#mag device

[posthumanwanderings]

[ Evolution - Shade Ruins (NoPlay) ]

[atomicfoolorkillthemidols]

Howdy, Tumblr

Haven't uploaded almost the entirety of November. Will probably do the same with December lol.

Anyway, I have more art to share, but this time it's sectioned.

Evolution: The World of Sacred Device (Mag Launcher)

The Thief and the Cobbler (Tack)

Pepito (Pepito)

Cluster fuck of characters from Mexican historietas

Lucky Luke/Kid Lucky (ft. Joannie)

Gitaroo Man (U-1 and Kazuya)

Penny Arcade (Tycho) x Cotto Maltese

Actually, this drawing was made as a gift for a friend from instagram who loves Corto Maltese and Penny Arcade. I was expecting them to show the drawing on their IG stories but I haven't seen it be re-uploaded by them, so I thought I should upload it myself ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ it's funny to me because although I love Tycho and haven't read the Corto Maltese comic so this shit makes me giggle cuz of how random it is. The Corto maltese art style is cool tho, I should read it.

[superthatguy62]

Relatively recently, a UbiSoft press kit circa 1999 was found. As Ubisoft published Evolution: The World of Sacred Device in the west, it contains artwork used for the game's promotion.

This includes certain pieces of art that were rarely released in good quality or on their own.

[schnaf]

.

[i-identify-guns-in-posts]

PM md. 63

feds kicking down my door only to realize there was a bucket of water above it and now they’re all wet

[magnuspanoptes]

"jon turned into the monster that destroyed his childhood" close. jon turned into the book that destroyed his childhood. he functionally became a leitner. jon's not just any devouring monster, he's an archive of stories, he's the frame device of the podcast (Because you do not administer and preserve the records of fear, Jon. You are a record of fear—MAG 160), he eats his victims the way those books did. every leitner has a story to tell, and often its victims end up trapped inside it, becoming a part of the tale—this is exactly what jon does as the archivist, when he reads/takes/compels (eats) a statement he is re-experiencing and storing within him the subject's fear, each new victim is then incorporated into his mental collection of nightmares (You are a chronicle of terror). elias's murder of leitner then has another layer of narrative meaning to it. it's a marking of territory, of course, because jurgen is about to reveal important information to jon which will presumably ruin elias's plans for him.

mag 80 - "librarian" / mag 160 - "the eye opens"

but it's also about the transition from a world with artefacts as a source of isolated horror consuming and transforming individuals, which leitner and his books are symbolic of, to one where one being - the archive (jonah magnus's archive), which has been marked by every fear and therefore holds within it the essence of every fear—devours and reshapes the entire world.

[daydreamer-in-reverie]

I think that, as a literary device, Finnick’s story is one of the most effective ones I have ever read.

When you think of victims of sex-related crimes, you so rarely think of a man.

In our modern society, we more often imagine women to be victims of such crimes. Beautiful women who are battered and bruised, their eyes holding that faraway gleam of pain and trauma. Sex-related violence against women is such a common occurrence that it is difficult to find a woman who doesn’t have intimate knowledge about it. Perhaps not every woman has been raped but every woman knows at least one who has. As young girls, we’re told so many things to try and prevent rape. Don’t go out by yourself at night. Be careful of what you wear. Don’t drink alcohol. Fight them off. And yet, if you did everything right and still fail at protecting yourself, just give in. Better raped than dead. Come home to your family and friends hurt and bruised but alive.

And it is this message that Finnick, a man, lives by.

Better taken advantage of, bruised and hurt, than dead. Better you than your parents or your siblings or Mags or Annie. Do whatever it takes to stay alive.

And, the thing is, we didn’t have to hear this story from him. We could have heard it from Cashmere.

In his propo to the Capitol, Finnick reveals that attractive Victors are pimped out by President Snow to the residents of the Capitol. One such Victor is Cashmere.

Knowing this layer of her story makes Cashmere the picture perfect victim. A woman who is repeatedly described as beautiful. She is a typical description of what a rape victim is. Suzanne could have used her character instead of Finnick’s to portray an instance so familiar to so many women and yet, she didn’t.

She chose Finnick. And I think the reason why she did that is because hearing it from Cashmere would have made the story fall flat.

Would we have blinked an eye had it been Cashmere who revealed the horrors of being a Victor? Would we have felt anything other than a vague sense of sympathy? I don’t think so. Like so many women before her, Cashmere’s story is so familiar to us that it no longer leaves that bitter taste in our mouths. We, as a society, have been so deeply desensitized to this plight that we no longer feel the same indignation we used to feel. Instead we are resigned to our fate. Cashemere isn’t the first victim of rape and she won’t be the last.

Yet to hear it from Finnick had us shocked. Finnick? A man? Attractive, to be sure, but he is at the prime of his life and yet he is a victim? Finnick, who can wield a trident so effectively he became the youngest Victor in the 75 years the Hunger Games operated, was raped? Finnick, who has literally killed people with his bare hands, was prostituted? Finnick, who cracked jokes about killing people was whored out by President Snow?

It is absurd! It is a bizarre and strange! It has to be untrue!

And yet it’s not.

Finnick being representative of that particular storyline was effective at reminding us of what it means to be victimized like that. And using Finnick, a man, instead of Cashmere, a woman, reminded us of why we have to be rightfully angry and upset about such things instead of resigned to our fates.

Suzanne Collins is an absolute literary genius.

[never-obsolete]

Holiday Gifts: Audio Devices PC Mag - December 2005

[gammija]

I think I'm gonna turn this into the 'Gammi complains about old Discourse' post, so it doesn't keep popping up in the tag for everyone not interested pulling old cows out of the gutter

i stand by my original analysis that the emphasis with which Jonny wrote Martin saying that he doesn't just dislike burns, isn't just unhappy about burning alive? Jon? In that downplaying tone of voice that he has? but that they're Martin's "least favorite kind of pain", explicitly, he's ranked them all, and burns are way down - that that's not just happenstance, but the kind of overemphasis of information which in TMA usually means, 'pay attention, this is important'

The same way the clues for Jonahs body hopping weren't very obvious but it was always at least emphasised how weird it was for Elias to become head of the Institute, the same way Jon started explicitly talking about having a lot of scars and getting new ones 'for the collection', TMA is no stranger to putting clues or foreshadowing in natural dialogue for which there are many Watsonian explanations, but a Doylist view asks, why tell us this, now, if it could also easily be inferred from what we already know? To come back to Martin; obviously, he wouldn't like getting burned. No one does. Why then, Jonny, make this much of a big deal out of it? Is it just to set up the next scene where they go into the fire anyways, or does it serve double duty, like so much of TMA?

I'm writing this much preamble, because, well people got really mad when I suggested that with the previous evidence that the Web and Fire are arch-enemies -

MAG067, Jack Barnabas’ statement: “I looked up and noticed within the corner of the room, where there had been a spider’s web this morning, there was just a faint wisp of smoke.”

“Another held a bag that seemed to be full of candles, while a third had a clear plastic container filled with hundreds of tiny spiders.”

MAG139, Statement by member of Cult of the Lightless Flame: “The Mother of Puppets has always suffered at our hand; all the manipulation and subtle venom in the world means nothing against a pure and unrestrained force of destruction and ruin.” Agnes burned down Hilltop Road.

MAG145: The Web ties Gertrude to Agnes, stopping the Desolation’s ritual (the only Power whose ritual the Web is known to have prevented, even when the Web knew that no single-power ritual could ever succeed anyway).

MAG147, in Hilltop Road: Daisy: "Jon said the Web doesn’t get on great with fire, and we don’t exactly have a flamethrower, so –"

MAG167: Gertrude enlists Agnes’/the Desolation’s help in order to burn her assistant Emma, who was Web aligned.

- i was going to add 'Martin's least favorite pain is burns' to my web!Martin hints list.

But I stand by it. It was a valid analysis of the information at that time, regardless of the web!Martin theory turning out to not be endgame after all

today's ep is fun ([Fondly] "Yes, Martin, you are my reason,") but im gonna take the time to complain about something minor from years ago, because when else will I get the opportunity?

occasionally people made (make? ive blocked most people who were hardcore about it so idk if they're still on it) posts arguing that Martin is a terrible boyfriend and person and Jon deserves better, and they always cite this part:

to say 'wow, how can Martin say that when he himself isn't very open either, the hypocrite!'

but if we remove the poorly edited out text, and look at the quote in its actual context...

Martin didn't just decide, 'hey, lets chide Jon on his emotional openness today'. Jon literally just read Martin's mind to know what he was thinking about - it's not dwelled on for too long, but imagine for a moment how fucking invasive that really is. compared to that, yeah, Jon doesn't share as much!

which isn't to say that he always should share everything and it's Jon's ''fault'' if he doesn't immediately tell Martin how he's feeling at every moment. just that, you know, communication has to come from both sides. so i think it was more than fair for Martin to express his concern about the imbalance, if Jon would have continued to just know what was in Martin's thoughts and feelings

[fratttymatty]

The Bro And The Babe

(All characters are 18+)

Sam Goldberg adjusted his glasses nervously, peering over the top of his laptop in his cluttered apartment. "Maggie, do you ever wonder if there's a parallel universe where we’re, like, the exact opposite of ourselves?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

Maggie Kane rolled her eyes and flexed her biceps casually, her workout tank stretched tight over her muscular shoulders. "You’re really spiraling into one of your sci-fi tangents again, aren’t you?" she teased, setting down a protein shake and leaning against the table.

The two had been best friends for over a decade, bonded over their shared love of comics, progressive activism, and long, caffeinated discussions about queer theory. Sam was a self-proclaimed nerd who could quote Star Trek in Klingon, while Maggie, with her shaved undercut and love for lifting, was equally passionate about gaming and LGBTQ+ rights.

That evening, as Sam researched theories about consciousness and parallel dimensions, Maggie scrolled through Reddit on the couch. Suddenly, an ad popped up on both of their screens: "Transform your life forever! Click here for an experience you’ll NEVER forget!"

“Ugh, spam,” Maggie muttered, but Sam was already clicking. A blinding flash of light erupted from their devices, and everything went black.

When Sam woke up, he felt… off. Like, seriously off. His entire body tingled, his clothes felt tighter, and his thoughts were foggy. He glanced down and nearly screamed—except the sound that came out wasn’t his usual nervous stammer. It was a deep, confident, carefree bro laugh.

“Yo, what the actual heck?” he muttered, except it came out as, “Duuude, what’s even happenin’, bruh?”

He staggered to his feet, stumbling over a pair of sneakers he didn’t recognize—chunky white Nikes. Glancing down, he realized he was wearing a tight tank top that showed off his absurdly muscular, tan arms. His glasses were gone, replaced by perfect vision. His old face? Gone too—now replaced with a chiseled jawline, sharp cheekbones, and a boyish, smirking charm.

He caught his reflection in a nearby car window and gasped. “Daaaang, I’m lookin’ so rad, bro!” He flexed his biceps instinctively. “Wait… what’s happenin’ to me?”

“Like, OH MY GOD, what is even goin’ on right now?” a high-pitched, bubbly voice squealed nearby.

Sam turned to see a girl—no, Maggie—only… she was unrecognizable. Gone were her muscles and practical workout attire. In their place was a slim, tanned, barely-18-looking blonde with bouncy curls, a bright pink crop top, and a dangerously short skirt. She had a cheerleader’s pom-poms in one hand and a glossy pout on her lips.

“Mags?” Sam asked, his deep voice cracking.

“Ew, who’s Maggie? Like, my name is Madison now, duh,” she replied, twirling a strand of her hair. Her eyes were wide and vacant, as if her usual sharp wit had been erased and replaced with… bimbo vibes. “Wait, who are you? Ohmygawd, you’re, like, sooo cute!”

“Madison? I’m Sam, your best—uh, wait…” Sam scratched his head, his memories slipping away like sand through his fingers. “No way, I’m, like, Brad now. And, uh, I guess we’re totally supposed to be boyfriend and girlfriend or somethin’?”

Madison giggled and clapped her hands. “O-M-G, Brad! Like, yeah, we are!” She grabbed his arm, pressing herself against him. “You’re sooo strong, baby!”

Brad couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah, babe, I, like, totally work out all the time. Gotta keep the guns lookin’ sick for football season, ya know?”

Madison nodded enthusiastically. “OMG, totes. And, like, I’m soooo pumped for cheer practice tomorrow! We’re, like, gonna crush it at the pep rally.”

Their old lives—Sam and Maggie, the nerdy, liberal best friends who championed justice and intellect—were completely erased. In their place stood Brad and Madison, a carefree high school jock and his bubbly cheerleader girlfriend. Neither had any desire to question what had happened or return to their former selves. Their new identities were as comfortable as the sun-kissed, athletic bodies they now inhabited.

Brad and Madison strolled hand in hand through the high school parking lot, the sun gleaming off Brad’s newly tousled dark brown curls. His hair, which had always been fine, straight, and perpetually disheveled in his Sam days, now bounced with a voluminous, carefree energy that seemed to match his new persona. Madison giggled, running her manicured fingers through it.

“Babe, your hair is, like, so dreamy now,” she cooed. “It’s like you’re in one of those rom-coms I totally love!”

Brad smirked, running a hand through his own curls. “Yeah, it’s pretty sick. Totally matches my whole vibe, right? Like, natural curls for the win, babe!”

Madison squealed in agreement, flipping her own bouncy blonde hair over her shoulder. Not only was her hair now platinum and shiny, but it somehow always seemed to be perfectly styled, as if she had just left the salon. Gone were her practical, low-maintenance buzzed undercut and dyed streaks—replaced by soft, flawless waves cascading down her back.

As they reached the entrance to school, a group of students waved enthusiastically. Their new friends were waiting: Chad, the quarterback; Ashley, the head cheerleader; and Brittany, who always carried a Starbucks cup and scrolled endlessly on her phone.

“Yo, Brad! Dude, where were you yesterday? We missed you at the gym!” Chad called out, giving Brad a fist bump.

“Yeah, for real,” Brittany chimed in, snapping a photo of Madison. “Madison, your outfit is, like, soooo cute today. And OMG, you two are legit couple goals.”

Brad grinned. “My bad, bro. Had to help my dad with some, like, backyard stuff or whatever. Totally made up for it with extra squats this morning, though.”

“Of course you did, bro!” Chad laughed, clapping Brad on the back.

Madison jumped into the conversation. “Oh my God, you guys, I was, like, totally thinking—what if we make a TikTok to, like, pump everyone up for the pep rally tomorrow?”

Ashley clapped her hands excitedly. “Yes! You’re sooo right. We could do one of those dances—like, the trending ones!”

“Totally!” Madison squealed, pulling out her phone.

As the group planned their video, Brad caught himself admiring how easily they all fit together. It was a far cry from his and Maggie’s old days of debating social issues in coffee shops or campaigning for progressive causes. He shrugged off the thought as easily as brushing sand off his shoulder.

Later, at lunch, Brad and Madison sat at the “cool table,” surrounded by their friends. The conversation turned to the upcoming student government elections.

“Honestly, I hope Jacob wins for class president,” Chad said, shoving a handful of fries into his mouth. “He’s got the right ideas about, like, cutting funding for those lame clubs no one cares about.”

Madison nodded, sipping her diet soda. “Yeah, like, why should the school waste money on dumb stuff like, um… science fairs? We totally need more spirit weeks and cute uniforms for cheer instead!”

Brad nodded in agreement, surprising himself with his own words. “For sure, babe. And, like, don’t get me started on all the stuff they spend on those nerdy STEM kids. They should put that cash into, like, upgrading the football field or whatever. Priorities, ya know?”

Chad grinned. “Preach, bro. Sports are what make this school awesome!”

Madison clapped her hands, delighted. “Exactly! Like, if people wanna be all nerdy and boring, that’s fine or whatever, but they shouldn’t take away from, like, the stuff that makes school fun!”

After lunch, Brad found himself in the locker room with Chad and the guys, preparing for practice. As he slipped on his jersey, he noticed how natural it all felt—joking with his teammates, flexing his biceps in the mirror, and strategizing for the next big game. Meanwhile, Madison was across campus, huddled with Ashley and Brittany as they debated which glitter eyeshadow would look best for the pep rally.

At practice, Brad caught the ball effortlessly, his natural athleticism shining. “Nice catch, bro!” Chad yelled, slapping him on the back.

Afterward, Brad and Chad sat on the bleachers, cooling off.

“Dude, life’s pretty sick, huh?” Chad said, grinning.

“Totally, bro,” Brad replied, sipping a sports drink. “Like, no worries, no drama. Just football, babes, and hanging out. What more could you ask for?”

That night, Madison was sprawled out on Brad’s bed, flipping through a glossy fashion magazine while Brad played Madden on his PS5.

“Babe,” Madison said suddenly, “do you ever think about… like, deep stuff?”

Brad paused the game, looking at her. “What do you mean, Mads?”

She twirled a strand of her hair, her brow furrowing slightly. “Like… I dunno. Sometimes I get this, like, weird feeling that I used to care about… other things? Like, boring stuff. Science, or whatever.”

Brad shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. “Nah, babe. That stuff’s lame. You’re, like, perfect just the way you are now. Cheerleader Madison is, like, the ultimate you.”

Madison’s face lit up with a bright smile. “Aww, you’re right, Brad! You always know what to say.”

Brad grinned, pulling her close. “Course I do. Now c’mere—game’s over. Time for some quality time with my girl.”

As the two leaned back, laughing and playfully poking each other, the faintest flicker of their old selves might have stirred in the depths of their minds. But the feeling was fleeting, drowned out by the overwhelming simplicity of their new lives.

Because Brad and Madison didn’t need to wonder or analyze anymore. Life was perfect. Simple, sunny, and carefree. And honestly? They wouldn’t have it any other way.

A week later, Brad and Madison found themselves at the beach, their favorite hangout spot after a long day of football and cheer practice. Madison adjusted her pink bikini and squealed, “Brad, let’s, like, take a selfie! We’re, like, the hottest couple at school, duh!”

Brad smirked, slipping an arm around her tiny waist. “For sure, babe. Gotta show off how shredded I am, ya know?” He flexed dramatically as Madison snapped photos with her phone.

The two sprawled out on their beach towels, sipping soda and laughing at dumb jokes. Brad stared out at the ocean, his mind blissfully empty. “Man, I’m, like, so stoked for the party tonight. Gonna shotgun, like, a million beers.”

Madison giggled. “Brad, you’re soooo silly. But, like, don’t get too crazy, ‘kay? I need you to, like, carry me when my heels hurt later.”

“Anything for my girl,” Brad said, planting a kiss on her lips. For a moment, a shadow of their old selves flickered, like a ghost of Sam and Maggie trying to break through. But it was quickly drowned out by the pounding surf and the warmth of the sun.

As the waves crashed against the shore, Brad and Madison held hands, their new lives stretching out before them like an endless summer. Nerdy, progressive Sam and Maggie were gone for good, and neither Brad nor Madison cared to remember them.

“Life’s, like, sooo perfect,” Madison sighed.

“Totally,” Brad agreed. And together, they watched the sun dip below the horizon, lost in their carefree, simple happiness.

[stxrsniolo]

ㅤㅤִㅤ ݁ ꉂ the mission ᴖ ֽ ㅤᷭ

ㅤ﹙ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ﹚ㅤּㅤㅤ˻ㅤaegan is typingㅤ˺⠀⠀this is a dark, angst-driven piece centered on intense military themes and emotional conflict. expect a raw, gritty narrative exploring rage, vulnerability, and the weight of expendability in a high-stakes war zone setting.

a/n: i made sure to use structural repetition as a narrative device, repeating key phrases and ideas—like y/n's expendability and matt's inner conflict—to emphasize emotional tension, highlight trauma, and reinforce the story's themes of rage and vulnerability in this setting, so if you found repetition of some phrases, you're not going crazy babe. that was me and it was intentional.

warnings: military themes. violence. trauma. ptsd. anger issues. power dynamics. emotional conflict. dark themes. explicit language. mature content. chemical weapons mention. emotional manipulation, etc.

pairings: harsh leader!matt × fresh meat!reader

═══════════════════════════

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . 　

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

the armory felt like a damn mausoleum, all icy steel and weak, flickering light, the air thick with gun oil and tension so heavy it could crush you.

matt was locked in at the workbench, hands moving like a pro, loading mags, checking sights, each motion a desperate ritual to keep his mind from going off the rails. he didn’t look at y/n, couldn’t risk it, but her energy was like a live grenade tossed in the room, humming with danger, ready to detonate.

she was a few feet away, tactical vest strapped tight, fingers fumbling with her gear, sidearm, knife and med kit like she was trying to grip onto something solid, her breathing was shallow, all over the place, and matt could feel it, her fear radiating like heat waves off hot pavement.

he wanted to snap, tell her to pull it together, but he didn’t. he couldn’t do that, not after what went down in the yard, not after he’d torn into her, left her gutted and bleeding, his words slicing deeper than any knife.

“gear check,” he growled, his voice low, guttural, like the rumble of a tank. “you fuck this up, you’re dead. so don’t.”

y/n didn’t respond, didn’t look at him, but her hands moved faster, checking her mags, her grenades, her comms and he couldn’t help but watch her out of the corner of his eye, his jaw clenched tight, his teeth grinding together.

she was green, too green, and he hated himself for letting this happen. hated her for not backing down, for not running, for making him feel something he didn’t want to feel.

he jammed a mag into his rifle, the metallic click slicing through the room like a gunshot, loud and final, reverberating off the walls like a countdown to doom.

“here’s the deal,” he said, his voice flat and hollow, like he was already mourning her. “we’re humpin’ it on foot, twenty klicks from the border. no choppers, no drones, no comms once we hit the LZ. we’re crawlin’ through enemy turf—mines waitin’ to blow your legs to hell, snipers ready to punch a hole through your head, ambushes hidin’ in every damn shadow. you stick to my six like glue, you do exactly what i say, the second i say it. you screw up, you’re dead. they grab you, you’re dead. you take one wrong step, you’re dead. you get me?”

she gave a tight nod, her jaw locked, eyes fixed on her gear like it was her lifeline in a storm. “got it,” she said, voice steady, but matt caught the quiver, the hairline fracture in her resolve, like she was one gust away from shattering.

he wanted to grab her by the shoulders, shake her until she woke up, yell at her to bail, to save herself before she was just another body in the dirt, but he didn’t, instead, he leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, guttural snarl, thick with venom. “you’re walkin’ into a meat grinder, and you might not walk out, i won’t be there to drag your ass out, you’re alone, rookie. dead fuckin’ meat.”

her eyes flared, a storm of rage and terror swirling in them, but she didn’t back down, didn’t blink. “i can handle it,” she said, voice steady, but matt heard the tremor, the doubt cracking through, loud as thunder in the suffocating silence, a warning she was too stubborn, or too scared, to heed.

he wanted to scream at her, tell her she was dead wrong, tell her he’d shadow her every damn step, tell her he’d bleed out before he let her die alone in the dirt, but he didn’t, he turned back to the workbench, hands moving over his gear like a corpse, checking his rifle, his sidearm, his knife, each motion cold, lifeless, hollow.

he didn’t look at her, couldn’t bear to, but her presence was like a blade buried deep in his chest, jagged and merciless, twisting with every breath, carving him open, leaving him raw and bleeding inside.

the mission kicked off in the dead of night, the kind of black that didn’t just hide you… it consumed you, thick and suffocating, like drowning in a void that crushed your soul as they moved on foot, boots silent on the dirt, breaths shallow, ragged, senses frayed to the breaking point, every nerve screaming.

the terrain was a slaughterhouse: rocky, uneven, a maze of death with mines waiting to rip you apart, tripwires coiled like vipers in the dark, every step a roll of the dice, every shadow a promise of pain.

matt took point, rifle locked tight, eyes slashing through the pitch-black, ears straining for the faintest snap, the smallest whisper of death closing in while y/n trailed behind, her steps careful, deliberate, but he could hear it; the tension in her breathing, sharp and jagged, like she was suffocating on her own terror, the faint clink of her gear rattling with every move, loud as a death knell in the silence, screaming that they were already marked.

she was terrified, and she had every damn right to be. and god, he wanted to grab her, tell her to stay tight, stay breathing, let him shield her from the bullets, the shrapnel, the blood.

they hit the first ambush two klicks in, and it slammed into them like a freight train; a burst of gunfire tore through the night, sharp and deafening, like the sky itself was splitting open, raining hell.

matt dropped to the dirt, rifle up, finger locked on the trigger, ready to kill. “contact, left!” he barked, voice low, raw, dripping with urgency, like a warning shot. y/n crashed down beside him, her breathing ragged, gasping, eyes wide as hell, pupils blown black with terror.

thanks to his experience, he was able to sense it: the way her hands shook, trembling so bad her rifle looked like it might slip, like she was one second from unraveling. the need to yell at her to stay down, stay safe, let him take the bullets, the blood becoming overwhelming.

“return fire!” he snapped, voice cutting through the chaos like a knife through flesh as he squeezed the trigger, rifle bucking hard in his hands, rounds ripping into the shadows, tearing through the night, spitting death and fury.

y/n fired beside him, her shots wild, panicked, spraying everywhere, bullets flying like her fear had taken over, but she didn’t stop, didn’t freeze; she fought, damn it, and matt hated her for it. hated her for being brave, for being stubborn, for making him care when he’d sworn he wouldn’t, for making him feel something when he wanted to feel nothing.

the enemy dropped, bodies collapsing like broken dolls, blood pooling in the dirt, dark and thick, glistening under the moonlight like a warning. time to move.

matt scanned the area, rifle steady, breathing even, cold as ice. “clear,” he said, voice flat, dead, like he’d already buried his soul. he turned to y/n, eyes hard, calculating, like he was staring at a ghost. “you good?”

she nodded, chest heaving, eyes wild with adrenaline, pupils still blown, staring into nothing. “i’m good,” she said, voice steady, but he caught the tremor, the crack in her armor, loud as a gunshot in the silence, screaming that she was anything but.

despite his desire to grab her, shake her until she woke up, tell her to run, to save herself before it was too late, he turned his back, cold and deliberate, and kept moving, leaving her to follow or fall, knowing she’d haunt him either way.

the compound came into view at dawn, a fortress of concrete and steel, surrounded by barbed wire and armed patrols. matt crouched in the shadows, his rifle up, his eyes scanning the perimeter, y/n crouched beside him, her breathing shallow, hands clenched around her rifle.

“breach the south wall,” he said, his voice low, rough. “take out the guards, find the shipment, neutralize volkov. clear?”

she nodded, her jaw tight, her eyes locked on him. “clear,” she said, her voice steady.

was this a great moment to say that he was sorry? to primise that he wouldn’t let her die? he shrugged off the thought and turned away, his back to her, and led the way.

the breach was a bloodbath.

they took out the guards, their bodies crumpling to the ground, their blood soaking into the dirt. matt moved like a machine, his rifle up, his finger on the trigger, his shots precise, lethal, as she followed, her breathing ragged, her eyes wide with adrenaline but she fought nonetheless, her shots wild, panicked, she didn’t stop.

they found the shipment, crates of chemical weapons, nerve agents, shit that could wipe out cities. matt planted the charges, his hands steady, his breathing controlled. y/n stood guard, her rifle up, her eyes scanning the shadows. they found volkov in the command center, surrounded by his spetsnaz goons. the firefight was brutal, bullets tearing through the air, bodies crumpling to the ground. matt took out two, his shots precise, lethal. y/n took out one, her shot wild, panicked, but it hit.

volkov fell, his blood soaking into the concrete, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. matt scanned the room, his rifle up, his breathing steady. “done,” he said, his voice flat, emotionless.

but then… it hit— a blast so loud it shattered the world, the ground quaking like it was splitting open, the air choking with dust and smoke, thick and suffocating.

matt’s ears screamed, his vision blurred, staggering like he’d been punched, rifle up, eyes slashing through the chaos, desperate. “y/n!” he barked, voice raw, shredded, dripping with panic.

silence… nothing.

he spun around, heart slamming against his ribs, chest tight like a vice, and saw it: a crater where she’d been, the ground scorched black, the air reeking of burnt flesh and twisted metal, a graveyard where she’d stood. she was gone.

gone.

panic slammed into him like a tidal wave, raw and suffocating, dragging him back: back to the fire, the screams, the smoke clawing at his lungs, choking him.

he was a kid again, trapped, helpless, watching everything burn, watching it all turn to ash. he saw her body shredded, limbs scattered, blood soaking into the dirt, her lifeless eyes staring up at the sky, empty. he saw her captured, tortured, screaming his name, begging for help that would never come, her voice breaking, fading.

but most of it, he saw her erased, gone, just another ghost to haunt him, another weight on his soul, another failure he’d carry forever.

he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move. he wanted to scream, to rip the world apart, to claw through the dirt, to find her, to save her, to fix this. but he couldn’t… she was gone.

or so he thought until he heard a sound, faint, ragged, but there. “matt!” her voice, weak, broken, but alive.

he spun, vision snapping clear, and saw her crawling from the rubble, face streaked with blood, vest torn to hell, but breathing, moving, alive.

alive.

he staggered toward her, chest heaving, hands shaking like he was falling apart, and yanked her to her feet, grip bruising, desperate, like letting go would kill him. “you’re alive,” he growled, voice raw, cracked open, bleeding. “you’re fuckin’ alive.”

she nodded, chest heaving, eyes wide, wild with adrenaline, pupils blown. “i’m good,” she said, voice steady, but matt caught the tremor, the crack in her armor, screaming she was anything but. he wanted to grab her, shake her until she understood, tell her he was sorry, tell her he’d die before he let her go again, but he didn’t, instead, he couldn’t stop himself to touch her.

his hands slid to her face, rough, trembling, holding her like she might vanish, and he kissed her hard, desperate, tasting blood and dust and fear, pouring everything he couldn’t say into it, every scream, every curse, every promise.

she froze for a second, then kissed him back, her hands clutching his vest, pulling him closer, like she needed it as bad as he did.

he pulled back, chest heaving, eyes locked on hers, wild and raw. “don’t you fuckin’ die on me, ever.”

ㅤ﹙ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ﹚ㅤּㅤㅤ˻ㅤaegan is typingㅤ˺ᅟ⠀ i appreciate the love shown through reposts, but let me be clear: my tales are not to be copied or adapted without a whisper to me first. my words are my treasure, and i guard them jealously.

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[superthatguy62]

Project X Zone 3

Mag & Linear-only version:

[clockwayswrites]

Not So Imaginary

Parts 1-3 Parts 4-6Parts 7-8 WC: 1177

“I brought you some more books to read,” Jason said as he entered the room.

After Danny had shown that they were clearly a person (a kid at that) and answered a few questions, they had been moved to an actual room on the Watchtower. Jason was pretty sure part of it was how he refused to leave the cell until Danny was moved, but he didn’t really care as long as it got his friend safe.

Danny looked up with a grin. They were pretty solid today, sitting cross-leg on the bed with feet and everything.

“You’re back,” the artificial voice spoke out from the tablet like device in Danny’s hands. It was a version of something called a SGD, Bruce had said, and was used by people who had trouble with verbal sounds. They didn’t know if Danny would always need it or if they’re vocal cords would come back as they continued to solidify.

“I am. B said I could stay a whole three hours today too as long as I ate a snack while I was here,” Jason said, holding up one of the bags he had.

Three hours still wasn’t a lot, but it was better than the one it had been the rest of the week. It took a lot of begging, but B finally agreed that Jason was well enough for a test to see how it went. Danny was still draining life force from Jason, and only Jason, which made certain Leaguers nervous about letting the two of them close. Jason had done everything he could to let it happen: he’d begged and argued, he’d eating everything Alfie wanted him to, he rested whenever Bruce wanted him too which was all the time, and he even agreed to stay benched for as long as it took.

That last one had really helped convince Bruce and Dick that Jason wouldn’t back down from helping his friend.

“Good. I am happy. What do you have?”

“You liked the Hardy Boys, right? I have a few more of those and I found you some science mags you might like,” Jason said as he flopped onto the bed next to Danny. He could feel the odd tingle travel up his arm as he leaned into Danny.

“Thank you,” Danny said with a wide smile. The tone of the electronic voice didn’t match the brightness of that smile, but it was alright. Jason could also feel how happy Danny was.

“You’re doing okay?”

“Yes.” There was a long pause as Danny found the right words. They were pretty quick already with preset phrases, but odder things still took longer than regular talking would. “WW took me to observation deck. We watched stars. She told me stories of stars from her home.”

“Yeah?” Jason asked, trying to keep his voice from hitching around the word. He couldn’t bug Danny with that yet. “You like her? Wonder Woman?”

“Yes.” The reply was quick, but Danny was watching Jason with furrowed brows. They pushed a sense of question through their bond.

“I’m fine. Just thinking through some shit,” Jason said with a wave of his hand. “But Wonder Woman is really cool. She’s my favorite too.”

Danny set the tablet aside so that they could run their fingers through Jason’s hair. It felt odd, what with not all of the fingers always being all of the way solid, but a good sort of odd. It seems Jason couldn’t just Danny’s concern aside.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow, okay?”

Danny let out what for anyone else would have been a sigh and gave a little nod. They shorted through the bag of books Jason had brought and found a Hardy Boy’s to hand over to Jason.

“What me to read to you?” Jason waited for the nod. Apparently it was really important to let Danny choose things right then, or so the adults said. “Okay, move over a bit, yeah? You’re hogging all the bed.”

Danny placed their hand to their chest, face screwing up in an affronted expression. It didn’t work though when Jason could feel the amusement through their bond.

“Yeah yeah, I’m a brute, now shove over,” Jason said with a laugh. He worked his way up until he was lounging against the head of the bed.

Danny didn’t move.

“You’re a brat,” Jason accused.

Danny gave a silent laugh, humor bumbling up in their bond, before they flopped over right onto Jason’s chest. Jason let a huff of a sigh, but ran his fingers through Danny’s hair like he knew they liked before he opened the book to start read about another adventure of the Hardy Boys.

It was easier to feel the drain like this, when they were so close to each other and touching. Jason had tried to avoid spelling that out too much to Bruce. He got that his dad was just worried, but he was afraid if B knew he’d tried to keep Danny away.

As it was Bruce was trying to send Danny away.

Jason brushed the thought aside, focusing on doing his best to give the characters good voices for Danny. At least it was a distraction from all the rest of Jason’s thoughts. Two chapters later the stopped to ask, “Want a break or do you want another chapter?”

Danny rolled over and off Jason’s chest to flop onto the pillow next to him and Jason froze. His shock must have been clear because Danny scrambled up off the bed until they were floating above Jason.

“No! It’s a good thing. Just… you’re getting some of your color back,” Jason explained. He should really stop staring. He should take Danny to a mirror to see or something, but it was just that… Danny was beautiful right then. He found himself reaching up to brush his finger tips of the bright freckles that were scattered across Danny’s cheeks and nose like a galaxy of stars.

Bright teal eyes blinked back at him.

Jason cleared his throat. “Right, sorry, let’s go let you look.”

Danny floated to the side, landing on their feet as Jason stood, and followed behind behind to the small attached bathroom. Jason guided Danny in front of the mirror. White was spreading into their hair now.

For a moment Jason was worried that Danny was frozen in shock, then the other leaned in close to the mirror, touching the surface before bringing their hand up to their own face. Suddenly Danny was moving, spinning weightlessly around Jason as they gave a soundless whoop.

“I know,” Jason said with a grin of his own. “Look at you! You’re really coming together now! I knew you could do it. I knew that you could come back.”

Slowly, Danny drifted back down so that the tips of their toes brushed against the floor. They rested their forehead against Jason’s.

He didn’t need words to understand what Danny was trying to say.

“Don’t have to thank me, stardust. I’ll always come for you just like you’ll always come for me.”

--- AN: Oh ho, is Jason starting to realize he has a crush? And what isn't he telling Danny? Hopefully this part is good, the weather is giving me such a migraine/making me super dizzy so my eyes are crossing some! (Yes, I'm resting, on the couch with a cat!)

I really should have made an update post for this... this supposed ficlet just keeps going! 7K now! Aaaah well. Anywho, stay delightful, darlings!

[tinydefector]

Hello tinydefector!!! I wanted to say that I admire your work, especially the book "Human's effects". So could you please add Skids and Rodimus to the continuation of the book, I would really like to see them. Thank you for your attention.

Chaos on board - Human effects

Rodimus

Human effects masterlist

Prev

Next

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: workplaces issues in space

__________

The Ambassador walks into the Ultra Magnus' office to see Megatron and Magnus both glaring at Rodimus and Daniel. "What have you two done this time? Did they go out asteroid surfing again? " They ask while making their way towards the table. As Megatron glared daggers across the table, Ultra Magnus heaved a long-suffering sigh at the newcomer's inquiry. "Worse than that, I'm afraid. It seems Rodimus and Daniel decided simulated space warfare was an... appropriate pastime." Magnus' field pulsed annoyance. 

Rodimus waved a dismissive hand, uncowed. "Aw, c'mon Mags! We were just having a little target practice in the hold, no harm done. How were we supposed to know the booster rockets were still online?"

Megatron growled deep in his intake. "You were supposed to conduct comprehensive safety checks on our cargo!." His field roiled with barely-leashed rage. 

Daniel scratched his head sheepishly. "He's, uh, not wrong. Things may have gotten a teensy bit out of hand" The ambassador pinched their brow ridge. "Let me guess. uncontrolled explosive devices in an enclosed space led to..."

"Minor structural damage and several singed circuits, yes," grated Magnus. 

A humourless smirk curled Megatron's dermas. "Appropriate punishment is in order, I believe." His tone left no doubt over the two delinquents. They were all just happy the third member of their party hadn't been present, less they all had to deal with Ratchet's wrath. 

Rodimus gulped. Daniel sank lower in his seat. The Ambassador groans in annoyance. "Daniel get back to the crew room. Your on restroom cleaning duties for the next Orn. And don't think complaining to David and Kyle is going to save you" they state. Daniel scurried from his seat, hands raised placatingly. "Yessir, right away sir! No complaining, got it." He backed towards the door, casting Rodimus an apologetic grimace. 

Rodimus merely flashed his signature cocky grin and finger-guns, to his friend. But Megatron's responding snarl and Magnus' deepening scowl boded ill for the speedster's fate. "Really, Rodimus, must you continue pursuing chaos and mayhem?" sighs their ambassador wearily. "One of these days your antics are going to get someone hurt, what were you thinking?"

"Are you questioning my leadership?" Rodimus shot back, before shrinking back into his seat as the other two mechs shoot him with a glare. Megatron loomed over the desk, a deep rumble echoes from his chassis as he does his best not to lose his temper at the prime. "Questioning implies there was leadership to begin with." He states it's not quite a sneer but his disappointment shows. 

Magnus nodded stiff agreement. "Reckless endangerment of crew and ship cannot be tolerated. You may be Co-captain of this vessel but the Ambassador and myself are responsible for the safety and security of all on board your vessel." Rodimus paled, grin faltering at the prospect of real punishment, Their optics held no mercy as sentencing began in earnest. Another incident to log in Rodimus' ever-growing file.

"Look Rodimus I don't really care what you do in your spare time but don't drag my crew into it. I'm responsible for each and every one of the humans on this ship. Do you realise how easily something could have gone wrong?" The Ambassador states while looking at the captain. Megatron growled irritably. "Spare us your coddling, Ambassador. Rodimus' 'antics' endanger us all. He's reckless, refuses to do his documentation, finds every opportunity to disappear from proper duties, Ultra Magnus and myself are the ones running the ship due to his inability to stick to a task."

Ultra Magnus nodded solemn agreement. "Recklessness cannot continue unpunished. I suggest confinement to quarters for the foreseeable future, with duties suspended."

But Rodimus' smile falls. "What! You can't just ground me. I'm not a fragging Sparkling! I said I was sorry, what more do you want?" He shouts out optics frantically looking between the three. Megatron's engine snarled. "Respect. Responsibility. Traits you've yet to demonstrate, Captain." He spat the title like an insult. 

"Enough!" The Liaison calls out loudly. "Rodimus you have been acting up recently, rather badly, why? It seems every time one of us turns our back you are sneaking off, tonight was my night off. I was having drinks with my crew and got called here because of this" they accuse, trying to find out what had Rodimus acting up. This wasn't  the first time either he had both Daniel and Traxies looped into his antics but so far been the most dangerous.

Rodimus shrank back slightly under the barrage, facade cracking. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Look, I know things have been... dicey lately. And yeah, maybe I've been pushing boundaries a bit more than usual? But I'm trying to enjoy myself, make others enjoy travelling with me. It's boring! I feel like I'm going nuts cooped up at a desk all cycle."

"So endangering lives is acceptable?" Megatron crossed his arms severely. 

“Have you any idea the amount of violations you have committed,  have you even read the list to your name?” Ultra Magnus grumbles, Rodimus looks at the table like a scolded child before the human sighs as they move closer. " Rodimus, can you actually read?" They ask, it was a slight hunch they had that he was acting up because of something with their reports and records. But he was showing signs similar to dyslexia and adhd. 

Rodimus stiffened. "What kind of insult is that?! Of course I can read - I'm the Prim- friggin' Captain, aren't I?!"

Megatron snorted slightly amused. "A fact that continues to astound and dismay in equal measure."

But the human ambassador remained focused on Rodimus. "Then perhaps the issue lies not in your duties, but how you process them. Reading reports and records can be tedious for some."

They pulled up a datapad, flipping through screens. "Let's test your comprehension. Can you summarise the contents of this supply requisition?"

Rodimus grimaces at the screen, he hates it. "Aw c'mon, do I have to? That stuff's so boring" 

Magnus rumbled a subtle warning but their ambassador kept Rodimus pinned with a stare. With a huff and whine from his engine, Rodimus gave in and began squinting at the pad. Silence fell as they watched him struggle to parse the words, tangling meanings and figures alike. 

"OK, so paperwork is hard for you, why haven't you brought this up to one of us?" They inquire this time not as annoyed. The move to sit down on the table near him. Rodimus shifted uncomfortable under the others' piercing stares. His plating flared in embarrassment as never before. "I didn't... it's not like..." He vented harshly, the truth forcing its way free at last. "Reading's always been hard, okay? The words jumble and my processors ache if I have to focus too long." 

He refused to meet their optics, ashamed to show such perceived weakness. "Why did you not come to us for aid?" Megatron asked, the anger in his voice had faded. "There is no shame in acknowledging limitations, Rodimus, but causing chaos over something that can simply be solved with changing who does the documentation."  

Rodimus' intake worked furiously. "Because... because I'm the Prime, the Captain! I'm supposed to have it all together, be the fearless leader. How can they follow me if they think I'm.. Everyone except me too know everything! I'm not Optimus. Im out here to not have to be in his shadow! ” he finally lets out before he sulks into his arms. 

The others go quiet as they watch the dishevelled speedster. 

"I'm willing to help you with taking inventory and trade bargains, but no more dragging Daniel or Traxies into your silly endeavours, understand?, are one of you able to help him with reports to cybertron and earth over different routes for trades and out travel logs" They inquire firstly to Rodimus and then to the other two mechs. 

He straightened with surprise. "You...you'd help me? Really?" His optics darted between the human and his Co-captain and enforcer. 

Magnus nodded. "Orders and logs require diligent documentation. Traversing trade routes necessitates mathematical prowess. I am equipped to handle them." 

Megatron gave the barest nod. "And I am...familiar with navigating bureaucracy. Of log reports and records" 

The meeting concludes after a while  the human stands there waiting for a moment. "Rodimus walk with me" they called out to the speedster waiting for him to begin walking beside them. Rodimus glanced up from shuffling pedes. "I...yeah. Yeah, okay." He nodded, falling into stride beside the human. His fields pulsed anxiety and gratitude in equal measure. 

Silence fell as they walked the halls, Rodimus casting furtive glances at them as they flick through the data padin hand. "You're not the first person I've worked with who has trouble reading or even understanding stuff" they remark as they begin heading to Swerve's. It takes Rodimus a little off guard that they were going to the bar. "Plus you owe me drinks after pulling me away from my night off" the human tease.

Rodimus perked up in surprise as they angled their path towards Swerve's bar. His cooling fans kicked on at the human's casual revelation and teasing quip. "Wait, seriously? There are others who struggle like me?" He asked slightly shocked. They hand the pad to Rodimus. “have a look at the screen and tell me if having a dark mood helps with being able to read stuff.” They tell him. He accepts the tablet as they walk into the bar. Optics flick to them watching like hawks as they find seats. 

“ it's easier to read some stuff still going to give My processors a short circuit tho” he grumbles slightly. They nod in understanding. “ we will working something out but that's for tomorrow” they hum as they both pull up to a table. Rodimus lifts them up to the bench where they fall into one of the human sided seats on the table. 

 "Look, about earlier - I really am sorry I dragged your crew into that mess. You deserve a break." Optics in the bar shoot to Rodimus and the Ambassador. All of them watched with vented breath after the earlier drinking session with the human's. Rodimus' plating twitched self-consciously under the weight of so many curious stares from within. But beside him, the human ambassador didn't seem fazed by the stares. 

Rodimus leaned in close. "Seems everyone's watching us. Primus, you'd think we spawned a sparkling the way they're gossiping!" He grumbles looking into the drink swerve slides in front of him before the mini bot disappears. The ambassador chuckled. "Don't mind them. Think everyone's letting the high grade and energex go to their head" the Ambassador states. "Plus my crew were here earlier having drinks and got a little out of hand, Nadia was talking about 'taking a mech for a ride' " they chuckled into their own drink.

Rodimus sputtered on his energon, cooling fans kicking into high gear at the risqué implications. His plating rippled in scandalised delight.  "Taking a mech for a ride, huh?!” His fans kicking on had made a few other mechs snicker from other tables. Across the bar, curious optics remained glued to their table, The speedster leaned on an elbow, optics filled with wonder.

"So which poor mech caught the little lady's optic?. " it was barely above a whisper. His engine rumbled warmly. “she had her eyes set on Swerve, I honestly think she was just trying to get free drinks" they call back in amusement.  But it makes Rodimus' processor go wild at the thought. The humans were just as interested in bedding a bot and the rest of the crew was with the humans. 

"Clever little thing, your Nadia! Far be it from me to judge creativity in scamming a drink or two." He mumbles, feeling the energex hitting him hard. He had suspected that Swerve must have given him a triple boost. 

So many of the other bots in the bar are still watching him and listening in on the conversation, eager to see if the rumours Kyle had spread earlier were true. "Oh Nadia is a very clever schemer. I'd say watch out for her and Millian they're thick as thieves kinda like you Daniel and Traxies. Just as much trouble makers" they chuckle as they finish their drink.

He cycled a gusty vent and pushed his empty cube away, coming to a reluctant conclusion. "As much as I'd love nothing more than to keep yakking all night, you should probably call it and get some recharge. You looked tired. I'm going to have one more round before I head to berth. Magnus is gonna have me on inventory or worse with him tomorrow," Rodimus shuddered theatrically at the thought.

 "But we should definitely do this again real soon. This was nice, and um thank you. For you know helping me" it's a rather shy reply which has them giving him a smile. "Enjoy your night captain, I'm most likely heading back to my room soon. Getting late and I plan on actually sleeping in my bed and not a desk tonight" they state while standing up. Joints popping slightly.

Once Rodimus had helped them to the ground they flahs him another smile “Good night Rodimus I'll see you tomorrow " they state as they make their way towards the door of the bar. He's sat there for a moment his spark fluttering as he watches them. before he gets a ping from swerve and other bots asking the gossip. He goes to get up and leave the bar before be can get bombarded with questions only to get cornered by Swerve. 

"A-hem! And just where do you think you're off to in such a hurry, Captain?" Swerve's cheery voice broke Rodimus from his musings as the gathered bots closed in, optics alight with curiosity and engex-loosened daring. A blush swiftly rose in Rodimus' plating, though he straightened with false bravado. "Just turning in for the night, mechs, as should you all” 

Catcalls and laughs erupted from the crowd. "Aw, no need to play coy, Roddy!" laughed Tailgate. "We all saw you chumming it up with the Ambassador - spill the goods!"

Rodimus cycled a sigh. They'd get it out of him one way or another. Best tell it himself and save some shred of dignity intact. "Alright alright, you buzzards! I'll tell you what really went down..." 

________

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[hoiststowline]

ultra magnus x reader

He pauses, almost mid-action, as a revelation consumes him, the temperamental frown etched wondrously deep into his face plate only holds steadfast. Looking around, a bemused sensation skates across his processor, realizing something was painfully missing, a vast trench within a neatly executed puzzle.

A quick check of his internal clock proves true that it was slightly past the time he was typically interrupted, but a welcomed interference if he could describe it most accurately. It practically threw him off from the mountain of paperwork, having gotten entirely too used to the sound of his office door sliding over by now that when the room is not filled with your occasional chatter, it feels simply too empty.

Instances, when you would occasionally click a video on your device and the volume, was turned up too high, hastily clicking the pause button while whispering curses. "Sorry, sorry!" You'd stumble, thinking he would be offering nothing short of a disapproving glower, to your surprise, he actually softly smiles, unbothered.

Or when you'd lounge atop his desk, laid out on your stomach as you'd throw yourself into assignments or other miscellaneous work, infrequently using him as a dictionary. "Mags? What does convivial mean?"

"To be cheerful or friendly," He'd reply without ever looking up, too engrossed in his own responsibilities, but would never not answer your important question, as they were all such.

Your absence was noted greatly, felt largely within the cramped four metal walls. Distraction was not so bad, you've come to explain to him, as he found productivity the most when you would chatter on about your day when all he had to do was ask.

Slowly, he stood from the desk, taking immediate notice of how inelastic his joints felt, meaning he was already on the path to an uncomfortable recharge. It is nothing to navigate the halls, wandering almost aimlessly until he ceases just shy of the cargo bay, his entire body unmoving at the sound of something he cannot place.

Easily, from the ajar entrance, he spots the form he'd been searching for, stationed in the furthest yet most empty corner of the room. You're holding your head in your hands, plainly distressed, a feat that sends a wave of alerts that do nothing but worry him more.

"y/n?" He didn't realize he uttered it, and you probably would not have heard it save for the echo that runs across the length of the room. It's soft but decipherable as you yank your gaze up, a puffiness adorning your face he's never seen before.

When you lock eyes with him across the floor, your heart leaps to your throat, subconsciously blanking on any feasible lie that you could conjure. Magnus stands in the doorway, rightfully unamused and almost speechless by your display.

Coming to, you turn away from him, using your palms to expeditiously wipe at the tears that lingered on your cheeks, even as more come to replace the older ones. Something proved embarrassing, whether that be he seeing you in such a state, or having to try and explain why you reacted in such a way.

Thinking you are unwell or hurt, he traverses the room in six strides, coming to one knee at your front whilst running his optics over every inch of you, searching for your ailment. When he finds none, he keeps his voice at an unfamiliar low and leans just a bit more forward, commanding your attention.

"What has happened," And it's not posed as a question, more so a demand, wondering who could have harmed you to such a degree without leaving a mark.

"I don't want to talk about it," Defenses high, you can't meet his intimidating gaze for even a moment, knowing you'd break down once more. "I'm fine."

Understanding very well you're not, he maneuvers himself to the left, now leaning up against the wall as you currently were, dwarfed by his shadow.

"You are not," Magnus rumbles, elbows poised on his bent knees as his servos dangle freely, such an informal pose for someone known to be so stiff. "But I shall respect your wishes. If only for the time being."

Why he stayed, you wouldn't know, nor could you get your mind unclouded enough to venture a guess. Instead, a glassiness returns to your eyes, scavenging already teetering tears to the surface once more a newfound waver to your tone.

When you force yourself to even your breathing, squeeze your eyes so tight that the tears would just cease altogether. It erupts into a futile effort as an immovable force pulls you taught to his side, cheek now smushed up against his lower torso. Blinking wildly, you try for a moment to wrangle yourself free, but his hold proves committed.

While Ultra Magnus had always been kind to you, you never dared to test his level of patience or sought his company in instances such as these. Every now and then, they occurred, but not frequently enough that he'd caught you in such a disposition before, often glued to his side. He liked you for some enigmatic reason and enjoyed your presence and companionship when others whispered about how unapproachable he was.

He was overawing, at least at first impressions, perhaps guarded, but you'd never found him standoffish. So when he extended such sentiments, you wished someone could see him, just to observe him in this light that he wasn't so callous as everyone assumed.

"Whenever you may be ready," He muses, index finger raising before gently tapping the length of your leg, a gesture that settles your rampaging heart. "I shall be here."

You nod into his side, hand finding his plating in a poor attempt to hold him just a little tighter. He wasn't coddling you, respecting your boundaries and requests, but making his company known so you would not retreat to self-loathing. You needed this, a concept unbeknownst, and his stern composure kept you grounded as you listened to the humming of his machinery.

Magnus freezes every so slightly as your arm comes to his torso, fingers only able to reach well below his spark. You bundle deeper into his side, and the only reason he comprehends your reply is because your lips move across his plating.

"Thanks," You rasp, blinking away another round of tears. "Really, Mags. You're the best."

A million inquiries press against his mind, wondering how long you'd been in here and what was factually the source of your woes, but he hushes them all, storing them away for another time. Once more, his digit raises only to pat your side, understanding he was comforting you in some inconceivable way.

"Anytime." It's genuine, striving to enforce that truly, at any time, you could seek his assistance, and he'd be there for you. Your outward anguish would come to pass, but the root of your pain would remain, holding firm until there would be someone there to fight its battle.

And he intended to do so.