#i’ve had three asks about this which is still better than the bot asks i get occasionally

[littlemsterious]

Tell us the story of how slenderman cracked ur egg pls

i guess this isnt the worst legacy to have. honestly, i think the story is a lot dumber than you’re expecting

I was 17 years old watching marble hornets for the first time. i dont get very far before quitting, it’s giving me anxiety, so i turn it off.

at the time, i had a pretty good idea of what transgender meant but i never really understood how people knew they were trans.

i go to bed that night and have a dream:

i’m walking down a rural road and a cop car pulls up next to me. two officers get out to ask me some questions about two kids that have gone missing recently. the one closer to me points his flashlight into the woods and you can see slenderman walking very far away. he asks me if that guy always walks so far out in the woods so late at night. slenderman starts to walk towards us and i cant move. i keep thinking we need to get into the running car, it’s right there, the door is open. but i can. not. move. i wake up.

you know how in dreams you sometimes know things even though no one told you it

of three things i was absolutely certain

1 slenderman was my next door neighbor and also killed those kids

2 the cop standing next to me had mistook slendermans blank face for the back of a bald man's head. i thought that shit was hilarious.

3 the “character” i was playing in this dream was a man

none of those things were communicated to me in anyway, no one said it, i didnt see any of it, i just knew they were true.

i woke up with my heart racing and after getting over the embarrassment of having a nightmare about slenderman in the year of out lord twenty nineteen, i kinda figured gender was something you just intrinsically knew. maybe didnt fully understand but it was something innate

it took me a bit longer (longer than i want to admit) to realise that i dont have any strong feelig of gender. i had called myself a girl/woman because that’s what i’d been told i was but that didnt really mean anything to me. but i knew i wasn’t a woman in the same way i knew the dream me was a man.

sorry to everyone who thought i wanted to be slenderman, I’m not that funny

[spiderscribe]

For te character ask: gimme Starscream (TFP), Dead End (cyberverse) and Drift (mtmte)

:3💖

Ajfldksjlf you somehow managed to pick three of the five characters that I’ve been really rotating through my brain this past week so thank youuuu I had a ton of fun with these :3 enjoy the headcanons!!! 

Starscream (TFP)

Headcanon A:  realistic

When Starscream gets over himself and stops fussing over how to make himself look as good as possible, he’s actually a pretty good leader who’s skilled at managing all the small details to accomplish his bigger goals. Starscream himself doesn’t know this though, because even when other people genuinely think he’s doing a great job, they keep it to themselves for fear of inflating Starscream’s ego. (It’s Soundwave. He’s people.)

Headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious

Starscream’s opinion on humans goes up from “occasionally amusing but overall useless life forms” to “extremely grudging fear respect” after that time Miko stole the apex armor from him and beat him up. Obviously Starscream doesn’t reveal this shift to anyone, but after some observing Raf figures him out. He chooses not to tell Starscream that Miko is an outlier and most other humans wouldn’t be able to kick his ass, because a) it’s an advantage he can maybe use in the future and b) he starts laughing to himself whenever he thinks about it.

Headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends

Starscream is desperately touch-starved, and craves physical intimacy and gentle touches. Alas, after everyone he’s lost and everyone who’s hurt him throughout the war, he never allows himself to be that vulnerable with anyone ever again. He does his best to keep everyone, no matter which side he’s currently playing, a careful arm’s length distance away.

Headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own.

Since it’s canon that Starscream likes to browse the internet, my possible-but-still-probably-unrealistic headcanon is that Starscream is pretty fluent in internet memes and slang. He expects Soundwave to know a lot too, since Soundwave monitors everything, but Soundwave tends to filter out anything he deems pointless and that includes anything to do with human internet culture. The first time Starscream brings up a meme in reaction to one of Soundwave’s audio clips, he gets a very confused blank stare in response.

Dead End (Cyberverse)

Headcanon A:  realistic

Dead End is bad at forming close friendships, mostly because his unending pessimism tends to eventually put people off, but he’s actually pretty good at initiating small talk and making superficial acquaintances. That’s why he’s on speaking terms with most of Decepticon high command and makes a feeble effort to save them from the Loop. (Feeble because, well, being on speaking terms with them doesn’t mean he actually likes all of them. Case in point: Soundwave.)

Headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious

As they slowly get to know each better by virtue of forced proximity, Dead End and Hot Rod both come to realize they actually have a lot in common: they’re both the “shoot first, ask questions later” type of bot, they’ve both got quick tempers, they both like to keep their finish as pristine as possible, and (although Hot Rod tries to pretend this one isn’t true) they’re both prone to negative introspection when things aren’t going their way. Rather than bringing them closer together, this realization horrifies them both and they silently and mutually avoid bringing it up, ever.

Headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends

I touched on this in my deadceptor fic, but reiterating it here with more heart-crushing-ness: Dead End doesn’t regret choosing to abandon everyone and leave the universe with Megatron. It’s not that he doesn’t care about everyone else, and if they were all hurt or killed by the Quintessons he would’ve been sorry that they died, but that’s not enough for him to feel bad about his choices. He’s not sorry about prioritizing himself and his own goals first.

Headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own.

Shortly after joining the Decepticons, Dead End developed a crush on Megatron. It eventually faded into strong admiration and loyalty, but Dead End still thinks the whole situation was extremely embarrassing and would vehemently deny it to anyone who asks.

Drift (Mtmte)

Headcanon A:  realistic

Drift’s ongoing “see who gets more kills in fights” contest with Rodimus was actually his initial idea, not Rodimus’. He came up with it so he has something to focus on while fighting (keeping track of his increasing number of kills) and he doesn’t lose himself in a mindless rage the way he used to do as Deadlock. He only meant it as a one-time thing, but competing with Rodimus turned out to be so fun, and Rodimus’ sulking face when he lost was so funny, that Drift brought it up again the next time.

Headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious

If a normal bot was fully aware that Ultra Magnus hated them, they’d do their best to stay out of Magnus’ way and avoid doing anything to piss him off. Drift, who is far from a normal bot and more mischievous than most people think, conspires with Rodimus to play really stupid pranks on Magnus like adjusting the lighting to be a few degrees brighter than regulation and using incorrect punctuation in his submitted reports. Drift thinks of it as “if Magnus thinks I’m the same kind of idiot as Rodimus, then he’ll stop seeing me as a dangerous Decepticon.” Rodimus just thinks the whole thing is hilarious and is glad that he isn’t the only one getting yelled at.

Headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends

Drift treasures every close connection he’s formed in the past and present—all the people who saw something good and worth saving in him. But after he defects from the Decepticons, he starts chasing that kind of close connection with a secondary reason: yes, he still desires that intimacy, but he’s also looking for people to devote his life to. Drift sees offering his unquestioning loyalty as a way to atone, and if he ends up dying for someone, then, well, it’s what he deserves after everything he did as Deadlock.

Headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own.

A leftover habit from his days as Deadlock means Drift naturally has a very exaggerated fighting style. Think dramatic twirls and poses, sword thrusts that are a little flashier than strictly necessary, brutal punches that hit where he knows will cause the most energon to spray out, terrifying smiles, etc. As Deadlock, it strengthened his reputation as a fearsome berserker and he revelled in it. As Drift, it’s mortifying as all slag. It takes him conscious effort to not fight like that, and he still sometimes slips into the habit by accident. Rodimus tells him not to worry about it because he thinks it’s cool. Many, many years later, Ratchet admits it’s kind of hot.

[thelien-art]

I don’t know if anyone has said this yet, so I will. Yes, this is about nolofinwe week.

I’m also not stoked about this whole AI thing, trust me, I ain’t paying money to have bots produce jumbled nonsense. Not now at least. In the future, if things get regulated and there’s some responsibility from companies, I might, I see how it could be useful. I’ve been in the art industry and organizations for longer than some of you are alive, so I get the concern. 

Which is why I was following this discussion on AI and the event closely. I thought it was very sensible from the mods to ask for honesty from the start (if you use AI, that’s on you, but state it so people can block it and ignore you). AI art in this fandom luckily gets little traction, people don’t engage with it, so that is message enough in my eyes. I’ve also worked in schools for years and can tell you that when you tell people NOT to do something, they fixate on doing the exact opposite. So I was like, ok, the mods here are asking for honesty and they trust people not to be dumb, that’s a way better message. No one is telling anyone else what to do or not to do.

Then people started criticizing, and I was actually positively surprised that the mods were willing to take in the feedback and revise things a bit. It’s so rare to see people on the internet these days listening, let alone doing something about it. But that wasn’t enough for y'all. You kept bitching against the event and shutting down the few people who actually took the time to read.

You wanna ban unfair use of AI? Cuz trust, it's here to stay.

Write to your representative, boycott for-profit companies until they take responsibility, support the companies who do it well, vote, donate to civil society organizations if you can, call for educating students, educate yourself.

Don’t scream on the internet at the few people who actually give a damn. I hope the lot of you are proud of yourselves now. Yes, that’s sarcasm.

First of all, I just came home from a Halloween feast so I´m pretty tired and I´ll try to cut it short, also I think I´m very clear about not being from America.

SO! I have been pointing out the problems only this year when others spoke out and they didn't really do anything about it, ONLY THEN, and publicly, about two to three times? I can´t remember. But that was on my main so why are you not sending this to my main as I haven't said anything here?

I have never told people not to take part in it, actually, I was hoping to take part in it next year, so I greatly hope they open it next year. The reason why I wouldn´t this year, was 1. because I don´t have anything for it, 2. they still had it permitted in the start, but now that it is banned I don´t see why I won't want to participate.

Nolofinweweek DMed me, opening a discussion and I tried to explain why some people were angry about them permitting AI, we had some back and forth about the topic, sharing our own sides, them why they had it permitted, and me why I thought it was problematic, and that was pretty much it. - I want to point out that none of us are English native speakers, and I actually learned how to use a word from our talk :)

Are the MOD sharing our DMs? I am willing to share them if that is what you want. This ask just makes it sound like it´s been shared, and I really have nothing to hide so I don´t see why not. Anyway, ask if you want to see them, and I will reach out to them and ask if it´s okay for them to share as it´s their message too.

PS: I think you should take your own advice to heart, and educate yourself more on the harm of AI if that is your hold on it

[fleur-de-violette]

20 questions for fic wtiters

Thank you @crows-murder for the tag !

1. how many works do you have on AO3?

87! But a fair share of them are fairly short stories.  

2. what's your total AO3 word count?

244 349! Almost at a quarter of million!

3. what fandoms do you write for?

Currently mostly DC/Batfam but I might come back to One Piece soon. And I wrote a lot for Supernatural, Reborn and Bleach

4. what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

To the ones who are alive, and the ones who are there – Angsty fic about Dick and Jason, I’m kinda proud this one is my top fic because I put some guts into it.

Gorgon’s eyes – Dick comes back from spyral and his family doesn’t reacts well but he’s poisoned and immobilized and has to rely on them. I wanted this one to be a bit of a case fic on top of the drama and I’m not sure how much I succeeded?

To fight against time and win – This one was written just after the first one so again, with guts. It’s softer, though, it’s about Dick almost dying and his family taking care of him.

Vacation week – This one is about… Dick almost dying and the family taking care of him (I have a theme). It was one of the first fic I wrote for this fandom and I’m so happy it got so much love !

Painful protection – I swear the 6th one isn’t about Dick but yeah. This one is. It’s about Bruce trying to protect Dick by saying they’re unrelated and hurting him more in the process featuring good bro Jason. This one was in my mind even since before I started writing so while I’m not 100% happy how it turned out I’m happy people like it!

5. do you respond to comments?

Yes! I try to even if I find it hard sometimes to figure out what to say.

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hard to say. I would say among the three MCD fic I’ve written it’s probably At the end of the universe (We were supposed to be okay). Otherwise the new one How to tape a card castle could be fairly angsty if you go without the 3rd chapter but what can I say I’m a sap and I added it.

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Again, hard to say. I’m a fan of bittersweet endings or hopeful endings. Maybe Fire keeper because it objectively end a lot better than it started

8. do you get hate on fics?

No! I got one rude comment but I’m still not sure it wasn’t a bot so I would say overall I’m lucky in that regard.  

9. do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I’m not a huge smut writer but I did try with my Smutty, shippy short stories. So far it has two fics one fairly cute and the other a dead dove which pretty much summons my range. There are 4 more fics for that series that are written and just wait to be edited and posted.

10. do you write crossovers?

No, but I’m not closed to the idea.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know, luckily.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Probably! Someone asked for my permission to translate To fight against time and win and repost in with permission. I gave it but I have no more news since.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, but I did brainstorms ideas that later became fics

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I’m not really a shipper and when I am I’m a multishipper so not really a question for me

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

I have a multichapter WIP about dimension traveling. I love the idea but not what I did with it and I don’t really know how to fix it for now so it’s on pause for now and hopefully not forever.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I do well it long spiraling of emotions and abstract things when I manage it.  

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I probably wouldn’t do it unless it’s a language I speak confidently enough. Otherwise if my narrator doesn’t know the language I say they said something in this language and if they do I “translate” it.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Yuyu Hakusho in 2007. And then posted for Bleach on ffnet one year later.  

20. Favourite fic you've written?

Not a definitive favorite but I would say The price of loyalty. Maybe it’s a weird thing to say about something I’ve written but it’s such a comfort fic and I re-read it often.

I tag @elegitre @babblingbookends and whoever wants to !

[anony-man]

Consequences

Word Count: 2,527

Relationship: Brainstorm/Perceptor

Rating and Warnings: M; Dom/sub undertones, mild sexual content, feeding/belly kink

It was going to be one of those days, and Brainstorm had known it from the moment he awoke from recharge.

To say he went out of his way to be a pain in the aft was most certainly inaccurate. He had his flaws like any other bot on the Lost Light, and it just so happened that his flaws tended to come out at the worst possible times. Namely, when he was overlooking an exciting new discovery that would change the world of science for the better.

True, Perceptor had warned him that the ratio of organic liquid to the inorganic and highly flammable material they often used behind closed doors was bound to create an accident, and he may or may not have quickly shrugged off his fellow scientist’s concerns with some poorly thought out remark about his given genius and Perceptor’s time spent struggling through the academy, but Brainstorm hadn’t meant any lasting damage.

At least, that’s what he had told himself when the first part of the experiment all but blew up in his face. If it weren’t for the mask he wore, he probably would have been confined to the medibay for the next three weeks. Oh, and there was also the part where Perceptor had grabbed him by the arm and practically flung Brainstorm over his shoulder as he rushed behind an overturned table. Still, it was an accident, and not nearly as dangerous as some of Brainstorm’s other failed experiments.

The pattern had repeated most of the day, following with Brainstorm putting in his two cents where Perceptor hadn’t explicitly asked for assistance, his bragging to a fellow colleague (or, in other words, Chromodome, one of the few mechs willing to stick around after talk of Brainstorm’s most recent explosion made its rounds through the ship), and—most tragically—bringing a reasonable amount of attention to himself while guzzling high-grade in Swerve’s bar.

In Brainstorm’s opinion, he hadn’t been outright intoxicated. He was drinking in the flow of conversation around him as mechs and femmes came in and out of the bar, some stopping by to congratulate Brainstorm on his most recent achievements while others paused in their waiting for orders to push for details regarding the explosion—details which Brainstorm was more than happy to give, that is.

“Oh yes, nothing to worry about,” he had said to a short and slim bot, one servo patting the bot’s shoulder while the other held up a half-empty glass of… well, something alcoholic. “A little soot on the walls here and there, some glass shards to pick up. Really, I’ve seen worse. I’ve done worse, and I can assure you all that this was nothing.”

A fairly sizable crowd had grown in the bar, most of the group having circled around the large booth where Brainstorm sat. Next to him was Perceptor, who struggled to fully enjoy his drink as the audience around his lab partner grew. Chromodome and Rewind had joined the pair some time ago, but left long before the group of curious bots could get to be too large. Having taken the seat against the wall, Perceptor wasn’t able to do such a thing, otherwise he would have left much, much sooner.

“You’d think Percy would’ve put a stop to it.” Swerve, who had appeared with a fresh tray of glasses, took Brainstorm’s near-empty cup and replaced it with one filled to the brim with bright blue energon. “Or did you somehow manage to rope him into this one, too?”

At that point, Brainstorm knew he must have drank far too much for his own good. The attention from the crowd was intoxicating, and despite the fact that most of the bots were hanging on his every word, he hadn’t quite gotten his fix just yet. As he sucked in a deep breath and flared his plating in what was meant to be an intimidating gesture, Brainstorm leaned forward on his forearms and flashed Swerve a grin.

“Who’s to say I’m not the one in charge behind closed doors?” Brainstorm asked, and took up the glass of energon for another indulgent swig.

The look of confusion Swerve gave him, followed by the unanimous silence across the entire crowd—which had grown much larger than it originally was, Brainstorm realized—easily succeeded in deflating the little pride Brainstorm had started to feel. To his right, Perceptor had gently taken the glass of high-grade from him and set it aside. Brainstorm had struggled to come up with a proper follow-up statement to try to make up for the startling (and very, very false) comment, but Perceptor had beaten him to it.

“You’re the one in charge?” Perceptor said, having managed to snake an arm around Brainstorm’s shoulders to pull him into whispering range. The words tickled against his bare faceplates, and Brainstorm couldn’t help but shudder as Perceptor continued. “Why don’t you prove it to me, then? Meet me in the lab this evening, 7 o’clock sharp. Bring your appetite, and don’t be late.”

It wasn’t a suggestion, but a demand, and Brainstorm knew it.

Despite the dramatic secret Brainstorm had tried to reveal over drinks at Swerve’s, he wasn’t one to disobey a direct order from his fellow scientist. Just like Perceptor had said, Brainstorm was standing outside the door a few minutes before seven. Perceptor had been pleased by this, of course, and made quick work of ushering the inventor inside.

From there, time was merely a blur in Brainstorm’s mind. Their dynamic was a little more black-and-white compared to the shades of grey that other pairs tended to display, and the moment he saw Perceptor step out of the storage closet with ropes in hand, Brainstorm had immediately turned into an eager, whimpering mess.

Most of the day’s events had merged into a forgettable, run-of-the-mill sequence, and all that was left in Brainstorm’s mind as he was spread across an empty table was the desire to please Perceptor as best he could.

The scientist made quick work of tying Brainstorm’s servos behind his back before they began. After helping Brainstorm to position his legs on either edge of the table, leaving plenty of room for his panels to retract and the future bulge of his belly to sag, Perceptor gently cupped a servo underneath Brainstorm’s chin in a beckoning gesture.

“Open up for me,” he said, and without hesitation, Brainstorm’s mask unlatched.

Beneath the mask, his expression was almost identical to the rest of his frame: bright yellow optics practically begged Perceptor to touch him as his mouth hung open, half-formed words spilling from him as condensation formed against the edges of his faceplates. His spike, which had quickly pressurized after Brainstorm had been given the signal, twitched in anticipation, and the lips of his valve clenched and pulsed against the chilly air of the lab, desperate for something to be pushed inside.

Perceptor took his time assembling an assortment of energon on a cart nearby. None of it had much to boast for in flavor, since the purpose of ingesting said fuel was mainly for weight gain in overly skinny or malnourished mechs. For what it lacked it flavor it made up for in texture, as most of the fuel was thick and filling. A single glass was enough to top off any average mech’s tanks, but Perceptor had gone to full lengths and gathered ten times as much. He was there to teach Brainstorm a lesson, and if he were to be successful, it would have to be a lesson Brainstorm didn’t easily forget.

“Do you know why we’re here, Brainstorm?” Perceptor asked, too busy organizing the energon options to meet Brainstorm’s gaze. This, of course, was intentional, and it only aided in spurring the inventor on further. “Why do you think I would want to be teaching you a lesson?”

“Because—“ Brainstorm trailed off with a keening whine as Perceptor turned, but was immediately disappointed when the scientist passed his side without sparing so much as a glance. “Because I—I disobeyed?”

“You’ve been awfully cocky lately,” Perceptor gently corrected. He stopped just in front of Brainstorm, his frame casting a large shadow over the jet that had Brainstorm caught in a full-body shiver. “You forgot your boundaries again. So tell me: will you be an obedient mech, or will I need to bring out the energon dispenser?”

Brainstorm twitched and jerked against the restraints, his valve flushing hot at the thought of being hooked up to the automatic fuel dispenser a second time. It was a little more dangerous than stuffing by hand, he knew, and Perceptor didn’t like bringing it up, but the thought of being on the verge of breaking his armor or heading into the medibay for ruptured tanks was tantalizing, exciting, arousing. Given the look on Perceptor’s faceplates, however, the dispenser wasn’t actually an option. Tonight was about teaching him a lesson, and Perceptor was going to be dragging it out for as long as possible.

“Drink up,” Perceptor said sternly, holding the first container of energon to Brainstorm’s lips. “We’re going to be here for a while, Brainstorm, so I suggest you make room in your tanks for a heavy load.”

Brainstorm needed little encouragement to begin sucking down the liquid energon. It was quite bland, and it lacked much of any flavor, but the sensation of it sliding down his throat and settling in his tanks with such a strong sensation, such a noticeable presence, was addicting. Brainstorm was a little too eager to drink the next container, and Perceptor quickly caught on. The jet gave a disappointed whine as Perceptor pulled away, setting the half-empty container down before walking off to the other side of the lab.

Left alone with his servos bound behind him and his tanks sloshing pleasantly, Brainstorm couldn’t help but beg for Perceptor to come back. At first, Perceptor ignored him, but when Brainstorm shifted his request to a more respectful question, Perceptor seemed to consider it.

“Ask nicely, Brainstorm,” the scientist chided him, only offering a small glance over his shoulder before returning to his work.

“Please?” Brainstorm said, his bottom lip protruding in the most pitiful manner. “Could you please give me more, Perceptor?”

Perceptor visibly tensed, and Brainstorm knew he had struck gold. While they had easily written off pet names such as ‘Sir’ or ‘Master’ due to Perceptor’s discomfort with being referred to as such, Brainstorm had quickly learned that the scientist often grew flustered when he spoke to him using his full designation. Of course, Brainstorm indulged in this as often as possible during their private sessions, and it had become a pattern for them.

Before Brainstorm could even blink, Perceptor dropped the datapad he had been working on and came back. This time, one servo drifted to stroke the outer rim of Brainstorm’s valve while he held a third container of energon to Brainstorm’s lips, gentle in his coaxing for the inventor to drink it down. The third concoction was much sweeter and distinctly thinner than the others, and Brainstorm indulged himself in a small smile once he had finished it off.

“Finally starting to learn your lesson?” Perceptor asked, his fingers dipping past the folds to begin stroking the inner parts of Brainstorm’s valve. As he pulled out, a trail of clear, sticky lubricant coated his servo, and he held up the soaked fingers for Brainstorm to suck on.

“Mm,” Brainstorm wordlessly hummed in response, his lips closing obediently over Perceptor’s fingers before he began to lick them clean.

“Good,” Perceptor breathed, his free servo having drifted down to rub against the forming bulge of Brainstorm’s middle. “Very good.”

An easy silence fell between the two as Perceptor continued feeding Brainstorm jug after jug of the thick, filling liquid. Before long, Brainstorm was straining at his bonds and gasping for breath, his belly bloated and bulging between his thighs. Perceptor didn’t put a stop to the steady feeding, though, and every time Brainstorm managed to polish off another container of energon, he gave the inventor’s valve the attention it needed.

“Almost finished,” Perceptor said, two fingers shoved halfway between the lips of Brainstorm’s valve as he gently tipped a cup of energon to the inventor’s mouth. To his surprise, Brainstorm turned away with a frown. “Just one more cup, and then you’re done. Drink up for me, Brainstorm.”

There was a look of hesitation in Brainstorm’s optics, and Perceptor could see (and feel) why. His overly stuffed tanks gurgled and groaned beneath taut plating, occasionally sending up small waves of gas that had Brainstorm’s cheeks puffing up in the most feeble way. Perceptor had been quick to try to rub away the discomfort, but his servos could only do so much between stimulating Brainstorm’s valve and pouring energon down his throat.

“I feel sick,” Brainstorm moaned, leaning himself back against the wall so that his overextended middle was on full display. As if to punctuate the statement, his tanks gave another audible groan that had him wincing in discomfort. “Are you sure that’s the last one?”

“I’m sure,” Perceptor said, having already slipped free of Brainstorm’s opening to begin rubbing more firmly into the creases of Brainstorm’s armor. “Finish this for me, then I’ll help you relax.”

Brainstorm hesitated for a moment longer, but quickly relented. With Perceptor’s help, he sat upright and opened his mouth obediently, ready to drink the final serving. He was a little startled when Perceptor cupped a servo behind his helm and tilted the container ever so slightly, forcing him to drink much faster than before, but Brainstorm managed to guzzle it quickly. To his relief, the last serving was nothing more than thin, watered down energon, and it settled easily in his overly stuffed tanks.

“There,” Perceptor said, reaching back behind Brainstorm’s frame to unbind his servos before stepping aside. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave Brainstorm a satisfied nod. “I take it you’ve learned your lesson?”

Brainstorm nodded frantically as he readjusted himself on the berth, letting out a sigh of relief at having finally been released. He dug his servos into the bulging flesh of his middle, but was disappointed to find that the action did little to help alleviate his growing nausea. Before he could say a word, however, Perceptor was back at his side and guiding him to lie flat against the table.

“Allow me,” he said, gentle in moving the still-groaning inventor to a more comfortable position. He couldn’t help the teasing smile that spread across his faceplates when he added, “Still think you’re the one in charge here?”

“I’ve learned my lesson, Percy,” Brainstorm chided, no longer willing to feign hurt as Perceptor’s skilled servos began to knead his aching middle. He let his optics close and sighed in relief, one servo reaching to grasp at Perceptor’s side. “…thanks, by the way.”

“It’s my job, Brainstorm,” Perceptor reminded him. His smile only widened as Brainstorm stifled a rumbling belch, his servos having prodded a pocket of gas in the middle of the inventor’s belly. “There’s no need for thanks.”

[charmingchappie]

June 22, 2288

For my first entry, here is a list (in no particular order) of the bat-shit insane nonsense I’ve seen or heard since joining up with the Commonwealth Minutemen.

*Confirmed – saw with my own eyes or was told by a reliable source

1. Reclamation of The Castle with a handful of green recruits, the Mayor of Goodneighbor, and a single, janky-ass missile launcher.

* Since I have been actually living inside of said Castle, I will give this one a partially confirmed status, but the stories circulating about the actual events surrounding the reclamation of The Castle are many and, by and large, ridiculous.

My initial impression of Colonel Garvey is that he is not a man prone to exaggeration, but he also looks at General Taylor like the sun shines right out of her butt, so his assertion that they purged The Castle of a mirelurk infestation with less than ten men remains suspect. Even less believable is that General Taylor took out an cranky mirelurk queen with three missiles and a launcher they found lying around in a back room. The crab boil they had afterwards is supposed to have been epic.

* Colonel Shaw is a no nonsense type and I will therefore take her at her word that she, General Taylor, and Garvey destroyed a sentry bot in close quarters combat in the tunnels beneath The Castle. Also, I’ve seen the wreckage of said sentry bot and… holy shit.

2. General Taylor’s status as pre-war.

I honestly don’t know what to think of this one. There was that article a few months back, but Wright’s reputation as a journalist is a mixed bag. I’ve read a lot of stuff that rings true, but Wright also thinks Mayor McDonough is a synth based on his noodle consumption habits. I dunno.

The vault General Taylor climbed out of is supposed to be close to Sanctuary, which I have yet to see. I kinda hope it’s not true because all the stuff about General Taylor’s husband being murdered in front of her and her kid being kidnapped by The Institute is really awful.

3. General Taylor’s rescue of the last of the Minutemen

Again, I have only have Garvey’s word on this one and if it’s even remotely accurate, I can understand the butt sunshine. Allegedly, General Taylor, fresh out of frozen storage and still in her vault suit, rolled into Concord with a pipe pistol and a dog and proceeded to fight her way through an entire gang of raiders to save Garvey and what was left of his refugees.

That would be impressive enough but that’s not the craziest part, because after that the story shifts to something that would be better-suited to those old Grognak comics than real life. After blowing her way through the streets and up three floors of a rotting, wooden, pre-war building, General Taylor then proceeded to the roof where she got herself into an old set of power armor and laid waste to the remaining raiders with a mini-gun she also found lying around on the roof. Remember the missile launcher I mentioned before? Yeah, I’ m seeing a pattern here too.

ANYHOO. After the raiders are dead, General Taylor jumped off the roof of the building in her untested power armor and went straight into a head to head battle with a fucking deathclaw in the street below because of course she did. Where did this deathclaw come from? No one seems to fucking know. It may as well have appeared out of thin air. General Taylor pumped the rest of the mini-gun’s ammo into it and then finished it off with a shot-gun blast to the head. Where did she have the shot gun, you ask? Good question. Maybe she had it stored in the same place as the sunshine. Or maybe it too was just lying around on the ground for her convenience.

4. General Taylor’s rescue of Detective Valentine from the clutches of Skinny Malone and his gang.

* Okay, so this did happen. General Taylor did go down into an old vault and did come back out with Nick Valentine. General Taylor herself confirmed as much, but the details were given to me by the shadiest motherfucker this side of the Mississippi so I’m only marking the basics as confirmed.

Seriously, folks. The guy who told me this stuff was a fellow caravan guard on my last contract before I joined the Minutemen. He introduced himself as Brian. Funny dude. Competent with a rifle.

Had a full head of dark brown hair.

We exchanged shitty puns and giggled like twelve-year-olds for a week before we shook hands and parted ways in Bunker Hill. I got recruited by General Taylor that same night and left with her and a bald dude named Deacon the next morning.

Deacon, my ass.

It was Brian except that he insisted he wasn’t Brian. Fucker tried to gaslight me all the way to The Castle like I hadn’t just spent a week on the road with him! He told me the story about Valentine’s rescue on the way as a very transparent means of distracting me. To be fair, it was a great story, but the effect was diminished by General Taylor rolling her eyes the whole time. So yeah, until proven otherwise, I’m assuming all but the bare facts are absolute bullshit.

I mean, there’s no way Taylor and Garvey took out Malone's whole gang on their own, did some kind of expert computer hacking to get into Valentine’s cell, and then convinced Malone’s girlfriend to rethink her life’s choices and leave with them. And after all that, Malone supposedly just let them leave? Are you kidding me, Brian/Deacon/whoever the fuck you are?

5. The leader of the Brotherhood of Steel is a child.

I was on the road when these assholes showed up, but a lot of folks saw them coast over in their stupid giant blimp, lights and loudspeakers blaring, before they started squatting in the ruins of the airport. Benji, who was recruited the same week as me, says he heard from some hired gun of the General’s, who in turn heard it straight from her, that the Brotherhood’s “Elder,” is a kid.

Benji and I have spent a lot of time in each other’s company in the months since we joined up so I think I’ve got a decent read on him. If he says the hired gun said it, then the hired gun said it. But if it’s the same hired gun I’ve seen trailing after General Taylor on occasion, then I have some questions.

The company General Taylor keeps is, let’s say… eclectic. On any given day, she might be seen tramping around the Commonwealth with her dog, Colonel Garvey, Valentine, Piper Wright, Liar McLyingface (Deacon/Brian/?), the hired gun, or John fucking Hancock. Of those listed, Garvey and Valentine seem to have been the most frequent fliers until Taylor picked up Hancock. Now, if one catches sight of General Taylor, they can be sure there’s a ghoul dressed like a founding father walking lock step with her.

Anyway, all that to say that I’ve seen the hired gun Benji mentioned and he must be a whiz with that sniper rifle because he looks like three grimy eight-year-olds in a trench coat pretending to be a grown ass man.

Also, I’m pretty sure General Taylor is somewhere in her late thirties or early forties, which means anyone under the age of thirty-five registers as a “kid” to her, so who the hell knows how old “Elder” Maxson actually is.

6. General Taylor and Detective Valentine tracked down and eliminated an Institute hit man.

What in the actual fuck? I can’t decide which part of this is more ludicrous, the part where the two of them took out a mercenary supposedly enhanced by Institute tech or that they did so via mini-nuke. What idiot came up with that?! They'd have blown themselves and the building to smithereens! And where would they have gotten a fatman to being with?

Lying conveniently just outside the door, probably.

7. General Taylor was part of a heist that attempted to rob John Hancock.

* This rumor has been making the rounds since the first of the year. I was in Goodneighbor the first time I heard it, and while Daisy likes a good yarn, she’s got an excellent bullshit-o-meter, so I think the version I got is as close to the truth as it gets.

The story goes: While in town on business with Nick Valentine, General Taylor takes a job with Bobbi No-Nose. Now, I’ve been in and out of Goodneighbor enough times to know that name and Bobbi is almost as shady as Deacon/Brian/Mr. Pants-on-Fire. Taylor, being new to the Commonwealth, and new to this century if you’re inclined to believe number two on this list, jumps right in without doing any research on her new employer. Daisy said Taylor took the job under the impression that they would be robbing Diamond City.

Best I can tell, General Taylor operates on her own code of ethics and morality. She’s big on protecting the little folks and solving problems with talk instead of bullets when possible. She doesn’t discriminate against ghouls or synths and the entire Castle heard her vent her entire spleen and some of her lower intestine to boot on “Elder” Maxson over the radio when she found out The Brotherhood was taking crops and supplies from some of the Minutemen settlements. Even so, she took the job with No-Nose, so she was either desperate for caps or the idea of filching from those pretentious dicks in Diamond City didn’t ping her conscience. I personally like to think it’s the latter.

Whatever the reason, General Taylor throws in with No-Nose and doesn’t find out the real target is Hancock until they’ve got his scary-ass lieutenant waving a mini-gun in their faces, at which point, Taylor turns on Bobbi.

This is where the story diverges one of two ways: either Taylor puts a bullet between Bobbi No-Nose’s eyes or she convinces Bobbi to run. Daisy’s account says Taylor let Bobbi go (and that’s the one that lines up with what I’ve seen of Taylor so far). Either way, afterwards, Taylor hoofs it back to Goodneighbor to apologize to Hancock in person for her fuck up of epic proportions and somehow manages to acquire herself a ghoul bestie.

Almost no one believes any version of this story because everyone agrees that anyone trying to rob Hancock, accidentally or otherwise, would be buried in a shallow grave. Goodneighbor’s a rough place and the Mayor has a reputation as a chem head and as a man who has no compunctions about putting down anyone who challenges him. But (and if anyone tells him I said this, I’ll deny it with my dying breath) he’s also a big softie.

No really! He’s got an entire floor in that statehouse dedicated to sleeping space for folks who don’t have anywhere else to go. I know because six years ago, I was one of them. I had a run of bad luck with jobs and ended up in Goodneighbor without two caps to rub together. I was dirty, hungry, and when I got clonked on the head by some shithead in an alleyway who wanted my boots, Hancock let me crash in the statehouse until I was able to walk six paces without passing out. Hell, he was the one who carried me up there after he snatched my boots back from the guy who mugged me. And before you ask, -- yes, I’m sure it was him. I may have been concussed, but that red coat is pretty unforgettable. And who the fuck else wears a tri-corner hat?

Anyway, despite his hardass rep, I don’t think Hancock would shoot a lady for accidentally not-quite robbing him.

So there you go. That’s nowhere near a complete list, but this is getting long and Benji says I have to wrap it up so he and the rest of these yahoos can get me drunk for my birthday.

Until next time, this is Charlie Chapman of the Commonwealth Minutemen telling you to stay safe out there.

[aggressive-positivity-network]

do any of the mercs play board games?

Mercopoly (Board Game

Headcanons)

Scout:

You think he has enough of an attention span to play something that doesn’t involve sweating out his energy drinks?

Hell no!

He gets very bored very quickly, especially with something complex like chess.

He’ll play cards sometimes, but only Crazy Eights and Go Fish - that’s all he knows how to play.

However, there is one true board game he plays occasionally: Candy Land.

It’s one of the few board games that you don’t really have to read the rules for, and there isn’t any writing on the cards.

However, he only asks to play it when he’s not feeling very well.

Medic even has a page in his medical journal for the mercs that says, and I quote:

“The Scout has an extremely short attention span, and if an activity isn’t active or immersive, he will not stay long. If at any point he chooses a sedentary activity, a check-up is in order.”

As sad as it is, a request to play Candyland is a good way to know if Scout needs a little extra reassurance or support.

By the end of the game, Scout usually feels more himself, whether he wins or not.

Engie is especially good with Scout when he’s this way, being the one of the most emotionally sensitive of the group. But he also knows Scout would never admit straight-away how he was feeling, so he usually has a more fun way of getting answers.

“You feelin’ more like a King Candy or a Lord Licorice?”

“...Fudge Monster.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah...”

Spy:

If you ask him, he will most likely go off on a tangent about chess, and how it’s a game of strategy, deception, and crushing your enemy with your wit.

He scoffs at any other game, and constantly makes fun of several of his more intelligent peers for finding interest in them.

“You are mercenaries. Blood-thirsty killers of men. And you are playing ‘Hungry, Hungry Hippos’ like a hoarde of kindergartners?”

But one thing he cannot resist is Sorry.

He considers it above normal board games because it has strategy - or at least that what he says.

He actually just likes it because it’s a game of revenge, which is like a drug to him.

He’s gotten so good at it that if he asks you to play Sorry with him, it’s almost guaranteed that he’s mad at you and just wants to let off some steam by giving you a horrendous loss. However, occasionally, he’s the one who loses.

Spy isn’t a poor sport, exactly - he’s too cultured for that - but sometimes his pride outweighs his manners and he convinces himself that the other player cheated through made up signs of deception.

He simply “allows” them to win because he “doesn’t want to make a fuss.”

But god help the unfortunate soul who decides to rub their win in his face.

Sniper had won five games in a row, and it was clear Spy was getting hot under the collar.

Sniper ended their games with a mischievous, “You’ll get ‘em next time, tiger.” and a small pat on his shoulder.

Spy immediately saw red, grabbed Sniper’s hand, and before the aussie knew it, he was against a concrete wall with a butterfly knife to his throat.

“I could kill you right now. Your final cry for Medic will be drowned in blood, and I would leave you here to die a painful, dramatic death. You’ll be replaced with a rusted trash can of a bot until they could grow another clone of you. Every memory will be gone. The team will be shrouded in grief, not because of losing you, but losing what the clone can never have. And I shall bide my time, ask the clone to play the same game, and kill them when they win. Another clone, another kill. And again. And again. And again. You think the Manns give a damn as long as their work is getting done? You will never be able to form a single thought before I spill your blood - caught in an eternal prisoner’s dilemma where you always lose.”

After gathering his bearings, Sniper finally spoke.

“Is this about your takeout?”

Spy scoffed.

“Do you really think - !”

“Tonight, my treat if you don’t kill me.”

Spy squinted.

“Egg rolls?”

“And an extra order of crab rangoon.”

“Your treat?”

“Yep.”

“How do I know you won’t poison me?”

“Chemical test before and after the food arrives.”

“How do I know Medic isn’t in on it?”

“Miss Pauling as a witness and Scout as an overseer. Pauling’s main objective is to keep us alive, and Scout can’t do bloody anything subtle, even if he wanted to. You can also play back the cameras in the lab, if the mood really struck ya.”

Spy held Sniper against the wall for a minute or two while he thought it all over, then let Sniper fall to the ground.

“I don’t need your sympathy, bushman. But you had better keep your end of the deal. I am the only backstabber around here.”

Demo:

Can’t even stay awake long enough to play most board games.

On the rare chance that he’s sober, he, Engie, and Medic like to play Monopoly.

Here’s the thing: you should never ask a drunkard, an engineer, and a sadist genius to play Monopoly together. It will not end well.

They have been playing the same game for years, with new rules in place and physical extensions to the board in order to try and end the game. Every other Friday, they take the weekend to try and finish it.

However, it all ends up fruitless.

Demo is usually the one keeping the peace, since he is the least competitive out of the three. That isn’t to say he isn’t clawing for the win as much as the other two, but he is definitely the least invested. He’s mostly staying out of principle.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, ‘s ta ne’er give up, e’en when the goin’s gettin’ tough. Roll the dice, doc.”

Despite his confidence, he’s not even sure what he would do if he or anyone else won. It would seem more like a relief than a celebration.

Medic:

He’s the one who started the Eternal Monopoly game, which has led to some theories that the game itself came straight from hell, and is one of the many punishments used on sinners. The box does smell a bit of brimstone…

He seems to enjoy the chaos that each round brings and the challenge of coming up with new rules to the game. To any outsider, his commentary and directions are complete nonsense.

“According to zhe ‘Calvinball Rule,’ as stated by Engineer, and the ‘Double Kill,’ as stated by myself, since the current time ends vis a three and ve all received at least two kills zhis veek, ve need to double every other roll and whomever loses zhe resulting game of ‘Bim Bum’ vill have to go to zhe Purple Jail.”

The rules and mechanics are like an unholy amalgamation of Monpoly, Sorry, chess, D&D, Bluff, and poker.

However, when Medic isn’t stapling pages of rules together, he likes to play a nice, relaxing game of checkers with Heavy.

Both of them are excellent checker players, but neither of them care who wins.

In fact, they usually talk over the game, taking the other player’s pieces as one of them shares a story from that day’s battle.

They’ve even played while Heavy was in surgery - leading to many unfortunate times when Medic had to fish a piece out of Heavy’s intestines.

One would think that a genius doctor would also have a passion for chess, but he expresses his disdain for it almost every time the checker board is brought out.

“Ach, people think chess is such an intelligent sport. Let me tell you, liebling, it is terribly overrated. If zhe devil can play chess, anyvun can. He might as vell just give souls avay, vis those shaky claws of his.”

Engineer:

Being the engineer, he is usually the one to add to the Eternal Monopoly.

Pieces, board extensions, cards, trivia - it gives him a nice break from all the weaponry.

He’s usually the one who remembers all the mechanics and rules, and serves as the judge if rules contradict each other.

“Alright, now let’s see here…we’ve got the Infinity Loop over here, but now you’ve got the Time Travel card…how many years? Infinite? Ho boy…looks like I’m gonna have to add a Hilbert’s Hotel square somewhere. Hold on…”

Despite his affinity for Eternal Monopoly, Engineer will play almost any board game. He learns new rules and figures quickly, and enjoys the challenges that brings.

However, if he’s particularly burnt out, he likes to take a break by playing Jenga. He and Spy have a friendly rivalry, since Engie can tell which blocks are supporting and Spy has quick fingers.

Spy, oddly, is a lot more amiable losing in Jenga - he knows Engie won’t think less of him - but Engineer hates when the bricks fall over. Not because it means he lost, but because, to him, it’s a failure on his part…even if it was someone else that knocked it over.

He’s made several blueprints for the perfect Jenga game, but has concluded that no human hand could put it into practice.

During one particularly bad day, Engie bumped the table, causing the whole column to come crashing down. Spy had already recovered from the noise, but Engie was still standing there, stone-faced.

His eyes were covered by his goggles, but it was clear he was crying.

Several of his machines had broken on the job, and to him, this was just another egregious mistake.

Spy carefully put the blocks back in the container, and Engie came to his senses.

“I’m real sorry, Spy. Maybe another time…?”

Spy only nodded. He was thinking.

The next time they played, Spy brought out a different container.

Instead of wood, the bricks seemed to be made of a sturdy foam.

“They fall a bit more…quietly,” Spy explained. He dropped one, and it only made a small bouncing sound. “Pyro uses these, but they allowed me to borrow it.”

Engie was a bit skeptical at first, since it was a new material, but he got the hang of it rather quickly. He was almost ecstatic the first time it fell - the blocks barely made any sound at all!

After a few games, Spy had to leave for an assignment. Engie put a hand on their arm.

“Thank ya, Spy. Maybe you ain’t the cold-blooded backstabber I thought you were.”

Spy chuckled, but said little else. He didn’t want to admit that noise sensitivity plagued him as well.

Pyro:

Pyro loves board games, and has quite the collection in their room.

Each plastic piece is at least a little melted, and all the boxes have two or three scorch marks.

Hungry Hungry Hippos, Candyland, and Uno are among her favorites.

He is an absolute beast at Uno, though.

They take each game very seriously, especially when they can convince the whole team to play.

As you can imagine, it’s pure chaos - it even led to a rule in the Merc Guidebook: “When playing Uno with three or more players with the inclusion of a Pyro, at least one Mann Co. representative and/or a mediating Medic must be present.”

Pyro has been known the hide cards, bribe players, or even try to set flame to competition. Playing Uno is almost like a mission, with weapon preparation and Spy posing as other players.

The mercs even have a betting stand that Sniper runs. All parties have lost a lot of money that way.

It’s pretty much the only time outside of battle that the team remembers how cruel and malicious Pyro can be.

Sniper:

Conventional board games aren’t exactly his forté, but he does enjoy a bit of cards every once in a while - Solitaire being his favorite.

He even has a pack of cards in his Sniper Square for that exact purpose. It allows him the pass the time without having to look away from his targets too often.

On occasion, he could be pressed to play poker, but only if the stakes weren’t monetary (i.e candy pieces, crackers, duties, etc.).

His favorite part of every match is shuffling the cards. Pretty much every merc could shuffle cards, but Sniper could make them almost float with how quick his fingers and wrists moved. He always began the game with a new trick he learned, which delighted his fellow players (usually Spy, Engineer, Medic, and Demo).

You could always tell if he had a busy day because he would avoid tricks with too much movement, which would be murder on his sore fingers and hands.

Pyro is currently learning card tricks from Sniper, and show off what they learn at the beginning of every Uno game.

Heavy:

He isn’t a huge fan of the bright, plastic-y board games that Pyro has, although he will play them if asked.

It’s mostly because of how complicated the rules are and the fact there are almost never a Russian translation for the directions.

He always prefers checkers, cards, or mancala, which he almost exclusively plays with Medic because he’s the only one who speaks fluent Russian.

Heavy can play a mean game of mancala, though, and it’s the only game he can beat Medic at.

Soldier:

The only games he will play are Battleship and Uno - but only after Miss Pauling convinced him it was ��American enough” because the game had red, white, and blue cards.

He prefers the electronic Battleship because of the sound effects and voices. However, if it’s out of batteries, he’ll make his own sound effects.

Miss Pauling is the best at pretending to be a commander, so she’s usually the one playing with him - but, sometimes, Demo gets in on the action, too.

[nightingaelic]

Fallout 4 companions react to meeting Arcade Gannon?

Ever the curious neighbor, as soon as the sole survivor spotted the blonde, bespectacled man at the bar in the Dugout Inn, they drifted over and struck up a conversation. A drink or two later, the two were swapping tales about wasteland encounters, pointing at various holes in their travel clothes and pairing them up with fantastic backstories. When the sole survivor's companion finally swung open the door, they were given an inviting wave.

"Sit down!" the sole survivor encouraged them. "First round's on me. I'd like you to meet Arcade."

Cait: "Hiya handsome." Cait winked at the man in the lab coat and leaned on the bar. "I'm Cait. Never seen you around before. Where is it you're comin' from?"

"I, uh..." Arcade adjusted his glasses and ran a hand through his wavy hair. "West of here. Nowhere in particular."

"A free spirit, then? Just passin' through?" Cait looked him up and down. "Think the Science! Center might be lookin' for a new egghead, if those clothes aren't just for show."

Arcade tugged on his outfit self-consciously. "I thought it might keep Commonwealth raiders from shooting me on sight, if they thought I was a doctor."

Cait bobbed her head in a noncommittal way. "Or they might see you as an easy target. That is, if they don't spot that plasma pistol you've got in your back pocket."

Codsworth: "Hello to you, sir!" Codsworth exclaimed, bobbing excitedly. "Codsworth, at your service. Might I say, it is a fine occasion to meet someone nowadays who appreciates the importance of good hygience and care for one's appearance."

"Thank you," Arcade said, with a somewhat quizzical glance at the sole survivor. "And you belong to..."

"Well, I belong to him just as much as he belongs to me," the sole survivor jumped in to explain.

Codsworth waved them off. "Not to worry, the conventional assumptions are not unwarranted. I am happy to accompany and assist in wasteland adventures as necessary. When not necessary, I typically clean the house."

Curie: "Monsieur Arcade," Curie purred, with the special enthusiasm she reserved for introductions. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance. You can call me Curie. Have you been in Diamond City long?"

"Not long at all," Arcade replied, clearly intrigued by Curie's accent. “Parlez-vous français?"

"Oui, Monsieur!" Curie exclaimed. "Le français est si rare de nos jours. Où avez-vous appris?"

"Oh, um... des... des livres, principalement," Arcade stammered. "Books. It's not as good as my Latin, I'm sorry."

"Latin?" Curie switched gears instantly. "Etiam magis rara."

Arcade laughed. "Well, not where I'm from. Who are you? Linguists are practically unicorns, nowadays."

Curie sighed. "It is a long story. Perhaps we wait until Vadim brings the drinks, and we can compare notes?"

Danse: "Ad victoriam, Arcade." Paladin Danse shook the newcomer's hand with gusto. "Paladin Danse, with the Brotherhood of Steel."

Arcade's eyes narrowed. "Brotherhood of Steel?"

"That's correct, citizen," Danse replied proudly.

"Uh-huh." Arcade looked back to the sole survivor. "I had no idea they were in the area. Are you stationed in Diamond City?"

"Brotherhood operations are a strictly classified matter," Danse answered, furrowing his brow. "But our main base of operations is at the Boston airport, where the Prydwen is docked. You can't miss it."

"Well, that explains it." Arcade examined his drink, avoiding eye contact with the Paladin. "I didn't come in from the north. I'm sure it's a sight to see."

Deacon: "Nice to meet you." Deacon declined the handshake, instead crossing his arms and cocking his head to the side. "Nice tan. Been on the road long?"

"Too long," Arcade replied, retracting his hand and returning the calculated look.

Deacon grinned. "Alright, I won't pry. Welcome to Diamond City. Did Vadim try to poison you yet?"

"You watch it, John Doe!" Vadim shot back from halfway down the bar. "Or I call the guards, see if you actually do work the midnight shift, ya?"

"You can walk down to Danny's sign-up sheet for shifts and check yourself!" Deacon's grin grew wider. "And I'll tend bar. We'll see who can do a better job of it."

Dogmeat: Dogmeat approached the man's open hand, which he gave a good sniff. Soap, hot dust, a whiff of plasma cartridges: Nothing out of the ordinary. Satisfied, the dog opened his mouth to pant, tongue lolling, and accepted the scratch behind the ears.

Hancock: "Arcade, huh?" Hancock gave the man a winning smile and took one of the open stools. "I'm Hancock. First time in Diamond City? You're gonna love it here. Vadim and his brother really know how to knock you on the floor."

As if to demonstrate, Vadim delivered three shots of Bobrov's Best to the little group. "On the house," he offered. "Celebrating Mayor Hancock's newest business deal with yours truly."

Hancock threw his back, and when Arcade hesitated, he threw that shot back too. "Next one, buddy."

"Did he say Mayor Hancock?" Arcade asked. "Mayor of Diamond City?"

"Nah, nah." Hancock laughed. "God, wouldn't that be a riot. Ever hear of a town called Goodneighbor?"

MacCready: "Arcade." MacCready shook the man's hand warily. "Like the pre-war places that have a whole bunch of games inside them?"

"Actually, like the..." Arcade made a face. "You know what, never mind. Like the pre-war arcades, yeah."

"Oh, man." MacCready grinned. "There was this one I found once in the Capital Wasteland, mostly broken down of course, but it had one working machine in it. The Red Menace Whac-a-Commie. Someone took the whackers ages ago, but the little Red Menace guys still popped up and down. Duncan- my son- loved it."

Arcade chuckled. "Yeah, they're... they're fun. I found a Hoop Shot once, but the basketballs were all dried-up and flat."

"Gotta get yourself a Pip-Boy," MacCready replied, nudging the sole survivor's shoulder affectionately. "This one has a collection of mini-games for theirs. Atomic Command, Grognak & the Ruby Ruins, Pipfall... all the greats. Oh, I'm MacCready, by the way."

Valentine: "Nick Valentine. Pleased to meet you." Nick shook the man's extended hand with practiced warmth, giving him time to realize the metal grasp he offered was not a cybernetic, and the scar around his jawline was actually just where his synthetic skin ended.

True to form, the stranger's eyebrows shot up, his grip slackened and his mouth dropped open. "You're a... what are you?"

Nick gave him the standard line. "I'm a detective. But, if you're referring to the plastic and platinum bits, I'm also a synthetic man. All the parts, minus a few red blood cells."

"Whoa." Instead of the typical scramble to put some distance between the two of them, Nick was surprised to find Arcade's handshake tighten again at this explanation. "I've heard of people like you, but never thought I'd actually meet one. Er, well, one that was obviously living as a synth. Though I guess you don't have much of a choice, huh?"

Piper: "Arcade? Piper Wright." The reporter shook the newcomer's hand firmly. "So, what's your story? What brings you to the Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth?"

"I uh..." Arcade looked flustered, despite Piper's encouraging smile.

The sole survivor came to his defense. "Leave him be, Piper, he just got into town," they scolded playfully.

"What?" Piper asked innocently. "Can't the town reporter ask questions around here without everyone telling me I'm being too nosy?"

"No."

"Town reporter?" Arcade perked up. "Is that your newspaper, on the way in? Public... something?"

"Publick Occurrences," Piper answered with pride. "Covering anything and everything worth hearing about that happens in the Commonwealth."

Preston: "Welcome to Diamond City, Arcade." Preston shook the man's hand warmly. "I'm Preston Garvey with the Commonwealth Minutemen."

"Minutemen?" Arcade asked, clearly unfamiliar with the term.

"We're citizen soldiers," Preston explained. "The people of the Commonwealth banding together to protect ourselves and decide our own future."

"So sort of like a free state?" Arcade straightened up. "Or do you have some kind of command structure?"

"Command structure." Preston chuckled and glanced at the sole survivor. "You're looking at it."

Strong: "Strong need to get moving," the super mutant replied, rubbing his big hands together. "Milk of human kindness not here."

Arcade took the mutant in with the air of someone who had dealt with somewhat-friendly specimens before. "I can ask the bartender if they have brahmin milk."

The sole survivor waved him off. "No, that's not what he-"

"Puny humans do not have milk!" Strong cut in.

"Wait, milk of human kindness?" Arcade looked confused. "Is that... Macbeth?"

The sole survivor sighed. "It's a long story."

X6-88: "Good afternoon." Rather than sit down, X6-88 adopted a protective stance of the sole survivor, completely ignoring the hand Arcade was offering. "I hope you know that if harm comes to this individual, your life will come to a swift end."

"Uh-huh." Arcade retracted his hand. "Bodyguard?"

"Of a sort."

Arcade turned to the sole survivor instead. "Is he always this much of a stick in the mud?"

They shrugged. "He's protective and slow to trust. Give him a bit and keep your hands where he can see them, you'll be fine."

X6-88 nodded. "Affirmative."

BONUS!

Ada: "Hello sir." Ada nodded her head in greeting. "I am Ada. I hope you are enjoying your stay in Diamond City. Did you experience any trouble getting to the stadium?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Arcade replied. "Sorry, you're an amalgamation I haven't seen before. Sentry bot and protectron parts for sure, but your head is..."

"An assaultron," Ada filled in helpfully. "I take it your region does not have many of these bots?"

"No, they seem to be more of an East Coast thing."

"Just don't get on her bad side," the sole survivor joked. "You don't want to be on the receiving end of an assaultron laser."

Gage: "Well hi there!" Porter shook Arcade's hand forcefully. "Porter Gage. Talked you into trying some of this swill, did they? Brave soul."

"It's not so bad," Arcade replied with a smirk.

"Oh sure, if you're lucky enough to have Scarlett bring it to you." Porter winked at the waitress, who paused in her service to flip him the bird.

"Mmm, not my type," Arcade admitted.

"Not your ty-" Porter blurted before putting two and two together. "Oh, gotcha. Well, there's always Hawthorne."

The raider waved to the adventurer in the corner, who waved back. Arcade sank as deeply into his stool as he could and blushed.

Longfellow: "Mmm." Old Longfellow rejected Arcade's handshake and took the offered seat, swinging around to face the bar. "Storm's comin' soon. Can smell it."

"Then it's a good thing we're inside," Arcade replied, his tone unsure.

Longfellow grunted his agreement and accepted the drink Vadim slid to him, downing it quickly.

The sole survivor scowled at him. "Guess he's not in a talkative mood today."

Maxson: "Elder Arthur Maxson of the East Coast Chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel." Maxson shook Arcade's hand confidently.

Arcade, on the other hand, looked like he was being violently pulled between an instinct to flee and an intense curiosity. Curiosity won out. "Maxson? Of the line of Captain Roger Maxson?"

"High Elder Roger Maxson," the Elder corrected him. "You know of him?"

"Well sure, everybody on the West Co-" Arcade stopped himself. "Never mind. What's an Elder doing in a dive like this?"

Maxson studied him intently, clearly sizing him up. "Shore leave," he finally answered, sliding into the offered seat.

Desdemona: Desdemona smiled coolly. "I know."

The answer took Arcade aback, but the sole survivor just rolled their eyes. "Dispense with the power plays for once, Dez. We're just trying to have a drink."

The Railroad leader raised an eyebrow, but she sat down. "Suit yourself. When did you arrive in town, Mr. Gannon?"

"Oh, for the love of..."

Arcade eyed her suspiciously. "I don't remember telling you my full name."

Desdemona lit up a cigarette. "You didn't. But I'm by far the friendliest person in the Commonwealth who's wondering why a Follower of the Apocalypse is all the way out here, across the continent."

[my-own-oracle]

Hey for the valentines ask can you do MTMTE Megatron giving the reader an anonymous Valentines poem and maybe reader gives megs one too?

I really enjoyed writing this one; I hope you like it as well. (ask box is still open for valentines asks till the last 3 days of February)

Megatron couldn't help himself, not when it came to you. No matter what he did, you held a piece of his processor captive. 

You and your team had been assigned as ambassadors of sorts. Your job was to put a good impression of the human race out into the galaxy, Keep tabs on the "cybertronians of interest," as your government called him and a few others, and report once a week to your home planet and leading government officials. 

A whole crew of humans and you had snagged his optic from the beginning. It had been little things, like saying good morning to everyone you saw. Over time larger items caught his eye as well, like taking the time to learn nearly every designation of every cybertronian on board (he still had no idea how you did that, but he was impressed). But the thing that stood out most of all was this little storytelling session.

 Once a week, you came to the observation deck and told stories. It has started with just a handful of bots you had grown close to, but thanks to "word of mouth," that little group has grown—eventually, the news settled into the audials of Megatron, who came to listen. The large silver-grey mech stood in shadows, out of sight, listening to the history of your planet, personal life stories, human fiction, and folk tales. You explained everything you could to anyone who wanted to attend. 

"Let me get this straight," a young bot closer to the back interrupted. Megatron watched as you paused your story with a smile. "There's a holiday all about love on your planet. And it's celebrated because a human man was killed?"

You laughed. It was bright and soft, are too precious of a sound to Megatron's ears. "that is an extremely simplified version of the events, but yes. At least that's how the stories go."

Another bot sat up straighter "you mean there's more than one story?"

"Yes, like I was saying." You smiled, scanning the little audience you had. " There are two stories about St. Valentine's death. There's no real answer to which one is right or if there was more than one man named Valentine. But the most common one follows a simple storyline." 

Megatron watched as you got lost in the short story recalling the harsh laws of ancient Rome and the outlaw of marriage for young men meant to be soldiers. 

He was captivated by how your eyes shined, how you played with your fingers when you came to the romantic part of the story- you talked about the man who married young lovers. Risking his own life to spread love in his homeland and his murder for defying his leader. 

"overtime the day of remembrance,  it morphed into a holiday about spreading love. Sharing poems and cards and other sweet mementos" You paused. Then hurried to a small bag on the floor near you. 

"I have a few that I've gotten over the years." You pulled out paper cards, handing them out to be seen by the bots closer to you. "I've never gotten any real romantic ones or any from a secret admirer, but these kinds of cards are often given to family and friends." Your smile had vanished for a moment. Causing the ex-warlords spark to sink. 

No one had ever given you a romantic gift? That seemed impossible. You were a beautiful and kind person. So patient and understanding. The ideal specimen of your species. And no one had taken a romantic interest in you?

Megatron silently left his dark back corner. Making the long trek back to his hab-unit. He would have to fix that. 

*****

Eyes that shine brighter than the stars above. 

So foreign yet so familiar to me.

And inferno of kindness and of love.

Showing this mech what it means to be free.

I wish I knew how to speak to your heart,

Instead, I hide from you, suddenly mute. 

My mind, fixated when we are apart. 

In a way, my silver tongue can't compute.

A feeling stronger than any other,

I hide these feelings deep within my spark.

Knowing you are better with another.

I do not belong in your human heart.

A mech once born as a humble miner,

Transformed, your secret admirer.

Megatron read over his work a final time. It wasn't his best work due to the format being so foreign to him. The style was called a 'Shakespearean sonnet' and, according to his research, was considered romantic on earth. 

He had taken a few hours to compose the piece. Studying the style's intricacy and finding the right words to what he needed to say to you. 

The datapad was the third and final draft. The only thing left to do would be to deliver it. You hadn't been in your hab-unit all day, according to your unit mates. He had overheard them talking about you and took that as his cue to leave the datapad for you there. Leaving before anyone could know, he has stepped into your little home away from earth. 

It gave him a feeling of pride. Knowing he was the first to express such feelings to you in your culture's romantic way of expression. And in a form, he had only briefly studied. 

*****

A purple datapad sat on his desk. He had no clue how it got there. All of the ones he currently possessed were blue, and Ravage refused to do anything other than laugh when he asked. 

It held only a single document. 

Three little lines of text. 

He reached for the datapad he had on human poetry forms. It looked familiar to the Hiku he had briefly thought about looking deeper into. 

  Towering giant,

  You stole my heart at first glance,

  I wish you were mine.

Megatron felt his spark hum for a moment.

"Keep smiling like that, and someone's going to think you're losing your mind." Megatron glared at the Felicon, who chuckled in response. 

"Are you sure, my small friend, you don't want to share any knowledge on this poet?"

"You already know who sent it." Megatron looked back to the simple poem, yes. And it made his spark him, knowing it was from you.

.

[wolveria]

Inside Your Wires - Ch 6

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending

Chapter summary: Connor gets his new assignment. He's not thrilled.

AO3

Story moodboard by @uh-kitty-got-wet​

Chapter 5 art by @semains​ (18+ only)

November 6th, 2038

Saturday 09:56AM

There was a time when Connor didn’t have to come in on Saturdays. He remembered the days when mandatory overtime was few and far between.

Not anymore. 2038 seemed to be the year shit just kept happening, and now that he thought about it, quite a few of it seemed to be because of androids. Ones gone missing. Disobeying orders. And now, homicidal.

Connor rubbed the bridge of his nose after putting his car into park, regretting how enthusiastically he’d hit the bottle last night. It wasn’t too bad this time, just an annoying throbbing behind his eyes, but it made it more difficult to see and he’d had to squint through his windshield.

Whatever. The reason for his shame-drinking was no longer relevant. Connor just had to survive until lunchtime, and if he were lucky, Hank would let him go early. He tried not to itch at the butterfly bandages on his cheek, applied himself after he’d woken up in a haze with blood on his pillow having completely forgotten the injury existed.

Connor kept his head down as he walked through the lobby of the station and through the security checkpoint to the bullpen proper. He tried not to be completely antisocial, however, and sent weak smiles at the coworkers who bothered to notice he was there.

Helen, Alexander, and Rupert all acknowledged him with various degrees of warmth, some colder than others, and all pretty much deserved. Ralph gave Connor a nervous smile from his chair, though it quickly faded as his eyes flickered to something across the room.

Frowning, he followed Ralph’s eye line across the bullpen and scowled when he spotted Colin leaning casually against Connor’s desk, talking to… someone. He couldn’t see who, Colin’s figure blocking them from view.

Against his better judgement, Connor drew closer, pressure building at the back of his neck, an uneasy feeling of dread that increased with each step.

“Con’s just gonna love this. But seriously, if he bitches about it too much, or gives you a hard time, you can always partner up with me. I won’t mind one bit, promise.”

Connor would have rolled his eyes at his brother’s typical cocksure demeanor, but instead, he went stock still at the familiar voice that answered.

“While the offer is appreciated, Lieutenant, my instructions stipulate that I must assist Detective Anderson with his new, specialized caseload. I’m sure you can understand that CyberLife only wishes to cooperate with the DPD and does not want to interfere with police procedure—“

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The YN800 model blinked and turned its head to meet Connor’s eye, its little blue light blinking for a moment before solidifying again.

It was sitting in Connor’s chair.

“It’s good to see you again, Detective,” it answered, chipper as ever as a fake smile graced its features.

Connor looked the prototype over, his nose crinkling at its appearance. The suit must have been brand new, there were no stains or bullet holes, and her—its hair was once again pinned upwards into a perfect knot.

He felt his insides churn at the near slip, at thinking for even a split second that this thing was a person. Shoving down the crude thoughts of the night before, Connor gave the order through gritted teeth.

“Get. Up.”

The prototype did as it was told, for once. It rose out of his chair, not even having the decency to look chagrined as it straightened its jacket of nonexistent wrinkles.

“I’m sorry, Detective, but I tried to call your phone and left you a message. It was not my intention to surprise you—“

“Oh, no, it’s never your intention to do anything, is it?” Connor snarled back. His headache was in full force now, and he swore he could see the bright lights of the station brighten in time with his heartbeat.

“Aw, c’mon!” Colin slapped him on the shoulder. “Be nice to the temp.”

“Temp?” Connor answered, voice pulled as taut as a wire.

“Yeah, you know. The temporary assistant. The new girl. The—“

He shoved Colin’s hand off his shoulder, leveling a glare at both of them. Colin merely shot him a shit-eating grin while the YN800 stood there, hands clasped behind its back at parade rest, polite and perfect as ever.

“Connor!”

All three of them turned toward the voice booming across the room.

“Get in here!”

Connor glared at the android, as if Hank’s shouting were its fault, which was probably the case.

He turned without a word and stalked to the captain’s office, shoulders hunched as his heart raced and his hands shook at his sides. He let the glass door fall shut behind him, but when he didn’t hear the whoosh of it close, he glanced over his shoulder to see the YN800 had followed him inside.

Great.

Connor stood in front of the desk with his arms crossed.

Hank sat down in his chair, pointedly looking at the chairs in front of his desk. Connor remained standing.

The older man glared, answering Connor’s attitude with a look and a heavy sigh.

“Bet you’re wondering what that’s about.” Hank jerked his chin over Connor’s shoulder. The prototype had taken a spot at the back of the office, observing politely with its hands clasped in front of its hips.

“Yeah, I am.” Connor was a little too cranky this morning to try a more diplomatic approach. “What the hell is it doing here?”

“I’ll get to that. First on the docket, I got a shit ton of android-related cases filling up our database every day and I’m at wit’s end.” Hank took a deep breath, bracing himself as he met Connor’s eye. “Which is why I’m assigning all of these cases to you.”

“You’re what?”

Connor stared at him, dumbfounded.

“You think that case last night was a one-off? We’ve got more android-related crimes rolling in, including assaults and homicides just as bad as the Ortiz case, and right now, you’re the one with the most experience.” Hank leaned his elbows on his desk as he leveled a formidable glare his way. “Is that going to be a problem, Connor?”

 “Yeah, it is a problem, Hank! Why the hell do I have to do this? What about Colin? He was with me at the crime scene and was there for the interrogation!” Connor shoved a finger at the glass wall to prove his point.

Hank’s jaw tightened. Connor had seen that behavior enough times to recognize how he was pushing his luck.

“CyberLife asked for you specifically.”

“What?” Connor blinked, dumbfounded once again, racking his brain but coming up empty. “Why?”

“The hell if I know!” Hank barked back, rising to his feet as he pointed a finger at Connor, “and frankly, I don’t give a damn. Colin’s got enough on his plate—“

“—and I don’t?” Connor interrupted, scowling. Hank sighed and rubbed a hand down his face, and Connor almost felt guilty for his outburst.

Almost.

“That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you implied.” He tried not to sound like a hurt child, but, well, that’s exactly what he sounded like.

“For fuck’s sake, Connor! There are more people that are gonna start dying from this!”

“Yeah, I know, but—“

Hank lifted his hand, palm forward, effectively shutting Connor up.

“You saw what one of those deviants was capable of last night, and that was with three of you and another android trying to get it under control! You think the average person stands a chance against one of these fucks? That a little ol’ grandma can defend herself against the murderous robot gardener coming at her with a pair of shears? What the hell happens when a nanny bot decides to take a human kid for itself? Oh, wait, that’s already happened, and you would know that if you checked the goddamn case files I sent you!”

Connor was silent as Hank deflated. The older man leaned back against his desk as he looked through his glass wall out over the bullpen. His voice was rough but much quieter for the next round.

“We’re totally in the dark, Connor. We don’t know how bad this is gonna get and how many androids we’re dealing with. This has the potential to turn into a fucking nightmare with Detroit as ground zero.” Hank’s gaze drifted over Connor’s shoulder to the elephant, or the machine, in the room. “CyberLife was gracious enough to send us a state-of-the-art prototype until this issue is contained. It’s gonna be your partner until such a time that these androids are no longer a threat, and then you’re free to go back to being a misanthropic son-of-a-bitch as much as you like.”

Connor was thoroughly shamed by the end of Hank’s speech, that old familiar feeling of disappointment making his gut roil with nausea, but his anger hadn’t entirely flagged. He clenched his hands tightly to his thighs, fingers desperate for either his coin or his cigarettes.

Connor hadn’t felt the need for one in months. This was bad.

“Hank,” he tried again, his voice soft and pleading in that way he knew Hank couldn’t ignore. “I’m not saying this just to be a pain in your ass. I understand the stakes, but I genuinely believe I’m not qualified for these types of cases. I’m not a CyberLife technician, or an AI specialist, or a computer engineer. I’ve never even owned an android.”

That last one was technically true but only in the barest sense, and Hank gave him a knowing look. It wasn’t without sympathy, and his own answer was given with more kindness than he probably deserved.

“I know, Connor. I also know you’re the sharpest pair of eyes on the force, not to mention the quickest brain and the best instinct. You see shit other people don’t, even Colin, and you’ve got this creepy knack for taking one look at a person and knowing what makes ‘em tick. I’d say you’re almost like an android yourself, but I know how much that’d piss you off.”

Connor gave him another narrow-eyed scowl, and Hank immediately put up his hands as a sign of surrender even as a smirk played on his lips.

“My point is, I need you on this, son. I know it’s not ideal, hell, it downright sucks, but I know you can do this. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

And there it was. As effective as Connor’s pleading expressions could be, they were nothing in comparison to his need for Hank’s praise. The old geezer knew it, too.

And throwing a “son” into the mix was a goddamn dirty move, but Connor couldn’t even muster up annoyance. He just sighed, gave Hank the smallest hint of a smile, and said, “All right. But only until these cases are solved. Once the deviancy issue is addressed, the prototype is going back to CyberLife and you never give me an android case again.”

“I’ll pay for the postage to ship it back myself,” Hank said, smile wide and pleased as he patted Connor on the shoulder before returning to his desk. “And I want daily reports on the progress you and your new partner are making. Gotta make sure CyberLife’s best is pulling its weight.”

“I can assure you, Captain Anderson, I am worth every penny. And considering it took a small fortune to build me, I—“

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank interrupted the prototype, using that catchphrase that Connor and all of his brothers had picked up years ago. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

The android blinked almost comically before giving a slow nod. It then turned to face Connor, straightening its back at attention, and he rolled his eyes. He was still being handed the shit end of the stick, but he couldn’t deny that the cases were piling up and Hank really did need the extra help.

But why, out of all the androids in the world, did it have to be one like that.

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Connor turned and left Hank’s office, not waiting to see if the android would follow, knowing with a sinking feeling, it would.

Next Chapter

[impala1967dwinchester]

Hello I just wanted to say ur amazing writer and I was wondering if I can request Winchester brother x sister reader where the reader is the youngest Winchester maybe around 16- 17 you can choose the fits but I was hoping u can do like where the reader is depressed and has ED (eating disorder ) and doesn’t tell the brothers and one day it gets worse and passed out the brothers are worried trying to help her out but it hard for her I hope this ok if not I can do different request it just I found comfort in angst topics with struggles I go through you know sorry if this doesn’t makes sense

It started years ago. To be exact it started when your father lost it, going mental on your oldest brother Dean. The three of you were thick as thieves and it physically hurt to see the complete and utter destruction your father left behind for Dean to clean up.

Living your life on the road was okay, you had two great older brothers that kept you up. Kept you in good spirits but it's hard when your whole world around you is crashing. You know it, your family knows but no one else.

How Dean and Sam ever dealt with the massive weight on their shoulders. It blew your mind. You. You weren't worth anything, especially not your mother burning on the ceiling. Your father resented you. You didn't need him to say it, because you could tell. Dean was his soldier, Sam was the disappointment, but the smartest out of the three of you. But you, you were the reason all four of you were in this mess. The reason why John was searching for that revenge every day.

Covering it up with the idea of saving people, but you were smart, so very smart. Sam had complimented you many times on your quickness, and sharpness when it came to the lore, but regarding your father, it was never the approval you were looking for.

Lots of things happened, to get you to the age of seventeen and drowning in the pit of your stomach all because you all no desire to be here anymore. You weren't helping your older brothers you were just in the way.

In the way of progress, a major setback to them. For them to prove to John that they would be like him, do like him. They'd have to leave you behind. It was for the best.

It started off as a way to conserve the little food the four of you had. At the ripe age of seven you learned quickly that offering your food to Sam was a better idea, or skipping off to lay in a shitty motel bed was better than eating. Yes your stomach would growl and the acid would burn, but anything to keep the weight of your brother off your shoulders.

As you grew up you learned that if you stayed at school as long as you could it was the best. Dean had just learned how to drive driving was his passion, reading was Sam. And yours... yours was to stay away, out of the way.

By the age of fifteen, you had your patterned packed down and tight. You leave with Sam since he drove you to school, and since he was a senior. You felt a wave of dizziness almost every morning. The night's dinner is still wrapped in its paper bag. Claiming to take it for lunch. Dean never argued with you. Kiss your forehead and hitting the pillow quicker than he hit on the girls that passed by the motel's door.

Your father was already starting to become absent. The shadow of what a perfect family no one ever talked about. You thrived in the school building though. Sam kissed your forehead his height greatly giving him the advantage before saying his goodbyes to you and running to meet with his senior friends.

You walked alone in the hallways. The bullying started almost immediately the second you stepped into the building. Near of my brothers were aware of the shit I went through on a daily basis. Years later they still weren't.

You had settled on never telling them about my dislike for eating, you hoped and prayed most night that they'd never find out. It was better without their acknowledgment of your weakness. Who knows they might be the same way everyone was at school.

The last year had been hard for you and your brothers, your father making less, and less of an effort with all three of you. Your relationship was already straining to stay alive, the burning and hurt in the bit of your stomach was something that was constant now, and from what you could tell it wasn't going to get any better.

Your brothers are now in their early 20's still taking care of their baby sister. Nights you guys sat down for dinner were odd, without John there. The quiet days where a now older Sam would drive you to school, along by yourself all day long. The teasing being relentless.

The whole idea, you were constantly dizzy, constantly on the verge of falling asleep no matter if you were in class, or at the crappy motel room with your brothers.

Tonight though, tonight your world fell apart as you walked in through the door, your final year of schooling was just starting your summer of staying inside and reading was over. The hot day of September had gotten to you more than you were willing to say. As you walked in through the motel door, the cool air hitting you in your face, and the hot air of the evening summer day kicking you in your ass.

It was too much, down you and your light bookbag went. Dean had been on one of the motels' beds when he heard you fall, Sam behind hadn't been able to catch you even with his long arms.

You don' remember much. You do remember hearing the sounds of your brothers frantically rushing around the room, one dropping his gun, and the other rushing over to your side.

"Dean what the hell just happened?" Sam asked in a frantically worried voice. "I don't know all I heard was the engine of Baby, and then her fall to the floor," Dean said rushing to your thin frame. Neither had noticed until now when they finally had time to pay attention to their baby sister that she was rather thinner than a normal seventeen-year-old.

Paler then normal, "Sam do you notice it?" Dean asked as Sam pulled the lightweight bookbag from your small shoulders. A small hum came from Sams's lips, maybe it was too much to say it. The words making truth when they leave his lips.

Sam picked you up feeling just how boney you were. "How did we let her get this bad Dean?" He questioned, Dean kept his head down grabbing her bag and following behind Sam to the bed's side.

When you woke up your two brothers were talking quietly in the tiny kitchen. Sam saw you try to get up their conversation stopped at a halt, and they both came over to help you.

Quiet overcame the room. Dean was the first to speak. "How are you feeling, Y/n?" He asked, you shrugged your shoulders, the ache in your body was strong, but not enough to make that your brother's problems.

"Y/n please be honest with us... Is this the first time something like this has happened?" Your brother Sam asked. Swallowing hard, before talking you answered Dean's question. "I feel fine guys really nothing to worry about." Answering Sams was going to be harder, you don't really remember the last time something like this happened, maybe last week in school, maybe a few years ago. "I don't remember Sam." That was all you said. Sad expression littered their coarse and worn faces.

"Y/n, how long have been like this?" Dean asked, furrowed brows as he asked the question. "Like what?" You replied. "Like how you don't eat at dinner and think we don't notice, how long Y/n? Just answer please." Dean said.

You tried opening your mouth, but the pressure of being truthful with your brothers was overbearing. Trying again and still, nothing slipped out. Sam ur interrupted your train of thought. "Since dad started on with his hunt for yellow eyes?" Simple questions always have a simple answer.

"If you want an honest answer I'd say seven or eight." You said, pushing yourself up from laying in the bed to sitting up against the headboard. The gasps for air were real between your two brothers. One hand came to rest on top of yours while the other paced around the motel room.

Your guess as to which was mad, and empathic wasn't hard for you. Dean pacing around the room meant he was angry, and Sam's empathic hand on top of yours meant he to wanted help. "Why didn't you tell us?" Dean questioned me, Sam turned to look at his older brother. "That won't help, we were talking remember. We need to help her, bot questions her about her actions or even her reason why." Sam said, Dean, calm down as he continued to pace.

Sam returned his attention to you. Hand still laying on top of yours, "Y/n why don't we, all the three of us help you yeah?" He said you laughed a little and Dean looked up from his pacing feet. "I don't think you guys could ever help me. I've been and felt this way for ten years now. This is just how I am now. Broken and worthless to this Winchester family." You said the strain of holding back was harder than you thought. Dean had paused his pacing staring at you and Sams's hand had engulfed yours.

Dean came over, putting his finger under your chin, grabbing your attention. "You listen here, to Sam and I. We care more about you than you'll ever know. We don't care what any person thinks, we don't care about Dad as much as we care about our little sister. Now believe me when we say that all we want to do is help you, helping you is what Sam and I are here for. Y/n you aren't alone, you aren't, worthless, and you most definitely aren't broken. We can help you all you have to do is let us in." Dean said sitting down next to you when he was down.

"We love you and don't wanna see so much potential be wasted especially when we knew we could have helped you," Sam added. You were having a hard time believing them, but nothing would stop you from trying especially when you had your brothers by your side.

[sparklingpax]

A Different Side (2/2)

Summary: Optimus comes back from an unsuccessful mission and seems to be out of sorts…but there’s more to that story.

///

A/N:

-Part 1 arguably where I should have ended it :’)

-Literally been a year and I apologize so hard sdjdj ;w; also this part is too long asfsksdjfl aaa 

-BEFORE YOU ATTACK ME, this is not “the first time optimus ever makes a joke!!!” kind of story, despite how much it looks like that. It’s just. something,,,

-as usual, there are definitely typos and mistakes; hopefully I get around to fixing them aha ^^’’ Also please don’t mind the weird spacing, for some reason the way I type things out never seems to translate well to when I put it here so,,,

-please I’m literally not funny, my humor is broken 😀 Like, I didn’t quite know how to continue or conclude this, and it’s not creative or interesting at all and it highkey doesn’t make sense tbh?? so aaa qwq I just hope it’s not too cringe,,,,but I did say I’d finish it so rather than keep y’all waiting any longer than I already have, here it is....part 2....

-I just. wanna apologize again that it took so long and this scrappy second bit is all I have to show for it. hh. 

///

             “At last…” Ratchet sighed contentedly to himself.

             He carefully placed two pieces of metal together and wielded them to one smooth shape.

             Stepping back to admire his work, smiling a little, he then picked it up and started towards the supply room. 

             After a long day of work, Ratchet was pleased to finally be able to place the repaired tool back on its shelf and retreat to his room for a few hours of quiet reading.

             Maybe three at the very most, he wagered his bet with a slight grimace. 

             After all, it was commonplace for commotion to interrupt his every attempt to enjoy himself quietly.

             Such is my fate. 

             However, hearing a familiar set of footsteps thumping slowly down the halls, Ratchet paused.

             “Optimus? Is that you?”

             He leaned to the side and peered down the hall.

             Said mech emerged from the corridor and into the medic’s view. He had a funny look in his eye as he came to a stop quite abruptly. 

             He placed his hands on his hips and regarded Ratchet for a strange few moments of….awkward silence…before speaking.

             “Ratchet,” his voice tremored almost imperceptibly, “Would you consider me…humorous?”

             The medic blinked at him. He was officially more confused.

             He had been just about to ask what had happened to upset him so much earlier, or if there was anything he wanted to talk about, one-on-one.

             After all, from time to time, Optimus would reach a point where he could no longer bear whatever was troubling him. And of course, Ratchet was right there for him, ready to listen and help. In the end, he was able to get Optimus to say what was troubling him, and they would talk about it or they wouldn’t. But something about the way Optimus walked away each time told Ratchet he’d done at least something to help.

             “…Ratchet?” Optimus prompted him gently, eyes showing a little concern.

             Scrap, I still haven’t answered his question—Ratchet, focus!

             Still, the thought drifted through the recesses of his mind: had Optimus…not been upset in the first place? 

             If so...what had it been all about? 

             Or was he simply reading too much into it?

             At a loss as to how to answer, the medic fumbled for a word to say in response. 

             He actually didn’t know, now that he thought about it. 

             Optimus—or Orion, even—had never really attempted to be funny before as far as Ratchet knew...which Ratchet was well aware that he didn’t know everything. It couldn’t be a yes or no. Of course, there were moments Orion was humorous, everyone has their moments.

              No, he means funny—as in, on a regular basis, as something part of his personality, even. And to that....

             A more appropriate response was ‘why?’ 

            But Ratchet knew better than to snark at Optimus like that. It was uncalled for, at the moment.  

             Perhaps Megatron would be more likely to know.

             After all, it had been him Orion had spent the most time with back in those days.

             As if I could just call him and ask! 

             “W-well, Optimus, I wouldn’t really know that!” Ratchet paused, feeling slightly guilty for his tone of voice just then. “You’ve never tried to be…that I knew of, anyway…”

             Optimus just nodded slowly. That weird glint in his optics remained. It hit him that something seemed….different. Like the Prime was planning on...doing something. 

             Just then, footsteps alerted the two of Jack’s arrival. He came into view, leaning against the wall and panting. He pointed wordlessly at Optimus for a second, trying to catch his breath. Ratchet stared at him, somehow growing more confused as the seconds passed. Then, finally, Jack straightened, managing to say what he’d wanted to.

             “Optimus was…not upset…”

             “What?!” Ratchet practically squawked. “What?!”

             Optimus glanced from Jack to Ratchet, looking surprised for all of a moment, then simply nodded. Just then, Arcee, Bumblebee, and Bulkhead returned to base. Their engines could be heard from all the way down the corridor. They skidded to a halt in front of Optimus and Ratchet, transforming a backing up a bit.

             “Oh no,” Bulkhead murmured to his teammates. “Cue pissed-off Ratchet.”

             And pissed Ratchet was. 

             He had been worried for his friend.

             “Wh—then—why on earth did you go off to your room in such a huff?!” The medic exclaimed, setting down the newly-repaired tool not-so-gently.

             “That is—”

             “AND WHY WOULDN’T YOU OPEN THE DOOR?!”

             “I—”

             Just as Optimus was about to answer, a proximity alarm went off. Everyone gathered wordlessly around the main computer screen as Ratchet pulled up the video feed. He rolled his optics, sighing heavily.

             Instantly everyone knew it could only be Agent Fowler.

             Jack took this opportunity to attempt to get Optimus’s attention and pull him aside for a second. He waved and whispered the Prime’s name.

             When Optimus finally heard him, he departed from the group and made his way over to Jack, kneeling down when the human motioned for it.

             “Hey, Optimus,” Jack started, a bit awkwardly. “Sorry—uh……so....I saw what you were watching…”

             “Oh…” Optimus instantly looked kind of embarrassed. “Well, I was….admittedly….curious.”

             Jack tilted his head.

             In the background, their liaison to the government was shouting something about Bumblebee and a burger joint parking lot, to which Ratchet was defending his teammate and annoyedly asking how it could be his fault or problem.

             “After yesterday,” Optimus began to elaborate quietly, “Miko said...something to Ratchet. It dawned on me that Earth humor is much different from Cybertronian humor—which, in honesty, I never knew much about anyway.”

             “You mean when she yelled ‘in this world, it’s yeet or be yeeted’ to Ratchet after he asked why Bulkhead decided to throw that guy he was fighting?”

             “Yes.”

             “So…” Jack sighed. He looked so confused. “You looked up vines?”

             “No, Jack,” Optimus responded rather seriously. “I used the Google Engine program you children seem to enjoy so much—”

             Enjoy…not when you have friends like mine, Optimus. I’ve seen some things...

             “—to find the meaning of ‘yeet.’ Through my research, I came across the concept you humans refer to as…” his optics flicked to the ceiling for a second as he held up a hand and air-spelled the word, trying to remember the pronunciation. “…Memes.”

             “You…you found memes?” Jack repeated, as if he couldn’t process this. 

             “Yes, Jack,” Optimus affirmed, looking very pleased with himself. He had that same sparkle as when he watched his teammates laugh, when he was tired but relieved everyone returned from a mission alive.

             Except. It was for memes he found. On the internet.

             Jack was about to ask another question when Optimus abruptly stood up again. He put a finger against his lip in a shushing motion, smirking ever so slightly. A twinkle in his eye told Jack all he needed to know.

             “O-Optimus, which videos did you exactly—”

             “Vine is no longer dead!!” Optimus whispered a little too excitedly.

             And then he winked.

             “This is a dream,” Jack murmured in disbelief as he heard Optimus walk away.

             He was apparently going to try to make vine jokes.

             Jack knew it would be hilarious, but he was also worried for the Prime’s dignity. 

             Oh, Lord.

///

            “Oh, YOU want to hang up on ME?!”

            “THAT’S DAMN RIGHT,” Ratchet hollered back, “YOU CAN TAKE YOUR COMPLAINTS AND SHOVE THEM UP YOUR—”

             ‘Ratchet!!!’ Bumblebee cut in, looking rather uneasy. He hated it when people were shouting at each other like that.

             The medic whipped around and Bumblebee flinched a bit. The older mech was fuming.

             He had been in a generally awful mood after the events of the day, and as the seconds of silence passed, he realized just how angry he was—or at least, how he seemed to everyone else.

             Can’t vent frustrations like this, Ratchet—you have to talk it out. He stared back up at the computer screen and watched Agent Fowler straighten his tie as he started up again.

             “Now you listen to me, Ratchet. Neither I—nor my superiors—will tolerate your—”

             Ratchet decided he’d had enough of dealing with others’ foul moods, because they were only making him even more upset.  

             “Agent Fowler, I’m frankly not the bot you want to talk to right now. These are not my doings, you in fact have no qualms with me. All you do is call us up and gripe at us, and no one here appreciates it,” he hissed at him, having toned his voice down to a mild stern one.

             “HEY!! DON’T YOU DARE—”

             “Goodbye.”

             And with a simple tap, the base fell silent again.

             “Well….that’s that,” Arcee said.

             “Yup,” Bulkhead agreed.

             ‘Why is Fowler so aggressive all the time?’ Bumblebee buzzed, annoyed. Arcee shifted her weight and shrugged.

             “He wants what’s best for humans, and he’s concerned for the planet. I mean, yeah--he has the right to tell us to be careful and all,” she made her guess. Then her optic twitched as she, too began to look rather irked. “But he’s so….”

             “Insufferably rude,” Ratchet finished for her. Arcee nodded.

             ‘And…loud.’

             After a moment of attempting to compose himself, Ratchet turned to Optimus, who had discreetly drawn up beside them.

             The medic was about to ask him what the scrap he’d been doing and why he left Ratchet to fight with Agent Fowler on his own. It was usually Optimus who took the calls, and that’s why there wasn’t always an argument like this. Fowler would yell at Optimus, but not for long.

             They had some kind of interesting mutual respect for one another. Of course, all the bots respected Fowler—even when he was being overly aggressive—but Optimus seemed to even get along with the government agent in a special way.

            Even more of a reason he should have been the one to talk to him.

            So, Ratchet was annoyed. Or he was.

             It was then he noticed the grin on his leader’s face. His first question was understandably, why.

             Before Ratchet could speak, Optimus put up one digit and tapped it against his lips, as if to signal for quiet.

             “I apologize,” he said solemnly, leaning a bit closer to Ratchet. The medic felt his spark begin to pound, and was sure that some color was heading to his face. He swallowed.

             “That’s alright….but, uhm…what were you doing instead?”

             “I was discussing with Jack a rather important finding…” he responded quietly. Ratchet tilted his head at Optimus.

             Arcee and Bulkhead exchanged confused looks. Bumblebee debated leaving the room or asking what exactly he was talking about.

             It was at that moment, Optimus bit his lip, visibly trying to hard not to laugh. He then took a shaky breath and stood straight.

             “Ratchet, I have but one question.”

              Tentatively, Ratchet moved the conversation forward. 

             “…yes?”

             Optimus pointed to his tools lying on the metal surface behind the two, and with the most level tone, spoke.

             “...What are thoooooose?”

             There was silence before Ratchet slowly and rather confusedly glanced back at the desk. He answered Optimus just as slowly. 

             “They’re.....my…reparation tools….”

             And with that, Jack lost it laughing so hard from the corner. Optimus looked on the verge of bursting into laughter himself.

             But Ratchet wasn’t laughing. He just stood, blank. 

             Very quickly, Optimus realized no one else was laughing either—except for Jack, of course—because they also looked like they were trying to process this.

             He felt a pang of worry.

             Even if gradually, Optimus had been hoping for a long while that he could show his teammates that Primes do laugh, lose their cool, cry, and party. It was a silly notion, he would often chide himself. Nonetheless…it was a hope.

             After all, it was the only reason he had gone to the Google Engine and decided to try and figure out what exactly humor entailed.

             But…I might have approached this incorrectly.

             Now looking just a little annoyed, Ratchet backed up and picked up his tools. He had no idea what had just happened and wanted some time alone in his quarters. 

           Optimus gently grabbed his shoulder, causing him to stop and look at him again. The Autobot leader looked rather abashed, obviously regretting the last five minutes of his existence. 

            In the background, Jack had gone over to the other Autobots and started explaining what had happened, the vines, the context of what Optimus had just pulled…

            “I…apologize, Ratchet…” Optimus looked away for a moment. “It seems I…lack the ability of timing…”

             Ratchet blinked a few times, then setting down the tools, he sighed.

             “Optimus…”

             “I know now that it is not my place to attempt humor.” He looked quite sad, but at the same time, resigned to it. Ratchet was about to tell Optimus that not everyone was cut out for everything, and that he was rather amusing in his own way.

             But he was interrupted for a second time by laughter. Ratchet and Optimus instead turned to see behind them, the other three team members absolutely losing it.

             Optimus was taken aback.

             He wondered briefly if they were laughing at how pitiful his attempt at humor had been. Then Bumblebee spoke up.

             ‘Jack just told us what that actually meant!’

             “Yeah!”  Bulkhead chimed in. “And now I wanna know what vines are!”

             Arcee, giggling, added, “Yeah, and what crocs are.”

             Ratchet felt Optimus next to him, struggling to contain his pride, and himself began to laugh. At this, Optimus let a little of that joy show, smiling and standing straight again. 

            What a funny thing to be proud of…

            But, then again, that had been the Prime’s intent.

///

*dies* I’m sorry I even wrote this please forgive me--

[local-spoon-does-a-thing]

Found ( Part 1/2)

[(Bayverse) Optimus Prime x Reader)

A/N: Okay so this takes place during Transformers: Age of Extinction. When I was younger I loved the movie (mostly because it had dinosaurs) but once I re-watched it...yeah, it was meh for me. In my opinion, first film was better than the sequels. Anyways, I thought “hey, what would happen if reader was separated from Optimus then reunited after all these years?” And so, I did it. I’m dividing this into two parts since I don’t want to make this too long. The second part is mostly going to be the interaction between reader and Optimus. Also, the reader is like in early or mid-twenties.

You can find the second part here!

Summary: 5 years have passed since you last saw Optimus Prime, your guardian. Since then, you’ve traveled with the Autobots and went in hiding with them. Just as you were about to give up hope, Optimus summons the Autobots.

Warning: Angst, angst, angst, angst, spoilers for T:AOE

It’s been 5 years since you last saw Optimus Prime. Leader of the Autobots, your guardian and best friend. In the aftermath of the events in Chicago, you thought that everything would somewhat go back to normal. Hunting down more Decepticons with your teammates, going on missions together, having Optimus scold you for not doing your homework. Though of course, nothing would be the same without Ironhide. His death absolutely destroyed you. But greater matters were forced to be looked upon, such as the public starting to see the Autobots as a threat, which was very stupid considering that they saved the whole damn world, NEST disbanding, the ‘Bots having to be on the run, and finally, Optimus disappearing from the team. With your long time contribution to the team, you were hunted down as well. Cemetery Wind demanded information about the Cybertronians, every single piece of detail, but you didn’t let them. Now with you being wanted and labeled as a fugitive, you could never truly return to your normal life. Your future dream university? Say goodbye to that. Your friends and family? You left with Bumblebee, not wanting to put any of them in danger. If they were, then you knew that their blood would be on your hands and you just could not accept that.

You supported Bumblebee when he was suddenly assigned as the commanding leader of the Autobot refugees. Despite them belittling and discouraging him, you stayed by his side. You always wondered what Ironhide would’ve done. He would’ve probably done things his own way. What would Ratchet do? You missed the grumpy medic and him meddling about your health. And Optimus...you missed him. A lot. You missed the times where he would be off-guard by some of your witty jokes, you missed how he would let you sleep in his alternate form whenever you dreamt of Decepticons, you missed his rare laughs and chuckles. You really, really missed him. As time went on by, you noticed that even Bumblebee was changing. He grew a bit more mature, but you knew that the responsibility of being a leader was too much for him. He missed Sam, and you did too. Though you two were only neighbors at first, you grew close and became siblings with one another. After his run-in with Cemetery Wind, you knew that he wasn’t coming back. At that point, you were growing hopeless. You tried getting along with Hound, Drift, and Crosshairs throughout the years, but you were too tired to hold up a conversation with them. Luckily, they reluctantly accepted you as a comrade.

As everyone was changing, you noticed that so were you. You were no longer joking around as much as you used to. You became quiet and serious. Yes, you would still give out encouragement and words of optimism to not let the flame of hope die out, but lately, it started to feel and sound fake. Were you trying to convince the others to not give up or were you trying to convince yourself? For the majority of the last 5 years, you tried believing that Optimus and Ratchet were still alive, just in hiding. Your poor heart simply couldn’t handle the weight of indescribable sorrow if news broke out that the two were gone. You’ve already witnessed Optimus die once and you couldn’t do that whole thing again. Hope was something that you needed but it started to become something that you could no longer grasp. When your dying flame of hope was at its last breath, that’s when he came in. The voice you haven’t heard in a very long time.

“Calling all Autobots. Calling all Autobots.”

It was Optimus Prime, calling from the radio. Bumblebee abruptly stopped the drive, causing you to almost hit your head against the steering wheel. After you hissed out his name, you turned to the radio in disbelief. Were you hearing things or was this reality? Bee then started to mess the radio until Optimus’s message was playing on repeat. No. Way. This was actually happening. You didn’t even have time to gather your thoughts before Bee started redirecting his coordinate and driving to where his leader was located, at full speed. Your heart was pounding and you were starting to feel the adrenaline rushing in. Reality still had yet to sink in. Everything was starting to get overwhelming, even if only a couple of moments had passed by. This was real. This had to be real.

You clutched your stomach and nibbled the bottom of your lip. This was supposed to be a great thing and it was! Then why did you feel sick to your stomach? You’ve heard of people throwing up from nervousness. Was this what you were feeling? Why were you nervous? You wanted to see him, absolutely! But after all this time, after all these years, were you even prepared? What if it was just a false alarm and you would get trapped by Decepticons or any other enemies? What if Cemetery Wind had already got him and tried to use him as bait? That last thought had almost made you puke right then and there. Whether you were ready or not, it was time. 

You watched as the rest of the team had already met up with Optimus. The color of his alternate form made you stare at him with wide eyes as all the memories of you two together flashed for a second. Your jaw slightly dropped open and so many things ran around your mind. You were so out of reality that you hadn’t even noticed Bumblebee already transforming out of his alternate form and perching you on top of his shoulder. As he walked towards him, you watched Optimus’s transformation one last time and as always, it never ceases to amaze you and put you in a trance.

“Humans have asked us to play by their rules. Well, the rules have just changed.”

His deep voice filled your ears and for the first time, you relaxed. You could never forget what he sounded like, even during your darkest moments when you had tried to forget in an attempt to get rid of the pain that tore your heart to shreds. Words could not do justice to how you were feeling at this exact moment. The moment when you were finally reunited with your long lost guardian. Bumblebee gently let you down from his shoulder and as the team argued and bickered, all you could do was stare and not move. If this was a dream, then you never wanted to wake up. After an eternity of staring, Optimus’s optics met with your [e/c] orbs and you swore that you saw his breath hitch. 

You weren’t the only one that was worried. During Optimus’s time away from the team and trying to stay hidden, there was not a single thought where he would not worry about you. He always wondered if you were okay and...still alive. It broke his spark every time he imagined that you were dead, six feet underground. Or worse yet, if no one had even known where your body was. He thought that once he would get out of hiding, and he knew that he would one day, the first thing he did not want to hear was that you were either found dead or missing. He hoped that you were out there, having a good life and spending your time in university. Until he went to slumber, until the day that he would be found by Cade Yeager, he yearned for the day where he would get to hear your jokes one last time.

Here you were. Alive and still moving with Bumblebee and the others. His expression softened ever so slightly and he felt a big weight being lifted off of his shoulders. He took a long moment just looking at you. You’ve certainly grown and he knew that you were no longer the bratty teenager he grew to love. Sadness washed over him when he realized that he didn’t get to see you grow up as he was absent for the past 5 years. Questions went in and out, but they were going to have to be asked later. He gave you an ever so slightly ghost of a smile and a small nod.

We can talk later.

You snapped out of your trance once Crosshairs and Hound pointed their guns towards the strangers that you had failed to notice earlier. A young lady, a man who seems to be her father, and another boy.

“Stop, Hound- both of you! They’ve risked their lives for mine.”

For a long time, you stood in the same spot Bumblebee had put you. It was like you had forgotten to move. But once you started to walk towards Optimus and the three strangers, each step made your knees feel weak. Nothing was fully sinking in, yet you continued on. You held out your hand towards them and went on to introduce yourself.

“Uh, hey there. The name’s Cade Yeager and this is my daughter, Tessa. I assume you’re with the other…’Bots?” The young girl next to him gave you a shy smile and a small wave before the boy came in.

“Oh and I’m Shane, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

You shook the three people’s hands and gave a small but welcoming smile. At long last, you finally got to meet some humans that weren’t hunting you down and trying to kill you. It felt so refreshing to interact with someone that wasn't an alien, car transforming robot.

“[Y/N], and yeah, I’ve been traveling with the Autobots for umm...a few years now or so. Also, I just want to thank you for helping Optimus. Seriously, you have no idea how grateful I am, along with the others as well.”

The way you spoke of Optimus’s name gave you a foreign feeling. Later during the straggling years, especially recently, you rarely spoke of his name since whenever you did, it always gave you an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. But now, you were able to say it with ease after knowing that he was okay. Cade gave you a smile and scratched the back of his neck.

“It’s no problem at all, really. I saw the way you looked at him and I’m glad that I could help.”

Optimus stared and observed you during your whole interaction with them. There were so many things to say and so many things to discuss with you. Though as he promised, he would have to do that later. Your hair was a bit of a mess, your clothes were a bit dirty and there were some torn bits here and there from all the battles and run-ins you had with the enemy. If he were to look closer, he would be able to notice scars that have been implanted onto your skin. Gashes, cuts, bullet wounds; they were there. He tore his gaze away from you and looked towards the rest of the team.

“Autobots, we will remain here and recharge for the rest of the day. Once everything is settled, we will discuss further plans with Cade Yeager.”

And so, the whole team went to settle down for the day. To your despair, you had little time with Optimus to discuss pretty much everything that had been going on. He had wanted to talk to you as much as you wanted to talk to him, but he was already occupied with what Bumblebee, Crosshairs, Hound, and Drift wanted to tell him. All the reports and notable news about Cemetery Wind and some bickering between the team. Meanwhile, you tried to distract yourself by helping the Yeagers and Shane set up a camp. Drift had been more than helpful by chopping wood from nearby dead trees with his blades. Before you knew it, night had fallen. Hound was able to set a campfire by using measures that were too extreme for your taste. You sat down beside Bumblebee, staring into the crackling fire. You quietly listened to the conversation that was going on beside you. The Autobots spoke of any possible refugees that had come within the years while Cade was being the typical overprotective dad. That almost made you chuckle. It reminded you of your father whenever he saw you hanging out with a potential love interest. God, when was the last time you had even thought about your parents? You wondered how they were doing and if they were still kicking. You wondered that if you were ever to come back to them, would they ever forgive you for running away and scaring them to death? Your heart ached as you thought more about them. If you could just give them one message that told them that you were okay, that would be enough.

Suddenly, you looked up when you heard Drift talking shit about Bumblebee once again. Almost simultaneously, both you and the giant yellow robot rolled your eyes before he stood up from his seat and approached the giant blue robot.

“He’s like a child.”

“This child is about to kick your ass.”

“He brings us shame.”

It didn’t take long for the two to start brawling. You crossed your arms and legs and sighed as you watched the two of them getting it on. Normally, you would’ve tried to stop them and diffuse the situation, but you were just too tired. Too much has happened in one day and you deserved some rest. Plus, Optimus was here now. He could handle them. Then, you noticed the three other friendlies move towards your side, taking a couple of steps back behind you. You heard the girl Tessa comment on what was wrong with them. Ironically, that was your first thought that came into mind when you first met the refugees. Glad that you weren’t the only one.

“Lockdown is hunting us and humans are helping. We need to know why.” Optimus spoke.

“Listen, I don’t know why, but I have an idea about who.” Cade replied.

That led to you watching a couple of clips that he managed to snatch from a drone. Just as you thought that things couldn’t get worse, it did. You watched as Ratchet and Leadfoot had met their demise by the humans attacking them. Ratchet...the grumpy medic you became very fond of, one of the very first Transformers you’ve met. All the missions you went with him, all the meddling you had to put up with from him, and all the scolding he gave you because he cared about you. Though you weren’t as close to Leadfoot as you were with Ratchet, you knew that he was a good ‘Bot. Two of your closest friends, down and out. Ratchet and Ironhide, both who never got to peacefully pass away. You hung your head low as you rested your elbows on top of your knees. Your hair fell in front of your face as silent, bitter tears fell to the ground below you. “Savages” as Hound had called him. And he was right, that was the exact word that  had described how the humans were in the footage. Ratchet had even begged that he was a medic and an Autobot. Your blood continued to boil even once the footage was finished playing. 

Quickly, you wiped away the tears by harshly jabbing your knuckles into your eyes and looked towards the others as they continued to discuss what was happening. Cade mentioned that the headquarters were located in Chicago and had offered to help them with the mission. He told how if he didn’t help them, then they wouldn’t be able to get their normal lives back. Funny thing was that once you’ve associated yourself with the Autobots, there was no way your life was going to fully revert back to its normal self. You and Sam knew that all too well.

“Autobots, I have sworn to never kill humans,” Optimus said, “but when I find out who’s behind this, he’s going to die.”

This old robot always manages to catch you off-guard. In all the years you’ve known him, you have never heard him say anything with a threatening voice. A scary one, in fact. To you, he was the calmest person you knew. Calculated and dangerous, but he was calm. He defined a true leader. But he was going to kill humans? Just before he declared that statement, he admitted that he swore to not kill humans. You knew that he was enraged with what Cemetery Wind and KSI had done to his close friends and you didn’t blame him for wanting to kill someone responsible. It just seemed so off; so out of character. It was jarring.

[my-writings-and-musings]

Hello! Thank you for answering my Ravage request, I love it so much! Also your last Rodimus prompt really helped me yesterday, thank you.

Can I request some headcanons about how would Megatron, Swerve and Rung react to love confession from their human crush? Free to ignore it if there's too many characters

(sorry if it's not okay to send more than one request in such short amount of time)

Yay I'm glad that you liked what I wrote and that some of my other stuff helped you out! Sorry for the delay in answering these, I've been quite surprised by the volume in my inbox! I have three lovely bots reacting to love here, and feel free to send in requests so long as my inbox is open!

Megatron

·The confession thankfully occurs while he's seated, as the impact force of a thirty foot mech collapsing to the floor would have been... considerable. That's not to say his physical reaction is at all subtle though. Eons of combat training and discipline dissapear in a flash and his expression shows the full extent of his shock. Was he dreaming? Or did his audials need repair? There must be some confusion, because he's fairly certain the little human on his desk just said that they loved him. No matter his own considerable feelings for them, he must be considerably mistaken, because that would simply be impossible.

·Except it isn't impossible. In fact, it's the truth, you tell him more than a few times over once he starts asking if you're confused or perhaps unwell. He wants to be elated, but a lifetime of training keeps that reaction well contained, as he knows from experience that these things simply cannot happen to bots like himself. Kneeling before the table you stand on, he tries not to sound pitiful or ungrateful as he requests clarification one final time, saying that he couldn't possibly expect love from one who had so much to hate him for.

·You're firm but as gentle as you might be with a fragile bit of glass as you make it undeniably clear; you love him. The only thing you're unsure of, and hoping to find out yourself, is whether or not he feels the same. All the expectation in your eyes compels him to act as impulsively as a sparkling, and he emphatically returns your feelings in a hushed reply, raising a tender hand to hold your little body in the rush of emotion shooting through him.

·There's a moment of icy reality to stop him in his tracks. Don't you know what he's done? What being with him could put you at risk of? That there's nothing to be gained from entangling yourself in the mess he's made of his life? Well accustomed to this behavior, you stand your ground and look him square in the optics, affirming that you're well aware of everything he's just said, but that the only thing you want from him is him, so everything you must endure in relation to him is already worth the struggle. In a rare burst of emotion he pulls your little body to his chest for the gentlest of hugs.

·He laughs for the first time in what has to be eons. There's the smallest hint of a fog in his optics as you find yourself tearing up too, overwhelmed by this hulking bot finally opening up to you completely and just being happy. For his part, he can't truly believe any of this is yet real, but he isn't going to bother with that for now. To know you love him is the greatest peace he's ever experienced, but also the most invigorating kind of euphoria. There's youthful hope in his spark again, encouraging his desire to explore and experience the wonders of life now that he has you at his side, but for this single moment he's content to just... be. One bot, one human, embracing through their laughter and tears.

Swerve

·Somehow he forgets he was polishing a glass at all in the second it takes for it to shatter upon impact with the ground. You had been talking, going round in a way that suggested you were intent on getting to a particular topic, but then...? The glass is forgotten as he gently cuts off your attempt at an apology, spark pulsing and voicebox constricting as he asks you to repeat yourself, looking like he's terrified beyond all belief as he does so. A kind of fear he hasn't felt in a long time prevents him from pretending to be okay like he's so used to doing.

·At your careful reassurance that you did indeed say you love him, and that you meant it, he speaks so softly in response you can barely hear him. The questions he whispers are slow and deliberate, and if he could see anything but you he'd be grateful no one else is present to witness him acting so... shy. He has to make sure though, because it just doesn't seem possible; you love him? Beautiful, intelligent, funny, caring you is in love with... him? But he loves you too, and that means you love each other, and how is that possible?!

·Disbelief slowly melts into a happiness he's afraid to let in only because it's so foreign to him, but bit by bit he begins to realize this is actually happening, and his lonely spark lets the feeling in. Tears start to drop from his foggy visor as a trembling smile pulls up his cheeks, compelling you to reach out from your spot on the bar and invite him into a comforting hug. While he clarifies that he's never felt better, he still happily takes the hug, pulling in your tiny body with his large servos and carefully holding you close.

·Feeling the warmth of you against him sends another wave of beautiful confirmation through him; this is real. The loneliness that always plagued his spark seems insignificant now, as if he's gained a kind of perspective just knowing someone like you could care so deeply for him. All of his friends, all of his patrons, and you at the very center of it all... Why wasn't he ever able to see just how much warmth and goodness there was before this moment?

·Tears are streaming down his face when he lets you go, and at your concern he assures you it's nothing to worry about. There are more questions, but they're happy now, and he's smiling like never before as you dutifully answer every query whilst dabbing his cheeks with a towel that's blanket sized for you. He wants to know; when did you start to have feelings? Does this mean you really don't mind his jokes? Can he tell the others? Is he handsome by human standards? There's so much for him to say but, for once, no rush to say it. Somehow he's finally realized that he doesn't need to talk to get your attention, he just needs to be himself, and the banter is simply a lovely bonus.

Rung

·Though he's certain he misheard, he removes his glasses almost on instinct, looking to the little lifeform he's grown so close to with an unguarded expression of apprehension tinged with hope, gentle but rarely seen optics looking to you with that vulnerability he keeps so well hidden from everyone else. You only remain silent because you briefly lose yourself in his gaze, which is as desperate as it is due to him wanting so badly to believe he did indeed just hear what he's uncertain is actually possible. The request for you to repeat is so soft it's barely audible. Thin digits try to polish his lenses as is his custom when concealing stress, but he fumbles so frequently he has to cease just as he begins.

·You stand near the edge of the table, speaking slowly and clearly so there can be no misunderstanding. The confession is indeed irrefutable this time around, the simple words breaking the silence with their surprising weight and drawing a tiny gasp from him in the process. His hand over his mouth prevents further exclamations, though he's certainly not capable of making any in his current state. Something in the depths of his being has always yearned for this, but he never dared to even dream it could happen, that he could love and in return be loved.

·Tears on his precious face spur you to act, if only because they're absolutely heartbreaking, but as he moves his hand from his mouth you see that despite his sobs he's absolutely beaming. You're surprised even further when he laughs through the tears, and at your prompting says that he's just overwhelmed. You, wonderful and thoughtful and brilliantly unique little you, in love with the bot no one can remember? What has he ever done to be this fortunate? Admittedly he's not fully convinced that this isn't a dream, but he has no intention of letting that stop him from basking in this wonderful feeling.

·You can't help but cry a little too, seeing him overwhelmed in a way you never could have anticipated. Tiny human hands take his offered servo and guide the tip of his digit to brush adoringly over your cheek, just as he so often does, but you notice that for the first time ever there's no hesitation to the action. There's only pure, serene affection. Looking into his optics, you see a mech almost made new, as if the validation you give him just by existing and loving him has changed his entire outlook on life. For a bot who does so much for others, you can't even begin to describe how wonderful it is to give him that peace.

·Still as bashful as they come, he blushes when you move in to embrace him from the tables edge on a whim, but the sheepish hesitation quickly gives way to a mutual hug. The hum of his spark is almost melodic in your ears as you press your head into his warm chest. Your tiny heartbeat, just perceptible to the servo he has cradling you close, is equally jubilant to his touch. The beauty of it all is almost enough to make him dizzy; for the first time in his life he feels truly seen, truly heard, truly here. Reality is still moving just as it was before, but now he genuinely feels like he is a part of it all, here with you in his loving arms. You make him certain that he's worth remembering.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

I’m Always Curious Part Twenty Nine

Previous Part | Next Part |  Masterlist Notes: I hope everyone’s having a good week 💕

Also if y’all didn’t see, I made an I’m Always Curious Playlist, check it out if you’re interested 😊 Also toying with the next chapter being in Pike’s POV, we’ll see tho

Warnings: Cursing and mentions of canon-typical violence Summary: When I had determined the most appropriate position for the tag and that couldn’t quiet my mind any longer, I headed down to the shuttle bay.

Having had opposing pictures of her character drawn for me by Spock and Tilly, meeting Commander Michael Burnham was a bit of a trip.

The things that Spock had told me about her led me to expect someone austere, distant. But while she was composed, she was cordial, going so far as to make small talk on the way to the Ready Room. It wasn’t in the forced way that it had originally been with Jett, either. Apparently Burnham had heard a fair amount from me from Tilly. Jett joined us in the turbolift, and from there it was a short trek to the Ready Room.

I felt my stomach twist in apprehension as we neared the doors. While I had had some time to process the fact that Pike and I were in close range again, I had spent far too much of the last hour reflecting on the look he’d given me. I was distinctly out of place in the Ready Room. Not only was I the most unfamiliar with the crew, but I was still in my civvies. The Captain was already there, a PADD in hand. His eyes darted to the three of us we entered, but they quickly lowered to the device again as he said, “Commander Burnham, a word, please.” Burnham excused herself from Jett and myself, and I took the moment to look around. I ached with the familiarity - the sight of Chris’ table from Mojave in the room, along with a few other things that had made the trip over from the Enterprise. I drifted toward a window, unable to help my fingers trail over the wood of the table on my way. Jett followed at a pace, glancing at Burnham and Pike before stopping beside me. “Any idea how long Durling’ll take?” She asked. I shook my head a little. “Cornwell just said that he’d be here in a few hours.” At the sound of the Ready Room door opening, I straightened, hands tucking behind my back at attention-- And then I immediately dropped them as I scoffed, “Oh, it’s you.” “Is that any way to greet me?” Eli asked, walking deeper into the room, “You used to stand at attention, be all ‘yessir’ about it.” “I am your superior now, Durling.” “In rank only,” He retorted, coming to stop just in front of me. Despite his words, though, he was pointing that warm smile down at me, like not a day had passed or a thing had changed. And I couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto my face at his familiar gaze and teasing. After the war, Durling had been assigned to the USS Cetus, a temporary post as he awaited an official reassignment. While we spoke from time to time, I hadn't seen him in weeks. “God, I forgot what a dick you were,” Jett grumbled beside us. Eli turned to her, brows raising in surprise. “And it’s good to see you, too, Reno. Especially considering we thought--” “Oh, I know. This one got all misty on me about it,” Jett nodded to me. “Unnecessary detail,” I muttered.  “You can cry? I thought you’d gotten your tear ducts removed back on Starbase 115,” Eli frowned at me. “I would punch you if we weren’t in mixed company.” “Restraint? Wow, that’s new for you.”  We turned at the sound of someone clearing their throat behind us. Pike was there, brows raised a little. Eli smiled, turning fully from myself at Jett. “Eli Durling,” He introduced himself to both Pike and Burnham. “Commander Michael Burnham. Welcome aboard.” “Christopher Pike,” Pike tacked on as he shook Eli’s hand. Eli glanced back at me, brow raised, and I felt the urge to punch him intensify. Instead I just gave him a slight glare before averting my eyes. He knew about me and Pike. I had spent the last year with the man, we’d spent that time having one another’s backs. He knew all of my secrets— but then, I knew all of his. “We should start the briefing, the target’s nearly in range,” Pike added as dropped Eli's hand. “We’ve never run any 22-9-14s on the Discovery,” Burnham explained. “Well, you’re in luck, because the three of us ran a lot of them," Eli nodded back toward me and Jett. “Define a lot, I mean how many times did you ruin your phaser cannons after you transferred?” Jett asked. “Well,” Eli glanced back at me, “I’m not sure I have a count on the phaser cannons, but I personally ran around a hundred, and the Commander ran a number somewhere in the 300s.” “Somewhere? Where in the 300s?” Jett frowned at me. “I’m not sure that’s pertinent to this briefing, as I don’t have the same penchant for bragging that Lieutenant Commander Durling does,” I folded my arms across my chest. Eli smiled.

“Regardless, you’re in good hands,” He added, turning back to Pike and Burnham, “I’ll coordinate from the Bridge while the Commander takes care of the tagging process. Any questions?” “I’ve got one,” I piped up. “Of course you do--” “What am I tagging?” I asked over him. Eli nodded to Pike’s desk, and Pike stepped out of the way, waving his hand with silent permission. I watched as Eli walked over to it, opening a file and pulling up a holographic display of a ship. I pushed off of the wall and walked over to join him with the others, my eyes wandering the surface of the ship. “Is that a DY-100 Sleeper?” I frowned, bracing my hands on the desk to get a better look. “It is,” He confirmed, “The S.S. Botany Bay.” “You’re familiar with this craft?” Burnham asked. I glanced at her. “Few months into the war, Command was looking for craft that might be able to slip past Klingon sensors. These vessels are antiques— 20th century, decommissioned. Older metals, outdated tech, but high crew capacity.” “And the Botany Bay was used during the war?” Pike asked. I turned back to the hologram. “Only two ships were in good enough condition to shore up and get off of the ground. This was neither of them.” “Maybe it’s just being tracked for longevity, see how long it holds up,” Jett suggested. “No,” I shook my head a little, “No, Cornwell said colony when I came aboard…” I straightened up, folding my arms back across my chest, “We’re either gonna get radio silence or hear some really cryptic shit.” “That’s the spirit,” Durling clapped my shoulder, and I shot him a sidelong glance. “You realize this is gonna be a manual?” I asked him. ��Ah-- No,” He laughed nervously, “No, you don’t have time for manual.” “Time or not— Look at the surface area on that thing,” I nodded to the hologram, “If this is an original sleeper class and launched back in the 1990s when they were originally being built, it’s possible that the integrity of the hull is going to be compromised. That means that the arms on the bot are going to be too rough for this task.” “What would you have to do to attach it manually?” Burnham asked.  “She’s gotta eject herself from her ship,” Jett told them. “How much does that differ from a ship-based tag?” Burnham asked. “... It’s different,” Eli tread carefully as he said so. I could feel him eyeing me critically, and I couldn’t help the way my jaw clenched as my stomach swooped with nerves. I hated manual tags the most. There were fewer safety nets: no tether, no easy way back to the ship if something went very seriously wrong--just me and a jet pack and a whole lotta hope. “Considering the fact that Command even authorized this mission in the first place, a manual attachment should be our last resort,” he added, “And who am I to argue with Command?” “Usually the second in line,” Jett answered. “Who’s first?” He frowned. There was a pause as I felt the two of them direct their gazes to me. “I resent that,” I muttered. “Which puts you in direct opposition with Commander Reno, which, given the longevity of her rank, technically puts you at odds with your superior--” Durling muttered. “O-kay.” “What are the steps that we need to get this off of the ground?” Pike asked, cutting over our bickering. I suddenly felt like a schoolkid called out for chatting in class. “Reno needs to look over craft, make sure it’s safe to fly,” Eli told him, “Your ship’s doctor needs to give our pilot a once-over as well, same reason.” I rolled my eyes a little. I was a little tired, more than a little jittery at the prospect of being behind the controls of an attack fighter again, but I had flown and been cleared for flight in worse condition. “Anything else?” Pike asked. “No,” Eli shook his head, “Barring any complications, we should be set to launch… round 1800 hours.” “If that’s the timeline, I’m gonna go get some sleep,” I straightened, “Thanks guys.” I turned away, heading for the door as I heard Durling pipe up: “Oh, and Commander?” “Yes,” I turned back, “Lieutenant Commander?” Durling took a moment, eyes sweeping down my body, then up again. “Where are we with that uniform?” I forced out a little laugh before nodding once, “I’m gonna leave now.”

-- I knew that I needed to get rest, but the prospect of a manual tag kept had set my mind racing. Instead I studied the schematics that I had available for a DY-100. And when I had determined the most appropriate position for the tag and that couldn’t quiet my mind any longer, I headed down to the shuttle bay. -- “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Jett almost scowled at the sight of me stepping onto craft. “Not tired,” I fibbed. Jett gave me a short look before lowering herself beside the control panel. “Make yourself useful, then, pass me the magna-spanner.” I crouched down beside Jett’s toolkit and found the requested implement before passing it to her. Once I had, I sat on the floor of the craft, leaning back against the wall and looking around the small cabin. It seemed so much more confining than I remembered— crammed with measuring instruments, controls, an emergency med pack. I directed my gaze toward the hatch in the ceiling, the one I’d be pushing myself out into open space from in just a short while. “So,” Jett spoke up, “What’s the plan after this?” I smiled at the question— just like old times. “Maybe get some more pie?” I offered. “And sugar crash later?” “Mhm. It’s the risk you take when you eat the hard stuff.” “And after that?” “...Dunno. Maybe something that actually utilizes what I went to the Academy to do. You know, speak and translate something other than Klingon, work with texts and languages we’re less familiar with…” “But we put our dreams away?” “But we put our dreams away.” Jett leaned back, tossing the magna-spanner at me. I caught hold of it, depositing it in the toolbox. She humphed, “Well, you’re morose as shit, but your reflexes seem to be in good order. Should be helpful, huh, Captain?” I frowned before I heard, “Yes, it should.” My head was turned from him, and I had been focused on other parts of the ship, but I hadn’t even heard him come aboard. I glanced up at Pike to find him standing with his hands tucked behind his back. He cleared his throat. “Doctor Pollard needs to examine you,” He nodded over his shoulder. “Right,” I pushed myself to stand before glancing down at Jett, “You’re set here?” “Please leave,” Was her smiling answer. I smiled a little myself, shaking my head before following Pike off of the craft. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the way he had to duck to ensure he didn’t hit his head on the way out. A brief wave of embarrassment crested over me when he glanced back at the sound. Pollard and Eli were in the shuttle bay, not too far off from the craft. The introductions were short as I shrugged out of my jacket and tossed it to Eli. He caught it without a question or hesitation, hardly missing a word as he regaled Dr. Pollard with the story of his part in the Battle of Xisad. She seemed to only be listening out of politeness, humming in response now and again. Knowing Eli, though, this chatter was meant to distract all of us from what I was about to do. Dr. Pollard’s hand skimmed over my left shoulder blade and I jolted a little, tensing as I sucked in a sharp breath.  “Alright?” She asked. I nodded as I heard her switch to the scanner on her tricorder. “Quite a lot of scar tissue,” She added. “Caught the wrong end of a bat’leth,” I explained flatly. “Is there pain?” “No.” “Does it hinder any of your movements?” “No.” When Pollard returned her hand to that same area, fingers carefully massaging the area to ensure the truth of my statement, I held carefully still. “...Is there a right end of bat’leth?” Eli asked, breaking the tense silence from our superiors. “The side without the pointed blade would’ve been preferable,” I told him, glancing in his direction. “You’re so particular,” He scoffed, but he was smiling. I shook my head a little, feeling the tension drain from me a little. “Well, apart from a slightly elevated heart rate, everything seems to be in order," Pollard reported from behind me. “That’s not a concern?” Pike asked. “According to the Commander’s prior medical records, there is typically some uptick in heart rate prior to these particular missions. She’s fit to fly," Pollard tucked her tricorder into its holder. I gave her a small nod of thanks. “And yet not outfitted to fly. Starfleet regulation 67: an officer acting in the interests of the Federation must be in uniform to command or commandeer any vessel,” Durling rattled off. I hummed, nodding, “An excellent point, Lieutenant Commander, but you seem to be forgetting Starfleet regulation 67-A: In the event of an emergency procedure, Starfleet personnel are permitted to eschew Federation vestments as the mission demands. Or have you forgotten who that rule had to be instituted for?” Durling shuffled closer, holding my jacket back out to me as he muttered, “Can’t recall.” “Well— that’s hilarious, because I can. And I’ll be in a Starfleet flight suit, I do believe that that counts as uniform.” “It does,” Pike piped up. “Exactly— thank you, Captain.” “Anytime, Commander.” “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get changed and run through the pre-flight checklist with Jett,” I added. I thanked Pollard again before I turned, heading back to the attack fighter. Anytime, Commander. Two words. Easy. Two words that set my heart racing faster than the prospect of a manual tag-and-run did. Tag list: @angels-pie​​ ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta​​  ; @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo​​ ; @how-am-i-serpose-to-know​​ ; @onlyhereforthefandomandgiggles​​ ; @inmyowncorner​​  ; @tardis-23​​ ; @2manyfandoms-solittletime​ ; @paintballkid711​​ ; @katrynec​​​ ; @hypnobananaangelfish​​ ; @elen-aranel​​ ; @blueeyesatnight​​

[officialleehadan]

Armed Disarmed

Hello darlings! I hope you're having a happy Spring so far. I certianly am!

Today's story was brought to you by Kat! Darling, you're an absolute joy. Thank you for all your support!

Prompt: Someone asking Vree "Is it true that...?" about humans.

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“Is it true that humans drink poison recreationally?”

Vree looked up from his food when someone sat across from him. It turned out to be a new arrival to the ship. An Ul’rac, if Vree was remembering right. The horns were… well they were reasonably distinctive, and added an interestingly haunting sort of ‘hoot’ to the Ul’rac’s voice as the horns were hollow, and amplified their speech.

“Sometimes, yes,” Vree said, since he had been asked a question, and it was only polite to answer. “I believe you’re thinking of alcohol, or perhaps caffeine?”

“The dark beverage I’ve seen many of the ship’s humans consuming in the mornings.”

“Human-Nerea, Human-Liara, and Human-Marsha prefer tea,” Vree supplied, since he doubted the Ul’rac knew the difference. “Human-Amir, Human-Gruk, and Human-Matti prefer coffee. They look similar in their most common presentations, but you may have noticed a difference in smell.”

“I did, although both beverages have a toxicity warning on the dispenser.”

Vree chuckled wryly. The warnings had been his suggestion after the third time his humans attempted to talk another crewmate into consuming something that was decidedly poisonous to anyone but their own species. “Yes, both beverages contain caffeine, which is the toxic element in question. It acts as a stimulant for many humans, although some report negative effects.”

The Ul’rac stared at him with an expression Vree knew well. That was the expression of one who had thought they understood just how strange humans were, and had abruptly realized just how much of that particularly fearsome beast was still buried under the sand. Vree understood the feeling all too well.

“My name is Cabbit, Zey/Zir” the Ul’rac introduced zirself and took the seat across from Vree, zir meal in hand. “I’ve read all your papers, and met several humans, but they’re…”

“Strange,” Vree told zir tiredly. “The word you’re looking for is strange, and yes, they are. Humans evolved very differently than any of our Galactic races, and are a culmination of a truly staggering variety of other beings, all of whom are cross-fertile with humans, and many of whom possess magic in varying flavors that may or may not have a profound effect on their appearance, diet, and ability.”

Ul’rac-Cabbit stared at Vree. Vree did his best not to look exhausted by the very thoughtof his humans, all of whom were…. Well, they were all even stranger than the standard variety of humans that the Alliance was generally used to. There was no explaining that with any degree of alacrity, however.

“You read my papers,” he tried again when Ul’rac-Cabbit continued to stare. “I imagine you saw the recorded presentations as well. Are you in the camp that believes me, or the camp that thinks I’m a relentless grandstander with some very sophisticated technology to fake it all?”

“I saw Human-Liara light on fire during a shouting match with Human-Nerea.”

“Ah. Yes, that does tend to be somewhat convincing,” Vree admitted with oddly fond memories of the time he threw Human-Amir at a group of pirates. It seemed like a long time ago, back before he had any idea what a djinn was, and had only seen Human-Nerea in her scales the once. Now he had seen a djinn appear as a nebula, heard a Wish spoken, somehow befriended the First Mermaid, and riddled with the First Dragon. He had been to Earth and seen the Great Library, and heard the truth of Magic from the only being who could possibly explain it well. “So, you believe me. What other questions do you have?”

“How do they…” Ul’rac-Cabbit waved one many-fingered hand through the air in a gesture to try and take in the group of humans, presently all gathered at their own table and having what sounded like a heated argument about something called ‘liars dice’. They had an ongoing arrangement for something called ‘game night’ that Vree still hadn’t dared to ask about. “They seem to pack up, but I’ve yet to see any serious predatory behaviors from any of them but Human-Gruk.”

“Humans will pack-bond with anything,” Vree said, much resigned to being one of the anythingsin question. He wasn’t particularly annoyed by it, all things considered. He did adore his humans, and his friendship with Lady Hoshi was one of the prouder events in his life. Who would have thought that he would craft a friendship with an ancient being who was somehow even more curious about the universe as he was? “On that note, you’re new to the ship. I understand that cleaning robots are intended to be disposable, but the humans have a habit of claiming them as packmates. If you see one painted with non-regulation colors, leave it be. Human-Gruk is very protective of them.”

“I saw two earlier that seem to have…” Ul’rac-Cabbit hesitated, and for good reason. “They seemed to have knives attached to the tops?”

“Great,” Vree muttered, since Human Weirdness was absolutely his problem to deal with. “I told him to stop arming them. Where did you see them?”

“Fifth deck rec room. They seemed to be having a disagreement with one of the crew. They were rather definitely in pursuit.”

“Yes,” Vree sighed, and finished off the last of his food in three quick bites. “They do that. Excuse me. It would be better if I disarmed the cleaning bots before someone gets annoyed enough to smash them. None of us want Human-Gruk to repeat the Bulkhead Incident.”

“I dread to ask…?”

“One of the Emmrak,” Vree named a species of large, powerful, heavily-armored beings who liked to fight almost as much as Human-Gruk did, “Destroyed one of Human-Gruk’s cleaning bots. Human-Gruk threw him through a plate-metal bulkhead. I understand they’re close friends now, but I would still prefer to avoid the damage inflicted upon the ship that might come with another such incident. Do enjoy your meal, Ul’rac-Cabbit, and search me out if you have any future questions.”

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MASTERLIST

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