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sightseertrespasser · 2 months ago

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Odds of Survival part 10 Finale

First contact, take two.

Go check out @keferon as the creator of the AU!

———————————————————————

Prowl stared at the lifeless body on the floor.

Visor dim, chest closed. Were it not for the absolute silence it offered, one might, without listening closely, assume it was merely an unconscious mech.

He ran the numbers again.

Odds of Survival 17%

The edge of his desk pressed a hard line against the backs of his legs and the palms of his servos. A steadily growing back log of frantic comms messages plinked across his processor like marbles rolling down a flight of stairs.

Red Alert: 13 messages and counting.

Velocity: 2 messages.

Elita One: 3 messages. . . 4 messages.

Odds of Survival 15%

Knocking- no, banging at the door. Red Alert, 76%.

Muffled, “Prowl open the door!”

“Answer your comms!”

“What’s happening in there?!”

Red Alert, 99%.

Slowly, Prowl moved his doorwings in a slow arch, quadruple checking that everything in his office was exactly where he needed it to be. Maximizing his chances.

“Open the door. Now.”

Elita (98%) was still speaking to him and not physically breaking into the room by force.

Odds of Survival 20%.

Without looking away from the body, Prowl unlocked the door to his office.

Guarded and cautious, the captain and security officer entered the room. Elita had a weapon drawn, but kept her blaster aimed at the floor, locking onto the body with an iron focus.

Conversely, Red Alert sucked in a vent at the sight, immediately raking his optics over every visible surface, searching frantically for signs of danger.

“What happened-how’d he get in here-who’s he work for-why’d you stop responding-where has he been-WHAT HAPPENED?!”

The mech was practically bouncing off the walls, static crackling with enough excess charge to diffuse the room with a heavy scent of ozone. The only reason Red Alert wasn’t currently tearing the place apart already was the way he looked at every object like a potential improvised explosive.

Ignoring the smaller mech, Elita ordered an answer, “Prowl. Explain. Now.”

His fans were audibly running high. Prowl did nothing to mask the obvious sign of stress. He carefully recited his script.

“Roughly one cycle ago, I rescued an unconscious mech from deep space after he’d fallen from a quintesson gate tear. He was friendly, albeit very unfamiliar with his surroundings. Including some of the very common alien species on board our transport.”

Calmly, Prowl looked up to read the other mechs reactions so far. Elita was remaining mostly focused on the body, but sent a sidelong glance aimed towards the tactician. Meanwhile, Red Alert looked ready to burst, about to interrupt Prowls script.

“You may search my office as I explain.” The security chiefs engine practically growled by the fourth word of being given permission, and dove behind Prowls desk for frantic inspection.

The captain nodded her head for Prowl to continue.

“Over the course of our short time together, I collected more unusual details about this mech. Compiling them in an effort to better understand “Jazz” as he refers to himself.” With a flick, Prowl brought up the conspiracy board for Elita Ones review.

The blue glow helped illuminate the dimmed office interior.

The alternate Functionalist Creation Theory was already deleted, leaving just the alien theory.

“On route towards the pick up location, Jazz, through somewhat clunky common, explained he was built specifically to fight quintessons. This claim immediately became verifiable when we were attacked by a not inconsiderable quintesson force.”

His doorwing twitched another scan.

Without turning around, Prowl knew the exact moment Red Alert discovered Jazz’s shoulder piece he’d stashed in his desk to be found. The sound of sudden disgust followed by a dropped clunk was reassurance enough.

“He then saved my life, multiple times and at significant injury to his own frame, as you are no doubt aware of Captain.” She did in fact look more closely at the fresh welds along the shoulder she’d seen barely clinging on not forty breems ago.

“After sustaining these injuries, I assisted Jazz with some basic field repairs. During which I discovered they had no previous experience with anesthetic and generally seemed to expect significantly harsher treatment than what I would consider “normal or ethical” medical care.”

Prowl vented, nodding towards the screen. “Bluestreak can verify the accuracy of these statements. There are some transcripts of our conversations on the board as well.”

Faintly, Prowl could hear Red Alert mouth the words, “ -don’t always die either, sometimes they just go crazy??” in quiet horror.

Odds of Survival 25%

The increase steadied Prowl slightly as he continued. “On our way to the medbay, Jazz expressed some anxiety over being treated by a professional. He-“

The praxian swallowed.

Prowl couldn’t really act, but luckily he didn’t have to. “He requested not be restrained or sedated, and gave- permission, to use force against him if he did become.. ungovernable.”

For the first time, Prowl released a servo from the desk and used it to gesture broadly to the whole situation.

It fell somewhat limp at his side.

“Velocity preformed the necessary repairs, noting a sudden decline in Jazz’s language capabilities as well as strong evidence for prior medical abuse.”

“Shortly afterwards, Jazz temporarily fled the medbay.”

That eleven letter word was a load bearing component of Jazz’s survival.

Some of the tension returned to the room as they were all reminded of the inciting incident. Prowl had significant practice in withdrawing his emotions, and now more than ever did he need to appear neutral.

“Jazz escaped by utilizing a strong magnetic grip to both damage the locks as well as scale the ceiling through the blind spots of the cameras. He traveled only a short distance into Rune’s office, where the therapist was able to talk him down somewhat. Jazz then sought to “tell me something important” encountering Whirl along the way.”

Red Alert had finished tearing apart Prowls desk, and was now carefully inching his way closer to the body still on the floor. Hesitantly, as if it could strike without warning.

Prowl resisted the urge to tense.

“Both mechs can corroborate the timeline. Shortly after, I discovered Jazz lost in the halls and brought him to the nearest room I had control over. My office.”

Inspecting the frame for subspace pockets it didn’t have, the security chief crackled lightly with frustration.

Snippily, Red Alert snapped at him, “So the oil pot got you alone, in your office no less, under the pretenses of distress JUST like I said he would.”

“Red Alert.” The smaller mech jolted but looked his Captain in the optics. Elita One held a steady, cold Calm over the room. Her field not to be overruled. “Have you found anything yet?”

“Well, no. But I haven’t looked everywhere.”

The Captain silenced him with a raise of her hand. “Then finish your search, and Prowl will finish his report.”

She nodded for them both to resume their parts.

Odds of Survival 33%

The tactician nodded gratefully in return.

“Jazz was behaving irrationally. Nervous. Confused. He made statements that didn’t make sense and given his helm injury, I had strongly suspected he was crashing. Or his species equivalent to it.”

Prowl watched very carefully as Red Alert finished his search, faster than expected. The total lack of any signs of life coupled with the mention of crashing made the mech’s optics go impossibly wide. “Did he- is he?”

Prowl passively waved his servo at the body. “He’s not dead, although by cybertronian standards it may appear that way. This state is relatively normal from what Velocity has noted.”

“So if you thought he was having a medical emergency, why didn’t you call for help?” The captain didn’t quite relax, but did seem to accept Jazz wasn’t going to spring up at any moment.

No no no no. Please god no.

Prowl snapped out of the memory. Once more resetting his optics.

“He. . asked me not to. I chose not to risk agitating him or his injury further.” Prowl’s wings twitched minutely, tracking Red Alerts movement towards Greens habitat.

“And then?”

“He confessed to me he was an alien.” Prowl stated mirthlessly.

For the first time Elita took her eyes off the body, cycling her optics and turning towards Prowl, who could only press his mouth into a thin line.

“Jazz was totally unaware he was completely isolated on an unknown alien vessel. At least until very recently.” Prowl finished.

There was a flicker of some other emotion through Elita’s field. He’s had enough people pity him to recognize the sensation.

A yelp from Green’s habitat had both Prowl and Elita One rounding on Red Alert. The mech was clutching his servo like it’d been lacerated.

“It tried to bite me! It tried to bite me!”

Sure enough, a low throaty hiss emanated from the top of Green’s enclosure. The flyt glared down over the edge of her highest platform at the short mech. Her crest and throat were flushed a dark purple with territorial fury.

“An erratic mech is forcibly intruding on her personal space. The urge to bite is a sympathetic one.” Prowl growled, stood in the center of his completely overturned office.

“Leave the damn flyt alone Red. Prowl, get to the fragging point.” At last, Elita holstered her weapon, glowering at them both.

Odds of survival 45%

The tactician turned back to the captain, “Between the shock, exhaustion and his injuries, I believe Jazz went into his species version of an involuntary shutdown. I have done everything I can to stabilize him from crashing.”

He rubbed his helm where his own would-be crash had wanted to form, “I have the relevant experience.”

Elita One studied Prowls face with a piercing gaze. Narrowing slightly.

“Why did you stop responding to comms for almost a full breem?”

His fans still running on high, helm burning and sensor net itching, Prowl put all his will into suppressing any exhaustion born sass.

“I nearly crashed.”

“You nearly crashed.” Elita reiterated.

Prowl nodded.

The captain considered this for a time.

“Red Alert, I want this ship deep cleaned. Full search and scan from top to bottom. Get the ceilings covered and figure out something for the locks to counter the super magnet situation.”

Optics brightening to luminosity of head lights, Red Alert stammered in reply, “E-even your quarters Captain?”

Elita looked like she was contemplating the taste of a fistful of nails, rolling her optics as she grit out, “Yes. This one time, and you explicitly do not have permission to place any form of surveillance inside.”

Red Alert saluted so hard he left a dent.

“YES CAPTAIN I WON’T MAKE YOU REGRET THIS CAPTAIN THANK YOU CAPTAIN!”

“Go!”

The red mech had his sirens blaring before his tires even hit the ground. Leaving the remaining mechs almost alone.

The sound of Elita One’s peds clacking against the metal floor made Prowl’s wings twitch.

Arms crossed, she stared the praxian down.

“Tell me everything you just redacted.”

Prowl did not immediately respond, still staring down at the body on the floor. His doorwings rotated satellite slow.

Without a word, Prowl took his weight off of the desk, walking up to Greens enclosure, where he gently pushed the flyt aside and collected what was hidden beneath her.

“This-“ Prowl cupped his servos around a small white and blue form, “is Jazz.”

——————

The logic cascade nearly consumed him.

Prowl was holding Jazz’s spark.

Jazz.

The mecha’s chest plate had opened. Revealing only the faintest glow within, washed out entirely by the harsh overhead lights of Prowls office.

Irrationally, Prowls higher functioning stalled out and his processor defaulted to some spark deep coding to make sense of what was happening.

He’s exposing his spark. He’s showing me his spark and he’s still crashing.

He’s going to crash and die with his fragging spark out in my office Oh fragging Primus Not here not like THIS.

A ringing.

Shrill and strangled. A dissonant sting.

An EM field.

Jazz’s EM field.

Faint. Faint but sharp, like an almost invisible shard of glass that only becomes known once it’s lodged itself beneath your armor.

The scream warbled and popped like a blown radio speaker. Some-thing fell forward from Jazz’s chassis.

His spark his spark his spark is falling out of his chest.

Jerking forward on instinct, Prowl cupped his servos and caught what wasn’t a spark- that’s not a spark this is NOT A SPARK.

A body, limp and silent. Tissue paper light in the way only non-metallic life forms can be.

It’s in his servos it’s in his servos it’s in his ser>%$.

Prowl was static. From his mind to his body. Pure static. Frozen yet screaming internally on his knees, staring down at everything that made Jazz alive.

He held the Spark-body-organic-not spark- Spark-SPARK-SPARK-ITS NOT JAZZ-NOT A SPARK ITS \#}>%*!? JAZZ-IT IS JAZ%-IT IS-IT IS- in his servos.

Gently.

Sparks Organics were very fragile.

He knew that. Prowl held onto that. Gently. Very gently.

He slotted the simple equation into place.

How to keep Jazz not-spark alive.

Odds of Survival. . .

——————

The weight in his palms felt imaginary. Too small to be real.

Yet here was Elita One as his witness. Thrown Off was a look seldom worn by the Captain and it was clearly an uncomfortable fit.

“This is Jazz?” She echoed Prowl, reaching out a servo to the unconscious whatever Jazz was.

The praxian stiffened, manually canceling the move to pull Jazz away from the other mechs reach. He didn’t, however, quite manage to cancel his vocalizer, a “Please be careful.” busting out despite himself.

Elita shot him an affronted look, plucking Jazz from his servos. “I know how to not kill an organic Prowl.”

She turned her servo over, using her thumb to roll the alien onto its back. “You let me hold Green.” She muttered.

“Green is much larger and I actually know what she is.” He was hovering, Prowl knew he was hovering and that Elita hated it when people hovered but it was really just a race to see who pissed off who first right now.

“Okay, okay, so what’s wrong with.. this one?”She gestured with the digit she was using to prod Jazz, closely examining the unconscious organic.

Not for the first time that day, Prowl rubbed a servo over his head, “I-I am unsure. It’s incredibly faint but he is breathing. I did mean it when I said I think he fainted from shock and possibly exhaustion. Organics typically require rest and fuel much more frequently than us and Jazz was extremely active for a highly extended period of time.”

Prowl cleared his vents, “At least, compared to a flyt. I do not have many other data points for comparison.”

Considering this, Elita frowned at the aliens inorganic casing and then at the motionless mecha on the floor. Definitely an aesthetic match. She considered something for a moment, frowning.

“Do you- Ew, ew, it’s twitching. Take it. Take it back.”

Not quite panicking, Elita effectively half-tossed half-dropped the alien back into Prowls anxious servos.

For several long and ancient clicks, neither mech moved, holding perfectly still as the alien shifted in Prowls servos.

Holding him like this, Prowl can feel Jazz’s field again. Faintly, like the sound of rustling branches on the edge of conscious hearing, the field tickled his palms. Unlike the mecha, Jazz’s visor wasn’t opaque, allowing Prowl to see the faint scrunch of his face and the way it smoothed out again once back in Prowl’s care.

His field dropped back into a near silent whisper.

Prowl made a ball of his servos, sealing off Jazz from anything else that might happen.

“We can set them up in a holding cell or something.” Elita said quietly, flicking her hand in exasperation. “Maybe under a glass bowl. I’ll arrange for someone else to handle questioning.”

The praxian straightened up at that, looking back to his captain, “Sir, I am the best suited to question Jazz.”

Arms crossing, Elita One gave Prowl an appraising look. “You said so yourself that you nearly just crashed. Why can’t anyone else do it?”

Nodding in understanding, Prowl pitched his counter argument, “As it stands, I have the best rapport with him. The only other mechs Jazz has met is Bluestreak, Velocity and yourself.”

“Jazz gets along with Bluestreak, however my brother is not well suited for interrogations.” Which wasn’t entirely true, Prowl kept to himself. Subjecting detainees to Bluestreaks small talk for several groons frequently made said individuals much more receptive to questioning by subsequent officers.

That currently didn’t help however.

“Velocity is a medic, which Jazz is terrified of and has zero experience with interrogations.” The knowledge of where this chaos began was still fresh. Fresher still was Prowl’s memory of Jazz pleading to not wake up on a table.

“And I mean no offense captain, but the last time Jazz saw you, you had threatened to rip off one of his arms and beat him with it.” Elita shrugged and gave Prowl a “Fair Enough” look.

“Statistically speaking, Jazz is most likely to answer honestly to someone he considers an ally. Regardless of how others may view my reputation, Jazz did specifically choose me to explain himself to before he lost consciousness.”

Venting, Elita considered the facts and stepped slightly closer. Prowl held his posture as formally as he could despite how his servos were positioned. The harsh look in his captains optics softened only slightly hearing his fans continue on high power.

“Are you sure you can handle this? Medically speaking?”

In a rare break of form, Prowl let his doorwings sink to a less physically taxing position. “The initial shock has passed. I will not crash.”

Probably. 67%.

Breaking eye contact, Prowl stared at the mess of data pads now scattered on his office floor. 85% of which was commissioned work directly from Megatron.

“I do not know how long it will take for Jazz to wake up. I do know I will not be very effective at my job until this is resolved.”

Finally stepping back, Elita had the look of someone using comms. “Officially, I’m putting you on medical leave for the next couple cycles. Megatron will have to make his own poor decisions for awhile.”

She paused by the body. “What do we do with this?”

It was heavier than it looked. Prowl knew now from experience. The mechs needed to remove it would add to the list of possible loose ends to an already sensitive situation.

“We can leave it for now. I will not allow Jazz access to it until I am more certain of his intentions.”

She hummed in response. Eyeing where Jazz was currently contained, Elita made her way to the door, “I need to go do damage control, alert me the instant their condition changes. Yours too.”

“Understood. And thank you. For listening.”

Awkwardly, Prowl looked anywhere but the captain, and Elita wordlessly waved him off. Both mechs quickly abandoned the moment of mutual care and thankfulness in favor of their usual personas.

Soon enough, Elita was gone.

Cracking open his hold, Prowl peeked at his alien charge.

Still sleeping.

Almost imperceptibly, Prowl could make out the slight rhythmic expansion of his chest. Limbs tucked close, Jazz was loosely curled on his side into a ball, showing no signs of waking.

Odds of Survival 63%.

The gauntlet was over, now it was all up to Jazz.

——————

Prowl lay slumped over on his desk.

His arms fenced in a pile consisting of every instant cold pack he kept in his office, which were currently arranged to completely bury his head.

After two and a quarter groons, the packs were mostly room temperature but the way they blocked out most light and sound was nice.

The door to Green’s habitat was left open. It was a risky move but a pleasant surprise that the flyt chose cuddles over consumption in regards to the small alien. Prowl hadn’t counted on her getting protective over the fellow organic, but it was certainly a relief.

Placing Jazz back in Greens nest seemed the safest option at the time. Soft but contained. Green certainly had no qualms and arranged herself as she saw fit. Prowl figured she must know more than him about this and let her be.

Currently, the flyt had started trilling happily. Prowls doorwings twitched. Scanning the room for the umpteenth time before relaxing again.

The only other sounds were the noises the Lost Light usually produced and Prowls own body functions.

It was quiet. As quiet as his office normally was anyways. The flyt continued her quiet song.

Actually, Green was trilling very loudly right now.

Then, Prowl picked up on a second, much stranger pitch.

Speech. Specifically speech in the tone of cooing.

Rising from his mountain of maladaptive coping, Prowl lethargically turned his helm to the habitat. The cooing continued unawares.

Standing now, Prowl looked into Greens nest to see what was going on.

The flyt had her beak almost tucked against her belly, forehead pressed against Jazz’s chest.

Awake, and lying on his back, the alien was reaching around the flyts comparatively massive head to scritch and scratch at the back of her neck. Paying special attention to the crease where Green’s crest met her head, causing the flyt to trill like crazy.

All the while, the alien matched her vocal tone, speaking absolute nonsense in his native language. {D’aww you like that big guy? Yes you do! You’re just a giant love bug aren’t you?}

It took a couple tries, but after several resets Prowl believed his optics were working.

The alien noticed him at last and smiled at him from around Green. “Oh hey Prowler!”

“Are-“ his voice clipped.

Resetting his vocalizer this time, Prowl tried again, “You are remarkably calm right now.”

Not stopping his ministrations, Jazz hummed nonchalantly, “Well yeah, s’not like this is real.”

Prowl felt he had underestimated Jazz’s capacity to screw with his head.

“What.” He searched for any signs that he had fallen into defrag. Finding none.

“You think this isn’t real?” Prowl asked incredulously.

Jazz raised an eyebrow, smiling at the tactician.

“Prowl. Babydoll. I’m petting a {dinosaur.}”

He said with the most “you serious right now?” look reserved for only the most ridiculous of questions.

Prowl, might, kill Jazz himself.

Very hide-able body.

Very feasible.

He’s hidden bigger.

Instead, Prowl schooled his emotions. He would not, under any circumstances, allow himself to loose control like he did during Jazz’s confession.

Bringing his servos together as if he was a praying mech, Prowl calmly asked, “Why do you think this isn’t real?”

Jazz shrugged, “I mean, which is more likely? That I fell through a space spanning portal only to be rescued by some handsome alien who’s entire species just so happens to look exactly like mechas? Or that going through that portal permanently damaged something in here?”

The alien pointed at his own head for emphasis, carrying on, “And this is all some end of life {hallucination} my brain came up with where I’m actually fine, dinosaurs are pet-able and robots turn into cars.”

Prowl stopped Tacnet before it could take the prompt. Because it would calculate those odds, it would agree with Jazz, and then Prowl would crash for real this time.

“Well then can you at least pretend this is actually happening?” He was getting angry. He was getting angry again and he needed to stop before he did any more damage.

His doorwings and servos shook from how tightly he was holding them. He would stay calm. He would stay calm.

His field was seeping out again, but Prowl now knew from experience that trying to stop it now would just cause whatever hold he had on it to break loose.

[PROWL]: Jazz is awake. I am handling it]

[ELITA-1]: Keep me appraised]

[ELITA-1]: If Jazz turns out to be a liability he’s gone, and you’re going to scour the outside of the shop for all those “listening devices” Red Alert is now freaking out about]

The cold packs had done wonders earlier and Prowl was about to undo all the good they’d done.

He let the anger stay but cool into something usable. “Listen to me.”

Prowl leaned in just close enough to feel the bare hint of Jazz’s field. It was still incomprehensible but maybe he’d understand Prowl’s.

“My boss is currently demanding to know what you and your intentions are, and if I can’t provide a satisfactory answer we’re both going out of an airlock.” Prowl hissed.

Jazz stilled.

He looked over Prowl again, then back to Green. A melody Prowl hadn’t been aware of juttered to a stop, and that reedy dissonant sting reappeared. The alien looked down wide eyed at Green, slowly raising his hands away from the massive animal.

“Oooooh Fuck me this is actually real.”

The wonderful scritches having suddenly stopped, Green clicked unhappily and shoved her forehead more forcefully against Jazz’s chest.

The alien wheezed as all the air in his body was forced out, eyes bulging and panicked. Jazz began rapidly tapping Greens head, trying to speak without breath, “Help. Help help help help help.”

“Green! To me!”

The flyt thankfully followed the hurried command, only needing to flap once to clear the distance between her nest and Prowls pauldron. The sudden gust of wind had Jazz jerking into a ball at the gale force buffeting.

Lightly keeping one servo on his flyt, Prowl leaned in close as he could to check Jazz over for damages.

No bodily fluids leaking, no screaming, still breathing. Good.

Jazz uncurled slowly, making intense eye contact as he pulled air back into his body.

He coughed, “Uh, hi.”

“Hello.” Prowl unconsciously copied the motion, clearing a vent, “Are you hurt?”

Jazz patted his chest in a few places, “Nothing broken. A little dizzy but I’ve felt worse.”

A little bit of relief went a long way right now, and Prowl pretty much sagged with it. “Good. Right. Now, if you could describe what insane circumstances resulted with you, inside of that, I would greatly appreciate an explanation.”

Prowl waved his free servo over to the mecha still on the floor. He didn’t miss the way Jazz’s eyes lit up seeing it and the following look of concentration as he suddenly realized how high up he was.

“Right, right. Okay, I’ll try.” Jazz swung his legs over the side of the nest, needing his arms to keep himself upright.

Idly, Prowl pet Green to keep her content on his shoulder, as Jazz centered himself to try and bridge the gap of misunderstanding.

———

About a decade and a half ago, my world started to end.

Giant fuck-off aliens descended across the Earth, destroying everything in their paths. They didn’t know the difference between cities and savannas, just plowed on through from one to the other. Maybe they actually did but it just wasn’t a difference that mattered.

That all changed once we fought back.

Conventional weapons worked at first, but then they started sending bigger, faster and meaner motherfuckers. The first wave didn’t care, just dug around in random places.

But the second wave?

We were fucked.

The biggest problem was that the thing’s barely cared what was attacking them. Civilian casualties skyrocketed. Fighter planes couldn’t keep their attention and tanks couldn’t maneuver well enough through the shattered landscape.

There was one thing the fuckers never seemed to ignore though.

Statues. Big ones.

Christ the Redeemer, The Statue of Liberty, if it was huge and human shaped the invaders would B-line for them.

One day some genius pitched the idea of J-Boy and Lady Libs bitch slapping some aliens, and most of the world was at the “Fuck It” stage anyways.

Next thing we know, there’s this, gigantic, fuckin’ robot stumbling around the West Coast.

The first ever mecha.

Built from hopes and dreams and I think a couple decommissioned battle ships, the Vanguard had one real job.

Draw away the invaders, take hits and probably blow up.

Story goes that one of the pilots decided this wasn’t going to be a suicide mission anymore.

They fought, and they won.

San Francisco. The first city to have more living than dead after an attack. My home.

After that day? The mecha program was officially formed. More mechas were made, more pilots were trained, and ten years later we’ve fought the invaders to a standstill.

Someone finally suggests taking the fight to them, and bada bing bada boom ya boy Jazz is getting shot into space.

———

“Then a, what was it, a quintessential showed up.”

“Quintesson.” Prowl corrected through his servos.

“Thank you! I kicked it in the face, we fell through the tear into some kind of command center. Everybody freaked out, somebody reactivated the portal machine thingy and well, you know the rest!” Jazz at last stopped emoting with his hands, letting them come to rest on his lap. His story complete.

Prowl had to get a chair halfway through.

He was not going to crash.

He fragging wasn’t.

The fact that his face was buried in his servos and that Green was anxiously trying to preen his chevron meant nothing.

He listened to Jazz say one insane thing, and put a pin in it. He then heard a second insane thing, and added a second, larger pin.

And so on.

There where quite a lot of pins at this point and Prowl wasn’t entirely sure how to grab just one without poking himself on another.

His fans were on again.

The tactician wiped his servos down his face, “Who- who are your allies? How many planets does your kind control?”

Meeting his gaze, Jazz frowned. “Do you mean alien allies? Cause no, it’s just us. One people, one planet.” He said holding up a solitary finger.

Currently Jazz was sat on the floor, leaning against Greens nest. Earlier, the pilot had tried to stand briefly but nearly collapsed. Waving off Prowl’s concern with an “I’m fine! This is normal.”

One. More. Pin.

“Hell, you’re the first alien I’ve ever met that didn’t want me dead.”

Shaking his helm in disbelief, Prowl started cutting back logic branches that’d surely result in a cascade. “This, this is a lot to process.”

Jazz had the audacity to laugh, “Hey, you’re tellin’ me.”

Eyes roving Prowl’s frame, Jazz sat up a bit straighter as they realized something.

The alien rubbed the back of his neck, “Uh, I’d like to also apologize. For what happened earlier.”

Resting his elbows on his knees, the space around Prowl’s optics tightened, “Yes. Well, I did not behave in a manner I will ever be particularly proud of either. I assure you I do not usually loose control like that.”

“I hope you can forgive me.” Staring at the floor between his peds, Prowl’s doorwings fell low in apology. He was so caught up in his own self righteous rage he’d screamed down at a mech who’d needed him. Who trusted him.

Jazz however, just seemed confused. “What? You didn’t do anything wrong, I was the one getting all handsy on the bridge.”

The praxian snapped up straight.

“Right. That. I also, yes. That.”

“In my defense,” Jazz raised his hands and bowed his head, “I thought you were a guy in a suit like me. Didn’t know I was actually grabbing the real you.”

Resetting his vocalizer, he spoke much more quietly. “Yes, well. It was an understandable mistake.”

“Still would though.”

“What?”

They stared at each other in silence for several clicks.

For all his expressiveness, Jazz had a way of totally shutting off any visible tells the second he wanted to. The only tell of any kind was a practiced deceptively neutral smile beneath his visor. His mouth twitched.

The silence finally broke when Jazz growled.

Immediately leaning back defensively, Prowl wrinkled his nose when Jazz started laughing like crazy, snorting a bit before finally loosing steam.

Taking deep breaths, Jazz closed his eyes.

“Sorry, sorry, that wasn’t directed at you. My stomach does that when I haven’t eaten in a while.” He rolled his head over to look at Prowl, eyes peeking back open. “Could’ya help me back to my mecha? I’ve got some rations in there.”

Prowl was already moving his servo inside before he could think better of it. From there, Jazz did not so much climb as he did roll over onto Prowls open palm. Sitting crisscrossed.

Something faintly like a pleasant hum touched his field.

Once out of the enclosure, the tactician studied the now conscious creature curiously. Bright eyed and without hiding it, Jazz studied him as well. A melody he didn’t recognize played against the pulse of his wrist.

He found that if he turned Jazz just the right way, the light from the theory board would turn his visor opaque. Every time he turned Jazz back, the visor cleared, and the subtle shock of sudden eye contact had him repeating the motion. Prowl got lost in trying to find the exact angle where Jazz was halfway between hidden and revealed.

Every time he did, Jazz would shift almost imperceptibly. Hidden and revealed again at his own discretion.

They stood there together, longer than either had expected.

Eventually, it was Prowl’s turn to break the silence, “You trust me. Why?”

Finally moving towards the mecha, there must have been some proximity sensor on Jazz’s person that triggered the chest plates to open.

Wings fluttering, Prowl subconsciously averted his gaze as Jazz scooted off his servo and into the cavity. The sound of tiny boots clanking.

Still not looking, he heard Jazz answer, “Breaking it down into three layers, there’s number one: I don’t exactly have any other options.”

A quick doorwing scan revealed the incredibly complex interior of Jazz’s suit, which somehow felt even more inappropriate than openly staring. Prowl pinned his wings together and stared resolutely at the ceiling.

“Number two: If you were going to kill me, you would have by now.” The sound of Jazz rustling around in their mecha abruptly stopped as the pilot spoke to Prowl more directly. “Hey, you good?”

Determined not to address this right now, Prowl simply shook his head. “I’m fine. Continue.”

He could almost hear Jazz thinking at this point, “Oooh right, the open chest cavity is probably pretty gross for you huh?”

Prowl squinted harder at the ceiling, “Not. Exactly.”

Jazz made some sort of noise of interest but thankfully choose to leave it for now. Instead, Prowl felt him clamber back onto his servo and heard the chest plates close back up.

Prowl finally looked back down at the human who’d gathered a backpack full of supplies. He carried him back to his desk and sat, releasing the small alien and leaning down low to look him in the face.

Jazz smiled back at him, “Reason number three: I like you.”

Prowl reset his optics and swore that made Jazz smile even harder. “Why?”

“Beats me.” Jazz shrugged, pulling out some ration packages.

“It’s probably a bunch of little things all added together. Super smart, fun to piss off, likes animals, can hold down a job, didn’t freak out and squash me like a bug. Hard to say for certain, but yeah, I like you.”

That was an exceptionally rare opinion to hear.

Gradually, Prowl began to feed all the information Jazz had provided into Tacnet in an effort to focus on more productive things.

There was an alien species capable of monumental destruction currently at war with the quintessons. Jazz liked him. Jazz held a favorable opinion of Prowl and could possibly be convinced to view Cybertronians in general with similar affability. Jazz was a fantastic ally on the field. There were multiple other fighters like Jazz on his home planet. They might also be convinced to “like” cybertronians.

The entire reason Prowl had been in deep space that cycle was because he was on a mission to find potential allies with other alien civilizations.

On the transport back, Prowl had written the mission off as an abject failure. Organics generally either hated Cybertronians, or feared them to the point of uselessness.

And yet.

Prowl crossed his arms on the table, getting more comfortable.

[PROWL]: My original mission has become a tentative success]

[PROWL]: Jazz has been cooperative so far, and if we can verify everything he’s told me, we could potentially form a highly favorable alliance with his people]

[ELITA-1]: He’s not freaked out about being tiny and squish-able any more? How’d you get him to talk?]

[PROWL]: I simply listened. He’s a shameless flirt]

[ELITA-1]: What]

[PROWL]: I will elaborate later. I am technically on medical leave still]

[ELITA-1]: Prowl what]

A rare sense of smugness filled Prowls field. He watched as Jazz played keep-away with Green for his limited rations. To give him some peace, he recovered the flyt, and Prowl set his mind to finding this Earth as soon as possible.

———

Jazz folded his hands behind his head, staring blankly at the star map.

“So?” Prowl prompted.

The human looked relaxed, maybe almost disinterested, however that dissonant ringing sting was back in his field. “I have no idea what I’m looking at.”

Fine. Fine. This was fine.

The map probably wasn’t formatted in a way Jazz was used to viewing. Prowl skipped around through a few other maps, landing on some deep space photographs instead. “Okay, well, what’s the farthest your species has traveled into space?”

“Our planets moon.” Jazz smiled in a tight-eyed sort of way with too many teeth.

Prowl stalled out, “I- How?!? How does your species have the technological development to create drivable weapons shaped like people but you lack the technology to reach past your own moon? What method of space travel are you using where the moon is the limit?”

“Big missiles.”

The tactician slowly raised his servos to his face.

“Jazz.”

“Yeah Prowler?” He said with faux casualness.

“When you said that you, and I quote, “got shot into space.” Prowl took a long deep vent. “You were being literal?”

At the very least Jazz had the decency to look sheepish. Risking a glance, he saw Prowl’s irises spinning like crazy again.

The tactician brought his chevron back down to his most used pillow, his desk. He crossed his arms over his helm for good measure, willing his helm to not explode.

What kind of demented species was so overly specialized for combat that projectile explosives were considered a reasonable form of transportation?

. . .The same kind that can hold off a Quintesson invasion by themselves.

He needed Jazz. The whole Decepticon movement needed that alliance with his people. They were spread too thin. Too many enemies. Not enough support.

Megatron barely approved Elita-one’s proposal to attempt to establish trade relations with known organic civilizations. And only under the condition that the trade heavily favored the Decepticons.

But these were fellow combatants. For all the high command’s xenophobia, they at least respected exceptional acts of violence.

It was a solution just out of reach.

Earth was presumably located on the edge of the Quintessons territory. Given the necessity of using rifts to approach the planet, there was likely a dedicated Quintesson Gate Station somewhere within the Human’s solar system. When asked to describe the type of Star his planet orbited, Jazz answered with a less than helpful “Yellow.”

If roughly 18% of the average galaxy had yellow stars, then that would still be around 80 billion stars. Even excluding stars without Earth sized planets, that’s easily still twenty billion different stars in just one galaxy. If they could somehow accurately survey up to 8 planets per breem, it would take a little over 761 Vorns to finishing sweeping one galaxy under Quintesson control.

Assuming the Quintessons didn’t kill them first that is.

He’d need to find another way.

The human blew a raspberry after Prowl didn’t move for a good forty seconds. “Are you calculating our “Odds of Survival” again?”

Peeking through his forearms, the praxian squinted at him, Tacnet whirling away, “No. Just yours.”

“Ah, gotcha.” Jazz, who was feeling much better after eating properly, expertly slipped past Prowls barrier a breath away from his face.

“Is it more than zero?” He said leaning back against Prowls arm.

“It’s a decimal point.” Prowl muttered. “With many, many zeroes before the point.”

And now those damn sounds were back again.

It had to be Jazz’s field, there was no other correlation.

It was always on the edge of perceptibly, like a song playing in another room. Prowl had to constantly check he wasn’t imagining things, because EM fields did not make sounds and yet here was Jazz, breaking everything he knew about what was possible.

Currently, the field brought to mind a steady smooth hand on a bowed instrument. A couple notes plucked in a major key.

“Then I’ll survive.”

Scrunching his brow, Prowl pulled away so he didn’t go cross eyed looking at the little impossibility. “That’s not how this works. Your odds of survival are microscopic, Jazz.”

“Buuut there’s a chance yeah?” Jazz pulled himself up to sit on Prowls forearm. “It’s more than zero, and I’ve worked with zero.”

Prowl tapped his digits, “We’ll have to convince the captain and her crew to keep you aboard.”

“I’m effortlessly charming.” He winked.

“Everything will be dangerous for you here.” Prowl pointed out.

“Everything already was.” Jazz shrugged.

He wiped a servo down his face, not even sure why he was arguing with him, “It’s going to be statistically impossible.”

“Prowl.” Jazz stood, “I am impossible.”

The silence ran to the Earth and back.

Neither broke the eye contact, waiting for the other to break first. Desperately, Prowl needed something to keep Jazz from making him crash. This could not become a pattern.

Quickly, he considered every data point he’d collected on the pilot, and compiled it into an extremely temporary equation.

<< Jazz + [Odds of Survival] = 99% >>

Something in Tacnet wound down finally, and Prowl actually relaxed. It was a lie. But it was a lie that Tacnet didn’t need to know about. For now.

Automatically, Prowl held out a servo and Jazz hopped on.

“Finally believe in me?” He said, lightly grasping his thumb as a hand hold.

“No, but it will literally kill me if I don’t try.”

Prowl turned down the hall, trying to ignore the subtle auditory hallucination of an energetic leitmotif. Picking up a little speed despite himself.

“Before anything else can be done, we need to make our case. Are you ready Jazz?”

“This is something straight out of a TV show Prowler. Hell yeah I’m ready.”

Together they would face the music.

———————————————————————

Coda

———

Humanity’s Finest: “Yeah we don’t know why but for some reason these things just fucking hate giant metal people.”

Jazz, being introduced to Cybertronians: “I have a theory.”

1 Breem = 8 minutes

1 Groon = 320 minutes or 5.3 hours

1 cycle = 16 groons or 3.5 days

1 vorn = 50 years

Well how about that. What was started as a four parter evolved into ten.

This’ll be where I’ll leave Jazz and Prowl off for a time. Other stories wait in line.

Thank you to everyone who’s followed along for this and a special thank you to @keferon for laying the groundwork for the story and for @glitchgh0sty’s absolutely amazing fanart of Odds of Survival.

Still crazy to me how much talent and care random folks can put into things to share with one another.

Also huge shoutout to the people who leave comments! You guys are awesome and hearing about all the stuff that sticks out to you or made you go crazy really does help me as a writer! I learn things! Woo!

Thank you all for reading, and I wish for each of you a very high Odds of Survival.

-SSTP

<- First

#tf mecha universe #writing #odds of survival #that one fucking joke of Elita getting weirded out by holding unconscious Jazz was the ENTIRE imputes of this story #do not ever underestimate how far I’ll go to commit to the bit #ye #Green is the real MPV #Jazz did not forget about Prowl loosing his shit #but that’ll come back later

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diceverses · 2 days ago

Text

After talking to Stan on the swings Ford walks straight home and, for once in his life, voluntarily goes to bed early. Tomorrow is the most important day of his life and he must be well rested in order to impress West Coast Tech representatives. In his dreams he’s so excited to accept a Nobel Prize and Guinness World Record Award for most PhD simultaneously, Ford sleeps through his alarm clock and has to rush around the house in a blind panic but he makes to the gym on time, looking perfectly presentable in his best shirt and his favourite bow tie. He channels every piece of advice Stan has given him on talking to people and showmanship and the judges are so impressed they actually applaud his presentation! Oh, Tesla, it isn’t just the most important day of his life, it’s the best day of Ford’s life too!

I can’t wait to tell Stan and celebrate!

Ford almost skips all the way home, his cheeks pink with excitement and an envelope from WCT people cradled against his chest. He practically flies up the stairs and skids to a stop in front of the couch. An empty couch. Huh. Stan must be in their room, reading comics! But his bed is empty too, he’s not in the bathroom, or the kitchen, or the pawnshop. And as his Ma smothers him in a hug, and covers his squirming face in red kisses, and my little genius and I’m so proud and I knew you’d knock ’em dead, baby, she tells him that Stan never came home last night, must be with his girlfriend, oh young love, I remember what it was like…

Except Carla left him for that hippie a few months ago, so that can’t be it, but they were talking on the beach last night, Stan must have gone to work on the Stan’O’War, and just fell asleep there. Yes, he’d spent the night on the boat before, that’s not so unusual, there’s nothing to worry about! But as Ford runs to the beach his giddy smile slips from his face. There’s the Stanleymobile, right where they left her yesterday.

"Stanley?", I hope he didn’t sleep in the car, don’t want him to get back pain before he’s sixty. But the car is empty and his jacket is still in the back seat. With a worried frown Ford turns and runs to the boat. "Stan!"

With every call into an empty place where Stan should be, but isn’t, Ford’s heart beats faster and his voice grows more frantic. But there is no answer from the little boat or the pier, or waves.

He must be waiting for me on the swings! Oh, I should’ve gone straight there… But that’s great! We’ll celebrate and then talk about the future, see what Stan wants to do after we gradu…

Ford stops, as if all the blood froze in his veins. The fresh salty air grows heavy and the crushing of the waves is replaces by the buzzing in his ears, as the scene in front of him goes blurry.

Stan?

The sand by swings is disturbed as if from a fight. The right seat is broken, its two halves shifting slightly in the breeze. There’s splotches of something dark on the worn splintered wood. Ford finally finds his voice:

"Stan!"

There’s no Stan.

"STANLEY!!!"

#digital art #gravity falls #stanley pines #fanart #stanford pines #angst #art #drabble?#gravity falls au #I had a hankering for teen!stan disappears because of multiverse reasons and leaves teen!Ford with trauma #there’s barely any fic about this scenario #please someone write more #anyways #drew this #after Ford leaves the swings #Stan stays and sulks because he’s a sad little baby with no coping skills #Stan’s sulking is interrupted by a stranger that looks like he just walked out if his comic book #from his creepy sci-fi mask to his dark leather getup to his cool prosthetic hand to the fancy glowing gun in his cool prosthetic hand oh f #ck it’s pointed right at Stan no no no #Ford is the last person to see his brother #he dedicates his life to finding Stan and rethinking every interaction they ever had and feeling guilty about things that aren’t really his #fault #but Ford is also a sad little baby with no coping skills #Stan Exterminator AU #maybe?#is it taken?#I have more thoughts on this au that I’ll art later

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magnoliaswriteatsunset · 2 months ago

Text

I watched a reel showing what Zayne said after being gone for 30 days. I can’t help but wonder about something.

Imagine this:

We are the MC. We are because we customized her and the cafe can show time passing from morning to evening, then night based on the time of where we are/the server. Usually, we/MC always tells the guys/chosen love interest(s) if we are leaving. We can say good night and hello when we meet.

But something bugs me.

When we exit the game and leave for 30 days, sometimes less, sometimes more, they send messages. Try to get in touch. Search the spots we frequent. Check in on things we left behind to keep them in order and in good shape for when we return. They don’t know when we’ll come back. If we’ll ever come back. All they know how to do is wait. Wait for someone who seems to have disappeared off the face of the planet.

A thought occurred to me.

What if the reason no one can find us, and the reason no one else seems too concerned, is because in their world once we exit the game, MC, us, our avatar, the only way for us to show and give our love to the guys, ceases to exist, but are not completely erased.

The side characters are none the wiser, believing we were sent away on a classified mission or simple were too busy to socialize with their peers. However, the love interests are different. They are aware of the situation to some extent, at the least. They know us well by now. They know we wouldn’t disappear without good reason. And the threats surrounding us are ever present. But something’s off. If that were true, and we were taken by force, they know we wouldn’t go without a fight. They know we would have left traces of *something* behind. Anything. From a knocked over glass to cameras watching over Linkon. They would have found it. But no. It’s like once we step foot outside the game, out side of Destiny Cafe, we simply cease to exist.

The space itself is empty, save for the lone chair the love interests lounge in, only allowing one at a time. No staff to take your order, no customers chatting idly in the background as they sip on their drinks and eat whatever food they bought earlier, no people passing by the windows or coming in and out of the building. Just us, our love interest, and this empty space all to ourselves, playing music of our choice non-stop.

I think we forget, at times, that we have more power over this “world” than we realize. That our choices, feelings and thoughts have sway over how we perceive their world.

But what really gets me, is that it’s as though there is mutual comfort to be found.

Comforting us by easing our worries, waiting for us, the world refusing to turn unless we arrive. Comforting them by interacting with them, touching them, conversing with them, sometimes reacting to what is going on beyond the screen in eerily perfect timing, even though they don’t know what’s actually going on. They are just programmed to do so. Nothing more, nothing less.

Here’s what gets me, though.

We have all this interaction, all this time together, chatting, studying, working (while trying to act like or blatantly staring at each other), playing, or even sleeping together (literally just sleeping, like a nap with the phone on because your too exhausted to exit beforehand). Then suddenly, it’s like we’re a ghost. Gone. No one else has seen us. The only thing left is the echoes of where we once stood.

I wonder,

Do they wait in that chair, acting as though we exist beyond those cafe walls? As if they’ll find us on a walk in the park or fighting to protect Linkon? Do they sit and wait, switching out from time to time to try and see who will get to be in the cafe when you arrive?

So many questions.

Perhaps, in their world, you are the only thing that helps time move forward. Everything else feels flat and stagnant. As their whole world encompasses this small room.

Do you know?

Do you understand what they do while they wait?

Do you feel the same longing and yearning for them as they do for you?

Do you wait? For them? Or is the world around you able to keep you company? Unlike their own. At least, not the way yours does.

Will you ever get to be with them? No longer being stuck behind a screen and wall of code. Would you still love them, without that safety net? Or would it be too much for either of you to bear?

…..

I deviated a bit from where I originally planned to go but I’ll expand more on these later. What do you think? What ideas are bouncing around in that brain of yours? (I also put stuff down in the tags if your interested by it’s mostly just little note from me.

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covered-in-mud · 1 day ago

Text

Brainrot so bad it makes you active on tumblr again

#I’ll make an actual headcanoned to hell battat design later #and also probably write some fanfic #I can’t stop thinking about these stupid things help #deltarune #battat mike #deltarune battat #green pippins #small mike #pluey #too many names for one creature

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l3viat8an · 1 year ago

Note

Levi's favorite thing to do while watching anime with MC is fingering and/or fondling MC's boob/boobs. Levi makes comments about the show and asks for MC's opinion. Meanwhile, MC is just a whiny, whimpered, teary-eyed mess sitting on his lap or between in his legs. 🤤💜

Nsfw!

!!! Nonnie!!!- omggshsg that’s so hot 😩 especially the part about boobs

Levi and his obsession with your boobs literally just cuddling watching any anime-

Everything starts out innocent enough with you sitting in Levi’s lap as the show starts and then Levi’s hands start low playing with the hem of your shirt. He’s not trying to tease you, really!!! He’s just needs to keep his hands busy!!- yea, that sounds believable-

His fingers moving up your stomach, then up higher ‘n higher, while you try to focus on the screen and when his hands finally reach your boobs- fully cupping them, squeezing just a little, his thumbs running over your nipples-

Levi’s so engrossed in the anime playing that he doesn’t notice the way you gasp and let out whimpering little moans.

His hands keep squeezing and massaging, his fingernails digging into your soft skin…. building your anticipation…he gives your nipples some feathery light touches, then pinches them which makes your whole body jerk in his lap.

He doesn’t just stick to that tho, he’ll tweak and twist them too. he’s playing around with you. And then Levi says something about….the plot? Maybe. You’re not sure, after all you haven’t really been paying attention, he’s grumbling about how it doesn’t make sense and when you don’t reply Levi finally looks away from the screen and at you-

Your cheeks are bright red, eyes filled with tears from all his unintentional teasing. Levi’s mouth falls open a dry, “…..whoa..” leaving his lips- and that’s not really what you wanted to hear right now, meeting his eyes you beg, “Levi, please don’t stop….n-need more..” and you wiggle your hips against his again trying to get any friction you can down there. Levi’s mouth is still open a little bit and his eyes are still stuck on your face so he simply nods, hands still on your tits- now he wants to watch you, wants to see if you can really cum just from him playing with your boobs….

You’ll both end up coming in your pants before the episodes even over-

#i can’t believe I didn’t see this ask sooner- sorry nonnie!!#1 am thots~#sorry for any typos #I’ll fix them later jsksjks #or even re-write this cuz I’ve got another idea now that’s just a bit different 🤭#anon!#obey me smut #obey me!#obey me levi x reader #obey me leviathan smut #obey me leviathan x reader #obey me leviathan #om! smut #smut #x reader #leviathan x reader #levi <333 #leviathan smut #levi x reader

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aquaquadrant · 3 months ago

Note

i would do anything for more pathos and dbubs interactions, they have my whole heart

well i don’t exactly take requests, it’s more just people sending in asks that happen to inspire me to write. and it’s not a guaranteed thing; i’ll hoard the asks in my drafts until i find the time/energy/motivation to write (i’m still sitting on some from over a year ago hafshdgah)

but i’ve really been feeling the pathbubs love lately so i got a little something for y’all :3

~*~

dbubs wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, leaning back to admire his masterpiece.

it took him five freaking days to gather the materials (only stopping to sleep, of course). chests and chests of diorite, oh yes, mined deep in a cave beneath the jungle. rows and rows of spruce trees grown by hand- they stuck out like sore thumbs in all the natural foliage. stacks and stacks of colored glass, the sand emptied from the bottom of several little lagoons. and then he had to clear out a space, of course. a pretty big space. which unfortunately… meant a lotta choppin’.

it’d pained him to take down so many trees, but it couldn’t be helped, really. jungles are just too dense for any real building. it’s- it’s really not a big deal, the jungle’s huge, it’ll be fine! it’s fine. what’s a few trees, right? he’s not gonna- the beauty of this place, the natural sort of… whimsy and- and majesty, it’ll still be good. he’s just gonna enhance it with some of his own uh, creative… work. yeah. and- well, if there’s anyone in hels who understands how to build in harmony with nature, sure enough, it’s ol’ dbubs!

anyway, he did that, and then the real work started. another three days of solid building. which- it’s not a massive build, alright, it’s- it’s respectable. two stories. maybe three, with the… the crenellations and spires and things. but building ain’t exactly the easiest thing to do, in the jungle. there’s terrain difficulties, big trees and mushrooms and things, and mobs, of course. hoglins, always stickin’ their noses in his business… uh, the ocelots and parrots aren’t really a problem, no, just a little annoying. oh, but then- there was a brief period where a ghostly- a- a ghast spawned outside the jungle’s border and then sorta… drifted into the air above the canopy, and it freaking- it took potshots at him every dang time he climbed up his scaffolding! (he killed it in one shot, of course, first try).

but it was worth it. it’s a lovely temple, a perfect temple. overgrown with vines and moss, with specifically- uh, specially placed cracks and holes to make it look all in… dis- disarray? dishevelment… or uh, abandonment? he even- this is real cool- he put a small custom tree growin’ out the side. the stained glass windows catch the light beautifully, yes, what gorgeous- he really outdid himself, with this one! his other builds, of course, they’re still… uh, wait, did- he can’t quite remember, actually, when his last build was. or, what it was. where did he… wait…

… anyway! his glorious temple is done, and he can’t wait to show patho the next time he visits.

should be any day, now.

~*~

the jungle stirs.

it has been uneasy for many days and nights, now. hissing and flinching as trees are ripped from its shell. groaning and chafing beneath the weight of unfamiliar blocks piled on its surface. its caves and lakes are hollowed out, a gnawing void at its core.

it is disappointed, but not surprised, that its player has tried again. it is in their nature, players, to spread and dominate every biome they encounter. it knew this when it decided to claim him.

natural resources, it can replenish easily. dirt, sand, and nylium will bubble and shift to fill the scarred land. fungi, trees, and bushes will spawn and sprout to cover the barren hills. but that… thing. that blight. the jungle cannot remove the machinations of players, not alone.

it may become a hoglin, to root and dig at the foundations. it may become a ghast, to breathe down fire and ruin. but these are crude forms. the best suited hands to dismantle this structure are the ones that built it in the first place.

the jungle becomes a player; its favorite player. at the dawn of a new day, it rises from sleep in a body that is foreign yet familiar, a fond but distant extension of the whole. vines and limbs move in tandem grace, guiding his feet back to the scene of his heresy. with strong, callused hands, it begins to pick the structure apart, block by block. no mob interferes, and there is no need for food. when the jungle sleeps, it merely drops him where he stands until the cycling of the unseen moon has run its course, before it raises him to his task again.

after days of endless work, every single unnatural block has been removed. whatever did not fit his inventory is left to despawn. the jungle walks its player back to his den (this structure is permissible, a nest among the trees) and finally releases him to sleep. now it turns its focus to regrowth and rebirth, healing over the ugly scar left on its terrain.

the jungle spends no energy on retribution or resentment. it will teach its player this lesson as many times as it needs to.

~*~

dbubs pulls patho through the jungle, excitement bubbling in his chest.

“okay, so- it’s right through here,” he calls over his shoulder. “my perfect- i- i built a whole temple, a sorta fallen temple, y’know. and not to took my own horn, here, but i- eughh, i- i think it’s some of my best work yet!”

patho’s chuckling behind his mask as he lets dbubs pull him along. “oh, yeah? what, uh… what about this build is so special, then?”

dbubs actually pauses at that, giving patho a shrewd look. “y’know, i- why do i get the sense you don’t believe me?” he puts his hands on his hips. “you- i build! i- i good builder!”

patho waves him off. “no, no, i know, i’m- it’s an honest question!” he defends, voice lined with amusement.

“oh-kayyy.” dbubs makes a show of rolling his eyes before resuming his trek, patho dutifully plodding after him. “well, then, to answer your question, i think it’s the uh… sorta vibe, or atmosphere of the build? ‘cause you- it’s like, you’re goin’ through this thick jungle, right, all wilderness, and then- all of a sudden, ka-blammo!” he throws his arms out, nearly smacking patho in the face with one of his vines. “there’s this majestic, ruined temple just there, all by its lonesome, overrun by nature. so- it makes you think, sure enough, like- what happened? who built it? where are they now? so it’s- hyeughh, it’s got a- a mystique, i feel…”

“oh, i see,” patho hums. “well, i can’t wait to see it.”

“yeah, yeah,” dbubs huffs, pushing a tangle of weeping vines out of the way, “you’re about to eat your words, mister! ‘cause heeeeere we are!”

he bursts out from the treeline to his temple clearing- only to be greeted by more jungle. seamless, unbroken jungle. he stops short, doing a double- no, a triple take. ‘cause he could’a sworn this is where he built it, wasn’t it? what’s the big idea?!

patho comes to a stop beside him and lets out a whistle, low and steady. “i- i see what you mean about the mystique, dbubs.”

“wait- no.” dbubs blinks, shakes his head. his chest is tight. “this isn’t- i- i built it here, i swear! it was perfect, it was beautiful-”

“i’m sure it was,” patho says easily, wrapping an arm around dbubs’s shoulders. he turns his head to nuzzle against dbubs’s temple, a masked substitution for a kiss. “c’mon, it’ll be dark soon, yeah? let’s head back.” his tone is knowing, almost consoling, and it feels wrong-

“but…” dbubs wavers, suddenly feeling like he’s on the edge of a cliff, grasping at air. “i- i wasn’t…” he pulls his inventory up, frantically scanning, ‘cause he’s sure that he- he knows that he-

his inventory is filled with stacks of diorite and spruce and colored glass. he inhales sharply.

“i dreamt it,” he announces, loud and abrupt. he gives patho a sheepish look, despite the relief that rushes through him. “i must’ve- listen, i know i- quit laughin’! ohh, you-!”

patho’s laugh is soft as he tugs dbubs into an embrace. “alright, sorry… hey, how about we build it tomorrow, okay?” his mismatched eyes gaze down at dbubs with fondness- and yet, there’s something else there. something almost… sad.

dbubs pushes the thought away, flicking a vine through the air. “oh, great,” he says sarcastically, even as he allows patho to steer them back into the jungle towards his base, hand-in-hand. “yeah, that’s- just what i need, you sittin’ around and crit- crita- critiquing my build! ‘oh- oh, why’d you put that block there, dbubs? why this wood type, dbubs?’ sheesh, gimme a break!”

“so, like… does that mean you don’t want my help?”

“well, hang on- i didn’t say that!”

“okay, just checkin’. you know, i don’t have to-”

“oh, stop it! you can- yes, okay, you may help me, please. for goodness sakes.”

“that’s what i thought.”

dbubs grumbles in feigned annoyance as contentment slowly seeps back in to wash away his earlier unease. it’s fine. this is fine! he just dreamt the whole building process, again, he wasn’t- he didn’t mean to lie. he just… must’ve been really excited about it, is all. yeah.

he glances back at the build site. “but maybe,” he pipes up tentatively, “uh- maybe… we build it somewhere else. i just- there’s a lotta trees to clear out there, y’know?”

patho’s cybernetic hand tightens around dbubs’s organic one, a comforting squeeze. “sure thing, dbubs.”

dbubs exhales slowly, the last of his worry falling away as he walks deeper into the jungle.

they’ll build it tomorrow. he can’t wait to show patho.

~*~

#hermitcraft smp #hermitshipping #hels to pay au #HTP fic #pathbubs #my writing #i’ll get this up on A03 later i promise

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applestorms · 3 months ago

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(tw for extensive discussions of dubiously consensual sexual situations, typical to canon. also spoilers for the decay route update)

honestly, one of the most interesting aspects of andrew's psyche that we get to see in the most recent decay route update to me is his nearly unending hesitancy about having sex with ashley, despite both his overwhelming desire to AND her incredibly blasé, Yeah Sure Let's Do It attitude in response to the question.

while the end of the burial route provides some key insight into ashley's point of view regarding this topic (e.g. if you go with the less enthusiastic/more teasing answer to andrew's question of "we're not like that, right? right??"), and the shots & such ending provides even more intrigue into her motivations, i think that decay presents two key reasons as to why andrew has continued to hold back for so long: his two core conflicting desires, and an inability to see ashley as her own full person. notably, both of these parts can easily be connected to his mother's childhood abuse and parentification of him as well.

with regards to the first point: andrew has two main overwhelming desires at the heart of his character that motivate most of his actions, which unfortunately for him are completely incompatible. andrew wants:

to be a normal, average person-- someone who can hold a steady, respectable job, fit in at the block party BBQs, and not attract any negative attention from the neighbors.

to fuck his sister.

to some degree, you could even read the distinction between the two main routes themselves (burial and decay) to be motivated by whether or not andrew can diffuse the tension between these two wants-- in burial, he gives up on his need to fit in with the rest of respectable society, presumably pushing him more towards the fucking-his-sister route; in decay, he struggles significantly to let go of this desire for normalcy, and the stress almost always breaks him. notably, in neither of these routes can he fully give up on the second desire-- really, his relationship with julia and the rest of his life up til the point that ep1 begins has been about him trying and failing to do so, so this makes sense.

(sidenote: i would also like to clarify that i think the Most key distinction between these two routes comes down to the decision you actually have to make to get one or the other-- namely, whether or not the siblings are able to trust one another. but anyways)

this focus on the first desire for normalcy is also interesting in that it seems to be one of the core desires that renee holds as well, as we see her so happily boast about during their interactions in ep2. honestly i could probably write a whole post about how much andrew (consciously or, more often, not) mimics his mother's behavior and takes on her standards and ideals, but the key point to pay attention to here is the fact that andrew has subsumed his mother's viewpoint in such a way that he is either not fully aware of or simply hasn't questioned in all that much depth yet.

we can also see this with the aforementioned parentifiication, which has really interesting consequences on how much andrew does (not) see ashley as her own autonomous person. pretty much every single childhood flashback we get in 3a shows the same terrible cycle:

andrew is told by renee that ashley is His responsibility -> ashley causes problems on purpose -> andrew takes the fall for her

frankly, we don't even really need that first step for andrew to fully internalize the idea that ashley's actions are His to take responsibility for. the horrible consequences of this are also quite obvious: not only is this pressure to take responsibility for someone else's actions an incredibly unfair burden to put on anyone, much less a kid, but it also continually pushes andrew to see ashley as something less than human, or as little more than an extension of himself rather than her own person.

the main conflict in decay really comes down to this conflicting desire between the two of them, where what both andrew and ashley want above all else is Complete and Utter control over the other-- andrew wanting control because he has again been groomed to see ashley as his full responsibility, and ashley wanting control to assuage her own insecurities and fears about being isolated and hated forever. the more sympathetic throughline underlying a lot of this is that what both of them seem to want is safety, to protect both themselves and each other from any and all situations outside of their control-- though, unfortunately, a lot of times those exact external situations are simply the other acting on this mirrored desire for control lol.

anyways, going back to the sex thing-- since andrew doesn't see ashley as her own person, since he sees her as incapable of taking responsibility for her own actions and therefore as someone who cannot make decisions for herself, due in large part to him automatically transferring this burden to himself, andrew also sees ashley's consent as essentially meaningless.

the more sympathetic reading here is that andrew does genuinely want ashley to be at least kinda into it as more than a manipulation tactic/transactional thing-- but i think it's also equally likely that andrew simply doesn't want to have to once again shoulder the full burden of Committing Incest on his own, and he doesn't trust ashley to ever be even capable of taking the fall for her own actions. the fact that andrew still ultimately sees ashley as Leyley and NEVER as Ashley Proper (as he himself recognizes at one point) really just reinforces this to me. he says it himself-- he practically raised this woman. and in this case, even above all others, ashley's actions are quite literally also his own. it all goes back to that initial mistrust, and he carries that resentment with him even after they get around to actually doing it. mutually dubious consent, truly in-fucking-deed.

#tcoaal #astronaut rambles #the coffin of andy and leyley #coffincest #gravecest #writing this in a rush at 1/2 am cuz i have an early class tomorrow and need to go to bed aklsdjflasjk hope this is coherent #wanna write more about the shots and such ending too and esp ashley's behavior there #namely that whole line about how 'you had Good Sex one time when she was wasted'#'but she had a meltdown the next day and you've been chasing that high ever since'#cuz uh. HMM.#really her side to this is equally interesting to me #and especially what it says about how she's internalized her own view of gender roles #but aaa later later i really need to fucking sleep ;w;#GOD but i still can’t believe they literally fucking said #andrew: ‘i don’t wanna fuck you cuz i’d feel like i’m forcing you into it even if i’m not ://’#ashley: ‘OK i’ll just be the one to force you into it instead 😌’#incredible solution girl. problem solving queen

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deepspace-raconteur · 2 months ago

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Once again, I bring porn! This time of the fishy variety.

Nothing super kinky, big dick!Raf, sleepy fucking, AFAB MC, Rafayel just loves you so much man, chubby mc,

Rafayel x MC, established relationship.

🐡🐚

You and Rafayel had been dealing with… a problem. For some time now.

For the entire duration of your physical relationship, actually.

The issue being: he’s too big.

Jest all you like, it’s a problem. Or at least, it is to you. Not to say you and Rafayel don’t get each other off, (sea) god knows you can’t keep your hands off each other 99% of the time.

(Thomas is afraid to sit on any of Rafayel’s furniture when he visits, and for good reason. He’d walked in on you two far too many times on the floor, the couch, a memorable time on the ladder…)

Still, it eats at you. That you can’t take him fully. That you two have never ‘fully connected’- note here that Rafayel very much begs to differ, and insists that he does not have this issue. That you, and your limits, are perfect to him, and that he and his dick are very satisfied with your current sex life.

Again, still, it eats away at you. At your self-perception, at your confidence in your own ability to satisfy him… At your heart and mind.

Rafayel hates it. Hates that you take such a small thing so hard. Brushing aside the ego boost it is that his dick is literally too big (ha! What guys can claim that problem, cutie?), he sees the look in your eyes. He sees it when you SHOULD be far more focused on him, thank you very much.

To him, it’s not even that big of a deal- so what he can’t go in that last inch or two? It hasn’t made a difference thus far! But he digresses, and comforts you when he sees that look in your eye.

So, he researches. Reads about things like vaginal tenting, the role of stimulation and duration thereof in intimacy. Of lubrication and preparation, and most of it he already knows frankly (in perhaps not as technical terms), but it’s never bad to brush up. Who knows, maybe more recent research had come out.

Then, he begins to troubleshoot, disguised as his normal passion and unpredictability. New positions, new techniques he ‘just wants to try’.

What he calls foreplay, but is what you’re pretty sure is a ploy to make you completely lose your mind.

After the fourth orgasm he gifts to you, you think your brain might be melting out of your ears.

“Raf- Rafayel, please! I can’t- I can’t-“ comes out as thin whines. Prettily manicured nails clutch into the messy hair of the artist who painted them between your legs. He’d been there for at least two hours now, and seemed content to stay there the rest of the night, too. He hums in acknowledgement, sending a shock up your spine as the vibration targets your clit.

“O-oh, god-“

“You called, cutie?” He finally, finally pulls away. His fingers pulling out almost drags another cry out from between your lips. You can’t help the way your entire body slumps into the mattress, limp and pliable. Rafayel lays his head down, cheek resting on your plush lower tummy as he gazes up at you adoringly. His thumb rubs soothing circles into the flesh of your inner thigh. You focus on just trying to catch your breath.

The gauzy curtains sway in the sea breeze. You can see the stars in near perfect clarity here in his bed, through the glass roof. You idly wonder if this room was meant to be a bedroom, or some sort of solarium intended for plants.

“How you feeling, cutie? Have I worn you out completely?” A smug smile curls his lips, and it’s unbearably cute. Most everything about him is cute, actually, not that you’ll ever say that out loud. You compliment him enough already.

It’s with a final deep breath that you push yourself up onto your elbows, grinning down at the lemurian. “I always have energy for you, seastar.”

He crawls up your body slowly, leaving kisses here and there until he finally reaches your lips. He presses you back down into the mattress, slow and insistent. No room to run away, his body dwarfing your own, emphasized by the way he keeps most his weight off you with a single forearm braced by your head.

You two stay like that, making out to your heart’s content until you feel as though you might actually morph into one being.

When he does finally pull away, he coos down at you, “aww, you are sleepy, cutie. Lookit those droopy eyes.” He leans down to leave a kiss over each eyelid. “Do you want to keep going?” His question is met with an insistent nod, and your arms curling around his shoulders. He chuckles, nuzzling his nose down your jawline.

“Alright, alright. How about this then…”

You let yourself get gently manhandled by him onto your stomach, only letting out a disgruntled huff when your hair accidentally gets caught under a hand for a moment. He’s quick to let up, rubbing the pulled roots for a moment in apology.

When you’re resettled, you’re on your stomach with a pillow under your hips, prone bone style. Rafayel layers himself over the top of you, and feels you shudder when his cock slots between your legs.

He stays like that for a second, you both basking in the closeness. One of his hand runs up and down your side, then slides over to take your hand and pull it up above your head. There, he laces his fingers with yours and squeezes. He nips at the back of your neck, and then you feel it- the slow but steady push inside of you.

You moan lowly, pressing your head down into the mattress. It’s muffled like that, and Rafayel’s next nip is sharper, and you get the message and turn your head. He hates it when you try to muffle yourself, muffle your reactions to his hard work.

He earned those pretty noises, damnit, and he wants to hear them.

The next few minutes are careful, as he always is. He’d learned his lesson the first time he’d gotten a tad overexcited, and had accidentally hurt you. He’d never done it again.

Soon you settle into a steady rhythm that has you panting and canting your hips to meet his. The one hand squeezes the one of yours it holds hostage, and the other roams torturously free. One moment plucking your nipple, the next leaving a bruising grip imprint on your hip. At one point, he grabs your jaw and pulls you into a scorching kiss, and you wonder for a second if this will be the time you leave his home with burns.

(He’s far too powerful and in control of his evol for that to ever happen, thanks. He’d be a disgrace of a god if he ever lost control of it and allowed that to happen to his beloved.)

In the end, it isn’t even him that pushes that final inch or so. It’s you.

Rafayel is so close to his own orgasm that he has to pause if he wants to continue pursuing his goal. His breathing is ragged in your ear as he stays pressed inside you, trying to stave off his climax. He’s painting a bright hickey onto your shoulder when he hears you make an impatient noise in the back of your throat.

Then, you push your hips back, forcefully and suddenly. A not so subtle encouragement for him to get moving again.

He chokes when his hips meet your ass, and he’s fully seated inside you. For the first time. Ever.

You don’t even notice.

Rafayel is shocked into silence for only a second, then a delirious grin splits his cheeks. He was fully inside you, and the proof of the lack of discomfort was your own obliviousness.

“Cutie~” he hums teasingly into your ear, to be met with yet another annoyed moan. He swivels his hips, then grinds down into you slowly but firmly, pressing as deeply inside as he can. Not even a wince. He wants to cheer- almost does.

“Can you feel me deep inside you, cutie? Have you even realized yet?” He teases. He gets a very annoyed side-eye glance for not doing what he knows you want. That is, fucking you into next week.

He rolls his eyes, then pulls out just to fuck back in firmly and completely. He damn near sends his own eyes rolling back in their sockets, and breathes raggedly. That, at least, seems to connect some dots, and he sees those pretty eyes he could spend a century trying to color match blow wide.

He takes that as his cue, and starts to fuck the hell out of you in earnest. It’s a celebration now, after all.

“I’m so proud of you cutie, you took all of me. Knew you could.” He gasps between strokes. Below him, the moans and cries steadily grow in volume, and he grins viciously. Yeah, tonight he’d make you scream. It seemed only appropriate.

“Look at you, taking me so well.” He coos, “I knew you could do it. You just needed some extra love to get there. Knew we were a perfect fit for each other.”

He grabs your other hand and mirrors the other, pressing them both into the mattress above your head. Like this, his biceps bracket your head, and you can’t help but bite one. Rafayel hisses above you, his hips stuttering, and he laughs. It seemed he’d have his own marks to match yours in the morning.

“Mmph, fuck, cutie, ah- I’ll-“ he gasps. “I’ll have to fuck you like this every day from now on. Can’t have you forgetting what all of me feels like anytime soon, after you worked so hard.”

Your cries get muffled into his bicep as he feels you tighten like a vice grip around him as you climax. Rafayel stands no chance, and buries his head into your shoulder as his own orgasm is foisted upon him.

You stay like that for a while, until Rafayel can manage to drag himself out and off of you. He doesn’t go far, just falling off to the side and pulling you back into his arms. He curls around you tightly like that, face buried happily into the back of your head.

“I knew you could do it cutie. You did such a good job taking all of me. I’ll cook us a seafood feast tomorrow to celebrate.” He murmurs sleepily, unaware of the bright blush that lights up his lover’s cheeks.

#love and deepspace #lads mc #lads #lads rafayel #rafayel x mc #sylus x reader #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel #Rafayel smut #lads smut #love and deepspace rafayel #my writing #this is unbetad and unedited I’ll likely come back later to make minor edits

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