#this is what you get for flashing mechs smokes

[littlelovelunette]

Based on ur recent post, can i PLEASE request a feisty/rebellious fem reader with sev? smone smhw still gets away with everything bcuz she’s so gd at hidin her bad habits/activities (like strict parents make sneaky kids). srry if this is too long, i wld love any kind of feisty reader. i LOVE ur idea abt the reader talkin back too n i love ur sevika fics so much THKQQQQ

Slipping Through the Cracks

It's 3 am, I can't sleep...

You’ve always been a slippery thing. A rebel in the shape of a woman, all sharp wit and defiant grins, the kind of person who thrives on pushing limits. Rules? Guidelines? Expectations? They’re just suggestions you’re exceptionally good at ignoring.

Sevika knows this.

She knew it from the moment she met you—leaned up against a back alley wall, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with mischief as you haggled with one of Silco’s men over a shipment you had no business being involved in.

You shouldn’t have been there, but somehow, you were. You shouldn’t have known what you did, but you always did. And yet, whenever someone went looking for proof—a mistake, a slip-up, a trail to follow—you’d already covered your tracks so well that even she had to admire it.

It pissed her off. And she liked it.

Sevika leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching you with that unimpressed look she always wears when she knows you’re up to something.

You’re perched on the table, legs swinging lazily, peeling an apple with a knife far too sharp for the job.

“You wanna tell me why I caught one of Silco’s boys sniffing around, asking about a certain someone selling goods they weren’t supposed to?”

You don’t even look up. “Dunno. Maybe they should ask that ‘certain someone’ instead of bothering me.”

Sevika huffs a sharp breath through her nose. “I did. And guess what? Their description sounds a hell of a lot like you.”

Now, you look up. Flash her a grin. “Lots of people in Zaun look like me.”

Sevika narrows her eyes. “Lots of people in Zaun don’t have your mouth.”

You shrug, biting into the apple. “What can I say? I’m memorable.”

She pushes off the counter, stepping closer.

You tilt your head up as she cages you in, one hand braced on the table beside you, the mech one gripping the back your back. She smells like smoke, metal, and trouble.

“One of these days, you’re gonna slip up,” she murmurs, voice low and edged with something dangerous. “And when you do, I won’t be the one covering for your ass.”

You grin, leaning in until your lips nearly brush hers. “Sevika, babe��� you won’t have to.”

Because you never slip. You never get caught.

And as much as she hates it—hates how you always manage to wriggle through cracks no one else even sees—she loves it, too.

[therocketeer0501]

Emptiness Machine

Starscream X Reader (Mech Pilot AU)

Author notes: thanks again for being patient with me. Still going through it but here is the chapter I was most excited for 🙊 (also I don’t know how actual welding works just go with it.) enjoy!

Chapter 11

The setting sun cast long eerie shadows before Starscream moved visibly again. You had settled yourself about ten yards away from his kneeling form. He just sat there motionless. Every once in a while you’d see a wing twitch, hear a muffled murmur from him. Other than these small signs of life, he was utterly still, seemingly made of stone. You hadn’t announced yourself and it was easy enough to sneak up close to him when he first landed. You’d had ample time to study his frame. From the looks of it, he’d suffered a great deal. Could have been from the battle, but after he ran off into the smoke you hadn’t seen him again. You wondered who, besides Optimus, had the strength to deal such wounds.

A wound in his side was covered by a familiar energon patch. It’s light pulsing indicated it was still working on drawing the nanites closer to the injury. This meant the patch had been applied not too long ago. His wing hung at an odd angle at his back. Your optics focused on the crude welding job and you winced. It looked as if someone had done it with a non dominant hand. Were the Decepticon medics that terrible at welding jobs? You look down at your own chest plate and the welds, still fresh, that adorned it. No they were neat and clean. This looked as if he’d done it himself. Though that would be foolish wouldn’t it? Isn’t that dangerous?

The more you looked at him, the more you wondered what the hell happened to him. There was scraped paint along several dents that looked like it could have come from the hallways of the Nemesis. You leaned forward a bit trying to see better.

A quick slip of your servo on the damp trunk of a tree suddenly unbalanced you. The sudden movement made a sickening crunch that echoed off the clear water. The next few clicks reminded you exactly why Starscream was second in command of the entire Decepticon army. As soon as the sound reached his audials, he’d spun around and taken several steps in your direction. His posture was that of a mech who was immediately ready to take on a serious threat. Frame stiff and weapons powering up as he raised them. The dual null ray blasters mounted on his forearms were trained in the direction of the sound. His optics narrowed as he scanned the thick vegetation that hid your crouching form.

“Show yourself!” He spat, stalking forward a few paces.

You don’t make a move but instead call out to him from your prone position. “You look worse for ware. The Autobots give you a run for your money?”

Recognition flashed in his optics and his blasters lowered just a fraction. He hadn’t quite pinned down exactly where you were yet. In the waning light you could make out the faint glow of his biolights. Yours would soon make you visible amongst the foliage. It was better to stand up now and reveal yourself before he had a chance to find you. You moved, rustling the fallen leaves beneath you. There was a risk associated with trusting him not to blow your helm off. With the care he and the communications officer had shown you, there was a sense that he would hear you out.

“Listen. I’m going to stand up now. You know I don’t possess weapons on my frame. I’m unarmed.” You say clear enough to be heard.

Rolling from your back onto your belly, you slowly get to your peds. Palms out to show you don’t have anything with which to fight back. His optics found and trained you with a cold stare.

“Is it a habit of yours to patrol unarmed? Those damn fools can’t even train a proper army.” He grumbled almost quiet enough that you didn’t hear.

He vented in exasperation, though he didn’t lower his weapons as you stepped out from behind the foliage that had previously hidden you. You shook a ped to get rid of the loose leaves that covered it. The damp smell of moss and loam covered your frame and you were suddenly glad for the fact that your mech was an earthier color. Disguising the smears of earth from your clumsiness earlier. Your optics fell on his damaged wing once more. It trembled slightly as he tried to hold it at the same height as his uninjured one.

“Did one of us do that to you?” You asked, gesturing with your chin towards his injured wing.

“As if an Autobot could inflict such injures on me.” He scoffed and flicked his uninjured wing in annoyance.

Though he quickly realized his error in ruling out the Autobots as the source of his injures. That left only one mech who could have inflicted those injuries. You slowly reach up to flick your visor out of the way, exposing your golden optics. The battle mask you usually wore retracted, allowing him to see the serious expression on your faceplate. His optics widened ever so slightly. He didn’t know what to expect when he saw what was under that mask but it wasn’t something that was as close to a real Cybertronian femme as he had seen in eons.

Cybertronian femmes were rare during the war, most of them fled off world and met horrible fates or disappeared without a trace. The rest joined the Autobot cause, with a few frighteningly unstable exceptions. His gaze lingered on the frown that was set in the malleable metal mesh of your faceplate. How the humans were able to come up with technology like this was beyond him. Though it sent an uncomfortable shiver up his spinal strut. It was unnerving. He started when you finally spoke again.

“Then it must have been Megatron. I’m not deaf. I heard him threaten you.” Speaking so boldly was also a risk but you had to know. Something about the way he held himself. The way he had tried to get you away from that awful scientist back on the Nemesis. You felt like you owed him your life. An uncomfortable feeling when it came from the enemy.

His lip twitched and he refused to answer. Instead choosing to deflect the question with one of his own. “What the scrap are you doing out here in the woods alone. You were in bad shape when I last saw you.” His voice was harsh and there was a staticky edge to it. Perhaps a nervous tell.

“I could ask the same of you. I thought Decepticons didn’t venture to the surface. Something about it being ‘contaminated by the native life’ or something.” You almost smiled at the affronted look he gave you.

As if he, the second in command of the Decepticon army would be scared of a few squishy humans. Slowly, you reach into a compartment on your side that contained a field medical kit. Inside you knew you had at least a couple of welding rods and a field welding torch.

“If you want, I could help you with the welding on your wing. You are still leaking energon. It couldn’t have felt good to fly like that.”

Extending your servo with the tools, you try to look as sympathetic as possible. “You helped me. I’m still functioning because of you and I owe you for that.” You splay your free servo over the chest of your mech. Over the tiny body hidden inside.

He looked at you with a mix of disgust and offense at the mere thought of your human made servos on his wing. He sputtered trying to get the words out for a moment. His vocalizer betraying him. You held up a hand and that silenced him surprisingly. “Please let me do this. We’d be even. They have no idea you tried to help me.”

Starscream’s curiosity was the only thing that made him slowly close his intake and nod. His denta set as he slowly lowered his weapons. He knew he wouldn’t be able to make the flight back to the nemesis without help. This was the first time in quite awhile anyone had asked to help him outright. It had been even longer since he allowed anyone to help him without lashing out. You smile and gesture for him to follow you to a fallen tree not too far along the edge of the water. There was just enough daylight left that you could probably get most of the welding done before the sun set.

“No tricks human. Even with that machine you are soft. I won’t hesitate to offline a femme.” He growled as he begrudgingly settled himself down on the tree.

You notice him watching your every move, frame tense as if he expected you to take that torch and use it for more sinister purposes. You vent softly and move around behind him to look at his wing. This close to him, you feel a staticky tingle that runs through seemingly every energon line of your frame. You shudder. You could feel his agitation, fear, and apprehension. But there was a hint of something else there. A feeling you couldn’t quite place. Something akin to curiosity. You shake your helm and try to focus on assessing the damage.

There were a few gaps in his weld lines that still leaked a bit of energon. You knew the mesh beneath contains many pain receptors. It was shredded at the joint and the tender mesh exposed. You cringed as you ran your optics over the crumpled mess. Of course he’d tried to fix it himself if Megatron was the one who did this to him. He’d probably done it to humiliate him. Reaching out a careful servo you go to brush a digit along one of the weld lines. As soon as your digit makes contact he flinches. His other wing twitching and you feel a wave of embarrassment and rage through his EM field.

“I don’t have all night Autobot are you going to get on with it or not!” He snapped trying to hide the fact that he’d had such a dramatic reaction to the contact.

You bite back a stinging retort and reach into the container at your side for a welding rod. You realize with a feeling of dread that you don’t have any nerve dampeners on you. Nothing like an EM pulse emitter that could nullify the pain being caused by the fresh welds. You chew your lip for a moment and speak. “I don’t have anything to help with the pain. Will you be alright?”

He doesn’t respond. Only nodding, giving you to go ahead to continue. You take a deep vent in. If he had done this earlier on his own, he must not have had anything to numb the pain then either. Bracing yourself with one ped on the ground and the other against the fallen tree, you place one servo between his wings and use the other to unset the welds he’d placed. Flicking down your visor against the blinding torch, you set to work. Once you began, he made no sound to indicate he was in pain.

Only the groan of strained metal could be heard as he clenched his fists against the white hot flame of the torch. You worked quickly, wanting this to be over just as much as he probably did. After unsetting the welds, you worked quickly to right them once again. This time taking care to align the joint properly and seal any severed lines. His uninjured wing trembled a couple times but otherwise he remained still.

Once you had finished you stood upright and flicked your visor back up to look at your work. It wasn’t as good as a medic could have done but you were the best in your class at field medicine. These welds would hold and his wing was on straight this time. You cross your arms over your chassis, proud of your work. “All finished. And the sun hasn’t even set yet.”

Pastel pinks and oranges had begun to fill the watercolor sky. Still he didn’t move. You cocked your head to the side suddenly concerned. Reaching out a servo you rest it in the middle of his back between his wings and feel him lean ever so slightly into that touch before he catches himself. Flinching abruptly away he stands and whirls on you. “You’ve already touched me enough insect. I’m fine.”

His EM field flared with that unidentifiable emotion once again. You stepped back palms up to show you didn’t mean to overstep. “Sorry didn’t mean to.” You mumble not knowing what exactly you were apologizing for. You had comforted Bee in a similar way once when he was seriously injured after a fight. The little scout seemed grateful for the gesture and you thought he might need something like that as well. Clearly not. You huffed out an annoyed vent. So much for him being grateful. At least you had made it through the entire process without him using those twin null rays to blast you back to the state you were born in.

He wouldn’t look you in the optics. His pride probably so thoroughly squashed for the day that he couldn’t possibly take another embarrassment.

“There. We are even.” Were the only words he spoke as he whirled around and stalked off. Transforming and taking off over the lake a few paces down. He wasn’t trailing that awful black smoke anymore and his wing seemed to be holding. You hadn’t realized just how stiff you’d been holding your posture as you finally relax. His alt mode disappeared on the horizon, not knowing just how close he had come to discovering the Autobot base.

[tracklessreason]

COuld there be a situation when Hive gets... fractured?

Like they all get disconnected from each other and maybe get bodies too but they aren't a Hive anymore. How would they react? Would there still even bee a Hive in the og body? Or is he just empty-

Sorry if something like this has been asked before, Have a glorious day! :D

(Hi Yuukirita!!!)

YOU'VE DISCOVERED ENDING 3 OF 3

The Bad Ending

In this ending, Hive never onlines after falling into stasis. Despite his best efforts, Ratchet can't stabilize him. Hive is burning hot to the touch, sometimes his optics flash harsh colors and angry voices shout in pain from his radio.

There's only one explanation. The Matrix is killing Hive.

Its warping his spark chamber to the point it's collapsing, crushing his internal systems...and crushing the Matrix.

Ratchet and the mechs he trusts most are working around the clock trying to come up with a solution.

Its Ratchet, Jazz, Ironhide, and Drift, and the four of them are the only ones in the room when it happens.

In a flash of blinding light and pure energy, the Matrix cracks, and splits open, detonating in Hive's chest. The four mechs are thrown back against the walls of the room, pelted with shrapnel of the ancient relic.

Hive is dead.

Nothing but an empty husk with a pitch black hole smoking in his chassis. No one even got to say goodbye.

When Ratchet and his crew come online again, something is strange. Each of them seems to have a new voice in their head.

Ratchet hears Prima Prime. Jazz hears Megatronus. Ironhide,Quintus. Drift, Alpha Trion.

The four Primes are in shock. There is no sign of the others. There is no sign of Optimus.

What remains of the Matrix and the Primes is in the shrapnel grafted to these mech's frames. They are once again only voices, the greed that consumed them at a taste of control having been their ultimate undoing. If there's some way to repair what's been done, no one knows it. Not that any of the autobots are keen to try.

Interestingly enough, the only mech searching for a way to restore the matrix....is Megatron.

(Sad way to go, wouldn't you say? The other Primes are still there, but their connection to the living world has been severed. Optimus is alone now in experiencing his ultimate grief. If Bumblebee's ghost is even around, he's made no effort to show himself to anyone. Start to finish, his time as Prime was nothing but a curse. Ratchet meanwhile is completely disillusioned with Primes. His disappointment and rage towards their petty actions that killed Bumblebee is immense. Though Prima talks to him often, Ratchet relays none of his words to the autobots. The time of the Primes is over. A council is elected to lead going forward. Hive's corpse watches over all.)

[lets-try-some-writing]

Hi! I see you've been writing some stuff for Tfp humans and because I'm a Tfp human enjoyer I thought I could request something:)) (I personally cannot write so yeahh)

Fell free to do it and feel free to not do it if you don't feel like it :))

So,

How about an AU where June and Fowler (due to some relic to stuff) get aged back to when they were 16/17. They were probably wildly different than their adult versions and seeing kids interact with 80's teenagers would be fun (I personally hc Fowler & June to be in their late 30s like 39 so if Tfp is in 2011 yeah they would be teens in the 80s)

Also,here are some of my personal hcs for teenage June & Fowler which you can use but if you feel like they would be different feel free to do that too :))

Fowler was kinda the high school jock/a chad as one could call it. Also probably smoked even though he was under age lol. Probably a rock fan who plays the guitar to impress girls lol

As for June,I see her to be a rebel who wanted to be in a biker gang/generally into motorcycles. Probably like Miko but more reserved :)).

Also have my teenage Fowler doodle as an add on cause it's relevant

Sorry that the ask is so long btw I feel strongly about tfp humans 😭

Feel free to take anything/nothing into consideration for the main scenario :))

EXCELLENT ART!!! SORRY THIS TOOK TEN BILLION YEARS TO GET TO!!!

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

Relics are not known to mess with age. The few that have such properties do little to harm a mech aside from possibly get rid of a beloved mod or engraving. As such, the team left one of their various collected relics just... laying on Ratchet's workbench. It wasn't particularly dangerous, and Optimus's memories of the archives stated that it had slight rejuvenation properties. That was all. It was essentially a small healing device meant to be applied to minor wounds.

But of course, anything minor to Cybertronians tends to be definitively less so to humans.

June and Fowler were left to keep a vague eye on the relic while the team performed other tasks. They chatted and overall relaxed, but at some point, Fowler noticed the relic was a little too close to the edge of the table for his liking. Sure the thing was almost as big as he was, but in his mind, with the help of June, they could push it back onto the table proper and rest easy knowing there would be no surprise clank to startle them or upset Ratchet. Their attempt to be helpful very quickly ended with a flash of light, every living being in the base hurrying toward two sets of screams, and gasps of horror all around.

June and Fowler were younger, WAY younger. Upon analysis, both were in their late teens biologically. Ratchet and Optimus argued over what to do, and upon seeing the relic, the overall consensus was that the two rejuvenated humans would have to remain at base until Ratchet could figure out a way to reverse the effects. It was not ideal, but a few calls later, things were organized enough. The military would cover for the loss of both Agent Fowler and June for the time being, and the team would get to work.

The team got busy and went about their work and June and Fowler stayed put... mostly. Despite having memories and experiences to match their adult selves, both teens had opinions and feelings regarding things. All three of the kids collectively decided they did not in fact enjoy these younger versions of the adults they knew within... about two minutes.

Fowler was a piece of work. He paraded around like he was in charge, but had the unfortunate habit of shoving Jack around for the kick of it. He didn't mean it maliciously, but the constant shoving did get on nerves. It did not help that Fowler used his spare time to work out now that his back was not murdering him every two steps. A definitive six pack most certainly did not endear him to Jack with his twiggy body. Fowler tried to get along with them by playing the adult, but being young again put a certain spring in his step and before long, he was off to cause problems. Lifting weights and wearing absolutely cringe worthy headbands, Fowler took off gleefully. The children avoided him like the plague, especially when he tried to rope them into his terrible 80s workout video exercise routine.

June was arguably worse in that while she wasn't outright cringy, she did have a few... habits. Her haircut was enough for even Miko to look away in shame. June's choice of clothing prompted three in sync face palms. And to add to it, she was absolutely determined to continue being the adult in the room even upon immediately getting distracted with video games and Fowler himself. Her use of 80s slang and her determination to ignore the rules just enough to be annoying quickly got on the nerves of everyone, especially the kids. Don't touch that? Oh she didn't touch it, she just got really REALLY close to it while making direct eye contact. Don't bother Ratchet? Well guess what, Ratchet gets a few dozen questions anyway.

Both were menaces to society just by existing. The team personally didn't mind all that much. What difference did personality shifts in small squishies mean to them? However even Bumblebee cringed internally as he watched the various scenes with the duo play out. Arcee for her part got several pleas from June to let her try Arcee's alt mode. Fowler may or may not have also tried to get Bulkhead to let him use the forklift to play lob ball, kind of.

Chaotic monsters all around.

Jack could do nothing but pray for the team to work quickly for the sake of his sanity. Miko is enough trouble on her own.

[atreyucannamos]

So, I realise I haven't summed up the last few days.

I couldn't convince Praya to call off the duel. That hurt... a lot, but I sure as hell wasn't going to back out of it. Since she'd challenged me and four of my classmates who just happened to be standing nearby at the wrong time, she had the right to call in additional kuirassers to even the numbers. This included a number of Stone and Sand lackeys, a man who in the spirit of equanimity I shall decline to name, and Praya's fiance.

Oh, yes, Praya has a fiance - the Count Argo-Laurent of the House of Sand. That was news to me - uncle hadn't even bothered to tell me, and I suppose nobody in the family was going to go out of their way to keep me up to date either. As to the man himself, I think speaking my full mind on him would violate the College's code of conduct, so I shall confine myself to saying that I don't like him and I don't think they're a good match.

As for my team... well, I refrained from discussing them before, since I didn't want to bring down any additional misfortune upon them. Now, though, given the fact that we're officially a unit now, there's no longer any point in hiding it.

I... made some friends! First I've had in ten years. They all read this blog, so I will be courteous and cautious with my words.

From left, we have Lady Tuera Ashama of the House of Smoke. She's our electronic warfare and countermeasure specialist, and she pilots a . She's got a fair number of medals, from which I deduce she's probably the one of us with the most actual combat experience.

Then there's Lord Caelan Frostfounder of the House of Stone. He's our primary CQB operator, and I believe he uses a heavily modified IPS-N Raleigh variant? It had a name I couldn't even begin to pronounce. He's not what I expected from a fellow member of the House of Stone, but not for the reasons you might think - honestly, I'm far more surprised that he respects me even knowing who I am than the fact that he looks like a giant wolf that walks on two legs.

In the center, there's me - El-Ahrairah, the "Prince of a Thousand Kingdoms." Hah!

To my immediate right is Lord Delamar Leonasius of the House of Sand. He pilots a Harrison Armory Tokugawa that he pushes to the absolute limit of its tolerances, and occupies a role I would describe as "flexible combatant" - sometimes he's up close, sometimes he's at a great distance. Argo is a cousin of his, so we were both going into this fighting family.

At the right end is Lady Persephone Helsing of the House of Smoke. She's from a scientific background, and she was piloting an experimental mech for this fight. She's really sweet, does card readings as a hobby and is an augment like Caelan.

The duel was... brutal. We were outnumbered 7-to-5, which by College rules isn't supposed to happen. We had to come together as a team at the last minute simply because the four of them had been named alongside me in the summons, and we were unfamiliar with each others' tactics, loadout and combat style.

To make matters worse, I was still getting used to an entirely new frame, Assembler, which I had to switch to because my personal kuirass is still impounded by Throne Karakiz Customs and Excise because the paperwork my family was supposed to submit three weeks ago still hasn't been submitted. I still don't know what Assembler even is; it purportedly belonged to another student from the House of Stone, but almost all of its logbook is encrypted.

All I know for sure is that it's a drone control platform, and an incredibly unorthodox one. The moment I took it onto the field and put it into combat mode, it flew apart into about twenty distinct flock elements. It has no conventional armaments; instead, it has specialised nanoassemblers that flash-print disposable projectile weapons on the fly - kinetic impactors, explosive pellets, even single-use chemical lasers. Sometimes, using its systems makes me feel like my bones are turning into knives and tearing through my skin.

So while I was getting used to all of that, Persephone lost her mech to an ambush from Argo and one of his cronies - she did give him one hell of a kicking, though. Meanwhile, Caelan and Delamar had to take on Praya while one of the enemy operators was throwing out some intense ECM - but fortunately, once they took a few knocks, they punched out and the battle turned a little in our favour.

I was able to clear out some of the chaff, the dogsbodies Praya and Argo had hauled along, easily enough. I'm not ashamed to admit it, though - I froze when I had to take on Praya. She was piloting this brutal colossus of a mech that seemed to shrug off every blow it took from us. It took Delamar nearly blowing out his reactor to take her down - but he did it. Cut her mech clean in two.

Argo tried to drop Delamar afterwards, but between the remaining four of us, we took him out and brought down the final lackey to clinch the win. It was a hard-won fight, and we paid dearly for it, but as Delamar pointed out to me - we walked off the field down a mech. They walked off the field down every mech.

I don't know how things stand between me and Praya now. At least whatever matter prompted this duel is resolved, and... well, now people can see we're not pushovers. And I think I proved something to myself - despite everything, I do deserve to be here.

In the aftermath, we decided that if we weren't a team before, we are now. We even have a name: the Lunar Falcons.

For the first time in a very long while, I feel something like optimism. I desperately, desperately don't want to jinx it... but I think I remember how to hope again.

[problematicbots]

Winged Sentinel au Snippet 9: Downfall

TW: Angst.

“It's really nothing, Sp!” Jazz exclaimed hurriedly as he threw the note into the garbage chute, but Sentinel, in a flash, snatched it from the air with incredible speed.

Sentinel began to read what was written on the note in silence, a silence that Jazz didn't like as he felt his spark beat out of his chest plate in pure fear. Sentinel finished the note and crumbled up on his servo, looking infuriated.

“You're leaving, and for what? That organic planet that you barely know anything about?” shouted Sentinel with an angry laugh as smoke came out of his pipes. In a rage, he was tempered to throw the note at Jazz's faceplate as he stomped closer to the white mech.

“n-not anymore. I changed my mind, SP, I'm staying so..you just, you know, toss that away,” gulped Jazz backing away from Sentinel. “So there is no reason to talk about it”

“Oh no, we’re talking about this right now, “ shouted Sentinel, backing Jazz up against his desk before noticing the crack in his shades. “Wait a minute… Did somebody hurt you? Is that why you're quitting? Who hurt you!”

“I-it doesn't matter-” Jazz is immediately cut off by Sentinel's shouting louder than before.

“As your subcommander, I demanded to know what scrap happened to you; tell me now!“ demanded Sentinel, leaning his faceplate closer to Jazz and his chest plate nearly touching his, making Jazz look small compared to a giant winged mech.

Jazz swallowed hard; he had never been this near to a jet before, and a sense of unease washed over him as he began to tremble as every fear he had about jets flashed across his hard drive

“I- it was a protest alright but you know you don't have to go out there and fight them or be arrested sp!” confessed Jazz “I know how to solve of this”

“They assaulted you?!, tell me how exactly this is going to end without somebody getting arrested!!” screamed Sentinel on his last nerve.

“You drop Project Vedette and Project Safeguard” yelped Jazz. “End all of this, no more jets, and everyone go back to being grounded”

This left Sentinel in a state of astonished silence as he took a step back from Jazz, a look of disbelief on his faceplate, though traces of anger remained.

“What…” Sentinel murmured, his frustration simmering just beneath his helm.

“So, just think about, I mean, just look at everything that has happened ever since this project was approved, “ cried Jazz, trying to explain his point of view. “Autobots fighting other Autobots, do you really want that future? “

Sentinel couldn't believe this was coming out of Jazz's glossa and that he could feel that jets could drive Cybertron apart when it could easily do so much good for its future; sure there were downsides like the protests, but in fairness, pleasing everyone is impossible: a lesson Jazz had yet to understand.

“Everything will be just fine and everyone would be happy if you guys just you know called or quit” continued Jazz “There is nothing to lose from this and nobody has to fight each other “

Nothing to lose?

Now that pissed off Sentinel since taking away flying would be taking away what Sentinel felt like became a part of himself, his identity, and not just his identity but also the twins, along with many other Cybertronians, longed to experience flight as well.

The idea of seeing that all his hard work being undone would be a fate worse than getting offline and he won’t allow that at all.

“Do you think I'll be fine that a part of me I just discovered is taken away, do you think Jetfire and Jetstorm would be perfectly fine, unable to fly again without even asking them what they want to do with their own frame?” questioned Sentinel angrily.

Sentinel wasn't done yet he had so much to say against Jazz's argument and to get out of his chest plate.

“ And do you think those bots who wanted to be jets will be fine after their only and one shot is taken away, do seriously believe everything will just be fine if jets Autobots suddenly just don't exist!” continued Sentinel on a full-on rant. “and you know what… whether you like it or not you can't please everyone you met ”

Sentinel's words strike a core within Jazz since he begins to feel guilty; however, his fear of Autobots hurting each other and his unease against jets outweigh his better judgment.

“we-well, who knows, maybe Jetfire and Jetstorm would love being grounded bots again. After all, they were forced into this, weren't they? “ gulped Jazz, trying to find a defense for his argument, yet unfortunately, Sentinel brought up a lot of good points “.So I don't see why they would enjoy this at all”

“You don't know that, you don't even know who they are or what they even wanted!” argued Sentinel back.

“And somehow you do, like aren't you just their mentor” questioned Jazz a bit condescendingly

This was the final straw for Sentinel as he pulled something out before tossing it directly at Jazz's chest plate, which Jazz quickly caught in his servos. To his surprise, it wasn't his resignation letter; instead, it was a messy drawing of twins with Sentinel in the middle, and above it were the words “us.”

Jazz's faceplate twisted into one of guilt and petrification once he immediately realized the implication of the drawing: Sentinel was friends with Jetfire and Jetstorm… this changed everything.

“Sp i- I didn't know-” Jazz was unfortunately cut off by Sentinel stepping to the side and pointing to the door with his servo.

“LEAVE” simply demanded Sentinel, red in the faceplate. “NOW, THAT'S AN ORDER.”

“Sp wait-”

“I SAY LEAVE “

Jazz, taken aback in guilt complied with Sentinel's request and exited the room while still holding the drawing in his servos.

Once Jazz departed, Sentinel furiously hurled Jazz’s crumpled resignation letter against the window, yelling every insult, curse, and harsh word he could recall from his memory until he collapsed to the floor and started pounding it, struggling to hold back tears.

“Well, who needs him anyway? at least I still have Jetfire and Jetstorm by my side, right?” Sentinel thought to himself before getting back on his feet while still hissing in anger

As soon as Sentinel thought that, a minute later, Cliffjumper entered the room with Jetfire and Jetstorm behind him, who appeared bewildered and frightened.

“Sentinel, Ultra Magnus would like a world with you,” spoked Cliffjumper in a serious tone, “Directed orders. “

Oh great now what? This better be good news. The last thing Sentinel needs is bad news after getting out of an argument, though the expression on the twins' faceplates didn't inspire much confidence.

So with an angry grumble and gurgling under his breath, he followed Cliffjumper and the twins out of the room.

_________________________________________

Cliffjumper led Sentinel, Jetfire, and Jetstorm into a long hallway, where they continued walking for what felt like hours. During this, the twins began talking to each other in whispers.

“So you think..do you think they are going to..terminate… Project Safeguard?” whispered Jetstorm in concern. “And so you think that means..are they going to terminate us too?”.

“Hey, maybe..it's not termination, maybe it's just one of those boring updates where we're just in and out,” whispered Jetfire back, trying to comfort his brother despite clearly being scared himself.

“I hope so “ sighed Jetstorm before turning around “What do you think Sentinel Sir “

The last thing Sentinel wanted right now was to talk to anyone right now and the idea of talking about potentially losing the twins when just lost Jazz scared him to his code, but he refused to show it.

“I- let's just get this over with, “ huffed Sentinel, crossing his arms and hiding his fears under a tough exterior.

Before long, they entered the council hall, where Cliffjumper moved aside to observe from a corner with Ironhide, who was, naturally, munching on popcorn.

Sentinel let out a gurgle as he looked up at the council of Autobots glaring down at him, filled with anger and discontent.

“Sentinel Prime, would you mind clarifying this?” questioned Ultra Magnus in clear anger as he hurled a datapad from his desk into Sentinel's servos, which Sentinel, startled, swiftly caught before it could fall.

Sentinel's optics expanded in shock as he read the message on the datapad, which stated: “Sentinel is bragging about taking us to the best place ever, something about an Archa Seven?”.

Sentinel immediately recognized the writing: this was no other than Elita One's Journal and this made his temperature rise to extreme levels. How could the commander do such a vile act

Sentinel usually would save any bad thoughts about Ultra Magnus in private and wouldn't go out of his way to yell at the commander but Ultra Magnus just crossed a line: Magnus just read something that was supposed to be private and this made Sentinel unable to think properly

“Y- YOU READ HER JOURNAL “ shouted Sentinel for the first time at Ultra Magnus’s faceplate “THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE PRIVATE, HOW DID YOU GET THIS”

Ultra Magnus widened his optics in surprise when Sentinel shouted at him while the rest of the council whispered to each other in shock; however, the commander didn't back down from the upcoming argument.

“THAT DOESN'T EXCUSE THE FACT THAT THE INCIDENT THAT CURSE YOU COLLEAGUE DEMISES WAS YOUR IDEA DESPITE OPTIMUS CLAIMING OTHERWISE, “ shouted Ultra Magnus back sternly. “So it’s Fortune that Longarms informed us of this”

Sentinel backed away in fear when Ultra Magnus shouted back yet however he

clutched his servo into a fist the more the commander talked: he couldn't believe that Ultra Magnus was implying that he was the one that murdered Elita One when he did anything he could to try to save her and Longarms..how could he do this to him

“WAIT, IT WAS YOU!” shouted Sentinel, turning his attention to Longarms, who stared back at Sentinel with a look of guilt across his faceplate. “Y- YOU PIECE OF SCRAP”

Before Sentinel could tear Longarm piece by piece he was cut off by Ultra Magnus's booming voice that scared him back into obedience “ THAT ENOUGH SENTINEL”

Jetfire and Jetstorm didn't know what was going on, yet they still decided to stand on Sentinel's side, ready to defend him if needed even if it was a risk at their own expense.

“Well, what exactly kind of excuse do you have for reading that Journal” pointed out Jetstorm without any hesitation doe once since he was defending a friend

“Oh I know none!” added Jetfire, crossing his arms and glaring at Ultra Magnus in disdain.

Sentinel appreciated the defense, but he didn't want the twins to get themselves in trouble, so he tried to shush them by gesturing for them to be quiet; however, it didn't matter since Ultra Magnus didn't seem to care about their opinion.

“Sentinel prime I now could clearly see that I should have sent you to earth instead of Optimus” spoked Ultra Magnus coldly “For this crime you shall be suspended from your duties as subcommander and will serve as under maintenance until father investigation “

Sentinel, Jetfire, and Jetstorm optics widened in dread at this knowing this could separate them from each other which is something that they didn't want at all

“Wai-wait what about Jetfire and Jetstorm or-” Sentinel got off by Ultra Magnus’s firm voice

“Your duties will be passed on to Longarms and project safeguard shall we be supervised under Alpha Trion from the moment forward,” declared Ultra Magnus.

Alpha Trion, whose faceplate that was once a little smirk at the whole situation, turned into a look of disgust and shock once he realized he had to supervise those “things”.

“What?” yelped Alpha Trion and Sentinel, simultaneously in shock at this decision. Neither was happy about this.

“That’s an order, Alpha Trion. You shall start your training with project Safeguard right now, and Sentinel, you shall start your maintenance duties as well, “demanded Ultra Magnus. “Understand?”

Ultra Mangus's booming voice stunned everyone into silence. There was not a single brave spark in there that was willing to go against him at least directly.

“Of course, Sir,” Sighed Alpha Trion, getting up from his desk and began approaching the twins, who stared at old mechs in apprehension, but Sentinel protectively stood in front of them as it was by pure instinct.

“Wait- huh, can at least..see this new training taking place, “ gulped Sentinel. “I mean, it is not against protocol to watch a simple training session, right? “

Sentinel's hesitant to follow Ultra Magnus's orders right away is getting on Alpha Trion's last nerves until he remembers Sentinel now is technically no longer sub commander which puts a smile on the old mech faceplate.

“That would be unnecessary in fact I forbid you to walk through the doors of the training grounds “ smirked Alpha Trion “And before you argue may I remind you you're no longer Sub-Commander, now step aside unless you want to be low maintenance, that an order”

Damn, Sentinel wanted to punch that faceplate so badly as he stared daggers at the old mech’s optics before shifting his attention to the twins, who were both holding back their tears not wanting their friend to be taken away from them

“Sentinel, sir, don't let him take us away from you, “ whispered Jetstorm to Sentinel while Jetfire comforted his brother by putting a servo on his shoulder.

“i-i’ll think of something, ok!” whispered Sentinel back before reluctantly stepping aside “Just huh look out for each other ok “

Sentinel watched in disgust as Alpha Trion hardly grabbed the Jetfire and Jetstorm by the shoulders, his servo digging deeper creating a scraping sound before the old mech left the rooms with the twins.

Damn it, Sentinel was itching to chase after that old mech and land a few punches; it would be satisfying to show that ancient cog a thing or two. However, before Sentinel could come up with various ideas on how to kick Alpha Trion’s rear, Ultra Magnus interjected once more

“Now that it is settled, I believe there is a mass hall that needs to be cleaned,” spoke the commander directly at Sentinel.

_________________________________________

A few days passed, and Sentinel couldn't believe his career had been thrown out the window thanks to Longarms exposing Elita’s Journal; he was now mopping floors of the mass hall like some kind of low-rated, and worst of all, he couldn't even see the twins from here.

He tried multiple times to sneak a peek at the training grounds however his.... current role... prevented him from making an excuse to get close to the observation deck, as his tasks always kept him in this wretched hall that lacked any windows overlooking the training area, and sneaking around wasn't an option since Alpha Trion had the nerve to remind everyone in the base that he was supposed to be in the mass hall.

The only somewhat good thing is that Sentinel was nearly done wiping the stains off the floor, which was his last task before he could finally escape back to his quarters for some rest.

“Come on, come on!” grumbled Sentinel pushing the towel up and down on the floor while on his knees: he never felt this pathetic since he was just a head.

Finally, after what felt like a whole cycle Sentinel was able to clear off the stain: he was finally free at least he thought so until-

SPLASH

He turned his helm to find that Ironhide had spilled some oil on a table.. a table that Sentinel just cleaned an hour ago.. worst of all Ironhide did it on purpose since there was a smirk look on his faceplate.

“Hey Sentinel Prime, clean up on aisle nine “ mocked Ironhide“or should I say maintenance Prime”

“Wow,” Sentinel thought to himself... his own insult used against him…Is this how Optimus felt? Because this was an utter nightmare if this was what he had to put up with almost every day, .

Sentinel's optics flicker as Ironhide nonchalantly threw his empty oil can at Sentinel's faceplate before exiting the mess hall with a laugh that was infuriating

“THAT NOT EVEN AN ORIGINAL INSULT YOU COGHEAD “. Shouted Sentinel with smoke coming out of his pipes before picking up the empty can of oil and storming towards a chute

With a huff, Sentinel lifted the lid of the trash chute, uncovering a dark descending passage that leads to…who knows where the waste ends up? Most likely toward an incinerator or something similar. He didn’t care. He just flung the oil can into the chute and observed it glide down the passage until…

THUMP

Now that piqued Sentinel's interest because it wasn’t the expected sound of burning or crushing like he expected, but rather a loud thud

It seems like this garbage chute has a bottom to it that wasn’t a deathly fall. This immediately gave him an idea: if he couldn't go through the doors to the training grounds..he could use this other option.

He quickly shook his helm at this idea: this was crazy! Throwing himself into a garbage chute like a madbot is a new kind of low point not to mention completely disgusting.

However, he looked at a reflection of himself on the shinning walls of the mass hall that showed his now missing elite guard symbol that was once on his chest plate making him realize he had nothing left to lose: any career and dignity he once held were thrown out the window all thanks to Longarms and the least Sentinel could do was to check on the twins to make sure they are doing well since those two were the only thing that he has left.

Plus anything would be better than spending another hour cleaning the same room over and over again or potentially breaking protocol.

“I can't believe I'm doing this, “gurgled Sentinel, scanning around the mass hall to make sure that nobody saw him.

After confirming that no one was around, he breathed deeply, stepped back a few paces, and then jumped into the garbage chute, gliding down the sloping passage into the impending darkness that awaited him.

[mysteryverse6]

Mystery kids remake comic pt 12 episode 2

(The scene transitions through a pan, coming to a parlor scattered with old broken furniture. Neil suspiciously kicks at an old chair while Mabel peeks behind dusty curtains, and Raz is in the foreground with goggles over his eyes, using clairvoyance. Dipper opens a closet, and stares. Against the dark wood of the closet's back wall is an even deeper black-a large triangle almost as tall as he is. He takes a moment to rub his eyes; the triangle seems to be talking to itself...)

Bill Cipher: ... HM, THIS WASN'T A PROPER SUMMO-OH BOY, LOOKS LIKE I'M A LITTLE EARLY! WELL, YOU'VE GOT YOUR WORK CUT OUT FOR YOU KID, I'LL TELL YOU THAT. UNTIL THEN, SWEET DREAMS!

(-With snap of its fingers and a flash, the triangle vanishes, and Dipper blinks his eyes open with a start.)

Dipper Pines: Aa

Mabel Pines: What's wrong, broseph?

Dipper Pines: (Uncertain) I... I think it was my nightmare, but... it's already gone.

Neil Downe: If it's gone, isn't that good?

Dipper Pines: I guess.... C'mon, that means there's only two to go.

Mabel Pines: That's the spirit! Nothing's gonna stop this train from rollin'!

Neil Downe: Yeah!

Lancer: Hurray, another victory!

(The two high-five, and lead the way down the hall to the next room,)

Lancer: And we still owe it to you, will take forever

Ralsei: Look

(They all listen to Ralsei)

Ralsei: there is an inscription

(They all come to the door and look at the writing, open it if you dare.)

Mabel Pines: So we believed it.

Susie: A door with threats. What a nightmare of a motivation. Okay, screw you, I'm opening it.

(She opens the door and there is another tunnel in front of him, but suddenly someone comes up to them, and it was a creepy mutated dog and a fire monster, it is immediately obvious that the fire monster is a fear demon, which made Neil and Susie stunned, and the two begin to pounce on them, but Razputin Aquato attacks with his psionic blasts on the dog, but only smashes him, Ralsei tries to calm down with his prayers on the fire monster and the dog, but only fell into a rage)

Ralsei: What else can we do?!

Razputin Aquato: Neil and Susie You are welcome to help win x!

Susie: UMM... Ro.. I'm

Neil Downe: (Frightened) "But it's a dog, and it's hurt, and-"

Razputin Aquato: Don't think of it as a dog, it's a really good movie prop?

(He pauses to study the hydraulics responsible for the chest-mouth before the mutant lunges again.)

Ralsei: Listen, it's normal to be afraid, but don't let nightmares happen. Gain the upper hand over you,

Lancer: They are right, guys! Yes

Mabel Pines: What are ya waiting for? You got this, man! Slug that sucker!"

Lancer: Yes

(voodashiv both of them fight with their nightmares first goes Neil ready to fight with the mutant dog and he pokes with his loshka fork right into the chest and he spews smoke and disappears, meanwhile the fire monster bows from Susie's attacks than gloats but he dies from Susie's attacks)

Susie: Enough already!

(And they won)

Ralsei: Guys, you did it!

Dipper Pines and Mabel Pines and Lancer: Well done guys

Neil Downe: (Relieved) "I am so glad that was not real."

Susie: Yes, but a good slap, and then both cruelty and nasi I just need a great option

(But Susie feels something strange in her stomach and she spews fire, which shocks everyone.)

Susie: Now I, Dragon!!!

Lancer: Hooray Susie!!!

Dipper Pines: So, I'm very glad that Susie received the ability of the mech, let's pass on the important topic, what was it even from where?

Neil Downe: Um, so... Me and Norman watch horror movies together a whole lot. Usually I don't mind them, 'cause I know it's all fake movie stuff, but sometimes if a dog like, gets hurt or is one of the monsters, I... kinda get really upset."

Mabel Pines: I understand completely."

Razputin Aquato: "Makes sense. Haven't you told him about it though?"

Lancer: Didn't he say

Susie: That's it

Neil Downe: Nah, he's usually pretty good about it, he just forgets sometimes. He'd feel really bad if he knew about this though... It's from one of his favorites, so if you guys could... not mention it, that'd be good."

(The others nod or otherwise agree, and he wraps them all in a hug.)

Neil Downe: (Cheerfully) "You guys know what this means, right? Only Raz's nightmare is left!"

(-Raz's smile disappears.)

Razputin Aquato: I hope it'll be as easy as yours, but I have a feeling it won't. I've dealt with a lot of stuff that would give anyone nightmares."

Dipper Pines: "We'll be there to help you out no matter what man. You've already helped... most of us, so we should return the favor."

Razputin Aquato: "Thanks. Chances are it's already something I've beaten the crap out of before though, I can do it again."

Mabel Pines: Yeah! Punching stuff! Let's go find that nightmare and show it who's boss!"

(-Mabel leads the way out the others right on her heels, their morale boosted by her cheer and the ease of their task so far.)

Dipper Pines: Pines: I can ask those

Ralsei: Which

Dipper Pines: What is this apocalypse that Susie was talking about?

Ralsei: Yes. This apocalypse is called "the roaring" if the fountains are too many, the world will fall into chaos, creatures known as titans will sow chaos on the earth. All the dark will eventually turn to stone, and the light will be left to their fate

(And Dipper started to think)

[karriethemechtech]

For your Glimpses of the Past game, might I request INJURED, please?

(OOC: Of course you can!)

(It's over 2000 words now, oh wow. I did not know I even had writing like this still in me. Genuinely thank you so much to all of you for managing to instill this level of passion in me again. I put it under the read more since it's quite long and I don't want to destroy your dash. I'll finish the other prompt or two I have, I hope I edited this one enough; I need a nap.)

            “Alright, Alpha lance, move to the right! Beta lance, with me!” barked the Captain. “Let’s sweep this place and go home. I’m getting awful tired of taking orders from that Feddie bigwig.”

The orders had been simple: Capellan landing crafts had been detected on long-range scanners touching down twenty klicks from the garrison. Not that it mattered, thought Karrie. The sensors were ancient, radar-only, and prone to failure. She had offered to take a look at them for their employer, of course; the Captain almost had to pull the Federated Suns diplomat off her after she even suggested the equipment they had been provided with was poor. And it would have been such a simple fix, really nothing more than a calibration. It would have taken Karrie no time at all, even if she’d looped in the spare seismic sensors she’d pulled from the last share of salvage…

“DeLacey! Distracted, are we?” the Captain shouted over comms. “Alpha lance is moving out! Get your lazy ass out there!”

Karrie grumbled a rough agreement and turned her ‘Mech around; the beaten Trebuchet gave a tipsy sway of protest as she trotted after the rest of her lance.

“Captain! Are we sure there’s anyone here at all?” she asked.

“Just get back to work.”

And so the patrol proceeded, one mind-numbing minute blending into the next as the darkly-painted ‘Mechs marched across the rolling plain. Even the land was bored; the grasses were punctuated by very few trees, and the tree line marked the horizon through the shimmer of the summer heat. Conversations started and ended quickly, the relentless monotony eventually robbing the MechWarriors of anything new to talk about. Some groaned their complaints over the comms; they were usually met with the Captain’s swift and brutal reprimand. But even he’s starting to get tired of this, Karrie realized.

The Captain’s voice balanced on the razor’s-edge of sleep as he broke the yawning quiet. “Alright, Dark Wolves! That’s enough. Just another false alarm.” He punched the console. “Time to head home!”

He sighed. “What a waste of time.”

No sooner than the Captain finished speaking, all hell broke loose.

Alpha lance’s Thunderbolt lurched suddenly. The MechWarrior screamed into the mic, “Mines! Fuck, it’s an—”

Her ‘Mech staggered, an awkward hop on one foot. One step forward was all it took to trigger the second mine, and suddenly the Thunderbolt was on the ground, the mercenary’s screams filling the airwaves as her machine erupted in a fiery blast.

In the tall grasses and trees, previously undetected engines roared to life, the angry howl of diesel engines kept warm waiting for this very moment. An ambush! Tanks and vehicles raced out of hiding like bolts of lightning. The Trebuchet’s TRO computer squealed with the strain of identifying them all, flashing their information across Karrie vision almost too fast to read.

“Hold formation, Wolves!” said the Captain. “We don’t know where those mines are. Alpha Lance! Deal with them.” His King Crab opened its massive claws, revealing the massive smoothbore cannons within.

Karrie panicked. Vehicles! It was so obvious. She almost couldn’t believe how easily she’d fallen for it. She flipped a switch on her control panel and missiles poured from her Trebuchet’s torso—anti-mine rounds, exploding near the ground as she fired on the burning hulk of her former coworker. The mines retorted in fiery bursts, filling the air with smoke. Perfect. In a flash, she ran for the tree line, her ‘Mech’s arms an exaggerated “follow me” wave as she looked back on the other members of Alpha lance. The lance’s Griffin leaped after her; the Centurion did not.

“What the hell are you doing, Karrie?” came the ‘Mech’s pilot over comms. “Captain said to stand ground!” He braced as a shower of missiles pelted the Centurion’s armored left side. “And that’s what I’m doing!” With a yell, the mercenary opened fire with the Centurion’s autocannon, and the air filled with the scream of high-volume lead.

“You dumbass! You’re going to get yourself killed!” The Trebuchet rocked from the impact of a tank shell—thankfully only class five, based on the armor report, she thought.

Karrie flipped her comms to a private channel. “You!” she said to the pilot of the Griffin. “Do you want to die? No? Then follow me!” The MechWarrior offered no response but continued to follow. Karrie ran along the tree line, stopping only to kick or shoot the half-dozen armored trucks that had her in their sights.

SRMs flashed into burning light against her left leg, and to her dread the Trebuchet’s engine let out a low, pained whine. “Infernos! Captain, they’ve got Inferno rounds!”

“What are you doing out of formation, MechWarrior? Get back in line!”

“Sir, now’s not the time!” Karrie retorted, simultaneously retorting to incoming fire with the ‘Mech’s missile banks. The missiles arced through the air gracefully, and it was all she could do not to feel mesmerized watching them as she loosed another salvo for good measure.

“Bullshit. You two get back here!” The violent boom of the Captain’s AC/20s shook the windows of the Trebuchet’s cockpit.

A second round of Inferno missiles struck her ‘Mech’s right side, and warning lights began to flash. The targeting systems are giving out! She needed time to cool.

“Cover me!”

Her lancemate’s response came in the form of hot blue laser fire as she ducked into the woods. She counted the seconds, heart racing with fear. Her breath caught hot in her throat. One, two, three. The heat gauges finally started to dip below the red. Four, five, six…

“Karrie! Get back in the fight!” The Captain’s voice was somehow louder in her neurohelmet than the retort of his guns. “I don’t pay cowards!”

“Sir, I’m doing what I can!” Her Trebuchet pounded out of the trees, emerald beams pulsing from its arms as she fired on the tank the Centurion was currently trading shots with. The tank’s turret began to rotate, bringing its cannon to bear on the barreling ‘Mech, but not before she slammed her foot into it, punting it like a football with as much force as the myomers could give. It flipped once, twice in the air before landing with a crunch on its turret.

“You ass, I had that!” shouted the Centurion’s pilot.

“Please, you’re full of holes!” Karrie scoffed, already bringing her ‘Mech around to another target. “You should stay with the lance!”

“And you should stay in formation, MechWarrior!” shouted the Captain. “Now get back here!”

His lumbering ‘Mech broke into a run, followed by the rest of Beta lance. The ground shook with the impact of the Assault ‘Mechs’ weight. “You see that? Their lines are opening! We’ve got a chance to get behind ‘em!” The Captain’s autocannons boomed, followed by curtains of missiles from the ‘Mech’s flat carapace. “Dark Wolves, with me!”

“You heard the man,” said the Centurion’s pilot. “Move, DeLacey.” He broke into a run, pulling the smoking ‘Mech alongside its heavier allies. With a disgruntled sigh, Karrie obliged; as she did so, her heart sank.

“Sir, this is wrong. They’re ambushing us; why would they leave a hole like that?”

“’Cause we’re kicking their asses! Now move!”

“Sir, we should pull back.”

“Is that cowardice I hear, MechWarrior?”

Karrie drew in a shuddering breath. “No, sir!”

“Attagirl.” The captain grabbed a fleeing truck in the King Crab’s claws and crushed it as he ran, tossing it aside like an empty can of beer.

Without warning, the company’s HawkWolf flashed with brilliant light. It stumbled, briefly connected to its assailant by three bolts of lightning, and crumpled to the ground.

“Sir, there’s another force!” said the Griffin’s pilot. “They have PPC carriers!”

The King Crab skidded to a halt. “Shit, it’s another trap! Dark Wolves, stay close!”

PPC fire arced through the air again. Two shots went wide over the King Crab’s wide shoulders while a third struck the flat top of the ‘Mech dead on. It rocked on its feet for a moment before once again breaking into a run towards the hidden tank, autocannons rolling like thunder. A second bank of PPC beams struck the side of the captain’s machine—this time two hit dead on, putting smoking holes in the ‘Mech’s right claw. Karrie loosed a salvo of missiles at the second tank, joined by the now-upright HawkWolf, desperate to provide the company some cover. The missiles scattered into a bough of trees, from which another volley of crackling beams issued as if in reply. Karrie broke her Trebuchet into a mad run, dumping more missiles into the trees in hopes she might knock out one of the second tank’s emitters.

A click. The missiles had run out. Had she miscounted? “Sir, I’ve run dry!” Karrie yelped.

“Move, Delacey!” came the Captain’s reply.

“What?”

“I said move—"

And the world was a blur of color and noise. Karrie screamed. Ice cold pain shot through her body, and her hair stood on end. The moment seemed to stretch on forever, a cacophony of agony punctuated only by the slicing of shrapnel into her flesh. Karrie leaned forward in her seat, reeling, vision blurry. She was going to die here. As the pain overwhelmed her senses, that she knew. She was going to die here. It started as a low rumble in the back of her mind, She was going to die here, then echoed backwards off her forehead, she screamed in protest, She was going to die here, the echoes were joined by others as her mind filled with a whirling cacophony of panic and pain, She was going to die here. She could feel it. As the pain scrabbled across her nerve endings, reached all the way to the tips of her fingers, arcing from them like a Tesla coil onto the delicate electronics in front of her, it was as certain as a wedding vow.

She was going to die here.

Slowly, wretchedly, the world came back into focus, the ringing in her ears blocking out most of the raging battle outside the ‘Mech. There was a burning, smoking hole right in the center of the Trebuchet’s face—her window was gone. She was lucky she wasn’t too. Hot wind whipped through the newly formed void as she limped her Trebuchet towards the Captain’s damaged King Crab.

The Captain shouted something at Karrie; she couldn’t hear a word he said. Her skin was still flushed with pain; blood dripped down her exposed arms and onto the floor. She raised her ‘Mech’s arms, VSP lasers firing wildly as she tried half-consciously to find purchase against something. Anything. The Captain shouted something again. It almost sounded like retreat, but over the din of the battlefield she couldn’t tell.

But She was going to die here. No longer an echo, the thought erected itself a deathly promise in her clouded mind.

“…Go!” Karrie screamed like a wounded animal. She spat blood from her bleeding tongue and continued to fire. The engine shrieked in protest as one, two impacts struck the torso. The rest of the company limped away behind her, into safety, away from the clutches of the Capellan trap. Below her, the failing containment fields of the mech beat like a giant heart in time with her own. Once more she bellowed a desperate cry of war, and once more she fired her meager payload into the oncoming wall of tanks. As they approached, the pulses got closer together, the ‘Mech itself flinching even as Karrie failed to.

Huh, some detached part of her thought. The pulses always have prime number frequencies. Another cannon round planted itself in the Trebuchet’s exposed chest and Karrie’s head snapped back in her seat.

The impact left her brain no room to think. There was no room left to shout.

Only shoot. Another shot. Another shot. Another shot. Another shot. And another.

Karrie didn’t even notice as her ‘Mech tumbled to the ground beneath her.

One. More. Shot.

Then relief.

[kierastransformerssideblog]

"What Are You Fighting For"

CLANG!!!

The morning star of a glowing purple flail is smacked away by a bright orange axe. There’s the distant crack of gunfire, the yelling of soldiers in combat, the roar of jet engines above.

WHACK! BANG! CLANG!

The axe and flail clash together as their wielders practically dance on uneven terrain. Embers scatter to the sky, blue liquid spills from the injured and dying, bright pink blasts fly this way and that, and the ground rumbles with every artillery strike.

VRRRRRRRRR…

The flail’s wielder charges up a large black gun on his arm, and a bright, searing blast fires out of it with a loud BOOM!!! The axe’s wielder holds his arm in front of him defensively, and in a second a glowing blue field appears in front of him to shield him. The blast hits the shield and the sheer force causes him to skid back several inches, but with summoned strength, he manages to take a few steps forward toward his attacker. When the intense blast finally dies, he drops his shield and rushes at his opponent, swinging his axe upward to block another hit from the flail, only for his opponent to grab the handle of his axe and with a swift motion, throw its user across the battlefield, disarming him in the process. The axe wielder moves to get up as his opponent approaches closer through the smoke.

“You fight well, Optimus Prime.” His opponent’s low, gravely voice rings out as the axe is pressed against his own throat. “...Let me ask you something before I take your life here.” Optimus’s eyes go from the weapon at his neck to his opponent's glowing red eyes. “You fight with the same conviction as a Decepticon. The same determination as the bots who fight for liberation from the council that created your faction. Tell me. What brings you to the battlefield? Do you believe in any cause?”

He leans down near Optimus’s voice with a grin.

“Or are you trying to get revenge for your fallen mentor?”

A flash of anger goes through Optimus’s optics, smoke starting to billow from his exhaust pipes. He narrows his eyes at the mech in front of him, his mask hiding most of his expression.

“You are mistaken, Megatron.” The addressed mech begins to lean away as Optimus speaks, still keeping the blade at his neck. “My Autobots might have been created by a councilman, but they seek the same freedoms as your Decepticons. We all wish to live in peace.” Megatron narrows his eyes as Optimus shifts on the ground to more directly make eye contact with him. “But the actions you have taken have only hurt more of the people you are trying to liberate. If the peace we both seek is to last, the violence must stop.”

“If you think for a second I’m going to roll over and play nice now that I’ve made my move, you are dumber than you look!” Megatron’s snaps. “We tried peaceful revolution, and your council made that impossible. I won’t stop until this entire planet has been scrubbed of their influence!”

“Then I won’t stop fighting you.” Optimus’s engine rumbles slightly like a growl. “Countless innocents, countless lives could be ruined in your conquest! Do you not care for them?!”

“What is a couple lives lost…” Megatron raises Optimus’s axe above his head, “compared to the millions that have suffered under the council’s reign?!”

Optimus suddenly transforms and uses the bed of his truck to swipe under Megatrons feet, tripping him. Optimus transforms back into robot mode to grab his axe from the air and spins it as he jumps back several feet, putting distance between himself and Megatron. He glares at Megatron intensely.

“In the quest for freedom, every life matters.”

Megatron growls, the helicopter blades on his back shaking before he rushes at Optimus with his flail again. The clang that rings out as the weapons clash is drowned by the sound of war around them…

[burntoutangel]

MECHANICAL SEX DRIVES

LEFT HAND AMMO AT 20% SHIELDS AT 10% ASSISTED AUGMENT SYSTEM RECOMMENDING IMMEDIATE RETURN TO BASE MISSION AT ACCEPTABLE LEVELS PILOT I AM BEGGING YOU TO TURN BAC-

Shut down the warning signs, disconnect the jack in your cranial nerves that lets the onboard AI inject suggestions tactics and orders from base command directly into you brain 

You dont need them now   

10-15 enemy units are closing in on your radar, 100 feet, 90 feet, tanks with jet engines jammed into them to allow increased maneuvers and speed. 500 feet shows an enemy mech, the one you’re chasing. So close now, just a little more

40 feet

20 feet

Enemy within range 

You slam yourself through the concrete walls of the civilian residence you hid behind, the trinkets and purchases of someones life atomized in a second, a careful move to throw off the lesser visibility of the tanks

The first two are crushed under a mix of rubble and reinforced steel beams, wires from the buildings power systems sparking and igniting fuel leaks. You’re already gone and grabbing tank 4 as a club, its rotors squealing in open air as you crush it on top of tank 5, crushing them underfoot for good measure, neural links sending the details of a fleshy squish under your metal boots

3 units that had the misfortune of jetting behind you are torched in your boosters, jets of black smoke from the meat inside being cooked within seconds, they weren’t expecting a mech of this class, metal boxes with guns strapped on top are barely above the lowest rank of the food chain of combat

You arent sure if you’re the apex of that system, but you’re damn close 

The radar blip of the other pilot starts moving and you kick the violence into overdrive to make sure you’re ready and unbothered for her arrival, tanks 6-9 shatter and melt under you remaining left weapon ammo, not worth the waste of time for a proper violent death

She’s so close now

A few of the remaining tanks and what looks like two support flyers have joined her, jetting along in her wake like parasite fish, using her cone of violence to protect them from you. Gnats. Annoying insects that get in the way

You can see her through the optical systems now. Shining armor muddied and covered in scrap and imbedded shells and oil. The jagged mark of you shoulder mounted rail guns shot accents the beauty of her machine, a hole bitten through her abdominal armor, dripping oil and coolant and countless other substances that come together to make the death-angel before you.

Your fluids will mix soon. One way or another.

“YOU PSYCHO WHORE YOU DENTED MY SHELL” comes through her mechs speakers in a flurry of anger. Right shoulder lancer raised, charging, adjust two notches down, FIRE. That takes care of her speakers. We don’t need voices right now. 

She cuts boosters and doesn’t even bother counter boosting, simply stopping her furious momentum by crushing another apartment block, hands dragging deep gauges in the remaining landscape 

The remaining tanks are hit by your last 6 railgun shots, smoking craters burned into the ground as the flyers pepper small arms along your visors, blinding flashes as 7.62 shots ring against the sensors and antenna.

Out of nowhere her hand swats one out of the air, surprising even you Into stopping for a moment. Flyer 1 clips 2 as it sails through the sky, propelled by metal claws larger than its entire frame. Both create a cascade of sparks and light as missiles flares and fuel ignite midair. An incoming message from the last enemy in front of you flashes on your side monitor.

“FINE, WE’LL DO THIS THE HARD WAY”. 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Her heat knife eats through the plating of your left shoulder, jutting close to the collarbone before the blade snaps in your armor and imbeds itself to you. The pain is unimaginable, burning through the pilots nervous system as it screams loud enough to crack its own jaw slightly. The retaliation is immediate, a final spare railgun round rammed through your enemies leg, blowing her mechanical kneecap out, the arching head of her mech mimicking the agony her flesh-body is probably going through, metal jaw ripping open and spiked forehead crashing into your own as the final bit of shielding for both your bodies gives way with an ear popping CRACK and a smell of ozone and desperation. A fist that costs as much or more as this entire city unit crashes into your stomach, flesh body vomiting up a mix of pre mission meds and nutrient slurry as your nervous system tries to understand feeling pain without apparent source 

Your left leg boosts itself up at uncanny speeds, remaining boosters jetting it into her center mass, where a solar plexus would be if we were flesh and blood, her visor is cracking and you can feel the anger radiating off her core. Either that or a power system on the verge of collapse. Same difference. At the same time warning signs flash across your eyes, power running low, generator damage at near critical levels, heat rising to unacceptable perimeters, pilot neural-link and information stress at 88% and rising

Both of your bodies collapse, her failing knee dragging her down as metal screams under stress, her hands clawing you down with her, falling flat on your back, adjustment boosters spluttering as they fail to adjust the sudden horizontal nature of your body. Command is screaming at you over whats left of the comm system, and from the shivers of her body she’s hearing the same message, something about “reactor meltdowns taking out an entire populated area” and “blatant waste of company resources”.  The wires remaining in your brain make a pop as you rip them from sore and bleeding ports, last message being broadcast on a private mech to mech channel

“See you back at base baby, thanks for the good time <3”

[skylarkking]

To Heal a Mockingbird

A TFA Ratchet x Mech!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Chapter 6: Sparks of the Future

"Let me out!" I begged as I slammed my fists against the bars of my cell. "Please! Just let me out! You can't do this!"

"Shut it, you!" The prison guard barked as he jabbed me through the bars of with a shock rod, electricity pouring into my frame and causing me to yelp out in pain. "You're lucky the Magnus is even letting your sorry paint job live!"

The guard yanked the rod out of my frame, and I crashed to the floor like a sack of energon cubes, my seams hissing with smoke from the electrical shock I received. The guard then jabbed me again, causing a shriek of pain to rip through my voice box once again.

"In fact, I'm gonna make you WISH he hadn't!" The guard opened my cell and proceeded to beat the ever loving slag out of me. The entire time, I would try and fight back only to get put back to the floor with the shock rod. I ended up completely giving up to the beatings and laid limp on the floor. Small drips of energon leaked from my intake and down my dermas, eventually making contact with the floor with light drip sound.

When the guard was done thrashing me about, he left and re locked my cell with a disturbing grin on his face.

"Oh, by the way," he said. "Megatron says hello." Before I could respond, the guard turned and left, leaving me alone in the dark prison.

'Primus... have mercy...' I thought to myself as I slowly and shakily pushed my frame back upright, stumbling a little in the process. 'I... I don't know what... what they are telling me....' I limped over to the recharge slab that was bolted to the wall, carefully maneuvering my now battered and beaten frame onto it with my back facing the bars of my cell. 'But... but i.... I can't... be who they... they claim I am...' I curled up tightly and allowed my optics to close.

"Primus... if you can hear me... please... they need to know i... I'm innocent." I quietly prayed.

But deep down, I knew that was a lie, yet I couldn't give anyone a reason for it. All I felt was guilt.

I ended up drifting into recharge, and in my dreams, I saw disaster and chaos. Thousands laid strewn dead across a battlefield and in the center stood Megatron with a cold and sadistic smile on his face.

In his grip was a glowing crystalline gem that seemed to hum and pulse like a thousand sparks all in unison.

'Help us.' I heard the gem whisper in many voices. 'Find us. Save us.'

The dream then changed to what looked to be a staging area for a siege outside of where I knew the Well of Allsparks was located, most likely outside of Crystal City.

'They will find us! They will hurt us! Hurry! Please!'

I jolted awake with a gasp and an overwhelming sense of dread crossed my spark like a shard of ice. A dread one should never ignore. A dread of the end.

"Gotta... gotta get outta here." I whispered to myself as I shakily pushed my frame upright. "Gotta... get to... the Allspark."

-with Ratchet and the others -

"And you're saying this data just straight up appeared?" Ratchet asked with a cocked optic ridge.

"Yeah and?" Pharma huffed. "It's still information that is evidence and support for Y/D's deactivation." Pharma then turned to the Magnus with a stern look. "You need to have him terminated."

"Not until this information is traced back to the source." Ultra Magnus said firmly before motioning for Wheeljack. "Wheeljack, can you run a trace in the data?"

"I can try." Wheeljack said as he went over to Pharma's work station and began running various lines of code in order to find where the data came from. "My question is why someone would send this in the first place?"

As if on queue, an alert popped up on a nearby workstation, then another, and another. Alarms began to blare, and lights flashed wildly, surprising the group of Autobots.

"To distract us from that!" Ratchet said as he pointed to the alert. "The security system for the brig has gone offline. Y/D isn't the only Decepticon down there!"

-with Y/D-

"There..." I murmured to myself as I retracted my probes from the wall, the bars to all the cell doors in the brig dropping and releasing everyone inside. "I'm sorry, my friends... but this is necessary."

"Hey! We're free!" One of the other Decepticon prisoners exclaimed.

"Go go go!" Another one yelled. The next thing I knew, Decepticons of all shapes and sizes were making a break for it. At the same time, swarms of Elite Guard came rushing in.

Battle broke out, and I did the best I could to dodge and weave through the chaos. I eventually made it across the prison and towards an emergency exit that led directly outside. Once I went through that exit, I quickly made a beeline for my best route to Crystal City.

That route being an Autobot space bridge.

"Almost there." I said to myself as I stumbled over and quickly hijacked the controls. "Just gotta enter the coordinates -"

"Hey! There's one!" A guard yelled.

"Scrap!" I cursed to myself as I saw the guard and a few others running down towards me. "Hurry, hurry! Cmon, cmon!" Suddently, the space bridge fired up, and the glowing swirl of color roared to life. "Yes!"

"He's getting away!" The guard yelled. I quickly dove on through the bridge and tumbled out the other side, the bridge closing shortly after and preventing the guard from following.

"Too close." I panted as I shakily looked about. I somehow emerged right inside of the walls of Crystal City rather than through another space bridge. I didn't have time to ponder the oddity of that. I needed to find the Allspark.

I dove into the alleyways and weaved through the Autobot city, taking extra care so as not to be spotted by the passing of guard and civilians. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, the injuries I gained from the guard who beat me started to take its toll once again. 

I ended up slumping in one of the side alleys, my vents heavy and straining from the pain.

'Dammit.' I thought to myself. 'Can't... can't keep moving... but... but I gotta.' I looked over to my wings and stared at the bold violet insignia that adorned them. I then proceeded to scratch at them, drawing thin streams of energon to the surface with each mark until the insignia was barely visible. I did the same to the other side, effectively solidifying my abandonment of the Decepticons. 'There... that way if I am found... they'll think I'm neutral. Hopefully. Primus....'

I ended up falling into a light recharge in that alleyway. But it wouldn't last very long as the sound of combat would reach my audials and awaken me from my slumber.

'Dammit!' I thought as I saw several autobot soldiers and guard rush down the streets with weapons in hand. 'I've gotta move my aft! But... where do I go?'

I felt a tug on my spark as I thought this as if the Allspark itself were calling me, and I knew I had to trust it. I followed the pull through various backways and hidden alleys until I came across a strange structure nestled out of sight.

It had a large doorway with intricate designs carved into it that seemed to glow and hum with raw energon crystals. Hesitantly, I touched the designs, and they lit up like the night sky. The doorway cracked and ground as it slid open, exposing a long and dark hallway with streaks and swirls of light lining the sides. Cautiously, I entered and continued to trust the pull I was feeling on my spark, unaware that a few Autobots and a certain medic were following not far behind me.

"What is he doing?" Pharma whispered to Ratchet as he, the medic, and a few Elite Guard quietly followed behind just out of audial shot of me.

"I... I wish I could tell you." Ratchet whispered back.

"Sir, should we take him out?" One of the guard asked as he aimed a rifle at me.

"Not yet." Pharma said. "Let's see where this... thing is going."

"He has a name." Ratchet scolded. "Use it."

They continued to follow me through the maze of tunnels and passageways that seemed to go deeper and deeper underground until they came to a massive, almost cathedral like space with statues and ancient carvings lining the sides. A line of crystallized energon ran forward to a large, circular basin where the gleaming light of the Allspark was hovering above like a beacon.

"Is that...." one of the guard whispered.

"The Allspark?" Another said.

While the group were gazing in awe, I had managed to sneak around and behind them with my probes ejected. I knew what I had to do, and I didn't want to do it.

"I'm sorry." I whispered.

"Did you hear that?" Pharma said before I drove the probes into his back and forced him to shut down. His frame crashed to the floor, and the pair of elite guard and Ratchet whipped around to see me towering over them. I quickly gave the two guard the same treatment before they could act.

"Y/D wh-," Ratchet started to say before I stopped him.

"They will be fine. Get them out of here before the Decepticons come."

"Kid."

"There's no time! Megatron is here, and he wants the Allspark. I have to get it out of here." Ratchet studied my face and saw there was no falsehood in it.

"Be careful."

"Till we meet again, my friend." I said with a small smile. "And... thank you for your kindness."

I quickly rushed over to the basin and leaped up into the air, my servo making contact with the Allspark as I grabbed it from the air. I felt a surge of power rush through me, and the cathedral cracked and ruptured open. Bits of plating melted and formed into a sort of canister that morphed and molded around the Allspark. I gripped the handles and soared out of the now gaping ceiling, my goal one location and one location only.

The space bridge.

Time seemed to blurr as I used whatever energy I had left to fly as fast as i could towards it, the great gateway igniting to life just before I crashed into it.

I was launched into a void of color, the bridge collapsing and exploding behind me. My systems began to shut down in this place, and I heard the Allspark one last time before entering a deep and death like stasis.

'Sleep, Allspark Guardian.'

--------

Previous Chapter: Here

Next Chapter: Here

[arsonist4hire]

[idw] In the distance, the sound of rotors and jets of flight frames, shining bright searchlights onto the smoking wreckage. Clean up has just arrived. You can tell because they haven't pulled the corpse you're under off of you. It happens, eventually. "Come on." Familiar voice. Disappointed-sounding. The black and white mech who found you leans to haul you up, putting your arm around his shoulder. "Up you go."

Hot Rod's vision comes back in slow increments and in flashes of red and blue and black and white. He can feel loose wire in his neck, has the faint knowledge that his jaw is not in the position it should be.

The disappointment does not register. The person does not register.

Nothing registers. His memory files are fried. Every time he tries to speak or to-- to see more than glitching hues and static, he can feel the electric shock that starts from his chassis and travels to his head and makes his optics flicker and spark. There is a large cut on his neck. He is sure of it, from the way he cannot seem to find the strength to hold his head up.

When his good arm goes around the (he looks again, but his strength falters and his head goes down again, so violently he feels dizzy) mecha's shoulder, Hot Rod can't think of anything else other than the fact he cannot feel his legs, he cannot get a reading on his legs, and he can't-- he can't--

His jaw is dislocated, the plating protecting his protoform is long damaged. He cannot feel the left side of his face. He cannot get up from where he is, no matter how much the other mecha tries.

Hot Rod tries again. Resets his optics, takes for turning enough to look at the mecha with the corner of his vision. Blacks and whites and-- reds again.

Hm. Not red. Try again.

The pink comes suddenly to his color coding, and it is startling how he did not see it before. When he looks down at himself-- that's all he sees. He doesn't remember what color he is supposed to be. All he sees are blacks and grays and pink. Scorch marks? He convinces himself his colors haven't been restored, yet. Too much information for his processor. He had been trying to do something. His legs. Where are his legs?

He tries looking down again. Tries standing. Tries clinging, however much he can with one arm and a damaged throat and a spark that's trying to deliver energon to the rest of his body-- even as it continues to leak. Hot Rod checks his percentage.

20 %. Falling. 18 %. Falling. 15 %. Falling.

There's something to his right. He tries to look again, even as his vision becomes worse, even as his colors begin to fade. He squints, uses his only hand to feel for doors at the back with familiar windows.

13 %. Falling.

He's not sure when he throws up, but when he onlines his optics again there's more energon in front of him, and his mouth tastes like copper and ash and burnt metal. He knows he is being dragged. He can't hear anything. He's not sure he ever could.

10%. Falling.

There's a noise that sounds more like static and an electric fence being turned on than the words he was trying to make. His jaw is dislocated, he faintly remembers. His neck is damaged, possibly his vocalizer, too. But Hot Rod has always been known for being stubborn. He drops his head, puts his strength in the voice he still has left, and attempts to say:

"--Rowl."

Before passing out.

[clarissaexplainsbatchall]

Helios: 20km east of FOB Hawk

Through snow and ice hunted 1st Star, the pride of the Noblise. The five 'Mechs were spread in a kilometer wide search pattern with the unit leader, Star Commander Clarissa, at its head in her Mad Cat III. The star chatted throughout their long patrol to pass the time, never the most disciplined group. Clarissa allowed it because discipline or not they were good at what they did. And they were killers all.

"You are aware that we are on this duty because of your 'Mech, quiaff Clarissa?" came Roderick's deep and heavy voice over the communicator. His Gladiator was three hundred meters to Clarissa's right.

"You don't drive an omnimech either, Roderick," said Ben, the youngest of the star. "And yours is even an Inner Sphere design. I don't know why hers would be worse." His Coyotl darted across the snowy hills, weaving in and out of formation, providing a fluid kind of support to the others.

"And you pilot a museum piece, Ben." This came from either Julie or Nina, the twins at the rear of the formation in their heavy Savage Wolf and Mad Dog mk IV. It was nearly impossible to tell the pair apart in person. Over comms it was pointless to even try.

Clarissa cut in, "My 'Mech is a symbol of what many clans consider to be the traitorous nature of our clan. It was made for export to the Inner Sphere, which most clans view as rude at best, and outright heresy at worst."

"So you do know," Roderick growled.

"I know that I will not be looked upon well by many of our allies on Helios until I have proven myself. I apologize if that pall has fallen upon all of you as well," Clarissa said her voice more calm than she was. She had never worked with any other clans before, and most especially not this new SLDF that had been formed by the Wolf Empire.

"Why pilot such a stigma of a battlemech, Commander? There are many others available that you could have chosen from," Roderick continued his questions.

This, at least, Clarissa had an answer to. "I-" but she did not get to speak it. I stead the snow bank before her vanished into a wall of steam and fire and explosions ripped all around her and a screeching hiss of static tore into her ears from the speakers in her neurohelmet. Within the steam a massive shadow that dwarfed even her Battlemech rose into the air with a roar and on instinct she threw her machine forward into the steam at full throttle, even driggering the acceleration circuitry she'd had installed to give her an extra boost of speed.

She slammed her controls to the side, letting her bird legged mech skid fully around in the snow and she watched in horror as the shadow came down hard where she'd just been. Its impact shook the ground, creating a shockwave that blew the steam and smoke away and revealed the enemy. It was all sharp, aggressive angles and inhuman anatomy in white as brilliant as the snows around it, stealthy and sleek and massive. Where it seemed like its cockpit should be was only a gaping open barrel that blossomed with heat and then erupted.

Clarissa cried out in shock as blazing plasma splattered across her mech, burning through armor like kindling. The blaze made the temperature in the cockpit skyrocket and fans immediately began working overtime to try to reduce the temperature of the air, but the only thing that kept Clarissa conscious was the cooling suit insulating her body. Several warnings flashed across the HUD in her neurohelmet. Most of the armor on her left side had been melted off and the 'Mech's cooling systems were trying to bring the heat back down to manageable levels.

The other machine stood before her and she recognized it with a sickening horror. An Archangel. The Word of Blake's most dangerous weapon. nearly twice the size of her own 'Mech, and shockingly mobile for something its size thanks to the jump jets which let it soar through the sky like its namesake. But this one seemed damaged. Where its right arm should have been was only a wreckage of loose cabling and myomer muscle dangling free among torn steel, and all over its thick armor was cratered and pitted with marks of its last battle. That it still stood was a testament to the sheer toughness of the war machine and the tenacity of its pilot.

Clarissa swallowed hard, but forced herself to switch to an open channel, "Word of Blake MechWarrior. I am Star Commander Clarissa of Clan Sea Fox. You are outnumbered and outgunned. Surrender now and you will not be harmed, on my word of honor."

The only response was the same shrieking static she had heard when it first attacked, a deafening howl of defiant machine noise, then its left hand twisted and a wickedly sharp looking blade easily five meters long extended from its forearm. She was about to order her star to open fire when she finally noticed what was happening.

Ben's Coyotl was down, its leg sheared off at the knee. Roderick was engaged with another Word of Blake 'Mech while the twins traded blows with a third. This had been a well planned and perfectly executed ambush. Clarissa was alone in this fight. The Archangel took a step towards her and Clarissa unleashed hell.

The Mad Cat III that she piloted was of no stock configuration. Despite the resources and privileges that came with being both a Star Commander and a Sea Fox Merchant she had always repaired the machine with whatever parts and weaponry happened to be on hand. It was an amalgamation not built out of any plan, but rather as a living history of her time as a warrior; every scar healed over into something new. The Archangel might have been expecting long range missiles without enough punch to slow it down this close, or lasers that would drive her reactor's heat even higher risking an emergency shutdown.

What it got was a deafening roar as Clarissa squeezed the trigger and from amidst the burn scars left by the plasma a rotary autocannon came to life and pounded a dozen high explosive rounds into its chest in less than a second. It staggered, just for a moment, and Clarissa pressed the advantage. A tone in her ear indicated a lock onto her enemy from the quartet of short range missiles in her 'Mech's other shoulder which quickly streaked out and detonated across the Archangel.

It wasn't enough. It came on and the retractable blade came up fast on Clarissa's right side and she only just barely brought the Mad Cat's arm up in time to stop it from digging deep into the core of her 'mech. Instead with the sound of shearing metal the blunt weapons pod that served as the end of the Mad Cat's arm came off and flew a dozen meters off into the snow. Again she fired off the autocannon but this time the Archangel took to the air once more flying high above, its avian legs suddenly outstretched like a raptor about to swoop down on its prey, and the explosive rounds detonated across the side of some far off hill.

There was no time to dodge, and seeing her death coming from above she opened fire with everything she had in one last barrage of violence and defiance. Lasers lit the space between the two death machines in crimson and emerald, the autocannon roared a long cacophonous cry and then jammed with the wrenching of metal, missiles shot forth on plumes of smoke and exploded into balls of fire and shrapnel.

And something in the Archangel gave. One of its jump jets coughed, the exploded with a harrowing pop. This threw of the trajectory of the great beast and when it came down it did so several meters away from Clarissa, landing badly on its leg with a wrenching groan of metal bent beyond its ability to endure and finally breaking under the strain. It fell on its back and its right arm was pinned under it.

Shuddering with adrenaline and the realization that she was somehow not dead, Clarissa swung her 'Mech over and stomped its great foot down on the Archangel's chest, forcing the plasma cannon there to point away from her. She could see the barrels of her autocannon glowing orange from the nonstop firing she had done, hopelessly jammed, but she still had missiles and her undamaged left arm still had lasers in its weapon pod, lasers she pointed at the small, red canopied cockpit hidden above the gaping maw of the Archangel's plasma cannon.

Elsewhere her squad had finished off their own opponents and were coming towards her, weapons primed and ready. She breathed a heavy, ragged breath, then spoke into the open channel again. "This does not have to be this way. I have no desire to kill you." She heard the shrieking static noise again, but shouted through it in frustration. "Listen to me! You are done! This fight is done!" The static stopped, and she too was silent for a moment, hoping. Then she continued. "Power down your reactor and exit your cockpit. No one else has to die today. We can live. We can both live."

More silence. Her star circled the downed machine, Ben's Coyotl leaning heavily against Nina's Mad Dog for support. Breathless, Clarissa continued to wait, her fingers tense and beginning to shake on the triggers of her weapons. Then the Archangel's engine cut off. The nuclear heart of the Word of Blake's greatest death machine stopped beating. The canopy of the cockpit cleared as it opened and she saw a man down below her, so small from her high perch, so vulnerable, crawl out of it.

Clarissa let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding, then said to her star, "Call for a recovery and salvage team. We need to get Ben's 'Mech home and also..." With relief she looked down at the tiny figure below her. "Also a prisoner."

[comraderomeo]

Where Skin Ends Ch. 1

Updated Every Other Thursday (hopefully)

Foreword:

Hello and welcome. This is the first piece of fiction I'm posting anywhere public since grade school, and I'm pretty excited and nervous about it. It's about a lot of things, many unsettling and esoteric, and is set in the BattleTech universe. However, I'm trying to not get too overbearing on the lore, for everyone's sake (including my own). Also, fair warning: these characters are stolen from my other, more central projects, so don't be surprised if they show up in a completely different setting. All in all, thank you for having a look!

links: ao3 masterpost

cw: alcohol abuse, vague mental illness, vomit mention

"I had just one quick glimpse out the porthole, to see the frosted dot in the distance becoming slowly massive, before the alarm went off. Sirens and red lights flashing all around put me and my lance into a run toward the 'mech bay. We stripped to reveal our um... coolant vests, and scrambled up the ladders into the cockpits of our veritable killing machines. The 'techs sped through the startup checks and then my Hatchetman, Jester, came alive. I felt Her warming me in livid spite of my wellbeing. Then, the commander came in over the comms, 'get those asses in gear, Alpha Lance! We've got Marik ‘mechs at the drop zone, so break a leg!' Jester spun around in her bay, and the world went silent."

You spent two months running patrols on some planetoid so devoid of life it couldn't even be considered backwater. Though, the mining company operating there was scared to shit of the inter-House war that had just broken out, even when it had just been rumors and speculation, so it was good money that got better daily. The patrols were so desolate. You only had the massive snow drifts and whoever was on comms to keep you company the whole time. Being so alone was perfect.

"The bottom of the bay dropped out and sent me into the fray. I came in right on top of an Atlas (you know what that is right?), and embedded my axe directly in his cockpit. Those fuckers are tough though, so it threw me off, and I got a torso-full of lasers at close range. It wasn't enough to take me down, though, and I got another chop in with a blast from my own weapons. That's when the rest of my lance got a good shot, and the ‘mech was lost in a barrage of shells and missiles and lasers. But, shrouded in the smoke coming off his melting armor, he kept coming. I used my other arm to get up close and push the weapons in his torso off angle, pulling the Atlas into a grapple. That sent his autocannon shots wildly off, but his missiles still got a bad hit on one of my lancemates. I knew at that point it was do or die, so I shoved my torso cannon right up against his viewport, and boom!!"

House Marik had arrived in just one dropship and launched an assault on the mining complex. It must’ve been producing something important, because they sent a lot of firepower at you. You had been out on patrol at the time they first popped up on sensors, and while the rest of the crew scrambled, you made the right choice to beat a hasty retreat. The truth is, you never stood a chance. In the following skirmish, it took all the skill your lance could muster and losing your hatchet arm to take down a single assault ‘mech, and the engagement had just let the other enemies slip by and annihilate the target. You probably could have taken at least two more, but not without losses.

"The blast almost tore my arm clean off, but the Atlas went tumbling into the ground, quiet as the void. Then, we turned our sights to 'mech two, a slightly smaller one that was trying to flank us. It was a bitch to hit, but we adapted-"

You ran and left them to burn. Another city to ashes.

"Mat! What the hell are you on about!?"

Your surroundings come flooding back into focus. You're at a bar somewhere you can't quite remember right now. How many drinks has it been? Last count says two, but that's beyond doubtful now, making your ability to rattle off that story coherently a feat in itself. There's a woman opposite you at the table. She's picking at a scratch in the finish and is almost certainly checked out of the conversation. You're sure there was a reason you were telling her about this encounter, and that it's extremely important that you make it impressive. However, the lack of oxygen in your brain had lost that reason paragraphs ago. Ashe, the lancemate who interrupted your flow, is certainly less far gone than you and looks bemused. She continues, "If you're going to be spinning tall tales about our exploits, at least make them believable. Who the hell’s going to think you actually chopped an Atlas in half like death from above?"

You feel the heat of embarrassment overtake that of inebriation. She could have just stayed quiet, because you have a good ending planned out and everything. What's her problem anyway? She has enough friends to go bother in the company, and her boyfriend is like right over there… somewhere. The woman across from you, who you'd neglected to get the name of like a prick, looks up with a bit of surprise and chimes in, "Oh! Sorry, I was listening, promise. It's a nice story and all. I mean, nothing like what it's actually like on the front, from what I know, but it would make a good story for one of those pulpy war novels or something."

This makes you indignant. You huff and say something stupid, "And, how would you know?"

She smiles back at you, barely wounded, and replies in practiced rhythm, "Corporal Hannelore Geelen, 57th Lyran Armored. A pleasure to meet you, MechWarrior."

Ashe laughs her head off in the background, while you- Wait are you crying? Why are you crying!? Ashe and Hannelore both look at you in different flavors of mortification. You didn’t even do anything that bad, but now you're saying sorry over and over again, while insisting you were a complete asshole. Be thankful your spontaneous bout of sorrow is quiet enough to avoid the attention of the whole damned bar. Some fear of predatoriness has clearly flitted into your mind and been amplified by alcohol, since you keep apologizing for being a dick, and a bastard, and a whore and really any bad word you can think of, without a care for relevance. The pair of voices in the background started to sound like a chorus,

"Hey hey, it's ok. The story wasn't that bad."

"Mat, what the fuck? Are you ok?"

Et cetera.

Et cetera.

Then, after some quick consideration, Ashe says something akin to "fuck it" under her breath and scoops you up into a fireman's carry to whisk you out of the public eye. That's quite the blow to the barely smoldering embers of your self esteem, and as if to spite you a fifteenth time over, the corporal you had accidentally been trying to have sex with gets up and follows along with you. A brief conversation occurs in the twilight of your perception. It's just mumbling to you really.

"I'm very sorry for this, Corporal. I can take care of them from here."

"It's no problem. I was bored anyway. Plus, I'm sure they'll be better company sober."

You pass out after that, which is likely for the best.

The air flees your lungs, as if they were cursed. You cough and writhe on the grassy hill you had been dropped upon not too softly.

“…and you didn’t have to drop them.”

“Didn’t mean to, but they’ll live.”

They’re talking about you, probably. You still feel the embarrassment lingering from the bar, but there that anger, still present and bubbling to the top. Being manhandled out of a public breakdown is a disgrace, but despite your clouded take on things, it’s clearly your fault to begin with. The figures towering over you are out of focus and haloed in blinding artificial light. Your brain cobbles together a pretty, angelic simile, which just makes you more angry. 

“Are they always like this?”

“Only in port, usually. They're a normal amount of feckless in a ‘mech.”

A mumbling starts to burble out from your lips, growing louder as you focus control into your fricatives and plosives and whatnot. It gets to a point where one of the angels stops mid-sentence to address you, “Care to share with the class, Mat?”

You think very hard about the words you want to say next. They have to be finely crafted and powerful enough to win you a quiet evening to recover from whatever this was. You take a deep breath, steel your gaze, open your mouth and rasp just barely audibly, “Fuck you. I am prestige. I outrank everyone here.”

Why do you keep claiming honor that's not yours? It's insulting.

The blindingly bright angel snickers, and its duller yet equally holy counterpart cocks its head in curiosity. 

“Is that true, Ashe? I took you for lance commander.”

“Maybe it was, but sure as fuck hasn't been for a while now.”

“Really? How's that?”

“Well, back in the Third Succession War…”

You feel their insolence radiating into you. It's unthinkable that you, the champion but inches away from nobility, the company commander with so many medals you jangled like a children's toy, the only mechwarrior with more than half a brain cell in this whole system, could be so debased. But, who are you to argue with heaven? Because, despite their angelicness being only a ruse, they can see you for what you really are in this moment.

“Wait a second, do you know if they've been drinking anything other than shots?”

“Wouldn't know. I was doing my best to avoid babysitting this time.”

“I see. But, in that case, I'll be back in a second.”

Once the other had left earshot, the remaining harbinger turns to you and speaks, “I swear to fuck, Mat. You're lucky she's nice. Otherwise, I would've dropped you in a drainage ditch and called you in M.I.A. Between the shit you and Ed pull, they wouldn't even question it.”

You say sorry.

“I don't really care about apologies. We have drills tomorrow, and you better be on point or I’ll make you as armless as your damned ‘mech.”

You say sorry again.

“I don't know what your problem is, but you really have to start thinking about how you're not the only one with them. I try to help, but I'm reaching my limit. We all are.”

You say sorry again. And, again, and again, and again, and again. You're curled into a ball now, trying to block out as much sensation as you can. A fleeting thought hits you, letting you know you'd make a good physics test question right now. It was kind of funny, but you find the idea insulting. You ask yourself where you're going from here, as if you could even stand in your state. You wonder what catastrophe will play out tomorrow, assuming tomorrow ever comes. You ponder if the ground could just swallow you here and now. A hand lightly taps you on the shoulder.

“Hey, Mat right? I got you some water. I suggest you drink now, before you regret it later.”

She set a bag of water next to you with a crinkle. It's probably one of the three litre ones they have in the stores here, the ones with the scenic river on the label. You should be thankful for this. You agree and say thank you as audibly as you can. She probably hears you. You take the water as an opportunity to distract yourself from the noise of thinking for a second and take a series of greedy sips from the plastic pouring tip. 

“Hey. Hey! Slow down! I'm not helping you back to housing if you piss yourself.”

You comply, and that's probably for the best because in your haste, you upset your stomach. You vomit about a third of the bag of water and a year’s worth of alcohol onto the grass. God knows how you were able to hold it back until now. 

“Eugh…”

“They haven't eaten, looks like.”

“Corporal, with all due respect, gross.”

Hannelore shrugs. You don't remember not eating, but you don't remember eating either. That's probably not a good sign. You try to push yourself up off the ground, so you don't have to sit next to the mess you made anymore. You do a decent job of putting your feet on the ground. The balance is harder, and you start to careen just as Ashe catches you by the shoulder.

“Alright, Sergeant [that’s you], that's enough embarrassing yourself for one night. I think it's time to get you home.”

“That's probably best for the both of you. It's a big day tomorrow.”

“Seems like it. I'll see you then, Corporal.”

“Stay safe, you two.”

You take a second to process the detail left so casually in that farewell. When you finally get it, you look at Ashe with a panic and say, “Wait, what!?” She laughs back at you and just says, “Tomorrow's going to be a weird one for you, that's a given.”

You think of all the different ways to get out of drills tomorrow. There's plenty, many of which involve some fairly unnecessary self mutilation, but you won't act on any of them. It's clear the thought of being in your warm bed all alone is too tantalizing to be interrupted by even the strongest self hatred. Outside your head, the walk home is quiet. Ashe seems to soften toward you along the way, but probably from fatigue over anything else. She leaves you alone, and you just try your best to focus on the path ahead of you.

Before you know it, you're back in your dormitory room, double locking your door behind you. You hold a heavy debate over whether you can handle a shower, but something distracts you, another stray thought. This is a bad idea, but you won’t be dissuaded. Now, you’re digging through your duffle that had been tossed into a corner and lived out of for the past couple days. Toward the bottom, there's a slightly crumpled piece of photo paper. You almost instantly notice a few creases that had appeared since the last time you saw it. That hurts you. It reminds you that this fragile memory will be gone one day. You cry again. It's ok to this time; it won't hurt anyone. I silently accompany you because, despite the fact I never held a name that wasn't yours, it’s impossible to not miss how I looked in those royal guard dress whites. It was commissioning day. She was there too, looking happy for the both of us, but like me, She also lost her name somewhere down the line. I feel bad now. I wish I could apologize for being judgemental and cruel, but you didn't hear me say it at first so can't hear me repent. I wish I could hold you and you me, so we could mourn together and maybe you would hear me say, “it's ok.” Then, things might get better, even slightly. However, that's not possible, so you suffer drunk and alone. I’m sorry. 

Thankfully, sleep catches you at some point, despite you being fully dressed and leaving your lamp on. I hope beyond hope that you have a better day tomorrow.

[xamaxenta]

YOU JUST ..... DID SOMETHING TO ME... WITH MECHA PSYCH HORROR ACE AT MARINEFORD........ WARNING FOR DEATH AND GRAPHIC MECH VIOLENCE/GORE BUT what if the whitebeards brought ace his mech when they rescued him and he was in his mech when he died..........the systems shutting down the lights flashing red the reactor is overheating where akainu has blasted through the metal, its still glowing red and dripping off and warping with how high the temperature is. ace is literally cooking alive in the cockpit with this screaming 100 ton machine wired into his brain (its heavier than anything anyone should be able to move in that state, it shouldnt move at all--) but his big red flame-painted mech still somehow takes three steps forward and hugs luffys shitty slapdash pieced together mech because thats the closest he will ever get to him again, still too many inches of metal too far to hug him for real, but he HAS to because he is going to die here with this machine. its pumping boiling chemicals and gasoline from ruptured fuel lines into his veins and hes punctured by the metal and his skin is on fire but it was made by people who loved him so he could protect what HE loved and hes glad to die hooked into the sparking computer because at least he isnt alone. he never has to be alone again. im crying in the club rn bro

You understand me 🥰 im crying but with tears of joy this is scrumptious so delicious

The gore factor of literally everything going wrong his brain fizzling out, his actual physical body dying with the mech, the flames the smoke the acrid smell of chemicals and metal warping in crushing its like a hug really he cant leave even if he wanted to

Its great mecha psych horror with terrible consequences is my fave

[darkenedroses-world]

Not Like You — Sonic x Reader

🔹 Platonic relationship 🔹 Chaotic Sibling Energy 🔹 Inner Monologue Mess 🔹 Protective Sonic 🔹 Robot Battle 🔹 Angst & Hurt Feelings 🔹 “I’m such an idiot” Core 🔹

It was supposed to be simple.

Go in, scout the area, laugh at whatever scrap metal Eggman left behind, then grab chili dogs on the way home. Of course, life loves to kick me in the ass the second I get too confident. The entire warehouse shook before I even stepped past the second support beam. Concrete cracked. Pipes burst. And then, with a sound like a building collapsing in reverse, a monster of a mech dropped from above—massive, spiked, and glowing like a nuclear Christmas tree.

I barely had time to shove Y/N behind a crate before the thing fired its first round. “Stay back!” I shouted. “I am back!” they yelled, already popping up behind me like I hadn’t just watched their life flash before my eyes. The bot’s arm turned into a spinning blade. I bolted forward, air crackling behind me, slamming into it with a full-speed spin. It staggered. Good. But not good enough. It didn’t even flinch. It swung, and I ducked, then it fired lasers from its eyes. That was new. Awesome.

“Seriously?!” I growled, flipping over a beam and bouncing off the wall. “What happened to good old-fashioned stomping and roaring?” The robot ignored me. Obviously. It had its sights set elsewhere—and that’s when I saw its chest open up. Missiles. And not aimed at me. “Y/N!” I shouted, voice breaking. They ran, but not fast enough. The entire side of the warehouse lit up as the explosion hit. Fire, debris, smoke—too much smoke—I couldn’t see them. I couldn’t hear them.

I don’t remember moving. Just pure instinct, rage, chaos. I was on the bot in a blink, tearing through wires, striking with every ounce of Chaos energy I had. No more jokes. No more flash. Just end it. When the final hit landed, and the mech’s core exploded in a rain of fire and sparks, I didn’t even wait for it to hit the floor before I ran. They were alive. Thank Chaos, they were alive. Bruised, singed, scraped—but breathing. “You okay?” I grabbed their shoulders. “Are you okay?!”

“Just singed,” they wheezed. “Mostly.” Mostly. I swallowed hard. The adrenaline was fading and now it was just panic. “You shouldn’t have been here.” Their brows pulled together. “Excuse me?” “I could’ve handled it myself.” There. I said it. And immediately regretted it. They stood up fast, brushing ash off their pants. “Yeah? You looked real ‘handled’ when you were getting slammed into the concrete.”

“I had it.”

“You say that every time you almost die!”

“You almost died, too!”

“I’m not helpless, Sonic!”

“You think that matters?!” I snapped, arms out. “You think a robot’s gonna stop and say ‘Oh, wait, they’re brave—better aim somewhere else’?!” Their expression dropped. And I should’ve stopped. I should’ve taken a breath. But of course, I didn’t. “You’re not like me, Y/N.” I watched it hit them like a punch to the chest. “Wow,” they said, voice small. “Wait—no, I didn’t mean—” “You meant it.” Their voice cracked. “You really think I’m just some normal tagalong. Too slow. Too fragile. Just in the way.”

“That’s not what I meant!” “But it’s what you said!” They turned around. Walked off without another word. I didn’t follow. Couldn’t. My feet felt like concrete. My brain was still trying to catch up with my mouth. The fight was over. But I felt like I’d lost something way worse. “…Great job, Sonic,” I muttered. “Tell the one person who actually gives a crap that they’re not good enough. Real smart.” I rubbed a hand down my face, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m such an idiot.”