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jazz-miester · 1 year

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Yandere Bayverse!Optimus x Decepticon Mech reader smut?

Also, I wanted to say that I LOVE your works! Especially that one Optimus x reader one.. it has me in a chokehold. Anyways, feel free to ignore!

Hung Over You

Pairing: Bayverse Optimus x reader

Reader type: Decepticon Mech

Song: Lady Lie- Rainbow kitten surprise

Warnings: I'm gonna put Dubious Consent here as a warning. I. Honestly i'd rather be safe than sorry yall. And please please for all that is holy. Get absolute consent from your partners before doing anything. If the yes isn't given whole heartedly and said with everything the person has to offer. Don't do it. It's not worth it.

An: Aww you're too sweet! I'm glad that you like my stuff so much! Hope that this is what you wanted lol. I'm not to familiar with the yandere thing so im lowkey just winging it. Also putting this under a read more because this came out to be 4186 words long lol.

Tags: @rawmeknockout hope you don't mind me tagging you in this lol.

You have caught his optic. Which honestly is the most dangerous thing you have ever had happen to you. There has been. Rumours that have spread from out of the Autobot ranks. But they had been rumours. Right?

Primes don't do that. They. They don't.

Not once did you truly worry though. When would you ever see him? You were one of the few medics that the Decepticon army had left. Most others had defected to the Autobots.

Really. It made sense. They left so they could work in a slightly safer environment where you were less likely to be offed by your patients. Still, even with how long you've been with the Decepticons you find yourself wondering why. Why have you stayed for so long despite the Decepticons going so far out of the ballpark of what they once stood for.

It was becoming less and less often you would find that reason to stay. And at this point you were only finding it in the older mechs. Those who were forced into their casts by the functionists all because they transformed into something other than a silly little microscope.

They were the ones that still fight so they would no longer have to risk their lives on a job that they higher nobles where to afraid to do. They stuck with the original Decepticon ideals so that their future younglings wouldn't have to live the harsh and horrid lives they did.

They are the reason you kept going. Kept doing what you did. They were he reason you still had a flicker of hope for the Decepticons. That Megatron was truly fighting for your peace. That he would lead Cybertronian kind into a new era. One of peace and prosperity in the way they never had before. A life where your frame didn't dictate how and who you would be.

You lost that little ember of hope on a Decepticon battlefield. Every attempt you made to help the others. To heal, to mend. All of it in vain when the bombs began to rain from above.

Again and again you went out dragging in bots and cons alike to some semblance of safety as the bombs screamed in the sky. You were forced to quit when an Autobot. And old and ancient mech stopped you and pulled you into the shelter. It was his rust colored paint that filled your vision as he gave you some sense of solace.

It was with him you grieved the loss of any hope you had left.

All of this. The wrought and ruin of his own troops, supplies, territory. All of it destroyed for a blind assault on the chance he could kill his enemy.

All of it because Megatron was to much of a coward to face Optimus Prime himself.

You did all you could. Tending to the injured. Helping even the Autobots. Or at least all that would allow you to.

It felt like a life cycle for the bombs to quit falling. Longer still for the metal of Cybertron to settle. And longer for the air to become ventable once again.

You did what you could to lead the injured up and out.

A lot of Decepticons turned their back on the cause after that. Most choosing the neutral path. Not willing to chance facing their brothers and sisters. Friends. Lovers.

Some, like you, pledged yourself to the Autobot cause.

It was on that battlefield that you saw him for the first time.

Optimus Prime.

There was a million and one warning bells going off in your helm the closer he came.

"Are you here to fight, or to stay?" His voice rumbled like distant thunder just before a storm of acid rain. This was the same question he had asked every con before you.

"Stay, I suppose." You spoke after a moment. You had long since torn away the Decepticon insignia. You could still feel the distant ache in your sparkchamber.

A botched job for what should have been the greatest moment in your lifecycle.

It meant nothing now.

"I have heard you helped my troops mech. Is this true?" Blue optics looked you up and down then stopped on your own. For the briefest moment you wondered if he could see you. Truly see you. As if the matrix gave him some supernatural ability to pick apart your very spark.

Cybertronians used to worship Primes.

"I did." You answered. "And I will continue to do so. If you allow. Optimus Prime." A grin split his lips when you were done speaking.

"If you are willing then yes.." He trailed off.

"Y/n sir." The Prime tilted his helm. Mouthed your name.

"Y/n." Something about the way he spoke it sent your spark pounding. Your takes turning.

Megatron sounded like that once.

Just before everything went to slag in a hand basket.

That wasn't the last time you saw the Autobot leader. And it certainly wouldn't be the last.

"Y/n! Mech! Pay attention slaggit!" Ratchet's voice was right in your audio receptor. His servos moved with more efficiently than you have ever seen in any mech or femme. It was supernatural, almost, to watch.

The two of you were elbow deep in a mech. The damned frontliner decided to play hero.

You could have sworn you had seen Optimus. There in a window that the assistant has forgotten to close.

"He's damned good. For a con." Ratchet would both praise and poke at you at the same time. "I'm glad he's on our side though."

You were proud with where you were at the moment. You had built a reputation for yourself. Worked in a place that made your skills worth something. You worked with bots that wouldn't have your helm for just venting wrong near them.

You caught a snippets of Ratchets and Ironhides conversation from where you were organizing field kits. Restocking and filing inventory on this had fallen to you after a while.

Well. You were until Optimus came spilling in. Energon flowed freely onto the floor where it really shouldn't have been.

Two mechs carried him in. You were quick to clear a med berth off. Already you were in the process of cleaning when Ratchet began barking orders

Time to show Ironhide those skills Ratchet was bragging about.

Sometime later and what seemed like an obscene amount of energon, Optimus was deemed stable. Currently he was sleeping off the anesthetics.

"Will you keep an optic on him and tell me when he wakes kid?" You looked up from the data pad you were typing on when Ratchet spoke. "I have some reports I need to finish and I need to plan some care for when he wakes up." You waved a servo.

"I've got it Ratchet. Go do what you need to." With a heavy sigh he left. Muttering about Primes being stupid and self sacrificing for no good Primus damned reason.

You went back to restocking field kits. You needed something to do with your servos while you waited for him to wake up.

Which wasn't much longer after you finished. The Prime woke with a start. Bolting upright as he took in where he was. Some part of his processer still stuck out there on the feild.

It was only after he swing his legs over the side of the berth did you walk towards him.

"Prime. You need to stay laying down. If you get up now you could re open the welds me and Ratchet placed." Your voice was low. Soothing. The same voice you have used a thousand times over for Decepticon coming out of general anesthetics. At least this time you were greeted with a look rather that blaster fire.

Really. Megatron should have implemented some sort of psychiatric treatment for his troop.

Optimus said nothing as you walked up to him. Slowly you placed one servo on his shoulder. "I need to check on the welds before I go and get Ratchet. Are you ok with that or do you want me to get him to do it?" You always gave them the option. Some still didn't trust you. Former Decepticon and all.

"You may." The Prime leaned back slightly. His legs spreading further apart as he balanced himself. You said nothing other than giving him a nod before going to check the welds across his abdomen.

The welds looked ok. And they were still holding up despite the fact he decided to spring up off the berth. You took the opportunity to glance at the ones on his arms. Then checking the cabling at his neck that had become undone.

You froze for a moment when he leant forward. Slumping as if suddenly overcome by fatigue. Out of reflex you caught him by the shoulers. Bracing him as he fell forward. Optimus's helm fell on your shoulder. His servo brushing against your hip and thigh.

"Slaggit! Prime are you ok?" You pushed back on him. Righting the blue colored Prime. "Are you dizzy? Any pains that we were not aware of?" You looked over his face plates. Looking for the drain of nanites and fuzzy unfocused optics.

Nothing.

"I am fine. Just." He paused. "Apologies, Y/n. I did not mean to cause concern." There. Again. That same look he gave you on the battlefield sometime ago.

"Are you sure? It is no issue. I can go get Ratchet. He wanted me to get him after you woke anyways." A slight flicker on his face plates. A sort of, annoyance? Then.

"Get him if you must. Ratchet is my CMO for a reason." It wasn't until you pulled away did you realize Optimus's servo had been on your waist that entire time. Only did you know when you pulled away and his digits grazed along the dark grey plating.

You felt like you were going insane. Someone was leaving you gifts. It wouldn't have been so bad if it wasn't for the fact it was inside your habsuit on your berth.

They were the things you liked. Sweetened energon candies. A very specific polish you thought you would never find again. There was even a praxian crystal rose at one point. Who would give that away to a former Con you would never know. After the fall of Praxus they had become scarce.

You saw Optimus a few times after he had been discharged from the med bay. He came a few times afterwards to keep the welds in check and to make sure the new cabling in his throat had took.

You had been the one to check on the welds after a while. And to make sure the Prime had proper movement in his left arm. The one that you were now currently holding and moving to ensure fluid movement in the shoulder joint.

There was that look again. Like he was staring into your very soul. You felt that if you bared your spark chamber you would feel less exposed.

"And this? Any pain, aches?" The Prime rumbled out a laugh. Not once had he looked away from you.

"No. Truly, it is fine. You've done a very good job." You could feel your faceplates warm. Not use to any type of praise.

"It was hardly all me. Ratchet did the bulk of it." Optimus humed. Pulling his arm away. His digits brushed against your chassis before they settled in his lap. He flexed his palms and you couldn't help but to look.

Only to sputter a cough before he looked up. Almost getting caught ogling the Primes thighs.

"Still. You have done good. I am grateful to have such a skilled mech on our side. Your skills are valued here, y/n." He spoke your name with an intensity.

The two of you locked optics for a moment. The Prime almost drawing you in. He servo rose and hovered next to yours. You swore he almost would have taken it in his if it weren't for Ratchet calling him to his office.

The look that covered his facelates looked almost murderous. You had stepped back when he did that. And the look had fallen almost as quickly as it had came. Filled with a different, almost fearful look at your reaction.

The Prime rose and left. Giving you one last look before going to meet Ratchet. When you glanced back down to the berth you felt you tanks turned.

There, in the center of the berth, was a singular Praxian rose. The one that twined the other currently beneath your berth.

You said nothing about it to anyone. Instead quickly taking it and placing it within your subspace before Ratchet or any of the other medics or assistants could notice.

When Optimus left he had caught your optic then glanced at the berth the rose had been on. When he noticed it was gone and how quickly you had looked away. He smiled.

That night you had went to your habsuit shaken. Placing the rose with the other things you had been given.

Was. Was Optimus the one doing this? It would make sense seeing as how he would be one of the few with the proper codes to get into your habsuit.

But why? Why you? And was it really you?

You didn't fall into recharge that night. And you were in a daze for the next day cycle. Ratchet having reprimanded you more than once for your forgetfulness.

You nearly dropped the glass vials holding nanites when you saw him in the window looking into the supply closet. Optimus had studied you briefly before leaving.

You didn't move for many klicks. Servos shaking as you tried to calm yourself.

The next few days went the same. Catching Optimus in the corner of your optics every time you turned. It made you jumpy. Skittish. You began to pull away from the bots you had made friends with. Even to Ratchet who seemed to be concerned. But he said nothing. Did nothing other than lay his servo on your shoulder and give you the most sympathetic look you had ever seen.

"Y/n. Prime needs you in his office." You glanced up dumbly to the femme that had called your name. You had been in the rec room watching some old holo vids Toptwist had put on. A chorus of oohs had filled the room. Most of the bots acting like you had just been called to the headmaster's office in the academy.

Instead you swallowed thickly and nodded your helm at the femme.

You're frame is shaking the entire walk down the hall. Your mind was racing.

Did you do something wrong? If so then what? As far as you knew you were doing everything Ratchet needed you to. You didn't cause any problems with the others. No matter how much you wanted to throttle some of them when they wouldn't stop fragging you over just because you used to be a Con.

Is that why? Did some mech of femme complain about you being a former Decepticon?

You didn't want to lose what you had here. To much. It. You had finally found a reason to keep fighting. The Autobots they held up the ideals that the Decepticons used to have.

You don't think you would be able to quit this. Not without some consequence on your mental health. You needed this.

You stopped before the door to Optimus Primes office. You didn't know if you should com him or knock on the door. In the end you chose the latter. Fisted servo hovering before the engraved metal door for a klick before you knocked.

Ice flooded your frame. Something. Something spoke to you about this being a bad idea. That you should turn. Run.

Instead you ignored that millennia forged instinct.

"Enter." Optimus's voice sounded from the other side of the door after you knocked. The door sliding open and closing behind you quickly when you stepped inside.

His office was quaint. Small. There were odds and ends decorating shelves. A few organic plants here and there that looked well taken care of. It was such a rare sight to see. The war on Cybertron and rendered all organic life null. Unable to grow in such an hostile enviroment.

There were data pads from floor to roof on one wall. Suddenly you remember that the great Prime was just once a simple archivist in Iacon.

"There's no need to stand near the door, dear Y/n. I promise. You are not in any trouble here." Your helm snaps from the shelves of data pads and towards the Prime sitting at his desk. It was cluttered with data pads and reports. A few trinkets here and there. There was even a floating holo screen of what you assumed was him and a few other bots in one corner.

"I was told you needed me sir?" You strode to the center of the room. Just before the Primes desk. He smiled and shook his helm before rising from his seat.

"Please. There is no need for formalities here. I am just Optimus. " The Prime rounded the side of his desk before leaning against the side of it. Crossing his arms over his chassis.

You swallowed thickly. Finding yourself falling into a parade rest. "I was told you needed me, Optimus?" You repeated the question with his name instead. He gave a small laugh when he looked over at you.

"I meant it when I said there was no need for formalities Y/n. Please." Optimus pushed himself away from the desk as you made an attempt to stand comfortably. It was a little awkward.

Optimus stopped before you by less that a foot. You had to raise you helm to look him in the optics. You were not exactly a small mech but you reached just below the Primes chin.

"But yes. I did want you down here. I wanted to discuss something with you." His servo rose. The palm of his servo hovering just next to your helm before settling firmly on your shoulder. You couldn't help but look to that servo. Then to him as he began talking once again. "I have heard you've done good work here. And i'm proud of the fact that you are." The servo fell then digits hooked just below your chin.

Your spark began pounding in your chest. "I expect you have met my gifts well?" You optics widden and you pull away from those digits.

"That was you?" Your voice rose slightly at the end. At least that was a conformation. Whether or not it set you at ease was debatable to say the least.

"Of course. I'm sorry I couldn't deliver them in person though. I didn't need the others thinking I was playing favorites." His optics looked your faceplates over. His glossa darted out to wet his lips. "I find you to be the most brilliant mech I have had the honour to have in my troops yet. Y/n I have been hung over you since the moment I saw you." His servos cup either side of your helm. The size of them almost engulfing you.

"There is something addicting about you. I have yet to lay my servo on it. But. I wish to have you, if you will." His thumb brushed along your bottom lip. His optics following the movement of his thumb as he did this. "Of course we will have to keep this secret for a while. But I do not mind." His voice was low. Almost rattling in your chassis from how close he was now.

Chassis to chassis. Touching. So close. If the two of you were to slide the metal away. Surely your sparks would touch. The gesture here. Now. It was intimate.

Suffocating.

"Sir we can't. Its." Optimus's face darkened.

"Optimus. Please. Call me Optimus." His servos fell and once reached down to grab yours. He brought it up to his lips and layed a kiss on your scarred knuckles. His optics were on you the entire time. Blown wide with. Attraction? Lust? "And we can. The others will learn to deal with it."

Something pleasurable flooded your field when his wrapped over yours. Your processer fogged and you didn't know what to do. "Optimus I." You stopped when that pleasure flooded over you again. You legs shook and before you knew it you were moving. Your legs hit the desk and one moment you were standing. The next you were sitting. Optimus's servos wrapped around your thighs as he lifted yo up and onto it.

For a moment the fog lifted and you looked up to see a loopy grin on the Primes faceplates.

"Oh you look stunning just like that. I wonder if I could make you make that face again." He was between your legs. His servo traveled from your thigh and over your hip. It sprawled out over your stomach plating and up your chassis. His digits dipped in seems and pulled at wires that had a heat pooling below.

You whimper when his lips finally connecting with yours. Shivers running down your frame as he moves fervently. His servos cradle your helm as he does this. Drawing you in close. You servos find his wrists. You didn't know if you wanted to pull him away or hold him there so he would keep going.

He did leave you those gifts. It. It makes sense that he wouldn't do it in person. Right?

Right?

The two of you pull away with heated breaths. A string of fluid following your lips before breaking apart.

Your faceplates felt hot. Your vents where going rapidly. Trying to cool your heated frame.

Optimus lent in again and again. Laying kiss after kiss until he found your neck. Nibbling and sucking along the cabling there. You shiver and shook at the assault. Your frame reacting pleasantly to what he was doing.

"Such sweet sounds you are making. I wonder if you will sing the same while on my spike." His hips rolled as he said this. His servo landed on top of your interface array. "Please? My Y/n please?" Optimus spoke breathlessly. His helm pressed to yours. Your nose bumping against his as he moved to press another kiss to your lips. "For me? Please?"

And you did. Your array springing open and revealing your spike and valve to the room.

"The. The door. Is it locked?" You asked.

"Mmm? Yes." Optimus told you. His digits fluttering over your valve. A whimper left your lips as he teased you. Digits skimming over your valve. Your aching node to tease your weeping spike. "Look at you. Is all this for me?" He pressed a kiss to your chin.

"Yeah." You spoke. "Yeah. Just for you." A low moan left you when he sunk his digits within you. Digits curling as he pumped them in and out of you. He moved slowly. Gathering the fluid that left you and spreading his digits apart to slowly ease you into taking his spike.

He didn't want to hurt you after all. Not after waiting for so long. And not with you being so nice and willing.

You almost cried when those cleaver digits left you. Only for you to give a shudder when he put those same digits in his mouth. Glossa working around and between his digits tasting everything you had to offer.

"You taste sweeter than I thought you would be Y/n." He humed as his own interface array pulled away. He gave is own spike a few languid strokes before placing it between your shaking legs. "Relax. I will not hurt you." The tip of his spike pressed into you. "Relax my y/n." He guided himself within you. Moving slowly. He briefly pulled back at one point before sliding forward.

Optimus paused when he was fully seated within you. Giving his hips a few experimental rolls as he watched you come completely undone beneath him.

He was absolutely enthralled with the way you threw your helm back when he began to move. He happily complied with your pleas of more. Harder. Just like that.

You were being so good. So kind after all. How was he not to do what you asked when you were doing such a good job. He even told you as much.

"Look at you. Being such a good mech for me. You are taking me so well my y/n." His hips stuttered when he felt you squeeze around him from the praise. "You are taking my spike so good. You pretty valve feels so nice. So good. Gripping my spike so." He paused when he felt pleasure rack through him when you squeezed him once again.

Optimus was sure to note this in the back of his helm for future fragging sessions.

He could feel his overload coming and coming quickly. And if the way your were keening and moaning. Chanting his name so sweetly. Well, he knew yours was close as well.

Optimus rolled his field over yours and watched as you threw your helm back. Static spitting out of your vocalizer as you overloaded and over loaded hard. Your frame falling pliant under his servos.

Optimus found his soon after you. Pulling you close and leaning on your body.

He was sure to bring you into his habsuit. Cleaning your dirtied frame. Optimus took in the welled energon on your neck cabling. The slight paint transfer around your thighs from your coupling.

He'd be damned if he was letting you leave anytime soon.

#Maccadam #valveplug #Optimus Prime x reader #bayverse optimus x reader #bayverse optimus #optimus prime #yandere optimus prime #request #anon

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percabeth4life · 6 months

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I will never stop being annoyed over that “Greeks, let’s uh, fight stuff” line in BOO, because we have seen Percy is really good at speeches, we see that in TLO when he’s trying to encourage the campers to fight and not give up. The only reason I can even semi-tolerate that line is that it implies the Greeks don’t even need a plan to work on fighting together, they’ve known each other for so long that they can jump straight into battle side-by-side. Once about 70 of you have to hold off an army in the hundreds with a microscopic chance of getting reinforcements and your current backup being one other person (albeit one who is crazy powerful and invulnerable), I guess that nothing else intimidates you and you don’t need speeches. And, the enemy is fairly clear, it’s Gaea and her monsters and I don’t recall any enemy demigods on the battlefield, making it easy to tell who the enemy was, so maybe their plan was just “kill every monster that’s not on our side. If they’re trying to kill you, kill them first.” But still, that line annoys me, making it seem like they’re just chaotic and disorganized and not trained fighters

Yeah it drives me nuts! Like he sounds so uncertain in how Rick writes it too but we KNOW he's a good leader, we've seen him that even when he's uncertain he knows how to lead, to give commands, advice, listen to his people and stuff. Just at least have him go "charge!" or "Forward!" or something and maybe throw in some of those attack formations Rick made clear exist in SOM.

#Rick just hates Percy at this point #life answers #anon asks #pjo #percy jackson #hoo #camp half blood

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altocat · 5 months

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What would Sephiroth consider the most beautiful thing he's ever seen? Could be a person, a place, a monument, a piece of art, something in nature, etc.

Sephiroth doesn't see much beauty in anything, especially since his main surroundings mostly consist of Midgar and various grungy battlefields across the globe.

There's beauty in nature, and Sephiroth does seem to gravitate towards this imagery. Beauty in the stars, of course--his greatest special interest. Beauty in his friends, though he would qualify these feelings more as attraction than anything else. Beauty in progress, success, victory. Little moments on the roof, shared company in times of strain or stress.

But it all pales in comparison to her. He can recall every microscopic fragment of the photograph, every crease, every tinted line, every intricate detail spilling together. Her face. Her eyes. Her hair. The ghost of a memory he knows isn't real. He'd held her image close to his heart, close enough to draw strength, to yearn.

She was the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Even when the photograph was no longer with him, she was warm and real and perfect. Her. Only her. All he'd ever wanted, ever wanted to keep, to know.

His--

-------------------------------------------------------

"--Mother."

When his reddened, rolling gaze reaches the tank, he finds himself choking, nearly falling to his feet. He can feel his head spinning, his vision clouding as his eyes sweep across every moist, coiled tendril. Ruby eyes. Blue skin that is all too slick, all too rotted beneath that shackled helmet. Her bitter smile beckoning to him, some great, cosmic calling that burns in his chest. He feels himself floating, caught in the spiral, the blood that coats his blade and chest far away. He cannot move, cannot speak. He is locked there, drifting in the wide, weaving web of Her wondrous dream.

Jenova. Calamity. Wanderer. Deceiver. Queen of dust and ash. Queen of vengeance, reckoning.

She is horrible.

She is malignant.

She is end of the world.

She is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

#asks #ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #crisis core #sephcanons #sephiroth #lucrecia crescent #jenova

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jaded-falcon · 3 days

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3051 - 300 SECONDS

"Who dares defend this world from the steel talons of the Jade Falcons?" -Star Colonel Rard Hoyt, First Falcon Striker

Missiles rained down around the endosteel chassis of Elizabeth Ryhill-Hazen and her 'Mech, Death Knell, like drops of driving rain. Some threw up plumes of dirt; some hit trees and scattered splinters. Elizabeth ignored them all. Her targeting computer sang; with the flick of a switch and the press of a button, she sent forty missiles streaking away two-by-two-by-two, arcing upwards before they slammed home in a pyroclastic flow of high-explosive shrapnel. The targeting computer read twin kills on a pair of lightly-armoured APCs. Elizabeth barely even reacted. After all, she, along with the rest of Talon 3 and their attached Star of Elementals, had a job to do.

Tanya "Blade" Indell's Archer C stepped forwards, crushing a few pine trees underfoot in the process, and for a brief moment made an impromptu smokescreen as she fired off a barrage of long-range missiles. Beside her, Trespass bowled down a solid trunk and unleashed a thunderous shot from the Gauss Cannon mounted atop the chassis that pierced clean through the armour of a Demolisher and sent the turret flying as the ammunition cooked off.

The mission assigned to Talon 3 was simple. Forward Operating Base Geischt was the command nexus for most Lyran forces operating in this theatre; therefore, it had to go. The other Stars of Trinary Charlie had occupied themselves distracting the patrols and engaging reinforcements while Talon 3 bore down on the Forward Operating Base itself. It was not a particularly fair fight--indeed, you could reasonably classify it as a violation of zellbrigen--but the Inner Sphere did not practice zellbrigen, and therefore, neither would Trinary Charlie.

Death Knell was a fairly standard Mad Cat Prime; two ER Large Lasers, two ER Medium Lasers, an ER Pulse Laser, two racks of LRM-20 missiles, and twin machine guns. She was accompanied by a Summoner, a Warhammer IIC, an Archer C, a Marauder IIC, and a full Star of Elementals in Battle Armour. By comparison, the largest enemy BattleMech was a Marauder, followed by a Warhammer, a Shadow Hawk, and a by-comparison microscopic Spider SDR-5K.

Death Knell's forearms pulsed cerulean, stabbing through the left arm of the Spider and torching vital internals. Another shot from Malia "Ronin" Noveau's Trespass punched clean through the enemy Marauder's torso and out the other side, detonating an ammunition dump in a spectacular lightshow, sending shrapnel across the FOB and setting a few tents on fire.

"Enemy vics are starting up," Blade reported, tagging a trio of SRM carriers and firing as she spoke. James "Tourist" Redshore's Warhammer IIC fired both its extended-range PPCs; Elizabeth watched with a smile behind her eyes as the twin blasts slammed home and eviscerated one carrier.

Trespass sent another Gauss Rifle round clean through the enemy Marauder, which shuddered under the impact. Two brilliant-jade lasers carved deep lines into the enemy Shadow Hawk's cockpit armour as Allison "Samurai" Graves-Hardy fired the moment she closed into range, ignoring the short-range missiles that flew startlingly close to her cockpit while charging forwards. Elizabeth finished off the Spider with twin Pulse Lasers to shred the minuscule machine's core before switching targets to the two remaining SRM carriers and the small groups of scattered infantry doing their best to take up positions on a battlefield that was very much not theirs to rule right as the Elementals began swarming into the trenches.

"That Marauder is a tough son," Tourist observed, firing another pair of twinned blasts from Doorknocker's arm-mounted cannons. The enemy Warhammer flinched under the impact.

"Focus on your target, Tourist."

By this point, Talon 3 had closed to close range; Ronin's Marauder and Blade's Archer were lingering at medium range for heavy fire support while Death Knell, Samurai's Summoner C Seppuku, and Doorknocker closed in to close range, stepping over the tiny outer wall with something resembling contempt. Trespass's Gauss Cannon split the air and detonated the right leg of the Lyran Marauder; the 'Mech crushed a tent as it fell. Elizabeth's Pulse Lasers burned through the armour of an SRM carrier and set the racks of missiles on fire; the crew tried to bail out and won bullets for their troubles. The third carrier didn't even get the honour of weapons; Death Knell's right leg just raised up and stomped the machine flat as Elizabeth opened fire on a group of repositioning infantry carrying a recoilless rifle.

An antitank round detonated off of Seppuku's right arm; Samurai swore over the comms as she tore open the Shadow Hawk's core with her short-range missiles and sent it crashing to the earth. Blade's Caliburn fired off a swarm of her own missiles that detonated like a fire tide along the outer defenses, scouring away infantry trying to mount an effective defense. Seconds later, the Lyran Marauder finally died as a pair of brilliant blue PPC blasts tore out the beast's core, leaving only the Warhammer and a smattering of infantry and armoured vehicles that Elizabeth was all too happy to pounce on and shred.

Doorknocker's lasers ripped off the Warhammer's right arm as Death Knell eviscerated a Demolisher that had only just managed to get started up and massacred another group of infantry that were trying to pull back. The bodies were scattered like so many pebbles in a brook. Trespass sent the small camp's final armoured vehicle sky-high in a pillar of flame.

Two seconds later, Doorknocker blew the head off of the Warhammer and sent it crashing back to earth. That seemed to be the final blow needed; soldiers began throwing down their weapons and surrendering, or turning to flee. The MechWarriors of Talon 3 let them run--possibly the only mercy they'd shown since the engagement began--as the Elementals began rounding up prisoners.

Somewhere in the ballpark of sixty Lyran soldiers had died, with an additional forty captured. A full Heavy Lance and several armoured vehicles had been slagged, and a Forward Operating Base had been secured by the Jade Falcons, which had lost no one.

And the ambush had only lasted five minutes.

#iron will and steel talons #battletech #mechwarrior #ooc: first time actually writing something resembling a battle scene. im not sure this is that great tbh

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lets-try-some-writing · 2 years

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Optimus & Bumblebee Headcannon (a small intermission)

I just had this cute idea floating around in my head that wasn't big enough or relevant enough to be included in a main Op&Bee post. So here it is. A short little intermission between the last post and the one I am working on, enjoy.

Cybertronian names

English translations of Cybertronain names do not give them even an ounce of the respect they deserve.

A name is one of the most important aspects of a Cybertronian, a name gives them purpose, identity.

It is the gift of a name and a spark that separates them from mere machines, as such Cybertronians take naming very seriously and only allow those closest to them to grant them a name if they do not select one themselves.

Caretakers will spend ENOURMOUS amounts of time carefully cataloging and crafting names for their sparklings. Taking into account every detail of their charges, most importantly their little one's creation designation, the name gifted to them by Primus.

For a bot to reveal their creation designation is a sign of utmost respect and love.

Usually such a thing occurs between Conjunx's, bonded companions, or Caretaker and Sparkling.

The name gifted to a bot by Primus is considered sacred, it is something every Cybertronian, Autobot and Decepticon, guard jealously.

As such the matter of Bee's naming is an event which Optimus is fully devoted to.

Bee's current designation is nothing more than a nickname, a placeholder for the name he will be granted when he comes of age.

Bee's true designation is something which Optimus holds close to his spark, he will take it to the grave before he offers it to anyone. However that does not mean Optimus refuses to include pieces of it in the name he is devising for the newspark.

While made up of the same glyphs, no two Cybertronian names are the same.

The main Cybertronain glyphs are associated with a specific intent known to be present in the original thirteen Primes.

When crafting a name, one of these holy glyphs is selected to represent what the name crafter envisions the subject of their naming to embody. Be it at present or in the future.

Then the name crafter will then select from numerous sub-glyphs, all representing an object or ideal, and painstaking merge them with the previously selected Primal glyph to create a completely unique name, hand crafted for their special someone.

Traditionally, the name crafter will then personally carve the unique glyph onto a small talisman which they will give to the subject of their naming when the time is right.

With that in mind, have it be known that Optimus is absolute garbage at the carving part of the process.

His time as an Archivist ensures that the name he crafts for Bee is spectacular, it's meaning clear and wonderful.

However being Prime does not automatically mean he is good with his servo's outside of the archives and the battlefield.

Optimus's servo's are huge, even by Cybertronain standards. So trying to carve a delicate, intricate glyph onto a talisman is nearly as hard as duking it out with Megatron.

Forced to wear sight enhancing headgear and use comparatively microscopic tools to do his work, Optimus has no end of frustrations when carving Bee's talisman.

Optimus spends countless hours painstakingly attempting to carve in his study, however more often then not he breaks the talisman in half when he applies a little too much pressure or straight up ruins the whole thing with an unintended twitch.

Eventually the patience Optimus is so well known for snaps and he heads to Perceptor to commission a very specific piece of technology.

Several weeks after the event Optimus returns to his mission of carving Bee's name talisman with renewed vigor and a handy dandy shrinking ray.

The ray only works on small objects, making it mostly useless for the war effort outside of special operations, however Optimus can't help but believe it a worthwhile investment when he walks away from his office with the talisman finally completed and at the appropriate size.

Many vorns later, when Bee is officially brought into the Autobot ranks as a Scout, Optimus at last presents his charge with the talisman he prepared for Bee when he was still a sparkling.

Upon it is the most intricate glyph Bee has ever seen, and when translated nearly makes him cry in joy.

'Golden-Hope-of-the-Future-the-Guiding-Light-within-the-Dark'

Optics foggy with coolant, the freshly named Scout launches himself as Optimus, hugging him with as much strength as he can muster.

Optimus accepts the affection as a rare smile graces his face, replacing his normally weary expression.

Those in attendance at the Scout's naming cheer as he at last releases Optimus from his hold and turns to face the crowd.

His secondary Caretakers smile affectionately as he steps up and presents himself by his new name.

"Scout Cadet Bumblebee reporting for duty!" - Year 172,189 of the great war, Bumblebee's naming ceremony, two weeks before the loss of his vocal capabilities.

Just a drabble

Some poor bot: My name is 'He-who-Shield-his-Allies-from-the-Tempting-Glow-of-Evil'

Team Prime: *Struggling to contain their laughter*

Some poor bot: What's so funny?

Smokescreen: *Proceeds to fall to the floor laughing hysterically*

Some poor bot: I don't get it, what is so amusing about my designation?

Optimus: *Trying and failing to keep a straight face* You see- *cough's into servo to cover up chuckle* Cybertronian names don't tend to translate into human languages very well, and unfortunately some of our names end up automatically becoming associated with human items.

Some poor bot: ?!?

Optimus: In your case your designation has translated rather literally and is... interesting to say the least.

Bumblebee: yoUR NaMe iS SUnBLOcK!

Smokescreen and Bumblebee: *Die of laughter*

Yeah I know its dumb but I thought it would be kinda funny if some poor bot's name ended up translating into something stupid as all get out. And to bots who are familiar with earth it would be the most hilarious thing since ever, even if no one else understands why.

#transformers sparklings #optimus prime #bumblebee #transformers #transformers prime #father son relationship #fluff #tfp #cybertronian culture #Cybertronain naming conventions #headcanon

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mugentakeda · 1 month

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Bro I love Anchali and Jiro omiGOSH ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

Anchali is so insane and crazy for Ursa it’s both so weird/freaky and lowkey cute with how highly she’s devoted herself to Ursa I need to study her under a microscope.

And Jiro is so slimey and greasy i love them gay slimey men who are also shady as hell <33

Speaking of, I was wondering— how would Jiro react to the news of Lu Ten’s death (regardless of whether its canon or Dai Li Lu Ten AU)? How would he react if he saw Dai Li Lu Ten?

ok im so sorry for taking this long to answer this but my braincells always stop working when it comes to dai li lu ten au for some reason. like i quite literally just figured out how to put what lu tens issue is in a simple sentence Today and ive had this au for months. please forgive me.

TO BE HONEST. jiro was concerned about why lu ten was so stiff about going to bss, but he thought it was just like... over family drama. because lu ten never let his complicated feelings about the war leave the pages of his journal. not even to jiro, who lu ten knew probably wouldn't have cared (because jiro casually breaks at least 10 laws per day at minimum. he makes it a daily goal for himself) anyway.

but jiro didn't even consider the idea that lu ten would die at bss? cus like. lu ten passed his officer classes with flying colors, so he was fit to lead a group of men on the battlefield. he knew all the do's and do not's of war strategy. he was the youngest lightning bender in fire nation history at the time (until azula ofc). but. he was also a prince. so jiro was (correctly) under the impression that iroh wouldn't let lu ten even see the real heat of the battle. he was thinking that lu ten was just being sent there last minute so he could say he was there at least when iroh succeeded.

when the news about lu ten reaches the capital on top of the news of irohs retreat, jiro doesnt immediately believe it. cus he just bid lu ten goodbye like lu ten was leaving for an 8am meeting that he was dreading. like a tender just go get it over with real quick and then come on home, we can go back to bed for the rest of the day and then i'll take you out for dinner. there's national mourning, then firelord azulon dies and ozai is crowned and it's like jiro's world has a muted sheet thrown over it. it takes iroh's army coming home for it to sink in fully.

and jiro mourns kinda like how a flower quietly wilts overnight? he didnt throw a fit or demand answers or whatever. he just pulled himself away from politics and just focused on work. but he keeps that place at his side that lu ten filled for the brightest year of jiro's life open because jiro can't make himself act like it never happened either. so the second chair by jiro's balcony table stays, the hair ribbon pile lu ten forgot on the nightstand stays, the extra printed pelt blanket on his bed that only lu ten used (because he hated sharing blankets) stays.

AND THEN. in the dai li au. i did say a while back that jiro ends up becoming one of azulas guys. but she ends up calling him to bss asap because hes the only person in the fn that she knows for sure that she can trust with knowing about lu tens continued existence lol. its a very strange time for her cus she found out through long feng that her dad was at fault for the whole thing. and shes still figuring out what exactly shes gonna do about that but for now shes gonna be utilizing jiro's flimsy loyalty to the fire nation to protect her cousin until she has everything in order lol. and i haven't made up my mind about where lu ten will go from there but im kinda leaning on iroh taking lu ten with him to the order while zuko goes with the gaang

#dai li lu ten #asks #alicias writing stuff

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kadavernagh · 2 months

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War of the Worms || Regan & Siobhan

TIMING: Worm Day in Feb LOCATION: An appropriate battlefield PARTIES: @kadavernagh & @banisheed SUMMARY: Worms fight for the pride of their banshee. Love is a battlefield. CONTENT: Wormspice

“Lá na bPéist,” Siobhan said, grinning the way an animal sometimes only seems to right before it lunges. “Last worm writhing, yes.”

War would be waged at dawn. Regan marched into the clearing she had designated for Siobhan, a big tin jar in her hands, previously filled with coffee grounds, and now full of writhing worms. She didn’t think her newly-purchased worms truly desired anything – what an enviable, simple life in many ways – and they especially had no interest in fighting Siobhan’s worms. But this was a matter of pride. Siobhan assumed that Regan’s worms were undignified and meek, odorless and scrawny, and Regan was tired of bearing her insults.

Her skin prickled as a long figure appeared across the clearing, the sun creeping up behind her and casting her face in shadow. She would have her own worms with her. And if they were as girthy as Siobhan claimed, why could Regan not see them from here? Not so impressive.

“Lá na bPéist,” Regan greeted her. It was the customary way. Day of the Worms. There was no ‘happy’ in front of it; it was only a simple and respectful declaration of the day. “My worms challenged you, and I picked the location, so I will be generous and allow you to set reasonable perimeters. Will this be down to the last worm standing – so to speak – or do you have something else in mind?”

--------

Violence was a necessity. Since the first forms of microscopic life, it seemed, violence was a language to claim dominance. Or so Siobhan assumed, banshee literature was often flirtatious with the truth. At least one book claimed that all life was born out of a big bone, contradicted by another book that claimed the big worm in the sky birthed them which was also contradicted by another book that was simply a picture of a skeleton shrugging. Science is an afterthought but violence, still, was an art. What Regan didn’t know, with her skinny worms, was that their little worm war didn’t start here. Their war began the moment Siobhan laid eyes on her unseasonable winter coat. In order for something to be strong, something else has to be weak: a rule of language that Siobhan knew intimately. She wouldn’t be weak.

Her happy, healthy, girthy worms writhed in the box she brought them in. She was pained to rip them from their happy home inside her compost system, where they had lived for months, lovingly tended to, fertilizing the earth that she used for her garden. For Death to be appreciated, Life needed to be respected as well. But there was no doubt in Siobhan’s mind that this truth escaped Regan. She probably purchased her worms wholesale online.

“Lá na bPéist,” Siobhan said, grinning the way an animal sometimes only seems to right before it lunges. “Last worm writhing, yes.” She snapped the locks open from her plastic box, upturning her girthy worms upon the ground. The worms, unlike malnourished counterpoints, flourished in Siobhan’s delicate compost. They were indeed larger and thicker, though the girth may have been slightly exaggerated. There was something…odd about them, however. A line from Wurmsten’s Pride and Wormjudice flashed in her mind: it was a truth universally acknowledged, that a single worm in possession of girth must be in want of a mate.

Siobhan shook her head, surely their passionate wiggles were nothing more than an eagerness to shed worm blood. “Go on, leanbh, or does the sight of my thick worms make you envious?”

--------

The Jade sauce came too late. Regan had done her best with the worms given her tardy start (with preparations, not… to everything else Siobhan surpassed her in), but her worms still looked mangled and pencil-thin. They took only occasional interest in apple slices and they kept squiggling into the sides of the container like they had no sense of place or orientation. But she had come here to win. And Siobhan was a boastful creature, wasn’t she? Her worms couldn’t be so grand as she claimed. They were probably just as grey, just as aimless.

“I agree to your terms. May the best worms win, cailleach.” There were no prizes or trophies in these wars of worms, only bragging rights. Siobhan would like the extra pin in her lapel, and Regan needed something she could surpass Siobhan in. Had the course of her life run smoother, she would have believed that needing something was enough to make it happen, but if anything, it created obstructions at every turn. Right. Confidence. She had Jade in her corner, even if she wasn’t present now. That was enough, right? Regan held onto that as she unceremoniously dumped her worms from their tin home. They collected by her feet, and she shook a little so stragglers could roll off her boots and join the rest of the squadron. “I was advised to read to them. They’re engorged with–” She would not admit she had read them Tana French “– harsh tales of the moors.”

Any fleeting confidence she held deflated when Siobhan dumped her worms on the ground, too. They were at least twice as thick as Regan’s, colored like cherry red lividity, and they squirmed with such vigor in comparison. Were… were her worms depressed? She glanced over to the limp mass at her feet, disappointed. It was the look her 1st grade art teacher used to give her when she handed in a drawing of a dead cow for the tenth time. But Regan would not abandon them; if no one believed in them, all bets of winning were off. She would take a line from Siobhan’s book and lob a competitive insult. That would inspire her worms. “I’ve seen better worms,” Regan said, arms crossed, as her stomach cramped from the lie. “Your worms are too soft. You have coddled them. They may have girth, but they know nothing of resilience.” She clenched a fist, fingernails against scar tissue. “Mine have thrived even under suboptimal conditions.” Her gaze sharpened as she met Siobhan’s eyes. “It’s no surprise. You’ve grown soft in your time away, too, haven’t you?”

The worms were in motion. Kind of. They were slow, groping for each other through the dirt in blindness. Siobhan’s took off first, faster than worms ought to move, but Regan’s were sluggish. She decided they were using their resources to fortify themselves. But as Siobhan’s came closer, her worms began wriggling anxiously, inching closer. They knew who their opponent was now. Good. Good. They tangled into a slimy cluster, two tense banshees casting shadows over them.

There was no blood. Where was the blood? They were entwined, were they not? “Are they…” The worms were wrapping up in each other with bulging clitellae, which was surely just an effort at strangulation. They didn’t have teeth. It was their way. “See how clever mine are, drawing yours in with a false sense of security.” Yes. Her worms might not have been pretty, but they were clever, weren’t they?

--------

It was the Austen that had done it. Why hadn’t Siobhan read to her worms about harsh moors? Why did she think Austen—and her worm counterpart, Wurmsten—would be good material for the worms? That was how they knew, that was why she was thinking of it; their girth made them in want of a mate. It seemed none of Austen’s—and Wurmsten, who claimed her novels were entirely unrelated to Austen—commentary on class and society were absorbed into their slimy bodies. That was why Siobhan read Austen—and Wurmsten, who might have only been known in one niche banshee community but made a healthy living of decaying flesh anyway—in fact: for the wit! The cunning! Certainly, nothing about the romance; it hardly occurred to her. The worms had taken the wrong message away. If only she had read them harsh tales of the moors.

Siobhan’s cheeks pinked like the worms’. “I was reading them The Art of War,” she lied through clenched teeth, swallowing back a bubble of acid. “This is simply what I’ve taught them: ‘a wise general makes a point of foraging on the enemy’. They are…foraging on the enemy.” Foraging could be one word for it, if the meaning was stretched enough, though the more obvious word burned on her tongue. The worms paired up, sealing wet, throbbing clittella to another’s body. Encasing themselves in mucus, Siobhan turned her head away as a particular white fluid bubbled out of the worms. Something was, in a way, being foraged.

“There is nothing false about this.” Siobhan leveled her gaze on Regan, careful to keep her eyes away from the foraging worms; her face blazed red. “Our worms have—Our worms are…” If she didn’t give it a name, if she didn’t say it, could she deny the truth? In a way, with a stretched definition and artistic liberties, they were foraging on the enemy. “It’s a new technique of war,” she said, “you wouldn’t know it; it’s not in whatever books about moors you’re reading. It is obviously very complex. The girth on my worms is at least eighty percent knowledge. Perhaps I am not soft. Perhaps you are just…hard.”

--------

The ground by Regan’s feet swelled with worms. Her worms, as sad and grey as they were (a few more weeks of Jade juice would have done the trick), had perked up to the presence of Siobhan’s vivacious worms, and were wiggling in response with more gusto than they had displayed in the entire time they had been with Regan. Not only did their swarming continue – it expanded – spreading over to Siobhan, a giant, pulsing mat of mucus and wriggling pink bodies. She had more or less abandoned the idea of this being worm cunning… attempting to believe something did not make it true, and all illusions in her life were undergoing a slow crumble as her departure neared.

Regan knew little about the secret mechanics of worm copulation, but that melding and fluid seemed reproductive in nature, and Siobhan, well… Regan didn’t know her cheeks could be that color. This was the woman who wore a turtleneck that was missing half its fabric. She had practically done a strip tease with a winter coat. She could blush? Regan studied the couplings, more certain by the second. “They’re… no, they’re definitely, uh…” She couldn’t quite say it either. But Siobhan was acting strange. For a banshee, hard was right. “Hm. I never thought I would hear you provide me with a compliment,” Regan said, raising a brow (she couldn’t look away from the worms, though; they were hypnotic). Unfortunately, it was not true – she was softer than Siobhan and in all the wrong ways. And it was the whole problem, the reason why she needed to go back. “Careful. You may convince me not to go with you, if I am hard. But then, your judgement is frail, isn’t it? You read your worms classic literature thinking it wouldn’t put… these notions in their small minds. Mine are only going along with it – they were poised for battle, then yours romanced mine.”

The ground sounded moist with worm love, like hands sliding into mayonnaise. And Worm Day was not the time for love. Regan’s fists clenched and she found her face growing hot, too. Fates, this really was happening. Was this really what was meant to occur? Her worms were fornicating with the enemy! What had gotten into them? Did that mean – was it actually love? It was beyond reason, like all love, as far as Regan could tell. Could it be, when they lacked the capacity for such emotion? That question made her belly ache (unclear why).

“We can’t separate them.” Regan spoke with certainty, but her voice was thick with something. She wasn’t sure where it came from (or the sentiment of not separating lovers). Some worm mucus probably got in there. She finally tore her eyes from the worm orgy and they landed on a very red Siobhan. “Can we agree on this? They remain together.” Was it worth throwing in that she meant the worms also could not be physically separated? Because that also seemed true. They had melded together, holding fast.

--------

“They are fucking.” Finally, Siobhan said it. “No,” Siobhan corrected herself, “they are making delicate, sensual worm love.” It was obvious to her, and her inability to look the worms directly in their anuses (they did not have eyes), that their passion extended beyond the realms of necessity; love was linking bodies together, stabbing each other with setae so the no new copulation could be committed, and then wiggling away to eat detritus. Worms knew love, of course they had felt a connection to the words of Jane Austen. “You are hard, maybe. Regan, you are very hard. You are erect with hardness. I cannot--I cannot deny the worms. Perhaps that makes me soft.” Siobahn turned around, shutting her eyes to the worms and the world. They possessed something she did not: love. And a slimy, pink, wiggling segmented body (but oh, how she wished for one).

Where had she gone wrong? From the beginning, it seemed. From loving her worms. From wanting a garden at all, from creating her compost bin. For wanting a life that wasn’t allowed to her. For imagining she might be a worm, writhing with girthy freedom in the dirt free to make love to wormever she pleased and eating as much manure as she wanted. She was a banshee; banshees didn’t do what they pleased. It was all wrong, all along: the war, the worms, the Regan. It was wrong to make innocent creatures act out her fantasies of power. They were worms and worms will do as they want: they will wiggle, they will secrete mucus, they will eat more than their weight each day. They did not have eyes, or legs, or arms, or lungs, but they could make love (they probably did not understand “love” at all, but Siobhan would only realize this after crying about her worms in the privacy of her house).

Siobhan turned around again, tears pooling around her brown eyes. “You’re right. You—child, baby, newborn infant with no knowledge—are right. We cannot separate these worms.” A war was defined by its binary nature; by winners and losers. The worms had won. Perhaps she had gone soft, perhaps the worms had changed her, perhaps it was the air and the occasion of worm day, but she didn’t care how emotional she came off. “If you love a worm…” She clutched at her slow-beating heart. “...let them go.” And she did, against her better judgment, love these worms.

“You…” Siobhan furiously wiped her eyes. Sniffling, she pointed at the other banshee. “...Will say nothing of this during our plane trip—and you will be coming with me. You will. But we have let these worms go—we are accepting a truce on this day. Another Worm Day, and there will be another, we will fight our worms again.” Siobhan sighed. “May your worms be less aroused by my girthy worms next time.”

And with that, the worms wiggled into the sunset.

#c siobhan #writing #wormspice

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sepublic · 9 months

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When initially fighting the Decepticons, humanity attempted to face them head-on in open battlefields and the like, testing the full might of their most powerful engines and weapons in a contest. This was a mistake; Human technology was no match for Cybertronian armaments, and your typical Decepticon footsoldier was more agile, durable, and hard-hitting than any tank. Battles in Mission City, Shanghai, Egypt, etc., made this clear.

But as Sector 7, and then NEST, gathered experience, advice, and teamwork from the Autobots, eventually the best strategies were figured out. So by Dark of the Moon, humanity knew better than to tackle the Decepticons in open confrontation; That would only get them killed. Instead, it accepted its limitations, and opted to make the most of what its puny little form might entail against these giants.

It became David vs Goliath; Instead of bringing the Decepticons’ attention, humans would take advantage of their small size to sneak up on unsuspecting enemies who normally towered over them, planting small energon-powered explosives and other debilitating traps. Focus on speed to evade their enemies, since durability was otherwise wasted. While the Decepticons focused on their more obvious Autobot enemies, human snipers would support from afar to take out their optics and other key points. Guerilla tactics were key.

When it came to the Battle of Chicago, the humans didn’t arrive en masse; They sneaked in, using their size, and the fact that the architecture was built for them, to exploit various routes the Decepticons weren’t aware of or were ill-equipped to prepare for. In short, humanity realized the folly of fighting the Decepticons on their own terms and expectations; Let humanity take the fight to them in a way they didn’t expect, by using their rules. Let humans fight in the way that embraces what sets them apart from their Cybertronian counterparts.

In essence, one could say humanity learned that to fight a Decepticon… one must fight like a Decepticon themselves, relying on trickery, deception, subterfuge, and stealth. They turned the Decepticon values of the underdog trickster against them, and like the Functionists they originally opposed, stuck to the roles their tiny little bodies were most equipped for. For those Decepticons who realized the poetic irony, it was quite a humiliating and frustrating realization, as those they disregarded as insects realized just how difficult it could be to hit such a microscopic target, from their experiences with their own insects.

Cybertronians might be able to study the technology of their enemies to use against them, but humanity adapted by studying the tactics of the Transformers to use against them, understanding how they operate and think, and exploiting the blind spots of that vision. No need to use your own strength when you have the Autobots; Turn their massive size and power, even their own Energon-based technology, against them! Decepticons may have had ruthlessness and military prowess, but the Autobots had allies and the home advantage, now that both groups were one and embraced Earth. The Autobots worked with those who best understood this alien battlefield, those whom many of them fought for to begin with, to win.

#transformers #maccadam #nizziverse #au #fanon

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ihathbenobiwankenobied · 1 year

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night shift

Summary:

"What were they doing together in Cody’s quarters, of all places, at 0100 in the morning?"

Or the one where Skull, the lead medic for the 212th, gets a call from Cody when Obi-Wan has a late night allergic reaction. He finds an unexpected scene.

Word Count: 2,390

Skull liked the night shift when it was assigned to him; it was peaceful.

It was quiet in the Negotiator’s medbay at night; it was a respite from bloody Generals and many of his irate brothers insisting they not be relegated to his care for a fucking paper cut that was usually a near-fatal stab wound.

Skull liked when he could take a seat and run through his weekly reports and shoot the shit with Oxy without having to pause.

Mostly, an empty medbay meant hours in his laboratory, a place where he could focus on preventative care instead. Skull’s eyes wandered over the notes he had written on a loose piece of flimsi. He peered back through his microscope at the bacta powder solution he had been studying for days.

He had just settled in minutes early, his shift starting at 0100 hours, when he heard the familiar piercing beep of his comlink. He tried not to sigh.

It blinked incessantly from across the lab, and Skull lifted his glasses from his face, curiosity peaked. Glancing briefly at the name on his comlink, Skull was surprised to see it wasn’t Oxy passive aggressively trying to get his attention from outside the locked laboratory door.

Rather, it was Commander Cody.

Skull raised an eyebrow; as the 212th’s lead medic, he was presented with tentative schedules for all of the men, even that of his commanding officer. He had noted that Cody was off duty for a day and he was scheduled to be on the Negotiator to report virtually to the Jedi Council. In fact, Skull had even seen him in the mess hall at dinner .

Suppressing his concern and suspicion, Skull answered the com.

“Commander? Is everything alright? I saw you were scheduled for off-duty–” Skull wasn’t able to finish his sentence.

“It’s Ob– the General. He’s– I think he’s having some sort of reaction– he can barely breath–” Skull’s heart skipped a beat. Allergies. Anaphylaxis.

Skull thought Obi-Wan’s lengthy list of allergies was under control . He had spent hours curating a list of approved dishes for the mess hall to cook for him, and even longer crafting a customized adrenaline shot tailored to Obi-Wan’s overactive immune system.

Between Skull and the General, they had been so careful to pinpoint what he could and could not eat, so diligent to prevent any possible scenario that could occur on the battlefield?

What could he have possibly eaten, or been in contract with on the Negotiator?

“Short of breath, nausea…?” Skull asked as he shut off his lab lights and shoved his loose flimsi into a manilla folder.

“Yes– his shots aren’t here. Says he forgot them– I–” Skull’s heart skipped a beat and he cut off Cody before more time could be wasted.

“I’ll bring one. Just– stay on the line Commander.” Skull tried to keep his panic from worrying the Commander even more. Instead, he kept his tone flat and stood hastily from his rolling chair.

Skull didn’t waste time and unlocked his lab door in haste. Oxy stared at him with a peculiar look of smugness and confusion mixed together. “Oi, Skully, you finally decided to do something useful?” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and leaned back, arms crossed against the medical bed behind him.

Skull ignored him momentarily, and hurried to the medical supply closet. He headed straight for the prepacked case labeled with the General’s name and ripped it from the shelf.

“If you call saving the General’s arse again useful, then yes.” Skull shot Oxy a pointed look and brought his comlink back towards his face as he pushed through the swinging doors of the medbay.

“Commander, are you still on the line?” He asked as he walked briskly down the hallway in the direction of the barracks.

“Yes. He’s not looking so good, Skull…” Cody’s voice leaked with panic; Skull could almost hear the Commander’s voice trembling.

“Commander– I need you to focus for a moment. Where are you located?” Skull figured the General’s quarters was a likely answer.

“My quarters. 2224-01D.” Cody answered after a pause. “Please hurry.”

“Give me one minute.” Skull stopped walking and began to run, barely caring about the write-up he would likely get if anyone in authority saw him. It hardly mattered when the General’s life was on the line.

Skull steered himself towards the ranking clone barracks just next to those of the Jedi. For a moment, his focus faltered as he considered what Cody had told him. What were they doing together in Cody’s quarters, of all places, at 0100 in the morning? Skull could hardly believe that a General, much less a Jedi, would agree to meet in the quarters of their subordinate . It surely did explain why the General inadvertently had lost access to his adrenaline shots.

Skull shook the thoughts from his head and prepared himself for quick thinking as he approached Cody’s quarters.

01B, 02A, 01C….

01D.

He didn’t bother to knock, instead placing his fingertip on the pad just outside the door to force his own entry.

The door slid away to reveal an empty room save for a small chair in the corner holding some beige clothes and a set of glasses. Skull stepped inside, momentarily confused before he heard a soft voice emerge from the left.

“Keep breathing, please . Skull will be here any second. You will be fine, everything will be fine.”

Skull swiveled to find Cody sitting in just his briefs by Obi-Wan’s side. His face, usually perfectly shaved, was covered in a layer of stubble. He had an iron grip on Obi-Wan’s arm and panic laced his voice as he spoke softly.

Obi-Wan sat propped against the edge of Cody’s bunk, shirtless , with one hand curled over his neck and another on his chest. A loose pair of linen pants protected his legs from the metal floor and he heaved in wheezing breaths. “Don’t–” He sucked in another breath and abandoned whatever he was going to say as Skull approached and dropped his bag heavily onto the floor beside the pair.

“I’m here.” Skull said, mildly breathless himself, still struggling to figure out what in the absolute fuck was going on. He pulled open the medical case and plucked out one of the several adrenaline shots along with an alcohol pad. “General, you know the drill, keep those breaths even.” Skull kept his tone low and schooled his face into an unpanicked look. He hoped it was reassuring, especially given the wild look in the General’s wide eyes.

It had been a long time since the General had experienced anaphylaxis, and even longer since he had gone such a long period of time without his shot made available. Even out in the field it was rare for a reaction to be left untreated.

Skull made quick work of flicking the outside of the syringe. “Commander, pull down his pants.” Cody looked at him, mouth ajar, before Skull swore under his breath and pulled at the elastic band of the General’s pants himself.

He wiped the alcohol pad across his thigh before warning the General, “Alright, here we go.” Obi-Wan nodded urgently in response as he wheezed even louder.

Without hesitation, Skull stabbed the syringe into his thigh. Obi-Wan didn’t make a sound for a second, his breath still caught in his throat. Skull held his own breath and counted to ten, hoping to see Obi-Wan’s purpling cheeks turn into a less alarming shade of red.

“Deep breaths, General.” He reminded the General as he pulled Obi-Wan’s hand away from where it rested across his neck. Obi-Wan’s eyes remained wide, but he sucked in a deep breath that sounded marginally better than before. “That’s it, keep going.”

Skull watched him breath for a minute until, though he was still mildly wheezing, it looked like he was able to bring in a breath with little resistance.

Kriffing close call, that was.

Skull briefly looked over at Cody as he collected the sterilization wrapper from the shot. Cody’s lips were pulled into a hard line, like usual, but something in his eyes made him seem far less calm than he appeared.

If Skull didn’t know any better, he might have thought the Commander looked… teary .

“I’m afraid–” Skull averted his eyes when Obi-Wan spoke up hoarsely, his gaze on Cody’s form, “I’m not feeling…” He took a moment to suck in a breath and seemed to be shifting around like he wanted to stand up. Skull pressed him back against the side of the bunk gently.

“Please, stay sitting General!”

Obi-Wan fought against his hold weakly, “Not feeling so good, Cody–”

Cody’s eyes flew open wide and he rushed to the corner of the room where he emptied a waste basket. Moments later, he deposited it in Obi-Wan’s arms just in time. Cody looked away as Obi-Wan heaved into the can, a small amount of liquidy brown bile coming out before he set it aside.

“Well… that was pleasant.” Obi-Wan murmured after he paused to suck in another deep breath. Skull noted that the exposed skin of his chest and face had mostly returned to its normal color, outside of the vague redness of his cheeks and little mark on his neck…

Skull almost let his eyes widen, but looked away before he had a chance to let his thoughts get the best of him.

Medical help now, questions about the severe lack of clothing in this force-forsaken room later.

“Not really a great time for jokes, Sir.” Skull said instead, clearing his throat.

“Agreed.” Cody said firmly and stood in his place. He assumed his resting position, arms crossed over his chest and back held straight and tall. Yet, he hardly looked as menacing and serious as usual in just a pair of tight, black, underwear. “You can breath now?” The Commander asked Obi-Wan, the fright in his eyes fading just slightly as Obi-Wan offered him a hint of a smile and breathed in deeply once or twice.

“Yes, it works like a charm.” Obi-Wan said while pointing to the emptied syringe and offering Cody a strangely familiar smile. “Thank you Skull– I shouldn’t have left my quarters without my med pack. I extend my deepest gratitude to you for coming in such a hurry.” Skull was also offered a warm smile as he extended a hand to Obi-Wan and helped him onto the bunk where he could sit more comfortably.

“Not a problem, General. It’s my job.” He said the words teasingly. “And because it’s my job, I need to know what exactly happened here?”

There was a long, awkward pause as Cody looked nervously in Obi-Wan’s direction. Suddenly, the Commander seemed much more aware of the fact he was stripped down to his underwear, eyes blowing wide before he cleared his throat and reached for the set of blacks neatly folded on top of the dresser next to his bunk. “It was my fault. I bought some biscuits from the lower levels of Coruscant last time I was there. I thought I read the ingredients list, but I guess I must have missed something.”

Cody reached for the package – one biscuit missing – and handed it sheepishly to Skull.

While he tried to look over the ingredients list for a moment, Skull could hardly keep a straight face considering the idea that the Commander and General were sharing a package of fancy Coruscantian biscuits together, at 0100 in the morning, while half-naked in Cody’s quarters.

Things were starting to appear very obvious, and Cody seemed to realize Skull knew something was amiss.

“I’ll analyze these in my lab, see if maybe the ingredients list was missing something. No sense in wasting your time any further boys, it looks like you were enjoying your night.” Skull offered up a smile and crouched down to pull out an extra bottle of Obi-Wan’s emergency medication, and a few adrenaline shots.

General Kenobi’s face was colored a dark red as Skull sat down next to Obi-Wan and placed the next adrenaline shot in his hand. “Alright General, I know it’s been a while, but remember to repeat this shot in twenty minutes. If the symptoms don’t go away after three more, send me a com and we’ll get you set up in the medbay for observation.”

“Thank you, Skull. I will remember of course.” Obi-Wan took a deep breath and looked away before any prolonged eye-contact could happen. Skull nearly snorted.

“Would you like me to teach Cody how to do it?” He asked, glancing over at the Commander just as he was readjusting the shirt of his blacks.

“Oh!” Obi-Wan explained, “That certainly won’t be necessary–”

“Well I’m sure you can teach him yourself anyway, General. I am leaving two of these here… just in case.” Skull stood from the bed and forced himself to hold back the urge to wink in the Commander’s direction.

“That is ah– appreciated Skull,” Obi-Wan said, a half-hearted smile gracing his lips as he shifted into a more comfortable position on the bed.

Skull nodded and collected the remaining contents of Obi-Wan’s medkit before heading towards the door.

“Listen–” Cody started, likely seeing the hint of an amused smile on Skull’s lips, “It’s not what you are thinking.”

“I’m sure it’s not, Commander.” Skull tapped at Obi-Wan’s medical case with a few of his fingers and pressed the button to open the door. “It looks like you and the General were having quite the late night tactical planning session, complete with fancy biscuits and a lack of clothes .”

Cody looked vaguely exasperated before schooling his expression. “Don’t tell anyone.” He whispered, seriousness enveloping his form as he took a step closer to Skull. “We can discuss.. later.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it Commander. All I ask is in the future, you reference his list more carefully before feeding him anything. I’d really rather not interrupt your… intimacy, again.” Cody let out a sigh, “And please, keep a few shots here.”

With that, Skull nodded his goodbye to the blushing Commander, and shuffled into the hallway where he finally allowed himself a low chuckle.

There would be lots to discuss at Obi-Wan’s next medbay visit, that was certain.

But for now, Oxy and Skull would be having a rather entertaining night shift.

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obiternihili · 5 months

Text

had a dream that was kind of a generic but interesting wrap up to i guess a series of alien like movies

horrible bioweapons strewn about the galaxy prove to be the remains of a colonizing civilization that absolutely mastered "biosphere recycling" as part of their warfare. So the complexity of the cell, every bit of cognition unavailable to nanobot technology was made available to it, allowing invadors to turn ecosystems against themselves, allowing functional immortality, allowing bio-technological integration unimaginable. naturally the progenitors lost control of it

the dream started with a progenitor woman expositing that to the protagonist, both plainly human. she was dressed in comfortable white wool. he was shirtless, sweaty, roughed up. She basically gave him an ultimatum - she, the other immortals, the protag, his family, the other small hand ful of survivors, could make a hail mary effort to the next galaxy, hoping for another 8 billion years of peace or so before the galaxies merge, risking the xenomorph analogs pursuing them dooming everything, or make a kind of hail mary effort against the xenomorph analog homeworld, poisoning their well so to speak, and basically hacking an army to retake the milky way

the decision was framed like fighting now is the only courageous thing. so it cuts to an army of humans sprinting through an facility on an industrial planet, getting taken out by the local monstrosities.

and one of the main things about the nano technology is the ability to weaponize the dead. so the antigen against the main antagonist nanobot species doing the same thing amasses a kind of army of gore. like zombies with ray guns and em based weapons.

very early in the fight the protag is fatally wounded, but manages to stab a nearly intact body, transferring his consciousness before he dies.

it builds up until armies of recognizably human/earth beast go up against the xenomorph analogs themselves, which were built of gore, pretty tank-ish, etc, backs covered in high pressure boils that exploded to disperse their nanobots, etc. battlefield littered with embers where the nanobot armies took each other on at the microscopic level

woke up around here

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mariacallous · 4 months

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Poland’s new foreign minister has called on European countries to boost long-term plans for military production after returning from his first foreign visit, to neighbouring Ukraine.

“Wars are not decided by tactical engagements but by industrial capacities, and we are behind the curve,” said Radosław Sikorski, in an interview in Warsaw, a few hours after returning from Kyiv on Saturday.

“As the west, we are 20 times richer than Russia, but if Russia puts its economy on a wartime footing and we continue on a peacetime basis, they can outproduce us,” he added. He said governments should offer long-term contracts to arms companies, or fund manufacturing themselves.

Sikorski, who took over as foreign minister this month, met the Ukrainian president, Volodymyr Zelenskiy, in Kyiv on Friday. He also met prime minister Denys Shmyhal and the country’s foreign and defence ministers. His trip came at a time when the mood in Ukraine has been darkening amid battlefield fatigue, the onset of another winter, and the fear of waning support from western capitals, with major funding packages from both the EU and US blocked in the weeks before Christmas.

“It was easy to be enthusiastic for Ukraine when they were taking back territory: the real test of our patience and determination is now, when there is a stalemate,” said Sikorski.

Poland has been one of Ukraine’s biggest backers since Russia’s full-scale invasion last February, motivated by its own troubled history with Russia and longstanding Polish concerns about Russian expansionism.

However, in the run-up to a viciously fought parliamentary election in October, relations became strained as the ruling Law and Justice (PiS) party sought to capitalise on anti-Ukrainian sentiment in some parts of Polish society.

An argument over grain exports turned into a major diplomatic incident, and Polish lorry drivers also began a continuing blockade of the Polish-Ukrainian border.

In the end, the election was won by an opposition coalition led by former prime minister Donald Tusk, but his government could only take over on 13 December, after stalling tactics by Poland’s PiS-affiliated president, Andrzej Duda. Sikorski, who was foreign minister from 2007 until 2014 in the previous Tusk government, was reappointed to the role, and travelled to Ukraine for his first foreign visit.

He said advocating for Ukraine would be one of his main prioritiesas foreign minister. “If Putin conquers Ukraine, all our other issues will become microscopic by comparison,” he said.

Sikorski said he had taken some positive messages from briefings he received in Kyiv on the battlefield situation, including Ukraine’s remarkable success in forcing the Russian navy out of the Black Sea, as well as Russia’s limited ability to make any gains of its own on the battlefield.

“There is suddenly gloom and doom in the west, but since the battle of Bakhmut the Russians have not captured anything except one large village,” he said.

He conceded that there was fatigue in Ukrainian society, but said this should push the west to be more supportive, rather than less. “The Ukrainians are tired, but they are the only people who are entitled to be tired by this war. We in this west are either inconvenienced or bored, but we don’t have the right to be tired, because we are not making any sacrifices,” he said.

The past weeks have been littered with bad news for Ukraine, with the US Senate failing to approve a new package of aid before the end of the year. A €50bn package of EU support has also been stalled after Hungary blocked it. Sikorski said he believed both funding packages would eventually be passed, but that the longer-term challenge was to ramp up military production, which was currently proceeding at “glacial” pace, he said. “It’s easier to make a billion-euro transfer than to manufacture a howitzer barrel,” he added.

Ukrainian officials told Sikorski they were hoping for a quick resolution to the blockade. Polish lorry drivers say the concessions for Ukrainian companies introduced at the start of the war have undercut their earnings. With Ukraine’s airspace closed due to the war, and Black Sea ports also mostly shut, the country’s land borders are crucial to Ukraine’s economy, and the blockade has caused chaos.

On Friday, Ukraine’s foreign minister, Dmytro Kuleba, described the situation at the border as “shameful and harmful”. Sikorski said: “It’s more complicated than it seems, but I think we found at least a move in the right direction”, adding that there were “rights and wrongs on both sides” in the dispute. He also told Ukrainian colleagues that the turbulence caused by the Polish election should be over.

Tusk’s government has used its first days in office to signal plans for radical reform. Most dramatic was the firing of top management at the public broadcasting company, which had become a bastion of pro-PiS propaganda. The new culture minister used a legal loophole to replace the bosses of public television and radio, leading to a furious response from PiS politicians and Duda.

PiS filled numerous ostensibly neutral institutions with political appointees, and Sikorski said the foreign ministry had also been stuffed with employees who did not speak foreign languages and were not suited to the work. He said he was planning to “restore meritocracy” in the coming months, potentially involving big personnel changes.

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 1 year

Text

Birthright: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

"It doesn't matter who my father was, it matters who I remember he was." - Anne Sexton

After what you and Spencer were doing in the car right before coming to work is enough to make a whore blush. You parked in the back of the parking garage just so you two could have some steamy alone time. There wasn't enough time to completely fix you two up, but you did your best with what you had. Still, that doesn't seem to be enough.

Everyone is waiting in the briefing room for JJ to come and present the next case, so you have some time to study Spencer's appearance. You two rushed to get redressed, and you can tell he missed a button. You wheel your chair closer to Spencer and nudge his side.

You reach over and quickly button his second button before anyone could comment on it. You also fix his tie to make it look more presentable. Spencer blushes slightly, and you wink at him before wheeling back over to your place. Derek is staring at the two of you, and you look up when you feel his eyes on you.

He smirks at you, and you shake your head playfully. JJ walks in seconds later with an apologetic look on her face.

"Sorry I'm late." She picks up the clicker and begins showing you victims and the crime scene photos. "Last night in Fredericksburg, a twenty-year-old woman, Molly McCarthy, was abducted. She's the third to go missing in the last six weeks. All disappeared from public places. No one's seen them since. A couple days ago, body parts with cigarette burns were recovered from a national park which was once the site of the Battle of Chancellorsville."

"Were they able to make an ID?" Hotch asks.

"Only one. The first victim, taken six weeks ago. Decomposition indicated that she had been dead just over a week."

"That shows that he likes spending time with them. How'd she end up like that?" you wonder.

JJ flips through the different photos of body parts that were taken at the crime scene.

"The M.E. found microscopic tool marks on the bone."

"I remember reading about a case like this in Spotsylvania County. There were similar markings on the bone," Spencer explains. "It was the winter of 1980, also in Fredericksburg. five women, aged sixteen to twenty-four, buried in pieces with the same markings in the same civil war battlefield."

"Were they killed at the same time of year and left at the same dump site?"

"The case is still open. Back then, the victims were drug addicts and runaways."

"If he spends that much time with them, there's a chance these two women could still be alive," Hotch says.

"Wait. We think this could be the same killer? That's a hell of a cooling-off period," Emily states.

"The BTK Killer resurfaced after a twenty-five-year hiatus."

"True, but he didn't kill anyone. He only taunted the police."

"The marks on the bone and where he dumps them is a very specific signature. It's hard to copycat details that were never made public."

"Garcia, check the M.O. against girls missing in other states. It could explain the long absence."

"I'm on it," Penelope says and leaves the briefing room to get started.

"If this is the same unsub, what's he been doing for the past twenty-seven years?" Rossi asks.

"That's what we're going to find out."

You look over at JJ to see her checked out. It takes her five seconds to notice that everyone is packing up. She snaps out of wherever she went and stands up, gathering her folders. She is out the door before you can ask her if everything is okay.

The six hour flight from Quantico to Fredericksburg took shorter than you thought. Maybe it's because of the small nap you took, but once you landed, you were eager to get to the dump site. You might get something off the bodies that were dropped. They were found on the outskirts of a farm, but the farm is so big that the owner didn't even realize the property was a dumping ground.

You, JJ, Spencer, and Hotch are together with this one while the rest of the team headed to the police station to make it your home base for the week. JJ has been silent almost for the entire ride to the farm, and you're not sure why. You want to ask her about it, but you'll wait until you get an opportunity to.

"This killer has an obvious disregard for women. He sees them as disposable and worthless. You know, he'd need a lot of time and privacy to do this to them," Spencer comments. "It's funny how he always dumps the bodies in this battlefield, no matter what the risk."

"It's a respected landmark. He's flaunting. It makes him feel important," Hotch says.

The sheriff of the town is waiting for you when you get out of the car, and JJ heads over to him immediately.

"Sheriff Ballantyne, Jennifer Jareau," she says and shakes his hand.

"I appreciate you all coming down so quickly."

"Aaron hotchner. This is Dr. Spencer Reid and agent Y/N."

"Crime scene is right up here. I figured if this is the same killer as before, I didn't want to waste any time before I got your help."

Ballantyne walks you three to where the bodies were dropped.

"The other agents are meeting John Caulfield, the sheriff from the original case. Do you know him?"

"No, not personally. I just heard stories."

"How do you mean?" Hotch asks.

"Well, you know, by all accounts, he was a decent sheriff and good man. Truth is, we don't get a lot of murders down here, and this case broke him."

"How?"

"He started drinking and his marriage busted up. Finally, they asked him to retire." The dump site is sectioned off by police tape as it's still very fresh. "There were about twenty kids partying a hundred yards that way. Molly McCarthy was taken here. We found a blanket, a sweatshirt, and a pair of shoes over there."

"How does someone not see or hear them?" JJ sighs.

"It was dark. He had the advantage. Molly's boyfriend was the last person to see her. He said she was alone for a minute, maybe less."

"He works fast, but he's patient," you say. "He's perfected his M.O."

"If our unsub is pushing sixty, he's gotta be strong enough to carry her a long way without her struggling."

JJ steps away and pinches the bridge of her nose. She isn't doing too well, and both you and Hotch notice this.

"I've seen a lot of properties on unmarked dirt roads with no visible street signs, and nothing on any maps," Spencer states.

"Yeah. If you don't live around here, it can be hell finding your way around."

"That means he's local. Can you show us the various entrances to this place?"

Sheriff Ballantyne leads the way, holding up the police tape so that your team can pass underneath it. You pass by JJ and stop before you can get too far.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah."

She's lying, but you're not going to call her out on it.

"You know that if you need to talk about anything, my door is always open, right?"

"Yeah, I know."

With that out of the way, you do what you came here to do. There wasn't much to find at the dumping site since it was only body parts, and there was more than one victim out there. The bodies were already picked up, and the elements already messed up the dump site for you. It's shitty to say, but you can't do much without another body to go off of, and just like you knew would happen, another body surfaced.

It was the next day when you heard about the unsub dropping more bodies in the same battlefield as yesterday, and you wasted no time going over there to check it out.

"I got two sets of parents waiting for an ID," Sheriff Ballantyne says when you arrive on scene.

"I can help you with that," JJ offers, walking away to where the parents are waiting.

"He didn't spread them around this time. They were in plain sight. He's taunting us. He's basically saying, 'I'm doing this and there's nothing you can do to stop me'," Spencer says.

"Nobody can get in here without showing their ID at the gate."

"JJ has a copy of that visitors list, but there's a hundred ways in. These fences back up to personal properties. He could have gotten in a dozen different ways."

"He knows these grounds as well as anyone. He could have jumped the fence, disposed of his victims, and walked right back out," Hotch backs you up.

You pause and look around when you get the feeling that you're not alone. You don't sense any spirits or see any energies, but you get the feeling like you're not alone.

"Are you okay? What do you see?" Hotch asks you.

"I don't see anything. I just have a feeling in the back of my mind. Like there are other victims, but they're not here. Like they're calling out for help. I don't know," you shrug.

"Let's head back," Hotch announces, and you turn to leave the area.

You look back once more before getting inside the car. The local police work on IDing the bodies while you head back to the station to discuss what the next steps are with the rest of the team. Emily's side of the team was talking with the original sheriff that was on the case all those years ago.

"I've got a list of violations in this county that precede the 1980 murders. A DUI, petty thefts, rape, and assault. A few of these are repeat offenders," Emily states once everyone has gathered.

"Garcia's got something."

Derek places Penelope on speakerphone so everyone can hear her.

"Don't worry, it's not contagious," she jokes. "So, I have dug across the whole country looking for this guy's MO. I found a sum total of zilch. So, I went closer to home. I found a complaint filed by Karen Foley in the next county over. The story is awful. I sent a copy to all your hand-helds. The PG version is that she was kidnapped in 1979, but then she escaped."

"I never heard that story," John Caulfield, the original sheriff on the case, sighs.

"It wasn't your jurisdiction," Rossi says to him. "What if she was his first? He figured out who and where to hunt and learned what worked and what didn't."

"Maybe careful planning has always been a part of his process."

"Where is she now?" you ask.

"Baby girl, work your magic and find us an address."

"I'm on it."

Just moments later, Penelope got Karen's address. You and Derek share one look that says you will be going with him. Hotch approves of this, so you two grab your things before leaving the station together. Derek drove the fifteen miles it took to get to Karen's house. Before you can walk up her driveway, you could feel how closed off she wants to be. You can feel how scared she is with the recent news of these young girls getting kidnapped and dying.

You walk up to her door and knock, and she opens it barely enough for you to see her face.

"Ms. Foley? I'm Y/N and this is Derek Morgan. We're from the FBI. Do you have a minute?"

"FBI?"

Both you and Derek flash your badges to Karen, but that doesn't ease her mind.

"We're investigating the murders of 2 women and the abduction of a third in Fredericksburg. Have you read about it?"

"Yes. It's awful."

"Ma'am, we think it may be related to what happened to you in 1979. Your abduction."

At your words, she completely closes herself off. She does not want to relive her experience, and she certainly doesn't want to talk about it with you two.

"I'm sorry, you're mistaken. I made it up."

"We've read your report, Karen. You were drugged, burned, beaten, and sexually assaulted. You were held against your will," you tried to tell her, but she cut you off.

"I was seventeen. I had to have some kind of excuse for where I'd been."

"Where had you been?"

"Around. I was using back then."

"You called home, ma'am. Some offenders force their victims to contact families to explain their whereabouts," Derek explains.

"There was no offender."

"A lot of the details in your report are consistent with what happened to those women in 1980."

"You calling me a liar?" Karen says, glaring at Derek.

"Karen, I know a few things about protecting yourself from memories. You don't want to keep hurting, and I completely understand that. I was you, okay? Right now, you are the only person alive who can help us. No one else has to suffer. You survived this. We're here when you want to talk."

"I'm not a lead. I'm sorry. I hope you find whoever's doing this."

Karen shuts the door in your face, and you sigh sadly. She is hurting, and she doesn't want to remember, but you have to get her to remember in order to help you. You take out your business card and slide it in her door, turning to Derek.

He shakes his head, but you know you'll be seeing her again soon.

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