#sentinel writes

[angelicsentinel]

Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kudou Shinichi | Edogawa Conan/Kuroba Kaito | Kaitou Kid Characters: Kuroba Kaito | Kaitou Kid, Kudou Shinichi | Edogawa Conan, Vermouth (Meitantei Conan) Additional Tags: Murder, Black Organization Member Kudou Shinichi | Edogawa Conan, Angst, Violence, Making Out, Identity Issues, Pandora Gem (Magic Kaito), Protective Kudou Shinichi | Edogawa Conan, Bittersweet Ending Summary:

Stolen from his family as an infant, and raised by Vermouth, Shinichi has become one of the premiere assassins for the Black Organization. All is well and good until he meets one Kuroba Kaito in disguise, and he turns Shinichi's world on its head.

What will become of them now?

-

My gift for @rux363 for the 2024 Kaishin secret santa. All your prompts were wonderful, but I ended up choosing prompt 2: "'Why didn't you stay? ... Was I not enough? To make you stay?' Because of course we need some angst prompts - go wild!"

I indeed went wild. Very wild, hehehe ^_^; I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you really have a lot of fun reading it, and a very merry season indeed. Or an angsty one >:)

[angelicsentinel]

Title: Worlds Away Fandom: Mass Effect Original Trilogy Artist: milkywayes Author: AngelicSentinel Rating: Explicit Relationships: Shepard/Garrus Vakarian Characters: Female Shepard, Garrus Vakarian Additional Information: First Contact AU, Mind Link, Infiltration, Mind Sex Word Count: 20,924 Summary: After the discovery of live protheans on Eden Prime, humanity is in the initial stages of mobilizing for a war with sentient death machines. Now, Shepard has to infiltrate the Citadel to determine what's really going on, and if she can trust Garrus, the person with whom she shares an accidental mind link. Sequel to No One on EarthNotes:

I never thought the MEBB would still be here when I dipped my toes back into Mass Effect waters; it helped provide the final push to rewrite this after I lost all my notes and files, especially as "sequel" was one of the themes.

Thanks to Kir and Cat without whose support I wouldn't have finished this, and to Dood and Kiwi, to whom I owe my sanity.

worlds away

my art contribution to the mass effect big bang!

[niccolites]

sentinel species - i. canary

victorian, zombie apocalypse au, kyle garrick x fem!reader. read on ao3 here or masterlist here

You have a half-rotted candle, but you leave it in your bedroom so that you are unseen as you creep across the landing towards the stairs.

It is a week before the world ends; you sit on your parent’s stairs and listen to them reject your betrothal. 

This is your third courting season, which has had more success than the first two so far. A few gentlemen have shown interest in you, and your mother has had her hands full managing expectations and courtships on your behalf.

One man shines far above the rest, a distant relative of the Duke, Mr Evans. Distant enough that you don’t think anyone else is aware of the relation, but your mother reminds you every tea time, as if to keep you aware of the benefits that lie down the road of this specific courtship.

This is not the man being discussed in the drawing room of your home, for once.

You recognise the voice in your living room, as he asks to formally court you, as he has every intention to be your husband.

Mr Kyle Garrick is the very picture of a gentleman. Kind and attentive, you remember when he had taken notice of you on your first courting season. Your mother had tried to catch the attention of some of the men, to get them to sign their name on your dance card, but there had been no biters. Left alone for a moment, the picture of pathetic, and Mr Garrick had been there. He led you in a waltz and complimented your dress, your hair, how sweetly you spoke. You had nervously pulled most of your hair out of its updo, but it felt rude to contradict his compliments.

He had been enlisted, you remember, and you hadn’t seen him since that first courting season. You did see his older sister sometimes. You remember asking about him a few times, feeling some kind of obligation towards the man who had been kind to you when he didn’t have to be.

And here he is, back in your living room, speaking with your parents about your nuptials.

You listen to him, outlining his intentions for you. He has saved up his money from his service, and he is prepared to buy a home for the two of you, and start a life together.

You cannot comprehend it, certain that he must have mistaken you for someone else. He must think that there is another girl up here. The hush of his voice, drifting up to meet you. You want to catch it in your palm, cradle it there like a newborn lamb.

He had been kind to you, but you didn’t know each other. Hadn’t seen each other in years at this point, not that you would know with how certain his voice sounds. Vowing to be a dutiful husband to you. Your name spilling out, thudding up the stairs to reach your ears. Any doubt has fled, but has left behind the certainty of insecurity in its wake.

You didn’t know when he had gotten back, some moonsick dream that he came straight here from the train. You shake it off, the thought just a little bit too fanciful.

You know that your mother is going to decline, moments before she starts to. You hear her excuse this given your attachment to the Duke’s cousin - your attachment being that he is taking you for a walk tomorrow - but you know this isn’t the real reason. Mr Garrick may be a decorated officer, a kind enough man. But he barely has any standing in society. His father was a boxer, and you know that his entire family fit into a small house despite the fact that they are not a small family.

Your mother has high sights set for you, and you do not think she has any intention of lowering them. Even if that requires not consulting you in the matter of your future and who you will be spending it with. Your father had passed a few years ago now, and you knew that your mother needed to match you with someone that could sustain the two of you. Your home wasn’t your own, legally owned by some cousin of your father’s, who hadn’t taken an interest, yet.

You shift on the stairs, bare feet on wood, as you listen to the beginning of a protest from Mr Garrick before he swallows it down and thanks your mother for her time.

It’s dark upstairs, you have only found your way to the steps with familiarity. You can see the door of the drawing room open further as Mr Garrick picks up his hat and makes to leave. At the front door, he turns his head, and you swear he can see you. He can’t, you know he can’t, it’s pitch black up here. Your candle is abandoned on your dresser, the white of your nightgown is drowned in the darkness of the landing.

He hesitates for a moment, gaze darting all around you as if to find you before he exhales and turns to leave.

A week later, you can see Mr Garrick on the opposite wall to you, and you think about the defeated slump of his shoulders that night. You think you may be flattering yourself, but you think it’s still there, hidden under the shoulder of his coat. It’s likely improper for him to initiate conversation with you, beyond the level of politeness if you were to bump into each other.

Your fingers twitch underneath your gloves, feel the stitching of the seam scratch against your skin. Mr Evans is somewhere around here, and you know that you will have to put a face on, spin around for a few dances with him. Ask him about his travels around Europe, even though you surely have heard all of the stories already.

For now, you are happy to lean against the far wall and flutter your fan as if to sweep everyone else away. Your mother is speaking with a few of the other mothers, so you only have a few moments to slouch before you are caught and reprimanded.

The band starts playing, and there is a spin of skirts as the first dance starts up. You’ll likely get in trouble for dodging Mr Evans, given he had you booked for the first dance. However, you could always plead that you had attempted to find him, and the two of you had always just missed each other.

You suppose there is nothing terrible about Mr Evans, he is a perfectly polite, even kind man. He is just not interesting, and your mother had to ask most of the questions once when he had come over for tea. Something that had gotten you into trouble later that night.

You can see the mop of blonde hair that could be Mr Evans and you stand up straight, starting an idle, if quick, stroll around the opposite side of the room. There’s a door to the patio off to the side, and you duck through the door and inhale a lungful of fresh air.

It’s quiet out here, the music following you out but it’s caught in the open space, drifting up into the sky, insignificant. It’s the late evening, and the sky burns red, the sun catching on the edge of the landscape, flaming the distant fields.

This is the Oakwood estate, and they usually host the best parties of the season. A large mansion, white and pristine, surrounded by flattened grass. Perfect for playing cricket on, if one wishes. And they often did.

You smooth your hand over the wood of the railing, white paint giving the effect of marble. On the underside, you chip away at it to expose the brown wood. Out of sight, a pathetic rebellion but you take what you can get.

You know that in a few minutes you will have to return to the dance, find Mr Evans and do your usual verbal dance. Apologise for missing him, let him take him for a dance. Perhaps ask him his day was, if he lets you get a word in. You know that this is your lot in life, the idea of truly rebelling and shaming your parents is enough to curtail you, just before you can get too many ideas.

Not that it doesn’t leave you bitter, but you’ve gotten used to chewing on your words. There is a sickly feeling at the back of your throat, and it has just gotten more poisonous over the years. You’re too young to be so bitter, so you resolve to give yourself another minute of fresh air before you return to reality.

At the forest line, you can see a man in a suit shifting, and you squint, trying to make out the shape of him. A dot, with arms and legs, sprinting from what must be a mile away. You stare, unsure of what you are seeing. Inappropriate, you think, to approach this party on foot rather than via carriage, but you couldn’t see who it was to surely throw any judgement.

A call of your name behind you has you spinning around. Mr Garrick stands in the doorway, slowly shutting the door behind him as he takes you in. “Hello,” he greets, bowing his head to you slightly.

“Mr Garrick,” you start, giving an aborted attempt at a curtsy. You falter, unsure as to whether to bring up the proposal that you saw the previous night. You decide not to, settling on something more polite. “How are you?”

Mr Garrick smiles at you, impossibly handsome. You are struck for a moment, about someone so beautiful, wondering for a moment if you have imagined the entire scene from the prior night had even happened at all. “I am well, thank you,” he replies, clasping his hands behind his back. He’s broad in the shoulders, a faint strain in the fabric of his coat that draws your eye for a moment. “Just wondering why you were out here instead of inside.”

You shuffle, unladylike, for a moment. You turn back to the railing, facing the open field again. Easier, you think, to speak directly to the sun if faced a little away from it. “I just needed a moment, it’s a little close in there.” You hadn’t spoken much, before he left, but at the burr of his voice, you slip into memory. Pulled forward before you stop yourself, remembering how easily he pulls conversation from you, a loose string that unravels.

He hums, steps to the railing himself. There is a gap of space between you, the amount that is appropriate, but you still glance behind you uneasily. He had left the door open behind him, the door slanted at an angle so the sounds inside are slightly muffled, but still present. It cuts through the space between you, the constant reminder of the rules of your lives behind you. “I understand the feeling, myself,” Mr Garrick confesses, forearms braced on the railing. His head is tilted towards you, eyes dark and pretty.

“Yes?” you ask, blinking at him in surprise. You hadn’t seen Mr Garrick at many dances like this, granted given he had been so recently away, but for a man whose back was so unbent, you didn’t imagine he was someone to be intimidated in a crowd.

Mr Garrick hums again, giving you a small smile. It’s affectionate, in a way that has you flushing. “Indeed. It’s strange, in France, my garrison had 3-score more men than there are in that ballroom, and yet it felt easier to move through.” He gives you a self-deprecating smile. “I must sound very silly.”

“Not at all,” you rush to say, rocking forward before reeling yourself back in. He watches you for a moment, an amused uptick on the corner of his mouth. Your fingers flex beneath the cotton of your gloves. Count the stitches that rub against your skin. “It’s nice to find companionship in an isolating feeling,” you add, shy at how forward your words sound.

He doesn’t move for a moment, eyes darting around your face. Your name comes out of his mouth, soft, like it’s still sitting on his tongue. You turn towards the field again, see the figure of that man in the distance. He’s closer now, more than a dot now, the faint image of a person.

“I should find my mother,” you say, wanting to hunch in yourself, but forcing yourself to turn back to the doors. Light filters out, caught in the dark of outside and disappearing, swallowed up.

Mr Garrick takes a step closer to you and you inhale, feel the catch of it on your ribcage. You forget how much taller he is than you, until he is this close. The light from inside catches on one side of his face, relieving it into clarity. There is the faintest scar in his eyebrow, a slight blemish in his otherwise perfect face. His hand, bare, slides across the railing, thumb where you think you have picked at the paint.

“Mr Garrick,” you start, eyes caught on his hand, before darting back to his face. 

“I believe I asked you to call me Kyle, once,” he says, giving you an amused smile.

You don’t frown but it’s a close thing. “I don’t think that would be - appropriate,” you manage. The same response you had given him back then as well, you think.

He frowns instead, and you feel guilt curdle like lukewarm tea in your belly. You shuffle, taking note of how he leans back. You want him back in your space, want the heat of his attention.

“I’m sorry,” you add, desperate for him to not look sad again. You think about his face, searching in the dark of your stairway. It’s impossible to reconcile that he had proposed to spend his life with you. And you cannot even extend the kindness of his name towards him. “Kyle,” you add, before you can stop yourself.

His head turns back to your, full lips tilting in a soft smile. Your name exhales again, catches in the air around you and warms you. His hand flexes and he reaches up, a flicker of uncertainty on his face that lingers for a moment before it dissipates. His hand drops. You imagine how it would have felt against your skin. You’re certain that he boxes just like his father, you wonder if his hand would be calloused against your skin, or if it would be soft and deliberate.

Another voice calls out your name, and it ruptures through the slight breeze around you. Once again, you are reminded of the propriety of your situation, and you take a step back, even though you hadn’t been doing anything wrong. You recognise the voice, the uptilt at the end. Mr Evans, and you didn’t want to find out if he reported to your mother that he couldn’t find you.

“I should go,” you murmur, shuffling uncertainly for a moment before you turn around. Mr Garrick doesn’t try to stop you, which makes you feel rotten.

You turn your head just before you step back inside. A painting in candlelight that throws Mr Garrick’s face into real life, like he has stepped out of a painting. The furrow of his brow and the slightest downturn of his full mouth. The stranger out in the field, closer now, the swing of his arm as he runs. You bow your head and turn around.

-

Mr Evans is the dullest man that you have ever met. You try not to think too uncharitably about him, but as he spins you around again and reminisces about another business man who owes him some money, you wonder if it would be better if you were to fall and hit your head. Or maybe if he did. Nothing too serious, but enough blood to scare off any further attempt at conversation.

He isn’t terrible to look at, a strong jawline, his smooth blonde hair. Charming enough that your mother coos at everything he says. It didn’t have the same effect on you, unfortunately.

“Your mother is a very handsome lady,” Mr Evans informs you, something that has you blinking to focus. Your palm pressed against his as you step away and then step back into him. “She has graciously invited me over for afternoon tea with yourselves tomorrow.”

You give him a stiff smile. You had been there when it had been arranged. “Yes, our cook makes the best pastries, and my mother does enjoy letting people experience them.”

“I look forward to it,” Mr Evans tells you. You smile again and let him turn you.

The smooth slide of the violin soothes through the hall, catching on the floor and bouncing back up. You let it wash over you, until individual voices quieten, smoothing together into a mistakable blur that you cannot distinguish.

It is hot in here, a heat that catches in your throat, crawls like a bug over your skin. You imagine walking back out to the veranda, wondering if Mr Garrick is still out there. It’s cool out there, you are parched for the bite of wind in your lungs.

You decide to give yourself one more dance, and then you will go out there again. A reward, for doing your duty.

The bow of the violin screeches, a horrid twang that has you flinching, the entire room stuttering. There is a crash outside, something wooden snapping.

You turn, stumbling in your slippers as everyone looks towards the balcony. You cannot see at first, trying to peek over everyone’s shoulders. Pushing yourself onto your toes, very unladylike, before there is another smash and then someone is shrieking.

What once was a still crowd that you were a part of seems to turn on you, a tidal wave that breathes in before it suffocates you. Everyone scrambles, and you get shoved back, momentarily affronted before the screaming gets worse, more and more voices joining the chorus.

Your foot gets trampled on and you whimper, shoved back until your back hits a wall. Pulled along for a few moments, before the crowd starts to thin and you can see the moment of clarity by the large windows. 

There is a man on the floor, Mr Casings, you think. It is like your mind cannot make sense of the scene before you. There is another man, knelt over Mr Casings, and there is the red of his guts over the floor, red caught in the broken doorway. Thick and malleable looking, you watch as a stranger rifles through the torso of another man and guides his hands to his mouth.

There is a catch in your mind, the click of a door stuck in a jam. The moment before you saw this and now, your mind is syrupy slow, half still trying to remember your next dance move. You cannot make sense of what you are seeing, so you feel stuck in the run up to it, half parsing through recent memory to try and decipher it.

There is the rumble of a keening noise and it takes a tickle in your throat for you to realise that it is coming from you. You lift a hand to your mouth, try to suffocate it.

The creature kneeling over Mr Casings must hear you, its head yanks up in your direction. You think it may have once been a man, but anything human must be gone from it, leaving behind pallid skin, gore in its mouth as it makes a groaning, snapping noise at you.

Quicker than you think it should, it darts up and starts to charge at you, leaving you crying out as you start to sob, scrambling as you try to get away.

You think about lying on the ground like Mr Casings, the useless silk of your dress ripped open until the warmth kept within you went cold in the open air.

You hear the snap of teeth and you scream, an animal sound tearing out of your throat before there is a grunt and another thud.

You’ve hit the wall again, and you can’t stop yourself from looking. Whatever was charging at you is pinned to the ground, and you sob as you watch Mr Garrick grab the creature by its head and smash it into the floor.

You flinch with each thud, unable to look away. Watch as it continues to buck and twitch until it finally stills, blood on the floor where its head used to be. Where before you had felt slow, five steps behind what was happening before you, now you feel stuck, finally caught up. Door no longer caught on a jam, now thrown open, hinges loose and rattling.

You can’t look away from the image of Mr Garrick, sitting on the back of this man-shaped creature that now had a blood splatter for a brain.

Your name comes out hushed, barely able to comprehend that Mr Garrick is crouched in front of you. “Can you hear me?” he asks, and you blink at him, uncomprehending. “We have to go, alrigh’?”

You don’t move, eyes still stuck over his shoulders, the gush of blood. You can see it seeping in through the gaps of the floorboards. Mr Garrick’s head lowers before he murmurs that he’s got you, and then you feel yourself getting lifted up.

Slung over his shoulder, you have enough presence of mind to cling to his back before he takes off. Sound filters through the front of the hall, screaming and yelling. Mr Garrick darts off to the left, towards the balcony with Mr Casings.

Mr Garrick neatly steps over the carnage, shoes grinding in the broken glass. You whimper as you catch sight of his empty eyes staring upwards. Mr Garrick shushes you, smooths a hand over the back of your thigh even as he doesn’t falter.

Outside now, the cool air hits your face. The sun is still setting, the sky red and you squeeze your eyes shut at the colour. The death that you’ve seen in the hall is closed off, and if you don’t breathe in too deeply, then you won’t taste the bitter tang of blood, and maybe it’s all gone.

Mr Garrick curses sharply and you get pulled forward until you're on your feet, and tugged into his chest. He yanks you into the wall and steps in front of you, shushing you again before you can make a sound. Not that you were going to, shaking and clinging to the lapels of his jacket. You peek over the broad of his shoulder, and see why you have both stopped.

Gravel is getting kicked up from under the feet of guests as they run out from the estate. Others are running towards them, across the field and you choke on your breath when they collide. It must be more of those creatures, some type of sickness. You didn’t understand, they had the silhouette of men, but you hear the yowling when they brought a woman down and tore into her.

“Christ,” Mr Garrick mutters, cradling you in his front. “Shit, we need to get a horse.”

The stables were around the front, even though you are several feet away, you imagine you could smell the blood being spilled from here. You whimper again, shaking. “My mother,” you manage, unable to find the words for what you really want to say. My mother must be with that group of people, and we can hear them all dying. There aren't words designed to sit in the mouth like that.

Mr Garrick considers you, mouth pressed in a tight line. “Alright, wait here, do not come out unless I come back, ok?” You nod, but when he steps away, you find your hands still fisted in the lapels of his coat, like you cannot let go. He steps back, smooths his hand over your wrist, just beneath your glove. You jolt at the feeling of his bare skin, some old propriety from a lifetime ago are enough to startle you into relinquishing your grip. “I’ll be right back, keep hidden,” he tells you, pushing you further into the slight alcove.

And then he’s gone. You stare out across the grass. They play cricket out here in the summer. You remember, suddenly, the man running out in the field, wondering if that was the man that killed Mr Casings. His blood stains the edge of your dress, guilty. You want to cry, feel like a sick animal out in this open air.

Your father had a hunting dog once, and you remember how it had looked when he put it down. Mad, he’d called it, saliva foaming in its jowls. Wild eyes that had looked around, uncomprehending and yet piercing. You inhale, shaking, wonder if you look the same.

You refuse to make a sound though, lean against the brick behind you. Shake as you listen to screaming and growling that travel through the open field to reach you. You fist your hands in the skirts of your dress, try to breathe steadily. You don’t know what you will do if Mr Garrick doesn’t come back. You hope he comes back with a carriage, your mother inside to pull you inside. What you wouldn’t give to be scolded for crying and ruining the delicate rouge that she had spent precious time delicately smoothing on your cheeks.

Time is elongated and unbearable until it returns to you with a crack at the sound of a horse. You peek out, and you make out Mr Garrick astride what must be a horse detached from a carriage. No saddle, but reins around its face.

It’s only Mr Garrick who thuds down in front of you, who gathers you up and ushers you towards the horse. “My mother, where is -” you start, pliant beneath the ushering of Mr Garricks hands.

“I couldn’t see her, there’s a chance she got away, like we have to, right now,” he tells you, his voice strained as he steadies the horse, looking over your shoulder.

“I don’t -” you say, but Mr Garrick has had enough talking, and lifts you onto the horse, side straddle, before smoothly pulling himself up behind you.

He kicks the horse into motion, and you set off, quick enough that you still don’t understand.

You feel half your mind is still back on the balcony, trying to decide if you were going to go back inside. You look over Mr Garrick’s shoulder, and imagine you can see her, staring out at you. Seeing you but not understanding.

The band between the two of you pulls until it snaps. You jolt, a wounded noise high in your throat, but hidden in Mr Garrick’s broad chest.

Your father had shot your sick dog, barrel of the gun against the back of its head. Mr Garrick’s hand on the back of your skull, fingers in your hair, holding you steady. Right there, the press of his last finger on the give at the start of your neck. Saliva pools in your mouth, but you swallow it down and choke on it.

[cestacruz]

More TFA no one can judge me ive been reading ok

[filiazpink]

HEYYYY IM THE GIRL FROM THE COMMENT SECTION OF YOUR ORION AND D-16 AND THEIR SUPERIOR FIC!!! i just wanted to let you know it was adorable and that if it’s alright with you i would love to see a part two! 💕💕💕

🩷"INFATUATED"🩷

orion pax x femme + superior! reader x d-16 - part 2

warnings: MAJOR transformers one spoilers, sentinel prime likes the reader too HELP, my cutie patootie oc being mentioned once, darkwing being darkwing electric boogaloo, cheesy stuff once again

summary: takes place during the iacon 5000, and a bit of the aftermath that follows. orion's crush is still very obvious and d-16 is warming up to you.

a/n: SO MANY NOTES ON PART 1?? TYSM EVERYONE 💗💗💗💗 and also a round of applause to this lovely requester here sending the ask that motivated me to make a part 2 :3 sorry it took so long i was busy with art commissions and writing my dark deception fic :( hopefully this will live up to the expectations of the 30 ppl that sent me in inbox to make a part 2 !! if you guys want a part 3 with even more stuff, lemme know in the inbox! it would be kinda fun to make a mini series with this idea for the whole movie !! ENJOY !!!

word count: 1740

proofread: minimal (lemme know if there's any errors!!)

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

somehow, you managed to gain one of the best spots in iacon to watch the race take place.

well, it was easy to know why.

sentinel prime himself considered you as one of ‘his closest friend’, so he reserved a special seat just for you: right next to him.

best seat in the house.

it was a very overwhelming experience overall, with cameras all pointed towards you and THE sentinel prime, the fact that you were simply next to the savior of iacon, the slight confusion you had for what you and sentinel were. i mean, you only spoke to him professionally, and those were rare occasions. surely, he met thousands of new bots everyday, yet he remembered you of all bots. 

but all of that couldn’t compare to the dread that took over your entire body as soon as you heard sentinel utter the following:

“i’m sorry- are those miners in the race?” the two of you turned around to the giant screen to see that, indeed, there were cogless bots participating in the race.

and not just any cogless bots, bots from your sector!

and not just bots from your sector, it was those two charming bots orion pax and d-16!

your optics widened at the revelation, on the point of transforming to go and stop them before they get damaged beyond repair but sentinel held you back.

“hey- hey, what are you doing??” he mumbled, looking back at the cameras every few seconds to make sure they weren’t focused on him.

“those are workers from my sector!! i-i know them, i have to sto-”

“come on, (y/n), relax! they’ll be fine! besides, think of the inspirational boost it’ll give the other miners if they do win. they’ll be delighted.” he tried coaxing you into relaxing, going so far as to gently rub your shoulder in an attempt at comforting you but you had none of it.

“this is a first in iacon 5000 history!”

“oh primus, please, please, please keep them alive!,,,”

“how are they going to survive?”

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

eventually, the cameras couldn’t pick up feed on the tunnel that the majority of the racers, including orion and d-16, were in. the thought of finding them crushed or in worse condition sickened you. with a trembling hand, you quickly gripped onto sentinel’s, who couldn’t help but look smug at your reaction.

“they’ll be okay,,, right?!” you asked him and the prime sighed.

“don’t worry. if they end up hurt, we’ll just send them to medbay-”

“i don’t believe it! the miners take down darkwing!”

the crowd went wild at the display, somehow getting louder than it already was. the femme and the prime watched in astonishment as the miners went from last place to third place in such a short amount of time. 

well, now you knew that darkwing was going to complain about that to you for the rest of the work cycle.

you let go of the blue and golden bot’s hand (much to his very visible disappointment) to place it over your mouth. your optics shined in absolute amazement, watching the main screen showing orion and d-16 looking more and more hopeful. 

“OHH, MINERS!” darkwing literally roared at them, his fists clenching in total anger. 

“great effort, darkwing!” orion attempted to cheer on darkwing for his efforts, but deep down, he knew once this was over, he and his companion were royally fucked.

“t-that worked! it actually worked! you think (y/n) saw all that?!” d-16 beamed, getting more and more excited at the thought of you watching them- watching him win the race.

“i’m sure she’s watching! she’ll be so proud of us!”

after passing the magnetic obstacle course tunnel (much to your relief, poor bots would have been crushed beyond repair), you felt like your body couldn’t handle all the amount of excitement, especially with the announcer going:

“a four-bot pile-up in the magnetic tunnel and the two miners are now in first position! this is UNBELIEVABLE!”

the speechless prime turned around, facing the finish line, pulling you alongside to observe. 

from the corner of his optic, he watched your reactions with envy. you never reacted that way whenever he showed up to your office unprompted.

were those two cog-less bots really that important when he’s here?

however, his train of thoughts was interrupted as a shattered piece from a nearly crushed racer hit d-16 from behind, making the grey bot trip and fracture his leg. you gasped at the outcome, praying they were still close enough to make it.

orion reached for d-16, pulling him up and slinging him onto his back, slowly making his way to the finish line. 

everyone was losing it, including sentinel, who was on the edge of his seat. will they make it in time? 

even the announcer seemed to be overly excited!

orion quickly looked up to your radiant face, feeling another rush of energy flow through him simply by seeing your wonderstruck expression. by the allspark, you looked glorious with all the different lights shining onto your armour.

“one miner is now carrying the other, mere steps from the finish line in the most amazing, sensational, dramatic, heart-rending, exciting, thrilling finish in the history of-”

and all of a sudden, all of it was cut short as a white and cyan mech ran into the smaller bots, knocking them back down. the mech transformers and slid across the finish line, throwing her fists in the air.

“WE HAVE A WINNERRR!! CHROMIA COMES FROM BEHIND TO TAKE THE PRIZE! talk about an iacon 5000 for the ages!”

your excitement died down. sure, you were happy for chromia, she won fair and square, but,,,

you sighed as you watched every other surviving racer fly past the two miners, still trying to see the small mechs as sentinel let out a chuckle, dragging you away with him to congratulate the winner.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

“mmh, they should be right here, miss.”

“thank you, mekastat.”

the pale red and pink bot nodded at you with a courteous smile, walking away from the medbay you were informed that orion and d-16 were in. you let out a long sigh, clearing your throat and before you could knock at the door, you managed to overhear the ongoing conversation.

“we are SO screwed!” you could distinguish d-16’s frustrated voice through the commotion, followed by orion’s more gentle tone:

“i thought you weren’t talking to me,,,”

“hey, look, i know it's all a big joke to you, but not me! i was paying my dues. i was going places and now they're going to bust me down- i don't even know how many tiers-”

“d, i’m sorry-”

“A-AND NOT JUST THAT! SHE SAW IT ALL HAPPEN! SHE,,, she saw everything.” she? no, that doesn’t matter. your curiosity will be your downfall.

with a quick knock, their conversation was cut short as you quietly walked in. orion immediately sat up straight, his optics wide open. a blush (that you assumed was out of embarrassment) decorated his face. d-16, however, didn’t even look you in the eye, his head hunched over in shame.

“hi.”

they waited for any form of reprimand from you, but since you simply stared back at them as to wait for them to speak, orion decided to be the first to break the ice.

“,,, i’m so sorry, (y/n), i was the one to s-suggest the idea of us participating. demote me but not d-16, i practically dragged him along into this.” d-16 turned his head just a little bit at his friend, the tension in his yellow optics leaving just a tad bit.

you thought for a while, looking away and missed the way that even in such a situation where you were supposed to, yes, reprimand them, orion looked up at you like you hung the moon and the stars combined. even in the poor lighting the room had, your armour still shined in a hypnotizing way. at least, in orion’s eyes.

“i should punish you for breaking protocol like this.”

“we know,,,” “but.” you got down on your knees, still towering over the miners, and with a small and gracious smile, you said: “i won’t. besides, even if you lost, that was still the coolest thing i’ve ever seen.”

hearing that made d-16’s helm rise back up to stare at you with a bewildered expression, matching his friend. 

“really??”

you then let out a small giggle and gave them a bigger smile, which totally didn’t make the two smaller bots swoon. “it was amazing! you were both so fast, and you managed to take down darkwing?? he’s never going to hear the end of it! do you know how long he’s been training for this day and he was beaten by you two, who never trained for this type of action?!”

they’ve never seen you this excited, just the sight made up for the fact that they had lost and possibly humiliated themselves to millions of cybertronians. 

“if anything, if sentinel doesn’t end up giving you guys a prize for making it this far, i’d think he’d be wasting an opportunity to celebrate true racers!” 

“oh- wait! sentinel! what’s he going to do with us??” asked d-16, nearly getting up from the table, stress once more filling his processors. 

your excitement died down at the mention of his name. oh, right. him.

“um, i could try to convince him to not do anything drastic! he considers me a friend of his, apparently.”

“that won’t be necessary.” another femme’s voice droned out, one that you immediately recognized. 

“i’ll take it from here, (y/n). head back to your post.” airachnid ordered, stepping aside for you to leave. you turned your helm to the miners and waved goodbye, still watching them as you walked away until they were no longer in sight.

as you were about to leave the building, you bumped into darkwing, who despite not having visible facial features, you could tell with the way he was walking that he was still absolutely infuriated.

“darkwing,,,?” you asked and in response, he swiftly turned around, grabbed you by the shoulders and screamed:

“I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT YOU ARE A VERY BEAUTIFUL AND VALUED BOT IN MY LIFE.” and so he power walked into the hospital, leaving you utterly confused.

,,,

what.

wait why was he going in the hospital?

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

🩷send me a burger !! : ko-fi💗 🩷visit my other socials !! : socials list💗 🩷writing requests rules !! : info list💗

[iliterallydecepticanteven]

‼️Transformers One spoilers‼️

"Oh but why was Optimus okay with Bee killing all those guys in the fight but not okay with Megatron killing Sentinel? He's so hypocritical!"

No, no he's not. It's about the context and situation.

Optimus was okay with Bee killing those bots during the fight because they were fighting and posed an active threat to their lives. Optimus was against Megatron killing Sentinel because they weren't in danger, and the battle had already been won. They had exposed Sentinel's crimes and deception to all of Iacon and destroyed his rule over Cybertron.

Remember, Optimus uses the word "execution" because that's what killing Sentinel was. It wasn't to save anyone or keep themselves safe. It was to send a bloody message of violent vengeance against those who wrong Megatron. That's why Optimus didn't want him to kill Sentinel and why Megatron killing Sentinel was his point of no return.

[michaela-o]

SENTINEL X GN! HUMAN READER DRABBLE

( warnings: kidnappery, mentions of threatening life and killing )

The chamber was dim, lit only by the faint blue glow of Cybertronian technology running through the walls. The air was thick with tension. A human sat bound in the corner, their wrists shackled by unfamiliar uncomfortable restraints digging into their flesh. Faint crackle of their restraints humming with every slight movement. They glared up at the towering form of Sentinel Prime, as they quickly learned his name, their heart pounding in their chest like a little bird looking for escape in a cage.

Sentinel loomed meanecingly above them, his optics burning with cold amusement with that sly smile across his faceplate. His presence was overwhelming—a blend of regal authority and calculating menace of someone who knew held all the cards. His massive frame shifted slightly as he crouched down, leaning closer above to the creature beneath him.

"You really don't understand, do you?" Sentinel rumbled with chuckle, his voice smooth but laced with menace. "Your life—your very existence—depends on my whim."

The human swallowed hard, forcing themeselves not to flinch. They are not gonna let this prick of a leader, as he likes to call himself, let him intimidate them. But damm was that hard. But if there's one thing Sentinel was good at, was to break anything that he didn't like to bend his way. Even if he had to use a little force. As if he cared. He was rather enjoying this.

Sentinel’s optics narrowed as he reached down, his sly smirk not faltering, pinching them between two massive fingers. They gasped as he lifted them into the air effortlessly, holding them just high that their feet dangled above the ground. The pressure from his grip was deliberate—enough to hurt and scare, not enough to crush. At least not yet.

"You humans are so... breakable," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "It takes barely any effort to end you. A twist. A squeeeeeze..." He gave the slightest increase of pressure, making them cry out.

Their breath hitched, panic clawing at their chest. They struggled against his fingers but Sentinel’s grip was unyielding. He chuckled darkly, savoring the way their heartbeat quivered in their chest, the way fear bloomed in their eyes despite their attempts to hide the fear.

The human glared at him through gritted teeth, determined not to give him the satisfaction of begging. But Sentinel’s smirk only grew at their defiance. He let out a chuckle—the delicate balance of fear and resistance, knowing he could extinguish them in a heartbeat but choosing not to. He was enjoying himself a bit too much.

"You’re wondering how long I’ll play with you," he said, as if reading their thoughts. "How many times you’ll wake up, wondering if today will be your last." He shifted his grip slightly, making them gasp as the pressure around their ribs increased. "Maybe I'll crush you slowly, just to see how long before your little chest snaps. Or perhaps I'll let you go—just for the sport of hunting you down again." He was talking as if this was a normal occurence in his daily life. It was sickening.

He brought them closer to his faceplate, his optics burning into their soft glassy eyes with an unsettling intensity. "You’ll never know," he said softly with venom dripping in his voice. "And that, little human, is the most fun part. Your life isn’t yours anymore. It’s mine. You belong to me."

Their pulse pounded in their ears, it all fell down on them. The desperation..the reality that they might never come out of this alive. But despite this they forced themeself to meet his gaze. "You're just a coward," the human spat, tested the waters, breathless from the pressure on their ribs. "All that power you claim to have and all you can do is threaten a human."

For a moment, there was silence. Then Sentinel laughed—an unsettling sound that seemed to echo in the small chamber. "Brave words for someone this close to death i gotta admit that."

Suddenly with a flick of his hand, he dropped them to the ground with a heavy thud. They tumbled to the ground, gasping for air, their body trembled from adrenaline and fear. Sentinel stood tall again, watching them with quiet satisfaction.

"Enjoy your defiance while you can," he said, turning to leave the room. "We’ll see how long it lasts when you realize I can snuff you out whenever I please."

As the massive door slid shut behind him with a resonant clang, the human sat in the silence, clutching their ribs, mind racing. As they slowly sat up tears started to form in the corner of their eyes as Sentinel’s words echoed in their head...

Aaaa i hope u enjoyed this ! Feel free ro add anything !! I know i'm not a good writer but i tried <3🧡🧡

[reallemonmeat]

wipes giant sweat bead ummm... um you guys liked my last post abt aetherangel a lot... sweats.... um.... heres some more of her crosses my fingers

Aetherangel is my second transformers oc and my favorite... i made her first for Transformers One 2024, but i have also written other versions of her for Transformers Prime and Transformers Animated

TFA -^ (sadly design is a wip still) this is also where that animation i made with her got popular (click here)

TFP -^ (also a wip aaghhh i dont draw her coherently a lot)

more about her below cut -vvv (there are more images and a lotttttt of explanation of her in other continuities if you're into that kinda thing!! feel free to skim them or just skip to the images below the stories at least :D)

⬇️⬇️⬇️

AETHERANGEL

she/her (they/them is fine sometimes)

she is transfem and bisexual (IM MAKING THE ROBOTS WOKE!!!!!!!!!!)

on earth, she would be an A10 Warthog, but generally she's a flying bot.

Aetherangel is a strong warrior. Don't let her intimidating appearance trick you into thinking she isn't soft-hearted however. She's often very anxious, bittersweet, and poetic - but very tough bold when needs be. At least, until it comes to anyone she's loved in some way.

Her main story in different continuities usually consists of her being betrayed greatly, and forgotten.

She is often paired with my partner's oc Malachite, whos in a couple of the images below (heres a cute one! i sure hope nothing horrifying happens between these two!)

her pairing with Malachite plays a big part in her downfalls too.

The extreme pain she goes through, especially through betrayal, changes her view on others and the world quickly. She becomes pretty cynical, or her mind bends so much from what she's gone tthrough. It depends on the continuity.

(I will now explain her a bit in the continuities of TFONE, TFP, and TFA. sorry if these are worded weird or are strange, im not the best when trying to type english for some reason sometimes, and i havent gotten a lot of SOLID stuff down so these might be loose and hole-y in some spots aouuguhh)

Transformers One 2024 Aetherangel (this one is pretty lengthy! this is the first ever version i made of her. tfp and tfa wont be as crazy however)

In tfone, Aetherangel was a warrior. She was one of the strongest of Iacon. After the fall of the primes and Sentinel's upbringing, she changed her path and became an artist. She would use art to express her hard-to-explain emotions regarding her identity and place on cybertron, and to express her love for who inspired her, Malachite. (I will now explain a little on my bf's oc malachite, since it's important to know)

Malachite was a popular icon of iacon. He started off small, with the name of Oxidize, and he was only a humble broadcaster. He then changed his name, got a new shiny paint job, and rebranded himself. He created music for the masses, and a label for other bots to create music too. But Sentinel Prime wasn't too fond of Malachite's rise to popularity. He felt like Malachite overshadowed him. After Sentinel Prime drops by for a little "visit" (nearly killing the mf bc of his insane pride), Malachite - who is a great smooth talker - convinces Sentinel Prime on how he could help spice up how Iacon views him. To make Sentinel Prime truly an 'icon of iacon'. After some charming, Sentinel Prime makes Malachite his Royal Advisor. (a lot of this is to my memory sorry if i got it a little muddy kev🥀)

Back to Aetherangel; she was a little off-put by Malachite's sudden new place as Royal Advisor, but still very proud of him. She continued to create art and music, while Malachite began to spend less and less time with her. A lot of her songs would be hidden away from others, as most of them overtime became only stress relievers and yearning.

Overtime, as Sentinel Prime's Royal Advisor, Malachite saw what was really up, and his true colors began to show more. Corruption. And they were only shoved a little more by Sentinel's servos.

Aetherangel has a split-spark (sibling) named Razorvoid (i posted about them once but not many ppl cared lol) who cares about her a lot, and can put a big influence on her. Razorvoid is very protective of his sister, sometimes too protective because of his paranoia, which turns into rebellion after Sentinel Prime had rule over Iacon for a while. Razor was okay with Mala before, but began to grow some disdain for him after he had been the royal advisor for a while. However, Aetherangel still had a place for Mala in her heart. But she didn't care much for Sentinel Prime, much like her brother. Her brother wasn't the maturest all the time, or could be a bit extreme. And the both of them found the concept of miners to be a little strange, at least, in if it was ethical. Aether already carried these thought processes, but Razor's rebelliousness amplified them a little. Razor would often start fights with guards, or sneak things in for miners after a while. He had a chance to talk to a few when he would sneak, and got to know they're were basically no different at all from him and other cyberteonians, other than the missing cogs. Razor became a friend to many miners. Aether would sometimes help Razor with these exchanhes too, and would even help him sneak into some pretty important places to steal (the second part more because she felt like she didnt have a choice with her brother's crazy antics sometimes lol) These would escalate in Aether having to get involved in Razor's fights with Guards at some point, and this time, did not end well.

Sentinel grew a disliking to Razor and Aether very much so. They were shady. He became aware of Malachite's relationship to the two - ESPECIALLY with Aether - and had an idea on how to actually take care of them.

Sentinel felt Malachite had not yet proven his loyality to Malachite. He had not forgotten thst embarassing moment he first attacked Malachite when they met over his pride, and wasn't sure if he could trust Malachite because of their first impression. That Malachite - also being revealed to be good at manipulating people when he needed to save his spark - would turn against him anytime.

Razorvoid had gotten off pretty easily from the last fight, which was.. alarmingly strange to him. He chose to stay wary of his surroundings, but never thought too much about needing to be wary of Aether's in response to the consequences of last fight.

Sentinel used this incident and told Malachite all about how Aether mustve grown jealous, and how she might even threaten him. He bent a lot of the 'evidence' to make Aether seem way worse than she actually was. Malachite was perplexed by this. He felt he had to find Aether and confront her about her recent behavior, and ask if any of this was true. Upon meeting up, Aether grew irritated that Malachite only cared about the recent incident, and this seeming to be the only reason he had came to see her in a long time. She was upset, and wasn't afraid to show him that. Unfortunately, in Malachite's head, her anger seemed to make him think Sentinel Prime might have been right, especially after Aether did get a tiny bit physical when Malachite kept pushing and eventually questioned her on everything Sentinel said about her. Due to her impulse, Malachite only felt it was confirmed, but ran away.

Aether grew angrier and shared her frustration with Razorvoid. Malachite's ignorance fueled an outburst in Aether, which seemed new for her average behavior, but wasn't too surprising looking at how her recent activities and her emotions in regards to Malachite not seeing her could affect her behavior. She told Razor she would help steal and give more things to miners, to Razor's concern yet slight delight.

Afterward being the next day, Sentinel Prime had ordered for Aetherangel to be taken and brought to Sentinel's, and Malachite would have to be responsible for the next task. He needed Malachite to prove his loyalty, and he wanted this to be a warning to Razorvoid. This would be Razor's true punishment, and why they had let him off "easier" the last time.

Malachite was still scared of Sentinel Prime. He felt like he was walking on eggshells a little around him. He really didn't want to finish this task he was given in regards to what he would have to do to Aetherangel, but he felt like if he didn't, his head would be on display in Sentinel's room. He was broken by what he saw in Aether as of recent, but that broken feeling turned into anger. Overnight he could only remember other times he was with Aether, but his new perspective had warped all of his memories and convinced him that she was only an envious leech.

Aether was thrown at the ground, at Malachite's heels, and Malachite had lots to say to her. His anger spoke to her, and she - who was already struggling with her identity and recent regretful behavioral issues affecting her identity - was convinced by his rage warping all of the memories together. When he told her that she was a horrible bot, she had believed it. She wept on how she was selfish, but Malachite couldn't falsely agree more, sadly.

Sentinel Prime had tasked him to end Aetherangel's life.

Aetherangel had already accepted whatever fate would come her way, but Malachite had another plan. He was not ready to offline who he had seen as a Sparkmate, despite his anger. And instead of offlining her, he took her apart as much as he could, and took her cog. He made her mostly unrecognizable, and sent her off to the mines, while also making it seem like he had killed her in Sentinel Prime's optics.

Aether had been damaged so badly, that her memory had been lost. She woke up in a cave, a few bots surrounding her in horror, and the cogless bot Ratchet tending to her open wounds of where many of her features had been torn off. She was renamed as AA-0, was referred to by others with masculine or neutral pronouns and terms. Her memory erasure made her forget anything about her previous identity, so she didn't mind it too much. Of course, she still felt masculinity regarding her was strange, but she never thought about it too much since she felt like she didn't have time to as a miner. AA-0 couldn't really get along with others, as she felt very distant and out of place even more so. However, Arcee and Jazz were a couple bots who would stick with her anyway, as they did not want her to feel alone.

Meanwhile, after Malachite's deed was done, he was the one to tell Razorvoid that Aetherangel had been recently apart of "an accident", and had gone offline. Razorvoid was deeply distraught, but didn't believe a single word Malachite would say. He KNEW he had to be apart of this. He KNEW this had to be a warning. And he felt horrible. He felt guilty. He wanted to only protect his sister, but his impulsiveness only dragged her farther down than him. Ravorvoid had had enough of Iacon, and made a journey to the surface. After hiding away, the High Guard had found Razorvoid, taking him as a spy at first, but then letting him join.

Transformers Prime Aetherangel

in TFP, aetherangel was a great warrior for the autobots after the war on cybertron broke out. her sibling Razorvoid had been taken prisoner and was damaged severely, and Malachite had been taken as prisoner, but was forced by Megatron to serve him in short. Megatron wanted Malachite on his side for his incredible strength, but also because not only was he very good at manipulating others, but Malachite was also a suck up himself. Megatron used his very old relationship with Aether against him in proving that he would be a great asset to the decepticons, and would be loyal to Megatron no matter what.

Aetherangel was shocked to see Malachite on the active battlefield, and shocked to be so easily put on her knees all over his betrayal towards her. the long fight ended with Malachite isolating her, tricking her into thinking he had decided to spare her last second, and quickly stabbed right through her. He wanted it to be quick so she wouldn't have to suffer for his cowardice. He held her close, and in her last dying seconds, she tried to pry herself out of his arms at her tears, and went limp before she could escape his pitifulness. (my bf and i wrote this in full, ill have to ask him, but if anyone is interested let me know and ill ask him if its ok to share :D)

i havent gotten to plan this far ahead, but i plan on making her come back as a zombie at one point and it fucking with malachites head 💔

Transformers Animated Aetherangel (currently very much a WIP)

In TFA, Aetherangel and Malachite were both in Sentinel's bootcamp. (Malachite was still named Oxidize then, so ill call him that during this.) Aetherangel wanted to become an autobot elite guard. But that was all put in shambles when Longarm (Shockwave) was testing the waters to see how far he could go with his crimes against the Autobots and still stay a secret, and used Aetherangel as a scapegoat when he murdered Skyfire (skyfire, not the jetfire in tfa. this is theeee skyfire. we picked him bc hes kept out of media a lot so we thought it would make sense, also bc he has two names, so skyfire being one in tfa as well would fit if that makes sense.)

being framed for murder and Oxidize turning on her, she was punished and they bent her horns down since they thought that was her main weapon for killing skyfire. She became a decepticon and grew cynical. she liked to make fun of her enemies and not take them serious by shutting them down when they would try to talk back to her, and she would make fun of them.

i plan at one point she would take out bee's voicebox (i feel like this would be an arc for like 2-4 episodes, maybe 3, and bee gets a fix eventually..) mostly because of what happened to waspinator being similar to her, and because she finds him very annoying.

Shattered Glass color design bonus!!

THANK YOU SO MUCH if you read even a little bit of anything, even if yoy skimmed. i know i wrote a lor, but i hope at least one person cares a tiny bit :D oc stuff barely gets people to like it so i hope this didnt drive people awya auughghgjdkaaaaaaa

[chippa44444]

TFA characters' emotional aftermath after failing to save their beloved reader.

Warnings: Anguish, dark content, reader death.

Character who is forever blaming themselves for not being able to save the reader, and lives with regret and regret: Bumblebee, Bulkhead, Jet Twins, Soundwave,

Characters who seem to blame themselves forever for not being able to save the reader, and who seem to become like wrecks and never recover: Optimus, Ratchet, Prowl, Sentinel, Lugnut

Character who forces themselves to tell himself that it was unavoidable that he couldn't save the reader, acts bravely even though he regrets it, and forces himself to look forward and move on with his life: Jazz, Ultra Magnus, Megatron, Shockwave, Swindle, Lockdown,

Character who convinces themselves that it was inevitable that he couldn't save the reader, behaves bravely despite regrets, and tries to force himself to live, but his mind slowly crumbles: Blurr, Starscream, Blitzwing, Blackarachnia

[delectableworm]

"That's it... Lick them all clean for me, sweetspark." Sentinel whimpered as he tried his best to clean up the mess he had made on the floor. He was told not to overload while you step on his spike but someone didn't listen and make a mess.

"You got my pedes dirty. Do you have any idea how long it took for me to buff that? To think I went through all the trouble of getting dolled up for you only to be repaid like this." You tugged the leash in your servo that was connected to his pink collar. A flashy colour for a flashy mech with your designation on it in cursive to show who he belonged to. Sentinel whimpered when he tugged forward again and grunted at your pede that you had lifted to his face, glossy optics glaring at you but you only tugged harder. "Lick."

It was one order. One command and it had him getting back to work quickly like a miner mining for energon. He put his glossa to use, licking your pede clean before moving to another one that you had graciously lifted to make his work easy for a good job. He licked that one clean too before it left his face and growled when you patted his helm while cooing at him.

"Aww, such a good boy, Sentinel. Obeying my command like a good pup? Yes, you are. Yes, you are." You scratched behind his finials and under his chin in a gentle manner that got him to lean into the touch despite his coding screaming for him not to.

It was humiliating but if he wanted to keep his image as the greatest Prime, he might just have to suck it up. Speaking of which, he felt your servos pulled away as you leaned back on his throne with legs spread for him. He could see your spike standing tall, bobbing with each movement while you made yourself comfortable.

"Now," Another tug that made him stumble on his knees until his face neared the piece, "get back to work."

[dragqueenstarscream]

potential idea for a tfone starop fic bc i haven't seen much of those around:

i love the idea of a post tfone story where optimus and megatron are in a military stalemate, and things are looking ugly. optimus can't reason with megatron, but he also doesn't wanna launch an offensive which could lead to mass casualties, autobot or decepticon. he has no idea where to go from here.

cue a surprise visit from the last person optimus expected. as it turns out, starscream is still pissed that megatron humiliated him in front of the entire high guard, not to mention bearing the brunt of megatron's anger when things go sideways. starscream believes in the strength of one bot over another, and by that logic, there's really only one bot who's strong enough to put megatron in his place. (not to mention, orion forced d16 to spare him during the fight, and he hasn't forgotten that.)

optimus isn't sure what to think, but starscream gives him vital information, info optimus can use to launch a sabotage that could disrupt the decepticons with minimal casualties. optimus goes for it, and to his surprise, it works. starscream wasn't lying after all.

thus begins a slow burn as starscream and optimus continue to have their clandestine meetings, with starscream being optimus' newest double agent, and optimus trying to figure out what starscream's true motive is behind everything. of course, starscream tells optimus that he wants control of the high guard again, but optimus knows that there's another reason behind it. and starscream isn't about to tell him what it is anytime soon.

[angelicsentinel]

Not Time's Fool

art by @chiikichai

fic by @angelicsentinel

Woo! It's that time of year again when big bang previews go out. I hit my millionth word in dcmk this fic by a country mile. It's a whopping 75k+!

Time travel was a siren song I couldn't resist even after I told myself I'd never do this again. Tune in this August for an action-packed time travel AU with some absolutely incredible art by the ever amazing Chii!)

@kaishinbigbang

[texasteaparty]

Hangster Sentinel/guide au

Jake is a Grade A Sentinel who is notoriously self sufficient and continuously denies needing a guide to help stabilize him. He doesn't zone out, doesn't struggle to focus or pull back.

But then he starts to struggle and his best friend Coyote, whose a low level guide, can't help regulate him anymore. But it's getting worse, and he ends up zoning bad one day that took almost an hour to get pulled out of.

So the brass set him up with a slightly high profile guide who was trained by the Navy's best Sentinel Guide bondmates.

Bradley Bradshaw is both infuriating and intriguing and Jake can't help but want to learn as much as he can about the guide. And sure, maybe he doesn't quite get off on the right foot, but he's sure this is his fated mate.

They get into a rhythm, and Jake finally begins to trust Bradley when he helps Jake out of a zone that came outta nowhere.

They bond a year after they meet, and Jake gets to meet Bradley's dad's, the infamous Sentinel Tom "Iceman" Kazansky and his Guide Pete "Maverick" Mitchell.

Basically just , they're so good for one another.

[niccolites]

sentinel species - iii. caribou

victorian, zombie apocalypse au. kyle 'gaz' garrick x fem!reader. read on ao3 here or masterlist here

You find it strange to be in Mr Garrick’s house without him. You feel like an invasive species, trapped inside and fluttering at the window, desperate to get out.

You sit on the edge of the couch. Perched, nervous as you watch the door. You don’t want to snoop and then get caught snooping. You gnaw on the edge of your thumbnail, watching sunlight drift in through one of the windows, tracking its slow course along the wooden floor. Dust flutters in the air, caught in the sunbeam. Weightless.

There’s a bookcase but there are very few books in it. You decide that you would be allowed to look through these, given that they are on display, an excuse ready on your tongue if Mr Garrick and Mr Evans were to return and catch you.

They’re old books, you remember a few of them with titles that you read as a young girl.

There’s the urge to head up the stairs, maybe find Kyle’s room and have a look at the four walls that he stayed in. Track the progression of his years in each stair.

You ignore the feeling, and pluck a book off of the shelf. There’s dust here as well, caught in the pages. You blow it off and sneeze when it puffs into your face.

You do the same with the armchair in the corner, wafting your hand through the air before any more motes get caught in your nose.

You settle in, rest your hand on your hand and try to focus.

It’s difficult, jumping at any sound that comes from outside. There’s a screech at one point that almost sends you across the room. When you peek outside, there isn’t any sign of life.

You wait to hear it again, eyes intent on any shifting shadow, but nothing further comes.

You wonder if there is anyone else in all of these houses, and they are doing the same as you. Cowering beneath the windowsill and peering back at you. Trying to see if you’re the sick one.

A disconcerting thought. When your eyes start to strain, you force yourself back into your chair and pick your book back up.

You’re startled when Mr Garrick comes back. You almost throw your book into the air when the door slams open. You push yourself up and turn to see Mr Garrick staring back at you with wild eyes.

The facts that your sight is able to confirm is parsed through slowly, as if you cannot comprehend what exactly it is that you are seeing. There’s blood staining the front of his shirt, his collar, his hands. Bright splashes of red, splattered even over his face. His arm, cradled to his chest as if hurt.

“Goodness!” you exclaim, hesitant for a split second before you push through with effort. “What happened - are you alright? Show me -?”

You reach forward, hands hovering as if unsure where to place them but Mr Garrick steps forward into them. They find themselves on his shoulders, a curl of muscle that tenses as your hand curves around it.

A moment and you realise that Mr Evans isn’t there. “What happened?” you ask, eyes darting to the empty space beside Mr Garrick, then to the door. As if you were trying to summon Mr Evans.

“I don’t know,” Mr Garrick admits, head lowered towards yours. His eyes, open and beseeching, catch yours until you return your gaze to him. “It was like - he went mad. He just attacked me, all of a sudden with no warning.”

You gape at him, uncomprehending. “Do you - think he was���one of those things?” you ask, not sure it was even possible. It was one thing to accept those creatures out there, it was another to think of a man that you know becoming one of them.

Mr Garrick shakes his head. “No, those creatures are a different kind of madness. No, Mr Evans was yelling too, but it was words. He wanted me gone.” Mr Garrick eyes dart around your face, grim and serious. “He said that he wanted me away from you.”

“Me?” you ask, disbelieving. “I don’t understand.” Though you and Mr Evans were being set up by your mother, you hadn’t imagined that he had placed much stock in the situation. A passing interest, maybe, but you had always thought that Mr Evans would have settled for anyone. You had always just been the one with the most insistent mother. 

Mr Garrick is still cradling his arm, so you force yourself out of your disbelieving musings and usher him to the armchair that you were in before.

You flutter uncertainly for a moment before you go and fill a shallow bowl with water. “Is your arm alright?” you ask, kneeling on the ground beside him. Your handkerchief is loose in his other hand, bloody and ruined. He lets you take it, and you soak it in water to wash the blood away.

“He scratched me some, but I don’t think it’s that deep,” Kyle says, letting you roll his sleeve up and wipe away the blood staining there. “He had a blade, he tried to slash me with it.” Unfathomable, so you just blink and force yourself to focus on the task at hand.

He’s right, the blood has made it seem worse. There’s a cut diagonal across his forearm, but there isn’t much more than that. His knuckles are burst again, blood oozing out and framing the length of his fingers.

“What did you do?” you ask, clearing your throat when it starts to rasp. You don’t look up, frightened to see the truth there.

“I’m very sorry,” he murmurs, and it’s enough. You swallow, harsh and blow out a deep breath. If Mr Evans wanted to take advantage of a sick world, then you didn’t blame Kyle for saving himself.

“Do you have any bandages here?” you ask, wiping more blood away from his cut. Something to focus your attention on. “We may have to wrap this, I don’t want it to keep bleeding.” Your handkerchief isn’t going to hold up this time. Mournfully, you wring it out and try to assess if it’s beyond saving.

“Have you done this before?” Mr Garrick asks, leaning forward to peer at you over his arm.

“No, our cook used to hurt himself a lot, so he let me learn to bandage up anything small. My mother went ballistic when she found out, said it wasn’t ladylike to deal with such things,” you muse. “Coming in handy now, though, I’ll be sure to remind her.”

You look up with a smile, half-joking even though your heart feels heavy. It falters when you see how close Mr Garrick’s face has gotten to your own. There’s a mole above his eyebrow, something that you haven’t let yourself notice until now. Devastating, to be so close to someone so beautiful.

“Mr Garrick -”

“Kyle,” he murmurs, before his hand cups the back of your head and he presses his lips to yours.

You’ve never been kissed before, but you had always imagined that it would be like in the books that you would read. Something magical, like a change that would take root and transform you into a woman.

It feels grounded. The cradle of his hand in your hair, the faint pressure of each of his fingertips on your scalp. His mouth, faintly parted against yours. You inhale, instinctively and he presses further forward as if to give chase. Your mouth parts against his and there is a moment where you breathe him in. A slick wet, felt in the slight gap between your mouths, so close that distance was rendered obsolete. It’s never occurred to you that kissing could involve a man’s tongue, and the thought sends you red-hot everywhere. Your mouth, unbidden, parts further, ready -

Kyle pulls back and swallows harshly. Noisy, and you feel spit pool on your tongue and want to taste his instead. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he rasps, pupils blown. You’re still held in his hand, arrested and immobile. You feel the flex of tendon against your scalp, before he pulls his hand back. Restraint, in the tremor of his wrist.

You pull yourself back and close your mouth. Gaping wasn’t ladylike, after all.

“No, that was -” you clear your throat, the heat in your face distracting. A fever, sickness pulsing in your temples. “I was also - it’s alright.”

“I didn’t mean to take advantage,” he adds, scrubbing his hand down his face. A resolve taking a hold in the downward turn of his brow. “I apologise,” he tells you.

You know he’s right to apologise, and you should accept and build that careful wall back between the two of you. So, you do, even if it burns your mouth to push those words through your lips now that you know how his feel against them.

“I think we should continue with our plan,” Mr Garrick decides, ripping the rest of his torn sleeve and wrapping it around his cut. “Take the horse and head to my father’s cabin. Could you grab anything that we may need to bring with us? I have a pack in the kitchen that you can use.”

You nod, and shake your head as you stand. You feel guilty, watching as he neatly ties the ends of your handkerchief around the cut on his arm. The lowering of his head, tilted away from you. You feel like a child, caught and scolded. An irrational feeling; you resolve to not slip up again.

You step carefully through Mr Garrick’s home. Scoop up some linens in case there are any further injuries. A few bottles that you can fill with water.

You return with your findings and lay them out on the kitchen table. You had brought a bag with you with a change of clothes for yourself but you don’t have anything for Mr Garrick. “You should bring a change of clothes for yourself, I didn’t want to go through your drawers,” you say as he approaches.

He stops on the other side of the table, a cavern between the two of you. “I’ll go get some,” he murmurs, and you don’t look up this time, head lowered as you diligently set about your task. He leaves before you look up and you feel like a foolish girl for how rotten it makes you feel.

//

The sun is high and beaming down on you when you both set off again. Mr Garrick never did manage to find another horse when he set out with Mr Evans, so you are both on the same saddle. You’re dressed more appropriately, at least, in your riding leathers. Able to sit on the saddle correctly rather than side straddle.

Mr Garrick’s hands sit on either side of your hips, loosely holding the reins as you set down the road. You settle in, let the rocking of the horse sooth you. Brick slides away and makes way for dirt and grass instead. 

It feels strange, without Mr Evans. He had been a pallid, sickly version of himself the last time that you saw him, but you remembered him as he was. Perhaps self-absorbed and boring, but a decent man before the world was upturned.

You looked up at the blue sky and breathed out a soft prayer for him. It floated up and away, caught in the faint wind. You could only hope that it reached him.

“How far is your father’s cabin?” you ask, turning your head back, slightly.

“A day’s journey, I would estimate,” Mr Garrick muses. “Father used to make us camp half-way through when I was young. There was a river, we used to fish there and make camp to cook it before we set off again in the morning.”

“Why did he live so far from it?”

“It was closer to my mother when they first met,” Kyle says. Unbidden, you lean further back into his chest as you listen to the wistful tone of his voice. “He didn’t want to give it up, even after we moved here.”

“That’s very romantic,” you murmur. Kyle hums in agreement, the squeak of leather as he flexes his hands on the reins.

Most of the day passes in relative quiet. You journey through open fields again, and the sunlight beams down and makes everything seem gentle. It’s hard to reconcile how much your life has changed when you are out here. Morning dew glistens on weeds even well into the afternoon and you feel optimistic at the sight of it. Life is continuing, even in the presence of death. Images of blood and violence are chased away. Even the gashes on Mr Garrick’s knuckles seem less severe out here.

“We could stop by a village, see if there’s any news,” you suggest. He doesn’t immediately respond and you resist the urge to retreat into yourself. “There could be people that don’t know about what’s happened yet?”

Mr Garrick hums, thoughtful. “Hard to imagine, isn’t it?” It is, so you nod. “You’re right, we could stop by, see if anyone knows anything. Maybe someone might know what’s causing it, so we can avoid it.”

It’s a train of thought that you hadn’t even considered. You imagine it like an infection, a sickness locked in the back of your throat and opening up to bare a second set of teeth. You shiver and Kyle nudges his chin against the crown of your head. Answer and response.

The day slips away as you follow the sun. You ask Kyle about his sisters, listen as he tells you stories to make you laugh. Your own history is left untouched and gathering dust. You start to tell a story of a tea party where you spilled tea all over a gentleman caller and remember that it was Mr Evans halfway through your giggle and choke on it.

You do, finally, come across a village but it’s barren. You both hesitate, on the edge of the path, reluctant to disembark the horse. The sun has been chased across the sky, starting to hide from you on the other side of the world.

The moon is cold and you can feel it start to stretch its fingers out towards you.

“Do you want to stop here?” Kyle asks, voice a low murmur in your ear. You shift, wavering, held back by the firm line of his arm around your waist.

“Maybe?” you respond, gnawing on your lip. Then, force your shoulders into a taut line. “Yes, I think we should. Someone may know something that we don’t.”

“Yes, captain,” Kyle teases and grins when you curl inwards, embarrassed. He deftly slides off of the horse and lifts you up by your waist to lower you to the ground. Even more flustering, to feel his hands sink into the soft flesh of your sides, palms strong. “Y’alright?” he asks when you find your feet, his hands still steadying you.

You nod, shy under his rapt attention. He gives you a squeeze that has you squeaking. His hands a little too firm until you look up at his smile. You replicate it, before you can stop yourself. “Yes, I’m alright,” you say, and he gives you another squeeze, hands much gentler this time and you barely manage to stop yourself from swaying into him.

“Good, alright, shall we?” he says, stepping back but offering you his arm to take.

The village is quiet, which isn’t unusual in itself. It is a bit later in the day, but it feels dead out here. It feels abandoned, and you feel a chill at the idea that every place you encounter will be like this. Your town, this village, the city. On and on, you will be the discoverer of empty worlds.

You take Kyle’s arm and let yourself hide in his shoulder as you venture onto the beaten path. The last people in the world, for all intents and purposes.

You knock on the first door, but there is no answer. The next few cottages yield the same result and you give up. There are a few more cottages, but you feel ill. Where was everyone and more pressing - were they all dead or sick?

“If we travel through the night we could reach the cabin,” Kyle tells you as you wander back to the horse and feed it some oats that you had found, left beside one of the empty houses.

You think about the travel through the woods in the dark last night. That creature and its bloody mouth that seemed to glow in the moonlight. “It feels wrong to stay here, but if there isn’t anyone here...” you say, gazing down at the empty path. “Don’t you think it’s odd that no one is anywhere. At least Mr Evans - he was shouting, he needed help. Everyone else is just - vanished.”

Kyle looks back at you, gaze even. “It is strange, but we can’t help anyone who isn’t here,” he points out. 

You deflate, smoothing your hand down the side of your horse’s neck as it huffs and chews. “I don’t want to travel in the dark again,” you admit, mouth twisting as you feel a little foolish to admit it.

A shift of movement and then Kyle is tucking your hair behind your ear. “Alright, we can stay here overnight, and set off again in the morning,” he agrees and nudges your jaw with his knuckles until you give him a small smile. You keep giving him these allowances, letting yourself feel his bare skin against your own. You can’t seem to bring yourself to step back too much, already that wall that was built back up this morning is gone. Chased away by the close quarters that the two of you are keeping.

It’s easy enough to leave the horse some water and bring your stuff inside one of the cottages. There are a few beds, and though you would baulk at sharing one, sharing a room to sleep seems acceptable under these circumstances. The rain chases you inside, starting slow, but getting steady until it bangs its feet on the roof above you.

You keep the same riding clothes that you’ve had on all day, but use your cloak like a blanket. You settle into bed, watch as Kyle caps a couple candles but keeps a few of them lit. The candlelight flickers across his face, lighting the curve of his cheek, the brown of his eye turned molten, the bolt of his jaw sharper.

This is an insight that you weren’t meant to see, a domestic vision meant for a man and wife. Watching the line of his spine as he twists to place a candle on the counter. The width of his shoulders, broad, the curve of lean muscle that is barely hidden beneath cloth. The sound of his breath, watching the rise of his chest and knowing that his lungs are expanding just there. Right beneath flesh and protected in the round of his ribcage. Nothing at all, to reach out and touch it. Everything separated by the hard press of your fingers. Delicacy hidden beneath hardness and revealed through effort.

There is a strange relaxation that overcomes you. At the end of the world, there are no witnesses.

Kyle lays out on the bed closest to you, and you tell yourself that the separate mattresses are what counts, not the space between them. He turns on his side and you mimic him, blinking at him. He is haloed by candlelight, and you find yourself in awe.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, tucking one hand under his pillow, the other splayed in the gap between you. One finger on your mattress. You don’t say anything.

“I’m thinking about the people who lived here,” you answer, tucking both your hands into your chest. “There are a few beds here, I wonder if they were a big family.”

“Was it just you and your mother in your house?” he asks, fingers tapping a light tune. The makeshift bandage has held up well, though lightly stained with blood across his forearm.

“Yes, us and the cook and sometimes a maid would stay with us, but they mostly had their own families to get to and would just come to work. Father, once, but he’s been gone a while now,” you say, turning your head to the ceiling. Straight planks of wood, layered upon each other and immovable. The rain patters against it, heavier at times before settling into a soothing rhythm instead.

“What was he like?” Kyle says, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair out of your face. Intimate, in the dark, but another allowance that you give him. You don’t want him to look upset like he did after he kissed you.

You open your mouth to answer but are interrupted by a banging at the door. You shoot up but Kyle is already reaching a hand out to catch your shoulder. His gaze, severe, as he looks out.

Terror grips a cold hand around your throat and you can scarcely get a breath in.

Kyle stands, silent, and treads slowly towards the window. You shift to follow, but feel clumsy and loud in comparison. Your heartbeat must be loud enough to alert everyone outside, you feel caught already.

“Hello? Please, we need some help!” a feminine voice calls from outside. There’s a panic in her voice that reverberates into you in kind. The door handle shakes as she rattles it before she bangs on the door again.

You look over at Mr Garrick and find him frowning at the door, a blade suddenly in his hand.

He looks back at you and after a moment of contemplation, gestures for you to stay and reaches for the door.

“What’s the matter?” Kyle says, keeping the door angled so that you are outside of view.

“Please, it’s our son, he’s sick, he needs help,” the woman begs. You don’t know if it’s the sight of Kyle alone that overcomes her but she stumbles inside and Kyle barely catches her. He tries to maneuver himself between the two of you, but it’s too late. You feel the moment her gaze catches you. You must look more sympathetic, because the woman leans towards you, a gravity pull that almost seems to pull her across the room in your direction.

“Ma’am, I don’t think we’ll be of much help, I’m not a medic,” Kyle tries to explain, trying to keep her back, his hands on her upper arms.

“Please, you have to help, there isn’t anybody, they’re all gone or mad,” the woman sobs, stretching her hands out towards you and you feel compelled to reach back and catch them.

Her hands are cold and wet, rain slicking the space between your skin. You can barely keep a hold of her, but her hands skate up, catching on the fabric of your sleeves and clinging.

“Miss -” Kyle starts.

“You have to come, please, come look at him, please, I can’t let him die,” the woman continues to beg, voice getting louder. You flinch with it, almost cowering as the woman starts to tug you towards the door. You yelp when her hands slip down and catch on your wrists. Her skin is slick but her fingernails catch and keep her tethered.

Mr Garrick looks angrier than you’ve seen him but he can’t reach the woman around you and you are tugged out into the rain before either of you can stop her.

Rain batters down on your face, chokes you as you try to open your mouth to speak. There’s a cart that wasn’t there before, the opposite direction to where you left your horse in a makeshift stable. Another person - a man - darts towards the two of you and intercepts Mr Garrick when he reaches out to catch you.

“Let her go,” Mr Garrick barks, but the man holds his hands up and steps between the two of you.

You slip in the mud and almost go down but the woman yanks and you are righted. You yelp, feel her nails dig in further, traction on your arms.

Kyle yells out again and you hear a crack of flesh behind you but you force yourself to keep looking at the woman. “I’m not a nurse, I’m sorry, please,” you plead but the woman only echoes your cries and ignores you.

There was a dirt-beaten path here when you first went inside, but the rain has turned it into a grimy river. There is no grip in your boots and you slide when you try to dig your heels in and the woman yanks you up again and continues to tug you along. “Please, you’re hurting me!” you try to tell her, choking on water as it beats down on your face.

The wind howls, an angry god in the sky. It feels like a horrible nightmare, even as you try to tell yourself that this is a desperate mother and her desperate husband with Kyle. You want to believe that maybe their child has some kind of catarrh, but you find yourself frozen with terror if their child has the mad sickness that you have seen in those creatures.

Could you hurt a child? If it hurtled itself at you, with a growl and sinew stuck between its teeth?

You don’t think you could. You told yourself that you would speak, at the next danger. You’d been quiet with the man in the field, and quiet with Mr Evans. Two different types of violence, and the propriety that had you trying to diffuse the situation has led you wrong each time in this new world.

“Kyle, help me!” you shriek, and manage to yank your head back towards the house that you were staying in to see that Kyle is already sprinting towards the two of you.

The woman yanks you forward again, fingernails scratching into your flesh. You sob, leaning back against her weight, even as that digs her nails in further.

“Please stop, please - ” you start to say, but the woman doesn’t seem able to hear you. Another yank and you slip just as Kyle grabs the woman by the waist and lifts her up and away from you.

He throws the woman back and she thuds into the ground, slips just the same as you. Where you find mud that catches you, she falls back and even over the thunder of rain, you can hear the crack of her skull against stone.

You stare at her in shock, rain battering your face and blinding you. Mr Garrick kneels in front of you and blocks your view but you try to crane your neck to see her.

“Oh, lovely, no,” Kyle says, cradling your bloody wrists in his hands. “C’mon, we can’t stay here, we have to go.” A rough kiss pressed to your forehead, but you barely notice it. The rain has dulled all of your senses, water-logged you and left you out to drown.

He starts to pull you up, hands gentle, but firm. A balm against the stringing of your skin that you’re only just starting to notice. “We have to help that woman, Kyle, she’s not moving,” you whimper, letting him pull you up. You stand there, lost, staring at how still she is. Flat on her back, eyes staring upwards.

“I need to make sure you’re alright,” Kyle counters, and then finished with talking, reaches down and picks you up.

“No, no,” you murmur, but you can only watch over Kyle’s shoulder as he quickly jogs towards your horse, thankfully still where you left it. The woman doesn’t move, laid out like she was asleep on the path. You pass another body on the path, the man that approached you, maybe. He’s slumped in the doorway to the cottage that you were staying in. His head tilted down to his chest, the water running a red stream down his face.

Kyle helps you onto the horse, side straddle and the two of you take off again.

Laid out in Kyle’s arms, you tilt your head back and let the rain wash over your face. With your mouth laid open like the woman’s, water fills your mouth. You turn your head and spit.

//

Kyle finds a large overhanging tree that seems to be sheltered from the rain. You’re soaked and shivering, malleable in Kyle’s hands as he helps you down and sits you on the grass. It’s dry, but you feel exposed, even under the leaves of the tree.

You don’t go to suggest another village, any further words are caught behind the chatter of your teeth. “I think you should change into dry clothes, I’m worried about you getting sick,” Kyle says, frowning as one hand rifles through one of your packs, the other resting on your knee. It’s the only warm spot on you, you hone in on it like a beacon. A lighthouse in a storm.

“Out here?” you ask, words stilted as they catch between your chattering teeth. 

“I don’t want you getting sick,” Kyle repeats, harsher. He pulls out a bundle of clothes and turns his attention to you. It’s always a spotlight, you can feel the heat of it on your face. He reaches up, cups your face in his hands. “Please,” he says, eyes darting between the two of yours. There is blood on his fingers, you can feel it, tacky against your skin.

You nod, too exhausted to argue, and his shoulders lose some of their tension. He leans forward and you wonder if he is going to kiss you again. However, he just presses his forehead against yours and breathes for a moment.

He keeps catching you off guard, at times a severe soldier, and at others you think he is letting you see the vulnerable side of him. “We can wait out the rain here,” you say, voice hushed. The tree shelters you from the rain, creating a distinct cut between yourselves and the outside world. A bubble, just for the two of you. Fragile, if your voice is too loud.

Kyle makes an agreeing sound, smoothing his thumb down the side of your face. A moment passes and he seems to pull himself away with great difficulty. “Here, I think my spare clothes are thicker than the clothes you packed.”

You make an echoing agreeing sound. You have Mr Garrick turn around as you dress. It’s a pair of his trousers and a large white shirt. You look mournfully at his sister’s cloak, drenched and muddy, and hang it over one of the branches to hopefully dry out once the rain stops. “I’m decent,” you say, settling back down on the ground against the tree trunk.

If Kyle has anything to say about how you look wearing his clothes, he doesn’t say anything, but you watch his hand twitch at his side as he comes to sit by you.

You feel numb, thinking of that woman that you left out there. You wonder if it even matters, to not help. Was it kinder to teach others the new natural order? You didn’t know.

You have half a mind to shift further away from Kyle, instil that wall that keeps intimacy out. You’re so tired though, and the life that you had merely 24 hours ago feels like a distant dream. You stare out into the rain, unable to see anything and feel something vital give up.

“Kyle?” you ask and he turns his head down to look at you. “Can you hold me?”

He reaches a hand up to cup the side of your face and you feel caught after a tumble out of the sky. “Of course, c’mere, love.”

You let him pull you in, an unruly kitten by the scruff of your neck. Settled in the cradle of his thighs like you were getting used to on the saddle. Your head tucked into his collarbone, nose to skin.

“You know, we were taught when to quit on someone in the army,” Kyle says, voice like a lullaby.

“How do you mean?” you ask, voice sticky and slow, molasses dragging on your gums.

Your request has relinquished some control in Kyle. One hand is draped around your back to keep you close, the other cradles your neck, long fingers into your hair. You feel the flex of them on your scalp and remember this morning, how he had dug his fingers in as if trying to inhale you.

“We’re taught when to let go,” Kyle hums, his hand pulling back just to smooth hair out of your face, rhythmic. “Men go down in trenches, and sometimes you have to assess if you are actually able to save them or not. You need to make the call, to drag a dying man on your back to save him, or realise if you were already dragging a corpse.”

You frown, eyes focused on the bob of his throat as he talks. This close, you can see the stubble just beneath his jaw. You imagine it would feel rough against your skin, the way his palm is calloused, scratching against your skin in a way that has it humming to life. You are a cold, stone woman, and here is Kyle running his warm palms over you and making you human again.

“Surely it’s always worth it, if you have even a chance of saving someone’s life,” you respond, leaning your head back into his palm.

“Sometimes,” he acquiesces. “But, sometimes spending energy on a dead man could cost someone else their life. It was all about knowing when to cut loose. Knowing when someone is already dead and moving on already.”

You think he might be trying to tell you something, maybe this was a thinly-veiled lesson about your mother. Trying to tell you to give up while you had the time to come to terms with it. You’re too exhausted to parse through his words and pick out the ones that he has left unsaid.

“Not you,” he adds, as if to himself. Voice quiet in confession. “I wouldn’t leave you.”

You think of your dead dog, and its bones buried somewhere in your garden. Kyle’s hand cradles your skull, and you don’t think he would ever bury you and leave you alone like that. 

A comforting thought, you force yourself to sleep and dream of Kyle’s hands on your skin Buried deep until he’s covered in your blood. It’s in your mouth but Kyle is the one to drink it down like water.

[brandwhorestarscream]

If d16 was carrying in the movie that could have saved him.

OOH I HAVE. THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS

Part 2 here, part 3 here, part 4 here, part 5 here!

Hear me out, ok. Sentinel Prime heavily, heavily advocates for chastity. He very publicly denounces casual intimacy, waxing poetic about how it's a very special thing that should only be shared with someone you truly love and trust. To give yourself away to a stranger in a one night stand or even casually to a friend is one of the greatest disservices one can do to themselves. Interfacing should only be done with your bonded mate. While it's certainly not illegal, their Prime's warm concern and insistence that they're all special and should be treated as such keeps a lot of mecha's panels closed. The vast majority of them are saving themselves for their conjunx endura.

Now, the real reason Sentinel doesn't want them having sex? He doesn't want them breeding. Specifically the lowest of society, he doesn't want his cogless servants sparking each other up and having babies with t-cogs. It would raise too many questions, and while he has no qualms about taking a newspark's cog out before they're presented to their parents, accidents happen. People slip up. Some sparklings come before their parents can get to a hospital. Some nutcases want home births because it's "more intimate and natural". Some just plain don't realize they're carrying until they start having contractions. Cogless bots popping out babies with cogs will only cause problems, so the best way to prevent such a thing is to convince them that chastity is their best option. Most of them die before they can find someone they want to be with forever, and even among those that do, they struggle to save up enough money for a bonding license. Keeping them repressed and chaste is just another means of his control.

Now, as for sweet D-16 >:) he practically worships Sentinel Prime. He has such blind adoration and trust in him. Orion adores him too, of course, but not quite on the same level. He doesn't look at Sentinel with the same stars in his optics, though certainly has boundless respect and admiration for him. When they're visited by the Prime post-Iacon 5000, they're invited up to his personal suite 👀

Consider: instead of getting immediately jumped by Darkwing, they actually do get escorted up there. It's grander than anything either of them have ever seen, a shining and spotless penthouse with a 360° view of the city, expensive chaises to lounge on and bottles of the finest, smoothest high grade, even a jacuzzi! Sentinel Prime meets them there, and, placing a gentle hand on each of their faces, purrs that he wants to reward them.

"I've never seen anything like what you two did today," D-16 whimpers at his praise, beaming sunshine, and Orion is awestruck. "Come... sit with me."

They follow their Prime obediently and he relaxes onto one of the lounges, pulling the two cute little miners down on either side of him. They talk--or rather, Sentinel talks and they hang onto his every word, each tucked under one of his arms and nestled close against his chassis--and eventually he pops a bottle of champagne and pours them each a glass. Neither Dee nor Orion have ever had such high quality energon before: it goes down thick and smooth and warm, sending a blast of heat through their little bodies that pool in their tummies and make them start to squirm and feel woozy. Sentinel prompts they drink the whole thing, each of them, and by the time they're done they're gasping and swaying. So strong! Too strong!

The Prime's huge blue servo slides onto D-16's face, admiring his dazed expression. His optics are flickering, shutters at their halfway point, and he's visibly flushed, mouth dropped open and pretty lips parted as he pants. Swaying gently back and forth like that, Sentinel can't resist. He leans down and kisses him, gentle but controlling, and D-16 makes an honest-to-Primes squealing noise.

As soon as Sentinel pulls back, Dee wavers and collapses back against the chaise, optics blown wide even as an uncontrollable smile splits his face. He starts giggling, covering his face and rocking back and forth as euphoria bubbles out of him in uncontrollable, adorable laughter. "Oh my stars-" he gushes. "Oh my stars omistars omistars wow...!" His first kiss has left him breathless and elated, barely able to speak, worship and the greatest joy imaginable shining in his optics.

Sentinel Prime has them, both of them, in his suite, over and over and over again. They're both virgins, have never touched another mech or been touched in turn, and their leader takes great revelry is breaking their seals. Fucking their tight little valves until they're wailing and cumming in his lap, sobbing in ecstasy into his neck, clumsily kissing at his plating and swearing that they adore him, they love him, please more, more, more! He frags them on the furniture, against the wall, on the floor, even in the hot tub. He has them both on their knees in front of him on the lounge, licking and sucking at his spike and pushing each other to lap up drops of his transfluid, asks them to use their mouths on each other while he watches. He even asks them to bear their sparks and they do: he doesn't share his own but he's glad to tease at theirs, and it reduces them to mewling little piles on the floor, twitching and rocking and moaning as they crash through overload after overload. Such beautiful little pets, so eager to please, he could definitely get used to having them around for awhile.

When their time comes to an end they've started to sober up, snuggled against his sides on one of the lounges, still whimpering and panting high on pleasure, excess charge making them woozy and giggly even though the high grade is nearly out of their systems. Airachnid arrives and doesn't even give them a passing glance, informing the Prime that it's time to depart. He sends them back to their home in the mines, promising to see them again soon, just as soon as he returns from his next crusade to the surface.

D-16 and Orion stumble home giggling and shoving each other, still adjusting their armor and poking at the paint transfers spattered all over them. They're euphoric, there's no other word for it, high as a kite on pleasure, on the knowledge that Sentinel Prime wanted them and they were able to satisfy him! No longer virgins and instead claimed by the Prime!

Their batchmates welcome them home with a cacophony of cheers and hugs and jostling--MINERS! In the RACE! Their very own brothers, in the Iacon 5000! And- wait, why are you two all wet...?

They weren't intending to tell everyone, but the way they look at each other and blush and start snickering and struggling to explain is telling enough. Ratchet is already approaching with a wrench to scold them, they know better than to let a moment of excitement cloud their judgement-

"Uh, w-well-"

"Sentinel Prime wanted to-"

"SENTINEL PRIME?!" The entire room screams out in shock at once, before the cheering resumes tenfold. Their batchmates got the attention of THE Sentinel Prime?! Sentinel Prime made love to their batchmates! A couple of miners got the attention and affection of their Prime! If they thought the Iacon 5000 was inspiring that's nothing compared to this: before you know it the entire sector is mining energon at a lightning fast pace and they've hit their quotas before shift is even a quarter of the way done.

Orion and D-16 happily get to work as well, eager to do their best so that when their dashing Prime returns to them, they can tell him about how hard they worked and how much energon they mined and how well everyone is going to eat because of them!

When Sentinel Prime suddenly returns and orders triple shifts, they're surprised. Very surprised. It's not like him at all! Pretty soon the miners are running on no sleep and little fuel, some are injured and being denied time for repair and seek medical treatment. And D-16, despite his best efforts, is starting to fall behind after several weeks of the brutal demands. He's getting dizzy which he attributes to the lack of recharge. His servos keep dropping things even when he's sure he has a tight grip on them. He's nauseous, all the time, and multiple times a shift stumbles away from the rest of his crew to gag and vomit in a corner of whatever energon vein they're currently working in. Orion tries to get him to slow down, to stop, because he's clearly sick and needs medical care, but Dee isn't willing to stop. "Sentinel Prime needs us, Pax! We can't stop now!"

It all comes to a head as they're dragging themselves out of a tunnel with a full load of raw energon to be refined. D-16 suddenly stumbles, clamping one servo over his mouth and running off to the side. Orion hurriedly follows him after making sure Ironhide and Jazz have got the minecart.

"Hey, easy, easy-" he comes to rub his back as his best friend bends over, servos braced on his knees and body already rolling with slow, threatening heaves. He moans that he doesn't want to, he's so sick of purging, it hurts, please Primus, not today! "C'mon, just, let it out. You'll feel better once it's out, Dee."

D-16 groans and hunches over further, arms wrapping around his middle. "No... Primes, please- hgk-!"

"OI!" A miserably familiar voice suddenly bellows behind them, and Orion's sympathetic expression drops to sheer annoyance. Oh, no. "YOU TWO! Whaddo you think you're doin'?!" Darkwing is storming up to them. "Sentinel Prime wants his energon, so GET BACK TO WORK!"

"Darkwing, please," for once Orion is polite, one servo still braced on his friend's back. "D-16's sick, he needs-"

"I don't CARE what you think he needs!" Their superior roars, grabbing them both by the shoulders and forcing then around to face him. "I said, get back to-"

Dee promptly hurls all over the slagger's pedes.

He can't hold it anymore, but he tries, clamping both servos over his mouth even as he purges again. Half-digested energon splashes through his fingers and sprays all over Darkwing's chassis, who roars in disgust and backpedals away from him. Dee crumples to his knees, gagging, both servos planted on the floor before he throws up one final time, emptying his already meager tanks and ejecting a puddle of digestive acid that burns at his throat. It dribbles out of the vents on his neck and nasal ridge, and he sobs. Primus, he feels so sick!

Darkwing's response, naturally, is to grab them both and throw them down to sublevel 50 😌 there they meet B-127, and the plot kicks off, though a bit later than before. They make it to the surface and set out to find the Matrix. The journey is significantly longer with D-16's condition, constantly having to stop so he can rest or purge. Orion, at one point, offers to carry him, and Dee is too miserable to protest. Let's Orion gently hoist him onto his back and promptly passes out with his helm on his shoulder. He's overly warm, Orion notices: feverish, surely a sign that he's getting worse. They need to find the Matrix, soon. Maybe it can help cure Dee's sickness! And if not, well, once energon flows again they won't have to mine, and D-16 will be able to see a doctor as soon as they get home. They'll get him the medicine he needs and he'll be just fine.

When they finally arrive at the Grave of the Primes, D-16 is in bad shape. Shaking like a rust rattler, dry heaving because there's nothing left in his systems to throw up, and very hot to the touch. Orion nor Elita nor B-127 have ever seen a mech in quite such a miserable state, and they're all very worried. Orion sits him down on a rock and tells him to rest, and D-16 just hunches over, helm between his knees and arms folded over his head, the epitome of misery. Whimpering softly and praying to the Primes to please, please, make it stop. Whatever this virus is that's tormenting him, please just make it stop!

Then, they find and awaken Alpha Trion.

The Prime notices Dee's condition. Immediately. He can see it, an invisible aura none but the divine can see: this young mech hosts a precious newspark inside of him. Before he tells them the story of what happened, he opts to examine the little one. He's so young, probably too young to be a carrier yet, but he's undeniably sparked. A few decacycles along.

He tells them what's going on, why D-16 is so grievously ill. "Your sparkling is starving," he tells him seriously. "You are not receiving enough donations. Their protoform is cannibalizing your body, that is the root of your sickness. Where... is the sire? He or she should be caring for your needs."

All four of them are staring at Alpha Trion with their mouths open. D-16 is carrying?! He's pregnant?! But who-

Elita one punches Orion in the face as hard as she can, sending him sprawling into the dirt with a cry of surprise. "OW! What the-"

"You slagger!" She plants one pede on his chassis and presses down til she hears metal creak and he goes 'ow ow ow!'. "It was you, I know it was you! Who else would be so dumb?! You got him sparked up and haven't been taking care of him?! You worthless deadbeat! I should rip your fragging denta out with pliers! One at a time! I should!"

"Omigosh, Dee," behind her, B-127's voice has gone airy and light in excitement. He comes up to the silver mech's side, grabbing his servo to squeeze. "Congrats, dude! You're gonna be a mom!"

D-16, for his part, is sat there in shock. Shoulders dropped and loose, mouth hanging open, staring at Alpha Trion with his optics so wide they're at liberty to pop right out of the sockets and need recalibrating. "I'm..." his voice is barely above a whisper, shaking servos drifting toward his tummy. "You mean- I'm-?!"

He's starting to smile, joy bubbling up in his chest. Excitement, too. And terror. And a million other things that he can't name because he's too shocked, but suddenly despite how sick he feels he can't help but start to laugh. Delight blooms in his chest and forces it's way out of his throat as he starts to giggle and chuckle, and before long he's doubled over holding his stomach and laughing with tears of joy streaming down his face.

"I'm- I'm having a-" he jumps up to run over to Orion, shooing Elita off of him and throwing his arms around his friend. "Pax I'm sparked! I- I can't wait to tell Sentinel, he's gonna be so excited!"

"Sentinel?" Alpha Trion's voice goes cold and harsh behind them.

"Yes! Oh- Oh yes, Sentinel Prime, he-"

"He is NO PRIME!" The old mech bellows, and all four of them turn to look at him in confusion. "He does not bear our name!"

"...WHAT?!"

The grand reveal is even more sour this time around. So, so much more sour. The betrayal runs so much deeper, and D-16 is horrified and sickened. Watching the mech he adores and admires so much bowing to the quintessons and giving away the energon that they worked so hard for. It was already bad, but now? Now, he's carrying that monster's offspring. A sparkling conceived under false pretenses, under coercion, under lies. This baby hadn't been created by love and mutual respect, it has been made by a mech that lied to their faces to get them into his bed, to get access to their bodies to use for his own pleasure however he saw fit.

D-16 feels disgusting. Violated. Worthless. He feels tricked and used and abused. He stares down at his body feeling more nausea already roiling in the deepest pits of his tanks. Sentinel had touched him everywhere. There's not a single inch of space anywhere that's clean of that mech's touch.

No one is surprised when he suddenly folds to his knees and screams. Screams with all the force of his anguish, his shattered trust, his broken and reviled body. Manic, he claws at his chassis with feverbright optics, wailing at them to, "Get it out of me...! GET IT OUT OF ME! I don't want it, I don't- I don't want it, GET IT OUT!"

Orion is at his side in an instant, yelping, "Dee, no! Stop, you'll hurt yourself!" As he forcibly grabs his friend's servos to stop him from tearing himself apart. D-16 shrieks a wordless noise of agony, and then collapses forward onto Orion to begin sobbing violently into his shoulder. Clutching onto him like a lifeline, wailing with all the devestated force he can. Bawling against Orion and falling to pieces, brokenly asking what he's going to do.

...

Ok im gonna cut this here cuz it's getting long, like really long and my hands are tired. I can barely move my left side today lmao. Poor poor Dee 😌 hope you enjoyed this nugget of angst! If ya'll wanna see a part 2, you know what to do. The box is open uwu

[valacre]

: ̗̀➛ Grand New Life

Sentinel Prime x Reader - Transformers One

“Be careful—oh there it goes,” you say, throwing your arms up as your golden winged alien enters through the front door, shattering the glass sphere surrounding the ceiling light as he straightens up. Just shy of hitting the roof itself, though too tall for any unfortunate hanging lights. “I told you to wait outside!”

“Pardon me, but what about my previous – rather pathetic display – of begging in that infernal forest, did you not understand?” said he, far too cocky for his own good, and especially so since he had, indeed, been begging you not thirty minutes before not to leave him alone. “Besides, it is wet out there and I’d rather not have my paint ruined any more than it already has been.”

“It’s water, not acid, rain can’t harm you,” say you, but tipping your head you add: “Unless you’re prone to rust.” His shuddering confirmed your words. “Ah, well, you should still have waited. A few seconds out there wouldn’t have killed you, and I wouldn’t evaporate from being out of your sight either.”

Wings flicking, he sent you a sullen but unimpressed look. You couldn’t help but snort at the sight.

“I almost find it hard to believe you are an evil dictator from a different planet. You seem like such a sad little thing,” you say, and he bristles at your words, obviously offended by them.

“First, I am not a ‘sad little thing’. Second, I was not an evil dictator. All I wanted was to have my freedom from the Primes, and I kept the citizens of Iacon safe from the Quintessons too. I think it’s hardly seen as evil to wish for some luxuries at the end of a solar cycle,” he says, chuckling like a rich man who had no worries.

“Mhm, sounds like something an evil dictator would say, and I highly doubt you’ve told me the whole story,” you say, seeing him look at you with false hurt. “I think you cherry picked your words very carefully. Why would you be sent into space to die all alone, after all? Sounds to me you did something very, very bad.”

You didn’t wait for him to respond, only added: “Watch your head,” and went on your merry way into your home, sighing as you tried to sort through what your life had suddenly become. This whole thing was not what you needed. You hadn’t moved into the countryside to escape life’s more complicated struggles just to find yourself within the world’s biggest side quest.

“This, uh, home of yours doesn’t sound structurally sound,” said Sentinel, coming into the living room behind you, minding his helm as he ducked through the open doorway. “The floors are creaking terribly, and this material—”

“Wood.”

“… This wooden material seems far too weak.”

“It’s an old farmhouse that I bought for cheap. Trust me, it looked far worse when I just moved in. I’m not done restoring it yet, but it’s comfortable and antique,” say you, smiling a little as you glance around the room. You’ve yet to fully decorate, thrifting what you can, or being given what your fellow villages didn’t want anymore, but it’s become a lovely home in your eyes, and that was the most important thing of all. “It’s full of history, if you will. I like it.”

Sentinel gave you an odd look. You rolled your eyes and waved a hand at him.

“Anyway, I hadn’t planned on you staying in here. The old stable will be restored soon, so you can’t stay there, but the barn should be comfortable enough for you. At least the roof will be tall, and the straw will keep you warm once the weather turns colder.” Again, Sentinel gave you a look. “The barn is the wooden building you saw outside, the grey one with the turf roof and curved access ramp.”

“That one?!” Sentinel looked appalled at the thought of staying at such a place, and for a brief second that panic crossed his face plate. You took a subtle step back, not wishing to be tackled again. “Absolutely not! That place looked ready to collapse at the slightest gust of wind. I deserve—”

“You are in my home,” you say, voice firm and not accepting any excuses from him, “You begged me not to leave you alone, and though I admit I do feel sorry for your predicament, I will not tolerate any demands from you.” Walking closer to him, you set your hands upon your hips, a motion that has him briefly looking you up and down. You ignore it. “If you do not wish for me to leave you out in that forest with that pod you crawled out from, I suggest you do as I say and accept the hospitality I am willing to offer you. I promise I will do what I can to fix up the barn for you so you’re at least not miserable in there, but for now it will make do as it is. Got it?”

Sentinel suppresses a shudder as he looks at you, keeping eye contact with you even as his broken pride wishes to surge forward and make proper demands. But his gratitude of being taken with you, of being offered to stay by your side so crippling loneliness wouldn’t ensnare him again, is too loud within his processor. And so, as he glances over the bruise that discoloured parts of your face, he lowers his wings in submission.

“Understood,” he says, and you nod, walking past him, ignoring him as he reaches out a few digits to brush against you, feeling that softness again for the briefest moment. It was so strange but so wonderful all at the same time. Different from him, but lovely. He wondered whether you’d allow him to touch you properly again. He’d held you against your will within the forest, and if he wished to stay on your good graces, he had to behave.

One thing was for certain, though. He could never tell the full truth of what he’d done. He didn’t regret it, not at all, but he knew you wouldn’t approve, and you’d most likely toss him aside like rusted scrap if you came to learn of it. He could never let that happen.

This picture of a Norwegian barn was the inspiration for the one I mentioned in the story, though I added a turf roof to mine because I like it quite a lot. Sentinel’s new cosy home! <3

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