#ask-sentient-vehicles

[ask-sentient-vehicles]

So, let's start at the beginning,

In history, before the invention of the engine, horses were used to pull carts. So hypothetically, the blueprint of a humanoid engine would be: mammalian, w/wheels fixed on the joints.

something I forgot to add: engines are toons. they are dolls. they are puppets. they are able to squash and stretch themselves in ways impossible.

a good comparison to them is Pinocchio!

Image ID: Engines gain sentience from gold dust. Lady is the supplier of gold dust.

there is no physical difference between steam and diesel, but an internal one; all diesels emit oil.

Engines no longer have to be driven; they can drive themselves! But they still need a driver and fireman to guide them, and start the day.

[joezworld]

Have you done anything regarding Lady of Legend yet? Beachy Head? I wonder if Lady still sees themselves as a 4900, or if Beachy Head has any fuzzy, vague memories of Great Northern days.

That's a great question, and one I answered (checks notes) 3 years ago.

The TLDR is that Lady of Legend is very mad about her current life circumstances and fully sees herself as a Hall-class, thanks very much.

As for Beachy Head... it's a bit harder to suss out. They used a lot of ex-GNR bits (and LBSCR bits too) but for those to still be usable today they basically would've had to machine the history out of them. Whether anything not of this time comes spilling forth out of Beachy is something that will only come out with time.

[muletia]

I just read your fic about Optimus being jealous of your car/vehicle, and I present you, Megatron in his shoes:

You walked to where your vehicle was parked, but it was not there. Instead, it was a familiar-looking alien jet with a different paint job that sat nicely and politely.

You felt your blood pressure rising as you kept asking where your property is, but the lovestruck warlord insist he's your new chaperone.

Basically Megatron thinks you process colors the way female birds do to male birds.

LMAO I LOVE IT SO MUCH

the funniest part is that his alt mode probably doesn’t even have a cockpit since it’s a cybertronian fighter, and megatron is way too proud to change it. so there’s literally no way he could actively transport you. 1-0 for optimus, i guess. does that mean megs will stop trying? absolutely not. knowing him, he’d probably try to gaslight you into thinking you never needed some pathetic, inanimate car, and HE is a far better match. you do trust a sentient machine that has a vehicle more, right? the fact that said vehicle is also the leader of the decepticons is suddenly irrelevant <3

oooo, i love this idea with the birds. i don’t think megs would go as far as some species (like birds of paradise or peacocks), but there’s definitely something primal in the way he tries to impress you. he makes sure to look as shiny and polished as possible for you and sharpens his claws daily. and most importantly, he shows off his strength, proving that no other bot could ever compare to him. oh, and we could even throw mate guarding into the mix if we don’t tie it to a harem au.

or!! megs bringing you rare trinkets to impress you. when you end up in his hands, he casually gives you a piece of meteorite or a shiny stone FROM ANOTHER PLANET, and before you can even comprehend what you’re holding, bro’s like: alright, so now you’re my mate, right?

[fiber-optic-alligator]

(Not a request dw)

Re: Knock Out's human managing to escape during the game of Hide and Shriek via an Autobot helping them out.

My first thought is that the Autobot who winds up helping them out is probably Bumblebee, Arcee, or Smokescreen. Somebody fast enough to not get caught in the rescue process, or leave a significant amount of evidence behind that it was them.

For the sake of further discussion, I'm just gonna say that it was Bumblebee. So, he's patrolling when a human in rough shape, that smells a Whole lot like a certain Decepticon trots up to the side of the road waving him down. Now, Optimus has told him, and the rest of his allies that they are to remain hidden from humanity lest the Decepticons track them down sooner. But it seems Knock Out has already threatened this one so not helping them out just isn't an option.

After listening to the shortened version of their story about what happened, he pans through the radio stations to cobble together a response. "Hop on in, Baby! I'll get you -somewhere safe!" And then he pops open the passenger seat door. The human doesn't seem thrilled about the prospect of being inside of Another unmanned, probably alien car, but can't find it in them to refuse the offered help. So they get seated inside, and buckle in. Apologizing for the mess they're making inside as it's been quite the night.

Bumblebee closes the door quietly, and drives off towards Jasper. His radio piping up once more to say; "You're fine. -It's all good. -Where's your stop anyhow?" The human pointedly doesn't comment on the shifting voices, hoping that if the stranger elements of the vehicle went unmentioned, the "Driver" won't turn hostile. "You can drop me off by the grocery store, I can walk home from there."

"Well alright! -Do you mind if I ask -What happened -to you -out there?" Bumblebee hopes that it wasn't the kind of encounter he been hearing about lately. The kind where humans go missing, and if they ever turn up again, they're covered in solvent. A Decepticon looking for a quick snack, and a sentient pet, no doubt just snatching any ole' human they can find. The human tilts their head, feigning confusion.

"But I thought I told you what happened already?" Bumblebee ex-vents quietly, and tries again. "I know you were -cuttin' pieces out -of your story. It's alright! -I won't snitch if you won't." It's the human's turn to sigh, but this one sounds tired. "Fine. But it's gonna sound weird, yeah?"

"Go right on ahead."

"I was walking home when a red Ashton Martin pulled up next to me, and apparently had a taser? Of some kind? It zapped me, and I passed out. Only to wake up in the car, far outside of town roughly around that old trainyard, you know? I did my best to crash the car, and after some mild success, I bolted into one of the train cars." They pause to collect themselves a little, in utter disbelief about the whole thing. Though, unbeknownst to them, Bumblebee is dreading the confirmation about his prior theories.

"After a few minutes, I was found by a giant robot. An arrogant, 20-something foot tall bastard of a giant robot named-"

"Knockout!"

... ... ...

"You-uh, you wouldn't happen to be a friend of his, would you?"

"Nonono -He's an -aft -hat -and an enemy of mine. You're safe -with me. I'll get you -home safe." Bumblebee sighs again before explaining himself. "He's a real bad dude. -On the opposite side -from me, and my friends. -We're trying to protect -this -Planet Earth! -And the creatures that live -on it. Are you sure you don't -want to -lie low somewhere -safer? He may -know where you live." Bumblebee didn't want to scare them further, but if this is Knock Out they're talking about, he's probably looked into them enough to deduce that they're worth whisking away. It's better to be certain about things.

The human sits in silence for a moment, registering the idea that they might've been targeted in particular by the giant robot. They decide to derail the current conversation for a moment so they could think over his offer. "You, uh, are you the same... Species? As this Knock Out guy?" There's a notable pause before the self-driving car responds. "Yeeeeeaaahhh.... I'm sorry for -not mentioning it earlier. You already seemed -shaken -and I didn't want to -rock the boat -further"

The human sighs deeply, and throws their hands up a little. "Ey' you know what? At least You aren't forcing me into a game of Hide and Seek, or threatening to Eat me. ... I... I think I'll take you up on the offer to lie low somewhere safer if that's alright." They huff out a laugh before continuing. "As long as 'somewhere safer' isn't Your stomach. Haha" Somehow, Bumblebee doesn't find the idea of taking advantage of their awful situation very funny.

"I'm not that kinda guy -Honest! I just wanna make sure that you're okay!" The duo make it into town unfollowed, and they both seem to relax a little. "I can -hook you up -with a place -you can stay -where he -can't find you. After that, we can get -you -moved -outta town! -And far from -his -nastiness. Okay?" They sag in their seat a little, hoping he's telling the truth.

"Sure, that sounds great... Um-" "Bumblebee" "Yeah, that sounds great Bumblebee. Thank you."

"No problem!"

-Not a Request Anon

THIS IS SO CUTE!!! Bumblebee would definitely fit perfectly into his scenario!! Awww and the human gradually forming friendships with the Autobots while Knockout just seethes over the fact that he lost his human to Bumblebee of all mechs. It was supposed to be him! Don’t think you’ve seen the last of him, because even with the Autobots protecting you, he isn’t going to give up that easily.

[dearest-amber-daily]

Ahaha. Ahahaha... I screwed up-

So. How do I explain myself- Well- while on patrol, I found this glass container of this strange, green substance, deep in the woods. It had something written on its bottom. "Synthetic Energon", I believe? It's unlike anything I've seen before.

I took it back to headquarters since I wanted to study it more, and I was going to ask Jin if she wanted help with examining the liquid, and then... uuhhh.....

The aforementioned "synthetic energon" (or synth-en, if you will), is splattered onto the floor, the large vial fractured. It didn't seem like it fell from that great of a height, but it was enough to break it a bit. The medic's eyes seem to be different than usual, her eyes glowing green, akin to the green liquid behind her, rather than her usual pink eyes.

Jin- Jin please don't get mad at me. I know I'm not one to usually make mistakes like this, but it was an accident, and while I was too invested in this new discovery I wasn't looking at where I was going and... that happened.

I should also add... I may have consumed some of it, before it fell. Just thought that was worth mentioning. It was a dumb decision. I know. I was caught up in my curiosity at the time. But, I feel strangely energized after drinking it? Like, I feel a lot stronger? And pumped up, too. I don't know how or why, but that's just how I feel.

I'll get to cleaning it later, I just have... no idea what to do next....

@daily-rcp-poli @daily-jin-madebygenius @dailyrcproy @the-hellycopter-photographer

Transformers RP blogs highly encouraged to interact! <3 This is a Transformers reference after all, and as a huge fan of it, (esp TFP), I wanted to do something related to both of my main fandoms!

It'd be nice to help a non-cybertronian, with a cybertronian problem. Speaking of that, Amber could use help from a fellow medic... (perhaps Ratchet? he's dealt with this before. or Knockout. Or literally TF blog in general, i'm desperate for TF roleplays lmao)

MORE INFO UNDER CUT! (if you don't know what synth-en is, or who amber is)

Synthetic Energon (nicknamed Synth-En) is a manufactured version of Energon, the fuel/lifeblood of Transformers. But unlike normal Energon, it is entirely artificial. It's very effective, and when used on machinery, it's proven to work very well. The catch is, it just works a little too well when used on sentient machinery.

When used on a Cybertronian (or in this case, a robovan), it brings them into a significantly more powerful state. However, it has the side-effect of affecting the user's mental stability, with heightening their agression and arrogance. The user may choose to make some... impulsive decisions, too.

Synthetic energon made its debut in Transformers: Prime, in season 1, episode 22. The medical bot, Ratchet, gets into contact with it and proceeds to get high on steroids.

When I realised Ratchet and Amber were in fandoms I were highly invested in, were both about transforming robots, AND WERE BOTH MEDICS, I decided it was the perfect idea to put Amber in Ratchet's position.

Amber is from the cartoon Robocar Poli, a show about a rescue team of transforming vehicles who save their town from various accidents. A medical expert who's kind, friendly and intelligent. Also, terrifying when mad.

I love Amber. I love Amber so much it hurts me. Same with Ratchet. I have a thing for medical robot characters...

She's a manmade transforming vehicle (implied. i don't think we've gotten solid confirmation or had someone say that the robocars are manmade but oh well we all collectively agree that they're manmade), sooo.. not cybertronian. With synthetic energon, and unrefined synth-en at that. This is totally going to go well.

RCP and TFP, while they have their similarities, they are drastically different. Transformers Prime is about robot warfare. Robocar Poli is a version of Rescue Bots from paralel universe (a reference to one post I saw). I love them both.

medics my beloved.

Anyway, now that you're done reading, GO WILD WITH THE ROLEPLAYS!!!! <33 i'd be so happy to see your rp responses >:D

- Mod Sharon

[physalian]

On eating your “Realism” cake and having it too

Inspired by another post I didn't want to hijack twice.

TL;DR, people are able to suspend their disbelief for many things, but once you invite them to start questioning things, if you have not done the groundwork, your lore might fall apart.

Example I love to use is Cars to Cars 2.

People were not nitpicking how car society works after Cars. It’s a kids movie about anthropomorphic vehicles, and for the most part, it kind of made sense. The courthouse in Radiator Springs was built for vehicles, Doc was a “doctor” but really a fancy mechanic, and the plot was about cars racing, doing car things.

Yeah you could wonder things like, how did they build the buildings? Why do they have both sentient aircraft (the helicopter and blimp) but also planes being piloted by cars (the flyover of the jets above the big race)? But these were negligible background details that didn’t matter to the plot.

Cars didn’t have to be ‘realistic’ and wasn’t pretending to be.

Cars 2 was when people got all up in arms nitpicking the hell out of every little thing, because in this movie, zero thought was given to the worldbuilding beyond “idk it’s earth but with humans instead of cars” except now it matters to the plot.

Why is Mater able to eat wasabi? Why does wasabi exist? Why is there a car pope? Why is there a car queen? How do cars have parents? What was the point of that one car with their eyes in the headlights? Are sentient battleships born or made into a life of combat? Are all commercial planes forced to be pack mules for their whole existence? How does the car class system work? Why do lemons exist?

All of this taking away from the grand prix plot that made much more sense for the universe, instead of the spy movie. Now, to try and solve the mystery and engage with the story, we have to think about all those incongruous details. All those details, the car queen and car pope would have been funny background gags if the movie was just about the grand prix.

It’s still a kids movie, but now with all these details that don’t add up and cannot be ignored. Cars could be enjoyed by everyone. Cars 2 was made for money kids who weren’t supposed to think about all that.

—

If you as the author and your story take the tone of “this is for fun don’t think too hard” people will have a good time if they’re entertained and anyone who nitpicks can be met with, well, Dead Dove: What did you expect? It’s exactly what it says on the tin.

You can absolutely make shit up as you go along. I read a book that had dinosaurs on Mars. Why? Because it’s fun. There was a tiny scientific explanation given, but the plot did not rest on how and why these dinosaurs exist on Mars. The story never asked the audience to consider logic, nor did it have its characters questioning the worldbuilding.

You do not have to be “realistic,” in that way, to be good.

But once you start bringing attention to the elephant in the room, you need to have done your homework.

So, example.

I have a novel in which the sun does not shine, permanently, across the entire northern hemisphere of earth. This is fantasy, not sci-fi.

Option one: Ignore all the catastrophic consequences of such an apocalypse. How it works, why it happened, all that noise does not matter to the plot or the characters. No one ever questions it, no one’s choices ever depend on it. It’s just a fun aesthetic choice, in the same way that animals can talk to humans in Disney movies and no one questions it. Why and how they can talk does not matter, only that they can and we are now entertained by Mushu’s antics.

Option two: Okay, so I’ve taken the sun away from half the planet. I now need to think about the following: How does that affect the weather for the other half? What happens to all the plants and animals that lived in the North? How would one survive in that wasteland without easy access to food? What food could grow there without sunlight? By what other means can I get nutrients for plants and animals without sunlight, so people can eat, so communities can exist?

I went with option two. The plot of the book is very much tied to this lack of sunlight and the hazardous environment the characters are stuck in. The characters are wondering how it works and how they can overcome it constantly. I did my homework, I gave them a way to survive and even thrive up there. I am thus calling this post-apocalyptic setting “realistic”.

It’s still fantasy, so my explanation is still “because magic”, where the sun isn’t gone it’s just being blocked by a big magic blanket, to put it simply, but the consequences are based in realism. That way, my audience can follow along and understand how the world works and anticipate why characters do the things they do in their environment.

So if a geologist or climatologist reads my book and goes “um actually” and they point out that I’m wrong, I have to own that. I have to say “yeah I didn’t consider that, it’s a good point, but I can’t change the manuscript so to enjoy the book, try not to think about it.”

What I cannot do is protest all criticisms of my “realism” by going “it’s fantasy you’re not supposed to take it seriously” while turning around and also saying how smart I am and how clever and authentic my worldbuilding is.

Can’t eat your realism cake and have it too.

And this is only talking about the lore. I haven’t even touched escapist fantasy relationships.

A more famous example: Gandalf’s magic in Lord of the Rings.

Have not read the books in a hot minute so I’m referencing the movies as I’m more familiar with them.

Gandalf is a wizard. He can do an unexplained number of spells pretty much as the plot demands. What he cannot do is never given a hard limit, which tends to break most magic systems.

And yet. “Why didn’t Gandalf save the day?” isn’t a question that destroys the story.

Gandalf is a shepherd, not the hero. He can lead the race of Men to water, but he can’t make them drink. If he came in and started forcing all the power-hungry men to sit down, shut up, and cooperate, what magic Gandalf can and cannot do would be paramount to understanding the story. He can only nudge people in what he thinks is the right direction, but the choice to act is up to them.

Which is pretty heavily implied throughout the films.

As for his magic, Gandalf both never wins without consequence, and isn’t an aggressive character who resorts to his magic at every turn.

He took down the Balrog, but the Balrog got him, too

He warded off the nazgul with the big light beam outside Minas Tirith, but a lot of Gondorian soldiers still died, and he didn’t do any damage to the fellbeasts

He likes fun times and magic tricks, like the fireworks, more than spells for combat

He’s forgetful, like with the password to the door of Moria

He is not all-powerful

All this means that in any life or death situation, the weight of the plot does not rest solely on his shoulders.

So Tolkein isn’t “realistic” in that he consulted physicists about every little thing, but he’s “realistic” in that all the worldbuilding decisions and lore realistically fit the story. The choices of the characters, the behaviors of the different kingdoms, the perspectives of the different races all make sense for the world they live in.

—

It is nearly impossible, as a lone writer, to cover every potential plot hole that a reader could point out. It’s fiction, after all, and sometimes characters make choices because that’s what’s entertaining and the other option of “just go home” or “X did this because they forgot Y” is not entertaining.

But if you have, say, the series that inspired this post, with a world where winter shows up when the plot demands and lasts for years, you can either say “eh that’s just a thing that happens, it’s not important I just thought it was neat and a cool setting” and people will shrug it off.

Or you can say “this is absolutely critical to the entire story and impacts every society within my world” but don’t do your homework on what those impacts are, people can and will call you out on it.

[regretisstoredintheme]

Request! Rise Donnie x reader that is smarter than him and teases him about it and he's furious about having a crush on them being 100% oblivious that reader already knows and feels the same way. From Donnie's POV. PLEASE and thank you!

I’ve been dreaming of a— HMMMMMM????

Request, you say????

“Anonymous asked: Request! Rise Donnie x reader that is smarter than him and teases him about it and he's furious about having a crush on them being 100% oblivious that reader already knows and feels the same way. From Donnie's POV. PLEASE and thank you!” 

A/N: unfortunately, I can’t see any way that this would go well... If any writer wants to take this prompt and make a fluff version of this, have at thee! But I can only imagine this going one way….

-

Smarter. (A Oneshot) - Donatello x Reader

Warnings: Spoilers for Witch Town & Mind Meld, angst, hurt no comfort, Y/n misreads his feelings, Donnie is a protective father. 

-

The science guy. 

That was me.

I “dealt” with things. The “Bill Nye” comments, the teasing, the bantering, the loneliness, the hours of work into every, single, little project I made. I’ve hacked into every camera in NYC. I’ve created sentient machines, reprogrammed a useless movie vehicle to be the best in the world, I would say. Made bombs, robbed and reverse robbed banks, created rockets, bombs, ingenious battle devices, tech-bo, for christs sake! And so! Many! More! But… 

Then, there was you.

Perfect, in absolutely every way. Mystic, science, physics, hell — you even beat me in banter, leaving me speechless nearly every time. And you rubbed it in my face. You were the Hamilton to my Aaron Burr. It didn’t help that you checked off all my boxes, Cute and mean, that was my type, and I wanted to bond with you, a fellow scientist who I didn’t have to dumb down my talk for, someone I could be myself around! but you… you made yourself impossible to tolerate. I admit I didn’t take it well, when I realized…

You were everything I wanted to be. 

“Awww, is this Shelldon?” You scratched behind one of his many ears, making him trill in delight. “Ahhahawww thanks, dude! Yeah that’a me.” He responded, leaning into your touch. “He’s cute! What coolant do you take, buddy?” You asked, talking down to him like a child, the exact way Sheldon had always reprimanded me for. 

“Donnie’s experimenting with different types,” Yes I am, “He’s trying Castrol Radicool Premix right now, it’s been doing good so far.” Thank you. 

As expected, you inhale sharply through your teeth, making my attention pique from what I was trying to distract myself with. “Donnie really doesn’t take care of you, huh?”

…

What?

Me? 

I don’t take care of Shelldon?

“Uhhh… I don’t know if that’s—“ I can’t bring myself to let him finish, already standing from my gaming chair. I turned on my heel, fury in my eyes as I rolled the seat out of the way, “Excuse me?”

You chuckled, and felt my blood boil, “Awh, Donnie, you’re blushing! Embarrassed?” 

“Infuriated.” I answered. 

“Oh come off it, I simply think you should try Ethylene Glycol, it would be so much better for winter.” I grit my teeth, every word from your sicky-sweet voice made my skin crawl. I would have attacked you right then and there if I didn’t know you had better tech. Hah, better tech… better than me? ME of all people? No. 

I furrow my brows, “That was next on my list..” I seethe, feeling my nerves spike as you poked my shoulder. I hated when you did that, it made my face go red and my palms sweat. Curse this irony, it was like smiling at a joke from a person you’re mad at. It’s frustrating, but involuntary. 

“C’mon, we both know you’re not really mad, you’re just frustrated cuz you like me. Look at that blushing nose~!” I felt my voice catch in my throat as you leaned into my face, wanting nothing more than to push you away already. My body was experiencing a freeze response, and I couldn’t even bring myself to push you, it was as if my bones were made of high-grade titanium, the same as my tech. 

I clenched my fists, feeling a bit of my confidence return as Shelldon flew to my side. “I thought I was supposed to be the narcissist…” I hissed, feeling my face redden with anger. I’ve never hated anyone more. 

Your face turns confused, but I can’t bring myself to realize you might have misunderstood my feelings, “You think you’re so great, don’t you?” Shelldon cowers, I know he hates when I raise my voice, so I lower to a furious whisper, “You think you can just waltz into my lab, my life, and tell me how to run things?” My nails dig into my palm, I resist the urge to threaten you, knowing your body would never be found beneath my hands. 

“You think you’re the science guy, don’t you? Think you can correct everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve and just take my place!?” Make me worthless? Be the purple sibling? What next, re-wiring my systems? Taking scraps and making a dark matter accelerator? Drawing on eyebrows to a cheap version of my bandana!?

Your eyebrows knit, “woah, woah, Dondon, I didn’t mean—“ “Don’t fucking call me that!!” I seethe, feeling tears prick at my eyes, I hate how emotional I am when I’m angry, but I’m too deep in now. Some weak, soft shelled part of my heart is telling me to apologize, but I’ve always, always acted with my head. It’s telling me you’re a threat. And you are… aren’t you? 

“I’m not a child!” I can feel my heartbeat, eyes wide and I take a deep breath to lower my voice. “And Y’know what, I think I finally found something I’m better at.” I fold my arms, watching a frown finally form on your face. 

“Really?” You glared, matching my stiff body language.

“Yeah.” I huff, “Reading the room.” 

“You? Read a room?” You scoffed, seeming just as offended, but I didn’t mind. “Ever think maybe, I did all these things — not to take your place, but to impress you?” 

“Oh, you made an impression. Alright.” You… wanted to impress me? I turned my back to you, a small voice telling me that maybe, just maybe, I.. wasn’t acting with my head.. “A bad one.” Why am I so defensive? Why did all this get to me? Shelldon was uncomfortable, I was uncomfortable, hell, I bet my brothers could hear this! They’re probably uncomfortable! why couldn’t I be the bigger turtle and just move on?

“Just… leave..” I waved at the air, sinking into my seat with a little regret. Why was it, that around you, I was never enough? That I was just the small, weak soft shell who couldn’t play rough with his brothers? Who broke his glasses? Who practically wore a pillowcase for protection?

Why couldn’t I be cool for you? Why was I talked down to? I’ve accomplished so many things, why is it that nobody can ever look at me in awe!? Why am I always admiring someone else, and never being admired?

“…” the tension in the room began to dissipate, and I listened with baited breath as you closed the curtain behind you. I let out the sigh, and I hear Shelldon round the corner, landing his head on mine, “Well, that could’ve gone better…” he muttered, and I feel something strange as I look down at my workbench— grief? Guilt? Whatever it is, it stuck, no matter how badly I didn’t want to admit it.

“Yeah..” I mutter, twirling my screwdriver, “Yeah it could’ve.” 

—

A/N: I feel like this might be a lil OOC, am I the only one who gets that vibe?? Idk I’m not really feeling this one, lmk what you guys think 😭 I guarantee another writer could best me at this prompt, and I offer it up to anyone interested! Hope this was ok, anon, really hope I didn’t wreck your day.  —

[of-tatooine]

DULCE PERICULUM. | CHAPTER VI - CLEAR

supremest wisdom, and primeval love.

(John Wick x Reader, Santino d'Antonio x Reader)

full work

This was the place.

It must have been. It existed in your memories, the forgotten crumbs of moments laying bare right in front of you.

Through the tinted windows of the backseat in the armored vehicle, an extension of Camorra’s constant protection over you - your eyes staggered momentarily on the grand 18th century wooden doors, encrusted in the brick and stone that stretched for floors upwards.

Hidden in plain sight. Evil, crime and all that was unholy, being led by the seemingly normal, historic building. Did the ordinary pedestrians, many who walked near or across the stronghold every single hour, have the slightest idea of what was transpiring inside? The extent of detail flowing through plans to spill yet more blood or to transport even more drugs? The bourbon and whiskey consumed by men after an operation that paid well?

Would they change their morning commute had they known?

With the amount of corruption running rampant in the city that never slept - people would always go out of their way to blissfully ignore.

It was not much different back in il Bel Paese, and you would be damned to be a hypocrite as a pin of the underworld yourself. Camorra’s limbs extending all over the crevices, stones and doors adorning the narrow streets of Napoli - yet, people still drank on the streets, chanting the songs of their victorious football team, melodies leaving their way into hurled curses on some nights. Almost every restaurant in the town owed something to a Camorra boss somewhere, with money flowing into eventually the lifestyle that you led, but did not ask for. Yet - people still frequented the establishments, ordering the finest the fair city had to offer.

And, to think, this was only where it began.

It often hurt to think just how vast and interconnected this web was, jumping from city to city, port to port. Just how many souls were involved. The notion of Camorra almost seemingly incorporated into real life itself - becoming one with the city, with the population, with the beliefs and the traditions.

It was embedded in the pavement stones of Roma, in the bronze of the angels that protected the holy land. Gleaming in the intricate cuts of pink and green marble adorning il Duomo, ever withstanding centuries. Etched onto the mosaics in their lazy trail across cliffs, into the deep, turquoise eternity.

A sentient presence among all corners of the country, blurring the lines of morality wherever it touched in the outside world.

Until it bled the people dry.

Until men were beaten to a pulp in the dimly-lit back alleys on a cold winter night, limping to get home till morning come - because the count had not been right. Until bullets started whizzing in the air upon a missing kilogram. Until an innocent died at a road ambush in the countryside.

For you, it had not taken years to grow accustomed to the ruthless truth of the source of your estate, the grandeur. Of your place in the world.

It was all you knew, your only version of reality, from the moment you gained consciousness.

Was it rightful? Earned? All you had to do was to be born into it, into the right family with the right connections. At least that was what the Camorra told you, when they took you under their wing.

Sometimes, in this life, there are choices.

Sometimes, they have already been made for you.

Everyone in the underworld was tied to each other by an invisible thread, that would get pulled on or snipped off sooner or later.

Tarasov had been no different. It was the same, when it came to members of the mob, they were all the same - except they were Russians.

Direct, straight to the point. In times, even more ruthless than what your clan could become. A little too reckless at times, yet devout to tradition. To the century-old ways of living and letting die.

Like every crime lord you had the luxury of being in their vicinity in this lifetime - they always got what they wanted, one day or another, late or early.

As the car stalled in the empty space, the chauffeur respectfully waiting - you would take out your phone, nimble fingers typing a quick sono qui to the one who waited for you back at home.

I have made it.

He had briefly mentioned plans to take a couple of days to travel to Piacenza, to his father’s estate, where he resided with the looming sickness, far out in the countryside with an army of doctors and guards. Time had not been on his side, and would never be at his age. As much as Santino wished health on his father - decay was the one thing he could not change, even with all the power and funds he had. It could not be stopped.

Time.

It either healed you, or it broke you down.

“Grazie, amore,” came his fast text momentarily, making your lips curl upwards in a moment of courage.

“Buona fortuna.”

Packing up your tote and thanking your driver, the suited guard on the passenger seat exited quickly to help you down the backseat of the tall SUV. Clicking heels across the concrete took you to the doors, guards giving you a quick once over and opening the gates to the dark, moody entrance covered in the deepest mahogany paneling.

The door closed right behind you in a fleeting moment.

“Welcome to New York,” your escort that appeared out of the shadows would speak in a heavy Russian accent, earning a nod from you. “Viggo had been waiting for you.”

“Thank you,” you responded, walking through dimly lit halls leading up to an elevator. The seemingly short ride up would take you to the top floor, exiting out in a grand foyer with windows overlooking the silhouette of the city, filling in the moody room with slivers of natural light behind crimson velvet curtains. The distant crackling sound of a fireplace echoing in the tall ceilings. Finest examples of taxonomy glared at you from the walnut-paneled walls, doors opening up to you as a known voice welcomed you in. The guard staying right outside, clicking the door shut - sealing you in for the job.

You had been here before, but not like this. Everything felt so familiar, yet so alien. The passing months and years seemed to long, yet it was closer than you recalled. The days had flown by, memories fresh yet forgotten, human beings being lost in the cacophony of everyday life.

The dreams, however, did not cease to remind you from time to time.

Dreams that took place in this very room, a fleeting moment in time, etched onto unknown corners.

Where you had met him.

“It’s always a pleasure to have you in our fine city,”  the older Tarasov spoke in the deep accent, slowly getting up from his vast mahogany desk, polished shoes tapping against the hardwood as he took your outstretched hand to press a fleeting kiss on your knuckles in greeting.

“Thank you for having me,” you offered with a respectful smile as you unbuttoned the coat with a single hand, gesturing the armchairs sprawled across the burning fireplace, the center of his office. “May I?”

“Please. Coffee?” he asked, as he walked to his perfectly stocked personal bar that was places as yet another center of attention, dark walnut and black marble blending in seamlessly, contrasting the bright bottles and glasses.

“Or better yet, as is tradition - some vodka?”

“Grazie,” you would politely declined, even though you knew the jetlag would get the worst of you by the evening as you took your coat off with habitual ease, draping it across the armrest and sat with your legs crossed, waiting on the mob boss to join you for the long-awaited chat.

Business. That was what you were there for. The atmosphere was eerie, in the early lights of the quiet and calm morning, with Viggo pouring a small drink for himself as the glasses clinked. It was always unsettling and intimidating to get into the conversation - after all, with men this powerful, all bets could be off the table. Unpredictability came with the occupation most of the time.

Your eyes would trail to the tall windows, lazily letting in sunlight - now partially covered in thick, velvet curtains. Unobstructed views that many could only wish for.

That had been where he stood as you had stormed in the room, one of the times where the anger had manifested externally.

With his hands in his pockets, deep in thought, his hair slicked back in what you would discover to be his signature style. His dark stare catching you by surprise from the first time your eyes met, it did not matter if it had been a millisecond.

The first time you saw the man behind the rumors, in flesh, in this very room, mere years ago - the details of the snapshot of a moment carved in stone.

There had been no curtains back then.

A man of fine taste, Viggo tended to change things up every once in a while. The furniture had changed, no expense spared - yet the comfort was there. As comfortable as you could get with a mob boss who had districts under his thumb, that was. Your body straightened itself as Viggo took a seat in front of you, setting his crystal glass on the nearby drink table. He had donned a thick gray suit to combat the icy New York cold that morning, complete with a red shirt and burgundy tie tucked into his three piece.

His presence could be felt, just as much as his style and décor choices, as he spoke, albeit his voice was of a leisurely nature.

“Before business, let us be friends,” he offered with a slight smile. “Tell me, how’s life been on your side of the world?”

“As you know - business as usual,” you would start, as old-fashioned as you could be sometimes, taking out a small notebook from your purse. “Trying to help a friend out.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” he nodded, taking a sip of the drink. “I gathered you are here to ask something of me. Must be very important if it had you travel all the way over here.” Tarasov leaned back, sitting comfortably with the glass resting in his hand.

By that point, you had understood the sarcasm slightly laced in his voice, yet you had a feeling it was not targeted at you necessarily - but for what you stood for.

He believed your efforts were futile, a hint of a smirk stretching his lips.

He believed it could not be done.

“Santino requested I help with the fulfillment of task. I need names, Viggo,” you spoke, clear, articulate yet soft, looking to meet his eyes.

“And your word to honor what you promised John.”

The man first looked amused, letting his drink rest on the coffee table, learning towards you. “Now, why would you think I would not?”

“Just covering my bases this time.”

“I am a man of my word,” he added, voice lower, his jaw clenching slightly. “I suggest you do not pry that further.”

The air in the room tightened.

“Absolutely,” you replied with a knowing yet kind smile.

It did not make sense to ever anger a Russian mob boss.

Much to your slight surprise, the man offered a light chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “I will give you whatever information I have - not that I have much,” he would concede without much of a fight required.

“But, just so we are clear,” he would start, elbows on knees as his icy stare got closer to yours, “ - there is a reason this is called an impossible task.”

“It simply cannot be done.”

Another crackle of the burning wood would echo across the wood paneling, the orange flames illuminating the side of your face, lips tilted upwards as you opened up your small notebook, looking through your lashes as the words flowed.

“Let’s see what we can do, Mr. Tarasov.”

[puuuders]

In Pursuit of Something Better ~ Part 8

Ghost fanfiction

Previous | Next

~

Omega tells Delta the truth.

~

Read on AO3

1.6k words

contains smut (kinda?)

CW: Suggestions of S.H.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” Terzo chimed in a sing-song voice, gently shaking the ghoul that laid passed out on the couch in the very back of the bus. It was 8 o’clock at night now, and Omega was greeted with a blinding bright orange light on the roof of the bus. He grimaced, squeezing his eyes as he sat up, feeling his head thrumming with a migraine. Pebble stared at Omega with his signature smart ass grin, having tried to make fun of him for falling asleep to his best friend. But Delta did not react to Pebble’s antics. His eyes were wide with curiosity and distress, the look grounding Omega and bringing Omega back to reality. Remembering what he had seen during his fainting spell.

“Up, up, up.” Terzo held Omega’s arms despite knowing Omega was the last of the ghouls to ever require physical support, especially from a man so minuscule. He insisted on aiding him anyway, having to slightly reach up to feel his biceps, his eyes level to the ghouls chest as he stood. Omega placed his clawed hands on Terzo’s lower back, gently moving him to the side without a single word, making the shorter man’s face flush. It was, once again, a stark reminder just how small he was compared to these hellish beasts.

Omega gripped Delta’s shoulder, directing him forward with a tender push, towards the door of the bus. He scanned the vehicle. No sign of Alpha. How convenient.

”What happened?” Delta stammered, scratching at his own hands as a nervous fidget, “I saw you passed out. Did you talk to him? Did you see it? What happened?”

Omega was silent. His white eyebrows were knitted, his bottom lip strained and pulled upwards, the corners of his mouth vaguely turned downwards. Delta frantically studied his expression, his heart beating one million miles per hour, waiting for some sort of explanation. Whatever Omega had seen, Delta could tell it was bothersome. That alone made his cheeks start to bead up with water.

They stepped off the van, pressure releasing as the weight of the ghouls dissipated, the body of the vehicle bouncing upwards. Terzo jumped off behind them, making a quiet count of the ghouls that surrounded the parking lot of the airport.

“One, two…” Terzo whispered to himself. Omega spotted Alpha. He was standing with Aero, his arms crossed, nails squeezing the elbows of his jacket. He was making light conversation with the air ghoul, who seemed generally uninterested in whatever it was Alpha was talking about, offering only an “mhm” as he stared at his phone. Alpha was also wearing his mask, and Omega knew it was to hide behind.

“Omega?” Delta whined, grabbing the sleeve of his coat like a child begging for candy. Omega jolted, having zeroed in on Alpha, startled by the reminder that Delta was asking him a question. He looked at Delta.

”What?”

”What happened?”

“We will talk about it later.”

“No!” Delta cried. Terzo looked back at them.

”Delta,” Omega leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper as they were watched by their papa. “We will talk about this later. Okay? I will share a room with you when we get to Oregon.”

“This isn’t fair, I’m so tired of waiting! I’ve waited so long and you-“

Omega put his hand on the back of Delta’s head, pushing him in towards him, wrapping him in the warmest embrace he could possibly offer to any sentient being. Not too tight in case Delta did not want it, yet tight enough to put a comforting pressure on him. Delta immediately fell silent, stunned momentarily before he grabbed the back of Omega��s coat, hugging him furiously, his body twitching and quivering as he struggled to keep himself together.

”Just make it until we get there. Okay? Just until we get there.” Omega bargained softly, caressing his sopping hair. Delta nodded, wrapping his tail around Omega’s knee, desperate for comfort.

“Good,” Omega whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Terzo stopped watching them the moment Omega pulled the water ghoul in. He had turned around, pretending not to have noticed, taking slow, wide steps towards Alpha and Aero.

”How is your trip so far, darling?” Terzo asked, though he was not really interested. Alpha shrugged, expression unreadable behind his mask.

“Ah. The plane will be much more interesting, si? It is always fun. Aeroplanes.” Terzo smirked, eyes darting to Aero, who looked at him blankly at his unfunny quip. Terzo’s smile faded.

”What is up with you all today? Nobody is smiling anymore.”

The flight was only about two hours from California to Oregon, the entire trip taking around 3 and a half hours with the ride to and from each airport. There was a slight debate about who would room with who; Pebble had whined enough to get his way, convincing Delta to room with him after he and Omega participated in their mystery activities both of them refused to elaborate on. Alpha was silent, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, knowing what they would be doing. Yet he was powerless to stop them, at least during the heat of the debate in the van they rented, as it would worsen the entire situation for him to tell them to stop in front of Terzo and the other ghouls. So, the moment that the others retreated into their rooms for the night, Alpha sprinted down the hall, his tail burning a bright orange as he approached Omega.

”Don’t.” Alpha hissed, trying to pull Omega back desperately. Omega slapped his hand away.

“Get the hell away from me.” Omega shoved Alpha away, slipping into the room with Delta, slamming the door in the fire ghoul’s face.

“This is stupid!” Alpha roared on the other side, punching on it. “You’re making everything worse!”

Omega ignored him. If Alpha kept this up, the entire hotel would be woken up, so he needed to get this done fast so he could leave. Without any warning, he gently grasped Delta’s face as they sat down on the bed, catching his eyes and thrusting the discovery he had into his mind. The pounding on the door quickly turned into a muffled echo to the water ghoul, his eyes losing the ability to perceive outside light, temporarily blinding him until suddenly, he was in another world, seeing, hearing, feeling everything through the body of Alpha the day his world evaporated.

“Shut the fuck up.” Secondo roared at me, both of his hands wrapped around my throat. Despite the way I was squirming under him, the rope around my wrists cutting into my skin and rubbing it raw, and the way I was howling against the gag jammed in my mouth, I was in the most unbridled state of sexual bliss I had ever experienced. I cannot tell what had brought me to this low, maybe because Omega had sucked up into his own mind too much to pay attention to me. Maybe it was a good thing. Yes, Omega has a cock incomparable to any other, but it is not of any use if he isn’t interested enough to slam it all into me anymore.

I never thought this would happen. I didn’t ask for Secondo to find me taking care of myself. I thought I was going to be shot when he walked in on me. He stared, and I can hardly recall what happened between the time he had found me and now, where such a ghoul-despising man was pounding into me like his life depended on it. And, oh, he was insatiable. I had never been tied like this, I couldn’t get out of it if I wanted to. Would he even let me if I really didn’t want this? I didn’t know if I wanted it. But I still let him. Does that mean I wanted it? It was too late to decide anyway, because he had my words made to be unintelligible. I could only wail, in a confusing mix of pleasure and anguish. It was so degrading, so belittling to be used like this by a man who had tried to suffocate me and my friends, wanting to see me dead simply because I am hellspawn. His hellspawn. I thought that is what this ministry wanted.

It was a matter of extremely unfortunate coincidence that the other ghoul had walked in on us. It was his duty. Laundry duty, to be exact. He had been scheduled for it today, to collect the baskets that the Emeritus brothers kept in the corners of their rooms beside their bed. Laundry duty had a specific time for it to be done, so that Cardinal Terzo did not see a ghoul before his ascension. Secondo must have not been thinking straight. Well, he was not. That much was apparent.

Secondo almost kicked me in the balls as he scrambled off of the bed, eyes wide and glued to the intruder. I yelped, making eye contact with him in the doorway, who stood there in shock. Only for a moment. He grabbed the basket and slammed the door shut. He wanted nothing to do with it. He wanted to do his chores. Secondo turned back to me.

“You disgraceful animal,” he screamed at me, leaning over and smacking me across the face. “Do you understand what you have done?”

I didn’t do anything. I didn’t ask Secondo to fuck me. But I let him. Does it make it my fault? It is my fault. I whimpered quietly. Another vicious slap, making my skin sting.

”He will tell.” Secondo grabbed the knife he had set on the nightstand before we began. He cut the rope, releasing my hands from the bedframe. I ripped the gag out of my mouth and squirmed to dress myself.

“Get the hell out of here. I will deal with the ghoul. And I will deal with you later.” Secondo demanded. I said nothing. Secondo left first, and I heard him shout a spell of paralysis at my friend. I peered out of the door, and the last thing I had ever seen of that earth ghoul was him being dragged down the hallway.

[mlm-writer]

If I Should Become a Stranger (Smokescreen x GN!Reader)

Pairing: Smokescreen (TFP ver.) x Human!Gender Neutral!Reader Rating: General Audiences Words: 1608 POV: Second Summary: Smokescreen left you over a decade ago to rebuild Cybertron and until today, you had not heard from him since. Note: Read a Transformers novel and then it really dawned on me how beings with such a long life span must view time differently. So this fic explores that a little. Inspired by this song. Tags: angst, hurt no comfort (for smokey tbh), breakup from Smokescreen’s POV and song fic. 

Humans would argue that in war, there was nothing as precious as love. In war, one should hug one's friends more often, hold one's family tighter and kiss one's lover longer. Such was the philosophy of men; cherish what you have now you have it. It was quite befitting to a race with such short lives. Cybertronian's however…

Even in war, many acted like life would never end. There was plenty of time to fight one's friends. There was even more time to find it in you to mend things, patch up the wounds you created together. Even when friends started to lose the light in their optics, when the streets started to fill with the husks of neighbours, when tomorrow was more a wish than a promise, even then, Cybertronians were often found doing anything but cherishing the moment. 

Smokescreen was no different. Sure, he was impatient and young by comparison, but even to him, everything seemed to be able to wait, 'fore there will be a later. Hence why he had no reservations about going to Cybertron to rebuild. Hence why he could look upon his human lover with a smile as bright as the full moon on a clear night, while saying his goodbyes. "I'll see you soon," he had said while swaggering backwards into the space bridge. You had believed him as much as you had loved him back then.  

"Hey Ratchet, any messages for me?" You asked as you always did when visiting the medic at the old base. Ratchet looked down at you with those same sorry optics. He didn't need to say anything, but he always gave you the courtesy of an answer. 

"I'm sorry, there has been no communication for you," he spoke evenly, trying to keep the pity out of his voice. It was always like that. At first you stopped by every few days, then weekly, monthly, every few months… at some point you forgot to go altogether. You moved for work, so it was suddenly a whole journey to come visit. You got fired from that job, then you got a new job. You fell in love, got your heart broken, broke a limb, healed both and what else? It was just life - life without sentient alien robots, explosions and secret government missions. 

It almost seemed like it had all been a dream. You had almost forgotten about all the adventures of your youth, were it not for that scar on your arm you got from a brief brush with Soundwave at the satellite array. That was just the start, but somehow you made it through several threats to the planet fairly unscathed. That scar on your arm was the only big reminder you had of those days aside from the pictures stuffed in a box in your garage, somewhere on a shelf that was too high for you to reach without a chair to stand on. 

You were about to drive back from work to that garage when you caught sight of a familiar car in the parking lot. The colours were not as you remembered them, but it was strange to see a sports car like this at an office like yours. You stared at the vehicle for a long time and then sighed, before opening the driver's door to your car. However, as soon as you opened the door, the sports car you had been staring at earlier flashed its lights and started honking. You squinted your eyes and closed the door again. 

You locked your car and walked over to the other car that was making a ruckus. As soon as you approached, it quieted down and the driver’s door opened on its own. Against your best judgement, you got in. When you sat down, the seat belt wrapped itself around you and the engine revved to life. “Missed me?” A familiar voice came from the radio as the car drove out of the parking lot to God-knows-where. However, hearing that voice, you felt no fear, no worries, just a deep-seated resentment that had been dormant for many years. 

“Smokescreen,”  you greeted your ride with a tight voice. Said Autobot made a joke about how you simply could not forget him. It only angered you more. You had forgotten, mostly, until now. After that greeting, the air chilled down and not a word was exchanged, until Smokescreen pulled up at the side of an abandoned road. There used to be a factory at the end of it, but since the building had been decommissioned, no one used the road anymore; it was leading to virtually nowhere nowadays. 

The seat belt unfastened and you got out. When your shoes hit the dusty ground, the vehicle transformed into a shape that you used to know. You marvelled at his size as if it was the first time you witnessed his transformation. Cybertronians did not age, but that young face you used to know seemed more mature anyway. There was something about his gaze that got more intense, more serious. There was a slouch in his posture that was the telltale weight of responsibilities befitting an adult. 

Smokescreen whispered your name after a while of quiet staring. “Why are you here?” You inquired as a response. Hurt was evident on his face, but you thought it was a valid question. For over a decade, there was radio silence. Why would he be here if not for another danger looming over your planet? 

Smokescreen let out a scoff. “To see you of course!” He beamed in spite of everything. It was your turn to scoff as you crossed your arms. Your ex looked you over and then, very intelligently, said: “You’ve become bigger! That’s really cool! I forgot humans could do that… Want to go to the drive-in theatre today?” 

You sighed and turned to walk back to your car. It was gonna be a long walk, but you were stubborn and too prideful to tell him to drive you back. “There are no drive-in theatres in this area..” 

You barely got a few steps away when Smokescreen yelled from behind you. “I should have left you a message! I’m sorry!” You kept walking, tears prickling in your eyes. “I forgot!” He added as if it was a valid excuse. 

“Well, I forgot who you are!” You yelled over your shoulder, speeding up your walking. You heard your ex transform behind you and like a bad movie, he started driving next to you. All that was missing was pouring rain, but the sky was so clear, you could see the many constellations gradually making themselves known. 

He was driving with the door closest to you open, trying to get you to get in. “Come on! It has not been that long! I admit I have changed a little, but I’m still me, your Smokey…” You tried to block his voice out, stubbornly trudging on down the abandoned road. “I came back, because I started talking about you so much, Arcee practically shoved me into the space bridge to shut me up. It’s been like my processors always circle back to you.” He swerved and came to a halt right in front of you, forcing you to stop walking. “I told you I would see you soon…” 

You took a deep breath, ensuring that whatever you said next would be spoken in a normal, even tone. Smokescreen reverted back to bot mode, looking at you with pleading optics that could once pull your heartstrings. However, those times were long behind you. “Smokescreen,” you started like you were lecturing a child, “it has been like what? A decade and some? That may not be a long time for you, but I am human. A decade right now is about a third of my life. You made me wait a third of my life. Does that sink in with you?” 

Smokescreen seemed to shrink, pinned under your intense gaze. “I’m sorry,” he muttered eventually. His servos clenched and unclenched. You could see his processors working overtime, just to formulate a response. “I guess you’re right. Cybertron has become quite lively. I proved myself a leader. I made a lot of new friends… Maybe it is a long time…” For someone with a seemingly endless supply of RAM, he was awfully slowly putting the events of the past decade in perspective. His voice trailed off after every sentence. Eventually he just whispered one last thing. “A third…” 

You pitied him. You had enough time to mend the heart he broke many years ago. To him, however, he came back like he said, just to find what he left behind to no longer exist. Without a word he transformed into his alt mode. “I’ll take you back,” he stated. You did not resist this time and got in. 

The drive back was quiet. You did not speak. He did not speak. Only white noise filled the spaces between one heavy spark and only a slightly lighter heart. He drove you back to the parking lot where you had your car. You were about to get out when you heard his voice one last time. “For what it is worth, let me just say: I love you. You’re the best thing I ever had.” 

In spite of him being a stranger from the past, your heart ached. “Your life is long. You’ll love again. Don’t worry.” You patted the steering wheel and then got out. You did not look back and by the time you sat in your car, your car was the only one in the parking lot with the lights on.

[bluekat12345]

He's my son, not yours! Part 1

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

This is based on a Transformers Rescue Bots crossover with Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes created by the brilliant @gelu-the-babosa-multiversal, check them out for more! This particular story is based on a discussion we've been having recently, hope you enjoy!

After meeting the Rescue Bots, Charlie never thought his and his kids' lives couldn't get more...exciting. They already had their hands full of between rogue or malfunctioning technology, a colorful collection of criminals, and of course, civilians who needed rescuing.

But then the Avengers, Earth's mightiest heroes, showed up at Griffin Rock.

They had temporary stationed themselves in a small base and their boss, Nick Fury, who had actually aided Optimus in introducing the bots to Charlie in the first place, didn't give Chief much information on why they were, just that hopefully it wouldn't negatively impact the island.

So far, things to be fine, they were aware of the bots, so that was nice, and they seemed to get along with the Burns and the Greenes.

One of them in particular, Captain America, especially left an impression on Cody. The boy always seemed to want to be around him, always had stars in his eyes at the sight of the war hero, and the captain always seemed more than ready to give the boy the attention he wanted. It was amazing how well the bonded in the short amount of time they've known each other.

It wasn't long until most people started calling him the Captain's kid. Steve nor Cody seemed to be mind though. In fact, it's been rumored that Captain America actually loves it when hearing Cody being called his kid.

If Charlie didn't know any better, he would've thought the captain was trying to be a second father to Cody.

"Hey, Cap!" Tony, AKA Iron Man, exclaimed. "Your sidekick's here!"

"My what?" Captain American, also known as Steve Rogers, asked in confusion.

"Captain America!" Cody's voice echoed through the base. Steve smiled as he saw the young boy run towards.

"Cody!" The captain greeted. "It's great to see you again. What brings you back here?"

"Cody wanted to see you again." His father, Chief Burns responded. "And Fury wanted to speak with the bots and the rest of the team about something. Is it okay if Cody stays with you until it's over?"

Steve nodded with a smile. "Of course, Chief Burns. I don't mind at all."

The police chief smiled back. "Thank you, Captain. Shouldn't take too long." Then he faced his son. "Be on your best behavior, Cody."

"I promise, Dad!" Cody, promised. Then Chief walked off to wherever the meeting was being held.

"Hey, kid." Tony called out. "Wanna join in a little experiment I'm working on? I can guarantee it'll be more exciting than whatever Cap can do." Steve rolled his eyes, recognizing the teasing tone in Stark's voice. Tony already knew what Cody's answer would be.

"Thanks, Mr. Stark, but I'll stay with Captain Rogers." Cody replied. "We're going to-"

"No need to hear the detail's, kid." Tony interrupted. Steven frowned at the interruption, but Cody didn't seem to mind. "Just go have fun and don't give the old man a hard time."

"Let's go, Cody." Steve declared, then he led Cody away before Stark could say anything else.

"Are we still going to work on your motorcycle?" Cody asked eagerly.

Steve smiled and nodded. "Indeed, son. Your dad ever have you help him with car maintenance?"

"A little bit, at first." Cody admitted. "When we had time, he let me help with his old police car. But then the bots joined us, so we don't do that kind of thing anymore. But we do help wash the bots when they're in vehicle mode."

Steve nodded. Admittedly, he was still caught off guard about the idea of sentient vehicles from another planet, but after meeting the bots and hearing about the from Cody and the rest of his family, he could see they were good bots who did their duties as rescue workers well.

"Well, consider this as a way to brush up on those skills." Cap declared. "Then the next time you show your father, he'll know you haven't forgotten what he taught you, and maybe even learned something new."

Cody smiled at the idea. "Yes, sir!"

Fortunately, for the Burns family, the meeting didn't take too long, it was mostly about if they saw anything unusual, at least more unusual than they normally would see, and what they needed to do if they did.

The moment it ended; the older kids wanted to stick around the base a little longer, hoping to hang out with the Avengers for a bit. Unfortunately, they needed to get home as soon as possible.

"Its just still a bit unfair that Cody gets to hang around here, while we can't." Kade grumbled.

Charlie rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry, but today isn't a good day, we have work to do back at home. I promise you can hang around here when there's time."

"Hey, where is Cody?" Graham asked.

"I left him with Captain America while we were at the meeting." Charlie replied. Kade let out a quick annoyed huff, only to be quickly silenced by an elbow in the arm by Dani. "You three head back home. I'll meet you all after I get Cody."

The three did as they were told, leaving the base as Charlie went to look for Cody.

Fortunately, it didn't take long for him to find his son. He was still with Captain America, but the boy was sitting on the captain's motorcycle, revving it up while Steve watched with a smile.

"You've got some competition, Chief." Iron Man's voice popped up out of nowhere.

"What are you taking about?" Charlie asked.

Tony then pointed at Cody and Steve, and both men watched as two blonds laughed about something and Steve ruffling Cody's hair.

"If you're not careful, Cap could take your place as Cody's dad." Tony declared with a teasing grin. "People around here are already saying he's Cap's kid."

Chief Burns rolled his eyes. "I think I'll be fine."

Stark shrugged. "Don't say I didn't warn you." Then he shouted. "Hey, Cap! Time to give the kid back!"

The two blonds looked towards Charlie and Tony. Cody smiled, got off the bike, and rushed to his Dad. "Hey, Dad. How was the meeting?"

Charlie shrugged. "Nothing major happened. You didn't give Captain Rogers any trouble?"

"None at all." Steve replied with a grin as he joined the group. "You've got a well-behaved young man here." He added as he ruffled Cody's hair again. "And a clever one as well. You ought to be proud of this one."

Chief Burns smiled. "Trust me, I am." Then he said to Cody. "Why don't you head outside to meet Chase. I'll join you shortly."

The boy nodded. "Okay, Dad." Then waved to the Captain. "Thanks again, Captain Rogers!" Then he ran off outside.

"Keep up the good work, son." Captain America replied before walking off as well.

"It's already happening." Tony quietly teased.

Charlie rolled his eyes before leaving to join Cody. He knew Tony was teasing, but it was starting to get on his nerves a bit. There was nothing to worry about. Despite the nickname as Captain Roger's kid, Chief Burns knew everyone knew Cody was his son, not Steve's.

Hope you enjoyed reading! Nothing dramatic yet, I want to try to build up to it, but the seeds have been planted, I assure you. Hopefully, you won't have to wait long for the next part to be posted. Wish me luck!

[ask-sentient-vehicles]

I’d love to see Lillie Lightship in your style!

Here she is.

[pricklybruin]

Introducing my first TF OC! He's been around for a little over a year now but recently redrew him and I'm finally content enough with him to share him with y'all :)

Anyway he's a medic! He worked as a maintenance technician (for non-sentient vehicles) pre-war and now he's using the same information for mecha (they're not that different, right?!). Most of the time it works out very well, just don't ask him to heal anything specific that only med-students would know about -- because he will start making his own theories and come to wrong conclusions...

[dlthedescent]

TWENTY-FIVE: A HERO'S RETURN

The ride was quiet—tranquil, even—but uncanny.

Crane stood at the bow, watching the scenery drift by. After everything he'd seen—the horrors and deaths—the peace almost startled him. How long had it been since he heard birds chirping and insects humming?

Far too long.

Caroline's boat slipped from the channel into a riverbed untouched by the undead. Against his hardened skin beat the morning sun above and the cool breeze from the water below.

But Crane knew better than to let his guard down. The peace wouldn't last. Above them, the Strait's highway stretched over with its looming shadow. Somewhere up there, he spotted movement—slow, staggering shapes—and faint, incomprehensible groans carried on the wind.

Stragglers huddled in the shade, and deeper within nearby tunnels, the Volatiles waited for night.

"Here we are," Jack's voice broke the silence, and Crane followed her gaze. "Harran."

The edge of Harran, though.

Further down the canal, low-rise buildings crept over the tree line. The urban architecture looked no different from Scanderoon: pillars of smoke rising into the golden horizon, the dreary atmosphere, and the haunting wails in the distance.

It hit Crane like a slap to the face, returning to where it all began. Not in the same light as coming back 'home' but heading to Harran's Borderway from a very long road trip.

And his fears about the state of Harran were neither unfounded nor proven. He wasn't close to the Tower, the Slums, or Old Town—miles away from anyone familiar. The only relief was that, somehow, the city hadn't been nuked off the map.

Now he stood at the threshold. The truth was waiting ahead. The same, suffocating questions buzzed loudly inside his skull.

"The Outskirts aren't too far from here either," Jack pointed from the helm, shining her warm grin. "...We could take a detour."

Did he show his anxiety again without realizing it? Once more, she offered baffling options to him when Jack made it her goal to go to Harran.

"Your call, mate."

Crane hesitated, only realizing himself. Nearly standing from his seat, his neck stretched out like a bird's as he stared at the approaching skyline. He exhaled and propped himself down.

"...Stay the course."

Again, Crane was grounded. Again, Jack didn't pry on his anxiety and relief. And again, he did not attempt to deflect his behavior. She gave him space and waited—as she said, she had all the time in the world.

At his own pace. Yeah, right. He could barely organize his thoughts when it came to Harran.

The joking offer, however… helped lighten the weight on his chest. Maybe it wasn't a bad idea, either…

But Kyle Crane couldn't keep running forever.

The boat trip had stretched for hours, winding through channels, with the Strait guiding them. The advantage of having a boat was blissful: no trudging through roads or tunnels filled with nests.

If only he had managed to get his hands on one in the past. Of course, Harran's infrastructure had never allowed for such vehicles.

When they would reach land, the Border would be an entirely new territory for Crane.

"Bzzt-zt! You reached Harran yet, Jack?"

Miles from Scanderoon, the comms crackled with a voice they wouldn't hear again for a while. They'd already said their goodbyes before leaving the Junction, but the young runner's presence felt like a breath of fresh air in the heavy atmosphere.

"Just made it to the Border," Jack replied.

"Is it as bad as Scanderoon?" Siv asked.

"Can't say for certain until we dock."

One deep sigh escaped the comms. Dodging the question wasn't what Siv wanted to hear, but she'd been down that road before. So Siv never pushed further, for the best.

She likely shared the same kind of worries as Crane did. A local from Harran, worried about her mother, friends, and family.

How small his world had become since awakening as a sentient zombie. Then it stretched further, bit by bit. First from meeting Jack. Then from a kid named Siv.

"If you've got something on your mind, now's the time to spill it," Jack urged, pulling back on the throttle and slowing the boat to a crawl. "Reception's horrible out here."

"Geez. Thanks for putting my mind at ease."

"I don't sugarcoat things, Princess. This might be the last time you hear from us."

"Yeah… You found Peri. Do…do you think you can find my mom?"

Omph, what a way to put the Retrieval specialist on the spot—Crane could see it in her body language, despite Jack's attempt to hide it.

It was a tall order; after four months, was it even possible to find anyone still alive?

But Jack didn't know quits

"I can try."

"...'But it might not be what I want'."

Siv was smart; keeping her hopes low had become the norm.

"Give me the details," Jack pressed. "If she's out there, I'll find her for you."

A deep sigh came from the other end. "She's a nurse. Eva. Worked at Harran City Hospital."

"Got it."

"And Jack? Freakazoid?"

Crane recoiled in surprise. He never thought the young Runner would call him—yes, with that nickname but he wouldn't hold that on her. Regardless, it was a sign that she was warming to him, despite their past hiccups.

"Good luc-zzzt!"

And that was it—the last call with civilization. A final wish of good luck they'd hear.

It was nothing new to Jack—dropped signals had become routine since leaving the Outskirts. Holding a conversation for more than five minutes felt like a rare miracle these days.

And just like that, silence crept back as she steered the boat down the narrow concrete river.

"So," Freakazoid broke the quiet and counted each name with his talons. "We got Umit, that girl's mother, and your cousin."

Then gave a narrowed stare at Jack.

"You don't find this overkill?"

"I thought you liked playing the hero." A low blow. She heard his muffled grumble beneath the scarf. "I'm still on the clock, mate. Bad for business if a Retrieval Specialist doesn't do their job."

"Yeah," Freakazoid didn't buy anything she said one bit. "Mind explaining to me more about your job?"

"What's there to explain? Find the mark and bring it back to the client," Jack dodged the question.

"That's oversimplifying it and you know it."

She shrugged. "Yes, well, professionalism's overrated. There's been times I've gone off the books before. I even have my eye on one particular mark."

She pulled a crumpled photo out of her sling bag she'd lifted during a forced interrogation with the GRE's boss. It was a priceless little gift: the face of Kyle Crane.

Freakazoid raised a hairless eyebrow—a fourth, really? "Someone I need to know?"

"Personal." Instead of showing him, Jack slid the photo back into her bag. "Nothing I can't handle."

"Huh. Must've gotten under your skin."

"You could say that." Her smile softened for a moment, then vanished as she spotted something in the distance.

"What?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she twirled the boat sharply, letting it drift until it lined up with a checkpoint at the end of the canal.

"I was afraid of this."

Crane followed her gaze to the culprit: a large metal gate stood their way. The standard to control water flow, but most importantly, to prevent a virus from spreading through the waterways.

There was no easy way past for a boat. Everywhere he looked, as far as the eye could see, were high concrete banks.

The only option would be to abandon the boat and climb out of the canal. And Crane had absolute confidence the brunette wouldn't be too keen to leave Caroline a second time. And then there were the quarantine walls.

"Is there another way in?" he asked.

Jack shook her head. "It's either through there or we cut through the Countryside."

Crane stiffened. His head whipped toward her, wide-eyed, horror written across his face.

"That'll take a day or two. No telling how safe that route is…" Jack explained, unaware of his sudden demeanor.

The Countryside.

The place where everything had begun for Kyle Crane.

Story continues on at these links: FFN and AO3.

[crying-fantasies]

Killing Me Softly With His Song P2

Masterlist

Part 1 | part 2: Steps | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

"It's a work in progress..."

...You will say everytime someone asks how you can be near him, how can you even talk to him or be near without killing you with a single movement of his body or a missile of his arsenal (he wouldn't waste such good projectile on a human you would say but you stop from do so), how he let's you be near but not enough to touch him directly, most of the time there is a glimpse of fear in their whole demeanor when the question pops up again.

"How can you? That thing is a decepticon"

"He is, indeed, one, but he goes on his own pace", you correct them, trying to be as calm as possible but without the patience to explain your friend's political and personal beliefs, there is enough in you to at least make them remember that Soundwave is s sentient as them, if not more in the way he just likes to be around silence or the sound of nature.

You could even say sensitive, always sensing something is wrong with his environment the second it happens or when your mind is full of negativeness, being gentle enough to at least look at you before poking your side with one digit, because he cares, shout it to their face, 'Wave doesn't care for them and their opinion but you take it personal when they keep on referring to him like that, but no one will believe you when the morning news always use a video of him just looking impassible at a man begging for his life before being exterminated, it's bad, you know, Soundwave knows and his cassettes only look bored when they use the video for the umpteenth time in one day to promote the anti cybertronian propaganda of a new politic with many other Decepticons as if humans were different or better.

It's understandable, really, they are worried for you, for your well being, you can still remember the way you family looked when a military vehicle left you in front of your house after two days of absence, that was after you first found him and his whole group and while the experience was stressing enough to make you puke at the moment it didn't stop you from searching for that same thrill, it doesn't work at first, obviously, you have asked the people that had any contact with transformers in general before and they just go: "That's the shady one, his voice still gives me the creeps when I remember it"

You know his name is Soundwave, because the news show other Decepticons calling him like that, you know he doesn't talk much and that he hardly express any emotion, like a super spy, when you finally meet him you tell him so and he doesn't say anything, doesn't even move in reality, his cassettes, the ones that look alike, laughed hard while saying you better be careful.

Careful with what? It's still a mystery for you when he just passed by your side, his visor on you, not sure if he is looking at you to begin with, almost ignoring your presence.

It's a work in progress, you keep saying when someone asks again why you are going to him, what do you get from it, now you are at Soundwave's pedes, he is looming above you, also waiting for your answer with hardly covered interest, there is a little movement of his helm that has your friend running away, it doesn't matter, really, not when Soundwave is looking at you from the little space down his visor, red optics concentrated in your form, glowing a little more than usual, you smile and maybe that's too much because he looks to the other side as it was nothing to begin with when he starts to walk away in another direction.

Gentle and slow steps, that's how you get where you are, waiting less than a few minutes to have him stop and look at you over his shoulder armor, he lowers his whole frame to put his servo out for you to get up with him, you can hear Laserbeak shout from Soundwave's chest deck to clean your shoes before even think of putting such dirty things on Soundwave, you do as told while he waits for you with the same patience you give, granting you all the time to get comfortably on your place.

Slow and short steps, enough to have him finally say your name in that flat, supposed emotionless voice of his when he recognizes you from afar, slow steps, when he gets to look out for you when things seem to be too loud, too much, and you let him enter your thoughts, think of silence, think with nothing in mind, to be calm even if it gets to the point of hurting you, not worse than a migraine but is worth it when he can have a moment of silence and his EM field is less stressed, gentle steps, in the way he doesn't even move or try to get away when your hand makes contact with his armor, feeling how warm it really is and how the pulse of his spark is more noticeable with how near you are to his chest, he could have stopped you, but he is only looking at you in silence before looking the other way, little steps, that lead you to see him without his mouthpiece, it's the middle of the night and you don't know how to respond to him, he isn't moving, only his optics glow in the night behind his visor, funny thing how you once believed he didn't have optics to begin with, or even a mouth, he is waiting, expecting something from your part, you only say how handsome he is and that's enough to hear his cooling fans activating in the middle of the night, gentle servo taking your hand while he plays your voice and words back at you, the light of his optics making your eyes ache and his apparent soft lips with such a contrast while his derma moves along with your own words.

"You're pretty handsome"

It's slow but also fast, you aren't sure when this escalated when you feel warm inside, how warm everything feels, happiness that blooms and pools on your lower belly while giving his digits a delicate caresses, you aren't sure if what you are doing is correct when he let's you put your whole body on the side of his, there is almost no line to think again when you go from exploring touches to gathering your things in a backpack, the gossip goes on quickly and half the neighborhood is looking from their supposed secure houses to the military reconnaissance vehicle that is still proudly showing a decepticon badge, waiting for you outside of your home while your family assures how you can return any time you want after their attempts to stop you, to put some sense on what you are about to do, fail miserably, some of them cry as they will never see you again, and maybe that's true, maybe you'll become a spooky story for the kids around when they get older, never get in contact with a transformer, because you'll never come back.

You only hear the cries of some when the door is finally closed, tinted glass only letting you see outside, no one can see inside, someone has called the police and Soundwave's is fast to get out of there, being polite enough to let you say goodbye to your kin before they objected to his mere presence around you, he'll help you to communicate with them later, he assures you the things some of them said are product of the sadness, the idea of not seeing you as often as before.

"Their anger will subside, you must not let their words get the best of your memories together"

"You don't have to explain what they said, Wave, if they want to apologize so be it" you place a hand over the radio, smiling above your own tears, "if not, I'm fine with it anyway"

It's a slow and difficult pace, one you keep on, it's hard to be isolated from basic necessities out in the wild, Soundwave isn't as wanted as before after he almost gave his spark to save the world, but there are dangerous people that have all the rights to be angry at him, he told you so, and with this kind of job he got he is always in movement, one place after the other, it takes time but you get on it without much care, it's stressful, of course, but is worthy when he gets back home, whatever little camp you are now, he keeps a hard exterior around his human colleagues even when they are happy around him, maybe a little freaked out, but you smile reassuring them and saying thank you for getting your boyfriend back home in one piece, the cassettes scoff or laugh, some say it's the other way around, Soundwave doesn't say a thing before getting inside and waiting for you to reach him.

After so many years, he prefers the affection to be behind secure and thicker walls, not because he is embarrassed but for the fact your head now has a price.

"We can think about that another time" he knows that moment for you two to talk about will never come, you'll evade it, change the subject at every chance he gets to even think about it, "let's just think about the present, right here, right now, Wave" and while you kiss his now unprotected intake with tender affection he let's you lead on this human mating ritual he has already taken on his life like it's normal, he isn't going to talk to you about how he is never going to let any danger be near you or exterminating it before it can even appear either, and also waiting, calculating, for the moment you are ready to go for the next step with him as his spark chamber tries to open while he fights the impulses back, he hopes it comes soon.

[thrashkink-coven]

Do you believe in demon are ancient God or lesser deity?

My answer to that question would be: yes.

Humans are clumsy creatures and language is an imperfect vehicle of information. Some of what are popularly understood to be demons are in fact archetypes derived from greater ancient deities. Astaroth for example, is commonly regarded as the demonized/infernal archetype of the Goddess Astarte. However there are also demons/daemons who have no clearly defined predecessors, especially in the goetia, Bathin, Stolas, Paimon etc. Whether or not these demons can be considered gods in their own right, deities, or how ancient they really are, we will never know. These demons usually have roles, similarly to angels, but in differing, sometimes even complimentary domains. Is an angel a lesser god? Are these sentient identities or cogs in a machine just preforming the role they have to play?

I'm not asking these questions rhetorically, there is no single answer.

We're using words, which are already ill defined, to make sense of something that is beyond words. What is a greater "God"? that of modern religion? Yahweh once shared a pantheon with Baal and Asherah some 10 thousand years ago, they have both been demonized by modern Christianity, but they are just as ancient as the God that many usually use as the standard for "the highest".

Most Abrahamic monotheists believe in angels but don't revere them as lesser gods, rather manifestations of the one, highest Yahweh. Hindus have a somewhat similar philosophy. If Godhood is established by being ancient and overarching, than there are many demons and angels alike that qualify. If Godhood is established through being worshipped, then the same remains true.

Tldr: context. The answer is always context. There are situations in which Astaroth is playing the role of an infernal, and different situations where she is manifesting as a Goddess. What name she uses depends on the human observing her..