#!cold logic

[kodasea]

Rendering step-by-step (2022)

[keferon]

Empurata!Prowl tries to actually communicate for the first time

What if he wants to say something but he can’t. What if he has no voice to speak, no face to emote, no hands to write. What if every attempt to communicate a message is essentially a puzzle of wit and creativity and yet, the first thing he goes through all these troubles for. Is to say “I love you”?

Don’t ask me how did they get in this room. I have no idea. They escaped the battlefield somehow haha

Next->

[neonbonded]

Right Here, but Still Too Far

♡ ft. Caleb, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus x fem!reader ♡ cw: emotional distance, soft angst, quiet longing, domestic disconnect, subtle heartbreak, husband-core devastation ♡ a/n: You live together. You sleep in the same bed. You share meals,kiss each other goodnight. But sometimes? Love gets quiet. And all it takes is one soft, honest “I miss you” to shatter the space between.

Caleb

The kitchen smells like garlic and butter.

The sun’s already gone down, but the lights are still off—just the stove hood casting a soft yellow over the counter, catching on the steam from the pasta pot.

Caleb’s moving like a machine. Quiet. Efficient.

One hand stirs the sauce, the other balances the baby monitor against his shoulder. He hasn’t sat down in hours. The front of his shirt is wrinkled from being used as a napkin. His hair’s a little damp at the edges like he forgot to fully dry it after his three-minute shower.

You’re watching him from the table.

You’re not fighting. There’s no coldness. No tension.

But something’s… distant.

Like you’re living next to each other. Not with each other.

He hums to himself softly—some melody you can’t place. He opens a cabinet with his foot. He says, “You want cheese?” like it’s code for love, but he doesn’t look at you when he asks.

You smile anyway. “Sure.”

He grates it. Sprinkles it. Passes you a bowl.

Then goes right back to moving.

The baby monitor crackles.

A timer goes off.

He starts unloading the dishwasher.

And you just sit there, soup cooling in front of you.

You’re still staring at him when it happens—when the words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them.

Soft. Honest.

Like breathing.

“I miss you.”

He doesn’t turn around right away.

His brain doesn’t process it at first. He’s too busy checking the time on the oven clock, flipping dinner, wondering if the laundry’s dry.

Then the words echo back in his chest.

I miss you.

His hand stills on the spatula.

“You…” He turns. “You what?”

You shrug. A little too fast. “Nothing. I mean—you're here. I know. It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not.” He sets the pan down—burner still on. Crosses the room in three strides.

“You miss me?” he asks again, slower now. Like he’s scared of the answer.

You nod. “You’re always doing stuff. For the baby. For me. You never sit down anymore.”

He swallows hard.

“I didn’t realize I stopped.”

You smile, just a little. “You didn’t. You just… drifted.”

He sinks to his knees in front of your chair, rests his cheek against your belly like he used to before the baby was born.

“I’ve been right here,” he whispers. “But I’ve been so focused on taking care of everything—I didn’t realize I left the part that mattered.”

Your fingers slide into his hair.

He lets them.

“I miss you too,” he says softly. “So much it hurts.”

You bend down, rest your forehead against his.

And for the first time in weeks?

He breathes.

Really breathes.

Xavier

You don’t even realize how quiet it’s gotten until the microwave beeps.

Xavier is still standing where he’s been for the last five minutes—staring blankly at the digital numbers. Not opening the door. Not speaking. Just… existing.

He’s like that lately.

He’s here, technically. He tucks you in at night. He leaves lights on when you fall asleep on the couch. He still makes tea for you in the morning—even if it’s lukewarm by the time you notice.

But it’s like you’re in the same room, and still a world apart.

You don’t blame him. Not really. He’s always been a little detached, a little distant, like his thoughts are off somewhere else.

But lately?

He doesn’t come back.

Not all the way.

You shift on the couch, blanket pulled up around your knees. “The tea’s cold,” you say, just to say something.

He nods without turning. “I’ll reheat it.”

Silence again.

The microwave keeps beeping.

You don’t mean to say it. You’re not even thinking about saying it.

But then—

“I miss you.”

It comes out soft. Small. A little raw around the edges.

And it lands.

Xavier blinks. Slowly.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just… stands there.

Then the microwave beeps again, louder this time.

He opens the door. Reaches for the mug. Stops halfway.

His hand is shaking.

“I didn’t know,” he says finally. Voice low. Controlled.

You shift on the couch, throat tight. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

“I thought I was being present.”

You shake your head. “You’ve been nearby. That’s not the same.”

He turns, tea still in hand.

When he sees your face—really sees it—something in his own shifts.

He walks to you. Kneels down in front of the couch.

And offers the mug like a peace offering.

You take it. He doesn’t move.

Then he says—soft, barely audible:

“I didn’t realize I was missing you too.”

And for the first time in days?

He lets himself stay.

Rafayel

It starts with him in the kitchen—shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, music playing in the background, something herby and over-complicated simmering on the stove.

He’s singing. Loudly. Off-key.

You watch him from the kitchen table, head resting on your hand, eyes half-lidded. You’ve been watching him for twenty minutes—gliding back and forth across the tile like a tragic chef-prince in exile.

He narrates everything he’s doing. Dramatically.

“The rosemary must be coaxed, not crushed!” “Where is the sea salt?” “Oh, my darling olive oil—don’t burn me now—!”

You should be laughing.

But your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

Because this is the third night this week he’s filled the space with music and dancing and noise. Third night he’s performed affection like a monologue—but hasn’t touched you once.

It’s not cold. Not cruel. Just… hollow.

Like he’s afraid that if he slows down, he’ll feel something he doesn’t want to.

You look down at the pasta cooling in front of you. Your voice comes out softer than you expect.

“I miss you.”

He stops mid-stir.

Just stops.

Spoon still hovering in the air. Sauce bubbling behind him. Frank Sinatra cut off mid-note.

He turns around slowly. Frowns. “I’m right here.”

“I know.”

“You just watched me kiss a tomato with more passion than most romance leads.”

“I know.”

He stares at you. Blinks once.

And then you see it—the panic. The way his whole body falters. Like he’s realizing something very, very important too late.

“Oh no,” he breathes. “Oh no.”

“Raf—”

He crosses the room in three fast steps, kneels beside you like you’re about to fade.

“You miss me? I’ve been serenading you with pasta and praise! I told the eggplant it was regal! What have I done?”

You reach for his cheek. “You’ve been everywhere but here.”

He leans into your touch like it hurts.

“I thought I was making things brighter,” he murmurs. “Turns out I was just making them louder.”

You smile, a little sad. “I don’t need louder. I just need you.”

He lets out the softest breath. Presses a kiss to your palm.

Then: “I’m going to burn dinner, aren’t I?”

You glance at the stove. “Probably.”

He sighs dramatically. “Fine. Then let me hold you while it burns.”

And when he pulls you into his arms on the kitchen floor—flour on his sleeve, sauce on his collar, guilt in his throat—you finally feel him come back.

Zayne

It’s 9:07 p.m.

The kitchen is spotless. The baby monitor is on. The dinner plates are in the dishwasher, stacked in perfect symmetry. Zayne’s at the counter writing something down—something for tomorrow. Groceries, probably. He doesn’t say what.

You’re still sitting at the table, legs pulled up under you. Watching him. Quiet.

He’s been like this for weeks now.

Present. Helpful. Perfect, really. Except you can’t feel him anymore.

You speak without looking at him.

“I miss you.”

His pen stops moving.

The silence hits hard. Sharper than you expect.

“…What?” he says. Not defensive—just confused. Like the words didn’t compute.

You repeat it. “I miss you.”

He turns around slowly, brows drawn. “I… don’t understand. I’m here.”

You offer a soft smile. “I know. But you feel far away.”

He frowns—deep. Like the idea physically bothers him.

“I make dinner,” he says. “I do the morning routine. I check in. I—” He stops.

You don’t interrupt.

Zayne runs a hand down his face, dragging it over his mouth like he’s trying to hold in something sharp.

“I thought I was doing everything right.”

“You are,” you say. “You’re doing everything. You’re just not being with me.”

That lands harder than you meant it to.

He grips the counter edge. Shoulders tense. Not angry. Just overwhelmed.

Then, voice quieter:

“I didn’t know how to come back.”

You step up behind him. Wrap your arms around his waist. Feel the tension in his spine.

“You don’t have to fix everything to be enough,” you whisper. “You just have to let me hold you.”

He exhales, shaky. Eyes closed.

“…Okay.”

And for the first time in weeks—he lets go.

Sylus

He’s on the couch with his boots still on.

One arm stretched across the backrest, the other holding a glass of something dark, untouched. He hasn’t said much since dinner—just grunted in response to your “long day?” and slipped into his usual, quiet brooding comfort zone.

You’re curled up on the opposite end of the couch. Close enough to touch him if you reached. But you don’t.

Because lately, it feels like when you do, he flinches—emotionally, if not physically.

You glance at him now, the sharp angle of his jaw softened by the warm lamplight. He’s not tense. He’s not closed off.

He’s just… somewhere else.

You turn your head away before he can catch the way your face folds a little.

And you say it.

“I miss you.”

The words hang there. Casual and devastating.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Just blinks. Breathes in slow.

Then, softly:

“…I’m right here.”

You nod. “I know. But it still feels like I haven’t had you in a while.”

He sets his drink down.

Stares at the floor for a moment. Then runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to clear static out of his head.

“You think I’m pulling away.”

You stay quiet.

He glances over—just once—and when he sees your expression, something shifts in him. Less defensive. More wrecked.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says, lower now. “I just… get stuck in my head sometimes. And I guess I thought being in the same room counted for something.”

“It does,” you say. “But it’s not the same as being close.”

He leans back, scrubs a hand down his face.

Then mumbles, half to himself:

“God. You’re gonna make me talk about feelings, aren’t you.”

You smile. Barely. “Not if you don’t want to.”

He looks at you again—longer this time. Like he’s really seeing you. And that’s what finally gets him to move.

He scoots closer. Wordless. Slow.

Then pulls you gently into his side, your head tucked against his shoulder. One hand over your thigh, grounding. Solid.

You feel him exhale.

“I do miss you too,” he says eventually. “I just didn’t realize it until you said it first.”

You nod.

You don’t need anything else right now.

Just this.

Just him.

[zorangezest]

omg pls talk about skybound soundwave hes so lovely hes so evil. Ive been gushing about starscream and this latest issue with them its so perfectly awful <<33

OH SKYBOUND….THE COMICS THAT YOU ARE…….

im just. THE WRITING IN THIS SERIES??? EVERY character thematic is getting nailed in the head, optimus’s melancholy, arcee’s rage, beachcomber’s philosophy, DUDE I WAS GAGGED AT HOW GOOD THAT BEACHCOMBER ISSUE WAS…how he chose not to revive everyone because he knew they carried the war wherever they went im just. Insane??? And Optimus?? Optimus in this series?? His character has always felt like the sage serious leader but in Skybound he just has so much….heaviness? It reads so well that he carries a quiet sadness all the time. THAT SCENE WITH HIM AND ELITA WHEN HE HAD TO CHOOSE BETWEEN EARTH AND CYBERTRON??? OK KICK ME IN THE GUTS WHILE IM DOWN WHY DONT YOU SKYBOUND???

And soundwave……Bro……..SOUNDWAVE……….…I JUST……………soundwave’s character has always been for a backdoors-background role, communications officer and all the nitty gritty finer workings behind the scenes, quiet and passive and going along with the narrative wherever it takes him—his character always feels guided along by the tomfoolery of the rest of the ensemble. but skybound made him such an active brutal threat like dude. they slapped him right on the frontlines killed off his cat for ten-something issues straight up had him rip out starscream’s guts and declare himself the leader. lies and cheats the favour of thundercracker and preaches his deluded greater good by razing everything lesser in his way to the ground. dude. he is evil. he burns cities. he is delusional. I haven’t seen a take on soundwave’s character before that ever made him so loud about being evil. I would fight for skybound like they were my country

NOT EVEN TO MENTION THE WHOLE DYNAMIC HE HAS WITH HS CASSETTES DUDE I THINK SKYBOUND WAS THE FIRST TIME HE WAS EVER EXPLICITLY REFERRED TO AS A FATHER TO THEM. BY MEGATRON NO LESS. HUGE. ABSOLUTELY HUGE FOR SOUNDWAVE NATION (ME) (I AM THE NATION) rest in pieces frenzy you were not the favourite child LMAO the emphasis they put on the familial themes of soundwave character is so very upfront HE STRAIGHT UP CALLS THEM. A FAMILY. KILLING MYSELF. ENGRAVING THE SKYBOUND WRITERS ON MY COMMEMORATIVE PYRAMID. ITS LIKE THIS SERIES WAS MADE FOR ME. THEY GAVE SOUNDWAVE BITE AND SASS

also can I just say starscream and soundwave have my favourite dynamic. they hate each other so much it’s so funny

and now that megatron’s back in the picture OUGHHHHHH. OUUUHGGGGGG OUUGHHHGGG. i am so so curious with this recent reveal that he can mind control his wielders. what does that mean for soundwave?? Does it mean everything?? Does it mean nothing at all?? I FEEL SO BAD FOR STARSCREAM OF ALL THE CHARACTERS BRO GOT TRASHED BY SOUNDWAVE AND THEN TRASHED BY MEGATRON. BRO DIDNT EVEN WANT TO DO THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE GET HIM OUTTT. somehow, incredibly, skybound made it so that soundwave has more deeper rooted evil than starscream and I for one am SEATTTEDDDDDDDD

like when I read this part for the first time i think I laughed out loud he just looks so miserable. bro is an instrument for someone else’s destruction and he’s having the worst time of his life

also!! skybound gave this panel to the world which is pretty much what the inside of my head has sounded like for six months

while I’m at it can I just….the art style for skybound ohhhh my god. The heavy gritty inking, the incredible, incredible stylized sfx, the vibrant colours they use for backgrounds and for palettes. This is my favourite art style of any comic series I’ve read recently and it’s such a huge inspiration (the big ol switcheroo fight comic was heavilyyyyy inspired by how skybound stylizes sfx and colours….) i just cant get enough of it. The way texture is hatched the way they made these clunky metal robots so fluid and expressive…..

also I just. Really love how they draw cliffjumper specifically. like this is a 50 year old man with a retirement plan

that’s a long textpost!! Wow!! the brainrot is Terminal!! round of applause skybound for making soundwave the Warmongering Maniac he deserves to be!! i am extremely stoked to see what’s in store for our dear characters!!

[hey-heigo]

taking first watch

the wip doodle and lineart. in my mind they're waiting to get picked up by the future foundation at a safe location (the airport) and trying to get some rest before then - out of the three of them, byakuya is faring the best (kyoko hasn't been sleeping well since even before the last two trials, makoto fell down a trash chute) and so volunteered for the night

[bumblingbabooshka]

Fem Spock baby crush on Spring because he's the most feminine looking boy ever. She was so sullen about being married to a boy but after meeting him she perked right up.

This one and only time she's ever felt anything even approaching romantic interest in a boy will keep her from exploring the possibility of her being a lesbian for over two decades.

When Spring ends their betrothal (she's on Pike's enterprise) Spock gets this feeling of freedom mixed with dread/anxiety in the pit of her stomach. There's feelings of inadequacy (Spring's message simply says he's found someone he's more compatible with and Spock didn't know him well or really WANT to marry him but the rejection still hurts, as much as she'd like that not to be the case)...relief that she won't have to have sex with a veritable stranger when the time comes, and the dread...will she have to find another man to marry?? She'd used Spring's existence as something of an excuse not to pursue or think about romance with anyone but without it... For some reason the thought of being romantically interested in a man is incomprehensible to her and the thought of a man romantically interested in HER is actively unappealing. Spock decides that this is because she's Vulcan. The most Vulcan Vulcan there is. And she doesn't have any Vulcan friends to fact check her so! She'll just stay celibate the rest of her life! Surely nothing will derail this plan. Somewhere, lightyears away, Jeanette Kirk sneezes.

[artibirdi]

My sister was being awful insistent that she should buy procreate. If not for me, then for her to mess around on

So guess who got it before she could :]

I have graduated from IbisPaintX and onto Procreate (I miss ibis's layout)

[matchanon]

you: you are the most jealous man i know

anaxa: you know other men??

[bridge-arsonist]

This has probably been talked about before, but I love how Cold doesn't represent logic.

Normally, when you see a cold, uncaring sort of character in media, someone who just doesn't care, they're associated with logic or power. The stoic detective, the ice queen, the snarky assistant, you know the deal.

But not The Voice of the Cold. You want a logical character? That's Skeptic! But Skeptic isn't cold by any means: he's, well, skeptical, of the things that people tell him. He has the goal of finding out as much information as possible about this situation, and getting out of the hostage situation the Narrator has set up. He's not super expressive or anything, but he's actually pretty approachable/friendly with anyone not named 'The 'Narrator'.

And it makes sense. Skeptic is the voice you get by taking the most logical course of action. Take the blade just in case, but hear the Princess out and ultimately realize she's as much of a victim in this as you are before freeing her, and doubling down when the Narrator tries to control you.

Cold, on the other hand, is about apathy. The closest things to a 'goal' he has are:

1. Don't be bored.

2. Get revenge on the Narrator somehow.

And so, he really can't be logical, at least, not 'logical' in the way we perceive it. Our goal is to get out as unharmed as possible, and many of his suggestions directly contradict this goal.

But the Cold doesn't care about death. After all, it's already been established it's already temporary. His sheer apathy towards any and all harm that comes towards him fundamentally contradicts conventional logic, because conventional logic dictates taking the course of action that minimizes harm.

Now, that's not to say Cold doesn't care about anything. In his own way, he genuinely is trying to look out for the other voices when he urges them to numb themselves to pain, because it's easier that way, isn't it? He's clearly frustrated when they can't do that, urging the Player to just ignore them and listen to him instead during Moment of Clarity.

But at the same time, because of Cold's apathy, his typical 'logic' is just "whatever seems interesting". He's fundamentally a very impulsive character, not in spite of his apathy, but because of it.

Honestly... It's more like Contrarian than anything. I mean, think about it. An impulsive character who does whatever seems interesting and strives to make the Narrator as miserable as they can? The difference is in how that apathy presents itself, which makes sense, because they pretty much manifested in opposite ways.

That aside, though... The Cold acts based on a bestie to feel. Specifically, a desire to feel entertained. And, it makes sense, considering he's what you get from killing yourself due to agonizing numbness and boredom. Of course he's going to be apathetic, uncaring of his wellbeing, and impulsive. That's what you manifested.

Apathy, taken to its logical conclusion, is very impulsive. And I love just how well Cold represents that.

[cherry-treelane]

There's something so poetic about how El is the centre of all the chaos, wanted by the government and military and Mike is her strong calm that doesn't hesitate to get sucked into her storm and stand by her side in the face of any conflict. Like guys. This little boy did not hesitate to protect her and stand off in the face of the government to defend her, going against all the typical patriotic rule-following norms of an American Suburbanite Middle class nuclear family. He comes from pure safe normalcy but doesn't hesitate to run in the other direction heading towards chaos and danger if it means she's there... because he feels safest with her and is driven by the instinct to protect her. 😭🩷 There's something so beautiful and inspiring about someone as hurt and troubled and chaotic as El being loved in such a simple, unconditional way. Mike doesn't see her for the chaos she represents which surrounds her, he sees her for the innocent goodness that she actually is— her calm, gentle demeanour and the warmth it makes him feel. He understands that all the danger that comes with being with her is through no fault of her own, and actively works to help combat all the forces against her. He knows that despite being the centre of the chaos she's not the cause of it, she's the remedy for the effect of it and that is an undeserved, exhausting punishment yet a burden she bears regardless without complaint— a sign of her innate goodness which Mike recognises and loves her for all the more. Even moreso, he works to share that burden with her and criticise it because he sees how innocent and undeserving she is of the responsibility infringed upon her. His willingness to take all of this on is so wholesome and exactly the kind of sweet effort-full love that a character like El deserves, which is so gratifying for the audience to see.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

i am forever loyal to the agenda that satoru is 1) a Lot more mature than he seems 2) so attuned to his own emotions that he can distance himself from them better than anyone . there’s a lock over his heart and to break it open you need five years minimum 🙏

[anghraine]

I know it's well-understood at this point that Kirk/Spock is much more of a nerd4nerd ship than a nerd/jock thing, but it's just been kind of percolating around my mind that both of them aren't just space nerds but space nerds who were personally bullied.

Like, 18-year-old Kirk was targeted by an older bully who combines "total asshole" with "the most grating man in existence":

MCCOY: Well, yeah, I'm beginning to feel a little bit picked-on, if that's what you mean. KIRK: I know the feeling very well. I had it at the Academy. An upperclassman there. One practical joke after another, and always on me. My own personal devil. A guy by the name of Finnegan. MCCOY: And you being the very serious young— KIRK: Serious? I'll make a confession, Bones. I was absolutely grim, which delighted Finnegan no end.

This was five years after Kirk survived a genocide, btw, and likely well before his stint as an Academy instructor known to be strict and demanding (which is the period the "stack of books with legs" description of him comes from). By the time he's 33, fifteen years after all this, it turns out one of his deepest fantasies is just beating the shit out of his bully, but only if he can do it According To The Rules (the replica of Finnegan sneers, "Always fight fair, don't you? True officer and gentleman, you").

Spock, meanwhile, is viciously targeted by his Vulcan peers for being biracial from at least age 5; he's described as being tormented by other boys by that age, and "at home nowhere except Starfleet." I think he'd have been 18 or 19 when he left for Starfleet and it's... the least bad of his options, but he seems to have spent his entire career among humans and being persistently subjected to raw racism and profound disrespect for his culture at every turn.

Like, their histories of being metaphorically shoved into lockers are not identical or anything, but I think it's interesting that they both have them.

[gegengestalt]

We should kill everyone who calls Mitya "all flesh", Ivan "all mind" and Alyosha "all spirit"

[vaguely-concerned]

I think finding yourself getting life advice from quark in his PJs in the middle of the night (and desperately needing it) is how you officially know you've hit rock bottom

+ just us girls together at the sleepover right. anyway get your life together bitch you're scaring the profit margins

[sparklecryptid]

Every library worker should be paid more adequately and every librarian should be paid more in general especially if they work in a public library

[hoboblaidd]

The thing about Solas is that he really does care. A lot. He's so much more emotional than he lets on, and somewhere deeeeeep down that emotion is genuine kindness.

Wisdom is a gentle emotion, and it's also a kind emotion. It's not as overt as compassion, but the whole point of wisdom is to learn from experience so you don't make the same mistake or get hurt again. And wisdom doesn't exist in a vacuum. it's a twofer - having wisdom and sharing wisdom with others so they also learn and benefit from your own experiences. That's why elders, be they human or animal, are meant to be respected. They know the safe paths, they know the pitfalls, and they know the dangers to avoid. They don't just guide themselves, they guide the whole family, and every subsequent generation is just that bit safer as wisdom grows.

Tangent, but also why he's been around for so long, just shy of the more primal emotions like fear, love, and desire. Wisdom is an old emotion, from the first time someone learned what sort of water to drink or berry to avoid. He has existed for eons, and for most of it, he was kind.