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lets-try-some-writing · 5 months

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Cybertronian Civil Warfare

One wrong move. That was all it took to make Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, mad. Now Strongarm and Sideswipe have to deal with the unfortunate consequences of their actions by participating in Optimus's game.

(First chapter of a fic I am writing that will showcase some of the stuff being at war did to Bee and co :3)

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No one was entirely sure what thought process led to the current situation, but Strongarm could remember when it started.

The team had gathered to celebrate what was quickly being dubbed the third liberation of Cybertron when it all began. Strongarm and her team, the Bee Team as they were called, were invited to celebrate with Team Prime in the newly constructed crystal gardens attached to the restored Hall of Records. Optimus Prime himself had been the one to give out the invitations, and not a spark had refused. Sideswipe had of course made a fuss about having to go to what he assumed was a formal event, but Strongarm had shut him up well enough beforehand.

Meeting Team Prime in a more civil setting was exciting and she had no intention of missing it for the world. But of course, someone had to screw up. And that screw up in turn led to a series of unfortunate and poorly thought out words.

Primus, did they frag up.

“Look, all I am saying is that I don’t get why you all are so high strung all the time.” Sideswipe remarked as he sipped from his cup of high grade. His optics flared a pale blue, a sign of overcharge from too much to drink. A scowl marred his features and Strongarm suppressed the urge to march over and swat him.

“Why is that Sideswipe?” Optimus questioned patiently from where he sat at the head of the table. The others present had largely continued on with their activities, uncaring of the conversation, but Sideswipe could sense the way the others threw their fields wider, subconsciously keeping an optic on the situation.

“It's pretty bad with Bee. He’s always whining about us using too much energon and he gets angry about us not being up all night long for our patrol despite the fact that we have cameras.” Sideswipe glared at their leader and Strongarm almost burst from the rage pooling in her spark. Did the little glitch have no respect? These were war veterans for Primus’s sake.

“Sideswipe, keep your grievances back at base. We are in a public area-” Bumblebee chimed in, chastation heavy in his tone. The former scout’s optics cycled in on Sideswipe, a sign of agitation that Strongarm had long learned to notice serving under him. Only Windblade’s firm grasp on her arm kept her from getting up to teach the mech across from her a lesson.

“Bumblebee, let him speak. It is at times like these that such issues should be aired.” Optimus sat perfectly composed in his chair, his attention on the red speedster as Sideswipe grumbled and continued, his words somewhat slurred as he continued.

“You all constantly act like you are better than us. You treat us like newsparks. I’ve been functional for long enough! By old Cybertronian standards I am fully framed!” Sideswipe slammed his cup onto the table as if he were a sparkling and glared at the elder mecha present. Smokescreen stood up abruptly from where he was seated, anger etched onto his features.

“You are a newspark Sideswipe. I am still considered young even though I was forged during the height of the war.” Smokescreen’s servos were planted firmly on the table, his doorwings twitching as he glared. The Wreckers at the table paused in their activities, their words quieting as they stopped to pay attention. Their stillness swiftly led to the remainder of the table falling silent to observe.

Strongarm couldn’t help the way her plating clamped down around her as the war veterans present seemed to make a shield around themselves with their fields. It was suffocating to endure.

“That’s exactly my problem! You get treated so much better than us and you don’t act much different!” Sideswipe wasn’t making any sense. His logic wasn’t adding up, and yet his field screamed of outrage. Evidently he had a lot more going on than he could voice. But Strongarm didn’t care to hear it.

“Sideswipe! Don’t be so rude! We are among war veterans and heroes!” Strongarm stood up as well. Her field flared in anger and Smokescreen looked over at her so sharply that she almost felt the urge to sit down. Ratchet slowly began to rise, his servos up in a placating manner as he attempted to speak before being cut off.

“You all fought in a war. So what? I’ve fought Cons and they weren’t even all that bad!” Sideswipe stood proudly despite the fact that he obviously wasn’t thinking straight. Strongarm wished she could sink into the ground as the gazes of the elder mecha present all zoned in on Sideswipe as if he were fresh energon ready for the harvest. She couldn’t tell whose field was whose, but she didn’t need to. All of them were running with an undercurrent of rage, at least those amongst team Prime. Windblade, Drift and his minicons, and Grimlock quickly began to gather beside Strongarm, stepping back from the table as things became more heated.

“Sideswipe, I believe you are not thinking clearly. What you are saying is insinuating a great deal more than I think you intend to convey.” Optimus was still composed ever as the rest of Team Prime slowly began to get up and move. Sideswipe didn’t seem to notice as Bulkhead carefully, and with surprising stealth, pulled the table out of the way in time for the Prime to stand.

This felt practiced, rehearsed almost in a sick way. Strongarm wasn’t sure what to do, what to say even. But she wasn’t given the chance as Bumblebee stepped in front of her and the rest of their team, his gaze surprisingly steely as the situation continued to unfold.

“Bee, what’s going on?” Grimlock asked hesitantly. The dinobot was not usually one to look so… concerned. It startled Strongarm in a way. He was usually always ready for a fight, even against one like Optimus. Here though? It looked like everyone, including the battle hardened Drift, wanted nothing to do with the situation.

“Quiet. Optimus will handle this.” There was no room for disagreement in Bumblebee’s voice. He was surprisingly stern. Usually he was loose in his methods of leadership. However as Smokescreen came over and stood at attention right next to Strongarm’s leader, she felt fear begin to gather in her spark.

This was serious, and everyone seemed to know it.

“I mean it all! I don’t get why you all do all this stupid paranoid slag all the time! Always on our afts about our energon usage and lack of combat training or all that other scrap!” Sideswipe’s field was vicious and sharp, but untrained. His didn’t hurt. But those around them? By the Allspark, Strongarm could feel pinpricks running all along her plating from where Bumblebee and Smokescreen practically emanated outrage.

“Sideswipe.” The Prime’s tone had shifted. It was subtle, almost too soft for Strongarm to notice. But her training under Bumblebee had done her good. She wasn’t a spy by any means, or even a special agent. However the few weeks of interrogation training she underwent were having their influence.

Optimus wasn’t happy.

“I don’t want to hear whatever fragging excuses you have, you old bag of bolts! You wouldn’t be held in such high esteem if you just ended the war when it began!” Everyone froze, even Grimlock. Windblade seemed too shaken to speak, her wings dipping so low they almost touched the ground as she stared on in horror. Strongarm was sure she was making a similar expression as Optimus’s expression changed.

He always wore gentle expressions, or at least a soft firmness or strictness. Now though? His optics were startlingly wide, almost as though he were looking at Sideswipe as some sort of prey animal. Optimus’s posture dipped, becoming tenser and his digits twitching ever so slightly. A true predator.

“Sideswipe, that is enough.” Arcee hissed through gritted denta. The elder femme seemed two kliks away from shredding Sideswipe and appeared to only be kept in place by Bulkhead who glanced down at her in warning. Grimlock was shaking like a leaf and Slipestream and Jetstorm weren’t much better off. They huddled around their carrier unit fearfully and Drift subtly drew his swords, the tension in the air setting him on edge.

Strongarm couldn’t blame him when she found herself palming her pistol on instinct.

“The Cons we’ve fought have been smallfry. Sure Megaton might have been a piece of work, but you could have ended this easily! But NO, you dragged it all out! Our planet DIED because you and the rest of these plasma helmed glitches didn’t want to put aside your egos and end things!” Strongarm didn’t think things could get worse. Evidently she was wrong. Team Prime were all angry. Even Ratchet seemed to be on the cusp of letting loose what Strongarm could only imagine was a legendary string of curses.

Despite that, Sideswipe must have been absolutely sloshed since he just. Kept. going.

“Great and mighty Optimus Prime my aft! All you did was make things worse! We wouldn’t have had to deal with all this Primus forsaken fallout if you had just done the right thing in the first place!” There it was. Strongarm could feel it. This was the pinnacle. One more word and things were going to explode.

“Sideswipe. This is the only warning I will give you. Be silent now, or I will need to take disciplinary action on account of you disturbing the peace.” It was a bit of a stretch legally. However it seemed Optimus, and the rest of team Prime for that matter, didn’t care all that much. The tension was heavy. It was too much.

“Sir, that would be an abuse of power. Sideswipe has the right to free speech. He can technically say what he wants regardless-” Over a dozen optics fell on Strongarm like lasers. She wished she hadn’t spoken, but she couldn’t back down now.

“What I mean to say is that, uh, Autobot law does not permit…” She trailed off, but the wrath of those present was already on her. Sideswipe didn’t even seem to be aware she was speaking on his behalf. A bitter part of her processors resented that. She was hurting her reputation with Optimus Prime and likely the rest of team Prime just to stick up for him.

“What are you insinuating Strongarm?” She didn’t need to look. Bumblebee’s optics were boring into her with such intensity that if he were to be granted the ability to kill on sight, Strongarm was sure she would be dead by now. Still, no one else spoke up. The team were silent save for their unspoken anger which hummed in the air like a dooming court sentence.

She floundered, stress prompting her to rehearse what Sideswipe had said. He was saying things that no one was able to, words which should never be spoken aloud. However as she fidgeted with Optimus’s far too wide optics glued to her, she sputtered out a response.

“He makes valid points!” Oh if looks could kill, Strongarm was sure that she and Sideswipe would be dead a thousand times over.

“How so?” The Prime questioned, his tone too smooth and practiced. It was akin to how cashiers and those who worked in customer service would smile and wave even as they internally cursed to the stars and beyond.

“It’s just… according to the records, the war started because you and Megatron had a disagreement and failed to work it out. Then as the war went on, neither of you were willing to compromise or kill the other…” Smokescreen stepped forward, she could feel his field pressing against her. He felt murderous, so much so she couldn’t bear to look as Optimus tilted his helm ever so slightly in what had to be faux curiosity.

“And it is also stated that the Decepticons weren’t really all that much of a threat beyond their numbers. The Autobots had superiority throughout a good portion of the war, but it was never used. The Decepticons could have been crushed easily if you look at the tactics and the resources available at the time.” Any other words died on her glossa as Smokescreen’s servo pressed heavily on her shoulder, his face so eerily composed that she genuinely feared for her life. Optimus didn’t so much as twitch as he hummed, his optics cycling ominously.

“So that is what you believe. Is that what the history books say?” Sideswipe had evidently finally begun to sober up a bit as he stepped back. Optimus’s field, which had up until that point been held totally at ease, finally spread out.

It was just a flare, but it dropped Strongarm to a knee as she looked up in horror. Optimus was mad. Her plating rattled and her hydraulics tensed as fear threatened to overwhelm her. Windblade, Drift, his minicons, and Sideswipe didn’t appear to be fending much better when she glanced over at them.

“You believe our sacrifices were for nothing? That the countless dead were lost in a meaningless conflict? How very amusing.” Strongarm didn’t know Optimus, she didn’t even try to claim she was acquainted with him to any serious degree. But his voice… it wasn’t him. He wasn’t talking like the Prime she knew and served alongside back on Earth.

However, just as quickly as it came, the tension dissipated like smoke as Optimus straightened his posture, composed himself and turned to exit the garden with only one final declaration.

“It seems you have much to learn. Return to your base of operations until you receive further orders. I do not wish to see you at this moment or for the foreseeable future.” Then, just like that, Optimus left. Strongarm promptly hunched over and purged whatever she had consumed during the gathering. Sideswipe for his part immediately found himself smacked so hard upside the helm by Bumblebee that she was sure he was seeing stars. Those of team Prime were cold as they quietly gathered their things and left, not another word uttered between them.

Ratchet lingered just long enough to throw a hangover cure at Sideswipe’s face, but beyond that, only Smokescreen stuck around until Bumblebee waved him off. They were fragged. Strongarm could sense it as she was pulled to her pedes and put in with the rest of the Bee team in silence. Bumblebee said nothing as he dragged Sideswipe behind him by his right pede, uncaring of the pained groans of the speedster.

Windblade and Drift offered their arms to keep Strongarm steady as her tanks churned in nausea and her vision swam. She accepted it without question, not even having the energy to yell at Grimlock as the dinobot all but threw himself through the space bridge back to Earth.

They had messed up royally.

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It was to be expected really. All sorts of double patrols, cleaning duty, and plenty of additional training sessions made perfect sense considering how badly both she and Sideswipe had messed up. However the predicted backlash from Optimus never arrived. Strongarm spent months dreading it, even waking up in terror a few times in fear of those far too wide optics zoning in on her.

Yet, as the months passed, nothing happened. Bumblebee was cold for the first little while, but he settled back into his usual behaviors within a month. Grimlock seemed to forget all about the incident, Drift and Windblade put it behind them, and Sideswipe spent quite a few weeks in a similar state of alertness to Strongarm before he too calmed. Everything went back to normal without any word from Optimus, not even a transmission or a single set of orders.

Everything… was normal. And somehow that scared Strongarm more than it comforted her. She had never seen Optimus so angry, and from the looks of it, neither had Team Prime, at least not in a very long time.

Her anxiety grew each passing month, until at last, after around a whole year on Earth, a transmission arrived from Cybertron along with its messenger.

“Hey kiddos! I’ve got a message from Prime for you all! It's addressed to Sideswipe and Strongarm specifically, but I am pretty sure it was intended for your group as a whole.” Jazz, the special operations agent who Strongarm hadn’t seen since they took down the Council, stood before them. He was as cheerful as ever as he handed over a singular holographic disc. Bumblebee took it from him before Strongarm or Sideswipe could do so.

“Did he give any instructions?” Bumblebee questioned simply, suspicion lacing his tone. Jazz shrugged and smiled, his visor glinting in the light as he put his servos on his hips casually.

“Turn it on. Whatever he has to say will probably be on there.” An obvious assumption, but one Strongarm found herself somewhat concerned with as Bumblebee nodded and plugged the disk into the terminal. There was a long harrowing silence in the space as the rest of team Bee gathered around, watching with rapt attention as the screen flickered on.

“Greetings. It has been some time since our last communication.” Optimus’s voice rang out clearly in the space as his face pixelated into being on the screen. He seemed completely at ease as he sat in a chair, a series of datapads at his side.

“In light of your previous statements, I have taken the time to prepare an activity for all of you to participate in. All save for Strongarm and Sideswipe will not be forced to participate if they choose to not engage.” She was already being singled out. Beside her, Strongarm sensed Sideswipe stiffening. This was the other pede finally dropping. Their punishment for speaking out of line.

“Before you bring forward any legal concerns, let it be said before I begin that everything I have prepared is well within my rights. The provisionary council has given me the authority to move your team as I see fit, and all supplies and resources used in the upcoming activity have been funded through my personal efforts and connections.” Optimus sat smugly, or at least that is how it looked to Strongarm as he leaned forward, a little closer to the camera. Fear rattled down her spinal struts as she came to the dark conclusion that the whole year of silence hadn’t been because Optimus forgot. No, she had not been so lucky.

He had been preparing for whatever this was.

“Your involvement is compulsory.” Again, a warning. In the video, Optimus smiled, but it was a sickening thing that left Strongarm’s tanks churning. She reached out to hold Sideswipe’s arm instinctually, seeking the comfort of another as Windblade and Drift came nearer, doing their best to offer silent comradery as the words continued to relay through the audio systems of the terminal.

“We will be engaging in a real time strategy game made as realistic as possible through my resources. This game will take place in the uninhabited city of Helex in exactly one Earth month. You will have the entirety of that time to prepare.” A grin grew on Optimus’s face, and Primus, Strongarm felt that same churning in her tanks all over again. She wanted to be sick as the Prime tilted his helm, an unnatural ease to his movements.

“You may recruit whoever you see fit. However you may have no more than a hundred units under your control.” Every word was punctuated, almost as if Optimus had long ago rehearsed the lines.

“Any Autobot you can convince to join you is within your rights to recruit. To make things fair, I will not call upon my team or any close allies amongst the Autobots to assist me.” Every movement was far too crisp, practiced even as Optimus held up a datapad showing a map of the city of Helex.

“Are you putting it together now?” There was a degree of amusement in the Prime’s voice, and looking around, not a spark seemed to like it. Not even Bumblebee.

“You will have three main objectives which will be given to you a day before the start of the game. I have not selected these objectives. All objectives have been chosen by Elita-One and other neutral parties.” This was real.

“Complete all three of these objectives, and you will have victory. However in the event that neither faction involved in this conflict completes all of them, the one with the most completed objectives will be victorious.” Strongarm’s hydraulics threatened to falter as Optimus kept talking. Bumblebee held her up by the arm and captured Sideswipe by his neck guard. Their leader was deadly serious as he listened and forced them to endure.

“Further details will be given to you upon your arrival at the site. In the meantime, prepare for any possibility. This is war, and I have no intention of going easy on you.” Why? Why did it have to be Optimus Prime who they angered?

“Designate a leader and begin recruiting. You will have no resources from the state, so all of your preparations must come from your own sources. My advice is simple. Recruit those with influence.” Optimus smiled again as he leaned forward in his chair, his optics too wide and too threatening.

“I do this not out of malice or bitterness, but instead to make a point.” Not out of malice her aft. There was no way there was not a personal grudge involved for Optimus to put so much effort into this.

“It is my hope that our game will give you a taste of what our war was like. May you find victory, or failing that, learn a lesson amidst this trial to come. Till all are one.” The video shut down with a dooming whirl and Strongarm struggled to not purge right then and there. What had they gotten into?

“So we are playing that game…” Bumblebee murmured, his optics distant.

“You kiddos made him really mad. Well it wasn’t just you, but you certainly played a part! This will be interesting to watch play out.” Jazz commented with far too much cheer in his tone. Was all of this just a game? Even Bumblebee didn’t seem phased.

“He can’t seriously be expecting us to do this- this bloodsport!” Sideswipe burst out, breaking the atmosphere.

“I agree. Isn’t this going too far?” Windblade commented carefully.

“Nope! This is a common game amongst troops, at least during the war. Rion just seems to be taking it to the next level.” Frag it all.

“Then I suppose there is nothing to be done. I shall join this game, if only to give my students additional training.” The minicons under Drift’s command look decidedly unhappy, but Strongarm could only feel a bitter sense of relief. This was really happening.

“We… better get to work.” Strongarm choked out, her vocalizer failing her as the image of Optimus’s grin burned itself into her mind.

What had she gotten herself into?

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #aligned continuity #transformers rid2015 #strongarm #sideswipe #bee team #team prime #optimus prime #jazz #bumblebee #post war cybertron #optimus is a little unhinged #but he has his reasons and his plans #it aint all for pretty reasons

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dynared · 3 months

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The thing that gets me about Rooster Teeth being shut down isn’t that it’s happening, frankly the company revealing that RWBY was never profitable was a damning indictment of how they ran their business, but the news that they want to sell their original IP is baffling, mostly because of how little value it has.

Red vs Blue at the end of the day might be the easiest sale, it was done with the help of Microsoft who owns Halo, sell it to them and have it as part of the franchise in-house without having to share with Warner.

RWBY? If you had done this two years ago, Crunchyroll would have been happy to add it to their originals, but now, they’re disinterested in original content. I suppose that you could sell it to a Japanese company or someone who distributed through Crunchyroll or Netflix, but if that happens, it will be rebooted with non-crap animation, massive changes to the story, and probably throwing out most if not all of the late Monty Oum’s restrictions.

And then there’s gen:Lock. You remember gen:Lock? If you need a refresher, it was the show that RT executive Grey Haddock funded by stealing money from other projects, overworking temps and not paying overtime, only for Season 2 to be turned into a weird diatribe against mecha (because Western writers hate mecha and anything that uses it un-ironically as more than a box on legs) that suggested that maybe one of the main characters was right to kill themselves because the world is screwed. Sounds like a real winner, especially when Michael B. Jordan, the producer and star, refuses to discuss the show anymore. Sounds like the bids are going to be around the block for that one!

So yeah, the question is less “why did Rooster Teeth shut down” and more “who wants the charred remains of what’s left?”

#rooster teeth #RWBY #gen:Lock #red vs blue #rvb #mecha

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thanksjro · 6 months

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Transformers Holiday Special (2015) — Wishing You and Yours a Delightfully Secular Wintertime, Containing Absolutely Zero References to the Birth of Christ

Despite what some might like to think, Christmas isn’t for everyone; even with all the commercialization, at its heart, it’s still about the Baby Jesus. You can tell that we haven’t shaken the Christian connection, because the cover for this special issue has the father, the son, and the holy spirit, which is hidden behind the company logo.

And if Rodimus doesn’t stop screwing around, his resurrection’s gonna have to happen a lot sooner than Easter.

Because this is a comic special, things are going to be a little different. Instead of one standard-size issue, we’re getting three mini-stories, each with their own writer (from each of the comic runs that were publishing at the time) and artist. Our stories are listed here:

Don’t worry about what Ultra Magnus is up to behind that text.

Now, you may ask, why on earth am I covering this issue, which is a specifically Christmassy one, now, when it’s not currently Christmas? Well, according to Roberts, the story “Silent Light” takes place after MTMTE #49, and #50 is when the crew manifest for the Lost Light gets shaved down some, so realistically, this is when “Silent Light” happens in continuity. So I want you to keep in mind that Getaway’s Christmas isn’t going so great.

I won’t be going back to catch up on the other runs’ plots, as the Christmas stories are stand-alone.

Getting into it, our first story is:

Penned by Mairghread Scott and drawn by Corin Howell. We open up on a cityscape featuring a happy sun and some eye-searing narration boxes.

I went to Howell’s Twitter to see what her deal was, and was greeted with a banner consisting of a sexy succubus lady with her boobies out, so I’m going to assume she simplified her style for this issue, since mecha are hella difficult to draw.

Also, I hope you like the structure of How The Grinch Stole Christmas!, because that’s what we’re getting for the next little while, complete with chunky, white text on painful-to-view red.

Our story opens with all the transformers from the colonies visiting Cybertron and making friends with each other. Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts, which pisses off President-King Starscream to no end. Being the drama queen that he is, Starscream feels that everyone should be paying attention to him 24/7 and feed him grapes as he reclines on a sofa, because hasn’t he done enough for all these sorry sacks of shit? He hasn’t even caused a war, unlike the last guy who was in charge. Bumblebee (who is a ghost) tells him to just be fucking nice for once in his miserable life, but Starscream wouldn’t be Starscream if he could settle down like that.

Our god-king of the planet calls for his aide, Rattrap, who is going to be in his alt mode for the entirety of this story, to help him set up for a public broadcast addressing his need for attention and adoration.

He sends Rattrap off to deliver the tape to the news, which seems to consist of two very sleep-deprived individuals. Because they’re apparently the only two robots stupid enough to attempt to cover the nightmare hellscape that is Cybertronian current events, the last bit of Starscream’s tape is cut off when one of them falls asleep on the switchboard. This turns Starscream’s personal worship holiday into “For the Love of God Be Nice to Each Other” Day. Everyone takes to it beautifully, getting BFF tattoos, going on vacation with their husbands, hugging in the straightest gay way possible, holding parades, giving each other bombs, and getting absolutely shitfaced.

Starscream, distraught that nobody is giving him the emperor treatment like he had wanted, sulks in his twin bed, then moves to his dinky little throne as the night wears on, making the most miserable faces he can the whole time. Eventually, Chosen One Day ends, and he’s been completely ignored. Very sad.

Then, there’s a knock on his door, and Starscream creeps over to the peephole just in time to be smashed flat by Wheeljack slamming the door open. Last time we saw Wheeljack he was assumed dead by most, and floating in a tank at Starscream’s behest. He’s gotten better since then, clearly.

Wheeljack came with friends— the entirety of the main cast for Windblade/Til All Are One, to be exact— and they’re here to make sure that Starscream isn’t completely alone on this friendship holiday he accidentally invented. Everyone toasts to his good, totally intentional idea, and Starscream decides against killing all of them for at least the next 24 hours.

Now pay attention to this next story, because it’s actually canon-relevant, because of course Roberts would write a holiday special mini-comic that ties into his overarching plot. Fucking nerd.

Our artist for “Silent Light” is Kotteri (or Kotteri!, as it’s been written on some of their other publications) the pen name for Ikumi Fukuda. Kotteri is primarily a manga artist, having created their own works and well as working on other projects. I admittedly can’t find much on this person, not even their preferred pronouns, TFWiki itself using “they”, which I will default to. All of the info they’ve provided themself is, of course, written in Japanese, but even running things through a translator only proves that information to be purely professional. Their personal Twitter is protected, and my follow request was never answered, as far as I know. There’s a fan Twitter account for their art that claims “she”, but I have no way to verify, and I don’t want to assume anything based on art style, because that’s sort of shitty. Let it never be said that I didn’t do my due diligence here— I fucking hate using Twitter.

We open with Rodimus having just returned from Meteorfest, a festival where you surf on meteors and avoid your co-captain and SIC’s calls like the putz you are. He’s greeted by said co-captain and SIC decorating assembling a Christmas tree cloaking machine and finishing each other’s sentences like an old married couple. Rodimus tries to deny the existence of Minimegs, then we get our heavy-handed and lampshaded explanation for the crux of the issue. Megatron handles Minimus like a baby doll as the two of them explain that the Lost Light is about to hit Mauler territory.

Maulers are notorious for wanting the Cybertronians dead, but Megatron is too much of a macho man to pussy out and go around them. So instead, the crew will be hiding in special sleeping pods that will mask their spark signatures, and pray to their pantheon of gods that no one notices the ship the size of Manhattan. Brainstorm has like fifteen new inventions, despite being on house arrest from his lab. Megatron’s autobot badge is wearing a hat. Merry fucking Christmas.

Over at Swerve’s, it would appear that everyone’s favorite television junkie is closed for business, as it’s just him, Nautica, and Whirl, sitting on the floor getting absolutely shit-faced on subspace-filtered engex. This might’ve been an issue, as folks are supposed to be bedding down in their B.E.D.s for the next leg of the trip, but Swerve slipped Magnus some Bing Crosby earlier so they’re cool right now.

There’s a banging at the door, and Whirl decides to answer, even though it’s not his bar, because if it’s trouble come a-knocking, it was probably looking for Whirl anyhow.

When Whirl answers, however, it’s not Magnus having caught wind of Nautica disrespecting the Autobot code, but an entirely different flavor of problem.

Now, I know that thing Whirl’s holding looks like a fucked up Hitachi Wand, but it is, in fact, an entire-ass baby robot. It seems that when Cerebros (Fortress Maximus’s friend, if you’ll recall) sent the engex through the subspace, this infant Cybertronian (Luna One-ian?) got mixed in with the other supplies.

We learn a bit about how baby Cybertronians work before we remember, oh right, this kid is gonna get everyone killed if they catch wind of her spark, since there isn’t a B.E.D. for her. Yes, it’s a girl! Congrats to our three idiots on their Cybertronian gender non-conforming little princess.

They gang decides to shunt her back through the subspace hatch, so they head over to where it’s currently being housed— the office of Ultra Magnus. Nautica, using her wits and all the tools in her arsenal, smashes the window to the office and they break in. The empty Magnus Armor sits in the dark like a grim monument to being married to your job. Whirl informs Nautica how to comfort the baby that he super for-sure doesn’t care about, handing her off while he uses his titty glass to replace the window in the door. Swerve tries to bite through iron chains holding the subspace hatch hostage, only to be stopped by the sound of justice coming down the hall.

The gang, of course, looks suspicious as hell standing stock straight immediately in front of Magnus’s office, but Minimus rather likes the change of pace out of these goofy morons, and is maybe also trying to deflect his embarrassment at being caught performing his own personal karaoke. He sends them off to their B.E.D.s, and it looks like all’s well that ends well until Whirl asks where Sparky is.

Yes, he named the baby.

Don’t worry though, he’s totally not attached or whatever.

Nautica, in her panic to not be caught stealing/vandalizing/using equipment she doesn’t have the clearance for, stuffed Sparky in the Magnus Armor. And also put the helmet portion back on the body, for some reason. Anyway, it looks like our little princess is gonna be a load-bearer when she grows up, because Magnus is up and looking for hugs. Nautica, a paragon of level-headed thinking in times of crisis, handles this in the best way she can.

And that’s a wrap on Minimus Ambus! Let��s give him a hand, folks! And let’s also give a hand to the new Ultra Magnus, Miss Sparky Whirldòttir! Where did that little scamp get to, anyhow?

Swerve nominates himself to be the one to drag Minimus to a B.E.D. to sleep off his concussion, leaving Whirl and Nautica to track down the baby.

The scene changes to Megatron announcing a last call for beddy-bye time on the intercom, just as Ultra Sparky enters the room. She looms over Megatron, putting him in a very compromising position as he hits the intercom button with his arm. Rodimus, climbing into his own B.E.D., wishes that his co-captain and SIC would stop being gay for, like, five minutes, or at least wouldn’t do it where it can be broadcasted throughout the whole ship in audio format.

Whirl and Nautica come save Megatron from the onslaught of physical affection, stating that “Magnus” has had a bit too much to drink. Megatron orders them to bed from his fetal position on the countertop.

It’s bedtime, but we still haven’t figured out how to get the kid back to Luna 1 so the Maulers don’t super-murder the whole crew. Nautica leaves Whirl to figure it out, getting into B.E.D. and wondering who the fuck knocked on the door in the first place. Whirl tells her not to worry about it and to go to sleep, so he can be the one to deal with this mess.

Whirl, notorious for doing all the nastiest jobs— former Wrecker, intended bullet sponge for the time travel situation, attempting suicide via Megatron— is going to add another tally to the list labeled “Reasons My Peers Don’t Really Like Me All That Much”, by throwing an entire baby out the air lock.

However, Whirl is being written by Roberts, who would never allow the number of robot babies to go down, so Sparky’s adorable assimilation of Whirl’s signature physical features gets him right in the soft underbelly he swears doesn’t exist.

Wow, Roberts put a baby in that robot. Surely this is as overt as we’re going to get with this imagery, since we’re in a major publication and not some fan-fiction!

ANYWAY

Whirl wakes up in the Medibay, emptied of infant and freaked the hell out about it. Velocity— who I will remind you is basically the only medical doctor on the Lost Light, since everyone else is too busy getting railed by weeaboos and joining unethical polycules to do their actual jobs—informs him that his daughter is, in actuality, a massive colony of scraplets that combined to look like a newborn.

It turns out that Nautica is a bit of a snitch, having spilled the beans after she woke up. Whether or not she thought Whirl had thrown the baby out the air lock isn’t really addressed, but thank god he didn’t, because then we would have had to send everyone’s favorite gun-addled dipshit to jail for the rest of forever. Checking security footage revealed who the mystery knocker was— it was the scraplets, forming the shape of an arm.

When Nautica asks how the hell they all survived this, seeing as Whirl kept the murder baby, Whirl informs her that he cut off power to his own spark to allow everyone else to live, including his sweet baby princess, winning him a #1 Dad mug, and also several emails from Rung to please make an appointment with him.

Whirl’s miracle Christmas baby lied and stole with the intent to murder everyone on board, and that makes her the ultimate daddy’s girl.

I hope you’ve all enjoyed this canon-important holiday special story about Whirl becoming a father.

In our third and final story, it appears we’ve been transported to Whoville, by the talent of our MTMTE Season 1 colorist, Josh Burcham. Within Whoville resides Anna Log, a human woman who owns two turbofoxes and sleeps in full military body armor on her couch. The wall in her living room suddenly explodes, revealing a late-night visitor.

Motherfucker, you are supposed to be on the ship right now.

Mega-Claus fusion-cannons Anna Log, and we cut to a film noir office where none other than Thundercracker has his feet up on the desk. The art grayscales for this section, as he narrates that he’s a detective. He’s wearing a fedora. It’s January 7th. He has a mysterious past and probably thinks that makes him very sexy.

The phone rings, cueing Buster, Thundercracker’s puggle, to put on her own fedora, and the two go to see the crime scene, where Thundercracker is the same size as a normal human man and wears a trench coat.

It turns out that Anna Log is the director of security for the entirety of planet Earth, which is sort of a big deal. When Thundercracker and the cops look at the security footage, they see who did it— Santa Claus, played by Megatron himself. Fucked up.

Sure, pal.

Thundercracker must now fly to the North Pole and kill Santa, because that’s how the law works. He transforms, flies by Club Penguin and a Coke commercial, reflects on his job, and then gets ready for a fight with Santa’s security measures, as Busters glowing nose warns him of incoming danger. She’s very talented, Buster.

Thundercracker makes quick work of the cybernetic security reindeer with his twin energy katanas and Buster’s jetpack. He kicks down Santa’s door to find the jolly elf himself standing in the dark, potentially rabid. The two start kung-fu beating the shit out of each other. It should be noted that this Santa isn’t the Megatron Santa, who shows up behind the two as they brawl, but rather original-flavor fat man Santa. How Thundercracker didn’t notice this isn’t addressed.

Thundercracker demands to know why Megatron dressed up as Santa Claus to commit a murder— the murder part made sense, Director Log and Megatron would be diametrically opposed— and Megatron reveals the greatest slight against himself he’s ever known.

Framing Santa for murder ain’t exactly gonna turn that coal into a diamond, Meggy baby.

Thundercracker clocks Megatron, he becomes besties with Santa Claus, and they ride a flying tank into the sunset. Thus ends Thundercracker’s most brilliant writing project yet, which he was reading to Marissa Faireborn this entire time.

Marissa isn’t terribly impressed, poking holes in all the little nonsense bits, while also not feeling thrilled about having been killed off in the first two pages of Thundercracker’s book. While the two argue, Buster and Ayana Jones make a Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown! reference together, and the issue closes out with a big ol’ Autobot symbol, even though Thundercracker was a Decepticon, Ayana and Marissa are humans, and Buster is a goddamned dog.

Thus ends the Holiday Special. Up next, more direct story progression!

#transformers #MTMTE #holiday special #jro punches me in the face #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing

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toskarin · 9 months

Note

"Unlike other mecha, this one is about the cha-" Nah screw that what's a mecha that's ACTUALLY about the robots?

if I say the name that immediately came to mind a lot of people will be very angry at me. you've set me up with the perfect angle to be a hater from and I have to resist.

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indieyuugure · 3 months

Note

OMG LIKE THE NEW TMS EP!! *More chef kiss* here are my comments abit !!

The show that mikey watched kinda reminds me of voltron...dang- i mean imagine voltron was in the turtels univerese...anyways..

The part when donnie says his dying making me shock at first then sad depressing fan gurl lmao

Average person struggling holding a chopstick properly for the first time

Thats all!! I'll make more fanarts when i have the time...sorry if i'm abit...more appearing at your question box! I'm just a really big fan of you when i first met your blog -^- and hope you can wait for the fanarts!!! (Really- there's like alot- and hope you saw this question... :_])

Lol that’s actually a real show in 2012. During season 2 the turtles find an old box of cassette tapes that have the episodes to a crappily dubbed anime called “Super Robo Mecha Force Five” which is meant to be—as you pointed out—a reference to Voltron. I thought it’d be a nice touch ^v^

The Donnie angst is real man :]

😂 I actually have been able to use chopsticks my whole life so I had to figure out how to screw it up to draw this part. Weird problem to have, but I think I got it.

Hey, I don’t mind at all! Take your time to, I’m not goin’ anywhere 🤣

#tmnt #q&a #the mutation situation #lol

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elysiumarchieve · 2 years

Note

Scaramouxhe x mute reader? Headcanins before and after he became a 'god'

NAUR i think that honestly would be so cute😭 protective lover scaramouche who always knows exactly what you want and need MY HEART hc that he knows sign language

and PLEASE tell me if there is anything wrong, i tried researching more on mute people for this because i actually have never met anyone who is mute, so i tried my best😭

scaramouche x mute! gn! reader

warnings: fluff?? scaramouche isn't as much of a little shit in this as he usually is, he has a soft nonexistent heart, sort of 3.2 archon quest spoilers

✧ this is the embodiment of "they asked for no pickles" meme if you actually ask me

✧ scaramouche, although far more attentive when it comes to your needs, is still the same little shit you'd expect him to be. just because you're mute doesn't mean you're dumb and you understand him very well

✧ however, the difference lies in how he really treats you compared to everyone else - you're his beloved s/o and anyone mishandling you earned themself a nice warm place in whatever hell teyvat possesses

✧ scaramouche learnt rather quickly what you like and dislike and what things make you comfortable and uncomfortable. there is no need for you to even try and tell him you're feeling unwell, because he'll already be on his guard and leave at the slightest discomfort you might experience - he reads the room too well for someone who usually doesn't give a damn about human emotions and their needs

✧ there are people bothering you? the next day you find them on their knees, beaten up and bruised, begging you to tell your lover off and how they didn't know you were with a fatui harbinger (you didn't even know scaramouche found out about this)

✧ when accompanying him, he always makes sure you're 'heard'. he'd often say things such as "we're going this way" and waits for you to agree to it before continuing any further - it's all about you and what you think. you still have a 'voice', even though you can't speak to him like anyone else, but that's exactly why he puts you above everyone else

✧ a king of non-verbal cues. he's attentive to a point that it feels like his eyes are always on you, taking in every movement of yours and reading you like a book - there is no need for words in the first place. one unsure glance to the side and he'll be there, asking you what's bothering you

✧ while i doubt he knew anything about sign language before meeting you, he put in a lot of effort to learn it rather quickly for you. one, it would make it easier for him to know what you're trying to say and second, he doesn't need anyone to translate it to him nor do you need a notebook or anything else to talk to him

✧ tell him about your day! it doesn't matter how you do it, but he simply wants to see the excitement in your eyes when you go about what you did. he's genuinely interested in what you do

✧ after having received the gnosis and becoming a 'god' in that sense, you clearly saw him less and you were actually under the supervision of the sages who didn't even dare to say anything to you (i mean, your lover was literally becoming their god, what were they supposed to do?)

✧ staying with the doctor of all people wasn't an option either for you. who'd willingly stay with this madman in one room? not you unless you have a few screws loose

✧ if you came to visit scaramouche during his deification, he'd tell you about all the things he knew now - the knowledge he had gained, the things he suddenly felt.. except that he was still your scaramouche, being a little shit about everything

✧ fuck haypasia, his true first follower was always you, the person who was by his side even way before all of this. he had however to commend the sages for keeping you a secret from the traveler thus far. if they found out about you he would've been sure to try and hide you away from them (they could use his only weakness against him, but that would be low, even for the traveler)

✧ he allows you to sit down on these giant mecha hands to bring you closer to him and unless you're afraid of heights, is actually amazing. you look so tiny and vulnerable in his hands but he knows exactly that he can protect you even better now if you needed it (i'm thinking rn, if his arms copy every movement, can the mecha fingers too?? sign language mecha confirmed)

✧ if you manage to establish the same connection to him the way haypasia did, he'd definitely tries visiting you throughout the day, watching you from the shadows and making sure you're okay - this was his gift for you now that he was a 'god', his everlasting protection over you that he promises you

✧ besides that, he can read your thoughts now too, so your conversations would also be a little different from before. sometimes he'd just hold you on his mechanical hands and listen to what you have to say in your thoughts as he answers you whatever it might be

✧ in his eyes, you're beautiful on the outside and on the inside. he can tell from your mind that you're genuine about him and also his goals and it secretly reassures him knowing he has someone to actually keep true to what they promised him - in the end, all he ever wanted was to have a purpose, whether that might be through you or the gnosis he desires so much, he atleast knows that there is one more thing int his world to give him a purpose

✧ unlike any of the false promises made to him a long time ago, he'd make sure to keep them. as for now, he had become a god and he could give you everything you wanted if you just would be a little more patient for him

✧ he has everything he wants now, he finally has the heart he was designed for, he was finally the god he was always supposed to be and he had you, the one person who stood through it all with him up until this point

✧ he'd probably watch over you in your sleep - standing there with crossed arms right next to you, an endearing look in his eyes you would've never thought scaramouche could ever possess and a proud, small smile (he didn't care if anyone saw him, but the naked human eye could not perceive his form unless they were a special case like the traveler)

✧ to say that his ego grew with that realisation would be an understatement, and yet he'd make sure you're okay and that you're safe - even when that pesky traveler, his annoying flying creature and that child archon came to fight him, he'd be sure to make sure no harm would ever befall you and that you were secure and far away

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin #kunikuzushi #headcanons #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #side note #i love haypasia actually #she's just like me fr #i'd be the same if i had SCARAMOUCHE as my god like damn girl gimme ur tricks

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anguishedlurker · 6 months

Text

Don't Shoot; It's me! No, the other guy! (#38, fake body swap)

HI Y'ALL welcome to my ecto-imposion fic! I'm the writer of course and my wonderful artist was @astravis , and @thesilentbard plus @dragonsdomain he;ped me out with betaing! Check them all out! Buckle up, because this is just the first chapter! And maybe look at the ao3 posting

Of things Danny should have predicted, Skulker and Technus teaming up one day was going to land pretty high on the list.

It all started so normal, too! Getting multiple ghosts at once wasn’t uncommon anymore, and Skulker appearing? Must be a day that ends with Y.

Technus, though...

“I’ll pelt you yet, whelp!” Skulker bellowed, having been ineffectually brained with the remains of a lamppost.

Technus was thusly absorbing the lamppost's remains into his suit, adding yet another object that would qualify as a taser in the right circumstances.

“AND I, TECHNUS, WILL USE THIS OPPORTUNITY TO-”

“No, really, do you ever shut up?!” Danny cut him off, meanwhile diving behind the remains of- ooohhh this was that vegan place Sam liked. He was going to hear about this one for weeks.

“Your disrespect remains immeasurable, child.” Skulker growled, not wasting time in obliterating what was left of the building.

“YEAH, WHAT IS HE? CHOPPED LIVER?”

Danny didn’t pay this mind, throwing some potshots at the both of them as he skittered away for new cover.

“He’s a mecha pain in my- AAA”

We interrupt this smart comment for debris! Debris; A mark of your failure to protect.

Debris wasn’t a new threat, but regardless? That was going to bruise.

Danny was ready to punch them to paste barehanded if it’d get this fight to stop. Skulker already had a weapon making shield borderline painful to maintain against blasts, and with Technus in tow couldn’t be trusted to not get a random power-boost.

Meaning this needed to end, now!

However, “now” would have to be sometime after Technus’s blasts stopped slapping him down like an especially annoying kitten.

“Ah, finally showing cowardice whelp?” Skulker taunted, lazily aiming one of his guns as Danny darted somewhere over an alleyway.

“I prefer to call it intelligence!”

“RUNNING WILL NOT HELP YOU HERE, PEST!” Technus borderline giggled.

Clearly, Danny thought as a piece of roof exploded behind him.

… That one might’ve been that weirdo occult shop that was trying to set up without him noticing. Couldn’t say he’d miss it, if nothing else.

It was really starting to look like “damage control” meant doing some damage himself to cut this short.

He was absolutely going to hear it from Sam once he was done here, as it wasn’t like ecto-ice was easy to clean up. (God knows what's IN that Danny!)

Somewhere in the distance the Fenton GAV wailed, a bad sign for all participants.

So… one shot to do this, maybe two… Eh. He’s had worse odds before!

One last sacrificial rubble pile to buy a second, aaand-

“I DO BELIEVE WE MUST CUT THIS ONE SHORT! SKULKER, IF YOU WOULD?”

“It's a pleasure to use this new toy.”

Danny didn’t even get time to throw an icicle at them.

The rubble exploded, and then Danny exploded, flung across the street like a sack of potatoes and making several things give an upsetting crack on landing.

Screw bruising at this point, he’d be lucky if all of this managed to heal before Monday.

Note to self: Never ever let Technus Skulker pair up ever again.

“FASCINATING RESULTS!” Technus beamed as Danny groaned his way onto his feet.

“Your move, whelp.” Skulker growled, gun pointed at Danny.

“That little toy? Ha, it barely even-!”

And see, there’s many things about Danny’s powers that would never be properly explained to his friends. How intrinsic they all were by now, above all else.

A running start and pathetic hop into the air didn’t actually mean much for flying; by all accounts Danny could go from zero to sixty in a standing position.

So, the raw humiliation of that pathetic hop- intended to be a full assault launch- landing him in a kneeling position took a second to process.

It was just so impossible.

The metal on Skulkers helm twisted to a smile as the gun gave a shrill whine.

Technus giggled as he absorbed a car into his already overburdened monstrosity of a mech, clearly thinking this fight was done.

The GAV siren had never been so loud.

There was really only one choice: Run. Run for his life.

The street lit up behind him, adrenaline carrying him much faster than he had any right to be on foot.

“RUNNING AGAIN, WHELP?” Technus shouted, much too close for Danny’s liking.

“That’s Skulker’s thing!” He shouted back, at a total loss for anything witty.

“I’ve done no such thing as run, child!”

“I THINK HE MEANS THE TERM WHELP.”

Oh good, yes! Get distracted!

“Your thievery of my vocabulary will not go unpunished; yet, for now, we have our prey-”

“UNPUNISHED? WE ARE ALLIES! TO RAISE YOUR HAND IN VIOLENCE AGAINST ME NOW WOULD-”

“Not right now you imbecilic-”

The blasts behind him were slowing down immensely already, buying him a slide around a corner with enough lead to shove himself between buildings.

Still, even with this he wasn’t exactly well hidden.

His options, in this fine back alley, were… A broken mirror, two cardboard boxes, and a dumpster.

…

The dumpster was uncomfortably moist as he shoved himself in and closed the top, and the smell- is this the nasty burger dumpster??

Slowly the town map in his head adjusted. Eugh… Desperation carried him farther than he thought.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE’VE LOST HIM!?”

“The shot must have suppressed his signature. The tracker will be borderline worthless unless we are on top of him.”

Oh, good! Truly, a fair trade for his powers! And once he was done being sarcastic, probably the single blessing he’d get out of this.

“I WOULD CALL THAT EVEN LESS THAN BORDERLINE.”

“Your worthless insistence on semantics is duly noted.”

The bickering continued into the distance, followed shortly by the GAV wailing and his father pointedly screaming.

“Rotten ghosts, molecule by molecule would be too good for you!”

“Phantoms not re-appearing on the radar, but keep an eye out regardless. Who knows what cloaking tactics it’s come up with this time. To the right!” His mom warned, getting fainter and fainter (in the wrong direction) as the GAV sped after Technus and Skulker. Or wherever the altered signal was leading them.

One would think it’d only work the once...

Danny was left to contemplate the situation in silence. Nothing would get done in the dumpster, sure, but hey, uncomfortably moist? More like comfortably hidden.

But beyond that being cowards talk, he reeaallly couldn’t sit there and trust that his parents or even Valerie would pull through on this one.

Okay, well, first task; Phase out of the dumpster.

An action that should be on the same level as ‘flex your jaw’, and yet, Danny was no less uncomfortably moist in sauce juice by the end of his attempt.

The whole thing was unpleasantly reminiscent of the Fenton crammer, minus the shrinking. Powers suffocated to the vaguest wisps in the back of his skull, borderline hallucinations to his futile attempts to use them.

Still stuck in the dumpster, Danny mentally conceded to plan B; Phone a friend.

Tucker was, unfortunately, out at a tech event for the weekend. Which meant it needed to be Sam.

Sam, who was stuck appeasing her parents today in exchange for the stunt with Ms. Hoffman last week.

Somewhere in the distance shots sounded off, indicating that someone had found his two enemies.

Danny didn’t have high hopes as he popped open the dumpster lid and shakily dialed. First of all it’d require Sam to already be out of the dreaded social situation, and secondly it’d mean he got a stroke of good luck if she picked up either way.

His anxiety collapsed to resignation as the ring tone meandered on, leaving him to ignore the layers of irony and humor in his ringtone having been changed to Mystery Skulls’ Ghost.

Pink blasts flashed in the sky from somewhere distant, meaning either Vlad got involved or Valerie had shown up- one more likely than the other.

“Hi! If you don’t know who this is, you shouldn’t have called anyways, and if you do and I didn’t pick up then I’m ignoring you specifically and your voicemail better give me a good reason to call back. And Tucker, if that’s you, I’m not paying for that. You know I’m not. Stop asking. Leave a message after the-”

Danny didn’t wait any longer to hang up. No voicemail would ever be secure enough to risk actually leaving one, and leaving one wouldn’t even speed up the response time.

An especially bright pink and green flash washed over what was probably half the town, and a large crash sounded from several different points in the area.

Now down the phone a friend option, Danny elected to revisit and modify plan A by throwing his leg over the side of the dumpster instead.

You know, the lame way to exit.

None of his bones liked him as he hit the ground, the wind in his metaphorical sails really not keeping up with what he needed to be doing.

Even with the self deprecation heavily suppressed, the situation didn’t really brighten outside of the dumpster. How, precisely, would boxes aide him here? Box Ghost was still pretty peeved over the whole cardboard-boxes-dissolve-in-water solution...

A thoughtless attempt to transition between forms left a suspiciously glass-like popping noise to ring in his ears and leave him fallen face-first onto the ground.

The most intact piece of mirror sat across him, dimly processing as unsafe for workers to be near as the gerbil controlling intelligent thought in his head took a smoke break.

… Seriously, why not have just tossed the thing into the dumpster itself? It’s right there!

The gerbil returned from its smoke break as Danny took in his reflection somewhat, the wheel powering his thoughts creaking back to life.

The crammer had slowly stripped him of every Phantom attribute until only Fenton remained, while right now the present cause to all his woes seemed to have merged his clothes straight down to his hoodie and left every other feature untouched.

It was… weird.

And deeply irrelevant, actually. He needed to either try calling Jazz (ugh) or haul himself home to see if he can’t glue a solution together (different ugh).

Time to shove himself back up to kneeling and pick the gravel out of his teeth (hrng).

While he was at it, it might be a good idea to start a list of cameras that’d need their footage wiped. Even if Fenton’s clothes weren’t incriminating he just didn’t need-

There was an ecto gun by his head, the safety giving a click as it was turned off.

“Would you like to beg?”

He knew that voice- by god did he know that voice. Valerie had to be on that hoverboard just out of his field of view.

He had to have missed some sort of movement while slumped forward by the mirror- it’s not like he wasn’t in enough pain for reality to start blurring.

But that didn’t help, did it? Because he was readily identifiable as Phantom to a girl who wanted half of him dead(er), with zero powers or wit to throw at the situation that wouldn’t just get him shot faster.

But what would help!? She didn’t have any interest in listening to Phantom, barely had any in listening to Fenton, though her lethal intent would at least be lower!

Somehow, someway, the gerbil in his head clipped through the wheel's geometry and resolved to never return.

“Don’t shoot, Val, it’s me! Danny!”

The gun got MUCH louder in response

“Well, Danny Phantom, I think knowing my name-”

“N-No! Fenton!”

He could hear the dial-up noises in Valerie's head, he himself stuck on trying to process how royally he just screwed himself over.

“Let’s suppose, for just one second here, that I don’t believe that.”

“L-look Val, belief doesn’t have much to do with the fact that I’m like, super harmless right now. Literally what would I gain by telling you that?”

He could feel her eyes stare even harder, dissecting his identity in this new light.

“Time.”

Well, he had a good run…

The alleyway promptly exploded, leaving Valerie to skitter off to who knows where as she swore worse than any adult Danny had had the displeasure of listening to.

Danny himself was left hyperventilating in the dust, promptly hopping back into the dumpster and burying himself in the worst effort towards hiding he’s probably ever managed.

“I TOLD YOU IT WOULD BE HIGHLY UNLIKELY FOR HIM TO HAVE HIDDEN HERE.”

“Disappointing, and unexpected. The chase is far more important, but what distracted her?”

“I DO NOT BELIEVE THIS TO MATTER. YOU MAY HAVE SAID PRACTICALLY ON TOP, BUT I THINK AT THIS POINT IN THE ALLEY IT’S SAFE TO SAY HE’S NOT-”

“Move it or lose it, socket-licker. One of our high value targets is running.”

“YOU ARE ONE TO TALK, SHORTSTOCK. INSULTS ASIDE, I WAS GETTING THERE.”

Skulker’s “No, you weren’t. And you’re lucky we’re working together you-” got fainter as the two continued to completely miss his idiot self hidden just under the surface of two tonnes of food slime.

This was now the second time Danny was in the same dumpster, and honestly? He STILL didn’t want to leave!

He couldn’t cave to the desire this time either- trying to out his identity to Valerie in a last ditch effort to save his hide was officially going to go down as one of his dumbest decisions ever.

He couldn’t even think of anything funny his friends would mock him with this time. It was stupid all the way down.

Feet to the ground, eyes peeled for enemies- gone for now.

Time to unbend his pride and beat his mile run record while trying to call Jazz. Hey, multitasking!

He was going to lose his mind over this one. Even without his personal missteps this was bad.

“Hi, this is Jasmine Fenton! Hopefully I can get back to you soon, but for now, please leave a message after the-”

Click.

Two options, he pondered as he did a running slide past the corner grocery store.

One: Jazz was doing tutoring and had her phone off.

Or, possibly, two: Their parents loaded her onto the GAV and didn’t take no for an answer.

He didn’t hear her earlier trying to scream advice in an attempt to circumvent the danger their parents posed to everyone, but was it even a Tuesday for her to be busy with tutoring? Or maybe she does tutoring on Thursdays…

None of it mattered obviously. He had to get to Fenton Works ASAP.

There wasn’t strictly much that could help him, but he couldn’t imagine anything going even more wrong by using the splitter to try and get some part of him functioning again.

At worst, he’d have two people to drive the Speeder so he/they could gun it to Frostbite and see what could medically be done.

This totally didn’t gloss over every logistic and science issue ever, no sir!

And even if it did, what kind of options was he supposed to come up with right now!?

One more cut through an alleyway and Danny was in the home stretch towards Fenton works.

This moment was of course the same one a massive crash and crunch of metal sounded off a block away. Maximum.

Before he’d had the saving grace of a hiding spot. Now? Not so much! All it’d take was for Skulker or Technus to remember that they could fly above buildings and-

Well there went his survival odds!

The second after, Valerie flew above their heads, shooting down at them even as they launched onto his street.

And, for as distracting as she was, he couldn’t say his odds just got any higher.

Danny nearly took the door off its hinges trying to get in faster than anything could shoot at him, barely in before the street was awash in pink and green.

Just because he knew he couldn’t get blamed for this (mostly) didn’t mean the sense that he was so dead over this stopped creeping in.

“I, TECHNUS, WOULD LIKE TO REMIND YOU THAT-” Technus screamed, caving the door in with a broken lamppost, Technus himself soon followed suit, seeming to have shed most of his mecha well before the door- though he was losing more in an effort to get in with ease.

“If this is about the extended car warranty-!” Danny shouted back, trying to bolt for the basement. Or literally any of the house defense buttons- screw that they’d target him too!

“I WOULD NEVER SINK TO SUCH LEVELS, PEST!” Technus cut him off, the severed mecha parts bursting into and spreading wires and metal throughout the house in seconds.

Skulker didn’t waste time squeezing through besides Technus, grinning even as he was focused solely on the street outside.

“The basement.” Was all Skulker said before the option was gone from him, tangled in too much metal and wire to ever think about it again.

Danny wasn’t going to get time to think about this one, bolting upstairs instead as the door frame exploded into pink.

“All of you-”

Valerie interrupted herself with a gunshot to Technus.

“, rat bastards! No respect for-”

Skulker, now.

“anyone or anything! This is a house!”

Danny, now. He could feel it burn through both his shirt and suit even as he passed the last few steps to the second story.

Thank god for adrenaline.

Dashing down the hall as Technus and Skulker both roared into action, he performed the best running leap he’d ever managed to grab and pull the chain for the ladder.

Of course, having leapt for this privilege in a house meant for his dad meant he kept sailing through the air as the ladder slammed down behind him.

That was fine! Valerie was still distracted, just roll and climb! So easy.

So easy to corner himself on a roof with no options except to jump if he wanted off.

The fight continued on beneath him as he stared over the side, his world totally silent otherwise.

Grasping for inane details in the hopes one would matter, he saw nothing of use.

The day was bright, and clear. The town was quiet. If he turned slightly, he could pretend the wake of destruction didn’t exist.

But then he’d be ignoring the wires spilling out his front door, a shell of a car deposited in the center of the street- seeming to host most of the mess as a battery.

Valerie swore worse than ever below.

Nothing could help him right now. He was stuck either standing or jumping.

Or well, maybe he could at least do something about the gaping wound in his side… that might be good.

Slowly and carefully he stripped his hoodie off, noting that the hole was smaller than he’d been mentally giving it credit for.

His side still dripping as he dropped it unceremoniously, he realized that this was a dumb plan and that he couldn’t do anything anyways.

His side wasn’t a spot he could tourniquet. Pressure only helped so much in ghost form, as even with bones he was notably more squishy(?) than a normal human.

The fighting paused for one brief moment, before getting ten times worse, Valerie inadvertently teaching him new slurs for ghosts.

Danny looked over the edge of the building again, reaching for his pocket with a prayer.

…

“Hi, this is Jas-”

Click.

…

“Hi! If you don’t know-”

Click.

…

“You have reached this 🌟Too Fine🌟 of a voice mail-”

One last click off, phone thusly tucked back into his pocket.

Danny stood alone over what was closer to a three story drop than a two story drop (stupid vaulted ceilings…), and quietly sat on the edge as the fight below went silent and stayed silent.

Hand to his side regardless of if it’d help, he watched the car-battery-wire mess power down and simply waited.

Sure, he could jump, but the adrenaline was winding back down. He was already hurt, bad, in multiple ways. Valerie could fly and right now he couldn’t. There was nowhere on the street to hide and even if there was plenty of places the street over he wouldn’t get that far.

He was dead meat any way he went.

He could hear the ladder clack behind him as Valerie hauled herself up.

“What a surprise! All nice and ready for me.” Valerie huffed, immediately standing at the ready with a gun. Danny only just copped a glance before turning back towards the view.

Odd, no suit nor hoverboard. Maybe Technus had managed to hit her just right and made it shut off.

“Yeah. They go through the portal at least?” He asked, barely looking back as he gripped his side a little tighter.

“And here I- what? Um. Yeah, to my knowledge.” Valerie stuttered slightly, the earnestness of his question seeming to trip her worse than Danny’s previous bomb drop.

“Good. Lock the portal when you go back down. My parents will probably open it up by next week, but hey! Stops everything for now.”

Her steps towards him slowed to a crawl, and he could sense the caution and the suspicion even as she continued regardless.

God, he was really doing this. It occurred that he could still just shove himself off the edge, but he couldn’t think of anything that could possibly solve. Guns can be pointed over roof edges.

“Uh. Thank. You? B-But no uh, tricks or-”

She stopped by his side, gun still pointed as her eyes tracked across the roof for the surprise that simply must be coming.

“Valerie, I’m really sorry you think I could ever hurt you, but I’m out. Injured and done. It’s you or it’s splatting on the pavement. Dunno how much bounce back I’ve got left right now.”

“Any last… uhm-”

This is a super stupid way to die. But he’s pretty sure he’ll be a grease stain if he jumps, which is even stupider.

“I guess... Tell Sam, Tucker, and Jazz not to beat themselves up over it.” He hummed, finally looking at Valerie again.

He wondered how much of this mess the town behind him was seeing.

The gun shook silently before lowering and turning away.

“You are him, aren’t you?” Valerie asked softly, gun already dropping from her hands.

The gun dropped with an uncomfortable clatter as Danny gave the least shaky and uncomfortable smile he could manage, Valerie's eyes not even seeing him as she fixated on his stained hoodie.

“Phantom was never this sweet.”

Valerie clearly hadn’t focused on the words, so lasered onto her revelation that Danny’s brief twitch was entirely missed.

He couldn’t even be insulted right now; there was a certain amount of venom their fights had always had.

Silence extended further as Valerie only barely looked back up at him, still shaken.

“Thanks, I think. But uh. What now?” Danny asked, genuinely not sure. He just had to accept that insults to his other half could be addressed later.

How a reveal would go had always haunted him slightly, and this was probably a better ending than most of the realistic ones.

But even then, those fantasies always ended when she understood.

Valerie snapped to at the question, standing straight and returning to her facade of confidence.

“Helping. How’d they even do this to you?”

“Technus made Skulker a new gun, I think. It goes downhill from there.”

Carefully, Danny slid himself back onto the roof. He was struck with the sense that sudden moves would still get him killed, somehow. This was.. Too easy, almost.

Anxiety or not, the pain was also holding him back.

“Figures that those assholes would do this. Don’t suppose there’s an obvious way to fix this?”

“Not really? I mean… there might be something in the basement to help, but outside of that it’s not like I’ve got options beyond to sit here and suffer. Maybe see if Frostbite knows anything.”

“The basement, huh… Oh, thaaat’s why Skulker growled something out about it. Maybe we can-”

The GAV started wailing again, suddenly.

The offending vehicle was only streets away, and if he focused hard enough he could almost hear his dad yelling about having fixed something or other.

Farewell pain, hello adrenaline!

He was going to be so sick after today. He could just feel it.

“Bail!” He shouted, running back towards the ladder.

“What!?”

“Do you trust my parents not to shoot on sight!?”

The look of fear was immediate.

“Oh, god! Bail!”

In total agreement it was borderline a fight for the ladder and to get down to the first floor.

The wires hadn’t disappeared, leaving them precariously stood on the mess next to the kitchen.

“What’s your plan, Danny?! It’s their house!” Valerie hissed, eyeing him and the wires cautiously.

“WINDOWS ARE ALWAYS FAIR GAME!” He screeched, launching into the kitchen.

The voice of doubt in his head pointed out that it was incredibly lame for all his best executed moves for today to be so fundamentally stupid in nature.

Regardless, lifting the stand mixer and tossing it through the back window in one single uninterrupted motion, punctuated by the shattering of glass, was probably the smoothest thing he’d do today.

“YOU COULD HAVE OPENED THE WINDOW-”

“NO WE COULDN’T HAVE!” Danny yelled back, already launching himself through the opening regardless of potential cuts.

“WHAT?” Valerie screeched back, lingering before following suit.

“The Fenton Family Home Defense System locks the windows upon activation, with or without shutter activation! Even when it turns back off they’re stuck until you do a manual unlock!”

He was already bounding through the backyard, sailing himself over the fence without a second thought.

“Danny, in what world does that make sense!?”

Valerie was close behind.

“The one where my parents designed it! And the one where you’d then be stuck in a house with more weapons than people!”

“Danny, your parents are still nuts for locking-!”

“Losing battle! Pick and choose! Keep running!”

Valerie’s laugh was clear, like bells as they continued across town.

The stress was obviously getting to her- yet it was almost infectious. This was insane!

Eventually, well after they’d gone from a residential area back to business, he was yanked into a new back alley, Valerie still grinning as she caught her breath.

“And what about the door?”

“Also locked.”

She missed a beat before speaking again.

“So, what, not even the doors work until you do a system reset? That’s stupid.”

Danny had to laugh at himself right now.

“No, I just don’t remember the passcode! That door is pretty normal.”

“But you can’t leave without a code from the inside?”

“Normal for my house!” He giggled.

They were left with wheezing laughter over a near miss that wasn’t that funny to begin with.

Eventually Valerie’s hand left his shirt collar, moving to push him back slightly. Intimacy time over.

“Okay, Danny. Your parents are nuts and we don’t trust them not to shoot. Where are we going?”

“Well I could always hide in a dumpster again, but outside of that I don’t have any ideas. Sam’s busy and Jazz… well, is it Tuesday or is it Thursday, actually?”

Valerie gave him the blankest look imaginable for his question.

“It’s Saturday.”

… Well then!

“Okay, well, Jazz is tutoring. Probably. So she’s busy.”

“And Tucker, since you seem to trust your friends with this one?”

... What?

“Uh. At a tech camp somewhere in-”

“Got it. The basement might help, you said?”

Right, back to topic.

“I cannot stress that ‘might’ part enough. We’ve got a lot of weird stuff down there that’s come in handy in really stupid ways before.”

“Okay, well, that’s not great. You got an idea on how to get your parents out of the house?”

“Not in the slightest.” He admitted, shrugging as he spoke.

“Superb. Just fantastic. Okay, maybe we could camp at my place for an hour? At least until... or. Hm.”

Valerie finally lost her focus on him, looking to the side in thought.

Danny had to give credit where it was due that they were screwed in a different way, now.

Valerie’s fast turn saved his hide so he was certainly much farther than he thought he’d get, but there wasn’t much they could throw at his parents to make them disengage with the mess of wires Technus left behind. It was now valuable research material, at best.

Delightful.

“My place is probably for the best. Christ, that’s a distance to go.” Valerie muttered.

“Not to interrupt, but yeah actually. How are we getting there? Is your suit broken, or…?”

“Broken is a strong word. It self repairs, but yes, I’m grounded right now. And though I care about you, the huntress getting seen towing Phantom would not be good.”

There it was again, slighter than before but still present. The slight dissonance in how the situation was getting viewed.

Easy to shrug and move on though, right?

He probably shouldn’t.

“So… not to-”

“Look, we need to start moving. You’ve got a hat or something?”

“Man, I wish.”

“Okay, okay�� shitty question, but Phantom can fly. Obviously. What can you do right now…?”

Uh.

“Uh. Nothing? Look, the blast- I think… Sorry, but what do you think happened? I just-”

Valerie’s eyes narrowed a touch in preemptive insult.

“Calling my explanation the abridged version gives it too much credit! I just want to make sure you understand what happened, and what you’re asking??”

Best cover he could’ve used, honestly.

Valerie cringed in on herself, obviously realizing something.

“Uhm, sorry, I didn’t mean to… Look, sorry. I know being in his body is probably really weird? But my place is over in Elmerton, and it’d be really helpful if one of us could… I’m sorry.”

She’d dodged the real question, but still managed to give the answer Danny needed.

In… this body…?

Oh. Oh boy.

#dp #danny phantom #ectoimplosion #ectoimplosion2023 #valerie gray #fic #collab #long

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cloudninetonine · 11 months

Note

I will get on my knees and beg for a yandere!Mecha drabble.ლ⁠(⁠・⁠﹏⁠・⁠ლ⁠)

"I would do anything for you."

The following pause was almost thunderous despite the complete lack of noise.

You eyes had moved from your fishing pole slowly, similar to your usual comedic effect but lacking the actual comedy from the real confusion shown as you stared up at Mecha. His own artificial eyes stared back, company made plastic that shone an aquatic blue as they studied your rigid form with not an ounce of emotion behind them.

"...What have you done?"

Your tone held an accusation but not the angered kind. No, the feelings behind it felt more similar to the tone you’d address a pet, waiting patiently at the front door awaiting the arrival of it’s owner when they finally walked through the door and realised their furry roommate seemed a little too nice that day. What had he done? What had he left behind? And would you be the one cleaning up the mess after it all?

“Nothing, nothing, I swear.” He chuckled, turning back to his own fishing pole- a gift from you, so he wouldn’t have to sit stagnant alongside you. Something that made him feel a little more human. “I just…I thought you should know.”

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously, lips pulled in an overly mocking pout before you kissed you teeth with a growing goofy smile, turning back to the slow stream. “I would do anything for you too.”

“You don’t need to, I am perfectly fine with doing anything.”

“Nu-uh.”

“Ya-huh.”

“Are you calling me incompetent?”

Even with a forever permanent smile, he stilled seemed to he smirking. “What if I am?”

“Then you better put those hands up to fight.”

You really were adorable. Did you really think you stood a chance against him? Your shorter, meat filled arms that could so easily snap under the pressure of even an inch of his strength? Something he knew too well, when he had killed those monsters that got too close or that odd Hylian who thought being in your presence didn’t have such dastardly consequences- bugs. The whole lot of them. Bugs beneath his feet, just like he was compared to your radiance, a mere bug that you could so easily step on but chose to spare from the depths of your love filled heart.

You playfully punched his arm, cringing and shaking off the pain that came with beating hardened plastic when he caught your wrist, fingers gently running over your knuckles.

Such delicate skin. So soft and so warm- not that he could feel it of course. But he knew. Mecha knew deep down in his soul, so broken and decayed, that your whole being was perfect. One of these days, no matter what, he would feel it. He would do anything, would kneel before the goddess and beg, would detach himself from this wretched prison- would steal a body of one of those stupid heroes if it meant he could feel the warmth of your skin against his.

Mecha longed for humanity, longed to be with you- he craved it. Craved it like the bees craved pollen, craved it like the fish craved water. Mecha didn’t just want you, he needed you. Screw those heroes who bore the same name as he, Mecha loved you more than they ever could. The animatronic was simply the best, even with this disgusting body of metal he could protect you with no sweat on his brow and that was what he was made for. His true purpose wasn’t to be just a hero but your hero.

Carefully, Mecha brushed your knuckles against his plastic lips. He may have not had the assets but the intention was there and to see you giggle, flustered before returning the sentiment, your lips presumingly gently kissing his mechanical knuckles was worth it.

Mecha would bleed this land dry if it meant he would be the one you would hold dear.

#cloud answers #linked universe #linked universe x reader #lu #linked universe imagine #player au #a player's aid #mecha #yandere linked universe #my beloved boy got a requesttttt #Anon asks

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blue-hair-and-pronouns-tourney · 6 months

Text

Propaganda

Young Griff:

-He's got blue hair, he's got pronouns, he's got a gay dad, he gets his ass kicked at fantasy chess, he's the cornerstone of a 20 year long conspiracy to ruin everything by making him some screwed up Platonic philosopher king and maybe reignite a succession crisis that was solved 40 years ago

-of course you have blue hair and a questionable claim to the iron throne, boat boy.

Galo Thymos:

-he's a firefighter (with a mecha) and his boyfriend is an arsonist (with a mecha) 💙. he's so stupid i love him so much (pleeeease watch promare it has mechas and fire and gay people)

#young griff #galo thymos #promare #a song of ice and fire #round 1

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reboot-a-transbian · 5 months

Text

Untitled Mecha Fiction

It returns to the Foundation hangar. Water jets dampen sound of the uncompromising thrust of the frame’s jets autonomously performing the suicide burn programmed in the return home trajectory. With a heavy click, the entry plug lock disengages. Steam rushes out the vents of the shock absorber cooling system, not a good sign. This one's been on the battlefield for too long.

Ventilation liquid temperature: 40° Celsius.

Shock absorber temperature: 147° Celsius. Auxiliary cooling connected.

Telemetry was lost at T+00:04:37 with a flash. Concluding it to be an explosion, it doesn't explain the multiple indents in the core armor. Or the fact that the burdensome and over budget reactive armor seemed to not only be totally ineffective, but also damaging several sheets of the frame’s titanium plating. “Someone tried to kill the link specifically,” thought Natalie. With a symbolic pull, the pneumatic system swiftly raises the capsule to reveal a heavy duty hatch. With a thud, it drops on the catwalk extension.

A pale, frail figure almost falls out to be greeted by an ensemble of medics, psychologists and superiors, vultures dining upon the link's experiences.

10 milligrams of oxycodone administered: TLV treatment is recommended, it's imperative to induce hypothermia in Link-09 v1.16.

“Crucial data is to be extracted through the spinal interface before administering medical care.” - Foundation Link Safety Protocol, addendum 4a. As much as I'd love to sympathize with the links, fresh synaptic and limbic data helps us train autonomous units, eliminating the need for links in the first place.

The link is shipped off to the installation medical center, a gray, brutalist building like any other. Recently, a C-RAM failed to defend the south barracks from an artillery strike. With the death of 04 and 06 and the retirement of 01, the Environment Preservation Foundation, the last thing resembling a government, might have to simply give up some territory.

With a fading panic, it finds itself inside a ventilator. It's used to having its frame respirate for it, but that's not the case. “This is wrong,” the link thinks to itself trying not to notice the sensation, to not panic. This body feels less and less like its own after every sortie, but it's hard to ignore the feeling of drowning while breathing..A slight cough stirs the liquid into its trachea, causing a violent coughing fit. Claustrophobic, it breaks the plastic ventilator hatch. What it thinks are the last drops of the blue liquid are gone. Its legs almost give out trying to sit up. Not seeing a nurse anywhere and seeing its lifesigns nominal, it tries to leave with a limp. It sees the mechanic after every sortie, so what went wrong? What did it do wrong? The room empty except for comatose Link-05 v1.14 fills the link with dread. Panicked, hyperventilating with PFC still stirring around in the lungs, it passes out.

***

The tests didn't show any systemic damage, so repair work wasn't that bad, but by the 200th torque screw, she starts cursing the link between your countlessly iterated on design and your higher-ups goals. The links aren't perfect, but this one doesn't make many mistakes. How could it fail at this critical time? How could it let itself get torn apart like this?

Replating the frame is tedious and boring for the most undervalued and underpaid asset of the frame project. The telemetry and main sensor array were beyond repair, meaning the whole headpiece needs to be replaced, driving us even more over budget.

“Irregular straight and jagged tears in the old plating helped the investigation, repeated blunt force deformed the hull until it gave in, rupturing a secondary coolant pipe, causing the shock absorbers to heat the entry plug. Scraps of tungsten and scorch marks indicate a missile barrage, but that doesn't explain the reactive armor misfiring. I've included an emergency liquid nitrogen coolant tank in the cockpit so that a slight fever won't jeopardize the mission. End of report.”

Right on time, the hangar door slid slightly open with a metallic whir and a parody of the Foundation entered; a link in a wheelchair escorted by 2 heavily armed guards.

“Don't fail this time, you know we can't afford it,” said Natalie in a stern voice.

“Where we-”

“I was cleaning up the mess you made, now get ready”

“What even h- huh?”

“We’re going out again, doll”

“I-i n-no,,, but,” the link tries to protest the rational.

“Now.” she said non-negotiably.

The link’s thoughts start racing, as seen on Natalie's watch. Even if the link could contractually give up on its frame, it wouldn't. When your body feels wrong, it's easy to know one that's right. The lack of a tremor in your arm, the undoubted confidence of 6 axis movement, the perfectly manufactured feeling of pleasure it gets for driving a 30x173mm bullet through an enemy combatant.

“I said now.”

***

5..4..3..2..1..

Two massive shoulder mounted cylinders start emmiting a deafening roar on the launch pad. New links love this part. For others, soaring through the sky faster than sound has become routine, a period of time that seperates them from their purpose.

The solid rocket boosters split in half, accelerating the frame even faster towards the enemy in the remains of a jungle. We need that cobalt and lithium more than they do, but could our weapon end the war? Natalie remembers she's on call for this mission and focuses. Eliminate A, retrieve B, all under C time restraint.

Steel legs cut into the damp soil, decelerating the frame as it further ravages whats left of mother Earth.

“Engage, target on your-”

“On my 6, yes,” the link interrupts Natalie, “you know, i can feel the radar”

Before the mechanic can even respond, thrusters turn the vessel 180° degrees onto a collision course. In the corner of it's new eye, it spots an infrared streak and locks onto it, dumping an entire magazine of the anti-material rifle into a bush. Dense bullets kick the dirt around, shrouding whateve might have been there by before.

“On your 9! 700 meters!”

A large shell hits the left shoulder fast, disabling the jet, shorting circuits translated as pain hit the link for a split second and no longer. A warning pinch programmed to let the pilot know a shaped charge has been depleted. A cut in Natalie's paycheck. A debt, an error, motivation.

With a quick turn the frame is again soaring above the treeline, weaving through oncoming rockets like it's nothing. Velocity reads zero.

G forces generated by stopping from Mach 2 in less than a second disarm the frame except for a small rocket battery. Shock absorbers do their best to protect the link, but it isn't enough. The braided spine interface disconnects slightly.

Angels start screaming as the mind tries to comprehend new untested stimulus. Magenta fills half the link's vision. Apendages burn and freeze and burn and through all that it finally sees the frame that did this. The frame that's mauled this one beyond recognition, the one that's killed it's perfect streak of results. The enemy.

Brushed, black steel assaults the frame. Punch after punch, relentless fists with rocket powered resolve decimate the titanium body. Being rocked back and fourth in the impenetrable cradle, the link starts to curl up.

“Get up.”

Another strike. And another.

“Get up!”

The twitching of defenseless prey brings out the confidence in the enemy pilot. Another punch connects with the torso, being the trigger to the last bundle of explosives left.

“I'm activating the coolant!”

With a jolt hitting it's heart and cold liquid shocking it awake, it regains it's composure.

Separated by explosives, no longer. Simultaneously both frames start performing a carefully timed dance. Another round of artillery misses. The moment the target crosses the reticle, dozens of missiles fly out. Continuing the ballet, the enemy performs one evasive maneuver after another, soaring higher and higher in a gracious spin only for the performance to be stopped dead in it's tracks by a single warhead hitting the sensors.

A single swift kick brings the matte black machine to the ground. A punch to the head makes the combatant lose footing. Another punch takes out the remaining senses. In it's struggle, it's arm capable of demolishing a building is torn off like a candy wrapper. A tornado of fists keeps breaking of crucial systems until all that's left is the entry plug.

A single bite cracks the capsule open. Tungsten needles pierce the enemy pilot. This one doesn't disappoint.

#ac6 #mecha #combat doll #doll #empty spaces #writing

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lets-try-some-writing · 5 months

Text

Action! Chapter 2

Now settled into his role, Orion, or rather Optimus, is finally ready to get the ball rolling with his opening scene just around the corner.

Previous part here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

The director must have really been aiming for realism with this production. Orion, no, Optimus Prime sat at his desk as he had for the past two deca-cycles. Not once had he been given the chance to break character comfortably. He couldn’t be sure his personal quarters weren’t being filmed since that was where his opening shot had taken place, so he opted to keep to his persona just in case. While he felt slightly more comfortable without the extras around him, it still wasn’t exactly a peaceful environment.

Despite that, Alpha Trion had obviously seen to every tiny detail with the set. Orion had done his fair share of snooping while doing his best to look deliberate. With so little information about current events, he wanted to get a little extra data. Thankfully, Optimus Prime’s, or perhaps Orion’s quarters, were filled with small indicators of personality. Letters from Optimus’s sons and absent Consort that had been received and read, but never answered. Small trinkets from when his character had not been a Prime. Photos hidden in the back of the closet behind a box that showed a time when his character had seemingly been a better mech. Optimus Prime in those photos looked younger, happier even. He bore a smile on his unmasked face as he held a newly forged Bumblebee in his arms, Smokescreen grinning gleefully as he looked down at his younger brother.

Those photos made Orion smile, especially the ones that showed Optimus’s sheer joy as he drank with Megatron and what looked to be his other close friends before his rise to his station. Optimus’s origins in the novel were not exactly explained, largely because the mech had done everything in his power to cut himself off from his past and cover his tracks. A smart political move to ensure his friends and family could not be used against him, but a poor way to connect to the people. But from what hints were dropped in the story and based upon the fact that there was a police issued pistol in a small box hidden underneath the berth, Orion had his theories. Optimus Prime had evidently once been involved with law enforcement, and it seemed that his sense of justice had likely been perverted, possibly through seeing all the corruption of the higher castes.

Everything he found gave Orion more ammunition to use to improve his performance. Knowing the Prime had once been part of the police force ensured that he could adequately use his knowledge of the novel’s laws in order to back up his claims if need be. Not to mention, he could also likely hint at a darker past, one where his character possibly saw indescribable horrors while on the job, a potential contributor to his eventual fall to darkness. Additionally, it seemed the Prime still carried a fondness for his former station and likely held a secret love for the mecha he had long pushed away, considering his keepsakes.

A regretful and damaged villain. Being Optimus Prime was going to be a sheer delight.

Well, that is whenever he could begin truly playing his role. Thus far all he’d been able to do was work through the mountain of datapads that had built up, and then after completing those, he had spent a ridiculous amount of time reviewing already active programs and laws. Again he found himself praising the director’s optic for detail as he looked over fully fledged and well documented articles. But he couldn’t help but internally cringe at a great many of the active laws and regulations. They were largely and rather obviously meant to screw over the lower castes.

Since he was just trying to look like he was busy, Orion had quickly begun the long and arduous process of adjusting things. He was very thankful for his training prior to arriving at the set and what little he picked up while thinking about joining the Archives as he tore through countless protocols and restructured them to his liking. Being a Prime had its perks. Even if it was all for show, considering Alpha Trion’s dedication to making things realistic, Orion wouldn’t have put it past him to make things an absolute slag pit if his character were anyone else.

Despite the enjoyment he found in picking apart the hyper realistic documentation, at the end of the two deca-cycles, he was weary.

He always had a penchant for working himself half to death, and whatever mods he had been given were certainly not helping his poor habit. His newly adjusted frame just… didn’t get tired like his old one did. He hardly noticed the passage of time as he delved into paperwork, finding himself pondering a possible future where he had chosen to join the Archives. Considering his office, once overflowing with work, was now fully cleared and organized, he reckoned he would have been good at it.

He hardly saw anyone as he worked. The servants refused to, or perhaps were too afraid, to talk to him. They played their parts perfectly, and Orion internally praised them even as he started to feel the effects of loneliness. He just had to be patient. His time to shine would come soon.

“My Lord, your Council is on their way. Would you like to await their arrival in the Throne room?” Orion, no, that wasn’t right. Optimus Prime sat up at his desk as a servant carefully entered. They had learned that so long as they remained quiet, Optimus would not snap at them. His character certainly could have, but Optimus felt it was unneeded, especially considering the character he was hoping to portray was both cunning and complex. Random bursts of anger at employees not doing anything didn’t give off that impression.

“That would be acceptable.” Optimus stood up slowly, allowing his battle mask to slide into place. His character was well known for only ever revealing his face when within his inner palace, never in the Throne room or in front of any cameras. It was likely a holdover from his time in law enforcement.

“Your attendants are ready to assist you in your preparations, my Lord.” The servant bowed, their expression carefully controlled. Optimus nodded subtly to them, hoping it conveyed his appreciation and awe for their acting. How Alpha Trion got so many talented extras was beyond him. It had taken a good chunk of a cycle for him to track down and memorize the names of his most relevant servants so that he could quietly prepare them gift baskets. He really hadn't expected Alpha Trion to give him proper funds, but he opted to not question the situation and used a small portion of his wealth to get them something nice. He hadn’t gotten any messages in return, but considering nothing had been sent back, he assumed his gifts had been taken with a degree of appreciation.

That had been a deca-cycle and a half ago. Since then, his servants had been surprisingly docile, or perhaps less skittish. He didn’t know how to coin their behavior.

“As is expected of them.” He quipped as he came around toward the door. The servant bowed and said nothing more as Optimus exited, only to then be met by six curious faces. The mecha before him were of the Primacy, their religious shrouds said as much. However, instead of shaking or doing something else of the sort, they instead looked at him oddly before gesturing for him to follow.

Strange, but then again, the priests in the novel were known to be rather odd. Very little was actually documented about them, and they only appeared to assist his character in dressing for activities of importance or to guide him through religious rites. Maybe this was part of their script.

“Prime, please stand here.” The priests directed him into a room covered in detailed murals, gesturing for him to stand on a raised round platform a foot or so off the ground in the center of the chamber. Optimus paused, taking in the sheer grandeur of the room before he obeyed. The walls were almost pure ivory in coloration, all covered in glyphs he could only read if he looked closely. Gold trim graced every detail of the space, and he was fairly certain there were portraits of prior Primes painted on the walls in some places.

He’d said it a million times, but by Primus, Alpha Trion was not playing games when it came to detail.

“Begin your work, priest.” Was all he ordered in response, his tone cold but slightly off kilter as he struggled to keep focus in light of the detail in the space. If he had the chance, he would love to spend a whole cycle, or perhaps several, simply viewing the walls of the chamber. There was so much history and so many hidden clues to be found in every piece. The set designers must have been absolute masters of their craft to pull all this off.

He couldn’t help himself as he hastily examined the chamber, looking for the telltale mark of Knockout’s work. The designer was known to leave a little sigil somewhere on all of the sets he was involved in. Optimus could only assume he had to have been involved in the production of his current set, considering the sheer amount of intricacy.

“By your will.” The priests chanted before more streamed into the room from small tunnels previously hidden along certain points in the walls. Light shone from a window directly above him, and by the Allspark, Optimus really felt like a Prime as the priests laid expensive organic cloth around his shoulders, turning it into an elegant cape covered in symbols that fell from his back. The overhead light must have been Breakdown’s work, it really sold the entire scene in Optimus’s opinion. The light shone on the cloth and caused the glyphs that were being painted onto him to glow slightly. He hadn’t noticed since he had practically lived in his office the whole time, but the gold accents he woke with had largely faded.

The priests restoring them made him a bit giddy if he was truthful. Now he truly looked the part of the mighty and tyrannical Prime. It was incredibly difficult to keep a straight face, despite it mostly being covered by his mask, as the nearest priest placed something rather heavy on his back. Optimus struggled to see it, but from what he gathered, it was some sort of… flair piece made of gold? It added an aura of religious fanaticism to his persona with its structure, and quite frankly, Optimus enjoyed it.

A dramatic villain was by far the most enjoyable to watch on screen.

“May Primus guide your steps.” The priests bowed respectfully, and Optimus took the opportunity to step off the dias and turn toward the exit. He memorized the maps of the palace his first cycle there. He would be foolish not to.

“At ease.” He called back, pulling on his character’s supposed past in law enforcement to make a statement. He did his best to have his voice dip into something more tired, a weary mech, so very done with life. He wanted to giggle as he noticed the priests standing up, confusion etched onto their features as they watched him leave.

He was absolutely owning his part so far.

If he weren’t on set he would absolutely be making an expression worthy of how he felt in his spark, but he took a deep vent, hoping it added to the drama as he opened the door and stepped into the hall. The weight of the cape was neither uncomfortable nor foreign, despite its origin. The weight on his back from the accenting piece was also rather nice as he strode down the halls, not waiting a moment but keeping his pace steady as he made his way toward where the map he memorized dictated the Throne room to be.

Guardsmecha quickly joined him, abandoning whatever posts they held previously in order to escort him. They, too, gave him strange looks, ones he refused to acknowledge. Perhaps their scripts indicated that they were to act as though he were suspicious. It would make sense. According to the lore, he had been in stasis for a whole vorn, and now he had been working nonstop for a full two deca-cycles.

Thinking about it, that may have been a mistake. A mech fresh out of stasis should have still been in a medical wing somewhere, going through therapy and examinations. Optimus hopping right up without so much as a word to anyone but his servants and getting right to work was likely… concerning. The novel never went into much detail about his character’s work ethic, just that his laws were unjust and his actions cruel in the extreme. Optimus could probably play it off if he just didn’t acknowledge the situation. Maybe the director would cut anything that hinted at anything too incriminating.

He still didn’t know how much filming his predecessor managed to be a part of before his accident. He would hate to screw something up due to ignorance.

“You are dismissed.” He called out to his guards as he at last reached the doors to the Throne room. All the halls in the palace were largely the same, albeit with different murals and stained-glass windows depending on the wing of the building. It would be easy to mistake this room for another. Optimus really hoped he wasn’t about to walk into the energon purifying room or something.

“My Lord, it is our sworn duty to protect you.” One guardsmech put forward hesitantly. Optimus raised an optical ridge in response, quickly causing the mech to shift uncomfortably. He contemplated the right response before settling on portraying a Prime with enough ego to drown out the nearest star. It seemed on par for a mech such as Optimus.

“I am fully capable of defending myself, guardsmech. I require no guardians.” The mech shrank in on himself, likely expecting a hit. Optimus abstained from acting on the unspoken cue. He didn’t have a written script, but hurting a guard so early into his time on set seemed a bit much. His character was highly intelligent and cunning, and while not necessarily showcased in the novels, he wanted to spin it so that Optimus Prime was at least given a degree of respect for his efforts amongst the audience.

A villain needed to know when outright violence was the answer and when cunning was key.

“If you are so concerned, give me your weapon, and I shall sully the blade with the energon of any who dare step too close.” He glared, his field flaring briefly to sell his point. Of course, his field would not be visible on camera, but the gentle urging he sent out would hopefully get his wishes across to the extra before him. Nonverbal communication was essential for any good actor. One couldn’t always rely on the script.

He held out a servo expectantly, his gaze frigid but his field as warm as he could manage without it affecting his body language. The guardsmech froze, as did the others. They shared a series of startled looks before the mech in question at last unstrapped his sword from where it hung at his hip and dropped to a knee, presenting it formally.

“Be on your way, guardsmech, and know this.” Optimus accepted the blade, strapping it to his own hip with practiced ease, as if he were still back in Crystal City training with his teacher. He looked down at the fearful guardsmech before bending down to grip the mech’s face. The mech froze in horror, his frame going completely still and his venting slowing to the point of it being concerning as Optimus forced the mech to meet his gaze.

“Never again dare assume that I am so weak as to require your protection. I am your Prime, I am Primus’s chosen vessel. No mere mortal could ever dream of withstanding anything powerful enough to damage me.” His words came out in a hiss that still managed to maintain a vague remnant of a sing songy undertone. He internally cheered at his performance as his words rang in his audials. Ad libbing was one of his specialties in school and by the Thirteen, his new voice mod really sold the bit.

The guardsmech looked a klik away from crying when Optimus let go and returned to his proper height. However, despite his words, his field still extended kindly to the extras around him. It was his version of telling them good job, since words were not exactly an option at the present moment. They seemed to take it well enough, at least he certainly hoped so, since their fields flared in brief bursts of mixed confusion and awe with a hint of fear.

The fear was weird, but then again, Ratchet had once said in an interview that field usage on set was considered rather rude. Maybe he had crossed a line.

“Of course, forgive me, my Lord.” The guardsmech bowed and shakily stepped away. Silently, Optimus sent a message through his HUD to give the guardsmecha some gift cards. He didn’t know their designations yet, so for the time being, they could use his little gift to maybe get a drink off set somewhere. Being up in someone’s face was a rather frightening thing for any extra after all. He certainly had a few instances where he nearly broke down while training at the academy. The mech looked rather young too…

He shook his helm, clearing his mind as he readied himself. He had no clue who would already be there and who wouldn’t. Without access to the special effects team, he would need to start setting up his own effects once this was over. But for now, entering normally would be fine. It wouldn’t do to overwhelm the audience.

“Announcing Optimus Prime, Primus’s Chosen.” The announcer listed his designation and title as he strode into the room, internally sighing in relief at having entered the correct area and not embarrassing himself by waltzing into some other space, Primus forbid a closet or something of the like. He had no clue how he would explain that in such a scenario.

“Hail.” The small collection of already present bots stood from their chairs, bowing slightly with a servo over where their spark chambers were hidden behind layers of protective armor as he entered. Striding toward the seat he assumed was for his character in light of the very obvious Matrix of Leadership engraving on it, Optimus observed those present.

Once he was seated, those gathered did the same once more. The first mech he laid optics on very nearly had Optimus wheezing if not for his training prior to arriving on set. Ratchet was right there. Not just the character, the actual mech. He looked absolutely stunning playing the part of the Prime’s personal physician. He thought that his idol had long given up on acting, but it seemed Alpha Trion’s production was too good to turn away from. The elder actor was performing brilliantly, his disposition exactly like the character depicted in the novel. A scowl was settled on his face, accented by the gold flairs that had been painted onto him. He looked less than pleased with the situation as a whole, and he did not even bother to hide his disdain as Optimus met his gaze.

Pros really were made of sterner stuff. Not only was Ratchet’s acting top tier, but his field was also held so close to himself as to be akin to a second layer of armor. The work of a real master, refusing any and all contact with fellow actors in order to really fall into character. Optimus would be fragged if he didn’t get an autograph once they had a chance to speak somewhere without cameras. Maybe he could just invite him to speak over some tea while in character. It wasn’t part of the script, but then again, it seemed Alpha Trion’s optic for realism dictated that events would play out in proper order and over the course of time indicated in the novels. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to speak to his co-star.

“Ratchet, I had not expected you to heed my summons.” Optimus commented frigidly. Ratchet, still maintaining his immaculate characterization, almost snarled in response.

“I was half tempted to do just as you anticipated Prime. I have more important things to do than sit around and be a pretty doll.” The physician glowered with the rage of a thousand suns, and Optimus had to fight to keep still as he internally cheered. Ratchet was an absolute master of his craft, and it was evident in every small motion he made.

“But considering I was forbidden to tend to your high and mighty majesty during your time in stasis, I elected to turn up and see if the rumors were true.” Ratchet reached out for a sizable pile of documents, shutting down any further conversation just as quickly as Optimus initiated it.

Absolutely brilliant. Ratchet’s character had been largely forbidden to do anything of worth, and was kept around as a formality more often than not. In the novel, this drove the doctor half mad due to how many bots needed him down in the clinics. He despised doing nothing aside from appearing for the sake of formality. A large portion of his anger toward Optimus’s character stemmed from the simple fact that the Prime held all of Ratchet’s students and staff in the palm of his servo, their lives hanging by a thread. For Ratchet to manage to showcase all of his character’s anger in such a short scene was nothing short of phenomenal.

“It is good to see you functional again, my Lord.” Ultra Magnus sat at the far end of the table, as far as physically possible from Optimus. He had reading glasses on and his tone was anything but welcoming, unsurprising considering his character was a former war hero forced into the role of glorified maid in order to keep him from speaking out. Being a secretary was by no means the worst job out there, but it was a far cry from his former position, and Magnus’s character could not risk the potential harm that would befall his soldiers should he fail to obey.

Optimus had to reset his optics a few times in order to confirm that the actor playing Magnus’s character was indeed the Ultra Magnus he knew. Why a director had chosen to act was beyond him, but he was doing a fantastic job, so who was Optimus to judge? He nodded to himself softly, hoping somehow that the other actor felt his approval.

“Soundwave, you come on the behalf of the senate, I assume.” It wasn’t even a question. Optimus knew full and well that Soundwave, the mech sitting closest to him on his left, was an inside mech. He didn’t want to be there, and was forced to serve as the senate’s mouthpiece in order to ensure that Megatron didn’t find himself killed in some horrible and one hundred percent unfortunate accident.

It was odd that the actor playing the character wasn’t in his usual monster role, but Optimus internally shrugged and moved on. Soundwave was always a quiet mech on camera, and it seemed this role suited him fine.

“Affirmative. The Senate wishes to confirm Optimus Prime still functions.” Soundwave remained still as a statue, an act of dedication to his role that had Optimus wishing he could give a thumbs up in awe. However, he fought with his spark until the urge died and looked to the only other mech in the room.

“Jazz. I imagine you are rather disappointed I didn’t offline while in stasis.” Optimus taunted with a hint of a dark laugh in his tone. Sweet as candied energon, his vocalizer produced what might as well have been a song as he leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on the table and his servos clasped together in a grim mimicry of a prayer.

“Right on point, Prime. Would have been nice, but you’ve always been a real glitch about dying.” Jazz flipped a knife as he propped his pedes on the table. Unlike everyone else in the room, he had no decorative pieces on his frame. He looked like an average civilian. He was, to Optimus’s knowledge, the only mech his character had no real sway over. Jazz was there because he had to be for the safety of those who were against Optimus’s character.

If he recalled correctly, it said somewhere in the novel that Jazz remained for so long on the faint hope that his old friend would return and cease his cruelty. A tragic story, really, but one Optimus could use to improve his performance.

“Your commentary is irrelevant. Where are my heirs and my High Protector?” Those at the table remained silent as a servant hurried forward with a bow. Optimus raised an optical ridge and leaned back in his chair, giving off the aura of an unimpressed and agitable leader as the mech hurried to speak.

“The Primecended are going to be arriving late, my Lord. Primajor Smokescreen has been slowed by delays in transportation from Protihex. Priminor Bumblebee was…” The servant trailed off, shifting from pede to pede as they continued.

“You have never called for the Priminor before, so his position was not monitored… and it is possible he assumed you did not require his presence.” The room fell deathly silent as Optimus weighed his options. The way the film was running seemed to suggest that so long as all the main plot points were reached, the actors could act as naturally as they wished while remaining in character. Optimus had free reign to act as he saw fit.

In this case, he had just the right idea.

“That sparkling has been left to run wild for too long. Living a life of luxury due to my efforts. How very ungrateful of him.” Standing slowly, Optimus loomed over the servant and grasped their wrist, making sure to make it seem as though his grip was crushing while remaining soft so as to not damage them.

“He is my heir. He will learn to heed my summons. Bring him here in the next joor, or I will get him myself. I am sure we all don’t want that to happen, do we?” He increased his grip ever so slightly, cracking his knuckle on the servo not visible to the onlookers, in order to make it seem as though he’d damaged the servant. Then, to sell the scene further, he threw the mech to the ground as carefully as he could manage while still seeming harsh.

“Find him and tell him that I will tolerate no further acts of defiance.” The servant wiped away tears as they scrambled to their pedes and fled. Those gathered at the table stared at Optimus in hatred, as was to be expected. Optimus in turn nodded to himself before sitting back down. He didn’t want his co-stars thinking he’d actually hurt the extra playing the servant role, so he hastily began to crack his knuckles while extending his field comfortingly, hoping they connected the dots.

Their expressions grew more terrified than comforted, but he chalked that up to them remaining in character.

“Once my Council has finished gathering, I wish to know all that has happened in my absence. I would not have my empire tainted by impurities-” Optimus began, fully intending to monologue in true evil villain fashion. However, before he could, the door to the throne room burst open with a deafening crash. Ratchet startled a degree, Jazz didn’t flinch, Magnus sighed, and Soundwave remained still as always.

Optimus sat up straighter, his finials perking up as he pulled back his field and stared at the mech trudging in. He was tall and probably once had a fantastic silver finish. Now he was covered in soot and ash, burn marks, cuts, scars, and every other conceivable form of damage marred his plating. Black smoke escaped his vents, an indicator of a desperate need for system repairs and cleaning as he strode forward, the canon on his arm humming to life from what had to be incredible amounts of stress or anger.

Incredible makeup and prop work. Optimus would need to thank the makeup department when this was all over. The blaster was amazingly realistic. The LEDs inside the prop casing must have been spectacular quality.

“PRIME!”

There it was. Music to his audials. Finally, Optimus’s time to shine. He knew this scene by spark.

“Why Megatron, I would have expected more decorum from my High Protector. And yet here you are, dirtying my carpets with grime from the lower levels. How very distasteful.” Megatron seethed, his optics flicking between red and blue in a frenzy. Optimus smiled beneath his mask as he stood again, his optics purposefully locked onto the seething mech across from him.

This was his moment, the grand confrontation and the scene where Optimus Prime was introduced to the readers. Optimus would need to make this good. He hadn’t had decent prep time due to his failure to plan ahead, but he could still make a spectacular introduction.

“Well then, come take a seat. Let us begin.” He smirked and gestured toward a chair. Megatron practically shook with rage. The actor was spectacular in his heroic role, just as he always was.

Optimus would need his autograph as well.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #optimus prime #ratchet #megatron #alternate universe #ultra magnus #jazz #soundwave #actor au #fanfiction #transformers fanfiction #optimus is an oblivious idiot #hes too wrapped up in his role to see the obvious indicators that this is very real #in the words of my friend #“he has plot armor because he believes he has plot armor.”#but look! second chapter yall!#I actually did more for an au :D

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