#stuck to canon connections to make it easier

[vincentvangoghs]

Tonight's episode really highlighted how Buck and Eddie actually have a very conditional and somewhat one-sided friendship, something that deeply contrasts the romantic relationship between Buck and Tommy. Because despite the latter couples woes, they have shown time and time again the unconditional and pure love they are capable of sharing together, which will only be amplified once they work through their current shortcomings as a couple.

Buck and Eddie;

While Evan Buckley has so often offered Eddie — and many others, to be clear — his unconditional love and support, he has also embarked on an endless journey of self-reflection. He may not be perfect and he has no doubt made some pretty significant mistakes throughout the show, but what he is is someone who is capable of looking inward, learning, and doing his best to improve, even if the process is sometimes messy or slow and too little too late. No, Buck isn't perfect, but by god, he's continuously evolving and maturing.

(I'm sorry, but Evan Buckley is very much not the one who has been stuck on the hamster wheel like so many in fandom love to claim. That lovely "honor" would actually go to Eddie Diaz.)

Buck also has a lot of love in his heart, to the point where it sometimes overwhelms and leads him astray. But even so, his intentions are almost always pure and connected to the important people in his life. In summation, his heart and the love cast from it is extremely unconditional and wrapped within a casing of overwhelming loyalty and selflessness, some missteps aside.

Eddie Diaz, on the other hand, is quite the opposite. He'll love Buck — and other people, to be clear — but with a condition, one that is so often unspoken, but always lurking beneath the surface. With Eddie and conflict — be it his own or belonging to others simply seeking his guidance and support — there always seems to be this line drawn in the sand, a line representing what Eddie is and is not willing to put up with. And once you cross that line, he'll have very little patience or consideration for you and your feelings. It will show through not just overt or passive aggression, but also unapologetic projection.

The way he came at Buck in tonight's episode is a glaring representation of this:

It's easier for Eddie Diaz to look at everything as black and white, especially when it's convenient for his narrative, than it is to partake in self-reflection pertaining to his personal grief and struggles. It's easier to put the blame on his best friend, rather than acknowledge how he is not processing his own grief very well at all. It is easier to accuse his best friend, who is clearly hurting and crying out for help, that he's being selfish, than to make any attempt at taking on the pain of others while also grappling with his own. It is easier for him to fly his son back to LA to distract his best friend, than it is to take any semblance of accountability for his recent actions and actually fucking apologize. (Hoping this ages poorly because he apologizes in the finale.) It is so much easier to accuse his best friend of making everything about himself, than to acknowledge that, in this moment, he's actually the one doing so. It is easier for Eddie to grab Buck, corner him, and generally physically intimidate him, than it is to actually hear Buck out and understand his reasoning and perspective. Because... God forbid, he has his often black and white ideologies — and the emotions rooted in them — challenged. It's easier for Eddie Diaz to keep repeating the same mistakes in his life, than it is to actually work on his issues and truly evolve, even if those mistakes trickle down to the people around him, including his own son.

In summation, if Buck and Eddie were actually canonically together, I would be praying that the writers were setting up a season finale breakup, so that Buck can move on with his life and find someone who won't minimize his feelings to highlight their own, all while using physical aggression to intimidate and shut him down, or use their son to manipulate him into forgetting about what happened. Because whether the writers intend to follow up on this or not, or do or do not recognize the severity of Eddie's actions, I know what bullshit I witnessed unfold on my screen tonight.

Buck and Tommy;

I'll just be blunt here because this post is already in danger of getting too long...

Tommy Kinard would never pull the type of shit Eddie Diaz just did. Tommy may have some issues of his own that he needs to address — including his own tendency to project onto others, in addition to running away versus talking shit out. But had he been the one with Buck tonight, he would have never minimized the pain Buck was experiencing just to elevate his own, nor would he have grabbed and cornered Buck to maximize the severity of his pain and anger.

At "worst", Tommy would have gently reminded Buck to remember that people are grieving in their own way, similar to how Maddie handled Chimney, or Karen handled Athena, in the very same episode. And he would have done so, all while still considering and prioritizing Buck's feelings. And at best, Tommy would have asked Buck how he could best be there for him, because that's the type of person Tommy is. And to give Buck his own credit, he would have apologized if Tommy expressed needing more support and consideration, and then followed through after said apology. And Tommy would have been completely receptive of this and worked with Buck to ensure that both of them received the emotional support and consideration they both need. Because, ultimately, they are both mature and emotionally loving and supportive individuals — again, some missteps aside. While Eddie Diaz, sorry — but not sorry — has shown he just isn't. Not yet, at least. Buck and Tommy have shown they're capable of being a true partnership in all the ways that matter, while Eddie has made his friendship with Buck incredibly one-sided.

(Man, Buck. I am honestly proud of the man you've evolved into. You've come a long way, despite some in this fandom pretending you haven't and gleefully waiting for you to crash and burn more than your loved ones and other colleagues whenever a challenging situation occurs.)

While Eddie is quick to make Buck feel like he and his problems are "too much" to take on, Tommy would be mortified if he ever did the same, much less more than once.

I'm so glad Buck will have Tommy back in his corner soon, whether it be in the finale or sometime during 9A, because Tommy is the person Buck so clearly needs in his life right now. Buck needs someone who is going to reciprocate everything he is so eager to offer, and Tommy so clearly needs and is willing to do the same.

[saintobio]

blue christmas

a sincerely yours christmas special. non-canon. angst. 900 wc. part of the sy side-stories.

It was quiet that night. 

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, and the scent of pine and cinnamon lingered in the air while the warm glow of Christmas lights twinkled on the tree. Outside, snow drifted lazily to the ground, covering the surroundings of your home in a soft, pile of white. It felt peaceful—almost too peaceful—and you sat back on the couch, lounging after a nice Christmas dinner with your teenage son, Sachiro, who cradled a mug of cocoa in his hands beside you.

You smiled faintly, admiring how much he had grown, and how this quiet night seemed so far removed from the all the drama that had once filled your life. But the comfort of the moment didn’t last long before he spoke. His voice, deep like his father’s, broke the silence of your supposed peaceful night. 

“Mom,” he began, “Why didn’t you ever choose to remarry Dad?”

The question hit you harder than expected, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the right words. Really, what were the right words? You had never been good at talking about these things, and you didn’t expect that your son would put you on the hot seat like this. The past, especially those connected to Satoru—sometimes it felt easier to leave them untouched, forgotten. As it should be. 

You glanced at your son, unsure of how to explain the complicated web of emotions that tangled inside you. “I thought... it was for the best,” you said quietly, voice soft as you searched for something that sounded right. His question was too sudden to be given a decent answer. “You know your Dad and I just couldn’t make it work. And for you, for us, it was better this way.”

Sachiro nodded slowly as if he already knew the answer, yet his fingers tightened around the mug. You could see the way he was processing your words, as if he was hoping for better reasoning. He had never even known the sibling he had lost until recently, the gap that finally forced his father out of your lives. Sachiro only saw the quiet love that both his parents shared, but it wasn’t enough, not for either of you.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if my sibling were here?” he asked, clearly inciting. “If you kept her, mom. Would she be celebrating with us tonight?”

You felt the ache in your chest as the question landed. You knew Sachiro’s question came from a place of grudge, aiming really well at a spot that hurt the most. And it did good at bringing you a pang of grief from a memory you had tried to bury long ago. You weren’t numb. Of course the loss still stung, even all these years later.

“I think about it all the time,” you murmured, unable to hide the shame in your voice. “What she would’ve been like. How she would’ve looked like. But... I don’t want to remember, Sachiro. I’ve made peace with it.”

But he wasn’t done. “Then, why didn’t you try again?” His voice was so gentle, yet so curious. “Why didn’t you remarry anyone else? I mean... Dad’s married to someone else now. And they’re having another baby. Shouldn’t that be a sign?”

The words felt like a stab to your chest, your heart shattering with an emotion you couldn’t name. Satoru’s life had moved on without you, far far too long ago, yet every reminder of it still cut deep. 

“I’m happy for him,” you said softly, the words stuck in your throat. “But that doesn’t mean I want the same outcome for myself. It’s... complicated.”

Marrying someone else again was not in your books. 

You could feel the intensity of Sachiro’s gaze on you, as if waiting for more. But you didn’t have more to give. You didn’t know how to explain the parts of you that had been shattered, the pieces that had never fully healed. Even if your own son hated you for it. 

“I just want you to be happy, Mom,” Sachiro said, turning away from you, his gaze landing on the Christmas tree. “I want you to have what you deserve. When I have my own family someday, I don’t want you to be spending your Christmas all alone.”

You wanted to tell him everything. How much you loved him, how much you would do for him. How hard it was to move on, how hard it was to see his father moving on with someone else. But the words needn’t be said. At least, not for tonight. 

And then, just as quickly as the moment had come, it faded into a kaleidoscope of memories. The world around you shifted, and the warmth of the fire and the smell of Christmas began to dissolve. Suddenly, you were back in your bed, heart pounding recklessly in the darkness.

You woke up eyes wide in surprise, until the reality of your room finally made sense to you. You blinked, trying to steady yourself. It was a dream. It was all a dream. 

Sighing, you let your head fall into your hands. And just for a moment, you let yourself mourn the future you would never have. The family you would never see, the happiness you could never quite reach.

But as the soft glow of the Christmas lights flickered in the silent night, you slowly allowed yourself to breathe. Tomorrow would come. But tonight, you would let the dream linger just a little longer.

[riamaple]

Life on Your Line (Ch. 9)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: Cursed to sacrifice your life to save another, you were never able to connect with others, always meant to drift before you could belong. Death was all you knew. Then, one day in Brooklyn, you saved a young man, and for some reason, you kept seeing him again. And again. And again. No matter where you went, across decades, you always found your way back to him.

He was forced to live to destroy, you were forced to die to save—bound together in ways neither of you could understand.

Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending). Death and Dying. Self-Sacrifice (Immortality / Resurrection). Canon-Typical Violence / Description of Wounds. Suicidal Thoughts. Implications and References to Child Death, Suicide, Self-Destructive Behavior / Self-Harm.

< PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Word Count: 8.1k (Whew. I thought about splitting this chapter, but nah)

CHAPTER 9: March 2014 - April 2014

April 5, 2014. 12:20 AM

I saved James for the 9th time on March 5, and I got to say goodbye.

<><><>

“…the 8th Annual Popcorn Festival brought about a thousand visitors from around the state. You could say that the smell of butter is quite…”

Boxes of clothes and dinnerware surrounded you as you sat on the couch. Your laptop balanced on your thighs while you did some last-minute edits on an article about a local sports event. You typed away as the news played in the background—a white noise you’d grown used to. The television was something you always left on as it made your home feel less empty; it made it easier to pretend you weren't so alone.

Sighing, you scratched out a comment in the margin before sipping your lukewarm coffee. You glanced out the window, taking in the beautiful day and wishing you were outside on a walk. But you groaned and looked back at the boxes; you quickly edited the last mistake and shut your laptop, closing your eyes before securing the next place to go to.

“…breaking news out of Washington D.C…”

You glanced at the television, noticing the sharpness in the news anchor’s voice. 

“The three S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarriers that had descended into the sky are now shooting at each other just above the Potomac River…”

Your laptop fell to the carpeted floor as you lunged for the remote, quickly increasing the volume. The screen changed, and you gasped at the new footage of the destruction in the air. Two helicarriers were close to landing on the ground while the third struggled to stay in the air. 

“We are receiving reports from government officials that S.H.I.E.L.D. has been compromised by HYDRA—”

Everything inside of you went cold.

You slowly stood up and inched toward the television, watching the two helicarriers finally explode into the ground, sending debris and fire in every direction. Your hands rolled into fists.

HYDRA. You hadn’t heard that name aloud in decades. They had been a menace back in the war, sprinkling blood and chaos everywhere they went, slicing through neighborhoods like they were nothing. Followers of HYDRA enjoyed hurting those who never deserved it, making an art out of torture and death, whereas you saw it as a mess.

You thought HYDRA was destroyed—it should’ve been gone—and yet, you watched as destruction unleashed itself in the sky. Rushing away from the television, you looked out of your window, seeing the aircraft in the distance. Your fists tightened as you stepped away, telling yourself that today was definitely not the day to go out and—

“Captain America is reported to be on the remaining helicarrier, fighting HYDRA operatives and—”

You gasped, stumbling back into your coffee table and collapsing to the floor. Coffee spilled all over your carpet, but you couldn’t focus on that. Your eyes were stuck on the screen, the footage blurring as the cameraman ran away from the explosions with others. 

Your heart burned in a way that had never done so before.

HYDRA supposedly died during the war, but was now revealed to be alive.

James supposedly died during the war, but had come back as a killer.

James—

You didn’t bother to clean up the coffee, or change out of your sweatpants, or grab more than your wallet, phone, and keys. You locked the door behind you, shaking as you sprinted to your car.

You didn’t know if James would be there, but you knew you had to try and find the only person who ever made you feel alive.

<><><>

Your tires screeched as you slammed on your brakes, and you poked your head out of the window. Ahead of you was a large crowd, some running away from the paths to the Potomac River while others tried to push past the police and barricades to go towards it. You jumped out of your car and shoved past the panicked civilians and news reporters, running towards the wall of people when a loud explosion halted everyone’s movements.

Everyone looked up—some screamed, some cried, and you stared in silence as the last helicarrier collided into the Triskelion. It tore through the structure, causing shattered glass to rain down, and fire and smoke burst upward like a volcano. The air reeked of gas and ash, and the sky darkened. People ran away from the destruction in the distance, but you stood still, stunned by the sight.

“No… Fuck,” you muttered as your feet began to move. “No!”

You bolted to the barricades where families called out names of their loved ones, and journalists shoved cameras toward the officers who prevented anyone from going past them. 

“I need to get through!” you yelled as you approached them.

But a cop stepped in your way. “Ma’am, please stay back.”

“No, you don’t understand. I’m looking for someone.”

“You and half the city. Stay back!”

You shook your head, trying to move past him. “Please! I need to—”

The officer pushed you back. “I said stay back!”

You threw him a glare before storming off, rushing past the crowd to find an opening of some kind. But all you saw were officers and civilians arguing, many desperate to find their loved ones amongst the festival chaos. The words caught in your throat—there was no way they’d let you in.

Stepping back, you scanned the area, searching for a sign. There was always a sign, right? Something that led you straight to James. But you only saw those after feeling the pull on your heart—when you were destined to die in a few moments.

You clutched at your chest, your lips trembling as you continued to look. “Come on. Come on…” you whispered. “Please… Please tell me where. Where is he? Where—”

You paused.

To the far left of the crowd, past the makeshift barricades and abandoned vehicles, there was a pathway leading into the woods, untouched by any form of chaos.

No officers. No civilians. Just a path.

You ran before anyone could see your lingering stance and quickly ducked into the bushes and twigs. The path was muddy and the branches whipped past your arms, but you didn’t care. You just had to find James.

Because even if nothing pulled at your heart today, there was still so much more to him that needed to be saved.

You pushed through the dense foliage, your eyes sharp as you tried to spot any unusual movement. The faint sounds of helicopters and explosions still filled your ears, joined by the crunching of sticks and gravel underneath your feet. Then, a sound broke the rhythm of your movements—men whispering and shuffling through the underbrush.

You slid to a halt, bracing yourself on a tree as you cursed under your breath. Of course, there would be police around here, keeping track of random things amidst the chaos. You quickly turned, ready to run the other way, when suddenly a man in all black stumbled out of the bushes with a groan.

You froze, meeting the gaze of the man, strapped with a bullet vest and an assault rifle. He stared at you, matching your level of surprise while a couple of more men joined him.

One of the men hissed, “We just need to find the Asset and he can take us to…”

They all stopped at the sight of you, caught in broad daylight as traitors to the nation. Your heart dropped. These men weren’t officers. They weren’t good. They were—

The panic shot through you like a bullet, and you were already running before your brain could process your reaction.

“Stop her!”

Branches tore at your skin and leaves decorated your clothes and hair as you shoved the foliage out of the way. The sound of multiple footsteps grew closer, but you didn’t dare to look behind you. You pushed yourself, your feet pounding on the ground and your breath hitching.

You couldn’t die. Not now—not until you found James and—

Searing pain sliced through your arm as a gunshot echoed. Your knees buckled as you shrieked, rolling onto the sticks and gravel. A strangled cry escaped your throat as you frantically clutched your upper arm, where a bullet had grazed your skin. It wasn't a deep wound, but it still seeped in blood. You tried to push yourself up, but your hand slipped on the dirt as pain shot up your arm again. You flipped onto your back, trembling with tears in your eyes as the men surrounded you.

One of them cursed before turning to another. “You idiot! You might've alerted the police!”

“She was going to get away!” The man snapped back, swinging his gun onto his back and pulling out a knife. 

You yelped, raising your hands. “I don’t know what’s happening,” you gasped, your voice quivering. “I didn’t see anything, I swear. I—”

The man didn’t flinch. He only looked down at you, expression hardening.

“No witnesses,” he said, voice low and chilling.

Your heart raced, your body desperate to scramble away, but the men were all around you. You hissed when another wave of pain ripped through your arm, forcing you to grip the wound while the man approached you. 

Death was never your friend, but also never your enemy. It was just an entity that you offered your hand to—to whisk you away for a few weeks while someone else continued with their life. It always just lingered by your side, and you let it stay and take you whenever it wanted.

You were fine with it…until now. No, you couldn't die until you found James or knew he was okay. You had to know. 

“Please don't,” you whispered to the man, who stood over you. “Please…”

But the man only grumbled, and your heart dropped knowing he wasn’t going to change his mind. You sighed, closing your eyes as he raised his knife over you.

It wasn't your first time dying without saving someone, but it didn't make it hurt less.

You waited for the knife, but a gunshot echoed instead.

Your eyes shot open as the man collapsed next to you, his eyes wide as blood streamed from a hole in his forehead. You scrambled away, looking at the other men who were all startled by a sudden presence. When you followed their gaze, your heart soared as another gunshot rang, making another man fall to the ground.

“Soldier!” One of them shouted, raising his weapon. “What are you—”

He choked on his words when a fist slammed into his skull, sending him to the floor while two more men got shot in the head. Your heart pounded as the remaining men scrambled, trying to pull on their puppet’s strings, but none of them realized that you were the blade that sliced through them.

James’s movements were graceful as always, with no mercy on his face as he attacked each man. 

A gunshot to the forehead.

A knife in the chest.

A snapped neck.

All for you.

Eventually, everyone was quiet except for James.

Ragged breaths left his throat as he dropped his arms, his right limb hanging awkwardly as his shoulder throbbed. He scanned the area briefly, checking for any sign of life, until his gaze landed on you.

There was no pause. No moment where James looked at you blankly. No second for his face to flicker—to show that he recognized you.

Because he already had his hand raised out for you. “Rose…”

You briefly froze when he stumbled towards you, his feet unstable. He swayed, but you quickly scrambled towards him as he fell onto his knees, and you wrapped your arms around him.

You weren’t expecting him to wrap his arms around you as well.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling sharply as you held him closer, your eyes still wide from his reaction. It was as if all of the years between you and him had never vanished this time—locked in place and granted a visit when you both needed them. The man who brutally murdered all of the HYDRA agents was gone.

It was James Barnes who softly breathed in your arms.

You slowly pulled away, and you both found each other’s eyes.

Oh, those frost-blue eyes were always your favorite, weren’t they?

You took in his face, examining the minor cuts and blood smears, and breaking over the exhaustion underneath his eyelids. The scars on his temples were back again—fresh as if he had been wiped only a day ago. And yet, he looked at you as the one memory that survived.

Before you could speak, James suddenly moved away, crawling towards one of the dead bodies and ripping off their sleeve. You blinked as he returned to you, carefully wrapping the cloth around your gash. You winced when he tightened the knot, but then looked at him again as he kept his attention on your arm, almost as if you were made of porcelain.

Slowly, you reached for his hand, catching his gaze. “Do you remember me?” you whispered, still shocked by his gentle movements.

He stared at you, his presence quiet—not in the usual way of being stealthy to attack someone, but as if he valued every second he got to simply look at you. His gaze sent a wave of ache through your chest, and he gently brushed his fingers against your wrist, making sure you were real.

His voice was quiet—hoarse—but so certain. “I can’t forget you.”

Something skipped in your heart.

As his words sank into the deepest parts of you, you instinctively cradled his cheek, rough with stubble and sprinkled with pain. James stared back at you, his gaze heavy as he remembered the last time he saw you—when you sprinted away with a bomb against your chest.

But there you were now, breathing in front of him.

James shut his eyes, gently leaning into your touch as he grabbed your wrist, his warmth making you shiver. The feelings you’d denied—the ones you’d fought against for so long—filled in the cracks of your damaged heart. After getting your heart tugged at over, and over, and over again, it seemed that only James could mend it back together.

You quietly exhaled, your gaze drifting around as you finally took in how battered he looked. You grimaced and squeezed his arm with your other hand. “James… What happened to you?”

“Fought Steve.” His voice was so quiet.

You paused, looking back at him with a twist in your stomach. “Captain America?”

He nodded, his eyes aiming downward. “I failed my mission.”

“Oh, James… No. No, no, no…” you softly said, shaking your head. “You don’t need to go on those missions anymore, James… No more. It’s over now.”

He didn’t respond, keeping his gaze away from you. But you brought your other hand to his cheek, cupping his face and leading him to meet your eyes again.

He froze.

Since the day you two met in Brooklyn, you had saved him from the deadliest of attacks—explosions, stab wounds, gunshots, poison. For nearly eighty years, it had always been about survival and sorrow. But now, in this quiet moment...he saw something he had never seen before.

You smiled, wiping away the blood that escaped the cut just above his cheek. “You’re free. James, you’re free,” you quietly said.

It was his turn for words to sink into his heart—his cold, yet burning heart. His lips suddenly trembled as his eyes went wide, slightly darting around as his fractured mind tried to process what you said. You only cupped his face, still being gentle but firm.

Though it sounded strained, you gave him a laugh for the first time. “James…you’re free.”

The sound of your laughter made his heart beat faster. 

And your smile? 

Wow. It was beautiful.

Without thinking, James raised his hand towards the lower part of your cheek, his thumb near the corner of your lip as if he were protecting your smile. When his fingers brushed your skin, your breath hitched, but not because you were afraid—no, you weren't afraid of James. Deep down, you always knew he had this affectionate side; despite being trained to kill, he was always someone who could touch without taking.

And it took someone like you for that side to come out.

You leaned into the touch, your heart leaping in a manner you were still hesitant to name. There were these three words that you both wanted to say, but for now, the silence felt right—to be able to gaze into each other’s eyes was enough. James softly exhaled before leaning forward, resting his forehead on yours.

And you let him. After losing so much to allow others to gain happiness, you allowed yourself to have this one thing.

You allowed yourself to have James.

You leaned too, closing your eyes as you both appreciated each other’s warmth. After a moment, the nearby sirens began to grow louder. You slowly pulled away, looking up at the sky to see helicopters flying around. Your palms slipped away from James’s face but quickly found themselves in his hands. He watched you as you squeezed his hands.

“We have to go,” you said, your voice soft yet hurried.

James blinked, his eyebrows furrowing. “…We?”

“Yeah.” You smiled, nodding your head. “We. Let’s go.” You let out another laugh. “Let’s go, James.”

Without waiting for a response, you grabbed his metal hand and pulled him up alongside you. You didn’t see the faint smile that James had at your words when you began to run. You both weaved through bushes and branches as you guided him back to where you came from. 

But you quickly faltered when you heard people, more than before. James then squeezed your hand and gestured to the side, and you two ran off once again. You were unsure if the police knew who James was—if they knew he was a threat—but you couldn’t risk it. You still carried the weight of almost losing him once, and you wouldn’t let it happen again.

As you both pushed through the foliage, buildings began to appear in your view. When you reached the street, you carefully looked around to spot any bystanders before pulling him in between the buildings. The sounds of people began to grow louder as you navigated the alleyways, cautious of running into anyone.

James didn’t let go of your hand once.

“My car is nearby,” you said, rounding the corner of another building. “I can go and come get you and—”

You froze when a young cop suddenly walked into view, his hand trained on his gun and the other on his radio. He caught sight of you two before you could drag James back, and you instinctively stood in front of him.

James still didn’t let go of your hand.

“S-Stop right there!” the cop shouted with his gun raised at you, and it hit you that the cop was new—just a nervous, young man donning a slightly wrinkled uniform, fresh on the job and finally on a call without his training officer.

You gulped, not daring to take a step as the cop’s eyes flickered between you and James. The glint of silver sent tremors through the man’s body, and he clicked his radio on.

“The Winter Soldier is here—he matches Agent Romanoff’s description.”

You widened your eyes, trying to take a step forward. “No—”

But James pulled you back close to him, making sure you weren't too far away. Your breath hitched as the cop lowered his radio, staring at you two with his gun still raised. You squeezed James’s hand, unable to look back to see his expression as you kept your gaze on the cop.

You lightly shook your head. “Sir…”

“Ma’am, step away from him.” He placed both hands on his weapon, though you could see him slightly tremble.

“No, he’s not dangerous,” you tried to argue. “He’s not going to hurt anyone, I swear—”

“I need you to step away from him,” he firmly said.

“No, I can’t. Please, listen to me. He’s not dangerous.”

The cop shook his head, his voice quivering. “I’m just doing my job, ma’am. Step away.”

“I can’t—”

“Step away!”

You flinched, James’s grip tightening around your hand. Taking a deep breath, you acknowledged your beating heart. You always waited for the curse to notify you of your upcoming death, but right now, you didn't need it to. You already knew. You were already saying yes.

This moment just felt like a goodbye.

You took a slow, grounding breath and looked at the officer, hoping that things could maybe change despite your intuitions. “You don’t have to do this,” you gently said, slowly taking a step back. “Please. Let us go.”

The cop’s expression turned conflicted, but only for a brief moment. “Ma’am, step away from the soldier.”

You took another step back but paused.

James had let go of your hand.

The cop took a step forward, ignoring the incoming calls on his radio as he stayed trained on you. “I’m warning you! Stay still!”

Looking up, you turned your attention back to the cop, your eyes now shimmering with threatening tears. “I can’t.”

You welcomed the tug on your heart as you quickly turned, trying to grab James to run away with him when a gunshot rang out. The sound was much louder than you expected, ringing in your ears as your knees gave out. You fell into James’s chest as he had already wrapped his metal arm around you—his hand on your head—and you waited to bleed out and vanish once again. Except…you opened your eyes with terror because…

Nothing tugged at your heart.

Slowly, you turned your head around and found the cop on the ground, quiet and still as blood ran from his forehead. You choked on your breath—an innocent man who was just doing his job was now dead. Before you could lose yourself in the brutal sight, James guided your face back to him. Your eyes instantly widened at his gun raised, and you looked up at him.

James stared down at you with a softened gaze, letting out a quiet breath, relieved you were okay, and lowered his gun. His metal arm continued to firmly lock you in place, and when you tried to look back at the cop again, he gently cradled your face with his metal hand.

“Don’t,” he whispered, making you look at him again.

Then you smelled it. Something burnt and sharp attacked your nose, and you grimaced away from his hand. You glanced at it and faltered when you noticed the circular, burnt hole on the back of his glove. You immediately grabbed his palm, examining the hole as it clicked that his hand had been on your head when the cop shot at you.

You didn’t feel the tug on your heart because it wasn’t time to die yet.

And you still hoped that you wouldn’t today.

The hole caused a tear so wide that the glove was barely intact, encouraging you to just rip it off. The crackle of the cop’s radio grew more urgent, and you squeezed your eyes shut, silently apologizing to the young man who didn’t have to lose his life. 

You then reached for James’s arm, blinking the unshed tears away before looking at him again. “Let’s go.”

He nodded, grabbing your hand before you two ran through the alleyways once again. The streets around you were still loud with chaos, sirens screaming and people shouting, and the noise was only getting worse as you neared your car. When you turned around the corner, you managed to jump back quickly enough to avoid getting spotted by a man who was gathering his family out of the back door of his store. You peeked at them running away, leaving the door ajar. Immediately, you pulled James with you towards the store.

You yanked James into the building, slamming the exit shut before locking it. A heavy breath escaped your lips as you marched further into the small clothing store, the lights off and the neon-open sign no longer shining. Racks of discounted clothes made the store cramped, while the crinkled, loose receipts and plastic lighter on the countertop somehow made the place look a bit more lively.

Quickly, you weaved through the aisles to the front of the store until your heart clenched at the sight outside. The streets were in absolute shambles; there were swarms of police officers—some helping people and some looking for James—pushing past panicking citizens and festival attendees. Everyone was navigating their way through abandoned cars that clogged the streets, and you cursed under your breath, realizing that your car must also be trapped.

You backed away from the windows, biting your lips as you tried to think of a solution. You turned around, walking past James, who watched you with such sternness as you glanced at the clothes.

Maybe you both could hide in the store until fewer people were around. Maybe you could throw civilian clothes on him and sneak him away. Or, maybe you could—

Something tugged at your heart.

Chills shot up your body as your eyes immediately began to well with tears. 

Of course. 

Of course, you couldn’t have this. 

Shame on you for believing you could live for once.

Your breath shuddered, and you looked to your side to see what the world had planned for your next sacrifice—

Something tugged at your arms.

You flinched as you looked up at James, feeling the desperation in his grasp while he stared at you with absolute horror. “Don’t.”

You froze. After seeing that look on your face so many times, James could no longer stand still when he knew you were about to die.

You shook your head. “James—”

“Don’t leave me,” he quickly said, gripping your arms tighter. “Don’t.”

“I…”

The words in your throat trailed off when you gazed past him, spotting through the windows an abandoned truck among the vehicles. The back of the truck was slightly opened, just enough for a person to squeeze in, and the side was painted with lighthearted imagery—of children and their parents smiling at the sky, decorated with the colorful rays of fireworks.

Fireworks. 

You glanced at the countertop, where the lighter was calling for you. 

James squeezed your arms, bringing your attention back to him. But when he saw your eyes, his breath hitched. You had already made your choice.

You gently pulled away, your eyes dark with acceptance as you whispered, “You need a distraction.”

You turned to the countertop, stepping towards it when James suddenly lunged, snatching the lighter with his metal hand. You gaped at his speed, and within a second, the two of you stared at each other. When you glanced at the lighter, you exhaled, your eyebrows loosening as you looked at him without an ounce of panic.

“James,” you held your hand out, palm facing towards the ceiling, “give it to me.”

“No,” he hissed, his eyes already starting to water—his humanity completely breaking out. “No, I won’t. I—”

When he went to squeeze the lighter into pieces, you quickly shook your head. “Don’t,” you softly begged, tears blurring your vision before his tears even fully fell. “Please…give it to me.”

“No.”

“James—”

“You said we.” He choked on his breath, his lips trembling with distress. “You said—”

“I know,” you interrupted, your voice cracking as tears finally ran down your face. “I know what I said, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” You took a sharp breath while your shoulders bobbed, unable to ignore the pain within your chest. “I’m so sorry, but I need you to give me the lighter.”

James bit his lip as a teardrop rolled down his cheek. “Rose, please…”

“James, listen to me.” You quickly walked up to him, and he raised his hand higher, believing you were trying to take the lighter from him. But instead, you grabbed his shoulders and forced out a smile. “I’ll distract them, okay? I’ll distract them and you’ll run.”

“No—”

“You’ll run,” you repeated, your smile becoming bigger with both hope and despair. “You’re gonna get out of here, and—and you’re gonna live.”

James faltered, clenching his jaw hard to prevent any more tears from escaping his eyes. “Don’t leave me,” he croaked.

Your hands were trembling. God, they were trembling so much, but you still cradled his face as more tears streamed down your cheeks. “I have to. I have to protect you.”

He gripped your arm with his free hand. “Rose—”

“You need to get out of here before they find you, okay?” You smiled, swiping away his damp hair from his frost-blue eyes. “I’ll distract them. I’ll get them off your back, and you just run. You run as far away as you can.”

James’s face twisted as if a part of him was being torn apart. He dealt with pain before—accepted it, even. Bullet wounds, knife scars, broken bones, electricity burning into his skull—he had endured them all. But nothing had ever hurt like this.

Without realizing it, he lowered his metal hand, though his grip around the lighter was still firm. Then he whispered, his voice laced with desperation, “Come with me.”

You wanted to. You dreamed of running away and building a life with him as normal as it could be. And it was astonishing that after everything—after showing James just how broken you were and how often you could get broken—he still wanted you.

You wanted him too, but the world was never fair to you.

“I can’t,” you rasped, your voice barely holding together. 

“Why?”

“You know why. We’ve done this before. We—” You swallowed back the weight lurking in your chest. “We both know what happens if we try to stop this. So, please...”

Then you pulled away from him, quickly moving through the racks and yanking off clothes as you knew you were running out of time. A dark, worn-out jacket and a baseball cap to match it made their way into your grasp, later joined by a pair of gloves. James watched you gather these clothes, just big enough to fit him, and he didn’t move until you returned to him. You smiled through the tears, trying to look strong for him as you set down the hat and gloves on the countertop.

“Here…” You swiftly, yet also so lovingly, threw the jacket around him.

James should’ve resisted—he should’ve pushed the jacket away—but instead, he shut his eyes. His tears finally spilled down freely while he let you pull the sleeves over his arms, then tucked his head for you to adjust the cap. He should’ve fought, but he also knew you were right. He couldn’t stop you from dying.

But when you tried to put gloves on him, he still didn’t let go of the lighter.

Because, yes, he knew he couldn’t stop you from dying, but why would anyone be willing to let it happen?

James kept his gaze on the floor, unable to look at you as you held onto his metal hand, gently trying to pry his fingers off. When they wouldn’t budge, you choked on your breath again. Much to his dismay, you tilted your head downwards so he had to look at your face. Your smile was back, decorated with tears and so much warmth. James straightened up again as you squeezed his hand.

“It’s okay,” you softly said with a tremor in your voice, but he turned his head again with his eyes closed. He couldn’t accept this. He just couldn’t.

The hopelessness in James reminded you of yourself—of all those years waiting for a sense of relief, whether it’d stem from truly living or truly dying. You hate feeling hopeless, so you did your best to never have hope in the first place.

But now? You couldn’t help it. Seeing that James was so close to being free, you had to hold onto some because having hope for life was the only way for him to live again. So you broke into another rhythm of sobs, smiling as you guided his head back so he could gaze at you again.

His frost-blue eyes went wide, full of disbelief as you reached behind your neck and pulled the chain free. You had only ever taken off your necklace when necessary—to preserve its quality, not for anyone but yourself. It had some discoloration, and the chain should be replaced again, but it still held the same love your brother had for you when he surprised you with the locket more than a hundred years ago, when you were drowning in grief.

There was never a reason to let go of it, but now you stood with the locket dangling over James’s metal hand.

“Here,” you broke into another smile, “take it. Keep it safe for me.”

He hesitated.

There had been moments in which James wanted to take your locket—to have something to remember you by when he went back to prison. But as a soon-to-be free man, he didn’t need it. He didn’t want the locket—he wanted you. You were all he ever wanted, but he also couldn’t reject anything you offered.

You'd given up so much for him, so the least he could do was to accept it, right?

Slowly, James loosened his grip, revealing the lighter, and you took it. You shoved it into your pocket while placing the necklace in his palm. 

When you let go of the locket, your heart ached with both sorrow and joy. Then, when you looked at his face, your heart only ached more because he stared at the locket like it was the most fragile thing in the world. Somehow, despite the loss you felt, a wet laugh escaped your throat. Before he could say anything, you reached for the necklace again and leaned closer.

James didn’t dare to move a muscle as you fastened the chain around his neck, feeling your fingers trail on his skin—terrified that this could be his last chance to feel you this close. When the chain was fastened, you cradled the locket, opening it and reading the name that, as always, stayed so dear to your heart. With a broken smile, you let the locket fall out of your hand, watching it rest near James’s heart. 

It could stay dear to his now.

Maybe it already was.

You then grabbed the pair of gloves, quickly slipping one onto his metal hand. Then you reached for his right hand—

He grabbed your wrist.

You tilted your head up to meet his eyes again as he moved his hand to your cheek, cupping it—wanting to feel the warmth of your skin before the glove went on. Gloom overtook his expression as he memorized every detail of your face, and your breath hitched. More tears began to fill your eyes, and without thinking, you yanked him into a hug.

A simple hug. Who knew it was so difficult to get one?

Time was running out, but you both counted every second in each other’s embrace. For once, you both didn’t hold each other because one of you was dying—because one of you had blood running down your body, needing comfort as you tried to breathe through the pain.

No. You just hugged each other.

You rested your chin on his shoulder. “Everything will be okay,” you quietly said, and James could hear your smile.

He only held you tighter, desperately wanting to hold on forever, but he learned a long time ago that forever wasn’t normal. It couldn’t be normal. After all, he lived for what felt like forever, and it had just been full of pain, suffering, and violence. 

The only thing that ever kept him human was currently in his arms.

It was a big ask—to leave you to die once again. Every time, James wanted to fight to save you, but he knew this was what you wanted—that this was what it had to be. 

Yes, it was a big ask, but there was nothing in the world that he wouldn’t do for you.

So, he slowly pulled away, looking into your eyes once again. His frost-blue eyes were always your favorite, but your eyes were also his; a grounding presence that made him feel so alive after decades of being lifeless. He wanted to stare into your eyes forever, but again, forever couldn’t happen. 

You cradled his face one last time, and you smiled so wide that maybe it hurt a little bit more than everything you felt inside your chest, your stomach, and your heart.

“I’ll be okay,” you softly reassured him, but even you didn’t know if that was going to be the truth.

Finally, you took his right hand and put the glove on it. You took one last look at the locket on his chest before zipping up his jacket, hiding his dark uniform and the soldier he was trained to be. Your hand lingered on his chest, right over his heart, then you stepped away.

With a deep breath, you slowly walked to the front and paused when you watched the unraveling chaos in the streets once again. James kept his eyes on you, and then he followed your gaze. His stomach twisted when he spotted the truck, now realizing why you’d needed the lighter all along. 

Every part of him wanted to grab you again, telling you not to go into the truck—that you didn’t have to set off the fireworks. You could run away with him right now, but he knew that the world wouldn’t allow it. You turned around again and you faced him, and acceptance with all he saw in your eyes.

You smiled again. He didn’t realize how much he loved seeing it, and he hoped he could see it again in the future. 

“I’ll see you around, James,” you said with a tearful grin.

When you went to turn around again, James's murmur stopped you in your tracks. You looked back at him, confused, until he repeated himself. 

“Bucky…” He bit his lips, nervous to even say that name. “I think I’m Bucky.”

You gazed at him with astonishment, and you let out a laugh—it sounded strangled, choked by the sheer swell of emotion inside you.

“Yeah, you are,” you said, wiping away the tears even though you knew more would come. “Go and find out who Bucky is, okay? Go…live.”

He stared at you, hands curling into fists, and let out a strained breath. “Will I see you again?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you took a moment to fully look at him one last time, then you slowly nodded. 

“Only when you need me,” you replied with a curl to your lips.

Then you turned around, unable to linger any longer. You stepped in front of the door, deeply exhaling as you felt James’s gaze on your back. Finally, when you stepped out of the front door, James stepped out of the back door, and the two of you went your separate ways despite wanting to hold each other again.

The streets were still in chaos, but none of that bothered you. Silently, you walked towards the truck, not paying attention to any of the people running past you. Civilians and officers paid no attention to you, and you wondered if this was the world’s doing—letting you walk towards your death.

It was fine. It was all to save James.

No one stopped you from climbing into the truck, and when you stood up straight, you couldn't help but sigh. Boxes and fireworks filled your view, all cramped inside the warm vehicle, ready to bring joy to others.

But that was their purpose at this moment.

You climbed towards the middle, ripped open a box, and gathered numerous fuses into your palm before pulling out the lighter. For a moment, you heard nothing. Your mind tuned out the shouting outside—it was just you and the fireworks.

A bitter laugh escaped your throat. “You love to fucking blow me up, don’t you?” you said, shaking your head at the fuses in your hand. Then you sadly smiled, letting out a soft breath. “Whatever. Just make sure he gets away. That's all I ask.”

You lit the fuses and let go, watching multiple trails of fire make their way toward the gunpowder cases. 

“Let him escape,” you quietly begged, and you closed your eyes.

Through your eyelids, you could still see the bright colors, but the beauty only lasted for a second before you felt heat sear your skin and hair. You collapsed, letting the fireworks engulf you as they had no room to spread out.

The heat became overwhelming quickly, and you didn’t know if you were still breathing when the truck exploded.

Maybe some of the other cars also exploded. Maybe some people got hurt.

At this point, you couldn’t give a shit.

You only cared that James made it out.

<><><>

April 5, 2014. 12:20 AM

I saved James for the 9th time on March 5, and I got to say goodbye.

I think you like to see me die in an explosion because that’s the third time it’s happened with James — I don't know how many total in general. For a moment, I really thought you were going to let me go with him. Let me take him home where we can have something together. But no, you just had to make sure I didn’t get that.

When I saw James, he was already himself. He didn’t just exist behind his eyes — I saw him in his face, in his body. He wasn’t whole — he’s still made up of different pieces, but he was still there. And unlike last time, he called me Rose without an ounce of hesitation. He reached for me too — hugged me for the first time without death coming for us at that moment.

Maybe fighting Steve unlocked the part of his mind that was locked up by HYDRA. Whatever it was, he actually remembered me. Not recognized — he remembered.

I didn’t even know if he was going to be out there when I saw what was happening on the news. I had my suspicions, but nothing was certain, so I was so fucking happy when he found me.

When he did, he protected me — killed every one of those men before they had a chance to hurt me again. He looked so guilty when he saw my wound. I was always the one to save him, but I felt then that he was trying to save me too.

I thought we could go home together. Can you imagine that? The Winter Soldier in my living room, sitting on my couch and watching TV, maybe drinking a cup of tea. What an image. I'd love to see that.

But of course, you had to send me away.

He didn't want me to leave. He held onto me like a lost puppy, but I couldn’t stay. I could never stay, so I told him to run and find out more about himself. He touched my arm, my hand, and my face like it was the last time he could.

He really didn't want me to die, so I did the unthinkable — I gave him my locket. I never thought I'd meet someone worthy enough to carry my locket until now. James can protect Rose whenever he goes now, hopefully thinking of me when times get hard.

And then he called himself Bucky. He remembered his nickname. It’s cute. Really cute.

I checked the news when I woke up, even though my body burned like hell — it felt like I got sunburned 20 times. They didn’t find James.

Thank fuck.

The truck caused quite the explosion — there’s a reason why you don’t light up fireworks in a small space. A few people got hurt, but no one died. Except me, but no one ever knows that.

There's not a single trace of James — the police tried to find him, but without the proper resources or SHIELD, there’s no way to find him for now. Good. He deserves to live a little.

I wish for James Bucky James to have a good life.

You know, I never had a reason to thank you. You fucked up my life a lot — stopped me from being with my friends and family and James — so really, you don't deserve my appreciation at all. But thank you for letting me save him. I know it's mainly me who has to do it, but I can't help but think you led me to him this time. Gave me a little bit of time with him before I had to go.

He’s free now. He's free.

I know we were running out of time again, but for once we had enough time to say goodbye. Maybe next time, we’ll have some time to say hello too.

I’ll see him again. I’ll give him another hug and a smile and maybe that time, we don’t have to rush at all. We can just hold each other because we can.

I'd love to do that. He gives really good hugs.

You closed the journal and set it aside. With a soft breath, you pulled your covers up and got comfortable. You closed your eyes, letting yourself go to sleep.

<><><>

April 5, 2014. 6:05 AM

I couldn’t fall asleep, so here I am again.

A lot happened on March 5, but it's not all the action that's keeping me awake.

I keep on thinking about the way he held onto me. Like I said, he gives really good hugs, although I doubt he's given a lot of them as the Winter Soldier. But that's just proof that James was always there.

There are these feelings that I always tried to push away whenever I see him or even think about him, but when he held me that day — cradled my face and put his forehead on mine as he cried for me again, I couldn’t stop those feelings. I didn't want to if anything.

I’ve been alive for over 100 years, and over time I just learned that it was easier to live when I didn’t have anyone to care about. The more I care, the more it hurts when I lose someone. So I tried to lose connections — to be alone as much as I could.

But, James… James is different. There’s no one like him — quite literally because I don’t know anyone else who has lived alongside me, never growing old and forced to be a ghost. And despite trying so hard not to, I grew to care about him.

And then that care became something more. Something scarier, but also so...relieving and...

Exciting.

I never wanted to say it aloud, or write it down, or even think about it, even though I felt this way for decades. It's too scary to admit the truth. But after spending over 100 years pretending to be someone else — unable to be honest and connect with people — I just can’t bring myself to lie about this anymore.

I’m in

I’m

I’m in

I’m in love.

You paused.

Then something strange happened. Your shoulders shook—not with fear, but with something so unexpected that it startled you.

You laughed, which wasn't new.

But at that moment, you laughed from being in love.

You were in love.

At first, you were quiet, but as more laughter escaped your throat, you became louder. Your laughs bubbled and filled your heart with a particular kind of warmth that you hadn’t felt in over a century. Your eyes released all the tears you were holding back, but you didn’t mind at all. They weren't made from sorrow, and you tilted your head back to let them fall.

You didn't remember the last time you felt like this, and yet you felt right at home as you wrote down those three words again.

I’m in love.

You laughed harder and your hand trembled, but you continued to write.

I’m in love. 

I'm in love.

I’m in love wi

You pressed your journal against your chest, refusing to wipe your tears away as they were signs of your release. Then, with the widest smile you ever had, you opened the journal again, and finally allowed yourself to write down the full truth.

I’m in love with James Bucky Barnes.

I love James Bucky Barnes.

James, I love you.

NEXT CHAPTER >

AN: I decided to make a banner for this story and put it on every chapter just so that it's easier to spot :)

General Taglist! @a-century-of-sass @clemicious @fallenxjas @paryl @frog-fans-unite @sebastians-love @buckvoidsyy @recorddust @nj01 @avengersgirllorianna @western-nightss @chonkybonky @weasleyswheezeys 

Thanks for reading :)

[niyana-the-ambiguous-mobian]

Hi, Do you by any chance have any movie!shadow angst head canons while he was an experiment at GUN.

Ah headcanons, haven't done these in a good while.

And we got an angst one this time, huh? *cracks knuckles* Okay, here we go.

Pre-Sonic 3

When the scientists started to realize what Shadow was, they began various and multiple experimentations to test his abilities. Unfortunately, due to Shadow being unfamiliar with anything they were doing and being basically in a "newborn ultimate lifeform" state of mind, he wasn't very fond of that.

Each time someone tried to go near him in the temporary box where they kept him, they'd either end up unconscious, a broken limb, or both.

It got to the point where they had to sedate him heavily with tranquilizers just to get close enough for basic readings on him and his growing high patents of energy.

The tranqs would make him feel terribly ill afterward to where he wasn't able to eat, see anything clearly, stand properly or even sleep soundly for a few days, by the time he was starting to go back to normal, they'd do it all over again.

Seeing an unforseen advantage, the head scientist, Gerald Robotnik, took the opportunity to see if he could try and communicate with the creature.

He didn't get much out of him other than sharp glares and some low growling, but he managed to make some connection when he would stay near the cage long enough to where Shadow was curious and studied him and copied his movements.

After earning his trust, running tests him became a lot easier as long as Gerald was in the same vicinity as Shadow to help keep him grounded. But whenever he wasn’t, it was bad news for them to where they had to sedate him even more.

Best to say, Shadow hated being around the scientists. Each time he was, he was always poked and prodded at. They stuck things all over his body that felt uncomfortable on his fur that made him want to just tear it off him. He was viewed as a "scary extraterrestrial" as he would hear them whisper things around him.

The rocket shoes he had on were placed on him by the scientists as well as a way for him to move around quickly (if they decided to put him on the frontline). Initially, they caused great discomfort since he didn't have anything on his feet prior to that and tried to get them off to no avail since they knocked him out while they placed them on.

He got accustomed to them but wasn't fond of the heavy weight they brought whenever he would move

Gerald had told him that he needed to not lash out at the scientists when they would perform tests on him so they wouldn't have to hurt him again.

"You have to behave for them even when I'm not around. They like behaved children, so that's what you must do."

And that worked for the most part. They moved him from the cage to the glass tube that was located in Gerald's quarters, to which he would spend a short period of time. The last time he was in it before being allowed to walk around freely was when Maria came to the base, who voiced her open in letting him be able to be released from it.

Shadow had some trouble adjusting to being outside of his area, which wasn't for testing his abilities. He would stand in one spot, watching everyone and everything moving around him, not knowing what to do.

I also think that sometime after he met Maria and was able to roam free, he was starting to develop having bad anxiety, which eventually became more harsh as he began to have anxiety attacks, the cause of which also is due to how the scientists had treated him prior.

It got to the point where Maria helped ground him by doing a technique that helped her whenever she felt overwhelmed. She would get down to his level, gently take him in her arms, sway their bodies back and forth, and hum a little melody in his ear while petting him until he calmed down enough.

During the night of the raid amd before Gerald came to get them, they were sitting under their pillow tent and one of the last things he asked Maria was, "How is it that you're never scared of anything? You're always smiling and happy, even when I'm sad and you try to cheer me up?"

"It's not that I'm not scared. It's okay to be scared. But I like to be brave so that other people feel brave too."

"I always feel brave when I'm around you, I guess it works for me too."

"See? It's working, and you didn't even realize it. Grandpa says that people with brave hearts run in our family. Now you have it, too."

"I suppose so..."

Only the last thing he felt wasn't bravery as they shoved him in the tank and started filling it up with a liquid with the same stench he despised each time they would put him under. It was sadness, it was pain, it was guilt. But most of all, there was hatred.

[quitealotofsodapop]

After the whole mess with the Brotherhood is handled in Soft Boiked au, Wukong has another situation to handle. MK now knows he's a Stone Monkey, the same species as Wukong himself. He may also suspect Wukong to be his biological parent, although Wukong goes on record to say that no, Yubei was the only kid he actually birthed, MK may be his cub in his heart, but they share no biological connection that Wukong is aware of.

But even if MK isn't biologically Wukongs, they have the situation of his true form. Specifically, teaching MK how to Monkey. Wukong thinks it'd be easy, MK already acts so much like a monkey it's hard to imagine him struggling, but the problem isn't that he can't act like a monkey. It's that he doesn't have the confidence to do so knowingly. He can climb and groom just fine, but when it comes to things like diet and soaring through the trees, the way macaques do, he struggles. He gets grossed out at the thought of picking through someone's hair and eating bugs, he hesitates when he should use the branch he just climbed as a springboard to reach the next tree, he feels uncomfortable doing thinks like chirping and hooting. His upbringing makes him hesitate to listen to his natural instincts, and while it's nothing against Pigsy or Tang, it's just that societal expectations of modern China are causing MK to hold back.

Wukong had faced a similar problem when he'd gotten back from the Journey, after spending so many years being punished for 'hyperactive and unsocietal behavior' up until Tripitaka had it beaten over his head that Wukong was not only pregnant but that these were normal monkey things and not disrespectful in nature at all, he struggled to adapt to being a monkey again.

The fact that MK was already dealing with self esteem issues and then got stuck in a scroll with a ink demon in the shape of his monkey form that would only dig at those insecurities only made it worse.

Prev.

MK is in for a loooong learning montage after learning he's a Stone Monkey, thats for sure!

It's not an easy road.

Lots of "George of the Jungle"-esque mishaps involving tree climbing occur.

Could have it been a little easier if MK had been raised as a monkey demon? Yes. But he also would have faced greater social challenges, not to mention if any of Wukong's enemies "sensed" what he actually was.

And don't even get MK started on the "picking bugs out of each other's fur and eating"-part. He found a tiny garden spider crawling in Macaque's fur during a troop grooming session and nearly passed out.

MK, trying to psyche himself up to eat the bug: (*gags*) Macaque, sniffs himself thinking that's the problem: "What? I showered recently." Yuebei: (*reaches up and steals the bug from MK, eating it instead*) MK: (*very grossed-out sigh of relief*) "I love you, mooncake."

He feels like he's behind even little Yuebei of all people when it comes to learning to Monkey! At least she can chirp and hoot without anyone looking at her weirdly...

Wukong sighs and jokes it's like teaching two cubs at once.

Luckily, MK isn't alone. Turns out, Wukong has gone through the very same thing he has nearly twice over! Subodhi canonically strikes and punishes Wukong for happily jumping and hooting when he's excited for class, so Wukong literally had his instincts beaten out of him. And later still when he became Bimawen and a Peach Attendant, he found himself subconsciously suppressing his "monkey" habits in order to avoid criticism from surrounding celestials.

While the Tang Monk had been confused by Wukong's monkey habits, he adapted to them - with a lot of "gentle" persuasion from Guanyin, Ao Lie, Sha Wujing, and many of the allies they made along the way of course.

Afterall, part of Tripitaka's character development is him starting out close-minded and opening himself to the fact that people just gonna act and be different. After Tripitaka learned that Heaven and even Wukong's first master had punished and resented his nature, he especially made sure Wukong understood that he didn't want him to see his behaviours as "unnatural". Just him.

MK also gets a lot of encouragement from the rest of his "troop".

Pigsy and Tang feel really bad not being able to indulge MK's natural behaviours as a cub, but they were always understanding that he was just their special little guy. If he was hyperactive or overstimulated, they had ways to address it. I love hcs of Tang being neurodivergent, so he when sees Baby MK throwing tantrums and just be like "Mood."

Red Son and Mei secretly begin flexing their own natural behaviours so MK doesn't feel as left out. Though MK was def confused the first time he got friendly-headbutts and nips.

[hunter-sylvester]

Skullflower is Autistic: A Breakdown.

Buckle the fuck up.

Disclaimer: Don't take any of this too seriously.

Also all of this was written over a year ago with only minor edits. I'm just posting it now cause it's been rotting in my drafts and, like, fuck it.

I've wanted to try and make a comprehensive breakdown like this for a while just because I love these characters and very heavily interpret them all as autistic (with ADHD as well.) But this is just the perspective of one guy. And I probably overstate it but the fact that we can all have our own very personal interpretations about media is what's great about analysis & fandom.

Hunter Sylvester.

Yes I'm doing Hunter first, what do you think I am? Unbiased? Please.

Autistic Perfectionism. Hunter's autistic perfectionism is something I've mentioned before and somewhat struggle to describe satisfactorily. But to me the most obvious example is his inability to deal with the idea of Emily joining Skullfucker as a cellist. Obviously, there's the queer angle to this but I think two reasons can play a role at once. He's in love with Kevin so he doesn't want a girl that Kevin picked to be a part of their band. Additionally, I'd argue that he can't deal with the idea of having a girl cellist as their bass player because it in NO WAY fits the mental image that Hunter has in his mind of what he wanted Skullfucker to be. It doesn't match the perfect idea that he's dreamed of, that he holds onto for dear life, so he can't deal with it.

Hyperfixations. "Hunter's been into a lot of things since I've known him but he's stuck with metal longer than any of them." - Kevin. Need I say more? Well, I will anyway. The guy hyperfixates. I think the closest thing we have to a canon confirmed hyperfixation is Dungeons & Dragons. Because of what in my mind is a combination of Autism and ADHD in Hunter, they don't fully leave him. He still likes and plays D&D, but he's not as obsessed with it as he used to be when he made his dad buy him the most ridiculous game terrain that fucking lights up.

Special Interests. I think one of the easiest claims to make is that metal is a special interest for Hunter. He entrenches his entire life in it and reaches for it when a stressful situation happens to try and make himself feel more okay. (getting his hair cut off by Skip and relating his new look to Jason Newsted) It's clearly something that comforts him, having been obsessed with it ever since his mom left. Which, regardless of the specific circumstances, is a horridly stressful situation for any 12-13 year old.

Struggles with social interaction. He doesn't seem to have a lot of friends. He gets along with Robbie, Kevin (obviously) and the people he plays D&D with but that seems to be it. Especially whenever the situation gets very stressful, Hunter's mind immediately reaches for his comfort interest to try and make it through (or to lash out). He can't easily just be comfortable in a strange social situation. Or a strange situation in general.

Stims. Hunter stims by playing guitar. That's it, that's the whole point. And there's this little move:

Kevin Schlieb.

Neutrality. The way Kevin just takes Hunter and Emily as they are feels autistic to me.

Struggles with social interaction. And he clearly wants it to be easier for him. He wants to connect to people but he doesn't know how. It's not like he doesn't understand people. He does. He understands Hunter better than Hunter understands himself. "sometimes he's not so nice to people when he's uncomfortable" "You are afraid of everybody" "you treat everybody like shit and you make them hate you" But that understanding of how people think and work doesn't translate to his direct interactions with most of his peers. Maybe because he understands other neurodivergent people but not neurotypicals. The fact he does have a decent read on, at the very least, his best friend could also be indicative of the extra work Kevin has had to put in over the course of his life to try and understand people to begin with.

Directness. A lot of Kevin does feel direct to me. I suppose in a 'what you see is what you get' sort of way. He obviously has the whole protagonist thing going on which tends to end you up with pretty neutral, earnest and open characters.

Stims:

Emily Spector.

Gets overstimulated. Emily's outbursts could be attributed more to a struggle regulating her emotions. It's not a huge stretch to assume her mystery medication is a mood stabilizer. However, the idea of it being a combination of being overstimulated and then no longer being able to deal with her anger on top of the distress she's already feeling feels apt to me. This is a stretch, but, we only ever see her have outbursts at school. A nightmare environment for the stimuli sensitive. Emily is by far the character out of the main three we spend the least time with, which could easily explain my previous point away. We hardly see her out of school to begin with. But I think there can be merit in taking it as a part of the story, rather than an incidental effect of her being left by the wayside.

Black and white thinking. "So first you tell me that I should hate him, and now you want me to help him?" - Emily. No, he didn't say you should hate him, Emily. "You have every right to be mad- especially at Hunter!" - Kevin.

Directness. I mean she literally calls up Kevin to ask him if he wants to go fuck in a parking lot and more power to her. But it is very direct.

Struggles with social interaction. And apart from Skip & Co. having a particular hate-boner for Hunter, Emily might actually be the most widely ostracized for her lack of social finesse. Which would check out because society is brutally cruel to girls. Kevin is shown to have some positive interaction outside of the other two main characters, so is Hunter. And, yes, so is Emily. But it's only with the janitor of the school, who she is implied to have had previous interactions with. Having your only friend at school be the fucking janitor is not a neurotypical experience. I know I certainly got along easier with a handful of teachers than I did with my peers back when I was at school.

Whatever this is. Fam, I've BEEN there...but it's not neurotypical:

A 'little' note to end on: I want to state that I love all three of these character very dearly. I don't pretend that I don't have a favorite, but they are all amazing. There's various reasons why Metal Lords is such a comforting movie, but a big one, is that the characters act in a way that feels incredibly familiar. They act like me. They act like my autistic friends. We make weird facial expressions, we understand the world and each other through our interests. The way all of them talk feels so close to home. (The swearing is actually part of that. A lot of real people swear and over-censoring of that tends to bug me but that's kinda beside the point lmao)

[aingeal98]

I don't think Damian was insecure because Cassandra was a closer part of the family than he was, especially considering that at that point in time he was wasn't fully invested in being a part of the family as he is now (also lets be real, its not like Cass is the center of the family or anything.)

I think it was more of case of him putting her on a pedestal based on what he heard about her, since her reputation probably made her seem like the ideal version of himself that he was told to aspire to all his life, so he was probably hoping that she was similar to him in some way as a form of self-validation, but when he did meet her it probably made him feel very conflicted since she didn't live up to his exceptions.

So in his mind it probably started out like "I'm supposed to be perfect and Cassandra Cain is already perfect, so she's probably very similar to me and I need to aspire to be more like her, which would be easy since we're already very similar to each other" then when he did meet her it went on to become" "Wait that's Cassandra Cain? But she's nothing like me?! Does that mean I'm not perfect after all and everything I'm doing is wrong? No.....its her who is doing everything wrong" so him butting-heads with her was him grasping at straws since putting her down would be easier than for him to accept that what he was aspiring to become all this time was the wrong image and he didn't want to start from scratch by believing in a new version of the ideal him (which thankfully he did end up doing at the end, he just was unsure if it was really what he wanted for himself at that point.)

Either ways its crazy that this plot-line didn't have any follow ups and no writers tried to have interact with each other again in almost 15 years.

I half agree with this, because I do think that Damian would have put Cass on a pedestal before meeting her. And I feel like part of him would have felt betrayed when they did meet and instead of being someone he could relate to, she was chatting with Dick and Tim and connecting over their shared history. The framing in those panels from Gates of Gotham where the trio are strategising and Damian is sitting away from them watching feels very deliberate. But I do think insecurity plays a role in that. You came to a new country all alone to meet your father but now he's dead and you're stuck with a bunch of older people meant to be your siblings and here comes one who was trained from birth to fight as a league funded project and yet... She clicks with your other siblings more than you? I think it would for sure make Damian feel more insecure even if he wasn't fully invested in becoming a part of the family, and he'd almost feel irrationally betrayed by Cass for not living up to the version he had in his head that was meant to ease said insecurity over this new "family" of his instead of making it worse and making him feel even more alone.

I can definitely see that thought process you describe in his head though. He's a genius technically but he is only ten and if something is wrong then either he's the problem or Cass is the problem, no room yet for emotional complexity. And he refuses to be wrong (similar to a certain sister of his who refuses to lose shhh who said that) so he's just going to have to butt heads with Cass until everyone including her understands that he's right and she's wrong, simple!

We deserved so much more of them working together. Gates of Gotham was a great start and I love that it's forever canon that their first act of sibling bonding was blowing up the batboat together. But we deserved so much more.

[themhformessyheadcanonfactory]

My take on how transformers holoforms work (Transformers headcanons)

(26/05/2025)

Brief introduction to people who may not know what holoforms are:

Holoforms are a canon transformers concept where transformers, Autobot or Decepticon, can project a human avatar as an hologram (where the name probably comes from) to communicate with humans without necessarily showing their true robot form.

In canon they are only holograms, which means they don’t have a physical body, only a projection. It’s shown in Transformers Bayverse (the in-real-life movies from 2007 to 2017), Transformers Earthspark (Netflix 2023) and maybe in others.

Now here’s my headcanon/version of holoforms:

Holoforms, instead of only being imprecise holographic projections, you can physically touch them as if they were real humans, although instead of the feeling of real skin, it’ll feel more rough and metallic.

Since to have a holoform, you need an exoskeleton to make it more realistic and without too many non-human flaws. From far away the holoform will look real, although if you try to touch some parts of the exoskeleton you might get a little scared.

As for the avatar itself, that’s where the hologram comes in; you can create your avatar in any way you want, like a video game, as long as you have the physical base for it.

You will need a holoform projector attached to the core of the exoskeleton so it doesn’t get damaged or easily broken. And to connect to the projector is a simple process; get in your alt mode — make sure your alt mode is in a safe space — and activate the projector, and BOOM you now are inside a holoform and look like your human avatar.

It’s important to leave your alt mode in a place where it won’t be disturbed or discovered, since until you connect yourself back inside your alt mode, you are technically “stuck” in your holoform until further notice. You can’t scan another alt mode and use it as your own since your body is technically still inside your original alt mode, this includes your optics, your weapons, and most importantly; YOUR SPARK…

Until you come back to your alt mode, it now acts as a normal car, plane, truck, tank, whatever your alt mode is, except that it still has your spark in it.

This system can easily be abused since humans are smaller, easier to “contain” and capture. This is why very few bots actually use their holoforms. The ones that use them the most are the ones with alt modes that simply aren’t really “blending in”, for example, Starscream with his F-22 Raptor or (he doesn’t show any but still…) Stratosphere (2023 Transformers: Rise of the Beasts) since he’s literally a big ahh plane.

Personal comments (OC material):

All of my TF OCs have a holoform, including my concept on Cybertronian angels (you can vote in the poll below if you want me to elaborate in another post), WaveJammer (second main OC), Badlock (main OC), The Interchaineds (my own OCs’ faction), and in all universes

[crystalandrose]

So my idea for my version of evil ford is that his timeline splits at the science fair incident. This ford was paranoid enough to know stanley would somehow fuck up his chance, so he fixes the machine and takes the toffee peanut bag as evidence (maybe he also pulls security footage). So ford makes it into his college and stan gets punished (but not kicked out). Stanley runs away of his own volition due to the anger at ford leaving him behind and also ratting him out to their parents. Stan partly wants to prove hes just as good as his brother and also wants to prove it to himself.

This means Ford never met Fiddleford in college. Instead, after getting a lot more grant money than from Backupsmore, he goes to Gravity Falls and works alone. Eventually, after he makes the deal with bill, he realizes he doesnt have enough experience making computer things (sourcing parts and such) to do this alone (even if bill is helping him). So he puts an ad for a research assistant good with computers. Perhaps some of this extra grant money went towards pay, and Fiddleford took the opportunity. But having no real connection to Fiddleford, Ford is more up to use him as a tool to get what he wants. So when Bill says his use is up and its time to get rid of him, Ford obliges.

Maybe since he went to this fancy college he had an easier time making connections or doing schooling quicker. So this extra time means he spends more time in partnership with bill and the connections make it easier for him to make side money he can also funnel into the portal project.

This Ford also learns more about Bill's backstory because he connects more to Bill (disconnect from family, not feeling recognized, wanting a home with people that get him/etc). So this guy is more sympathetic and knows more about Bill's desires (create a nightmare realm). Maybe Ford rationalizes it as a good thing or thinks he can talk Bill out of some destruction, or maybe at this point he wants some revenge on the world himself. So hes still on board with the portal when Bill reveals its actual purpose.

However, maybe Stanley needs another place to sleep on the couch at and sees his brother in some headline or mentioned as an inventor for some product. Or his brother needs a test dummy that can speak for the portal so he calls him. Or maybe Ford wants to potentially say his last goodbyes before he goes into what he knows is potentially the end of earth.

Fight still happens, Ford wants Stanley to thank him for money hes sent the family, for not completely ostracizing him from the family after what he did, offering him a place to stay, idk. Ford fights him, Bill possesses Ford at some point as another try to prevent Ford from getting sucked into the portal. This freaks Stan out and he pushes him. Ford, holding journal 3 (which does not have pages ripped out), chucks it at stans head (not to help him but to literally hurt him). Stan is like "wtf did i just do" and shuts the portal down, reads through the journals and thinks Ford is unwillingly possessed by a demon and spends his days trying to get him back.

Ford and Bill are now stuck in the portal, going through dimensions trying to get back to Earth in order to reopen the portal and finish what they started. I think Stan is fully anti-cipher-ified, planning on killing bill as soon as he shows up again in order to save his brother. Im thinking this Dipper and Mabel got killed by zombies or something. So when Ford does get back, stan is there super unhinged and angry and somehow eventually kills bill, leaving no statue behind. Evil ford is like "wtf" and devastated, but keeps looking for a way to bring him back. Maybe this Bill, having not gained sympathy from the axolotl, decides hes not worth rehabilitation and so hes actually dead in this reality.

(Then "canon" bill opens up a reality rift and evil ford comes through, hoorah)

[howlsofbloodhounds]

What would your opinion be on Color Joining the star Sanses? you think he'd be a good fit? I making a multiverse and only now realized how few members the star Sanses group has :/ If not color, you have any other suggestions for possible members for the Star Sanses group?

I think it’d be interesting to see if Color joins the Stars at first, perhaps because he wants to not only help people and feel useful—but because he doesn’t want to be alone (and color is known for just following on the fringes of groups just to have company) and because he wants to explore new places as well, he wants to be moving and doing something because he can’t stand being stuck in one place anymore—but potentially also because that was the only means he had to go out and save Abyss from Nightmare’s captivity (something i don’t think is canon for Abyss anymore, but it’d be interesting).

(Big thing about Color is: he doesn’t want to be forgotten or alone again. Being alone is one of his canonical biggest fears. Not a stretch to say he’d possibly do or say a lot in a desperate attempt to avoid being alone—particularly if this is very early post Void Color. Before he has established what it is he believes in, what he will and won’t compromise, and sticks to this with integrity.

Very important to realize how exactly being isolated in the Void and erased from existence, replaced, with very little to no change or outside stimulation can stagnate a person’s growth if not make them lose their sense of self or identity completely.

Some part of Color probably always feels like there’s an emptiness inside him, a void, that he’s trying to fill. His sense of self or self image could’ve very likely been very unstable for a while if not always going to be—he’s just finding it easier to manage and cope with it with time. He very likely went on a journey just to rediscover what the hell he even believes in anymore, let alone who he even is—if not just a vessel for the influences of the six souls.)

And then overtime, perhaps because of his connections to Killer and his refusal to do or say anything to compromise Killer’s trust in him or Killer’s safety which could potentially become an issue depending on interpretations of the Star Sanses and maybe the Omega Timeline Council, he kinda drifts away from the Stars.

Still willing to help them and team up with them, but is definitely more about doing his own thing his own way—without any potential red tape or whatever holding him back, alongside the Abyss Team and the Epic Sanses. But that’s just a possibility.

Another possibility is would be a Lust Sans variant, and also Delta!Sans—i mentioned before that I think Delta would be the one creating their weapons and armor. Delta is often very stoked about helping people and protecting people, but he could potentially be seen as too violent or too eager to kill.

Also, you don’t have to stick to just Sanses if you don’t want to. A Toriel, Asriel, Chara or a Frisk could be added on the team too—even if the name might have to change 💀.

[justsigma-bsd]

Eighteen

Honestly, way too many warnings.

TW for: starvation, abuse, dehumanization, human trafficking, (more or less off-screen) death, violence, etc.

Basically me trying to use the panels of Sigma's canon backstory and trying to make it into a short story. And likely making it worse.

People who might be interested:

@respiratory-kristem @my-taintedsorrow @fukuzawa-armeddaddyagency @currentlyeatingrocks

Pain. That's one of the first things he felt, learned. 

The pain of hunger, of thirst and of the sun burning his skin, of hot sand burning the soles of his feet.

The people who'd found him had seemed... not nice, not kind, not gentle, but safe. They gave him water and food, even as he all but fell face first into the sand in front of them. They brought him out of the sun and into a cold building, dragging him along by his arm. He'd passed out somewhere along the way, exhaustion catching up like a tidal wave. 

When he'd come to, he'd found himself waking in a cold place with stale air, quite whispers reaching his ears. Something metallic rattled, every now and again, and when he opened his eyes, he found himself in a dim and dirty room with a dozen other people in varying states of awareness, some asleep and some talking in hushed murmurs.

No one seemed to have noticed him being awake.  

None of them looked all that healthy. Sunken faces, thin frames, clothes and faces and hair dirty. They looked as exhausted as he felt. It took him a moment before he realized yet another thing they all shared in common. Heavy metal shackles wound around these people's wrists, and a glance down showed him that he was no different. 

The metal was cold and unyielding, sharp edges digging into his wrists and leaving them aching. He couldn't tell how to get them off, and thus didn't even try. 

If anyone noticed him being awake, nobody felt the need to talk to him. 

~

Over the course of the next days he found himself stuck in a routine. 

Early in the morning all of the people in the cramped room would be ordered out and into yet another cramped space, told to do one task or another. Sometimes they'd be allowed to eat, sometimes they weren't. Sometimes they dug for hours in the sands, sometimes they stood at assembly lines putting firearms together until their hands couldn't move anymore. 

He hated it with a passion, but he saw what happened when someone paused for even a moment too long. When someone tried to stop themselves from messing up by taking a few seconds to just breathe and didn't resume quickly enough. 

Sometimes, it was a whip that lashed through the air. 

Sometimes, it was a fist that connected with someone's face or ribs. 

Sometimes, and those were the ones he found most horrifying, a bang would echo out. 

Most of the time, the person wouldn't get up again after the shot. Rarely they did, and were gone the next morning. It didn't take a genius to figure out why. 

He didn't want to end up like that, no matter how exhausted he was. He didn't want to die, even if giving up seemed so much easier, half the time. 

Still, he never found himself working enough, no matter what he did, how hard he tried. He'd always find a kick connecting with his ribs, a slap causing his head to snap to the side. How he hadn't broken a bone yet, he wasn't sure.

He just knew that pain was a constant companion. 

~

Among the other people stuck in this place with him was an older man who tended to sit next to him in the cramped room, quietly murmuring words in a language he couldn't understand- he'd later learn, in a different conversation a few days after their first, that the words were Greek and that it was the alphabet he had been whispering to himself. 

He didn't know it, then, but the alphabet was the only bit of Greek he'd learn. 

They didn't talk with each other though, not at first. They didn't talk until his second week in this place- or perhaps his third. He couldn't quite tell anymore. 

It wasn't the other who initiated the conversation. No, the older man had only passed him the bit of bread he'd been given. And he'd stared down at the additional ration, face blank and confused. 

"This is yours" he'd found himself saying, and blinked at how raspy his own voice sounded. It was as if sand was scratching across his vocal cords. He couldn't remember the last time he'd talked. Or drank, for that matter. 

The old man smiled, and even in the dim room he could see the odd... warmth, in the other's eyes. A sort of warmth he'd never seen on the faces of their captors. "It's alright, Eighteen. I don't need it. Eat" 

He winced at the name, the name their captors had bestowed upon him. But who was Eighteen to complain? It wasn't like he had a different name to go by- he couldn't remember one. 

He tried to argue, tell the other, Four if he remembered correctly, that he doesn't have to share. But Four was adamant, and Eighteen was hungry. He hadn't gotten a lot the last few days, a consequence of not doing enough work, which had led to him doing an even worse job. 

In the short time, he'd already accumulated more injuries than he could count, and he doubted many of them would fade entirely. 

Others, quietly, whispered about wanting to leave. He didn't fully understand. Leave? To where? The desert? Certain death? He hated the pain and fear and hunger, but the thought of leaving left him just as scared as the thought of staying. 

~

Over the course of his first month he occasionally shared rations with Four, who he'd learned was actually called Alexandros. Alexandros was different. Not just from him, but most of them. He was treated differently, wasn't made to work as much as the rest of them. Simply because out of all of them, he was the only one with an ability. 

"The Boundless Garden" he'd whispered, once, when Eighteen had asked why Alexandros was given more rations than the rest of them and watched him share some bread with a young girl he dimly remembered being called Seven. He remembered her mainly because of her pride and her insistence that they'd all make it out alive, one day. 

He never knew her real name. 

The Boundless Garden was such an odd name, Eighteen couldn't help but think. It sounded so grand, so beautiful, so free... but all it was, was an ability that could tell apart lie from truth. An ability that, so Alexandros told him, was quite valuable to their captors. 

To Eighteen, the ability seemed like a blessing, with how it seemed to make the other's life a little easier in this dark place.  

He'd learn soon enough that it wasn't the blessing he thought it was. 

~

Eighteen bit back a pained groan when his knees hit the cold, hard ground. Th muzzle of a gun pressed against the back of his head, a hand roughly grabbed his shoulder, holding him in place. "Y'know, Boss was thinking of just selling ya to get at least a bit out of ya, useless as you've been" 

It wasn't the first time the word 'sell' had fallen around him. Alexandros had mentioned similar things, and in all honesty, he wasn't sure if he was afraid of being sold or hoping for it. It could be a worse fate, or one far better. 

He stayed silent, even as the grip on his shoulder grew painful. "Useless as ya are, making a bit of profit off of you might even work, ya know? You're an odd one, you rat. You'd fetch a nice price for your appearance alone, only issue is that you're good for nothin'" 

Eighteen didn't understand why his appearance would have anything to do with it, but it wasn't like he actually cared. He knew that he stuck out among the others, that he looked different- but he didn't care enough to pay it any mind for too long. 

"That's why I think gettin' rid of ya would do us a lot more good" 

He felt his blood run cold, a sharp, dark sense of understanding filling his chest. He knew what would happen, and he wished, desperately, that he could stop it. He didn't want to die. He didn't. He'd only seen the desert and this building- he knew nothing of the world out there... and he wanted to live. 

The white-purple haired man didn't want to die. "Please, I can... I can do better" he found himself begging, and flinched when he received a harsh hit with the handle of the gun. Not hard enough to knock him out, but hard enough for pain to blossom on the back of his head. 

"Eighteen, Eighteen, Eighteen... always begging, yet never useful" There was a quiet click, the safety of the gun unlocked. And Eighteen couldn't help but wonder: How can I be useful? How can I survive? Did anyone else ever survive this? 

His thoughts whirled wildly, and the next thing he knew was a wave of thoughts not his own crashing down upon him. Then, he knew no more. 

~

They tested it, a few times. 

It took weeks until he properly knew how his ability worked, and even longer until he managed to be useful. 

Day in, day out he'd get harsh words. If he got lucky. They didn't hesitate to do worse if they deemed it necessary. There wasn't a day where he didn't feel pain. 

Sometimes, when he failed to activate his ability, he got slapped. He preferred that, since other times he found a knife slashing across his back, or his head slammed into the wall or ground as a consequence for his failure. 

Other times, when he did activate his ability but didn't get the information correctly (and how was he supposed to if they didn't give him specific orders and made him guess?), they threw punches and kicks until he thought he couldn't breathe, until he thought he'd pass out. 

A couple times they dunked his head under water and refused to let him up no matter how much he struggled and clawed at everything in reach. Refused to let him up until he went limp and was about to pass out. Sometimes waited until he inhaled water if they were being especially cruel, only to leave him hacking and coughing on the ground until he calmed just enough to repeat the process. 

A permanent thing was the new cell. It was small and empty. Lonely. He spend more than one night curled up against the wall, trembling so bad that it left his shackles rattling, crying himself to sleep. He would've preferred the cramped cell, solely because he wouldn't have been so alone. Eighteen didn't even want to talk with them- he just didn't want to be so alone. 

 They refused to leave him with the others, and he guessed they were afraid that he would spill some of the information he'd acquired from their captors. 

There was no Alexandros to share rations with anymore, either. Either he received food, or he didn't and had to deal with it. His stomach ached. He'd been hungry before, but now it was flat out painful. They barely gave him anything, just enough to keep him alive. 

Eighteen thought it'd get better once he was finally useful. 

Instead it felt so much worse. 

He was alive, but at what cost? Day in and day out he was in pain and hungry, alone with nothing but his own thoughts and afraid of what the next opening of the door would bring. 

~

If he thought it couldn't get worse, reading Seven's memories did make it worse. It was the first time he read memories off of a corpse and her open, lifeless eyes were still burned into his own. The memory of a knife sinking into his (her chest) and choking on his (her) own blood still echoed through his mind. 

Eighteen doubted he'd ever be able to forget it. The blood staining once only dirty hair. He hadn't known her well. He hadn't talked with her much before, but he knew of her ambitions to leave this place. 

He understood now, and silently wondered if escaping even was possible. He wanted to leave. He wanted to get out. 

That night he didn't cry himself to sleep, and instead remained awake until morning, silently mourning for a person he hadn't even known. A person who's name he'd never learn. By morning, he'd come to a decision. 

He wanted to get out. 

~

Eighteen met Alexandros only once after being transferred into the solitary cell, in the hallway. The old man looked shaky on his feet, and he looked paler than usual. The younger man couldn't help but think that he looked like Seven, with the difference that he was clearly still breathing and moving. 

"It was nice knowing you" Alexandros murmured to him, and Eighteen frowned. "Alex?" he found himself whispering, a hint of fear creeping through his veins. He tugged on his shackles, trying to stop in his tracks. The guard dragged him along mercilessly, leaving his feet to drag across the floor. 

Alexandros didn't look back, even as Eighteen struggled and fought to turn around, craned his neck to watch him walk away. He knew the room the old man was led to. Had seen the doors open once in passing, had seen the decaying bodies inside. 

The old man who'd shared his rations so long ago with him, who'd occasionally indulged him with stories about a world he'd never previously seen, who'd told him about abilities and a life in freedom, was being led to a fate not unlike Seven's. 

"ALEX!" Eighteen shouted, and cried out in pain when the bottom of a gun connected with his ribs harshly. He doubled over, but the pain was enough to distract him from his attempts of escaping. So he was dragged along, throwing only one last glance back, and watched as Alexandros was shoved into the room. 

A minute later, he heard the bang of a gun going off. 

He never saw Alexandros again. 

~

Pain, hunger, dizziness, loneliness. 

Those were his constant companions, staying with him day and night. 

Pain from the constant injuries, hunger from the lack of food, dizziness from the lack of sleep and over-use of his ability and loneliness from the solitary cell. The only words spoken to him were either orders, or rageful fits over his incompetence and failures. 

He was less and less sure how long he'd be able to keep going like this. 

He wasn't even sure how long he's lived like this. He could've sworn he heard one of the guards say something about a year having passed since a specific deal had been struck, remembered that the deal had been made not too long after they'd picked him up. 

If that's the case, he couldn't help but numbly think, then I've been 'Eighteen' for a year. Been in this hell for a year. Have suffered for a year. 

He missed the desert, if he was honest with himself. He missed the desert, for even if out there was nothing but certain death, it was still better than this. 

Eighteen glanced down at his shackles, and silently made a choice. 

~

Dizzy, that's what he felt like. Everything hurt and he didn't bother moving after he was thrown into his cell. He just laid there, staring at the ceiling numbly. The familiar click of the lock didn't reach his ears, though. 

Eighteen waited and waited, but nothing happened. He sat up slowly, wincing at the feeling of water droplets dripping from his hair and running down his face. The door wasn't fully closed. He couldn't believe his luck. 

He stumbled to his feet, slowly walking closer. It truly wasn't closed fully. He sneaked a glance outside. Nothing. Not a single guard in sight. His eyes burned, and he couldn't tell why, but he didn't bother to hesitate longer. Instead he slowly walked out of his cell, down the hallway. 

Nothing. 

Slowly and carefully he made his way down the hallways, peaking around corners carefully and doing his best to stay quiet. He was absolutely terrified. If he got caught now, he was a dead man. No matter if his ability was useful or not. 

But he wasn't caught, somehow. He made it all the way out and waited, patiently, until the gates opened for one person or another.

He felt bad, in all honesty, for leaving all of these people behind. But if he didn't take this chance and instead went back for the rest of them... would he manage to free them? Manage to get them all out of here, like Seven had wanted? 

He didn't know, and guilt clawed it's way up his throat at the thought of not even trying, but the gate opened and nobody had noticed him, the alarm wasn't blaring yet and he stopped thinking for a split second- 

And Eighteen ran. 

He ran like his life depended on it, because it certainly did. 

Baffled shouts and angry yells filled the air behind him- they recognized him instantly. How couldn't they, when his hair gave him away so easily? 

Shots filled the air, caused the sand to explode next to his feet, but he kept running on and on, not stopping even as the hot sand burned his soles. He ran until his chest ached, ran until his knees felt like they'd give out any second. 

Eighteen ran until he was certain he was safe, and collapsed in the shade of some rocks. 

Somehow, he was still alive. 

~

Only a few days after his escape Eighteen would find himself be picked up by seemingly kind strangers, who asked for his name. 

And Eighteen, who wished to forget that horrid number yet didn't know any other name, remembered his time with his captors. Remembered the shackles that had been broken off by these nicer people. Remembered Seven and Alexandros and the shared rations and the quite murmuring in a language he couldn't understand. 

And he would choose a name that he wasn't sure he'd one day regret or find happiness with. 

For even if it was a new name, there was still a piece of his old name in it. 

"Sigma" 

[4pplec0re]

Are we ever gonna get the context for the wolf in sheeps clothing drawing? it's just been stuck in my head because it looks BEAUTIFUL and Im curious/nf

the children yearn for the pretty awesome lore

okay i'm going to try my hardest to not explain this in the most complicated way possible... the lore goes deep guys never start a roleplay friend group /lh

The most notable characters here are Noel Vincent (Vin for short) Gruber (he/she) and Misha Oleksandrovych Bachynskyi (he/him). They make up the ship "Pretty Awesome" (technically they're also dating one of the Rickies--their full ship name is Pretty Freaking Awesome (PFA). It's dumb and I love it). Here are some short descriptions for each of them--

Vin is Moni's character. He is Noel at his core, based off of RVJ's Noel, but I like to call him fucked up Noel. She likes gossip and attention. She's often referred to as a "wolf in sheep's clothing" (HE SAID THE THING!), because on the outside he portrays himself as innocent, as if a lamb, but can often be selfish and loves to cause drama for her own gain. Her lore goes much deeper than this but we are not going to get into the Vin lore right now. He's not entirely bad but he is a very flawed character.

Oleksandrovych is played by yours truly. He's basically just my personal interpretation of Misha--he's the Misha you see in TCI (however, multiverse Oleksandrovych's lore is NOT connected to TCI Oleksandrovych. TCI has separate lore. No multiverse stuff over there). I'm not going to explain his personality you know what Misha acts like.

It all starts in a roleplay server called The Zolarian Star Cluster (which I'll be referring to as 'ZSC' from now and forward). The premise of this server is pretty simple. It's a Ride the Cyclone roleplay server, it's pre-Cyclone, and there are several slots for each character. So, a multiverse of sorts! Vin and Oleksandrovych met here. Blah blah roleplay plot stuff, they're dating now. Real corny.

Move on to RPTW, another RTC roleplay server. In RPTW, there is a category called the Sandbox, where people can claim whoever, whenever, with no limits, no submissions, and no approval (for a bit of context, in ZSC you're limited to two or three canon characters, and you can't have two of the same character (e.g. two Noels), because there are limited slots for each so it's easier to manage. None of these rules apply in the Sandbox.) We started adding on some lore to the Sandbox. One important thing to note is the Deja vu phenomenon; although the lore starts over in Sandbox, if a character meets another character in the Sandbox that they knew in a separate roleplay server (ZSC or Sugar Cloud (SC)), they'll experience a sort of Deja vu, noting them and things they do as familiar.

Clearly, I'm sure you know where this is going. Misha does not like Vin in the Sandbox. Vin has constantly been very passive-aggressive towards Noel Oscar (the Noel in Oleksandrovych's choir (TCI Noel!)), and Misha is pissed off about it. Despite this, he feels... drawn to her. He tries to ignore her, but ends up responding every time (even if he's dry about it). It doesn't help that Vin feels the same sort of connection, but gives into it, flirting with and teasing Misha.

Now blend all of this together-- Vin is ill-intentioned. Misha knows this; he's seen it himself! He hated seeing her insult his friend. Vin beckons, "Ohh, mon soleil... no need to be so cold. After all, I'm just a sweet little lamb... don't you agree?" Misha is frustratingly enticed by her. Despite all of his anger... something about this lamb is just so familiar.

I also want to point out some details of this drawing that I liked. First of all, Vin's eye is supposed to look like a wolf's eye (furthering the metaphor). Second of all, if you take a look at their eyes, you'll notice the highlights in them are heart-shaped. I have decided that when two characters who were in a romantic relationship in another universe look at each other, the highlights in their eyes appear heart-shaped. (Not related to the drawing, but this is the same for close friends, except those highlights are star-shaped. Thanks Nym!)

i love my son and his evil wife-from-another-universe i need them to get on that rollercoatser right now here's them interacting in zsc vs sandbox if u even care

[plum-petals]

hey rosie! so, this isn't related to your perfect/stunning spyverse fanfiction, but with the AMOUNT of writing you do and how GOOD it is. I'm trying to write my own book, but everytime i have an idea i only write 5-7 chapters before getting another idea and restarting the process. do you have any tips? also for writing in a good way and plotting, since it's your specialty! <3

hello!! omg this is so nice 💕 i don't know if i have very practical advice since the two biggest reasons i have the freedom to write so much is 1. desk job and 2. no children. 😂 but here are such of the actual, more applicable lessons i've learned for not abandoning my 300k+ series half-way through:

fall in love with organization haha i use docs for writing but goodnotes on my ipad for plotting! it's a paid app (that i would have loved in college tbh) but i love having a virtual notebook for stories filled with planning stuff with options for paper type, handwriting > text, etc. different ones for different stories with tons of customization options to make things pretty if that's your speed (making things pretty is 100% my speed)

planning looks different depending on the story! since this one was covering a year, i did a timeline style outline once i took all my planning bullet points and i laid it out chronologically. this helped me realize stuff like "oh i don't have them doing like anything for this month, let me fix that" or "too many things happening in this span of time, can i move something?" and even tone-setting notes that remembering the season and relation to any greater events. it also lets me drop in moments of foreshadowing very deliberately and add in fun parallels and focus on the literary themes on a larger scale because i can see all the smaller pieces at once.

my timeline organization is generally helped by my color coordination. red for "basically a canon event/needs to happen here/no flexibility" + green for "needs to happen/flexibility in either location or details" + yellow for brainworm stuff i'd like to include if it feels right. blue is for additions and annotations. which are sometimes just an arrow to where a plot point actually happens because i move it or me crossing out an idea and replacing it with what actually happens. blue is my favorite color so it makes my edits to the "plan" feel less like mistakes and more like progress. don't beat yourself up for changing your mind! i do it twice a day. it becomes a bit of a beautiful, chaotic mess by the time you hit *checks notes* chapter 56 but it's okay! like dain redemption arcs, progress isn't linear!

once i have a plan, it's easier for me to jump around as i feel inspired! staring a blank doc isn't really my speed. it's almost soul-crushing tbh. so i'll just close it and write something else. maybe a scene down the line i'm pumped for, or just brainstorming dialogue for future scenes. who cares if you have to make changes when you get there or if it has mistakes? at least it's on the page. or even something silly! for main fic, it was usually xaden pov at first and look how that turned out haha spyverse started with only like six scenes i really wanted to write and built from there! writing also doesn't have to be linear because a story is!

when you're stuck stuck, try writing other stuff in your universe instead of moving to another idea! it doesn't have to the main story to build your understanding of character dynamics and how the plot works together. two side-characters discussing what happened for a scene that's having trouble coming out instead of the scene itself. a random background character seeing odd things while going about their day. your mc doing something wildly outside of the plot like idk studying physics. basically write a slice of life anime for your own protags if you need to feel connected to them, even if a lot of it will end up unused. it'll make the plot-heavy stuff feel easier! even for fight scenes and stuff i never wrote before spyverse, i feel like i have a pretty good idea in my brain about how violet would react to any situation because i know her and it makes everything easier haha

read your work out loud if you can! dialogue especially but all of it really. i worked in a writing center for years and most awkward phrasing and typos can be caught just by reading out loud. ambiguous grammar rules are ingrained in us enough that even if we don't recognize it on the page, it still hits our ears wrong. it also helps me flesh stuff out... i'll just be mumbling violet clapbacks to myself until i find the right one!

oh i also re-read my own writing to get back into the swing of things before a long session! either a chapter back in my draft or just one of my favorite chapters in the main fic. i used to hate this because i am harshly self-critical but now i force myself to because if reading my stuff doesn't still make me smile, i'm doing something wrong lol

7 tips for 7 dragons! thanks so much for your sweet words 💕

[theheirofthesharingan]

Hi, I want to share with you, I am very annoyed by Sakura fans, they really believe that for Sasuke his wife is more important than Itachi, they say that Sakura is his soul mate, if there were no Uchiha massacre, he would devote himself entirely to Sakura, and do not compare them,Sakura will always be in any universe more important than his brother, I don't understand how they can think like that,how they read manga to come up with such a thing, Itachi will always be more important than any person in his life,and I can hardly believe that in parallel universes he marries Sakura, I understand that Itachi is not perfect,but the bottom line is that for Sasuke he he is perfect, he always puts him above everything, I'm sorry that I'm writing all this, but I'm offended for Itachi, a man who devoted his life for the welfare of his brother was equated with a stupid fan who does not even understand the person he loves

Her fans are delusional when they say that. If Sasuke loves her that much then what kept him from visiting her all those years? The basis of her fans saying this is apparently the handful of novels whose writer(s) themselves have said their Sasuke is a different character/different interpretation of his character from how he's in canon. And SS fans always use those novels as "proof" that she's his soulmate or they're grasping at the straws in Manga canon to prove how special she is to Sasuke.

In no universe does Sasuke care about her more than he did in Manga. Sure, his trauma plays a bigger role that he is aloof and doesn't want anyone to come close to him. But while he had his family, he was still very much focused on his family and found comfort in Itachi's presence.

If there was no massacre, Sasuke would have loved to spend more time with Itachi. The brothers are (platonic) soulmates.

I was reading Sasuke's wiki page for my fic a while ago and all I see is Sasuke on his journeys alone. He doesn't feel any connection with his "soulmate" that he wants to be with her at all. He leaves his "family" and goes away. He finds his loneliness to be more comforting than her company. Would he be like this if he had Itachi? Would he want to leave Itachi alone? Would he want to leave without Itachi? Itachi would be with him all the time.

Her fans saying nonsense like that offends me too. On Twitter I saw many people do that and I couldn't help but wonder what were they showing in Boruto that her fans have started to think that she's more important to Sasuke now. Then realised that Sasuke, too, doesn't think about Itachi at all, so it's easier to assume she's become more important.

Honestly, if Sasuke could be happy and move on from Itachi, and find happiness with his new family, I would be happy, because he deserves it, but with her... It's just not it.

If we love these brothers, it's obvious we have to endure this, because they suffered the worst kind of injustice and pain. Even if Itachi's sufferings ended with his death, Sasuke's go on. And it doesn't help that he's stuck in a loveless marriage where the narrative makes a constant effort to make Itachi irrelevant as if what he did and what happened to him don't matter.

[flashfuture]

The flashes have:

• weird found family that is a mix of a found family and blood family and most of them actually truly get along and care about each other even if some of them are little sassy.

• have powers where the upper echelon of their brood, with the most power are verging on multiverse and time gods and the ones just starting out still range on the side of most destructive meta humans on earth, if they are still human at all.

• their most interesting villains are crime syndicate with a amazing dental and medical plan who usually have something approaching morals.

I think they make other heroes only a little jelly beans cause they have all these boons and they are still interesting as characters to watch.

like it's actually so crazy if you think about it. in 1938 the DC universe time began. but the way time works in DC it's easier to think of time as the addition of every second. it's static not accumulative. 1 second 1 second 1 second 1 second and on to eternity. A life is made up of seconds coming together 1 2 3 4 5 6. But this didn't happen not for 18 years. Until 1956 when Barry Allen was struck by lightning in both canon and out of universe. Things started moving Forward

(The Flash: Rebirth)

And he made the speed force. He keeps the present in the present and the rest of time away by generating the kinetic force that makes the lightning that gives the Flashes their speed.

Barry canonically moves Time forward by existing but he can also force it. He did so twice once fighting reverse flash/zoom and once fighting the turtle. When fighting Turtle, Barry connected himself to every living being except Turtle and pulled them all into the future by a few seconds to thwart his Turtley plans.

And Wally well I have a theory that Wally stores the memories the moments added together that make a life. In 1986 Barry reset the universe and everyone's minds got Fucked. Before Final Crisis when they bring back Wally from the speedforce it causes Bruce and Hal to remember Barry and incorrectly assume he's the one coming back. In 2011 when Flashpoint happened Barry did it Without Wally. Wally who was in the speedforce and got stuck again and once again everyone's backstories reset and their memories were fucked. In 2016 when Wally breaks out he returns memories to people. With Infinite Frontier this is the first universe reset where Wally's speed force is actively contributing to what happens and not only do people retain their current memories they start getting All their old memories back.

Reverse Flash represented paradoxes in time. But in the most recent run Barry phases through him giving him some speed force. And Eobard gets reset to how he should have been. Becoming connected to Barry fixes his Present. That kinetic wall between the present and time.

Bart I have no idea what they're doing with him they should be remembering that he's the best Fighter of the flashes. That he's vicious and blitzes enemies like Godspeed. Also how Bart is the most scatter brained and seemingly can not slow down unlike his grandpa and cousin. Yet he also is the only one of the entire family to be able to retain what he's learned forever. And has I think the greatest feats of cosmic awareness basically teaching himself about the meta of the DC universes reboots. Bart I think should represent the inevitability of the future coming. No matter how many changes you think you can make a future will always be there. Something to be said for him being a character created during Zero Hour year too I'm sure of it.

[witchofthesouls]

Lately all I can think of is TFP Optimus being demon bait. Amongst every iteration that I seen with the Matrix, he feels more like a placeholder involving the relic than an actual Champion for Primus. Plus TFP is the only one who doesn't retain any knowledge about his past as Orion Pax.

Placeholders are easier to tempt than champions since they aren't fully protected or warned of the danger. The Matrix of Leadership practically rats him out to anything supernatural when you consider it acts more like a vessel unlike other relics. Optimus is gonna have a mixed time should a demon hone in on him.

I get what you're saying. All the strange and, let's face it, very sus Artifacts are painting a very wild picture.

Personally, while I do believe TFP Optimus is a legitimate Prime, he isn't a fully realized one. It gets weirder with the Canon lore in the Aligned verse that the Matrix was housed with Prima's Star Saber and that Optimus is supposed to be the reincarnation of the mysterious Thirteen. Plus, Metroplex from the games vouched his status as a Prime: "Metroplex heeds the call of the last Prime." (Fall of Cybertron game)

I wonder how come the writers didn't go with the Primal Artifacts being semi-sentient? It would really make sense with the mythos and immense powers, especially since those tools can be only wielded by a Prime. So the building blocks were there. Or, have the ghost of Prima within the Matrix that's controlling new ordained champions, and it's intefering with Thirteen's connections? The Matrix has an established history of reformatting new bearers, so is it a big surprise that they're turned into Prima's thoughts of a prefect guardian? Prima has different Aspects and Domains compared to his youngest brother.

The themes of identity and self-determination are there. I think he internally struggled with it. Is he Orion Pax of Alpha Trion? Optimus Prime of Prima? Are they one and the same mask? Does he remember the Wilds in his dreams? Did he have hopes and plans for reconstruction? At night, does he recounts all the steps that brought him to that point?

But yeah, TFP!Optimus would be a succulent prize for a supernatural entity. The Matrix is both a beacon and lighthouse. To see a mortal God-King or a divine champion drowning in uncertainty would turn the very dangerous or very desperate towards him because a contract could be established.

Weirdly enough, out of all the Autobots, I think Optimus would have the easiest time navigating any potential entities. Orion Pax lived and breathed in doublespeak as an archivist directly sponsored by Alpha Trion himself. He knows the intricate dance to steer between treacherous allies and hostile enemies and how to be very leery of certain agreements. Orion was stuck between impossible contradictions of his status.

Ratchet has had certain privileges afforded by his function and frame. He's comfortable taking over things and saying his piece, especially among the current team. He also has a poor opinion of non-Cybertronian anything. He would either be killed for insolence and disrespect or be ensnared in a dream that gives him his deepest wishes. Arcee, depending on your viewpoint, is either lucky or unlucky, especially since she survives all her partnerships. Even Jack Darby, no matter how careful, has a human lifespan, which is seafoam to a Cybertronian. Something would latch onto her anger and grief. Bulkhead can be a very considerate soul. Some being would be charmed by the mech. Bumblebee is kind, and Smokescreen can be impulsive and so very clever. Traits that are endearing to many entities in old tales.

Optimus would have his hands full should something start sniffing around the base.