#Matrix Extracts

[zeropro]

Just a question cause I've been going through your old post and some of your posts you tagged as 'megastar'

So does that mean there was megastar in your au? Or is it just used as their pair name?

I have no problems with Megastar, but Starscream and Megatron do not have a romantic relationship in my AU.

When I use ship tags I'm mainly just putting them there so people who like those ships can find the content. Like "i bet they'd enjoy this" kinda thing.

Anyway, here's some info about relationships in my AU:

Cybertronians dont breed. I'm going by IDW1 rules: the sparks either emerge from the ground and grow from globs of metal (forged), or they are extracted from the Matrix and placed inside a pre-built body (cold constructed). Because of this, I am unsure of what purpose certain anatomy would serve and so I have decided to never address whether they have those pieces of equipment or not. It's like, schrodinger's spike or something kadjalfhljkahdfj.

They do kiss tho, they have the parts for it so why not?

Cybertronians are born with basic adult capabilities, so family units are rare. The most common style is the Mentor/Mentee relationship unit, where an older Cybertronian will take on a younger bot as a ward and guide them as a parental figure. Characters with this relationship include Cryak/Starscream, Ravage/Soundwave, and Megatron/Skywarp. Other known family units formed by Cybertronians include Sparkmates (Conjunx Endura), which is a form of pair-bonding like human marriage; and Seeker Trines, which started as a military formation but later developed into something more significant.

The only characters I'm not okay with shipping are spark siblings (twins like Sunstreaker&Sideswipe or Rumble&Frenzy), and Starscream with Sunstorm. If you want to see the Command Trine as brothers that's totally valid, but they are not actually related to each other.

It's whatever you want it to be. The only thing you need to understand is that they love each other.

[suweetmichi]

Sentinel if he fucking locked in AU

Local tyrant tries to pretend he found the matrix by giving himself modifications and extracting abilities from outlier citizens discreetly and makes an entire gofundme about it

I might post a comic on this au, it's pretty interesting I think...

[exhaled-spirals]

« This is what happens when we allow so many of our previously private actions to be enclosed by corporate tech platforms whose founders said they were about connecting us but were always about extracting from us. The process of enclosure, of carrying out our activities within these private platforms, changes us, including how we relate to one another and the underlying purpose of those relations. This goes back to early forms of enclosure, beginning in the Middle Ages. When common lands in England were transformed into privately held commodities surrounded by hedges and fences, the land became something else: its role was no longer to benefit the community—with shared access to communal grazing, food, and firewood—but to increase crop yields and therefore profits for individual landowners. Once physically and legally enclosed, the soil began to be treated as a machine, whose role was to be as productive as possible.

So, too, with our online activities, where our relationships and conversations are our modern-day yields, designed to harvest ever more data. As with corn and soy grown in great monocrops, quality and individuality are sacrificed in favor of standardization and homogenization, even when homogenization takes the form of individuals all competing to stand out as quirky and utterly unique. This is why The Matrix and its sequels have proved such enduring metaphorical landscapes for understanding the digital age: it’s not just the red pills and blue pills. In The Matrix, humans, living their lives in synthetic pods, are mere food for machines. Many of us suspect that we, too, have become machine food.

And, in a way, we have. As Richard Seymour writes in his blistering 2019 dissection of social media, The Twittering Machine, we think we are interacting—writing and singing and dancing and talking— with one another, “our friends, professional colleagues, celebrities, politicians, royals, terrorists, porn actors—anyone we like. We are not interacting with them, however, but with the machine. We write to it, and it passes on the message for us, after keeping a record of the data.” »

— Naomi Klein, Doppelganger

[acerby]

Strategic Advantage

cw: abuse

Not too long ago, our little war was going poorly for my faction. Our enemies had a technological advantage over us, and we needed to bridge the gap somewhere. So naturally we looked at ways that we could make our soldiers far more efficient to train, and much more..... obedient.

We changed the course of this war thanks to our new breed of mech pilots. The old generation of operators were too slow and prone to distraction and disobedience. So we went for a new approach that could make anyone an effective and deadly pilot. Our teams of engineers and surgeons prep the “volunteers” for their new role, removing anything that isn't required to maximize the operation of their suit. Most limbs were replaced with basic robotic prosthetics. A good amount of the stomach is edited for more efficient digestion and to maximize nutrition intake. An artificial spine is mounted into the back and connected to the nervous system. Which allows for a better connection with the control matrix. And a good chunk of the brain is replaced with an advanced neural computer allowing for unparalleled synchronization with the mech’s A.I. systems.

But the genius of it comes from what we do to their minds. After the first few rounds of reprogramming with their new body, the pilots struggle to form their own thoughts. And in just a few weeks they are left as empty little things entirely needy and wanting for orders. Which is how we have kept them entirely obedient to their assigned handler. That and an on-command dopamine trigger doesn’t hurt either.

And this is what has given us the advantage over our enemies. It takes them years and thousands of dollars to train just one pilot. But we can create a combat-ready pilot in a matter of months and at a fraction of the cost. They don’t even have to be from the military. We have used college dropouts, political opponents, enemy sympathizers, pacifists, and a lot of prisoners. We even turned our enemy pilots into our obedient little dogs.

I’m even the handler of one. You should have seen her, she was so feisty when we captured her. She constantly went on and on about the freedom of her little colony planet. She screamed and called us vile monsters for what we were doing. She would go on these long-winded speeches about freedom and friendship. And that her comrades would save her any day now. It was so annoying that after we extracted any valuable information from her, I personally handed her over to our pilot “recruiters”.

 I much prefer her now. Quiet and obedient, I would even call her cute. She is so much more pleasant to be around. You should see the way she bounces right before she is placed into her mech. She practically vibrates with excitement and arousal. Not to mention the little moans she lets out whenever I praise her for eliminating a target. You know, It took us almost a week to clean the cockpit after she slaughtered an entire enemy battalion single-handedly. And the way she cries whenever she's taken out of what she calls her “real body”, it's adorable. I even allowed her the privilege of sleeping in it for a night after our latest successful campaign.

Why am I telling you this? Well dear, our data has told us that the two of you were friends before we took her. I wanted to tell you what happened to her before we do the same to you. Don’t worry I’m friends with your future handler and I will personally ensure you are placed in her unit. We could even schedule enrichment time for you two. See now we are not all vile monsters. 

[ask-tfone-megatron]

Maybe there’s a way to extract the entity out of the Matrix? Maybe lure the parasite out into a chamber where he’ll be trapped forever.

Megatron, do you know of any Cybertronian artifacts that can do that?

@ask-tfp-shockwave ? What is your input?

[cozzzynook]

So, I have this idea that I can't develop, from TFONE. It's more or less like this, Orion and Dee live their adventure almost the same, but as the plot progresses they discover that B127 is not just any miner as they thought, but rather a kind of "nanny" who works for Sentinel in the privacy of his home taking care of his Sparklings, a femme and a mechling. Nobody knows about the existence of the three. In general, it takes them a while to realize it because Bee has memory problems where he constantly forgets and remembers things if they are not around him or he needs them. Orion and Dee initially think that he is a cleaning robot that has a screw loose, Dee plans to ignore it until they discover, while talking to Orion, that he has a lot of information and datapads about the Primes and the Matrix, which leads them to look for it themselves. B, who doesn't know exactly how long he's been in the sublevel or what he's supposed to do, goes with them following his instinct to search for the one thing he hasn't forgotten, his base code that says he must take care of and protect the Sparklings in his charge. During the trip, they (and especially Elita because she's the only one with functioning neurons) notice B's strange attitude, such as pulling candy out of nowhere or having reserves of energon, an infinite ability to understand, communicate and convince, great endurance and energy, a lot of information about history, language and literature, science, including knowledge of social and political tricks. He constantly sings songs about anything he needs or thinks he needs to explain, makes rhymes so he doesn't forget things, comforts everyone and generally treats all the robots as if they were newly sparkled protoforms. Eventually, it comes to light who he works for and what he does (actually Sentinel only sent him to sublevel 50 for at most a day, as punishment for teaching the children certain things about the Primes) and even shadier things come to light than what they first recognized.

Actually B is not even just Sentinel's nanny, but a minibot armed exclusively for the purpose of getting sparked of him and giving him perfect heirs. He provides interface services to Sentinel constantly while raising their children. Even during the trip he was pregnant.

I don't know exactly what attitude Dee, Orion or Elita will take when they find out.

Bonus: minutes after being born, Sentinel exchanged the natural T-Cogs of his children for those he extracted from the Primes, with the intention of making them stronger.

Whoever you are i need more ( respectfully & only if you are willing )

This is fuel and delicious fuel at that

[luis-michael6160]

☕ Afternoon Experiment No. 34 or why you shouldn't mix Tim Drake, coffee and marijuana, EP: 3

[story collection]

previous episode

Peace had temporarily returned to Wayne Manor.

Temporarily.

Because Tim was back.

With more coffee.

And a new theory: that human language was a reptilian algorithmic simulation.

“Anyone else notice he’s blinking in binary?” asked Dick, rubbing his temples.

Tim was perched on the living room chandelier, typing on a laptop duct-taped to his chest.

“I’m not blinking,” he murmured. “I’m syncing with the heartbeat of the Matrix. I’m going to redesign reality using aluminum foil and reversed Bach.”

Jason was drinking coffee straight from the pot.

“No more microdoses. No more games,” he growled. “Time for Plan B.”

“You’re gonna shoot him?” Steph asked from the couch, not looking up from her phone.

“I’m gonna shoot him,” Jason confirmed, pulling a tranquilizer dart from his pocket with the grace of someone who had rehearsed this moment in dreams.

Damian crossed his arms, affronted.

“I am offended you didn’t ask me. I’ve had a knockout dart gun ready since four years ago.”

“Since he woke you at 3AM to debate whether cats control time?” asked Cass.

Damian nodded. “And he filmed Titus to prove it.”

Dick cautiously approached the chandelier.

“Tim. Buddy. Brother. Beloved sibling. Wanna… come down?”

Tim didn’t look down. “The chandelier is an antenna. I’m mapping the subconscious hive-thoughts of the house. I think Alfred wants pizza.”

From the kitchen, Alfred: “I do not.”

Jason sighed. Took aim.

And fired.

The dart soared with the grace of long-awaited justice.

It hit Tim square in the neck.

The world froze.

Tim blinked. Twice. Looked at his hands. Whispered:

“I’m… disconnecting.”

And let go.

Fortunately, Damian was already standing below with a crash mat.

Tim fell like an angel whose ideas had finally run out and landed with a soft snore.

Cass covered him with a blanket.

Steph removed his laptops, backpack, two power banks, and a hot thermos.

Jason tossed the spent dart like he’d just saved Gotham.

Dick sighed.

“Four days of sleep. Minimum. Anyone wanna bet what wild idea he’ll have when he wakes up?”

“I say he tries to resurrect dinosaurs using coffee extract,” said Steph.

“I say he builds a dream translator to talk to Alfred while asleep,” Cass offered.

“I say he clones himself so he can nap while continuing to work,” Damian muttered.

Jason smirked.

“And I say he finally discovers love. Because honestly, only someone deeply lonely drinks that much coffee.”

From the floor, Tim mumbled in his sleep:

“…espresso loves me back…”

Silence.

All at once: “HE NEEDS A GIRLFRIEND.”

🍫🕸️ Did you enjoy this dose of Wayne madness? 🔁 Reblog to keep the caffeine flowing. ❤️ Like if you also have a Tim Drake in your life (or on your team). 💬 Comment with your crazy theories for future posts. ☕️ Want me to keep writing these stories of coffee and mayhem? Support me on Kofi and keep Tim awake (or asleep)!

[snitchcrimsonwrites]

Drawn Together-Chapter 10

Pairing: Tech x Jedi! Reader

The Bad Batch are on the run after the events on Pantora when they run into a mysterious stranger who offers them assistance. Who is this stranger, and how come it seems like they know, Echo? The story will roughly follow the events of the series.

Rex has a plan for removing the Batch’s inhibitor chips. Clone Force 99 just need to meet him on Bracca, sounds easy enough right?

Chapter 9

Chapter 11

Stars race past as the Marauder glides through hyperspace. Inside the ship's main compartment, Wrecker is hunched over on the landing seats, holding his head in his hands, while Omega hunches next to Tech as he fine-tunes a scanner attached to Gonky’s back. You kneel next to Wrecker, your hand softly placed on his temple. As you direct a steady flow of Force energy, you aim to alleviate the pressure in his head. He seems to breathe a bit more easily beneath your touch, though some tension remains. The headaches are becoming alarmingly frequent.

“I don’t like this. Rex wants to cut open my head," Wrecker whines.

“He aims to extract the foreign programming chip integrated into your neural matrix... and into all of ours as well. There's a distinction.” Tech responds matter-of-factly, not raising his gaze from his task.

Wrecker mutters, clearly annoyed. He never requested this. “Yeah, well… same result.”

“Don’t worry, Wrecker. Tech has been having me study surgical techniques all morning. If Tech gets squeamish, I’ll step in," you joke.

Wrecker looks at you cautiously, clearly not finding the joke amusing. “Not funny, Y/N. You and Omega don’t have to be concerned about anyone messing with your heads."

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you apologize. “But you’re in good hands. I promise. We wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” “Absolutely. We’ve got you, Wrecker,” Omega agrees.

Wrecker grunts and offers a slight, grateful nod, despite his shoulders remaining stiff with unease.

—-----------

The surface of Bracca was cluttered with the decaying remnants of countless ships, their hulls fractured, cannons twisted, and durasteel ribs protruding from the earth. As the Marauder touched down, the hatch hissed open hydraulically, unveiling Rex, who stood ready, his figure outlined against the imposing wreck of a Venator-class Jedi Cruiser nearby.

Rex nodded sharply at the cruiser. “That’s our destination. The med bay should be intact enough for us to extract the chips.”

Without a word, the Batch disembarked. You followed closely behind Tech, who was slightly hunched, his eyes fixed on the scanner in his hand as he continued fine-tuning the readings.

“How’s the scanner coming along, Tech?” Hunter inquired, carefully stepping around a sharp piece of wing plating.

“By assessing Rex’s neural mapping after the removal against Y/N’s baseline without the chip, I’ve identified the distinct frequencies tied to the interference from the inhibitor chip. I’m currently adjusting for cellular anomalies.”

You glance at Hunter, providing a helpful translation. “He’s almost done.”

Hunter offered a faint smirk of appreciation. “Good to know.”

As you venture deeper into the graveyard of ships, water sloshes beneath your feet. Portions of the wrecks are partially submerged in still, dark pools, with the taller fragments rising like towers from the mirrored surface.

“There’s a side access port,” Rex pointed out, indicating the aft section of the cruiser. "It should be less patrolled. Now, it’s half-submerged, so we need to tread carefully.”

Hunter paused, tilting his head. His eyes scanned the rippling water beneath which something moved. “Stay out of the water,” he said, his voice low. “Something’s down there.”

The team moved cautiously. You hoisted Omega toward the hatch, and she scrambled through. Tech offered his hand as you climbed after; you accepted with a glance, knowing he knew you didn’t need it to navigate.

You all continued to navigate through the twisted skeleton of the cruiser. Rusted beams groaned underfoot, and each step echoed faintly through the derelict structure.

Inside, the cruiser’s halls were warped and partially collapsed. The walls had buckled, and the ceilings sagged. Rainwater dripped steadily from overhead fissures, pooling along the slanted floors and trickling into deeper crevices below. The group reached a ruptured bulkhead where the floor had entirely collapsed, exposing a gaping chasm beneath them. Black water swirled below, its surface disrupted by shattered beams and jagged debris.

"The med bay is just over that gap,” Rex said, pointing to a ledge faintly visible on the opposite side.

Wrecker looked down and frowned. “So… what, do we fly?”

“Grab that cable,” Rex instructed flatly.

Wrecker muttered something inaudible, surveying the drop with evident unease. His gaze flicked to you as Rex turned.

“You think you can make it across? Anchor the line?”

You rolled your shoulders, already grinning. “Not a problem.”

You stepped back, your boots slipping a bit on the sloped floor. Then, with a strong sprint and a focused use of the Force, you propelled yourself over the chasm—your cloak billowing behind you, body rotating midair. You landed in a crouch on the opposite side, as steady as rock.

The clones stared for a moment, silently impressed.

Rex smiled slightly and shook his head. "It never gets old. Do you ever wonder what it’s like to be a Jedi?” he asked the others.

“Every day,” Echo replied evenly.

You quickly secured the cable to a mangled durasteel support beam, giving it a sharp tug to test its strength. It held firm. One by one, the others began to cross: Tech first, then Echo, followed by Omega, and Hunter next. Wrecker lingered last, staring at the cable.

“Actually… uh, you know, my head feels completely fine now,” he stammered. “Maybe I’ll just stay here and start a new life.”

“Don’t look down,” Omega called encouragingly. “You’ve got this!”

Grumbling, Wrecker finally seized the cable and started to shimmy across, holding on as if his life depended on it. Halfway across, a tense snap reverberated through the chamber. The anchor point tore free with a shrill cry of metal, and the cable snapped away from the other side.

“WRECKER!” Omega’s scream rang out as he dropped.

You reacted instinctively. One hand shot forward, fingers spread wide. The Force surged through you, catching him in midair. His descent halted suddenly. You widened your stance, bracing your boots to prevent yourself from falling over the ledge. Echo rushed to your side, anchoring you as Wrecker twisted in midair and caught the trailing cable with both hands.

“Hang on!” you shouted, eyes burning with focus.

You gently released your hold, easing the Force’s grip as the others pulled him up. Tech and Rex steadied the line while Echo and Hunter began lifting Wrecker to safety.

“Well. That was suboptimal,” Tech said, panting.

“I’m good,” Wrecker sputtered. “Totally fine. No problem. Didn’t scream.”

Hunter raised a hand suddenly, his entire body snapped into alertness.“Hold up.” Everyone froze.

Omega stepped closer to the edge, eyes wide. “What is that…?”

The water beneath stirred. A dark form moved just under the surface, and then, abruptly, a tentacle shot up, coiling around Wrecker’s leg and dragging him down into the depths.

"Catch this!” you shouted, throwing your pack to Tech, your saber gripped tightly. Before anyone could intervene, you plunged forward, diving into the murky black depths.

The water engulfed you completely until a flash from your lightsaber illuminated the area around you in a brilliant display of color against the pitch-black surface.

Wrecker fought beneath you, bubbles escaping from his helmet as additional tentacles ensnared him. In one powerful motion, you sliced through the tentacles holding him, seized his armor, and kicked upwards.

With a circle of your upper body water churned behind you, currents bending to your will. You summoned a stream to rise, lifting you both in a spiraling surge toward the surface.

You emerged with a gasp, pulling Wrecker along. “Hold on!” Although you hadn’t fully mastered this skill enough to return you both to the ledge, you successfully reached the cable as the others pulled you up. As you approached the ledge, the others hurried forward, extending their arms downwards. Hunter and Echo grab Wrecker, hauling him up. Rex and Tech pull you up afterward, soaked and breathless.

Omega rushed forward, eyes full of emotion. You and Wrecker collapsed side by side, panting heavily, drenched and nearly drowned.

“Maker…” Rex sighed, leaning on his knees. “It nearly makes me nostalgic for fighting clankers.”

“At least they didn’t try to eat me,” Wrecker wheezed.

Tech appeared beside you and offered a hand. You took it, pulling yourself up. With a small motion, you flicked the water from your clothes, and the droplets spiraled away in a controlled swirl.

Tech returned your pack, arching an eyebrow. “You have a talent for dramatic departures."

You smiled confidently while adjusting the strap. “Only when absolutely necessary.”

—--------

In the aftermath of the chaos, silence envelops the group as you advance, your boots faintly echoing in the slanted corridors until you reach the med bay. Inside, the space showcases its decay. The previously sterile white walls are now stained with rust, grime, and old scorch marks. Rats scurry on the floor as Rex and Tech illuminate the room with their helmet lights.

Tech remarks detachedly, "I would no longer classify this as a sterile environment."

Rex doesn’t miss a beat. “Would you prefer the facility on Kamino?”

A pause. Tech regards the cracked surgical pod and blood-flecked instruments with dry disdain. “This will do nicely.”

In the corner, Echo links his scomp arm to the control terminal, its interface flashing unpredictably as he starts calibrating the surgical systems. You stand next to Tech, aiding in organizing the required surgical tools. Your gaze shifts to Wrecker, who paces like a caged animal. Tech approaches him, scanner ready. “Time to get scanned, Wrecker.”

“Let’s just get it over with,” Wrecker mutters, pulling off his helmet.

The scanner produces a continuous sound while scanning his skull. “Chip location confirmed. Ninety degrees from the right orbital floor—where the parietal and temporal lobes meet,” Tech states, looking at you with a subtle air of satisfaction. “It's just as we predicted.”

“Nice to be right… even when the stakes are terrifying,” you say, trying to sound lighthearted.

You walk up to Wrecker steadily, holding a syringe. "Alright, big guy. This will just help you relax..."

But before you can finish, Wrecker’s hand lashes out and clutches your wrist in a crushing grip.

“Jedi,” he says, voice flat and hollow. “Are enemies of the Empire.”

His other hand grips your throat with terrifying strength. You gasp, fighting against his hold.

“Wrecker, it’s me!” you rasp, paralyzed with fear. Just before Wrecker's grip tightens on you, Tech slams into Wrecker’s side with unexpected force, freeing you momentarily. However, the distraction is short-lived. Wrecker retaliates by grabbing Tech by the neck and lifting him off the ground with unnatural strength.

“You are violating Order 66,” he states, and with a mighty yell, Wrecker throws Tech across the room. The sound of impact resonates, and Tech collapses to the floor, motionless.

“Tech!” you scream, your voice hoarse.

Wrecker rotates slowly, picks up his helmet, and puts it on with a chilling finality. He raises his blaster rifle, directing it straight at you.

Positioning yourself between him and the others, your hand moves towards your saber, though it shakes a bit. He’s not himself; you sense it. Then he fires.

Blaster bolts scream through the room as you skillfully deflect them, sending them into walls and broken consoles. You back away gradually, luring him toward the corridor.

Echo shouts over the chaos, “We can’t let him destroy the med bay! We need that pod!”

You duck through the med bay doors, as blaster fire scorches the narrow corridor in bursts of red.

“Omega! Stay with Tech. Don’t let him move if he wakes. Echo, safeguard that pod!” you shout over your shoulder. Rex and Hunter emerge from around the corner, entering the battle. “We need him down, now!” Rex shouts.

You reignite your saber, its glow illuminating the corridor with an eerie light. You deflect shot after shot but never hit Wrecker. A bolt nearly ricochets dangerously close to Rex. “Sorry!” you call out, breathing heavily.

Echo charges in, utilizing a heavy canister as a makeshift shield. “Come on, Wrecker! This isn’t you!”

Wrecker roars and crashes into him, sending Echo flying into Rex with bone-rattling force. They collapse, unmoving.

You rush to their side, breathless, but just as you’re about to check on them, Wrecker is already on the move again.

“I’ve got him,” Hunter snarls, charging up behind Wrecker and securing him in a chokehold. “Snap out of it, Wrecker! Resist!"

Wrecker slams him into the wall. Hunter leans back, disoriented, as Wrecker effortlessly lifts him, tightening his grip around his throat.

“Clones in violation of Order 66… must be terminated.”

A blaster shot slams into Wrecker’s shoulder. He drops Hunter, stunned, and spins around. At the far end of the hall stands Omega, Wrecker’s blaster trembling in her hands.

“Please, stop,” she pleads, her voice trembling. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Wrecker meets her gaze and starts to move closer. “Good soldiers follow orders.”

Omega retreats and then bolts down the corridor, lungs searing, until she finds herself at a dead end. She turns, gasping for breath, just as Wrecker comes into view, aiming his blaster at her. Suddenly, he is yanked back as a stun blast hits him in the side, making him freeze and then drop to the ground.

Behind him stand you and Rex, smoke curling from Rex’s barrel.

“Sorry, Wrecker,” Rex says quietly.

You hurry over and kneel next to Wrecker, assessing his vitals. He's still breathing. Looking up at Omega, you see her hands trembling, and her eyes are filled with shock.

“It’s finished. You’re safe now." You draw her close in a firm hug, your tone soft. “You showed great courage, Omega. Truly courageous."

Footsteps echo through the corridor. Hunter limps into view, coughing, closely followed by a battered Echo. Echo quickly kneels next to Wrecker, checking his pulse to confirm. “He’ll be out long enough to get him into the pod,” Rex confirms.

“Then let’s wrap this up before he awakens again,” Echo says solemnly.

—----------------

The soft hum of the surgical pod pulses through the room as the surgical arm glides silently over Wrecker’s head. Wrecker lies still, his massive form barely contained within the pod. The rest of the Batch stands close by, stiff with quiet anticipation.

“Is it supposed to take this long?” Echo murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes fixed on the pod.

“No idea,” Rex replies. “I’ve only been in the pod… not watching someone else go under.”

Omega perches on a nearby crate, arms wrapped around her knees, chin resting on top of them. Her gaze remains fixed on Wrecker.

In the furthest corner of the room, you kneel next to Tech, who is slumped against the wall, one arm wrapped protectively around his ribs. A small cut marks his brow, while a dark bruise spreads across his cheekbone. You carefully dab at the injury with a piece of sterile cloth, each motion gentle, practiced, and deliberate.

“You ought to get some rest," you whisper.

“I think lying there unconscious on the floor counted. For a while," he said casually.

You give him a glance, and he holds it without backing down.“But I’m fine,” he insists. “I promise.”

You observe him intently, feeling doubtful. He returns your gaze. “You didn’t have to push me out of the way," you respond, your voice low.

He adjusts his goggles with precise movement. “No. I didn’t.”

His tone is quiet but firm. “You are more than capable of handling yourself. That’s never been in question.” He pauses, just long enough to hold your gaze. “But in that moment… you were in immediate danger. I calculated the most effective way to reduce the risk.”

A pause. “And if it comes down to a choice… I’d rather it be me than you.”

The words hit like a silent explosion. You freeze. Something in your chest tightens.

“You don’t have to say things like that,” you reply, trying not to unravel.

“I’m aware,” he says without hesitation. “I simply mean them.”

You feel your face flush despite yourself. Your fingers fumble with the cloth, brushing too lightly against his temple. Tech instantly notices, his brows lifting in faint concern.

“Your skin is warmer than usual. Are you developing a fever?” he asks, gently placing his hand to your cheek.

You let out a small laugh, feeling flustered. “No. You just… caught me off guard.”

He tilts his head, pondering. "Interesting. That wasn’t what I intended."

“You actually do that more frequently than you realize."

Before he can respond, the pod lets out a gentle chime, signaling the end of its sequence. Hunter and Rex spring into action, their instincts sharpening. Omega sits up straight. “Is it done?” she asks, her eyes wide.

—--------------------------

Moonlight cascaded over the broken outlines of abandoned ships in Bracca’s vast graveyard. Tech sat by himself on the edge of a partly collapsed Jedi cruiser, a datapad on his lap, taking the first watch. Your footsteps disturbed the silence as you stepped out of the corridor. "I thought you wouldn’t mind some company,” you said gently.

Tech didn’t make eye contact, but a slight smile hinted at his relief. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope for it.”

You settled beside him, boots swinging over the edge, shoulders touching as you both gazed at the wreckage. After a moment of silence, you glanced at him, noticing the freshly shaved patch at his temple and the narrow strip of gauze still adhered to his skin from the removal of the inhibitor chip just a few hours earlier.

“How are you feeling?” you asked gently.

“Physically?” he replied with an almost clinical calm. “Adequate. Slight fatigue. Understandable after a foreign object is removed from one’s parietal lobe.”

“Cognitively, however…I am unsure. I assume that’s what you’re really asking.”

You exhale softly, curling your fingers around the edge of the ledge. “It’s been a day.”

Your voice was low and even, but it carried weight. You spoke slowly, explaining how you hadn’t expected all of it to come crashing back—the loss of your squad, the betrayal, that sick, helpless moment when everything fell apart. And today… watching it happen again.

Almost happening again with Wrecker. You didn’t think you’d have to live through that a second time, and you hadn’t expected the Batch to matter this much. Not so soon. Not so deeply.

Tech listened without interruption. “You’re not alone in that realization,” he said after a beat.

You tilted your head, intrigued. "When Wrecker attacked you… When he grabbed you—” His voice paused briefly. “I’ve encountered numerous dangers. Close brushes with death. Tactical setbacks. But that… that was something else entirely."

He took a slow breath. "It was… irrational." Instinctively, you reached up and lightly brushed your fingers against the unbruised side of his face, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch.

“I never thanked you,” you murmured. “For intervening." Before he could respond, you leaned closer and kissed his cheek.

Tech stiffened slightly, his blink betraying surprise more than anything else. “That was… unexpected,” he admitted.

“Just unexpected, but not unwelcome?”

“No. Definitely, welcome.” A faint smile crossed your face as you leaned your head against his shoulder. “Is this okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. He just shifted slightly, enough for you to nestle against him more comfortably. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a breath. “Yes. Very much so.”

The silence returned, but it felt different now. The wind had settled, softly weaving through the shattered remains of ships. Below, lights from the distant scrapyard flickered like fireflies, while above, the stars glimmered faintly on rusted durasteel.

You drifted to the side, your breathing slowed, and your body fully relaxed. In just a few minutes, your head lay completely on his shoulder.

Tech tilted his head to glance at you, surprised to find you asleep. He didn’t move. He didn’t dare. Instead, he adjusted minutely to make you more comfortable. His expression shifted, softening into something contemplative.

"Intriguing," he whispered softly to himself.

He averted his gaze back to the wreckage, his voice low and filled with reverence. “You never rest deeply; I've watched you for countless nights, and never have you slept soundly—until now.”

You didn’t stir. Your hand rested lightly against his leg, and your posture was finally free of tension.

He allowed you to rest, remaining still and keeping watch long past his scheduled time, until the soft chime from his datapad broke the stillness.

Tech raised his hand and lightly touched your arm. “Y/N, it's time to wake,” he said softly.

You opened your eyes, looking up at him, your eyes heavy. "Did I doze off?"

“You did. Approximately forty-eight minutes ago. I elected not to disturb you.”

“I wasn’t planning to—” your voice trailed off, still thick with sleep.

“It’s alright. You needed it,” he finished. You both stood up slowly; Tech gestured toward the ship’s interior.

“Go lie down. Get the rest of the cycle, if you can.”

You hesitated. “What about you?”

“Echo’s shift. I’ll see to the handoff.”

You and Tech walked side by side down the corridor. At the entrance, Echo perched on a crate, casually chewing on a ration bar. He raised an eyebrow as you approached, his gaze shifting between you and Tech.

“Well, well. Thought you were on watch, Tech. Or were you both very invested in perimeter security?”

Tech didn’t blink. “The perimeter remained uncompromised.”

You let out a quiet snort as you moved past Echo toward the makeshift bedrolls. “Night, Echo.”

“Sleep tight, General.”

Tech and Echo exchanged a look. The corner of Echo’s mouth tugged upward in a smirk, but he said nothing more.

—--------------------

Tech crouched at the base of a long-dead console, sleeves rolled, hands deftly pried open a durasteel panel with a vibro-tool. Inside, there was a tangled nest of wires, aged but still reparable. He worked with careful precision, his brow slightly furrowed as he muttered softly to himself.

Behind him, you were shoulder-deep in a disheveled storage locker, rummaging through a chaotic mix of ship components in search of anything that might be functional.

“Whoever stocked this ship was excessively obsessed with hydrospanners,” you called out, the sound of your voice muffled by metal. “I’ve discovered six, and not one is the same.”

Tech didn’t glance back. “Phase One Republic engineers favored redundancy. Early clone support protocols emphasized overstocking, anticipating rapid deployment losses and emergency fieldwork. The approach was inefficient but thorough.”

You emerged from the locker with a bundle of wire spools and a half-rusted welding torch, glancing at it with distaste before carefully tossing it onto the accumulating “usable” pile beside you.

“Well, they definitely succeeded in overstocking.”

Tech stood up with a subtle hint of triumph, brandishing a power relay still coated in grime. “This will be useful. Possibly even responsive. Intact wiring, minimal corrosion.”

You glanced over at him, impressed. “How do you always know what you’re looking for?”

He gave a small shrug, trying to maintain modesty. “I understand how things are constructed. That tells you how they’re likely to fail and what’s worth salvaging.”

You observed him briefly before returning to sort through the scrap. “You seemed a bit distracted this morning. Is everything okay?”

“If you're referring to my performance, I assure you, I'm operating at approximately ninety-seven percent baseline. No lingering neural degradation from the procedure.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Tech halted, one hand lingering on the open panel. After a brief pause, his voice turned gentler.

“I was thinking about last night. When you fell asleep… on my shoulder.”

You hesitated, feeling sheepish. “Sorry. That wasn’t exactly intentional.”

“It was... welcomed," he answered plainly. “And it felt significant."

“It was,” you replied, locking eyes with him. “I felt safe. That’s… rare for me.”

Tech cleared his throat gently. “We should finish gathering what we can. The others will be expecting us soon.”

“Right.”

The two of you packed the last viable parts into separate satchels. As you handed him a coil of wiring, your fingers brushed against each other, and neither of you pulled away. As you stepped into the corridor side by side, your shoulders bumped, and your footsteps echoed faintly in the hollowed-out ship. But Tech was again distracted, visibly grappling with something. His brows furrowed slightly behind the lenses of his goggles.

“There’s… another thing I’ve been trying to understand. From last night.”

You glanced at him, already half-smiling. “When I kissed you on the cheek?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I’ve been analyzing the context. It didn’t feel like a standard gesture of gratitude. It seemed more… layered.”

You slowed your pace, eyebrows raised, slightly caught off guard by how directly he had voiced it.

“You don’t offer physical affection lightly,” he continued, his tone steady yet sincere. "This led me to think—maybe mistakenly, but I hope not—that it has personal significance. More than just in the moment."

He paused at that moment, turning to face you completely. “I’d prefer to be correct.”

You halted your steps. "You’re not wrong,” you replied softly. “It was a thank-you—for saving me. But it wasn’t solely that.”

You inhaled deeply to center yourself. “Echo has rescued me from countless firefights, and I’ve never kissed him. You… you’re something else.”

The realization hit him. He blinked, his lips parting slightly as he adjusted to every detail of the previous night. Then, he nodded once, slowly and confidently, as if something crucial had just fallen into place.

“That distinction matters more than I’d accounted for.”

You resumed walking, your pace now slower and more deliberate. The air between you hummed with something charged yet quiet. You could feel Tech glancing your way again, deep in thought.

"Could I… conduct an experiment?” he asked unexpectedly.

You tilted your head and asked, “What kind of experiment?”

He exhaled slowly and deliberately. “Last night, you kissed me. It elicited a… reaction. Difficult to quantify. But I believe it’s linked to a developing emotional variable I hadn’t previously accounted for. I’d like to attempt replication, for comparison. With your permission, of course.”

Your brow lifted, amusement flickering across your face. “So you’re asking if you can kiss me.”

“Yes. However—to clarify—I don’t mean the cheek this time.”

“You don’t need to run an experiment to kiss me, Tech.”

“Perhaps not,” he said, voice quieter now. “But I wanted to be certain you’d say yes.”

“I’m saying yes.”

In that instant, Tech leaned closer, intentional and meticulous. His lips brushed against yours, tender and inexperienced, embodying a kiss filled with sincerity rather than skill. You leaned into him, your hand moving to softly graze the edge of his collar. His fingers momentarily twitched at his side before settling down. When the kiss broke, he blinked several times, his expression somewhere between awe and recalibration.

"...The data supports the hypothesis,” he stated softly.

You laughed, breathless and warm. “You’re impossible.”

“Possibly,” he agreed. “But presently… quite happy.”

[intoxicatingimmediacy]

Daveed Diggs’ sci-fi rap trio Clipping: ‘We are at war all the time. It’s one of the great tricks of capitalism’

[...] Over Hutson and Snipes’s production, Diggs weaves blood-soaked horror stories about racial violence or fables of enslaved people in outer space. On their new album Dead Channel Sky, he raps with mechanical precision over warped rave music, creating a noirish cyberpunk world of hackers, clubgoers, future-soldiers and digital avatars.

Their music has earned them nominations for sci-fi’s highest honour, the Hugo awards, and it’s made all the more distinctive by Diggs’s decision to avoid using the first person in his lyrics. “In an art form that is so self-conscious, is it still rap music if we take that out?” he says on a video call alongside his bandmates. “We discovered pretty quickly that it is, but that it also opened possibilities.” His raps feel like cinema or musical theatre, narrating action and voicing dialogue with characters of – generally – ambiguous gender and race. “What we’ve found from fans is that, because we don’t have much to do with these characters ourselves, it has allowed people to put a lot of themselves into them, to come up with reasons why this stuff is happening, and make links between songs we didn’t think of.”

Implicit in this approach is a critique of mainstream hip-hop: Hutson argues that its “fiercely individualistic” bent, and obsession with authenticity, has bred conformity. “The constraints of what you’re allowed to talk about and who you’re allowed to be as a rapper are so narrow,” he says. “Nobody calls novelists inauthentic compared to memoirists – but in rap music that’s apparently the case.”

[...] Hutson says they’re using a classic sci-fi trope, “these colonialist, extractive, brutal wars on other planets”, and it makes a fitting analogy for life in the west today, where our comforts are reliant on fought-over resources. “We are at war all the time,” Diggs adds. “It’s one of the great tricks of capitalism and technology: to allow these things to happen in the name of capitalism, with us all participating in it but not feeling like we’re affected.”

[...] But there are less widely known touchstones, too. The track Code samples the 1996 Afrofuturist film The Last Angel of History, in which a character seeks truth by consulting “techno fossils”: interviews about Black culture with speakers including techno music pioneer Juan Atkins, sci-fi author Octavia Butler and Parliament-Funkadelic’s George Clinton. Snipes came across the film, and like Neuromancer, found it prescient. “A hundred years from now, people are going to be finding abandoned data centres and trying to power them up and find out what’s on there,” he grins. “It’s going to be like opening King Tut’s tomb.”

[...] But their latest cyberpunk theme has a particularly strong affinity with hip-hop, they say, with both forms flourishing in the 1980s. “The hacker and the hip-hop producer are both ‘hacking’ technology that wasn’t made to do what they’re doing with it,” Hutson says, referring in the latter case to turntablism and sampling. “They’re building a future out of the mass-produced garbage around them.” (The group’s friend Roy Christopher made this argument in his 2019 book Dead Precedents, exploring rap as “Black cyberpunk”.) Hutson sees those early days of hip-hop as very creatively liberated, and says the album’s different rapping styles attempt to “harken back to that time, when we didn’t really know what rap was yet. You could rap over fast stuff, slow stuff, laser sounds – all this other silliness.”

As well as hip-hop, cyberpunk is closely allied with rave music – think of the club scene in the Matrix, or Underworld, Orbital and the Prodigy on the Hackers soundtrack – and so Dead Channel Sky hops between dance sub-genres, including big-beat (Change the Channel), acid-house (Keep Pushing) and drum’n’bass (Dodger). But Hutson sees “a weird contradiction” here. “A rave is the most corporeal, embodied sense of joy,” he says. “It’s not about the connectivity of the internet – it’s about being in a warehouse with a bunch of people.”

This unsteady, contradictory relationship between the digital and the physical lies at the heart of Dead Channel Sky, where imagined realities prompt questions about our own: whether virtual realms of “pixelated wind” are any flimsier than ours. Diggs suggests: “If we are currently living in the apocalypse that the cyberpunk fiction of the 80s and 90s predicted, this is the music.”

[quillneriine]

And The Sky Bled Fire

A few cycles ago, Iacon was once ruled over by Sentinel Prime. He had ushered in a new age after the death of the Thirteen Primes, and though energon had stopped flowing, life was relatively peaceful for many Iaconians. Though if you were cogless, most of your life - from the day you emerged - would have been spent in the dark of the mines. Yet many had revered Sentinel Prime, even underneath these conditions. After all, he too wanted to find the Matrix of Leadership. Mining energon was simply… a necessity… until that goal could be reached. Yet he never quite reached that goal. No. Sentinel Prime never found the Matrix. Because the had sky bled fire.

Somebody showed me really cool fanart so I made this fanfic because I got inspired by it. This will be a one-shot because I have too many brainrots and I have set my goal already that whatever wins the poll over on my Tumblr will be what I focus on once I get the results tonight lmao.

Ao3 Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65100295

A long time ago, Cybertron was once ruled by Thirteen Primes.

Underneath their leadership, life flourished on the inorganic planet and energon flowed freely thanks to the powers bestowed upon them by Primus himself.

Yet such a peaceful civilization and such perfect beings can attract envy, and soon their reign came to an end.

From beyond their skies came the Quintessons, and the planet was soon plunged into war.

The battle was fierce, with no end in sight.

You would think our valiant heroes would end victorious.

But sometimes it is our enemies from within that we ought to worry about the most.

In one universe, the Primes were struck down by the ambitions and jealousy of someone they once trusted.

But at least they died together and with their sparks whole.

This is not that universe.

—

Pax felt his tanks churn inside him as he stood over Prima Prime.

He recognized the grayed frame, even underneath all the rust and the loss of the Prime’s golden accents. He remembered the image of the once illustrious first Prime from the many times he had scoured the Iaconian Archives. 

That felt like a lifetime ago.

If he had been younger, he would have been in utter awe. After all, it wasn’t every solar cycle that one found themselves within the final resting place of all the Primes, though he was sure he was not the only scavenger who found the cave. As far as he could tell, some of the other frames had missing parts. Though he couldn’t really tell since he didn’t have time to properly look at them all. He did try to find Megatronus Prime’s frame (since Dee had been a huge fan of him), though he had given up after a few breems. 

It didn’t matter anyway.

He came all the way here for only one thing.

Carefully, Pax pulled out the small blade he had in his subspace, wincing as light glinted off the metal from the fires outside the cave. Even inside, he couldn’t escape the inferno that awaited him once he got what he needed. Holding the knife in one servo, he moved slowly towards the Prime’s helm, his spark whirring fast in his chassis as he fought the urge to hurl the little energon his tanks had.

In his old life, he thinks this may have been considered blasphemy.

Yet as he knelt before the Prime’s head, his free servo shaking as he reached towards Prima’s optics, he found that he couldn’t bring himself to really care about that.

After all, there were no more laws to really follow.

And Primus had long since abandoned them.

He lifted the Prime’s eye shutters, noting the sparkless dull of what was once golden optics. While he couldn’t possibly use the entire part due to the sheer size, he could break down some of the components to recreate a smaller version.

He owed it to Dee.

Steeling himself, he curled his servo into a tight fist around the knife.

“I am so sorry.”

Then as gently as he could, he began to extract what he needed.

—

“Pax?” 

Pax quickly slipped into the small cave that had become his and Dee’s base ever since the Inferno began. He pushed the metal covering over the entrance, sealing away the heat from outside as he entered what he supposed he could call home. As his optics adjusted slightly to the dark, he could make out Dee sitting by the makeshift table they had attempted to make together - though it leaned on one side and threatened to collapse at some point in the future. He made his way towards his conjunx, noting with worry that there was some raw energon on the table. 

When the Inferno rained down on Iacon, followed soon after by the mysterious death of Sentinel Prime, anarchy had taken over the city. Many bots had abandoned their posts - which was reasonable since who had time to mine energon when the sky was raining fire. Most had tried to leave towards the surface, since everyone had initially thought the fires were only being poured down through the openings that led into Iacon, except the situation up on the surface was even worse.

A lot of bots died in the initial storm, and those that survived - both cogged and cogless - quickly tried to adjust to life among the eternal blaze. It was quickly found out it was much safer to be deep within the planet than on the surface.

That was why many cogged bots died.

They didn’t have the experience of the cogless miners. 

Most had starved, and sometimes Pax stumbled upon their rusted frames when he went out to scavenge for spare parts or for anything useful.

In truth, Pax hasn’t seen a single cogged mech in quite some time now.

So, there being raw energon on the table wasn’t what concerned Pax. He and Dee had previously been miners so they didn’t have a problem mining to feed themselves. What concerned him was that Dee had gone mining on his own… when he couldn’t even see anything.

Carefully, he placed the spare parts he had gathered on the other side of the table before turning his attention to Dee.

Life within the eternal blaze had not been kind to either of them.

Pax knew that some of his paint colors had been scrapped off, the silver underneath showing. There were also parts of him that were composed entirely of other bots’ spare parts. It was much more obvious on his left arm, as it was in an entirely different paint color than his own. He didn’t really know where and how Dee got the arm, but he knew that the other mech must have gotten it from another bot since it wasn’t pieced together with different parts. It was another bot’s entire arm… just ripped out of them.

Back then, he had been a little unnerved by how okay Dee had been about using some other bot’s arm as a replacement…

Yet now, it was just a part of their life.

Besides, what he did this solar cycle probably would never be topped because who else could say they took out a Prime’s optics?

He placed his servo - his original one, never the one that wasn’t his - on Dee’s cheekplate, inspecting the wires that dangled where his optics ought to have been. Even though decacycles had passed since the injury, Pax still couldn’t bring himself to get used to the fact that he’d never get to see Dee’s original optics again. 

If only he hadn’t been so reckless—

“Dee, I thought we agreed you wouldn’t mine until we got your optics fixed.” He gently stroked at his conjunx’s face, pushing down the pop-ups in his HUD that signalled his rising stress. Pax knew that Dee was capable - after all, it was only thanks to him that they both somehow survived the initial rain of fire - but he worried about him being alone deep within the mines, unable to see.

He already felt guilty enough about leaving Dee alone in their base to scrounge for spare parts.

“Someone has to mine energon, Pax. Don’t think I wouldn’t notice that our supplies were running low and you were consuming less just to keep me fueled.” Dee crossed his arms in front of his chassis, shaking his helm at Pax, even if there wasn’t any real irritation in his tone. “I know you want to fix my optics, and I appreciate you risking your life outside every solar cycle to find spare parts, but Pax if you go offline somewhere because you haven’t been refueling properly, then I can’t do anything to help you.”

“I know. It’s just—” A digit wandered close to one of the exposed optic wires, and Pax couldn’t help the guilt that rose again in his spark. He had thought, after the Inferno, that he had become more responsible. No more sneaking into the Archives. No more being chased by the guards. No more getting Dee punched by Darkwing because Pax messed up. Yet it seemed he was still the same old Orion Pax, getting his conjunx nearly killed because he didn’t think about the consequences before taking action.

As though sensing his thoughts, Dee reached out, managing to place his own servo on Pax’s cheekplate. “It was not your fault, Pax. You just wanted to help.”

“Still…” Pax’s voice trailed off, refusing to tell Dee that he would miss looking into the other’s original optics. As soon as he finished making the replacement, it would be like staring into the optics of a stranger. He clinked his helm against Dee’s, savoring the moment before he pulled away. “I think I have everything I need to make you those new optics. Come a few solar cycles and you’ll be back to seeing again.” “And see your ugly face? I think I’ll pass.” Dee scoffed, though a grin slowly made his way to his face. Then softly, he said, “Thanks, Pax.”

He felt a smile form on his own dermas, yet he found no joy even as he forced himself to say, “Anything for you.”

He would never tell Dee where he got the parts.

—

“Why hold onto this foolish loyalty?”

“I. Will. Not. Hear. You.”

“Very well, dear Prime. I shall leave you to burn in the graveyard of your failure.”

—

On the first lunar cycle since he could see, Dee was unable to fall into recharge, a fact that Pax lectured him about the following solar cycle.

This wasn’t unusual since he always tried to keep himself online if Pax was deeply into recharge. It was a difficult life on the surface and Dee constantly worried that they’d be attacked by fellow scavengers while they were at their most vulnerable… or worse…

So, he made it a habit to keep online at least until what Pax had dubbed “The Great Shadow” passed their base.

While many cogged bots died due to starvation, some were able to adjust to life within the Inferno. Energon was scarce, yet it was not the greatest threat to their lives. It wasn’t even the eternal blaze outside, since it was easy enough to avoid the fires.

No, none of those were the true nightmare that came with surviving in this world.

It was “The Great Shadow” that lurked over them that truly made survival difficult.

There was no predicting its movements. However, it seemed to follow a specific route that made it easy to know when to avoid it. In their case, Pax and Dee had discovered that “The Great Shadow” would pass through their area during the lunar cycle. So, as far as they were concerned, all they needed was to hide within their base and make it appear as though nobody lived there. They’d heard enough horror stories from other survivors of what happened to those who were caught, pieces of their dead frames found after the destruction. Sometimes, there wasn’t even a frame left to mourn for.

Dee feared other scavengers, though he was a large mech who could defend himself and Pax if it really came down to it, but there was nothing he feared more than “The Great Shadow.”

He remembered their first encounter with it. He and Pax had managed to set up base in their current cave, they had just huddled together after a long exhausting solar cycle (they hadn’t had the chance to scrounge up enough material for a makeshift berth) when it happened.

A loud crackling noise had torn through the air, nearly deafening their audials that they had to manually shut them off in fear of breaking them. Dee, who was facing the entrance that they had sealed off, had seen a large shadow - far larger than any Cybertronian, even a cogged bot, could cast - move over their base as if patrolling. He pressed a hand to his intake, forcing down the urge to scream before the shadow moved on. By the time he had turned back to Pax, he saw the fear in his conjunx’s optics, and knew he’d seen what Dee had.

It happened again the next lunar cycle, and the next.

At first, it terrified them both. That one moment that shadow would pause and tear off the flimsy metal covering that kept them safe from the outside.

Yet that never happened, and so “The Great Shadow” became a part of their daily schedule. He was certain that Pax had probably forgotten about it, since he always slept like an offlined mech.

Dee could never forget and he made sure to always wait for it to pass by before he could truly rest for the lunar cycle.

Which is why on that first lunar cycle since he could see, he had not gotten a single klik of recharge.

He had waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Until the sun had risen.

And Pax had woken up and lectured him for staying up the entire lunar cycle, barring him from coming with him to scavenge for parts.

He didn’t explain it to Pax. His conjunx had enough on his processor that Dee hadn’t wanted to concern him with a problem they may not even needed to really concern themselves with. Especially since he knew the other mech still felt guilty over what happened to Dee’s optics. He couldn’t look at him for too long after he got the replacements.

Dee didn’t understand why Pax continued to be so guilty. It was his own choice to step in. 

He lost his optics and his ability to see for a while, which scared him, but…

He loves Pax.

Dee would gladly remain blind if it meant keeping the other alive.

So, he kept his concern to himself. Pax didn’t need to know that, for some reason, “The Great Shadow” had changed its routes.

He could only hope that didn’t mean there was a chance they would run into whatever it was during the solar cycle.

—

“Why do you cling to a god that has abandoned you?”

“You deceive me with your lies.”

“I am no deceiver.”

“Primus—”

“Has left this planet to ruin. Has left your people to suffer at the servos of a tyrant. Has left your fellow Primes to die and you to live among their fallen frames for eternity.”

“...He must have a plan.”“Perhaps. Though is it worth all this suffering and death? Do you truly believe he does this for a greater purpose? Or did he abandon you to rust?”

“What do you know of what he wills?”“I know if my… creations… were to be pawns in a game, I would not leave one to live while the others are freed from the torment of life. How cruel, do you not agree? That you should live, while everyone you love has died.”

“Primus has his reasons.”

“Very well. If that is what you continue to believe. I shall show you then, dear Prime, the suffering accorded by your god for this great noble reason that you continue to have faith in.”

—

It was Dee’s turn to scavenge for spare parts. While they usually did everything together, there were times where they both had to split up their duties. Since Pax had been scavenging parts for an entire decacycle because Dee had been out of commission, it was now his turn to do it.

Besides, he wanted to give Pax space since he still couldn’t look him in the optics. Though by now, Dee couldn’t tell if it was because Pax still felt guilty over Dee losing his sight in the first place or if it was because his optic colors had drastically changed.

Like most mechs, Dee had blue optics before they were destroyed.

For some reason, whatever spare parts Pax had used, they had turned his optics yellow - almost near gold at times (if Pax was to be believed). Dee had tried to get the other mech to explain where he had got the spare parts, yet Pax had been resolute in not revealing the truth. Usually, Dee would have furiously given him a glare. He never did like secrets.

For this case though, he allowed Pax the privacy of that knowledge, especially since he never told Pax where he got his replacement arm.

They can both have their one secret.

So, on this particular solar cycle, Dee had taken it upon himself to scavenge for parts - even if Pax had protested about coming with him. Pax had to stay though, in the cave, to mine for raw energon - as they were running low. 

Slowly, he made his way through the desolate surface, flames licking close at his pedes as he followed the well-worn trail that he and Pax used. Dee never liked straying from it. He was never much of an adventurer, and there was usually some scraps he would find laying around near the trail - if he was lucky, he may even across some scavengers who he could trade with… or… fight…

Either way, in the similar way he used to have a quota to meet in the mines, Dee always ensured he came home with spare parts that he and Pax could use in the future.

Pulling the red cloak around him tighter, Dee glanced at the sad landscape around him, his fans working overdrive to keep him cool as he navigated the harsh terrain. He tried to keep away from larger patches of fire, or the craters where… something… probably was, yet he kept his optics trained on the ground, scanning for anything that might be useful.

It helped that his new optics seemed to be… different.

Ever since Pax had placed them inside his optic sockets, Dee had the strange ability to just know where some objects were. A few solar cycles ago, Pax was searching their base for an old datapad he had scrounged from the ruins of the archives - and for some odd reason, Dee had immediately known that Pax had somehow left it underneath their makeshift berth. Pax hadn’t even batted an optic at how Dee knew but… Dee had because he hadn’t known that. The words were out of his intake before he could truly process them.

Now, usually, he would have followed the trail until he found spare parts. Yet on this particular solar cycle, he found his pedes leading him further away - a part of his spark urging him forward even as his processor demanded he turn around and return to the trail. Dee continued onward, until eventually he started to ignore everything else around him, a part of him enthralled by some distant area.

He didn’t know how long he had been walking until he finally came across a large cave. He reset his optics, his intake agape as he realized that there were… organic vines… that still hung and covered the entrance. Dee quickly glanced around him, realizing that the fires had somewhat cleared. While there were smaller patches here and there, they weren’t the raging blazes that Dee were used to encountering on the surface. He felt his spark thrum with nervousness, unsure why he had wandered so far from the trail.

Yet despite his worries, he quickly entered the save, his new optics adjusting immediately to the darkness.

He couldn’t help it.

He let out a sharp vent as he realized what he was staring at.

Dee took a few pedesteps forward, nearly stumbling against… what he was sure was a Prime’s arm. Forcing down a shudder, he carefully stepped over the fallen frame, entering deeper into the cave. It didn’t take long for his attention to turn towards the center. 

It was difficult not to when Prima Prime’s fallen frame was laid gently on the ground, the Prime’s servos resting on his chassis. Though, what Dee caught Dee’s attention the most was the Prime’s open optics… or where they should have been.

Slowly, Dee moved closer, dread filling his spark as he stood near the Prime’s frame.

He refused to put any thought to it, because that made it real, though he knew deep inside what had happened.

Before he could decide what to do, he felt a shift in the air and his audials nearly burst as loud crackling filled the cavern. He turned in time to see a shadow fall over him as a large servo grabbed him.

Dee screamed, servos gripping at too large digits that nearly crush him in their grip. He tried to struggle, but then a heavy heat washed over him and he nearly collapsed as his systems began to nearly shut down. He could hear the loud whirring of his fans as they tried to combat his frame from overheating, unable to do so when he was pushed further near flickering flames. Dee tried to cycle more air by venting, optics turning upwards to meet dark red.

For a few kliks, he recognized the familiar purple mask, even if it was rusted and broken in some parts. 

As his processor forced him into a shut down, he heard the soft voice of Megatronus Prime in his audials.

“You have his optics.”

Then he fell into emergency stasis.

—

“... Cease this, please.”

“Have you considered my offer, dear Prime?”

“... I swear my allegiance to you. I accept your offer, keep your promise to me and I shall be your servant.”

“Very well. I shall grant you your revenge. I will return you to your former glory. No longer shall you remain a helm without his frame. I shall grant you the power to avenge your fallen. I shall be the god you need. I will not abandon you, my champion.”

“In return?”

“All I ask is simple.”

“Nothing ever is with you gods.”

“Do not test me. All I ask… is that you rain fire upon this world and put all sparks to rest, at the cost of your own.”

“... Your will be done.”

“Then rise, Megatronus Prime. With my aid… this world shall know no more suffering, for all will join the sweet embrace of death.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“Prima…”

Megatronus gently held onto his conjunx’s frame, the cycles had not been kind, for Prima’s golden accents had long since faded underneath rust and the gray of a fallen frame. He rested his helm against the other’s chassis, tears left unfallen as there was no familiar whirr of a spark.

He had inspected the frame of the other Primes, and like all the others, Prima was completely gone - though he had already known that truth for fifty cycles. He reset his optics, allowing himself one more moment of weakness.

For a few more breems, he allowed himself to grieve.

“I promise you…”

He lifted his helm, clinking it against Prima’s. Then slowly, he placed his conjunx’s frame down, arranging it so that for a moment he could pretend the other was merely in recharge. He stared down at Prima for a long while, until Unicron’s voice began to invade his processor once more - and he turned away.

As he began to walk out of the cave, he felt heat overtake him as fire began to form all over his frame, yet despite the flames - he felt nothing but numb.

“... this abandoned world shall burn and become your resting place.”

[plushrump-dot-com]

Last night I noticed the fabric was fraying a little in the armpit region of Daveplush’s shirt, so I got out my sewing bits to repair him. When I turned on my little clamp light, I realized just how raggedy he was starting to look- covered in so much cat hair, the gear symbol on his shirt coming up a little. These are the things that would never happen if I left him up on a shelf to be looked at and not held.

I got out the fabric glue and carefully fixed the gear symbol. Some of the edges of it are fraying a little and are a little dirty, but it looks much better now. I stitched up the armpit of his shirt as best as I could and it feels like it will last longer now.

I spent quite a while using a lint roller to remove all the fur I could. Some were so interwoven into the material that I had to use tweezers to extract them. But every time I use the lint roller, it picks up the cat hair but there’s also a noticeable red tinge on the sticky paper. Every time, there’s a little less of him. I can see the woven matrix beneath the flannel fluff in many places now. After all that, he almost looks like new again. Almost.

Maybe one day I’ll have to make new clothing for him because this flannel clearly wasn’t made to be worn by a doll that gets held every night. It’s not meant to be made into a hood on a little round head that fits perfectly under my chin. It’s not meant to be part of a shirt worn by a little guy whose arm rests on my side so he can hold me too when we drift off to sleep together.

The fuzz I made him out of will never be as soft as it once was, though it still is in those secret spots that are covered by his clothing. Rubbing his back is a hedonistic treasure I enjoy sparingly so the softness will last as long as possible.

With all this, he’s still my perfect little guy. I’m glad I couldn’t just leave him on a shelf, looking pretty, my sewing magnum opus. His gentle weight against me is an anchor when the world feels like a turbulent sea. His smile is the sun breaking through the clouds. His cape is just… really cute! More plushies should have long dramatic capes.

[azure-tiamat]

More than a Name

Orion Pax was his first designation, a simple Iacon-Archivist of Cybertron.

He firmly believed that that is all he'd ever be, even when unrest spread amongst the masses. At least, it was until the war destroyed his, his allies and the Decepticons' home.

He'd been bestowed another name then, Optimus Prime.

The last Prime, chosen by Primus himself and entrusted with the matrix of leadership.

The name was an honor, and a responsibility all the same.

He led Autobots, mech, femme and - guilty, regretful, afraid and saddened as he is to admit this fact - sparklings into the war. During it, dozens and millions were wiped out on both sides. Each loss weighing heavier on his chassis than the last, as reality set in that even when he tries to protect them all, he's immature in the art of war and has lost many in a war that started as a quest for freedom. It about death tolls now.

He and a few Autobots ended up in a solar system light-years away, on planet Earth - an organic world inhabited by the dominant species known as homo sapiens, common and preferred designation being 'humans'.

He and his teammates have made contact with the species, that have been welcoming and supportive of the Autobot's cause, along with an agreement on their part to assist the government against most existential threats.

They've been on the planet for a relatively short while, for their standards. He, Ratchet and Bumblebee have been here the longest (as far as he's aware of), for 30+ years while their newer members less than 20.

Still, that's not even taking into account the humans that joined them - 2 "adults" and 3 "kids"; one femme and mech as well as three sparklings. The sparklings in particular are even younger than the time they've spent on the planet. The oldest among them, a boy named Jackson Darby, preferred designation "Jack", now on the cusp of "adulthood".

(He can't believe the boy to be considered nearly full-grown by his society's norms. He is mature - Primus knows he is, as well as familiar - but the boy is still much too young for any of them to consider any of them more than (rowdy, curious and caring) younglings. Particularly due to Bumblebee being considered a youngling and, in human years, being just a year older than Jack, which is 17.)

These kids in particular have taken a place in the sparks of the 'bots, partnering up with their Guardians on several occasions to join them on missions - even if unallowed.

Optimus still questions how they slip by any of them into the Groundbridge, considering their record of sneaking off - the Shadowzone being one of the best and worst examples.

He also knows that some of them are favoring anyone human more than the other, even if they still care for them all deeply. Even his oldest friend Ratchet, the grouch, is taken with Bumblebee's charge Rafael, the youngest if not smartest of them.

The sentiment is very much mutual, as the children would and have risked personal welfare and safety to assist them. The numerous Decepticons' and M.E.C.H. agents are their main adversaries, although the children (Miko mostly) sometimes claim 'school' should be listed as well. Agent Fowler claims she's joking, mostly.

"Optimus, what's your ETA?"

"I'm within sight of the school premises."

"Good, Nurse Darby has called in advance to notify the staff, so it'll hopefully be a quick extraction."

"I'll contact you soon, over and out."

He concentrates, generating his holoform to appear behind the driver's seat as if 'straightening' from the backrest. He opens the cabin, climbing down the side as he closes the door tightly.

Optimus cut off the comm, entering the parking lot of Jasper High. The school the children are obliged to attend throughout the week, pardon Sundays and Saturdays, from 7:50am to 3:10pm.

"Right, time to recover Jack."

He makes his way to the entrance, briefly catching sight of his holoform in the glass door's reflective surface.

---

Jack is sick, Optimus was available and offered to get him. June had a double shift, though she promised to make an extended break to check up on her son at base as well as brief them on what to do. Thankfully, Agent Fowler had previously provided them a written permission slip in case they'd ever need to pull the kids out of school in case of emergency, after it became clear they'd stick around at the autobot base.

Jack practically melts into the comfy cool leather seat of the truck, falling asleep after buckling himself in. Optimus accommodates him by reclining the seat, turning the heat on as Jack was shivering, a symptom of having a cold. (June told them the symptoms -common to worse- for it when she got the call, as well as first aid. Though Ratchet looked into the alternative treatment methods too.)

On their way back a pair of Vehicons attack, finding the lone Prime and forcing Optimus to a hasty retreat with his vulnerable cargo. Eventually, just past the edge of town where the canyon opens up, he is forced to engage as three more show up to corner him. Jack is thus strapped in with even more seatbelts and moved to his subspace, barely out of reach from the matrix.

Unbeknownst to the Prime's notice -distracted by battle is a viable excuse- the Key to Vector Sigma pulses lightly at the proximity to the honorary Prime, which allows Jack to sense his surface emotions/ EM field.

Jack is hella comfy in there, secure, warm and with the pressing feeling of care and safety stemming from Optimus' EM field keeping him under wakefulness from his aching limbs, throat and stuffy nose very nicely.

The fact he's not shivering enough to wake himself is just an added bonus.

Optimus beats their pirsuers, briefly opens his subspace to take Jack out and scan him for injuries, even if he hasn't felt anything loosen in his chassis. To his fond amusement, the late teen just curls up like a cybercat on his servo, whining something he can decifer as "2 more hours" through a wheezy nostril, seeking the slight shade of his digits and trying to burrow into more warmth from his servo.

~

The mech obliges, putting the sleepy youth back in his subspace before transforming again and driving the rest of the way to base, briefly reporting the ambush to Ratchet along with their current status.

Optimus rolls into base, Arcee and Ratchet meet him halfway as Bumblebee and Bulkhead seem ready to head off and collect the other two children. (Yes, they were slightly upset they couldn't come with Jack.)

"How is he-?"

"Are you both fine?"

"Was it a patrol of theirs or a badly executed ambush?"

"We're just gonna go, don't wreck the place while I'm gone!" Bulkhead shouted, making a hasty retreat and giving his leader a nod alongside Bee's worried whirs and concerned optics before rolling out. Their own charges are waiting for them, after all.

Optimus changes into his bi-pedal form, nodding in affirmation as the two speed off.

Ratchet and Arcee give him a hard stare, analysing his form -servos', digits, shoulders- and not spotting the ill boy.

"Optimus, where is--" Ratchet starts, a concerned inquiry forming on his lips whilst Arcee frowned at the possibility that maybe Jack had been lost in the Deception ambush without her leader's notice. It was a bitter thought.

Alas, their leader holds a servo flat out in front of him, signaling the medic to stop. He shushes them, eyes trailing down before opening his chest plates to reveal his subspace, putting a servo out to prevent the harsh artificial light of the base from disturbing the sleeping human; Nurse Darby did say he could be sensitive to light and noise, and that it was preferred if the boy caught some sleep, so it's better if he stayed that way too.

Ratchet checks him over with his own scans, noting that it's in line with what the humans refer to as a 'flu' - a seasonal thing, quite common, and relatively easy to combat at their age. Their primary concern for it should be that he drinks a lot, sleeps a lot while warm and eats as much as he can stomach. It's ok if it's less than usual for now - dasy to digest food, soup or crackers, are preferred sources of nourishment, he notes. The latter of which is already kept in the mini-fidge situated and maintained in the humans' area. Besides that, Jack seems to already be doing well.

Jack wakes up long enough to drink a bottle of IceTea from the fridge after microwaving just so he had something resembling tea - they later learn that it's atrocious and they need a kettle. Ratchet isn't quite convinced why they can't simply use the welding machine for that.

~

Nearly half an hour in, Jack's still not asleep despite Optimus reporting him falling asleep in his seat not even three minutes into the drive and sleeping through the fight. (If only one mission like that happened with Miko...)

Jack quickly lays back down after walking on unsteady feet -caused by dizzyness and generally reduced physical ability in order to combat the illness, as the Prime checks. He rests on the couch with the threadbare blanket they kept for movie nights, a gift from June for their little hideout, but Arcee observed that he's still shivering. Attempting his best to bury himself head to toe in the blanket and couch cushions. And it's truly no wonder why with the wide, open, aired-through and ventilated area of the base. Jack's coughs don't seem to get any better and he's drinking more often to soothe his throat.

Plus it's bound to stay warm there as well and he's alerted to anything wrong immediately. Ratchet begrudgingly allows it, if only cause they are still at base in case of an emergency, Arcee's chassis isn't big enough, his own is full of equipment and they can't catch human diseases.

An observation that doesn't escape the Primes notice. He gets the brilliant idea that, till nurse June fetches Jack, he'll just keep the boy in his chassis again, along with some packaged food and drink and ensuring he gets fresh air too. (They've learned from Miko that humans + locked somewhere w/on fresh air is a dangerous idea.

Eventually Miko and Raf arrive to an empty couch missing a blanket and Jack's backpack dumped at a corner, but no sight of its owner.

"Did Miss Darby forget Jack's bag?" Raf questions Ratchet, subtly asking wether or not she'd already stopped by.

The medic hums "She hasn't arrived yet. Her ETA is three hours."

"Huh, must've gone to the bathroom. I swear, if he gets the blanket dirty he washes it.."

"Young Jackson is with me."

Optimus chimes in, crouching down to be eye-level with the humans on their platform.

Two sets of eyes and optics from their Guardians travel across his frame, stopping here and there in confusion, wondering whether or not a human could fit in there, and Bee gives him a questioning beep.

"No, I do have him. The base was just too cold to leave him without an adequate heat source."

Arcee finally comes over to solve the mystery: "He's in his subspace."

"Really??" Bulkhead questions, wondrously as he stares at his leader. "Is he okay in there?"

"I wanna see!"

"Not too close, one sick human is enough." Ratchet admonishes, though he looks contemplative. Optimus recognizes that look from somewhere in his memories - thinking of ways to calm down the young sparkling in his care during training as a medic. Regardless of the matter there, he opens his subspace, leaning forward to allow for better view and shade.

Jack was curled around the blanket and Miko cooed something about a burrito, taking her phone out and making a picture with the flashlight. Jack snarls and throws the closest thing in his reach -his plastic water bottle- at the source of the unwanted disturbance. She squeaks, barely managing to duck down before it hits her or her phone.

"He's got a killer aim even when sick" she remarks, slowly lifting herself up, checking her phone and then turning back to her friend as he unleashes a well of small coughs.

Bulkhead sighs, Raf rolls his eyes at her antics before picking up the bottle and, with silent permission from the mech, returns it to its owner. He glances to a settling Jack "He does look pretty comfortable there.."

"Beep-boooo-whheer-bii"

"If they look anything like the ones we have, then yeah, he looks like a cat."

"Ooh, have you ever heard of Rainbow-cat?"

Matter of fact Ratchet did a cursory scan of the web, before blacklisting it. What kind of colorful vomit was that? Is it flying though bleeding out of its...?? He scrapped the memory, only leaving a 'Miko's fault' marker for himself in case he ever wants to revisit the file.

Optimus continues on with his work, reading through data tablets. Jack feels a wave of fond nostalgia, and it's more of a safe blanket than what he can wrap around his shoulders. Oh well, it's quiet, nobody's bothering him, he's comfy and warm.

Jack sleeps a whole 14 hours. Miko and Raf had been concerned, which prompted Arcee and Ratchet to do the same.

----

After the event Optimus scrubs his subspace of any germs or snot, just in case of any ill effects and as a matter of personal hygiene. Jack did sneeze and cough his throat out in there after all.

Optimus carries an extra blanket in his subspace, a gift of Nurse June after the event. Just in case of late missions and sick humans.

————

To reach a larger audience (hopefully) this fanfic is cross-posted on Wattpad.

"My Name" by Azure_Sorceress (me)

[frostchimeart]

Oh Shadowrun, how much I love your gritty mash-up of Cyberpunk dystopia and fantasy... if only your Rulebooks weren't so piss-poorly edited and your rules so needlessly complicated, lol. Oh, and Catalyst Game Labs sucks as a publisher.

This is an older art piece from 2022 showing my Technomancer who goes by the Runner name "Pulse". A corpo-baby rising starlet from Geneva who was primed to go to the Olympics for sharpshooting, her whole world came crashing down on her when it was discovered that she was a Technomancer, a human who was born with the innate ability to traverse the Matrix (Shadowrun's version of the 'Net) and control, hack and manipulate data. In Shadowrun lore, most people can only accomplish this through the use of cyberdecks they either carry or install on their body as cyberware, so needless to say, she was a rare commodity that her corporate overlords would inevitably want more control over.

Luckily, her own parents had the foresight to get her out of the corp's grubby hands before it was too late, and one unwilling extraction run later, she's found herself on the other side of the fence and forced to turn to shadowrunning to make ends meet, hoping to scrape up enough cash and influence to find and reconnect with her family, who have since gone MIA while arranging for their daughter's extraction.

She's sassy, cultured, and horribly out of her depth, so she tries to cover up her initial terror for this new "lifestyle" by projecting an aura of confidence and utter non-chalance at the situation -- though the idea of being on her own, free to do as she wishes without corporate oversight, proves to be an intoxicating draw towards the shadows...

[eternallyfrustratedwriter]

The Curious Case of Reluctant Immortals

Summary:

“Okay, correct me if I’m wrong because I’m only working with microscopic pieces of context here. You’ve obviously got it bad for Ember; it’s plastered all over your face and is, quite frankly, nauseating. Seriously, you have fucking heart eyes whenever she’s around.” Roy was now occupying the seat you’d recently vacated, elbow propped up on the table as he turned towards Dick. Wally had fully abandoned any pretenses of cleaning by now, leaning against the table with his attention firmly fixed on his two friends. “But she doesn’t feel the same and has been doing matrix-level dodging to avoid acknowledging the billboard-level signs you keep giving. Which, ouch, but it happens to everyone.” 

Chapter 13

“You’re fucking shitting me?! Do you know how expensive that rum was?!” 

This exclamation, of course, was from Oliver, the arms of his expensive dress shirt pushed up to around his elbows with his suit jacket draped over the back of the booth. Barry was across from him, dressed in blue jeans and a red t-shirt, a stein of beer in front of him that was mostly full. Hal was leaned against the wall, fingers absently curled around the handle of his own stein as he stared at the table, eyes tracing patterns in the wood. 

“Really, man? That’s your main takeaway from this story?” asked Barry, eyebrow arched up as he waved one of his hands in the air to emphasize his point. 

“No, of course not. My main takeaway is that Hal has his head shoved so far up his ass that it’s going to require surgical extraction,” said Oliver before taking a large gulp of his beer, the remaining foam making a home for itself in his goatee. “The part about the rum just hurts to hear.” 

“So…um…if you don’t mind me asking…” started Barry, eyes darting between Hal's face and his beer, voice stuttering slightly as he stumbled over his words. “How exactly did you end up with…that? Also, should you even be drinking right now?”

Hal lifted his head then to reveal the fact that one of his eyes was swollen shut, the entire socket dark purple. His good eye just stared Barry down before flipping him off as he raised his glass to his lips and took several large swallows. 

“Because Grayson has a helluva right hook. He also destroyed my coffee table,” groused Hal, head angling downward again in an attempt to hide. 

“Did he or did you just fall against it?”

Hal responded, once again, with his middle finger, directed at Oliver this time. 

Meanwhile, in midtown Manhatten, a gaggle of twenty-somethings made their way through the bustling Saturday night crowd. You were tucked into Dicks side, his leather jacket wrapped around you as his arm rested around your shoulders. Artemis and Wally were at the head of your little group, arms linked in easy comradery, her rolling her eyes as Wally cracked yet another awful joke in an attempt to make her laugh. 

Roy hung back with you and Dick, hands stuffed in his pockets as he chewed on the end of a toothpick, rolling it against his teeth for a few seconds before he’d let it lay still and sucked the damp wood instead. 

The destination in question was Warriors, a niche superhero-themed bar owned by one Guy Gardner. You had received the invitation to come down and that your drinks would be free. The others, bolstered by the promise of free booze, had readily agreed to come along. 

Your entrance was capitalized by Guy's booming voice calling out to you over the crowd within. 

“Princess! You made it!” called Guy as he walked out from behind the bar, a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder. The nickname, which had started as a way to annoy you, had since turned into a term of endearment nearly a year on. He pulled you out from under Dicks arm and into a back-breaking hug that lifted your feet off the ground. 

Laughing, you hugged him back, a smile stretched wide across your face. You swayed slightly once Guy set you back down but Dick was quick to steady you, hand gripping your shoulder in support. 

“Yeah, bring on the free booze!” Wally’s enthusiasm caused his voice to be a bit louder than he’d intended, and Artemis shot him a side-eyed glare in response. 

“I said Princess would drink for free. I didn’t say anything about the rest of you,” said Guy, arms now crossed across his broad chest, eyebrow raised as he gave the group a stern glare. 

“But…I mean…the text…?” stuttered Wally as he tried, unsuccessfully, to climb out of the verbal hole he’d just dug. He finally shut up when he felt the sharp stab of Artemis’s elbow against his ribs. 

The awkward atmosphere stewed for a few more seconds before Guy was laughing, doubling over a bit as he slapped his thigh for good measure. 

“I’m just fucking with you, you should’ve seen your face kid!” Guy was now pointing at Wally who, by now, had turned a shade of red that matched his hair, and also reminded you of his uncles' propensity for bashfulness, even if the two were technically unrelated. “I have the back room reserved for you guys. Enjoy!”

Once you were all shuffled into the party room, jackets thrown on one side of the long table before you sat down, Dick leaned down to whisper in your ear. 

“The disgusted face you made the one time I tried calling you Princess makes a lot more sense now,” teased Dick, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a slight smirk. 

For the amount of times you and Guy had fought, he’d become something close to an older brother. He annoyed you, pushed your buttons until you felt like screaming, but he had your back as well. When Oa had been invaded by the Yellow Lanterns, Sinestro drawn in by the allure of someone who could wield the yellow element without a ring, he’d raised hell until he’d found out who had squawked about your existence to them, bringing them before the Guardians himself for judgment. 

“Only I’m allowed to mess with you, Princess,” he’d said to you while you’d been recovering in the med bay of the Watchtower. 

Meanwhile, back in Star City…

“How does it keep getting worse?” exclaimed Oliver, the hand that was currently buried in his golden locks looking like it was about ready to pull a chunk of hair out. Whatever sympathy he’d started the night with had long since been dried out by the seemingly endless amounts of bullshit that kept spilling from Hals mouth. 

Hal, for his part, now had his face firmly against the table. He’d been alternating between hitting his head against the wood and just trying to suffocate himself. Barry, the absolute saint he was, had started off trying to help justify whatever fuckery Hal had done, wanting to extend him the benefit of the doubt even if it didn’t deserve to be there. The poor guy finally had to admit defeat as he gave a 1,000-yard stare into his now empty glass. 

“Please tell me you didn’t sneak out without saying anything like a fucking coward…” begged Oliver, voice taking on a slightly desperate edge. 

“No,” said Hal, voice muffled by the table. “I wrote a note, and then I snuck out.” 

“God dammit…” 

Hal let out a grunt worthy of Batman in response, shoulders slumped. Strangely enough, despite the extended makeout session with the table that would suggest otherwise, he’d had the least amount to drink out of the three of them, with his glass still mostly full. 

“A solution would be helpful.” 

“I’m hesitant to plan anything in case you feel like dropping another bombshell on us. Next, you’re gonna tell me you also taunted Dick with details of the night so he would punch you.” 

“Well…”

“DUDE!!!”

And, in Manhatten…

Cheers filled the back room as Dick and Wally walked in with drinks, Roy trailing close behind with a sampler platter of appetizers, deftly moving it out of Wallys way as the speedster tried to swipe a mozzarella stick. 

Laughter quickly filled the back room as the drinks flowed, everyone happy to have found a place they could relax as themselves. 

“Oh, oh! I have one!” exclaimed Wally through peals of laughter, hands clapping together as he tried to rein in everyone's attention. “Okay, this was nine or ten years ago. I thought it was a good idea to set up a date with two different girls on the same day and time. I figured if I didn’t like one of them, I could ditch and focus all my attention on the other. So, the date comes, and I’m actually managing to charm both of them. The food was good, my jokes were landing, everything was looking like I’d be getting lucky before it was all over.” 

Wally’s hands were all over the place as he talked, hamming it up with exaggerated expressions. The appetizer platter you’d all started with was 90% gone at this point, most of it having disappeared into Wally’s bottomless pit of a stomach, crumbs decorating his mouth. Roy, who had been going between soda and water all night, was stretched out with his long legs on the table but angled away from the food. His mechanical arm gleamed against the glow from the hanging lights, the cut-off tank top showing his muscles. 

“I remember this! This fucking idiot forgot he was also scheduled for a meeting with the League that same day. The three of us had prepared for this thing for months.” Roy had retracted his legs from the top of the table, straightening up as he settled into the tale. “It was a whole thing about how we weren’t kids anymore and deserved to be in the League. Dick had written up notecards and grilled us on every possible counter point the adults could bring up.”

“ANYWAYS…I’m in the middle of inviting one of the girls back to my place. My parents were gone to visit my grandma, so I had the whole place to myself. Before I could even kiss her, though, I heard the most obnoxious voice calling my name. I turn around and see fucking Hal Jordan rushing up to me. I’m already beet red and this asshole just cranks it up to 11 by acting like the worlds most concerned uncle, going between lecturing me and telling her embarrassing stories that weren’t remotely true, by the way.” 

The mention of Hal had your laughter wilting like a dying flower, your throat feeling suddenly tight, like an invisible hand was squeezing your trachea. You suddenly stood up, shrugging Dicks arm off of you as you made the excuse that you had to pee. Artemis got up soon after, saying she was going to check on you. The formerly boisterous room had now fallen into awkward silence, the only sound being Wally’s chewing as he put a chip into his mouth. 

You were sitting on the surprisingly clean floor of the disabled stall, knees pulled to your chest as you tried not to cry. It felt like your heart had been yanked out of your chest and stomped into the ground, which was stupid. The two of you hadn’t been anything, not really. You’d just been a convenient form of stress relief and shouldn’t read too much into things. Those had been the words he’d written to you, determined to dispel any hint of a connection you thought the two of you had. 

The flimsy lock on the stall was jimmied open easily by Artemis, her securing it again behind her before she joined you on the floor. You didn’t know her well, having only met a few times, most of your knowledge coming from Dick or Wally. Like most of the League, she had a jaded past and kept her cards close to her chest, finding it difficult to let people get close. Still, there was a kindness about her that didn’t escape your notice as she waited you out, not wanting to push. 

“Hal Jordan is a fucking asshole…” You finally spit out by way of explanation, fiddling with the loose thread on your jeans. 

“I always knew he was a douchebag. You can’t have an ego the size of an F-18 and still be a good person,” snarked Artemis as she nudged you slightly. 

“You know I caught him flexing in the mirror once? He was talking to the reflection, too, telling it to get ready for the gun show.” You snickered, the hand that had been closing around your throat loosening bit by bit. Artemis joined in, covering her mouth to hold back the snort that was attempting to come from her nose. 

“Hey, it probably isn’t my place to say this but…Dick is a really great guy, one of the best I know. He’s also a worldclass bullshitter who can manage to find chemistry with a brick wall,” started Atemis, voice halting a bit as she tried to gather her thoughts. “But when he looks at you? I see something real.” 

“I’m aware of his feelings; I’ve been aware. Dick is a lot of things but a subtle flirt isn’t one of them.” Your head was rested against the tiled wall now, the coldness seeping into your scalp. You had seen the signs, they were practically flashing before your eyes in various shades of neon. It hadn’t escaped your notice how his focus had zeroed in on you, the spark of jealousy when you’d let Hal pull you away with the barest semblance of a plan. “And I should like Dick. Liking him makes sense. He’s good to me.”

“He also has a fantastic ass,” said Artemis while giving you a wink before she tensed up slightly, “Don’t tell Wally I said that.” 

Back in the party room, Dick was getting himself a refill while Roy and Wally busied themselves with tidying up the mess they’d made. The silence that hung there was awkward and heavy, with no sign of the smiles and laughter that had been there only a few minutes ago.

“Okay, correct me if I’m wrong because I’m only working with microscopic pieces of context here. You’ve obviously got it bad for Ember; it’s plastered all over your face and is, quite frankly, nauseating. Seriously, you have fucking heart eyes whenever she’s around.” Roy was now occupying the seat you’d recently vacated, elbow propped up on the table as he turned towards Dick. Wally had fully abandoned any pretenses of cleaning by now, leaning against the table with his attention firmly fixed on his two friends. “But she doesn’t feel the same and has been doing matrix-level dodging to avoid acknowledging the billboard-level signs you keep giving. Which, ouch, but it happens to everyone.” 

Dick opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by the ringing of your phone from his jacket pocket. He fished it out and saw Hal's name flashing across the screen, almost seeming to mock him. His grip was tight enough to start warping the plastic, and he had to make a conscious effort to loosen his hold. Against his better judgement, he hit answer, holding it up to his ear. 

When the call connected, Hal didn’t even wait for an answer before he started talking. His words weren’t coherent, his brain to mouth filter effectively broken as he attempted to fix what he hadn’t just broken but had stomped on before setting ablaze with a flamethrower. 

“I was a coward…a fucking dogshit coward. Good things don’t normally happen to me, okay? Like, a rule of the universe seems to be that Hal Jordan doesn’t get nice things. And you…you’re the nicest thing that’s happened to me in a long time.” Hal was back in his shitty duplex, sitting on his duck taped couch with his head in his hand, phone pressed tightly against his ear. “That sounds lame, huh? But it’s true. And I haven’t been all that attached to Earth since I joined the Corps; it was just the place I was born. But I’ve grown a bit more attached recently because it’s where you are. Am I making any sense?”

Dick just sat there, phone to his ear, with a faraway look in his eyes. Roy and Wally were huddled close so they could hear what was being said; nosy bastards they were. Hals heavy breathing filled his ears, the man having reached the end of his word vomit tirade. Then, without a thought for the potential consequences, he hung up the call and sent off a text before deleting it from the chat history as well as the call to cover his tracks. The phone was placed in his jacket pocket once more, now put on silent. 

After goodbyes had been exchanged with promises to do this again soon, you’d gone back to your apartment building with Dick. You were still wearing his jacket, hands stuffed in the pockets while Dick kept his arm around your shoulder, his body heat seeping into you. It was easy to be around him, his very presence making you feel safe. It made sense to take that extra step, right? 

And so, when you’d arrived at your door, you’d leaned against it with your arms crossed loosely in front of you, eyes trailing over him with thinly veiled appreciation. Dick was nothing if not quick on the uptake, stepping even closer as he let his hands rest against your hips, thumbs dipping under your shirt to feel your skin. His face drew closer, slow enough to give you plenty of time to back out if you wanted, but you held steady, arms now snaking around his neck. 

The kiss was gentle, his lips soft as they pressed themselves to yours, a hint of mint from the gum he’d been chewing earlier on his breath. He crowded further into your personal space as his movements became more insistent, tongue brushing against your mouth for admittance. Heat flashed through you as he rolled his hips against yours, able to feel the firm length still hidden by his jeans. 

The kissing lasted until you both needed air, his forehead resting against yours as you both caught your breath. 

“Do you want to spend the night?”

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[pilosophos]

I finished drawing my shadowrunner from earlier this month, who I've named Camille Grey, a decker who is extracting data from a Cray supercomputer being used as nightclub seating

Shadowrun story below, if it interests you:

Just before being laid off, Vic Dayton, a former Ares Macrotechnology project manager, stole the backdoor keys to a line of autonomous Ares security drones. Now living out of his brother's nightclub, Vic starts negotiating for the sale of the keys with two rival companies, both of whom suspect that he's secretly dealing with the other. Preferring not to let the keys fall into the hands of the other company, both hire shadowrunners to track him and his keys down.

After investigating Vic's Matrix accounts and even his room above the nightclub, Camille's team have ended up with absolutely nothing to show for their search efforts. Just as they were about to give up, Camille discovers something crucial: around the same time Vic had been fired, the nightclub had purchased a set of seats from a vintage store for an unusually expensive price.

These seats were, in fact, vintage Cray supercomputers, and Camille suspects that Vic hidden the keys in plain sight within the club seating.

Returning to the nightclub, and she slowly extracts the keys from the Cray's ancient hard drives, which weigh several dozen kilos.

Right in the middle of the process, the rival shadowrunner team arrives to search the club discreetly. To stall them, Camille stirs up a panic at the disco by using one of the backdoor keys on the club's Ares bouncer drones to fire restraining nets into the clubbers, while hacking the AV system to blast a scary message.

When the extraction process is over, they smash the hard drive platters and hightail it out of the club, leaving in their wake a crowd of distressed clubbers, rogue drones, and a financially ruined Vic Dayton.