his cult’s methods, and Faith was happy within her family and thought she was doing what was necessary. Not to mention, the Resistance despised her and held no trust for the woman.

Silva sometimes wondered whether or not she should have even agreed to their temporary truce in the lodge. Faith had been vulnerable, without her Bliss and Angels to protect her, so easy to kill. And yet, Silva’s own moral compass held her back from ridding the county of Faith Seed, either because the other woman was in no position to fight back or because Silva desired to hear the other woman out now that she had come for her without any tricks open for use.

Whatever the case was, it led to them reaching a truce given their… snowy circumstances. Silva would have nothing to blame but her ironclad convictions to follow her part of her obligations to the letter when she eventually allowed Faith to return back to the Project’s awaiting arms.

She had all the reasons to say no. To decline and say goodnight and hope the storm ended tomorrow so she wouldn’t have to wake up to make breakfast for the both of them. To cut the bud in the nip so nothing could progress further than it should have.

And yet…

“The life that we live, and the love the I give to her.”

Silva stood up from the sofa, her grey eyes glancing to Faith’s enquiring green. Faith was a very beautiful woman; inside and outside the Bliss, but Silva preferred this… someone who looked and acted real, not some fantastical visage putting on a performance.

She was wary that this was another front, some elaborate attempt to futilely get her into Eden’s Gate. Her allies didn’t call the woman a “siren” without reason. However, Silva rationalized that Faith was clever enough to understand honey trapping held unlikely success. And besides…

For the first time in nearly a decade, a gorgeous woman has expressed a desire to dance with her.

And fuck it, Silva was foolishly going to indulge in this chance.

“Each day it grows more and more, I’m sure it shows.”

Silva held out her gloved hand to Faith, the latter’s brows shot up in surprise by the action, and Silva swallowed all her nerves to softly ask one simple question against the quickened beat of her heart.

“May I have this dance with you?”

For a short minute, Faith did nothing but gape in response to Silva’s question, faltering the deputy’s confidence, worry hidden underneath her soft gaze as she wondered if she missed her chance.

All worry was dashed away when Faith’s lips widened in a delighted grin and took Silva’s hand.

“Well/Our love/Is a bubbling fountain.”

Hands held on to each other, both manoeuvred their way to the spacious area near the jukebox, light smiles reflecting off each other.

“Our love/That flows into a sea.”

Awkwardly, they try to find where exactly they want to place their hands; Silva resolves to just steady her arms below Faith’s shoulders while the other woman wraps her arms at the back of Silva’s neck, pushing them a little bit closer.

“Our love/Deeper than any ocean.”

The movements were nothing complex or special. The beats of the song didn’t intend for that, as it held more of a relaxing tempo. Not that she minded; and from the looks of it, Faith seemed content with slowly swaying.

Being so close… Silva could feel heat of Faith’s breath on her lips, their noses separated by the smallest of gaps between them. Her grey eyes could gaze into Faith’s green, see all the specks in her lively irises that no one would ever get a chance to witness.

“Our love/For eternity.”

Neither woman stopped swaying as the song played on, entranced in the other’s gaze, eyes recording each other’s feature to memory.

Be it impulsive instinct or plain brave desire, Silva gradually inched closer to Faith’s lips.

“Like Sunday/I pray our love will always stay pure/While the world turns around/He holds me down for sure.”

Though Silva didn’t reach her destination, snapping out of whatever urge she was acting on. Pause midway, her intentions clear yet uncertain of Faith’s own feelings on the matter.

With doubt on her mind, Silva was about to inch back, when she felt Faith’s hands creep from the back of her neck to hold her face.

Giving her a smile, Faith went to close the gap.

“Our love/Is a bubbling fountain/Our love/That flows into a sea.”

Upon recognizing Faith’s intentions, Silva met her approaching lips in the middle, lightly pressing against the other woman’s more eager lips. This time Silva’s hands shifted from their position, crossing behind Faith’s neck.

“Our love/Deeper than any ocean/Our love/For eternity.”

Both separated briefly, Faith giggling from their different approaches with the kiss. Silva softly chuckled too, Faith’s eagerness unexpected though not unappreciated. Tasting her own lips, Silva returned a bashful smile to Faith.

It had been certainly a while since she last kissed someone; someone she felt a connection with. It may not have been her first kiss, but it most definitely the first passionate kiss she’s had in almost a decade… since Irene.

Looking back to Faith, she wondered if this had been her first kiss… or at least a kiss she’s had in a long time.

She didn’t think it was her place to ask; perhaps later, or not at all. It wasn’t her business, and ultimately it didn’t really matter. It was Silva’s first kiss with Faith, and this would be Faith’s first kiss with her. That’s what really made it special.

Parting her lips once more, Silva went in for a second, more even kiss, matching Faith’s eagerness from before, much to the delight of the other woman. Faith wasted no time in returning the same energy.

“And after all/The rain will fall on us too.”

A deep part of Silva knew this wasn’t right. Not wrong, but not the most sensible thing to be doing. She and Faith were supposed to be enemies. And yet here, they weren’t. Faith had innocent blood on her hands, like how Silva’s own was stained with the cult’s. Something Silva would need to confront later; she knew that, but not now.

Now she wanted to feel something- something good for once, other than the guilt and shame and just shittiness in general.

Perhaps though… Silva’s trail of thought paused as she separated from their second kiss, Faith gazing at her with an adoration she’d never seen before on the woman, not out during the Reaping, and not in the Bliss either.

Her hands went from Silva’s face to her back, gripping hard like she was afraid this was some dream. And honestly, Silva shared the same sentiment, even if she should wish this was just some self-indulgent fantasy.

She felt Faith’s nose brush against the crook of her neck, burrowing her head into the space. Silva didn’t mind.

“But I’ll keep moving on/Proud and strong with you.”

Silva found herself willing to continue the scandalous thought that she’d find herself pondering on for the rest of the month they’d be stuck in the lodge for.

…perhaps there’s a way for this war to end without more piles of bodies.

#2025 year of the otp #fandom prompt event #far cry 5 #fic: our love #otp: boa lurking in the bliss #oc: silva omar #faith seed #silva internally: *overthinking on how acting on her feelings toward faith could go into the worst possible ways and may not even be mutual #meanwhile faith: 'i want to kiss her so badly...'#also the jukebox rubbing it's little robo hands together as it picks up a love song: “I'm about to do God's work right here.”

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