#chemical defences | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

loveindefinitely · 1 year ago

Text

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

09 — I'M HIGHER THAN THE HOPES THAT YOU BROUGHT DOWN

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad.

<- previous part | next part ->

When you had taken down the organisation by Shepherd’s side, it was the beginning of everything.

The first time you had drawn someone else’s blood was with a rifle in your hand and a vengeance burning in your veins. A single order from your General – your only support – to kill anyone with the organisation’s uniform. Anyone who raised a scope to you.

It’s difficult, usually, to remember what had happened.

Sometimes, in your deepest of sleeps, the nightmares of your past came to haunt you. Flashes of blood on your skin, corpses underneath your feet, the crackle of a radio sounding in an empty room.

A congratulations from your General.

Congratulations for seeking revenge, and executing it like a soldier well-trained. Another cog in the military’s rusting machine. A weapon for them, more than a human with free will and determination.

You’d thrown up, after it all.

Heaving, sweating, crying, the endless guilt of what you’d just done. Were you no better than them? Sure, they’d killed your mother, but you had just carried out the same in turn. Tenfold. They had families that they’d never report back to. Families that they’d never get to say goodbye to. Dinner left untouched.

Shepherd had pat your back – then, he’d been in service, active duty. You hadn’t known it, but taking down the organisation was his last mission.

You never even learnt the name of the organisation. Shepherd had said that it was better that way, to detach yourself, not get yourself muddled with the logistics of it all. You weren’t meant for that. You were meant for weaponry and death and destruction.

That night, when you laid awake in the small camp set-up just a few klicks out from the organisation's site, you determined that you wouldn’t take another’s life without certainty. Unless it was for defence.

That night, you’d known that you would ask to be trained for field medicine.

Oh, how naive you had been. Young, aching for a chance to get revenge, to get what you felt you deserved.

Ten days later, you met one Phillip Graves.

A day after that, he offered you a place within the beginning of his mercenary company.

Half an hour after you signed the contract, General Shepherd announced that he was no longer suitable for active duty.

How naive indeed.

You think, in the very back of your mind, with the smallest grip you have on thought, that you’ve been carried to safety by men more than you have in your life, these past few days.

In and out, your mind wavers, senses completely gone, consciousness an impossible thing.

Minutes, hours, days. You’re not sure. How does time even work? What is time? Are you alive? Is this death? Another third, universally unknown state, an in between?

These past few days, the utter mess your life has become, has it finally worn you out? Destroyed you from the inside, shrapnel embedded into your flesh? A direct hit, a ticking time bomb gone wrong? A suicide mission with no preparation, no warning, no hope?

If you could, you’d cry.

Let tears fall down your cheeks, crystalline and pure against your dirtied and sinful skin. A mocking of all things good and right and beautiful.

Oh to be beautiful. To be right. To be good.

Heaven would taste like fairy floss melting against your tongue, you think. Sweet and pink and soft. It would furl around your tongue, season your mouth with the feeling of cotton and freedom.

White.

White blinds every inch of your body, the darkness of your eyelids lit with the shade. Chemicals fill the air, a stagnant, all too damning smell. Beeping, too, a constant background noise as you slowly come to.

Hospital – or, at the very least, a Med Bay. It’s something quite familiar, but the feeling of being a patient in one is a very rare instance for you.

That feeling of blood, sticky against your face and arm, has gone. Instead, the itch of fabric and bandage replaces it, an IV drip attached to your inner arm an annoying sting. Your hair feels as if it’s been carefully spread over the pillow underneath your head, a blanket wrapped over your form.

If your spatial awareness is at all correct, you think you can sense a few other people in the room, too. Soft murmuring chimes in over the beeping, now, as you return to full consciousness.

“Can’t believe all three of ‘em are down.”

Gaz – that honey-esque, smooth voice instantly has you recognising the Sergeant. From where his voice is coming from, he seems to be sat beside your bed.

“It’s not your fault, Kyle.”

Price. Captain. He sounds… softer than you’ve ever heard him. Lost, maybe, upset. Disappointed? It’s hard to place, his tone, but it seems almost forlorn.

“Had a whole fuckin’ team of Marines and we couldn’t make it to ‘im in time. If it wasn’t for her–”

“I know, Sergeant,” Price snaps, shutting down the younger man’s nervous, distressed rambling. A scrape of a chair sounds, the sound of pacing footfalls a moment later. “There wasn’t anything we could do – and it’s not like any of ‘em are dying, now are they?”

“Don’t act like this didn’t affect you either, Captain,” Gaz bites back in return, his chair, too, scraping against the linoleum floor. “I heard your yell clear as day.”

“I can and will write you up for insubordination, Garrick,” Price warns, stern and cold.

Gaz’s responding laugh is biting, grating. “No, you won’t, Price. Because if you do that, you’ll have to report the others too. You really wanna risk losing us all?”

“Don’t test me.”

“Thought you liked that about me, Cap.”

“Kyle –”

“Good morning to you, too.”

Both men turn, then, to look at you with wide eyes. With a small groan, you move to sit up, eyes burning with the sudden overhead lights. Your shoulder aches, your cheek, too, but not as badly as they had before.

“Be careful, don’t –” Gaz goes to say, moving towards you, before you show him your palm.

“I’m fine. I know my limits, Gaz,” you say, a small reprimand as you shift into a comfortable position. “I’ll be out of this bed within the hour if I can help it.”

“You dislocated your shoulder,” Price says, insistent, brows furrowed as he looks down at you, arms folded over his chest. “It’s in a wrap. You’re lucky, Colonel, that they could perform the surgery here.”

Your brows raise.

“Surgery? How long was I out?” You frantically ask, sitting up straighter, wincing when you bump your shoulder. Your mind races with theories, fear trickling down your spine like a cold vice. There was so much you had to do – had to investigate, now.

“Only about a day. You were under anaesthesia – and your body near shut down,” Gaz leans forward as he sits, elbows on his knees. “You were awake, under high-intensity stress, for nearly four days.”

Four days? Had it really been that long? What had only felt like a day – it had been four?

You must show your inner panic on your face, because Price takes a step closer, hand moving to rest comfortably on your shoulder. He has a calming, understanding tilt to his lips that you appreciate. His eyes examine your body, before his blue eyes meet yours.

“Graves is already planning his next movement,” he says, gruff and true. His hand squeezes. “We were playing checkers, seems like he wants to play chess.”

The beep of the machines sat beside your bed and the overall feeling of hospital and gauze and injury has you realising something. A flash in the back of your mind, a bell ringing for you like a dog on a leash.

“Where’s Soap and Ghost?”

Price and Gaz share a look, before Gaz flits a nervous grimace to you. “Ghost… refused to be treated unless he was put in the same room as Soap. Soap, is, well…”

“Get yer bloody hands off me, aye am fine, let me see ‘er–”

Soap’s voice carries down the hallway, the standard-issues curtains surrounding your small area doing nothing to block the sound. Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline, Gaz buries his face in his hands, and Price heaves a long-suffering sigh, muttering something under his breath about decorum.

“Sergeant, the doctor’s –”

“Tell Sarah tha’ aye can bloody well handle maself!”

A crashing noise follows the last statement, along with the sound of confused yelling, before the curtain surrounding you gets ripped open by none other than Soap MacTavish.

His grown-out faux-mohawk is messy, obviously having been laid on for a fair bit, his eyes wide and chest pounding in sweeping movements. Fist clenched in the scratchy fabric of the curtain, his frantic eyes focus on Price and Gaz, respectively, before landing on you. His shoulders loosen, and he lets go of the curtain as he trails down your form, analysing for any injuries or a single hair out of place.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, sounding all too like that single nickname is a lifeline, “Yer alright.”

You softly shake your head, disbelieving and confused and shocked and.

And maybe slightly grateful. Lucky, even, to have someone care for you enough to act like your very presence is their saviour. Like your blood is as worthy as their own, your lungs virtually theirs, too.

“I’m not the one that nearly fell to my death,” you exasperate, voice as soft and vulnerable as you’ve heard it. At the very least, the most open you’ve sounded since your mother was around. “Did you just kill one of the nurses to get here?”

Soap’s creeping smile turns into a full, toothy grin as he shakes his head. “Nah. That’d be Lt.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Price mutters from beside you, along with Gaz’s choked off laugh. You can’t help your own private smirk.

“And here I was, thinking you were the dog, Soap,” you tease, except for the first time, it isn’t with the intention of goading. Of poking the beast. You’re… teasing just for fun. Because it feels natural and right and.

Oh.

Soap scoffs. “Aye, ye did say that, didn’t ya? Ye haven’t seen a guard dog like Mr. Lt, lass,” He taunts, freckles dusting his nose, the hospital lights doing nothing to wash his tan skin out.

He says, as if your world hasn’t been flipped over, shaken about, and sat down on your shoulders like a snowglobe.

He says, as if everything is fine and normal and not cataclysmic.

“The nurse is fine.”

Everyone, including Price, jolts where they are situated, eyes darting to where Ghost leans against the wall opposite your bed, picking at his nails.

He’s.

Unlike the balaclava, of which is all you’ve known of the bulky man, the only thing covering his features is a standard black medical mask, covering his mouth and nose. No ink stains the upper half of his face, either, and for the first time – you see his hair.

Dirty blond.

It oddly suits him, the shortly cut mess, the strands hanging over his forehead and ears. What strikes you is the lack of scars from the skin you can see, the unmarred skin, the softness of it.

He’s pretty, in a rugged, unabashed way, and what a realisation that is.

With just a black compression shirt, sleeves cut to the mid-section of his upper arms, sleeves of talented ink cover his pale skin. A snake, intricately designed, covers his left, curving around the muscle. On his right, what looks to be a Greek god, its depth shadowed with blacks and greys.

“Good to see you in one piece, too, Lieutenant,” you say, and if it was at all possible, you’d swear that sparks shoot up your spine when his deep brown eyes catch onto yours.

He raises an uncovered brow – pale and soft. “I meant what I said,” he threatens, a glint in his eye.

So, you suppose, not all has been forgiven. Your memories are shaky at best, but a few words stand out from your confrontation – kill, belonging, rank. A promise of death, but a vow of protection, too.

“What’re you talking about?” Gaz asks, looking between the two of you with a confused expression.

Neither you, nor Ghost, break eye contact as you simultaneously say; “Nothing, Gaz.”

Both Sergeants share a look, a cheeky one, the type that no one else in the room can decipher. You had seen the way that the two shared comments, winks, hits up the back of their heads. Joking and full of life, but with an unbreakable bond between them.

Yearning was becoming too familiar of a concept for you, you were finding.

“Laswell found a hit on some intel,” Price breaks the tension of the room, hands bracing on his knees as he looks to the four of you. A grim expression settles on his face when he looks to you. “It’s in the home of one of your Lieutenants.”

Your heart stutters in your chest as you swallow around a dry mouth. “What kind of intel?”

Everyone seems to collectively move in closer – Ghost’s hand rests at his belt, Soap’s at his back pocket, Gaz’s on the chain adorning his neck, a guitar pick attached to the gold.

“Intel on an ‘organisation’,” Price says. “A group of people wanting to overtake the military, one with a rising number of members.”

It’s as if you can feel nothing but the beat of your heart, the sensation of your fingers, the pain in your chest. The organisation. They were. You and Shepherd, you hadn’t eradicated them. Maybe stumped their growth, for a while, but you hadn’t.

You hadn’t realised they were still around. Growing, even, thriving.

The urge to just cry, pour out your emotions and weep is the strongest it’s been since your mother’s funeral. To just pull up the covers over your head and let tears fall down your cheeks, mourn in your misery, scream and claw at your skin and feel.

If only you could be that woman. Just for a day.

Instead, you reply.

“When are we going?”

Soap is, both surprisingly and unsurprisingly, the first one to speak up. His hands land on his hips as he studies you with a narrowed gaze. “Ye need to rest, lass. Yer broken.”

You throw your unwrapped hand in the air, waving in their general direction. “Have you guys seen yourselves? How the fuck you’re out of your gowns is almost crazier than you storming into here gunsablazing!”

“We didn’t get a concussion, a wound on our cheek, a dislocated bloody shoulder,” Ghost challenges, and your hackles rise in turn. When he gives, you return. The moon and the sun – the two of you, always taunting the other with a bone just to see if the other will bite.

“I saved your ass,” you seethe back, and with only a small wince, you pull the IV drip from your arm. If Price or Gaz debate that move, you ignore it. “And his. I don’t seem to recall hearing a single thank you, either.” You rise on shaky legs, pushing through the ache, pushing through the thunderstorm in your chest. You turn to Soap, “So don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” you turn to Ghost, “And you don’t tell me what injuries deem me weaker! I’ve survived this long without the lot of you, and you don’t need to start babying me now.”

The silence in the room should dispel your nerves, but it only serves to increase them tenfold.

“We’ll scope out the area and decide what to do after. Five days ‘til we perform an undercover mission, I suspect.”

With a small tilt of your head, you look to Price, who rubs at his jaw, scratching at the hair lining it. He looks deep in thought – ever the calculating leader.

You sigh, quiet enough to not be heard. “Thank you, Captain.”

The wrapping around your set shoulder seems recently done, and when you move the ligament in small circles, the pain is nothing more than a dull ache. Your cheek, too, has been bandaged, but the sting is nothing if not prevalent.

Someone had spent the time putting socks on your feet, so you’re grateful for the small mercy as you move to the side table and swallow down mouthfuls of water from the plastic bottle placed there.

A thought comes to mind then.

“Where do I sleep? Or should I, um…” You trail off, because the idea of finding a shoddy motel in the middle of nowhere is definitely not a pleasant one.

Silence.

Slowly turning around, bottle in hand, your brows furrow when you see that none of them are meeting your eyes. Even Ghost, which is most definitely a first.

“Are you banishing me? Worried I have cooties?” You tease, bouncing on the soles of your feet. When no one responds again, you truly start to worry. “That was a joke,” you confirm, as if they didn’t know that.

“There’s no spare rooms,” Gaz blurts out, and your eyes go wide.

Of all the things that had briefly crossed your mind, a lack of space was most certainly not one of them. The consequences of that fact is the next thing to be brought to the forefront of your muddled ideas.

“Right,” Soap nods, as if this is a newly found concept. He gestures to Gaz, a smile creeping onto his face. “Thanks for offering to let ‘er crash with ya, lad.”

“I didn’t say that –” Gaz starts, expression slowly creeping into one of exasperation as Price interrupts with a slap to the Sergeant’s shoulder.

“Real generous, Garrick,” Price commends, moving to stand from his chair and leave the room. Ghost follows closely behind him, shooting a look between you and Kyle, simply saying, “Thanks, Sergeant.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Gaz groans, head falling against the chair backing as he slides down the wood. Soap is quick to bound away from the room, too, with a cheerful, ‘See you tomorrow!’.

Gaz, eyes squeezed shut, seeming to try and melt into the floor, flutters one eye open to look at you where you stand. He grimaces, before slowly getting to his feet, too.

“Sorry for,” you bite at your lip, looking everywhere but at the man who seems to want to die more than host you, “Being a nuisance. Really, I’m fine sleeping at a motel, or whatever. Seriously.”

His hand grasps your chin, moving it so you’re forced to look up at him, his analysing gaze searching your own. The brown of his eyes glisten in the bright light, his features shining with it, and you’re hit with an overwhelming want to be cherished by this man.

How bad had your concussion really been, to be making you think this way? You should really talk to Sarah about it, ask what kind of side effects came with one.

Oddly enough, you don’t think that this realisation is as sudden as you’re forcing yourself to believe.

“I didn’t,” Gaz begins, quickly looking away and setting his jaw before meeting your eyes once more, “I didn’t mean it like that. Just. Embarrassing, y’know?”

“How? Got a secret collection of pornos you don’t want me finding?” You quip back, a soft tilt to your lips.

He chuckles, a soft, girthy thing, shaking his head. “Nah. Nothin’ like that. Just… havin’ a girl in my room on such short notice is a bit scary. Gonna kill them all when I see ‘em tomorrow,” he mutters the last few words under his breath.

“I really am sorry,” you promise, “I didn’t realise that I’d have to impose on you like this.”

“You’re not imposing,” Gaz says, stern, thumb brushing along your jawline. “My bed should be big enough, anyways.”

Your cheeks heat at the implication, mouth opening and closing around nothing. “Your – Your bed? I can just sleep on the floor –”

“No,” he interrupts, shaking your head side to side softly. “If anything, I’ll crash on the floor if you’re uncomfortable. I won’t let you sleep on anything but my bed.”

“Such a gentleman,” you lean in, whispering the words over his lips, a smirk forming on your face as you pull back. Heading for the door, you miss the way his fingers raise to hover over his mouth, gaze flitting to you before he follows behind.

“Do I need to see Sarah? The only reason I was really in there was ‘cause I was passed out, right?” You ask, turning around as Gaz meets you, opening the door for you to walk through. His hand falls to the small of your back as he directs you down the hallways.

He shakes his head. “Nah, Price messaged ‘er. If your pain starts up again, just take some pain meds or see her.”

“I like the way you run things here,” you hum, looking around at the concrete walls and linoleum floors, barren of personality. “No wasting time or resources.”

A draft carries down the hall, and you find yourself rubbing your arm, biting at your lower lip from the cold. Gaz’s hand wraps around your waist, pulling you into his body heat subtly, and you’re silently grateful. “I’ll give you some of my spare clothes to sleep in,” he says, thumb rubbing against where his hand sits in tight circles.

Your stomach growls, then, and you can hardly find the energy to be embarrassed when you haven’t eaten in four days. Yikes.

“Sorry –”

“I made you. Um.” Gaz looks away, bringing up his other hand to rub at the nape of his neck nervously. “I made you some wraps to eat, because the guys love ‘em, and Price kept getting pulled into meetings. So.”

The smile that pulls at your cheeks burns as you softly say, “Thank you.”

His grip around your waist tightens, the smallest amount.

You don’t comment.

“While you change, I’ll go get them from the fridge,” he says, as the two of you pause outside a standard door. The barracks look the same as every other corridor in this base, you’ve found, three other doors sitting close to this one. The 141’s rooms.

Unlocking the door, he switches on the light, and as you step in, you look around at the small room.

A double bed, narrow but long, sits in the corner next to a small window. Next to it, a wooden bedside table, with photos atop it, and a few random medals and gum wrappers. A single poster is stuck to the wall – and as soon as you see it, a laugh bubbles up in your chest.

“What?” Gaz asks, looking through his chest of drawers, looking to you with flushed cheeks. “It isn’t that bad.”

Your laughs continue, racking your body with each inhale as you point to the poster, eyes watery as you look at the man. “Didn’t realise you were into the Spice Girls, Garrick.”

He shoves his clothes into your face, only making you double over with laughter.

“It was from my mum,” he grumbles, and you grab for his cheeks, squeezing them as your eyes near-shut with the manic laughter bubbling from you.

“Mama’s boy,” you tease, pulling at his cheeks until he’s face level. He huffs, pushing you away with a hand to your jaw, making more giggles erupt from your chest. “It’s cute, Gaz, I’m not being mean, pinky promise.”

“I’m getting the wraps, you twat,” he tries to sound accusatory, but his dimples deepen in his cheeks, his mouth pulling into a stubborn smile as he shoves you onto the bed, slamming the door shut behind him as he goes.

The fondness in your chest aches, and as you pull on his clothes, taking off the medical robe, you realise something. A niggling, in the back of your mind, one you can’t seem to shake as you tie off the oversized grey sweatpants around your waist.

A singular realisation, but a damning one, nonetheless.

Your smile doesn’t fade.

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re @oreo-cream @lalashhyl @someonepleasedateme @letmeapologise @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @inarabee @simp-sentral @littlecellist @clear-your-mind-and-dream @browtfyoudoing @oreo-cream @fanngirl19

707 notes · View notes

nicromancytarot · 7 months ago

Text

Back at the start of October I became educated on the Palestinian genocide and advocated for those in Palestine on various platforms of mine. I do not feel comfortable with my silence on this account as I have a fair amount of traction here. So here is my 4000 word document on the conflict in Gaza, it has educating history and information, as well as updates.

There is a fair amount of information missed out due to losing my password to the account this was posted on, but I plan on getting back to updating it as soon as possible!

——————————————

FIRSTLY - PLEASE TAKE YOUR TIME TO SHARE OR DONATE TO THESE GOFUNDME’S SO WE CAN GET THESE PEOPLE TO SAFETY AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.

Mahmoud and his family

Dana and her family

4 year old Naya and her family

Samah’s family

Hasan and his family

Haneen’s family

Young Omar and his family

Mosab’s treatment

Student Khaled and his family

Ahmed and his family

Bisan and her family

Mariam and her family

Help baby Omar

Dr Saber and his family

Ashraf and his family

Mohammed and Shelly the tortoise

Misk and Ahmed

———————————————

In 1947 the United Nations recommended the partition of Palestine and separation of Jewish and Arab states.

This meant that they would be giving away the Palestinian land and giving part of it to the Jewish (now mainly Israeli)and part to Arab (mainly Palestinian) people.

In 1948, Britain (who were in occupation and control of Palestine) finally gave the land up and departed back to England, leaving the Jews and Arabs to fight out who was going to get the land – this turned into the war that we know to have been the ethnic cleansing of Palestine by the Israeli government.

since that day, Israel (as it came to be) have been taking over more and more land, by doing so, they are killing, capturing and torturing the innocent Palestinian civilians.

This has been going on for 75+ years, and the media refuses to allow us to speak about it.

Hamas is an extremist group fighting for liberation of their land,we have to take note that Hamas wouldn't be doing what they are doing now had the Israeli government not taken over the Palestinian land.

80 years ago Israel did not exist, Palestine was where Israel now stands. Innocent Palestinians have been captured, killed and put into concentration camps which live on the Israeli land. Yet the media never talks about it.

Even if this is a supposed war against Hamas, Hamas does not represent the entirety of Palestine.

With what is happening in Israel right now innocent Palestinians are being murdered once again, yet the media is refusing to talk about it.

The Israeli government have shut off water supply to Gaza (home to 2,000,000 Palestinians, half of those being children) and have started launching white phosphorus, a harmful chemical that can cause burns and even death, due to injury and illness.

recently Israel has mentioned that they are going to bring Gaza to the ground, every building will be nothing but rubble by the end of it.

Israeli government had recently given Palestinians the opportunity to leave to Egypt for a safe passage, letting the citizens know which paths were safe and which were not, the Palestinians loaded themselves onto open trucks, so the planes belonging the the Israeli government could see them and know that they are innocent. Isreal bombed the trucks and the passage. Killing many, including children.

They warned Palestinians in Gaza to head to South Gaza so they could bomb the north, many evacuating to the South. Israel bombed the South, killing even more.

And then continued to bomb ambulances those in need of medical assistance were in.

Israeli propaganda is trying to make us believe that these are mere defence tactics, yet the majority of us can see that this is just another ethnic cleanse in the form of self defence. Israeli government is trying to get rid of everything and everyone from the land, which will no doubt become Israel in the near future if their "defence mechanisms" go to plan.

The media is trying to convince you that Israel is in the right by starting the war and fighting back, since "Hamas started it."

But the 7 decades worth of oppression of Palestine in the hands of the Israeli government says otherwise.

Israel has one of the most progressive militaries in the world (declared in 1967 during the Jerusalem massacre) meanwhile also receiving guns from the US, which are illegal in Gaza.) But Palestinians have nothing, only the rocks and stones from their blown up homes.

It's not a war if it's not a fair fight.

They want you to see Palestine as an enemy that they must eliminate, but once again – this is just Israeli propaganda.

standing with Palestine does not mean you support terrorism, it means you support resistance and liberation. Standing with Israel means that you support the mass-murder, genocide, torture and ethnic cleansing of Palestine and Palestinians.

For every city in Israel is a concentration camp home to thousands of Palestinians.

————————————————

Israeli forces have killed 2750 Palestinians in the recent attacks, 1030 of those are assumed to be children.

Israeli forces air-struck a supposed Hamas base inside of Gaza hospital Al-Ahli, 800 Palestinians were killed in the attack.

Israeli human rights activist against antisemitism Hananaya Naftalí was seen posting to twitter reporting on Al-Ahli, in his first post he was seen to say "BREAKING: Israeli Air Force struck at Hamas terrorist base inside hospital in Gaza."

He then deleted that tweet after backlash and reposted a new one saying "The mysterious explosions in Gaza." "Hamas blames Israel for this. I believe it is either a failed rocket that hit the hospital or something that was done on purpose in order to get international support."

check out @/aquilahel on tiktok for the tweets.

For anyone who thinks that this is just a two sided issue, I will tell you why it is not.

6 year old boy Wadea Al-Fayoumi was stabbed and killed by his landlord in Plainfield, Illinois for being Palestinian and Muslim. The 71 year old landlord Joseph Czuba forced his way into the house when Wadea and his mother were home, stabbing the mother once, she managed to hide from him and waited until he left. After he left she came out to find her son stabbed 26 times. Joseph was found sat outside the apartment complex by police.

This is not just an issue for Israel and Palestine, this is affecting Palestinians and Muslims all around the globe.

We have received some good news, the president of Columbia Gustavo Petro has stated he "does not support genocide" and has sent humanitarian aid to Gaza.

We have also been notified that "ground operation" (Israeli forces operation to leave Gaza on the ground) has been posponed due to "weather disturbances", with further investigation we can see that the date it is set to happen on has clear weather and no disturbances, yet we have seen that Columbia's Gustavo Petro announcing he doesn't support genocide and sending help to Gaza has caused Israeli forces to pospone the operation due to the lack of support from a member of the United Nations.

Our voices really do make a difference.

———————————————

Israeli forces have bombed a 2000 year old orthodox church in Gaza where groups of people who had either evacuated or had to leave their homes were seeking refuge. It was reported that 18 Palestinian-Christians were killed, and 18 more injured.

The united nations had a meeting to discuss the plans for the Israeli attack on Gaza. They were asked whether or not humanitarian aid should be let into Gaza.

IN FAVOUR FOR HUMANITARIAN AID (6)

Brazil, China, Gabon, Mozambique, Russian Federation, United Arab Emirates

AGAINST HUMANITARIAN AID (1)

United States

8 abstentions (refusing to vote), leading to the failure of adopting a solution for humanitarian aid.

The United Nations held another meeting to discuss the possibility of a creasefire on Gaza, the results are as shown.

IN FAVOUR FOR CEASEFIRE (5)

China, Gabon, Mozambique, Russia, United Arab Emirates

AGAINST CEASEFIRE (4)

France, Japan, United Kingdom, United States

ABSTAINED (6)

Albania, Brazil, Ecuador, Ghana, Malta, Switzerland

Currently there are no updates on whether a solution has been put together.

Scottish Priminister Humza Yousaf has called for ceasefire on Gaza, and has said that Scotland is willing to take Gazan refugees.

Multiple countries have given humanitarian aid to Gaza, but it is all in trucks at the border, which is closed. The border between Gaza and Egypt was supposed to be opened by Israeli forces on Monday 16th October,

Saturday 21st October Israeli forces have opened the gate, letting in only 20 trucks, this will not be enough to sustain and aid 2 million people and they know this.

Total statistics from Thursday 19th October:

At least 3,785 Palestinians have been killed and 12,493 wounded in Israeli strikes in Gaza since October 7th.

Jewish-American conservative talk show host Ben Shapiro posted a picture of a "burnt Jewish baby" claiming that it is one from the Hamas-Israel attack. He posted this photo to twitter after receiving backlash from "Jew haters" (as he called them) who did not believe that any babies had been harmed by Hamas. (as there is no real proof of any individual attacks by Hamas.)

The picture has since been proven to be artificially generated.

Shapiro only 19 hours ago took to the internet to tell everyone how "America will avert world war three." Talking on the Palestine-Israel situation. (It's more likely America will cause world war three than avert it, Ben.)

UPDATED DEATH TOLL: 4,385 killed. 1,756 assumed to be children. 967 assumed to be women.

IMPORTANT UPDATE: Israel has sent a warning out to hospital in Gaza Al-Quds, telling the people seeking refuge in there to evacuate so they can blow it up.

They have been bombing around the hospital for the last few days and now plan on taking it down completely.

12,000 people are there right now, it is their only place of shelter and safety, there are medical staff treating patients in need of medical aid, and the doctors refuse to leave.

this is inhumane, they are going to kill 12,000 people and this will not stop until gaza and palestine is wiped out completely.

So many babies and young children are there with their families. If you care about the hypothetical babies in the Hamas-Israel attack, you NEED to care about these.

We should not have to tell you that innocent babies and children are being killed for you to listen and realise that this is terrorism.

Do not listen when they tell you Hamas did it.

United States has donated $100 billion to Israel, backing this current attack and the many more to come.

United Kingdom's priminister Rishi Sunak has stated that the UK "stands with israel" and "are friends with Israel", and that he wants Israel "to win." (We do not stand with Israel, our stupid priminister does.)

There is no winner to a war that has more death than solution.

And there is no war if the other side cannot and does not fight back.

Gazan children are having to write their names on their hands to ensure that they can be identified after death. No child should be having to think or worry about death, let alone go through it.

This is genocide.

This is mass-murder.

This is terrorism.

This is dehumanisation.

This will not stop until Gaza and Palestine as a whole are nothing but Israeli land.

But we will not stay silent about this.

—————————————————

UPDATES: 24th October

23 reported masacres in the last hours of the 16th day of attacks, which caused a current total of 436 deaths, 182 of those were reported to have been children. These people were mainly from the South of Gaza, the place Gazans were told to relocate to by Israeli forces as it would be "safer."

TOTAL NUMBER OF VICTIMS:

5087 killed,

2055 children,

1119 women,

217 elderly,

a total of 15,273 injuries and 1,500 people including 830 kids have been reported missing under the rubble.

Severe burn injuries are being seen across Gaza, some including melting skin which they have never seen before, and in which is being proved hard to treat with the limited resources they have.

12 hospitals and 32 healthcare centres are unavailable due to targeting and lack of fuel.

Hospitals that are available have reached mass capacity and the medical teams are struggling to help those injured due to the lack of recourses and fuel.

130 premature babies lives are at risk, these babies are in incubators which run off of electricity, when Israel shuts this off (which they have been doing a lot recently) these babies will die as they will have no way to breathe and will therefore suffocate, if they can breathe on their own, loss of electrical function will cause the thermal system to fail and therefore the babies will die of hypothermia.

Day 16 was reported to have been the worst bombing Gaza has seen since the beginning (7th of October.)

The night sky was lit up red by Israeli bomb lights. (After having been a complete blackout at night since the 7th.)

This is only the reports for today, this is only going to get worse. As it is going, we unfortunately believe that this "war" will not stop until Gaza and the west bank are erased from the land completely.

Please keep talking about this, make posts, tell friends and family. Be Palestine's voice in a time when they cannot use theirs.

—————————————————

UPDATES: 26th October

Hospitals have made it to their full capacity and are now being reported as reaching their "total collapse" as result of the israeli airstrikes.

People in need of medical aid are being treated with whatever is left, patients are having to be seen to while laying on the ground and having their wounds and injuries seen to while under no anestesia.

Since October 7th: 5,791 people, including 65 medical staff, 2,360 children, 1,292 women and 295 elders have been killed, with 16,297 injuries. This only accounts for the ones that have been found and identified.

It has been said by the ministry spokesman, Ashraf al-Qudra that "children, women and elderly make up around 70% of the victims."

But that does not mean we disregard for the 30% of the Gazan men, and the rest of them that are working hard to find and help people in need, I unfortunately keep seeing men unaccounted for in these attacks due to fear and stereotypes. They deserve our attention too.

16 year old Muslim girl on a train in New York was attacked and discriminated against due to her religious beliefs.

When heading to Union square the girl sat down on the train, a man sitting next to her. The unidentified individual then told her "you're a terrorist, you don't belong here." Before pulling on her hijab.

The man ran away after another passenger intervened and tried to help.

There have been no arrests made at this time.

This is the impact of what is going on around the world. For so incredibly long Muslims and Arabs have had to fight the stereotypes that the Western media has written for them. May I remind you that no one person fits into a group of stereotypical values. No matter what ones religion or culture is, they are an individual with achievements, goals and dreams. Stop trying to generalise a group of people because you don't like what they stand for. It's pathetic.

I ask you to step away from Western media, when you come across it, ask yourself "what do they want me to think and what are they hiding from me?" Make your own judgments by doing your own research, do not follow the rest.

Accounts on various media platforms are being deleted for talking out about what is going on in Palestine and Gaza,

Instagram account "eye.on.palestine", one of the biggest Palestine news update accounts was recently deleted, luckily it is said to be restored soon enough.

But not all pages will have that outcome, they are trying to silence us because we know the truth.

So keep talking.

—————————————————

UPDATES: 27th October

Death toll in gaza reaches 6,747

Biden has stated he has "no notion if palestinians are telling the truth about how many people are killed" genocidal denialism at its best, not only that - he is straight up stating that their lives are much less valuable than anyone else's.

Palestinan officials have sent him a 212 page document on all the names, age, sex and official identification number in response.

281 of them are missing information as they have not identified them yet.

Schools in the West bank have been bombed by Israeli forces, once again - Hamas doesn't exist there, I beg you to tell me the reason to kill and scare innocent people, especially children.

Do not turn your back to the children of Palestine and then complain to me about the hypothetical children killed in Israel by Hamas.

Hamas have released some of their hostages, the hostages that were interviewed have stated that they were treated well and ate the same food as Hamas did, and received medical attention. They were kind to them and caused them no harm. It is reported that the current hostages released (at least a few of them) were given back due to needing medical aid that can only be given to them outside of Gaza.

I would also like to add, for the people who think they are hero's for speaking out about this issue, please shut up. The majority of the time this is white savour complex and I am tired. You are not a hero for doing the one thing you should be doing. Well done for doing it, but it doesn't mean you should be praised.

Also please stay respectful about what you post about Palestine, edits of the war are strange and using the genocide to promote your music is even weirder.

Stay safe out there.

Also for anyone who does not believe that Israel is the problem, I ask you to look into the issues with the West-bank Palestine, and how Israeli forces treat the people who live there even without Hamas (Whom are supposed to be the reason for this "war", right?)

Watch Joe Rogan's podcast interview with journalist Abby Martin, who talks about the month she spent in the West-bank, it's highly educational.

If you are Palestinian or Muslim, please stay safe and take care of yourself.

———————————————

EVERY CEASEFIRE NEGOTIATION SINCE OCTOBER 7TH 2023

October 9th, Hamas offered Israel an unspecified number of women and children to be released from gaza, in exchange of 36 Palestinian prisoners held captive in Israel. Israel denied.

October 16th, Hamas says they'd release all hostages in exchange for 6000 Palestinian captives. Israel denied.

October 17th, Hamas said they'd release all Israeli hostages if Israel stopped bombing gaza. Israel denied.

October 28th, all hostages for all Palestinian captives. Israel denied.

November 17th, all Israeli hostages for a 3 day ceasefire. Israel denied.

January 2nd, Hamas would release 40 hostages in order for Israel's gradual 3 day withdrawal from gaza, on the last day Israel would stop the war and give back all Palestinian captives. Israel denied.

January 22nd, Hamas would be in leadership of gaza, they would release all hostages in exchange for all Palestinian captives and the end of the war. Israel denied.

February 7th, all hostages from both sides and the end to the war. Israel denied.

March 15th, Hamas would release all elderly, children, women and sick captives held in gaza in exchange of 700-1000 Palestinian captives being held in Israel. Israel denied.

May 7th, Hamas offers all female hostages for 50 Palestinian hostages and an 11 day ceasefire before Israel finally dismantles all military structure from gaza and allows gaza to begin reconstruction. Israel denied.

it's never been about the hostages, Israel could've got them out 7 months ago if they really cared about them, they are a tool being weaponised to mask ethnic cleansing.

IMPORTANT MESSAGE REGARDING CELEBRITIES, INFLUENCERS AND EDUCATION

I am so sick of people saying they are not educated enough to speak about this. 7 months. SEVEN FUCKING MONTHS. I cannot be nice about this anymore, I am tired, Palestine is tired, GAZA IS TIRED, we are all so fucking tired of this performative bullshit that everyone is spewing. I am so so sick of hearing that people cannot boycott Starbucks, that Mcdonald's is too good to stop eating, that Disney is important to them. SHUT THE FUCK UP. People are dying, they are being brutally murdered and you are crying about your fucking coffee??? GROW UP!!! This is life, you either grow with it or you don't. No one is asking you to sell your kidney for Palestine, but most of us would do it in a heartbeat.

For the celebrities and influencers, do not complain about not knowing enough when you've had 7 months to learn it, I was reciting "in 1947 the United Nations requested partition and separation of the Jewish and Arab states" in my dreams dude, I literally had a dream last week where someone offered me a Starbucks and I stood up shouting "BOYCOTT". This is what should be happening to everyone, it should be so drilled into your head that you think about it every waking moment. So trying to sit there and complain about your lack of understanding and education is a bunch of bullshit. Why be an influencer if you cannot influence??? 7 months to pick up a book, to listen to Palestinians who explain it to us for free on social media, to watch videos.

I saw a picture of a baby the other day, unlike normal I wasn't prepared for this, it wasn't censored and I had just woke up, it was on my Instagram feed, a young girl, not old enough to walk, I doubt she could even crawl, a small bow in her hair, a onesie, her ears pierced. A baby, someone's child, someone's entire life. half of her face and body was skinned, you could see her organs. While this baby was murdered in cold blood, Israeli's gathered at the Rafah border to celebrate the ground invasion. WHILE THIS CHILD WAS MURDERED.

If you are not angry, why the hell not? Our people are being killed, we may not be Palestinian, but we are all connected by humanity. So where is it when it comes to them? Why kill the people who cannot even fight back????

That land is not yours, it will never be yours. No matter what your bible says, God would never make you exchange a soul for soil.

————————————————

30TH MAY 2024

I struggle to find the right words when I write this, and this is now my third attempt. It is great to see people advocating for Gaza now after having seen the pictures, videos and media coming from Rafah. However I cannot hide my anger when it comes to the way people have done this. Posting an AI image which does not convey the atrocious actions Israel has and still is carrying out on Gaza and Palestine as a whole on your timeline on whatever social media you have, is peak performative activism. It is unfortunate that people have utilised this time now to post something so out of touch while we have actual images from Gaza relaying the terror, we have videos and quotes you can use, why share an AI image when you have gofundme's and families who you can advocate for during this time?

Another thing I would like to mention are the videos now coming out with people chanting for a ceasefire, but saying that it's "never too late". I will not reprimand you for not educating yourself on this situation prior, and I will say now that it is great that you are getting involved and helping out the best you can by spreading the message. However while you do this, please remember that for the last 8 months while evidence from Palestine has been circulating social media, you were turning away and swiping past - and therefore are complicit in genocide. Acknowledge your mistakes and ignorance while educating yourself and others going forward.

The more people involved, the more people we save. But it will not bring back 40,000 people who did not have to be killed.

And do not promote or hype up Piers Morgan, he is one of the main advocators for the genocide on Gaza since the 7th of October and the main reason people in the UK feel so comfortable with their hatred towards Palestinians and Pro-Palestinians. And still now he is on the wrong side of history when saying "Israel has the right to defend itself" - that proves that he knows nothing of the conflict even while he asks for a ceasefire.

————————————————

5th June 2024

I just saw a video of the IDF running over an already dead, or injured man with a bulldozer, they crushed his body. In the video you can see the soliders redirecting the vehicle to ensure the man is fully under. Whether that man was dead or not, will forever fail to take away the just reason of crushing his body under a bulldozer weighing approximately 62 tonnes. He was not a Hamas responder, he was a civilian wearing normal civilian clothing. He was someone’s someone, a crucial part of a family, a connection, and that was all taken away from him. I do not know what will be left of his remains, however I fear for his loved ones and for what parts of him they will find. He will not get a proper burial. His family may not even recognise him if or when they manage to find him. His life was stolen for the sake of land, land that belonged to him.

May his sweet soul rest in peace, and those of justice deal with the hardly-human soliders that killed him.

————————————————

12TH AUGUST 2024

Surviving family members of those killed in Gaza are being given liquidated body parts of unidentified bodies weighing the age of the victim they mention because there are no full bodies found in Al-Tabin SCHOOL where Israel struck yesterday.

“I told them my son Ali is 6, they gave me a plastic bag with 18 kilos of body parts & told me to bury it. I don't know if it's my son or not... We can't find his body anywhere"

- Hassan, a Gazan father sheltering at the

school bombed by Israel.

————————————————

30th September 2024

Documenting a genocide with words is something you’d feel you would never be made to do, not after everything we learnt in school about the atrocious acts of our history, and the silence the west responded to such things with.

But that’s what I wanted to talk about; the world’s silence and complicity, and how it has affected sane minds and reactions even to this day. During world war II, eight groups of our community were targeted wrongfully by the Nazi’s. Those were made up of the Roma’s, Disabled people, Poles and Slavs, communists and socialists, Jehovah’s witnesses, the LGBTQ+ community, afro-Germans, and most of all, the Jews.

We all know about the holocaust, it is one past time that the entire world feels rightfully guilty for, and so they teach us about it over and over again until we understand what happened and how it affected people. However, what we haven’t been taught is that now people are so held back by the guilt that they feel for their people not intervening, that now we are at such a crossroad where people refuse to question Zionism because of it.

You can have a Jewish state without colonialism, you can have a place of sanctuary without stealing from others and murdering them on their land. The west refuse to admit that Zionism is wrong, and that’s why what Israel are doing is barbaric.

Palestine. Lebanon, Yemen.

What is next?

Does it make you such a bad person to question the logic that goes behind using the religion of Judaism to violate laws and hurt those who have only the desire to live? Is it so wrong to say that it is not right for religion to hold such a power over a life, or many? And am I wrong for saying that people are so scared to question Zionism and Israel, because it means to question Judaism?

What logic is there in letting people steal land because a holy book that only exists as an ideology and has no harsh proof, said that they are owed it?

Free Palestine. Free Lebanon. Free Yemen.

My heart goes out to any and all victims, you deserve much better than the world has given you. Ameen.

I ask you to open your eyes to the truth.

Do not be on the wrong side of history.

Palestine needs our voices now more than ever.

Free Palestine until it's backwards 🇵🇸

289 notes · View notes

am-1-ty · 2 months ago

Text

Tamed wilds and sharp claws

This is based off of @nebulaoftheprimes Zoomies! post (which i loved so much) This is the first fanfiction I've written on here so I apologise for any bad spelling/grammar in advance.

Title: Tamed wilds and sharp claws Words: 8274

Optimus Prime wasn't always the large symbol of hope. He wasn't always Optimus Prime, he was once Orion Pax and before that…well before that he was just trying to survive. Meals were scarce, even more so when many of the mechanimals would hibernate through the colder stellar cycles.

Then he was found by Alpha Trion.

He was on a scouting mission, roaming the forest when he decided to venture further out of his territory, just to see if he could catch anything good when there was shuffling to the side. The mech in front of him was no doubt a bigger predator, and while Orion had sharper plating he had only just started to grow into his adult frame.

Alpha Trion had no idea that anyone lived out in the wilderness of Cybertron; the mech in front of him looked no less than fourteen vorns, barely tall enough for a fully grown mech. Trion found himself with two options as he looked upon the young mech, plating high in defence and sharp denta bared in a warning.

It was more than a surprise to find a mech as young as he was with no others around him. It made him weary. This was meant to be a round, to secure the perimeter of the west side of Iacon. He did not expect to come away with much.

He knew that he had guards behind him, they were his trusty squadron but he couldn't just leave the poor sparkling here to fend for himself. “Hello little one” Trion tried to look less threatening, crouching down onto his pedes and holding out his servo. “Are you alone?” The mech in front of him looked up with weariness in his eyes, finials flat against his helm.

“Can you understand me?” He took the silence as a no when the sparkling leaned forwards on his servos, trying to gauge the scent of Trion when he held up his right servo. A sharp pinch is all Orion felt before the mech in front of him came closer. He hissed, a sharp warning sound before lashing out with his claws. A disgruntled shout was all he heard before his moves became lethargic and the world went black.

Trion turned to the selection of guards behind him, all looking various shades of guilty and confused. “I didn't mean shoot him” The guard to the far right hid his tranq behind his frame and Trion sighed looking back at the twitching mech, his frame still sporting his protoform colours.

“I can't leave him here” Trion moved to pick the mech up when one of the mechs behind him held up a servo “sir, is that really the best course of action?”

Trion crouched down beside the young mech, his processor whirring with all of the different outcomes of this. He nodded “I'll figure something out”. With the limp mech now safely secure in his arms a thought crossed his mind. Raising a wild sparkling would be hard granted but, as he made his way back to Iacon (planning to take the backroads of course) he couldn't help but feel that the light mech in his arms felt too right to be a coincidence. Trion smiled as he carefully made his way towards the archive tower, a new future beginning to unfold before his optics.

Orion awoke the same cycle, his processor fuzzy and the room smelled strongly of chemicals. The city of Iacon was loud and bright and overwhelming and he had woken up in a strange place that was not his nest at all. His instincts screamed at him that he was in the territory of another, bigger, stronger mech. He was lucky to be alive. That he should use this opportunity to run.

He had barely gotten off the berth when Alpha Trion opened the door slowly. Orion paused, lowering his body into a crouch (it was easier to run) before growling deeply, a warning fluctuating throughout his EM-Field.

That was until a tentative field wrapped around his, it was warm and it was soothing and it was so unlike anything that Orion had experienced. It made him stop, and reevaluate the situation. It was only then he noticed that the bigger mech held a tray, a cube filled with raw energon sat and Orion knew that it had been long before he had his last meal.

Orion wasn’t a fool, he knew what the bigger mech was trying to do. And it was working.

—

He had been introduced as Orion Pax, the understudy of Alpha Trion and they had left it at that. Ratchet was curious at most, sceptical of the mech at least. He looked small, underage and malnourished, barely grown out of his protoform. The next meeting the mech had sat in a corner behind Alpha Trion. He was silent, almost blanketing himself in the shadows that whispered behind him. His frame was small for the age that Ratchet guessed. Ten maybe eleven vorns at most. Sharp pointed joints and greyed oversized armour that seemed too clean for the amount of times he’d noticed the mech clamouring around the tower.

It carried on for the next three meetings. Orion always trailed after Alpha Trion, head low and shoulders curled. His eyes however were constantly on high alert, it was only after the third meeting Ratchet noticed he was looking for escape routes. Always seated near the window. Never properly focused.

Orion was a puzzle and Ratchet wanted to figure him out.

After the fourth meeting, the medic in training decided that he would finally introduce himself. He waited until many of the trainees and the mentors had left the room. His mentor would always make small talk with some of the others, similarly encouraging Ratchet to do the same. This however was like encouraging a brick wall to go out and make friends with birds. Ratchet never saw the appeal of making friends before Orion came along. He liked being by himself, thank you very much.

Ratchet didn't bother telling his Mentor where he was going, they were both in the room at least. The mech approached Orion, and it barely took a nano-klick before Orion’s gaze was on his, finials flicking up in interest before folding down again.

Ratchet paused, it was predatory, almost like he was analysing how to accurately offline him in a matter of klicks. Ratchet righted himself and stuck out his servo “Hey, I’m Ratchet. I'm training to be the OMC of Iacon. Who are you?" Orion didn't immediately take his hand, he stared, before quickly looking over to Alpha Trion. Ratchet didn't mind, it only intrigued him more as Alpha Trion gestured to shaking his servos and Orion made a small ‘oh’ before grabbing Ratchet’s servo and giving it a rough shake.

“Orion” the mech said as he leaned in closer, Ratchet observed as his eyes became unfocused for a nano-klick before leaning back, obviously content with whatever he had decided as his finials flicked upwards.

“Meeting pleasantries” he continued, and Ratchet’s optical ridge furrowed as he heard a small clink from Alpha Trion and whispered ‘nice to meet you’ before Orion repeated the sentence “nice to meet you”.

“Nice to meet you too Orion”

—

Orion had never taken a proper liking to Iacon. Despite never once being outside of the building that Alpha Trion had deemed safe enough to set up his own base. His own nest. During the first few stellar cycles Orion had been introduced to the world he was supposed to live in.

Taught to read and write and speak in the advanced Cybertronian language. Taught the basic mannerisms and the greeting and the behaviours. The shiny city of Iacon panning out before him when he looks out of the windows. It all looked so terrifying. His armour itched with the need to run and he wanted to bury himself in a hole, only ready to come out when he deemed it was safe from the confinements of society. Although he would never dream of not being grateful for his mentor's wisdom, he could not deny the rabid gnawing that consumed his chassis.

The first time he felt like this, the building didn't properly recover, and this was the archives introduction of the new trainee of Alpha Trion.

It had started with one or two mechs pointing out the deep grooves that were implanted into the ceiling. Then there were complaints about some thinking that there was a wild mechanimal roaming the archives.

The mystery was finally solved by an unsuspecting, undeserving mech who unfortunately looked up at the wrong time to spot piercing blue optics hanging from the top of one of the tablet shelves. She (understandingly) screamed and that’s how Alpha Trion got called down. He scruffed a squirming Orion and personally dealt with the situation.

The archives were a cold and silver polished building, and it was quiet, too quiet for somemech who was raised in the constant echoing of the wilds. Although the frequents who entered didn't mind Orion completely, they weren't the most accepting bunch. Unnerved by his silent movements and the glint of his fangs when the light got too bright. In the wilds, those who survived depended on stealth, of the silence of their steps but here in Iacon, it made him an outsider.

The group of young interns that Alpha Trion had introduced to him whispered behind his back, false rumours of where had come from -the wild, dangerous place he once called home. They didn't understand that he wasn't a threat, not to them.

But he was different, and they feared what they didn’t understand.

Expressing these thoughts towards Alpha Trion served to be a short comfort of ‘they’ll grow used to it’ and a pat of his helm.

—

It was a short trip to Kaon. That was all that Alpha Trion had described it as.

Orion was weary to get on the ship, it was loud and crackling with mech-made energy and it was something that he was taught to hide from, not hop right on. It took some luring but Alpha Trion eventually managed to get Orion on board. A small clingy Orion wasn’t the end of the world anyway.

The conference room was boring, to put it plainly. Orion had stuck to the side of Alpha Trion throughout the trip. Digging his claws into his mentor's armour when anymech came too close to him, snarling before Alpha Trion reprimanded him with a short and sharp click. His first impression thankfully kept most mech’s away anyway.

He unfortunately had to wait outside the room whilst Alpha Trion was discussing with the other higher caste council. There was a bench outside of the room, but Orion ignored that in favour of pacing the hallway, his optics scanning the building for escape routes.

When Orion reached the end of the hallway, an open window caught his attention. There he looked out upon the industrial landscape of Kaon, below the tower he stood on though was a stadium. It was loud, mechs shouting and cheering, blinding lights searched over the sky in long foul swoops. Highlighting the clouds that hung low, kissing the tops of the buildings. Orion’s attention wavered. Usually big bright lights and shouting meant danger, but since living in Iacon, it only meant something more interesting than whatever was going on in the archives.

Orion looked back at the hallway, he didn't know how long the meeting was going to take or how long his mentor would stay afterwards. Trion would always say that Orion’s curiosity would get him in the most trouble. This served as a quick and short thought and Orion jumped out the window.

—

The stadium was packed with all different types, shapes and sizes. Mech crammed into seats around the roaring stands and Orion felt overwhelmed with the amount of noise reverberating through his audials. He had half a mind to mute them when his eyes caught on the arena.

A grey mech, he was running rampant around the stage, low to the ground and fast. It made something in his chassis contract and the sudden urge to join the mech flowed through every circuit in his build.

Orion eyed the other competitor, a blue and white mech with a similar build to the grey mech. He was stock still, looking and trying to anticipate what the grey mech’s plan was. That was strike number one.

The other competitor on the stage watched as the grey mech zig zagged closer and closer to the other, dust clouds following in his wake. The grey mech turned away for a split second before grabbing a struggling competitor and body slamming the blue and white mech into the ground.

The crowd went manic. Cogs and bolts flew as the stands erupted in a tsunami of cheers and Orion muted his audials in panic, finials flat against his head, he ran to the nearest safe place he could see.

Slowly he brought his audials back online. The hallway that he had dashed into muffled a lot of the noise and he placed a servo on the cold wall. It grounded him for a moment as he slid down to sit on the gravel. Orion would regret it later when he would still have stones and sand falling out of his armour an hour later but that was a problem for future Orion. After a moment of muffled cheers and vents being blasted at full force, he heard quiet footsteps.

Orion righted himself, turning with a curious gaze to the darkened tunnel and decided to investigate. A small part of himself (a part that might not ever be snuffed out) had already declared that this hiding spot was his. He was the bigger predator, he would fight the creature that had decided to invade his territory.

It was there that he ran into the large grey mech, at least two times bigger than he was, armour sharp and eyes a blazing red. Scrap, he was definitely not the bigger predator. They stared at each other for a while the datapad in the larger mech’s dimmed at the lack of stimuli.

“Hello” The mech said, and Orion was too stunned, too overwhelmed by the events of the cycle that he forgot to respond. Too concentrated on picking apart this mech’s weaknesses whether he realised it or not. Up close Orion could see how the mech’s armour glinted with rough edges and battle scars from years of training and battles.

The mech didn't back down, didn't shy away from Orion’s predatory gaze. In fact he was more intrigued if anything. As the more he stared the higher Orion’s plating rose, an adorable attempt at intimidation.

“I didn't hear you come round the corner” the mech said “I must be more tired than I thought” the grey mech laughed. It was husky and deep and it seemed to slip down his throat like honey.

“What are you doing here young mech?” ah questions. He could do this.

“Loud” Orion croaked out and he internally cringed at the simplicity of his answer, he knew better words than that.

“Yes I suppose it is” The grey mech knelt down “i don't do well with crowds either” he smiled, and Orion noted how he did not display his denta like many others and how Alpha Trion taught him to smile.

“Im Megatronus” and oh! Orion had read about him in one of the tablets, Alpha Trion blatantly complained about his rebellion that he leads, he wasn't just a gladiator, he threw speeches left right and centre. Megatronus spoke up against the higher up’s, he connected the downtrodden, spoke up for the miners and the labourers of Kaon, the Cybertronians living underneath the heavy weight of the council’s iron rules. He was known for being the fiercest fighter in the vast chambers of Kaon's fighting arenas, where the shadows would linger, covering the air with thick smoke and sparks of raw ambition crackled, lighting up the stadiums. The Kaon fighting pits! So that's where he was!

Orion suddenly felt a lot more confident as he answered “Nice to meet you, my name is Orion”.

“Orion?” Megatronus mulled it over “that's a very interesting name”. There was a pause, Megatronus’ eyes searched his before the larger mech finally decided to break the muffled shouts of the stadium with “You’re not from Kaon are you, young mech?”

Despite how many times that Orion scuffed up his armour, how many times he rolled in the dirt or covered himself in the scent of fresh growth and outdated energon on his scouting trips. The new armour would always be washed clean at the end of the day. Shiny and presentable. Just like Alpha Trion.

“No, sir, Iacon is where I reside” hmm, it seemed like the practice conversations he would have with Ratchet is paying off “I’ve read your speeches, what you fight for is very brave and admirable”.

The mech’s optics dimmed and he scoffed "what would a prissy Iacon mech know about needing to fight” Orion knew that it wasn't a question. If not for the seething anger and annoyance that reverberated around the mech but for the curling snarl that displayed sharp white denta. Orion didn't know what he did wrong, the mech liked him before didn't he? Was it something of his status, did he have a bad relationship with Iacon?

Alpha Trion never liked him, perhaps that was it?

“Why are you here anyway? What business do you have with the Kaon pits?” The large mech pushed forwards as Orion curled back, this was a predator and Orion knew not to mess with predators. But he couldn't run away from this fight “Were you sent by the council? To find the flaws in our ways?” Orion shook his helm helplessly.

“I heard cheers, I was curious is all” Orion felt his servos hit the wall and his spark whirled rapidly, he was trapped.

Megatronus smirked, leaning closer knowing that he had gotten the spy trapped and ignoring his pleas “I wonder what the higher council will say when I caught one of their-” It was sharp and fast and painful. Megatronus cried out as Orion scrambled back, claws out and sharp denta bared in a warning. The scrape across Megatronus’ armour was steadily oozing energon and he looked at the young mech, surprise drawn across his faceplates.

“Well look at that, the glitch mouse had claws” The grey mech looked down at Orion, they had to at least be the same age but the other looked small and malnourished, sharpened armour and his optics formed slits.

“You weren't raised in Iacon, were you?” Orion paused, his vents working overtime to cool his internal workings and shook his head.

“My home was what Trion calls the wilds.” Megatronus furrowed his optical ridges before smiling and nodding.

“My apologies for my rude introduction little glitch mouse, come visit the Kaon Pits anytime, maybe then you can teach me how you did that neat trick” Megatronus smiled when the pupils of Orion's optics expanded, his finials flicking up.

“I enjoy our next talk”

—

The introduction between Megatronus and Orion sparked and lit a brilliant blazing flame and despite what Alpha Trion internally thought, he was glad at least that Orion had made a few friends other than Ratchet. He should have expected that they were going to be more of the unruly type but that did little to stop Orion. Instead it further intrigued him, Orion never found solace in Iacon, but in the dark, industrial city of Kaon he found freedom. More freedom than he had felt in the last three vorns. Megatronus did not berate him if his words got too harsh or if he didnt use the right tone, nor his fellow colleagues. They did not teach him the ways of the new society nor did they try. Instead he taught them.

He taught them how to move silently, how to blanket yourself in the shadows when capturing your prey and to never stay still. The gladiators of Kaon were far unlike the archivists, they didn't care for Orion’s past. That he had grown up surrounded by a multitude of cybertronian nightmares. They didn't care because to them, it only made him stronger. They accepted him as he was, claws and all.

It had posed a few misunderstandings when he was first introduced however, on the surface he looked like just another mech who wanted to join Megatronus’ cause. And if Megatronus trusted him, why shouldn't they? When mech’s would finish their battles and reside in the common space it took a while for them to realise that Orion scampering up the walls and along the ceiling, his claws leaving deep grooves in the steel walls, was going to become a regular thing.

Megatronus had once caught Orion doing it, mumbling something to himself about where the holes in the wall came from as one of his friends patted his arm “at least it's not a feral insecticon, we'll take the small wins”.

Orion was overwhelmed with the change in acceptance and he held onto it with both servos. He revelled in the fact that he didn't have to shrink inwards on himself, he didn't have to make himself as small and unnoticeable as he possibly could in public. He didn't have to worry about spooking patrons with his armour and claws.

He talked loud and proud, fangs glinting sharply in the low light of the city, using his hands freely in expression, and not fearing that someone would tell him to put them away in fear he would break the fragile objects around him. Mechs did more than just accept him, they embraced him into their groups, laughing when his optics were consumed by his pupils and jumped around when he got excited. In Kaon, Orion would be able to catch an electro-dove mid flight with his bare denta (something that he wouldn't even dream about doing in Iacon) and bots that were in the area would observe, nod in appreciation of a successful hunt and continue on as Orion would scarf down the bird in two bites. Megatorn (who would normally go flying with Orion at least once a deca-cycle) openly laughed whenever this occurred, it was a sound that Orion wanted to bottle in a jar and keep for the rest of eternity.

When the urge seized Orion once again, spark becoming bound within his chassis and processor dizzy with the amount of new information it held, he ran. It became clear, with both the mechs in the Kaon Pits and the surrounding neighbourhood that if you got in the way whilst Orion got his (dubbed by Megatronus) ‘Zoomies’ because you failed to get yourself out of the way in time, be prepared to become the next cybertronian springboard. Sometimes, some gladiator mech’s joined him, picking out different routes and buildings that they would all safely get over, laughing as they raced through the dark streets of Kaon. In those moments, Orion felt more alive than he had done in years.

He was no longer who he once was, unnamed mech just trying to survive out in unmarked territory, nor was he the quiet understudy archivist of Iacon that he had built his position around. Not when he was out here. Out here, he was something in between. Something wild and untamed, yet with a mind as sharp as his claws.

–

When Orion became chained by his new name, it was a lot harder to sneak out (it was a lot harder to do anything besides work). He had learned quickly during his time in Iacon that he was to place a stopper on his base instincts. That he shouldnt behave like that if he wanted to become a civilised mech. So, he did. Optimus (Not Orion anymore) was a leader, strong and powerful, and if his berth looked a bit more like a nest, or if he snarled and hissed at decepticons in the mists of battle, that was nobody’s business but his. His urge to run, to devour and maim gnawed at him beneath the weight of responsibility.

—

Ratchet wasn't an oblivious mech. He could see how Optimus had gotten twitchy at the start of the war, couped up in some base whilst trying to decipher the Decepticons messages. It was hard, especially since he was constantly surrounded by new people without having Alpha Trion to hide behind when things got too overwhelming. Becoming someone new almost overnight was suffocating for any mech.

Ratchet would see the way that his servos’ would clench, his early morning prowls around the base and the late night kitchen raids. Ratchet was sure that he had seen Optimus climb on top of the energon cooler once, but he didn't mention it.

This was why when he came into Optimus’ hab suite to find Optimus lying on one of the metal beams above his berth he put his foot down.

“You need to go out,” Ratchet said the next morning, his fingers flying on the datapad in rapid succession. Optimus paused, the crates of broken tablets clunking in front of him, “what?”

“You heard me, you’ve been cooped up in this base and it's driving both you and me mad.” Ratchet grumbled, finishing off his sentence on the data pad and turning to Optimus. “That wasn't a suggestion”.

“Ratchet, I need to be here, helping” Optimus put the box down, his armour plate rising in an attempt to make his point known. “There is too much at stake fo-”.

Ratchet stared at him, quiet and still. He crossed his arms over his chassis. Optimus shrank back.

“Just a few cycles, that's all i ask” Ratchet smiled, Optimus was always known to be big and strong, all knowing. In the end Ratchet always knew the truth. He was barely over 20 vorns after all. “It will be good for you, to burn off that energy and shutting down your higher processing”. He noted the way that Optimus seemed to stiffen.

“I know you haven’t done it in a while” Ratchet paused, forcing Optimus to make optic contact with him. “It's needed though”.

Optimus frowned, optics darting around the room trying to focus on anything but the conversation at hand, “but-”

“But nothing, as your medic I insist” Optimus scoffed at those words “playing the medic role now are we?” Ratchet dutifully ignored him “go out to the crystal spires for today and if you really don't like it come back, but i won't bother you for a few cycles if you decide to stay there”. Ratchet came close, his EM-Field wrapping around Optimus like a warm safe blanket. Optimus hesitated, if something were to happen whilst he was gone, but he trusted Ratchet. Eventually he sighed and Optimus met Ratchet's optics.

“If the medic says so”.

Ratchet smiled, and laughed, patting Optimus on his shoulder “come on, i'll see you out”.

—

The wilderness echoed around him, a quiet whisper of home enveloped his helm and Optimus smiled. Claws sunk into the ground, the familiar feeling of dirt under his pedes. He didn't walk. He ran.

—

It was supposed to be nothing more than a scouting mission, even if his spark ached for the familiar soil under his pedes and the smell of Iacon. Megatron had told his lieutenant that it was nothing more than that. Even if Starscream had looked him up and down with hooded eyes and a knowing smirk plastered across his faceplate.

"You're in charge until I'm back" Megatron had mumbled, his voice echoing round the bow (starscream had lovingly nicknamed it the throne room) "I trust you'll be responsible" Megatron turned towards the door, smiling slightly at the way starscream's face lit up.

He decided to take some lowly recruits, it would have looked odd if he just went out by himself anyway.

He had decided to scout the west side of Iacon, the Old forest was what many of the locals had called it. Some even claimed that the forest grew only a few cycles after Primus transformed himself into Cybertron. The woodland stretched for miles, bushy mountains and valleys filled with spires that stretched higher than many of the buildings that were splayed out across Iacon.

The local council had deemed it a planetary treasure and mechs from all over Cybertron would come to various parts just to marvel and stand under the hundreds of acres of towering crystal trees.

Megtron had led his small squadron to the outskirts of one of the small openings and led them inside. Telling each and every one of them to keep guard as Iacon was known for having the most top security system there was. After all, Optimus Prime (Bah, such a silly name if you asked Megatron) resided in the city. Only the best for Mr. Prime himself.

Megatron remembered a time when big titles didn't matter, not when they had each other's back. Not when each other was all they had.

A squadron up at the front raised his servo and Megatron raised an optical ridge. His audials picking up the shuffling of the trees and the clinking of leaves, optics scanning their surroundings and looking for threats between the trees.

He eventually gave up after a second, turning to his comms and hushing a quiet but harsh 'what is it?'. There was only a slight pause before a voice overcame the right side of his audial and the squadron's voice came overhead.

‘Something is coming’ he said ‘and fast. We should hide, it might be an Autobot or two’ the rest of the mechs around him stiffened up and Megatron rolled his eyes. He knew that most of the Decepicons were part of normal civilisation and society before they joined his cause. They couldn’t have not been, unless there was some secret organisation of mechs he didn’t know about.

(Which was highly unlikely)

They pushed themselves back towards the trees, blanketing themselves in the darkness of the surrounding night that whispered along the edges of the clearing. Many of their frames, thankfully, were among the greyer colours.

There was an intake of breaths as galloping footsteps came closer, pushing sheddings of crystal shards across the ground as a zap-deer came rushing through the trees, clearly in distress about something.

Megatron heard a collective outtake of vents at the built up pressure he was sure they were all experiencing. He paused at a quiet whisper of the mech from before (god forbid it he knew their name) “that's odd, I could've sworn there were two-“

That’s when he sees him. Optimus-fragging-prime in all of his large matrix holding glory. The mech barreled through the treeline, his plating littered with scrapes and dents and his claws freshly sharpened.

The squadron watched on in horror as Optimus (THE Optimus prime, oh Lord high protector and kind leader of the autobots) jumped on top of the zap-deer, pinning it down and sinking his claws into its mesh as easily as melted steel.

It occurred to megatron then two things: 1. Optimus was out of his mind, both figuratively and literally 2. Megatron has no idea how the autobots haven’t already won this war (and he’s starting to think that Optimus is losing on purpose)

Optimus’ jaw unhinged and the squadron got a short glint of his fangs before he ripped off the head of the zap-deer, the throat split open in a spray of energon and despite the nauseating fear surrounding his squadron, Megatron could help but feel impressed.

He knew that Orio-Optimus (before he was Optimus) grew up in the wilds. The active base coding in his processor looked almost to be snuffed out by the time Megatron saw him leading the autobots.

He knew though. Megatron knew that Orio-Optimus (he was Optimus now) could never forget who he was before Primus chose him. He watched on as Optimus feasted on his newest kill, almost smiling at the horrified looks on his squadron's faces.

It didn’t last long though as one of the mechs took a step back, clearly unnerved by the whole ordeal, and stepped on a broken piece of crystal. It crushed loudly under his pede and he winced, optics widening as optimus’ head spun round. Optics slit and fangs bared in a warning growl at the trespasser. (Fully intent on mauling them I hope you know)

This stopped however as Megatron stepped out in front of the mech. Forcing Optimus’ gaze on him as he approached the edge of the cleaning. Shadows chased away by the moonlight shining off of the crystals.

Optimus stared at him for a moment and Megatron could see how his optics quivered before shrinking down again.

Megatron waited, crouched on one knee, servo’s out and open.

“Hello old friend”

Optimus paused, his primal mind assessing the situation before slowly creeping closer. He noticed his own scent on the other mech, it was light and old but it was there.

Megatron felt the light brush of Orion’s face plate as he sniffed his servo. The warmth radiating off of him made him almost miss the quiet nights they would share together. Couped up in their berths with only each other’s holograms for light and nights they would sneak over the wall together. Nights that only the stars bore witness to.

It ended as soon as it started, this time with an ex-ventilation and a judging sound of a snort before Optimus turned and ran out of the clearing, his claws leaving deep sinking marks in the ground. And megatron with a warm spark.

He didn’t like what they fought for, a commanding leader who lied to their subjects and made bargains with devils. But he would never forget his first friend.

There was silence for a while before one of the mechs behind him turned to the others and whispered “anyone wanna tell me what the hell just happened?”

Megatron turned to point his cannon at them, his face plates curling to reveal a snarl. “If any single mech that was here today tells anyone else what happened here, I will slaughter you alive and feed your remains to Optimus. Is that understood?”

He got a chorus of “yes, sir!” And he relaxed, happy with the threat he imposed.

—

When Optimus got the short ping through his audial, Ratchet's calming voice echoing through his helm it was a struggle to accept his higher processing.

“Optimus, are you there?” Ratchet’s voice reverberated around his helm and Optimus found himself wincing at the volume. Resetting his voice box after a few days of not using it for the advanced cybertronian language he slowly replied to the medic.

“Here” he heard a humm from the other side of the comm and he found it difficult not to repeat the sound in an attempt to soothe Ratchet from a nonexistent threat.

“Are you ready to come back to Iacon? We might have found a lead on the Decepticons” He could tell by the clacking in the background that Ratchet was typing furiously on a tablet and Optimus internally chuckled at his friend's antics.

“I'm on my way back now” Optimus smiled and brushed himself off, excited to get one last run on his way back to Iacon.

When Optimus got back to Iacon it became a habit of Ratchet’s to shake his helm at the state he had gotten himself in, shove his friend over to his medical berth and gently wipe off the dried energon from his plating. A skill that Ratchet has perfected over many vorns.

—

“So…” Miko started, her voice trailing off in thought “He’s feral?”

Ratchet looked at her, faceplates tilting down in a scowl “he’s what?”

“Yeah” Raf looked up from his video game “what?”

“Miko” Jack started, his arm slinging down to rest on the couch “Optimus isn't feral” Miko whined turning to face him “not even a little?”

Raf shrugged and continued on with his game and Jack watched whilst Miko bugged Ratchet about Optimus’ backstory.

“Ratchet, pleaseeeee pretty please tell me some more” Miko leant over the bannister, her face uncomfortably close with the Medics as he took a step back grumbling something about personal space under his breath.

“I told you all that you needed to know, Optimus just needs some time to explore the surroundings without his higher processing getting in the way” Ratchet made his way over to the data pad that resided in the middle of the room, fingers drumming over the keyboard.

“Higher processing?” Jack asked and Ratchet turned, pleased that someone finally asked about something he could tell them wholeheartedly.

“Every Cybertronian is made with base coding, this allows them to walk, stand, communicate in their basic ways, ventilate, so on and so forth” Ratchet paused at the thoughtful expression on Jack’s face before Raf spoke up “so it's like babies?”

“Your human equivalent of sparklings would be babies, yes” Ratchet’s mouth formed a line “however cybertronian sparklings are much more advanced than human sparklings”.

“Babies” Miko spoke up and Ratchet nodded hurriedly with a dismissive “yes, yes I know”.

“Their higher processing is everything that a civilised mech has to learn when a sparkling, to be integrated into our society when they are grown” Ratchet turned away from the datapad, leaning against the railing and making optic contact with the kids “They learn things like the advanced cybertronian literature, manners and how to interact with other mech’s both their age and above”.

“So it's like the dual processing theory?” Miko interrupted and Raf looked up after his screen flashed a bloody red, signalling that he lost with a questioning “what?”

“The dual processing theory!” she bounced up to lean against the back of the sofa “It's basically how the human brain has type one processing which is more intuitive thinking and type two processing which is more deliberate thinking”.

The three figures looked at her and she furrowed her brows “what? I listen in class” she crossed her arms and mumbled “sometimes”.

“Right, yes” Ratchet cleared his vocaliser “I guess it's similar to that”.

“So…” Raf started, closing his laptop and looking up towards the medic “he's acting on instinct?” Ratchet nodded, servos rested on the railing and hummed in approval “that seems right”.

The kids mumbled among themselves, however they still seemed confused and Ratchet sighed “look, he just needs to run around for a bit, burn off the extra energy that he builds up” He turned back towards the data pad unbeknownst to the information bomb he’d just dropped on the kids.

“He’s got the zoomies” Miko whispered and a smile stretched across her face as she turned towards the boys behind her “guys! He's got the zoomies!”

Jack turned to her with an amused smile and Raf looked bewildered “he's got the what?”

Miko stood up, rocking on her heels “You know when cats get the zoomies? Optimus is a cat!”. Miko quickly brought out her phone, switching on youtube and showing them the first cat video that came up. Jack and Raf looked on as the video depicted a black and white night vision video of a house cat scampering around the presumed living room at frightening speeds. She paused, turning the phone towards her “just not at three am”. She dashed towards the railing, almost throwing herself over it “Ratchet!”

Ratchet looked over tiredly “Yes?”

“Does Optimus have zoomies at three am?” Ratchet looked taken aback by the question, looking around possibly for the secret camera that was recording this weird life he led “no, not that I know of”.

Miko deflated, and then perked up again “can we go and visit optimus?”

“No,” Ratchet said, and that was that. Miko pouted, deflating against the railing.

–

It was a couple of hours later, Arcee, Bumblebee and Bulkhead had come back from a scouting mission that was deemed a tinsy bit too dangerous to take their partners on. Immediately as Bulkhead drove through the bridge Miko pounced.

“Bulkhead!” She yelled, sliding down the side of the railing as the bot transformed into his root mode. “Miko,” he replied, “how was your day?”

“Triangles” she waved him off “Did you know that Optimus gets the zoomies?” she grinned and Bulkhead leant down, confused.

“I'm sorry, he gets what?”

Jack looked up towards his partner, glad to see that she wasn't injured before leading into the same questions that Miko had “yeah, Arcee did you know about this?”

Arcee scoffed and leant against the railing beside the couch “I wasn't aware prime did anything other than work and look serious”.

“Anymech want to tell me about what happened on the scouting trip?” Ratchet turned away from his datapad and glared at the three mech’s. Bumblebee shrank away to jokingly hide behind Raf and see what new game he was playing today.

Arcee groaned “No energon, no decepticons, absolutely nothing besides death drops and skittish earth creatures”. Jack looked up in sympathy “not a very interesting day then?”

Bumblebee let out a tired whine collapsing against the railing as Raf sadly pat his helm.

“Not going to lie though” Arcee mumbled, thinking back to the previous conversation “I did once hear some shuffling outside my berth room and when I went to go and check, all I could see down the hallway was two massive glowing blue optics, I thought I was being chased down by a- what did you say they were called?”

“Demons?” Jack asked “Wizards?” chimed Raf “Zombies?” Miko yelled, clamouring on top of bulkhead as he quietly mumbled “Miko, are you sure you don't have the zoomies?”

“She absolutely does” Raf said as Arcee nodded towards Jack with the demons. “It was freaky but I'm pretty sure it was OP”. She looked around the base “speaking of OP, where is he?”

“Classified” Ratchet mumbled as Miko shouted “zooming!” over him. Arcee nodded and decided not to ask again.

“How fast can you run bulkhead?” Miko asked, now comfortably sitting on one of the bots shoulders. Bulkhead hummed for a moment “alt or root mode?”

“Root” Miko replied, swinging her legs absentmindedly and looking for a good cat video to show bulkhead. Bulkhead shrugged as best as he could without knocking Miko off “I don't know, I don't run a lot. I can go up to 300 miles per hour in alt mode though”.

“D’ya know how fast Optimus can run?” Miko asked, changing the subject with ease and Ratchet snorted with a mumbled “fragger puts claw marks in the walls with how fast he goes”.

“We should do a race!” Miko yelled, grinning from ear to ear and everyone groaned as Bumblebee buzzed ‘is that where the claw marks come from?’

—

It was past sunset when Optimus returned a cycle later, his frame caked in mud and his optic wild and dilated. Ratchet gently pulled him aside to the medical berth for the first in a long time. He gently soaked an old towel that he had found in the base, warm water and a dash of soap and busied himself with Optimus’ armour as he sat on the berth.

There was silence for a few clicks, only the sound of dripping water and clicking joints until Ratchet mumbled a soft “Miko wants to organise a race”.

It took a small number of clicks before Optimus asked, his voice box crackling after a few days of being unused “with who?”

Ratchet chuckled, making sure to keep his voice low so as to not disturb the other resting autobots “with you”.

“Me?” Ratchet hummed and smiled as Optimus echoed the sound.

“Have a night to think about it of course” Ratchet rinsed the towel, grimacing slightly at the murky colour of the water before continuing “But personally I don't think Miko will even remember she asked it the next time the kids visit”. Ratchet bit back a smile as he chipped off the dirt specks from Optimus’ face, the mech scrunching up his faceplates in silent retaliation.

“We don't have much to do tomorrow anyway” Ratchet placed the bucket and towel on the side of the table and turned towards the larger mech “get some rest” he smiled “medics order”.

—

Miko danced along the side of the road before making her way towards the middle, doing some sort of air guitar before bringing up the microphone to her mouth “Roll up, Roll up to the Bot 5 million!!” Miko yelled into the microphone, and everyone winced as it screeched whilst Miko decided that hitting it on the side would make it stop. Not even half an hour ago Miko had asked Optimus to a race as soon as she had entered the base after school (skipping detention as always).

He was however in the middle of a meeting with Agent Fowler at the time and the man nodded nostalgically explaining how he used to go racing with his father in ‘the old days’. Miko smiled blindingly as Optimus shrugged and agreed (anything to get him out of meetings, he preferred it much better when he would just wait outside whilst Alpha Trion dealt with the statistics)

Miko cheered and ran off to find Bulkhead and Raf (and Bumblebee) to rope them into this.

It was only when they had all gathered in the common area of the base that Jack and Arcee arrived in tow with Mrs. Darby. (Miko forced them to all be in the race).

“I don't think that’s a good name for the race” Raf called out from Bumblebee’s driving seat “we haven't been racing for 5 million years anyway”.

“Okay, yeah well i'm sure the Autobots have” Miko waved dismissively and Bumblebee let out a loud beep ‘how old do you think i am?’ as Raf snorted with laughter.

The landscape stretched as far as the eye could see, large sandy rocks scattered the sides of the road as the horizon bubbled with the heat of the July air. Ratchet sat on a nearby rock, quietly observing so that nobody would get hurt and chatting (gossiping) with June, who had positioned herself next to him.

Bumblebee, who had decided to take up the left half of the road, revved his engine loudly as Raf giggled in the driver's seat. Beside him Arcee stretched out her servos, she had taken up the mantle of running the first race on foot as it would be good for exercise. Jack, following this statement, begrudgingly asked Bulkhead if he could ride with the larger bot and Agent Fowler.

Miko would have been saying the starting times anyway so Bulkhead agreed as he revved his engine beside a grinning Arcee. Optimus had taken to running on his pedes as it seemed the most comfortable for him. If anyone asked him he would say that he was doing it for the training. A secret part of him, a deep and small part of his spark, remembered running like this with some of his younger packmates. Memories were blurry but the emotions were as clear as shards of glass. However, when he used to shuffle through these emotions, the edges cut through his spark like claws so eventually he stopped trying.

“Three!” Engines revved and Arcee dug her right pede into the ground.

“Two!” Miko giggled into the microphone and Optimus felt his processor go blank. The road stretched for miles, there were so many rocks to jump on.

“One!…” The world seemed to stop for a moment.

“Go!!” —

Arcee stopped after three rounds, her pedes hurt and the ground looked so comfortable compared to the dirt road.

Bumblebee, although he liked a good race, he much preferred to race against someone who could match his speed a bit more (he wasn't including optimus when he explained this to Raf) The yellow bot also much preferred not to be a cybertronian themed sick bag when Raf decided to start looking a bit peaky after the fifth round.

Agent Fowler had decided to give up his seat to Miko and instead do the countdown after the first round, complaining that he ‘Wasn't as young as he used to be’.

Bulkhead and Miko soared through the rounds, loud rock music playing from the bots radio as Jack had decided to ditch at round four to go and check on Arcee. For a while the only ones on the track were Optimus, Bulkhead and Miko who went up and down for Fifteen rounds until Miko admitted that she felt a bit sick after the spinning and decided to go and grab a water bottle and a cucumber sandwich that June had packed for the kids.

Ratchet had done similarly but with energon goodies and some rust sticks he’d manage to find.

Optimus, however took great pleasure in the clear roads, speeding up and down them with a speed that seemed unreal for a bot his size, the kids cheering him on from the sidelines, Bumblebee buzzing in admiration and Ratchet chuckled to himself as he watched Optimus steadily grow a bright beaming smile. At that moment he didn't look like Optimus, the great autobot leader of cybertron. To Ratchet, that moment was filled with memories of warm nights in Iacon, the dimmed lights of the medical sections and the view of the city below him. To him, he was neither Optimus nor Orion. He was something rich and wild, tired of the ropes that bound him to society. Tonight though? Tonight he was cut, unbound and free.

#i can finally add something of my own to Feral Optimus Friday! i feel so pleased #feral optimus #feral orion pax #feral optimus friday #optimus prime #transformers optimus #Fanfiction #transformers fanfiction #feral optimus AU #am 1 ty's fic's #my fic #transformers #ratchet tfp #tfp ratchet #based off another post #transformers live rent free in my head #someone save me i love him so much

77 notes · View notes