#blue aliens with a secret murder streak like yes please

[melodic-haze]

Anyway I just finished playing through this vn called Andromeda Six and oh my god my type has DEFINITELY shifted from fun and silly to mommy fucking HELL what happened to me

[fanficimagery]

Imagine being sister to Thor. Having fled your home after your mother's death, you went on a mission to find yourself. Then landing in Midgard, you lead a life of normalcy. That is until you fall for one of Midgard's Mightiest Heroes. He can only keep his secret for so long, but yours, on the other hand.. you're going to keep it as long as possible.

Steve X Reader

Midgard was dreary compared to Asgard. There were a lot of rude and obnoxious people, but for every one of those there was a kind or courageous individual. It really depended where on Midgard you were, but you were willing to deal with it since it was your choice to leave home.

Some places in Midgard were quite peaceful, while others were colorful and loud. Las Vegas was a little too wild for your tastes, so the next best thing was New York City- the same city your adopted brother once nearly razed to the ground with an alien army. There were many pros and cons about the city, but you managed to settle in quite nicely and find your own little niche after converting all the Asgardian money you had smuggled out with you into American dollars.

Almost a year in and you could pass for a local midgardian.

Sitting outside at your favorite cafe, you enjoy your breakfast while simultaneously reading George R.R Martin's latest novel in the A Song of Ice and Fire series. You finish your first plate of food and then enjoy a couple cups of coffee while reading before ordering your next plate of food (this was the only reason the cafe tolerated you reading and taking your time; your Asgardian appetite gave the cafe a lot of business). And it’s midway through your second plate that your senses go into overdrive and you realize you're being watched. 

As you slow your eating, you subtly glance around your surroundings to find who the culprit is. Spotting the stranger almost immediately, you realize he's staring at you before glancing down at some sort of journal. He has a pencil- or was it a pen?- in hand and it furiously moves over the paper before he glances up yet again.

Finishing the rest of your food, you then ask for your table to be cleared. Once that's done you ask the waitress, just loud enough for the stranger to hear, where the bathrooms are even though you know exactly where they are located. But instead of actually using the bathroom, you ask for a to-go cup of coffee and pay your bill.

As you head back outside you see the stranger still seated and his attention solely on his book. So gathering yourself, you walk up to his table and take a seat across from him. When he glances up, his eyes subtly widen and you quirk an eyebrow at him.

"Hi," you muse. "Why were you staring at me?"

The man gapes as his cheeks flush at being caught. Up close you notice the man is quite handsome- from his stylish trimmed hair, to his beard, and blue eyes. "I am so sorry, ma'am." Ma'am? That's new. "I did not intend to make you feel uncomfortable."

"No?"

"Not at all," he's quick to assure you. "I was just- I'm an artist," he blurts. "And your hair, the braids caught my attention. More so the streak of purple against your nearly platinum hair that's weaved in and out of the one braid." He angles his book towards you and sure enough there's a sketch of your side profile. He paid a lot of attention to your braids and while the sketch is mostly black and white, the only color on paper is the purple streak in your hair. The man has some major talent.

Internally you're grateful it was nothing sinister, but on the outside you cringe. "Oh. You're really talented," you say as he lays his sketchbook back down. "And I'm sorry for thinking you were a creep."

That startles a laugh out of him. "You thought I was a creep?"

He's grinning and it's your turn to flush. "Well it is New York-"

"Fair enough."

"-and you just kept staring. I didn't know what to think and you sketching me didn't even come to mind as a possibility."

"Again, my apologies." You smile and his grin turns a little mischievous. "Then again it is your fault. If you hadn't done all those neat braids in your hair I probably would have been doing a crossword puzzle."

"My fault!?" You laugh softly to let him know you're honestly not upset at all. Amused is more like it. You shake your head, sipping your coffee.

"I'm Steve, by the way," he then introduces himself.

"Y/N," you return. Silence momentarily reigns over you two and you suddenly feel like you've overstayed your welcome even though Steve is still grinning. Pushing your chair back, you stand and offer him one last smile. "I really should be going now."

"Oh. Okay."

"If I see you around again, I expect to see a sketch of a new stranger."

Steve huffs a laugh. "Sure. It was nice to meet you, Y/N."

"You as well, Steve."

After pushing your chair back in, you take your leave. Then before you turn the corner, you glance back and see Steve still watching you. He waves and you salute him with your cup of coffee, ignoring the all too warm feeling in your chest at seeing his smile directed at you.

Over the next few weeks you run into Steve at the cafe and once at the park. The two of you always ended up sitting together and talking about anything and everything, so it's no surprise when he sheepishly asks you on a date.

You agree to the date and then to the four after, and it's really no surprise when the two of you become a legitimate couple. What is a surprise, however, is the third month of dating you find out he's none other than Captain America. There's a brief moment of panic because he's apparently friends with your brother, but fortunately it seemed like Thor hadn't even mentioned he had a sister. Steve seemed nervous when he let you in on his secret, but his story hardly fazed you. He was grateful you didn't seem to make a big deal out of it.

And after seven months of dating, the two of you move in together.

The smell of bacon is what wakes you and after blindly feeling around the bed you realize it's empty. Reluctantly you get out of bed, heading for the bathroom to fully wake yourself and freshen up before seeking out Steve.

Your boyfriend is scrambling eggs while the bacon sizzles when you sleepily walk up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. Steve chuckles as you nuzzle the middle of his back and your hands find their way under his shirt to lightly scratch at his abdomen.

"Mmm. Food and abs. What did I do to deserve you?"

"A lot, sweetheart," he muses. "For starters, you accept me for me- shield or no shield." He scoops the bacon out of it's own grease and plates it on a paper towel to soak up the rest. Then turning off all burners, he moves the pan of eggs to the back cold burner. "And you put up with my creepy staring when I'm in a sketching mood." Turning around in your arms, he lightly grasps your face in his hands and kisses your forehead.

"S'all good. I do a lot of creepy staring myself. You're pretty."

"And you're still half asleep." He kisses the tip of your nose and you laugh, and then Steve walks you backward until the back of your knees hit a chair. Lightly pushing you down, you grunt as your bottom meets the seat of the chair. "Don't pout," he muses. "Eat your breakfast and then we can laze about all day on the couch. We don't have anywhere to be today."

"Yeah, yeah. Just give me the bacon."

Breakfast is then eaten at a leisurely pace, Steve chuckling every time he has to kick at your ankles when you nod off mid-chew. You kick back, grunting and whining when you miss and your toes smash into a table or chair leg. And then when you're all finished, you happily clear the table and load the dishwasher while Steve heads to shower off from his early morning run.

After a while Steve emerges and the two of you fall onto the couch. Finding a marathon of murder mysteries on TV, you leave it there before snuggling into Steve's side. Hours pass with the two of you barely moving and then around lunch time Steve's work phone is blaring it's emergency ringtone.

"Nooo," you groan, hugging him a little tighter.

Steve chuckles. "Sorry, sweetheart. Duty calls."

"I know. Before careful." You reach up and peck his lips just as he answers his phone.

Steve gets a brief rundown of what's going on as he moves from room to room gathering his suit and other necessities to shove in a duffel bag, and then he's giving off coordinates for a place to be picked up at since your cohabitation wasn't exactly known among his friends. You pick up his shield and place it in it's own personal bag before handing it off, you giving him another kiss but this time lingering a little longer.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he says. "Aliens decided to pay a visit again."

You sigh. "You're going to be busy all night." He smiles guiltily and you press a kiss to chin. "Hurry back, but please be careful."

"Will do. Try not to watch the news."

"As if," you scoff. "I'm going to be glued to the TV as soon as you walk out our door."

He sighs. "I figured you'd say that."

"Yep. Now get out of here, babe. The world needs Captain America."

"Yes, ma'am."

The moment Steve is out the door and his motorcycle engine roars to life, you do as you said you'd do. You turn on the TV and immediately flip back and forth between all the news stations to see what the hell is going on. Aliens are pouring out of the sky yet again and Iron Man zooming around and blasting them is hardly putting a dent in their numbers. Even your brother and the Scarlet Witch can't quite keep up, and you're suddenly nervous that the Avengers are in over their heads.

You watch as the Hulk makes his appearance, he jumping and swatting aliens out of the sky like bugs. And still.. the aliens keep coming. Then fifteen minutes later, a quinjet is landing in the middle of an empty parking lot and Captain America, the Black Widow, and Hawkeye are seen jogging off the back ramp to join the fight. The Avengers seem to be holding their own even though they appear to be greatly outnumbered.

Not able to watch anymore, you put the TV on mute and head outside for some fresh air. To pass some time you decide to rearrange the porch furniture, but as you're doing so a feeling of dead momentarily overwhelms you. You stumble into the porch railing and the feeling of dread isn't evaporating. A moment later you're skipping down the porch steps and onto the front lawn. With your heart beating fast, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Centering yourself, you concentrate and pull on your Asgardian magic to sense whether or not it's going to be a good day or bad day. All signs are pointing to something terrible happening.

Eyes flying open, you look to the sky. "Heimdall!" You call out. "Send down my beloved companion. They need my help."

Seconds tick by and you think Heimdall is refusing you because you had turned your back on everything after Mother's death, but then a portion of the sky shimmers and you can see a brief glimpse of the bifrost before the silhouette of a winged horse shimmers into existence.

Laughing, your gaze tracks the flight path of your pegasus. The pitch black creature lands and folds his wings in before trotting up to you, and you press your forehead to the pegasus' face. Lovingly scratching either side of his neck, you say, "Hello my morningstar. We have work to do."

The black beast neighs and paws at the ground before stepping back and trotting circles around you. You lightly smack him on the butt and he takes off in a trot down the street. Several people have come out of their houses and are staring, and you hear gasps all around as Lucifer's wings unfurl. He stops and turns back around, and then a moment later he's running at full speed. You smile ferally and put your back to him, you then running down the street. As you run you can feel your clothes changing on their own and the second Lucifer's at your side you jump and land on his back.

Your own blue and silver Asgardian armor covers you from the neck down, and a silver helmet sits atop your head with a piece of metal drooping down between your eyes to the tip of your nose. Your hands twist into Lucifer's mane and as you lightly kick his sides he jumps into the air. Guiding him towards where you know the fight is, you only hope you can get there in time.

     - X - X - X - X - X -

Out on the battle field, the Avengers are tiring. The team is at a loss of what to do, but at the moment they're just grateful that no more aliens are coming through the portal they had opened.

"Hey, Stark, I can really use another sweep," Clint says. "I just sent my last arrow into the field."

"On it, Bird Brain." Tony disengages from the alien he was fighting to collect all the arrows he can. "You really need to rethink your weapon of choice."

"Yeah, Barton," Natasha teases. "Upgrade, will you? Tony's new toys are fun," she says as she takes down four aliens, one right after the other with the glock that shoots energy blasts instead of bullets.

Steve jogs up to them, throwing his shield with a grunt and watching in satisfaction as it pings off alien head after alien head before hitting a wall and flying back towards him. "Guys, less talking more fighting. I really want to get home."

"Aw. Does Cap have a hot date waiting at home?" Tony muses. Steve falters, but doesn't rise to the bait. However, Natasha notices his little misstep and grins knowingly.

"Uh. Guys?" Clint then muses, staring up at the sky and following something with his gaze. "Am I the only one seeing a goddamn pegasus?"

There's a moment where the only sounds are of the battle, and then..

"SISTER!"

"Sister?" Every Avenger wonders as Hulk roars off in the distance.

The warrior on the back of the pegasus has a bow in hand, she loosing a volley of arrows with what appeared to be only one arrow. The winged horse swoops lower and the woman hops off, her horse taking flight once more and disappearing into the clouds.

Once your feet are on solid ground, you yank off your helmet at let it fall at your feet. You ignore the stares as you reach back into your quiver for another arrow, nocking it and grinning when the tip suddenly flames. With a whispered spell, you loose the arrow and smirk as it multiplies into a hundred and each arrow finds a place in an alien.

Before you can reach for another arrow, arms wrap around you from behind and you're suddenly being spun. Laughing, you let your brother have his moment. It's only when he sets you back down and turns you so you face him do you realize everyone but the Hulk gathering around.

"Y/N?"

You glance to your left and guiltily smile at a bewildered Steve. "Hi, honey. Surprise..?"

"Honey?" Iron Man muses just as Thor says, "You know of my sister?"

Clint snorts. "Shit. This outta be good."

You cringe as Thor continues to stare at Steve. "Uhh.. Steve and I are dating."

Instead of anger, Thor surprises you by beaming. "This is wonderful news!" You sigh in relief at his exuberance and then mentally groan when his smile falters. "But.. since when? You fled after Mother died. Have you.. have you been on Midgard all this time?"

"Yes." Thor suddenly looks unhappy and you frown. "I promise to explain everything later. Right now we have aliens to take care of."

"Yeah. About that," Hawkeye says. "Can you do what you did to your arrows to mine?"

You nod and hold a hand out for his arrows. Having collected them from Tony, Clint passes them over to you. Grasping them all in hand horizontally, you lift them so the shafts are near your lips. Then closing your eyes and muttering a spell, you hand them back to their owner. "There. You should be fine."

"Awesome."

Standing side by side with Hawkeye, the both of you nock an arrow each. As yours lights aflame, Hawkeye pouts and you huff a small laugh. Then angling upward, the two of you loose your arrows and everyone watches as they multiply mid-flight.

"So awesome," Clint muses again, watching as the aliens shriek and fall dead.

"All right. Now we're back in the game!" Iron Man zooms off, and after your brother shares a pointed look with you Thor twirls his hammer before taking flight.

Hawkeye and the Black Widow stare between you and Steve without an ounce of shame, and you sigh. Giving your attention to Steve, you say, "I'm sorry."

He frowns. "You could have told me when I told you about being Cap. Why didn’t you?"

"I knew you worked with Thor. I didn't want you to have to lie to him."

"I would have. For you."

Chuckling softly, you reach up with your right hand and cup his cheek. "Oh honey, you can't lie to save your life."

The Black Widow laughs at Steve's offended look. "I can to."

"Mhm. Then why did you have the guiltiest expression just last week when I asked what happened to the last of my honey butter?" Steve gapes and you lightly tap the end of his nose. "Yeah that's what I thought."

Steve sighs. "You'll tell me everything?"

"Everything." Leaning in you're quick to peck his lips. "I'll even tell you about that one time Loki tricked Thor into wearing a wedding dress and almost married him off to another Prince. I was sworn to secrecy, but I'll make an exception just for you."

"And me," Clint says, smirking. "Your other brother Loki might be a dick, but I need all the embarrassing stories on Thor I can get."

You roll your eyes, shaking your head in amusement. "Fine. You too." Clint fist pumps and you look back to Steve. "Now come on, babe. We got an Earth to protect."

[black-strike-otp]

part 15

Things have gotta get better, ya’ll think. There’s no way it’s gonna continue at this rate being a shit-post slap in the face. Ya’ll underestimate me. ;)

Megatron bought his story. Not technically a lie, but not technically a truth; Blackout had explained that he’d found no Autobots and nothing of interest on his location. With the length of time he’d been gone, Megatron assumed accurately he had been making absolute sure there was nothing even resembling an Autobot on the planet. The only thing of interest, he reported, was the reasoning behind the patches of holes here and there on his frame from a local specimen of the planet.

Although the bond between Scorponok and himself was still closed, Blackout could feel the bug shift against his backside. He tried not to consider thinking what was on the bug’s mind. With extreme accuracy however from at least a century of being bondmates, Blackout had an idea what the bug was being fussy about.

He could hear the minicon now despite not hearing him at all. “Nothing of interest, huh” he’d mock.

Starscream seemed, as always, the least unsure about his tale. Then again, with their streak record of bitter arguments and maybe only two dozen or more murder attempts on each other, no one questioned the seeker’s suspicions. No one questioned Blackout’s loyalty, either.

In the quiet of his room, alone and with luxuries yet nothing of significant importance at all, he spent his time in secret trying to fix his cannon. Using any supplies he had; or could discretely steal from around the ship, Blackout finally managed to get the fragging thing in functional condition again.

Everything was back to normal again. Yet somehow, it felt like so much had changed.

~

~ Months Later ~

“I’m going to miss these guys,” Novastrike whined, her servo extended into a crowd of Knoech’ol. The alien creatures frills were quivering with sorrow as they tried shaking her digit. Others were clinging to her arm, her side, her legs all with the same pleading, desperate expression.

Guard passed glance over the small monstrosities. “As will I, Novastrike. But we can’t stay here any longer. We need to find energon reserves. There’s no longer any other option for us.”

“I know,” she sighed, looking back at at the Rising Star. Some of the others were busy packing up supplies and giving a head count to make sure everyone was accounted for she noticed. Others were grouped off like she was, saying their goodbyes to the species that had allowed them refuge on their home world.

Giving a half-sparked smile, Guard leaned down slightly to press a servo against the little femme’s shoulder. “Come now, Novastrike. We should be on our way.”

“Yes, sir,” she whispered in an empty voice, her audios cast down.

With great care, she managed to pull free of the little hands of the Knoech’ol and stepped around their teeny bodies as they gave out harsh, shrill cries of sadness. Nova picked her way around them until they stopped trying to grab at her and give chase; the poor things huddling together in masses to wail their sorrows.

Guard surpassed her slower pace and stepped inside of the space vessel, followed by most of the other rogue Cybertronians. Novastrike came up short of the ramp that lead aboard the ship and opened up a section of her armor plating of her chassis discretely, pulling out a glimmering dark blue gemstone flecked with sparkles.

She placed it gingerly upon the ground.

Turning back to the ramp, Novastrike began to ascend after the others. Guard, who had been standing at the top of the ramp, gave a final look around.

“I suppose we have everything,” he stated, turning back to look at one of the mechs standing nearby. He gave a curt nod after skimming a datapad filled with information.

“Wait a second, sir, I forgot something,” Novastrike blurted out, feeling a faint flutter in her chassis.

The much larger mech cast a confused glance towards Novastrike. He opened his mouth to make a reply, but already the white-armored femme was dashing down the ramp.

Snatching up the gemstone, Novastrike placed it against her lips. The rock had grown smoother over time slightly from overzealous rubbing. Quickly, she turned heel and ran back up the ramp. Nova was quick to zoom past a slightly perplexed looking Guard and out the nearest door, into the hallway.

Huffing a heavy sigh, the mini femme glanced down at the shiny rock pressed against her chassis. Her optic ridges slowly lowered as she looked up to the ceiling, sliding down the nearest wall. Her digits clutched the jewel a little tighter.

If only she was strong enough to let it go.

~

The body count on board the Rising Star began to rise very slowly. At first, it was easy to place the bodies in the safety of storage units, cold chambers meant for lengthy stasis periods, even leaving them in a small morgue on board the ship meant for those who passed during a transport.

But the bodies began to pile up.

After a while, there was nothing left to do but to dump them in space. Nobody liked the idea of it, least of all Guard. He fought Neutroboost tooth and nail about keeping them on board until the very last, but the stubborn secondary commander insisted it was best. It created space, and it prevented the possibility of disease catching and spreading.

“We aren’t going to be going home anytime soon,” Neutro had roared furiously. “Just throw them out the hatch.”

“You’re asking me to leave our brothers and sisters in the deep vacuums of space, where they won’t even get peace?”

“Nobody else has gotten any damn peace this whole fragging war!” Neutro had snarled. “If you can’t do it, I’ll do it without you.”

Guard was a strong, old mech. It had been sparkbreaking for Novastrike to see the poor guy tear up as he watched what he considered his family to be left out in the middle of nowhere. Unlikely to be found and salvaged even after the war to be returned to Cybertron. They would float forevermore out here, unless their bodies were used and recovered by others, or by coincidence, managed to burn up in some sort of planetary entry or star explosion.

Fights broke out more frequently. Bots were simple starving. There had been a rather outlandish speculation that the minibots and femmes were being given more rations; leading to a temporarily thieving of rations.

Novastrike went days without energon. She was burning fumes by the time Guard found out.

Rations became stricter after that. He had been furious. In an effort to keep the incidents from reoccuring, Guard simply placed himself in the way of storage area where the energon cubes were kept. He rarely ever left the location, and when he did, he had three trustworthy bots stay and guard it when he left.

You weren’t allowed to leave the area until you were given, and consumed your ration. Absolutely no one was allowed to leave or drink without Guard being nearby.

This new protocol caused further rifts between Guard and Neutroboost. No one could determine why exactly, but Novastrike had her assumptions. With how dangerously bitter and hateful Neutro had become since the Exodus, there was no way of knowing for sure exactly what was on his processor, but there was certainly ways of guessing.

She just hoped she was wrong.

~

Battles were waged far and wide from Cybertron. It was all the same thing. Bloodlust sent the Decepticons in a craze; always demanding more, always fighting within themselves. Wherever they went, everything was destroyed in their wrath. Cities, towns, species, the environment itself; it all came to an end.

Blackout witnessed death after death at his own servos and those of his faction. It all meant nothing to him.

They took what they pleased. Lives, energon, credits, tools, weapons- everything was theirs for the taking. Fueling their armies, curbing their appetites for destruction.

Lord Megatron’s rage only seemed to grow by the day. Nothing was sparred. Turning on his own when they questioned him, ripping the very sparks out of factionless who were in his path without remorse.

A small part of Blackout began to even feel distrust towards his former friend. Where once, Megatron would show his support, offer his grand speeches, place a servo upon his closest allies shoulders and proclaim victory, now he was simply violent. He lashed out uselessly; his red optics filled with insanity and horrors one could hardly believe.

All he spoke about was killing the Prime. All he would cry was of how he would have the mech’s last breath, and steal the Matrix of Leadership.

But where was that leadership now? Where was the mech who lead them, proud and strong into battle? Where was the mech who swore to his followers that they would have their place, their rights, their home? Where were the promises of a new system and of freedom and salvation?

It all seemed so distant. And now, everyone seemed more like puppets in a game with no ending.

~

Perched on the very thin ledge of metal beside a thick panel of glass, Novastrike watched the gaseous planet as they went by. Its overlapping diagonal rings of ice and rock and beautiful swirling vapors of sunset oranges and yellows made for a spectacular view.

Her thoughts deviated off on their own. She wondered what Silvercore would have thought of his. Of all these grand adventures he spoke of, she wondered what he’d feel of this one. Maybe at the beginning, she had thought he’d enjoy it. But now, constantly hungry and with the threat of death always looming above your cramping frame, she no longer thought he’d be enjoying himself.

What would Blackout think of the planet?

Well, that was an easy one. He’d hate it, naturally. He hated everything.

Novastrike’s expression screwed up into one of resent and pain. She placed a servo over her chassis, directly over the spot near her spark chamber where she’d kept the dumb space rock she couldn’t get rid of. She told herself now that it was only right she try returning it to the Knoech’ol people one day, but she knew she was fibbing to herself.

A thousand times at least, she must have thought about tossing it out the nearest hatch. Lay it with the departed and let it go out to space. Put it somewhere, see if anyone would dispose of it for her.

But no matter how many times she tried to just leave the slagging thing, she always went back for it.

The little femme pressed her forehead against the glass and snarled, glaring at the planet as though it was its fault she was in this situation.

Her optics caught sight of a shadow, moving against the far left side of the planet. She squinted slightly, trying to make out the strange phenomena she was witnessing.

The alarms on the ship began to go off. Novastrike jolted, following off the ledge and on the ground with a thud.

Reaching back, she scratched her helm and looked up to see bots running by.

“What’s the emergency?” Nova cried out above the alarm.

One of the bots dashing by came to a stop. Another ran into him from behind, and then went to run around him with the rest of the bots.

“There’s a Decepticon warship on the other side of that planet,” the mech stated. “Everyone’s supposed to get to their assigned positions.”

Novastrike’s sparkbeat picked up rapidly. She rolled over, watching as the mech went to run quickly after the others. Her processor felt jammed. She couldn’t remember what she was supposed to do.

So she went to the one place where she hoped, at least, she could make herself useful.

Sure enough, Novastrike’s reached the command module and spotted Guard and Neutroboost, along with many frightened rogues and those at work in the room.

From here, Novastrike could get a good look at the ship. It was a massive dark purple; very box in form. It had to be at least ten times the size of the Rising Star.

“Guard, is that a rogue ship?” Novastrike asked in a frail, quivering voice.

Guard grimaced, and announced loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, “No. That would be the Decepticon warship Hell’s Point. It’s an experimental starship, designed with a wormhole generator.”

“Like- a spacebridge?” a shaky voice asked.

“Very much like one, yes. Only, this doesn’t require two dimensional portals to operate. You don’t need a point A and B to bridge the gap. That ship can travel anywhere without a sister station.”

“Primus, we are so screwed,” whispered another voice.

“Maybe it hasn’t seen us?” offered a femme. “Maybe- maybe it won’t bother us?”

The Hell’s Point began to slowly change direction. Everyone watched in horror as it began to plow headon into the planet’s rings; sending debris flying in every direction.

“Sir, we don’t have a functional weapons system onboard the ship,” a mech quietly remarked. “How are we supposed to fight them?”

“We can’t,” Guard stated solemnly. “We’ll just have to try-”

“Steal their ship, of course,” Neutroboost stated, his optics shining with eagerness. “Think of it, they probably have loads of energon on board- or at the very least, more than we do. If we could take control of the ship-”

Guard turned a livid face towards Neutro. Steam physically blew out of his ventilation system. Everyone stepped back, including a shocked Novastrike. She’d never seen Guard mad in all her life, let alone so mad that there was waves of heat visibly coming off of him.

“We are not risking the safety of our crew for your ludicrous, selfish desires, Neutroboost!”

“But that sort of technology could save our lives, Guard. We could go anywhere in space we wanted to for energon. Frag, we could go home if we wanted!”

“I said no!”

“You’re not the only one in charge here, Guard, or have you forgotten?”

“Your desires for fame and glory are going to get us all offlined, Neutro. You haven’t been acting commander for years now. Stand down, now, or I will personally put you in your place myself,” Guard threatened in a much quieter tone, pressing his chassis against the smaller mech’s.

Novastrike’s optics flickered uneasily between the approaching Hell’s Point and the two commanding officers. The steadily approaching starship suddenly turned its thrusters on full, and the ship was coming towards them at full speed.

It seemed she wasn’t the only one that noticed. Screams suddenly broke out from every direction.

Guard and Neutro turned their faces at the same time towards the panned glass.

It was too late. Hell’s Point came at them like a battering ram; clipping the top section of the Rising Star. A section of the upper deck was sheered clean off, and the ship suddenly went into a violet spin.

Novastrike hit the far wall hard. Her optics glitched and energon ran out of the cracks in her helm. From the force alone of the spin, everybody was flattened against the floor and wall, unable to pry themselves away until the momentum began to settle.

A crackle of static came over one of the open comm channels that had been activated by a mech slamming into a command module.

“They’re docking! I repeat, we have a breech in the upper deck. We have a-”

A blood curdling scream followed, and the line went dead.

Everyone began scrambling to their pedes at once. Sliding into their seats, those at the command post began to run diagnostic scans of the ship and its surroundings.

Placing her servo on the back of her helm, Novastrike shakily got to her pedes. She looked over to see a rather disgruntled Guard shoving Neutroboost aside. He appeared to be limping slightly, much to the little femme’s dismay.

“Sir, we’re getting a reading of something coming out of a transwarp portal nearby.”

“Another Decepticon ship?” slurred a nearby bot.

“Unknown.”

“Whatever it is, it must have its own wormhole generator,” Guard muttered, glancing at the ground. “Keep an optic on it, and report anything to me. I’m heading up deck.”

“But, sir-”

Guard looked around the room. “Any able-bodied and willing to fight, follow me.”

A few mechs and femmes locked optics with Guard and then each other with uncertainty.

Turning swiftly on his heels, Guard began to march out of the room. His arm made a loud, mechanical ‘thunk’ as metal plates began to shift, revealing a rather large cannon.

Slowly, everyone but a very few began to unload their weapons and follow after Guard. They had put their trust and sparks this far into the mech’s resolve. They would do so again.

They left behind in the command module a few of the standard workers, and one very displeased looking Neutroboost standing with his arms crossed.

~

The upper deck was a massacre. The roof and a large section had been removed from the Rising Star entirely. Bodies were thrown around; and others floated dead in space.

Novastrike froze as she spotted Eradicon and Vehicon, along with Decepticon warriors, clashing. The Hell’s Point had docked two large tentacle-like channels into the ship, and soldiers were coming in left and right.

Unlike the little femme and some of the other rogues, Guard did not hesitate. The mech charged headlong with a valiant roar of anguish and fury into the fight. His cannon crackled with energon; firing rapidly upon anyone who Decepticon in the old mech’s line of sight.

It was admirable and frightening at the same time.

Nova’s servos shook nervously. She tightened them on the grips of her plasma pistols.

Fists collided. Bodies clashed. Blades sliced. Blasters fired. Cannons exploded.

It was deafeningly loud in a closed space. Everything stunk of war.

Novastrike didn’t miss this. Not a bit.

She sprinted after the others. Using her speed just as much as her offense as her defense, the small femme bolted past Decepticons and mid-turn, fired at their legs. The sight of plasma eating into their armor caused her tanks to churn.

Leaping against the wall, Novastrike jumped up and over another Con and took out the back of his legs as well.

Clashing her guns together, the two pieces reshapped themselves into a larger rifle. Nova skidded behind a warped section of the ship’s siding and began sniping out the legs of Cons from her safe haven.

~

:: Commander Guard, the ship is exiting its transwarp hole. ::

:: Intercepting transmissions, sir. ::

“Sir,” a mech cried, distracting Guard as he locked servos with a Decepticon. “We have confirmation on the ship leaving the wormhole. It’s the Jonagar.”

A nearby Decepticon suddenly whipped their helm towards the informant, and turned back to some of his fellow Cons with a horrified expression.

“Autobots, incoming! Retreat back to the ship; someone get a hold of Captain and tell him the Jonagar is approaching!”

A shot exploded through the Decepticons chassis and he cried out, falling down with energon pooling out of his mouth and chassis.

“Back to the ship!” Another Decepticon roared.

The mech with his servos interweaved with Guard grimaced as Guard began to crush his digits. The overpowering rogue mech offered a sadistic grin.

“You’ll learn not to mess with my ship, and my crew, one way or another,” Guard boosted.

The Decepticon’s gave a sinister grin; flashing pointed teeth.

“You think so, huh, old mech?”

Guard furrowed his optic ridges, but it was too late.

A cannon folded over from the Cons backside and over his head, and fired as the mech twisted his arm sharply, cracking joints in Guard’s left arm in several places.

The cannon tore through Guard’s chassis at an angle; shredding armor off of his chassis and blowing into his leg. He gave a strangled cry of agony as the Decepticon released him, smirking wide. He turned to follow after the other Decepticons; his broken digits limply flopping at his side.

~

“Guard says to burn the thrusters hot,” one of the mechs stated at the command room. “We’re getting out of here while we can.”

Neutroboost curled his lip up angrily. His optics darted to the viewing window, glancing at the Autobot warship, the Jonagar, as it began to exit its wormhole.

This was their perfect opportunity to strike the Decepticons and the Autobots and try to take at least one of their ships and energon. Guard was a soft-sparked, weak old fool.

~

Novastrike ran helplessly after the bots carrying Guard down the hallway towards the medical room. Her chassis ached with worry as the faded light blue energon streamed down the elderly mech’s side and puddled in thick drops on the floor.

And it wasn’t just her, either. The majority of the ship was crowded after the bots that had managed to haul up the Commander’s large frame.

“Tell the command center to burn the thrusters hot,” Guard rasped.

“Will do, sir.”

Guard leaned his helm back just enough to catch the optics of some of those racing after him. There was an impish twinkle in his optics, and strangely, he looked much younger than he had looked in years.

“I’ll be fine, everyone,” he stated. “Please, get back to work, don’t fret over me. The ship’s going to need a crew to still run her, after all.”

There was some shouted words of protest, but Guard shook his helm as he was skirted into the medic’s room.

Thankfully for him, a rather irked looking femme immediately stepped in the doorway as he passed in.

“Nobody’s permitted in here unless their dying, or seriously injured at the moment” the femme snarled. “Do as your commander says, and get back to work.”

Jumping up and down, Novastrike tried to spot Guard as he was being laid out on a berth. He seemed to be gritting his derma in pain.

The crowd began to disperse slightly, grumbling. The medic gave a little sniff as she turned around to go see her patient.

Just as the doors began to shut, Novastrike caught sight of Guard glancing at the door. He seemed to have captured her gaze and offered a supportive smile, and a wink before the doors closed.

Nova’s tanks churned anxiously as she wrung her servos nervously. She only hoped his optimism wasn’t purely for show.

[perspectivepodcast]

[Transcript] Side A: Cities

You need to imagine the air being moved suddenly against you as the train screeches to a stop in front of you. There’s screens everywhere, aggressively inviting you to buy stuff you don’t need at prices they’re not worthy of. You’ve found refuge in the shade of a pillar and you wait for everybody else to step inside the train before hopping on yourself. You’ve become a little agoraphobic in recent years, haven’t you?

You sit in the middle compartment, the one that doesn’t have any floors above it or under it, because when you sit in those you feel you can’t breathe.

And then, this big metal snake jerks softly to a start. You feel like Pinocchio inside the ribcage of the whale, except this is an earth animal you’re inside of. There’s a screen that’s supposed to tell you which stop is the following, if the toilets are free or not, what temperature there is inside and outside the void entrails of the snake. But it’s broken, of course. Which doesn’t mean that it’s turned off.

The metal snake goes. Just goes. Swerving every now and then, more or less softly. Outside, countryside. Fields. From inside the metal snake, it looks like nature, like wilderness. But of course the country is not nature, nor wilderness. We just like to project our distaste for the downsides of being city people on the countryside, and have ridiculous expectations of nature. As the metal snake rattles through this unending plain, smoothly carrying us with it (“we would kindly recommend to please lower the tone of your voice and your telephone’s ringtone so as not to disturb the other passengers”), it’s no wonder to me why the pastoral genre was a city invention. For millennia, everybody has wanted to go back to nature, but nobody ever wanted to do it on foot.

You reach the other city. Stone buildings that look like whipped cream. I think cities can easily be found to resemble people. And as with people, I think the time in your respective lives when you meet affects greatly how much you’re going to like each other. And yet, it’s a tricky business… Some cities let themselves be known much sooner and much deeper than others. Some cities I’ve known all my life I still cannot say what kind of person they are. Some cities I’ve been to only a couple of times made me feel I had known them all my life. Bologna, for example, is definitely a ‘sfattona’. I have no idea how to translate this word. It’s normally translated as pothead, but it’s a lot more than that. Gosh, you should just go to Bologna to understand what I’m talking about. A ‘sfattone’, or a ‘sfattona’, is a person who, yes, evidently is a pothead, but it’s more existential than that: a ‘sfattone’ is a person who takes everything easy, someone who just lives and lets live, who likes being around people and laugh and eat, who doesn’t give a damn about what you’re wearing nor about what they’re wearing, who just likes chilling and only next to acceptable hygiene standards because they’re simply allergic to worrying. So that’s what Bologna is: a sfattona. The minute you get there, you just feel free to be whoever the hell you want and cheers to that. There’s a warmth, something of a convivial cheerfulness to that city that I just can’t help loving with all my heart. Perhaps it’s all the red and orange and yellow in the architecture, all those bricks. It must be. But when you’re there, you’re just who you are and the rest is sunny skies.

Torino, instead, is basically Bologna’s opposite. And it’s no wonder that often people who don’t like Bologna instantly fall in love with Torino and vice versa. Because Torino is nothing less than a princess. The wide roads, the orderly, right angled crossroads, the clean sidewalks, the sober tones of the buildings… And yet, in all its majesty, Torino is, like all princesses, mysteriously otherworldly. Its elegance, and clean lines, are all telling of a transparency that paradoxically cloaks a profoundly dark soul. I promise it won’t take you long to understand why Torino is a vertex both of the black magic triangle, and of the white magic triangle (just in case you were curious, the other cities of the black magic triangle are London and San Francisco, while those of the white magic triangle are Lyon and Prague). And consequently you will also not find it so surprising that this princess city is also a hub of underground punk anarchist culture.

It’s as if Torino, behind a veil of refined silence, held a very intimate secret. As I walked through the streets, along the river, across the squares of this city, I could feel it whispering to me: ‘I will not slam my beauty at you, I will give you time if you can give the same to me. Don’t be afraid of my dark corners, because it’s thanks to them I will protect you. And then, only if you want, you can walk through me and know me, secret after secret.’

I always felt Torino to be the sweet, discreet, good boyfriend who helps you heal after a bad heartbreak. I wish everybody could feel like that about someone, or someplace, at least once in their life.

The train stops. It’s my turn to cut a wound through the snake’s side and hop off and let the rattling go ahead of me.

Screens. Everywhere. Streetlights. Traffic lights. Zebra crossings. Backpacks. Suitcases. Trolleys. Sunglasses. Cars. Car exhaust. Concrete. Stone. Screens. ATMs. Words. Ringtones. Cars. Other noises I can’t quite figure out.

It’s funny how we’ve made up this notion that nature is silent. Or that silence actually exists in nature. We’re so weary of the endless flow of artificial sounds we expose ourselves to in our city lives that we need to find consolation in this idea that outside of the city there’s a parallel universe where silence exists. It seems to me that nature was always this grand receptacle for city people of their every frustrated desire for a less city life. It just had to be the opposite of the city. As long as it could be tamed, as long as it could be harnessed. Teddy Bears came from the city. River banks came from the city.

Cities can break your heart. Or give you peace. A city is a whole universe. They can be ghosts, or dreams. Sometimes I wonder if those two things are the same.

Cities were built to protect us from nature. Cities were built to create solidarity. A law against murder and hunger. Cities were built to give roads, to give clean water, to give remedy to disease, to give power to ethics.

It’s funny, right? To think about it now. But cities were supposed to give power to ethics and take it away from nature. Which of course never had anything ethical about it.

What’s even funnier, at least in my opinion, is that we city people, instead of remembering that cities were supposed to make our lives more humane, we tend to forget that the cruelty of cities as they are today is much closer to nature than any of our made up pastoral notions of nature.

Social alienation wasn’t invented in cities. Perhaps loneliness was. Indifference to the alienated wasn’t invented in cities. All truly wild things are pitiless. What was invented in cities, instead, was the ability to betray expectations of solidarity. A truly wild thing will never expect solidarity of you, and will never give you any even if you expect them to. But that a human, instructed in the laws of ethics, should be able to betray them, that is something only city humans are able to do. We tend to forget that kindness doesn’t exist in nature. Beauty does, indeed. But not kindness. Perhaps, we should take more care of our cities, of our human communities, and make them the humane places they were meant to be, instead of projecting the best things cities promised and failed to deliver us onto a made-up notion of nature.

Some cities came to me like gifts. Florence gifted me happiness, with that sweetness in the air. Toulouse gifted me the startling realization that sometimes life can also treat you with pleasant surprises. Avignon gifted me the integrity of peace. Some of the best memories I have, are about getting lost in a new city.

An airplane streaks the blue skies with a line of white. Techno music from a screen. Another train screeches to a stop in front of you. You hop on. You sit in the middle compartment, where you don’t feel too much like you’ve been crammed inside a sardine can.

The big metal snake jerks softly to a start. And you look from the window whatever it is that we want to believe a city is not.