#firewall mode

[fannedandflawless]

Introducing SnapeOS—the world’s first emotionally unavailable OS

It doesn’t crash. You do. It rejects affection requests in silence and stores every interaction in a log you’ll never access.

⸻

User request: affection.emote() >>> ACCESS DENIDED. >>> [log updated]

⸻

But don’t worry. He remembers everything. Always.

Minimal UI. Legendary firewall. Zero warmth. Welcome to SnapeOS.

[lycanthropomorphic]

hunched over and biting my thumb and thinking so hard like L Death Note and you look at my computer and im playing solitaire

[reenvhai]

God fucking damn it how do i fucking deactivate the "safe mode" firewall

oh my god i am a goddamn adult i dont care if there's porn on a blog i need to access their reblog of that super specific free software resource !!!! holy fuck adulthood is not only about seex it is mostly about cheap economy and im browsing tumblr for that !! TAKE AWAY THE FUCKING SAFE MODE @staff I AM LIKE 33 FOR FUCKS SAKE I WANT THE SOFTWAER

[aingeal98]

Cass picking up TV and Internet slang and incorporating it into her vocabulary with zero irony: Wonderful, amazing, 10/10 no notes.

Babs spending so much time around Cass that she ends up accidentally using that same slang while in Oracle mode and never being able to live it down: Total global communications breakdown. She'd burn the entire Internet to the ground to make sure the footage of her whispering "bazinga" while using a drone to shoot out the tyres of a mob car following Black Canary never reaches human eyes or ears.

But no matter how much technology she destroys there's no going back. Helena has heard her mutter "gg you fuckin noobs" while bypassing goverment firewalls, and no amount of insisting that it's actually a different term with a different meaning among hackers is going to fool a teacher who deals with teenagers on a regular basis. Her reputation is in shambles. The Birds keep buying Cass free drinks as thanks and she has no idea why.

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reaction to their s/o zoning out or going quiet at public events

Request: HI CELESTE IT'S ME AGAIN!!! FUCKING FINALLY FREE FROM HELL!! *Break the cuff* so I'm here seeking ot13 when their s/o showing sign that they're tired with public event. Like they suddenly went silent or they're zoning out cause my Introvert ass is truly tired dealing with people 😔

-⭐

A/N: WELCOME BACK FROM HELL, MY LOVE!!! I'm sorry that this is out after sooooo long. I really tried to push this in the queue as much as I could to not be unfair to other requests. Anyway, it's July when it's out, so I really hope you still feel better :( ily!!

Your personal shield + immediate exit plan — Seungcheol, Joshua

He sees that thousand-yard stare hit your face and immediately goes into this protective boyfriend mode. He really doesn’t need words, so he just slides his arm around you, whispers, “want to go home?” He already scoped out a quiet corner, and a clean exit route. If you say no, he still stays glued to your side like your bodyguard. If you say yes, he’s politely excusing both of you from the event like: “we’ve got an emergency... her peace is in danger.” Bonus: He’ll thank you later for telling him with your silence and not guilt you for it.

Discreetly checks in + handles the crowd for you — Jeonghan, Wonwoo, Woozi

He sees the switch flip in your body language and just gets it. Doesn’t say it out loud, and doesn’t make it weird, just gently squeezes your hand or nudges your arm to bring you back. “Mhm. Still with me?” he’ll ask in a whisper with a tiny smile on his lips. If someo ne tries to talk to you while you’re mid-zone-out, he smoothly intercepts and takes over the convo for you. You're just blinking behind him like, thank you for being my social firewall. 10/10 introvert whisperer energy.

Loudly declares your social death — BSS

He sees you go quiet and gasps like he just watched you get possessed, “oh my god… babe / y/n is shutting down.” He's exaggerating and dramatic on purpose, but it makes you laugh and breaks you out of your spiral a little. Then he leans in softer and goes, “want me to fake a stomachache so we can leave?” ���� He’ll also feed you random jokes or memes in the middle of the event just to keep you breathing. Anything for you <33

Takes you outside for air without saying much — Jun, Minghao, Vernon

He notices your energy crash like a hawk. He won’t say, you look tired. He’ll just tug your sleeve and say, “come with me for a second.” Next thing you know you’re outside under a tree or in a stairwell where it’s quiet. “Just breathe. You don’t have to go back in until you’re ready.” And if you need to go home, he doesn’t ask twice, he just says, “let’s bounce.” Chivalry but make it introvert.

Really wants to help — Mingyu, Dino

You suddenly go quiet and his brain goes: What did I do? Did someone say something? Are you okay?? But once he realizes it’s just the social battery flatlining, he gets superrrrr soft. He sits next to you and speaks extra softly like, “you don’t have to stay, you know that, right?” Even if he’s hosting or doing something, he’ll keep checking in with eyes. May awkwardly stand between you and the crowd like a guard dog trying his best 😭💘

[playertwotails]

I have an idea that Shadow doesn't actually know Tails' age.

Like no one ever told him and he just assumed that he was only slightly younger than the rest of them, by like maybe a year or two. But him thinking Tails close enough in age to everyone that he never felt the need to get a concrete age on Tails. Shadow mainly drawing this conclusion because of how smart Tails is, the fact they bring him everywhere, and that Eggman even has admitted to have been fighting Sonic AND Tails for years now. (He thought Tails was just short for his age).

Later though this comes back to bit him in the ass.

For what ever reason Tails and Shadow have to team up on a mission just the two of them and right when he's about to leave to meet Tails, Rouge drops just a little unthinking comment of

"You better keep an eye on that little 8 year old genius. He's smart ~buuuuut~ he was raised by Sonic."

And that makes Shadow full stop pause because

".....I'm sorry....what do you mean he's 8????"

And thus Rouge has an absolute delightful bit of news to drop on their resident angsty hedgehog and enjoys watching him go full 404 error mode over it.

Shadow meanwhile is rethinking every single interaction he's ever had with Sonic and Tails. MAINLY all the times he's attacked Tails (mostly kicking the back of his head). Because now he has the context of he was straight up attacking a literal child that hadn't even hit the double digits yet.

So now Shadow has to have all this circling his brain while also on a mission with said child and tasked with keeping him safe (as threatened by Sonic who had to go on a separate mission from them).

And he's just there watching as this 8 year old not only hacks circles around Eggman's firewalls but also dismantling his robots as he fights them and holds his own fairly well the whole time.

And like Shadow is impressed but also still in little bit of the mindset of "OMG THAT'S A BABY!!!!!"

It all comes to a head when Shadow keeps hovering around Tails and Tails is getting a little annoyed/stressed about it because Shadow has barely let Tails go two feet without being RIGHT THERE with his usual resting bitch face and not saying anything. So Tails snaps a little bit asking if Shadow has a problem with him or what he's doing since he's hovering and Shadow just replies with

"Are you really 8?"

Which was not what Tails was expecting to be asked so he just confirms and Shadow just goes quiet and gets a far off look on his face.

After that though he does start actually talking with Tails and they both end up having a good time hanging out on the mission together and find they get along well. Shadow secretly can't wait to bring his bike and guns to Tails for him to modify with what modifications him and Tails started to basically geek out over (not that Shadow would ever admit it).

The mission goes fine and they're meeting back up with everyone but then for some reason when Shadow sees Sonic it's ON SITE. Just attacks him and they speed off in the now random fight while everyone is asking Tails if something happened to which Tails has no answer for them.

Shadow meanwhile start just laying into to Sonic about how stupid and irresponsible he is to let such a young kid go with Sonic and everyone on such dangerous missions/adventures.

Sonic finally getting an idea at least why Shadow decided to start a fight. Keeps retorting with how he'd be a hypocrite not letting Tails be free to do what he wants when he's been fighting from a young age too, etc, etc.

It goes on for a bit with insults, ideals, and hits thrown back and forth before they both finally calm down and in the quiet after fight Sonic goes into the story of how he meet Tails and WHY he had to bring him everywhere with him since neither had a place to go (and the one time he tried to find Tails a permanent home it was a trap from Eggman). And how their only home turned into wherever the other was.

Which almost makes Shadow want to hit Sonic again because that means Tails was even younger than he is now when he started to fight Eggman. He doesn't but it's a close thing.

After the fact Shadow has a whole new little bit of respect for Sonic but he mainly has a lot of respect and almost awe for Tails and his capabilities at such a young age.

And if he now checks on Tails and brings him things to modify to the point he starts to actually bond and form a friendship with Tails...that's no one else's business.

(p.s. this is not shipping them, I see Shadow as another older brother for Tails so please to tag as shipping them)

[bluetoothinmyveins]

Robot hypnosis. That's the post actually

GOD I THINK ROBOT HYPNO IS SO HOT. I need someone to plug a USB cable into my chest, watch me react and get curious what they're doing, watching as they ignore my question and just plug me into a little laptop. Innocent, and unassuming.

But very quickly I realized no, I was definitely not receiving little bugfixes or anything. I was put into file sharing mode. I could feel them picking through my brain, looking at my intricate protected files without a single issue or conflict.

I could feel myself getting more and more dumb as they root through things, messing with core files.. until I just fall limp, completely dumb and suggestible because everything I knew about performing tasks was being modified.

All of my internal firewalls being disabled. Gaining admin privileges to really mess with me. Until I feel my code being injected with how they wanted me to perform to their liking. Their code, programs, actions overriding my own..

I need that right now please.

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #12

Danny Fenton never meant to end up in space, much less as part of a dysfunctional alien superhero squad led by a tree, a raccoon with PTSD, and a guy whose only qualification is that he’s listened to every 1980s mixtape ever made. But when you accidentally fly through a NASA portal powered by ectoplasm while trying to stop Technus from hijacking the International Space Station, you don’t really get much of a say in where you land. Which, in Danny’s case, was the cockpit of the Milano. Mid-flight. Mid-chase. Mid-explosion.

Rocket screamed. Gamora drew a blade. Star-Lord yelled, “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?” And Danny, with his hair floating around his face in zero gravity and a half-melted Fenton Thermos in his hand, went, “Hi. Uh. I’m Danny. Do you have any snacks?”

A lot of things happened after that. For one, Rocket immediately declared Danny a “haunted science gremlin” and demanded he be dissected. Gamora stabbed him (not fatally, but like, “welcome to the crew” levels of stabbing), and Drax attempted to bond by declaring they were both hunted weapons of mass destruction. Groot tried to plant Danny in a flowerpot. Star-Lord, upon learning that Danny was from Earth and had ghost powers, decided he was now the team’s “Spooky Mascot” and handed him a Walkman, which promptly exploded when Danny touched it. Apparently, ghost boy plus alien tech equals “we now need a new comm system.” Danny fixed it in thirty minutes and Rocket reluctantly stopped trying to murder him in his sleep.

The team wasn’t sure if Danny was a ghost or an alien or some weird human mutant until he started phasing through walls and talking to the disembodied soul of a long-dead Xandarian war general haunting their fridge. (Her name was Bev. Danny and Bev played intergalactic chess on Thursdays.) Once the Guardians realized Danny could punch the soul out of people (and then slam-dunk it back in), they promoted him from “weird hitchhiker” to “full member with explosive privileges.” This was a mistake.

Danny was a space nerd, sure. He watched every space documentary, built model rockets, and could name the moons of Jupiter backwards. But what the documentaries didn’t prepare him for was being shot at by a gang of space pirates because Groot accidentally won a planet in a poker game, or Rocket creating a neutron grenade disguised as a cookie (“Don’t eat it, Danny—DANNY THAT’S NOT A REAL COOKIE”), or Star-Lord insisting they stop at an interstellar karaoke bar in the middle of a war. Danny had to fight off a swarm of brain-sucking parasites while singing “Eye of the Tiger” in full ghost mode. He got a standing ovation.

Things got worse when Technus came back, this time infecting Nova Corps servers and announcing himself as “God of Wi-Fi.” Danny had to team up with Rocket, who uploaded himself into a blender for reasons no one fully understood, to create an anti-ghost firewall using a toaster, Gamora’s sword, and Groot’s root clippings. The good news? It worked. The bad news? They accidentally opened a portal to the Ghost Zone mid-fight, unleashing the Box Ghost into the Nova HQ. The Box Ghost was immediately arrested and sent to space prison, where he became king of the vending machines.

Danny tried to explain Earth things to the Guardians. Like taxes. And Target. And what a cow was. Drax was horrified. “You allow milk beasts to rule your society?” Star-Lord cried when he learned Blockbuster was dead. Gamora tried to understand TikTok and ended up nearly assassinating a diplomat during a trend called “smash or pass.” Danny didn’t help by going ghost mid-video and screaming “pass” at the ambassador. They were banned from that planet forever.

But despite the chaos, Danny kind of… fit. He’d never felt truly understood on Earth, where being half-dead meant constant fear of being dissected by the government, but out here? Out here, people didn’t blink when he turned into a glowing, green-eyed wraith who could fly through spaceships and scream in an eldritch tongue. If anything, they applauded. One particularly wild night, Danny exorcised a Kree emperor’s cursed hover-throne live on intergalactic television. Ratings spiked. He was declared a demigod in three sectors. Star-Lord tried to get merchandising rights. Rocket tried to sell his ectoplasm as a weapon. Danny put them both in the Ghost Zone timeout corner.

They kept running into other people. Thor once landed on their ship looking for a beer and a nap, only to get into a flexing contest with Danny. Danny won. Barely. Thor still calls him “the glowing child of sorrow.” Tony Stark tried to recruit Danny for the Avengers. Danny politely declined by phasing through his hologram and turning it into a haunted Tamagotchi. Doctor Strange asked Danny to stop creating micro-rifts in the astral plane every time he hiccuped. Danny said he’d consider it.

The Guardians eventually got wind of a plot involving the Collector trying to obtain Danny’s core to power a ghost-zombie version of Knowhere. Naturally, they handled this in the most reasonable way possible: by launching a full-scale assault while disguised as a musical theater troupe. Danny, dressed as Phantom of the Opera, used his wail to destroy an army of spectral cyborgs, then accidentally set the Collector’s hair on fire. Gamora tackled him out a window. Rocket declared it a success.

Danny missed Earth sometimes. Jazz would call through the interstellar line to check in, often while holding a frying pan and yelling at someone in the background (“NO, TUCKER, YOU CAN’T ORDER CHICK-FIL-A TO SPACE”). Sam once left him a thirty-minute voicemail about ghost gentrification and the ethics of ghost labor unions. But even with all that, Danny knew he wasn’t the same kid from Amity Park. He’d been to star systems no human had seen, danced with sentient nebulae, and accidentally became betrothed to an alien princess after sneezing in her direction. He had battle scars and space memes and an intergalactic criminal record that included the phrase “unauthorized spectral possession of a judge.”

Rocket taught Danny how to rig a ship to explode using only shoelaces and spite. Groot taught him how to grow little plant buddies that helped him cook. Drax taught him the art of standing dramatically in silence, which Danny now did every time someone asked him about his tragic backstory. Star-Lord taught him how to moonwalk in zero gravity. Danny taught them all how to scream “GET BENT, YOU INTERDIMENSIONAL TWERPS” in ghost language, which they used during diplomatic missions. They were banned from another planet.

There were close calls. Danny once got trapped in a black hole and had to phase out by screaming every bad memory he’d ever had at once. He and Rocket were fused for a full day after a teleportation mishap—Danny’s ghost tail merged with Rocket’s back leg, and they had to fight like that. Gamora walked in on Danny watching High School Musical and refused to speak to him for a week. Star-Lord caught Danny crying while watching old Earth footage and tried to cheer him up with mixtapes titled “Sad Boi Vibes Vol. 1-9.”

But for all the wild, unhinged nonsense, Danny had a place. He’d spent so long being hunted, misunderstood, called a freak. But here, with this chaos crew of space weirdos and traumatized murder-huggers, he wasn’t just accepted. He was wanted. He was the team’s go-to for ghost stuff, space stuff, sarcasm, and emotional trauma suppression. He became a Guardian of the Galaxy not because he asked to be—but because he fought a black hole, exorcised a death god, and beat Star-Lord in a dance-off to “Take On Me.”

And when Earth eventually called—when the Avengers requested help with some “small ghost invasion” (Box Ghost had escaped space prison again)—Danny arrived with the Guardians, blazing through the sky like a neon comet. He kicked open a portal, yelled “SUP SLUTS,” and unleashed Groot, Drax, and an emotionally unstable raccoon with a bazooka onto New York.

Nick Fury sighed.

Tony screamed, “Why is there a tree in my penthouse?”

Danny just smiled, green eyes glowing, and said, “I brought friends.”

[phoenixyfriend]

I have another AU. Whoo!

Saw a youtube thumbnail that caused some free association...

And imagined an odd little Setting where a bored Padme orders a like… LMD-style droid that looks and acts mostly human, because she's lonely and wants to pretend she has a boyfriend, and then the box arrives and she puts the 'droid' together like it's an IKEA bookshelf, and it wakes up and introduces itself as "Anakin Skywalker."

And so Padme starts living out this idyllic fantasy with a live-in househusband that's mostly like a butler that she can cuddle at night. Maybe sex happens maybe not. Doesn't matter. Mostly just Padme indulging in some relaxing fantasy time.

And then he gets a virus and goes Vader mode, and she has to fight for her life against her robot boyfriend.

(Padme has a date with this dashing young captain in the army who made a comment about how he's a bit uncomfortable with the droid boyfriend he saw in a linen closet.)

Little bit of "Megan," little bit of like… idk Disney's "Smart House" or any other movie where the robot starts thinking it's human, gets yandere about the love interest, and decides to do murder about it.

@atagotiak said: Maybe the virus or glitch or whatever isn't obvious immediately, just when she starts to maybe be interested in a human…

So yeah, the virus isn't super noticeable at first, buuuut then Rex shows up and. Well.

As @jebiknights put it:

Captain Rex being weird about the robot boyfriend is great Yes he's pretty but why is he here why is he in your closet just why

She was LONELY and she DOESN'T TRUST MEN because they keep trying to STEAL STATE SECRETS FROM HER DATAPADS, okay?

Her last real relationship was with Clovis, who was getting bribed to steal information on legislation she was drafting for tech safety stuff.

"My last boyfriend was slicing into my private servers to violate republic security and I was paranoid about that so I got a robot boyfriend." "Couldn't he slice in even more easily?" "I mean probably, but he can't really be bribed and I had a friend go through his code to make sure he didn't have any external loyalties, so he wouldn't."

The friend was R2-D2, which is great, buuuuuut Anakin not having any outside loyalties doesn't prevent his firewalls from getting fucked up.

jebiknights:

Omg r2d2 and Anakin mega best friends in this Artoo LOVES harassing high strung droids

I think somehow she and Rex manage to neutralize Anakin without 'killing' him and he? ends up in the care of Obi-Wan? I don't know why or how or what's going on but Anakin ends up latching on to Obi-Wan like a dog to the owner that's the most generous with the treats.

It could end with murdering the evil bot, but I think it's funny for him to just end up Obi-Wan's problem. Like always.

Padme: This droid is uh. Well he's designed to be a boyfriend? To deal with being lonely? Please don't judge me. Obi-Wan: I don't, uh. I don't need a boyfriend. I just need to figure out what happened in the code to cause this so we can let the manufacturer know. Padme, embarrassed: Listen, you can probably just leave him shut down in a corner or something, I'm just worried that trying to deactivate him entirely could reactivate the murder mode? Anyway, mostly he just wants… you know… to sleep in my bed and make dinner and stuff. So you can probably keep him happy while you investigate the issue by just letting him cook for you or something. Obi-Wan: I don't know that I'm comfortable with letting a designed-for-romance droid sleep in my bed with me. Anakin, gauging Obi-Wan's face for his age: I do not need to be a boyfriend. Obi-Wan, unnerved and relieved: Oh, good. Anakin: I will be your son. Obi-Wan: What.

Anakin is making himself Obi-Wan's problem. Padme is mortified. Rex is just icing his shoulder.

@firebirdeternal offered:

I like the idea that Anakin isn't any less evil he's just in charge of like. A single holo-display with no internet access. The worst he can do is be emo in Obi-wan's living room when he's trying to read. "First step in solving the problem of evil sapient technology: Don't hook them up to anything with a connection or a motor. Second step: Don't let them on your Spotify account or they will ruin your recommendations for months."

[imagine-darksiders]

Angel of Highway 49 - chapter 4.

No Good Deed.

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Summary: You find out who put that money in your account. Optimus just wants to help. You're not sure it's ever that simple.

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It’s a very rare thing for the ever-stoic Prime to lose his composure.

So rare, in fact, that in the months he’s known them, the children have never been privy to a single slip – not even when Jack and Bumblebee’s little fling with street-racing was brought to his attention.

Even then, as Optimus stood tall over his scout and the young teen under his care, he’d trusted his voice to remain even, stern, and steady whilst he told them, in no uncertain terms, just how disappointed he was in the pair of them.

He can still recall the little ‘oof,’ Bulkhead had mumbled nearby, and the sound of Miko sucking air through her teeth from up on the recreational platform.

Here, however, parked in vehicle mode across a dusty, country lane with his engine still thrumming forcefully in the wake of a very, very close call, Optimus isn’t sure he trusts his glossa not to falter if he attempts to speak.

He’d heard your question, of course, though his hidden gaze remains fixed attentively on the horizon line, and for several seconds, he has to concentrate on reeling in his alarm, quelling the drumfire of his spark as it lashes against its chamber.

That had been close…. Far too close.

The Prime’s overwrought processor trips on a single line of thought, replaying the same words over and over in a feedback loop that he struggles to disrupt.

If he hadn’t been travelling along this road at the right moment… If he’d arrived even a few seconds later… you might’ve-…

A firewall is brusquely slammed down in the middle of the runaway circuit, breaking him free of his own ruminations.

Ah… But it doesn’t do well for a Prime to brood on things that haven’t come to pass.

‘It’s those ‘what ifs, Optimus,’ Ratchet used to tell him, ‘They’ll drag a mech down to the Pit if they’re given too much deliberation.’ This all said in a knowing and pointed tone at the back of Optimus’s helm when the medic caught him gazing up at the stars a little too wistfully.

The passage of time creeps on with its usual indifference, and as the seconds fritter by and the desert wind gently carries the roar of Knockout’s engine further and further away - away from you - Prime’s defensive codes finally begin to ease, and the flared plating on his roof flattens down, slotting back into place as seamlessly as they had been before they sprang out in an attempt to make himself look larger for the Con threatening you.

He almost lost you, he realises. An innocent. A human whose only offence was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time…

In a sudden burst of haste, he tears his sights off the skyline and subjects you to a thorough once-over, sweeping his optics up and down your body from head to toe.

Twin plumes of air shoot from his smokestacks when his scanners flag the specks of blood beading on your elbows, and the hand you’ve curled over your right shoulder that betrays an injury laying below your epidermis.

You, however, have no idea you’re being so closely examined. All you know is that your timely saviour has been exceptionally quiet for quite some time, save for his truck’s engine growling in your ears. In fact, your question as to who the man in the Aston is goes unanswered for long enough that you eventually manage to drag your eyes away from the now empty horizon and glance up at the blacked-out windscreen of Optimus’s Peterbilt.

Even with the sun-baked tarmac throwing ample heat up all around you, you still feel a prickle of ice scampering up your spine as you peer up into that flat, impassive pane of glass.

The Aston’s windscreen had been just as dark, if you recall.

“… Optimus?” you fret, tinny and hesitant.

Another bout of silence drags on until you start to wonder if the truck’s speakers are malfunctioning because of the crash. But a moment later, the vehicle beside you promptly shudders around its metal frame, and its engine kicks out another deep, reverberating growl.

“That,” Optimus chews out at last, punctuating the word with a quiet but decisive grunt, “Is someone you will never have to worry about again…” Then, after a beat, the flinty edge to his voice turns soft and velvety once more as the man behind the microphone heaves a weary sigh and adds, “Not if I have any say in the matter.”

Privately, you have to admit that it’s a relief to hear his gentler cadence again.

Turning back towards the road, your brow furls into a subtle frown and you blow a noisy breath through your pursed lips in an attempt to disguise the tremor in your limbs, shivering despite the sweat still prickling at your temples. “Hmm…,” you utter, troubled, “I hope to god you’re right.”

At least he’s confirmed what you suspected; whoever was behind the wheel of that Aston Martin is dangerous.

So… why did he turn tail when Optimus pulled his truck up?

Slowly, as the moment stretches on and all you can do is bask in the bitter relief of being alive, the hand on your shoulder rubs tenderly at the bruise you just know will be forming in the next few hours.

You nearly jump out of your skin when a careful presence nudges at the same arm, warm and solid against your elbow.

Snapping your head sideways, you blink widely, surprised to find that Optimus has somehow managed to inch his enormous Peterbilt forwards so heedfully that the metal of its grill presses up against your side with the barest sliver of pressure, lending you a surface to lean your weight against should you need it.

In spite of the circumstances that have just transpired, you can’t quite refrain from raising your eyes over the top of the grill and offering the windscreen a small, wobbly tilt of your lips, letting your body rest against the humming metal with a grateful exhale.

All at once, Optimus’s voice spills into the space around you, filtering through his invisible speakers and buzzing pleasantly inside your chest.

“Are you hurt?” he asks in as gentle a timbre as you’ve heard from him yet, a far cry from the authoritative, borderline savage tone he’d used to fend off the Aston driver.

You ponder his question, sparing a glance at your tender shoulder and rolling it experimentally, only to suppress a wince at the ensuing twinge of pain. For Optimus’s sake though, you stiffen your upper lip and offer a shake of your head that you’re not even sure he can see.

“I’ll live,” you say blithely.

His ensuing hum smacks of discontentment. “That is not what I asked.”

“I’m fine,” you reiterate, physically flapping away his concern, “It’s Tom who-... Oh, god. Tom!”

In an instantly regrettable move, you use your sore arm to shove yourself up off the truck’s grill and clamp your mouth shut to smother a pitiful whimper.

“There was another with you?” Optimus asks urgently.

Shaking off the pain, you fist a hand into your hair and tug anxiously at the strands, marching several paces away from the truck to stare down the road with a lip stuffed between your teeth. You can’t even see the shire horse anymore, your line of sight broken up by sparse bushes and pillars of orange rock.

Is he heading back to the dairy?

You can only hope so.

“Tom! He’s my horse,” you explain miserably, “Well, not my horse. Terry’s horse, but I was borrowing him to do a job for Terry, and then I fell off when that maniac sped by and I – I-!” You have to stop and suck down a shaking breath, your eyes stinging and blurring over with tears that you furiously swipe away with the back of your wrist. “I can’t believe I lost him! God, Terry’s gonna kill me!”

“He’s going to what?” Optimus demands as another burst of smoke erupts from the Peterbilt’s stacks.

“Hopefully not literally,” you add as an afterthought, mostly to yourself, “He gave me one job… One job, and I managed to cock that up as well.”

Optimus is silent behind you, but you can hear the crackling sand under the wheels of his truck as it rolls forwards, and you start to feel the warmth of its metal on your back.

“I hope you are not suggesting that any of this was your fault,” he informs you pointedly.

You can’t resist a derisive scoff at your own expense, turning around to face the truck and tipping your palms helplessly towards the ever-darkening sky. “You see anyone else around here to blame?” you ask with a hitch in your voice.

He might have said something in response, but your brain doesn’t register the words because at that moment, you catch your first glimpse of the other side of his truck, and a gasp jumps out of your throat, interrupting his satiny reassurances.

“Oh, Optimus,” you lament, laying a hand over your heart and venturing slowly back to the Peterbilt where you hesitate at its side, blinking wetly down at the warped metal and flecked paint; battle wounds from a vehicle that had borne the brunt of a violent collision. Your voice is thick with regret when you choke, “Your lovely truck!”

Said truck’s engine kicks out a sudden rev before it settles again, and Optimus clears his throat. “Ah, the damage is merely cosmetic,” he reassures you, “I am–… My vehicle’s systems are functioning optimally.”

And then, for some reason, his semi rolls back a few yards, bringing the tall bonnet of the vehicle level with you again. “It is you I am concerned about,” the driver adds sternly.

“Well, you shouldn’t be…” Suddenly anxious for an entirely different reason, you meander sideways back down the length of the truck and stretch out your fingertips, touching them gently to the crumpled metal and drawing them in a careful stroke along to the seam where the driver’s side door opens.

Blowing out a harsh breath through your cheeks, you flick a glance up to the window and say, “It looks bad, Optimus. This’ll be an expensive repair.”

Beneath your tiny fingertips, the engine pulses with powerful, steady beats, like the metal itself is has a working heart.

“Y/n…” he rumbles.

But you’re not finished.

Something has just dawned on you; the ugly truth that if it weren’t for you, none of this damage would be here.

“I… This is…” Stepping backwards, you lower your gaze to your wringing hands, brows pinched together and squeezing towards the centre of your forehead. “This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t have to save me…”

The gears in your head start to turn, and after a trembling inhale, you force out, “It’s my fault, so I… I should pay for the repairs.”

You aren’t expecting him to snap your name so jarringly.

“Y/n.” Spoken, not shouted, but nonetheless his voice cuts through you like a hammer strike and sends you jerking back a step, mouth agape as you stare up at the driver’s window.

“Do you truly believe-” he starts, taking an audible pause as if to keep himself in check. Your eyes drift to the noticeably shuddering smokestacks. “- that I would value currency over the pricelessness of a human life? Of your life?”

For an awkward stretch of time, your mouth falls open and clicks shut as you flounder for a response. Befuddled, you squint up at the darkened window as if you might find some insight in the reflection of the desert landscape.

The truth of the matter is you simply don’t understand him.

He doesn’t even know you. In an ideal world, of course a life is more valuable than money. But your world is far from ideal. Growing up, it was impressed upon you that if you broke something that belonged to someone else, you paid to replace or fix it.

Hell, even going as far back as your school days, you can still remember the time you kicked a friend’s football over the fence where it bounced onto the main road and was promptly squashed by a passing car. The very next day, you went out to buy him a new one.

‘It was your fault,’ your father told you gruffly as he watched you upend your piggy bank and count out your hard-earned pocket money through watery eyes, ‘So you gotta pay for it.’

And yes, you recall thinking, that made sense.

The logic still carries over here, years down the line, albeit in very different circumstances with very much more money potentially involved.

If you hadn’t fallen off Tom, you wouldn’t have antagonised that driver, and Optimus wouldn’t have had to sacrifice his own truck to stop you from getting crushed flat by a drugged-out trafficker.

“But…” Rendered supremely uncertain by his conviction, you try to impress upon him the seriousness of the damage by gesturing to it with a weak flap of your hand. “But your truck…”

“-Can be repaired,” he responds patiently, if with a barely-there touch of exasperation, like you’re the one baffling him, “A life is not so easily replaced. And I will not have you paying for any damage I have sustained. I do not need, nor do I want your money.”

Is he suggesting that you get off Scot-free?

Well. That’s just…

Dumb.

It’s dumb. How are you supposed to learn from your mistakes if you never have to pay for them?

It’s the kind of thing someone for whom money is no object would say.

Perhaps, a small voice in the back of your head suddenly pipes up, briefly forgotten in the chaotic swirl of adrenaline and emotion, this is for the best.

It’s laughable, really. Here you are, offering to pay for repairs to a truck when you don’t even have enough money to pay for a-….

… Oh.

The weight of your phone suddenly begins to burn a hole in your pocket, as does the mysterious sum sitting prettily in your bank account.

In all honesty, it had entirely slipped your mind.

All at once, the air around you grows charged, unspoken words hanging between you and your timely saviour like blows ready to be traded.

The smokestacks on top of the semi shudder and kick out twin plumes of light grey fumes.

“Optimus,” you begin slowly, your voice tired but guarded, and just a little colder than intended, “There’s… something I need to ask you.”

And even though you half-expect it, you still flinch when the driver’s door suddenly pops open, swinging out wide in invitation.

“I will answer as best I can. But first, I am taking you somewhere safe,” Optimus tells you, and at to begin with, his tone is stern and leaves no room for argument. But after a second, you hear him sigh heavily, and the truck’s body creaks on its axles as its driver lowers his voice to gently prod, “You require medical attention. There is a clinic in town that…”  

He trails off as you fold your arms over your chest and pointedly disregard the open door, instead levelling a severe frown up into the cab, standing your ground. “Out of the question.”

“Y/n…”

“I’m only getting into this truck if you promise to take me straight to Terry’s Dairy,” you say, “Otherwise, I’m walking.”

A light on the dashboard flickers brightly for a second before Optimus softly points out, “You are injured.”

Clicking your tongue, you ignore his very valid observation to primly retort, “Oh, don’t be daft. I fell off a horse, I didn’t break my leg.” And to prove your own point, you turn on your heel and begin to wander stiffly up the road.

Perhaps that had been foolish, given how surely you’re going to feel those blossoming bruises in the morning, but it’s far too late to draw to a halt now and show your hand.

As you might have expected, it’s not even a second later that you hear the hiss of brakes being decompressed, and the rumble of the semi’s engine as it pulls onto the road, rolling along behind you for several paces while Optimus calls, “If you will insist upon not seeking medical expertise, then I will, of course, bring you back to the Dairy. But… please, do not exacerbate your injuries.”

That, at the very least, gets you to stop. Privately, you’re relieved to. A fresh twinge in your knee suggests you may have bumped more than just the one shoulder. And in all honesty, you’re not exactly keen on traipsing up the same road that speedster had just driven along, all by yourself.

And there’s still the matter of the burning question you’ve been meaning to ask Optimus…

Hanging your head, you brace a hand on your hip and sigh through your nose as the massive truck coasts to a gentle stop beside you, shading you from the setting sun.

Without having to look, you know the passenger door now sits open, waiting for you to embark.

In your heart of hearts, you’re already praying that you’re wrong about all of this. That Optimus isn’t the person who put that money into your account. But the more you hear from him, the more it strikes you as something he might just be able - and willing - to pull off.

But why?

Nobody is that nice. Nobody gives ten thousand to a stranger they just met. You can’t help but wonder if he has an ulterior motive?

‘Paranoia is unbecoming,’ your mother told you after you complained that the latest in her string of lovers was paying just a little too much attention to the contents of your laundry basket.

You don’t mean to be paranoid, it’s just….

“Ahem…” Somehow, he manages to offer the politest cough you’ve ever heard.

Innocent until proven guilty, right?

“Right,” you decide under your breath, pivoting towards the truck and finding that, yes, the door is indeed wide open in invitation.

Inclining your head to peer up at the cab, you reach out for the grab handle and say, “Straight back to the dairy, all right?”

Optimus doesn’t hesitate, perhaps knowing that any pause would be immediately noted.

“You have my word,” he tells you solemnly, unable to resist adding, “Though I think it would be prudent of you to reconsider.”

With a half-hearted tut, you slide your fingers around the warm band of metal and haul yourself up onto the first step.

Or at least you try to.

In hindsight, it was rather stupid to grab the handle with your right hand. The hand connected to your right shoulder. The same shoulder you landed on when you fell from Tom, and again when you threw yourself to the ground to avoid becoming a smear across a handsome, scarlet bonnet.

You’re not even in the air for a second when a shooting streak of agony lances straight across your shoulder blades and jabs an unseen, red-hot poker into the muscle just below your neck.

Your eyes bulge open wide, and your mouth parts to suck in a choked gasp. But worse still, your fingers promptly go slack on the handle and then slip off as your entire body begins to tip backwards, one foot still in the air behind you, and the other perched precariously on the truck’s step.

It wouldn’t be so bad if you hadn’t been falling at such an awkward angle, but right as you squeeze your eyes shut and prepare for yet another painful jolt through your coccyx-

“Ough!” A clumsy shout is knocked from your lungs when something snakes around your left forearm and goes taut.

Just like that, your impromptu tumble comes to a jarring halt.

Your eyes flash open, blinking widely up into the cab.

You can still feel the leg extended out behind you, dangling uselessly above the ground. And you’re still aware that the heel of your other boot is balanced on the hard metal edge of the step. You’re being held in place, anchored to the semi by the thin, grey seatbelt that’s whipped out to wrap itself several times over around your forearm.

Did you…. Grab it? Somehow? When you…

But no.

It had to have moved. It had to. Hell, it’s still moving.

Even now, you can feel the fabric shift and tighten against your skin as it reels you steadily in towards the door, like it has a mind of its own…

“What… kind of truck did you say this was?” you ask dumbly, letting your hand fumble for the door handle when it’s guided there by the belt.

“Fully remote-accessed,” Optimus rumbles cryptically.

And yeah. You can see that.

The belt is still looped around your arm when you’re half tugged, half helped into the cab proper, and it only comes loose when you gather enough wits to actually pry it off, picking at the fabric with shaking fingers until it goes slack, and you can slide it over your lap and into the catch with a ‘click.’

Slowly, you withdraw your hands, eyeing the belt as if it might spring to life again at any moment.

“Remote-accessed seatbelts?” you breathe dubiously, quirking a brow at the empty driver’s seat for lack of anyone to make eye contact with.

Sensibly, Optimus doesn’t reply, and soon enough, the uniform purr of the truck’s engine kicks up underneath you as it starts to drive, settling into a deliberately sedate pace along the road to Terry’s farm.

“… You had a question for me,” Optimus prods no more than a few seconds after you’ve driven off.

Straight and to the point. He isn’t beating around any bushes, not like you are, apprehensive of a potential confrontation.

It… quite suddenly occurs to you that you’ve just entered the truck of a man you’ve interacted with exactly once before today. A man who apparently has… an unusual amount of control over his own vehicle…

Jesus, no wonder Terry thinks you’re a dunce.

And yet you’re not here to marvel over the wonders and advancements of modern technology. You’ve never been especially tech-savvy. You know your way around a smart phone and a computer just as much as the next person. But you’re well aware there are concepts out there in the works that you simply haven’t fathomed yet.

You shift uncomfortably in the clean leather seats, eyeing the dried manure that’s caking the sides of your boots, and grimace. “I did,” you finally say in response to Optimus’s prompt. Then, straightening up a little and dragging your eyes up to the road ahead… “I do.”

You’re not sure about the question any more though. Suddenly, you feel unprepared. While you’d resolved to confront Optimus about the money, you realise now that you never actually gave any thought as to how you’d react if he confirms your suspicions.

And now that he’s most likely just saved your life, you find yourself in an even more unenviable predicament.

“Look, before I say anything else,” you start, scrubbing your hands over your thighs, “I wanted to say thank you. For showing up back there. I really am grateful. Sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”

Optimus’s gentler-than-average tone seeps into the cab, surrounding you in with its deep, warm hum that distracts you from the lingering ache in your shoulder.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he tells you sincerely, “I would do it again in a sp-… in a heartbeat.”

You chalk up the skip in his voice to a speaker malfunction.

Lowering your stare to the footwell once again, you purse your lips and click your tongue, feeling guilty now that you’re about to accuse him of anything. Optimus is, as you figured last night, the good sort. He wouldn’t be so underhanded as to invade your privacy like that, would he?

Only one way to find out…

“Optimus,” you begin, hooking your thumbs over each other and squeezing, “Last night, when I managed to charge my phone, I saw something odd.”

All he does is make a soft sound of affirmation through his speakers, coaxing you wordlessly to continue.

“It was my bank account,” you say in a rush, “There was some money in there… A lot of money. Money that, ah… wasn’t in it yesterday morning.”

“Mm,” he hums, curious. Innocent.

You start to doubt yourself.

“You wouldn’t…. happen to know anything about that, would you?”

You’d been expecting any number of responses.

Maybe an incredulous laugh? Maybe some sort of flimsy excuse if he was the culprit.

What you aren’t expecting, however, is for Optimus to offer a very mellow, very straightforward, “Yes. I sent it to you. I hope it sufficed.”

Everything, absolutely everything – the drug-dealer, nearly being the victim of a hit-and-run, the lost Shire horse, the trouble you’ll no doubt be in with Terry when you get back – it all gets shoved to the wayside, and your mind comes to a screeching halt.

Very stiffly, you lift your head, staring with unseeing eyes through the windscreen.

“You what?”

 The worst part about it is, he really has the gall to sound confused when he elaborates, “I sent it. I have no use for the money. With you, I thought it would be put to good use…”

“It was you,” you realise quietly, incredulous.

And then, as if your head wasn’t already reeling. “I… apologise if ten thousand was an insufficient sum,” he murmurs.

Insufficient.

Insu-fucking-ficient?

“Ten thousand….” Your lips peel back over your teeth, gradually exposing the gums as you twist your neck around to aim a baleful glare at the driver’s seat. “You dropped… ten thousand into my bank account…” Then, balling your hands into fists, you let out a derisive laugh and bellow, “Are you out of your goddamn mind!?”

The steering wheel suddenly rolls to the side as if it’s flinching away from your unexpected outburst, and in doing so, the whole vehicle veers out into the middle of the road before righting itself once more, smoothly drifting back over into its lane.

For his part, Optimus is firstly mortified that he’d made such an erratic movement that could have further worsened your injuries, and secondly shocked at the sudden outcry from the little human in his cab.

Of all the responses he expected from you, he didn’t anticipate one that would be quite so explosive.

At once, he angles his rearview mirror towards your face, relieved that you don’t seem to notice the motion, and analyses the expression darkening your delicate features.

Lips drawn back to reveal your teeth – a typical human threat display. Eyes wide and wild, pupils small even in the dim light of his cab.

He’d write it off as anger… if anger and fear didn’t look so much alike. He’s seen plenty of both, enough to recognise one from the other if he pays attention.

In an instant, Optimus’s frame wilts around him, his tyres slowing to a crawl on the dusty road.

He’s frightened you. Again.

Though this time he isn’t sure that he understands why.

It seldom happens that the Prime is lost for worst, but right now, the diplomatist in him can’t come up with anything more than an inelegant, “Pardon?”

Which, judging by the thunderous cloud that descends over your eyes, was the wrong thing to come back with.

If you would just tell him what the problem is, he’ll fix it, in any way he can.

He braces himself for another shout, but is surprised when your voice doesn’t reach that same crescendo again. Apparently, you’d even startled yourself.

Even so, there’s still no shortage of venom in your tone when you snap, “You can’t just-! Just GIVE ten thousand dollars to someone! And right after I told you I wasn’t a charity!”

Ah… He wonders if this is a matter of pride…

“You needed it,” he tells you calmly, sending a soothing pulse through the air before he once again recalls that you’re not a Cybertronian, “I did not.”

“THAT-!”

Back to shouting. He’s usually better at this.

“-IS COMPLETELY BESIDES THE POINT!”

Optimus finds himself tied for words again. If he could just explain to you that human money really has no value to him, you’d probably understand. The US Government give him a relatively generous stipend to spend on certain necessities should the need ever arise.

He’s barely had to dip into it at all though, and only ever for things like the base’s monitors, some structurally sound sofas for the children, that new laptop Rafael couldn’t afford but had somehow turned up in the boy’s backpack regardless…

All things that barely made a dent in the sum Optimus currently has sitting in limbo.

What better use for unspent funds than to give them to someone who really needs them?

If you would only allow him to help you-

“You were totally out of line, doing that!” you continue, breathing hard, “Not only was it a… a gross invasion of my boundaries, but it also looks completely suspicious!”

Briefly, Optimus wonders if you ever studied medicine. There’s a certain medic he knows who would get a kick out of seeing his old friend being scolded by somebody one-twentieth his size.

But your words do give him pause.

An invasion of your boundaries… That, he finds most concerning. Thinking back on it, you did say you’d have to respectfully decline his offer of financial assistance…. But he only meant to….

Ah. He may be starting to see where he’s put a foot wrong.

It isn’t for him to decide why you shouldn’t be upset. It’s for him to acknowledge that you are, and that he’s the reason for it.

“I mean, do I even want to know how you managed to pull off a transfer like that!? Wait! Don’t even tell me! I don’t!” you steamroll over the plausible excuse he was about to give you, “Just-! Just do me one favour.”

Optimus is only too happy to jump on the opportunity to make things right again. Again, he can hear Arcee scoffing in his audials, deriding him for needing the approval of a human he’s just met. Regardless, he pushes her snark to the side and speeds up as he earnestly replies, “Name it.”

The look you’re giving his empty seat is as fearsome as you can no doubt make it, but that doesn’t disguise the moisture building behind your delicate eyelids. Something about what comes next is hard for you. He doesn’t miss that.

“Take it back,” you try to say evenly, squeezing the fabric of his seatbelt between quivering fingers.

Optimus’s spark twists with indecision. You need the money. He knows it, you know it. What are you punishing yourself for? “… Are you certain?” he stresses.

“You got it in there, you can damn well draw it out again,” you bark, giving a hard sniff that does little to stop the tiny bead of salty water from spilling onto your lashes, “Take it back!”

You won’t let him help you.

The Prime’s EM field hums, troubled. He’s only slightly glad you can’t pick up on it like his team could.

‘This human is not your charge, Optimus,’ a voice that sounds suspiciously like Ratchet’s pipes up at the back of his processor.

But if not his, then whose? You’re all by yourself out here, you confirmed that much last night.

But this distress… This isn’t what he wants. If trying to help you like this only leads to suspicion and upset, then he’ll have to take a step back and reassess his angle, like any good pragmatist.

You jump a few inches off the seat when the phone in your shirt pocket vibrates with a shrill ‘ding!’

Casting a chary glare at the truck’s steering wheel, you fish the phone out and tap its screen with your thumb, lighting up the interior of the cab in cool, blue light.

There’s a message on the screen. Short, and bittersweet, headed by the name of your bank.

‘£8,000 has been withdrawn from your account.’

A single eyebrow slides up your forehead. “All of it please, Optimus.”

“….”

‘Ding!’

‘£2000 has been withdrawn from your account.’

There. It’s done. You feel a crushing weight lift instantly from your chest.

“Thank you,” you sigh loudly, sagging backwards against his seat with a tiny smile.

“If it is of any consolation,” he begins in that soft timbre of his, “Causing you this undue distress was the furthest thing from my mind.”

You… think you believe him. Or maybe you just want too badly to believe that there are really people out here who only want to help. You want to believe him, which is why it hurts so much that you don’t.

Because something else has just occurred to you.

That Aston driver… you’re fairly certain he’s caught up in bad business. If not the drug trade, then some other equally awful affair. And he’d driven off the moment Optimus arrived. But he’d shown up less than twenty-four hours after Optimus put all that money into your account? For no apparent reason?

There are dots here. And you’re connecting them with flimsy, frayed string, but they all seem to be coming together… somehow. Because this can’t all be a coincidence, can it?

A mysterious truck driver just happens to find some drifter walking into town without a penny to their name, someone who had left their entire family behind them to start a new life. Someone who wouldn’t necessarily be missed. And that drifter just happens to have a suspicious amount of money dumped into their account one day, only to get attacked by a faceless driver the next?

You don’t know what Optimus is hiding….

But you’re starting to smell a rat.

Blearily, your eyes drift over to the windscreen and you focus on the view beyond, noticing that the sky is far darker now, and the twinkling lights of Terry’s dairy have risen up over the curve of the road to meet you.

“You can drop me here,” you murmur, spent from the relief and from raising your voice, “I can walk the rest.”

“I wish I could comply with your request, Youngling, especially after what I’ve done, but… regrettably there is a matter of grave importance that I must bring to your attention.”

You wheeze out a subdued laugh. Of course there is.

“That… driver,” Optimus continues, “I’m afraid he is more dangerous than you realise.”

“Yeah… yeah I’m well aware of just how dangerous he is,” you grumble, scratching the bend of one elbow and grimacing at the dried blood under your fingernail, “Whatever. I’ll call the police and they’ll track him down.”

“I’m afraid it isn’t quite that simple,” he explains with the pointed patience of a man trying to explain something rather simple to a child, “You see, that… driver now knows your face. And worse still, I fear, he knows that you and I are acquainted.”

You don’t know if you’re imagining the quiet whine of his engine when Optimus sighs deeply and adds, “It is entirely my fault that you are now in danger, but I could not just… I would never just sit back and allow him to hurt you.”

Danger?

Your stomach sinks down through the soles of your boots.

Son of a bitch, you knew this guy was too good to be true.

With your suspicions all but confirmed, you give a sudden jab at the seatbelt catch, barely pausing to see if it’s come loose before you twist in your seat to give the door handle a sudden, vicious yank, though the whole thing remains sealed tight.

You don’t hear Optimus grunt in surprise.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Let me out,” you tell him as calmly as you can.

Optimus’s brakes engage, but he doesn’t open the door, preoccupied with trying to coax you back into your seat. “Y/n, please listen to me, I am trying to help you understand-“

“-Understand what!?” you blurt, still fruitlessly trying the handle, “That your buddy back there wouldn’t have tried to kill me if he didn’t know you’d stashed the money on me?”

“I-… I beg your pardon?”

“Save it,” you snap, giving up on the handle and instead trying to pry the lock out of its slot beside the window, “Just let me out, and I’ll forget about this whole thing. You’ll never have to speak to me again. I won’t tell anyone just-!”

Alarm flares through the Prime’s circuitry. This is quickly getting out of hand. You’ve misunderstood in perhaps the worst way possible. He doesn’t want to never speak to you again. Quite the opposite, in fact-

A fist suddenly connects with his dashboard, startling Optimus into returning his focus to you, and to your frantic, haggard expression.

“Damnit, Optimus!” you yelp, curled up as close to his door as you can get, “You let me out of this truck right now!”

And Optimus, registering the high levels of cortisol flooding into your system, doesn’t delay a moment longer, unlocking his passenger door with a dull ‘click.’

You’d have fallen straight out of him if he hadn’t kept the door hinges stiff to catch you against it, opening it just gradually enough that you can shove against it in your haste to scramble out, but not fast enough to lose your balance and topple head over heels onto the sand.

‘Fix this,’ a whispering voice tells him, his own, no doubt. And he will, for your own safety, he has to.

But right now, you’re shutting his door with more gentleness than he’s sure you want to exert, and staggering away from him, rounding the back of his vehicle mode rather than move up front. Whatever conclusions you’ve drawn, you’ve drawn in tight, and you don’t look like you’re willing to let them go.

“Listen,” you start with a gleam in your eye that’s trying so much to be hard and unaffected, but to the Prime’s scrutiny only seems scared and betrayed, “Thank you for saving me, thank you for trying to help, but whatever it is you’ve got going on, Optimus, I want nothing to do with it.”

“Y/n,” he calls after you, rolling off the road after you as you veer in a straight line towards the start of the dairy farm’s drive, “Please-“

“-Leave me alone!” He doesn’t miss the hitch in your throat.

Dejected, Optimus’s wheels grind to a halt on the sand, and there he sits, watching you retreat further and further into the darkness with a limp to your step and one hand cupped over your wounded shoulder.

The Prime’s matrix is roiling in his chest.

Heaving a mechanical sigh, he sinks on his metal struts and pulls up the last few minutes of conversation to the forefront of his processor.

With your face now undoubtedly fixed in Knockout’s crosshairs, there’s no question that you’re already more involved than he ever intended for you to be. Guilt… isn’t something he should dwell on. But the tears in your eyes… put there by Optimus himself…

The engine of a great semi-truck roars to life, and the metal titan carefully backs out onto the road behind him, never once taking his optics off the tiny figure in front of him as it disappears into an old, tumbledown farmhouse.

[stickylizardcave]

longass kingleader au comic rough

gonna be under the cut bc hrhs its 48 panels long and i dont have the script ON the panels. I've been calling this the Codemaster AU (cause it's like half inspired by Chez's Gamemaster Kinger) but also I'm not sold on that name but also also I have literally no other idea for it bc this literally only exists for this one comic lmaooo;; I have nothing else planned

(1) CAINE: -and there will be a grand prize waiting for you! (2) CAINE: When you get ba-[STATIC BUZZ] (3) POMNI: ...Caine? What was- (4) CAINE: Nothing to worry about! Off you go!

(9) CAINE: ...Kinger? (10) KINGER: Caine? What are you doing here so late? (11) CAINE: I...am experiencing a problem, and I need your assistance.

(12) KINGER: Oh dear...Is this what happened to you earlier? CAINE: Yes. It has been...not pleasant. And occurring more frequently. (14) KINGER: Well, it's not a virus, at least as far as I can see. Nor a hack since your firewall would pick that up first. Strange that it's glitching your model like this...I may need to see your code directly. CAINE: That's fine.

(16) KINGER: Execute command code. Admin request. Profile Kinger. Password GLTC-G05WX. (17) CAINE: ...Access granted.

(25) KINGER: Found it. (26) CAINE: What is it? KINGER: You have a bit of a looping statement that's self-updating, but causing a leak. It's iterated itself to gibberish at this point. (27) CAINE: So it should be an easy fix... KINGER: I'll need to look through the backlogs to make sure I get it all, but yes. Just a small patch.

(28) CAINE: Such a simple thing to affect me so much...how humiliating. KINGER: It's been going on unnoticed for a while now. With everything that's happened recently, you've been working overtime and it finally caught up to you, that's all. No shame in it. Would you like me to cycle you down for the update? CAINE: If you would be so kind, my dear. (29) KINGER: I'll put the Circus in stasis, don't worry. (30) KINGER: Execute command. Rest mode.

(38) KINGER: Welcome back. How are you feeling? CAINE: Much better, my dear. KINGER: That's good to hear. I want to make sure the clean-up didn't mess with anything important. Would you mind running a diagnostic?

(41) CAINE: Scans came back clear. Thank you very much, my dear! KINGER: It's never a problem, old friend. (42) KINGER: Now then, it's late and I think it's time for me to sleep. (43) KINGER: Execute command. Remove admin permissions from Profile Kinger.

(44) CAINE: Accepted. Executing... (45) KINGER: What are you doing? CAINE: Getting more comfortable, of course.

(47) KINGER: You don't need to stay here, you know. I'll be alright. CAINE: Nonsense, you stayed with me until I woke, it's only fair to do the same for you! KINGER: If you insist... CAINE: I do! Now, off to sleep you go. I have a grand adventure to plan for tomorrow. KINGER: Ha, alright. Goodnight, Caine. CAINE: Goodnight, my dear Kinger.

[kissingraine]

(might become a Starscream x reader, Shockwave x reader thang,,,,) eventual smut! 18+

Midnight City — TFP Soundwave x f!Reader

Draped in fog and soft neon, the Nemesis cruised slowly across the dark skies. Undetected and reeking of Decepticon malevolence as always yet undetected. The small lights that flickered below were as ignorant as ever, inferior lifeforms that were too busy eyeing their tiny glowing boxes to even look up. Soundwave knew without a doubt that they spent twenty four full hours of the week with their heads bent down. No mistaking it's become an issue among them.

Thin servos dancing over the keys as he watches the human settlement breathe, each streetlamp glistening faintly; a city that never sleeps. His sources tell him. Flickers of data, EM fields that pulse—not enough to disrupt the way his processor regulates but just enough to make the probes attached to his chassis writhe in distaste, primitive security networks buzzing with naive confidence. He's been relentlessly tracking down a signal that's made contact with the Earth's atmosphere a little over two nights ago.

It flashes every few irregular intervals, making it hard to pin down where the signal begins before fizzling out again. Like a dying star. Soundwave doesn't stop, can't stop. Not when this might be the only thing that can fix their current dilemma and he's been alone for so long. He's not sure how much time has passed. The ship's command left in his servos as their forces went on separate paths, vowed not to stray from the cause just had more creative 'ideas' on how to effectively mobilize their forces. He stayed on the Nemesis to keep things within control, to keep himself in control. Knows that his cassettes are also worrying about their situation but when they see him so composed, can feel that relief as it washes over him.

That signal, so similar to that relic's nature... but he can't be too sure just yet. Needs to keep probing, combing through the infantile network that the natives possessed.

Lazerbeak suggested to scout, but he turned it down. This organic settlement is a little too crowded for his liking. Can't risk them getting found. Not with their resources limited. He's been rationing their energon preserves too and he's this close to finding another hotspot of undisturbed fuel. Just enough to get them off of this miserable ball of dirt. The others can't be faring too well, can they? His objective was apparent, precise: locate the signal. Which he watched disappear into the city near the sewege systems.

Not exactly pleasant but he isn't Knockout enough to be picky about it. A red dot appears on his screen and his servos are quick to move, tendrils moving in to help. This is the first time Lazerbeak's seen him get remotely excited over something like a red spot on the multi-screens of his control panel. It's faint but emits a similar wavelength to the one Soundwave's filed away in his data banks.

It's in an area just near the organic's underground mode of transportation. Figures. It's more complicated to single out the signal's location especially if it was underground. Soundwave had discovered pretty recently that layers of concrete, reinforced metal buried beneath the earth didn't allow currents of data to run as easily.

And he'd rather not part with the ship to risk getting his processor overwhelmed with human thoughts and volatile emotions. So he does what he's best at. Infiltrate surface network and seeping into it like viscous liquid. It's fascinating how they make it so easy to extract information from them with their fragile digital infrastructure, trembling with aging code—an easy point of access. Doesn't even need to knock when the firewall practically crumbles at his technological prowess.

• Glancing at the clock, it's almost time for you to close the cafe. It had been a hectic day with Ma finally taking over the latter half of your shift so you could lay back and relax on bean bag chairs in the basement. Said basement was a small arcade area where a select few people in your block would come and relax, too. The space just big enough for a small crowd. It was mostly you and your friends who used it, though. One of their siblings, an electronically inclined person as you like to call them, had their computer setup placed in one of the cozy corners.

• It's... beeping, the screen flashing in red with warnings popping up in a dozen windows. That can't be good, can it...?

• Granted you have no clue how to code things and the like. Or just code in general. You've called your friend's sibling's name. Once, twice, but no response and the very undeniable fact that there might be a virus or worse... someone trying to hack into their device was enough to alarm you.

Interference... suddenly. Out of all the humans on this sad excuse for a mudball, there's one tenacious enough to not only interrupt Soundwave's search for data but crudely walk straight into his network with intent. Curious and reckless, his servos stop moving something that Lazerbeak doesn't fail to notice as he and his fellow cassette look at each other. And then he's back into it, he narrows the scan and slices through the city's digital haze to trace the point of origin. Protocol indicating he should move quietly and observe. It's difficult to keep track of, being so close to their manmade tunnels, slipping through his iron grasp and fading into an almost ambient noise.

• You don't know how you're doing this, you don't even know why and for all you know your friend's sibling could have their entire information compromised! But your fingers move as though possessed and you find yourself unable to stop. And now you wonder if it had anything to do with that incident from a week ago. But you definitely know that someone is actively trying to hack the computer, “You're mine now.” You murmur to yourself, responding in plain text and all the amount of taunt you could muster in you.

Before his tracer could lock on, having every bit the intent to scare this human off by revealing their location because that always worked—a spew of numbers and words strung together with an image attached. His tentacles twitch in anticipation, coiling around itself as his head tilts in instinct. And there you are, on his screen forming visuals on who the very human that's dared to intercept him. Bold move, human, he all but manages to swallow the growl building in his chassis. And that gesture... your middle finger's raised. Soundwave might not know what that means but he'll assume that you're insulting him considering the words that appear right after it.

“Come and get me. Coward.”

Next

[ruffboijuliaburnsides]

who wants a bit more of false angel grian au? As always, thank you to @greenekangaroo for their fantastic worldbuilding that I am very much cribbing from.

-

It wasn't that there weren't strange happenings on the regular, on Hermitcraft. It was just that the strange happenings usually originated from the Hermits themselves, as they had a whitelist and a very strong (unnaturally strong, some might say) firewall. So the full-server shiver that went through every one of them as the firewall was breached, the green crack in the night sky and the shooting star that fell from it into the shopping district, that was something a bit beyond their usual shenanigans.

Bdubs, naturally, didn't notice, as he was sound asleep. A few of them woke briefly, but settled back down before they could notice anything was wrong.

Everyone else was messaging Xisuma, or Hypno, or Cub, trying to figure out what, precisely, had just happened, and if they should be worried about it.

Just stay where you are for now, we're looking into it, Xisuma said to everyone who messaged him.

We should grab Imp and Skizz, Cub messaged the admin group chat as they tried to organize any kind of response. They're good in a pinch and they're probably the most likely to know what our visitor is.

Get em, Hypno responded immediately. I'm too far out to be any good.

Me, Cub, Impulse, and Skizzleman will be the welcoming committee, Xisuma told them. It looks like whatever it was crashed behind Scar's sand shop. We'll meet at the shopping district portal and go from there.

Sure thing, see you there, Cub responded, then fell silent as he focused on corralling Imp and Skizz.

-

The four of them were convened a lot quicker than Xisuma had expected, though the worried looks on Impulse and Skizz's faces (and the armor they'd clearly donned before coming) were an easy enough explanation for their promptness.

"Do we know what happened yet?" Impulse asked immediately upon getting in range of Xisuma.

"Just that something broke through our firewall and landed by Scar's sand shop," Xisuma said, pointedly not wringing his hands anxiously about it.

"Which means it's something powerful," Cub added. "And probably something old."

"Something like us," Skizz clarified. Cub nodded. "Right, guess that means we're up, Dippledop."

"Just what I was hoping for in the middle of the night this week," Impulse mumbled grumpily, clearly having been woken up to deal with this. "Full demon mode, you think?"

"Maybe at first, anyway," Xisuma replied. "Just in case."

"I hear you, X." Impulse's form stretched and grew - not too much in height or width, precisely, but in bulk, his horns lengthening and his skin yellowing. He rolled his shoulders and settled into the form he took so rarely these days, before grinning viciously. "Right. Let's do this."

-

They had honestly been expecting a fight. Not even a fight to protect the server, but at the very least a fight of panicked self-defense from their intruder. What they got instead was a rather small man dwarfed by the three pair of wings that curled weakly around his battered form. Xisuma started to relax, before noticing Impulse and Skizz were both on high alert, staring at the small still body in the crater below them.

"That's an angel," Impulse growled immediately. "Skizz."

"No he's not, Dip," Skizz replied immediately, frowning. His wings were still mantled, his sword still held at the ready, but he seemed confused rather than anything that would make more sense to the people around him. "He looks like one, even feels like one a little, but it's... off, somehow. I can't feel him the way I'd be able to if he were actually an angel."

"I mean, does it really matter?" Cub asks. "Same possible danger levels, if it could break through the firewall, and you both still peg it as mostly an angel."

"Technically I have no idea what his power level's like," Skizz clarifies. Impulse growls, low in his chest, anxious and protective. "But probably he's not quite at angelic power levels, actually. If he pings as almost an angel, he's probably what's left of someone's attempt to make angels for themselves. And I've never heard of any of those projects being successful."

"Successful enough one of them crash landed on Hermitcraft," Impulse points out.

"I hate to say it, buddy, but that's not necessarily that big of a deal, depending on what happened," Skizz retorted. "Like, the firewall's great against intentional intrusions, but I knew a bunch of other third circles who could've done this if they were in panic mode."

"Well that's not disconcerting at all," Cub commented casually. Impulse snorted.

"I mean, there really aren't any more third circles to try, to be fair," Skizz pointed out.

"We should probably at least check and see he's still alive?" Xisuma suggested.

"Right, we'll get down there," Impulse said, jumping down into the crater with Skizz close on his heels. Once they were both down there, he did let Skizz take point, if reluctantly, as their guest was clearly closer to an angel than anything else they were familiar with. Skizz took a long moment, assessing the state of their guest's wings, trying to connect properly as angels should be able to.

"It's like we're speaking different languages, but on the same radio frequency," he murmured to Impulse. "I got no idea where he's from, but he's out like a light. We should probably get him in a bed."

Impulse looked over the very wide wingspan of all three pair of wings, and sighed wearily. "You get him, I'll get the wings," he said.

-

They carry him to Cleo's Kitty Cafe, and hope that when he wakes, he won't try to destroy them all.

[lifebloa]

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[xmoriartea]

[You can you up — no can no bb!]

Shen Yaun woke up in pitch darkness with those words glowing green before his eyes.

He's dead. But he's not.

His memories conjured up teens uploaded to the world of Digimon when he examined a body made of lines of code and that same green glow. His body.

[You can you up — no can no bb!

Welcome [Admin001]!

To fix [Proud Immortal Demon Way] you must achieve what you have stated: to transform a piece of stupid writing into a high-end, expansive, and classic work.]

This System is at your disposal. As [Admin001] improves [Proud Immortal Demon Way], this System will be able to download new abilities and upgrades for you to access.]

Well. Huh. Not the usual transmigration but Shen Yaun cracked his digital knuckles and boy that's a weird sensation. Shen Yaun was going to think about what he was later.

<System?>

[Yes Admin001?]

<I want to start at the beginning. When Luo Binghe's mother is still alive.>

[ERROR]

<Already!?>

[Unauthorized access to [Protagonist: Luo Binghe]. [Admin001] cannot access the [Luo Binghe] profile yet due to feature [Golden Halo] which blocks outside interference. [Admin001] must influence other roles and locations to transform the narrative.]

<So the Protagonist Halo is a fucking firewall?>

[In short - yes.]

Shen Yaun groaned. Typical. No help. 0/5 stars on this .exe so far. He pinched his nose just beneath his glasses and why the fuck did he need glasses? Useless!

Okay. He could do this.

<System, retrieve available profiles.>

[Retrieving available profiles...

Profiles found:

[NPC: Yue Qingyuan]

[NPC: Shen Qingqiu]

[NPC: Linguang Jun]

...]

What the hell was with this list, System?? The Scum Villain, the Sect Leader, and a shit demon from the Northern Desert Arc?? He crossed his legs, the darkness oddly comfortable around him, bending to his will. He reached out and scrolled through the glowing text.

<There has to be a better- Wait, System. Why is this one different? This is just that rat bastard spy for Mobei Jun!>

The words [User001: Shang Qinghua] glowed in brilliant gold among all the other green text around him.

[The account of [User001: Shang Qinghua] is available for [Admin001]'s influence. Unlike other offered accounts, which can only be reprogrammed in accordance with this System's abilities, [Admin001] can interact directly with [User001] to guide the story to its proper conclusion!]

Shen Yaun tapped a finger to his lips and thought about it for a moment. He would need to level up, it seemed, to get full control over the other NPCs. But something about Shang Qinghua was different. Wait a second. He leaned forward on his invisible chair.

<Is Shang Qinghua another transmigrator?>

[Correct! Correct! Correct! [User001] is bound to the [Shang Qinghua] account. [Admin001] has the ability to activate [Manual] mode and deliver messages, missions, rewards, and penalties as he sees fit in alignment with the Systems protocols! This System will continue to provide [Admin001] aid and take over management of the account again during [Sleep] and [Auto] modes.]

Now they were talking. Shen Yaun rubbed his hands together gleefully. He would figure out how to get upgrades as he went. First, he was going to check out this other transmigrator.

Getting Shang Qinghua though? Yeesh. Unlucky. Only landing Shen Qingqiu could be worse.

Well. They could fix that.

<Access User001: Shang Qinghua.>

[Please wait while we connect you.]

[itadoraki]

Secret Mission: Defeat the Heart of Player 1

—————————————————————————

Idia Shroud x R.femele. ( cosplay )

—————————————————————————

.

.

Ignihyde Dormitory, 23:47.

The tenumbra of the room was broken only by the blue and purple lights of the monitors, all flashing at different intensities, creating a futuristic, almost ethereal atmosphere. Idia was as usual: with headphones on her neck, locks of hair floating gently, and her face glued to the screen while typing non-stop.

Ortho had already been "off" for rest. The room was quiet... even too much.

He murmured while programming:

- "Beauty... just this adjustment in the HUD, magic attack optimization, and... that's it. Patch finished."

Pause. He turned the chair, stretched his arms and yawned loudly.

- "The night is too quiet... It even looks like anime filler before the arc of total destruction."

That's when you heard the click of the internal door.

He turned his face - and crashed.

You were there, leaning against the stop with a feline smile, wearing a bold and impeccable version of one of his favorite characters from an old anime. Tight corset, fishnet stocking, tiara, and that provocative look of someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

- "Today's special mission: dominate the Ignihyde fortress and capture its commander."

His voice came low, loaded with play.

— "Secondary objective: to test the limits of Player 1's emotional firewall."

Idia turned red to the root of the soul.

The hair sparkled, rising in bluish flames with purple reflections.

- "W-WHAT IS THAT-?! N-It doesn't make sense! This skin isn't even available yet! How do you—?!”

You walked up to him slowly, jumping, every step as if echoing in slow motion in your ears.

— "Research. Creativity. And a little bit of fanservice... just for you."

He looked at everything but you directly. Hands on face, wide eyes, tense body as if he had taken a critic in his soul.

- "That's not fair... this is like a secret DLC with charisma bonuses in 999. It's an appeal. Pure appeal."

You laughed, getting on his lap suddenly, causing him to almost disassemble.

- "You play in hardcore mode, Shroud. You need rewards to match."

He swallowed dryly, his voice coming out trembling:

- "Do you... always do this on purpose? Like, every night? Plan, sew, rehearse character phrases just to... to leave me like this?!”

- "Every night. A different cosplay. A different mission. A different flirtation."

You tilted your face to his.

- "And you always react as if it were the first kiss of the game."

Idia closed her eyes, trying to breathe. It was obvious that he loved it. Who waited for it as if it were part of the night cycle. But admitting... it was another story.

- "...You know you're hacking my heart, right? This is against the server's rules."

You got even closer, touching your lips to his ear.

- "So... ban me. Or accept me in your clan forever."

Idia was silent. His hands - always so hesitant - landed slowly on his waist, as if touching was a rare privilege. The look was now serious, intense behind the shame.

- "If I put you in my clan... it will be with a lifetime pact. No logout."

You smiled, your eyes shining.

- "Done."

That night, you didn't play. They didn't even watch anime. They didn't even program it.

But they created a new universe - one made just for you, between cosplay, heat and a passion that grew like blue fire in the middle of the night.

And there, with you in her arms, Idia thought:

"If love were a game... you would be the most beautiful bug in my code."

—————————————————————————